I was
excited, and I galloped to the mountains in order to dispel the
thoughts which had thronged into my head.
excited, and I galloped to the mountains in order to dispel the
thoughts which had thronged into my head.
Lermontov - A Hero of Our Time
Farewell.
”
As I was going out, I seemed to hear her weeping.
I wandered on foot about the environs of Mount Mashuk till evening,
fatigued myself terribly and, on arriving home, flung myself on my bed,
utterly exhausted.
Werner came to see me.
“Is it true,” he asked, “that you are going to marry Princess Mary? ”
“What? ”
“The whole town is saying so. All my patients are occupied with that
important piece of news; but you know what these patients are: they know
everything. ”
“This is one of Grushnitski’s tricks,” I said to myself.
“To prove the falsity of these rumours, doctor, I may mention, as a
secret, that I am moving to Kislovodsk to-morrow”. . .
“And Princess Mary, too? ”
“No, she remains here another week”. . .
“So you are not going to get married? ”. . .
“Doctor, doctor! Look at me! Am I in the least like a bridegroom, or any
such thing? ”
“I am not saying so. . . But you know there are occasions. . . ” he added,
with a crafty smile--“in which an honourable man is obliged to marry,
and there are mothers who, to say the least, do not prevent such
occasions. . . And so, as a friend, I should advise you to be more
cautious. The air of these parts is very dangerous. How many handsome
young men, worthy of a better fate, have I not seen departing from here
straight to the altar! . . . Would you believe me, they were even going to
find a wife for me! That is to say, one person was--a lady belonging
to this district, who had a very pale daughter. I had the misfortune to
tell her that the latter’s colour would be restored after wedlock, and
then with tears of gratitude she offered me her daughter’s hand and the
whole of her own fortune--fifty souls, [28] I think. But I replied that
I was unfit for such an honour. ”
Werner left, fully convinced that he had put me on my guard.
I gathered from his words that various ugly rumours were already being
spread about the town on the subject of Princess Mary and myself:
Grushnitski shall smart for this!
CHAPTER XIII. 18th June.
I HAVE been in Kislovodsk three days now. Every day I see Vera at the
well and out walking. In the morning, when I awake, I sit by my window
and direct my lorgnette at her balcony. She has already been dressed
long ago, and is waiting for the signal agreed upon. We meet, as though
unexpectedly, in the garden which slopes down from our houses to the
well. The life-giving mountain air has brought back her colour and her
strength. Not for nothing is Narzan called the “Spring of Heroes. ” The
inhabitants aver that the air of Kislovodsk predisposes the heart to
love and that all the romances which have had their beginning at the
foot of Mount Mashuk find their consummation here. And, in very
fact, everything here breathes of solitude; everything has an air of
secrecy--the thick shadows of the linden avenues, bending over the
torrent which falls, noisy and foaming, from flag to flag and cleaves
itself a way between the mountains now becoming clad with verdure--the
mist-filled, silent ravines, with their ramifications straggling away
in all directions--the freshness of the aromatic air, laden with
the fragrance of the tall southern grasses and the white acacia--the
never-ceasing, sweetly-slumberous babble of the cool brooks, which,
meeting at the end of the valley, flow along in friendly emulation, and
finally fling themselves into the Podkumok. On this side, the ravine is
wider and becomes converted into a verdant dell, through which winds
the dusty road. Every time I look at it, I seem to see a carriage coming
along and a rosy little face looking out of the carriage-window. Many
carriages have already driven by--but still there is no sign of that
particular one. The village which lies behind the fortress has become
populous. In the restaurant, built upon a hill a few paces distant from
my lodgings, lights are beginning to flash in the evening through the
double row of poplars; noise and the jingling of glasses resound till
late at night.
In no place are such quantities of Kakhetian wine and mineral waters
drunk as here.
“And many are willing to mix the two,
But that is a thing I never do. ”
Every day Grushnitski and his gang are to be found brawling in the inn,
and he has almost ceased to greet me.
He only arrived yesterday, and has already succeeded in quarrelling with
three old men who were going to take their places in the baths before
him.
Decidedly, his misfortunes are developing a warlike spirit within him.
CHAPTER XIV. 22nd June.
AT last they have arrived. I was sitting by the window when I heard the
clattering of their carriage. My heart throbbed. . . What does it mean?
Can it be that I am in love? . . . I am so stupidly constituted that such a
thing might be expected of me.
I dined at their house. Princess Ligovski looked at me with much
tenderness, and did not leave her daughter’s side. . . a bad sign! On the
other hand, Vera is jealous of me in regard to Princess Mary--however,
I have been striving for that good fortune. What will not a woman do in
order to chagrin her rival? I remember that once a woman loved me
simply because I was in love with another woman. There is nothing more
paradoxical than the female mind; it is difficult to convince a woman of
anything; they have to be led into convincing themselves. The order of
the proofs by which they demolish their prejudices is most original;
to learn their dialectic it is necessary to overthrow in your own mind
every scholastic rule of logic. For example, the usual way:
“This man loves me; but I am married: therefore I must not love him. ”
The woman’s way:
“I must not love him, because I am married; but he loves
me--therefore”. . .
A few dots here, because reason has no more to say. But, generally,
there is something to be said by the tongue, and the eyes, and, after
these, the heart--if there is such a thing.
What if these notes should one day meet a woman’s eye?
“Slander! ” she will exclaim indignantly.
Ever since poets have written and women have read them (for which the
poets should be most deeply grateful) women have been called angels so
many times that, in very truth, in their simplicity of soul, they have
believed the compliment, forgetting that, for money, the same poets have
glorified Nero as a demigod. . .
It would be unreasonable were I to speak of women with such malignity--I
who have loved nothing else in the world--I who have always been ready
to sacrifice for their sake ease, ambition, life itself. . . But, you see,
I am not endeavouring, in a fit of vexation and injured vanity, to pluck
from them the magic veil through which only an accustomed glance can
penetrate. No, all that I say about them is but the result of
“A mind which coldly hath observed,
A heart which bears the stamp of woe. ” [29]
Women ought to wish that all men knew them as well as I because I have
loved them a hundred times better since I have ceased to be afraid of
them and have comprehended their little weaknesses.
By the way: the other day, Werner compared women to the enchanted forest
of which Tasso tells in his “Jerusalem Delivered. ” [30]
“So soon as you approach,” he said, “from all directions terrors, such
as I pray Heaven may preserve us from, will take wing at you: duty,
pride, decorum, public opinion, ridicule, contempt. . . You must simply go
straight on without looking at them; gradually the monsters disappear,
and, before you, opens a bright and quiet glade, in the midst of which
blooms the green myrtle. On the other hand, woe to you if, at the first
steps, your heart trembles and you turn back! ”
CHAPTER XV. 24th June.
THIS evening has been fertile in events. About three versts from
Kislovodsk, in the gorge through which the Podkumok flows, there is
a cliff called the Ring. It is a naturally formed gate, rising upon
a lofty hill, and through it the setting sun throws its last flaming
glance upon the world. A numerous cavalcade set off thither to gaze at
the sunset through the rock-window. To tell the truth, not one of them
was thinking about the sun. I rode beside Princess Mary. On the way
home, we had to ford the Podkumok. Mountain streams, even the
smallest, are dangerous; especially so, because the bottom is a perfect
kaleidoscope: it changes every day owing to the pressure of the current;
where yesterday there was a rock, to-day there is a cavity. I took
Princess Mary’s horse by the bridle and led it into the water, which
came no higher than its knees. We began to move slowly in a slanting
direction against the current. It is a well-known fact that, in crossing
rapid streamlets, you should never look at the water, because, if you
do, your head begins to whirl directly. I forgot to warn Princess Mary
of that.
We had reached the middle and were right in the vortex, when suddenly
she reeled in her saddle.
“I feel ill! ” she said in a faint voice.
I bent over to her rapidly and threw my arm around her supple waist.
“Look up! ” I whispered. “It is nothing; just be brave! I am with you. ”
She grew better; she was about to disengage herself from my arm, but
I clasped her tender, soft figure in a still closer embrace; my cheek
almost touched hers, from which was wafted flame.
“What are you doing to me? . . . Oh, Heaven! ”. . .
I paid no attention to her alarm and confusion, and my lips touched her
tender cheek. She shuddered, but said nothing. We were riding behind the
others: nobody saw us.
When we made our way out on the bank, the horses were all put to the
trot. Princess Mary kept hers back; I remained beside her. It was
evident that my silence was making her uneasy, but I swore to myself
that I would not speak a single word--out of curiosity. I wanted to see
how she would extricate herself from that embarrassing position.
“Either you despise me, or you love me very much! ” she said at length,
and there were tears in her voice. “Perhaps you want to laugh at me, to
excite my soul and then to abandon me. . . That would be so base, so vile,
that the mere supposition. . . Oh, no! ” she added, in a voice of tender
trustfulness; “there is nothing in me which would preclude respect; is
it not so? Your presumptuous action. . . I must, I must forgive you
for it, because I permitted it. . . Answer, speak, I want to hear your
voice! ”. . .
There was such womanly impatience in her last words that, involuntarily,
I smiled; happily it was beginning to grow dusk. . . I made no answer.
“You are silent! ” she continued; “you wish, perhaps, that I should be
the first to tell you that I love you. ”. . .
I remained silent.
“Is that what you wish? ” she continued, turning rapidly towards me. . . .
There was something terrible in the determination of her glance and
voice.
“Why? ” I answered, shrugging my shoulders.
She struck her horse with her riding-whip and set off at full gallop
along the narrow, dangerous road. It all happened so quickly that I was
scarcely able to overtake her, and then only by the time she had joined
the rest of the company.
All the way home she was continually talking and laughing. There
was something feverish in her movements; not once did she look in my
direction. Everybody observed her unusual gaiety. Princess Ligovski
rejoiced inwardly as she looked at her daughter. However, the latter
simply has a fit of nerves: she will spend a sleepless night, and will
weep.
This thought affords me measureless delight: there are moments when I
understand the Vampire. . . And yet I am reputed to be a good fellow, and
I strive to earn that designation!
On dismounting, the ladies went into Princess Ligovski’s house.
I was
excited, and I galloped to the mountains in order to dispel the
thoughts which had thronged into my head. The dewy evening breathed an
intoxicating coolness. The moon was rising from behind the dark summits.
Each step of my unshod horse resounded hollowly in the silence of the
gorges. I watered the horse at the waterfall, and then, after greedily
inhaling once or twice the fresh air of the southern night.
I set off on my way back.
I rode through the village. The lights in the windows were beginning to
go out; the sentries on the fortress-rampart and the Cossacks in the
surrounding pickets were calling out in drawling tones to one another.
In one of the village houses, built at the edge of a ravine, I noticed
an extraordinary illumination. At times, discordant murmurs and shouting
could be heard, proving that a military carouse was in full swing. I
dismounted and crept up to the window. The shutter had not been made
fast, and I could see the banqueters and catch what they were saying.
They were talking about me.
The captain of dragoons, flushed with wine, struck the table with his
fist, demanding attention.
“Gentlemen! ” he said, “this won’t do! Pechorin must be taught a lesson!
These Petersburg fledglings always carry their heads high until they get
a slap in the face! He thinks that because he always wears clean gloves
and polished boots he is the only one who has ever lived in society.
And what a haughty smile! All the same, I am convinced that he is a
coward--yes, a coward! ”
“I think so too,” said Grushnitski. “He is fond of getting himself out
of trouble by pretending to be only having a joke. I once gave him such
a talking to that anyone else in his place would have cut me to pieces
on the spot. But Pechorin turned it all to the ridiculous side. I, of
course, did not call him out because that was his business, but he did
not care to have anything more to do with it. ”
“Grushnitski is angry with him for having captured Princess Mary from
him,” somebody said.
“That’s a new idea! It is true I did run after Princess Mary a little,
but I left off at once because I do not want to get married; and it is
against my rules to compromise a girl. ”
“Yes, I assure you that he is a coward of the first water, I mean
Pechorin, not Grushnitski--but Grushnitski is a fine fellow, and,
besides, he is my true friend! ” the captain of dragoons went on.
“Gentlemen! Nobody here stands up for him? Nobody? So much the better!
Would you like to put his courage to the test? It would be amusing”. . .
“We would; but how? ”
“Listen here, then: Grushnitski in particular is angry with
him--therefore to Grushnitski falls the chief part. He will pick a
quarrel over some silly trifle or other, and will challenge Pechorin
to a duel. . . Wait a bit; here is where the joke comes in. . . He will
challenge him to a duel; very well! The whole proceeding--challenge,
preparations, conditions--will be as solemn and awe-inspiring as
possible--I will see to that. I will be your second, my poor friend!
Very well! Only here is the rub; we will put no bullets in the pistols.
I can answer for it that Pechorin will turn coward--I will place them
six paces apart, devil take it! Are you agreed, gentlemen? ”
“Splendid idea! . . . Agreed! . . . And why not? ”. . . came from all sides.
“And you, Grushnitski? ”
Tremblingly I awaited Grushnitski’s answer. I was filled with cold rage
at the thought that, but for an accident, I might have made myself the
laughing-stock of those fools. If Grushnitski had not agreed, I should
have thrown myself upon his neck; but, after an interval of silence,
he rose from his place, extended his hand to the captain, and said very
gravely:
“Very well, I agree! ”
It would be difficult to describe the enthusiasm of that honourable
company.
I returned home, agitated by two different feelings. The first was
sorrow.
“Why do they all hate me? ” I thought--“why? Have I affronted anyone? No.
Can it be that I am one of those men the mere sight of whom is enough to
create animosity? ”
And I felt a venomous rage gradually filling my soul.
“Have a care, Mr. Grushnitski! ” I said, walking up and down the room:
“I am not to be jested with like this! You may pay dearly for the
approbation of your foolish comrades. I am not your toy! ”. . .
I got no sleep that night. By daybreak I was as yellow as an orange.
In the morning I met Princess Mary at the well.
“You are ill? ” she said, looking intently at me.
“I did not sleep last night. ”
“Nor I either. . . I was accusing you. . . perhaps groundlessly. But explain
yourself, I can forgive you everything”. . .
“Everything? ”. . .
“Everything. . . only speak the truth. . . and be quick. . . You see, I
have been thinking a good deal, trying to explain, to justify, your
behaviour. Perhaps you are afraid of opposition on the part of my
relations. . . that will not matter. When they learn”. . .
Her voice shook.
“I will win them over by entreaties. Or, is it your own position? . . .
But you know that I can sacrifice everything for the sake of the man I
love. . . Oh, answer quickly--have pity. . . You do not despise me--do you? ”
She seized my hand.
Princess Ligovski was walking in front of us with Vera’s husband, and
had not seen anything; but we might have been observed by some of the
invalids who were strolling about--the most inquisitive gossips of all
inquisitive folk--and I rapidly disengaged my hand from her passionate
pressure.
“I will tell you the whole truth,” I answered. “I will not justify
myself, nor explain my actions: I do not love you. ”
Her lips grew slightly pale.
“Leave me,” she said, in a scarcely audible voice.
I shrugged my shoulders, turned round, and walked away.
CHAPTER XVI. 25th June.
I SOMETIMES despise myself. . . Is not that the reason why I despise
others also? . . . I have grown incapable of noble impulses; I am afraid of
appearing ridiculous to myself. In my place, another would have offered
Princess Mary son coeur et sa fortune; but over me the word “marry” has
a kind of magical power. However passionately I love a woman, if she
only gives me to feel that I have to marry her--then farewell, love! My
heart is turned to stone, and nothing will warm it anew. I am prepared
for any other sacrifice but that; my life twenty times over, nay, my
honour I would stake on the fortune of a card. . . but my freedom I will
never sell. Why do I prize it so highly? What is there in it to me? For
what am I preparing myself? What do I hope for from the future? . . . In
truth, absolutely nothing. It is a kind of innate dread, an inexplicable
prejudice. . . There are people, you know, who have an unaccountable dread
of spiders, beetles, mice. . . Shall I confess it? When I was but a child,
a certain old woman told my fortune to my mother. She predicted for me
death from a wicked wife. I was profoundly struck by her words at the
time: an irresistible repugnance to marriage was born within my soul. . .
Meanwhile, something tells me that her prediction will be realized; I
will try, at all events, to arrange that it shall be realized as late in
life as possible.
CHAPTER XVII. 26th June.
YESTERDAY, the conjurer Apfelbaum arrived here. A long placard made its
appearance on the door of the restaurant, informing the most respected
public that the above-mentioned marvellous conjurer, acrobat, chemist,
and optician would have the honour to give a magnificent performance on
the present day at eight o’clock in the evening, in the saloon of the
Nobles’ Club (in other words, the restaurant); tickets--two rubles and a
half each.
Everyone intends to go and see the marvellous conjurer; even Princess
Ligovski has taken a ticket for herself, in spite of her daughter being
ill.
After dinner to-day, I walked past Vera’s windows; she was sitting by
herself on the balcony. A note fell at my feet:
“Come to me at ten o’clock this evening by the large staircase. My
husband has gone to Pyatigorsk and will not return before to-morrow
morning. My servants and maids will not be at home; I have distributed
tickets to all of them, and to the princess’s servants as well. I await
you; come without fail. ”
“Aha! ” I said to myself, “so then it has turned out at last as I thought
it would. ”
At eight o’clock I went to see the conjurer. The public assembled before
the stroke of nine. The performance began. On the back rows of chairs
I recognized Vera’s and Princess Ligovski’s menservants and maids. They
were all there, every single one. Grushnitski, with his lorgnette, was
sitting in the front row, and the conjurer had recourse to him every
time he needed a handkerchief, a watch, a ring and so forth.
As I was going out, I seemed to hear her weeping.
I wandered on foot about the environs of Mount Mashuk till evening,
fatigued myself terribly and, on arriving home, flung myself on my bed,
utterly exhausted.
Werner came to see me.
“Is it true,” he asked, “that you are going to marry Princess Mary? ”
“What? ”
“The whole town is saying so. All my patients are occupied with that
important piece of news; but you know what these patients are: they know
everything. ”
“This is one of Grushnitski’s tricks,” I said to myself.
“To prove the falsity of these rumours, doctor, I may mention, as a
secret, that I am moving to Kislovodsk to-morrow”. . .
“And Princess Mary, too? ”
“No, she remains here another week”. . .
“So you are not going to get married? ”. . .
“Doctor, doctor! Look at me! Am I in the least like a bridegroom, or any
such thing? ”
“I am not saying so. . . But you know there are occasions. . . ” he added,
with a crafty smile--“in which an honourable man is obliged to marry,
and there are mothers who, to say the least, do not prevent such
occasions. . . And so, as a friend, I should advise you to be more
cautious. The air of these parts is very dangerous. How many handsome
young men, worthy of a better fate, have I not seen departing from here
straight to the altar! . . . Would you believe me, they were even going to
find a wife for me! That is to say, one person was--a lady belonging
to this district, who had a very pale daughter. I had the misfortune to
tell her that the latter’s colour would be restored after wedlock, and
then with tears of gratitude she offered me her daughter’s hand and the
whole of her own fortune--fifty souls, [28] I think. But I replied that
I was unfit for such an honour. ”
Werner left, fully convinced that he had put me on my guard.
I gathered from his words that various ugly rumours were already being
spread about the town on the subject of Princess Mary and myself:
Grushnitski shall smart for this!
CHAPTER XIII. 18th June.
I HAVE been in Kislovodsk three days now. Every day I see Vera at the
well and out walking. In the morning, when I awake, I sit by my window
and direct my lorgnette at her balcony. She has already been dressed
long ago, and is waiting for the signal agreed upon. We meet, as though
unexpectedly, in the garden which slopes down from our houses to the
well. The life-giving mountain air has brought back her colour and her
strength. Not for nothing is Narzan called the “Spring of Heroes. ” The
inhabitants aver that the air of Kislovodsk predisposes the heart to
love and that all the romances which have had their beginning at the
foot of Mount Mashuk find their consummation here. And, in very
fact, everything here breathes of solitude; everything has an air of
secrecy--the thick shadows of the linden avenues, bending over the
torrent which falls, noisy and foaming, from flag to flag and cleaves
itself a way between the mountains now becoming clad with verdure--the
mist-filled, silent ravines, with their ramifications straggling away
in all directions--the freshness of the aromatic air, laden with
the fragrance of the tall southern grasses and the white acacia--the
never-ceasing, sweetly-slumberous babble of the cool brooks, which,
meeting at the end of the valley, flow along in friendly emulation, and
finally fling themselves into the Podkumok. On this side, the ravine is
wider and becomes converted into a verdant dell, through which winds
the dusty road. Every time I look at it, I seem to see a carriage coming
along and a rosy little face looking out of the carriage-window. Many
carriages have already driven by--but still there is no sign of that
particular one. The village which lies behind the fortress has become
populous. In the restaurant, built upon a hill a few paces distant from
my lodgings, lights are beginning to flash in the evening through the
double row of poplars; noise and the jingling of glasses resound till
late at night.
In no place are such quantities of Kakhetian wine and mineral waters
drunk as here.
“And many are willing to mix the two,
But that is a thing I never do. ”
Every day Grushnitski and his gang are to be found brawling in the inn,
and he has almost ceased to greet me.
He only arrived yesterday, and has already succeeded in quarrelling with
three old men who were going to take their places in the baths before
him.
Decidedly, his misfortunes are developing a warlike spirit within him.
CHAPTER XIV. 22nd June.
AT last they have arrived. I was sitting by the window when I heard the
clattering of their carriage. My heart throbbed. . . What does it mean?
Can it be that I am in love? . . . I am so stupidly constituted that such a
thing might be expected of me.
I dined at their house. Princess Ligovski looked at me with much
tenderness, and did not leave her daughter’s side. . . a bad sign! On the
other hand, Vera is jealous of me in regard to Princess Mary--however,
I have been striving for that good fortune. What will not a woman do in
order to chagrin her rival? I remember that once a woman loved me
simply because I was in love with another woman. There is nothing more
paradoxical than the female mind; it is difficult to convince a woman of
anything; they have to be led into convincing themselves. The order of
the proofs by which they demolish their prejudices is most original;
to learn their dialectic it is necessary to overthrow in your own mind
every scholastic rule of logic. For example, the usual way:
“This man loves me; but I am married: therefore I must not love him. ”
The woman’s way:
“I must not love him, because I am married; but he loves
me--therefore”. . .
A few dots here, because reason has no more to say. But, generally,
there is something to be said by the tongue, and the eyes, and, after
these, the heart--if there is such a thing.
What if these notes should one day meet a woman’s eye?
“Slander! ” she will exclaim indignantly.
Ever since poets have written and women have read them (for which the
poets should be most deeply grateful) women have been called angels so
many times that, in very truth, in their simplicity of soul, they have
believed the compliment, forgetting that, for money, the same poets have
glorified Nero as a demigod. . .
It would be unreasonable were I to speak of women with such malignity--I
who have loved nothing else in the world--I who have always been ready
to sacrifice for their sake ease, ambition, life itself. . . But, you see,
I am not endeavouring, in a fit of vexation and injured vanity, to pluck
from them the magic veil through which only an accustomed glance can
penetrate. No, all that I say about them is but the result of
“A mind which coldly hath observed,
A heart which bears the stamp of woe. ” [29]
Women ought to wish that all men knew them as well as I because I have
loved them a hundred times better since I have ceased to be afraid of
them and have comprehended their little weaknesses.
By the way: the other day, Werner compared women to the enchanted forest
of which Tasso tells in his “Jerusalem Delivered. ” [30]
“So soon as you approach,” he said, “from all directions terrors, such
as I pray Heaven may preserve us from, will take wing at you: duty,
pride, decorum, public opinion, ridicule, contempt. . . You must simply go
straight on without looking at them; gradually the monsters disappear,
and, before you, opens a bright and quiet glade, in the midst of which
blooms the green myrtle. On the other hand, woe to you if, at the first
steps, your heart trembles and you turn back! ”
CHAPTER XV. 24th June.
THIS evening has been fertile in events. About three versts from
Kislovodsk, in the gorge through which the Podkumok flows, there is
a cliff called the Ring. It is a naturally formed gate, rising upon
a lofty hill, and through it the setting sun throws its last flaming
glance upon the world. A numerous cavalcade set off thither to gaze at
the sunset through the rock-window. To tell the truth, not one of them
was thinking about the sun. I rode beside Princess Mary. On the way
home, we had to ford the Podkumok. Mountain streams, even the
smallest, are dangerous; especially so, because the bottom is a perfect
kaleidoscope: it changes every day owing to the pressure of the current;
where yesterday there was a rock, to-day there is a cavity. I took
Princess Mary’s horse by the bridle and led it into the water, which
came no higher than its knees. We began to move slowly in a slanting
direction against the current. It is a well-known fact that, in crossing
rapid streamlets, you should never look at the water, because, if you
do, your head begins to whirl directly. I forgot to warn Princess Mary
of that.
We had reached the middle and were right in the vortex, when suddenly
she reeled in her saddle.
“I feel ill! ” she said in a faint voice.
I bent over to her rapidly and threw my arm around her supple waist.
“Look up! ” I whispered. “It is nothing; just be brave! I am with you. ”
She grew better; she was about to disengage herself from my arm, but
I clasped her tender, soft figure in a still closer embrace; my cheek
almost touched hers, from which was wafted flame.
“What are you doing to me? . . . Oh, Heaven! ”. . .
I paid no attention to her alarm and confusion, and my lips touched her
tender cheek. She shuddered, but said nothing. We were riding behind the
others: nobody saw us.
When we made our way out on the bank, the horses were all put to the
trot. Princess Mary kept hers back; I remained beside her. It was
evident that my silence was making her uneasy, but I swore to myself
that I would not speak a single word--out of curiosity. I wanted to see
how she would extricate herself from that embarrassing position.
“Either you despise me, or you love me very much! ” she said at length,
and there were tears in her voice. “Perhaps you want to laugh at me, to
excite my soul and then to abandon me. . . That would be so base, so vile,
that the mere supposition. . . Oh, no! ” she added, in a voice of tender
trustfulness; “there is nothing in me which would preclude respect; is
it not so? Your presumptuous action. . . I must, I must forgive you
for it, because I permitted it. . . Answer, speak, I want to hear your
voice! ”. . .
There was such womanly impatience in her last words that, involuntarily,
I smiled; happily it was beginning to grow dusk. . . I made no answer.
“You are silent! ” she continued; “you wish, perhaps, that I should be
the first to tell you that I love you. ”. . .
I remained silent.
“Is that what you wish? ” she continued, turning rapidly towards me. . . .
There was something terrible in the determination of her glance and
voice.
“Why? ” I answered, shrugging my shoulders.
She struck her horse with her riding-whip and set off at full gallop
along the narrow, dangerous road. It all happened so quickly that I was
scarcely able to overtake her, and then only by the time she had joined
the rest of the company.
All the way home she was continually talking and laughing. There
was something feverish in her movements; not once did she look in my
direction. Everybody observed her unusual gaiety. Princess Ligovski
rejoiced inwardly as she looked at her daughter. However, the latter
simply has a fit of nerves: she will spend a sleepless night, and will
weep.
This thought affords me measureless delight: there are moments when I
understand the Vampire. . . And yet I am reputed to be a good fellow, and
I strive to earn that designation!
On dismounting, the ladies went into Princess Ligovski’s house.
I was
excited, and I galloped to the mountains in order to dispel the
thoughts which had thronged into my head. The dewy evening breathed an
intoxicating coolness. The moon was rising from behind the dark summits.
Each step of my unshod horse resounded hollowly in the silence of the
gorges. I watered the horse at the waterfall, and then, after greedily
inhaling once or twice the fresh air of the southern night.
I set off on my way back.
I rode through the village. The lights in the windows were beginning to
go out; the sentries on the fortress-rampart and the Cossacks in the
surrounding pickets were calling out in drawling tones to one another.
In one of the village houses, built at the edge of a ravine, I noticed
an extraordinary illumination. At times, discordant murmurs and shouting
could be heard, proving that a military carouse was in full swing. I
dismounted and crept up to the window. The shutter had not been made
fast, and I could see the banqueters and catch what they were saying.
They were talking about me.
The captain of dragoons, flushed with wine, struck the table with his
fist, demanding attention.
“Gentlemen! ” he said, “this won’t do! Pechorin must be taught a lesson!
These Petersburg fledglings always carry their heads high until they get
a slap in the face! He thinks that because he always wears clean gloves
and polished boots he is the only one who has ever lived in society.
And what a haughty smile! All the same, I am convinced that he is a
coward--yes, a coward! ”
“I think so too,” said Grushnitski. “He is fond of getting himself out
of trouble by pretending to be only having a joke. I once gave him such
a talking to that anyone else in his place would have cut me to pieces
on the spot. But Pechorin turned it all to the ridiculous side. I, of
course, did not call him out because that was his business, but he did
not care to have anything more to do with it. ”
“Grushnitski is angry with him for having captured Princess Mary from
him,” somebody said.
“That’s a new idea! It is true I did run after Princess Mary a little,
but I left off at once because I do not want to get married; and it is
against my rules to compromise a girl. ”
“Yes, I assure you that he is a coward of the first water, I mean
Pechorin, not Grushnitski--but Grushnitski is a fine fellow, and,
besides, he is my true friend! ” the captain of dragoons went on.
“Gentlemen! Nobody here stands up for him? Nobody? So much the better!
Would you like to put his courage to the test? It would be amusing”. . .
“We would; but how? ”
“Listen here, then: Grushnitski in particular is angry with
him--therefore to Grushnitski falls the chief part. He will pick a
quarrel over some silly trifle or other, and will challenge Pechorin
to a duel. . . Wait a bit; here is where the joke comes in. . . He will
challenge him to a duel; very well! The whole proceeding--challenge,
preparations, conditions--will be as solemn and awe-inspiring as
possible--I will see to that. I will be your second, my poor friend!
Very well! Only here is the rub; we will put no bullets in the pistols.
I can answer for it that Pechorin will turn coward--I will place them
six paces apart, devil take it! Are you agreed, gentlemen? ”
“Splendid idea! . . . Agreed! . . . And why not? ”. . . came from all sides.
“And you, Grushnitski? ”
Tremblingly I awaited Grushnitski’s answer. I was filled with cold rage
at the thought that, but for an accident, I might have made myself the
laughing-stock of those fools. If Grushnitski had not agreed, I should
have thrown myself upon his neck; but, after an interval of silence,
he rose from his place, extended his hand to the captain, and said very
gravely:
“Very well, I agree! ”
It would be difficult to describe the enthusiasm of that honourable
company.
I returned home, agitated by two different feelings. The first was
sorrow.
“Why do they all hate me? ” I thought--“why? Have I affronted anyone? No.
Can it be that I am one of those men the mere sight of whom is enough to
create animosity? ”
And I felt a venomous rage gradually filling my soul.
“Have a care, Mr. Grushnitski! ” I said, walking up and down the room:
“I am not to be jested with like this! You may pay dearly for the
approbation of your foolish comrades. I am not your toy! ”. . .
I got no sleep that night. By daybreak I was as yellow as an orange.
In the morning I met Princess Mary at the well.
“You are ill? ” she said, looking intently at me.
“I did not sleep last night. ”
“Nor I either. . . I was accusing you. . . perhaps groundlessly. But explain
yourself, I can forgive you everything”. . .
“Everything? ”. . .
“Everything. . . only speak the truth. . . and be quick. . . You see, I
have been thinking a good deal, trying to explain, to justify, your
behaviour. Perhaps you are afraid of opposition on the part of my
relations. . . that will not matter. When they learn”. . .
Her voice shook.
“I will win them over by entreaties. Or, is it your own position? . . .
But you know that I can sacrifice everything for the sake of the man I
love. . . Oh, answer quickly--have pity. . . You do not despise me--do you? ”
She seized my hand.
Princess Ligovski was walking in front of us with Vera’s husband, and
had not seen anything; but we might have been observed by some of the
invalids who were strolling about--the most inquisitive gossips of all
inquisitive folk--and I rapidly disengaged my hand from her passionate
pressure.
“I will tell you the whole truth,” I answered. “I will not justify
myself, nor explain my actions: I do not love you. ”
Her lips grew slightly pale.
“Leave me,” she said, in a scarcely audible voice.
I shrugged my shoulders, turned round, and walked away.
CHAPTER XVI. 25th June.
I SOMETIMES despise myself. . . Is not that the reason why I despise
others also? . . . I have grown incapable of noble impulses; I am afraid of
appearing ridiculous to myself. In my place, another would have offered
Princess Mary son coeur et sa fortune; but over me the word “marry” has
a kind of magical power. However passionately I love a woman, if she
only gives me to feel that I have to marry her--then farewell, love! My
heart is turned to stone, and nothing will warm it anew. I am prepared
for any other sacrifice but that; my life twenty times over, nay, my
honour I would stake on the fortune of a card. . . but my freedom I will
never sell. Why do I prize it so highly? What is there in it to me? For
what am I preparing myself? What do I hope for from the future? . . . In
truth, absolutely nothing. It is a kind of innate dread, an inexplicable
prejudice. . . There are people, you know, who have an unaccountable dread
of spiders, beetles, mice. . . Shall I confess it? When I was but a child,
a certain old woman told my fortune to my mother. She predicted for me
death from a wicked wife. I was profoundly struck by her words at the
time: an irresistible repugnance to marriage was born within my soul. . .
Meanwhile, something tells me that her prediction will be realized; I
will try, at all events, to arrange that it shall be realized as late in
life as possible.
CHAPTER XVII. 26th June.
YESTERDAY, the conjurer Apfelbaum arrived here. A long placard made its
appearance on the door of the restaurant, informing the most respected
public that the above-mentioned marvellous conjurer, acrobat, chemist,
and optician would have the honour to give a magnificent performance on
the present day at eight o’clock in the evening, in the saloon of the
Nobles’ Club (in other words, the restaurant); tickets--two rubles and a
half each.
Everyone intends to go and see the marvellous conjurer; even Princess
Ligovski has taken a ticket for herself, in spite of her daughter being
ill.
After dinner to-day, I walked past Vera’s windows; she was sitting by
herself on the balcony. A note fell at my feet:
“Come to me at ten o’clock this evening by the large staircase. My
husband has gone to Pyatigorsk and will not return before to-morrow
morning. My servants and maids will not be at home; I have distributed
tickets to all of them, and to the princess’s servants as well. I await
you; come without fail. ”
“Aha! ” I said to myself, “so then it has turned out at last as I thought
it would. ”
At eight o’clock I went to see the conjurer. The public assembled before
the stroke of nine. The performance began. On the back rows of chairs
I recognized Vera’s and Princess Ligovski’s menservants and maids. They
were all there, every single one. Grushnitski, with his lorgnette, was
sitting in the front row, and the conjurer had recourse to him every
time he needed a handkerchief, a watch, a ring and so forth.
