Book Four: 1806 - Chapter IV

by Leo Tolstoy

　　Pierre sat opposite Dolokhov and Nicholas Rostov. As usual, he ateand drank much, and eagerly. But those who knew him intimately noticedthat some great change had come over him that day. He was silent allthrough dinner and looked about, blinking and scowling, or, with fixedeyes and a look of complete absent-mindedness, kept rubbing the bridgeof his nose. His face was depressed and gloomy. He seemed to see andhear nothing of what was going on around him and to be absorbed bysome depressing and unsolved problem.

　　The unsolved problem that tormented him was caused by hints given bythe princess, his cousin, at Moscow, concerning Dolokhov's intimacywith his wife, and by an anonymous letter he had received thatmorning, which in the mean jocular way common to anonymous letterssaid that he saw badly through his spectacles, but that his wife'sconnection with Dolokhov was a secret to no one but himself. Pierreabsolutely disbelieved both the princess' hints and the letter, but hefeared now to look at Dolokhov, who was sitting opposite him. Everytime he chanced to meet Dolokhov's handsome insolent eyes, Pierre feltsomething terrible and monstrous rising in his soul and turned quicklyaway. Involuntarily recalling his wife's past and her relations withDolokhov, Pierre saw clearly that what was said in the letter might betrue, or might at least seem to be true had it not referred to hiswife. He involuntarily remembered how Dolokhov, who had fullyrecovered his former position after the campaign, had returned toPetersburg and come to him. Availing himself of his friendly relationswith Pierre as a boon companion, Dolokhov had come straight to hishouse, and Pierre had put him up and lent him money. Pierre recalledhow Helene had smilingly expressed disapproval of Dolokhov's living attheir house, and how cynically Dolokhov had praised his wife'sbeauty to him and from that time till they came to Moscow had not leftthem for a day.

　　"Yes, he is very handsome," thought Pierre, "and I know him. Itwould be particularly pleasant to him to dishonor my name and ridiculeme, just because I have exerted myself on his behalf, befriendedhim, and helped him. I know and understand what a spice that would addto the pleasure of deceiving me, if it really were true. Yes, if itwere true, but I do not believe it. I have no right to, and can't,believe it." He remembered the expression Dolokhov's face assumed inhis moments of cruelty, as when tying the policeman to the bear anddropping them into the water, or when he challenged a man to a duelwithout any reason, or shot a post-boy's horse with a pistol. Thatexpression was often on Dolokhov's face when looking at him. "Yes,he is a bully," thought Pierre, "to kill a man means nothing to him.It must seem to him that everyone is afraid of him, and that mustplease him. He must think that I, too, am afraid of him- and in fact Iam afraid of him," he thought, and again he felt something terribleand monstrous rising in his soul. Dolokhov, Denisov, and Rostov werenow sitting opposite Pierre and seemed very gay. Rostov was talkingmerrily to his two friends, one of whom was a dashing hussar and theother a notorious duelist and rake, and every now and then heglanced ironically at Pierre, whose preoccupied, absent-minded, andmassive figure was a very noticeable one at the dinner. Rostovlooked inimically at Pierre, first because Pierre appeared to hishussar eyes as a rich civilian, the husband of a beauty, and in aword- an old woman; and secondly because Pierre in his preoccupationand absent-mindedness had not recognized Rostov and had notresponded to his greeting. When the Emperor's health was drunk,Pierre, lost in thought, did not rise or lift his glass.

　　"What are you about?" shouted Rostov, looking at him in an ecstasyof exasperation. "Don't you hear it's His Majesty the Emperor'shealth?"

　　Pierre sighed, rose submissively, emptied his glass, and, waitingtill all were seated again, turned with his kindly smile to Rostov.

　　"Why, I didn't recognize you!" he said. But Rostov was otherwiseengaged; he was shouting "Hurrah!"

　　"Why don't you renew the acquaintance?" said Dolokhov to Rostov.

　　"Confound him, he's a fool!" said Rostov.

　　"One should make up to the husbands of pretty women," said Denisov.

　　Pierre did not catch what they were saying, but knew they weretalking about him. He reddened and turned away.

　　"Well, now to the health of handsome women!" said Dolokhov, and witha serious expression, but with a smile lurking at the corners of hismouth, he turned with his glass to Pierre.

　　"Here's to the health of lovely women, Peterkin- and theirlovers!" he added.

　　Pierre, with downcast eyes, drank out of his glass without lookingat Dolokhov or answering him. The footman, who was distributingleaflets with Kutuzov's cantata, laid one before Pierre as one ofthe principal guests. He was just going to take it when Dolokhov,leaning across, snatched it from his hand and began reading it. Pierrelooked at Dolokhov and his eyes dropped, the something terrible andmonstrous that had tormented him all dinnertime rose and tookpossession of him. He leaned his whole massive body across the table.

　　"How dare you take it?" he shouted.

　　Hearing that cry and seeing to whom it was addressed, Nesvitskiand the neighbor on his right quickly turned in alarm to Bezukhov.

　　"Don't! Don't! What are you about?" whispered their frightenedvoices.

　　Dolokhov looked at Pierre with clear, mirthful, cruel eyes, and thatsmile of his which seemed to say, "Ah! This is what I like!"

　　"You shan't have it!" he said distinctly.

　　Pale, with quivering lips, Pierre snatched the copy.

　　"You...! you... scoundrel! I challenge you!" he ejaculated, and,pushing back his chair, he rose from the table.

　　At the very instant he did this and uttered those words, Pierre feltthat the question of his wife's guilt which had been tormenting himthe whole day was finally and indubitably answered in the affirmative.He hated her and was forever sundered from her. Despite Denisov'srequest that he would take no part in the matter, Rostov agreed tobe Dolokhov's second, and after dinner he discussed the arrangementsfor the duel with Nesvitski, Bezukhov's second. Pierre went home,but Rostov with Dolokhov and Denisov stayed on at the Club tilllate, listening to the gypsies and other singers.

　　"Well then, till tomorrow at Sokolniki,"said Dolokhov, as he tookleave of Rostov in the Club porch.

　　"And do you feel quite calm?" Rostov asked.

　　Dolokhov paused.

　　"Well, you see, I'll tell you the whole secret of dueling in twowords. If you are going to fight a duel, and you make a will and writeaffectionate letters to your parents, and if you think you may bekilled, you are a fool and are lost for certain. But go with thefirm intention of killing your man as quickly and surely aspossible, and then all will be right, as our bear huntsman at Kostromaused to tell me. 'Everyone fears a bear,' he says, 'but when you seeone your fear's all gone, and your only thought is not to let himget away!' And that's how it is with me. A demain, mon cher."*

　　*Till tomorrow, my dear fellow.

　　Next day, at eight in the morning, Pierre and Nesvitski drove to theSokolniki forest and found Dolokhov, Denisov, and Rostov alreadythere. Pierre had the air of a man preoccupied with considerationswhich had no connection with the matter in hand. His haggard facewas yellow. He had evidently not slept that night. He looked aboutdistractedly and screwed up his eyes as if dazzled by the sun. Hewas entirely absorbed by two considerations: his wife's guilt, ofwhich after his sleepless night he had not the slightest doubt, andthe guiltlessness of Dolokhov, who had no reason to preserve the honorof a man who was nothing to him.... "I should perhaps have done thesame thing in his place," thought Pierre. "It's even certain that Ishould have done the same, then why this duel, this murder? Either Ishall kill him, or he will hit me in the head, or elbow, or knee.Can't I go away from here, run away, bury myself somewhere?" passedthrough his mind. But just at moments when such thoughts occurred tohim, he would ask in a particularly calm and absent-minded way,which inspired the respect of the onlookers, "Will it be long? Arethings ready?"

　　When all was ready, the sabers stuck in the snow to mark thebarriers, and the pistols loaded, Nesvitski went up to Pierre.

　　"I should not be doing my duty, Count," he said in timid tones, "andshould not justify your confidence and the honor you have done me inchoosing me for your second, if at this grave, this very grave, momentI did not tell you the whole truth. I think there is no sufficientground for this affair, or for blood to be shed over it.... You werenot right, not quite in the right, you were impetuous..."

　　"Oh yes, it is horribly stupid," said Pierre.

　　"Then allow me to express your regrets, and I am sure youropponent will accept them," said Nesvitski (who like the othersconcerned in the affair, and like everyone in similar cases, did notyet believe that the affair had come to an actual duel). "You know,Count, it is much more honorable to admit one's mistake than to letmatters become irreparable. There was no insult on either side.Allow me to convey...."

　　"No! What is there to talk about?" said Pierre. "It's all thesame.... Is everything ready?" he added. "Only tell me where to go andwhere to shoot," he said with an unnaturally gentle smile.

　　He took the pistol in his hand and began asking about the working ofthe trigger, as he had not before held a pistol in his hand- a factthat he did not to confess.

　　"Oh yes, like that, I know, I only forgot," said he.

　　"No apologies, none whatever," said Dolokhov to Denisov (who onhis side had been attempting a reconciliation), and he also went up tothe appointed place.

　　The spot chosen for the duel was some eighty paces from the road,where the sleighs had been left, in a small clearing in the pineforest covered with melting snow, the frost having begun to break upduring the last few days. The antagonists stood forty paces apart atthe farther edge of the clearing. The seconds, measuring the paces,left tracks in the deep wet snow between the place where they had beenstanding and Nesvitski's and Dolokhov's sabers, which were stuckintothe ground ten paces apart to mark the barrier. It was thawing andmisty; at forty paces' distance nothing could be seen. For threeminutes all had been ready, but they still delayed and all weresilent.