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 pitie d’un
pauvre gentil-homme ruine.’ ... 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!
Copyrights
A Desperate Character and Other Stories from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
