The Duel Aleksandr Kuprin (best inspirational books .txt) đ
- Author: Aleksandr Kuprin
Book online «The Duel Aleksandr Kuprin (best inspirational books .txt) đ». Author Aleksandr Kuprin
He sat down on a chair near Shurochka, whose quick crochet needle was in full swing again. She never sat idle, and all the table-covers, lampshades, and lace curtains were the product of her busy fingers. Romashov cautiously took up the long crochet threads hanging from the ball, and saidâ â
âWhat do you call this sort of work?â
âGuipure. This is the tenth time you have asked me that.â
Shurochka glanced quickly at him, and then let her eyes fall on her work; but before long she looked up again and laughed.
âNow then, now then, Yuri Alexievich, donât sit there pouting. âStraighten your back!â and âHead up!â Isnât that how you give your commands?â
But Romashov only sighed and looked out of the corner of his eye at NikolĂ€ievâs brawny neck, the whiteness of which was thrown into strong relief by the grey collar of his old coat.
âBy Jove! Vladimir Yefimovich is a lucky dog. Next summer heâs going to St. Petersburg, and will rise to the heights of the Academy.â
âOh, that remains to be seen,â remarked Shurochka, somewhat tartly, looking in her husbandâs direction. âHe has twice been plucked at his examination, and with rather poor credit to himself has had to return to his regiment. This will be his last chance.â
NikolÀiev turned round suddenly; his handsome, soldierly, moustached face flushed deeply, and his big dark eyes glittered with rage.
âDonât talk rubbish, Shurochka. When I say I shall pass my examination, I shall pass it, and thatâs enough about it.â He struck the side of his outstretched hand violently on the table. âYou are always croaking. I said I shouldâ ââ
âYes, âI said I should,âââ his wife repeated after him, whilst she struck her knee with her little brown hand. âBut it would be far better if you could answer the following question: âWhat are the requisites for a good line of battle?â Perhaps you donât knowâ (she turned with a roguish glance towards Romashov) âthat I am considerably better up in tactics than he. Well, Volodyaâ âStaff-General that is to beâ âanswer the question now.â
âLook here, Shurochka, stop it,â growled NikolĂ€iev in a bad temper. But suddenly he turned round again on his chair towards his wife, and in his wide-open, handsome, but rather stupid eyes might be read an amusing helplessness, nay, even a certain terror.
âWait a bit, my little woman, and I will try to remember. âGood fighting orderâ? A good fighting order must be arranged so that one does not expose oneself too much to the enemyâs fire; that one can easily issue orders, thatâ âthatâ âwait a minute.â
âThat waiting will be costly work for you in the future, I think,â said Shurochka, interrupting him, in a serious tone. Then, with head down and her body rocking, she began, like a regular schoolgirl, to rattle off the following lesson without stumbling over a single wordâ â
âââThe requisites of âgood fighting orderâ are simplicity, mobility, flexibility, and the ability to accommodate itself to the ground. It ought to be easy to be inspected and led. It must, as far as possible, be out of reach of the enemyâs fire, easy to pass from one formation to another, and able to be quickly changed from fighting to marching order.â Done!â
She opened her eyes, took a deep breath, and, as she turned her lively, smiling countenance to Romashov, saidâ â
âWas that all right?â
âWhat a memory!â exclaimed NikolĂ€iev enviously, as he once more plunged into his books.
âWe study together like two comrades,â explained Shurochka. âI could pass this examination at any time. The main thingââ âshe made an energetic motion in the air with her crochet needleâ ââthe main thing is to work systematically or according to a fixed plan. Our system is entirely my own invention, and I say so with pride. Every day we go through a certain amount of mathematics and the science of warâ âI may remark, by the way, that artillery is not my forte; the formulĂŠ of projectiles are to me specially distastefulâ âbesides a bit out of the Drill and Army Regulations Book. Moreover, every other day we study languages, and on the days we do not study the latter we study history and geography.â
âAnd Russian too?â asked Romashov politely.
âRussian, do you say? Yes, that does not give us much trouble; we have already mastered Grothâs Orthography, and so far as the essays are concerned, year after year they are after the eternal stereotyped pattern: Para pacem, para bellum; characteristics of OnyĂ€gin and his epoch, etc., etc.â
Suddenly she became silent, and snatched by a quick movement the distracting crochet needle from Romashovâs fingers. She evidently wanted to monopolize the whole of his attention to what she now intended to say. After this she began to speak with passionate earnestness of what was at present the goal of all her thoughts and aims.
âRomochka, please, try to understand me. I cannotâ âcannot stand this any longer. To remain here is to deteriorate. To become a âlady of the regiment,â to attend your rowdy soirĂ©es, to talk scandal and intrigue, to get into tempers every day, and wear out oneâs nerves over the housekeeping, money and carriage bills, to serve in turn, according to precedency, on ladiesâ committees and benevolent associations, to play whist, toâ âno, enough of this. You say that our home is comfortable and charming. But just examine this bourgeois happiness. These eternal embroideries and laces; these dreadful clothes which I have altered and modernized God knows how often; this vulgar, âloudâ-coloured sofa rug composed of rags from every spot on earthâ âall this has been hateful and intolerable to me. Donât you understand, my dear Romochka, that it is societyâ âreal societyâ âthat I want, with brilliant drawing-rooms, witty conversation, music, flirtation, homage.
Comments (0)