The Daughter of the CommandantPushkin, Aleksandr Sergeevich
History
The Daughter of the Commandant
Pushkin, Aleksandr Sergeevich
Historical fiction; Pugachev, Emelian Ivanovich, -1775 -- Fiction; Russia -- History -- Catherine II, 1762-1796 -- Fiction
But who could have taken the trouble to tell my father what I had done.
The General? He did not seem to trouble himself much about me; and,
indeed, Iván Kouzmitch had not thought it necessary to report my duel to
him. I could not think. My suspicions fell upon Chvabrine; he alone
could profit by this betrayal, which might end in my banishment from the
fort and my separation from the Commandant's family. I was going to tell
all to Marya Ivánofna when she met me on the doorstep.
"What has happened?" she said to me. "How pale you are!"
"All is at an end," replied I, handing her my father's letter.
In her turn she grew pale. After reading the letter she gave it me back,
and said, in a voice broken by emotion--
"It was not my fate. Your parents do not want me in your family; God's
will be done! God knows better than we do what is fit for us. There is
nothing to be done, Petr' Andréjïtch; may you at least be happy."
"It shall not be thus!" I exclaimed, seizing her hand. "You love me; I
am ready for anything. Let us go and throw ourselves at your parents'
feet. They are honest people, neither proud nor hard; they--they will
give us their blessing--we will marry, and then with time, I am sure, we
shall succeed in mollifying my father. My mother will intercede for us,
and he will forgive me."
"No, Petr' Andréjïtch," replied Marya, "I will not marry you without
the blessing of your parents. Without their blessing you would not be
happy. Let us submit to the will of God. Should you meet with another
betrothed, should you love her, _God be with you_,[47] Petr' Andréjïtch,
I--I will pray for you both."
She began to cry, and went away. I meant to follow her to her room; but
I felt unable to control myself, and I went home. I was seated, deep in
melancholy reflections, when Savéliitch suddenly came and interrupted
me.
"Here, sir," said he, handing me a sheet of paper all covered with
writing, "see if I be a spy on my master, and if I try to sow discord
betwixt father and son."
I took the paper from his hand; it was Savéliitch's reply to the letter
he had received. Here it is word for word--
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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