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The Genius

After The Night Of What She Came Gradually To Call The Holy Dream, The
Years Passed More Swiftly, With Less Of Inward Tumult, For Sophia
Ivanovna Gregoriev. It Was Now The Close Of The Year 1851; And The Reign
Of The Iron Czar Was Wavering Towards Its Dark End. Meantime The Son Of
The Chief Of The Secret Section In Moscow Was Eleven Years And Three
Months Old: A Straight-Limbed, Quiet Child, The Son Of His Mother. And
All Sophia's Recent Life, That Life Which Had Entwined Itself Wholly
About The Promised Babe, Was Mingled The Inexplicable Strangeness Of Her
Dream-Memory. To Her, New Year's Night Had Become A Sacred Time; And She
Loved To Keep A Vigil Through It In Her Own, Lonely Way. This Year,

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