"Every one should speak his own language." On another occasion I found at his house a young and prettyish crown prosecutor. He was standing in front of Chekhov, shaking his curly head, and speaking briskly: "In your story, 'The Conspirator,' you, Anton Pavlovitch, put before me a very complex case. If I admit in Denis Grigoriev a criminal and conscious intention, then I must, without any reservation, bundle him into prison, in the interests of the community. But he is a savage; he did not realize the criminality of his act.... I feel pity for him. But suppose I regard him as a man who acted without understanding, and suppose I yield to my feeling of pity, how can I guarantee the community that Denis will not again unscrew the nut in the sleepers and wreck a train? That's the question. What's to be done?" He stopped, threw himself back, and fixed an inquiring look on Anton Pavlovitch's face. His uniform was quite new, and the buttons shone as self-confidently and dully on his chest as did the little eyes in the pretty, clean, little face of the youthful enthusiast for justice. "If I were judge," said Anton Pavlovitch gravely, "I would acquit Denis." "On what grounds?" "I would say to him: you, Denis, have not yet ripened into the type of the deliberate criminal; go--and ripen." The lawyer began to laugh, but instantly again became pompously serious and said: "No, sir, the question put by you must be answered only in the interests of the community whose life and property I am called upon to protect. Denis is a savage, but he is also a criminal--that is the truth." "Do you like gramophones?" suddenly asked Anton Pavlovitch in his soft voice. "O yes, very much. An amazing invention!" the youth answered gayly. "And I can't stand gramophones," Anton Pavlovitch confessed sadly. "Why?" "They speak and sing without feeling. Everything seems like a caricature ... dead. Do you like photography?" It appeared that the lawyer was a passionate lover of photography; he began at once to speak of it with enthusiasm, completely uninterested, as Chekhov had subtly and truly noticed, in the gramophone, despite his admiration for that "amazing invention." And again I observed how there looked out of that uniform a living and rather amusing little man, whose feelings towards life were still those of a puppy hunting. When Anton Pavlovitch had seen him out, he said sternly: "They are like pimples on the seat of justice--disposing of the fate of people." And after a short silence: "Crown prosecutors must be very fond of fishing ... especially for little fish." * * * * * He had the art of revealing everywhere and driving away banality, an art which is only possible to a man who demands much from life and which comes from a keen desire to see men simple, beautiful, harmonious. Banality always found in him a discerning and merciless judge.