The Daughter of the Commandant

Several weeks passed, during which my life in Fort Belogorsk became not

merely endurable, but even pleasant. I was received like one of the

family in the household of the Commandant. The husband and wife were

excellent people. Ivan Kouzmitch, who had been a child of the regiment,

had become an officer, and was a simple, uneducated man, but good and

true. His wife led him completely, which, by the way, very well suited

his natural laziness.

It was Vassilissa Igorofna who directed all military business as she

did that of her household, and commanded in the little fort as she did

in her house. Marya Ivanofna soon ceased being shy, and we became better

acquainted. I found her a warm-hearted and sensible girl. By degrees I

became attached to this honest family, even to Iwan Ignatiitch, the

one-eyed lieutenant, whom Chvabrine accused of secret intrigue with

Vassilissa Igorofna, an accusation which had not even a shadow of

probability. But that did not matter to Chvabrine.

I became an officer. My work did not weigh heavily upon me. In this

heaven-blest fort there was no drill to do, no guard to mount, nor

review to pass. Sometimes the Commandant instructed his soldiers for his

own pleasure. But he had not yet succeeded in teaching them to know

their right hand from their left. Chvabrine had some French books; I

took to reading, and I acquired a taste for literature. In the morning I

used to read, and I tried my hand at translations, sometimes even at

compositions in verse. Nearly every day I dined at the Commandant's,

where I usually passed the rest of the day. In the evening, Father

Garasim used to drop in, accompanied by his wife, Akoulina, who was the

sturdiest gossip of the neighbourhood. It is scarcely necessary to say

that every day we met, Chvabrine and I. Still hour by hour his

conversation pleased me less. His everlasting jokes about the

Commandant's family, and, above all, his witty remarks upon Marya

Ivanofna, displeased me very much. I had no other society but that of

this family within the little fort, but I did not want any other.

In spite of all the prophecies, the Bashkirs did not revolt. Peace

reigned around our little fort. But this peace was suddenly troubled by

war within.

I have already said I dabbled a little in literature. My attempts were

tolerable for the time, and Soumarokoff[43] himself did justice to them

many years later. One day I happened to write a little song which

pleased me. It is well-known that under colour of asking advice, authors

willingly seek a benevolent listener; I copied out my little song, and

took it to Chvabrine, the only person in the fort who could appreciate a

poetical work.

After a short preface, I drew my manuscript from my pocket, and read to

him the following verses:[44] "By waging war with thoughts of love

I try to forget my beauty;

Alas! by flight from Masha,

I hope my freedom to regain!