had kept his poems for nine years in his desk (Jiří, by the way, thought they ought to have remained there forever); that Lucullus was sweet-tongued; that Cicero had spoken a great deal. The refined youth had with difficulty carried away from the Greek world an equally valuable store of information. Besides, he remembered the jokes and anecdotes about all the funny professors,—in short, he brought as much from school into life as we once did. . . .
Then he studied law, during which time he danced at all the great balls, talked in students’ circles, dragged the carriages of famous singers, and in the morning thundered with his companions the national air in the sleeping streets, proudly wearing the Panslavie tricolor under his laced coat.
He had read a little. He remembered best such passages as he could use to interlard his talk with speeches. Finally he said forever “vale” to his studies and entered life. Being rich, he became the master of
