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, I shall live at my ease--and amuse others.--But why do you stare
at me so?--Do you really think that I ought to have spun the affair out
indefinitely?... My dear relative, can't I have a drink?"
Mísha talked with frightful rapidity, hurriedly and at the same time as
though half asleep.
"Good mercy, Mísha!"--I shouted: "Have the fear of God before thine
eyes! How dreadful is thine aspect, in what a condition thou art! And
thou wishest another drink! And to sell such a fine estate for a
song!..."
"I always fear God and remember him," he caught me up.--"And he 's
good--God, I mean.... He'll forgive! And I also am good.... I have never
injured any one in my life as yet. And a drink is good also; and as for
hurting ... it won't hurt anybody, either. And as for my looks, they are
all right.... If thou wishest, uncle, I'll walk a line on the floor. Or
shall I dance a bit?"
"Akh, please drop that!--What occasion is there for dancing? Thou hadst
better sit down."
"I don't mind sitting down.... But why don't you say something about my
greys? Just look at them, they're regular lions! I'm hiring them for the
time being, but I shall certainly buy them together with the coachman.
It is incomparably cheaper to own one's horses. And I did have the
money, but I dropped it last night at faro.--Never mind, I'll retrieve
my fortunes to-morrow. Uncle ... how about that drink?"
I still could not collect myself.--"Good gracious! Mísha, how old art
thou? Thou shouldst not be occupying thyself with horses, or with
gambling ... thou shouldst enter the university or the service."
Mísha first roared with laughter again, then he emitted a prolonged
whistle.
"Well, uncle, I see that thou art in a melancholy frame of mind just
now. I'll call another time.--But see here: just look in at Sokólniki[6]
some evening. I have pitched my tent there. The Gipsies sing.... Well,
well! One can hardly restrain himself! And on the tent there is a
pennant, and on the pennant is written in bi-i-ig letters: 'The Band of
Poltéva[7] Gipsies.' The pennant undulates like a serpent; the letters
are gilded; any one can easily read them. The entertainment is whatever
any one likes!... They refuse nothing. It has kicked up a dust all over
Moscow ... my respects.... Well? Will you come? I've got a Gipsy
there--a regular asp! Black as my boot, fierce as a dog, and eyes ...
regular coals of fire! One can't possibly make out whether she is
kissing or biting.... Will you come, uncle?... Well, farewell for the
present!"
And abruptly embracing me and kissing me with a smack on my shoulder,
Mísha darted out into the court to his calash, waving his cap over his
head, and uttering a yell; the monstrous coachman[8] bestowed upon him
an oblique glance across his beard, the trotters dashed forward, and all
disappeared!
On the following day, sinful man that I am, I did go to Sokólniki, and
actually did see the tent with the pennant and the inscription. The
tent-flaps were raised; an uproar, crashing, squealing, proceeded
thence. A crowd of people thronged around it. On the ground, on an
outspread rug, sat the Gipsy men and Gipsy women, singing, and thumping
tambourines; and in the middle of them, with a guitar in his hands, clad
in a red-silk shirt and full trousers of velvet, Mísha was gyrating like
a whirligig.--"Gentlemen! Respected sirs! Pray enter! The performance is
about to begin! Free!"--he was shouting in a cracked voice.--"Hey there!
Champagne! Bang! In the forehead! On the ceiling! Akh, thou rascal, Paul
de Kock!"--Luckily, he did not catch sight of me, and I hastily beat a
retreat.
I shall not dilate, gentlemen, on my amazement at the sight of such a
change. And, as a matter of fact, how could that peaceable, modest lad
suddenly turn into a tipsy good-for-nothing? Was it possible that all
this had been concealed within him since his childhood, and had
immediately come to the surface as soon as the weight of parental
authority had been removed from him?--And that he had kicked up a dust
in Moscow, as he had expressed it, there could be no possible doubt,
either. I had seen rakes in my day; but here something frantic, some
frenzy of self-extermination, some sort of recklessness, had made itself
manifest!