To endure for an hour and to live for a century. Instructions for using the book “How to live so that you want to live?”

Performer: Vadim Tsimbalov
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FATALIST

I once happened to live for two weeks in a Cossack village on the left

flank; an infantry battalion was stationed right there; officers gathered at each other's place

alternately, in the evenings they played cards.

One day, bored with Boston and throwing the cards under the table, we sat

Major S*** for a very long time; The conversation, contrary to usual, was entertaining.

They reasoned that the Muslim belief that a person’s fate is written

in heaven, finds many admirers among us Christians; every

told various unusual cases pro or contra.

“All this, gentlemen, does not prove anything,” said the old major, “after all,

none of you witnessed the strange incidents with which you confirm

your opinions?

Of course, no one, many said, but we heard from faithful people...

All this is nonsense! - someone said, - where are these faithful people who saw

a list on which the hour of our death is appointed?.. And if there is definitely

predestination, then why were we given will, reason? why should we give

an account of our actions?

At this time, one officer, sitting in the corner of the room, stood up and slowly

Approaching the table, he looked at everyone calmly. He was a Serb by birth

it was clear from his name.

Lieutenant Vulich's appearance corresponded completely to his character. High growth

and dark complexion, black hair, black penetrating eyes, large, but

correct nose, belonging to his nation, sad and cold smile, forever

wandering on his lips - all this seemed to agree in order to

give him the appearance of a special being, incapable of sharing thoughts and

passions with those whom fate gave him as comrades.

He was brave, spoke little, but sharply; I didn’t trust my heart to anyone

And family secrets; I drank almost no wine at all, for the young Cossack women - whom

charm is difficult to achieve without seeing them, he never dragged himself. They said

however, that the colonel's wife was not indifferent to his expressive eyes; But

he was seriously angry when this was hinted at.

There was only one passion that he did not hide: the passion for the game. Behind

at the green table he forgot everything and usually lost; but permanent

failures only irritated his stubbornness. They said that once, during

expedition, at night, he threw a bank on his pillow, he was terribly lucky. All of a sudden

Shots rang out, the alarm sounded, everyone jumped up and rushed to arms.

"Go all in!" - Vulich shouted, without getting up, to one of the hottest

punters. “Seven is coming,” he answered, running away. Despite the general

turmoil, Vulich threw a tally, the card was given.

When he arrived at the chain, there was already a heavy firefight. Vulich is not

cared neither about bullets nor about Chechen sabers: he was looking for his lucky

Seven given! - he shouted, finally seeing him in the chain of skirmishers,

which began to push the enemy out of the forest, and, coming closer, he took out

his purse and wallet and gave them to the lucky one, despite objections about

inappropriateness of payment. Having fulfilled this unpleasant duty, he rushed forward,

drew the soldiers along with him and exchanged fire in cold blood until the very end of the matter

with the Chechens.

When Lieutenant Vulich approached the table, everyone fell silent, expecting him to

some original trick.

ordinary), gentlemen! Why empty disputes? You want proof: I

I suggest you try on yourself whether a person can willfully dispose

our lives, or each of us has a fateful moment assigned in advance... To whom

Not for me, not for me! - was heard from all sides, - what an eccentric! will come to

I propose a bet! - I said jokingly.

“I affirm that there is no predestination,” I said, pouring out onto the table

about two dozen chervonets was all I had in my pocket.

fifteen chervonets, the remaining five you owe me, and make me friendship

add them to these.

“Okay,” said the major, “I just don’t understand, really, what’s the matter and how.”

will you resolve the dispute?..

Vulich walked out silently into the major's bedroom; we followed him. He approached

wall on which the weapon hung, and at random removed one of the

different caliber pistols; We didn’t understand it yet; but when he cocked the trigger

and poured gunpowder onto the shelf, many, involuntarily screaming, grabbed him by the

What do you want to do? Listen, this is crazy! - they shouted to him.

Gentlemen! - he said slowly, freeing his hands, - to anyone

pay twenty chervonets for me?

Everyone fell silent and walked away.

Vulich went into another room and sat down at the table; everyone followed him: he

he motioned for us to sit in a circle. They silently obeyed him: at that moment he

acquired some kind of mysterious power. I looked at him intently

eyes; but he met my searching gaze with a calm and motionless gaze,

and his pale lips smiled; but, despite his composure, I

it seemed as if I read the stamp of death on his pale face. I have noticed and many

old warriors confirmed my remark that often on the face of a person who

should die in a few hours, there is some strange print

inevitable fate, so that it is difficult for habitual eyes to make a mistake.

You are going to die today! - I told him.

He quickly turned to me, but answered slowly and calmly:

Maybe yes, maybe no... Then, turning to the major, he asked:

is the gun loaded? The major, confused, did not remember well.

Come on, Vulich! - someone shouted, - it’s probably loaded, if in

hung in their heads, what kind of desire to joke!..

Silly joke! - picked up another.

I'll give you fifty rubles against five that the gun isn't loaded! -

shouted the third.

New bets were made.

I'm tired of this long ceremony.

Listen, - I said, - either shoot yourself, or hang up the gun on

the same place, and let's go to bed.

Of course,” many exclaimed, “let’s go to bed.”

Gentlemen, I ask you not to move! - said Vulich, pointing

the barrel of a gun to the forehead. Everyone seemed to have turned to stone.

Mr. Pechorin, he added, “take the card and throw it up.”

I took from the table, as I now remember, the ace of hearts and threw it up:

Everyone's breathing stopped; all eyes expressing fear and some

vague curiosity, ran from the pistol to the fatal ace, who,

trembling in the air, he sank slowly; the minute he touched the table,

Vulich pulled the trigger... misfire!

God bless! - many cried out, - not loaded...

We’ll see, however,” Vulich said. He cocked the hammer again and took aim.

into a cap hanging over the window; a shot rang out and smoke filled the room.

When it dissipated, they took off their cap: it was pierced in the very middle and the bullet

deeply embedded in the wall.

For three minutes no one could utter a word. Vulich poured it into his wallet

my chervonets.

There were rumors about why the pistol did not fire the first time; others

claimed that the shelf was probably clogged, others said in a whisper that

before, the gunpowder was damp, and after that Vulich sprinkled it with fresh; but I argued

that the last assumption is unfair, because I do not always

took his eyes off the gun.

“You are happy in the game,” I told Vulich...

For the first time in my life,” he answered, smiling smugly, “this

better than bank and stoss.

But a little more dangerous.

And what? have you started to believe in predestination?

I believe; I just don’t understand now why it seemed to me that you

must certainly die today...

This same man, who so recently calmly aimed at his forehead,

now he suddenly flushed and became embarrassed.

However, enough is enough! - he said, getting up, our bet is over, and

Now your comments, it seems to me, are inappropriate... - He took his hat and left. This

It seemed strange to me - and for good reason!..

Soon everyone went home, talking differently about Vulich’s quirks and,

against a man who wanted to shoot himself; as if he couldn't live without me

find an opportunity!..

I was returning home empty alleys villages; month, full and

red, like the glow of a fire, began to appear from behind the jagged horizon

houses; the stars shone calmly on dark blue vault, and I felt funny

when I remembered that there were once wise people who thought that the luminaries

heavenly ones take part in our insignificant disputes over a piece of land or for

some fictitious rights!.. So what? these lamps, lit, according to them

opinion, only in order to illuminate their battles and celebrations, they burn with

their former splendor, and their passions and hopes had long since faded away along with them, as

a light lit at the edge of the forest by a careless wanderer! But what willpower

gave them the confidence that the whole sky with its countless inhabitants

looks at them with sympathy, although mute, but unchanging!.. And we, their pathetic

descendants wandering the earth without convictions and pride, without pleasure and

fear, except for that involuntary fear that squeezes the heart at the thought of the inevitable

In the end, we are no longer capable of making great sacrifices, either for the good of humanity or

even for our own happiness, because we know its impossibility and are indifferent

we move from doubt to doubt, as our ancestors rushed from one

delusions towards another, having, like them, neither hope nor even

uncertain, although true, pleasure that the soul meets in

any struggle with people or fate...

And many other similar thoughts passed through my mind; I didn't hold them back

because I don’t like to dwell on some abstract thought. And to

where does this lead?.. In my first youth I was a dreamer, I loved to caress

alternately gloomy and rosy images that my restless mind drew to me

and greedy imagination. But what does this leave me with? just tiredness

after a night battle with a ghost, and a vague memory filled

regrets. In this futile struggle I exhausted both the heat of my soul and the constancy of my will,

necessary for real life; I entered this life having already experienced it

mentally, and I felt bored and disgusted, like someone who reads a bad imitation

a book known to him for a long time.

The incident of this evening had a rather profound effect on me.

impressed and irritated my nerves; I don’t know if I believe it now

predestination or not, but that evening I firmly believed him: proof

was striking, and I, despite the fact that I laughed at our ancestors and their

helpful astrology, I unwittingly fell into their rut, but I stopped myself

on time on this dangerous path and, having the rule of not rejecting anything decisively

and not trust anything blindly, threw metaphysics aside and began to look

under your feet. This precaution was very useful: I almost fell,

stumbling upon something thick and soft, but apparently lifeless. I'm leaning over

The moon has already shone directly on the road - so what? there was a pig lying in front of me,

cut in half by a sword... I barely had time to examine it when I heard a noise

steps: two Cossacks were running from the alley, one came up to me and asked if

Have I ever seen a drunken Cossack chasing a pig? I told them that I didn't

met a Cossack, and pointed out the unfortunate victim of his frantic bravery.

What a robber! - said the second Cossack, - as the chikhir gets drunk, so

I went to crumble whatever I found. Let's go get him, Eremeich, we need to tie him up,

They left, and I continued on my way with greater caution and

finally happily arrived at my apartment.

I lived with an old policeman whom I loved for his kind disposition, and

especially for my pretty daughter Nastya.

She, as usual, was waiting for me at the gate, wrapped in a fur coat;

the moon illuminated her lovely lips, blue from the night cold. Having recognized me, she

smiled, but I had no time for it. “Goodbye, Nastya,” I said, passing

by. She wanted to answer something, but just sighed.

I closed the door of my room behind me, lit a candle and rushed to

bed; only the dream this time made itself wait more than usual. Already

the east began to fade when I fell asleep, but apparently it was written on

heavens that I won't get enough sleep that night. At four o'clock in the morning two fists

they knocked on my window. I jumped up: what is it?.. “Get up, get dressed!” -

were pale as death.

Vulich was killed.

I was dumbfounded.

Yes, he was killed, they continued, let’s go quickly.

But where?

Dear, you will find out.

We are going. They told me everything that happened, with a mixture of different

remarks about the strange predestination that saved him from inevitable

death half an hour before death. Vulich walked alone along a dark street: he

a drunken Cossack ran into him, hacked up a pig, and perhaps would have passed by if not

noticing him, if Vulich had not suddenly stopped and said: “Who are you, brother,

looking for" - "You!" - answered the Cossack, hitting him with a saber, and cut him from the shoulder

almost to the heart... Two Cossacks who met me and followed the killer,

They arrived in time, raised the wounded man, but he was already on his last legs and said

just two words: “He’s right!” I was the only one who understood dark meaning these words: they

treated me; I unwittingly predicted the poor man’s fate; my instinct is not

deceived me: I definitely read on his changed face the stamp of a loved one

The killer locked himself in an empty hut at the end of the village. We were going there. A bunch of

women ran crying in the same direction; a sometimes late Cossack

jumped out into the street, hastily fastening the dagger, and ran ahead of us.

The turmoil was terrible.

Finally we have arrived; look: around the hut, whose doors and shutters

locked from the inside, there is a crowd. Officers and Cossacks argue heatedly among themselves:

women howl, chanting and wailing. Among them it caught my eye

significant person old woman, expressing insane despair. She was sitting on

thick log, leaning his elbows on his knees and supporting his head with his hands: then

was the killer's mother. Her lips moved from time to time: they whispered a prayer or

a curse?

Meanwhile, it was necessary to decide on something and capture the criminal.

No one, however, dared to rush in first. I went to the window and looked out

shutter crack: pale, he was lying on the floor, holding right hand gun;

a bloody saber lay next to him. His expressive eyes are scary

revolved around; sometimes he shuddered and grabbed his head, as if

vaguely remembering yesterday. I didn't read much resolution into this

with a worried look and told the major that it was in vain that he did not order the door to be broken down

and the Cossacks rush there, because it’s better to do it now than later,

when he comes to his senses.

At this time, the old captain came to the door and called him by name; That

responded.

“I’ve sinned, brother Efimych,” said the captain, “there’s nothing to do,

submit!

I will not submit! - answered the Cossack.

Fear God. After all, you are not a cursed Chechen, but an honest Christian; Well,

If your sin has entangled you, there is nothing to do: you will not escape your fate!

I will not submit! - the Cossack shouted menacingly, and one could hear the click

cocked hammer.

Hey auntie! - the captain said to the old woman, - tell your son, maybe you

listen... After all, this is only to anger God. Look, there are two gentlemen

waiting for hours.

The old woman looked at him intently and shook her head.

Vasily Petrovich, - said the captain, approaching the major, - he will not give up -

I know him. And if the door is broken, many of our people will be killed. Would you like to order

is it better to shoot him? There is a wide gap in the shutter.

At that moment a strange thought flashed through my head: like

Vulich, I decided to try my luck.

Wait, I told the major, I’ll take him alive.

He ordered Esaul to start a conversation with him and placed three Cossacks at the door,

ready to knock her out and rush to my aid at this sign, I walked around the hut

and approached the fatal window. My heart was beating fast.

Oh you damned one! - shouted the captain. - What are you, laughing at us, or what?

Do you think that you and I can’t cope? - He started knocking on the door with all his might.

strength, I, putting my eye to the crack, followed the movements of the Cossack, who did not expect with

this side of the attack - and suddenly he tore off the shutter and threw himself head first into the window

down. The shot rang out right next to my ear, and the bullet tore off my epaulette. But the smoke

filling the room, prevented my opponent from finding a checker lying near

him. I grabbed his hands; the Cossacks burst in, and less than three minutes had passed when

the criminal was already tied up and taken away under escort. The people dispersed. Officers

I was congratulated - for sure, there was something!

After all this, how can one not become a fatalist? But who

knows for sure whether he is convinced of something or not?.. and how often do we take for

conviction is a deception of feelings or a lapse of reason!..

I like to doubt everything: this disposition of mind does not interfere

decisiveness of character - on the contrary, as for me, I am always bolder

I go forward when I don’t know what awaits me. After all, nothing is worse than death

happens - but you can’t escape death!

Returning to the fortress, I told Maxim Maksimych everything that happened

with me and what I witnessed, and wanted to know his opinion about

predestination. He didn't understand this word at first, but I explained it as

could, and then he said, shaking his head significantly:

Yes, sir! Of course, sir! This is a rather tricky thing!.. However, these

Asian triggers often misfire if they are poorly lubricated or not strong enough

press with your finger; I admit, I also don’t like Circassian rifles; They

somehow indecent for our brother: the butt is small, just look at the nose

it will burn... But they have checkers - just my respect!

Then he said, after thinking for a while:

Yes, it’s a pity for the poor fellow... The devil pulled him at night with a drunk

talk!.. However, apparently, it was written in his family...

I couldn't get anything more out of him: he doesn't love me at all.

metaphysical debates.

I once happened to live for two weeks in a Cossack village. One day we stayed with Major S*** for a very long time; The conversation, contrary to usual, was entertaining. They talked about how a person’s fate was written in heaven; each told different extraordinary cases, pro or contra.

“All this, gentlemen, does not prove anything,” said the old major, “after all, none of you witnessed those strange cases with which you confirm your opinions?”

“Of course, no one,” many said, “but we heard from faithful people...

- All this is nonsense! - someone said, - where are these faithful people?

At this time, one officer stood up and slowly approached the table, looking at everyone with a calm look. He was a Serb by birth, as was clear from his name.

Lieutenant Vulich's appearance corresponded completely to his character. Tall stature and dark complexion, black hair, black penetrating eyes, a large but correct nose, belonging to his nation, a sad and cold smile that always wandered on his lips - all this seemed to agree in order to give him the appearance of a special being, unable to share thoughts and passions with those whom fate gave him as comrades.

He was brave, spoke little, but sharply; he didn’t trust his spiritual and family secrets to anyone; I hardly drank wine at all, and I never pursued young Cossack girls. There was only one passion that he did not hide: the passion for the game. At the green table he forgot everything and usually lost; but constant failures only irritated his stubbornness. They said that since he threw a bank on a pillow, he was terribly lucky. Suddenly shots rang out and everyone rushed to their weapons. “Go all in!” - shouted Vulich, one of the hottest punters. “Seven is coming,” he answered, running away. Vulich threw a tally, the card was given. When he arrived at the chain, there was already a heavy firefight. Vulich did not care about bullets or Chechen sabers: he was looking for his lucky punter.

- Seven is given! - he shouted and took out his wallet and gave it, despite objections about the inappropriateness of the payment. Afterwards, until the very end of the case, he exchanged fire with the Chechens in cold blood.

When Vulich approached the table, everyone was expecting some original trick.

- Gentlemen! You want proof: I suggest you try it on yourself, whether a person can arbitrarily dispose of his life... Anyone?

- I offer a bet! - I said jokingly, - I affirm that there is no predestination.

“Okay,” said the major, “but I don’t understand how you will resolve the dispute?”

Vulich walked up to the wall on which the weapon was hanging and randomly took off one of the pistols; cocked the hammer and poured gunpowder onto the shelf and put it to his head. Despite his composure, it seemed to me that I read the mark of death on his pale face. I have noticed, and many old warriors have confirmed my observation, that often on the face of a man who is to die in a few hours there is some strange imprint of inevitable fate.

- You are going to die today! – I told him.

- Maybe yes, maybe no... Then, turning to the major, he asked: is the pistol loaded? The major, confused, did not remember well.

- I'll take fifty rubles against five that the gun is not loaded! - someone shouted.

New bets were made.

“Mr. Pechorin,” said Vulich, “take the card and throw it up.”

I took from the table, as I now remember, the ace of hearts and threw it up; the minute he touched the table, Vulich pulled the trigger... misfire!

- God bless! - many cried out, - not loaded...

“We’ll see, however,” said Vulich. He cocked the hammer again and a shot rang out.

For three minutes no one could utter a word.

– Have you started to believe in predestination? – he asked me.

- I believe; but I don’t understand why it seemed to me that you should die today...

Soon everyone went home, talking differently about Vulich’s quirks.

I was returning home. I felt funny when I remembered that people once thought that the stars took part in our insignificant disputes... But what strength of will the confidence that the whole sky was looking at them with participation gave them! And we, their pitiful descendants, indifferently move from doubt to doubt, as our ancestors rushed from one error to another, having, like them, neither hope nor even that vague, although true, pleasure that the soul meets in every struggle with people or fate...

The incident of this evening made a rather deep impression on me. That evening I firmly believed in predestination: the proof was striking, but I stopped myself in time on this dangerous path and began to look at my feet. This precaution was very useful: I almost fell when I bumped into something. In front of me lay a pig, cut in half with a saber... Then two Cossacks ran out of the alley, one came up to me and asked if I had seen a drunken Cossack who was chasing a pig. I announced to them that I had not met the Cossack, and pointed out the unfortunate victim of his furious courage.

They left, and I continued on my way with greater caution and finally arrived happily at my apartment. I lived with an old policeman, whom I loved for his kind disposition, and especially for his pretty daughter Nastya. She, as usual, was waiting for me at the gate. Recognizing me, she smiled, but I had no time for her. “Goodbye, Nastya,” I said, passing by. She wanted to answer something, but just sighed.

I closed the door of my room behind me and threw myself on the bed. At four o'clock in the morning two fists knocked on my window. I jumped up: what is it?

- Vulich was killed.

- But where?

- Dear, you will find out.

We are going. They told me everything that happened. Vulich was walking alone along a dark street: a drunken Cossack ran into him and chopped up a pig. With his last breath, he said only two words: “He’s right!” My instinct did not deceive me: I definitely read on his changed face the mark of his imminent death.

The killer locked himself in an empty hut at the end of the village. Finally, we have arrived; look: there is a crowd around the hut. Among them, the significant face of an old woman caught my eye, expressing insane despair - it was the mother of the murderer.

Meanwhile, it was necessary to decide on something and capture the criminal. I went to the window and looked through the crack in the shutter: pale, he was lying on the floor, holding a pistol in his right hand; a bloody saber lay next to him. His expressive eyes rolled around terribly; sometimes he shuddered and grabbed his head, as if vaguely remembering yesterday. I did not read much determination in this restless look and told the major that it was in vain that he did not order the Cossacks to break down the door and rush in there, because it was better to do it now than later, when he completely came to his senses.

At this time, the old captain came to the door and called him by name; he responded.

“I’ve sinned, brother Efimych,” said the captain, “there’s nothing to do, submit!”

- I won’t submit! - answered the Cossack.

- Fear God. After all, you are an honest Christian!

- I won’t submit! - the Cossack shouted, and you could hear the cocked trigger click.

- Hey, auntie! - the captain said to the old woman, - tell your son, maybe he’ll listen to you...

The old woman looked at him intently and shook her head.

“Vasily Petrovich,” said the captain, approaching the major, “he will not give up - I know him.” And if the door is broken, many of our people will be killed. Would you rather order him to be shot? There is a wide gap in the shutter.

At that moment a strange thought flashed through my head: like Vulich, I decided to tempt fate.

“Wait,” I told the major, “I’ll take him alive.”

Ordering the captain to start a conversation with him and placing three Cossacks at the door, ready to knock it out and rush to my aid at this sign, I walked around the hut and approached the fatal window. My heart was beating fast.

- Oh, you damned one! - the captain shouted. He started knocking on the door with all his might, I tore off the shutter and threw myself head first out the window. The shot rang out right next to my ear, and the bullet tore off my epaulette. But the smoke that filled the room prevented my opponent from finding the checker. I grabbed his hands; The Cossacks burst in and the criminal was tied up. The officers congratulated me - there was definitely something to be said for!

After all this, how can one not become a fatalist?

I like to doubt everything: this disposition of mind does not interfere with the decisiveness of my character - on the contrary, as for me, I always move forward more boldly when I do not know what awaits me. After all, nothing worse can happen than death—and you can’t escape death!

Returning to the fortress, I told Maxim Maksimych everything that happened to me and what I witnessed, and wanted to know his opinion about predestination.

- Yes, sir! Of course, sir! This is a rather tricky thing!.. However, these Asian triggers often misfire if they are poorly lubricated or if you do not press firmly enough with your finger; but they have checkers - just my respect! Yes, sorry for the poor guy...

I couldn’t get anything more out of him: he doesn’t like metaphysical debates at all.

I once happened to live for two weeks in a Cossack village on the left flank; an infantry battalion was stationed right there; The officers gathered at each other's houses one by one and played cards in the evenings.

One day, having become bored with Boston and throwing the cards under the table, we sat at Major S***’s for a very long time; The conversation, contrary to usual, was entertaining. They reasoned that the Muslim belief that a person’s fate is written in heaven also finds many admirers among us Christians; each told different extraordinary cases, pro or contra.

“All this, gentlemen, does not prove anything,” said the old major, “after all, none of you witnessed those strange cases with which you confirm your opinions?”

“Of course, no one,” many said, “but we heard from faithful people...

- All this is nonsense! - someone said, - where are these faithful people who saw the list on which the hour of our death is appointed?.. And if there is definitely a predestination, then why were we given will, reason? why should we give an account of our actions?

At this time, one officer, who was sitting in the corner of the room, stood up and slowly approached the table, looking at everyone with a calm look. He was a Serb by birth, as was clear from his name.

He was brave, spoke little, but sharply; he didn’t trust his spiritual and family secrets to anyone; He drank almost no wine at all, and he never pursued young Cossack girls, whose beauty is difficult to achieve without seeing them. They said, however, that the colonel's wife was partial to his expressive eyes; but he was seriously angry when it was hinted at.

There was only one passion that he did not hide: the passion for the game. At the green table he forgot everything and usually lost; but constant failures only irritated his stubbornness. They said that once, during the expedition, at night, he threw a bank on his pillow, he was terribly lucky. Suddenly shots rang out, the alarm sounded, everyone jumped up and rushed to their weapons. “Go all in!” - Vulich shouted, without getting up, to one of the hottest punters. “Seven is coming,” he answered, running away. Despite the general turmoil, Vulich threw a tally, the card was given.

When he arrived at the chain, there was already a heavy firefight. Vulich did not care about bullets or Chechen sabers: he was looking for his lucky punter.

- Seven is given! - he shouted, finally seeing him in the chain of skirmishers who were beginning to push the enemy out of the forest, and, coming closer, he took out his purse and wallet and gave them to the lucky one, despite objections about the inappropriateness of the payment. Having fulfilled this unpleasant duty, he rushed forward, dragged the soldiers along with him and, until the very end of the matter, exchanged fire with the Chechens in cold blood.

When Lieutenant Vulich approached the table, everyone fell silent, expecting some original trick from him.

- Gentlemen! - he said (his voice was calm, although in a lower tone than usual), - gentlemen! Why empty disputes? You want proof: I suggest you try it on yourself, can a person arbitrarily dispose of his life, or is a fatal moment assigned to each of us in advance... Anyone?

- Not for me, not for me! - it was heard from all sides, - what an eccentric! will come to mind!..

- I offer a bet! – I said jokingly.

“I affirm that there is no predestination,” I said, pouring out about two dozen ducats onto the table—all that was in my pocket.

“Okay,” said the major, “I just don’t understand, really, what’s the matter and how will you resolve the dispute?”

Vulich walked out silently into the major's bedroom; we followed him. He walked up to the wall on which the weapons hung, and at random took one of the different-caliber pistols from a nail; We didn’t understand it yet; but when he cocked the trigger and poured gunpowder onto the shelf, many, involuntarily screaming, grabbed his hands.

- What do you want to do? Listen, this is crazy! - they shouted to him.

- Gentlemen! - he said slowly, freeing his hands, - who wants to pay twenty ducats for me?

Everyone fell silent and walked away.

Vulich went into another room and sat down at the table; everyone followed him: he motioned for us to sit in a circle. We silently obeyed him: at that moment he acquired some kind of mysterious power over us. I looked into his eyes intently; but he met my searching gaze with a calm and motionless gaze, and his pale lips smiled; but, despite his composure, it seemed to me that I read the mark of death on his pale face. I have noticed, and many old warriors have confirmed my observation, that often on the face of a person who is to die in a few hours there is some strange imprint of inevitable fate, so that it is difficult for accustomed eyes to make a mistake.

- You are going to die today! – I told him.

He quickly turned to me, but answered slowly and calmly:

- Maybe yes, maybe no... Then, turning to the major, he asked: is the pistol loaded? The major, confused, did not remember well.

– That’s enough, Vulich! - someone shouted, - it’s probably loaded, if it’s hanging in your head, what kind of desire to joke!..

- Silly joke! – picked up another.

- I'll take fifty rubles against five that the gun is not loaded! - shouted the third.

New bets were made.

I'm tired of this long ceremony.

“Listen,” I said, “either shoot yourself, or hang up the pistol in its original place, and let’s go to bed.”

“Of course,” many exclaimed, “let’s go to bed.”

- Gentlemen, I ask you not to move! - said Vulich, putting the muzzle of a pistol to his forehead. Everyone seemed to have turned to stone.

“Mr. Pechorin,” he added, “take the card and throw it up.”

I took from the table, as I now remember, the ace of hearts and threw it up: everyone’s breathing stopped; all eyes, expressing fear and some vague curiosity, ran from the pistol to the fatal ace, which, trembling in the air, descended slowly; the minute he touched the table, Vulich pulled the trigger... misfire!

- God bless! - many cried out, - not loaded...

“We’ll see, however,” said Vulich. He cocked the hammer again and took aim at the cap hanging over the window; a shot rang out and smoke filled the room. When it dissipated, they took off their cap: it was pierced in the very middle and the bullet was deeply embedded in the wall.

For three minutes no one could utter a word. Vulich poured my ducats into his wallet.

There were rumors about why the pistol did not fire the first time; others argued that the shelf was probably clogged, others said in a whisper that before the gunpowder was damp and that after Vulich sprinkled it with fresh; but I argued that the latter assumption was unjust, because I had my eye on the pistol all the time.

“You are happy in the game,” I said to Vulich...

“For the first time since I was a child,” he answered, smiling smugly, “it’s better than a bank and a stoss.”

- But a little more dangerous.

- And what? have you started to believe in predestination?

- I believe; I just don’t understand now why it seemed to me that you were definitely going to die today...

This same man, who had so recently been calmly aiming at himself, now suddenly flushed and became embarrassed.

- But enough is enough! - he said, getting up, our bet is over, and now your comments, it seems to me, are inappropriate... - He took his hat and left. This seemed strange to me - and for good reason!..

Soon everyone went home, talking differently about Vulich’s quirks and, probably, unanimously calling me an egoist, because I bet against a man who wanted to shoot himself; as if he couldn’t find an opportunity without me!..

I returned home through the empty alleys of the village; the moon, full and red, like the glow of a fire, began to appear from behind the jagged horizon of houses; the stars calmly shone on the dark blue vault, and I felt funny when I remembered that there were once wise people who thought that the heavenly bodies took part in our insignificant disputes over a piece of land or for some fictitious rights!.. And what? and? these lamps, lit, in their opinion, only to illuminate their battles and triumphs, burn with their former brilliance, and their passions and hopes have long ago died out with them, like a light lit at the edge of the forest by a careless wanderer! But what strength of will was given to them by the confidence that the whole sky with its countless inhabitants was looking at them with participation, albeit mute, but unchanging!.. And we, their pitiful descendants, wandering the earth without convictions and pride, without pleasure and fear, Apart from that involuntary fear that squeezes the heart at the thought of the inevitable end, we are no longer capable of great sacrifices, either for the good of humanity, or even for our own happiness, therefore we know its impossibility and indifferently move from doubt to doubt, as our ancestors rushed from one error to another, having, like them, neither hope, nor even that vague, although true, pleasure that the soul encounters in every struggle with people or fate...

And many other similar thoughts passed through my mind; I didn’t hold them back because I don’t like to dwell on some abstract thought. And what does this lead to?.. In my first youth I was a dreamer, I loved to caress alternately gloomy and rosy images that my restless and greedy imagination painted for me. But what does this leave me with? only fatigue, as after a night battle with a ghost, and a vague memory filled with regrets. In this vain struggle I exhausted both the heat of my soul and the constancy of will necessary for real life; I entered this life having already experienced it mentally, and I felt bored and disgusted, like someone who reads a bad imitation of a book he has long known.

The incident of this evening made a rather deep impression on me and irritated my nerves; I don’t know for sure whether I now believe in predestination or not, but that evening I firmly believed in it: the proof was striking, and despite the fact that I laughed at our ancestors and their helpful astrology, I unwittingly fell into their rut, but I I stopped myself in time on this dangerous path and, having a rule not to reject anything decisively and not to trust anything blindly, threw metaphysics aside and began to look at my feet. This precaution was very useful: I almost fell, bumping into something thick and soft, but apparently lifeless. I lean over - the moon has already shone directly on the road - and what? in front of me lay a pig, cut in half with a saber... I barely had time to examine it when I heard the sound of footsteps: two Cossacks were running from the alley, one came up to me and asked if I had seen a drunken Cossack who was chasing a pig. I announced to them that I had not met the Cossack, and pointed out the unfortunate victim of his furious courage.

- What a robber! - said the second Cossack, - as soon as the chikhir got drunk, he went to crumble whatever he found. Let's go get him, Eremeich, we need to tie him up, otherwise...

They left, and I continued on my way with greater caution and finally arrived happily at my apartment.

I lived with an old policeman, whom I loved for his kind disposition, and especially for his pretty daughter Nastya.

She, as usual, was waiting for me at the gate, wrapped in a fur coat; the moon illuminated her lovely lips, blue from the night cold. Recognizing me, she smiled, but I had no time for her. “Goodbye, Nastya,” I said, passing by. She wanted to answer something, but just sighed.

I closed the door of my room behind me, lit the candle and threw myself on the bed; only the dream this time made itself wait more than usual. The east was already beginning to turn pale when I fell asleep, but apparently it was written in heaven that I would not get enough sleep that night. At four o'clock in the morning two fists knocked on my window. I jumped up: what is it?.. “Get up, get dressed!” – several voices shouted to me. I quickly got dressed and went out. “Do you know what happened?” - the three officers who came after me told me in one voice; they were pale as death.

- Vulich was killed.

I was dumbfounded.

“Yes, he was killed,” they continued, “let’s go quickly.”

- But where?

- Dear, you will find out.

We are going. They told me everything that happened, with an admixture of various remarks about the strange predestination that saved him from certain death half an hour before his death. Vulich was walking alone along a dark street: a drunken Cossack ran into him, having chopped up a pig, and perhaps he would have passed by without noticing him, if Vulich, suddenly stopping, said: “Who are you, brother, looking for?” - "You!" - the Cossack answered, hitting him with a saber, and cut him from the shoulder almost to the heart... Two Cossacks who met me and were watching the killer arrived in time, raised the wounded man, but he was already on his last legs and said only two words: “He’s right!” I alone understood the dark meaning of these words: they referred to me; I unwittingly predicted the poor man’s fate; my instinct did not deceive me: I definitely read on his changed face the mark of his imminent death.

The killer locked himself in an empty hut at the end of the village. We were going there. Many women ran crying in the same direction; From time to time, a late Cossack would jump out into the street, hastily fastening his dagger, and run ahead of us. The turmoil was terrible.

Finally we have arrived; we look: there is a crowd around the hut, the doors and shutters of which are locked from the inside. The officers and Cossacks are arguing heatedly among themselves: the women are howling, condemning and lamenting. Among them, the significant face of an old woman caught my eye, expressing insane despair. She was sitting on a thick log, leaning her elbows on her knees and supporting her head with her hands: she was the mother of the murderer. Her lips moved from time to time: were they whispering a prayer or a curse?

Meanwhile, it was necessary to decide on something and capture the criminal. No one, however, dared to rush in first. I went to the window and looked through the crack in the shutter: pale, he was lying on the floor, holding a pistol in his right hand; a bloody saber lay next to him. His expressive eyes rolled around terribly; sometimes he shuddered and grabbed his head, as if vaguely remembering yesterday. I did not read much determination in this restless look and told the major that it was in vain that he did not order the Cossacks to break down the door and rush in there, because it was better to do it now than later, when he completely came to his senses.

At this time, the old captain came to the door and called him by name; he responded.

“I’ve sinned, brother Efimych,” said the captain, “there’s nothing to do, submit!”

- I won’t submit! - answered the Cossack.

- Fear God. After all, you are not a cursed Chechen, but an honest Christian; Well, if your sin has entangled you, there is nothing to do: you will not escape your fate!

- I won’t submit! - the Cossack shouted menacingly, and you could hear the cocked trigger click.

- Hey, auntie! - the captain said to the old woman, - talk to your son, maybe he will listen to you... After all, this is only to anger God. Look, the gentlemen have been waiting for two hours already.

The old woman looked at him intently and shook her head.

At that moment a strange thought flashed through my head: like Vulich, I decided to tempt fate.

“Wait,” I told the major, “I’ll take him alive.”

- Oh, you damned one! - the captain shouted. -What, are you laughing at us, or what? Do you think that you and I can’t cope? “He began to knock on the door with all his might, I, putting my eye to the crack, followed the movements of the Cossack, who was not expecting an attack from this side, and suddenly he tore off the shutter and threw himself headfirst out of the window. The shot rang out right next to my ear, and the bullet tore off my epaulette. But the smoke that filled the room prevented my opponent from finding the checker lying near him. I grabbed his hands; The Cossacks burst in, and less than three minutes later the criminal was already tied up and taken away under escort. The people dispersed. The officers congratulated me - there was definitely something to be said for!

After all this, how can one not become a fatalist? But who knows for sure whether he is convinced of something or not?.. and how often do we mistake for a belief a deception of feelings or a blunder of reason!..

Returning to the fortress, I told Maxim Maksimych everything that happened to me and what I witnessed, and wanted to know his opinion about predestination. At first he did not understand this word, but I explained it as best I could, and then he said, shaking his head significantly:

- Yes, sir! Of course, sir! This is a rather tricky thing!.. However, these Asian triggers often misfire if they are poorly lubricated or if you do not press firmly enough with your finger; I admit, I also don’t like Circassian rifles; They’re somehow indecent for our brother: the butt is small, and you’ll burn your nose... But they have checkers - just my respect!

Then he said, after thinking for a while:

- Yes, it’s a pity for the poor fellow... The devil dared him to talk to a drunk at night!.. However, apparently, it was written in his family...

I couldn’t get anything more out of him: he doesn’t like metaphysical debates at all.

FATALIST

“All this, gentlemen, does not prove anything,” said the old major, “after all, none of you witnessed those strange cases with which you confirm your opinions?”

Of course, no one, many said, but we heard from faithful people...

All this is nonsense! - someone said, - where are these faithful people who saw the list on which the hour of our death is appointed?.. And if there is definitely a predestination, then why were we given will, reason? why should we give an account of our actions?

There was only one passion that he did not hide: the passion for the game. At the green table he forgot everything and usually lost; but constant failures only irritated his stubbornness. They said that once, during the expedition, at night, he threw a bank on his pillow, he was terribly lucky. Suddenly shots rang out, the alarm sounded, everyone jumped up and rushed to their weapons. "Go all in!" - Vulich shouted, without getting up, to one of the hottest punters. “Seven is coming,” he answered, running away. Despite the general turmoil, Vulich threw a tally, the card was given.

When he arrived at the chain, there was already a heavy firefight. Vulich did not care about bullets or Chechen sabers: he was looking for his lucky punter.

Seven given! - he shouted, finally seeing him in the chain of skirmishers who were beginning to push the enemy out of the forest, and, coming closer, he took out his purse and wallet and gave them to the lucky one, despite objections about the inappropriateness of the payment. Having fulfilled this unpleasant duty, he rushed forward, dragged the soldiers along with him and, until the very end of the matter, exchanged fire with the Chechens in cold blood.

When Lieutenant Vulich approached the table, everyone fell silent, expecting some original trick from him.

Gentlemen! - he said (his voice was calm, although in a lower tone than usual), - gentlemen! Why empty disputes? You want proof: I suggest you try it on yourself, can a person arbitrarily dispose of his life, or is a fatal moment assigned to each of us in advance... Anyone?

Not for me, not for me! - was heard from all sides, - what an eccentric! will come to mind!..

I propose a bet! - I said jokingly.

“I affirm that there is no predestination,” I said, pouring out about two dozen ducats onto the table—all that was in my pocket.

“Okay,” said the major, “I just don’t understand, really, what’s the matter and how will you resolve the dispute?..

What do you want to do? Listen, this is crazy! - they shouted to him.

Gentlemen! - he said slowly, freeing his hands, - who wants to pay twenty ducats for me?

Everyone fell silent and walked away.

You are going to die today! - I told him.

He quickly turned to me, but answered slowly and calmly:

Maybe yes, maybe no... Then, turning to the major, he asked: is the gun loaded? The major, confused, did not remember well.

Come on, Vulich! - someone shouted, - it’s probably loaded, if it’s hanging in your head, what kind of desire to joke!..

Silly joke! - picked up another.

I'll give you fifty rubles against five that the gun isn't loaded! - shouted the third.

New bets were made.

I'm tired of this long ceremony.

Listen,” I said, “either shoot yourself, or hang up the pistol in its original place, and let’s go to bed.”

Of course,” many exclaimed, “let’s go to bed.”

Gentlemen, I ask you not to move! - said Vulich, putting the muzzle of the pistol to his forehead. Everyone seemed to have turned to stone.

Mr. Pechorin, he added, “take the card and throw it up.”

God bless! - many cried out, - not loaded...

We’ll see, however,” Vulich said. He cocked the hammer again and took aim at the cap hanging over the window; a shot rang out and smoke filled the room. When it dissipated, they took off their cap: it was pierced in the very middle and the bullet was deeply embedded in the wall.

For three minutes no one could utter a word. Vulich poured my ducats into his wallet.

“You are happy in the game,” I told Vulich...

“For the first time since I was a child,” he answered, smiling smugly, “it’s better than a bank and a stoss.”

But a little more dangerous.

And what? have you started to believe in predestination?

I believe; I just don’t understand now why it seemed to me that you must certainly die today...

This same man, who had so recently been calmly aiming at himself, now suddenly flushed and became embarrassed.

However, enough is enough! - he said, getting up, our bet is over, and now your comments, it seems to me, are inappropriate... - He took his hat and left. This seemed strange to me - and for good reason!..

The incident of this evening made a rather deep impression on me and irritated my nerves; I don’t know for sure whether I now believe in predestination or not, but that evening I firmly believed in it: the proof was striking, and despite the fact that I laughed at our ancestors and their helpful astrology, I unwittingly fell into their rut, but I stopped himself on time on this dangerous path and, having a rule not to reject anything decisively and not to trust anything blindly, threw metaphysics aside and began to look at his feet. This precaution was very useful: I almost fell, bumping into something thick and soft, but apparently lifeless. I lean over - a month has already shone directly on the road - and what? in front of me lay a pig, cut in half with a saber... I barely had time to examine it when I heard the sound of footsteps: two Cossacks were running from the alley, one came up to me and asked if I had seen a drunken Cossack who was chasing a pig. I announced to them that I had not met the Cossack, and pointed out the unfortunate victim of his furious courage.

What a robber! - said the second Cossack, - as soon as the chikhir got drunk, he went to crumble whatever he found. Let's go get him, Eremeich, we need to tie him up, otherwise...

They left, and I continued on my way with greater caution and finally arrived happily at my apartment.

I lived with an old policeman, whom I loved for his kind disposition, and especially for his pretty daughter Nastya.

I closed the door of my room behind me, lit the candle and threw myself on the bed; only the dream this time made itself wait more than usual. The east was already beginning to turn pale when I fell asleep, but apparently it was written in heaven that I would not get enough sleep that night. At four o'clock in the morning two fists knocked on my window. I jumped up: what is it?.. “Get up, get dressed!” - several voices shouted to me. I quickly got dressed and went out. "Do you know what happened?" - the three officers who came after me told me in one voice; they were pale as death.

Vulich was killed.

I was dumbfounded.

Yes, he was killed, they continued, let’s go quickly.

But where?

Dear, you will find out.

We are going. They told me everything that happened, with an admixture of various remarks about the strange predestination that saved him from certain death half an hour before his death. Vulich was walking alone along a dark street: a drunken Cossack ran into him, having chopped up a pig and, perhaps, would have passed by without noticing him, if Vulich, suddenly stopping, said: “Who are you, brother, looking for” - “You! " - the Cossack answered, hitting him with a saber, and cut him from the shoulder almost to the heart... Two Cossacks who met me and were watching the killer arrived in time, raised the wounded man, but he was already on his last legs and said only two words: “He’s right.” !" I alone understood the dark meaning of these words: they referred to me; I unwittingly predicted the poor man’s fate; my instinct did not deceive me: I definitely read on his changed face the mark of his imminent death.

At this time, the old captain came to the door and called him by name; he responded.

“I’ve sinned, brother Efimych,” said the captain, “there’s nothing to do, submit!”

I will not submit! - answered the Cossack.

Fear God. After all, you are not a cursed Chechen, but an honest Christian; Well, if your sin has entangled you, there is nothing to do: you will not escape your fate!

I will not submit! - the Cossack shouted menacingly, and you could hear the cocked trigger click.

Hey auntie! - the captain said to the old woman, - talk to your son, maybe he will listen to you... After all, this is only to anger God. Look, the gentlemen have been waiting for two hours already.

The old woman looked at him intently and shook her head.

Vasily Petrovich,” said the captain, approaching the major, “he will not give up - I know him.” And if the door is broken, many of our people will be killed. Would you rather order him to be shot? There is a wide gap in the shutter.

At that moment a strange thought flashed through my head: like Vulich, I decided to tempt fate.

Wait, I told the major, I’ll take him alive.

Oh you damned one! - shouted the captain. - What are you, laughing at us, or what? Do you think that you and I can’t cope? - He began to knock on the door with all his might, I, putting my eye to the crack, followed the movements of the Cossack, who was not expecting an attack from this side, - and suddenly he tore off the shutter and threw himself head down through the window. The shot rang out right next to my ear, and the bullet tore off my epaulette. But the smoke that filled the room prevented my opponent from finding the checker lying near him. I grabbed his hands; The Cossacks burst in, and less than three minutes later the criminal was already tied up and taken away under escort. The people dispersed. The officers congratulated me - for sure there was something!

Yes, sir! Of course, sir! This is a rather tricky thing!.. However, these Asian triggers often misfire if they are poorly lubricated or if you do not press firmly enough with your finger; I admit, I also don’t like Circassian rifles; They are somehow indecent for our brother: the butt is small, and just in case it burns your nose... But they have checkers - just my respect!

Then he said, after thinking for a while:

Yes, it’s a pity for the poor fellow... The devil dared him to talk to a drunk at night!.. However, apparently, it was written in his family...

I couldn’t get anything more out of him: he doesn’t like metaphysical debates at all.

Notes to the story

from Collected Works in 4 volumes. T. 4. M., "Pravda", 1969

First published: "Bela" - in " Domestic notes"(1839, vol. 2, sq. 3); "Fatalist" - in "Domestic Notes" (1839, vol. 6, sq. 11); "Taman" - in "Domestic Notes" (1840, vol. 8, sq. 2 ); first separate edition in full - St. Petersburg, 1840. Work on the novel began in 1838 and was completed in 1839. The preface to “A Hero of Our Time” was written in 1841 and first appeared in the second edition of the novel (St. Petersburg, 1841).

The compositional feature of the novel lies in the sequence with which the components of its story are arranged: the development of the plot is connected not with the history of the hero’s life, but with the history of the author’s acquaintance with the hero, that is, with the “history” of revealing the character of the hero. Only by mentally rearranging the stories can one restore the chronological sequence of the facts of Pechorin’s life: 1) on the way from St. Petersburg to the Caucasus, Pechorin stops in Taman (“Taman”); 2) after participating in military expedition Pechorin goes to the waters and lives in Pyatigorsk and Kislovodsk, where he kills Grushnitsky in a duel ("Princess Mary"); 3) for this Pechorin is sent to the fortress under the command of Maxim Maksimych (“Bela”); 4) Pechorin leaves the fortress for two weeks to the Cossack village, where he meets Vulich (“Fatalist”); 5) five years after this, Pechorin, who had already retired and lived in St. Petersburg, travels to Persia and on the way, in Vladikavkaz, meets Maxim Maksimych and the author (“Maksim Maksimych”); 6) on way back from Persia Pechorin dies ("Preface" to "Pechorin's Journal").

Gurda is the name of the best Caucasian blades (named after the gunsmith).

“...as the scientist Gamba calls it, le Mont St.-Christophe” - the French consul in Tiflis Jacques-François Gamba mistakenly called it in a book about a trip to the Caucasus Cross Mountain Mount St. Christophe.

Young France - group of young people French writers romantic direction (30s of the 19th century);

Goethe's Mignon - the heroine of Goethe's novel "The School Years of Wilhelm Meister",

The last cloud of a scattered storm" is the first line of Pushkin's poem "Cloud".

Roman augurs are priests and fortune tellers. Marcus Tullius Cicero, writer, orator and politician Ancient Rome, in the book “On Fortune-telling,” he says that when meeting each other, the augurs could hardly restrain themselves from laughing.

Fievre lente - slow fever (French).

“A mixture of Circassian and Nizhny Novgorod” is a paraphrase of Chatsky’s words from Act I of Griboyedov’s comedy “Woe from Wit”: “A mixture of languages still prevails: French with Nizhny Novgorod?”

“But to mix these two crafts // There are a lot of hunters - I’m not one of them” - not an entirely accurate quote from Act III comedy "Woe from Wit".

“A mind of cold observations // And a heart of sorrowful observations” - lines from the dedication to “Eugene Onegin”.

“...there are moments when I understand the Vampire...” - The Vampire is the hero of the story of the same name by J. W. Polidori, written according to a plot partly suggested by Byron.

"Beware! Remember Julius Caesar!" - According to legend, Julius Caesar stumbled on the threshold on his way to the Senate, where he was killed by conspirators.

Fatalist - a person who believes in fate (from Latin (fatum - fate).

Full version 20 minutes (≈10 A4 pages), summary 3 minutes.

Main characters

Grigory Aleksandrovich Pechorin (ensign)

Vulich (lieutenant)

Maxim Maksimych (staff captain)

The Fatalist is a chapter from “A Hero of Our Time”; you can find a summary below or in the corresponding section.

One day, Pechorin’s battalion was located in a Cossack village. In the evenings the officers had fun playing cards. Once during such a game they began to talk about fate. Whether it is prescribed for a person or not. And were life and death predestined? The conversation turned into an argument. The debaters were divided into two camps: for and against.

Vulich, who was a passionate gambler and a fatalist, made a proposal to test a person's ability to manage his life. Pechorin proposed a bet. Vulich agreed: if he is destined to die today, then he will die. And if not, he will continue to live.

Vulich grabbed the pistol at random. Everyone around froze. Something irreparable could happen. Pechorin dreamed that he saw a deadly seal in Vulich’s gaze. He informed him about this, saying that he would die today. Vulich fired a shot to the temple. There was a misfire. Those around him breathed a sigh of relief. Everyone was glad that the gun was unloaded and everyone remained alive. However, Vulich shot to the side. The bullet pierced the cap that was hanging on the wall. The gun turned out to be loaded. This stunned the officers. Soon everyone left. Pechorin could not understand why he still felt that Vulich must die today.

Often on the face of a person who is destined to leave this world within a few hours, there is an unusual trace of the inevitability of fate. This can be seen with the naked eye.

In the morning, Pechorin was awakened by the news that an officer had been discovered who had been hacked to death with a saber. This officer turned out to be Vulich. He was killed with a saber by a drunken Cossack when Vulich was heading home. It turned out that the ensign predicted the fate of the unfortunate officer.

The killer was found very soon. He locked himself in the house and did not want to give up. He threatened to shoot. No one could dare to break down the door and catch his bullet. Then Pechorin came up with an idea. He decided to try his luck like Vulich. He entered the house through a window. The Cossack shot only hit the ensign's epaulette. The villagers came running to help and took the killer away. Pechorin received praise as a real hero.

After this episode, the ensign took a long time to decide whether to become a fatalist.

After returning to the fortress, the ensign told the staff captain about what had happened. And he asked if he believed in predestination. Maxim Maksimych shook his head and replied that the weapon often misfired. And naturally, I feel sorry for Vulich. However, apparently it was written in his nature. This concluded the conversation.