A Hero of Our Time | Page 6

save us, what a rage he was in! He was within an ace of having
us court-martialled. That's just how things happen! You might easily
spend a whole year without seeing a soul; but just go and have a drop
and you're a lost man!"
On hearing this I almost lost hope.
"Take the Circassians, now," he continued; "once let them drink their
fill of buza[1] at a wedding or a funeral, and out will come their knives.
On one occasion I had some difficulty in getting away with a whole
skin, and yet it was at the house of a 'friendly'[2] prince, where I was a
guest, that the affair happened."
[1] A kind of beer made from millet.
[2] i.e. acknowledging Russian supremacy.

"How was that?" I asked.
"Here, I'll tell you." . . .
He filled his pipe, drew in the smoke, and began his story.

CHAPTER II
"YOU see, sir," said the staff-captain, "I was quartered, at the time,
with a com- pany in a fortress beyond the Terek -- getting on for five
years ago now. One autumn day, a transport arrived with provisions, in
charge of an officer, a young man of about twenty-five. He reported
himself to me in full uniform, and announced that he had been ordered
to remain in the fortress with me. He was so very elegant, his
complexion so nice and white, his uniform so brand new, that I
immediately guessed that he had not been long with our army in the
Caucasus.
"'I suppose you have been transferred from Russia?' I asked.
"'Exactly, captain,' he answered.
"I took him by the hand and said:
"'I'm delighted to see you -- delighted! It will be a bit dull for you . . .
but there, we will live together like a couple of friends. But, please, call
me simply "Maksim Maksimych"; and, tell me, what is this full
uniform for? Just wear your forage-cap whenever you come to me!'
"Quarters were assigned to him and he settled down in the fortress."
"What was his name?" I asked Maksim Maksimych.
"His name was Grigori Aleksandrovich Pe- chorin. He was a splendid
fellow, I can assure you, but a little peculiar. Why, to give you an
instance, one time he would stay out hunting the whole day, in the rain
and cold; the others would all be frozen through and tired out, but he

wouldn't mind either cold or fatigue. Then, another time, he would be
sitting in his own room, and, if there was a breath of wind, he would
declare that he had caught cold; if the shutters rattled against the
window he would start and turn pale: yet I myself have seen him attack
a boar single-handed. Often enough you couldn't drag a word out of
him for hours together; but then, on the other hand, sometimes, when
he started telling stories, you would split your sides with laughing. Yes,
sir, a very eccentric man; and he must have been wealthy too. What a
lot of expensive trinkets he had!" . . .
"Did he stay there long with you?" I went on to ask.
"Yes, about a year. And, for that very reason, it was a memorable year
to me. He gave me a great deal of trouble -- but there, let bygones be
bygones! . . . You see, it is true enough, there are people like that, fated
from birth to have all sorts of strange things happening to them!"
"Strange?" I exclaimed, with an air of curiosity, as I poured out some
tea.

CHAPTER III
"WELL, then, I'll tell you," said Maksim Maksimych. "About six versts
from the fortress there lived a certain 'friendly' prince. His son, a brat of
about fifteen, was accustomed to ride over to visit us. Not a day passed
but he would come, now for one thing, now for another. And, indeed,
Grigori Aleksandrovich and I spoiled him. What a dare-devil the boy
was! Up to anything, picking up a cap at full gallop, or bringing things
down with his gun! He had one bad quality; he was terribly greedy for
money. Once, for the fun of the thing, Grigori Aleksandrovich
promised to give him a ducat if he would steal the best he-goat from his
father's herd for him; and, what do you think? The very next night he
came lugging it in by the horns! At times we used to take it into our
heads to tease him, and then his eyes would become bloodshot and his
hand would fly to his dagger immediately.

"'You'll be losing your life if you are not careful, Azamat,' I would say
to him. 'That hot head of yours will get you into trouble.'
"On one occasion, the old prince himself came