No More Learning

“Of course! Many a one. ”. . .

Hereupon he began to tug at his left moustache, let his head sink on
to his breast, and became lost in thought. I had a very great mind to
extract some little anecdote out of him--a desire natural to all who
travel and make notes.

Meanwhile, tea was ready. I took two travelling-tumblers out of my
portmanteau, and, filling one of them, set it before the staff-captain.
He sipped his tea and said, as if speaking to himself, “Yes, many a
one! ” This exclamation gave me great hopes. Your old Caucasian officer
loves, I know, to talk and yarn a bit; he so rarely succeeds in getting
a chance to do so. It may be his fate to be quartered five years or so
with his company in some out-of-the-way place, and during the whole
of that time he will not hear “good morning” from a soul (because the
sergeant says “good health”). And, indeed, he would have good cause
to wax loquacious--with a wild and interesting people all around him,
danger to be faced every day, and many a marvellous incident happening.
It is in circumstances like this that we involuntarily complain that so
few of our countrymen take notes.

“Would you care to put some rum in your tea? ” I said to my companion. “I
have some white rum with me--from Tiflis; and the weather is cold now. ”

“No, thank you, sir; I don’t drink. ”

“Really? ”

“Just so. I have sworn off drinking. Once, you know, when I was a
sub-lieutenant, some of us had a drop too much. That very night there
was an alarm, and out we went to the front, half seas over! We did catch
it, I can tell you, when Aleksei Petrovich came to hear about us!
Heaven save us, what a rage he was in! He was within an ace of having us
court-martialled. That’s just how things happen! You might easily spend
a whole year without seeing a soul; but just go and have a drop and
you’re a lost man! ”

On hearing this I almost lost hope.

“Take the Circassians, now,” he continued; “once let them drink their
fill of buza [6] at a wedding or a funeral, and out will come their
knives. On one occasion I had some difficulty in getting away with a
whole skin, and yet it was at the house of a ‘friendly’ [7] prince,
where I was a guest, that the affair happened. ”

“How was that? ” I asked.

“Here, I’ll tell you. ”. . .

He filled his pipe, drew in the smoke, and began his story.



CHAPTER II


“YOU see, sir,” said the staff-captain, “I was quartered, at the time,
with a company in a fortress beyond the Terek--getting on for five years
ago now. One autumn day, a transport arrived with provisions, in charge
of an officer, a young man of about twenty-five. He reported himself to
me in full uniform, and announced that he had been ordered to remain in
the fortress with me. He was so very elegant, his complexion so nice and
white, his uniform so brand new, that I immediately guessed that he had
not been long with our army in the Caucasus.

“‘I suppose you have been transferred from Russia? ’ I asked.

“‘Exactly, captain,’ he answered.

“I took him by the hand and said:

“‘I’m delighted to see you--delighted! It will be a bit dull for you. . .
but there, we will live together like a couple of friends. But, please,
call me simply “Maksim Maksimych”; and, tell me, what is this full
uniform for? Just wear your forage-cap whenever you come to me! ’

“Quarters were assigned to him and he settled down in the fortress. ”

“What was his name? ” I asked Maksim Maksimych.

“His name was Grigori Aleksandrovich Pechorin. He was a splendid fellow,
I can assure you, but a little peculiar. Why, to give you an instance,
one time he would stay out hunting the whole day, in the rain and cold;
the others would all be frozen through and tired out, but he wouldn’t
mind either cold or fatigue. Then, another time, he would be sitting in
his own room, and, if there was a breath of wind, he would declare that
he had caught cold; if the shutters rattled against the window he
would start and turn pale: yet I myself have seen him attack a boar
single-handed. Often enough you couldn’t drag a word out of him for
hours together; but then, on the other hand, sometimes, when he started
telling stories, you would split your sides with laughing. Yes, sir,
a very eccentric man; and he must have been wealthy too. What a lot of
expensive trinkets he had! ”. . .

“Did he stay there long with you? ” I went on to ask.

“Yes, about a year. And, for that very reason, it was a memorable year
to me. He gave me a great deal of trouble--but there, let bygones be
bygones! . . . You see, it is true enough, there are people like that,
fated from birth to have all sorts of strange things happening to them! ”

“Strange? ” I exclaimed, with an air of curiosity, as I poured out some
tea.



CHAPTER III


“WELL, then, I’ll tell you,” said Maksim Maksimych. “About six versts
from the fortress there lived a certain ‘friendly’ prince. His son, a
brat of about fifteen, was accustomed to ride over to visit us. Not a
day passed but he would come, now for one thing, now for another. And,
indeed, Grigori Aleksandrovich and I spoiled him. What a dare-devil the
boy was! Up to anything, picking up a cap at full gallop, or bringing
things down with his gun! He had one bad quality; he was terribly
greedy for money. Once, for the fun of the thing, Grigori Aleksandrovich
promised to give him a ducat if he would steal the best he-goat from his
father’s herd for him; and, what do you think? The very next night he
came lugging it in by the horns! At times we used to take it into our
heads to tease him, and then his eyes would become bloodshot and his
hand would fly to his dagger immediately.

“‘You’ll be losing your life if you are not careful, Azamat,’ I would
say to him. ‘That hot head of yours will get you into trouble. ’

“On one occasion, the old prince himself came to invite us to the
wedding of his eldest daughter; and, as we were guest-friends with him,
it was impossible to decline, Tartar though he was. We set off. In the
village we were met by a number of dogs, all barking loudly. The women,
when they saw us coming, hid themselves, but those whose faces we were
able to get a view of were far from being beauties.

“‘I had a much better opinion of the Circassian women,’ remarked Grigori
Aleksandrovich.

“‘Wait a bit! ’ I answered, with a smile; I had my own views on the
subject.

“A number of people had already gathered at the prince’s hut. It is the
custom of the Asiatics, you know, to invite all and sundry to a
wedding. We were received with every mark of honour and conducted to the
guest-chamber. All the same, I did not forget quietly to mark where our
horses were put, in case anything unforeseen should happen. ”

“How are weddings celebrated amongst them? ” I asked the staff-captain.

“Oh, in the usual way. First of all, the Mullah reads them something
out of the Koran; then gifts are bestowed upon the young couple and all
their relations; the next thing is eating and drinking of buza, then the
dance on horseback; and there is always some ragamuffin, bedaubed with
grease, bestriding a wretched, lame jade, and grimacing, buffooning, and
making the worshipful company laugh. Finally, when darkness falls, they
proceed to hold what we should call a ball in the guest-chamber. A poor,
old greybeard strums on a three-stringed instrument--I forget what they
call it, but anyhow, it is something in the nature of our balalaika. [8]
The girls and young children set themselves in two ranks, one opposite
the other, and clap their hands and sing. Then a girl and a man come out
into the centre and begin to chant verses to each other--whatever comes
into their heads--and the rest join in as a chorus. Pechorin and I
sat in the place of honour. All at once up came our host’s youngest
daughter, a girl of about sixteen, and chanted to Pechorin--how shall I
put it? --something in the nature of a compliment. ”. . .

“What was it she sang--do you remember? ”

“It went like this, I fancy: ‘Handsome, they say, are our young
horsemen, and the tunics they wear are garnished with silver; but
handsomer still is the young Russian officer, and the lace on his tunic
is wrought of gold. Like a poplar amongst them he stands, but in gardens
of ours such trees will grow not nor bloom! ’

“Pechorin rose, bowed to her, put his hand to his forehead and heart,
and asked me to answer her. I know their language well, and I translated
his reply.

“When she had left us I whispered to Grigori Aleksandrovich:

“‘Well, now, what do you think of her? ’

“‘Charming! ’ he replied. ‘What is her name? ’

“‘Her name is Bela,’ I answered.

“And a beautiful girl she was indeed; her figure was tall and slender,
her eyes black as those of a mountain chamois, and they fairly looked
into your soul. Pechorin, deep in thought, kept his gaze fixed upon her,
and she, for her part, stole glances at him often enough from under her
lashes. Pechorin, however, was not the only one who was admiring the
pretty princess; another pair of eyes, fixed and fiery, were gazing at
her from the corner of the room. I took a good look at their owner, and
recognised my old acquaintance Kazbich, who, you must know, was neither
exactly ‘friendly’ nor yet the other thing. He was an object of much
suspicion, although he had never actually been caught at any knavery. He
used to bring rams to our fortress and sell them cheaply; only he never
would haggle; whatever he demanded at first you had to give. He
would have his throat cut rather than come down in price. He had the
reputation of being fond of roaming on the far side of the Kuban with
the Abreks; and, to tell the truth, he had a regular thief’s visage. A
little, wizened, broad-shouldered fellow he was--but smart, I can tell
you, smart as the very devil! His tunic was always worn out and
patched, but his weapons were mounted in silver. His horse was renowned
throughout Kabardia--and, indeed, a better one it would be impossible
to imagine! Not without good reason did all the other horsemen envy
Kazbich, and on more than one occasion they had attempted to steal the
horse, but they had never succeeded. I seem to see the animal before
me now--black as coal, with legs like bow-strings and eyes as fine as
Bela’s! How strong he was too! He would gallop as much as fifty versts
at a stretch! And he was well trained besides--he would trot behind his
master like a dog, and actually knew his voice! Kazbich never used to
tether him either--just the very horse for a robber! . . .

“On that evening Kazbich was more sullen than ever, and I noticed that
he was wearing a coat of mail under his tunic. ‘He hasn’t got that coat
of mail on for nothing,’ I thought. ‘He has some plot in his head, I’ll
be bound! ’

“It grew oppressively hot in the hut, and I went out into the air
to cool myself. Night had fallen upon the mountains, and a mist was
beginning to creep along the gorges.

“It occurred to me to pop in under the shed where our horses were
standing, to see whether they had their fodder; and, besides, it is
never any harm to take precautions. My horse was a splendid one too, and
more than one Kabardian had already cast fond glances at it, repeating
at the same time: ‘Yakshi tkhe chok yakshi. ’ [9]

“I stole along the fence. Suddenly I heard voices, one of which I
immediately recognised.

“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?