Yozhov sat sideways in a
chair, with his legs thrown across the arm of the chair. Among
books and newspapers on the table stood a bottle of vodka and
there was an odour of something salty in the room.
"Why are you tramping about?" Yozhov asked Foma, and, nodding at
him, said to the man on the lounge: "Gordyeeff!"
The man glanced at the newcomer and said in a harsh, shrill
voice: "Krasnoshchokov."
Foma seated himself on a corner of the lounge and said to Yozhov:
"I have come to stay here over night."
"Well? Go on, Vasily."
The latter glanced at Foma askance and went on in a creaking
voice:
"In my opinion, you are attacking the stupid people in vain.
Masaniello was a fool, but what had to be performed was done in
the best way possible. And that Winkelried was certainly a fool
also, and yet had he not thrust the imperial spears into himself
the Swiss would have been thrashed. Have there not been many
fools like that? Yet they are the heroes. And the clever people
are the cowards. Where they ought to deal the obstacle a blow
with all their might they stop to reflect: 'What will come of it?
Perhaps we may perish in vain?' And they stand there like posts--
until they breathe their last.
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