A Reckless Character, and Other Stories. Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev

why … well, I invite him also."

      Mísha reflected.—"Only look out … for thou didst turn me out of doors. … Don't think thou art going to get off with one bottle!"

      "Do not worry … there will be as much as you wish of everything."

      Mísha flung aside his spade. … "Well, Timósha," he said, addressing his old man-nurse, "let us honour the host. … Come along!"

      "I obey," replied the old man.

      And all three wended their way toward the house.

      The speculator knew with whom he had to deal. Mísha made him promise as a preliminary, it is true, that he would "allow all privileges" to the peasants;—but an hour later that same Mísha, together with Timoféi, both drunk, danced a gallopade through those rooms where the pious shade of Andréi Nikoláitch seemed still to be hovering; and an hour later still, Mísha, so sound asleep that he could not be waked (liquor was his great weakness), was placed in a peasant-cart, together with his kazák cap and his dagger, and sent off to the town, five-and-twenty versts distant—and there was found under a fence. … Well, and Timoféi, who still kept his feet and merely hiccoughed, was "pitched out neck and crop," as a matter of course. The master had made a failure of his attempt. So they might as well let the servant pay the penalty!

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      Again considerable time elapsed and I heard nothing of Mísha. … God knows where he had vanished.—One day, as I was sitting before the samovár at a posting-station on the T—— highway, waiting for horses, I suddenly heard, under the open window of the station-room, a hoarse voice uttering in French:—"Monsieur … monsieur … prenez pitié d'un pauvre gentilhomme ruiné!". … I raised my head and looked. … The kazák cap with the fur peeled off, the broken cartridge-pouches on the tattered Circassian coat, the dagger in a cracked sheath, the bloated but still rosy face, the dishevelled but still thick hair. … My God! It was Mísha! He had already come to begging alms on the highways!—I involuntarily uttered an exclamation. He recognised me, shuddered, turned away, and was about to withdraw from the window. I stopped him … but what was there that I could say to him? Certainly I could not read him a lecture! … In silence I offered him a five-ruble bank-note. With equal silence he grasped it in his still white and plump, though trembling and dirty hand, and disappeared round the corner of the house.

      They did not furnish me with horses very promptly, and I had time to indulge in cheerless meditations on the subject of my unexpected encounter with Mísha. I felt conscience-stricken that I had let him go in so unsympathetic a manner.—At last I proceeded on my journey, and after driving half a verst from the posting-station I observed, ahead of me on the road, a crowd of people moving along with a strange and as it were measured tread. I overtook this crowd—and what did I see?—Twelve beggars, with wallets on their shoulders, were walking by twos, singing and skipping as they went—and at their head danced Mísha, stamping time with his feet and saying: "Natchiki-tchikaldi, tchuk-tchuk-tchuk! Natchiki-tchikaldi, tchuk-tchuk-tchuk!"

      As soon as my calash came on a level with him, and he caught sight of me, he immediately began to shout, "Hurrah! Halt, draw up in line! Eyes front, my guard of the road!"

      The beggars took up his cry and halted—while he, with his habitual laugh, sprang upon the carriage-step, and again yelled: "Hurrah!"

      "What is the meaning of this?" I asked, with involuntary amazement.

      "This? This is my squad, my army; all beggars, God's people, my friends! Each one of them, thanks to your kindness, has quaffed a cup of liquor: and now we are all rejoicing and making merry! … Uncle! 'Tis only with the beggars and God's poor that one can live in the world, you know … by God, that's so!"

      I made him no reply … but this time he seemed to me such a good-natured soul, his face expressed such childlike ingenuousness … a light suddenly seemed to dawn upon me, and there came a prick at my heart. …

      "Get into the calash with me," I said to him.

      He was amazed. …

      "What? Get into the calash?"

      "Get in, get in!" I repeated. "I want to make thee a proposition. Get in! … Drive on with me."

      "Well, you command."—He got in.—"Come, and as for you, my dear friends, respected comrades," he added to the beggars: "good-bye! Until we meet again!"—Mísha took off his kazák cap and made a low bow.—The beggars all seemed to be dumbfounded. … I ordered the coachman to whip up the horses, and the calash rolled on.

      This is what I wished to propose to Mísha: the idea had suddenly occurred to me to take him into my establishment, into my country-house, which was situated about thirty versts from that posting-station—to save him, or, at least, to make an effort to save him.

      "Hearken, Mísha," said I; "wilt thou settle down with me? … Thou shalt have everything provided for thee, clothes and under-linen shall be made for thee, thou shalt be properly fitted out, and thou shalt receive money for tobacco and so forth, only on one condition: not to drink liquor! … Dost thou accept?"

      Mísha was even frightened with joy. He opened his eyes very wide, turned crimson, and suddenly falling on my shoulder, he began to kiss me and to repeat in a spasmodic voice:—"Uncle … benefactor. … May God reward you! … " He melted into tears at last, and doffing his kazák cap, began to wipe his eyes, his nose, and his lips with it.

      "Look out," I said to him. "Remember the condition—not to drink liquor!"

      "Why, damn it!" he exclaimed, flourishing both hands, and as a result of that energetic movement I was still more strongly flooded with that spirituous odour wherewith he was thoroughly impregnated. … "You see, dear uncle, if you only knew my life. … If it were not for grief, cruel Fate, you know. … But now I swear—I swear that I will reform, and will prove. … Uncle, I have never lied—ask any one you like if I have. … I am an honourable, but an unhappy man, uncle; I have never known kindness from any one. … "

      At this point he finally dissolved in sobs. I tried to soothe him and succeeded, for when we drove up to my house Mísha had long been sleeping the sleep of the dead, with his head resting on my knees.

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      He was immediately allotted a special room, and also immediately, as the first measure, taken to the bath, which was absolutely indispensable. All his garments, and his dagger and tall kazák cap and hole-ridden shoes, were carefully laid away in the storehouse; clean linen was put on him, slippers, and some of my clothing, which, as is always the case with paupers, exactly fitted his build and stature. When he came to the table, washed, neat, fresh, he seemed so much touched, and so happy, he was beaming all over with such joyful gratitude, that I felt emotion and joy. … His face was completely transfigured. Little boys of twelve wear such faces at Easter, after the Communion, when, thickly pomaded, clad in new round-jackets and starched collars, they go to exchange the Easter greeting with their parents. Mísha kept feeling of himself cautiously and incredulously, and repeating:—"What is this? … Am not I in heaven?"—And on the following day he announced that he had not been able to sleep all night for rapture!

      In my house there was then living an aged aunt with her niece. They were both greatly agitated when they heard of Mísha's arrival; they did not understand how I could have invited him to my house! He bore a very bad reputation. But, in the first place, I knew that he was always very polite to ladies; and, in the second place, I trusted to his promise to reform. And, as a matter of fact, during the early days of his sojourn under my roof Mísha not only justified my expectations, but exceeded them; and he simply enchanted my ladies. He played picquet with the old lady; he helped her to wind yarn; he