Then he suddenly felt bored. Yourii went on painting, and gave him no
attention whatever. Novikoff got up lazily and approached the picture.
It was still unfinished, and for that reason produced the effect of a
somewhat powerful sketch. Yourii had got as far as he could go.
Novikoff thought it was wonderful, as with open mouth he gazed in
childish admiration at the artist.
"Well?" said Yourii, stepping backwards.
Personally, he thought it the most interesting picture that he had ever
seen, though certainly it had defects both obvious and considerable.
Why he was of this opinion he could not tell, but if Novikoff had
thought the picture a bad one, he would have felt thoroughly hurt and
annoyed. However, Novikoff murmured ecstatically, "Ve ... ry fine indeed!"
Yourii felt as if he were a genius despising his own work. He sighed
and flung down his brush which stained the edge of the couch, and he
moved away without looking at the picture.
"Ah! my friend!" he exclaimed. He was on the point of confessing to
himself and to Novikoff the doubt which destroyed his pleasure in
succeeding, as he felt that he could never do anything with what was
now a promising sketch. However, after a moment of reflection he merely
said: "All that is of no use at all!"
Novikoff thought that this was pose on his friend's part, and mindful
of his own bitter disappointment he inwardly observed: "That's true."
Then after a while he asked: "How do you mean that it is of no use?"
To this question Yourii could give no exact answer, and he remained
silent. Novikoff examined the picture once more, and then lay down on
the sofa.
"I read your article in the Krai," he said. "It was pretty hot."
"The deuce take it!" replied Yourii, angrily, yet unable to account for
his anger, as he remembered Semenoff's words. "What good will it do? It
won't stop executions and robberies and violence; they will go on just
as before. Articles won't help matters. For what purpose, pray? To be
read by two or three idiots! Much good that is! After all, what
business is it of mine? And why dash one's brains out against a wall?"
Passing before his eyes, Yourii seemed to see the early years of his
political activity; the secret meetings, propaganda, risks and
reverses, his own enthusiasm and the profound apathy of those whom he
was so eager to save. He walked up and down the room, gesticulating.