Short Fiction, Xavier de Maistre [books to read in your 20s txt] 📗

weeks, without any better success than on the first day: often, wasted with the fatigue of standing on a cold and wet staircase, she seated herself upon one of the steps, and endeavoured to read in the countenances of those who passed, some sign of compassion and benevolence. But probably nobody imagined what she wanted. This is inevitable in large cities. Opulence and misery, happiness and distress, elbow each other, and yet remain forever separate, unless benevolence and pity, or the exertions of charitable persons, bring them into closer connection than accidental meetings.

One day, however, one of the clerks, who probably had already become accustomed to her face, stopped beside her, accepted the petition, and took from his pocket a packet of papers. The unfortunate girl began to feel some hope; but the packet contained only banknotes, from which the stranger took one of five roubles, put it in Prascovia’s paper, and, returning it, quickly disappeared. The disappointed girl rose from her seat,and left the palace. “I am sure,” said she to her hostess, “that if Mrs. Milin had a brother, who was a Senator, he would have attended to my request, without knowing anything of me.”

The Senate not being in session during the Easter holy-days, Prascovia, contrary to her inclination, had some rest. She employed it in devotion. During her pious exercises, she repeated her prayers for the happy issue of her enterprise, and such was the sincerity of her faith, that after having partaken of the communion, she felt assured that her petition would be accepted, the next time she should present herself at the Senate, and told her hostess so when she returned from church. But the hostess was less confident, and advised her to try some other means. Still, on the day when the Senate was to open its session, she had some business on the “English quay,” and Prascovia being ready to go to the Senatorial palace, she offered to carry her in her droshky. “I wonder,” said she on the way, “that you do not become discouraged. Were I in your situation, I would not trouble myself further with the Senate and Senators, who will never do anything for you: you might as well present your petition to this statue,” added she, in pointing to the noble monument of Peter the Great.

“I am sure,” answered Prascovia, “that my faith will not be in vain. But I will try today for the last time, my fortune at the Senate; and I am confident that my supplication will be received. God is almighty⁠—yes, He is almighty,” repeated she, alighting from the vehicle, “and if He willed it, even this figure of bronze would move from his seat, and hearken to my request.”

The matron burst out into a laugh, and Prascovia, soon awaking from her enthusiasm, smiled herself: yet this was but the habitual current of her thoughts and expressions.

While she gazed on the monument, her hostess, looking round her, remarked that the bridge over the Neva was replaced: numberless vehicles were coming to and fro, in the direction of Vasili-Ostrov.⁠—“Have you your letter for Mrs. L.?” asked the good woman; “I am in no hurry, and could carry you to her house.” It being yet early in the morning, Prascovia accepted her offer. The river which, some time before, was meandering around masses of floating ice, was now thawed and covered with vessels and boats of every description. Prascovia was delighted with this sight; the weather was beautiful, and with redoubled courage, she felt assured that her visit would be successful. Embracing her companion, she said: “It seems to me as if God guided me, and I trust He will not forsake me.”

Mrs. L., who had received from her friends in Yekaterinburg, some account of Prascovia, reproached her kindly for not having sooner presented herself. The affectionate manner with which she was received, reminded her strongly of the time she had passed with Mrs. Milin. Prascovia explained the plan she had formed for the recall of her father from his exile, and mentioned the unsuccessful endeavours she had made, until then, at the Senate. On a perusal of her petition, Mrs. L. soon found that it was not worded according to the official form. “Few could be more serviceable to you than myself,” she said to Prascovia, “for one of my relations fills an important station in the Senate; but I must confess to you, as I would to an older acquaintance, and to a friend, that for a short time past I have not been on good terms with him. However,” she added, after a little reflection, “the occasion is so good, and our quarrel so trifling, that I should be willing to make propositions of reconciliation, of which you may be the immediate cause: besides, is it not Easter?”

Prascovia was to dine with her new friend, and in company with several persons who were invited, and who showed her the greatest kindness. When they were taking their seats at the table, a gentleman entered, and addressing Mrs. L., made the salutations usual on these festival days: “Christos voscres;” and without more words, they embraced each other in the most affectionate manner. This person was the relative mentioned by Mrs. L. The custom in Russia is, for friends and acquaintances, when they first meet in Easter, to greet each other by such marks of love and affection. The one says: “Christos voscres,” (“Christ is risen,”) and the other answers: “Voistino voscres,” (“in truth, He is risen.”) Between friends, these expressions are, as it were, a new covenant; and, between persons who have quarrelled, the first words are an express wish for reconciliation. Mrs. L. finding her relation so well disposed, presented to him the young pilgrim from Siberia. Her affair was canvassed during the dinner, and the whole company agreed, that her application to the Senate was an ill-advised step. A formal revision of her father’s trial would have