RY

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 pass