Works of Ivan Turgenev (Illustrated) (320 page)

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, who robbed me, taking advantage of my childishness? Aren’t you flaying the peasants’ skins off their backs? Haven’t you taken from this poor old man his crust of dry bread? Wasn’t it you? … O God! everywhere nothing but injustice, and oppression, and evil - doing…. Everything must go to ruin then, and me too! I don’t care for life, I don’t care for life in Russia!’ And the spade moved faster than ever in Misha’s hands.

‘Here’s a devil of a business!’ thought the money - lender; ‘he’s positively burying himself alive.’ ‘Mihail Andreevitch,’ he began again: ‘listen. I’ve been behaving badly to you, indeed; they told me falsely of you.’

Misha went on digging.

‘But why be desperate?’

Misha still went on digging, and kept throwing the earth at the money - lender’s feet, as though to say, ‘Here you are, land - grabber.’

‘Really, you ‘re wrong in this. Won’t you be pleased to come in to have some lunch, and rest a bit?’

Misha raised his head. ‘So that’s it now! And anything to drink?’

The money - lender was delighted. ‘Why, of course … I should think so.’

‘You invite Timofay too?’

‘Well, … yes, him too.’

Misha pondered. ‘Only, mind … you made me a beggar, you know…. Don’t think you can get off with one bottle!’

‘Set your mind at rest … there shall be all you can want.’

Misha got up and flung down the spade…. ‘Well, Timosha,’ said he to his old nurse; ‘let’s do honour to our host…. Come along.’

‘Yes, sir,’ answered the old man.

And all three started off to the house together. The money - lender knew the man he had to deal with. At the first start Misha, it is true, exacted a promise from him to ‘grant all sorts of immunities’ to the peasants; but an hour later, this same Misha, together with Timofay, both drunk, were dancing a galop in the big apartments, which still seemed pervaded by the God - fearing shade of Andrei Nikolaevitch; and an hour later still, Misha in a dead sleep (he had a very weak head for spirits), laid in a cart with his high cap and dagger, was being driven off to the town, more than twenty miles away, and there was flung under a hedge…. As for Timofay, who could still keep on his legs, and only hiccupped — him, of course, they kicked out of the house; since they couldn’t get at the master, they had to be content with the old servant.

VI

Some time passed again, and I heard nothing of Misha…. God knows what he was doing. But one day, as I sat over the samovar at a posting - station on the T —
 
— highroad, waiting for horses, I suddenly heard under the open window of the station room a hoarse voice, uttering in French the words: ‘Monsieur … monsieur … prenez pitié d’un pauvre gentil - homme ruiné.’ … I lifted my head, glanced…. The mangy - looking fur cap, the broken ornaments on the ragged Circassian dress, the dagger in the cracked sheath, the swollen, but still rosy face, the dishevelled, but still thick crop of hair…. Mercy on us! Misha! He had come then to begging alms on the high - roads. I could not help crying out. He recognised me, started, turned away, and was about to move away from the window. I stopped him … but what could I say to him? Give him a lecture? … In silence I held out a five - rouble note; he, also in silence, took it in his still white and plump, though shaking and dirty hand, and vanished round the corner of the house.

It was a good while before they gave me horses, and I had time to give myself up to gloomy reflections on my unexpected meeting with Misha; I felt ashamed of having let him go so unsympathetically.

At last I set off on my way, and half a mile from the station I observed ahead of me, in the road, a crowd of people moving along with a curious, as it seemed rhythmic, step. I overtook this crowd — and what did I see?

Some dozen or so beggars, with sacks over their shoulders, were walking two by two, singing and leaping about, while in front of them danced Misha, stamping time with his feet, and shouting, ‘Natchiki - tchikaldy, tchuk, tchuk, tchuk! … Natchiki - tchikaldy, tchuk, tchuk, tchuk!’ Directly my carriage caught them up, and he saw me, he began at once shouting, ‘Hurrah! Stand in position! right about face, guard of the roadside!’

The beggars took up his shout, and halted; while he, with his peculiar laugh, jumped on to the carriage step, and again yelled: Hurrah!

‘What’s the meaning of this?’ I asked with involuntary astonishment.

‘This? This is my company, my army — all beggars, God’s people, friends of my heart. Every one of them, thanks to you, has had a glass; and now we are all rejoicing and making merry! … Uncle! Do you know it’s only with beggars, God’s people, that one can live in the world … by God, it is!’

I made him no answer … but at that moment he struck me as such a kind good creature, his face expressed such childlike simple - heartedness…. A light seemed suddenly as it were to dawn upon me, and I felt a pang in my heart…. ‘Get into the carriage,’ I said to him. He was taken aback….

‘What? Into the carriage?’

‘Yes, get in, get in,’ I repeated; ‘I want to make you a suggestion. Sit down…. Come along with me.’

‘Well, as you will.’ He sat down. ‘Well, and you, my honoured friends, my dear comrades,’ he added, addressing the beggars, ‘fare - well, till we meet again.’ Misha took off his high cap, and bowed low. The beggars all seemed overawed…. I told the coachman to whip up the horses, and the carriage rolled off.

The suggestion I wanted to make Misha was this: the idea suddenly occurred to me to take him with me to my home in the country, about five - and - twenty miles from that station, to rescue him, or at least to make an effort to rescue him. ‘Listen, Misha,’ I said; ‘will you come along and live with me? … You shall have everything provided you; you shall have clothes and linen made you; you shall be properly fitted out, and you shall have money to spend on tobacco, and so on, only on one condition, that you give up drink…. Do you agree?’

Misha was positively aghast with delight; he opened his eyes wide, flushed crimson, and suddenly falling on my shoulder, began kissing me, and repeating in a broken voice, ‘Uncle … benefactor … God reward you.’ … He burst into tears at last, and taking off his cap fell to wiping his eyes, his nose, his lips with it.

‘Mind,’ I observed; ‘remember the condition, not to touch strong drink.’

‘Damnation to it!’ he cried, with a wave of both arms, and with this impetuous movement, I was more than ever conscious of the strong smell of spirits with which he seemed always saturated…. ‘Uncle, if you knew what my life has been…. If it hadn’t been for sorrow, a cruel fate…. But now I swear, I swear, I will mend my ways, I will show you…. Uncle, I’ve never told a lie — you can ask whom you like…. I’m honest, but I’m an unlucky fellow, uncle; I’ve known no kindness from any one….’

Here he broke down finally into sobs. I tried to soothe him, and succeeded so far that when we reached home Misha had long been lost in a heavy sleep, with his head on my knees.

VII

He was at once assigned a room for himself, and at once, first thing, taken to the bath, which was absolutely essential. All his clothes, and his dagger and cap and torn boots, were carefully put away in a loft; he was dressed in clean linen, slippers, and some clothes of mine, which, as is always the way with poor relations, at once seemed to adapt themselves to his size and figure. When he came to table, washed, clean, and fresh, he seemed so touched and happy, he beamed all over with such joyful gratitude, that I too felt moved and joyful…. His face was completely transformed…. Boys of twelve have faces like that on Easter Sundays, after the communion, when, thickly pomaded, in new jacket and starched collars, they come to exchange Easter greetings with their parents. Misha was continually — with a sort of cautious incredulity — feeling himself and repeating: ‘What does it mean? … Am I in heaven?’ The next day he announced that he had not slept all night, he had been in such ecstasy.

I had living in my house at that time an old aunt with her niece; both of them were extremely disturbed when they heard of Misha’s presence; they could not comprehend how I could have asked him into my house! There were very ugly rumours about him. But in the first place, I knew he was always very courteous with ladies; and, secondly, I counted on his promises of amendment. And, in fact, for the first two days of his stay under my roof Misha not merely justified my expectations but surpassed them, while the ladies of the household were simply enchanted with him. He played piquet with the old lady, helped her to wind her worsted, showed her two new games of patience; for the niece, who had a small voice, he played accompaniments on the piano, and read Russian and French poetry. He told both the ladies lively but discreet anecdotes; in fact, he showed them every attention, so that they repeatedly expressed their surprise to me, and the old lady even observed how unjust people sometimes were…. The things — the things they had said of him … and he such a quiet fellow, and so polite … poor Misha! It is true that at table ‘poor Misha’ licked his lips in a rather peculiar, hurried way, if he simply glanced at the bottle. But I had only to shake my finger at him, and he would turn his eyes upwards, and lay his hand on his heart … as if to say, I have sworn…. ‘I am regenerated now,’ he assured me…. ‘Well, God grant it be so,’ was my thought…. But this regeneration did not last long.