The Torrents Of Spring

The old man looked dejectedly at him, and nodded his head affirmatively…
. But God 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 grass, as much as to say, ‘I’m not here for expressions of chivalrous
courtesy.’ Herr von Richter proposed to Herr ‘Tshibadola’ that he
should select the place; Herr ‘Tshibadola’ 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 principals 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
hoarse voice wailed out in his mixed jargon: ‘A la la la … Che bestialita!
Deux zeun ommes comme ça que si battono – perchè? Che diavolo? An data a
casa!’
‘I will not consent to a reconciliation,’ Sanin intervened hurriedly.
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