“I don’t know what beast you’re referring to,” Von Koren said, “most likely some type of insectivore. Well, let’s see. He caught the bird, because it wasn’t careful; he ruined the nest that contained the eggs, because the bird failed and had constructed the nest stupidly and didn’t conceal it successfully. The frog, most likely, had some sort of defect in its coloration, otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to see it, and so on. Your beast only pulverizes the weak, the hapless, the careless; in a word, those who are lacking, those that nature does not see fit to pass down through posterity. The cunning, the careful, the strong and the cultivated are left among the living. In this manner, your little beast is serving the greater good of progress without realizing it.”
“Yes, yes, yes … By the way, brother,” Samoylenko said in an overly casual way, “give me a hundred rubles on loan.”
“Very well. You can find some very interesting subjects among the insectivores. The mole, for instance. They say that he is beneficial, seeing as how he exterminates harmful insects. There’s a story that some German sent Emperor Wilhelm I a fur coat made of mole hides and that the Emperor ordered he be reprimanded for having destroyed such a useful animal in such great number. By the way, the savagery of the mole does not capitulate in the least to that of your little beast and he is quite malevolent as well, he ruins meadows frightfully.”
Von Koren unlocked a wooden box and retrieved a hundred-ruble note from it.
“The mole has a very strong rib cage, like the bat,” he continued, locking the wooden box, “frightfully evolved bones and muscles, uncommonly armored jaws. If he were the size of an elephant, he would be an all-powerful, invincible animal. Interestingly, when two moles encounter one another belowground, they both, in absolute unison, begin to burrow a tract; they need the tract so that it will be easier for them to do battle. Having completed it, they enter into brutal combat and fight until the weaker opponent has fallen. Go on, take the hundred rubles,” Von Koren said, lowering his voice, “but on the condition that you’re not taking it for Laevsky.”
“And what if it is for Laevsky!” Samoylenko flared up. “What business is it of yours?”
“I can’t give if it’s for Laevsky. I know that you love to loan out money. You’d loan to Karim the thief if he asked you, but, you’ll pardon me, I can’t help you go down this road you’ve chosen.”
“Yes, I’m asking for Laevsky!” Samoylenko said, standing and flailing his right arm. “Yes! For Laevsky! And no damned beast, nor devil, has the right to instruct me on how to handle my own money. Are you not inclined to give it to me? No?”
The Deacon burst out laughing.
“Don’t get all worked up over it, but use your reason,” the zoologist said. “To be charitable to Mr. Laevsky is as stupid, in my opinion, as watering weeds or feeding locust.”
“Well, in my opinion, we are obligated to help those near and dear to us!” cried Samoylenko.
“If that’s the case, then help that hungry Turk, who lies about beneath the palisade! He’s a worker, and more necessary, more of use than your Laevsky. Why don’t you give him the hundred rubles! Or donate one hundred rubles to me for the expedition!”
“Will you give it to me, or not? I’m asking you?”
“Tell me in all honesty, what does he need the money for?”
“It’s no secret. He needs to leave for Petersburg Saturday.”
“So that’s how it is!” Von Koren said in a protracted manner. “Aha … We understand. And is she going with him, or what?”
“She’ll remain here for now. He’ll settle his affairs in Petersburg and will send her money, and then she’ll follow.”
“That’s clever! …” the zoologist said, and began laughing curt tenor chuckles. “Clever! It’s intelligently devised.”
He briskly approached Samoylenko and, standing face-to-face, glaring into his eyes, asked:
“You tell me in all honesty: has he fallen out of love with her? Yes? Tell me: he’s fallen out of love? Yes?”
“Yes,” Samoylenko uttered, and began to sweat.
“How disgusting this is!” Von Koren said, and it was evident by his face that he felt disgust. “It can only be one of two things, Alexander Davidich: either you’re negotiating some agreement with him or, pardon me, you’re a nincompoop. Do you really not understand that he is taking advantage of you, as you would a little boy, in the most unscrupulous way possible? It’s as clear as day that he wants to get rid of her and to dump her here. She’ll be left hanging off your neck, and it’s clear as day that you’ll have to send her off to Petersburg at your own expense. Could it really be that your magnificent friend has blinded you with his merits to the point that you are unable to see the very simplest of things?”
“That’s just one hypothesis,” Samoylenko said, sitting down.
“Hypothesis? Then why is he going alone, and not together with her? And why, ask him, doesn’t she go ahead and he follow? Crafty devil!”
From the pressure of unexpected doubts and apprehensions regarding his friend, Samoylenko suddenly relented and lowered his tone.
“But it’s impossible!” he said, remembering the night Laevsky had stayed overnight with him. “He is suffering so much!”
“What of it? Thieves and arsonists suffer too!”
“Let’s just say that you’re right …” Samoylenko said, absorbed in thought. “Let’s say … But he’s a young man, on foreign shores … a student, we too were students, and besides us there is no one here to lend him a hand.”
“To help him do odious things only because you and he were at university, at different times, and neither of you managed to get anything done there? What rubbish!”
“Hold it, let’s cool our blood and sort this out. I propose that it’s possible to set things up this way …” Samoylenko pondered, his fingers stirring. “You understand I will give him the money, but I will take from him his honest, noble word that in a week’s time he will send Nadezhda Fyodorovna money for the road.”
“And he’ll give you his honest word, he’ll even get teary-eyed and believe in it himself, but what is the value of his word? He won’t stand by it, and when in a year or two you run into him on Nevsky, arm in arm with a new lover, he will vindicate himself by saying that he’s been crippled by civilization and that he’s a chip off of Rudin*. Will you drop him, for God’s sake! Step away from the dirt and stopping digging in it with both hands!”
Samoylenko thought for a moment and then decisively said:
“Well, I’m still going to give him money. You do as you please. My stance is not to refuse a man on the basis of mere hypothesis alone.”
“That’s superb. Kiss him goodbye.”
“Well, then, give me the hundred rubles,” Samoylenko asked bashfully.
“I won’t.”
Silence set in. Samoylenko had totally weakened: his face took on a guilty, chastened expression seeking to curry favor, and it was somewhat strange to see this pitiful face of childlike befuddlement on an enormous man with epaulets and orders.
“In this region, His Eminence tours the diocese not in a carriage, but on horseback,” said the deacon, putting down his pen. “The sight of him riding on horseback is extraordinarily moving. His simplicity and modesty embody the grandeur of the Bible.”
“Is he a good man?” Von Koren asked, happy to change the subject.
“How could it be otherwise? If he were not a good man, would he have been appointed bishop?”
“One encounters many good and gifted men among the bishops,” said Von Koren. “It’s just unfortunate that so many of them have a weakness—they imagine themselves to be statesmen. One occupies himself with spreading Russification, another criticizes the sciences. That’s none of their business. They’d be better off looking in on the consistory more often.”