Mumu (Turgenev)
Short summary
Moscow, 19th century. A wealthy widow brought a peasant from her village to work as a porter in her house.
At first he hated city life, but gradually adapted. He fell in love with a meek laundress named Tatiana. The mistress decided to marry Tatiana to a drunkard shoemaker, hoping marriage would reform him. To make Gerasim reject Tatiana, the servants made her pretend to be drunk. Gerasim, who despised drunkards, pushed her away in disgust. Tatiana married the shoemaker, who soon became hopeless and was sent away with his wife to a distant village.
After Tatiana left, Gerasim found a small puppy drowning in the river and rescued it. He cared for the dog devotedly, naming her Mumu.
One day the mistress saw Mumu and ordered her brought in, but the frightened dog showed her teeth. The old lady demanded the dog be removed. The steward had Mumu sold at the market. Gerasim searched desperately for her, but she returned the next night. He hid her in his garret, but her barking woke the mistress, who ordered the dog destroyed immediately. Gerasim indicated he would kill Mumu himself. He took her to a tavern, fed her, then rowed out on the river with bricks.
He 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.
After drowning Mumu, Gerasim walked back to his village without permission. The mistress was furious but eventually forgot about him. Gerasim lived alone in his village, working hard but never keeping another dog or speaking to women again.
Detailed summary
Division into chapters is editorial.
The deaf-mute porter: Gerasims move from village to Moscow
In a gray Moscow house with white columns lived an elderly widow, surrounded by numerous serfs. Her sons served in Petersburg, her daughters were married, and she rarely went out, living through the last years of her miserly and dreary old age in solitude.
Among her servants, the most remarkable was the porter, a man over six feet tall, of heroic build, deaf and dumb from birth. The lady had brought him from the village where he lived alone in a small hut, apart from his brothers, and was considered the most punctual of her peasants in paying dues. Endowed with extraordinary strength, he did the work of four men.
Adapting to city life as the ladys porter
They bought him boots, made him a coat and sheepskin, put a broom and spade in his hand, and appointed him porter. At first he intensely disliked his new life. From childhood he had been used to field labor and village life.
Shut off by his affliction from the society of men, he had grown up, dumb and mighty, as a tree grows on a fruitful soil.
When transported to town, he could not understand what was being done with him. He was miserable and stupefied, like a strong young bull taken straight from the meadow and put in a railway truck, whirled onwards with loud roar and whistle. His new duties seemed a mere trifle after his hard peasant toil. In half an hour all his work was done, and he would stand in the courtyard, staring at passers-by, trying to understand his perplexing position. But man gets used to anything, and Gerasim eventually adapted to town life. He kept the courtyard clean, brought water twice daily, split wood, kept out strangers, and watched at night. He did his duty zealously, and after catching two thieves one night and knocking their heads together, everyone in the neighborhood began to respect him greatly.
The mistresss plan: marrying Tatiana to the drunkard Kapiton
After a year, the old lady decided to marry off one of her servants, a shoemaker and sad drunkard who regarded himself as an injured, unappreciated cultivated man from Petersburg. One day she discussed him with her head steward, a man with little yellow eyes and a nose like a duck's beak.
The lady suggested marrying Kapiton might make him steadier. The steward agreed, though he was troubled—the lady favored a laundress for Kapiton's bride, but Gerasim was courting her.
Gerasims courtship of Tatiana
The laundress was a thin, fair-haired woman of twenty-eight with moles on her left cheek. From earliest youth she had been badly treated, did the work of two, never knew affection, was poorly clothed and received the smallest wages. In disposition she was very meek, or rather scared, stood in mortal dread of others, and trembled at the very name of her mistress.
When Gerasim was brought from the country, she was ready to die with fear seeing his huge figure and tried to avoid meeting him. Gerasim at first paid no special attention to her, then began to smile when she passed, then stared admiringly at her, and finally never took his eyes off her. One day he suddenly grasped her by the elbow and held out a gingerbread cock with gold tinsel. From that day forward he gave her no peace, appearing wherever she went, smiling, grunting, waving his hands, pulling out ribbons to give her, sweeping dust from her way. The whole household soon knew of the dumb porter's courtship. Gerasim protected Tatiana from mockery—once at dinner, when the wardrobe-keeper nagged her, he laid his gigantic hand on the woman's head and looked at her with such grim ferocity that her head flopped upon the table.
The stewards scheme: making Tatiana appear drunk
The steward pondered his dilemma. The lady favored Gerasim, but he was speechless and an unsuitable husband. Yet if Gerasim discovered they were marrying Tatiana to Kapiton, he would smash everything in the house. The steward called Kapiton, who reluctantly agreed to the marriage but feared Gerasim's terrible strength. Then the steward summoned Tatiana, who meekly accepted the mistress's choice. The steward noted that Gerasim was courting her, and Tatiana replied that he would kill her. The servants devised a scheme—they had observed that Gerasim could not bear drunkards. They instructed Tatiana to pretend to be tipsy and pass by Gerasim staggering. The poor girl finally agreed. On seeing her apparently drunk, Gerasim stared carefully at her, then took her by the arm, whirled her across the yard, and pushed her straight at Kapiton. Tatiana fairly swooned. Gerasim stood, looked at her, waved his hand, laughed, and went off to his garret.
Tatianas marriage to Kapiton and their departure
For twenty-four hours Gerasim did not come out of his garret. A servant saw him through a crack, sitting on his bedstead with his face in his hand, uttering soft regular sounds—wailing a dirge, swaying backwards and forwards with his eyes shut. When he emerged next day, no particular change could be observed in him. He only seemed more morose and took not the slightest notice of Tatiana or Kapiton. That evening they both appeared before their mistress with geese under their arms, and in a week's time they were married. Even on the wedding day Gerasim showed no change in his behavior. Another year passed, during which Kapiton became a hopeless drunkard. Being absolutely of no use, he was sent away to a distant village with his wife. When everything was ready for departure, 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 burst into tears and kissed Gerasim three times. He meant to accompany her to the town barrier and walked beside her cart for a while, but stopped suddenly at the Crimean Ford, waved his hand, and walked away along the riverside.
Finding the drowning puppy at Crimean Ford
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...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 to the stable for straw and to the kitchen for milk. Carefully spreading out the straw, he set the milk on the bedstead. The poor little puppy was not more than three weeks old, its eyes just open. It did not know how to lap from 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. Gerasim watched and watched it, and all at once he laughed outright. All night long he waited on it, keeping it covered and rubbing it dry.
Raising Mumu: life with the devoted spaniel
No mother could have looked after her baby as Gerasim looked after his little nursling...she was devotedly attached to Gerasim, and was never a yard from his side
At first the pup—for it 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 always followed him about wagging her tail. He had 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, friendly with everyone, but only fond of Gerasim. Gerasim loved her passionately and did not like it when other people stroked her. She used to wake him in the morning, pulling at his coat, used to take the reins in her mouth and bring him the old horse that carried water. She used to go with him to the river, used to watch his brooms and spades, and never allowed anyone to go into his garret. He cut a little hole in his door on purpose for her. At night she did not sleep at all, but she never barked without sufficient cause. She was an excellent watch-dog.
The mistresss displeasure: Mumus behavior in the drawing room
So passed another year. One fine summer day the old lady was walking up and down the drawing-room in high spirits. She caught sight of Mumu lying in the flower-garden under a rosebush. The lady ordered the dog to be brought in. A footman rushed into the flower-garden and tried to capture Mumu, but she cleverly slipped from his fingers and fled to Gerasim, who was in the kitchen. The footman tried to catch her at her master's feet, but the sensible dog would not let a stranger touch her. Gerasim picked her up and handed her over. The footman carried her into the drawing-room and put her down on the floor. The old lady began calling the dog in a coaxing voice. Mumu, who had never been in such magnificent apartments, was very frightened and made a rush for the door, but was driven back. She began trembling and huddled close up against the wall. They brought her milk, but Mumu would not even sniff at it. The lady went up to stroke her, but Mumu turned her head abruptly and showed her teeth. The lady hurriedly drew back her hand. A momentary silence followed. The old lady moved back, scowling. The dog's sudden movement had frightened her. The companions shrieked. The lady ordered Mumu taken away, calling her a wretched, spiteful creature.
Mumu stolen and sold, but she returns
She went to her boudoir looking blacker than a thundercloud. Till evening she was out of humor, did not talk to anyone, did not play cards, and passed a bad night. Next morning she ordered the steward summoned an hour earlier than usual. She complained that a dog had been barking all night and wouldn't let her sleep. The steward confirmed it was the dumb man's dog. The lady ordered the dog be gone that very day. The steward gave instructions to a footman, who seized his chance when Gerasim was away, suddenly pounced on Mumu, gathered her up in his arms, ran out of the yard without even putting on his cap, got into a fly, 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 tied up for at least a week. On coming out of the house, Gerasim at once missed Mumu. He never remembered her failing to wait for his return and began running up and down, looking for her, rushing to his garret, to the hay-loft, out into the street. She was lost. He turned to the other serfs with the most despairing signs, but some did not know what had become of Mumu, and others smiled for all response. It was dark by the time he came back. All the next day Gerasim did not show himself. The following morning he came out and went about his work without greeting anyone. His face seemed turned to stone. After dinner he went out of the yard again, but not for long. He came back and went straight up to the hay-loft. Night came on, a clear moonlight night. Gerasim lay breathing heavily, turning from side to side. Suddenly he felt something pull at the skirt of his coat. He jumped up—before him, with an end of string round her neck, was Mumu, twisting and turning. A prolonged cry of delight broke from his speechless breast. He caught up Mumu and hugged her tight in his arms.
The night that sealed Mumus fate: barking at a drunkard
He had guessed that his dog had not got lost by her own doing, that she must have been taken away by the mistress's orders. He determined to take his own measures. First he fed Mumu, fondled her, and put her to bed, then he fell to meditating how he could best conceal her. At last he decided to leave her all day in the garret and only come in to see her, taking her out at night. Everyone in the house was soon aware that the dumb man's dog had come back and was locked up in his garret, but from sympathy with him and with her, and partly from dread of him, they did not let him know they had found out his secret. After walking about the courtyard a good while with her at night, he was just turning back when suddenly a rustle was heard behind the fence. Some drunkard had thought fit to take refuge under the fence for the night. Mumu pricked up her ears, growled, went up to the fence, sniffed, and gave vent to a loud shrill bark. At that very time the old lady had just fallen asleep after a prolonged fit of nervous agitation. The sudden bark woke her up. The old lady felt faint and moaned for her maids. The terrified maids ran in. She complained of the dog again and declared they meant to be the death of her. They rushed for the household physician, who fumigated the room with burnt feathers and offered her drops. Meanwhile the luckless Mumu had gone on barking. The doctor whispered to a maid, who rushed to wake a footman, who ran to wake the steward, who in a fury ordered the whole household to get up.
Gerasims promise: taking responsibility for Mumus death
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. The steward ran up and ordered them to wait there and watch till morning. Through an old companion he sent word to the mistress that the dog had unhappily run back but would be killed tomorrow. Next morning the lady woke rather late and sent for her eldest dependent companion, playing the part of an oppressed victim. She asked the companion to go to the steward. What conversation passed between them is not known, but shortly after, a whole crowd of people was moving across the yard toward Gerasim's garret. The steward walked in front. They began to mount the stairs and knocked at the door, shouting for him to open it. Gerasim was deaf and did not hear. They tried poking a stick through a hole in the door. Suddenly the door was flung open, and all the crowd flew pell-mell down the stairs. Gerasim stood in his doorway looking down at them. The steward began to explain by signs that the mistress insisted on having his dog, that he must hand it over at once. Gerasim looked at him, pointed to the dog, made a motion with his hand round his neck as though pulling a noose tight, and glanced with a face of inquiry at the steward, as though announcing he would take upon himself the task of killing Mumu. The steward assented. Gerasim smiled scornfully, struck himself on the breast, and slammed the door.
The final meal and drowning Mumu in the river
An hour after all this hubbub the garret door opened, and Gerasim showed himself. He had on his best coat and was leading Mumu by a string. A poor fellow in a yellow coat who had been set to watch let him pass. Gerasim went to the gates and did not even turn round. He only put his cap on in the street. The steward sent the same man to follow him and keep watch as a spy. Seeing from a distance that Gerasim had gone into a cookshop with his dog, the spy 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...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. The spy, seeing Gerasim, hid round a corner and 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, and jumped into one of them with Mumu. A lame old man came out of a shed and shouted after him, but Gerasim only nodded and began rowing so vigorously that in an instant he had darted two hundred yards away. Gerasim rowed on and on. Moscow was soon left behind. Meadows stretched each side of the bank, market gardens, fields, and copses. There was the fragrance of the country. He threw down his oars, bent his head down to Mumu, who was sitting facing him, and stayed motionless, his mighty hands clasped upon her back, while the boat was gradually carried back by the current toward 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...for him the noisiest day was soundless and silent
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.
Escape to freedom: Gerasims return to his village
No one saw Gerasim during the day. He did not have dinner at home. Evening came on, and they were all gathered together to supper, except him. A fat laundrymaid piped that it was strange how Gerasim was upsetting himself over a dog. A footman cried out that Gerasim had been there a couple of hours ago—he had run against him at the gate coming out of the yard, and Gerasim had given him such a crack on the neck. They all laughed. 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 high-road. 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. He walked along it with a sort of invincible purpose, a desperate and at the same time joyous determination.
He hastened as though his old mother were waiting for him at home...The night was coming up...he smelt the familiar scent of the ripening rye...the wind from home—beat caressingly upon his face
The summer night was still and warm. 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 hay-cutting 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. In Moscow the day after Gerasim's flight they missed him. They went to his garret, rummaged about in it, and spoke to the steward. 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. 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, but afterwards 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 was living still, a lonely man in his lonely hut.
He has quite given up the society of women; he will not even look at them, and does not keep even a single dog.