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Updated: June 26, 2025
Good gracious, Pechorin, what ideas you do have!... How could she possibly love me so soon?... And a well-bred woman, even if she is in love, will never say so"... "Very well! And, I suppose, in your opinion, a well-bred man should also keep silence in regard to his passion?"... "Ah, my dear fellow! There are ways of doing everything; often things may remain unspoken, but yet may be guessed"...
She talked incoherently about her father, her brother; she yearned for the mountains, for her home... Then she spoke of Pechorin also, called him various fond names, or reproached him for having ceased to love his janechka. "He listened to her in silence, his head sunk in his hands; but yet, during the whole time, I did not notice a single tear-drop on his lashes.
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."... "What was it she sang do you remember?"
She became more gracious more trustful but that was all. Pechorin accordingly determined upon a last expedient. One morning he ordered his horse to be saddled, dressed himself as a Circassian, armed himself, and went into her room. "'Bela, he said. 'You know how I love you. I decided to carry you off, thinking that when you grew to know me you would give me your love. I was mistaken. Farewell!
"But I must have a very serious talk with you." I sat down in silence. It was clear that she did not know how to begin; her face grew livid, she tapped the table with her plump fingers; at length, in a broken voice, she said: "Listen, Monsieur Pechorin, I think that you are a gentleman." I bowed.
It is doubtful whether, in this country, the most ethereal of fairy-tales would escape the reproach of attempting offensive personalities. Pechorin, gentlemen, is in fact a portrait, but not of one man only: he is a composite portrait, made up of all the vices which flourish, fullgrown, amongst the present generation.
MEANWHILE the staff-captain continued his story. "Kazbich never put in an appearance again; but somehow I don't know why I could not get the idea out of my head that he had had a reason for coming, and that some mischievous scheme was in his mind. "Well, one day Pechorin tried to persuade me to go boar-hunting with him. For a long time I refused. What novelty was a wild boar to me?
The whole proceeding challenge, preparations, conditions will be as solemn and awe-inspiring as possible I will see to that. I will be your second, my poor friend! Very well! Only here is the rub; we will put no bullets in the pistols. I can answer for it that Pechorin will turn coward I will place them six paces apart, devil take it! Are you agreed, gentlemen?"
I asked Maksim Maksimych. "His name was Grigori Aleksandrovich Pechorin. 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.
"Yes, she admitted that, from the day she had first cast eyes on Pechorin, she had often dreamed of him, and that no other man had ever produced such an impression upon her. Yes, they were happy!" "How tiresome!" I exclaimed, involuntarily. In point of fact, I had been expecting a tragic ending when, lo! he must needs disappoint my hopes in such an unexpected manner!...
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