Princess Mary summary
The chapter “Princess Mary” by Lermontov is included in the second part of the cycle “Hero of Our Time,” written in 1840. The story described in the story is presented in the form of the diary of the main character - the scandalous heartthrob, officer Pechorin. We recommend reading online a summary of “Princess Mary” by dates , which will be useful when preparing for a literature lesson.
The main characters are Grigory Aleksandrovich Pechorin - a Russian officer, an intelligent, satiated, bored young man. Princess Mary is a beautiful, well-educated girl. Vera is a young woman with whom Pechorin was previously in love. Grushnitsky is a cadet, a handsome, slender, narcissistic young man. Other characters Princess Ligovskaya is a noble lady from Moscow, forty-five years old, Mary’s mother. Werner is a doctor, a good friend of Pechorin.
Summary
May 11 Having arrived in Pyatigorsk and rented an apartment, Pechorin went for a walk, where he met a fellow cadet Grushnitsky. He said that only Princess Ligovskaya and her young daughter Mary were of greatest interest in the city. It was clear that Grushnitsky was not indifferent to the girl.
May 13 From Doctor Werner, who entered the Ligovskys’ house, Pechorin learned that among those present there was some relative of noble ladies - “blonde, with regular features” and a mole on her cheek. Hearing this, Pechorin shuddered - in this portrait he recognized “one woman whom he loved in the old days.” On May 16 , Pechorin met the same blonde with a mole. She turned out to be a young noble lady named Vera, with whom Pechorin had an affair in the past. Vera said that for the sake of her son’s well-being, she married a rich, sick old man for the second time. Passion flared up again between the former lovers, and Pechorin promised Vera to “drag after the princess in order to divert attention from her.”
On May 21 , Pechorin was waiting for the right opportunity to get closer to the Ligovskys. Having learned that a ball would take place, he decided to “dance the mazurka with the princess” all evening.
On May 22, Pechorin kept his promise, and at the ball he did not leave Mary’s side. In addition, he protected her from the advances of a drunken officer, which caused a wave of gratitude from the princess and princess.
On May 23, Grushnitsky was worried that the princess had lost her former interest in him. At a reception with the Ligovskys, Vera admitted to Pechorin that she was very sick, but all her thoughts were occupied only with him.
May 29 All these days, Pechorin “never once deviated from his system.” He carefully watched Mary's reaction and noticed that she was completely tired of Grushnitsky.
On June 3 , Pechorin reflected on why he persistently sought “the love of a young girl” whom he did not even intend to seduce. His thoughts were interrupted by Grushnitsky, who shared the good news - he had been promoted to officer. The young man hoped that now it would be easier for him to win the princess’s heart.
On June 4 , Vera tortured Pechorin with her jealousy of the princess. She asked him to follow her to Kislovodsk and rent an apartment nearby. The Ligovskys were also supposed to come there over time.
June 5 At the ball, Grushnitsky planned to defeat Mary with his new infantry uniform. However, the girl was frankly bored in his company. Pechorin began to entertain the princess, which caused a wave of indignation among Grushnitsky.
June 6 The next morning “Vera left with her husband for Kislovodsk.” Pechorin sought to meet her alone, because “love, like fire, goes out without food.”
June 7 From his friend Werner, Pechorin learned that rumors about his imminent wedding with the princess began to spread in the city. He realized that this was the work of the jealous Grushnitsky. The next morning Pechorin went to Kislovodsk.
June 10 In Kislovodsk, Pechorin often met Vera at the spring. A cheerful company led by Grushnitsky also appeared in the city, which regularly organized brawls in the tavern.
June 11 The Ligovskys arrived in Kislovodsk, and Pechorin immediately noticed that the princess was especially gentle with him. This seemed like a bad sign to him.
June 12 This evening “was full of incidents.” During a horseback ride, Mary confessed her love to Pechorin, but he did not react to the confession, which brought the girl out of balance. Returning home, the hero became an unwitting witness to the vile conspiracy that Grushnitsky’s friends were organizing against him. They encouraged the young officer to challenge Pechorin to a duel, but not to load the pistols. Pechorin “did not sleep all night,” and in the morning he admitted to the princess that he did not love her at all.
On June 14 , Pechorin explained that his “insurmountable aversion to marriage” is explained by the words of a fortune teller who predicted to his mother the death of her son from an evil wife.
On June 15 , Pechorin managed to organize a secret meeting with Vera. They had to get out of her bedroom using knitted shawls. Having barely touched the ground, Pechorin found himself in a trap set by Grushnitsky’s cronies. Only by miracle did he manage to fight back and run home.
June 16 The next day, Grushnitsky publicly accused Pechorin of visiting the princess’s chambers at night. The hero challenged the young man to a duel, and asked Doctor Werner to be his second. After negotiations with Grushnitsky, Werner made a guess - the friends planned to “load one of Grushnitsky’s pistols with a bullet,” turning the duel into a real murder. In the duel, the first shot went to Grushnitsky, who intentionally only slightly scratched his opponent’s knee. Pechorin exposed their conspiracy and demanded that his pistol be reloaded. He shot at Grushnitsky and killed him.
Arriving home, Pechorin found Vera's letter. She wrote that she confessed everything to her husband, and he hastened to take her away from Kislovodsk. Pechorin “jumped out onto the porch like crazy,” mounted his horse and drove it after the carriage. But the already tired horse could not withstand the mad race and died in the middle of the steppe. Pechorin fell to the ground and “cryed bitterly, not trying to hold back his tears and sobs.”
Having come to his senses, the hero returned home, where his explanation with Mary took place. He advised the girl to simply despise him, and then he bowed dryly and left. Rumors about the duel harmed Pechorin, who received an order to immediately go to fortress N. Having arrived at the place, he tried to analyze his life, but came to the conclusion that “quiet joys and peace of mind” were incompatible with his rebellious nature.
Conclusion Lermontov's work reveals the theme of the “superfluous man”, which Pechorin is represented by. A constant feeling of boredom makes him a cold, insensitive person, unable to appreciate either someone else's or his own life.
After reading the brief retelling of “Princess Mary,” we recommend reading the story in its full version.
Princess MaryText
May 11th
Yesterday I arrived in Pyatigorsk, rented an apartment on the edge of the city, on the highest place, at the foot of Mashuk: during a thunderstorm, the clouds will descend to my roof. Today at five o'clock in the morning, when I opened the window, my room was filled with the smell of flowers growing in a modest front garden. Branches of blossoming cherry trees look into my windows, and the wind sometimes strews my desk with their white petals. I have a wonderful view from three sides. To the west, the five-headed Beshtu turns blue, like “the last cloud of a scattered storm”; Mashuk rises to the north like a shaggy Persian hat and covers this entire part of the sky; It’s more fun to look to the east: below me, a clean, brand new town is colorful, healing springs are rustling, a multilingual crowd is noisy - and there, further, mountains are piled up like an amphitheater, ever bluer and foggier, and at the edge of the horizon stretches a silver chain of snowy peaks, starting with Kazbek and ending double-headed Elborus... It's fun to live in such a land! Some kind of gratifying feeling flowed through all my veins. The air is clean and fresh, like a child's kiss; the sun is bright, the sky is blue - what would seem to be more? – why are there passions, desires, regrets?.. However, it’s time. I’ll go to the Elizabethan spring: there, they say, the whole water community gathers in the morning.
* * *
Having descended into the middle of the city, I walked along the boulevard, where I met several sad groups slowly ascending the mountain; they were most of the family of steppe landowners; this could be immediately guessed from the worn, old-fashioned frock coats of the husbands and from the exquisite outfits of the wives and daughters; Apparently, they had already counted all the water youth, because they looked at me with tender curiosity: the St. Petersburg cut of the frock coat misled them, but, soon recognizing the army epaulettes, they turned away indignantly.
The wives of the local authorities, the mistresses of the waters, so to speak, were more supportive; they have lorgnettes, they pay less attention to the uniform, they are accustomed in the Caucasus to meet an ardent heart under a numbered button and an educated mind under a white cap. These ladies are very nice; and sweet for a long time! Every year their admirers are replaced by new ones, and this may be the secret of their tireless courtesy. Climbing along the narrow path to the Elizabeth Spring, I overtook a crowd of men, civilians and military, who, as I learned later, constitute a special class of people among those waiting for the movement of water. They drink - but not water, they walk a little, they drag around only in passing; they play and complain about boredom. They are dandies: lowering their braided glass into a well of sour sulfur water, they take on academic poses: civilians wear light blue ties, military men let out ruffles from behind their collars. They profess deep contempt for provincial houses and sigh for the aristocratic drawing rooms of the capital, where they are not allowed.
Finally, here is the well... On the site near it there is a house with a red roof over the bathtub, and further away there is a gallery where people walk during the rain. Several wounded officers sat on a bench, picking up their crutches, pale and sad. Several ladies walked quickly back and forth across the site, waiting for the action of the waters. Between them were two or three pretty faces. Under the grape alleys covering the slope of Mashuk, the colorful hats of lovers of solitude together flashed from time to time, because next to such a hat I always noticed either a military cap or an ugly round hat. On the steep cliff where the pavilion, called the Aeolian Harp, was built, view-seekers stood and pointed their telescopes at Elborus; between them there were two tutors with their pupils, who had come to be treated for scrofula.
I stopped, out of breath, on the edge of the mountain and, leaning against the corner of the house, began to examine the surroundings, when suddenly I heard a familiar voice behind me:
- Pechorin! how long have you been here?
I turn around: Grushnitsky! We hugged. I met him in the active detachment. He was wounded by a bullet in the leg and went to the waters a week before me. Grushnitsky - cadet. He has only been in the service for a year, and wears, out of a special kind of dandyism, a thick soldier’s overcoat. He has a soldier's cross of St. George. He is well built, dark and black-haired; he looks like he might be twenty-five years old, although he is hardly twenty-one. He throws his head back when he speaks, and constantly twirls his mustache with his left hand, because he leans on a crutch with his right. He speaks quickly and pretentiously: he is one of those people who have ready-made pompous phrases for all occasions, who are not touched by simply beautiful things and who are solemnly draped in extraordinary feelings, sublime passions and exceptional suffering. To produce an effect is their delight; Romantic provincial women like them crazy. In old age they become either peaceful landowners or drunkards - sometimes both. There are often many good qualities in their souls, but not a penny of poetry. Grushnitsky had a passion for declaiming: he bombarded you with words as soon as the conversation left the circle of ordinary concepts; I could never argue with him. He doesn't respond to your objections, he doesn't listen to you. As soon as you stop, he begins a long tirade, apparently having some connection with what you said, but which in fact is only a continuation of his own speech.
He is quite sharp: his epigrams are often funny, but they are never pointed or evil: he will not kill anyone with one word; he does not know people and their weak strings, because his whole life he has been focused on himself. His goal is to become the hero of a novel. He tried so often to convince others that he was a being not created for the world, doomed to some kind of secret suffering, that he himself was almost convinced of it. That’s why he wears his thick soldier’s overcoat so proudly. I understood him, and he doesn’t love me for this, although outwardly we are on the most friendly terms. Grushnitsky is reputed to be an excellent brave man; I saw him in action; he waves his saber, shouts and rushes forward, closing his eyes. This is something not Russian courage!..
I don’t like him either: I feel that someday we will collide with him on a narrow road, and one of us will be in trouble. His arrival in the Caucasus is also a consequence of his romantic fanaticism: I am sure that on the eve of leaving his father’s village he said with a gloomy look to some pretty neighbor that he was not going just to serve, but that he was looking for death, because... here , he probably covered his eyes with his hand and continued like this: “No, you (or you) shouldn’t know this! Your pure soul will tremble! And why? What am I to you! Will you understand me? - and so on.
He himself told me that the reason that prompted him to join the K. regiment would remain an eternal secret between him and heaven.
However, in those moments when he casts off his tragic mantle, Grushnitsky is quite sweet and funny. I’m curious to see him with women: that’s where I think he’s trying!
We met as old friends. I began to ask him about the way of life on the waters and about remarkable persons.
“We lead a rather prosaic life,” he said, sighing, “those who drink water in the morning are lethargic, like all the sick, and those who drink wine in the evening are unbearable, like all the healthy people.” There are women's societies; Their only small consolation is that they play whist, dress badly and speak terrible French. This year only Princess Ligovskaya and her daughter are from Moscow; but I'm unfamiliar with them. My soldier's overcoat is like a seal of rejection. The participation it excites is as heavy as alms.
At that moment two ladies walked past us to the well: one was elderly, the other was young and slender. I couldn’t see their faces behind their hats, but they were dressed according to the strict rules of the best taste: nothing superfluous! The second wore a closed gris de perles dress, a light silk scarf curled around her flexible neck.
The couleur puce [2] boots cinched her lean leg at the ankle so nicely that even someone not initiated into the mysteries of beauty would certainly have gasped, albeit in surprise. Her light but noble gait had something virginal in it, eluding definition, but clear to the eye. When she passed us, she smelled that inexplicable aroma that sometimes comes from a note from a sweet woman.
“Here is Princess Ligovskaya,” said Grushnitsky, “and with her is her daughter Mary, as she calls her in the English manner.” They've only been here for three days.
“However, do you already know her name?”
“Yes, I heard by chance,” he answered, blushing, “I admit, I don’t want to get to know them.” This proud nobility looks at us army men as wild. And what do they care if there is a mind under a numbered cap and a heart under a thick overcoat?
- Poor overcoat! - I said, grinning, - who is this gentleman who comes up to them and so helpfully hands them a glass?
- ABOUT! - this is the Moscow dandy Raevich! He is a player: this can be seen immediately by the huge golden chain that snakes along his blue vest. And what a thick cane – it looks like Robinson Crusoe’s! And the beard, by the way, and the hairstyle à la moujik[3].
“You are embittered against the entire human race.”
- And there is a reason...
- ABOUT! right?
At this time, the ladies moved away from the well and caught up with us. Grushnitsky managed to assume a dramatic pose with the help of a crutch and answered me loudly in French:
– Mon cher, je hais les hommes pour ne pas les mepriser car autrement la vie serait une farce trop degoutante[4].
The pretty princess turned around and gave the speaker a long, curious look. The expression of this gaze was very vague, but not mocking, for which I inwardly congratulated him from the bottom of my heart.
“This Princess Mary is very pretty,” I told him. - She has such velvet eyes - just velvet: I advise you to assign this expression when talking about her eyes; the lower and upper eyelashes are so long that the rays of the sun are not reflected in her pupils. I love those eyes without shine: they are so soft, they seem to caress you... However, it seems that there is only good in her face... And what, are her teeth white? It is very important! It’s a pity that she didn’t smile at your pompous phrase.
“You talk about a pretty woman like an English horse,” Grushnitsky said indignantly.
“Mon cher,” I answered him, trying to imitate his tone, “je meprise les femmes pour ne pas les aimer car autrement la vie serait un melodrame trop ridicule[5].
I turned and walked away from him. For half an hour I walked along the grape alleys, along the limestone rocks and bushes hanging between them. It was getting hot, and I hurried home. Passing by a sour-sulfur spring, I stopped at a covered gallery to breathe under its shade; this gave me the opportunity to witness a rather curious scene. The characters were in this position. The princess and the Moscow dandy were sitting on a bench in the covered gallery, and both were apparently engaged in a serious conversation.
The princess, having probably finished her last glass, walked thoughtfully by the well. Grushnitsky stood right next to the well; there was no one else on the site.
I came closer and hid behind the corner of the gallery. At that moment Grushnitsky dropped his glass on the sand and tried to bend down to pick it up: his bad leg was preventing him. Beggar! how he managed to lean on a crutch, and all in vain. His expressive face actually depicted suffering.
Princess Mary saw all this better than me.
Lighter than a bird, she jumped up to him, bent down, picked up the glass and handed it to him with a body movement filled with inexpressible charm; then she blushed terribly, looked back at the gallery and, making sure that her mother had not seen anything, seemed to immediately calm down. When Grushnitsky opened his mouth to thank her, she was already far away. A minute later she left the gallery with her mother and the dandy, but, passing by Grushnitsky, she assumed such a decorous and important appearance - she didn’t even turn around, didn’t even notice his passionate gaze, with which he followed her for a long time, until, having descended from the mountain, she disappeared behind the sticky boulevards... But then her hat flashed across the street; she ran into the gates of one of the best houses in Pyatigorsk, the princess followed her and bowed to Raevich at the gate.
Only then did the poor cadet notice my presence.
- You've seen? - he said, shaking my hand tightly, - he’s just an angel!
- From what? – I asked with an air of pure innocence.
-Didn't you see?
- No, I saw her: she raised your glass. If there had been a watchman here, he would have done the same thing, and even faster, hoping to get some vodka. However, it is very clear that she felt sorry for you: you made such a terrible grimace when you stepped on your shot leg...
“And you weren’t at all moved, looking at her at that moment, when her soul was shining on her face?..
- No.
I lied; but I wanted to annoy him. I have an innate passion for contradiction; my whole life was just a chain of sad and unsuccessful contradictions to my heart or reason. The presence of an enthusiast fills me with a baptismal chill, and I think frequent intercourse with a sluggish phlegmatic would make me a passionate dreamer. I also admit that an unpleasant, but familiar feeling ran slightly through my heart at that moment; this feeling was envy; I boldly say “envy” because I’m used to admitting everything to myself; and it is unlikely that there will be a young man who, having met a pretty woman who has attracted his idle attention and suddenly clearly distinguishes in his presence another who is equally unknown to her, it is unlikely, I say, that there will be such a young man (of course, he has lived in great society and is accustomed to pampering his vanity ), who would not be unpleasantly surprised by this.
Silently, Grushnitsky and I descended the mountain and walked along the boulevard, past the windows of the house where our beauty had disappeared. She was sitting by the window. Grushnitsky, tugging at my hand, cast one of those dimly tender glances at her that have so little effect on women. I pointed the lorgnette at her and noticed that she smiled at his gaze, and that my impudent lorgnette had seriously angered her. And how, in fact, dare a Caucasian army soldier point a glass at a Moscow princess?..
May 13th
This morning the doctor came to see me; his name is Werner, but he is Russian. What's surprising? I knew one Ivanov, who was German.
Werner is a wonderful person for many reasons. He is a skeptic and a materialist, like almost all doctors, and at the same time a poet, and in earnest - a poet in practice always and often in words, although he never wrote two poems in his life. He studied all the living strings of the human heart, as one studies the veins of a corpse, but he never knew how to use his knowledge; so sometimes an excellent anatomist does not know how to cure a fever! Usually Werner secretly mocked his patients; but I once saw him cry over a dying soldier... He was poor, dreamed of millions, and would not take an extra step for money: he once told me that he would rather do a favor for an enemy than for a friend, because that would mean selling his charity, while hatred will only increase in proportion to the generosity of the enemy. He had an evil tongue: under the guise of his epigram, more than one good-natured person was known as a vulgar fool; his rivals, envious water doctors, spread a rumor that he was drawing caricatures of his patients - the patients became enraged, almost everyone refused him. His friends, that is, all truly decent people who served in the Caucasus, tried in vain to restore his fallen credit.
His appearance was one of those that at first glance strikes you unpleasantly, but which you later like when the eye learns to read in the irregular features the imprint of a proven and lofty soul. There have been examples that women fell madly in love with such people and would not exchange their ugliness for the beauty of the freshest and pinkest endymions; we must give justice to women: they have an instinct for spiritual beauty: that is perhaps why people like Werner love women so passionately.
Werner was short, thin, and weak, like a child; one of his legs was shorter than the other, like Byron; in comparison with his body, his head seemed huge: he cut his hair into a comb, and the irregularities of his skull, discovered in this way, would strike a phrenologist as a strange tangle of opposing inclinations. His small black eyes, always restless, tried to penetrate your thoughts. Taste and neatness were noticeable in his clothes; his thin, wiry and small hands showed off in light yellow gloves. His coat, tie and vest were always black. The youth nicknamed him Mephistopheles; he showed that he was angry for this nickname, but in fact it flattered his vanity. We soon understood each other and became friends, because I am incapable of friendship: of two friends, one is always the slave of the other, although often neither of them admits this to himself; I cannot be a slave, and in this case commanding is tedious work, because at the same time I must deceive; and besides, I have lackeys and money! This is how we became friends: I met Werner in S... among a large and noisy circle of young people; At the end of the evening the conversation took a philosophical and metaphysical direction; They talked about beliefs: everyone was convinced of different things.
“As for me, I am convinced of only one thing...” said the doctor.
-What is it? – I asked, wanting to know the opinion of the person who had been silent until now.
“The fact,” he answered, “is that sooner or later one fine morning I will die.”
“I’m richer than you,” I said, “besides this, I also have a conviction - namely, that I had the misfortune of being born one disgusting evening.”
Everyone thought that we were talking nonsense, but, really, none of them said anything smarter than that. From that moment on, we recognized each other in the crowd. We often got together and talked about abstract subjects very seriously, until we both noticed that we were fooling each other. Then, having looked significantly into each other’s eyes, as the Roman augurs did, according to Cicero, we began to laugh and, having laughed, dispersed satisfied with our evening.
I was lying on the sofa, my eyes fixed on the ceiling and my hands behind my head, when Werner came into my room. He sat down in an armchair, put his cane in the corner, yawned and announced that it was getting hot outside. I answered that the flies were bothering me, and we both fell silent.
“Notice, dear doctor,” I said, “that without fools the world would be very boring!.. Look, here are two of us smart people; we know in advance that everything can be argued about endlessly, and therefore we do not argue; we know almost all of each other’s innermost thoughts; one word is a whole story for us; We see the grain of each of our feelings through a triple shell. Sad things are funny to us, funny things are sad, but in general, to be honest, we are quite indifferent to everything except ourselves. So, there cannot be an exchange of feelings and thoughts between us: we know everything we want to know about the other, and we don’t want to know anymore. There is only one remedy left: telling the news. Tell me some news.
Tired of the long speech, I closed my eyes and yawned...
He answered after thinking:
- There is, however, an idea in your nonsense.
- Two! - I answered.
– Tell me one, I’ll tell you another.
- Okay, start! – I said, continuing to look at the ceiling and smiling internally.
“You want to know some details about someone who came to the waters, and I can already guess who you’re concerned about, because they’ve already asked about you there.”
- Doctor! We absolutely cannot talk: we read each other’s souls.
- Now it’s different...
– Another idea: I wanted to force you to tell something; firstly, because smart people like you love listeners better than storytellers. Now to the point: what did Princess Ligovskaya tell you about me?
– Are you very sure that this is a princess... and not a princess?..
- I am absolutely convinced.
- Why?
- Because the princess asked about Grushnitsky.
-You have a great gift for consideration. The princess said that she was sure that this young man in a soldier's overcoat had been demoted to the ranks of soldiers for the duel.
- I hope you left her in this pleasant delusion...
- Of course.
- There is a connection! – I shouted in admiration. “We’ll take care of the denouement of this comedy.” Clearly fate is making sure that I don’t get bored.
“I have a presentiment,” said the doctor, “that poor Grushnitsky will be your victim...
- Next, doctor...
“The princess said that your face is familiar to her.” I noticed to her that she must have met you in St. Petersburg, somewhere in the world... I said your name... She knew it. It seems that your story made a lot of noise there... The princess began to talk about your adventures, probably adding her comments to the social gossip... The daughter listened with curiosity. In her imagination, you became the hero of a novel in a new style... I did not contradict the princess, although I knew that she was talking nonsense.
- Worthy friend! - I said, holding out my hand to him.
The doctor shook it with feeling and continued:
- If you want, I will introduce you...
- Have mercy! - I said, clasping my hands, - do they represent heroes? They meet in no other way than by saving their beloved from certain death...
– And you really want to drag yourself after the princess?..
“On the contrary, quite the opposite!.. Doctor, finally I triumph: you don’t understand me!.. This, however, upsets me, doctor,” I continued after a minute of silence, “I never reveal my secrets myself, but I love terribly, so that they can guess them, because in this way I can always get rid of them on occasion. However, you must describe to me the mother and daughter. What kind of people are they?
“Firstly, the princess is a woman of forty-five years old,” answered Werner, “she has a wonderful stomach, but her blood is spoiled; there are red spots on the cheeks. She spent the last half of her life in Moscow and here she gained weight in retirement. She loves seductive jokes and sometimes says indecent things herself when her daughter is not in the room. She told me that her daughter was as innocent as a dove. What do I care?.. I wanted to answer her so that she would be calm, that I wouldn’t tell anyone this! The princess is being treated for rheumatism, and God knows what her daughter is suffering from; I ordered both of them to drink two glasses a day of sour sulfur water and bathe twice a week in a diluted bath. The princess, it seems, is not used to commanding; she has respect for the intelligence and knowledge of her daughter, who has read Byron in English and knows algebra: in Moscow, apparently, the young ladies have embarked on learning, and they are doing well, really! Our men are so unkind in general that flirting with them must be unbearable for an intelligent woman. The princess loves young people very much: the princess looks at them with some contempt: a Moscow habit! In Moscow they only feed on forty-year-old wits.
– Have you been to Moscow, doctor?
– Yes, I had some practice there.
- Continue.
- Yes, I think I said everything... Yes! here’s another thing: the princess seems to like to talk about feelings, passions, and so on... she was in St. Petersburg one winter, and she didn’t like it, especially the company: she was probably received coldly.
-Have you seen anyone there today?
- Against; there was one adjutant, one tense guardsman and some lady from the newcomers, a relative of the princess by marriage, very pretty, but, it seems, very sick... Didn’t you meet her at the well? - she is of average height, blonde, with regular features, consumptive complexion, and a black mole on her right cheek; her face struck me with its expressiveness.
- Mole! – I muttered through clenched teeth. - Really?
The doctor looked at me and said solemnly, placing his hand on my heart:
– She is familiar to you!.. – My heart seemed to beat stronger than usual.
– Now it’s your turn to celebrate! - I said, - I only hope for you: you will not betray me. I haven’t seen her yet, but I’m sure I recognize in your portrait a woman whom I loved in the old days... Don’t say a word to her about me; if she asks, treat me badly.
- Perhaps! – said Werner, shrugging his shoulders.
When he left, a terrible sadness oppressed my heart. Did fate bring us together again in the Caucasus, or did she come here on purpose, knowing that she would meet me?.. and how will we meet?.. and then, is it her?.. My premonitions have never deceived me. There is no person in the world over whom the past would acquire such power as it does over me: every reminder of past sadness or joy painfully strikes my soul and draws out the same sounds from it... I am a stupid creature: I don’t forget anything - nothing!
After lunch, at about six o'clock, I went to the boulevard: there was a crowd there; The princess and princess were sitting on a bench, surrounded by young people who were vying with each other to be kind. I positioned myself at some distance on another bench, stopped two officers I knew D... and began to tell them something; Apparently it was funny, because they started laughing like crazy. Curiosity attracted some of those around the princess to me; Little by little, everyone left her and joined my circle. I did not stop: my jokes were smart to the point of stupidity, my ridicule of the originals passing by was angry to the point of fury... I continued to amuse the audience until the sun set. Several times the princess passed me arm in arm with her mother, accompanied by some lame old man; several times her gaze, falling on me, expressed annoyance, trying to express indifference...
-What did he tell you? - she asked one of the young people who returned to her out of politeness, - probably a very entertaining story - her exploits in battles?.. - She said this quite loudly and, probably, with the intention of stabbing me. “A-ha! – I thought, “you are seriously angry, dear princess; wait, there will be more!”
