A Hero of Our Time

by Mikhail Iurevich Lermontov

  BOOK II MAKSIM MAKSIMYCH

  AFTER parting with Maksim Maksimych, I galloped briskly through thegorges of the Terek and Darial, breakfasted in Kazbek, drank tea inLars, and arrived at Vladikavkaz in time for supper. I spare you adescription of the mountains, as well as exclamations which convey nomeaning, and word-paintings which convey no image--especially tothose who have never been in the Caucasus. I also omit statisticalobservations, which I am quite sure nobody would read.

  I put up at the inn which is frequented by all who travel in thoseparts, and where, by the way, there is no one you can order to roastyour pheasant and cook your cabbage-soup, because the three veteranswho have charge of the inn are either so stupid, or so drunk, that it isimpossible to knock any sense at all out of them.

  I was informed that I should have to stay there three days longer,because the "Adventure" had not yet arrived from Ekaterinograd andconsequently could not start on the return journey. What a misadventure![18]... But a bad pun is no consolation to a Russian, and, for the sakeof something to occupy my thoughts, I took it into my head to write downthe story about Bela, which I had heard from Maksim Maksimych--neverimagining that it would be the first link in a long chain of novels: yousee how an insignificant event has sometimes dire results!... Perhaps,however, you do not know what the "Adventure" is? It is aconvoy--composed of half a company of infantry, with a cannon--whichescorts baggage-trains through Kabardia from Vladikavkaz toEkaterinograd.

  The first day I found the time hang on my hands dreadfully. Early nextmorning a vehicle drove into the courtyard... Aha! Maksim Maksimych!...We met like a couple of old friends. I offered to share my own room withhim, and he accepted my hospitality without standing upon ceremony; heeven clapped me on the shoulder and puckered up his mouth by way of asmile--a queer fellow, that!...

  Maksim Maksimych was profoundly versed in the culinary art. He roastedthe pheasant astonishingly well and basted it successfully with cucumbersauce. I was obliged to acknowledge that, but for him, I should have hadto remain on a dry-food diet. A bottle of Kakhetian wine helped us toforget the modest number of dishes--of which there was one, all told.Then we lit our pipes, took our chairs, and sat down--I by the window,and he by the stove, in which a fire had been lighted because the daywas damp and cold. We remained silent. What had we to talk about? He hadalready told me all that was of interest about himself and I had nothingto relate. I looked out of the window. Here and there, behind the trees,I caught glimpses of a number of poor, low houses straggling along thebank of the Terek, which flowed seaward in an ever-widening stream;farther off rose the dark-blue, jagged wall of the mountains, behindwhich Mount Kazbek gazed forth in his highpriest's hat of white. I tooka mental farewell of them; I felt sorry to leave them...

  Thus we sat for a considerable time. The sun was sinking behind the coldsummits and a whitish mist was beginning to spread over the valleys,when the silence was broken by the jingling of the bell of atravelling-carriage and the shouting of drivers in the street. A fewvehicles, accompanied by dirty Armenians, drove into the courtyard ofthe inn, and behind them came an empty travelling-carriage. Its lightmovement, comfortable arrangement, and elegant appearance gave it a kindof foreign stamp. Behind it walked a man with large moustaches. He waswearing a Hungarian jacket and was rather well dressed for a manservant.From the bold manner in which he shook the ashes out of his pipe andshouted at the coachman it was impossible to mistake his calling. He wasobviously the spoiled servant of an indolent master--something in thenature of a Russian Figaro.

  "Tell me, my good man," I called to him out of the window. "What isit?--Has the 'Adventure' arrived, eh?"

  He gave me a rather insolent glance, straightened his cravat, and turnedaway. An Armenian, who was walking near him, smiled and answered forhim that the "Adventure" had, in fact, arrived, and would start on thereturn journey the following morning.

  "Thank heavens!" said Maksim Maksimych, who had come up to the window atthat moment. "What a wonderful carriage!" he added; "probably it belongsto some official who is going to Tiflis for a judicial inquiry. You cansee that he is unacquainted with our little mountains! No, my friend,you're not serious! They are not for the like of you; why, they wouldshake even an English carriage to bits!--But who could it be? Let us goand find out."

  We went out into the corridor, at the end of which there was an opendoor leading into a side room. The manservant and a driver were draggingportmanteaux into the room.

  "I say, my man!" the staff-captain asked him: "Whose is that marvellouscarriage?--Eh?--A beautiful carriage!"

  Without turning round the manservant growled something to himself as heundid a portmanteau. Maksim Maksimych grew angry.

  "I am speaking to you, my friend!" he said, touching the uncivil fellowon the shoulder.

  "Whose carriage?--My master's."

  "And who is your master?"

  "Pechorin--"

  "What did you say? What? Pechorin?--Great Heavens!... Did he not servein the Caucasus?" exclaimed Maksim Maksimych, plucking me by the sleeve.His eyes were sparkling with joy.

  "Yes, he served there, I think--but I have not been with him long."

  "Well! Just so!... Just so!... Grigori Aleksandrovich?... that is hisname, of course? Your master and I were friends," he added, giving themanservant a friendly clap on the shoulder with such force as to causehim to stagger.

  "Excuse me, sir, you are hindering me," said the latter, frowning.

  "What a fellow you are, my friend! Why, don't you know, your master andI were bosom friends, and lived together?... But where has he put up?"

  The servant intimated that Pechorin had stayed to take supper and passthe night at Colonel N----'s.

  "But won't he be looking in here in the evening?" said Maksim Maksimych."Or, you, my man, won't you be going over to him for something?... Ifyou do, tell him that Maksim Maksimych is here; just say that--he'llknow!--I'll give you half a ruble for a tip!"

  The manservant made a scornful face on hearing such a modest promise,but he assured Maksim Maksimych that he would execute his commission.

  "He'll be sure to come running up directly!" said Maksim Maksimych, withan air of triumph. "I will go outside the gate and wait for him! Ah,it's a pity I am not acquainted with Colonel N----!"

  Maksim Maksimych sat down on a little bench outside the gate, and Iwent to my room. I confess that I also was awaiting this Pechorin'sappearance with a certain amount of impatience--although, from thestaff-captain's story, I had formed a by no means favourable idea ofhim. Still, certain traits in his character struck me as remarkable. Inan hour's time one of the old soldiers brought a steaming samovar and ateapot.

  "Won't you have some tea, Maksim Maksimych?" I called out of the window.

  "Thank you. I am not thirsty, somehow."

  "Oh, do have some! It is late, you know, and cold!"

  "No, thank you"...

  "Well, just as you like!"

  I began my tea alone. About ten minutes afterwards my old captain camein.

  "You are right, you know; it would be better to have a drop of tea--butI was waiting for Pechorin. His man has been gone a long time now, butevidently something has detained him."

  The staff-captain hurriedly sipped a cup of tea, refused a second,and went off again outside the gate--not without a certain amount ofdisquietude. It was obvious that the old man was mortified by Pechorin'sneglect, the more so because a short time previously he had been tellingme of their friendship, and up to an hour ago had been convinced thatPechorin would come running up immediately on hearing his name.

  It was already late and dark when I opened the window again and began tocall Maksim Maksimych, saying that it was time to go to bed. He mutteredsomething through his teeth. I repeated my invitation--he made noanswer.

  I left a candle on the stove-seat, and, wrapping myself up in my cloak,I lay down on the couch and soon fell into slumber; and I would haveslept on quietly had not Maksim Maksimych awakened me as he came intothe room. It was then
very late. He threw his pipe on the table, beganto walk up and down the room, and to rattle about at the stove. At lasthe lay down, but for a long time he kept coughing, spitting, and tossingabout.

  "The bugs are biting you, are they not?" I asked.

  "Yes, that is it," he answered, with a heavy sigh.

  I woke early the next morning, but Maksim Maksimych had anticipated me.I found him sitting on the little bench at the gate.

  "I have to go to the Commandant," he said, "so, if Pechorin comes,please send for me."...

  I gave my promise. He ran off as if his limbs had regained theiryouthful strength and suppleness.

  The morning was fresh and lovely. Golden clouds had massed themselves onthe mountaintops like a new range of aerial mountains. Before the gatea wide square spread out; behind it the bazaar was seething with people,the day being Sunday. Barefooted Ossete boys, carrying wallets ofhoneycomb on their shoulders, were hovering around me. I cursed them;I had other things to think of--I was beginning to share the worthystaff-captain's uneasiness.

  Before ten minutes had passed the man we were awaiting appeared at theend of the square. He was walking with Colonel N., who accompanied himas far as the inn, said good-bye to him, and then turned back to thefortress. I immediately despatched one of the old soldiers for MaksimMaksimych.

  Pechorin's manservant went out to meet him and informed him that theywere going to put to at once; he handed him a box of cigars, receiveda few orders, and went off about his business. His master lit a cigar,yawned once or twice, and sat down on the bench on the other side of thegate. I must now draw his portrait for you.

  He was of medium height. His shapely, slim figure and broad shouldersgave evidence of a strong constitution, capable of enduring all thehardships of a nomad life and changes of climates, and of resisting withsuccess both the demoralising effects of life in the Capital and thetempests of the soul. His velvet overcoat, which was covered with dust,was fastened by the two lower buttons only, and exposed to view linen ofdazzling whiteness, which proved that he had the habits of a gentleman.His gloves, soiled by travel, seemed as though made expressly forhis small, aristocratic hand, and when he took one glove off I wasastonished at the thinness of his pale fingers. His gait was carelessand indolent, but I noticed that he did not swing his arms--a sure signof a certain secretiveness of character. These remarks, however, are theresult of my own observations, and I have not the least desire to makeyou blindly believe in them. When he was in the act of seating himselfon the bench his upright figure bent as if there was not a single bonein his back. The attitude of his whole body was expressive of acertain nervous weakness; he looked, as he sat, like one of Balzac'sthirty-year-old coquettes resting in her downy arm-chair after afatiguing ball. From my first glance at his face I should not havesupposed his age to be more than twenty-three, though afterwards I shouldhave put it down as thirty. His smile had something of a child-likequality. His skin possessed a kind of feminine delicacy. His fair hair,naturally curly, most picturesquely outlined his pale and noble brow, onwhich it was only after lengthy observation that traces could be noticedof wrinkles, intersecting each other: probably they showed up moredistinctly in moments of anger or mental disturbance. Notwithstandingthe light colour of his hair, his moustaches and eyebrows were black--asign of breeding in a man, just as a black mane and a black tail in awhite horse. To complete the portrait, I will add that he had a slightlyturned-up nose, teeth of dazzling whiteness, and brown eyes--I must saya few words more about his eyes.

  In the first place, they never laughed when he laughed. Have you nothappened, yourself, to notice the same peculiarity in certain people?...It is a sign either of an evil disposition or of deep and constantgrief. From behind his half-lowered eyelashes they shone with a kindof phosphorescent gleam--if I may so express myself--which was not thereflection of a fervid soul or of a playful fancy, but a glitter like tothat of smooth steel, blinding but cold. His glance--brief, but piercingand heavy--left the unpleasant impression of an indiscreet question andmight have seemed insolent had it not been so unconcernedly tranquil.

  It may be that all these remarks came into my mind only after I hadknown some details of his life, and it may be, too, that his appearancewould have produced an entirely different impression upon another; but,as you will not hear of him from anyone except myself, you will haveto rest content, nolens volens, with the description I have given.In conclusion, I will say that, speaking generally, he was a verygood-looking man, and had one of those original types of countenancewhich are particularly pleasing to women.

  The horses were already put to; now and then the bell jingled on theshaft-bow; [19] and the manservant had twice gone up to Pechorin withthe announcement that everything was ready, but still there was no signof Maksim Maksimych. Fortunately Pechorin was sunk in thought as hegazed at the jagged, blue peaks of the Caucasus, and was apparently byno means in a hurry for the road.

  I went up to him.

  "If you care to wait a little longer," I said, "you will have thepleasure of meeting an old friend."

  "Oh, exactly!" he answered quickly. "They told me so yesterday. Where ishe, though?"

  I looked in the direction of the square and there I descried MaksimMaksimych running as hard as he could. In a few moments he was besideus. He was scarcely able to breathe; perspiration was rolling in largedrops from his face; wet tufts of grey hair, escaping from under hiscap, were glued to his forehead; his knees were shaking... He was aboutto throw himself on Pechorin's neck, but the latter, rather coldly,though with a smile of welcome, stretched out his hand to him. Fora moment the staff-captain was petrified, but then eagerly seizedPechorin's hand in both his own. He was still unable to speak.

  "How glad I am to see you, my dear Maksim Maksimych! Well, how are you?"said Pechorin.

  "And... thou... you?" [20] murmured the old man, with tears in hiseyes. "What an age it is since I have seen you!... But where are you offto?"...

  "I am going to Persia--and farther."...

  "But surely not immediately?... Wait a little, my dear fellow!... Surelywe are not going to part at once?... What a long time it is since wehave seen each other!"...

  "It is time for me to go, Maksim Maksimych," was the reply.

  "Good heavens, good heavens! But where are you going to in such a hurry?There was so much I should have liked to tell you! So much to questionyou about!... Well, what of yourself? Have you retired?... What?... Howhave you been getting along?"

  "Getting bored!" answered Pechorin, smiling.

  "You remember the life we led in the fortress? A splendid country forhunting! You were awfully fond of shooting, you know!... And Bela?"...

  Pechorin turned just the slightest bit pale and averted his head.

  "Yes, I remember!" he said, almost immediately forcing a yawn.

  Maksim Maksimych began to beg him to stay with him for a couple of hoursor so longer.

  "We will have a splendid dinner," he said. "I have two pheasants; andthe Kakhetian wine is excellent here... not what it is in Georgia, ofcourse, but still of the best sort... We will have a talk... You willtell me about your life in Petersburg... Eh?"...

  "In truth, there's nothing for me to tell, dear Maksim Maksimych...However, good-bye, it is time for me to be off... I am in a hurry...I thank you for not having forgotten me," he added, taking him by thehand.

  The old man knit his brows. He was grieved and angry, although he triedto hide his feelings.

  "Forget!" he growled. "I have not forgotten anything... Well, God bewith you!... It is not like this that I thought we should meet."

  "Come! That will do, that will do!" said Pechorin, giving him a friendlyembrace. "Is it possible that I am not the same as I used to be?... Whatcan we do? Everyone must go his own way... Are we ever going to meetagain?--God only knows!"

  While saying this he had taken his seat in the carriage, and thecoachman was already gathering up the reins.

  "Wait, wait!" cried Maksim Maksimych suddenly, holding on to t
hecarriage door. "I was nearly forgetting altogether. Your papers wereleft with me, Grigori Aleksandrovich... I drag them about everywhere Igo... I thought I should find you in Georgia, but this is where it haspleased Heaven that we should meet. What's to be done with them?"...

  "Whatever you like!" answered Pechorin. "Good-bye."...

  "So you are off to Persia?... But when will you return?" MaksimMaksimych cried after him.

  By this time the carriage was a long way off, but Pechorin made a signwith his hand which might be interpreted as meaning:

  "It is doubtful whether I shall return, and there is no reason, either,why I should!"

  The jingle of the bell and the clatter of the wheels along the flintyroad had long ceased to be audible, but the poor old man still remainedstanding in the same place, deep in thought.

  "Yes," he said at length, endeavouring to assume an air of indifference,although from time to time a tear of vexation glistened on hiseyelashes. "Of course we were friends--well, but what are friendsnowadays?... What could I be to him? I'm not rich; I've no rank; and,moreover, I'm not at all his match in years!--See what a dandy hehas become since he has been staying in Petersburg again!... Whata carriage!... What a quantity of luggage!... And such a haughtymanservant too!"...

  These words were pronounced with an ironical smile.

  "Tell me," he continued, turning to me, "what do you think of it?Come, what the devil is he off to Persia for now?... Good Lord, it isridiculous--ridiculous!... But I always knew that he was a fickle man,and one you could never rely on!... But, indeed, it is a pity that heshould come to a bad end... yet it can't be otherwise!... I always didsay that there is no good to be got out of a man who forgets his oldfriends!"...

  Hereupon he turned away in order to hide his agitation and proceeded towalk about the courtyard, around his cart, pretending to be examiningthe wheels, whilst his eyes kept filling with tears every moment.

  "Maksim Maksimych," I said, going up to him, "what papers are these thatPechorin left you?"

  "Goodness knows! Notes of some sort"...

  "What will you do with them?"

  "What? I'll have cartridges made of them."

  "Hand them over to me instead."

  He looked at me in surprise, growled something through his teeth, andbegan to rummage in his portmanteau. Out he drew a writing-book andthrew it contemptuously on the ground; then a second--a third--a tenthshared the same fate. There was something childish in his vexation, andit struck me as ridiculous and pitiable...

  "Here they are," he said. "I congratulate you on your find!"...

  "And I may do anything I like with them?"

  "Yes, print them in the newspapers, if you like. What is it to me? AmI a friend or relation of his? It is true that for a long time we livedunder one roof... but aren't there plenty of people with whom I havelived?"...

  I seized the papers and lost no time in carrying them away, fearing thatthe staff-captain might repent his action. Soon somebody came to tellus that the "Adventure" would set off in an hour's time. I ordered thehorses to be put to.

  I had already put my cap on when the staff-captain entered the room.Apparently he had not got ready for departure. His manner was somewhatcold and constrained.

  "You are not going, then, Maksim Maksimych?"

  "No, sir!"

  "But why not?"

  "Well, I have not seen the Commandant yet, and I have to deliver someGovernment things."

  "But you did go, you know."

  "I did, of course," he stammered, "but he was not at home... and I didnot wait."

  I understood. For the first time in his life, probably, the poor old manhad, to speak by the book, thrown aside official business 'for the sakeof his personal requirements'... and how he had been rewarded!

  "I am very sorry, Maksim Maksimych, very sorry indeed," I said, "that wemust part sooner than necessary."

  "What should we rough old men be thinking of to run after you? You youngmen are fashionable and proud: under the Circassian bullets you arefriendly enough with us... but when you meet us afterwards you areashamed even to give us your hand!"

  "I have not deserved these reproaches, Maksim Maksimych."

  "Well, but you know I'm quite right. However, I wish you all good luckand a pleasant journey."

  We took a rather cold farewell of each other. The kind-hearted MaksimMaksimych had become the obstinate, cantankerous staff-captain! And why?Because Pechorin, through absent-mindedness or from some other cause,had extended his hand to him when Maksim Maksimych was going to throwhimself on his neck! Sad it is to see when a young man loses his besthopes and dreams, when from before his eyes is withdrawn the rose-huedveil through which he has looked upon the deeds and feelings of mankind;although there is the hope that the old illusions will be replaced bynew ones, none the less evanescent, but, on the other hand, none theless sweet. But wherewith can they be replaced when one is at the ageof Maksim Maksimych? Do what you will, the heart hardens and the soulshrinks in upon itself.

  I departed--alone.