The Duel (17 page)

Nadezhda Fyodorovna entered; she stopped near the door and timidly looked at the guests. Her face was guilty and frightened, and she held her hands like a schoolgirl about to be scolded.

“I’m leaving now, Nadezhda Fyodorovna,” Von Koren said, “and have come to bid farewell.”

She extended her hand to him with uncertainty as Laevsky bowed.

How pathetic they both are still!
Von Koren thought.
This life won’t come easy for them
. “I’ll be in Moscow and in Petersburg.” Then he asked, “Is there anything that you need sent from there?”

“Well?” Nadezhda Fyodorovna said, and nervously exchanged looks with her husband. “It seems that we don’t need anything …”

“Yes, nothing …” Laevsky said, rubbing his hands. “Give our regards.”

Von Koren did not know what else could or should be said, as earlier, when he had entered, he had thought that he would say many good, warm and meaningful things. He silently squeezed Laevsky’s hand and that of his wife and left them, with a heavy heart.

“These people!” the deacon said under his breath, walking behind the rest. “My Lord, these people! The right hand of God truly has planted a vineyard here! God Almighty! One has defeated one thousand, the other a multitude. Nikolai Vasilievich,” he said enthusiastically, “do you know that today you conquered the greatest of mankind’s enemies—pride!”

“Enough, Deacon! What kind of conquerors are he and I? Conquerors resemble eagles, but he’s pathetic, timid, defeated, he bows, like some Chinese figurine, and as for me … I’m sad.”

They heard footsteps behind them. It was Laevsky catching up to them to see him off. The valet was waiting at the dock with the two suitcases; next to him a little further away, four oarsmen.

“By the way, it’s quite windy … brrr!” Samoylenko said. “There’ll be a hell of a storm out at sea—oy, oy! You’ve picked a great time to travel, Kolya.”

“I have no fear of seasickness.”

“It’s not that … Be sure these fools don’t capsize you. The best thing to do is to go on the envoy’s dinghy. Where’s the envoy’s dinghy?” he called out to the oarsmen.

“It’s gone, Your Excellency.”

“What about the customs officer’s dinghy?”

“It’s gone too.”

“Why didn’t you make the announcement?” Samoylenko asked, growing angry. “Blockheads!”

“It’s all right, don’t worry …” Von Koren said. “Let’s say our goodbyes. God protect you.”

Samoylenko embraced Von Koren and made the sign of the cross over him three times.

“Don’t forget us, Kolya … Write … We’ll expect you next spring.”

“Goodbye, Deacon,” Von Koren said, squeezing the deacon’s hand. “Thank you for the company and for the good conversation. Do think about the expedition.”

“Yes, for God’s sake, to the ends of the earth!” the deacon laughed. “Who said I was opposed to the idea?”

Von Koren recognized Laevsky in the darkness and wordlessly extended his hand. The oarsmen were already standing below bracing the boat, which beat against the pilings, though the jetty protected it from large swells. Von Koren lowered himself by the boat’s ladder, hopped into the boat and sat at the rudder.

“Write!” Samoylenko called out to him. “Guard your health!”

No one knows the real truth
, Laevsky thought, raising his coat collar and thrusting his hands into the sleeves of his coat.

The boat rounded the wharf adroitly and exited out onto the expanse. It disappeared among the waves, then immediately reappeared from a deep ditch and slid down a tall swell, so that the people and even the oars were
discernable. The boat advanced three fathoms, then was tossed two fathoms back.

“Write!” Samoylenko called out. “You really didn’t get lucky with this weather!”

Yes, no one knows the real truth
 …, Laevsky thought, looking out at the unquiet, dark sea with an expression of melancholy.

The boat is thrown back
, he thought,
it takes two steps forward and one step back, but the oarsmen are tenacious, they tirelessly thrash their oars and have no fear of the tall waves. The boat advances further and further, it’s not even visible now, a half hour from now, and the oarsmen will clearly see the lights of the steamship, in an hour from now they’ll be at the ship’s ladder. That’s how it is with life … In search of the truth, people take two steps forward, one step back. Suffering, mistakes and ennui throw them back, but a thirst for the truth and a tenacious will advance them further and further. And who knows? They may just row far enough to reach real truth …

“Goodby-y-ye!” Samoylenko called out.

“There’s neither sight nor sound of them,” the deacon said. “Have a good journey!”

The rain began to fall.

1891

ILLUMINATIONS FOR THE DUEL BY ANTON CHEKHOV

Illustration:
“The Tavern Scene” by William Hogarth (1697–1764).

Illustration:
Cain Leadeth Abel to Death
by James Jacques Joseph Tissot (1836–1902)

Illustration:
Argument Over A Card Game
by Jan Steen (1626–1679)

THE DUELIST’S SUPPLEMENT—AGAINST THE DUEL: WRITING IN PROTEST OF DUELING

Illustration:
Council of Trent in Santa Maria Maggiore church, Museo Diocesano Tridentino, Trento. Late 1700s. Painter unknown.

Illustration:
Cover of an anti-dueling pamphlet containing: “The Remedy for Dueling” by Lyman Beecher (1775–1863) alongside the Anti-Dueling Society of New York and an address to the electorate of New York.

Illustration:
Sohrab mourns Rustum
. Illustration taken from an ancient Persian manuscript of the
Shahnameh
, or “Book of Kings.”

Illustration:
Aaron Burr and Alexander Hamilton prepare to duel.

“I understood Laevsky from the very first month of our acquaintance,” he continued, addressing the Deacon. “We arrived here at the same time. People like him love to make friends, establish intimacy, solidarity and the like, because they always need company for Vint, drinks and a bite to eat. What’s more, they’re garrulous and they require listeners. We became friends, that is, he would hang around my place every day, disturbing my work and confiding way too much about his concubine. In the beginning, I was dumbstruck by his extraordinary mendacity, which I found simply nauseating. In my capacity as a friend, I scolded him about his way of life, about how he drinks too much, how he does not live according to his means and incurs debts, how he has done nothing and has read nothing, how he is so uncultured and knows so little—and in reply to all of my questions he would smile bitterly, sigh and say, “I’m a good-for-nothing, a superfluous man,” or “What do you, old chap, want from the splinters of serfdom?” or “We are degenerating …” Or he would begin to wax on about Onegin, Pechorin, Byron’s Cain, Bazarov, of who he would say: “These are our fathers in flesh and in spirit.” Meaning something along the lines of, it’s not he that is guilty of letting bureaucratic packets lie unopened for weeks or that he himself drinks, and gets others drunk, but that Onegin, Pechorin and Turgenev are to blame for creating the good-for-nothing and the superfluous man. The principle cause for this lack of discipline and grace isn’t with him, you see, but somewhere out there, in the periphery. And what’s more—here’s a good joke for you!—it’s not him alone that’s guilty of being licentious, mendacious and vile but all of us … “We are people of the eighties. We are the inert, neurotic offspring of the age of serfdom. We have been crippled by civilization.” In a word, we are expected to understand, that a great man like Laevsky is also great in his collapse; that his debauchery, ignorance and defilement are a naturally occurring phenomena based in history, consecrated by necessity, the cause of which is global, spontaneous and that we should hang a sconce before Laevsky, since he—is the victim of the times, the spirit of the times, our inheritance and so forth. All the functionaries and ladies that listened to him, all oohed and aahed, but for the longest time I couldn’t understand who I was dealing with: a cynic or a skilled mazurka dancer? Subjects such as he, who have the appearance of intelligence, are a tad well-manner and drone on about their own honorable pedigrees are capable of pretending to have unusually complicated natures.”