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Gratis
Mikhail Lermontov

A Hero of Our Time

A Hero of Our Time, by Mikhail Yurievich Lermontov[1] (1814–1841), 1840[2], 1841. fiction. russian novel. romanticism. Realism. Title Geroy nashego vremeni[3] in russian; this is the second edition (1841), including the author’s preface. This complete HTML e-text is based on the translation from the Russian into English by Martin Parker, published by Progress Publishers, Moscow, 1947, 1951, in the public domain in the United States of America. (A translation that has also been reprinted by but not copyrighted by the Everyman Library, 1995, revised and edited by Neil Cornwell, University of Bristol, ISBN 0–660–87566–3.) Illustrations are from the Moscow edition. We have extensively modified the Parker translation here, mostly by attempting to render it into modern American English and at the same time to restore what we consider the most likely original meaning.

* * *

Another online edition of this work can be found at the University of Virginia Library Electronic Text Center. That English translation, entitled «The Heart of a Russian,» by J. H. Wisdom Marr Murray, N.Y.: Knopf, 1916, has a different order to the chapters and has heavy Victorian prose and sketchy footnotes. However, the edition, by Judy Boss, Carolyn Fay, and David Seaman, does have page numbers and a few color illustrations. We did not refer to it when doing this edition. A text-only version of that translation was released in Project Gutenberg in May, 1997.

For further references, please see the books by Cornwell and Nabokov[4] previously cited, as they contain notes, a map, chronologies, excerpts from critical material, and everything you need.
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Kesan

  • Heine Melkevikmembagikan kesan7 tahun yang lalu
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    A great book and one that makes you want to travel to the Caucasus

  • al mmembagikan kesan4 tahun yang lalu
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Kutipan

  • Heine Melkevikmembuat kutipan7 tahun yang lalu
    "Perhaps," I thought, "that is why you loved me, for joy is forgotten, but sorrow never..."
  • Анастасия Носковаmembuat kutipantahun lalu
    'Listen, Maksim Maksimich,' he replied, 'I have an unfortunate character. Whether it is my upbringing that made me like that or God who created me so, I don't know. I know only that if I cause unhappiness to others I myself am no less unhappy. I realize this is poor consolation for them-but the fact remains that it's so. In my early youth after leaving my parents, I plunged into all the pleasures money could buy, and naturally these pleasures grew distasteful to me. Then I went into high society, but soon enough grew tired of it; I fell in love with beautiful society women and was loved by them, but their love only aggravated my imagination and vanity while my heart remained desolate... I began to read and to study, but wearied of learning too. I saw that neither fame nor happiness depended on it in the slightest, for the happiest people were the most ignorant, and fame was a matter of luck, to achieve which you only had to be clever. And I grew bored... Soon I was transferred to the Caucasus-this was the happiest time of my life. I hoped that boredom would not survive under Chechen bullets-but it's no use. In a month I had become so accustomed to their whine and the breath of death that, to tell the truth, the mosquitoes bothered me more, and life became more boring than ever because I had now lost practically my last hope. When I saw Bela in my quarters, when I held her on my lap and first kissed her raven locks, I foolishly thought she was an angel sent down to me by a compassionate Providence... Again I was mistaken: the love of a savage girl is little better than that of a well-born lady. The ignorance and simplicity of the one are as boring as the coquetry of the other. I still love her, if you want to know. I am grateful to her for a few rather blissful moments. I am ready to die for her even, but I am really bored with her... I don't know whether I am a fool or a scoundrel, but the fact is that I am to be pitied as much, if not more than she. My soul has been warped by the world, my mind is restless, my heart insatiable-nothing satisfies me. I grow accustomed to sorrow as readily as to joy, and my life becomes emptier from day to day. Only one thing is left for me, and that is to travel. As soon as possible I'll set out-not for Europe, God forbid-but for America, Arabia, India-and maybe I'll die somewhere on the road! Ar least I'm sure that with the help of storms and bad roads this consolation won't soon cease to be a last resort
  • Иван Кирилловmembuat kutipan4 tahun yang lalu
    won't keep your skull on your shoulders!'

    "Once the old prince him

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