‘‘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!’’
XII
THE NEXT DAY, Thursday, Marya Konstantinovna celebrated her Kostya’s birthday. At noon everyone was invited for cake, and in the evening for hot chocolate. When Laevsky and Nadezhda Fyodorovna came in the evening, the zoologist, already sitting in the drawing room and drinking chocolate, asked Samoilenko:
‘‘Did you speak to him?’’
‘‘Not yet.’’
‘‘Watch out, don’t be ceremonious. I don’t understand the impudence of these people! They know very well this family’s view of their cohabitation, and yet they keep coming here.’’
‘‘If you pay attention to every prejudice,’’ said Samoilenko, ‘‘you won’t be able to go anywhere.’’
‘‘Is the loathing of the masses for licentiousness and love outside marriage a prejudice?’’
‘‘Of course. Prejudice and hatefulness. When soldiers see a girl of light behavior, they guffaw and whistle, but ask them what they are themselves.’’
‘‘It’s not for nothing that they whistle. That sluts strangle their illegitimate children and go to hard labor, and
