The cavalier in the blue glasses, who was called Death, started off with
the host’s daughter. Steltchínsky had invented the two designations.
“Tell me, please, who is that Mr. Steltchínsky?”--inquired Vladímir
Sergyéitch of Nadézhda Alexyéevna, as soon as the latter returned to her
place.
“He is attached to the Governor’s service, and is a very agreeable man.
He does not belong in these parts. He is somewhat of a coxcomb, but that
runs in the blood of all of them. I hope you have not had any
explanations with him on account of the mazurka?”
“None whatever, I assure you,”--replied Vladímir Sergyéitch, with a
little hesitation.
“I’m such a forgetful creature! You can’t imagine!”
“I am bound to be delighted with your forgetfulness: it has afforded me
the pleasure of dancing with you to-night.”
Nadézhda Alexyéevna gazed at him, with her eyes slightly narrowed.
“Really? You find it agreeable to dance with me?”
Vladímir Sergyéitch answered her with a compliment. Little by little he
got to talking freely. Nadézhda Alexyéevna was always charming, and
particularly so that evening; Vladímir Sergyéitch thought her
enchanting. The thought of the duel on the morrow, while it fretted his
nerves, imparted brilliancy and vivacity to his remarks; under its
influence he permitted himself slight exaggerations in the expression of
his feelings.... “I don’t care!” he thought. Something mysterious,
involuntarily sad, something elegantly-hopeless peeped forth in all his
words, in his suppressed sighs, in his glances which suddenly darkened.
At last, he got to chattering to such a degree that he began to discuss
love, women, his future, the manner in which he conceived of happiness,
what he demanded of Fate.... He explained himself allegorically, by
hints. On the eve of his possible death, Vladímir Sergyéitch flirted
with Nadézhda Alexyéevna.
She listened to him attentively, laughed, shook her head, now disputed
with him, again pretended to be incredulous.... The conversation,
frequently interrupted by the approach of ladies and cavaliers, took a
rather strange turn toward the end.... Vladímir Sergyéitch had already
begun to interrogate Nadézhda Alexyéevna about herself, her character,
her sympathies. At first she parried the questions with a jest, then,
suddenly, and quite unexpectedly to Vladímir Sergyéitch, she asked him
when he was going away.
“Whither?”--he said, in surprise.
“To your own home.”
“To Sásovo?”
“No, home, to your village, a hundred versts from here.”
Vladímir Sergyéitch cast down his eyes.
“I should like to go as promptly as possible,”--he said with a
preoccupied look on his face.--“To-morrow, I think ... if I am alive.
For I have business on hand. But why have you suddenly taken it into
your head to ask me about that?”
“Because I have!”--retorted Nadézhda Alexyéevna.
“But what is the reason?”
“Because I have!”--she repeated.--“I am surprised at the curiosity of a
man who is going away to-morrow, and to-day wants to find out about my
character....”
“But, pardon me ...” began Vladímir Sergyéitch....
“Ah, here, by the way ... read this,”--Nadézhda Alexyéevna interrupted
him with a laugh, as she handed him a motto-slip of paper from bonbons
which she had just taken from a small table that stood near by, as she
rose to meet Márya Pávlovna, who had stopped in front of her with
another lady.
Márya Pávlovna was dancing with Piótr Alexyéitch. Her face was covered
with a flush, and was flaming, but not cheerful.
Vladímir Sergyéitch glanced at the slip of paper; thereon, in wretched
French letters, was printed:
“_Qui me néglige me perd._”
He raised his eyes, and encountered Steltchínsky’s gaze bent upon him.
Vladímir Sergyéitch smiled constrainedly, threw his elbow over the back
of the chair, and crossed his legs--as much as to say: “I don’t care for
thee!”
The fiery artillery officer brought Nadézhda Alexyéevna up to her chair
with a dash, pirouetted gently in front of her, bowed, clicked his
spurs, and departed. She sat down.
“Allow me to inquire,”--began Vladímir Sergyéitch, with pauses between
his words,--“in what sense I am to understand this billet?...”
“But what in the world does it say?”--said Nadézhda Alexyéevna.--“Ah,
yes! ‘_Qui me néglige me perd._’ Well! that’s an admirable rule of life,
which may be of service at every step. In order to make a success of
anything, no matter what, one must not neglect anything whatsoever....
One must endeavour to obtain everything; perhaps one will obtain
something. But I am ridiculous. I ... I am talking to you, a practical
man, about rules of life....”
Nadézhda Alexyéevna burst into a laugh, and Vladímir Sergyéitch strove,
in vain, to the very end of the mazurka, to renew their previous
conversation. Nadézhda Alexyéevna avoided it with the perversity of a
capricious child. Vladímir Sergyéitch talked to her about his
sentiments, and she either did not reply to him at all, or else she
called his attention to the gowns of the ladies, to the ridiculous
faces of some of the men, to the skill with which her brother danced, to
the beauty of Márya Pávlovna; she began to talk about music, about the
day before, about Egór Kapítonitch and his wife, Matryóna Márkovna ...
and only at the very close of the mazurka, when Vladímir Sergyéitch was
beginning to make her his farewell bow, did she say, with an ironical
smile on her lips and in her eyes:
“So you are positively going to-morrow?”
“Yes; and very far away, perhaps,”--said Vladímir Sergyéitch,
significantly.
“I wish you a happy journey.”
And Nadézhda Alexyéevna swiftly approached her brother, merrily
whispered something in his ear, then asked aloud:
“Grateful to me? Yes? art thou not? otherwise he would have asked _her_
for the mazurka.”
He shrugged his shoulders, and said:
“Nevertheless, nothing will come of it....”
She led him off into the drawing-room.
“The flirt!”--thought Vladímir Sergyéitch, and taking his hat in his
hand, he slipped unnoticed from the hall, hunted up his footman, to whom
he had previously given orders to hold himself in readiness, and was
already donning his overcoat, when suddenly, to his intense surprise,
the lackey informed him that it was impossible to depart, as the
coachman, in some unknown manner, had drunk to intoxication, and that
it was utterly impossible to arouse him. After cursing the coachman in a
remarkably brief but extremely powerful manner (this took place in the
anteroom, outside witnesses were present), and informing his footman
that if the coachman was not in proper condition by daylight to-morrow,
then no one in the world would be capable of picturing to himself what
the result would be, Vladímir Sergyéitch returned to the hall, and
requested the major-domo to allot him a chamber, without waiting for
supper, which was already prepared in the drawing-room. The master of
the house suddenly popped up, as it were, out of the floor, at Vladímir
Sergyéitch’s very elbow (Gavríla Stepánitch wore boots without heels,
and therefore moved about without the slightest sound), and began to
hold him back, assuring him that there would be caviar of the very best
quality for supper; but Vladímir Sergyéitch excused himself on the plea
of a headache. Half an hour later he was lying in a small bed, under a
short coverlet, and trying to get to sleep.
But he could not get to sleep. Toss as he would from side to side,
strive as he would to think of something else, the figure of
Steltchínsky importunately towered up before him.... Now he is taking
aim ... now he has fired.... “Astákhoff is killed,” says some one.
Vladímir Sergyéitch could not be called a brave man, yet he was no
coward; but even the thought of a duel, no matter with whom, had never
once entered his head.... Fight! with his good sense, peaceable
disposition, respect for the conventions, dreams of future prosperity,
and an advantageous marriage! If it had not been a question of his own
person, he would have laughed heartily, so stupid and ridiculous did
this affair seem to him. Fight! with whom, and about what?!
“Phew! damn it! what nonsense!”--he exclaimed involuntarily
aloud.--“Well, and what if he really does kill me?”--he continued his
meditations;--“I must take measures, make arrangements.... Who will
mourn for me?”
And in vexation he closed his eyes, which were staringly-wide open, drew
the coverlet up around his neck ... but could not get to sleep,
nevertheless....
Dawn was already breaking, and exhausted with the fever of insomnia,
Vladímir Sergyéitch was beginning to fall into a doze, when suddenly he
felt some weight or other on his feet. He opened his eyes.... On his bed
sat Véretyeff.
Vladímir Sergyéitch was greatly amazed, especially when he noticed that
Véretyeff had no coat on, that beneath his unbuttoned shirt his bare
breast was visible, that his hair was tumbling over his forehead, and
that his very face appeared changed. Vladímir Sergyéitch got half-way
out of bed....
“Allow me to ask ...” he began, throwing his hands apart....
“I have come to you,”--said Véretyeff, in a hoarse voice;--“excuse me
for coming in such a guise.... We have been drinking a bit yonder. I
wanted to put you at ease. I said to myself: ‘Yonder lies a gentleman
who, in all probability, cannot get to sleep.--Let’s help
him.’--Understand; you are not going to fight to-morrow, and can go to
sleep....”
Vladímir Sergyéitch was still more amazed than before.
“What was that you said?”--he muttered.
“Yes; that has all been adjusted,”--went on Véretyeff;--“that gentleman
from the banks of the Visla ... Steltchínsky ... makes his apologies to
you ... to-morrow you will receive a letter.... I repeat to you:--all is
settled.... Snore away.”
So saying, Véretyeff rose, and directed his course, with unsteady steps,
toward the door.
“But permit me, permit me,”--began Vladímir Sergyéitch.--“How could you
have found out, and how can I believe....”
“Akh! you think that I ... you know ...” (and he reeled forward
slightly).... “I tell you ... he will send a letter to you to-morrow....
You do not arouse any particular sympathy in me, but magnanimity is my
weak side. But what’s the use of talking.... It’s all nonsense
anyway.... But confess,”--he added, with a wink;--“you were pretty well
scared, weren’t you, hey?”
Vladímir Sergyéitch flew into a rage.
“Permit me, in conclusion, my dear sir,”--said he....
“Well, good, good,”--Véretyeff interrupted him with a good-natured
smile.--“Don’t fly into a passion. Evidently you are not aware that no
ball ever takes place without that sort of thing. That’s the established
rule. It never amounts to anything. Who feels like exposing his brow?
Well, and why not bluster, hey? at newcomers, for instance? _In vino
veritas._ However, neither you nor I know Latin. But I see by your face
that you are sleepy. I wish you good night, Mr. Positive Man,
well-intentioned mortal. Accept this wish from another mortal who isn’t
worth a brass farthing himself. _Addio, mio caro!_”
And Véretyeff left the room.
“The devil knows what this means!”--exclaimed Vladímir Sergyéitch, after
a brief pause, banging his fist into the pillow;--“no one ever heard the
like!... this must be cleared up! I won’t tolerate this!”
Nevertheless, five minutes later he was already sleeping softly and
profoundly.... Danger escaped fills the soul of man with sweetness, and
softens it.
This is what had taken place before that unanticipated nocturnal
interview between Véretyeff and Vladímir Sergyéitch.
In Gavríla Stepánitch’s house lived his grand-nephew, who occupied
bachelor quarters in the lower story. When there were balls on hand, the
young men dropped in at his rooms between the dances, to smoke a hasty
pipe, and after supper they assembled there for a friendly
drinking-bout. A good many of the guests had dropped in on him that
night. Steltchínsky and Véretyeff were among the number; Iván Ílitch,
The Folding Soul, also wandered in there in the wake of the others. They
brewed a punch. Although Iván Ílitch had promised Astákhoff that he
would not mention the impending duel to any one whomsoever, yet, when
Véretyeff accidentally asked him what he had been talking about with
that glum fellow (Véretyeff never alluded to Astákhoff otherwise), The
Folding Soul could not contain himself, and repeated his entire
conversation with Vladímir Sergyéitch, word for word.
Véretyeff burst out laughing, then lapsed into meditation.
“But with whom is he going to fight?”--he asked.
“That’s what I cannot say,”--returned Iván Ílitch.
“At all events, with whom has he been talking?”
“With different people.... With Egór Kapítonitch. It cannot be that he
is going to fight with him?’
Véretyeff went away from Iván Ílitch.
So, then, they made a punch, and began to drink. Véretyeff was sitting
in the most conspicuous place. Jolly and profligate, he held the
pre-eminence in gatherings of young men. He threw off his waistcoat and
neckcloth. He was asked to sing; he took a guitar and sang several
songs. Heads began to wax rather hot; the young men began to propose
toasts. Suddenly Steltchínsky, all red in the face, sprang upon the
table, and elevating his glass high above his head, exclaimed loudly:
“To the health ... of I know whom,”--he hastily caught himself up, drank
off his liquor, and smashed his glass on the floor, adding:--“May my foe
be shivered into just such pieces to-morrow!”
Véretyeff, who had long had his eye on him, swiftly raised his head....
“Steltchínsky,”--said he,--“in the first place, get off the table;
that’s indecorous, and you have very bad boots into the bargain; and, in
the second place, come hither, I will tell thee something.”
He led him aside.
“Hearken, brother; I know that thou art going to fight to-morrow with
that gentleman from Petersburg.”
Steltchínsky started.
“How ... who told thee?”
“I tell thee it is so. And I also know on whose account thou art going
to fight.”
“Who is it? I am curious to know.”
“Akh, get out with thee, thou Talleyrand! My sister’s, of course. Come,
come, don’t pretend to be surprised. It gives you a goose-like
expression. I can’t imagine how this has come about, but it is a fact.
That will do, my good fellow,”--pursued Véretyeff.--“What’s the use of
shamming? I know, you see, that you have been paying court to her this
long time.”
“But, nevertheless, that does not prove....”
“Stop, if you please. But hearken to what I am about to say to you. I
won’t permit that duel under any circumstances whatsoever. Dost
understand? All this folly will descend upon my sister. Excuse me: so
long as I am alive ... that shall not be. As for thou and I, we shall
perish--we’re on the road to it; but she must live a long time yet, and
live happily. Yes, I swear,”--he added, with sudden heat,--“that I will
betray all others, even those who might be ready to sacrifice everything
for me, but I will not permit any one to touch a single hair of her
head.”
Steltchínsky emitted a forced laugh.
“Thou art drunk, my dear fellow, and art raving ... that’s all.”
“And art not thou, I’d like to know? But whether I am drunk or not, is a
matter of not the slightest consequence. But I’m talking business. Thou
shalt not fight with that gentleman, I guarantee that. And what in the
world possessed thee to have anything to do with him? Hast grown
jealous, pray? Well, those speak the truth who say that men in love are
stupid! Why she danced with him simply in order to prevent his
inviting.... Well, but that’s not the point. But this duel shall not
take place.”
“H’m! I should like to see how thou wilt prevent me?”
“Well, then, this way: if thou dost not instantly give me thy word to
renounce this duel, I will fight with thee myself.”
“Really?”
“My dear fellow, entertain no doubt on that score. I will insult thee on
the spot, my little friend, in the presence of every one, in the most
fantastic manner, and then fight thee across a handkerchief, if thou
wilt. But I think that will be disagreeable to thee, for many reasons,
hey?”
Steltchínsky flared up, began to say that this was _intimidation_,[28]
that he would not permit any one to meddle with his affairs, that he
would not stick at anything ... and wound up by submitting, and
renouncing all attempts on the life of Vladímir Sergyéitch. Véretyeff
embraced him, and half an hour had not elapsed, before the two had
already drunk Brüderschaft for the tenth time,--that is to say, they
drank with arms interlocked.... The young man who had acted as
floor-manager of the ball also drank Brüderschaft with them, and at
first clung close to them, but finally fell asleep in the most innocent
manner, and lay for a long time on his back in a condition of complete
insensibility.... The expression of his tiny, pale face was both amusing
and pitiful.... Good heavens! what would those fashionable ladies, his
acquaintances, have said, if they had beheld him in that condition! But,
luckily for him, he was not acquainted with a single fashionable lady.
Iván Ílitch also distinguished himself on that night. First he amazed
the guests by suddenly striking up: “In the country a Baron once dwelt.”
“The hawfinch! The hawfinch has begun to sing!”--shouted all. “When has
it ever happened that a hawfinch has sung by night?”
“As though I knew only one song,”--retorted Iván Ílitch, who was heated
with liquor;--“I know some more, too.”
“Come, come, come, show us your art.”
Iván Ílitch maintained silence for a while, and suddenly struck up in a
bass voice: “Krambambuli,[29] bequest of our fathers!” but so
incoherently and strangely, that a general outburst of laughter
immediately drowned his voice, and he fell silent. When all had
dispersed, Véretyeff betook himself to Vladímir Sergyéitch, and the
brief conversation already reported, ensued between them.
On the following day, Vladímir Sergyéitch drove off to his own Sásovo
very early. He passed the whole morning in a state of excitement, came
near mistaking a passing merchant for a second, and breathed freely only
when his lackey brought him a letter from Steltchínsky. Vladímir
Sergyéitch perused that letter several times,--it was very adroitly
worded.... Steltchínsky began with the words: “_La nuit porte conseil,
Monsieur_,”--made no excuses whatever, because, in his opinion, he had
not insulted his antagonist in any way; but admitted that he had been
somewhat irritated on the preceding evening, and wound up with the
statement that he held himself entirely at the disposition of Mr.
Astákhoff (“_de M-r Astákhoff_”), but no longer demanded satisfaction
himself. After having composed and despatched a reply, which was
filled, simultaneously with courtesy which bordered on playfulness, and
a sense of dignity, in which, however, no trace of braggadocio was
perceptible, Vladímir Sergyéitch sat down to dinner, rubbing his hands,
ate with great satisfaction, and immediately afterward set off, without
having even sent relays on in advance. The road along which he drove
passed at a distance of four versts from Ipátoff’s manor.... Vladímir
Sergyéitch looked at it.
“Farewell, region of dead calm!”--he said with a smile.
The images of Nadézhda Alexyéevna and Márya Pávlovna presented
themselves for a moment to his imagination; he dismissed them with a
wave of his hand, and sank into a doze.