Short Fiction Fyodor Sologub (any book recommendations txt) 📖

the sign of my birth; a white garment, my poor covering; and this wallet, which contains all that I shall need. It is good that I have met with thee. Thou art a man who defendeth the unhappy, and who devoteth his life to the triumph of Truth among men. Take me with thee to thy home; thou wilt never regret thy deed.”

Peter Antònovitch did not know what to do or what to think. One thing was clear: this maiden, dressed so lightly, speaking so strangely, must be sheltered by him; he could not leave her alone in the forest, far from any human dwelling.

He thought she might be a runaway, hiding her real name and inventing some unlikely story. Perhaps she had escaped from an asylum, or from her own home.

There was nothing in her face or in her appearance, however, except her scanty clothing and her words, to indicate anything strange in her mind. She was perfectly quiet and calm. If she called herself Turandina it was doubtless because she had heard someone mention the name, or she might even have read the fairy-story of Turandina.

III

With such thoughts in his mind Peter Antònovitch said to the beautiful unknown:

“Very well, dear young lady, I will take you home with me. But I ought to warn you that I do not live alone, and therefore I advise you to tell me your real name. I’m afraid that my relatives will not believe that you are the daughter of King Turandon. As far as I know there is no such king at the present time.”

Turandina smiled as she said:

“I have told thee the truth, whether thy people believe it or not. It is sufficient for me that thou shouldst believe. And if thou believest me, thou wilt defend me from all evil and from all unhappiness, for thou art a man who hast chosen for thyself the calling in which thou canst uphold the truth and defend the weak.”

Peter Antònovitch shrugged his shoulders.

“If you persist in this story,” answered he, “I must wash my hands of the matter, and I cannot be answerable for any possible consequences. Of course I will take you home with me until you can find a more suitable place, and I will do all I can to help you. But as a lawyer I very strongly advise you not to hide your real name.”

Turandina listened to him with a smile, and when he stopped speaking she said:

“Do not be at all anxious; everything will be well. Thou wilt see that I shall bring happiness to thee if thou canst show me kindness and love. And do not speak to me so much about my real name. I have spoken the truth to thee, and more I may not say, it is forbidden me to tell thee all. Take me home with thee. Night is coming on; I have journeyed far and am in need of rest.”

Peter Antònovitch was quick to apologise.

“Ah, pardon me, please. I am sorry that this is such an out-of-the-way place; it’s quite impossible to get a carriage.”

He began to walk in the direction of his home, and Turandina went with him. She did not walk as though she were tired; her feet seemed hardly to touch the ground, though they had to walk over stiff clay and sharp stones, and the moist grass and rain-soaked pathway did not seem to soil her little feet.

When they reached the high bank of the river and could see the first houses of the village, Peter Antònovitch glanced uneasily at his companion and said somewhat awkwardly:

“Pardon me, dear young lady⁠ ⁠…”

Turandina looked at him, and with a little frown interrupted him, saying reproachfully:

“Hast thou forgotten who I am and what is my name? I am Turandina, and not ‘dear young lady.’ I am the daughter of King Turandon.”

“Your pardon, please, Mademoiselle Turandina⁠—it is a very beautiful name, though it is never used now⁠—I wanted to ask you a question.”

“Why dost thou speak so to me?” asked Turandina, interrupting him once more. “Speak not as to one of the young ladies of thy acquaintance. Say ‘thou’ to me, and address me as a true knight would speak to his fair lady.”

She spoke with such insistence and authority that Peter Antònovitch felt compelled to obey. And when he turned to Turandina and for the first time spoke to her intimately and called her by her name, he at once felt more at ease.

“Turandina, hast thou not a dress to wear? My people would expect thee to wear an ordinary dress.”

Turandina smiled once more and said:

“I don’t know. Isn’t my one garment enough? I was told that in this wallet I should find everything that I should need in the world of men. Take it and look within; perhaps thou wilt find there what thou desirest.”

With these words she held out to him her little bag. And as he pulled apart the cord and opened it, Peter Antònovitch thought to himself, “It will be good if someone has put in some kind of frock for her.”

He put his hand into the wallet and feeling something soft he drew out a small parcel, so small that Turandina could have closed her hand over it. And when he unwrapped the parcel, there was just what he wanted, a dress such as most young girls were wearing at that time.

He helped Turandina to put it on, and he fastened it for her, for, of course, it buttoned at the back.

“Is that all right now?” asked Turandina.

Peter Antònovitch looked regretfully at the little bag. It looked much too small to hold a pair of shoes. But he put in his hand again and thought, “A pair of sandals would do nicely.”

His fingers touched a little strap, and he drew forth a tiny pair of golden sandals. And then he dried her feet and put on the sandals and fastened the straps for her.

“Now is everything all right?” asked Turandina again.

There