Mortally insulted by a student, that is, an educated man, no longer a serf, he despised the affront because his assailant had once been his serf.

Society had gossiped and slandered him; shallow-minded people had looked with contempt on a man who had been struck in the face.

He had despised a public opinion, which had not risen to the level of the highest standards, though it discussed them.
"And, meantime, you and I, Ivan Alexandrovitch, sit and discuss the correct standards," one old club member observed to another, with a warm and generous glow of self-reproach.
"Yes, Pyotr Mihailovitch, yes," the other chimed in with zest, "talk of the younger generation!" "It's not a question of the younger generation," observed a third, putting in his spoke, "it's nothing to do with the younger generation; he's a star, not one of the younger generation; that's the way to look at it." "And it's just that sort we need; they're rare people." The chief point in all this was that the "new man," besides showing himself an unmistakable nobleman, was the wealthiest landowner in the province, and was, therefore, bound to be a leading man who could be of assistance.
I've already alluded in passing to the attitude of the landowners of our province.

People were enthusiastic: "He didn't merely refrain from challenging the student.

He put his hands behind him, note that particularly, your excellency," somebody pointed out.
"And he didn't haul him up before the new law-courts, either," added another.
"In spite of the fact that for a personal insult to a nobleman he'd have got fifteen roubles damages! He he he!" "No, I'll tell you a secret about the new courts," cried a third, in a frenzy of excitement, "if anyone's caught robbing or swindling and convicted, he'd better run home while there's yet time, and murder his mother.