I saw that neither fame nor happiness depends on them in the least,because the happiest people are the uneducated,and fame is good fortune,to attain which you have only to be smart.Then I grew bored...Soon after-wards I was transferred to the Caucasus;and that was the happiest time of my life.I hoped that under the bullets of the Chechenes boredom could not exist --a vain hope!In a month Igrew so accustomed to the buzzing of the bullets and to the proximity of death that,to tell the truth,I paid more attention to the gnats --and I became more bored than ever,because I had lost what was almost my last hope.When I saw Bela in my own house;when,for the first time,I held her on my knee and kissed her black locks,I,fool that I was,thought that she was an angel sent to me by sympathetic fate...Again I was mistaken;the love of a savage is little better than that of your lady of quality,the barbaric ignorance and simplicity of the one weary you as much as the coquetry of the other.
I am not saying that I do not love her still;Iam grateful to her for a few fairly sweet moments;I would give my life for her --only I am bored with her...Whether I am a fool or a villain I know not;but this is certain,I am also most deserving of pity --perhaps more than she.My soul has been spoiled by the world,my imagination is unquiet,my heart insatiate.To me everything is of little moment.I become as easily accus-tomed to grief as to joy,and my life grows emptier day by day.One expedient only is left to me --travel.
"'As soon as I can,I shall set off --but not to Europe.Heaven forfend!I shall go to America,to Arabia,to India --perchance I shall die some-where on the way.At any rate,I am convinced that,thanks to storms and bad roads,that last consolation will not quickly be exhausted!'
"For a long time he went on speaking thus,and his words have remained stamped upon my memory,because it was the first time that I had heard such things from a man of five-and-twenty --and Heaven grant it may be the last.Isn't it astonishing?Tell me,please,"continued the staff-captain,appealing to me."You used to live in the Capital,I think,and that not so very long ago.Is it possible that the young men there are all like that?"I replied that there were a good many people who used the same sort of language,that,prob-ably,there might even be some who spoke in all sincerity;that disillusionment,moreover,like all other vogues,having had its beginning in the higher strata of society,had descended to the lower,where it was being worn threadbare,and that,now,those who were really and truly bored strove to conceal their misfortune as if it were a vice.The staff-captain did not under-stand these subtleties,shook his head,and smiled slyly.
"Anyhow,I suppose it was the French who introduced the fashion?""No,the English."
"Aha,there you are!"he answered."They always have been arrant drunkards,you know!"Involuntarily I recalled to mind a certain lady,living in Moscow,who used to maintain that Byron was nothing more nor less than a drunkard.
However,the staff-captain's observation was more excusable;in order to abstain from strong drink,he naturally endeavoured to convince himself that all the misfortunes in the world are the result of drunkenness.
CHAPTER X
MEANWHILE the staff-captain continued his story.
"Kazbich never put in an appearance again;but somehow --I don't know why --I could not get the idea out of my head that he had had a reason for coming,and that some mischievous scheme was in his mind.
"Well,one day Pechorin tried to persuade me to go boar-hunting with him.For a long time I refused.What novelty was a wild boar to me?
"However,off he dragged me,all the same.
We took four or five soldiers and set out early in the morning.Up till ten o'clock we scurried about the reeds and the forest --there wasn't a wild beast to be found!
"'I say,oughtn't we to be going back?'Isaid.'What's the use of sticking at it?It is evident enough that we have happened on an unlucky day!'
"But,in spite of heat and fatigue,Pechorin didn't like to return empty-handed...That is just the kind of man he was;whatever he set his heart on he had to have --evidently,in his childhood,he had been spoiled by an indulgent mother.At last,at midday,we discovered one of those cursed wild boars --Bang!Bang!--No good!--Off it went into the reeds.That was an unlucky day,to be sure!...So,after a short rest,we set off homeward...
"We rode in silence,side by side,giving the horses their head.We had almost reached the fortress,and only the brushwood concealed it from view.Suddenly a shot rang out...We glanced at each other,both struck with the self-same suspicion...We galloped headlong in the direction of the shot,looked,and saw the soldiers clustered together on the rampart and pointing towards a field,along which a rider was flying at full speed,holding something white across his saddle.Grigori Aleksandrovich yelled like any Chechene,whipped his gun from its cover,and gave chase --I after him.
"Luckily,thanks to our unsuccessful hunt,our horses were not jaded;they strained under the saddle,and with every moment we drew nearer and nearer...At length I recognised Kazbich,only I could not make out what it was that he was holding in front of him.
"Then I drew level with Pechorin and shouted to him:
"'It is Kazbich!'
"He looked at me,nodded,and struck his horse with his whip.
"At last we were within gunshot of Kazbich.
Whether it was that his horse was jaded or not so good as ours,I don't know,but,in spite of all his efforts,it did not get along very fast.I fancy at that moment he remembered his Karagyoz!
"I looked at Pechorin.He was taking aim as he galloped...
"'Don't shoot,'I cried.'Save the shot!
We will catch up with him as it is.'
