A Hero of Our Time [35]
indifferent to those ex- pressive 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 -- "gentle- men, 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 hang- ing, and took down at random one of the pistols -- of which there were several of different cali- bres. 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 cor- roborated 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
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 -- "gentle- men, 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 hang- ing, and took down at random one of the pistols -- of which there were several of different cali- bres. 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 cor- roborated 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