Anonymous - Grushenka. Three Times a Woman

Grushenka sat modestly on the chair and watched the Prince. He lay still and stared stupidly into nowhere. After a while she turned her eyes away from him, pitying him in her heart. She felt that he in turn was now scrutinizing her and, before he could avoid it, she caught a very keen and intelligent eye. So he was playing the stupid old man but was still very far from being demented! Finally he said in a low voice: “You won't kill me, will you?” “I'll pity you. I'll help you. I hate Serge,” was her answer. But they were both very careful not to say more; perhaps the serf who played the master was eavesdropping. After a while Grushenka got up and leaned over him, as if to tease him with her breasts. She whispered: “I have to do this; he might be looking through the keyhole.” The Prince played his part and stroked her bosom a bit. She noticed some books on the table and took one of them and began to read aloud.

He was amazed that she could read, and listened with interest to the story. But this interest grew to admiration when she inserted sentences into her monotonous readings which certainly were not printed in the book. For example: “Be very careful.” Or “I must see you again.” Or “Make some plans of what to do.” Or “when he comes back, behave as though you never want to see me again.” And so on.

When Serge came back to fetch Grushenka, the old man complained in a stupidly wailing manner that she had gotten him hot and feverish, that he did not want to see her again, that she had disturbed him with her reading. Serge was pleased at this and felt especially gratified when Grushenka told him, after they had left the room, that the Prince was a decrepit old man, had no sense any more and was certainly suffering from softening of the brain. Serge ordered her to make a daily visit to the Prince and to annoy him more each time. “Take his weapon,” he said, “or what is left of it, and rub it or kiss it. Let him have a little excitement before he goes to hell-you are his serf anyway.” At present, however, Serge wanted his own excitement quelled, and Grushenka looked too beautiful in her full dress not to make an excellent partner. Right then and there her head was buried in the cushions of a couch while a sharp pain in her intestines announced that Serge was still able to raise Master Phallus to action. When he had thrown the long train of her dress over her elevated buttocks and found a pair of drawers in his way, he ordered her never to wear drawers again. He also decided that hereafter he would poke her each day when she came out of the Prince's room. The dress of an elegant lady had stimulated his low-born senses and he ordered his other favorites also to be fitted with fine gowns to be worn when they reported for his pleasure.. Meanwhile Grushenka had to bear the brunt of his desire, and she did so with the resolution that her revenge would not be far off. She had her back doorway used again and again, and, surprisingly, she soon found that it was not so terrible after all. On the contrary, she learned how to loosen the muscles, how to give herself easily, how to enjoy this reverse form of erotic excitement. Her only objection to her encounters with Serge was that he demanded that she hold herself absolutely motionless no matter how aroused she became. How much she would have liked to answer his thrusts with wiggling pushes! The liberation of old Prince Asantcheiev and the crushing of Serge came much more quickly than even Grushenka had hoped. She smuggled paper and pencil to the old Prince and, while she read to him, sitting so that a watcher from the keyhole could not see him, he wrote a letter. It took the feeble old man many days before the letter was ready and addressed. He had to hide the half-finished paper for days under his sheets, trembling for fear that it would be detected-and that would have meant a violent death from Serge's hand. It was addressed to a distant relative of his who had his castle in the city. While Serge was in the house Grushenka, who had not confided in anyone, did not dare to carry the message herself to its destination. But, one day, when Serge drove away to watch the races, she dressed hurriedly, ran out of the house, took a droshki and sped through the city. The relative was not at home, but his wife was. Grushenka forced her way through a chain of servants, came to the mistress, fell at her feet and poured out her story in great excitement. At the same time she delivered the letter.

At first the lady did not want to listen. Had not the old Prince sent them insulting letters some years ago asking them never to see him again nor to communicate with him again? Had not that dirty majordomo refused her husband entrance to the house, acting upon orders from the old Prince? Had they not been shut out of his Me entirely? How could he now expect to get help? But when Grushenka prayed hard to her she finally read the letter. She began thinking it over and had Grushenka repeat the story. Then, suddenly, she understood; it became clear to her that Prince Asanteheiev was actually the captive of his slave, that he had kept them away under the threat of death, and that they had to act. But how? She broke out in a flood of lamentations, for with her husband away she did not know what to do. Yet Grushenka was in a terrible hurry.

Action had to be taken before Serge came back, for he would strangle the old man upon the first suspicion. She suggested that they should get hold of some male acquaintances of Madame, should get some men from the police station and- But now Madame was calm again and took charge. She selected a half dozen of her strongest stable men and they drove at great speed to the castle of the old Prince. Serge had not yet returned. The old Prince, upon seeing his relative, became hysterical, interrupting his joy with shouts of fear. Serge, whom he called an almighty devil, would kill them all, he proclaimed. His fear did not lessen even when they brought Serge before him, chained and shackled. It had been an easy job. When he had re-entered the house, the six men of Madame had fallen upon him and subdued him in no time. A police-picket was sent for. In the presence of the lieutenant, the old Prince made his accusation against his serf and demanded that he be hanged. And so they led Serge away. The captain of the police decided not to string him up, but to send him to Siberia. But it never came to that. Serge, who had been stunned in the beginning, had a violent fit in the evening and tried to break loose. The answer was the knout, and the policeman who exercised the whipping hit him so awkwardly that he broke his back. Serge died during the night-this all can be read in the old family papers of the family.

Asantcheiev. There also can be found that the old Prince gave Grushenka her freedom and a handsome dowry. He lived on for many months in peace and happiness. During this time Grushenka nursed him.

After his death, the relative who helped to free him inherited and lived in his castle-her name is reported as Countess Natalia Alexiejew. Grushenka stayed with the Countess Natalia until-well, the next chapter will tell you.

Countess Natalia Alexiejew and her husband, the Count Vasilis, were Russian aristocrats of the old, conservative order, a kind Grushenka had not yet met. They were religious, straightforward and strict, but just. They felt themselves the absolute owners of their serfs, but felt toward them more like a father or a mother than a master. Their day started early with a prayer meeting which was attended by the whole household. This was followed by breakfast at a long table, the masters presiding. If there was not a special party with guests, masters and servants ate at the same table and of the same dishes. After that, work was done.

Laziness or stupidity were at first treated with admonishing words. Only in rare and grave cases was the whip resorted to. The masters did not swing it themselves, however, but sent the culprit to the stable where an old and trusted coachman named Joseph laid the guilty one over a bundle of hay and administered the beating. (Joseph was a Judas and beat them longer and harder than he was told to. The other serfs hated him. They took good care not to be remiss in their duties so as to stay clear of his fangs.) Furthermore, no erotic abuse took place in the household. The aristocratic couple shared the same bed throughout the year. The Count, who was past fifty, had lost his sexual aspirations, and the Countess, who was ten years his junior, was apparently satisfied with what he was able to let her have. She was nice and plump, with firm flesh and many pretty dimples.