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,[10] 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;[11]—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,[12] or, as he expressed it, "through the seven Semyóns";[13] 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 it," 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[14] 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
