"BOOK I BELA\n\nTHE HEART OF A RUSSIAN\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nI was travelling post from Tiflis.\n\nAll the luggage I had in my cart consisted of one small portmanteau half\nfilled with travelling-notes on Georgia; of these the greater part has\nbeen lost, fortunately for you; but the portmanteau itself and the rest\nof its contents have remained intact, fortunately for me.\n\nAs I entered the Koishaur Valley the sun was disappearing behind the\nsnow-clad ridge of the mountains. In order to accomplish the ascent of\nMount Koishaur by nightfall, my driver, an Ossete, urged on the horses\nindefatigably, singing zealously the while at the top of his voice.\n\nWhat a glorious place that valley is! On every hand are inaccessible\nmountains, steep, yellow slopes scored by water-channels, and reddish\nrocks draped with green ivy and crowned with clusters of plane-trees.\nYonder, at an immense height, is the golden fringe of the snow. Down\nbelow rolls the River Aragva, which, after bursting noisily forth from\nthe dark and misty depths of the gorge, with an unnamed stream clasped\nin its embrace, stretches out like a thread of silver, its waters\nglistening like a snake with flashing scales.\n\nArrived at the foot of Mount Koishaur, we stopped at a dukhan. About\na score of Georgians and mountaineers were gathered there in a noisy\ncrowd, and, close by, a caravan of camels had halted for the night. I\nwas obliged to hire oxen to drag my cart up that accursed mountain, as\nit was now autumn and the roads were slippery with ice. Besides, the\nmountain is about two versts in length.\n\nThere was no help for it, so I hired six oxen and a few Ossetes. One of\nthe latter shouldered my portmanteau, and the rest, shouting almost with\none voice, proceeded to help the oxen.\n\nFollowing mine there came another cart, which I was surprised to see\nfour oxen pulling with the greatest ease, notwithstanding that it\nwas loaded to the top. Behind it walked the owner, smoking a little,\nsilver-mounted Kabardian pipe. He was wearing a shaggy Circassian cap\nand an officer's overcoat without epaulettes, and he seemed to be about\nfifty years of age. The swarthiness of his complexion showed that\nhis face had long been acquainted with Transcaucasian suns, and the\npremature greyness of his moustache was out of keeping with his firm\ngait and robust appearance. I went up to him and saluted. He silently\nreturned my greeting and emitted an immense cloud of smoke.\n\n\"We are fellow-travellers, it appears.\"\n\nAgain he bowed silently.\n\n\"I suppose you are going to Stavropol?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, exactly--with Government things.\"\n\n\"Can you tell me how it is that that heavily-laden cart of yours is\nbeing drawn without any difficulty by four oxen, whilst six cattle\nare scarcely able to move mine, empty though it is, and with all those\nOssetes helping?\"\n\nHe smiled slyly and threw me a meaning glance.\n\n\"You have not been in the Caucasus long, I should say?\"\n\n\"About a year,\" I answered.\n\nHe smiled a second time.\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"Just so, sir,\" he answered. \"They're terrible beasts, these Asiatics!\nYou think that all that shouting means that they are helping the oxen?\nWhy, the devil alone can make out what it is they do shout. The oxen\nunderstand, though; and if you were to yoke as many as twenty they still\nwouldn't budge so long as the Ossetes shouted in that way of theirs....\nAwful scoundrels! But what can you make of them? They love extorting\nmoney from people who happen to be travelling through here. The rogues\nhave been spoiled! You wait and see: they will get a tip out of you as\nwell as their hire. I know them of old, they can't get round me!\"\n\n\"You have been serving here a long time?\"\n\n\"Yes, I was here under Aleksei Petrovich,\" he answered, assuming an\nair of dignity. \"I was a sub-lieutenant when he came to the Line; and\nI was promoted twice, during his command, on account of actions against\nthe mountaineers.\"\n\n\"And now--?\"\n\n\n\"Now I'm in the third battalion of the Line. And you yourself?\"\n\nI told him.\n\nWith this the conversation ended, and we continued to walk in silence,\nside by side. On the summit of the mountain we found snow. The sun set,\nand--as usually is the case in the south--night followed upon the day\nwithout any interval of twilight. Thanks, however, to the sheen of the\nsnow, we were able easily to distinguish the road, which still went\nup the mountain-side, though not so steeply as before. I ordered the\nOssetes to put my portmanteau into the cart, and to replace the oxen\nby horses. Then for the last time I gazed down upon the valley; but\nthe thick mist which had gushed in billows from the gorges veiled it\ncompletely, and not a single sound now floated up to our ears from\nbelow. The Ossetes surrounded me clamorously and demanded tips; but the\nstaff-captain shouted so menacingly at them that they dispersed in a\nmoment.\n\n\"What a people they are!\" he said. \"They don't even know the Russian for\n'bread,' but they have mastered the phrase 'Officer, give us a tip!'\nIn my opinion, the very Tartars are better, they are no drunkards,\nanyhow.\"...\n\nWe were now within a verst or so of the Station. Around us all was\nstill, so still, indeed, that it was possible to follow the flight of a\ngnat by the buzzing of its wings. On our left loomed the gorge, deep and\nblack. Behind it and in front of us rose the dark-blue summits of the\nmountains, all trenched with furrows and covered with layers of snow,\nand standing out against the pale horizon, which still retained the last\nreflections of the evening glow. The stars twinkled out in the dark sky,\nand in some strange way it seemed to me that they were much higher than\nin our own north country. On both sides of the road bare, black rocks\njutted out; here and there shrubs peeped forth from under the snow; but\nnot a single withered leaf stirred, and amid that dead sleep of nature\nit was cheering to hear the snorting of the three tired post-horses and\nthe irregular tinkling of the Russian bell. \n\n\"We will have glorious weather to-morrow,\" I said.\n\nThe staff-captain answered not a word, but pointed with his finger to a\nlofty mountain which rose directly opposite us.\n\n\"What is it?\" I asked.\n\n\"Mount Gut.\"\n\n\"Well, what then?\"\n\n\"Don't you see how it is smoking?\"\n\nTrue enough, smoke was rising from Mount Gut. Over its sides gentle\ncloud-currents were creeping, and on the summit rested one cloud of such\ndense blackness that it appeared like a blot upon the dark sky.\n\nBy this time we were able to make out the Post Station and the roofs of\nthe huts surrounding it; the welcoming lights were twinkling before us,\nwhen suddenly a damp and chilly wind arose, the gorge rumbled, and a\ndrizzling rain fell. I had scarcely time to throw my felt cloak round\nme when down came the snow. I looked at the staff-captain with profound\nrespect.\n\n\"We shall have to pass the night here,\" he said, vexation in his tone.\n\"There's no crossing the mountains in such a blizzard.--I say, have\nthere been any avalanches on Mount Krestov?\" he inquired of the driver.\n\n\"No, sir,\" the Ossete answered; \"but there are a great many threatening\nto fall--a great many.\"\n\nOwing to the lack of a travellers' room in the Station, we were assigned\na night's lodging in a smoky hut. I invited my fellow-traveller to drink\na tumbler of tea with me, as I had brought my cast-iron teapot--my only\nsolace during my travels in the Caucasus.\n\nOne side of the hut was stuck against the cliff, and three wet and\nslippery steps led up to the door. I groped my way in and stumbled up\nagainst a cow (with these people the cow-house supplies the place of a\nservant's room). I did not know which way to turn--sheep were bleating\non the one hand and a dog growling on the other. Fortunately, however,\nI perceived on one side a faint glimmer of light, and by its aid I was\nable to find another opening by way of a door. And here a by no means\nuninteresting picture was revealed. The wide hut, the roof of which\nrested on two smoke-grimed pillars, was full of people. In the centre of\nthe floor a small fire was crackling, and the smoke, driven back by the\nwind from an opening in the roof, was spreading around in so thick a\nshroud that for a long time I was unable to see about me. Seated by the\nfire were two old women, a number of children and a lank Georgian--all\nof them in tatters. There was no help for it! We took refuge by the fire\nand lighted our pipes; and soon the teapot was singing invitingly.\n\n\"Wretched people, these!\" I said to the staff-captain, indicating our\ndirty hosts, who were silently gazing at us in a kind of torpor.\n\n\"And an utterly stupid people too!\" he replied. \"Would you believe\nit, they are absolutely ignorant and incapable of the slightest\ncivilisation! Why even our Kabardians or Chechenes, robbers and\nragamuffins though they be, are regular dare-devils for all that.\nWhereas these others have no liking for arms, and you'll never see a\ndecent dagger on one of them! Ossetes all over!\"\n\n\"You have been a long time in the Chechenes' country?\"\n\n\"Yes, I was quartered there for about ten years along with my company in\na fortress, near Kamennyi Brod. Do you know the place?\"\n\n\"I have heard the name.\"\n\n\"I can tell you, my boy, we had quite enough of those dare-devil\nChechenes. At the present time, thank goodness, things are quieter; but\nin the old days you had only to put a hundred paces between you and the\nrampart and wherever you went you would be sure to find a shaggy devil\nlurking in wait for you. You had just to let your thoughts wander and at\nany moment a lasso would be round your neck or a bullet in the back of\nyour head! Brave fellows, though!\"...\n\n\"You used to have many an adventure, I dare say?\" I said, spurred by\ncuriosity.\n\n\"Of course! Many a one.\"...\n\nHereupon he began to tug at his left moustache, let his head sink on\nto his breast, and became lost in thought. I had a very great mind to\nextract some little anecdote out of him--a desire natural to all who\ntravel and make notes.\n\nMeanwhile, tea was ready. I took two travelling-tumblers out of my\nportmanteau, and, filling one of them, set it before the staff-captain.\nHe sipped his tea and said, as if speaking to himself, \"Yes, many a\none!\" This exclamation gave me great hopes. Your old Caucasian officer\nloves, I know, to talk and yarn a bit; he so rarely succeeds in getting\na chance to do so. It may be his fate to be quartered five years or so\nwith his company in some out-of-the-way place, and during the whole\nof that time he will not hear \"good morning\" from a soul (because the\nsergeant says \"good health\"). And, indeed, he would have good cause\nto wax loquacious--with a wild and interesting people all around him,\ndanger to be faced every day, and many a marvellous incident happening.\nIt is in circumstances like this that we involuntarily complain that so\nfew of our countrymen take notes.\n\n\"Would you care to put some rum in your tea?\" I said to my companion. \"I\nhave some white rum with me--from Tiflis; and the weather is cold now.\"\n\n\"No, thank you, sir; I don't drink.\"\n\n\"Really?\"\n\n\"Just so. I have sworn off drinking. Once, you know, when I was a\nsub-lieutenant, some of us had a drop too much. That very night there\nwas an alarm, and out we went to the front, half seas over! We did catch\nit, I can tell you, when Aleksei Petrovich came to hear about us!\nHeaven save us, what a rage he was in! He was within an ace of having us\ncourt-martialled. That's just how things happen! You might easily spend\na whole year without seeing a soul; but just go and have a drop and\nyou're a lost man!\"\n\nOn hearing this I almost lost hope.\n\n\"Take the Circassians, now,\" he continued; \"once let them drink their\nfill of buza at a wedding or a funeral, and out will come their\nknives. On one occasion I had some difficulty in getting away with a\nwhole skin, and yet it was at the house of a 'friendly' prince,\nwhere I was a guest, that the affair happened.\"\n\n\"How was that?\" I asked.\n\n\"Here, I'll tell you.\"...\n\nHe filled his pipe, drew in the smoke, and began his story.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\n\n\"YOU see, sir,\" said the staff-captain, \"I was quartered, at the time,\nwith a company in a fortress beyond the Terek--getting on for five years\nago now. One autumn day, a transport arrived with provisions, in charge\nof an officer, a young man of about twenty-five. He reported himself to\nme in full uniform, and announced that he had been ordered to remain in\nthe fortress with me. He was so very elegant, his complexion so nice and\nwhite, his uniform so brand new, that I immediately guessed that he had\nnot been long with our army in the Caucasus.\n\n\"'I suppose you have been transferred from Russia?' I asked.\n\n\"'Exactly, captain,' he answered.\n\n\"I took him by the hand and said:\n\n\"'I'm delighted to see you--delighted! It will be a bit dull for you...\nbut there, we will live together like a couple of friends. But, please,\ncall me simply \"Maksim Maksimych\"; and, tell me, what is this full\nuniform for? Just wear your forage-cap whenever you come to me!'\n\n\"Quarters were assigned to him and he settled down in the fortress.\"\n\n\"What was his name?\" I asked Maksim Maksimych.\n\n\"His name was Grigori Aleksandrovich Pechorin. He was a splendid fellow,\nI can assure you, but a little peculiar. Why, to give you an instance,\none time he would stay out hunting the whole day, in the rain and cold;\nthe others would all be frozen through and tired out, but he wouldn't\nmind either cold or fatigue. Then, another time, he would be sitting in\nhis own room, and, if there was a breath of wind, he would declare that\nhe had caught cold; if the shutters rattled against the window he\nwould start and turn pale: yet I myself have seen him attack a boar\nsingle-handed. Often enough you couldn't drag a word out of him for\nhours together; but then, on the other hand, sometimes, when he started\ntelling stories, you would split your sides with laughing. Yes, sir,\na very eccentric man; and he must have been wealthy too. What a lot of\nexpensive trinkets he had!\"...\n\n\"Did he stay there long with you?\" I went on to ask.\n\n\"Yes, about a year. And, for that very reason, it was a memorable year\nto me. He gave me a great deal of trouble--but there, let bygones be\nbygones!... You see, it is true enough, there are people like that,\nfated from birth to have all sorts of strange things happening to them!\"\n\n\"Strange?\" I exclaimed, with an air of curiosity, as I poured out some\ntea.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\n\n\"WELL, then, I'll tell you,\" said Maksim Maksimych. \"About six versts\nfrom the fortress there lived a certain 'friendly' prince. His son, a\nbrat of about fifteen, was accustomed to ride over to visit us. Not a\nday passed but he would come, now for one thing, now for another. And,\nindeed, Grigori Aleksandrovich and I spoiled him. What a dare-devil the\nboy was! Up to anything, picking up a cap at full gallop, or bringing\nthings down with his gun! He had one bad quality; he was terribly\ngreedy for money. Once, for the fun of the thing, Grigori Aleksandrovich\npromised to give him a ducat if he would steal the best he-goat from his\nfather's herd for him; and, what do you think? The very next night he\ncame lugging it in by the horns! At times we used to take it into our\nheads to tease him, and then his eyes would become bloodshot and his\nhand would fly to his dagger immediately.\n\n\"'You'll be losing your life if you are not careful, Azamat,' I would\nsay to him. 'That hot head of yours will get you into trouble.'\n\n\"On one occasion, the old prince himself came to invite us to the\nwedding of his eldest daughter; and, as we were guest-friends with him,\nit was impossible to decline, Tartar though he was. We set off. In the\nvillage we were met by a number of dogs, all barking loudly. The women,\nwhen they saw us coming, hid themselves, but those whose faces we were\nable to get a view of were far from being beauties.\n\n\"'I had a much better opinion of the Circassian women,' remarked Grigori\nAleksandrovich.\n\n\"'Wait a bit!' I answered, with a smile; I had my own views on the\nsubject.\n\n\"A number of people had already gathered at the prince's hut. It is the\ncustom of the Asiatics, you know, to invite all and sundry to a\nwedding. We were received with every mark of honour and conducted to the\nguest-chamber. All the same, I did not forget quietly to mark where our\nhorses were put, in case anything unforeseen should happen.\"\n\n\"How are weddings celebrated amongst them?\" I asked the staff-captain.\n\n\"Oh, in the usual way. First of all, the Mullah reads them something\nout of the Koran; then gifts are bestowed upon the young couple and all\ntheir relations; the next thing is eating and drinking of buza, then the\ndance on horseback; and there is always some ragamuffin, bedaubed with\ngrease, bestriding a wretched, lame jade, and grimacing, buffooning, and\nmaking the worshipful company laugh. Finally, when darkness falls, they\nproceed to hold what we should call a ball in the guest-chamber. A poor,\nold greybeard strums on a three-stringed instrument--I forget what they\ncall it, but anyhow, it is something in the nature of our balalaika. \nThe girls and young children set themselves in two ranks, one opposite\nthe other, and clap their hands and sing. Then a girl and a man come out\ninto the centre and begin to chant verses to each other--whatever comes\ninto their heads--and the rest join in as a chorus. Pechorin and I\nsat in the place of honour. All at once up came our host's youngest\ndaughter, a girl of about sixteen, and chanted to Pechorin--how shall I\nput it?--something in the nature of a compliment.\"...\n\n\"What was it she sang--do you remember?\"\n\n\"It went like this, I fancy: 'Handsome, they say, are our young\nhorsemen, and the tunics they wear are garnished with silver; but\nhandsomer still is the young Russian officer, and the lace on his tunic\nis wrought of gold. Like a poplar amongst them he stands, but in gardens\nof ours such trees will grow not nor bloom!'\n\n\"Pechorin rose, bowed to her, put his hand to his forehead and heart,\nand asked me to answer her. I know their language well, and I translated\nhis reply.\n\n\"When she had left us I whispered to Grigori Aleksandrovich:\n\n\"'Well, now, what do you think of her?'\n\n\"'Charming!' he replied. 'What is her name?'\n\n\"'Her name is Bela,' I answered.\n\n\"And a beautiful girl she was indeed; her figure was tall and slender,\nher eyes black as those of a mountain chamois, and they fairly looked\ninto your soul. Pechorin, deep in thought, kept his gaze fixed upon her,\nand she, for her part, stole glances at him often enough from under her\nlashes. Pechorin, however, was not the only one who was admiring the\npretty princess; another pair of eyes, fixed and fiery, were gazing at\nher from the corner of the room. I took a good look at their owner, and\nrecognised my old acquaintance Kazbich, who, you must know, was neither\nexactly 'friendly' nor yet the other thing. He was an object of much\nsuspicion, although he had never actually been caught at any knavery. He\nused to bring rams to our fortress and sell them cheaply; only he never\nwould haggle; whatever he demanded at first you had to give. He\nwould have his throat cut rather than come down in price. He had the\nreputation of being fond of roaming on the far side of the Kuban with\nthe Abreks; and, to tell the truth, he had a regular thief's visage. A\nlittle, wizened, broad-shouldered fellow he was--but smart, I can tell\nyou, smart as the very devil! His tunic was always worn out and\npatched, but his weapons were mounted in silver. His horse was renowned\nthroughout Kabardia--and, indeed, a better one it would be impossible\nto imagine! Not without good reason did all the other horsemen envy\nKazbich, and on more than one occasion they had attempted to steal the\nhorse, but they had never succeeded. I seem to see the animal before\nme now--black as coal, with legs like bow-strings and eyes as fine as\nBela's! How strong he was too! He would gallop as much as fifty versts\nat a stretch! And he was well trained besides--he would trot behind his\nmaster like a dog, and actually knew his voice! Kazbich never used to\ntether him either--just the very horse for a robber!...\n\n\"On that evening Kazbich was more sullen than ever, and I noticed that\nhe was wearing a coat of mail under his tunic. 'He hasn't got that coat\nof mail on for nothing,' I thought. 'He has some plot in his head, I'll\nbe bound!'\n\n\"It grew oppressively hot in the hut, and I went out into the air\nto cool myself. Night had fallen upon the mountains, and a mist was\nbeginning to creep along the gorges.\n\n\"It occurred to me to pop in under the shed where our horses were\nstanding, to see whether they had their fodder; and, besides, it is\nnever any harm to take precautions. My horse was a splendid one too, and\nmore than one Kabardian had already cast fond glances at it, repeating\nat the same time: 'Yakshi tkhe chok yakshi.' \n\n\"I stole along the fence. Suddenly I heard voices, one of which I\nimmediately recognised.\n\n\"It was that of the young pickle, Azamat, our host's son. The other\nperson spoke less and in a quieter tone.\n\n\"'What are they discussing there?' I wondered. 'Surely it can't be\nmy horse!' I squatted down beside the fence and proceeded to play the\neavesdropper, trying not to let slip a single word. At times the noise\nof songs and the buzz of voices, escaping from the hut, drowned the\nconversation which I was finding interesting.\n\n\"'That's a splendid horse of yours,' Azamat was saying. 'If I were\nmaster of a house of my own and had a stud of three hundred mares, I\nwould give half of it for your galloper, Kazbich!'\n\n\"'Aha! Kazbich!' I said to myself, and I called to mind the coat of\nmail.\n\n\"'Yes,' replied Kazbich, after an interval of silence. 'There is not\nsuch another to be found in all Kabardia. Once--it was on the other side\nof the Terek--I had ridden with the Abreks to seize the Russian herds.\nWe had no luck, so we scattered in different directions. Four Cossacks\ndashed after me. I could actually hear the cries of the giaours behind\nme, and in front of me there was a dense forest. I crouched down in the\nsaddle, committed myself to Allah, and, for the first time in my life,\ninsulted my horse with a blow of the whip. Like a bird, he plunged among\nthe branches; the sharp thorns tore my clothing, the dead boughs of the\ncork-elms struck against my face! My horse leaped over tree-trunks and\nburst his way through bushes with his chest! It would have been\nbetter for me to have abandoned him at the outskirts of the forest and\nconcealed myself in it afoot, but it was a pity to part with him--and\nthe Prophet rewarded me. A few bullets whistled over my head. I could\nnow hear the Cossacks, who had dismounted, running upon my tracks.\nSuddenly a deep gully opened before me. My galloper took thought--and\nleaped. His hind hoofs slipped back off the opposite bank, and he\nremained hanging by his fore-feet. I dropped the bridle and threw myself\ninto the hollow, thereby saving my horse, which jumped out. The Cossacks\nsaw the whole scene, only not one of them got down to search for me,\nthinking probably that I had mortally injured myself; and I heard them\nrushing to catch my horse. My heart bled within me. I crept along the\nhollow through the thick grass--then I looked around: it was the end of\nthe forest. A few Cossacks were riding out from it on to the clearing,\nand there was my Karagyoz galloping straight towards them. With a\nshout they all dashed forward. For a long, long time they pursued him,\nand one of them, in particular, was once or twice almost successful in\nthrowing a lasso over his neck.\n\n\"I trembled, dropped my eyes, and began to pray. After a few moments\nI looked up again, and there was my Karagyoz flying along, his tail\nwaving--free as the wind; and the giaours, on their jaded horses, were\ntrailing along far behind, one after another, across the steppe.\nWallah! It is true--really true! Till late at night I lay in the hollow.\nSuddenly--what do you think, Azamat? I heard in the darkness a horse\ntrotting along the bank of the hollow, snorting, neighing, and beating\nthe ground with his hoofs. I recognised my Karagyoz's voice; 'twas he,\nmy comrade!\"... Since that time we have never been parted!'\n\n\"And I could hear him patting his galloper's sleek neck with his hand,\nas he called him various fond names.\n\n\"'If I had a stud of a thousand mares,' said Azamat, 'I would give it\nall for your Karagyoz!'\n\n\"'Yok! I would not take it!' said Kazbich indifferently.\n\n\"'Listen, Kazbich,' said Azamat, trying to ingratiate himself with him.\n'You are a kindhearted man, you are a brave horseman, but my father is\nafraid of the Russians and will not allow me to go on the mountains.\nGive me your horse, and I will do anything you wish. I will steal my\nfather's best rifle for you, or his sabre--just as you like--and his\nsabre is a genuine Gurda; you have only to lay the edge against\nyour hand, and it will cut you; a coat of mail like yours is nothing\nagainst it.'\n\n\"Kazbich remained silent.\n\n\"'The first time I saw your horse,' continued Azamat, 'when he was\nwheeling and leaping under you, his nostrils distended, and the flints\nflying in showers from under his hoofs, something I could not understand\ntook place within my soul; and since that time I have been weary of\neverything. I have looked with disdain on my father's best gallopers; I\nhave been ashamed to be seen on them, and yearning has taken possession\nof me. In my anguish I have spent whole days on the cliffs, and, every\nminute, my thoughts have kept turning to your black galloper with his\ngraceful gait and his sleek back, straight as an arrow. With his keen,\nbright eyes he has looked into mine as if about to speak!... I shall\ndie, Kazbich, if you will not sell him to me!' said Azamat, with\ntrembling voice.\n\n\"I could hear him burst out weeping, and I must tell you that Azamat was\na very stubborn lad, and that not for anything could tears be wrung from\nhim, even when he was a little younger.\n\n\"In answer to his tears, I could hear something like a laugh.\n\n\"'Listen,' said Azamat in a firm voice. 'You see, I am making up my\nmind for anything. If you like, I will steal my sister for you! How she\ndances! How she sings! And the way she embroiders with gold--marvellous!\nNot even a Turkish Padishah has had a wife like her!... Shall I?\nWait for me to-morrow night, yonder, in the gorge where the torrent\nflows; I will go by with her to the neighbouring village--and she is\nyours. Surely Bela is worth your galloper!'\n\n\"Kazbich remained silent for a long, long time. At length, instead of\nanswering, he struck up in an undertone the ancient song:\n\n\n \"Many a beauty among us dwells\n\n From whose eyes' dark depths the starlight wells,\n\n 'Tis an envied lot and sweet, to hold\n\n Their love; but brighter is freedom bold.\n\n Four wives are yours if you pay the gold;\n\n But a mettlesome steed is of price untold;\n\n The whirlwind itself on the steppe is less fleet;\n\n He knows no treachery--no deceit.\" \n\n\"In vain Azamat entreated him to consent. He wept, coaxed, and swore to\nhim. Finally, Kazbich interrupted him impatiently:\n\n\"'Begone, you crazy brat! How should you think to ride on my horse? In\nthree steps you would be thrown and your neck broken on the stones!'\n\n\"'I?' cried Azamat in a fury, and the blade of the child's dagger rang\nagainst the coat of mail. A powerful arm thrust him away, and he struck\nthe wattle fence with such violence that it rocked.\n\n\"'Now we'll see some fun!' I thought to myself.\n\n\"I rushed into the stable, bridled our horses and led them out into the\nback courtyard. In a couple of minutes there was a terrible uproar in\nthe hut. What had happened was this: Azamat had rushed in, with his\ntunic torn, saying that Kazbich was going to murder him. All sprang out,\nseized their guns, and the fun began! Noise--shouts--shots! But by this\ntime Kazbich was in the saddle, and, wheeling among the crowd along the\nstreet, defended himself like a madman, brandishing his sabre.\n\n\"'It is a bad thing to interfere in other people's quarrels,' I said to\nGrigori Aleksandrovich, taking him by the arm. 'Wouldn't it be better\nfor us to clear off without loss of time?'\n\n\"'Wait, though, and see how it will end!'\n\n\"'Oh, as to that, it will be sure enough to end badly; it is always\nso with these Asiatics. Once let them get drunk on buza, and there's\ncertain to be bloodshed.'\n\n\"We mounted and galloped home.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\n\"TELL me, what became of Kazbich?\" I asked the staff-captain\nimpatiently.\n\n\"Why, what can happen to that sort of a fellow?\" he answered, finishing\nhis tumbler of tea. \"He slipped away, of course.\"\n\n\"And wasn't he wounded?\" I asked.\n\n\"Goodness only knows! Those scoundrels take a lot of killing! In action,\nfor instance, I've seen many a one, sir, stuck all over with bayonets\nlike a sieve, and still brandishing his sabre.\"\n\nAfter an interval of silence the staff-captain continued, tapping the\nground with his foot:\n\n\"One thing I'll never forgive myself for. On our arrival at the fortress\nthe devil put it into my head to repeat to Grigori Aleksandrovich\nall that I had heard when I was eavesdropping behind the fence. He\nlaughed--cunning fellow!--and thought out a little plan of his own.\"\n\n\"What was that? Tell me, please.\"\n\n\"Well, there's no help for it now, I suppose. I've begun the story, and\nso I must continue.\n\n\"In about four days' time Azamat rode over to the fortress. As his usual\ncustom was, he went to see Grigori Aleksandrovich, who always used to\ngive him sweetmeats to eat. I was present. The conversation was on the\nsubject of horses, and Pechorin began to sound the praises of Kazbich's\nKaragyoz. What a mettlesome horse it was, and how handsome! A perfect\nchamois! In fact, judging by his account, there simply wasn't another\nlike it in the whole world!\n\n\"The young Tartar's beady eyes began to sparkle, but Pechorin didn't\nseem to notice the fact. I started to talk about something else, but\nimmediately, mark you, Pechorin caused the conversation to strike off on\nto Kazbich's horse. Every time that Azamat came it was the same story.\nAfter about three weeks, I began to observe that Azamat was growing\npale and wasted, just as people in novels do from love, sir. What wonder\neither!...\n\n\"Well, you see, it was not until afterwards that I learned the whole\ntrick--Grigori Aleksandrovich exasperated Azamat to such an extent\nwith his teasing that the boy was ready even to drown himself. One day\nPechorin suddenly broke out with:\n\n\"'I see, Azamat, that you have taken a desperate fancy to that horse\nof Kazbich's, but you'll no more see him than you will the back of your\nneck! Come, tell me, what would you give if somebody made you a present\nof him?'\n\n\"'Anything he wanted,' answered Azamat.\n\n\"'In that case I will get the horse for you, only on one condition...\nSwear that you will fulfil it?'\n\n\"'I swear. You swear too!'\n\n\"'Very well! I swear that the horse shall be yours. But, in return,\nyou must deliver your sister Bela into my hands. Karagyoz shall be her\nbridegroom's gift. I hope the transaction will be a profitable one for\nyou.'\n\n\"Azamat remained silent.\n\n\"'Won't you? Well, just as you like! I thought you were a man, but\nit seems you are still a child; it is early for you to be riding on\nhorseback!'\n\n\"Azamat fired up.\n\n\"'But my father--' he said.\n\n\"'Does he never go away, then?'\n\n\"'True.'\n\n\"'You agree?'\n\n\"'I agree,' whispered Azamat, pale as death. 'But when?'\n\n\"'The first time Kazbich rides over here. He has promised to drive in\nhalf a score of rams; the rest is my affair. Look out, then, Azamat!'\n\n\"And so they settled the business--a bad business, to tell the truth!\nI said as much to Pechorin afterwards, but he only answered that a wild\nCircassian girl ought to consider herself fortunate in having such\na charming husband as himself--because, according to their ideas, he\nreally was her husband--and that Kazbich was a scoundrel, and ought to\nbe punished. Judge for yourself, what could I say to that?... At the\ntime, however, I knew nothing of their conspiracy. Well, one day Kazbich\nrode up and asked whether we needed any rams and honey; and I ordered\nhim to bring some the next day.\n\n\"'Azamat!' said Grigori Aleksandrovich; 'to-morrow Karagyoz will be in\nmy hands; if Bela is not here to-night you will never see the horse.'..\n\n\"'Very well,' said Azamat, and galloped to the village.\n\n\"In the evening Grigori Aleksandrovich armed himself and rode out of the\nfortress. How they settled the business I don't know, but at night they\nboth returned, and the sentry saw that across Azamat's saddle a woman\nwas lying, bound hand and foot and with her head wrapped in a veil.\"\n\n\"And the horse?\" I asked the staff-captain.\n\n\"One minute! One minute! Early next morning Kazbich rode over, driving\nin half a score of rams for sale. Tethering his horse by the fence, he\ncame in to see me, and I regaled him with tea, for, robber though he\nwas, he was none the less my guest-friend.\n\n\"We began to chat about one thing and another... Suddenly I saw Kazbich\nstart, change countenance, and dart to the window; but unfortunately the\nwindow looked on to the back courtyard.\n\n\"'What is the matter with you?' I asked.\n\n\"'My horse!... My horse!' he cried, all of a tremble.\n\n\"As a matter of fact I heard the clattering of hoofs.\n\n\"'It is probably some Cossack who has ridden up.'\n\n\"'No! Urus--yaman, yaman!' he roared, and rushed headlong away\nlike a wild panther. In two bounds he was in the courtyard; at the gate\nof the fortress the sentry barred the way with his gun; Kazbich jumped\nover the gun and dashed off at a run along the road... Dust was whirling\nin the distance--Azamat was galloping away on the mettlesome Karagyoz.\nKazbich, as he ran, tore his gun out of its cover and fired. For a\nmoment he remained motionless, until he had assured himself that he had\nmissed. Then he uttered a shrill cry, knocked the gun against a rock,\nsmashed it to splinters, fell to the ground, and burst out sobbing like\na child... The people from the fortress gathered round him, but he took\nno notice of anyone. They stood there talking awhile and then went back.\nI ordered the money for the rams to be placed beside him. He didn't\ntouch it, but lay with his face to the ground like a dead man. Would you\nbelieve it? He remained lying like that throughout the rest of that day\nand the following night! It was only on the next morning that he came to\nthe fortress and proceeded to ask that the name of the thief should\nbe told him. The sentry who had observed Azamat untying the horse and\ngalloping away on him did not see any necessity for concealment. At the\nname of Azamat, Kazbich's eyes flashed, and he set off to the village\nwhere Azamat's father lived.\"\n\n\"And what about the father?\"\n\n\"Ah, that was where the trick came in! Kazbich could not find him;\nhe had gone away somewhere for five or six days; otherwise, how could\nAzamat have succeeded in carrying off Bela?\n\n\"And, when the father returned, there was neither daughter nor son to be\nfound. A wily rogue, Azamat! He understood, you see, that he would lose\nhis life if he was caught. So, from that time, he was never seen again;\nprobably he joined some gang of Abreks and laid down his turbulent life\non the other side of the Terek or the Kuban. It would have served him\nright!\"...\n\n\n\n CHAPTER V\n\n\"I CONFESS that, for my part, I had trouble enough over the business.\nSo soon as ever I learned that the Circassian girl was with Grigori\nAleksandrovich, I put on my epaulettes and sword and went to see him.\n\n\"He was lying on the bed in the outer room, with one hand under his head\nand the other holding a pipe which had gone out. The door leading to the\ninner room was locked, and there was no key in the lock. I observed all\nthat in a moment... I coughed and rapped my heels against the threshold,\nbut he pretended not to hear.\n\n\"'Ensign!' I said, as sternly as I could. 'Do you not see that I have\ncome to you?'\n\n\"'Ah, good morning, Maksim Maksimych! Won't you have a pipe?' he\nanswered, without rising.\n\n\"'Excuse me, I am not Maksim Maksimych. I am the staff-captain.'\n\n\"'It's all the same! Won't you have some tea? If you only knew how I am\nbeing tortured with anxiety.'\n\n\"'I know all,' I answered, going up to the bed.\n\n\"'So much the better,' he said. 'I am not in a narrative mood.'\n\n\"'Ensign, you have committed an offence for which I may have to answer\nas well as you.'\n\n\"'Oh, that'll do. What's the harm? You know, we've gone halves in\neverything.'\n\n\"'What sort of a joke do you think you are playing? Your sword,\nplease!'...\n\n\"'Mitka, my sword!'\n\n\"'Mitka brought the sword. My duty discharged, I sat down on the bed,\nfacing Pechorin, and said: 'Listen here, Grigori Aleksandrovich, you\nmust admit that this is a bad business.'\n\n\"'What is?'\n\n\"'Why, that you have carried off Bela... Ah, it is that beast Azamat!...\nCome, confess!' I said.\n\n\"'But, supposing I am fond of her?'...\n\n\"Well, what could I say to that?... I was nonplussed. After a short\ninterval of silence, however, I told him that if Bela's father were to\nclaim her he would have to give her up.\n\n\"'Not at all!'\n\n\"'But he will get to know that she is here.'\n\n\"'How?'\n\n\"Again I was nonplussed.\n\n\"'Listen, Maksim Maksimych,' said Pechorin, rising to his feet. 'You're\na kind-hearted man, you know; but, if we give that savage back his\ndaughter, he will cut her throat or sell her. The deed is done, and the\nonly thing we can do now is not to go out of our way to spoil matters.\nLeave Bela with me and keep my sword!'\n\n\"'Show her to me, though,' I said.\n\n\"'She is behind that door. Only I wanted, myself, to see her to-day and\nwasn't able to. She sits in the corner, muffled in her veil, and neither\nspeaks nor looks up--timid as a wild chamois! I have hired the wife of\nour dukhan-keeper: she knows the Tartar language, and will look after\nBela and accustom her to the idea that she belongs to me--for she shall\nbelong to no one else!' he added, banging his fist on the table.\n\n\"I assented to that too... What could I do? There are some people with\nwhom you absolutely have to agree.\"\n\n\"Well?\" I asked Maksim Maksimych. \"Did he really succeed in making\nher grow accustomed to him, or did she pine away in captivity from\nhome-sickness?\"\n\n\"Good gracious! how could she pine away from home-sickness? From\nthe fortress she could see the very same hills as she could from the\nvillage--and these savages require nothing more. Besides, Grigori\nAleksandrovich used to give her a present of some kind every day. At\nfirst she didn't utter a word, but haughtily thrust away the gifts,\nwhich then fell to the lot of the dukhan-keeper's wife and aroused her\neloquence. Ah, presents! What won't a woman do for a coloured rag!...\nBut that is by the way... For a long time Grigori Aleksandrovich\npersevered with her, and meanwhile he studied the Tartar language and\nshe began to understand ours. Little by little she grew accustomed to\nlooking at him, at first furtively, askance; but she still pined and\ncrooned her songs in an undertone, so that even I would feel heavy\nat heart when I heard her from the next room. One scene I shall never\nforget: I was walking past, and I looked in at the window; Bela was\nsitting on the stove-couch, her head sunk on her breast, and Grigori\nAleksandrovich was standing, facing her.\n\n\"'Listen, my Peri,' he was saying. 'Surely you know that you will have\nto be mine sooner or later--why, then, do you but torture me? Is it that\nyou are in love with some Chechene? If so, I will let you go home at\nonce.'\n\n\"She gave a scarcely perceptible start and shook her head.\n\n\"'Or is it,' he continued, 'that I am utterly hateful to you?'\n\n\"She heaved a sigh.\n\n\"'Or that your faith prohibits you from giving me a little of your\nlove?'\n\n\"She turned pale and remained silent.\n\n\"'Believe me, Allah is one and the same for all races; and, if he\npermits me to love you, why, then, should he prohibit you from requiting\nme by returning my love?'\n\n\"She gazed fixedly into his face, as though struck by that new idea.\nDistrust and a desire to be convinced were expressed in her eyes. What\neyes they were! They sparkled just like two glowing coals.\n\n\"'Listen, my dear, good Bela!' continued Pechorin. 'You see how I love\nyou. I am ready to give up everything to make you cheerful once more.\nI want you to be happy, and, if you are going to be sad again, I shall\ndie. Tell me, you will be more cheerful?'\n\n\"She fell into thought, her black eyes still fixed upon him. Then she\nsmiled graciously and nodded her head in token of acquiescence.\n\n\"He took her by the hand and tried to induce her to kiss him. She\ndefended herself feebly, and only repeated: 'Please! Please! You\nmustn't, you mustn't!'\n\n\"He went on to insist; she began to tremble and weep.\n\n\"'I am your captive,' she said, 'your slave; of course, you can compel\nme.'\n\n\"And then, again--tears.\n\n\"Grigori Aleksandrovich struck his forehead with his fist and sprang\ninto the other room. I went in to see him, and found him walking moodily\nbackwards and forwards with folded arms.\n\n\"'Well, old man?' I said to him.\n\n\"'She is a devil--not a woman!' he answered. 'But I give you my word of\nhonour that she shall be mine!'\n\n\"I shook my head.\n\n\"'Will you bet with me?' he said. 'In a week's time?'\n\n\"'Very well,' I answered.\n\n\"We shook hands on it and separated.\n\n\"The next day he immediately despatched an express messenger to Kizlyar\nto purchase some things for him. The messenger brought back a quite\ninnumerable quantity of various Persian stuffs.\n\n\"'What think you, Maksim Maksimych?' he said to me, showing the\npresents. 'Will our Asiatic beauty hold out against such a battery as\nthis?'\n\n\"'You don't know the Circassian women,' I answered. 'They are not at all\nthe same as the Georgian or the Transcaucasian Tartar women--not at all!\nThey have their own principles, they are brought up differently.'\n\n\"Grigori Aleksandrovich smiled and began to whistle a march to himself.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\n\"AS things fell out, however,\" continued Maksim Maksimych, \"I was right,\nyou see. The presents produced only half an effect. She became\nmore gracious more trustful--but that was all. Pechorin accordingly\ndetermined upon a last expedient. One morning he ordered his horse to be\nsaddled, dressed himself as a Circassian, armed himself, and went into\nher room.\n\n\"'Bela,' he said. 'You know how I love you. I decided to carry you off,\nthinking that when you grew to know me you would give me your love.\nI was mistaken. Farewell! Remain absolute mistress of all I possess.\nReturn to your father if you like--you are free. I have acted\nwrongfully towards you, and I must punish myself. Farewell! I am going.\nWhither?--How should I know? Perchance I shall not have long to court\nthe bullet or the sabre-stroke. Then remember me and forgive.'\n\n\"He turned away, and stretched out his hand to her in farewell. She did\nnot take his hand, but remained silent. But I, standing there behind the\ndoor, was able through a chink to observe her countenance, and I felt\nsorry for her--such a deathly pallor shrouded that charming little face!\nHearing no answer, Pechorin took a few steps towards the door. He was\ntrembling, and--shall I tell you?--I think that he was in a state to\nperform in very fact what he had been saying in jest! He was just that\nsort of man, Heaven knows!\n\n\"He had scarcely touched the door, however, when Bela sprang to her\nfeet, burst out sobbing, and threw herself on his neck! Would you\nbelieve it? I, standing there behind the door, fell to weeping too,\nthat is to say, you know, not exactly weeping--but just--well, something\nfoolish!\"\n\nThe staff-captain became silent.\n\n\"Yes, I confess,\" he said after a while, tugging at his moustache, \"I\nfelt hurt that not one woman had ever loved me like that.\"\n\n\"Was their happiness lasting?\" I asked.\n\n\"Yes, she admitted that, from the day she had first cast eyes on\nPechorin, she had often dreamed of him, and that no other man had ever\nproduced such an impression upon her. Yes, they were happy!\"\n\n\"How tiresome!\" I exclaimed, involuntarily.\n\nIn point of fact, I had been expecting a tragic ending--when, lo! he\nmust needs disappoint my hopes in such an unexpected manner!...\n\n\"Is it possible, though,\" I continued, \"that her father did not guess\nthat she was with you in the fortress?\"\n\n\"Well, you must know, he seems to have had his suspicions. After a few\ndays, we learned that the old man had been murdered. This is how it\nhappened.\"...\n\nMy attention was aroused anew.\n\n\"I must tell you that Kazbich imagined that the horse had been stolen by\nAzamat with his father's consent; at any rate, that is what I suppose.\nSo, one day, Kazbich went and waited by the roadside, about three versts\nbeyond the village. The old man was returning from one of his futile\nsearches for his daughter; his retainers were lagging behind. It was\ndusk. Deep in thought, he was riding at a walking pace when, suddenly,\nKazbich darted out like a cat from behind a bush, sprang up behind\nhim on the horse, flung him to the ground with a thrust of his dagger,\nseized the bridle and was off. A few of the retainers saw the whole\naffair from the hill; they dashed off in pursuit of Kazbich, but failed\nto overtake him.\"\n\n\"He requited himself for the loss of his horse, and took his revenge at\nthe same time,\" I said, with a view to evoking my companion's opinion.\n\n\"Of course, from their point of view,\" said the staff-captain, \"he was\nperfectly right.\"\n\nI was involuntarily struck by the aptitude which the Russian displays\nfor accommodating himself to the customs of the people in whose midst\nhe happens to be living. I know not whether this mental quality is\ndeserving of censure or commendation, but it proves the incredible\npliancy of his mind and the presence of that clear common sense which\npardons evil wherever it sees that evil is inevitable or impossible of\nannihilation.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nIN the meantime we had finished our tea. The horses, which had been\nput to long before, were freezing in the snow. In the west the moon\nwas growing pale, and was just on the point of plunging into the black\nclouds which were hanging over the distant summits like the shreds of a\ntorn curtain. We went out of the hut. Contrary to my fellow-traveller's\nprediction, the weather had cleared up, and there was a promise of\na calm morning. The dancing choirs of the stars were interwoven in\nwondrous patterns on the distant horizon, and, one after another, they\nflickered out as the wan resplendence of the east suffused the dark,\nlilac vault of heaven, gradually illumining the steep mountain slopes,\ncovered with the virgin snows. To right and left loomed grim and\nmysterious chasms, and masses of mist, eddying and coiling like snakes,\nwere creeping thither along the furrows of the neighbouring cliffs, as\nthough sentient and fearful of the approach of day.\n\nAll was calm in heaven and on earth, calm as within the heart of a man\nat the moment of morning prayer; only at intervals a cool wind rushed\nin from the east, lifting the horses' manes which were covered with\nhoar-frost. We started off. The five lean jades dragged our wagons with\ndifficulty along the tortuous road up Mount Gut. We ourselves walked\nbehind, placing stones under the wheels whenever the horses were spent.\nThe road seemed to lead into the sky, for, so far as the eye could\ndiscern, it still mounted up and up, until finally it was lost in the\ncloud which, since early evening, had been resting on the summit of\nMount Gut, like a kite awaiting its prey. The snow crunched under our\nfeet. The atmosphere grew so rarefied that to breathe was painful; ever\nand anon the blood rushed to my head, but withal a certain rapturous\nsensation was diffused throughout my veins and I felt a species of\ndelight at being so high up above the world. A childish feeling, I\nadmit, but, when we retire from the conventions of society and draw\nclose to nature, we involuntarily become as children: each attribute\nacquired by experience falls away from the soul, which becomes anew such\nas it was once and will surely be again. He whose lot it has been, as\nmine has been, to wander over the desolate mountains, long, long to\nobserve their fantastic shapes, greedily to gulp down the life-giving\nair diffused through their ravines--he, of course, will understand my\ndesire to communicate, to narrate, to sketch those magic pictures.\n\nWell, at length we reached the summit of Mount Gut and, halting, looked\naround us. Upon the mountain a grey cloud was hanging, and its cold\nbreath threatened the approach of a storm; but in the east everything\nwas so clear and golden that we--that is, the staff-captain and\nI--forgot all about the cloud... Yes, the staff-captain too; in\nsimple hearts the feeling for the beauty and grandeur of nature is a\nhundred-fold stronger and more vivid than in us, ecstatic composers of\nnarratives in words and on paper.\n\n\"You have grown accustomed, I suppose, to these magnificent pictures!\" I\nsaid.\n\n\"Yes, sir, you can even grow accustomed to the whistling of a bullet,\nthat is to say, accustomed to concealing the involuntary thumping of\nyour heart.\"\n\n\"I have heard, on the contrary, that many an old warrior actually finds\nthat music agreeable.\"\n\n\"Of course, if it comes to that, it is agreeable; but only just because\nthe heart beats more violently. Look!\" he added, pointing towards the\neast. \"What a country!\"\n\nAnd, indeed, such a panorama I can hardly hope to see elsewhere. Beneath\nus lay the Koishaur Valley, intersected by the Aragva and another stream\nas if by two silver threads; a bluish mist was gliding along the valley,\nfleeing into the neighbouring defiles from the warm rays of the morning.\nTo right and left the mountain crests, towering higher and higher,\nintersected each other and stretched out, covered with snows and\nthickets; in the distance were the same mountains, which now, however,\nhad the appearance of two cliffs, one like to the other. And all these\nsnows were burning in the crimson glow so merrily and so brightly that\nit seemed as though one could live in such a place for ever. The sun was\nscarcely visible behind the dark-blue mountain, which only a practised\neye could distinguish from a thunder-cloud; but above the sun was a\nblood-red streak to which my companion directed particular attention.\n\n\"I told you,\" he exclaimed, \"that there would be dirty weather to-day!\nWe must make haste, or perhaps it will catch us on Mount Krestov.--Get\non!\" he shouted to the drivers.\n\nChains were put under the wheels in place of drags, so that they should\nnot slide, the drivers took the horses by the reins, and the descent\nbegan. On the right was a cliff, on the left a precipice, so deep that\nan entire village of Ossetes at the bottom looked like a swallow's nest.\nI shuddered, as the thought occurred to me that often in the depth of\nnight, on that very road, where two wagons could not pass, a courier\ndrives some ten times a year without climbing down from his rickety\nvehicle. One of our drivers was a Russian peasant from Yaroslavl, the\nother, an Ossete. The latter took out the leaders in good time and led\nthe shaft-horse by the reins, using every possible precaution--but\nour heedless compatriot did not even climb down from his box! When I\nremarked to him that he might put himself out a bit, at least in the\ninterests of my portmanteau, for which I had not the slightest desire to\nclamber down into the abyss, he answered:\n\n\"Eh, master, with the help of Heaven we shall arrive as safe and sound\nas the others; it's not our first time, you know.\"\n\nAnd he was right. We might just as easily have failed to arrive at\nall; but arrive we did, for all that. And if people would only reason a\nlittle more they would be convinced that life is not worth taking such a\ndeal of trouble about.\n\nPerhaps, however, you would like to know the conclusion of the story\nof Bela? In the first place, this is not a novel, but a collection of\ntravelling-notes, and, consequently, I cannot make the staff-captain\ntell the story sooner than he actually proceeded to tell it. Therefore,\nyou must wait a bit, or, if you like, turn over a few pages. Though I do\nnot advise you to do the latter, because the crossing of Mount Krestov\n(or, as the erudite Gamba calls it, le mont St. Christophe) is\nworthy of your curiosity.\n\nWell, then, we descended Mount Gut into the Chertov Valley... There's\na romantic designation for you! Already you have a vision of the evil\nspirit's nest amid the inaccessible cliffs--but you are out of your\nreckoning there. The name \"Chertov\" is derived from the word cherta\n(boundary-line) and not from chort (devil), because, at one time,\nthe valley marked the boundary of Georgia. We found it choked with\nsnow-drifts, which reminded us rather vividly of Saratov, Tambov, and\nother charming localities of our fatherland.\n\n\"Look, there is Krestov!\" said the staff-captain, when we had descended\ninto the Chertov Valley, as he pointed out a hill covered with a shroud\nof snow. Upon the summit stood out the black outline of a stone cross,\nand past it led an all but imperceptible road which travellers use only\nwhen the side-road is obstructed with snow. Our drivers, declaring that\nno avalanches had yet fallen, spared the horses by conducting us round\nthe mountain. At a turning we met four or five Ossetes, who offered\nus their services; and, catching hold of the wheels, proceeded, with\na shout, to drag and hold up our cart. And, indeed, it is a dangerous\nroad; on the right were masses of snow hanging above us, and ready,\nit seemed, at the first squall of wind to break off and drop into the\nravine; the narrow road was partly covered with snow, which, in many\nplaces, gave way under our feet and, in others, was converted into ice\nby the action of the sun by day and the frosts by night, so that the\nhorses kept falling, and it was with difficulty that we ourselves\nmade our way. On the left yawned a deep chasm, through which rolled a\ntorrent, now hiding beneath a crust of ice, now leaping and foaming\nover the black rocks. In two hours we were barely able to double Mount\nKrestov--two versts in two hours! Meanwhile the clouds had descended,\nhail and snow fell; the wind, bursting into the ravines, howled and\nwhistled like Nightingale the Robber. Soon the stone cross was\nhidden in the mist, the billows of which, in ever denser and more\ncompact masses, rushed in from the east...\n\nConcerning that stone cross, by the way, there exists the strange, but\nwidespread, tradition that it had been set up by the Emperor Peter the\nFirst when travelling through the Caucasus. In the first place, however,\nthe Emperor went no farther than Daghestan; and, in the second place,\nthere is an inscription in large letters on the cross itself, to the\neffect that it had been erected by order of General Ermolov, and that\ntoo in the year 1824. Nevertheless, the tradition has taken such firm\nroot, in spite of the inscription, that really you do not know what to\nbelieve; the more so, as it is not the custom to believe inscriptions.\n\nTo reach the station Kobi, we still had to descend about five versts,\nacross ice-covered rocks and plashy snow. The horses were exhausted;\nwe were freezing; the snowstorm droned with ever-increasing violence,\nexactly like the storms of our own northern land, only its wild melodies\nwere sadder and more melancholy.\n\n\"O Exile,\" I thought, \"thou art weeping for thy wide, free steppes!\nThere mayest thou unfold thy cold wings, but here thou art stifled and\nconfined, like an eagle beating his wings, with a shriek, against the\ngrating of his iron cage!\"\n\n\"A bad look out,\" said the staff-captain. \"Look! There's nothing to be\nseen all round but mist and snow. At any moment we may tumble into an\nabyss or stick fast in a cleft; and a little lower down, I dare say, the\nBaidara has risen so high that there is no getting across it. Oh, this\nAsia, I know it! Like people, like rivers! There's no trusting them at\nall!\"\n\nThe drivers, shouting and cursing, belaboured the horses, which\nsnorted, resisted obstinately, and refused to budge on any account,\nnotwithstanding the eloquence of the whips.\n\n\"Your honour,\" one of the drivers said to me at length, \"you see, we\nwill never reach Kobi to-day. Won't you give orders to turn to the left\nwhile we can? There is something black yonder on the slope--probably\nhuts. Travellers always stop there in bad weather, sir. They say,\" he\nadded, pointing to the Ossetes, \"that they will lead us there if you\nwill give them a tip.\"\n\n\"I know that, my friend, I know that without your telling me,\" said\nthe staff-captain. \"Oh, these beasts! They are delighted to seize any\npretext for extorting a tip!\"\n\n\"You must confess, however,\" I said, \"that we should be worse off\nwithout them.\"\n\n\"Just so, just so,\" he growled to himself. \"I know them well--these\nguides! They scent out by instinct a chance of taking advantage of\npeople. As if it was impossible to find the way without them!\"\n\nAccordingly we turned aside to the left, and, somehow or other, after\na good deal of trouble, made our way to the wretched shelter, which\nconsisted of two huts built of stone slabs and rubble, surrounded by a\nwall of the same material. Our ragged hosts received us with alacrity. I\nlearned afterwards that the Government supplies them with money and food\nupon condition that they put up travellers who are overtaken by storm.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\n\"ALL is for the best,\" I said, sitting down close by the fire. \"Now you\nwill finish telling me your story about Bela. I am certain that what you\nhave already told me was not the end of it.\"\n\n\"Why are you so certain?\" answered the staff-captain, winking and\nsmiling slyly.\n\n\"Because things don't happen like that. A story with such an unusual\nbeginning must also have an unusual ending.\"\n\n\"You have guessed, of course\"...\n\n\"I am very glad to hear it.\"\n\n\"It is all very well for you to be glad, but, indeed, it makes me\nsad when I think of it. Bela was a splendid girl. In the end I grew\naccustomed to her just as if she had been my own daughter, and she loved\nme. I must tell you that I have no family. I have had no news of my\nfather and mother for twelve years or so, and, in my earlier days, I\nnever thought of providing myself with a wife--and now, you know, it\nwouldn't do. So I was glad to have found someone to spoil. She used to\nsing to us or dance the Lezginka... And what a dancer she was! I\nhave seen our own ladies in provincial society; and on one occasion,\nsir, about twenty years ago, I was even in the Nobles' Club at\nMoscow--but was there a woman to be compared with her? Not one! Grigori\nAleksandrovich dressed her up like a doll, petted and pampered her, and\nit was simply astonishing to see how pretty she grew while she lived\nwith us. The sunburn disappeared from her face and hands, and a rosy\ncolour came into her cheeks... What a merry girl she was! Always making\nfun of me, the little rogue!... Heaven forgive her!\"\n\n\"And when you told her of her father's death?\"\n\n\"We kept it a secret from her for a long time, until she had grown\naccustomed to her position; and then, when she was told, she cried for a\nday or two and forgot all about it.\n\n\"For four months or so everything went on as well as it possibly\ncould. Grigori Aleksandrovich, as I think I have already mentioned, was\npassionately fond of hunting; he was always craving to be off into the\nforest after boars or wild goats--but now it would be as much as he\nwould do to go beyond the fortress rampart. All at once, however, I saw\nthat he was beginning again to have fits of abstraction, walking about\nhis room with his hands clasped behind his back. One day after that,\nwithout telling anyone, he set off shooting. During the whole morning\nhe was not to be seen; then the same thing happened another time, and so\non--oftener and oftener...\n\n\"'This looks bad!' I said to myself. 'Something must have come between\nthem!'\n\n\"One morning I paid them a visit--I can see it all in my mind's eye, as\nif it was happening now. Bela was sitting on the bed, wearing a black\nsilk jacket, and looking rather pale and so sad that I was alarmed.\n\n\"'Where is Pechorin?' I asked.\n\n\"'Hunting.'\n\n\"'When did he go--to-day?'\n\n\"'She was silent, as if she found a difficulty in answering.\n\n\"'No, he has been gone since yesterday,' she said at length, with a\nheavy sigh.\n\n\"'Surely nothing has happened to him!'\n\n\"'Yesterday I thought and thought the whole day,' she answered through\nher tears; 'I imagined all sorts of misfortunes. At one time I fancied\nthat he had been wounded by a wild boar, at another time, that he had\nbeen carried off by a Chechene into the mountains... But, now, I have\ncome to think that he no longer loves me.'\n\n\"'In truth, my dear girl, you could not have imagined anything worse!'\n\n\"She burst out crying; then, proudly raising her head, she wiped away\nthe tears and continued:\n\n\"'If he does not love me, then who prevents him sending me home? I am\nnot putting any constraint on him. But, if things go on like this, I\nwill go away myself--I am not a slave, I am a prince's daughter!'...\n\n\"I tried to talk her over.\n\n\"'Listen, Bela. You see it is impossible for him to stop in here with\nyou for ever, as if he was sewn on to your petticoat. He is a young man\nand fond of hunting. Off he'll go, but you will find that he will come\nback; and, if you are going to be unhappy, you will soon make him tired\nof you.'\n\n\"'True, true!' she said. 'I will be merry.'\n\n\"And with a burst of laughter, she seized her tambourine, began to sing,\ndance, and gambol around me. But that did not last long either; she fell\nupon the bed again and buried her face in her hands.\n\n\"What could I do with her? You know I have never been accustomed to\nthe society of women. I thought and thought how to cheer her up, but\ncouldn't hit on anything. For some time both of us remained silent... A\nmost unpleasant situation, sir!\n\n\"At length I said to her:\n\n\"'Would you like us to go and take a walk on the rampart? The weather is\nsplendid.'\n\n\"This was in September, and indeed it was a wonderful day, bright and\nnot too hot. The mountains could be seen as clearly as though they were\nbut a hand's-breadth away. We went, and walked in silence to and fro\nalong the rampart of the fortress. At length she sat down on the sward,\nand I sat beside her. In truth, now, it is funny to think of it all! I\nused to run after her just like a kind of children's nurse!\n\n\"Our fortress was situated in a lofty position, and the view from the\nrampart was superb. On one side, the wide clearing, seamed by a few\nclefts, was bounded by the forest which stretched out to the very ridge\nof the mountains. Here and there, on the clearing, villages were to be\nseen sending forth their smoke, and there were droves of horses roaming\nabout. On the other side flowed a tiny stream, and close to its banks\ncame the dense undergrowth which covered the flinty heights joining the\nprincipal chain of the Caucasus. We sat in a corner of the bastion, so\nthat we could see everything on both sides. Suddenly I perceived\nsomeone on a grey horse riding out of the forest; nearer and nearer he\napproached until finally he stopped on the far side of the river, about\na hundred fathoms from us, and began to wheel his horse round and round\nlike one possessed. 'Strange!' I thought.\n\n\"'Look, look, Bela,' I said, 'you've got young eyes--what sort of a\nhorseman is that? Who is it he has come to amuse?'...\n\n\"'It is Kazbich!' she exclaimed after a glance.\n\n\"'Ah, the robber! Come to laugh at us, has he?'\n\n\"I looked closely, and sure enough it was Kazbich, with his swarthy\nface, and as ragged and dirty as ever.\n\n\"'It is my father's horse!' said Bela, seizing my arm.\n\n\"She was trembling like a leaf and her eyes were sparkling.\n\n\"'Aha!' I said to myself. 'There is robber's blood in your veins still,\nmy dear!'\n\n\"'Come here,' I said to the sentry. 'Look to your gun and unhorse that\ngallant for me--and you shall have a silver ruble.'\n\n\"'Very well, your honour, only he won't keep still.'\n\n\"'Tell him to!' I said, with a laugh.\n\n\"'Hey, friend!' cried the sentry, waving his hand. 'Wait a bit. What are\nyou spinning round like a humming-top for?'\n\n\"Kazbich halted and gave ear to the sentry--probably thinking that we\nwere going to parley with him. Quite the contrary!... My grenadier took\naim... Bang!... Missed!... Just as the powder flashed in the pan Kazbich\njogged his horse, which gave a bound to one side. He stood up in his\nstirrups, shouted something in his own language, made a threatening\ngesture with his whip--and was off.\n\n\"'Aren't you ashamed of yourself?' I said to the sentry.\n\n\"'He has gone away to die, your honour,' he answered. 'There's no\nkilling a man of that cursed race at one stroke.'\n\n\"A quarter of an hour later Pechorin returned from hunting. Bela\nthrew herself on his neck without a single complaint, without a single\nreproach for his lengthy absence!... Even I was angry with him by this\ntime!\n\n\"'Good heavens!' I said; 'why, I tell you, Kazbich was here on the other\nside of the river just a moment ago, and we shot at him. How easily\nyou might have run up against him, you know! These mountaineers are a\nvindictive race! Do you suppose he does not guess that you gave Azamat\nsome help? And I wager that he recognised Bela to-day! I know he was\ndesperately fond of her a year ago--he told me so himself--and, if he\nhad had any hope of getting together a proper bridegroom's gift, he\nwould certainly have sought her in marriage.'\n\n\"At this Pechorin became thoughtful.\n\n\"'Yes,' he answered. 'We must be more cautious--Bela, from this day\nforth you mustn't walk on the rampart any more.'\n\n\"In the evening I had a lengthy explanation with him. I was vexed that\nhis feelings towards the poor girl had changed; to say nothing of his\nspending half the day hunting, his manner towards her had become cold.\nHe rarely caressed her, and she was beginning perceptibly to pine away;\nher little face was becoming drawn, her large eyes growing dim.\n\n\"'What are you sighing for, Bela?' I would ask her. 'Are you sad?'\n\n\"'No!'\n\n\"'Do you want anything?'\n\n\"'No!'\n\n\"'You are pining for your kinsfolk?'\n\n\"'I have none!'\n\n\"Sometimes for whole days not a word could be drawn from her but 'Yes'\nand 'No.'\n\n\"So I straightway proceeded to talk to Pechorin about her.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\n\"'LISTEN, Maksim Maksimych,' said Pechorin. 'Mine is an unfortunate\ndisposition; whether it is the result of my upbringing or whether it\nis innate--I know not. I only know this, that if I am the cause of\nunhappiness in others I myself am no less unhappy. Of course, that is a\npoor consolation to them--only the fact remains that such is the case.\nIn my early youth, from the moment I ceased to be under the guardianship\nof my relations, I began madly to enjoy all the pleasures which money\ncould buy--and, of course, such pleasures became irksome to me. Then I\nlaunched out into the world of fashion--and that, too, soon palled upon\nme. I fell in love with fashionable beauties and was loved by them, but\nmy imagination and egoism alone were aroused; my heart remained empty...\nI began to read, to study--but sciences also became utterly wearisome to\nme. I saw that neither fame nor happiness depends on them in the\nleast, because the happiest people are the uneducated, and fame is good\nfortune, to attain which you have only to be smart. Then I grew bored...\nSoon afterwards I was transferred to the Caucasus; and that was\nthe happiest time of my life. I hoped that under the bullets of the\nChechenes boredom could not exist--a vain hope! In a month I grew so\naccustomed to the buzzing of the bullets and to the proximity of death\nthat, to tell the truth, I paid more attention to the gnats--and I\nbecame more bored than ever, because I had lost what was almost my last\nhope. When I saw Bela in my own house; when, for the first time, I held\nher on my knee and kissed her black locks, I, fool that I was, thought\nthat she was an angel sent to me by sympathetic fate... Again I was\nmistaken; the love of a savage is little better than that of your lady\nof quality, the barbaric ignorance and simplicity of the one weary you\nas much as the coquetry of the other. I am not saying that I do not love\nher still; I am grateful to her for a few fairly sweet moments; I would\ngive my life for her--only I am bored with her... Whether I am a fool or\na villain I know not; but this is certain, I am also most deserving of\npity--perhaps more than she. My soul has been spoiled by the world,\nmy imagination is unquiet, my heart insatiate. To me everything is of\nlittle moment. I become as easily accustomed to grief as to joy, and my\nlife grows emptier day by day. One expedient only is left to me--travel.\n\n\"'As soon as I can, I shall set off--but not to Europe. Heaven forfend!\nI shall go to America, to Arabia, to India--perchance I shall die\nsomewhere on the way. At any rate, I am convinced that, thanks to storms\nand bad roads, that last consolation will not quickly be exhausted!'\n\n\"For a long time he went on speaking thus, and his words have remained\nstamped upon my memory, because it was the first time that I had heard\nsuch things from a man of five-and-twenty--and Heaven grant it may\nbe the last. Isn't it astonishing? Tell me, please,\" continued the\nstaff-captain, appealing to me. \"You used to live in the Capital, I\nthink, and that not so very long ago. Is it possible that the young men\nthere are all like that?\"\n\nI replied that there were a good many people who used the same sort\nof language, that, probably, there might even be some who spoke in all\nsincerity; that disillusionment, moreover, like all other vogues, having\nhad its beginning in the higher strata of society, had descended to the\nlower, where it was being worn threadbare, and that, now, those who were\nreally and truly bored strove to conceal their misfortune as if it were\na vice. The staff-captain did not understand these subtleties, shook his\nhead, and smiled slyly.\n\n\"Anyhow, I suppose it was the French who introduced the fashion?\"\n\n\"No, the English.\"\n\n\"Aha, there you are!\" he answered. \"They always have been arrant\ndrunkards, you know!\"\n\nInvoluntarily I recalled to mind a certain lady, living in Moscow, who\nused to maintain that Byron was nothing more nor less than a drunkard.\nHowever, the staff-captain's observation was more excusable; in order to\nabstain from strong drink, he naturally endeavoured to convince himself\nthat all the misfortunes in the world are the result of drunkenness.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nMEANWHILE the staff-captain continued his story.\n\n\"Kazbich never put in an appearance again; but somehow--I don't know\nwhy--I could not get the idea out of my head that he had had a reason\nfor coming, and that some mischievous scheme was in his mind.\n\n\"Well, one day Pechorin tried to persuade me to go boar-hunting with\nhim. For a long time I refused. What novelty was a wild boar to me?\n\n\"However, off he dragged me, all the same. We took four or five soldiers\nand set out early in the morning. Up till ten o'clock we scurried about\nthe reeds and the forest--there wasn't a wild beast to be found!\n\n\"'I say, oughtn't we to be going back?' I said. 'What's the use of\nsticking at it? It is evident enough that we have happened on an unlucky\nday!'\n\n\"But, in spite of heat and fatigue, Pechorin didn't like to return\nempty-handed... That is just the kind of man he was; whatever he set\nhis heart on he had to have--evidently, in his childhood, he had been\nspoiled by an indulgent mother. At last, at midday, we discovered one\nof those cursed wild boars--Bang! Bang!--No good!--Off it went into the\nreeds. That was an unlucky day, to be sure!... So, after a short rest,\nwe set off homeward...\n\n\"We rode in silence, side by side, giving the horses their head. We had\nalmost reached the fortress, and only the brushwood concealed it from\nview. Suddenly a shot rang out... We glanced at each other, both struck\nwith the selfsame suspicion... We galloped headlong in the direction of\nthe shot, looked, and saw the soldiers clustered together on the rampart\nand pointing towards a field, along which a rider was flying at full\nspeed, holding something white across his saddle. Grigori Aleksandrovich\nyelled like any Chechene, whipped his gun from its cover, and gave\nchase--I after him.\n\n\"Luckily, thanks to our unsuccessful hunt, our horses were not jaded;\nthey strained under the saddle, and with every moment we drew nearer and\nnearer... At length I recognised Kazbich, only I could not make out what\nit was that he was holding in front of him.\n\n\"Then I drew level with Pechorin and shouted to him:\n\n\"'It is Kazbich!'\n\n\"He looked at me, nodded, and struck his horse with his whip.\n\n\"At last we were within gunshot of Kazbich. Whether it was that his\nhorse was jaded or not so good as ours, I don't know, but, in spite of\nall his efforts, it did not get along very fast. I fancy at that moment\nhe remembered his Karagyoz!\n\n\"I looked at Pechorin. He was taking aim as he galloped...\n\n\"'Don't shoot,' I cried. 'Save the shot! We will catch up with him as it\nis.'\n\n\"Oh, these young men! Always taking fire at the wrong moment! The shot\nrang out and the bullet broke one of the horse's hind legs. It gave a\nfew fiery leaps forward, stumbled, and fell to its knees. Kazbich sprang\noff, and then we perceived that it was a woman he was holding in his\narms--a woman wrapped in a veil. It was Bela--poor Bela! He shouted\nsomething to us in his own language and raised his dagger over her...\nDelay was useless; I fired in my turn, at haphazard. Probably the bullet\nstruck him in the shoulder, because he dropped his hand suddenly. When\nthe smoke cleared off, we could see the wounded horse lying on the\nground and Bela beside it; but Kazbich, his gun flung away, was\nclambering like a cat up the cliff, through the brushwood. I should have\nliked to have brought him down from there--but I hadn't a charge ready.\nWe jumped off our horses and rushed to Bela. Poor girl! She was lying\nmotionless, and the blood was pouring in streams from her wound. The\nvillain! If he had struck her to the heart--well and good, everything\nwould at least have been finished there and then; but to stab her in\nthe back like that--the scoundrel! She was unconscious. We tore the\nveil into strips and bound up the wound as tightly as we could. In vain\nPechorin kissed her cold lips--it was impossible to bring her to.\n\n\"Pechorin mounted; I lifted Bela from the ground and somehow managed to\nplace her before him on his saddle; he put his arm round her and we rode\nback.\n\n\"'Look here, Maksim Maksimych,' said Grigori Aleksandrovich, after a few\nmoments of silence. 'We will never bring her in alive like this.'\n\n\"'True!' I said, and we put our horses to a full gallop.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\n\"A CROWD was awaiting us at the fortress gate. Carefully we carried the\nwounded girl to Pechorin's quarters, and then we sent for the doctor.\nThe latter was drunk, but he came, examined the wound, and announced\nthat she could not live more than a day. He was mistaken, though.\"\n\n\"She recovered?\" I asked the staff-captain, seizing him by the arm, and\ninvoluntarily rejoicing.\n\n\"No,\" he replied, \"but the doctor was so far mistaken that she lived two\ndays longer.\"\n\n\"Explain, though, how Kazbich made off with her!\"\n\n\"It was like this: in spite of Pechorin's prohibition, she went out of\nthe fortress and down to the river. It was a very hot day, you know, and\nshe sat on a rock and dipped her feet in the water. Up crept Kazbich,\npounced upon her, silenced her, and dragged her into the bushes. Then\nhe sprang on his horse and made off. In the meantime she succeeded in\ncrying out, the sentries took the alarm, fired, but wide of the mark;\nand thereupon we arrived on the scene.\"\n\n\"But what did Kazbich want to carry her off for?\"\n\n\"Good gracious! Why, everyone knows these Circassians are a race of\nthieves; they can't keep their hands off anything that is left lying\nabout! They may not want a thing, but they will steal it, for all that.\nStill, you mustn't be too hard on them. And, besides, he had been in\nlove with her for a long time.\"\n\n\"And Bela died?\"\n\n\"Yes, she died, but she suffered for a long time, and we were fairly\nknocked up with her, I can tell you. About ten o'clock in the evening\nshe came to herself. We were sitting by her bed. As soon as ever she\nopened her eyes she began to call Pechorin.\n\n\"'I am here beside you, my janechka' (that is, 'my darling'), he\nanswered, taking her by the hand.\n\n\"'I shall die,' she said.\n\n\"We began to comfort her, telling her that the doctor had promised\ninfallibly to cure her. She shook her little head and turned to the\nwall--she did not want to die!...\n\n\"At night she became delirious, her head burned, at times a feverish\nparoxysm convulsed her whole body. She talked incoherently about her\nfather, her brother; she yearned for the mountains, for her home... Then\nshe spoke of Pechorin also, called him various fond names, or reproached\nhim for having ceased to love his janechka.\n\n\"He listened to her in silence, his head sunk in his hands; but yet,\nduring the whole time, I did not notice a single tear-drop on his\nlashes. I do not know whether he was actually unable to weep or was\nmastering himself; but for my part I have never seen anything more\npitiful.\n\n\"Towards morning the delirium passed off. For an hour or so she lay\nmotionless, pale, and so weak that it was hardly possible to observe\nthat she was breathing. After that she grew better and began to talk:\nonly about what, think you? Such thoughts come only to the dying!... She\nlamented that she was not a Christian, that in the other world her\nsoul would never meet the soul of Grigori Aleksandrovich, and that in\nParadise another woman would be his companion. The thought occurred to\nme to baptize her before her death. I told her my idea; she looked at me\nundecidedly, and for a long time was unable to utter a word. Finally she\nanswered that she would die in the faith in which she had been born.\nA whole day passed thus. What a change that day made in her! Her pale\ncheeks fell in, her eyes grew ever so large, her lips burned. She felt\na consuming heat within her, as though a red-hot blade was piercing her\nbreast.\n\n\"The second night came on. We did not close our eyes or leave the\nbedside. She suffered terribly, and groaned; and directly the pain began\nto abate she endeavoured to assure Grigori Aleksandrovich that she felt\nbetter, tried to persuade him to go to bed, kissed his hand and would\nnot let it out of hers. Before the morning she began to feel the death\nagony and to toss about. She knocked the bandage off, and the blood\nflowed afresh. When the wound was bound up again she grew quiet for a\nmoment and begged Pechorin to kiss her. He fell on his knees beside\nthe bed, raised her head from the pillow, and pressed his lips to\nhers--which were growing cold. She threw her trembling arms closely\nround his neck, as if with that kiss she wished to yield up her soul\nto him.--No, she did well to die! Why, what would have become of her if\nGrigori Aleksandrovich had abandoned her? And that is what would have\nhappened, sooner or later.\n\n\"During half the following day she was calm, silent and docile, however\nmuch the doctor tortured her with his fomentations and mixtures.\n\n\"'Good heavens!' I said to him, 'you know you said yourself that she was\ncertain to die, so what is the good of all these preparations of yours?'\n\n\"'Even so, it is better to do all this,' he replied, 'so that I may have\nan easy conscience.'\n\n\"A pretty conscience, forsooth!\n\n\"After midday Bela began to suffer from thirst. We opened the windows,\nbut it was hotter outside than in the room; we placed ice round the\nbed--all to no purpose. I knew that that intolerable thirst was a sign\nof the approaching end, and I told Pechorin so.\n\n\"'Water, water!' she said in a hoarse voice, raising herself up from the\nbed.\n\n\"Pechorin turned pale as a sheet, seized a glass, filled it, and gave\nit to her. I covered my eyes with my hands and began to say a prayer--I\ncan't remember what... Yes, my friend, many a time have I seen people\ndie in hospitals or on the field of battle, but this was something\naltogether different! Still, this one thing grieves me, I must confess:\nshe died without even once calling me to mind. Yet I loved her, I should\nthink, like a father!... Well, God forgive her!... And, to tell the\ntruth, what am I that she should have remembered me when she was\ndying?...\n\n\"As soon as she had drunk the water, she grew easier--but in about three\nminutes she breathed her last! We put a looking-glass to her lips--it\nwas undimmed!\n\n\"I led Pechorin from the room, and we went on to the fortress rampart.\nFor a long time we walked side by side, to and fro, speaking not a word\nand with our hands clasped behind our backs. His face expressed nothing\nout of the common--and that vexed me. Had I been in his place, I should\nhave died of grief. At length he sat down on the ground in the shade and\nbegan to draw something in the sand with his stick. More for form's sake\nthan anything, you know, I tried to console him and began to talk. He\nraised his head and burst into a laugh! At that laugh a cold shudder ran\nthrough me... I went away to order a coffin.\n\n\"I confess it was partly to distract my thoughts that I busied myself in\nthat way. I possessed a little piece of Circassian stuff, and I covered\nthe coffin with it, and decked it with some Circassian silver lace which\nGrigori Aleksandrovich had bought for Bela herself.\n\n\"Early next morning we buried her behind the fortress, by the river,\nbeside the spot where she had sat for the last time. Around her little\ngrave white acacia shrubs and elder-trees have now grown up. I\nshould have liked to erect a cross, but that would not have done, you\nknow--after all, she was not a Christian.\"\n\n\"And what of Pechorin?\" I asked.\n\n\"Pechorin was ill for a long time, and grew thin, poor fellow; but\nwe never spoke of Bela from that time forth. I saw that it would be\ndisagreeable to him, so what would have been the use? About three months\nlater he was appointed to the E----Regiment, and departed for Georgia.\nWe have never met since. Yet, when I come to think of it, somebody told\nme not long ago that he had returned to Russia--but it was not in the\ngeneral orders for the corps. Besides, to the like of us news is late in\ncoming.\"\n\nHereupon--probably to drown sad memories--he launched forth into a\nlengthy dissertation on the unpleasantness of learning news a year late.\n\nI did not interrupt him, nor did I listen.\n\nIn an hour's time a chance of proceeding on our journey presented\nitself. The snowstorm subsided, the sky became clear, and we set off. On\nthe way I involuntarily let the conversation turn on Bela and Pechorin.\n\n\"You have not heard what became of Kazbich?\" I asked.\n\n\"Kazbich? In truth, I don't know. I have heard that with the Shapsugs,\non our right flank, there is a certain Kazbich, a dare-devil fellow who\nrides about at a walking pace, in a red tunic, under our bullets, and\nbows politely whenever one hums near him--but it can scarcely be the\nsame person!\"...\n\nIn Kobi, Maksim Maksimych and I parted company. I posted on, and he,\non account of his heavy luggage, was unable to follow me. We had no\nexpectation of ever meeting again, but meet we did, and, if you like,\nI will tell you how--it is quite a history... You must acknowledge,\nthough, that Maksim Maksimych is a man worthy of all respect... If\nyou admit that, I shall be fully rewarded for my, perhaps, too lengthy\nstory.\n\n\n\n\n\nBOOK II MAKSIM MAKSIMYCH\n\nAFTER parting with Maksim Maksimych, I galloped briskly through the\ngorges of the Terek and Darial, breakfasted in Kazbek, drank tea in\nLars, and arrived at Vladikavkaz in time for supper. I spare you a\ndescription of the mountains, as well as exclamations which convey no\nmeaning, and word-paintings which convey no image--especially to\nthose who have never been in the Caucasus. I also omit statistical\nobservations, which I am quite sure nobody would read.\n\nI put up at the inn which is frequented by all who travel in those\nparts, and where, by the way, there is no one you can order to roast\nyour pheasant and cook your cabbage-soup, because the three veterans\nwho have charge of the inn are either so stupid, or so drunk, that it is\nimpossible to knock any sense at all out of them.\n\nI was informed that I should have to stay there three days longer,\nbecause the \"Adventure\" had not yet arrived from Ekaterinograd and\nconsequently could not start on the return journey. What a misadventure!\n... But a bad pun is no consolation to a Russian, and, for the sake\nof something to occupy my thoughts, I took it into my head to write down\nthe story about Bela, which I had heard from Maksim Maksimych--never\nimagining that it would be the first link in a long chain of novels: you\nsee how an insignificant event has sometimes dire results!... Perhaps,\nhowever, you do not know what the \"Adventure\" is? It is a\nconvoy--composed of half a company of infantry, with a cannon--which\nescorts baggage-trains through Kabardia from Vladikavkaz to\nEkaterinograd.\n\nThe first day I found the time hang on my hands dreadfully. Early next\nmorning a vehicle drove into the courtyard... Aha! Maksim Maksimych!...\nWe met like a couple of old friends. I offered to share my own room with\nhim, and he accepted my hospitality without standing upon ceremony; he\neven clapped me on the shoulder and puckered up his mouth by way of a\nsmile--a queer fellow, that!...\n\nMaksim Maksimych was profoundly versed in the culinary art. He roasted\nthe pheasant astonishingly well and basted it successfully with cucumber\nsauce. I was obliged to acknowledge that, but for him, I should have had\nto remain on a dry-food diet. A bottle of Kakhetian wine helped us to\nforget the modest number of dishes--of which there was one, all told.\nThen we lit our pipes, took our chairs, and sat down--I by the window,\nand he by the stove, in which a fire had been lighted because the day\nwas damp and cold. We remained silent. What had we to talk about? He had\nalready told me all that was of interest about himself and I had nothing\nto relate. I looked out of the window. Here and there, behind the trees,\nI caught glimpses of a number of poor, low houses straggling along the\nbank of the Terek, which flowed seaward in an ever-widening stream;\nfarther off rose the dark-blue, jagged wall of the mountains, behind\nwhich Mount Kazbek gazed forth in his highpriest's hat of white. I took\na mental farewell of them; I felt sorry to leave them...\n\nThus we sat for a considerable time. The sun was sinking behind the cold\nsummits and a whitish mist was beginning to spread over the valleys,\nwhen the silence was broken by the jingling of the bell of a\ntravelling-carriage and the shouting of drivers in the street. A few\nvehicles, accompanied by dirty Armenians, drove into the courtyard of\nthe inn, and behind them came an empty travelling-carriage. Its light\nmovement, comfortable arrangement, and elegant appearance gave it a kind\nof foreign stamp. Behind it walked a man with large moustaches. He was\nwearing a Hungarian jacket and was rather well dressed for a manservant.\nFrom the bold manner in which he shook the ashes out of his pipe and\nshouted at the coachman it was impossible to mistake his calling. He was\nobviously the spoiled servant of an indolent master--something in the\nnature of a Russian Figaro.\n\n\"Tell me, my good man,\" I called to him out of the window. \"What is\nit?--Has the 'Adventure' arrived, eh?\"\n\nHe gave me a rather insolent glance, straightened his cravat, and turned\naway. An Armenian, who was walking near him, smiled and answered for\nhim that the \"Adventure\" had, in fact, arrived, and would start on the\nreturn journey the following morning.\n\n\"Thank heavens!\" said Maksim Maksimych, who had come up to the window at\nthat moment. \"What a wonderful carriage!\" he added; \"probably it belongs\nto some official who is going to Tiflis for a judicial inquiry. You can\nsee that he is unacquainted with our little mountains! No, my friend,\nyou're not serious! They are not for the like of you; why, they would\nshake even an English carriage to bits!--But who could it be? Let us go\nand find out.\"\n\nWe went out into the corridor, at the end of which there was an open\ndoor leading into a side room. The manservant and a driver were dragging\nportmanteaux into the room.\n\n\"I say, my man!\" the staff-captain asked him: \"Whose is that marvellous\ncarriage?--Eh?--A beautiful carriage!\"\n\nWithout turning round the manservant growled something to himself as he\nundid a portmanteau. Maksim Maksimych grew angry.\n\n\"I am speaking to you, my friend!\" he said, touching the uncivil fellow\non the shoulder.\n\n\"Whose carriage?--My master's.\"\n\n\"And who is your master?\"\n\n\"Pechorin--\"\n\n\"What did you say? What? Pechorin?--Great Heavens!... Did he not serve\nin the Caucasus?\" exclaimed Maksim Maksimych, plucking me by the sleeve.\nHis eyes were sparkling with joy.\n\n\"Yes, he served there, I think--but I have not been with him long.\"\n\n\"Well! Just so!... Just so!... Grigori Aleksandrovich?... that is his\nname, of course? Your master and I were friends,\" he added, giving the\nmanservant a friendly clap on the shoulder with such force as to cause\nhim to stagger.\n\n\"Excuse me, sir, you are hindering me,\" said the latter, frowning.\n\n\"What a fellow you are, my friend! Why, don't you know, your master and\nI were bosom friends, and lived together?... But where has he put up?\"\n\nThe servant intimated that Pechorin had stayed to take supper and pass\nthe night at Colonel N----'s.\n\n\"But won't he be looking in here in the evening?\" said Maksim Maksimych.\n\"Or, you, my man, won't you be going over to him for something?... If\nyou do, tell him that Maksim Maksimych is here; just say that--he'll\nknow!--I'll give you half a ruble for a tip!\"\n\nThe manservant made a scornful face on hearing such a modest promise,\nbut he assured Maksim Maksimych that he would execute his commission.\n\n\"He'll be sure to come running up directly!\" said Maksim Maksimych, with\nan air of triumph. \"I will go outside the gate and wait for him! Ah,\nit's a pity I am not acquainted with Colonel N----!\"\n\nMaksim Maksimych sat down on a little bench outside the gate, and I\nwent to my room. I confess that I also was awaiting this Pechorin's\nappearance with a certain amount of impatience--although, from the\nstaff-captain's story, I had formed a by no means favourable idea of\nhim. Still, certain traits in his character struck me as remarkable. In\nan hour's time one of the old soldiers brought a steaming samovar and a\nteapot.\n\n\"Won't you have some tea, Maksim Maksimych?\" I called out of the window.\n\n\"Thank you. I am not thirsty, somehow.\"\n\n\"Oh, do have some! It is late, you know, and cold!\"\n\n\"No, thank you\"...\n\n\"Well, just as you like!\"\n\nI began my tea alone. About ten minutes afterwards my old captain came\nin.\n\n\"You are right, you know; it would be better to have a drop of tea--but\nI was waiting for Pechorin. His man has been gone a long time now, but\nevidently something has detained him.\"\n\nThe staff-captain hurriedly sipped a cup of tea, refused a second,\nand went off again outside the gate--not without a certain amount of\ndisquietude. It was obvious that the old man was mortified by Pechorin's\nneglect, the more so because a short time previously he had been telling\nme of their friendship, and up to an hour ago had been convinced that\nPechorin would come running up immediately on hearing his name.\n\nIt was already late and dark when I opened the window again and began to\ncall Maksim Maksimych, saying that it was time to go to bed. He muttered\nsomething through his teeth. I repeated my invitation--he made no\nanswer.\n\nI left a candle on the stove-seat, and, wrapping myself up in my cloak,\nI lay down on the couch and soon fell into slumber; and I would have\nslept on quietly had not Maksim Maksimych awakened me as he came into\nthe room. It was then very late. He threw his pipe on the table, began\nto walk up and down the room, and to rattle about at the stove. At last\nhe lay down, but for a long time he kept coughing, spitting, and tossing\nabout.\n\n\"The bugs are biting you, are they not?\" I asked.\n\n\"Yes, that is it,\" he answered, with a heavy sigh.\n\nI woke early the next morning, but Maksim Maksimych had anticipated me.\nI found him sitting on the little bench at the gate.\n\n\"I have to go to the Commandant,\" he said, \"so, if Pechorin comes,\nplease send for me.\"...\n\nI gave my promise. He ran off as if his limbs had regained their\nyouthful strength and suppleness.\n\nThe morning was fresh and lovely. Golden clouds had massed themselves on\nthe mountaintops like a new range of aerial mountains. Before the gate\na wide square spread out; behind it the bazaar was seething with people,\nthe day being Sunday. Barefooted Ossete boys, carrying wallets of\nhoneycomb on their shoulders, were hovering around me. I cursed them;\nI had other things to think of--I was beginning to share the worthy\nstaff-captain's uneasiness.\n\nBefore ten minutes had passed the man we were awaiting appeared at the\nend of the square. He was walking with Colonel N., who accompanied him\nas far as the inn, said good-bye to him, and then turned back to the\nfortress. I immediately despatched one of the old soldiers for Maksim\nMaksimych.\n\nPechorin's manservant went out to meet him and informed him that they\nwere going to put to at once; he handed him a box of cigars, received\na few orders, and went off about his business. His master lit a cigar,\nyawned once or twice, and sat down on the bench on the other side of the\ngate. I must now draw his portrait for you.\n\nHe was of medium height. His shapely, slim figure and broad shoulders\ngave evidence of a strong constitution, capable of enduring all the\nhardships of a nomad life and changes of climates, and of resisting with\nsuccess both the demoralising effects of life in the Capital and the\ntempests of the soul. His velvet overcoat, which was covered with dust,\nwas fastened by the two lower buttons only, and exposed to view linen of\ndazzling whiteness, which proved that he had the habits of a gentleman.\nHis gloves, soiled by travel, seemed as though made expressly for\nhis small, aristocratic hand, and when he took one glove off I was\nastonished at the thinness of his pale fingers. His gait was careless\nand indolent, but I noticed that he did not swing his arms--a sure sign\nof a certain secretiveness of character. These remarks, however, are the\nresult of my own observations, and I have not the least desire to make\nyou blindly believe in them. When he was in the act of seating himself\non the bench his upright figure bent as if there was not a single bone\nin his back. The attitude of his whole body was expressive of a\ncertain nervous weakness; he looked, as he sat, like one of Balzac's\nthirty-year-old coquettes resting in her downy arm-chair after a\nfatiguing ball. From my first glance at his face I should not have\nsupposed his age to be more than twenty-three, though afterwards I should\nhave put it down as thirty. His smile had something of a child-like\nquality. His skin possessed a kind of feminine delicacy. His fair hair,\nnaturally curly, most picturesquely outlined his pale and noble brow, on\nwhich it was only after lengthy observation that traces could be noticed\nof wrinkles, intersecting each other: probably they showed up more\ndistinctly in moments of anger or mental disturbance. Notwithstanding\nthe light colour of his hair, his moustaches and eyebrows were black--a\nsign of breeding in a man, just as a black mane and a black tail in a\nwhite horse. To complete the portrait, I will add that he had a slightly\nturned-up nose, teeth of dazzling whiteness, and brown eyes--I must say\na few words more about his eyes.\n\nIn the first place, they never laughed when he laughed. Have you not\nhappened, yourself, to notice the same peculiarity in certain people?...\nIt is a sign either of an evil disposition or of deep and constant\ngrief. From behind his half-lowered eyelashes they shone with a kind\nof phosphorescent gleam--if I may so express myself--which was not the\nreflection of a fervid soul or of a playful fancy, but a glitter like to\nthat of smooth steel, blinding but cold. His glance--brief, but piercing\nand heavy--left the unpleasant impression of an indiscreet question and\nmight have seemed insolent had it not been so unconcernedly tranquil.\n\nIt may be that all these remarks came into my mind only after I had\nknown some details of his life, and it may be, too, that his appearance\nwould have produced an entirely different impression upon another; but,\nas you will not hear of him from anyone except myself, you will have\nto rest content, nolens volens, with the description I have given.\nIn conclusion, I will say that, speaking generally, he was a very\ngood-looking man, and had one of those original types of countenance\nwhich are particularly pleasing to women.\n\nThe horses were already put to; now and then the bell jingled on the\nshaft-bow; and the manservant had twice gone up to Pechorin with\nthe announcement that everything was ready, but still there was no sign\nof Maksim Maksimych. Fortunately Pechorin was sunk in thought as he\ngazed at the jagged, blue peaks of the Caucasus, and was apparently by\nno means in a hurry for the road.\n\nI went up to him.\n\n\"If you care to wait a little longer,\" I said, \"you will have the\npleasure of meeting an old friend.\"\n\n\"Oh, exactly!\" he answered quickly. \"They told me so yesterday. Where is\nhe, though?\"\n\nI looked in the direction of the square and there I descried Maksim\nMaksimych running as hard as he could. In a few moments he was beside\nus. He was scarcely able to breathe; perspiration was rolling in large\ndrops from his face; wet tufts of grey hair, escaping from under his\ncap, were glued to his forehead; his knees were shaking... He was about\nto throw himself on Pechorin's neck, but the latter, rather coldly,\nthough with a smile of welcome, stretched out his hand to him. For\na moment the staff-captain was petrified, but then eagerly seized\nPechorin's hand in both his own. He was still unable to speak.\n\n\"How glad I am to see you, my dear Maksim Maksimych! Well, how are you?\"\nsaid Pechorin.\n\n\"And... thou... you?\" murmured the old man, with tears in his\neyes. \"What an age it is since I have seen you!... But where are you off\nto?\"...\n\n\"I am going to Persia--and farther.\"...\n\n\"But surely not immediately?... Wait a little, my dear fellow!... Surely\nwe are not going to part at once?... What a long time it is since we\nhave seen each other!\"...\n\n\"It is time for me to go, Maksim Maksimych,\" was the reply.\n\n\"Good heavens, good heavens! But where are you going to in such a hurry?\nThere was so much I should have liked to tell you! So much to question\nyou about!... Well, what of yourself? Have you retired?... What?... How\nhave you been getting along?\"\n\n\"Getting bored!\" answered Pechorin, smiling.\n\n\"You remember the life we led in the fortress? A splendid country for\nhunting! You were awfully fond of shooting, you know!... And Bela?\"...\n\nPechorin turned just the slightest bit pale and averted his head.\n\n\"Yes, I remember!\" he said, almost immediately forcing a yawn.\n\nMaksim Maksimych began to beg him to stay with him for a couple of hours\nor so longer.\n\n\"We will have a splendid dinner,\" he said. \"I have two pheasants; and\nthe Kakhetian wine is excellent here... not what it is in Georgia, of\ncourse, but still of the best sort... We will have a talk... You will\ntell me about your life in Petersburg... Eh?\"...\n\n\"In truth, there's nothing for me to tell, dear Maksim Maksimych...\nHowever, good-bye, it is time for me to be off... I am in a hurry...\nI thank you for not having forgotten me,\" he added, taking him by the\nhand.\n\nThe old man knit his brows. He was grieved and angry, although he tried\nto hide his feelings.\n\n\"Forget!\" he growled. \"I have not forgotten anything... Well, God be\nwith you!... It is not like this that I thought we should meet.\"\n\n\"Come! That will do, that will do!\" said Pechorin, giving him a friendly\nembrace. \"Is it possible that I am not the same as I used to be?... What\ncan we do? Everyone must go his own way... Are we ever going to meet\nagain?--God only knows!\"\n\nWhile saying this he had taken his seat in the carriage, and the\ncoachman was already gathering up the reins.\n\n\"Wait, wait!\" cried Maksim Maksimych suddenly, holding on to the\ncarriage door. \"I was nearly forgetting altogether. Your papers were\nleft with me, Grigori Aleksandrovich... I drag them about everywhere I\ngo... I thought I should find you in Georgia, but this is where it has\npleased Heaven that we should meet. What's to be done with them?\"...\n\n\"Whatever you like!\" answered Pechorin. \"Good-bye.\"...\n\n\"So you are off to Persia?... But when will you return?\" Maksim\nMaksimych cried after him.\n\nBy this time the carriage was a long way off, but Pechorin made a sign\nwith his hand which might be interpreted as meaning:\n\n\"It is doubtful whether I shall return, and there is no reason, either,\nwhy I should!\"\n\nThe jingle of the bell and the clatter of the wheels along the flinty\nroad had long ceased to be audible, but the poor old man still remained\nstanding in the same place, deep in thought.\n\n\"Yes,\" he said at length, endeavouring to assume an air of indifference,\nalthough from time to time a tear of vexation glistened on his\neyelashes. \"Of course we were friends--well, but what are friends\nnowadays?... What could I be to him? I'm not rich; I've no rank; and,\nmoreover, I'm not at all his match in years!--See what a dandy he\nhas become since he has been staying in Petersburg again!... What\na carriage!... What a quantity of luggage!... And such a haughty\nmanservant too!\"...\n\nThese words were pronounced with an ironical smile.\n\n\"Tell me,\" he continued, turning to me, \"what do you think of it?\nCome, what the devil is he off to Persia for now?... Good Lord, it is\nridiculous--ridiculous!... But I always knew that he was a fickle man,\nand one you could never rely on!... But, indeed, it is a pity that he\nshould come to a bad end... yet it can't be otherwise!... I always did\nsay that there is no good to be got out of a man who forgets his old\nfriends!\"...\n\nHereupon he turned away in order to hide his agitation and proceeded to\nwalk about the courtyard, around his cart, pretending to be examining\nthe wheels, whilst his eyes kept filling with tears every moment.\n\n\"Maksim Maksimych,\" I said, going up to him, \"what papers are these that\nPechorin left you?\"\n\n\"Goodness knows! Notes of some sort\"...\n\n\"What will you do with them?\"\n\n\"What? I'll have cartridges made of them.\"\n\n\"Hand them over to me instead.\"\n\nHe looked at me in surprise, growled something through his teeth, and\nbegan to rummage in his portmanteau. Out he drew a writing-book and\nthrew it contemptuously on the ground; then a second--a third--a tenth\nshared the same fate. There was something childish in his vexation, and\nit struck me as ridiculous and pitiable...\n\n\"Here they are,\" he said. \"I congratulate you on your find!\"...\n\n\"And I may do anything I like with them?\"\n\n\"Yes, print them in the newspapers, if you like. What is it to me? Am\nI a friend or relation of his? It is true that for a long time we lived\nunder one roof... but aren't there plenty of people with whom I have\nlived?\"...\n\nI seized the papers and lost no time in carrying them away, fearing that\nthe staff-captain might repent his action. Soon somebody came to tell\nus that the \"Adventure\" would set off in an hour's time. I ordered the\nhorses to be put to.\n\nI had already put my cap on when the staff-captain entered the room.\nApparently he had not got ready for departure. His manner was somewhat\ncold and constrained.\n\n\"You are not going, then, Maksim Maksimych?\"\n\n\"No, sir!\"\n\n\"But why not?\"\n\n\"Well, I have not seen the Commandant yet, and I have to deliver some\nGovernment things.\"\n\n\"But you did go, you know.\"\n\n\"I did, of course,\" he stammered, \"but he was not at home... and I did\nnot wait.\"\n\nI understood. For the first time in his life, probably, the poor old man\nhad, to speak by the book, thrown aside official business 'for the sake\nof his personal requirements'... and how he had been rewarded!\n\n\"I am very sorry, Maksim Maksimych, very sorry indeed,\" I said, \"that we\nmust part sooner than necessary.\"\n\n\"What should we rough old men be thinking of to run after you? You young\nmen are fashionable and proud: under the Circassian bullets you are\nfriendly enough with us... but when you meet us afterwards you are\nashamed even to give us your hand!\"\n\n\"I have not deserved these reproaches, Maksim Maksimych.\"\n\n\"Well, but you know I'm quite right. However, I wish you all good luck\nand a pleasant journey.\"\n\nWe took a rather cold farewell of each other. The kind-hearted Maksim\nMaksimych had become the obstinate, cantankerous staff-captain! And why?\nBecause Pechorin, through absent-mindedness or from some other cause,\nhad extended his hand to him when Maksim Maksimych was going to throw\nhimself on his neck! Sad it is to see when a young man loses his best\nhopes and dreams, when from before his eyes is withdrawn the rose-hued\nveil through which he has looked upon the deeds and feelings of mankind;\nalthough there is the hope that the old illusions will be replaced by\nnew ones, none the less evanescent, but, on the other hand, none the\nless sweet. But wherewith can they be replaced when one is at the age\nof Maksim Maksimych? Do what you will, the heart hardens and the soul\nshrinks in upon itself.\n\nI departed--alone.\n\n\n\n\nFOREWORD TO BOOKS III, IV, AND V\n\n\nCONCERNING PECHORIN'S DIARY\n\nI LEARNED not long ago that Pechorin had died on his way back from\nPersia. The news afforded me great delight; it gave me the right to\nprint these notes; and I have taken advantage of the opportunity of\nputting my name at the head of another person's productions. Heaven\ngrant that my readers may not punish me for such an innocent deception!\n\nI must now give some explanation of the reasons which have induced me to\nbetray to the public the inmost secrets of a man whom I never knew. If I\nhad even been his friend, well and good: the artful indiscretion of the\ntrue friend is intelligible to everybody; but I only saw Pechorin\nonce in my life--on the high-road--and, consequently, I cannot cherish\ntowards him that inexplicable hatred, which, hiding its face under the\nmask of friendship, awaits but the death or misfortune of the beloved\nobject to burst over its head in a storm of reproaches, admonitions,\nscoffs and regrets.\n\nOn reading over these notes, I have become convinced of the sincerity\nof the man who has so unsparingly exposed to view his own weaknesses and\nvices. The history of a man's soul, even the pettiest soul, is hardly\nless interesting and useful than the history of a whole people;\nespecially when the former is the result of the observations of a mature\nmind upon itself, and has been written without any egoistical desire of\narousing sympathy or astonishment. Rousseau's Confessions has precisely\nthis defect--he read it to his friends.\n\nAnd, so, it is nothing but the desire to be useful that has constrained\nme to print fragments of this diary which fell into my hands by chance.\nAlthough I have altered all the proper names, those who are mentioned\nin it will probably recognise themselves, and, it may be, will find some\njustification for actions for which they have hitherto blamed a man who\nhas ceased henceforth to have anything in common with this world. We\nalmost always excuse that which we understand.\n\nI have inserted in this book only those portions of the diary which\nrefer to Pechorin's sojourn in the Caucasus. There still remains in\nmy hands a thick writing-book in which he tells the story of his whole\nlife. Some time or other that, too, will present itself before the\ntribunal of the world, but, for many and weighty reasons, I do not\nventure to take such a responsibility upon myself now.\n\nPossibly some readers would like to know my own opinion of Pechorin's\ncharacter. My answer is: the title of this book. \"But that is malicious\nirony!\" they will say... I know not.\n\n\n\n\n\nBOOK III THE FIRST EXTRACT FROM PECHORIN'S DIARY\n\n\n\n\nTAMAN\n\nTAMAN is the nastiest little hole of all the seaports of Russia. I was\nall but starved there, to say nothing of having a narrow escape of being\ndrowned.\n\nI arrived late at night by the post-car. The driver stopped the tired\ntroika at the gate of the only stone-built house that stood at the\nentrance to the town. The sentry, a Cossack from the Black Sea, hearing\nthe jingle of the bell, cried out, sleepily, in his barbarous voice,\n\"Who goes there?\" An under-officer of Cossacks and a headborough\ncame out. I explained that I was an officer bound for the active-service\ndetachment on Government business, and I proceeded to demand official\nquarters. The headborough conducted us round the town. Whatever hut we\ndrove up to we found to be occupied. The weather was cold; I had not\nslept for three nights; I was tired out, and I began to lose my temper.\n\n\"Take me somewhere or other, you scoundrel!\" I cried; \"to the devil\nhimself, so long as there's a place to put up at!\"\n\n\"There is one other lodging,\" answered the headborough, scratching his\nhead. \"Only you won't like it, sir. It is uncanny!\"\n\nFailing to grasp the exact signification of the last phrase, I ordered\nhim to go on, and, after a lengthy peregrination through muddy byways,\nat the sides of which I could see nothing but old fences, we drove up to\na small cabin, right on the shore of the sea.\n\nThe full moon was shining on the little reed-thatched roof and the white\nwalls of my new dwelling. In the courtyard, which was surrounded by a\nwall of rubble-stone, there stood another miserable hovel, smaller and\nolder than the first and all askew. The shore descended precipitously\nto the sea, almost from its very walls, and down below, with incessant\nmurmur, plashed the dark-blue waves. The moon gazed softly upon the\nwatery element, restless but obedient to it, and I was able by its light\nto distinguish two ships lying at some distance from the shore, their\nblack rigging motionless and standing out, like cobwebs, against the\npale line of the horizon.\n\n\"There are vessels in the harbour,\" I said to myself. \"To-morrow I will\nset out for Gelenjik.\"\n\nI had with me, in the capacity of soldier-servant, a Cossack of the\nfrontier army. Ordering him to take down the portmanteau and dismiss\nthe driver, I began to call the master of the house. No answer! I\nknocked--all was silent within!... What could it mean? At length a boy\nof about fourteen crept out from the hall.\n\n\"Where is the master?\"\n\n\"There isn't one.\"\n\n\"What! No master?\"\n\n\"None!\"\n\n\"And the mistress?\"\n\n\"She has gone off to the village.\"\n\n\"Who will open the door for me, then?\" I said, giving it a kick.\n\nThe door opened of its own accord, and a breath of moisture-laden air\nwas wafted from the hut. I struck a lucifer match and held it to the\nboy's face. It lit up two white eyes. He was totally blind, obviously so\nfrom birth. He stood stock-still before me, and I began to examine his\nfeatures.\n\nI confess that I have a violent prejudice against all blind, one-eyed,\ndeaf, dumb, legless, armless, hunchbacked, and such-like people. I have\nobserved that there is always a certain strange connection between a\nman's exterior and his soul; as, if when the body loses a limb, the soul\nalso loses some power of feeling.\n\nAnd so I began to examine the blind boy's face. But what could be read\nupon a face from which the eyes are missing?... For a long time I gazed\nat him with involuntary compassion, when suddenly a scarcely perceptible\nsmile flitted over his thin lips, producing, I know not why, a most\nunpleasant impression upon me. I began to feel a suspicion that the\nblind boy was not so blind as he appeared to be. In vain I endeavoured\nto convince myself that it was impossible to counterfeit cataracts; and\nbesides, what reason could there be for doing such a thing? But I could\nnot help my suspicions. I am easily swayed by prejudice...\n\n\"You are the master's son?\" I asked at length.\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Who are you, then?\"\n\n\"An orphan--a poor boy.\"\n\n\"Has the mistress any children?\"\n\n\"No, her daughter ran away and crossed the sea with a Tartar.\"\n\n\"What sort of a Tartar?\"\n\n\"The devil only knows! A Crimean Tartar, a boatman from Kerch.\"\n\nI entered the hut. Its whole furniture consisted of two benches and a\ntable, together with an enormous chest beside the stove. There was not\na single ikon to be seen on the wall--a bad sign! The sea-wind burst\nin through the broken window-pane. I drew a wax candle-end from my\nportmanteau, lit it, and began to put my things out. My sabre and gun\nI placed in a corner, my pistols I laid on the table. I spread my felt\ncloak out on one bench, and the Cossack his on the other. In ten minutes\nthe latter was snoring, but I could not go to sleep--the image of the\nboy with the white eyes kept hovering before me in the dark.\n\nAbout an hour passed thus. The moon shone in at the window and its rays\nplayed along the earthen floor of the hut. Suddenly a shadow flitted\nacross the bright strip of moonshine which intersected the floor. I\nraised myself up a little and glanced out of the window. Again somebody\nran by it and disappeared--goodness knows where! It seemed impossible\nfor anyone to descend the steep cliff overhanging the shore, but that\nwas the only thing that could have happened. I rose, threw on my tunic,\ngirded on a dagger, and with the utmost quietness went out of the hut.\nThe blind boy was coming towards me. I hid by the fence, and he passed\nby me with a sure but cautious step. He was carrying a parcel under\nhis arm. He turned towards the harbour and began to descend a steep and\nnarrow path.\n\n\"On that day the dumb will cry out and the blind will see,\" I said to\nmyself, following him just close enough to keep him in sight.\n\nMeanwhile the moon was becoming overcast by clouds and a mist had risen\nupon the sea. The lantern alight in the stern of a ship close at hand\nwas scarcely visible through the mist, and by the shore there glimmered\nthe foam of the waves, which every moment threatened to submerge it.\nDescending with difficulty, I stole along the steep declivity, and all\nat once I saw the blind boy come to a standstill and then turn down to\nthe right. He walked so close to the water's edge that it seemed as if\nthe waves would straightway seize him and carry him off. But, judging by\nthe confidence with which he stepped from rock to rock and avoided the\nwater-channels, this was evidently not the first time that he had made\nthat journey. Finally he stopped, as though listening for something,\nsquatted down upon the ground, and laid the parcel beside him.\nConcealing myself behind a projecting rock on the shore, I kept watch\non his movements. After a few minutes a white figure made its appearance\nfrom the opposite direction. It came up to the blind boy and sat down\nbeside him. At times the wind wafted their conversation to me.\n\n\"Well?\" said a woman's voice. \"The storm is violent; Yanko will not be\nhere.\"\n\n\"Yanko is not afraid of the storm!\" the other replied.\n\n\"The mist is thickening,\" rejoined the woman's voice, sadness in its\ntone.\n\n\"In the mist it is all the easier to slip past the guardships,\" was the\nanswer.\n\n\"And if he is drowned?\"\n\n\"Well, what then? On Sunday you won't have a new ribbon to go to church\nin.\"\n\nAn interval of silence followed. One thing, however, struck me--in\ntalking to me the blind boy spoke in the Little Russian dialect, but now\nhe was expressing himself in pure Russian.\n\n\"You see, I am right!\" the blind boy went on, clapping his hands. \"Yanko\nis not afraid of sea, nor winds, nor mist, nor coastguards! Just listen!\nThat is not the water plashing, you can't deceive me--it is his long\noars.\"\n\nThe woman sprang up and began anxiously to gaze into the distance.\n\n\"You are raving!\" she said. \"I cannot see anything.\"\n\nI confess that, much as I tried to make out in the distance something\nresembling a boat, my efforts were unsuccessful. About ten minutes\npassed thus, when a black speck appeared between the mountains of the\nwaves! At one time it grew larger, at another smaller. Slowly rising\nupon the crests of the waves and swiftly descending from them, the boat\ndrew near to the shore.\n\n\"He must be a brave sailor,\" I thought, \"to have determined to cross\nthe twenty versts of strait on a night like this, and he must have had a\nweighty reason for doing so.\"\n\nReflecting thus, I gazed with an involuntary beating of the heart at\nthe poor boat. It dived like a duck, and then, with rapidly swinging\noars--like wings--it sprang forth from the abyss amid the splashes of\nthe foam. \"Ah!\" I thought, \"it will be dashed against the shore with all\nits force and broken to pieces!\" But it turned aside adroitly and leaped\nunharmed into a little creek. Out of it stepped a man of medium height,\nwearing a Tartar sheepskin cap. He waved his hand, and all three set to\nwork to drag something out of the boat. The cargo was so large that, to\nthis day, I cannot understand how it was that the boat did not sink.\n\nEach of them shouldered a bundle, and they set off along the shore, and\nI soon lost sight of them. I had to return home; but I confess I was\nrendered uneasy by all these strange happenings, and I found it hard to\nawait the morning.\n\nMy Cossack was very much astonished when, on waking up, he saw me fully\ndressed. I did not, however, tell him the reason. For some time I stood\nat the window, gazing admiringly at the blue sky all studded with wisps\nof cloud, and at the distant shore of the Crimea, stretching out in a\nlilac-coloured streak and ending in a cliff, on the summit of which the\nwhite tower of the lighthouse was gleaming. Then I betook myself to the\nfortress, Phanagoriya, in order to ascertain from the Commandant at what\nhour I should depart for Gelenjik.\n\nBut the Commandant, alas! could not give me any definite information.\nThe vessels lying in the harbour were all either guard-ships or\nmerchant-vessels which had not yet even begun to take in lading.\n\n\"Maybe in about three or four days' time a mail-boat will come in,\" said\nthe Commandant, \"and then we shall see.\"\n\nI returned home sulky and wrathful. My Cossack met me at the door with a\nfrightened countenance.\n\n\"Things are looking bad, sir!\" he said.\n\n\"Yes, my friend; goodness only knows when we shall get away!\"\n\nHereupon he became still more uneasy, and, bending towards me, he said\nin a whisper:\n\n\"It is uncanny here! I met an under-officer from the Black Sea\nto-day--he's an acquaintance of mine--he was in my detachment last year.\nWhen I told him where we were staying, he said, 'That place is uncanny,\nold fellow; they're wicked people there!'... And, indeed, what sort of\na blind boy is that? He goes everywhere alone, to fetch water and to buy\nbread at the bazaar. It is evident they have become accustomed to that\nsort of thing here.\"\n\n\"Well, what then? Tell me, though, has the mistress of the place put in\nan appearance?\"\n\n\"During your absence to-day, an old woman and her daughter arrived.\"\n\n\"What daughter? She has no daughter!\"\n\n\"Goodness knows who it can be if it isn't her daughter; but the old\nwoman is sitting over there in the hut now.\"\n\nI entered the hovel. A blazing fire was burning in the stove, and they\nwere cooking a dinner which struck me as being a rather luxurious one\nfor poor people. To all my questions the old woman replied that she was\ndeaf and could not hear me. There was nothing to be got out of her. I\nturned to the blind boy who was sitting in front of the stove, putting\ntwigs into the fire.\n\n\"Now, then, you little blind devil,\" I said, taking him by the ear.\n\"Tell me, where were you roaming with the bundle last night, eh?\"\n\nThe blind boy suddenly burst out weeping, shrieking and wailing.\n\n\"Where did I go? I did not go anywhere... With the bundle?... What\nbundle?\"\n\nThis time the old woman heard, and she began to mutter:\n\n\"Hark at them plotting, and against a poor boy too! What are you\ntouching him for? What has he done to you?\"\n\nI had enough of it, and went out, firmly resolved to find the key to the\nriddle.\n\nI wrapped myself up in my felt cloak and, sitting down on a rock by the\nfence, gazed into the distance. Before me stretched the sea, agitated\nby the storm of the previous night, and its monotonous roar, like the\nmurmur of a town over which slumber is beginning to creep, recalled\nbygone years to my mind, and transported my thoughts northward to our\ncold Capital. Agitated by my recollections, I became oblivious of my\nsurroundings.\n\nAbout an hour passed thus, perhaps even longer. Suddenly something\nresembling a song struck upon my ear. It was a song, and the voice was a\nwoman's, young and fresh--but, where was it coming from?... I listened;\nit was a harmonious melody--now long-drawnout and plaintive, now swift\nand lively. I looked around me--there was nobody to be seen. I listened\nagain--the sounds seemed to be falling from the sky. I raised my eyes.\nOn the roof of my cabin was standing a young girl in a striped dress\nand with her hair hanging loose--a regular water-nymph. Shading her eyes\nfrom the sun's rays with the palm of her hand, she was gazing intently\ninto the distance. At one time, she would laugh and talk to herself, at\nanother, she would strike up her song anew.\n\nI have retained that song in my memory, word for word:\n\n\n At their own free will\n\n They seem to wander\n\n O'er the green sea yonder,\n\n Those ships, as still\n\n They are onward going,\n\n With white sails flowing.\n\n\n And among those ships\n\n My eye can mark\n\n My own dear barque:\n\n By two oars guided\n\n (All unprovided\n\n With sails) it slips.\n\n\n The storm-wind raves:\n\n And the old ships--see!\n\n With wings spread free,\n\n Over the waves\n\n They scatter and flee!\n\n\n The sea I will hail\n\n With obeisance deep:\n\n \"Thou base one, hark!\n\n Thou must not fail\n\n My little barque\n\n From harm to keep!\"\n\n\n For lo! 'tis bearing\n\n Most precious gear,\n\n And brave and daring\n\n The arms that steer\n\n Within the dark\n\n My little barque.\n\n\nInvoluntarily the thought occurred to me that I had heard the same voice\nthe night before. I reflected for a moment, and when I looked up at the\nroof again there was no girl to be seen. Suddenly she darted past me,\nwith another song on her lips, and, snapping her fingers, she ran up\nto the old woman. Thereupon a quarrel arose between them. The old\nwoman grew angry, and the girl laughed loudly. And then I saw my Undine\nrunning and gambolling again. She came up to where I was, stopped, and\ngazed fixedly into my face as if surprised at my presence. Then she\nturned carelessly away and went quietly towards the harbour. But this\nwas not all. The whole day she kept hovering around my lodging, singing\nand gambolling without a moment's interruption. Strange creature! There\nwas not the slightest sign of insanity in her face; on the contrary, her\neyes, which were continually resting upon me, were bright and piercing.\nMoreover, they seemed to be endowed with a certain magnetic power, and\neach time they looked at me they appeared to be expecting a question.\nBut I had only to open my lips to speak, and away she would run, with a\nsly smile.\n\nCertainly never before had I seen a woman like her. She was by no means\nbeautiful; but, as in other matters, I have my own prepossessions on the\nsubject of beauty. There was a good deal of breeding in her... Breeding\nin women, as in horses, is a great thing: a discovery, the credit of\nwhich belongs to young France. It--that is to say, breeding, not young\nFrance--is chiefly to be detected in the gait, in the hands and feet;\nthe nose, in particular, is of the greatest significance. In Russia a\nstraight nose is rarer than a small foot.\n\nMy songstress appeared to be not more than eighteen years of age. The\nunusual suppleness of her figure, the characteristic and original way\nshe had of inclining her head, her long, light-brown hair, the golden\nsheen of her slightly sunburnt neck and shoulders, and especially her\nstraight nose--all these held me fascinated. Although in her sidelong\nglances I could read a certain wildness and disdain, although in\nher smile there was a certain vagueness, yet--such is the force of\npredilections--that straight nose of hers drove me crazy. I fancied\nthat I had found Goethe's Mignon--that queer creature of his German\nimagination. And, indeed, there was a good deal of similarity between\nthem; the same rapid transitions from the utmost restlessness to\ncomplete immobility, the same enigmatical speeches, the same gambols,\nthe same strange songs.\n\nTowards evening I stopped her at the door and entered into the following\nconversation with her.\n\n\"Tell me, my beauty,\" I asked, \"what were you doing on the roof to-day?\"\n\n\"I was looking to see from what direction the wind was blowing.\"\n\n\"What did you want to know for?\"\n\n\"Whence the wind blows comes happiness.\"\n\n\"Well? Were you invoking happiness with your song?\"\n\n\"Where there is singing there is also happiness.\"\n\n\"But what if your song were to bring you sorrow?\"\n\n\"Well, what then? Where things won't be better, they will be worse; and\nfrom bad to good again is not far.\"\n\n\"And who taught you that song?\"\n\n\"Nobody taught me; it comes into my head and I sing; whoever is to\nhear it, he will hear it, and whoever ought not to hear it, he will not\nunderstand it.\"\n\n\"What is your name, my songstress?\"\n\n\"He who baptized me knows.\"\n\n\"And who baptized you?\"\n\n\"How should I know?\"\n\n\"What a secretive girl you are! But look here, I have learned something\nabout you\"--she neither changed countenance nor moved her lips, as\nthough my discovery was of no concern to her--\"I have learned that you\nwent to the shore last night.\"\n\nAnd, thereupon, I very gravely retailed to her all that I had seen,\nthinking that I should embarrass her. Not a bit of it! She burst out\nlaughing heartily.\n\n\"You have seen much, but know little; and what you do know, see that you\nkeep it under lock and key.\"\n\n\"But supposing, now, I was to take it into my head to inform the\nCommandant?\" and here I assumed a very serious, not to say stern,\ndemeanour.\n\nShe gave a sudden spring, began to sing, and hid herself like a bird\nfrightened out of a thicket. My last words were altogether out of place.\nI had no suspicion then how momentous they were, but afterwards I had\noccasion to rue them.\n\nAs soon as the dusk of evening fell, I ordered the Cossack to heat the\nteapot, campaign fashion. I lighted a candle and sat down by the table,\nsmoking my travelling-pipe. I was just about to finish my second tumbler\nof tea when suddenly the door creaked and I heard behind me the sound of\nfootsteps and the light rustle of a dress. I started and turned round.\n\nIt was she--my Undine. Softly and without saying a word she sat down\nopposite to me and fixed her eyes upon me. Her glance seemed wondrously\ntender, I know not why; it reminded me of one of those glances which,\nin years gone by, so despotically played with my life. She seemed to be\nwaiting for a question, but I kept silence, filled with an inexplicable\nsense of embarrassment. Mental agitation was evinced by the dull\npallor which overspread her countenance; her hand, which I noticed was\ntrembling slightly, moved aimlessly about the table. At one time her\nbreast heaved, and at another she seemed to be holding her breath. This\nlittle comedy was beginning to pall upon me, and I was about to break\nthe silence in a most prosaic manner, that is, by offering her a glass\nof tea; when suddenly, springing up, she threw her arms around my neck,\nand I felt her moist, fiery lips pressed upon mine. Darkness came before\nmy eyes, my head began to swim. I embraced her with the whole strength\nof youthful passion. But, like a snake, she glided from between my arms,\nwhispering in my ear as she did so:\n\n\"To-night, when everyone is asleep, go out to the shore.\"\n\nLike an arrow she sprang from the room.\n\nIn the hall she upset the teapot and a candle which was standing on the\nfloor.\n\n\"Little devil!\" cried the Cossack, who had taken up his position on the\nstraw and had contemplated warming himself with the remains of the tea.\n\nIt was only then that I recovered my senses.\n\nIn about two hours' time, when all had grown silent in the harbour, I\nawakened my Cossack.\n\n\"If I fire a pistol,\" I said, \"run to the shore.\"\n\nHe stared open-eyed and answered mechanically:\n\n\"Very well, sir.\"\n\nI stuffed a pistol in my belt and went out. She was waiting for me\nat the edge of the cliff. Her attire was more than light, and a small\nkerchief girded her supple waist.\n\n\"Follow me!\" she said, taking me by the hand, and we began to descend.\n\nI cannot understand how it was that I did not break my neck. Down below\nwe turned to the right and proceeded to take the path along which I had\nfollowed the blind boy the evening before. The moon had not yet risen,\nand only two little stars, like two guardian lighthouses, were twinkling\nin the dark-blue vault of heaven. The heavy waves, with measured and\neven motion, rolled one after the other, scarcely lifting the solitary\nboat which was moored to the shore.\n\n\"Let us get into the boat,\" said my companion.\n\nI hesitated. I am no lover of sentimental trips on the sea; but this was\nnot the time to draw back. She leaped into the boat, and I after her;\nand I had not time to recover my wits before I observed that we were\nadrift.\n\n\"What is the meaning of this?\" I said angrily.\n\n\"It means,\" she answered, seating me on the bench and throwing her arms\naround my waist, \"it means that I love you!\"...\n\nHer cheek was pressed close to mine, and I felt her burning breath upon\nmy face. Suddenly something fell noisily into the water. I clutched at\nmy belt--my pistol was gone! Ah, now a terrible suspicion crept into\nmy soul, and the blood rushed to my head! I looked round. We were about\nfifty fathoms from the shore, and I could not swim a stroke! I tried\nto thrust her away from me, but she clung like a cat to my clothes,\nand suddenly a violent wrench all but threw me into the sea. The boat\nrocked, but I righted myself, and a desperate struggle began.\n\nFury lent me strength, but I soon found that I was no match for my\nopponent in point of agility...\n\n\"What do you want?\" I cried, firmly squeezing her little hands.\n\nHer fingers crunched, but her serpent-like nature bore up against the\ntorture, and she did not utter a cry.\n\n\"You saw us,\" she answered. \"You will tell on us.\"\n\nAnd, with a supernatural effort, she flung me on to the side of the\nboat; we both hung half overboard; her hair touched the water. The\ndecisive moment had come. I planted my knee against the bottom of the\nboat, caught her by the tresses with one hand and by the throat with the\nother; she let go my clothes, and, in an instant, I had thrown her into\nthe waves.\n\nIt was now rather dark; once or twice her head appeared for an instant\namidst the sea foam, and I saw no more of her.\n\nI found the half of an old oar at the bottom of the boat, and somehow or\nother, after lengthy efforts, I made fast to the harbour. Making my way\nalong the shore towards my hut, I involuntarily gazed in the direction\nof the spot where, on the previous night, the blind boy had awaited the\nnocturnal mariner. The moon was already rolling through the sky, and it\nseemed to me that somebody in white was sitting on the shore. Spurred by\ncuriosity, I crept up and crouched down in the grass on the top of the\ncliff. By thrusting my head out a little way I was able to get a good\nview of everything that was happening down below, and I was not very\nmuch astonished, but almost rejoiced, when I recognised my water-nymph.\nShe was wringing the seafoam from her long hair. Her wet garment\noutlined her supple figure and her high bosom.\n\nSoon a boat appeared in the distance; it drew near rapidly; and, as on\nthe night before, a man in a Tartar cap stepped out of it, but he now\nhad his hair cropped round in the Cossack fashion, and a large knife was\nsticking out behind his leather belt.\n\n\"Yanko,\" the girl said, \"all is lost!\"\n\nThen their conversation continued, but so softly that I could not catch\na word of it.\n\n\"But where is the blind boy?\" said Yanko at last, raising his voice.\n\n\"I have told him to come,\" was the reply.\n\nAfter a few minutes the blind boy appeared, dragging on his back a sack,\nwhich they placed in the boat.\n\n\"Listen!\" said Yanko to the blind boy. \"Guard that place! You know where\nI mean? There are valuable goods there. Tell\"--I could not catch the\nname--\"that I am no longer his servant. Things have gone badly. He will\nsee me no more. It is dangerous now. I will go seek work in another\nplace, and he will never be able to find another dare-devil like me.\nTell him also that if he had paid me a little better for my labours, I\nwould not have forsaken him. For me there is a way anywhere, if only the\nwind blows and the sea roars.\"\n\nAfter a short silence Yanko continued.\n\n\"She is coming with me. It is impossible for her to remain here. Tell\nthe old woman that it is time for her to die; she has been here a long\ntime, and the line must be drawn somewhere. As for us, she will never\nsee us any more.\"\n\n\"And I?\" said the blind boy in a plaintive voice.\n\n\"What use have I for you?\" was the answer.\n\nIn the meantime my Undine had sprung into the boat. She beckoned to her\ncompanion with her hand. He placed something in the blind boy's hand and\nadded:\n\n\"There, buy yourself some gingerbreads.\"\n\n\"Is this all?\" said the blind boy.\n\n\"Well, here is some more.\"\n\nThe money fell and jingled as it struck the rock.\n\nThe blind boy did not pick it up. Yanko took his seat in the boat; the\nwind was blowing from the shore; they hoisted the little sail and sped\nrapidly away. For a long time the white sail gleamed in the moonlight\namid the dark waves. Still the blind boy remained seated upon the shore,\nand then I heard something which sounded like sobbing. The blind boy\nwas, in fact, weeping, and for a long, long time his tears flowed... I\ngrew heavy-hearted. For what reason should fate have thrown me into the\npeaceful circle of honourable smugglers? Like a stone cast into a smooth\nwell, I had disturbed their quietude, and I barely escaped going to the\nbottom like a stone.\n\nI returned home. In the hall the burnt-out candle was spluttering on\na wooden platter, and my Cossack, contrary to orders, was fast asleep,\nwith his gun held in both hands. I left him at rest, took the candle,\nand entered the hut. Alas! my cashbox, my sabre with the silver chasing,\nmy Daghestan dagger--the gift of a friend--all had vanished! It was\nthen that I guessed what articles the cursed blind boy had been dragging\nalong. Roughly shaking the Cossack, I woke him up, rated him, and lost\nmy temper. But what was the good of that? And would it not have been\nridiculous to complain to the authorities that I had been robbed by a\nblind boy and all but drowned by an eighteen-year-old girl?\n\nThank heaven an opportunity of getting away presented itself in the\nmorning, and I left Taman.\n\nWhat became of the old woman and the poor blind boy I know not.\nAnd, besides, what are the joys and sorrows of mankind to me--me, a\ntravelling officer, and one, moreover, with an order for post-horses on\nGovernment business?\n\n\n\n\n\nBOOK IV THE SECOND EXTRACT FROM PECHORIN'S DIARY\n\nTHE FATALIST\n\nI ONCE happened to spend a couple of weeks in a Cossack village on our\nleft flank. A battalion of infantry was stationed there; and it was the\ncustom of the officers to meet at each other's quarters in turn and play\ncards in the evening.\n\nOn one occasion--it was at Major S----'s--finding our game of Boston not\nsufficiently absorbing, we threw the cards under the table and sat\non for a long time, talking. The conversation, for once in a way, was\ninteresting. The subject was the Mussulman tradition that a man's fate\nis written in heaven, and we discussed the fact that it was gaining many\nvotaries, even amongst our own countrymen. Each of us related various\nextraordinary occurrences, pro or contra.\n\n\"What you have been saying, gentlemen, proves nothing,\" said the old\nmajor. \"I presume there is not one of you who has actually been a\nwitness of the strange events which you are citing in support of your\nopinions?\"\n\n\"Not one, of course,\" said many of the guests. \"But we have heard of\nthem from trustworthy people.\"...\n\n\"It is all nonsense!\" someone said. \"Where are the trustworthy people\nwho have seen the Register in which the appointed hour of our death is\nrecorded?... And if predestination really exists, why are free will\nand reason granted us? Why are we obliged to render an account of our\nactions?\"\n\nAt that moment an officer who was sitting in a corner of the room stood\nup, and, coming slowly to the table, surveyed us all with a quiet and\nsolemn glance. He was a native of Servia, as was evident from his name.\n\nThe outward appearance of Lieutenant Vulich was quite in keeping with\nhis character. His height, swarthy complexion, black hair, piercing\nblack eyes, large but straight nose--an attribute of his nation--and the\ncold and melancholy smile which ever hovered around his lips, all seemed\nto concur in lending him the appearance of a man apart, incapable of\nreciprocating the thoughts and passions of those whom fate gave him for\ncompanions.\n\nHe was brave; talked little, but sharply; confided his thoughts and\nfamily secrets to no one; drank hardly a drop of wine; and never dangled\nafter the young Cossack girls, whose charm it is difficult to realise\nwithout having seen them. It was said, however, that the colonel's\nwife was not indifferent to those expressive eyes of his; but he was\nseriously angry if any hint on the subject was made.\n\nThere was only one passion which he did not conceal--the passion for\ngambling. At the green table he would become oblivious of everything. He\nusually lost, but his constant ill success only aroused his obstinacy.\nIt was related that, on one occasion, during a nocturnal expedition,\nhe was keeping the bank on a pillow, and had a terrific run of luck.\nSuddenly shots rang out. The alarm was sounded; all but Vulich jumped up\nand rushed to arms.\n\n\"Stake, va banque!\" he cried to one of the most ardent gamblers.\n\n\"Seven,\" the latter answered as he hurried off.\n\nNotwithstanding the general confusion, Vulich calmly finished the\ndeal--seven was the card. By the time he reached the cordon a violent\nfusillade was in progress. Vulich did not trouble himself about the\nbullets or the sabres of the Chechenes, but sought for the lucky\ngambler.\n\n\"Seven it was!\" he cried out, as at length he perceived him in the\ncordon of skirmishers who were beginning to dislodge the enemy from the\nwood; and going up to him, he drew out his purse and pocket-book and\nhanded them to the winner, notwithstanding the latter's objections on\nthe score of the inconvenience of the payment. That unpleasant duty\ndischarged, Vulich dashed forward, carried the soldiers along after him,\nand, to the very end of the affair, fought the Chechenes with the utmost\ncoolness.\n\nWhen Lieutenant Vulich came up to the table, we all became silent,\nexpecting to hear, as usual, something original.\n\n\"Gentlemen!\" he said--and his voice was quiet though lower in tone than\nusual--\"gentlemen, what is the good of futile discussions? You wish for\nproofs? I propose that we try the experiment on ourselves: whether a man\ncan of his own accord dispose of his life, or whether the fateful moment\nis appointed beforehand for each of us. Who is agreeable?\"\n\n\"Not I. Not I,\" came from all sides.\n\n\"There's a queer fellow for you! He does get strange ideas into his\nhead!\"\n\n\"I propose a wager,\" I said in jest.\n\n\"What sort of wager?\"\n\n\"I maintain that there is no such thing as predestination,\" I said,\nscattering on the table a score or so of ducats--all I had in my pocket.\n\n\"Done,\" answered Vulich in a hollow voice. \"Major, you will be judge.\nHere are fifteen ducats, the remaining five you owe me, kindly add them\nto the others.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" said the major; \"though, indeed, I do not understand what\nis the question at issue and how you will decide it!\"\n\nWithout a word Vulich went into the major's bedroom, and we followed\nhim. He went up to the wall on which the major's weapons were hanging,\nand took down at random one of the pistols--of which there were several\nof different calibres. We were still in the dark as to what he meant\nto do. But, when he cocked the pistol and sprinkled powder in the pan,\nseveral of the officers, crying out in spite of themselves, seized him\nby the arms.\n\n\"What are you going to do?\" they exclaimed. \"This is madness!\"\n\n\"Gentlemen!\" he said slowly, disengaging his arm. \"Who would like to pay\ntwenty ducats for me?\"\n\nThey were silent and drew away.\n\nVulich went into the other room and sat by the table; we all followed\nhim. With a sign he invited us to sit round him. We obeyed in\nsilence--at that moment he had acquired a certain mysterious authority\nover us. I stared fixedly into his face; but he met my scrutinising\ngaze with a quiet and steady glance, and his pallid lips smiled. But,\nnotwithstanding his composure, it seemed to me that I could read the\nstamp of death upon his pale countenance. I have noticed--and many old\nsoldiers have corroborated my observation--that a man who is to die in\na few hours frequently bears on his face a certain strange stamp of\ninevitable fate, so that it is difficult for practised eyes to be\nmistaken.\n\n\"You will die to-day!\" I said to Vulich.\n\nHe turned towards me rapidly, but answered slowly and quietly:\n\n\"May be so, may be not.\"...\n\nThen, addressing himself to the major, he asked:\n\n\"Is the pistol loaded?\"\n\nThe major, in the confusion, could not quite remember.\n\n\"There, that will do, Vulich!\" exclaimed somebody. \"Of course it must be\nloaded, if it was one of those hanging on the wall there over our heads.\nWhat a man you are for joking!\"\n\n\"A silly joke, too!\" struck in another.\n\n\"I wager fifty rubles to five that the pistol is not loaded!\" cried a\nthird.\n\nA new bet was made.\n\nI was beginning to get tired of it all.\n\n\"Listen,\" I said, \"either shoot yourself, or hang up the pistol in its\nplace and let us go to bed.\"\n\n\"Yes, of course!\" many exclaimed. \"Let us go to bed.\"\n\n\"Gentlemen, I beg of you not to move,\" said Vulich, putting the muzzle\nof the pistol to his forehead.\n\nWe were all petrified.\n\n\"Mr. Pechorin,\" he added, \"take a card and throw it up in the air.\"\n\nI took, as I remember now, an ace of hearts off the table and threw\nit into the air. All held their breath. With eyes full of terror and\na certain vague curiosity they glanced rapidly from the pistol to the\nfateful ace, which slowly descended, quivering in the air. At the moment\nit touched the table Vulich pulled the trigger... a flash in the pan!\n\n\"Thank God!\" many exclaimed. \"It wasn't loaded!\"\n\n\"Let us see, though,\" said Vulich.\n\nHe cocked the pistol again, and took aim at a forage-cap which was\nhanging above the window. A shot rang out. Smoke filled the room; when\nit cleared away, the forage-cap was taken down. It had been shot right\nthrough the centre, and the bullet was deeply embedded in the wall.\n\nFor two or three minutes no one was able to utter a word. Very quietly\nVulich poured my ducats from the major's purse into his own.\n\nDiscussions arose as to why the pistol had not gone off the first\ntime. Some maintained that probably the pan had been obstructed; others\nwhispered that the powder had been damp the first time, and that,\nafterwards, Vulich had sprinkled some fresh powder on it; but I\nmaintained that the last supposition was wrong, because I had not once\ntaken my eyes off the pistol.\n\n\"You are lucky at play!\" I said to Vulich...\n\n\"For the first time in my life!\" he answered, with a complacent smile.\n\"It is better than 'bank' and 'shtoss.'\"\n\n\"But, on the other hand, slightly more dangerous!\"\n\n\"Well? Have you begun to believe in predestination?\"\n\n\"I do believe in it; only I cannot understand now why it appeared to me\nthat you must inevitably die to-day!\"\n\nAnd this same man, who, such a short time before, had with the greatest\ncalmness aimed a pistol at his own forehead, now suddenly fired up and\nbecame embarrassed.\n\n\"That will do, though!\" he said, rising to his feet. \"Our wager is\nfinished, and now your observations, it seems to me, are out of place.\"\n\nHe took up his cap and departed. The whole affair struck me as being\nstrange--and not without reason. Shortly after that, all the officers\nbroke up and went home, discussing Vulich's freaks from different points\nof view, and, doubtless, with one voice calling me an egoist for having\ntaken up a wager against a man who wanted to shoot himself, as if he\ncould not have found a convenient opportunity without my intervention.\n\nI returned home by the deserted byways of the village. The moon, full\nand red like the glow of a conflagration, was beginning to make its\nappearance from behind the jagged horizon of the house-tops; the stars\nwere shining tranquilly in the deep, blue vault of the sky; and I was\nstruck by the absurdity of the idea when I recalled to mind that once\nupon a time there were some exceedingly wise people who thought that the\nstars of heaven participated in our insignificant squabbles for a slice\nof ground, or some other imaginary rights. And what then? These lamps,\nlighted, so they fancied, only to illuminate their battles and triumphs,\nare burning with all their former brilliance, whilst the wiseacres\nthemselves, together with their hopes and passions, have long been\nextinguished, like a little fire kindled at the edge of a forest by a\ncareless wayfarer! But, on the other hand, what strength of will\nwas lent them by the conviction that the entire heavens, with\ntheir innumerable habitants, were looking at them with a sympathy,\nunalterable, though mute!... And we, their miserable descendants,\nroaming over the earth, without faith, without pride, without enjoyment,\nand without terror--except that involuntary awe which makes the heart\nshrink at the thought of the inevitable end--we are no longer capable\nof great sacrifices, either for the good of mankind or even for our own\nhappiness, because we know the impossibility of such happiness; and,\njust as our ancestors used to fling themselves from one delusion to\nanother, we pass indifferently from doubt to doubt, without possessing,\nas they did, either hope or even that vague though, at the same time,\nkeen enjoyment which the soul encounters at every struggle with mankind\nor with destiny.\n\nThese and many other similar thoughts passed through my mind, but I\ndid not follow them up, because I do not like to dwell upon abstract\nideas--for what do they lead to? In my early youth I was a dreamer; I\nloved to hug to my bosom the images--now gloomy, now rainbowhued--which\nmy restless and eager imagination drew for me. And what is there left to\nme of all these? Only such weariness as might be felt after a battle by\nnight with a phantom--only a confused memory full of regrets. In that\nvain contest I have exhausted the warmth of soul and firmness of will\nindispensable to an active life. I have entered upon that life after\nhaving already lived through it in thought, and it has become wearisome\nand nauseous to me, as the reading of a bad imitation of a book is to\none who has long been familiar with the original.\n\nThe events of that evening produced a somewhat deep impression upon me\nand excited my nerves. I do not know for certain whether I now believe\nin predestination or not, but on that evening I believed in it firmly.\nThe proof was startling, and I, notwithstanding that I had laughed at\nour forefathers and their obliging astrology, fell involuntarily into\ntheir way of thinking. However, I stopped myself in time from following\nthat dangerous road, and, as I have made it a rule not to reject\nanything decisively and not to trust anything blindly, I cast\nmetaphysics aside and began to look at what was beneath my feet. The\nprecaution was well-timed. I only just escaped stumbling over something\nthick and soft, but, to all appearance, inanimate. I bent down to see\nwhat it was, and, by the light of the moon, which now shone right upon\nthe road, I perceived that it was a pig which had been cut in two with\na sabre... I had hardly time to examine it before I heard the sound of\nsteps, and two Cossacks came running out of a byway. One of them came up\nto me and enquired whether I had seen a drunken Cossack chasing a pig.\nI informed him that I had not met the Cossack and pointed to the unhappy\nvictim of his rabid bravery.\n\n\"The scoundrel!\" said the second Cossack. \"No sooner does he drink his\nfill of chikhir than off he goes and cuts up anything that comes in\nhis way. Let us be after him, Eremeich, we must tie him up or else\"...\n\nThey took themselves off, and I continued my way with greater caution,\nand at length arrived at my lodgings without mishap.\n\nI was living with a certain old Cossack underofficer whom I loved,\nnot only on account of his kindly disposition, but also, and more\nespecially, on account of his pretty daughter, Nastya.\n\nWrapped up in a sheepskin coat she was waiting for me, as usual, by the\nwicket gate. The moon illumined her charming little lips, now turned\nblue by the cold of the night. Recognizing me she smiled; but I was in\nno mood to linger with her.\n\n\"Good night, Nastya!\" I said, and passed on.\n\nShe was about to make some answer, but only sighed.\n\nI fastened the door of my room after me, lighted a candle, and threw\nmyself on the bed; but, on that occasion, slumber caused its presence\nto be awaited longer than usual. By the time I fell asleep the east was\nbeginning to grow pale, but I was evidently predestined not to have\nmy sleep out. At four o'clock in the morning two fists knocked at my\nwindow. I sprang up.\n\n\"What is the matter?\"\n\n\"Get up--dress yourself!\"\n\nI dressed hurriedly and went out.\n\n\"Do you know what has happened?\" said three officers who had come for\nme, speaking all in one voice.\n\nThey were deadly pale.\n\n\"No, what is it?\"\n\n\"Vulich has been murdered!\"\n\nI was petrified.\n\n\"Yes, murdered!\" they continued. \"Let us lose no time and go!\"\n\n\"But where to?\"\n\n\"You will learn as we go.\"\n\nWe set off. They told me all that had happened, supplementing their\nstory with a variety of observations on the subject of the strange\npredestination which had saved Vulich from imminent death half an hour\nbefore he actually met his end.\n\nVulich had been walking alone along a dark street, and the drunken\nCossack who had cut up the pig had sprung out upon him, and perhaps\nwould have passed him by without noticing him, had not Vulich stopped\nsuddenly and said:\n\n\"Whom are you looking for, my man?\"\n\n\n\"You!\" answered the Cossack, striking him with his sabre; and he cleft\nhim from the shoulder almost to the heart...\n\nThe two Cossacks who had met me and followed the murderer had arrived on\nthe scene and raised the wounded man from the ground. But he was already\nat his last gasp and said these three words only--\"he was right!\"\n\nI alone understood the dark significance of those words: they referred\nto me. I had involuntarily foretold his fate to poor Vulich. My instinct\nhad not deceived me; I had indeed read on his changed countenance the\nsigns of approaching death.\n\nThe murderer had locked himself up in an empty hut at the end of the\nvillage; and thither we went. A number of women, all of them weeping,\nwere running in the same direction; at times a belated Cossack, hastily\nbuckling on his dagger, sprang out into the street and overtook us at a\nrun. The tumult was dreadful.\n\nAt length we arrived on the scene and found a crowd standing around the\nhut, the door and shutters of which were locked on the inside. Groups of\nofficers and Cossacks were engaged in heated discussions; the women were\nshrieking, wailing and talking all in one breath. One of the old\nwomen struck my attention by her meaning looks and the frantic despair\nexpressed upon her face. She was sitting on a thick plank, leaning her\nelbows on her knees and supporting her head with her hands. It was the\nmother of the murderer. At times her lips moved... Was it a prayer they\nwere whispering, or a curse?\n\nMeanwhile it was necessary to decide upon some course of action and to\nseize the criminal. Nobody, however, made bold to be the first to rush\nforward.\n\nI went up to the window and looked in through a chink in the shutter.\nThe criminal, pale of face, was lying on the floor, holding a pistol in\nhis right hand. The blood-stained sabre was beside him. His expressive\neyes were rolling in terror; at times he shuddered and clutched at his\nhead, as if indistinctly recalling the events of yesterday. I could not\nread any sign of great determination in that uneasy glance of his, and\nI told the major that it would be better at once to give orders to the\nCossacks to burst open the door and rush in, than to wait until the\nmurderer had quite recovered his senses.\n\nAt that moment the old captain of the Cossacks went up to the door and\ncalled the murderer by name. The latter answered back.\n\n\"You have committed a sin, brother Ephimych!\" said the captain, \"so all\nyou can do now is to submit.\"\n\n\"I will not submit!\" answered the Cossack.\n\n\"Have you no fear of God! You see, you are not one of those cursed\nChechenes, but an honest Christian! Come, if you have done it in an\nunguarded moment there is no help for it! You cannot escape your fate!\"\n\n\"I will not submit!\" exclaimed the Cossack menacingly, and we could hear\nthe snap of the cocked trigger.\n\n\"Hey, my good woman!\" said the Cossack captain to the old woman. \"Say a\nword to your son--perhaps he will lend an ear to you... You see, to go\non like this is only to make God angry. And look, the gentlemen here\nhave already been waiting two hours.\"\n\nThe old woman gazed fixedly at him and shook her head.\n\n\"Vasili Petrovich,\" said the captain, going up to the major; \"he will\nnot surrender. I know him! If it comes to smashing in the door he will\nstrike down several of our men. Would it not be better if you ordered\nhim to be shot? There is a wide chink in the shutter.\"\n\nAt that moment a strange idea flashed through my head--like Vulich I\nproposed to put fate to the test.\n\n\"Wait,\" I said to the major, \"I will take him alive.\"\n\nBidding the captain enter into a conversation with the murderer and\nsetting three Cossacks at the door ready to force it open and rush to my\naid at a given signal, I walked round the hut and approached the fatal\nwindow. My heart was beating violently.\n\n\"Aha, you cursed wretch!\" cried the captain. \"Are you laughing at us,\neh? Or do you think that we won't be able to get the better of you?\"\n\nHe began to knock at the door with all his might. Putting my eye to the\nchink, I followed the movements of the Cossack, who was not expecting an\nattack from that direction. I pulled the shutter away suddenly and threw\nmyself in at the window, head foremost. A shot rang out right over my\near, and the bullet tore off one of my epaulettes. But the smoke which\nfilled the room prevented my adversary from finding the sabre which was\nlying beside him. I seized him by the arms; the Cossacks burst in; and\nthree minutes had not elapsed before they had the criminal bound and led\noff under escort.\n\nThe people dispersed, the officers congratulated me--and indeed there\nwas cause for congratulation.\n\nAfter all that, it would hardly seem possible to avoid becoming a\nfatalist? But who knows for certain whether he is convinced of anything\nor not? And how often is a deception of the senses or an error of the\nreason accepted as a conviction!... I prefer to doubt everything. Such a\ndisposition is no bar to decision of character; on the contrary, so far\nas I am concerned, I always advance more boldly when I do not know what\nis awaiting me. You see, nothing can happen worse than death--and from\ndeath there is no escape.\n\nOn my return to the fortress I related to Maksim Maksimych all that\nI had seen and experienced; and I sought to learn his opinion on the\nsubject of predestination.\n\nAt first he did not understand the word. I explained it to him as well\nas I could, and then he said, with a significant shake of the head:\n\n\"Yes, sir, of course! It was a very ingenious trick! However, these\nAsiatic pistols often miss fire if they are badly oiled or if you don't\npress hard enough on the trigger. I confess I don't like the Circassian\ncarbines either. Somehow or other they don't suit the like of us: the\nbutt end is so small, and any minute you may get your nose burnt! On the\nother hand, their sabres, now--well, all I need say is, my best respects\nto them!\"\n\nAfterwards he said, on reflecting a little:\n\n\"Yes, it is a pity about the poor fellow! The devil must have put it\ninto his head to start a conversation with a drunken man at night!\nHowever, it is evident that fate had written it so at his birth!\"\n\nI could not get anything more out of Maksim Maksimych; generally\nspeaking, he had no liking for metaphysical disputations.\n\n\n\n\n\nBOOK V THE THIRD EXTRACT FROM PECHORIN'S DIARY\n\n\nPRINCESS MARY\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I. 11th May.\n\nYESTERDAY I arrived at Pyatigorsk. I have engaged lodgings at the\nextreme end of the town, the highest part, at the foot of Mount Mashuk:\nduring a storm the clouds will descend on to the roof of my dwelling.\n\nThis morning at five o'clock, when I opened my window, the room was\nfilled with the fragrance of the flowers growing in the modest little\nfront-garden. Branches of bloom-laden bird-cherry trees peep in at my\nwindow, and now and again the breeze bestrews my writing-table with\ntheir white petals. The view which meets my gaze on three sides is\nwonderful: westward towers five-peaked Beshtau, blue as \"the last cloud\nof a dispersed storm,\" and northward rises Mashuk, like a shaggy\nPersian cap, shutting in the whole of that quarter of the horizon.\nEastward the outlook is more cheery: down below are displayed the\nvaried hues of the brand-new, spotlessly clean, little town, with its\nmurmuring, health-giving springs and its babbling, many-tongued throng.\nYonder, further away, the mountains tower up in an amphitheatre, ever\nbluer and mistier; and, at the edge of the horizon, stretches the\nsilver chain of snow-clad summits, beginning with Kazbek and ending with\ntwo-peaked Elbruz... Blithe is life in such a land! A feeling akin to\nrapture is diffused through all my veins. The air is pure and fresh,\nlike the kiss of a child; the sun is bright, the sky is blue--what more\ncould one possibly wish for? What need, in such a place as this, of\npassions, desires, regrets?\n\nHowever, it is time to be stirring. I will go to the Elizaveta spring--I\nam told that the whole society of the watering-place assembles there in\nthe morning.\n\n*****\n\nDescending into the middle of the town, I walked along the boulevard,\non which I met a few melancholy groups slowly ascending the mountain.\nThese, for the most part, were the families of landed-gentry from the\nsteppes--as could be guessed at once from the threadbare, old-fashioned\nfrock-coats of the husbands and the exquisite attire of the wives\nand daughters. Evidently they already had all the young men of the\nwatering-place at their fingers' ends, because they looked at me with\na tender curiosity. The Petersburg cut of my coat misled them; but\nthey soon recognised the military epaulettes, and turned away with\nindignation.\n\nThe wives of the local authorities--the hostesses, so to speak, of the\nwaters--were more graciously inclined. They carry lorgnettes, and they\npay less attention to a uniform--they have grown accustomed in the\nCaucasus to meeting a fervid heart beneath a numbered button and a\ncultured intellect beneath a white forage-cap. These ladies are very\ncharming, and long continue to be charming. Each year their adorers\nare exchanged for new ones, and in that very fact, it may be, lies the\nsecret of their unwearying amiability.\n\nAscending by the narrow path to the Elizaveta spring, I overtook a crowd\nof officials and military men, who, as I subsequently learned, compose a\nclass apart amongst those who place their hopes in the medicinal waters.\nThey drink--but not water--take but few walks, indulge in only mild\nflirtations, gamble, and complain of boredom.\n\nThey are dandies. In letting their wicker-sheathed tumblers down into\nthe well of sulphurous water they assume academical poses. The officials\nwear bright blue cravats; the military men have ruffs sticking out above\ntheir collars. They affect a profound contempt for provincial ladies,\nand sigh for the aristocratic drawing-rooms of the capitals--to which\nthey are not admitted.\n\nHere is the well at last!... Upon the small square adjoining it a little\nhouse with a red roof over the bath is erected, and somewhat further on\nthere is a gallery in which the people walk when it rains. Some wounded\nofficers were sitting--pale and melancholy--on a bench, with their\ncrutches drawn up. A few ladies, their tumbler of water finished, were\nwalking with rapid steps to and fro about the square. There were two or\nthree pretty faces amongst them. Beneath the avenues of the vines with\nwhich the slope of Mashuk is covered, occasional glimpses could be\ncaught of the gay-coloured hat of a lover of solitude for two--for\nbeside that hat I always noticed either a military forage-cap or the\nugly round hat of a civilian. Upon the steep cliff, where the pavilion\ncalled \"The Aeolian Harp\" is erected, figured the lovers of scenery,\ndirecting their telescopes upon Elbruz. Amongst them were a couple of\ntutors, with their pupils who had come to be cured of scrofula.\n\nOut of breath, I came to a standstill at the edge of the mountain, and,\nleaning against the corner of a little house, I began to examine the\npicturesque surroundings, when suddenly I heard behind me a familiar\nvoice.\n\n\"Pechorin! Have you been here long?\"\n\nI turned round. Grushnitski! We embraced. I had made his acquaintance\nin the active service detachment. He had been wounded in the foot by a\nbullet and had come to the waters a week or so before me.\n\nGrushnitski is a cadet; he has only been a year in the service. From\na kind of foppery peculiar to himself, he wears the thick cloak of a\ncommon soldier. He has also the soldier's cross of St. George. He is\nwell built, swarthy and black-haired. To look at him, you might say he\nwas a man of twenty-five, although he is scarcely twenty-one. He tosses\nhis head when he speaks, and keeps continually twirling his moustache\nwith his left hand, his right hand being occupied with the crutch on\nwhich he leans. He speaks rapidly and affectedly; he is one of those\npeople who have a high-sounding phrase ready for every occasion in\nlife, who remain untouched by simple beauty, and who drape themselves\nmajestically in extraordinary sentiments, exalted passions and\nexceptional sufferings. To produce an effect is their delight; they have\nan almost insensate fondness for romantic provincial ladies. When\nold age approaches they become either peaceful landed-gentry or\ndrunkards--sometimes both. Frequently they have many good qualities,\nbut they have not a grain of poetry in their composition. Grushnitski's\npassion was declamation. He would deluge you with words so soon as the\nconversation went beyond the sphere of ordinary ideas. I have never been\nable to dispute with him. He neither answers your questions nor listens\nto you. So soon as you stop, he begins a lengthy tirade, which has\nthe appearance of being in some sort connected with what you have been\nsaying, but which is, in fact, only a continuation of his own harangue.\n\nHe is witty enough; his epigrams are frequently amusing, but never\nmalicious, nor to the point. He slays nobody with a single word; he has\nno knowledge of men and of their foibles, because all his life he has\nbeen interested in nobody but himself. His aim is to make himself the\nhero of a novel. He has so often endeavoured to convince others that he\nis a being created not for this world and doomed to certain mysterious\nsufferings, that he has almost convinced himself that such he is in\nreality. Hence the pride with which he wears his thick soldier's cloak.\nI have seen through him, and he dislikes me for that reason, although\nto outward appearance we are on the friendliest of terms. Grushnitski\nis looked upon as a man of distinguished courage. I have seen him in\naction. He waves his sabre, shouts, and hurls himself forward with his\neyes shut. That is not what I should call Russian courage!...\n\nI reciprocate Grushnitski's dislike. I feel that some time or other we\nshall come into collision upon a narrow road, and that one of us will\nfare badly.\n\nHis arrival in the Caucasus is also the result of his romantic\nfanaticism. I am convinced that on the eve of his departure from his\npaternal village he said with an air of gloom to some pretty neighbour\nthat he was going away, not so much for the simple purpose of serving\nin the army as of seeking death, because... and hereupon, I am sure,\nhe covered his eyes with his hand and continued thus, \"No, you--or\nthou--must not know! Your pure soul would shudder! And what would be the\ngood? What am I to you? Could you understand me?\"... and so on.\n\nHe has himself told me that the motive which induced him to enter the\nK----regiment must remain an everlasting secret between him and Heaven.\n\nHowever, in moments when he casts aside the tragic mantle, Grushnitski\nis charming and entertaining enough. I am always interested to see him\nwith women--it is then that he puts forth his finest efforts, I think!\n\nWe met like a couple of old friends. I began to question him about\nthe personages of note and as to the sort of life which was led at the\nwaters.\n\n\"It is a rather prosaic life,\" he said, with a sigh. \"Those who drink\nthe waters in the morning are inert--like all invalids, and those who\ndrink the wines in the evening are unendurable--like all healthy people!\nThere are ladies who entertain, but there is no great amusement to be\nobtained from them. They play whist, they dress badly and speak French\ndreadfully! The only Moscow people here this year are Princess Ligovski\nand her daughter--but I am not acquainted with them. My soldier's cloak\nis like a seal of renunciation. The sympathy which it arouses is as\npainful as charity.\"\n\nAt that moment two ladies walked past us in the direction of the well;\none elderly, the other youthful and slender. I could not obtain a good\nview of their faces on account of their hats, but they were dressed in\naccordance with the strict rules of the best taste--nothing superfluous.\nThe second lady was wearing a high-necked dress of pearl-grey, and a\nlight silk kerchief was wound round her supple neck. Puce-coloured boots\nclasped her slim little ankle so charmingly, that even those uninitiated\ninto the mysteries of beauty would infallibly have sighed, if only from\nwonder. There was something maidenly in her easy, but aristocratic gait,\nsomething eluding definition yet intelligible to the glance. As she\nwalked past us an indefinable perfume, like that which sometimes\nbreathes from the note of a charming woman, was wafted from her.\n\n\"Look!\" said Grushnitski, \"there is Princess Ligovski with her daughter\nMary, as she calls her after the English manner. They have been here\nonly three days.\"\n\n\"You already know her name, though?\"\n\n\"Yes, I heard it by chance,\" he answered, with a blush. \"I confess I do\nnot desire to make their acquaintance. These haughty aristocrats look\nupon us army men just as they would upon savages. What care they if\nthere is an intellect beneath a numbered forage-cap, and a heart beneath\na thick cloak?\"\n\n\"Poor cloak!\" I said, with a laugh. \"But who is the gentleman who is\njust going up to them and handing them a tumbler so officiously?\"\n\n\"Oh, that is Raevich, the Moscow dandy. He is a gambler; you can see\nas much at once from that immense gold chain coiling across his\nskyblue waistcoat. And what a thick cane he has! Just like Robinson\nCrusoe's--and so is his beard too, and his hair is done like a\npeasant's.\"\n\n\"You are embittered against the whole human race?\"\n\n\"And I have cause to be\"...\n\n\"Oh, really?\"\n\nAt that moment the ladies left the well and came up to where we were.\nGrushnitski succeeded in assuming a dramatic pose with the aid of his\ncrutch, and in a loud tone of voice answered me in French:\n\n\"Mon cher, je hais les hommes pour ne pas les mepriser, car autrement la\nvie serait une farce trop degoutante.\"\n\nThe pretty Princess Mary turned round and favoured the orator with a\nlong and curious glance. Her expression was quite indefinite, but it was\nnot contemptuous, a fact on which I inwardly congratulated Grushnitski\nfrom my heart.\n\n\"She is an extremely pretty girl,\" I said. \"She has such velvet\neyes--yes, velvet is the word. I should advise you to appropriate the\nexpression when speaking of her eyes. The lower and upper lashes are\nso long that the sunbeams are not reflected in her pupils. I love those\neyes without a glitter, they are so soft that they appear to caress you.\nHowever, her eyes seem to be her only good feature... Tell me, are her\nteeth white? That is most important! It is a pity that she did not smile\nat that high-sounding phrase of yours.\"\n\n\"You are speaking of a pretty woman just as you might of an English\nhorse,\" said Grushnitski indignantly.\n\n\"Mon cher,\" I answered, trying to mimic his tone, \"je meprise les\nfemmes, pour ne pas les aimer, car autrement la vie serait un melodrame\ntrop ridicule.\"\n\nI turned and left him. For half an hour or so I walked about the avenues\nof the vines, the limestone cliffs and the bushes hanging between them.\nThe day grew hot, and I hurried homewards. Passing the sulphur spring,\nI stopped at the covered gallery in order to regain my breath under its\nshade, and by so doing I was afforded the opportunity of witnessing a\nrather interesting scene. This is the position in which the dramatis\npersonae were disposed: Princess Ligovski and the Moscow dandy were\nsitting on a bench in the covered gallery--apparently engaged in serious\nconversation. Princess Mary, who had doubtless by this time finished her\nlast tumbler, was walking pensively to and fro by the well. Grushnitski\nwas standing by the well itself; there was nobody else on the square.\n\nI went up closer and concealed myself behind a corner of the gallery.\nAt that moment Grushnitski let his tumbler fall on the sand and made\nstrenuous efforts to stoop in order to pick it up; but his injured foot\nprevented him. Poor fellow! How he tried all kinds of artifices, as he\nleaned on his crutch, and all in vain! His expressive countenance was,\nin fact, a picture of suffering.\n\nPrincess Mary saw the whole scene better than I.\n\nLighter than a bird she sprang towards him, stooped, picked up the\ntumbler, and handed it to him with a gesture full of ineffable charm.\nThen she blushed furiously, glanced round at the gallery, and, having\nassured herself that her mother apparently had not seen anything,\nimmediately regained her composure. By the time Grushnitski had opened\nhis mouth to thank her she was a long way off. A moment after, she came\nout of the gallery with her mother and the dandy, but, in passing by\nGrushnitski, she assumed a most decorous and serious air. She did not\neven turn round, she did not even observe the passionate gaze which he\nkept fixed upon her for a long time until she had descended the mountain\nand was hidden behind the lime trees of the boulevard... Presently I\ncaught glimpses of her hat as she walked along the street. She hurried\nthrough the gate of one of the best houses in Pyatigorsk; her mother\nwalked behind her and bowed adieu to Raevich at the gate.\n\nIt was only then that the poor, passionate cadet noticed my presence.\n\n\"Did you see?\" he said, pressing my hand vigorously. \"She is an angel,\nsimply an angel!\"\n\n\"Why?\" I inquired, with an air of the purest simplicity.\n\n\"Did you not see, then?\"\n\n\"No. I saw her picking up your tumbler. If there had been an attendant\nthere he would have done the same thing--and quicker too, in the hope\nof receiving a tip. It is quite easy, however, to understand that she\npitied you; you made such a terrible grimace when you walked on the\nwounded foot.\"\n\n\"And can it be that seeing her, as you did, at that moment when her soul\nwas shining in her eyes, you were not in the least affected?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\nI was lying, but I wanted to exasperate him. I have an innate passion\nfor contradiction--my whole life has been nothing but a series of\nmelancholy and vain contradictions of heart or reason. The presence of\nan enthusiast chills me with a twelfth-night cold, and I believe\nthat constant association with a person of a flaccid and phlegmatic\ntemperament would have turned me into an impassioned visionary. I\nconfess, too, that an unpleasant but familiar sensation was coursing\nlightly through my heart at that moment. It was--envy. I say \"envy\"\nboldly, because I am accustomed to acknowledge everything to myself.\nIt would be hard to find a young man who, if his idle fancy had been\nattracted by a pretty woman and he had suddenly found her openly\nsingling out before his eyes another man equally unknown to her--it\nwould be hard, I say, to find such a young man (living, of course, in\nthe great world and accustomed to indulge his self-love) who would not\nhave been unpleasantly taken aback in such a case.\n\nIn silence Grushnitski and I descended the mountain and walked along\nthe boulevard, past the windows of the house where our beauty had hidden\nherself. She was sitting by the window. Grushnitski, plucking me by the\narm, cast upon her one of those gloomily tender glances which have so\nlittle effect upon women. I directed my lorgnette at her, and observed\nthat she smiled at his glance and that my insolent lorgnette made\nher downright angry. And how, indeed, should a Caucasian military man\npresume to direct his eyeglass at a princess from Moscow?...\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II. 13th May.\n\nTHIS morning the doctor came to see me. His name is Werner, but he is\na Russian. What is there surprising in that? I have known a man named\nIvanov, who was a German.\n\nWerner is a remarkable man, and that for many reasons. Like almost all\nmedical men he is a sceptic and a materialist, but, at the same time, he\nis a genuine poet--a poet always in deeds and often in words, although\nhe has never written two verses in his life. He has mastered all the\nliving chords of the human heart, just as one learns the veins of a\ncorpse, but he has never known how to avail himself of his knowledge. In\nlike manner, it sometimes happens that an excellent anatomist does not\nknow how to cure a fever. Werner usually made fun of his patients in\nprivate; but once I saw him weeping over a dying soldier... He was poor,\nand dreamed of millions, but he would not take a single step out of his\nway for the sake of money. He once told me that he would rather do a\nfavour to an enemy than to a friend, because, in the latter case,\nit would mean selling his beneficence, whilst hatred only increases\nproportionately to the magnanimity of the adversary. He had a malicious\ntongue; and more than one good, simple soul has acquired the reputation\nof a vulgar fool through being labelled with one of his epigrams. His\nrivals, envious medical men of the watering-place, spread the report\nthat he was in the habit of drawing caricatures of his patients. The\npatients were incensed, and almost all of them discarded him. His\nfriends, that is to say all the genuinely well-bred people who were\nserving in the Caucasus, vainly endeavoured to restore his fallen\ncredit.\n\nHis outward appearance was of the type which, at the first glance,\ncreates an unpleasant impression, but which you get to like in course of\ntime, when the eye learns to read in the irregular features the stamp of\na tried and lofty soul. Instances have been known of women falling madly\nin love with men of that sort, and having no desire to exchange their\nugliness for the beauty of the freshest and rosiest of Endymions.\nWe must give women their due: they possess an instinct for spiritual\nbeauty, for which reason, possibly, men such as Werner love women so\npassionately.\n\nWerner was small and lean and as weak as a baby. One of his legs was\nshorter than the other, as was the case with Byron. In comparison with\nhis body, his head seemed enormous. His hair was cropped close, and\nthe unevennesses of his cranium, thus laid bare, would have struck a\nphrenologist by reason of the strange intertexture of contradictory\npropensities. His little, ever restless, black eyes seemed as if they\nwere endeavouring to fathom your thoughts. Taste and neatness were to be\nobserved in his dress. His small, lean, sinewy hands flaunted themselves\nin bright-yellow gloves. His frock-coat, cravat and waistcoat were\ninvariably of black. The young men dubbed him Mephistopheles; he\npretended to be angry at the nickname, but in reality it flattered his\nvanity. Werner and I soon understood each other and became friends,\nbecause I, for my part, am illadapted for friendship. Of two friends,\none is always the slave of the other, although frequently neither\nacknowledges the fact to himself. Now, the slave I could not be; and to\nbe the master would be a wearisome trouble, because, at the same time,\ndeception would be required. Besides, I have servants and money!\n\nOur friendship originated in the following circumstances. I met Werner\nat S----, in the midst of a numerous and noisy circle of young\npeople. Towards the end of the evening the conversation took a\nphilosophico-metaphysical turn. We discussed the subject of convictions,\nand each of us had some different conviction to declare.\n\n\"So far as I am concerned,\" said the doctor, \"I am convinced of one\nthing only\"...\n\n\"And that is--?\" I asked, desirous of learning the opinion of a man who\nhad been silent till then.\n\n\"Of the fact,\" he answered, \"that sooner or later, one fine morning, I\nshall die.\"\n\n\"I am better off than you,\" I said. \"In addition to that, I have a\nfurther conviction, namely, that, one very nasty evening, I had the\nmisfortune to be born.\"\n\nAll the others considered that we were talking nonsense, but indeed not\none of them said anything more sensible. From that moment we singled\neach other out amongst the crowd. We used frequently to meet and discuss\nabstract subjects in a very serious manner, until each observed that the\nother was throwing dust in his eyes. Then, looking significantly at each\nother--as, according to Cicero, the Roman augurs used to do--we\nwould burst out laughing heartily and, having had our laugh, we would\nseparate, well content with our evening.\n\nI was lying on a couch, my eyes fixed upon the ceiling and my hands\nclasped behind my head, when Werner entered my room. He sat down in an\neasy chair, placed his cane in a corner, yawned, and announced that it\nwas getting hot out of doors. I replied that the flies were bothering\nme--and we both fell silent.\n\n\"Observe, my dear doctor,\" I said, \"that, but for fools, the world would\nbe a very dull place. Look! Here are you and I, both sensible men!\nWe know beforehand that it is possible to dispute ad infinitum about\neverything--and so we do not dispute. Each of us knows almost all the\nother's secret thoughts: to us a single word is a whole history; we see\nthe grain of every one of our feelings through a threefold husk. What\nis sad, we laugh at; what is laughable, we grieve at; but, to tell the\ntruth, we are fairly indifferent, generally speaking, to everything\nexcept ourselves. Consequently, there can be no interchange of feelings\nand thoughts between us; each of us knows all he cares to know about\nthe other, and that knowledge is all he wants. One expedient remains--to\ntell the news. So tell me some news.\"\n\nFatigued by this lengthy speech, I closed my eyes and yawned. The doctor\nanswered after thinking awhile:\n\n\"There is an idea, all the same, in that nonsense of yours.\"\n\n\"Two,\" I replied.\n\n\"Tell me one, and I will tell you the other.\"\n\n\"Very well, begin!\" I said, continuing to examine the ceiling and\nsmiling inwardly.\n\n\"You are anxious for information about some of the new-comers here, and\nI can guess who it is, because they, for their part, have already been\ninquiring about you.\"\n\n\"Doctor! Decidedly it is impossible for us to hold a conversation! We\nread into each other's soul.\"\n\n\"Now the other idea?\"...\n\n\"Here it is: I wanted to make you relate something, for the following\nreasons: firstly, listening is less fatiguing than talking; secondly,\nthe listener cannot commit himself; thirdly, he can learn another's\nsecret; fourthly, sensible people, such as you, prefer listeners to\nspeakers. Now to business; what did Princess Ligovski tell you about\nme?\"\n\n\"You are quite sure that it was Princess Ligovski... and not Princess\nMary?\"...\n\n\"Quite sure.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Because Princess Mary inquired about Grushnitski.\"\n\n\"You are gifted with a fine imagination! Princess Mary said that she was\nconvinced that the young man in the soldier's cloak had been reduced to\nthe ranks on account of a duel\"...\n\n\"I hope you left her cherishing that pleasant delusion\"...\n\n\"Of course\"...\n\n\"A plot!\" I exclaimed in rapture. \"We will make it our business to see\nto the denouement of this little comedy. It is obvious that fate is\ntaking care that I shall not be bored!\"\n\n\"I have a presentiment,\" said the doctor, \"that poor Grushnitski will be\nyour victim.\"\n\n\"Proceed, doctor.\"\n\n\"Princess Ligovski said that your face was familiar to her. I observed\nthat she had probably met you in Petersburg--somewhere in society...\nI told her your name. She knew it well. It appears that your history\ncreated a great stir there... She began to tell us of your adventures,\nmost likely supplementing the gossip of society with observations of her\nown... Her daughter listened with curiosity. In her imagination you\nhave become the hero of a novel in a new style... I did not contradict\nPrincess Ligovski, although I knew that she was talking nonsense.\"\n\n\"Worthy friend!\" I said, extending my hand to him.\n\nThe doctor pressed it feelingly and continued:\n\n\"If you like I will present you\"...\n\n\"Good heavens!\" I said, clapping my hands. \"Are heroes ever presented?\nIn no other way do they make the acquaintance of their beloved than by\nsaving her from certain death!\"...\n\n\"And you really wish to court Princess Mary?\"\n\n\"Not at all, far from it!... Doctor, I triumph at last! You do not\nunderstand me!... It vexes me, however,\" I continued after a moment's\nsilence. \"I never reveal my secrets myself, but I am exceedingly fond of\ntheir being guessed, because in that way I can always disavow them upon\noccasion. However, you must describe both mother and daughter to me.\nWhat sort of people are they?\"\n\n\"In the first place, Princess Ligovski is a woman of forty-five,\"\nanswered Werner. \"She has a splendid digestion, but her blood is out of\norder--there are red spots on her cheeks. She has spent the latter half\nof her life in Moscow, and has grown stout from leading an inactive\nlife there. She loves spicy stories, and sometimes says improper things\nherself when her daughter is out of the room. She has declared to me\nthat her daughter is as innocent as a dove. What does that matter to\nme?... I was going to answer that she might be at her ease, because I\nwould never tell anyone. Princess Ligovski is taking the cure for her\nrheumatism, and the daughter, for goodness knows what. I have ordered\neach of them to drink two tumblers a day of sulphurous water, and to\nbathe twice a week in the diluted bath. Princess Ligovski is\napparently unaccustomed to giving orders. She cherishes respect for\nthe intelligence and attainments of her daughter, who has read Byron in\nEnglish and knows algebra: in Moscow, evidently, the ladies have entered\nupon the paths of erudition--and a good thing, too! The men here are\ngenerally so unamiable, that, for a clever woman, it must be intolerable\nto flirt with them. Princess Ligovski is very fond of young people;\nPrincess Mary looks on them with a certain contempt--a Moscow habit! In\nMoscow they cherish only wits of not less than forty.\"\n\n\"You have been in Moscow, doctor?\"\n\n\"Yes, I had a practice there.\"\n\n\"Continue.\"\n\n\"But I think I have told everything... No, there is something else:\nPrincess Mary, it seems, loves to discuss emotions, passions, etcetera.\nShe was in Petersburg for one winter, and disliked it--especially the\nsociety: no doubt she was coldly received.\"\n\n\"You have not seen anyone with them today?\"\n\n\"On the contrary, there was an aide-de-camp, a stiff guardsman, and a\nlady--one of the latest arrivals, a relation of Princess Ligovski on the\nhusband's side--very pretty, but apparently very ill... Have you not met\nher at the well? She is of medium height, fair, with regular features;\nshe has the complexion of a consumptive, and there is a little black\nmole on her right cheek. I was struck by the expressiveness of her\nface.\"\n\n\"A mole!\" I muttered through my teeth. \"Is it possible?\"\n\nThe doctor looked at me, and, laying his hand on my heart, said\ntriumphantly:\n\n\"You know her!\"\n\nMy heart was, in fact, beating more violently than usual.\n\n\"It is your turn, now, to triumph,\" I said. \"But I rely on you: you\nwill not betray me. I have not seen her yet, but I am convinced that I\nrecognise from your portrait a woman whom I loved in the old days... Do\nnot speak a word to her about me; if she asks any questions, give a bad\nreport of me.\"\n\n\"Be it so!\" said Werner, shrugging his shoulders.\n\nWhen he had departed, my heart was compressed with terrible grief.\nHas destiny brought us together again in the Caucasus, or has she come\nhither on purpose, knowing that she would meet me?... And how shall we\nmeet?... And then, is it she?... My presentiments have never deceived\nme. There is not a man in the world over whom the past has acquired such\na power as over me. Every recollection of bygone grief or joy strikes\nmy soul with morbid effect, and draws forth ever the same sounds... I am\nstupidly constituted: I forget nothing--nothing!\n\nAfter dinner, about six o'clock, I went on to the boulevard. It was\ncrowded. The two princesses were sitting on a bench, surrounded by young\nmen, who were vying with each other in paying them attention. I took\nup my position on another bench at a little distance off, stopped two\nDragoon officers whom I knew, and proceeded to tell them something.\nEvidently it was amusing, because they began to laugh loudly like a\ncouple of madmen. Some of those who were surrounding Princess Mary were\nattracted to my side by curiosity, and gradually all of them left her\nand joined my circle. I did not stop talking; my anecdotes were clever\nto the point of absurdity, my jests at the expense of the queer people\npassing by, malicious to the point of frenzy. I continued to entertain\nthe public till sunset. Princess Mary passed by me a few times,\narm-in-arm with her mother, and accompanied by a certain lame old man.\nA few times her glance as it fell upon me expressed vexation, while\nendeavouring to express indifference...\n\n\"What has he been telling you?\" she inquired of one of the young men,\nwho had gone back to her out of politeness. \"No doubt a most interesting\nstory--his own exploits in battle?\"...\n\nThis was said rather loudly, and probably with the intention of stinging\nme.\n\n\"Aha!\" I thought to myself. \"You are downright angry, my dear Princess.\nWait awhile, there is more to follow.\"\n\nGrushnitski kept following her like a beast of prey, and would not let\nher out of his sight. I wager that to-morrow he will ask somebody to\npresent him to Princess Ligovski. She will be glad, because she is\nbored.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III. 16th May.\n\nIN the course of two days my affairs have gained ground tremendously.\nPrincess Mary positively hates me. Already I have had repeated to me two\nor three epigrams on the subject of myself--rather caustic, but at the\nsame time very flattering. She finds it exceedingly strange that I, who\nam accustomed to good society, and am so intimate with her Petersburg\ncousins and aunts, do not try to make her acquaintance. Every day we\nmeet at the well and on the boulevard. I exert all my powers to entice\naway her adorers, glittering aides-de-camp, pale-faced visitors from\nMoscow, and others--and I almost always succeed. I have always hated\nentertaining guests: now my house is full every day; they dine, sup,\ngamble, and alas! my champagne triumphs over the might of Princess\nMary's magnetic eyes!\n\nI met her yesterday in Chelakhov's shop. She was bargaining for a\nmarvellous Persian rug, and implored her mother not to be niggardly: the\nrug would be such an ornament to her boudoir... I outbid her by forty\nrubles, and bought it over her head. I was rewarded with a glance in\nwhich the most delightful fury sparkled. About dinnertime, I ordered my\nCircassian horse, covered with that very rug, purposely to be led past\nher windows. Werner was with the princesses at the time, and told me\nthat the effect of the scene was most dramatic. Princess Mary wishes to\npreach a crusade against me, and I have even noticed that, already,\ntwo of the aides-de-camp salute me very coldly, when they are in her\npresence--they dine with me every day, however.\n\nGrushnitski has assumed an air of mystery; he walks with his arms folded\nbehind his back and does not recognise anyone. His foot has got well\nall at once, and there is hardly a sign of a limp. He has found an\nopportunity of entering into conversation with Princess Ligovski and of\npaying Princess Mary some kind of a compliment. The latter is evidently\nnot very fastidious, for, ever since, she answers his bow with a most\ncharming smile.\n\n\"Are you sure you do not wish to make the Ligovskis' acquaintance?\" he\nsaid to me yesterday.\n\n\"Positive.\"\n\n\"Good gracious! The pleasantest house at the waters! All the best\nsociety of Pyatigorsk is to be found there\"...\n\n\"My friend, I am terribly tired of even other society than that of\nPyatigorsk. So you visit the Ligovskis?\"\n\n\"Not yet. I have spoken to Princess Mary once or twice, but that is\nall. You know it is rather awkward to go and visit them without being\ninvited, although that is the custom here... It would be a different\nmatter if I was wearing epaulettes\"...\n\n\"Good heavens! Why, you are much more interesting as it is! You simply\ndo not know how to avail yourself of your advantageous position... Why,\nthat soldier's cloak makes a hero and a martyr of you in the eyes of any\nlady of sentiment!\"\n\nGrushnitski smiled complacently.\n\n\"What nonsense!\" he said.\n\n\"I am convinced,\" I continued, \"that Princess Mary is in love with you\nalready.\"\n\nHe blushed up to the ears and looked big.\n\nOh, vanity! Thou art the lever with which Archimedes was to lift the\nearthly sphere!...\n\n\"You are always jesting!\" he said, pretending to be angry. \"In the first\nplace, she knows so little of me as yet\"...\n\n\"Women love only those whom they do not know!\"\n\n\"But I have no pretensions whatsoever to pleasing her. I simply wish\nto make the acquaintance of an agreeable household; and it would be\nextremely ridiculous if I were to cherish the slightest hope... With\nyou, now, for instance, it is a different matter! You Petersburg\nconquerors! You have but to look--and women melt... But do you know,\nPechorin, what Princess Mary said of you?\"...\n\n\"What? She has spoken to you already about me?\"...\n\n\"Do not rejoice too soon, though. The other day, by chance, I entered\ninto conversation with her at the well; her third word was, 'Who is\nthat gentleman with such an unpleasant, heavy glance? He was with you\nwhen'... she blushed, and did not like to mention the day, remembering\nher own delightful little exploit. 'You need not tell me what day it\nwas,' I answered; 'it will ever be present to my memory!'... Pechorin,\nmy friend, I cannot congratulate you, you are in her black books... And,\nindeed, it is a pity, because Mary is a charming girl!\"...\n\nIt must be observed that Grushnitski is one of those men who, in\nspeaking of a woman with whom they are barely acquainted, call her my\nMary, my Sophie, if she has had the good fortune to please them.\n\nI assumed a serious air and answered:\n\n\"Yes, she is good-looking... Only be careful, Grushnitski! Russian\nladies, for the most part, cherish only Platonic love, without mingling\nany thought of matrimony with it; and Platonic love is exceedingly\nembarrassing. Princess Mary seems to be one of those women who want to\nbe amused. If she is bored in your company for two minutes on end--you\nare lost irrevocably. Your silence ought to excite her curiosity, your\nconversation ought never to satisfy it completely; you should alarm her\nevery minute; ten times, in public, she will slight people's opinion for\nyou and will call that a sacrifice, and, in order to requite herself for\nit, she will torment you. Afterwards she will simply say that she cannot\nendure you. If you do not acquire authority over her, even her first\nkiss will not give you the right to a second. She will flirt with you to\nher heart's content, and, in two years' time, she will marry a monster,\nin obedience to her mother, and will assure herself that she is unhappy,\nthat she has loved only one man--that is to say, you--but that Heaven\nwas not willing to unite her to him because he wore a soldier's cloak,\nalthough beneath that thick, grey cloak beat a heart, passionate and\nnoble\"...\n\nGrushnitski smote the table with his fist and fell to walking to and fro\nacross the room.\n\nI laughed inwardly and even smiled once or twice, but fortunately he did\nnot notice. It is evident that he is in love, because he has grown even\nmore confiding than heretofore. Moreover, a ring has made its appearance\non his finger, a silver ring with black enamel of local workmanship. It\nstruck me as suspicious... I began to examine it, and what do you think\nI saw? The name Mary was engraved on the inside in small letters, and in\na line with the name was the date on which she had picked up the\nfamous tumbler. I kept my discovery a secret. I do not want to force\nconfessions from him, I want him, of his own accord, to choose me as his\nconfidant--and then I will enjoy myself!...\n\n*****\n\nTo-day I rose late. I went to the well. I found nobody there. The\nday grew hot. White, shaggy cloudlets were flitting rapidly from the\nsnow-clad mountains, giving promise of a thunderstorm; the summit of\nMount Mashuk was smoking like a just extinguished torch; grey wisps of\ncloud were coiling and creeping like snakes around it, arrested in\ntheir rapid sweep and, as it were, hooked to its prickly brushwood. The\natmosphere was charged with electricity. I plunged into the avenue of\nthe vines leading to the grotto.\n\nI felt low-spirited. I was thinking of the lady with the little mole on\nher cheek, of whom the doctor had spoken to me... \"Why is she here?\" I\nthought. \"And is it she? And what reason have I for thinking it is? And\nwhy am I so certain of it? Is there not many a woman with a mole on her\ncheek?\" Reflecting in such wise I came right up to the grotto. I looked\nin and I saw that a woman, wearing a straw hat and wrapped in a black\nshawl, was sitting on a stone seat in the cold shade of the arch. Her\nhead was sunk upon her breast, and the hat covered her face. I was just\nabout to turn back, in order not to disturb her meditations, when she\nglanced at me.\n\n\"Vera!\" I exclaimed involuntarily.\n\nShe started and turned pale.\n\n\"I knew that you were here,\" she said.\n\nI sat down beside her and took her hand. A long-forgotten tremor ran\nthrough my veins at the sound of that dear voice. She gazed into my\nface with her deep, calm eyes. Mistrust and something in the nature of\nreproach were expressed in her glance.\n\n\"We have not seen each other for a long time,\" I said.\n\n\"A long time, and we have both changed in many ways.\"\n\n\"Consequently you love me no longer?\"...\n\n\"I am married!\"... she said.\n\n\"Again? A few years ago, however, that reason also existed, but,\nnevertheless\"...\n\nShe plucked her hand away from mine and her cheeks flamed.\n\n\"Perhaps you love your second husband?\"...\n\nShe made no answer and turned her head away.\n\n\"Or is he very jealous?\"\n\nShe remained silent.\n\n\"What then? He is young, handsome and, I suppose, rich--which is the\nchief thing--and you are afraid?\"...\n\nI glanced at her and was alarmed. Profound despair was depicted upon her\ncountenance; tears were glistening in her eyes.\n\n\"Tell me,\" she whispered at length, \"do you find it very amusing to\ntorture me? I ought to hate you. Since we have known each other, you\nhave given me naught but suffering\"...\n\nHer voice shook; she leaned over to me, and let her head sink upon my\nbreast.\n\n\"Perhaps,\" I reflected, \"it is for that very reason that you have loved\nme; joys are forgotten, but sorrows never\"...\n\nI clasped her closely to my breast, and so we remained for a long\ntime. At length our lips drew closer and became blent in a fervent,\nintoxicating kiss. Her hands were cold as ice; her head was burning.\n\nAnd hereupon we embarked upon one of those conversations which, on\npaper, have no sense, which it is impossible to repeat, and impossible\neven to retain in memory. The meaning of the sounds replaces and\ncompletes the meaning of the words, as in Italian opera.\n\nShe is decidedly averse to my making the acquaintance of her husband,\nthe lame old man of whom I had caught a glimpse on the boulevard.\nShe married him for the sake of her son. He is rich, and suffers from\nattacks of rheumatism. I did not allow myself even a single scoff at\nhis expense. She respects him as a father, and will deceive him as a\nhusband... A strange thing, the human heart in general, and woman's\nheart in particular.\n\nVera's husband, Semyon Vasilevich G----v, is a distant relation of\nPrincess Ligovski. He lives next door to her. Vera frequently visits\nthe Princess. I have given her my promise to make the Ligovskis'\nacquaintance, and to pay court to Princess Mary in order to distract\nattention from Vera. In such way, my plans have been not a little\nderanged, but it will be amusing for me...\n\nAmusing!... Yes, I have already passed that period of spiritual\nlife when happiness alone is sought, when the heart feels the urgent\nnecessity of violently and passionately loving somebody. Now my only\nwish is to be loved, and that by very few. I even think that I would be\ncontent with one constant attachment. A wretched habit of the heart!...\n\nOne thing has always struck me as strange. I have never made myself the\nslave of the woman I have loved. On the contrary, I have always acquired\nan invincible power over her will and heart, without in the least\nendeavouring to do so. Why is this? Is it because I never esteem\nanything highly, and she has been continually afraid to let me out of\nher hands? Or is it the magnetic influence of a powerful organism? Or is\nit, simply, that I have never succeeded in meeting a woman of stubborn\ncharacter?\n\nI must confess that, in fact, I do not love women who possess strength\nof character. What business have they with such a thing?\n\nIndeed, I remember now. Once and once only did I love a woman who had\na firm will which I was never able to vanquish... We parted as\nenemies--and then, perhaps, if I had met her five years later we would\nhave parted otherwise...\n\nVera is ill, very ill, although she does not admit it. I fear she has\nconsumption, or that disease which is called \"fievre lente\"--a quite\nunRussian disease, and one for which there is no name in our language.\n\nThe storm overtook us while in the grotto and detained us half an hour\nlonger. Vera did not make me swear fidelity, or ask whether I had loved\nothers since we had parted... She trusted in me anew with all her former\nunconcern, and I will not deceive her: she is the only woman in the\nworld whom it would never be within my power to deceive. I know that we\nshall soon have to part again, and perchance for ever. We will both go\nby different ways to the grave, but her memory will remain inviolable\nwithin my soul. I have always repeated this to her, and she believes me,\nalthough she says she does not.\n\nAt length we separated. For a long time I followed her with my eyes,\nuntil her hat was hidden behind the shrubs and rocks. My heart was\npainfully contracted, just as after our first parting. Oh, how I\nrejoiced in that emotion! Can it be that youth is about to come back to\nme, with its salutary tempests, or is this only the farewell glance, the\nlast gift--in memory of itself?... And to think that, in appearance,\nI am still a boy! My face, though pale, is still fresh; my limbs are\nsupple and slender; my hair is thick and curly, my eyes sparkle, my\nblood boils...\n\nReturning home, I mounted on horseback and galloped to the steppe. I\nlove to gallop on a fiery horse through the tall grass, in the face of\nthe desert wind; greedily I gulp down the fragrant air and fix my gaze\nupon the blue distance, endeavouring to seize the misty outlines of\nobjects which every minute grow clearer and clearer. Whatever griefs\noppress my heart, whatever disquietudes torture my thoughts--all are\ndispersed in a moment; my soul becomes at ease; the fatigue of the body\nvanquishes the disturbance of the mind. There is not a woman's glance\nwhich I would not forget at the sight of the tufted mountains, illumined\nby the southern sun; at the sight of the dark-blue sky, or in hearkening\nto the roar of the torrent as it falls from cliff to cliff.\n\nI believe that the Cossacks, yawning on their watch-towers, when they\nsaw me galloping thus needlessly and aimlessly, were long tormented\nby that enigma, because from my dress, I am sure, they took me to be a\nCircassian. I have, in fact, been told that when riding on horseback, in\nmy Circassian costume, I resemble a Kabardian more than many a Kabardian\nhimself. And, indeed, so far as regards that noble, warlike garb, I am\na perfect dandy. I have not a single piece of gold lace too much; my\nweapon is costly, but simply wrought; the fur on my cap is neither too\nlong nor too short; my leggings and shoes are matched with all possible\naccuracy; my tunic is white; my Circassian jacket, dark-brown. I have\nlong studied the mountaineer seat on horseback, and in no way is it\npossible to flatter my vanity so much as by acknowledging my skill in\nhorsemanship in the Cossack mode. I keep four horses--one for myself and\nthree for my friends, so that I may not be bored by having to roam about\nthe fields all alone; they take my horses with pleasure, and never ride\nwith me.\n\nIt was already six o'clock in the evening, when I remembered that it was\ntime to dine. My horse was jaded. I rode out on to the road leading\nfrom Pyatigorsk to the German colony, to which the society of the\nwatering-place frequently rides en piquenique. The road meanders between\nbushes and descends into little ravines, through which flow noisy brooks\nbeneath the shade of tall grasses. All around, in an amphitheatre,\nrise the blue masses of Mount Beshtau and the Zmeiny, Zhelezny and Lysy\nMountains. Descending into one of those ravines, I halted to water\nmy horse. At that moment a noisy and glittering cavalcade made its\nappearance upon the road--the ladies in black and dark-blue riding\nhabits, the cavaliers in costumes which formed a medley of the\nCircassian and Nizhegorodian. In front rode Grushnitski with\nPrincess Mary.\n\nThe ladies at the watering-place still believe in attacks by Circassians\nin broad daylight; for that reason, doubtless, Grushnitski had slung\na sabre and a pair of pistols over his soldier's cloak. He looked\nridiculous enough in that heroic attire.\n\nI was concealed from their sight by a tall bush, but I was able to see\neverything through the leaves, and to guess from the expression of their\nfaces that the conversation was of a sentimental turn. At length\nthey approached the slope; Grushnitski took hold of the bridle of the\nPrincess's horse, and then I heard the conclusion of their conversation:\n\n\"And you wish to remain all your life in the Caucasus?\" said Princess\nMary.\n\n\"What is Russia to me?\" answered her cavalier. \"A country in which\nthousands of people, because they are richer than I, will look upon me\nwith contempt, whilst here--here this thick cloak has not prevented my\nacquaintance with you\"...\n\n\"On the contrary\"... said Princess Mary, blushing.\n\nGrushnitski's face was a picture of delight. He continued:\n\n\"Here, my life will flow along noisily, unobserved, and rapidly, under\nthe bullets of the savages, and if Heaven were every year to send me a\nsingle bright glance from a woman's eyes--like that which--\"\n\nAt that moment they came up to where I was. I struck my horse with the\nwhip and rode out from behind the bush...\n\n\"Mon Dieu, un circassien!\"... exclaimed Princess Mary in terror.\n\nIn order completely to undeceive her, I replied in French, with a slight\nbow:\n\n\"Ne craignez rien, madame, je ne suis pas plus dangereux que votre\ncavalier\"...\n\nShe grew embarrassed--but at what? At her own mistake, or because my\nanswer struck her as insolent? I should like the latter hypothesis to be\ncorrect. Grushnitski cast a discontented glance at me.\n\nLate in the evening, that is to say, about eleven o'clock, I went for a\nwalk in the lilac avenue of the boulevard. The town was sleeping; lights\nwere gleaming in only a few windows. On three sides loomed the black\nridges of the cliffs, the spurs of Mount Mashuk, upon the summit of\nwhich an ominous cloud was lying. The moon was rising in the east; in\nthe distance, the snow-clad mountains glistened like a fringe of silver.\nThe calls of the sentries mingled at intervals with the roar of the hot\nsprings let flow for the night. At times the loud clattering of a horse\nrang out along the street, accompanied by the creaking of a Nagai wagon\nand the plaintive burden of a Tartar song.\n\nI sat down upon a bench and fell into a reverie... I felt the necessity\nof pouring forth my thoughts in friendly conversation... But with\nwhom?...\n\n\"What is Vera doing now?\" I wondered.\n\nI would have given much to press her hand at that moment.\n\nAll at once I heard rapid and irregular steps... Grushnitski, no\ndoubt!... So it was!\n\n\"Where have you come from?\"\n\n\"From Princess Ligovski's,\" he said very importantly. \"How well Mary\ndoes sing!\"...\n\n\"Do you know?\" I said to him. \"I wager that she does not know that you\nare a cadet. She thinks you are an officer reduced to the ranks\"...\n\n\"Maybe so. What is that to me!\"... he said absently.\n\n\"No, I am only saying so\"...\n\n\"But, do you know that you have made her terribly angry to-day? She\nconsidered it an unheard-of piece of insolence. It was only with\ndifficulty that I was able to convince her that you are so well bred\nand know society so well that you could not have had any intention of\ninsulting her. She says that you have an impudent glance, and that you\nhave certainly a very high opinion of yourself.\"\n\n\"She is not mistaken... But do you not want to defend her?\"\n\n\"I am sorry I have not yet the right to do so\"...\n\n\"Oho!\" I said to myself, \"evidently he has hopes already.\"\n\n\"However, it is the worse for you,\" continued Grushnitski; \"it will be\ndifficult for you to make their acquaintance now, and what a pity! It is\none of the most agreeable houses I know\"...\n\nI smiled inwardly.\n\n\"The most agreeable house to me now is my own,\" I said, with a yawn, and\nI got up to go.\n\n\"Confess, though, you repent?\"...\n\n\"What nonsense! If I like I will be at Princess Ligovski's to-morrow\nevening!\"...\n\n\"We shall see\"...\n\n\"I will even begin to pay my addresses to Princess Mary, if you would\nlike me to\"...\n\n\"Yes, if she is willing to speak to you\"...\n\n\"I am only awaiting the moment when she will be bored by your\nconversation... Goodbye\"...\n\n\"Well, I am going for a stroll; I could not go to sleep now for\nanything... Look here, let us go to the restaurant instead, there is\ncardplaying going on there... What I need now is violent sensations\"...\n\n\"I hope you will lose\"...\n\nI went home.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV. 21st May.\n\nNEARLY a week has passed, and I have not yet made the Ligovskis'\nacquaintance. I am awaiting a convenient opportunity. Grushnitski\nfollows Princess Mary everywhere like a shadow. Their conversations are\ninterminable; but, when will she be tired of him?... Her mother pays no\nattention, because he is not a man who is in a position to marry. Behold\nthe logic of mothers! I have caught two or three tender glances--this\nmust be put a stop to.\n\nYesterday, for the first time, Vera made her appearance at the well...\nShe has never gone out of doors since we met in the grotto. We let down\nour tumblers at the same time, and as she bent forward she whispered to\nme:\n\n\"You are not going to make the Ligovskis' acquaintance?... It is only\nthere that we can meet\"...\n\nA reproach!... How tiresome! But I have deserved it...\n\nBy the way, there is a subscription ball tomorrow in the saloon of the\nrestaurant, and I will dance the mazurka with Princess Mary.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V. 29th May.\n\nTHE saloon of the restaurant was converted into the assembly room of a\nNobles' Club. The company met at nine o'clock. Princess Ligovski and her\ndaughter were amongst the latest to make their appearance. Several of\nthe ladies looked at Princess Mary with envy and malevolence,\nbecause she dresses with taste. Those who look upon themselves as the\naristocracy of the place concealed their envy and attached themselves to\nher train. What else could be expected? Wherever there is a gathering\nof women, the company is immediately divided into a higher and a lower\ncircle.\n\nBeneath the window, amongst a crowd of people, stood Grushnitski,\npressing his face to the pane and never taking his eyes off his\ndivinity. As she passed by, she gave him a hardly perceptible nod. He\nbeamed like the sun... The first dance was a polonaise, after which the\nmusicians struck up a waltz. Spurs began to jingle, and skirts to rise\nand whirl.\n\nI was standing behind a certain stout lady who was overshadowed by\nrose-coloured feathers. The magnificence of her dress reminded me of the\ntimes of the farthingale, and the motley hue of her by no means smooth\nskin, of the happy epoch of the black taffeta patch. An immense wart\non her neck was covered by a clasp. She was saying to her cavalier, a\ncaptain of dragoons:\n\n\"That young Princess Ligovski is a most intolerable creature! Just\nfancy, she jostled against me and did not apologise, but even turned\nround and stared at me through her lorgnette!... C'est impayable!... And\nwhat has she to be proud of? It is time somebody gave her a lesson\"...\n\n\"That will be easy enough,\" replied the obliging captain, and he\ndirected his steps to the other room.\n\nI went up to Princess Mary immediately, and, availing myself of the\nlocal customs which allowed one to dance with a stranger, I invited her\nto waltz with me.\n\nShe was scarcely able to keep from smiling and letting her triumph be\nseen; but quickly enough she succeeded in assuming an air of perfect\nindifference and even severity. Carelessly she let her hand fall upon my\nshoulder, inclined her head slightly to one side, and we began to dance.\nI have never known a waist more voluptuous and supple! Her fresh breath\ntouched my face; at times a lock of hair, becoming separated from its\ncompanions in the eddy of the waltz, glided over my burning cheek...\n\nI made three turns of the ballroom (she waltzes surprisingly well).\nShe was out of breath, her eyes were dulled, her half-open lips were\nscarcely able to whisper the indispensable: \"merci, monsieur.\"\n\nAfter a few moments' silence I said to her, assuming a very humble air:\n\n\"I have heard, Princess, that although quite unacquainted with you, I\nhave already had the misfortune to incur your displeasure... that you\nhave considered me insolent. Can that possibly true?\"\n\n\"Would you like to confirm me in that opinion now?\" she answered,\nwith an ironical little grimace--very becoming, however, to her mobile\ncountenance.\n\n\"If I had the audacity to insult you in any way, then allow me to have\nthe still greater audacity to beg your pardon... And, indeed, I should\nvery much like to prove to you that you are mistaken in regard to me\"...\n\n\"You will find that a rather difficult task\"...\n\n\"But why?\"...\n\n\"Because you never visit us and, most likely, there will not be many\nmore of these balls.\"\n\n\"That means,\" I thought, \"that their doors are closed to me for ever.\"\n\n\"You know, Princess,\" I said to her, with a certain amount of vexation,\n\"one should never spurn a penitent criminal: in his despair he may\nbecome twice as much a criminal as before... and then\"...\n\nSudden laughter and whispering from the people around us caused me to\nturn my head and to interrupt my phrase. A few paces away from me stood\na group of men, amongst them the captain of dragoons, who had manifested\nintentions hostile to the charming Princess. He was particularly well\npleased with something or other, and was rubbing his hands, laughing and\nexchanging meaning glances with his companions. All at once a gentleman\nin an evening-dress coat and with long moustaches and a red face\nseparated himself from the crowd and directed his uncertain steps\nstraight towards Princess Mary. He was drunk. Coming to a halt opposite\nthe embarrassed Princess and placing his hands behind his back, he fixed\nhis dull grey eyes upon her, and said in a hoarse treble:\n\n\"Permettez... but what is the good of that sort of thing here... All I\nneed say is: I engage you for the mazurka\"...\n\n\"Very well!\" she replied in a trembling voice, throwing a beseeching\nglance around. Alas! Her mother was a long way off, and not one of\nthe cavaliers of her acquaintance was near. A certain aide-de-camp\napparently saw the whole scene, but he concealed himself behind the\ncrowd in order not to be mixed up in the affair.\n\n\"What?\" said the drunken gentleman, winking to the captain of dragoons,\nwho was encouraging him by signs. \"Do you not wish to dance then?... All\nthe same I again have the honour to engage you for the mazurka... You\nthink, perhaps, that I am drunk! That is all right!... I can dance all\nthe easier, I assure you\"...\n\nI saw that she was on the point of fainting with fright and indignation.\n\nI went up to the drunken gentleman, caught him none too gently by the\narm, and, looking him fixedly in the face, requested him to retire.\n\"Because,\" I added, \"the Princess promised long ago to dance the mazurka\nwith me.\"\n\n\"Well, then, there's nothing to be done! Another time!\" he said,\nbursting out laughing, and he retired to his abashed companions, who\nimmediately conducted him into another room.\n\nI was rewarded by a deep, wondrous glance.\n\nThe Princess went up to her mother and told her the whole story. The\nlatter sought me out among the crowd and thanked me. She informed me\nthat she knew my mother and was on terms of friendship with half a dozen\nof my aunts.\n\n\"I do not know how it has happened that we have not made your\nacquaintance up to now,\" she added; \"but confess, you alone are to blame\nfor that. You fight shy of everyone in a positively unseemly way. I hope\nthe air of my drawingroom will dispel your spleen... Do you not think\nso?\"\n\nI uttered one of the phrases which everybody must have ready for such an\noccasion.\n\nThe quadrilles dragged on a dreadfully long time.\n\nAt last the music struck up from the gallery, Princess Mary and I took\nup our places.\n\nI did not once allude to the drunken gentleman, or to my previous\nbehaviour, or to Grushnitski. The impression produced upon her by the\nunpleasant scene was gradually dispelled; her face brightened up; she\njested very charmingly; her conversation was witty, without pretensions\nto wit, vivacious and spontaneous; her observations were sometimes\nprofound... In a very involved sentence I gave her to understand that I\nhad liked her for a long time. She bent her head and blushed slightly.\n\n\"You are a strange man!\" she said, with a forced laugh, lifting her\nvelvet eyes upon me.\n\n\"I did not wish to make your acquaintance,\" I continued, \"because you\nare surrounded by too dense a throng of adorers, in which I was afraid\nof being lost to sight altogether.\"\n\n\"You need not have been afraid; they are all very tiresome\"...\n\n\"All? Not all, surely?\"\n\nShe looked fixedly at me as if endeavouring to recollect something, then\nblushed slightly again and finally pronounced with decision:\n\n\"All!\"\n\n\"Even my friend, Grushnitski?\"\n\n\"But is he your friend?\" she said, manifesting some doubt.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"He, of course, does not come into the category of the tiresome\"...\n\n\"But into that of the unfortunate!\" I said, laughing.\n\n\"Of course! But do you consider that funny? I should like you to be in\nhis place\"...\n\n\"Well? I was once a cadet myself, and, in truth, it was the best time of\nmy life!\"\n\n\"Is he a cadet, then?\"... she said rapidly, and then added: \"But I\nthought\"...\n\n\"What did you think?\"...\n\n\"Nothing! Who is that lady?\"\n\nThereupon the conversation took a different direction, and it did not\nreturn to the former subject.\n\nAnd now the mazurka came to an end and we separated--until we should\nmeet again. The ladies drove off in different directions. I went to get\nsome supper, and met Werner.\n\n\"Aha!\" he said: \"so it is you! And yet you did not wish to make the\nacquaintance of Princess Mary otherwise than by saving her from certain\ndeath.\"\n\n\"I have done better,\" I replied. \"I have saved her from fainting at the\nball\"...\n\n\"How was that? Tell me.\"\n\n\"No, guess!--O, you who guess everything in the world!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI. 30th May.\n\nABOUT seven o'clock in the evening, I was walking on the boulevard.\nGrushnitski perceived me a long way off, and came up to me. A sort of\nridiculous rapture was shining in his eyes. He pressed my hand warmly,\nand said in a tragic voice:\n\n\"I thank you, Pechorin... You understand me?\"\n\n\"No; but in any case it is not worth gratitude,\" I answered, not having,\nin fact, any good deed upon my conscience.\n\n\"What? But yesterday! Have you forgotten?... Mary has told me\neverything\"...\n\n\"Why! Have you everything in common so soon as this? Even gratitude?\"...\n\n\"Listen,\" said Grushnitski very earnestly; \"pray do not make fun of\nmy love, if you wish to remain my friend... You see, I love her to the\npoint of madness... and I think--I hope--she loves me too... I have a\nrequest to make of you. You will be at their house this evening; promise\nme to observe everything. I know you are experienced in these matters,\nyou know women better than I... Women! Women! Who can understand them?\nTheir smiles contradict their glances, their words promise and allure,\nbut the tone of their voice repels... At one time they grasp and divine\nin a moment our most secret thoughts, at another they cannot understand\nthe clearest hints... Take Princess Mary, now: yesterday her eyes, as\nthey rested upon me, were blazing with passion; to-day they are dull and\ncold\"...\n\n\"That is possibly the result of the waters,\" I replied.\n\n\"You see the bad side of everything... materialist,\" he added\ncontemptuously. \"However, let us talk of other matters.\"\n\nAnd, satisfied with his bad pun, he cheered up.\n\nAt nine o'clock we went to Princess Ligovski's together.\n\nPassing by Vera's windows, I saw her looking out. We threw a fleeting\nglance at each other. She entered the Ligovskis' drawing-room soon after\nus. Princess Ligovski presented me to her, as a relation of her own. Tea\nwas served. The guests were numerous, and the conversation was general.\nI endeavoured to please the Princess, jested, and made her laugh\nheartily a few times. Princess Mary, also, was more than once on the\npoint of bursting out laughing, but she restrained herself in order not\nto depart from the role she had assumed. She finds languor becoming to\nher, and perhaps she is not mistaken. Grushnitski appears to be very\nglad that she is not infected by my gaiety.\n\nAfter tea we all went into the drawingroom.\n\n\"Are you satisfied with my obedience, Vera?\" I said as I was passing\nher.\n\nShe threw me a glance full of love and gratitude. I have grown\naccustomed to such glances; but at one time they constituted my\nfelicity. The Princess seated her daughter at the pianoforte, and all\nthe company begged her to sing. I kept silence, and, taking advantage\nof the hubbub, I went aside to the window with Vera, who wished to\nsay something of great importance to both of us... It turned out to\nbe--nonsense...\n\nMeanwhile my indifference was vexing Princess Mary, as I was able to\nmake out from a single angry, gleaming glance which she cast at me...\nOh! I understand the method of conversation wonderfully well: mute but\nexpressive, brief but forceful!...\n\nShe began to sing. She has a good voice, but she sings badly... However,\nI was not listening.\n\nGrushnitski, on the contrary, leaning his elbows on the grand piano,\nfacing her, was devouring her with his eyes and saying in an undertone\nevery minute: \"Charmant! Delicieux!\"\n\n\"Listen,\" said Vera to me, \"I do not wish you to make my husband's\nacquaintance, but you must, without fail, make yourself agreeable to\nthe Princess; that will be an easy task for you: you can do anything you\nwish. It is only here that we shall see each other\"...\n\n\"Only here?\"...\n\nShe blushed and continued:\n\n\"You know that I am your slave: I have never been able to resist you...\nand I shall be punished for it, you will cease to love me! At least,\nI want to preserve my reputation... not for myself--that you know very\nwell!... Oh! I beseech you: do not torture me, as before, with idle\ndoubts and feigned coldness! It may be that I shall die soon; I feel\nthat I am growing weaker from day to day... And, yet, I cannot think of\nthe future life, I think only of you... You men do not understand the\ndelights of a glance, of a pressure of the hand... but as for me, I\nswear to you that, when I listen to your voice, I feel such a deep,\nstrange bliss that the most passionate kisses could not take its place.\"\n\nMeanwhile, Princess Mary had finished her song. Murmurs of praise were\nto be heard all around. I went up to her after all the other guests, and\nsaid something rather carelessly to her on the subject of her voice.\n\nShe made a little grimace, pouting her lower lip, and dropped a very\nsarcastic curtsey.\n\n\"That is all the more flattering,\" she said, \"because you have not been\nlistening to me at all; but perhaps you do not like music?\"...\n\n\"On the contrary, I do... After dinner, especially.\"\n\n\"Grushnitski is right in saying that you have very prosaic tastes... and\nI see that you like music in a gastronomic respect.\"\n\n\"You are mistaken again: I am by no means an epicure. I have a most\nwretched digestion. But music after dinner puts one to sleep, and\nto sleep after dinner is healthful; consequently I like music in a\nmedicinal respect. In the evening, on the contrary, it excites my nerves\ntoo much: I become either too melancholy or too gay. Both are fatiguing,\nwhere there is no positive reason for being either sorrowful or glad.\nAnd, moreover, melancholy in society is ridiculous, and too great gaiety\nis unbecoming\"...\n\nShe did not hear me to the end, but went away and sat beside\nGrushnitski, and they entered into a sort of sentimental conversation.\nApparently the Princess answered his sage phrases rather absent-mindedly\nand inconsequently, although endeavouring to show that she was\nlistening to him with attention, because sometimes he looked at her in\nastonishment, trying to divine the cause of the inward agitation which\nwas expressed at times in her restless glance...\n\nBut I have found you out, my dear Princess! Have a care! You want to pay\nme back in the same coin, to wound my vanity--you will not succeed! And\nif you declare war on me, I will be merciless!\n\nIn the course of the evening, I purposely tried a few times to join in\ntheir conversation, but she met my remarks rather coldly, and, at\nlast, I retired in pretended vexation. Princess Mary was triumphant,\nGrushnitski likewise. Triumph, my friends, and be quick about it!...\nYou will not have long to triumph!... It cannot be otherwise. I have\na presentiment... On making a woman's acquaintance I have always\nunerringly guessed whether she would fall in love with me or not.\n\nThe remaining part of the evening I spent at Vera's side, and talked to\nthe full about the old days... Why does she love me so much? In truth, I\nam unable to say, all the more so because she is the only woman who\nhas understood me perfectly, with all my petty weaknesses and evil\npassions... Can it be that wickedness is so attractive?...\n\nGrushnitski and I left the house together. In the street he took my arm,\nand, after a long silence, said:\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"You are a fool,\" I should have liked to answer. But I restrained myself\nand only shrugged my shoulders.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII. 6th June.\n\nALL these days I have not once departed from my system. Princess Mary\nhas come to like talking to me; I have told her a few of the\nstrange events of my life, and she is beginning to look on me as\nan extraordinary man. I mock at everything in the world, especially\nfeelings; and she is taking alarm. When I am present, she does not dare\nto embark upon sentimental discussions with Grushnitski, and already, on\na few occasions, she has answered his sallies with a mocking smile. But\nevery time that Grushnitski comes up to her I assume an air of meekness\nand leave the two of them together. On the first occasion, she was glad,\nor tried to make it appear so; on the second, she was angry with me; on\nthe third--with Grushnitski.\n\n\"You have very little vanity!\" she said to me yesterday. \"What makes you\nthink that I find Grushnitski the more entertaining?\"\n\nI answered that I was sacrificing my own pleasure for the sake of the\nhappiness of a friend.\n\n\"And my pleasure, too,\" she added.\n\nI looked at her intently and assumed a serious air. After that for the\nwhole day I did not speak a single word to her... In the evening, she\nwas pensive; this morning, at the well, more pensive still. When I went\nup to her, she was listening absent-mindedly to Grushnitski, who was\napparently falling into raptures about Nature, but, so soon as\nshe perceived me, she began to laugh--at a most inopportune\nmoment--pretending not to notice me. I went on a little further and\nbegan stealthily to observe her. She turned away from her companion and\nyawned twice. Decidedly she had grown tired of Grushnitski--I will not\ntalk to her for another two days.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII. 11th June.\n\nI OFTEN ask myself why I am so obstinately endeavouring to win the love\nof a young girl whom I do not wish to deceive, and whom I will never\nmarry. Why this woman-like coquetry? Vera loves me more than Princess\nMary ever will. Had I regarded the latter as an invincible beauty, I\nshould perhaps have been allured by the difficulty of the undertaking...\n\nHowever, there is no such difficulty in this case! Consequently, my\npresent feeling is not that restless craving for love which torments us\nin the early days of our youth, flinging us from one woman to\nanother until we find one who cannot endure us. And then begins our\nconstancy--that sincere, unending passion which may be expressed\nmathematically by a line falling from a point into space--the secret of\nthat endlessness lying only in the impossibility of attaining the aim,\nthat is to say, the end.\n\nFrom what motive, then, am I taking all this trouble?--Envy of\nGrushnitski? Poor fellow!\n\nHe is quite undeserving of it. Or, is it the result of that ugly, but\ninvincible, feeling which causes us to destroy the sweet illusions of\nour neighbour in order to have the petty satisfaction of saying to him,\nwhen, in despair, he asks what he is to believe:\n\n\"My friend, the same thing happened to me, and you see, nevertheless,\nthat I dine, sup, and sleep very peacefully, and I shall, I hope, know\nhow to die without tears and lamentations.\"\n\nThere is, in sooth, a boundless enjoyment in the possession of a young,\nscarce-budded soul! It is like a floweret which exhales its best perfume\nat the kiss of the first ray of the sun. You should pluck the flower at\nthat moment, and, breathing its fragrance to the full, cast it upon the\nroad: perchance someone will pick it up! I feel within me that insatiate\nhunger which devours everything it meets upon the way; I look upon\nthe sufferings and joys of others only from the point of view of their\nrelation to myself, regarding them as the nutriment which sustains my\nspiritual forces. I myself am no longer capable of committing follies\nunder the influence of passion; with me, ambition has been repressed by\ncircumstances, but it has emerged in another form, because ambition is\nnothing more nor less than a thirst for power, and my chief pleasure is\nto make everything that surrounds me subject to my will. To arouse the\nfeeling of love, devotion and awe towards oneself--is not that the first\nsign, and the greatest triumph, of power? To be the cause of suffering\nand joy to another--without in the least possessing any definite right\nto be so--is not that the sweetest food for our pride? And what is\nhappiness?--Satisfied pride. Were I to consider myself the best, the\nmost powerful man in the world, I should be happy; were all to love me,\nI should find within me inexhaustible springs of love. Evil begets\nevil; the first suffering gives us the conception of the satisfaction\nof torturing another. The idea of evil cannot enter the mind without\narousing a desire to put it actually into practice. \"Ideas are organic\nentities,\" someone has said. The very fact of their birth endows them\nwith form, and that form is action. He in whose brain the most ideas\nare born accomplishes the most. From that cause a genius, chained to an\nofficial desk, must die or go mad, just as it often happens that a man\nof powerful constitution, and at the same time of sedentary life and\nsimple habits, dies of an apoplectic stroke.\n\nPassions are naught but ideas in their first development; they are an\nattribute of the youth of the heart, and foolish is he who thinks that\nhe will be agitated by them all his life. Many quiet rivers begin their\ncourse as noisy waterfalls, and there is not a single stream which will\nleap or foam throughout its way to the sea. That quietness, however, is\nfrequently the sign of great, though latent, strength. The fulness and\ndepth of feelings and thoughts do not admit of frenzied outbursts. In\nsuffering and in enjoyment the soul renders itself a strict account of\nall it experiences and convinces itself that such things must be. It\nknows that, but for storms, the constant heat of the sun would dry it\nup! It imbues itself with its own life--pets and punishes itself like a\nfavourite child. It is only in that highest state of self-knowledge that\na man can appreciate the divine justice.\n\nOn reading over this page, I observe that I have made a wide digression\nfrom my subject... But what matter?... You see, it is for myself that I\nam writing this diary, and, consequently anything that I jot down in it\nwill in time be a valuable reminiscence for me.\n\n . . . . .\n\nGrushnitski has called to see me to-day. He flung himself upon my neck;\nhe has been promoted to be an officer. We drank champagne. Doctor Werner\ncame in after him.\n\n\"I do not congratulate you,\" he said to Grushnitski.\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"Because the soldier's cloak suits you very well, and you must confess\nthat an infantry uniform, made by one of the local tailors, will not add\nanything of interest to you... Do you not see? Hitherto, you have been\nan exception, but now you will come under the general rule.\"\n\n\"Talk away, doctor, talk away! You will not prevent me from rejoicing.\nHe does not know,\" added Grushnitski in a whisper to me, \"how many hopes\nthese epaulettes have lent me... Oh!... Epaulettes, epaulettes! Your\nlittle stars are guiding stars! No! I am perfectly happy now!\"\n\n\"Are you coming with us on our walk to the hollow?\" I asked him.\n\n\"I? Not on any account will I show myself to Princess Mary until my\nuniform is finished.\"\n\n\"Would you like me to inform her of your happiness?\"\n\n\"No, please, not a word... I want to give her a surprise\"...\n\n\"Tell me, though, how are you getting on with her?\"\n\nHe became embarrassed, and fell into thought; he would gladly have\nbragged and told lies, but his conscience would not let him; and, at the\nsame time, he was ashamed to confess the truth.\n\n\"What do you think? Does she love you?\"...\n\n\"Love me? Good gracious, Pechorin, what ideas you do have!... How could\nshe possibly love me so soon?... And a well-bred woman, even if she is\nin love, will never say so\"...\n\n\"Very well! And, I suppose, in your opinion, a well-bred man should also\nkeep silence in regard to his passion?\"...\n\n\"Ah, my dear fellow! There are ways of doing everything; often things\nmay remain unspoken, but yet may be guessed\"...\n\n\"That is true... But the love which we read in the eyes does not pledge\na woman to anything, whilst words... Have a care, Grushnitski, she is\nbefooling you!\"\n\n\"She?\" he answered, raising his eyes heavenward and smiling\ncomplacently. \"I am sorry for you, Pechorin!\"...\n\nHe took his departure.\n\nIn the evening, a numerous company set off to walk to the hollow.\n\nIn the opinion of the learned of Pyatigorsk, the hollow in question is\nnothing more nor less than an extinct crater. It is situated on a\nslope of Mount Mashuk, at the distance of a verst from the town, and is\napproached by a narrow path between brushwood and rocks. In climbing up\nthe hill, I gave Princess Mary my arm, and she did not leave it during\nthe whole excursion.\n\nOur conversation commenced with slander; I proceeded to pass in\nreview our present and absent acquaintances; at first I exposed their\nridiculous, and then their bad, sides. My choler rose. I began in jest,\nand ended in genuine malice. At first she was amused, but afterwards\nfrightened.\n\n\"You are a dangerous man!\" she said. \"I would rather perish in the\nwoods under the knife of an assassin than under your tongue... In all\nearnestness I beg of you: when it comes into your mind to speak evil of\nme, take a knife instead and cut my throat. I think you would not find\nthat a very difficult matter.\"\n\n\"Am I like an assassin, then?\"...\n\n\"You are worse\"...\n\nI fell into thought for a moment; then, assuming a deeply moved air, I\nsaid:\n\n\"Yes, such has been my lot from very childhood! All have read upon my\ncountenance the marks of bad qualities, which were not existent; but\nthey were assumed to exist--and they were born. I was modest--I was\naccused of slyness: I grew secretive. I profoundly felt both good and\nevil--no one caressed me, all insulted me: I grew vindictive. I was\ngloomy--other children merry and talkative; I felt myself higher than\nthey--I was rated lower: I grew envious. I was prepared to love the\nwhole world--no one understood me: I learned to hate. My colourless\nyouth flowed by in conflict with myself and the world; fearing ridicule,\nI buried my best feelings in the depths of my heart, and there they\ndied. I spoke the truth--I was not believed: I began to deceive. Having\nacquired a thorough knowledge of the world and the springs of society, I\ngrew skilled in the science of life; and I saw how others without skill\nwere happy, enjoying gratuitously the advantages which I so unweariedly\nsought. Then despair was born within my breast--not that despair which\nis cured at the muzzle of a pistol, but the cold, powerless despair\nconcealed beneath the mask of amiability and a good-natured smile. I\nbecame a moral cripple. One half of my soul ceased to exist; it dried\nup, evaporated, died, and I cut it off and cast it from me. The other\nhalf moved and lived--at the service of all; but it remained unobserved,\nbecause no one knew that the half which had perished had ever existed.\nBut, now, the memory of it has been awakened within me by you, and I\nhave read you its epitaph. To many, epitaphs in general seem ridiculous,\nbut to me they do not; especially when I remember what reposes beneath\nthem. I will not, however, ask you to share my opinion. If this outburst\nseems absurd to you, I pray you, laugh! I forewarn you that your\nlaughter will not cause me the least chagrin.\"\n\nAt that moment I met her eyes: tears were welling in them. Her arm, as\nit leaned upon mine, was trembling; her cheeks were aflame; she pitied\nme! Sympathy--a feeling to which all women yield so easily, had dug its\ntalons into her inexperienced heart. During the whole excursion she was\npreoccupied, and did not flirt with anyone--and that is a great sign!\n\nWe arrived at the hollow; the ladies left their cavaliers, but she did\nnot let go my arm. The witticisms of the local dandies failed to make\nher laugh; the steepness of the declivity beside which she was standing\ncaused her no alarm, although the other ladies uttered shrill cries and\nshut their eyes.\n\nOn the way back, I did not renew our melancholy conversation, but to my\nidle questions and jests she gave short and absent-minded answers.\n\n\"Have you ever been in love?\" I asked her at length.\n\nShe looked at me intently, shook her head and again fell into a reverie.\nIt was evident that she was wishing to say something, but did not know\nhow to begin. Her breast heaved... And, indeed, that was but natural!\nA muslin sleeve is a weak protection, and an electric spark was running\nfrom my arm to hers. Almost all passions have their beginning in that\nway, and frequently we are very much deceived in thinking that a woman\nloves us for our moral and physical merits; of course, these prepare and\npredispose the heart for the reception of the holy flame, but for all\nthat it is the first touch that decides the matter.\n\n\"I have been very amiable to-day, have I not?\" Princess Mary said to me,\nwith a forced smile, when we had returned from the walk.\n\nWe separated.\n\nShe is dissatisfied with herself. She accuses herself of coldness... Oh,\nthat is the first, the chief triumph!\n\nTo-morrow, she will be feeling a desire to recompense me. I know the\nwhole proceeding by heart already--that is what is so tiresome!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX. 12th June.\n\nI HAVE seen Vera to-day. She has begun to plague me with her jealousy.\nPrincess Mary has taken it into her head, it seems, to confide the\nsecrets of her heart to Vera: a happy choice, it must be confessed!\n\n\"I can guess what all this is leading to,\" said Vera to me. \"You had\nbetter simply tell me at once that you are in love with her.\"\n\n\"But supposing I am not in love with her?\"\n\n\"Then why run after her, disturb her, agitate her imagination!... Oh, I\nknow you well! Listen--if you wish me to believe you, come to Kislovodsk\nin a week's time; we shall be moving thither the day after to-morrow.\nPrincess Mary will remain here longer. Engage lodgings next door to us.\nWe shall be living in the large house near the spring, on the mezzanine\nfloor. Princess Ligovski will be below us, and next door there is a\nhouse belonging to the same landlord, which has not yet been taken...\nWill you come?\"...\n\nI gave my promise, and this very same day I have sent to engage the\nlodgings.\n\nGrushnitski came to me at six o'clock and announced that his uniform\nwould be ready to-morrow, just in time for him to go to the ball in it.\n\n\"At last I shall dance with her the whole evening through... And then I\nshall talk to my heart's content,\" he added.\n\n\"When is the ball?\"\n\n\"Why, to-morrow! Do you not know, then? A great festival--and the local\nauthorities have undertaken to organize it\"...\n\n\"Let us go to the boulevard\"...\n\n\"Not on any account, in this nasty cloak\"...\n\n\"What! Have you ceased to love it?\"...\n\nI went out alone, and, meeting Princess Mary I asked her to keep the\nmazurka for me. She seemed surprised and delighted.\n\n\"I thought that you would only dance from necessity as on the last\noccasion,\" she said, with a very charming smile...\n\nShe does not seem to notice Grushnitski's absence at all.\n\n\"You will be agreeably surprised to-morrow,\" I said to her.\n\n\"At what?\"\n\n\"That is a secret... You will find it out yourself, at the ball.\"\n\nI finished up the evening at Princess Ligovski's; there were no other\nguests present except Vera and a certain very amusing, little old\ngentleman. I was in good spirits, and improvised various extraordinary\nstories. Princess Mary sat opposite me and listened to my nonsense with\nsuch deep, strained, and even tender attention that I grew ashamed of\nmyself. What had become of her vivacity, her coquetry, her caprices, her\nhaughty mien, her contemptuous smile, her absentminded glance?...\n\nVera noticed everything, and her sickly countenance was a picture of\nprofound grief. She was sitting in the shadow by the window, buried in a\nwide arm-chair... I pitied her.\n\nThen I related the whole dramatic story of our acquaintanceship, our\nlove--concealing it all, of course, under fictitious names.\n\nSo vividly did I portray my tenderness, my anxieties, my raptures; in\nso favourable a light did I exhibit her actions and her character, that\ninvoluntarily she had to forgive me for my flirtation with Princess\nMary.\n\nShe rose, sat down beside us, and brightened up... and it was only\nat two o'clock in the morning that we remembered that the doctors had\nordered her to go to bed at eleven.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X. 13th June.\n\nHALF an hour before the ball, Grushnitski presented himself to me in\nthe full splendour of the uniform of the Line infantry. Attached to\nhis third button was a little bronze chain, on which hung a double\nlorgnette. Epaulettes of incredible size were bent backwards and upwards\nin the shape of a cupid's wings; his boots creaked; in his left hand he\nheld cinnamon-coloured kid gloves and a forage-cap, and with his right he\nkept every moment twisting his frizzled tuft of hair up into tiny curls.\nComplacency and at the same time a certain diffidence were depicted upon\nhis face. His festal appearance and proud gait would have made me\nburst out laughing, if such a proceeding had been in accordance with my\nintentions.\n\nHe threw his cap and gloves on the table and began to pull down\nthe skirts of his coat and to put himself to rights before the\nlooking-glass. An enormous black handkerchief, which was twisted into a\nvery high stiffener for his cravat, and the bristles of which supported\nhis chin, stuck out an inch over his collar. It seemed to him to be\nrather small, and he drew it up as far as his ears. As a result of\nthat hard work--the collar of his uniform being very tight and\nuncomfortable--he grew red in the face.\n\n\"They say you have been courting my princess terribly these last few\ndays?\" he said, rather carelessly and without looking at me.\n\n\"'Where are we fools to drink tea!'\" I answered, repeating a pet\nphrase of one of the cleverest rogues of past times, once celebrated in\nsong by Pushkin.\n\n\"Tell me, does my uniform fit me well?... Oh, the cursed Jew!... How it\ncuts me under the armpits!... Have you got any scent?\"\n\n\"Good gracious, what more do you want? You are reeking of rose pomade as\nit is.\"\n\n\"Never mind. Give me some\"...\n\nHe poured half a phial over his cravat, his pocket-handkerchief, his\nsleeves.\n\n\"You are going to dance?\" he asked.\n\n\"I think not.\"\n\n\"I am afraid I shall have to lead off the mazurka with Princess Mary,\nand I scarcely know a single figure\"...\n\n\"Have you asked her to dance the mazurka with you?\"\n\n\"Not yet\"...\n\n\"Mind you are not forestalled\"...\n\n\"Just so, indeed!\" he said, striking his forehead. \"Good-bye... I will\ngo and wait for her at the entrance.\"\n\nHe seized his forage-cap and ran.\n\nHalf an hour later I also set off. The street was dark and deserted.\nAround the assembly rooms, or inn--whichever you prefer--people were\nthronging. The windows were lighted up, the strains of the regimental\nband were borne to me on the evening breeze. I walked slowly; I felt\nmelancholy.\n\n\"Can it be possible,\" I thought, \"that my sole mission on earth is to\ndestroy the hopes of others? Ever since I began to live and to act, it\nseems always to have been my fate to play a part in the ending of other\npeople's dramas, as if, but for me, no one could either die or fall\ninto despair! I have been the indispensable person of the fifth act;\nunwillingly I have played the pitiful part of an executioner or a\ntraitor. What object has fate had in this?... Surely, I have not been\nappointed by destiny to be an author of middle-class tragedies and family\nromances, or to be a collaborator with the purveyor of stories--for the\n'Reader's Library,' for example?... How can I tell?... Are there\nnot many people who, in beginning life, think to end it like Lord Byron\nor Alexander the Great, and, nevertheless, remain Titular Councillors\nall their days?\"\n\nEntering the saloon, I concealed myself in a crowd of men, and began to\nmake my observations.\n\nGrushnitski was standing beside Princess Mary and saying something with\ngreat warmth. She was listening to him absent-mindedly and looking about\nher, her fan laid to her lips. Impatience was depicted upon her face,\nher eyes were searching all around for somebody. I went softly behind\nthem in order to listen to their conversation.\n\n\"You torture me, Princess!\" Grushnitski was saying. \"You have changed\ndreadfully since I saw you last\"...\n\n\"You, too, have changed,\" she answered, casting a rapid glance at him,\nin which he was unable to detect the latent sneer.\n\n\"I! Changed?... Oh, never! You know that such a thing is impossible!\nWhoever has seen you once will bear your divine image with him for\never.\"\n\n\"Stop\"...\n\n\"But why will you not let me say to-night what you have so often\nlistened to with condescension--and just recently, too?\"...\n\n\"Because I do not like repetitions,\" she answered, laughing.\n\n\"Oh! I have been bitterly mistaken!... I thought, fool that I was, that\nthese epaulettes, at least, would give me the right to hope... No,\nit would have been better for me to have remained for ever in that\ncontemptible soldier's cloak, to which, probably, I was indebted for\nyour attention\"...\n\n\"As a matter of fact, the cloak is much more becoming to you\"...\n\nAt that moment I went up and bowed to Princess Mary. She blushed a\nlittle, and went on rapidly:\n\n\"Is it not true, Monsieur Pechorin, that the grey cloak suits Monsieur\nGrushnitski much better?\"...\n\n\"I do not agree with you,\" I answered: \"he is more youthful-looking\nstill in his uniform.\"\n\nThat was a blow which Grushnitski could not bear: like all boys, he\nhas pretensions to being an old man; he thinks that the deep traces\nof passions upon his countenance take the place of the lines scored by\nTime. He cast a furious glance at me, stamped his foot, and took himself\noff.\n\n\"Confess now,\" I said to Princess Mary: \"that although he has always\nbeen most ridiculous, yet not so long ago he seemed to you to be\ninteresting... in the grey cloak?\"...\n\nShe cast her eyes down and made no reply.\n\nGrushnitski followed the Princess about during the whole evening and\ndanced either with her or vis-a-vis. He devoured her with his eyes,\nsighed, and wearied her with prayers and reproaches. After the third\nquadrille she had begun to hate him.\n\n\"I did not expect this from you,\" he said, coming up to me and taking my\narm.\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"You are going to dance the mazurka with her?\" he asked in a solemn\ntone. \"She admitted it\"...\n\n\"Well, what then? It is not a secret, is it\"?\n\n\"Of course not... I ought to have expected such a thing from that\nchit--that flirt... I will have my revenge, though!\"\n\n\"You should lay the blame on your cloak, or your epaulettes, but why\naccuse her? What fault is it of hers that she does not like you any\nlonger?\"...\n\n\"But why give me hopes?\"\n\n\"Why did you hope? To desire and to strive after something--that I can\nunderstand! But who ever hopes?\"\n\n\"You have won the wager, but not quite,\" he said, with a malignant\nsmile.\n\nThe mazurka began. Grushnitski chose no one but the Princess, other\ncavaliers chose her every minute: obviously a conspiracy against me--all\nthe better! She wants to talk to me, they are preventing her--she will\nwant to twice as much.\n\nI squeezed her hand once or twice; the second time she drew it away\nwithout saying a word.\n\n\"I shall sleep badly to-night,\" she said to me when the mazurka was\nover.\n\n\"Grushnitski is to blame for that.\"\n\n\"Oh, no!\"\n\nAnd her face became so pensive, so sad, that I promised myself that I\nwould not fail to kiss her hand that evening.\n\nThe guests began to disperse. As I was handing Princess Mary into her\ncarriage, I rapidly pressed her little hand to my lips. The night was\ndark and nobody could see.\n\nI returned to the saloon very well satisfied with myself.\n\nThe young men, Grushnitski amongst them, were having supper at the\nlarge table. As I came in, they all fell silent: evidently they had been\ntalking about me. Since the last ball many of them have been sulky with\nme, especially the captain of dragoons; and now, it seems, a hostile\ngang is actually being formed against me, under the command of\nGrushnitski. He wears such a proud and courageous air...\n\nI am very glad; I love enemies, though not in the Christian sense. They\namuse me, stir my blood. To be always on one's guard, to catch every\nglance, the meaning of every word, to guess intentions, to crush\nconspiracies, to pretend to be deceived and suddenly with one blow\nto overthrow the whole immense and laboriously constructed edifice of\ncunning and design--that is what I call life.\n\nDuring supper Grushnitski kept whispering and exchanging winks with the\ncaptain of dragoons.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI. 14th June.\n\nVERA and her husband left this morning for Kislovodsk. I met their\ncarriage as I was walking to Princess Ligovski's. Vera nodded to me:\nreproach was in her glance.\n\nWho is to blame, then? Why will she not give me an opportunity of\nseeing her alone? Love is like fire--if not fed it dies out. Perchance,\njealousy will accomplish what my entreaties have failed to do.\n\nI stayed a whole hour at Princess Ligovski's. Mary has not been out, she\nis ill. In the evening she was not on the boulevard. The newly formed\ngang, armed with lorgnettes, has in very fact assumed a menacing aspect.\nI am glad that Princess Mary is ill; they might be guilty of some\nimpertinence towards her. Grushnitski goes about with dishevelled locks,\nand wears an appearance of despair: he is evidently afflicted, as a\nmatter of fact; his vanity especially has been injured. But, you see,\nthere are some people in whom even despair is diverting!...\n\nOn my way home I noticed that something was lacking. I have not seen\nher! She is ill! Surely I have not fallen in love with her in real\nearnest?... What nonsense!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII. 15th June.\n\nAT eleven o'clock in the morning--the hour at which Princess Ligovski\nis usually perspiring in the Ermolov baths--I walked past her house.\nPrincess Mary was sitting pensively at the window; on seeing me she\nsprang up.\n\nI entered the ante-room, there was nobody there, and, availing myself of\nthe freedom afforded by the local customs, I made my way, unannounced,\ninto the drawing-room.\n\nPrincess Mary's charming countenance was shrouded with a dull pallor.\nShe was standing by the pianoforte, leaning one hand on the back of an\narm-chair; her hand was very faintly trembling. I went up to her softly\nand said:\n\n\"You are angry with me?\"...\n\nShe lifted a deep, languid glance upon me and shook her head. Her lips\nwere about to utter something, but failed; her eyes filled with tears;\nshe sank into the arm-chair and buried her face in her hands.\n\n\"What is the matter with you?\" I said, taking her hand.\n\n\"You do not respect me!... Oh, leave me!\"...\n\nI took a few steps... She drew herself up in the chair, her eyes\nsparkled.\n\nI stopped still, took hold of the handle of the door, and said:\n\n\"Forgive me, Princess. I have acted like a madman... It will not happen\nanother time; I shall see to that... But how can you know what has been\ntaking place hitherto within my soul? That you will never learn, and so\nmuch the better for you. Farewell.\"\n\nAs I was going out, I seemed to hear her weeping.\n\nI wandered on foot about the environs of Mount Mashuk till evening,\nfatigued myself terribly and, on arriving home, flung myself on my bed,\nutterly exhausted.\n\nWerner came to see me.\n\n\"Is it true,\" he asked, \"that you are going to marry Princess Mary?\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"The whole town is saying so. All my patients are occupied with that\nimportant piece of news; but you know what these patients are: they know\neverything.\"\n\n\"This is one of Grushnitski's tricks,\" I said to myself.\n\n\"To prove the falsity of these rumours, doctor, I may mention, as a\nsecret, that I am moving to Kislovodsk to-morrow\"...\n\n\"And Princess Mary, too?\"\n\n\"No, she remains here another week\"...\n\n\"So you are not going to get married?\"...\n\n\"Doctor, doctor! Look at me! Am I in the least like a bridegroom, or any\nsuch thing?\"\n\n\"I am not saying so... But you know there are occasions...\" he added,\nwith a crafty smile--\"in which an honourable man is obliged to marry,\nand there are mothers who, to say the least, do not prevent such\noccasions... And so, as a friend, I should advise you to be more\ncautious. The air of these parts is very dangerous. How many handsome\nyoung men, worthy of a better fate, have I not seen departing from here\nstraight to the altar!... Would you believe me, they were even going to\nfind a wife for me! That is to say, one person was--a lady belonging\nto this district, who had a very pale daughter. I had the misfortune to\ntell her that the latter's colour would be restored after wedlock, and\nthen with tears of gratitude she offered me her daughter's hand and the\nwhole of her own fortune--fifty souls, I think. But I replied that\nI was unfit for such an honour.\"\n\nWerner left, fully convinced that he had put me on my guard.\n\nI gathered from his words that various ugly rumours were already being\nspread about the town on the subject of Princess Mary and myself:\nGrushnitski shall smart for this!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII. 18th June.\n\nI HAVE been in Kislovodsk three days now. Every day I see Vera at the\nwell and out walking. In the morning, when I awake, I sit by my window\nand direct my lorgnette at her balcony. She has already been dressed\nlong ago, and is waiting for the signal agreed upon. We meet, as though\nunexpectedly, in the garden which slopes down from our houses to the\nwell. The life-giving mountain air has brought back her colour and her\nstrength. Not for nothing is Narzan called the \"Spring of Heroes.\" The\ninhabitants aver that the air of Kislovodsk predisposes the heart to\nlove and that all the romances which have had their beginning at the\nfoot of Mount Mashuk find their consummation here. And, in very\nfact, everything here breathes of solitude; everything has an air of\nsecrecy--the thick shadows of the linden avenues, bending over the\ntorrent which falls, noisy and foaming, from flag to flag and cleaves\nitself a way between the mountains now becoming clad with verdure--the\nmist-filled, silent ravines, with their ramifications straggling away\nin all directions--the freshness of the aromatic air, laden with\nthe fragrance of the tall southern grasses and the white acacia--the\nnever-ceasing, sweetly-slumberous babble of the cool brooks, which,\nmeeting at the end of the valley, flow along in friendly emulation, and\nfinally fling themselves into the Podkumok. On this side, the ravine is\nwider and becomes converted into a verdant dell, through which winds\nthe dusty road. Every time I look at it, I seem to see a carriage coming\nalong and a rosy little face looking out of the carriage-window. Many\ncarriages have already driven by--but still there is no sign of that\nparticular one. The village which lies behind the fortress has become\npopulous. In the restaurant, built upon a hill a few paces distant from\nmy lodgings, lights are beginning to flash in the evening through the\ndouble row of poplars; noise and the jingling of glasses resound till\nlate at night.\n\nIn no place are such quantities of Kakhetian wine and mineral waters\ndrunk as here.\n\n\n \"And many are willing to mix the two,\n\n But that is a thing I never do.\"\n\n\nEvery day Grushnitski and his gang are to be found brawling in the inn,\nand he has almost ceased to greet me.\n\nHe only arrived yesterday, and has already succeeded in quarrelling with\nthree old men who were going to take their places in the baths before\nhim.\n\nDecidedly, his misfortunes are developing a warlike spirit within him.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV. 22nd June.\n\nAT last they have arrived. I was sitting by the window when I heard the\nclattering of their carriage. My heart throbbed... What does it mean?\nCan it be that I am in love?... I am so stupidly constituted that such a\nthing might be expected of me.\n\nI dined at their house. Princess Ligovski looked at me with much\ntenderness, and did not leave her daughter's side... a bad sign! On the\nother hand, Vera is jealous of me in regard to Princess Mary--however,\nI have been striving for that good fortune. What will not a woman do in\norder to chagrin her rival? I remember that once a woman loved me\nsimply because I was in love with another woman. There is nothing more\nparadoxical than the female mind; it is difficult to convince a woman of\nanything; they have to be led into convincing themselves. The order of\nthe proofs by which they demolish their prejudices is most original;\nto learn their dialectic it is necessary to overthrow in your own mind\nevery scholastic rule of logic. For example, the usual way:\n\n\"This man loves me; but I am married: therefore I must not love him.\"\n\nThe woman's way:\n\n\"I must not love him, because I am married; but he loves\nme--therefore\"...\n\nA few dots here, because reason has no more to say. But, generally,\nthere is something to be said by the tongue, and the eyes, and, after\nthese, the heart--if there is such a thing.\n\nWhat if these notes should one day meet a woman's eye?\n\n\"Slander!\" she will exclaim indignantly.\n\nEver since poets have written and women have read them (for which the\npoets should be most deeply grateful) women have been called angels so\nmany times that, in very truth, in their simplicity of soul, they have\nbelieved the compliment, forgetting that, for money, the same poets have\nglorified Nero as a demigod...\n\nIt would be unreasonable were I to speak of women with such malignity--I\nwho have loved nothing else in the world--I who have always been ready\nto sacrifice for their sake ease, ambition, life itself... But, you see,\nI am not endeavouring, in a fit of vexation and injured vanity, to pluck\nfrom them the magic veil through which only an accustomed glance can\npenetrate. No, all that I say about them is but the result of\n\n\n \"A mind which coldly hath observed,\n\n A heart which bears the stamp of woe.\" \n\nWomen ought to wish that all men knew them as well as I because I have\nloved them a hundred times better since I have ceased to be afraid of\nthem and have comprehended their little weaknesses.\n\nBy the way: the other day, Werner compared women to the enchanted forest\nof which Tasso tells in his \"Jerusalem Delivered.\"\n\n\"So soon as you approach,\" he said, \"from all directions terrors, such\nas I pray Heaven may preserve us from, will take wing at you: duty,\npride, decorum, public opinion, ridicule, contempt... You must simply go\nstraight on without looking at them; gradually the monsters disappear,\nand, before you, opens a bright and quiet glade, in the midst of which\nblooms the green myrtle. On the other hand, woe to you if, at the first\nsteps, your heart trembles and you turn back!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV. 24th June.\n\nTHIS evening has been fertile in events. About three versts from\nKislovodsk, in the gorge through which the Podkumok flows, there is\na cliff called the Ring. It is a naturally formed gate, rising upon\na lofty hill, and through it the setting sun throws its last flaming\nglance upon the world. A numerous cavalcade set off thither to gaze at\nthe sunset through the rock-window. To tell the truth, not one of them\nwas thinking about the sun. I rode beside Princess Mary. On the way\nhome, we had to ford the Podkumok. Mountain streams, even the\nsmallest, are dangerous; especially so, because the bottom is a perfect\nkaleidoscope: it changes every day owing to the pressure of the current;\nwhere yesterday there was a rock, to-day there is a cavity. I took\nPrincess Mary's horse by the bridle and led it into the water, which\ncame no higher than its knees. We began to move slowly in a slanting\ndirection against the current. It is a well-known fact that, in crossing\nrapid streamlets, you should never look at the water, because, if you\ndo, your head begins to whirl directly. I forgot to warn Princess Mary\nof that.\n\nWe had reached the middle and were right in the vortex, when suddenly\nshe reeled in her saddle.\n\n\"I feel ill!\" she said in a faint voice.\n\nI bent over to her rapidly and threw my arm around her supple waist.\n\n\"Look up!\" I whispered. \"It is nothing; just be brave! I am with you.\"\n\nShe grew better; she was about to disengage herself from my arm, but\nI clasped her tender, soft figure in a still closer embrace; my cheek\nalmost touched hers, from which was wafted flame.\n\n\"What are you doing to me?... Oh, Heaven!\"...\n\nI paid no attention to her alarm and confusion, and my lips touched her\ntender cheek. She shuddered, but said nothing. We were riding behind the\nothers: nobody saw us.\n\nWhen we made our way out on the bank, the horses were all put to the\ntrot. Princess Mary kept hers back; I remained beside her. It was\nevident that my silence was making her uneasy, but I swore to myself\nthat I would not speak a single word--out of curiosity. I wanted to see\nhow she would extricate herself from that embarrassing position.\n\n\"Either you despise me, or you love me very much!\" she said at length,\nand there were tears in her voice. \"Perhaps you want to laugh at me, to\nexcite my soul and then to abandon me... That would be so base, so vile,\nthat the mere supposition... Oh, no!\" she added, in a voice of tender\ntrustfulness; \"there is nothing in me which would preclude respect; is\nit not so? Your presumptuous action... I must, I must forgive you\nfor it, because I permitted it... Answer, speak, I want to hear your\nvoice!\"...\n\nThere was such womanly impatience in her last words that, involuntarily,\nI smiled; happily it was beginning to grow dusk... I made no answer.\n\n\"You are silent!\" she continued; \"you wish, perhaps, that I should be\nthe first to tell you that I love you.\"...\n\nI remained silent.\n\n\"Is that what you wish?\" she continued, turning rapidly towards me....\nThere was something terrible in the determination of her glance and\nvoice.\n\n\"Why?\" I answered, shrugging my shoulders.\n\nShe struck her horse with her riding-whip and set off at full gallop\nalong the narrow, dangerous road. It all happened so quickly that I was\nscarcely able to overtake her, and then only by the time she had joined\nthe rest of the company.\n\nAll the way home she was continually talking and laughing. There\nwas something feverish in her movements; not once did she look in my\ndirection. Everybody observed her unusual gaiety. Princess Ligovski\nrejoiced inwardly as she looked at her daughter. However, the latter\nsimply has a fit of nerves: she will spend a sleepless night, and will\nweep.\n\nThis thought affords me measureless delight: there are moments when I\nunderstand the Vampire... And yet I am reputed to be a good fellow, and\nI strive to earn that designation!\n\nOn dismounting, the ladies went into Princess Ligovski's house. I was\nexcited, and I galloped to the mountains in order to dispel the\nthoughts which had thronged into my head. The dewy evening breathed an\nintoxicating coolness. The moon was rising from behind the dark summits.\nEach step of my unshod horse resounded hollowly in the silence of the\ngorges. I watered the horse at the waterfall, and then, after greedily\ninhaling once or twice the fresh air of the southern night.\n\nI set off on my way back.\n\nI rode through the village. The lights in the windows were beginning to\ngo out; the sentries on the fortress-rampart and the Cossacks in the\nsurrounding pickets were calling out in drawling tones to one another.\n\nIn one of the village houses, built at the edge of a ravine, I noticed\nan extraordinary illumination. At times, discordant murmurs and shouting\ncould be heard, proving that a military carouse was in full swing. I\ndismounted and crept up to the window. The shutter had not been made\nfast, and I could see the banqueters and catch what they were saying.\nThey were talking about me.\n\nThe captain of dragoons, flushed with wine, struck the table with his\nfist, demanding attention.\n\n\"Gentlemen!\" he said, \"this won't do! Pechorin must be taught a lesson!\nThese Petersburg fledglings always carry their heads high until they get\na slap in the face! He thinks that because he always wears clean gloves\nand polished boots he is the only one who has ever lived in society.\nAnd what a haughty smile! All the same, I am convinced that he is a\ncoward--yes, a coward!\"\n\n\"I think so too,\" said Grushnitski. \"He is fond of getting himself out\nof trouble by pretending to be only having a joke. I once gave him such\na talking to that anyone else in his place would have cut me to pieces\non the spot. But Pechorin turned it all to the ridiculous side. I, of\ncourse, did not call him out because that was his business, but he did\nnot care to have anything more to do with it.\"\n\n\"Grushnitski is angry with him for having captured Princess Mary from\nhim,\" somebody said.\n\n\"That's a new idea! It is true I did run after Princess Mary a little,\nbut I left off at once because I do not want to get married; and it is\nagainst my rules to compromise a girl.\"\n\n\"Yes, I assure you that he is a coward of the first water, I mean\nPechorin, not Grushnitski--but Grushnitski is a fine fellow, and,\nbesides, he is my true friend!\" the captain of dragoons went on.\n\n\"Gentlemen! Nobody here stands up for him? Nobody? So much the better!\nWould you like to put his courage to the test? It would be amusing\"...\n\n\"We would; but how?\"\n\n\"Listen here, then: Grushnitski in particular is angry with\nhim--therefore to Grushnitski falls the chief part. He will pick a\nquarrel over some silly trifle or other, and will challenge Pechorin\nto a duel... Wait a bit; here is where the joke comes in... He will\nchallenge him to a duel; very well! The whole proceeding--challenge,\npreparations, conditions--will be as solemn and awe-inspiring as\npossible--I will see to that. I will be your second, my poor friend!\nVery well! Only here is the rub; we will put no bullets in the pistols.\nI can answer for it that Pechorin will turn coward--I will place them\nsix paces apart, devil take it! Are you agreed, gentlemen?\"\n\n\"Splendid idea!... Agreed!... And why not?\"... came from all sides.\n\n\"And you, Grushnitski?\"\n\nTremblingly I awaited Grushnitski's answer. I was filled with cold rage\nat the thought that, but for an accident, I might have made myself the\nlaughing-stock of those fools. If Grushnitski had not agreed, I should\nhave thrown myself upon his neck; but, after an interval of silence,\nhe rose from his place, extended his hand to the captain, and said very\ngravely:\n\n\"Very well, I agree!\"\n\nIt would be difficult to describe the enthusiasm of that honourable\ncompany.\n\nI returned home, agitated by two different feelings. The first was\nsorrow.\n\n\"Why do they all hate me?\" I thought--\"why? Have I affronted anyone? No.\nCan it be that I am one of those men the mere sight of whom is enough to\ncreate animosity?\"\n\nAnd I felt a venomous rage gradually filling my soul.\n\n\"Have a care, Mr. Grushnitski!\" I said, walking up and down the room:\n\"I am not to be jested with like this! You may pay dearly for the\napprobation of your foolish comrades. I am not your toy!\"...\n\nI got no sleep that night. By daybreak I was as yellow as an orange.\n\nIn the morning I met Princess Mary at the well.\n\n\"You are ill?\" she said, looking intently at me.\n\n\"I did not sleep last night.\"\n\n\"Nor I either... I was accusing you... perhaps groundlessly. But explain\nyourself, I can forgive you everything\"...\n\n\"Everything?\"...\n\n\"Everything... only speak the truth... and be quick... You see, I\nhave been thinking a good deal, trying to explain, to justify, your\nbehaviour. Perhaps you are afraid of opposition on the part of my\nrelations... that will not matter. When they learn\"...\n\nHer voice shook.\n\n\"I will win them over by entreaties. Or, is it your own position?...\nBut you know that I can sacrifice everything for the sake of the man I\nlove... Oh, answer quickly--have pity... You do not despise me--do you?\"\n\nShe seized my hand.\n\nPrincess Ligovski was walking in front of us with Vera's husband, and\nhad not seen anything; but we might have been observed by some of the\ninvalids who were strolling about--the most inquisitive gossips of all\ninquisitive folk--and I rapidly disengaged my hand from her passionate\npressure.\n\n\"I will tell you the whole truth,\" I answered. \"I will not justify\nmyself, nor explain my actions: I do not love you.\"\n\nHer lips grew slightly pale.\n\n\"Leave me,\" she said, in a scarcely audible voice.\n\nI shrugged my shoulders, turned round, and walked away.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI. 25th June.\n\nI SOMETIMES despise myself... Is not that the reason why I despise\nothers also?... I have grown incapable of noble impulses; I am afraid of\nappearing ridiculous to myself. In my place, another would have offered\nPrincess Mary son coeur et sa fortune; but over me the word \"marry\" has\na kind of magical power. However passionately I love a woman, if she\nonly gives me to feel that I have to marry her--then farewell, love! My\nheart is turned to stone, and nothing will warm it anew. I am prepared\nfor any other sacrifice but that; my life twenty times over, nay, my\nhonour I would stake on the fortune of a card... but my freedom I will\nnever sell. Why do I prize it so highly? What is there in it to me? For\nwhat am I preparing myself? What do I hope for from the future?... In\ntruth, absolutely nothing. It is a kind of innate dread, an inexplicable\nprejudice... There are people, you know, who have an unaccountable dread\nof spiders, beetles, mice... Shall I confess it? When I was but a child,\na certain old woman told my fortune to my mother. She predicted for me\ndeath from a wicked wife. I was profoundly struck by her words at the\ntime: an irresistible repugnance to marriage was born within my soul...\nMeanwhile, something tells me that her prediction will be realized; I\nwill try, at all events, to arrange that it shall be realized as late in\nlife as possible.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII. 26th June.\n\nYESTERDAY, the conjurer Apfelbaum arrived here. A long placard made its\nappearance on the door of the restaurant, informing the most respected\npublic that the above-mentioned marvellous conjurer, acrobat, chemist,\nand optician would have the honour to give a magnificent performance on\nthe present day at eight o'clock in the evening, in the saloon of the\nNobles' Club (in other words, the restaurant); tickets--two rubles and a\nhalf each.\n\nEveryone intends to go and see the marvellous conjurer; even Princess\nLigovski has taken a ticket for herself, in spite of her daughter being\nill.\n\nAfter dinner to-day, I walked past Vera's windows; she was sitting by\nherself on the balcony. A note fell at my feet:\n\n\"Come to me at ten o'clock this evening by the large staircase. My\nhusband has gone to Pyatigorsk and will not return before to-morrow\nmorning. My servants and maids will not be at home; I have distributed\ntickets to all of them, and to the princess's servants as well. I await\nyou; come without fail.\"\n\n\"Aha!\" I said to myself, \"so then it has turned out at last as I thought\nit would.\"\n\nAt eight o'clock I went to see the conjurer. The public assembled before\nthe stroke of nine. The performance began. On the back rows of chairs\nI recognized Vera's and Princess Ligovski's menservants and maids. They\nwere all there, every single one. Grushnitski, with his lorgnette, was\nsitting in the front row, and the conjurer had recourse to him every\ntime he needed a handkerchief, a watch, a ring and so forth.\n\nFor some time past, Grushnitski has ceased to bow to me, and to-day\nhe has looked at me rather insolently once or twice. It will all be\nremembered to him when we come to settle our scores.\n\nBefore ten o'clock had struck, I stood up and went out.\n\nIt was dark outside, pitch dark. Cold, heavy clouds were lying on the\nsummit of the surrounding mountains, and only at rare intervals did\nthe dying breeze rustle the tops of the poplars which surrounded\nthe restaurant. People were crowding at the windows. I went down the\nmountain and, turning in under the gate, I hastened my pace. Suddenly it\nseemed to me that somebody was following my steps. I stopped and looked\nround. It was impossible to make out anything in the darkness. However,\nout of caution, I walked round the house, as if taking a stroll. Passing\nPrincess Mary's windows, I again heard steps behind me; a man wrapped in\na cloak ran by me. That rendered me uneasy, but I crept up to the flight\nof steps, and hastily mounted the dark staircase. A door opened, and a\nlittle hand seized mine...\n\n\"Nobody has seen you?\" said Vera in a whisper, clinging to me.\n\n\"Nobody.\"\n\n\"Now do you believe that I love you? Oh! I have long hesitated, long\ntortured myself... But you can do anything you like with me.\"\n\nHer heart was beating violently, her hands were cold as ice. She broke\nout into complaints and jealous reproaches. She demanded that I should\nconfess everything to her, saying that she would bear my faithlessness\nwith submission, because her sole desire was that I should be happy. I\ndid not quite believe that, but I calmed her with oaths, promises and so\non.\n\n\"So you will not marry Mary? You do not love her?... But she thinks...\nDo you know, she is madly in love with you, poor girl!\"...\n\n*****\n\nAbout two o'clock in the morning I opened the window and, tying two\nshawls together, I let myself down from the upper balcony to the lower,\nholding on by the pillar. A light was still burning in Princess Mary's\nroom. Something drew me towards that window. The curtain was not quite\ndrawn, and I was able to cast a curious glance into the interior of the\nroom. Mary was sitting on her bed, her hands crossed upon her knees;\nher thick hair was gathered up under a lace-frilled nightcap; her white\nshoulders were covered by a large crimson kerchief, and her little feet\nwere hidden in a pair of many-coloured Persian slippers. She was sitting\nquite still, her head sunk upon her breast; on a little table in front\nof her was an open book; but her eyes, fixed and full of inexpressible\ngrief, seemed for the hundredth time to be skimming the same page whilst\nher thoughts were far away.\n\nAt that moment somebody stirred behind a shrub. I leaped from the\nbalcony on to the sward. An invisible hand seized me by the shoulder.\n\n\"Aha!\" said a rough voice: \"caught!... I'll teach you to be entering\nprincesses' rooms at night!\"\n\n\"Hold him fast!\" exclaimed another, springing out from a corner.\n\nIt was Grushnitski and the captain of dragoons.\n\nI struck the latter on the head with my fist, knocked him off his feet,\nand darted into the bushes. All the paths of the garden which covered\nthe slope opposite our houses were known to me.\n\n\"Thieves, guard!\"... they cried.\n\nA gunshot rang out; a smoking wad fell almost at my feet.\n\nWithin a minute I was in my own room, undressed and in bed. My\nmanservant had only just locked the door when Grushnitski and the\ncaptain began knocking for admission.\n\n\"Pechorin! Are you asleep? Are you there?\"... cried the captain.\n\n\"I am in bed,\" I answered angrily.\n\n\"Get up! Thieves!... Circassians!\"...\n\n\"I have a cold,\" I answered. \"I am afraid of catching a chill.\"\n\nThey went away. I had gained no useful purpose by answering them: they\nwould have been looking for me in the garden for another hour or so.\n\nMeanwhile the alarm became terrific. A Cossack galloped up from the\nfortress. The commotion was general; Circassians were looked for in\nevery shrub--and of course none were found. Probably, however, a good\nmany people were left with the firm conviction that, if only more\ncourage and despatch had been shown by the garrison, at least a score of\nbrigands would have failed to get away with their lives.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII. 27th June.\n\nTHIS morning, at the well, the sole topic of conversation was the\nnocturnal attack by the Circassians. I drank the appointed number of\nglasses of Narzan water, and, after sauntering a few times about the\nlong linden avenue, I met Vera's husband, who had just arrived from\nPyatigorsk. He took my arm and we went to the restaurant for breakfast.\nHe was dreadfully uneasy about his wife.\n\n\"What a terrible fright she had last night,\" he said. \"Of course, it was\nbound to happen just at the very time when I was absent.\"\n\nWe sat down to breakfast near the door leading into a corner-room in\nwhich about a dozen young men were sitting. Grushnitski was amongst\nthem. For the second time destiny provided me with the opportunity of\noverhearing a conversation which was to decide his fate. He did not\nsee me, and, consequently, it was impossible for me to suspect him of\ndesign; but that only magnified his fault in my eyes.\n\n\"Is it possible, though, that they were really Circassians?\" somebody\nsaid. \"Did anyone see them?\"\n\n\"I will tell you the whole truth,\" answered Grushnitski: \"only please do\nnot betray me. This is how it was: yesterday, a certain man, whose name\nI will not tell you, came up to me and told me that, at ten o'clock in\nthe evening, he had seen somebody creeping into the Ligovskis' house. I\nmust observe that Princess Ligovski was here, and Princess Mary at home.\nSo he and I set off to wait beneath the windows and waylay the lucky\nman.\"\n\nI confess I was frightened, although my companion was very busily\nengaged with his breakfast: he might have heard things which he would\nhave found rather displeasing, if Grushnitski had happened to guess the\ntruth; but, blinded by jealousy, the latter did not even suspect it.\n\n\"So, do you see?\" Grushnitski continued. \"We set off, taking with us a\ngun, loaded with blank cartridge, so as just to give him a fright.\nWe waited in the garden till two o'clock. At length--goodness knows,\nindeed, where he appeared from, but he must have come out by the glass\ndoor which is behind the pillar; it was not out of the window that he\ncame, because the window had remained unopened--at length, I say, we saw\nsomeone getting down from the balcony... What do you think of Princess\nMary--eh? Well, I admit, it is hardly what you might expect from Moscow\nladies! After that what can you believe? We were going to seize him, but\nhe broke away and darted like a hare into the shrubs. Thereupon I fired\nat him.\"\n\nThere was a general murmur of incredulity.\n\n\"You do not believe it?\" he continued. \"I give you my word of honour as\na gentleman that it is all perfectly true, and, in proof, I will tell\nyou the man's name if you like.\"\n\n\"Tell us, tell us, who was he?\" came from all sides.\n\n\"Pechorin,\" answered Grushnitski.\n\nAt that moment he raised his eyes--I was standing in the doorway\nopposite to him. He grew terribly red. I went up to him and said, slowly\nand distinctly:\n\n\"I am very sorry that I did not come in before you had given your word\nof honour in confirmation of a most abominable calumny: my presence\nwould have saved you from that further act of baseness.\"\n\nGrushnitski jumped up from his seat and seemed about to fly into a\npassion.\n\n\"I beg you,\" I continued in the same tone: \"I beg you at once to retract\nwhat you have said; you know very well that it is all an invention. I\ndo not think that a woman's indifference to your brilliant merits should\ndeserve so terrible a revenge. Bethink you well: if you maintain your\npresent attitude, you will lose the right to the name of gentleman and\nwill risk your life.\"\n\nGrushnitski stood before me in violent agitation, his eyes cast down.\nBut the struggle between his conscience and his vanity was of short\nduration. The captain of dragoons, who was sitting beside him, nudged\nhim with his elbow. Grushnitski started, and answered rapidly, without\nraising his eyes:\n\n\"My dear sir, what I say, I mean, and I am prepared to repeat... I am\nnot afraid of your menaces and am ready for anything.\"\n\n\"The latter you have already proved,\" I answered coldly; and, taking the\ncaptain of dragoons by the arm, I left the room.\n\n\"What do you want?\" asked the captain.\n\n\"You are Grushnitski's friend and will no doubt be his second?\"\n\nThe captain bowed very gravely.\n\n\"You have guessed rightly,\" he answered.\n\n\"Moreover, I am bound to be his second, because the insult offered\nto him touches myself also. I was with him last night,\" he added,\nstraightening up his stooping figure.\n\n\"Ah! So it was you whose head I struck so clumsily?\"...\n\nHe turned yellow in the face, then blue; suppressed rage was portrayed\nupon his countenance.\n\n\"I shall have the honour to send my second to you to-day,\" I added,\nbowing adieu to him very politely, without appearing to have noticed his\nfury.\n\nOn the restaurant-steps I met Vera's husband. Apparently he had been\nwaiting for me.\n\nHe seized my hand with a feeling akin to rapture.\n\n\"Noble young man!\" he said, with tears in his eyes. \"I have heard\neverything. What a scoundrel! Ingrate!... Just fancy such people\nbeing admitted into a decent household after this! Thank God I have no\ndaughters! But she for whom you are risking your life will reward you.\nBe assured of my constant discretion,\" he continued. \"I have been young\nmyself and have served in the army: I know that these affairs must take\ntheir course. Good-bye.\"\n\nPoor fellow! He is glad that he has no daughters!...\n\nI went straight to Werner, found him at home, and told him the whole\nstory--my relations with Vera and Princess Mary, and the conversation\nwhich I had overheard and from which I had learned the intention of\nthese gentlemen to make a fool of me by causing me to fight a duel with\nblank cartridges. But, now, the affair had gone beyond the bounds of\njest; they probably had not expected that it would turn out like this.\n\nThe doctor consented to be my second; I gave him a few directions with\nregard to the conditions of the duel. He was to insist upon the\naffair being managed with all possible secrecy, because, although I am\nprepared, at any moment, to face death, I am not in the least disposed\nto spoil for all time my future in this world.\n\nAfter that I went home. In an hour's time the doctor returned from his\nexpedition.\n\n\"There is indeed a conspiracy against you,\" he said. \"I found the\ncaptain of dragoons at Grushnitski's, together with another gentleman\nwhose surname I do not remember. I stopped a moment in the ante-room,\nin order to take off my goloshes. They were squabbling and making a\nterrible uproar. 'On no account will I agree,' Grushnitski was saying:\n'he has insulted me publicly; it was quite a different thing before'...\n\n\"'What does it matter to you?' answered the captain. 'I will take it all\nupon myself. I have been second in five duels, and I should think I know\nhow to arrange the affair. I have thought it all out. Just let me alone,\nplease. It is not a bad thing to give people a bit of a fright. And why\nexpose yourself to danger if it is possible to avoid it?'...\n\n\"At that moment I entered the room. They suddenly fell silent. Our\nnegotiations were somewhat protracted. At length we decided the matter\nas follows: about five versts from here there is a hollow gorge; they\nwill ride thither tomorrow at four o'clock in the morning, and we\nshall leave half an hour later. You will fire at six paces--Grushnitski\nhimself demanded that condition. Whichever of you is killed--his death\nwill be put down to the account of the Circassians. And now I must tell\nyou what I suspect: they, that is to say the seconds, may have made\nsome change in their former plan and may want to load only Grushnitski's\npistol. That is something like murder, but in time of war, and\nespecially in Asiatic warfare, such tricks are allowed. Grushnitski,\nhowever, seems to be a little more magnanimous than his companions. What\ndo you think? Ought we not to let them see that we have guessed their\nplan?\"\n\n\"Not on any account, doctor! Make your mind easy; I will not give in to\nthem.\"\n\n\"But what are you going to do, then?\"\n\n\"That is my secret.\"\n\n\"Mind you are not caught... six paces, you know!\"\n\n\"Doctor, I shall expect you to-morrow at four o'clock. The horses will\nbe ready... Goodbye.\"\n\nI remained in the house until the evening, with my door locked. A\nmanservant came to invite me to Princess Ligovski's--I bade him say that\nI was ill.\n\n*****\n\nTwo o'clock in the morning... I cannot sleep... Yet sleep is what I\nneed, if I am to have a steady hand to-morrow. However, at six paces\nit is difficult to miss. Aha! Mr. Grushnitski, your wiles will not\nsucceed!... We shall exchange roles: now it is I who shall have to seek\nthe signs of latent terror upon your pallid countenance. Why have you\nyourself appointed these fatal six paces? Think you that I will tamely\nexpose my forehead to your aim?...\n\nNo, we shall cast lots... And then--then--what if his luck should\nprevail? If my star at length should betray me?... And little wonder if\nit did: it has so long and faithfully served my caprices.\n\nWell? If I must die, I must! The loss to the world will not be great;\nand I myself am already downright weary of everything. I am like a guest\nat a ball, who yawns but does not go home to bed, simply because\nhis carriage has not come for him. But now the carriage is here...\nGood-bye!...\n\nMy whole past life I live again in memory, and, involuntarily, I ask\nmyself: 'why have I lived--for what purpose was I born?'... A purpose\nthere must have been, and, surely, mine was an exalted destiny, because\nI feel that within my soul are powers immeasurable... But I was not able\nto discover that destiny, I allowed myself to be carried away by the\nallurements of passions, inane and ignoble. From their crucible I\nissued hard and cold as iron, but gone for ever was the glow of noble\naspirations--the fairest flower of life. And, from that time forth, how\noften have I not played the part of an axe in the hands of fate! Like an\nimplement of punishment, I have fallen upon the head of doomed victims,\noften without malice, always without pity... To none has my love brought\nhappiness, because I have never sacrificed anything for the sake of\nthose I have loved: for myself alone I have loved--for my own pleasure.\nI have only satisfied the strange craving of my heart, greedily draining\ntheir feelings, their tenderness, their joys, their sufferings--and\nI have never been able to sate myself. I am like one who, spent with\nhunger, falls asleep in exhaustion and sees before him sumptuous viands\nand sparkling wines; he devours with rapture the aerial gifts of the\nimagination, and his pains seem somewhat assuaged. Let him but awake:\nthe vision vanishes--twofold hunger and despair remain!\n\nAnd to-morrow, it may be, I shall die!... And there will not be left on\nearth one being who has understood me completely. Some will consider me\nworse, others, better, than I have been in reality... Some will say:\n'he was a good fellow'; others: 'a villain.' And both epithets will be\nfalse. After all this, is life worth the trouble? And yet we live--out\nof curiosity! We expect something new... How absurd, and yet how\nvexatious!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX\n\nIT is now a month and a half since I have been in the N----Fortress.\n\nMaksim Maksimych is out hunting... I am alone. I am sitting by the\nwindow. Grey clouds have covered the mountains to the foot; the sun\nappears through the mist as a yellow spot. It is cold; the wind is\nwhistling and rocking the shutters... I am bored!... I will continue my\ndiary which has been interrupted by so many strange events.\n\nI read the last page over: how ridiculous it seems!... I thought to die;\nit was not to be. I have not yet drained the cup of suffering, and now I\nfeel that I still have long to live.\n\nHow clearly and how sharply have all these bygone events been stamped\nupon my memory! Time has not effaced a single line, a single shade.\n\nI remember that during the night preceding the duel I did not sleep a\nsingle moment. I was not able to write for long: a secret uneasiness\ntook possession of me. For about an hour I paced the room, then I sat\ndown and opened a novel by Walter Scott which was lying on my table. It\nwas \"The Scottish Puritans.\" At first I read with an effort; then,\ncarried away by the magical fiction, I became oblivious of everything\nelse.\n\nAt last day broke. My nerves became composed. I looked in the glass:\na dull pallor covered my face, which preserved the traces of harassing\nsleeplessness; but my eyes, although encircled by a brownish shadow,\nglittered proudly and inexorably. I was satisfied with myself.\n\nI ordered the horses to be saddled, dressed myself, and ran down to the\nbaths. Plunging into the cold, sparkling water of the Narzan Spring, I\nfelt my bodily and mental powers returning. I left the baths as fresh\nand hearty as if I was off to a ball. After that, who shall say that the\nsoul is not dependent upon the body!...\n\nOn my return, I found the doctor at my rooms. He was wearing grey\nriding-breeches, a jacket and a Circassian cap. I burst out laughing\nwhen I saw that little figure under the enormous shaggy cap. Werner\nhas a by no means warlike countenance, and on that occasion it was even\nlonger than usual.\n\n\"Why so sad, doctor?\" I said to him. \"Have you not a hundred times, with\nthe greatest indifference, escorted people to the other world? Imagine\nthat I have a bilious fever: I may get well; also, I may die; both are\nin the usual course of things. Try to look on me as a patient, afflicted\nwith an illness with which you are still unfamiliar--and then your\ncuriosity will be aroused in the highest degree. You can now make a few\nimportant physiological observations upon me... Is not the expectation\nof a violent death itself a real illness?\"\n\nThe doctor was struck by that idea, and he brightened up.\n\nWe mounted our horses. Werner clung on to his bridle with both hands,\nand we set off. In a trice we had galloped past the fortress, through\nthe village, and had ridden into the gorge. Our winding road was\nhalf-overgrown with tall grass and was intersected every moment by a\nnoisy brook, which we had to ford, to the great despair of the doctor,\nbecause each time his horse would stop in the water.\n\nA morning more fresh and blue I cannot remember! The sun had scarce\nshown his face from behind the green summits, and the blending of the\nfirst warmth of his rays with the dying coolness of the night produced\non all my feelings a sort of sweet languor. The joyous beam of the young\nday had not yet penetrated the gorge; it gilded only the tops of the\ncliffs which overhung us on both sides. The tufted shrubs, growing in\nthe deep crevices of the cliffs, besprinkled us with a silver shower\nat the least breath of wind. I remember that on that occasion I loved\nNature more than ever before. With what curiosity did I examine every\ndewdrop trembling upon the broad vine leaf and reflecting millions of\nrainbowhued rays! How eagerly did my glance endeavour to penetrate the\nsmoky distance! There the road grew narrower and narrower, the cliffs\nbluer and more dreadful, and at last they met, it seemed, in an\nimpenetrable wall.\n\nWe rode in silence.\n\n\"Have you made your will?\" Werner suddenly inquired.\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"And if you are killed?\"\n\n\"My heirs will be found of themselves.\"\n\n\"Is it possible that you have no friends, to whom you would like to send\na last farewell?\"...\n\nI shook my head.\n\n\"Is there, really, not one woman in the world to whom you would like to\nleave some token in remembrance?\"...\n\n\"Do you want me to reveal my soul to you, doctor?\" I answered... \"You\nsee, I have outlived the years when people die with the name of the\nbeloved on their lips and bequeathing to a friend a lock of pomaded--or\nunpomaded--hair. When I think that death may be near, I think of myself\nalone; others do not even do as much. The friends who to-morrow will\nforget me or, worse, will utter goodness knows what falsehoods about me;\nthe women who, while embracing another, will laugh at me in order not\nto arouse his jealousy of the deceased--let them go! Out of the storm of\nlife I have borne away only a few ideas--and not one feeling. For a\nlong time now I have been living, not with my heart, but with my head.\nI weigh, analyse my own passions and actions with severe curiosity, but\nwithout sympathy. There are two personalities within me: one lives--in\nthe complete sense of the word--the other reflects and judges him; the\nfirst, it may be, in an hour's time, will take farewell of you and the\nworld for ever, and the second--the second?... Look, doctor, do you\nsee those three black figures on the cliff, to the right? They are our\nantagonists, I suppose?\"...\n\nWe pushed on.\n\nIn the bushes at the foot of the cliff three horses were tethered; we\ntethered ours there too, and then we clambered up the narrow path to the\nledge on which Grushnitski was awaiting us in company with the captain\nof dragoons and his other second, whom they called Ivan Ignatevich. His\nsurname I never heard.\n\n\"We have been expecting you for quite a long time,\" said the captain of\ndragoons, with an ironical smile.\n\nI drew out my watch and showed him the time.\n\nHe apologized, saying that his watch was fast.\n\nThere was an embarrassing silence for a few moments. At length the\ndoctor interrupted it.\n\n\"It seems to me,\" he said, turning to Grushnitski, \"that as you have\nboth shown your readiness to fight, and thereby paid the debt due to the\nconditions of honour, you might be able to come to an explanation and\nfinish the affair amicably.\"\n\n\"I am ready,\" I said.\n\nThe captain winked to Grushnitski, and the latter, thinking that I was\nlosing courage, assumed a haughty air, although, until that moment, his\ncheeks had been covered with a dull pallor. For the first time since our\narrival he lifted his eyes on me; but in his glance there was a certain\ndisquietude which evinced an inward struggle.\n\n\"Declare your conditions,\" he said, \"and anything I can do for you, be\nassured\"...\n\n\"These are my conditions: you will this very day publicly recant your\nslander and beg my pardon\"...\n\n\"My dear sir, I wonder how you dare make such a proposal to me?\"\n\n\"What else could I propose?\"...\n\n\"We will fight.\"\n\nI shrugged my shoulders.\n\n\"Be it so; only, bethink you that one of us will infallibly be killed.\"\n\n\"I hope it will be you\"...\n\n\"And I am so convinced of the contrary\"...\n\nHe became confused, turned red, and then burst out into a forced laugh.\n\nThe captain took his arm and led him aside; they whispered together for\na long time. I had arrived in a fairly pacific frame of mind, but all\nthis was beginning to drive me furious.\n\nThe doctor came up to me.\n\n\"Listen,\" he said, with manifest uneasiness, \"you have surely forgotten\ntheir conspiracy!... I do not know how to load a pistol, but in\nthis case... You are a strange man! Tell them that you know their\nintention--and they will not dare... What sport! To shoot you like a\nbird\"...\n\n\"Please do not be uneasy, doctor, and wait awhile... I shall arrange\neverything in such a way that there will be no advantage on their side.\nLet them whisper\"...\n\n\"Gentlemen, this is becoming tedious,\" I said to them loudly: \"if we are\nto fight, let us fight; you had time yesterday to talk as much as you\nwanted to.\"\n\n\"We are ready,\" answered the captain. \"Take your places, gentlemen!\nDoctor, be good enough to measure six paces\"...\n\n\"Take your places!\" repeated Ivan Ignatevich, in a squeaky voice.\n\n\"Excuse me!\" I said. \"One further condition. As we are going to fight\nto the death, we are bound to do everything possible in order that\nthe affair may remain a secret, and that our seconds may incur no\nresponsibility. Do you agree?\"...\n\n\"Quite.\"\n\n\"Well, then, this is my idea. Do you see that narrow ledge on the top of\nthe perpendicular cliff on the right? It must be thirty fathoms, if not\nmore, from there to the bottom; and, down below, there are sharp rocks.\nEach of us will stand right at the extremity of the ledge--in such\nmanner even a slight wound will be mortal: that ought to be in\naccordance with your desire, as you yourselves have fixed upon six\npaces. Whichever of us is wounded will be certain to fall down and be\ndashed to pieces; the doctor will extract the bullet, and, then, it will\nbe possible very easily to account for that sudden death by saying it\nwas the result of a fall. Let us cast lots to decide who shall fire\nfirst. In conclusion, I declare that I will not fight on any other\nterms.\"\n\n\"Be it so!\" said the captain after an expressive glance at Grushnitski,\nwho nodded his head in token of assent. Every moment he was changing\ncountenance. I had placed him in an embarrassing position. Had the duel\nbeen fought upon the usual conditions, he could have aimed at my leg,\nwounded me slightly, and in such wise gratified his vengeance without\noverburdening his conscience. But now he was obliged to fire in the air,\nor to make himself an assassin, or, finally, to abandon his base plan\nand to expose himself to equal danger with me. I should not have liked\nto be in his place at that moment. He took the captain aside and said\nsomething to him with great warmth. His lips were blue, and I saw them\ntrembling; but the captain turned away from him with a contemptuous\nsmile.\n\n\"You are a fool,\" he said to Grushnitski rather loudly. \"You can't\nunderstand a thing!... Let us be off, then, gentlemen!\"\n\nThe precipice was approached by a narrow path between bushes, and\nfragments of rock formed the precarious steps of that natural staircase.\nClinging to the bushes we proceeded to clamber up. Grushnitski went in\nfront, his seconds behind him, and then the doctor and I.\n\n\"I am surprised at you,\" said the doctor, pressing my hand vigorously.\n\"Let me feel your pulse!... Oho! Feverish!... But nothing noticeable\non your countenance... only your eyes are gleaming more brightly than\nusual.\"\n\nSuddenly small stones rolled noisily right under our feet. What was it?\nGrushnitski had stumbled; the branch to which he was clinging had broken\noff, and he would have rolled down on his back if his seconds had not\nheld him up.\n\n\"Take care!\" I cried. \"Do not fall prematurely: that is a bad sign.\nRemember Julius Caesar!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX\n\nAND now we had climbed to the summit of the projecting cliff. The ledge\nwas covered with fine sand, as if on purpose for a duel. All around,\nlike an innumerable herd, crowded the mountains, their summits lost to\nview in the golden mist of the morning; and towards the south rose\nthe white mass of Elbruz, closing the chain of icy peaks, among which\nfibrous clouds, which had rushed in from the east, were already roaming.\nI walked to the extremity of the ledge and gazed down. My head nearly\nswam. At the foot of the precipice all seemed dark and cold as in a\ntomb; the moss-grown jags of the rocks, hurled down by storm and time,\nwere awaiting their prey.\n\nThe ledge on which we were to fight formed an almost regular triangle.\nSix paces were measured from the projecting corner, and it was decided\nthat whichever had first to meet the fire of his opponent should stand\nin the very corner with his back to the precipice; if he was not killed\nthe adversaries would change places.\n\nI determined to relinquish every advantage to Grushnitski; I wanted to\ntest him. A spark of magnanimity might awake in his soul--and then all\nwould have been settled for the best. But his vanity and weakness of\ncharacter had perforce to triumph!... I wished to give myself the full\nright to refrain from sparing him if destiny were to favour me. Who\nwould not have concluded such an agreement with his conscience?\n\n\"Cast the lot, doctor!\" said the captain.\n\nThe doctor drew a silver coin from his pocket and held it up.\n\n\"Tail!\" cried Grushnitski hurriedly, like a man suddenly aroused by a\nfriendly nudge.\n\n\"Head,\" I said.\n\nThe coin spun in the air and fell, jingling. We all rushed towards it.\n\n\"You are lucky,\" I said to Grushnitski. \"You are to fire first! But\nremember that if you do not kill me I shall not miss--I give you my word\nof honour.\"\n\nHe flushed up; he was ashamed to kill an unarmed man. I looked at him\nfixedly; for a moment it seemed to me that he would throw himself at my\nfeet, imploring forgiveness; but how to confess so base a plot?... One\nexpedient only was left to him--to fire in the air! I was convinced\nthat he would fire in the air! One consideration alone might prevent him\ndoing so--the thought that I would demand a second duel.\n\n\"Now is the time!\" the doctor whispered to me, plucking me by the\nsleeve. \"If you do not tell them now that we know their intentions, all\nis lost. Look, he is loading already... If you will not say anything, I\nwill\"...\n\n\"On no account, doctor!\" I answered, holding him back by the arm. \"You\nwill spoil everything. You have given me your word not to interfere...\nWhat does it matter to you? Perhaps I wish to be killed\"...\n\nHe looked at me in astonishment.\n\n\"Oh, that is another thing!... Only do not complain of me in the other\nworld\"...\n\nMeanwhile the captain had loaded his pistols and given one to\nGrushnitski, after whispering something to him with a smile; the other\nhe gave to me.\n\nI placed myself in the corner of the ledge, planting my left foot firmly\nagainst the rock and bending slightly forward, so that, in case of a\nslight wound, I might not fall over backwards.\n\nGrushnitski placed himself opposite me and, at a given signal, began\nto raise his pistol. His knees shook. He aimed right at my forehead...\nUnutterable fury began to seethe within my breast.\n\nSuddenly he dropped the muzzle of the pistol and, pale as a sheet,\nturned to his second.\n\n\"I cannot,\" he said in a hollow voice.\n\n\"Coward!\" answered the captain.\n\nA shot rang out. The bullet grazed my knee. Involuntarily I took a few\npaces forward in order to get away from the edge as quickly as possible.\n\n\"Well, my dear Grushnitski, it is a pity that you have missed!\" said\nthe captain. \"Now it is your turn, take your stand! Embrace me first: we\nshall not see each other again!\"\n\nThey embraced; the captain could scarcely refrain from laughing.\n\n\"Do not be afraid,\" he added, glancing cunningly at Grushnitski;\n\"everything in this world is nonsense... Nature is a fool, fate a\nturkeyhen, and life a copeck!\"\n\nAfter that tragic phrase, uttered with becoming gravity, he went back to\nhis place. Ivan Ignatevich, with tears, also embraced Grushnitski, and\nthere the latter remained alone, facing me. Ever since then, I have been\ntrying to explain to myself what sort of feeling it was that was boiling\nwithin my breast at that moment: it was the vexation of injured vanity,\nand contempt, and wrath engendered at the thought that the man now\nlooking at me with such confidence, such quiet insolence, had, two\nminutes before, been about to kill me like a dog, without exposing\nhimself to the least danger, because had I been wounded a little more\nseverely in the leg I should inevitably have fallen over the cliff.\n\nFor a few moments I looked him fixedly in the face, trying to discern\nthereon even a slight trace of repentance. But it seemed to me that he\nwas restraining a smile.\n\n\"I should advise you to say a prayer before you die,\" I said.\n\n\"Do not worry about my soul any more than your own. One thing I beg of\nyou: be quick about firing.\"\n\n\"And you do not recant your slander? You do not beg my forgiveness?...\nBethink you well: has your conscience nothing to say to you?\"\n\n\"Mr. Pechorin!\" exclaimed the captain of dragoons. \"Allow me to point\nout that you are not here to preach... Let us lose no time, in case\nanyone should ride through the gorge and we should be seen.\"\n\n\"Very well. Doctor, come here!\"\n\nThe doctor came up to me. Poor doctor! He was paler than Grushnitski had\nbeen ten minutes before.\n\nThe words which followed I purposely pronounced with a pause between\neach--loudly and distinctly, as the sentence of death is pronounced:\n\n\"Doctor, these gentlemen have forgotten, in their hurry, no doubt, to\nput a bullet in my pistol. I beg you to load it afresh--and properly!\"\n\n\"Impossible!\" cried the captain, \"impossible! I loaded both pistols.\nPerhaps the bullet has rolled out of yours... That is not my fault! And\nyou have no right to load again... No right at all. It is altogether\nagainst the rules, I shall not allow it\"...\n\n\"Very well!\" I said to the captain. \"If so, then you and I shall fight\non the same terms\"...\n\nHe came to a dead stop.\n\nGrushnitski stood with his head sunk on his breast, embarrassed and\ngloomy.\n\n\"Let them be!\" he said at length to the captain, who was going to pull\nmy pistol out of the doctor's hands. \"You know yourself that they are\nright.\"\n\nIn vain the captain made various signs to him. Grushnitski would not\neven look.\n\nMeanwhile the doctor had loaded the pistol and handed it to me. On\nseeing that, the captain spat and stamped his foot.\n\n\"You are a fool, then, my friend,\" he said: \"a common fool!... You\ntrusted to me before, so you should obey me in everything now... But\nserve you right! Die like a fly!\"...\n\nHe turned away, muttering as he went:\n\n\"But all the same it is absolutely against the rules.\"\n\n\"Grushnitski!\" I said. \"There is still time: recant your slander, and I\nwill forgive you everything. You have not succeeded in making a fool of\nme; my self-esteem is satisfied. Remember--we were once friends\"...\n\nHis face flamed, his eyes flashed.\n\n\"Fire!\" he answered. \"I despise myself and I hate you. If you do not\nkill me I will lie in wait for you some night and cut your throat. There\nis not room on the earth for both of us\"...\n\nI fired.\n\nWhen the smoke had cleared away, Grushnitski was not to be seen on the\nledge. Only a slender column of dust was still eddying at the edge of\nthe precipice.\n\nThere was a simultaneous cry from the rest.\n\n\"Finita la commedia!\" I said to the doctor.\n\nHe made no answer, and turned away with horror.\n\nI shrugged my shoulders and bowed to Grushnitski's seconds.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI\n\nAS I descended by the path, I observed Grushnitski's bloodstained corpse\nbetween the clefts of the rocks. Involuntarily, I closed my eyes.\n\nUntying my horse, I set off home at a walking pace. A stone lay upon my\nheart. To my eyes the sun seemed dim, its beams were powerless to warm\nme.\n\nI did not ride up to the village, but turned to the right, along the\ngorge. The sight of a man would have been painful to me: I wanted to be\nalone. Throwing down the bridle and letting my head fall on my breast, I\nrode for a long time, and at length found myself in a spot with which\nI was wholly unfamiliar. I turned my horse back and began to search\nfor the road. The sun had already set by the time I had ridden up to\nKislovodsk--myself and my horse both utterly spent!\n\nMy servant told me that Werner had called, and he handed me two notes:\none from Werner, the other... from Vera.\n\nI opened the first; its contents were as follows:\n\n\"Everything has been arranged as well as could be; the mutilated body\nhas been brought in; and the bullet extracted from the breast. Everybody\nis convinced that the cause of death was an unfortunate accident; only\nthe Commandant, who was doubtless aware of your quarrel, shook his head,\nbut he said nothing. There are no proofs at all against you, and you may\nsleep in peace... if you can.... Farewell!\"...\n\nFor a long time I could not make up my mind to open the second note...\nWhat could it be that she was writing to me?... My soul was agitated by\na painful foreboding.\n\nHere it is, that letter, each word of which is indelibly engraved upon\nmy memory:\n\n\"I am writing to you in the full assurance that we shall never see each\nother again. A few years ago on parting with you I thought the same.\nHowever, it has been Heaven's will to try me a second time: I have not\nbeen able to endure the trial, my frail heart has again submitted to\nthe well-known voice... You will not despise me for that--will you? This\nletter will be at once a farewell and a confession: I am obliged to tell\nyou everything that has been treasured up in my heart since it began to\nlove you. I will not accuse you--you have acted towards me as any other\nman would have acted; you have loved me as a chattel, as a source of\njoys, disquietudes and griefs, interchanging one with the other, without\nwhich life would be dull and monotonous. I have understood all that from\nthe first... But you were unhappy, and I have sacrificed myself, hoping\nthat, some time, you would appreciate my sacrifice, that some time you\nwould understand my deep tenderness, unfettered by any conditions. A\nlong time has elapsed since then: I have fathomed all the secrets of\nyour soul... and I have convinced myself that my hope was vain. It has\nbeen a bitter blow to me! But my love has been grafted with my soul; it\nhas grown dark, but has not been extinguished.\n\n\"We are parting for ever; yet you may be sure that I shall never love\nanother. Upon you my soul has exhausted all its treasures, its tears,\nits hopes. She who has once loved you cannot look without a certain\ndisdain upon other men, not because you have been better than they, oh,\nno! but in your nature there is something peculiar--belonging to you\nalone, something proud and mysterious; in your voice, whatever the words\nspoken, there is an invincible power. No one can so constantly wish to\nbe loved, in no one is wickedness ever so attractive, no one's glance\npromises so much bliss, no one can better make use of his advantages,\nand no one can be so truly unhappy as you, because no one endeavours so\nearnestly to convince himself of the contrary.\n\n\"Now I must explain the cause of my hurried departure; it will seem of\nlittle importance to you, because it concerns me alone.\n\n\"This morning my husband came in and told me about your quarrel with\nGrushnitski. Evidently I changed countenance greatly, because he looked\nme in the face long and intently. I almost fainted at the thought that\nyou had to fight a duel to-day, and that I was the cause of it; it\nseemed to me that I should go mad... But now, when I am able to reason,\nI am sure that you remain alive: it is impossible that you should die,\nand I not with you--impossible! My husband walked about the room for a\nlong time. I do not know what he said to me, I do not remember what I\nanswered... Most likely I told him that I loved you... I only remember\nthat, at the end of our conversation, he insulted me with a dreadful\nword and left the room. I heard him ordering the carriage... I have been\nsitting at the window three hours now, awaiting your return... But you\nare alive, you cannot have died!... The carriage is almost ready...\nGood-bye, good-bye!... I have perished--but what matter? If I could be\nsure that you will always remember me--I no longer say love--no, only\nremember... Good-bye, they are coming!... I must hide this letter.\n\n\"You do not love Mary, do you? You will not marry her? Listen, you must\noffer me that sacrifice. I have lost everything in the world for you\"...\n\nLike a madman I sprang on the steps, jumped on my Circassian horse which\nwas being led about the courtyard, and set off at full gallop along\nthe road to Pyatigorsk. Unsparingly I urged on the jaded horse, which,\nsnorting and all in a foam, carried me swiftly along the rocky road.\n\nThe sun had already disappeared behind a black cloud, which had been\nresting on the ridge of the western mountains; the gorge grew dark and\ndamp. The Podkumok, forcing its way over the rocks, roared with a hollow\nand monotonous sound. I galloped on, choking with impatience. The idea\nof not finding Vera in Pyatigorsk struck my heart like a hammer. For one\nminute, again to see her for one minute, to say farewell, to press her\nhand... I prayed, cursed, wept, laughed... No, nothing could express\nmy anxiety, my despair!... Now that it seemed possible that I might be\nabout to lose her for ever, Vera became dearer to me than aught in the\nworld--dearer than life, honour, happiness! God knows what strange, what\nmad plans swarmed in my head... Meanwhile I still galloped, urging on\nmy horse without pity. And, now, I began to notice that he was breathing\nmore heavily; he had already stumbled once or twice on level ground...\nI was five versts from Essentuki--a Cossack village where I could change\nhorses.\n\nAll would have been saved had my horse been able to hold out for another\nten minutes. But suddenly, in lifting himself out of a little gulley\nwhere the road emerges from the mountains at a sharp turn, he fell to\nthe ground. I jumped down promptly, I tried to lift him up, I tugged at\nhis bridle--in vain. A scarcely audible moan burst through his clenched\nteeth; in a few moments he expired. I was left on the steppe, alone;\nI had lost my last hope. I endeavoured to walk--my legs sank under me;\nexhausted by the anxieties of the day and by sleeplessness, I fell upon\nthe wet grass and burst out crying like a child.\n\nFor a long time I lay motionless and wept bitterly, without attempting\nto restrain my tears and sobs. I thought my breast would burst. All\nmy firmness, all my coolness, disappeared like smoke; my soul grew\npowerless, my reason silent, and, if anyone had seen me at that moment,\nhe would have turned aside with contempt.\n\nWhen the night-dew and the mountain breeze had cooled my burning brow,\nand my thoughts had resumed their usual course, I realized that to\npursue my perished happiness would be unavailing and unreasonable.\nWhat more did I want?--To see her?--Why? Was not all over between us? A\nsingle, bitter, farewell kiss would not have enriched my recollections,\nand, after it, parting would only have been more difficult for us.\n\nStill, I am pleased that I can weep. Perhaps, however, the cause of\nthat was my shattered nerves, a night passed without sleep, two minutes\nopposite the muzzle of a pistol, and an empty stomach.\n\nIt is all for the best. That new suffering created within me a fortunate\ndiversion--to speak in military style. To weep is healthy, and then,\nno doubt, if I had not ridden as I did and had not been obliged to walk\nfifteen versts on my way back, sleep would not have closed my eyes on\nthat night either.\n\nI returned to Kislovodsk at five o'clock in the morning, threw myself on\nmy bed, and slept the sleep of Napoleon after Waterloo.\n\nBy the time I awoke it was dark outside. I sat by the open window, with\nmy jacket unbuttoned--and the mountain breeze cooled my breast, still\ntroubled by the heavy sleep of weariness. In the distance beyond the\nriver, through the tops of the thick lime trees which overshadowed it,\nlights were glancing in the fortress and the village. Close at hand all\nwas calm. It was dark in Princess Ligovski's house.\n\nThe doctor entered; his brows were knit; contrary to custom, he did not\noffer me his hand.\n\n\"Where have you come from, doctor?\"\n\n\"From Princess Ligovski's; her daughter is ill--nervous exhaustion...\nThat is not the point, though. This is what I have come to tell you:\nthe authorities are suspicious, and, although it is impossible to prove\nanything positively, I should, all the same, advise you to be cautious.\nPrincess Ligovski told me to-day that she knew that you fought a duel on\nher daughter's account. That little old man--what's his name?--has told\nher everything. He was a witness of your quarrel with Grushnitski in the\nrestaurant. I have come to warn you. Good-bye. Maybe we shall not meet\nagain: you will be banished somewhere.\"\n\nHe stopped on the threshold; he would gladly have pressed my hand...\nand, had I shown the slightest desire to embrace him, he would have\nthrown himself upon my neck; but I remained cold as a rock--and he left\nthe room.\n\nThat is just like men! They are all the same: they know beforehand all\nthe bad points of an act, they help, they advise, they even encourage\nit, seeing the impossibility of any other expedient--and then they wash\ntheir hands of the whole affair and turn away with indignation from him\nwho has had the courage to take the whole burden of responsibility upon\nhimself. They are all like that, even the best-natured, the wisest...\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII\n\nNEXT morning, having received orders from the supreme authority to\nbetake myself to the N----Fortress, I called upon Princess Ligovski to\nsay good-bye.\n\nShe was surprised when, in answer to her question, whether I had not\nanything of special importance to tell her, I said I had come to wish\nher good-bye, and so on.\n\n\"But I must have a very serious talk with you.\"\n\nI sat down in silence.\n\nIt was clear that she did not know how to begin; her face grew livid,\nshe tapped the table with her plump fingers; at length, in a broken\nvoice, she said:\n\n\"Listen, Monsieur Pechorin, I think that you are a gentleman.\"\n\nI bowed.\n\n\"Nay, I am sure of it,\" she continued, \"although your behaviour is\nsomewhat equivocal, but you may have reasons which I do not know; and\nyou must now confide them to me. You have protected my daughter from\nslander, you have fought a duel on her behalf--consequently you have\nrisked your life... Do not answer. I know that you will not acknowledge\nit because Grushnitski has been killed\"--she crossed herself. \"God\nforgive him--and you too, I hope... That does not concern me... I dare\nnot condemn you because my daughter, although innocently, has been\nthe cause. She has told me everything... everything, I think. You have\ndeclared your love for her... She has admitted hers to you.\"--Here\nPrincess Ligovski sighed heavily.--\"But she is ill, and I am certain\nthat it is no simple illness! Secret grief is killing her; she will not\nconfess, but I am convinced that you are the cause of it... Listen:\nyou think, perhaps, that I am looking for rank or immense wealth--be\nundeceived, my daughter's happiness is my sole desire. Your present\nposition is unenviable, but it may be bettered: you have means; my\ndaughter loves you; she has been brought up in such a way that she will\nmake her husband a happy man. I am wealthy, she is my only child... Tell\nme, what is keeping you back?... You see, I ought not to be saying all\nthis to you, but I rely upon your heart, upon your honour--remember she\nis my only daughter... my only one\"...\n\nShe burst into tears.\n\n\"Princess,\" I said, \"it is impossible for me to answer you; allow me to\nspeak to your daughter, alone\"...\n\n\"Never!\" she exclaimed, rising from her chair in violent agitation.\n\n\"As you wish,\" I answered, preparing to go away.\n\nShe fell into thought, made a sign to me with her hand that I should\nwait a little, and left the room.\n\nFive minutes passed. My heart was beating violently, but my thoughts\nwere tranquil, my head cool. However assiduously I sought in my breast\nfor even a spark of love for the charming Mary, my efforts were of no\navail!\n\nThen the door opened, and she entered. Heavens! How she had changed\nsince I had last seen her--and that but a short time ago!\n\nWhen she reached the middle of the room, she staggered. I jumped up,\ngave her my arm, and led her to a chair.\n\nI stood facing her. We remained silent for a long time; her large eyes,\nfull of unutterable grief, seemed to be searching in mine for something\nresembling hope; her wan lips vainly endeavoured to smile; her tender\nhands, which were folded upon her knees, were so thin and transparent\nthat I pitied her.\n\n\"Princess,\" I said, \"you know that I have been making fun of you?... You\nmust despise me.\"\n\nA sickly flush suffused her cheeks.\n\n\"Consequently,\" I continued, \"you cannot love me\"...\n\nShe turned her head away, leaned her elbows on the table, covered her\neyes with her hand, and it seemed to me that she was on the point of\ntears.\n\n\"Oh, God!\" she said, almost inaudibly.\n\nThe situation was growing intolerable. Another minute--and I should have\nfallen at her feet.\n\n\"So you see, yourself,\" I said in as firm a voice as I could command,\nand with a forced smile, \"you see, yourself, that I cannot marry you.\nEven if you wished it now, you would soon repent. My conversation with\nyour mother has compelled me to explain myself to you so frankly and so\nbrutally. I hope that she is under a delusion: it will be easy for you\nto undeceive her. You see, I am playing a most pitiful and ugly role\nin your eyes, and I even admit it--that is the utmost I can do for your\nsake. However bad an opinion you may entertain of me, I submit to it...\nYou see that I am base in your sight, am I not?... Is it not true that,\neven if you have loved me, you would despise me from this moment?\"...\n\nShe turned round to me. She was pale as marble, but her eyes were\nsparkling wondrously.\n\n\"I hate you\"... she said.\n\nI thanked her, bowed respectfully, and left the room.\n\nAn hour afterwards a postal express was bearing me rapidly from\nKislovodsk. A few versts from Essentuki I recognized near the roadway\nthe body of my spirited horse. The saddle had been taken off, no doubt\nby a passing Cossack, and, in its place, two ravens were sitting on the\nhorse's back. I sighed and turned away...\n\nAnd now, here in this wearisome fortress, I often ask myself, as my\nthoughts wander back to the past: why did I not wish to tread that way,\nthrown open by destiny, where soft joys and ease of soul were awaiting\nme?... No, I could never have become habituated to such a fate! I am\nlike a sailor born and bred on the deck of a pirate brig: his soul has\ngrown accustomed to storms and battles; but, once let him be cast upon\nthe shore, and he chafes, he pines away, however invitingly the shady\ngroves allure, however brightly shines the peaceful sun. The livelong\nday he paces the sandy shore, hearkens to the monotonous murmur of the\nonrushing waves, and gazes into the misty distance: lo! yonder, upon\nthe pale line dividing the blue deep from the grey clouds, is there not\nglancing the longed-for sail, at first like the wing of a seagull, but\nlittle by little severing itself from the foam of the billows and, with\neven course, drawing nigh to the desert harbour?\n\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX\n\nPREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION\n\n(By the Author)\n\nTHE preface to a book serves the double purpose of prologue and\nepilogue. It affords the author an opportunity of explaining the object\nof the work, or of vindicating himself and replying to his critics. As a\nrule, however, the reader is concerned neither with the moral purpose\nof the book nor with the attacks of the Reviewers, and so the preface\nremains unread. Nevertheless, this is a pity, especially with us\nRussians! The public of this country is so youthful, not to say\nsimple-minded, that it cannot understand the meaning of a fable unless\nthe moral is set forth at the end. Unable to see a joke, insensible to\nirony, it has, in a word, been badly brought up. It has not yet learned\nthat in a decent book, as in decent society, open invective can have no\nplace; that our present-day civilisation has invented a keener weapon,\nnone the less deadly for being almost invisible, which, under the cloak\nof flattery, strikes with sure and irresistible effect. The Russian\npublic is like a simple-minded person from the country who, chancing to\noverhear a conversation between two diplomatists belonging to hostile\ncourts, comes away with the conviction that each of them has been\ndeceiving his Government in the interest of a most affectionate private\nfriendship.\n\nThe unfortunate effects of an over-literal acceptation of words by\ncertain readers and even Reviewers have recently been manifested in\nregard to the present book. Many of its readers have been dreadfully,\nand in all seriousness, shocked to find such an immoral man as Pechorin\nset before them as an example. Others have observed, with much\nacumen, that the author has painted his own portrait and those of\nhis acquaintances!... What a stale and wretched jest! But Russia, it\nappears, has been constituted in such a way that absurdities of this\nkind will never be eradicated. It is doubtful whether, in this country,\nthe most ethereal of fairy-tales would escape the reproach of attempting\noffensive personalities.\n\nPechorin, gentlemen, is in fact a portrait, but not of one man only:\nhe is a composite portrait, made up of all the vices which flourish,\nfullgrown, amongst the present generation. You will tell me, as you have\ntold me before, that no man can be so bad as this; and my reply will be:\n\"If you believe that such persons as the villains of tragedy and romance\ncould exist in real life, why can you not believe in the reality of\nPechorin? If you admire fictions much more terrible and monstrous, why\nis it that this character, even if regarded merely as a creature of\nthe imagination, cannot obtain quarter at your hands? Is it not because\nthere is more truth in it than may be altogether palatable to you?\"\n\nYou will say that the cause of morality gains nothing by this book. I\nbeg your pardon. People have been surfeited with sweetmeats and their\ndigestion has been ruined: bitter medicines, sharp truths, are therefore\nnecessary. This must not, however, be taken to mean that the author has\never proudly dreamed of becoming a reformer of human vices. Heaven\nkeep him from such impertinence! He has simply found it entertaining to\ndepict a man, such as he considers to be typical of the present day and\nsuch as he has often met in real life--too often, indeed, unfortunately\nboth for the author himself and for you. Suffice it that the disease has\nbeen pointed out: how it is to be cured--God alone knows!"