Short Fiction by Xavier de Maistre (digital e reader txt) 📕

begged her mother to read the eleventh line of the right page, wherever she should open the book. The mother took it speedily, opened it with a pin, and counting the lines, she read aloud the eleventh, containing these words: “And the angel of God called to Hagar out of Heaven, and said unto her: what aileth thee, Hagar? fear not.” This passage seemed to have a striking application to the journey she meditated. With enthusiastic joy, she seized the Bible, and kissed several times the auspicious page. “This is truly remarkable,” said the mother, fixing her eyes on her husband. But he was not prone to favour their opinions, and declaimed violently against these superstitions: “Do you imagine,” said he, “that a human creature can interrogate the Almighty, by opening a book at random with a pin, and that He would condescend to indulge your foolish whims?⁠—no doubt,” added he, addressing himself to his daughter, “no doubt an angel will be ready to accompany you in your peregrination, and minister to all your wants. Do you not see the folly of indulging such ridiculous fancies?”

Prascovia replied, that she was far from expecting that an angel would appear to assist her in her undertaking; “but,” said she, “I believe firmly, that my guardian angel will not forsake me, and that the object of my hopes will be ultimately accomplished, though I should even abandon it.” Lopouloff felt his resolution shaken by this strange perseverance; yet another month passed, without any further discourse about Prascovia’s departure. She became silent and pensive; courted solitude; spent more time than ever in the place where she prayed, and seemed to have forgotten her usual tenderness for her parents. They began to fear that she was serious, when she threatened to depart without the passport, and their anxiety increased whenever she returned later than usual. One day they had already given up the hope of seeing her again. Prascovia, on returning from church, whither she had gone alone, had accompanied a few peasant girls to a hamlet in the neighbourhood, and had spent several hours there. When she came home, her mother took her in her arms, and said to her, with a faltering voice: “Thou hast been very late, Prascovia; we feared that thou hadst gone forever.”

“You will soon have that mortification,” replied her daughter, “if you do not give me the passport, and you will then regret having refused it, and parted with me, without giving me your blessings.”

In saying these words, she did not return the caresses of her mother, whom her melancholy and altered voice affected deeply. Anxious to tranquillize her, the poor mother promised not to combat in future her determination, but to let it depend entirely on herself and her father. Prascovia did not urge her, but her profound distress was more persuasive than the liveliest entreaties, and her father also felt sadly her alteration. One morning, his wife begged him to bring some potatoes from the small garden which they cultivated. Lost in a train of gloomy reflections, he seemed at first not to listen to her; but recovering suddenly, he roused himself and said: “Come, help thyself, and I will help thee.” When he had finished these words, he took a hoe and went into the garden; his daughter followed him: “Yes, father, we must help ourselves, when we labour under misfortunes, and I hope that God will graciously aid me in the entreaties I come to make you, and that He will move your heart. Give me the passport, dear and unfortunate father! believe, oh believe, it is the will of the Almighty! can you wish to force your daughter to disobey you?” All the while she addressed her father, she embraced his knees, and endeavoured, by that mixture of firmness and humility, to inspire him with the hopes which filled her own heart. Her mother having joined them, she begged her to help her to convince her father, but the good woman could not be persuaded to do it. She could master her feelings sufficiently to consent to her daughter’s departure, but she had not courage to advise her husband to follow her example. However, Lopouloff could no longer resist such affecting entreaties, and he saw, besides, too clearly, the decided character of his daughter: “How dissuade this child?” exclaimed he; “we must let her do her will.”

Enraptured with these words, Prascovia threw herself on his neck. “Be sure, dear, dear father,” said she, covering him with kisses, “be sure that you will not repent having complied with my wishes. I will go, yes, I will go to St. Petersburg; I will kneel before the Emperor; and Providence, who inspired the thought and touched my heart, will move also that of our good Sovereign in your favour.”

“Dost thou think, poor child, that it is possible to address an Emperor, as thou speakest to thy father? Sentinels watch at every entry of his palace, and thou wilt never find means to pass its threshold. A poor beggar girl, without clothes and without recommendation, how couldst thou dare to appear before him; or who would present thee or befriend thee?”

Prascovia could not gainsay the ordinary probability of a failure, but did not yield to it. A secret presentiment triumphed in her bosom over the ordinary suggestions of reason. “I too feel the fears with which your kindness for me fills you,” she replied, “but what are they in comparison with my hopes? Think only, dear father; remember how many unexpected favours God has already granted me, because I had put my trust in Him! When I had not the least hope of obtaining a passport, He sent an infidel to point out to me the means of obtaining it. The Almighty softened the heart of the inexorable Governor of Tobolsk. Lastly, has He not overcome your reluctance, and obliged you to consent to my departure? Be, therefore, certain, my dear father, that Providence, who alone could have enabled