Short Fiction - Xavier de Maistre (the unexpected everything .txt) 📗

me to triumph over so many obstacles, and who has protected me until now, will know how to carry me safely to the feet of our Sovereign. Providence will put in my mouth convincing words, and your liberty shall reward you for the permission you have given me.”

From that day, her journey was decided upon, but the time of her departure was not yet fixed. Lopouloff hoped to receive some assistance from his friends. Several of the prisoners had sufficient means to befriend him, and some of them had made him, on other occasions, offers which he was too prudent to accept. But now he thought he might claim their aid. He wished also to find a traveller, in whose society his daughter might, at least, begin her pilgrimage. But he was disappointed in his expectations. Yet, Prascovia was impatient to depart. The whole fortune of the family consisted in one rouble of silver. After having in vain endeavoured to increase their mite, they fixed the day of the cruel separation, according to the wishes of the noble girl, on the eighth of September, the day of nativity of the Virgin. When this determination was known in the village, all their friends came to see her, led rather by curiosity than by real interest. Instead of lending her assistance, or of cheering her mind, they generally disapproved of her father’s having consented to her departure. Those who could have given her money, pleaded unfortunate circumstances, which they said “often prevent our rendering services to our best friends;” but not to be altogether niggardly, they were profuse in woeful predictions. Two of the poorest and most obscure prisoners, took up, however, the defence of Prascovia, and encouraged her parents. “Things more desperate,” said they, “have succeeded beyond all hope. If she cannot speak herself to the Emperor, she may find protectors who will speak in her behalf, when they shall know and love her as know and love her.” On the eighth of September, the two men came again to take leave of her, and to witness her departure. They found her ready for her long journey, unencumbered except with a small bag. She refused to accept the rouble which her father had destined to her use, because such a trifle could not carry her to St. Petersburg, but might be important to him. An express command of her father could alone determine her to accept his small assistance. The two poor exiles wished also to contribute to the scanty resources, with which she set out on her long pilgrimage: the one offered thirty kopecks, and the other a piece of twenty kopecks in silver, their means of subsistence for several days. Prascovia refused to accept their generous offers, though she valued them highly. “If Providence,” said she, “grant its protection to my parents, you will, I hope, profit by it.”

At this moment, the first rays of the sun illuminated the room. “The hour is come,” said Prascovia: “we must part.” She, as well as her parents, and the two friends, sat down for a little while; for in Russia, the custom is, for the traveller who sets out on a long journey, to partake as it were, with his friends, of a last social pleasure. They talk about the weather and indifferent things, for a few minutes, and then at once rise and give free scope to their feelings.

Prascovia received on her knees, the benedictions of her parents; and having made a last effort of firmness, in disengaging herself from their arms, she quitted their poor dwelling forever. The two exiles accompanied her for a verst, while her parents, immoveable at the door of their house, followed her with their eyes, to send her, from afar, a last farewell; but she did not look back, and soon was out of sight.

Lopouloff and his wife entered their habitation, now to them more gloomy than ever. Few visited them, because most of the gossips of Ischim blamed the father, for having encouraged his daughter to venture on so imprudent an enterprise, and ridiculed his presumptuous hopes. They derided still more the two prisoners, who had the simplicity to repeat the promise which Prascovia had made them to interest herself in their favour, and congratulated them on their good fortune.

We must now leave this scene of distress, to follow our interesting traveller on her journey. When the two friends who had accompanied her for a short distance, left her, she met with a few country lasses, who were on their way to the next village, at about twenty five versts from Ischim. During their journey, they encountered a number of young peasants, some of whom were half drunk, and who alighted from their horses, wishing to accompany the female travellers. The scene of this piece of clownish gallantry, was at the entrance of a thick forest. The terrified maidens, pretending to be fatigued, said they wished to refresh themselves: they sat down at the side of the road, opened their handkerchiefs, which contained some provisions, and begged the intruders to continue on their way. But, like other “travelled gallants,” they repeated their offer, and seemed resolute not to be denied. Prascovia, in order to rid herself of them, thought she might use a little deceit. “We would gladly go with you,” she said, “if we were not obliged to wait for our brothers, who are coming to carry us in their wagons.” Two wagons were indeed approaching, but they were yet at a considerable distance, and the lads had not seen them until Prascovia pointed in the direction in which they were seen, slowly advancing up the road. Her little stratagem was successful, for the men mounted their horses immediately and went off. “This was an untruth,” said she, when speaking of her first adventure; “but I was not the worse for it.” She reached the village in safety, and was hospitably received by a peasant of her acquaintance.

On awaking the next morning, she