“I could hear him burst out weeping, and I must tell you that Azamat was a very stubborn lad, and that not for anything could tears be wrung from him, even when he was a little younger.
“In answer to his tears, I could hear something like a laugh.
“‘Listen,’ said Azamat in a firm voice. ‘You see, I am making up my mind for anything. If you like, I will steal my sister for you! How she dances! How she sings! And the way she embroiders with gold—marvellous! Not even a Turkish Padishah 13 has had a wife like her!... Shall I? Wait for me to-morrow night, yonder, in the gorge where the torrent flows; I will go by with her to the neighbouring village—and she is yours. Surely Bela is worth your galloper!’
“Kazbich remained silent for a long, long time. At length, instead of answering, he struck up in an undertone the ancient song:
“Many a beauty among us dwells
From whose eyes’ dark depths the starlight wells,
‘Tis an envied lot and sweet, to hold
Their love; but brighter is freedom bold.
Four wives are yours if you pay the gold;
But a mettlesome steed is of price untold;
The whirlwind itself on the steppe is less fleet;
He knows no treachery—no deceit.” 14
“In vain Azamat entreated him to consent. He wept, coaxed, and swore to him. Finally, Kazbich interrupted him impatiently:
“‘Begone, you crazy brat! How should you think to ride on my horse? In three steps you would be thrown and your neck broken on the stones!’
“‘I?’ cried Azamat in a fury, and the blade of the child’s dagger rang against the coat of mail. A powerful arm thrust him away, and he struck the wattle fence with such violence that it rocked.
“‘Now we’ll see some fun!’ I thought to myself.
“I rushed into the stable, bridled our horses and led them out into the back courtyard. In a couple of minutes there was a terrible uproar in the hut. What had happened was this: Azamat had rushed in, with his tunic torn, saying that Kazbich was going to murder him. All sprang out, seized their guns, and the fun began! Noise—shouts—shots! But by this time Kazbich was in the saddle, and, wheeling among the crowd along the street, defended himself like a madman, brandishing his sabre.
“‘It is a bad thing to interfere in other people’s quarrels,’ I said to Grigori Aleksandrovich, taking him by the arm. ‘Wouldn’t it be better for us to clear off without loss of time?’
“‘Wait, though, and see how it will end!’
“‘Oh, as to that, it will be sure enough to end badly; it is always so with these Asiatics. Once let them get drunk on buza, and there’s certain to be bloodshed.’
“We mounted and galloped home.”
CHAPTER IV
“TELL me, what became of Kazbich?” I asked the staff-captain impatiently.
“Why, what can happen to that sort of a fellow?” he answered, finishing his tumbler of tea. “He slipped away, of course.”
“And wasn’t he wounded?” I asked.
“Goodness only knows! Those scoundrels take a lot of killing! In action, for instance, I’ve seen many a one, sir, stuck all over with bayonets like a sieve, and still brandishing his sabre.”
After an interval of silence the staff-captain continued, tapping the ground with his foot:
“One thing I’ll never forgive myself for. On our arrival at the fortress the devil put it into my head to repeat to Grigori Aleksandrovich all that I had heard when I was eavesdropping behind the fence. He laughed—cunning fellow!—and thought out a little plan of his own.”
“What was that? Tell me, please.”
“Well, there’s no help for it now, I suppose. I’ve begun the story, and so I must continue.
“In about four days’ time Azamat rode over to the fortress. As his usual custom was, he went to see Grigori Aleksandrovich, who always used to give him sweetmeats to eat. I was present. The conversation was on the subject of horses, and Pechorin began to sound the praises of Kazbich’s Karagyoz. What a mettlesome horse it was, and how handsome! A perfect chamois! In fact, judging by his account, there simply wasn’t another like it in the whole world!
“The young Tartar’s beady eyes began to sparkle, but Pechorin didn’t seem to notice the fact. I started to talk about something else, but immediately, mark you, Pechorin caused the conversation to strike off on to Kazbich’s horse. Every time that Azamat came it was the same story. After about three weeks, I began to observe that Azamat was growing pale and wasted, just as people in novels do from love, sir. What wonder either!...
“Well, you see, it was not until afterwards that I learned the whole trick—Grigori Aleksandrovich exasperated Azamat to such an extent with his teasing that the boy was ready even to drown himself. One day Pechorin suddenly broke out with:
“‘I see, Azamat, that you have taken a desperate fancy to that horse of Kazbich’s, but you’ll no more see him than you will the back of your neck! Come, tell me, what would you give if somebody made you a present of him?’
“‘Anything he wanted,’ answered Azamat.
“‘In that case I will get the horse for you, only on one condition... Swear that you will fulfil it?’
“‘I swear. You swear too!’
“‘Very well! I swear that the horse shall be yours. But, in return, you must deliver your sister Bela into my hands. Karagyoz shall be her bridegroom’s gift. I hope the transaction will be a profitable one for you.’
“Azamat remained silent.
“‘Won’t you? Well, just as you like! I thought you were a man, but it seems you are still a child; it is early for you to be riding on horseback!’
“Azamat fired up.
“‘But my father—’ he said.
“‘Does he never go away, then?’
“‘True.’
“‘You agree?’
“‘I agree,’ whispered Azamat, pale as death. ‘But when?’
“‘The first time Kazbich rides over here. He has promised to drive in half a score of rams; the rest is my affair. Look out, then, Azamat!’
“And so they settled the business—a bad business, to tell the truth! I said as much to Pechorin afterwards, but he only answered that a wild Circassian girl ought to consider herself fortunate in having such a charming husband as himself—because, according to their ideas, he really was her husband—and that Kazbich was a scoundrel, and ought to be punished. Judge for yourself, what could I say to that?... At the time, however, I knew nothing of their conspiracy. Well, one day Kazbich rode up and asked whether we needed any rams and honey; and I ordered him to bring some the next day.
“‘Azamat!’ said Grigori Aleksandrovich; ‘to-morrow Karagyoz will be in my hands; if Bela is not here to-night you will never see the horse.’..
“‘Very well,’ said Azamat, and galloped to the village.
“In