"The Fatalist" is the last chapter of "A Hero of Our Time" by M. Yu. Lermontov, which, however, is perceived as an independent work. Its plot not only strikes with unusual events, but pushes the reader to conclusions about human destiny. At school, this chapter of the novel is introduced in the 9th grade. To facilitate the preparation for the lesson, you can use the analysis of the work given in the publication.

Brief analysis

Year of writing - 1838.

History of creation- The researchers believe that the work was written under the impression of a real event. There are several versions of the origin of the plot. Most biographers and literary critics believe that the writer was an eyewitness or participant in the incident with a gun.

Subject- In the work, one can single out a wide and narrow theme: a wide one - life and death, a narrow one - fate in a person's life.

Composition- The composition of the work is simple: the sequence of plot elements is not broken in it, but there is no exposition, since we are already familiar with the main character. Important role dialogues play to develop the main motives.

Genre- Novella.

Direction- Realism.

History of creation

The last part of the novel by M. Yu. Lermontov was written in 1838. The opinions of researchers about the source of the plot differ. The most common version is as follows: M. Yu. Lermontov, together with his friend A. A. Stolypin, was a participant in the incident with a pistol. Biographer P. A. Viskovatov argued that the basis for the episode reproducing Pechorin’s “adventures” in the house of a drunken Cossack was an incident from the life of Uncle Mikhail Yuryevich P. A. Viskovatov.

Some scholars believe that the plot of the novel was borrowed from Byron's memoirs. The British writer recalled how his school friend decided to try his luck by holding a gun to his temple.

Subject

In the chapter "The Fatalist", the analysis should begin with an analysis of motives and ideological sound.

The origins of the motive of fate (rock) are found in ancient literature. Later, many workers of the pen developed it, interpreting it according to the spirit of their era. M. Yu. Lermontov did not stand aside either. In the analyzed work rock theme in human life develops in the context of the eternal question of life and death. These Problems can be seen in other chapters of the novel, but it is in the last chapter that they are most expressive.

Image system"Fatalista" unbranched: Pechorin, Serb Lieutenant Vulich, a drunken Cossack. A secondary role is played by the images of three officers and Maksim Maksimych. In the center of the plot is a bet between Pechorin and Vulich. Both heroes then served in the Cossack village. The officers had a tradition of playing cards in the evenings.

One of these evenings was the last for Vulich. Odd man- this is exactly what others considered him to be - he decided to check if he could rule over his own destiny. Only Pechorin decided to argue with him, who believed that only a person controls his life. The lieutenant took the pistol and put it to his forehead. The gamblers froze and breathed a sigh of relief only when there was a misfire. Vulich brought that a person's life is predetermined.

Pechorin noticed the seal of death on the lieutenant's face and spoke openly about it. This is the whole essence of Pechorin, he is straightforward and cruel, his truth is always terrible with its nakedness. At night, the lieutenant was killed by a drunken Cossack. The tragedy was another proof of the existence of rock. After that, Pechorin decided to try his luck. He climbed into the Cossack killer's house and was able to capture it. It would seem that this is the third proof. But even after that, the hero did not want to believe that he was not the master of his own life.

After reading the work, it is not difficult to guess that the meaning of the name chapter is related to the events reproduced in it. The fatalist is not only Vulich. It can be assumed that this is how, not without irony, the author calls Pechorin.

The main idea of ​​the work: each person has the right to decide whether to believe in fate or not, but still it’s better not to play with fate.

Composition

Parsing plan literary work must include a description of the composition. The formal and semantic organization of the work is simple: the sequence of plot elements is not broken in it, but there is no exposition, since we are already familiar with the main character. The Fatalist can be conditionally divided into three parts: the dispute between Pechorin and Vulich, Pechorin's reflections on fate, Vulich's death, and the episode reproducing the capture of the Cossack.

Genre

The genre of the work is a short story, which is proved by such features: small volume, two main characters, an unusual event, tragic ending, attention is focused on one event, the plot keeps the reader in suspense all the time. The direction of the work of M. Yu. Lermontov "The Fatalist" is realism, since the story is based on real events.

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

One day, bored with Boston and throwing the cards under the table, we stayed at Major S*** for a very long time; the conversation, contrary to custom, was entertaining. It was argued that the Muslim belief that the fate of a person is written in heaven finds many admirers among us Christians; each told different extraordinary cases pro or contra (For or against. (Latin.)).

“All this, gentlemen, proves nothing,” said the old major, “after all, none of you have witnessed those strange cases by which you confirm your opinions ...

“Of course no one! Many said, “But we have heard from faithful people...

- It's all nonsense! - someone said: - where are these faithful people who saw the list on which the hour of our death is indicated? .. And if there is definitely predestination, then why are we given will, reason? Why should we be held accountable for our actions?

At this time, one officer, who was sitting in the corner of the room, got up and, slowly approaching the table, cast a calm and solemn glance at everyone. He was a Serb by birth, as was clear from his name.

The outward appearance of Lieutenant Vulich fully corresponded to his character. Tall stature and swarthy complexion, black hair, black piercing eyes, a large but regular nose, belonging to his nation, a sad and cold smile that always wandered on his lips - all this seemed to be coordinated 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; did not trust anyone with his spiritual and family secrets, almost never drank wine, for young Cossack women, whose charm is difficult to comprehend, without seeing them, he never dragged himself. It was said, however, that the colonel's wife was not indifferent to his expressive eyes; but he was not jokingly angry when it was alluded to.

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 failure only irritated his stubbornness. It was said that once, during the expedition, at night, he threw a bank on a pillow; he was terribly lucky. Suddenly, shots rang out, sounding the alarm. Everyone jumped up and rushed to their weapons. "Put all-in!" shouted Vulich, without getting up, to one of the hottest punters. “The seven are coming,” he answered, running away. Despite the general turmoil, Vulich threw in the hoist. The card has been given.

When he appeared in the chain, there was already a strong exchange of fire. Vulich did not care about either bullets or Chechen drafts: he was looking for his lucky punter.

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

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

“Gentlemen,” he said (his voice was calm, although in a lower tone than usual), “gentlemen, why empty arguments? You want proof: I suggest you try it for yourself, can a person arbitrarily dispose of his life, or is each of us predetermined a fateful minute ... Anyone?

"Not to me, not to me!" - came from all sides: - here's an eccentric! will come to mind!

"I'm offering a bet," I said jokingly.

“I affirm that there is no predestination,” I said, pouring two dozen chervonets onto the table, everything that I had in my pocket.

“All right,” said the major, “only I don’t understand, really, what’s the matter ... and how you will resolve the dispute ...”

Vulich went silently into the major's bedroom. We followed him. He went to the wall on which the weapon hung, and at random removed one of the pistols of different calibers from a nail; we didn't understand it yet; but when he cocked the trigger and poured gunpowder on the shelf, many, involuntarily crying out, grabbed his hands.

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

“Gentlemen,” he said slowly, freeing his hands, “is anyone willing to pay 20 chervonets for me?

Everyone shut up 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. Silently obeyed him: at that moment he acquired some kind of mysterious power over us. I gazed into his eyes; 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 seal of death on his pale face: I 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 imprint of an inevitable fate. so it's hard for normal eyes to be mistaken.

“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 if the pistol was loaded. The Major, in confusion, did not remember well.

— Come on, Vulich! someone shouted: “it’s definitely loaded, if it was hanging in their heads ... what a joke! ..

“Stupid joke,” said another.

- I keep 50 rubles against five that the gun is not loaded! shouted a third.

New bets have been made.

I'm tired of this long ceremony.

“Listen,” I said, “either shoot yourself or hang your gun on former place and go to sleep.

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

“Gentlemen, I ask you not to move,” Vulich said, putting the muzzle of the pistol to his forehead. Everything seemed to be petrified.

"Mr. Pechorin," he added, "take a card and throw it up."

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

“Thank God,” many cried out, “not loaded...

"We'll see, though," said Vulich. He cocked the hammer again, aimed at the cap hanging over the window - a shot rang out, smoke filled the room! When he 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 say a word. Vulich calmly poured my chervonets into his purse.

There was talk about why the pistol didn't fire the first time; others claimed that the shelf was probably clogged, others said in a whisper that the gunpowder had been raw before and that after Vulich sprinkled fresh; but I argued that the latter assumption was unfair, because I kept my eyes on the pistol all the time.

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

“For the first time in my life,” he answered, smiling smugly: “this better than a bank and shtoss.

But a little more dangerous.

- And what, you began to believe in predestination?

“I believe... but now I don’t understand why it seemed to me that you must certainly die today...”

This same man, who had so recently aimed calmly at his forehead, now suddenly flared up and became embarrassed.

"That's enough, though," he said, getting up, "our bet is over, and now your remarks, it seems to me, are out of place..." He took his cap and left. It seemed strange to me - and not for nothing! ..

Soon everyone went home, talking variously about Vulich's whims and, probably with one voice, calling me an egoist, because I bet against a man who wanted to shoot himself; as if he could not find a convenient opportunity without me! ..

I returned home through the empty lanes 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 shone calmly on the dark blue vault, and it became funny to me when I remembered that there were once wise people who thought that the luminaries of heaven take part in our insignificant disputes for a piece of land or for some fictitious rights! .. And that and? these lamps, lit, in their opinion, only to illuminate their battles and celebrations, burn with their former brilliance, and their passions and hopes have long been extinguished with them, like a light lit at the edge of the forest by a careless wanderer. But on the other hand, what strength of will gave them the confidence that the whole sky with its countless inhabitants was looking at them with participation, although dumb, but unchanged! .. And we, their pitiful descendants, wandering the earth without conviction and pride, without pleasure and fear, apart from that involuntary fear that grips the heart at the thought of an 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 its impossibility, and indifferently we pass from doubt to doubt, as our ancestors rushed from one error to another, having, like them, neither hope, nor even that indefinite, although true pleasure, which the soul meets in any struggle with people or with fate.

And many other similar thoughts passed through my mind; I didn't hold them back because I don't like dwelling on some abstract thought. And what does this lead to?.. In my early youth I was a dreamer: I loved to caress alternately now gloomy, now rosy images that my restless and greedy imagination painted for me. But what is left of this for me? - one tiredness, as after a night battle with a ghost, and a vague memory full of regrets. In this futile struggle I have exhausted both the warmth of the soul and the constancy of the will necessary for real life; I entered this life, having already experienced it mentally, and I became bored and disgusted, like someone who reads a bad imitation of a book he has long known.

The incident of that 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 it: the proof was striking, and, despite the fact that I laughed at our ancestors and their helpful astrology, I involuntarily fell into their rut; but I stopped myself in time on this dangerous path and, having the rule not to reject anything resolutely and not to trust anything blindly, I threw metaphysics aside and began to look at my feet. Such a precaution was very useful: I almost fell, stumbling on something thick and soft, but, apparently, inanimate. I bend over - the moon is already shining right on the road - and what? in front of me lay a pig, cut in half by a saber ... I had hardly had time to examine it when I heard the noise of steps: two Cossacks fled from the alley; one came up to me and asked if I had seen a drunken Cossack chasing a pig. I announced to them that I had not met a Cossack, and pointed out the unfortunate victim of his violent courage.

- What a robber! - said the second Cossack: - as soon as the chihira gets drunk, he went to crumble everything that came across. Let's go after him, Eremeich, we must tie him up, otherwise...

They retired, and I continued on my way with greater caution, and finally reached my quarters happily.

I lived with an old sergeant, 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 was not up to her. “Goodbye, Nastya,” I said, passing by. She wanted to say something, but only sighed.

I closed the door of my room behind me, lit the candle, and threw myself on the bed; only the dream this time forced itself to wait for something more ordinary. The east was already beginning to turn pale when I fell asleep, but it was clear that it was written in heaven that I would not sleep that night. At 4 o'clock in the morning, two fists pounded on my window. I jumped up: what is it? .. "Get up, get dressed!" several voices shouted at me. I quickly got dressed and went out. "Do you know what happened?" - three officers who came after me said to me in one voice; they were as pale as death.

Vulich is dead.

I was dumbfounded.

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

— Yes, where to?

“Darling, you know.

We are going. They told me everything that had happened, with an admixture of various remarks about the strange predestination that had saved him from certain death half an hour before his death. Vulich walked alone along the dark street; a drunken Cossack jumped on him, chopping up a pig, and, perhaps, would have passed by without noticing him, if Vulich, suddenly stopping, had not said: “who are you looking for, brother?” — 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, arrived in time, raised the wounded man, but he was already at his last breath and said only two words: “ He's right!" I alone understood the dark meaning of these words: they applied to me; I predicted unwittingly the poor man's fate; my instinct did not deceive me, I just read on his changed face the seal of 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 jumped out into the street, hastily fastening his dagger, and ran ahead of us. The commotion was terrible.

Here, at last, we have come: we look around the hut, the doors and shutters of which are locked from the inside, there is a crowd. Officers and Cossacks talk fervently among themselves; women howl, saying 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 on her knees and supporting her head with her hands: that was the murderer's mother. Her lips moved from time to time: were they whispering a prayer or a curse?

Meanwhile, it was necessary to decide on something and seize the criminal. No one, however, dared to rush first. I went to the window and looked through the gap of the shutter: pale, he was lying on the floor, holding right hand gun; a bloody saber lay beside him. His expressive eyes rolled about terribly; at times he shuddered and clutched 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 would be better to do this now than later, when he completely came to his senses.

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

“You have sinned, brother Efimych,” said the captain, “so there’s nothing to do, submit.

“I won’t submit,” replied the Cossack.

- Fear God, because you are not a cursed Chechen, but an honest Christian; - well, if your sin has beguiled you, there is nothing to do: you will not escape your fate.

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

“Hey, auntie,” the captain said to the old woman, “tell 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.

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

"Vasily Petrovich," said the captain, going up to the major, "he won't give up: I know him." And if the door is broken, then many of our people will be killed. Wouldn't you rather shoot him? there is a wide gap in the shutter.

At that moment a strange thought flashed through my mind: like Vulich, I decided to try my luck.

"Wait," I said to 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 her out and rush to my aid at this sign, I went around the hut and approached the fateful window. My heart was beating fast.

- Oh, you're wicked! - the captain shouted: - why are you laughing at us, or what? Or do you think that we can not cope with you? - 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 did not expect an attack from this side, - and suddenly tore off the shutter and rushed headfirst into the window. A shot rang out just above my ear, the bullet tore off the epaulette. But the smoke that filled the room prevented my opponent from finding the saber that lay beside him. I grabbed his hands; the Cossacks burst in, and three minutes had not passed before the criminal was tied up and taken away under escort. The people dispersed. The officers congratulated me - and for sure, it was with what!

After all this, how could one not become a fatalist, it seems? but who knows for sure whether he is convinced of something or not? .. and how often we mistake for conviction a deception of the senses or a mistake of reason! ..

I like to doubt everything: this disposition of the mind does not interfere with the decisiveness of character - on the contrary; As for me, I always go forward more boldly when I don't know what? awaits me. After all, nothing worse than death will happen - and death cannot be avoided!

Returning to the fortress, I told Maxim Maksimych everything that happened to me and to which I was a witness, and wished to know his opinion about predestination; at first he did not understand this word, but I explained it as well as I could, and then he said, shaking his head significantly:

- Yes, sir! of course! - this is a pretty tricky thing! However, these Asiatic triggers often fail if they are poorly lubricated or if you press your finger hard with displeasure; I confess that I also do not like Circassian rifles; they are somehow indecent to our brother - the butt is small, it will burn his nose at a glance ... But their checkers are just my respect! ..

Then he said, after some thought:

“Yes, it’s a pity for the poor fellow ... The devil pulled him at night with a drunk to talk! .. However, it is clear that it was written in his family ....

I could get nothing more from him: he does not like metaphysical discussions at all.

I once happened to live for two weeks in a Cossack village on the left flank; there was an infantry battalion right there; the officers gathered at each other's houses one by one and played cards in the evenings. One day, bored with Boston and throwing the cards under the table, we stayed at Major S*** for a very long time; the conversation, contrary to custom, was entertaining. It was argued that the Muslim belief that the fate of a person is written in heaven finds many admirers among us Christians; each told different extraordinary cases pro or contra. All this, gentlemen, proves nothing, said the old major, after all, none of you was a witness to those strange cases by which you confirm your opinions? Of course, no one, said many, but we have heard from faithful people... All this is nonsense! someone said, where are these faithful people who have seen the list on which the hour of our death is appointed?.. And if there is definitely predestination, then why are 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, got up, and slowly approaching the table, cast a calm glance at everyone. He was a Serb by birth, as was clear from his name. The outward appearance of Lieutenant Vulich fully corresponded to his character. Tall and swarthy complexion, black hair, black piercing eyes, a large but regular 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; did not confide his spiritual and family secrets to anyone; he hardly drank wine at all, and he never dragged himself after young Cossack women, whose charm is difficult to reach without seeing them. It was said, however, that the colonel's wife was not indifferent to his expressive eyes; but he was not jokingly angry when it was alluded to. 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 failure only irritated his stubbornness. It was said that once, during the expedition, at night, he threw a bank on a pillow, he was terribly lucky. Suddenly, shots rang out, the alarm sounded, everyone jumped up and rushed to the weapon. "Put all-in!" shouted Vulich, without getting up, to one of the hottest punters. “There is a seven,” he answered, running away. Despite the general turmoil, Vulich threw in his talya, the card was given. When he appeared in the chain, there was already a strong exchange of fire. Vulich did not care about bullets or Chechen sabers: he was looking for his lucky ponter. Seven is given! he shouted, seeing him at last in the line of skirmishers who were beginning to drive the enemy out of the forest, and, coming closer, he took out his purse and wallet and gave them to the lucky man, despite objections about the inappropriateness of the payment. Having fulfilled this unpleasant duty, he rushed forward, dragged the soldiers along with him and, to the very end of the case, exchanged fire with the Chechens in cold blood. When Lieutenant Vulich approached the table, everyone was silent, expecting some original trick from him. Lord! he said (his voice was calm, although the tone was lower than usual), gentlemen! why empty arguments? You want proof: I suggest you try it for yourself, can a person arbitrarily dispose of his life, or is each of us pre-assigned a fateful minute ... Anyone? Not to me, not to me! resounded from all sides, here's an eccentric! will come to mind! I offer a bet! I said jokingly. What? I affirm that there is no predestination, I said, pouring two dozen chervonets onto the table, everything that I had in my pocket. I hold, answered Vulich in a hollow voice. Major, you will be the judge; here are fifteen chervonets, the remaining five you owe me, and make me a friend to add them to these. Well, said the major, I just don’t understand, right, what’s the matter and how will you resolve the dispute? .. Vulich went silently into the major's bedroom; we followed him. He went to the wall on which the weapon hung, and at random removed one of the pistols of different calibers from a nail; we didn't understand it yet; but when he cocked the trigger and poured gunpowder on the shelf, many, involuntarily crying out, grabbed his hands. What do you want to do? Listen, this is crazy! shouted at him. Lord! he said slowly, freeing his hands, would anyone pay twenty chervonets for me? Everyone shut up 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. Silently obeyed him: at that moment he acquired some kind of mysterious power over us. I gazed into his eyes; but he met my searching gaze with a calm and motionless gaze, and his pale lips smiled; but, in spite of his composure, it seemed to me that I read the seal of death on his pale face. I have observed, and many old warriors have corroborated my observation, that often there is some strange imprint of inevitable fate on the face of a man who is to die in a few hours, so that it is difficult for accustomed eyes to be mistaken. You will 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, in confusion, did not remember well. Come on, Vulich! someone shouted, it’s probably loaded, if it hung in their heads, what a joke! .. Stupid joke! picked up by another. I keep fifty rubles against five that the gun is not loaded! shouted a third. New bets have been made. I'm tired of this long ceremony. Look, I said, either shoot yourself, or hang up the gun in its original place, and let's go to sleep. Of course, many exclaimed, let's go to sleep. Gentlemen, I ask you not to move! Vulich said, putting the muzzle of the pistol to his forehead. Everything seemed to be petrified. Mr. Pechorin, he added, take a card and throw it up. I took from the table, as I remember now, an ace of hearts and threw it up: everyone stopped breathing; all eyes, expressing fear and a kind of indefinite curiosity, ran from the pistol to the fatal ace, which, fluttering in the air, slowly descended; the minute he touched the table, Vulich pulled the trigger... misfire! Thank God! cried out many, not charged... Let's see, however, Vulich said. He cocked the hammer again, took aim at the cap hanging over the window; a shot rang out 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 say a word. Vulich poured my gold coins into his purse. There was talk about why the pistol didn't fire the first time; others claimed that the shelf was probably clogged, others said in a whisper that the gunpowder had been raw before and that after Vulich sprinkled fresh; but I argued that the latter assumption was unfair, because I kept my eyes on the pistol all the time. You are happy in the game, I said to Vulich... For the first time of his life, he replied, smiling smugly, it is better than a bank and a shtoss. But a little more dangerous. What? did you start believing in predestination? I believe; only I don’t understand now why it seemed to me that you must certainly die today ... This same man, who had so recently aimed calmly at his forehead, now suddenly flared up and became embarrassed. But enough! he said, getting up, our bet is over, and now your remarks, it seems to me, are inappropriate ... He took his hat and left. It seemed strange to me, and not without reason!.. Soon everyone went home, talking variously about Vulich's whims and, probably with one voice, calling me an egoist, because I bet against a man who wanted to shoot himself; as if he could not find a convenient opportunity without me! .. I returned home through the empty lanes 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 shone calmly on the dark blue vault, and it became funny to me when I remembered that there were once wise people who thought that the luminaries of heaven take part in our insignificant disputes for a piece of land or for some fictitious rights! .. And that and? these lamps, lit, in their opinion, only to illuminate their battles and celebrations, burn with their former brilliance, and their passions and hopes have long been extinguished with them, like a light lit at the edge of the forest by a careless wanderer! But on the other hand, what strength of will gave them the confidence that the whole sky with its countless inhabitants was looking at them with participation, although mute, but unchanged! .. And we, their pitiful descendants, wandering the earth without conviction and pride, without pleasure and fear, besides that involuntary fear that grips the heart at the thought of an inevitable end, we are no longer capable of great sacrifices, either for the good of mankind, or even for our own happiness, therefore we know its impossibility and indifferently pass from doubt to doubt, as our ancestors rushed from one delusion to another, having, like them, neither hope, nor even that indefinite, albeit 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 dwelling on some abstract thought. And what does this lead to?.. In my early youth I was a dreamer, I loved to caress alternately now gloomy, now rosy images that my restless and greedy imagination painted for me. But what is left of this for me? only tiredness, as after a nightly battle with a ghost, and a vague memory full of regrets. In this futile struggle, I exhausted both the heat of the soul and the constancy of the will necessary for real life; I entered this life, having already experienced it mentally, and I became bored and disgusted, like someone who reads a bad imitation of a book he has long known. The incident of that 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 it: the proof was striking, and, despite the fact that I laughed at our ancestors and their helpful astrology, I involuntarily fell into their rut; but I stopped myself in time on this dangerous path and, having the rule not to reject anything resolutely and not to trust anything blindly, I threw metaphysics aside and began to look at my feet. Such a precaution was very useful: I almost fell, stumbling on something thick and soft, but, apparently, inanimate. I lean the moon is already shining right on the road and what? in front of me lay a pig, cut in half by a saber ... I had hardly had time to examine it when I heard the noise of steps: two Cossacks fled from the lane, 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 a Cossack, and pointed out the unfortunate victim of his violent courage. What a robber! said the second Cossack, as soon as the chikhir got drunk, he went to chop up everything that came across. Let's go after him, Eremeich, we must tie him up, otherwise... They departed, and I continued on my way with greater caution, and finally reached my apartment happily. I lived with an old sergeant, 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 was not up to her. "Goodbye, Nastya," I said, passing by. She wanted to say something, but only sighed. I closed the door of my room behind me, lit the candle, and flung myself on the bed; only the dream this time forced itself to wait for something more ordinary. The east was already beginning to turn pale when I fell asleep, but it was evidently written in heaven that I would not sleep that night. At four o'clock in the morning two fists pounded 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?" three officers who came for me said to me with one voice; they were as pale as death. What? Vulich is killed. I was dumbfounded. Yes, killed they continued, let's go quickly. But where to? Dear you will know. We are going. They told me everything that had happened, with an admixture of various remarks about the strange predestination that had saved him from certain death half an hour before his death. Vulich was walking alone along a dark street: a drunken Cossack jumped on him, chopping up a pig and, perhaps, would have passed by without noticing him, if Vulich, suddenly stopping, had not said: “Who are you, brother, are you looking for” “ You!" answered the Cossack, hitting him with a sword, and cut him from the shoulder almost to the heart ... Two Cossacks, who met me and followed the killer, arrived in time, raised the wounded man, but he was already at his last gasp and said only two words: "He right!" I alone understood the dark meaning of these words: they applied to me; I predicted unwittingly the poor man's fate; my instinct did not deceive me: I definitely read the seal of imminent death on his changed face. 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; at times a late Cossack jumped out into the street, hastily fastening his dagger, and ran ahead of us. The commotion was terrible. Here we are at last; we look: around the hut, the doors and shutters of which are locked from the inside, there is a crowd. Officers and Cossacks talk fervently among themselves: women howl, saying and lamenting. Among them, I caught my eye the significant face of an old woman, expressing insane despair. She was sitting on a thick log, leaning on her knees and supporting her head with her hands: that was the murderer's mother. Her lips moved from time to time: were they whispering a prayer or a curse? Meanwhile, it was necessary to decide on something and seize the criminal. No one, however, dared to throw himself first. I went to the window and looked through the gap of the shutter: pale, he was lying on the floor, holding a pistol in his right hand; a bloody saber lay beside him. His expressive eyes rolled about terribly; at times he shuddered and clutched 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 would be better to do this now than later, when he completely came to his senses. At this time, the old captain came up to the door and called him by name; he responded. You have sinned, brother Efimych, said the captain, there is 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 beguiled you, there is nothing to do: you will not escape your fate! I will not submit! shouted the Cossack menacingly, and one could hear how the cocked trigger clicked. Hey, aunt! 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. The old woman looked at him intently and shook her head. Vasily Petrovich, said the captain, going up to the major, he will not surrender I know him. And if the door is broken, then many of our people will be killed. Wouldn't you rather 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 said to the major, I will take him alive. Ordering the captain to start a conversation with him and placing three Cossacks at the door, ready to knock her out, and rush to my aid at this sign, I went around the hut and approached the fateful window. My heart was beating fast. Oh, you cursed! the captain shouted, are you laughing at us, or what? Or do you think that we can not cope with you? 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 did not expect an attack from this side, and suddenly tore off the shutter and rushed headfirst into the window. A shot rang out just above my ear, the bullet tore off the epaulette. But the smoke that filled the room prevented my opponent from finding the saber that lay beside him. I grabbed his hands; the Cossacks burst in, and three minutes had not passed before the criminal was tied up and taken away under escort. The people dispersed. The officers congratulated me for sure, there was something! After all this, how would it seem not to become a fatalist? But who knows for sure whether he is convinced of something or not? .. and how often we mistake for conviction a deception of the senses or a mistake of reason! .. I love to doubt everything: this disposition of the mind does not interfere with the decisiveness of character on the contrary, as far as I am concerned, I always go ahead bolder when I do not know what awaits me. After all, nothing worse than death will happen and death cannot be avoided! Returning to the fortress, I told Maxim Maksimych everything that had happened to me and what I had witnessed, and wished to know his opinion about predestination. At first he did not understand this word, but I explained it as well as I could, and then he said, shaking his head significantly: Yes, sir! of course! This is a rather tricky thing! .. However, these Asian triggers often fail if they are poorly lubricated or if you do not press hard enough with your finger; I confess that I also do not like Circassian rifles; they are somehow indecent to our brother: the butt is small, and look, it will burn your nose ... But they have checkers - just my respect! Then he said, after some thought: Yes, it’s a pity for the poor fellow ... The devil pulled him to talk to a drunk at night! .. However, it is clear that it was written in his family ... I could get nothing more from him: he does not like metaphysical discussions at all.

The novel "Hero of Our Time" ("Fatalist"), summary chapters from which are given in this article - an outstanding creation of M.Yu. Lermontov. In it, the author tells about the fate of an outstanding person who, in search of new sensations, embarks on various adventures, but nowhere can he find application for his talent and mind. About one story that happened to him, and will be discussed in this article.

An entertaining topic

Many philosophical questions are raised by the novel A Hero of Our Time. The chapter "The Fatalist", for example, reveals the theme of predestination of fate. Once Pechorin had a chance to spend a couple of weeks in a Cossack village. In the evenings, he played cards with the rest of the officers. One day they were talking about different beliefs. Like, Muslims believe that the fate of a person is predetermined, and some Christians agree with them. During these discussions, a certain officer approached the table, who until then had been sitting all the time in the far corner of the room. It was a Serbian Vulich - a courageous and uncommunicative man who did not trust anyone with his secrets, but experienced an irresistible passion for the game.

Dispute

The novel "A Hero of Our Time" is full of bright events. "The Fatalist", the summary of which captures, tells of a dangerous dispute that arose between two brave officers. Pechorin offered Vulich a bet, stating that the fate of a person cannot be predetermined from above. Then his opponent randomly removed a pistol from the wall and loaded it. Pechorin saw the seal of death on the courageous face of the officer and told him that he would die today. Then Vulich shot himself and the gun misfired. After that, he cocked the trigger again and pierced the cap hanging over the window. Pechorin was surprised by his gloomy foreboding about the officer's death and admitted his defeat.

The way home

A difficult fate has developed for the main character of the novel "A Hero of Our Time". The chapter "The Fatalist" shows us the deep thoughts into which he plunged from time to time. And now, on the way home, Pechorin thought with a grin about people who believe that their insignificant disputes over fictitious rights or a piece of land are interesting higher powers. Suddenly, the officer saw a barrier in front of him, which turned out to be the corpse of a slaughtered pig. The Cossacks explained to Pechorin that a drunk with a saber was wandering around the village, which killed the animal.

Capturing a criminal

The dramatic plot unfolds in the novel "A Hero of Our Time". "The Fatalist", the summary of which is full of surprises, strikes readers with its denouement. Waking up in the morning, Pechorin learned that Vulich had died at the hands of a drunken Cossack. Then he, together with steel officers, went to the hut in which the criminal had disappeared. No one dared to capture the killer alive, then Pechorin decided to try his luck. He burst into the hut, managed to bypass the bullet prepared for him and grabbed the criminal by the hands. After that, the killer was tied up and taken into custody.

Outcome

Does not give unambiguous assessments of what is happening "Hero of Our Time". "Fatalist" (summary) describes the reasoning that Pechorin indulged in after the above incident. He thought that nothing worse than death could happen, so he always goes forward, not looking back at the circumstances. But the simple-hearted Maksim Maksimovich, regarding the events that had happened, noticed that Asian triggers often misfire, and that Vulich had nothing to do with an armed drunkard, apparently, it was destined for him to die at the hands of a murderer ... Nothing more could be achieved from the staff captain, he had no interest in metaphysical discussions at all.

The meaning of the work

The novel A Hero of Our Time is partly autobiographical. "Fatalist", a summary of which is presented above, tells about real events that happened to Lermontov during his stay in the Caucasus. In his work, the author presented this story under the prism of reasoning about "fate", "predestination" and "chance". This range of questions greatly worried the contemporaries of the writer. Lermontov expressed his point of view on this problem. "The Hero of Our Time" ("The Fatalist") three times confirms the possibility of predestination, but this fact does not exclude the possibility for the author of active intervention in life. On the contrary, it is an occasion for decisive participation in a predetermined course of events.

Conclusion

Lermontov's "Hero of Our Time" became an eloquent reproach to his contemporaries. The “fatalist”, whose analysis requires a detailed and comprehensive approach, directly indicates that a person should not indifferently observe the course of life, but must actively intervene in it, despising his own fears and weaknesses. So Pechorin, under any circumstances, preferred not to rely on fate, but to act, hoping for the mercy of the almighty Fortune. With his brave deeds in the novel, he called on the rest of his contemporaries to high civil deeds.

Bela

The narrator-officer, wandering around the Caucasus, meets a fellow traveler - the old staff captain Maxim Maksimych, the former commandant of a fortress on the southern borders of Russia. He tells him a story about a young officer, Grigory Pechorin, who arrived to serve under his command. Pechorin was exiled to the Caucasus after some unpleasant story.

The officer was a "nice fellow", "but one of those people with whom various extraordinary things must happen." He and Maxim Maksimych quickly became friends. Once a local mountain prince invited them to his daughter's wedding. There Pechorin met Bela, youngest daughter prince. A beautiful mountain girl, she was so strikingly different from all the secular beauties that were in Pechorin's life that he decided to steal her from her father's house.

Pechorin was prompted to this idea by the story of Maxim Maksimych about the accidentally overheard conversation between Bela's brother and Kazbich, one of the prince's guests, who also really liked the girl. The boy asked Kazbich to sell him his horse, the best in all of Kabarda, for any money, he agreed to everything and even offered to steal his sister for him. But he refused, and it was in the hands of Pechorin.

See how sometimes an unimportant incident has cruel consequences.

Having promised the boy to help take the horse away from Kazbich as a reward for Bela, Pechorin got what he wanted, although without the approval of Maxim Maksimych. The girl's brother brought her to the fortress, took the horse while Pechorin distracted Kazbich, and disappeared forever, fearing the revenge of the dashing highlander. Kazbich was very upset by the deceit and the loss of his horse, sooner or later his revenge should have touched the participants in the events.

Bela lived in a Russian fortress, homesick and not responding to Pechorin's advances. He failed to melt the ice in her heart neither with words of love, nor with gifts. But over time, her heart thawed, and she fell in love with him. Pechorin, by this time, began to cool towards Bela and was weary of her.

Love is like a fire - it goes out without food.

Boredom, Pechorin's eternal companion, again began to overcome him. Increasingly, he went hunting for a long time, leaving the girl alone in the fortress.

Soon Kazbich showed up and kidnapped Bela. Hearing her cry, Pechorin and Maxim Maksimych gave chase. Kazbich, realizing that he could not leave, left the girl, mortally wounding her. Bela died two days later in Pechorin's arms. He experienced the loss deep in himself and never spoke about Bel again. Shortly after the funeral, he was transferred to another unit. They will meet with Maxim Maskimych only in five years.

Maksim Maksimych

Continuing his journey, the officer-narrator again meets Maxim Maksimych at a roadside hotel. At the same time, here, on the way to Persia, Pechorin stops. The old commandant is very happy about the upcoming meeting and impatiently asks the lackey to report to Pechorin that he is waiting for him at home. Maxim Maksimych has to wait for him for a very long time - all evening and night. He does not understand why Grigory, his old friend, is in no hurry to see him.

When, finally, Pechorin appears, then, contrary to the expectations of the old man, he only greets his colleague coldly and casually and immediately prepares to leave. Maksim Maksimych asks him to stay longer, but he, referring to his haste, refuses. The old man says with chagrin: “I didn’t think to meet you like that,” and hears in response: “That’s enough, everyone has their own way.” Maxim Maksimych asks Pechorin what to do with his journal, which the old man kept all this time, hoping to return on occasion, and hears in response: "Whatever you want."

Pechorin leaves.

For a long time neither the ringing of a bell nor the sound of wheels on the flinty road was heard, and the poor old man stood in the same place in deep thought.

Maxim Maksimych, deeply upset, gives Pechorin's journal to the narrator. He no longer needs it.

The officer's travel notes, together with Grigory Pechorin's diary, become a novel, which he decides to publish after learning that the hero is no longer alive. Gregory died on his way home from Persia. This magazine is an observation of the mind over the torments of the soul, written without vanity and honestly. Main question, which Pechorin occupies, - to what extent can a person control his own destiny?

Taman

While on a trip for government purposes, Pechorin stopped in Taman. He had to settle in a house on the shore, in which "very unclean." A deaf old woman and a blind boy lived in a gloomy house.

At night, Pechorin noticed that the blind man went to the seashore and, guided by curiosity, decided to follow him.

On the shore he saw unknown girl- together with the boy she was waiting for someone from the sea. After some time, a boat moored to the shore, and the man in it lowered the load ashore, and the boy and the girl helped him. The next morning, seeing the girl again, Pechorin met her and asked about the night incident. But weird girl, laughing and speaking in riddles, did not answer him. Then Pechorin threatened to tell the authorities about his guess about the smuggling of goods, which he later regretted: these words almost cost him his life.

Toward night, the girl called Pechorin on a date by the sea. This caused him fear, but he went, and together they sailed in a boat to the sea.

And her cheek pressed against mine, and I felt her fiery breath on my face.

Unexpectedly, the girl rushed to Pechorin and tried to push him into the water, but he managed to stay in the boat, throw this undine into the sea and return to the shore.

Later, Pechorin returned to the place where he saw the smugglers, and met them there again. This time, the man sailed away from here with the girl forever, and the blind boy was left to fend for himself. The next morning, Pechorin left Taman. He regretted that he had unwittingly disturbed the peace of honest smugglers.

Princess Mary

After being wounded, Pechorin arrived at the waters, in Pyatigorsk, for treatment. Here he met his old friend, Junker Grushnitsky, who was also being treated after being wounded, and with whom they were "outwardly on friendly terms." However, Pechorin felt: “we will someday collide on a narrow road and one of us will be unhappy.”

Of all the respectable public undergoing treatment on the waters, the Ligovskys stood out - the princess and her lovely daughter Mary. Grushnitsky, whose goal was to "become the hero of the novel," was instantly fascinated by the princess and began to look for an excuse to get to know Mary and make an official visit to their house. The princess was in no hurry to make acquaintance with him, although he was very romantic in his old soldier's overcoat. It seemed to her that this officer had been demoted for the duel.

Pechorin, on the contrary, emphatically avoided the possibility of acquaintance and was in no hurry to pay a visit to the princess's house, which caused considerable surprise, bewilderment and interest of the Ligovskys. He learned about this from his new acquaintance - a local doctor Werner, with whom they became friends. Pechorin, fleeing the boredom of a provincial town, decided to win the girl's heart, knowing full well that this would cause the jealousy of Grushnitsky, who was already passionately in love with Mary. This idea amused him and added intrigue to what was happening.

It is unlikely that there will be a young man who, having met a pretty woman who riveted his idle attention and suddenly clearly distinguished another, equally unfamiliar to her, <...> was not unpleasantly struck by this.

He learned from Werner that a very sick relative was visiting the princess. From the doctor's description, Pechorin recognized Vera, his old lover. They met, and forgotten feelings stirred in his soul. So that they could see each other more often, without causing rumors and conversations in the city, Vera suggested that Pechorin visit the princess's house more often and start courting Mary to look away. He agreed - at least some entertainment.

At the ball, Pechorin saved Mary from the harassment of a drunken officer, and the princess, out of gratitude, invited him to pay a visit to their house. But even during a reception at the house of Princess Pechorin, he showed indifference to Mary, which made her angry. She did not understand his coldness, and this only added to the intensity of passions in Pechorin's game. He had his own plan to seduce an inexperienced young lady.

All the thoughts of Princess Mary were now occupied by Pechorin, and she was already rather tired of Grushnitsky's courtship. Even when Grushnitsky appeared in a new officer's uniform, this did not make the proper impression on her - she became more and more cold with him. Grushnitsky saw the reason for this coldness in her passion for Pechorin, he was jealous and emphatically shunned his former friend.

Offended by the fact that Pechorin mocks his feelings for Mary, Grushnitsky and his friends decide to teach a former friend a lesson in order to knock his arrogance off him: if necessary, challenge him to a duel, and leave his pistol unloaded. Pechorin accidentally overheard this conversation. He was offended that a friend, albeit a former one, decided to make him a laughingstock. A different plan formed in Pechorin's head.

Mary fell more and more in love with Pechorin, and Vera became jealous and demanded a promise from Pechorin that he would not marry the princess.

During one of the walks, Mary confessed her love to Pechorin, but he did not answer her. "Do you want it?" she continued, but Pechorin indifferently said: "Why?" After that, Mary hastily returned to her room. Pechorin enjoyed his achievement - he fell in love with a girl, not knowing why.

O selfishness! You are the lever with which Archimedes wanted to lift the globe!

Meanwhile, the city was already full of rumors that Pechorin was going to marry Mary. Pechorin guessed who their source was. Werner warned him, and the princess expected that he would soon offer Mary his hand and heart. But Pechorin denied these rumors, because he valued freedom the most.

Vera and Pechorin continued to see each other. One evening, when the whole city gathered for a performance by a visiting magician, Vera invited Pechorin to her place on a secret date. going down late at night from her balcony, he found himself opposite the windows of Princess Mary, who lived on the floor below - she also stayed at home and did not go to the performance. Pechorin looked out the window, saw the girl, jumped onto the grass and stumbled upon people, one of whom he recognized as Grushnitsky. They pretended to take him for a thief and got into a fight. Pechorin ran away. The next day, Grushnitsky publicly announced that he knew who was on a date that night in Mary's bedroom. The name of her lover is Pechorin.

Insulted, Pechorin challenged Grushnitsky to a duel. Arriving home, he told Werner about the upcoming duel and about what Grushnitsky planned to do with the pistols. Werner agreed to be his second.

At the appointed time, the duel participants gathered at the appointed place. Grushnitsky, following the plan of the draw, suggested shooting from six steps. Pechorin, on the other hand, wanted to move to a rock and shoot at the very edge of the cliff, so that even a slight wound would be fatal. The corpse in this case will be attributed to the Circassians.

By lot - here it is, Fate - it fell to Grushnitsky to shoot first. He faced a difficult choice - to confess to a low deed, unworthy of an officer, or to become a murderer. But the officer did not want to retreat - he shot and wounded Pechorin in the leg.

It's Pechorin's turn. He advised Grushnitsky to pray and listen - does not his conscience speak to him? But on the face of Grushnitsky there was not even a "light trace of repentance." He insisted on continuing the duel. Then Pechorin informed his second that they forgot to load his pistol. The second second was indignant at the possibility of this and refused to change pistols. But Grushnitsky admitted that Pechorin was right and, experiencing a storm of feelings in his soul, demanded the continuation of the duel - "there is no place for us on earth together ...". Pechorin was forced to shoot.

The murder of Grushnitsky was attributed, as intended, to the Circassians. Vera, having learned about the duel, in great excitement confessed to her husband that she loved Pechorin, and her husband, in indignation, took her away from the city. Pechorin, having received her farewell note, rushed after her, but did not catch up. Only now did he realize that Vera - the only woman who is dear to him, she alone loves and accepts him unconditionally.

I realized that it was useless and reckless to pursue lost happiness.

Pechorin's superiors nevertheless suspected that he had participated in a duel, and quietly transferred him to serve in a fortress in the Caucasus. Before leaving, he paid a visit to the house of Princess Ligovskaya. She thanked Pechorin for saving the good name of her daughter and asked why he did not propose to Mary, because she is rich, pretty, and loves him very much. But Pechorin asked for a solitary conversation with the princess, during which he said that he did not love her and laughed at her all this time. In response, he heard: "I hate you." Pechorin left an hour later.

Fatalist

Once Pechorin's battalion stood in one of the Cossack villages. In the evenings, the officers entertained themselves by playing cards. During one of them, a conversation turned on fate - was it written in heaven or not, is human life and death predetermined? The conversation turned into an argument, the officers were divided into those who are for and those who are against.

One of the officers, Vulich, a passionate gambler and fatalist, suggested checking whether “a person can arbitrarily dispose of his life, or whether a fateful minute is assigned to each of us.” Pechorin made a bet, and Vulich agreed - if he was destined to die today, he would die, if not, he would remain alive.

Vulich took a pistol at random, everyone present froze - something irreparable could happen now. It seemed to Pechorin that he saw the seal of death in Vulich's eyes. He told him about it: "Today you will die." Vulich shot himself in the temple - a misfire! Everyone breathed a sigh of relief, glad that the gun was not loaded and no one was killed. But Vulich fired a shot to the side - the bullet pierced the cap on the wall, the pistol was loaded. The stunned officers soon dispersed, and Pechorin did not understand why it still seemed to him that Vulich should die today.

Often there is some strange imprint of inevitable fate on the face of a person who is to die in a few hours, so that it is difficult for accustomed eyes to be mistaken.

In the morning, Pechorin was awakened by the news that they had found an officer hacked to death with a saber. It was Vulich. His death in the guise of a drunken Cossack with a sword found him on the way home. So Pechorin unwittingly predicted the fate of the unfortunate officer.

The Cossack killer was quickly found, he locked himself in the hut and was not going to give up, threatening to shoot. No one dared to break open the door and run into his bullet. Here a strange thought flashed through Pechorin: like Vulich, he decided to try his luck. Through the window, he entered the house, the Cossack fired, but only touched Pechorin's epaulette. The villagers who came to the rescue twisted and took away the Cossack. Pechorin was honored as a real hero.

After this incident, Pechorin could not decide for a long time whether he should be a fatalist, because not everything is as simple as it might seem.

Who knows for sure whether he is convinced of what or not?.. And how often do we mistake for conviction a deceit of the senses or a mistake of reason!..

Returning to the fortress, Pechorin told Maxim Maksimych about what had happened and asked if he believed in predestination. The staff captain, shaking his head significantly, suggested that the weapon often misfires, and, of course, it’s a pity for the poor officer, but, you see, it’s written like that. That was the end of this conversation.