A Gentleman's Gentleman/Chapter 20
CHAPTER XX
THE HONOR OF COUNT FÉDOR
The duel, as I have stated above, was to be fought under conditions common years ago in the Russian army, but rarely heard of to-day outside Muscovy. As the right understanding of these conditions is necessary to my story, I will say a word here about them. For the matter of that, they are simple enough for a child to follow. You place your men fifteen paces apart, and you draw a centre line seven and a half paces from each man. At the word "fire," it is open to either party to shoot or to keep his charge and advance toward the centre line. But when he advances his opponent must advance; so that, given a couple who really meant business, you might find them shooting each other at arm's length. There is nothing in the code to prevent this; nothing but a man's natural sense of right and fair play. It has been done times without number; it will be done again, so long as men leap at each other's throats for a word, or cross swords for a look from a woman's eyes.
I have given this explanation that you may follow me rightly in what I have to say about this particular meeting—the only duel I ever saw fought out, and the only one I want to see. When we arrived on the ground, our other second, who had driven over from Novgorod, was already measuring the fifteen paces. They had driven a stake into the turf to mark the centre line; and, as for the place chosen, it could not have been better. It was just a natural bit of lawn in the midst of the pine thickets; a little clearing so thick set round with woods that an army might have tramped the high-road and have known nothing of what we were doing. The general himself was al- ready there when we arrived, looking spick and span in his tight-fitting uniform, and having a bow and a smile for every one—even for the count. The surgeon, one from the barracks in the town, was busy chattering like a barber, and offering his brandy-flask to all who would like a nip out of it. As for the others—the general's seconds and our own—they were as busy as bees, and a thundering sight more important. You might have thought they were surveying the ground for a new railway, so carefully did they go over it with their tapes and rules; and it was not until a good twenty minutes had passed that one of them cried, "Gentlemen, we are ready," and I knew that the great play was about to begin.
I call it a great play; but, God knows, my heart was in my mouth—then and until the end of it. It's an awful thing to look upon two men, full of life and health and strength, and to think that one of them may lie in his blood, to die where he falls, before another minute has passed away. I can remember to this hour how my hands shook as I took the pistols out of the case and handed them to my master; I can remember what a strange stillness fell upon us all as the men took up their positions in the silence and the darkness of that gloomy morning. Even the doctor ceased his chatter and his jokes, and shut with a snap the case of instruments he had opened so briskly a moment before. It was as though we were already in the presence of death, and that the awe of death had come upon us.
"Gentlemen, are you quite ready?"
My master put the question in French, and hearing it, I glanced quickly at the two who faced each other. The count, I thought, had a look of bitter hate upon his face; the general was still smiling as blandly as a child. I could hear my heart beating like a pump as I watched them and waited for the word, which seemed a year in coming.
"Gentlemen," my master went on presently, "if you are quite ready"—here he paused—"if you are quite ready, then fire." At this word, he stepped back a pace and I saw him bite his lip in his anxiety. One of the pistols sent a thundering report through the woods almost as the word was given; but no man fell. The general had fired deliberately at the sky, and stood now with folded arms to wait the count's pleasure.
Good God! I have lived that moment a hundred times since that day. An unarmed man, waiting for the deliberate aim of a murderer who would have torn him limb from limb if he could! For that was the position—the old man still with that sweet smile upon his face, the young man toying with his pistol and looking like a madman or a devil. So awful was the suspense that I even heard one of the seconds cry, "For God's sake, fire!" And to this cry another of rage and horror was added a minute later, when every man saw that, instead of firing, the count had taken one deliberate step to the centre line, and that the general had imitated him.
"God of heaven!" roared the doctor at this, "is he going to shoot him like a dog, then?"
The words were still upon his lips when the count took another stride forward. I thought for a moment that the seconds would intervene. I believe to this day that they would have done, if Sir Nicolas had not cried out suddenly, "We can do nothing; he is within his right." Once this was said, the old silence fell upon us—upon all but the doctor, who turned his back upon the scene and burst out crying like a woman. And step by step, slowly, deliberately, with all the malice of a devil's heart, the murderer advanced to his work.
They were within two yards of each other at last; yet even then I could not bring myself to think that those about me would stand by and see such a cruel thing. "The count is just torturing the poor old man," I thought; "he will bring him to the centre and then fire up in the air." This opinion was shared by the others, I make sure. Either that, or they were paralyzed—fascinated like a dumb thing is by a tiger. Once they had cried out, not a man spoke. Silently, with faces flushed, their heads bent forward, they watched the meeting as the two came together at last, face to face, almost heart to heart.
"My God! it cannot be; he does not mean it. It's a play—he does not want his life."
I could not keep the words back as the two men met, and stood for one awful minute on the line together. The general's face was still a beautiful thing to see; the count continued to bend forward, holding his pistol at his side. Not a word was spoken on either side, not a gesture made; they stood there like two statues until, suddenly and horribly, the end came. Whether the count really meant to do as he did, whether it was a devilish impulse, I do not know to this day. Be that as it may, the two were standing as I have described them when, all at once, there was a shrill scream—a woman's scream—from the little thicket near by us. One short suppressed exclamation it was; yet enough to cause the general to turn quickly upon his heel; and in the same moment the count raised his pistol and fired. He had pressed the muzzle hard against the other's breast; he shot him like he would have shot a hound. With one awful ringing cry—a cry that sent the birds screaming from the trees, and echoed again and again in the woods—the old man fell his length upon the grass; and smoke and blood poured together from his gaping wound.
That he was stone dead, that he died as he fell, I did not want any doctor to tell me. As the thing went, I don't believe a man of the party moved for more than a minute after that dreadful deed. We were rooted to the ground, held stiff as much with shame as with sorrow. Even the count made no attempt to leave the clearing; he simply stood there with a sneer on his livid face and the smoking pistol swinging in his hand. If Sir Nicolas—who was the first to throw off the spell—had not pulled him away into the wood, he would have held his ground until one of the others had shot him where he stood; as I am sure they would have done if shame had not held their hands. But my master grasped the situation before they had moved from their places, and beckoning me to follow him, he entered the nearest thicket and disappeared from our view. When I found him two minutes later, he was returning to the clearing with a fainting woman in his arms. It was Marya Pouzatòv, who had witnessed the whole scene from the woods.
"For God's sake, look after the count!" said he; "they will cut him in pieces. Get him back to the village, and run all the way. Ye've not a minute to lose, if ye'd save more bloodshed."
With this he ran on, carrying the fainting girl to the doctor, who was still standing beside the dead body of the old soldier. You may imagine that I didn't lose much time in doing as he had told me; and I was out on the road with Count Fédor while you could add up ten. I found him dazed and muttering, and more like a lunatic than a man. "He laughed in my face," was all he could say—"he laughed in my face, and struck me, the dog!"
"That's all very well," said I; and I could have hit him willing, myself. "I hope you're pleased with yourself. If you want to save your dirty life now, keep your mouth shut and come along with me."
"They cannot touch me," said he fiercely, between his teeth. "I was within my right! There is nothing against my honor."
"Your honor be dd!" said I, "and you, too, for that matter. Run, you pig of a Russian, run!"
They say we do queer things on the impulse; and I am certain that it was impulse alone which made Sir Nicolas lift a finger to save such a bad one as the count proved himself on that day. Possibly he had other plans at the moment; possibly he didn't see his way clear with two men dead on the field. And what he thought, I thought, too, in my own way. There had been trouble enough for one morning, and no good could follow a second dose of it. The dirty murderer I was running with was in one way our man. It lay upon me to stand by him—until he was clear of the ground, any way. And stand by him I did, never halting a minute the whole three miles back to the village and to the priest's house. When I left him at last, he was splashed from head to foot with mud, and his face was as white as the paper I am writing on.
"You'll not leave me!" cried he, as I left him. "By Heaven, I'll want all the friends I can get this time to-morrow. They'll tear me in pieces—they'll hunt me like a dog"
"You should have thought of that before," said I.
"I never meant to shoot him, I swear it!" said he, staggering into the house. "It was the girl's voice that made me—the she-devil that has played with me for five years, and brought me to this at last. Oh, my God! I'm a doomed man."
He went in with this on his lips, and I turned back to meet Sir Nicolas. The bells of the horses in his carriage were already jangling in the village street; and, presently, I saw my master with his Marya, coming along at full gallop. He did not stop even when he caught sight of me, but drove on straight to the great house, where I followed him as fast as my legs would carry me. I found him doing his best to make things look well to Mme. Pouzatòv, and already taking almost a master's place in the house. But he came to me at once when I arrived; and the first name that passed his lips was the name of the count.
"’Tis a paltry murdering villain he is, and nothing else," said he, drawing me aside in the garden; "but we must stand by him, or there'll be bad talk."
"You don't mean to say that you'll keep him in the village there?" cried I.
He looked at me cunningly, and there was the old sly twinkle in his eyes.
"Not exactly that," said he; "not in the village, nor in the town—nor in Russia."
I began to see his drift, and I could have laughed myself. He knew well that dead men are forgiven quickly. But with the count hounded out of the country, the coast would be clear for him.
"You think, then, that he will go, sir?" I asked.
"He will go in half an hour," he answered quietly, "unless he has a fancy for the bullets of the general's men. They will tear him limb from limb, and not lose much time in the employment. You may look for some of them from Novgorod before the sun sets. And that brings me to the point of it. It is yourself that will see him through to Paris. I've ordered the carriage to be at the priest's house in ten minutes from this time. You will hide him in the bottom of it, and drive to Malo, which is a station on the great Moscow railway. Once you have him in the train, lie is safe. But any way, don't return here, for I'd keep what happens from Miss Marya's ears, at all costs."
"Then I'm to go back to our hotel, sir, whatever happens?"
"Whatever happens," said he; "though I have me doubts that ye'll get through with him."
He said no more beyond finding me money for the journey, and we parted without a handshake. I have always regretted that, for it was the last time I saw Sir Nicolas Steele. Twenty minutes after I had left him, I was in the chatevka with the count, and we were driving like madmen to Malo. There was no need for him to hide himself in the bottom of the carriage, as my master had wished, for the road was as lonely and as flat as a desert; and I do believe that we did not see a human being until the station came in sight. As for the count, he never spoke a word the whole way, but lay fuddled with drink and half-sleeping on the rugs which I had spread for him. When I woke him at last, he hardly seemed to know where he was; and he laughed at all my requests that he should keep himself out of sight while he could.
"Hide myself," said he; "and for what? Because I have shot a man who struck me in the face? Bah, I would do the same for him to-morrow, and for his friends too!"
I was not going to trouble myself to argue with him; and truth to tell, there did not appear to be any thing to fear. The platform of the station Mas deserted, save for a pompous-looking man in a gold-braided hat. Outside there were only a couple of old women selling tea, and a bit of a youth skylarking with them. I left my man in perfect confidence while I went to get the tickets; and when I returned to the waiting-room, he was still sitting on the seat where I had left him. It was only when I came quite close to him that I saw how queer his eyes looked, and how stiff his attitude was.
"Halloa!" said I; and as I said it, I noticed that blood was running down his shirt, "what's the matter now?"
But he did not answer me. He was dead, with a dagger through his heart. There was no longer a boy skylarking with the women outside the station.