“Why, here now,”—he exclaimed at last;—“do you know Púshkin’s ‘The Upas-Tree’?[21] No? That poem cannot possibly be called sweet.”
“Recite it,”—said Márya Pávlovna, dropping her eyes.
Vladímir Sergyéitch first stared at the ceiling, frowned, mumbled something to himself, and at last recited “The Upas-Tree.”
After the first four lines, Márya Pávlovna slowly raised her eyes, and when Vladímir Sergyéitch ended, she said, with equal slowness:
“Please recite it again.”
“So these verses do please you?”—asked Vladímir Sergyéitch.
“Recite it again.”
Vladímir Sergyéitch repeated “The Upas-Tree.” Márya Pávlovna rose, went out into the next room, and returned with a sheet of paper, an inkstand and a pen.
“Please write that down for me,”—she said to Vladímir Sergyéitch.
“Certainly; with pleasure,”—he replied, beginning to write.—“But I must confess that I am puzzled to know why these verses have pleased you so. I recited them simply to prove to you that not all verses are sweet.”