'Oh, my God, my God! . . . sighed Samoylenko, scratching himself. 'I was dropping asleep and I hear the whistle of the steamer, and now you . . . Do you want much?'
'Three hundred roubles at least. I must leave her a hundred, and I need two hundred for the journey. . . . I owe you about four hundred already, but I will send it you all . . . all. . . .'
Samoylenko took hold of both his whiskers in one hand, and standing with his legs wide apart, pondered.
'Yes . . .' he muttered, musing. 'Three hundred. . . . Yes. . . . But I haven't got so much. I shall have to borrow it from some one.'
'Borrow it, for God's sake!' said Laevsky, seeing from Samoylenko's face that he wanted to lend him the money and certainly would lend it. 'Borrow it, and I'll be sure to pay you back. I will send it from Petersburg as soon as I get there. You can set your mind at rest about that. I'll tell you what, Sasha,' he said, growing more animated; 'let us have some wine.'
'Yes . . . we can have some wine, too.'
They both went into the dining-room.
'And how about Nadyezhda Fyodorovna?' asked Samoylenko, setting three bottles and a plate of peaches on the table. 'Surely she's not remaining?'
'I will arrange it all, I will arrange it all,' said Laevsky, feeling an unexpected rush of joy. 'I will send her the money afterwards and she will join me. . . . Then we will define our relations. To your health, friend.'
'Wait a bit,' said Samoylenko. 'Drink this first. . . . This is from my vineyard. This bottle is from Navaridze's vineyard and this one is from Ahatulov's. . . . Try all three kinds and tell me candidly. . . . There seems a little acidity about mine. Eh? Don't you taste it?'
'Yes. You have comforted me, Alexandr Daviditch. Thank you. . . . I feel better.'
'Is there any acidity?'
'Goodness only knows, I don't know. But you are a splendid, wonderful man!'
Looking at his pale, excited, good-natured face, Samoylenko remembered Von Koren's view that men like that ought to be destroyed, and Laevsky seemed to him a weak, defenceless child, whom any one could injure and destroy.
'And when you go, make it up with your mother,' he said. 'It's not right.'
'Yes, yes; I certainly shall.'
They were silent for a while. When they had emptied the first bottle, Samoylenko said:
'You ought to make it up with Von Koren too. You are both such splendid, clever fellows, and you glare at each other like wolves.'
'Yes, he's a fine, very intelligent fellow,' Laevsky assented, ready now to praise and forgive every one. 'He's a remarkable man, but it's impossible for me to get on with him. No! Our natures are too different. I'm an indolent, weak, submissive nature. Perhaps in a good minute I might hold out my hand to him, but he would turn away from me . . . with contempt.'
Laevsky took a sip of wine, walked from corner to corner and went on, standing in the middle of the room:
'I understand Von Koren very well. His is a resolute, strong, despotic nature. You have heard him continually talking of 'the expedition,' and it's not mere talk. He wants the wilderness, the moonlit night: all around in little tents, under the open sky, lie sleeping his sick and hungry Cossacks, guides, porters, doctor, priest, all exhausted with their weary marches, while only he is awake, sitting like Stanley on a camp-stool, feeling himself the monarch of the desert and the master of these men. He goes on and on and on, his men groan and die, one after another, and he goes on and on, and in the end perishes himself, but still is monarch and ruler of the desert, since the cross upon his tomb can be seen by the caravans for thirty or forty miles over the desert. I am sorry the man is not in the army. He would have made a splendid military genius. He would not have hesitated to drown his cavalry in the river and make a bridge out of dead bodies. And such hardihood is more needed in war than any kind of fortification or strategy. Oh, I understand him perfectly! Tell me: why is he wasting his substance here? What does he want here?'
'He is studying the marine fauna.'
'No, no, brother, no!' Laevsky sighed. 'A scientific man who was on the steamer told me the Black Sea was poor in animal life, and that in its depths, thanks to the abundance of sulphuric hydrogen, organic life was impossible. All the serious zoologists work at the biological station at Naples or Villefranche. But Von Koren is independent and obstinate: he works on the Black Sea because nobody else is working there; he is at loggerheads with the university, does not care to know his comrades and other scientific men because he is first of all a despot and only secondly a zoologist. And you'll see he'll do something. He is already dreaming that when he comes back from his expedition he will purify our universities from intrigue and mediocrity, and will make the scientific men mind their ps and qs. Despotism is just as strong in science as in the army. And he is spending his second summer in this stinking little town because he would rather be first in a village than second in a town. Here he is a king and an eagle; he keeps all the inhabitants under his thumb and oppresses them with his authority. He has appropriated every one, he meddles in other people's affairs; everything is of use to him, and every one is afraid of him. I am slipping out of his clutches, he feels that and hates me. Hasn't he told you that I ought to be destroyed or sent to hard labour?'
'Yes,' laughed Samoylenko.
Laevsky laughed too, and drank some wine.
'His ideals are despotic too,' he said, laughing, and biting a peach. 'Ordinary mortals think of their neighbour -- me, you, man in fact -- if they work for the common weal. To Von Koren men are puppets and nonentities, too trivial to be the object of his life. He works, will go for his expedition and break his neck there, not for the sake of love for his neighbour, but for the sake of such abstractions as humanity, future generations, an ideal race of men. He exerts himself for the improvement of the human race, and we are in his eyes only slaves, food for the cannon, beasts of burden; some he would destroy or stow away in Siberia, others he would break by discipline, would, like Araktcheev, force them to get up and go to bed to the sound of the drum; would appoint eunuchs to preserve our chastity and morality, would order them to fire at any one who steps out of the circle of our narrow conservative morality; and all this in the name of the improvement of the human race. . . . And what is the human race? Illusion, mirage . . . despots have always been illusionists. I understand him very well, brother. I appreciate him and don't deny his importance; this world rests on men like him, and if the world were left only to such men as us, for all our
