A morning more fresh and blue I cannot
remember! The sun had
scarce shown his face
from behind the green
summits, and the blending
of the first
warmth of his rays with the dying
coolness of the night produced on all my feelings
a sort of sweet languor. The
joyous beam of the
young day had not yet
penetrated the gorge; it
gilded only the tops of the cliffs which overhung
us on both sides. The tufted shrubs, growing in
the deep crevices of the cliffs, besprinkled us with
a silver
shower at the least
breath of wind. I
remember that on that occasion I loved Nature
more than ever before. With what
curiosity did
I examine every dewdrop trembling upon the
broad vine leaf and reflecting millions of rainbow-
hued rays! How
eagerly did my glance en-
deavour to
penetrate the smoky distance! There
the road grew narrower and narrower, the cliffs
bluer and more
dreadful, and at last they met, it
seemed, in an impenetrable wall.
We rode in silence.
"Have you made your will?" Werner suddenly
inquired.
"No."
"And if you are killed?"
"My heirs will be found of themselves."
"Is it possible that you have no friends, to
whom you would like to send a last farewell?" . . .
I shook my head.
"Is there, really, not one woman in the world
to whom you would like to leave some token
in remembrance?" . . .
"Do you want me to reveal my soul to you,
doctor?" I answered. . . "You see, I have
outlived the years when people die with the name
of the
beloved on their lips and bequeathing to a
friend a lock of pomaded -- or unpomaded -- hair.
When I think that death may be near, I think of
myself alone; others do not even do as much.
The friends who to-morrow will forget me or,
worse, will utter
goodness knows what falsehoods
about me; the women who, while embracing
another, will laugh at me in order not to arouse
his
jealousy of the deceased -- let them go! Out
of the storm of life I have borne away only a
few ideas -- and not one feeling. For a long time
now I have been living, not with my heart, but
with my head. I weigh,
analyse my own passions
and actions with
severecuriosity, but without
sympathy. There are two personalities within
me: one lives -- in the complete sense of the
word -- the other reflects and judges him; the
first, it may be, in an hour's time, will take fare-
well of you and the world for ever, and the second
-- the second? . . . Look, doctor, do you see those
three black figures on the cliff, to the right?
They are our antagonists, I suppose?" . . .
We pushed on.
In the bushes at the foot of the cliff three
horses were tethered; we tethered ours there
too, and then we clambered up the narrow path
to the ledge on which Grushnitski was awaiting
us in company with the captain of dragoons and
his other second, whom they called Ivan Ignate-
vich. His
surname I never heard.
"We have been expecting you for quite a long
time," said the captain of dragoons, with an
ironical smile.
I drew out my watch and showed him the
time.
He apologized,
saying that his watch was
fast.
There was an embarrassing silence for a
few moments. At length the doctor inter-
rupted it.
"It seems to me," he said, turning to Grush-
nitski, "that as you have both shown your readi-
ness to fight, and
thereby paid the debt due to
the conditions of honour, you might be able to
come to an
explanation and finish the affair
amicably."
"I am ready," I said.
The captain winked to Grushnitski, and the
latter, thinking that I was losing courage, assumed
a
haughty air, although, until that moment, his
cheeks had been covered with a dull pallor. For
the first time since our
arrival he lifted his eyes
on me; but in his glance there was a certain
disquietude which evinced an
inward struggle.
"Declare your conditions," he said, "and
anything I can do for you, be assured" . . .
"These are my conditions: you will this very
day
publicly recant your
slander and beg my
pardon" . . .
"My dear sir, I wonder how you dare make such
a proposal to me?"
"What else could I propose?" . . .
"We will fight."
I shrugged my shoulders.
"Be it so; only,
bethink you that one of us
will infallibly be killed."
"I hope it will be you" . . .
"And I am so convinced of the contrary" . . .
He became confused, turned red, and then
burst out into a forced laugh.
The captain took his arm and led him aside;
they whispered together for a long time. I had
arrived in a fairly
pacific frame of mind, but all
this was
beginning to drive me furious.
The doctor came up to me.
"Listen," he said, with
manifest uneasiness,
"you have surely forgotten their conspiracy! . . .
I do not know how to load a
pistol, but in
this case. . . You are a strange man! Tell
them that you know their
intention -- and they
will not dare. . . What sport! To shoot you
like a bird" . . .
"Please do not be
uneasy, doctor, and wait
awhile. . . I shall arrange everything in such a
way that there will be no
advantage on their side.
Let them whisper" . . .
"Gentlemen, this is becoming tedious," I said
to them loudly: "if we are to fight, let us fight;
you had time
yesterday to talk as much as you
wanted to."
"We are ready," answered the captain. "Take
your places, gentlemen! Doctor, be good enough
to
measure six paces" . . .
"Take your places!"
repeated Ivan Ignatevich,
in a squeaky voice.
"Excuse me!" I said. "One further con-
dition. As we are going to fight to the death, we
are bound to do everything possible in order that
the affair may remain a secret, and that our
seconds may incur no
responsibility. Do you
agree?" . . .
"Quite."
"Well, then, this is my idea. Do you see that
narrow ledge on the top of the perpendicular
cliff on the right? It must be thirty fathoms, if
not more, from there to the bottom; and, down
below, there are sharp rocks. Each of us will
stand right at the
extremity of the ledge -- in such
manner even a slight wound will be
mortal: that
ought to be in
accordance with your desire, as
you yourselves have fixed upon six paces. Which-
ever of us is wounded will be certain to fall
down and be dashed to pieces; the doctor
will
extract the
bullet, and, then, it will be
possible very easily to
account for that sudden
death by
saying it was the result of a fall. Let
us cast lots to decide who shall fire first. In
conclusion, I declare that I will not fight on any
other terms."
"Be it so!" said the captain after an expres-
sive glance at Grushnitski, who nodded his head
in token of
assent. Every moment he was
changing
countenance. I had placed him in an
embarrassing position. Had the duel been fought
upon the usual conditions, he could have aimed
at my leg, wounded me
slightly, and in such wise
gratified his
vengeance without overburdening
his
conscience. But now he was obliged to fire in
the air, or to make himself an
assassin, or, finally,
to
abandon his base plan and to
expose himself to
equal danger with me. I should not have liked
to be in his place at that moment. He took the
captain aside and said something to him with
great
warmth. His lips were blue, and I saw
them trembling; but the captain turned away
from him with a
contemptuous smile.
"You are a fool," he said to Grushnitski rather
loudly. "You can't understand a thing! . . .
Let us be off, then, gentlemen!"
The
precipice was approached by a narrow
path between bushes, and fragments of rock
formed the
precarious steps of that natural stair-
case. Clinging to the bushes we proceeded to
clamber up. Grushnitski went in front, his
seconds behind him, and then the doctor
and I.
"I am surprised at you," said the doctor,
pressing my hand
vigorously. "Let me feel your
pulse! . . . Oho! Feverish! . . . But nothing
noticeable on your
countenance . . . only
your eyes are gleaming more
brightly than
usual."
Suddenly small stones rolled noisily right
under our feet. What was it? Grushnitski had
stumbled; the branch to which he was clinging
had broken off, and he would have rolled
down on his back if his seconds had not held
him up.
"Take care!" I cried. "Do not fall pre-
maturely: that is a bad sign. Remember Julius
Caesar!"
CHAPTER XX
AND now we had climbed to the
summit of
the projecting cliff. The ledge was covered
with fine sand, as if on purpose for a duel.
All around, like an
innumerable herd,
crowded