A brief retelling of the shot so that it can be written off. Silvio's personal secret

Belkin's Tales: Shot
Summary of the story
The army regiment is stationed in the town ***. Life passes according to the routine of the army, and only the acquaintance of the officers with a certain man named Silvio, who lives in this place, dispels the boredom of the garrison. He is older than most of the officers of the regiment, sullen, has a tough temper and an evil tongue. There is some secret in his life that Silvio does not reveal to anyone. It is known that Silvio once served in the hussars, but the reason for his resignation is not known to anyone, as well as the reason

Living in this outback. Neither his income nor his fortune is known, but he keeps an open table for the officers of the regiment, and at dinner champagne flows like water. For this, everyone is ready to forgive him. The mystery of Silvio's figure sets off his almost supernatural skill in pistol shooting. He does not take part in the conversations of officers about duels, and when asked if he had ever fought, he answers dryly that he did. Between themselves, the officers believe that some unfortunate victim of his inhuman art lies on the conscience of Silvio. One day, as usual, several officers gathered at Silvio's. After drinking a lot, we started card game and asked Silvio to sweep the bank. In the game, he was silent as usual and without a word corrected the mistakes of the punters in the records. One young officer, who had recently joined the regiment and did not know the habits of Silvio, it seemed that he was mistaken. Enraged by Silvio's silent obstinacy, the officer threw a shandal at his head. Silvio, pale with anger, asked the officer to leave. Everyone considered the duel inevitable and did not doubt its outcome, but Silvio did not call the officer, and this circumstance ruined his reputation in the eyes of the officers, but gradually everything went back to normal and the incident was forgotten. Only one officer, to whom Silvio sympathized more than others, could not come to terms with the idea that Silvio did not wash off the insult.
Once in the regimental office, where the mail came, Silvio received a package, the contents of which greatly excited him. He announced his unexpected departure to the assembled officers and invited everyone to a farewell dinner. Late in the evening, when everyone was leaving Silvio's house, the owner asked the most sympathetic officer to linger and revealed his secret to him.
A few years ago, Silvio received a slap in the face, and his offender is still alive. This happened during the years of his service, when Silvio had a violent temper. He excelled in the regiment and enjoyed this position until “a young man of a rich and noble family” was determined in the regiment. He was the most brilliant lucky man, who was always fabulously lucky in everything. At first, he tried to win the friendship and favor of Silvio, but, not having succeeded in this, moved away from him without regret. The primacy of Silvio was shaken, and he began to hate this favorite of fortune. Once, at a ball with a Polish landowner, they quarreled, and Silvio received a slap in the face from his enemy. At dawn there was a duel, to which the offender Silvio appeared with a cap full of ripe cherries. By lot, he got the first shot, firing it and shooting through Silvio's cap, he calmly stood at the muzzle of his pistol and enjoyed eating cherries with pleasure, spitting out the bones, which sometimes reached his opponent. His indifference and equanimity infuriated Silvio, and he refused to shoot. His opponent said indifferently that Silvio would have the right to use his shot whenever he pleased. Soon Silvio retired and retired to this place, but not a day passed that he did not dream of revenge. And finally, his time has come. He is informed that "a famous person will soon enter into a legal marriage with a young and beautiful girl." And Silvio decided to see if he would accept death with such indifference before his wedding, as he once waited for her behind the cherries! Friends said goodbye, and Silvio left.
A few years later, circumstances forced the officer to retire and settle in his poor village, where he was dying of boredom, until Count B *** came to the neighboring estate with his young wife. The narrator goes to visit them. The count and countess enchanted him with their secular appeal. On the wall of the living room, the narrator's attention is drawn to a picture shot through by "two bullets stuck one into the other." He praised the successful shot and said that he knew in his life a man whose skill in shooting was truly amazing. When asked by the count what the name of this shooter was, the narrator named Silvio. At this name, the count and countess were embarrassed. The count asks if Silvio told his friend about a strange story, and the narrator guesses that the count is the very old offender of his friend. It turns out that this story had a continuation, and the shot through picture is a kind of monument to their last meeting.
It happened five years ago in this very house where the count and countess spent their honeymoon. One day, the count was informed that a certain person was waiting for him, who did not want to give his name. Entering the living room, the count found Silvio there, whom he did not immediately recognize and who reminded him of the shot left behind him and said that he had come to unload his pistol. The Countess could come in any minute. The count was nervous and in a hurry, Silvio hesitated, and finally forced the count to draw lots again. And again the count got the first shot. Against all rules, he shot and shot through the picture hanging on the wall. At that moment, the frightened countess ran in. Her husband began to assure her that they were just joking with an old friend. But what happened was not too much of a joke. The countess was on the verge of fainting, and the enraged count shouted to Silvio to shoot, but Silvio replied that he would not do this, that he saw the main thing - the fear and confusion of the count, and that was enough for him. The rest is a matter of conscience of the count himself. He turned and walked towards the exit, but he stopped at the very door and, almost without aiming, fired and hit exactly in the place shot by the count in the picture. The narrator did not meet Silvio again, but heard that he died participating in the uprising of the Greeks led by Alexander Ypsilanti.

You are now reading: Summary of Belkin's Tale: Shot - Pushkin Alexander Sergeevich

The summary of Belkin's story "The Shot" takes the reader to a small place in which an army regiment was quartered. The life of the officers passed according to the established order, only meetings with Silvio dispelled boredom. This man was a complete mystery to all local residents, no one knew where he came from, who he used to be, what his income was. Silvio was taciturn, had a sharp temper, a sharp tongue, but he always set the table for the officers, and his champagne flowed like water. For such hospitality, the military forgave him everything.

Silvio's strange behavior

Despite the isolation of the man, all the officers knew about his skill in shooting. Silvio spoke reluctantly about the fights, and when asked if he had ever fought, he answered that he had, but did not tell the details. The military decided that some innocent victim lay on the conscience of their friend, but they did not dare to question him. The summary of Belkin's story "The Shot" takes the reader to that evening when, as usual, officers gathered at Silvio's. They played cards, and the owner was asked to sweep the bank.

Among the guests was a newcomer who did not know about the habits of the man. When the young officer told Silvio that he had made a mistake, the master remained stubbornly silent. The tipsy young man in anger threw a shandal at the man's head. Everyone thought that the fight could not be avoided, but Silvio only asked the offender to get out of his house. At first it was actively discussed, but was soon forgotten, and only an officer who sympathized with the silent man could not come to terms with the fact that his friend did not wash away the insult.

Silvio's personal secret

The summary of Belkin's story "The Shot" tells that one day a package arrives at the regimental office of Silvio, the contents of which excited him. The man set the table and invited all the officers to a farewell dinner, announcing his departure. When the guests dispersed, the host revealed his secret to the young man with whom he became the best friend. It turns out that Silvio used to serve in where he enjoyed his superiority. But one day a young man from a noble and wealthy family was assigned there. The officer was lucky in everything, at first he wanted to make friends with Silvio, but, not having succeeded in this, he was not very upset.

The main characters of Belkin's story "The Shot" had a strong temper, once at the ball the competitors quarreled, and Silvio received a slap in the face from his enemy. The offender came to the duel with a cap full of cherries. The right of the first shot was given to the officer, but he only shot through Silvio's headgear. He himself calmly stood at gunpoint and spit pits from cherries.

The summary of Belkin's story "The Shot" says that Silvio refused to shoot, enraged by the indifference of the enemy, to which he replied that the shot was his, and he could use it at any moment. And now the man finds out that his old enemy is going to marry. He wants to use his shot to see if his offender will look down the barrel of a gun so indifferently.

denouement

And now the familiar officer retires and goes to live in a poor village, where Belkin's story ends. Summary “Shot” says that the man became friends with the countess and count, who turned out to be very nice people. The attention of a retired officer is attracted by a picture shot through by two bullets in one place. During the conversation, he realized that the young count was the old offender of his friend Silvio. It turns out that he found his enemy when he spent with his young wife Silvio recalled his shot, but offered to draw lots again.

The earl fired first, but he was so nervous and in a hurry that he missed and hit the picture. The countess ran to the shot, her husband began to reassure her that it was just a game, and Silvio ordered to shoot faster, but he refused, saying that he saw what he wanted - the confusion and fear of the offender. Already leaving, he turned around and, without aiming, shot at the picture, hitting exactly in the place shot by the count.

The narration is conducted on behalf of the narrator - an army officer. Their regiment lodged in the town of ***, and life was not very diverse. In the morning, teaching, then lunch with the regimental commander, and in the evening - punch and playing cards. The officers gathered at each other's, but one non-military one stood out among them. At 35, he looked too gloomy and seemed like an old man.

Some mystery surrounded his fate: being Russian, he bore the foreign name Silvio. Once he was a hussar, but retired. His table was open to local officers, he gave everyone his books to read - military and novels. But his main occupation was shooting: all the walls of the room were riddled with bullets. When it came to whether he had to fight a duel, he answered dryly that he had to. Everyone thought that this gloom was connected with the past: there was some kind of sacrifice on his conscience.

One day at dinner, while playing cards, Silvio, who rarely played, sat down to throw, but remained silent. Everyone knew this feature of his, but among the officers there was a novice: he made a mistake in the entry, Silvio silently erased and corrected, but the officer did not let up and began to prove his case. Silvio did not react, then the young man threw a copper shandal at him, and he barely managed to dodge the blow. Everyone was sure that Silvio would challenge the young man to a duel and that it would be bad luck. However, the call was not followed, which greatly surprised the officers, and they considered him a coward.

One day Silvio received a package, impatiently tore the seal off it, his eyes sparkling as he read it. After he told everyone present that he would have to leave at night, so he invites everyone to a farewell dinner. Almost the entire regiment assembled at the appointed time. The owner himself seemed cheerful, champagne flowed like water, colleagues wished him every blessing. When late in the evening everyone began to disperse, Silvio asked the narrator to linger.

They lit a cigarette, and the owner explained that he did not want to leave the narrator with a painful memory of himself. And he told the story of six years ago, when he received a slap in the face, but his enemy is still alive. Then Silvio was a young hussar, used to being the first in everything, and he succeeded in this until a young man of a rich and noble family appeared in their regiment. He was truly a lucky man: smart, handsome, young, had a big name and money that was not transferred.

Silvio hated him for his successes in the regiment and in the society of women, so he began to look for quarrels, but his happy rival answered epigrams with sharper epigrams, his jokes were funnier, which caused more anger in the hero’s soul. Once at a ball, seeing how successful his opponent was with women, Silvio said some kind of flat rudeness, for which he received a slap in the face, and that same night they went to fight.

When the opponents met, the offender appeared with a cap full of cherries. By lot, the opponent was the first to shoot, he took aim and shot through his cap. When Silvio was about to shoot, his opponent at gunpoint calmly chose ripe cherries and spat in the pits. Such indifference infuriated Silvio, and he said that he was leaving the shot behind him. He retired and was waiting for an opportunity to take revenge. And so he received a message that his offender should soon marry a beautiful girl. Silvio was sure that now he would not meet death calmly.

A few years later, the narrator ended up in another county. After a noisy and carefree life, it was hard for him, he did not know what to do, and almost became a bitter drunkard. Four miles away was a rich estate, the owners of which were going to come for the summer. When the hero arrived at the count's estate, he saw a handsome man with an open and friendly look, and the countess turned out to be a beauty.

The guest began to examine the paintings and saw one, shot twice in one place. The conversation turned to shooting, and the narrator remembered Silvio. And the count admitted that he was the very offender, and then told Silvio about revenge. During a ride on horseback, he learned from a servant about the arrival of his old enemy. The wife went on foot, and the count hurried home. Seeing Silvio, he asked to shoot faster, until the countess appeared. But he offered to hold a duel and cast lots. The count took out the first number. He fired and hit the painting. At that moment, Masha ran in and threw herself on her husband's neck. The count tried to explain that this was a joke, but Silvio said that he had been joking with him all his life.

Masha threw herself at his feet, the count was furious, and Silvio said that he was satisfied and so: he saw confusion in the eyes of his offender and now betrays his conscience. Leaving, he looked back and, almost without aiming, fired at the shot through the picture, then disappeared. It was said that Silvio, during the rebellion of Alexander Ypsilanti, was the leader of the Eterist detachment and was killed in the battle of Skulyan.

• "Shot", analysis of the story by Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin
• "The Captain's Daughter", a summary of the chapters of Pushkin's story

Belkin's Tales: Shot

The army regiment is stationed in the town ***. Life passes according to the routine of the army, and only the acquaintance of the officers with a certain man named Silvio, who lives in this place, dispels the boredom of the garrison. He is older than most of the officers of the regiment, sullen, has a tough temper and an evil tongue. There is some secret in his life that Silvio does not reveal to anyone. It is known that Silvio once served in a hussar regiment, but no one knows the reason for his resignation, as well as the reason for living in this outback. Neither his income nor his fortune is known, but he keeps an open table for the officers of the regiment, and at dinner champagne flows like water. For this, everyone is ready to forgive him. The mystery of Silvio's figure sets off his almost supernatural skill in pistol shooting. He does not take part in the conversations of officers about duels, and when asked if he had ever fought, he answers dryly that he did. Between themselves, the officers believe that some unfortunate victim of his inhuman art lies on the conscience of Silvio. One day, as usual, several officers gathered at Silvio's. Having drunk a lot, they started a card game and asked Silvio to sweep the bank. In the game, he was silent as usual and without a word corrected the mistakes of the punters in the records. One young officer, who had recently joined the regiment and did not know the habits of Silvio, it seemed that he was mistaken. Enraged by Silvio's silent obstinacy, the officer threw a shandal at his head. Silvio, pale with anger, asked the officer to leave. Everyone considered the duel inevitable and did not doubt its outcome, but Silvio did not call the officer, and this circumstance ruined his reputation in the eyes of the officers, but gradually everything went back to normal and the incident was forgotten. Only one officer, to whom Silvio sympathized more than others, could not come to terms with the idea that Silvio did not wash off the insult.

Once in the regimental office, where the mail came, Silvio received a package, the contents of which greatly excited him. He announced his unexpected departure to the assembled officers and invited everyone to a farewell dinner. Late in the evening, when everyone was leaving Silvio's house, the owner asked the most sympathetic officer to linger and revealed his secret to him.

A few years ago, Silvio received a slap in the face, and his offender is still alive. This happened during the years of his service, when Silvio had a violent temper. He excelled in the regiment and enjoyed this position until "a young man of a rich and noble family" was determined in the regiment. He was the most brilliant lucky man, who was always fabulously lucky in everything. At first, he tried to win the friendship and favor of Silvio, but, not having succeeded in this, moved away from him without regret. The primacy of Silvio was shaken, and he began to hate this favorite of fortune. Once, at a ball with a Polish landowner, they quarreled, and Silvio received a slap in the face from his enemy. At dawn there was a duel, to which the offender Silvio appeared with a cap full of ripe cherries. By lot, he got the first shot, firing it and shooting through Silvio's cap, he calmly stood at the muzzle of his pistol and enjoyed eating cherries with pleasure, spitting out the bones, which sometimes reached his opponent. His indifference and equanimity infuriated Silvio, and he refused to shoot. His opponent said indifferently that Silvio would have the right to use his shot whenever he pleased. Soon Silvio retired and retired to this place, but not a day passed that he did not dream of revenge. And finally, his time has come. He is informed that "a famous person will soon enter into a legal marriage with a young and beautiful girl." And Silvio decided to see if he would accept death with such indifference before his wedding, as he once waited for her behind the cherries! Friends said goodbye, and Silvio left.

A few years later, circumstances forced the officer to retire and settle in his poor village, where he was dying of boredom, until Count B *** came to the neighboring estate with his young wife. The narrator goes to visit them. The count and countess enchanted him with their secular appeal. On the wall of the living room, the narrator's attention is drawn to a picture shot through by "two bullets stuck one into the other." He praised the successful shot and said that he knew in his life a man whose skill in shooting was truly amazing. When asked by the count what the name of this shooter was, the narrator named Silvio. At this name, the count and countess were embarrassed. The count asks if Silvio told his friend about a strange story, and the narrator guesses that the count is the very old offender of his friend. It turns out that this story had a continuation, and the shot through picture is a kind of monument to their last meeting.

It happened five years ago in this very house where the count and countess spent their honeymoon. One day, the count was informed that a certain person was waiting for him, who did not want to give his name. Entering the living room, the count found Silvio there, whom he did not immediately recognize and who reminded him of the shot left behind him and said that he had come to unload his pistol. The Countess could come in any minute. The count was nervous and in a hurry, Silvio hesitated, and finally forced the count to draw lots again. And again the count got the first shot. Against all rules, he shot and shot through the picture hanging on the wall. At that moment, the frightened countess ran in. Her husband began to assure her that they were just joking with an old friend. But what happened was not too much of a joke. The countess was on the verge of fainting, and the enraged count shouted to Silvio to shoot, but Silvio replied that he would not do this, that he saw the main thing - the fear and confusion of the count, and that was enough for him. The rest is a matter of conscience of the count himself. He turned and walked towards the exit, but he stopped at the very door and, almost without aiming, fired and hit exactly in the place shot by the count in the picture. The narrator did not meet Silvio again, but heard that he died participating in the uprising of the Greeks led by Alexander Ypsilanti.

We were shooting.

Baratynsky.

I swore to shoot him by the right of dueling (he still had my shot behind him).

Evening at the bivouac.

I

We were standing in a place ***. The life of an army officer is known. In the morning, teaching, arena; lunch at the regimental commander or in a Jewish tavern; in the evening punch and cards. In *** there was not a single open house, not a single bride; we gathered at each other's, where, apart from our uniforms, we saw nothing. Only one person belonged to our society, not being a military man. He was about thirty-five years old, and for that we revered him as an old man. Experience gave him many advantages over us; besides, his usual sullenness, tough temper and wicked tongue had a strong influence on our young minds. Some mystery surrounded his fate; he seemed Russian, but bore a foreign name. Once he served in the hussars, and even happily; no one knew the reason that prompted him to retire and settle in a poor place, where he lived both poorly and extravagantly: he always walked, in a worn-out black frock coat, and kept an open table for all the officers of our regiment. True, his dinner consisted of two or three dishes prepared by a retired soldier, but champagne flowed like a river. No one knew either his fortune or his income, and no one dared to ask him about it. He had books, mostly military ones, and novels. He willingly gave them to read, never demanding them back; but he never returned to the owner of the book he occupied. His main exercise consisted in shooting from a pistol. The walls of his room were all riddled with bullet holes, all bored like a honeycomb. A rich collection of pistols was the only luxury of the poor hut where he lived. The skill he achieved was incredible, and if he volunteered to knock a pear off someone's cap with a bullet, no one in our regiment would hesitate to turn his head to him. The conversation between us often touched on fights; Silvio (that's what I'll call him) never interfered with him. When asked if he had ever fought, he answered dryly that he did, but he did not go into details, and it was clear that such questions were unpleasant to him. We believed that some unfortunate victim of his terrible art lay on his conscience. However, it never crossed our minds to suspect anything resembling timidity in him. There are people whose appearance alone removes such suspicions. The accident surprised us all. One day about ten of our officers dined at Silvio's. They drank as usual, that is, a lot; after dinner we began to persuade the owner to clear the bank for us. For a long time he refused, for he almost never played; Finally, he ordered the cards to be brought in, poured out fifty chervonets on the table, and sat down to throw them. We surrounded him and the game began. Silvio used to keep perfect silence during the game, never arguing or explaining himself. If the punter happened to miscalculate, then he immediately either paid the full amount, or wrote down the excess. We already knew this and did not prevent him from managing in his own way; but between us was an officer who had recently been transferred to us. He, playing right there, turned an extra corner in absent-mindedness. Silvio took the chalk and equalized as usual. The officer, thinking that he was mistaken, launched into an explanation. Silvio silently continued to throw. The officer, losing patience, took a brush and erased what seemed to him to have been written in vain. Silvio took the chalk and wrote it down again. The officer, heated up by the wine, the game and the laughter of his comrades, considered himself cruelly offended and, in a fury, seizing a copper shandal from the table, let it go at Silvio, who barely managed to deviate from the blow. We were confused. Silvio got up, turning pale with anger, and with sparkling eyes said: “Dear sir, if you please, go out, and thank God that this happened in my house.” We did not doubt the consequences and believed the new comrade had already been killed, the officer went out, saying that he was ready to answer for the insult, as Mr. banker would like. The game went on for several more minutes; but feeling that the owner had no time for the game, we fell behind one by one and dispersed to our apartments, talking about an imminent vacancy. The next day in the arena we were already asking if the poor lieutenant was still alive, when he himself appeared between us; we asked him the same question. He replied that he had not yet had any news of Silvio. This surprised us. We went to Silvio's and found him in the yard, putting bullet after bullet into an ace glued to the gate. He received us in the usual way, not saying a word about yesterday's incident. Three days passed, the lieutenant was still alive. We were surprised to ask: is Silvio really not going to fight? Silvio didn't fight. He was content with a very light explanation and reconciled. This was extremely damaging to him in the opinion of the youth. Lack of courage is least of all excused by young people, who usually see in courage the height of human virtues and an excuse for all possible vices. However, little by little everything was forgotten, and Silvio regained his former influence. Alone, I could no longer approach him. Having by nature a romantic imagination, I was most strongly attached to a man whose life was a mystery, and who seemed to me the hero of some mysterious story. He loved me; at least with me alone he left his usual sharp slander and spoke about various subjects with innocence and unusual pleasantness. But after the unfortunate evening, the thought that his honor had been soiled and not washed away through his own fault, this thought did not leave me and prevented me from treating him as before; I was ashamed to look at him. Silvio was too smart and experienced not to notice this and not guess the reasons for it. It seemed to upset him; at least once or twice I noticed in him a desire to explain himself to me; but I avoided such cases, and Silvio backed down on me. Since then, I saw him only in the presence of my comrades, and our former frank conversations ceased. The scattered inhabitants of the capital have no idea of ​​many of the impressions so familiar to the inhabitants of villages or towns, for example, of waiting for the post day: on Tuesday and Friday, our regimental office was full of officers: some were waiting for money, some letters, some newspapers. The packages were usually opened immediately, the news was reported, and the office presented the most lively picture. Silvio received letters addressed to our regiment and usually stayed there. One day they gave him a package, from which he tore the seal with an air of the greatest impatience. As he scanned the letter, his eyes sparkled. The officers, each busy with their letters, noticed nothing. “Gentlemen,” Silvio told them, “circumstances require my immediate absence; I'm going tonight; I hope you will not refuse to dine with me one last time. I am waiting for you too,” he continued, turning to me, “I am waiting without fail.” With this word, he hurried out; and we, agreeing to connect with Silvio, each went our separate ways. I came to Silvio at the appointed time and found almost the entire regiment with him. All his goods had already been laid; only bare, shot-through walls remained. We sat down at the table; the host was extremely in spirit, and soon his gaiety became common; corks clapped every minute, glasses foamed and hissed incessantly, and with all possible zeal we wished the departing good journey and every good. We got up from the table late in the evening. When taking apart the caps, Silvio, saying goodbye to everyone, took my hand and stopped me at the very moment I was about to leave. “I need to talk to you,” he said quietly. I stayed. The guests have left; we were left alone, sat opposite each other and silently lit our pipes. Silvio was preoccupied; there was no trace of his convulsive gaiety. The gloomy pallor, sparkling eyes, and thick smoke coming out of his mouth, gave him the appearance of a real devil. A few minutes passed, and Silvio broke the silence. Maybe we will never see each other again, he told me, before parting, I wanted to explain myself to you. You may have noticed that I have little respect for outside opinion; but I love you, and I feel it would be painful for me to leave an unjust impression in your mind. He stopped and began to fill his burned-out pipe; I was silent, lowering my eyes. It was strange to you, he continued, that I did not demand satisfaction from this drunken nutcase R ***. You will agree that, having the right to choose a weapon, his life was in my hands, and mine is almost safe: I could attribute my moderation to generosity alone, but I do not want to lie. If I could punish R *** without exposing my life at all, then I would never forgive him. I looked at Silvio in amazement. Such a confession completely embarrassed me. Silvio continued. That's right: I have no right to subject myself to death. Six years ago I received a slap in the face, and my enemy is still alive. My curiosity was greatly aroused. "You didn't fight him? I asked. Circumstances, right, separated you? I fought him, answered Silvio, and here is the memorial of our duel. Silvio got up and took out of cardboard a red cap with a gold tassel and galloon (what the French call bonnet de police); he put it on; she was shot an inch from the forehead. You know, continued Silvio, that I served in the *** Hussars. You know my character: I am accustomed to excel, but from my youth it was a passion in me. In our time, riot was in vogue: I was the first riot in the army. We boasted of drunkenness: I drank the glorious Burtsov, sung by Denis Davydov. Duels in our regiment happened every minute: I was either a witness or a protagonist at all. My comrades adored me, and the regimental commanders, who were constantly replaced, looked at me as a necessary evil. I calmly (or restlessly) enjoyed my fame, as a young man of a rich and noble family (I don’t want to name him) decided to join us. Never met a lucky man so brilliant! Imagine youth, intelligence, beauty, the most frenzied gaiety, the most careless courage, a big name, money with which he did not know the account and which he had never transferred, and imagine what effect he had to produce between us. My dominance has been shaken. Enticed by my glory, he began to seek my friendship; but I received him coldly, and without any regret he withdrew from me. I hated him. His successes in the regiment and in the company of women led me to complete despair. I began to seek quarrels with him; he answered my epigrams with epigrams, which always seemed to me more unexpected and sharper than mine, and which, of course, were more cheerful than an example: he joked, and I was spiteful. Finally, one day at a ball at a Polish landowner, seeing him as the object of attention of all the ladies, and especially the hostess herself, who was in touch with me, I said some flat rudeness in his ear. He flared up and gave me a slap in the face. We rushed to the sabers; the ladies fainted; we were pulled apart, and that same night we went to fight. It was at dawn. I stood at the appointed place with my three seconds. With inexplicable impatience I awaited my adversary. The spring sun had risen, and the heat was already humming. I saw him from a distance. He walked on foot, with a uniform on a saber, accompanied by one second. We went towards him. He approached, holding a cap filled with cherries. The seconds measured twelve paces for us. I had to shoot first: but the excitement of anger in me was so strong that I did not rely on the fidelity of my hand and, in order to give myself time to cool down, I yielded to him the first shot; my opponent disagreed. They decided to cast lots: the first number went to him, the eternal favorite of happiness. He took aim and shot through my cap. The queue was behind me. His life was at last in my hands; I looked at him greedily, trying to catch at least one shadow of anxiety ... He stood under the pistol, picking ripe cherries from his cap and spitting out the bones that reached me. His indifference infuriated me. What good is it to me, I thought, to take his life when he does not value it at all? An evil thought flashed through my mind. I lowered the pistol. “It seems to you that now you are not up to death, I told him, you deign to have breakfast; I don't want to disturb you..." “You don’t interfere with me at all,” he objected, if you please, shoot, but as you please: your shot remains yours; I am always at your service." I turned to the seconds, announcing that I did not intend to shoot now, and the duel ended with that. I retired and retired to this place. Not a single day has passed since then that I have not thought of revenge. Now my time has come... Silvio took the letter he had received from his pocket in the morning and gave it to me to read. Someone (it seemed to be his chargé d'affaires) wrote to him from Moscow that famous person should soon enter into a legal marriage with a young and beautiful girl. Can you guess, said Silvio, who is this famous person. I'm going to Moscow. Let's see if he will accept death before his wedding so indifferently, as he once waited for her behind the cherries! At these words, Silvio got up, threw his cap on the floor, and began to pace up and down the room like a tiger in its cage. I listened to him motionless; strange, opposite feelings agitated me. The servant entered and announced that the horses were ready. Silvio squeezed my hand tightly; we kissed. He got into the cart, where there were two suitcases, one with pistols, the other with his belongings. We said goodbye once more, and the horses galloped off.

II

Several years passed, and domestic circumstances forced me to settle in a poor village in N ** county. While doing housework, I never ceased to sigh softly about my former noisy and carefree life. The hardest thing was for me to get used to spending autumn and winter evenings in complete solitude. Until dinner time I somehow still held out, talking with the headman, driving around for work or bypassing new establishments; but as soon as it began to get dark, I did not know at all where to go. A small number of the books I found under the cupboards and in the pantry were memorized by me. All the tales that only the housekeeper Kirilovna could remember were retold to me; the songs of women made me sad. I started on the unsweetened liqueur, but it gave me a headache; Yes, I confess, I was afraid to become a drunkard with grief, i.e. the most bitter a drunkard, of which I have seen many examples in our district. There were no close neighbors near me, except for two or three bitter, whose conversation consisted mostly of hiccups and sighs. Solitude was more tolerable. Four versts from me was a rich estate belonging to Countess B***; but only the steward lived in it, and the countess visited her estate only once, in the first year of her marriage, and then lived there no more than a month. However, in the second spring of my seclusion, a rumor spread that the countess and her husband would come to their village for the summer. In fact, they arrived at the beginning of the month of June. The arrival of a wealthy neighbor is an important era for the villagers. The landowners and their serfs talk about this two months before and three years later. As for me, I confess that the news of the arrival of a young and beautiful neighbor had a strong effect on me; I was burning with impatience to see her, and therefore, on the first Sunday after her arrival, after dinner I went to the village *** to be recommended to their excellencies, as the closest neighbor and most humble servant. The footman led me into the count's office, and he himself went to report on me. The vast study was furnished with every possible luxury; near the walls stood bookcases with books, and above each a bronze bust; above the marble fireplace was a wide mirror; the floor was upholstered with green cloth and covered with carpets. Having lost the habit of luxury in my poor corner and having not seen someone else's wealth for a long time, I became timid and waited for the count with some trepidation, like a petitioner from the provinces waiting for the appearance of a minister. The doors opened and a handsome man of thirty-two entered. The Count approached me with an open and friendly air; I tried to cheer myself up and began to recommend myself, but he warned me. We sat down. His conversation, free and amiable, soon dispelled my wild shyness; I was already beginning to enter into my usual position, when suddenly the countess entered, and embarrassment took possession of me more than before. Indeed, she was a beauty. The Count introduced me; I wanted to appear cheeky, but the more I tried to put on an air of ease, the more awkward I felt. In order to give me time to recover and get used to a new acquaintance, they began to talk among themselves, treating me like a good neighbor and without ceremony. Meanwhile I began to walk up and down, examining books and pictures. I am not an expert in paintings, but one caught my attention. She portrayed some view from Switzerland; but what struck me in it was not painting, but the fact that the picture was shot through by two bullets, planted one on top of the other. Here's a good shot, I said, turning to the Count. Yes, he answered, the shot is very remarkable. Are you a good shooter? he continued. Pretty much, I answered, glad that the conversation finally touched on a subject that was close to me. I won’t miss a card at thirty paces, of course, from familiar pistols. Right? said the countess, with an air of great attentiveness, and you, my friend, will you hit the map at thirty paces? Someday, answered the count, we will try. In my time, I didn't shoot badly; but for four years now I have not picked up a pistol. Oh, I remarked, in that case I bet that Your Excellency will not hit the card and twenty paces away: the pistol requires daily exercise. This I know from experience. In our regiment, I was considered one of the best shooters. Once it happened to me not to take a pistol for a whole month: mine were being repaired; What do you think, Your Excellency? The first time I started shooting later, I hit the bottle four times in a row at twenty-five paces. We had a captain, a wit, a funny man; he happened here and said to me: you know, brother, your hand does not rise to the bottle. No, Your Excellency, you must not neglect this exercise, otherwise you will just lose the habit. The best shooter I've ever met shot every day, at least three times before dinner. He had it wound up like a glass of vodka. The Count and Countess were glad that I had spoken. And what did he shoot? the Count asked me. Yes, that's how it is, Your Excellency: it happened, he sees, a fly sat on the wall: are you laughing, countess? Oh my god, really. It used to happen that he would see a fly and shout: “Kuzka, a gun!” Kuzka brings him a loaded pistol. He clap, and push the fly into the wall! It's amazing! said the count, what was his name? Silvio, Your Excellency. Silvio! cried the count, jumping up from his seat, did you know Silvio? How not to know, Your Excellency; we were friends with him; he was accepted in our regiment as his brother comrade; Yes, it's been five years since I've had any news of him. So Your Excellency knew him too? I knew, I knew very much. Did he tell you... but no; don't think; Did he tell you a very strange incident? Isn't it a slap in the face, Your Excellency, received by him at the ball from some rake? Did he tell you the name of this rake? No, Your Excellency, I didn't say... Ah! Your Excellency, I continued, guessing the truth, sorry... I didn't know... didn't you?.. I myself, answered the count with an extremely upset look, and the shot through picture is a monument to our last meeting ... Oh, my dear, said the countess, for God's sake don't tell; I'm scared to listen. No, objected the count, I will tell everything; he knows how I offended his friend: let him know how Silvio took revenge on me. The Count moved chairs for me, and with the liveliest curiosity I heard the following story. “Five years ago I got married. The first month, the honey-moon, I spent here in this village. To this house I owe the best moments of my life and one of the hardest memories. One evening we rode together; the wife's horse became stubborn; she was frightened, gave me the reins and walked home; I drove ahead. In the yard I saw a road cart; I was told that there was a man sitting in my office who did not want to announce his name, but simply said that he cared about me. I entered this room and saw in the darkness a man covered with dust and overgrown with a beard; he was standing here by the fire. I approached him, trying to recall his features. "You didn't recognize me, Count?" he said in a trembling voice. "Silvio!" I shouted, and I confess, I felt my hair suddenly stand on end. “That's right,” he continued, shot after me; I came to unload my pistol; are you ready?" His pistol was sticking out of his side pocket. I measured twelve paces and stood there in the corner, asking him to shoot quickly, before my wife returned. He hesitated he asked for fire. Candles were brought. I locked the doors, told no one to come in, and again asked him to shoot. He took out his pistol and took aim... I counted the seconds... I thought about her... A terrible minute passed! Silvio lowered his hand. “I regret,” he said, “that the pistol was not loaded with cherry pits... the bullet is heavy. It still seems to me that we are not having a duel, but a murder: I am not used to aiming at an unarmed person. Let's start again; Let's draw lots on who shoots first." My head was spinning... I don't seem to agree... Finally we loaded another pistol; rolled up two tickets; he put them in a cap, once shot by me; I took out the first number again. “You, count, are devilishly happy,” he said with a grin that I will never forget. I don’t understand what happened to me and how he could force me to do it ... but I shot and got into this picture. (The count pointed with his finger at the shot through the picture; his face burned like fire; the countess was paler than her handkerchief: I could not refrain from exclaiming.) I shot, the count continued, and, thank God, I missed; then Silvio ... (at that moment he was, really, terrible) Silvio began to aim at me. Suddenly the doors opened, Masha runs in and throws herself around my neck with a screech. Her presence gave me back all my vigor. “Honey,” I told her, “can't you see we're joking? How scared were you! come, drink a glass of water and come to us; I will introduce you to an old friend and comrade.” Masha still couldn't believe it. “Tell me, is your husband telling the truth? she said, turning to the formidable Silvio, is it true that you are both joking? “He always jokes, Countess,” Silvio answered her; once he gave me a joking slap in the face, jokingly shot me through this cap, jokingly gave me a miss now; now I also feel like joking…” With that word, he wanted to take aim at me… in front of her! Masha threw herself at his feet. “Get up, Masha, shame on you! I shouted in a rage, and you, sir, will you stop mocking the poor woman? Will you shoot or not?" “I won’t,” answered Silvio, I am pleased: I saw your confusion, your timidity, I forced you to shoot at me, that’s enough for me. You will remember me. I commit you to your conscience." Here he was about to go out, but stopped at the door, looked back at the picture I had shot through, fired at it, almost without aiming, and disappeared. The wife lay in a faint; people did not dare to stop him and looked at him with horror; he went out onto the porch, called the driver and left before I had time to come to my senses.

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