Book: Stories by Foreign Authors: Russian

V >> Various >> Stories by Foreign Authors: Russian




All this had taken place in the spring. Another year passed by, during
which Kapiton became a hopeless drunkard, and as being absolutely of no
use for anything, was sent away with the store wagons to a distant
village with his wife. On the day of his departure, he put a very good
face on it at first, and declared that he would always be at home, send
him where they would, even to the other end of the world; but later on
he lost heart, began grumbling that he was being taken to uneducated
people, and collapsed so completely at last that he could not even put
his own hat on. Some charitable soul stuck it on his forehead, set the
peak straight in front, and thrust it on with a slap from above. When
everything was quite ready, and the peasants already held the reins in
their hands, and were only waiting for the words "With God's blessing!"
to start, Gerasim came out of his garret, went up to Tatiana, and gave
her as a parting present a red cotton handkerchief he had bought for her
a year ago. Tatiana, who had up to that instant borne all the revolting
details of her life with great indifference, could not control herself
upon that; she burst into tears, and as she took her seat in the cart,
she kissed Gerasim three times like a good Christian. He meant to
accompany her as far as the town-barrier, and did walk beside her cart
for a while, but he stopped suddenly at the Crimean ford, waved his
hand, and walked away along the riverside.

It was getting towards evening. He walked slowly, watching the water.
All of a sudden he fancied something was floundering in the mud close to
the bank. He stooped over, and saw a little white-and-black puppy, who,
in spite of all its efforts, could not get out of the water; it was
struggling, slipping back, and trembling all over its thin wet little
body. Gerasim looked at the unlucky little dog, picked it up with one
hand, put it into the bosom of his coat, and hurried with long steps
homewards. He went into his garret, put the rescued puppy on his bed,
covered it with his thick overcoat, ran first to the stable for straw,
and then to the kitchen for a cup of milk. Carefully folding back the
overcoat, and spreading out the straw, he set the milk on the bedstead.
The poor little puppy was not more than three weeks old, its eyes were
just open--one eye still seemed rather larger than the other; it did not
know how to lap out of a cup, and did nothing but shiver and blink.
Gerasim took hold of its head softly with two fingers, and dipped its
little nose into the milk. The pup suddenly began lapping greedily,
sniffing, shaking itself, and choking. Gerasim watched and watched it,
and all at once he laughed outright. . . . All night long he was waiting
on it, keeping it covered, and rubbing it dry. He fell asleep himself at
last, and slept quietly and happily by its side.

No mother could have looked after her baby as Gerasim looked after his
little nursling. At first she--for the pup turned out to be a bitch--was
very weak, feeble, and ugly, but by degrees she grew stronger and
improved in looks, and, thanks to the unflagging care of her preserver,
in eight months' time she was transformed into a very pretty dog of the
spaniel breed, with long ears, a bushy spiral tail, and large,
expressive eyes. She was devotedly attached to Gerasim, and was never a
yard from his side; she always followed him about wagging her tail. He
had even given her a name--the dumb know that their inarticulate noises
call the attention of others. He called her Mumu. All the servants in
the house liked her, and called her Mumu, too. She was very intelligent,
she was friendly with every one, but was only fond of Gerasim. Gerasim,
on his side, loved her passionately, and he did not like it when other
people stroked her; whether he was afraid for her, or jealous--God
knows! She used to wake him in the morning, pulling at his coat; she
used to take the reins in her mouth, and bring him up the old horse that
carried the water, with whom she was on very friendly terms. With a face
of great importance, she used to go with him to the river; she used to
watch his brooms and spades, and never allowed any one to go into his
garret. He cut a little hole in his door on purpose for her, and she
seemed to feel that only in Gerasim's garret she was completely mistress
and at home; and directly she went in, she used to jump with a satisfied
air upon the bed. At night she did not sleep at all, but she never
barked without sufficient cause, like some stupid house-dog, who,
sitting on its hind-legs, blinking, with its nose in the air, barks
simply from dullness, at the stars, usually three times in succession.
No! Mumu's delicate little voice was never raised without good reason;
either some stranger was passing close to the fence, or there was some
suspicious sound or rustle somewhere. . . . In fact, she was an excellent
watch-dog. It is true that there was another dog in the yard, a tawny
old dog with brown spots, called Wolf, but he was never, even at night,
let off the chain; and, indeed, he was so decrepit that he did not even
wish for freedom. He used to lie curled up in his kennel, and only
rarely uttered a sleepy, almost noiseless bark, which broke off at once,
as though he were himself aware of its uselessness. Mumu never went into
the mistress's house; and when Gerasim carried wood into the rooms, she
always stayed behind, impatiently waiting for him at the steps, pricking
up her ears and turning her head to right and to left at the slightest
creak of the door . . .

So passed another year. Gerasim went on performing his duties as house-
porter, and was very well content with his lot, when suddenly an
unexpected incident occurred. . . . One fine summer day the old lady was
walking up and down the drawing-room with her dependants. She was in
high spirits; she laughed and made jokes. Her servile companions laughed
and joked too, but they did not feel particularly mirthful; the
household did not much like it, when their mistress was in a lively
mood, for, to begin with, she expected from every one prompt and
complete participation in her merriment, and was furious if any one
showed a face that did not beam with delight; and secondly, these
outbursts never lasted long with her, and were usually followed by a
sour and gloomy mood. That day she had got up in a lucky hour; at cards
she took the four knaves, which means the fulfilment of one's wishes
(she used to try her fortune on the cards every morning), and her tea
struck her as particularly delicious, for which her maid was rewarded by
words of praise, and by twopence in money. With a sweet smile on her
wrinkled lips, the lady walked about the drawing-room and went up to the
window. A flower-garden had been laid out before the window, and in the
very middle bed, under a rosebush, lay Mumu busily gnawing a bone. The
lady caught sight of her.

"Mercy on us!" she cried suddenly; "what dog is that?"

The companion, addressed by the old lady, hesitated, poor thing, in that
wretched state of uneasiness which is common in any person in a
dependent position who doesn't know very well what significance to give
to the exclamation of a superior.

"I d . . . d . . . don't know," she faltered; "I fancy it's the dumb man's
dog."

"Mercy!" the lady cut her short; "but it's a charming little dog! order
it to be brought in. Has he had it long? How is it I've never seen it
before? . . . Order it to be brought in."

The companion flew at once into the hall.

"Boy, boy!" she shouted; "bring Mumu in at once! She's in the flower-
garden."

"Her name's Mumu then," observed the lady; "a very nice name."

"Oh, very, indeed!" chimed in the companion. "Make haste, Stepan!"

Stepan, a sturdy-built young fellow, whose duties were those of a
footman, rushed headlong into the flower-garden, and tried to capture
Mumu, but she cleverly slipped from his fingers, and with her tail in
the air, fled full speed to Gerasim, who was at that instant in the
kitchen, knocking out and cleaning a barrel, turning it upside down in
his hands like a child's drum. Stepan ran after her, and tried to catch
her just at her master's feet; but the sensible dog would not let a
stranger touch her, and with a bound, she got away. Gerasim looked on
with a smile at all this ado; at last, Stepan got up, much amazed, and
hurriedly explained to him by signs that the mistress wanted the dog
brought in to her. Gerasim was a little astonished; he called Mumu,
however, picked her up, and handed her over to Stepan. Stepan carried
her into the drawing-room, and put her down on the parquette floor. The
old lady began calling the dog to her in a coaxing voice. Mumu, who had
never in her life been in such magnificent apartments, was very much
frightened, and made a rush for the door, but, being driven back by the
obsequious Stepan, she began trembling, and huddled close up against the
wall.

"Mumu, Mumu, come to me, come to your mistress," said the lady; "come,
silly thing . . . don't be afraid."

"Come, Mumu, come to the mistress," repeated the companions. "Come
along!"

But Mumu looked round her uneasily, and did not stir.

"Bring her something to eat," said the old lady. "How stupid she is! she
won't come to her mistress. What's she afraid of?"

"She's not used to your honor yet," ventured one of the companions in a
timid and conciliatory voice.

Stepan brought in a saucer of milk, and set it down before Mumu, but
Mumu would not even sniff at the milk, and still shivered, and looked
round as before.

"Ah, what a silly you are!" said the lady, and going up to her, she
stooped down, and was about to stroke her, but Mumu turned her head
abruptly, and showed her teeth. The lady hurriedly drew back her
hand. . . .

A momentary silence followed. Mumu gave a faint whine, as though she
would complain and apologize. . . . The old lady moved back, scowling.
The dog's sudden movement had frightened her.

"Ah!" shrieked all the companions at once, "she's not bitten you, has
she? Heaven forbid! (Mumu had never bitten any one in her life.) Ah!
ah!"

"Take her away," said the old lady in a changed voice. "Wretched little
dog! What a spiteful creature!"

And, turning round deliberately, she went towards her boudoir. Her
companions looked timidly at one another, and were about to follow her,
but she stopped, stared coldly at them, and said, "What's that for,
pray? I've not called you," and went out.

The companions waved their hands to Stepan in despair. He picked up
Mumu, and flung her promptly outside the door, just at Gerasim's feet,
and half an hour later a profound stillness led in the house, and the
old lady sat on her sofa looking blacker than a thundercloud.

What trifles, if you think of it, will sometimes disturb any one!

Till evening the lady was out of humor; she did not talk to any one, did
not play cards, and passed a bad night. She fancied the eau-de-Cologne
they gave her was not the same as she usually had, and that her pillow
smelt of soap, and she made the wardrobe-maid smell all the bed linen--
in fact she was very upset and cross altogether. Next morning she
ordered Gavrila to be summoned an hour earlier than usual.

"Tell me, please," she began, directly the latter, not without some
inward trepidation, crossed the threshold of her boudoir, "what dog was
that barking all night in our yard? It wouldn't let me sleep!"

"A dog, 'm . . . what dog, 'm . . . may be, the dumb man's dog, 'm," he
brought out in a rather unsteady voice.

"I don't know whether it was the dumb man's or whose, but it wouldn't
let me sleep. And I wonder what we have such a lot of dogs for! I wish
to know. We have a yard dog, haven't we?"

"Oh yes, 'm, we have, 'm. Wolf, 'm."

"Well, why more? what do we want more dogs for? It's simply introducing
disorder. There's no one in control in the house--that's what it is. And
what does the dumb man want with a dog? Who gave him leave to keep dogs
in my yard? Yesterday I went to the window, and there it was lying in
the flower-garden; it had dragged in nastiness it was gnawing, and my
roses are planted there . . ."

The lady ceased.

"Let her be gone from to-day . . . do you hear?"

"Yes, 'm."

"To-day. Now go. I will send for you later for the report."

Gavrila went away.

As he went through the drawing-room, the steward, by way of maintaining
order, moved a bell from one table to another; he stealthily blew his
duck-like nose in the hall, and went into the outer-hall. In the outer-
hall, on a locker, was Stepan asleep in the attitude of a slain warrior
in a battalion picture, his bare legs thrust out below the coat which
served him for a blanket. The steward gave him a shove, and whispered
some instructions to him, to which Stepan responded with something
between a yawn and a laugh. The steward went away, and Stepan got up,
put on his coat and his boots, went out and stood on the steps. Five
minutes had not passed before Gerasim made his appearance with a huge
bundle of hewn logs on his back, accompanied by the inseparable Mumu.
(The lady had given orders that her bedroom and boudoir should be heated
at times even in the summer.) Gerasim turned sideways before the door,
shoved it open with his shoulder, and staggered into the house with his
load. Mumu, as usual, stayed behind to wait for him. Then Stepan,
seizing his chance, suddenly pounced on her, like a kite on a chicken,
held her down to the ground, gathered her up in his arms, and without
even putting on his cap, ran out of the yard with her, got into the
first fly he met, and galloped off to a market-place. There he soon
found a purchaser, to whom he sold her for a shilling, on condition that
he would keep her for at least a week tied up; then he returned at once.
But before he got home, he got off the fly, and going right round the
yard, jumped over the fence into the yard from a back street. He was
afraid to go in at the gate for fear of meeting Gerasim.

His anxiety was unnecessary, however; Gerasim was no longer in the yard.
On coming out of the house he had at once missed Mumu. He never
remembered her failing to wait for his return, and began running up and
down, looking for her, and calling her in his own way. . . . He rushed up
to his garret, up to the hay-loft, ran out into the street, this way and
that. . . . She was lost! He turned to the other serfs, with the most
despairing signs, questioned them about her, pointing to her height from
the ground, describing her with his hands. . . . Some of them really did
not know what had become of Mumu, and merely shook their heads; others did
know, and smiled to him for all response; while the steward assumed an
important air, and began scolding the coachmen. Then Gerasim ran right
away out of the yard.

It was dark by the time he came back. From his worn-out look, his
unsteady walk, and his dusty clothes, it might be surmised that he had
been running over half Moscow. He stood still opposite the windows of
the mistress's house, took a searching look at the steps where a group
of house-serfs were crowded together, turned away, and uttered once more
his inarticulate "Mumu." Mumu did not answer. He went away. Every one
looked after him, but no one smiled or said a word, and the inquisitive
postilion Antipka reported next morning in the kitchen that the dumb man
had been groaning all night.

All the next day Gerasim did not show himself, so that they were obliged
to send the coachman Potap for water instead of him, at which the
coachman Potap was anything but pleased. The lady asked Gavrila if her
orders had been carried out. Gavrila replied that they had. The next
morning Gerasim came out of his garret, and went about his work. He came
in to his dinner, ate it, and went out again, without a greeting to any
one. His face, which had always been lifeless, as with all deaf-mutes,
seemed now to be turned to stone. After dinner he went out of the yard
again, but not for long; he came back, and went straight up to the hay-
loft. Night came on, a clear moonlight night. Gerasim lay breathing
heavily, and incessantly turning from side to side. Suddenly he felt
something pull at the skirt of his coat. He started, but did not raise
his head, and even shut his eyes tighter. But again there was a pull,
stronger than before; he jumped up before him, with an end of string
round her neck, was Mumu, twisting and turning. A prolonged cry of
delight broke from his speechless breast; he caught up Mumu, and hugged
her tight in his arms, she licked his nose and eyes, and beard and
moustache, all in one instant. . . . He stood a little, thought a minute,
crept cautiously down from the hay-loft, looked round, and having
satisfied himself that no one could see him, made his way successfully
to his garret. Gerasim had guessed before that his dog had not got lost
by her own doing, that she must have been taken away by the mistress's
orders; the servants had explained to him by signs that his Mumu had
snapped at her, and he determined to take his own measures. First he fed
Mumu with a bit of bread, fondled her, and put her to bed, then he fell
to meditating, and spent the whole night long in meditating how he could
best conceal her. At last he decided to leave her all day in the garret,
and only to come in now and then to see her, and to take her out at
night. The hole in the door he stopped up effectually with his old
overcoat, and almost before it was light he was already in the yard, as
though nothing had happened, even--innocent guile!--the same expression
of melancholy on his face. It did not even occur to the poor deaf man
that Mumu would betray herself by her whining; in reality, everyone in
the house was soon aware that the dumb man's dog had come back, and was
locked up in his garret, but from sympathy with him and with her, and
partly, perhaps, from dread of him, they did not let him know that they
had found out his secret. The steward scratched his head, and gave a
despairing wave of his head, as much as to say, "Well, well, God have
mercy on him! If only it doesn't come to the mistress's ears!"

But the dumb man had never shown such energy as on that day; he cleaned
and scraped the whole courtyard, pulled up every single weed with his
own hand, tugged up every stake in the fence of the flower-garden, to
satisfy himself that they were strong enough, and unaided drove them in
again; in fact, he toiled and labored so that even the old lady noticed
his zeal. Twice in the course of the day Gerasim went stealthily in to
see his prisoner; when night came on, he lay down to sleep with her in
the garret, not in the hay-loft, and only at two o'clock in the night he
went out to take her a turn in the fresh air.

After walking about the courtyard a good while with her, he was just
turning back, when suddenly a rustle was heard behind the fence on the
side of the back street. Mumu pricked up her ears, growled--went up to
the fence, sniffed, and gave vent to a loud shrill bark. Some drunkard
had thought fit to take refuge under the fence for the night. At that
very time the old lady had just fallen asleep after a prolonged fit of
"nervous agitation"; these fits of agitation always overtook her after
too hearty a supper. The sudden bark waked her up: her heart palpitated,
and she felt faint. "Girls, girls!" she moaned. "Girls!" The terrified
maids ran into her bedroom. "Oh, oh, I am dying!" she said, flinging her
arms about in her agitation. "Again, that dog, again! . . . Oh, send for
the doctor. They mean to be the death of me. . . . The dog, the dog
again! Oh!" And she let her head fall back, which always signified a
swoon. They rushed for the doctor, that is, for the household physician,
Hariton. This doctor, whose whole qualification consisted in wearing
soft-soled boots, knew how to feel the pulse delicately. He used to
sleep fourteen hours out of the twenty-four, but the rest of the time he
was always sighing, and continually dosing the old lady with cherrybay
drops. This doctor ran up at once, fumigated the room with burnt
feathers, and when the old lady opened her eyes, promptly offered her a
wineglass of the hallowed drops on a silver tray. The old lady took
them, but began again at once in a tearful voice complaining of the dog,
of Gavrila, and of her fate, declaring that she was a poor old woman,
and that every one had forsaken her, no one pitied her, every one wished
her dead. Meanwhile the luckless Mumu had gone on barking, while Gerasim
tried in vain to call her away, from the fence. "There . . . there . . .
again," groaned the old lady, and once more she turned up the whites of
her eyes. The doctor whispered to a maid, she rushed into the outer
hall, and shook Stepan, he ran to wake Gavrila, Gavrila in a fury
ordered the whole household to get up.

Gerasim turned round, saw lights and shadows moving in the windows, and
with an instinct of coming trouble in his heart, put Mumu under his arm,
ran into his garret, and locked himself in. A few minutes later five men
were banging at his door, but feeling the resistance of the bolt, they
stopped. Gavrila ran up in a fearful state of mind, and ordered them all
to wait there and watch till morning. Then he flew off himself to the
maids' quarter, and through an old companion, Liubov Liubimovna, with
whose assistance he used to steal tea, sugar, and other groceries and to
falsify the accounts, sent word to the mistress that the dog had
unhappily run back from somewhere, but that to-morrow she should be
killed, and would the mistress be so gracious as not to be angry and to
overlook it. The old lady would probably not have been so soon appeased,
but the doctor had in his haste given her fully forty drops instead of
twelve. The strong dose of narcotic acted; in a quarter of an hour the
old lady was in a sound and peaceful sleep; while Gerasim was lying with
a white face on his bed, holding Mumu's mouth tightly shut.

Next morning the lady woke up rather late. Gavrila was waiting till she
should be awake, to give the order for a final assault on Gerasim's
stronghold, while he prepared himself to face a fearful storm. But the
storm did not come off. The old lady lay in bed and sent for the eldest
of her dependent companions.

"Liubov Liubimovna," she began in a subdued weak voice--she was fond of
playing the part of an oppressed and forsaken victim; needless to say,
every one in the house was made extremely uncomfortable at such times--
"Liubov Liubimovna, you see my position; go, my love, to Gavrila
Andreitch, and talk to him a little. Can he really prize some wretched
cur above the repose--the very life--of his mistress? I could not bear
to think so," she added, with an expression of deep feeling. "Go, my
love; be so good as to go to Gavrila Andreitch for me."

Liubov Liubimovna went to Gavrila's room. What conversation passed
between them is not known, but a short time after, a whole crowd of
people was moving across the yard in the direction of Gerasim's garret.
Gavrila walked in front, holding his cap on with his hand, though there
was no wind. The footmen and cooks were close behind him; Uncle Tail was
looking out of a window, giving instructions, that is to say, simply
waving his hands. At the rear there was a crowd of small boys skipping
and hopping along; half of them were outsiders who had run up. On the
narrow staircase leading to the garret sat one guard; at the door were
standing two more with sticks. They began to mount the stairs, which
they entirely blocked up. Gavrila went up to the door, knocked with his
fist, shouting, "Open the door!"

A stifled bark was audible, but there was no answer.

"Open the door, I tell you," he repeated.

"But, Gavrila Andreitch," Stepan observed from below, "he's deaf, you
know--he doesn't hear."

They all laughed.

"What are we to do?" Gavrila rejoined from above.

"Why, there's a hole there in the door," answered Stepan, "so you shake
the stick in there."

Gavrila bent down.

"He's stuffed it up with a coat or something."

"Well, you just push the coat in."

At this moment a smothered bark was heard again.

"See, see--she speaks for herself," was remarked in the crowd, and again
they laughed.

Gavrila scratched his ear.

"No, mate," he responded at last, "you can poke the coat in yourself, if
you like."

"All right, let me."

And Stepan scrambled up, took the stick, pushed in the coat, and began
waving the stick about in the opening, saying, "Come out, come out!" as
he did so. He was still waving the stick, when suddenly the door of the
garret was flung open; all the crowd flew pell-mell down the stairs
instantly, Gavrila first of all. Uncle Tail locked the window.

"Come, come, come," shouted Gavrila from the yard, "mind what you're
about."

Gerasim stood without stirring in his doorway. The crowd gathered at the
foot of the stairs. Gerasim, with his arms akimbo, looked down at all
these poor creatures in German coats; in his red peasant's shirt he
looked like a giant before them. Gavrila took a step forward.

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