“One memory is indelible for me. About twelve years ago, on a colorless St. Petersburg day, I accompanied the coffin of the deceased. Walking in front of me was a tall, thin man in an old fur coat, with his head uncovered. Occasional snow fluttered through, but everything was monochromatic and whitish, as only happens in St. Petersburg, and the snow could only be seen against the background of the figure walking in front; Long, steel-gray strands of hair lay on the brown collar of his fur coat. The figure seemed like a silhouette, it was so terribly different from its surroundings. Next to me, the general said to his neighbor: “Do you know who this club is?” Vladimir Solovyov." Indeed, the procession of this man seemed wild among a bunch of ordinary people who trotted behind the chariot. A few minutes later I looked up: the man was no longer there; he disappeared somehow unnoticed - and the procession turned into an ordinary funeral procession..."