The critic had undoubtedly put an interpretation upon the book

which could not possibly be put on it. But he had selected

quotations so adroitly that for people who had not read the book

(and obviously scarcely anyone had read it) it seemed absolutely

clear that the whole book was nothing but a medley of high-flown

phrases, not even--as suggested by marks of interrogation--used

appropriately, and that the author of the book was a person

absolutely without knowledge of the subject. And all this was

so wittily done that Sergey Ivanovitch would not have disowned

such wit himself. But that was just what was so awful.

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In spite of the scrupulous conscientiousness with which Sergey

Ivanovitch verified the correctness of the critic's arguments, he

did not for a minute stop to ponder over the faults and mistakes

which were ridiculed; but unconsciously he began immediately

trying to recall every detail of his meeting and conversation

with the author of the article.

"Didn't I offend him in some way?" Sergey Ivanovitch wondered.

And remembering that when they met he had corrected the young man

about something he had said that betrayed ignorance, Sergey

Ivanovitch found the clue to explain the article.

This article was followed by a deadly silence about the book both

in the press and in conversation, and Sergey Ivanovitch saw that

his six years' task, toiled at with such love and labor, had

gone, leaving no trace.

Sergey Ivanovitch's position was still more difficult from the

fact that, since he had finished his book, he had had no more

literary work to do, such as had hitherto occupied the greater

part of his time.

Sergey Ivanovitch was clever, cultivated, healthy, and energetic,

and he did not know what use to make of his energy.

Conversations in drawing rooms, in meetings, assemblies, and

committees--everywhere where talk was possible--took up part of

his time. But being used for years to town life, he did not

waste all his energies in talk, as his less experienced younger

brother did, when he was in Moscow. He had a great deal of

leisure and intellectual energy still to dispose of.

Fortunately for him, at this period so difficult for him from the

failure of his book, the various public questions of the

dissenting sects, of the American alliance, of the Samara famine,

of exhibitions, and of spiritualism, were definitely replaced in

public interest by the Slavonic question, which had hitherto

rather languidly interested society, and Sergey Ivanovitch, who

had been one of the first to raise this subject, threw himself

into it heart and soul.

In the circle to which Sergey Ivanovitch belonged, nothing was

talked of or written about just now but the Servian War.

Everything that the idle crowd usually does to kill time was done

now for the benefit of the Slavonic States. Balls, concerts,

dinners, matchboxes, ladies' dresses, beer, restaurants--

everything testified to sympathy with the Slavonic peoples.




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