or will find out, as
everyone else sooner or later fends out, that he is a man to be reckoned
with even by those who are not intimidated by his temper, bodily
strength, and exalted rank.

A pretty young lady, Yarinka, his favorite niece, is lounging on an
ottoman between his end of the table and the door, very sulky and
dissatisfied, perhaps because he is preoccupied with his papers and his
brandy bottle, and she can see nothing of him but his broad back.

There is a screen behind the ottoman.

An old soldier, a Cossack sergeant, enters.

THE SERGEANT [softly to the lady, holding the door handle]. Little
darling honey, is his Highness the prince very busy?

VARINKA. His Highness the prince is very busy. He is singing out of
tune; he is biting his nails; he is scratching his head; he is hitching
up his untidy stockings; he is making himself disgusting and odious to
everybody; and he is pretending to read state papers that he does
not understand because he is too lazy and selfish to talk and be
companionable.

PATIOMKIN [growls; then wipes his nose with his dressing-gown]!!

VARINKA. Pig. Ugh! [She curls herself up with a shiver of disgust and
retires from the conversation.]

THE SERGEANT [stealing across to the coat, and picking it up to replace
it on the back of the chair]. Little Father, the English captain,
so highly recommended to you by old Fritz of Prussia, by the English
ambassador, and by Monsieur Voltaire (whom [crossing himself] may God in
his infinite mercy damn eternally!), is in the antechamber and desires
audience.

PATIOMKIN [deliberately]. To hell with the English captain; and to hell
with old Fritz of Prussia; and to hell with the English ambassador; and
to hell with Monsieur Voltaire; and to hell with you too!

THE SERGEANT. Have mercy on me, Little Father. Your head is bad this
morning. You drink too much French brandy and too little good Russian
kvass.

PATIOMKIN [with sudden fury]. Why are visitors of consequence announced
by a sergeant? [Springing at him and seizing him by the throat.] What
do you mean by this, you hound? Do you want five thousand blows of the
stick? Where is General Volkonsky?

THE SERGEANT [on his knees]. Little Father, you kicked his Highness
downstairs.

PATIOMKIN [flinging him dawn and kicking him]. You lie, you dog. You
lie.

THE SERGEANT. Little Father, life is hard for the poor. If you say it is
a lie, it is a lie. He FELL downstairs. I picked him up; an