War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy [205]
When everything was ready, the swords stuck in the snow to mark the barrier to which they had to walk, and the pistols loaded, Nesvitsky came over to Pierre.
“I would not be fulfilling my duty, Count,” he said in a timid voice, “and would not justify the trust and honor you have shown me by choosing me as your second, if I did not tell you the whole truth at this important, this very important, moment. I think this affair has no sufficient grounds and is not worth shedding blood over…You were wrong, you lost your temper…”
“Ah, yes, terribly stupid…” said Pierre.
“Then allow me to convey your regrets, and I’m certain that our adversaries will agree to accept your apology,” said Nesvitsky (like the other participants in the affair, and like everyone in similar affairs, not believing that things would go so far as an actual duel). “You know, Count, it’s much more noble to acknowledge your mistake than to bring the matter to a point beyond repair…There was no offense on either side. Allow me to talk it over…”
“No, what is there to talk about!” said Pierre. “It makes no difference…So, are we ready?” he added. “Only tell me, where am I to go and where am I to shoot?” he said with an unnaturally meek smile. He took the pistol in his hands and began asking how to pull the trigger, because until then he had never handled a pistol, something he did not want to admit. “Ah, yes, like that, I know, I just forgot,” he said.
“No apologies, decidedly nothing,” Dolokhov replied to Denisov, who for his part also made an attempt at reconciliation, and he also walked to the designated place.
The place chosen for the duel was some eighty paces off the road, where the sleighs had been left, in a small clearing in the pine woods, covered with snow wet from the thaw that had set in over the last few days. The adversaries stood some forty paces from each other, at the edges of the clearing. Nesvitsky and Denisov, measuring out the paces, left tracks imprinted in the deep, wet snow from the places where they were standing to their swords, marking the barrier and stuck into the ground ten paces apart. The thaw and the fog persisted; at a distance of forty paces they could not see each other clearly. In three minutes all was ready, and still they were slow to begin. Everyone was silent.
V
“Well, begin!” said Dolokhov.
“Let’s,” said Pierre, with the same smile.
It was becoming frightening. It was obvious that the affair, having begun so lightly, could no longer be prevented by anything, that it was going on by itself, independently of men’s will, and would be accomplished. Denisov first went to the barrier and announced:
“Since the adversaries have refused a reconciliation, kindly begin: take your pistols and at the word three start walking towards each other.”
“O-one! Two! Three!…” Denisov cried out angrily and stepped aside. The two men began walking over the imprinted tracks, getting closer and closer, and recognizing each other in the fog. The adversaries had the right to fire at any time while coming to the barrier. Dolokhov walked slowly, without raising his pistol, his light, shining blue eyes peering into his adversary’s face. On his mouth there was, as usual, the semblance of a smile.
At the word three, Pierre walked forward with quick steps, getting off the beaten track and stepping into the untouched snow. Pierre stretched his arm out and held the pistol as if he was afraid of killing himself with it. He carefully put his left hand behind him, because he would have liked to support his right hand with it, and he knew that was not allowed. Having gone some six paces and veered off the track into the snow, Pierre looked down at his feet,