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82
SÖNYA KOVALÉVSKY
there were no " bad " romances in our house, though
there was no lack of inferior and talentless works.
But the chief wealth of our library consisted in a
mass of old English romances, principally historical,
whose action took place in the middle ages, in the
period of chivalry. These novels were a real treasure
trove for my sister. They introduced her into a world
of wonders hitherto unknown to her, and gave a new
direction to her imagination. The same thing
happened with her which had happened many centuries
previously with Don Quixote — she believed in the
knights, and imagined she was a young damsel of the
middle ages.
Unfortunately, also, our country house, a huge and
massive structure, with towers and gothic windows,
was built somewhat in the style of a castle of the
middle ages. During her knightly period, my sister
could not write a letter without placing at the head
of it, Chåteau Palibino. The upper chamber in the
tower, which had long been unused, so that even the
winding stair which led to it had become rotten and
decrepit, she ordered to be cleaned of dust and spiders’
webs, hung it with old rugs and weapons, which she
had unearthed somewhere among the rubbish in the
garret, and converted it into her permanent
abiding-place. I can see her now, with her slender, graceful
figure clad in a closely fitting white gown, with two
heavy braids of light hair hanging below her waist.
In this attire my sister would sit at her embroidery
frame, embroidering the family coat-of-arms on
canvas with beads—the arms of King Matthew Corvinus
— and gazing out of the window on the highway to
see whether a knight were not approaching.
" Sister Änne, sister Änne! do you see any one coming ?"
" I see only the dust that’s blowing and the grass that’s
growing!"
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