stupid and absurd, that dueling has outlived its time, that an aristocratic duel is essentially no different from a drunken brawl in a pot-house, and even so, we won’t stop, we’ll go and fight. There is, therefore, a power that is stronger than our reasonings. We shout that war is banditry, barbarism, horror, fratricide, we cannot look at blood without fainting; but the French or the Germans need only insult us and we at once feel a surge of inspiration, we most sincerely shout ‘hurrah’ and fall upon the enemy, you will call for God’s blessing on our weapons, and our valor will evoke universal, and withal sincere, rapture. So again, there is a power that is if not higher, then stronger, than us and our philosophy. We can no more stop it than we can stop this storm cloud moving in from over the sea. Don’t be a hypocrite, then, don’t show it a fig in the pocket, and don’t say: ‘Ah, how stupid! Ah, how outdated! Ah, it doesn’t agree with the Scriptures!’ but look it straight in the eye, acknowledge its reasonable legitimacy, and when it wants, for instance, to destroy the feeble, scrofulous, depraved tribe, don’t hinder it with your pills and quotations from the poorly understood Gospel. In Leskov there’s a conscientious Danila,28 who finds a leper outside of town and feeds him and keeps him warm in the name of love and Christ. If this Danila indeed loved people, he would have dragged the leper further away from the town and thrown him into a ditch, and would have gone himself and served the healthy. Christ, I hope, gave us the commandment of reasonable, sensible, and useful love.’’
‘‘What a one you are!’’ laughed the deacon. ‘‘You don’t believe in Christ, so why do you mention Him so often?’’
‘‘No, I do believe. Only in my own way, of course, not in yours. Ah, Deacon, Deacon!’’ the zoologist laughed; he put his arm around the deacon’s waist and said gaily: ‘‘Well, what then? Shall we go to the duel tomorrow?’’
‘‘My dignity doesn’t permit it, otherwise I would.’’
‘‘And what does that mean—‘dignity’?’’
‘‘I’ve been ordained. Grace is upon me.’’
‘‘Ah, Deacon, Deacon,’’ von Koren repeated, laughing. ‘‘I love talking with you.’’
‘‘You say you have faith,’’ said the deacon. ‘‘What kind of faith is it? I have an uncle, a priest, who is such a believer that, if there’s a drought and he goes to the fields to ask for rain, he takes an umbrella and a leather coat so that he won’t get wet on the way back. That’s faith! When he talks about Christ, he gives off a glow, and all the peasants burst into sobs. He could stop this storm cloud and put all your powers to flight. Yes...faith moves mountains.’’
The deacon laughed and patted the zoologist on the shoulder.
‘‘So there . . .’’ he went on. ‘‘You keep teaching, you fathom the depths of the sea, you sort out the weak and the strong, you write books and challenge to duels—and everything stays where it was; but watch out, let some feeble little elder babble one little word by the Holy Spirit, or a new Mohammed with a scimitar come riding out of Arabia on a stallion, and everything of yours will go flying topsy-turvy, and in Europe there will be no stone left upon stone.’’
‘‘Well, Deacon, that’s written in the sky with a pitchfork!’’
‘‘Faith without works is dead, but works without faith are worse still,29 merely a waste of time and nothing more.’’
The doctor appeared on the embankment. He saw the deacon and the zoologist and went up to them.
‘‘Everything seems to be ready,’’ he said, out of breath. ‘‘Govorovsky and Boiko will be the seconds. They’ll call at five o’clock in the morning. It’s really piling up!’’ he said, looking at the sky. ‘‘Can’t see a thing! It’ll rain soon.’’
‘‘You’ll come with us, I hope?’’ asked von Koren.
‘‘No, God forbid, I’m worn out as it is. Ustimovich will come in my place. I’ve already talked with him.’’
Far across the sea, lightning flashed, and there was a muffled roll of thunder.
‘‘How stifling it is before a storm!’’ said von Koren. ‘‘I’ll bet you’ve already been to Laevsky’s and wept on his bosom.’’
‘‘Why should I go to him?’’ the doctor said, embarrassed. ‘‘What an idea!’’
Before sunset he had walked several times up and down the boulevard and the street, hoping to meet Laevsky. He was ashamed of his outburst and of the sudden kindly impulse that had followed the outburst. He wanted to apologize to Laevsky in jocular tones, to chide him, to placate him, and tell him that dueling was a leftover of medieval barbarism, but that providence itself had pointed them to a duel as a means of reconciliation: tomorrow the two of them, most excellent people, of the greatest intelligence, would exchange shots, appreciate each other’s nobility, and become friends. But he never once met Laevsky.
‘‘Why should I go to him?’’ Samoilenko repeated. ‘‘I didn’t offend him, he offended me. Tell me, for mercy’s sake, why did he fall upon me? Did I do anything bad to him? I come into the drawing room and suddenly, for no reason: spy! Take that! Tell me, how did it start between you? What did you tell him?’’
‘‘I told him that his situation was hopeless. And I was right. Only honest people and crooks can find a way out of any situation, but somebody who wants to be an honest man and a crook at the same time has no way out. However, it’s already eleven o’clock, gentlemen, and we have to get up early tomorrow.’’
There was a sudden gust of wind; it raised the dust on the embankment, whirled it around, roared, and drowned out the sound of the sea.
‘‘A squall!’’ said the deacon. ‘‘We must go, we’re getting dust in our eyes.’’
As they left, Samoilenko sighed and said, holding on to his cap:
‘‘Most likely I won’t sleep tonight.’’
‘‘Don’t worry,’’ the zoologist laughed. ‘‘You can rest easy, the duel will end in nothing. Laevsky will magnanimously fire into the air, he can’t do anything else, and most likely I won’t fire at all. Ending up in court on account of Laevsky, losing time—the game’s not worth the candle. By the way, what’s the legal responsibility for dueling?’’
‘‘Arrest, and in case of the adversary’s death, imprisonment in the fortress for up to three years.’’
‘‘The Peter-and-Paul fortress?’’30
