A Hero of Our Time

by Mikhail Iurevich Lermontov

  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 ourleft flank. A battalion of infantry was stationed there; and it was thecustom of the officers to meet at each other's quarters in turn and playcards in the evening.

  On one occasion--it was at Major S----'s--finding our game of Boston notsufficiently absorbing, we threw the cards under the table and saton for a long time, talking. The conversation, for once in a way, wasinteresting. The subject was the Mussulman tradition that a man's fateis written in heaven, and we discussed the fact that it was gaining manyvotaries, even amongst our own countrymen. Each of us related variousextraordinary occurrences, pro or contra.

  "What you have been saying, gentlemen, proves nothing," said the oldmajor. "I presume there is not one of you who has actually been awitness of the strange events which you are citing in support of youropinions?"

  "Not one, of course," said many of the guests. "But we have heard ofthem from trustworthy people."...

  "It is all nonsense!" someone said. "Where are the trustworthy peoplewho have seen the Register in which the appointed hour of our death isrecorded?... And if predestination really exists, why are free willand reason granted us? Why are we obliged to render an account of ouractions?"

  At that moment an officer who was sitting in a corner of the room stoodup, and, coming slowly to the table, surveyed us all with a quiet andsolemn glance. He was a native of Servia, as was evident from his name.

  The outward appearance of Lieutenant Vulich was quite in keeping withhis character. His height, swarthy complexion, black hair, piercingblack eyes, large but straight nose--an attribute of his nation--and thecold and melancholy smile which ever hovered around his lips, all seemedto concur in lending him the appearance of a man apart, incapable ofreciprocating the thoughts and passions of those whom fate gave him forcompanions.

  He was brave; talked little, but sharply; confided his thoughts andfamily secrets to no one; drank hardly a drop of wine; and never dangledafter the young Cossack girls, whose charm it is difficult to realisewithout having seen them. It was said, however, that the colonel'swife was not indifferent to those expressive eyes of his; but he wasseriously angry if any hint on the subject was made.

  There was only one passion which he did not conceal--the passion forgambling. At the green table he would become oblivious of everything. Heusually 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 upand 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 thedeal--seven was the card. By the time he reached the cordon a violentfusillade was in progress. Vulich did not trouble himself about thebullets or the sabres of the Chechenes, but sought for the luckygambler.

  "Seven it was!" he cried out, as at length he perceived him in thecordon of skirmishers who were beginning to dislodge the enemy from thewood; and going up to him, he drew out his purse and pocket-book andhanded them to the winner, notwithstanding the latter's objections onthe score of the inconvenience of the payment. That unpleasant dutydischarged, Vulich dashed forward, carried the soldiers along after him,and, to the very end of the affair, fought the Chechenes with the utmostcoolness.

  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 thanusual--"gentlemen, what is the good of futile discussions? You wish forproofs? I propose that we try the experiment on ourselves: whether a mancan of his own accord dispose of his life, or whether the fateful momentis 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 hishead!"

  "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 ducats, the remaining five you owe me, kindly add themto the others."

  "Very well," said the major; "though, indeed, I do not understand whatis the question at issue and how you will decide it!"

  Without a word Vulich went into the major's bedroom, and we followedhim. He went up to the wall on which the major's weapons were hanging,and took down at random one of the pistols--of which there were severalof different calibres. We were still in the dark as to what he meantto do. But, when he cocked the pistol and sprinkled powder in the pan,several of the officers, crying out in spite of themselves, seized himby the arms.

  "What are you going to do?" they exclaimed. "This is madness!"

  "Gentlemen!" he said slowly, disengaging his arm. "Who would like to paytwenty ducats for me?"

  They were silent and drew away.

  Vulich went into the other room and sat by the table; we all followedhim. With a sign he invited us to sit round him. We obeyed insilence--at that moment he had acquired a certain mysterious authorityover us. I stared fixedly into his face; but he met my scrutinisinggaze with a quiet and steady glance, and his pallid lips smiled. But,notwithstanding his composure, it seemed to me that I could read thestamp of death upon his pale countenance. I have noticed--and many oldsoldiers have corroborated my observation--that a man who is to die ina few hours frequently bears on his face a certain strange stamp ofinevitable fate, so that it is difficult for practised eyes to bemistaken.

  "You will die to-day!" I said to Vulich.

  He turned towards me rapidly, but answered slowly and quietly:

  "May be so, may be not."...

  Then, addressing himself to the major, he asked:

  "Is the pistol loaded?"

  The major, in the confusion, could not quite remember.

  "There, that will do, Vulich!" exclaimed somebody. "Of course it must beloaded, if it was one of those hanging on the wall there over our heads.What a man you are for joking!"

  "A silly joke, too!" struck in another.

  "I wager fifty rubles to five that the pistol is not loaded!" cried athird.

  A new bet was made.

  I was beginning to get tired of it all.

  "Listen," I said, "either shoot yourself, or hang up the pistol in itsplace and let us go to bed."

  "Yes, of course!" many exclaimed. "Let us go to bed."

  "Gentlemen, I beg of you not to move," said Vulich, putting the muzzleof the pistol to his forehead.

  We were all petrified.

  "Mr. Pechorin," he added, "take a card and throw it up in the air."

  I took, as I remember now, an ace of hearts off the table and threwit into the air. All held their breath. With eyes full of terror anda certain vague curiosity they glanced rapidly from the pistol to thefateful ace, which slowly descended, quivering in the air. At the momentit touched the table Vulich pulled the trigger... a flash in the pan!

  "Thank God!" many exclaimed. "It wasn't loaded!"

  "Let us see, though," said Vulich.

  He cocked the pistol again, and took aim at a forage-cap which washanging above the window. A shot rang out. Smoke filled the room; whenit cleared away, the forage-cap was taken down. It had been shot rightthrough the centre, and the bullet was deeply embedded in the wall.

  For two or three minutes no one was able to utter a word. Very quietlyVulich poured my ducats from the major's purse into his own.

  Discussions arose as to why the pistol had not gone off the firsttime. Some maintained that probably the pan had been obstructed; otherswhispered that the powder had b
een damp the first time, and that,afterwards, Vulich had sprinkled some fresh powder on it; but Imaintained that the last supposition was wrong, because I had not oncetaken my eyes off the pistol.

  "You are lucky at play!" I said to Vulich...

  "For the first time in my life!" he answered, with a complacent smile."It is better than 'bank' and 'shtoss.'" [23]

  "But, on the other hand, slightly more dangerous!"

  "Well? Have you begun to believe in predestination?"

  "I do believe in it; only I cannot understand now why it appeared to methat you must inevitably die to-day!"

  And this same man, who, such a short time before, had with the greatestcalmness aimed a pistol at his own forehead, now suddenly fired up andbecame embarrassed.

  "That will do, though!" he said, rising to his feet. "Our wager isfinished, and now your observations, it seems to me, are out of place."

  He took up his cap and departed. The whole affair struck me as beingstrange--and not without reason. Shortly after that, all the officersbroke up and went home, discussing Vulich's freaks from different pointsof view, and, doubtless, with one voice calling me an egoist for havingtaken up a wager against a man who wanted to shoot himself, as if hecould not have found a convenient opportunity without my intervention.

  I returned home by the deserted byways of the village. The moon, fulland red like the glow of a conflagration, was beginning to make itsappearance from behind the jagged horizon of the house-tops; the starswere shining tranquilly in the deep, blue vault of the sky; and I wasstruck by the absurdity of the idea when I recalled to mind that onceupon a time there were some exceedingly wise people who thought that thestars of heaven participated in our insignificant squabbles for a sliceof ground, or some other imaginary rights. And what then? These lamps,lighted, so they fancied, only to illuminate their battles and triumphs,are burning with all their former brilliance, whilst the wiseacresthemselves, together with their hopes and passions, have long beenextinguished, like a little fire kindled at the edge of a forest by acareless wayfarer! But, on the other hand, what strength of willwas lent them by the conviction that the entire heavens, withtheir innumerable habitants, were looking at them with a sympathy,unalterable, though mute!... And we, their miserable descendants,roaming over the earth, without faith, without pride, without enjoyment,and without terror--except that involuntary awe which makes the heartshrink at the thought of the inevitable end--we are no longer capableof great sacrifices, either for the good of mankind or even for our ownhappiness, because we know the impossibility of such happiness; and,just as our ancestors used to fling themselves from one delusion toanother, we pass indifferently from doubt to doubt, without possessing,as they did, either hope or even that vague though, at the same time,keen enjoyment which the soul encounters at every struggle with mankindor with destiny.

  These and many other similar thoughts passed through my mind, but Idid not follow them up, because I do not like to dwell upon abstractideas--for what do they lead to? In my early youth I was a dreamer; Iloved to hug to my bosom the images--now gloomy, now rainbowhued--whichmy restless and eager imagination drew for me. And what is there left tome of all these? Only such weariness as might be felt after a battle bynight with a phantom--only a confused memory full of regrets. In thatvain contest I have exhausted the warmth of soul and firmness of willindispensable to an active life. I have entered upon that life afterhaving already lived through it in thought, and it has become wearisomeand nauseous to me, as the reading of a bad imitation of a book is toone who has long been familiar with the original.

  The events of that evening produced a somewhat deep impression upon meand excited my nerves. I do not know for certain whether I now believein predestination or not, but on that evening I believed in it firmly.The proof was startling, and I, notwithstanding that I had laughed atour forefathers and their obliging astrology, fell involuntarily intotheir way of thinking. However, I stopped myself in time from followingthat dangerous road, and, as I have made it a rule not to rejectanything decisively and not to trust anything blindly, I castmetaphysics aside and began to look at what was beneath my feet. Theprecaution was well-timed. I only just escaped stumbling over somethingthick and soft, but, to all appearance, inanimate. I bent down to seewhat it was, and, by the light of the moon, which now shone right uponthe road, I perceived that it was a pig which had been cut in two witha sabre... I had hardly time to examine it before I heard the sound ofsteps, and two Cossacks came running out of a byway. One of them came upto me and enquired whether I had seen a drunken Cossack chasing a pig.I informed him that I had not met the Cossack and pointed to the unhappyvictim of his rabid bravery.

  "The scoundrel!" said the second Cossack. "No sooner does he drink hisfill of chikhir [24] than off he goes and cuts up anything that comes inhis way. Let us be after him, Eremeich, we must tie him up or else"...

  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 underofficer whom I loved,not only on account of his kindly disposition, but also, and moreespecially, on account of his pretty daughter, Nastya.

  Wrapped up in a sheepskin coat she was waiting for me, as usual, by thewicket gate. The moon illumined her charming little lips, now turnedblue by the cold of the night. Recognizing me she smiled; but I was inno 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 threwmyself on the bed; but, on that occasion, slumber caused its presenceto be awaited longer than usual. By the time I fell asleep the east wasbeginning to grow pale, but I was evidently predestined not to havemy sleep out. At four o'clock in the morning two fists knocked at mywindow. 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 forme, 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 happened, supplementing theirstory with a variety of observations on the subject of the strangepredestination which had saved Vulich from imminent death half an hourbefore he actually met his end.

  Vulich had been walking alone along a dark street, and the drunkenCossack who had cut up the pig had sprung out upon him, and perhapswould have passed him by without noticing him, had not Vulich stoppedsuddenly and said:

  "Whom are you looking for, my man?"

  "You!" answered the Cossack, striking him with his sabre; and he clefthim from the shoulder almost to the heart...

  The two Cossacks who had met me and followed the murderer had arrived onthe scene and raised the wounded man from the ground. But he was alreadyat his last gasp and said these three words only--"he was right!"

  I alone understood the dark significance of those words: they referredto me. I had involuntarily foretold his fate to poor Vulich. My instincthad not deceived me; I had indeed read on his changed countenance thesigns of approaching death.

  The murderer had locked himself up in an empty hut at the end of thevillage; and thither we went. A number of women, all of them weeping,were running in the same direction; at times a belated Cossack, hastilybuckling on his dagger, sprang out into the street and overtook us at arun. The tumult was dreadful.

  At length we arrived on the scene and found a crowd standing around thehut, the door and shutters of which were locked on the inside. Groups ofofficers and Cossacks were engaged in heated discussions; the women wereshrieking, wailing and talking all in one breath. One of the oldwomen struck my atten
tion by her meaning looks and the frantic despairexpressed upon her face. She was sitting on a thick plank, leaning herelbows on her knees and supporting her head with her hands. It was themother of the murderer. At times her lips moved... Was it a prayer theywere whispering, or a curse?

  Meanwhile it was necessary to decide upon some course of action and toseize the criminal. Nobody, however, made bold to be the first to rushforward.

  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 inhis right hand. The blood-stained sabre was beside him. His expressiveeyes were rolling in terror; at times he shuddered and clutched at hishead, as if indistinctly recalling the events of yesterday. I could notread any sign of great determination in that uneasy glance of his, andI told the major that it would be better at once to give orders to theCossacks to burst open the door and rush in, than to wait until themurderer had quite recovered his senses.

  At that moment the old captain of the Cossacks went up to the door andcalled the murderer by name. The latter answered back.

  "You have committed a sin, brother Ephimych!" said the captain, "so allyou 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 cursedChechenes, but an honest Christian! Come, if you have done it in anunguarded moment there is no help for it! You cannot escape your fate!"

  "I will not submit!" exclaimed the Cossack menacingly, and we could hearthe snap of the cocked trigger.

  "Hey, my good woman!" said the Cossack captain to the old woman. "Say aword to your son--perhaps he will lend an ear to you... You see, to goon like this is only to make God angry. And look, the gentlemen herehave 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 willnot surrender. I know him! If it comes to smashing in the door he willstrike down several of our men. Would it not be better if you orderedhim to be shot? There is a wide chink in the shutter."

  At that moment a strange idea flashed through my head--like Vulich Iproposed 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 andsetting three Cossacks at the door ready to force it open and rush to myaid at a given signal, I walked round the hut and approached the fatalwindow. 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 thechink, I followed the movements of the Cossack, who was not expecting anattack from that direction. I pulled the shutter away suddenly and threwmyself in at the window, head foremost. A shot rang out right over myear, and the bullet tore off one of my epaulettes. But the smoke whichfilled the room prevented my adversary from finding the sabre which waslying beside him. I seized him by the arms; the Cossacks burst in; andthree minutes had not elapsed before they had the criminal bound and ledoff under escort.

  The people dispersed, the officers congratulated me--and indeed therewas cause for congratulation.

  After all that, it would hardly seem possible to avoid becoming afatalist? But who knows for certain whether he is convinced of anythingor not? And how often is a deception of the senses or an error of thereason accepted as a conviction!... I prefer to doubt everything. Such adisposition is no bar to decision of character; on the contrary, so faras I am concerned, I always advance more boldly when I do not know whatis awaiting me. You see, nothing can happen worse than death--and fromdeath there is no escape.

  On my return to the fortress I related to Maksim Maksimych all thatI had seen and experienced; and I sought to learn his opinion on thesubject of predestination.

  At first he did not understand the word. I explained it to him as wellas I could, and then he said, with a significant shake of the head:

  "Yes, sir, of course! It was a very ingenious trick! However, theseAsiatic pistols often miss fire if they are badly oiled or if you don'tpress hard enough on the trigger. I confess I don't like the Circassiancarbines either. Somehow or other they don't suit the like of us: thebutt end is so small, and any minute you may get your nose burnt! On theother hand, their sabres, now--well, all I need say is, my best respectsto them!"

  Afterwards he said, on reflecting a little:

  "Yes, it is a pity about the poor fellow! The devil must have put itinto his head to start a conversation with a drunken man at night!However, it is evident that fate had written it so at his birth!"

  I could not get anything more out of Maksim Maksimych; generallyspeaking, he had no liking for metaphysical disputations.

  BOOK V THE THIRD EXTRACT FROM PECHORIN'S DIARY

  PRINCESS MARY