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?…[15] 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 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