The Daughter of the Commandant

My father neither liked to change his plans, nor to defer the execution

of them. The day of my departure was at once fixed. The evening before

my father told me that he was going to give me a letter for my future

superior officer, and bid me bring him pen and paper.

"Don't forget, Andrej Petrovitch," said my mother, "to remember me to

Prince Banojik; tell him I hope he will do all he can for my Petrousha."

"What nonsense!" cried my father, frowning. "Why do you wish me to write

to Prince Banojik?"

"But you have just told us you are good enough to write to Petrousha's

superior officer."

"Well, what of that?"

"But Prince Banojik is Petrousha's superior officer. You know very well

he is on the roll of the Semenofsky regiment."

"On the roll! What is it to me whether he be on the roll or no?

Petrousha shall not go to Petersburg! What would he learn there? To

spend money and commit follies. No, he shall serve with the army, he

shall smell powder, he shall become a soldier and not an idler of the

Guard, he shall wear out the straps of his knapsack. Where is his

commission? Give it to me."

My mother went to find my commission, which she kept in a box with my

christening clothes, and gave it to my father with, a trembling hand. My

father read it with attention, laid it before him on the table, and

began his letter.

Curiosity pricked me.

"Where shall I be sent," thought I, "if not to Petersburg?"

I never took my eyes off my father's pen as it travelled slowly over the

paper. At last he finished his letter, put it with my commission into

the same cover, took off his spectacles, called me, and said-"This letter is addressed to Andrej Karlovitch R., my old friend and

comrade. You are to go to Orenburg[9] to serve under him."

All my brilliant expectations and high hopes vanished. Instead of the

gay and lively life of Petersburg, I was doomed to a dull life in a far

and wild country. Military service, which a moment before I thought

would be delightful, now seemed horrible to me. But there was nothing

for it but resignation. On the morning of the following day a travelling

kibitka stood before the hall door. There were packed in it a trunk

and a box containing a tea service, and some napkins tied up full of

rolls and little cakes, the last I should get of home pampering.

My parents gave me their blessing, and my father said to me-"Good-bye, Petr'; serve faithfully he to whom you have sworn fidelity;

obey your superiors; do not seek for favours; do not struggle after

active service, but do not refuse it either, and remember the proverb,

'Take care of your coat while it is new, and of your honour while it is

young.'"