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.