Princess Mary short. Online reading of the book A Hero of Our Time II. Princess Mary

The story is written in the form of a diary.

Pechorin arrives in Pyatigorsk. There follows a description of bored people (fathers of families, young ladies, etc.) who came to the waters. Pechorin goes to the source and meets Grushnitsky, whom he met in the active detachment. Grushnitsky is a dandy, “speaks quickly and pretentiously,” tries at every opportunity to “make an effect,” does not listen to his interlocutor, is busy only with himself. “Grushnitsky is reputed to be an excellent brave man... He waves his saber, shouts and rushes forward, closing his eyes,” wears a simple soldier’s overcoat. Grushnitsky tells Pechorin about the “water society,” adding that the only interesting people here are Princess Ligovskaya and her daughter Mary, but he does not know them. At this moment the Ligovskys pass by. Mary is unusually pretty and tastefully dressed. She has “velvet eyes” and long eyelashes. Pechorin witnesses a curious scene: Grushnitsky drops the glass from which he drank mineral water on the sand, and cannot bend down to pick it up: his wounded leg is in the way. Mary raises the glass and gives it to Grushnitsky “with a body movement filled with inexpressible charm.” Grushnitsky interprets this act as a sign of special favor, but Pechorin skeptically discourages him, although deep down he is a little jealous of Grushnitsky.

A Russian doctor named Werner, a “skeptic and materialist,” but a poet at heart, comes to Pechorin. He is ugly (one leg is shorter than the other, short, big head). Werner and Pechorin understand each other perfectly. Werner says that the princess remembers Pechorin from St. Petersburg, and the princess is interested in Grushnitsky, confident that he was demoted to a soldier for a duel. A relative came to the Litovskys for treatment, whose description matches the appearance of Vera, the woman whom Pechorin once loved.

After lunch, Pechorin goes to the boulevard. A crowd of young people surrounds the Ligovskikhs. Pechorin sees familiar officers, begins to tell them jokes and little by little lures the entire audience into his circle. The princess is left without the company of admirers and is angry with Pechorin. In the following days, Pechorin continues to behave in the same spirit, even repurchasing the Persian carpet that Mary was going to buy. Grushnitsky tries in every way to get to know the princess and to please her, but Pechorin does not strive for this at all and assures Grushnitsky that Mary cannot have serious plans for Grushnitsky: she will fool him for a long time, and will marry a rich freak, while assuring Grushnitsky, that she still loves only him. Grushnitsky is madly in love and loses any remaining caution. Pechorin allows Grushnitsky to bother the princess, knowing that sooner or later he will bore her with his behavior. Grushnitsky even bought a ring and engraved Mary's name on it.

At the well (source) Pechorin meets Vera. She is married for the second time to a rich, lame old man, a distant relative of the Ligovskys. Vera “respects him like a father, and will deceive him like a husband.” Pechorin decides to divert attention by “dragging after Mary” in order to be able to meet with Vera in the Ligovskys’ house. Having parted with Vera, Pechorin gallops into the mountains; on the way he comes across a noisy cavalcade of horsemen, ahead of which are Grushnitsky and Mary. Grushnitsky gives the princess the impression of a romantic hero, speaking tragically about his future. Pechorin decides to meet Mary and make her fall in love with him when she becomes completely bored with Grushnitsky.

At a ball in a restaurant, Pechorin waltzes with Mary and asks her for forgiveness for his past behavior. Saves her from the advances of a drunken “gentleman in a tailcoat.” Mary's initial hostility towards Pechorin gives way to favor. As if by chance, Pechorin informs the princess that Grushnitsky is not a “romantic hero” at all, but a simple cadet.

Pechorin is invited to visit the Ligovskys. Throughout the evening he speaks mainly to Vera, pays little attention to Mary, and does not listen to her singing. She tries to prick his pride by being nice to Grushnitsky, but Pechorin already understands that his plan has begun to come true: very soon the princess will fall in love with him, and all he has to do is accurately calculate the details. Grushnitsky is sure that Mary is crazy about him, and behaves very stupidly. In fact, the princess is already mortally tired of him. Pechorin is fully aware that he does not need Mary, that he conquers her only in order to feel his own over her, that he is not capable of sincere feelings, that, having picked the “beautiful flower of a young, barely blossoming soul,” he will breathe him aroma and throw it away.

Grushnitsky was promoted to officer. He is happy and hopes to impress Mary with his new epaulettes, although Dr. Werner assures him that by changing his soldier’s overcoat to an officer’s uniform, he will cease to be an exception and will get lost in the crowd of the princess’s admirers.

In the evening, on a walk in Proval, Pechorin jokes a lot at the expense of his acquaintances. Mary is frightened by his sarcasm and asks him not to slander her, it’s better to kill her right away. Pechorin says that since childhood he was credited with inclinations that he did not have. “I was modest - I was accused of guile: I became secretive. I felt good and evil deeply; no one caressed me, everyone insulted me: I became vindictive; I was gloomy, - other children were cheerful and talkative; I felt superior to them - they put me lower. I became envious. I was ready to love the whole world, but no one understood me: and I learned to hate.” The princess admits that she has never loved before; after confession, Pechorina accuses herself of being cold towards him. Pechorin is bored: he has long known all the stages of female love by heart.

Mary confides her heartfelt secrets to Vera, who is tormented by jealousy. Pechorin calms her down and promises to follow Vera and her husband to Kislovodsk.

Grushnitsky puts on a new uniform. Incredibly dressed up, smelling of lipstick and perfume, he goes to Mary. The princess rejects him. A hostile “gang” is formed against Pechorin, led by Grushnitsky, who spreads rumors around the city that Pechorin will marry Mary. Pechorin leaves for Kislovodsk and often sees Vera. What follows is a romantic description of the outskirts of Kislovodsk and Pechorin’s discussion of women’s logic (i.e., the absence of logic). Pechorin himself is not afraid of women, since he “understood their minor weaknesses.”

The Ligovskys also come to Kislovodsk. On a horseback ride, while fording a mountain river, the princess becomes ill. Supporting her, Pechorin hugs and kisses her. Mary: “You either despise me or love me very much.” Confesses her love to him. Pechorin reacts coldly to this.

Pechorin annoys the men because he behaves arrogantly, and they decide to teach him a lesson - Grushnitsky will challenge Pechorin to a duel, and the dragoon captain, who will be a second, undertakes to arrange everything so that the pistols will not be loaded. Pechorin accidentally overhears their conversation and decides to take revenge on Grushnitsky.

In the morning, Princess Mary again confesses her love to him and assures him that she will convince her family not to interfere with them. Pechorin replies that he does not love her. He knows that he is capable of much for the sake of a woman, except marriage (as a child, a fortune teller predicted his death from an evil wife).

A magician comes to Kislovodsk, the entire “water society” goes to the show. Pechorin spends the evening and night with Vera, who lives in the same house as the Ligovskys, on the floor above. Leaving, Pechorin looks out of Mary's window, he is grabbed by Grushnitsky and the dragoon captain, who were waiting in ambush at the fence. Pechorin breaks free and runs home. The next morning, first there is a rumor about a night attack by the Circassians on the Ligovskys’ house, and then Grushnitsky publicly accuses Pechorin of being at Mary’s that night. Pechorin challenges Grushnitsky to a duel. Werner, Pechorin's second, with good reason suspects that only Grushnitsky's pistol will be loaded. Pechorin decides to play to the end. The night before the duel, he thinks about death - he doesn’t feel sorry for dying, he’s bored with living. “Why did I live? For what purpose was I born?.. And, it’s true, it existed, and, it’s true, I had a high purpose, because I feel immense strength in my soul... My love did not bring happiness to anyone... and, maybe , I will die tomorrow!.. And there will not be a single creature left on earth who would understand me completely... Some will say: he was a kind fellow, others - a scoundrel. Both will be false.” On the morning before the duel, he assures the doctor that he is ready for death: “Thinking about imminent and possible death, I think about only myself... From the storm of life I brought only a few ideas - and not a single feeling. For a long time I have been living not with my heart, but with my head, there are two people in me: one lives in the full sense of the word, the other thinks and judges him.”

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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, the clouds will descend to my roof. Today at 5 o'clock in the morning, when I opened the window, my room was filled with the smell of flowers growing in a modest front garden. Branches of blossoming cherry trees look into my windows, and the wind sometimes strews my desk with their white petals. I have a wonderful view from three sides. 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: below me, a clean, brand new town is colorful; healing springs are rustling, a multilingual crowd is noisy - and there, further, mountains are piled up like an amphitheater, increasingly blue and foggy, and on the edge of the horizon stretches a silver chain of snowy peaks, starting with Kazbek and ending with the two-headed Elborus. - It's fun to live in such a land! Some kind of gratifying feeling flowed through all my veins. The air is clean and fresh, like a child's kiss; The sun is bright, the sky is blue - what else, it seems, could be more? - Why are there passions, desires, regrets? - But it's time. I’ll go to the Elizabethan spring: there, they say, the whole water community gathers in the morning...

Having gone down to the middle of the city, I walked along the boulevard, where I met several sad groups slowly ascending the mountain: they were most of the families of steppe landowners; one could immediately guess about this from the worn, old-fashioned frock coats of the husbands and from the exquisite outfits of the wives and daughters; apparently they have everything water the young people were already at the head count, because they looked at me with tender curiosity: the St. Petersburg cut of the frock coat had misled them, but soon, recognizing the army epaulettes, they turned away indignantly.

The wives of the local authorities, the mistresses of the waters, so to speak, were more supportive; they have lorgnettes, they pay less attention to the uniform, 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 nice; and sweet for a long time! Every year their admirers are replaced by new ones, and this may be the secret of their tireless courtesy. Climbing along a narrow path to the Elizabeth Spring, I overtook a crowd of civilian and military men, who, as I learned later, constitute a special class of people among those waiting for the movement of water. They drink - but not water, they walk a little, they drag around only in passing... They play and complain about boredom. They are dandies: lowering their braided glass into a well of sour sulfur water, they assume academic poses; civilians wear light blue ties, military men let out splashes of water from their collars. They profess deep contempt for provincial houses and sigh for the aristocratic drawing 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 bathtub, and further away there is a gallery where people walk during the rain. Several wounded officers sat on a bench, picking up their crutches, pale and sad. Several ladies walked quickly back and forth across the site, waiting for the action of the waters. Between them were two or three pretty faces. Under the grape alleys covering the slope of Mashuk, the colorful hats of lovers of solitude together flashed from time to time, because next to such a hat I always noticed either a military cap or an ugly round hat. On the steep cliff where the pavilion, called the Aeolian Harp, was built, view-seekers stood and pointed their telescopes at Elborus; between them there 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 look at the picturesque 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 - 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 has a soldier's cross of St. George. He is well built, dark and black-haired; he looks 25 years old, although he is hardly 21 years old. 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. Making an effect is their pleasure: romantic provincial women like them crazy. In old age they become either peaceful landowners or drunkards - sometimes both. There are often many good qualities in their souls, but not a penny of poetry. Grushnitsky had a passion for declaiming: he bombarded you with words as soon as the conversation left the circle of ordinary concepts; I could never argue with him. He doesn't respond to your objections, he doesn't listen to you. As soon as you stop, he begins a long tirade, apparently having some connection with what you said, but which in fact is only a continuation of his own speech.

He's quite sharp; his epigrams are often funny, but they are never pointed or evil: he will not kill anyone with one word; he does not know people and their weak strings, because his whole life he has been focused on himself. His goal is to become the hero of a novel. He tried so often to convince others that he was a being not created for the world, doomed to some kind of secret suffering, that he himself was almost convinced of it. That’s why he wears his thick soldier’s overcoat so proudly. “I understood him, and he doesn’t love me for that, although outwardly we are on the most friendly terms.” Grushnitsky is reputed to be an excellent brave man; I saw him in action: he waves his saber, shouts and rushes forward with his eyes closed. 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 not get along well.

His arrival in the Caucasus is also a consequence of his romantic fanaticism: I am sure that on the eve of leaving his father’s village he said with a gloomy look to some pretty neighbor that he was not going 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!.. 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 casts off his tragic mantle, Grushnitsky is quite sweet and funny. I’m curious to see him with women: that’s where I think he’s trying!

We met as old friends. I began to ask 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 sick people, and drinking wine in the evening they are unbearable, like everyone else who is healthy. There are women's societies, but they offer little consolation: they play whist, dress badly and speak terrible French. This year only Princess Ligovskaya and her daughter are from Moscow; but I'm unfamiliar with them. My soldier's overcoat is like a seal of rejection. The participation it excites is as heavy as alms.

At that moment two ladies walked past us to the well: one was elderly, the other was young and slender. I couldn’t see their faces behind their hats, but they were dressed according to the strict rules of the best taste: nothing superfluous! — The second one wore a closed dress gris de perles (Grey-pearl. (French)); a light silk scarf curled around her flexible neck. The boots couleur puce (Redish-brown color (the color of a flea). (French)) tightened her lean leg at the ankle so nicely that even one not initiated into the mysteries of beauty would certainly gasp in surprise. Her light but noble gait had something virginal in it, eluding definition, but clear to the eye. When she passed us, she smelled that inexplicable aroma that sometimes comes from a note from a sweet 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 heard it by chance,” he answered, blushing. “I admit, I don’t want to get to know them; this proud nobility looks at us army men 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 helpfully hands them glasses?”

- ABOUT! This is the Moscow dandy Raevich! He is a player: this can be seen immediately by the huge golden chain that snakes along his blue vest. And what a thick cane: it looks like Robinson Crusoe! And the beard, by the way, and the hairstyle à la mougik (Like a peasant. (French)).

“You are embittered against the entire 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 assume a dramatic pose with the help of a crutch and answered me loudly in French:

- Mon cher, je haïs les hommes pour ne pas les mepriser, car autrement la vie serait une farce trop degoûtante (My dear, I hate people in order not to despise them, for otherwise life would be too disgusting a farce. (French. )).

The pretty princess turned around and gave the speaker a long, curious look. The expression of this gaze 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 assign this expression when talking about her eyes: the lower and upper eyelashes are so long that the rays of the sun are not reflected in her pupils. I love these eyes without shine, they are so soft, they seem to be stroking you. - However, it seems that there is only good thing in her face... And why are her teeth white? This is very important! It’s a pity that she didn’t smile at your pompous phrase.

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

“Mon cher,” I answered him, trying to imitate his tone: “je méprise les femmes pour ne pas les aimer, car autrement la vie serait un mélodrame trop ridicule (My dear, I despise women in order not to love them, for otherwise life would be too ridiculous a melodrama (French)).

I turned and walked away from him. For half an hour I walked along the grape alleys, along the limestone rocks with bushes hanging between them. It was getting hot, and I hurried home. Passing by a sour-sulfur spring, I stopped at a covered gallery to breathe under its shade, and this gave me the opportunity to witness a rather curious scene. The characters were in this position. The princess and the Moscow dandy were sitting on a bench in the covered gallery, and both were apparently engaged in a serious conversation. The princess, having probably finished her last glass, walked thoughtfully by the well. Grushnitsky stood right next to the well; there was no one else on the site.

I came closer and hid behind 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 preventing him. Poor thing! how he managed to lean on a crutch, and all in vain. His expressive face actually depicted suffering.

Princess Mary saw all this better than me.

Lighter than a bird, she jumped up to him, bent down, picked up the glass and handed it to him with a body movement filled with inexpressible charm; then she blushed terribly, looked back 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 assumed such a decorous and important appearance - she didn’t even turn around, didn’t even notice his passionate gaze, with which he followed her for a long time, until, having descended from the mountain, she disappeared behind the sticky 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 gate.

Only then did the poor passionate cadet notice my presence.

-Have you seen it? - he said, shaking my hand tightly: - he’s just an angel!

- Why? - I asked with an air of pure innocence.

-Didn't you see?

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

“And you weren’t at all moved, looking at her at that moment, when her soul was shining on her face?”

I lied. But I wanted to piss him off. I have an innate passion for contradiction; my whole life was just a chain of sad and unsuccessful contradictions to my heart or reason. The presence of an enthusiast fills me with a baptismal chill, and I think frequent intercourse with a sluggish phlegmatic would make me a passionate dreamer. I also admit that an unpleasant, but familiar feeling ran slightly through my heart at that moment: 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 has attracted his idle attention and suddenly clearly distinguishes another person who is equally unknown to her, it is unlikely, I say, that there will be such a young man (of course, he has lived in great society and is accustomed to pampering his pride ), who would not be unpleasantly surprised by this.

Silently, Grushnitsky and I descended the mountain and walked along the boulevard past the windows of the house where our beauty had disappeared. She was sitting by the window. Grushnitsky, tugging at my hand, threw one of those dimly tender glances at her that have so little effect on women. I pointed the lorgnette at her and noticed that she smiled at his gaze, and that my daring lorgnette had seriously angered her. And how, in fact, dare a Caucasian army soldier 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 surprising? I knew one Ivanov, who was 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 practice always and often in words, although he never wrote 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 does not know how to cure a fever. Usually Werner secretly mocked his patients, but I once saw him cry over a dying soldier. He was poor, dreamed of millions, and would not take an extra step for money: he once told me that he would rather do a favor for an enemy than for a friend, because this would mean selling his charity, while hatred would only intensify in proportion to the generosity of the enemy. He had evil tongue: under the guise of his epigram, more than one good-natured man became known as a vulgar fool; his rivals, envious water doctors, spread a rumor that he was drawing caricatures of his patients - the patients became enraged! - 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 at first glance strikes you unpleasantly, but which you later like when the eye learns to read in the irregular features the imprint of a proven and lofty soul. There have been examples that women fell madly in love with such people and would not exchange their ugliness for the beauty of the freshest and pinkest endymions. We must give justice to women: they have an instinct for spiritual beauty; That’s why, perhaps, people like Werner love women so passionately.

Werner was short and thin and weak, like a child; one of his legs was 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 as a strange tangle of opposing inclinations. His small black eyes, always restless, tried to penetrate your thoughts. 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. The youth nicknamed him Mephistopheles; he showed that he was angry for this nickname, but in fact it flattered his pride. 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; At the end of the evening the conversation took a philosophical and metaphysical direction; They talked about beliefs: everyone was convinced of different things.

“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 been silent until now.

“The fact,” he answered, “is that sooner or later one fine morning I will die.”

“I’m richer than you,” I said, “besides this, I also have a conviction, namely, that one disgusting evening I had the misfortune of being born.”

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

I was lying on the sofa, my eyes fixed on the ceiling and my hands behind my head, when Werner came into my room. He sat down in an armchair, put his cane in the corner, yawned and announced that it was getting hot outside. I answered that the flies were bothering me, and we both fell silent.

“Please note, dear doctor,” I said, “that without fools the world would be very boring!.. Look: here are two of us smart people, we know in advance that we can argue about everything ad infinitum, and therefore we don’t argue, we know almost all of each other’s innermost thoughts, one word is a whole story for us, we see the grain of each of our feelings through a triple shell. Sad things are funny to us, funny things are sad, but in general, to be honest, we are quite indifferent to everything except ourselves. So, there cannot be an exchange of feelings and thoughts between us; we know everything we want to know about each other, and we don’t want to know anymore. There is only one remedy left: telling the news. - Tell me some news!

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

He answered after thinking:

- There is an idea in your nonsense, however!

“Two,” I answered.

- Tell me one, I’ll tell you the other.

“Okay, start,” I said, continuing to look at the ceiling and smiling internally.

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

- Doctor! We absolutely cannot talk: we read each other’s souls.

- Now another...

- Another idea: I wanted to force you to tell something, firstly, because listening is less tiring, secondly, you can’t let it slip, thirdly, you can find out someone else’s secret, fourthly, because such smart people people like you love listeners better than 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?”

- I am absolutely convinced.

- Why?

- Because the princess asked about Grushnitsky.

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

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

- Of course.

- There is a connection! - I shouted in admiration: “We’ll worry about the denouement of this comedy.” Clearly fate is making sure that I don’t get bored.

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

- The princess said that your face was familiar to her... I noticed to her that she must have met you in St. Petersburg, somewhere in the world... I said your name... She knew it. It seems your story has made a lot of noise there! The princess began to talk about your adventures, probably adding her remarks to the social 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 will introduce you...

- Have mercy! - I said, clasping my hands: - do they represent heroes? They meet in no other way than by saving their beloved from certain death...

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

“On the contrary, quite the opposite!.. Doctor, finally I triumph: you don’t understand me!.. This, however, upsets me, doctor,” I continued after a minute of silence: “I never reveal my secrets myself, but I love terribly, so that they can guess them, because in this way I can always get rid of them on occasion. However, you must describe to me the mother and daughter. What kind of people are they?

“Firstly, the princess is a 45-year-old woman,” answered Werner: “she has a wonderful stomach, but her blood is spoiled: there are red spots on her cheeks.” She spent the last half of her life in Moscow, and then in retirement she gained weight. She loves seductive jokes and sometimes says indecent 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 would be calm, that I wouldn’t tell anyone this! The princess is being treated for rheumatism, and my daughter, God knows from what: I ordered both of them to drink two glasses of sour sulfur water a day and bathe twice a week in a diluted bath. The princess, it seems, is not used to commanding: she has respect for the intelligence and knowledge of her daughter, who read Byron in English and knows algebra; in Moscow, apparently, the young ladies have embarked on learning, and they are doing well - really! Our men are so ungracious in general that flirting with them should be for smart woman unbearable. — The princess loves young people very much; the princess looks at them with some contempt: a Moscow habit! “In Moscow they only feed on 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 seems to like to talk about feelings, passions, and so on... she was in St. Petersburg one winter, and she didn’t like it, especially the company: she was probably received coldly.

-Have you seen anyone there today?

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

- Mole! - I muttered through clenched 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 triumph,” I said: “I only have hope in you: you won’t betray me.” I haven’t seen her yet, but I’m sure I recognize in your portrait a woman whom I loved in the old days. “Don’t say a word to her about me; if she asks, treat me badly.

“Perhaps,” Werner said, shrugging his shoulders.

When he left, a terrible sadness oppressed 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 will we meet?.. and then, is it her?.. My premonitions have 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 draws out the same sounds from it; I was created stupidly: I don’t forget anything, nothing.

After lunch, at about six o'clock, I went to the boulevard: there was a crowd there; The princess and princess were sitting on a bench, surrounded by young people who were vying with each other to be kind. I positioned myself at some distance on another bench, stopped two officers I knew D... 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 talking: my jokes were smart to the point of stupidity, my ridicule of the originals passing by was angry to the point of fury... I continued to amuse the audience until the sun set. Several times the princess passed me arm in arm with her mother, accompanied by some 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: - very true entertaining story- her exploits in battles?.. - She said this quite loudly and, probably, with the intention of stabbing me. “A-ha! - I thought: - you are seriously angry, dear princess; wait, there will be more!”

Grushnitsky watched her like a predatory animal and did not take her out of his sight: I bet that tomorrow he will ask someone to introduce him to the princess. She will be very happy because she is bored.

Over the course of two days, my affairs progressed terribly. The princess absolutely hates me; I have already been told two or three epigrams about me, quite caustic, but at the same time very flattering. It’s terribly strange for her that I, who am used to good society, who is so close to her St. 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 having guests at home - now my house is full every day, they have lunch, dinner, games - and, alas, my champagne triumphs over the power of her magnetic eyes.

Yesterday I met her in Chelakhov’s store; she sold a wonderful Persian carpet. The princess begged her mother not to skimp: this carpet would decorate her office so much!.. I gave 40 extra rubles and bought it; for this I was rewarded with a look of the most delightful fury. Around lunchtime, I ordered my Circassian horse, covered with this carpet, to be deliberately led past her windows. Werner was with them at that time and told me that the effect of this scene was the most dramatic. The princess wants to preach a militia against me: I even noticed that two of her adjutants bow to me very dryly, but they dine with me every day.

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

“You definitely don’t want to meet the Ligovskys?” - he told me yesterday.

- Decisively.

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

“My friend, I’m terribly tired of things from here.” Do you visit them?

- Not yet; I spoke with the princess twice or more, but you know, it’s somehow awkward to ask to come into the house, although this is common here... It would be a different matter if I wore epaulettes...

- For mercy’s sake, you’re much more interesting this way! You simply don’t know how to take advantage of your advantageous position: yes, a soldier’s overcoat in the eyes of any sensitive young lady makes you a hero, a sufferer.

Grushnitsky smiled smugly.

- What nonsense! - he said.

“I’m sure,” I continued, “that the princess is already in love with you.”

He turned red to his ears and pouted.

Oh self-love! you are the lever with which Archimedes wanted to lift the globe.

“You’re always making jokes,” he said, showing that he was angry: “first of all, she still knows me so little...

“Women only love those they don’t know.”

- Yes, I have no pretension at all to like her: I just want to get to know a pleasant home, and it would be very funny if I had any hopes... You, for example, are a different matter! - you, the victors of St. Petersburg, just look, how women are melting... Do you know, Pechorin, what the princess said about you?..

- How? Has she already told you about me?..

- Don't be happy, though. I once entered into a conversation with her at the well, by accident; and her third word was: “Who is this gentleman who has such an unpleasant, hard look? he was with you, then...” She blushed and did not want to name the day, remembering her cute prank. “You don’t need to tell the day,” I answered her, “it will forever be remembered by me.” My friend, Pechorin, I don’t congratulate you, you’re on her bad side... Oh, really, it’s a pity! because Mary is very sweet!..

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

I looked serious and answered him:

- Yes, she’s not bad... Just be careful, Grushnitsky! Russian young ladies for the most part feed only on platonic love, without mixing into it the thought of marriage; and platonic love is the most restless. The princess seems to be one of those women who wants to be amused; if she feels bored around you for two minutes in a row, you are lost irrevocably: your silence should arouse her curiosity, your conversation should never fully satisfy it; you must disturb her every minute; she will publicly neglect your opinion ten times and call it a sacrifice, and to reward herself for this, she will begin to torment 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 will flirt 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 convince 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 hit the table with his fist and began walking up and down the room.

I laughed internally and even smiled twice, but, fortunately, he did not notice. It is obvious that he is in love, because he has become even more trusting than before. He even had a silver ring with niello, made here: it seemed suspicious to me! - I started looking at it, and what? name in small letters Mary was carved on the inside, and next to it was the date of the day she raised the famous glass. I hid my discovery; I don't want to force a confession from him! I want him to choose me as his confidant, and then I will enjoy...

Today I got up late; I come to the well - no one is there anymore. 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 him, gray wisps of clouds curled and crawled like snakes, detained in their quest and as if caught in his thorny bushes. The air was filled with electricity. I went deeper into the grape alley leading to the grotto; I was sad. I thought 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 this? How many women have moles on their cheeks? Thinking in this way, I approached the grotto itself. I look: in the cool shadow of its arch, a woman sits on a stone bench, wearing a straw hat, wrapped in a black shawl, with her head bowed on her chest; the hat covered her face. I was about to return, so as not to disturb her dreams, when she looked at me.

- Faith! - I screamed 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 distrust and something similar to reproach.

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

- It’s been a long time - 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 away from mine, and her cheeks burned.

- Maybe you love your second husband?

She didn't answer and turned away.

- Or is he very jealous?

Silence.

- What? He’s young, good-looking, especially rich, and you’re afraid...” I looked at her and was scared: her face expressed deep despair, tears sparkled in her eyes.

“Tell me finally,” she whispered, “do you have a lot of fun torturing me?” I should hate you: since we have known each other, you have 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 are never forgotten!”

I hugged her tightly, and we stayed like that for a long time. Finally, our lips came closer and merged into a hot, rapturous kiss; her hands were cold as ice, her head was burning. Then one of those conversations began between us that on paper makes no sense, 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 absolutely does not want me to meet her husband, that lame old man whom I glimpsed on the boulevard; she married him for his son. He is rich and suffers from rheumatism. I didn’t allow myself a single ridicule of him: she respects him like a father! and he will deceive like a husband!.. A strange thing is the human heart in general, and a woman’s in particular!

Vera's husband, Semyon Vasilyevich G.....v, is 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 pursue the princess in order to divert attention from her. This way my plans are not upset at all, and I will have fun!

Fun!.. Yes, I have already passed that period of spiritual life when one seeks 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 attachment would be enough for me: a pathetic habit of the heart!..

One thing has always been strange to me: I never became the slave of the woman I loved, on the contrary: I always acquired invincible power over their will and heart, without trying at all. Why is this? - Is it because I never value anything very much, and that they were constantly afraid to let me out of their hands? or is it the magnetic influence of a strong organism? Or have I simply never met a woman with a tenacious character?

I must admit that I definitely don’t like women with character: is it any of 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, perhaps, 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 might have consumption or that disease that is called fièvre lente (Slow fever. (French)) - the disease is not Russian at all, and it has no name in our language.

A thunderstorm caught us in the grotto and kept us there for an extra half hour. She did not force me to swear allegiance, did not ask if I had loved others since we parted... She trusted me again with the same carelessness; and 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 be separated again, and perhaps forever: we will both go different 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.

Finally we parted; I followed her with my gaze 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 really youth with its beneficial storms that wants to return to me again, or is this just her farewell glance, the last gift - as a keepsake?.. And it’s funny to think that I still look like a boy: my face, although pale, is still fresh, my limbs flexible and slender, thick curls curling, eyes burning, blood boiling...

Returning home, I sat on horseback and galloped off into the steppe; I love to ride a hot horse through the tall grass, against the desert wind; I greedily swallow the fragrant air and direct my gaze into the blue distance, trying to catch the foggy outlines of objects that are becoming clearer and clearer every minute. Whatever grief lies on the heart, whatever anxiety torments 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 female gaze that I would not forget at the sight of curly mountains, illuminated by the southern sun, at the sight blue sky, or listening to the sound of a stream falling from cliff to cliff.

I think the Cossacks yawning at their towers, Seeing me galloping without need or purpose, they were tormented for a long time by this riddle, for they correctly mistaken me for a Circassian based on my clothes. In fact, they told me that in the Circassian costume on horseback I look more like a Kabardian than many Kabardians. And indeed, as far as this noble combat clothing is concerned, I am a perfect dandy: not a single braid is unnecessary, the weapon is valuable in simple decoration, the fur on the hat is not too long, not too short; the leggings and booties are fitted with all possible precision; white beshmet, dark brown cherkeska. I studied mountain riding for a long time: nothing can flatter my vanity so much as recognizing my skill in horse riding in the Caucasian style. I keep four horses: one for myself, three for my friends, so that it won’t be boring to trudge 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 out onto the road leading from Pyatigorsk to the German colony, where the water society often goes en piquenique ( Picnic. (French) ) . The road winds between bushes, descending into small ravines where noisy streams flow under the canopy of tall grasses; all around rise like an amphitheater the blue masses of Beshtu, Snake, Iron and Bald Mountains. Having descended into one of these ravines, called in the local dialect beams, I stopped to water the horse; at that time a noisy and brilliant cavalcade appeared on the road: ladies in black and blue riding habits, gentlemen in suits that made up a mixture Circassian with Nizhny Novgorod; Grushnitsky rode ahead with Princess Mary.

The ladies on the waters still believe in Circassian attacks in broad daylight; This is probably why Grushnitsky hung a saber and a pair of pistols on top of his soldier’s overcoat: he was quite funny in this heroic attire. A tall bush blocked me from them, but through its leaves I could see everything and guess from the expressions on their faces that the conversation was sentimental. Finally they approached the descent; Grushnitsky took the reins of the princess’s horse, and then I heard the end of their conversation:

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

- What is Russia to me! - answered her gentleman: - a country where thousands of people, because they are richer than me, will look at me with contempt, whereas here - here this thick overcoat did not interfere with 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 sent me every year one bright female look, one like that...

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

— Mon Dieu, un Circassien !..( My God, Circassian!.. (French) ) - the princess screamed in horror.

To completely dissuade her, I answered in French, bending slightly:

- Ne craignez rien, madame, - je ne suis pas plus dangereux que votre cavalier (Do not be afraid, madame, I am no more dangerous than your gentleman. (French)).

She was embarrassed, but why? because of my mistake, or because my answer seemed impudent to her? I would like my last assumption to be correct. Grushnitsky threw a dissatisfied look at me.

Late in the evening, that is, around 11 o’clock, I went for a walk along the linden alley of the boulevard. The city was asleep, only lights flickered in some windows. On three sides there were black crests of cliffs, the branches of Mashuk, on the top of which lay an ominous cloud; the month rose in the east; In the distance, snowy mountains sparkled like silver fringes. The shouts of the sentries were interspersed with the noise of hot springs being released for the night. Sometimes the sonorous clatter of a horse could be heard along the street, accompanied by the creaking of a Nagai cart and a mournful Tatar chorus. I sat down on a bench and thought... I felt the need to pour out my thoughts in a friendly conversation... but with whom?.. What is Vera doing now? I thought... I would give a lot to shake her hand at that moment.

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

- Where?

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

- Do you know what? - I told him: “I bet she doesn’t know that you are a cadet; she thinks you're demoted...

- May be! What do I care!..” he said absentmindedly.

- No, I'm just saying it this way...

“Do you know that you made her terribly angry today?” She found this to be unheard of impudence - I could hardly assure her that you were so well brought up and knew the world so well that you could not have intended to offend her; she says that you have an insolent look, that you probably have the highest opinion of yourself.

- She’s not wrong... Don’t you want to stand up for her?

- I’m sorry that I don’t have this right yet...

"Wow! — I thought: “He apparently already has hopes...”

“But it’s worse for you,” continued Grushnitsky: “now it’s difficult for you to get to know them, but it’s a pity!” this is one of the nicest houses I know...

I smiled internally.

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

- However, admit it, do you repent?..

- What nonsense! If I want, I’ll be with the princess tomorrow evening...

- Let's see...

“Even to please you, I’ll start chasing after the princess...

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

- I’ll only wait for the moment when she gets bored with your conversation... Goodbye!..

“And I’ll go staggering, I’ll never fall asleep now... Listen, let’s better go to the restaurant, there’s a game there... I need strong sensations today...”

- I wish you to lose...

I went 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 she get bored with him?.. The mother does not pay attention to this, because he not the groom. This is the logic of mothers! I noticed two or three tender glances - we need to put an end to this.

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

- You don’t 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 with the princess’s mazurka.

The restaurant hall turned into a noble meeting hall. At 9 o'clock everyone arrived. The princess and her daughter were the last to appear; many ladies looked at her with envy and hostility, because Princess Mary dresses with taste. Those who consider themselves local aristocrats, hiding their envy, joined her. What should I do? Where there is a society of women, the upper and lower circles will now appear there. Under the window, in the crowd of people, Grushnitsky stood, pressing his face to the glass and not taking his eyes off his goddess; She, passing by, barely nodded her head at him. He shone like the sun... The dancing began in Polish; then they started playing a waltz. Spurs rang, coattails rose and began to spin.

I stood behind a fat lady covered in pink feathers; the splendor of her dress was reminiscent of the times of figs, and the variegation of her unsmooth skin was reminiscent of the happy era of black taffeta flies; the largest wart on her neck was covered with a clasp. She said to her gentleman, the dragoon captain:

- This Princess Ligovskaya is an unbearable girl! Imagine, she pushed me and didn’t apologize, and even turned around and looked at me through her lorgnette. C’est impayable!..(This is incomparable!.. (French)) And what is she proud of? She really needs to be taught a lesson...

- This won’t be the case! - answered the helpful captain and went to another room.

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

She could hardly force herself not to smile and hide her triumph; She managed, however, quite quickly to assume a completely indifferent and even stern look: she casually laid her hand on my shoulder, tilted her head slightly to the side, and we set off. I don’t know a more voluptuous and flexible waist! Her fresh breath touched my face; sometimes a curl, separated from its comrades in the whirlwind of the waltz, slid along my burning cheek... I made three rounds. (She waltzes surprisingly well.) She was out of breath, her eyes were dim, her half-open lips could barely 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 of earning your disfavor... that you found me impudent... is it really true?..”

“And you would now like to confirm me in this opinion?” - she answered with an ironic grimace, which, however, suits her active face very well.

- If I had the audacity to offend you in some way, then allow me to have even greater audacity to ask for your forgiveness... And, really, I would really like to prove to you that you were wrong about me...

- It will be quite difficult for you...

- Why?

- Because you don’t come to us, and these balls probably won’t be repeated often.

This means, I thought, that their doors are forever closed to me.

“You know, princess,” I said with some annoyance, “one should never reject a repentant criminal: out of despair he can become twice as criminal... and then...”

The laughter and whispering of those around us forced me to turn around and interrupt my sentence. A few steps away from me stood a group of men, and among them was a captain of dragoons, who expressed hostile intentions against the dear princess; He was especially very pleased with something, rubbed his hands, laughed and winked at his comrades. Suddenly a gentleman in a tailcoat with a long mustache and a red face separated from their midst and directed his unsteady steps straight towards the princess: he was drunk. Stopping in front of the embarrassed princess and putting his hands behind his back, he fixed his dull gray eyes on her and said in a hoarse dishkant:

- Permete... well, what’s there!.. I’m just inviting you to a mazurka...

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

- What? - said the drunken gentleman, winking at the dragoon captain, who was encouraging him with signs, - wouldn’t you like it? that I'm drunk? This is nothing!.. Much freer, I can assure you...

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

I approached 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 ago promised to dance the mazurka with me.

- Well, there’s 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 told 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 it, it’s your fault alone: ​​you’re so shy of everyone that it’s unlike anything else.” I hope the air in my living room will clear up your spleen... doesn't it?

I told her one of those phrases that everyone should have prepared for such a case.

The quadrilles took an awfully long time.

Finally the mazurka thundered from the choir; The princess and I sat down.

I never hinted about the drunken gentleman, or about my previous behavior, or about Grushnitsky. The impression made on her by the unpleasant scene gradually dissipated; her face blossomed; she joked very nicely; her conversation was sharp, without pretense of wit, lively and free, her remarks were sometimes deep... I made her feel with 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 then, looking up at me with her velvet eyes and laughing forcedly.

“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 completely disappear in it.”

- You were afraid in vain! They're all boring...

- All? - Is that all?

She looked at me intently, as if trying to remember something, then she blushed slightly again and finally said decisively: All!

— Even my friend Grushnitsky?

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

- He certainly doesn’t fall into the category of boring...

“But in the category of unfortunates,” I said laughing.

- Certainly! Is it funny to you? I wish you were in his place...

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

“Is he really a cadet?” she said quickly and then added: “I thought...

- What did you think?..

- Nothing!.. Who is this lady?

Here the conversation changed direction and never returned to it.

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

- A-ha! - he said: - that’s how you are! And they also wanted to get to know 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!”

- How is this? Tell me!..

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

Around 7 pm I was walking on the boulevard. Grushnitsky, seeing me from afar, came up to me: some kind of funny delight shone in his eyes. He shook my hand firmly and said in a tragic voice:

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

- No; “But in any case, it’s not worth gratitude,” I answered, definitely not having any good deed on my conscience.

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

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

“Listen,” said Grushnitsky very importantly: “please don’t make fun of my love, if you want to remain my friend... You see: I love her, madly... and I think, I hope, she loves me too... I have a request for you: you will be with them this evening... 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, but the sound of their voice repels... Either in a minute they comprehend and guess our most secret thought, then they do not understand the clearest hints... For example, the princess: yesterday her eyes glowed with passion , stopping at me, now they are dull and cold...

“This may be a consequence of the action of the waters,” I answered.

- You see the bad side in everything... a materialist! - he added contemptuously. “However, let’s change the matter,” and, pleased with the bad pun, he became amused.

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

Passing by Vera's windows, I saw her at the window. We glanced at each other briefly. She soon after us entered the Ligovskys’ living room. The princess introduced me to her as her relative. We drank tea; there were many guests; the conversation was general. I tried to please the princess, joked, made her laugh heartily several times; The princess also wanted to laugh more than once, but she restrained herself so as not to leave the 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.

After tea everyone went into the hall.

“Are you satisfied with my obedience, Vera?” - I said, walking past her.

She gave me a look filled with love and gratitude. I am used to these views, but they once constituted my bliss. The princess sat her daughter down at the piano; everyone asked her to sing something - I was silent, and, taking advantage of the turmoil, went to the window with Vera, who wanted to tell me something very important for both of us... It turned out - nonsense...

Meanwhile, the princess was annoyed by my indifference, as I could guess from one angry, brilliant look... Oh, I amazingly understand this conversation, silent but expressive, brief but strong!..

She began to sing: her voice is not bad, but she sings poorly... however, I did not listen. But Grushnitsky, leaning on the piano opposite her, devoured her with his eyes and constantly said in an undertone: “charmant! délicieux" (Charming! Amazing! (French)).

“Listen,” Vera told me: “I don’t want you to meet my husband, but the princess must definitely like you; It’s easy for you: you can do whatever you want. We'll only see each other here...

- Only?..

She blushed and continued:

“You know that I am your slave: I never knew how to resist you... and I will be punished for it: you will stop loving me!” At least I want to save my reputation... not for myself: you know this very well!.. Oh, I ask you, do not torment me as before with empty doubts and feigned coldness: I may soon die, I I feel that I am weakening from day to day... and, despite this, I cannot think about the future life, I think only about you... You men do not understand the pleasures of a glance, a squeeze of a hand... and I, I swear to you, listening to your voice, I feel such a deep, strange bliss that the hottest kisses cannot replace it.

Meanwhile, Princess Mary stopped singing. A murmur of praise sounded around her; I approached her after everyone else and said something to her about her voice rather casually.

She made a grimace, pushing out her lower lip, and sat down very mockingly.

“This is all the more flattering to me,” she said, “since you didn’t listen to me at all... but maybe you don’t like music?..”

— On the contrary, especially after lunch.

- Grushnitsky is right when he says that you have the most prosaic tastes... and I see that you love gastronomic music...

- You are mistaken again: I am not a gastronomy at all; I have a very bad stomach. But music puts you to sleep after lunch, and sleep after lunch is great; therefore, I love music in a medical sense. In the evening, on the contrary, it irritates my nerves too much: I either feel too sad or too happy. Both are tiresome when there is no positive reason to be sad or happy, and, moreover, sadness in society is ridiculous, and too much gaiety is indecent.

She didn’t listen to the end, walked away, sat down next to Grushnitsky, and some kind of sentimental conversation began between them: it seems that the princess answered his wise phrases rather absent-mindedly and unsuccessfully, although she tried to show that she was listening to him with attention, because he sometimes looked at her with surprise, trying to guess the reason for the inner unrest that was sometimes depicted in her restless gaze...

But I guessed you right, dear princess, beware! You want to repay me in the same coin, to prick my pride, but you won’t succeed! and if you declare war on me, then I will be merciless.

Throughout the evening, I deliberately tried several times to interfere in their conversation, but she greeted my comments rather dryly, and I finally left with feigned annoyance. The princess was triumphant; Grushnitsky too. Triumph, my friends, hurry up... you won't have long to triumph!.. What to do? I have a presentiment... When meeting a woman, I always unmistakably guessed whether she would love me or not...

I spent the rest of the evening near Vera and talked to my heart's content about antiquity! Why she loves me so much, I really don’t know! - Moreover, this is one woman who understood me completely, with all my petty weaknesses, bad passions... Is evil really so attractive?..

We went out together with Grushnitsky; on the street he took me by the arm and after a long silence said:

- Well?..

“You’re stupid,” I wanted to answer him, but I resisted and just shrugged.

All these days I have never deviated from my system. The princess begins to like my conversation; I told her some of the strange incidents of my life, and she begins to see in me an extraordinary person. I laugh at everything in the world, especially at feelings: it starts to scare her. She does not dare to indulge in sentimental debates with Grushnitsky in front of me and has already responded to his antics several times with a mocking smile; but every time Grushnitsky approaches her, I take on a humble look and leave them alone; for the first time she was happy about it, or tried to show it; in the second she was angry with me, in the third - with Grushnitsky.

“You have very little self-esteem,” she told me yesterday. - Why do you think that I have more fun with Grushnitsky?

I answered that I was sacrificing my friend’s happiness with my pleasure...

“And mine,” she added.

I looked at her intently and looked serious. Then he didn’t speak a word to her all day... In the evening she was thoughtful, this morning at the well she is even more thoughtful; when I approached her, she was absentmindedly listening to Grushnitsky, who seemed to be admiring nature, but as soon as she saw me, she began to laugh (very inappropriately), showing that she did not notice me. I moved away and began to watch her furtively; she turned away from her interlocutor and yawned twice.

Decidedly, she was tired of Grushnitsky.

I won't talk to her for another two days.

I often ask myself why I am so persistent in seeking the love of a young girl whom I do not want to seduce and whom I will never marry? Why this female coquetry? “Vera loves me more than Princess Mary will ever love me; If she seemed to me an invincible beauty, then perhaps I would have been attracted by the difficulty of the enterprise. But nothing happened! Consequently, this is not that restless need for love that torments us in the first years of youth, throws us from one woman to another until we find one who cannot stand us: here begins our constancy - a true endless passion, which can be mathematically expressed by a line , falling from a point into space; the secret of this infinity lies only in the impossibility of reaching the goal, that is, the end.

Why am I bothering? — Out of envy of Grushnitsky? Poor thing, he doesn't deserve her at all. Or is it a consequence of that nasty but invincible feeling that forces us to destroy the sweet delusions of our neighbor in order to have the petty pleasure of telling him when he asks in despair what he should believe:

- My friend, the same thing happened to me! and you see, however, I have lunch, dinner and sleep peacefully and I hope I will be able to die without screaming and tears!

But there is immense pleasure in possessing a young, barely blossoming soul! She is like a flower whose best fragrance evaporates towards the first ray of the sun; you need to pick it up at this moment and, after breathing it to your heart’s content, throw it on the road: maybe someone will pick it up. I feel this insatiable greed within me, devouring everything that comes my way; I look at the sufferings and joys of others only in relation to myself, as food that supports my spiritual strength. I myself am no longer capable of going mad under the influence of passion; My ambition was suppressed by circumstances, but it manifested itself in a different form, for ambition is nothing more than a thirst for power, and my first pleasure is to subordinate to my will everything that surrounds me; to arouse feelings of love, devotion and fear - isn’t this the first sign and the greatest triumph of power? To be the cause of suffering and joy for someone, without having any positive right to do so - isn’t this the sweetest food of our pride? What is happiness? Intense pride. If I considered myself better, more powerful than everyone else in the world, I would be happy; if everyone loved me, I would find endless sources of love in myself. Evil begets evil; the first suffering gives the concept of pleasure in tormenting another; the idea of ​​evil cannot enter a person’s head without him wanting to apply it to reality; ideas are organic creatures, someone said: their birth already gives them a form, and this form is an action; the one in whose head more ideas were born acts more than others; because of this, a genius chained to an official desk must die or go crazy, just as a man with a powerful physique, with a sedentary life and modest behavior, dies of an apoplexy.

Passions are nothing more than ideas in their first development: they belong to the youth of the heart, and he is a fool who thinks to worry about them all his life: many calm rivers begin with noisy waterfalls, but not one jumps and foams all the way to the sea. But this calmness is often a sign of greatness, though hidden power: the fullness and depth of feelings and thoughts does not allow frantic impulses; the soul, suffering and enjoying, gives itself a strict account of everything and is convinced that it should be so; she knows that without thunderstorms the constant heat of the sun will dry her out; she is imbued with her own life - she cherishes and punishes herself like a beloved child. Only in this highest state of self-knowledge can a person appreciate God's justice.

Re-reading this page, I notice that I have been far distracted from my subject... But what is the need?.. After all, I am writing this journal for myself and, consequently, everything that I throw into it will, over time, be a precious memory for me .

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

Grushnitsky came and threw himself on my neck: he was promoted to officer. We drank champagne. Dr. Werner climbed up after him.

“I don’t congratulate you,” he said to Grushnitsky.

- Why?

- Because a soldier’s overcoat suits you very well, and admit that the army infantry uniform, sewn here on the waters, will not give you anything interesting... You see, until now you have been an exception, but now you will fit into the general rule.

- Explain, interpret, doctor! you won’t stop me from rejoicing; “he doesn’t know,” Grushnitsky added in my ear: “how much hope these epaulets gave me... Oh, epaulets, epaulets! your stars, your guiding stars... No! I'm completely happy now.

- Are you going for a walk with us to the hole? - I asked him.

- I? I will never show myself to the princess until the uniform is ready.

-Will you order her to announce your joy?..

- No, please don’t say... I want to surprise her!..

- Tell me, however, how are you doing with her?

He was embarrassed and thoughtful: he wanted to brag, to lie, and he was ashamed, and at the same time he was ashamed to admit the truth.

- Do you think she loves you?..

- Does he love you? For mercy, Pechorin, what ideas do you have!.. how can you do it so soon?.. And even if she loves, a decent woman will not say it...

- Fine! And probably, in your opinion, a decent person should also remain silent about his passion?..

- Eh, brother! there is a manner to everything; much is not said, but guessed...

- This is true... Only the love that we read in the eyes does not oblige a woman to anything, while words... Beware, Grushnitsky, she is deceiving you...

- She! - he answered, raising his eyes to the sky and smiling smugly: - I feel sorry for you, Pechorin!..

In the evening, a large group set off on foot to the sinkhole.

According to local scientists, this failure is nothing more than an extinct crater; it is located on the Mashuk slope, a mile from the city. A narrow path between bushes and rocks leads to it; Climbing the mountain, I offered my hand to the princess, and she did not leave her side throughout the entire walk.

Our conversation began with slander: I began to sort through our acquaintances who were present and absent, first showing their funny, and then their bad sides. My bile became agitated; I started jokingly and ended with sincere anger. At first it amused her, and then it scared her.

- You dangerous man“,” she told me: “I would rather fall under a killer’s knife in the forest than to get caught on your tongue... I ask you not jokingly: when you decide to speak ill of me, you better take a knife and stab me to death,” I think it won't be very difficult for you.

- Do I look like a murderer?..

- You are worse...

I thought for a minute and then said, looking deeply moved:

-Yes! This has been my lot since childhood. Everyone read on my face signs of bad qualities that were not there; but they were anticipated - and they were born. I was modest - I was accused of guile: I became secretive. I felt good and evil deeply; no one caressed me, everyone insulted me: I became vindictive; I was gloomy, - other children were cheerful and talkative; I felt superior to them - they put me below. I became envious. I was ready to love the whole world, but no one understood me: and I learned to hate. My colorless youth passed in a struggle with myself and the world; Fearing ridicule, I buried my best feelings in the depths of my heart; they died there. I told the truth - they didn’t believe me: I began to deceive; Having learned well the light and springs of society, I became skilled in the science of life and saw how others were happy without art, freely enjoying the benefits that I so tirelessly sought. And then despair was born in my chest - not the despair that is treated with the barrel of a pistol, but cold, powerless despair, covered with courtesy and a good-natured smile. I became a moral cripple: one half of my soul did not exist, it dried up, evaporated, died, I cut it off and threw it away - while the other moved and lived at the service of everyone, and no one noticed this, because no one knew about the existence of the deceased its halves; but now you have awakened in me the memory of her - and I read her epitaph to you. To many, all epitaphs seem funny, but not to me, especially when I remember what lies underneath them. However, I do not ask you to share my opinion: if my trick seems funny to you, please laugh: I warn you that this will not upset me in the least.

At that moment I met her eyes: tears were running in them; her hand, leaning on mine, trembled, her cheeks were flushed... she felt sorry for me! Compassion, a feeling that all women so easily submit to, let its claws into her inexperienced heart. During the entire walk she was absent-minded, did not flirt with anyone... and this is a great sign!

We have come to failure; the ladies left their gentlemen, but she did not leave my hand. The witticisms of the local dandies did not amuse her; the steepness of the cliff at which she stood did not frighten her, while the other young ladies squealed and closed their eyes.

On the way back I did not resume our sad conversation; but she answered my empty questions and jokes briefly and absent-mindedly.

- Did you love? - I asked her finally.

She looked at me intently, shook her head... and again fell into thoughtfulness; it was obvious that she wanted to say something, but she did not know where to start; her chest was worried... What to do! the muslin sleeve is a weak protection, and an electric spark ran from my hand into hers; Almost all passions begin this way, and we often deceive ourselves greatly, thinking that a woman loves us for our physical or moral merits; of course, they prepare, dispose her heart to receive the sacred fire - but still the first touch decides the matter.

“Isn’t it true that I was very kind today?” - the princess told me with a forced smile when we returned from the walk.

We broke up...

She is dissatisfied with herself: she accuses herself of being cold! - oh, this is the first, main celebration. Tomorrow she will want to reward me. I already know all this by heart, that’s what’s boring!

Today I saw Vera. She tormented me with her jealousy. The princess decided, it seems, to confide her heartfelt secrets to her: I must admit, a good choice!

“I can guess where this is all going,” Vera told me: “It’s better just tell me now that you love her.”

- But what if I don’t love her?

- Then why pursue her, disturb her, excite her imagination?.. Oh, I know you well! Listen, if you want me to believe you, then come to Kislovodsk in a week: the day after tomorrow we are moving there. The princess stays here longer. Rent an apartment nearby; we will live in a large house near a spring, on a mezzanine; Downstairs is Princess Ligovskaya, and nearby there is a house of the same owner, which is not yet occupied... Will you come?..

I promised - and the same day I sent to occupy this apartment.

Grushnitsky came to me at six o’clock in the evening and announced that his uniform would be ready tomorrow, just in time for the ball.

“Finally, I’ll dance with her all evening... I’ll say enough!” - he added.

- When is the ball?

- Yes tomorrow! Don't you know? A big holiday, and the local authorities decided to organize it...

- Let's go to the boulevard...

- No way! - in this disgusting overcoat...

- How, did you stop loving her?..

I left alone and, meeting Princess Mary, invited her to a mazurka. She seemed surprised and delighted.

“I thought that you dance only out of necessity, like last time,” she said, smiling very sweetly...

She does not seem to notice Grushnitsky’s absence at all.

“You will be pleasantly surprised tomorrow,” I told her.

- It's a secret... at the ball you will guess it yourself.

I finished the evening at the princess's; there were no guests except Vera and one very funny old man. I was in the spirit, improvising various extraordinary stories; the princess sat opposite me and listened to my nonsense with such deep, intense, even tender attention that I felt ashamed. Where did her liveliness go, her coquetry, her whims, her daring expression, her contemptuous smile, her absent-minded gaze?..

Vera noticed all this: deep sadness was depicted on her painful face; she sat in the shade by the window, sinking into wide armchairs; I felt sorry for her.

Then I told the whole dramatic story of our acquaintance with her, our love - of course, covering it all with fictitious names.

I so vividly depicted my tenderness, my worries, my delights - I presented her actions and character in such a favorable light that she inevitably had to forgive me for my coquetry with the princess.

She got up, sat down next to us, perked up... and only at two o’clock in the morning did we remember that the doctors told us to go to bed at eleven.

Half an hour before the ball, Grushnitsky appeared to me in the full radiance 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 form 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 every minute into small curls; complacency and at the same time some uncertainty were depicted on his face; his festive appearance, his proud gait would have made me laugh if it had been in accordance with my intentions.

He threw his cap and gloves on the table and began to tighten his coattails and straighten himself in front of the mirror; a huge black handkerchief, folded over a high necktie, whose stubble supported his chin, protruded half an inch from behind his collar; It seemed to him not enough: he pulled it up to his ears; from this difficult work - for the collar of his uniform was very narrow and restless - his face became flushed with blood.

“They say you’ve been terribly following my princess these days,” he said rather casually and without looking at me.

- Where can we fools drink tea? - I answered him, repeating the favorite saying of one of the most clever rakes of the past, once sung by Pushkin.

- Tell me, does the uniform fit me well?.. Oh, damned Jew!.. how it cuts under the armpits!.. Don’t you have any perfume?

- For mercy, what else do you want? You already smell like pink lipstick...

- Nothing. Give it here...

He poured half a bottle into his tie, into his handkerchief, and onto his sleeves.

- Will you dance? he asked.

- Don't think.

“I’m afraid that the princess and I will have to start a mazurka; I don’t know almost a single figure...

- Did you invite her to the mazurka?

- Not yet...

- Be careful not to warn you...

“Really,” he said, hitting himself on the forehead. - Goodbye... I'll go wait for her at the entrance. “He grabbed his cap and ran.

Half an hour later I left. The street was dark and empty; people crowded around the meeting or the tavern, whatever you liked; its windows glowed; The sounds of regimental music were carried to me by the evening wind. I walked slowly; I was sad. Is it really possible, I thought, that my only purpose on earth is to destroy the hopes of others? Since I have been living and acting, fate has somehow always led me to the outcome of other people's dramas, as if without me no one could die or despair. I was the necessary face of the fifth act; involuntarily I played the pathetic role of an executioner or a traitor. What purpose did fate have for this?.. Wasn’t she appointing me as a writer of petty-bourgeois tragedies and family novels, or as an employee of a supplier of stories, for example, for the “Library for Reading”?.. Why know!.. You never know the number of people starting life, they think to end it like Alexander the Great or Lord Byron, and yet for a whole century they remain titular advisers?..

Having entered the hall, I hid in the crowd of men and began to make my observations. Grushnitsky stood near the princess and said something with great fervor; She listened to him absentmindedly, looked around, putting a fan to her lips; impatience was depicted on her face, her eyes were looking around for someone; I quietly walked behind to eavesdrop on their conversation.

“You torment me, princess,” said Grushnitsky: “you have changed terribly since I didn’t see you...

“You have also changed,” she answered, throwing a quick glance at him, in which he could not discern secret mockery.

- I? have I changed? - Oh, never! You know it's impossible! Whoever has seen you once will take your divine image with him forever.

- Stop it!..

“Why don’t you now want to listen to what just recently, and so often, you listened favorably?..

“Because I don’t like repetitions,” she answered laughing...

- Oh, I was bitterly mistaken!.. I thought, crazy, that at least these epaulettes would give me the right to hope... No, it would be better for me to remain forever in this despicable soldier’s overcoat, to which, perhaps, I owed your attention ...

- In fact, an overcoat suits you much more...

At this time I approached and bowed to the princess; She blushed a little and said quickly:

“Isn’t it true, Monsieur Pechorin, that a gray overcoat suits Monsieur Grushnitsky much better?”

“I don’t agree with you,” I answered: “he looks even younger in his uniform.”

Grushnitsky could not bear this blow: like all boys, he has pretensions to being an old man; he thinks that on his face the deep traces of passions replace the imprint of years. He threw a furious look at me, stamped his foot and walked away.

“And admit,” I said to the princess, “that although he was always very funny, just recently you seemed interested in him... in a gray overcoat?..”

She lowered her eyes and did not answer.

Grushnitsky spent the whole evening chasing the princess, dancing either with her or vis-à-vis; he devoured her with his eyes, sighed and bored her with pleas and reproaches. After the third quadrille she hated him.

“I didn’t expect this from you,” he said, coming up to me and taking my hand.

—Are you dancing the mazurka with her? - he asked in a solemn voice. - She confessed to me...

- Well, so what? is this a secret?

- Of course, I should have expected this from a girl, from a coquette... I’ll take revenge!

- Blame your overcoat or your epaulettes, but why blame her! What's her fault that she doesn't like you anymore?..

- Why give hope?

- Why did you hope? - To desire and achieve something - I understand! - who hopes?

“You won the bet, but not completely,” he said, smiling evilly.

The Mazurka has begun. Grushnitsky chose only the princess, other gentlemen were constantly choosing her: this was clearly a conspiracy against me. So much the better. She wants to talk to me, they interfere with her - she will want twice as much.

I shook her hand twice; the second time she pulled it out without saying a word.

“I’m going to sleep poorly this night,” she told me when the mazurka ended.

- Grushnitsky is to blame for this.

- Oh no! “And her face became so thoughtful, so sad that I promised myself that evening I would definitely kiss her hand.”

They began to leave. Putting the princess into the carriage, I quickly pressed her small hand to my lips. It was dark and no one could see it.

I returned to the hall very pleased with myself.

The young people were having dinner at a large table, and Grushnitsky was among them. When I got up, everyone fell silent: apparently they were talking about me. Many people have been sulking at me since the last ball, especially the dragoon captain, and now, it seems, a hostile gang under the command of Grushnitsky is decisively forming against me. He looks so proud and brave...

I'm very glad. I love my enemies, although not in a Christian way. They amuse me, they stir my blood. To be always on guard, to catch every glance, the meaning of every word, to guess intentions, to destroy conspiracies, to pretend to be deceived, and suddenly with one push to overturn the entire huge and laborious edifice of their cunning and plans - that’s what I call life!

Throughout the dinner, Grushnitsky whispered and winked with the dragoon captain.

This morning Vera left with her husband for Kislovodsk. I met their carriage when I was going to Princess Ligovskaya. She nodded her head at me, there was a reproach in her gaze.

Who's to blame? Why doesn’t she want to give me a chance to see her alone? Love, like fire, goes out without food. Perhaps jealousy will do what my requests could not.

I sat with the princess for an hour. Mary didn’t come out, she’s sick. In the evening she was not on the boulevard. The newly formed gang, armed with lorgnettes, took on a truly menacing appearance. “I’m glad that the princess is sick: they would have done something insolent to her.” Grushnitsky has disheveled hair and a desperate look: he seems to be really upset, his pride is especially offended; but there are people in whom even despair is funny.

Returning home, I noticed that I was missing something. I haven't seen her! - She's sick! Am I really in love? - What nonsense!

At eleven o'clock in the morning - the hour at which Princess Ligovskaya usually sweats in the Yermolov bath - I walked past her house. The princess sat thoughtfully by the window; When she saw me, she jumped up.

I went into the hallway; there were no people there, and without a report, taking advantage of the freedom of local morals, I made my way into the living room.

Dull pallor covered the princess’s sweet face; she stood at the piano, leaning one hand on the back of the chair: this hand was trembling slightly. I quietly approached her and said:

-Are you angry with me?..

She looked up at me with a languid, deep gaze and shook her head; her lips wanted to say something, but could not; her eyes filled with tears, she sank into a chair and covered her face with her hands.

- What's wrong with you? - I said, taking her hand.

- You don’t respect me!.. Oh! leave me!..

I took a few steps. She straightened up in her chair, her eyes sparkled...

I stopped, grabbed the door handle and said:

- Forgive me, princess! I acted like a madman... this won’t happen another time: I will take my own measures!.. Why do you need to know what has been happening so far in my soul! You will never know, and so much the better for you. Farewell.

As I was leaving, I think I heard her crying.

I wandered on foot around the outskirts of Mashuk until evening, got terribly tired and, when I came home, threw myself into bed in complete exhaustion.

Werner came to see me.

“Is it true,” he asked, “that you are marrying Princess Ligovskaya?”

- The whole city is talking; All my patients are busy with this important news, and these patients are such people: they know everything!

“These are Grushnitsky’s things!” - I thought.

- To prove to you, doctor, the falsity of these rumors, I tell you in confidence that tomorrow I am moving to Kislovodsk...

- And the princess too?..

- No, she’s staying here for another week...

- So you won’t get married!..

- Doctor, doctor! look at me: do I really look like a groom or something like that?

- I'm not saying that! “But you know, there are cases,” he added, smiling slyly, “in which a noble man is obliged to marry, and there are mothers who at least do not prevent these cases.” So, I advise you, as a friend, to be careful! The air here on the waters is dangerous; how many wonderful young people I have seen, worthy of a better fate, and leaving here right down the aisle... Would you even believe it, they wanted to marry me! It was one district mother whose daughter was very pale. I had the misfortune of telling her that her complexion would return after the wedding; Then, with tears of gratitude, she offered me her daughter’s hand and her entire fortune—fifty souls, it seems! But I answered that I was not capable of this.

Werner left in full confidence that he had warned me.

From his words, I noticed that various bad rumors had already been spread in the city about me and the princess: this would not go in vain for Grushnitsky.

I've been in Kislovodsk for three days now. Every day I see Vera at the well and on walks. In the morning, when I wake up, I sit by the window and point my lorgnette at her balcony; she has been dressed for a long time and is waiting for the agreed sign. We meet as if by chance in the garden, which goes down from our houses to the well. The invigorating mountain air returned her complexion and strength. It’s not for nothing that Narzan is called the heroic spring. Local residents claim that the air of Kislovodsk is conducive to love, that here there are endings to all the romances that have ever begun at the foot of Mashuk. And in fact: here everything breathes solitude, here everything is mysterious - and the thick canopies of linden alleys bending over the stream, which, with noise and foam, falling from slab to slab, cuts its way between the green mountains, and gorges full of darkness and silence , whose branches scatter from here in all directions, and the freshness of the aromatic air, burdened with the evaporation of tall southern grasses and white acacia, and the constant, sweetly soporific noise of icy streams, which, meeting at the end of the valley, run in unison and finally rush into Podkumok; - on this side the gorge is wider and turns into a green ravine: a dusty road winds along it. Every time I look at her, it seems to me that a carriage is driving, and a pink little face is looking out of the carriage window. Many carriages have passed along this road, but that one is still missing. The settlement, which is behind the fortress, was inhabited; in the restaurant, built on a hill, a few steps from my apartment, lights begin to flicker in the evening through a double row of poplars; noise and clinking of glasses can be heard until late at night.

Nowhere do they drink so much Kakhetian wine and mineral water, like here.

But to mix these two crafts
There are a lot of hunters - I'm not one of them.

Grushnitsky and his gang rage every day in the tavern and hardly bow to me.

He only arrived yesterday, but he had already quarreled with three old men who wanted to sit in the bath before him: decisively - misfortunes develop a warlike spirit in him.

Finally they arrived. I was sitting by the window when I heard the sound of their carriage: my heart trembled... What is this? Am I really in love?.. I was created so stupidly that this can be expected from me.

I had lunch with them. The princess looks at me very tenderly and does not leave her daughter... bad! “But Vera is jealous of me for the princess: I achieved this prosperity!” What a woman won’t do to upset her rival! I remember one fell in love with me because I loved the other. There is nothing more paradoxical than the female mind: it is difficult to convince women of anything; they must be brought to the point where they convince themselves; the order of evidence with which they destroy their prejudices is very original; in order to learn their dialectics, you need to overturn in your mind all the school rules of logic. For example, the usual method:

This man loves me - but I am married - therefore I should not love him.

Female method:

I shouldn’t love him - because I’m married - but he loves me - therefore... there are several points here, because the mind doesn’t say anything, but mostly the tongue, the eyes, and after them the heart, if there is one, speak.

What if someday these notes catch the eye of a woman? - Slander! - she will scream indignantly.

Since poets have been writing and women have been reading them (for which we have our deepest gratitude), they have been called angels so many times that they, in the simplicity of their souls, actually believed this compliment, forgetting that the same poets, for money, called Nero a demigod. ..

It would be inappropriate for me to talk about them with such anger - to me, who loved nothing in the world except them, to me, who was always ready to sacrifice peace, ambition, life for them... But I’m not trying to to pull off that magic veil from them, through which only the habitual gaze penetrates. No, everything I say about them is only a consequence -

Crazy cold observations
And hearts of sorrowful notes.

Women should wish that all men knew them as well as I do, because I love them a hundred times more since I am not afraid of them and have understood their small weaknesses.

By the way: Werner recently compared women to the enchanted forest that Tass talks about in his “Liberated Jerusalem”. “Just approach,” he said, “such fears will fly at you from all sides that God forbid: duty, pride, decency, general opinion, ridicule, contempt... You just need to not look, but go straight; — little by little the monsters disappear, and a quiet and bright clearing opens before you, among which green myrtle blooms; “But it’s a disaster if at the first steps your heart trembles and you turn back.”

This evening was full of incidents. About three versts from Kislovodsk, in the gorge where Podkumok flows, there is a rock called Ring; it is a gate formed by nature; they rise on a high hill, and the setting sun through them casts its last fiery gaze on the world. A large cavalcade went there to watch the sunset through the stone window. None of us, to tell the truth, thought about the sun. I rode near the princess; returning home, it was necessary to cross Podkumok into the ford. Mountain rivers, the smallest ones, are dangerous, especially because their bottom is a perfect kaleidoscope: every day it changes due to the pressure of the waves; Where there was a stone yesterday, there is a hole today. I took the princess’s horse by the bridle and led it into the water, which was no higher than the knees; We quietly began to move diagonally against the current. It is known that when crossing fast rivers, you should not look at the water, because your head will immediately spin. I forgot to tell Princess Mary about this.

We were already in the middle, in the very rapids, when she suddenly swayed in the saddle. “I feel sick!” - she said in a weak voice... I quickly leaned towards her and wrapped my arm around her flexible waist.

“Look up,” I whispered to her: it’s nothing, just don’t be afraid, I’m with you.

She felt better, she wanted to free herself from my hand, but I wrapped my arms around her tender, soft figure even tighter; my cheek was almost touching hers; Flames wafted from her.

- What are you doing to me!.. my God!..

I did not pay attention to her trepidation and embarrassment, and my lips touched her tender cheek; she shuddered, but said nothing; We were driving behind: no one saw. When we got ashore, we all started to trot. The princess reined in her horse; I stayed near her; it was clear that she was bothered by my silence, but I vowed not to say a word, out of curiosity. I wanted to see her get out of this predicament.

- Either you despise me, or you love me very much! - she finally said in a voice that contained tears. “Perhaps you want to laugh at me, outrage my soul and then leave me... That would be so mean, so base, that one suggestion... oh, no! Isn’t it true,” she added in a voice of tender confidence: “Isn’t it true, there is nothing in me that would exclude respect; your daring act, - I must, I must forgive you, because I allowed... Answer, tell me, I want to hear your voice!.. - B last words there was such feminine impatience that I involuntarily smiled; Fortunately, it was beginning to get dark. - I didn’t answer anything.

-Are you silent? - she continued: - perhaps you want me to be the first to tell you that I love you...

I was silent...

- Do you want this? - she continued, quickly turning to me. There was something terrible in the determination of her gaze and voice...

- For what? - I answered, shrugging my shoulders.

She hit her horse with the whip and set off at full speed along the narrow, dangerous road; it happened so quickly that I could barely catch up with her, and only after she had already joined the rest of the company. All the way home she talked and laughed every minute. There was something feverish in her movements; didn't look at me even once. Everyone noticed this extraordinary gaiety. And the princess rejoiced inwardly, looking at her daughter; and my daughter is just having a nervous attack: she will spend the night without sleep and cry. This thought gives me immense pleasure. There are moments when I understand the Vampire!.. And I am also known as a kind fellow and strive for this title.

Having dismounted from their horses, the ladies went up to the princess; I was excited and galloped into the mountains to dispel the thoughts that were crowding in my head. The dewy evening breathed a delightful coolness. The moon was rising from behind the dark peaks; every step of my barefoot horse resounded dully in the silence of the gorges; At the waterfall I watered my horse, greedily breathed in the fresh air of the southern night twice and set off on the way back. I was driving through a settlement. The lights began to fade in the windows; The sentries on the ramparts of the fortress and the Cossacks on the surrounding pickets called to each other in a drawn-out manner...

In one of the houses of the settlement, built on the edge of a ravine, I noticed extraordinary lighting; From time to time, discordant chatter and shouts were heard, revealing a military feast. I got down and crept to the window: the loosely closed shutter allowed me to see the feasters and hear their words. They talked about me.

The dragoon captain, flushed with wine, hit the table with his fist, demanding attention.

- Gentlemen! - he said, - it’s like nothing else; Pechorin needs to be taught a lesson! These St. Petersburg boys are always arrogant until you hit them on the nose! He thinks that he is the only one who lived in the world, because he always wears clean gloves and polished boots.

- And what an arrogant smile! But I am sure that he is a coward - yes, a coward!

“I think the same,” said Grushnitsky. - He likes to laugh it off. I once said such things to him that anyone else would have chopped me up on the spot, but Pechorin turned everything into a funny side. I, of course, did not call him, because it was his business; I didn’t even want to get involved...

“Grushnitsky is angry with him because he took the princess away from him,” someone said.

- That's another thing you thought of! True, I was a little after the princess, and I immediately fell behind, because I don’t want to get married, and it’s not in my rules to compromise a girl.

- Yes, I assure you that he is the first coward, that is, Pechorin, and not Grushnitsky - oh, Grushnitsky is a great fellow, and besides, he is my true friend! - said the dragoon captain again. - Gentlemen, no one here protects him? no one!.. so much the better; want to test his courage? This will amuse us...

- We want to - but how?

- But listen: Grushnitsky is especially angry with him - this is his first role! He will find fault with some stupidity and challenge Pechorin to a duel... Wait: that’s the thing... He will challenge Pechorin to a duel: good! All this - the challenge, the preparations, the conditions, will be as solemn and terrible as possible - I am taking on this; I will be your second, my poor friend! Fine! But here's the twist: we won't put bullets in pistols. I’m telling you that Pechorin will be a coward - I’ll put them six steps away, damn it! Do you agree, gentlemen?

“It’s a nice idea, we agree, why not,” was heard from all sides.

- And you, Grushnitsky?

I waited with trepidation for Grushnitsky’s answer: cold anger took possession of me at the thought that if not for chance, I could have become the laughing stock of these fools. If Grushnitsky had not agreed, I would have thrown myself on his neck. But after some silence, he stood up from his seat, extended his hand to the captain and said very importantly: “okay, I agree.”

It is difficult to describe the delight of the entire honest company.

I returned home with two different feelings. The first was sadness: why do they all hate me? I thought. For what? Have I offended anyone? No. Am I really one of those people whose mere sight generates ill will? And I felt that poisonous anger was gradually filling my soul. Beware, Mr. Grushnitsky! I said, walking back and forth across the room: they don’t joke with me like that. You can pay dearly for the approval of your stupid comrades. I'm not your toy...

I didn't sleep all night. By morning I was as yellow as an orange.

In the morning I met the princess at the well.

-Are you sick? - she said, looking at me intently.

— I didn’t sleep at night.

- And I also... I accused you... maybe in vain? - But explain yourself: I can forgive you everything...

- Is that all?..

- That's it... just tell the truth... just quickly... You see, I thought a lot, trying to explain, justify your behavior; maybe you are afraid of obstacles from my relatives... that’s nothing; when they find out... (her voice trembled) I will beg them. Or your own position... but know that I can sacrifice everything for the one I love... Oh, answer quickly - have mercy... You don’t despise me, do you?

She grabbed my hand. The princess walked ahead of Vera’s husband and me and saw nothing; but we could be seen by the walking sick people, the most curious gossips of all curious people, and I quickly freed my hand from her passionate squeeze.

“I will tell you the whole truth,” I answered the princess: “I will not make excuses or explain my actions; - I don’t love you...

Her lips turned slightly pale...

“Leave me alone,” she said barely intelligibly.

I shrugged, turned and walked away.

I sometimes despise myself... is that not why I despise others?.. I have become incapable of noble impulses; I'm afraid to seem funny to myself. If someone else in my place would have offered the princess: son coeur et sa fortune!.. (Your heart and your destiny!.. (French)) but the word is over me marry has some kind of magical power: no matter how passionately I love a woman, if she only makes me feel that I should marry her - forgive love! my heart turns to stone, and nothing will warm it up again. I am ready for all sacrifices except this one; Twenty times I will put my life, even my honor, on the line... but I will not sell my freedom. Why do I value her so much? What’s in it for me?.. where am I preparing myself? What do I expect from the future?.. Really, absolutely nothing. This is some kind of innate fear, an inexplicable premonition... After all, there are people who are unconsciously afraid of spiders, cockroaches, mice... Should I admit it?.. When I was still a child, one old woman wondered about me to my mother; she predicted to me death from an evil wife; this struck me deeply then: an insurmountable aversion to marriage was born in my soul... Meanwhile, something tells me that her prediction will come true; at least I will try to make it come true as late as possible.

A magician came here yesterday Apfelbaum. A long poster appeared on the doors of the restaurant, informing the most respectable public that the above-mentioned amazing magician, acrobat, chemist and optician, would have the honor of giving a magnificent performance today at 8 o'clock in the evening, in the hall of the noble assembly (otherwise - in the restaurant); tickets for two rubles and a half.

Everyone is going to go see an amazing magician; even Princess Ligovskaya, despite the fact that her daughter was sick, took a ticket for herself.

This afternoon I walked past Vera’s windows; she was sitting on the balcony, alone; A note fell at my feet:

“Today at ten o’clock in the evening come to me along the big stairs; my husband left for Pyatigorsk and will only return tomorrow morning. My people and maids will not be in the house: I distributed tickets to them all, and also to the princess’s people. - I'm waiting for you. Be sure to come."

- A-ha! - I thought: - it finally turned out my way.

At 8 o'clock I went to see the magician. The audience gathered at the end of the ninth; the performance has begun. In the back rows of chairs I recognized the lackeys and maids of Vera and the princess. Everyone was there in spades. Grushnitsky sat in the front row with a lorgnette. The magician turned to him every time he needed a handkerchief, watch, ring, etc.

Grushnitsky hasn’t bowed to me for some time now, but now he looked at me quite impudently twice. He will remember all this when we have to pay.

At the end of the tenth hour I got up and left.

It was pitch dark outside. Heavy, cold clouds lay on the tops of the surrounding mountains; Only occasionally did the dying wind rustle the tops of the poplars surrounding the restaurant. There was a crowd of people at its windows. I went down the mountain and, turning into the gate, quickened my pace. Suddenly it seemed to me that someone was following me. I stopped and looked around. It was impossible to make out anything in the darkness; however, out of caution, I walked around the house as if walking. Passing by the princess's windows, I heard footsteps behind me again, and a man wrapped in an overcoat ran past me. This alarmed me. However, I crept to the porch and hastily ran up the dark stairs. The door opened; a small hand grabbed my hand...

- Nobody saw you? - Vera said in a whisper, clinging to me.

- Now do you believe that I love you?.. Oh, I hesitated for a long time, suffered for a long time... but you make of me whatever you want.

Her heart was beating fast, her hands were cold as ice. Reproaches of jealousy and complaints began - she demanded that I confess everything to her, saying that she would humbly endure my betrayal, because she only wants my happiness. I didn’t quite believe this, but I reassured her with oaths, promises, and so on.

- So you won’t marry Mary? don’t you love her?.. And she thinks... you know, she’s madly in love with you... poor thing!..

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

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

About two o'clock in the morning I opened the window and, knitting two shawls, went down from the upper balcony to the lower one, holding on to the column. The princess's fire was still burning. Something pushed me towards this window. The curtain was not quite drawn, and I could cast a curious glance into the interior of the room. Mary sat on her bed with her hands crossed on her knees; her thick hair were gathered under a nightcap trimmed with lace; a large scarlet scarf covered her white shoulders; her little feet were hidden in colorful Persian shoes. She sat motionless, head down on her chest; a book was open on the table in front of her, but her eyes, motionless and full of inexplicable sadness, seemed to be skimming the same page for the hundredth time, while her thoughts were far away...

At that moment someone moved behind the bush; I jumped off the balcony onto the turf. An invisible hand grabbed me by the shoulder. “A-ha! - said a rough voice: - Gotcha!.. you will go to my princesses at night!..”

- Hold him tight! - shouted another, jumping out from around the corner.

It was Grushnitsky and the dragoon captain.

I hit the latter on the head with my fist, knocked him down and rushed into the bushes; all the paths of the garden covering the slope opposite our houses were known to me.

- Thieves! guard!.. - they shouted; a rifle shot rang out; the smoking wad fell almost at my feet.

A minute later I was already in my room, undressed and lay down. As soon as my footman had locked the door, Grushnitsky and the captain began knocking on my door.

- Pechorin! are you sleeping? are you here?.. - shouted the captain.

“I’m sleeping,” I answered angrily.

- Get up, thieves... Circassians...

“I have a runny nose,” I answered: “I’m afraid of catching a cold.”

They left. It was in vain that I responded to them: they would have looked for me in the garden for another hour. Meanwhile, the anxiety became terrible. A Cossack galloped from the fortress. Everything moved; They began to look for Circassians in all the bushes - and, of course, they found nothing. But many probably remained in the firm conviction that if the garrison had shown more courage and haste, then at least two dozen predators would have remained in place.

This morning at the well all the talk was about the night attack of the Circassians. After drinking the prescribed number of glasses of Narzan, walking ten times along the long linden alley, I met Vera’s husband, who had just arrived from Pyatigorsk. He took my arm and we went to the restaurant for breakfast; he was terribly worried about his wife. “How frightened she was last night! - he said: “after all, it must happen precisely when I am absent.” We sat down to have breakfast near the door leading to the corner room, where there were about ten young people, including Grushnitsky. Fate gave me a second opportunity to overhear a conversation that was supposed to decide his fate. He did not see me, and consequently, I could not suspect intent; but this only increased his guilt in my eyes.

“Could it really be that they were Circassians?” - someone said: - has anyone seen them?

“I’ll tell you the whole story,” answered Grushnitsky, “just please don’t give me away; This is how it happened: yesterday a man, whom I won’t name, comes to me and tells me that he saw someone sneak into the Ligovskys’ house at ten o’clock in the evening. It should be noted to you that the princess was here, and the princess was at home. So he and I went under the windows to waylay the lucky man.

I admit, I was scared, although my interlocutor was very busy with his breakfast: he could hear things that were quite unpleasant for himself if Grushnitsky had guessed the truth; but, blinded by jealousy, he did not even suspect her.

“You see,” Grushnitsky continued, “we set off, taking with us a gun loaded with a blank cartridge, just to scare them.” They waited in the garden until two o'clock; finally - God knows where he came from, just not from the window, because it didn’t open, but he must have gone out through the glass door behind the column - finally, I say, we see someone coming down from the balcony... What is the princess like? A? Well, I admit it, Moscow young ladies! After this, what can you believe? We wanted to grab him, but he broke free and rushed into the bushes like a hare; then I shot at him.

There was a murmur of distrust around Grushnitsky.

-You don’t believe it? - he continued: - I give you my honest, noble word that all this is the absolute truth, and as proof, I’ll probably name this gentleman to you.

- Tell me, tell me, who is he! - was heard from all sides.

“Pechorin,” answered Grushnitsky.

At that moment he looked up - I was standing in the doorway opposite him; he blushed terribly. I walked up to him and said slowly and clearly:

“I am very sorry that I came up after you had already given your word of honor in confirmation of the most disgusting slander.” My presence would save you from unnecessary meanness.

Grushnitsky jumped up from his seat and wanted to get excited.

“I ask you,” I continued in the same tone: “I ask you to immediately retract your words; you know very well that this is fiction. I don’t think that a woman’s indifference to your brilliant virtues deserves such terrible vengeance. Think carefully: by supporting your opinion, you lose the right to the name of a noble person and risk your life.

Grushnitsky stood in front of me with his eyes downcast, in great excitement. But the struggle between conscience and pride did not last long. The dragoon captain, sitting next to him, nudged him with his elbow; he shuddered and quickly answered me, without raising his eyes:

- Dear sir, when I say something, that’s what I think, and I’m ready to repeat it... I’m not afraid of your threats and I’m ready for anything...

“You have already proven the latter,” I answered him coldly and, taking the dragoon captain’s arm, I left the room.

-What do you want? - asked the captain.

- Are you a friend of Grushnitsky and will probably be his second?

The captain bowed very importantly.

“You guessed right,” he answered: “I’m even obliged to be his second, because the offense inflicted on him applies to me as well.” “I was with him last night,” he added, straightening his stooped frame.

- A! so it was I who hit you so awkwardly on the head!..

He turned yellow and blue; hidden anger appeared on his face.

“I will have the honor to send my second to you,” I added, bowing very politely and pretending not to pay attention to his fury.

On the porch of the restaurant I met Vera’s husband. It seems he was waiting for me.

He grabbed my hand with something like delight.

- Noble young man! - he said with tears in his eyes. - I heard everything; what a bastard! ungrateful!.. Take them into a decent home after this! Thank God I don't have daughters! But you will be rewarded by the one for whom you risk your life. “Be assured of my modesty for the time being,” he continued: “I myself was young and served in military service; I know that I shouldn’t interfere in these matters. Farewell.

Poor thing! he's glad he doesn't have daughters...

I went straight to Werner, found him at home and told him everything - my relationship with Vera and the princess, and the conversation I overheard, from which I learned the intention of these gentlemen to fool me by forcing me to shoot with blank charges. But now the matter went beyond the bounds of a joke; they probably did not expect such a denouement.

The doctor agreed to be my second; I gave him several instructions about the conditions of the duel; he had to insist that the matter be done as secretly as possible, because although I am ready to expose myself to death at any time, I am not in the least inclined to ruin my future in this world forever.

After that I went home. An hour later the doctor returned from his expedition.

“There is definitely a conspiracy against you,” he said. “I found a dragoon captain and another gentleman at Grushnitsky’s, whose last name I don’t remember; I stopped for a minute in the hallway to take off my galoshes; they had a terrible noise and argument... “I will never agree! - said Grushnitsky: - he insulted me publicly - then it was completely different... " - "What do you care? - answered the captain: - I take everything upon myself. I was a second in 5 duels, and I already know how to arrange it. I came up with everything. Please don't bother me. It's not bad to suffer. Why put yourself in danger if you can get rid of it?..” - At that moment I stood up. They suddenly fell silent. Our negotiations continued for quite a long time; Finally, we decided the matter like this: about five versts from here there is a remote gorge; they will go there tomorrow at 4 o’clock in the morning, and we will leave half an hour after them; you will shoot at 6 steps - Grushnitsky himself demanded this. Killed - at the expense of the Circassians. Now here are my suspicions: they, that is, the seconds, must have changed their previous plan somewhat and want to load one of Grushnitsky’s pistols with a bullet. This is a little like murder, but in wartime, and especially in an Asian war, tricks are allowed; only Grushnitsky seems to be more noble than his comrades. How do you think? should we show them that we figured it out?

- Not for anything in the world, doctor; rest assured, I won’t give in to them.

- What do you want to do?

- This is my secret.

- Look, don’t get caught... after all, there are 6 steps!

- Doctor, I’m waiting for you tomorrow at 4 o’clock; the horses will be ready... Farewell.

I stayed at home until evening, locked in my room. The footman came to call me to the princess - I told her to say that I was sick.

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

Two o'clock in the morning. Can't sleep. I should go to sleep so that my hand doesn’t tremble tomorrow. However, it is difficult to miss at 6 steps. A! Mr. Grushnitsky! you will not succeed in your hoax... we will switch roles: now I will have to look for signs of secret fear on your pale face. Why did you prescribe these fateful six steps yourself? You think that I will offer my forehead to you without a dispute... but we will cast lots!.. and then... then... what if his happiness wins out? if my star finally cheats on me?.. And no wonder: she served faithfully my whims for so long; there is no more permanence in heaven than on earth.

Well? to die, so to die: the loss for the world is small; and I’m pretty bored myself. I am like a man yawning at a ball who does not go to bed only because his carriage is not yet there. But is the carriage ready? - goodbye!

I run through my entire past in my memory and involuntarily ask myself: why did I live? For what purpose was I born?.. And it was true that it existed, and it was true that I had a high purpose, because I feel immense strength in my soul; but I did not guess this purpose, I was carried away by the lures of empty and ungrateful passions; I came out of their furnace hard and cold as iron, but I lost forever the ardor of noble aspirations, best color life. And since then, how many times have I played the role of an ax in the hands of fate! Like an instrument of execution, I fell on the heads of the doomed victims, often without malice, always without regret... My love did not bring happiness to anyone, because I did not sacrifice anything for those I loved; I loved for myself, for my own pleasure; I only satisfied the strange need of my heart, greedily absorbing their feelings, their tenderness, their joys and sufferings - and could never get enough. Thus, one who is tormented by hunger falls asleep exhausted and sees before him luxurious dishes and sparkling wines; he devours with delight the airy gifts of the imagination, and it seems easier to him... but as soon as he wakes up, the dream disappears... what remains is double hunger and despair!

And maybe I will die tomorrow!.. and there will not be a single creature left on earth who would understand me completely. Some consider me worse, others better than I really am... Some will say: he was a good fellow, others - a scoundrel!.. Both will be false. After this, is life worth the trouble? but you still live out of curiosity; you expect something new... Ridiculous and annoying!

_____

It's been a month and a half since I've been in Fortress N; Maxim Maksimych went hunting. I am alone; I'm sitting by the window; gray clouds covered the mountains to the base; the sun appears as a yellow spot through the fog. It's cold, the wind whistles and shakes the shutters. Boring. I will continue my journal, interrupted by so many strange events.

I re-read the last page: funny! - I thought about dying; this was impossible: I have not yet drained the cup of suffering, and now I feel that I still have a long time to live.

How everything that happened was clear and sharp in my memory! Not a single feature, not a single shade has been erased by time.

I remember that during the night preceding the fight, I did not sleep for a minute. I could not write for a long time: a secret anxiety took possession of me. I walked around the room for an hour; then I sat down and opened a Walter Scott novel that was lying on my table: it was “The Scottish Puritans.” At first I read with effort, then I forgot, carried away by the magical fiction. Is it really possible that the Scottish bard in the next world is not paid for every gratifying minute that his book gives?..

Finally it was dawn. My nerves calmed down. I looked in the mirror: dull pallor covered my face, which bore traces of painful insomnia; but the eyes, although surrounded by a brown shadow, shone proudly and inexorably. I was pleased with myself.

Having ordered the horses to be saddled, I got dressed and ran to the bathhouse. Plunging into the cold boiling water of Narzan, I felt my physical and mental strength returning. I came out of the bath fresh and alert, as if I was going to a ball. After this, say that the soul does not depend on the body!..

When I returned, I found a doctor at my place. He was wearing gray leggings and a Circassian hat. I burst out laughing when I saw this small figure under the huge shaggy hat; his face was not at all warlike, and this time it was even longer than usual.

- Why are you so sad, doctor? - I told him. “Didn’t you see people off to the next world a hundred times with the greatest indifference?” Imagine that I have bilious fever! I can recover, I can die: both are in the order of things. Try to look at me as a patient obsessed with a disease still unknown to you, and then your curiosity will be aroused to the point of highest degree: You can now make some important physiological observations on me... Waiting violent death Isn't there already a real disease?

This thought struck the doctor, and he became amused.

We mounted; Werner grabbed the reins with both hands and we set off. In an instant we galloped past the fortress through a settlement and drove into a gorge along which a road wound, half-overgrown with tall grass and every minute crossed by a noisy stream, through which it was necessary to ford, to the great despair of the doctor, because his horse stopped in the water every time.

I don’t remember a morning more blue and fresh! The sun barely appeared from behind the green peaks, and the merging of the first warmth of its rays with the dying coolness of the night brought a kind of sweet languor to all the senses. The joyful ray of the young day had not yet penetrated into the gorge: it gilded only the tops of the cliffs hanging above us on both sides; the densely leafed bushes growing in their deep cracks showered us with silver rain at the slightest breath of wind. I remember - this time, more than ever before, I loved nature. How curiously I peered at every dewdrop fluttering on a wide grape leaf and reflecting millions of rainbow rays! how greedily my gaze tried to penetrate into the smoky distance! There the path became narrower, the cliffs became bluer and more terrible, and finally they seemed to converge like an impenetrable wall. We drove in silence.

—Have you written your will? - Werner suddenly asked.

- And if you are killed?..

- The heirs will find themselves.

- Don’t you have friends to whom you would like to send your last farewell?..

I shook my head.

“Is there really no woman in the world to whom you would like to leave something as a keepsake?”

“Do you want, doctor,” I answered him, “for me to reveal my soul to you?.. You see, I survived those years when people die by pronouncing the name of their beloved and bequeathing to a friend a piece of pomaded or unpomaded hair.” When I think about imminent and possible death, I think about only myself; others don’t do this either. Friends who will forget me tomorrow or, worse, tell God knows what kind of lies about me; women who, hugging another, will laugh at me, so as not to arouse in him jealousy for the deceased - God be with them! From the storm of life I brought only a few ideas - and not a single feeling. For a long time now I have been living not with my heart, but with my head. I weigh and examine my own passions and actions with strict curiosity, but without participation. There are two people in me: one lives in the full sense of the word, the other thinks and judges it; the first, perhaps, in an hour will say goodbye to you and the world forever, and the second... the second... Look, doctor: do you see three black figures on the rock to the right? These seem to be our opponents?..

We set off at a trot.

Three horses were tied in the bushes at the base of the rock; We tied ours right there, and along a narrow path we climbed to the platform where Grushnitsky was waiting for us with the dragoon captain and his other second, whose name was Ivan Ignatievich; I have never heard his name.

“We’ve been waiting for you for a long time,” said the dragoon captain with an ironic smile.

I took out my watch and showed it to him.

He apologized, saying his watch was running out.

An awkward silence continued for several minutes; Finally the doctor interrupted him, turning to Grushnitsky:

“It seems to me,” he said, “that if you both showed your readiness to fight and paid this debt to the conditions of honor, you, gentlemen, could explain yourself and end this matter amicably.”

“I’m ready,” I said.

The captain blinked at Grushnitsky, and this one, thinking that I was a coward, assumed a proud look, although until that moment a dull pallor had covered his cheeks. It was the first time since we arrived that he looked up at me; but there was some kind of anxiety in his gaze, revealing an internal struggle.

“Explain your conditions,” he said, “and whatever I can do for you, rest assured...

“Here are my conditions: you will now publicly renounce your slander and ask me for an apology...

- Dear sir, I am surprised, how dare you offer me such things?..

- What could I offer you besides this?..

- We will shoot...

I shrugged.

“Perhaps: just think that one of us will certainly be killed.”

- I wish it were you...

- And I’m so sure otherwise...

He was embarrassed, blushed, then laughed forcedly.

The captain took him by the arm and led him aside; they whispered for a long time. I arrived in a rather peaceful mood, but everything was starting to piss me off.

The doctor came up to me.

“Listen,” he said with obvious concern: “you probably forgot about their plot?.. I don’t know how to load a pistol, but in this case... You are a strange person!” Tell them that you know their intention, and they will not dare... What a hunt! They'll shoot you down like a bird...

- Please don’t worry, doctor, and wait... I’ll arrange everything in such a way that there will be no benefit on their side. Let them whisper...

- Gentlemen, this is getting boring! - I told them loudly: - fight, fight like that; you had time to talk yesterday...

“We are ready,” answered the captain. - Stand up, gentlemen!.. Doctor, if you please measure six steps...

- Stand up! - Ivan Ignatich repeated in a squeaky voice.

- Allow me! - I said: - one more condition; since we will fight to the death, we are obliged to do everything possible so that this remains a secret and so that our seconds are not held accountable. Do you agree?..

- We completely agree.

- So, here's what I came up with. Do you see a narrow platform at the top of this steep cliff, to the right? from there to the bottom there will be thirty fathoms, if not more; there are sharp rocks below. Each of us will stand at the very edge of the site; thus even a slight wound will be fatal; it must be according to your desire, because you yourself have prescribed the six steps. Anyone who is wounded will certainly fly down and be broken into pieces; The doctor will remove the bullet. And then it will be very easy to explain this sudden death as an unsuccessful jump. We will draw lots for who will shoot first... I announce to you in conclusion that otherwise I will not fight.

“Perhaps,” said the captain, looking expressively at Grushnitsky, who nodded his head in agreement. His face changed every minute. I put him in a difficult position. Shooting under ordinary conditions, he could aim at my leg, easily wound me and thus satisfy his revenge without burdening his conscience too much; but now he had to shoot into the air or become a murderer, or finally abandon his vile plan and be exposed to the same danger as me. At this moment I would not want to be in his place. He took the captain aside and began to say something to him with great fervor; I saw how his blue lips trembled; but the captain turned away from him with a contemptuous smile. “You’re a fool,” he said to Grushnitsky quite loudly: “you don’t understand anything!” Let's go, gentlemen!

A narrow path led between the bushes to a steep slope; fragments of rocks formed the shaky steps of this natural staircase; clinging to the bushes, we began to climb. Grushnitsky walked in front, followed by his seconds, and then the doctor and I.

“I’m surprised at you,” said the doctor, shaking my hand firmly. - Let me feel the pulse!.. oh-ho! feverish... but nothing is noticeable on your face... only your eyes shine brighter than usual.

Suddenly small stones rolled noisily at our feet. What is this? Grushnitsky stumbled, the branch he was clinging to broke, and he would have rolled down on his back if his seconds had not supported him.

- Be careful! - I shouted to him: - don’t fall in advance; this is a bad omen. Remember Julius Caesar!

So we climbed to the top of a protruding rock: the area was covered with fine sand, as if purposely for a duel.

All around, lost in the golden fog of the morning, the peaks of the mountains crowded together like a countless herd, and Elborus in the south stood up as a white mass, closing the chain of icy peaks, between which the stringy clouds that had rushed in from the east were already wandering. I walked to the edge of the platform and looked down, my head almost began to spin: it seemed dark and cold down there, as if in a coffin; Mossy teeth of rocks, thrown down by thunder and time, awaited their prey.

The area where we had to fight depicted an almost perfect triangle. They measured 6 steps from the prominent corner and decided that the one who would be the first to meet enemy fire would stand at the very corner, with his back to the abyss; if he is not killed, the opponents will switch places.

I decided to provide all the benefits to Grushnitsky; I wanted to experience it; a spark of generosity could awaken in his soul, and then everything would work out for the better; but pride and weakness of character should have triumphed!.. I wanted to give myself the full right not to spare him, if fate had mercy on me: who has not entered into such conditions with his conscience?

“Throw lots, doctor,” said the captain.

The doctor took a silver coin from his pocket and held it up.

- Grate! - Grushnitsky shouted hastily, like a man who has suddenly been awakened by a friendly push.

- Eagle! - I said.

The coin rose and fell jingling; everyone rushed to her.

“You’re happy,” I said to Grushnitsky: “you should shoot first!” But remember that if you don’t kill me, I won’t miss! - I give you my word of honor.

He blushed; he was ashamed to kill an unarmed man; I looked at him intently; for a minute it seemed to me that he would throw himself at my feet, begging for forgiveness; but how can he admit to such a vile intention?.. He had only one remedy left - to shoot into the air; I was sure that he would shoot into the air! One thing could prevent this: the thought that I would demand a second fight.

“It’s time,” the doctor whispered to me, tugging at my sleeve: “if you don’t say now that we know their intentions, then everything is lost... Look, he’s already loading... if you don’t say anything, then I myself...” .

- No way in the world, doctor! - I answered, holding his hand: - you will ruin everything; you gave me your word not to interfere... What do you care? Maybe I want to be killed...

He looked at me in surprise.

- ABOUT! this is different!.. just don’t complain about me in the next world.

Meanwhile, the captain loaded his pistols, handed one to Grushnitsky, whispering something to him with a smile, and the other to me.

I stood on the corner of the platform, firmly resting my left foot on the stone and leaning forward a little so that in case of a slight wound I would not tip back.

Grushnitsky stood against me and, at this sign, began to raise his pistol. His knees were shaking. He aimed straight at my forehead.

An inexplicable rage began to boil in my chest.

Suddenly he lowered the muzzle of the pistol and, turning white as a sheet, turned to his second:

- Coward! - answered the captain.

The shot rang out. The bullet grazed my knee. I involuntarily took a few steps forward in order to quickly move away from the edge.

“Well, brother Grushnitsky, it’s a pity that I missed,” said the captain: “now it’s your turn, stand up!” Hug me first: we won't see each other again! - They hugged; the captain could hardly restrain himself from laughing: “Don’t be afraid,” he added, looking slyly at Grushnitsky, “everything is nonsense in the world!.. Nature is a fool, fate is a turkey, and life is a penny!”

After this tragic phrase, spoken with decent importance, he retreated to his place; Ivan Ignatich also hugged Grushnitsky with tears, and now he was left alone against me. I am still trying to explain to myself what kind of feeling was seething in my chest then: it was the annoyance of offended pride, and contempt, and anger, born at the thought that this man, now with such confidence, with such calm insolence, was looking at me , two minutes ago, without exposing himself to any danger, he wanted to kill me like a dog; for if I had been wounded in the leg any more, I would certainly have fallen off the cliff.

I looked closely at his face for several minutes, trying to notice at least the slightest trace of repentance. But it seemed to me that he was holding back a smile.

“I advise you to pray to God before you die,” I told him then.

“Don’t worry about my soul more than your own.” I ask you one thing: shoot quickly.

- And you do not renounce your slander? don’t ask me for forgiveness?.. Think carefully: isn’t your conscience telling you something?

- Mister Pechorin! - shouted the dragoon captain: - you are not here to confess, let me tell you... Finish quickly; No matter if someone drives through the gorge, they will see us.

- Fine. Doctor, come to me.

The doctor came up. Poor doctor! he was paler than Grushnitsky ten minutes ago.

I pronounced the following words deliberately with emphasis, loudly and clearly, as a death sentence is pronounced.

- Doctor, these gentlemen, probably in a hurry, forgot to put a bullet in my pistol: I ask you to load it again - and well!

- Can't be! - the captain shouted: “It can’t be!” I loaded both pistols, except that a bullet rolled out of yours... It’s not my fault! - And you have no right to dress up... no right... it’s completely against the rules - I won’t allow...

“Okay,” I said to the captain: “if so, then we will shoot with you on the same conditions...

He hesitated.

Grushnitsky stood with his head bowed to his chest, embarrassed and gloomy.

- Leave them! - he finally said to the captain, who wanted to snatch my pistol from the doctor’s hands. - After all, you yourself know that they are right.

It was in vain that the captain made various signs to him; Grushnitsky did not even want to look.

Meanwhile, the doctor loaded the pistol and handed it to me.

Seeing this, the captain spat and stamped his foot: “You’re a fool, brother,” he said: “you’re a vulgar fool!.. You’ve already relied on me, so obey in everything... Serves you right! Kill yourself like a fly...” He turned away and, walking away, muttered: “Still, this is completely against the rules.”

“Grushnitsky,” I said, “there is still time.” Refuse your slander, and I will forgive you everything; you didn’t manage to fool me, and my pride is satisfied - remember, we were once friends.

His face flushed, his eyes sparkled.

“Shoot,” he answered. “I despise myself, but I hate you.” If you don't kill me, I'll stab you at night from around the corner. There is no place for the two of us on earth...

I fired.

When the smoke cleared, Grushnitsky was not on the site. Only the ashes still curled in a light column on the edge of the cliff.

- Finita la comedy! (The comedy is over! (Italian)) - I told the doctor.

He did not answer and turned away in horror.

I shrugged my shoulders and bowed to Grushnitsky’s seconds.

Going down the path, I noticed the bloody corpse of Grushnitsky between the crevices of the rocks. I involuntarily closed my eyes.

Having untied my horse, I walked home. I had a stone on my heart. The sun seemed dim to me, its rays did not warm me.

Before reaching the settlement, I turned right along the gorge. The sight of a person would be painful for me: I wanted to be alone. Throwing away the reins and lowering my head to my chest, I rode for a long time, finally finding myself in a place completely unfamiliar to me. I turned my horse back and began to look for the road; The sun was already setting when I rode up to Kislovodsk, exhausted on an exhausted horse.

My lackey told me that Werner had come in and gave me two notes: one from him and the other... from Vera.

I printed out the first one: it had the following content.

“Everything was arranged as best as possible: the body was brought in disfigured, the bullet was taken out of the chest. Everyone is sure that the cause of his death was an accident; only the commandant, who probably knew about your quarrel, shook his head - but said nothing. There is no evidence against you, and you can sleep peacefully, if you can. Farewell".

For a long time I did not dare to open the second note... What could she write to me?.. A heavy foreboding worried my soul.

Here it is, this letter, every word of which is indelibly etched in my memory:

“I am writing to you in full confidence that we will never see each other again. Several years ago, when I parted with you, I thought the same thing; but heaven was pleased to test me a second time; I couldn’t stand this test, my weak heart submitted again to a familiar voice... you won’t despise me for this, will you? This letter will be both a farewell and a confession; I must tell you everything that has accumulated in my heart since it has loved you. I will not blame you - you treated me as any other man would have done: you loved me as property, as a source of joys, anxieties and sorrows, alternating with each other, without which life is boring and monotonous. I understood this from the beginning... But you were unhappy, and I sacrificed myself, hoping that someday you would appreciate my sacrifice, that someday you would understand my deep tenderness, which does not depend on any conditions; A lot of time has passed since then, I penetrated into all the secrets of your soul... and was convinced that it was a vain hope. I was sad! But my love has grown together with my soul; it darkened, but did not fade away.

We part forever; however, you can be sure that I will never love another; my soul has exhausted all its treasures, its tears and hopes on you. The one who once loved you cannot look at other men without some contempt, not because you were better than them, oh no! but there is something special in your nature, something peculiar to you alone, something proud and mysterious; in your voice, no matter what you say, there is invincible power; no one knows how to constantly want to be loved; In no one is evil so attractive, no one’s gaze promises so much bliss, no one knows how to use his advantages better - and no one can be as truly unhappy as you, because no one tries so hard to convince himself otherwise.

Now I must explain to you the reason for my hasty departure; it will seem unimportant to you, because it concerns only me.

This morning my husband came in to see me and told me about your quarrel with Grushnitsky. Apparently, my face had changed greatly, because he looked into my eyes for a long time; I almost fainted at the thought that you had to fight today and that I was the reason for this; It seemed to me that I would go crazy... But now that I can reason, I am sure that you will remain alive: it is impossible for you to die without me, impossible! My husband paced the room for a long time; I don't know what? he told me, I don’t remember what? I answered him... that’s right, I told him that I love you... I only remember that at the end of our conversation he insulted me with a terrible word and left. I heard him order the carriage to be laid... For three hours now I have been sitting at the window and waiting for your return... But you are alive, you cannot die!.. The carriage is almost ready... Goodbye, goodbye.. .. I died - but what kind of need?.. If I could be sure that you will always remember me - not to say love me - no, just remember... Goodbye: they're coming... I have to hide the letter. ...

Isn't it true that you don't love Mary? won’t you marry her? - Listen, you have to make this sacrifice for me: I’ve lost everything in the world for you...”

I ran out onto the porch like crazy, jumped on my Circassian, who was being driven around the yard, and set off at full speed on the road to Pyatigorsk. I mercilessly drove the exhausted horse, which, wheezing and covered in foam, rushed me along the rocky road.

The sun had already hidden itself in a black cloud resting on the ridge of the western mountains; the gorge became dark and damp. Podkumok, making his way over the stones, roared dully and monotonously. I galloped, panting with impatience. The thought of not finding her in Pyatigorsk struck my heart like a hammer! - one minute, one more minute to see her, to say goodbye, to shake her hand... I prayed, cursed, cried, laughed... no, nothing would express my anxiety, despair!.. Given the possibility of losing her forever, Faith became for me dearer than anything in the world, dearer than life, honor, happiness. God knows what strange, what crazy ideas were born in my head... And meanwhile I kept galloping, driving mercilessly. And so I began to notice that my horse was breathing more heavily; he stumbled twice out of the blue... There were 5 versts left to Yesentuki, a Cossack village, where I could change to another horse.

Everything would have been saved if my horse had enough strength for another 10 minutes! But suddenly, rising from a small ravine, when leaving the mountains, at a sharp turn, he hit the ground. I quickly jumped off, I want to pick him up, I pull on the reins - in vain; a barely audible groan escaped through his clenched teeth; a few minutes later he died; I was left alone in the steppe, having lost my last hope. I tried to walk, but my legs gave way; Exhausted by the worries of the day and lack of sleep, I fell on the wet grass and cried like a child.

And for a long time I lay motionless and cried, bitterly, not trying to hold back my tears and sobs; I thought my chest would burst; all my firmness, all my composure, disappeared like smoke. My soul became weak, my mind fell silent, and if at that moment anyone had seen me, he would have turned away with contempt.

When the night dew and mountain wind refreshed my burning head and my thoughts returned to normal order, I realized that chasing after lost happiness was useless and reckless. What else do I need? - see her? - For what? Isn't it all over between us? One bitter farewell kiss will not enrich my memories, and after it it will only be more difficult for us to part.

However, I am glad that I can cry! However, perhaps this is due to frayed nerves, a night spent without sleep, two minutes at the barrel of a gun and an empty stomach.

Everything is for the better! This new suffering, to use military language, made a happy diversion in me. It's healthy to cry; and then, probably, if I had not ridden on horseback and was not forced to walk 15 miles on the way back, then even that night sleep would not have closed my eyes.

I returned to Kislovodsk at 5 o’clock in the morning, threw myself on the bed and slept the sleep of Napoleon after Waterloo.

When I woke up, it was already dark outside. I sat down by the open window, unbuttoned my archaluk, and the mountain wind refreshed my chest, not yet calmed by the heavy sleep of fatigue. In the distance beyond the river, through the tops of the thick linden trees overshadowing it, lights flickered in the buildings of the fortress and settlement. Everything was quiet in our yard; It was dark in the princess's house.

The doctor came up. His brow was furrowed, and, contrary to usual, he did not extend his hand to me.

-Where are you from, doctor?

- From Princess Ligovskaya; her daughter is sick - relaxation of nerves! Well, that’s not the point, but here’s what. The authorities guess, and although nothing can be proven positive, I advise you to be careful. The princess told me today that she knows that you fought for her daughter. This old man told her everything: “What’s his name?” - He witnessed your clash with Grushnitsky in the restaurant. I came to warn you. Goodbye, maybe we won't see each other again, you'll be sent somewhere...

He stopped on the threshold, he wanted to shake my hand... and if I had shown him the slightest desire for this, he would have thrown himself on my neck; but I remained cold as a stone, and he left.

Here are the people! they are all like this: they know in advance all the bad sides of the action, they help, advise, even approve of it, seeing the impossibility of another means - and then wash their hands and turn away with indignation from the one who had the courage to take on the entire burden of responsibility. They are all like that, even the kindest, the smartest!..

The next day in the morning, having received orders from the highest authorities to go to fortress N, I went to the princess to say goodbye.

She was surprised when she was asked: Do I have anything particularly important to tell her? I answered that I wished her to be happy, and so on.

“And I need to talk to you very seriously.”

I sat down in silence.

It was clear that she didn't know where to start; her face turned purple, her plump fingers tapped on the table; Finally she began in such an intermittent voice:

- Listen, Monsieur Pechorin! I think you are a noble man.

I bowed.

“I’m even sure of that,” she continued, “although your behavior is somewhat doubtful; but you may have reasons that I don’t know, and you must now believe me. You defended my daughter from slander, you fought for her, and consequently risked your life... Don’t answer, I know that you won’t admit it, because Grushnitsky was killed (she crossed herself). God will forgive him - and, I hope, you too!.. As for me, I do not dare condemn you, because my daughter, although innocently, was the reason for this. She told me everything... I think that’s it, you declared your love for her... she confessed hers to you! (here the princess sighed heavily). But she is sick, and I am sure that this is not a simple illness! Secret sadness kills her; she won’t admit it, but I’m sure that you are the reason for this... Listen, you may think that I’m looking for ranks, enormous wealth - don’t believe me! I only want my daughter to be happy. Your current position is not enviable, but it can improve - you have a fortune, my daughter loves you, she was raised in such a way that she will make her husband happy - I am rich, she is the only one I have... Tell me, what is holding you back?.. You see , I shouldn’t have to tell you all this, but I rely on your heart, on your honor - remember, I have one daughter... one...

She began to cry.

“Princess,” I said, “it’s impossible for me to answer you; let me talk to your daughter - alone...

- Never! - she exclaimed, rising from her chair in great excitement.

“As you wish,” I answered, preparing to leave.

She thought for a moment, made a sign for me to wait, and left.

Five minutes passed; my heart was beating strongly, but my thoughts were calm, my head was cool; No matter how I searched in my chest for even a spark of love for dear Mary, my efforts were in vain.

The doors opened and she came up. God! how she has changed since I didn’t see her - how long has it been?

Having reached the middle of the room, she staggered: I jumped up, gave her my hand and led her to the chair.

I stood opposite her, we were silent for a long time; her large eyes, filled with inexplicable sadness, seemed to be looking for something resembling hope in mine; her pale lips tried in vain to smile; her tender hands folded on her knees were so thin and transparent that I felt sorry for her.

“Princess,” I said, “you know that I laughed at you!.. You should despise me.”

A painful blush appeared on her cheeks.

I continued: “Consequently, you cannot love me...

She turned away, leaned her elbows on the table, covered her eyes with her hand, and it seemed to me that tears sparkled in them.

“Oh my God,” she said barely intelligibly.

It was becoming unbearable: another minute and I would have fallen at her feet.

“So, you see for yourself,” I said as firmly as I could in a voice and with a forced smile: “you see for yourself that I cannot marry you; even if you wanted this now, you would soon repent. My conversation with your mother forced me to explain myself to you so frankly and so rudely; I hope that she is mistaken: it is easy for you to dissuade her. You see, I play the most pathetic and disgusting role in your eyes, and I even admit it; that's all I can do for you. Whatever bad opinion you have about me, I submit to it. You see, I am low to you. Isn’t it true, even if you loved me, from now on you despise me?..

She turned to me, pale as marble, only her eyes sparkled wonderfully.

“I hate you...” she said.

I thanked him, bowed respectfully and left.

An hour later, the courier troika rushed me from Kislovodsk.

Several miles from the Yesentuks, I recognized the corpse of my dashing horse near the road; the saddle had been removed—probably by a passing Cossack—and instead of a saddle, two ravens were sitting on his back. - I sighed and turned away!..

And now here, in this boring fortress, I often, running through the past in my thoughts, ask myself why I didn’t want to step on this path, open to me by fate, where quiet joys and peace of mind awaited me... No! I wouldn’t get along with this lot! I am like a sailor, born and raised on the deck of a robber brig; his soul has become accustomed to storms and battles, and, thrown ashore, he is bored and languishing, no matter how the shady grove beckons him, no matter how the peaceful sun shines on him; he walks all day long along the coastal sand, listens to the monotonous murmur of the oncoming waves and peers into the foggy distance: will the desired sail, at first like the wing of a sea gull, but little by little, separate from the pale line separating the blue abyss from the gray clouds? from the foam of boulders and at a steady run approaching the deserted pier...

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, the clouds will descend to my roof. Today at five o'clock in the morning, when I opened the window, my room was filled with the smell of flowers growing in a modest front garden. Branches of blossoming cherry trees look into my windows, and the wind sometimes strews my desk with their white petals. I have a wonderful view from three sides. 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: below me, a clean, brand new town is colorful, healing springs are rustling, a multilingual crowd is noisy - and there, further, mountains are piled up like an amphitheater, ever bluer and foggier, and at the edge of the horizon stretches a silver chain of snowy peaks, starting with Kazbek and ending double-headed Elborus... It's fun to live in such a land! Some kind of gratifying feeling flowed through all my veins. The air is clean and fresh, like a child's kiss; the sun is bright, the sky is blue - what else seems to be more? – why are there passions, desires, regrets?.. However, it’s time. I’ll go to the Elizabethan spring: there, they say, the whole water community gathers in the morning.

* * *

Having descended into the middle of the city, I walked along the boulevard, where I met several sad groups slowly ascending the mountain; they were most of the 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; Apparently, they had already counted all the water youth, because they looked at me with tender curiosity: the St. Petersburg cut of the frock coat misled them, but, soon recognizing the army epaulettes, they turned away indignantly.

The wives of the local authorities, the mistresses of the waters, so to speak, were more supportive; they have lorgnettes, they pay less attention to the uniform, 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 nice; and sweet for a long time! Every year their admirers are replaced by new ones, and this may be the secret of their tireless courtesy. Climbing along the narrow path to the Elizabeth Spring, I overtook a crowd of men, civilians and military, who, as I learned later, constitute a special class of people among those waiting for the movement of water. They drink - but not water, they walk a little, they drag around only in passing; they play and complain about boredom. They are dandies: lowering their braided glass into a well of sour sulfur water, they take on academic poses: civilians wear light blue ties, military men let out ruffles from behind their collars. They profess deep contempt for provincial houses and sigh for the aristocratic drawing rooms of the capital, where they are not allowed.

Finally, here is the well... On the site near it there is a house with a red roof over the bathtub, and further away there is a gallery where people walk during the rain. Several wounded officers sat on a bench, picking up their crutches, pale and sad. Several ladies walked quickly back and forth across the site, waiting for the action of the waters. Between them were two or three pretty faces. Under the grape alleys covering the slope of Mashuk, the colorful hats of lovers of solitude together flashed from time to time, because next to such a hat I always noticed either a military cap or an ugly round hat. On the steep cliff where the pavilion, called the Aeolian Harp, was built, view-seekers stood and pointed their telescopes at Elborus; between them there 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 - 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 has a soldier's cross of St. George. 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. In old age they become either peaceful landowners or drunkards - sometimes both. There are often many good qualities in their souls, but not a penny of poetry. Grushnitsky had a passion for declaiming: he bombarded you with words as soon as the conversation left the circle of ordinary concepts; I could never argue with him. He doesn't respond to your objections, he doesn't listen to you. As soon as you stop, he begins a long tirade, apparently having some connection with what you said, but which in fact is only a continuation of his own speech.

He is quite sharp: his epigrams are often funny, but they are never pointed or evil: he will not kill anyone with one word; he does not know people and their weak strings, because his whole life he has been focused on himself. His goal is to become the hero of a novel. He tried so often to convince others that he was a being not created for the world, doomed to some kind of secret suffering, that he himself was almost convinced of it. That’s why he wears his thick soldier’s overcoat so proudly. I understood him, and he doesn’t love me for this, although outwardly we are on the most friendly terms. Grushnitsky is reputed to be an excellent brave man; I saw him in action; he waves his saber, 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 in trouble. His arrival in the Caucasus is also a consequence of his romantic fanaticism: I am sure that on the eve of leaving his father’s village he said with a gloomy look to some pretty neighbor that he was not going 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) shouldn’t know this! Your pure soul will tremble! 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 casts off his tragic mantle, Grushnitsky is quite sweet and funny. I’m curious to see him with women: that’s where I think he’s trying!

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

“We lead a rather prosaic life,” he said, sighing, “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 the healthy people.” There are women's societies; Their only small consolation is that they play whist, dress badly and speak terrible French. This year only Princess Ligovskaya and her daughter are from Moscow; but I'm unfamiliar with them. My soldier's overcoat is like a seal of rejection. The participation it excites is as heavy as alms.

At that moment two ladies walked past us to the well: one was elderly, the other was young and slender. I couldn’t 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 dress, a light silk scarf curled around her flexible neck.

“You are embittered against the entire 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 assume a dramatic pose with the help of a crutch and answered me loudly 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 speaker a long, curious look. The expression of this gaze 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 - just velvet: I advise you to assign this expression when talking about 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 shine: they are so soft, they seem to caress you... However, it seems that there is only good in her face... And what, are her teeth white? This is very important! It’s a pity that she didn’t smile at your pompous phrase.

“You talk about a pretty woman like an English horse,” Grushnitsky said 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 grape alleys, along the limestone rocks and bushes hanging between them. It was getting hot, and I hurried home. Passing by a sour-sulfur spring, I stopped at a covered gallery to breathe under its shade; this gave me the opportunity to witness a rather curious scene. The characters were in this position. The princess and the Moscow dandy were sitting on a bench in the covered gallery, and both were apparently engaged in a serious conversation.

The princess, having probably finished her last glass, walked thoughtfully by the well. Grushnitsky stood right next to the well; there was no one else on the site.

I came closer and hid behind 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 preventing him. Beggar! how he managed to lean on a crutch, and all in vain. His expressive face actually depicted suffering.

Princess Mary saw all this better than me.

Lighter than a bird, she jumped up to him, bent down, picked up the glass and handed it to him with a body movement filled with inexpressible charm; then she blushed terribly, looked back 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 assumed such a decorous and important appearance - she didn’t even turn around, didn’t even notice his passionate gaze, with which he followed her for a long time, until, having descended from the mountain, she disappeared behind the sticky boulevards... 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 gate.

Only then did the poor cadet notice my presence.

-Have you seen it? - he said, shaking my hand tightly, - he’s just an angel!

- Why? – I asked with an air of pure innocence.

-Didn't you see?

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

“And you weren’t at all moved, looking at her at that moment, when her soul was shining on her face?..

I lied; but I wanted to annoy him. I have an innate passion for contradiction; my whole life was just a chain of sad and unsuccessful contradictions to my heart or reason. The presence of an enthusiast fills me with a baptismal chill, and I think frequent intercourse with a sluggish phlegmatic would make me a passionate dreamer. I also admit that an unpleasant, but familiar feeling ran slightly through my heart at that moment; 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 has attracted his idle attention and suddenly clearly distinguishes in his presence another who is equally unknown to her, it is unlikely, I say, that there will be such a young man (of course, he has lived in great society and is accustomed to pampering his vanity ), who would not be unpleasantly surprised by this.

Silently, Grushnitsky and I descended the mountain and walked along the boulevard, past the windows of the house where our beauty had disappeared. She was sitting by the window. Grushnitsky, tugging at my hand, threw one of those dimly tender glances at her that have so little effect on women. I pointed the lorgnette at her and noticed that she smiled at his gaze, and that my daring lorgnette had seriously angered her. And how, in fact, dare a Caucasian army soldier 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 surprising? I knew one Ivanov, who was 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 practice always and often in words, although he never wrote 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 does not know how to cure a fever! Usually Werner secretly mocked his patients; but I once saw him cry over a dying soldier... He was poor, dreamed of millions, and would not take an extra step for money: he once told me that he would rather do a favor for an enemy than for 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 guise of his epigram, more than one good-natured person was known as a vulgar fool; his rivals, envious water doctors, spread a rumor that he was drawing caricatures of his patients - the patients became enraged, 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 at first glance strikes you unpleasantly, but which you later like when the eye learns to read in the irregular features the imprint of a proven and lofty soul. There have been examples that women fell madly in love with such people and would not exchange their ugliness for the beauty of the freshest and pinkest endymions; we must give justice to women: they have an instinct for spiritual beauty: that is perhaps why people like Werner love women so passionately.

Werner was short, thin, and weak, like a child; one of his legs was 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, discovered in this way, would strike a phrenologist as a strange tangle of opposing inclinations. His small black eyes, always restless, tried to penetrate your thoughts. 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. The youth nicknamed him Mephistopheles; he showed that he was angry for this nickname, but in fact it flattered his pride. 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 I must 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; At the end of the evening the conversation took a philosophical and metaphysical direction; They talked about beliefs: everyone was convinced of different things.

“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 person who had been silent until now.

“The fact,” he answered, “is that sooner or later one fine morning I will die.”

“I’m richer than you,” I said, “besides this, I also have a conviction - namely, that one disgusting evening I had the misfortune of being born.”

Everyone thought that we were talking nonsense, but, really, none of them said anything smarter than that. From that moment on, we recognized each other in the crowd. We often got together and talked about abstract subjects very seriously, until we both noticed that we were fooling each other. Then, having looked 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, my eyes fixed on the ceiling and my hands behind my head, when Werner came into my room. He sat down in an armchair, put his cane in the corner, yawned and announced that it was getting hot outside. I answered that the flies were bothering me, and we both fell silent.

“Notice, dear doctor,” I said, “that without fools the world would be very boring!.. Look, here are two of us smart people; we know in advance that everything can be argued about endlessly, and therefore we do not argue; we know almost all of each other’s innermost thoughts; one word is a whole story for us; We see the grain of each of our feelings through a triple shell. Sad things are funny to us, funny things are sad, but in general, to be honest, we are quite indifferent to everything except ourselves. So, there cannot be an exchange of feelings and thoughts between us: we know everything we want to know about the other, and we don’t want to know anymore. There is only one remedy left: telling the news. Tell me some news.

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

He answered after thinking:

- There is, however, an idea in your nonsense.

- Two! - I answered.

– Tell me one, I’ll tell you another.

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

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

- Doctor! We absolutely cannot talk: we read each other’s souls.

- Now it’s different...

– Another idea: I wanted to force you to tell something; firstly, because smart people like you love listeners better than 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?..

- I am absolutely convinced.

- Why?

- Because the princess asked about Grushnitsky.

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

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

- Of course.

- There is a connection! – I shouted in admiration. “We’ll take care of the denouement of this comedy.” Clearly fate is making sure that I don’t get 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 noticed 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 comments to the social 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 will introduce you...

- Have mercy! - I said, clasping my hands, - do they represent heroes? They meet in no other way than by saving their beloved from certain death...

– And you really want to drag yourself after the princess?..

“On the contrary, quite the opposite!.. Doctor, finally I triumph: you don’t understand me!.. This, however, upsets me, doctor,” I continued after a minute of silence, “I never reveal my secrets myself, but I love terribly, so that they can guess them, because in this way I can always get rid of them on occasion. However, you must describe to me the mother and daughter. What kind of people are they?

“Firstly, the princess is a woman of forty-five years old,” answered Werner, “she has a wonderful stomach, but her blood is spoiled; there are red spots on the cheeks. She spent the last half of her life in Moscow and here she gained weight in retirement. She loves seductive jokes and sometimes says indecent 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 would be calm, that I wouldn’t tell anyone this! The princess is being treated for rheumatism, and God knows what her daughter is suffering from; I ordered both of them to drink two glasses of sour sulfur water a day and bathe twice a week in a diluted bath. The princess, it seems, is not used to commanding; she has respect for the intelligence and knowledge of her daughter, who has read Byron in English and knows algebra: in Moscow, apparently, the young ladies have embarked on learning, and they are doing well, really! Our men are so unkind in general that flirting with them must be unbearable for an intelligent woman. The princess loves young people very much: the princess looks at them with some contempt: a Moscow habit! In Moscow they only feed on 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 seems to like to talk about feelings, passions, and so on... she was in St. Petersburg one winter, and she didn’t like it, especially the company: she was probably received coldly.

-Have you seen anyone there today?

- Against; there was one adjutant, one tense guardsman and some lady from the newcomers, a relative of the princess by marriage, very pretty, but, it seems, very sick... Didn’t you meet her at the well? - she is of average 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 clenched teeth. - Really?

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

– She is familiar to you!.. – My heart seemed to beat stronger than usual.

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

- Perhaps! – said Werner, shrugging his shoulders.

When he left, a terrible sadness oppressed 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 will we meet?.. and then, is it her?.. My premonitions have never deceived me. There is no person in the world over whom the past would acquire such power as it does over me: every reminder of past sadness or joy painfully strikes my soul and draws out the same sounds from it... I was created stupidly: I don’t forget anything - nothing!

After lunch, at about six o'clock, I went to the boulevard: there was a crowd there; The princess and princess were sitting on a bench, surrounded by young people who were vying with each other to be kind. I positioned myself at some distance on another bench, stopped two officers I knew D... 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 jokes were smart to the point of stupidity, my ridicule of the originals passing by was angry to the point of fury... I continued to amuse the audience until the sun set. Several times the princess passed me arm in arm with her mother, accompanied by some 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, - probably a very entertaining story - her exploits in battles?.. - She said this quite loudly and, probably, with the intention of stabbing me. “A-ha! – I thought, “you are seriously angry, dear princess; wait, there will be more!”

On the novel “Hero of Our Time” by M.Yu. Lermontov worked in 1838-1840. The idea was born during the writer’s exile to the Caucasus in 1838. The first parts of the novel were published within one year in the journal Otechestvennye zapiski. They aroused interest from 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 preface by the writer in connection with the questions that arose among readers. We bring to your attention a summary of “A Hero of Our Time” chapter by chapter.

Main characters

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

Bela- daughter of a Circassian prince. Treacherously kidnapped by her brother Azamat, she becomes Pechorin's lover. Bela is beautiful and smart, pure and straightforward. She 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 a deep tragedy for her.

Maxim Maksimych- officer of the tsarist army (with the rank of staff captain). Kind and honest man, Pechorin’s boss and close friend, an involuntary witness to his love affairs and life conflicts.

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

Other characters

Azamat- Circassian prince, an unbalanced and selfish young man, Bela’s brother.

Kazbich- a young Circassian who fell in love with Bela and became her killer.

Grushnitsky- a young cadet, a proud and unrestrained man. Pechorin's rival, 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 amazed Pechorin with her appearance (“undine” is one of the names of mermaids; the reader will never know the girl’s real name).

Yanko- smuggler, friend of Ondine.

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

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

Preface

In the preface, the author addresses the readers. He points out the fact that readers were struck by the negative traits of the main character of his work and blame the author for this. However, Lermontov points out that his hero is the embodiment of the vices of his time, therefore he is modern. The author also believes that readers cannot be fed sweet stories and fairy tales all the time; they must see and understand life as it is.

We present an abbreviated version of the author's work.

The action of the work takes place in the Caucasus in early XIX century. Partially on 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 his way to the Caucasus the middle-aged staff captain Maxim Maksimovich, who makes a positive impression on him. The narrator and the staff captain become friends. Finding themselves 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 in face, stately and intelligent. However, he had a strange character: he either complained about trifles like a girl, or fearlessly rode a horse over the rocks. Maxim Maksimovich at that time was the commandant of the military fortress, in which this mysterious young officer served under his command.

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

At the wedding, Pechorin took a liking to the prince’s youngest daughter, the beautiful and graceful Bela.

Escaping from the stuffiness of the room, Maxim Maksimovich went outside and became an involuntary listener 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 he was even ready to steal his sister for him for the horse. Azamat knew that Kazbich was not indifferent to Bela, but the proud Circassian Kazbich only brushed off the annoying young man.

Maxim Maksimovich, having listened to this conversation, inadvertently retold it to Pechorin, not knowing what his young colleague was planning in his heart.

It turned out that Pechorin later invited Azamat to steal Bela for him, promising in return to help ensure that Kazbich’s horse would become his.

Azamat fulfilled the agreement and took his beautiful sister to the fortress to Pechorin. When Kazbich drove the rams into 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 theft of his horse.

Meanwhile, Bela began to live in Pechorin’s fortress. He treated her with unusual care, without offending her either in word or deed. Pechorin hired a Circassian woman who began to serve Bela. Pechorin himself, with affection and pleasant treatment, won the heart of the proud beauty. The girl fell in love with her kidnapper. However, having achieved the beauty’s favor, Pechorin lost interest in her. Bela felt a cooling on the part of her lover and began to be greatly burdened by this.

Maxim Maksimovich, having fallen in love with a girl my own daughter, tried with all his might to console her. One day, when Pechorin left the fortress, the headquarters officer invited Bela to take a walk with him outside the walls. From a distance they saw Kazbich riding Bela's father's horse. The girl became afraid for her life.

Some more time passed. Pechorin communicated with Bela less and less, she began to feel sad. One day, Maxim Maksimovich and Pechorin were not in the fortress, when they returned, from afar they noticed the prince’s horse 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 quickly galloped away.

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 her delirium, she remembered Pechorin, talked about 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 heaven.

When Bela was buried, Maxim Maksimovich no longer spoke about her with Pechorin. Then the elderly staff captain came to the conclusion that Bela’s death was the best way out of the current 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 Maksimovich, Pechorin left to continue it in Georgia. He gave no news about himself.

This is where the staff captain's story ended.

II. Maxim Maksimych

The narrator and Maxim Maksimych parted, each went about his own business, but soon they unexpectedly met again. Maxim Maksimych excitedly said that he had met Pechorin completely unexpectedly again. He learned that he had now retired and decided to go to Persia. The elderly staff captain wanted to communicate 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 decided to talk to Pechorin again. But he showed coldness and ostentatious indifference. The staff captain was greatly saddened.

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 average height with a beautiful and expressive face, which women always liked. He knew how to behave in society and speak. Pechorin dressed well and without provocation, his suit emphasized the slenderness of his body. However, what was striking about his entire appearance was his eyes, which looked at his 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 Maksimovich, seeing his interest in Pechorin’s personality, gave him his journal (that is, his diary). For some time the diary lay idle with the narrator, but after Pechorin’s death (he died suddenly at the age of twenty-eight: having unexpectedly fallen ill on the way to Persia), the narrator decided to publish some parts of it.
The narrator, addressing the readers, asked them for leniency towards Pechorin’s personality, because he, despite his vices, was at least sincere in his detailed description their.

Pechorin's Journal

I. Taman

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

Arriving at this little-known place, he, due to his characteristic suspicion and insight, realized that the blind boy with whom he was staying for the night was hiding something from those around him. Having followed him, he saw that the blind man was meeting with a beautiful girl, whom Pechorin himself calls Undine (“mermaid”). The girl and boy were waiting for the man they called Yanko. Yanko soon appeared with some bags.

The next morning, Pechorin, spurred 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 that he did not 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 Cossack he knew, he went on a date with a girl on the pier, ordering the Cossack to be on the alert and, if something unexpected happened, to rush to his aid.

Together with Ondine, Pechorin boarded the boat. However, their romantic journey was soon cut short when the girl tried to push her companion into the water (Pechorin did not know how to swim). The motives for Ondine's behavior are clear. 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. At the same time, Ondine knew how to swim quite well, she rushed into the water and swam to meet 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 from him. The adventures of the past day entertained the bored hero, but he was unpleasantly annoyed that he could 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 Kislovodsk. He was bored with the society there. The hero was looking for entertainment and found it.

He met the young cadet Grushnitsky, a hot and ardent young man in love with the beautiful Princess Mary Ligovskaya. Pechorin was amused by the young man’s feelings. 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 evil hints towards her. Pechorin proved to Grushnitsky that Mary belongs to the breed of those women who will flirt with everyone and marry a worthless man at the behest of their mother.

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

Meanwhile, events took their course, adding new touches to the portrait of the main character. A socialite and relative of Princess Mary, Vera, came to Kislovodsk. Readers learned that Pechorin was once passionately in love with this woman. She also retained a bright feeling for Grigory Alexandrovich in her heart. Vera and Gregory met. And here we saw a different Pechorin: not a cold and angry cynic, but a man of great passions, who had not forgotten anything and felt suffering and pain. After meeting Vera, who, being married woman, could not connect with the hero who was in love with her, Pechorin threw himself into the saddle. He galloped over mountains and valleys, greatly exhausting his horse.

On a horse exhausted from fatigue, Pechorin accidentally met Mary and frightened her.

Soon Grushnitsky, with ardent feeling, began to prove to Pechorin that after all his antics he would never be received in the princess’s house. Pechorin argued with his friend, proving the opposite.
Pechorin went to the ball with Princess Ligovskaya. Here he began to behave unusually courteously towards Mary: he danced with her like a wonderful gentleman, protected her from a tipsy officer, and helped her cope with fainting. Mother Mary 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 their rare dates, Vera told Pechorin that she was terminally ill with consumption, so she asked 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 friends with Mary. The girl admitted to him that she was bored with all the fans, including Grushnitsky. Pechorin, using his charm, out of nothing to do, made the princess fall in love with him. He couldn’t even explain to himself why he needed this: either to have fun, or to annoy Grushnitsky, or perhaps to show Vera that someone needed him too and, thereby, to provoke her jealousy.

Gregory got 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 began to get bored in the company of both Mary and Vera. He was tired of Grushnitsky with his passion and boyishness. Pechorin deliberately began to behave defiantly in public, which caused tears from Mary, who was in love with him. People thought he was an 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. He was also 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 - was expecting matchmakers from Grigory Alexandrovich from day to day. However, he tried not to propose to Mary, but to wait until the girl herself confessed 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 noted that he did not have any loving feelings for her.

Mary felt deeply humiliated by the words of her loved one. She was waiting for anything, but not this. The heroine realized that Pechorin laughed at her out of boredom. She compared herself to a flower that an angry passer-by picked and threw on the dusty road.

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

A famous magician has arrived in town. The entire educated public rushed to his performance. Only Vera and Mary were absent there. Pechorin, driven by 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 him acted as seconds.

Before the duel, Pechorin could not calm down for a long time; he reflected on his life and realized that he had brought good to few people. Fate has prepared for him the role of executioner for many people. He killed some with his words, and others with his deeds. He loved with insatiable love only himself. He was looking for a person who could understand him and forgive him everything, but not a single woman or man could do this.

And so he received a challenge to a duel. Perhaps his rival will kill him. What will remain after him in this life? Nothing. Only 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 town. Pechorin, having learned about Vera’s imminent departure, mounted his horse and tried to catch up with his beloved, realizing that he had no one more dear to her in the world. He drove a horse that died before his eyes.

Returning to the city, he learned that rumors about the 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 this girl’s pride so much that he himself felt unpleasant.

III. Fatalist

The final part of the novel tells that Pechorin, on business, ended up in the Cossack village. One evening there was a dispute among the officers as to whether there was a fatal confluence of circumstances in a person's life. Is a person free to choose his own life or is his fate pre-written “in heaven”?

During a heated argument, the Serb Vulich took the floor. He stated that, according to his beliefs, he is a fatalist (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, 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.

None of those gathered 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 a combat shot.

Everyone began to loudly discuss what had happened. But Pechorin insisted that Vulich would die today. Nobody understood his persistence. Disgruntled, Vulich left the meeting.

Pechorin walked home through the alleys. He saw a pig lying on the ground, cut in half by a saber. Eyewitnesses told him that one of their Cossacks, who likes to take a drink from a bottle, was doing this kind of weird thing.
In the morning, Pechorin was woken up by officers and told him that Vulich had been hacked to death at night by this same 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 realized 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 in there. At mortal risk, Pechorin volunteered to punish the brawler. He climbed into his hut through the window, but remained alive. The Cossack was tied up by officers who arrived in time.

After such an incident, Pechorin had to become a fatalist. However, he was in no hurry to draw conclusions, believing that everything in life is not as simple as it seems from the outside.

And the kindest Maxim Maksimovich, to whom he retold this story, noticed that pistols often misfire, and whatever is destined for someone will happen. 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 about its main episodes. So read this famous work M.Yu. Lermontov and enjoy what you read!

Conclusion

Lermontov’s work “Hero of Our Time” has remained relevant for readers for almost two hundred years. And this is not surprising, because the work touches on the most important problems of life’s existence on earth: love, personal purpose, fate, passion and faith in higher powers. This work will not leave anyone indifferent, which is why it is included in the treasury classical works Russian literature.

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Princess Mary is a lover of romantic stories

The characterization of Mary in the novel “A Hero of Our Time” by Lermontov is inseparable from her relationship with the main character of the work, Pechorin. It was he who involved her in a story that might not have happened if Princess Mary had other character traits and outlook on life. Or it would have happened (Pechorin always fulfills his plans), but with much less sad consequences for her.
Mary turned out to be an amateur romantic stories. A subtle psychologist, Pechorin immediately noted her interest in Grushnitsky as the owner of a “gray soldier’s overcoat.” She thought that he had been demoted for the duel - and this aroused romantic feelings in her. He himself as a person was indifferent to her. After Mary found out that Grushnitsky was just a cadet and not a romantic hero, she began to avoid him. Exactly on the same basis her interest in Pechorin arose. This follows from the story of Doctor Werner: “The princess began to talk about your adventures... My daughter listened with curiosity. In her imagination, you became the hero of a novel in a new style..."

Characteristics of Mary

Appearance

Princess Mary, of course, had no reason to doubt her feminine attractiveness. “This Princess Mary is very pretty,” Pechorin noted when he saw her for the first time. “She has such velvet eyes...” But then he saw the inner emptiness of this secular young lady: “However, it seems that there is only good in her face... And what, are her teeth white? This is very important! It’s a pity that she didn’t smile...” “You talk about a pretty woman like an English horse,” Grushnitsky was indignant. Pechorin, indeed, did not find a soul in her - just an outer shell. And beauty alone is not enough to arouse deep feelings for yourself.

Interests

Mary is smart and educated: “she reads Byron in English and knows algebra.” Even her own mother respects her intelligence and knowledge. But reading and studying science is obviously not her natural need, but a tribute to fashion: “in Moscow, apparently, young ladies have embarked on learning,” notes Dr. Werner.

The princess also plays the piano and sings, like all the girls from high society of that time. “Her voice is not bad, but she sings poorly...” Pechorin writes in his journal. Why try if it's enough for the fans? “A murmur of praise” is already guaranteed for her.

Character Traits

Only Pechorin is in no hurry to give flattering reviews - and this clearly hurts the princess’s pride. This feature is inherent in the image of Mary in “A Hero of Our Time” in to the greatest extent. Easily identifying it weak point, Pechorin hits exactly this point. He is in no hurry to get to know Mary when all the other young people are hovering around her. He lures almost all of her admirers into his company. He frightens her with his daring antics during a walk. He looks through his lorgnette. And he is glad that the princess already hates him. Now, as soon as he shows attention to her, she will perceive it as a victory, as a triumph over him. And then he will blame himself for being cold. Pechorin “knows all this by heart” and subtly plays on the strings of her character.

The princess's sentimentality and love of reasoning “about feelings and passions” will also greatly let her down. The insidious tempter Pechorin will not fail to take advantage of this, pitying her with a story about his difficult fate. “At that moment I met her eyes: tears were running in them; her hand, leaning on mine, trembled; cheeks were burning; she felt sorry for me! Compassion, a feeling that all women so easily submit to, has sunk its claws into her inexperienced heart.” The goal has almost been achieved - Mary is almost in love.

In "A Hero of Our Time" Princess Mary is one of the women who fell victim to Pechorin. She is not stupid and vaguely realizes that his intentions are not entirely honest: “Either you despise me, or you love me very much!.. Maybe you want to laugh at me, outrage my soul and then leave me?” - says Mary. But she is still too young and naive to believe that this is possible: “It would be so vile, so low, that one assumption... oh no! Isn’t it true... there is nothing in me that would exclude respect?” Pechorin also uses the naivety of the princess to subordinate her to his will: “But there is immense pleasure in possessing a young, barely blossoming soul! She is like a flower whose best fragrance evaporates towards the first ray of the sun; You need to pick it up at this moment and, after breathing it to your heart’s content, throw it on the road: maybe someone will pick it up!”

Lesson learned from Pechorin

The heroine of the novel “A Hero of Our Time,” Mary, finds herself in a very humiliating position. Until recently, she allowed herself to look at other people with contempt, and now she herself found herself an object of ridicule. Her lover does not even think about getting married. This is such a painful blow for her that she suffers from mental breakdown and becomes seriously ill. What lesson will the princess learn from this situation? I would like to think that her heart will not harden, but rather will soften and learn to choose those who are truly worthy of love.

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