At last, in November, the _ABC_ Book was published. It sold slowly, and was attacked by some of the papers. Tolstoy however was not discouraged, but held to his belief that (as he expressed it to Stráhof) he had 'erected a monument'--a conviction amply justified by the ultimate success of the work. He had indeed produced a reading-book far superior to anything that had previously existed in Russia, and that is probably unmatched in any language. With certain modifications to be mentioned later on, it continues to circulate throughout Russia to the present day. In connection with his other efforts to popularise his system of instruction, Tolstoy, in October 1872, invited a dozen teachers from neighbouring schools to visit him for a week at Yásnaya. They were accommodated in his second house (called, as is customary in Russian when speaking of a subsidiary residence, 'the wing'); and a number of illiterate boys were collected from villages within reach, to be taught on Tolstoy's lines. He also formed a project of establishing a 'University in bark shoes' [the country peasants wear bark shoes] or in other words, a training college in which peasants could become teachers without ceasing to be peasants. This plan occupied his attention, off and on, for some years; but (owing to causes which will be related later) never came to fruition. In December Tourgénef writes from Paris, to Fet: I got a copy of L. Tolstoy's ABC, but except the beautiful story, _A Prisoner in the Caucasus_, I did not find anything interesting in it. And the price is absurdly dear for a work of that kind. The price of the first edition of 3000 copies of the _ABC_ was Rs. 2 (about 5s. 6d.). Tourgénef probably had no idea of the immense labour, or of the typographical difficulties, involved in its production. The subsequent editions were much cheaper. About this time Fet sent Tolstoy a letter in rhyme, to which the latter replied as follows: _12 November 1872._ The causeless shame felt by the onion Before the sweetly-scented rose, My dearest Fet, I should be feeling, Were I to answer you in prose. And yet in maiden verse replying, By sad misgivings I'm beset: The when and where, yourself please settle-- But come and visit us, dear Fet. Tho' drought may parch the rye and barley. Yet still I shall not feel upset If I but spend a day enjoying Your conversation, dearest Fet! Too apt we often are to worry; O'er future ills let us not fret: Sufficient for the day, its evil-- It's best to think so, dearest Fet! Joking apart, write quickly and let me know when to send horses to the station to meet you. I want to see you terribly.