At the green table he would become
oblivious
of everything.
Lermontov - A Hero of Our Time
But this
was not all. The whole day she kept hovering around my lodging, singing
and gambolling without a moment’s interruption. Strange creature! There
was not the slightest sign of insanity in her face; on the contrary, her
eyes, which were continually resting upon me, were bright and piercing.
Moreover, they seemed to be endowed with a certain magnetic power, and
each time they looked at me they appeared to be expecting a question.
But I had only to open my lips to speak, and away she would run, with a
sly smile.
Certainly never before had I seen a woman like her. She was by no means
beautiful; but, as in other matters, I have my own prepossessions on the
subject of beauty. There was a good deal of breeding in her. . . Breeding
in women, as in horses, is a great thing: a discovery, the credit of
which belongs to young France. It--that is to say, breeding, not young
France--is chiefly to be detected in the gait, in the hands and feet;
the nose, in particular, is of the greatest significance. In Russia a
straight nose is rarer than a small foot.
My songstress appeared to be not more than eighteen years of age. The
unusual suppleness of her figure, the characteristic and original way
she had of inclining her head, her long, light-brown hair, the golden
sheen of her slightly sunburnt neck and shoulders, and especially her
straight nose--all these held me fascinated. Although in her sidelong
glances I could read a certain wildness and disdain, although in
her smile there was a certain vagueness, yet--such is the force of
predilections--that straight nose of hers drove me crazy. I fancied
that I had found Goethe’s Mignon--that queer creature of his German
imagination. And, indeed, there was a good deal of similarity between
them; the same rapid transitions from the utmost restlessness to
complete immobility, the same enigmatical speeches, the same gambols,
the same strange songs.
Towards evening I stopped her at the door and entered into the following
conversation with her.
“Tell me, my beauty,” I asked, “what were you doing on the roof to-day? ”
“I was looking to see from what direction the wind was blowing. ”
“What did you want to know for? ”
“Whence the wind blows comes happiness. ”
“Well? Were you invoking happiness with your song? ”
“Where there is singing there is also happiness. ”
“But what if your song were to bring you sorrow? ”
“Well, what then? Where things won’t be better, they will be worse; and
from bad to good again is not far. ”
“And who taught you that song? ”
“Nobody taught me; it comes into my head and I sing; whoever is to
hear it, he will hear it, and whoever ought not to hear it, he will not
understand it. ”
“What is your name, my songstress? ”
“He who baptized me knows. ”
“And who baptized you? ”
“How should I know? ”
“What a secretive girl you are! But look here, I have learned something
about you”--she neither changed countenance nor moved her lips, as
though my discovery was of no concern to her--“I have learned that you
went to the shore last night. ”
And, thereupon, I very gravely retailed to her all that I had seen,
thinking that I should embarrass her. Not a bit of it! She burst out
laughing heartily.
“You have seen much, but know little; and what you do know, see that you
keep it under lock and key. ”
“But supposing, now, I was to take it into my head to inform the
Commandant? ” and here I assumed a very serious, not to say stern,
demeanour.
She gave a sudden spring, began to sing, and hid herself like a bird
frightened out of a thicket. My last words were altogether out of place.
I had no suspicion then how momentous they were, but afterwards I had
occasion to rue them.
As soon as the dusk of evening fell, I ordered the Cossack to heat the
teapot, campaign fashion. I lighted a candle and sat down by the table,
smoking my travelling-pipe. I was just about to finish my second tumbler
of tea when suddenly the door creaked and I heard behind me the sound of
footsteps and the light rustle of a dress. I started and turned round.
It was she--my Undine. Softly and without saying a word she sat down
opposite to me and fixed her eyes upon me. Her glance seemed wondrously
tender, I know not why; it reminded me of one of those glances which,
in years gone by, so despotically played with my life. She seemed to be
waiting for a question, but I kept silence, filled with an inexplicable
sense of embarrassment. Mental agitation was evinced by the dull
pallor which overspread her countenance; her hand, which I noticed was
trembling slightly, moved aimlessly about the table. At one time her
breast heaved, and at another she seemed to be holding her breath. This
little comedy was beginning to pall upon me, and I was about to break
the silence in a most prosaic manner, that is, by offering her a glass
of tea; when suddenly, springing up, she threw her arms around my neck,
and I felt her moist, fiery lips pressed upon mine. Darkness came before
my eyes, my head began to swim. I embraced her with the whole strength
of youthful passion. But, like a snake, she glided from between my arms,
whispering in my ear as she did so:
“To-night, when everyone is asleep, go out to the shore. ”
Like an arrow she sprang from the room.
In the hall she upset the teapot and a candle which was standing on the
floor.
“Little devil! ” cried the Cossack, who had taken up his position on the
straw and had contemplated warming himself with the remains of the tea.
It was only then that I recovered my senses.
In about two hours’ time, when all had grown silent in the harbour, I
awakened my Cossack.
“If I fire a pistol,” I said, “run to the shore. ”
He stared open-eyed and answered mechanically:
“Very well, sir. ”
I stuffed a pistol in my belt and went out. She was waiting for me
at the edge of the cliff. Her attire was more than light, and a small
kerchief girded her supple waist.
“Follow me! ” she said, taking me by the hand, and we began to descend.
I cannot understand how it was that I did not break my neck. Down below
we turned to the right and proceeded to take the path along which I had
followed the blind boy the evening before. The moon had not yet risen,
and only two little stars, like two guardian lighthouses, were twinkling
in the dark-blue vault of heaven. The heavy waves, with measured and
even motion, rolled one after the other, scarcely lifting the solitary
boat which was moored to the shore.
“Let us get into the boat,” said my companion.
I hesitated. I am no lover of sentimental trips on the sea; but this was
not the time to draw back. She leaped into the boat, and I after her;
and I had not time to recover my wits before I observed that we were
adrift.
“What is the meaning of this? ” I said angrily.
“It means,” she answered, seating me on the bench and throwing her arms
around my waist, “it means that I love you! ”. . .
Her cheek was pressed close to mine, and I felt her burning breath upon
my face. Suddenly something fell noisily into the water. I clutched at
my belt--my pistol was gone! Ah, now a terrible suspicion crept into
my soul, and the blood rushed to my head! I looked round. We were about
fifty fathoms from the shore, and I could not swim a stroke! I tried
to thrust her away from me, but she clung like a cat to my clothes,
and suddenly a violent wrench all but threw me into the sea. The boat
rocked, but I righted myself, and a desperate struggle began.
Fury lent me strength, but I soon found that I was no match for my
opponent in point of agility. . .
“What do you want? ” I cried, firmly squeezing her little hands.
Her fingers crunched, but her serpent-like nature bore up against the
torture, and she did not utter a cry.
“You saw us,” she answered. “You will tell on us. ”
And, with a supernatural effort, she flung me on to the side of the
boat; we both hung half overboard; her hair touched the water. The
decisive moment had come. I planted my knee against the bottom of the
boat, caught her by the tresses with one hand and by the throat with the
other; she let go my clothes, and, in an instant, I had thrown her into
the waves.
It was now rather dark; once or twice her head appeared for an instant
amidst the sea foam, and I saw no more of her.
I found the half of an old oar at the bottom of the boat, and somehow or
other, after lengthy efforts, I made fast to the harbour. Making my way
along the shore towards my hut, I involuntarily gazed in the direction
of the spot where, on the previous night, the blind boy had awaited the
nocturnal mariner. The moon was already rolling through the sky, and it
seemed to me that somebody in white was sitting on the shore. Spurred by
curiosity, I crept up and crouched down in the grass on the top of the
cliff. By thrusting my head out a little way I was able to get a good
view of everything that was happening down below, and I was not very
much astonished, but almost rejoiced, when I recognised my water-nymph.
She was wringing the seafoam from her long hair. Her wet garment
outlined 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
peaceful circle 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 wooden platter, 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 complain 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 absorbing, we threw the cards under the table and sat
on for a long time, talking. The conversation, for once in a way, was
interesting. The subject was the Mussulman tradition that a man’s fate
is written in heaven, and we discussed 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, swarthy complexion, 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 expressive 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--“gentlemen, 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 accord dispose 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 ducats, the remaining five you owe me, kindly add them
to the others. ”
“Very well,” said the major; “though, indeed, I do not understand what
is the question at issue and how you will decide it! ”
Without a word Vulich went into the major’s bedroom, and we followed
him. 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 several
of different calibres. We were still in the dark as to what he meant
to do. But, when he cocked the pistol and sprinkled powder in the pan,
several of the officers, crying out in spite of themselves, seized him
by the arms.
“What are you going to do? ” they exclaimed. “This is madness! ”
“Gentlemen! ” he said slowly, disengaging his arm. “Who would like to pay
twenty ducats for me? ”
They were silent and drew away.
Vulich went into the other room and sat by the table; we all followed
him. With a sign he invited us to sit round him. We obeyed in
silence--at that moment he had acquired a certain mysterious authority
over us. I stared fixedly into his face; but he met my scrutinising
gaze with a quiet and steady glance, and his pallid lips smiled. But,
notwithstanding his composure, it seemed to me that I could read the
stamp of death upon his pale countenance. I have noticed--and many old
soldiers have corroborated my observation--that a man who is to die in
a few hours frequently bears on his face a certain strange stamp of
inevitable fate, so that it is difficult for practised eyes to be
mistaken.
“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 be
loaded, 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 a
third.
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 its
place 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 muzzle
of 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 threw
it into the air. All held their breath. With eyes full of terror and
a certain vague curiosity they glanced rapidly from the pistol to the
fateful ace, which slowly descended, quivering in the air. At the moment
it 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 was
hanging above the window. A shot rang out. Smoke filled the room; when
it cleared away, the forage-cap was taken down. It had been shot right
through 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 quietly
Vulich poured my ducats from the major’s purse into his own.
Discussions arose as to why the pistol had not gone off the first
time. Some maintained that probably the pan had been obstructed; others
whispered that the powder had been damp the first time, and that,
afterwards, Vulich had sprinkled some fresh powder on it; but I
maintained that the last supposition was wrong, because I had not once
taken 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 me
that you must inevitably die to-day! ”
And this same man, who, such a short time before, had with the greatest
calmness aimed a pistol at his own forehead, now suddenly fired up and
became embarrassed.
“That will do, though! ” he said, rising to his feet. “Our wager is
finished, 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 being
strange--and not without reason. Shortly after that, all the officers
broke up and went home, discussing Vulich’s freaks from different points
of view, and, doubtless, with one voice calling me an egoist for having
taken up a wager against a man who wanted to shoot himself, as if he
could not have found a convenient opportunity without my intervention.
I returned home by the deserted byways of the village. The moon, full
and red like the glow of a conflagration, was beginning to make its
appearance from behind the jagged horizon of the house-tops; the stars
were shining tranquilly in the deep, blue vault of the sky; and I was
struck by the absurdity of the idea when I recalled to mind that once
upon a time there were some exceedingly wise people who thought that the
stars of heaven participated in our insignificant squabbles for a slice
of 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 wiseacres
themselves, together with their hopes and passions, have long been
extinguished, like a little fire kindled at the edge of a forest by a
careless wayfarer! But, on the other hand, what strength of will
was lent them by the conviction that the entire heavens, with
their 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 heart
shrink at the thought of the inevitable end--we are no longer capable
of great sacrifices, either for the good of mankind or even for our own
happiness, because we know the impossibility of such happiness; and,
just as our ancestors used to fling themselves from one delusion to
another, 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 mankind
or with destiny.
These and many other similar thoughts passed through my mind, but I
did not follow them up, because I do not like to dwell upon abstract
ideas--for what do they lead to? In my early youth I was a dreamer; I
loved to hug to my bosom the images--now gloomy, now rainbowhued--which
my restless and eager imagination drew for me. And what is there left to
me of all these? Only such weariness as might be felt after a battle by
night with a phantom--only a confused memory full of regrets. In that
vain contest I have exhausted the warmth of soul and firmness of will
indispensable to an active life. I have entered upon that life after
having already lived through it in thought, and it has become wearisome
and nauseous to me, as the reading of a bad imitation of a book is to
one who has long been familiar with the original.
The events of that evening produced a somewhat deep impression upon me
and excited my nerves. I do not know for certain whether I now believe
in predestination or not, but on that evening I believed in it firmly.
The proof was startling, and I, notwithstanding that I had laughed at
our forefathers and their obliging astrology, fell involuntarily into
their way of thinking. However, I stopped myself in time from following
that dangerous road, and, as I have made it a rule not to reject
anything decisively and not to trust anything blindly, I cast
metaphysics aside and began to look at what was beneath my feet. The
precaution was well-timed. I only just escaped stumbling over something
thick and soft, but, to all appearance, inanimate. I bent down to see
what it was, and, by the light of the moon, which now shone right upon
the road, I perceived that it was a pig which had been cut in two with
a sabre. . . I had hardly time to examine it before I heard the sound of
steps, and two Cossacks came running out of a byway. One of them came up
to 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 unhappy
victim of his rabid bravery.
“The scoundrel! ” said the second Cossack. “No sooner does he drink his
fill of chikhir [24] 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”. . .
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 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 happened, 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
at 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 frantic despair
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.
was not all. The whole day she kept hovering around my lodging, singing
and gambolling without a moment’s interruption. Strange creature! There
was not the slightest sign of insanity in her face; on the contrary, her
eyes, which were continually resting upon me, were bright and piercing.
Moreover, they seemed to be endowed with a certain magnetic power, and
each time they looked at me they appeared to be expecting a question.
But I had only to open my lips to speak, and away she would run, with a
sly smile.
Certainly never before had I seen a woman like her. She was by no means
beautiful; but, as in other matters, I have my own prepossessions on the
subject of beauty. There was a good deal of breeding in her. . . Breeding
in women, as in horses, is a great thing: a discovery, the credit of
which belongs to young France. It--that is to say, breeding, not young
France--is chiefly to be detected in the gait, in the hands and feet;
the nose, in particular, is of the greatest significance. In Russia a
straight nose is rarer than a small foot.
My songstress appeared to be not more than eighteen years of age. The
unusual suppleness of her figure, the characteristic and original way
she had of inclining her head, her long, light-brown hair, the golden
sheen of her slightly sunburnt neck and shoulders, and especially her
straight nose--all these held me fascinated. Although in her sidelong
glances I could read a certain wildness and disdain, although in
her smile there was a certain vagueness, yet--such is the force of
predilections--that straight nose of hers drove me crazy. I fancied
that I had found Goethe’s Mignon--that queer creature of his German
imagination. And, indeed, there was a good deal of similarity between
them; the same rapid transitions from the utmost restlessness to
complete immobility, the same enigmatical speeches, the same gambols,
the same strange songs.
Towards evening I stopped her at the door and entered into the following
conversation with her.
“Tell me, my beauty,” I asked, “what were you doing on the roof to-day? ”
“I was looking to see from what direction the wind was blowing. ”
“What did you want to know for? ”
“Whence the wind blows comes happiness. ”
“Well? Were you invoking happiness with your song? ”
“Where there is singing there is also happiness. ”
“But what if your song were to bring you sorrow? ”
“Well, what then? Where things won’t be better, they will be worse; and
from bad to good again is not far. ”
“And who taught you that song? ”
“Nobody taught me; it comes into my head and I sing; whoever is to
hear it, he will hear it, and whoever ought not to hear it, he will not
understand it. ”
“What is your name, my songstress? ”
“He who baptized me knows. ”
“And who baptized you? ”
“How should I know? ”
“What a secretive girl you are! But look here, I have learned something
about you”--she neither changed countenance nor moved her lips, as
though my discovery was of no concern to her--“I have learned that you
went to the shore last night. ”
And, thereupon, I very gravely retailed to her all that I had seen,
thinking that I should embarrass her. Not a bit of it! She burst out
laughing heartily.
“You have seen much, but know little; and what you do know, see that you
keep it under lock and key. ”
“But supposing, now, I was to take it into my head to inform the
Commandant? ” and here I assumed a very serious, not to say stern,
demeanour.
She gave a sudden spring, began to sing, and hid herself like a bird
frightened out of a thicket. My last words were altogether out of place.
I had no suspicion then how momentous they were, but afterwards I had
occasion to rue them.
As soon as the dusk of evening fell, I ordered the Cossack to heat the
teapot, campaign fashion. I lighted a candle and sat down by the table,
smoking my travelling-pipe. I was just about to finish my second tumbler
of tea when suddenly the door creaked and I heard behind me the sound of
footsteps and the light rustle of a dress. I started and turned round.
It was she--my Undine. Softly and without saying a word she sat down
opposite to me and fixed her eyes upon me. Her glance seemed wondrously
tender, I know not why; it reminded me of one of those glances which,
in years gone by, so despotically played with my life. She seemed to be
waiting for a question, but I kept silence, filled with an inexplicable
sense of embarrassment. Mental agitation was evinced by the dull
pallor which overspread her countenance; her hand, which I noticed was
trembling slightly, moved aimlessly about the table. At one time her
breast heaved, and at another she seemed to be holding her breath. This
little comedy was beginning to pall upon me, and I was about to break
the silence in a most prosaic manner, that is, by offering her a glass
of tea; when suddenly, springing up, she threw her arms around my neck,
and I felt her moist, fiery lips pressed upon mine. Darkness came before
my eyes, my head began to swim. I embraced her with the whole strength
of youthful passion. But, like a snake, she glided from between my arms,
whispering in my ear as she did so:
“To-night, when everyone is asleep, go out to the shore. ”
Like an arrow she sprang from the room.
In the hall she upset the teapot and a candle which was standing on the
floor.
“Little devil! ” cried the Cossack, who had taken up his position on the
straw and had contemplated warming himself with the remains of the tea.
It was only then that I recovered my senses.
In about two hours’ time, when all had grown silent in the harbour, I
awakened my Cossack.
“If I fire a pistol,” I said, “run to the shore. ”
He stared open-eyed and answered mechanically:
“Very well, sir. ”
I stuffed a pistol in my belt and went out. She was waiting for me
at the edge of the cliff. Her attire was more than light, and a small
kerchief girded her supple waist.
“Follow me! ” she said, taking me by the hand, and we began to descend.
I cannot understand how it was that I did not break my neck. Down below
we turned to the right and proceeded to take the path along which I had
followed the blind boy the evening before. The moon had not yet risen,
and only two little stars, like two guardian lighthouses, were twinkling
in the dark-blue vault of heaven. The heavy waves, with measured and
even motion, rolled one after the other, scarcely lifting the solitary
boat which was moored to the shore.
“Let us get into the boat,” said my companion.
I hesitated. I am no lover of sentimental trips on the sea; but this was
not the time to draw back. She leaped into the boat, and I after her;
and I had not time to recover my wits before I observed that we were
adrift.
“What is the meaning of this? ” I said angrily.
“It means,” she answered, seating me on the bench and throwing her arms
around my waist, “it means that I love you! ”. . .
Her cheek was pressed close to mine, and I felt her burning breath upon
my face. Suddenly something fell noisily into the water. I clutched at
my belt--my pistol was gone! Ah, now a terrible suspicion crept into
my soul, and the blood rushed to my head! I looked round. We were about
fifty fathoms from the shore, and I could not swim a stroke! I tried
to thrust her away from me, but she clung like a cat to my clothes,
and suddenly a violent wrench all but threw me into the sea. The boat
rocked, but I righted myself, and a desperate struggle began.
Fury lent me strength, but I soon found that I was no match for my
opponent in point of agility. . .
“What do you want? ” I cried, firmly squeezing her little hands.
Her fingers crunched, but her serpent-like nature bore up against the
torture, and she did not utter a cry.
“You saw us,” she answered. “You will tell on us. ”
And, with a supernatural effort, she flung me on to the side of the
boat; we both hung half overboard; her hair touched the water. The
decisive moment had come. I planted my knee against the bottom of the
boat, caught her by the tresses with one hand and by the throat with the
other; she let go my clothes, and, in an instant, I had thrown her into
the waves.
It was now rather dark; once or twice her head appeared for an instant
amidst the sea foam, and I saw no more of her.
I found the half of an old oar at the bottom of the boat, and somehow or
other, after lengthy efforts, I made fast to the harbour. Making my way
along the shore towards my hut, I involuntarily gazed in the direction
of the spot where, on the previous night, the blind boy had awaited the
nocturnal mariner. The moon was already rolling through the sky, and it
seemed to me that somebody in white was sitting on the shore. Spurred by
curiosity, I crept up and crouched down in the grass on the top of the
cliff. By thrusting my head out a little way I was able to get a good
view of everything that was happening down below, and I was not very
much astonished, but almost rejoiced, when I recognised my water-nymph.
She was wringing the seafoam from her long hair. Her wet garment
outlined 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
peaceful circle 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 wooden platter, 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 complain 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 absorbing, we threw the cards under the table and sat
on for a long time, talking. The conversation, for once in a way, was
interesting. The subject was the Mussulman tradition that a man’s fate
is written in heaven, and we discussed 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, swarthy complexion, 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 expressive 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--“gentlemen, 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 accord dispose 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 ducats, the remaining five you owe me, kindly add them
to the others. ”
“Very well,” said the major; “though, indeed, I do not understand what
is the question at issue and how you will decide it! ”
Without a word Vulich went into the major’s bedroom, and we followed
him. 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 several
of different calibres. We were still in the dark as to what he meant
to do. But, when he cocked the pistol and sprinkled powder in the pan,
several of the officers, crying out in spite of themselves, seized him
by the arms.
“What are you going to do? ” they exclaimed. “This is madness! ”
“Gentlemen! ” he said slowly, disengaging his arm. “Who would like to pay
twenty ducats for me? ”
They were silent and drew away.
Vulich went into the other room and sat by the table; we all followed
him. With a sign he invited us to sit round him. We obeyed in
silence--at that moment he had acquired a certain mysterious authority
over us. I stared fixedly into his face; but he met my scrutinising
gaze with a quiet and steady glance, and his pallid lips smiled. But,
notwithstanding his composure, it seemed to me that I could read the
stamp of death upon his pale countenance. I have noticed--and many old
soldiers have corroborated my observation--that a man who is to die in
a few hours frequently bears on his face a certain strange stamp of
inevitable fate, so that it is difficult for practised eyes to be
mistaken.
“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 be
loaded, 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 a
third.
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 its
place 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 muzzle
of 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 threw
it into the air. All held their breath. With eyes full of terror and
a certain vague curiosity they glanced rapidly from the pistol to the
fateful ace, which slowly descended, quivering in the air. At the moment
it 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 was
hanging above the window. A shot rang out. Smoke filled the room; when
it cleared away, the forage-cap was taken down. It had been shot right
through 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 quietly
Vulich poured my ducats from the major’s purse into his own.
Discussions arose as to why the pistol had not gone off the first
time. Some maintained that probably the pan had been obstructed; others
whispered that the powder had been damp the first time, and that,
afterwards, Vulich had sprinkled some fresh powder on it; but I
maintained that the last supposition was wrong, because I had not once
taken 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 me
that you must inevitably die to-day! ”
And this same man, who, such a short time before, had with the greatest
calmness aimed a pistol at his own forehead, now suddenly fired up and
became embarrassed.
“That will do, though! ” he said, rising to his feet. “Our wager is
finished, 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 being
strange--and not without reason. Shortly after that, all the officers
broke up and went home, discussing Vulich’s freaks from different points
of view, and, doubtless, with one voice calling me an egoist for having
taken up a wager against a man who wanted to shoot himself, as if he
could not have found a convenient opportunity without my intervention.
I returned home by the deserted byways of the village. The moon, full
and red like the glow of a conflagration, was beginning to make its
appearance from behind the jagged horizon of the house-tops; the stars
were shining tranquilly in the deep, blue vault of the sky; and I was
struck by the absurdity of the idea when I recalled to mind that once
upon a time there were some exceedingly wise people who thought that the
stars of heaven participated in our insignificant squabbles for a slice
of 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 wiseacres
themselves, together with their hopes and passions, have long been
extinguished, like a little fire kindled at the edge of a forest by a
careless wayfarer! But, on the other hand, what strength of will
was lent them by the conviction that the entire heavens, with
their 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 heart
shrink at the thought of the inevitable end--we are no longer capable
of great sacrifices, either for the good of mankind or even for our own
happiness, because we know the impossibility of such happiness; and,
just as our ancestors used to fling themselves from one delusion to
another, 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 mankind
or with destiny.
These and many other similar thoughts passed through my mind, but I
did not follow them up, because I do not like to dwell upon abstract
ideas--for what do they lead to? In my early youth I was a dreamer; I
loved to hug to my bosom the images--now gloomy, now rainbowhued--which
my restless and eager imagination drew for me. And what is there left to
me of all these? Only such weariness as might be felt after a battle by
night with a phantom--only a confused memory full of regrets. In that
vain contest I have exhausted the warmth of soul and firmness of will
indispensable to an active life. I have entered upon that life after
having already lived through it in thought, and it has become wearisome
and nauseous to me, as the reading of a bad imitation of a book is to
one who has long been familiar with the original.
The events of that evening produced a somewhat deep impression upon me
and excited my nerves. I do not know for certain whether I now believe
in predestination or not, but on that evening I believed in it firmly.
The proof was startling, and I, notwithstanding that I had laughed at
our forefathers and their obliging astrology, fell involuntarily into
their way of thinking. However, I stopped myself in time from following
that dangerous road, and, as I have made it a rule not to reject
anything decisively and not to trust anything blindly, I cast
metaphysics aside and began to look at what was beneath my feet. The
precaution was well-timed. I only just escaped stumbling over something
thick and soft, but, to all appearance, inanimate. I bent down to see
what it was, and, by the light of the moon, which now shone right upon
the road, I perceived that it was a pig which had been cut in two with
a sabre. . . I had hardly time to examine it before I heard the sound of
steps, and two Cossacks came running out of a byway. One of them came up
to 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 unhappy
victim of his rabid bravery.
“The scoundrel! ” said the second Cossack. “No sooner does he drink his
fill of chikhir [24] 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”. . .
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 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 happened, 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
at 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 frantic despair
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.
