Hermann was a young man who lived in
Hermann did not have much money. But many of the other officers had plenty of money. They loved to spend their evenings drinking wine and playing cards- Sometimes they stayed up all night gambling.
Hermann did not drink and did not play cards. He was very careful with his money, but he loved to watch the rich young men playing cards every night. He wanted to be rich, but he did not have enough money to gamble.
One of the young officers who gambled every night was called Tomsky. Tomsky often saw Hermann sitting at the card table and wondered why Hermann never played cards.
There was a party one night which went on until four o'clock in the morning. Tomsky lost a lot of money and was unhappy. He wanted someone to talk to, so he sat down beside Hermann.
'Why do you never play cards? Tomsky asked Hermann.
'I have very little money,' Hermann replied. 'I cannot lose it at cards.'
'But you sit here every night and watch us win and lose,' Tomsky said.
'Yes,' Hermann agreed. 'I love cards very much.'
'So would you play cards if you were certain to win?' Tomsky asked with a smile.
'Perhaps,' Hermann answered slowly. 'But that's impossible.'
'Perhaps not,' said Tomsky. 'My grandmother, Countess Anna Fedotovna, knows the secret of the Three Winning Cards. But she won't tell anyone and she never gambles.'
'I don't believe you,' said Hermann.
'Then listen to this story,' said Tomsky. 'My grandmother is more than eighty years old, but she was very beautiful when she was young.
'About sixty years ago, my grandmother went to
'The Count Saint - Germain was a mysterious person. He was extremely rich, but no one knew where the Count's money came from. He knew many strange secrets and he told my grandmother the secret of the Three Winning Cards. Perhaps Count Saint-Germain was in love with her, who knows?
'The next night, my grandmother played cards with the Duke of Orleans again. She played three cards - one after the other. They all won. She paid back the money and never gambled again. And she never told anyone the secret of the Three Winning Cards!'
'It can't be true,' said Hermann slowly. 'It's just a story, isn't it?'
'I don't think so,' said Tomsky. 'But look at the time! It's almost morning. It is quarter to six and time for bed.'
All the young men finished their drinks and went home. It was nearly dawn on a cold winter morning.
Hermann could not stop thinking about Tomsky's story as he walked through the snowy streets of
Hermann knew where Tomsky's grandmother lived and decided to walk past her big house. He stood on the opposite side of the street and looked up at the large windows of the house. In the early morning light, he saw a pretty young girl sitting at a window. Her face was sad, as if she had been crying. The girl looked down and saw Hermann staring at her. Hermann smiled and the girl's face turned red. She moved quickly away from the window. Hermann smiled thoughtfully to himself.
Later, he asked one of Tomsky's friends about the girl who lived in the old Countess's house.
'That's Lizavyeta Ivanovna,' the man replied. 'Her parents died when she was young and she went to live with the old Countess. But the Countess does not treat her well. Poor Lizavyeta lives in the house like an unpaid servant. She is not treated as a member of the family.'
Hermann made a plan to get into the old Countess's house. Every day he stood outside the big house and made sure that Lizavyeta saw him. After a week, he wrote her a letter.
The next morning, as Lizavyeta Ivanovna came out of the house with the old Countess, Hermann crossed the street towards them. While the servants were helping the Countess into her carriage, Hermann gave the letter to Lizavyeta and walked quickly away.
Lizavyeta hid the letter. She read it later, when she was alone in her room.
The poor girl did not know what to do. She lived like a prisoner in the big house. She had no friends. She had no one she could ask for advice.
She decided to write a note to Hermann and return his letter. The following day, when she saw Hermann in the street, she opened the window and threw the letter to him. Hermann picked it up and went away.
Lizavyeta's note said:
Hermann had expected Lizavyeta to answer in this way. For the next few days, he managed to give a letter to Lizavyeta every morning. She replied to his letters and her replies became longer and longer.
A week later, Lizavyeta threw the following letter out of the window:
The Countess will be at a ball tonight. She will not return until two o'clock in the morning. I will leave the front door unlocked. The servants will be asleep. Come at half past eleven. Go up the stairs and turn left. You will see the Countess's room in front of you. Go into the Countess's room. There are two doors behind a large, red curtain in her room. The door on the right leads to a small study, where nobody ever goes. Behind the other door, there is a staircase which leads up to my room.
Hermann waited impatiently all day. By ten o'clock that evening, he was outside the Countess's house. It was windy and snowing, but he felt neither the wind nor the snow.
Hermann watched the Countess get into her carriage and drive off. At exactly half past eleven,he entered the house. He ran up the stairs and went into the Countess's bedroom. The only light came from a golden lamp which burned in front of an icon5.
Hermann did not go to Lizavyeta's room. Instead, he went through the door on the right, into the small study. He stood in the darkness and silence, listening to all the clocks in the house strike twelve, then one, then two.
At last, a carriage drove up to the house. A few minutes later, servants carrying candles came into the bedroom, followed by the Countess.
Hermann watched from behind the red curtain. The servants dressed the old and ugly woman in her night clothes. But the Countess did not want to sleep. She sat in an armchair by the window and stared at the lamp. The servants blew out the candles and left her alone.
The Countess looked round as Hermann came out from behind the curtain.
'Don't be afraid,' Hermann said. 'I won't hurt you. I've come to ask you a question.'
The old woman was silent.
'You know the secret of the Three Winning Cards,' said Hermann. Tell me the secret and I will leave you in peace.'
'No, no,' the Countess whispered. 'I can't tell you.'
'Why?' asked Hermann angrily. 'Don't you know the secret?'
The Countess said nothing.
'What use is the secret to you?' Hermann demanded. 'You are old. You don't need the money. You will die soon. Make me happy. Tell me the secret!'
The Countess said nothing.
'You stupid old woman,' Hermann said. 'I will make you speak!' He took a pistol from his pocket.
The Countess raised her hands in front of her face, then fell back in the chair and did not move. Her eyes continued to stare at Hermann, but the eyes were lifeless. Hermann saw that she was dead.
He opened the door to Lizavyeta's room and walked up the stairs. Lizavyeta was still waiting for him. She was wearing her best dress. Her face was pale.
'Where have you been?' she whispered.
'In the old Countess's bedroom,' Hermann answered. 'The Countess is dead.'
Lizavyeta listened as Hermann told her how the Countess had died.
'I came here to find out a secret,' Hermann explained. 'I wanted to learn the secret of the Three Winning Cards. I asked the Countess to tell me. But she refused. Then suddenly, she fell back dead in her chair. I did not kill her.'
Lizavyeta's eyes filled with tears. She understood that his letters of love had meant nothing! She began to cry bitterly. She wanted to get Hermann out of the house as quickly as possible. She never wanted to see him again.
Lizavyeta dried her eyes.
'There is a secret staircase from the Countess's study,' she said. 'It leads down to a street behind the house. Here - take the key. Now go!'
Hermann left Lizavyeta's room and walked back down the staircase. He went back into the Countess's bedroom. The Countess's face was peaceful. Hermann was not sad that the Countess was dead. But he was sad that she had died without telling him her secret.
Then he found the secret door in the study. He pushed it open and went down a dark staircase. The key unlocked a small door that led into the street. He walked out of the house and hurried away.
Three days later, Hermann went to the Countess's funeral. The church was full. People went up one after the other to kiss the dead Countess's face as she lay in an open coffin. Hermann followed them and went up to the coffin. He looked down at the dead Countess. Then suddenly, something strange happened. It seemed to Hermann that the dead woman opened one eye and winked at him. Hermann stepped back in surprise, tripped over and fell to the stone floor. The people round the ' coffin helped Hermann to his feet and he hurried out of the church. At the same time, Lizavyeta Ivanovna fainted.
That afternoon, Hermann drank a lot of wine. He fell asleep on his bed without undressing. It was dark when he woke up. It was quarter to three in the morning. He thought that someone was looking in at the window. He sat up on the bed. A moment later, the door opened and a woman in a long white dress came in. It was the dead Countess!
'I have come to tell you my secret,' said the Countess. 'You must play only one card each night for three nights. Then you must never play cards again for the rest of your life. Also you must never tell anyone this secret. The Three, the Seven and the Ace will win for you.'
The Countess turned and went out of the door, closing it behind her. It was a long time before Hermann got up off his bed. He tried to open the door and found that it was locked.
A famous gambler called Chekalinsky lived in
All the rich young men went to gamble at his table and Tomsky was a regular visitor. Hermann asked Tomsky to take him to Chekalinsky's house.
A game was being played when they arrived. Chekalinsky was dealing the cards. Hermann waited for the game to end and then said, 'May I put down a card?'
Chekalinsky smiled and nodded. Hermann took a three from his pack of cards and put it face down on the table. Then he took his money out of his pockets and began to cover the card with money.
Chekalinsky was surprised. 'How much money do you want to bet?' he asked, staring at the pile of bank notes.
'Forty-seven thousand roubles,' Hermann answered.
Everybody turned and looked at Hermann.
'He's mad,' said Tomsky.
'He's drunk,' said another gambler.
'Excuse me,' said Chekalinsky, 'but that is a lot of money - far more than anyone has ever bet before.'
'Will you take the bet or not?' Hermann asked.
Chekalinsky nodded and began to deal the cards into two piles.
The cards on his right were the losing cards - the cards on his left were the winning cards. He turned over a nine to the right and on the left - a three.
'I win,' said Hermann, showing his card - a three. Chekalinsky smiled slowly, and then counted out the money. Hermann took the money and left.
The next evening, Hermann came back again to Chekalinsky's house. This time, he took a seven from his pack, put it face down on the table and covered it with all his money.
Chekalinsky started dealing. A jack turned up on the right and, to the left - a seven. Hermann showed his card. He had won again.
Chekalinsky's face was pale as he counted out ninety-four thousand roubles. Hermann put the money into his pockets and went out.
When Hermann appeared on the third evening, everyone was expecting him. Army generals and other important people had come to watch. They all stood in silence as Hermann sat down opposite Chekalinsky. Hermann put his card face down on the table. On top of his card, he put all his money - one hundred and eighty- eight thousand roubles.
Chekalinsky began dealing. His hands were trembling. Then as he laid down the cards to his right and to his left, a queen fell on the right and an ace on the left.
'Ace wins!' cried Hermann and showed his card.
'Your queen has lost,' said Chekalinsky quietly.
Hermann looked again at the card in his hand. How had he made such a stupid mistake? Instead of an ace, he was holding the queen of spades!
As he looked at the card, the queen of spades seemed to open one eye and wink at him. She looked exactly like the dead Countess.
'The old woman!' Hermann shouted in horror.
But no one heard him. They were all cheering Chekalinsky. He was the winner.
'Well played!' shouted Tomsky.
Nobody noticed Hermann as he turned round and walked out of the room in a daze5. No one in
Hermann went mad and was put in a hospital. He spoke the same words over and over again. He never said anything else. 'Three! Seven! Ace! ... Three! Seven! Queen!!'
Lizavyeta Ivanovna married an army officer. They lived happily.
Tomsky married a princess.
THE UNDERTAKER
Adrian Prokhorov held a hammer in right and a wooden board in his left hand. Between his teeth were four long nails. He climbed up onto a table outside the gates of his new house. He hammered the nails through the board fixed it above the gates.
The noise of hammering brought several of his new neighbours out into the street. They stared up at the sign above Adrian Prokhorov’s gates.
Adrian Prokhorov, the undertaker, was pleased with himself.
Business was good. Business was so good that he had bought a new house.
He was not usually a happy man. He lived with his two daughters and only spoke to them when he was angry or drunk. Then he shouted at them; ‘ Do this! Bring me this! Bring me that!’
As he finished putting up the sign above his gates, he felt very happy. A rich widow, named Trukhina, was dying. Her funeral would be very expensive. Adrian Prokhorov expected her to die at any moment.
At that moment, a man dressed in a leather apron tapped
‘Good day,’ said the man in the leather apron. ‘My name is Gottlieb Schultz. I am a shoemaker and I live in the house opposite. I am your neighbor.’
Andrian Prokhorov did not like neighbors. He was also disappointed that the man was not a messenger from Trukhina’s house. But Gottlieb Schultz sope with such a funny German accent that
Gottlieb Schultz thought that
‘We are having a party tonight,
Gottlieb continued. ‘It’s our wedding anniversary. My wife and I would like to invite you. Please do come.’
‘Of course, of course,’ he said, ‘My daughters and I will be delighted to come.’
There followed an awkward silence. The two men did not know what to say each other. After a pause,
Gottlieb Schultz did most of the talking while they sat drinking tea. He talked about their businesses.
‘But our two businesses-shoemaker and undertaker are different, ‘ said
‘The living can manage without shoes, but the dead cannot manage without coffins.’
Gottlieb laughed at this joke and got up from the table. ‘So I’ll see you this evening, ‘he said as he went out of the door.
Before going out that evening, Adrian Prokhorov spoke to the servant who worked in his kitchen. ‘Remember, ‘ he said to the girl, ‘I’m expecting a messenger to come from the widow Trukhina’s house. If a messenger comes to say that the widow is dead, you must tell me at once. You must run across the road to the shoemaker’s house and tell me at once! At once! Do you hear?
The Shoemaker’s house was crowded with guests. Most of them were German. There was plenty to eat and drink and soon everyone was enjoying themselves.
Gottlieb Schultz stood up and raised his glass. ‘I drink a toast to the health of my guests! He shouted, and drank a glass of vodka. Other toasts were drunk toasts to
But our two businesses-shoemaker and undertaker are different, ‘ said
Gottlieb laughed at this joke and got up from the table. ‘So’ll see you this evening, ‘ he said as he went out of the door.
Before going out that evening, Adrian Prokhorov spoke to the servant who worked in his kitchen. ‘Remember,’ he said to the girl, ‘I’m expecting a messenger to come from the widow Trukhina’s house. If a messenger comes to say that the widow is dead, you must tell me at once. You must run across the road to the shoemaker’s house and tell me at once! At once! Do you hear?’
The shoemaker’s house was crowded with guests. Most of them were German. There was plenty to eat and drink and soon everyone was enjoying themselves.
Gottlieb Schultz stood up and raised his glass. I drink a toast to the health of my guests! He shouted, and drank a glass of Vodka. Other toasts were drunk – toasts to Moscow, toasts to Prussia, toasts to each other and toasts to their businesses.
Even Adrian Prokhorov looked happy after his tenth glass of vodka. ‘You must all come to my house warming party,’ he called out. But immediately he was angry with himself for giving such a stupid invitation. He hoped they would all forget about it.
Just before midnight, Gottlieb Schultz called for silence. ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he said, ‘a final toast – a toast to the people we work for. To our customers!’
Everyone shouted back – ‘To our customers!’ and emptied their glasses. They all laughed cheered.
But Adrian Prokhorov did not drink a toast to the health of his customers. He did not want his customers to be healthy. People became his customers when they were dead. Also,
‘Take me home,’ he ordered his daughters. They left the shoemaker’s without saying goodbye and crossed the street to their house.
They were all laughing at me, ‘
‘Don’t say that, father,’ begged the two daughters. ‘It’s bad luck to speak of the dead. Let us take your boots off and put you to bed.’
‘By God, I will invite my customers,’ shouted
Just then, the church clock struck midnight. A horseman rode up to the gate with a message that the widow Trukhina was dead. Adrian Prokhorov put on his best black hat and rushed out of the house.
He was away for an hour or two. When he had made all the arrangements for the burial, and agreed on a very high price with Trukhina’s son, he returned home.
The gates of his house were open wide and so was the front door. There were people moving around inside the house.
‘Who have my stupid daughters invited to my house at this time of night?’ he asked himself angrily.
He stepped into the house. He was about to start shouting at the full of corpses! Their faces were blue and yellow and green in the candlelight. Their mouths hung open and their eyes were empty. There was a smell of something old and damp and rotten.
One of the corpses, dressed in the uniform of an army general spoke to the undertaker in a horrible voice. ‘You see, Prokhorov, we have accepted your invitation. Here are all the people you have buried.’
A small skeleton pushed its way out of the crowd. Its fleshless bones were dressed in red rags. It rattled as it walked and its skull seemed to smile a horrible smile.
‘Don’t you remember me, Prokhorov?’ asked the skeleton in a terrible whisper. ‘I’m Sergeant Pyotr Petrovich Kurilkin. I was your first customer. I was the first man you buried.
The skeleton put out its arms to take hold of the undertaker and kiss him. Adrian Prokhorov cried out in horror and pushed the skeleton away. Pyotr Petrovich fell on the floor in a heap of bones.
The other corpses became angry. They all stretched out their bony hands and came towards the undertaker. He could not escape. He was surrounded. They grabbed his coat. They grabbed his hair. They scratched his face.
Adrian Prokhorov screamed for help, then fell forward onto the bones of the dead sergeant, Pyotr Petrovich.
‘Father! Father! Wake up! Cried his daughters. ‘You’ve fallen out of bed.
‘What happened? Where did they go? Asked the undertaker.
‘Who?’ said his elder daughter. ‘You’ve been asleep all night ever since we came back from the shoemaker’s house.’
‘And what about the widow Trukhina?’ asked the undertaker. ‘I must bury her today.’
‘No, father,’ said the younger daughter. ‘We have some good news. The whole town is talking about it. The widow Trukhina is well now. She isn’t going to die.’
But it was not good news for Adrian Prokhorov. He was furious. ‘Then let me go back to sleep again,’ he said. I’d rather be with my customers in my dreams’
THE POSTMASTER
I have travelled all over
The postmasters are usually rude. The horses are never ready on time. The posting stations are dirty and the postmasters charge too much money.
But I want to tell you a story about a good postmaster - a postmaster whom I liked. I only met him twice. The first time was in 1816, many years ago.
I was taking letters from
However, the posting station was unusually clean and tidy. There were pictures on the walls and the samovar was boiling. I immediately felt more cheerful"
The postmaster appeared. `Welcome, young sir,' he said cheerfully. He was a large man, with a friendly face. While I was changing into dry clothes, the postmaster called out, `Dunya! Bring us some tea.'
A girl came from behind a curtain and poured tea. She was not more than fifteen years old, but she looked like a very beautiful woman.
`Is this your daughter?' I asked the postmaster.
`Yes, sir,' he replied. `Dunya is my daughter. She's clever and works hard. She reminds me more and more of her poor, dead mother.'
I talked to Dunya and she replied politely. All the time, she looked at me with her big blue eyes and smiled. She spoke like a young woman who had travelled in the world. But, of course, she had never left the country posting station. She had talked to travellers. She asked me questions about life in
We became friends and, I must say, I took quite a fancy32 to her. She knew my feelings, of course. She saw everything with those big blue eyes. She was much older and wiser than her fifteen years.
The horses were ready within an hour. I said goodbye to the postmaster and his daughter, Dunya. I wanted to stay longer, but my letters to
Dunya followed me outside. Without her father seeing us, we kissed like lovers. The memory of those kisses is still clear in my mind today.
I did not return to that posting station for four years. But in 1820, I was travelling to
I did not recognise the postmaster at first. He had changed completely and looked very old. He was dirty and untidy and so was the posting station.
I had a bottle of rum with me. I invited the old man to have a drink. `How is your daughter, Dunya ?' I asked gently, after we had drunk a glass or two.
`God only knows,' replied the postmaster and as he drank the rum, he began to tell his sad story. `In winter, three years ago, a young army officer stopped here,' said the postmaster. `He was dressed in rich clothes and spoke like a lord. He demanded fresh horses for his troika" When I told him there were no horses ready, he raised his whip to hit me.
`Dunya came in and saw what was happening. She was always clever. She smiled at the young man and offered him some food while he waited for his horses. He became quiet and polite. From that first moment, he couldn't stop looking at Dunya.
`The horses were ready after supper. The young officer was preparing to leave when he suddenly fell over. He said he felt very ill and couldn't move. I put him in my bed and Dunya stayed by his side all night.
`The next day he was worse. I rode to the town to fetch a doctor. The doctor came and examined the officer. He said that the young man could not travel for a day or two. The officer paid him twenty-five roubles; which was far too much money. Later, I found out why he had paid the doctor so much money!
`On the following day, the officer was well again. It was a Sunday and Dunya was getting ready to go to church. The young man paid me well for the bed and his food. He offered to drive Dunya in his troika as far as the church.
`I was a fool! I let them go together. I should have guessed what was going to happen. Neither of them came back.' The old man stopped speaking. There were tears in his eyes.
`And is that the last time you saw Dunya?' I asked gently.
`I'll tell you the rest of the story,' said the postmaster, pouring himself a drink. `I found a man to look after the posting station while I was away. Then I set off, on foot, to follow my daughter and that worthless34 officer.
`The first person I went to was the doctor who examined the officer. He told me that the officer had not been sick at all. The officer had paid him twenty-five roubles to tell a lie.
`I walked from one posting station to the next. At every posting station I asked about the officer. I knew his name from my register of travellers" - Captain Minsky! `At last I arrived at
`His servant let me in. Minsky recognised me at once. I begged him to give me back my daughter. He replied that Dunya was happy and did not want to return.
`He led me outside, holding my arm. He put something in my pocket and closed the door behind me.
`When I put my hand in my pocket, I found a hundred rouble banknote. I threw it on the pavement and walked away.
`After a moment, I thought it was foolish of me to throw the money away. I turned around, but I was too late. A well-dressed man picked up my hundred rouble note and put it in his pocket.
`I tried to see Minsky again, but his servant would not let me see him. I Walked the streets of
`One evening, I saw Minsky get out of a carriage and go into a large house. He was carrying a bunch of flowers. `Was he visiting my daughter? I wondered. I thought quickly. There was an easy way to find out.
`I went up to the door and knocked. When a servant opened the door, I said I had an urgent message for Avdotya Samsonovna - my beloved Dunya.
`The servant said that I could not see Avdotya Samsonovna. She had a visitor and couldn't be disturbed. I pushed past her and entered the house. The rooms were in darkness but there was a light coming from under one door.
`I threw open the door and there was Minsky in the arms of a lady. A lady who was dressed in beautiful clothes and sparkling jewels. She was my Dunya ! `Dunya looked at me, gave a terrible cry and fell to the floor. Minsky took hold of me and threw me into the street. That was the last time I saw them.
`What did you do?' I asked in a whisper.
`What could I do?' said the old postmaster. `I came back here to my job.'
`And don't you know what happened to Dunya?' I asked.
`No, I never saw her again after that night. But I think I know what happened to her.'
The old man's eyes filled with tears and he covered his face with his hands.
`I think Minsky grew tired of her. I think he put her out in the street like a broken toy - without money, without friends, with nowhere to go. That's what I think happened to her.
`Oh, Lord, have mercy on her. I often think of her walking the streets of that wicked city. How is she living? What if she has to sell her body for a few roubles? I wish she were dead rather than living such a life.'
I left the postmaster and went outside the posting house quietly. There was nothing I could do for him. The last time I saw him, he was on his knees in front of an icon, praying and weeping.
Many years passed, but I never forgot the sad story of the postmaster and his beautiful daughter: One autumn, I decided to visit the posting station again. I wanted to discover what had happened to the old man:
The sky was grey. A cold wind was blowing across the empty cornfields when I reached the posting station. Outside the door, where Dunya had kissed me, stood a fat woman. I asked if the old postmaster still lived there. `No, sir, he died a year ago,' she replied.
`What did he die of?' I asked.
`Vodka, sir. He drank himself to death.' `And where is the grave?'
`In the graveyard, outside the village, sir,' answered the woman. `My son will show you the way if you want.' She shouted to a boy who was throwing stones at birds.
`Hey - Vanka! Show this gentleman where the old postmaster is buried.'
Vanka led me to the end of the village. I asked him if he had known the old man.
`Yes, sir,' answered Vanka. `He was a kind old man. He used to give me nuts when he came out of the tavern. And he taught me how to whistle.'
The boy pointed. `Here's his grave, sir,' said Vanka, standing on a mound of earth. `You're not the first person I've brought here.'
`Who else has been here?' I asked in surprise.
`A beautiful lady, sir. She came in a coach with six white horses. And there were three children and a nurse" too.' `And you brought her here?'
`She knew the way to the graveyard,' said Vanka. `But she wanted someone to point out the grave. She stayed here a long time. Then she gave money to the priest to say prayers. And she gave me a silver five-kopek3g coin.'
I, too, gave the boy a silver five-kopek coin and continued my journey. Now that I knew the end of the sad story, my own mind was at peace.
THE SHOT
When I was a young man, I was an officer in the army. We lived in a small town. Life was very boring. There were no girls. All the officers saw each other every day. We dined together, drank together and played cards together.
A stranger came to live in the small town. He was not an officer, but he had been in the army. He spoke and behaved like a Russian, but he had an Italian name - Silvio.
Silvio was a mysterious person. He had plenty of money to spend, but he dressed in old clothes and lived in a small house with two rooms.
Silvio often invited the army officers to dinner. The food was simple, but there was plenty of wine. We always went home drunk. '
No one knew where Silvio came from and no one asked him. We were all a little afraid of Silvio.
He was about thirty-five years old, which, to us young men, seemed very old. Also, his hobby was shooting. He had a large collection of pistols. He was an excellent marksman39 and he never missed the target.
We young men were very interested in duelling4°. We often talked about duelling. I asked Silvio if he had ever fought a duel. He replied, simply, `Yes', and said no more. I realised that he did not want to talk about it. Perhaps he had killed many men in duels.
A new officer arrived in the small town. We took him to meet Silvio, who invited us all to dinner. After dinner we played cards.
We drank a lot of champagne. Everybody was drunk. The new officer made a mistake during the game of cards. Silvio pointed out the mistake to the officer who became angry.
`Are you accusing me of cheating4', sir?' the officer shouted at Silvio.
There was anger burning in Silvio's eyes, but he said nothing. He stared at the officer in silence.
The officer picked up a bottle and threw it at Silvio's head. Silvio moved out of the way in time and the bottle smashed against the wall behind him.
`Please leave my house at once,' Silvio said to the officer slowly and coldly.
We all thought that Silvio would challenge the officer to a duel. But several days passed and nothing happened. We were surprised. We were even more surprised when Silvio apologised to the officer. Was Silvio a coward" Why had Silvio not challenged the officer to a duel?
I, alone, discovered Silvia's secret. The other officers never learnt the truth.
Friday was always a day of excitement. The mail coach 43 arrived, bringing letters, parcels and newspapers. Life was so boring that we read our letters to each other and felt sorry for the poor men who never received any mail.
Silvio never received any letters. But one Friday, a letter arrived for Silvio. It was from
`I must leave tonight,' Silvio said excitedly. `I would like to say goodbye to all my friends. Please invite all the officers here for dinner at seven.'
We went to Silvio's house at seven. He had packed all his things in cases. After the meal, he said goodbye to each of us separately. Taking my hand, he said quietly, `I want to speak to you when the others have gone.'
I waited for the other guests to leave. Then Silvio turned to me and said, `I have always thought you are i my friend. We may never meet again; so I want to tell you my story.'
`You remember the officer who threw the bottle at me?' Silvio began. `You expected me to challenge that officer to a duel, didn't you? Perhaps you thought I was a coward. Let me explain. I cannot put my life in danger. Six years ago I was struck in the face by my worst enemy. I That man is still alive. I have sworn 44 to kill him. That is why I must stay alive.'
`Is that why you are leaving now?' I asked.
5ilvio said nothing. He opened a case and took out an officer's cap. He put it on his head. I saw there was a bullet hole in it.
`I was an officer in the cavalry4v,' said Silvio. `I was a young man and I was a great drinker and fighter. Duels took place every day. I never lost a duel. I was the best at everything.
`But a rich, young man from a famous family joined the cavalry. He was clever, good looking and brave. He was also a lucky gambler. All the ladies of
`Suddenly I was second best. This man was the best at everything. I hated him. I wanted to kill him.
`One night, we met at a dinner party. I wanted to make him angry. I was rude to him. He struck me in the face and challenged me to a duel. We agreed to fight with pistols outside the city early the next morning.
`I arrived before it was light. He was late. He walked up to me laughing. He was eating cherries which he had picked on the way. He looked young and handsome in the early morning light.
`We tossed a coin 46 to see who would shoot first. He won; of course. He was always lucky.
`We stood twelve paces apart. He raised his pistol and fired. The bullet went through my cap. He could have killed me easily, but he decided to miss.
`Then it was my turn. At a distance of twelve paces, it was impossible for me to miss. He knew that 1 could kill him easily. But he stood there, eating cherries, laughing at me. He was not afraid of death!
`But I could not shoot. I put down my pistol. I told him he would not see me again until the day of his death. I would choose that day carefully. I would visit him again when I knew he wanted to live. I would kill him then.'
Silvio was pale as he finished his story. He looked at me with burning eyes and I was afraid.
`And has that time now come?' I asked. `Yes! It is his wedding night!' said Silvio.
We shook hands. I could not kiss Silvio goodbye. There was something frightening about him. One moment, he was as hot as fire. The next moment, he was as cold as ice.
Silvio got into his carriage and drove off. I never saw him again.
Five years later, my father died. I went to live on my estate 17 in the country. My neighbours were the Count and Countess Blagoy. They spent most of their time in
One day, the Count and Countess visited their country estate. I decided to visit them and drove over to their great house.
A servant asked me to wait in the library. There were many fine books and paintings around the room. I noticed something unusual about one picture. I was looking at the picture when the Count and Countess came in.
`You are interested in my portrait48said the Count. `Yes, sir,' I replied. `But why is there a bullet hole between the eyes?'
`It is not one hole, but two,' answered the Count. `The second bullet passed through the hole made by the first.' `A remarkable shot,' I said. `I once knew a man who could shoot like that. He was the best marksman I have ever met.'
`And what was the name of this remarkable man?' asked the Count.
`His name was Silvio,' I replied.
`Silvio!' said the Countess in surprise. Her face was pale. She sat down suddenly on a chair. The Count ran to her side and took her hand. `I never want to hear that man's name again!' said the Countess.
`But we must give our guest an explanation,' said the Count. Then, turning to me, he said, `We also knew Silvio.' I suddenly realised that this was the man who had fought the duel with Silvio. `Did Silvio promise to return and kill you?' I asked.
`Yes, he did,' replied the Count. `Five years ago he stood where you are standing now.
`Five years ago, my wife and I were married. We came here for our honeymoon,' the Count continued. `A servant told me that a man wanted to see me on business. When I came into the library, I found Silvio waiting for me. He had come to finish our duel.
`Silvio tossed a coin to see who would shoot first. I won, but I did not want to begin my marriage with murder. I fired the pistol above his head, between the eyes of my own portrait.
`Then it was Silvio's turn to shoot. But my wife heard the noise of the first shot. She came running into the library. She saw Silvio pointing his pistol at me and threw herself in front of me.
`Silvio stared at me for a long time. Then he turned and walked to the door. He had seen that I loved my wife. He had seen that I did not want to die. Then he did a strange thing. Before leaving, he pointed his pistol at my portrait. He fired his pistol and the bullet went between the eyes. His bullet passed through the hole made by mine. He left and we never saw him again.'
`Do you know what became of Silvio?' I asked.
`We heard that he was killed fighting in the war against the Turks. May God have mercy on him.'
THE BLIZZARD
his story begins in the year 1812. Marya Gavrilovna Twas a beautiful and happy young girl. She was seventeen years old and in love with an army officer. She wrote long letters to the officer, whose name was
The two lovers met in a wood near Marya's house. But Marya Gavrilovna's parents found out about these
meetings. They told their daughter that she must never meet the young man again. Marya was heartbroken49. But
Marya had read many French novels. In these love stories, often the lovers were separated by unkind parents. When that happened, the lovers ran away and got married secretly. So Marya decided to run away with
Marya agreed to
Marya packed her clothes in bags and her jewellery in a box: Then she wrote a letter to her parents asking them to forgive her. She went downstairs for supper. Her face was pale.
`What is the matter, Masha, my dearest?' her mother asked.
`Nothing, Mother,' Marya replied, trying to smile. 'I've got a headache and I'm not hungry. I think I'll go to hcci.' She kissed her mother goodnight and went upstairs. In her bedroom, she thought about leaving her honic and her parents. She started to cry.
Meanwhile, earlier that day,
At eight o'clock,
Marya and her maid left the house quietly at nine o'clock. The wind was blowing loudly. A blizzard53 had started. The snow blew into their faces. They could not see the end of the garden. But they found the sleigh waiting for them.
He drove on and on, but did not arrive at Zhadrino. He could not see Zhadrino. He could not see any houses at all.
He reached a small wood. The trees gave him shelter from the wind. The snow was not so thick.
The first light of day woke him up. He was almost frozen, but he was able to push his sleigh the right way up. The blizzard had stopped and he could see Smoke from the fires in Zhadrino in the distance.
The
That morning, a doctor was called to the house of Marya Gavrilovna. Marya was in bed. She was very ill. For two weeks, her parents did not know if she would live or die.
All this time, Marya's mother sat beside her. Marya often talked in her sleep. Marya said the name of
Marya's mother decided that Marya was heartbroken because of her love for
But
The priest at Zhadrino said nothing. He never told anybody what had happened that night. The two witnesses and Marya's maid said nothing. Marya's secret was safe. Her parents never knew that their daughter had left the house on the night of the blizzard.
In 1812,
Marya and her family were far from the fighting. By summer, Marya was completely well. But she had become a quiet and thoughtful young woman. She no longer read French romantic novels and she did not laugh. Bad news arrived in September.
Worse news came.
Marya was now a beautiful and rich young woman. But she was very sad.
She went with her mother to live on their estate in the country. Marya had no friends and did not want to meet anybody.
When the French army captured
When the Russian soldiers came home, there were great celebrations. Many officers called at Marya Gavrilovna's house. She was polite, but cold.
However, she was attracted to one young officer named Burmin. He was the owner of a nearby estate. He had returned home from the fighting with medals for bravery. He was only twenty-six and was already a colonel. He was also very handsome. Burmin was not like the other officers. He was a quiet and serious man.
Marya and her mother invited Burmin to their house. Burmin began to visit them every day.- Marya's mother asked her daughter if she was thinking of marriage. But Marya shook her head and looked thoughtful.
One day, Burmin arrived at the house and found Marya's mother sitting in the library. Burmin was wearing his best uniform and his medals.
`May I speak with your daughter alone?' Burmin asked.
`Of course, Colonel Burmin,' Marya's mother replied with a happy smile. `She's in the garden.'
Marya, Gavrilovna was reading a book. She looked up as Burmin walked across the garden.
Burmin stood in front of Marya, holding his cap in his hand. `I have come ...' he began, `to ask you to marry me, but
`But,' Marya interrupted, `I can never be your wife. There is another.'
`I know you loved another,' Burmin said. `And I know that his death made you very sad. But, after three years, can you forget the past?'
Marya was silent. She did not look at Burmin. Burmin looked sad. `I have a terrible secret to tell you,' he said. `I cannot ask you to marry me. I am not free. I am already married!'
Marya looked up in surprise.
`But please let me explain!' said Burmin. `I do not know where my wife is, nor do I know her name.'
`What?' said Marya Gavrilovna. `How very strange.' `Please let me tell you my story,' Burmin said. `Then you will understand.'
`Go on,' said Marya Gavrilovna patiently.
`It was early in the year 1812,' Burmin began. `I was driving to Vilno and I was late. So I was in a great hurry. `The weather was bad. I had driven all night and all day without sleep. Then that evening, I was lucky to get a horse at a posting station. The postmaster told me to wait because a blizzard had started. But I decided to drive on.
`The blizzard became worse and I lost the road. The snow blinded me and I was very tired. I drank a lot of vodka to keep myself warm.
`Suddenly I saw a light and drove towards it. The light came from a village church. There were two or three sleighs outside. Someone shouted, "This way! This way!"
`I walked into the church not knowing where I was. There were a few candles burning. It was warm inside. So there I stood in my greatcoat, frozen and covered with snow, very tired and a little drunk. "Glory to God! You've arrived at last," someone said.
`A man took my arm and led me to a young woman dressed in a cloak. An old priest began the marriage service. I was happy to be a witness, but I thought it very strange. It seemed as if they had been waiting for me.
`The priest was in a hurry. Before I knew what was happening, I was married to the lady in the cloak. "Kiss one another!" said the priest.
`My new wife pulled back the hood of her, cloak and turned to kiss me. I took off my cap.
`She stared at me in the candlelight. "It isn't him!" she cried and fell down onto the stone floor.
`The priest and the witnesses went to help the lady. I ran out of the church, jumped in my sleigh and drove off.'
`God have mercy on us!' cried Marya Gavrilovna. `What happened to your poor wife?'
`I don't know what happened to her,' answered Burmin. `I never knew the name of the village. Immediately afterwards, I had to go and fight Napoleon's army. We followed Napoleon all the way to
“Good God!” said Marya Gavrilovna, taking hold of his arm. ‘So it was you! I was the woman you married in the chruch in Zhadrino.’
Burmin turned pale. He threw himself on the ground at Marya’s feet.
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