Kabanata Kabanata 4 · The Duel.

We soon became acquainted. Shvabrin was

by no means a fool. His conversation was witty and entertaining. With

great liveliness he described to me the family of the Commandant, his

society, and the place to which fate had conducted me. I was laughing

with all my heart when the old soldier who had been mending his uniform

in the Commandant’s ante-chamber, came to me, and, in the name of

Vassilissa Egorovna, invited me to dinner. Shvabrin declared that he

would go with me.

On approaching the Commandant’s house, we perceived on the square

about twenty old soldiers, with long pig-tails and three-cornered hats.

They were standing to the front. Before them stood the Commandant, a

tall and sprightly old man, in a nightcap and flannel dressing-gown.

Observing us, he came forward towards us, said a few kind words to me,

and then went on again with the drilling of his men. We were going to

stop to watch the evolutions, but he requested us to go to Vassilissa

Egorovna, promising to join us in a little while. “Here,” he added,

“there is nothing for you to see.”

Vassilissa Egorovna received us with unfeigned gladness and simplicity,

and treated me as if she had known me all my life. The pensioner and

Palashka spread the tablecloth.

“What is detaining my Ivan Kouzmitch so long to-day?” said the

Commandant’s wife. “Palashka, go and call your master to dinner.... But

where is Masha?”[6]

At that moment there entered the room a young girl of about eighteen

years of age, with a round, rosy face, and light brown hair, brushed

smoothly back behind her ears, which were tinged with a deep blush.

She did not produce a very favourable impression upon me at the first

glance. I regarded her with prejudiced eyes. Shvabrin had described

Masha, the Captain’s daughter, as a perfect idiot. Maria Ivanovna[7]

sat down in a corner and began to sew. Meanwhile, the cabbage-soup was

brought in. Vassilissa Egorovna, not seeing her husband, sent Palashka

after him a second time.

“Tell your master that the guests are waiting, and that the soup is

getting cold. Thank Heaven, the drill will not run away! he will have

plenty of time to shout himself hoarse.”

The Captain soon made his appearance, accompanied by the little

one-eyed old man.

“What is the meaning of this, little father?” said his wife to him;

“the dinner has been ready a long time, and you would not come.”

“Why, you see, Vassilissa Egorovna,” said Ivan Kouzmitch, “I was

occupied with my duties; I was teaching my little soldiers.”

“Nonsense!” replied his wife; “it is all talk about your teaching

the soldiers. The service does not suit them, and you yourself don’t

understand anything about it. It would be better for you to stay at

home and pray to God. My dear guests, pray take your places at the

table.”

We sat down to dine. Vassilissa Egorovna was not silent for a single

moment, and she overwhelmed me with questions. Who were my parents?

Were they living? Where did they live? How much were they worth? On

hearing that my father owned three hundred souls:[8]

“Really now!” she exclaimed; “well, there are some rich people in the

world! As for us, my little father, we have only our one servant-girl,

Palashka; but, thank God, we manage to get along well enough! There

is only one thing that we are troubled about. Masha is an eligible

girl, but what has she got for a marriage portion? A clean comb, a

hand-broom, and three copecks--Heaven have pity upon her!--to pay for a

bath. If she can find a good man, all very well; if not, she will have

to be an old maid.”

I glanced at Maria Ivanovna; she was blushing all over, and tears

were even falling into her plate. I began to feel pity for her, and I

hastened to change the conversation.

“I have heard,” said I, as appropriately as I could, “that the

Bashkirs are assembling to make an attack upon your fortress.”

“And from whom did you hear that, my little father?” asked Ivan

Kouzmitch.

“They told me so in Orenburg,” I replied.

“All nonsense!” said the Commandant; “we have heard nothing about them

for a long time. The Bashkirs are a timid lot, and the Kirghises have

learnt a lesson. Don’t be alarmed, they will not attack us; but if they

should venture to do so, we will teach them such a lesson that they

will not make another move for the next ten years.”

“And are you not afraid,” continued I, turning to the Captain’s wife,

“to remain in a fortress exposed to so many dangers?”

“Habit, my little father,” she replied. “It is twenty years ago since

they transferred us from the regiment to this place, and you cannot

imagine how these accursed heathens used to terrify me. If I caught a

glimpse of their hairy caps now and then, or if I heard their yells,

will you believe it, my father, my heart would leap almost into my

mouth. But now I am so accustomed to it that I would not move out of my

place if anyone came to tell me that the villains were prowling round

the fortress.”

“Vassilissa Egorovna is a very courageous lady,” observed Shvabrin

earnestly; “Ivan Kouzmitch can bear witness to that.”

“Yes, I believe you,” said Ivan Kouzmitch; “the wife is not one of the

timid ones.”

“And Maria Ivanovna,” I asked, “is she as brave as you?”

“Masha brave?” replied her mother. “No, Masha is a coward. Up to the

present time she has never been able to hear the report of a gun

without trembling all over. Two years ago, when Ivan Kouzmitch took the

idea into his head to fire off our cannon on my name-day,[9] my little

dove was so frightened that she nearly died through terror. Since then

we have never fired off the accursed cannon.”

We rose from the table. The Captain and his wife went to indulge in

a nap, and I accompanied Shvabrin to his quarters, where I spent the

whole evening.

[Footnote 1: A verst is two-thirds of an English mile.]

[Footnote 2: A tributary of the Oural.]

[Footnote 3: Taken from the Turks in 1737 by the Russian troops under

Count Münich.]

[Footnote 4: Ivan (John), son of Kouzma.]

[Footnote 5: Little father (_batyushka_). A familiar idiom peculiar to

the Russian language.]

[Footnote 6: Diminutive of Maria or Mary.]

[Footnote 7: Mary, daughter of Ivan (i.e., Masha).]

[Footnote 8: The technical name for serfs.]

[Footnote 9: The Russians do not keep the actual day of their birth,

but their name-day--that is, the day kept in honour of the saint after

whom they are called.]

CHAPTER IV.

THE DUEL.

Several weeks passed by, and my life in the fortress of Bailogorsk

became not only endurable, but even agreeable. In the house of the

Commandant I was received as one of the family. Both husband and wife

were very worthy persons. Ivan Kouzmitch, who had risen from the

ranks, was a simple and unaffected man, but exceedingly honest and

good-natured. His wife managed things generally for him, and this

was quite in harmony with his easy-going disposition. Vassilissa

Egorovna looked after the business of the service as well as her own

domestic affairs, and ruled the fortress precisely as she did her

own house. Maria Ivanovna soon ceased to be shy in my presence. We

became acquainted. I found her a sensible and feeling girl. In an

imperceptible manner I became attached to this good family, even to

Ivan Ignatitch, the one-eyed garrison lieutenant, whom Shvabrin accused

of being on terms of undue intimacy with Vassilissa Egorovna, an

accusation which had not a shadow of probability to give countenance to

it; but Shvabrin did not trouble himself about that.

I was promoted to the rank of officer. My duties were not very heavy.

In this God-protected fortress there was neither parade, nor drill,

nor guard-mounting. The Commandant sometimes instructed the soldiers

for his own amusement, but he had not yet got so far as teaching them

which was the right-hand side and which the left. Shvabrin had several

French books in his possession. I began to read them, and this awakened

within me a taste for literature. In the morning I read, exercised

myself in translating, and sometimes even attempted to compose verses.

I dined nearly always at the Commandants, where I generally spent

the rest of the day, and where sometimes of an evening came Father

Gerasim, with his wife, Akoulina Pamphilovna, the greatest gossip in

the whole neighbourhood. It is unnecessary for me to mention that

Shvabrin and I saw each other every day, but his conversation began to

be more disagreeable the more I saw of him. His continual ridiculing

of the Commandant’s family, and especially his sarcastic observations

concerning Maria Ivanovna, annoyed me exceedingly. There was no other

society in the fortress, and I wished for no other.

In spite of the predictions, the Bashkirs did not revolt. Tranquillity

reigned around, our fortress. But the peace was suddenly disturbed by

civil dissensions.

I have already mentioned that I occupied myself with literature.

My essays were tolerable for those days, and Alexander Petrovitch

Soumarokoff,[1] some years afterwards, praised them very much. One

day I contrived to write a little song with which I was much pleased.

It is well-known that, under the appearance of asking advice, authors

frequently endeavour to secure a well-disposed listener. And so,

writing out my little song, I took it to Shvabrin, who was the

only person in the whole fortress who could appreciate a poetical

production. After a short preamble, I drew my manuscript out of my

pocket, and read to him the following verses:

“I banish thoughts of love, and try

My fair one to forget;

And, to be free again, I fly

From Masha with regret.

“My troubled soul no rest can know,

No peace of mind for me;

For wheresoever I may go,

Those eyes I still shall see.

“Take pity, Masha, on this heart

Oppressed by grief and care;

And let compassion rend apart

The clouds of dark despair.”

“What do you think of it?” I asked Shvabrin, expecting that praise

which I considered I was justly entitled to. But, to my great

disappointment, Shvabrin, who was generally complaisant; declared very

peremptorily that the verses were not worth much.

“And why?” I asked, hiding my vexation.

“Because,” he replied, “such verses are worthy of my instructor

Tredyakovsky,[2] and remind me very much of his love couplets.”

Then he took the manuscript from me and began unmercifully to pull

to pieces every verse and word, jeering at me in the most sarcastic

manner. This was more than I could endure, and snatching my manuscript

out of his hand, I told him that I would never show him any more of my

compositions. Shvabrin laughed at my threat.

“We shall see,” said he, “if you will keep your word. A poet needs a

listener, just as Ivan Kouzmitch needs his decanter of brandy before

dinner. And who is this Masha to whom you declare your tender passion

and your amorous distress? Can it be Maria Ivanovna?”

“That is not your business,” replied I, frowning; “it is nothing to do

with you who she is. I want neither your opinion nor your conjectures.”

“Oho! my vain poet and discreet lover!” continued Shvabrin, irritating

me more and more. “But listen to a friend’s advice; if you wish to

succeed, I advise you not to have recourse to writing verses.”

“What do you mean, sir? Please explain yourself.”

“With pleasure. I mean that if you wish Masha Mironoff to meet you at

dusk, instead of tender verses, you must make her a present of a pair

of earrings.”

My blood began to boil.

“Why have you such an opinion of her?” I asked, with difficulty

restraining my anger.

“Because,” replied he, with a fiendish smile, “I know from experience

her ways and habits.”

“You lie, scoundrel!” I exclaimed with fury. “You lie in the most

shameless manner!”

Shvabrin changed colour.

“This shall not be overlooked,” said he, pressing my hand. “You shall

give me satisfaction.” “With pleasure, whenever you like,” I replied,

delighted beyond measure.

At that moment I was ready to tear him in pieces.

I immediately hastened to Ivan Ignatitch, and found him with a needle

in his hand; in obedience to the commands of the Commandant’s wife he

was stringing mushrooms for drying during the winter.

“Ah, Peter Andreitch,” said he, on seeing me, “you are welcome. May I

ask on what business Heaven has brought you here?”

In a few words I explained to him that, having had a quarrel with

Shvabrin, I came to ask him--Ivan Ignatitch--to be my second.

Ivan Ignatitch listened to me with great attention, keeping his one eye

fixed upon me all the while.

“You wish to say,” he said to me, “that you want to kill Shvabrin, and

that you would like me to be a witness to it? Is that so, may I ask?

“Exactly so.”

“In the name of Heaven, Peter Andreitch, whatever are you thinking

of! You have had a quarrel with Shvabrin. What a great misfortune!

A quarrel should not be hung round one’s neck. He has insulted you,

and you have insulted him; he gives you one in the face, and you

give him one behind the ear; a second blow from him, another from

you--and then each goes his own way; in a little while we bring about

a reconciliation.... Is it right to kill one’s neighbour, may I ask?

And suppose that you do kill him--God be with him! I have no particular

love for him. But what if he were to let daylight through you? How

about the matter in that case? Who would be the worst off then, may I

ask?”

The reasonings of the discreet lieutenant produced no effect upon me; I

remained firm in my resolution.

“As you please,” said Ivan Ignatitch; “do as you like. But why should I

be a witness to it? People fight,--what is there wonderful in that, may

I ask? Thank Heaven! I have fought against the Swedes and the Turks,

and have seen enough of every kind of fighting.”

I endeavoured to explain to him, as well as I could, the duty of a

second; but Ivan Ignatitch could not understand me at all.

“Have your own way,” said he; “but if I ought to mix myself up in the

matter at all, it should be to go to Ivan Kouzmitch and report to him,

in accordance with the rules of the service, that there was a design on

foot to commit a crime within the fortress, contrary to the interest

of the crown, and to request him to take the necessary measures----”

I felt alarmed, and implored Ivan Ignatitch not to say anything about

the matter to the Commandant; after much difficulty I succeeded in

talking him over, he gave me his word, and then I took leave of him.

I spent the evening as usual at the Commandant’s house. I endeavoured

to appear gay and indifferent, so as not to excite suspicion, and in

order to avoid importunate questions; but I confess that I had not

that cool assurance which those who find themselves in my position

nearly always boast about. That evening I was disposed to be tender and

sentimental. Maria Ivanovna pleased me more than usual. The thought

that perhaps I was looking at her for the last time, imparted to her in

my eyes something touching. Shvabrin likewise put in an appearance. I

took him aside and informed him of my interview with Ivan Ignatitch.

“What do we want seconds for?” said he, drily; “we can do without them.”

We agreed to fight behind the hayricks which stood near the fortress,

and to appear on the ground at seven o’clock the next morning.

We conversed together in such an apparently amicable manner that Ivan

Ignatitch was nearly betraying us in the excess of his joy.

“You should have done that long ago,” he said to me, with a look of

satisfaction; “a bad reconciliation is better than a good quarrel.”

“What’s that, what’s that, Ivan Ignatitch?” said the Commandant’s wife,

who was playing at cards in a corner. “I did not hear what you said.”

Ivan Ignatitch, perceiving signs of dissatisfaction upon my face, and

remembering his promise, became confused, and knew not what reply to

make. Shvabrin hastened to his assistance.

“Ivan Ignatitch,” said he, “approves of our reconciliation.”

“And with whom have you been quarrelling, my little father?”

“Peter Andreitch and I have had rather a serious fall out.”

“What about?”

“About a mere trifle--about a song, Vassilissa Egorovna.”

“A nice thing to quarrel about, a song! But how did it happen?”

“In this way. Peter Andreitch composed a song a short time ago, and

this morning he began to sing it to me, and I began to hum my favourite

ditty:

‘Daughter of the Captain,

Walk not out at midnight.’

Then there arose a disagreement. Peter Andreitch grew angry, but then

he reflected that everyone likes to sing what pleases him best, and

there the matter ended.”

Shvabrin’s insolence nearly made me boil over with fury; but nobody

except myself understood his coarse insinuations; at least, nobody paid

any attention to them. From songs the conversation turned upon poets,

and the Commandant observed that they were all rakes and terrible

drunkards, and advised me in a friendly manner to have nothing to do

with poetry, as it was contrary to the rules of the service, and would

lead to no good.

Shvabrin’s presence was insupportable to me. I soon took, leave of the

Commandant and his family, and returned home. I examined my sword,

tried the point of it, and then lay down to sleep, after giving

Savelitch orders to wake me at seven o’clock.

The next morning, at the appointed hour, I stood ready behind the

hayricks, awaiting my adversary. He soon made his appearance.

“We may be surprised,” he said to me, “so we must make haste.”

We took off our uniforms, remaining in our waistcoats, and drew our

swords. At that moment Ivan Ignatitch and five of the old soldiers

suddenly made their appearance from behind a hayrick, and summoned us

to go before the Commandant. We obeyed with very great reluctance; the

soldiers surrounded us, and we followed behind Ivan Ignatitch, who led

the way in triumph, striding along with majestic importance.

We reached the Commandant’s house. Ivan Ignatitch threw open the door,

exclaiming triumphantly:

“Here they are!”

Vassilissa Egorovna came towards us.

“What is the meaning of all this, my dears? A plot to commit murder in

our fortress! Ivan Kouzmitch, put them under arrest immediately! Peter

Andreitch! Alexei Ivanitch! Give up your swords--give them up at once!

Palashka, take the swords into the pantry. Peter Andreitch, I did not

expect this of you! Are you not ashamed? As regards Alexei Ivanitch, he

was turned out of the Guards for killing a man_;_ he does not believe

in God. Do you wish to be like him?”

Ivan Kouzmitch agreed with everything that his wife said, and added:

“Yes, Vassilissa Egorovna speaks the truth; duels are strictly

forbidden by the articles of war.”

In the meanwhile Palashka had taken our swords and carried them to the

pantry. I could not help smiling. Shvabrin preserved his gravity.

“With all due respect to you,” he said coldly to her, “I cannot but

observe that you give yourself unnecessary trouble in constituting

yourself our judge. Leave that to Ivan Kouzmitch; it is his business.”

“What do you say, my dear!” exclaimed the Commandant’s wife. “Are not

husband and wife, then, one soul and one body? Ivan Kouzmitch! what are

you staring at? Place them at once in separate corners on bread and

water, so that they may be brought to their proper senses, and then let

Father Gerasim impose a penance upon them, that they may pray to God

for forgiveness, and show themselves repentant before men.”

Ivan Kouzmitch knew not what to do. Maria Ivanovna was exceedingly

pale. Gradually the storm blew over; the Commandant’s wife recovered

her composure, and ordered us to embrace each other. Palashka brought

back our swords to us. We left the Commandant’s house to all appearance

perfectly reconciled. Ivan Ignatitch accompanied us.

“Were you not ashamed,” I said angrily to him, “to go and report us to

the Commandant, after having given me your word that you would not do

so?”

“As true as there is a heaven above us, I did not mention I a word

about the matter to Ivan Kouzmitch,” he replied. “Vassilissa Egorovna

got everything out of me. She arranged the whole business without the

Commandant’s knowledge. However, Heaven be thanked that it has all

ended in the way that it has!”

With these words he returned home, and Shvabrin and I remained alone.

“Our business cannot end in this manner,” I said to him. “Certainly

not,” replied Shvabrin; “your blood shall answer for your insolence to

me; but we shall doubtless be watched. For a few days, therefore, we

must dissemble. Farewell, till we meet again.”

And we parted as if nothing were the matter.

Returning to the Commandant’s house I seated myself, as usual, near

Maria Ivanovna. Ivan Kouzmitch was not at home. Vassilissa Egorovna

was occupied with household matters. We were conversing together in an

under tone. Maria Ivanovna reproached me tenderly for the uneasiness

which I had caused them all by my quarrel with Shvabrin.

“I almost fainted away,” said she, “when they told us that you intended

to fight with swords. What strange beings men are! For a single word,

which they would probably forget a week afterwards, they are ready

to murder each other and to sacrifice not only their life, but their

conscience and the happiness of those----But I am quite sure that you

did not begin the quarrel. Without doubt, Alexei Ivanitch first began

it.”

“Why do you think so, Maria Ivanovna?”

“Because--he is so sarcastic. I do not like Alexei Ivanitch. He is very

disagreeable to me; yet it is strange: I should not like to displease

him. That would cause me great uneasiness.”

“And what do you think, Maria Ivanovna--do you please him or not?”

Maria Ivanovna blushed and grew confused.

“I think,” said she, “I believe that I please him.”

“And why do you think so?”

“Because he once proposed to me.”

“Proposed! He proposed to you? And when?”

“Last year; two months before your arrival.”

“And you refused?”

“As you see. Alexei Ivanitch is, to be sure, a sensible man and of good

family, and possesses property; but when I think that I should have to

kiss him under the crown[3] in the presence of everybody--no! not for

anything in the world!”

Maria Ivanovna’s words opened my eyes and explained a great many

things. I now understood why Shvabrin calumniated her so remorselessly.

He had probably observed our mutual inclination towards each other,

and endeavoured to produce a coolness between us. The words which had

been the cause of our quarrel appeared to me still more abominable,

when, instead of a coarse and indecent jest, I was compelled to look

upon them in the light of a deliberate calumny. The wish to chastise

the insolent slanderer became still stronger within me, and I waited

impatiently for a favourable opportunity for putting it into execution.

I did not wait long. The next day, when I was occupied in composing an

elegy, and sat biting my pen while trying to think of a rhyme, Shvabrin

tapped at my window. I threw down my pen, took up my sword, and went

out to him.

“Why should we delay any longer?” said Shvabrin; “nobody is observing

us. Let us go down to the river; there no one will disturb us.”

We set out in silence. Descending a winding path, we stopped at the

edge of the river and drew our swords. Shvabrin was more skilful in

the use of the weapon than I, but I was stronger and more daring, and

Monsieur Beaupré, who had formerly been a soldier, had given me some

lessons in fencing which I had turned to good account. Shvabrin had

not expected to find in me such a dangerous adversary. For a long

time neither of us was able to inflict any injury upon the other; at

last, observing that Shvabrin was beginning to relax his endeavours, I

commenced to attack him with increased ardour, and almost forced him

back into the river. All at once I heard my name pronounced in a loud

tone. I looked round and perceived Savelitch hastening down the path

towards me.... At that same moment I felt a sharp thrust in the breast,

beneath the right shoulder, and I fell senseless to the ground.

[Footnote 1: A Russian dramatic poet, once celebrated, but now almost

forgotten. His most popular works were two tragedies, “Khoreff,” and

“Pemetrius the Pretender.”]

[Footnote 2: A minor poet of the last century.]

[Footnote 3: Crowns are held above the heads of the bride and

bridegroom during the marriage ceremony in Russia.]