‘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 each side of the bank, market gardens, fields, and copses; peasants’ huts began to make their appearance. There was the fragrance of the country. He threw down his oars, bent his head down to Mumu, who was sitting facing him on a dry cross seat — the bottom of the boat was full of water — and stayed motionless, his mighty hands clasped upon her back, while the boat was gradually carried back by the current towards the town. At last Gerasim drew himself up hurriedly, with a sort of sick anger in his face, he tied up the bricks he had taken with string, made a running noose, put it round Mumu’s neck, lifted her up over the river, and for the last time looked at her…. she watched him confidingly and without any fear, faintly wagging her tail. He turned away, frowned, and wrung his hands…. Gerasim heard nothing, neither the quick shrill whine of Mumu as she fell, nor the heavy splash of the water; for him the noisiest day was soundless and silent as even the stillest night is not silent to us. When he opened his eyes again, little wavelets were hurrying over the river, chasing one another; as before they broke against the boat’s side, and only far away behind wide circles moved widening to the bank.
Directly Gerasim had vanished from Eroshka’s sight, the latter returned home and reported what he had seen.
‘Well, then,’ observed Stepan, ‘he’ll drown her. Now we can feel easy about it. If he once promises a thing….’
No one saw Gerasim during the day. He did not have dinner at home. Evening came on; they were all gathered together to supper, except him.
‘What a strange creature that Gerasim is!’ piped a fat laundrymaid; ‘fancy, upsetting himself like that over a dog…. Upon my word!’
‘But Gerasim has been here,’ Stepan cried all at once, scraping up his porridge with a spoon.
‘How? when?’
‘Why, a couple of hours ago. Yes, indeed! I ran against him at the gate; he was going out again from here; he was coming out of the yard. I tried to ask him about his dog, but he wasn’t in the best of humours, I could see. Well, he gave me a shove; I suppose he only meant to put me out of his way, as if he’d say, “Let me go, do!” but he fetched me such
a crack on my neck, so seriously, that — oh! oh!’ And Stepan, who could not help laughing, shrugged up and rubbed the back of his head. ‘Yes,’ he added; ‘he has got a fist; it’s something like a fist, there’s no denying that!’
They all laughed at Stepan, and after supper they separated to go to bed.
Meanwhile, at that very time, a gigantic figure with a bag on his shoulders and a stick in his hand, was eagerly and persistently stepping out along the T — — highroad. It was Gerasim. He was hurrying on without looking round; hurrying homewards, to his own village, to his own country. After drowning poor Mumu, he had run back to his garret, hurriedly packed a few things together in an old horsecloth, tied it up in a bundle, tossed it on his shoulder, and so was ready. He had noticed the road carefully when he was brought to Moscow; the village his mistress had taken him from lay only about twenty miles off the highroad. He walked along it with a sort of invincible purpose, a desperate and at the same time joyous determination. He walked, his shoulders thrown back and his chest expanded; his eyes were fixed greedily straight before him. He hastened as though his old mother were waiting for him at home, as though she were calling him to her after long wanderings in strange parts, among strangers. The summer night, that was just drawing in, was still and warm; on one side, where the sun had set, the horizon was still light and faintly flushed with the last glow of the vanished day; on the other side a blue - grey twilight had already risen up. The night was coming up from that quarter. Quails were in hundreds around; corncrakes were calling to one another in the thickets…. Gerasim could not hear them; he could not hear the delicate night - whispering of the trees, by which his strong legs carried him, but he smelt the familiar scent of the ripening rye, which was wafted from the dark fields; he felt the wind, flying to meet him — the wind from home — beat caressingly upon his face, and play with his hair and his beard. He saw before him the whitening road homewards, straight as an arrow. He saw in the sky stars innumerable, lighting up his way, and stepped out, strong and bold as a lion, so that when the rising sun shed its moist rosy light upon the still fresh and unwearied traveller, already thirty miles lay between him and Moscow.
In a couple of days he was at home, in his little hut, to the great astonishment of the soldier’s wife who had been put in there. After praying before the holy pictures, he set off at once to the village elder. The village elder was at first surprised; but the haycutting had just begun; Gerasim was a first - rate mower, and they put a scythe into his hand on the spot, and he went to mow in his old way, mowing so that the peasants were fairly astounded as they watched his wide sweeping strokes and the heaps he raked together….
In Moscow the day after Gerasim’s flight they missed him. They went to his garret, rummaged about in it, and spoke to Gavrila. He came, looked, shrugged his shoulders, and decided that the dumb man had either run away or had drowned himself with his stupid dog. They gave information to the police, and informed the lady. The old lady was furious, burst into tears, gave orders that he was to be found whatever happened, declared she had never ordered the dog to be destroyed, and, in fact, gave Gavrila such a rating that he could do nothing all day but shake his head and murmur, ‘Well!’ until Uncle Tail checked him at last, sympathetically echoing ‘We - ell!’ At last the news came from the country of Gerasim’s being there. The old lady was somewhat pacified; at first she issued a mandate for him to be brought back without delay to Moscow; afterwards, however, she declared that such an ungrateful creature was absolutely of no use to her. Soon after this she died herself; and her heirs had no thought to spare for Gerasim; they let their mother’s other servants redeem their freedom on payment of an annual rent.
And Gerasim is living still, a lonely man in his lonely hut; he is strong and healthy as before, and does the work of four men as before, and as before is serious and steady. But his neighbours have observed that ever since his return from Moscow he has quite given up the society of women; he will not even look at them, and does not keep even a single dog. ‘It’s his good luck, though,’ the peasants reason; ‘that he can get on without female folk; and as for a dog — what need has he of a dog? you wouldn’t get a thief to go into his yard for any money!’ Such is the fame of the dumb man’s Titanic strength.
THE JEW
...‘Tell us a story, colonel,’ we said at last to Nikolai Ilyitch.
The colonel smiled, puffed out a coil of tobacco smoke between his moustaches, passed his hand over his grey hair, looked at us and considered. We all had the greatest liking and respect for Nikolai Ilyitch, for his good - heartedness, common sense, and kindly indulgence to us young fellows. He was a tall, broad - shouldered, stoutly - built man; his dark face, ‘one of the splendid Russian faces,’ [Footnote: Lermontov in the Treasurer’s Wife. — AUTHOR’S NOTE.] straight - forward, clever glance, gentle smile, manly and mellow voice — everything about him pleased and attracted one.
‘All right, listen then,’ he began.
It happened in 1813, before Dantzig. I was then in the E — — regiment of cuirassiers, and had just, I recollect, been promoted to be a cornet. It is an exhilarating occupation — fighting; and marching too is good enough in its way, but it is fearfully slow in a besieging army. There one sits the whole blessed day within some sort of entrenchment, under a tent, on mud or straw, playing cards from morning till night. Perhaps, from simple boredom, one goes out to watch the bombs and redhot bullets flying.
At first the French kept us amused with sorties, but they quickly subsided. We soon got sick of foraging expeditions too; we were overcome, in fact, by such deadly dulness that we were ready to howl for sheer ennui. I was not more than nineteen then; I was a healthy young fellow, fresh as a daisy, thought of nothing but getting all the fun I could out of the French... and in other ways too... you understand what I mean... and this is what happened. Having nothing to do, I fell to gambling. All of a sudden, after dreadful losses, my luck turned, and towards morning (we used to play at night) I had won an immense amount. Exhausted and sleepy, I came out into the fresh air, and sat down on a mound. It was a splendid, calm morning; the long lines of our fortifications were lost in the mist; I gazed till I was weary, and then began to doze where I was sitting.
A discreet cough waked me: I opened my eyes, and saw standing before me a Jew, a man of forty, wearing a long - skirted grey wrapper, slippers, and a black smoking - cap. This Jew, whose name was Girshel, was continually hanging about our camp, offering his services as an agent, getting us wine, provisions, and other such trifles. He was a thinnish, red - haired, little man, marked with smallpox; he blinked incessantly with his diminutive little eyes, which were reddish too; he had a long crooked nose, and was always coughing.
He began fidgeting about me, bowing obsequiously.
‘Well, what do you want?’ I asked him at last.
‘Oh, I only — I’ve only come, sir, to know if I can’t be of use to your honour in some way...’
‘I don’t want you; you can go.’
‘At your honour’s service, as you desire.... I thought there might be, sir, something....’
‘You bother me; go along, I tell you.’
‘Certainly, sir, certainly. But your honour must permit me to congratulate you on your success....’
‘Why, how did you know?’
‘Oh, I know, to be sure I do.... An immense sum... immense....Oh! how immense....’
Girshel spread out his fingers and wagged his head.
‘But what’s the use of talking,’ I said peevishly; ‘what the devil’s the good of money here?’
‘Oh! don’t say that, your honour; ay, ay, don’t say so. Money’s a capital thing; always of use; you can get anything for money, your honour; anything! anything! Only say the word to the agent, he’ll get you anything, your honour, anything! anything!’
‘Don’t tell lies, Jew.’
‘Ay! ay!’ repeated Girshel, shaking his side - locks. ‘Your honour doesn’t believe me.... Ay... ay....’ The Jew cl
osed his eyes and slowly wagged his head to right and to left.... ‘Oh, I know what his honour the officer would like.... I know,... to be sure I do!’
The Jew assumed an exceedingly knowing leer.
‘Really!’
The Jew glanced round timorously, then bent over to me.
‘Such a lovely creature, your honour, lovely!...’ Girshel again closed his eyes and shot out his lips.
‘Your honour, you’ve only to say the word... you shall see for yourself... whatever I say now, you’ll hear... but you won’t believe... better tell me to show you... that’s the thing, that’s the thing!’
I did not speak; I gazed at the Jew.
‘Well, all right then; well then, very good; so I’ll show you then....’
Thereupon Girshel laughed and slapped me lightly on the shoulder, but skipped back at once as though he had been scalded.
‘But, your honour, how about a trifle in advance?’
‘But you ‘re taking me in, and will show me some scarecrow?’
‘Ay, ay, what a thing to say!’ the Jew pronounced with unusual warmth, waving his hands about. ‘How can you! Why... if so, your honour, you order me to be given five hundred... four hundred and fifty lashes,’ he added hurriedly....’ You give orders — ’
At that moment one of my comrades lifted the edge of his tent and called me by name. I got up hurriedly and flung the Jew a gold coin.
‘This evening, this evening,’ he muttered after me.
I must confess, my friends, I looked forward to the evening with some impatience. That very day the French made a sortie; our regiment marched to the attack. The evening came on; we sat round the fires... the soldiers cooked porridge. My comrades talked. I lay on my cloak, drank tea, and listened to my comrades’ stories. They suggested a game of cards — I refused to take part in it. I felt excited. Gradually the officers dispersed to their tents; the fires began to die down; the soldiers too dispersed, or went to sleep on the spot; everything was still. I did not get up. My orderly squatted on his heels before the fire, and was beginning to nod. I sent him away. Soon the whole camp was hushed. The sentries were relieved. I still lay there, as it were waiting for something. The stars peeped out. The night came on. A long while I watched the dying flame.... The last fire went out. ‘The damned Jew was taking me in,’ I thought angrily, and was just going to get up.
Works of Ivan Turgenev (Illustrated) Page 248
