There is no doubt that Dupont became entangled in a whole series of questions while forming her chain of cause-and-effect. For example, she demonstrated an overt exaggeration of the role of the individual in history (it probably comes as no surprise that Dupont’s political views were staunchly de Gaullist), most likely brought on because the history she herself was working on was the history of a general. Beyond that, the dialectic of the necessary and the accidental—which is so important for a correct assessment of historical events—became a stumbling block for her. She simply could not figure that out by using Russian history. At some point, she began to see that necessity was accidental in our country to a certain degree. In other words, she could not manage to distinctly formulate the reason behind Solovyov’s squalid existence. And so Dupont transferred all her irrepressible energy to something more consequential. She replaced her search for answers to Russia’s accursed questions with a search for funds for the young scholar’s needs.
After brief reflection, the French researcher made an appeal to the All-Russian Scientific Foundation, with the vague hope that this particular institution was counterbalancing the government’s shortchanging of its scholars. After a short conversation in Moscow—people in the know had advised her to get in touch with the fund’s employees only in person—the foundation’s experts regarded the proposed research topic as insufficiently all-Russian. In saying their goodbyes, (‘There was a shadow of something left unsaid at our meeting!’ Dupont complained afterwards), they recommended their guest approach the Russian Foundation for Scientific Workers.
They heard out Dupont more favorably at the Foundation for Scientific Workers, and even fed her tea with biscuits of the Stolichnye brand. Along the way, they asked if she was an employee or at least an expert at any kind of French foundation. Upon learning that Dupont had nothing to do with French foundations, they inquired of the researcher who exactly at the All-Russian Scientific Foundation had recommended she approach the Foundation for Scientific Workers, and asked what that person had said. Surprised by the question and, above all, the questioner’s unusual tone, Dupont choked and they pounded her on the back until an ill-fated shard of one of the Stolichnye biscuits emerged from the Parisienne’s throat. They asked no further questions after that, helped her on with her coat, and gallantly kissed her hand. In Moscow, by the way, they do that no worse than in Paris.
Dupont undertook a further attempt to help the Petersburg graduate student: she got in touch with the S.M. Solovyov Foundation by telephone. In Dupont’s mind, a foundation named for the great Russian historian could not refuse to support another historian, one who was both still young and bore the same surname. Oddly enough, in this case it was precisely the surname that became the stumbling block. Afraid of being accused of nepotism, there was a refusal on the other end of the line to even review an appeal of this sort. Astonished at the scrupulousness of Russian foundations, a pensive Dupont hung up the receiver.
Finally, at the suggestion of colleagues, she appealed to some famous entrepreneur or other, allegedly a man of contradictions who mixed market speculation with philanthropic activity. It is entirely possible that the contradictions were exaggerated since, according to information that reached her later, philanthropic activity inexplicably turned out to be one of the most profitable income items of his entrepreneurship. Whatever the case, Dupont approached him with a long letter, in which she noted the thoroughness of the scholar’s work and enumerated, among other things, the corrections the latter had entered with regard to manpower in the subunits.
To the addressee’s credit, he did not force Dupont to wait long for an answer. His letter offered the highest appraisal of Solovyov’s industriousness and attention to detail. The philanthropist then went on to point out that data for 1920 offered no relevance for him since he was predominantly interested in information about armies currently in operation.
Needless to say, even such a gallant rejection could not suit a person whose colleagues had nicknamed her mon general. Dupont set off on another attack and wrote the patron a far more voluminous letter. This letter examined, in the most detailed fashion, the essence of each of the adjustments Solovyov had entered, with historical parallels and brief statistics regarding comparable subunits of European armies. As for the relevance of the data, the enterprising philanthropist was introduced to an extremely ancient point of view, according to which all history repeats itself. After subjecting the designated theory to constructive criticism, Dupont nonetheless stipulated that she certainly did not exclude the possibility of certain recurrences. The only point with which the French researcher categorically refused to agree was the possibility (even theoretical) that a second General Larionov could appear on the peninsula. In concluding her letter, so there would be no omissions, she even specified that people of the general’s sort are born only once every thousand years.
It is unknown what had the greater effect here—the digression into the territory of the philosophy of history, the French researcher’s resoluteness in standing up for her position, or the actual volume of the letter—but the entrepreneur-philanthropist answered with approval. He even joked agreeably in his response that the researcher’s observation regarding a general of Larionov’s sort might exclude the possibility of such a general appearing in the near future but it instilled certain hopes for the period following the year 2882. In expectation of that blessed epoch, he was designating that Solovyov receive, throughout his graduate studies (i.e. for three years), a stipend that was small but adequate for a modest life. This was a genuine victory.
Solovyov was stunned by the news of the stipend. He knew nothing of the efforts being made by the French woman on his behalf and felt genuinely happy when he heard about the gift. The phrase saying the stipend was designed for a modest life could not cloud his joy. On the one hand, Solovyov’s life had always been modest, but on the other, he supposed, justifiably, that his notions of modesty differed mightily from his benefactors’ notions. As informed as they were, they could not even guess the extent of the modesty of a scholar’s life in Russia.
‘You should go to Yalta,’ Dupont told the scholarship recipient. ‘I’ve looked high and low at everything in the capitals, but I’ve never made it all the way to Crimea. If there’s something new to be found anywhere, it’ll be in Yalta.’
She said that at the beginning of July. Solovyov spent about three weeks systematizing his papers. During that process, it emerged that there would be a conference (that, by some strange coincidence, was supposed to be funded by the S.M. Solovyov Foundation) in Kerch in August—General Larionov as Text—and so, despite the event’s quirky title, Solovyov sent in his topic for a paper.
Feeling prepared for work under Crimean conditions, Solovyov appealed to the director of the institute for permission to travel for his work. Judging by the director’s pensive chewing at the temple of his eyeglasses, Solovyov grasped that such work-related travel was not being granted to him uncontested. And here the young scholar began feeling awkward when he remembered, for the first time in three weeks, that Yalta was a resort city. Solovyov began explaining his motives for the trip with a vehemence unusual for an academic institution (in his agitation, he even forgot to mention the conference) but the director relaxed his toothy grip on his glasses and waved them in the air in agreement. After all, in recent years, work-related travel had been unfinanced due to lack of funds and involved nothing more than permission to be absent from the institute. Solovyov received that permission.