The Duel (13 page)

Near his apartments, Laevsky met Achmianov. The young man was out of breath and in an excited state.

“I’ve been looking for you, Ivan Andreich!” he said. “If you please, let’s go, quickly …”

“Where to?”

“A certain gentleman whom you aren’t acquainted with wishes to see you, it’s regarding a very important matter concerning you. He earnestly requests that you come see him for just one minute. He needs to discuss something with you … According to him, it’s a matter of life and death …”

Agitated, Achmianov relayed all of this with a heavy Armenian accent, so when he said “life” it came out as “lathe.”

“Who is he?” Laevsky asked.

“He asked that I not tell you his name.”

“Tell him I’m busy. Tomorrow, if he likes …”

“That’s not possible!” panicked Achmianov. “He wants to tell you something very important that concerns you … very important! If you don’t go, then misfortune will befall us.”

“How strange …” muttered Laevsky, not comprehending why Achmianov was so excited and what kind of secrets could exist in a boring boondock that is of no value to anyone. “How strange,” he repeated, lost in thought. “Nevertheless, let’s go. It’s all the same.”

Achmianov quickly walked ahead, and he followed. They walked along the street, then through the side street.

“How boring this is,” Laevsky said.

“Almost, almost … We’re near.”

Near the old rampart they crossed a narrow side street between two enclosed vacant lots, there they entered a sort of large yard and proceeded in the direction of a little house …

“This is the house of Muridov, isn’t it?” Laevsky asked.

“Yes.”

“But I don’t understand, why are we walking through the yards? We could have taken the street. It’s closer that way …”

“No reason, no reason …”

It seemed equally strange to Laevsky that Achmianov had led him to a pitch-black passage and then waved him in with his hand, as though beckoning him to proceed stealthily and to be quiet.

“This way, this way …” Achmianov said, carefully opening a door and entering on tiptoe over hay. “Quiet, quiet, I’m asking you … They may hear us.”

He listened carefully, took a long breath and said in a whisper:

“Open this door here and enter … Don’t be afraid.”

Laevsky, perplexed, opened the door and entered a room with a low ceiling and curtained windows. A candle stood on the table.

“Who do you want?” someone asked from a neighboring room. “That you, Muridik?”

Laevsky turned and entered the room and saw Kirilin, and beside him, Nadezhda Fyodorovna.

He did not hear what was being said to him; moving backwards, he did not notice how he ended up on the street. His hatred of Von Koren and all that had been troubling him—all disappeared from his soul. Going home, he awkwardly flapped his right hand and concentrated on looking down at his feet, trying his best to walk smoothly. At home, in his study, pacing from one corner of the room to the other, he rubbed his hands and moved his shoulders and neck at odd angles as though his jacket and shirt were too tight on him, then he lit a candle and sat down at the table …

“This science of the humanities, of which you speak, will only comply with the human psyche, once it encounters true science and moves forward alongside it. Whether they’ll meet beneath a microscope, or in the monologues of a new Hamlet, or in a new religion, I don’t know, but I do think that the earth will be covered in a blanket of ice, before it occurs. The most steadfast and life-affirming of all humanitarian knowledge—is, of course, the teachings of Christ, but draw your attention to how diversely even they are interpreted! Some teach that we should love those near and dear but make an exception for soldiers, criminals and the insane: it’s permissible for the first among
them to be killed during wartime, the second imprisoned or executed, and the third to be denied the union of marriage. Other interpreters teach to love those near and dear unconditionally, without taking into account the pluses and minuses. According to their teachings, if a consumptive or a murderer or an epileptic should come along and propose marriage to your daughter—give your blessing; if cretins wage war against the physical and cerebral status quo—lay down your heads. This is the propagation of love for love’s sake, like art for art’s sake; if empowered, it would drive the human race to extinction, and thus the super-colossus of all evil deeds ever seen on the face of the earth would be realized. There are very many interpretations, and if there are many, then serious thought cannot find any one of them satisfying and rushes to add its own interpretation to this mass. For this very reason, never base a question on, how would you say, philosophical or Christian ground; by doing so, you only grow further estranged from the question.”

The deacon listened attentively to the zoologist, thought for a moment and inquired:

“Is moral law, idiosyncratic to each individual, conceived of by philosophers or created by God together with the body?”

“I don’t know. But this law is so extremely common among all people and all epochs, that to me, it seems necessary to recognize it as being organically interlinked with man. It is not conceived of but simply is and will be. I’m not telling you that it will be seen beneath a microscope one day, but its organic link has already proven evident: severe
illness of the brain and all that we have deemed disorders of the soul arise first and foremost from a perversion of moral law, as far as I know.”

“All right, sir. This means that, as the stomach wants to eat, so moral feeling wants for us to love those near and dear to us. Isn’t that so? However, our essential nature of self-love is resistant to the voice of sense and reason, and thus many head-splitting questions arise. Who are we supposed to turn to in order to solve these problems if you would not have them based on philosophical ground?”

“Turn to those few precise facts that we do have. Trust in the clarity and logic of facts. It’s true this is meager, but it’s not really as shaky or blurry as philosophy. The moral law, let’s say, demands that you love people. But why? The result of love should be the elimination of all that is harmful to people in one way or another and threatens their present and future with danger. Our knowledge and this clarity are telling you that humankind is menaced by danger from the side of the morally and physically abnormal. If this is so, then fight the abnormal. If you don’t have the power to elevate them to normalcy, then you must surely have the strength and intelligence to neutralize them, that is destroy them.”

“Which means that love is when the strong destroy the weak?”

“Undoubtedly.”

“But, you see, the strong crucified our Lord Jesus Christ!” the deacon hotly said.

“Therein lies the whole point, that he was crucified
not by the strong but by the weak. The culture of mankind has weakened and aspires to nullify the battle for existence and selection; this is behind the speedy propagation of the weak and their predominance over the strong. Imagine that you’ve managed to impress human ideas in their primitive, rudimentary form upon bees. What can come of this? Drones that should be killed will be left among the living, will eat the honey, corrupt and stifle the hive—the result will be a predominance of the weak over the strong and the degeneration of the latter. The very same thing is occurring now with mankind: the weak are oppressing the strong. Amongst savages, who have not yet been touched by culture, the strongest, the wisest and the most moral leads the way; he is chief and ruler. And we, the cultured, crucified Christ and continue to crucify Him. This means we are lacking something … And that something must be restored in us, otherwise there’ll be no end to these misconceptions.”

“But what kind of criteria do you have for separating the strong from the weak?”

“Knowledge and clarity. The consumptive and the scrofulous will be recognizable by their illnesses, while the immoral and the insane by their actions.”

“But don’t you see that mistakes happen!”

“Yes, but it’s useless to worry about getting your feet wet when there’s danger of a flood.”

“That’s philosophy,” the deacon laughed.

“Not really. You’ve been so ruined by your seminary philosophy that you look for nothing but murk in everything. The abstract sciences, which your young head is
stuffed full of, are called abstract for a reason, in that they distract your intellect from what’s clear. Look the devil straight in the eye, and if he’s a devil, then say that this is a devil, but don’t go riffling through Kant or Hegel for an explanation.”

The zoologist was quiet a moment and then continued.

“Two by two is four, a rock is a rock. Tomorrow, lo and behold, we’re having a duel. You and I will say that it’s foolish and absurd, that the duel has outlived its era, that in reality the aristocratic duel in no way differs from a drunken brawl in a tavern, but still we will not disengage, will go and will fight. This means that there is a power that is stronger than our reason. We cry out that war is plunder, barbarism, horror, fratricide, we cannot stand the sight of blood without swooning; but at the first insult from the French or Germans, within the hour we’ll feel our spirits stir, we’ll give the most heartfelt shout of hurrah and throw ourselves at the enemy, you will invoke the Lord’s prayer over our artillery and our valor will arouse a consensual and, what’s more, heartfelt delight. This means, yet again, that there is a power, and if it is not higher than us, then it is stronger than us and our philosophy. We cannot stop it in the same way that we cannot stop that storm cloud slowly drifting in from the sea. Don’t be a hypocrite, don’t flip it the bird without removing your hand from your pocket, and don’t say:
Oh, how silly! Oh, how outdated! Oh, it doesn’t conform to Scripture!
But look it straight in the eyes, acknowledge its lawfulness according to reason, and when, for instance, it would like to be rid of the decrepit, the scrofulous, the
corrupt race, then don’t interfere with your pills and quotations of ill-interpreted Gospel. Leskov has a conscientious Daniel, who comes across a leper outside of town and feeds him and warms him all in the name of love for Christ. If that Daniel really loved people, he would have led the leper further out of town and thrown him in a ditch, then he could have gone off to serve the healthy. Christ, I hope, has bestowed upon us love that is reasonable, sensible and benevolent.”

“So that’s what you’re made of!” the deacon laughed. “If you don’t believe in Christ, why is it you refer to Him so often?”

“No, I believe. But only, of course, in my own way, and not in yours. Oh, Deacon, Deacon!” The zoologist began to laugh; he took the deacon by the waist and said cheerfully: “Well, what, then? Shall we go to the duel tomorrow?”

“My order doesn’t allow it, or else I’d go.”

“What does that mean—your order?”

“I’m ordained. I’ve received grace.”

“Oh, Deacon, Deacon,” Von Koren repeated, laughing. “I love talking with you.”

“You say you have faith,” the Deacon said. “What kind of faith is it? Why, I’ve got an uncle who’s a priest, and he’s got such faith that during times of drought as the plains beg for rain, he brings an umbrella out with him and a leather coat so that he won’t get soaking wet on the way back. That there is faith! When he speaks of Christ, he exudes such radiance that all the ladies and gents cry in
ecstasy. He could even stop that storm cloud and send that power of yours running. Yes … Faith can move mountains.”

Laughing, the deacon slapped the zoologist’s shoulder.

“So, then …” he continued. “Here you teach all that you can, penetrate the abyss of the sea, separate the weak from the strong, write books and challenge others to duels—yet everything remains in its place. But mind you, any random decrepit old man prattling one and the same word over and over about the holy spirit or a new Mohammed with a saber galloping on horseback from Arabia, everything will go flying head over heels for you, and in Europe there won’t be a single stone left standing on any other.”

“Well, Deacon, that’s written in the sky with pitchforks!”

“
Faith, if it hath not works, is dead
. But works without faith—that’s worse, that’s just a waste of time and nothing more.”

The doctor appeared on the embankment. Seeing the Deacon and the zoologist, he approached them.

“It seems everything is ready,” he said, out of breath. “Govorovsky and Boyko will be seconds. They’ll arrive tomorrow at five in the morning. Everything’s been stood on its head!” he said, looking up at the sky. “There’s nothing to see. It’s going to rain.”

“You, I’m assuming, will ride with us?” Von Koren asked.

“No, God help me, I’ve suffered enough. Ustimovich will go in my place. I’ve already spoken with him.”

Lightning flashed far out at sea, and the vague roll of thunder could be heard.

“How stuffy it is before a storm!” Von Koren said. “I’m willing to wager that you’ve already been to Laevsky’s and cried on his shoulder.”

“Why would I go to him?” the doctor answered, perplexed. “That’s all I need!”

Before sunset he had walked the boulevard and the street several times, in the hopes of running into Laevsky. He felt embarrassed by his earlier outburst and for the sudden break in good will that had followed the outburst. He wanted to apologize to Laevsky in a joking tone, scold him, calm him and tell him that the duel is a remnant of the barbarianism of the Middle Ages but that providence was guiding them to the duel as a means of reconciliation: tomorrow they will both, splendiferous people with superior intellects, exchange gunshots, appraise one another’s nobility and become friends. However, not once did he encounter Laevsky.

“Why would I call on him?” Samoylenko repeated. “It is not I who insulted him, he insulted me. Kindly tell me, why did he tear into me? What bad thing did I do to him? I walk into the drawing room and all of a sudden, ain’t life grand: I’m a spy! There it is for you! You tell me: how did it start? What did you say to him?”

“I told him there is no way out of his predicament. And I was right. Only honest men or cheats could find their way out of any predicament, but one who wants to be both an honest man and a cheat at the same time has no way out. Will you look, gentlemen, it’s already eleven o’clock, and tomorrow we must rise early.”