Researchers have repeatedly noted the detail, detail and psychologism of the character portraits created by M.Yu. Lermontov. B. M. Eikhenbaum wrote that the basis portrait painting The writer “laid out a new idea about the connection between a person’s appearance and his character and psyche in general - an idea in which echoes of new philosophical and natural science theories that served as a support for early materialism can be heard.”
Let's try to look at the portraits of characters in the novel “A Hero of Our Time.” The most detailed description appearance in the novel is a portrait of Pechorin, given in the perception of a passing officer. It gives a detailed description of the hero's physique, his clothes, face, gait, and each of these details of appearance can tell a lot about the hero. As V.V. Vinogradov notes, external details are interpreted by the author in a physiological, social or psychological aspect, and a kind of parallelism is established between the external and the internal.
Thus, Pechorin’s aristocratic origin is emphasized by such details in his portrait as “a pale, noble forehead”, “a small aristocratic hand”, “dazzling white teeth”, a black mustache and eyebrows, despite light color hair. Pechorin’s physical strength, agility and endurance are indicated by “broad shoulders” and “a strong build, capable of enduring all the difficulties of nomadic life.” The hero's gait is careless and lazy, but he does not have the habit of waving his arms, which indicates a certain secrecy of character.
But most of all, the narrator is struck by Pechorin’s eyes, which “did not laugh when he laughed.” And here the narrator openly connects the portrait of the hero with his psychology: “This is a sign of either an evil disposition or deep, constant sadness,” the narrator notes.
His cold, metallic gaze speaks of the hero’s insight, intelligence and at the same time indifference. “Because of the half-lowered eyelashes, they [the eyes] shone with some kind of phosphorescent shine, so to speak. It was not a reflection of the heat of the soul or the playful imagination: it was a shine, similar to the shine of smooth steel, dazzling, but cold, his gaze was short, but penetrating and heavy, leaving an unpleasant impression of an indiscreet question and could have seemed impudent if not for was so indifferently calm.”
The contradictory nature of Pechorin is revealed by the opposite features in his portrait: “strong build” and “nervous weakness” of the whole body, a cold, penetrating gaze - and a childish smile, an indefinite impression of the hero’s age (at first glance, no more than twenty-three years old, on closer acquaintance - thirty).
Thus, the composition of the portrait is built as if narrowing,< от более внешнего, физиологического к психологическому, характеристическому, от типического к индивидуальному»: от обрисовки телосложения, одежды, манер к обрисовке выражения лица, глаз и т.д.
Other characters are depicted in less detail in the novel. For example, a description of the appearance of Maxim Maksimych: “Behind my cart, four bulls were dragging another... Its owner walked behind it, smoking from a small Kabardian pipe, trimmed in silver. He was wearing an officer's frock coat without epaulettes and a Circassian shaggy hat. He seemed to be about fifty years old; his dark complexion showed that he had long been familiar with the Transcaucasian sun, and his prematurely gray mustache did not match his firm gait and cheerful appearance.”
Maxim Maksimych is a physically strong person, in good health, cheerful and resilient. This hero is simple-minded, sometimes awkward and seems funny: “He did not stand on ceremony, even hit me on the shoulder and curled his mouth like a smile. Such a weirdo!” However, there is something childish about him: “...he looked at me in surprise, grumbled something through his teeth and began rummaging through the suitcase; so he took out one notebook and threw it with contempt on the ground; then the second, third and tenth had the same fate: there was something childish in his annoyance; I felt funny and sorry..."
Maxim Maksimych is a simple army captain; he does not have Pechorin’s insight, his intellect, his spiritual needs. However, this hero has kind hearted, youthful naivety, integrity of character, and the writer emphasizes these traits by depicting his manners and behavior.
In Pechorin's perception, the novel gives a portrait of Grushnitsky. This is a portrait-essay that reveals not only the appearance of the hero, but also his manners, habits, lifestyle, and character traits. Grushnitsky appears here as a certain human type. We find this kind of portrait-essays in Pushkin and Gogol. However, it is worth noting that all descriptions of Lermontov’s appearance are accompanied by the author’s commentary - conclusions that the author draws when outlining this or that detail of appearance (in in this case Pechorin makes all the conclusions). Pushkin and Gogol have no such comments. We find similar comments when depicting appearance in Tolstoy, however, Tolstoy does not comment on the initial portrait of the hero, but on the dynamic descriptions of the character’s states.
The portrait of Grushnitsky indirectly characterizes Pechorin himself, emphasizing his intelligence and insight, his ability to understand human psychology and at the same time his subjectivity of perception.
“Grushnitsky is a cadet. He has only been in the service for a year, and wears, out of a special kind of dandyism, a thick soldier’s overcoat... He is well built, dark and black-haired; he looks like he might be twenty-five years old, although he is hardly twenty-one. He throws his head back when he speaks, and constantly twirls his mustache with his left hand, because he leans on a crutch with his right. He speaks quickly and pretentiously: he is one of those people who have ready-made pompous phrases for all occasions, who are not touched by simply beautiful things and who are solemnly draped in extraordinary feelings, sublime passions and exceptional suffering. To produce an effect is their delight; Romantic provincial women like them crazy.”
Here, the hero’s appearance is first described, then his characteristic gestures and manners. Then Lermontov outlines Grushnitsky’s character traits, emphasizing what is common and typical in the character. In describing the appearance of the hero, Lermontov uses the technique of facial characterization (“He throws his head back when he speaks and constantly twirls his mustache with his left hand”), which was then used by Tolstoy (the jumping cheeks of Prince Vasily in the novel “War and Peace”).
In Pechorin’s mind, Grushnitsky is seen as a certain type of personality, in many ways opposite to himself. And this is exactly the balance of power in the novel. Grushnitskaya, with his demonstrative disappointment, is a caricature, a parody of the main character. And this caricature of the image, the vulgarity of Grushnitsky’s inner appearance is constantly emphasized in the description of his appearance. “Half an hour before the ball, Grushnitsky appeared to me in the full glory of an army infantry uniform. Fastened to the third button was a bronze chain on which hung a double lorgnette; epaulettes of incredible size were curved upward in the shape of cupid's wings; his boots creaked; in his left hand he held brown kid gloves and a cap, and with his right hand he whipped his curled crest into small curls every minute.”
If the first portrait of Grushnitsky is a detailed sketch of appearance, behavior and character, then his second portrait is a specific, fleeting impression of Pechorin. Despite the contempt he feels for Grushnitsky, Grigory Alexandrovich tries to be objective here. However, it is worth noting that he does not always succeed.
Grushnitsky is in many ways still a boy, following fashion, wanting to show off and in the heat of youthful ardor. However, Pechorin (with his knowledge of human psychology) does not seem to notice this. He considers Grushnitsky as a serious opponent, while the latter is not one.
The portrait of Doctor Werner, also given in the perception of Pechorin, is magnificent in the novel. “Werner was short, and thin, and weak, like a child; one of his legs is shorter than the other, like Byron; in comparison with his body, his head seemed huge: he cut his hair into a comb, and the irregularities of his skull, exposed in this way, would strike a phrenologist with a strange interweaving of opposing inclinations.”
Werner is neat and has good taste: “Taste and neatness were noticeable in his clothes; his thin, wiry and small hands showed off in light yellow gloves. His coat, tie and vest were always black.”
Werner is a skeptic and a materialist. Like many doctors, he often makes fun of his patients, but he is not cynical: Pechorin once saw him cry over a dying soldier. The doctor is well versed in female and male psychology, but never uses his knowledge, unlike Pechorin. At Werner's evil tongue, his small black eyes, penetrating the thoughts of his interlocutor, speak of his intelligence and insight.
However, for all his skepticism and evil mind, Werner is a poet in life, he is kind, noble, and has a pure, childish soul. Despite his outward ugliness, the hero is attracted by his nobility of soul, moral purity, and brilliant intellect. Lermontov notes that women fall madly in love with such men, preferring their ugliness to the beauty of “the freshest and pinkest endymions.”
Thus, the portrait of Dr. Werner is also a portrait-sketch, revealing the features of the hero’s appearance, his character traits, way of thinking, and behavior. This portrait indirectly characterizes Pechorin himself, conveying his powers of observation and penchant for philosophical generalizations.
Great in the novel and female portraits. Thus, the author “entrusts” the description of Bela’s appearance to Maxim Maksimych, who here becomes a poet: “And for sure, she was good: tall, thin, black eyes, like a mountain chamois, and looked into your soul.”
Remarkable and picturesque psychological picture“undines”, given in the perception of Pechorin. In this description, the author acts as a true connoisseur of female beauty. The reasoning here takes on the character of generalizations. The first impression made by this girl is charming: extraordinary flexibility of the figure, “long brown hair”, “golden tint of tanned skin”, “correct nose”, eyes “gifted with magnetic power”. But the “undine” is the smugglers’ assistant. Hiding the traces of her crimes, she tries to drown Pechorin. She has cunning and deceit, cruelty and determination unusual for women. These features are also conveyed in the description of the heroine’s appearance: in her indirect glances there is “something wild and suspicious,” in her smile there is “something vague.” However, all the behavior of this girl, her mysterious speeches, her oddities remind Pechorin of Goethe’s Mignon, and it eludes him true essence"undines".
Thus, Lermontov appears before us as a real master of portraiture. The portraits created by the writer are detailed and detailed; the author is well versed in the physiognomy and psychology of people. However, these portraits are static, just like the characters themselves are static. Lermontov does not depict heroes in their dynamics states of mind, in changing moods, feelings and impressions, and usually gives one large sketch of the character’s appearance throughout the entire narrative. The static nature of the portraits distinguishes Lermontov from Tolstoy and brings him closer to Pushkin and Gogol.
Researchers have repeatedly noted the detail, detail and psychologism of the character portraits created by M.Yu. Lermontov. B. M. Eikhenbaum wrote that the basis of the writer’s portraiture “is a new idea of the connection between a person’s appearance and his character and psyche in general - an idea in which echoes of new philosophical and natural science theories that served as a support for early materialism can be heard.”
Let's try to look at the portraits of characters in the novel “A Hero of Our Time.” The most detailed description of appearance in the novel is the portrait of Pechorin, given in the perception of a passing officer. It gives a detailed description of the hero's physique, his clothes, face, gait, and each of these details of appearance can tell a lot about the hero. As V.V. Vinogradov notes, external details are interpreted by the author in a physiological, social or psychological aspect, and a kind of parallelism is established between the external and the internal.
Thus, Pechorin’s aristocratic origin is emphasized by such details in his portrait as “a pale, noble forehead”, “a small aristocratic hand”, “teeth of dazzling whiteness”, a black mustache and eyebrows, despite his light hair color. Pechorin’s physical strength, agility and endurance are indicated by “broad shoulders” and “a strong build, capable of enduring all the difficulties of nomadic life.” The hero's gait is careless and lazy, but he does not have the habit of waving his arms, which indicates a certain secrecy of character.
But most of all, the narrator is struck by Pechorin’s eyes, which “did not laugh when he laughed.” And here the narrator openly connects the portrait of the hero with his psychology: “This is a sign of either an evil disposition or deep, constant sadness,” the narrator notes.
His cold, metallic gaze speaks of the hero’s insight, intelligence and at the same time indifference. “Because of the half-lowered eyelashes, they [the eyes] shone with some kind of phosphorescent shine, so to speak. It was not a reflection of the heat of the soul or the playful imagination: it was a shine, similar to the shine of smooth steel, dazzling, but cold, his gaze was short, but penetrating and heavy, leaving an unpleasant impression of an indiscreet question and could have seemed impudent if not for was so indifferently calm.”
The contradictory nature of Pechorin is revealed by the opposite features in his portrait: “strong build” and “nervous weakness” of the whole body, a cold, penetrating gaze - and a childish smile, an indefinite impression of the hero’s age (at first glance, no more than twenty-three years old, on closer acquaintance - thirty).
Thus, the composition of the portrait is built as if narrowing,< от более внешнего, физиологического к психологическому, характеристическому, от типического к индивидуальному»: от обрисовки телосложения, одежды, манер к обрисовке выражения лица, глаз и т.д.
Other characters are depicted in less detail in the novel. For example, a description of the appearance of Maxim Maksimych: “Behind my cart, four bulls were dragging another... Its owner walked behind it, smoking from a small Kabardian pipe, trimmed in silver. He was wearing an officer's frock coat without epaulettes and a Circassian shaggy hat. He seemed to be about fifty years old; his dark complexion showed that he had long been familiar with the Transcaucasian sun, and his prematurely gray mustache did not match his firm gait and cheerful appearance.”
Maxim Maksimych is a physically strong person, in good health, cheerful and resilient. This hero is simple-minded, sometimes awkward and seems funny: “He did not stand on ceremony, even hit me on the shoulder and curled his mouth like a smile. Such a weirdo!” However, there is something childish about him: “...he looked at me in surprise, grumbled something through his teeth and began rummaging through the suitcase; so he took out one notebook and threw it with contempt on the ground; then the second, third and tenth had the same fate: there was something childish in his annoyance; I felt funny and sorry..."
Maxim Maksimych is a simple army captain; he does not have Pechorin’s insight, his intellect, his spiritual needs. However, this hero has a kind heart, youthful naivety, and integrity of character, and the writer emphasizes these traits by depicting his manners and behavior.
In Pechorin's perception, the novel gives a portrait of Grushnitsky. This is a portrait-essay that reveals not only the appearance of the hero, but also his manners, habits, lifestyle, and character traits. Grushnitsky here appears as a certain human type. We find this kind of portrait-essays in Pushkin and Gogol. However, it is worth noting that all descriptions of Lermontov’s appearance are accompanied by the author’s commentary - conclusions that the author draws when outlining this or that detail of appearance (in this case, all the conclusions are made by Pechorin). Pushkin and Gogol have no such comments. We find similar comments when depicting appearance in Tolstoy, however, Tolstoy does not comment on the initial portrait of the hero, but on the dynamic descriptions of the character’s states.
The portrait of Grushnitsky indirectly characterizes Pechorin himself, emphasizing his intelligence and insight, his ability to understand human psychology and at the same time his subjectivity of perception.
“Grushnitsky is a cadet. He has only been in the service for a year, and wears, out of a special kind of dandyism, a thick soldier’s overcoat... He is well built, dark and black-haired; he looks like he might be twenty-five years old, although he is hardly twenty-one. He throws his head back when he speaks, and constantly twirls his mustache with his left hand, because he leans on a crutch with his right. He speaks quickly and pretentiously: he is one of those people who have ready-made pompous phrases for all occasions, who are not touched by simply beautiful things and who are solemnly draped in extraordinary feelings, sublime passions and exceptional suffering. To produce an effect is their delight; Romantic provincial women like them crazy.”
Here, the hero’s appearance is first described, then his characteristic gestures and manners. Then Lermontov outlines Grushnitsky’s character traits, emphasizing what is common and typical in the character. In describing the appearance of the hero, Lermontov uses the technique of facial characterization (“He throws his head back when he speaks and constantly twirls his mustache with his left hand”), which was then used by Tolstoy (the jumping cheeks of Prince Vasily in the novel “War and Peace”).
In Pechorin’s mind, Grushnitsky is seen as a certain type of personality, in many ways opposite to himself. And this is exactly the balance of power in the novel. Grushnitskaya, with his demonstrative disappointment, is a caricature, a parody of the main character. And this caricature of the image, the vulgarity of Grushnitsky’s inner appearance is constantly emphasized in the description of his appearance. “Half an hour before the ball, Grushnitsky appeared to me in the full glory of an army infantry uniform. Fastened to the third button was a bronze chain on which hung a double lorgnette; epaulettes of incredible size were curved upward in the shape of cupid's wings; his boots creaked; in his left hand he held brown kid gloves and a cap, and with his right hand he whipped his curled crest into small curls every minute.”
If the first portrait of Grushnitsky is a detailed sketch of appearance, behavior and character, then his second portrait is a specific, fleeting impression of Pechorin. Despite the contempt he feels for Grushnitsky, Grigory Alexandrovich tries to be objective here. However, it is worth noting that he does not always succeed.
Grushnitsky is in many ways still a boy, following fashion, wanting to show off and in the heat of youthful ardor. However, Pechorin (with his knowledge of human psychology) does not seem to notice this. He considers Grushnitsky as a serious opponent, while the latter is not one.
The portrait of Doctor Werner, also given in the perception of Pechorin, is magnificent in the novel. “Werner was short, and thin, and weak, like a child; one of his legs is shorter than the other, like Byron; in comparison with his body, his head seemed huge: he cut his hair into a comb, and the irregularities of his skull, exposed in this way, would strike a phrenologist with a strange interweaving of opposing inclinations.”
Werner is neat and has good taste: “Taste and neatness were noticeable in his clothes; his thin, wiry and small hands showed off in light yellow gloves. His coat, tie and vest were always black.”
Werner is a skeptic and a materialist. Like many doctors, he often makes fun of his patients, but he is not cynical: Pechorin once saw him cry over a dying soldier. The doctor is well versed in female and male psychology, but never uses his knowledge, unlike Pechorin. Werner has an evil tongue, his small black eyes, penetrating the thoughts of his interlocutor, speak of his intelligence and insight.
However, for all his skepticism and evil mind, Werner is a poet in life, he is kind, noble, and has a pure, childish soul. Despite his outward ugliness, the hero is attracted by his nobility of soul, moral purity, and brilliant intellect. Lermontov notes that women fall madly in love with such men, preferring their ugliness to the beauty of “the freshest and pinkest endymions.”
Thus, the portrait of Dr. Werner is also a portrait-sketch, revealing the features of the hero’s appearance, his character traits, way of thinking, and behavior. This portrait indirectly characterizes Pechorin himself, conveying his powers of observation and penchant for philosophical generalizations.
The portraits of women in the novel are also magnificent. Thus, the author “entrusts” the description of Bela’s appearance to Maxim Maksimych, who here becomes a poet: “And for sure, she was good: tall, thin, black eyes, like a mountain chamois, and looked into your soul.”
The picturesque, psychological portrait of the “undine” given in Pechorin’s perception is also noteworthy. In this description, the author acts as a true connoisseur of female beauty. The reasoning here takes on the character of generalizations. The first impression made by this girl is charming: extraordinary flexibility of the figure, “long brown hair”, “golden tint of tanned skin”, “correct nose”, eyes “gifted with magnetic power”. But the “undine” is the smugglers’ assistant. Hiding the traces of her crimes, she tries to drown Pechorin. She has cunning and deceit, cruelty and determination unusual for women. These features are also conveyed in the description of the heroine’s appearance: in her indirect glances there is “something wild and suspicious,” in her smile there is “something vague.” However, all the behavior of this girl, her mysterious speeches, her oddities remind Pechorin of “Gethe’s Mignon,” and the true essence of the “undine” eludes him.
Thus, Lermontov appears before us as a real master of portraiture. The portraits created by the writer are detailed and detailed; the author is well versed in the physiognomy and psychology of people. However, these portraits are static, just like the characters themselves are static. Lermontov does not depict the characters in the dynamics of their mental states, in the changes of moods, feelings and impressions, but, as a rule, gives one large sketch of the character’s appearance throughout the entire narrative. The static nature of the portraits distinguishes Lermontov from Tolstoy and brings him closer to Pushkin and Gogol.
I was traveling by train from Tiflis. The entire luggage of my cart consisted of one small suitcase, which was half filled with travel notes about Georgia. Most of them, fortunately for you, were lost, but the suitcase with the rest of the things, fortunately for me, remained intact.
The sun was already beginning to hide behind the snowy ridge when I entered the Koishauri Valley. The Ossetian cab driver tirelessly drove his horses in order to climb Mount Koishauri before nightfall, and sang songs at the top of his lungs. This valley is a wonderful place! On all sides there are inaccessible mountains, reddish rocks, hung with green ivy and crowned with clumps of plane trees, yellow cliffs, streaked with gullies, and there, high, high, a golden fringe of snow, and below Aragva, embracing another nameless river, noisily bursting out of a black gorge full of darkness , stretches like a silver thread and sparkles like a snake with its scales.
Having approached the foot of the Koishauri mountain, we stopped near the dukhan. There were a noisy crowd of about two dozen Georgians and mountaineers; nearby, a camel caravan stopped for the night. I had to hire oxen to pull my cart up this damned mountain, because it was already autumn and there was ice - and this mountain is about two miles long.
There is nothing to do, I hired six bulls and several Ossetians. One of them put my suitcase on his shoulders, the others began to help the bulls almost with one cry.
Behind my cart, four oxen were dragging another as if nothing had happened, despite the fact that it was loaded to the brim. This circumstance surprised me. Her owner followed her, smoking from a small Kabardian pipe trimmed in silver. He was wearing an officer's frock coat without epaulettes and a Circassian shaggy hat. He seemed to be about fifty years old; his dark complexion showed that he had long been familiar with the Transcaucasian sun, and his prematurely gray mustache did not match his firm gait and cheerful appearance. I approached him and bowed: he silently returned my bow and blew out a huge puff of smoke.
– We’re fellow travelers, it seems?
He bowed silently again.
– You’re probably going to Stavropol?
- Yes, that’s right... with government items.
“Tell me, please, why is it that four bulls jokingly drag your heavy cart, but six cattle can barely move mine, empty, with the help of these Ossetians?”
He smiled slyly and looked at me significantly.
– You’ve recently been to the Caucasus, right?
“A year,” I answered.
He smiled a second time.
- So what?
- Yes, sir! These Asians are terrible beasts! Do you think they are helping by shouting? Who the hell knows what they are shouting? Bulls understand them; Harness at least twenty, and if they shout in their own way, the bulls will not move... Terrible rogues! What will you take from them?.. They love to take money from people passing by... The scammers have been spoiled! You'll see, they'll also charge you for vodka. I already know them, they won’t deceive me!
– How long have you been serving here?
“Yes, I already served here under Alexei Petrovich,” he answered, becoming dignified. “When he came to the Line, I was a second lieutenant,” he added, “and under him I received two ranks for affairs against the highlanders.”
- And now you?..
– Now I’m considered in the third line battalion. And you, dare I ask?..
I told him.
The conversation ended there and we continued to walk silently next to each other. We found snow at the top of the mountain. The sun set, and night followed day without interval, as usually happens in the south; but thanks to the ebb of the snow we could easily distinguish the road, which still went uphill, although no longer so steeply. I ordered to put my suitcase in the cart, replace the oxen with horses and last time looked back at the valley; But thick fog, surging in waves from the gorges, covered it completely, not a single sound reached our ears from there. The Ossetians noisily surrounded me and demanded vodka; but the staff captain shouted at them so menacingly that they instantly fled.
- After all, such people! - he said, - and he doesn’t know how to name bread in Russian, but he learned: “Officer, give me some vodka!” I think the Tatars are better: at least they don’t drink...
There was still a mile to go to the station. It was quiet all around, so quiet that you could follow its flight by the buzzing of a mosquito. To the left was a deep gorge; behind him and in front of us, the dark blue peaks of the mountains, pitted with wrinkles, covered with layers of snow, were drawn on the pale horizon, which still retained the last glow of dawn. Stars began to flicker in the dark sky, and strangely, it seemed to me that it was much higher than here in the north. Bare, black stones stuck out on both sides of the road; here and there bushes peeked out from under the snow, but not a single dry leaf moved, and it was fun to hear among this dead sleep nature, the snort of a tired postal troika and the uneven jingling of a Russian bell.
- Tomorrow the weather will be nice! - I said. The staff captain did not answer a word and pointed his finger at me high mountain, rising directly opposite us.
- What is this? – I asked.
- Good Mountain.
- Well, what then?
- Look how it smokes.
And indeed, Mount Gud was smoking; Light streams of clouds crawled along its sides, and on top lay a black cloud, so black that it seemed like a spot in the dark sky.
We could already make out the postal station and the roofs of the saklyas surrounding it. and welcoming lights flashed in front of us, when the damp, cold wind smelled, the gorge began to hum and a light rain began to fall. I barely had time to put on my cloak when snow began to fall. I looked at the staff captain in awe...
“We’ll have to spend the night here,” he said with annoyance, “you can’t cross the mountains in such a snowstorm.” What? Were there any collapses on Krestovaya? - he asked the cab driver.
“It wasn’t, sir,” answered the Ossetian cab driver, “but there’s a lot, a lot hanging.”
Due to the lack of a room for travelers at the station, we were given overnight accommodation in a smoky hut. I invited my companion to drink a glass of tea together, because I had a cast-iron teapot with me - my only joy in traveling around the Caucasus.
The hut was stuck on one side to the rock; three slippery, wet steps led to her door. I groped my way in and came across a cow (the stable for these people replaces the lackey's). I didn’t know where to go: sheep were bleating here, a dog was grumbling there. Fortunately, a dim light flashed to the side and helped me find another opening like a door. Here a rather interesting picture opened up: a wide hut, the roof of which rested on two sooty pillars, was full of people. In the middle, a light crackled, laid out on the ground, and the smoke, pushed back by the wind from the hole in the roof, spread around such a thick veil that for a long time I could not look around; two old women, many children and one thin Georgian, all in rags, were sitting by the fire. There was nothing to do, we took shelter by the fire, lit our pipes, and soon the kettle hissed welcomingly.
- Pathetic people! - I said to the staff captain, pointing at our dirty hosts, who silently looked at us in some kind of stunned state.
- Stupid people! - he answered. -Will you believe it? They don’t know how to do anything, they’re not capable of any education! At least our Kabardians or Chechens, although they are robbers, naked, but have desperate heads, and these have no desire for weapons: you won’t see a decent dagger on anyone. Truly Ossetians!
– How long have you been in Chechnya?
- Yes, I stood there for ten years in the fortress with a company, at the Kamenny Ford - do you know?
- I heard.
- Well, father, we are tired of these thugs; these days, thank God, it’s more peaceful; and it used to happen that you would go a hundred steps behind the rampart, and somewhere a shaggy devil would sit and stand guard: if he was a little gape, the next thing you know - either a lasso on the neck, or a bullet in the back of the head. Well done!..
- Oh, tea, have you had many adventures? – I said, spurred on by curiosity.
- How not to happen! It happened...
Then he began to pluck his left mustache, hung his head and became thoughtful. I desperately wanted to get some story out of him - a desire common to all people who travel and write. Meanwhile, the tea was ripe; I took two travel glasses out of my suitcase, poured one and placed one in front of him. He took a sip and said as if to himself: “Yes, it happened!” This exclamation gave me big hopes. I know that old Caucasians love to talk and tell stories; they succeed so rarely: another stands somewhere in a remote place with a company for five years, and for five whole years no one says “hello” to him (because the sergeant major says “I wish you good health”). And there would be something to chat about: there are wild, curious people all around; Every day there is danger, there are wonderful cases, and here you can’t help but regret that we record so little.
- Would you like to add some rum? - I said to my interlocutor, - I have a white one from Tiflis; it's cold now.
- No, thank you, I don’t drink.
- What's wrong?
- Yes, yes. I gave myself a spell. When I was still a second lieutenant, once, you know, we were playing around with each other, and at night there was an alarm; So we went out in front of the frunt, tipsy, and we had already got it, when Alexey Petrovich found out: God forbid, how angry he got! I almost went to trial. It’s true: sometimes you live for a whole year and don’t see anyone, and how about vodka – a lost man!
Hearing this, I almost lost hope.
“Yes, even the Circassians,” he continued, “when the buzas get drunk at a wedding or at a funeral, so the cutting begins.” I once carried my legs away, and I was also visiting Prince Mirnov.
- How did this happen?
- Here (he filled his pipe, took a drag and began to tell), if you please see, I was then standing in the fortress behind the Terek with a company - this one is almost five years old. Once, in the fall, a transport with provisions arrived; There was an officer in the transport, a young man of about twenty-five. He came to me in full uniform and announced that he was ordered to stay in my fortress. He was so thin and white, his uniform was so new that I immediately guessed that he had only recently arrived in the Caucasus. “Are you, right,” I asked him, “transferred here from Russia?” “Exactly so, Mr. Staff Captain,” he answered. I took him by the hand and said: “Very glad, very glad. You will be a little bored... well, yes, you and I will live like friends... Yes, please, just call me Maksim Maksimych, and please, what is this for? full form? always come to me wearing a cap.” He was given an apartment and settled in the fortress.
-What was his name? - I asked Maxim Maksimych.
– His name was... Grigory Alexandrovich Pechorin. He was a nice guy, I dare to assure you; just a little strange. After all, for example, in the rain, in the cold, hunting all day; everyone will be cold and tired - but nothing to him. And another time he sits in his room, smells the wind, assures him that he has a cold; the shutter knocks, he shudders and turns pale; and with me he went to hunt wild boar one on one; It happened that you wouldn’t get a word for hours at a time, but sometimes, as soon as he started talking, you’d burst your stomach with laughter... Yes, sir, he was very strange, and he must have been a rich man: how many different expensive things he had!..
- How long did he live with you? – I asked again.
- Yes, about a year. Well, yes, this year is memorable for me; He caused me trouble, so be remembered! After all, there are, really, these people who have it written in their nature that all sorts of extraordinary things should happen to them!
- Unusual? – I exclaimed with an air of curiosity, pouring him some tea.
- But I’ll tell you. About six versts from the fortress lived a peaceful prince. His little son, a boy of about fifteen, got into the habit of visiting us: every day, it happened, now for this, now for that; and certainly, Grigory Alexandrovich and I spoiled him. And what a thug he was, agile at whatever you wanted: whether to raise his hat at full gallop, or shoot from a gun. There was one bad thing about him: he was terribly hungry for money. Once, for fun, Grigory Alexandrovich promised to give him a gold piece if he stole the best goat from his father’s herd; and what do you think? the next night he dragged him by the horns. And it happened that we decided to tease him, so his eyes would become bloodshot, and now for the dagger. “Hey, Azamat, don’t blow your head off,” I told him, your head will be damaged!”
Once the old prince himself came to invite us to the wedding: he gave eldest daughter married, and we were kunaki with him: you can’t refuse, you know, even though he’s a Tatar. Let's go. In the village, many dogs greeted us with loud barking. The women, seeing us, hid; those whom we could see in person were far from beautiful. "I had much best opinion about Circassian women,” Grigory Alexandrovich told me. “Wait!” – I answered, grinning. I had my own thing on my mind.
A lot of people had already gathered in the prince’s hut. Asians, you know, have a custom of inviting everyone they meet to a wedding. We were received with all honors and taken to the kunatskaya. I, however, did not forget to notice where our horses were placed, you know, for an unforeseen event.
– How do they celebrate their wedding? – I asked the staff captain.
- Yes, usually. First, the mullah will read something from the Koran to them; then they give gifts to the young people and all their relatives, eat and drink buza; then the horse riding begins, and there is always some ragamuffin, greasy, on a nasty lame horse, breaks down, clowns around, and makes the honest company laugh; then, when it gets dark, the ball begins in the kunatskaya, as we say. The poor old man strums a three-string... I forgot how it sounds in theirs, well, yes, like our balalaika. Girls and young boys stand in two lines, one opposite the other, clap their hands and sing. So one girl and one man come out into the middle and begin to recite poems to each other in a sing-song voice, whatever happens, and the rest join in in unison. Pechorin and I were sitting in a place of honor, and then the owner’s youngest daughter, a girl of about sixteen, came up to him and sang to him... how should I say?.. like a compliment.
“And what did she sing, don’t you remember?”
- Yes, it seems like this: “Our young horsemen are slender, they say, and their caftans are lined with silver, but the young Russian officer is slimmer than them, and the braid on him is gold. He is like a poplar between them; just don’t grow, don’t bloom in our garden.” Pechorin stood up, bowed to her, putting his hand to his forehead and heart, and asked me to answer her, I know their language well and translated his answer.
When she left us, then I whispered to Grigory Alexandrovich: “Well, what is it like?” - “Lovely! - he answered. - What is her name?" “Her name is Beloy,” I answered.
And indeed, she was beautiful: tall, thin, eyes black, like those of a mountain chamois, and looked into our souls. Pechorin, thoughtfully, did not take his eyes off her, and she often glanced at him from under her brows. Only Pechorin was not the only one admiring the pretty princess: from the corner of the room two other eyes were looking at her, motionless, fiery. I began to take a closer look and recognized my old acquaintance Kazbich. He, you know, was not exactly peaceful, not exactly non-peaceful. There was a lot of suspicion about him, although he was not seen in any prank. He used to bring sheep to our fortress and sell them cheaply, but he never haggled: whatever he asked for, go ahead, no matter what he slaughtered, he wouldn’t give in. They said about him that he loved to travel to the Kuban with abreks, and, to tell the truth, he had the most robber's face: small, dry, broad-shouldered... And he was as clever, as clever as a devil! The beshmet is always torn, in patches, and the weapon is in silver. And his horse was famous throughout Kabarda - and indeed, it is impossible to invent anything better than this horse. No wonder all the riders envied him and tried to steal it more than once, but failed. How I look at this horse now: black as pitch, legs like strings, and eyes no worse than Bela’s; and what strength! ride at least fifty miles; and once she’s been trained, she’s like a dog running after her owner, she even knew his voice! Sometimes he never tied her down. Such a robber horse!..
That evening Kazbich was more gloomy than ever, and I noticed that he was wearing chain mail under his beshmet. “It’s not for nothing that he’s wearing this chain mail,” I thought, “he’s probably up to something.”
It became stuffy in the hut, and I went out into the air to freshen up. Night was already falling on the mountains, and the fog began to wander through the gorges.
I took it into my head to turn under the shed where our horses stood, to see if they had food, and besides, caution never hurts: I had a nice horse, and more than one Kabardian looked at it touchingly, saying: “Yakshi the, check.” Yakshi!
I make my way along the fence and suddenly I hear voices; I immediately recognized one voice: it was the rake Azamat, the son of our master; the other spoke less often and more quietly. “What are they talking about here? – I thought, “isn’t it about my horse?” So I sat down by the fence and began to listen, trying not to miss a single word. Sometimes the noise of songs and the chatter of voices flying out of the saklya drowned out the conversation that was interesting to me.
- Nice horse you have! - said Azamat, - if I were the owner of the house and had a herd of three hundred mares, I would give half for your horse, Kazbich!
"A! Kazbich! – I thought and remembered the chain mail.
“Yes,” answered Kazbich after some silence, “you won’t find one like this in the whole of Kabarda.” Once, - it was beyond the Terek, - I went with abreks to repel Russian herds; We were not lucky, and we scattered in all directions. Four Cossacks were rushing after me; I already heard the cries of the infidels behind me, and in front of me was a dense forest. I lay down on the saddle, entrusted myself to Allah, and for the first time in my life I insulted my horse with a blow of the whip. Like a bird he dived between the branches; sharp thorns tore my clothes, dry elm branches hit me in the face. My horse jumped over stumps and tore through bushes with his chest. It would have been better for me to leave him at the edge of the forest and hide in the forest on foot, but it was a pity to part with him, and the prophet rewarded me. Several bullets squealed over my head; I could already hear the dismounted Cossacks running in the footsteps... Suddenly there was a deep rut in front of me; my horse became thoughtful - and jumped. His hind hooves broke off from the opposite bank, and he hung on his front legs; I dropped the reins and flew into the ravine; this saved my horse: he jumped out. The Cossacks saw all this, but not a single one came down to look for me: they probably thought that I had killed myself, and I heard how they rushed to catch my horse. My heart bled; I crawled through the thick grass along the ravine - I looked: the forest ended, several Cossacks were driving out of it into a clearing, and then my Karagyoz jumped out straight to them; everyone rushed after him screaming; They chased him for a long, long time, especially once or twice they almost threw a lasso around his neck; I trembled, lowered my eyes and began to pray. A few moments later I lift them up and see: my Karagyoz is flying, his tail fluttering, free as the wind, and the infidels, far one after another, are stretching across the steppe on exhausted horses. Wallah! This is true, the real truth! I sat in my ravine until late at night. Suddenly, what do you think, Azamat? in the darkness I hear a horse running along the bank of the ravine, snorting, neighing and beating its hooves on the ground; I recognized the voice of my Karagöz; it was him, my comrade!.. Since then we have not been separated.
And you could hear him rubbing his hand over the smooth neck of his horse, giving it various tender names.
“If I had a herd of a thousand mares,” said Azamat, “I would give you everything for your Karagyoz.”
There are many beauties in our villages,
The stars shine in the darkness of their eyes.
It is sweet to love them, an enviable lot;
But valiant will is more fun.
Gold will buy four wives
A dashing horse has no price:
He won’t lag behind the whirlwind in the steppe,
He won't change, he won't deceive.
In vain Azamat begged him to agree, and cried, and flattered him, and swore; Finally Kazbich impatiently interrupted him:
- Go away, crazy boy! Where should you ride my horse? In the first three steps he will throw you off, and you will smash the back of your head on the rocks.
- Me? - Azamat shouted in rage, and the iron of the child’s dagger rang against the chain mail. A strong hand pushed him away, and he hit the fence so that the fence shook. “It will be fun!” - I thought, rushed into the stable, bridled our horses and led them out into the backyard. Two minutes later there was a terrible hubbub in the hut. This is what happened: Azamat ran in with a torn beshmet, saying that Kazbich wanted to kill him. Everyone jumped out, grabbed their guns - and the fun began! Screaming, noise, shots; only Kazbich was already on horseback and was spinning among the crowd along the street like a demon, waving his saber.
“It’s a bad thing to have a hangover at someone else’s feast,” I said to Grigory Alexandrovich, catching his hand, “wouldn’t it be better for us to get away quickly?”
- Just wait, how will it end?
- Yes, it’s true that it will end badly; With these Asians it’s all like this: tensions tightened, and a massacre ensued! “We got on horseback and rode home.
- What about Kazbich? – I asked the staff captain impatiently.
- What are these people doing? - he answered, finishing his glass of tea, - he slipped away!
- And not wounded? – I asked.
- God knows! Live, robbers! I’ve seen others in action, for example: they’re all stabbed like a sieve with bayonets, but they’re still waving a saber. - The staff captain continued after some silence, stamping his foot on the ground:
“I will never forgive myself for one thing: the devil pulled me, having arrived at the fortress, to retell to Grigory Alexandrovich everything that I heard while sitting behind the fence; he laughed - so cunning! - and I thought of something myself.
- What is it? Tell me, please.
- Well, there’s nothing to do! I started talking, so I have to continue.
Four days later Azamat arrives at the fortress. As usual, he went to see Grigory Alexandrovich, who always fed him delicacies. I was here. The conversation turned to horses, and Pechorin began to praise Kazbich’s horse: it was so playful, beautiful, like a chamois - well, it’s just that, according to him, there is nothing like it in the whole world.
The little Tatar boy’s eyes sparkled, but Pechorin didn’t seem to notice; I’ll start talking about something else, and you see, he’ll immediately divert the conversation to Kazbich’s horse. This story continued every time Azamat arrived. About three weeks later I began to notice that Azamat was turning pale and withering, as happens with love in novels, sir. What a miracle?..
You see, I only found out about this whole thing later: Grigory Alexandrovich teased him so much that he almost fell into the water. Once he tells him:
“I see, Azamat, that you really liked this horse; and you shouldn’t see her as the back of your head! Well, tell me, what would you give to the person who gave it to you?..
“Whatever he wants,” answered Azamat.
- In that case, I will get it for you, only on condition... Swear that you will fulfill it...
- I swear... You too swear!
- Fine! I swear you will own the horse; only for him you must give me your sister Bela: Karagyoz will be your kalym. I hope the bargain is profitable for you.
Azamat was silent.
- Do not want? As you want! I thought that you were a man, but you are still a child: it’s too early for you to ride a horse...
Azamat flushed.
- And my father? - he said.
- Doesn't he ever leave?
- Is it true…
- Agree?..
“I agree,” Azamat whispered, pale as death. - When?
- The first time Kazbich comes here; he promised to drive a dozen sheep: the rest is my business. Look, Azamat!
So they settled this matter... to tell the truth, it was not a good thing! I later told this to Pechorin, but only he answered me that the wild Circassian woman should be happy, having such a sweet husband like him, because, in their opinion, he is still her husband, and that Kazbich is a robber who needs was to be punished. Judge for yourself, how could I answer against this?.. But at that time I knew nothing about their conspiracy. One day Kazbich arrived and asked if he needed sheep and honey; I told him to bring it the next day.
- Azamat! - said Grigory Alexandrovich, - tomorrow Karagyoz is in my hands; If Bela isn’t here tonight, you won’t see the horse...
- Fine! - said Azamat and galloped into the village. In the evening, Grigory Alexandrovich armed himself and left the fortress: I don’t know how they managed this matter, only at night they both returned, and the sentry saw that a woman was lying across Azamat’s saddle, her hands and feet were tied, and her head was shrouded in a veil.
- And the horse? – I asked the staff captain.
- Now. The next day, Kazbich arrived early in the morning and brought a dozen sheep for sale. Having tied his horse at the fence, he came in to see me; I treated him to tea, because even though he was a robber, he was still my kunak.
We began to chat about this and that: suddenly, I saw, Kazbich shuddered, his face changed - and he went to the window; but the window, unfortunately, looked out onto the backyard.
- What happened to you? – I asked.
“My horse!.. horse!..” he said, trembling all over.
Sure enough, I heard the clatter of hooves: “It’s probably some Cossack who has arrived...”
Maxim Maksimych - minor character novel by M.Yu. Lermontov "Hero of Our Time". The article provides information about the character from the work, quotation description.
Full name
Not mentioned. Maxim Maksimych himself asked to be called exactly that:
just call me Maxim Maksimych, and please, why this full form?
Age
He seemed about fifty years old
Relation to Pechorin
At first it’s paternal:
He was a nice guy, I dare to assure you; just a little strange.
- What you? what you? Pechorin?.. Oh, my God!.. didn’t he serve in the Caucasus?.. - exclaimed Maxim Maksimych, tugging at my sleeve. Joy sparkled in his eyes.
After all, he’ll come running now!.. - Maxim Maksimych told me with a triumphant look, - I’ll go outside the gate to wait for him...
That’s the kind of man he was: whatever he thinks of, give it to him; apparently, as a child he was spoiled by his mother...
his face did not express anything special, and I felt annoyed: if I were in his place, I would have died of grief.
But after the meeting in the chapter “Maksim Maksimych”, disappointed and offended:
The old man frowned... he was sad and angry, although he tried to hide it.
- Forget! - he grumbled, - I didn’t forget anything... Well, God bless you!.. This is not how I thought of meeting you...Yes,” he said finally, trying to assume an indifferent look, although a tear of annoyance sparkled from time to time on his eyelashes, “of course, we were friends, - well, what are friends in this century!.. What does he need in me?
Appearance of Maxim Maksimych
Her owner followed her, smoking from a small Kabardian pipe trimmed in silver. He was wearing an officer's frock coat without epaulettes and a Circassian shaggy hat. He seemed to be about fifty years old; his dark complexion showed that he had long been familiar with the Transcaucasian sun, and his prematurely gray mustache did not match his firm gait and cheerful appearance.
Social status
Staff captain, long serving in the Caucasus.
He was wearing an officer's frock coat without epaulettes and a Circassian shaggy hat.
Yes, I already served here under Alexei Petrovich,” he answered.
Now I am considered to be in the third line battalion.
Further fate
Probably continued his service. The novel does not indicate otherwise.
Personality of Maxim Maksimych
Maxim Maksimych - very positive character. He treats the young people like a father and tries to teach them something.
He was so thin, white, his uniform was so brand new (about Pechorin)
“Hey, Azamat, don’t blow your head off,” I told him, your head will be damaged!”
Listen, Grigory Alexandrovich, admit that it’s not good... that you took Bela away... .
She was a nice girl, this Bela! I finally got used to her as much as to my daughter, and she loved me.
Listen, Bela, he can’t sit here forever as if sewn to your skirt: he’s a young man, he likes to chase game, and he’ll come; and if you are sad, you will soon get bored with him.
About Me
I do not drink. ... I gave myself a spell.
Yes, please, just call me Maksim Maksimych, and please, why this full form? always come to me wearing a cap
Yes, I admit,” he said later, tugging at his mustache, “I felt annoyed that no woman had ever loved me so much.” (about Bela’s love for Pecheron)
I must tell you that I don’t have a family: I haven’t heard from my father and mother for twelve years, and I didn’t think of getting a wife before - so now, you know, it’s not becoming
Maxim Maksimych often talks about life
After all, there are, really, these people who have it written in their nature that all sorts of extraordinary things should happen to them!
“Of course, in their opinion,” said the staff captain, “he was absolutely right.” (about revenge)
Yes, sir, you can get used to the whistle of a bullet, that is, get used to hiding the involuntary beating of your heart.
A bad thing at someone else's feast is a hangover.
1. Whose portrait is this: “He was wearing an officer’s frock coat without epaulettes and a Circassian shaggy hat. He seemed to be about fifty years old; his dark complexion showed that it had long been familiar with the Transcaucasian sun, and his mustache did not match his firm gait”? A) Pechorin B) marching officer C) Maxim Maksimych I. Petrenko as Pechorin
4.Which and about which of the heroes said this: “He was a nice fellow, only a little strange... He knocked on the shutter, he shuddered and turned pale; and with me he went to fight a wild boar one on one...”? A) Pechorin about Maxim Maksimych B) Maxim Maksimych about Pechorin C) Kazbich about Azamat 5. By whom social status is Bela? A) princess B) peasant C) countess
10. Finish Bela’s words to Pechorin: “If he doesn’t love me, I don’t force him…. I am not his slave...” A) I am a prince’s daughter B) I will go home C) I do not force him to love 11. How did Kazbich manage to kidnap Bela? A) Azamat helped Kazbich lure his sister out B) Bela left the walls of the fortress to the river C) Kazbich stole the girl from the fortress at night
12. Fill in the blanks the right words, confirming Pechorin’s confession. My soul is spoiled…., my imagination is restless, my heart….; to sadness I..., and my life becomes.... day by day. 13. How does the chapter “Bela” end? A) the death of Bela B) the traffic officer says goodbye to Maxim Maksimovich C) Pechorin left the fortress
“Maksim Maksimych” 1.Which of the heroes had deep knowledge of the art of cooking? A) Pechorin B) Maxim Maksimych C) infantry officer 2. Whose portrait is this: “He was of average height, his slender, thin frame and broad shoulders proved a strong build... his gait was careless and lazy, but he did not wave his arms - a sure sign secrecy of character"? A) Pechorin B) Maxim Maksimych C) infantry officer
5. Military rank of Maxim Maksimych? A) staff - captain B) staff - lieutenant C) major 6. What is the name of this fragment: “Yes, I always knew that he was a flighty person who could not be relied upon. I always said that there is no use in those who forget old friends”? A) lyrical digression B) the hero’s reflection C) monologue
1. What is the name of this fragment: “The full moon shone on the reed roof and white walls of my new home. The shore sloped down steeply to the sea, almost at the very walls, with dark blue waves splashing below with a continuous murmur. The moon looked at the restless, but submissive element"? A) landscape B) interior C) story 2. Why did Pechorin end up in the smugglers’ house? A) He wanted to spend the night on the seashore B) there were no available apartments in the city C) He decided to find out what kind of people live here
5. What is the fate of the undine? A) she sails away with the smuggler B) she died at sea C) Pechorin exposed her 6. Finish Pechorin’s words: “What happened to the old woman and the poor blind man - I don’t know………..” A) I’m not interested in knowing about them B) What do I care about human joys and misfortunes? C) What do I care about honest smugglers
2.Whose portrait is this: “He is well built, dark and black-haired; he looks about 25 years old. He throws his head back when he speaks, he speaks quickly and pretentiously”? A) Pechorin B) Grushnitsky C) dragoon captain 3. As Pechorin says about Grushnitsky: “I don’t like him either: I feel that we will someday collide with him on a narrow road, and... (what?) A) I will kill him in a duel B) we will become rivals in love c) one of us will be in trouble
“One thing has always been strange to me:...” 8. Finish Pechorin’s words: “One thing has always been strange to me: ....” A) I have never become the slave of the woman I love B) I don’t know what to say to Mary C) I always bring misfortune to women who love me 9. How did Pechorin find out about the upcoming fight with Grushnitsky? A) Grushnitsky told him about this b) Pechorin found out from Mary c) Pechorin overheard a conversation between officers in the reconstruction
10. What is Grushnitsky’s rank A) captain b) private c) cadet 11. Why did Pechorin feel “a long-forgotten thrill ran through his veins at the sound of this sweet voice,” did her eyes express distrust and something similar to reproach? A) He saw Vera B) He invited Mary for a walk C) He was waiting for Vera on a date
12. Finish Pechorin’s words: “The period of life has passed when they are looking only for happiness, when the heart feels the need to love someone strongly and passionately - now...” A) I want to experience Mary’s love B) I think about quiet family happiness C) I want to be loved, and even then by very few; affection alone would be enough for me. 13. Indicate the characters of this dialogue: - You a dangerous person! - Do I look like a murderer? -You are worse... A) Pechorin and Vera B) Pechorin and Mary C) Pechorin and Werner
14. How to call Pechorin’s words: “Everyone read on my face signs of bad qualities that were not there... I was modest - I was accused of slyness: I became secretive. I felt good and evil deeply; no one caressed me - I became vindictive; ... I became envious. I was ready to love the whole world - no one understood me: I learned to hate...”? A) confession B) slander C) rebuke
17.Who does Pechorin compare himself to the night before the duel? A) with a man who was deceived B) with a man tired of life C) with a man yawning at a ball 18. At what point in his life did Pechorin realize that he had not sacrificed anything for those he loved? A) on the day of the date with Vera B) on the night before the duel C) on the day of farewell to Vera
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