The Daughter of the Commandant by Aleksandr Sergeyevich Pushkin

Author:Aleksandr Sergeyevich Pushkin [Pushkin, Aleksandr Sergeyevich]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Romance, War & Military
Published: 1836-11-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8 The Unexpected Visit

The square remained empty. I stood in the same place, unable to collect my thoughts, disturbed by so many terrible events.

My uncertainty about Marya Ivánofna's fate tormented me more than I can say. Where was she? What had become of her? Had she had time to hide herself? Was her place of refuge safe and sure? Full of these oppressive thoughts, I went to the Commandant's house. All was empty. The chairs, the tables, the presses were burned, and the crockery in bits; the place was in dreadful disorder. I quickly ran up the little stair which led to Marya's room, where I was about to enter for the first time in my life.

Her bed was topsy-turvy, the press open and ransacked. A lamp still burned before the "kivott" [56] equally empty; but a small looking-glass hanging between the door and window had not been taken away. What had become of the inmate of this simple maiden's cell? A terrible apprehension crossed my mind. I thought of Marya in the hands of the robbers. My heart failed me; I burst into tears and murmured the name of my loved one. At this moment I heard a slight noise, and Polashka, very pale, came out from behind the press. "Oh, Petr' Andréjïtch," said she, wringing her hands; "what a day, what horrors!" "Marya Ivánofna," cried I, impatiently, "where is Marya Ivánofna?" "The young lady is alive," replied Polashka; "she is hidden at Akoulina Pamphilovna's." "In the pope's house!" I exclaimed, affrighted. "Good God! Pugatchéf is there!" I rushed out of the room, in two jumps I was in the street and running wildly towards the pope's house. From within there resounded songs, shouts, and bursts of laughter; Pugatchéf was at the table with his companions. Polashka had followed me; I sent her secretly to call aside Akoulina Pamphilovna. The next minute the pope's wife came out into the ante-room, an empty bottle in her hand. "In heaven's name where is Marya Ivánofna?" I asked, with indescribable agitation. "She is in bed, the little dove," replied the pope's wife, "in my bed, behind the partition. Ah! Petr' Andréjïtch, a misfortune very nearly happened. But, thank God, all has passed happily over. The villain had scarcely sat down to table before the poor darling began to moan. I nearly died of fright. He heard her." "'Who is that moaning, old woman?' said he. "I saluted the robber down to the ground. "'My niece, Tzar; she has been ill and in bed for more than a week.' "'And your niece, is she young?' "'She is young, Tzar.' "'Let us see, old woman; show me your niece.' "I felt my heart fail me; but what could I do? "'Very well, Tzar; but the girl is not strong enough to rise and come before your grace.' "'That's nothing, old woman; I'll go myself and see her.' "And, would you believe it, the rascal actually went behind the partition. He drew aside the curtain, looked at her with his hawk's eyes, and nothing more; God helped us.

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