章节正文
"And I could hear him patting his galloper's
sleek neck with his hand, as he called him various
fond names.
"'If I had a stud of a thousand mares,' said
Azamat, 'I would give it all for your Karagyoz!'
"'Yok![1] I would not take it!' said Kazbich
indifferently.
[1] "No!"
"'Listen, Kazbich,' said Azamat, trying to
ingratiate himself with him. 'You are a kind-
hearted man, you are a brave horseman, but my
father is afraid of the Russians and will not
allow me to go on the mountains. Give me
your horse, and I will do anything you wish. I
will steal my father's best rifle for you, or his
sabre -- just as you like -- and his sabre is a genuine
Gurda;[1] you have only to lay the edge against
your hand, and it will cut you; a coat of mail
like yours is nothing against it.'
[1] A particular kind of ancient and valued sabre.
"Kazbich remained silent.
"'The first time I saw your horse,' continued
Azamat, 'when he was wheeling and leaping
under you, his nostrils distended, and the flints
flying in showers from under his hoofs, something
I could not understand took place within my
soul; and since that time I have been weary of
everything. I have looked with disdain on my
father's best gallopers; I have been ashamed
to be seen on them, and yearning has taken pos-
session of me. In my anguish I have spent whole
days on the cliffs, and, every minute, my thoughts
have kept turning to your black galloper with his
graceful gait and his sleek back, straight as an
arrow. With his keen, bright eyes he has looked
into mine as if about to speak! . . . I shall die,
Kazbich, if you will not sell him to me!' said
Azamat, with trembling voice.
"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 some-
thing 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[1] 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!'
[1] King -- a title of the Sultan of Turkey.
"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."[2]
[2] I beg my readers' pardon for having versified Kazbich's
song, which, of course, as I heard it, was in prose; but habit is
second nature. (Author's note.)
"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 Aleksandro-
vich, 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 Aleksan-
drovich 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 con-
spiracy. 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.' . .
sleek neck with his hand, as he called him various
fond names.
"'If I had a stud of a thousand mares,' said
Azamat, 'I would give it all for your Karagyoz!'
"'Yok![1] I would not take it!' said Kazbich
indifferently.
[1] "No!"
"'Listen, Kazbich,' said Azamat, trying to
ingratiate himself with him. 'You are a kind-
hearted man, you are a brave horseman, but my
father is afraid of the Russians and will not
allow me to go on the mountains. Give me
your horse, and I will do anything you wish. I
will steal my father's best rifle for you, or his
sabre -- just as you like -- and his sabre is a genuine
Gurda;[1] you have only to lay the edge against
your hand, and it will cut you; a coat of mail
like yours is nothing against it.'
[1] A particular kind of ancient and valued sabre.
"Kazbich remained silent.
"'The first time I saw your horse,' continued
Azamat, 'when he was wheeling and leaping
under you, his nostrils distended, and the flints
flying in showers from under his hoofs, something
I could not understand took place within my
soul; and since that time I have been weary of
everything. I have looked with disdain on my
father's best gallopers; I have been ashamed
to be seen on them, and yearning has taken pos-
session of me. In my anguish I have spent whole
days on the cliffs, and, every minute, my thoughts
have kept turning to your black galloper with his
graceful gait and his sleek back, straight as an
arrow. With his keen, bright eyes he has looked
into mine as if about to speak! . . . I shall die,
Kazbich, if you will not sell him to me!' said
Azamat, with trembling voice.
"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 some-
thing 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[1] 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!'
[1] King -- a title of the Sultan of Turkey.
"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."[2]
[2] I beg my readers' pardon for having versified Kazbich's
song, which, of course, as I heard it, was in prose; but habit is
second nature. (Author's note.)
"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 Aleksandro-
vich, 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 Aleksan-
drovich 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 con-
spiracy. 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.' . .
- pardon [´pɑ:dən]
n.&vt.原谅；饶恕；赦免 (初中英语单词) - thrust [θrʌst] v.&n.猛推；冲；刺；挤进 (初中英语单词)
- violence [´vaiələns] n.猛烈；暴力(行) (初中英语单词)
- stable [´steibəl] n.马棚 a.稳固的 (初中英语单词)
- saddle [´sædl] n.鞍子 v.装鞍(于) (初中英语单词)
- interfere [,intə´fiə] vi.干涉；妨碍；打扰 (初中英语单词)
- instance [´instəns] n.例子，实例，例证 (初中英语单词)
- interval [´intəvəl] n.间隙；(工间)休息 (初中英语单词)
- forgive [fə´giv] vt.原谅，谅解，宽恕 (初中英语单词)
- arrival [ə´raivəl] n.到达；到达的人(物) (初中英语单词)
- cunning [´kʌniŋ] a.&n.狡猾(诡诈)的 (初中英语单词)
- account [ə´kaunt] vi.说明 vt.认为 n.帐目 (初中英语单词)
- charming [´tʃɑ:miŋ] a.可爱的；极好的 (初中英语单词)
- horseman [´hɔ:smən] n.骑手，马术师 (高中英语单词)
- disdain [dis´dein] vt.&n.藐视，轻视 (高中英语单词)
- anguish [´æŋgwiʃ] n.(极度的)痛苦；苦恼 (高中英语单词)
- torrent [´tɔrənt] n.奔流，激流，洪流；迸发 (高中英语单词)
- sultan [´sʌltən] n.苏丹 (高中英语单词)
- treachery [´tretʃəri] n.背叛；背信弃义 (高中英语单词)
- courtyard [´kɔ:tjɑ:d] n.院子，庭院 (高中英语单词)
- fortress [´fɔ:tris] n.堡垒，要塞 (高中英语单词)
- learned [´lə:nid] a.有学问的，博学的 (高中英语单词)
- profitable [´prɔfitəbəl] a.有益的；有用的 (高中英语单词)
- trying [´traiiŋ] a.难堪的；费劲的 (英语四级单词)
- whirlwind [´wə:l,wind] n.旋风；猛烈的势力 (英语四级单词)
- dagger [´dægə] n.短剑，匕首 (英语四级单词)
- weeping [´wi:piŋ] a.&n.哭泣(的) (英语六级单词)
- starlight [´stɑ:lait] n.星光 (英语六级单词)
- taking [´teikiŋ] a.迷人的 n.捕获物 (英语六级单词)
- tumbler [´tʌmblə] n.杂技演员；不倒翁 (英语六级单词)
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章节正文
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