chasing a pig. I informed him that I had not met
the Cossack and
pointed to the unhappy
victim of his rabid bravery.
"The scoundrel!" said the second Cossack.
"No sooner does he drink his fill of chikhir[1]
than off he goes and cuts up anything that comes in
his way. Let us be after him, Eremeich, we
must tie him up or else" . . .
[1] A Caucasian wine.
They took themselves off, and I continued my
way with greater
caution, and at length arrived at
my lodgings without mishap.
I was living with a certain old Cossack under-
officer whom I loved, not only on
account of his
kindly
disposition, but also, and more especially,
on
account of his pretty daughter, Nastya.
Wrapped up in a sheepskin coat she was
waiting for me, as usual, by the wicket gate.
The moon illumined her
charming little lips, now
turned blue by the cold of the night. Recognizing
me she smiled; but I was in no mood to linger
with her.
"Good night, Nastya!" I said, and passed on.
She was about to make some answer, but only
sighed.
I fastened the door of my room after me,
lighted a candle, and threw myself on the bed;
but, on that occasion,
slumber caused its presence
to be awaited longer than usual. By the time I
fell asleep the east was
beginning to grow pale,
but I was
evidently predestined not to have my
sleep out. At four o'clock in the morning two
fists knocked at my window. I
sprang up.
"What is the matter?"
"Get up -- dress yourself!"
I dressed
hurriedly and went out.
"Do you know what has happened?" said three
officers who had come for me,
speaking all in one
voice.
They were
deadly pale.
"No, what is it?"
"Vulich has been murdered!"
I was petrified.
"Yes, murdered!" they continued. "Let us
lose no time and go!"
"But where to?"
"You will learn as we go."
We set off. They told me all that had hap-
pened, supplementing their story with a variety
of observations on the subject of the strange
predestination which had saved Vulich from
imminent death half an hour before he actually
met his end.
Vulich had been walking alone along a dark
street, and the
drunken Cossack who had cut up
the pig had
sprung out upon him, and perhaps
would have passed him by without noticing
him, had not Vulich stopped suddenly and
said:
"Whom are you looking for, my man?"
"You!" answered the Cossack,
striking him
with his sabre; and he cleft him from the
shoulder almost to the heart. . .
The two Cossacks who had met me and
followed the
murderer had arrived on the scene
and raised the wounded man from the ground.
But he was already as his last gasp and said these
three words only -- "he was right!"
I alone understood the dark
significance of
those words: they referred to me. I had
involuntarily
foretold his fate to poor Vulich.
My
instinct had not deceived me; I had indeed
read on his changed
countenance the signs of
approaching death.
The
murderer had locked himself up in an
empty hut at the end of the village; and thither
we went. A number of women, all of them
weeping, were
running in the same direction; at
times a
belated Cossack,
hastily buckling on his
dagger,
sprang out into the street and overtook
us at a run. The
tumult was dreadful.
At length we arrived on the scene and found a
crowd
standing around the hut, the door and
shutters of which were locked on the inside.
Groups of officers and Cossacks were engaged in
heated discussions; the women were shrieking,
wailing and talking all in one
breath. One of the
old women struck my attention by her meaning
looks and the
franticdespair expressed upon her
face. She was sitting on a thick plank, leaning
her elbows on her knees and supporting her head
with her hands. It was the mother of the
murderer. At times her lips moved. . . Was
it a prayer they were whispering, or a curse?
Meanwhile it was necessary to decide upon
some course of action and to seize the
criminal.
Nobody, however, made bold to be the first to
rush forward.
I went up to the window and looked in through
a chink in the
shutter. The
criminal, pale of
face, was lying on the floor,
holding a
pistol in his
right hand. The blood-stained sabre was beside
him. His
expressive eyes were rolling in terror;
at times he shuddered and clutched at his head,
as if indistinctly recalling the events of yesterday.
I could not read any sign of great determination
in that
uneasy glance of his, and I told the major
that it would be better at once to give orders to
the Cossacks to burst open the door and rush in,
than to wait until the
murderer had quite
recovered his senses.
At that moment the old captain of the Cossacks
went up to the door and called the
murderer by
name. The latter answered back.
"You have committed a sin, brother Ephi-
mych!" said the captain, "so all you can do now
is to submit."
"I will not submit!" answered the Cossack.
"Have you no fear of God! You see, you
are not one of those cursed Chechenes, but an
honest Christian! Come, if you have done it in
an
unguarded moment there is no help for it!
You cannot escape your fate!"
"I will not submit!" exclaimed the Cossack
menacingly, and we could hear the snap of the
cocked
trigger.
"Hey, my good woman!" said the Cossack
captain to the old woman. "Say a word to your
son -- perhaps he will lend an ear to you. . .
You see, to go on like this is only to make God
angry. And look, the gentlemen here have
already been
waiting two hours."
The old woman gazed fixedly at him and shook
her head.
"Vasili Petrovich," said the captain, going up
to the major; "he will not
surrender. I know
him! If it comes to smashing in the door he will
strike down several of our men. Would it not be
better if you ordered him to be shot? There is
a wide chink in the
shutter."
At that moment a strange idea flashed through
my head -- like Vulich I proposed to put fate to
the test.
"Wait," I said to the major, "I will take
him alive."
Bidding the captain enter into a conversation
with the
murderer and
setting three Cossacks at
the door ready to force it open and rush to my
aid at a given signal, I walked round the hut and
approached the fatal window. My heart was
beating violently.
"Aha, you cursed wretch!" cried the captain.
"Are you laughing at us, eh? Or do you think
that we won't be able to get the better of you?"
He began to knock at the door with all his
might. Putting my eye to the chink, I followed
the movements of the Cossack, who was not
expecting an attack from that direction. I
pulled the
shutter away suddenly and threw
myself in at the window, head
foremost. A shot
rang out right over my ear, and the
bullet tore off
one of my epaulettes. But the smoke which filled
the room prevented my
adversary from finding
the sabre which was lying beside him. I seized
him by the arms; the Cossacks burst in; and
three minutes had not elapsed before they had
the
criminal bound and led off under escort.
The people dispersed, the officers congratulated
me -- and indeed there was cause for congratula-
tion.
After all that, it would hardly seem possible
to avoid becoming a fatalist? But who knows
for certain whether he is convinced of anything
or not? And how often is a
deception of the
senses or an error of the reason accepted as a
conviction! . . . I prefer to doubt everything.
Such a
disposition is no bar to decision of
character; on the
contrary, so far as I am
concerned, I always advance more
boldly when I
do not know what is a
waiting me. You see,
nothing can happen worse than death -- and from
death there is no escape.
On my return to the
fortress I
related to
Maksim Maksimych all that I had seen and
experienced; and I sought to learn his opinion
on the subject of predestination.
At first he did not understand the word. I
explained it to him as well as I could, and then he
said, with a
significant shake of the head:
"Yes, sir, of course! It was a very ingenious
trick! However, these Asiatic
pistols often
miss fire if they are badly oiled or if you don't
press hard enough on the
trigger. I
confess I
don't like the Circassian carbines either. Some-
how or other they don't suit the like of us: the
butt end is so small, and any minute you may
get your nose burnt! On the other hand, their
sabres, now -- well, all I need say is, my best
respects to them!"
Afterwards he said, on reflecting a little:
"Yes, it is a pity about the poor fellow! The