A Hero of Our Time Read online

  CHAPTER III

  "WELL, then, I'll tell you," said Maksim Maksimych. "About six verstsfrom the fortress there lived a certain 'friendly' prince. His son, abrat of about fifteen, was accustomed to ride over to visit us. Not aday passed but he would come, now for one thing, now for another. And,indeed, Grigori Aleksandrovich and I spoiled him. What a dare-devil theboy was! Up to anything, picking up a cap at full gallop, or bringingthings down with his gun! He had one bad quality; he was terriblygreedy for money. Once, for the fun of the thing, Grigori Aleksandrovichpromised to give him a ducat if he would steal the best he-goat from hisfather's herd for him; and, what do you think? The very next night hecame lugging it in by the horns! At times we used to take it into ourheads to tease him, and then his eyes would become bloodshot and hishand would fly to his dagger immediately.

  "'You'll be losing your life if you are not careful, Azamat,' I wouldsay to him. 'That hot head of yours will get you into trouble.'

  "On one occasion, the old prince himself came to invite us to thewedding 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 thevillage 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 wereable to get a view of were far from being beauties.

  "'I had a much better opinion of the Circassian women,' remarked GrigoriAleksandrovich.

  "'Wait a bit!' I answered, with a smile; I had my own views on thesubject.

  "A number of people had already gathered at the prince's hut. It is thecustom of the Asiatics, you know, to invite all and sundry to awedding. We were received with every mark of honour and conducted to theguest-chamber. All the same, I did not forget quietly to mark where ourhorses 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 somethingout of the Koran; then gifts are bestowed upon the young couple and alltheir relations; the next thing is eating and drinking of buza, then thedance on horseback; and there is always some ragamuffin, bedaubed withgrease, bestriding a wretched, lame jade, and grimacing, buffooning, andmaking the worshipful company laugh. Finally, when darkness falls, theyproceed 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 theycall it, but anyhow, it is something in the nature of our balalaika. [8]The girls and young children set themselves in two ranks, one oppositethe other, and clap their hands and sing. Then a girl and a man come outinto the centre and begin to chant verses to each other--whatever comesinto their heads--and the rest join in as a chorus. Pechorin and Isat in the place of honour. All at once up came our host's youngestdaughter, a girl of about sixteen, and chanted to Pechorin--how shall Iput 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 younghorsemen, and the tunics they wear are garnished with silver; buthandsomer still is the young Russian officer, and the lace on his tunicis wrought of gold. Like a poplar amongst them he stands, but in gardensof 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 translatedhis 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 lookedinto 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 herlashes. Pechorin, however, was not the only one who was admiring thepretty princess; another pair of eyes, fixed and fiery, were gazing ather from the corner of the room. I took a good look at their owner, andrecognised my old acquaintance Kazbich, who, you must know, was neitherexactly 'friendly' nor yet the other thing. He was an object of muchsuspicion, although he had never actually been caught at any knavery. Heused to bring rams to our fortress and sell them cheaply; only he neverwould haggle; whatever he demanded at first you had to give. Hewould have his throat cut rather than come down in price. He had thereputation of being fond of roaming on the far side of the Kuban withthe Abreks; and, to tell the truth, he had a regular thief's visage. Alittle, wizened, broad-shouldered fellow he was--but smart, I can tellyou, smart as the very devil! His tunic was always worn out andpatched, but his weapons were mounted in silver. His horse was renownedthroughout Kabardia--and, indeed, a better one it would be impossibleto imagine! Not without good reason did all the other horsemen envyKazbich, and on more than one occasion they had attempted to steal thehorse, but they had never succeeded. I seem to see the animal beforeme now--black as coal, with legs like bow-strings and eyes as fine asBela's! How strong he was too! He would gallop as much as fifty verstsat a stretch! And he was well trained besides--he would trot behind hismaster like a dog, and actually knew his voice! Kazbich never used totether him either--just the very horse for a robber!...

  "On that evening Kazbich was more sullen than ever, and I noticed thathe was wearing a coat of mail under his tunic. 'He hasn't got that coatof mail on for nothing,' I thought. 'He has some plot in his head, I'llbe bound!'

  "It grew oppressively hot in the hut, and I went out into the airto cool myself. Night had fallen upon the mountains, and a mist wasbeginning to creep along the gorges.

  "It occurred to me to pop in under the shed where our horses werestanding, to see whether they had their fodder; and, besides, it isnever any harm to take precautions. My horse was a splendid one too, andmore than one Kabardian had already cast fond glances at it, repeatingat the same time: 'Yakshi tkhe chok yakshi.' [9]

  "I stole along the fence. Suddenly I heard voices, one of which Iimmediately recognised.

  "It was that of the young pickle, Azamat, our host's son. The otherperson spoke less and in a quieter tone.

  "'What are they discussing there?' I wondered. 'Surely it can't bemy horse!' I squatted down beside the fence and proceeded to play theeavesdropper, trying not to let slip a single word. At times the noiseof songs and the buzz of voices, escaping from the hut, drowned theconversation which I was finding interesting.

  "'That's a splendid horse of yours,' Azamat was saying. 'If I weremaster of a house of my own and had a stud of three hundred mares, Iwould give half of it for your galloper, Kazbich!'

  "'Aha! Kazbich!' I said to myself, and I called to mind the coat ofmail.

  "'Yes,' replied Kazbich, after an interval of silence. 'There is notsuch another to be found in all Kabardia. Once--it was on the other sideof the Terek--I had ridden with the Abreks to seize the Russian herds.We had no luck, so we scattered in different directions. Four Cossacksdashed after me. I could actually hear the cries of the giaours behindme, and in front of me there was a dense forest. I crouched down in thesaddle, 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 amongthe branches; the sharp thorns tore my clothing, the dead boughs of thecork-elms struck against my face! My horse leaped over tree-trunks andburst his way through bushes with his chest! It would have beenbetter for me to have abandoned him at the outskirts of the forest andconcealed myself in it afoot, but it was a pity to part with him--andthe Prophet rewarded me. A few bullets whistled over my head. I couldnow hear the Cossacks, who had dismounted, running upon my tracks.Suddenly a deep gully opened before me. My galloper took thought--andleaped. His hind hoofs slipped back off the opposite bank, and heremained hanging by his fore-feet. I dropped the bridle and threw myselfinto the hollow, thereby saving my horse, which jumped out. The Cossackssaw 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 themrushing to catch my horse. My heart bled within me. I crept along thehollow through the thick grass--then I looked around: it was the end ofthe forest. A few Cossacks were riding out from it on to the clearing,and there was my Karagyoz [10] galloping straight towards them. With ashout they all dashed forward. For a long, long time they pursued him,and one of them, in particular, was once or twice almost successful inthrowing a lasso over his neck.

  "I trembled, dropped my eyes, and began to pray. After a few momentsI looked up again, and there was my Karagyoz flying along, his tailwaving--free as the wind; and the giaours, on their jaded horses, weretrailing 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 horsetrotting along the bank of the hollow, snorting, neighing, and beatingthe 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 itall 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 isafraid 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 myfather's best rifle for you, or his sabre--just as you like--and hissabre is a genuine Gurda; [12] you have only to lay the edge againstyour hand, and it will cut you; a coat of mail like yours is nothingagainst it.'

  "Kazbich remained silent.

  "'The first time I saw your horse,' continued Azamat, 'when he waswheeling and leaping under you, his nostrils distended, and the flintsflying in showers from under his hoofs, something I could not understandtook place within my soul; and since that time I have been weary ofeverything. I have looked with disdain on my father's best gallopers; Ihave been ashamed to be seen on them, and yearning has taken possessionof me. In my anguish I have spent whole days on the cliffs, and, everyminute, my thoughts have kept turning to your black galloper with hisgraceful 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 shalldie, Kazbich, if you will not sell him to me!' said Azamat, withtrembling voice.

  "I could hear him burst out weeping, and I must tell you that Azamat wasa very stubborn lad, and that not for anything could tears be wrung fromhim, 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 mymind for anything. If you like, I will steal my sister for you! How shedances! 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 torrentflows; I will go by with her to the neighbouring village--and she isyours. Surely Bela is worth your galloper!'

  "Kazbich remained silent for a long, long time. At length, instead ofanswering, 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 tohim. Finally, Kazbich interrupted him impatiently:

  "'Begone, you crazy brat! How should you think to ride on my horse? Inthree 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 rangagainst the coat of mail. A powerful arm thrust him away, and he struckthe 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 theback courtyard. In a couple of minutes there was a terrible uproar inthe hut. What had happened was this: Azamat had rushed in, with histunic torn, saying that Kazbich was going to murder him. All sprang out,seized their guns, and the fun began! Noise--shouts--shots! But by thistime Kazbich was in the saddle, and, wheeling among the crowd along thestreet, defended himself like a madman, brandishing his sabre.

  "'It is a bad thing to interfere in other people's quarrels,' I said toGrigori Aleksandrovich, taking him by the arm. 'Wouldn't it be betterfor 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 alwaysso with these Asiatics. Once let them get drunk on buza, and there'scertain to be bloodshed.'

  "We mounted and galloped home."