A Hero of Our Time
Page 13
FOREWORD TO BOOKS III, IV, AND V
CONCERNING PECHORIN'S DIARY
I LEARNED not long ago that Pechorin had died on his way back fromPersia. The news afforded me great delight; it gave me the right toprint these notes; and I have taken advantage of the opportunity ofputting my name at the head of another person's productions. Heavengrant that my readers may not punish me for such an innocent deception!
I must now give some explanation of the reasons which have induced me tobetray to the public the inmost secrets of a man whom I never knew. If Ihad even been his friend, well and good: the artful indiscretion of thetrue friend is intelligible to everybody; but I only saw Pechorinonce in my life--on the high-road--and, consequently, I cannot cherishtowards him that inexplicable hatred, which, hiding its face under themask of friendship, awaits but the death or misfortune of the belovedobject to burst over its head in a storm of reproaches, admonitions,scoffs and regrets.
On reading over these notes, I have become convinced of the sincerityof the man who has so unsparingly exposed to view his own weaknesses andvices. The history of a man's soul, even the pettiest soul, is hardlyless interesting and useful than the history of a whole people;especially when the former is the result of the observations of a maturemind upon itself, and has been written without any egoistical desire ofarousing sympathy or astonishment. Rousseau's Confessions has preciselythis defect--he read it to his friends.
And, so, it is nothing but the desire to be useful that has constrainedme to print fragments of this diary which fell into my hands by chance.Although I have altered all the proper names, those who are mentionedin it will probably recognise themselves, and, it may be, will find somejustification for actions for which they have hitherto blamed a man whohas ceased henceforth to have anything in common with this world. Wealmost always excuse that which we understand.
I have inserted in this book only those portions of the diary whichrefer to Pechorin's sojourn in the Caucasus. There still remains inmy hands a thick writing-book in which he tells the story of his wholelife. Some time or other that, too, will present itself before thetribunal of the world, but, for many and weighty reasons, I do notventure to take such a responsibility upon myself now.
Possibly some readers would like to know my own opinion of Pechorin'scharacter. My answer is: the title of this book. "But that is maliciousirony!" they will say... I know not.
BOOK III THE FIRST EXTRACT FROM PECHORIN'S DIARY