The Torrents of Spring
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—“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.
“Mind, mate,” said he, “don’t be insolent.”
And he began to explain to him by signs that the mistress insists on
having his dog; that he must hand it over at once, or it would be the
worse for him.
Gerasim looked at him, pointed to the dog, made a motion with his hand
round his neck, as though he were pulling a noose tight, and glanced
with a face of inquiry at the steward.
“Yes, yes,” the latter assented, nodding; “yes, just so.”
Gerasim dropped his eyes, then all of a sudden roused himself and
pointed to Mumu, who was all the while standing beside him, innocently
wagging her tail and pricking up her ears inquisitively. Then he
repeated the strangling action round his neck and significantly struck
himself on the breast, as though announcing he would take upon himself
the task of killing Mumu.
“But you’ll deceive us,” Gavrila waved back in response.
Gerasim looked at him, smiled scornfully, struck himself again on the
breast, and slammed-to the door.
They all looked at one another in silence.
“What does that mean?” Gavrila began. “He’s locked himself in.”
“Let him be, Gavrila Andreitch,” Stepan advised; “he’ll do it if he’s
promised. He’s like that, you know…. If he makes a promise, it’s a
certain thing. He’s not like us others in that. The truth’s the truth
with him. Yes, indeed.”
“Yes,” they all repeated, nodding their heads, “yes—that’s so—yes.”
Uncle Tail opened his window, and he too said, “Yes.”
“Well, may be, we shall see,” responded Gavrila; “any way, we won’t
take off the guard. Here you, Eroshka!” he added, addressing a poor
fellow in a yellow nankeen coat, who considered himself to be a
gardener, “what have you to do? Take a stick and sit here, and if
anything happens, run to me at once!”
Eroshka took a stick, and sat down on the bottom stair. The crowd
dispersed, all except a few inquisitive small boys, while Gavrila went
home and sent word through Liubov Liubimovna to the mistress, that
everything had been done, while he sent a postillion for a policeman in
case of need. The old lady tied a knot in her handkerchief, sprinkled
some eau-de-Cologne on it, sniffed at it, and rubbed her temples with
it, drank some tea, and, being still under the influence of the
cherrybay drops, fell asleep again.
An hour after all this hubbub the garret door opened, and Gerasim
showed himself. He had on his best coat; he was leading Mumu by a
string. Eroshka moved aside and let him pass. Gerasim went to the
gates. All the small boys in the yard stared at him in silence. He did
not even turn round; he only put his cap on in the street. Gavrila sent
the same Eroshka to follow him and keep watch on him as a spy. Eroshka,
seeing from a distance that he had gone into a cookshop with his dog,
waited for him to come out again.
Gerasim was well known at the cookshop, and his signs were understood.
He asked for cabbage soup with meat in it, and sat down with his arms
on the table. Mumu stood beside his chair, looking calmly at him with
her intelligent eyes. Her coat was glossy; one could see she had just
been combed down. They brought Gerasim the soup. He crumbled some bread
into it, cut the meat up small, and put the plate on the ground. Mumu
began eating in her usual refined way, her little muzzle daintily held
so as scarcely to touch her food. Gerasim gazed a long while at her;
two big tears suddenly rolled from his eyes; one fell on the dog’s
brow, the other into the soup. He shaded his face with his hand. Mumu
ate up half the plateful, and came away from it, licking her lips.
Gerasim got up, paid for the soup, and went out, followed by the rather
perplexed glances of the waiter. Eroshka, seeing Gerasim, hid round a
corner, and letting him get in front, followed him again.
Gerasim walked without haste, still holding Mumu by a string. When he
got to the corner of the street, he stood still as though reflecting,
and suddenly set off with rapid steps to the Crimean Ford. On the way
he went into the yard of a house, where a lodge was being built, and
carried away two bricks under his arm. At the Crimean Ford, he turned
along the bank, went to a place where there were two little
rowing-boats fastened to stakes (he had noticed them there before), and
jumped into one of them with Mumu. A lame old man came out of a shed in
the corner of a kitchen-garden and shouted after him; but Gerasim only
nodded, and began rowing so vigorously, though against stream, that in
an instant he had darted two hundred yards away. The old man stood for
a while, scratched his back first with the left and then with the right
hand, and went back hobbling to the shed.
Gerasim rowed on and on. Moscow was soon left behind. Meadows stretched