We were stationed at the little village of Z. The life of an officer 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.
[Illustration: "THE OFFICER SEIZED A BRASS CANDLESTICK."]
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 to-night, 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 good-bye. 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."