The Duellist Page #9

"The Duelist" by Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev is a poignant short story that explores themes of honor, pride, and the complexities of human relationships. Set in 19th-century Russia, it follows the life of the protagonist, a young officer who becomes embroiled in a series of duels that reflect his internal struggles and societal pressures. Through his experiences, Turgenev examines the absurdity of the code of honor and the impact of confrontation on personal identity and authenticity. The narrative showcases Turgenev's eloquent prose and deep psychological insight, making it a significant work in the realm of Russian literature.

								

all, was he ever my friend? What a disenchantment! What a lesson!'

All the past turned round and round before Kister's eyes. 'Yes, I did
like him,' he whispered at last. 'Why has my liking cooled so
suddenly?... And do I dislike him? No, why did I ever like him? I
alone?'

Kister's loving heart had attached itself to Avdey for the very reason
that all the rest avoided him. But the good-hearted youth did not know
himself how great his good-heartedness was.

'My duty,' he went on, 'is to warn Marya Sergievna. But how? What right
have I to interfere in other people's affairs, in other people's love?
How do I know the nature of that love? Perhaps even in Lutchkov.... No,
no!' he said aloud, with irritation, almost with tears, smoothing out
his pillow, 'that man's stone....

'It is my own fault... I have lost a friend.... A precious friend,
indeed! And she's not worth much either!... What a sickening egoist I
am! No, no! from the bottom of my soul I wish them happiness....
Happiness! but he is laughing at her!... And why does he dye his
moustaches? I do, really, believe he does.... Ah, how ridiculous I am!'
he repeated, as he fell asleep.

VII

The next morning Kister went to call on the Perekatovs. When they met,
Kister noticed a great change in Masha, and Masha, too, found a change
in him, but neither spoke of it. The whole morning they both, contrary
to their habit, felt uncomfortable. Kister had prepared at home a number
of hints and phrases of double meaning and friendly counsels... but all
this previous preparation turned out to be quite thrown away. Masha was
vaguely aware that Kister was watching her; she fancied that he
pronounced some words with intentional significance; but she was
conscious, too, of her own excitement, and did not trust her own
observations. 'If only he doesn't mean to stay till evening!' was what
she was thinking incessantly, and she tried to make him realise that he
was not wanted. Kister, for his part, took her awkwardness and her
uneasiness for obvious signs of love, and the more afraid he was for her
the more impossible he found it to speak of Lutchkov; while Masha
obstinately refrained from uttering his name. It was a painful
experience for poor Fyodor Fedoritch. He began at last to understand his
own feelings. Never had Masha seemed to him more charming. She had, to
all appearances, not slept the whole night. A faint flush stood in
patches on her pale face; her figure was faintly drooping; an
unconscious, weary smile never left her lips; now and then a shiver ran
over her white shoulders; a soft light glowed suddenly in her eyes, and
quickly faded away. Nenila Makarievna came in and sat with them, and
possibly with intention mentioned Avdey Ivanovitch. But in her mother's
presence Masha was armed jusqu'aux dents, as the French say, and
she did not betray herself at all. So passed the whole morning.

'You will dine with us?' Nenila Makarievna asked Kister.

Masha turned away.

'No,' Kister said hurriedly, and he glanced towards Masha. 'Excuse me...
duties of the service...'

Nenila Makarievna duly expressed her regret. Mr. Perekatov, following
her lead, also expressed something or other. 'I don't want to be in the
way,' Kister wanted to say to Masha, as he passed her, but he bowed down
and whispered instead: 'Be happy... farewell... take care of
yourself...' and was gone.

Masha heaved a sigh from the bottom of her heart, and then felt
panic-stricken at his departure. What was it fretting her? Love or
curiosity? God knows; but, we repeat, curiosity alone was enough to
ruin Eve.

VIII

Long Meadow was the name of a wide, level stretch of ground on the right
of the little stream Sniezhinka, nearly a mile from the Perekatovs'
property. The left bank, completely covered by thick young oak bushes,
rose steeply up over the stream, which was almost overgrown with willow
bushes, except for some small 'breeding-places,' the haunts of wild
ducks. Half a mile from the stream, on the right side of Long Meadow,
began the sloping, undulating uplands, studded here and there with old
birch-trees, nut bushes, and guelder-roses.

The sun was setting. The mill rumbled and clattered in the distance,
sounding louder or softer according to the wind. The seignorial drove of
horses was lazily wandering about the meadows; a shepherd walked,
humming a tune, after a flock of greedy and timorous sheep; the
sheepdogs, from boredom, were running after the crows. Lutchkov walked
up and down in the copse, with his arms folded. His horse, tied up near
by, more than once whinnied in response to the sonorous neighing of the
mares and fillies in the meadow. Avdey was ill-tempered and shy, as
usual. Not yet convinced of Masha's love, he felt wrathful with her and
annoyed with himself... but his excitement smothered his annoyance. He
stopped at last before a large nut bush, and began with his riding-whip
switching off the leaves at the ends of the twigs....

He heard a light rustle... he raised his head.... Ten paces from him
stood Masha, all flushed from her rapid walk, in a hat, but with no
gloves, in a white dress, with a hastily tied kerchief round her neck.
She dropped her eyes instantly, and softly nodded....

Avdey went awkwardly up to her with a forced smile.

'How happy I am...' he was beginning, scarcely audibly.

'I am very glad... to meet you...' Masha interrupted breathlessly. 'I
usually walk here in the evening... and you...'

But Lutchkov had not the sense even to spare her modesty, to keep up her
innocent deception.

'I believe, Marya Sergievna,' he pronounced with dignity, 'you yourself
suggested...'

'Yes... yes...' rejoined Masha hurriedly. 'You wished to see me, you
wanted...' Her voice died away.

Lutchkov did not speak. Masha timidly raised her eyes.

'Excuse me,' he began, not looking at her, 'I'm a plain man, and not
used to talking freely... to ladies... I... I wished to tell you... but,
I fancy, you 're not in the humour to listen to me....'

'Speak.'

'Since you tell me to... well, then, I tell you frankly that for a long
while now, ever since I had the honour of making your acquaintance...'

Avdey stopped. Masha waited for the conclusion of his sentence.

'I don't know, though, what I'm telling you all this for.... There's no
changing one's destiny...'

'How can one know?...'

'I know!' responded Avdey gloomily. 'I am used to facing its blows!'

It struck Masha that this was not exactly the befitting moment for
Lutchkov to rail against destiny.

'There are kind-hearted people in the world,' she observed with a smile;
'some even too kind....'

'I understand you, Marya Sergievna, and believe me, I appreciate your
friendliness... I... I... You won't be angry?'

'No.... What do you want to say?'

'I want to say... that I think you charming... Marya Sergievna, awfully
charming....'

'I am very grateful to you,' Masha interrupted him; her heart was aching
with anticipation and terror. 'Ah, do look, Mr. Lutchkov,' she went
on--'look, what a view!'
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