George.He is well built,swarthy and black-haired.To look at him,you might say he was a man of twenty-five,although he is scarcely twenty-one.He tosses his head when he speaks,and keeps continually twirling his moustache with his left hand,his right hand being occupied with the crutch on which he leans.He speaks rapidly and affectedly;he is one of those people who have a high-sounding phrase ready for every occasion in life,who remain untouched by ****** beauty,and who drape themselves majestically in extraordinary sentiments,exalted passions and exceptional sufferings.To produce an effect is their delight;they have an almost insensate fondness for romantic provincial ladies.When old age approaches they become either peaceful landed-gentry or drunkards --sometimes both.
Frequently they have many good qualities,but they have not a grain of poetry in their com-position.Grushnitski's passion was declamation.
He would deluge you with words so soon as the conversation went beyond the sphere of ordinary ideas.I have never been able to dispute with him.
He neither answers your questions nor listens to you.So soon as you stop,he begins a lengthy tirade,which has the appearance of being in some sort connected with what you have been saying,but which is,in fact,only a continuation of his own harangue.
He is witty enough;his epigrams are fre-quently amusing,but never malicious,nor to the point.He slays nobody with a single word;he has no knowledge of men and of their foibles,because all his life he has been interested in nobody but himself.His aim is to make himself the hero of a novel.He has so often endeavoured to convince others that he is a being created not for this world and doomed to certain mysterious sufferings,that he has almost convinced himself that such he is in reality.Hence the pride with which he wears his thick soldier's cloak.I have seen through him,and he dislikes me for that reason,although to outward appearance we are on the friendliest of terms.Grushnitski is looked upon as a man of distinguished courage.Ihave seen him in action.He waves his sabre,shouts,and hurls himself forward with his eyes shut.That is not what I should call Russian courage!...
I reciprocate Grushnitski's dislike.I feel that some time or other we shall come into collision upon a narrow road,and that one of us will fare badly.
His arrival in the Caucasus is also the result of his romantic fanaticism.I am convinced that on the eve of his departure from his paternal village he said with an air of gloom to some pretty neighbour that he was going away,not so much for the ****** purpose of serving in the army as of seeking death,because ...and hereupon,I am sure,he covered his eyes with his hand and continued thus,"No,you --or thou --must not know!Your pure soul would shudder!And what would be the good?What am I to you?Could you understand me?"...and so on.
He has himself told me that the motive which induced him to enter the K----regiment must remain an everlasting secret between him and Heaven.
However,in moments when he casts aside the tragic mantle,Grushnitski is charming and entertaining enough.I am always interested to see him with women --it is then that he puts forth his finest efforts,I think!
We met like a couple of old friends.I began to question him about the personages of note and as to the sort of life which was led at the waters.
"It is a rather prosaic life,"he said,with a sigh."Those who drink the waters in the morning are inert --like all invalids,and those who drink the wines in the evening are unendurable --like all healthy people!There are ladies who entertain,but there is no great amusement to be obtained from them.They play whist,they dress badly and speak French dreadfully!The only Moscow people here this year are Princess Ligovski and her daughter --but I am not acquainted with them.My soldier's cloak is like a seal of renunciation.The sympathy which it arouses is as painful as charity."At that moment two ladies walked past us in the direction of the well;one elderly,the other youthful and slender.I could not obtain a good view of their faces on account of their hats,but they were dressed in accordance with the strict rules of the best taste --nothing superfluous.
The second lady was wearing a high-necked dress of pearl-grey,and a light silk kerchief was wound round her supple neck.Puce-coloured boots clasped her slim little ankle so charmingly,that even those uninitiated into the mysteries of beauty would infallibly have sighed,if only from wonder.There was something maidenly in her easy,but aristocratic gait,something eluding definition yet intelligible to the glance.As she walked past us an indefinable perfume,like that which sometimes breathes from the note of a charming woman,was wafted from her.
"Look!"said Grushnitski,"there is Princess Ligovski with her daughter Mary,as she calls her after the English manner.They have been here only three days.""You already know her name,though?"
"Yes,I heard it by chance,"he answered,with a blush."I confess I do not desire to make their acquaintance.These haughty aristocrats look upon us army men just as they would upon savages.What care they if there is an intellect beneath a numbered forage-cap,and a heart beneath a thick cloak?""Poor cloak!"I said,with a laugh."But who is the gentleman who is just going up to them and handing them a tumbler so officiously?""Oh,that is Raevich,the Moscow dandy.He is a gambler;you can see as much at once from that immense gold chain coiling across his sky-blue waistcoat.And what a thick cane he has!
Just like Robinson Crusoe's --and so is his beard too,and his hair is done like a peasant's.""You are embittered against the whole human race?""And I have cause to be"...
"Oh,really?"
