Plan of the head of Bel. Online reading of the book A Hero of Our Time I

M.Yu. Lermontov

Name: Bela

Genre: Fragment (Hero of Our Time)

Duration: 9min 40sec

Annotation:

Chronologically, Pechorin’s last adventure occurs at the very beginning of the novel “A Hero of Our Time.” This part of the book shows events that explain his impending depression and retreat from society. The narrator is Maxim Maksimych, who served with Pechorin. He tells the story of the daughter of a Circassian prince, Bela, who is kidnapped by her brother, Azamat, for Pechorin. Pechorin, in turn, kidnaps the horse of the local merchant Kazbich for him. Maxim describes the tenacity with which Pechorin courted Bela and showered her with gifts. Eventually, over time, she reciprocates his feelings. Living with Bela for some time, Pechorin begins to explain to her his need for freedom and Bela fears that he might leave her. Although Bela is completely devoted to Pechorin, she says that she is not his slave, but the daughter of a Circassian prince and she will leave if he does not love her. Pechorin admits that he loves her and is ready to die for her, but he “has a restless imagination, an insatiable heart and life becomes emptier day by day.” He thinks his only remedy is to travel to keep his spirit alive.
However, Pechorin's behavior soon changes after Bela is kidnapped by his enemy Kazbich and mortally wounded with a dagger. After two days of suffering in delirium, Bela talked about her inner fears and feelings to Pechorin, who listened without leaving her side. After her death, Pechorin falls ill, loses weight and becomes unsociable. He is deeply depressed, and when meeting Maxim he acts coldly and does not want to talk about Bela. Soon after this, he is assigned to a regiment stationed in Georgia, and he leaves, Maxim Maksimych never saw him again.

Bel's chapter is the first in the novel. This is a touching love story between Pechorin and a young Circassian woman. Maxim Maksimych told about this love to a stranger whom he encountered during a trip to the Caucasus. During a conversation, time flies faster, bringing strangers closer together and making them friends. An analysis of the chapter “Bela” from the novel “A Hero of Our Time” will reveal the image of Pechorin most fully, revealing to the reader his inner essence.

The main character that will be discussed interests you from the first minutes. He is mysterious and unpredictable. His actions defy common sense. They lack logic. Maxim Maksimych immediately realized that Grigory was from that breed of people

“It is written in their nature that various extraordinary things should happen to them!”

Bela's story is further proof of this.

One weekday, Pechorin and Maxim Maksimych receive an invitation to the prince’s wedding. To refuse is to show a sign of disrespect. The preparations were short-lived. Arriving at the height of the fun, they quickly joined the ranks of those present. Pechorin managed to find a reason to have fun here too. He couldn't live without adventures. The owner's youngest daughter was chosen as the victim. Pechorin was not the only one who fell for the lovely creature. The robber Kazbich, who was present at the wedding, did not take his eyes off the girl. He liked Bela for a long time. The game was going to be interesting, but even more fun.

Bela immediately caught Pechorin's attention. The girl was different from previous passions. Brought up in strictness and obedience, she did not allow liberties in her address. The beautiful and proud Bela excited Pechorin’s imagination. If he wants something, he will definitely achieve it at any cost.

He doesn't care about people's feelings. The selfish, calculating Pechorin walked through destinies, breaking and distorting the lives of those who happened to be nearby. The same thing happened to Bela. He tore her out of her native nest, took possession of her soul and body by deception. Exchanged it from his corrupt brother for a horse.

The girl did not immediately accept the courtship, despite expensive gifts and sweet speeches. But, in the end, she melted, opening her soul and heart to the love that overwhelmed her. The honeymoon was short-lived. Any toy gets boring if there is only one and no variety. Pechorin is fed up with Bela. He began to avoid her company and stopped pampering her.

Melancholy took possession of the girl. The poor thing was wandering around the house like a ghost. It dried out, faded, disappeared from the face. She, who had not previously left the fortress, went out for a walk. At this time, Kazbich, who was guarding her, grabs her and forcibly takes her with him to the field. Bel died at his hands. Such is the robber's revenge for his beloved horse. The wound turned out to be fatal. The poor thing suffered for three days before giving his soul to God. In delirium, the girl pronounced the name of her beloved like a spell, regretting that they would not meet again.

Maxim Maksimych felt sorry for the girl as if he were his own daughter. He understood Pechorin’s involvement in her death. And what about himself? During the funeral, the man's face resembled a wax mask. Like a stone statue he stood near the grave without shedding a tear. Pechorin himself could not understand who Bela was to him. There was sympathy, passion on his part, when it was not given into his hands. Everything changed when the girl fell in love. He suddenly cools down. The contradictions between them became a stone wall. Pechorin could not understand his own feelings and understand what he really wanted. The ending of the story was a tragedy that claimed the life of an innocent person. The victim of love for someone who is unworthy of it.

An incident brings together on a mountain road the narrator, who is traveling by train from Tiflis, and a certain Maxim Maksimych, a man of about fifty with the rank of staff captain. Having seen how freely and knowledgeably Maxim Maksimych communicates with the mountaineers, the narrator concludes that his companion spent many years in these places. At the overnight stop, during a conversation, the staff captain recalls an incident that happened with his friend, Grigory Aleksandrovich Pechorin, who served with him in the same fortress beyond the Terek.

"Bela." Wood engraving by F.D. Konstantinov. 1962

One day, a Circassian prince who lived not far from them invited Pechorin and Maxim Maksimych to the wedding of his eldest daughter. There Pechorin met the prince's youngest daughter, Bela. Fascinated by the beauty of the girl, he was unable to take his eyes off her. But not only Pechorin admired the princess: from the corner of the room the fiery eyes of the bandit Kazbich looked at her. His unusually strong and fast horse Karagez was famous throughout Kabarda.

Maxim Maksimych, going out to get some fresh air, hears Azamat, the prince’s son, offering Kazbich to sell him a horse, promising to steal for him anything in return, even his sister Bela. The bandit answers the young man that gold can buy four wives, but a dashing horse has no price. Pechorin, having learned about this conversation, offers to help Azamat steal Karagez in exchange for Bela. Azamat agrees and brings his sister Pechorina at night. In the morning, Kazbich brings sheep to the fortress for sale. While he and Maxim Maksimych are drinking tea, Azamat steals his horse. The staff captain tries to reassure Pechorin, but he replies that if he brings Bela back, her father will kill her or sell her into slavery. Maxim Maksimych is forced to agree.

At first, Bela lives in a closed Room. The Tatar woman he hired brings her gifts from Pechorin. At first the girl refuses to accept them, but then she becomes more trusting. Pechorin spends all his days next to her. He learns the Tatar language, and the girl, meanwhile, gradually begins to understand Russian. Finally, Pechorin announces to Bela that he was mistaken - she will never love him, so he lets her go home, and he leaves forever. Then the girl confesses her love to him. After some time, the Circassian prince, Bela's father, is found murdered. He was stabbed to death by Kazbich, being sure that Azamat had stolen his horse with the consent of the prince.

At this moment, Maxim Maksimych and the narrator were forced to interrupt their journey due to bad weather. They stopped in a hut near the road. After dinner their conversation continued. We started talking about Bel. Maxim Maksimych recalled with bitterness about his fatherly love for the girl, about how she reciprocated his feelings.

Kazbich wounds Bela. Illustration by V. G. Bekhteev. Mascara. 1936

Meanwhile, Pechorin was already bored with Bela, and one day he went hunting, leaving her alone for the first time. To entertain the girl, Maxim Maksimych invites her to take a walk with him to the ramparts. Stopping at the corner of the bastion, they see a horseman emerging from the forest. Bela recognizes him as Kazbich, who is riding her father’s horse. After some time, Pechorin finally loses interest in Bela and increasingly spends his days hunting. Bela, realizing this, is sad all the time. Maxim Maksimych decides to talk to Pechorin. He replies that by causing misfortune to others, he himself is unhappy. In his youth, he fell in love with secular beauties and was loved, but this love irritated only his imagination and pride, and his heart remained empty. I started reading and studying, but I got tired of science. Pechorin concluded that happiness and fame do not depend on knowledge of science, that the happiest people are ignorant, and to achieve fame you only need to be dexterous. When he was transferred to the Caucasus, Pechorin was glad: he hoped that boredom did not live under Chechen bullets, but after a month he got used to them. At first Bela seemed to him an angel sent by a merciful fate, but the love of a savage turned out to be little better than the love of a noble lady. Pechorin admits that he loves Bela, but he is bored with her... Whether he is a fool or a villain, he himself does not know, but he believes that he is also worthy of regret: his soul is spoiled by the light, his imagination is restless, his heart is insatiable, he easily gets used to sadness, as a pleasure, and life becomes emptier day by day...

One day Pechorin persuaded Maxim Maksimych to go hunting with him. Returning, they heard a shot and saw a horseman, whom they recognized as Kazbich. He was flying headlong on a horse and holding a white bundle in his hands. Pechorin gave chase and forced Kazbich to jump off his horse, breaking his horse’s leg with a bullet. Then everyone saw what the bandit Bel had in his hands. Screaming, he raised his dagger over her and struck. The wounded girl was brought to the fortress, where she lived for two more days. After her death, Pechorin was unwell for a long time. Maxim Maksimych never spoke to him about Bela, seeing that it was unpleasant for him. Three months later, Pechorin left for Georgia, to his new destination.

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Part one

BELA

I was traveling by train from Tiflis. The entire load of my cart consisted of

one small suitcase, half filled with travel notes

about Georgia. Most of them, fortunately for you, are lost, and the suitcase with

the rest of the things, fortunately for me, remained intact.

The sun was already beginning to hide behind the snowy ridge when I entered

Koishauri Valley. The Ossetian cab driver tirelessly drove his horses to make it on time.

climb the Koishauri Mountain until nightfall, and sang songs at the top of his lungs.

This valley is a wonderful place! On all sides the mountains are inaccessible, reddish

rocks hung with green ivy and crowned with clumps of plane trees, yellow cliffs,

streaked with gullies, and there, high, high, a golden fringe of snow, and below

Aragva, embracing another nameless river, noisily escaping from the black,

a gorge full of darkness, stretches like a silver thread and sparkles like a snake

Having approached the foot of the Koishauri mountain, we stopped near the dukhan. Here

there was a noisy crowd of about two dozen Georgians and mountaineers; camel caravan nearby

stopped for the night. I had to hire oxen to pull my cart

to this damned mountain, because it was already autumn and icy conditions - and this mountain

It is about two miles long.

There is nothing to do, I hired six bulls and several Ossetians. One of them

put my suitcase on his shoulders, others began to help the bulls almost alone

Behind my cart, four bulls were dragging another as if nothing had happened,

despite the fact that it was layered to the top. This is the circumstance of me

surprised. Her owner followed her, smoking from a small Kabardian pipe,

dressed in silver. He was wearing an officer's coat without epaulettes and a Circassian

shaggy hat. He seemed to be about fifty years old; his dark complexion showed

that it has long been familiar with the Transcaucasian sun, and prematurely gray

his mustache did not match his firm gait and cheerful appearance. I approached him

and bowed: he silently answered my bow and blew out a huge puff of smoke.

We're fellow travelers, it seems?

He bowed silently again.

You're probably going to Stavropol?

That's right... with government items.

Please tell me why this is your heavy cart, four bulls

they drag it jokingly, and six cattle barely move mine, empty, with the help of these

He smiled slyly and looked at me significantly.

You are probably new to the Caucasus?

About a year,” I answered.

He smiled a second time.

Yes, sir! These Asians are terrible beasts! Do you think they help?

are they screaming? Who the hell knows what they are shouting? Bulls understand them; harness

at least twenty, if they shout in their own way, the bulls won’t move...

Terrible rogues! What will you take from them?.. They love to take money from people passing by...

The scammers have been spoiled! You'll see, they'll also charge you for vodka. I already have them

I know they won’t deceive me!

How long have you been serving here?

“Yes, I already served here under Alexei Petrovich,” he answered,

poised. “When he arrived at the Line, I was a second lieutenant,” he added.

he - and under him received two ranks for deeds against the highlanders.

And now you?..

Now I am considered to be in the third line battalion. And you, dare I ask?..

I told him.

The conversation ended there and we continued to walk silently next to each other. On

We found snow at the top of the mountain. The sun set and night followed day

without interval, as is usually the case in the south; but thanks to the tide

snow, we could easily distinguish the road, which still went uphill, although already

not so cool. I ordered to put my suitcase in the cart, replace the bulls

horses and looked back at the valley for the last time; but a thick fog swept in

waves from the gorges, covered it completely, not a single sound reached

from there to our ears. The Ossetians noisily surrounded me and demanded vodka;

but the staff captain shouted at them so menacingly that they instantly fled.

After all, such people! - he said, - and he doesn’t know how to call bread in Russian,

and learned: “Officer, give me some vodka!” For me, the Tatars are better: at least they

non-drinkers...

There was still a mile to go to the station. It was quiet all around, so quiet that

the buzzing of a mosquito could be used to follow its flight. To the left there was a deep black

gorge; behind him and in front of us are the dark blue peaks of the mountains, riddled with wrinkles,

covered with layers of snow, were drawn on the pale sky, which still retained

the last glow of dawn. Stars began to flicker in the dark sky, and strangely,

It seemed to me that it was much higher than here in the north. On both sides

the roads were lined with bare, black stones; here and there they looked out from under the snow

bushes, but not a single dry leaf moved, and it was fun to hear

Among this dead sleep of nature, the snorting of the tired postal troika and the uneven

the tinkling of a Russian bell.

The weather will be nice tomorrow! - I said. The staff captain did not answer

words and pointed his finger at a high mountain rising directly opposite us.

What is this? - I asked.

Good Mountain.

So what?

Look how it smokes.

And indeed, Mount Gud was smoking; light streams crawled along its sides -

clouds, and at the top lay a black cloud, so black that in the dark sky

she seemed like a blur.

We could already make out the postal station and the roofs of the saklyas surrounding it. and before

We saw welcoming lights flashing when we smelled the damp, cold wind of the gorge

there was a hum and a light rain began to fall. I barely had time to put on my cloak before I fell

snow. I looked at the staff captain with reverence...

“We’ll have to spend the night here,” he said with annoyance, “in such a snowstorm.”

you can't cross the mountains. What? Were there any collapses on Krestovaya? - he asked

cab driver

There wasn’t, sir,” answered the Ossetian cab driver, “but there was a lot hanging, a lot.”

Due to the lack of a room for travelers at the station, we were given overnight accommodation in

smoky sakle. I invited my companion to drink a glass of tea together, because

I had a cast iron kettle - my only joy in traveling around

The hut was stuck on one side to the rock; three slippery, wet

steps led to her door. I groped my way in and came across a cow (the stable near these

people are replaced by a lackey). I didn’t know where to go: sheep were bleating here, there

the dog grumbles. Fortunately, a dim light flashed to the side and helped me find

another hole like a door. Here the picture opened up quite

interesting: a wide hut, the roof of which rested on two sooty

the pillar was full of people. In the middle a light crackled, laid out on the ground, and

smoke, pushed back by the wind from a hole in the roof, spread around

such a thick veil that I could not look around for a long time; two were sitting by the fire

old women, many children and one thin Georgian, all in rags. Nothing

There was nothing to do, we took shelter by the fire, lit our pipes, and soon the kettle hissed

friendly.

Pathetic people! - I said to the staff captain, pointing to our dirty

the owners, who silently looked at us in some kind of stunned state.

Stupid people! - he answered. -Will you believe it? they don't know how to do anything

incapable of any education! At least our Kabardians or

The Chechens may be robbers, naked people, but they have desperate heads, and these are ready for arms

there is no hunting: you won’t see a decent dagger on anyone. Truly

How long have you been in Chechnya?

Yes, I stood there for ten years in the fortress with a company, at the Kamenny Ford, -

Well, father, we are tired of these thugs; these days, thank God, it’s more peaceful;

and it used to be that when you walked a hundred steps behind the rampart, a shaggy devil was already sitting somewhere

and is on guard: he’s a little gape, and just look - either a lasso on the neck, or a bullet in

the back of the head. Well done!..

Ah, tea, have you had many adventures? - I said, instigated

curiosity.

How not to happen! it happened...

Then he began to pluck his left mustache, hung his head and became thoughtful. I'm afraid

I wanted to get some story out of him - a desire characteristic of

to all traveling and recording people. Meanwhile, the tea was ripe; I pulled out

suitcase two travel glasses, poured one and placed one in front of him. He

took a sip and said as if to himself: “Yes, it happened!” This exclamation came

I have great hopes. I know that old Caucasians love to talk and tell stories;

they so rarely succeed: another stands somewhere in the outback for five years with

company, and for five whole years no one will say “hello” to him (because

The sergeant major says “I wish you good health”). And there would be something to chat about: all around

the people are wild, curious; Every day there is danger, there are wonderful cases, and here

You will inevitably regret that we record so little.

Would you like to add some rum? - I said to my interlocutor, - I have

there is a white one from Tiflis; it's cold now.

No, thank you, I don’t drink.

What's so?

Yes so. I gave myself a spell. When I was still a second lieutenant, once,

you know, we played around with each other, and at night there was an alarm; so we left

before the frunt was tipsy, and we already got it, as Alexey Petrovich found out: no

God forbid, how angry he got! I almost went to trial. It's exactly that:

other times you live for a whole year and don’t see anyone, and how about vodka?

missing man!

Hearing this, I almost lost hope.

“Why, at least the Circassians,” he continued, “how drunk the buzas will be at a wedding.”

or at a funeral, and so the cutting began. I once carried off my legs with force, and also at Mirnov’s

the prince was visiting.

How did this happen?

Here (he filled his pipe, took a drag and began to talk), here you go

see, I was then standing in a fortress beyond the Terek with a company - this is soon five years old.

Once, in the fall, a transport with provisions arrived; there was a young officer in the transport

a man of about twenty-five. He came to me in full uniform and announced that

he was ordered to stay with me in the fortress. He was so thin, white,

his uniform was so new that I immediately guessed that he was in the Caucasus

us recently. “Are you, right,” I asked him, “transferred here from Russia?” -

“Exactly so, Mr. Staff Captain,” he answered. I took his hand and

said: “Very glad, very glad. You will be a little bored... well, yes, you and I

we will live as friends... Yes, please, just call me Maxim

Maksimych, and please, what is this full form for? always come to me

in a cap." He was given an apartment, and he settled in the fortress.

What was his name? - I asked Maxim Maksimych.

His name was... Grigory Alexandrovich Pechorin. He was a nice little guy

I dare to assure you; just a little strange. After all, for example, in the rain, in the cold

hunting all day; everyone will be cold and tired - but nothing to him. And another time

sits in his room, smells the wind, claims that he has a cold; shutter

knocks, he will tremble and turn pale; and with me he went to hunt wild boar one on one;

It happened that you wouldn’t get the word out for hours at a time, but sometimes it would start

tell me, you'll burst your stomach with laughter... Yes, sir, I was with big ones

oddities, and must have been a rich man: how many different things he had

expensive things!..

How long did he live with you? - I asked again.

Yes, for about a year. Well, yes, this year is memorable for me; he caused me trouble

That's not what they'll remember! After all, there are, really, such people who are born

it is written that various extraordinary things should happen to them!

Unusual? - I exclaimed with an air of curiosity, pouring him some tea.

But I'll tell you. About six versts from the fortress lived a peaceful prince.

His little son, a boy of about fifteen, got into the habit of visiting us: every day,

it happened, now after this, now after that; and certainly, Gregory and I spoiled him

Alexandrovich. And what a thug he was, agile for whatever you want: whether it’s a hat

raise at full gallop, or shoot from a gun. There was one thing that was bad about him:

I was terribly hungry for money. Once, for fun, Grigory Alexandrovich promised

give him a ducat if he steals the best goat from his father’s herd; And

what do you think? the next night he dragged him by the horns. And it happened that we

If we decide to tease, our eyes will become bloodshot, and now for the dagger. "Hey,

Azamat, don’t blow your head off,” I told him, Yaman2 will be your head!”

Once the old prince himself came to invite us to the wedding: he gave away the eldest

daughter got married, and we were kunaki with him: it’s impossible, you know, to refuse, even though

he is also a Tatar. Let's go. In the village, many dogs greeted us loudly

barking. The women, seeing us, hid; those that we could consider in

face, they were far from beautiful. "I had a much better opinion of

Circassian women,” Grigory Alexandrovich told me. “Wait!” I answered,

grinning. I had my own thing on my mind.

A lot of people had already gathered in the prince’s hut. Asians, you know,

The custom is to invite everyone you meet and cross to the wedding. We were accepted with

with all honors and taken to the kunatskaya. I, however, did not forget to notice where

We put our horses, you know, for an unforeseen event.

How do they celebrate their wedding? - I asked the staff captain.

Yes, usually. First, the mullah will read something from the Koran to them; Then

they give gifts to the young people and all their relatives, eat and drink buza; then it starts

horse riding, and always some ragamuffin, greasy, on a nasty

a lame horse, breaks down, clowns around, makes honest company laugh; Then,

when it gets dark, the ball begins in the kunatskaya, as we say. Poor

the old man is strumming a three-string... I forgot how they say it, well, yes, sort of

our balalaika. Girls and young boys stand in two lines, one against

the other, clap their hands and sing. Here comes one girl and one man

middle and begin to recite poems to each other in a chant, whatever

the rest join in in unison. Pechorin and I sat in a place of honor, and then

the owner's youngest daughter, a girl of about sixteen, came up to him and sang

to him... how should I say?.. like a compliment.

And what did she sing, don’t you remember?

Yes, it seems like this: “Our young horsemen are slender, they say, and

their caftans are lined with silver, and the young Russian officer is slimmer than them, and

the braid on it is gold. He is like a poplar between them; just don't grow, don't bloom

him in our garden." Pechorin stood up, bowed to her, putting his hand to his forehead and

heart, and asked me to answer her, I know their language well and translated it

When she left us, then I whispered to Grigory Alexandrovich: “Well

what, what?" - "Lovely! - he answered. - What’s her name? - “Her name is

Beloy,” I answered.

And sure enough, she was pretty: tall, thin, eyes black, like

mountain chamois, they looked into our souls. Pechorin did not fall into thought

out of her sight, and she often glanced at him from under her brows. Not alone

Pechorin admired the pretty princess: they looked at her from the corner of the room

the other two eyes, motionless, fiery. I began to peer and recognized my

old acquaintance Kazbich. You know, he was not exactly peaceful, not exactly

non-peaceful. There was a lot of suspicion about him, even though he was not involved in any pranks

noticed. It used to be that he would bring sheep to our fortress and sell them cheaply,

only he never bargained: whatever he asks for, go ahead - at least kill him, don’t

will give in. They said about him that he liked to travel to the Kuban with abreks, and,

to tell the truth, he had the most robber's face: small, dry,

broad-shouldered... And he was dexterous, dexterous, like a devil! Beshmet always

torn, in patches, and the weapon was in silver. And his horse was famous throughout

Kabarda - and for sure, it’s impossible to invent anything better than this horse. No wonder

All the riders were jealous of him and tried to steal it more than once, but they didn’t

succeeded. How I look at this horse now: black, pitch-black legs -

strings and eyes no worse than Bela’s; and what strength! jump at least fifty

verst; and once she’s been trained - like a dog runs after its owner, she even knew his voice!

Sometimes he never tied her down. Such a robber horse!..

That evening Kazbich was more gloomy than ever, and I noticed that he

He is wearing chain mail under his beshmet. “It’s not for nothing that he’s wearing this chain mail,” he thought.

I, - he’s probably up to something.”

It became stuffy in the hut, and I went out into the air to freshen up. Night has already fallen

to the mountains, and the fog began to wander through the gorges.

I took it into my head to turn under the shed where our horses stood to see

do they have food, and besides, caution never hurts: I had

the horse is nice, and more than one Kabardian looked at it tenderly,

saying: “Yakshi the, check yakshi!”3

I found out: it was the rake Azamat, the son of our owner; the other spoke less often and

quiet. “What are they talking about here?” I thought, “is it about my horse?” Here

I sat down by the fence and began to listen, trying not to miss a single

interesting conversation for me.

Nice horse you have! - said Azamat, - if I were the owner in

house and had a herd of three hundred mares, I would give half for your horse,

"Ah! Kazbich!" - I thought and remembered the chain mail.

Yes,” answered Kazbich after some silence, “in the whole of Kabarda there is no

you will find one like this. Once, - it was beyond the Terek, - I went with the abreks to repel

Russian herds; We were not lucky, and we scattered in all directions. Behind me

Four Cossacks were rushing; I already heard the cries of the infidels behind me, and in front of me was

dense forest. I lay down on the saddle, entrusted myself to Allah and for the first time in my life

insulted the horse with a blow of the whip. Like a bird he dived between the branches; spicy

thorns tore my clothes, dry elm branches hit me in the face. My horse

jumped over stumps, tore through bushes with his chest. It would be better if I left him

edges and hide in the forest on foot, but it was a pity to part with him, - and the prophet

rewarded me. Several bullets squealed over my head; I already heard

as the dismounted Cossacks ran in the footsteps... Suddenly there was a pothole in front of me

deep; my horse became thoughtful and jumped. His hind hooves broke off

from the opposite bank, and he hung on his front legs; I threw down the reins and

flew into a ravine; this saved my horse: he jumped out. The Cossacks saw it all,

only no one came down to look for me: they probably thought that I had killed myself before

death, and I heard them rush to catch my horse. My heart sank

blood; I crawled through the thick grass along the ravine, and I saw that the forest was over,

several Cossacks drive out of it into a clearing, and then he jumps out straight to them

my Karagöz; everyone rushed after him screaming; for a long, long time they chased him,

especially once or twice I almost threw a lasso around his neck; I trembled

He lowered his eyes and began to pray. After a few moments I pick them up - and

I see: my Karagöz is flying, his tail fluttering, free as the wind, and the infidels are far away

one after another they are drawn across the steppe on exhausted horses. Wallah! This is true,

true truth! I sat in my ravine until late at night. Suddenly, what are you

do you think, Azamat? in the darkness I hear a horse running along the bank of the ravine, snorting, neighing

comrade!.. Since then we have not been separated.

And one could hear him patting the smooth neck of his horse with his hand, giving

it has different tender names.

“If I had a herd of a thousand mares,” said Azamat, “I would give

I wish you all for your Karagöz.

Yok4, I don’t want to,” Kazbich answered indifferently.

Listen, Kazbich,” Azamat said, caressing him, “you’re kind.”

man, you are a brave horseman, and my father is afraid of the Russians and does not let me in

mountains; give me your horse and I'll do whatever you want, steal it for you

my father has his best rifle or saber, whatever you want, and his saber

a real gourda: apply the blade to your hand, it will dig into your body; and the chain mail -

I don't care about someone like yours.

Kazbich was silent.

The first time I saw your horse,” Azamat continued when he

under you he spun and jumped, flaring his nostrils, and flints flew in splashes

from under his hooves, something incomprehensible happened in my soul, and since then everything

I was disgusted: I looked at my father’s best horses with contempt, ashamed

I was about to appear at them, and melancholy took possession of me; and, sadly, I sat

on the cliff whole days, and every minute your black horse with

with its slender gait, with its smooth, straight, like an arrow, ridge; He

looked into my eyes with his lively eyes, as if he wanted to say a word.

I will die, Kazbich, if you don’t sell it to me! - Azamat said trembling

I thought he began to cry: but I must tell you that Azamat was

he was a stubborn boy, and nothing could make him cry, even when he

was younger.

In response to his tears, something like laughter was heard.

I'm making up my mind. Do you want me to steal my sister for you? How she dances! how he sings! A

embroiders in gold - a miracle! The Turkish padishah never had such a wife...

If you want, wait for me tomorrow night there in the gorge where the stream runs: I will go with

pass her by to the neighboring village - and she is yours. Isn't Bela worth your steed?

For a long, long time Kazbich was silent; finally, instead of answering, he began to drawl

There are many beauties in our villages,

The stars shine in the darkness of their eyes.

It is sweet to love them, an enviable lot;

But valiant will is more fun.

Gold will buy four wives

A dashing horse has no price:

He won’t lag behind the whirlwind in the steppe,

He won't change, he won't deceive.

In vain Azamat begged him to agree, and cried, and flattered him, and

swore; Finally Kazbich impatiently interrupted him:

Go away, you crazy boy! Where should you ride my horse? On

in the first three steps he will throw you off, and you will break the back of your head on the stones.

Me? - Azamat shouted in rage, and the iron of the child’s dagger

rang against the chain mail. A strong hand pushed him away and he hit the

the fence so that the fence began to shake. "This will be fun!" - I thought, rushed into

stable, bridled our horses and led them out into the backyard. In two minutes

There was already a terrible hubbub in the hut. This is what happened: Azamat ran in there

a torn beshmet, saying that Kazbich wanted to stab him. Everyone jumped out

grabbed the guns - and the fun began! Screaming, noise, shots; only Kazbich

was on horseback and was spinning among the crowd along the street like a demon, waving his saber.

It’s a bad thing to have a hangover at someone else’s feast,” I told Grigory.

Alexandrovich, having caught him by the hand, “wouldn’t it be better for us to get away quickly?”

Wait a minute, how does it end?

Yes, it will certainly end badly; with these Asians it’s all like this: they’re in trouble,

and the massacre began! - We got on horseback and rode home.

What about Kazbich? - I asked the staff captain impatiently.

What are these people doing! - he answered, finishing his glass of tea, -

he escaped!

And not injured? - I asked.

And God knows! Live, robbers! I have seen others in action, for example:

After all, he’s all stabbed like a sieve with bayonets, and he’s still waving his saber. - Staff Captain

After some silence he continued, stamping his foot on the ground:

I will never forgive myself for one thing: the devil pulled me when he arrived at the fortress,

retell to Grigory Alexandrovich everything that I heard while sitting behind the fence; He

laughed - so cunning! - and I thought of something myself.

What is it? Tell me, please.

Well, there's nothing to do! I started talking, so I have to continue.

Four days later Azamat arrives at the fortress. As usual, he came

to Grigory Alexandrovich, who always fed him delicacies. I was here.

The conversation turned to horses, and Pechorin began to praise Kazbich’s horse:

she’s so playful, beautiful, like a chamois - well, just, in his words,

there is no such thing in the whole world.

The little Tatar boy’s eyes sparkled, but Pechorin didn’t seem to notice; I

I’ll start talking about something else, and you see, he’ll immediately divert the conversation to Kazbich’s horse

This story continued every time Azamat arrived. Three weeks later

I began to notice that Azamat was turning pale and withering, as happens from love in

novels, sir. What a miracle?..

You see, I learned this whole thing later: Grigory Alexandrovich before

he teased him about getting into the water. Once he tells him:

I see, Azamat, that you really liked this horse; but not to see

you like her as the back of your head! Well, tell me, what would you give to someone who gave it to you?

would you give it?..

“Whatever he wants,” answered Azamat.

In that case, I will get it for you, only on condition... Swear that

you will fulfill it...

I swear... You too swear!

Fine! I swear you will own the horse; only for him you owe

give me sister Bela: Karagöz will be your dowry. Hope the bargain is for

beneficial to you.

Azamat was silent.

Do not want? As you want! I thought you were a man, but you are still a child:

It's too early for you to ride...

Azamat flushed.

And my father? - he said.

Doesn't he ever leave?

Is it true...

Agree?..

I agree,” Azamat whispered, pale as death. - When?

The first time Kazbich comes here; he promised to bring a dozen

Baranov: the rest is my business. Look, Azamat!

So they settled this matter... to tell the truth, it was not a good thing! I

Afterwards I told this to Pechorin, but he only answered me that the wild Circassian

should be happy to have such a nice husband like him because,

in their opinion, he is still her husband, and what - Kazbich is a robber who should have

punish. Judge for yourself, how could I answer against this?.. But at that time

I knew nothing about their plot. Just once Kazbich arrived and asked if

Do you need sheep and honey? I told him to bring it the next day.

Azamat! - said Grigory Alexandrovich, - tomorrow Karagöz is in my

hands; If Bela is not here tonight, then you will not see the horse...

Fine! - said Azamat and galloped into the village. In the evening Gregory

Alexandrovich armed himself and left the fortress: how they managed this matter is not

I know - only at night they both returned, and the sentry saw that across

lying on Azamat's saddle was a woman whose arms and legs were tied, and her head

shrouded in a veil.

And the horse? - I asked the staff captain.

Now. The next morning Kazbich arrived early and drove

a dozen sheep for sale. Having tied his horse at the fence, he came in to see me; I

treated him to tea, because although he was a robber, he was still mine

kunak.6

We began to chat about this and that: suddenly, I saw, Kazbich shuddered,

changed his face - and went to the window; but the window, unfortunately, looked out onto the backyard.

What happened to you? - I asked.

My horse!.. horse!.. - he said, trembling all over.

That's right, I heard the clatter of hooves: "This is probably some Cossack

I arrived..."

No! Urus yaman, yaman! - he roared and rushed out headlong, as

wild leopard In two leaps he was already in the yard; there is a sentry at the gates of the fortress

blocked his path with a gun; he jumped over the gun and started running along

road... Dust swirled in the distance - Azamat galloped on the dashing Karagöz; on the run

Kazbich grabbed the gun from its case and fired, for a minute he remained motionless,

until he was convinced that he had made a mistake; then he screamed, hit the gun on a stone,

smashed it into pieces, fell to the ground and sobbed like a child... Here

People from the fortress gathered around him - he did not notice anyone; stood for a while

we talked and went back; I ordered the money for the sheep to be placed next to him - he

He didn’t touch them, he lay on his face as if dead. Would you believe it, he lay there like that?

until late at night and the whole night?.. Only the next morning he came to the fortress and

began to ask him to name the kidnapper. The sentry who saw how

Azamat untied his horse and rode off on it, not deeming it necessary to hide it. Wherein

named after Kazbich’s eyes sparkled, and he went to the village where Azamat’s father lived.

What about father?

Yes, that’s the thing: Kazbich didn’t find him: he was leaving somewhere for days

by six, otherwise would Azamat have been able to take his sister away?

And when the father returned, there was neither daughter nor son. Such a cunning one:

after all, he realized that he wouldn’t blow his head off if he got caught. So since then

disappeared: probably, he stuck with some gang of abreks, and he laid down a violent

head beyond the Terek or beyond the Kuban: the road goes there!..

I admit, I’ve had my fair share of it too. As soon as I checked,

that Grigory Alexandrovich had a Circassian woman, he put on epaulettes and a sword and went to

He was lying on the bed in the first room, with one hand under the back of his head, and

the other holding the extinguished receiver; the door to the second room was locked,

and there was no key in the lock. I noticed all this immediately... I started coughing and

tapping his heels on the threshold - only he pretended not to hear.

Mister Ensign! - I said as sternly as possible. - Dont you

Do you see that I have come to you?

Oh, hello, Maxim Maksimych! Would you like the phone? - he answered,

without getting up.

Sorry! I am not Maxim Maksimych: I am a staff captain.

Doesn't matter. Would you like some tea? If you knew what torments me

“I know everything,” I answered, going up to the bed.

So much the better: I’m not in the mood to tell.

Mister Ensign, you have committed an offense for which I can

reply...

And completeness! what's the problem? After all, we have been splitting everything for a long time.

What kind of joke? Bring your sword!

Mitka, sword!..

Mitka brought a sword. Having fulfilled my duty, I sat down on his bed and

Listen, Grigory Alexandrovich, admit that it’s not good.

What's not good?

Yes, the fact that you took Bela away... Azamat is such a beast to me!.. Well, admit it,

I told him.

Yes, when do I like her?..

Well, what do you have to answer to this?.. I was at a dead end. However, after

After some silence, I told him that if her father begins to demand her, then he must

will give away.

No need at all!

Will he know she's here?

How will he know?

I was stumped again.

Listen, Maxim Maksimych! - said Pechorin, standing up, - after all

you are a kind person, and if we give our daughter to this savage, he will kill her or

will sell. The job is done, just don’t want to spoil it; leave her with me and

I have my sword...

“Yes, show it to me,” I said.

She's behind that door; Only I myself wanted to see her in vain today;

sits in the corner, wrapped in a blanket, does not speak or look: timid, like

wild chamois. I hired our dukhan girl: she knows Tatar, she will go for

her and will accustom her to the idea that she is mine, because she will not be for anyone

belong except to me,” he added, hitting the table with his fist. I'm in this too

agreed... What do you want me to do? There are people with whom you should definitely

agree.

And what? - I asked Maxim Maksimych, - has he really taught

her to her, or did she wither away in captivity, out of homesickness?

For mercy's sake, why is it out of homesickness? From the fortress the same

mountains from the village - and these savages don’t need anything else. Yes, besides

Grigory Alexandrovich gave her something every day: the first days she silently

proudly pushed away the gifts that then went to the perfumer and excited

her eloquence. Ah, gifts! What won’t a woman do for a colored rag!..

Well, that's an aside... Grigory Alexandrovich fought with her for a long time; meanwhile

I studied in Tatar, and she began to understand in ours. Little by little she

I learned to look at him, at first from under my brows, sideways, and I kept feeling sad,

when I listened to her from the next room. I will never forget one scene, I was walking

passed by and looked out the window; Bela was sitting on the couch, hanging her head on her chest, and

Grigory Alexandrovich stood in front of her.

Listen, my dear,” he said, “you know that sooner or later

it's too late you should be mine - why are you torturing me? Do you love

some Chechen? If so, then I will let you go home now. - She

shuddered barely noticeably and shook her head. “Or,” he continued, “I’ll tell you

absolutely hateful? - She sighed. -Or your faith prohibits you from falling in love

me? - She turned pale and was silent. - Trust me. Allah is one for all tribes and

the same, and if he allows me to love you, why will he forbid you to pay

do I reciprocate? - She looked at him intently in the face, as if

amazed by this new thought; her eyes expressed distrust and

desire to be sure. What eyes! they sparkled like two coals. -

Listen, dear, kind Bela! - continued Pechorin, - you see how I love you

I love; I'm ready to give everything to cheer you up: I want you to be

happy; and if you are sad again, then I will die. Say you will

She became thoughtful, not taking her black eyes off him, then

smiled affectionately and nodded her head in agreement. He took her hand and began

persuade her to kiss him; she defended herself weakly and only

repeated: “Please, please, don’t nada, don’t nada.” He began to insist;

she trembled and cried.

“I am your captive,” she said, “your slave; of course you can me

force - and again tears.

Grigory Alexandrovich hit himself in the forehead with his fist and jumped out into another

room. I went to see him; he walked sullenly back and forth with folded arms.

What, father? - I told him.

The devil, not the woman! - he answered, - only I give you my honest

word that she will be mine...

I shook my head.

Want a bet? - he said, - in a week!

Please!

We shook hands and parted ways.

The next day he immediately sent a messenger to Kizlyar for various

shopping; many different Persian materials were brought, not all

re-read.

What do you think, Maxim Maksimych! - he told me, showing me the gifts,

Will the Asian beauty resist such a battery?

“You don’t know Circassian women,” I answered, “that’s not at all what

Georgians or Transcaucasian Tatars are not the same at all. They have their own rules: they

brought up differently. - Grigory Alexandrovich smiled and began to whistle

But it turned out that I was right: the gifts only had half an effect;

she became more affectionate, more trusting - and that’s all; so he decided to

last resort. One morning he ordered the horse to be saddled, dressed in Circassian style,

armed himself and went in to her. “Bela!” he said, “you know how much I love you.

I decided to take you away, thinking that when you get to know me, you will love me; I

wrong: goodbye! remain the complete mistress of everything I have; If you want,

return to your father - you are free. I am guilty before you and must punish myself;

goodbye, I'm going - where? why do I know? Maybe I won't be chasing a bullet for long

or by hitting a checker; then remember me and forgive me." He turned away and

extended his hand to her in farewell. She did not take his hand, she was silent. Only standing for

door, I could see her face through the crack: and I felt sorry - such

deathly pallor covered this sweet face! Not hearing the answer, Pechorin

took a few steps towards the door; he was trembling - and should I tell you? I think he's in

was able to actually fulfill what he was talking about jokingly. That's how it was

man, God knows! As soon as he touched the door, she jumped up,

she began to sob and threw herself on his neck. Will you believe it? I, standing outside the door, also

cried, that is, you know, it’s not that he cried, but it’s stupidity!..

The staff captain fell silent.

Yes, I admit,” he said later, tugging at his mustache, “I felt annoyed,

that no woman has ever loved me so much.

And how long did their happiness last? - I asked.

Yes, she admitted to us that from the day she saw Pechorin, he

she often dreamed in her dreams and that no man had ever affected her

such an impression. Yes, they were happy!

How boring it is! - I exclaimed involuntarily. In fact, I expected

tragic ending, and suddenly so unexpectedly deceive my hopes!.. - Yes

“Didn’t my father really guess,” I continued, “that she was in your fortress?”

That is, it seems he suspected. A few days later we learned that

the old man was killed. Here's how it happened...

My attention was awakened again.

I must tell you that Kazbich imagined that Azamat, with the consent of his father,

stole his horse, at least I think so. So he waited once

the roads are about three miles behind the village; the old man was returning from a vain search for

daughter; the reins fell behind him - it was at dusk - he rode thoughtfully

step, when suddenly Kazbich, like a cat, dived from behind a bush, jumped behind him on

horse, knocked him to the ground with a blow of a dagger, grabbed the reins - and was off;

some Uzdeni saw all this from a hillock; they rushed to catch up, only

didn't catch up.

He compensated himself for the loss of his horse and took revenge, I said, so that

evoke the opinion of my interlocutor.

Of course, in their opinion,” said the staff captain, “he was absolutely right.

I was involuntarily amazed by the ability of the Russian person to apply himself to

the customs of those peoples among whom he happens to live; I don't know, it's worthy

blame or praise is a property of the mind, only it proves incredible

his flexibility and the presence of that clear common sense that forgives evil

wherever it sees the necessity or impossibility of its destruction.

Meanwhile the tea was drunk; the long-harnessed horses were chilled in the snow;

the month was turning pale in the west and was ready to plunge into its black clouds,

hanging on the distant peaks like shreds of a torn curtain; we left

sakli Contrary to my companion's prediction, the weather cleared up and promised us

quiet morning; round dances of stars intertwined in wondrous patterns in the distant sky

and one after another faded away as the pale glow of the east

spread across the dark purple vault, gradually illuminating the steep slopes of the mountains,

covered with virgin snows. To the right and to the left the gloomy ones were black,

mysterious abysses and mists, swirling and writhing like snakes, slid down

there along the wrinkles of the neighboring rocks, as if feeling and fearing the approach of day.

Everything was quiet in heaven and on earth, as in the heart of a person in a minute

morning prayer; only occasionally a cool wind blew from the east,

lifting the horses' manes covered with frost. We set off; with difficulties

five thin nags pulled our carts along the winding road to Mount Gud; we went

walking behind, placing stones under the wheels when the horses were exhausted;

it seemed that the road led to heaven, because as far as the eyes could see, it

kept rising and finally disappeared into the cloud, which had been resting since the evening

on the top of Mount Gud, like a kite waiting for prey; the snow crunched underfoot

ours; the air became so thin that it was painful to breathe; blood every minute

rushed into my head, but with all that some kind of gratifying feeling

spread through all my veins, and I felt somehow amused that I

high above the world: a childish feeling, I don’t argue, but, moving away from the conditions

society and approaching nature, we involuntarily become children; All

what has been acquired falls away from the soul, and it becomes again what it was

once, and probably will happen again someday. The one who happened, like me,

wander through the desert mountains and peer for a long, long time at their quaint

images, and greedily swallow the life-giving air spilled in their gorges, the one

of course, will understand my desire to convey, tell, draw these magical

paintings. Finally we climbed Mount Gud, stopped and looked back:

a gray cloud hung on it, and its cold breath threatened a nearby storm; But

in the east everything was so clear and golden that we, that is, me and the staff captain,

they completely forgot about him... Yes, and the staff captain: in the hearts of simple people there is a feeling

the beauty and grandeur of nature is stronger, more alive a hundred times than in us,

enthusiastic storytellers in words and on paper.

You, I think, are accustomed to these magnificent paintings? - I told him.

Yes, sir, and you can get used to the whistle of a bullet, that is, get used to hiding

involuntary heartbeat.

On the contrary, I heard that for some old warriors this music even

Of course, if you want, it is pleasant; only because

the heart beats faster. Look,” he added, pointing to the east, “what

And for sure, it’s unlikely that I’ll be able to see such a panorama anywhere else: below us

lay the Koishauri valley, crossed by Aragva and another river, like two

silver threads; a bluish fog slid over it, escaping into the neighboring

gorges from the warm rays of the morning; to the right and to the left there are mountain ridges, one higher

another, crossed, stretched, covered with snow and bushes; in the distance the same

mountains, but at least two rocks similar to each other - and all this snow was burning

the ruddy shine is so cheerful, so bright that it seems like you could just stay here and live

forever; the sun appeared slightly from behind the dark blue mountain, which only

a normal eye could distinguish from a thundercloud; but it was above the sun

a bloody streak that my friend paid particular attention to. "I

“told you,” he exclaimed, “that the weather will be bad today; we have to hurry, but

then, perhaps, she will find us on Krestovaya. Get moving!" he shouted.

They put chains up to the wheels instead of brakes so they wouldn't roll,

took the horses by the bridle and began to descend; there was a cliff to the right, to the left

such an abyss that the whole village of Ossetians living at the bottom seemed

swallow's nest; I shuddered, thinking that often here, in the dead of night,

on this road, where two carts cannot pass each other, some courier once

He travels ten times a year without getting out of his shaky carriage. One of ours

the cab driver was a Russian man from Yaroslavl, another Ossetian: the Ossetian drove the indigenous

by the reins with all possible precautions, having unharnessed the carried ones in advance,

And our carefree little hare didn’t even get off the irradiation board! When I noticed to him that he

I could have worried about my suitcase, which I didn't care about at all.

wanted to climb into this abyss, he answered me: “And, master! God willing, no worse than them

we’ll get there: it’s not the first time for us,” and he was right: we definitely might not get there,

however, we still got there, and if all the people had reasoned more, then

They would be convinced that life is not worth caring so much about...

But maybe you want to know the end of Bela's story? First of all, I

I’m not writing a story, but travel notes; therefore I can't force

the staff captain to tell before he began to tell in the very

in fact. So, wait a minute or, if you like, turn a few pages, just

I don’t advise you to do this, because crossing Krestovaya Mountain (or, as

the scientist Gamba calls her, le mont St.-Christophe) is worthy of yours

curiosity. So, we descended from Mount Gud to the Devil's Valley... Here

romantic name! You already see the nest of an evil spirit between the impregnable

cliffs - that was not the case: the name of the Devil's Valley comes from the word

“devil”, not “devil”, because here once was the border of Georgia. This valley

was littered with snowdrifts, quite vividly reminiscent of Saratov,

Tambov and other lovely places of our fatherland.

Here comes the Cross! - the staff captain told me when we moved to

Devil's Valley, pointing to a hill covered with a shroud of snow; at its top

the stone cross was black, and a barely noticeable road led past it, along

which can be passed only when the side road is covered with snow; our

the cab drivers announced that there had been no landslides yet, and, saving their horses, they drove

all around us. As we turned, we met about five Ossetians; they offered

us their services and, clinging to the wheels, began to drag and

support our carts. And sure enough, the road is dangerous: to the right they were hanging over

with our heads piles of snow, ready, it seems, at the first gust of wind

fall into a gorge; the narrow road was partly covered with snow, which in other

in some places he fell under his feet, in others he turned into ice from the action

sun rays and night frosts, so that we made our way with difficulty;

horses fell; to the left there was a deep chasm where a stream rolled, then

hiding under the icy crust, then jumping with foam on the black stones. At two o'clock

We could barely go around Krestovaya Mountain - two miles in two hours! Meanwhile

the clouds descended, hail and snow fell; the wind, rushing into the gorges, roared,

whistled like the Thief Nightingale, and soon the stone cross disappeared into the fog,

whose waves, each thicker and closer than the other, rushed in from the east... By the way, about

There is a strange but universal legend about this cross that it was placed

Emperor Peter I, passing through the Caucasus; but, firstly, Peter was only in

Dagestan, and, secondly, on the cross it is written in large letters that he

delivered by order of Mr. Ermolov, namely in 1824. But the legend

despite the inscription, it’s so ingrained that you really don’t know what to believe,

especially since we are not used to believing the inscriptions.

We had to descend another five miles along icy rocks and

through the slushy snow to reach Kobi station. The horses are tired, we

chilled; the blizzard hummed stronger and stronger, like our native northern one;

only her wild melodies were sadder, more mournful. “And you, exile,” I thought

I, you cry for your wide, expansive steppes! There is room to expand

cold wings, and here you are stuffy and cramped, like an eagle screaming

beats against the bars of his iron cage."

Badly! - said the staff captain; - look, you can’t see anything around,

only fog and snow; and it looks like we'll fall into an abyss or sit in

a slum, and lower down there, tea, Baydara was so played out that you couldn’t move. Already

This is Asia for me! Whether it’s people or rivers, you can’t rely on it!

The cab drivers, shouting and swearing, beat the horses, which were snorting,

were stubborn and did not want to budge for anything in the world, despite

eloquence of whips.

“Your honor,” one finally said, “after all, today we are not up to Kobe.”

we'll get there; Would you like to order us to turn left while we can? There's something over there

the slope turns black - that's right, sakli: passers-by always stop there

in the weather; “They say they’ll cheat you if you give me some vodka,” he added,

pointing to the Ossetian.

I know, brother, I know without you! - said the staff captain, - these beasts!

We’re happy to find fault so we can get away with vodka.

Admit it, however,” I said, “that without them we would have been worse off.”

“Everything is so, everything is so,” he muttered, “these are my guides!” instinct

they hear where they can use it, as if the roads cannot be found without them.

So we turned left and somehow, after much trouble, we got to

a meager shelter consisting of two saklas, made of slabs and cobblestones and

surrounded by the same wall; the ragged hosts received us cordially. I'm after

found out that the government pays them and feeds them on the condition that they

received travelers caught in a storm.

All goes to good! - I said, sitting down by the fire, - now you will tell me

your story about Bela; I'm sure it didn't end there.

Why are you so sure? - the staff captain answered me, winking with

a sly smile...

Because this is not in the order of things: what began as extraordinary

Thus, it must end the same way.

You guessed it...

I am glad.

It’s good for you to be happy, but I’m really sad, as I remember.

She was a nice girl, this Bela! I finally got so used to her as to my daughter, and

she loved me. I must tell you that I have no family: about my father and

I haven’t heard from my mother for twelve years, and I didn’t think of getting a wife

before - so now, you know, it’s not becoming; I was glad that I found someone

pamper. She used to sing songs to us or dance lezginka... And how

danced! I saw our provincial young ladies, I was once in Moscow in

noble meeting, twenty years ago - but where are they! Absolutely not

then!.. Grigory Alexandrovich dressed her up like a doll, groomed and cherished her; and she

We’ve gotten so much better that it’s a miracle; the tan and blush faded from my face and hands

played out on my cheeks... How cheerful it used to be, and everything was over me,

she was a prankster, she was playing tricks... God forgive her!..

What happened when you told her about her father’s death?

We hid this from her for a long time until she got used to her

position; and when they told her, she cried for two days and then forgot.

For four months everything went as well as possible. Grigory Alexandrovich, I already

it seems, he said, he passionately loved hunting: it used to be that he was driven into the forest for

boars or goats - and then at least he went beyond the ramparts. Here, however

But, I see, he began to think again, walks around the room, bending his arms back;

then once, without telling anyone, he went to shoot - he disappeared the whole morning; once

and the other, more and more often... “This is not good,” I thought, there must be a black one between them

The cat slipped through!"

One morning I go to them - as now before my eyes: Bela was sitting on

bed in a black silk beshmet, pale, so sad that I

scared.

Where is Pechorin? - I asked.

On the hunt.

Left today? - She was silent, as if it was difficult for her to pronounce.

No, just yesterday,” she finally said, sighing heavily.

Did something really happen to him?

“I thought all day yesterday,” she answered through tears, “I came up with

various misfortunes: it seemed to me that he had been wounded by a wild boar, then a Chechen

dragged me into the mountains... And now it seems to me that he doesn’t love me.

You're right, honey, you couldn't come up with anything worse! - She cried

then she proudly raised her head, wiped away her tears and continued:

If he doesn’t love me, then who’s stopping him from sending me home? I him

I don't force you. And if this continues like this, then I will leave myself: I am not a slave

him - I’m a prince’s daughter!..

I began to persuade her.

Listen, Bela, he can’t sit here forever as if sewn to

your skirt: he is a young man, he likes to chase game - he looks like it, and

will come; and if you are sad, you will soon get bored with him.

True true! - she answered, “I will be cheerful.” - And with laughter

she grabbed her tambourine and began to sing, dance and jump around me; that's all

did not last long; she fell on the bed again and covered her face with her hands.

What was I supposed to do with her? You know, I have never approached women:

I thought and thought about how to console her, and came up with nothing; some time we both

were silent... An unpleasant situation, sir!

Finally I told her: “Do you want to go for a walk on the rampart?

glorious!" It was in September; and indeed, the day was wonderful, bright and not

hot; all the mountains were visible as if on a silver platter. We went and walked around

the ramparts back and forth, silently; finally she sat down on the turf and I sat down

near her. Well, really, it’s funny to remember: I ran after her, like some

Our fortress stood on a high place, and the view from the rampart was beautiful; With

on one side a wide clearing, dug by several beams7, ended

a forest that stretched all the way to the ridge of the mountains; here and there villages were smoking on it,

herds walked; on the other, a small river ran, and a frequent

shrubs that covered the siliceous hills that connected with

the main chain of the Caucasus. We sat on the corner of the bastion, so in both directions

everyone could see. I look: someone is riding out of the forest on a gray horse, that’s it.

closer and closer and finally stopped on the other side of the river, a hundred yards away

us, and began to circle his horse like mad. What a parable!..

Look, Bela, - I said, - your eyes are young, what are they?

horseman: who did he come to amuse?..

She looked and screamed:

This is Kazbich!..

Oh he's a robber! Did he come to laugh at us or something? - I look closely

just like Kazbich: his dark face, ragged, dirty as always.

This is my father’s horse,” said Bela, grabbing my hand; she

she trembled like a leaf, and her eyes sparkled. “Aha!” I thought, “and in you,

darling, the blood of robbers is not silent!”

Come here,” I said to the sentry, “examine the gun and give me

this fellow, you will receive a ruble in silver.

I’m listening, your honor; only he doesn’t stand still... -

Order! - I said, laughing...

Hey, my dear! - the sentry shouted, waving his hand, - wait

Why are you spinning like a top?

Kazbich actually stopped and began to listen: he must have thought that

they start negotiations with him - how wrong!.. My grenadier kissed... bam!..

past - the gunpowder on the shelf had just flared up; Kazbich pushed the horse, and it

gave a jump to the side. He stood up in his stirrups, shouted something in his own way,

threatened with a whip - and that was it.

Aren `t you ashamed! - I told the sentry.

Your Honor! “I went to die,” he answered, so

Damn people, you can’t kill them right away.

A quarter of an hour later Pechorin returned from hunting; Bela rushed at him

neck, and not a single complaint, not a single reproach for a long absence... Even I

got angry with him.

“For goodness’ sake,” I said, “just now there was Kazbich across the river, and

we shot at him; Well, how long will it take you to stumble upon it? These mountain people

vindictive: you think he doesn’t realize that you helped in part

Azamat? And I bet that today he recognized Bela. I know it's a year ago

back he really liked her - he told me himself - and if he had hoped

to collect a decent bride price, then, surely, he would woo...

Then Pechorin thought about it. “Yes,” he answered, “we need to be careful...

Bela, from now on you should no longer go to the ramparts."

In the evening I had a long explanation with him: I was annoyed that he

changed his mind to this poor girl; besides the fact that he spent half the day

while hunting, his treatment became cold, he caressed her rarely, and she noticeably

she began to dry out, her face became long, her large eyes dimmed. It happened

you ask:

“What are you sighing about, Bela? Are you sad?” - "No!" - "Something for you

do you want to?" - "No!" - "Are you homesick for your family?" - "I have no family."

It happened for whole days, except for “yes” and “no”, there was nothing more from her.

you will achieve it.

This is what I began to tell him about. "Listen, Maxim Maksimych, -

he answered, “I have an unhappy character; Did my upbringing make me this way?

Whether God created me this way, I don’t know; I only know that if I cause

the misfortunes of others, then he himself is no less unhappy; of course it's bad for them

The only consolation is that it is so. In my first youth, with that

minutes when I left the care of my relatives, I began to madly enjoy everyone

pleasures that can be obtained for money, and of course, pleasures

These disgust me. Then I set out into the big world, and soon I had company

also tired; fell in love with society beauties and was loved, but their love

only irritated my imagination and pride, and my heart remained empty... I

happiness does not depend on them at all, because the happiest people are

ignoramuses, but fame is luck, and to achieve it, you just need to be clever. Then

I got bored... Soon they transferred me to the Caucasus: this is the happiest thing

time of my life. I hoped that boredom does not live under Chechen bullets -

in vain: after a month I became so accustomed to their buzzing and to the proximity of death that,

right, I paid more attention to the mosquitoes - and I became more bored than before,

because I lost almost my last hope. When I saw Bela in my

home, when for the first time, holding her on my knees, I kissed her black curls,

fool, I thought that she was an angel sent to me by compassionate fate... I

I was wrong again: the love of a savage is little better than the love of a noble lady; ignorance

and the simple-heartedness of one is just as annoying as the coquetry of the other. If you

If you want, I still love her, I am grateful to her for a few rather sweet minutes,

I’ll give my life for her, but I’m bored with her... Am I a fool or a villain, no

I know; but it is true that I am also very worthy of pity, maybe more,

than she: in me the soul is spoiled by light, the imagination is restless, the heart

insatiable; I can’t get enough of it: I get used to sadness just as easily as to

pleasure, and my life becomes emptier day by day; I have one thing left

means: travel. As soon as possible, I will go - just not to

Europe, God forbid! - I’ll go to America, to Arabia, to India, maybe

I'll die somewhere on the road! At least I'm sure it's the latter

consolation will not soon be exhausted, with the help of storms and bad roads." So he said

for a long time, and his words were etched in my memory, because for the first time I

heard such things from a twenty-five-year-old man, and, God willing, in

the last one... What a miracle! Tell me, please,” continued the staff captain,

turning to me. - you seem to have been to the capital, and recently: have you really

Are all the youth there like that?

I answered that there are many people who say the same thing; what is,

probably also those who tell the truth; which, however, is a disappointment, as

all fashions, starting from the highest strata of society, descended to the lower ones, which

carry them to term, and that now those who are most bored most of all,

they try to hide this misfortune as a vice. The staff captain did not understand these

subtleties, shook his head and smiled slyly:

And that's it, tea, the French have introduced a fashion for being bored?

No, the British.

A-ha, that’s what!.. - he answered, - but they were always notorious

I involuntarily remembered one Moscow lady who claimed that

Byron was nothing more than a drunkard. However, a remark from HQP

was more excusable: in order to abstain from wine, he, of course, tried

convince yourself that all the misfortunes in the world come from drunkenness.

Meanwhile, he continued his story in this way:

Kazbich did not appear again. I just don’t know why, I couldn’t get it out

the thought that it was not for nothing that he came and was up to something bad.

One day Pechorin persuades me to go wild boar hunting with him; I'm long

he denied: well, what a curiosity a boar was to me! However, he did drag it away

me with you. We took about five soldiers and left early in the morning. To ten

We spent hours scurrying through the reeds and through the forest, but there was no animal. "Hey, should you come back? -

I said, “Why be stubborn? Looks like it was such a miserable day!”

Only Grigory Alexandrovich, despite the heat and fatigue, did not want

to return without booty, such was the man: whatever he thinks, give it to him; apparently in

I was spoiled by my mother as a child... Finally, at noon, they found the damned

boar: pow! pow!... that was not the case: he went into the reeds... that’s just how he was

unhappy day! So we, having rested a little, went home.

We rode side by side, silently, loosening the reins, and were almost at the very

fortress: only bushes blocked it from us. Suddenly a shot... We looked

at each other: we were struck by the same suspicion... We galloped headlong

We look at the shot: on the rampart the soldiers have gathered in a heap and are pointing into the field, and

there is a horseman flying headlong and holding something white on the saddle. Gregory

Aleksandrovich squealed as loudly as any Chechen; gun out of the case - and there; I

Fortunately, due to the unsuccessful hunt, our horses were not exhausted: they

were torn from under the saddle, and with every moment we were getting closer and closer... And

I finally recognized Kazbich, but I couldn’t make out what he was holding in front of me.

myself. I then caught up with Pechorin and shouted to him: “This is Kazbich!..” He

looked at me, nodded his head and hit the horse with his whip.

Finally we were within a rifle shot of him; were you exhausted?

Kazbich's horse is worse than ours, but despite all his efforts, it is not

leaned forward painfully. I think at that moment he remembered his

Karagöza...

I look: Pechorin takes a shot from a gun while galloping... “Don’t shoot!” I shout

I told him. - take care of the charge; we will catch up with him anyway." These youth! forever

inappropriately getting excited... But the shot rang out, and the bullet broke the back leg

horse: she rashly made ten more jumps, tripped and fell on

knees; Kazbich jumped off, and then we saw that he was holding his

a woman shrouded in a veil... It was Bela... poor Bela! He has something for us

shouted in his own way and raised a dagger over her... There was no need to hesitate: I

shot, in turn, at random; That's right, the bullet hit him in the shoulder, because

that suddenly he lowered his hand... When the smoke cleared, a wounded woman was lying on the ground

a horse and Bela next to it; and Kazbich, throwing his gun, through the bushes,

a cat was climbing a cliff; I wanted to take it out of there - but there was no charge

ready! We jumped off our horses and rushed to Bela. Poor thing, she was lying

motionless, and blood flowed from the wound in streams... Such a villain; at least in the heart

hit - well, so be it, it would all be over at once, otherwise in the back... the most

robber blow! She was unconscious. We tore the veil and bandaged the wound

as tight as possible; in vain Pechorin kissed her cold lips - nothing could

bring her to her senses.

Pechorin sat on horseback; I picked her up from the ground and somehow sat her on his

saddle; he grabbed her with his hand and we drove back. After a few minutes

silence, Grigory Alexandrovich told me: “Listen, Maxim Maksimych, we

We won’t be able to bring her back alive this way.” “Really!” I said, and we let the horses go

the whole spirit. A crowd of people was waiting for us at the gates of the fortress; we carefully moved

wounded to Pechorin and sent for a doctor. Although he was drunk, he came:

examined the wound and declared that she could not live more than a day; only him

Have you recovered? - I asked the staff captain, grabbing his hand and

involuntarily rejoiced.

“No,” he answered, “but the doctor was mistaken in that she still has two days left.”

Yes, explain to me how Kazbich kidnapped her?

Here's how: despite Pechorin's prohibition, she left the fortress to

river. It was, you know, very hot; she sat down on a stone and dipped her feet into the water.

So Kazbich crept up, scratched her, covered her mouth and dragged her into the bushes, and there

jumped on the horse, and the traction! Meanwhile, she managed to scream, the sentries

They got alarmed, fired, but missed, and then we arrived in time.

Why did Kazbich want to take her away?

For mercy, these Circassians are a well-known nation of thieves: what lies badly,

can't help but pull;? something else is unnecessary, but he will steal everything... I ask them for this

sorry! And besides, he had liked her for a long time.

And Bela died?

Died; She just suffered for a long time, and she and I were already pretty exhausted.

About ten o'clock in the evening she came to her senses; we sat by the bed; just now

She opened her eyes and began to call Pechorin. - "I'm here, next to you, my

“Dzhanechka (that is, in our opinion, darling),” he answered, taking her hand. “I

I’ll die!” she said. We began to console her, saying that the doctor had promised her

cure without fail; she shook her head and turned to the wall: she couldn't

I wanted to die!..

At night she began to become delirious; her head was on fire, sometimes all over her body

a shiver of fever ran through; she spoke incoherently about her father, brother: she

I wanted to go to the mountains, to go home... Then she also talked about Pechorin, gave him

different tender names or reproached him for no longer loving his

Janechka...

He listened to her in silence, his head in his hands; but I'm not the only one all the time

noticed not a single tear on his eyelashes: was he really unable to cry?

or controlled himself - I don’t know; As for me, I don’t regret anything more than this

By morning the delirium had passed; for an hour she lay motionless, pale, and in such

weakness, so that one could hardly notice that she was breathing; then she felt better

and she began to say, just what are you thinking about?.. This kind of thought will come

after all, only to a dying person!.. She began to grieve that she was not a Christian, and

that in the next world her soul will never meet the soul of Gregory

Alexandrovich, and that another woman will be his friend in heaven. I received a message

the thought of baptizing her before death; I suggested this to her; she looked at me

indecisive and for a long time could not utter a word; finally answered that she

will die in the faith in which she was born. The whole day passed like this. How is she

changed that day! pale cheeks sunken, eyes became large, lips

were burning. She felt an internal heat, as if she were lying in her chest.

hot iron.

Another night came; we did not close our eyes, did not leave her bed. She

she suffered terribly, moaned, and as soon as the pain began to subside, she tried

to assure Grigory Alexandrovich that she was better, persuaded him to go to bed,

she kissed his hand and did not let go of hers. Before the morning she became

felt the melancholy of death, began to thrash about, knocked off the bandage, and blood began to flow

again. When they bandaged the wound, she calmed down for a minute and began to ask

Pechorin so that he kisses her. He knelt down next to the bed and lifted

her head from the pillow and pressed his lips to her cold lips; she's tight

she wrapped her trembling arms around his neck, as if in this kiss she wanted to convey to him

her soul... No, she did well to die: well, what would have happened to her,

if Grigory Alexandrovich had left her? And this would happen, sooner or

For half the next day she was quiet, silent and obedient, no matter how

Our doctor tormented her with poultices and medicine. “For mercy,” I told him, “

after all, you yourself said that she would certainly die, so why are all your

drugs?" “It’s still better, Maxim Maksimych,” he answered, “so that my conscience

was calm." Good conscience!

In the afternoon she began to feel thirsty. We opened the windows - but

the yard was hotter than the room; put ice near the bed - nothing

helped. I knew that this unbearable thirst was a sign of the end approaching, and

I said this to Pechorin. “Water, water!..” - she said in a hoarse voice,

rising from bed.

He turned pale as a sheet, grabbed a glass, poured it and handed it to her. I

I have seen a lot of people dying in hospitals and on the battlefield, only this

everything is not the same, not at all!.. Also, I must admit, this is what saddens me: she is in front of

in death she never remembered me; but it seems that I loved her like a father... well

may God forgive her!.. And really say: what am I, so that about me

remember before death?

As soon as she drank the water, she felt better, and three minutes later she

passed away. They put a mirror to the lips - smoothly!.. I took Pechorin out

rooms, and we went to the ramparts; we walked back and forth side by side for a long time,

without saying a word, bending his hands on his back; his face didn't express anything

special, and I felt annoyed: if I were in his place, I would have died of grief. Finally he

he sat down on the ground, in the shade, and began to draw something in the sand with a stick. I, you know,

More for the sake of decency, I wanted to console him, I began to speak; he raised his head and

laughed... A chill ran through my skin from this laughter... I went

order a coffin

Frankly, I did this partly for fun. I had a piece

thermal lamas, I upholstered the coffin with it and decorated it with Circassian silver galloons,

which Grigory Alexandrovich bought for her.

The next day, early in the morning, we buried her behind the fortress, by the river, near

the place where she last sat; there are her graves all around now

White acacia and elderberry bushes have grown. I wanted to give up, yes,

you know, it’s awkward: after all, she wasn’t a Christian...

And what about Pechorin? - I asked.

Pechorin was unwell for a long time, lost weight, poor thing; just never from these

We haven’t talked about Bel for a while now: I saw that it would be unpleasant for him, so why?

Three months later he was assigned to her regiment, and he left for Georgia. We've been since

We haven't met for a while, but I remember someone recently told me that he

returned to Russia, but was not included in the orders for the corps. However, before our

news arrives late for my brother.

Then he launched into a long dissertation on how unpleasant it is to find out

news a year later - probably in order to drown out the sad

memories.

I didn't interrupt him or listen.

An hour later the opportunity arose to go; the snowstorm subsided, the sky cleared, and

we went. On the way, I involuntarily started talking about Bel and Pechorin again.

Haven't you heard what happened to Kazbich? - I asked.

With Kazbich? Oh, really, I don’t know... I heard that on the right flank

Shapsug there is some Kazbich, a daredevil who rides around in a red beshmet

taking a step under our shots and bowing politely when the bullet

will buzz close; Yes, it’s hardly the same one!..

In Kobe we parted ways with Maxim Maksimych; I went by post office, and he,

due to heavy luggage, he could not follow me. We didn't hope

never meet again, but we met, and if you want, I’ll tell you:

this is a whole story... Admit it, however, that Maxim Maksimych is a man

worthy of respect?.. If you admit this, then I will completely

rewarded for his perhaps too long story.

1 Ermolov. (Lermontov's note.)

2 bad (Turkic)

3 Good, very good! (Turkic)

4 No (Turk.)

5 I apologize to the readers for translating the song into poetry

Kazbich, conveyed to me, of course, in prose; but habit is second nature.

(Lermontov's note.)

6 Kunak means friend. (Lermontov's note.)

7 ravines. (Lermontov's note.)

The novel “A Hero of Our Time” is an unusual work for that time, notable for its detailed psychological portrayal of the characters. If Mikhail Yuryevich’s main character turned out to be contradictory, then the female characters were touching. Below is a brief summary of Lermontov's "Bela" - one of the chapters of "A Hero of Our Time".

Main characters

• Grigory Aleksandrovich Pechorin is a young officer. He quickly became bored with secular entertainment, so he went to serve in the Caucasus. His character bizarrely combines the features of a “Byronic hero” and a “superfluous man.”
• Bela is a young Circassian girl, the daughter of a local prince. She is strongly attached to Pechorin.
• Maxim Maksimych - staff captain. It is with him that Pechorin communicates most of all. A kind man, well acquainted with Circassian customs, touchingly cares about Bel.
• Kazbich is a dangerous Circassian, had a reputation as a robber. He liked the young Circassian princess. But most of all was his attachment to the horse Karagöz.
• Azamat is the son of a local prince, the brother of the main character. A hot-tempered, selfish young man. Exchanges his sister for Kazbich's horse.

It should be noted that “Hero of Our Time” consists of several parts, and part 1 is “Bela” by Lermontov, a summary of which is presented below.

Meeting Maxim Maksimych

The summary of Lermontov's "Bela" must begin with the fact that the young officer, on whose behalf the story is told, meets staff captain Maxim Maksimych on his way from Tiflis. He attracted the attention of the young man because he knew well the customs of the Ossetians and Caucasian customs. They got to talking and drove together to the post station. The weather was bad, so they had to spend the night in the hut. The officer hoped that Maxim Maksimych would tell an entertaining story about his service. And the staff captain told his new acquaintance the sad story about Bel.

Meeting of Maxim Maksimych and Pechorin

Further, in the summary of Lermontov’s “Bela,” you need to tell the reader about how the staff captain and the main character met. This happened 5 years ago. Then Maxim Maksimych stood with his company behind the Terek. A convoy with provisions arrived to him, and with it a young officer, who was ordered to remain in the service of the staff captain.

His name was Grigory Aleksandrovich Pechorin. Maxim Maksimych immediately took a liking to the officer and invited him to communicate in a friendly way. Despite his attractive appearance, Pechorin had a strange and contradictory character and, apparently, was a rich man. The staff captain said that there are people with whom, like Grigory Alexandrovich, unusual stories happen. This was the case with the Circassian princess.

At a Circassian wedding

Next, in the summary of “Bela” from Lermontov’s “Hero of Our Time,” you need to talk about the circumstances of meeting the heroine. A Circassian boy, the son of a local prince, got into the habit of visiting their fortress. His name was Azamat. He was a desperate tomboy, daring, but had one drawback: he really loved money. But if they started teasing him, he immediately grabbed the dagger.

Maxim Maksimych was friends with the local prince. And he once invited him to the wedding of his eldest daughter. The staff captain went there with Pechorin. And at the holiday, one young Circassian woman came up to Grigory Alexandrovich and sang a song to him. The girl was beautiful and Pechorin liked it. It was Bela, the prince's youngest daughter.

Conversation between Kazbich and Azamat

The staff captain felt stuffy, so he went out to get some fresh air. By chance, Maxim Maksimych overheard a conversation between Kazbich and Azamat. The boy praised Karagez. Circassian agreed with him, for him he was not just a horse, it was his faithful comrade who had helped him out more than once. Azamat began to persuade Kazbich to sell the horse. But he did not agree. Then the boy began to beg, promised that he was even ready to steal Bela - he knew that Kazbich liked her. Circassian did not give in to any persuasion. Then the angry Azamat pulled out a dagger, but missed. Maxim Maksimych and Pechorin left the Circassian wedding.

Pechorin's idea

Every time Azamat came to the fortress, Pechorin started talking about Karagöz. He promised that he would get the horse if he brought him his sister. One day, when Kazbich came to sell sheep, he went to visit the staff captain. At this time, Azamat untied his horse and rode off on it. When the Circassian noticed the loss, it was already too late: he could not catch up with the boy. Kazbich cried like a child, no one came to him. And only then did Maxim Maksimych realize that Bela was with Pechorin.

The attitude of a Circassian woman to an officer

The summary of Lermontov's "Bela" continues with a story about how the girl first lived in the fortress. Having guessed that the prince's daughter was with Pechorin, the staff captain went to him with the intention of bringing her back. But Grigory Alexandrovich persuaded him to leave her. But Pechorin did not expect that Bela would not let him near her. She sat all day wrapped in a blanket. And no gifts could change her attitude towards the Russian officer. Gradually he learned the Tatar language, and she began to speak a little Russian.

Grigory Alexandrovich hoped in vain that gifts would make her more talkative. She became more affectionate, but still did not let him near her. Then Pechorin said that he would leave the fortress since Bela did not love him. Then she could not stand it and admitted that from the first meeting she thought about him and fell in love with him. Maxim Maksimych, who accidentally heard the confession, thought that no woman had ever loved him so much. And Pechorin and Bela lived happily.

Discord in the relationship between an officer and a Circassian woman

The narrator was a little disappointed that Grigory Pechorin and Bela were doing well. He expected a tragic ending. But it turns out that Maxim Maksimych did not fully tell him the story. Kazbich decided that Azamat, with the permission of his father, stole his horse from him. And one day he came and killed him. The staff captain and Pechorin told Bela about this. After some time, the Russian officer began to treat the Circassian woman colder and more indifferent. He began to leave her alone more often when going hunting. Bela became paler and sadder. Only Maksim Maksimych consoled her. One day he invited her to go for a walk.

On the rampart they saw Kazbich. The staff captain realized that he was up to something dangerous and ordered the sentry to shoot at him. But he missed. When Grigory Pechorin returned from hunting, he told him about this incident. He ordered Bela not to leave the fortress. Maxim Maksimych began to reproach him for his indifference to the Circassian woman.

Pechorin told him about his life in the capital. That he received a good education, he has money, and he began to attend social events early. He quickly got bored with them, so Pechorin went to the Caucasus. Seeing Bela, Grigory Alexandrovich decided that her love would give him real happiness. But she turned out to be the same as everyone else. The officer said he might travel to other countries, hoping the trip would entertain him.

Bela's tragic end

Time passed, and Kazbich did not appear again. But Maxim Maksimych was sure that he had appeared then for a reason. One day Pechorin persuaded him to go boar hunting. Returning back, not far from the fortress they heard a shot. Both men rushed there: they saw Kazbich galloping with something white on the saddle. Pechorin fired and hit his horse. Then Kazbich raised the dagger over the figure in white. It was Bela. Maxim Maksimych fired and hit him in the shoulder. But he hit the Circassian woman with a blade and ran away. A few days later, Bela died from her wound. All days neither Pechorin nor the staff captain left her side. After Bela’s death, Maxim Maksimych never spoke about her with Grigory Alexandrovich.

After some time, Pechorin left to serve in Georgia. They haven't seen each other since then. The narrator ends the story by saying that they parted with Maxim Maksimych, not thinking that they would meet again. But they met, and this is another story for a new story. This was a summary of Lermontov's "Bela", chapter 1 of the novel "A Hero of Our Time".