s, but they will be historical events. 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. "And as to strength, that is
true! Where am I to make use of my strength since there is no demand for
it! I ought to fight with robbers, or turn a robber myself. In general
I ought to do something big. And that should be done not with the
head, but with the arms and the breast. While here we have to go to the
Exchange and try to aim well to make a rouble. What do we need it for?
And what is it, anyway? Has life been arranged in this form forever?
What sort of life is it, if everyone is grieved and finds it too narrow
for him? Life ought to be according to the taste of man. If it is narrow
for me, I must move it asunder that I may have more room. I must break
it and reconstruct it. But nod? That's where the trouble lies! What
ought to be done that life may be freer? That I do not understand, and
that's all there is to it."

"Yes!" drawled out Yozhov. "So that's where you've gone! That, dear, is
a good thing! Ah, you ought to study a little! How are you about books?
Do you read any?"

"No, I don't care for them. I haven't read any."

"That's just why you don't care for them." "I am even afraid to read
them. I know one--a certain girl--it's worse than drinking with her! And
what sense is there in books? One man imagines something and prints it,
and others read it. If it is interesting, it's all right. But learn from
a book how to live!--that is something absurd. It was written by man,
not by God, and what laws and examples can man establish for himself?"

"And how about the Gospels? Were they not written by men?"

"Those were apostles. Now there are none."

"Good, your refutation is sound! It is true, dear, there are no
apostles. Only the Judases remained, and miserable ones at that."

Foma felt very well, for he saw that Yozhov was attentively listening
to his words and seemed to be weighing each and every word he uttered.
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,