A Hero of Our Time [7]
flows; I will go by with her to the neighbouring village -- and she is yours. Surely Bela is worth your galloper!'
[1] King -- a title of the Sultan of Turkey.
"Kazbich remained silent for a long, long time. At length, instead of answering, he struck up in an undertone the ancient song:
"Many a beauty among us dwells
From whose eyes' dark depths the starlight wells,
'Tis an envied lot and sweet, to hold
Their love; but brighter is freedom bold.
Four wives are yours if you pay the gold;
But a mettlesome steed is of price untold;
The whirlwind itself on the steppe is less fleet;
He knows no treachery -- no deceit."[2]
[2] I beg my readers' pardon for having versified Kazbich's song, which, of course, as I heard it, was in prose; but habit is second nature. (Author's note.)
"In vain Azamat entreated him to consent. He wept, coaxed, and swore to him. Finally, Kazbich interrupted him impatiently:
"'Begone, you crazy brat! How should you think to ride on my horse? In three steps you would be thrown and your neck broken on the stones!'
"'I?' cried Azamat in a fury, and the blade of the child's dagger rang against the coat of mail. A powerful arm thrust him away, and he struck the wattle fence with such violence that it rocked.
"'Now we'll see some fun!' I thought to myself.
"I rushed into the stable, bridled our horses and led them out into the back courtyard. In a couple of minutes there was a terrible uproar in the hut. What had happened was this: Azamat had rushed in, with his tunic torn, saying that Kazbich was going to murder him. All sprang out, seized their guns, and the fun began! Noise -- shouts -- shots! But by this time Kazbich was in the saddle, and, wheeling among the crowd along the street, defended himself like a madman, brandishing his sabre.
"'It is a bad thing to interfere in other people's quarrels,' I said to Grigori Aleksandro- vich, taking him by the arm. 'Wouldn't it be better for us to clear off without loss of time?'
"'Wait, though, and see how it will end!'
"'Oh, as to that, it will be sure enough to end badly; it is always so with these Asiatics. Once let them get drunk on buza, and there's certain to be bloodshed.'
"We mounted and galloped home."
CHAPTER IV
"TELL me, what became of Kazbich?" I asked the staff-captain impatiently.
"Why, what can happen to that sort of a fellow?" he answered, finishing his tumbler of tea. "He slipped away, of course."
"And wasn't he wounded?" I asked.
"Goodness only knows! Those scoundrels take a lot of killing! In action, for instance, I've seen many a one, sir, stuck all over with bayonets like a sieve, and still brandishing his sabre."
After an interval of silence the staff-captain continued, tapping the ground with his foot:
"One thing I'll never forgive myself for. On our arrival at the fortress the devil put it into my head to repeat to Grigori Aleksandrovich all that I had heard when I was eavesdropping behind the fence. He laughed -- cunning fellow! -- and thought out a little plan of his own."
"What was that? Tell me, please."
"Well, there's no help for it now, I suppose. I've begun the story, and so I must continue.
"In about four days' time Azamat rode over to the fortress. As his usual custom was, he went to see Grigori Aleksandrovich, who always used to give him sweetmeats to eat. I was present. The conversation was on the subject of horses, and Pechorin began to sound the praises of Kazbich's Karagyoz. What a mettlesome horse it was, and how handsome! A perfect chamois! In fact, judging by his account, there simply wasn't another like it in the whole world!
"The young Tartar's beady eyes began to sparkle, but Pechorin didn't seem to notice the fact. I started to talk about something else, but immediately, mark you, Pechorin caused the conversation to strike off on to Kazbich's horse. Every time that Azamat came it was the same story. After about three weeks, I began to observe that Azamat was growing pale and wasted, just as people
[1] King -- a title of the Sultan of Turkey.
"Kazbich remained silent for a long, long time. At length, instead of answering, he struck up in an undertone the ancient song:
"Many a beauty among us dwells
From whose eyes' dark depths the starlight wells,
'Tis an envied lot and sweet, to hold
Their love; but brighter is freedom bold.
Four wives are yours if you pay the gold;
But a mettlesome steed is of price untold;
The whirlwind itself on the steppe is less fleet;
He knows no treachery -- no deceit."[2]
[2] I beg my readers' pardon for having versified Kazbich's song, which, of course, as I heard it, was in prose; but habit is second nature. (Author's note.)
"In vain Azamat entreated him to consent. He wept, coaxed, and swore to him. Finally, Kazbich interrupted him impatiently:
"'Begone, you crazy brat! How should you think to ride on my horse? In three steps you would be thrown and your neck broken on the stones!'
"'I?' cried Azamat in a fury, and the blade of the child's dagger rang against the coat of mail. A powerful arm thrust him away, and he struck the wattle fence with such violence that it rocked.
"'Now we'll see some fun!' I thought to myself.
"I rushed into the stable, bridled our horses and led them out into the back courtyard. In a couple of minutes there was a terrible uproar in the hut. What had happened was this: Azamat had rushed in, with his tunic torn, saying that Kazbich was going to murder him. All sprang out, seized their guns, and the fun began! Noise -- shouts -- shots! But by this time Kazbich was in the saddle, and, wheeling among the crowd along the street, defended himself like a madman, brandishing his sabre.
"'It is a bad thing to interfere in other people's quarrels,' I said to Grigori Aleksandro- vich, taking him by the arm. 'Wouldn't it be better for us to clear off without loss of time?'
"'Wait, though, and see how it will end!'
"'Oh, as to that, it will be sure enough to end badly; it is always so with these Asiatics. Once let them get drunk on buza, and there's certain to be bloodshed.'
"We mounted and galloped home."
CHAPTER IV
"TELL me, what became of Kazbich?" I asked the staff-captain impatiently.
"Why, what can happen to that sort of a fellow?" he answered, finishing his tumbler of tea. "He slipped away, of course."
"And wasn't he wounded?" I asked.
"Goodness only knows! Those scoundrels take a lot of killing! In action, for instance, I've seen many a one, sir, stuck all over with bayonets like a sieve, and still brandishing his sabre."
After an interval of silence the staff-captain continued, tapping the ground with his foot:
"One thing I'll never forgive myself for. On our arrival at the fortress the devil put it into my head to repeat to Grigori Aleksandrovich all that I had heard when I was eavesdropping behind the fence. He laughed -- cunning fellow! -- and thought out a little plan of his own."
"What was that? Tell me, please."
"Well, there's no help for it now, I suppose. I've begun the story, and so I must continue.
"In about four days' time Azamat rode over to the fortress. As his usual custom was, he went to see Grigori Aleksandrovich, who always used to give him sweetmeats to eat. I was present. The conversation was on the subject of horses, and Pechorin began to sound the praises of Kazbich's Karagyoz. What a mettlesome horse it was, and how handsome! A perfect chamois! In fact, judging by his account, there simply wasn't another like it in the whole world!
"The young Tartar's beady eyes began to sparkle, but Pechorin didn't seem to notice the fact. I started to talk about something else, but immediately, mark you, Pechorin caused the conversation to strike off on to Kazbich's horse. Every time that Azamat came it was the same story. After about three weeks, I began to observe that Azamat was growing pale and wasted, just as people