Perhaps I will die tomorrow, and there won't be anyone left on earth who understands me fully. Some think of me worse, others better, than I really am. Some will say: he was a good fellow; others: he was a scoundrel. And both will be wrong. Is it worth the trouble to live after this? And yet you go on living-out of curiosity, in expectation of something new... How ludicrous and how vexatious!
A month and a half has passed since I arrived at the fort of N-. Maksim Maksimich has gone out hunting... I am all alone. I am sitting at the window. Outside, the gray clouds have concealed the mountains to their very base. The sun looks like a yellow blotch through the mist. It is cold. The wind is sighing and rattling the shutters... How wearisome it all is! I'll resume writing my journal, which has been interrupted by so many strange events.
Reading over the last page, it strikes me as amusing. I thought I would die-but that was out of the question, for I have not yet drained my cup of misery to the dregs and now I feel that I still have long to live.
How clearly and sharply everything that has happened is imprinted in my memory! Time hasn't obliterated a single line or nuance.
I recall that on the night before the duel I didn't sleep a wink. A mysterious uneasiness took hold of me and I couldn't write for long. For about an hour I paced the room, then I sat down and opened a novel by Walter Scott that had lain on my table: it was Old Mortality[107]. At first I read with an effort, then, carried away by the enchanting fiction, I was soon oblivious to everything. Surely, the Scottish bard is rewarded in heaven for every joyous minute his book gives to the reader...
At last day broke. My nerves had grown calm. I examined my face in the mirror; a dull white had spread over my features, which still showed traces of a racking sleepless night, but my eyes, though encircled by dark shadows, shone proudly and remorselessly. I was satisfied with myself.
Ordering the horses to be saddled, I dressed and hurried to the baths. As I immersed myself in the cold Narzan water, I felt my physical and spiritual strength returning. I left the baths as refreshed and vigorous as if about to attend a ball. After this, no one can tell me that the soul is not dependent on the body!
On returning home, I found the doctor there. He was wearing gray riding pants, a light jacket gathered in at the waist and a Circassian cap. I burst out laughing at the sight of his slight body beneath the enormous shaggy cap. His face is anything but warlike, and this time he looked more dejected than usual.
"Why so sad, doctor?" I said to him. "Haven't you seen people off to the next world a hundred times with the greatest indifference? Imagine that I have a bilious fever, and that I have equal chances of recovering or succumbing. Both outcomes are in the order of things. Try to regard me as a patient stricken with a disease you have not yet diagnosed-that will stimulate your curiosity to the utmost. You may now make some important physiological observations on me... Isn't expectation of death by violence a real illness in itself?"
This thought impressed the doctor and his spirits rose.
We mounted. Werner clung to the reins with both hands and we set off. In a flash we had galloped through the settlement, past the fort, and entered the gorge, through which a road wound its way. It was half overgrown with tall grass and crossed at short intervals by noisy brooks which we had to ford, much to the despair of the doctor, whose horse would halt each time in the water.
I can't remember a bluer or fresher morning. The sun had barely peeped over the green summits and the merging of the first warmth of its rays with the dying coolness of the night brought a sweet languor to the senses. The exultant rays of the new day hadn't yet penetrated into the gorge. Now they gilded only the tops of the crags that towered above us on both sides. The dense foliage of the bushes growing in the deep crevices of the cliffs showered a silvery rain upon us at the slightest breath of wind. I remember that at that moment I loved nature as never before. With what curiosity did I gaze at each dewdrop that trembled on the broad vine leaves, reflecting millions of rainbow glints! How eagerly my eyes sought to pierce the hazy distance! There the path grew narrower and narrower, the crags bluer and more awesome, seeming to merge at last into an impregnable wall. We rode along in silence.
"Have you made your will?" Werner asked all of a sudden.
"No."
"What if you are killed?"
"The heirs will turn up themselves."
"Have you no friends to whom you would wish to send your last farewell?"
I shook my head.
"Is there no woman in the world to whom you would want to leave something to remember you by?"
"Do you want me to lay bare my soul to you, doctor?" I replied. "You see, I'm past the age when people die with the names of their beloved on their lips and bequeath a lock of pomaded, or unpomaded, hair to a friend. When I think of imminent and possible death, I think only of myself; some do not even do that. Friends, who will forget me tomorrow, or, worse still, who will weave God knows what fantastic yarns about me; and women, who in the embrace of another man will laugh at me in order that he might not be jealous of the departed-what do I care for them? From life's turmoil I've drawn a few ideas, but no feeling. For a long time now I have been living by my reason, not my heart. I weigh and analyze my own emotions and actions with stern curiosity, but without sympathy. There are two men in me-one lives in the full sense of the word, the other reasons and passes judgment on the first. The first will perhaps take leave of you and the world forever in an hour now; and the second... the second? Look, doctor, do you see the three dark figures on the cliff to the right? I believe those are our adversaries."
We spurred our horses on.
Three horses were tethered in the bushes at the foot of the cliff. We tied up ours there too and continued on foot up a narrow path to a ledge where Grushnitsky was waiting for us with the captain of dragoons and another second, by the name of Ivan Ignatyevich-his last name I never heard.
"We have been waiting a long time for you," said the captain of dragoons, with an ironical smile.
I pulled out my watch and showed it to him.
He apologized, saying that his watch was fast.
For several minutes there was an awkward silence. At last the doctor broke it, turning to Grushnitsky: "I believe," he said, "that having both shown your readiness to fight and thereby duly discharged your debt of honor, you might, gentlemen, come to an understanding and end this affair in a friendly fashion."
"I am ready to do so," said I.
The captain winked at Grushnitsky, who, thinking that I was showing the white feather, assumed a haughty air, although his face had been sickly gray until that moment. Now, for the first time since our arrival, he looked at me; the glance was uneasy and it betrayed his inner conflict.
"Tell me your conditions," he said, "and you may rest assured that I will do all I can for you…"