A Hero of Our Time - Mikhail IUr'evich Lermontov [31]
Maxim Maximych possessed a deep knowledge of the culinary arts: he roasted a pheasant amazingly well, and successfully added a cucumber brine to it, and I must admit that without him there would have only been dry food left to me. A bottle of Kakhetian wine helped us to forget the modest number of dishes, which amounted to all of one, and having smoked a pipe, we settled in—I sat by the window and he by the heated stove, because the day had been damp and cold. We were silent. What was there to talk about? . . . He had already told me everything that was of interest about himself, and I had nothing to tell. I looked through the window. A multitude of low dwellings twinkled among the trees, scattered along the banks of the Terek River, which runs more and more widely here; and in the distance a toothy wall of mountains shined blue, and from behind them the peak of Mount Kazbek emerged in its white cardinal’s hat. I said farewell to them in my thoughts and I was sorry to do so . . .
We sat like that for a long time. The sun had hidden itself behind the cold peaks, and a whitish mist had begun to disperse in the valley, when the sound of a harness bell and the shouts of cart drivers resounded in the street. Several carts of dirty-looking Armenians drove into the courtyard of the inn; an empty carriage arrived behind them, with an easy gait, a comfortable construction and dandified appearance—all of which gave it some sort of stamp of foreignness. A man with a large mustache walked behind it, wearing a dolman,1 looking rather well-dressed for a lackey. But it was impossible to mistake his position, seeing the rakish manner with which he shook the ash from his pipe and shouted at the coachman. He was clearly the spoiled servant of a lazy master—a sort of Russian Figaro.
“Tell me, my good man,” I cried to him from the window, “is this the Opportunity that has arrived?”
He looked at me impertinently, adjusted his tie and turned around. There was an Armenian walking next to him, smiling, who replied for him that the Opportunity had indeed arrived and tomorrow morning it would set off back again.
“Thank God!” said Maxim Maximych, walking up to the window at that moment. “What a marvelous carriage!” he added. “There’s probably some official heading to an inquiry in Tiflis. But he obviously doesn’t know our hills! No, he can’t be serious, the good man—these hills aren’t kind—they’ll give a good jolting even to an English carriage!”
“But who do you think he is? Let’s go and find out . . .” We went out into the corridor. At the end of the corridor, the door to a side room was open. The lackey and the coachman were dragging valises inside.
“Listen, my friend,” the staff captain asked him, “whose is this marvelous carriage, eh? It’s an excellent carriage!”
The lackey, not turning around, mumbled something to himself as he unfastened the valise. Maxim Maximych became angry; he touched the rude man on the shoulder and said:
“I’m talking to you, good man.”
“Whose carriage? . . . It’s my master’s . . .”
“And who is your master?”
“Pechorin . . .”
“Really? Really? Pechorin? . . . Oh good God! . . . Did he perhaps once serve in the Caucasus?” exclaimed Maxim Maximych, tugging at my sleeve. Joy was sparkling in his eyes.
“Yes, he did, I’d guess—but I haven’t been with him for long.”
“Well there you go! There it is! Grigory Alexandrovich? . . . That’s his name, right? . . . Your master and I were friends,” he added, slapping the lackey fraternally on the shoulder so hard that it caused the man to stagger . . .
“If you please, sir, you are getting in my way,” said the man, frowning.
“Well, look at that! . . . Do you understand? Your master and I were once the best of friends, we lived together . . . So, where is the man himself?”
The servant declared that Pechorin had stopped to dine and spend the night with Colonel N——.
“Won’t he drop by here this evening?” said Maxim Maximych. “Or will you, good man, be going to him for anything? . . . If you are, will you tell him that Maxim Maximych is here. Tell