(COPYRIGHT STORY.} THE PISTOL SHOT

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXIV, Issue 19, 13 May 1905, Page 50

(COPYRIGHT STORY.} THE PISTOL SHOT

By

Alexandre Dumas

Translated by

Alys Hallard

< * L.E were stationed in a small coun\A/ the line; in the morning, drill M V try town, and everyone knows

what the life is of an officer of tnd manoeuvres, dinner either with the captain of the regiment or <il an inn, and cards and punch in the evening. In the whole place there aus not a single family that- entertained, and when we met at each other's places we saw nothing hut our own uniforms.

The only individual in our set who was not a military man „was about 35 years of age. There was a something mysterious about him, he looked like a Russian, but his name was certainly aot Russian. He had formerly served in the Hussars, and no one knew why he had retired from the service, and come to stay in this wretched, out-of-the-world place. He lived very quietly, went out every day, regardless of Weather, nearly always wore an old black overcoat, and kept open table for Mil the officers of the regiment. His dinners were quite simple, and were prepared by an old pensioned soldier, but the champagne was never spared. No one knew anything about this acquaintance of ours, and we certainly should not have dared to ask him any questions. He had a good supply of military books and novels in his library, and these he lent us very willingly, never troubling to ask for any that we forgot to return. Any books that we lent to him he never returned. His shief occupation was target shooting, and the walls of his rooms, riddled with shot, were quite as full of holes tis a honey-comb. A valuable collection of pistols was the only luxury of 4he litle house he inhabitated. and he was such a perfect shot that if he had proposed to any of us to hit a pear placed on our head any officer in the regiment would have allowed him to try it. In our conversations we often discussed dtfels, hut Sylvio. our new friend never had anything to say on that subject.. When he was‘asked if he had fought any he answered yes. in a dry, hard tone, but he gave us no details, and it was very evident that the topic was very disagreeable to him. We were convinced that his conscience reproached him about some poor victim to the fatal art in which he was probably a past-master. We felt quite sure that he was no coward, but as time went on an incident occurred which astonished us all.

One evening, about ton of us were dining at Sylvio’s. and, as usual, the wine and champagne were not spared. After dinner we sat down to the card table, and asked our host to be hanker. He refused, at first, as he seldom played cards, but finally he consented. As usual he was perfectly silent, for he never argued or gave any explanation al)out things. If the punter happened to make a mistake, Sylvio paid’what was short, and if the error was in his favour he marked it accordingly. We were quite accustomed to his ways, and let him do as he liked, but it happened, on this particular evening, that there was an officer with us who had only lately joined the regiment. He was playing carelessly, and made a mistake. Sylvio picked up the chalk and marked it according to his own calculation. The officer fancied there was an error and began to explain, but Sylvio continued the game as though he “had not heard. The officer seized the brush and i übhed out what he thought was wrong, whereupon Sylvio picked up the chalk and re-wrote the figures. This was too much and the officer, excited by the wine, the plany and the laughter of his comrades, in a fit of rage, hurled a candelabra at his host’s head. Fortunately Sylvio bent forward and thus missed the blow. We were alt in a great state of consternation. Our host rose from the table, his face pale with anger and his eyes flashing. “Will you kindly leave my house, sir,” he said, “and you can thank Heaven that this happened when you were my guest.”

We had uo doubt at nil as to the ultimate result of the aggression, and we looked upnu our friend, the officer, as a

dead man. He took his leave after telling Sylvio that, having insulted him, lie was prepared to give him satisfaction in the wayhe judged best.

We continued our . play for a short time, but as we saw that our host had had enough we soon took our leave, and on our homeward way we talked of the vacancy we could not fail to have shortly in our regiment. When we met the following morning, at the manoeuvres. we wondered whether the poor lieutenant was still in this world, but just at that precise moment he arrived. He told us that he had not heard a word from .Sylvio, and as soon as we were free we went to see the latter. We found him in the court-yard, outside his house, pistol in hand, putting shot after shot into an aee of cards that he had fastened on to the entrance gate. He received us just as usual, and did not refer to the event of the previous evening. Three days pasesd by. and the lieutenant was still alive. Sylvio did not call him out; he accepted his apology, and made peace. He lost a great deal of his prestige with the younger men of the regiment on this account, but, after •some time he regained much of his old influence. 1 could not, however, respect him in the same way, and as 1 had been somewhat of a favourite with him he noticed the difference in my attitude towards him. He had always dropped -his habitual sarcasm when conversing alone with me. and had appeared to take pleasure in my society. I rarely saw him now, except in the presence of my brother officers. Two or three times he had evidently wanted to explain matters to me. but I had not eared to discuss the subject, and so we drifted apart. Sometime later Sylvio invited us all to a farewell dinner. He had received news, he told us, which compelled him to leave the town immediately. At the hour indicated I went to his house where I found arearly all the regiment. -Sylvio’s trunks and furniture were packed, and there was nothing whatever left but the chairs and tables, and the walls all pierced with shot. We sat down to dinner; our host was in the best of spirits and his gaiety was infectious. The corks flew, the glasses were filled and re filled, and we all drank to Sylvio and wished him a pleasant journey. •

It was late when we rose from the table, and we all prepared to take our departure. When Sylvio had shaken hands with most of the others he asked me. in a low voice, to stay behind, as he wanted to speak to me. When everyone had left we sat down again and began to smoke. Sylvio appeared to be preoccupied. There was no trace now of his former nervous gaiety, and with his livid face, his flashing eyes, and the clouds of smoke coming out of his mouth he looked like a veritable demon. Some minutes passed, and at last he broke the silence.

‘’lt seemed strange no doubt to you.” he said abruptly, "that when that drunken idiot threw the candelabra at my head 1 did not call him out. To tell you the truth, if 1 could have been sure of my own life 1 should not have hesitated.” I looked at Sylvio in amazement; such a statement fairly took my breath away. "Yes.’’ he continued deliberately. “I am not at liberty to risk my life. Six years ago a man insulted me unpardonably. and he is still living.” My curiosity was aroused nows and I. asked promptly: “Did you eall him out?” “I did.” replied Sylvio, “and here is the proof of our duel.” He rose, and taking down a hat-box, |>roduced a cap which he put on his head, it had lieen slmt through about an inch above his forehead. “1 used to be in the Hussars,” he said, “and I ought to explaWi to you, in order that you may understand the rest, that my character is such that 1 must always be first, wherever I am. From my earliest childhood it was like this. In my time it was considered the thing to go the pace iii the army, and I ean tell you 1 always kept ahead of tha

others. Duels in our regiment were of daily occurrence, and 1 was invariably either one of the parties concerned or a witness. With my brother officers I was a great favourite, but the eomanders, who were continually being changed, looked upon me as an incurable plague attached to the regiment. “J. was reposing peacefully on my laurels, when a young man, belonging to a wealthy and illustrious family, joined our regiment. In all my life 1 have never met with any man so favored by the gods. He had everything—youth, good looks, intelligence, courage, boundless wealth, and a great name. He was soon in great favour, and I began to feel that my prestige was diminishing in consequence. He tried to make friends with me, but I received his advances coldly. Soon I began to hate him, and was constantly trying to piek a quarrel with him. Finally, at a ball given by a Polish nobleman, I was furiously jealous on seeing what a favourite he was with all the women, and particularly with the hostess, for whom 1 happened to have a great fancy. In my anger I whispered something to him, insulting him grossly. He replied by a blow, and I drew my sword. There was wild confusion, some of the ladies fainted, we were separated, and that very night, we set out to fight our duel. "The time fixed upon was early morning, and at the place appointed I was the first to arrive with my three witnesses. It. was spring, and the sun was just visible above the horizon when I saw my adversary appear with one witness. He came along slowly, as he had his cap full of cherries, which he was eating as he walked. “The distances were measured, and it was for mq. tp fire first, but I refused. He would not-either, and we drew lots. Fortune favoured him. and he accordingly took aim, and sent a bullet through my cap. It was .my turn then, and I looked at him eagerly, for at last

I had his life in my hands, and I wanted to feel that he feared me. 1 was disappointed, for he calmly continued eating his cherries, one by one, blowing the stones out of his mouth so that they fell at my very feet. His sangfroid exasperated me. and a diabolical idea flashed through my mind. If lie cared so little about his life it was no revenge to kill him then. ” ‘You do not seem prepared for death/ I said to him. ‘allow me to wait until you have finished your cherries.’ “‘As you like,’he replied coolly. ‘You are entitled to have a shot at me. Either now. or later on, just as you. like. 1 am at your service any time.’ “ ‘Then 1 will wait; 1 said, and, turning to my witnesses, I added that [ would not fire that day I left the army, and came to this place to live, and ever since that time I have been waiting, day after day, for my revenge. The hour has now come.” He drew from his pocket a letter which he handed me to read. It was evidently from his lawyer, and it announced the approaching marriage of the officer in question, with a very charming young girl. “I leave to-morrow for Moscow,” said Sylvio, “and we shall see whether he will meet death as indifferently now as the day when he was eating those cherries.” * ■ * * » * * « Some years passed by. and I had heard nothing more of Sylvio. when my duties obliged me to live in a little village in the district of N . There was no society there, and with the exception of the starosta (a kind of village mayor) I had scarcely anyone with whom I could converse. About four verstes from my house there was a very fine estate, belonging to the'Couritess B . but until I had been living in the village nearly two years, she'and her husband had never once visited their beautiful country home, but had left it in charge of their steward. In June, however, of my second year

they arrived, and the very first Sunday I went to call on them, only too thankful to have neighbours upon whom I could call. The house was extremely well appointed, the count most cordial, and his wife very beapfiful. During our interview 1 happened to glance at the books on the table, and at the pictures on the wall, line of them attracted my attention, not on account of its artistic value, but because it had a hole through it, and had evidently served as a target for a pistol shot. The count saw me looking at it. and asked whether 1 was a good shot. “Fairly good,” I replied; “at about thirty paces I can always count on putting a bullet through a card on the wall.” "1 used to be a good shot, too,” said the count, “but for ten years I have never touched a pistol.”

"Oh well, then,” I said, “you would he quite out of it now. One has to keep in regular practice or it is quite hopeless. The very best shot I ever knew always made a point of hitting three bullets placed on a knife before sitting down to dinner. He did it as regularly as clockwork, just to keep his hand in.” “And what else could he do in that line?” asked the count. “Well, if he saw a fly on the wall he would call for his pistol, which he always kept ready charged, and almost without taking aim he would bring the fly down.” “Wonderful!” exclaimed the count, "what was his name?” “Sylvio,” I replied. “Sylvio!” exclaimed bulb the count and countess in a breath, “did you know Sylvio?” "Rather,” 1 answered, “but for the last five years 1 have never heard a word of him.” “Did he ever tell you a rather odd sort of story —” began the count. “About a duel?” 1 asked. "Yes.” “He did, and I have often wondered how it ended —” “I was his antagonist,” said the count, and that picture is a souvenir of outlast interview.” “Oh, don’t talk about that,” begged the countt ss. "Yes, IJnsulted Sylvio. and it is only fair that any friend of his should knowhow he avenged himself. The count pushed an armchair towards me. and when we were seated told me the following story: — “It is just about five years ago since, we were married,” he began. "We spent our honeymoon here, and one evening on returning from a ride we were informed that a gentleman was waiting to see me, but that he had refused to give his name. I went at once into the room, and found Sylvio standing near the ehntney-piece. I must confess that 1 felt my hair stand up on end. “'lt is my turn to fire,” he remarked coolly, ‘ are you ready?’ "He took his pistol from his belt, and 1 nodded and stepped back twelve paces inlo the corner of the room, asking him at tlie same time not to delay, but to fire before mv wife came in.

“ ‘I cannot see~ he said deliberately, will you have a light brought in?” “I rang the bell, ordered candles, and. when the servant man had gone away, I went back to my place, and again asked him not to keep me waiting. He took aim, and I counted the seconds, thinking all the time of my wife. It was a ter-

lible moment- for me. Suddenly Sylvio lowered his hand. “‘lt is a pity the pistol is not loaded with cherry stones.” he remarked, ’the weight of it tires my hand.’ ’ "Another minute passed, which to me seemed a century.

“ ‘This is not like a duel.’ he said slowly, ‘it is more like a murder. 1 am not accustomed to aim at a man who has no weapon. We will begin again, and draw lots to fire first.’

“My head was dizzy. I believe I refused at first to consent to this. I remember. though, that we wrote on two papers, and put them into the very eap that 1 had pierced with my shot on the occasion of our other duel. Fortune favoured me again, for I was to fire first. “'You are decidedly luckv. count,” Sylvio said, with a smile I shall never forget. “1 don’t know how- it happened, but I shot straight th ough into th s pic ture instead of at my opponent.” The Count’s face was flushed as he pointed to the picture, but his wife’s was livid. “Sylvio then raised his pistol again, and took aim. This time, 1 could see from the expression of his face that it was hopeless to expect any mercy. “The door opened suddenly at this moment, and Marie rushed in, and threw her arms round my neck. Her presence gave me nerve, and with si great effort 1 burst out laughing. " 'Foolish child.' 1 said, ‘don’t you see we have a b?t on? l-’an-y your exc ting yourself like this. Go and drink :i glass of water, and when you come back 1 will introduce an old friend of mine to you.’ “My wife would not believe me, and she turned to Sylvio. “ ‘Monsieur, tell me for heaven's sake if it is really only a joke; is it really a question of a bet?”

“ ‘Yes—indeed.’ said Sylvio. it is all a joke—the Count is in the habit of joking, always. Once, by way of a joke, he struck me—another day, still by way of a joke, he put a bullet through this eap of mine, and now, for a joke, he has just missed me a second time. It is my turn now, though, to joke.’ “As he said this, he raised his pistol for the third time, breast high. “My wife understood perfectly well now, and she threw herself at his feet. “ ‘Marie, Marie, don’t,’ I exclaimed, and then, perfectly furions with him, 1 added: “ ‘Monsieur, will you nut an end to this; are you gring to fire or not?” “ 'No, I am not,’ he answered. “ ‘And what is the meaning of this decision?’ 1 asked. “‘I am quite satisfied,’ he repiel. ‘J have seen you fear me. Twice 1 have given you a chance to shoot me, and twice you have missed. You won’t forget that, I am sure 1 will leave you now.’ "He moved towards the door, but on reaching it. he turned round, glanced att he picture, scarcely took time to aim, fired, and then left the room. In order that I should have no doubt as to his skill, he had put his bullet just on mine in the picture. “My wife fainted away, and Pty servants did not dare to attempt to stop Sylvio. They watched him leave in t error. "At the door he called the isvosehik.

and before 1 had recovered my Bences he had disappeared.*’ The Count stopped speak iug. This. then, was the end of the romance in which 1 had taken so keen an interest. I never saw Sylvio again. It was rumoured that when Alexandre Ypsilanti gave the signal for the revolution in Greece, Sylvio commanded a company of Hellenes, and that he was killed in the battle of Bragaehan.

First eotucs the chills, with other ills, To »et ur all a sneezing. We pay our bills and make our With coughing and with wheezing. Around our beds, with shaking Loads. The doctors keep us poor, Till all our dread at last is sped By WOODS’ GUBAT I’EPI’ERMINI CURE.