But tear himself away from the shackles of his wealth he could not. Mayakin, who had Foma's full power of attorney to manage his affairs, acted now in such a way that Foma was bound to feel almost every day the burden of the obligations which rested upon him. People were constantly applying to him for payments, proposing to him terms for the transportation of freight. His employees overwhelmed him in person and by letter with trifles with which he had never before concerned himself, as they used to settle these trifles at their own risk. They looked for him and found him in the taverns, questioned him as to what and how it should be done; he would tell them sometimes without at all understanding in what way this or that should be done. He noticed their concealed contempt for him, and almost always saw that they did not do the work as he had ordered, but did it in a different and better way. In this he felt the clever hand of his godfather, and understood that the old man was thus pressing him in order to turn him to his way. And at the same time he noticed that he was not the master of his business, but only a component part of it, and an insignificant part at that. This irritated him and moved him farther away from the old man, it augumented his longing to tear himself away from his business, even at the cost of his own ruin. Infuriated, he flung money about the taverns and dives, but this did not last long. Yakov Tarasovich closed his accounts in the banks, withdrawing all deposits. Soon Foma began to feel that even on promissory notes, they now gave him the money not quite as willingly as before. This stung his vanity; and his indignation was roused, and he was frightened when he learned that his godfather had circulated a rumour in the business world that he, Foma, was out of his mind, and that, perhaps, it might become necessary to appoint a guardian for him. Foma did not know the limits of his godfather's power, and did not venture to take anyone's counsel in this matter. He was convinced that in the business world the old man was a power, and that he could do anything he pleased. At first it was painful for him to feel Mayakin's hand over him, but later he became reconciled to this, renounced everything, and resumed his restless, drunken life, wherein there was only one consolation--the people. With each succeeding day he became more and more convinced that they were more irrational and altogether worse than he--that they were not the masters of life, but its slaves, and that it was turning them around, bending and breaking them at its will, while they succumbed to it unfeelingly and resignedly, and none of them but he desired *******. But he wanted it, and therefore proudly elevated himself above his drinking companions, not desiring to see in them anything but wrong.
One day in a tavern a certain half-intoxicated man complained to him of his life. This was a small-sized, meagre man, with dim, frightened eyes, unshaven, in a short frock coat, and with a bright necktie. He blinked pitifully, his ears quivered spasmodically, and his soft little voice also trembled.
"I've struggled hard to make my way among men; I've tried everything, I've worked like a bull. But life jostled me aside, crushed me under foot, gave me no chance. All my patience gave way. Eh! and so I've taken to drink. I feel that I'll be ruined.
Well, that's the only way open to me!"
"Fool!" said Foma with contempt. "Why did you want to make your way among men? You should have kept away from them, to the right.
Standing aside, you might have seen where your place was among them, and then gone right to the point!""I don't understand your words." The little man shook his close-cropped, angular head.
Foma laughed, self-satisfied.
"Is it for you to understand it?""No; do you know, I think that he whom God decreed--""Not God, but man arranges life!" Foma blurted out, and was even himself astonished at the audacity of his words. And the little man glancing at him askance also shrank timidly.
"Has God given you reason?" asked Foma, recovering from his embarrassment.
"Of course; that is to say, as much as is the share of a small man," said Foma's interlocutor irresolutely.
"Well, and you have no right to ask of Him a single grain more!
Make your own life by your own reason. And God will judge you. We are all in His service. And in His eyes we are all of equal value. Understand?"It happened very often that Foma would suddenly say something which seemed audacious even to himself, and which, at the same time, elevated him in his own eyes. There were certain unexpected, daring thoughts and words, which suddenly flashed like sparks, as though an impression produced them from Foma's brains. And he noticed more than once that whatever he had carefully thought out beforehand was expressed by him not quite so well, and more obscure, than that which suddenly flashed up in his heart.
Foma lived as though walking in a swamp, in danger of sinking at each step in the mire and slime, while his godfather, like a river loach, wriggled himself on a dry, firm little spot, vigilantly watching the life of his godson from afar.
After his quarrel with Foma, Yakov Tarasovich returned home, gloomy and pensive. His eyes flashed drily, and he straightened himself like a tightly-stretched string. His wrinkles shrank painfully, his face seemed to have become smaller and darker, and when Lubov saw him in this state it appeared to her that he was seriously ill, but that he was forcing and restraining himself.
Mutely and nervously the old man flung himself about the room, casting in reply to his daughter's questions, dry curt words, and finally shouted to her:
