'Yes, what is a lime tree for?' said I.
'To make rafters of,' replied Syómka.
'But what is it for in summer, when not yet cut down?'
'Then, it's no use.'
'No, really,' insisted Fédka; 'why does a lime tree grow?'
And we began to speak of the fact that not everything exists for use, but that there is also beauty, and that Art is beauty; and we understood one another, and Fédka quite understood why the lime tree grows and what singing is for.
Prónka agreed with us, but he thought rather of moral beauty: goodness.
Syómka understood with his big brain, but did not acknowledge beauty apart from usefulness. He was in doubt (as often happens to men with great reasoning power): feeling Art to be a force, but not feeling in his soul the need of that force. He, like them, wished to get at Art by his reason, and tried to kindle that fire in himself.
'We'll sing Who hath to-morrow. I remember my part,' said he. (He has a correct ear, but no taste or refinement in singing.) Fédka, however, fully understood that the lime tree is good when in leaf: good to look at in summer; and that that is enough.
Prónka understood that it is a pity to cut it down, because it, too, has life: