No More Learning

“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.

For some time past, Grushnitski has ceased to bow to me, and to-day
he has looked at me rather insolently once or twice. It will all be
remembered to him when we come to settle our scores.

Before ten o’clock had struck, I stood up and went out.

It was dark outside, pitch dark. Cold, heavy clouds were lying on the
summit of the surrounding mountains, and only at rare intervals did
the dying breeze rustle the tops of the poplars which surrounded
the restaurant. People were crowding at the windows. I went down the
mountain and, turning in under the gate, I hastened my pace. Suddenly it
seemed to me that somebody was following my steps. I stopped and looked
round. It was impossible to make out anything in the darkness. However,
out of caution, I walked round the house, as if taking a stroll. Passing
Princess Mary’s windows, I again heard steps behind me; a man wrapped in
a cloak ran by me. That rendered me uneasy, but I crept up to the flight
of steps, and hastily mounted the dark staircase. A door opened, and a
little hand seized mine. . .

“Nobody has seen you? ” said Vera in a whisper, clinging to me.

“Nobody. ”

“Now do you believe that I love you? Oh! I have long hesitated, long
tortured myself. . . But you can do anything you like with me. ”

Her heart was beating violently, her hands were cold as ice. She broke
out into complaints and jealous reproaches. She demanded that I should
confess everything to her, saying that she would bear my faithlessness
with submission, because her sole desire was that I should be happy. I
did not quite believe that, but I calmed her with oaths, promises and so
on.

“So you will not marry Mary? You do not love her? . . . But she thinks. . .
Do you know, she is madly in love with you, poor girl! ”. . .

*****

About two o’clock in the morning I opened the window and, tying two
shawls together, I let myself down from the upper balcony to the lower,
holding on by the pillar. A light was still burning in Princess Mary’s
room. Something drew me towards that window. The curtain was not quite
drawn, and I was able to cast a curious glance into the interior of the
room. Mary was sitting on her bed, her hands crossed upon her knees;
her thick hair was gathered up under a lace-frilled nightcap; her white
shoulders were covered by a large crimson kerchief, and her little feet
were hidden in a pair of many-coloured Persian slippers. She was sitting
quite still, her head sunk upon her breast; on a little table in front
of her was an open book; but her eyes, fixed and full of inexpressible
grief, seemed for the hundredth time to be skimming the same page whilst
her thoughts were far away.

At that moment somebody stirred behind a shrub. I leaped from the
balcony on to the sward. An invisible hand seized me by the shoulder.

“Aha! ” said a rough voice: “caught! . . . I’ll teach you to be entering
princesses’ rooms at night! ”

“Hold him fast! ” exclaimed another, springing out from a corner.

It was Grushnitski and the captain of dragoons.

I struck the latter on the head with my fist, knocked him off his feet,
and darted into the bushes. All the paths of the garden which covered
the slope opposite our houses were known to me.

“Thieves, guard! ”. . . they cried.

A gunshot rang out; a smoking wad fell almost at my feet.

Within a minute I was in my own room, undressed and in bed. My
manservant had only just locked the door when Grushnitski and the
captain began knocking for admission.

“Pechorin! Are you asleep? Are you there? ”. . . cried the captain.

“I am in bed,” I answered angrily.

“Get up! Thieves! . . . Circassians! ”. . .

“I have a cold,” I answered. “I am afraid of catching a chill. ”

They went away. I had gained no useful purpose by answering them: they
would have been looking for me in the garden for another hour or so.

Meanwhile the alarm became terrific. A Cossack galloped up from the
fortress. The commotion was general; Circassians were looked for in
every shrub--and of course none were found. Probably, however, a good
many people were left with the firm conviction that, if only more
courage and despatch had been shown by the garrison, at least a score of
brigands would have failed to get away with their lives.




CHAPTER XVIII. 27th June.

THIS morning, at the well, the sole topic of conversation was the
nocturnal attack by the Circassians. I drank the appointed number of
glasses of Narzan water, and, after sauntering a few times about the
long linden avenue, I met Vera’s husband, who had just arrived from
Pyatigorsk. He took my arm and we went to the restaurant for breakfast.
He was dreadfully uneasy about his wife.

“What a terrible fright she had last night,” he said. “Of course, it was
bound to happen just at the very time when I was absent. ”

We sat down to breakfast near the door leading into a corner-room in
which about a dozen young men were sitting. Grushnitski was amongst
them. For the second time destiny provided me with the opportunity of
overhearing a conversation which was to decide his fate. He did not
see me, and, consequently, it was impossible for me to suspect him of
design; but that only magnified his fault in my eyes.

“Is it possible, though, that they were really Circassians? ” somebody
said. “Did anyone see them? ”

“I will tell you the whole truth,” answered Grushnitski: “only please do
not betray me. This is how it was: yesterday, a certain man, whose name
I will not tell you, came up to me and told me that, at ten o’clock in
the evening, he had seen somebody creeping into the Ligovskis’ house. I
must observe that Princess Ligovski was here, and Princess Mary at home.
So he and I set off to wait beneath the windows and waylay the lucky
man. ”

I confess I was frightened, although my companion was very busily
engaged with his breakfast: he might have heard things which he would
have found rather displeasing, if Grushnitski had happened to guess the
truth; but, blinded by jealousy, the latter did not even suspect it.

“So, do you see? ” Grushnitski continued. “We set off, taking with us a
gun, loaded with blank cartridge, so as just to give him a fright.
We waited in the garden till two o’clock. At length--goodness knows,
indeed, where he appeared from, but he must have come out by the glass
door which is behind the pillar; it was not out of the window that he
came, because the window had remained unopened--at length, I say, we saw
someone getting down from the balcony. . . What do you think of Princess
Mary--eh? Well, I admit, it is hardly what you might expect from Moscow
ladies! After that what can you believe? We were going to seize him, but
he broke away and darted like a hare into the shrubs. Thereupon I fired
at him. ”

There was a general murmur of incredulity.