But when the sun set and it grew dark, he was overcome by unease. It was not fear of impending death because a certainty nested in it, as he dined and played cards, that the duel would end in nothing: this was a fear of the unknown, that which was to occur tomorrow morning for the first time in his life, and a fear of the approaching night … He knew that the night would be long, sleepless, and that he’d be forced to think not only of Von Koren and his hatred, but of that mountain of lies, which lay ahead of him to cross and for which he had neither the strength nor the know-how. It was as though he’d unexpectedly fallen ill; he’d suddenly lost all interest in both cards and people, beginning to fuss about he stood and asked to be excused so that he may go home. He wanted to lie down in bed as soon as possible, to be still and prepare his thoughts for the night. Sheshkovsky and the postmaster saw him home then set off for Von Koren’s to discuss the duel.
Near his apartments, Laevsky met Achmianov. The young man was out of breath and in an excited state.
“I’ve been looking for you, Ivan Andreich!” he said. “If you please, let’s go, quickly …”
“Where to?”
“A certain gentleman whom you aren’t acquainted with wishes to see you, it’s regarding a very important matter concerning you. He earnestly requests that you come see him for just one minute. He needs to discuss something with you … According to him, it’s a matter of life and death …”
Agitated, Achmianov relayed all of this with a heavy Armenian accent, so when he said “life” it came out as “lathe.”
“Who is he?” Laevsky asked.
“He asked that I not tell you his name.”
“Tell him I’m busy. Tomorrow, if he likes …”
“That’s not possible!” panicked Achmianov. “He wants to tell you something very important that concerns you … very important! If you don’t go, then misfortune will befall us.”
“How strange …” muttered Laevsky, not comprehending why Achmianov was so excited and what kind of secrets could exist in a boring boondock that is of no value to anyone. “How strange,” he repeated, lost in thought. “Nevertheless, let’s go. It’s all the same.”
Achmianov quickly walked ahead, and he followed. They walked along the street, then through the side street.
“How boring this is,” Laevsky said.
“Almost, almost … We’re near.”
Near the old rampart they crossed a narrow side street between two enclosed vacant lots, there they entered a sort of large yard and proceeded in the direction of a little house …
“This is the house of Muridov, isn’t it?” Laevsky asked.
“Yes.”
“But I don’t understand, why are we walking through the yards? We could have taken the street. It’s closer that way …”
“No reason, no reason …”
It seemed equally strange to Laevsky that Achmianov had led him to a pitch-black passage and then waved him in with his hand, as though beckoning him to proceed stealthily and to be quiet.
“This way, this way …” Achmianov said, carefully opening a door and entering on tiptoe over hay. “Quiet, quiet, I’m asking you … They may hear us.”
He listened carefully, took a long breath and said in a whisper:
“Open this door here and enter … Don’t be afraid.”
Laevsky, perplexed, opened the door and entered a room with a low ceiling and curtained windows. A candle stood on the table.
“Who do you want?” someone asked from a neighboring room. “That you, Muridik?”
Laevsky turned and entered the room and saw Kirilin, and beside him, Nadezhda Fyodorovna.
He did not hear what was being said to him; moving backwards, he did not notice how he ended up on the street. His hatred of Von Koren and all that had been troubling him—all disappeared from his soul. Going home, he awkwardly flapped his right hand and concentrated on looking down at his feet, trying his best to walk smoothly. At home, in his study, pacing from one corner of the room to the other, he rubbed his hands and moved his shoulders and neck at odd angles as though his jacket and shirt were too tight on him, then he lit a candle and sat down at the table …
XVI
“This science of the humanities, of which you speak, will only comply with the human psyche, once it encounters true science and moves forward alongside it. Whether they’ll meet beneath a microscope, or in the monologues of a new Hamlet, or in a new religion, I don’t know, but I do think that the earth will be covered in a blanket of ice, before it occurs. The most steadfast and life-affirming of all humanitarian knowledge—is, of course, the teachings of Christ, but draw your attention to how diversely even they are interpreted! Some teach that we should love those near and dear but make an exception for soldiers, criminals and the insane: it’s permissible for the first among them to be killed during wartime, the second imprisoned or executed, and the third to be denied the union of marriage. Other interpreters teach to love those near and dear unconditionally, without taking into account the pluses and minuses. According to their teachings, if a consumptive or a murderer or an epileptic should come along and propose marriage to your daughter—give your blessing; if cretins wage war against the physical and cerebral status quo—lay down your heads. This is the propagation of love for love’s sake, like art for art’s sake; if empowered, it would drive the human race to extinction, and thus the super-colossus of all evil deeds ever seen on the face of the earth would be realized. There are very many interpretations, and if there are many, then serious thought cannot find any one of them satisfying and rushes to add its own interpretation to this mass. For this very reason, never base a question on, how would you say, philosophical or Christian ground; by doing so, you only grow further estranged from the question.”
The deacon listened attentively to the zoologist, thought for a moment and inquired:
“Is moral law, idiosyncratic to each individual, conceived of by philosophers or created by God together with the body?”
“I don’t know. But this law is so extremely common among all people and all epochs, that to me, it seems necessary to recognize it as being organically interlinked with man. It is not conceived of but simply is and will be. I’m not telling you that it will be seen beneath a microscope one day, but its organic link has already proven evident: severe illness of the brain and all that we have deemed disorders of the soul arise first and foremost from a perversion of moral law, as far as I know.”
“All right, sir. This means that, as the stomach wants to eat, so moral feeling wants for us to love those near and dear to us. Isn’t that so? However, our essential nature of self-love is resistant to the voice of sense and reason, and thus many head-splitting questions arise. Who are we supposed to turn to in order to solve these problems if you would not have them based on philosophical ground?”
“Turn to those few precise facts that we do have. Trust in the clarity and logic of facts. It’s true this is meager, but it’s not really as shaky or blurry as philosophy. The moral law, let’s say, demands that you love people. But why? The result of love should be the elimination of all that is harmful to people in one way or another and threatens their present and future with danger. Our knowledge and this clarity are telling you that humankind is menaced by danger from the side of the morally and physically abnormal. If this is so, then fight the abnormal. If you don’t have the power to elevate them to normalcy, then you must surely have the strength and intelligence to neutralize them, that is destroy them.”