A Hero of Our Time - Mikhail IUr'evich Lermontov [80]
People! They are all the same: they know all the bad aspects to a deed in advance, and they help you, advise you, even approve of it, seeing that no other way is possible—and then they wash their hands of it and turn away with indignation from the person who had the courage to take the whole burden of responsibility onto himself. They are all the same, even the kindest, the most intelligent of them!
The next morning, having received an order from the authorities to take myself to the Fortress N——, I went to the Princess Ligovsky to bid them farewell.
She was astonished when, to her question of whether I had something especially important to say to her, I replied that I wished her happiness, et cetera.
“Well, I need to speak with you about something very serious.”
I sat down, saying nothing.
It was obvious that she didn’t know how to begin. Her face turned crimson, her plump fingers tapped the table. Finally she started like this, in a broken voice:
“Listen, Monsieur Pechorin! I think that you are a noble man.”
I bowed.
“Indeed I am convinced of it,” she continued, “though your behavior has been somewhat dubious. But you may have your reasons, which I don’t know, and you must now confide them to me. You defended my daughter from slander, you dueled for her sake—which is to say that you risked your life for her . . . Don’t say anything, I know that you won’t admit to it, because Grushnitsky is killed (she made the sign of the cross). God will forgive him—and, I hope He will forgive you too! . . . But this is not my concern, I cannot judge you because my daughter, though she was innocent, was nonetheless the cause of it. She told me everything . . . I think it was everything. You declared your love for her . . . she confessed hers to you (here the princess exhaled heavily). But she is ill, and I am sure that this is not a simple illness! A secret sadness is killing her. She doesn’t admit to it, but I am sure that you are the cause of it . . . Listen, you may think that I am seeking an official with enormous wealth for her—disabuse yourself! I only want the happiness of my daughter. Your current situation is unenviable, but it can be righted. You have means. My daughter loves you, she is brought up to make a husband happy. I am wealthy, and she is my only child . . . Tell me, what is holding you back? You see, I wasn’t supposed to tell you all of this, but I count upon your heart, upon your honor. Remember that I have only one daughter . . . only one . . .”
She started to weep.
“Princess,” I said. “It is impossible for me to answer you. Allow me please to speak with your daughter alone . . .”
“Never!” she exclaimed, getting up from her chair with great emotion.
“As you wish,” I replied, preparing myself to leave.
She became distracted, gestured to me with her hand that I should wait, and went out.
About five minutes passed. My heart was pounding, but my thoughts were calm, my head was cold. As much as I tried to find a spark of love in my heart toward the lovely Mary, my strivings were in vain.
Then the doors opened, and she came in. Good God! How she had changed since I had last seen her—was it that long ago?
Walking to the middle of the room, she swayed. I jumped up, gave her my arm, and led her to an armchair.
I stood opposite her. We were silent for a long time. Her big eyes, filled with indescribable sorrow it seemed, were looking into mine with something resembling hope. Her pale lips tried to smile in vain. Her delicate hands, crossed on her knees, were so thin and transparent that I felt pity for her.
“Princess,” I said, “did you know that I was mocking you? . . . You should despise me.”
A sickly flush appeared in her cheeks.
I continued, “Therefore, you cannot love me . . .”
She turned away, leaned her elbows on the table, and covered her eyes with her hand, and it seemed to me that they glistened with tears.
“My God!” she uttered, barely distinguishably.
This was becoming unbearable—in a minute I would fall to her feet.
“So, as you