take it! I tell you what: you are a very learned and intelligent
man and the pride of your country, but the Germans have ruined you.
Yes, the Germans! The Germans!"

Since Samoylenko had left Dorpat, where he had studied medicine,
he had rarely seen a German and had not read a single German book,
but, in his opinion, every harmful idea in politics or science was
due to the Germans. Where he had got this notion he could not have
said himself, but he held it firmly.

"Yes, the Germans!" he repeated once more. "Come and have some tea."

All three stood up, and putting on their hats, went out into the
little garden, and sat there under the shade of the light green
maples, the pear-trees, and a chestnut-tree. The zoologist and the
deacon sat on a bench by the table, while Samoylenko sank into a
deep wicker chair with a sloping back. The orderly handed them tea,
jam, and a bottle of syrup.

It was very hot, thirty degrees Réaumur in the shade. The sultry
air was stagnant and motionless, and a long spider-web, stretching
from the chestnut-tree to the ground, hung limply and did not stir.

The deacon took up the guitar, which was constantly lying on the
ground near the table, tuned it, and began singing softly in a thin
voice:

"'Gathered round the tavern were the seminary lads,'"

but instantly subsided, overcome by the heat, mopped his brow and