BELA—A STORY OF THE CAUCASUS.
HAVING followed the Circassians in their transformed appearance as
Egyptian Mamelukes, we now return from this digression, to their
mountain homes. There is a tale by Lermontof, a young Russian author,
who died prematurely about four years ago, in which the character and
habit of the mountaineers are illustrated with great dramatic force. As
the story, which is full of human interest, turns also in a great degree
on the fortunes of a horse, it comes fairly within the scope of the
present work; we shall therefore present it here in a condensed form. In
the original it takes the shape of a conversation between the author,
and the commandant of a Russian fort, on the Terek, a rough unlettered
soldier, but a man of excellent heart. We shall distinguish the two
speakers in the dialogue, by their initials L. and M.
THE CAPTAIN’S STORY.
M.—I was quartered, you see, with my company in the fort beyond the
Terek—this was about five years ago. One autumn a party arrived with
provisions, and accompanied by an officer, a young man of about
five-and-twenty, who reported that he was ordered to remain with me in
the fort. I could see at once from his appearance, and the freshness of
his accoutrements, that he had not been long in the Caucasus; so I took
him by the hand, and said ‘Very glad to see you; you will find your
quarters here rather dull; however, we will be as sociable with each
other as possible; so call me if you please by my plain name, Maxim
Maximitch.’ His own, by the by, was Gregorii Alexandrovitch Petchorin.
He was a very fine young fellow, I assure you, only a little odd. For
instance, he would hunt the whole day long in rain and cold; every body
else would be half frozen, and knocked up, but he not a bit. Another
time he would sit in his room, and if a breath of air was stirring, he
would declare he was chilled to the bones; if the window-shutter flapped
to, he would start and turn pale, and yet I have seen him dash at a wild
boar all alone. Ay, he had very odd ways, surely, and he must have been
very rich, for you never saw such a lot of costly things as he had with
him. He stayed with me a full year, and good reason I have to remember
that year, for it caused me a great deal of anxiety and sorrow; but I
will not think of that now.
There was a friendly prince residing about six versts from the fort,
whose son, a lad about fifteen, was in the habit of visiting us every
day, for one thing or another. Petchorin and I took a great liking to
him. What a smart, nimble chap he was! There was nothing he could not
do. He could pick up his cap from the ground, or load and fire off his
gun at full gallop. But there was one bad thing in him; he had a
desperate hankering after money. Gregorii Alexandrovitch once promised
in joke, that he would give him a ducat, if he would steal him the best
ram out of his father’s flock—and what do you think? the young scamp
dragged him in to us the very next night by the horns. But if ever, as
happened now and then, we took it into our heads to make fun of him, his
eyes would flash fire, and his hand was on his dagger in an instant. O
Asamat, I used to say to him, you will never wear a grey head on your
shoulders, your unruly temper will be the ruin of you.
Once the old prince came in person to invite us to the wedding of his
eldest daughter, and of course we could not civilly refuse. When we
entered the hamlet, a pack of dogs ran at us barking furiously. The
women hid themselves as soon as they saw us, and those whose faces we
did get a glimpse of, were any thing but beauties. ‘I had a much higher
idea of the Circassian women,’ said Petchorin to me. ‘Have a little
patience’, said I, smiling, and keeping my thoughts to myself.
There was a great concourse already assembled in the prince’s house. It
is the custom, you are aware, among the Asiatics to keep open house for
all comers on these occasions. They received us with all possible marks
of respect, and led us into the guest chamber; but first I took care to
notice privately where they put our horses, in case any thing should
happen, you know.
L.—What are their marriage ceremonies?
M.—Nothing very remarkable. First, the mollah reads something out of the
Koran, then presents are made to the young couple, and to all their
relations; they eat, they drink _busa_; the _zhighitofka_ begins; and
there is always some greasy rogue mounted on a lame old rip of a horse,
to amuse the worshipful company with his grotesque capers, and his
jokes. By and by, when it grows dark, the ball, as we should call it,
begins. An old beggar strums upon a three stringed instrument—I forget
what they call it; the lads and lasses stand up in two rows opposite
each other, clap hands and sing. A girl and a young man then step into
the middle space, and sing alternate verses, just whatever comes into
their heads, and the rest join in chorus. Petchorin and I were seated in
the place of honour, and all of a sudden, our host’s youngest daughter,
a girl about sixteen, stepped up to my friend, and sang to him—what
shall I call it?—a sort of compliment.
L.—But the words, the words,—do you happen to remember them?
M.—Well I believe they were something to this effect: ‘Beautiful, in
truth, are our young zhighit dancers, and their caftans are richly
adorned with silver; but the young Russian officer is more beautiful
than they, and his laces are of gold. He towers among them like a
poplar, but it is not his destiny to grow and flourish in our garden.’
Petchorin rose and bowed, laying his hand on his forehead and his
breast, and requested me to reply for him. I knew their language very
well, and translated his answer.
When the girl had left us, I whispered my comrade, Well what say you
now? What do you think of that girl? ‘Charming!’ he exclaimed; ‘what is
her name?’ ‘Her name is Bela,’ I answered. And beautiful indeed she was!
tall, slender, with eyes as black as the gazelle’s, that seemed to look
into your very soul. Petchorin, completely captivated, never took his
eyes off her, and she frequently shot a stolen glance upon him from
beneath her jetty eyelashes. But Petchorin was not the only one whose
gaze was riveted on the lovely princess: there was another pair of eyes
in the corner of the room, that glared upon her incessantly, with
passionate fire. I looked sharply that way, and recognized my old
acquaintance, Kasbitch. Now things were in such a position, you must
know, with respect to this man, that he could neither be regarded as
decidedly friendly to the Russians, nor be pronounced decidedly the
reverse. There were many suspicious against him, though nothing definite
could ever be brought home to him. It often occurred, that he brought us
sheep into the fort, and offered them at a low price; but he would never
higgle: whatever price he asked first, we had always to give him, for he
would sooner have let his head be chopped off, than bate a kopeck. It
was whispered that he was fond of knocking about with the Abreks beyond
the Kuban, and to say the truth of him, he had very much the cut of a
robber: rather small, well knit, broad shouldered, and as nimble as any
wild cat! His Tartar frock, beshmet they call it, was always torn and
patched, but his weapons were bright, and adorned with silver. And then
his horse, it was renowned throughout all Kabarda, and a better it would
certainly be impossible to conceive. It was not without reason, all the
marauders envied him the possession of such an animal, and more than one
attempt was made to steal it from him, but never with success. I can see
that horse now, as plainly as if it stood before me, black as pitch, its
limbs slender and strong as steel, its eyes a match for Bela’s; and then
for bottom! it would clear its full fifty versts at full speed; and so
tractable, that it would follow its master like a dog, ay! it knew even
what he said. Very often he did not even tether it. Take it for all in
all, it was the very model of a robber’s horse.
Kasbitch was more sullen that evening than usual, and I noticed that he
had on a shirt of mail under his beshmet. It is not for nothing, thinks
I, he wears that shirt of mail; he has something in his head, I’m sure.
The guest room was very close, and I went out of doors to breathe the
fresh air. Night had now settled on the mountains, and the mists were
creeping forth from the glens. The thought struck me I would go into the
shed where our horses stood, and see if they had fodder. I had an
excellent horse with me, and more than one Kabardan had already looked
at him with an approving eye; so I thought a little caution could do no
harm at all events.
Groping along the boarded wall, I suddenly heard voices. One of them I
recognized instantly for that scamp Asamat’s, our host’s son; the other
person spoke less, and in a lower tone. What are they coshering about?
thought I; not about my horse, is it? With that I squatted down by the
wall, determined not to lose a word; but the noise of the singing, and
the din within doors now and then drowned a part of the conversation in
which I was so much interested.
‘You have a splendid horse,’ said Asamat. ‘Were I master here, and had a
herd of three hundred mares, I would freely give the half of them for
your courser, Kasbitch.’
Aha, Kasbitch! said I to myself; and I called to mind the shirt of mail.
‘Ay,’ replied Kasbitch, after a moment’s silence, ‘there is not his like
in all Kabarda. Once—this was beyond the Terek—I set out with the Abreks
to capture Russian herds of horses. The attempt was a failure, and we
scattered, one this way, another that. Four Cossacks were after me. I
could hear the villains shout behind me, and before me was a thick
forest. I bent down in the saddle, commended myself to Allah, and for
the first time in my life dealt my horse a blow with my whip. He darted
like a bird through the branches, my clothes were torn in shreds, and
the twigs lashed me in the face. My horse leaped over the stumps of
trees, and burst the thick underwood asunder with his chest. As far as
myself was concerned, I should have done better to have turned my horse
loose in the copse, and hid myself in the wood, but I could not part
from him, and the prophet rewarded me. Some bullets whistled over my
head, and I heard my pursuers close behind me. Suddenly a deep chasm
yawned before me—my courser recoiled on his haunches—and leaped. His
hind feet slipped on the further bank, and he hung on by his fore feet.
I dropped the rein, and let myself fall into the chasm: that saved him,
he regained his footing. The Cossacks saw the whole affair, but none of
them thought of descending in search of me. They believed, no doubt, I
must have broken my neck, and I heard them dash after my horse to catch
him. The blood curdled in my breast. I crept through the deep grass
along the bottom of the channel, and looked out: the wood ended there,
and some of the Cossacks were just riding out of it into the open
country, and I saw my Karagos running straight towards them. The whole
pack made at him with a yell; he turned; they followed him a long, long
while; and one in particular was twice near flinging the noose over his
neck. I shook from head to foot, shut my eyes, and began to pray. Some
moments afterwards I opened them again, and behold, there goes my
Karagos, with his tail at full stretch, flying like the wind, and the
Cossacks creeping away one after the other, on their jaded horses far
off towards the Steppe. By Allah! every word I tell you is the truth,
the strict truth! I staid in the chasm till a late hour of the night.
All at once—guess what, Asamat!—I heard a horse running along the bank,
snorting, whinnying, and pawing the ground. I knew the voice of my
Karagos, and it was he, indeed, my trusty comrade! Since that day we are
inseparable.’
And I could hear him patting his horse’s polished neck, and calling him
by all the endearing names he could think of.
‘If I had a herd of a thousand mares,’ cried Asamat, ‘I would give them
every one for your Karagos.’
‘Like enough; but I would not let him go for them,’ said Kasbitch, with
indifference.
‘Hark ye, Kasbitch,’ said Asamat coaxingly. ‘You are a good fellow, you
are a brave zhighit; my father, you see, fears the Russians, and will
not let me go to the mountains; now give me your horse, and I will do
every thing you desire. I will steal you my father’s best rifle, his
best shashka—any thing you will. His shashka is a genuine gurda: only
hold it out in your hand, and the blade strikes into the flesh of its
own accord; and his shirt of mail is as good as yours every bit.’
Kasbitch made no answer.
‘The first time I saw your horse,’ continued Asamat, ‘as it whirled
round beneath you, and dashed away with expanded nostrils, the stones
flashing fire beneath its hoofs, something, I know not what, seized hold
of my soul, and from that moment I could never bear to look at any
other. I scorned my father’s best and fleetest steeds, I should have
been ashamed to be seen on the back of one of them. I was completely
overcome with grief, and would sit pining the livelong day on a rock,
and every moment I had before my eyes your black horse, with his stately
step, his back straight and smooth as an arrow, and his bright eyes that
looked into mine, as if he would speak to me. I shall die Kasbitch, if
you will not let me have him.’
Asamat’s voice faltered, and I fancied I heard him crying. Now I must
tell you Asamat was a most hardened and vicious chap, from whom there
was no forcing a tear, even when he was a nursed child. A scornful laugh
was the only answer to his tears.
‘Hear me,’ said Asamat, with a firm voice: ‘My mind is made up for any
thing—every thing! Shall I steal my sister for you? How she dances! How
she sings! and she embroiders in gold, that it is a wonder to see! The
Turkish padisha hardly possesses such a girl—Well! Only say the word.
Wait for me to-morrow night in the glen yonder, by the waterfall; I will
take her that way as if to the neighbouring hamlet, and she is yours.
What say you, is not Bela well worth your courser?’
Kasbitch was silent for a long, long while; at last instead of replying,
he began to chant an old ditty, half aloud:
‘Down in our hamlet many are the beauteous maidens
Stars are gleaming in the dark heaven of their eyes.
Sweet it were to own their love, a lot, indeed, to envy!
But sweeter still than this is young and lusty freedom.
For gold you may buy beauties, ay, as many as you will,
But a steed of highest mettle is a treasure beyond price,
Swift as the wind he flies over the Steppes,
And fickleness and falsehood have no place in him.’
It was to no purpose Asamat importuned him to accept his proposal, and
wept, and raved, and swore; Kasbitch lost patience at last.
‘Go along, silly boy!’ he said. ‘You ride my horse! With the first three
steps he would fling you off, and break your neck on the stones.’
‘Me!’ screamed Asamat, in a fury, and the boy’s dagger clashed on the
coat of mail. But a vigorous hand shook him off, and dashed him with
such violence against the boarded wall that it rocked with the blow.
Here’s a pretty piece of work! thought I; so I hurried to the stall,
bridled our horses, and led them to the backdoor. In two minutes there
was a tremendous row in the house. What happened there was briefly this:
Asamat rushed in, with his beshmet torn, crying out that Kasbitch wanted
to murder him. All present sprang up, seized their weapons, and the
brawl began. All were shouting, blows, and firing; but Kasbitch was
already in the saddle, and broke, like an incarnate fiend, through the
throng, brandishing his shashka. Petchorin wanted to see how it would
end, but he took my advice, and we rode straight home.
L.—And how did it fare with Kasbitch?
M.—The usual luck of these fellows; he got clear off whether wounded or
not, Heaven only knows! They have as many lives as cats, these robbers.
I saw one of them, for instance, in battle, pierced like a sieve with
bayonet holes, yet still laying about him with his shashka. [The captain
paused awhile, and then continued, stamping on the ground]: One thing I
shall never forgive myself: the devil put it into my head, when I got
back to the fort, to tell Petchorin all I had overheard in the shed. He
smiled, with such a sly air,—he had his reasons for it, as you shall
see.
Asamat came to the fort some three or four days after the wedding, and,
as usual, made for Petchorin’s quarters, where he was always pampered
with dainties. I was present: the conversation turned on horses, and
Petchorin began to cry up Kasbitch’s horse, it was so spirited, so
handsome, so like an antelope—in short, by his account, there was not
such another on the face of the earth. The little Tartar’s eyes began to
glow, but Petchorin pretended not to notice this. I turned the talk to
other subjects, but he somehow contrived always to bring it back to
Kasbitch’s horse. The same thing invariably occurred as often as Asamat
visited us. At the end of three weeks I could plainly perceive that the
boy was growing pale and wasted, just as the effects of love are
described in romances. Curious!
Now it was not till some time after, do you see, that I got at the
rights of this whole piece of roguery. Petchorin tantalized him to that
degree, that he was ready to drown himself. At last he said to him, ‘I
see, Asamat, you have taken a great fancy to this horse; but you have no
more chance of ever getting him than of seeing the back of your own
neck. Tell me, though, what would you give the man who should procure
you the animal?’
‘Any thing he desired,’ replied Asamat.
‘If that is the case, I am your man; you shall have the horse, but on
one condition—swear that you will fulfil it.’
‘I swear! You, too, swear.’
‘Very good. I swear the horse shall be yours; only you must give me your
sister Bela in return. The bargain I think will be a profitable one for
you.’ Asamat was silent.
‘You will not do it? As you please. I thought you were a full grown man,
but I see you are still only a boy. It is too soon for you to back a
horse like’—
Asamat was on fire. ‘But my father?’ said he.
‘Does he never leave home?’
‘Well, he does, sometimes.’
‘Then it is done?’
‘Done!’ whispered Asamat, as pale as death. ‘The time?’
‘The first time Kasbitch comes here. He promised to bring ten sheep to
the fort. Leave the rest to me. Do you do your part, Asamat.’
And thus they arranged the whole affair between them, no very creditable
affair, to say the least of it. I expressed this opinion subsequently to
Petchorin; but he merely replied, that the barbarian Circassian girl was
very well off to get so good a husband as himself, for according to the
way of thinking of her own people, he was in every respect her husband;
and that Kasbitch was a robber who deserved to be punished. Judge for
yourself, what answer I could make to that? But, at that time, I knew
nothing of the preconcerted bargain. Well, behold you! Kasbitch came at
last, and asked, did we want sheep or honey? I desired him to bring them
on the following day. ‘Asamat,’ said Petchorin, ‘to-morrow Karagos will
be in my possession; if Bela is not here this night, you shall never see
the horse.’
‘Good,’ said Asamat, and off he ran to the hamlet. In the evening,
Petchorin armed himself and rode out of the fort. How they managed the
thing I cannot tell; all I know is that the sentinel saw a girl laid
crossways on Asamat’s saddle, her hands and feet bound, and her head
muffled up in a thick veil.
Next day Kasbitch came with ten sheep for sale. After putting up his
horse he came in to me. I entertained him with tea, because, though he
was a robber, we were on terms of hospitality. We were chatting about
one thing and another, when all on a sudden, I saw Kasbitch start and
change colour. ‘What is the matter?’ said I.
‘My horse! my horse!’ he cried, trembling all over.
‘Well, I did hear the sound of a horse. Some Cossack, I suppose’——
‘No! Russian treachery! treachery!’ he bellowed, dashing headlong out of
doors, like a wild panther. In two bounds he was in the open air. The
sentinel at the gate levelled his piece at him, and barred his way: he
leaped over the soldier’s gun, and ran with all his might and main along
the road. The dust was flying at a distance—Asamat was gallopping away
on the back of Karagos. Kasbitch uncased his gun as he ran, and fired,
then stood motionless till he had assured himself he had missed his aim;
then howled with rage, flung the weapon from his hand, shattering it
against the stones, and began to cry like a child. Numbers had gathered
around him from the fort—he heeded nothing: they lingered with him,
tried to talk with him, and at last left him. I ordered the money for
the sheep to be laid beside him: he never touched it; but lay with his
face on the ground like a dead man. Would you believe it? He lay there
the whole livelong night. It was not till next morning he returned to
the fort, and entreated our people to tell him the name of the thief.
The sentinel, who had seen Asamat untie the horse and gallop away with
him, did not think it necessary to make any secret of the matter.
Kasbitch’s eyes flashed fire at that name, and, turning on his heel, he
made straight for the hamlet where Asamat’s father lived. But he did not
find him there. He had gone from home for six days; and that was one of
the helping circumstances of the plot, for otherwise Asamat could hardly
have carried off his sister.
But when the father returned, there was neither son nor daughter in the
place. The thieving villain! he well knew he could never save his neck
if he let himself be caught. So from that hour he was never seen again.
Probably he joined some band of Abreks, or had his hot head cooled for
him beyond the Terek or the Kuban. His route was in that direction. The
father soon afterwards paid the penalty of his son’s crime. Kasbitch
never doubted but that Asamat had stolen the horse with the privity and
consent of his father; at least so I conjecture. Accordingly he lay in
lurk one day, by the road, some two versts from the hamlet. The old man
was returning from a fruitless search after his daughter; his _usdens_
(retinue of vassals) were some distance behind him. It was dusk, and he
was riding slowly along, as a man in deep grief might do, when Kasbitch
sprang, like a cat, from behind a bush, leaped up behind the old man,
stabbed and flung him on the ground, then seized the reins and away!
Some usdens saw the whole proceeding from a hill, and hotly pursued the
murderer, but in vain.
[Honest Maxim Maximitch severely remonstrated with his subaltern when he
became aware of the shameful act the latter had committed; but the
mischief was irreparable, and the good-natured captain contented himself
with trying to make the best of a bad business. Bela herself, after her
first resentful emotions had subsided, yielded to her fate, and even
acknowledged that since she first saw Petchorin she had never ceased to
think of him. The Captain continued thus]:
She was a charming girl, this Bela. I grew as attached to her, at last,
as if she were my own daughter, and she was fond of me too. You must
know I have no family; I have heard nothing these twelve years of my
father and mother. Formerly I had not sufficient means to maintain a
wife, and now, you know, the time is gone by when I could fairly think
of the like; it was a godsend to me, therefore, to have some one to
spoil. She often sang to us, or danced Lesgish dances—and what a dancer!
I have seen our ladies of the provinces—I was once at a ball of the
nobles at Moscow, twenty years ago—but what was all I saw there compared
with her! Petchorin dressed her out like a doll, with every thing that
was costly and pretty. She grew more beautiful, too, with us, every day;
it was wonderful. Her face and hands lost their sunburnt hue, a soft
tinge of red appeared on her cheeks—and how merry she could be, and what
tricks she would often play upon me, the darling wanton! God be gracious
to her!
For four months every thing went on as well as heart could wish.
Petchorin, as I believe I told you before, was uncommonly fond of the
chase. Formerly all his delight was in the woods, after the wild boars
and the deer, but now he hardly ever went outside the gates of the fort.
All at once, however, I observed he was grown pensive, and would walk up
and down the room with his hands behind his back. Then he went out one
morning to shoot, without saying a word to any one, and stayed out the
whole day. Presently this happened a second time, and then again and
again. There’s something wrong, thought I; I’ll lay my life on it, a
black cat has jumped between the pair.
[It was so. Petchorin’s passion was beginning to cool, and Bela was
growing unhappy. One day, when Petchorin was away hunting, she walked
out with the captain on the ramparts.]
Our fort stood on high ground, and the view from the ramparts was very
fine. On the one side was an open tract, bounded by ravines, beyond
which was a wood, stretching up to the crest of the mountain; here and
there hamlets were seen smoking, and horses grazing. On the other side
ran a small stream scattering its spray over the thick copse that
clothed a rocky hill, an offshoot from the main chain of the Caucasus.
We sat on the angle of a bastion, so that we had a full view on both
sides. Suddenly I saw a man ride out of the wood on a grey horse. He
came towards us, stopped on the other side of the brook, and began to
make his horse caper about as if he was mad. ‘What the deuce is that?’
said I. ‘Look yonder, Bela, your eyes are younger than mine; what sort
of a zhighit is that? For whose amusement is he playing such antics?’
She looked towards the horseman, and cried out, ‘It is Kasbitch! And
that is my father’s horse!’ she said, grasping my hand. She trembled
like an aspen leaf, and her eyes flashed. ‘Ha! the robber!’ cried I,
and, looking more closely, I saw sure enough it was Kasbitch with his
swarthy features, and his clothes as ragged and dirty as ever.
‘Come here,’ said I, to the sentry; ‘look to your piece, and shoot me
that fellow yonder. You shall have a silver ruble if you hit him.’ ‘Very
well, your honour; but he never stops a moment in one spot.’ ‘Call to
him to stand still,’ said I, laughing. ‘Holla, my good fellow,’ shouted
the sentinel, beckoning to the horseman, ‘stand still a bit, will you?
what do you keep wheeling about in that way for?’ Kasbitch actually
stopped, and appeared to listen, thinking, probably, that we wanted to
parley with him—but no such thing; my grenadier levelled—puff!—the piece
flashed in the pan. Kasbitch struck the spur into his horse, and it made
a side bound. Then, standing up in the stirrups, he shouted out
something in his own tongue, shook his _nagaika_ (whip) at us, and was
off.
About four hours afterwards Petchorin came back from hunting. Bela threw
herself on his neck; and not one word of complaint did she utter, not
one word of reproach for his long absence. But for my part, I could not
help expostulating with him. ‘For God’s sake,’ said I, ‘only think!
Kasbitch was just now on the other side of the stream, and we fired at
him: it was the greatest chance that you did not fall in with him. These
Gorzans are a vindictive race. You fancy he has no suspicion that you
abetted Asamat. I will lay you a bet he recognized Bela. I know he took
a great liking to her a year ago: he told me so himself; and also, that,
when he should have raised the means to make her father the necessary
presents, he would probably become her suitor.’ This made Petchorin
thoughtful. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘we must be more cautious. Bela, from this
day forth, you must not show yourself on the ramparts.’
I had a long explanation with him in the evening. I was vexed at his
change of conduct towards the poor girl: for, besides his spending half
his time in field-sports, his behaviour was cold, he seldom showed her
marks of fondness, and she was manifestly beginning to fall away in
flesh: her little face became smaller, and her large eyes grew dim. If
he asked her, ‘What ails you Bela; are you fretting?’ she would answer,
‘No.’ ‘Is there any thing you wish for?’ ‘No.’ ‘Are you grieving for
your brother and sister?’ ‘I have no brother and sister.’ It often
happened that for whole days together you could not get a word out of
her, but yes and no.
* * * * *
Kasbitch did not show himself again; only I could not get it out of my
head, that he had not come to the fort for nothing, and that he had some
mischief in view.
One day it chanced that Petchorin prevailed on me, to accompany him to
hunt the boar. I had refused for a long while; the sport, indeed, was
any thing but new to me, and offered me no temptation. He forced me,
however, to go with him; so we set out early in the morning, taking with
us an escort of five soldiers. We beat about the bushes and the grass,
till ten o’clock, but started no game. ‘I think we had better go home,’
said I; ‘what is the good of stopping here? This is plainly no lucky
day.’ But in spite of heat and fatigue, Gregorii Alexandrovitch would
not go back empty handed. That was just his way: whatever he took into
his head, must be: it was easy to see his mother had made a spoiled pet
of him in his childhood. At last about noon we discovered a boar—bang!
bang!—but it would not do; the boar made for the bulrushes, and escaped;
the day was decidedly an unlucky one. After we had rested, and taken
breath a little, we set out on our way home.
We rode side by side in silence, with our reins slackened, and had
nearly reached the fort, which was only concealed from our view by the
copse. Suddenly we heard a shot. We looked in each other’s faces: the
same suspicion flashed upon us both: we galloped headlong in the
direction of the fort, and saw a group of soldiers on the ramparts; they
pointed towards the open country, and there sped a horseman with the
swiftness of an arrow, holding something white before him on the saddle
bow. Gregorii Alexandrovitch gave a loud screech, that the very best
Tchetchenz could not have beaten, whipped out his rifle from the case,
and away with him, myself following.
Fortunately, as our sporting had not been lucky, our horses were still
fresh; they cleared the ground at a great rate, and every moment brought
us nearer and nearer to the object of our pursuit. At last I recognized
Kasbitch; only I could not make out what it was he carried before him. I
was now again alongside of Petchorin, and called out to him that it was
Kasbitch. He cast a look at me, nodded, and lashed his horse.
At last we were but a rifle shot from the robber. Whether it was that
Kasbitch’s horse was fatigued, or that it was worse than ours, at any
rate, he did not make good way. I warrant he thought of his Karagos at
that moment.
Looking round at Petchorin, I saw him present his rifle while galloping
at full speed. ‘No firing!’ I shouted to him; ‘reserve your charge, we
will catch him yet.’ But such is youth; it never gives fire at the right
moment. The shot went off whilst I was speaking, and the ball struck the
horse in the hind leg; it still kept on for a few paces, stumbled, and
fell on its knees. Kasbitch was instantly on his feet, and now we saw
that he had a female closely muffled up in his grasp. It was Bela—poor
Bela! He shouted something to us in his own language, and raised his
dagger to strike. There was no time to be lost, I fired almost at
random, and thought for certain I had hit him in the shoulder, for his
arm instantly, fell. When the smoke had cleared away, there lay the
wounded horse on the ground, and Bela beside it; but Kasbitch, throwing
away his rifle among the bushes, clambered up the rocks like a cat. What
would I not have given to bring him down thence with a ball! but both
our pieces were discharged. We sprang from our horses and rushed to
Bela. Poor creature, she lay motionless, with the blood gushing from her
wound. What a miscreant! Had he even stabbed her to the heart—at least
it would have been all over at once—but in the back! it was a genuine
robber’s stroke. She was insensible: we tore up her veil, and stanched
the wound as well as we could: in vain Petchorin kissed her cold
lips—nothing could bring her back to consciousness.
Petchorin mounted; I lifted her from the ground, and placed her
carefully before him on the saddle; he put his arm round her, and we
rode back to the fort. We sent for the surgeon; he was rather drunk, but
he came; and having examined the wound, he told us she could not live
two days. He was wrong however—
L.—Did she recover?
M.—No. The surgeon was only thus far mistaken, that she did survive for
two days.
L.—But tell me, how had Kasbitch contrived to carry her off?
M.—In this way. Contrary to Petchorin’s express desire, she had gone out
of the fort to the stream. The weather you see, was very hot, so she sat
down on a stone, and bathed her feet in the water. Just then Kasbitch
stole along, pounced upon her, clapped his hand upon her mouth, dragged
her into the thicket, where he sprang on his horse with her, and was
off. Meanwhile she had been able to cry out; the sentinels were alarmed;
they fired, but missed; and at that moment we came up.
L.—But what was Kasbitch’s motive for carrying her off?
M.—Motive? Why, they are all notorious robbers, these Circassians. If
any thing is badly watched, you may be sure they will not leave it
alone. Many a thing may be of no use to them, but they steal it for all
that. Besides he had long had a fancy for the girl.
L.—And Bela died?
M.—She died; but she suffered long, and we also with her. She became
conscious again about ten, that night. We were sitting by her bedside.
The moment she opened her eyes, she called for Petchorin. ‘Here I am, my
zhaneshka’ (my little soul), he said, taking her hand in his. ‘I shall
die,’ she said. We began to comfort her, and told her the surgeon had
promised for certain he would bring her round. She shook her head, and
turned her face to the wall: she was loath to die.
During the night she began to be delirious; her head burned, and
feverish shiverings repeatedly convulsed her frame. She spoke in
disjointed phrases, of her father and her brother; she would go to the
mountains, to her home. Then she talked of Petchorin, calling him by all
sorts of endearing names, or upbraiding him for having ceased to love
his zhaneshka.
* * * * *
Well, well! it was a good thing she died; for what would have become of
her, had Petchorin forsaken her? It would certainly have come to that,
soon or late. One thing I confess, particularly distressed me: she never
once uttered my name before she died; and yet I am sure I loved her like
a father. Well, God forgive her for it!—And indeed for that matter, who
am I, that she should think of me in her last moments?
L.—How did Petchorin bear it?
M.—Petchorin was a long time ill; he wasted away, poor fellow: we never
spoke again of Bela, from that time forth. Three months afterwards he
was transferred to another regiment, and left Georgia; we have never met
since.
L.—Did you never hear what became afterwards of Kasbitch?
M.—Of Kasbitch? I really do not know. I am told indeed that there is
among the Shapsooks, on our right flank, a certain Kasbitch, a wild dare
devil, that rides at a foot-pace in his red beshmet, in front of our
artillery, and bows politely when a cannon ball whizzes past him; but it
can hardly be the same.
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