A Hero of Our Time [59]
and is approached by a narrow path between brushwood and rocks. In climbing up the hill, I gave Princess Mary my arm, and she did not leave it during the whole excur- sion.
Our conversation commenced with slander; I proceeded to pass in review our present and absent acquaintances; at first I exposed their ridiculous, and then their bad, sides. My choler rose. I began in jest, and ended in genuine malice. At first she was amused, but afterwards frightened.
"You are a dangerous man!" she said. "I would rather perish in the woods under the knife of an assassin than under your tongue. . . In all earnestness I beg of you: when it comes into your mind to speak evil of me, take a knife instead and cut my throat. I think you would not find that a very difficult matter."
"Am I like an assassin, then?" . . .
"You are worse" . . .
I fell into thought for a moment; then, assuming a deeply moved air, I said:
"Yes, such has been my lot from very child- hood! All have read upon my countenance the marks of bad qualities, which were not existent; but they were assumed to exist -- and they were born. I was modest -- I was accused of slyness: I grew secretive. I profoundly felt both good and evil -- no one caressed me, all insulted me: I grew vindictive. I was gloomy -- other children merry and talkative; I felt myself higher than they -- I was rated lower: I grew envious. I was prepared to love the whole world -- no one understood me: I learned to hate. My colour- less youth flowed by in conflict with myself and the world; fearing ridicule, I buried my best feelings in the depths of my heart, and there they died. I spoke the truth -- I was not believed: I began to deceive. Having acquired a thorough knowledge of the world and the springs of society, I grew skilled in the science of life; and I saw how others without skill were happy, en- joying gratuitously the advantages which I so unweariedly sought. Then despair was born within my breast -- not that despair which is cured at the muzzle of a pistol, but the cold, powerless despair concealed beneath the mask of amiability and a good-natured smile. I became a moral cripple. One half of my soul ceased to exist; it dried up, evaporated, died, and I cut it off and cast it from me. The other half moved and lived -- at the service of all; but it remained un- observed, because no one knew that the half which had perished had ever existed. But, now, the memory of it has been awakened within me by you, and I have read you its epitaph. To many, epitaphs in general seem ridiculous, but to me they do not; especially when I remember what reposes beneath them. I will not, however, ask you to share my opinion. If this outburst seems absurd to you, I pray you, laugh! I fore- warn you that your laughter will not cause me the least chagrin."
At that moment I met her eyes: tears were welling in them. Her arm, as it leaned upon mine, was trembling; her cheeks were aflame; she pitied me! Sympathy -- a feeling to which all women yield so easily, had dug its talons into her inexperienced heart. During the whole excursion she was preoccupied, and did not flirt with anyone -- and that is a great sign!
We arrived at the hollow; the ladies left their cavaliers, but she did not let go my arm. The witticisms of the local dandies failed to make her laugh; the steepness of the declivity beside which she was standing caused her no alarm, although the other ladies uttered shrill cries and shut their eyes.
On the way back, I did not renew our melan- choly conversation, but to my idle questions and jests she gave short and absent-minded answers.
"Have you ever been in love?" I asked her at length.
She looked at me intently, shook her head and again fell into a reverie. It was evident that she was wishing to say something, but did not know how to begin. Her breast heaved. . . And, indeed, that was but natural! A muslin sleeve is a weak protection, and an electric spark was running from my arm to hers. Almost all passions have their beginning in that way, and
Our conversation commenced with slander; I proceeded to pass in review our present and absent acquaintances; at first I exposed their ridiculous, and then their bad, sides. My choler rose. I began in jest, and ended in genuine malice. At first she was amused, but afterwards frightened.
"You are a dangerous man!" she said. "I would rather perish in the woods under the knife of an assassin than under your tongue. . . In all earnestness I beg of you: when it comes into your mind to speak evil of me, take a knife instead and cut my throat. I think you would not find that a very difficult matter."
"Am I like an assassin, then?" . . .
"You are worse" . . .
I fell into thought for a moment; then, assuming a deeply moved air, I said:
"Yes, such has been my lot from very child- hood! All have read upon my countenance the marks of bad qualities, which were not existent; but they were assumed to exist -- and they were born. I was modest -- I was accused of slyness: I grew secretive. I profoundly felt both good and evil -- no one caressed me, all insulted me: I grew vindictive. I was gloomy -- other children merry and talkative; I felt myself higher than they -- I was rated lower: I grew envious. I was prepared to love the whole world -- no one understood me: I learned to hate. My colour- less youth flowed by in conflict with myself and the world; fearing ridicule, I buried my best feelings in the depths of my heart, and there they died. I spoke the truth -- I was not believed: I began to deceive. Having acquired a thorough knowledge of the world and the springs of society, I grew skilled in the science of life; and I saw how others without skill were happy, en- joying gratuitously the advantages which I so unweariedly sought. Then despair was born within my breast -- not that despair which is cured at the muzzle of a pistol, but the cold, powerless despair concealed beneath the mask of amiability and a good-natured smile. I became a moral cripple. One half of my soul ceased to exist; it dried up, evaporated, died, and I cut it off and cast it from me. The other half moved and lived -- at the service of all; but it remained un- observed, because no one knew that the half which had perished had ever existed. But, now, the memory of it has been awakened within me by you, and I have read you its epitaph. To many, epitaphs in general seem ridiculous, but to me they do not; especially when I remember what reposes beneath them. I will not, however, ask you to share my opinion. If this outburst seems absurd to you, I pray you, laugh! I fore- warn you that your laughter will not cause me the least chagrin."
At that moment I met her eyes: tears were welling in them. Her arm, as it leaned upon mine, was trembling; her cheeks were aflame; she pitied me! Sympathy -- a feeling to which all women yield so easily, had dug its talons into her inexperienced heart. During the whole excursion she was preoccupied, and did not flirt with anyone -- and that is a great sign!
We arrived at the hollow; the ladies left their cavaliers, but she did not let go my arm. The witticisms of the local dandies failed to make her laugh; the steepness of the declivity beside which she was standing caused her no alarm, although the other ladies uttered shrill cries and shut their eyes.
On the way back, I did not renew our melan- choly conversation, but to my idle questions and jests she gave short and absent-minded answers.
"Have you ever been in love?" I asked her at length.
She looked at me intently, shook her head and again fell into a reverie. It was evident that she was wishing to say something, but did not know how to begin. Her breast heaved. . . And, indeed, that was but natural! A muslin sleeve is a weak protection, and an electric spark was running from my arm to hers. Almost all passions have their beginning in that way, and