M. Yu. Lermontov worked on the novel "A Hero of Our Time" in 1838-1840. The idea to write a novel was born during the writer's exile in the Caucasus in 1838. The first parts of the novel were published within one year in the magazine " Domestic notes". They aroused the interest of readers. Lermontov, seeing the popularity of these works, combined them into one big novel.

In the title, the author sought to justify the relevance of his creation for his contemporaries. The 1841 edition also included a foreword by the writer in connection with the questions that arose from readers. We bring to your attention a summary of the “Hero of Our Time” chapter by chapter.

Main characters

Pechorin Grigory Alexandrovich- the central character of the whole story, an officer of the tsarist army, a sensitive and sublime nature, but selfish. Handsome, superbly built, charming and smart. He is burdened by his arrogance and individualism, but does not want to overcome either one or the other.

Bela- the daughter of a Circassian prince. Treacherously kidnapped by her brother Azamat, she becomes Pechorin's lover. Bela is beautiful and smart, pure and straightforward. Dies from the dagger of the Circassian Kazbich, who is in love with her.

Mary(Princess Ligovskaya) is a noble girl whom Pechorin met by chance and did his best to make her fall in love with him. Educated and smart, proud and generous. The break with Pechorin becomes for her the deepest tragedy.

Maksim Maksimych- officer of the tsarist army (with the rank of staff captain). kind and fair man, chief and close friend of Pechorin, an unwitting witness to his love affairs and life collisions.

Narrator- a passing officer who became a casual acquaintance of Maxim Maksimovich and listened to and wrote down his story about Pechorin.

Other characters

Azamat- Circassian prince, unbalanced and greedy young man, Bela's brother.

Kazbich- a young Circassian who is in love with Bela and becomes her killer.

Grushnitsky- a young cadet, a man proud and unrestrained. Rival Pechorin, killed by him in a duel.

Faith- Pechorin's former lover, appears in the novel as a reminder of his past in St. Petersburg.

Undine- a nameless smuggler who struck Pechorin with her appearance (“undine” is one of the names of mermaids, the reader will not recognize the real name of the girl).

Janko- smuggler, friend of Ondine.

Werner- a doctor, an intelligent and educated person, an acquaintance of Pechorin.

Vulich- an officer, a Serb by nationality, a young and gambling man, an acquaintance of Pechorin.

Foreword

In the preface, the author addresses the readers. He says that readers were amazed at the negative features of the protagonist of his work and reproach the author for this. However, Lermontov points out that his hero is the embodiment of the vices of his time, so he is modern. The author also believes that it is impossible to feed readers with sweet stories and fairy tales all the time, they must see and understand life as it is.

The action of the work takes place in the Caucasus in early XIX century. Partly in this territory of the Russian Empire, military operations are being conducted against the highlanders.

Part one

I. Bela

This part begins with the fact that the narrator-officer meets, on the way to the Caucasus, an elderly staff captain Maxim Maksimych, who makes a positive impression on him. The narrator and the staff captain become friends. Once in a snowstorm, the heroes begin to remember the events of their lives, and the staff captain talks about a young officer whom he knew about four and a half years ago.

This officer's name was Grigory Pechorin. He was handsome, handsome and smart. However, he had a strange character: either he complained about nothing, like a girl, or he fearlessly rode a horse over the rocks. Maxim Maksimych at that time was the commandant of a military fortress, in which this mysterious young officer served under his command.

Soon, the sensitive captain noticed that his new subordinate began to yearn in the wilderness. Being a kind person, he decided to help his officer unwind. At that time, he was just invited to the wedding of the eldest daughter of the Circassian prince, who lived not far from the fortress and sought to establish good relations with the royal officers.

At the wedding, Pechorin liked the youngest daughter of the prince - the beautiful and graceful Bela.

Fleeing from the stuffiness in the room, Maxim Maksimych went out into the street and became an involuntary witness to the conversation that took place between Kazbich - a Circassian with the appearance of a robber - and Bela's brother Azamat. The latter offered Kazbich any price for his magnificent horse, proving that for the horse he was even ready to steal his sister for him. Azamat knew that Kazbich was not indifferent to Bela, but the proud Circassian Kazbich only brushed off the annoying young man.

Maxim Maksimych, after listening to this conversation, inadvertently retold it to Pechorin, not knowing what his young colleague was up to.

It turned out that Pechorin later offered Azamat to steal Bela for him, promising in return that Kazbich's horse would become his.

Azamat complied with the agreement and took the beautiful sister to the fortress to Pechorin. When Kazbich drove the sheep to the fortress, Pechorin distracted him, and Azamat at that time stole his faithful horse Karagez. Kazbich vowed to take revenge on the offender.

Later, news came to the fortress that Kazbich had killed the Circassian prince, the father of Bela and Azamat, suspecting him of complicity in the kidnapping of his horse.

Meanwhile, Bela began to live in a fortress near Pechorin. He treated her with unusual care, not offending her in word or deed. Pechorin hired a Circassian woman, who began to serve Bela. Pechorin himself won the heart of a proud beauty with affection and pleasant manners. The girl fell in love with her kidnapper. However, having achieved the location of the beauty, Pechorin lost interest in her. Bela felt a chill from her lover and became very weary of it.

Maxim Maksimych, having fallen in love with the girl as if he were his own daughter, tried with all his might to console her. Once, when Pechorin left the fortress, the staff captain invited Bela to take a walk with him outside the walls. From afar they saw Kazbich riding Bela's father's horse. The girl was afraid for her life.

Some more time passed. Pechorin communicated with Bela less and less, she began to yearn. One day, Maxim Maksimych and Pechorin were not in the fortress, when they returned, they noticed from afar the horse of the prince and Kazbich in the saddle, who was carrying some kind of bag on it. When the officers chased after Kazbich, the Circassian opened the bag and raised a dagger over it. It became clear that he was holding Bela in the bag. Kazbich abandoned his prey and galloped away swiftly.

The officers drove up to the mortally wounded girl, carefully lifted her and took her to the fortress. Bela was able to live two more days. In delirium, she recalled Pechorin, spoke of her love for him and regretted that she and Grigory Alexandrovich were in different faiths, therefore, in her opinion, they would not be able to meet in paradise.

When Bela was buried, Maxim Maksimych no longer talked about her with Pechorin. Then the elderly staff captain came to the conclusion that Bela's death was the best way out of this situation. After all, Pechorin would eventually leave her, and she would not be able to survive such a betrayal.

After serving in the fortress under the command of Maxim Maksimych, Pechorin left to continue it in Georgia. He did not give any news about himself.

That was the end of the captain's story.

II. Maksim Maksimych

The narrator and Maxim Maksimych parted, each went about his own business, but soon they unexpectedly met again. Maxim Maksimych said with excitement that he had again met Pechorin quite unexpectedly. He learned that he had now retired and decided to go to Persia. The elderly staff captain wanted to talk with an old friend whom he had not seen for about five years, but Pechorin did not at all strive for such communication, which greatly offended the old officer.

Maxim Maksimych could not sleep all night, but in the morning he again decided to talk to Pechorin. But he showed coldness and ostentatious indifference. The captain was very sad.

The narrator, having seen Pechorin in person, decided to convey to the readers his impressions of his appearance and demeanor. He was a man of medium height with a handsome and expressive face, which women always liked. He knew how to stay in society and to speak. Pechorin dressed well and without a challenge, his suit emphasized the harmony of his body. However, in all his appearance, his eyes were striking, which looked at the interlocutor coldly, heavily and penetratingly. Pechorin practically did not use gestures in communication, which was a sign of secrecy and distrust.

He left quickly, leaving only vivid memories of himself.

The narrator informed the readers that Maxim Maksimych, seeing his interest in Pechorin's personality, gave him his journal, that is, the diary. For some time the diary lay idle with the narrator, but after the death of Pechorin (and he died suddenly at the age of twenty-eight: having unexpectedly fallen ill on the way to Persia), the narrator decided to publish some of its parts.
The narrator, addressing the readers, asked them for indulgence towards the personality of Pechorin, because he, despite his vices, was at least sincere in detailed description their.

Pechorin's Journal

I. Taman

In this part, Pechorin talked about a funny, in his opinion, adventure that happened to him on Taman.

Arriving at this little-known place, he, by virtue of his inherent suspicion and insight, realized that the blind boy, with whom he stayed for the night, was hiding something from those around him. Following him, he saw that the blind man was meeting with beautiful girl, which Pechorin himself calls Undine ("mermaid"). The girl and the boy were waiting for the man they called Janko. Janko soon appeared with some bags.

The next morning, Pechorin, spurred on by curiosity, tried to find out from the blind man what kind of bundles his strange friend had brought. The blind boy was silent, pretending not to understand his guest. Pechorin met with Ondine, who tried to flirt with him. Pechorin pretended to succumb to her charms.

In the evening, together with a familiar Cossack, he went on a date with a girl at the pier, ordering the Cossack to be on the alert and, if something unforeseen happens, to rush to his aid.

Together with Undina, Pechorin got into the boat. However, their romantic journey was soon cut short by the fact that the girl tried to push her companion into the water, despite the fact that Pechorin could not swim. Ondine's motives are understandable. She guessed that Pechorin understood what Yanko, the blind boy and she were doing, and therefore he could inform the police about the smugglers. However, Pechorin managed to defeat the girl and throw her into the water. Undine knew how to swim well enough, she threw herself into the water and swam towards Yanko. He took her aboard his boat, and soon they disappeared into the darkness.

Returning after such a dangerous voyage, Pechorin realized that the blind boy had stolen his things. The adventures of the past day entertained the bored hero, but he was unpleasantly annoyed that he might have died in the waves.

In the morning the hero left Taman forever.

Part two

(end of Pechorin's journal)

II. Princess Mary

Pechorin spoke in his journal about life in the city of Pyatigorsk. Provincial society bored him. The hero was looking for entertainment and found them.

He met the young cadet Grushnitsky, an ardent and ardent young man in love with the beautiful Princess Mary Ligovskaya. Pechorin was amused by the feeling of the young man. In the presence of Grushnitsky, he began to talk about Mary as if she were not a girl, but a racehorse with its own advantages and disadvantages.

At first, Pechorin irritated Mary. At the same time, the hero liked to anger the young beauty: either he tried to be the first to buy an expensive carpet that the princess wanted to buy, or he expressed malicious hints at her. Pechorin proved to Grushnitsky that Mary belongs to the breed of those women who will flirt with everyone in a row, and marry a worthless person, at the behest of their mother.

Meanwhile, Pechorin met in the city with Werner, a local doctor, an intelligent but bilious man. The most ridiculous rumors circulated around him in the city: someone even considered him a local Mephistopheles. Werner liked such exotic fame, and he supported it with all his might. Being a perceptive person, the doctor foresaw the future drama that could happen between Pechorin, Mary and the young cadet Grushnitsky. However, he did not expand much on this topic.

Events, meanwhile, went on as usual, adding new touches to the portrait of the protagonist. A secular lady and a relative of Princess Mary, Vera, arrived in Pyatigorsk. Readers learned that Pechorin was once passionately in love with this woman. She also kept in her heart a bright feeling for Grigory Alexandrovich. Vera and Gregory met. And here we already saw another Pechorin: not a cold and evil cynic, but a man of great passions, who has not forgotten anything and feels suffering and pain. After meeting with Vera, who, being married woman, could not connect with the hero in love with her, Pechorin jumped into the saddle. He galloped over mountains and dales, exhausting his horse greatly.

On an exhausted horse, Pechorin accidentally met Mary and frightened her.

Soon Grushnitsky, with an ardent feeling, began to prove to Pechorin that, after all his antics, he would never be received at the princess's house. Pechorin argued with his friend, proving the opposite.
Pechorin went to the ball to Princess Ligovskaya. Here he began to behave unusually courteously towards Mary: he danced with her like a fine gentleman, protected her from a tipsy officer, helped to cope with a swoon. Mary's mother began to look at Pechorin with different eyes and invited him to her house as a close friend.

Pechorin began to visit the Ligovskys. He became interested in Mary as a woman, but the hero was still attracted to Vera. On one of the rare dates, Vera told Pechorin that she was mortally ill with consumption, so she asks him to spare her reputation. Vera also added that she always understood the soul of Grigory Alexandrovich and accepted him with all his vices.

Pechorin, however, became close to Mary. The girl confessed to him that she was bored with all the fans, including Grushnitsky. Pechorin, using his charm, from nothing to do, made the princess fall in love with him. He couldn’t even explain to himself why he needed it: either to have fun, or to annoy Grushnitsky, or maybe show Vera that someone needed him too and, thereby, call her jealousy.

Gregory succeeded in what he wanted: Mary fell in love with him, but at first she hid her feelings.

Meanwhile, Vera began to worry about this novel. On a secret date, she asked Pechorin never to marry Mary and promised him a night meeting in return.

Pechorin, on the other hand, began to get bored in the company of both Mary and Vera. He was also tired of Grushnitsky with his passion and boyishness. Pechorin deliberately began to behave provocatively in public, which caused tears from Mary, who was in love with him. To people, he seemed immoral madman. However, the young princess Ligovskaya understood that by doing so he only bewitched her more.

Grushnitsky began to get seriously jealous. He understood that Mary's heart was given to Pechorin. The same was amused by the fact that Grushnitsky stopped greeting him and began to turn away when he appeared.

The whole city was already talking about the fact that Pechorin would soon propose to Mary. The old princess - the girl's mother - from day to day was waiting for matchmakers from Grigory Alexandrovich. But he did not seek to make proposals to Mary, but wanted to wait until the girl herself confesses her love to him. On one of the walks, Pechorin kissed the princess on the cheek, wanting to see her reaction. The next day, Mary confessed her love to Pechorin, but in response he coldly remarked that he did not feel love for her.

Mary felt deeply humiliated by the words of her beloved. She was waiting for anything but this. The heroine realized that Pechorin laughed at her out of boredom. She compared herself to a flower that an evil passer-by plucked and tossed on a dusty road.

Pechorin, describing in his diary the scene of the explanation with Mary, reasoned about why he acted so low. He wrote that he did not want to marry because a fortuneteller once told his mother that her son would die from an evil wife. In his notes, the hero noticed that he values ​​​​his own freedom above all else, is afraid to be noble and seem ridiculous to others. And he simply believes that he is not capable of bringing happiness to anyone.

A famous magician has come to town. Everyone rushed to his performance. Only Vera and Mary were absent. Pechorin, driven by a passion for Vera, late in the evening went to the Ligovskys' house, where she lived. In the window, he saw the silhouette of Mary. Grushnitsky tracked down Pechorin, believing that he had an appointment with Mary. Despite the fact that Pechorin managed to return to his house, Grushnitsky is full of resentment and jealousy. He challenged Grigory Alexandrovich to a duel. Werner and a dragoon unfamiliar to Pechorin acted as seconds.

Before the duel, Pechorin could not calm down for a long time, he thought about his life and realized that he brought good to few people. Fate has prepared for him the role of the executioner for many people. He killed someone with his word, and someone with his deed. He loved only himself with an insatiable love. He was looking for a person who could understand him and forgive him everything, but not a single woman, not a single man could do this.

And so he was challenged to a duel. Perhaps his opponent will kill him. What will remain after him in this life? Nothing. Just empty memories.

The next morning, Werther tried to reconcile Pechorin and his opponent. However, Grushnitsky was adamant. Pechorin wanted to show generosity to his opponent, hoping for his reciprocity. But Grushnitsky was angry and offended. As a result of the duel, Pechorin killed Grushnitsky. To hide the fact of the duel, the seconds and Pechorin testified that the young officer was killed by the Circassians.

However, Vera realized that Grushnitsky died in a duel. She confessed to her husband her feelings for Pechorin. He took her out of the city. In an attempt to catch up with Vera, he drove his horse to death.

Returning to the city, he learned that rumors of a duel had leaked into society, so he was assigned a new duty station. He went to say goodbye to Mary and her mother's house. The old princess offered him the hand and heart of her daughter, but Pechorin rejected her proposal.

Left alone with Mary, he humiliated the pride of this girl in such a way that he himself became unpleasant.

III. Fatalist

In the final part of the novel, it is told that Pechorin ended up in the village of Cossacks on business. One evening there was a dispute among the officers as to whether there is a fatal confluence of circumstances in a person's life. Is a person free to choose his own life or is his fate “predetermined from above”?

During a heated argument, the Serbian Vulich took the floor. He stated that, according to his convictions, he is a fatalist, that is, a person who believes in fate. Therefore, he was of the opinion that if it was not given to him to die from above tonight, then death would not take him away, no matter how much he himself strived for it.

To prove his words, Vulich offered a bet: he would shoot himself in the temple, if he was right, he would remain alive, and if he was wrong, he would die.

No one in the audience wanted to agree to such strange and terrible terms of the bet. Only Pechorin agreed.

Looking into the eyes of his interlocutor, Pechorin firmly said that he would die today. Then Vulich took a pistol and shot himself in the temple. The gun misfired. Then he fired a second shot to the side. The shot was combat.

Everyone started talking loudly about what had happened. But Pechorin insisted that Vulich would die today. Nobody understood his persistence. Frustrated, Vulich left the meeting.

Pechorin went home through the lanes. He saw a pig, cut in half with a sword, lying on the ground. Eyewitnesses told him that one of their Cossacks, who likes to take a bottle, is “strange” in this way.
In the morning Pechorin was awakened by the officers and told him that Vulich had been hacked to death at night by this very drunken Cossack. Pechorin felt uneasy, but he also wanted to try his luck. Together with other officers, he went to catch the Cossack.

Meanwhile, the Cossack, having sobered up and realizing what he had done, was not going to surrender to the mercy of the officers. He locked himself in his hut and threatens to kill anyone who gets there. Taking a mortal risk, Pechorin volunteered to punish the brawler. He climbed through the window into his hut, but remained alive. The officers who came to the rescue tied up the Cossack.

After such an incident, Pechorin was to become a fatalist. However, he did not rush to conclusions, believing that everything in life is not as simple as it seems from the outside.

And the kindest Maxim Maksimych, to whom he retold this story, noticed that pistols often misfire, and what is written for someone will be. The elderly staff captain also did not want to become a fatalist.

This is where the novel ends. Reading brief retelling"A Hero of Our Time", do not forget that the work itself is much more interesting than the story of its main episodes. So read this famous work M. Yu. Lermontov and enjoy what you read!

Conclusion

Lermontov's work "A Hero of Our Time" has remained relevant for readers for almost two hundred years. And this is not surprising, because the most important life problems human existence on earth: love, destiny of the individual, fate, passion and faith in higher power. This work will not leave anyone indifferent, which is why it is included in the treasury classical works Russian literature.

Novel test

After reading the summary of Lermontov's work, try to pass the test:

Retelling rating

Average rating: 4.4. Total ratings received: 23376.

The story "Princess Mary" is written in the form of a diary. Pechorin arrives in Pyatigorsk. At the spring, Pechorin meets his old comrade Grushnitsky, and a soldier who loves to impress everyone. Grushnitsky wears a soldier's overcoat so that the girls think that he was demoted to the soldier for a duel. Grushnitsky is busy only with himself and never listens to his interlocutor. Grushnitsky talks about the "water society" - Princess Ligovskaya with her beautiful daughter Mary, into whom he is.

Pechorin is friends with the Russian doctor Werner, with whom they understand each other without words. Werner is a skeptic and materialist, but a poet at heart. Werner says that Princess Ligovskaya is very interested in Pechorin, and also that the Ligovskys' relative is Vera, Pechorin's old love. Vera is married, but still loves Pechorin.

In the evening on Pechorin Boulevard, Mary is angered by the fact that he attracts all the interlocutors to himself. Pechorin tells Grushnitsky that Mary will fool him for a long time, and will marry a rich freak. Pechorin decides to conduct an experiment - to meet Mary and fall in love with her. Pechorin does not need Mary's love, he only wants to feel his power over her.

At the ball, Pechorin dances with Mary, asks for forgiveness for yesterday's behavior and saves her from an annoying admirer. Pechorin informs Mary that Grushnitsky is not romantic hero, but a simple junker. At the Ligovskys, Pechorin does not pay attention to Mary, but only talks to Vera.

In the evening, on a walk, Pechorin slanders about Mary's acquaintances. The girl tells him that she has never loved anyone. Pechorin is bored, as he knows all the stages of female love. Grushnitsky promoted to officer, Mary rejects him.

On a walk, Mary confesses her love to Pechorin and says that she will convince her relatives not to build barriers for them. Pechorin says that he does not love her.

Grushnitsky, wanting to take revenge on Pechorin, spreads rumors that Pechorin and Mary are going to get married. Pechorin spends the night with Vera, Grushnitsky and his comrades lie in wait for him, thinking that Pechorin is with Mary. In the morning, Pechorin challenges Grushnitsky to a duel. Pechorin's second Werner suspects that only Grushnitsky's pistol will be loaded. Pechorin decides to check whether Grushnitsky is capable of such meanness. Grushnitsky was the first to shoot. Pechorin is slightly wounded. Then Pechorin demands that Werner reload his pistol and kills Grushnitsky.

At home, Pechorin receives a letter from Vera, in which she says that she confessed her love for Pechorin to her husband and is now leaving. Pechorin went after her, drove the horse, but not.

The next day, Pechorin comes to the Ligovskys to say goodbye, the princess invites him to marry Mary, but he refuses. Pechorin tells Mary that he was laughing at her.

Pechorin's Journal

II
Princess Mary

Yesterday I arrived in Pyatigorsk, rented an apartment on the edge of the city, on the highest place, at the foot of Mashuk: during a thunderstorm, clouds will descend to my roof. This morning at five o'clock, when I opened the window, my room was filled with the smell of flowers growing in a modest front garden. Branches of blossoming cherries look out my windows, and the wind sometimes strews my desk with their white petals. The view from three sides is wonderful. To the west, the five-headed Beshtu turns blue, like "the last cloud of a scattered storm"; Mashuk rises to the north, like a shaggy Persian hat, and covers this entire part of the sky; it’s more fun to look to the east: down below, a clean, new town is full of colors in front of me, healing springs are rustling, a multilingual crowd is rustling, - and there, further, mountains are piled up like an amphitheater, all bluer and more foggy, and on the edge of the horizon stretches a silver chain of snow peaks, starting with Kazbek and ending two-headed Elborus... It's fun to live in such a land! Some kind of gratifying feeling is poured into all my veins. The air is pure and fresh, like the kiss of a child; the sun is bright, the sky is blue - what would seem more? - why are there passions, desires, regrets? .. However, it's time. I’ll go to the Elizabethan spring: they say that the whole water community gathers there in the morning.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Descending into the middle of the city, I went along the boulevard, where I met several sad groups slowly going up the hill; they were for the most part a family of steppe landowners; this could be immediately guessed from the worn, old-fashioned frock coats of the husbands and from the exquisite outfits of the wives and daughters; Evidently, all the water youth were already counted among them, because they looked at me with tender curiosity: the Petersburg cut of the frock coat misled them, but, soon recognizing army epaulettes, they turned away indignantly.

The wives of the local authorities, mistresses of the waters, so to speak, were more benevolent; they have lorgnettes, they pay less attention to their uniforms, they are accustomed in the Caucasus to meet an ardent heart under a numbered button and an educated mind under a white cap. These ladies are very sweet; and long cute! Every year their admirers are replaced by new ones, and this, perhaps, is the secret of their indefatigable courtesy. Climbing up the narrow path to the Elizabethan spring, I overtook a crowd of men, civilians and military men, who, as I later learned, constitute a special class of people between those who yearn for the movement of water. They drink - but not water, walk a little, drag only in passing; they play and complain of boredom. They are dandies: lowering their braided glass into a well of sour water, they assume academic poses: civilians wear light blue ties, the military let out a ruff from behind the collar. They profess a deep contempt for provincial houses and sigh for the aristocratic living rooms of the capital, where they are not allowed.

Finally, here is the well ... On the site near it, a house was built with a red roof over the bath, and farther away is a gallery where people walk when it rains. Several wounded officers were sitting on a bench, picking up their crutches, pale and sad. Several ladies were walking quickly up and down the platform, waiting for the action of the waters. Between them were two or three pretty faces. Under the vine alleys covering the slope of Mashuk, sometimes the colorful hats of lovers of solitude together flashed by, because I always noticed near such a hat either a military cap or an ugly round hat. On the steep rock where the pavilion called the Aeolian Harp was built, lovers of the views stuck out and pointed their telescope at Elborus; between them were two tutors with their pupils, who had come to be treated for scrofula.

I stopped, out of breath, on the edge of the mountain and, leaning against the corner of the house, began to examine the surroundings, when suddenly I heard a familiar voice behind me:

Pechorin! how long have you been here?

I turn around: Grushnitsky! We hugged. I met him in the active detachment. He was wounded by a bullet in the leg and went to the waters a week before me. Grushnitsky - Junker. He is only a year in the service, wears, in a special kind of foppery, a thick soldier's overcoat. He has a St. George soldier's cross. He is well built, swarthy and black-haired; he looks to be twenty-five years old, although he is hardly twenty-one years old. He throws his head back when he speaks, and continually twists his mustache with his left hand, for with his right he leans on a crutch. He speaks quickly and pretentiously: he is one of those people who have ready-made pompous phrases for all occasions, who are simply not touched by the beautiful and who importantly drape themselves in extraordinary feelings, sublime passions and exceptional suffering. To produce an effect is their delight; romantic provincial women like them to the point of madness. In old age, they become either peaceful landowners or drunkards - sometimes both. In their souls there are often many good qualities, but not a penny worth of poetry. Grushnitsky's passion was to recite: he bombarded you with words, as soon as the conversation left the circle of ordinary concepts; I could never argue with him. He does not answer your objections, he does not listen to you. As soon as you stop, he starts a long tirade, apparently having some connection with what you said, but which is really only a continuation of his own speech.

He is rather sharp: his epigrams are often funny, but there are never marks and evil: he will not kill anyone with one word; he does not know people and their weak strings, because he has been occupied with himself all his life. His goal is to become the hero of the novel. He tried so often to assure others that he was a creature not created for the world, doomed to some secret suffering, that he almost convinced himself of this. That is why he wears his thick soldier's overcoat so proudly. I understood him, and for this he does not love me, although we outwardly are on the most friendly terms. Grushnitsky is reputed to be an excellent brave man; I saw him in action; he waves his sword, shouts and rushes forward, closing his eyes. This is something not Russian courage! ..

I don't like him either: I feel that someday we will collide with him on a narrow road, and one of us will be unhappy.

His arrival in the Caucasus is also a consequence of his romantic fanaticism: I am sure that on the eve of his departure from his father's village, he spoke with gloomy look to some pretty neighbor that he was not going like that, just to serve, but that he was looking for death, because ... here, he probably covered his eyes with his hand and continued like this: "No, you (or you) should not to know! Your pure soul will shudder! And what's the point? What am I to you! Will you understand me?" - and so on.

He himself told me that the reason that prompted him to join the K. regiment would remain an eternal secret between him and heaven.

However, in those moments when he throws off his tragic mantle, Grushnitsky is rather nice and funny. I am curious to see him with women: here he is, I think, trying!

We met old friends. I began to question him about the way of life on the waters and about remarkable persons.

We lead a rather prosaic life,” he said with a sigh, “those who drink water in the morning are lethargic, like all the sick, and those who drink wine in the evening are unbearable, like all healthy people. There are sororities; only a little consolation from them: they play whist, dress badly and speak terrible French. This year there is only Princess Ligovskaya from Moscow with her daughter; but I am not familiar with them. My soldier's overcoat is like a seal of rejection. The participation she excites is heavy as almsgiving.

At that moment, two ladies walked past us to the well: one is elderly, the other is young and slender. I could not see their faces behind their hats, but they were dressed according to the strict rules of the best taste: nothing superfluous! The second wore a closed gris de perles 1 dress, a light silk scarf curled around her flexible neck. The couleur puce 2 boots tightened her lean leg at the ankle so nicely that even those not initiated into the mysteries of beauty would certainly gasp, although in surprise. Her light, but noble gait had something virginal in it, eluding definition, but understandable to the eye. When she walked past us, she wafted that inexplicable aroma that sometimes breathes a note from a nice woman.

Here is Princess Ligovskaya,” said Grushnitsky, “and with her is her daughter Mary, as she calls her in the English manner. They've only been here for three days.

However, do you already know her name?

Yes, I happened to hear, - he answered, blushing, - I confess, I do not want to meet them. This proud nobility is looking at us, the army, as wild. And what do they care if there is a mind under a numbered cap and a heart under a thick overcoat?

Poor overcoat! - I said, smiling, - and who is this gentleman who comes up to them and so obligingly gives them a glass?

ABOUT! - this is a Moscow dandy Raevich! He is a gambler: this can be seen immediately from the huge golden chain that winds around his blue waistcoat. And what a thick cane - like Robinson Crusoe! Yes, and a beard, by the way, and a hairstyle a la moujik 3 .

You are embittered against the whole human race.

And there is a reason...

ABOUT! right?

At this time, the ladies moved away from the well and caught up with us. Grushnitsky managed to take a dramatic pose with the help of a crutch and loudly answered me in French:

Mon cher, je hais les hommes pour ne pas les mepriser car autrement la vie serait une farce trop degoutante 4 .

The pretty princess turned around and gave the orator a long, curious look. The expression of this look was very vague, but not mocking, for which I inwardly congratulated him from the bottom of my heart.

This Princess Mary is very pretty, I told him. - She has such velvet eyes - exactly velvet: I advise you to appropriate this expression, speaking of her eyes; the lower and upper eyelashes are so long that the rays of the sun are not reflected in her pupils. I love those eyes without glitter: they are so soft, they seem to be stroking you... However, it seems that there is only good in her face... Does she have white teeth? It is very important! it's a pity she didn't smile at your pompous phrase.

You talk about a pretty woman like an English horse,” said Grushnitsky indignantly.

Mon cher, I answered him, trying to imitate his tone, je meprise les femmes pour ne pas les aimer car autrement la vie serait un melodrame trop ridicule.

I turned and walked away from him. For half an hour I walked along the vineyard avenues, over limestone rocks and bushes hanging between them. It was getting hot and I hurried home. Passing by a sulphurous source, I stopped at a covered gallery to breathe under its shade, which gave me the opportunity to be a witness to a rather curious scene. Characters were in this position. The princess was sitting with the Moscow dandy on a bench in the covered gallery, and both seemed to be engaged in a serious conversation. The princess, probably having finished her last glass, was walking thoughtfully by the well. Grushnitsky was standing at the very well; there was no one else on the site.

I moved closer and hid around the corner of the gallery. At that moment Grushnitsky dropped his glass on the sand and tried to bend down to pick it up: his bad leg was in the way. Bezhnyazhka! how he contrived, leaning on a crutch, and all in vain. His expressive face really depicted suffering.

Princess Mary saw all this better than me.

Lighter than a bird, she jumped up to him, bent down, picked up a glass and handed it to him with a gesture full of inexpressible charm; then she blushed terribly, looked round at the gallery, and, making sure that her mother had not seen anything, seemed to immediately calm down. When Grushnitsky opened his mouth to thank her, she was already far away. A minute later, she left the gallery with her mother and the dandy, but, passing by Grushnitsky, she took on such a decorous and important look - she didn’t even turn around, didn’t even notice his passionate look, with which he saw her off for a long time, until, going down the mountain, she disappeared behind the lime trees of the boulevard... But then her hat flashed across the street; she ran into the gates of one of the best houses in Pyatigorsk, the princess followed her and bowed to Raevich at the gates.

Only then did the poor junker notice my presence.

You've seen? - he said, firmly shaking my hand, - it's just an angel!

From what? I asked with an air of pure innocence.

Didn't you see?

No, I saw her raise your glass. If there had been a watchman here, he would have done the same, and even more hastily, hoping to get some vodka. However, it is very understandable that she felt sorry for you: you made such a terrible grimace when you stepped on your shot leg ...

And you were not in the least touched, looking at her at that moment, when her soul shone on her face? ..

I lied; but I wanted to annoy him. I have an innate passion to contradict; my whole life has been nothing but a chain of sad and unfortunate contradictions of heart or mind. The presence of an enthusiast gives me the coldness of Epiphany, and I think frequent intercourse with a listless phlegmatic would make me a passionate dreamer. I confess also that an unpleasant, but familiar feeling ran lightly at that moment through my heart; this feeling was envy; I boldly say "envy" because I'm used to admitting everything to myself; and it is unlikely that there will be a young man who, having met a pretty woman who riveted his idle attention and suddenly clearly distinguished another in his presence, who is equally unfamiliar to her, it is unlikely, I say, that there will be such a young man (of course, who lived in high society and was accustomed to ), who would not be unpleasantly struck by this.

In silence, Grushnitsky and I descended the mountain and walked along the boulevard, past the windows of the house where our beauty had hidden. She was sitting by the window. Grushnitsky, tugging at my hand, threw her one of those vaguely tender looks that have so little effect on women. I pointed a lorgnette at her and noticed that she smiled at his glance, and that my insolent lorgnette annoyed her in earnest. And how, in fact, does a Caucasian army soldier dare to point a glass at a Moscow princess? ..

This morning the doctor came to see me; his name is Werner, but he is Russian. What's so amazing? I knew one Ivanov, who was a German.

Werner is a wonderful person for many reasons. He is a skeptic and a materialist, like almost all doctors, and at the same time a poet, and in earnest - a poet in deed, always and often in words, although he did not write two poems in his life. He studied all the living strings of the human heart, as one studies the veins of a corpse, but he never knew how to use his knowledge; so sometimes an excellent anatomist cannot cure a fever! Usually Werner surreptitiously mocked his patients; but I once saw how he wept over a dying soldier... He was poor, dreamed of millions, and for money he would not take an extra step: he once told me that he would rather do a favor to an enemy than to a friend, because that would mean sell his charity, while hatred will only increase in proportion to the generosity of the enemy. He had an evil tongue: under the sign of his epigram, more than one good-natured man passed for a vulgar fool; his rivals, envious water doctors, spread a rumor that he was drawing caricatures of his patients - the patients became furious, almost everyone refused him. His friends, that is, all truly decent people who served in the Caucasus, tried in vain to restore his fallen credit.

His appearance was one of those that strike unpleasantly at first sight, but which one likes later, when the eye learns to read in irregular features the imprint of a tried and lofty soul. There were examples that women fell in love with such people to the point of madness and would not exchange their ugliness for the beauty of the freshest and pinkest endymons; it is necessary to do justice to women: they have an instinct for the beauty of their souls: that is why, perhaps, people like Werner love women so passionately.

Werner was short and thin and weak as a child; one leg was shorter than the other, like Byron's; in comparison with his body, his head seemed huge: he cut his hair with a comb, and the irregularities of his skull, thus revealed, would have struck a phrenologist with a strange intertwining of opposite inclinations. His small black eyes, always restless, tried to penetrate your thoughts. Taste and neatness were noticeable in his clothes; his lean, sinewy, and small hands showed off in pale yellow gloves. His coat, tie and waistcoat were always black. The youth nicknamed him Mephistopheles; he showed that he was angry at this nickname, but in fact it flattered his vanity. We soon understood each other and became friends, because I am incapable of friendship: of two friends, one is always the slave of the other, although often neither of them admits this to himself; I cannot be a slave, and in this case commanding is tedious work, because at the same time it is necessary to deceive; and besides, I have lackeys and money! This is how we became friends: I met Werner in S ... among a large and noisy circle of young people; the conversation took a philosophical and metaphysical direction towards the end of the evening; talked about beliefs: each was convinced of different differences.

As for me, I am convinced of only one thing ... - said the doctor.

What is it? I asked, wanting to know the opinion of the man who had so far been silent.

In that, - he answered, - that sooner or later one fine morning I will die.

I am richer than you, I said, - besides this, I have another conviction - namely, that I had the misfortune to be born one ugly evening.

Everyone found that we were talking nonsense, and, really, none of them said anything smarter than that. From that moment on, we distinguished each other in the crowd. We often got together and talked together about abstract subjects very seriously, until both of us noticed that we were mutually fooling each other. Then, looking significantly into each other's eyes, as the Roman augurs did, according to Cicero, we began to laugh and, having laughed, dispersed satisfied with our evening.

I was lying on the sofa with my eyes fixed on the ceiling and my hands behind the back of my head when Werner entered my room. He sat down in an armchair, put his cane in a corner, yawned, and announced that it was getting hot outside. I replied that the flies bothered me, and we both fell silent.

Note, my dear doctor, I said, that without fools the world would be very boring!... Look, here we are, two smart people; we know in advance that everything can be argued to infinity, and therefore we do not argue; we know almost all the secret thoughts of each other; one word is a whole story for us; we see the grain of each of our feelings through the triple shell. The sad is funny to us, the funny is sad, but in general, in truth, we are rather indifferent to everything, except ourselves. So, there can be no exchange of feelings and thoughts between us: we know everything about each other that we want to know, and we don’t want to know anymore. There is only one remedy: to tell the news. Tell me some news.

Tired of the long speech, I closed my eyes and yawned...

He answered thoughtfully:

There is an idea in your nonsense, however.

Two! I answered.

Tell me one, I'll tell you another.

Okay, get started! - I said, continuing to look at the ceiling and smiling inwardly.

You want to know some details about someone who came to the waters, and I can already guess who you care about, because they already asked about you there.

Doctor! we must definitely not talk: we read in each other's souls.

Now another...

Another idea is this: I wanted to make you tell something; first, because such smart people like you, are better liked by listeners than by storytellers. Now to the point: what did Princess Ligovskaya tell you about me?

Are you very sure that this is a princess ... and not a princess? ..

Absolutely convinced.

Because the princess asked about Grushnitsky.

You have a great gift of thought. The princess said that she was sure that this young man in a soldier's overcoat had been demoted to the soldiers for a duel ..

I hope you left her in this pleasant delusion ...

Of course.

There is a link! - I shouted in admiration, - we will work on the denouement of this comedy. Clearly fate takes care that I was not bored.

I have a presentiment,” said the doctor, “that poor Grushnitsky will be your victim...

The princess said that your face is familiar to her. I remarked to her that she must have met you in Petersburg, somewhere in the world... I said your name... She knew it. It seems that your story made a lot of noise there ... The princess began to talk about your adventures, probably adding her remarks to secular gossip ... The daughter listened with curiosity. In her imagination you became the hero of a novel in a new style... I did not contradict the princess, although I knew that she was talking nonsense.

Worthy friend! I said holding out my hand to him. The doctor shook it with feeling and continued:

If you want, I'll introduce you...

Have mercy! - I said, clasping my hands, - do they represent heroes? They do not get to know each other except by saving their beloved from certain death ...

And do you really want to drag the princess? ..

On the contrary, quite the opposite!.. Doctor, at last I triumph: you don’t understand me!.. This, however, upsets me, doctor, - I continued after a moment of silence, - I never reveal my secrets myself, but I love terribly that they were guessed, because in this way I can always, on occasion, unlock them. However, you must describe mother and daughter to me. What kind of people are they?

Firstly, the princess is a woman of forty-five years old, - Werner answered, - she has a fine stomach, but her blood is spoiled; red spots on cheeks. She spent the last half of her life in Moscow, and here she grew fat in retirement. She loves seductive anecdotes and sometimes says obscene things herself when her daughter is not in the room. She told me that her daughter was as innocent as a dove. What do I care? .. I wanted to answer her, so that she was calm, that I would not tell anyone this! The princess is being treated for rheumatism, and the daughter, God knows what; I told them both to drink two glasses a day of sour water and to bathe twice a week in a diluted bath. The princess, it seems, is not used to giving orders; she has respect for the mind and knowledge of her daughter, who read Byron in English and knows algebra: in Moscow, apparently, young ladies have embarked on learning, and they are doing well, right! Our men are so unaccommodating in general that flirting with them must be unbearable for an intelligent woman. The princess is very fond of young people: the princess looks at them with some contempt: a Moscow habit! In Moscow they eat nothing but forty-year-old wits.

Have you been to Moscow, doctor?

Yes, I had some practice there.

Go on.

Yes, I think I said everything... Yes! Here's another thing: the princess, it seems, loves to talk about feelings, passions, and so on ... she was one winter in Petersburg, and she didn’t like it, especially society: she was certainly coldly received.

Did you see any of them today?

Against; there was one adjutant, one strained guardsman, and some lady from the newcomers, a relative of the princess by husband, very pretty, but it seems very sick ... Didn't you meet her at the well? - she is of medium height, blonde, with regular features, consumptive complexion, and a black mole on her right cheek; her face struck me with its expressiveness.

Mole! I muttered through my teeth. - Really?

The doctor looked at me and said solemnly, placing his hand on my heart:

She is familiar to you!.. - My heart was definitely beating faster than usual.

Now it's your turn to celebrate! - I said, - only I hope for you: you will not change me. I haven’t seen her yet, but I’m sure I recognize in your portrait one woman whom I loved in the old days ... Don’t say a word to her about me; if she asks, be mean to me.

Perhaps! Werner said with a shrug.

When he left, a terrible sadness cramped my heart. Did fate bring us together again in the Caucasus, or did she come here on purpose, knowing that she would meet me? .. and how we would meet? .. and then, is it her? .. My premonitions never deceived me. There is no person in the world over whom the past would acquire such power as over me: every reminder of past sadness or joy painfully strikes my soul and extracts all the same sounds from it ... I am stupidly created: I do not forget anything, - nothing !

After dinner at six o'clock I went to the boulevard: there was a crowd; the princess and the princess were sitting on a bench, surrounded by young people who were accommodating each other. I placed myself at some distance on another bench, stopped two officers I knew, and began to tell them something; apparently it was funny, because they started laughing like crazy. Curiosity attracted some of those around the princess to me; little by little, everyone left her and joined my circle. I did not stop: my anecdotes were smart to the point of stupidity, my mockery of the originals passing by was angry to the point of fury ... I continued to amuse the audience until the sun went down. Several times the princess, arm in arm with her mother, passed me, accompanied by some kind of lame old man; several times her gaze, falling on me, expressed annoyance, trying to express indifference ...

What did he tell you? - she asked one of the young people who returned to her out of politeness, - right, a very entertaining story - her exploits in battles? .. - She said this rather loudly and, probably, with the intention of stabbing me. "Aha! - I thought, - you are seriously angry, dear princess; wait, there will be more!"

Grushnitsky watched her like a beast of prey, and did not let her out of his eyes: I bet that tomorrow he will ask someone to introduce him to the princess. She will be very happy because she is bored.

In the course of two days my affairs advanced terribly. The princess absolutely hates me; I have already been told two or three epigrams to my account, rather caustic, but together very flattering. It is terribly strange to her that I, who am accustomed to good company, which is so short with her Petersburg cousins ​​and aunts, do not try to get to know her. We meet every day at the well, on the boulevard; I use all my strength to distract her admirers, brilliant adjutants, pale Muscovites and others - and I almost always succeed. I have always hated guests at home: now my house is full every day, they dine, dine, play - and, alas, my champagne triumphs over the power of her magnetic eyes!

Yesterday I met her in Chelakhov's shop; she was selling a wonderful Persian carpet. The princess begged her mother not to be stingy: this carpet would decorate her study so much! .. I gave forty extra rubles and bought it; for this I was rewarded with a glance in which the most delightful fury shone. About dinner I ordered my Circassian horse, covered with this carpet, to be purposely led past her windows. Werner was with them at the time and told me that the effect of this scene was the most dramatic. The princess wants to preach the militia against me; I even noticed that two adjutants in front of her were bowing very dryly to me, but every day they dined with me.

Grushnitsky took on a mysterious air: he walks with his hands thrown behind his back, and does not recognize anyone; his leg suddenly recovered: he barely limps. He found an opportunity to enter into a conversation with the princess and said some kind of compliment to the princess: she, apparently, is not very picky, for since then she has answered his bow with the sweetest smile.

You definitely don't want to meet the Ligovskys? he told me yesterday.

Decisively.

Have mercy! the most pleasant house on the waters! All the best society here...

My friend, I am terribly tired of the unearthly. Do you visit them?

Not yet; I spoke with the princess a couple of times, and more, but you know, somehow it’s embarrassing to ask for a house, although this is what happens here ... It would be another matter if I wore epaulettes ...

Have mercy! yes commercials you are much more interesting! You simply do not know how to use your advantageous position ... but a soldier's overcoat in the eyes of a sensitive young lady makes you a hero and a sufferer.

Grushnitsky smiled smugly.

What nonsense! - he said.

I am sure, - I continued, - that the princess is already in love with you!

He blushed up to his ears and pouted.

O selfishness! you are the lever with which Archimedes wanted to raise the globe! ..

You have all the jokes! - he said, showing that he was angry, - in the first place, she still knows me so little ...

Women love only those they don't know.

Yes, I have no pretense at all that she likes me: I just want to get acquainted with a pleasant house, and it would be very funny if I had any hopes ... Here you are, for example, another matter! - you are the winners of St. Petersburg: just look, women are melting like that ... Do you know, Pechorin, what the princess said about you?

How? did she tell you about me?

Don't rejoice, though. I somehow entered into a conversation with her at the well, by chance; her third word was: "Who is this gentleman who has such an unpleasant heavy look? he was with you then..." She blushed and did not want to name the day, remembering her sweet trick. "You don't need to tell the day," I answered her, "he will forever be remembered by me..." My friend, Pechorin! I do not congratulate you; she has you on a bad note ... Oh, really, it's a pity! because Mary is very cute!..

It should be noted that Grushnitsky is one of those people who, speaking of a woman with whom they barely know, call her my Mary, my Sophie, if she had the good fortune to please them.

I took on a serious face and answered him:

Yes, she's not bad... just beware, Grushnitsky! Russian young ladies for the most part feed only on platonic love, without mixing with it the thought of marriage; and platonic love is the most restless. The princess seems to be one of those women who want to be amused; if for two minutes in a row she is bored around you, you are irretrievably lost: your silence should arouse her curiosity, your conversation should never fully satisfy it; you must disturb her every minute; she will publicly disregard your opinion ten times and call it a victim, and in order to reward herself for this, she will begin torturing you - and then she will simply say that she cannot stand you. If you do not gain power over her, then even her first kiss will not give you the right to a second; she flirts with you to her heart’s content, and in two years she will marry a freak, out of obedience to her mother, and will begin to assure herself that she is unhappy, that she loved only one person, that is, you, but that heaven did not want to unite her with him , because he was wearing a soldier's overcoat, although under this thick gray overcoat a passionate and noble heart was beating ...

Grushnitsky struck the table with his fist and began to pace up and down the room.

I laughed inwardly and even smiled twice, but fortunately he did not notice it. It is obvious that he is in love, because he has become even more trusting than before; he even got a silver ring with niello, local work: it seemed suspicious to me ... I began to examine it, and what? famous glass. I concealed my discovery; I don't want to force him to confess, I want him to choose me as his attorney, and then I'll enjoy ...

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Today I got up late; I come to the well - there is no one else. It was getting hot; white shaggy clouds quickly fled from the snowy mountains, promising a thunderstorm; Mashuk's head was smoking like an extinguished torch; around it, gray wisps of clouds curled and crawled like snakes, held back in their striving and seemed to be clinging to its thorny bush. The air was filled with electricity. I went deeper into the avenue of grapes leading to the grotto; I was sad. I was thinking about that young woman with the mole on her cheek that the doctor told me about... Why is she here? And is she? And why do I think it's her? And why am I even so sure of it? Are there many women with moles on their cheeks? Thinking in this way, I approached the grotto itself. I look: in the cool shade of its vault, a woman is sitting on a stone bench, in a straw hat, wrapped in a black shawl, her head on her chest; the hat covered her face. I already wanted to return, so as not to disturb her dreams, when she looked at me.

Faith! I cried out involuntarily.

She shuddered and turned pale.

I knew you were here, she said. I sat down next to her and took her hand. A long-forgotten thrill ran through my veins at the sound of that sweet voice; she looked into my eyes with her deep and calm eyes; they expressed incredulity and something like a reproach.

We haven’t seen each other for a long time,” I said.

A long time ago, and both have changed in many ways!

So you don't love me?

I'm married! - she said.

Again? However, a few years ago, this reason also existed, but in the meantime ... She pulled her hand out of mine, and her cheeks burned.

Maybe you love your second husband? .. She did not answer and turned away.

Or is he very jealous?

Silence.

Well? He is young, good-looking, especially, it is true, rich, and you are afraid ... - I looked at her and was frightened; her face expressed deep despair, tears sparkled in her eyes.

Tell me, she whispered at last, do you have a lot of fun in torturing me? I should hate you. Since we've known each other, you've given me nothing but suffering... - Her voice trembled, she leaned towards me and lowered her head on my chest.

"Perhaps," I thought, "that's why you loved me: joys are forgotten, but sorrows never..."

I hugged her tightly, and so we stayed for a long time. At last our lips drew closer and merged into a hot, intoxicating kiss; her hands were cold as ice, her head was on fire. Here we began one of those conversations that make no sense on paper, which cannot be repeated and cannot even be remembered: the meaning of sounds replaces and complements the meaning of words, as in Italian opera.

She resolutely does not want me to meet her husband - that lame old man whom I saw briefly on the boulevard: she married him for her son. He is rich and suffers from rheumatism. I did not allow myself a single mockery of him: she respects him like a father, and will deceive him like a husband ... A strange thing is a human heart in general, and a woman's heart in particular!

Vera's husband, Semyon Vasilyevich G...v, a distant relative of Princess Ligovskaya. He lives next to her; Vera often visits the princess; I gave her my word to get acquainted with the Ligovskys and to follow the princess in order to divert attention from her. Thus, my plans are not in the least frustrated, and I will have fun ...

Fun!.. Yes, I have already passed that period of my spiritual life when they are only looking for happiness, when the heart feels the need to love someone strongly and passionately - now I only want to be loved, and then by very few; even it seems to me that one constant affection would be enough for me: a miserable habit of the heart! ..

However, it has always been strange to me: I have never become a slave to the woman I love; on the contrary, I have always acquired an invincible power over their will and heart, without even trying to do so. Why is this? - Is it because I never really value anything and that they were constantly afraid to let me out of their hands? or is it the magnetic influence of a strong organism? Or did I just not manage to meet a woman with a stubborn character?

I must admit that I definitely do not like women with character: is it their business! ..

True, now I remember: once, only once, I loved a woman with a strong will, whom I could never defeat ... We parted as enemies - and then, maybe, if I had met her five years later, we would have parted differently ...

Vera is ill, very ill, although she does not admit it, I am afraid that she may not have consumption or that illness which is called fievre lente 6 - the illness is not Russian at all, and there is no name for it in our language.

The storm caught us in the grotto and kept us for an extra half an hour. She did not force me to swear allegiance, did not ask if I loved others since we parted ... She entrusted herself to me again with the same carelessness - I will not deceive her; she is the only woman in the world whom I would not be able to deceive. I know that we will soon part again, and perhaps forever: we will both go our separate ways to the grave; but the memory of her will remain inviolable in my soul; I always repeated this to her and she believes me, although she says the opposite.

At last we parted; I followed her with my eyes for a long time, until her hat disappeared behind the bushes and rocks. My heart sank painfully, as after the first parting. Oh, how I rejoiced at this feeling! Is it not youth, with its beneficial storms, that wants to return to me again, or is it just its farewell glance, the last gift - as a keepsake?.. And it’s ridiculous to think that I still look like a boy: my face, although pale, is still fresh; members are flexible and slender; thick curls curl, eyes burn, blood boils ...

Returning home, I mounted and galloped into the steppe; I love to ride a hot horse through tall grass against the desert wind; I greedily swallow the fragrant air and direct my gaze into the blue distance, trying to catch the vague outlines of objects that are becoming clearer and clearer every minute. Whatever grief may lie on the heart, whatever anxiety may torment the thought, everything will dissipate in a minute; the soul will become light, the fatigue of the body will overcome the anxiety of the mind. There is no woman's gaze that I would not forget at the sight of curly mountains illuminated by the southern sun, at the sight of a blue sky, or listening to the noise of a stream falling from cliff to cliff.

I think the Cossacks, yawning on their towers, seeing me galloping without need or purpose, were tormented by this riddle for a long time, because, surely, by the clothes they took me for a Circassian. In fact, they told me that in a Circassian costume on horseback I look more like a Kabardian than many Kabardians. And for sure, as far as this noble combat clothing is concerned, I am a perfect dandy: not a single extra galloon; a weapon of value in a simple finish, the fur on the hat is not too long, not too short; leggings and slippers fitted with all possible precision; beshmet white, Circassian dark brown. I have long studied mountain landing: nothing can flatter my vanity so much as recognizing my skill in riding in a Caucasian way. I keep four horses: one for myself, three for friends, so that it would not be boring to drag myself through the fields alone; they take my horses with pleasure and never ride with me. It was already six o'clock in the afternoon when I remembered that it was time for dinner; my horse was exhausted; I drove onto the road leading from Pyatigorsk to the German colony, where the water society often travels en piquenique 7 . The road winds through the bushes, descending into small ravines where noisy streams flow under the shade of tall grasses; around the amphitheater rise the blue masses of Beshtu, Serpent, Iron and Bald Mountains. Descending into one of these ravines, called beams in the local dialect, I stopped to water the horse; at that moment, a noisy and brilliant cavalcade appeared on the road: ladies in black and blue amazons, gentlemen in costumes that were a mixture of Circassian and Nizhny Novgorod; Grushnitsky rode ahead with Princess Mary.

Ladies on the waters still believe the attacks of the Circassians in broad daylight; this is probably why Grushnitsky hung a saber and a pair of pistols over his soldier's overcoat: he was rather ridiculous in this heroic vestment. A tall bush shielded me from them, but through its leaves I could see everything and guess from the expressions on their faces that the conversation was sentimental. At last they approached the descent; Grushnitsky took the princess's horse by the bridle, and then I heard the end of their conversation:

And you want to stay in the Caucasus all your life? - said the princess.

What is Russia for me! - answered her gentleman, - a country where thousands of people, because they are richer than me, will look at me with contempt, while here - here this thick overcoat did not prevent my acquaintance with you ...

On the contrary ... - said the princess, blushing.

Grushnitsky's face showed pleasure. He continued:

Here my life will pass noisily, imperceptibly and quickly, under the bullets of savages, and if God would send me one bright female look every year, one like that ...

At this time they caught up with me; I hit the horse with a whip and rode out from behind a bush...

Mon Dieu, un Circassien! .. 8 - cried the princess in horror. To completely dissuade her, I answered in French, leaning slightly:

Ne craignez rien, madame, - je ne suis pas plus dangereux que votre cavalier 9 .

She was embarrassed, but why? from her own mistake, or from the fact that my answer seemed impudent to her? I would like my last assumption to be correct. Grushnitsky cast a displeased glance at me.

Late in the evening, that is, at eleven o'clock, I went for a walk along the linden alley of the boulevard. The city was sleeping, only lights flickered in some windows. On three sides blackened the ridges of the cliffs, branches of Mashuk, on the top of which lay an ominous cloud; the moon rose in the east; in the distance the snow-capped mountains glittered like a silver fringe. The calls of sentries were interspersed with the noise of hot springs lowered for the night. Sometimes the sonorous stomp of a horse was heard along the street, accompanied by the creak of a Nagai cart and a mournful Tatar refrain. I sat down on the bench and thought... I felt the need to pour out my thoughts in friendly conversation... but with whom? "What is Vera doing now?" I thought... I would give dearly to shake her hand at that moment.

Suddenly I hear fast and uneven footsteps... That's right, Grushnitsky... That's right!

From Princess Ligovskaya,” he said very importantly. - How Mary sings! ..

Do you know what? - I said to him, - I bet that she does not know that you are a Junker; she thinks you're degraded...

May be! What do I care! .. - he said absently.

No, that's just what I'm saying...

Do you know that you made her terribly angry today? She found it to be an unheard-of impertinence; I could hardly convince her that you were so well brought up and know the world so well that I could not have the intention of offending her; she says that you have an impudent look, that you must have the highest opinion of yourself.

She is not mistaken... Don't you want to intercede for her?

I'm sorry I don't have that right yet...

Wow! - I thought, - he, apparently, already has hopes ... "

However, it’s worse for you,” continued Grushnitsky, “now it’s hard for you to get to know them—what a pity! it is one of the nicest houses I know of. . .

I smiled inwardly.

The most pleasant home for me is now mine,” I said, yawning, and got up to go.

But admit it, are you sorry? . .

What nonsense! if I want, then tomorrow evening I will be with the princess ...

Let's see.. .

Even in order to please you, I will drag myself behind the princess ...

Yes, if she wants to talk to you...

I'll only wait for the moment when your conversation will bore her... Farewell!...

And I'm going to stagger - I won't fall asleep for anything now ... Listen, let's go to a restaurant, there's a game ... I need strong sensations now ...

I want you to lose...

I am going home.

Almost a week has passed, and I have not yet met the Ligovskys. I'm waiting for an opportunity. Grushnitsky, like a shadow, follows the princess everywhere; their conversations are endless: when will he get bored with her? .. Mother does not pay attention to this, because he is not a groom. Here is the logic of mothers! I noticed two, three tender glances - we must put an end to this.

Yesterday Vera appeared at the well for the first time... She hasn't left the house since we met in the grotto. We lowered our glasses at the same time, and, bending down, she said to me in a whisper:

Don't you want to meet the Ligovskys?.. We can only see each other there...

Reproach! boring! But I deserve it...

By the way: tomorrow there is a subscription ball in the restaurant hall, and I will dance a mazurka with the princess.

Footnotes

1 Grey-pearl. (French) - Ed.

2 Reddish brown (flea color). (French) - Ed.

3 Like a man. (French) - Ed.

4 My dear, I hate people in order not to despise them, for otherwise life would be too disgusting a farce. (French) - Ed.

5 My dear, I despise women in order not to love them, because otherwise life would be too ridiculous a melodrama. (French) - Ed.

6 Slow fever. (French) - Ed.

7 Picnic. (French) - Ed.

8 My God, Circassian! .. (French) - Ed.

9 Do not be afraid, ma'am - I'm not more dangerous than your gentleman. (French) - Ed.

Maria Ligovskaya. In the novel, Princess Mary uses it to emphasize her status.

Here is Princess Ligovskaya,” said Grushnitsky, “and with her is her daughter Mary, as she calls her in the English manner.

This Princess Ligovskaya

Age

Not sure exactly, but probably around 16.

why am I so stubbornly seeking the love of a young girl

But there is an immense pleasure in the possession of a young, barely blossoming soul!

Attitude towards Pechorin

At first dismissive and negative:

I pointed a lorgnette at her and noticed that she smiled at his glance, and that my insolent lorgnette annoyed her in earnest.

In the course of two days my affairs advanced terribly. The princess absolutely hates me;

The daughter listened with curiosity. In her imagination, you became the hero of a novel in a new taste.

she flirts with you enough, and in two years she will marry a freak, out of obedience to her mother

the princess also wanted to laugh more than once, but she restrained herself so as not to leave the role she had assumed: she finds that languor is coming to her - and, perhaps, she is not mistaken

At the same time quite proud. Made other women jealous.

hostile intentions against the sweet princess

my insolent lorgnette annoyed her in earnest. And how, in fact, dares a Caucasian soldier to point a glass at a Moscow princess?

And what is she proud of? She should be taught

This Princess Ligovskaya is an obnoxious girl! Imagine, she pushed me and did not apologize, and even turned around and looked at me through her lorgnette

passing by Grushnitsky, she assumed such a decorous and important air - she did not even turn around

Yesterday I arrived in Pyatigorsk, rented an apartment on the edge of the city, on the highest place, at the foot of Mashuk: during a thunderstorm, clouds will descend to my roof. This morning at five o'clock, when I opened the window, my room was filled with the smell of flowers growing in a modest front garden. Branches of blossoming cherries look out my windows, and the wind sometimes strews my desk with their white petals. The view from three sides is wonderful. To the west, the five-headed Beshtu turns blue, like "the last cloud of a scattered storm"; Mashuk rises to the north, like a shaggy Persian hat, and covers this entire part of the sky; it’s more fun to look to the east: down below, a clean, brand new town is full of colors in front of me, healing springs rustle, a multilingual crowd rustles, - and there, further, the mountains are piled up like an amphitheater, all blue and foggy, and on the edge of the horizon stretches a silver chain of snow peaks, starting with Kazbek and ending two-headed Elborus ... It's fun to live in such a land! Some kind of gratifying feeling is poured into all my veins. The air is pure and fresh, like the kiss of a child; the sun is bright, the sky is blue - what would seem more? - Why is there passion, desire, regret? .. However, it's time. I’ll go to the Elizabethan spring: they say that the whole water community gathers there in the morning.

* * *

Descending into the middle of the city, I went along the boulevard, where I met several sad groups slowly going up the hill; they were for the most part a family of steppe landowners; this could be immediately guessed from the worn, old-fashioned frock coats of the husbands and from the exquisite outfits of the wives and daughters; Evidently, all the water youth were already counted among them, because they looked at me with tender curiosity: the Petersburg cut of the frock coat misled them, but, soon recognizing army epaulettes, they turned away indignantly.

The wives of the local authorities, mistresses of the waters, so to speak, were more benevolent; they have lorgnettes, they pay less attention to their uniforms, they are accustomed in the Caucasus to meet an ardent heart under a numbered button and an educated mind under a white cap. These ladies are very sweet; and long cute! Every year their admirers are replaced by new ones, and this, perhaps, is the secret of their indefatigable courtesy. Climbing up the narrow path to the Elizabethan spring, I overtook a crowd of men, civilians and military men, who, as I later learned, constitute a special class of people between those who yearn for the movement of water. They drink - but not water, they walk a little, drag only in passing; they play and complain of boredom. They are dandies: lowering their braided glass into a well of sour water, they assume academic poses: civilians wear light blue ties, the military let out a ruff from behind the collar. They profess a deep contempt for provincial houses and sigh for the aristocratic living rooms of the capital, where they are not allowed.

Finally, here is the well ... On the site near it, a house with a red roof was built over a bath, and further away a gallery where people walk when it rains. Several wounded officers were sitting on a bench, picking up their crutches, pale and sad. Several ladies were walking quickly up and down the platform, waiting for the action of the waters. Between them were two or three pretty faces. Under the vine alleys covering the slope of Mashuk, sometimes the colorful hats of lovers of solitude together flashed by, because I always noticed near such a hat either a military cap or an ugly round hat. On the steep rock where the pavilion called the Aeolian Harp was built, lovers of the views stuck out and pointed their telescope at Elborus; between them were two tutors with their pupils, who had come to be treated for scrofula.

I stopped, out of breath, on the edge of the mountain and, leaning against the corner of the house, began to examine the surroundings, when suddenly I heard a familiar voice behind me:

I turn around: Grushnitsky! We hugged. I met him in the active detachment. He was wounded by a bullet in the leg and went to the waters a week before me. Grushnitsky is a cadet. He is only a year in the service, wears, in a special kind of foppery, a thick soldier's overcoat. He has a St. George soldier's cross. He is well built, swarthy and black-haired; he looks to be twenty-five years old, although he is hardly twenty-one years old. He throws his head back when he speaks, and continually twists his mustache with his left hand, for with his right he leans on a crutch. He speaks quickly and pretentiously: he is one of those people who have ready-made pompous phrases for all occasions, who are simply not touched by the beautiful and who importantly drape themselves in extraordinary feelings, sublime passions and exceptional suffering. To produce an effect is their delight; romantic provincial women like them to the point of madness. In old age, they become either peaceful landowners or drunkards - sometimes both. In their souls there are often many good qualities, but not a penny worth of poetry. Grushnitsky's passion was to recite: he bombarded you with words, as soon as the conversation left the circle of ordinary concepts; I could never argue with him. He does not answer your objections, he does not listen to you. As soon as you stop, he starts a long tirade, apparently having some connection with what you said, but which is really only a continuation of his own speech.

He is rather sharp: his epigrams are often funny, but there are never marks and evil: he will not kill anyone with one word; he does not know people and their weak strings, because he has been occupied with himself all his life. His goal is to become the hero of the novel. He tried so often to assure others that he was a creature not created for the world, doomed to some secret suffering, that he almost convinced himself of this. That is why he wears his thick soldier's overcoat so proudly. I understood him, and for this he does not love me, although we outwardly are on the most friendly terms. Grushnitsky is reputed to be an excellent brave man; I saw him in action; he waves his sword, shouts and rushes forward, closing his eyes. This is something not Russian courage! ..

I don't like him either: I feel that someday we will collide with him on a narrow road, and one of us will be unhappy.

His arrival in the Caucasus is also a consequence of his romantic fanaticism: I am sure that on the eve of his departure from his father's village, he spoke with a gloomy look to some pretty neighbor that he was not going like that, just to serve, but that he was looking for death, because ... here , he probably covered his eyes with his hand and continued like this: “No, you (or you) should not know this! Your pure soul will shudder! Yes, and why? What am I to you! Will you understand me? - and so on.

He himself told me that the reason that prompted him to join the K. regiment would remain an eternal secret between him and heaven.

However, in those moments when he throws off his tragic mantle, Grushnitsky is rather nice and funny. I am curious to see him with women: here he is, I think, trying!

We met old friends. I began to question him about the way of life on the waters and about remarkable persons.

“We lead a rather prosaic life,” he said with a sigh, “those who drink water in the morning are lethargic, like all the sick, and those who drink wine in the evening are unbearable, like all healthy people. There are sororities; only a little consolation from them: they play whist, dress badly and speak terrible French. This year there is only Princess Ligovskaya from Moscow with her daughter; but I am not familiar with them. My soldier's overcoat is like a seal of rejection. The participation she excites is heavy as almsgiving.

At that moment, two ladies walked past us to the well: one is elderly, the other is young and slender. I could not see their faces behind their hats, but they were dressed according to the strict rules of the best taste: nothing superfluous! The second wore a gris de perles sheer dress, a light silk kerchief curled around her supple neck. The couleur puce boots tightened her lean leg at the ankle so nicely that even those not initiated into the mysteries of beauty would certainly gasp, although in surprise. Her light, but noble gait had something virginal in it, eluding definition, but understandable to the eye. When she walked past us, she wafted that inexplicable aroma that sometimes breathes a note from a nice woman.

“However, do you already know her name?”

“Yes, I heard by chance,” he answered, blushing, “I confess that I do not want to meet them. This proud nobility is looking at us, the army, as wild. And what do they care if there is a mind under a numbered cap and a heart under a thick overcoat?

- Poor overcoat! - I said, grinning, - and who is this gentleman who comes up to them and so obligingly gives them a glass?

- ABOUT! - this is the Moscow dandy Raevich! He is a gambler: this can be seen immediately from the huge golden chain that winds around his blue waistcoat. And what a thick cane - like Robinson Crusoe! Yes, and a beard, by the way, and a la moujik hairstyle.

“You are embittered against the whole human race.

- And there is something for ...

- ABOUT! right?

At this time, the ladies moved away from the well and caught up with us. Grushnitsky managed to take a dramatic pose with the help of a crutch and loudly answered me in French:

- Mon cher, je hais les hommes pour ne pas les mepriser car autrement la vie serait une farce trop degoutante.

The pretty princess turned around and gave the orator a long, curious look. The expression of this look was very vague, but not mocking, for which I inwardly congratulated him from the bottom of my heart.

“That Princess Mary is very pretty,” I told him. - She has such velvet eyes - velvet ones: I advise you to appropriate this expression, speaking of her eyes; the lower and upper eyelashes are so long that the rays of the sun are not reflected in her pupils. I love those eyes without sparkle: they are so soft, they seem to be stroking you... However, it seems that there is only good in her face... Does she have white teeth? It is very important! it's a pity she didn't smile at your pompous phrase.

“You talk about a pretty woman like an English horse,” said Grushnitsky indignantly.

“Mon cher,” I answered him, trying to imitate his tone, “je meprise les femmes pour ne pas les aimer car autrement la vie serait un melodrame trop ridicule.”

I turned and walked away from him. For half an hour I walked along the vineyard avenues, over limestone rocks and bushes hanging between them. It was getting hot and I hurried home. Passing by a sulphurous source, I stopped at a covered gallery to breathe under its shade, which gave me the opportunity to be a witness to a rather curious scene. The actors were in this position. The princess was sitting with the Moscow dandy on a bench in the covered gallery, and both seemed to be engaged in a serious conversation. The princess, probably having finished her last glass, was walking thoughtfully by the well. Grushnitsky was standing at the very well; there was no one else on the site.

I moved closer and hid around the corner of the gallery. At that moment Grushnitsky dropped his glass on the sand and tried to bend down to pick it up: his bad leg was in the way. Bezhnyazhka! how he contrived, leaning on a crutch, and all in vain. His expressive face really depicted suffering.

Princess Mary saw all this better than me.

Lighter than a bird, she jumped up to him, bent down, picked up a glass and handed it to him with a gesture full of inexpressible charm; then she blushed terribly, looked round at the gallery, and, making sure that her mother had not seen anything, seemed to immediately calm down. When Grushnitsky opened his mouth to thank her, she was already far away. A minute later, she left the gallery with her mother and the dandy, but, passing by Grushnitsky, she took on such a decorous and important look - she didn’t even turn around, didn’t even notice his passionate look, with which he saw her off for a long time, until, going down the mountain, she disappeared behind the lime trees of the boulevard ... But then her hat flashed across the street; she ran into the gates of one of the best houses in Pyatigorsk, the princess followed her and bowed to Raevich at the gates.

Only then did the poor junker notice my presence.

- You've seen? - he said, shaking my hand firmly, - it's just an angel!

- From what? I asked with an air of pure innocence.

- Didn't you see it?

– No, I saw her raise your glass. If there had been a watchman here, he would have done the same, and even more hastily, hoping to get some vodka. However, it is very understandable that she felt sorry for you: you made such a terrible grimace when you stepped on your shot leg ...

- And you were not in the least touched, looking at her at that moment, when her soul shone on her face? ..

I lied; but I wanted to annoy him. I have an innate passion to contradict; my whole life has been nothing but a chain of sad and unfortunate contradictions of heart or mind. The presence of an enthusiast gives me the coldness of Epiphany, and I think frequent intercourse with a listless phlegmatic would make me a passionate dreamer. I confess also that an unpleasant, but familiar feeling ran lightly at that moment through my heart; this feeling was envy; I boldly say "envy" because I'm used to admitting everything to myself; and it is unlikely that there will be a young man who, having met a pretty woman who riveted his idle attention and suddenly clearly distinguished another in his presence, who is equally unfamiliar to her, it is unlikely, I say, that there will be such a young man (of course, who lived in high society and was accustomed to ), who would not be unpleasantly struck by this.

In silence, Grushnitsky and I descended the mountain and walked along the boulevard, past the windows of the house where our beauty had hidden. She was sitting by the window. Grushnitsky, tugging at my hand, threw her one of those vaguely tender looks that have so little effect on women. I pointed a lorgnette at her and noticed that she smiled at his glance, and that my insolent lorgnette annoyed her in earnest. And how, in fact, does a Caucasian army soldier dare to point a glass at a Moscow princess? ..

This morning the doctor came to see me; his name is Werner, but he is Russian. What's so amazing? I knew one Ivanov, who was a German.

Werner is a wonderful person for many reasons. He is a skeptic and a materialist, like almost all doctors, and at the same time a poet, and in earnest - a poet in deed, always and often in words, although he did not write two poems in his life. He studied all the living strings of the human heart, as one studies the veins of a corpse, but he never knew how to use his knowledge; so sometimes an excellent anatomist cannot cure a fever! Usually Werner surreptitiously mocked his patients; but I once saw how he wept over a dying soldier... He was poor, dreamed of millions, but for money he would not take an extra step: he once told me that he would rather do a favor to an enemy than to a friend, because that would mean selling his charity, while hatred will only increase in proportion to the generosity of the enemy. He had an evil tongue: under the sign of his epigram, more than one good-natured man passed for a vulgar fool; his rivals, envious water doctors, spread the rumor that he was drawing caricatures of his patients - the patients became furious, almost everyone refused him. His friends, that is, all truly decent people who served in the Caucasus, tried in vain to restore his fallen credit.

His appearance was one of those that strike unpleasantly at first sight, but which one likes later, when the eye learns to read in irregular features the imprint of a tried and lofty soul. There were examples that women fell in love with such people to the point of madness and would not exchange their ugliness for the beauty of the freshest and pinkest endymons; it is necessary to do justice to women: they have an instinct for the beauty of their souls: that is why, perhaps, people like Werner love women so passionately.

Werner was short and thin and weak as a child; one leg was shorter than the other, like Byron's; in comparison with his body, his head seemed huge: he cut his hair with a comb, and the irregularities of his skull, thus revealed, would have struck a phrenologist with a strange intertwining of opposite inclinations. His small black eyes, always restless, tried to penetrate your thoughts. Taste and neatness were noticeable in his clothes; his lean, sinewy, and small hands showed off in pale yellow gloves. His coat, tie and waistcoat were always black. The youth nicknamed him Mephistopheles; he showed that he was angry at this nickname, but in fact it flattered his vanity. We soon understood each other and became friends, because I am incapable of friendship: of two friends, one is always the slave of the other, although often neither of them admits this to himself; I cannot be a slave, and in this case commanding is tedious work, because at the same time it is necessary to deceive; and besides, I have lackeys and money! This is how we became friends: I met Werner in S ... among a large and noisy circle of young people; the conversation took a philosophical and metaphysical direction towards the end of the evening; talked about beliefs: each was convinced of different differences.

- As far as I am concerned, I am convinced of only one thing ... - said the doctor.

– What is it? I asked, wanting to know the opinion of the man who had so far been silent.

“Because,” he answered, “sooner or later, one fine morning, I will die.”

“I am richer than you,” I said, “besides this, I have another conviction—namely, that I had the misfortune to be born one ugly evening.

Everyone found that we were talking nonsense, and, really, none of them said anything smarter than that. From that moment on, we distinguished each other in the crowd. We often got together and talked together about abstract subjects very seriously, until both of us noticed that we were mutually fooling each other. Then, looking significantly into each other's eyes, as the Roman augurs did, according to Cicero, we began to laugh and, having laughed, dispersed satisfied with our evening.

I was lying on the sofa with my eyes fixed on the ceiling and my hands behind the back of my head when Werner entered my room. He sat down in an armchair, put his cane in a corner, yawned, and announced that it was getting hot outside. I replied that the flies bothered me, and we both fell silent.

“Notice, dear doctor,” I said, “that without fools it would be very boring in the world! .. Look, here we are two smart people; we know in advance that everything can be argued to infinity, and therefore we do not argue; we know almost all the secret thoughts of each other; one word is a whole story for us; we see the grain of each of our feelings through the triple shell. The sad is funny to us, the funny is sad, but in general, in truth, we are rather indifferent to everything, except ourselves. So, there can be no exchange of feelings and thoughts between us: we know everything about each other that we want to know, and we don’t want to know anymore. There is only one remedy: to tell the news. Tell me some news.

Tired of the long speech, I closed my eyes and yawned...

He answered thoughtfully:

- In your nonsense, however, there is an idea.

- Two! I answered.

Tell me one, I'll tell you another.

- Okay, start! I said, continuing to look at the ceiling and smiling inwardly.

“You want to know some details about someone who came to the waters, and I can already guess who you care about, because they already asked about you there.

- Doctor! we must definitely not talk: we read in each other's souls.

Now another one...

- Another idea is this: I wanted to make you tell something; first, because smart people like you love listeners better than tellers. Now to the point: what did Princess Ligovskaya tell you about me?

- Are you very sure that this is a princess ... and not a princess? ..

- Absolutely convinced.

- Why?

“Because the princess asked about Grushnitsky.

You have a great gift of reason. The princess said that she was sure that this young man in a soldier's overcoat had been demoted to the soldiers for a duel ..

- I hope you left her in this pleasant delusion ...

- Of course.

- There is a connection! I shouted in admiration, “we will work on the denouement of this comedy. Clearly fate takes care that I was not bored.

“I have a presentiment,” said the doctor, “that poor Grushnitsky will be your victim...

“The princess said that your face is familiar to her. I remarked to her that she must have met you in St. Petersburg, somewhere in the world ... I said your name ... She knew it. It seems that your story made a lot of noise there ... The princess began to talk about your adventures, probably adding her remarks to secular gossip ... My daughter listened with curiosity. In her imagination, you became the hero of a novel in a new style... I did not contradict the princess, although I knew that she was talking nonsense.

- Worthy friend! I said holding out my hand to him. The doctor shook it with feeling and continued:

If you want I can introduce you...

- Have mercy! - I said, clasping my hands, - do they represent heroes? They do not get to know each other except by saving their beloved from certain death ...

- And you really want to drag the princess? ..

“On the contrary, quite the opposite!.. Doctor, at last I triumph: you don’t understand me!.. However, this saddens me, doctor,” I continued after a moment of silence, “I never reveal my secrets myself, but I love terribly, so that they can be guessed, because in this way I can always, on occasion, unlock them. However, you must describe mother and daughter to me. What kind of people are they?

“Firstly, the princess is a woman of forty-five years old,” answered Werner, “she has a fine stomach, but her blood is spoiled; red spots on cheeks. She spent the last half of her life in Moscow, and here she grew fat in retirement. She loves seductive anecdotes and sometimes says obscene things herself when her daughter is not in the room. She told me that her daughter was as innocent as a dove. What do I care? .. I wanted to answer her, so that she was calm, that I would not tell anyone this! The princess is being treated for rheumatism, and the daughter, God knows what; I told them both to drink two glasses a day of sour water and to bathe twice a week in a diluted bath. The princess, it seems, is not used to giving orders; she has respect for the mind and knowledge of her daughter, who read Byron in English and knows algebra: in Moscow, apparently, young ladies have embarked on learning, and they are doing well, right! Our men are so unaccommodating in general that flirting with them must be unbearable for an intelligent woman. The princess is very fond of young people: the princess looks at them with some contempt: a Moscow habit! In Moscow they eat nothing but forty-year-old wits.

– Have you been to Moscow, doctor?

Yes, I had some practice there.

- Continue.

- Yes, I think I said everything ... Yes! Here's another thing: the princess, it seems, loves to talk about feelings, passions, and so on ... she was one winter in Petersburg, and she didn’t like it, especially society: she was certainly received coldly.

“Did you see any of them today?”

- On the contrary: there was one adjutant, one tense guardsman and some lady from the newcomers, a relative of the princess by her husband, very pretty, but it seems very sick ... Didn't you meet her at the well? - she is of medium height, blonde, with regular features, a consumptive complexion, and a black mole on her right cheek; her face struck me with its expressiveness.

- Mole! I muttered through my teeth. – Really?

The doctor looked at me and said solemnly, placing his hand on my heart:

- You know her! .. - My heart seemed to be beating faster than usual.

Now it's your turn to celebrate! - I said, - only I hope for you: you will not change me. I haven’t seen her yet, but I’m sure I recognize in your portrait one woman whom I loved in the old days ... Don’t say a word about me to her; if she asks, be mean to me.

– Perhaps! Werner said with a shrug.

When he left, a terrible sadness cramped my heart. Did fate bring us together again in the Caucasus, or did she come here on purpose, knowing that she would meet me? .. and how we would meet? .. and then, is it her? .. My premonitions never deceived me. There is no person in the world over whom the past would acquire such power as over me: every reminder of past sadness or joy painfully strikes my soul and extracts all the same sounds from it ... I am stupidly created: I do not forget anything - nothing!

After dinner at six o'clock I went to the boulevard: there was a crowd; the princess and the princess were sitting on a bench, surrounded by young people who were accommodating each other. I settled down at some distance on another bench, stopped two D ... officers I knew and began to tell them something; apparently it was funny, because they started laughing like crazy. Curiosity attracted some of those around the princess to me; little by little, everyone left her and joined my circle. I did not stop: my anecdotes were smart to the point of stupidity, my mockery of the originals passing by was angry to the point of fury ... I continued to amuse the audience until the sun went down. Several times the princess, arm in arm with her mother, passed me, accompanied by some kind of lame old man; several times her gaze, falling on me, expressed annoyance, trying to express indifference ...

- What did he tell you? - she asked one of the young people who returned to her out of politeness, - right, a very entertaining story - her exploits in battles? .. - She said this rather loudly and, probably, with the intention of stabbing me. “Aha! - I thought, - you are seriously angry, dear princess; wait, there will be more!”

Grushnitsky watched her like a beast of prey, and did not let her out of his eyes: I bet that tomorrow he will ask someone to introduce him to the princess. She will be very happy because she is bored.

In the course of two days my affairs advanced terribly. The princess absolutely hates me; I have already been told two or three epigrams to my account, rather caustic, but together very flattering. It is terribly strange to her that I, who am accustomed to good company, which is so short with her Petersburg cousins ​​and aunts, do not try to get to know her. We meet every day at the well, on the boulevard; I use all my strength to distract her admirers, brilliant adjutants, pale Muscovites and others - and I almost always succeed. I have always hated guests at home: now my house is full every day, they dine, dine, play - and, alas, my champagne triumphs over the power of her magnetic eyes!

Yesterday I met her in Chelakhov's shop; she was selling a wonderful Persian carpet. The princess begged her mother not to be stingy: this carpet would decorate her study so much! .. I gave forty extra rubles and bought it; for this I was rewarded with a glance in which the most delightful fury shone. About dinner I ordered my Circassian horse, covered with this carpet, to be purposely led past her windows. Werner was with them at the time and told me that the effect of this scene was the most dramatic. The princess wants to preach the militia against me; I even noticed that two adjutants in front of her were bowing very dryly to me, but every day they dined with me.

Grushnitsky took on a mysterious air: he walks with his hands thrown behind his back, and does not recognize anyone; his leg suddenly recovered: he barely limps. He found an opportunity to enter into a conversation with the princess and said some kind of compliment to the princess: she, apparently, is not very picky, for since then she has answered his bow with the sweetest smile.

“You absolutely do not want to meet the Ligovskys?” he told me yesterday.

- Decisively.

- Have mercy! the most pleasant house on the waters! All the best society here...

“My friend, I am terribly tired of the unearthly. Do you visit them?

- Have mercy! yes commercials you are much more interesting! You simply do not know how to use your advantageous position ... but a soldier's overcoat in the eyes of a sensitive young lady makes you a hero and a sufferer.

Grushnitsky smiled smugly.

- What nonsense! - he said.

“I am sure,” I continued, “that the princess is already in love with you!”

He blushed up to his ears and pouted.

O selfishness! you are the lever with which Archimedes wanted to raise the globe! ..

- You have all the jokes! - he said, showing that he was angry, - in the first place, she still knows me so little ...

“Women love only those they don’t know.

- Yes, I have no pretense at all that she likes me: I just want to get acquainted with a pleasant house, and it would be very funny if I had any hopes ... Here you are, for example, another matter! - you are the winners of St. Petersburg: just look, women are melting like that ... But do you know, Pechorin, what the princess said about you?

- How? did she tell you about me?

- Do not rejoice, however. I somehow entered into a conversation with her at the well, by chance; her third word was: “Who is this gentleman who has such an unpleasant heavy look? he was with you, then…” She blushed and did not want to name the day, remembering her cute trick. “You don’t need to tell the day,” I answered her, “it will forever be remembered to me ...” My friend, Pechorin! I do not congratulate you; she has you on a bad note ... Oh, really, it's a pity! because Mary is very cute!..

It should be noted that Grushnitsky is one of those people who, speaking of a woman with whom they barely know, call her my Mary, my Sophie, if she had the good fortune to please them.

I took on a serious face and answered him:

"Yes, she's not bad... just beware, Grushnitsky!" Russian young ladies for the most part feed only on platonic love, without mixing with it the thought of marriage; and platonic love is the most restless. The princess seems to be one of those women who want to be amused; if for two minutes in a row she is bored around you, you are irretrievably lost: your silence should arouse her curiosity, your conversation should never fully satisfy it; you must disturb her every minute; she will publicly disregard your opinion ten times and call it a victim, and in order to reward herself for this, she will begin torturing you - and then she will simply say that she cannot stand you. If you do not gain power over her, then even her first kiss will not give you the right to a second; she flirts with you to her heart’s content, and in two years she will marry a freak, out of obedience to her mother, and will begin to assure herself that she is unhappy, that she loved only one person, that is, you, but that heaven did not want to unite her with him , because he was wearing a soldier's overcoat, although under this thick gray overcoat a passionate and noble heart was beating ...

Grushnitsky struck the table with his fist and began to pace up and down the room.

I laughed inwardly and even smiled twice, but fortunately he did not notice it. It is obvious that he is in love, because he has become even more trusting than before; he even got a silver ring with niello, local work: it seemed suspicious to me ... I began to examine it, and what? . I concealed my discovery; I don’t want to force him to confess, I want him to choose me as his attorney, and then I will enjoy ...

* * *

Today I got up late; I come to the well - there is no one else. It was getting hot; white shaggy clouds quickly fled from the snowy mountains, promising a thunderstorm; Mashuk's head was smoking like an extinguished torch; around it, gray wisps of clouds curled and crawled like snakes, held back in their striving and seemed to be clinging to its thorny bush. The air was filled with electricity. I went deeper into the avenue of grapes leading to the grotto; I was sad. I thought about that young woman with a mole on her cheek that the doctor told me about... Why is she here? And is she? And why do I think it's her? And why am I even so sure of it? Are there many women with moles on their cheeks? Thinking in this way, I approached the grotto itself. I look: in the cool shade of its vault, a woman is sitting on a stone bench, in a straw hat, wrapped in a black shawl, her head on her chest; the hat covered her face. I already wanted to return, so as not to disturb her dreams, when she looked at me.

- Faith! I cried out involuntarily.

She shuddered and turned pale.

“I knew you were here,” she said. I sat down next to her and took her hand. A long-forgotten thrill ran through my veins at the sound of that sweet voice; she looked into my eyes with her deep and calm eyes; they expressed incredulity and something like a reproach.

“We haven’t seen each other for a long time,” I said.

- A long time ago, and both have changed in many ways!

“So you don’t love me, do you?”

- I'm married! - she said.

- Again? However, a few years ago, this reason also existed, but meanwhile ... - She pulled her hand out of mine, and her cheeks burned.

“Perhaps you love your second husband?” She did not answer and turned away.

Or is he very jealous?

Silence.

- Well? He is young, handsome, especially, it is true, rich, and you are afraid ... - I looked at her and was frightened; her face expressed deep despair, tears sparkled in her eyes.

“Tell me,” she finally whispered, “is it fun for you to torture me?” I should hate you. Since we've known each other, you haven't given me anything but suffering... - Her voice trembled, she leaned towards me and lowered her head on my chest.

“Perhaps,” I thought, “that’s why you loved me: joys are forgotten, but sorrows never…”

I hugged her tightly, and so we stayed for a long time. At last our lips drew closer and merged into a hot, intoxicating kiss; her hands were cold as ice, her head was on fire. Here we began one of those conversations that make no sense on paper, which cannot be repeated and cannot even be remembered: the meaning of sounds replaces and complements the meaning of words, as in Italian opera.

She resolutely does not want me to meet her husband - that lame old man whom I saw briefly on the boulevard: she married him for her son. He is rich and suffers from rheumatism. I did not allow myself a single mockery of him: she respects him like a father, and will deceive him like a husband ... A strange thing is a human heart in general, and a woman's heart in particular!

Vera's husband, Semyon Vasilievich G...v, a distant relative of Princess Ligovskaya. He lives next to her; Vera often visits the princess; I gave her my word to get acquainted with the Ligovskys and to follow the princess in order to divert attention from her. Thus, my plans are not in the least upset, and I will have fun ...

Fun!.. Yes, I have already passed that period of my spiritual life when they are looking for only happiness, when the heart feels the need to love someone strongly and passionately - now I only want to be loved, and then by very few; even it seems to me that one constant affection would be enough for me: a miserable habit of the heart! ..

However, it has always been strange to me: I have never become a slave to the woman I love; on the contrary, I have always acquired an invincible power over their will and heart, without even trying to do so. Why is this? - Is it because I never really value anything and that they were constantly afraid to let me out of their hands? or is it the magnetic influence of a strong organism? Or did I just not manage to meet a woman with a stubborn character?

I must admit that I definitely do not like women with character: is it their business! ..

True, now I remember: once, only once, I loved a woman with a strong will, whom I could never defeat ... We parted as enemies - and then, maybe, if I had met her five years later, we would have parted differently ...

Vera is sick, very sick, although she doesn’t admit it, I’m afraid that she doesn’t have consumption or that disease that is called fievre lente - the disease is not Russian at all, and there is no name for it in our language.

The storm caught us in the grotto and kept us for an extra half an hour. She did not force me to swear allegiance, did not ask if I loved others since we parted ... She entrusted herself to me again with the same carelessness - I will not deceive her: she is the only woman in the world that I would not be able to deceive. I know that we will soon part again, and perhaps forever: we will both go our separate ways to the grave; but the memory of her will remain inviolable in my soul; I always repeated this to her and she believes me, although she says the opposite.

At last we parted; I followed her with my eyes for a long time, until her hat disappeared behind the bushes and rocks. My heart sank painfully, as after the first parting. Oh, how delighted I was with this feeling! Is it not youth with its beneficial storms that wants to return to me again, or is it just its parting glance, the last gift - as a keepsake?.. And it's ridiculous to think that I look like a boy: my face, although pale, is still fresh; members are flexible and slender; thick curls curl, eyes burn, blood boils ...

Returning home, I mounted and galloped into the steppe; I love to ride a hot horse through tall grass against the desert wind; I greedily swallow the fragrant air and direct my gaze into the blue distance, trying to catch the vague outlines of objects that are becoming clearer and clearer every minute. Whatever grief may lie on the heart, whatever anxiety may torment the thought, everything will dissipate in a minute; the soul will become light, the fatigue of the body will overcome the anxiety of the mind. There is no woman's gaze that I would not forget at the sight of curly mountains illuminated by the southern sun, at the sight of a blue sky, or listening to the noise of a stream falling from cliff to cliff.

I think the Cossacks, yawning on their towers, seeing me galloping without need or purpose, were tormented by this riddle for a long time, because, surely, by the clothes they took me for a Circassian. In fact, they told me that in a Circassian costume on horseback I look more like a Kabardian than many Kabardians. And for sure, as far as this noble combat clothing is concerned, I am a perfect dandy: not a single extra galloon; a weapon of value in a simple finish, the fur on the hat is not too long, not too short; leggings and slippers fitted with all possible precision; beshmet white, Circassian dark brown. I have long studied mountain landing: nothing can flatter my vanity so much as recognizing my skill in riding in a Caucasian way. I keep four horses: one for myself, three for friends, so that it would not be boring to drag myself through the fields alone; they take my horses with pleasure and never ride with me. It was already six o'clock in the afternoon when I remembered that it was time for dinner; my horse was exhausted; I drove onto the road leading from Pyatigorsk to the German colony, where the water society often travels en piquenique. The road winds through the bushes, descending into small ravines where noisy streams flow under the shade of tall grasses; around the amphitheater rise the blue masses of Beshtu, Serpent, Iron and Bald Mountains. Descending into one of these ravines, called beams in the local dialect, I stopped to water the horse; at this time, a noisy and brilliant cavalcade appeared on the road: ladies in black and blue Amazons, gentlemen in costumes that were a mixture of Circassian and Nizhny Novgorod; Grushnitsky rode ahead with Princess Mary.

Ladies on the waters still believe the attacks of the Circassians in broad daylight; this is probably why Grushnitsky hung a saber and a pair of pistols over his soldier's overcoat: he was rather ridiculous in this heroic vestment. A tall bush shielded me from them, but through its leaves I could see everything and guess from the expressions on their faces that the conversation was sentimental. At last they approached the descent; Grushnitsky took the princess's horse by the bridle, and then I heard the end of their conversation:

- And you want to stay in the Caucasus all your life? - said the princess.

“On the contrary…” said the princess, blushing.

Grushnitsky's face showed pleasure. He continued:

At this time they caught up with me; I hit the horse with a whip and rode out from behind a bush ...

- Mon Dieu, un Circassien! .. - cried the princess in horror. To completely dissuade her, I answered in French, leaning slightly:

- Ne craignez rien, madame, - je ne suis pas plus dangereux que votre cavalier.

She was confused, but why? from her own mistake, or from the fact that my answer seemed impudent to her? I would like my last assumption to be correct. Grushnitsky cast a displeased glance at me.

Late in the evening, that is, at eleven o'clock, I went for a walk along the linden alley of the boulevard. The city was sleeping, only lights flickered in some windows. On three sides blackened the ridges of the cliffs, branches of Mashuk, on the top of which lay an ominous cloud; the moon rose in the east; in the distance the snow-capped mountains glittered like a silver fringe. The calls of sentries were interspersed with the noise of hot springs lowered for the night. Sometimes the sonorous stomp of a horse was heard along the street, accompanied by the creak of a Nagai cart and a mournful Tatar refrain. I sat down on the bench and thought... I felt the need to pour out my thoughts in friendly conversation... but with whom? "What is Vera doing now?" I thought... I would give dearly to shake her hand at that moment.

Suddenly I hear fast and uneven footsteps... That's right, Grushnitsky... That's right!

- Where?

“From Princess Ligovskaya,” he said very importantly. - How Mary sings! ..

– Do you know what? I said to him, “I bet she doesn’t know that you are a Junker; she thinks you're degraded...

- May be! What do I care! .. - he said absently.

No, that's just what I'm saying...

“Do you know that you made her terribly angry today?” She found it to be an unheard-of impertinence; I could hardly convince her that you were so well brought up and know the world so well that I could not have the intention of offending her; she says that you have an impudent look, that you must have the highest opinion of yourself.

“She’s not mistaken… Don’t you want to stand up for her?”

“I’m sorry I don’t have that right yet…

- Wow! - I thought, - he, apparently, already has hopes ...

“However, it’s worse for you,” continued Grushnitsky, “now it’s hard for you to get to know them—what a pity! this is one of the nicest houses I know...

I smiled inwardly.

“The most pleasant home for me is now mine,” I said, yawning, and got up to go.

“But confess, are you sorry?”

- What nonsense! if I want, then tomorrow evening I will be with the princess ...

- Let's see...

“Even to please you, I will drag the princess ...

Yes, if she wants to talk to you...

- I will only wait for the moment when your conversation will bore her ... Farewell! ..

- And I'll go staggering - I won't fall asleep for anything now ... Listen, let's go to a restaurant, there's a game ... I need strong sensations now ...

I want you to lose...

I am going home.

Almost a week has passed, and I have not yet met the Ligovskys. I'm waiting for an opportunity. Grushnitsky, like a shadow, follows the princess everywhere; their conversations are endless: when will he get bored with her? .. Mother does not pay attention to this, because he is not a groom. Here is the logic of mothers! I noticed two, three tender glances - we must put an end to this.

Vera appeared at the well for the first time yesterday... Since we met in the grotto, she has not left the house. We lowered our glasses at the same time, and, bending down, she said to me in a whisper:

“Don’t you want to meet the Ligovskys?.. We can only see each other there…”

Reproach! boring! But I deserve it...

By the way: tomorrow there is a subscription ball in the restaurant hall, and I will dance a mazurka with the princess.

The hall of the restaurant turned into the hall of the Noble Assembly. At nine o'clock they all arrived. The princess and her daughter were among the last; many ladies looked at her with envy and ill will, because Princess Mary dresses with taste. Those who consider themselves the local aristocrats, hiding envy, joined her. How to be? Where there is a society of women, there will now appear a higher and a lower circle. Under the window, in the crowd of people, stood Grushnitsky, pressing his face to the glass and not taking his eyes off his goddess; she, passing by, barely perceptibly nodded her head at him. He shone like the sun ... The dances began in Polish; then they played a waltz. The spurs jingled, the tails lifted and swirled.

I was standing behind a fat lady, overshadowed by pink feathers; the splendor of her dress was reminiscent of the time of fizma, and the variegation of her uneven skin - the happy era of black taffeta flies. The largest wart on her neck was covered by a clasp. She said to her cavalier, the captain of the dragoons:

- This Princess Ligovskaya is an obnoxious girl! Imagine, she pushed me and did not apologize, and even turned around and looked at me through her lorgnette ... C’est impayable! .. And what is she proud of? She needs to be taught...

- This will not be the case! - answered the obliging captain and went to another room.

I immediately approached the princess, inviting her to waltz, taking advantage of the freedom of the local customs, which allow dancing with unfamiliar ladies.

She could hardly force herself not to smile and hide her triumph; she succeeded, however, in pretty soon assuming a completely indifferent and even stern air: she laid her hand carelessly on my shoulder, tilted her head slightly to one side, and we set off. I don't know a waist more voluptuous and flexible! Her fresh breath touched my face; sometimes a curl, separated in a whirlwind of a waltz from its comrades, slid along my burning cheek ... I made three rounds. (She waltzes surprisingly well.) She was out of breath, her eyes dimmed, half-open lips could hardly whisper the necessary: ​​"Merci, monsieur."

After several minutes of silence, I said to her, assuming the most submissive look:

“I heard, princess, that, being a complete stranger to you, I already had the misfortune to deserve your disfavor ... that you found me impudent ... is that really true?

“And would you like to confirm me in this opinion now?” she replied with an ironic grimace, which, however, goes very well with her mobile physiognomy.

“If I had the audacity to offend you in any way, then allow me to have even greater audacity to ask your forgiveness ... And, really, I would very much like to prove to you that you were mistaken about me ...

It will be quite difficult for you...

- From what?

“Because you don’t visit us, and these balls probably won’t be repeated often.

“That means,” I thought, “that their doors are forever closed to me.”

“You know, princess,” I said with some annoyance, “we must never reject a penitent criminal: out of desperation, he can become even twice as criminal ... and then ...

Laughter and whispering around us made me turn around and interrupt my sentence. A few steps away from me stood a group of men, including a captain of dragoons, who expressed hostile intentions against the dear princess; he was particularly pleased with something, rubbing his hands, laughing and winking at his comrades. Suddenly, a gentleman in a tailcoat with a long mustache and a red mug separated from among them and directed his unsteady steps straight towards the princess: he was drunk. Stopping in front of the embarrassed princess and clasping his hands behind his back, he fixed his dull gray eyes on her and said in a hoarse dashkant:

“Permete… well, what’s the matter!… I’m just engaging you in a mazurka…”

– What do you want? she said in a trembling voice, casting a pleading look around. Alas! her mother was far away, and none of the gentlemen she knew were near; one adjutant, it seems, saw all this, but hid behind the crowd so as not to be mixed up in history.

- What? - said the drunken gentleman, winking at the dragoon captain, who encouraged him with signs, - don't you like it? .. I still have the honor to engage you pour mazure ... Perhaps you think I'm drunk? It's nothing!.. Much freer, I can assure you...

I saw that she was ready to faint from fear and indignation.

I went up to the drunken gentleman, took him quite firmly by the hand, and, looking intently into his eyes, asked him to leave—because, I added, the princess had long promised to dance the mazurka with me.

- Well, there is nothing to do! .. another time! he said, laughing, and retired to his ashamed comrades, who immediately took him into another room.

I was rewarded with a deep, wonderful look.

The princess went up to her mother and told her everything, she found me in the crowd and thanked me. She announced to me that she knew my mother and was friends with half a dozen of my aunts.

“I don’t know how it happened that we still don’t know you,” she added, “but admit that you alone are to blame for this: you are shy of everyone in such a way that it doesn’t look like anything. I hope that the air of my living room will disperse your spleen ... isn't it?

I said to her one of those phrases that everyone should have prepared for such an event.

The quadrilles dragged on for an awfully long time.

Finally, a mazurka thundered from the chorus; the princess and I sat down.

I never hinted at the drunken gentleman, or about my former behavior, or about Grushnitsky. The impression made on her by the unpleasant scene dissipated little by little; her face blossomed; she joked very nicely; her conversation was sharp, without any pretense of wit, lively and free; her remarks are sometimes profound... I made her feel in a very confused phrase that I had liked her for a long time. She tilted her head and blushed slightly.

You are a strange person! she said later, raising her velvety eyes to me and forced a laugh.

“I didn’t want to get to know you,” I continued, “because you are surrounded by too dense a crowd of admirers, and I was afraid to disappear into it completely.

- You needn't have been afraid! They are all boring...

- All! Is it all?

She looked at me intently, as if trying to remember something, then blushed slightly again, and finally said resolutely: that's it!

“Even my friend Grushnitsky?”

- Is he your friend? she said, showing some doubt.

- He, of course, is not included in the category of boring ...

“But in the ranks of the unfortunate,” I said, laughing.

- Certainly! Are you funny? I wish you were in his place...

- Well? I myself was once a Junker, and, really, this is the most best time of my life!

“But is he a junker?” she said quickly, and then added: “But I thought…”

- What did you think? ..

- Nothing! .. Who is this lady?

Here the mazurka ended, and we said goodbye - goodbye. The ladies parted ... I went to dinner and met Werner.

- Ah! - he said, - so you! And they also wanted to get acquainted with the princess in no other way than by saving her from certain death.

“I did better,” I answered him, “I saved her from fainting at the ball!”

- Like this? Tell!..

- No, guess - oh you, guessing everything in the world!

About seven o'clock in the evening I was walking on the boulevard. Grushnitsky, seeing me from a distance, came up to me: a kind of ridiculous delight shone in his eyes. He shook my hand warmly and said in a tragic voice:

- Thank you, Pechorin ... Do you understand me? ..

- No; but, in any case, it is not worth gratitude, - I answered, having absolutely no beneficence on my conscience.

- How? but yesterday? Have you forgotten? Mary told me everything...

- And what? do you have everything in common now? and gratitude?

“Listen,” Grushnitsky said very importantly, “please don’t make fun of my love if you want to remain my friend ... You see: I love her to the point of madness ... and I think, I hope she loves me too ... I have a request before you : you will be with them tonight ... promise me to notice everything; I know you are experienced in these things, you know women better than me... Women! women! who will understand them? Their smiles contradict their gazes, their words promise and beckon, and the sound of their voice repels ... Either they comprehend and guess our most secret thought in a minute, or they do not understand the clearest hints ... At least the princess: yesterday her eyes burned with passion, stopping at me now they are dull and cold...

“It may be due to the action of the waters,” I answered.

“You see the bad side in everything… a materialist!” he added contemptuously. “But let’s change the matter,” and, pleased with the bad pun, he cheered.

At nine o'clock we went together to the princess.

Passing by Vera's windows, I saw her at the window. We gave each other a quick glance. She entered the Ligovskys' drawing room shortly after us. The princess introduced me to her as her relative. Drank tea; there were many guests; the conversation was general. I tried to please the princess, I joked, I made her laugh heartily several times; the princess also wanted to laugh more than once, but she restrained herself so as not to get out of her accepted role; she finds that languor is coming to her, and perhaps she is not mistaken. Grushnitsky seems to be very glad that my gaiety does not infect her.