d remained true to himself; a few hours before his
death he said to his son, daughter and son-in-law:

"Well, children, live in richness! Yakov has tasted everything, so
now it is time for Yakov to go. You see, I am dying, yet I am not
despondent; and the Lord will set that down to my credit. I have
bothered Him, the Most Gracious One, with jests only, but never
with moans and complaints! Oh Lord! I am glad that I have lived with
understanding through Thy mercy! Farewell, my children. Live in harmony,
and don't philosophize too much. Know this, not he is holy who hides
himself from sin and lies calm. With cowardice you cannot defend
yourself against sin, thus also says the parable of the talents. But he
who wants to attain his goal in life fears not sin. God will pardon
him an error. God has appointed man as the builder of life, but has not
endowed him with too much wisdom. Consequently, He will not call in his
outstanding debts severely. For He is holy and most merciful."

He died after a short but very painful agony.

Yozhov was for some reason or other banished from the town soon after
the occurrence on the steamer.

A great commercial house sprang up in the town under the firm-name of
"Taras Mayakin & African Smolin."

Nothing had been heard of Foma during these three years. It was rumoured
that upon his discharge from the asylum Mayakin had sent him away to
some relatives of his mother in the Ural.

Not long ago Foma appeared in the streets of the town. He is worn
out, shabby and half-witted. Almost always intoxicated, he appears now
gloomy, with knitted brow, and with head bent down on his breast, now
smiling the pitiful and melancholy smile of a silly fanatic.
Sometimes he is turbulent, but that happens rarely. He lives with his
foster-sister in a little wing in the yard. His acquaintances among
the merchants and citizens often ridicule him. As Foma walks along the
street, suddenly someone shouts to him:

"Eh, you prophet, come here!"

Yet he rarely goes to those who call him; he shuns people and does not
care to speak with them. But when he does approach them they say to him:

"Well, tell us something about doomsday, won't you? Ha, ha, ha!
Prophet!"

End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Foma Gordyeff, by Maxim Gorky

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