The Outrage

"The Outrage" by Aleksandr Kuprin is a poignant short story that explores the themes of passion, societal norms, and the complexity of human emotions. Set in early 20th-century Russia, the narrative follows a love affair between a young soldier and a beautiful woman, exposing the tension between their desires and the rigid moral expectations of society. Through vivid characterizations and rich prose, Kuprin delves into the struggles of individuality against the backdrop of social constructs, ultimately highlighting the tragic consequences of love and societal outrage.

• Novel

								
A TRUE STORY

It was five o’clock on a July afternoon. The heat was terrible. The
whole of the huge stone-built town breathed out heat like a glowing
furnace. The glare of the white-walled house was insufferable. The
asphalt pavements grew soft and burned the feet. The shadows of the
acacias spread over the cobbled road, pitiful and weary. They too
seemed hot. The sea, pale in the sunlight, lay heavy and immobile as
one dead. Over the streets hung a white dust.

In the foyer of one of the private theatres a small committee of local
barristers who had undertaken to conduct the cases of those who had
suffered in the last pogrom against the Jews was reaching the end
of its daily task. There were nineteen of them, all juniors, young,
progressive and conscientious men. The sitting was without formality,
and white ducks, flannels and white alpaca were in the majority. They
sat anywhere, at little marble tables, and the chairman stood in front
of an empty counter where chocolates were sold in the winter.

The barristers were quite exhausted by the heat which poured in through
the windows, with the dazzling sunlight and the noise of the streets.
The proceedings went lazily and with a certain irritation.

A tall young man with a fair moustache and thin hair was in the chair.
He was dreaming voluptuously how he would be off in an instant on his
new-bought bicycle to the bungalow. He would undress quickly, and
without waiting to cool, still bathed in sweat, would fling himself
into the clear, cold, sweet-smelling sea. His whole body was enervated
and tense, thrilled by the thought. Impatiently moving the papers
before him, he spoke in a drowsy voice.

‘So, Joseph Moritzovich will conduct the case of Rubinchik.... Perhaps
there is still a statement to be made on the order of the day?’

His youngest colleague, a short, stout Karaim, very black and lively,
said in a whisper so that every one could hear: ‘On the order of the
day, the best thing would be iced kvass....’

The chairman gave him a stern side-glance, but could not restrain a
smile. He sighed and put both his hands on the table to raise himself
and declare the meeting closed, when the doorkeeper, who stood at the
entrance to the theatre, suddenly moved forward and said: ‘There are
seven people outside, sir. They want to come in.’

The chairman looked impatiently round the company.

‘What is to be done, gentlemen?’

Voices were heard.

‘Next time. Basta!’

‘Let ’em put it in writing.’

‘If they’ll get it over quickly.... Decide it at once.’

‘Let ’em go to the devil. Phew! It’s like boiling pitch.’

‘Let them in.’ The chairman gave a sign with his head, annoyed. ‘Then
bring me a Vichy, please. But it must be cold.’

The porter opened the door and called down the corridor: ‘Come in. They
say you may.’

Then seven of the most surprising and unexpected individuals filed into
the foyer. First appeared a full-grown, confident man in a smart suit,
of the colour of dry sea-sand, in a magnificent pink shirt with white
stripes and a crimson rose in his buttonhole. From the front his head
looked like an upright bean, from the side like a horizontal bean. His
face was adorned with a strong, bushy, martial moustache. He wore dark
blue pince-nez on his nose, on his hands straw-coloured gloves. In his
left hand he held a black walking-stick with a silver mount, in his
right a light blue handkerchief.

The other six produced a strange, chaotic, incongruous impression,
exactly as though they had all hastily pooled not merely their clothes,
but their hands, feet and heads as well. There was a man with the
splendid profile of a Roman senator, dressed in rags and tatters.
Another wore an elegant dress waistcoat, from the deep opening of which
a dirty little-Russian shirt leapt to the eye. Here were the unbalanced
faces of the criminal type, but looking with a confidence that nothing
could shake. All these men, in spite of their apparent youth, evidently
possessed a large experience of life, an easy manner, a bold approach,
and some hidden, suspicious cunning.

The gentleman in the sandy suit bowed just his head, neatly and easily,
and said with a half-question in his voice: ‘Mr. Chairman?’

‘Yes. I am the chairman,’ said the latter. ‘What is your business?’

‘We--all whom you see before you,’ the gentleman began in a quiet voice
and turned round to indicate his companions, ‘we come as delegates from
the United Rostov-Kharkov-and-Odessa-Nicolaiev Association of Thieves.’

The barristers began to shift in their seats.

The chairman flung himself back and opened his eyes wide. ‘Association
of what?’ he said, perplexed.

‘The Association of Thieves,’ the gentleman in the sandy suit coolly
repeated. ‘As for myself, my comrades did me the signal honour of
electing me as the spokesman of the deputation.’

‘Very ... pleased,’ the chairman said uncertainly.

‘Thank you. All seven of us are ordinary thieves--naturally of
different departments. The Association has authorised us to put before
your esteemed Committee’--the gentleman again made an elegant bow--‘our
respectful demand for assistance.’

‘I don’t quite understand ... quite frankly ... what is the
connection....’ The chairman waved his hands helplessly. ‘However,
please go on.’

‘The matter about which we have the courage and the honour to apply to
you, gentlemen, is very clear, very simple, and very brief. It will
take only six or seven minutes. I consider it my duty to warn you of
this beforehand, in view of the late hour and the 115 degrees that
Fahrenheit marks in the shade.’ The orator expectorated slightly and
glanced at his superb gold watch. ‘You see, in the reports that have
lately appeared in the local papers of the melancholy and terrible
days of the last pogrom, there have very often been indications that
among the instigators of the pogrom who were paid and organised by
the police--the dregs of society, consisting of drunkards, tramps,
souteneurs, and hooligans from the slums--thieves were also to be
found. At first we were silent, but finally we considered ourselves
under the necessity of protesting against such an unjust and serious
accusation, before the face of the whole of intellectual society. I
know well that in the eye of the law we are offenders and enemies of
society. But imagine only for a moment, gentlemen, the situation of
this enemy of society when he is accused wholesale of an offence which
he not only never committed, but which he is ready to resist with the
whole strength of his soul. It goes without saying that he will feel
the outrage of such an injustice more keenly than a normal, average,
fortunate citizen. Now, we declare that the accusation brought
against us is utterly devoid of all basis, not merely of fact but even
of logic. I intend to prove this in a few words if the honourable
committee will kindly listen.’

‘Proceed,’ said the chairman.

‘Please do.... Please ...’ was heard from the barristers, now animated.

‘I offer you my sincere thanks in the name of all my comrades. Believe

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