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Updated: June 26, 2025
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."
I should have liked to erect a cross, but that would not have done, you know after all, she was not a Christian." "And what of Pechorin?" I asked. "Pechorin was ill for a long time, and grew thin, poor fellow; but we never spoke of Bela from that time forth. I saw that it would be disagreeable to him, so what would have been the use?
'Are you sad? "'No! "'Do you want anything? "'No! "'You are pining for your kinsfolk? "'I have none! "Sometimes for whole days not a word could be drawn from her but 'Yes' and 'No. "So I straightway proceeded to talk to Pechorin about her." "'LISTEN, Maksim Maksimych, said Pechorin.
"'Aren't you ashamed of yourself? I said to the sentry. "'He has gone away to die, your honour, he answered. 'There's no killing a man of that cursed race at one stroke. "A quarter of an hour later Pechorin returned from hunting. Bela threw herself on his neck without a single complaint, without a single reproach for his lengthy absence!... Even I was angry with him by this time!
We find the same tendency in Lermontov's prose novel, "A Hero of Our Times," in which the hero, Pechorin, has many traits in common with Evgeny Onyegin. This book immediately made a deep impression. It was really nothing more than a step taken in a new direction by its author. But it was a step that promised much.
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.
Yet I loved her, I should think, like a father!... Well, God forgive her!... And, to tell the truth, what am I that she should have remembered me when she was dying?... "As soon as she had drunk the water, she grew easier but in about three minutes she breathed her last! We put a looking-glass to her lips it was undimmed! "I led Pechorin from the room, and we went on to the fortress rampart.
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