The Torrents of Spring Part 7

The carriage still rolled on and on.

It was an exquisite morning. The streets of Frankfort, which were just beginning to show signs of life, looked so clean and snug; the windows of the houses glittered in flashes like tinfoil; and as soon as the carriage had driven beyond the city walls, from overhead, from a blue but not yet glaring sky, the larks' loud trills showered down in floods. Suddenly at a turn in the road, a familiar figure came from behind a tall poplar, took a few steps forward and stood still. Sanin looked more closely.... Heavens! it was Emil!

'But does he know anything about it?' he demanded of Pantaleone.

'I tell you I'm a madman,' the poor Italian wailed despairingly, almost in a shriek. 'The wretched boy gave me no peace all night, and this morning at last I revealed all to him!'

'So much for your _segredezza_!' thought Sanin. The carriage had got up to Emil. Sanin told the coachman to stop the horses, and called the 'wretched boy' up to him. Emil approached with hesitating steps, pale as he had been on the day he fainted. He could scarcely stand.

'What are you doing here?' Sanin asked him sternly. 'Why aren't you at home?'

'Let ... let me come with you,' faltered Emil in a trembling voice, and he clasped his hands. His teeth were chattering as in a fever. 'I won't get in your way--only take me.'

'If you feel the very slightest affection or respect for me,' said Sanin, 'you will go at once home or to Herr Kluber's shop, and you won't say one word to any one, and will wait for my return!'

'Your return,' moaned Emil--and his voice quivered and broke, 'but if you're--'

'Emil!' Sanin interrupted--and he pointed to the coachman, 'do control yourself! Emil, please, go home! Listen to me, my dear! You say you love me. Well, I beg you!' He held out his hand to him. Emil bent forward, sobbed, pressed it to his lips, and darting away from the road, ran back towards Frankfort across country.

'A n.o.ble heart too,' muttered Pantaleone; but Sanin glanced severely at him.... The old man shrank into the corner of the carriage. He was conscious of his fault; and moreover, he felt more and more bewildered every instant; could it really be he who was acting as second, who had got horses, and had made all arrangements, and had left his peaceful abode at six o'clock? Besides, his legs were stiff and aching.

Sanin thought it as well to cheer him up, and he chanced on the very thing, he hit on the right word.

'Where is your old spirit, Signor Cippatola? Where is _il antico valor_?'

Signor Cippatola drew himself up and scowled '_Il antico valor_?' he boomed in a ba.s.s voice. '_Non e ancora spento_ (it's not all lost yet), _il antico valor!_'

He put himself in a dignified att.i.tude, began talking of his career, of the opera, of the great tenor Garcia--and arrived at Hanau a hero.

After all, if you think of it, nothing is stronger in the world ...

and weaker--than a word!

XXII

The copse in which the duel was to take place was a quarter of a mile from Hanau. Sanin and Pantaleone arrived there first, as the latter had predicted; they gave orders for the carriage to remain outside the wood, and they plunged into the shade of the rather thick and close-growing trees. They had to wait about an hour.

The time of waiting did not seem particularly disagreeable to Sanin; he walked up and down the path, listened to the birds singing, watched the dragonflies in their flight, and like the majority of Russians in similar circ.u.mstances, tried not to think. He only once dropped into reflection; he came across a young lime-tree, broken down, in all probability by the squall of the previous night. It was unmistakably dying ... all the leaves on it were dead. 'What is it? an omen?'

was the thought that flashed across his mind; but he promptly began whistling, leaped over the very tree, and paced up and down the path.

As for Pantaleone, he was grumbling, abusing the Germans, sighing and moaning, rubbing first his back and then his knees. He even yawned from agitation, which gave a very comic expression to his tiny shrivelled-up face. Sanin could scarcely help laughing when he looked at him.

They heard, at last, the rolling of wheels along the soft road. 'It's they!' said Pantaleone, and he was on the alert and drew himself up, not without a momentary nervous s.h.i.+ver, which he made haste, however, to cover with the e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n 'B-r-r!' and the remark that the morning was rather fresh. A heavy dew drenched the gra.s.s and leaves, but the sultry heat penetrated even into the wood.

Both the officers quickly made their appearance under its arched avenues; they were accompanied by a little thick-set man, with a phlegmatic, almost sleepy, expression of face--the army doctor. He carried in one hand an earthenware pitcher of water--to be ready for any emergency; a satchel with surgical instruments and bandages hung on his left shoulder. It was obvious that he was thoroughly used to such excursions; they const.i.tuted one of the sources of his income; each duel yielded him eight gold crowns--four from each of the combatants. Herr von Richter carried a case of pistols, Herr von Donhof--probably considering it the thing--was swinging in his hand a little cane.

'Pantaleone!' Sanin whispered to the old man; 'if ... if I'm killed--anything may happen--take out of my side pocket a paper--there's a flower wrapped up in it--and give the paper to Signorina Gemma. Do you hear? You promise?'

The old man looked dejectedly at him, and nodded his head affirmatively.... But G.o.d knows whether he understood what Sanin was asking him to do.

The combatants and the seconds exchanged the customary bows; the doctor alone did not move as much as an eyelash; he sat down yawning on the gra.s.s, as much as to say, 'I'm not here for expressions of chivalrous courtesy.' Herr von Richter proposed to Herr 'Ts.h.i.+badola'

that he should select the place; Herr 'Ts.h.i.+badola' responded, moving his tongue with difficulty--'the wall' within him had completely given way again. 'You act, my dear sir; I will watch....'

And Herr von Richter proceeded to act. He picked out in the wood close by a very pretty clearing all studded with flowers; he measured out the steps, and marked the two extreme points with sticks, which he cut and pointed. He took the pistols out of the case, and squatting on his heels, he rammed in the bullets; in short, he fussed about and exerted himself to the utmost, continually mopping his perspiring brow with a white handkerchief. Pantaleone, who accompanied him, was more like a man frozen. During all these preparations, the two princ.i.p.als stood at a little distance, looking like two schoolboys who have been punished, and are sulky with their tutors.

The decisive moment arrived.... 'Each took his pistol....'

But at this point Herr von Richter observed to Pantaleone that it was his duty, as the senior second, according to the rules of the duel, to address a final word of advice and exhortation to be reconciled to the combatants, before uttering the fatal 'one! two! three!'; that although this exhortation had no effect of any sort and was, as a rule, nothing but an empty formality, still, by the performance of this formality, Herr Cippatola would be rid of a certain share of responsibility; that, properly speaking, such an admonition formed the direct duty of the so-called 'impartial witness' (_unpartheiischer Zeuge_) but since they had no such person present, he, Herr von Richter, would readily yield this privilege to his honoured colleague.

Pantaleone, who had already succeeded in obliterating himself behind a bush, so as not to see the offending officer at all, at first made out nothing at all of Herr von Richter's speech, especially, as it had been delivered through the nose, but all of a sudden he started, stepped hurriedly forward, and convulsively thumping at his chest, in a hoa.r.s.e voice wailed out in his mixed jargon: '_A la la la ... Che b.e.s.t.i.a.lita! Deux zeun ommes comme ca que si battono--perche? Che diavolo? An data a casa!_'

'I will not consent to a reconciliation,' Sanin intervened hurriedly.

'And I too will not,' his opponent repeated after him.

'Well, then shout one, two, three!' von Richter said, addressing the distracted Pantaleone. The latter promptly ducked behind the bush again, and from there, all huddled together, his eyes screwed up, and his head turned away, he shouted at the top of his voice: '_Una ...

due ... tre!_'

The first shot was Sanin's, and he missed. His bullet went ping against a tree. Baron von Donhof shot directly after him--intentionally, to one side, into the air.

A constrained silence followed.... No one moved. Pantaleone uttered a faint moan.

'Is it your wish to go on?' said Donhof.

'Why did you shoot in the air?' inquired Sanin.

'That's nothing to do with you.'

'Will you shoot in the air the second time?' Sanin asked again.

'Possibly: I don't know.'

'Excuse me, excuse me, gentlemen ...' began von Richter; 'duellists have not the right to talk together. That's out of order.'

'I decline my shot,' said Sanin, and he threw his pistol on the ground.

'And I too do not intend to go on with the duel,' cried Donhof, and he too threw his pistol on the ground. 'And more than that, I am prepared to own that I was in the wrong--the day before yesterday.'

He moved uneasily, and hesitatingly held out his hand. Sanin went rapidly up to him and shook it. Both the young men looked at each other with a smile, and both their faces flushed crimson.

'_Bravi! bravi!_' Pantaleone roared suddenly as if he had gone mad, and clapping his hands, he rushed like a whirlwind from behind the bush; while the doctor, who had been sitting on one side on a felled tree, promptly rose, poured the water out of the jug and walked off with a lazy, rolling step out of the wood.

'Honour is satisfied, and the duel is over!' von Richter announced.

'_Fuori!_' Pantaleone boomed once more, through old a.s.sociations.

When he had exchanged bows with the officers, and taken his seat in the carriage, Sanin certainly felt all over him, if not a sense of pleasure, at least a certain lightness of heart, as after an operation is over; but there was another feeling astir within him too, a feeling akin to shame.... The duel, in which he had just played his part, struck him as something false, a got-up formality, a common officers'

and students' farce. He recalled the phlegmatic doctor, he recalled how he had grinned, that is, wrinkled up his nose when he saw him coming out of the wood almost arm-in-arm with Baron Donhof. And afterwards when Pantaleone had paid him the four crowns due to him ...