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Updated: May 31, 2025
I hindered them from turning into beasts." "It's true, you did disturb them," said Foma. "Why do you make such speeches? People have come out to enjoy themselves, and you obtrude yourself upon them. That bores them!" "Keep quiet! You don't understand anything!" cried Yozhov, harshly. "You think I am drunk?
He'll start to lecture me." "Then don't go!" "But I must." "Then go!" "Why do you always play the buffoon?" said Foma, with displeasure, "as though you were indeed merry." "By God, I feel merry!" exclaimed Yozhov, jumping down from the table. "What a fine roasting I gave a certain gentleman in the paper yesterday!
During recess he learned from Yozhov that Smolin, too, was rich, being the son of a tan-yard proprietor, and that Yozhov himself was the son of a guard at the Court of Exchequer, and very poor.
Yozhov, fond of having a laugh at the expense of his well-fed friends, told them quite often: "Eh, you are little trunks full of cakes!" Foma was angry with him for his sneers, and one day, touched to the quick, said wickedly and with contempt: "And you are a beggar a pauper!" Yozhov's yellow face became overcast, and he replied slowly: "Very well, so be it!
Meeting such bearing toward him for the first time in his life, Foma unburdened himself boldly and freely before his friend, caring nothing for the choice of words, and feeling that he would be understood because Yozhov wanted to understand him. "You are a curious fellow!" said Yozhov, about two days after their meeting.
"I don't want to listen to other people's songs," said Yozhov, with a shake of the head. "I have my own, it is the song of a soul rent in pieces by life." And he began to wail in a wild voice: "The buried dreams within my breast Will never rise again... How great their number is!" "There was a whole flower garden of bright, living dreams and hopes. They perished, withered and perished.
Yozhov rummaged among a pile of papers, tore out one sheet, and holding it in both hands, stopped in front of Foma, with his legs straddled wide apart, while Foma leaned back in the broken-seated armchair and listened with a smile.
The beautiful, well-fed birds, ruffling their snow-white wings, darted out of the pigeon-house one by one, and, seating themselves in a row on the ridge of the roof, and, illumined by the sun, cooing, flaunted before the boys. "Scare them!" implored Yozhov, trembling for impatience. Smolin swung a pole with a bast-wisp fastened to its end, and whistled.
She was acquainted with some Gymnasium students, and although Yozhov, his old friend, was among them, Foma felt no inclination to be with them, and their company embarrassed him. It seemed to him that they were all boasting of their learning before him and that they were mocking his ignorance.
Heaven deliver us from such events! For they will emanate from the merchant's thirst for power; their aim will be the omnipotence of one class, and the merchant will not be particular about the means toward the attainment of this aim. "Well, what do you say, is it true?" asked Yozhov, when he had finished reading the newspaper, and thrown it aside. "I don't understand the end," replied Foma.
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