now, when a person has grown accustomed to live merrily,
and then cannot be merry, he feels bad! He desires to live cheerfully,
he desires to laugh, yet he does not laugh--it is life that is laughing
at him. And as to men. Listen! Like a mother, I advise you, I beg and
implore you--obey no one except your own heart! Live in accordance with
its promptings. Men know nothing, they cannot tell you anything that is
true. Do not heed them."

Trying to speak as plainly and intelligibly as possible, she was
agitated, and her words came incoherently hurriedly one after another.
A pitiful smile played on her lips all the time, and her face was not
beautiful.

"Life is very strict. It wants all people to submit to its requests,
and only the very strong ones can resist it with impunity. It is yet
questionable whether they can do it! Oh, if you knew how hard it is to
live. Man goes so far that he begins to fear his own self. He is split
into judge and criminal--he judges his own self and seeks justification
before himself. And he is willing to pass days and nights with those
that despise him, and that are repulsive to him--just to avoid being
alone with himself."

Foma lifted his head and said distrustfully, with surprise:

"I cannot understand what it is! Lubov also says the same."

"Which Lubov? What does she say?"

"My foster-sister. She says the same,--she is forever complaining of
life. It is impossible to live, she says."

"Oh, she is yet young! And it is a great happiness that she already
speaks of this."

"Happiness!" Foma drawled out mockingly. "It must be a fine happiness
that makes people sigh and complain."

"You'd better listen to complaints. There is always much wisdom in these
complaints of men. Oh! There is more wisdom in these complaints than
anywhere else. You listen to these,--they will teach you to find your
way."

Foma heard the woman's voice, which sounded convincing; and perplexed,
looked about him. Everything had long been familiar to him, but today it
looked somewhat new to him. A mass of trifles filled the room, all
the walls were covered with pictures and shelves, bright and beautiful
objects were staring from every corner. The reddish light of the lamp
filled one with melancholy. Twilight wrapped everything in the room, and
only here and there the gold of the frames, or the white spots of marble
flashed dimly. Heavy fabrics were motionlessly hanging before the doors.
All this embarrassed and