But in recompense he had another kind of power. He judged soundly, and what is more, with keenness. After he had read a production of his own he analyzed it in presence of all; joyous laughter continued till late in the apartments. In like manner did he treat the productions of others; if he ridiculed the chips flew from those first offerings placed on the altar of art. He was able so to arrange his voice and expression of face to the current of his words that when he wished the gloomiest subject roused the most laughter. This obtained for him great consideration. Those who, feeling a sympathy for the moon, struck the sentimental chords of their hearts, dreaded him as they might have dreaded Satan.
Vasilkevich described his Lithuanian lakes and forests pithily. From time to time Karvovski permitted himself lyric verses in which dew, tears, lilies of the valley, and sighs spoke with each other in the manner of people. In this case it was not a question of judgment, but of the love of a village shepherd for a birch of the field which after his death "took up and withered," according to the words of those pathetic verses.
There were better and worse things in that assembly; humor appeared often, but at times something superior which was worth listening to, especially since by degrees through exercise and criticism capacities of greater or less power were manifested.
But Augustinovich towered above every one at all times. It happened more than once, God forgive, that he came drunk to the meeting, his manuscript crushed, soiled, and written fragmentarily on anything; but when he began to read all else was forgotten, the soul clung to his words. More than one student used hands and head, drew out of himself all that was best, wrote a thing that was more or less good, but common. "That lurking soul" caught up a pen right there in the room amid noise and conversation, but sheets and sheets flew from his hand and dropped under the table. When he had finished writing he picked up the sheets, arranged them, and sat down with indifference; but all listened, and more than one man envied him secretly. His figures were as if living, so complete were they; under the wave of his words thought flowed in a hundred colors, like a serpent glittering with jewels. When he spoke of love you felt the beating of a beloved heart on your own; when he rose with the strength of enthusiasm, the thunder of words roared, and the mind dazzled by lightning flashes quivered in fear; when in the low fall of words he depicted some feeling touchingly, the odor of roses and myrtle was discovered in the air, the fern blossomed in the moonlight, from some place beyond the forest and the pine wood, the song of a maiden floated out on the dew.