The Duel by Aleksandr Kuprin (notion reading list .TXT) 📕

“Yes, yes⁠—talk, talk. You know I’ll do all you wish. Oh, if I could only⁠—”

“No, no; but only listen till I have finished. If you kill him or if they prevent him from sitting for the examination, then it is all, all over. That very day I shall cast him off as a worthless thing, and go my own way⁠—where? No matter where. To St. Petersburg, Odessa, Kiev. Don’t imagine this is one of those common, untrue, ‘penny-novelette’ phrases. Cheap effects I despise, and I will spare you them. But I know I am young, intelligent, and well-educated. I am not pretty, but I know the art of catching men far better than all those famous charmers who, at our official balls, receive the prize for beauty in the form of an elegant card-tray or something between a musical-box and an alarm. I can stand in the background; I can, by coldness and contempt, be bitter to myself and others. But I can flame up into a consuming passion and burn like a firework.”

Romashov glanced towards the window. His eyes had now begun to be used to the darkness, and he could distinguish the outlines of the framework of the window.

“Don’t talk like that, please. It pains me so; but, tell me, do you wish me to avoid the duel, and send him an apology? Tell me.”

Shurochka did not reply at once. The clock again made its monotonous, metallic voice heard, and filled every corner of the dark room with its infernal din. At last Shurochka answered as softly as if she were talking to herself in thought, and with an expression in her voice which Romashov was not in a condition to interpret.

“I knew you would offer to do this.”

“I do not feel afraid,” he exclaimed in a stern but soft tone.

“No, no, no,” she said hastily in an eager, beseeching whisper. “You misunderstood me, you do not understand me. Come nearer to me. Come and sit as you did just now. Come!”

She threw both her arms round his neck, and whispered to him tender words, tickling his face with her soft hair, and flooding his cheeks with her hot breath.

“You quite misunderstood me. I meant something quite different, but I am ashamed to tell you all. You are so good, so pure-hearted. I, alas! am the opposite, and, therefore, it’s so difficult for me to mention it.”

“No, no. Tell me everything. I love you.”

“Listen to me,” she began, and Romashov guessed what she would say before she could utter the words. “If you refuse to fight with him, how much shame and persecution, how many sufferings will be your lot. No, no, this must not be done. Oh, my God, at this moment I will not lie to you, dear. I have already weighed everything carefully. Suppose you refuse the duel. In that case my husband will certainly be rehabilitated; but, you understand, after a duel that ends in reconciliation, there is always something left⁠—how shall I put it?⁠—something covered by a certain obscurity, and which, therefore, leaves room for malice and slander. Do you understand me now?” she added with melancholy tenderness, pressing, at the same time, a light kiss on his brow.

“Yes, but go on.”

“The consequence, of course, is that they would never allow my husband even to present himself for a fresh examination. The reputation of an officer on the Staff must be unblemished. On the other hand, if a duel actually takes place, it will put you both in a dignified, heroic light. Men who can conduct themselves fittingly in front of the muzzle of a revolver⁠—very much will be forgiven them in this world. Besides⁠—after the duel⁠—you can, if you like, offer an apology; but that I leave to your own discretion.”

Tightly clasped in each other’s arms, they continued their conversation in a whisper, but Romashov felt as if something mysterious, unclean, and nauseous had crept in between him and Shurochka, and he felt a freezing chill at heart. Again he tried to tear himself away from her arms, but she would not let him go. In his effort to hide from her the nervous excitement he was in, he exclaimed in a rough tone:

“For Heaven’s sake, put an end to this! Say what you want, and I’ll agree to everything.”

Then she put her mouth so close to his that her words affected him like hot, thrilling kisses.

“The duel must take place, but neither of you will run any risk. Don’t misunderstand me, I implore you, and don’t condemn me. Like all women, I loathe cowards, but, for my sake, you must do this. No, Georgi, don’t ask me if my husband⁠—for the matter of that, he already knows all.”

Now at last Romashov managed to release himself from the tight grip of her soft, strong arms. He stood straight up before her, and answered in a curt, rough voice:

“That’s all right. It shall be as you wish! I consent.”

Shurochka also rose. Romashov could not see in the dark room that she was putting her hair straight, but he felt or guessed it.

“Are you going now?” he asked.

“Goodbye,” she replied in a faint voice, “and kiss me now for the last time.”

Romashov’s heart was shaken by pity and love. Groping in the darkness, he caught her head in his hands, and began kissing her eyes and cheeks, which were wet with big, silent tears. This took away his self-control.

“Don’t cry like that, Sascha, my darling,” he implored in a sad and tender tone.

Suddenly throwing her arms round his neck, she pressed herself tightly to him by a strong, passionate movement, and, without ceasing her kisses, she whispered the words in short, broken sentences. She was breathing heavily and trembling all over.

“I can’t part from you like this. We shall never see each other again. Some presentiment tells me that, so at this only moment we must not fear anything in the world. Let us be happy!”

And at that moment the