Part 15

In the hall they were already dancing the polka. Before Vladímir Sergyéitch’s eyes Márya Pávlovna flitted past with Piótr Alexyéitch, whom he had not noticed up to that moment; she seemed pale, and even sad; then Nadézhda Alexyéevna darted past, all beaming and joyous, with some youthful, bow-legged, but fiery artillery officer; on the second round, she was dancing with Steltchínsky. Steltchínsky shook his hair violently when he danced.

“Well, my dear fellow,”--suddenly rang out Ipátoff’s voice behind Vladímir Sergyéitch’s back;--“you’re only looking on, but not dancing yourself? Come, confess that, in spite of the fact that we live in a dead-calm region, so to speak, we aren’t badly off, are we, hey?”

“Good! damn the dead-calm region!” thought Vladímir Sergyéitch, and mumbling something in reply to Ipátoff, he went off to another corner of the hall.

“I must hunt up a second,”--he pursued his meditations;--“but where the devil am I to find one? I can’t take Véretyeff; I know no others; the devil only knows what a stupid affair this is!”

Vladímir Sergyéitch, when he got angry, was fond of mentioning the devil.

At this moment, Vladímir Sergyéitch’s eyes fell upon The Folding Soul, Iván Ílitch, standing idly by the window.

“Wouldn’t he do?”--he thought, and shrugging his shoulders, he added almost aloud:--“I shall have to take him.”

Vladímir Sergyéitch stepped up to him.

“A very strange thing has just happened to me,”--began our hero with a forced smile:--“just imagine some young man or other, a stranger to me, has challenged me to a duel; it is utterly impossible for me to refuse; I am in indispensable need of a second: will not you act?”

Although Iván Ílitch was characterised, as we know, by imperturbable indifference, yet such an unexpected proposition startled even him. Thoroughly perplexed, he riveted his eyes on Vladímir Sergyéitch.

“Yes,”--repeated Vladímir Sergyéitch;--“I should be greatly indebted to you. I am not acquainted with any one here. You alone....”

“I can’t,”--said Iván Ílitch, as though just waking up;--“I absolutely can’t.”

“Why not? You are afraid of unpleasantness; but all this will, I hope, remain a secret....”

As he spoke these words, Vladímir Sergyéitch felt himself blushing and growing confused.

“Excuse me, I can’t possibly,”--repeated Iván Ílitch, shaking his head and drawing back, in which operation he again overturned a chair.

For the first time in his life it was his lot to reply to a request by a refusal; but then, the request was such a queer one!

“At any rate,”--pursued Vladímir Sergyéitch, in an agitated voice, as he grasped his hand,--“do me the favour not to speak to any one concerning what I have said to you. I earnestly entreat this of you.”

“I can do that, I can do that,”--hastily replied Iván Ílitch;--“but the other thing I cannot do, say what you will; I positively am unable to do it.”

“Well, very good, very good,”--said Vladímir Sergyéitch;--“but do not forget that I rely on your discretion.... I shall announce to-morrow to that gentleman,” he muttered to himself with vexation,--“that I could not find a second, so let him make what arrangements he sees fit, for I am a stranger here. And the devil prompted me to apply to that gentleman! But what else was there for me to do?”

Vladímir Sergyéitch was very, very unlike his usual self.

In the meantime, the ball went on. Vladímir Sergyéitch would have greatly liked to depart at once, but departure was not to be thought of until the end of the mazurka. How was he to give up to his delighted antagonist? Unhappily for Vladímir Sergyéitch, the dances were in charge of a free-and-easy young gentleman with long hair and a sunken chest, over which, in semblance of a miniature waterfall, meandered a black satin neckcloth, transfixed with a huge gold pin. This young gentleman had the reputation, throughout the entire government, of being a man who had assimilated, in their most delicate details, all the customs and rules of the highest society, although he had lived in Petersburg only six months altogether, and had not succeeded in penetrating any loftier heights than the houses of Collegiate Assessor Sandaráki and his brother-in-law, State Councillor Kostandaráki. He superintended the dances at all balls, gave the signal to the musicians by clapping his hands, and in the midst of the roar of the trumpets and the squeaking of the violins shouted: “_En avant deux!_” or “_Grande chaîne!_” or “_A vous, mademoiselle!_” and was incessantly flying, all pale and perspiring, through the hall, slipping headlong, and bowing and scraping. He never began the mazurka before midnight. “And that is a concession,”--he was wont to say;--“in Petersburg I would keep you in torment until two o’clock.”

This ball seemed very long to Vladímir Sergyéitch. He prowled about like a shadow from hall to drawing-room, now and again exchanging cold glances with his antagonist, who never missed a single dance, and undertook to invite Márya Pávlovna for a quadrille, but she was already engaged--and a couple of times he bandied words with the anxious host, who appeared to be harassed by the tedium which was written on the countenance of the new guest. At last, the music of the longed-for mazurka thundered out. Vladímir Sergyéitch hunted up his lady, brought two chairs, and seated himself with her, near the end of the circle, almost opposite Steltchínsky.

The young man who managed affairs was in the first pair, as might have been expected. With what a face he began the mazurka, how he dragged his lady after him, how he beat the floor with his foot, and twitched his head the while,--all this is almost beyond the power of human pen to describe.

“But it seems to me, M’sieu Astákhoff, that you are bored,”--began Nadézhda Alexyéevna, suddenly turning to Vladímir Sergyéitch.

“I? Not in the least. What makes you think so?”

“Why, because I do from the expression of your face.... You have never smiled a single time since you arrived. I had not expected that of you. It is not becoming to you positive gentlemen to be misanthropical and to frown à la Byron. Leave that to the authors.”

“I notice, Nadézhda Alexyéevna, that you frequently call me a positive man, as though mockingly. It must be that you regard me as the coldest and most sensible of beings, incapable of anything which.... But do you know, I will tell you something; a positive man is often very sad at heart, but he does not consider it necessary to display to others what is going on there inside of him; he prefers to hold his peace.”

“What do you mean by that?”--inquired Nadézhda Alexyéevna, surveying him with a glance.

“Nothing, ma’am,”--replied Vladímir Sergyéitch, with feigned indifference, assuming an air of mystery.

“Really?”

“Really, nothing.... You shall know some day, later on.”

Nadézhda Alexyéevna wanted to pursue her questions, but at that moment a young girl, the host’s daughter, led up to her Steltchínsky and another cavalier in blue spectacles.

“Life or death?”--she asked in French.

“Life,”--exclaimed Nadézhda Alexyéevna; “I don’t want death just yet.”

Steltchínsky bowed; she went off with him.[27]

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?”