Mikhail Lermontov - A Hero of Our Time

"Were you ever in Moscow, doctor?"

"Yes, I was. Had a sort of practice there."

"Please go on.

"I believe I have said everything there is to say... Oh yes, one more thing: Princess Mary appears to love discussing sentiments, emotions, and the like. She spent a winter in Petersburg, but the city, and particularly its society, didn't please her. Evidently she was given a cool reception."

"You didn't meet anybody else at their place today, did you?"

"Yes, I did. There was an adjutant, a stuck-up guards officer, and a lady, one of the new arrivals, some relative of the princess by marriage, a very pretty woman but a very sick one, I believe. You didn't happen to see her at the spring? She is of medium height, blonde, with regular features, a consumptive complexion, and a little dark mole on her right cheek. I was struck by the expressiveness of her face."

"A mole?" I muttered. "Is it possible?"

The doctor looked at me and, laying his hand on my heart, said solemnly: "You know her." My heart indeed was beating faster than usual.

"It's your turn to exult now," said I. "Only I trust that you won't give me away. I haven't seen her yet, but I believe I recognize in the portrait you've painted a woman I loved in the old days... Don't tell her a thing about me, and if she asks you, talk bad things about me."

"As you wish," said Werner, shrugging his shoulders.

When he left, a terrible sadness came over me. Was it fate that had brought us together in the Caucasus, or had she come on purpose, knowing she would find me here? What would the meeting be like? And was it she, after all? My vague fears had never deceived me. There isn't another person on earth over whom the past holds such sway as over me. Every memory of a past sorrow or joy sends a pang through my heart and invariably strikes the very same chords. I am stupidly made up, for I forget nothing-nothing!

After dinner I went down to the boulevard at about six and found a crowd there. The princess and her daughter were seated on a bench surrounded by a flock of young men who were paying them constant attention. I found myself another bench some distance away, stopped two D- regiment officers I knew and began telling them a story. Apparently it amused them, because they roared with laughter like crazy men. Curiosity drew to my bench some of the gallants who had clustered around Princess Mary-then little by little the rest too deserted her and joined my group. I talked without stop, telling anecdotes that were witty to the point of stupidity and ridiculing passing eccentrics with a malice bordering on viciousness... Thus I continued to amuse my audience until sunset. Several times the young princess strolled arm-in-arm with her mother past me, along with a limping old man, and several times her gaze rested on me, expressing frustration while trying to communicate indifference.

"What was he talking about?" she asked one of the young men who returned to her out of sheer politeness. "It must have been a very thrilling story-about his battle exploits no doubt?" She spoke rather loudly, obviously with the intention of needling me. "Aha!" thought I, "you are thoroughly annoyed, my dear princess! Wait, there is more to come!"

Grushnitsky has been stalking her like a wild beast, never letting her out of his sight. I predict that tomorrow he will ask someone to present him to Princess Ligovskaya. She'll be very glad to meet him, for she's bored.

During the past two days things have been moving fast. Princess Mary definitely hates me. I've already been told of two or three rather biting, but nevertheless very flattering, epigrams pointed at me. It strikes her as very odd that I, who am so accustomed to good society and on such intimate terms with her Petersburg cousins and aunts, would make no effort to make her acquaintance. We see each other every day at the spring and on the boulevard, and I do my best to entice her admirers, the glittering adjutants, white-faced Muscovites and others-with almost invariable success. I have always hated entertaining, but now I have a full house every day, for dinner, supper and a game of cards, and, there we are, my champagne triumphs over the magnetism of her eyes!

Yesterday I met her at Chelakhov's shop where she was bargaining for a splendid Persian rug. The princess pleaded with her mother not to refuse to spend the money, for the rug would look so well in her room... I overbid her by forty rubles and walked away with the rug, and was rewarded with a look of the most bewitching fury. At dinner time, I deliberately had my Circassian horse led past her windows with the rug thrown over its back. Werner, who was visiting them at the time, told me that the effect of the spectacle was most dramatic. Princess Mary wants to mount a campaign against me; I have already noticed that in her presence two of the adjutants give me very curt nods, though they dine at my table every day.

Grushnitsky has assumed a mysterious air-he walks with his hands behind his back oblivious of everybody. His leg has suddenly healed, so that he scarcely limps. He found an occasion to engage the old princess in conversation and to pay a compliment to Princess Mary. The latter apparently is not too discriminating, for ever since she has been responding to his bows with the most charming smile.

"You are sure you do not wish to meet the Ligovskoys?" he asked me yesterday. .

"Positive."

"Really! It's the most pleasant house at the spa. All the best local society..."

"My dear friend, I'm frightfully fed up with non-local society, let alone the local. Have you been calling on them?"

"Not yet. I've no more than spoken with Princess Mary once or twice. You know how unpleasant it is to fish for an invitation, though it is done here... It'd be another matter if I had my epaulets."

"My dear fellow! You are far more interesting as you are. You simply do not know how to take advantage of your favorable position. Don't you know that a soldier's overcoat makes you a hero and a martyr in the eyes of any sensitive young lady?"

Grushnitsky smiled complacently.

"What nonsense!" he said.

"I am sure," I went on, "that the young princess has already fallen in love with you."

He blushed to the roots of his hair and puffed himself up.

Oh vanity! Thou art the lever with which Archimedes hoped to raise the globe!...

"You're always joking," he said, pretending to be angry. "In the first place, she hardly knows me..."

"Women love only the men they don't know."

"But I make no pretense toward pleasing her. I merely wish to get to know a pleasant household, and it would indeed be absurd to entertain any hopes whatsoever... Now you Petersburg lady killers are another matter: you only have to look once for a woman to melt... By the way, Pechorin, do you know what the young princess said about you?"

"What? Has she already spoken to you about me?"

"You have no reason to rejoice, though. Once, quite by chance, I entered into conversation with her at the spring; almost her first remark was, 'Who is that gentleman with the unpleasant, heavy-eyed expression? He was with you when...' She blushed and was reluctant to mention the day, recalling her charming little exploit. 'You need not mention the day,' I replied, 'for I will always remember it...' Pechorin, my friend, I cannot congratulate you, for you are in her bad books... It's a pity, really, because my Mary [92] the word is missing in Parker's text but we agree with Nabokov in replacing it here. is very charming!"

It must be noted that Grushnitsky is one of those who in speaking of a woman they hardly know call her "my Mary" or "my Sophie", if she has had the good fortune to attract them.

Taking on a serious face, I replied: "Yes, she is rather good-looking... Only be careful, Grushnitsky! Russian young ladies for the most part go in only for Platonic love with no intention of marriage, and Platonic love is the most disturbing. It seems to me that Princess Mary is one of those women who wish to be amused. If she is bored for two minutes in your company, you are doomed forever. Your silence must arouse her curiosity, your conversation must never completely satisfy her. You must keep her in a state of suspense all the time. Ten times she will defy public opinion for your sake and call it sacrifice, and in return she will begin to torment you and end up saying simply that she cannot tolerate you. If you don't get the advantage over her, even her first kiss will not give you the right to a second. She'll flirt with you to her heart's content and a year or two later marry an ugly man in obedience to her mother's will; then she will begin to assure you that she is unhappy, that she had loved only one man-that is, you-but that fate had not ordained that she be joined to him because he wore a soldier's overcoat, though beneath that thick gray garment there beat an ardent and noble heart... ."