Love stories; Russia -- Social life and customs -- 1533-1917 -- Fiction
“On a visit to the pope’s wife on the other side of the Volga. It is a
pity. The pope’s wife has been ill and sent for her, of course just now.
A messenger shall go.”
“No! No! Why should anyone be disturbed on my account?”
“And you have come on your Grandmother so suddenly. We waited, waited,
in vain. The peasants sat up for you at night, I have just sent Egorka
on to the highway to look for you and Savili into the town. Now you must
have your breakfast. Why is it so long in coming? The master has come,
and there is nothing ready, just as if the house was nothing better than
a station. Serve what is ready.”
“I need nothing, Granny. I am stuffed with food. At one station I drank
tea, milk at another, and at the third there was a wedding, and I was
treated to wine, meat and gingerbread.”
“You are on your way home to your Grandmother, and are not ashamed to
eat and drink all sorts of things. Gingerbread in the morning! Marfinka
ought to have been there; she loves weddings and gingerbread. Come in.
Marfinka, don’t be so shy. She is ashamed because you caught her in her
morning gown. Come here, darling; he is your brother.”
Tea and coffee appeared, and finally breakfast. However much he
protested Raisky had to eat, for otherwise his aunt’s morning would have
been spoiled.
“Marfinka, come here and entertain us.”
After about five minutes the door opened slowly and quietly, and
Marfinka entered, blushing with confusion and with downcast eyes. At her
heels followed Vassilissa with a tea-tray full of sweets, preserves,
cakes, etc. Marfinka stood still, betraying in her confusion a certain
curiosity. She wore lace at her neck and wrists; her hair was plaited
firmly around her head and the waist of her barège dress encircled by a
blue ribbon.
Raisky threw down his napkin, and jumped up, to stand before her in
admiration. “How lovely,” he cried. “This is my little sister, Marfa
Vassilievna. And is the goose still alive?”
Marfinka became still more embarrassed, returned his greeting awkwardly,
and retired to a corner.
“You have both gone mad,” interrupted their aunt. “Is that the way to
greet one another?”
“Marfa Vassilievna,” said Raisky, as he sought to kiss Marfinka’s hand.
“Vassilievna!” cried Tatiana Markovna. “Don’t you love her any more?
Marfinka, not Marfa Vassilievna! You will be addressing me as Tatiana
Markovna next! Kiss one another. Are you not brother and sister?”
“I won’t, Grandmama. He is teasing me about the goose. It is not polite
to spy on people,” she said severely.
Everybody laughed. Raisky kissed her on both cheeks, embraced her, and
overcame her confusion. She kissed him in return, and her shyness
vanished.
“Do you remember, Marfinka, how we used to run about and draw, and how
you cried?”
“No ... but yes. I do remember as if in a dream.”
“How should she remember, when she was only five?” interrupted her aunt.
“But I do, Grandmama, as in a dream.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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