Short Fiction by Xavier de Maistre (digital e reader txt) 📕

in a convent at Novogorod,31 where the discipline was less severe than in their own, and the situation of which was more favourable to the health of the novice, who besides had the pleasure to meet here, with a sister of one of her companions at Niejeni. The young nun seemed extremely solicitous to possess her friendship, and informing her of the permission her sister had obtained, to change her residence at Niejeni for that of Novogorod, she urged her to follow her example and to come with her. The Abbess, who hoped that such a change might be beneficial to her health, consented, though she extremely regretted parting with her, and soon after their return to their convent, she made the necessary application for her transfer to Novogorod.

Prascovia shortly afterwards left the latter place, followed by the good wishes and regrets of all her acquaintance and companions. She was obliged to wait two months at her new residence, before she could be put in possession of a small wooden house of two cells, which she had caused to be constructed for herself and her friend, for want of such accommodation in the convent. Yet, she was considered as belonging to it, and all the sisters, who were already acquainted with her, looked upon her arrival as a great happiness, and gladly performed those duties for her, which were beyond her strength.

She lived in this way, until the close of 1809; and, like most persons afflicted with consumption, Prascovia, though resigned to an early death, did not think that her end was near. On the evening before her death, she walked with less fatigue than she had for some time before, through the convent, and, wrapped in a pelisse, sat down at the steps to enjoy the exhilarating influence of the sun, on a wintry day. She mused pensively on the events of her life, and remembered the more vividly those of her infancy, as the aspect of nature contributed to carry her back to Siberia. Observing some travellers glide rapidly before her in a sledge, her heart began to beat as if kindled by some cheering recollections. “Next spring,” she said to her friend, “if I am well enough, I will pay a visit to my parents at Vladimir, and you shall go with me.” Her eyes beamed with joy, while death already discoloured her lips. Her companion could not without difficulty assume a composed countenance and contain her tears.

On the next day, the eighth of December, 1809, the festival of St. Barbara, she had still strength to go into the church to partake of the communion, but at three o’clock she was so reduced, that she laid herself undressed on her bed, to take, as she thought, a little repose. Several of her companions were in the cell, and, not aware of her situation, talked gaily and laughed, in the hope of amusing her. But their presence became soon too fatiguing for her, and when the vesper bell was rung, she desired them to join their sisters in the chapel, and recommended herself to their prayers. “You may yet today,” she said, “pray for my recovery, but in a few weeks you will mention me, in the prayers for the dead.” Her friend alone remained, and she begged her to read to her the evening service as she was accustomed to do. The young nun, kneeling at the foot of the bed, began to sing in a low voice. But after the first verses, the dying Prascovia having made her a sign with her hand, accompanied by a faint smile on her lips, she rose, bent over her, and could with difficulty catch these words: “My dear friend, do not sing, it prevents me from praying; read only.”

The nun kneeled again, and while she recited the orisons, her expiring friend made, from time to time, the sign of the cross. The room was now becoming dark.

When the nuns re-entered with candles, Prascovia was dead. Her right hand was extended over her breast, as when she crossed herself for the last time.

Endnotes

Bête is not translatable here. The English word “animal” is hardly nearer than “beast.” Bête is a milder word than “beast,” and when used metaphorically, implies silliness rather than brutality. In some cases our “creature” would translate it, Pauvre bête! “Poor creature!” —⁠Attwell ↩

Vide Werther, chapter XXVIII. —⁠Attwell ↩

The reader will probably have been reminded of the “Sentimental Journey” before reaching this proof of our author’s acquaintance with the writings of Sterne. —⁠Attwell ↩

A fashionable milliner of the time. —⁠Attwell ↩

This work was not published. —⁠Attwell ↩

The botanical garden of Turin. —⁠Attwell ↩

Richardson’s Clarissa Harlowe. —⁠Attwell ↩

Goethe’s Werther. —⁠Attwell ↩

Cleveland, by the Abbé Prévost. —⁠Attwell ↩

Some freedom of translation is, perhaps, pardonable here. Our author, depending, it would seem, upon his memory, gives Satan wings large enough “to cover a whole army.” It was “the extended wings” of the gates of hell, not of Satan, that Milton describes as wide enough to admit a “bannered host.” Paradise Lost, II 885. —⁠Attwell ↩

A popular Turin physician when the “Voyage” was written. —⁠Attwell ↩

A title known at the Sardinian court. —⁠Attwell ↩

Andrews translates the dog’s name as “Rosine.” We have changed it here to “Rose” for consistency with Attwell’s translation in “A Journey Round My Room.” —⁠S.E. Editor ↩

Andrews translates this as “the other one.” We have changed it here to “the other” for consistency with Attwell’s translation in “A Journey Round My Room.” —⁠S.E. Editor ↩

“On the Happiness of