Historical fiction; Russia -- Social conditions -- 1801-1917 -- Fiction
“But do you know what I have been thinking out during this last week,
Parfen? I’ll tell you. What if she loves you now better than anyone?
And what if she torments you _because_ she loves you, and in proportion
to her love for you, so she torments you the more? She won’t tell you
this, of course; you must have eyes to see. Why do you suppose she
consents to marry you? She must have a reason, and that reason she will
tell you some day. Some women desire the kind of love you give her, and
she is probably one of these. Your love and your wild nature impress
her. Do you know that a woman is capable of driving a man crazy almost,
with her cruelties and mockeries, and feels not one single pang of
regret, because she looks at him and says to herself, ‘There! I’ll
torment this man nearly into his grave, and then, oh! how I’ll
compensate him for it all with my love!’”
Rogojin listened to the end, and then burst out laughing:
“Why, prince, I declare you must have had a taste of this sort of thing
yourself—haven’t you? I have heard tell of something of the kind, you
know; is it true?”
“What? What can you have heard?” said the prince, stammering.
Rogojin continued to laugh loudly. He had listened to the prince’s
speech with curiosity and some satisfaction. The speaker’s impulsive
warmth had surprised and even comforted him.
“Why, I’ve not only heard of it; I see it for myself,” he said. “When
have you ever spoken like that before? It wasn’t like yourself, prince.
Why, if I hadn’t heard this report about you, I should never have come
all this way into the park—at midnight, too!”
“I don’t understand you in the least, Parfen.”
“Oh, _she_ told me all about it long ago, and tonight I saw for myself.
I saw you at the music, you know, and whom you were sitting with. She
swore to me yesterday, and again today, that you are madly in love with
Aglaya Ivanovna. But that’s all the same to me, prince, and it’s not my
affair at all; for if you have ceased to love _her_, _she_ has not
ceased to love _you_. You know, of course, that she wants to marry you
to that girl? She’s sworn to it! Ha, ha! She says to me, ‘Until then I
won’t marry you. When they go to church, we’ll go too—and not before.’
What on earth does she mean by it? I don’t know, and I never did.
Either she loves you without limits or—yet, if she loves you, why does
she wish to marry you to another girl? She says, ‘I want to see him
happy,’ which is to say—she loves you.”
“I wrote, and I say to you once more, that she is not in her right
mind,” said the prince, who had listened with anguish to what Rogojin
said.
“Goodness knows—you may be wrong there! At all events, she named the
day this evening, as we left the gardens. ‘In three weeks,’ says she,
‘and perhaps sooner, we shall be married.’ She swore to it, took off
her cross and kissed it. So it all depends upon you now, prince, You
see! Ha, ha!”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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