out: "What
business? I have no yearning toward business! What is business? Business
is merely a name--and if you should look into the depth, into the root
of it--you'll find it is nothing but absurdity! Do I not understand it?
I understand everything, I see everything, I feel everything! Only my
tongue is dumb. What aim is there in business? Money? I have plenty
of it! I could choke you to death with it, cover you with it. All this
business is nothing but fraud. I meet business people--well, and what
about them? Their greediness is immense, and yet they purposely
whirl about in business that they might not see themselves. They hide
themselves, the devils. Try to free them from this bustle--what will
happen? Like blind men they will grope about hither and thither; they'll
lose their mind--they'll go mad! I know it! Do you think that business
brings happiness into man? No, that's not so--something else is missing
here. This is not everything yet! The river flows that men may sail on
it; the tree grows--to be useful; the dog--to guard the house. There is
justification for everything in the world! And men, like cockroaches,
are altogether superfluous on earth. Everything is for them, and
they--what are they for? Aha! Wherein is their justification? Ha, ha,
ha!"

Foma was triumphant. It seemed to him that he had found something good
for himself, something severe against men. And feeling that, because of
this, there was great joy in him, he laughed loudly.

"Does not your head ache?" inquired Sasha, anxiously, scrutinizing his
face.

"My soul aches!" exclaimed Foma, passionately. "And it aches because it
is upright--because it is not to be satisfied with trifles. Answer it,
how to live? To what purpose? There--take my godfather--he is wise! He
says--create life! But he's the only one like this. Well, I'll ask him,
wait! And everybody says--life has usurped us! Life has choked us. I
shall ask these, too. And how can we create life? You must keep it in
your hands to do this, you must be master over it. You cannot make even
a pot, without taking the clay into your hands."

"Listen!" said Sasha, seriously. "I think you ought to get married,
that's all!"

"What for?" asked Foma, shrugging his shoulders.

"You need a bridle."

"All right! I am living with you--you are all of a kind, are you not?
One is not sweeter than the other. I had one before you, of the same
kind as you. No, but that one did it for love's sake. She ha