No More Learning

“It was that of the young pickle, Azamat, our host’s son. The other
person spoke less and in a quieter tone.

“‘What are they discussing there? ’ I wondered. ‘Surely it can’t be
my horse! ’ I squatted down beside the fence and proceeded to play the
eavesdropper, trying not to let slip a single word. At times the noise
of songs and the buzz of voices, escaping from the hut, drowned the
conversation which I was finding interesting.

“‘That’s a splendid horse of yours,’ Azamat was saying. ‘If I were
master of a house of my own and had a stud of three hundred mares, I
would give half of it for your galloper, Kazbich! ’

“‘Aha! Kazbich! ’ I said to myself, and I called to mind the coat of
mail.

“‘Yes,’ replied Kazbich, after an interval of silence. ‘There is not
such another to be found in all Kabardia. Once--it was on the other side
of the Terek--I had ridden with the Abreks to seize the Russian herds.
We had no luck, so we scattered in different directions. Four Cossacks
dashed after me. I could actually hear the cries of the giaours behind
me, and in front of me there was a dense forest. I crouched down in the
saddle, committed myself to Allah, and, for the first time in my life,
insulted my horse with a blow of the whip. Like a bird, he plunged among
the branches; the sharp thorns tore my clothing, the dead boughs of the
cork-elms struck against my face! My horse leaped over tree-trunks and
burst his way through bushes with his chest! It would have been
better for me to have abandoned him at the outskirts of the forest and
concealed myself in it afoot, but it was a pity to part with him--and
the Prophet rewarded me. A few bullets whistled over my head. I could
now hear the Cossacks, who had dismounted, running upon my tracks.
Suddenly a deep gully opened before me. My galloper took thought--and
leaped. His hind hoofs slipped back off the opposite bank, and he
remained hanging by his fore-feet. I dropped the bridle and threw myself
into the hollow, thereby saving my horse, which jumped out. The Cossacks
saw the whole scene, only not one of them got down to search for me,
thinking probably that I had mortally injured myself; and I heard them
rushing to catch my horse. My heart bled within me. I crept along the
hollow through the thick grass--then I looked around: it was the end of
the forest. A few Cossacks were riding out from it on to the clearing,
and there was my Karagyoz [10] galloping straight towards them. With a
shout they all dashed forward. For a long, long time they pursued him,
and one of them, in particular, was once or twice almost successful in
throwing a lasso over his neck.

“I trembled, dropped my eyes, and began to pray. After a few moments
I looked up again, and there was my Karagyoz flying along, his tail
waving--free as the wind; and the giaours, on their jaded horses, were
trailing along far behind, one after another, across the steppe.
Wallah! It is true--really true! Till late at night I lay in the hollow.
Suddenly--what do you think, Azamat? I heard in the darkness a horse
trotting along the bank of the hollow, snorting, neighing, and beating
the ground with his hoofs. I recognised my Karagyoz’s voice; ‘twas he,
my comrade! ”. . . Since that time we have never been parted! ’

“And I could hear him patting his galloper’s sleek neck with his hand,
as he called him various fond names.

“‘If I had a stud of a thousand mares,’ said Azamat, ‘I would give it
all for your Karagyoz! ’

“‘Yok! [11] I would not take it! ’ said Kazbich indifferently.

“‘Listen, Kazbich,’ said Azamat, trying to ingratiate himself with him.
‘You are a kindhearted man, you are a brave horseman, but my father is
afraid of the Russians and will not allow me to go on the mountains.
Give me your horse, and I will do anything you wish. I will steal my
father’s best rifle for you, or his sabre--just as you like--and his
sabre is a genuine Gurda; [12] you have only to lay the edge against
your hand, and it will cut you; a coat of mail like yours is nothing
against it. ’

“Kazbich remained silent.

“‘The first time I saw your horse,’ continued Azamat, ‘when he was
wheeling and leaping under you, his nostrils distended, and the flints
flying in showers from under his hoofs, something I could not understand
took place within my soul; and since that time I have been weary of
everything. I have looked with disdain on my father’s best gallopers; I
have been ashamed to be seen on them, and yearning has taken possession
of me. In my anguish I have spent whole days on the cliffs, and, every
minute, my thoughts have kept turning to your black galloper with his
graceful gait and his sleek back, straight as an arrow. With his keen,
bright eyes he has looked into mine as if about to speak! . . . I shall
die, Kazbich, if you will not sell him to me! ’ said Azamat, with
trembling voice.

“I could hear him burst out weeping, and I must tell you that Azamat was
a very stubborn lad, and that not for anything could tears be wrung from
him, even when he was a little younger.

“In answer to his tears, I could hear something like a laugh.

“‘Listen,’ said Azamat in a firm voice. ‘You see, I am making up my
mind for anything. If you like, I will steal my sister for you! How she
dances! How she sings! And the way she embroiders with gold--marvellous!
Not even a Turkish Padishah [13] has had a wife like her! . . . Shall I?
Wait for me to-morrow night, yonder, in the gorge where the torrent
flows; I will go by with her to the neighbouring village--and she is
yours. Surely Bela is worth your galloper! ’

“Kazbich remained silent for a long, long time. At length, instead of
answering, he struck up in an undertone the ancient song:


“Many a beauty among us dwells

From whose eyes’ dark depths the starlight wells,

‘Tis an envied lot and sweet, to hold

Their love; but brighter is freedom bold.

Four wives are yours if you pay the gold;

But a mettlesome steed is of price untold;

The whirlwind itself on the steppe is less fleet;

He knows no treachery--no deceit. ” [14]

“In vain Azamat entreated him to consent. He wept, coaxed, and swore to
him. Finally, Kazbich interrupted him impatiently:

“‘Begone, you crazy brat! How should you think to ride on my horse? In
three steps you would be thrown and your neck broken on the stones! ’

“‘I? ’ cried Azamat in a fury, and the blade of the child’s dagger rang
against the coat of mail. A powerful arm thrust him away, and he struck
the wattle fence with such violence that it rocked.

“‘Now we’ll see some fun! ’ I thought to myself.

“I rushed into the stable, bridled our horses and led them out into the
back courtyard. In a couple of minutes there was a terrible uproar in
the hut. What had happened was this: Azamat had rushed in, with his
tunic torn, saying that Kazbich was going to murder him. All sprang out,
seized their guns, and the fun began! Noise--shouts--shots! But by this
time Kazbich was in the saddle, and, wheeling among the crowd along the
street, defended himself like a madman, brandishing his sabre.

“‘It is a bad thing to interfere in other people’s quarrels,’ I said to
Grigori Aleksandrovich, taking him by the arm. ‘Wouldn’t it be better
for us to clear off without loss of time? ’

“‘Wait, though, and see how it will end! ’

“‘Oh, as to that, it will be sure enough to end badly; it is always
so with these Asiatics. Once let them get drunk on buza, and there’s
certain to be bloodshed. ’

“We mounted and galloped home. ”



CHAPTER IV

“TELL me, what became of Kazbich? ” I asked the staff-captain
impatiently.

“Why, what can happen to that sort of a fellow? ” he answered, finishing
his tumbler of tea. “He slipped away, of course. ”

“And wasn’t he wounded? ” I asked.

“Goodness only knows! Those scoundrels take a lot of killing! In action,
for instance, I’ve seen many a one, sir, stuck all over with bayonets
like a sieve, and still brandishing his sabre. ”

After an interval of silence the staff-captain continued, tapping the
ground with his foot:

“One thing I’ll never forgive myself for. On our arrival at the fortress
the devil put it into my head to repeat to Grigori Aleksandrovich
all that I had heard when I was eavesdropping behind the fence. He
laughed--cunning fellow! --and thought out a little plan of his own. ”

“What was that? Tell me, please. ”

“Well, there’s no help for it now, I suppose. I’ve begun the story, and
so I must continue.

“In about four days’ time Azamat rode over to the fortress. As his usual
custom was, he went to see Grigori Aleksandrovich, who always used to
give him sweetmeats to eat. I was present. The conversation was on the
subject of horses, and Pechorin began to sound the praises of Kazbich’s
Karagyoz. What a mettlesome horse it was, and how handsome! A perfect
chamois! In fact, judging by his account, there simply wasn’t another
like it in the whole world!

“The young Tartar’s beady eyes began to sparkle, but Pechorin didn’t
seem to notice the fact. I started to talk about something else, but
immediately, mark you, Pechorin caused the conversation to strike off on
to Kazbich’s horse. Every time that Azamat came it was the same story.
After about three weeks, I began to observe that Azamat was growing
pale and wasted, just as people in novels do from love, sir. What wonder
either! . . .

“Well, you see, it was not until afterwards that I learned the whole
trick--Grigori Aleksandrovich exasperated Azamat to such an extent
with his teasing that the boy was ready even to drown himself. One day
Pechorin suddenly broke out with:

“‘I see, Azamat, that you have taken a desperate fancy to that horse
of Kazbich’s, but you’ll no more see him than you will the back of your
neck! Come, tell me, what would you give if somebody made you a present
of him? ’

“‘Anything he wanted,’ answered Azamat.

“‘In that case I will get the horse for you, only on one condition. . .
Swear that you will fulfil it? ’

“‘I swear. You swear too! ’

“‘Very well! I swear that the horse shall be yours. But, in return,
you must deliver your sister Bela into my hands. Karagyoz shall be her
bridegroom’s gift. I hope the transaction will be a profitable one for
you. ’

“Azamat remained silent.

“‘Won’t you? Well, just as you like! I thought you were a man, but
it seems you are still a child; it is early for you to be riding on
horseback! ’

“Azamat fired up.

“‘But my father--’ he said.

“‘Does he never go away, then? ’

“‘True. ’

“‘You agree? ’

“‘I agree,’ whispered Azamat, pale as death. ‘But when? ’

“‘The first time Kazbich rides over here. He has promised to drive in
half a score of rams; the rest is my affair. Look out, then, Azamat! ’

“And so they settled the business--a bad business, to tell the truth!
I said as much to Pechorin afterwards, but he only answered that a wild
Circassian girl ought to consider herself fortunate in having such
a charming husband as himself--because, according to their ideas, he
really was her husband--and that Kazbich was a scoundrel, and ought to
be punished. Judge for yourself, what could I say to that? . . . At the
time, however, I knew nothing of their conspiracy. Well, one day Kazbich
rode up and asked whether we needed any rams and honey; and I ordered
him to bring some the next day.

“‘Azamat! ’ said Grigori Aleksandrovich; ‘to-morrow Karagyoz will be in
my hands; if Bela is not here to-night you will never see the horse. ’. .

“‘Very well,’ said Azamat, and galloped to the village.

“In the evening Grigori Aleksandrovich armed himself and rode out of the
fortress. How they settled the business I don’t know, but at night they
both returned, and the sentry saw that across Azamat’s saddle a woman
was lying, bound hand and foot and with her head wrapped in a veil. ”

“And the horse? ” I asked the staff-captain.

“One minute! One minute! Early next morning Kazbich rode over, driving
in half a score of rams for sale. Tethering his horse by the fence, he
came in to see me, and I regaled him with tea, for, robber though he
was, he was none the less my guest-friend.

“We began to chat about one thing and another. . . Suddenly I saw Kazbich
start, change countenance, and dart to the window; but unfortunately the
window looked on to the back courtyard.

“‘What is the matter with you? ’ I asked.

“‘My horse! . . . My horse! ’ he cried, all of a tremble.
“As a matter of fact I heard the clattering of hoofs.

“‘It is probably some Cossack who has ridden up. ’

“‘No! Urus--yaman, yaman! ’ [151] he roared, and rushed headlong away
like a wild panther. In two bounds he was in the courtyard; at the gate
of the fortress the sentry barred the way with his gun; Kazbich jumped
over the gun and dashed off at a run along the road. . . Dust was whirling
in the distance--Azamat was galloping away on the mettlesome Karagyoz.
Kazbich, as he ran, tore his gun out of its cover and fired. For a
moment he remained motionless, until he had assured himself that he had
missed. Then he uttered a shrill cry, knocked the gun against a rock,
smashed it to splinters, fell to the ground, and burst out sobbing like
a child. . . The people from the fortress gathered round him, but he took
no notice of anyone. They stood there talking awhile and then went back.
I ordered the money for the rams to be placed beside him. He didn’t
touch it, but lay with his face to the ground like a dead man. Would you
believe it? He remained lying like that throughout the rest of that day
and the following night! It was only on the next morning that he came to
the fortress and proceeded to ask that the name of the thief should
be told him. The sentry who had observed Azamat untying the horse and
galloping away on him did not see any necessity for concealment. At the
name of Azamat, Kazbich’s eyes flashed, and he set off to the village
where Azamat’s father lived. ”

“And what about the father? ”

“Ah, that was where the trick came in! Kazbich could not find him;
he had gone away somewhere for five or six days; otherwise, how could
Azamat have succeeded in carrying off Bela?

“And, when the father returned, there was neither daughter nor son to be
found. A wily rogue, Azamat! He understood, you see, that he would lose
his life if he was caught. So, from that time, he was never seen again;
probably he joined some gang of Abreks and laid down his turbulent life
on the other side of the Terek or the Kuban. It would have served him
right! ”. . .



CHAPTER V

“I CONFESS that, for my part, I had trouble enough over the business.
So soon as ever I learned that the Circassian girl was with Grigori
Aleksandrovich, I put on my epaulettes and sword and went to see him.

“He was lying on the bed in the outer room, with one hand under his head
and the other holding a pipe which had gone out. The door leading to the
inner room was locked, and there was no key in the lock. I observed all
that in a moment. . . I coughed and rapped my heels against the threshold,
but he pretended not to hear.

“‘Ensign! ’ I said, as sternly as I could. ‘Do you not see that I have
come to you? ’

“‘Ah, good morning, Maksim Maksimych! Won’t you have a pipe? ’ he
answered, without rising.

“‘Excuse me, I am not Maksim Maksimych. I am the staff-captain. ’

“‘It’s all the same! Won’t you have some tea? If you only knew how I am
being tortured with anxiety. ’

“‘I know all,’ I answered, going up to the bed.

“‘So much the better,’ he said. ‘I am not in a narrative mood. ’

“‘Ensign, you have committed an offence for which I may have to answer
as well as you. ’

“‘Oh, that’ll do. What’s the harm? You know, we’ve gone halves in
everything. ’

“‘What sort of a joke do you think you are playing? Your sword,
please! ’. . .

“‘Mitka, my sword! ’

“‘Mitka brought the sword. My duty discharged, I sat down on the bed,
facing Pechorin, and said: ‘Listen here, Grigori Aleksandrovich, you
must admit that this is a bad business. ’

“‘What is? ’

“‘Why, that you have carried off Bela. . . Ah, it is that beast Azamat! . . .
Come, confess! ’ I said.

“‘But, supposing I am fond of her? ’. . .

“Well, what could I say to that? . . . I was nonplussed. After a short
interval of silence, however, I told him that if Bela’s father were to
claim her he would have to give her up.

“‘Not at all! ’

“‘But he will get to know that she is here. ’

“‘How? ’

“Again I was nonplussed.

“‘Listen, Maksim Maksimych,’ said Pechorin, rising to his feet. ‘You’re
a kind-hearted man, you know; but, if we give that savage back his
daughter, he will cut her throat or sell her. The deed is done, and the
only thing we can do now is not to go out of our way to spoil matters.
Leave Bela with me and keep my sword! ’

“‘Show her to me, though,’ I said.

“‘She is behind that door. Only I wanted, myself, to see her to-day and
wasn’t able to. She sits in the corner, muffled in her veil, and neither
speaks nor looks up--timid as a wild chamois! I have hired the wife of
our dukhan-keeper: she knows the Tartar language, and will look after
Bela and accustom her to the idea that she belongs to me--for she shall
belong to no one else! ’ he added, banging his fist on the table.

“I assented to that too. . . What could I do? There are some people with
whom you absolutely have to agree. ”

“Well? ” I asked Maksim Maksimych. “Did he really succeed in making
her grow accustomed to him, or did she pine away in captivity from
home-sickness? ”

“Good gracious! how could she pine away from home-sickness? From
the fortress she could see the very same hills as she could from the
village--and these savages require nothing more. Besides, Grigori
Aleksandrovich used to give her a present of some kind every day. At
first she didn’t utter a word, but haughtily thrust away the gifts,
which then fell to the lot of the dukhan-keeper’s wife and aroused her
eloquence. Ah, presents! What won’t a woman do for a coloured rag! . . .
But that is by the way. . . For a long time Grigori Aleksandrovich
persevered with her, and meanwhile he studied the Tartar language and
she began to understand ours. Little by little she grew accustomed to
looking at him, at first furtively, askance; but she still pined and
crooned her songs in an undertone, so that even I would feel heavy
at heart when I heard her from the next room. One scene I shall never
forget: I was walking past, and I looked in at the window; Bela was
sitting on the stove-couch, her head sunk on her breast, and Grigori
Aleksandrovich was standing, facing her.

“‘Listen, my Peri,’ he was saying. ‘Surely you know that you will have
to be mine sooner or later--why, then, do you but torture me? Is it that
you are in love with some Chechene? If so, I will let you go home at
once. ’

“She gave a scarcely perceptible start and shook her head.

“‘Or is it,’ he continued, ‘that I am utterly hateful to you? ’

“She heaved a sigh.

“‘Or that your faith prohibits you from giving me a little of your
love? ’

“She turned pale and remained silent.

“‘Believe me, Allah is one and the same for all races; and, if he
permits me to love you, why, then, should he prohibit you from requiting
me by returning my love? ’

“She gazed fixedly into his face, as though struck by that new idea.
Distrust and a desire to be convinced were expressed in her eyes. What
eyes they were! They sparkled just like two glowing coals.

“‘Listen, my dear, good Bela! ’ continued Pechorin. ‘You see how I love
you. I am ready to give up everything to make you cheerful once more.
I want you to be happy, and, if you are going to be sad again, I shall
die. Tell me, you will be more cheerful? ’

“She fell into thought, her black eyes still fixed upon him. Then she
smiled graciously and nodded her head in token of acquiescence.

“He took her by the hand and tried to induce her to kiss him. She
defended herself feebly, and only repeated: ‘Please! Please! You
mustn’t, you mustn’t! ’

“He went on to insist; she began to tremble and weep.

“‘I am your captive,’ she said, ‘your slave; of course, you can compel
me. ’

“And then, again--tears.

“Grigori Aleksandrovich struck his forehead with his fist and sprang
into the other room. I went in to see him, and found him walking moodily
backwards and forwards with folded arms.

“‘Well, old man? ’ I said to him.

“‘She is a devil--not a woman! ’ he answered. ‘But I give you my word of
honour that she shall be mine! ’

“I shook my head.

“‘Will you bet with me? ’ he said. ‘In a week’s time? ’

“‘Very well,’ I answered.

“We shook hands on it and separated.

“The next day he immediately despatched an express messenger to Kizlyar
to purchase some things for him. The messenger brought back a quite
innumerable quantity of various Persian stuffs.

“‘What think you, Maksim Maksimych? ’ he said to me, showing the
presents. ‘Will our Asiatic beauty hold out against such a battery as
this? ’

“‘You don’t know the Circassian women,’ I answered. ‘They are not at all
the same as the Georgian or the Transcaucasian Tartar women--not at all!
They have their own principles, they are brought up differently. ’

“Grigori Aleksandrovich smiled and began to whistle a march to himself. ”



CHAPTER VI

“AS things fell out, however,” continued Maksim Maksimych, “I was right,
you see. The presents produced only half an effect. She became
more gracious more trustful--but that was all. Pechorin accordingly
determined upon a last expedient. One morning he ordered his horse to be
saddled, dressed himself as a Circassian, armed himself, and went into
her room.

“‘Bela,’ he said. ‘You know how I love you. I decided to carry you off,
thinking that when you grew to know me you would give me your love.
I was mistaken. Farewell! Remain absolute mistress of all I possess.
Return to your father if you like--you are free. I have acted
wrongfully towards you, and I must punish myself. Farewell! I am going.
Whither? --How should I know? Perchance I shall not have long to court
the bullet or the sabre-stroke. Then remember me and forgive. ’

“He turned away, and stretched out his hand to her in farewell. She did
not take his hand, but remained silent. But I, standing there behind the
door, was able through a chink to observe her countenance, and I felt
sorry for her--such a deathly pallor shrouded that charming little face!
Hearing no answer, Pechorin took a few steps towards the door. He was
trembling, and--shall I tell you?