Повести Белкина / The Tales of the Late Ivan Petrovich Belkin

Silvio seemed greatly troubled; not a trace remained of his former feverish gaiety. The intense pallor of his face, his sparkling eyes, and the thick smoke issuing from his mouth, gave him a truly diabolical appearance. Several minutes elapsed, and then Silvio broke the silence.

“Perhaps we shall never see each other again,” said he; “before we part, I should like to explain something to you. You may have observed that I care very little for the opinion of other people, but I like you, and I feel that it would be painful to me to leave you with a wrong impression on your mind.

”

He paused, and began to refill his pipe. I sat gazing silently at the floor.

“You thought it strange,” he continued, “that I did not demand satisfaction from that drunken idiot R —. You will admit, however, that since I had the choice of weapons, his life was in my hands, while my own was in no great danger. I could ascribe my forbearance to generosity alone, but I will not tell a lie.

If I could have chastised R – without the least risk to my own life, I should never have pardoned him.”

I looked at Silvio with astonishment. Such a confession completely astounded me. Silvio continued: “Exactly so: I have no right to expose myself to death. Six years ago I received a slap in the face, and my enemy still lives.”

My curiosity was greatly excited.

“Did you not fight with him?” I asked. “Circumstances probably separated you.”

“I did fight with him,” replied Silvio: “and here is a souvenir of our duel.

”

Silvio rose and took from a cardboard box a red cap with a gold tassel and galloon (what the French call a bonnet de police); he put it on – a bullet had passed through it about an inch above the forehead.

“You know,” continued Silvio, “that I served in one of the Hussar regiments. My character is well known to you: I am accustomed to taking the lead. From my youth this has been my passion.

In our time dissoluteness was the fashion, and I was the wildest man in the army. We used to boast of our drunkenness: I outdrank the famous B —,[10 - Burtzov, an officer of the Hussars, notorious for his drinking powers and escapades (TRANSLATOR’S NOTE)] of whom D. D —[11 - Denis Davydov, author, 1781–1839 (TRANSLATOR’S NOTE)] has sung. In our regiment duels were constantly taking place, and in all of them I was either second or principal.