Demons, p.35
Demons, page 35
"Well, I mean, as a matter of fact, I stopped in firstly to pray, sir," the tramp answered sedately and deferentially, as if nothing had happened; not even sedately, but almost dignifiedly. There was no trace of the former "friendly" familiarity. One glimpsed a practical and serious man, who, though unjustly offended, was capable of forgetting offenses.
"Then, once the Lord had brought me there," he went on, "I thought, ah, what a heavenly blessing! It's owing to my being an orphan that this thing has happened, because in my destiny it's quite impossible without assistance. And then, by God, sir, it was my loss, the Lord punished me for my sins: all I got for the swinger and the swatter and the deacon's girth was twelve roubles. Nicholas the Wonder-worker's pure silver getup went for nothing: they said it was similor."[103]
"You killed the beadle?"
"I mean, we bagged it together, me and that beadle; it was only towards morning, by the river, we got to quarreling mutually, who should carry the sack. I sinned, I lightened his load for him."
"Kill more, steal more."
"That's the same thing Pyotr Stepanovich advises me, sir, word for word just what you say, because he's an extremely stingy and hardhearted man when it comes to assistance, sir. Besides from the fact that he doesn't have even a straw of belief in the heavenly creator who made us out of earthly dust, sir, but says nature alone arranged it all, supposedly even to the last beast, and what's more he doesn't understand that in my destiny it's quite impossible to do entirely without beneficent assistance, sir. I start explaining it to him, and he stares like a sheep at water, you can only wonder at him. Now, would you believe it, sir, with this Captain Lebyadkin, where you just visited, if you please, sir, when he was still living at Filippov's before you, sir, his door sometimes stood wide open all night, sir, he himself lying dead drunk and money spilling out of all his pockets onto the floor. I happened to observe it with my own eyes, because the way my life is, it's quite impossible without assistance, sir..."
"How, with your own eyes? Did you go in there at night, or what?"
"Maybe I did, only nobody knows."
"Why didn't you put a knife in him?"
"After making a reckoning, I steadied myself, sir. Because once I knew for sure that I could take out about a hundred and fifty roubles anytime, then how should I venture into such a thing when I can take out the whole fifteen hundred, provided I just wait a bit? Since Captain Lebyadkin (I heard it with my own ears, sir) always had gr-r-reat hopes of you in his drunken state, sir, and there's no such tavern establishment around here, not even the lowest pot-house, where he wouldn't announce as much, being in that same state, sir. So that, hearing about it from many lips, I, too, began to place all my hopes in Your Excellency. I'm telling it to you, sir, as I would to my own father or brother, because Pyotr Stepanovich will never find it out from me, and neither will a single soul else. So then, how about three little roubles, Your Excellency, would you be so kind, sir, or not? You'd unbind me, sir, so that I'd know the real truth, I mean, because it's quite impossible for me without assistance, sir."
Nikolai Vsevolodovich guffawed loudly, and taking from his pocket a wallet that contained as much as fifty roubles in small bills, he pulled one out of the wad for him, then another, a third, a fourth. Fedka caught them in the air, rushed about, the bills rained down into the mud, Fedka caught at them with little cries: "Ah, ah!" Nikolai Vsevolodovich finally threw the whole wad at him, and, still guffawing, set off down the lane, this time alone. The tramp stayed behind, fussing on his knees in the mud, picking up the bills that had scattered on the wind or sunk in puddles, and for a whole hour one could hear his abrupt little cries from the darkness: "Ah, ah!"
3: The Duel
1
The next day, at two o'clock in the afternoon, the proposed duel took place.[104] The speedy outcome of the affair was furthered by Artemy Pavlovich Gaganov's indomitable desire to fight at all costs. He did not understand his adversary's conduct, and was furious. For a whole month he had been insulting him with impunity, and was still unable to make him lose patience. He needed a challenge from Nikolai Vsevolodovich, because he had no direct pretext for a challenge himself. And for some reason he was embarrassed to admit his secret motive—that is, simply a morbid hatred of Stavrogin for the family insult of four years ago. And he himself considered this pretext impossible, especially in view of the humble apologies already twice offered by Nikolai Vsevolodovich. Inwardly he set Stavrogin down as a shameless coward; he simply could not understand how he could suffer a slap from Shatov; and thus he finally resolved to send that letter, remarkable in its rudeness, which finally prompted Nikolai Vsevolodovich to suggest a meeting himself. Having sent this letter the day before, and awaiting the challenge with feverish impatience, morbidly reckoning up his chances for it, now hopeful, now despairing, he provided himself, just in case, on the previous evening, with a second—namely, Mavriky Nikolaevich Drozdov, his friend from school days and a man he particularly respected. So it was that when Kirillov came with his errand the next day at nine o'clock in the morning, he found the ground quite prepared. All the apologies and unheard-of concessions of Nikolai Vsevolodovich were rejected at once, from the first word, and with remarkable vehemence. Mavriky Nikolaevich, who had learned only the day before of the course the affair had taken, gaped in astonishment at such unheard-of offers, and wanted to insist at once on a reconciliation, but noticing that Artemy Pavlovich, who guessed his intentions, almost started shaking in his chair, he kept silent and said nothing. Had it not been for the word he had given his friend, he would have walked out immediately; he stayed solely in hopes of helping at least with something in the outcome of the affair. Kirillov conveyed the challenge; all the conditions stipulated for the meeting by Stavrogin were accepted at once, literally, without the least objection. Only one addition was made, albeit a very cruel one—namely, that if nothing decisive occurred at the first shots, they would begin over again; if it ended with nothing the second time, they would begin a third time. Kirillov frowned, bargained a little about the third time, but, having bargained unsuccessfully, agreed, on condition, however, that "three times was possible, but four absolutely not." This they conceded. And so, at two o'clock in the afternoon, the meeting took place at Brykovo, that is, a little woods outside town, between Skvoreshniki on one side and the Shpigulins' factory on the other. Yesterday's rain had stopped entirely, but it was wet, damp, and windy. Low, dull, broken clouds raced quickly across the cold sky; the trees rustled densely and rollingly at their tops, and creaked on their roots; the morning was very melancholy.
Gaganov and Mavriky Nikolaevich arrived at the place in a jaunty char-à-banc and pair, driven by Artemy Pavlovich; they had a servant with them. At almost the same moment, Nikolai Vsevolodovich and Kirillov appeared, not in a carriage but on horseback, and also accompanied by a mounted servant. Kirillov, who had never mounted a horse before, sat bold and straight in the saddle, clutching in his right hand the heavy pistol box, which he would not entrust to the servant, and with his left hand, for want of skill, constantly twisting and pulling at the reins, causing the horse to toss its head and display a desire to rear, which, however, did not frighten the rider in the least. The insecure Gaganov, who took offense quickly and deeply, considered this arrival on horseback a new offense to himself, implying that his enemies therefore hoped for success, since they did not even assume the need for a carriage in case a wounded man had to be transported. He got down from his char-à-banc all yellow with anger, and felt his hands trembling, of which he informed Mavriky Nikolaevich. He did not respond at all to Nikolai Vsevolodovich's bow and turned away. The seconds cast lots: the lot fell on Kirillov's pistols. The barriers were measured out, the adversaries were placed, the carriage and horses were sent with the servants about three hundred paces off. The weapons were loaded and handed to the adversaries.
It is a pity the story must move on more quickly and there is no time for descriptions; but it is impossible to do without observations entirely. Mavriky Nikolaevich was melancholy and preoccupied. Kirillov, on the other hand, was perfectly calm and indifferent, very precise in the details of the duty he had assumed, but without the least fussiness, and almost without curiosity as to the fatal and so imminent outcome of the affair. Nikolai Vsevolodovich was paler than usual, dressed rather lightly in an overcoat and a white beaver hat. He seemed very tired, frowned from time to time, and did not find it at all necessary to conceal his unpleasant mood. But the most remarkable one at that moment was Artemy Pavlovich, so that it is altogether impossible not to say a few words about him quite separately.
II
We have had no occasion as yet to mention his appearance. He was a man of large stature, white-skinned, well-fed, as simple folk say, almost flabby, with thin blond hair, some thirty-three years old, and perhaps even handsome of feature. He had retired as a colonel, and had he attained the rank of general, he would have looked even more imposing as a general, and it may well be that a good combat general would have come out of him.
One cannot omit, in characterizing the man, that the main reason for his retirement was the thought of his family disgrace, which haunted him long and painfully after the offense inflicted on his father four years ago in the club by Nikolai Stavrogin. In all conscience, he considered it dishonorable to continue in the service, and was inwardly convinced that he was a blot on his regiment and his comrades, though none of them even knew of the event. True, once before he had also wanted to leave the service, way back, long before the offense, and for a totally different reason, but he kept hesitating. Strange though it is to write it, this initial intention, or, better, impulse, to retire came from the manifesto of February nineteenth on the emancipation of the peasants. Artemy Pavlovich, the wealthiest landowner of our province, who did not even lose very much after the manifesto, who, moreover, was himself capable of being convinced of the humaneness of the measure and almost of understanding the economic advantages of the reform, suddenly, after the appearance of the manifesto, felt himself personally offended, as it were. This was something unconscious, like a sort of feeling, but all the stronger the more unaccountable it was. Before his father's death, however, he did not decide to undertake anything decisive; but in Petersburg he became known for his "noble" way of thinking to many notable persons with whom he assiduously maintained connections. This was a man withdrawn, closed up in himself. Another trait: he was one of those strange but still surviving Russian noblemen who greatly value the antiquity and purity of their noble lineage and are all too seriously interested in it. At the same time he could not bear Russian history, and regarded all Russian customs in general as somewhat swinish. Already in his childhood, in that special military school for wealthier and more aristocratic pupils in which he had the honor of beginning and ending his education, certain poetic attitudes took root in him: he became fond of castles, medieval life, the whole operatic side of it, chivalry; even then he all but wept for shame that in the time of the Muscovite kingdom the tsar could corporally punish a Russian boyar,[105] and he blushed at the comparison. This taut, extremely strict man, who knew his service and discharged his duties remarkably well, in his soul was a dreamer. It was maintained that he could speak at meetings and had the gift of eloquence; yet he had kept silent in himself for all his thirty-three years. He bore himself with remarkable arrogance even in that grand Petersburg milieu in which he had moved of late. His meeting in Petersburg with Nikolai Vsevolodovich, who had just returned from abroad, almost drove him out of his mind. At the present moment, standing at the barrier, he was in terrible anxiety. He kept fancying that the thing might somehow not take place after all, and the slightest delay sent tremors through him. His face bore a pained expression when Kirillov, instead of giving the signal for the battle to begin, suddenly began to speak, for the sake of form, true, as he himself declared for all to hear:
"Just for the sake of form; now that pistols have been taken and the command must be given, for the last time, do you care to reconcile? The duty of a second."
As if on purpose, Mavriky Nikolaevich, who until then had been silent, but had been suffering inwardly since the previous day for his compliance and connivance, suddenly picked up Kirillov's thought and also spoke:
"I subscribe completely to Mr. Kirillov's words... the notion that it's impossible to reconcile standing at the barrier is a prejudice fit for Frenchmen ... Be it as you will, but I do not understand what the offense is and have long wanted to say ... because all kinds of apologies are being offered, aren't they?"
He blushed all over. Rarely had he chanced to speak so much and in such agitation.
"I again confirm my offer to present all possible apologies," Nikolai Vsevolodovich picked up with great haste.
"How is this possible?" Gaganov cried out furiously, turning to Mavriky Nikolaevich and frenziedly stamping his foot. "Do explain to this man, if you are my second and not my enemy, Mavriky Nikolaevich" (he jabbed his pistol in the direction of Nikolai Vsevolodovich) "that such concessions only add to the offense! He does not find it possible to be offended by me! ... He does not find it a disgrace to walk away from a duel with me! Who does he take me for after that, in your eyes... and you are my second! You're simply irritating me so that I'll miss." He stamped his foot again; spittle sprayed from his lips.
"Negotiations are over. I ask you to listen for the command!" Kirillov shouted as loudly as he could. "One! Two! Three!"
At the word three, the adversaries began walking towards each other. Gaganov raised his pistol at once and fired at the fifth or sixth step. He stopped for a second and, ascertaining that he had missed, walked quickly to the barrier. Nikolai Vsevolodovich walked up, too, raised the pistol, but somehow very high, and fired almost without aiming.
Then he took out his handkerchief and wrapped it around the little finger of his right hand. Only now did they see that Artemy Pavlovich had not quite missed, but the bullet had only grazed the fleshy part of the finger without touching the bone; the scratch was insignificant. Kirillov at once announced that if the adversaries were not satisfied, the duel would continue.
"I declare," Gaganov croaked (his throat was dry), again turning to Mavriky Nikolaevich, "that this man" (he again jabbed in Stavrogin's direction) "fired into the air on purpose... deliberately... Another offense! He wants to make the duel impossible!"
"I have the right to fire any way I want, as long as it is according to the rules," Nikolai Vsevolodovich declared firmly.
"No, he hasn't! Explain to him, explain!" Gaganov cried.
"I subscribe completely to Nikolai Vsevolodovich's opinion," proclaimed Kirillov.
"Why does he spare me?" Gaganov raged, not listening. "I despise his sparing ... I spit on it... I..."
"I give you my word that I had no wish at all to insult you," Nikolai Vsevolodovich said with impatience. "I fired high because I don't want to kill anyone anymore, neither you nor anyone else, it has nothing to do with you personally. It's true that I do not consider myself offended, and I'm sorry that it makes you angry. But I will not allow anyone to interfere with my rights."
"If he's so afraid of blood, then ask him why he challenged me!" Gaganov yelled, still addressing Mavriky Nikolaevich.
"How could he not challenge you?" Kirillov mixed in. "You wouldn't listen to anything, how else could he get rid of you!"
"I will note just one thing," said Mavriky Nikolaevich, who discussed the affair painfully and with effort. "If an adversary announces beforehand that he will fire high, then the duel really cannot continue... for reasons which are delicate and... clear..."
"I have by no means declared that I will fire high every time!" Stavrogin cried out, now losing all patience. "You have no idea what is in my mind or how I am going to fire now ... I am not hindering the duel in any way."
"In that case the match may continue," Mavriky Nikolaevich said to Gaganov.
"Take your places, gentlemen!" Kirillov commanded.
Again they advanced towards each other, again Gaganov missed, and again Stavrogin fired high. There might have been a dispute about his firing high: Nikolai Vsevolodovich might have affirmed directly that he had fired properly, if he himself had not confessed to missing deliberately. He did not aim the pistol directly at the sky or a tree, but still as if at his adversary, though all the same a couple of feet above his hat. The second time he aimed even lower, even more plausibly; but now nothing could reassure Gaganov.
"Again!" he gnashed his teeth. "Never mind! I have been challenged, and I am exercising my right. I want to fire a third time ... at all costs."
"You have every right," Kirillov cut off. Mavriky Nikolaevich said nothing. They were placed for the third time, the command was given; this time Gaganov walked right up to the barrier, and from there, from twelve paces, began taking aim. His hands were trembling too much for a good shot. Stavrogin stood with his pistol lowered and motionlessly waited for him to fire.
"Too long, you're aiming too long!" Kirillov shouted impatiently. "Fire! Fi-i-ire!"
But the shot rang out, and this time the white beaver hat flew off Nikolai Vsevolodovich's head. The shot had been quite well aimed, the crown of the hat was pierced very low down; half an inch lower and all would have been over. Kirillov picked it up and handed it to Nikolai Vsevolodovich.
"Fire, don't keep your adversary waiting!" Mavriky Nikolaevich cried in terrible agitation, seeing that Stavrogin seemed to have forgotten to fire as he examined the hat with Kirillov. Stavrogin gave a start, looked at Gaganov, turned away, and this time without any delicacy fired off into the woods. The duel was over. Gaganov stood as if crushed. Mavriky Nikolaevich went up to him and started to say something, but the man seemed not to understand. Kirillov, as he was leaving, doffed his hat and gave a nod to Mavriky Nikolaevich; but Stavrogin forgot his former politeness; after firing into the woods, he did not even turn towards the barrier, but thrust his pistol at Kirillov and hastily made for the horses. There was spite in his face; he was silent. Kirillov, too, was silent. They mounted their horses and set off at a gallop.
