On the following day Dounika, bare-headed and barefooted, came running
to Sanine who was gardening.
“Vladimir Petrovitch,” she exclaimed, and her silly face had a scared
look, “the officers have come, and they wish to speak to you.” She
repeated the words like a lesson that she had learnt by heart.
Sanine was not surprised. He had been expecting a challenge from
Sarudine.
“Are they very anxious to see me?” he asked in a jocular tone.
Dounika, however, must have had an inkling of something dreadful, for
instead of hiding her face she gazed at Sanine in sympathetic
bewilderment.
Sanine propped his spade against a tree, tightened his belt and walked
towards the house with his usual jaunty step.
“What fools they are! What absolute idiots!” he said to himself, as he
thought of Sarudine and his seconds. By this no insult was intended; it
was just the sincere expression of his own opinion.
Passing through the house, he saw Lida coming out of her room. She
stood on the threshold; her face white as a shroud, and her eyes,
anxious and distressful. Her lips moved, yet no sound escaped from
them. At that moment she felt that she was the guiltiest, most
miserable woman in all the world.
In an arm-chair in the morning-room sat Maria Ivanovna, looking utterly
helpless and panic-stricken. Her cap that resembled a cock’s comb was
poised sideways on her head, and she gazed in terror at Sanine, unable
to utter a word. He smiled at her and was inclined to stop for a
moment, yet he preferred to proceed.
Tanaroff and Von Deitz were sitting in the drawing-room bolt upright,
with their heads close together, as if in their white tunics and tight
riding-breeches they felt extremely uncomfortable. As Sanine entered
they both rose slowly and with some hesitation, apparently uncertain
how to behave.
“Good day, gentlemen,” said Sanine in a loud voice, as he held out his
hand.
Von Deitz hesitated, but Tanaroff bowed in such an exaggerated way that
for an instant Sanine caught sight of the closely cropped hair at the
back of his neck.
“How can I be of service to you?” continued Sanine, who had noticed
Tanaroff’s excessive politeness, and was surprised at the assurance
with which he played his part in this absurd comedy.
Von Deitz drew himself up and sought to give an expression of _hauteur_
to his horse-like countenance; unsuccessfully, however, owing to his
confusion. Strange to say, it was Tanaroff, usually so stupid and shy,
who addressed Sanine in firm, decisive fashion.
“Our friend, Victor Sergejevitsch Sarudine has done us the honour of
asking us to represent him in a certain matter which concerns you and
himself.” The sentence was delivered with automatic precision.
“Oho!” said Sanine with comic gravity, as he opened his mouth wide.
“Yes, sir,” continued Tanaroff, frowning slightly. “He considers that
your behaviour towards him was not—er—quite …”
“Yes, yes, I understand,” interrupted Sanine, losing patience.
“I very nearly kicked him out of the house, so that ‘not—er—quite’ is
hardly the right way of putting it.”
The speech was lost upon Tanaroff, who went on:
“Well, sir, he insists on your taking back your words.”
“Yes, yes,” chimed in the lanky Von Deitz, who kept shifting the
position of his feet, like a stork.
Sanine smiled.
“Take them back? How can I do that? ‘As uncaged bird is spoken word!’”
Too perplexed to reply, Tanaroff looked Sanine full in the face.
“What evil eyes he has!” thought the latter.
“This is no joking matter,” began Tanaroff, looking flushed and angry.
“Are you prepared to retract your words, or are you not?”
Sanine at first was silent.
“What an utter idiot!” he thought, as he took a chair and sat down.
“Possibly I might be willing to retract my words in order to please and
pacify Sarudine,” he began, speaking seriously, “the more so as I
attach not the slightest importance to them. But, in the first place,
Sarudine, being a fool, would not understand my motive, and, instead of
holding his tongue, would brag about it. In the second place, I
thoroughly dislike Sarudine, so that, under these circumstances, I
don’t see that there is any sense in my retractation.”
“Very well, then…” hissed Tanaroff through his teeth.
Von Deitz stared in amazement, and his long face turned yellow.
“In that case…” began Tanaroff, in a louder and would-be threatening
tone.
Sanine felt fresh hatred for the fellow as he looked at his narrow
forehead and his tight breeches.
“Yes, yes, I know all about it,” he interrupted. “But one thing, let me
tell you; I don’t intend to fight Sarudine.”
Von Deitz turned round sharply.
Tanaroff drew himself up, and said in a tone of contempt.
“Why not, pray?”
Sanine burst out laughing. His hatred had vanished as swiftly as it had
come.
“Well, this is why. First of all, I have no wish to kill Sarudine, and
secondly, I have even less desire to be killed myself.”
“But …” began Tanaroff scornfully.
“I won’t, and there’s an end of it!” said Sanine, as he rose. “Why,
indeed? I don’t feel inclined to give you any explanation. That were
too much to expect, really!”
Tanaroff’s profound contempt for the man who refused to fight a duel
was blended with the implicit belief that only an officer could
possibly possess the pluck and the fine sense of honour necessary to do
such a thing. That is why Sanine’s refusal did not surprise him in the
least; in fact, he was secretly pleased.
“That is your affair,” he said, in an unmistakably contemptuous tone,
“but I must warn you that …”
Sanine laughed.
“Yes, yes, I know, but I advise Sarudine not to …”
“Not to—what?” asked Tanaroff, as he picked up his cap from the
window-sill.
“I advise him not to touch me, or else I’ll give him such a thrashing
that …”
“Look here!” cried Von Deitz, in a fury. “I’m not going to stand this…
You … you are simply laughing at us. Don’t you understand that to
refuse to accept a challenge is … is …”
He was as red as a lobster, his eyes were starting from his head, and
there was foam on his lips.
Sanine looked curiously at his mouth, and said:
“And this is the man whose calls himself a disciple of Tolstoi!”
Von Deitz winced, and tossed his head.
“I must beg of you,” he spluttered, ashamed all the while at thus
addressing a man with whom till now he had been on friendly terms. “I
must beg of you not to mention that. It has nothing whatever to do with
this matter.”
“Hasn’t it! though?” replied Sanine. “It has a great deal to do with
it.”
“Yes, but I must ask you,” croaked Von Deitz, becoming hysterical.
“Really, this is too much! In short …”
“Oh! That’ll do!” replied Sanine, drawing back in disgust from Von
Deitz, from whose mouth saliva spurted. “Think what you like; I don’t
care. And tell Sarudine that he is an ass!”
“You’ve no right, sir, I say, you’ve no right,” shouted Von Deitz.
“Very good, very good,” said Tanaroff, quite satisfied
“Let us go.”
“No!” cried the other, plaintively, as he waved his lanky arms. “How
dare he? … what business! … It’s simply …”
Sanine looked at him, and, making a contemptuous gesture, walked out of
the room.
“We will deliver your message to our brother-officer,” said Tanaroff,
calling after him.
“As you please,” said Sanine, without looking round. He could hear
Tanaroff trying to pacify the enraged Von Deitz, and thought to
himself, “As a rule the fellow’s an utter fool, but put him on his
hobby-horse, and he becomes quite sensible.”
“The matter cannot be allowed to rest thus!” cried the implacable Von
Deitz, as they went out.
From the door of her room, Lida gently called “Volodja!”
Sanine stood still.
“What is it?”
“Come here; I want to speak to you.”
Sanine entered Lida’s little room where, owing to the trees in front of
the window, soft green twilight reigned. There was a feminine odour of
perfume and powder.
“How nice it is in here,” said Sanine, with a sigh of relief.
Lida stood facing the window, and green reflected lights from the
garden flickered round her cheeks and shoulders.
“What do you want with me?” he asked kindly.
Lida was silent, and she breathed heavily.
“Why, what is the matter?”
“Are you—not going to fight a duel?” she asked hoarsely, without
looking round.
“No.”
Lida was silent.
“Well, what of that?” said Sanine.
Lida’s chin trembled. She turned sharply round and murmured quickly:
“I can’t understand that, I can’t…”
“Oh!” exclaimed Sanine, frowning. “Well, I’m very sorry for you.”
Human stupidity and malice surrounded him on all sides. To find such
qualities alike in bad folk and good folk, in handsome people as in
ugly, proved utterly disheartening.
He turned on his heels and went out.
Lida watched him go, and then, holding her head with both hands, she
flung herself upon the bed. The long black plait lay at full length
along the white coverlet. At this moment Lida, strong, supple and
beautiful in spite of her despair, looked younger, more full of life
than ever. Through the window came warmth and radiance from the garden,
and the room was bright and pleasant. Yet of all this Lida saw nothing.