GREAT SHORT STORIES

Northern Advocate, 27 July 1935, Page 6

GREAT SHORT STORIES

The shot.

STRANGE DUEL WITH PISTOLS,

PUSHKIN’S FAMOUS CHAPTER,

If has been said that Russia produced ho writers—none of any note, at least—until/ the reign of Alexander 1 <lBOl-1825). Pushkin was born two years . before the accession of Alexander,. his mother’s father, having been a negro, bought as a slave in Holland by Peter the Great, and who, by his

abilities had arisen to high rank in the ;army and had founded the Russian artillery. .

Alexander Pushkin is most famous as' a •poet. Like so many intelligent Russians under, the ■•Empire," • he saw

and was antagonistic to much in the State, and, without actually becoming —a revolutionary, had many friends ' among these, and hoth in prose and vefse was extremely' daring in much of his writing. It must be placed to the credit of both the Emperors Alexander and Nicholas that they appreciated and valued the genius of the ; writer. As is sb often the case, the gifts of intellect possessed by Pushkin >: aroused jealousy among those inferior in ability if of loftier birth. That cowardly and insidious weapon the anonymous letter was used in an at- ; tempt to ruin his happiness. As a result he seems to have become temporarily almost insane. He forced a duel with pistols upon his brother-in-

lay, and fell mortally wounded, after ; more slightly wounding his opponent. He lingered for a day or two, but died, a young man, .in his thirtyeighth year. His writings, or some of them at least, have been rendered into most European languages. Of them all, outside Russia, the most popular of his works are the short stories. By a strange coincidence one of those most often read is “The Shot,” the story of a duel with pistols; and:'again it is a case of foolish jealousy which is the > originating cause. • ' In a Garrison Town. We are introduced to a little country garrison town, where the only ,civilian admitted to P the friendship of the officers is a middle-aged man, somewhat eccentric, and notable for r his marvellous skill with the pistol. > One day a foolish quarrel with a new- ’ comer to the. regiment ended in the latter flinging a candlestick at Silvio, as the civilian was named. The whole mess considered their comrade as good as dead, but Silvio accepted a half apology, thereby lowering himself in the general opinion. The fact was he put a high value upon his own life . until he had obtained revenge for a ' slab in the face previously received. . One day Silvio received a letter which evidently gave him much pleasure. At once he packed up his belongings, bade adieu to his friends of the regiments and departed; but only after telling the supposed narrator of ■ this story the details of an incident in

his life. He had belonged to an hus-

sar regiment, and had been its leadi ing dare-devil; but one day a new

bfficer joined, a young count. Hence- - iforth Silvio was surpassed, where be5/fore none could attain his level. A quarrel was bound to follow, and a duel resulted! The newcomer arrived

dh the field with his cap full of black

eherries, which he was nonchalantly ■eating. He won the toss, ■ and was to fife first. This he did carelessly, the /bpllet passing. Within an inch of Siliyio’s head arid through his cap. While waiting for the return fire of his antagonist he continued to eat his cherries and spit out the stones in front of him.

■ A sudden thought struck Silvio. 'Why kill this man now, since he obviously set little value on his life. He lowered his already raised weapon, arid expressed the intention of letting his shot remain uriflred for the present. Apparently this was permissible. Silvio flung up his commission, Withdrew to a distant part of the country, practised pistol-shooting. ,and Waited. Now he had received a communication which informed him .that his one-time adversary was about to be married. This, he thought, was .the time for him to claim his shot.

The Sequel.

The sequel was learned by chance, years afterwards, ‘by the narrator of the story. It happened that he was visiting a certain count and countess, and there saw a picture upon the wall Which had been pierced by two bullet holes, one Immediately above the other. He remarked upon the skill of the aim, and this was the story the count related. | “Five years ago I got married. The first month—the honeymoon—l spent here, in this village. To this house I am indebted for the happiest moments of my life, as well as for one of its most painful recollections.

; ; “One evening we went out together fb'f a ride on horseback.. My wife’s hbrse became restive; she grew frightened, gave the reins to me. and returned home on foot. I rode on before. In the courtyard I saw a travelling carriage, and I was told that in my. study sat waiting for me a man. who would not give his name, but merely said that he had business with me. , I entered the room and saw in the darkness a man, covered with dust and wearing a beard of several days’-growth. He was standing there,

near the fireplace. I approached him, trying to remember his features. “ ‘You do not recognise me, count?’ said he, in a quivering voice.

“ ‘Silvio!’ I cried, and I confess that I felt as if my hair had suddenly stood on end.

“ ‘Exactly,’ continued he. ‘There is a shot due to me, and I have come to discharge my pistol. Are you ready?’ “His pistol protruded from a side pocket. I measured twelve paces and I took my stand there in that corner, begging him to fire quickly, before my wife arrived. He hesitated, and asked for a light. Candles were brought in. I closed the doors, gave orders that nobody was to enter, and again begged him to fire.; He drew out his pistol and took aim. ... I counted the seconds. ... I .thought of her. . . . A terrible minute passed! Silvio lowered his hand.

“ T regret,’ said he, ‘that the pistol is not loaded with cherry-stones . the bullet is heavy. It seems to me that this is not a duel, but a murder. I am not accustomed to taking aim at unarmed men. Let us begin all over again; we will cast lots as to who shall fire first.’

“My head went round. ... I think I raised some 'objection. . . . At last we loaded another pistol, and rolled up two pieces of paper. He placed these latter in his cap—the same through which I had passed a bullet once —and again I drew the first number, “ ‘You are devilishly luclcy, count,’ said he, with a smile that I shall never forget. “I don’t know what was the matter with me, or how‘it was that he managed to make me do it . . . but I fired and hit that picture.” The count pointed with his finger to the perforated picture; his face glowed like fire; the countess was whiter than her own handkerchief; and I could not restrain an exclamation.

“I fired,” continued the count, “and, thank Heaven, missed my aim. Then Silvio . . . at that moment he was really terrible .... Silvio raised his hand to take aim at me. Suddenly the door opens, Masha rushes into, the room, and with a loud sjiriek throws herself uppn my neck. Her presence restored to me all my courage. “ ‘My dear,’ said I to her, ‘don’t you see that we are joking? How frightened you are! Go and dtink a glass of water and then come back to us; 1 will introduce you to an old friend and comrade.’. “Masha still doubted. AH a Joke, “ ‘Tell me, is my husband speaking the truth?’ said she, turning to the terrible Silvio; ‘is it true that you are only joking?’ “ ‘He is always joking, countess,’ replied Silvio; ‘once he gave me a slap in the face in a joke; on another occasion he sent a bullet through my cap in a joke; and just nbw, when he fired at me and missed me, it was all in a joke. And now I feel inclined for a joke.’ “With these words he raised his pistol to take sum at me—right before her! Masha threw herself at his feet. “ ‘Rise, Masha; are you not ashamed!’ I cried in a rage; ‘and you, sir, will you cease to make fun of a poor woman? Will you fire or not?’ “ T will not,’ replied Silvio; “I am satisfied. ’ I have seen your confusion, your alarm. I forced you to fire at me. That is sufficient. You will remember me. I leave you to your conscience.’ “Then he turned to go, but pausing in the doorway, and looking at the picture that my shot had passed through, he fired at it almost without taking aim, and disappeared. My wife had fainted away; the servants did not venture to stop' him, ■ the mere look of him filled them with terror. He went out upon the steps, called his coachman, and drove off before I could recover myself.” The count was silent. In this way I learned the end of, the story, whose beginning had once made such a deep impression upon me. The hero of it I never saw again. It is said that Silvio commanded a detachment of Hetairists during the revolt under Alexander Ipsilanti, and that he was killed in the battle of Skoulana.