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 rose - bush, 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 sturdily - 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 honour 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 apologise…. 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 reigned in the house, and the old lady sat on her sofa looking blacker than a thunder - cloud.
What trifles, if you think of it, will sometimes disturb any one!
Till evening the lady was out of humour; 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 some 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 c
ondition 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’ 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 postillion 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’ 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, every one 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 hand, and gave a despairing wave of his hand, as much as to say, ‘Well, well, God have mercy on him! If only it doesn’t come to the mistress’ 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 laboured 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 — ’Liubo
v 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.
Works of Ivan Turgenev (Illustrated) Page 247