A Hero of Our Time | Page 7

to invite us to the
wedding of his eldest daughter; and, as we were guest-friends with him,
it was impossible to decline, Tartar though he was. We set off. In the
village we were met by a number of dogs, all barking loudly. The
women, when they saw us coming, hid them- selves, but those whose
faces we were able to get a view of were far from being beauties.
"'I had a much better opinion of the Cir- cassian women,' remarked
Grigori Aleksandrovich.
"'Wait a bit!' I answered, with a smile; I had my own views on the
subject.
"A number of people had already gathered at the prince's hut. It is the
custom of the Asiatics, you know, to invite all and sundry to a wedding.
We were received with every mark of honour and conducted to the
guest-chamber. All the same, I did not forget quietly to mark where our
horses were put, in case anything unforeseen should happen."
"How are weddings celebrated amongst them?" I asked the
staff-captain.
"Oh, in the usual way. First of all, the Mullah reads them something out
of the Koran; then gifts are bestowed upon the young couple and all
their relations; the next thing is eating and drinking of buza, then the
dance on horse- back; and there is always some ragamuffin, bedaubed
with grease, bestriding a wretched, lame jade, and grimacing,
buffooning, and making the worshipful company laugh. Finally, when
darkness falls, they proceed to hold what we should call a ball in the
guest-chamber. A poor, old greybeard strums on a three-stringed in-
strument -- I forget what they call it, but anyhow, it is something in the
nature of our balalaika.[1] The girls and young children set themselves
in two ranks, one opposite the other, and clap their hands and sing.
Then a girl and a man come out into the centre and begin to chant
verses to each other -- whatever comes into their heads -- and the rest

join in as a chorus. Pechorin and I sat in the place of honour. All at
once up came our host's youngest daughter, a girl of about sixteen, and
chanted to Pechorin -- how shall I put it? -- something in the nature of a
compliment." . . .
[1] A kind of two-stringed or three-stringed guitar.
"What was it she sang -- do you remember?"
"It went like this, I fancy: 'Handsome, they say, are our young
horsemen, and the tunics they wear are garnished with silver; but
handsomer still is the young Russian officer, and the lace on his tunic is
wrought of gold. Like a poplar amongst them he stands, but in gardens
of ours such trees will grow not nor bloom!'
"Pechorin rose, bowed to her, put his hand to his forehead and heart,
and asked me to answer her. I know their language well, and I
translated his reply.
"When she had left us I whispered to Grigori Aleksandrovich:
"'Well, now, what do you think of her?'
"'Charming!' he replied. 'What is her name?'
"'Her name is Bela,' I answered.
"And a beautiful girl she was indeed; her figure was tall and slender,
her eyes black as those of a mountain chamois, and they fairly looked
into your soul. Pechorin, deep in thought, kept his gaze fixed upon her,
and she, for her part, stole glances at him often enough from under her
lashes. Pechorin, however, was not the only one who was admiring the
pretty princess; another pair of eyes, fixed and fiery, were gazing at her
from the corner of the room. I took a good look at their owner, and
recognised my old acquaintance Kazbich, who, you must know, was
neither exactly 'friendly' nor yet the other thing. He was an object of
much suspicion, although he had never actually been caught at any
knavery. He used to bring rams to our fortress and sell them cheaply;

only he never would haggle; whatever he demanded at first you had to
give. He would have his throat cut rather than come down in price. He
had the reputation of being fond of roaming on the far side of the
Kuban with the Abreks; and, to tell the truth, he had a regular thief's
visage. A little, wizened, broad-shouldered fellow he was -- but smart, I
can tell you, smart as the very devil! His tunic was always worn out
and patched, but his weapons were mounted in silver. His horse was
renowned throughout Kabardia -- and, indeed, a better one it would be
impossible to imagine! Not without good reason did all the other
horsemen envy Kazbich, and on more than one occasion they had
attempted to steal the horse, but they had never succeeded. I seem to
see the animal before