‘I am not in a
narrative
mood.
Lermontov - A Hero of Our Time
’
“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? --I think that he was in a state to
perform in very fact what he had been saying in jest! He was just that
sort of man, Heaven knows!
“He had scarcely touched the door, however, when Bela sprang to her
feet, burst out sobbing, and threw herself on his neck! Would you
believe it? I, standing there behind the door, fell to weeping too,
that is to say, you know, not exactly weeping--but just--well, something
foolish! ”
The staff-captain became silent.
“Yes, I confess,” he said after a while, tugging at his moustache, “I
felt hurt that not one woman had ever loved me like that. ”
“Was their happiness lasting? ” I asked.
“Yes, she admitted that, from the day she had first cast eyes on
Pechorin, she had often dreamed of him, and that no other man had ever
produced such an impression upon her. Yes, they were happy! ”
“How tiresome! ” I exclaimed, involuntarily.
In point of fact, I had been expecting a tragic ending--when, lo! he
must needs disappoint my hopes in such an unexpected manner! . . .
“Is it possible, though,” I continued, “that her father did not guess
that she was with you in the fortress? ”
“Well, you must know, he seems to have had his suspicions. After a few
days, we learned that the old man had been murdered. This is how it
happened. ”. . .
My attention was aroused anew.
“I must tell you that Kazbich imagined that the horse had been stolen by
Azamat with his father’s consent; at any rate, that is what I suppose.
So, one day, Kazbich went and waited by the roadside, about three versts
beyond the village. The old man was returning from one of his futile
searches for his daughter; his retainers were lagging behind. It was
dusk. Deep in thought, he was riding at a walking pace when, suddenly,
Kazbich darted out like a cat from behind a bush, sprang up behind
him on the horse, flung him to the ground with a thrust of his dagger,
seized the bridle and was off. A few of the retainers saw the whole
affair from the hill; they dashed off in pursuit of Kazbich, but failed
to overtake him. ”
“He requited himself for the loss of his horse, and took his revenge at
the same time,” I said, with a view to evoking my companion’s opinion.
“Of course, from their point of view,” said the staff-captain, “he was
perfectly right. ”
I was involuntarily struck by the aptitude which the Russian displays
for accommodating himself to the customs of the people in whose midst
he happens to be living. I know not whether this mental quality is
deserving of censure or commendation, but it proves the incredible
pliancy of his mind and the presence of that clear common sense which
pardons evil wherever it sees that evil is inevitable or impossible of
annihilation.
CHAPTER VII
IN the meantime we had finished our tea. The horses, which had been
put to long before, were freezing in the snow. In the west the moon
was growing pale, and was just on the point of plunging into the black
clouds which were hanging over the distant summits like the shreds of a
torn curtain. We went out of the hut. Contrary to my fellow-traveller’s
prediction, the weather had cleared up, and there was a promise of
a calm morning. The dancing choirs of the stars were interwoven in
wondrous patterns on the distant horizon, and, one after another, they
flickered out as the wan resplendence of the east suffused the dark,
lilac vault of heaven, gradually illumining the steep mountain slopes,
covered with the virgin snows. To right and left loomed grim and
mysterious chasms, and masses of mist, eddying and coiling like snakes,
were creeping thither along the furrows of the neighbouring cliffs, as
though sentient and fearful of the approach of day.
All was calm in heaven and on earth, calm as within the heart of a man
at the moment of morning prayer; only at intervals a cool wind rushed
in from the east, lifting the horses’ manes which were covered with
hoar-frost. We started off. The five lean jades dragged our wagons with
difficulty along the tortuous road up Mount Gut. We ourselves walked
behind, placing stones under the wheels whenever the horses were spent.
The road seemed to lead into the sky, for, so far as the eye could
discern, it still mounted up and up, until finally it was lost in the
cloud which, since early evening, had been resting on the summit of
Mount Gut, like a kite awaiting its prey. The snow crunched under our
feet. The atmosphere grew so rarefied that to breathe was painful; ever
and anon the blood rushed to my head, but withal a certain rapturous
sensation was diffused throughout my veins and I felt a species of
delight at being so high up above the world. A childish feeling, I
admit, but, when we retire from the conventions of society and draw
close to nature, we involuntarily become as children: each attribute
acquired by experience falls away from the soul, which becomes anew such
as it was once and will surely be again. He whose lot it has been, as
mine has been, to wander over the desolate mountains, long, long to
observe their fantastic shapes, greedily to gulp down the life-giving
air diffused through their ravines--he, of course, will understand my
desire to communicate, to narrate, to sketch those magic pictures.
Well, at length we reached the summit of Mount Gut and, halting, looked
around us. Upon the mountain a grey cloud was hanging, and its cold
breath threatened the approach of a storm; but in the east everything
was so clear and golden that we--that is, the staff-captain and
I--forgot all about the cloud. .
“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? --I think that he was in a state to
perform in very fact what he had been saying in jest! He was just that
sort of man, Heaven knows!
“He had scarcely touched the door, however, when Bela sprang to her
feet, burst out sobbing, and threw herself on his neck! Would you
believe it? I, standing there behind the door, fell to weeping too,
that is to say, you know, not exactly weeping--but just--well, something
foolish! ”
The staff-captain became silent.
“Yes, I confess,” he said after a while, tugging at his moustache, “I
felt hurt that not one woman had ever loved me like that. ”
“Was their happiness lasting? ” I asked.
“Yes, she admitted that, from the day she had first cast eyes on
Pechorin, she had often dreamed of him, and that no other man had ever
produced such an impression upon her. Yes, they were happy! ”
“How tiresome! ” I exclaimed, involuntarily.
In point of fact, I had been expecting a tragic ending--when, lo! he
must needs disappoint my hopes in such an unexpected manner! . . .
“Is it possible, though,” I continued, “that her father did not guess
that she was with you in the fortress? ”
“Well, you must know, he seems to have had his suspicions. After a few
days, we learned that the old man had been murdered. This is how it
happened. ”. . .
My attention was aroused anew.
“I must tell you that Kazbich imagined that the horse had been stolen by
Azamat with his father’s consent; at any rate, that is what I suppose.
So, one day, Kazbich went and waited by the roadside, about three versts
beyond the village. The old man was returning from one of his futile
searches for his daughter; his retainers were lagging behind. It was
dusk. Deep in thought, he was riding at a walking pace when, suddenly,
Kazbich darted out like a cat from behind a bush, sprang up behind
him on the horse, flung him to the ground with a thrust of his dagger,
seized the bridle and was off. A few of the retainers saw the whole
affair from the hill; they dashed off in pursuit of Kazbich, but failed
to overtake him. ”
“He requited himself for the loss of his horse, and took his revenge at
the same time,” I said, with a view to evoking my companion’s opinion.
“Of course, from their point of view,” said the staff-captain, “he was
perfectly right. ”
I was involuntarily struck by the aptitude which the Russian displays
for accommodating himself to the customs of the people in whose midst
he happens to be living. I know not whether this mental quality is
deserving of censure or commendation, but it proves the incredible
pliancy of his mind and the presence of that clear common sense which
pardons evil wherever it sees that evil is inevitable or impossible of
annihilation.
CHAPTER VII
IN the meantime we had finished our tea. The horses, which had been
put to long before, were freezing in the snow. In the west the moon
was growing pale, and was just on the point of plunging into the black
clouds which were hanging over the distant summits like the shreds of a
torn curtain. We went out of the hut. Contrary to my fellow-traveller’s
prediction, the weather had cleared up, and there was a promise of
a calm morning. The dancing choirs of the stars were interwoven in
wondrous patterns on the distant horizon, and, one after another, they
flickered out as the wan resplendence of the east suffused the dark,
lilac vault of heaven, gradually illumining the steep mountain slopes,
covered with the virgin snows. To right and left loomed grim and
mysterious chasms, and masses of mist, eddying and coiling like snakes,
were creeping thither along the furrows of the neighbouring cliffs, as
though sentient and fearful of the approach of day.
All was calm in heaven and on earth, calm as within the heart of a man
at the moment of morning prayer; only at intervals a cool wind rushed
in from the east, lifting the horses’ manes which were covered with
hoar-frost. We started off. The five lean jades dragged our wagons with
difficulty along the tortuous road up Mount Gut. We ourselves walked
behind, placing stones under the wheels whenever the horses were spent.
The road seemed to lead into the sky, for, so far as the eye could
discern, it still mounted up and up, until finally it was lost in the
cloud which, since early evening, had been resting on the summit of
Mount Gut, like a kite awaiting its prey. The snow crunched under our
feet. The atmosphere grew so rarefied that to breathe was painful; ever
and anon the blood rushed to my head, but withal a certain rapturous
sensation was diffused throughout my veins and I felt a species of
delight at being so high up above the world. A childish feeling, I
admit, but, when we retire from the conventions of society and draw
close to nature, we involuntarily become as children: each attribute
acquired by experience falls away from the soul, which becomes anew such
as it was once and will surely be again. He whose lot it has been, as
mine has been, to wander over the desolate mountains, long, long to
observe their fantastic shapes, greedily to gulp down the life-giving
air diffused through their ravines--he, of course, will understand my
desire to communicate, to narrate, to sketch those magic pictures.
Well, at length we reached the summit of Mount Gut and, halting, looked
around us. Upon the mountain a grey cloud was hanging, and its cold
breath threatened the approach of a storm; but in the east everything
was so clear and golden that we--that is, the staff-captain and
I--forgot all about the cloud. .
