A Desperate Character | Page 4

she was always completely engrossed in the care, first, of her own
really delicate health, secondly, of the health of her husband, whose fits
always inspired in her something like superstitious horror, and lastly, of
her only son, Misha, whom she brought up herself with great zeal.
Andrei Nikolaevitch did not oppose his wife's looking after Misha, on
the one condition of his education never over-stepping the lines laid
down, once and for all, within which everything must move in his
house! Thus, for instance, at Christmas-time, and at New Year, and St.
Vassily's eve, it was permissible for Misha to dress up and masquerade
with the servant boys--and not only permissible, but even a binding
duty.... But, at any other time, God forbid! and so on, and so on.

II

I remember Misha at thirteen. He was a very pretty boy, with rosy little
cheeks and soft lips (indeed he was soft and plump-looking all over),
with prominent liquid eyes, carefully brushed and combed, caressing
and modest--a regular little girl! There was only one thing about him I
did not like: he rarely laughed; but when he did laugh, his teeth--large
white teeth, pointed like an animal's--showed disagreeably, and the
laugh itself had an abrupt, even savage, almost animal sound, and there
were unpleasant gleams in his eyes. His mother was always praising
him for being so obedient and well behaved, and not caring to make
friends with rude boys, but always preferring feminine society. 'A
mother's darling, a milksop,' his father, Andrei Nikolaevitch, would call
him; 'but he's always ready to go into the house of God.... And that I am
glad to see.' Only one old neighbour, who had been a police captain,
once said before me, speaking of Misha, 'Mark my words, he'll be a
rebel.' And this saying, I remember, surprised me very much at the time.
The old police captain, it is true, used to see rebels on all sides.
Just such an exemplary youth Misha continued to be till the eighteenth
year of his age, up to the death of his parents, both of whom he lost
almost on the same day. As I was all the while living constantly at
Moscow, I heard nothing of my young kinsman. An acquaintance
coming from his province did, it is true, inform me that Misha had sold
the paternal estate for a trifling sum; but this piece of news struck me as
too wildly improbable! And behold, all of a sudden, one autumn
morning there flew into the courtyard of my house a carriage, with a
pair of splendid trotting horses, and a coachman of monstrous size on
the box; and in the carriage, wrapped in a cloak of military cut, with a
beaver collar two yards deep, and with a foraging cap cocked on one
side, à la diable m'emporte, sat ... Misha! On catching sight of me (I
was standing at the drawing-room window, gazing in astonishment at
the flying equipage), he laughed his abrupt laugh, and jauntily flinging
back his cloak, he jumped out of the carriage and ran into the house.
'Misha! Mihail Andreevitch!' I was beginning, ... 'Is it you?'
'Call me Misha,'--he interrupted me. 'Yes, it's I, ... I, in my own
person.... I have come to Moscow ... to see the world ... and show

myself. And here I am, come to see you. What do you say to my
horses?... Eh?' he laughed again.
Though it was seven years since I had seen Misha last, I recognised
him at once. His face had remained just as youthful and as pretty as
ever--there was no moustache even visible; only his cheeks looked a
little swollen under his eyes, and a smell of spirits came from his lips.
'Have you been long in Moscow?' I inquired.
'I supposed you were at home in the country, looking after the place.' ...
'Eh! The country I threw up at once! As soon as my parents died--may
their souls rest in peace--(Misha crossed himself scrupulously, without
a shade of mockery) at once, without a moment's delay, ... ein, zwei,
drei! ha, ha! I let it go cheap, damn it! A rascally fellow turned up. But
it's no matter! Anyway, I am living as I fancy, and amusing other
people. But why are you staring at me like that? Was I, really, to go
dragging on in the same old round, do you suppose? ... My dear fellow,
couldn't I have a glass of something?'
Misha spoke fearfully quick and hurriedly, and, at the same time, as
though he were only just waked up from sleep.
'Misha, upon my word!' I wailed; 'have you no fear of God? What do
you look like? What an attire! And you ask for a glass too! And