him,
it was impossible to decline, Tartar though he was. We set off. In the
village we were met by a number of dogs, all barking loudly. The women,
when they saw us coming, hid themselves, but those whose faces we were
able to get a view of were far from being beauties.

"'I had a much better opinion of the Circassian women,' remarked Grigori
Aleksandrovich.

"'Wait a bit!' I answered, with a smile; I had my own views on the
subject.

"A number of people had already gathered at the prince's hut. It is the
custom of the Asiatics, you know, to invite all and sundry to a
wedding. We were received with every mark of honour and conducted to the
guest-chamber. All the same, I did not forget quietly to mark where our
horses were put, in case anything unforeseen should happen."

"How are weddings celebrated amongst them?" I asked the staff-captain.

"Oh, in the usual way. First of all, the Mullah reads them something
out of the Koran; then gifts are bestowed upon the young couple and all
their relations; the next thing is eating and drinking of buza, then the
dance on horseback; and there is always some ragamuffin, bedaubed with
grease, bestriding a wretched, lame jade, and grimacing, buffooning, and
making the worshipful company laugh. Finally, when darkness falls, they
proceed to hold what we should call a ball in the guest-chamber. A poor,
old greybeard strums on a three-stringed instrument--I forget what they
call it, but anyhow, it is something in the nature of our balalaika. [8]
The girls and young children set themselves in two ranks, one opposite
the other, and clap their hands and sing. Then a girl and a man come out
into the centre and begin to chant verses to each other--whatever comes
into their heads--and the rest join in as a chorus. Pechorin and I
sat in the place of honour. All at once up came our host's youngest
daughter, a girl of about sixteen, and chanted to Pechorin--how shall I
put it?--something in the nature of a compliment."...

"What was it she sang--do you remember?"

"It went like this, I fancy: 'Handsome, they say, are our young
horsemen, and the tunics they wear are garnished with silver; but
handsomer still is the young Russian officer, and the lace on his tunic
is wrought of gold. Like a poplar amongst them he stands, but in gardens
of ours such trees will grow not nor bloom!'

"Pechorin rose, bowed to her, put his hand to his forehead and heart,
and asked me to answer her. I know their