Historical fiction; Russia -- Social conditions -- 1801-1917 -- Fiction
“Yes, it’s quite true,” said Rogojin, frowning gloomily; “so Zaleshoff
told me. I was walking about the Nefsky one fine day, prince, in my
father’s old coat, when she suddenly came out of a shop and stepped
into her carriage. I swear I was all of a blaze at once. Then I met
Zaleshoff—looking like a hair-dresser’s assistant, got up as fine as I
don’t know who, while I looked like a tinker. ‘Don’t flatter yourself,
my boy,’ said he; ‘she’s not for such as you; she’s a princess, she is,
and her name is Nastasia Philipovna Barashkoff, and she lives with
Totski, who wishes to get rid of her because he’s growing rather
old—fifty-five or so—and wants to marry a certain beauty, the loveliest
woman in all Petersburg.’ And then he told me that I could see Nastasia
Philipovna at the opera-house that evening, if I liked, and described
which was her box. Well, I’d like to see my father allowing any of us
to go to the theatre; he’d sooner have killed us, any day. However, I
went for an hour or so and saw Nastasia Philipovna, and I never slept a
wink all night after. Next morning my father happened to give me two
government loan bonds to sell, worth nearly five thousand roubles each.
‘Sell them,’ said he, ‘and then take seven thousand five hundred
roubles to the office, give them to the cashier, and bring me back the
rest of the ten thousand, without looking in anywhere on the way; look
sharp, I shall be waiting for you.’ Well, I sold the bonds, but I
didn’t take the seven thousand roubles to the office; I went straight
to the English shop and chose a pair of earrings, with a diamond the
size of a nut in each. They cost four hundred roubles more than I had,
so I gave my name, and they trusted me. With the earrings I went at
once to Zaleshoff’s. ‘Come on!’ I said, ‘come on to Nastasia
Philipovna’s,’ and off we went without more ado. I tell you I hadn’t a
notion of what was about me or before me or below my feet all the way;
I saw nothing whatever. We went straight into her drawing-room, and
then she came out to us.
“I didn’t say right out who I was, but Zaleshoff said: ‘From Parfen
Rogojin, in memory of his first meeting with you yesterday; be so kind
as to accept these!’
“She opened the parcel, looked at the earrings, and laughed.
“‘Thank your friend Mr. Rogojin for his kind attention,’ says she, and
bowed and went off. Why didn’t I die there on the spot? The worst of it
all was, though, that the beast Zaleshoff got all the credit of it! I
was short and abominably dressed, and stood and stared in her face and
never said a word, because I was shy, like an ass! And there was he all
in the fashion, pomaded and dressed out, with a smart tie on, bowing
and scraping; and I bet anything she took him for me all the while!
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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