First loves -- Fiction; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction; Russian fiction -- Translations into English
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.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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