“Don’t talk nonsense, doctor.  To hate and despise a microbe is stupid, but to look upon everybody one meets without distinction as one’s neighbour, whatever happens—­thanks very much, that is equivalent to giving up criticism, renouncing a straightforward attitude to people, washing one’s hands of responsibility, in fact!  I consider your Laevsky a blackguard; I do not conceal it, and I am perfectly conscientious in treating him as such.  Well, you look upon him as your neighbour—­and you may kiss him if you like:  you look upon him as your neighbour, and that means that your attitude to him is the same as to me and to the deacon; that is no attitude at all.  You are equally indifferent to all.”

“To call a man a blackguard!” muttered Samoylenko, frowning with distaste—­“that is so wrong that I can’t find words for it!”

“People are judged by their actions,” Von Koren continued.  “Now you decide, deacon. . . .  I am going to talk to you, deacon.  Mr. Laevsky’s career lies open before you, like a long Chinese puzzle, and you can read it from beginning to end.  What has he been doing these two years that he has been living here?  We will reckon his doings on our fingers.  First, he has taught the inhabitants of the town to play vint:  two years ago that game was unknown here; now they all play it from morning till late at night, even the women and the boys.  Secondly, he has taught the residents to drink beer, which was not known here either; the inhabitants are indebted to him for the knowledge of various sorts of spirits, so that now they can distinguish Kospelov’s vodka from Smirnov’s No. 21, blindfold.  Thirdly, in former days, people here made love to other men’s wives in secret, from the same motives as thieves steal in secret and not openly; adultery was considered something they were ashamed to make a public display of.  Laevsky has come as a pioneer in that line; he lives with another man’s wife openly. . . .  Fourthly . . .”

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.  Men like him are very fond of friendship, intimacy, solidarity, and all the rest of it, because they always want company for vint, drinking, and eating; besides, they are talkative and must have listeners.  We made friends—­that is, he turned up every day, hindered me working, and indulged in confidences in regard to his mistress.  From the first he struck me by his exceptional falsity, which simply made me sick.  As a friend I pitched into him, asking him why he drank too much, why he lived beyond his means and got into debt, why he did nothing and read nothing, why he had so little culture and so little knowledge; and in answer to all my questions he used to smile bitterly, sigh, and say:  ’I am a failure, a superfluous man’; or:  ’What do you expect, my dear fellow, from us, the debris