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234 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1839
(Funnily enough - in the saddest way possible - Lermontov himself wrote a passionate and angry poem about Pushkin鈥檚 death, condemning the societal scorn that pushed Pushkin to such an end - only to repeat the same fate himself. And both Pushkin and Lermontov have written and condemned pointless duel scenes in both of their greatest works - Pushkin in , Lermontov in this one, . Writing the scathing about Pushkin鈥檚 death was what earned the young previously little-known writer both skyrocketing fame in the literary circles and displeasure of the Tsar, culminating in basically what amounted to the exile to serve in the army in the Caucasus mountains - the place where his masterpiece is set and where Lermontov himself eventually was killed.)
(Supposedly, Lermontov himself was not the nicest person. A very wealthy and spoiled young man, he was famous for seducing women and breaking their hearts, writing rambunctious and lurid poetry after joining a cadet school, a sharp and caustic wit that could border on casual cruelty, impressive intelligence bordering on cynical arrogance, and boundless bravery in war battles leaning towards careless recklessness. But again, the man was only 26 when he died, with no chance to ever reach maturity and wisdom of age, to outgrow the swagger stage of a young rich guy with all the life ahead of him.)
鈥淸鈥 This is a portrait, indeed, but not of one man: it is a portrait comprised of the vices of our entire generation, in all of their form. You will tell me again that a man cannot be this bad, and I will tell you that if you could believe in the possibility of the existence of all the tragic and romantic scoundrels, why wouldn鈥檛 you believe in the reality of Pechorin? If you enjoyed creations much more terrible and uglier, why would this character, even as an invention, not find mercy with you? Is it because that he carries more truth than you would have wished for?鈥�
鈥淭he dancing choirs of the stars were interwoven in wondrous patterns on the distant horizon, and, one after another, they flickered out as the wan resplendence of the east suffused the dark, lilac vault of heaven, gradually illuminating the steep mountain slopes, covered with the virgin snows. To right and left loomed grim and mysterious chasms, and masses of mist, eddying and coiling like snakes, were creeping thither along the furrows of the neighbouring cliffs, as though sentient and fearful of the approach of day.鈥�
鈥淥n reading over these notes, I have become convinced of the sincerity of the man who has so unsparingly exposed to view his own weaknesses and vices. The history of a man鈥檚 soul, even the pettiest soul, is hardly less interesting and useful than the history of a whole people; especially when the former is the result of the observations of a mature mind upon itself, and has been written without any egoistical desire of arousing sympathy or astonishment. Rousseau鈥檚 Confessions has precisely this defect鈥攈e read it to his friends.鈥�
鈥淲hat a glorious place that valley is! On every hand are inaccessible mountains, steep, yellow slopes scored by water-channels, and reddish rocks draped with green ivy and crowned with clusters of plane-trees. Yonder, at an immense height, is the golden fringe of the snow. Down below rolls the River Aragva, which, after bursting noisily forth from the dark and misty depths of the gorge, with an unnamed stream clasped in its embrace, stretches out like a thread of silver, its waters glistening like a snake with flashing scales.鈥�
鈥淎 childish feeling, I admit, but, when we retire from the conventions of society and draw close to nature, we involuntarily become as children: each attribute acquired by experience falls away from the soul, which becomes anew such as it was once and will surely be again. He whose lot it has been, as mine has been, to wander over the desolate mountains, long, long to observe their fantastic shapes, greedily to gulp down the life-giving air diffused through their ravines鈥攈e, of course, will understand my desire to communicate, to narrate, to sketch those magic pictures.鈥�
I was so delighted to be so high above the world: it was a childlike feeling, I won鈥檛 deny it, but withdrawing from the demands of society, and drawing near to nature, we become children without meaning to, and everything that has been acquired falls away from the soul 鈥� and it becomes as it once was, and probably will be once again.
Yes, such has been my lot since early childhood. Everyone would read on my face evil signs that weren鈥檛 even there. But they were assumed to be there, and so they were born in me. I was modest 鈥� and I was accused of craftiness: I started to be secretive. I had deep feelings of good and evil. No one caressed me; everyone insulted me. I became rancorous. I was sullen 鈥� other children were merry and chatty. I felt myself to be superior to them 鈥� and I was made inferior. I grew envious. I was prepared to love the whole world 鈥� and no one understood me 鈥� and I learned to hate. My colorless youth elapsed in a struggle with myself and the world.
I have already surpassed that period in a soul鈥檚 life when it seeks only happiness, when the heart feels a necessity to love someone strongly and ardently. Now I only want to be loved, and at that, only by a very few.
賰賳鬲 禺噩賵賱丕 賮丕鬲賴賲賵賳賷 亘丕賱賲賰乇 賮兀氐亘丨鬲 賰鬲賵賲丕. 賵 賰賳鬲 兀丨爻 亘丕賱禺賷乇 賵 丕賱卮乇 廿丨爻丕爻丕 毓賲賷賯丕. 賵 賱賰賳 兀丨丿丕 賱賲 锟斤拷毓胤賮 毓賱賷賾. 亘賱 賰丕賳賵丕 噩賲賷毓丕 賷丐匕賵賳賳賷. 賮兀氐亘丨鬲 丨賯賵丿丕 兀丨亘 丕賱廿賳鬲賯丕賲. 賵 賰賳鬲 丨夭賷賳 丕賱賳賮爻 賵 賰丕賳 丕賱兀胤賮丕賱 丕賱兀禺乇賵賳 賮乇丨賷賳 賴丿丕乇賷賳 賵 賰賳鬲 兀卮毓乇 兀賳賳賷 賮賵賯賴賲 賮賯賷賱 賱賷 兀賳賳賷 丿賵賳賴賲 賮兀氐亘丨鬲 丨爻賵丿丕. 賵 賰賳鬲 賲賴賷兀 賱兀賳 兀丨亘 噩賲賷毓 丕賱賳丕爻 賮賱賲 賷賮賴賲賳賷 兀丨丿 賮鬲毓賱賲鬲 丕賱賰乇賿賴. 丿賮賳鬲 兀賳亘賱 毓賵丕胤賮賷 賮賷 兀毓賲丕賯 賯賱亘賷 賮賲丕鬲鬲 賴賳丕賱賰. 賵 賰賳鬲 兀丨亘 兀賳 兀賯賵賱 丕賱丨賯賷賯丞 賮賱賲 賷氐丿賯賳賷 兀丨丿 賮兀禺匕鬲 兀賰匕亘.賴匕丕 賴賵 亘鬲卮賵乇賷賳 亘胤賱 夭賲丕賳 賱賷乇賲賳鬲賵賮 賵 賴匕丕 賲丕 夭乇毓賳丕賴 丕賱賷賵賲 賮賷 賳賮賵爻 卮亘丕亘賳丕. 夭乇毓丞 禺丕卅亘丞 賱丕 鬲亘賳賷 廿賱丕 亘賲賯丿丕乇 賲丕 鬲賴丿賲 賵 賱丕 鬲氐毓丿 廿賱丕 廿賱賶 兀爻賮賱 賵 賱丕 鬲鬲賯丿賲 兀亘丿丕 賱賱兀賲丕賲. 賳乇賶 丕賱賷賵賲 丨氐丕丿 賮卮賱 丕賱孬賵乇丕鬲 賮爻丕丿丕 賵 丿賷賰鬲丕鬲賵乇賷丞 賵 廿乇賴丕亘丕 賵 賲丕 禺賮賷 賰丕賳 兀毓馗賲. 賱丕 夭丕賱鬲 兀賲丕賲賳丕 賮乇氐丕 囟卅賷賱丞 亘毓丿賲 廿毓賱丕賳 丕賱廿爻鬲爻賱丕賲 賵 丕爻鬲卅賳丕賮 賲丕 亘丿兀賳丕賴 賮賵乇丕 賮賷 噩賵賱丞 賴賷 丨鬲賲丕 丕賱兀禺賷乇丞 賱賱賲賴夭賵賲 賯亘賱 丕賱賲賳鬲氐乇.
賵賱丿 丕賱賷兀爻 賮賷 賯賱亘賷. 兀氐亘丨鬲 乇賵丨賷 賲卮賱賵賱丞. 匕賴亘 賳氐賮 賳賮爻賷. 噩賮. 鬲亘禺乇. 賲丕鬲. 賯胤毓鬲賴 賵 乇賲賷鬲賴 亘毓賷丿丕 毓賳賷.
賱丕 兀丿乇賷 兀兀賳丕 兀丨賲賯 兀賲 兀賳丕 賵睾丿. 賵 賱賰賳 賴賳丕賰 卮賷卅丕 賱丕 賲乇丕亍 賮賷賴 賵 賴賵 兀賳賳賷 噩丿賷乇 亘丕賱卮賮賯丞. 丕賳 賱賷 賳賮爻丕 兀賮爻丿鬲賴丕 丨賷丕丞 丕賱賲噩鬲賲毓 丕賱乇丕賯賷 賵 禺賷丕賱丕 賯賱賯丕 賵 賯賱亘丕 賱丕 賷卮亘毓 賲賳 噩賵毓. 賱丕 卮賷亍 賷乇賵賷賳賷. 賮爻乇毓丕賳 賲丕 丌賱賮 丕賱兀賱賲 賵 丕賱賱匕丞 賰賱賷賴賲丕. 賵 廿賳 賵噩賵丿賷 賱賷夭丿丕丿 賮乇丕睾丕 賷賵賲丕 亘毓丿 賷賵賲 賵 賱賲 賷亘賯 賱賷 廿賱丕 賲禺乇噩 賵丕丨丿 .. 丕賱爻賮乇.
And now Childe Harold was sore sick at heart,
And from his fellow bacchanals would flee;
'Tis said, at times the sullen tear would start,
But pride congealed the drop within his e'e...
- Lord Byron, Childe Harold's Pilgrimage (Canto I, Stanza VI)
Yes, such has been my lot from very childhood! All have read upon my countenance the marks of bad qualities, which were not existent; but they were assumed to exist鈥攁nd they were born. I was modest鈥擨 was accused of slyness: I grew secretive. I profoundly felt both good and evil鈥攏o one caressed me, all insulted me: I grew vindictive. I was gloomy鈥攐ther children merry and talkative; I felt myself higher than they鈥擨 was rated lower: I grew envious. I was prepared to love the whole world鈥攏o one understood me: I learned to hate. My colourless youth flowed by in conflict with myself and the world; fearing ridicule, I buried my best feelings in the depths of my heart, and there they died. I spoke the truth鈥擨 was not believed: I began to deceive. (93)
Therefore, you must wait a bit, or, if you like, turn over a few pages. (26)
Though I do not advise you to do the latter, because the crossing of Mount Krestov (or, as the erudite Gamba calls it, le mont St. Christophe) is worthy of your curiosity. (26)
鈥淚 sing whatever comes into my head. It'll be heard by who it's meant for, and who isn't meant to hear won't understand.鈥�
"That man of loneliness and mystery,
Scarce seen to smile, and seldom heard to sigh;
Whose name appalls the fiercest of his crew,
And tints each swarthy cheek with sallower hue;
Still sways their souls with that commanding art
That dazzles, leads, yet chills the vulgar heart.
What is that spell, that thus his lawless train
Confess and envy鈥攜et oppose in vain?
What should it be, that thus their faith can bind?
The power of Thought鈥攖he magic of the Mind!
Linked with success, assumed and kept with skill,
That molds another's weakness to its will;
Wields with their hands, but, still to these unknown,
Makes even their mightiest deeds appear his own.
Such hath it been鈥攕hall be鈥攂eneath the Sun
The many still must labour for the one!
'Tis Nature's doom鈥攂ut let the wretch who toils,
Accuse not鈥攈ate not鈥攈im who wears the spoils.
Oh! if he knew the weight of splendid chains,
How light the balance of his humbler pains!"
George Gordon, Lord Byron
"A Hero of Our Time, my dear readers, is indeed a portrait, but not of one man. It is a portrait built up of all our generation's vices in full bloom. You will again tell me that a human being cannot be so wicked, and I will reply that if you can believe in the existence of all the villains of tragedy and romance, why wouldn't believe that there was a Pechorin? If you could admire far more terrifying and repulsive types, why aren't you more merciful to this character, even if it is fictitious? Isn't it because there's more truth in it than you might wish?"
I often ask myself why I am so obstinately endeavouring to win the love of a young girl whom I do not wish to deceive, and whom I will never marry.