thrusting my head out a little way I was able
to get a good view of everything that was happen-
ing down below, and I was not very much aston-
ished, but almost rejoiced, when I recognised
my water-nymph. She was wringing the sea-
foam from her long hair. Her wet
garment out-
lined her supple figure and her high bosom.
Soon a boat appeared in the distance; it drew
near rapidly; and, as on the night before, a
man in a Tartar cap stepped out of it, but he
now had his hair cropped round in the Cossack
fashion, and a large knife was sticking out behind
his leather belt.
"Yanko," the girl said, "all is lost!"
Then their conversation continued, but so
softly that I could not catch a word of it.
"But where is the blind boy?" said Yanko at
last, raising his voice.
"I have told him to come," was the reply.
After a few minutes the blind boy appeared,
dragging on his back a sack, which they placed
in the boat.
"Listen!" said Yanko to the blind boy.
"Guard that place! You know where I mean?
There are
valuable goods there. Tell" -- I
could not catch the name -- "that I am no longer
his servant. Things have gone badly. He will
see me no more. It is dangerous now. I will
go seek work in another place, and he will never be
able to find another dare-devil like me. Tell
him also that if he had paid me a little better
for my labours, I would not have
forsaken him.
For me there is a way
anywhere, if only the
wind blows and the sea roars."
After a short silence Yanko continued.
"She is coming with me. It is impossible for
her to remain here. Tell the old woman that
it is time for her to die; she has been here a
long time, and the line must be drawn somewhere.
As for us, she will never see us any more."
"And I?" said the blind boy in a plaintive
voice.
"What use have I for you?" was the answer.
In the
meantime my Undine had sprung
into the boat. She beckoned to her companion
with her hand. He placed something in the
blind boy's hand and added:
"There, buy yourself some gingerbreads."
"Is this all?" said the blind boy.
"Well, here is some more."
The money fell and jingled as it struck the
rock.
The blind boy did not pick it up. Yanko took
his seat in the boat; the wind was blowing from
the shore; they hoisted the little sail and sped
rapidly away. For a long time the white sail
gleamed in the
moonlight amid the dark waves.
Still the blind boy remained seated upon the
shore, and then I heard something which sounded
like sobbing. The blind boy was, in fact, weeping,
and for a long, long time his tears flowed. . .
I grew heavy-hearted. For what reason should
fate have thrown me into the
peacefulcircle of
honourable smugglers? Like a stone cast into a
smooth well, I had disturbed their quietude,
and I
barely escaped going to the bottom like a
stone.
I returned home. In the hall the burnt-out
candle was spluttering on a
woodenplatter, and
my Cossack,
contrary to orders, was fast asleep,
with his gun held in both hands. I left him at
rest, took the candle, and entered the hut.
Alas! my cashbox, my sabre with the silver
chasing, my Daghestan
dagger -- the gift of a
friend -- all had vanished! It was then that I
guessed what articles the cursed blind boy had
been dragging along. Roughly shaking the
Cossack, I woke him up, rated him, and lost my
temper. But what was the good of that?
And would it not have been
ridiculous to com-
plain to the authorities that I had been robbed
by a blind boy and all but drowned by an
eighteen-year-old girl?
Thank heaven an opportunity of getting away
presented itself in the morning, and I left
Taman.
What became of the old woman and the poor
blind boy I know not. And, besides, what are the
joys and sorrows of mankind to me -- me, a
travelling officer, and one,
moreover, with an
order for post-horses on Government business?
BOOK IV THE SECOND EXTRACT FROM PECHORIN'S DIARY
THE FATALIST
I ONCE happened to spend a couple of weeks
in a Cossack village on our left flank. A
battalion of
infantry was stationed there; and
it was the custom of the officers to meet at each
other's quarters in turn and play cards in the
evening.
On one occasion -- it was at Major S----'s --
finding our game of Boston not
sufficiently ab-
sorbing, we threw the cards under the table
and sat on for a long time, talking. The con-
versation, for once in a way, was interesting.
The subject was the Mussulman
tradition that
a man's fate is written in heaven, and we dis-
cussed the fact that it was gaining many votaries,
even
amongst our own countrymen. Each of us
related various
extraordinary occurrences, pro or
contra.
"What you have been
saying, gentlemen,
proves nothing," said the old major. "I presume
there is not one of you who has
actually been a
witness of the strange events which you are citing
in support of your opinions?"
"Not one, of course," said many of the guests.
"But we have heard of them from trustworthy
people." . . .
"It is all nonsense!" someone said. "Where
are the trustworthy people who have seen the
Register in which the appointed hour of our
death is recorded? . . . And if predestination
really exists, why are free will and reason granted
us? Why are we obliged to render an account
of our actions?"
At that moment an officer who was sitting in a
corner of the room stood up, and, coming slowly
to the table, surveyed us all with a quiet and
solemn glance. He was a native of Servia, as was
evident from his name.
The
outward appearance of Lieutenant Vulich
was quite in keeping with his
character. His
height,
swarthycomplexion, black hair, piercing
black eyes, large but straight nose -- an
attribute of
his nation -- and the cold and
melancholy smile
which ever hovered around his lips, all seemed to
concur in lending him the appearance of a man
apart,
incapable of reciprocating the thoughts
and
passions of those whom fate gave him for
companions.
He was brave; talked little, but sharply;
confided his thoughts and family secrets to no
one; drank hardly a drop of wine; and never
dangled after the young Cossack girls, whose
charm it is difficult to realise without having
seen them. It was said, however, that the
colonel's wife was not
indifferent to those ex-
pressive eyes of his; but he was
seriously angry
if any hint on the subject was made.
There was only one
passion which he did not
conceal -- the
passion for gambling. At the green
table he would become oblivious of everything.
He usually lost, but his
constant ill success only
aroused his
obstinacy. It was
related that, on one
occasion, during a nocturnal
expedition, he was
keeping the bank on a pillow, and had a
terrific run
of luck. Suddenly shots rang out. The alarm was
sounded; all but Vulich jumped up and rushed
to arms.
"Stake, va banque!" he cried to one of the
most
ardent gamblers.
"Seven," the latter answered as he hurried
off.
Notwithstanding the general
confusion, Vulich
calmly finished the deal -- seven was the card.
By the time he reached the cordon a violent
fusillade was in progress. Vulich did not trouble
himself about the bullets or the sabres of the
Chechenes, but sought for the lucky gambler.
"Seven it was!" he cried out, as at length he
perceived him in the cordon of skirmishers who
were
beginning to dislodge the enemy from the
wood; and going up to him, he drew out his
purse and pocket-book and handed them to the
winner,
notwithstanding the latter's objections
on the score of the
inconvenience of the payment.
That
unpleasant duty discharged, Vulich dashed
forward, carried the soldiers along after him,
and, to the very end of the affair, fought the
Chechenes with the
utmost coolness.
When Lieutenant Vulich came up to the table,
we all became silent, expecting to hear, as usual,
something original.
"Gentlemen!" he said -- and his voice was
quiet though lower in tone than usual -- "gentle-
men, what is the good of
futile discussions?
You wish for proofs? I propose that we try the
experiment on ourselves: whether a man can of
his own
accorddispose of his life, or whether the
fateful moment is appointed
beforehand for each
of us. Who is agreeable?"
"Not I. Not I," came from all sides.
"There's a queer fellow for you! He does get
strange ideas into his head!"
"I propose a wager," I said in jest.
"What sort of wager?"
"I
maintain that there is no such thing as
predestination," I said, scattering on the table a
score or so of ducats -- all I had in my pocket.
"Done," answered Vulich in a hollow voice.
"Major, you will be judge. Here are fifteen