The Strand Magazine, Vol. 01, Issue 02, February 1891: An Illustrated MonthlyVarious
General
The Strand Magazine, Vol. 01, Issue 02, February 1891: An Illustrated Monthly
Various
English literature -- Periodicals; Short stories, English -- Periodicals
"I was calmly, or rather boisterously, enjoying my reputation, when a
certain young man joined our regiment. He was rich, and came of a
distinguished family--I will not name him. Never in my life did I meet
with so brilliant, so fortunate a fellow!--young, clever, handsome, with
the wildest spirits, the most reckless bravery, bearing a celebrated
name, possessing funds of which he did not know the amount, but which
were inexhaustible. You may imagine the effect he was sure to produce
among us. My leadership was shaken. Dazzled by my reputation, he began
by seeking my friendship. But I received him coldly; at which, without
the least sign of regret, he kept aloof from me.
"I took a dislike to him. His success in the regiment and in the society
of women brought me to despair. I tried to pick a quarrel with him. To
my epigrams he replied with epigrams which always seemed to me more
pointed and more piercing than my own, and which were certainly much
livelier; for while he joked, I was raving.
"Finally, at a ball at the house of a Polish landed proprietor, seeing
him receive marked attention from all the ladies, and especially from
the lady of the house, who had formerly been on very friendly terms with
me, I whispered some low insult in his ear. He flew into a passion, and
gave me a slap on the cheek. We clutched our swords; the ladies fainted;
we were separated; and the same night we drove out to fight.
"It was nearly daybreak. I was standing at the appointed spot with my
three seconds. How impatiently I awaited my opponent! The spring sun had
risen, and it was growing hot. At last I saw him in the distance. He was
on foot, accompanied by only one second. We advanced to meet him. He
approached, holding in his hand his regimental cap, filled full of black
cherries.
"The seconds measured twelve paces. It was for me to fire first. But my
excitement was so great that I could not depend upon the certainty of my
hand; and, in order to give myself time to get calm, I ceded the first
shot to my adversary. He would not accept it, and we decided to cast
lots.
"The number fell to him; constant favourite of fortune that he was! He
aimed, and put a bullet through my cap.
"It was now my turn. His life at last was in my hands; I looked at him
eagerly, trying to detect if only some faint shadow of uneasiness. But
he stood beneath my pistol, picking out ripe cherries from his cap and
spitting out the stones, some of which fell near me. His indifference
enraged me. 'What is the use,' thought I, 'of depriving him of life,
when he sets no value upon it.' As this savage thought flitted through
my brain I lowered the pistol.
"'You don't seem to be ready for death,' I said; 'you are eating your
breakfast, and I don't want to interfere with you.'
"'You don't interfere with me in the least,' he replied. 'Be good enough
to fire. Or don't fire if you prefer it; the shot remains with you, and
I shall be at your service at any moment.'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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