Soloveitchik nodded, as with childish pleasure.
"Well, at that time Semenoff was very ill. He was living in the Crimea,
where he gave lessons. There, solitude and the presentiment of his
approaching death drove him to despair. Lande heard of this, and
determined to go thither and save this lost soul. He had no money, and
no one was willing to lend any to a reputed madman. So he went on foot,
and, after walking over a thousand versts, died on the way, and thus
sacrificed his life for others."
"And you, oh! do tell me," cried Soloveitchik with flashing eyes, "do
you recognize the greatness of such a man?"
"He was much talked about at the time," replied Sanine thoughtfully.
"Some did not look upon him as a Christian, and for that reason
condemned him. Others said that he was mad and not devoid of self-
conceit, while some denied that he had any moral force; and, since he
would not fight, they declared that he was neither prophet nor
conqueror. I judge him otherwise. At that time he influenced me to the
point of folly. One day a student boxed my ears, and I became almost
mad with rage. But Lande stood there, and I just looked at him and--
Well, I don't know how it was, but I got up without speaking, and
walked out of the room. First of all I felt intensely proud of what I
had done, and secondly I hated the student from the bottom of my heart.
Not because he had struck me, but because to him my conduct must have
been supremely gratifying. By degrees the falseness of my position
became clear to me, and this set me thinking. For a couple of weeks I
was like one demented, and after that I ceased to feel proud of my
false moral victory. At the first ironical remark on the part of my
adversary I thrashed him until he became unconscious. This brought
about an estrangement between Lande and myself. When I came to examine
his life impartially, I found it astonishingly poor and miserable."
"Oh! how can you say that?" cried Soloveitchik. "How was it possible
for you to estimate the wealth of his spiritual emotions?"
"Such emotions were very monotonous. His life's happiness consisted in
the acceptance of every misfortune without a murmur, and its wealth, in
the total renunciation of life's joys and material benefits. He was a
beggar by choice, a fantastic personage whose life was sacrificed to an
idea of which he himself had no clear conception."