Gentlemen of the merchant class!" began Mayakin with a smile. "There
is a certain foreign word in the language of intelligent and learned
people, and that word is 'culture.' So now I am going to talk to you
about that word in all the simplicity of my soul."

"So, that's where he is aiming to!" some ones satisfied exclamation was
heard.

"Sh! Silence!"

"Dear gentlemen!" said Mayakin, raising his voice, "in the newspapers
they keep writing about us merchants, that we are not acquainted with
this 'culture,' that we do not want it, and do not understand it. And
they call us savage, uncultured people. What is culture? It pains me,
old man as I am, to hear such words, and one day I made it my business
to look up that word, to see what it really contains." Mayakin became
silent, surveyed the audience with his eyes, and went on distinctly,
with a triumphant smile:

"It proved, upon my researches, that this word means worship, that
is, love, great love for business and order in life. 'That's right!' I
thought, 'that's right!' That means that he is a cultured man who loves
business and order, who, in general, loves to arrange life, loves to
live, knows the value of himself and of life. Good!" Yakov Tarasovich
trembled, his wrinkles spread over his face like beams, from his smiling
eyes to his lips, and his bald head looked like some dark star.

The merchants stared silently and attentively at his mouth, and all
faces bespoke intense attention. The people seemed petrified in the
attitudes in which Mayakin's speech had overtaken them.

"But if that word is to be interpreted precisely thus, and not
otherwise, if such is the case--then the people who call us uncultured
and savage, slander and blaspheme us! For they love only the word, but
not its meaning; while we love the very root of the word, we love its
real essence, we love activity. We have within us the real cult toward
life, that is, the worship of life; we, not they! They love reasoning'
we love action. And here, gentlemen of the merchant class, here is an
example of our culture, of our love for action. Take the Volga! Here she
is, our dear own mother! With each and every drop of her water she can
corroborate our honour and refute the empty blasphemy spattered on us.
Only one hundred years have elapsed, my dear sirs, since Emperor Peter
the Great launched decked barks on this river, and now thousands of
steamships sail up and down the river. Who has built them? The Ru