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.