About the product
The chapter “Maksim Maksimych” by Lermontov is a chronological and plot continuation of the story about Bel and the second part of the novel “A Hero of Our Time”. This chapter is of particular value because it reveals the true essence of Pechorin.
In this chapter, the main character is shown from the outside, the reader gets to know his appearance. The narration is told on behalf of the traveler-narrator.
To better prepare for a literature lesson, we recommend reading the online summary of “Maxim Maksimych” on our website. A retelling of the chapter will also be useful for the reader's diary.
The material was prepared jointly with a teacher of the highest category, Kuchmina Nadezhda Vladimirovna.
Experience as a teacher of Russian language and literature - 27 years.
Summary
Continuing his journey through the Caucasus, the narrator again had a chance to meet Maxim Maksimych. Fate brought them together at an inn, and they dined together like old friends.
Seeing a smart-looking carriage stop in the yard, they decided to find out who had been carried into this remote corner. It turned out that the stroller belonged to Pechorin, and this news made Maxim Maksimych very happy. He asked the footman to tell the owner that his old acquaintance, the staff captain, wanted to see him. He thought that Pechorin would be delighted and would immediately come running to say hello.
The narrator “also waited with some impatience for the appearance of this Pechorin.” The personality of the young officer intrigued him even from the previous stories of Maxim Maksimych. However, he was not going to pay a visit, and “it was obvious that the old man was upset by Pechorin’s negligence.” He did not sleep all night, waiting for his old friend to appear, and could not understand why he was in no hurry to see him.
The next morning Pechorin appeared, and the narrator had the opportunity to take a close look at him. He was a slender young man of average height, with small aristocratic hands. His gait was lazy and careless, but while walking he never waved his arms - “a sure sign of some secretiveness of character.” At first glance at Pechorin, he could be given no more than twenty-three years of age, but upon closer inspection, it was clear that the man had crossed the thirty-year mark. His poses were somewhat pampered and languid, and “there was something childish in his smile.” His black mustache and eyebrows, combined with light curls, gave away his breed, “like the black mane and black tail of a white horse.”
But what deserved special attention were his eyes, which “did not laugh when he laughed.” Their cold, dazzling shine was like “the shine of smooth steel,” and their gaze was invariably heavy and penetrating. In general, Pechorin was very handsome, and “had one of those original faces that are especially popular with secular women.”
In the morning, Maxim Maksimych went to the commandant on official business. Seeing that Pechorin was already getting a stroller, the narrator sent the boy to call the old officer. Maxim Maksimych ran with all his might, afraid of being late. He wanted to joyfully throw himself into Pechorin’s arms, but the young man only extended his hand to him, “rather coldly, although with a friendly smile.” He said that he had been bored all this time, but now he was on his way to Persia and did not intend to stay here. When asked about Bela, Pechorin “turned a little pale and turned away,” and then yawned forcefully.
The old man began to beg Pechorin to stay at least for a while, to talk, to remember the past. However, the officer politely but decisively refused the joint lunch that Maxim Maksimych so insisted on. He said that “everyone has his own path” and asked not to hold a grudge against him.
Maxim Maksimych wanted to take Pechorin his papers, left over from the time they were together in the fortress, but the young man did not need them. When asked when he would return from Persia, “Pechorin made a hand sign that could be translated as follows: unlikely! and why?..”
The old man did not expect such indifference; he “was sad and angry, although he tried to hide it.” Pechorin’s neglect deeply hurt him, because he considered the young man his old friend, with whom he had experienced a lot. Maxim Maksimych predicted a bad death for Pechorin, which awaits everyone “who forgets old friends.”
The narrator asked the staff captain what he intended to do with Pechorin’s notes, and he replied that he would order “to make some cartridges.” The narrator asked to give him the papers of the young officer who interested him so much. Maxim Maksimych agreed and with undisguised contempt began to throw his former friend’s notebooks to the ground. “There was something childish in his annoyance,” and at that moment the old man involuntarily aroused a feeling of pity for himself.
The narrator grabbed the papers and “hurriedly took them away, fearing that the staff captain would repent.” They said goodbye rather coldly: Maxim Maksimych could not recover from the humiliation of meeting Pechorin. It was sad to see how the once open and friendly officer “became a stubborn, grumpy staff captain.” It became clear to the narrator that, having lost faith in friendship, Maxim Maksimych would forever close his heart and soul to new acquaintances.
Hero of our time Maxim Maksimych
After parting with Maxim Maksimych, I quickly galloped through the Terek and Daryal gorges, had breakfast in Kazbek, drank tea in Lars, and arrived in Vladykavkaz in time for dinner. I will spare you descriptions of mountains, exclamations that express nothing, pictures that depict nothing, especially for those who have not been there, and statistical remarks that absolutely no one will read.I stopped at a hotel where all travelers stop and where, meanwhile, there is no one to order the pheasant to be fried and the cabbage soup to be cooked, because the three invalids to whom it is entrusted are so stupid or so drunk that no sense can be achieved from them.
They told me that I had to live here for three more days, because the “opportunity” from Yekaterinograd had not yet arrived and, therefore, could not go back. What an opportunity!.. but a bad pun is no consolation for a Russian person, and for fun I decided to write down Maxim Maksimych’s story about Bel, not imagining that he would be the first link in a long chain of stories; you see how sometimes an unimportant incident has cruel consequences!.. And you, perhaps, do not know what an “opportunity” is? This is a cover consisting of half a company of infantry and a cannon, with which convoys travel through Kabarda from Vladykavkaz to Yekaterinograd.
I spent the first day very boring; on another, early in the morning a cart drives into the yard... Ah! Maxim Maksimych!.. We met like old friends. I offered him my room. He didn’t stand on ceremony, he even hit me on the shoulder and curled his mouth like a smile. Such an eccentric!..
Maxim Maksimych had deep knowledge in the art of cooking: he fried the pheasant surprisingly well, successfully poured cucumber pickle on it, and I must admit that without him I would have had to remain on dry food. A bottle of Kakheti helped us forget about the modest number of dishes, of which there was only one, and, having lit our pipes, we sat down: I at the window, he at the flooded stove, because the day was damp and cold. We were silent. What did we have to talk about?.. He had already told me everything that was interesting about himself, but I had nothing to tell. I looked out the window. Many low houses scattered along the bank of the Terek, which spreads wider and wider, flashed from behind the trees, and further on the blue jagged wall of the mountain, from behind them Kazbek looked out in his white cardinal’s hat. I mentally said goodbye to them: I felt sorry for them...
We sat like that for a long time. The sun was hiding behind the cold peaks, and the whitish fog was beginning to disperse in the valleys, when the ringing of a road bell and the cry of cabbies were heard in the street. Several carts with dirty Armenians drove into the hotel yard and behind them an empty carriage; its easy movement, convenient design and smart appearance had some kind of foreign imprint. Behind her walked a man with a large mustache, wearing a Hungarian jacket, and fairly well dressed for a footman; there was no mistaking his rank, seeing the swaggering manner with which he shook the ash out of his pipe and shouted at the coachman. He was clearly a spoiled servant of a lazy master - something like a Russian Figaro.
“Tell me, my dear,” I shouted to him through the window, “what is this—an opportunity has come, or what?”
He looked rather impudent, straightened his tie and turned away; The Armenian walking next to him, smiling, answered for him that the opportunity had definitely come and would go back tomorrow morning.
- God bless! - said Maxim Maksimych, who came to the window at that time. - What a wonderful stroller! “he added, “surely some official is going to Tiflis for investigation.” Apparently he doesn’t know our slides! No, you’re kidding, my dear: they’re not their own brother, they’ll even shake the English one!
- Who would it be, let’s go find out...
We went out into the corridor. At the end of the corridor, the door to a side room was open. The footman and the cab driver were dragging suitcases into it.
“Listen, brother,” the staff captain asked him, “whose is this wonderful stroller?.. huh?.. A wonderful stroller!..” The footman, without turning around, muttered something to himself, untying the suitcase. Maxim Maksimych became angry; he touched the impolite man on the shoulder and said: “I’m telling you, my dear...
- Whose carriage?... my master...
-Who is your master?
- Pechorin...
- What you? what you? Pechorin?.. Oh, my God!.. didn’t he serve in the Caucasus?.. - exclaimed Maxim Maksimych, tugging at my sleeve. Joy sparkled in his eyes.
- I served, it seems - but I’ve only recently joined them.
“Well!.. so!.. Grigory Alexandrovich?.. That’s his name, isn’t it?.. Your master and I were friends,” he added, hitting the footman on the shoulder in a friendly manner, causing him to stagger...
“Excuse me, sir, you’re disturbing me,” he said, frowning.
- What are you, brother!.. Do you know? Your master and I were bosom friends, we lived together... But where did he stay?..
The servant announced that Pechorin stayed to have dinner and spend the night with Colonel N...
“Won’t he come here this evening?” - said Maxim Maksimych, - or you, my dear, won’t you go to him for something? .. If you go, then say that Maksim Maksimych is here; just say so... he already knows... I’ll give you eight hryvnia for vodka...
The footman made a contemptuous face upon hearing such a modest promise, but assured Maxim Maksimych that he would fulfill his instructions.
“After all, he’ll come running now!..” Maxim Maksimych told me with a triumphant look, “I’ll go outside the gate to wait for him... Eh!” It's a pity that I'm not familiar with N...
Maxim Maksimych sat down on a bench outside the gate, and I went to my room. Frankly, I was also somewhat impatiently awaiting the appearance of this Pechorin; According to the staff captain’s story, I formed a not very favorable idea about him, but some traits in his character seemed remarkable to me. An hour later the invalid brought a boiling samovar and a kettle.
- Maxim Maksimych, would you like some tea? - I shouted at him out the window.
- Thank you; I don't want something.
- Hey, have a drink! Look, it's late, it's cold.
- Nothing; thank you...
- Well, whatever! — I started drinking tea alone; about ten minutes later my old man comes in:
“But you’re right: it’s better to have some tea,” but I kept waiting... His man went to see him a long time ago, yes, apparently something delayed him.
He quickly drank a cup, refused the second one, and went back out of the gate in some kind of anxiety: it was obvious that the old man was upset by Pechorin’s neglect, and especially since he had recently told me about his friendship with him and an hour ago he was sure that that he will come running as soon as he hears his name.
It was already late and dark when I opened the window again and began to call Maxim Maksimych, saying that it was time to sleep; he muttered something through his teeth; I repeated the invitation, but he did not answer.
I lay down on the sofa, wrapped in an overcoat and leaving a candle on the couch, soon dozed off and would have slept peacefully if, already very late, Maxim Maksimych, coming into the room, had not woken me up. He threw the receiver on the table, began walking around the room, fiddling with the stove, and finally lay down, but coughed for a long time, spat, tossed and turned...
- Are bedbugs biting you? - I asked.
“Yes, bedbugs...” he answered, sighing heavily.
The next morning I woke up early; but Maxim Maksimych warned me. I found him at the gate, sitting on a bench. “I need to go to the commandant,” he said, “so please, if Pechorin comes, send for me...”
I promised. He ran as if his limbs had regained youthful strength and flexibility.
The morning was fresh but beautiful. Golden clouds piled up on the mountains, like a new series of airy mountains; in front of the gate there was a wide area; behind her the market was bustling with people, because it was Sunday; barefoot Ossetian boys, carrying knapsacks of honeycomb honey on their shoulders, hovered around me; I drove them away: I had no time for them, I began to share the concern of the good staff captain.
Less than ten minutes had passed when the one we were expecting appeared at the end of the square. He walked with Colonel N..., who, having brought him to the hotel, said goodbye to him and turned to the fortress. I immediately sent the disabled man for Maxim Maksimych.
His lackey came out to meet Pechorin and reported that they were about to start pawning, handed him a box of cigars and, having received several orders, went to work. His master, lighting a cigar, yawned twice and sat down on a bench on the other side of the gate. Now I have to draw his portrait.
He was of average height; his slender, slender figure and broad shoulders proved a strong build, capable of enduring all the difficulties of nomadic life and climate changes, not defeated either by the debauchery of metropolitan life or by spiritual storms; his dusty velvet frock coat, fastened only by the bottom two buttons, made it possible to see his dazzlingly clean linen, revealing the habits of a decent man; his stained gloves seemed deliberately tailored to his small aristocratic hand, and when he took off one glove, I was surprised at the thinness of his pale fingers. His gait was careless and lazy, but I noticed that he did not wave his arms - a sure sign of some secretiveness of character. However, these are my own comments, based on my own observations, and I do not at all want to force you to believe in them blindly. When he sat down on the bench, his straight waist bent, as if he didn’t have a single bone in his back; the position of his whole body depicted some kind of nervous weakness: he sat as Balzac’s thirty-year-old coquette sits on her downy chairs after a tiring ball. At first glance at his face, I would not have given him more than twenty-three years, although after that I was ready to give him thirty. There was something childish in his smile. His skin had a certain feminine tenderness; his blond hair, naturally curly, so picturesquely outlined his pale, noble forehead, on which, only after long observation, one could notice traces of wrinkles that crossed one another and were probably visible much more clearly in moments of anger or mental anxiety. Despite the light color of his hair, his mustache and eyebrows were black - a sign of the breed in a person, just like the black mane and black tail of a white horse. To complete the portrait, I will say that he had a slightly upturned nose, teeth of dazzling whiteness and brown eyes; I must say a few more words about the eyes.
First of all, they didn't laugh when he laughed! —Have you ever noticed such strangeness in some people?.. This is a sign of either an evil disposition or deep, constant sadness. Because of the half-lowered eyelashes, they shone with some kind of phosphorescent shine, so to speak. It was not a reflection of the heat of the soul or the playing imagination: it was a shine, like the shine of smooth steel, dazzling, but cold; his gaze - short, but penetrating and heavy, left an unpleasant impression of an indiscreet question and could have seemed impudent if he had not been so indifferently calm. All these remarks came to my mind, perhaps only because I knew some details of his life, and perhaps to another person he would have made a completely different impression; but since you will not hear about it from anyone except me, you must inevitably be content with this image. I will say in conclusion that he was generally very good-looking and had one of those original faces that are especially popular with secular women.
The horses were already laid down; From time to time the bell rang under the arch, and the footman had already approached Pechorin twice with a report that everything was ready, but Maxim Maksimych had not yet appeared. Fortunately, Pechorin was deep in thought, looking at the blue battlements of the Caucasus, and it seemed that he was in no hurry to get on the road. I approached him.
“If you want to wait a little longer,” I said, “you will have the pleasure of seeing an old friend...
- Oh, exactly! - he answered quickly, - they told me yesterday: but where is he? “I turned to the square and saw Maxim Maksimych, running as fast as he could... A few minutes later he was already near us; he could hardly breathe; sweat rolled from his face like hail; wet tufts of gray hair, escaping from under his cap, stuck to his forehead; his knees were trembling... he wanted to throw himself on Pechorin’s neck, but he rather coldly, although with a friendly smile, extended his hand to him. The staff captain was stunned for a minute, but then greedily grabbed his hand with both hands: he could not speak yet.
- I’m so glad, dear Maxim Maksimych. Well, how are you doing? - said Pechorin.
- And... you?.. and you? - muttered the old man with tears in his eyes... - how many years... how many days... but where is it?..
- I’m going to Persia - and further...
- Really now?.. Just wait, dearest!.. Are we really going to part now?.. We haven’t seen each other for so long...
“I have to go, Maxim Maksimych,” was the answer.
- My God, my God! but where are you in such a hurry?.. I would like to tell you so much... ask so many questions... Well? retired?.. how?.. what did you do?..
- I missed you! - Pechorin answered, smiling.
- Do you remember our life in the fortress? A glorious country for hunting!.. After all, you were a passionate hunter to shoot... And Bela?..
Pechorin turned slightly pale and turned away...
- Yes I remember! - he said, almost immediately yawning forcefully...
Maxim Maksimych began to beg him to stay with him for another two hours.
“We’ll have a nice dinner,” he said, “I have two pheasants; and the Kakhetian wine here is excellent... of course, not the same as in Georgia, but of the best variety... We'll talk... you'll tell me about your life in St. Petersburg... Eh?
“Really, I have nothing to tell, dear Maxim Maksimych... However, goodbye, I have to go... I’m in a hurry... Thank you for not forgetting...” he added, taking his hand.
The old man frowned... he was sad and angry, although he tried to hide it.
- Forget! - he grumbled, - I didn’t forget anything... Well, God bless you!.. This is not how I thought of meeting you...
- Well, that's enough, that's enough! - said Pechorin. hugging him in a friendly manner, “am I really not the same?.. What should I do?.. to each his own way... Will we manage to meet again, God knows!..” Saying this, he was already sitting in the carriage, and the driver had already begun to pick up the reins.
- Wait, wait! - Maxim Maksimych suddenly shouted, grabbing the doors of the stroller, “I completely forgot... I still have your papers, Grigory Alexandrovich... I carry them with me... I thought I would find you in Georgia, but this is where God has given me to meet... What should I do with them? ..
- What do you want! - answered Pechorin. - Goodbye...
“So you’re going to Persia?.. and when will you return?..,” Maxim Maksimych shouted after him...
The carriage was already far away; but Pechorin made a hand sign that could be translated as follows: unlikely! and why?..
For a long time now neither the ringing of a bell nor the sound of wheels on the flinty road had been heard, but the poor old man still stood in the same place in deep thought.
“Yes,” he said finally, trying to assume an indifferent look, although a tear of annoyance sparkled from time to time on his eyelashes, “of course, we were friends - well, what are friends in this century!.. What does he have in me? I’m not rich, I’m not an official, and I’m not at all his age... Look, what a dandy he has become, how he visited St. Petersburg again... What a carriage!.. so much luggage!.. and such a proud footman!.. - These words were said with an ironic smile. “Tell me,” he continued, turning to me, “what do you think about this?.. Well, what demon is carrying him to Persia now?.. It’s funny, by God, it’s funny!.. Yes, I always knew that he a flighty man who cannot be relied upon... And, really, it’s a pity that he will come to a bad end... and it can’t be otherwise!.. I’ve always said that there is no use in those who forget old friends! to hide his excitement, he began to walk around the yard near his cart, pretending to be inspecting the wheels, while his eyes constantly filled with tears.
“Maksim Maksimych,” I said, approaching him, “what kind of papers did Pechorin leave you?”
- God knows! some notes...
- What will you make of them?
- What? I’ll order you to make some cartridges.
- You better give them to me.
He looked at me in surprise, grumbled something through his teeth and began rummaging through the suitcase; so he took out one notebook and threw it with contempt on the ground; then the second, third and tenth had the same fate: there was something childish in his annoyance; I felt funny and sorry...
“Here they are all,” he said, “I congratulate you on your find...
- And I can do whatever I want with them?
- At least print it in the newspapers. What do I care?.. What, am I some kind of friend of his?.. or a relative? True, we lived under the same roof for a long time... But who knows who I haven’t lived with?..
I grabbed the papers and quickly took them away, afraid that the staff captain would repent. Soon they came to announce to us that the opportunity would set off in an hour; I ordered it to be pawned. The staff captain entered the room while I was already putting on my hat; he did not seem to be preparing to leave; he had a kind of forced, cold look.
- Aren’t you, Maxim Maksimych, coming?
- No with.
- Why?
- Yes, I haven’t seen the commandant yet, but I need to hand over some government things to him...
- But you were with him, weren’t you?
“Of course he was,” he said, hesitating, “but he wasn’t at home... but I didn’t wait.”
I understood him: the poor old man, for the first time in his life, perhaps, abandoned the work of the service for his own needs, to put it in paper language - and how he was rewarded!
“It’s a pity,” I told him, “it’s a pity, Maksim Maksimych, that we have to part before the deadline.”
“Where should we, uneducated old men, chase after you!.. You are secular, proud youth: while you are still here, under the Circassian bullets, you go back and forth... and then you meet, you are so ashamed to extend your hand to our brother.”
“I don’t deserve these reproaches, Maxim Maksimych.”
- Yes, you know, I say this by the way: but by the way, I wish you every happiness and a happy journey.
We said goodbye rather dryly. Good Maxim Maksimych became a stubborn, grumpy staff captain! And why? Because Pechorin, absentmindedly or for some other reason, extended his hand to him when he wanted to throw himself on his neck! It’s sad to see when a young man loses his best hopes and dreams, when the pink veil through which he looked at human affairs and feelings is pulled back before him, although there is hope that he will replace old delusions with new ones, no less passing, but no less sweet... But what can replace them in the years of Maxim Maksimych? Involuntarily, the heart will harden and the soul will close...
I left alone.
