The Diary of a Superfluous Man, and Other Stories

"What? You bore me! You know well what."

"May God slay me if …"

"No, I will slay thee – if thou dost not marry her … dost understand?"

"What!.." Pável Afanásievitch leaped to his feet, and stood before Vasíly. – "Olga Ivánovna … you say …"

"Thou 'rt clever, my good fellow, very clever, I must admit." Vasíly, with a smile, tapped him on the shoulder. – "In spite of the fact that thou art so mild of aspect …"

"My God, O God!.. You will drive me mad… What do you mean to say? Explain yourself, for God's sake!"

Vasíly bent over him and whispered something in his ear.

Rogatchyóff cried out: – "What?.. how?"

Vasíly stamped his foot.

"Olga Ivánovna? Olga?.."

"Yes … your betrothed bride…"

"My betrothed bride … Vasíly Ivánovitch … she … she … But I will have nothing to do with her!" – shouted Pável Afanásievitch. "I 'll have none of her! What do you take me for? To deceive me – to deceive me!.. Olga Ivánovna, is n't it sinful of you, are n't you ashamed?.." (Tears gushed from his eyes.) – "I thank you, Vasíly Ivánovitch, I thank you… And now I 'll have nothing to do with her! I won't! I won't! don't speak of such a thing!.. Akh, good heavens! – that I should have lived to see this day! But it is well, it is well!"

"Stop behaving like a baby," – remarked Vasíly Ivánovitch, coldly. – "Remember, you have given me your word that the wedding shall take place to-morrow."

"No, that shall not be! Enough, Vasíly Ivánovitch, I say to you once more – for whom do you take me? You do me much honour; many thanks, sir. Excuse me, sir."

"As you like!" – retorted Vasíly. – "Get your sword."

"Why?"

"This is why."

Vasíly drew out his slender, flexible French sword, and bent it slightly against the floor.

"You mean … to fight … with me?.."

"Precisely so."

"But, Vasíly Ivánovitch, pray, enter into my position! How can I – judge for yourself – after what you have told me?.. I am an honest man, Vasíly Ivánovitch; I am a nobleman."

"You are a nobleman, you are an honest man, – then be so good as to fight with me."

"Vasíly Ivánovitch!"

"You appear to be a coward, Mr. Rogatchyóff?"

"I am not in the least a coward, Vasíly Ivánovitch. You have thought to frighten me, Vasíly Ivánovitch. 'Come, now,' you said to yourself, 'I 'll scare him, and he 'll turn cowardly; he will instantly consent to anything.'… No, Vasíly Ivánovitch, I 'm the same sort of nobleman as yourself, although I have not received my education in the capital, it is true; and you will not succeed in terrifying me, excuse me."

"Very good," – retorted Vasíly: – "where is your sword?"

"Eróshka!" – shouted Pável Afanásievitch.

A man entered.

"Get my sword – yonder – thou knowest where it is – in the garret … and be quick about it…"

Eróshka withdrew. Pável Afanásievitch suddenly turned extremely pale, hastily took off his dressing-gown, put on a kaftan of a reddish hue with large strass buttons … wound a neckcloth round his neck… Vasíly watched him, and examined the fingers of his right hand.

"So how is it to be? Are we to fight, Pável Afanásievitch?"

"If we must fight, we must," – returned Rogatchyóff, hastily buttoning his waistcoat.

"Hey, Pável Afanásievitch, heed my advice: marry … why shouldst thou not?.. But I, believe me …"

"No, Vasíly Ivánovitch," – Rogatchyóff interrupted him. "You will either kill me or maim me, I know; but I have no intention of losing my honour; if I must die, I will."

Eróshka entered and hurriedly handed Rogatchyóff a wretched little old sword, in a cracked, leather scabbard. At that time all nobles wore swords when they had powdered hair; but the nobles of the steppes only powdered their hair a couple of times a year. Eróshka retreated to the door, and fell to weeping. Pável Afanásievitch thrust him out of the room.

"But, Vasíly Ivánovitch," – he remarked, with some agitation, – "I cannot fight with you instantly: permit me to defer our duel until to-morrow; my father is not at home; and it would not be a bad thing to put my affairs in order, in case of a catastrophe."

"I see that you are beginning to quail again, my dear sir."

"No, no, Vasíly Ivánovitch; but judge for yourself…"

"Listen!"… shouted Lutchínoff: – "you are driving me out of patience… Either give me your word to marry immediately, or fight … or I will trounce you with a cudgel, like a coward, do you understand?"

"Let us go into the park," – replied Rogatchyóff between his teeth.

But suddenly the door opened, and the old nurse Efímovna, all dishevelled, forced her way into the room, fell on her knees before Rogatchyóff and clasped his feet…

"My dear little father!" – she wailed: – "my child … what is this thou art projecting? Do not ruin us miserable ones, dear little father! For he will kill thee, my dear little dove! But only give us the command, give us the command, and we 'll kill that insolent fellow with our caps… Pável Afanásievitch, my darling child, have the fear of God before thine eyes!"

A multitude of pale and agitated faces showed themselves in the doorway … the red beard of the Elder even made its appearance…

"Let me go, Efímovna, let me go!" – muttered Rogatchyóff.

"I will not let thee go, my own one, I will not let thee go. What art thou doing, dear little father, what art thou doing? And what will Afanásy Lúkitch say? Why, he will drive all of us out of the white world… And why do ye stand there? Seize the unbidden guest by the arms, and lead him forth from the house, that no trace of him may remain…"

"Rogatchyóff!" – shouted Vasíly Ivánovitch, menacingly.

"Thou hast gone crazy, Efímovna, thou art disgracing me,"… said Pável Afanásievitch. – "Go away, go, with God's blessing, and begone, all of you, do you hear? Do you hear?.."

Vasíly Ivánovitch walked swiftly to the open window, drew out a small silver whistle, and whistled lightly… Boursier answered close at hand. Lutchínoff immediately turned to Pável Afanásievitch.

"How is this comedy to end?"

"Vasíly Ivánovitch, I will come to you to-morrow – what am I to do with this crazy woman?.."