 The weird circle. In this cave, by the restless sea, we are met to call from out the past stories, strange, and weird. Bellkeeper, hold the bell, so all may know we are gathered again in the weird circle. Phantoms of a world gone by speak again the immortal tale, the pistol shot. Listen, the bells, they toll the last requiem of Count Peter Markov upon a still, wintry, Moscow air. This is the end of a brave and loyal man. Soon the body will be carried down the church steps and into the black hearse. The funeral procession will wind itself through the dark, quiet snow-covered streets to the cemetery reserved for the offices of His Majesty's Hussars. I shall wait here in front of the church until they carry the coffin out. I shall follow in the funeral procession and watch with bare head while they lower the body into the grave. This is the least that I, Captain Nikolai Silvio, could do. After all, Markov was my friend. Yes, my very good friend. We're always together as we were five years ago on that night when... Come, Nikolai, this is a night to celebrate. The Tsarina has achieved another birthday. The Tsarina's birthday! Come, my friend, another day. Oh, no, Peter, I've had enough. Oh, nonsense, nonsense. Stefan! The pig of a steward. Stefan! Yes, yes, come, Markov. More vodka for Captain Silvio. See that his glass is never empty. Yes, excellent. Come, Peter, we'll drink to the health of Ilya Stanovich. Yes, I'll drink to that, Peter. Until the cup is empty. Away with the glasses, my friend. Stefan! Fresh glasses. More vodka. This is a night to remember. Yes, excellent. Peter, Peter, I've had enough and you've had too much. I? Too much vodka? Oh, my boy, you know me better than that. I still say you've had too much. Your hand trembled when you raised that last glass. I'll prove to you that I'm not drunk, my friend. How? Do you see that moth crawling along on the opposite wall? Yes. I'll wager you our month's pay that I can smash that insect with one pistol. You're on, Peter. We should all know our month's pay. Now, gather around, gentlemen. A hundred rubles on Count Markov. Am I not? This was Markov, my friend, five years ago. A devil with a pistol. And a devil with a ladies. He loved life, then, did Markov. And I? Well, I loved the ballet dancer, Ilya Stanovich. She was like a flame across my heart. When I danced with her, it was like walking on air. Her beauty was rare, exquisite. Almost timeless. All I waited for was another promotion and rank before asking for a hand in marriage. One night, shortly after my pistol wager with Count Markov, I stopped at Ilya's apartments. She did not expect me. And it was rather late. As I got out of my carriage, I looked up at Ilya's window on the second floor, and what I saw there froze my blood. Framed against the blinds were two shadows, the shadow of a man and a woman in close embrace. I hid behind the door on the lower floor and waited. And soon I heard the upstairs door open. You must be careful. Nikolai must not find out. Nikolai? Nikolai suspects nothing, my dear. I don't know. I'm afraid we can never let Nikolai know. Never. But you will let me come again. Yes, Peter. Peter, we'll never let Nikolai know. We'll be Peter. You're lovely, Ilya. Lovely. Good night, Peter. Good night, Ilya. I shrank behind the doorway, saw Markov come down the stairs and walk out through the door. Markov, my friend. A cold anger gripped me, shook me as a terrier shakes a rat. I saw a blood-red mist, and in it was framed two faces, the faces of Ilya Stanovic and Peter Markov laughing at me, jeering at me. But instead of causing violent action, my anger was cool, calculating. I cannot say that any plan formed itself in my mind then, but later, the manner in which things came to pass seemed to fit into a pattern begun at that moment. I walked slowly up the stairs. It's Peter, my dear. I forgot something. Peter, I... Nikolai. Good evening, my darling. I... You're so beautiful, Ilya. So beautiful. Nikolai, what are you going to do? So beautiful. No. I would not know for no one would ever tell me, would they, Ilya, that my beautiful one loves another instead of me. Nikolai, it's you I love. It's the spirit, Nikolai. Only you. But while my back is turned... laughing Don't turn away, Nikolai. Don't go away from me. Don't turn your back on me like that. Nikolai. Nikolai, I love you. Nikolai, come back. laughing Farewell, my beautiful one. I closed the door and walked slowly away. My Ilya was left alone. And loneliness with a memory of happiness can be a poignant horror. Yes, it was punishment for such a she. The red mist was still in front of my eyes, but this time there was only one laughing jeering face framed in it. The face of Count Peter Markov. He who lies still in death within that church. Peter Markov, my friend, his face swam in the red mist that stayed before me day and night and I waited, waited for my chance. Finally it came. We were playing cards one night in the offices club. Have any luck at all. I'll see your hand, Count Markov. Come, Major Voronoff, let's make this interesting. Shall we double the stakes already on the table? Very well. You've already won a fortune from me tonight. It's my only chance to recoup. How about you, Nikolai? I'll stay in the game, Peter. And, Nikolai, as an old friend, I advise you not to do it. I have an excellent hand. The stakes are pretty high. Five hundred rubles. I said I'll stay. Very well. I shall wish. Show your hand, Markov. Here it is. Well, gentlemen. You win. Yes, Peter, you win. I tried to warn you, my friend, but you wouldn't listen. You've had a phenomenal run of luck tonight, Markov. Well, that's a very good reason for his luck, Major. What do you mean, Nikolai? The hand is quicker than the eye. Explain yourself, Nikolai. What are you hinting at? Perhaps you'd better explain yourself, Peter. I saw you take the king of spades from the discards and slip it into your hand. You're accusing me of cheating? Precisely. This is a very serious charge, Captain Silvio. Apologize, you scum. Apologize to you here. I'll not retract a word. Meet me on the field of honor for that, Count Markov. The sooner the better. You'll preside at the duel, Major Voronoff. If you wish. Count Markov has seen your officer. It is your privilege to choose the weapons. Pistols. Very well. Pistols. Arrange for seconds, gentlemen. You will meet on the drill field tomorrow. At dawn. Now, now I had found the pretext for a quarrel. Now it would be either Markov or I. I couldn't go on any longer. The thought of what Markov had done to Ilian myself was driving me mad. Either way, I thought I would win. If I died, the madness that was eating my heart away would die with me. If Markov died, the madness would dissipate and finally vanish. Yes, either way, I would win. Of course, Markov was a cracked pistol shot, but I had the reputation of being a good marksman myself. I gave myself a chance. I could hope a little. We met on the drill field at dawn in full dress according to regimen custom. My hatred for Markov made me icy calm. But Markov was nervous, obsessed. After all, he had been my friend. We met with Major Voronov. Captain Silvio, are you ready to proceed with this duel? I am, Major, and you can't Markov? Not quite. I have a request to make Captain Silvio through you, Major Voronov. Proceed. Captain Silvio's friend for many years. I am not willing to kill him now. If you will apologize, I will consider my honor satisfied. Well, Captain Silvio? There will be no apology, Major. Let's get on with it. Very well. I shall toss a coin and you, Captain Markov, will call the toss in privilege of your rank. If you call correctly, you will be entitled to the first shot. Is that understood? Yes, sir. Toss the coin. Call it count. Heads. Heads, it is, Count Markov. You win first shot. Each of you, according to regimental rules, will be entitled to one shot. Is that understood? It is. Yes. Very well. When I begin to count, you gentlemen are to walk ten paces in opposite directions. At ten, you are to turn and face each other. Then, Count Markov, you will fire the first shot. Are you ready? Ready. Yes, sir. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Your shot, Count Markov. You missed, Markov. You missed. An inch too high. Yes, yes, you missed. Your shot, Captain Silvio. Shoot, Nikolai. What are you waiting for? Shoot and be done. Oh, no, no, Markov. I shall not fire now. I shall save the bullet for some time later. You're a pistol now, you... No, my friend. Out of the goodness of my heart, I shall let you live a while. I will take my shot another time when the whim suits me. And still the bells toll on. Twilight comes quickly during the Moscow winter, and already they've turned on the lights in the church where Markov's body lies in state as befits a Russian nobleman. The yellow light filters through the stained glass windows and spills onto the white snow outside in strange rococo patterns. Yes, an appropriate day for a funeral. A different day entirely from that lovely spring morning that Peter Markov and I met again. It was our first meeting after the duel. According to Russian army custom, we'd been transferred to different units. Heed to the fifth lances, I'd to the ninth dragoons. If I recall, it was Sunday, and the place was certainly Petrograd. I was enjoying a morning gallop through the park when I came upon an officer and a lady resting their horses. I recognized the officer instantly as Peter Markov. Nikolai. Nikolai Silvio. Yes, Markov. We meet again. I wondered where you've been these these three years. On duty in the Crimea. In the place of you, Markov, I've been looking forward to seeing you again. Peter, aren't you going to introduce me to the captain? Oh, yes, yes, of course. Maria, allow me to present Captain Nikolai Silvio. Nikolai Maria Oblensky. Delighted. How do you do? Are you by any chance related to General Oblensky? Rather closely, I would say, Captain. He's my father. Indeed. I am honored. Hello, Peter Long, Captain. Oh, yes, yes, we are old friends. Aren't we, Markov? Yes, yes, of course. Maria... What is it, Peter? Are you ill? You've turned pale. And you seem upset about something. No, no, my dear, I'm all right. Maria, would you excuse Captain Silvio and myself for a few moments? Well, yes, but what... I'd like to talk to him privately. Some deep, dark soldier's secret, no doubt. Peter, go and have your talk. With your permission, mademoiselle? Of course. Let's leave the road, Nikolai. There's little grove of trees over here. You're enjoying good health, Markov? Excellent, thank you. Delighted to hear it. They tell me in the barracks that you've been paying constant court to the General's daughter. Yes, that's true. An excellent prospect, my friend. I am glad for your sake. You know how interested I am in your future. My dear Markov, what are you talking about? You know very well. You know very well what I'm talking about. That shot you're saving for me. Why are you going to use it and be done? Why, to tell you the truth, Markov, I hadn't given it much thought. How long are you going to taunt me like this? What kind of revenge do you want? Haven't you had enough? Don't you know how this eats into a man's mind? This soul can live in the shadow day after day, night after night, waiting for your whim? My dear fellow, do we not wait for all things? I am not afraid to die, Nikolai. I have faced death before, but I cannot face this waiting, this uncertainty. I owe you a debt. One pistol shot. Measure off the paces and collect it now. I beg of you. No, no, Markov. It does not suit my fancy. I'm not ready yet. How long? How long are you going to delay? Patience, my dear Markov. Patience. The day is beautiful. And so is the lady. I suggest you go back to earth. The general waiting. Every officer in every garrison knew of the debt of honor Peter Markov owed me. There was no way out for him. He had to wait until I was ready to collect my pistol shots. And I waited. Wherever Markov went, I went. He sat in cafes with Maria Oblensky and I sat at the table opposite him, watching him saying nothing, just watching him. I made it a point to be at every public function Markov attended. I hounded him with my silent presence and saw him slowly crack. One night I went to the theater, took a seat in a box directly opposite that of Markov and Maria Oblensky. His eyes caught mine, froze in horror. Deliberately I took out my pistol and cocked it. The lights went out and the curtain went up. There in the darkness Markov and I could not speak with our mouths, but we did speak with our mind. He could have had it at this stage. Yes, Markov. And it's a fine play tonight too. You have your pistol cocked and ready. You're not going to shoot me here in the theater, are you? I may Markov. I can see your head framed in the dim light of the lobby passageway. Very easy. So easy. You can't, Nikolai. Not here. Not where I'm with Maria. It would create a terrible scene. Perhaps. But if there is anything I love Markov, it's the dramatic. I'll tell you what, my friend, there's plenty of time I'll just sit here in the darkness and think it over. Perhaps I'll shoot. Perhaps not. Markov fries and leave the box. The minute the curtain went down, I hurried to the lobby. There I met Maria Oblensky. She was alone and there was a frightened look in her eyes. Captain Silvio. Captain. Oh, good evening, mademoiselle. But where is Count Markov? He complained of being ill. He left suddenly. Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. Captain Silvio, I... something's wrong with Peter. He wasn't ill. He was frightened. They had a... well-a-haunted look. Really, mademoiselle? Captain, you're an old friend of Peter's. Might I ask a favor of you? Of course, I met your service. Would you talk to Peter? Find out what's troubling him. He won't tell me. Perhaps he'll talk to you. It may be that... Then you'll talk to him as an old friend. Naturally, mademoiselle. As an old friend. I shall be delighted. What a twist. What a beautiful irony. Here was Mario Oblensky now engaged to Markov begging me, me, Nikolai Silvio, to find out what was wrong with him. I tasted my triumph, savored it, treasured it. I would in good time bring it to full flower. Then suddenly the dragoons received orders to quit Petrograd and move north in a swift attempt to crush the Tartars who'd revolted. Weeks later, I led my unit into a birch forest with orders to engage and divert a strong force of Tartars, while a troop of Lances were to deliver a crushing attack on the barbarians flank. We met the Tartars in a bloody battle where hard press star reinforcements were delayed. We waited for the Lances led by my friend Peter Markov to attack on the flank. But they never came. The onrushing Tartars slaughtered our troops almost to the last man and I I was the last man. But as far as Peter Markov and the rest of the world knew I was dead. I preferred it that way. Finally I came to Moscow shabby, bearded, unknown with my pistol hidden under my ragged coat. A newspaper told me that Markov and Maria Oblensky would have been married that week. A reception in the Iran was being held that afternoon. They would return. I was sure to Markov's apartment for supper. I watched the servant preparing the table and when my chance came I forced my way through the window and waited. There we are. Oh, yes, Peter. After all this pistol. Oh, I'm so tired. Come inside, Maria. We'll rest and have supper before we go to the theatre. Servant will be back shortly. I've sent him to the cellar for wine. What? Hello, Markov. Oh! Who are you? Are you doing my apartment? Don't you recognize me, Markov? Nikolai. Nikolai Silvio. Yes, my friend. But I... I thought... I know. You thought I was dead. Peter, what's Captain Silvio doing here? I've come to collect a debt, mademoiselle. A debt long overdue. Nikolai, listen. I've come to take that pistol shot, Markov. Nikolai, you can't. Now listen to me. It's just beginning. I've got so much to look forward. Remember Ilya Stanovich Markov? I was in love with her too. We were to be married. Captain Silvio, what are you... what are you going to do with that gun? Ask your fiance, mademoiselle. But this is murder. Oh, no, no, no. We fought a duel, mademoiselle. He fired at me and missed, and now it's my turn. Nikolai, Nikolai, don't. Please. Please, Nikolai, my friend. Oh, I beg of you. See? See, I get down on my knees. Don't shoot. I want to live. This'll make a pretty tale. Count Peter Markov on his knees begging for his life. A Russian officer of noble birth. Ah! Peter, get up. Everybody, you don't you understand? Captain Silvio. Yes, mademoiselle. You are a man of honor and principle. You've seen this groveling wretch beg for his life. Isn't that revenge enough? Yes, mademoiselle. Your rice, I cannot kill him now. See? I place my pistol on the table. My honor is satisfied. Thank you, Captain Silvio. I bid you good evening, mademoiselle. Great Captain, I'm going with you. What? Maria, have you gone mad? You cannot go stay with me. I will never marry you, Peter. To live with a craven coward like yourself. Yes, to bear your children would be intolerable. Shall we go, Captain? Very well, mademoiselle. Maria, in the name of heaven, Maria. Don't leave me. Believe me, mademoiselle Oblensky, I'm sorry. No, Captain, you need not be. You've done me a service, and I'm grateful. Ah! What was that? Markov! Markov! Markov, what is it? What have you done? I... Hey, Nikolai, I picked up the pistol you left. I hardly touched it. It went off. It was fate. It was justice. Just payment, yes, Nikolai. The time has come at last. The debt is paid. Paid in full. At last. Peter... Mademoiselle, the moment for payment has come at last. And I was more lenient than my gun. Although I would spare his life, my gun would not. Shall we proceed, mademoiselle? The eulogy to Markov is over. They're opening the church doors. The paul bearers are carrying the body out. And the church bells seem louder. I shall follow the funeral procession, of course. I shall watch with bare head while they lower the body into the grave. Yes. This is the least that I can do. After all, Markov was my friend. On pages of the past, we have brought you the story, the pistol shot.