A Reckless Character | Page 7

behaved himself in decorous fashion, and even wore a cheery and
pleasant aspect, although an ingrained odour of liquor accompanied
him everywhere--and his Oriental costume was gradually reduced to
rags.
"Give--God will reward you--although I do not deserve it," he was
accustomed to say, smiling brightly and blushing openly. "If you do not
give, you will be entirely in the right, and I shall not be angry in the

least. I shall support myself. God will provide! For there are many,
very many people who are poorer and more worthy than I!"
Mísha enjoyed particular success with women; he understood how to
arouse their compassion. And do not think that he was or imagined
himself to be a Lovelace.... Oh, no! In that respect he was very modest.
Whether he had inherited from his parents such cold blood, or whether
herein was expressed his disinclination to do evil to any one,--since,
according to his ideas, to consort with a woman means inevitably to
insult the woman,--I will not take it upon myself to decide; only, in his
relations with the fair sex he was extremely delicate. The women felt
this, and all the more willingly did they pity and aid him until he, at last,
repelled them by his sprees and hard drinking, by the recklessness of
which I have already spoken.... I cannot hit upon any other word.
On the other hand, in other respects he had already lost all delicacy and
had gradually descended to the extreme depths of degradation. He once
went so far that in the Assembly of Nobility of T---- he placed on the
table a jug with the inscription:
"Any one who finds it agreeable to tweak the nose of hereditary
nobleman[14] Pólteff (whose authentic documents are herewith
appended) may satisfy his desire, on condition that he puts a ruble in
this jug."
And it is said that there were persons who did care to tweak the
nobleman's nose! It is true that he first all but throttled one amateur
who, having put but one ruble in the jug, tweaked his nose twice, and
then made him sue for pardon; it is true also that he immediately
distributed to other tatterdemalions a portion of the money thus
secured ... but, nevertheless, what outrageous conduct!
In the course of his wanderings through the seven Semyóns he had also
reached his ancestral nest, which he had sold for a song to a speculator
and usurer well known at that period. The speculator was at home, and
on learning of the arrival of the former owner, who had been
transformed into a tramp, he gave orders that he was not to be admitted
into the house, and that in case of need he was to be flung out by the
scruff of the neck. Mísha declared that he would not enter the house,
defiled as it was by the presence of a scoundrel; that he would allow no
one to throw him out; but that he was on his way to the churchyard to
salute the dust of his ancestors. This he did. At the churchyard he was

joined by an old house-serf, who had formerly been his man-nurse. The
speculator had deprived the old man of his monthly stipend and
expelled him from the home farm; from that time forth the man sought
shelter in the kennel of a peasant. Mísha had managed his estate for so
short a time that he had not succeeded in leaving behind him a specially
good memory of himself; but the old servitor had not been able to resist,
nevertheless, and on hearing of his young master's arrival, he had
immediately hastened to the churchyard, had found Mísha seated on the
ground among the mortuary stones, had begged leave to kiss his hand
in memory of old times, and had even melted into tears as he gazed at
the rags wherewith the once petted limbs of his nursling were swathed.
Mísha looked long and in silence at the old man.
"Timoféi!" he said at last.
Timoféi gave a start.
"What do you wish?"
"Hast thou a spade?"
"I can get one.... But what do you want with a spade, Mikhaílo
Andréitch?"
"I want to dig a grave for myself here, Timoféi; and lie down here
forever between my parents. For this is the only spot which is left to me
in the world. Fetch the spade!"
"I obey," said Timoféi; and went off and brought it.
And Mísha immediately began to dig up the earth, while Timoféi stood
by with his chin propped on his hand, repeating: "That's the only thing
left for thee and me, master!"
And Mísha dug and dug, inquiring from time to time: "Life isn't worth
living, is it, Timoféi?"
"It is not, dear little father."
The hole