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 rainbow-hued --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 con-fused memory full of regrets.In that vain contest I have exhausted the warmth of soul and firmness of will indispensable to an active life.Ihave 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 some-what 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 meta-physics 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 chikhirthan 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"...
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 Ifell 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.
