Towards the evening, Pasinkov, contrary to my expectations, seemed
better. He asked Elisei to set the samovar, announced that he was going
to regale me with tea, and drink a small cup himself, and he was
noticeably more cheerful. I tried, though, not to let him talk, and
seeing that he would not be quiet, I asked him if he would like me to
read him something. 'Just as at Winterkeller's--do you remember?' he
answered. 'If you will, I shall be delighted. What shall we read? Look,
there are my books in the window.'...
I went to the window and took up the first book that my hand chanced
upon....
'What is it?' he asked.
'Lermontov.'
'Ah, Lermontov! Excellent! Pushkin is greater, no doubt.... Do you
remember: "Once more the storm-clouds gather close Above me in the
perfect calm" ... or, "For the last time thy image sweet in thought I
dare caress." Ah! marvellous! marvellous! But Lermontov's fine too.
Well, I'll tell you what, dear boy: you take the book, open it by
chance, and read what you find!'
I opened the book, and was disconcerted; I had chanced upon 'The Last
Will.' I tried to turn over the page, but Pasinkov noticed my action
and said hurriedly: 'No, no, no, read what turned up.'