A Reckless Character | Page 2

and even to tears.... In a word,
she was of an uneasy character. As she considered that her life had
been ruined, she could not love her husband, who, "as a matter of
course," did not understand her; but she respected, she tolerated him;
and as she was a thoroughly honest and perfectly cold being, she never
once so much as thought of any other "object." Moreover, she was
constantly engrossed by anxieties: in the first place, over her really
feeble health; in the second place, over the health of her husband,

whose fits always inspired her with something akin to superstitious
terror; and, in conclusion, over her only son, Mísha, whom she reared
herself with great zeal. Andréi Nikoláevitch did not prevent his wife's
busying herself with Mísha--but on one condition: she was never, under
any circumstances, to depart from the limits, which had been defined
once for all, wherein everything in his house must revolve! Thus, for
example: during the Christmas holidays and Vasíly's evening preceding
the New Year, Mísha was not only permitted to dress up in costume
along with the other "lads,"--doing so was even imposed upon him as
an obligation....[4] On the other hand, God forbid that he should do it at
any other time! And so forth, and so forth.

II
I remember this Mísha at the age of thirteen. He was a very comely lad
with rosy little cheeks and soft little lips (and altogether he was soft and
plump), with somewhat prominent, humid eyes; carefully brushed and
coifed--a regular little girl!--There was only one thing about him which
displeased me: he laughed rarely; but when he did laugh his teeth,
which were large, white, and pointed like those of a wild animal,
displayed themselves unpleasantly; his very laugh had a sharp and even
fierce--almost brutal--ring to it; and evil flashes darted athwart his eyes.
His mother always boasted of his being so obedient and polite, and that
he was not fond of consorting with naughty boys, but always was more
inclined to feminine society.
"He is his mother's son, an effeminate fellow," his father, Andréi
Nikoláevitch, was wont to say of him:--"but, on the other hand, he likes
to go to God's church.... And that delights me."
Only one old neighbour, a former commissary of the rural police, once
said in my presence concerning Mísha:--"Good gracious! he will turn
out a rebel." And I remember that that word greatly surprised me at the
time. The former commissary of police, it is true, had a habit of
descrying rebels everywhere.
Just this sort of exemplary youth did Mísha remain until the age of
eighteen,--until the death of his parents, whom he lost on almost one
and the same day. As I resided constantly in Moscow, I heard nothing
about my young relative. Some one who came to town from his
government did, it is true, inform me that Mísha had sold his ancestral

estate for a song; but this bit of news seemed to me altogether too
incredible!--And lo! suddenly, one autumn morning, into the courtyard
of my house dashes a calash drawn by a pair of splendid trotters, with a
monstrous coachman on the box; and in the calash, wrapped in a cloak
of military cut with a two-arshín[5] beaver collar, and a fatigue-cap
over one ear--_à la diable m'emporte_--sits Mísha!
On catching sight of me (I was standing at the drawing-room window
and staring in amazement at the equipage which had dashed in), he
burst into his sharp laugh, and jauntily shaking the lapels of his cloak,
he sprang out of the calash and ran into the house.
"Mísha! Mikhaíl Andréevitch!" I was beginning ... "is it you?"
"Call me 'thou' and 'Mísha,'" he interrupted me.--"'Tis I ... 'tis I, in
person.... I have come to Moscow ... to take a look at people ... and to
show myself. So I have dropped in on you.--What do you think of my
trotters?... Hey?" Again he laughed loudly.
Although seven years had elapsed since I had seen Mísha for the last
time, yet I recognised him on the instant.--His face remained
thoroughly youthful and as comely as of yore; his moustache had not
even sprouted; but under his eyes on his cheeks a puffiness had made
its appearance, and an odour of liquor proceeded from his mouth.
"And hast thou been long in Moscow?" I inquired.--"I supposed that
thou wert off there in the country, managing thy estate...."
"Eh! I immediately got rid of the village!--As soon as my parents
died,--may the kingdom of heaven be theirs,"--(Mísha crossed himself
with sincerity, without the slightest hypocrisy)--"I instantly, without the
slightest delay ... _ein, zwei, drei_! Ha-ha! I let it go cheap, the rascally
thing! Such a scoundrel turned up.--Well, never mind! At all events,