There is something profoundly touching, and perhaps slightly ridiculous, in the way the gentlemen of our modern society conduct their quarrels. It is as if the entire world were a drawing-room, and every disagreement a mere performance for the benefit of the gallery. Such is the case with the esteemed Mr. Prokhor Shalyapin, who has seen fit to announce his reconciliation with the illustrious Mr. Philip Kirkorov.

For some eighteen years—a duration long enough for a child to grow into a man or for a lady's taste in bonnets to change thrice over—these two souls existed in a state of most frigid silence. It appears, as is so often the case in these romantic tragedies, that the friendship was dismantled by the intervention of two ladies. One cannot help but admire the efficiency with which a certain kind of femininity can sow discord between two ambitious cavaliers.

'I have long desired to neutralize the negativity,' Mr. Shalyapin declares with a flourish, admitting that he spoke in the heat of emotion—and, of course, acknowledging that the press possesses an insatiable appetite for inflating every trifle into a catastrophe. He concludes that the hatchet of war is finally buried, offering his gratitude for Mr. Kirkorov's magnanimity.

In times past, during a visit to the salon of the inquisitive Mrs. Sobchak, Mr. Shalyapin recalled the days of their youth, when Mr. Kirkorov treated him as a brother and bestowed upon him garments of the finest quality. Alas, such generosity is rarely without a price; it seems the friendship withered the moment Mr. Kirkorov perceived a rival in his shadow.

Mr. Kirkorov, for his part, had previously responded with a sharpness that would make a governess blush, accusing Mr. Shalyapin of attempting to climb the social ladder by leaning upon his famous name. He suggested, with a touch of condescension, that one should not seek the easy path of publicity, but rather toil over one's repertoire to create enduring hits.

And so, the storm has passed. The gentlemen have shaken hands, the public is momentarily satisfied, and one wonders if this peace will last longer than a tray of tea and confections in a rainy afternoon.