"Yes, why have drawing?" he repeated thoughtfully.
He had actually brought up the question, "What is the good of art?"
I dared not, I could not answer.
"What is the good of drawing?" exclaimed Semka.
"You learn to make sketches, you can do anything with it!"
"No, that is sketching; but why draw figures?"
Semka's healthy nature had no difficulty in replying.
"Why this stick? Why a linden?" he asked, still thrusting at the linden.
"Well, then, why the linden?" I asked.
"To make rafters of! " exclaimed Semka.
"Well, then, why don't we have it cut down next summer?"
"Yes; why not?"
"No: but in reality," continued Fedka, obstinately, "why do we let the linden grow?"
And we proceeded to talk about the fact that not everything is for use, but that there is such a thing as beauty, and that art is beauty, and we understood each other; and Fedka understood perfectly why the linden is allowed to grow, and why we sing.
Pronka agreed with us, but he understood better what moral beauty was,—goodness, in other words. Semka understood by means of his quick intellect, but he could not see how there could be beauty without use; he doubted, as often is the case with people of large intellect, who feel that beauty is strength, but who do not feel in their soul the need of this strength; like them, he wanted to get at art by means of the intellect, and he was striving to kindle in himself this fire.
"To-morrow we shall sing the Cherubim Song," said he; "I remember my part."
He has the correct ear, but no taste, no feeling for music.
Fedka, however, perfectly understood that the linden was beautiful for its foliage in summer, and good to look at, and that was all that was needed.
