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Updated: May 17, 2025
"'But, supposing I am fond of her?... "Well, what could I say to that?... I was nonplussed. After a short interval of silence, however, I told him that if Bela's father were to claim her he would have to give her up. "'Not at all! "'But he will get to know that she is here. "'How? "Again I was nonplussed. "'Listen, Maksim Maksimych, said Pechorin, rising to his feet.
What a misadventure! ... But a bad pun is no consolation to a Russian, and, for the sake of something to occupy my thoughts, I took it into my head to write down the story about Bela, which I had heard from Maksim Maksimych never imagining that it would be the first link in a long chain of novels: you see how an insignificant event has sometimes dire results!... Perhaps, however, you do not know what the "Adventure" is?
I observed all that in a moment... I coughed and rapped my heels against the threshold, but he pretended not to hear. "'Ensign! I said, as sternly as I could. 'Do you not see that I have come to you? "'Ah, good morning, Maksim Maksimych! Won't you have a pipe? he answered, without rising. "'Excuse me, I am not Maksim Maksimych. I am the staff-captain. "'It's all the same!
On my return to the fortress I related to Maksim Maksimych all that I had seen and experienced; and I sought to learn his opinion on the subject of predestination. At first he did not understand the word. I explained it to him as well as I could, and then he said, with a significant shake of the head: "Yes, sir, of course! It was a very ingenious trick!
For the first time in his life, probably, the poor old man had, to speak by the book, thrown aside official business 'for the sake of his personal requirements'... and how he had been rewarded! "I am very sorry, Maksim Maksimych, very sorry indeed," I said, "that we must part sooner than necessary." "What should we rough old men be thinking of to run after you?
"In truth, there's nothing for me to tell, dear Maksim Maksimych... However, good-bye, it is time for me to be off... I am in a hurry... I thank you for not having forgotten me," he added, taking him by the hand. The old man knit his brows. He was grieved and angry, although he tried to hide his feelings. "Forget!" he growled.
"I am speaking to you, my friend!" he said, touching the uncivil fellow on the shoulder. "Whose carriage? My master's." "And who is your master?" "Pechorin " "What did you say? What? Pechorin? Great Heavens!... Did he not serve in the Caucasus?" exclaimed Maksim Maksimych, plucking me by the sleeve. His eyes were sparkling with joy.
'I bought a horse... yesterday, faltered the dying man, 'off Efim... Sitchovsky... paid earnest money... so the horse is mine.... Give it... to my wife.... They began to move him on to the mat.... He trembled all over, like a wounded bird, and stiffened.... 'He is dead, muttered the peasants. We mounted our horses in silence and rode away. The death of poor Maksim set me musing.
Hereupon he turned away in order to hide his agitation and proceeded to walk about the courtyard, around his cart, pretending to be examining the wheels, whilst his eyes kept filling with tears every moment. "Maksim Maksimych," I said, going up to him, "what papers are these that Pechorin left you?" "Goodness knows! "What will you do with them?" "What? I'll have cartridges made of them."
Afterwards he said, on reflecting a little: "Yes, it is a pity about the poor fellow! The devil must have put it into his head to start a conversation with a drunken man at night! However, it is evident that fate had written it so at his birth!" I could not get anything more out of Maksim Maksimych; generally speaking, he had no liking for metaphysical disputations.
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