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Updated: June 14, 2025
"Why didn't you let us know," said Samoylenko angrily. "You dolts!" "It's all the same, don't worry yourself . . ." said Von Koren. "Well, good-bye. God keep you." Samoylenko embraced Von Koren and made the sign of the cross over him three times. "Don't forget us, Kolya. . . . Write. . . . We shall look out for you next spring." "Good-bye, deacon," said Von Koren, shaking hands with the deacon.
Laevsky played, drank wine, and thought that duelling was stupid and senseless, as it did not decide the question but only complicated it, but that it was sometimes impossible to get on without it. In the given case, for instance, one could not, of course, bring an action against Von Koren. And this duel was so far good in that it made it impossible for Laevsky to remain in the town afterwards.
"That's reasonable . . ." thought Samoylenko, but remembering his conversation with Von Koren, he looked down and said sullenly: "I can't agree with you. Either go with her or send her first; otherwise . . . otherwise I won't give you the money. Those are my last words. . ."
Laevsky got in with Kirilin, the zoologist with Samoylenko, the deacon with the ladies, and the party set off. "You see what the Japanese monkeys are like," Von Koren began, rolling himself up in his cloak and shutting his eyes. "You heard she doesn't care to take an interest in beetles and ladybirds because the people are suffering. That's how all the Japanese monkeys look upon people like us.
It seemed as though he only liked to be in people's company because there was a ridiculous side to them, and because they might be given ridiculous nicknames. He had nicknamed Samoylenko "the tarantula," his orderly "the drake," and was in ecstasies when on one occasion Von Koren spoke of Laevsky and Nadyezhda Fyodorovna as "Japanese monkeys."
When he went into Samoylenko's, he found Von Koren in the drawing-room. The zoologist had just arrived for dinner, and, as usual, was turning over the album and scrutinising the gentlemen in top-hats and the ladies in caps. "How very unlucky!" thought Laevsky, seeing him. "He may be in the way. Good-morning." "Good-morning," answered Von Koren, without looking at him.
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 looked at Sheshkovsky's sullen, tear-stained face, and at the two carriages ahead of them in which Von Koren, his seconds, and the doctor were sitting, and it seemed to him as though they were all coming back from a graveyard in which a wearisome, insufferable man who was a burden to others had just been buried.
"Why?" asked Laevsky. "The impression is better than any description. The wealth of sights and sounds which every one receives from nature by direct impression is ranted about by authors in a hideous and unrecognisable way." "Really?" Von Koren asked coldly, choosing the biggest stone by the side of the water, and trying to clamber up and sit upon it.
Von Koren hurriedly ate up his soup and gave his plate to the orderly. "I understood Laevsky from the first month of our acquaintance," he went on, addressing the deacon. "We arrived here at the same time.
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