him the following verses:[44]

"By waging war with thoughts of love
I try to forget my beauty;
Alas! by flight from Masha,
I hope my freedom to regain!

"But the eyes which enslaved me are ever before me.
My soul have they troubled and ruined my rest.

"Oh! Masha, who knowest my sorrows,
Seeing me in this miserable plight,
Take pity on thy captive."

"What do you think of that?" I said to Chvabrine, expecting praise as a
tribute due to me. But to my great displeasure Chvabrine, who usually
showed kindness, told me flatly my song was worth nothing.

"Why?" I asked, trying to hide my vexation.

"Because such verses," replied he, "are only worthy of my master
Trédiakofski,[45] and, indeed, remind me very much of his little erotic
couplets."

He took the MSS. from my hand and began unmercifully criticizing each
verse, each word, cutting me up in the most spiteful way. That was too
much for me; I snatched the MSS. out of his hands, and declared that
never, no never, would I ever again show him one of my compositions.
Chvabrine did not laugh the less at this threat.