A Desperate Character | Page 9

set down to his dislike
for doing any one harm--as, according to his notions, relations with a
woman meant inevitably doing a woman harm--I won't undertake to
decide; only in all his behaviour with the fair sex he was extremely
delicate. Women felt this, and were the more ready to sympathise with
him and help him, until at last he revolted them by his drunkenness and
debauchery, by the desperateness of which I have spoken already.... I
can think of no other word for it.
But in other relations he had by that time lost every sort of delicacy,
and was gradually sinking to the lowest depths of degradation. He once,
in the public assembly at T----, got as far as setting on the table a jug
with a notice: 'Any one, to whom it may seem agreeable to give the
high-born nobleman Poltyev (authentic documents in proof of his
pedigree are herewith exposed) a flip on the nose, may satisfy this
inclination on putting a rouble into this jug.' And I am told there were
persons found willing to pay for the privilege of flipping a nobleman's
nose! It is true that one such person, who put in only one rouble and
gave him two flips, he first almost strangled, and then forced to
apologise; it is true, too, that part of the money gained in this fashion he
promptly distributed among other poor devils ... but still, think what a
disgrace!
In the course of his 'peregrinations from pillar to post,' he made his way,
too, to his ancestral home, which he had sold for next to nothing to a
speculator and money-lender well known in those days. The
money-lender was at home, and hearing of the presence in the
neighbourhood of the former owner, now reduced to vagrancy, he gave
orders not to admit him into the house, and even, in case of necessity,
to drive him away. Misha announced that he would not for his part
consent to enter the house, polluted by the presence of so repulsive a
person; that he would permit no one to drive him away, but was going
to the churchyard to pay his devotions at the grave of his parents. So in

fact he did.
In the churchyard he was joined by an old house-serf, who had once
been his nurse. The money-lender had deprived this old man of his
monthly allowance, and driven him off the estate; since then his refuge
had been a corner in a peasant's hut. Misha had been too short a time in
possession of his estate to have left behind him a particularly
favourable memory; still the old servant could not resist running to the
churchyard as soon as he heard of his young master's being there. He
found Misha sitting on the ground between the tombstones, asked for
his hand to kiss, as in old times, and even shed tears on seeing the rags
which clothed the limbs of his once pampered young charge.
Misha gazed long and silently at the old man. 'Timofay!' he said at last;
Timofay started.
'What do you desire?'
'Have you a spade?'
'I can get one.... But what do you want with a spade, Mihailo Andreitch,
sir?'
'I want to dig myself a grave, Timofay, and to lie here for time
everlasting between my father and mother. There's only this spot left
me in the world. Get a spade!'
'Yes, sir,' said Timofay; he went and got it. And Misha began at once
digging in the ground, while Timofay stood by, his chin propped in his
hand, repeating: 'It's all that's left for you and me, master!'
Misha dug and dug, from time to time observing: 'Life's not worth
living, is it, Timofay?'
'It's not indeed, master.'
The hole was already of a good depth. People saw what Misha was
about, and ran to tell the new owner about it. The money-lender was at

first very angry, wanted to send for the police: 'This is sacrilege,' said
he. But afterwards, probably reflecting that it was inconvenient anyway
to have to do with such a madman, and that it might lead to a
scandal,--he went in his own person to the churchyard, and approaching
Misha, still toiling, made him a polite bow. He went on with his
digging as though he had not noticed his successor. 'Mihail Andreitch,'
began the money-lender, 'allow me to ask what you are doing here?'
'You can see--I am digging myself a grave.'
'Why are you doing so?'
'Because I don't want to live any longer.'
The money-lender fairly threw up his hands in amazement. 'You don't
want to live?'
Misha glanced menacingly at the money-lender. 'That surprises you?
Aren't you the cause of it all? ... You? ... You? ... Wasn't it you, Judas,