Chapter Chapter 6 · 第6章

We were stationed at the little village of Z. Th

Story 2. THE PISTOL SHOT

ficer

in the army is well known. Drill and the riding school in the morning;

dinner with the colonel or at the Jewish restaurant; and in the evening

punch and cards.

At Z. nobody kept open house, and there was no girl that anyone could

think of marrying. We used to meet at each other's rooms, where we

never saw anything but one another's uniforms. There was only one man

among us who did not belong to the regiment. He was about thirty-five,

and, of course, we looked upon him as an old fellow. He had the

advantage of experience, and his habitual gloom, stern features, and

his sharp tongue gave him great influence over his juniors. He was

surrounded by a certain mystery. His looks were Russian, but his name

was foreign. He had served in the Hussars, and with credit. No one

knew what had induced him to retire and settle in this out of the way

little village, where he lived in mingled poverty and extravagance. He

always went on foot, and wore a shabby black coat. But he was always

ready to receive any of our officers; and though his dinners, cooked by

a retired soldier, never consisted of more than two or three dishes,

champagne flowed at them like water. His income, or how he got it, no

one knew, and no one ventured to ask. He had a few books on military

subjects and a few novels, which he willingly lent and never asked to

have returned. But, on the other hand, he never returned the books he

himself borrowed.

His principal recreation was pistol-shooting. The walls of his room

were riddled with bullets-a perfect honeycomb. A rich collection of

pistols was the only thing luxurious in his modestly furnished villa.

His skill as a shot was quite prodigious. If he had undertaken to

shoot a pear off some one's cap not a man in our regiment would have

hesitated to act as target. Our conversation often turned on duelling;

Silvio, so I will call him, never joined in it. When asked if he had

ever fought, he answered curtly, "Yes." But he gave no particulars, and

it was evident that he disliked such questions. We concluded that the

memory of some unhappy victim of his terrible skill preyed heavily upon

his conscience. None of us could ever have suspected him of cowardice.

There are men whose look alone is enough to repel such a suspicion.

An unexpected incident fairly astonished us. One afternoon about ten

officers were dining with Silvio. They drank as usual, that is to say,

a great deal. After dinner we asked our host to make a pool. For a long

time he refused on the ground that he seldom played. At last he ordered

cards to be brought in. With half a hundred gold pieces on the table we

sat round him, and the game began. It was Silvio's habit not to speak

when playing. He never disputed or explained. If an adversary made a

mistake Silvio without a word chalked it down against him. Knowing his

way we always let him have it.

But among us on this occasion was an officer who had but lately joined.

While playing he absent-mindedly scored a point too much. Silvio took

the chalk and corrected the score in his own fashion. The officer,

supposing him to have made a mistake, began to explain. Silvio went

on dealing in silence. The officer, losing patience, took the brush

and rubbed out what he thought was wrong. Silvio took the chalk and

recorrected it. The officer, heated with wine and play, and irritated

by the laughter of the company, thought himself aggrieved, and, in a

fit of passion, seized a brass candlestick and threw it at Silvio, who

only just managed to avoid the missile. Great was our confusion. Silvio

got up, white with rage, and said, with sparkling eyes--

"Sir! have the goodness to withdraw, and you may thank God that this

has happened in my own house."

We could have no doubt as to the consequences, and we already looked

upon our new comrade as a dead man. He withdrew saying that he was

ready to give satisfaction for his offence in any way desired.

The game went on for a few minutes; but feeling that our host was upset

we gradually left off playing and dispersed, each to his own quarters.

At the riding school next day we were already asking one another

whether the young lieutenant was still alive, when he appeared among

us. We asked him the same question, and were told that he had not yet

heard from Silvio. We were astonished. We went to Silvio's and found

him in the court-yard popping bullet after bullet into an ace which he

had gummed to the gate. He received us as usual, but made no allusion

to what had happened on the previous evening.

Three days passed and the lieutenant was still alive. "Can it be

possible," we asked one another in astonishment, "that Silvio will not

fight?"

Silvio did not fight. He accepted a flimsy apology, and became

reconciled to the man who had insulted him. This lowered him greatly

in the opinion of the young men, who, placing bravery above all the

other human virtues and regarding it as an excuse for every imaginable

vice, were ready to overlook anything sooner than a lack of courage.

However, little by little, all was forgotten, and Silvio regained his

former influence. I alone could not renew my friendship with him.

Being naturally romantic I had surpassed the rest in my attachment

to the man whose life was an enigma, and who seemed to me a hero of

some mysterious story. He liked me, and with me alone did he drop his

sarcastic tone and converse simply and most agreeably on many subjects.

But after this unlucky evening the thought that his honour was

tarnished, and that it remained so by his own choice, never left me;

and this prevented any renewal of our former intimacy. I was ashamed to

look at him. Silvio was too sharp and experienced not to notice this

and guess the reason. It seemed to vex him, for I observed that once or

twice he hinted at an explanation; but I wanted none, and Silvio gave

me up. Thenceforth I only met him in the presence of other friends, and

our confidential talks were at an end.

The busy occupants of the capital have no idea of the emotions so

frequently experienced by residents in the country and in country

towns; as, for instance, in awaiting the arrival of the post. On

Tuesdays and Fridays the bureau of the regimental staff was crammed

with officers. Some were expecting money, others letters or newspapers.

The letters were mostly opened on the spot, and the news freely

interchanged, the office meanwhile presenting a most lively appearance.

Silvio's letters used to be addressed to our regiment, and he usually

called for them himself. On one occasion, a letter having been handed

to him, I saw him break the seal and, with a look of great impatience,

read the contents. His eyes sparkled. The other officers, each engaged

with his own letters, did not notice anything.

"Gentlemen," said Silvio, "circumstances demand my immediate departure.

I leave tonight, and I hope you will not refuse to dine with me for the

last time. I shall expect you, too," he added, "turning towards me,

without fail." With these words he hurriedly left, and we agreed to

meet at Silvio's.

I went to Silvio's at the appointed time and found nearly the whole

regiment with him. His things were already packed. Nothing remained

but the bare shot-marked walls. We sat down to table. The host was in

excellent spirits, and his liveliness communicated itself to the rest

of the company. Corks popped every moment. Bottles fizzed and tumblers

foamed incessantly, and we, with much warmth, wished our departing

friend a pleasant journey and every happiness. The evening was far

advanced when we rose from table. During the search for hats, Silvio

wished everybody goodbye. Then, taking me by the hand, as I was on the

point of leaving, he said in a low voice:

"I want to speak to you."

I stopped behind.

The guests had gone and we were left alone.

Sitting down opposite one another we lighted our pipes. Silvio was much

agitated, no traces of his former gaiety remained. Deadly pale, with

sparkling eyes, and a thick smoke issuing from his mouth, he looked

like a demon. Several minutes passed before he broke silence.

"Perhaps we shall never meet again," he said. "Before saying goodbye I

want to have a few words with you. You may have remarked that I care

little for the opinion of others. But I like you, and should be sorry

to leave you under a wrong impression."

He paused, and began refilling his pipe. I looked down and was silent.

"You thought it odd," he continued, "that I did not require

satisfaction from that drunken maniac. You will grant, however, that

being entitled to the choice of weapons I had his life more or less in

my hands. I might attribute my tolerance to generosity, but I will not

deceive you; if I could have chastised him without the least risk to

myself, without the slightest danger to my own life, then I would on no

account have forgiven him."

[Illustration: "HERE IS A MEMENTO OF OUR DUEL."]

I looked at Silvio with surprise. Such a confession completely upset

me. Silvio continued:

"Precisely so, I had no right to endanger my life. Six years ago I

received a slap in the face and my enemy still lives."

My curiosity was greatly excited.

"Did you not fight him?" I inquired. "Circumstances probably separated

you?"

"I did fight him," replied Silvio, "and here is a memento of our duel."

He rose and took from a cardboard box a red cap with a gold tassel and

gold braid.

"My disposition is well known to you. I have been accustomed to be

first in everything. Prom my youth this has been my passion. In my

time dissipation was the fashion, and I was the most dissipated man

in the army. We used to boast of our drunkenness. I beat at drinking

the celebrated Burtsoff, of whom Davidoff has sung in his poems. Duels

in our regiment were of daily occurrence. I took part in all of them,

either as second or as principal. My comrades adored me, while the

commanders of the regiment, who were constantly being changed, looked

upon me as an incurable evil.

"I was calmly, or rather boisterously, enjoying my reputation when

a certain young man joined our regiment. He was rich, and came of

a distinguished family--I will not name him. Never in my life did

I meet with so brilliant, so fortunate a fellow!--young, clever,

handsome, with the wildest spirits, the most reckless bravery, bearing

a celebrated name, possessing funds of which he did not know the

amount, but which were inexhaustible. You may imagine the effect he

was sure to produce among us. My leadership was shaken. Dazzled by

my reputation he began by seeking my friendship. But I received him

coldly; at which, without the least sign of regret, he kept aloof from

me.

[Illustration: "WE CLUTCHED OUR SWORDS."]

"I took a dislike to him. His success in the regiment and in the

society of women brought me to despair. I tried to pick a quarrel with

him. To my epigrams he replied with epigrams which always seemed to me

more pointed and more piercing than my own, and which were certainly

much livelier; for while he joked I was raving.

"Finally, at a ball at the house of a Polish landed proprietor, seeing

him receive marked attention from all the ladies, and especially from

the lady of the house, who had formerly been on very friendly terms

with me, I whispered some low insult in his ear. He flew into a passion

and gave me a slap on the cheek. We clutched our swords, the ladies

fainted, we were separated, and the same night we drove out to fight.

"It was nearly daybreak. I was standing at the appointed spot with my

three seconds. How impatiently I awaited my opponent! The spring sun

had risen and it was growing hot. At last I saw him in the distance. He

was on foot, accompanied by only one second. We advanced to meet him.

He approached, holding in his hand his regimental cap filled full of

black cherries.

"The seconds measured twelve paces. It was for me to fire first. But

my excitement was so great that I could not depend upon the certainty

of my hand, and, in order to give myself time to get calm, I ceded the

first shot to my adversary. He would not accept it, and we decided to

cast lots.

"The number fell to him; constant favourite of fortune that he was! He

aimed and put a bullet through my cap.

"It was now my turn. His life at last was in my hands. I looked at him

eagerly, trying to detect if only some faint shadow of uneasiness. But

he stood beneath my pistol picking out ripe cherries from his cap and

spitting out the stones, some of which fell near me. His indifference

enraged me. 'What is the use,' thought I, 'of depriving him of life,

when he sets no value upon it.' As this savage thought flitted through

my brain I lowered the pistol.

"'You don't seem to be ready for death,' I said, 'you are eating your

breakfast, and I don't want to interfere with you.'

"'You don't interfere with me in the least,' he replied. 'Be good

enough to fire; or don't fire if you prefer it; the shot remains with

you, and I shall be at your service at any moment.'

"I turned to the seconds, informing them that I had no intention of

firing that day, and with this the duel ended. I resigned my commission

and retired to this little place. Since then not a single day has

passed that I have not thought of my revenge; and now the hour has

arrived."

[Illustration: "HIS LIFE AT LAST WAS IN MY HANDS."]

Silvio took from his pocket the letter he had received that morning,

and handed it to me to read. Someone (it seemed to be his business

agent) wrote to him from Moscow, that a certain individual was soon to

be married to a young and beautiful girl.

"You guess," said Silvio, "who the certain individual is. I am starting

for Moscow. Me shall see whether he will be as indifferent now as he

was some time ago, when in presence of death he ate cherries!"

With these words Silvio rose, threw his cap upon the floor, and began

pacing up and down the room like a tiger in his cage. I remained

silent. Strange contending feelings agitated me.

The servant entered and announced that the horses were ready. Silvio

grasped my hand tightly. He got into the _telega_, in which lay two

trunks--one containing his pistols, the other some personal effects. We

wished good-bye a second time, and the horses galloped off.