was at all intimate was Evgeni Solovyov, who became a journalist and critic (he is no longer alive); the tie between us, however, was not the similarity, but the divergency of our views; he was a sceptic, and I already had mystical leanings.
At the age of 13 I began to write. My first poem opened thus:
"The clouds were scattered, and the heavens
Gleamed joyously, and bright and blue. . . ."
It was an imitation of Pushkin's "Fountain of Bakhtchisarai." It was about this time that my first critical treatise was produced,—a set essay on the Legend of Igor, for which Mokhnatchov, my Russian teacher, gave me full marks. I was prouder of this success than I have ever been in the whole subsequent course of my literary career.
On March 1st, 1881, I was walking up and down in our dining-room composing a poem on a subject from the Koran. The servant-girl came running in from the street, and spoke of a dreadful explosion which she had just heard. Later, my father came home to lunch direct from the castle. He was terribly upset, tear-stained and pale, and told us of an attempt upon the Emperor's life.
"There you have the fruits of Nihilism," he said. "What more do these monsters want? They have not spared even such an angel as that. . ."
