not expected from him. I was not
surprised, of course, that he had proved to be a poor, even a downright
worthless military man and soldier; but what I had not expected was,
that he had displayed no special bravery; that in battle he wore a
dejected and languid aspect, as though he were partly bored, partly
daunted. All discipline oppressed him, inspired him with sadness; he was
audacious to recklessness when it was a question of himself personally;
there was no wager too crazy for him to accept; but do evil to others,
kill, fight, he could not, perhaps because he had a good heart,--and
perhaps because his "cotton-wool" education (as he expressed it) had
enervated him. He was ready to exterminate himself in any sort of way at
any time.... But others--no. "The devil only can make him out," his
comrades said of him:--"he's puny, a rag---and what a reckless fellow he
is--a regular dare-devil!"--I happened afterward to ask Misha what evil
spirit prompted him, made him indulge in drinking-bouts, risk his life,
and so forth. He always had one answer: "Spleen."

"But why hast thou spleen?"

"Just because I have, good gracious! One comes to himself, recovers his
senses, and begins to meditate about poverty, about injustice, about
Russia.... Well, and that settles it! Immediately one feels such spleen
that he is ready to send a bullet into his forehead! One goes on a
carouse instinctively."

"But why hast thou mixed up Russia with this?"

"What else could I do? Nothing!--That's why I am afraid to think."

"All that--that spleen--comes of thy idleness."

"But I don't know how to do anything, uncle! My dear relative! Here now,
if it were a question of taking and staking my life on a card,--losing
my all and shooting myself, bang! in the neck!--I can do that!--Here
now, tell me what to do, what to risk my life for.--I'll do it this very
minute!..."

"But do thou simply live.... Why risk thy life?"

"I can't!--You will tell me that I behave recklessly. What else can I
do?... One begins to think--and, O Lord, what comes into his head! 'T is
only the Germans who think!..."

What was the use of arguing with him? He was a reckless man--and that is
all there is to say!

I will repeat to you two or three of the Caucasian legends to which I
have alluded. One day, in the company of the officers, Misha began to
brag of a Circassian sabre which he had obtained in barter.--"A genuine
Persian blade!"--The officers expressed doubt as