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Updated: May 27, 2025
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 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.
Come again to-morrow, and in the meantime take this ten-kopek piece. It may come in handy." "Thanks, Yegor Danilych. Then you will try for me? Please do me the favour." "All right. I'll try for you." Gerasim left, and Yegor harnessed up his horses. Then he put on his coachman's habit, and drove up to the front door. Mr.
They thought and thought, and at last thought out a solution. It had many a time been observed that Gerasim could not bear drunkards. . . . As he sat at the gates, he would always turn away with disgust when some one passed by intoxicated, with unsteady steps and his cap on one side of his ear.
Gerasim stammered out, "I've come listen I want to thank you ever and ever so much for the way you received me and and all the trouble you took for me but I can't take the place." "What! What does that mean?" "Nothing. I don't want the place. I will look for another one for myself." Yegor flew into a rage. "Did you mean to make a fool of me, did you, you idiot?
Bonaparte!..." shouted Makar Alexeevich. "That's not right, sir. Come to your room, please, and rest. Allow me to have the pistol." "Be off, thou base slave! Touch me not! See this?" shouted Makar Alexeevich, brandishing the pistol. "Board them!" "Catch hold!" whispered Gerasim to the porter. They seized Makar Alexeevich by the arms and dragged him to the door.
Her day, a joyless and gloomy day, had long been over; but the evening of her life was blacker than night. Of all her servants, the most remarkable personage was the porter, Gerasim, a man full twelve inches over the normal height, of heroic build, and deaf and dumb from his birth.
With all the rest of the servants, Gerasim was on terms hardly friendly they were afraid of him but familiar; he regarded them as his fellows. They explained themselves to him by signs, and he understood them, and exactly carried out all orders, but knew his own rights too, and soon no one dared to take his seat at the table.
From time to time he uttered soft regular sounds; he was wailing a dirge, that is, swaying backwards and forwards with his eyes shut, and shaking his head as drivers or bargemen do when they chant their melancholy songs. Antipka could not bear it, and he came away from the crack. When Gerasim came out of the garret next day, no particular change could be observed in him.
The first was a feeling of the necessity of sacrifice and suffering in view of the common calamity, the same feeling that had caused him to go to Mozhaysk on the twenty-fifth and to make his way to the very thick of the battle and had now caused him to run away from his home and, in place of the luxury and comfort to which he was accustomed, to sleep on a hard sofa without undressing and eat the same food as Gerasim.
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