Works of Ivan Turgenev (Illustrated)

by Ivan Turgenev

  “What Abdulka? The one who lives in the mountains? The one who is not at peace with us? Abdul - Khan?”

  “The very man.”

  “But he will take thee for a scout, he will place thee in the bug - house, — or he will cut off thy head with that same sabre. And how wilt thou make thy way to him? They will seize thee immediately.”

  “But I will go to him, nevertheless.”

  “We bet that thou wilt not go!”

  “I take your bet!”

  And Mísha instantly saddled his horse and rode off to Abdulka. He was gone for three days. All were convinced that he had come to some dreadful end. And behold! he came back, somewhat tipsy, and with a sabre, only not the one which he had carried away with him, but another. They began to question him.

  “It’s all right,” said he. “Abdulka is a kind man. At first he really did order fetters to be riveted on my legs, and was even preparing to impale me on a stake. But I explained to him why I had come. ‘Do not expect any ransom from me,’ said I. ‘I haven’t a farthing to my name — and I have no relatives.’ — Abdulka was amazed; he stared at me with his solitary eye. - ‘Well,’ says he, ‘thou art the chief of heroes, Russian! Am I to believe thee?’ — ’Believe me,’ said I; ‘I never lie’ (and Mísha really never did lie). — Abdulka looked at me again. - ‘And dost thou know how to drink wine?’ - ‘I do,’ said I; ‘as much as thou wilt give, so much will I drink.’ — Again Abdulka was astonished, and mentioned Allah. And then he ordered his daughter, or some pretty maiden, whoever she was, — anyhow, she had the gaze of a jackal, — to fetch a leathern bottle of wine. — And I set to work. — ’But thy sabre is spurious,’ says he; ‘here, take this genuine one. And now thou and I are friends.’ — And you have lost your wager, gentlemen, so pay up.”

  A second legend concerning Mísha runs as follows. He was passionately fond of cards; but as he had no money and did not pay his gambling debts (although he was never a sharper), no one would any longer sit down to play with him. So one day he began to importune a brother officer, and insisted upon the latter’s playing with him.

  “But thou wilt be sure to lose, and thou wilt not pay.”

  “I will not pay in money, that’s true — but I will shoot a hole through my left hand with this pistol here!”

  “But what profit is there for me in that?”

  “No profit whatever — but it’s a curious thing, nevertheless.”

  This conversation took place after a carouse, in the presence of witnesses. Whether Mísha’s proposal really did strike the officer as curious or not, — at all events, he consented. The cards were brought, the game began. Mísha was lucky; he won one hundred rubles. And thereupon his opponent smote himself on the forehead.

  “What a blockhead I am!” he cried. — ”On what a bait was I caught! If thou hadst lost, much thou wouldst have shot thyself through the hand! — so it’s just an assault on my pocket!”

  “That’s where thou art mistaken,” retorted Mísha: — ”I have won — but I’ll shoot the hole through my hand.”

  He seized his pistol, and bang! shot himself through the hand. The bullet went clear through … and a week later the wound was completely healed!

  On another occasion still, Mísha is riding along the road by night with his comrades…. And they see yawning, right by the side of the road, a narrow ravine in the nature of a cleft, dark, very dark, and the bottom of it not visible.

  “Here now,” says one comrade, “Mísha is reckless enough about some things, but he will not leap into this ravine.”

  “Yes, I will!”

  “No, thou wilt not, because it is, probably, ten fathoms deep, and thou mightest break thy neck.”

  His friend knew how to attack him — through his vanity…. Mísha had a great deal of it.

  “But I will leap, nevertheless! Wilt thou bet on it? Ten rubles.”

  “All right!”

  And before his comrade had managed to finish the last word Mísha flew off his horse into the ravine, and crashed down on the stones. They were all fairly petrified with horror…. A good minute passed, and they heard Mísha’s voice proceeding as though from the bowels of the earth, and very dull:

  “I’m whole! I landed on sand…. But the descent was long! Ten rubles on you!”

  “Climb out!” shouted his comrades.

  “Yes, climb out!” — returned Mísha. “Damn it! One can’t climb out of here! You will have to ride off now for ropes and lanterns. And in the meanwhile, so that I may not find the waiting tedious, toss me down a flask….”

  And so Mísha had to sit for five hours at the bottom of the ravine; and when they dragged him out, it appeared that he had a dislocated shoulder. But this did not daunt him in the least. On the following day a blacksmith bone - setter set his shoulder, and he used it as though nothing were the matter.

  Altogether, his health was remarkable, unprecedented. I have already told you that until his death he preserved an almost childish freshness of complexion. He did not know what it was to be ill, in spite of all his excesses; the vigour of his constitution was not affected in a single instance. Where any other man would have fallen dangerously ill, or even have died, he merely shook himself like a duck in the water, and became more blooming than ever. Once — that also was in the Caucasus…. This legend is improbable, it is true, but from it one can judge what Mísha was regarded as capable of doing…. So then, once, in the Caucasus, when in a state of intoxication, he fell into a small stream that covered the lower part of his body; his head and arms remained exposed on the bank. The affair took place in winter; a rigorous frost set in; and when he was found on the following morning, his legs and body were visible beneath a stout crust of ice which had frozen over in the course of the night — and he never even had a cold in the head in consequence! On another occasion (this happened in Russia, near Orél, and also during a severe frost), he chanced to go to a suburban eating - house in company with seven young theological students. These theological students were celebrating their graduation examination, and had invited Mísha, as a charming fellow, “a man with a sigh,” as it was called then. They drank a great deal; and when, at last, the merry crew were preparing to depart, Mísha, dead drunk, was found to be already in a state of unconsciousness. The whole seven theological students had between them only one tróika sledge with a high back; — where were they to put the helpless body? Then one of the young men, inspired by classical reminiscences, suggested that Mísha be tied by the feet to the back of the sledge, as Hector was to the chariot of Achilles! The suggestion was approved … and bouncing over the hummocks, sliding sideways down the declivities, with his feet strung up in the air, and his head dragging through the snow, our Mísha traversed on his back the distance of two versts which separated the restaurant from the town, and never even so much as coughed or frowned. With such marvellous health had nature endowed him!

  V

  Leaving the Caucasus, he presented himself once more in Moscow, in a Circassian coat, with cartridge - pouches on the breast, a dagger in his belt, and a tall fur cap on his head. From this costume he did not part until the end, although he was no longer in the military service, from which he had been dismissed for not reporting on time. He called on me, borrowed a little money … and then began his “divings,” his progress through the tribulations, or, as he expressed it, “through the seven Semyóns”; then began his sudden absences and returns, the despatching of beautifully - written letters addressed to all possible persons, beginning with the Metropolitan and ending with riding - masters and midwives! Then began the visits to acquaintances and strangers! And here is one point which must be noted: in making his calls he did not cringe and did not importune; but, on the contrary, he behaved himself in decorous fashion, and even wore a cheery and pleasant aspect, although an ingrained odour of liquor accompanied him everywhere — and his Oriental costume was gradually reduced to rags.

  “Give — God will reward you — although I do not deserve i
t,” he was accustomed to say, smiling brightly and blushing openly. “If you do not give, you will be entirely in the right, and I shall not be angry in the least. I shall support myself. God will provide! For there are many, very many people who are poorer and more worthy than I!”

  Mísha enjoyed particular success with women; he understood how to arouse their compassion. And do not think that he was or imagined himself to be a Lovelace…. Oh, no! In that respect he was very modest. Whether he had inherited from his parents such cold blood, or whether herein was expressed his disinclination to do evil to any one, — since, according to his ideas, to consort with a woman means inevitably to insult the woman, — I will not take it upon myself to decide; only, in his relations with the fair sex he was extremely delicate. The women felt this, and all the more willingly did they pity and aid him until he, at last, repelled them by his sprees and hard drinking, by the recklessness of which I have already spoken…. I cannot hit upon any other word.

  On the other hand, in other respects he had already lost all delicacy and had gradually descended to the extreme depths of degradation. He once went so far that in the Assembly of Nobility of T — — he placed on the table a jug with the inscription:

  “Any one who finds it agreeable to tweak the nose of hereditary nobleman Pólteff (whose authentic documents are herewith appended) may satisfy his desire, on condition that he puts a ruble in this jug.”

  And it is said that there were persons who did care to tweak the nobleman’s nose! It is true that he first all but throttled one amateur who, having put but one ruble in the jug, tweaked his nose twice, and then made him sue for pardon; it is true also that he immediately distributed to other tatterdemalions a portion of the money thus secured … but, nevertheless, what outrageous conduct!

  In the course of his wanderings through the seven Semyóns he had also reached his ancestral nest, which he had sold for a song to a speculator and usurer well known at that period. The speculator was at home, and on learning of the arrival of the former owner, who had been transformed into a tramp, he gave orders that he was not to be admitted into the house, and that in case of need he was to be flung out by the scruff of the neck. Mísha declared that he would not enter the house, defiled as it was by the presence of a scoundrel; that he would allow no one to throw him out; but that he was on his way to the churchyard to salute the dust of his ancestors. This he did. At the churchyard he was joined by an old house - serf, who had formerly been his man - nurse. The speculator had deprived the old man of his monthly stipend and expelled him from the home farm; from that time forth the man sought shelter in the kennel of a peasant. Mísha had managed his estate for so short a time that he had not succeeded in leaving behind him a specially good memory of himself; but the old servitor had not been able to resist, nevertheless, and on hearing of his young master’s arrival, he had immediately hastened to the churchyard, had found Mísha seated on the ground among the mortuary stones, had begged leave to kiss his hand in memory of old times, and had even melted into tears as he gazed at the rags wherewith the once petted limbs of his nursling were swathed. Mísha looked long and in silence at the old man.

  “Timoféi!” he said at last.

  Timoféi gave a start.

  “What do you wish?”

  “Hast thou a spade?”

  “I can get one…. But what do you want with a spade, Mikhaílo

  Andréitch?”

  “I want to dig a grave for myself here, Timoféi; and lie down here forever between my parents. For this is the only spot which is left to me in the world. Fetch the spade!”

  “I obey,” said Timoféi; and went off and brought it.

  And Mísha immediately began to dig up the earth, while Timoféi stood by with his chin propped on his hand, repeating: “That’s the only thing left for thee and me, master!”

  And Mísha dug and dug, inquiring from time to time: “Life isn’t worth living, is it, Timoféi?”

  “It is not, dear little father.”

  The hole had already grown fairly deep. People saw Mísha’s work and ran to report about it to the speculator - owner. At first the speculator flew into a rage, and wanted to send for the police. “What hypocrisy!” he said. But afterward, reflecting, probably, that it would be inconvenient to have a row with that lunatic, and that a scandal might be the result, he betook himself in person to the churchyard, and approaching the toiling Mísha, he made a polite obeisance to him. The latter continued to dig, as though he had not noticed his successor.

  “Mikhaíl Andréitch,” began the speculator, “permit me to inquire what you are doing there?”

  “As you see — I am digging a grave for myself.”

  “Why are you doing that?”

  “Because I do not wish to live any longer.”

  The speculator fairly flung apart his hands in surprise. — ”You do not wish to live?”

  Mísha cast a menacing glance at the speculator: — ”Does that surprise you? Are not you the cause of it all?… Is it not you?… Is it not thou?… Is it not thou, Judas, who hast robbed me, by taking advantage of my youth? Dost not thou skin the peasants? Is it not thou who hast deprived this decrepit old man of his daily bread? Is it not thou?… O Lord! Everywhere there is injustice, and oppression, and villainy…. So down with everything, — and with me also! I don’t wish to live — I don’t wish to live any longer in Russia!” — And the spade made swifter progress than ever in Mísha’s hands.

  “The devil knows the meaning of this!” thought the speculator: “he actually is burying himself.” — ”Mikhaíl Andréitch,” — he began afresh, “listen; I really am guilty toward you; people did not represent you properly to me.”

  Mísha went on digging.

  “But why this recklessness?”

  Mísha went on digging — and flung the dirt on the speculator, as much as to say: “Take that, earth - devourer!”

  “Really, you have no cause for this. Will not you come to my house to eat and rest?”

  Mísha raised his head a little. “Now you’re talking! And will there be anything to drink?”

  The speculator was delighted. — ”Good gracious!… I should think so!”

  “And dost thou invite Timoféi also?”

  “But 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!

  VI

  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 th
e 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!”