Vassily stamped.
'Olga Ivanovna? Olga?...'
'Yes... your betrothed...'
'My betrothed... Vassily Ivanovitch... she... she... Why, I never wish
to see her again,' cried Pavel Afanasievitch. 'Good-bye to her for ever!
What do you take me for? I'm being duped... I'm being duped... Olga
Ivanovna, how wrong of you, have you no shame?...' (Tears gushed from
his eyes.) 'Thanks, Vassily Ivanovitch, thanks very much... I never
wish to see her again now! no! no! don't speak of her.... Ah, merciful
Heavens! to think I have lived to see this! Oh, very well, very well!'
'That's enough nonsense,' Vassily Ivanovitch observed coldly. 'Remember,
you've given me your word: the wedding's to-morrow.'
'No, that it won't be! Enough of that, Vassily Ivanovitch. I say again,
what do you take me for? You do me too much honour. I'm humbly obliged.
Excuse me.'
'As you please!' retorted Vassily. 'Get your sword.'
'Sword... what for?'
'What for?... I'll show you what for.'
Vassily drew out his fine, flexible French sword and bent it a little
against the floor.
'You want... to fight... me?'
'Precisely so.'
'But, Vassily Ivanovitch, put yourself in my place! How can I, only
think, after what you have just told me.... I'm a man of honour, Vassily
Ivanovitch, a nobleman.'
'You're a nobleman, you're a man of honour, so you'll be so good as to
fight with me.'
'Vassily Ivanovitch!'
'You are frightened, I think, Mr. Rogatchov.'
'I'm not in the least frightened, Vassily Ivanovitch. You thought you
would frighten me, Vassily Ivanovitch. I'll scare him, you thought, he's
a coward, and he'll agree to anything directly... No, Vassily
Ivanovitch, I am a nobleman as much as you are, though I've not had city
breeding, and you won't succeed in frightening me into anything, excuse
me.'
'Very good,' retorted Vassily; 'where is your sword then?'
'Eroshka!' shouted Pavel Afanasievitch. A servant came in.
'Get me the sword--there--you know, in the loft... make haste....'
Eroshka went out. Pavel Afanasievitch suddenly became exceedingly pale,
hurriedly took off his dressing-gown, put on a reddish coat with big
paste buttons... twisted a cravat round his neck... Vassily looked at
him, and twiddled the fingers of his right hand.
'Well, are we to fight then, Pavel Afanasievitch?'
'Let's fight, if we must fight,' replied Rogatchov, and hurriedly
buttoned up his shirt.
'Ay, Pavel Afanasievitch, you take my advice, marry her... what is it to
you... And believe me, I'll...'
'No, Vassily Ivanovitch,' Rogatchov interrupted him. 'You'll kill me or
maim me, I know, but I'm not going to lose my honour; if I'm to die
then I must die.'
Eroshka came in, and trembling, gave Rogatchov a wretched old sword in a
torn leather scabbard. In those days all noblemen wore swords with
powder, but in the steppes they only put on powder twice a year. Eroshka
moved away to the door and burst out crying. Pavel Afanasievitch pushed
him out of the room.
'But, Vassily Ivanovitch,' he observed with some embarrassment, 'I can't
fight with you on the spot: allow me to put off our duel till to-morrow.
My father is not at home, and it would be as well for me to put my
affairs in order to--to be ready for anything.'
'I see you're beginning to feel frightened again, sir.'
'No, no, Vassily Ivanovitch; but consider yourself...'
'Listen!' shouted Lutchinov, 'you drive me out of patience.... Either
give me your word to marry her at once, or fight...or I'll thrash you
with my cane like a coward,--do you understand?'
'Come into the garden,' Rogatchov answered through his teeth.
But all at once the door opened, and the old nurse, Efimovna, utterly
distracted, broke into the room, fell on her knees before Rogatchov, and
clasped his legs....
'My little master!' she wailed, 'my nursling... what is it you are
about? Will you be the death of us poor wretches, your honour? Sure,
he'll kill you, darling! Only you say the word, you say the word, and
we'll make an end of him, the insolent fellow.... Pavel Afanasievitch,
my baby-boy, for the love of God!'
A number of pale, excited faces showed in the door...there was even the
red beard of the village elder...
'Let me go, Efimovna, let me go!' muttered Rogatchov.
'I won't, my own, I won't. What are you about, sir, what are you about?
What'll Afanasey Lukitch say? Why, he'll drive us all out of the light
of day.... Why are you fellows standing still? Take the uninvited guest
in hand and show him out of the house, so that not a trace be left of
him.'
'Rogatchov!' Vassily Ivanovitch shouted menacingly.
'You are crazy, Efimovna, you are shaming me, come, come...' said Pavel
Afanasievitch. 'Go away, go away, in God's name, and you others, off
with you, do you hear?...'
Vassily Ivanovitch moved swiftly to the open window, took out a small
silver whistle, blew lightly... Bourcier answered from close by.
Lutchinov turned at once to Pavel Afanasievitch.
'What's to be the end of this farce?'
'Vassily Ivanovitch, I will come to you to-morrow. What can I do with
this crazy old woman?...'
'Oh, I see it's no good wasting words on you,' said Vassily, and he
swiftly raised his cane...
Pavel Afanasievitch broke loose, pushed Efimovna away, snatched up the
sword, and rushed through another door into the garden.
Vassily dashed after him. They ran into a wooden summerhouse, painted
cunningly after the Chinese fashion, shut themselves in, and drew their
swords. Rogatchov had once taken lessons in fencing, but now he was
scarcely capable of drawing a sword properly. The blades crossed.
Vassily was obviously playing with Rogatchov's sword. Pavel
Afanasievitch was breathless and pale, and gazed in consternation into
Lutchinov's face.
Meanwhile, screams were heard in the garden; a crowd of people were
running to the summerhouse. Suddenly Rogatchov heard the heart-rending
wail of old age...he recognised the voice of his father. Afanasey
Lukitch, bare-headed, with dishevelled hair, was running in front of
them all, frantically waving his hands....
With a violent and unexpected turn of the blade Vassily sent the sword
flying out of Pavel Afanasievitch's hand.
'Marry her, my boy,' he said to him: 'give over this foolery!'
'I won't marry her,' whispered Rogatchov, and he shut his eyes, and
shook all over.
Afanasey Lukitch began banging at the door of the summerhouse.
'You won't?' shouted Vassily.
Rogatchov shook his head.
'Well, damn you, then!'
Poor Pavel Afanasievitch fell dead: Lutchinov's sword stabbed him to the
heart... The door gave way; old Rogatchov burst into the summerhouse,
but Vassily had already jumped out of window...
Two hours later he went into Olga Ivanovna's room... She rushed in
terror to meet him... He bowed to her in silence; took out his sword and
pierced Pavel Afanasievitch's portrait in the place of the heart. Olga
shrieked and fell unconscious on the floor... Vassily went in to Anna
Pavlovna. He found her in the oratory. 'Mother,' said he, 'we are
avenged.' The poor old woman shuddered and went on praying.
Within a week Vassily had returned to Petersburg, and two years later he
came back stricken with paralysis--tongue-tied. He found neither Anna
Pavlovna nor Olga living, and soon after died himself in the arms of
Yuditch, who fed him like a child, and was the only one who could
understand his incoherent stuttering.
1846.