The Duel, Anton Chekhov [most interesting books to read TXT] 📗

doctor; his breath had an unpleasant smell of beef.

“What people there are in the world!” thought Laevsky, and answered: “Very good.”

The doctor nodded and began pacing to and fro again, and it was evident he did not need the money at all, but simply asked for it from hatred. Everyone felt it was time to begin, or to end what had been begun, but instead of beginning or ending, they stood about, moved to and fro and smoked. The young officers, who were present at a duel for the first time in their lives, and even now hardly believed in this civilian and, to their thinking, unnecessary duel, looked critically at their tunics and stroked their sleeves. Sheshkovsky went up to them and said softly: “Gentlemen, we must use every effort to prevent this duel; they ought to be reconciled.”

He flushed crimson and added:

“Kirilin was at my rooms last night complaining that Laevsky had found him with Nadyezhda Fyodorovna, and all that sort of thing.”

“Yes, we know that too,” said Boyko.

“Well, you see, then⁠ ⁠… Laevsky’s hands are trembling and all that sort of thing⁠ ⁠… he can scarcely hold a pistol now. To fight with him is as inhuman as to fight a man who is drunk or who has typhoid. If a reconciliation cannot be arranged, we ought to put off the duel, gentlemen, or something.⁠ ⁠… It’s such a sickening business, I can’t bear to see it.”

“Talk to Von Koren.”

“I don’t know the rules of duelling, damnation take them, and I don’t want to either; perhaps he’ll imagine Laevsky funks it and has sent me to him, but he can think what he likes⁠—I’ll speak to him.”

Sheshkovsky hesitatingly walked up to Von Koren with a slight limp, as though his leg had gone to sleep; and as he went towards him, clearing his throat, his whole figure was a picture of indolence.

“There’s something I must say to you, sir,” he began, carefully scrutinising the flowers on the zoologist’s shirt. “It’s confidential. I don’t know the rules of duelling, damnation take them, and I don’t want to, and I look on the matter not as a second and that sort of thing, but as a man, and that’s all about it.”

“Yes. Well?”

“When seconds suggest reconciliation they are usually not listened to; it is looked upon as a formality. Amour propre and all that. But I humbly beg you to look carefully at Ivan Andreitch. He’s not in a normal state, so to speak, today⁠—not in his right mind, and a pitiable object. He has had a misfortune. I can’t endure gossip.⁠ ⁠…”

Sheshkovsky flushed crimson and looked round.

“But in view of the duel, I think it necessary to inform you, Laevsky found his madam last night at Muridov’s with⁠ ⁠… another gentleman.”

“How disgusting!” muttered the zoologist; he turned pale, frowned, and spat loudly. “Tfoo!”

His lower lip quivered, he walked away from Sheshkovsky, unwilling to hear more, and as though he had accidentally tasted something bitter, spat loudly again, and for the first time that morning looked with hatred at Laevsky. His excitement and awkwardness passed off; he tossed his head and said aloud:

“Gentlemen, what are we waiting for, I should like to know? Why don’t we begin?”

Sheshkovsky glanced at the officers and shrugged his shoulders.

“Gentlemen,” he said aloud, addressing no one in particular. “Gentlemen, we propose that you should be reconciled.”

“Let us make haste and get the formalities over,” said Von Koren. “Reconciliation has been discussed already. What is the next formality? Make haste, gentlemen, time won’t wait for us.”

“But we insist on reconciliation all the same,” said Sheshkovsky in a guilty voice, as a man compelled to interfere in another man’s business; he flushed, laid his hand on his heart, and went on: “Gentlemen, we see no grounds for associating the offence with the duel. There’s nothing in common between duelling and offences against one another of which we are sometimes guilty through human weakness. You are university men and men of culture, and no doubt you see in the duel nothing but a foolish and out-of-date formality, and all that sort of thing. That’s how we look at it ourselves, or we shouldn’t have come, for we cannot allow that in our presence men should fire at one another, and all that.” Sheshkovsky wiped the perspiration off his face and went on: “Make an end to your misunderstanding, gentlemen; shake hands, and let us go home and drink to peace. Upon my honour, gentlemen!”

Von Koren did not speak. Laevsky, seeing that they were looking at him, said:

“I have nothing against Nikolay Vassilitch; if he considers I’m to blame, I’m ready to apologise to him.”

Von Koren was offended.

“It is evident, gentlemen,” he said, “you want Mr. Laevsky to return home a magnanimous and chivalrous figure, but I cannot give you and him that satisfaction. And there was no need to get up early and drive eight miles out of town simply to drink to peace, to have breakfast, and to explain to me that the duel is an out-of-date formality. A duel is a duel, and there is no need to make it more false and stupid than it is in reality. I want to fight!”

A silence followed. Boyko took a pair of pistols out of a box; one was given to Von Koren and one to Laevsky, and then there followed a difficulty which afforded a brief amusement to the zoologist and the seconds. It appeared that of all the people present not one had ever in his life been at a duel, and no one knew precisely how they ought to stand, and what the seconds ought to say and do. But then Boyko remembered and began, with a smile, to explain.

“Gentlemen, who remembers the description in Lermontov?” asked Von Koren, laughing. “In Turgenev, too, Bazarov had a duel with someone.⁠ ⁠…”

“There’s no need to remember,” said Ustimovitch impatiently. “Measure the distance, that’s all.”

And he took three steps as though to show how to measure it. Boyko counted out the steps