No More Learning

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. . . Yes, the staff-captain too; in
simple hearts the feeling for the beauty and grandeur of nature is a
hundred-fold stronger and more vivid than in us, ecstatic composers of
narratives in words and on paper.

“You have grown accustomed, I suppose, to these magnificent pictures! ” I
said.

“Yes, sir, you can even grow accustomed to the whistling of a bullet,
that is to say, accustomed to concealing the involuntary thumping of
your heart. ”

“I have heard, on the contrary, that many an old warrior actually finds
that music agreeable. ”

“Of course, if it comes to that, it is agreeable; but only just because
the heart beats more violently. Look! ” he added, pointing towards the
east. “What a country! ”

And, indeed, such a panorama I can hardly hope to see elsewhere. Beneath
us lay the Koishaur Valley, intersected by the Aragva and another stream
as if by two silver threads; a bluish mist was gliding along the valley,
fleeing into the neighbouring defiles from the warm rays of the morning.
To right and left the mountain crests, towering higher and higher,
intersected each other and stretched out, covered with snows and
thickets; in the distance were the same mountains, which now, however,
had the appearance of two cliffs, one like to the other. And all these
snows were burning in the crimson glow so merrily and so brightly that
it seemed as though one could live in such a place for ever. The sun was
scarcely visible behind the dark-blue mountain, which only a practised
eye could distinguish from a thunder-cloud; but above the sun was a
blood-red streak to which my companion directed particular attention.

“I told you,” he exclaimed, “that there would be dirty weather to-day!
We must make haste, or perhaps it will catch us on Mount Krestov. --Get
on! ” he shouted to the drivers.

Chains were put under the wheels in place of drags, so that they should
not slide, the drivers took the horses by the reins, and the descent
began. On the right was a cliff, on the left a precipice, so deep that
an entire village of Ossetes at the bottom looked like a swallow’s nest.
I shuddered, as the thought occurred to me that often in the depth of
night, on that very road, where two wagons could not pass, a courier
drives some ten times a year without climbing down from his rickety
vehicle. One of our drivers was a Russian peasant from Yaroslavl, the
other, an Ossete. The latter took out the leaders in good time and led
the shaft-horse by the reins, using every possible precaution--but
our heedless compatriot did not even climb down from his box! When I
remarked to him that he might put himself out a bit, at least in the
interests of my portmanteau, for which I had not the slightest desire to
clamber down into the abyss, he answered:

“Eh, master, with the help of Heaven we shall arrive as safe and sound
as the others; it’s not our first time, you know. ”

And he was right. We might just as easily have failed to arrive at
all; but arrive we did, for all that. And if people would only reason a
little more they would be convinced that life is not worth taking such a
deal of trouble about.

Perhaps, however, you would like to know the conclusion of the story
of Bela? In the first place, this is not a novel, but a collection of
travelling-notes, and, consequently, I cannot make the staff-captain
tell the story sooner than he actually proceeded to tell it. Therefore,
you must wait a bit, or, if you like, turn over a few pages. Though I do
not advise you to do the latter, because the crossing of Mount Krestov
(or, as the erudite Gamba calls it, le mont St. Christophe [15]) is
worthy of your curiosity.

Well, then, we descended Mount Gut into the Chertov Valley. . . There’s
a romantic designation for you! Already you have a vision of the evil
spirit’s nest amid the inaccessible cliffs--but you are out of your
reckoning there. The name “Chertov” is derived from the word cherta
(boundary-line) and not from chort (devil), because, at one time,
the valley marked the boundary of Georgia. We found it choked with
snow-drifts, which reminded us rather vividly of Saratov, Tambov, and
other charming localities of our fatherland.

“Look, there is Krestov! ” said the staff-captain, when we had descended
into the Chertov Valley, as he pointed out a hill covered with a shroud
of snow. Upon the summit stood out the black outline of a stone cross,
and past it led an all but imperceptible road which travellers use only
when the side-road is obstructed with snow. Our drivers, declaring that
no avalanches had yet fallen, spared the horses by conducting us round
the mountain.
At a turning we met four or five Ossetes, who offered
us their services; and, catching hold of the wheels, proceeded, with
a shout, to drag and hold up our cart. And, indeed, it is a dangerous
road; on the right were masses of snow hanging above us, and ready,
it seemed, at the first squall of wind to break off and drop into the
ravine; the narrow road was partly covered with snow, which, in many
places, gave way under our feet and, in others, was converted into ice
by the action of the sun by day and the frosts by night, so that the
horses kept falling, and it was with difficulty that we ourselves
made our way. On the left yawned a deep chasm, through which rolled a
torrent, now hiding beneath a crust of ice, now leaping and foaming
over the black rocks. In two hours we were barely able to double Mount
Krestov--two versts in two hours! Meanwhile the clouds had descended,
hail and snow fell; the wind, bursting into the ravines, howled and
whistled like Nightingale the Robber. [16] Soon the stone cross was
hidden in the mist, the billows of which, in ever denser and more
compact masses, rushed in from the east. . .

Concerning that stone cross, by the way, there exists the strange, but
widespread, tradition that it had been set up by the Emperor Peter the
First when travelling through the Caucasus. In the first place, however,
the Emperor went no farther than Daghestan; and, in the second place,
there is an inscription in large letters on the cross itself, to the
effect that it had been erected by order of General Ermolov, and that
too in the year 1824. Nevertheless, the tradition has taken such firm
root, in spite of the inscription, that really you do not know what to
believe; the more so, as it is not the custom to believe inscriptions.

To reach the station Kobi, we still had to descend about five versts,
across ice-covered rocks and plashy snow. The horses were exhausted;
we were freezing; the snowstorm droned with ever-increasing violence,
exactly like the storms of our own northern land, only its wild melodies
were sadder and more melancholy.

“O Exile,” I thought, “thou art weeping for thy wide, free steppes!
There mayest thou unfold thy cold wings, but here thou art stifled and
confined, like an eagle beating his wings, with a shriek, against the
grating of his iron cage! ”

“A bad look out,” said the staff-captain. “Look! There’s nothing to be
seen all round but mist and snow. At any moment we may tumble into an
abyss or stick fast in a cleft; and a little lower down, I dare say, the
Baidara has risen so high that there is no getting across it. Oh, this
Asia, I know it! Like people, like rivers! There’s no trusting them at
all! ”

The drivers, shouting and cursing, belaboured the horses, which
snorted, resisted obstinately, and refused to budge on any account,
notwithstanding the eloquence of the whips.

“Your honour,” one of the drivers said to me at length, “you see, we
will never reach Kobi to-day. Won’t you give orders to turn to the left
while we can? There is something black yonder on the slope--probably
huts. Travellers always stop there in bad weather, sir. They say,” he
added, pointing to the Ossetes, “that they will lead us there if you
will give them a tip. ”

“I know that, my friend, I know that without your telling me,” said
the staff-captain. “Oh, these beasts! They are delighted to seize any
pretext for extorting a tip! ”

“You must confess, however,” I said, “that we should be worse off
without them. ”

“Just so, just so,” he growled to himself. “I know them well--these
guides! They scent out by instinct a chance of taking advantage of
people. As if it was impossible to find the way without them! ”

Accordingly we turned aside to the left, and, somehow or other, after
a good deal of trouble, made our way to the wretched shelter, which
consisted of two huts built of stone slabs and rubble, surrounded by a
wall of the same material. Our ragged hosts received us with alacrity. I
learned afterwards that the Government supplies them with money and food
upon condition that they put up travellers who are overtaken by storm.



CHAPTER VIII

“ALL is for the best,” I said, sitting down close by the fire. “Now you
will finish telling me your story about Bela. I am certain that what you
have already told me was not the end of it. ”

“Why are you so certain? ” answered the staff-captain, winking and
smiling slyly.

“Because things don’t happen like that. A story with such an unusual
beginning must also have an unusual ending. ”

“You have guessed, of course”. . .

“I am very glad to hear it. ”

“It is all very well for you to be glad, but, indeed, it makes me
sad when I think of it. Bela was a splendid girl. In the end I grew
accustomed to her just as if she had been my own daughter, and she loved
me. I must tell you that I have no family. I have had no news of my
father and mother for twelve years or so, and, in my earlier days, I
never thought of providing myself with a wife--and now, you know, it
wouldn’t do. So I was glad to have found someone to spoil. She used to
sing to us or dance the Lezginka. [17]. . And what a dancer she was! I
have seen our own ladies in provincial society; and on one occasion,
sir, about twenty years ago, I was even in the Nobles’ Club at
Moscow--but was there a woman to be compared with her? Not one! Grigori
Aleksandrovich dressed her up like a doll, petted and pampered her, and
it was simply astonishing to see how pretty she grew while she lived
with us. The sunburn disappeared from her face and hands, and a rosy
colour came into her cheeks. . . What a merry girl she was! Always making
fun of me, the little rogue! . . . Heaven forgive her! ”

“And when you told her of her father’s death? ”

“We kept it a secret from her for a long time, until she had grown
accustomed to her position; and then, when she was told, she cried for a
day or two and forgot all about it.

“For four months or so everything went on as well as it possibly
could. Grigori Aleksandrovich, as I think I have already mentioned, was
passionately fond of hunting; he was always craving to be off into the
forest after boars or wild goats--but now it would be as much as he
would do to go beyond the fortress rampart. All at once, however, I saw
that he was beginning again to have fits of abstraction, walking about
his room with his hands clasped behind his back. One day after that,
without telling anyone, he set off shooting. During the whole morning
he was not to be seen; then the same thing happened another time, and so
on--oftener and oftener. . .

“‘This looks bad! ’ I said to myself. ‘Something must have come between
them! ’

“One morning I paid them a visit--I can see it all in my mind’s eye, as
if it was happening now. Bela was sitting on the bed, wearing a black
silk jacket, and looking rather pale and so sad that I was alarmed.

“‘Where is Pechorin? ’ I asked.

“‘Hunting. ’

“‘When did he go--to-day? ’

“‘She was silent, as if she found a difficulty in answering.

“‘No, he has been gone since yesterday,’ she said at length, with a
heavy sigh.

“‘Surely nothing has happened to him! ’

“‘Yesterday I thought and thought the whole day,’ she answered through
her tears; ‘I imagined all sorts of misfortunes. At one time I fancied
that he had been wounded by a wild boar, at another time, that he had
been carried off by a Chechene into the mountains. . . But, now, I have
come to think that he no longer loves me. ’

“‘In truth, my dear girl, you could not have imagined anything worse! ’

“She burst out crying; then, proudly raising her head, she wiped away
the tears and continued:

“‘If he does not love me, then who prevents him sending me home? I am
not putting any constraint on him. But, if things go on like this, I
will go away myself--I am not a slave, I am a prince’s daughter! ’. . .

“I tried to talk her over.

“‘Listen, Bela. You see it is impossible for him to stop in here with
you for ever, as if he was sewn on to your petticoat. He is a young man
and fond of hunting. Off he’ll go, but you will find that he will come
back; and, if you are going to be unhappy, you will soon make him tired
of you. ’

“‘True, true! ’ she said. ‘I will be merry. ’

“And with a burst of laughter, she seized her tambourine, began to sing,
dance, and gambol around me. But that did not last long either; she fell
upon the bed again and buried her face in her hands.

“What could I do with her? You know I have never been accustomed to
the society of women. I thought and thought how to cheer her up, but
couldn’t hit on anything. For some time both of us remained silent. . . A
most unpleasant situation, sir!

“At length I said to her:

“‘Would you like us to go and take a walk on the rampart? The weather is
splendid. ’

“This was in September, and indeed it was a wonderful day, bright and
not too hot. The mountains could be seen as clearly as though they were
but a hand’s-breadth away. We went, and walked in silence to and fro
along the rampart of the fortress. At length she sat down on the sward,
and I sat beside her. In truth, now, it is funny to think of it all! I
used to run after her just like a kind of children’s nurse!

“Our fortress was situated in a lofty position, and the view from the
rampart was superb. On one side, the wide clearing, seamed by a few
clefts, was bounded by the forest which stretched out to the very ridge
of the mountains. Here and there, on the clearing, villages were to be
seen sending forth their smoke, and there were droves of horses roaming
about. On the other side flowed a tiny stream, and close to its banks
came the dense undergrowth which covered the flinty heights joining the
principal chain of the Caucasus. We sat in a corner of the bastion, so
that we could see everything on both sides. Suddenly I perceived
someone on a grey horse riding out of the forest; nearer and nearer he
approached until finally he stopped on the far side of the river, about
a hundred fathoms from us, and began to wheel his horse round and round
like one possessed. ‘Strange! ’ I thought.

“‘Look, look, Bela,’ I said, ‘you’ve got young eyes--what sort of a
horseman is that? Who is it he has come to amuse? ’. . .

“‘It is Kazbich! ’ she exclaimed after a glance.

“‘Ah, the robber! Come to laugh at us, has he? ’

“I looked closely, and sure enough it was Kazbich, with his swarthy
face, and as ragged and dirty as ever.

“‘It is my father’s horse! ’ said Bela, seizing my arm.

“She was trembling like a leaf and her eyes were sparkling.

“‘Aha! ’ I said to myself. ‘There is robber’s blood in your veins still,
my dear! ’

“‘Come here,’ I said to the sentry. ‘Look to your gun and unhorse that
gallant for me--and you shall have a silver ruble. ’

“‘Very well, your honour, only he won’t keep still. ’

“‘Tell him to! ’ I said, with a laugh.

“‘Hey, friend! ’ cried the sentry, waving his hand. ‘Wait a bit. What are
you spinning round like a humming-top for? ’

“Kazbich halted and gave ear to the sentry--probably thinking that we
were going to parley with him. Quite the contrary! . . . My grenadier took
aim. . . Bang! . . . Missed! . . . Just as the powder flashed in the pan Kazbich
jogged his horse, which gave a bound to one side. He stood up in his
stirrups, shouted something in his own language, made a threatening
gesture with his whip--and was off.

“‘Aren’t you ashamed of yourself? ’ I said to the sentry.

“‘He has gone away to die, your honour,’ he answered. ‘There’s no
killing a man of that cursed race at one stroke. ’

“A quarter of an hour later Pechorin returned from hunting. Bela
threw herself on his neck without a single complaint, without a single
reproach for his lengthy absence! . . . Even I was angry with him by this
time!

“‘Good heavens! ’ I said; ‘why, I tell you, Kazbich was here on the other
side of the river just a moment ago, and we shot at him. How easily
you might have run up against him, you know! These mountaineers are a
vindictive race! Do you suppose he does not guess that you gave Azamat
some help? And I wager that he recognised Bela to-day! I know he was
desperately fond of her a year ago--he told me so himself--and, if he
had had any hope of getting together a proper bridegroom’s gift, he
would certainly have sought her in marriage. ’

“At this Pechorin became thoughtful.

“‘Yes,’ he answered. ‘We must be more cautious--Bela, from this day
forth you mustn’t walk on the rampart any more.