"I don't know; I never thought about it!"
This was something unusual. Until I met him, I had only come across people who knew everything and talked about everything. It was strange to me to see in his note-book, side by side with good poetry which touched the soul, many obscene verses which aroused no feeling but that of shame. When I spoke to him about Pushkin, he showed me "Gavrialad," which had been copied in his book.
"What is Pushkin? Nothing but a jester, but that Benediktov—he is worth paying attention to."
And closing his eyes he repeated softly:
"Look at the bewitching bosom
Of a beautiful woman."
For some reason he was especially partial to the three lines which he quoted with joyful pride:
"Not even the orbs of an eagle
Into that warm cloister can penetrate
And read that heart."
"Do you understand that?"
It was very uncomfortable to me to have to acknowledge that I did not understand what he was so pleased about.