The Torrents of Spring
later, now you can go, Taniusha; I see you’re not unruly, certainly.”
Tatiana turned, steadied herself a little against the doorpost, and
went away.
“And, perhaps, our lady will forget all about this wedding by
to-morrow,” thought the steward; “and here am I worrying myself for
nothing! As for that insolent fellow, we must tie him down, if it comes
to that, we must let the police know” … “Ustinya Fyedorovna!” he
shouted in a loud voice to his wife, “heat the samovar, my good soul….”
All that day Tatiana hardly went out of the laundry. At first she had
started crying, then she wiped away her tears, and set to work as
before. Kapiton stayed till late at night at the ginshop with a friend
of his, a man of gloomy appearance, to whom he related in detail how he
used to live in Petersburg with a gentleman, who would have been all
right, except he was a bit too strict, and he had a slight weakness
besides, he was too fond of drink; and, as to the fair sex, he didn’t
stick at anything. His gloomy companion merely said yes; but when
Kapiton announced at last that, in a certain event, he would have to
lay hands on himself to-morrow, his gloomy companion remarked that it
was bedtime. And they parted in surly silence.
Meanwhile, the steward’s anticipations were not fulfilled. The old lady
was so much taken up with the idea of Kapiton’s wedding, that even in
the night she talked of nothing else to one of her companions, who was
kept in her house solely to entertain her in case of sleeplessness,
and, like a night cabman, slept in the day. When Gavrila came to her
after morning tea with his report, her first question was: “And how
about our wedding—is it getting on all right?” He replied, of course,
that it was getting on first rate, and that Kapiton would appear before
her to pay his reverence to her that day. The old lady was not quite
well; she did not give much time to business. The steward went back to
his own room, and called a council. The matter certainly called for
serious consideration. Tatiana would make no difficulty, of course; but
Kapiton had declared in the hearing of all that he had but one head to
lose, not two or three…. Gerasim turned rapid sullen looks on every
one, would not budge from the steps of the maids’ quarters, and seemed
to guess that some mischief was being hatched against him. They met
together. Among them was an old sideboard waiter, nicknamed Uncle Tail,
to whom every one looked respectfully for counsel, though all they got
out of him was, “Here’s a pretty pass! to be sure, to be sure, to be
sure!” As a preliminary measure of security, to provide against
contingencies, they locked Kapiton up in the lumber-room where the
filter was kept; then considered the question with the gravest
deliberation. It would, to be sure, be easy to have recourse to force.
But Heaven save us! there would be an uproar, the mistress would be put
out—it would be awful! What should they do? They thought and thought,
and at last thought out a solution. It had many a time been observed
that Gerasim could not bear drunkards…. As he sat at the gates, he
would always turn away with disgust when some one passed by
intoxicated, with unsteady steps and his cap on one side of his ear.
They resolved that Tatiana should be instructed to pretend to be tipsy,
and should pass by Gerasim staggering and reeling about. The poor girl
refused for a long while to agree to this, but they persuaded her at
last; she saw, too, that it was the only possible way of getting rid of
her adorer. She went out. Kapiton was released from the lumber-room;
for, after all, he had an interest in the affair. Gerasim was sitting
on the curb-stone at the gates, scraping the ground with a spade…. From
behind every corner, from behind every window-blind, the others were
watching him…. The trick succeeded beyond all expectations. On seeing
Tatiana, at first, he nodded as usual, making caressing, inarticulate
sounds; then he looked carefully at her, dropped his spade, jumped up,
went up to her, brought his face close to her face…. In her fright she
staggered more than ever, and shut her eyes…. He took her by the arm,
whirled her right across the yard, and going into the room where the
council had been sitting, pushed her straight at Kapiton. Tatiana
fairly swooned away…. Gerasim stood, looked at her, waved his hand,
laughed, and went off, stepping heavily, to his garret…. For the next
twenty-four hours, he did not come out of it. The postillion Antipka
said afterwards that he saw Gerasim through a crack in the wall,
sitting on his bedstead, his face in his hand. From time to time he
uttered soft regular sounds; he was wailing a dirge, that is, swaying
backwards and forwards with his eyes shut, and shaking his head as
drivers or bargemen do when they chant their melancholy songs. Antipka
could not bear it, and he came away from the crack. When Gerasim came
out of the garret next day, no particular change could be observed in
him. He only seemed, as it were, more morose, and took not the
slightest notice of Tatiana or Kapiton. The same evening, they both had
to appear before their mistress with geese under their arms, and in a
week’s time they were married. Even on the day of the wedding Gerasim
showed no change of any sort in his behaviour. Only, he came back from
the river without water, he had somehow broken the barrel on the road;
and at night, in the stable, he washed and rubbed down his horse so
vigorously, that it swayed like a blade of grass in the wind, and
staggered from one leg to the other under his fists of iron.
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 waggons 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 only 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 dulness, 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