My mother was much
affected
by this declaration.
Pushkin - Daughter of the Commandant
Just God!
what have I lived to
see! The Tzarina grants him life, but does that make it easier for me to
bear? It is not the execution which is horrible. My ancestor perished on
the scaffold for conscience sake,[71] my father fell with the martyrs
Volynski and Khuchtchoff,[72] but that a '_boyar_' should forswear his
oath--that he should join with robbers, rascals, convicted felons,
revolted slaves! Shame for ever--shame on our race! "
Frightened by his despair, my mother dared not weep before him, and
endeavoured to give him courage by talking of the uncertainty and
injustice of the verdict. But my father was inconsolable.
Marya was more miserable than anyone. Fully persuaded that I could have
justified myself had I chosen, she suspected the motive which had kept
me silent, and deemed herself the sole cause of my misfortune. She hid
from all eyes her tears and her suffering, but never ceased thinking how
she could save me.
One evening, seated on the sofa, my father was turning over the Court
Calendar; but his thoughts were far away, and the book did not produce
its usual effect on him. He was whistling an old march. My mother was
silently knitting, and her tears were dropping from time to time on her
work. Marya, who was working in the same room, all at once informed my
parents that she was obliged to start for Petersburg, and begged them to
give her the means to do so.
My mother was much affected by this declaration.
"Why," said she, "do you want to go to Petersburg? You, too--do you also
wish to forsake us? "
Marya made answer that her fate depended on the journey, and that she
was going to seek help and countenance from people high in favour, as
the daughter of a man who had fallen victim to his fidelity.
My father bowed his head. Each word which reminded him of the alleged
crime of his son was to him a keen reproach.
"Go," he said at last, with a sigh; "we do not wish to cast any
obstacles between you and happiness. May God grant you an honest man as
a husband, and not a disgraced and convicted traitor. "
He rose and left the room.
Left alone with my mother, Marya confided to her part of her plans. My
mother kissed her with tears, and prayed God would grant her success.
A few days afterwards Marya set forth with Palashka and her faithful
Saveliitch, who, necessarily, parted from me, consoled himself by
remembering he was serving my betrothed.
Marya arrived safely at Sofia, and, learning that the court at this time
was at the summer palace of Tzarskoe-Selo, she resolved to stop there.
In the post-house she obtained a little dressing-room behind a
partition.
The wife of the postmaster came at once to gossip with her, and
announced to her pompously that she was the niece of a stove-warmer
attached to the Palace, and, in a word, put her up to all the mysteries
of the Palace. She told her at what hour the Tzarina rose, had her
coffee, went to walk; what high lords there were about her, what she had
deigned to say the evening before at table, who she received in the
evening, and, in a word, the conversation of Anna Vlassiefna[73] might
have been a leaf from any memoir of the day, and would be invaluable
now.
see! The Tzarina grants him life, but does that make it easier for me to
bear? It is not the execution which is horrible. My ancestor perished on
the scaffold for conscience sake,[71] my father fell with the martyrs
Volynski and Khuchtchoff,[72] but that a '_boyar_' should forswear his
oath--that he should join with robbers, rascals, convicted felons,
revolted slaves! Shame for ever--shame on our race! "
Frightened by his despair, my mother dared not weep before him, and
endeavoured to give him courage by talking of the uncertainty and
injustice of the verdict. But my father was inconsolable.
Marya was more miserable than anyone. Fully persuaded that I could have
justified myself had I chosen, she suspected the motive which had kept
me silent, and deemed herself the sole cause of my misfortune. She hid
from all eyes her tears and her suffering, but never ceased thinking how
she could save me.
One evening, seated on the sofa, my father was turning over the Court
Calendar; but his thoughts were far away, and the book did not produce
its usual effect on him. He was whistling an old march. My mother was
silently knitting, and her tears were dropping from time to time on her
work. Marya, who was working in the same room, all at once informed my
parents that she was obliged to start for Petersburg, and begged them to
give her the means to do so.
My mother was much affected by this declaration.
"Why," said she, "do you want to go to Petersburg? You, too--do you also
wish to forsake us? "
Marya made answer that her fate depended on the journey, and that she
was going to seek help and countenance from people high in favour, as
the daughter of a man who had fallen victim to his fidelity.
My father bowed his head. Each word which reminded him of the alleged
crime of his son was to him a keen reproach.
"Go," he said at last, with a sigh; "we do not wish to cast any
obstacles between you and happiness. May God grant you an honest man as
a husband, and not a disgraced and convicted traitor. "
He rose and left the room.
Left alone with my mother, Marya confided to her part of her plans. My
mother kissed her with tears, and prayed God would grant her success.
A few days afterwards Marya set forth with Palashka and her faithful
Saveliitch, who, necessarily, parted from me, consoled himself by
remembering he was serving my betrothed.
Marya arrived safely at Sofia, and, learning that the court at this time
was at the summer palace of Tzarskoe-Selo, she resolved to stop there.
In the post-house she obtained a little dressing-room behind a
partition.
The wife of the postmaster came at once to gossip with her, and
announced to her pompously that she was the niece of a stove-warmer
attached to the Palace, and, in a word, put her up to all the mysteries
of the Palace. She told her at what hour the Tzarina rose, had her
coffee, went to walk; what high lords there were about her, what she had
deigned to say the evening before at table, who she received in the
evening, and, in a word, the conversation of Anna Vlassiefna[73] might
have been a leaf from any memoir of the day, and would be invaluable
now.
