Михаил Лермонтов - A Hero of Our Time [New Translation]

“Did he stay with you long?” I asked again.

“Almost a year. But that year is certainly memorable for me; he created a lot of trouble for me, but that is not why I mention it. It seems, in fact, that there is a type of person who is destined from birth to be subjected to various unusual things!”

“Unusual?” I exclaimed with a look of curiosity, helping him to more tea.

“Well, I’ll explain. About six verst s from the fortress lived a peaceable prince. [8] peaceable prince: A tribal leader who cooperated with Russian forces in the Caucasus. His young son, a boy of about fifteen, took to visiting us every day for one reason or another. Grigory Alexandrovich and I spoiled him, we did. And he was such a rascal, and nimble at whatever he did—whether he was picking up a hat at full gallop or firing a rifle. There was just one thing about him that was no good: he had a terrible weakness for money. Once, for a laugh, Grigory Alexandrovich promised him a gold piece if he would steal the best goat in his father’s herd. And what do you think? The very next night he dragged it in by its horns. But if we ever thought to tease him, his eyes would fill with blood, and he’d be at the ready with his dagger.

“‘Eh, Azamat, don’t lose your head now,’ I told him, ‘you’ll get it cut off!’

“Once the old prince himself came and invited us to a wedding. He was giving away his eldest daughter’s hand in marriage. Given I was his kunak, [9] kunak: This means true friend, blood brother. I couldn’t, you know, decline—he is a Tatar after all. So we went. We were met at the aul [10] aul: A Caucasian village. by a lot of dogs barking loudly. The women, having seen us, hid themselves. Those whose faces we could see were far from beautiful.

“‘I had a much higher opinion of Circassian women,’ said Grigory Alexandrovich.

“‘Wait a moment!’ I replied, laughing. I had something in mind.

“A crowd of people had gathered in the prince’s saklya. The Asiatics, you know, have a custom of inviting everyone and anyone to their weddings. They received us with every honor, and led us to their special rooms. I, however, did not forget to note where they put our horses—you know, in the event of unforeseen circumstances.”

“How do they celebrate weddings?” I asked the staff captain.

“Oh, in the usual way. At the beginning the Mullah reads them something from the Koran. Then he gives presents to the young couple and all their relatives. They eat, drink bouza and then they begin trick riding—and there’s always one, some dirty ragamuffin on a lousy and lame nag, who poses, plays the clown, and makes the good company laugh. Then, when it gets dark, in the special rooms, what we would call a ‘ball’ starts up. A poor little old man strums away on a… I forget what it is in their language… well, yes, it’s something like our balalaika. [11] balalaika: A Russian stringed instrument with a triangular body and long neck. The girls and the young men stand in two rows, facing each other, and they clap their palms together and sing. And then one of the girls and one of the men come forward into the middle and start to address each other in sung verse with whatever comes to them (any old thing), and the others join in with the chorus. Pechorin and I sat in the honored seats, and then our host’s youngest daughter, a girl of sixteen, approached him, and sang him a… how can I put it? A sort of compliment.”

“And what did she sing—do you remember?”

“Yes, it seems it was something like, ‘Our young dzhigits [12] dzhigits: Caucasian horsemen known for equestrian feats and trick-riding. are strapping, and their caftans are covered in silver, but the young Russian officer is more strapping than they, and the galloon [13] galloon: Braid or lace made of metal, typically used in military uniform. he wears is in gold. He is like a poplar among them—only he won’t grow; he doesn’t bloom in our garden.’

“Pechorin stood up, bowed to her, put his hand to his head and to his heart, and asked me to reply to her; I know how to speak like them and translated his answer.

“When she walked away from us, I whispered to Grigory Alexandrovich:

“‘Well, what do you think of her?’

“‘Enchanting!’ he replied. ‘What is her name?’

“‘Her name is Bela,’ I replied.

“And indeed, she was fine: tall, slim, with black eyes like a hill chamois [14] chamois: A goatlike animal native to the Caucasus mountains. that cast a look straight into your soul. Pechorin, in his reverie, didn’t take his eyes off her, and she looked over at him from under her brow fairly often too. But it wasn’t only Pechorin who admired the winning princess: from the corner of the room two other eyes were looking at her, fixed and fiery. I looked over and recognized my old acquaintance Kazbich. He was, you understand, neither peaceable nor unpeaceable as it were. There were lots of suspicions about him, even though he wasn’t ever discovered making even one bit of mischief. Sometimes, he would bring sheep to us at the fortress, and he sold them cheaply—he never haggled. You would give what he asked—come what may, he wouldn’t bend. They say that he loves to roam along the Kuban River with the abreks, [15] abreks: A kind of freedom-fighter in the Caucasus. This word is also used to describe bandits and outcasts. and to tell the truth, he had a thievish snout on him. He was small, spindly, wide-shouldered… And then his cunning—he was as cunning as a demon! His beshmet [16] beshmet: A kind of quilted coat. was always in tatters and patches, but his weapon was in silver. And his horse was famous in the whole Kabarde—you couldn’t even dream of a better horse. Not for nothing that all the horsemen envied him—and they tried to steal him more than once but never managed it. I can see that horse even now: black as jet, legs like bow-strings, and eyes no worse than Bela’s—and what strength! He’ll gallop at least 50 verst s—and he’s well-trained too—runs like a dog after his master, and knows the man’s voice even! They say that Kazbich never ties him up. What a perfect horse for a thief!

“That evening, Kazbich was as sullen as ever, and I noticed that he had a chain mail shirt under his beshmet. ‘He’s wearing this chain mail shirt for a reason,’ I thought. ‘He has probably laid a plan.’

“It became stuffy in the saklya, and I went out into the fresh air to revive myself. Night had already fallen on the mountains, and a thundercloud began to wander along the ravines.

“It occurred to me to look in on our horses in the shelter, to see if they had feed, and besides, caution is never a hindrance—after all, I had a splendid horse. The Kabardin have, more than once, looked at it and repeated ingratiatingly, ‘Yakshi tkhe, chek yakshi!’ [17] “ Yakshi tkhe, chek yakshi!”: This means “A good horse, very good!”

“I steal along the fence and suddenly I hear voices; I immediately recognized one voice: it was the rake Azamat, the son of our host. The other spoke more thinly and more quietly. ‘What are they talking about?’ I thought. ‘Not about my horse surely…’ So, I sat down by the fence and began listening, trying not to miss a word. Occasionally, the noise of singing and the sound of talking would fly over from the saklya, deafening this conversation that was so interesting to me.

“‘Splendid horse you have!’ said Azamat. ‘If I was master of the house and owned a herd of three hundred mares, then I would give you half of them for your steed, Kazbich!’