The Sweet-Scented Name. Fyodor Sologub

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ were obliged to believe that they were in the presence of a beautiful princess, the daughter of a great and wise king.

      But the fairy-tale 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 fairy-tale came into a man's life, and as often happens in a fairy-tale, 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 be difficult for two people to live in Petersburg on the money your father allows you.

      "Especially with a princess.

      "You must remember that in spite of her sweet ways she's probably accustomed to live in good style.

      "She has very small soft hands. True, she has been very modest here, and you say she was barefoot when you met her first and had very little clothing. But we don't know what kind of garments she will want to wear in a town."

      Peter Antònovitch himself was rather pessimistic at first. But by and by he remembered how he had found a dress for Turandina in the little bag. A bold thought came into his mind, and he smiled and said:

      "I found a house-frock for Turandina in her little bag. Perhaps if I were to rummage in it again I might find a ball-dress for her."

      But the teacher's wife, a kind young ​woman with a genius for housekeeping, said:

      "Much better if you could find some money. If only she had five hundred roubles we could manage to get her a good trousseau."

      "We ought to find five hundred thousand—for a princess's dowry," said Peter Antònovitch, laughing.

      "Oh, a hundred thousand would be quite enough for you," laughed his cousin in reply.

      Just then Turandina came quietly up the steps leading from the garden, and Peter Antònovitch called to her and said:

      "Turandina, show me your little bag, dear. Perhaps you have a hundred thousand roubles there."

      Turandina held out her little bag to him and said:

      "If it's necessary, you will find it in the bag."

      And Peter Antònovitch again put his hand into the little bag and drew forth a large packet of notes. He began to count them, but without counting he could see they represented a large quantity of money.

      ​

      VII

      So this great fairy-tale came into the young man's life. And though it didn't seem well suited to the taking-in of a fairy-tale, yet room was found for it somewhere. The fairy-tale bought a place in his life—with its own charm and the treasures of the enchanted bag.

      Turandina and the young lawyer were married. And Turandina had first a little son and then a daughter. The boy was like his mother, and grew up to be a gentle dreamy child. The girl was like her father, gay and intelligent.

      And so the years went by. Every summer, when the days were at their longest, a strange melancholy overshadowed Turandina. She used to go out in the mornings to the edge of the forest and stand there listening to the forest voices. And after some time she would walk home again slowly and sadly.

      And once, standing there at midday, she heard a loud voice calling to her:

      "Turandina, come. Your father has forgiven you."

      And so she went away and never returned. Her little son was then seven years old and her daughter three.

      ​Thus the fairy-tale departed from this life and never came back. But Turandina's little son never forgot his mother.

      Sometimes he would wander away by himself so as to be quite alone. And when he came home again there was such an expression upon his face that the teacher's wife said to her husband in a whisper:

      "He has been with Turandina."

      Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

      Текст СКАЧАТЬ