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Page 3
From that day forward he gave her no peace; wherever she went, he was on
the spot at once, coming to meet her, smiling, grunting, waving his
hands; all at once he would pull a ribbon out of the bosom of his smock
and put it in her hand, or would sweep the dust out of her way. The poor
girl simply did not know how to behave or what to do. Soon the whole
household knew of the dumb porter's wiles; jeers, jokes, sly hints, were
showered upon Tatiana. At Gerasim, however, it was not every one who
would dare to scoff; he did not like jokes; indeed, in his presence,
she, too, was left in peace. Whether she liked it or not, the girl found
herself to be under his protection. Like all deaf-mutes, he was very
suspicious, and very readily perceived when they were laughing at him or
at her. One day, at dinner, the wardrobe-keeper, Tatiana's superior,
fell to nagging, as it is called, at her, and brought the poor thing to
such a state that she did not know where to look, and was almost crying
with vexation. Gerasim got up all of a sudden, stretched out his
gigantic hand, laid it on the wardrobe-maid's head, and looked into her
face with such grim ferocity that her head positively flopped upon the
table. Every one was still. Gerasim took up his spoon again and went on
with his cabbage-soup. "Look at him, the dumb devil, the wood-demon!"
they all muttered in undertones, while the wardrobe-maid got up and went
out into the maid's room. Another time, noticing that Kapiton--the same
Kapiton who was the subject of the conversation reported above--was
gossiping somewhat too attentively with Tatiana, Gerasim beckoned him to
him, led him into the cartshed, and taking up a shaft that was standing
in a corner by one end, lightly, but most significantly, menaced him
with it. Since then no one addressed a word to Tatiana. And all this
cost him nothing. It is true the wardrobe-maid, as soon as she reached
the maids' room, promptly fell into a fainting fit, and behaved
altogether so skilfully that Gerasim's rough action reached his
mistress's knowledge the same day. But the capricious old lady only
laughed, and several times, to the great offence of the wardrobe-maid,
forced her to repeat "how he bent your head down with his heavy hand,"
and next day she sent Gerasim a rouble. She looked on him with favor as
a strong and faithful watchman. Gerasim stood in considerable awe of
her, but, all the same, he had hopes of her favor, and was preparing to
go to her with a petition for leave to marry Tatiana. He was only
waiting for a new coat, promised him by the steward, to present a proper
appearance before his mistress, when this same mistress suddenly took it
into her head to marry Tatiana to Kapiton.
The reader will now readily understand the perturbation of mind that
overtook the steward Gavrila after his conversation with his mistress.
"My lady," he thought, as he sat at the window, "favors Gerasim, to be
sure"--(Gavrila was well aware of this, and that was why he himself
looked on him with an indulgent eye)--"still he is a speechless
creature. I could not, indeed, put it before the mistress that Gerasim's
courting Tatiana. But, after all, it's true enough; he's a queer sort of
husband. But on the other hand, that devil, God forgive me, has only got
to find out they're marrying Tatiana to Kapiton, he'll smash up
everything in the house, 'pon my soul! There's no reasoning with him;
why, he's such a devil, God forgive my sins, there's no getting over him
nohow . . . 'pon my soul!"
Kapiton's entrance broke the thread of Gavrila's reflections. The
dissipated shoemaker came in, his hands behind him, and lounging
carelessly against a projecting angle of the wall, near the door,
crossed his right foot in front of his left, and tossed his head, as
much as to say, "What do you want?"
Gavrila looked at Kapiton, and drummed with his fingers on the window-
frame. Kapiton merely screwed up his leaden eyes a little, but he did
not look down; he even grinned slightly, and passed his hand over his
whitish locks which were sticking up in all directions. "Well, here I
am. What is it?"
"You're a pretty fellow," said Gavrila, and paused. "A pretty fellow you
are, there's no denying!"
Kapiton only twitched his little shoulders. "Are you any better, pray?"
he thought to himself.
"Just look at yourself, now, look at yourself," Gavrila went on
reproachfully; "now, whatever do you look like?"
Kapiton serenely surveyed his shabby, tattered coat and his patched
trousers, and with special attention stared at his burst boots,
especially the one on the tiptoe of which his right foot so gracefully
poised, and he fixed his eyes again on the steward.
"Well?"
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