‘‘Yes, I’m asking for Laevsky!’’ said Samoilenko, getting up and waving his right arm. ‘‘Yes! For Laevsky! And no devil or demon has the right to teach me how I should dispose of my money. You don’t want to give it to me? Eh?’’
The deacon burst out laughing.
‘‘Don’t seethe, but reason,’’ said the zoologist. ‘‘To be Mr. Laevsky’s benefactor is, in my opinion, as unintelligent as watering weeds or feeding locusts.’’
‘‘And in my opinion, it’s our duty to help our neighbors!’’ cried Samoilenko.
‘‘In that case, help this hungry Turk who’s lying by the hedge! He’s a worker and more necessary, more useful than your Laevsky. Give him this hundred roubles! Or donate me a hundred roubles for the expedition!’’
‘‘Will you lend it to me or not, I ask you?’’
‘‘Tell me frankly: what does he need the money for?’’
‘‘It’s no secret. He has to go to Petersburg on Saturday.’’
‘‘So that’s it!’’ von Koren drew out. ‘Aha... We understand. And will she be going with him, or what?’’
‘‘She remains here for the time being. He’ll settle his affairs in Petersburg and send her money, and then she’ll go.’’
‘Clever! ...’ said the zoologist and laughed a brief tenor laugh. ‘‘Clever! Smart thinking!’’
He quickly went up to Samoilenko and, planting himself face-to-face with him, looking into his eyes, asked:
‘‘Speak frankly to me: he’s fallen out of love? Right? Speak: he’s fallen out of love? Right?’’
‘‘Right,’’ Samoilenko brought out and broke into a sweat.
‘‘How loathsome!’’ said von Koren, and one could see by his face that he felt loathing. ‘‘There are two possibilities, Alexander Davidych: either you’re in conspiracy with him or, forgive me, you’re a simpleton. Don’t you understand that he’s taking you in like a little boy, in the most shameful way? It’s clear as day that he wants to get rid of her and leave her here. She’ll be left on your neck, and it’s clear as day that you’ll have to send her to Petersburg at your own expense. Has your excellent friend so bedazzled you with his merits that you don’t see even the simplest things?’’
‘‘Those are nothing but conjectures,’’ said Samoilenko, sitting down.
‘‘Conjectures? And why is he going alone and not with her? And why, ask him, shouldn’t she go on ahead and he come later? A sly beast!’’
Oppressed by sudden doubts and suspicions concerning his friend, Samoilenko suddenly weakened and lowered his tone.
‘‘But this is impossible!’’ he said, remembering the night Laevsky had spent at his place. ‘‘He suffers so!’’
‘‘What of it? Thieves and incendiaries also suffer!’’
‘‘Even supposing you’re right...’ Samoilenko said, pondering. ‘‘Let’s assume... But he’s a young man, in foreign parts ... a student, but we’ve also been students, and except for us, there’s nobody to support him.’’
‘‘To help him in his abomination only because at different points you and he were at the university and both did nothing there! What nonsense!’’
‘‘Wait, let’s reason with equanimity. It’s possible, I suppose, to arrange it like this...’ Samoilenko reasoned, twisting his fingers. ‘‘You see, I’ll give him money, but I’ll take from him his gentleman’s word of honor that he will send Nadezhda Fyodorovna money for the trip in a week.’’
‘‘And he’ll give you his word of honor, and even shed a tear and believe himself, but what is his word worth? He won’t keep it, and when, in a year or two, you meet him on Nevsky Prospect arm in arm with a new love, he’ll justify himself by saying civilization has crippled him and he’s a chip off Rudin’s block.27 Drop him, for God’s sake! Walk away from this muck, and don’t rummage in it with both hands!’’
Samoilenko thought for a minute and said resolutely: ‘‘But even so, I’ll give him the money. As you like. I’m unable to refuse a man on the basis of conjectures alone.’’
‘‘Excellent. Go and kiss him.’’
‘‘So give me the hundred roubles,’’ Samoilenko asked timidly.
‘‘I won’t.’’
Silence ensued. Samoilenko went completely weak; his face acquired a guilty, ashamed, and fawning expression, and it was somehow strange to see this pitiful, childishly abashed face on a huge man wearing epaulettes and decorations.
‘‘The local bishop goes around his diocese not in a carriage but on horseback,’’ said the deacon, putting down his pen. ‘‘The sight of him riding a little horse is extremely touching. His simplicity and modesty are filled with biblical grandeur.’’
‘‘Is he a good man?’’ asked von Koren, who was glad to change the subject.
‘‘But of course. If he wasn’t good, how could he have been ordained a bishop?’’
‘‘There are some very good and gifted people among the bishops,’’ said von Koren. ‘‘Only it’s a pity that many of them have the weakness of imagining themselves statesmen. One occupies himself with Russification, another criticizes science. That’s not their business. They’d do better to stop by at the consistory more often.’’
‘‘A worldly man cannot judge a bishop.’’
‘‘Why not, Deacon? A bishop is the same sort of man as I am.’’
‘‘The same and not the same,’’ the deacon became offended and again took up his pen. ‘‘If you were the same, grace would have rested upon you, and you’d have been a bishop yourself, but since you’re not a bishop, it means you’re not the same.’’
‘‘Don’t drivel, Deacon!’’ Samoilenko said in anguish. ‘‘Listen, here’s what I’ve come up with,’’ he turned to von Koren. ‘‘Don’t give me that hundred roubles. You’re going to be my boarder for another three months before winter, so give me the money for those three months ahead of time.’’
‘‘I won’t.’’
Samoilenko blinked and turned purple, mechanically drew the book with the phalangid towards him and looked at it, then got up and took his hat. Von Koren felt sorry for him.
‘‘Just try living and having anything to do with such gentlemen!’’ said the zoologist, and he kicked some paper into the corner in indignation. ‘‘Understand that this is not kindness, not love, but pusillanimity, license, poison! What reason achieves, your flabby, worthless hearts destroy! When I was sick with typhoid as a schoolboy, my aunt, in her compassion, overfed me with pickled mushrooms, and I nearly died. Understand, you and my aunt both, that love for man should not be in your heart, not in the pit of your stomach, not in your lower back, but here!’’
Von Koren slapped himself on the forehead.
‘‘Take it!’’ he said and flung the hundred-rouble bill.
‘‘You needn’t be angry, Kolya,’’ Samoilenko said meekly, folding the bill. ‘‘I understand you very well, but ... put yourself in my position.’’
‘‘You’re an old woman, that’s what!’’
The deacon guffawed.
‘‘Listen, Alexander Davidych, one last request!’’ von Koren said hotly. ‘‘When you give that finagler the money, set him a condition: let him leave together with his lady or send her on ahead, otherwise don’t give it. There’s no point in being ceremonious with him. Just tell him that, and if you don’t, on my word of honor, I’ll go to his office and chuck him down the stairs, and you I’ll have nothing more to do with. Be it known to you!’’
‘‘So? If he goes with her or sends her ahead, it’s the more convenient for him,’’ said Samoilenko. ‘‘He’ll even be glad. Well, good-bye.’’
He affectionately took his leave and went out, but before closing the door behind him, he turned to look at von Koren, made an awful face, and said:
‘‘It’s the Germans that spoiled you, brother! Yes! The Germans!’’