Historical fiction; Russia -- Social conditions -- 1801-1917 -- Fiction
“She said, ‘I wouldn’t even have you for a footman now, much less for a
husband.’ ‘I shan’t leave the house,’ I said, ‘so it doesn’t matter.’
‘Then I shall call somebody and have you kicked out,’ she cried. So
then I rushed at her, and beat her till she was bruised all over.”
“Impossible!” cried the prince, aghast.
“I tell you it’s true,” said Rogojin quietly, but with eyes ablaze with
passion.
“Then for a day and a half I neither slept, nor ate, nor drank, and
would not leave her. I knelt at her feet: ‘I shall die here,’ I said,
‘if you don’t forgive me; and if you have me turned out, I shall drown
myself; because, what should I be without you now?’ She was like a
madwoman all that day; now she would cry; now she would threaten me
with a knife; now she would abuse me. She called in Zaleshoff and
Keller, and showed me to them, shamed me in their presence. ‘Let’s all
go to the theatre,’ she says, ‘and leave him here if he won’t go—it’s
not my business. They’ll give you some tea, Parfen Semeonovitch, while
I am away, for you must be hungry.’ She came back from the theatre
alone. ‘Those cowards wouldn’t come,’ she said. ‘They are afraid of
you, and tried to frighten me, too. “He won’t go away as he came,” they
said, “he’ll cut your throat—see if he doesn’t.” Now, I shall go to my
bedroom, and I shall not even lock my door, just to show you how much I
am afraid of you. You must be shown that once for all. Did you have
tea?’ ‘No,’ I said, ‘and I don’t intend to.’ ‘Ha, ha! you are playing
off your pride against your stomach! That sort of heroism doesn’t sit
well on you,’ she said.
“With that she did as she had said she would; she went to bed, and did
not lock her door. In the morning she came out. ‘Are you quite mad?’
she said, sharply. ‘Why, you’ll die of hunger like this.’ ‘Forgive me,’
I said. ‘No, I won’t, and I won’t marry you. I’ve said it. Surely you
haven’t sat in this chair all night without sleeping?’ ‘I didn’t
sleep,’ I said. ‘H’m! how sensible of you. And are you going to have no
breakfast or dinner today?’ ‘I told you I wouldn’t. Forgive me!’
‘You’ve no idea how unbecoming this sort of thing is to you,’ she said,
‘it’s like putting a saddle on a cow’s back. Do you think you are
frightening me? My word, what a dreadful thing that you should sit here
and eat no food! How terribly frightened I am!’ She wasn’t angry long,
and didn’t seem to remember my offence at all. I was surprised, for she
is a vindictive, resentful woman—but then I thought that perhaps she
despised me too much to feel any resentment against me. And that’s the
truth.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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