The Daughter of the Commandant | Page 6

to get married, now!"
Savéliitch was right. What was there to do? The snow continued to fall--a heap was rising around the kibitka. The horses stood motionless, hanging their heads and shivering from time to time.
The driver walked round them, settling their harness, as if he had nothing else to do. Savéliitch grumbled. I was looking all round in hopes of perceiving some indication of a house or a road; but I could not see anything but the confused whirling of the snowstorm.
All at once I thought I distinguished something black.
"Hullo, driver!" I exclaimed, "what is that black thing over there?"
The driver looked attentively in the direction I was pointing out.
"Heaven only knows, excellency," replied he, resuming his seat.
"It is not a sledge, it is not a tree, and it seems to me that it moves. It must be a wolf or a man."
I ordered him to move towards the unknown object, which came also to meet us. In two minutes I saw it was a man, and we met.
"Hey, there, good man," the driver hailed him, "tell us, do you happen to know the road?"
"This is the road," replied the traveller. "I am on firm ground; but what the devil good does that do you?"
"Listen, my little peasant," said I to him, "do you know this part of the country? Can you guide us to some place where we may pass the night?"
"Do I know this country? Thank heaven," rejoined the stranger, "I have travelled here, on horse and afoot, far and wide. But just look at this weather! One cannot keep the road. Better stay here and wait; perhaps the hurricane will cease and the sky will clear, and we shall find the road by starlight."
His coolness gave me courage, and I resigned myself to pass the night on the steppe, commending myself to the care of Providence, when suddenly the stranger, seating himself on the driver's seat, said--
"Grace be to God, there is a house not far off. Turn to the right, and go on."
"Why should I go to the right?" retorted my driver, ill-humouredly.
"How do you know where the road is that you are so ready to say, 'Other people's horses, other people's harness--whip away!'"
It seemed to me the driver was right.
"Why," said I to the stranger, "do you think a house is not far off?"
"The wind blew from that direction," replied he, "and I smelt smoke, a sure sign that a house is near."
His cleverness and the acuteness of his sense of smell alike astonished me. I bid the driver go where the other wished. The horses ploughed their way through the deep snow. The kibitka advanced slowly, sometimes upraised on a drift, sometimes precipitated into a ditch, and swinging from side to side. It was very like a boat on a stormy sea.
Savéliitch groaned deeply as every moment he fell upon me. I lowered the tsinofka,[16] I rolled myself up in my cloak and I went to sleep, rocked by the whistle of the storm and the lurching of the sledge. I had then a dream that I have never forgotten, and in which I still see something prophetic, as I recall the strange events of my life. The reader will forgive me if I relate it to him, as he knows, no doubt, by experience how natural it is for man to retain a vestige of superstition in spite of all the scorn for it he may think proper to assume.
I had reached the stage when the real and unreal begin to blend into the first vague visions of drowsiness. It seemed to me that the snowstorm continued, and that we were wandering in the snowy desert. All at once I thought I saw a great gate, and we entered the courtyard of our house. My first thought was a fear that my father would be angry at my involuntary return to the paternal roof, and would attribute it to a premeditated disobedience. Uneasy, I got out of my kibitka, and I saw my mother come to meet me, looking very sad.
"Don't make a noise," she said to me. "Your father is on his death-bed, and wishes to bid you farewell."
Struck with horror, I followed her into the bedroom. I look round; the room is nearly dark. Near the bed some people were standing, looking sad and cast down. I approached on tiptoe. My mother raised the curtain, and said--
"Andréj Petróvitch, Petróusha has come back; he came back having heard of your illness. Give him your blessing."
I knelt down. But to my astonishment instead of my father I saw in the bed a black-bearded peasant, who regarded me with a merry look. Full of surprise, I turned towards my mother.
"What does this mean?" I exclaimed. "It is not my father. Why do you want