No More Learning

Yet sleep is what I
need, if I am to have a steady hand to-morrow. However, at six paces
it is difficult to miss. Aha! Mr. Grushnitski, your wiles will not
succeed! . . . We shall exchange roles: now it is I who shall have to seek
the signs of latent terror upon your pallid countenance. Why have you
yourself appointed these fatal six paces? Think you that I will tamely
expose my forehead to your aim? . . .

No, we shall cast lots. . . And then--then--what if his luck should
prevail? If my star at length should betray me? . . . And little wonder if
it did: it has so long and faithfully served my caprices.

Well? If I must die, I must! The loss to the world will not be great;
and I myself am already downright weary of everything. I am like a guest
at a ball, who yawns but does not go home to bed, simply because
his carriage has not come for him. But now the carriage is here. . .
Good-bye! . . .

My whole past life I live again in memory, and, involuntarily, I ask
myself: ‘why have I lived--for what purpose was I born? ’. . . A purpose
there must have been, and, surely, mine was an exalted destiny, because
I feel that within my soul are powers immeasurable. . . But I was not able
to discover that destiny, I allowed myself to be carried away by the
allurements of passions, inane and ignoble. From their crucible I
issued hard and cold as iron, but gone for ever was the glow of noble
aspirations--the fairest flower of life. And, from that time forth, how
often have I not played the part of an axe in the hands of fate! Like an
implement of punishment, I have fallen upon the head of doomed victims,
often without malice, always without pity. . . To none has my love brought
happiness, because I have never sacrificed anything for the sake of
those I have loved: for myself alone I have loved--for my own pleasure.
I have only satisfied the strange craving of my heart, greedily draining
their feelings, their tenderness, their joys, their sufferings--and
I have never been able to sate myself. I am like one who, spent with
hunger, falls asleep in exhaustion and sees before him sumptuous viands
and sparkling wines; he devours with rapture the aerial gifts of the
imagination, and his pains seem somewhat assuaged. Let him but awake:
the vision vanishes--twofold hunger and despair remain!

And to-morrow, it may be, I shall die! . . . And there will not be left on
earth one being who has understood me completely. Some will consider me
worse, others, better, than I have been in reality. . . Some will say:
‘he was a good fellow’; others: ‘a villain. ’ And both epithets will be
false. After all this, is life worth the trouble? And yet we live--out
of curiosity! We expect something new. . . How absurd, and yet how
vexatious!




CHAPTER XIX

IT is now a month and a half since I have been in the N----Fortress.

Maksim Maksimych is out hunting. . . I am alone. I am sitting by the
window. Grey clouds have covered the mountains to the foot; the sun
appears through the mist as a yellow spot. It is cold; the wind is
whistling and rocking the shutters. . . I am bored! . . . I will continue my
diary which has been interrupted by so many strange events.

I read the last page over: how ridiculous it seems! . . . I thought to die;
it was not to be. I have not yet drained the cup of suffering, and now I
feel that I still have long to live.

How clearly and how sharply have all these bygone events been stamped
upon my memory! Time has not effaced a single line, a single shade.

I remember that during the night preceding the duel I did not sleep a
single moment. I was not able to write for long: a secret uneasiness
took possession of me. For about an hour I paced the room, then I sat
down and opened a novel by Walter Scott which was lying on my table. It
was “The Scottish Puritans. ” [301] At first I read with an effort; then,
carried away by the magical fiction, I became oblivious of everything
else.

At last day broke. My nerves became composed. I looked in the glass:
a dull pallor covered my face, which preserved the traces of harassing
sleeplessness; but my eyes, although encircled by a brownish shadow,
glittered proudly and inexorably. I was satisfied with myself.

I ordered the horses to be saddled, dressed myself, and ran down to the
baths. Plunging into the cold, sparkling water of the Narzan Spring, I
felt my bodily and mental powers returning. I left the baths as fresh
and hearty as if I was off to a ball. After that, who shall say that the
soul is not dependent upon the body! . . .

On my return, I found the doctor at my rooms. He was wearing grey
riding-breeches, a jacket and a Circassian cap. I burst out laughing
when I saw that little figure under the enormous shaggy cap. Werner
has a by no means warlike countenance, and on that occasion it was even
longer than usual.

“Why so sad, doctor? ” I said to him. “Have you not a hundred times, with
the greatest indifference, escorted people to the other world? Imagine
that I have a bilious fever: I may get well; also, I may die; both are
in the usual course of things. Try to look on me as a patient, afflicted
with an illness with which you are still unfamiliar--and then your
curiosity will be aroused in the highest degree. You can now make a few
important physiological observations upon me. . . Is not the expectation
of a violent death itself a real illness? ”

The doctor was struck by that idea, and he brightened up.

We mounted our horses. Werner clung on to his bridle with both hands,
and we set off. In a trice we had galloped past the fortress, through
the village, and had ridden into the gorge. Our winding road was
half-overgrown with tall grass and was intersected every moment by a
noisy brook, which we had to ford, to the great despair of the doctor,
because each time his horse would stop in the water.

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
rainbowhued rays! How eagerly did my glance endeavour 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 severe curiosity, 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 farewell 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 Ignatevich. 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 interrupted it.

“It seems to me,” he said, turning to Grushnitski, “that as you have
both shown your readiness 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 condition. 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. Whichever 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 expressive 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 staircase.
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 prematurely: 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 the mountains, their summits lost to
view in the golden mist of the morning; and towards the south rose
the white mass of Elbruz, closing the chain of icy peaks, among which
fibrous clouds, which had rushed in from the east, were already roaming.
I walked to the extremity of the ledge and gazed down. My head nearly
swam. At the foot of the precipice all seemed dark and cold as in a
tomb; the moss-grown jags of the rocks, hurled down by storm and time,
were awaiting their prey.

The ledge on which we were to fight formed an almost regular triangle.
Six paces were measured from the projecting corner, and it was decided
that whichever had first to meet the fire of his opponent should stand
in the very corner with his back to the precipice; if he was not killed
the adversaries would change places.

I determined to relinquish every advantage to Grushnitski; I wanted to
test him. A spark of magnanimity might awake in his soul--and then all
would have been settled for the best. But his vanity and weakness of
character had perforce to triumph! . . . I wished to give myself the full
right to refrain from sparing him if destiny were to favour me. Who
would not have concluded such an agreement with his conscience?

“Cast the lot, doctor! ” said the captain.

The doctor drew a silver coin from his pocket and held it up.

“Tail! ” cried Grushnitski hurriedly, like a man suddenly aroused by a
friendly nudge.

“Head,” I said.

The coin spun in the air and fell, jingling. We all rushed towards it.

“You are lucky,” I said to Grushnitski. “You are to fire first! But
remember that if you do not kill me I shall not miss--I give you my word
of honour. ”

He flushed up; he was ashamed to kill an unarmed man. I looked at him
fixedly; for a moment it seemed to me that he would throw himself at my
feet, imploring forgiveness; but how to confess so base a plot? . . . One
expedient only was left to him--to fire in the air! I was convinced
that he would fire in the air! One consideration alone might prevent him
doing so--the thought that I would demand a second duel.

“Now is the time! ” the doctor whispered to me, plucking me by the
sleeve. “If you do not tell them now that we know their intentions, all
is lost. Look, he is loading already. . . If you will not say anything, I
will”. . .

“On no account, doctor! ” I answered, holding him back by the arm. “You
will spoil everything. You have given me your word not to interfere. . .
What does it matter to you? Perhaps I wish to be killed”. . .

He looked at me in astonishment.

“Oh, that is another thing! . . . Only do not complain of me in the other
world”. . .

Meanwhile the captain had loaded his pistols and given one to
Grushnitski, after whispering something to him with a smile; the other
he gave to me.

I placed myself in the corner of the ledge, planting my left foot firmly
against the rock and bending slightly forward, so that, in case of a
slight wound, I might not fall over backwards.

Grushnitski placed himself opposite me and, at a given signal, began
to raise his pistol. His knees shook. He aimed right at my forehead. . .
Unutterable fury began to seethe within my breast.

Suddenly he dropped the muzzle of the pistol and, pale as a sheet,
turned to his second.

“I cannot,” he said in a hollow voice.

“Coward! ” answered the captain.

A shot rang out. The bullet grazed my knee. Involuntarily I took a few
paces forward in order to get away from the edge as quickly as possible.

“Well, my dear Grushnitski, it is a pity that you have missed! ” said
the captain. “Now it is your turn, take your stand! Embrace me first: we
shall not see each other again! ”

They embraced; the captain could scarcely refrain from laughing.

“Do not be afraid,” he added, glancing cunningly at Grushnitski;
“everything in this world is nonsense. . . Nature is a fool, fate a
turkeyhen, and life a copeck! ” [31]

After that tragic phrase, uttered with becoming gravity, he went back to
his place. Ivan Ignatevich, with tears, also embraced Grushnitski, and
there the latter remained alone, facing me. Ever since then, I have been
trying to explain to myself what sort of feeling it was that was boiling
within my breast at that moment: it was the vexation of injured vanity,
and contempt, and wrath engendered at the thought that the man now
looking at me with such confidence, such quiet insolence, had, two
minutes before, been about to kill me like a dog, without exposing
himself to the least danger, because had I been wounded a little more
severely in the leg I should inevitably have fallen over the cliff.

For a few moments I looked him fixedly in the face, trying to discern
thereon even a slight trace of repentance. But it seemed to me that he
was restraining a smile.

“I should advise you to say a prayer before you die,” I said.

“Do not worry about my soul any more than your own. One thing I beg of
you: be quick about firing. ”

“And you do not recant your slander? You do not beg my forgiveness? . . .
Bethink you well: has your conscience nothing to say to you? ”

“Mr. Pechorin! ” exclaimed the captain of dragoons. “Allow me to point
out that you are not here to preach. . . Let us lose no time, in case
anyone should ride through the gorge and we should be seen. ”

“Very well. Doctor, come here! ”

The doctor came up to me. Poor doctor! He was paler than Grushnitski had
been ten minutes before.

The words which followed I purposely pronounced with a pause between
each--loudly and distinctly, as the sentence of death is pronounced:

“Doctor, these gentlemen have forgotten, in their hurry, no doubt, to
put a bullet in my pistol. I beg you to load it afresh--and properly!