A Hero of Our Time

by Mikhail Iurevich Lermontov

  CHAPTER XXII

  NEXT morning, having received orders from the supreme authority tobetake myself to the N----Fortress, I called upon Princess Ligovski tosay good-bye.

  She was surprised when, in answer to her question, whether I had notanything of special importance to tell her, I said I had come to wishher good-bye, and so on.

  "But I must have a very serious talk with you."

  I sat down in silence.

  It was clear that she did not know how to begin; her face grew livid,she tapped the table with her plump fingers; at length, in a brokenvoice, she said:

  "Listen, Monsieur Pechorin, I think that you are a gentleman."

  I bowed.

  "Nay, I am sure of it," she continued, "although your behaviour issomewhat equivocal, but you may have reasons which I do not know; andyou must now confide them to me. You have protected my daughter fromslander, you have fought a duel on her behalf--consequently you haverisked your life... Do not answer. I know that you will not acknowledgeit because Grushnitski has been killed"--she crossed herself. "Godforgive him--and you too, I hope... That does not concern me... I darenot condemn you because my daughter, although innocently, has beenthe cause. She has told me everything... everything, I think. You havedeclared your love for her... She has admitted hers to you."--HerePrincess Ligovski sighed heavily.--"But she is ill, and I am certainthat it is no simple illness! Secret grief is killing her; she will notconfess, but I am convinced that you are the cause of it... Listen:you think, perhaps, that I am looking for rank or immense wealth--beundeceived, my daughter's happiness is my sole desire. Your presentposition is unenviable, but it may be bettered: you have means; mydaughter loves you; she has been brought up in such a way that she willmake her husband a happy man. I am wealthy, she is my only child... Tellme, what is keeping you back?... You see, I ought not to be saying allthis to you, but I rely upon your heart, upon your honour--remember sheis my only daughter... my only one"...

  She burst into tears.

  "Princess," I said, "it is impossible for me to answer you; allow me tospeak to your daughter, alone"...

  "Never!" she exclaimed, rising from her chair in violent agitation.

  "As you wish," I answered, preparing to go away.

  She fell into thought, made a sign to me with her hand that I shouldwait a little, and left the room.

  Five minutes passed. My heart was beating violently, but my thoughtswere tranquil, my head cool. However assiduously I sought in my breastfor even a spark of love for the charming Mary, my efforts were of noavail!

  Then the door opened, and she entered. Heavens! How she had changedsince I had last seen her--and that but a short time ago!

  When she reached the middle of the room, she staggered. I jumped up,gave her my arm, and led her to a chair.

  I stood facing her. We remained silent for a long time; her large eyes,full of unutterable grief, seemed to be searching in mine for somethingresembling hope; her wan lips vainly endeavoured to smile; her tenderhands, which were folded upon her knees, were so thin and transparentthat I pitied her.

  "Princess," I said, "you know that I have been making fun of you?... Youmust despise me."

  A sickly flush suffused her cheeks.

  "Consequently," I continued, "you cannot love me"...

  She turned her head away, leaned her elbows on the table, covered hereyes with her hand, and it seemed to me that she was on the point oftears.

  "Oh, God!" she said, almost inaudibly.

  The situation was growing intolerable. Another minute--and I should havefallen at her feet.

  "So you see, yourself," I said in as firm a voice as I could command,and with a forced smile, "you see, yourself, that I cannot marry you.Even if you wished it now, you would soon repent. My conversation withyour mother has compelled me to explain myself to you so frankly and sobrutally. I hope that she is under a delusion: it will be easy for youto undeceive her. You see, I am playing a most pitiful and ugly rolein your eyes, and I even admit it--that is the utmost I can do for yoursake. However bad an opinion you may entertain of me, I submit to it...You see that I am base in your sight, am I not?... Is it not true that,even if you have loved me, you would despise me from this moment?"...

  She turned round to me. She was pale as marble, but her eyes weresparkling wondrously.

  "I hate you"... she said.

  I thanked her, bowed respectfully, and left the room.

  An hour afterwards a postal express was bearing me rapidly fromKislovodsk. A few versts from Essentuki I recognized near the roadwaythe body of my spirited horse. The saddle had been taken off, no doubtby a passing Cossack, and, in its place, two ravens were sitting on thehorse's back. I sighed and turned away...

  And now, here in this wearisome fortress, I often ask myself, as mythoughts wander back to the past: why did I not wish to tread that way,thrown open by destiny, where soft joys and ease of soul were awaitingme?... No, I could never have become habituated to such a fate! I amlike a sailor born and bred on the deck of a pirate brig: his soul hasgrown accustomed to storms and battles; but, once let him be cast uponthe shore, and he chafes, he pines away, however invitingly the shadygroves allure, however brightly shines the peaceful sun. The livelongday he paces the sandy shore, hearkens to the monotonous murmur of theonrushing waves, and gazes into the misty distance: lo! yonder, uponthe pale line dividing the blue deep from the grey clouds, is there notglancing the longed-for sail, at first like the wing of a seagull, butlittle by little severing itself from the foam of the billows and, witheven course, drawing nigh to the desert harbour?

  APPENDIX

  PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION

  (By the Author)

  THE preface to a book serves the double purpose of prologue andepilogue. It affords the author an opportunity of explaining the objectof the work, or of vindicating himself and replying to his critics. As arule, however, the reader is concerned neither with the moral purposeof the book nor with the attacks of the Reviewers, and so the prefaceremains unread. Nevertheless, this is a pity, especially with usRussians! The public of this country is so youthful, not to saysimple-minded, that it cannot understand the meaning of a fable unlessthe moral is set forth at the end. Unable to see a joke, insensible toirony, it has, in a word, been badly brought up. It has not yet learnedthat in a decent book, as in decent society, open invective can have noplace; that our present-day civilisation has invented a keener weapon,none the less deadly for being almost invisible, which, under the cloakof flattery, strikes with sure and irresistible effect. The Russianpublic is like a simple-minded person from the country who, chancing tooverhear a conversation between two diplomatists belonging to hostilecourts, comes away with the conviction that each of them has beendeceiving his Government in the interest of a most affectionate privatefriendship.

  The unfortunate effects of an over-literal acceptation of words bycertain readers and even Reviewers have recently been manifested inregard to the present book. Many of its readers have been dreadfully,and in all seriousness, shocked to find such an immoral man as Pechorinset before them as an example. Others have observed, with muchacumen, that the author has painted his own portrait and those ofhis acquaintances!... What a stale and wretched jest! But Russia, itappears, has been constituted in such a way that absurdities of thiskind will never be eradicated. It is doubtful whether, in this country,the most ethereal of fairy-tales would escape the reproach of attemptingoffensive personalities.

  Pechorin, gentlemen, is in fact a portrait, but not of one man only:he is a composite portrait, made up of all the vices which flourish,fullgrown, amongst the present generation. You will tell me, as you havetold me before, that no man can be so bad as this; and my reply will be:"If you believe that such persons as the villains of tragedy and romancecould exist in real life, why can you not believe in the reality ofPechorin? If you admire fictions much more terrible and monstrous, whyis it that this character, even if regarded merely as a creature ofthe imagination, cannot obtain quarter
at your hands? Is it not becausethere is more truth in it than may be altogether palatable to you?"

  You will say that the cause of morality gains nothing by this book. Ibeg your pardon. People have been surfeited with sweetmeats and theirdigestion has been ruined: bitter medicines, sharp truths, are thereforenecessary. This must not, however, be taken to mean that the author hasever proudly dreamed of becoming a reformer of human vices. Heavenkeep him from such impertinence! He has simply found it entertaining todepict a man, such as he considers to be typical of the present day andsuch as he has often met in real life--too often, indeed, unfortunatelyboth for the author himself and for you. Suffice it that the disease hasbeen pointed out: how it is to be cured--God alone knows!

  FOOTNOTES:

  [Footnote 1: A retail shop and tavern combined.]

  [Footnote 2: A verst is a measure of length, about 3500 English feet.]

  [Footnote 3: Ermolov, i.e. General Ermolov. Russians have threenames--Christian name, patronymic and surname. They are addressed bythe first two only. The surname of Maksim Maksimych (colloquial forMaksimovich) is not mentioned.]

  [Footnote 4: The bell on the duga, a wooden arch joining the shafts of aRussian conveyance over the horse's neck.]

  [Footnote 5: Rocky Ford.]

  [Footnote 6: A kind of beer made from millet.]

  [Footnote 7: i.e. acknowledging Russian supremacy.]

  [Footnote 8: A kind of two-stringed or three-stringed guitar.]

  [Footnote 9: "Good--very good."]

  [Footnote 10: Turkish for "Black-eye."]

  [Footnote 11: "No!"]

  [Footnote 12: A particular kind of ancient and valued sabre.]

  [Footnote 13: King--a title of the Sultan of Turkey.]

  [Footnote 14: I beg my readers' pardon for having versified Kazbich'ssong, which, of course, as I heard it, was in prose; but habit is secondnature. (Author's note.)]

  [Footnote 151: "No! Russian--bad, bad!"]

  [Footnote 15: Krestov is an adjective meaning "of the cross"(Krest=cross); and, of course, is not the Russian for "Christophe."]

  [Footnote 16: A legendary Russian hero whose whistling knocked peopledown.]

  [Footnote 17: Lezghian dance.]

  [Footnote 18: In Russian--okaziya=occasion, adventure, etc.; chto zaokaziya=how unfortunate!]

  [Footnote 19: The duga.]

  [Footnote 20: "Thou" is the form of address used in speaking to anintimate friend, etc. Pechorin had used the more formal "you."]

  [Footnote 21: Team of three horses abreast.]

  [Footnote 22: Desyatnik, a superintendent of ten (men or huts), i.e. anofficer like the old English tithing-man or headborough.]

  [Footnote 23: Card-games.]

  [Footnote 24: A Caucasian wine.]

  [Footnote 25: Pushkin. Compare Shelley's Adonais, xxxi. 3: "as the lastcloud of an expiring storm."]

  [Footnote 26: The Snake, the Iron and the Bald Mountains.]

  [Footnote 27: Nizhegorod is the "government" of which Nizhniy Novgorod isthe capital.]

  [Footnote 271: A popular phrase, equivalent to: "How should I think ofdoing such a thing?"]

  [Footnote 272: Published by Senkovski, and under the censorship of theGovernment.]

  [Footnote 273: Civil servants of the ninth (the lowest) class.]

  [Footnote 28: i.e. serfs.]

  [Footnote 29: Pushkin: Eugene Onyegin.]

  [Footnote 30: Canto XVIII, 10: ]

  "Quinci al bosco t' invia, dove cotanti]

  Son fantasmi inganne vole e bugiardi"...]

  [Footnote 301: None of the Waverley novels, of course, bears this title.The novel referred to is doubtless "Old Mortality," on which Bellini'sopera, "I Puritani di Scozia," is founded.]

  [Footnote 31: Popular phrases, equivalent to: "Men are fools, fortune isblind, and life is not worth a straw."]