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.”
“A secular man cannot judge the bishops.”
“Why not, Deacon? A bishop is a man, just the same as I am.”
“The same but not the same,” the deacon said, taking offense, picking up his pen. “If it were the case that you’re the same, then grace would have been bestowed upon you and you would be a bishop yourself, but since it’s the case that you’re not a bishop then, it means you’re not the same.”
“Don’t you start, Deacon!” Samoylenko said with melancholy. “Listen, here’s what I’ve thought up,” turning his attention to Von Koren. “Do not give me the hundred rubles. You’re still going to eat at my table d’hote for the next three months until the winter, so why don’t you just pay me in advance for those three months.”
“I won’t.”
Samoylenko blinked his eyes and flushed crimson; mechanically he drew the book with the fanalgae on it to himself and looked at it, then rose to retrieve his hat. Von Koren began to pity him.
“Fine, if that’s the kind of gentleman you deign to have in your life and conduct business with!” said the zoologist, and in indignation kicked some piece of paper into the corner. “Just understand that this is not kindness, nor love, but cowardice, a lack of discipline, poison! What the intellect creates, your flaccid, good-for-nothing heart destroys! When I was ill with typhoid as a schoolboy, my auntie glutted me with marinated mushrooms out of compassion and I nearly died. Understand, right along with my auntie, that love for a person must be situated not inthe heart, not at the end of a spoon and not in the loins, but right here!”
Von Koren smacked himself on the forehead.
“Take it!” he said, and threw the hundred-ruble note.
“There’s nothing for you to be angry about, Kolya,” Samoylenko meekly said, folding the note. “I understand you perfectly, but … try to put yourself in my predicament.”
“Woman, you’re old, how’s that!”
The deacon burst out laughing.
“Listen, Alexander Davidich, to a final request!” Von Koren hotly said. “When you give that scoundrel the money, attach a condition: have him leave with his mistress or have him send her on ahead, otherwise don’t give it to him. Don’t stand on ceremony with him. Tell him, just like that, and if you don’t tell him, then I give you my honest word, I’ll go to his office myself and throw him down the stairs, and I won’t associate with you any longer. Know this!”
“What? If he leaves with her or sends her ahead, it’ll be more convenient for him,” Samoylenko said. “He’ll even be happy. Come now, bid me farewell!”
He demonstratively bid farewell and exited, but, before closing the door behind him, he looked back at Von Koren, made a dreadful face and said:
“Brother, it’s the Germans that ruined you! Yes! The Germans!”
* The “superfluous man” who is the title character of Turgenev’s first novel.
XII
The following day, Thursday, Maria Konstantinovna celebrated the birthday of her Kostya. Everyone was invited over to eat pirog at midday and drink chocolate in the evening. When Laevsky and Nadezhda Fyodorovna arrived in the evening, the zoologist, already seated in the drawing room drinking chocolate, asked Samoylenko:
“Have you spoken to him?”
“Not yet.”
“Look here, don’t stand on ceremony. I don’t understand the insolence of these gentlepersons! You see, they know the opinion of this local family perfectly well regarding their cohabitation, and in the midst of it they worm their way in here.”
“If you focus on every prejudice,” Samoylenko pointed out, “you’ll never venture anywhere.”
“Is the disgust felt by the masses toward love out of wedlock and debauchery prejudice?”
“Of course. Prejudice and
“A secular man cannot judge the bishops.”
“Why not, Deacon? A bishop is a man, just the same as I am.”
“The same but not the same,” the deacon said, taking offense, picking up his pen. “If it were the case that you’re the same, then grace would have been bestowed upon you and you would be a bishop yourself, but since it’s the case that you’re not a bishop then, it means you’re not the same.”
“Don’t you start, Deacon!” Samoylenko said with melancholy. “Listen, here’s what I’ve thought up,” turning his attention to Von Koren. “Do not give me the hundred rubles. You’re still going to eat at my table d’hote for the next three months until the winter, so why don’t you just pay me in advance for those three months.”
“I won’t.”
Samoylenko blinked his eyes and flushed crimson; mechanically he drew the book with the fanalgae on it to himself and looked at it, then rose to retrieve his hat. Von Koren began to pity him.
“Fine, if that’s the kind of gentleman you deign to have in your life and conduct business with!” said the zoologist, and in indignation kicked some piece of paper into the corner. “Just understand that this is not kindness, nor love, but cowardice, a lack of discipline, poison! What the intellect creates, your flaccid, good-for-nothing heart destroys! When I was ill with typhoid as a schoolboy, my auntie glutted me with marinated mushrooms out of compassion and I nearly died. Understand, right along with my auntie, that love for a person must be situated not inthe heart, not at the end of a spoon and not in the loins, but right here!”
Von Koren smacked himself on the forehead.
“Take it!” he said, and threw the hundred-ruble note.
“There’s nothing for you to be angry about, Kolya,” Samoylenko meekly said, folding the note. “I understand you perfectly, but … try to put yourself in my predicament.”
“Woman, you’re old, how’s that!”
The deacon burst out laughing.
“Listen, Alexander Davidich, to a final request!” Von Koren hotly said. “When you give that scoundrel the money, attach a condition: have him leave with his mistress or have him send her on ahead, otherwise don’t give it to him. Don’t stand on ceremony with him. Tell him, just like that, and if you don’t tell him, then I give you my honest word, I’ll go to his office myself and throw him down the stairs, and I won’t associate with you any longer. Know this!”
“What? If he leaves with her or sends her ahead, it’ll be more convenient for him,” Samoylenko said. “He’ll even be happy. Come now, bid me farewell!”
He demonstratively bid farewell and exited, but, before closing the door behind him, he looked back at Von Koren, made a dreadful face and said:
“Brother, it’s the Germans that ruined you! Yes! The Germans!”
* The “superfluous man” who is the title character of Turgenev’s first novel.
XII
The following day, Thursday, Maria Konstantinovna celebrated the birthday of her Kostya. Everyone was invited over to eat pirog at midday and drink chocolate in the evening. When Laevsky and Nadezhda Fyodorovna arrived in the evening, the zoologist, already seated in the drawing room drinking chocolate, asked Samoylenko:
“Have you spoken to him?”
“Not yet.”
“Look here, don’t stand on ceremony. I don’t understand the insolence of these gentlepersons! You see, they know the opinion of this local family perfectly well regarding their cohabitation, and in the midst of it they worm their way in here.”
“If you focus on every prejudice,” Samoylenko pointed out, “you’ll never venture anywhere.”
“Is the disgust felt by the masses toward love out of wedlock and debauchery prejudice?”
“Of course. Prejudice and
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