Short Fiction, Fyodor Sologub [most popular novels of all time .txt] 📗

was such a humility in her voice and gesture as she spoke that Peter Antònovitch felt quite happy. It would be quite easy to manage her now, he thought. So he said, “Oh yes; we can get a hat later on.” IV

And so there came a fairy-story into the life of a man. Of course, it seemed sometimes as if the young lawyer’s life were quite unsuited for such a thing. His relatives were utterly unable to believe the account their young guest gave of herself, and even Peter Antònovitch himself lacked faith. Many times he begged Turandina to tell him her real name, and he played various tricks on her to trap her into confessing that her story was not really true. But Turandina was never angry at his persistence. She smiled sweetly and simply, and with great patience said over and over again:

“I have told you the truth.”

“But where is the land over which King Turandon reigns?” Peter Antònovitch would ask.

“It is far away,” Turandina would answer, “and yet if you wish it, it is near also. But none of you can go thither. Only we who have been born in the enchanted kingdom of King Turandon can ever get to that wonderful country.”

“But can you not show me how to go there?” asked Peter Antònovitch.

“No, I cannot,” answered Turandina.

“And can you return yourself?” said he.

“Now, I cannot,” said she, “but when my father calls me, I shall return.”

There was no sadness in her voice and expression, nor any joy, as she spoke of her expulsion from the enchanted land and of her return. Her voice was always calm and gentle. She looked on all she saw with inquiring eyes, as if seeing everything for the first time, but with a quiet calmness, as if knowing that she would soon become accustomed to all new and strange things, and would easily recognise them again. When she once knew a thing she never made a mistake nor confused it with anything else. All ordinary rules of conduct that people told her or that she herself noticed, were lightly and easily followed, as if she had been accustomed to them from her childhood. She remembered names and faces of people after having once seen them.

Turandina never quarrelled with anyone, and she never said anything untrue. When she was advised to use the ordinary Society evasions she shook her head and said:

“One must never say what is untrue. The earth hears everything.”

At home and in the company of others Turandina behaved with such dignity and graciousness that all who could believe in a fairytale were obliged to believe that they were in the presence of a beautiful princess, the daughter of a great and wise king.

But the fairytale was somewhat difficult to reconcile with the ordinary life of the young lawyer and his people. There was a perpetual struggle between the two, and many difficulties arose in consequence.

V

When Turandina had been living with the family for a few days, an official came to the house and said to the servant:

“They say there’s a young lady visitor here. She must send in her passport and have it signed.”

The servant told her mistress, who spoke to her husband about the matter. He asked Peter Antònovitch about the passport, and the latter went to find Turandina and ask her. Turandina was sitting on the verandah reading a book with much enjoyment.

“Turandina,” said Peter Antònovitch, going out to her. “The police have sent to ask for your passport. It must be sent to be signed.”

Turandina listened very attentively to what Peter Antònovitch had to say. And then she asked:

“What is a passport?”

“Oh, a passport,” said he, “don’t you know, is⁠—a passport. A paper on which is written your name and your father’s name, your age, your rank. You can’t possibly live anywhere without a passport.”

“If it’s necessary,” said Turandina calmly, “then, of course, it ought to be in my little bag. Look, there’s the bag, take it and see if the passport is inside.”

And in the wonderful little bag there was found a passport⁠—a small book in a brown cover, which had been obtained in the province of Astrakhan, in which was inscribed the name of the Princess Tamara Timofeevna Turandon, seventeen years of age, and unmarried. Everything was in order: the seal, the official signature, the signature of the princess herself, and so on, just as in all passport books.

Peter Antònovitch looked at Turandina and smiled:

“So that’s who you are,” said he, “you are a princess, and your name is Tamara.”

But Turandina shook her head.

“No,” said she, “I’ve never been called Tamara. That passport doesn’t tell the truth; it’s only for the police and for those people who do not know and cannot know the truth. I am Turandina, the daughter of King Turandon. Since I have lived in this world I have learnt that people here don’t want to know the truth. I don’t know anything about the passport. Whoever put it in my little bag must have known that I should need it. But for thee, my word should be enough.”

After the passport had been signed Turandina was known as the princess, or Tamara Timofeevna, but her own people continued to call her Turandina.

VI

Her own people⁠—for they came to be her own people. The fairytale came into a man’s life, and as often happens in a fairytale, so it now occurred in life. Peter Antònovitch fell in love with Turandina and Turandina loved him also. He made up his mind to marry her, and this led to slight difficulties in the family.

The teacher-cousin and his wife said: “In spite of her mysterious origin and her obstinate silence about her family, your Turandina is a very dear girl, beautiful, intelligent, very good and capable, and well brought up. In short, she is everything that one could wish. But you ought to remember that you have no money, and neither has she.

“It will