PART II.

Transcriber’s note: normal text within italic passages is indicated

~like this~.

THE PRINCESS TARAKANOVA

[Illustration: THE PRINCESS TARAKANOVA.

_“The only art her guilt to cover,_

_To hide her shame from every eye,_

_To give repentance to her lover,_

_And wring his bosom--is to die.”_]

THE

PRINCESS TARAKANOVA

A Dark Chapter of Russian History

TRANSLATED FROM THE RUSSIAN

OF

G. P. DANILEVSKI

BY

IDA DE MOUCHANOFF

WITH FOUR PORTRAITS

New York

MACMILLAN & CO.

LONDON: SWAN SONNENSCHEIN & CO.

CONTENTS.

INTRODUCTION ix-xxviii

Part I.

_DIARY OF LIEUTENANT KONSOV._

CHAP. PAGE

I. TEMPEST-TOSSED 1

II. MY IMPRISONMENT 6

III. IMPORTANT NEWS 13

IV. I SEE THE PRINCESS 21

V. MY INTERVIEW WITH THE PRINCESS 27

VI. THE PRINCESS ASKS ME TO ASSIST HER 33

VII. I CONVEY A LETTER 41

VIII. I DELIVER A LETTER 50

IX. WE WILL BEFRIEND HER 60

X. IS THE COUNT A TRAITOR? 66

XI. THE DEPARTURE FROM ROME 82

XII. THE PRINCESS SEEKS MY ADVICE 89

XIII. THE “MARRIAGE” 96

XIV. TREACHERY 104

XV. REMORSE 109

XVI. THE BOTTLE CAST INTO THE SEA 114

Part II.

_RAVELIN ALEXEEF._

XVII. EKATERINA AT MOSCOW 125

XVIII. THE PRINCESS AT ST. PETERSBURG 129

XIX. THE HISTORIOGRAPHER MILLER 137

XX. MILLER’S REPLY 144

XXI. ORLOFF AND THE PRINCESS 152

XXII. ORLOFF’S INTERVIEW WITH THE PRINCESS 159

XXIII. ORLOFF AT MOSCOW 168

XXIV. THE PRINCESS WRITES TO THE EMPRESS 177

XXV. FATHER PETER ANDRÉEF 183

XXVI. THE VISITORS’ QUEST 188

XXVII. A LATE VISITOR 196

XVIII. BAPTISM 202

XXIX. CONFESSION AND ABSOLUTION 208

XXX. “WHAT IF THE CAPTIVE BE INNOCENT?” 213

XXXI. RELEASE 218

XXXII. “A ROSE AND A MYRTLE” 227

XXIII. PAVEL PETROVITCH AND THE ENCHANTER 237

XXXIV. A MYRTLE LEAF 243

XXXV. FIFTEEN YEARS AFTER 249

INTRODUCTION.

_Gregory Petrovitch Danilevski was born at Danilovki, an estate in the

government of Kharkov, on April 14th, 1829. He died last winter at St.

Petersburg, on December 6th. His childhood over--it was spent partly

on the estate of his grandfather, near Dontsov, partly on the estate

of Petrovski--he became a student first of the Muscovite Institute for

the nobility, afterwards of the University of St. Petersburg, leaving

the latter, in 1850, as graduate in jurisprudence. In 1848, during his

studentship, he was presented with a silver medal at the meeting of the

Philological Institute for his composition on Poushkin and Kriloff._

_From 1850 to 1857 he served in the ministry of public instruction,

at first under Noroff, afterwards under Prince Viazimski. During this

period he visited Finland and the Crimea, and worked, by commission

from the Archæological Society, on the archives of the monasteries

of the governments of Kharkov, Koursk, and Poltava, and, at the

suggestion of the historian Oustrialoff, wrote a description of the

famous battlefield of the last-named place. In 1856, at the instance

of the Imperial admiral, Constantine Nicolaievitch, he was sent to

the south of Russia to write a description of the Sea of Azov, the

Dnieper, and the Don. In the following year he resigned his official

appointment. Thereafter, for twelve years, he lived at Petrovski,

his own favourite estate in Kharkov, from time to time, however,

paying visits to Poland, White Russia, Volhynie, and Podolia, and

sailing down the Volga, Don, and Dnieper. Made in 1859 deputy of the

committee of Kharkov for improving the condition of the peasantry, he

was instructed four years later, by Golovinin, the minister of public

instruction, to inspect and to report on the condition of 200 national

schools in the government of Kharkov. During the first three years of

the establishment of the rural police courts he served by election.

Despatched to St. Petersburg in 1868 as a deputy by the government of

Kharkov, he had the honour of being presented to the emperor. From 1867

to 1870 he held the post of honorary justice of the peace. Finally,

in 1869, on the institution of the official organ, “The Government

Herald,” he was appointed senior assistant to the chief editor. This

post he occupied eleven years._

_His historical novels have created quite a sensation in Russia by

reason of their originality, their fascination, and their truthfulness

to history and to nature. Among the more celebrated of his numerous

works, besides the novel of which a translation is here presented, are

“Merovitch” and “Freedom.” As Danilevski has, hitherto, been unknown in

England, some remarks on his writings will be of interest._

_With regard to the sad history contained in this book, it is evident

that the author had exceptional information on the subject of his

narrative, for he is not over-careful to conceal his opinion of the

strong probability of the Princess Tarakanova’s claims being legitimate

as well as ~bonâ-fide~, and of Orloff’s real character being greatly

different from the popular estimate of it as expressed in the lines

under the count’s portrait. It is not known how the remarkable diary

which constitutes Part I. of this work came into Danilevski’s hands;

but there is ground for the conjecture that it came to him, with other

papers, from his grandmother. A curious fact, too, is the circumstance

that Danilevski’s governess was a lady of the name of Pchelkina.

However this may be, my husband, Colonel de Génie de Mouchanoff, was

informed by Danilevski himself that the diary as published is almost

word for word as written by Konsov, and that the details concerning

the subsequent history of the captive were obtained by him from

authentic official documents._

_Nevertheless, Danilevski’s view is not the popular one. Schébalski and

Solovieff in dealing with this subject write as follows:--_

_“When Russia was involved in the war with Turkey some evil-minded

persons availed themselves of the opportunity to bring forward

pretenders to the throne. They set rumours afloat to the effect that

Elizabeth, after her secret marriage with Count Razoumovski, had a

daughter, and that this child was she who was known by the name of

Princess Tarakanova._

_“The adventures of this Pretender form a very interesting page in

Russian history, and have given rise to many novels and tales. They

have now, however, lost much of their mysterious interest, thanks to

the extracts printed from the procés of Princess Tarakanova, not long

since published in one of our historical reviews. Still, it is an

ascertained fact that the Princess spent several of the years of her

youth abroad, and that she led a luxurious though retired life. Very

likely the tie between this person and the Russian Empress may have

been known to political intriguers, and have suggested to them the idea

of using this Pretender as an instrument for raising a revolution

in Russia. There is every reason to believe that Prince Radzivill,

the leader of the confederation of Radomski, educated a young girl

with this object in view; but whether this girl became the future

Tarakanova, or some other person, is to this day, and most probably

will remain eternally, unknown._

_“What is really ascertained is that a young girl of very humble

origin, a native of Prague or Nuremburg, endowed with the most

marvellous beauty, clever and enterprising, but of extremely equivocal

conduct, shone from the end of the year 1760 till the beginning of

1770 at Berlin, London, and Paris, lavishly spending on her dress and

pleasures the money which she had levied on her admirers. With every

new residence she changed her name. In Paris she was the “Princess

Wladimirskaya,” a native of Russia, but brought up, it was said, in

Persia, as mischief was feared at the hands of her enemies in Russia,

where, so she alleged, she had great possessions. We are bound, indeed,

to believe that her charms were extraordinary; for notwithstanding

her conduct, several highly placed personages, in both France and

Germany, sought her hand. One of these was actually a reigning Prince

of the German Empire. In 1773, the mysterious adventuress was on the

point of accepting the hand of this prince, but postponed the matter

under pretence of starting for Russia to arrange her affairs, and then

suddenly disappeared. In the spring of 1774 she turned up at the other

side of Europe--at Venice._

_“It was then that her political ~rôle~ really began. As early as 1773

she had had relations with several Poles, who had left their native

land shortly after the conspiracy of Baski, and it is not unlikely

that it was at this time that the programme of her future actions

was arranged. The Princess Wladimirskaya was to take the name of the

“Princess Tarakanova,” set sail for Constantinople on a ship which

Radzivill had offered to equip, and there explain to the Sultan her

pretensions to the Russian throne. It was evidently the opinion of her

advisers that her appearance on the Danube at the very moment when

Pougachoff was raising a rebellion on the Volga would increase the

difficulties of Ekaterina’s position, and would be taken advantage of

by Turkish politicians. As a matter of fact, in the summer of 1774, the

Princess Tarakanova and Prince Radzivill, accompanied by a numerous

suite, did set sail for Constantinople. But they stopped at Ragusa,

wishing to ascertain beforehand what kind of reception they were likely

to meet with at the hands of the Sultan. Unfortunately for them, great

changes had taken place. The overtures of the Princess were not only

declined: she was even invited to give up all thought of her visit._

_“Separated from Radzivill, but not from her political ~rôle~, the

Princess went first to Naples and then to Rome. At the latter city she

tried to bring to her side all the most influential cardinals, and even

the Pope himself, promising that in the event of her accession to the

throne she would do all in her power to establish the Catholic faith in

Russia._

“_During all these ~péripéties~ Count Orloff Chesmenski was, as we all

know, in Italy. Of course he lost no time in writing full particulars

concerning the false Tarakanova to Ekaterina, from whom he received

orders to steal the Pretender, and so cut off the intrigue at the

very outset. Orloff surrounded the Princess with spies, and, through

his emissaries, tried to inspire her with confidence in himself.

The words of the emissaries seemed very credible to the Princess.

Gregory Orloff was then in disgrace, and it would be no very unlikely

circumstance if his brother turned into a secret enemy of the empress,

and joined in the intrigue. Orloff placed boundless credit at her

disposition; and by giving himself out as a man deeply outraged by the

government, persuaded the “Countess Selinski,” as the Princess then

called herself, to come to a ~rendezvous~ with him at Pisa. Here he

surrounded her with all possible homage. Balls and ~fêtes~ succeeded

each other in swift succession. He made believe to fall in with her

plans, and eventually offered her his hand. Nevertheless, he was only

awaiting an opportunity to arrest her, without causing any scandal. He

had not long to wait. One day the Countess Selinski expressed a wish

to visit the Russian squadron, then stationed at Livorno. Orloff gave

orders for preparations to be made for a magnificent reception of the

countess, and arranged splendid naval manœuvres. He himself, with her

suite, accompanied her on board the man-o’-war. The manœuvres began;

the cannon fired; sails were unfurled; the ships sailed out into the

open sea; and the unfortunate Pretender, at the end of a journey, found

herself shut up in the fortress of Petersburg. Here, it is said, she

languished till 1776, when she was drowned by the rushing of the waters

into her prison. But this is not true. Historical documents prove that

she died of the same illness from which she was suffering when she

came to Russia, and which, of course, made rapid strides during her

confinement in the damp dungeon._”

_Remarkable as is “The Princess Tarakanova,” it is not regarded in

Russia as so fine a work as “Merovitch.” This work has attracted

universal attention, for it describes one of the most interesting

epochs of Russian history. The mysterious and melancholy account of the

unfortunate prince-martyr, the victim of troublous times, is all the

more interesting as it is founded on historical documents. Written with

great ~entrain~ and truthfulness, the novel on its publication created

quite a sensation. It originally appeared in 1875, under the title,

“The Imperial Prisoner” but its sale was prohibited. In 1879 it was

again printed, by order of the emperor._

_“The whole canvas of the novel,” says Danilevski, “such as the life

and infatuation of Merovitch, the customs and manners of the period,

many details of the reign of Ekaterina and the attempt of Merovitch,

are taken from the diary and reminiscences of my great-grandmother,

and of my grandmother, who was ~Fräulein~ at the court of Peter III.

Many things I took down from the lips of my uncle, the eldest son of

my father’s mother,--a born Rosslavleff, who, together with Orloff,

as every one knows, played so conspicuous a part in the ~Coup-d’État~

which placed Ekaterina on the throne. But in all that belongs to

history, I have, of course, strictly adhered to authentic documents

from the Imperial archives. I have also had access to the archives

of the citadel of Schlusselburg, to the official documents of the

council of Archangel, and I have visited the celebrated dungeon of

the unfortunate Prince Johann Antonovitch, and the birthplace of

‘Merovitch.’”_

_“Merovitch” is thus a detailed account of the ~Coup-d’État~ which

placed Ekaterina on the throne of Russia, and of the conspiracy and

attempt to put Johann Antonovitch on the throne, which was his by

right._

_An officer named Merovitch penetrated into the citadel above referred

to, and hoping to surprise the sentinels and throw them off their

guard, read a proclamation, trusting to be able in the confusion to

facilitate the escape of the unfortunate prince. But long before strict

orders had been given (it is supposed by Ekaterina) that at the first

attempt at escape on the part of the prince he was to be killed on the

spot. This command was strictly carried out. When Merovitch entered the

prince’s cell, he found only the dead body of the unfortunate martyr._

_Ekaterina II. plays so important a part in the events described in

these novels that some particulars of her life and character may not be

out of place._

_She was born in the year 1729, at Stettin. Her father, a general in

the Prussian service, and the governor of this town, inherited by

the death of his cousin, the Prince of Zerbst, a small principality,

situated on the borders of the Elbe, between Prussia and Saxony._

_Her mother came of the house of Holstein. Princess Sophie Augusta of

Anhalt-Zerbst was therefore distantly related to her future husband.

She came over to Russia in her fourteenth year with her mother, and

was at once instructed in the Russian faith and tongue. The following

year, 1745, having been baptized into the Greek faith under the name of

Ekaterina Alexéevna, she was united to the heir of the Russian empire._

_Her husband on his accession to the throne excited the discontent of

the nation by publishing a great number of ukases, which, although in

themselves most humane and wise, yet, owing to the uncivilized state

of Russia, were in their nature far too premature. Above all, he

outraged the national feeling by the treaty which he concluded with

Prussia on April 24th, 1762, by which Russia returned to Prussia all

forts, citadels, and towns taken in the last war. His Imperial Highness

wished, it was said, to give to the world an example of abnegation and

generosity. It was a marvellous event; but although nations like to

see in their sovereigns high moral qualities, they also desire that

advantages for which they have worked hard and shed their blood should

not be wholly thrown away. By this one act Peter III. raised the whole

nation against him._

_Ekaterina, his consort, had won a great many adherents by her beauty,

grace, and accomplishments, and many true friends among the nobility.

Exceedingly ambitious, she had--with the view, as we may suppose, of

one day ascending the throne--made herself thoroughly well acquainted

with Russian legislation and European politics; and being as deeply

devoted as her husband was profoundly indifferent to the Greek Church

and its ceremonies and symbols, and having in this way established

herself in the affections of the Russian peasantry--so superstitiously

reverential to their Church,--she found it no difficult matter to

supplant her less capable and unpopular partner. He, as is well known,

not only ill-used her, but was unfaithful to her. Indeed, it was

rumoured that the fate of the unfortunate Princess Eudoxie (who had

been forced to take the veil) was awaiting her. Her successor was even

named--viz., the niece of the chancellor Vorontzoff, a woman who, as

all contemporary writers say, was not only ugly and deformed, but also

most insignificant and illiterate. Meanwhile, Ekaterina’s conduct had

been wholly irreproachable. She was then at Peterhoff, leading a most

retired life, but sometimes meeting her adherents, especially the two

Orloffs, and the Princess Dashkoff._

_The ~Coup-d’État~ was to have taken place on June 29th, at the

patronal ~fête~ of the emperor; but the arrest of Passek, captain

of the regiment of Préobrajenski, together with the order given to

the army to march against Denmark, brought about the crisis. Rumours

had been set afloat that the empress was in danger. The guards,

who were all devoted to the empress--40 officers and about 10,000

privates--noisily demanded to be sent to Oranienbaum, to the defence of

their beloved empress. One of the privates rushed to Captain Passek,

exclaiming that the empress was in danger, that an ukase ordering her

arrest had been issued. Passek answered that it was all nonsense. The

private, horrified, rushed to another officer, who on hearing the news,

and learning that he had been to Passek, then on duty, arrested him and

led him to Voyeïkoff. And the latter, in his turn, arrested Passek, and

sent a report to Oranienbaum. Of course the arrest of Passek threw the

whole regiment, as well as the conspirators in other regiments, into a

panic. It was decided to send Orloff to Peterhoff to escort the empress

to Petersburg._

_It was six o’clock in the morning when Orloff reached Peterhoff. He

knocked at the empress’s door, walked in, and very coolly said, “It

is time to get up; all is ready!” “What! how?” exclaimed Ekaterina.

“Passek is arrested” answered Orloff. Ekaterina asked no more

questions, but, hastily dressing, took her seat inside the carriage.

Orloff sat by the coachman; another officer, Bibikoff, rode at the

door. They made straight for the barracks of Ismaïloff. The alarm was

given. Soldiers ran out, surrounded the empress, kissing her hands, her

garments, calling her their “saviour.” Two soldiers led a priest up,

and all crowded to her to take the oath of allegiance. The empress was

invited to take her place in the carriage again. The priest, with the

cross, went on ahead. Soon they all arrived at the barracks of Simeon,

followed by the two regiments. These accompanied her to the cathedral

of Kazan, where the Archbishop Dimitri met her. The ~Te Deum~ was sung,

and Ekaterina Alexéevna was proclaimed Empress of Russia, and Pavel

Petrovitch, her son, heir to the throne, 28th June, 1762._

_On leaving the cathedral the empress was driven to the Winter Palace,

where she took up her residence._

_Meanwhile, Peter III. was quite ignorant of these events. At the very

time when Ekaterina was being proclaimed empress, he was preparing

to start with a large and brilliant suite for Peterhoff, where, as

had been before decided, his fête was to be celebrated. An officer,

Goodovitch, who had gone on before, suddenly returned with all haste

and whispered softly to Peter that the empress had left the palace long

ago, and was now nowhere to be found. The emperor, in a passion, jumped

out of his carriage and walked rapidly to the pavilion “Mon-Plaisir,”

but found nothing save his consort’s ball-dress, ready for the ~fête~.

“Did I not tell you she was bold enough for anything?” was Peter’s

first exclamation. Originally, it was the intention of Peter to assert

his rights; but the representations of his friends, the small number of

his followers, and the fervour shown to the new empress, all combined

to shake his resolution, and the same day he signed his abdication._

_Seven days later he died in the palace of Ropshoe--poisoned, as it is

supposed._

_Ekaterina died on November 6th, 1796, at the age of 67._

_In estimating the character of this famous woman, we must not judge

her actions as we should those of a private person. Indeed, in

reflecting on the lives of those who have, it may be said, to answer

for the welfare and prosperity of nations, we should never forget the

fact that these high personages have often, sometimes against their own

feelings, to sacrifice the life of one for the well-being of thousands.

Nor should we fail to take into account the character of the times

in which Ekaterina ascended the throne. When her reign is compared

with the reigns of those who preceded her, it appears in any but an

unpleasant light. Indeed, it is impossible not to admire the empress

for the humanity of her laws, and for the example she set to all her

court in frugality, industry, and simplicity._

_The poet Derjavin wrote an ode in her honour, in which he contrasted

her manner of living with that of her courtiers. She rose very early,

was always occupied, devoted several hours every day to new projects,

laws, etc., for different institutions, more often she went on foot

than she drove. Her table was most frugal, although of course she had

every luxury at her command. Cards were all the rage then, especially

the most hazardous game of “Faro,” which as grand-duchess she had

been made to play at court. But after she ascended the throne she

never played at games of chance again. She did not care very much for

masquerade balls, only taking part in them on solemn occasions._

_On her accession she found all legislation, all administration of

justice in most frightful chaos, but reduced everything to order. “Of

darkness she made light.” Justice could no longer be bought or sold._

_She was never proud: to the meanest of her subjects always easy

of access. Nor was she ever offended at hearing the unvarnished

truth--witness her polemic with Von Viesing. She did not resent the

most bitter criticism._

_By an ukase she put down a most horrible institution called

Slovo-i-diélo,[1] which somewhat resembled the Star Chamber. So strict

had the laws been that people could be brought to the torture for

having whispered at their own tables one to another; for not having

drunk the health of the reigning Sovereign; for having scratched out

the Imperial name and rewritten it; for having dropped money on which

was stamped the Imperial effigy. Very differently from one of her

predecessors, Anna Johannovna, she did not exact that her courtiers

should be sitting on baskets in rows along the rooms through which

she had to pass from the chapel to her own rooms, and cackle like

hens. Nor used she to slap her courtiers’ faces. She built no ice

palace to marry her jester and jestress in; she allowed none of her

favourites to blacken with soot the faces of the proud old aristocracy,

“to make an empress laugh.” She was the first to teach her subjects

self-respect. She wrote an excellent moral tale for her grandson, in

which, admonishing him to shun flatterers, she told him that to be

invulnerable to slander, “Do no ill, and the bitterest traducer will

stand before the world a convicted liar.” She abolished torture on

reading the interrogation of Volhynski, a Russian boyar, brought to

torture for supposed treason, and in her testament she willed that her

descendants should read that piece of conviction to stifle in them any

inclination to cruelty._

_She was the first to divide the Russian Empire into provinces, and

to give each province self-government. She opened the first national

schools, cadet-corps, and two splendid half-school, half-convent-like

institutions for the education of the daughters of the nobility. She

promulgated an ukase allowing landlords to work the mines of gold and

silver found on their own properties, which before had been strictly

forbidden; and made all the rivers and seas free of access to every

one--~i.e.~, every one might sail on them, use them for mills, etc. She

tried to encourage weaving, spinning and sewing, science and commerce,

and gave permission to all her subjects to travel--then an unknown

liberty. It is the boast of Russians that in her reign no beggars were

to be found, owing, no doubt, to her humane laws regarding the serfs.

Every landlord was compelled to keep on his estate, and to provide

for, every serf, whether the serf were able to work or not. It would,

in fact, take too long to enumerate all the numerous acts of clemency,

justice, and wisdom of this wise, prudent, and far-seeing empress.

If her frailty as a woman calls for the world’s censure, no one, on

reading her history, can forbear bringing to her feet the tribute she

so well deserves as an empress._

_In the present translation I have tried to preserve, as far as

possible, the quaintness and piquancy of the original Russian, but

I fear that in thus endeavouring to produce a faithful copy of the

author’s work I have often sacrificed elegant and correct English. Only

those who know how terse and vigorous a language the Russian is will

be able to appreciate the translator’s difficulties, which are greater

than those of an author of a new work, so far as the mere writing of

it is concerned. Whilst it is often impossible to adhere strictly to

the author’s words without producing obscurities, the use of lengthy

phrases and even whole sentences to express the full sense of the

original, means, on the other hand, the annihilation of the author’s

style. As a rule, translators of Russian works, in their endeavour to

make their renderings readable, only succeed in producing a tale in

common-place English, with a foreign plot, long drawn out, devoid of

colour, and wearisome to read,--barely recognisable sometimes by those

who are conversant with the original._

_To assist those who are not familiar with Russia and Russian history,

I have explained various references in the text by means of footnotes;

and to excite a more lively interest in the characters, I have included

portraits. The frontispiece is a reproduction of an engraving taken

from a celebrated painting which embodies the popular legend concerning

the Princess Tarakanova’s last hours.[2] The portraits of Orloff and

Ekaterina are reproduced from old and rare engravings. Danilevski’s

likeness is from a photograph taken some years ago._

_In conclusion, conscious of many faults and oversights in a

translation originally not intended for publication, I have to

acknowledge that I am most indebted to Mr. F. Dillon Woon, of

Wallington, England, for his kind aid and criticism, and to accord him

my best thanks._

_IDA DE MOUCHANOFF._

_Pskov._

[Illustration]

PRINCESS TARAKANOVA.

PART I.

_DIARY OF LIEUTENANT KONSOV._

“There can be no doubt she is an adventuress.”--_Letter of

Ekaterina II._

CHAPTER I.

_TEMPEST-TOSSED._

MAY, 1775: ATLANTIC OCEAN,

Frigate _Northern Eagle_.

A storm has been raging for already three days. We have been so tossed

about that it has been impossible to write. Our frigate, the _Northern

Eagle_, is not far from Gibraltar. We have lost our rudder, and our

sails are all torn, and now the current is carrying us south-eastwards.

Where shall we land? what will become of us?

It is night; the wind has fallen, and the sea is calmer. I am writing

in my cabin. All that I have time to write of what I have seen and

undergone, I will place in a bottle, and cast it upon the waters; and

you who may chance to find it I entreat, by all that is sacred, to send

it to its address. Ah! all-powerful God, grant me powers of memory;

enlighten my poor soul, so torn with doubt!

* * * * *

I am a sailor, Pavel Konsov, an officer in the navy of our most

gracious Majesty, Empress of all the Russias, Ekaterina II. Five years

ago, by the mercy of God, I succeeded in distinguishing myself at the

famous battle of Chesma. All the world knows of our brave companions,

Lieutenant Elien and Lieutenant Klokachov, who, on the night of the

twenty-sixth of June, 1770, with four fire-ships and a few Grecian

boats, hastily equipped, bravely advanced upon the Turkish fleet at

Chesma, and rendered valuable assistance in its destruction. I, though

so insignificant, had the good fortune, under cover of the fire-ships

and the dark, to throw with my own hand, from our ship, _January_, the

first fire-ball at the enemy. It was this fire-ball which, falling into

and igniting the powder magazine, caused the explosion near the ship of

the Turkish admiral from which the whole fleet took fire.

Next morning, of over a hundred formidable men-of-war, some of sixty

and some of ninety guns, frigates, galliots, and _galères_,--not one

remained! On the surface of the waters were visible only wreckage and

numbers of dead bodies.

Our victory was sung in odes by the celebrated poet Heraskov, and

several lines were dedicated to my humble self, until then unknown

to the world. This poem was in every one’s mouth. The English in the

Russian service--for instance, Mackenzie and Dugdale, who served on

one of the fire-ships--took to themselves the credit for the greater

part of the glory won at the battle of Chesma. But they did not really

much surpass our own officers and men, who all distinguished themselves

by their courage and gallantry. After this event I was found worthy

of receiving the rank of lieutenant, and the Count Alexis Orloff, the

hero of Chesma, having honoured me by his preference, I became his

aide-de-camp. My career was thus, so far, very fortunate. Life, on

the whole, smiled upon me. But sometimes a fatal destiny pursues man.

Suddenly fortune ceased to favour me, angry maybe, at my abrupt, albeit

forced, departure from my native land.

Resting on our laurels reaped at Chesma, we led joyous lives. We

received flattering invitations from the French, Spanish, Venetians,

and men of other nations. All at once, upon me, the alien, there fell a

new, unexpected, and very terrible temptation.

The war continued, but Count Orloff, after many noisy battles, lived

in luxurious ease with the fleet. He was wont to say, “I am as happy

as Enoch, who was taken up to heaven.” But these were mere words, for,

since he had taken an active part in placing Ekaterina upon the throne,

wild and bold ideas were ever coursing through his brain.

Once, when sailing in the Adriatic with the squadron, he despatched me

on a secret mission to the brave, warlike Montenegros. This was in the

year 1773. The scouts made all arrangements wisely and adroitly; and

at night, taking with me what I required on shore, I landed with great

caution, and speedily conducted my business. But on our return voyage

we were sighted and pursued by the Turkish coastguards. We succeeded

in defending ourselves for a considerable time; but in the end our

sailors were all killed, while I, severely wounded in the shoulder, lay

unconscious at the bottom of the boat, where I was found, and whence I

was removed, a prisoner, to Stamboul.

I was disguised in a national Albanian costume. Nevertheless, my

captors discovered that I belonged to the Russian navy, and, at first,

thinking no doubt that they would receive a good ransom for me, paid

me great attention. Ah! thought I, as soon as they find out that their

prisoner is no other than Lieutenant Konsov, who threw the first

fire-ball which caused the explosion and destruction of their staffship

at Chesma, what will my lot be then?

CHAPTER II.

_MY IMPRISONMENT._

My imprisonment lasted for about two years, coming to an end in the

year 1775.

At first I was kept shut up in one of the wings of a seven-towered

castle, but afterwards I was chained and confined in one of the three

hundred mecheti (mosques) of Stamboul. I don’t know whether at last, by

some means, the Turks learned that one of their prisoners was Konsov,

or whether, having lost all hopes of a ransom, they resolved to take

advantage of my knowledge and abilities; but this I know, they tried to

convert me to Mohammedanism.

The mosque in which I was imprisoned is situated on the shores of the

Bosphorus, and through my window-grating I could watch the blue sea

and the vessels sailing to and fro. The mulla who came to visit me was

of Sclavonic origin; he was a Bulgarian from Gabrova. We therefore

understood one another without much difficulty.[3] My visitor set to

work in a roundabout way to convert me to the Turkish faith. He praised

the Turkish people, their customs and morals, and extolled the power

and glory of the Sultan. At first, though very indignant at all this,

I kept silence, but at last I began to contradict. Thereupon, in order

to gain my confidence in himself and his faith, he obtained as a first

step permission for my removal to a more comfortable cell, and for my

being provided with better food. Accordingly I was transferred to the

ground floor of the mosque, part of which the mulla himself inhabited,

and was allowed tobacco and all sorts of sweetmeats and wine. Still,

notwithstanding all this, my chains were left on me. My teacher

(himself a renegade), according to the law of Mohammed, could not drink

wine, but he enticed and tempted me to. “Turn Islamist,” he would say,

“and then how happy you will be: your chains will at once fall off you.

And see how many ships there are: you may enter the Turkish service on

one of them, and in time become one of our captains!”

I lay on my mat without touching any of the tempting viands, and

scarcely hearing a word that my tempter said, for my mind was filled

with thoughts of my native land. I murmured the names of my friends and

of all dear to me, and pondered over my lost happiness. My heart was

breaking, my soul was torn with uncertainty and grief. Ah! how well I

remember those sad hours, filled with such sorrowful musings!

As I now recollect, my thoughts then wandered to the far-off village,

my native Konsovka. I was an orphan, and already had obtained my

commission. From the training college I had come straight to the house

of my grandmother, whose name was Agraffena Konsova. Not far from us,

in the town of Baturin, lived Rakitin, a retired brigadier, a widower,

whose estates in the country adjoined ours. Leff Hieraclieovitch[4] had

one daughter, Irena Lvovna. To tell all briefly, what with going to

the church of Rakitin, visiting Irena at her father’s halls, and our

secret meetings and walks together, we fell in love with one another.

My love for Irena was passionate and unrestrained. With her dusky skin

and luxurious black hair, she was charming. She was my life, my idol,

to whom I offered prayers night and day. We confessed our love, and day

by day became dearer to each other. Ah! those moments, those meetings,

those vows!

We began to send each other love letters, full of passionate avowals of

love. I was always fond of music, and Irena used to play enchantingly

upon the clavichord, and would sing in a lovely voice pieces from

Glück, Bach, and Handel. We met often. In this way the summer passed.

Ah! dear and never-to-be-forgotten days!

Unfortunately, one of my letters fell into the hands of Irena’s father.

Was Rakitin too stern with his daughter, or did he talk her over, and

so persuade her to give me up, to change me for another?… I know not;

it is all too painful for me even to try to remember.

It was autumn, and, as I well recollect, a praznik (holiday); we were

preparing for church, when suddenly we heard a carriage drive into

our yard. A footman in splendid livery came forward, and placed in my

grandmother’s hands a packet which he had brought for her. My heart

throbbed; my presentiments were fulfilled: Irena’s father had sent a

firm and decided refusal to my suit.

“MATUSHKA[5] AGRAFFENA VLASSOVNA,--

“Your Pavel Efstafevitch[6] is worthy in every way, but he is

not a fit husband for my daughter; and it is useless for him to

send love letters to her. Let him not be offended; we always

were and always shall be friends. My earnest hope is that your

godson and grandchild may find another bride, a hundred times

more suitable than my daughter.”

That letter moved me deeply. The light of heaven seemed extinguished:

all that was dearest to me was lost; all my happiness ruined.

Proud, rich, and related to the Razoumovskis, Rakitin mercilessly

scorned the poor suitor, who also was of noble blood; yea, of nobler

blood perhaps than Rakitin’s own. His pride in his distinguished

relatives, who had been favourites of the late empress, had hardened

his heart. Often had I heard Irena addressed by her father as the

future Fräulein (maid of honour).

“God forgive him!” I repeated, like one who had lost his senses, as

I strode up and down the rooms which once I had loved so much, but

which now seemed to me so lonely. The day had been very cloudy, with

occasional showers of rain. I ordered my horse to be saddled, and,

in my despair, rode off to the steppes. I did not draw rein until

I reached the borders of the forest which surrounded the estate of

Rakitin. There I wandered through the brushwood like a madman. The wind

whistled through the trees and swept over the bare fields. As night

came on, I fastened my horse to a tree, and, leaving the forest, made

my way through the garden to the window of Irena’s room. Ah! what I

felt at that moment! I remember, it seemed to me that I had only to

call her, and she would throw herself into my arms, and we would go

together to the end of the world. Fool that I was! I hoped to see her,

to exchange thoughts with her, to pour out my heart, so full of bitter

pain. “Leave your father! leave him!” I whispered, gazing in at her

window. “He does not pity you; he does not love you.” But I pleaded in

vain: her window was dark, and nowhere in all the silent house could I

hear one word or see one sign of life. On the following night I again

went through the garden, and watched the well-known window, through

which Irena had often given me her hand or thrown me a letter. Would

she not look out? would she not give me some message? One night, after

sending her a note, to which I received no answer, I even determined to

kill myself before her window, and took my pistol in my hand.

“But no,” I decided. “Why such a sacrifice? Perhaps Irena has already

bartered me for a richer suitor. Wait a little; I may find out who the

happy rival is.” Afterwards, but too late, I learned that Rakitin,

after writing his refusal of me, had carried his daughter off to a

distant property owned by one of his relations, somewhere on the Oka,

and was keeping her there in strict confinement.

CHAPTER III.

_IMPORTANT NEWS._

My grandmother was not less struck by this than I. One day, about

a week later, calling me to her, she said: “You have guessed who

your rival is? One distantly related to the Rakitins; a prince and

Kammerherr (gentleman of the chamber). I have found out, Pavelinka,

that they sent for him on purpose, and that he was visiting them all

the time you were looking for her, and that it was he who helped them

to carry her off without leaving any trace. Forget her, _mon ange_,

forget Irena; for no doubt she resembles her father in his pride.

Console yourself. God will send you a better wife.”

I felt angry and petulant. “My grandmother is right,” I said; and there

and then I determined to strive to forget everything. If Irena had had

any heart, she would have found some opportunity of writing me a line

and sending it. I remember especially how one night I found amongst

some papers a hymn from “Iphigenia,” one of Glück’s operas not yet

produced in Russia, which I had obtained with great difficulty from an

amateur musician for Irena, but which I had been unable to give to her.

With tears in my eyes I burnt it. After long days of sorrowful despair,

I decided to leave my birthplace. The parting with my grandmother was

very touching, for we both felt that we should never meet again.

* * * * *

Agraffena Vlassovna, during her retreat in a neighbouring convent, took

cold, and after a short illness, died. I was left alone in the world,

like a forgotten blade of grass in a field.

Having left Konsovka, I wandered for some time about Moscow, where I

made the acquaintance of Count Orloff. Thence I went to Petersburg, and

tried to get some information concerning the Rakitins, who were still

living on the Oka. Always hoping to get news of my faithless Irena, I

made many inquiries; but no one could tell me what I wanted to know. My

furlough was not yet ended; I was free. But what was left in the world

for me? What could I do? What could I undertake? Meanwhile, from the

south, from over the water, came news that was on every one’s lips. It

was the beginning of the Turkish war. A happy idea flashed through my

mind. I applied to the Board of Admiralty, and begged to be transferred

to the squadron then sailing in Grecian waters. Count Feodor Orloff

helped me very much by giving me a letter of introduction to Count

Alexis, who was at that time admiral of the fleet in the Mediterranean

Sea. How I came there and what I went through, it would be useless to

relate. Always repeating the name that once was so dear to me, I threw

myself into every danger. I courted death at Spezzia, at Navarino, and

at Chesma. “Irisha! Irisha![7] what have you done with me! O my God!

put an end to my life!” I cried. But death did not come. Instead of

being killed, I was taken prisoner soon after the glorious battle of

Chesma, and left in dreary captivity in Stamboul!

* * * * *

The mulla who visited me became more and more friendly, but also more

and more persistent. We met every day, and had long conversations

together. Sometimes he made me very angry, even mad, I might say; but

at other times he amused me. Then sometimes I would entice him, for

company’s sake, to defy the command of the prophet, which, perhaps, a

minute before he had been teaching me with much fervour, by taking a

glass of wine with me; and would pour the wine out for him myself. My

teacher could do nothing, of course, but try to please me, and so very

heartily began to partake of the wines of Kioska, and others which he

used to bring me. Our meetings continued. We talked sometimes of the

Orient, of Russia, and many other things.

One evening--it must have been about the middle of the year 1774--at

the time when the Muezzin[8] from the high tower began the call to

evening prayer, my teacher, with an air of great mystery, and not

without showing some wicked pleasure, asked me whether I knew that

there had appeared in Italy a very powerful aspirant to the Russian

crown, a dangerous rival to the then reigning Empress Ekaterina. I

was very much astonished at the news, and for some time was unable

to speak. The mulla again related his story, and on my asking who

the impostor was he answered, “A secret daughter of the late Empress

Elizabeth Petrowna.” “That is all nonsense and stupid gossip of your

bazaars!”--The mulla was much offended; his eyes sparkled with passion.

“No, not gossip,” he exclaimed, as he took from under his robe a

crumpled piece of one of the newspapers of Utrecht. “You had best be

thinking of what awaits your native land.”

My heart, which was beating so loyally for the great empress then

ruling over us, suddenly sank. I read the newspaper, and became

convinced that the mulla was right. In Paris first, then in Germany,

and afterwards in Venice, a person had appeared calling herself

“Elizabeth, Princess of all the Russias.” At the time of writing, this

adventuress was preparing to go to the Sultan, to ask him to aid her

with an army then encamped on the banks of the Danube in enforcing

her claims. The mulla remained with me a little longer, and then went

out, casting a side glance at me as he left the room. The news which

I had just heard troubled me very much. “How so?” thought I. “Is it

not enough that fate sent us the horrible insurrection of Pougachoff?”

of which I heard in my prison, “and then the Turks? Are we now to be

troubled with this pretender? The former burnt and desolated the whole

Po-Volga;[9] this one wants to disturb the whole of the south.” I was

quite beside myself, and strode from corner to corner of my cell. In

my anger, I went up to my window, seized hold of the grating, and

shook it with all my might. I was ready to tear it with my teeth. “Oh!

for wings! for wings!” I cried to God. I would have flown to the fleet,

told them everything, and warned Orloff, who was so devoted to the

empress.… My prayers were answered in a most marvellous manner. Never

shall I forget it, though I live for a century.

Devising a hundred plans for escape, my first idea was to prepare some

kind of key to loosen my chains. On an earthenware pot I succeeded in

sharpening part of an old nail (upon which I used to hang my clothes,

and which I had taken from the wall), and, after much painstaking,

fashioned it into a key. It is impossible to describe my joy when, for

the first night, I took off my chains and went to bed without them.

Next morning I again fettered myself, and carefully hid the key in

a crevice in the wall. My plan was this:--after having very quickly

loosened my chains, I would kill the renegade mulla with them, and run

away from the prison without being seen. But where? Thus I planned;

but God, who holds our hearts in His hand, delivered me from this sin.

The mulla continued to visit me and to drink the wine, which through

his intercession had been provided for me in abundance. At last my

chance came. Having chosen an evening, I decided upon telling the

mulla that, convinced by his wise teaching, I had resolved to embrace

the Mohammedan faith. He was transported with delight, and in his joy

partook so heartily of the wine as to become intoxicated and begin to

doze. I kept refilling his glass. “No,” he repeated continually, “I

cannot. I shall miss the prayers; I shall be denounced.” But I again

filled the glass, and he, blinking at me knowingly, again emptied it,

threw himself on the floor, and beginning to hum a Bulgarian song, was

soon fast asleep. We were both about the same height; my beard, which

during my imprisonment had grown very long, only differed from his by

being of a slightly lighter colour.

“Oh! good God! is it possible,” thought I, with a thrill of joy, “that

this is liberty at last?”

Drawing the enormous white turban over my eyes, I devoutly bowed

my head, and with silent footsteps and the rosary in my hand, as

if repeating a prayer, I slowly left the prison, and crossed the

courtyard. The sentinels at the porches and the gates of the mosque

were walking silently backwards and forwards with their muskets; but

as they did not recognise me I escaped detention. For some time the

noise of the street confused me; I quite lost my senses. But I quickly

recovered myself, and hastening my steps, soon reached the sea-shore.

I signalled to one of the boatmen, took my place in the first little

boat that approached me, and, bowing still lower, motioned to the

boatman to row me to one of the nearest ships. It was a foreign one, as

I had already remarked from my windows. I saw now that it was a French

schooner, quite ready to sail, as I could tell by her flag.

CHAPTER IV.

_I SEE THE PRINCESS._

A dark, handsome, spirited Frenchman, the commanding officer of the

schooner, soon showed me that he was a worthy subject of the nation to

which he belonged. Seeing in me a Russian sailor, he looked at me, was

silent a moment, and then whispered, “Are you Konsov?”

“What makes you think so?” I asked, not without some trepidation.

“Oh! how glad I should be if it were so!” he answered, “for we all pity

brave Konsov very much, and constantly ask after him. I should be very

happy to be of any service to him.”

There was nothing to be done; and I concluded it was better to reveal

myself. The captain was overjoyed; he conducted me to his own cabin,

and at once promised to pay the boatman; whom, however, for safety’s

sake, he first ordered to be hoisted on deck with the boat. The sails

were then unfurled, and the anchor weighed. It was night when the

schooner set sail, and by morning we had left Stamboul far behind us.

The mulla must have slept soundly and long, for we were not pursued. My

boatman, who was sent back from one of the villages we passed, having

received all that had been promised him, and the mulla’s clothes in

which I had escaped into the bargain, was only too glad to hold his

tongue. The French officers gave me proper clothing, and generously

furnished me with a sum of money, to which all had subscribed. They

politely offered to put me on board the first Russian vessel we should

meet in the Italian seas.

Meanwhile, I heard from the captain that the mysterious Russian

Princess was no longer in Venice, but was now at Ragusa, past which

town we should have to sail. I asked to be put on shore, but the French

officers did all they could to dissuade me, pointing out the risk I

should run in being again so near the Turks. This counsel had no effect

on me; I insisted on landing.

After having thanked my generous preservers (who even refused to take

my signature for their loan), I soon set foot on the shores of the

republic of Ragusa, where I obtained information concerning the lady

who so deeply interested me.

This mysterious Princess had already conquered the hearts of half the

inhabitants of the town. Much talk was going on. I found a great many

Poles and persons of different nationalities at the hotel I had chosen,

who formed part of the Princess’s retinue. All these personages fought

shy of me at first, and showed great distrust, but on learning who I

was, and that, in my joy at my miraculous preservation, I wished to go

immediately on board the squadron of Count Orloff, they ceased to fear

me, and without reserve began to tell me all about the Princess. They

even offered to procure me an audience, if I wished it. “But who is

she? and where has she lived until now?” I asked some of her followers.

“She is the daughter of your late Empress Elizabeth, by a secret

marriage with Count Razoumovski,” was the answer. “In her childhood she

was carried to the frontiers of Persia, and has since, under different

assumed names, lived at Kiel, Berlin, London, and many other places. In

Paris she was Dame D’Azov, and in Germany and here in Ragusa she bears

the title of the Countess of Pinneberg. German princes and others have

wooed her, the French Court assigned her apartments at their consul’s,

and were quite ready to give her aid and protection.”

All this troubled me greatly. “Kiel! Berlin!” thought I. “Kiel is in

Holstein. It played a most important part in the history of Anna and

Elizabeth, the daughters of Peter the Great. Is it possible that in

Petersburg no importance is attached to all this? What will be done

when all is known about this aspirant to the throne?”

The Poles then offered to take me to be presented to the Countess of

Pinneberg. I dressed myself, trimmed my moustache and beard properly,

and powdered, perfumed, and curled my hair. I met with every attention

at the house of the Countess. The Hofmarshall, Baron Korf, led me into

the reception room. I looked about me, and noticed that the walls

were tapestried with blue silk brocade, and that the furniture was

upholstered in pink satin. All at once I heard steps and a gay voice.

The Princess Elizabeth entered the room, surrounded by a brilliant

retinue. I learned afterwards who these were. Her very devoted friend,

the celebrated Prince Radzivill, in a blue velvet _kaftan_[10]

literally blazing with diamonds; near him his sister, the beautiful

Countess of Moravia, and the Princess Sangoushko. After these came

Count Pototski, in a beautiful red _kountouska_,[11] all embroidered

with gold. The count was then at the head of the Polish confederation,

our enemy. Next came the proud and rich Starosta Pinski, Count

Prgezdetski, and near him stood the influential young confederate, the

famous duellist, Charnomski, with several of Radzivill’s officers.

Pototski and Prgezdetski wore ribbons and stars. I noticed that the

Princess was dressed in an amazon of yellow silk, with gold embroidery,

and that it was covered with black gauze; that she wore a small white

hat with black ostrich feathers, and a pink mantle trimmed with

blonde, and that at her belt were a pair of very small pistolettes

of magnificent workmanship. She held a riding-whip in her hand, for

she was just going to start for a ride on horseback. The proud Polish

magnates addressed the Princess as “Altesse,” and when she sat down,

remained standing; and in answering her questions bowed so low that

they almost seemed to be kneeling.

I must confess that the Princess greatly impressed me. I saw before me

a beauty of the first order, between twenty-three and twenty-four years

of age, taller than the generality of people, graceful, slender, with

lovely auburn hair, a very fair skin, beautiful pink cheeks, and a few

freckles, which rather suited her style of beauty. Her eyes were hazel,

very large and open; one of them rather squinted, and thus gave her an

arch and playful look. But, what was far more important, as a child,

and later on as a youth, I had often looked upon the portraits of the

late Empress Elizabeth; and now on examining the Princess closely I was

struck by the likeness to them.

The Princess noticed my confusion with evident pleasure. Saying a few

gracious words to me in French, she gave me her hand to kiss, and

having received me with all the ceremony etiquette exacted, with a look

dismissed her retinue, and motioned me to a chair. We were alone.

CHAPTER V.

_MY INTERVIEW WITH THE PRINCESS._

After having exchanged a few phrases--we spoke French, but I noticed

that the Princess let fall many Italian exclamations--we both fell into

a most awkward silence.

“You are a Russian officer--a sailor?” asked the Princess.

“Just so--Your--Serene Highness,” I answered, hesitating a little, not

knowing how to address her.

“I know that you have highly distinguished yourself. Your name made a

noise in the world after Chesma,” she continued; “and to crown all, you

have suffered a long imprisonment.”

I was greatly agitated, and remained silent; she also paused. At last

she began again, and even though so many years have elapsed, I seem to

hear that low, charming contralto voice of hers,--

“Listen,”--said she. “I am a Russian princess, the daughter of your

once beloved empress. It is true, is it not, that my mother, the

daughter of Peter the Great, was much loved? I, both by blood and by

her testament, am her only heiress.”

“Yes. But you know,” I at last ventured to say, “that there now reigns

the no less beloved Empress Ekaterina the Great.”

“I know, I know,” interrupted the Princess, “how all powerful and

idolized by her people the present empress is; and it is not for

me--poor, weak, and abandoned by all, torn from the Imperial house, and

from the land of my birth--to try to dispute the throne with her. I am

the most devoted of her slaves.”

“Then what are you seeking? what are you expecting?” I asked with

astonishment.

“Protection, and that my rights may be respected.”

“Excuse me,” I returned; “but you must first prove your birth and your

rights.”

“I have the proofs here,” the Princess replied; and, hastily rising,

she opened the drawer of a Buhl side-table, with silver incrustations.

“Here is the testament of my grandfather, Peter I., and this one is my

mother’s, Elizabeth’s.”

The Princess tendered me a French version of the papers mentioned. I

looked them over hastily.

“But these are only copies,” said I; “mere translations.”

“Oh, yes; but make your mind easy: the originals are in safe hands.…

How would it be possible to carry such important documents about with

me; the risk would be too great,” answered the Princess, turning her

head a little from me. Then she moved to the other side of the room,

where, in heavy gilt frames, hung two oil paintings: one a remarkably

good copy of the portrait of the late Empress Elizabeth Petrowna,

with a small crown upon her head; the other that of the Princess now

standing before me.

“Do you see the likeness?” she said, looking at me.

“Well, yes, there is a likeness. I noticed it as soon as I came in,” I

answered. “Allow me to ask how long ago that portrait was taken?”

“This very year, at Venice.… The celebrated Piacetti painted my

intended bridegroom’s portrait, the Prince Radzivill’s, and begged to

be allowed to paint mine at the same time.”

“Mysterious coincidence!” I exclaimed, with uncontrollable agitation;

“we see things past all imagining. The dead rise out of their graves.

There beyond the Volga the Emperor Peter III., buried in the face of

all the nation;[12] here, unexpected, undivined, the daughter of the

Empress Elizabeth.”

“Do not, if you please, confound me with Pougachoff,” answered the

Princess, slightly reddening; “although he gives himself out as the

Emperor, coins his money with the legend _Redivivus et Ultor_ (the

risen Avenger), still, as yet, he is only my lord-lieutenant in that

part of the country.”

“How so?” I answered, quite astonished. “Then you also confess that he

is an impostor?”

“Do not ask who he is,” mysteriously answered the Princess; “afterwards

you shall learn all; the time has not yet come. He has already

conquered many towns--Kasan, Orenburg, Saratov--and all the shores of

the Volga. I know nothing of his past. Let God be his judge; but I--I

am really and truly the daughter of the Empress Elizabeth, and cousin

to the Emperor Peter III.”

“But who was your father?” I ventured to ask.

“Is it possible that you do not guess?” she answered, slightly

frowning. “Alexis Razoumovski, who was married secretly to my mother.

My childhood I passed travelling from one place to another; but it

is quite indistinct even to me. I remember a retired little village

in the South of Russia, from which I was carried off. They would, if

they could, have effaced from my mind every remembrance of the past;

and to that end they lavished money upon me and took me about from

place to place. Count Shouvaloff, apparently, was acquainted with the

circumstances. Not long ago, when travelling in Europe, he expressed

the wish to see me, and we met secretly.”

“What! you saw the Count Shouvaloff? Where?” I exclaimed, amazed, as I

recollected that not a few people looked upon him as her father.

“I met him at the waters of Spa.… Friends warned me of that celebrated

Russian traveller, but I could not refuse him. I found him to be

an elderly person, rather stout, and bearing traces of no common

beauty. His dress was most costly. He came to me under an assumed

name, and when speaking with me sorrowfully fixed his eyes upon me and

attentively examined my features. I could see he was very agitated.

I learned afterwards that he was my late mother’s favourite, Ivan

Shouvaloff. I really cannot tell why he looked so moved. It is not for

me, of course,--as you may well understand,--to say. That secret my

mother took to her grave, with many others.”

The Princess was silent; I also.

“Whose protection, whose help, do you seek?” I at last ventured to ask,

troubled with so many impressions.

CHAPTER VI.

_THE PRINCESS ASKS ME TO ASSIST HER._

The Princess locked the paper in a casket, put it away, took up a fan,

and again sitting down, began looking out of the window.

“Are you willing to help me?” she asked very seriously, instead of

answering my question.

I knew not what to answer.

“Are you willing to give me, should I need it, every help in your

power?”

“But what sort of help?”

“Well now, you see, should the Empress Ekaterina be willing to act

conscientiously and without strife peacefully to divide the empire

with me,”--the Princess uttered this very slowly and distinctly,--“I

am ready to agree to anything in reason. I will give up to her the

north, with Petersburg, all the Baltic provinces, and all the province

of Moscow. I shall retain for myself the Caucasus--practically all the

south--oh! I love the south--and part of the west. Oh! be quite sure

I shall respect a peaceful division. I shall be quite satisfied with

the arrangement. I shall people my dominions; I shall arrange all in

my own Fatherland. You will see I am a _masteritsa_.[13] First of all,

of course, I shall arrange matters in Oukraine and Poland. Of course

you are from Oukraine?” she asked me suddenly, fixing her eyes on me;

“and I passed my childhood there. In case Ekaterina should not agree,”

continued she, frowning, “of course, nothing remains for me but to try

the force of arms. I intend going to Constantinople, to the Sultan.

He expects me. I shall lead his army on to the Balkans, and on the

borders of the Danube shall meet the army of Ekaterina. Then I will

have my revenge. I shall find enough people willing to help me; all the

discontented--for instance, the commodore of the fleet,--Orloff! Eh!

what do you say to that?”

“Orloff!” I repeated in amazement.

“Of course; he himself. You are astonished, eh?” answered the Princess,

fanning herself and looking me boldly in the face. “Yes; what do you

say to that?”

“Excuse me, Your Grace, but I cannot help speaking out my earnest

conviction that all this is but a child’s dream. On what do you found

your hopes of such--excuse me the expression--such treason from the

count?”

“Treason!”--cried out the Princess, suddenly reddening; “but, of

course, you must be excused. You were so long a prisoner, there is a

great deal for you to learn”; and she contemptuously smiled, nervously

playing with her fan. “The power and the influence of the Orloffs have

greatly fallen; their sworn and hidden foes, the Pânins,[14] are now

in the ascendency. The empress’s favourite, Gregory Orloff, allow me

to tell you, has been already replaced by another; he, in his anger,

broke off the negotiations begun with the Sultan, and flew from the

banks of the Danube to Petersburg. But he was not received at court,

but exiled to Revel. Ah! you are astonished. Well, learn still further.

Your chief, Count Alexis Orloff, his feelings as a brother insulted,

no longer hides his opinions: he is ripe for revenge; and there is

no doubt, of course, that he can be very useful to me. You see, what

news! I have already sent a letter to the Count Alexis, and a short

manifesto.”

“A manifesto! but what about?”

“If Orloff decides on taking my part, I advise him then to proclaim my

manifesto to the fleet, take me on board, and stand up for my rights.”

“But that is impossible. Excuse me,” I tried to answer; “your actions

are bold, but you have not reflected enough.”

“Why do you think so?” asked the Princess, astonished. “The malcontents

are seeking revenge, the forgotten recompense for their well-known

services. To Orloff alone--and that every one knows--to him alone

Ekaterina owes her throne.”

The Princess rose, walked up and down the room, and at last threw the

window open. She was nearly stifled. She began again explaining her

plan in its smallest details: how she hoped, with the aid of the fleet,

to invade Russia. She would listen to none of my arguments. It seemed

as if nothing could convince her. It was plainly visible that this

capricious, spoiled, self-willed woman, whose feelings burst forth like

lava hidden under ashes, thought she could measure her strength with

the most desperate of men.

“You doubt; you are astonished,” she exclaimed, with a nervous tremor.

“You ask why I believe in the success of my enterprise? Is it possible

that you do not know?… Already many of your countrymen side with me;

I am in correspondence with numbers of them.… But you--are the first

Russian, the first really worthy man, that I see throwing in your

lot with me.… I shall never forget the fact; it is specially dear to

me.… Believe me, I shall rise victorious out of every difficulty; the

darkness _will_ clear away.… Is it possible that you do not know that

Russia is torn asunder by her battles, the pressgang for the recruits,

the fires, the plagues? Is it possible you do not know that the country

is worn out with her taxations, that on the borders of the Volga there

rages a terrible, bloody insurrection? Your army is badly clothed,

and still worse fed; … all are discontented, all grumble.… You are

not going to tell me that you, a lieutenant in the Russian navy, know

nothing of all this? Yes, all the nation will hail me with delight; the

army will meet with joy a Russian-born princess, Elizabeth II., just as

they once met Ekaterina.”

I was indignant at her childish and blind confidence in herself.

“Well, let it be so. Do you speak Russian?” I decided on asking her.

The Princess blushed. “I do not speak it. I have, of course, forgotten

it, unfortunately,” she answered, coughing. “In my infancy, when but

three years old, I was taken from Oukraine to Siberia, where they

nearly poisoned me; from there into Persia, where I was placed with an

old woman in Ispahan, who took me to live in Bagdad, where a certain M.

Fournier taught me French.… So it would have been rather strange if I

did remember my own language.”

I still continued sitting, my eyes fixed on the ground. I could not

raise them to her face.

“And Dimitri Tzarevitch,[15] whom all Moscow met so joyfully, did he

speak Russian?” asked the Princess contemptuously. “Besides, what can

languages prove? Children learn and unlearn everything so easily.”

“Dimitri spoke with a ‘Little Russian’ accent,” answered I. “And then,

after all, he was but--a pretender!”

“Gran Dio!” she exclaimed; and again coughing, the Princess laughed.

“And you’re not ashamed of repeating those idle tales? Listen to me,

and remember my words.”…

The Princess threw herself back in her chair. Bright spots appeared in

her cheeks.

“Dimitri was the real tzarevitch.” She said this in a voice of

conviction. “Yes, the real tzarevitch. He was saved from the hands of

the assassin Godounoff by the cleverness of those around him, almost by

a miracle, just as I was saved from the poison they gave me in Siberia.

Ah! you did not know that? Yes, think about it all a little more. Oh!

Signor Konsov, tell your tales to some one else, but not to me, who

have studied in a strange land the genealogy of our house. The Shah of

Persia offered his hand and his throne to me, but I refused him; he is

the eternal enemy of Russia.… I _shall_ be acknowledged. Do you hear?

They _must_ acknowledge me,” said the Princess, with great dignity.

Striking her knee with her fan, and beginning again to cough, she

continued,--

“I believe in the star of my destiny, and therefore I choose you as my

ambassador to Count Orloff. I do not exact a speedy answer. Think over

it, weigh well my words, and then give me your decision. You, again I

repeat, are the first Russian in an honourable military position whom I

have met abroad. You also have suffered, and also escaped from prison

by a miracle. Who knows? perhaps Heaven saved you, like many others,

and sent you to me.”

Having said this, the Princess rose, and, with a most majestic salute,

signified that the audience was concluded.

CHAPTER VII.

_I CONVEY A LETTER._

“What does it all mean? Who is she? What is she? A pretender, or a

Russian grand duchess?” thought I, as, full of contending thoughts, I

left the room of the Princess, and with faltering steps passed between

the persons of her suite, who saluted me right and left with the

greatest respect.

At the _perron_[16] I noticed several carriage-horses, adorned with

velvet and feathers. On entering the hotel I heard the clattering of

horses’ hoofs. Going to the window, I saw the Princess, surrounded

by her courtiers, riding fearlessly on a beautiful white horse. The

cavalcade flew by on the road to Ragusa.

For several days I could not get rid of the most agitating ideas.

I hardly left my room, walking backwards and forwards, then lying

down, then writing letters, only, however, to tear them up again, and

constantly thinking, “How could I, remembering the oath of allegiance

which I had taken on entering the service? What ought I to do regarding

the proposition of this mysterious Princess?”

One day her secretary, Charnomski, came to pay me a visit. He was a

smart, elegantly-dressed man of about forty. He had once been very

rich, had been a duellist and a Lovelace, had lost all his fortune at

cards and in the affairs of the Confederation. He had not lost his

fine manners, but was very conceited and insinuating, and--so rumour

said--was serving the Princess because he was deeply in love with her.

The conversation turned on the Princess. He was eloquent on the subject

of her generosity, her fearlessness, and, having assured me on oath

that all she had said of her past life was true, again renewed, in her

name, an entreaty that I would side with her.

“But whose daughter is she? who was her father?” I asked, rather drily.

“You only speak in her favour, but there must be proofs. Everything is

so very doubtful.”…

Charnomski reddened, and was silent several minutes.

It seemed to me at that time that this Princess’s Ganymede curled and

pomatumed in the last fashion, with his diamond ear-rings, was rouged.

“Good heavens! what doubts! Her father--do you not know it

yourself?--was the Count Alexis Razoumovski,” said this wily

diplomatist, regaining his composure. “But if you desire it, sir

lieutenant, I can give you all the details. You see, the Empress

Elizabeth, after her secret marriage with the count, had several

children----”

“Oh! all that’s nonsense; no one really knows anything about it,” I

answered.

“Of course it was a rather delicate affair, and was kept a great

secret,” continued Charnomski. “You are right, how should every one

know? But I relate all this because I have it from a true source. What

became of the other children, and whether any are still living, … is

not known.

“The Princess Elizabeth, when a child of two years old, was brought to

the relations of Razoumovski, the Cossacks Daragan, to their property

in Oukraine, Daraganovka, which the neighbours, countrymen of the new

_parvenus_, styled, in their own fashion, “Tarakanovka.” The Dowager

Empress Elizabeth, and after her all the court, in fun called the child

the Princess Tmoutarakanova.[17] At first she was not neglected. She

was often inquired after. Everything that she needed was always sent to

her. But afterwards, especially during her travels, she was lost sight

of, and finally quite forgotten.”

The word “Tarakanovka” made me shudder in spite of myself. It sounded

to me like a voice of the past. It reminded me of my far-off childhood,

of our own little manor, Konsovka, and my late grandmother, Agraffena

Vlassovna, who had known much of the past and present court; of

the wonderful luck which had fallen to the lot of the shepherd of

Lemechevski, who unexpectedly had become, instead of the singer,

Aloshki Razouma,[18] a count, and the privately married husband of

the empress; of the accession to the throne of the new empress; of

the attempt of Merovitch, and of many other events. Through him my

grandfather, Irakli Konsov, who was a neighbour of the Razoumovskis in

the village Lemesha, was loaded with favours, rose in his service, and

died in a very high position.

I remembered another very hazy circumstance. I went once with my

grandmother to a name’s-sake day party given by some relations. Our

road lay across a village near Baturin, the residence of the Hetman[19]

Kiryl Razoumovski. It was a lovely and calm summer’s evening, and we

were talking together, grandmother and I. From the open carriage,

on both sides of the road, in the twilight we could see the weeping

willows, and, scattered here and there between them, the white cottages

and windmills, and above the willows and the cottages the church

steeple. My grandmother, musing quietly, crossed herself, and then

thoughtfully, gently, as if to herself, all at once pronounced the word

“Tarakanchic.”[20]

“What did you say, grandmother?” I asked.

“Tarakanchic.”

“What is that?”

“Well, I will tell you, _mon ange_,” she answered. “Here, a long

time ago, in this same village, lived a mysterious person--a lovely,

graceful, and fair child, as fair as a lily; but she did not stay long,

and where she disappeared to no one knows.”

“But who was it?” asked I.

“Red Riding Hood,” answered my grandmother, lowering her voice. “I

suppose, as in the fairy tale, the cruel wolves have eaten poor

Tmoutarakanovka.”[21]

My grandmother after this spoke no more, and I, believing the wolves

had really eaten the child, forbore to ask any more questions.

But now I clearly remembered that lovely green and willowy Tarakanovka

and the mysterious tale of my grandmother. That century was rich in

fairy-like lore, and one might be pardoned for believing in all sorts

of miracles.

“Well, have you decided, sir?” broke in Charnomski, seeing that, lost

in thought, I was silent.

“Explain to me just what the Princess expects of me.”

“Only one thing, sir lieutenant, only one thing,” answered the wily

envoy, getting up and bowing. “To take this letter of the Princess

to Count Orloff; that is the only thing she asks of you.… Tell the

count how and where you met the Russian Grand Duchess Elizabeth, and

with what impatience she awaits his answer to her first letter and

manifesto. On the result of your mission depends her further course of

action and her departure for the Sultan’s court.”

Charnomski took from his breast pocket a letter, and handed it to me.

“That is her only request,” he repeated, bowing again, and

insinuatingly looking me in the face, with a half-look of entreaty in

his large grey eyes.

After having thought it all over, I felt that I ought not to refuse,

and I took the letter. My duty as an officer demanded that I should let

the count know everything. He must decide what should be done; that

would be his affair.

“Very well,” answered I. “I do not know who your Princess is, but I

undertake to deliver her letter in safety.”

Having waited some time, I found an opportunity of sailing to my

destination. I presented myself once more to the Princess, made my

adieux, and left Ragusa. The very same day the Prince Radzivill gave,

in honour of the Princess, his fairy-like and long-renowned fête.

For a long time in Europe the newspapers could talk of nothing else.

The extravagant and generous prince, madly in love with the Princess,

had already been lavishing his wealth upon her, like an Indian nabob;

but this time he surpassed himself. The fête lasted a long time; the

most precious wines flowed like water. There was music, cannon were

fired in the gardens, and a beautiful display of fireworks of more

than 1,000 rockets astonished all the town. At the end of the feast,

the knightly lover suddenly announced that the dances would continue

till the morning, and that at dawn all the revellers, to refresh

themselves, should see a real winter, and should drive home, not in

carriages, but in sleighs. On the morrow, when the guests came out on

the _perron_, the neighbouring streets were really quite white, and to

all appearance covered with snow. During the night busy workers had

spread a thick layer of salt over everything, and the joyous, noisy

crowd of _masques_, amidst repeated salutes of cannon and the shouts

of the newly-awakened citizens, were really driven home to the musical

sound of the sleigh bells.

I took my departure for Italy, puzzling my brain with various

questions. “Was this Princess really the daughter of the Empress

Elizabeth? Did she believe in the truth of what she said herself, or

did she spread these rumours on purpose?” As far as I could remember

the expression of her face, there appeared from time to time,

especially in her eyes, something it seemed to me almost impossible to

catch--a look of indecision, mingled with a gleam of hope.

In taking with me her letter and the particulars I had learnt, I was

prompted by feelings of duty, as an officer of Her Majesty Ekaterina,

but I was half won over by pity for the Princess as a lovely and

helpless woman.

CHAPTER VIII.

_I DELIVER A LETTER._

I landed at Ancona. From there I started for Bologna, which I had

heard the commander had chosen for his headquarters. The Count Alexis

Orloff, although the hero of Chesma, hated the sea from the bottom of

his heart, and having given over the command of the squadron to his

vice-admiral, the first flag-officer, Vice-Admiral Samuel Greig, he

spent most of his time on land.

To those beneath him he was ever amiable and good. He was very fond

of simple jokes, and surrounded as he was by almost Imperial luxury,

was always attentive and easy of access. The life of the count at

Moscow, before the campaign in the Greek waters, which had covered his

name with glory, had remained graven on my mind. The Orloffs were no

strangers to our family. My late father in days gone by had been their

companion-in-arms, and I, in going backwards and forwards from the

naval schools to my birthplace, used very often to spend long holidays

in their Muscovite house. The Count Alexis especially was a favourite

of bright Moscow; the gigantic and splendid figure of Count Alexana,

as all Moscow called him, full of robust health, his fine Grecian

eyes, his gay and careless manners, his enormous wealth, all tended

to attract to his hospitable halls all that Moscow could boast of as

regards aristocracy, nobility, and also almost all other classes.

The house of the Count Alexis, as I well remember it now, stood not

far from the gates of Moscow, and not far from the “Crimean Ford,”

and very near to his property in the environs of Moscow, the village

Niaskouchnavo (the “not gloomy” village).

The Muscovites could admire in the house of the count the splendid

gobelin tapestries on the walls; the marvellous, graceful Dutch-tile

stoves on gilt pedestals; the magnificent collection of old arms and

armour. His town garden was ornamented with ponds, lakes, arbours,

cascades, a menagerie, and an aviary. At the princely gates, in one

of the windows of the lodge-keeper’s cottage, hung a golden cage with

a parrot in it, who would scream at the idlers, “Long live our little

Mother Empress!” At the fabulous feasts of the Count Alexis, very often

under the costly lemon and orange trees, brought from his hothouses,

tables would be spread, at which more than 300 people would sit down.

A true Russian at heart, the count used to like giving his guests the

pleasure of looking on at boxings, wrestlings, minstrelsies, himself

often not disdaining to take part in them. With his hand he could

bend a horseshoe, tie a poker in a knot, or catch a bull by the horns

and throw him down; and to these sights he would sometimes invite all

Moscow.

On one occasion, to have a good laugh at the rising passion of the

fops for _pince-nez_ and spectacles, on the 1st of May he sent on the

public promenade at Sokolnika one of his attendants, dressed in a

riding costume, and leading amongst the crowd of young dandies a poor,

crippled, and half-blind cur, with great _tin_ spectacles on his nose,

and a card hung round his neck with the following sentence in large

letters, “And look, he’s only three years old!”

But it was his splendidly arranged hunting meets and horse races which

made him a centre of attraction to all classes of society. Not one

horse in all Moscow could be compared to his “Rissak,”[22] a mixed

breed of Arabian, English, and Frisian horses. At the races held in

front of the house at the “Crimean Ford” I can even now remember how

the Count Alexano, in the winter in his tiny sleighs, and in summer

in his racing _droskies_ would lead with his own hands his spotlessly

white horse “Smitanka,” or her rival, the dapple-grey “Amazonka.”

Crowds would be running after the count when he, gathering the reins

in his hand in his _romanovski touloup_,[23] or his damask coat, would

appear at the gates on his snorting, white-maned beauty, calling out to

his three Simeons--to his first jockey, Sainka the White, to arrange

the bit; to his second, Sainka the Black, to tighten the stirrups; to

his third, Sainka the Dresdenite, to moisten the horse’s mane with

_kvas_.

The count was also playful in his correspondence. Who does not know the

letter he wrote to his brother Gregory after the celebrated victory of

Chesma?

“Sir, my brother, good day! We marched on the enemy, we went up to

him, we caught him, we felled him, we broke him, we conquered him, we

drowned him, we burnt him, and turned him into ashes. And I, your

humble servant, am in good health.--ALEXIS ORLOFF.”

Copies of this letter were in the hands of every one. A born jester,

a reveller, a boxer, this pleasure-loving count in his young years

before the war had never even dreamt of being a sailor. Even to take

the command of the fleet in Italy he went by land! He was very much

talked about on the accession of the empress to the throne; after the

battle of Chesma he was still more talked about; but to a good many he

remained an enigma. At the reviews and parades, at his own princely

_levées_, Count Alexis always appeared surrounded with great pomp,

covered with gold, diamonds, and orders of all sorts; but in his walks

in Paris he would go out amongst the elegant and fastidious crowd of

promenaders sometimes with his head unpowdered, with a little round

_bourgeois_ hat, and a coat of the coarsest and commonest grey cloth.

I, of course, like others, could not very well guess the motives which

prompted him to do all this. Very often even his words would bewilder

you. Yes, he was a man of great mind and subtle wit. I burned with

impatience again to see him, after so long a separation, although the

commission entrusted to me by the Princess troubled me very much.

Before my departure from Ragusa I had let the count know by letter of

my escape from the Turks, and also that I was bringing him news of a

very important person, whom I had discovered by accident and had met.

My journey through Italy lasted a long time. I managed to get a chill

on the mountains, fell ill, and was obliged to stay for some time at

the house of a charitable magnate. At length I arrived at Bologna.

After having rested from my journey a little, I changed my dress, and,

feeling rather agitated, I approached the beautiful palace of the

count at Bologna. I learnt that the count was at home, and sent to

announce my presence. After my long imprisonment, I had every reason

to expect a warm welcome and reward; but I was rather doubtful how

the count would take my audience and conference with the dangerous

and mysterious pretender, held without the permission of my chief.

There were two sides to the question. If I had been asked to say

conscientiously exactly what I thought of the Princess, I should have

found it very difficult to give a truthful answer. At Ragusa I had

heard many doubtful things of her past life, about mysterious ties she

had formed. But what did her past life matter to any one? Who knows

what ties she might have been induced to make to escape from her gloomy

fate? And who knows if such ties really existed?

The count received me directly. I was led through a long suite of

richly-decorated drawing-rooms and salons, first on the ground-floor

and then upstairs.

At this time the handsome hero of Chesma, Count Alexis, was in his

thirty-eighth year. Not only at home, but in a strange land, he loved

to spend his time with doves, being passionately fond of these birds.

On my arrival he was sitting at the very top of his house, where he

ordered the footman at once to bring me. What a sight met my eyes! This

celebrated man--so clever, so strong and so stately, before whom all

other men seemed but pigmies--was seated on a common wooden chair at

the dusty little window. Having run away from the heat, he was seated

with only his shirt on! and was drinking out of a mug some iced wine,

at the same time waving his handkerchief at a brood of doves, who

were pirouetting about the roof. “Ah! Konchic;[24] how are you?” said

he, turning for a minute towards me. “Well, what? run away, eh? Well,

congratulate you, old fellow. Sit down. Oh! look there; are they not a

lovely couple? What do you think of them? Ah! the rascals; there they

are turning and twisting. Ah, _tourmelins_[25] ah!”

Again he waved his handkerchief, and I, not finding any chair to sit

upon, began looking at him with curiosity.

The count in these last years of peace had grown stouter, his neck was

quite like a bull’s, his shoulders like Jupiter’s or Bacchus’s, his

face quite striking, with its look of health and dauntlessness.

“Well! what are you staring at?” said he, standing and looking at me.

“I was amusing myself with birds, while you were sitting with the

Turks. Here they are all clay-coloured and black, but the tuberous

ones, like ours, old fellow, are few, and not common. Yes, they can

take letters for a longer distance than 100 _versts_. Marvellous! If we

could but breed them in Russia! Well now, tell me everything about the

prison and about the travels.”

I began my narration. The count listened to me at first very

inattentively, all the while looking out of the window, but afterwards

he grew more interested; and when I touched upon the subject of the

person whom I had met at Ragusa, and handed him the letter, the count

threw a handful of seed from a plate at the assembled doves, and when

they all flew off in a crowd up on the roof, stood up.

“This news, my dear fellow, is such that we must talk seriously. Let’s

get down from this mast into the company cabin.” We went downstairs and

afterwards into the garden. The count on the way had dressed himself,

and given orders that no one was to be received. We walked a long while

backwards and forwards in the avenues. While I answered his questions

I looked attentively into the expressive and often dreamy eyes of the

count. He listened to me with very great attention.

“Ah! art scheming?” said he, all at once; “why, suppose she is a

pretender, an adventuress. Now explain,” added he, sitting down on a

bench. “Art repeating the words of others or thine own?”

I felt confused, and did not quite know what to answer.

“All the tales of her past life are so strange,” said I, “so much like

a fairy-tale--Siberia, poison, escape from Persia, correspondence with

all the crowned heads of Europe--that I have conscientiously acted as

a faithful servant of the empress, looked well about me, as I cannot, I

must say, hide my doubts.…”

“Agreed,” said the count, “Of course, you can look at it in two

ways; but the most important fact is that _she_ is known of at St.

Petersburg. They have written to me about her, speaking of her as a

‘vagabond,’ who has taken to herself a name and genealogy to which she

has no right.”

The count was silent for some time.

“H’m! nice vagabond!” added he, as if to himself. “Puzzling, of course.

Let it be so; I do not dispute it.… But why have they decided on

exacting her extradition? and, in case it should be refused, on taking

her by force, even if it is necessary to bombard the citadel of Ragusa?

No one acts like that with a common vagabond. Such a person you just

catch--a stone on the neck and in the water.”

I felt as if cold water were running down my back at these words of the

count. I vividly remember that eventful June day.…

“Well, what, old man--you see yourself it’s no vagabond--what do you

think about it? No, straight out with it, hide nothing.”

CHAPTER IX.

_WE WILL BEFRIEND HER._

The words of the count filled me with astonishment. Involuntarily I

remembered then the intelligence the Princess had given me of the

fallen favours of the Orloffs, of the exile of the late favourite to

Revel, and of the rising fortunes of their enemies. Was it grief, was

it passion which blinded the count? or did he really believe in the

descent of the Princess? I really did not know, but I could clearly

see that he was not throwing his words to the winds, and that a great

struggle was taking place in his heart.

“Excuse my impertinence, Your Grace,” said I impatiently, “but if you

bid me, I’ll hide nothing from you. The person I saw, I must say,

resembles very much the late Empress Elizabeth. Who does not know

the portrait of that empress? The same imposing profile, the white,

delicate complexion, the same dark arched eyebrows, the same majestic

figure, and, more important than all,--the same eyes. I cannot help

relating to you what my late grandmother in Oukraine told me about the

relatives of the Razoumovskis.”

“Ah! bah! But yourself, Konsov--you are from Baturin!” excitedly said

the count. “Well, well, and what did your grandmother tell you?”

I told him all I knew about Daraganovka, and about the mysterious child

who had once lived there.

“Ah! that’s where this Tarakanovka comes from,” said the count.

“True! true! Yes! yes! I remember now I heard something about a

Tmoutarakanski[26] princess.”

He rose from the bench. I could see that he was very much agitated.

Crossing his hands behind his back, and with his head hanging down, he

began walking backwards and forwards on the garden path. I respectfully

followed him at a little distance.

“Konsov, you are now no longer a boy!” said Alexis Gregorevitch,

turning his keen eagle eyes upon me. “This is a most important State

affair. Be careful, not only of your actions and your words, but even

of your very thoughts. Can you swear to be silent on everything?”

“Your Grace, I give you my oath.”

“Well, then, listen, and--remember--you answer me with your head.”[27]

The count stopped, and his thoughtful gaze seemed to pierce my very

soul; then he added, “Don’t forget; you know me of old--your head!…”

We crossed the garden, and sat on an isolated bench.

“Of course it will not be very difficult to catch this calumniated

person,” said the count; “you’re obliged to do a great deal sometimes,

when you are ordered to do it. But would it be honest now? What do you

think about it?--Mysteriously--deceitfully? Ah! and especially with a

woman.--It would be a pity now, wouldn’t it?”

“Of course it would,” answered I, in my simplicity; “of course we must

conquer our enemies; but then openly--otherwise everybody will have the

right to call us traitors, soul-killers.”

At this minute the eyes of the count twinkled very curiously. He closed

them quickly, as though something had blown into them.

“Of course, of course, old man, it would be mean.… You and I are not

executioners,” said he. “Of course they wouldn’t write from Petersburg

for nothing; and then, who knows what they think about us there? But

there now, I’ll be open. I received two secret envoys from over there,

tempting and inducing me to turn traitor.… Could I expect such a thing?

Isn’t it an insult, after all my long years of faithful devotion? Ah!

what think you of that?”

The frankness of the count struck me with astonishment, and flattered

my vanity. “What a lot falls to the great of this earth!” thought I and

from the bottom of my heart I pitied the count, whose fallen greatness

I knew already.

Alexis Gregorevitch put several questions to me about the Princess and

her _entourage_, told me he would employ me as adjutant, and dismissed

me with the order to go to Bologna and await his commands. I thanked

him for his attention, and took my leave.

The next day the count left for Livorno[28] to visit his squadron, and

remained away a whole week. As I was without any money and in great

want of everything, it was not very pleasant for me. I had no one to

write to in Russia. Several more days passed. At last I was summoned.

The count received me in his study.

“Can you guess, Konsov, what I’ve to tell you?” he asked me, arranging

some papers.

“How can I guess the thoughts of Your Grace?”

“Here’s a note. Go to the purser, get some money, pay your debts. Send

the money to those French creditors. You’ve ruined yourself in the

service. To-morrow you go to Rome.”

I bowed, and awaited further orders.

“Do you know why?” asked the count.

“I cannot guess.”

“Whilst you wandered about and were ill, this mysterious Princess,

deserted by the volatile Radzivill,” said the count, “left Ragusa. At

first, with a Neapolitan passport, she went to Barletta, lived there

some time. Now she has appeared in Rome as a Polish lady. Do you

understand?”

I again bowed.

“Well, now,” continued the count, “I am very culpable in her eyes.

I have not answered her two letters. But how could I, surrounded by

all these spies? Answer? I tried once or twice to send her a faithful

emissary, one of your own companions-at-arms, but she would not

receive him. I pity that poor, young deserted thing, so inexperienced

and without any means. You’ll be able to see her and begin the

negotiations. I have invited her here; at Rome, I have heard, there

are several Russians. Try and get to know everything that’s going

on; but, first of all, shield her from all enemies and all foreign

influence. Let her believe in us alone. We will befriend her. About

your own conscience, be easy; all shall be done in all mercy and

according to the laws of justice.”

CHAPTER X.

_IS THE COUNT A TRAITOR?_

I was overwhelmed; I was wonderstruck.

“Is it possible the count can be a traitor?” The thought flew like

lightning through my brain. Impossible. Celebrated patriot, celebrated

hero of the _Coup d’État_,[29] right hand of Ekaterina? Such thoughts

would be unworthy. But what in the world is he plotting? Agitated by

different doubts, suddenly a bold and almost insolent plan came into

my head--that of learning the most secret designs of the count. It is

true that in these last few days a rumour had been circulated to the

effect that from the north had been received a secret _ukase_, that the

count, for whom the deepest regret was felt, had been recalled, and the

command of the fleet given to another.

“Excuse me, Your Grace,” said I to the count; “to-morrow I start for

Rome. You have confided to me a mission of the highest importance. In

case the Princess should agree to your conditions, and should accept

your invitation, what will be the result of it all, if I may presume to

ask you?”

“Oh! what a fireship![30] what a leech!” said Alexis Gregorevitch, with

a curl of his lip. “Yes, and you sailors are all like that. Take out

everything, and spread it on the table. But we diplomâts do not care

for useless prattle. Live, and then you’ll know. This affair will show

itself. But I am the true and faithful servant of our Empress Ekaterina

Alexéevna.”

“Be generous, and forgive me, count,” said I. “You have confided to me,

not a naval mission, but a diplomatic one. It has never happened to

me before, and therefore I am very doubtful.… And should this person

assert her rights?”

“Well, that’s just what I’m thinking about. It might easily be that

she is a branch of the Imperial family. In her veins flows perhaps the

blood of our mother Elizabeth. We must be ready for anything. Do all

you can, Konsov; your services shall not be forgotten. But don’t forget

one thing. You must help the Princess with money, as she is a woman.

You must take her out of her humiliating position.… Who knows? perhaps

to her Imperial Majesty it will not be disagreeable. Our reigning

sovereign has a heart. Oh! sometimes it is a stone.… Who knows? perhaps

in time it may be softer.”

The count astonished me more than ever.

“Well,” thought I to myself, “what an honour for me to have won the

confidence of such an exalted personage! All is clear now. The count

is no traitor. Although his ambition, perhaps, led him to murmur,

still.--The favour of the Orloffs is fallen, and it’s evident the count

wishes to persuade the Princess to give up her rights.”

The whole plan, explained to me by the count, became quite clear.

Having prepared everything for my journey, I took my departure, with

the most faithful resolution to fulfil the mission which had been

confided to me.

* * * * *

It was in the month of February, 1775, not so very long ago for me

to have suffered and experienced so much. Having reached Rome, I

made inquiries about the emissary of the count who had reached Rome

before me. He was a lieutenant of our own squadron, and, as some

said, a Greek. To me it seemed more likely that he, Ivan Moisaevitch

Christianok by name, was half German and half Jew. I handed over

to him the papers that had been confided to my care, and began

questioning him about our mutual mission. As black as a beetle, small

of stature, restless--in fact, a most repulsive man--Christianok smiled

continually, spoke always in a most insinuating voice, and seemed, with

his shifting glance, to dive at once into one’s soul and one’s pocket.

I learnt from Christianok that the Princess had taken a few rooms

in Rome, on the first floor of the house of Juani, on the Champs de

Mars. She lived there in the greatest retirement and in great want.

She paid for her apartment fifty _sequins_ a month, and kept only

three servants. She only went out to go to church, and, excepting one

friend, a Jesuit _abbé_, and the doctor who attended her, she saw no

one. The emissary of the count, Christianok, disguised as a beggar,

lounged about the house of Juani for more than a fortnight, trying in

vain to get a glimpse of its fair inhabitant. But he was mistrusted by

every one, and, notwithstanding all his efforts, his entreaties to the

servants, no one would let him in. He took me to the Champs de Mars.

The house of Juani was very solitary; it was built quite apart, between

a yard and a not very large but very shady garden. I went up to the

door and raised the knocker. First I saw at the window, which was

framed in creeping vines, the maid of the Princess, daughter of a

Prussian captain, Francis Mecèdès, and after her the secretary of the

Princess, whom I had seen at Ragusa, Charnomski.

“From whom?” asked the latter timidly, looking at me from behind the

half-open door.

I hardly knew him again. Where was his _aplomb_--his foppery? where had

it disappeared? His clothes were half worn out, his hair was uncurled,

there was no rouge on his cheeks, and he wore only the commonest and

cheapest of ear-rings!

“From Count Orloff,” answered I.

“Have you a letter?”

“Yes; but let me in.”

“Have you a letter?” repeated the secretary, already taking an insolent

and bragging tone.

“Yes, in the writing of the count himself,” answered I, handing him the

letter.

Charnomski tore it out of my hands, glanced at the German

superscription, and, quite bewildered, slowly retreated, and

disappeared. After a few minutes the door was quickly opened, and I was

let in.

“Ah! _mille pardons!_” said Charnomski, bowing very low; “now just

fancy, I didn’t know you again in your uniform, you are so changed.

Welcome, thrice welcome, long-expected and wished-for guest!”

He turned and twisted and smirked so much that I could not help at once

pitying and laughing at him.

The Princess received me in a very small room, the windows looking

out on to the silent and deserted garden. There were now no splendid

damask walls, no gilt furniture, no bronze--in one word, not one of the

luxuries which there had been at Ragusa. She herself, the Grand-duchess

Elizabeth Tarakanova, Princess Wladimirskaya, Dame D’Azow--she who had

captivated the Shah of Persia and German princes--was now lying ill on

a leathern sofa, a blue velvet mantilla thrown over her, and her feet

encased in fur slippers. The room was cold and damp. A log of wood was

flickering dimly in the fireplace, shedding no warmth anywhere. I did

not recognise the Princess. Her thin and wan face, with the hectic

flush in each cheek, seemed more lovely than ever. Her eyes smiled, but

they were not the same; they reminded me of the eyes of a beautiful

wild fawn, mortally wounded, escaping the chase, but feeling that her

end is near.

“Ah! you are come at last!” said she timidly, smiling. “You have

brought the answer to my letter from the count.… I have read it.… Thank

you.… What have you to tell me?”

“The count is your most obedient servant,” answered I, repeating the

words that had been said to me. “He is quite at your service and at

your feet.”

The Princess rose. Arranging her beautiful fair wavy hair, which she

wore without powder, she put out her hand with a timid, friendly

gesture. I ventured to raise it to my lips.

“Here all, excepting two persons, have deserted me,” said she; but

her strong convulsive cough interrupted her. She put a handkerchief

to her lips,--“and then, added to that, I fell ill;--but all that’s

nonsense,--it’s not worth speaking about. But do you know now that

I’m quite without any means? The Prince Radzivill, his friends, the

French people who helped me, have all deserted me, have all hidden

themselves,--and all that happened so unexpectedly,--so quickly.…

Hardly was peace signed with Turkey when my _complaisant_ Polish

magnates one and all threw me off. Never mind; I’ll pay them out for

that some day. But now, … I must tell you openly,” added she, smiling,

“I am quite, yes, _quite_, without money. I have not one single

_baioch_[31]--I’ve nothing to pay the doctor, or to procure provisions,

with. My creditors give me no peace: threaten me with the police. It’s

awful; I’ve nothing left to live upon.…”

Having said this, the Princess began again to cough most awfully, and

fixed upon me her supplicating, bewildered glance;--of her former

confidence not a trace remained.

“Your Highness,” said I, fulfilling my instructions, “the count has

sent you this small sum. How much there is here I know not, but the

count offers it to you with all his heart.”

I handed to the Princess a small packet, sealed with the count’s crest,

and containing a cheque on a Roman banker, Jenkins. She read the paper,

passed her hands over her eyes, looked me in the face, and again began

coughing.

“Is it possible?” she exclaimed, with a happy smile, pressing the paper

to her heart; “it is true then--it is not a hoax?”

“Such exalted and important personages as His Grace the Count Orloff

never joke on such subjects,” answered I.

The Princess all of a sudden jumped up from the sofa, clapped her hands

like a child, and with tears and smiles threw her arms round my neck,

screamed out something I could not make out, and ran out of the room.

From there I could hear her scream, “Unlimited credit!” and then, all

at once, I could hear her hysterical sobs. The servants began running

to and fro; Charnomski, pale and agitated, came into the room.

“Her Highness is so grateful to you,” said he, pressing my hand with

emotion. “You are the first to help her, the first who has kept his

word. It is so rare now: the Princess had every reason to hesitate; she

has been so often deceived. Yes, my countrymen enticed her here, and

then deserted her.… The count invites her to come to Bologna. Whether

she will consent or not, I do not know; but we must hope that she

will decide to accept the invitation of the count. She is fearless,

enterprising, as brave as a chevalier; and to reach the aim so dear to

her heart, believe me, she will fear nothing.”

“May I let the count know this?” I asked.

“Wait a short time--in her position--and then, as you see, ill,”

answered Charnomski; “pass again in two or three days, we will let you

know. _En attendant_,[32] keep all secret.”

“But there are other Russians here,” I answered, “who see the Princess.

They may injure her. Who are they?”

Charnomski flushed to the very roots of his hair, looked embarrassed,

gave me a side-long glance, and answered that he knew nothing about

that.

I took my departure. Several days passed, but still I knew nothing of

the Princess. We took it by turns, Christianok and I, to watch the

house from one of the neighbouring restaurants, noticing who went in

and out, and awaiting further events.

For the first two or three days all in the house was as quiet and

solitary as usual. The doctor came several times, then a woman dressed

all in black, covered with a long black veil, to all appearance a

nun. She always used to remain a considerable time with the Princess.

One evening a servant of the house brought up to the _perron_ a very

handsome hired carriage; a woman wrapped in a blue velvet mantilla came

out with tottering steps, and took a seat in the carriage.

“The Princess!” said I, to Christianok. “We must follow and find out

where she goes.”

We called a cab,[33] and followed her. The carriage, its blinds drawn

down, rapidly passed through several streets, bowled out into the

Corso, and drew up at the door of the banker Jenkins. All was clear

now; the magical key, the count’s cheque, had opened the door to the

confiding and fearless beauty.

Another week passed, and still no news of the Princess. I had caught

cold, and was obliged to keep indoors, but Christianok, who alone now

watched the house, told me with great indignation that we had been made

fools of, and nothing else; the Princess did not even think of going

to Bologna. She had, as the emissary learnt, paid all her debts; the

creditors and the police, who had threatened her with arrest, had been

tranquillized, and had therefore left her at peace.

The house of Juani had wonderfully altered. Before the _perron_ all day

and late at night stood a whole crowd of carriages. The retinue of the

Princess had again increased; she had taken the two floors of the vast

house of Juani, and had ordered herself splendid toilettes. Again, as

before, she was to be seen constantly driving out, visiting museums,

galleries, paying and receiving visits: she kept open house.

At this very time Rome was especially lively; the new Pope was to be

chosen in place of the late Clement XIV. In the evening the salons of

the Princess were filled with the most celebrated painters, musicians,

_littérateurs_, and high clergy. The “Unknown” in the black dress had

not been seen for a long time. Once I had met her at the door of the

house of Juani. On seeing me, she turned away impatiently, and, did

I dream it?--said something in Russian. I just caught a glimpse of

golden hair streaked with grey, and the angry flash of splendid grey

eyes. The windows of the Princess were often open, and through them

were heard the strains of the harp, on which she played artistically.

A whole crowd of loiterers and beggars, always expecting her generous

gratuities, surrounded the house from morning to night, and we could

often hear them noisily applauding the splendid cavalcades of the

Princess. I had quite recovered now, and could see for myself the

Princess, as before, heedless, gay, now riding a spirited charger,

flying like the wind along the squares, in the streets, now driving in

an open carriage; always merry, always laughing. Involuntarily I felt

glad for her, poor young thing, having, through me, because of her

sex, found help and support in her dark days. One thing alone vexed

me. Christianok, who had been given to me as an assistant, began to

hint at the possible want of candour of the count towards me. Rome

began to talk of the lovely Princess, just as Venice had talked,

and even--though in the last days so bitter against her--Ragusa.

Christianok, somehow or other, learnt that the banker Jenkins had

paid her in the name of the count 10,000 ducats. The revived beauty

spent the money she received with a lavish hand, never thinking that

some day it would come to an end. I was once invited to one of her

_soirées_; the Princess seemed a radiant sun among surrounding stars.

She played on the harp with such feeling, that I was deeply moved. Of

her departure, however, she said nothing. She merely remarked once, _en

passant_, “Be easy; it will be all right.”

At the end of a few days, on the advice of Christianok, I wrote her

a letter, reminding her of the count. The answer was very long in

coming. We were lost in conjectures. At last I received a note from

her, inviting me to meet her in the Church of Santa Maria dell’ Angela.

It was evening. I went silently into the dim church, which was filled

with the odour of incense. Here and there flickered a taper before the

picture of some saint. A mysterious silence seemed to fill the deserted

obscurity of the columns and _prie-dieux_. In the loneliest corner,

behind a high _prie-dieu_, with a prayer-book in one hand, stood,

wrapped in a very elegant mantilla, a tall slender figure, veiled--I

recognised the Princess.

“The wish for the welfare and happiness of my fatherland, and future

subjects,” said she, bending her head over her prayer-book, “is so

strong in me that I have decided to accept the invitation of the count.

Before, he frightened me; I did not believe him. Now I have full

confidence. You see, I have kept my word. To all my friends I have said

that I am bidding adieu to the world; that for the rest of my life I am

shutting myself up in a nunnery.--To you I will say something else.…”

She lingered, as though gathering strength.

“To-morrow I take my departure,” said she, in a dignified voice; “not

for a convent, but with you for the Count Orloff’s. You will not

deceive me; you will not betray me?”

I silently bowed. What could I answer? I, the faithful subject of

her Imperial Majesty. The eyes of the Princess were filled with

exultation--with hopes. She knew no doubts, no distrust. Before me

stood a woman deeply convinced. Pity for her involuntarily stole over

me.

“And so till to-morrow, and then, _en route_.…”

“Well, thank God, at last,” thought I, “the count will now be able to

convince her; he’ll arrange matters for her.”

She shook me warmly by the hand; seemed as though she wished to add

something, then rapidly disappeared. I also directed my steps to

the church porch. As I approached the vessel of holy water, a woman

standing there stepped forward and stood in front of me. I recognised

the person in black whom I had seen entering the house of Juani.

“Konsov,” said she, in an indignant whisper in Russian, pushing me

aside behind one of the columns; “you--you are a traitor.”

“How dare you say that? Who are you?” asked I. “If you are Russian,

tell me your name?”

[Illustration: THE COUNT ALEXIS ORLOFF.

_“He was neither revengeful,_

_Nor proud, wicked and deceitful._

_He was beloved by the Nation,_

_To the Empress true.”_]

“My name’s nothing to you. You are in a conspiracy against her;

… you have persuaded her to go; … you have enticed her into a

trap”;--whispered, with agitation, the Unknown, gripping my hand.

“Swear! … or you are a monster; just such a ruffian as those who got

others to ruin another innocent--in Schlusselburg!…”

I remembered my grandmother had told me about the bloody drama of

Merovitch.

“Fear nothing,” said I; “before you, you see an honest officer.… I am

only fulfilling my duty, and am convinced that only a better future

awaits the Princess.”

The Unknown raised her hand, and silently pointed to the image of the

Virgin Mary.

“I can only repeat what I have already said,” I whispered. “The

Princess is safe, and a more happy fate awaits her.”

She shook my hand, bowed, and silently left the church.

I followed her as far as I could with my eyes, trying to guess who she

was, and why she took so profound an interest in the Princess.

CHAPTER XI.

_THE DEPARTURE FROM ROME._

It was the 12th of February. The day was very cold and northern-like,

but withal very bright. The Princess, her suite and servants, took

their seats in several carriages. At the Church of San Carlo she

distributed rich alms to the poor, and then, followed by a whole crowd

of artists and nobles, and amidst the cries and shouts of the populace,

who ran after her, waving hats and caps, she left Rome. At the town

gates, she signed her name in the books as Countess Selinski. She took

the Florentine route.

I galloped in front, while Christianok followed closely behind her.

On the 16th of February the Princess arrived at Bologna. The count was

not in town; he was awaiting her in his more retired palace of Pisa.

The noisy train and crowd of servants following the Princess, and

amounting to several dozens of people, exceedingly astonished the

count. However, he received his visitor very respectfully and

cordially, appointed her a splendid apartment, not far from his own,

surrounded her with every comfort possible, and at all times conducted

himself as a most faithful subject, never even, before strangers,

sitting down in her presence. Strange things began to happen. What the

count said to the Princess, what negotiations passed between them, no

one of course knew. We could only surmise--as we did very soon--that a

most hazardous game of love was being played. And, indeed, the Princess

soon afterwards removed from her own apartment to that of the count,

while her retinue and servants remained where they were. Christianok,

ever since the arrival of the Princess, constantly tried to put me in

the shade. He exalted his own services, as though the whole success of

the plot was due to him alone. Of course my pride would only allow me

to look upon all this with contempt. The count could see for himself

that it was to my influence alone that he owed the arrival of the

Princess.

Rumours began to circulate that Alexis Gregorevitch had made the

Princess many presents; that among other things he had given her

his own miniature, painted on ivory and encircled with precious

stones; that for her he had, even from the very first, deserted his

much beloved favourite, the lovely and amiable wife of the rich

Alexandre Lvovitch Davidoff, a born Orloff. There remained no doubt.

The enchantress had won the heart of the count, our _preux_. The lion

had fallen in love with a gay butterfly. Dazzled by her, the count no

longer made a secret of his passion. He was to be seen openly with her

everywhere--on the promenade, at the opera, or at church: it was all

the same. One day the Princess did me the honour to call me. She began

asking me about this and about that and assured me several times that

she had more confidence in me than in any one else. The count also

was always most amiable. Christianok, seeing me again in favour, had

recourse to a little ruse. The cunning Greek began to complain that

the Princess had been very sparing in her attentions to him at Rome,

and that he could not forget it; she therefore, with the permission of

the count, gave him a colonel’s brevet. I was passed by. I bore this

injustice without a murmur, relying on the confidence reposed in me by

the count and the Princess, of which I was soon to have proofs.

“Well Konsov!” said the count to me one day, “honour and glory to

you, who have known so well how to procure me the opportunity of

making myself agreeable to such a person. We must prepare for her, in

the future, a quiet and comfortable life. Is she not, truly, a lovely

creature? What a lively and charming character! I must say, candidly,

I’m almost ready to marry her myself, and have done with my bachelor

life.…”

“Well and why not, your Grace?” answered I. “What should there be to

prevent it?”

“She won’t consent, old fellow; she says, ‘I’ll consent only when I’m

in my proper place.’”

“How so? Excuse me, I don’t understand. What proper place?”

“Oh! well, cannot you understand?… When she will be in Russia, at

home,--well, when the empress will condescend to recognise her rights.”

“But is there any hope of that?”

Orloff became thoughtful.

“Well, I think,” said he, “that it might be possible; I hope her

friends will not spoil everything. They follow her so closely here, all

those Poles, those Jesuits of all kinds. Who knows? They may poison

us. They may shoot us; or give us a stab at the corner of the street

with a hired _Kinjal_.[34] All they desire is a person for their

disturbances.”

The count seemed very much agitated. His frank, open and intelligent

countenance seemed troubled. The passion of his heart, working as it

were against his will, could be heard in his trembling voice, in each

of his words.

The day ended. The count did not leave his visitor for a minute.

“Here’s bad luck! she won’t listen. Really I don’t know what to do,”

said he, one day, having summoned me. “If I could find some one to help

me, … some one who could persuade her.…”

“Persuade her to what?” I asked.

“To a private marriage, and then flight.…”

“But with whom?”

“With me!…”

“What! your Grace! but where to?”

“To the end of the world, if need be.… Ah, yes, while I think of it,

persuade her not to carry pistolets on her person; the other day, in a

passion, she nearly killed her own maid, Francesca.…”

Having uttered this confession, this athletic, this splendid

Apollo-like count, stood before me as flushed as a schoolgirl, and his

eyes were cast down, just as if he were some love-sick youth awaiting

his sentence.

What answer could I make him? In my agitation I was silent; but then,

as always, I decided to remain his most devoted and obedient servant.

After all, what was it? A marriage. There was nothing bad in that. In

marrying her the count was only obeying the dictates of his heart, and

while gaining in position by allying himself with Imperial blood, he

was transforming the “Adventuress” into the modest Countess Orloff.

* * * * *

Here I must interrupt my narrative, and return to the present--to our

poor frigate. My God! how awful! Tempest-tost, the _Northern Eagle_

for five whole days was borne no one knew whither. All the reckonings,

all the fathomings were being done in vain. To-day, at dawn, we passed

Spain, not far from the African coast and near some wild stony islands.

We made signals, but in the fog no one could see us. In the daytime,

having finished my watch, I remained on deck. A most unbearable, sultry

coast-wind, a boundless expanse of water, splashing between the rocks,

a ship without mast or compass, universal despair, and not the least

hope of being saved: that is all we have before our eyes. The first

reef, and we are lost. Irena, oh! far-off charming traitress! oh! could

you but see all the torments endured by the poor rejected exile! Night,

again a calm. I’m once more in my cabin. All-powerful God, give me only

the strength to live through this night and finish writing my tale.

CHAPTER XII.

_THE PRINCESS SEEKS MY ADVICE._

The exhausted commander sleeps soundly. Only the sentinels and I are

on watch. I shall begin now to relate the saddest experience of all

my life. This experience is the principal excuse for my writing this

confession. May she who caused me to wander, an exile in a foreign

land, remember that she was the involuntary participator in that action

which will remain a source of regret and reproach to the end of my life.

It was at Bologna, to which place the count had removed.

The Princess had desired to see me. She kindly invited me to be seated,

and took a chair herself. I noticed again those two hectic spots on her

cheeks, that her eyes were literally glowing, and that she seemed quite

beside herself.

“Lieutenant, I sent for you to confide in you a secret,” she said,

throwing an anxious glance around.

“I am all attention, your Highness, and you may trust me,” I answered.

“The count starts to-morrow for Livorno. Did you know it?”

“Yes,” I answered.

“You see, there has been a quarrel there, and a fight between some

English and Russian sailors, and the count wishes to invite his friend,

the English consul, a Mr. Dickson, to settle the matter.”

“Well! what about that?” I said. “That’s nothing important; it will

soon be arranged, and the count will return.”

“He has asked me to go with him.… What if I refuse? If I don’t

accompany him? What do you think? He’ll not desert me, as all the

others have done, and disappear for ever?”

“Oh! but why not go?” answered I, following the idea of the count.

“It’s a simple promenade. Why not accompany the count? The weather is

splendid. It could only be a pleasure trip for you both.”

“Yes,” she answered thoughtfully, “I should very much like to see the

town and your fleet; the count praises his sailors so highly.”

“Well, and what is there to prevent your going?” I said thoughtfully.

“Yes,” I said to myself, “it would seem that the count is very

persistent. He won’t leave her alone for a single instant.”

“Ah! yes! I was forgetting,” said the Princess, as though collecting

her thoughts.

Looking at her, I could see that her eyes were full of tears, her lips

trembling, and that, though looking at me, she seemed not to see me.

“Listen!” she said reluctantly. “You’re an honest man.… The count has

made me an offer of marriage--has proposed to me. What do you think of

it?”

I rose respectfully.

“Allow me to congratulate you from the bottom of my heart,” I said

earnestly, bowing. “Your merit has triumphed over everything. But there

is nothing wonderful in that.”

“But will he not deceive me? Will he not betray me?” whispered the

Princess, again glancing around.

Her very lips were blanched; she was quite beside herself.

“Tell me the whole truth, I implore you! You see, following his advice,

I carry no arms upon me; it offends him.…”

It flashed through my mind that just during this very journey the count

might persuade her to marry him.

“But, your Highness,” said I, and those fatal words burn now in my

brain like letters of fire, “what do you fear? The count is madly in

love with you, that I know surely. He sleeps but to see you in his

dreams; even, he wanted to fly away with you.”

“Then it is the truth? Swear by the memory of your mother, of your

father,” said she, squeezing my hand with all her might.

“In the name of God, it is true! I heard it from his own lips. He

honoured me with his confidence. Besides, what am I in his eyes?

Nothing; the meanest servant, the merest cipher, … and yet he told even

me openly.…”

The Princess fixed her eyes on the image of the Saviour crowned with

thorns hung up in the corner of the room, and she remained motionless

for several minutes, as though breathing a silent and fervent prayer.

“The brave alone live!” said she, rising and drawing herself up to her

full height. “Once his wife, he cannot betray me.… I shall go.… But,

remember, I’ll not give up either liberty or heart without a struggle.…

What is to happen will happen soon.…”

I again heartily congratulated the Princess.

“Ah! another thing, Konsov,” she said, stopping me. “Tell me truly, in

all conscience, as before God, is it this same Orloff who helped your

empress to obtain the throne?”

“The very same.”

“How brave! how gallant! what a hero!” said the Princess, with

animation. “Fearless Cid! Bayard! A spark of God’s Spirit gives such

men their bravery and their fearlessness.”

I went away full of joy at the successful issue of our plan. Still I

had certain misgivings. “Does the Princess know of his other feat? Why

did I not tell her of that other dark, unpardonable sin?” I was only

faithful to my duty, obeyed the orders of my superior, but could not

help pitying the woman.

Heavy doubts overwhelmed me, and all night I could not shut my eyes.

“Duty is duty, but, if--? Should I go to-morrow morning,” whispered

my conscience, “and warn her? There’s time; let her think well, weigh

everything, and then decide.”

When dawn broke, I got up, dressed, and hastened to the house of

the count. Before the house quite a crowd of people had collected.

Carriages were driving to and fro. I made my way through the throng.

The count and Princess had already taken their seats in a carriage.

Christianok was seated in another. Some of the servants occupied a

third.

“Make haste, Konsov! Take your place. We were only waiting for you!”

Unconsciously almost I took my place by Christianok.

The train started. After the heavy rain, the morning had emerged into a

beautiful calm.

“What do you see in all this?” Christianok asked me, when we had fairly

started.

“In what?”

“Well, in this little _voyage_?”

“I really do not know, and dare not guess,” I answered.

“Well, to-morrow there will be a bridal couple,” he said, and smiled.

“They’ll be married.”

“But where’s the church?”

“What is the Fleet church for? They’ll get on the Admiralty ship, and

there be spliced in a trice. But of course it was only for that she

consented to go.…”

“Then it _is_ true?”

“Well! don’t you see it yourself? The count seems to be on wings; it

seemed too good to be true. So, you see, the fairy tale will soon

become a true event.”

At Livorno, the Count Orloff was met by the commander of our squadron,

Admiral Samuel Carlovitch Greig. Afterwards the count and Princess

paid him a visit, and then called on the English consul, drove out with

him, his wife, and a whole circle of visitors into the country, and

then went for a sail in boats with music; everywhere they were followed

by a curious mob. In the evening of the second day of their arrival at

Livorna, the count and the Princess went to the opera. On their return,

I noticed in the vestibule of the splendid marble palace assigned to

the count another intriguing Greek also serving in our fleet, Joseph

Michaelevitch Ribas, or, as he called himself, De Ribas. He also

somewhat resembled Christianok, being as black as a beetle; but being

taller and not so nimble, we used to call the pair of them the Beetle

and Cockchafer. De Ribas, as I afterwards learnt, had been engaged even

sooner than I or Christianok, having been sent to Venice to collect

information about the Princess.

“Good-bye, priest,” said the count to Ribas, laughing and not noticing

me. “Mind, don’t forget the vestments.”

“Vestments, … and why priest?” I stood under the marble colonnade

bewildered, lost in thought, hardly seeing the lovely blue boundless

sea and our squadron.

CHAPTER XIII.

_THE “MARRIAGE.”_

The 22nd of February was lovely, almost like summer in its warmth,

not a cloud in the skies, the sea calm as a mirror, a holiday feeling

in the air. The English consul had invited the count and Princess,

and all their suite to luncheon. The Princess arrived, splendidly and

tastefully dressed, and, as always, gay and lively. Where was her

illness? She chatted merrily with the other guests. On the terrace,

adorned with flowers, she walked, carelessly laughing and joking. Every

one showed her the greatest attention and respect.

Count Alexis Gregorevitch was a model _cavalier-servant_ of the

Princess, holding her fan and her gloves, and taking from the hands of

the servants the cool refreshing drinks, to offer them himself to her.

All noticed that his amorous glances followed her everywhere, and that

she seemed born to new life. As by magic her languor had disappeared;

her _preux chevalier_, the tamed lion, was at her feet.

“Ha! our Celadon, what think you of him?” whispered Christianok. “Yes,

resting on his laurels of Chesma, the hero does not disdain another

conquest!”

Admiral Greig, by nature of a very taciturn disposition, took no part

in the conversation, but sat a little apart, extremely stern, sad of

countenance, and with downcast eyes, seeming to notice nothing.

Some one walked up to the window. From there you could see the blue sea

and the Russian flotilla. The ladies began talking of pleasant sails on

the sea.

“Well, count! show us your ships,” said the Princess. “In Civita

Vecchia you showed them the mock-fight of Chesma; you gave others

pleasure, honour us also.”

“All is ready,” answered Orloff, bowing respectfully.

The whole party went down to the sea-shore. Count Alexis Gregorevitch

was specially respectful to the Princess. He himself placed her shawl

on her shoulders, and taking her parasol from the hands of her maid,

opened it, and, walking by her side, shielded her from the sun, all the

while whispering in her ears the most passionate protestations of love.

The whole crowd of spectators collected on the sea-shore looked

admiringly at his general’s uniform of dark green with red facings, all

covered with gold embroidery, which adorned his splendid figure, and on

all sides we could hear cries of “_Vivat_,” mixed with whispers of “Oh!

what a couple!”

They all took their places in the boats and barges standing ready

by the sea-shore. The Princess seated herself in a splendid gilded

barge, ornamented and arranged with imperial luxury. The wives of

Admiral Greig and of the English consul took their places by her

side. The count went with the Admiral, and I with the retinue of the

Princess. The barge floated in the direction of the Russian flotilla.

We were received by the squadron with the greatest pomp. Flags waved

everywhere. The officers in their brightest uniforms stood at their

posts; the sailors at the masts. From all the ships floated the most

delicious music. The waves gently rocked us. The receding shore was

covered with spectators.

As we touched the admiral’s ship, the _Three Hierarchs_, a splendid

gilt arm-chair was let down, in which first of all the Princess was

pulled up, and then the other ladies. We mounted the trap. The ladies

had hardly stepped on deck, when from all sides came cries of “Hurrah!”

and cannon were fired. The sight was splendid. The spectators in the

streets and on shore merrily waved their hats and handkerchiefs. All

were in high expectation that Orloff would conduct the manœuvres, and,

to make the illusion more complete, would burn some old useless ship. A

great many glasses were pointed at us from the shore. Dozens of little

boats, filled with onlookers, started from the shore in the direction

of our ship. On board the _Three Hierarchs_ there seemed to be great

commotion. The whole staff of the admiral’s servants were running to

and fro, with trays loaded with wine, bon-bons, and fruit. There was

dancing in the saloon. The younger gentlemen and ladies were dancing

with all their heart the _contre-danse_ and _cotillon_. The wives of

the admiral and consul surrounded the Princess with little attentions.

The ladies were soon invited into a special cabin, where presently

they were joined by the count and the admiral, who were busily talking

together. The latter seemed quite out of sorts, and very gloomy.

“They are going to marry the count and the Princess,” I heard one of

the officers whisper to another.

I was dumbfounded.

“But why here?” asked the one to whom the question was addressed. “Why

all this mystery, all this haste?”

“There’s no Russian church here. The admiral has lent his, and that

accounts for the Princess’s arrival at Livorno, and her presence on

board.”

After a little while the decks began to be deserted, and many of the

suite, getting into the barges, were rowed back to land, amongst

others, the two cunning and clever Greeks, Ribas and Christianok.

On seeing them, I do not know why, there flashed through my mind the

words of the count to Ribas,--“Priest and vestments.” In the meantime

there were no clergy to be seen on board. The deck was becoming more

and more deserted. The officers were walking backwards and forwards,

gaily chatting and pointing their glasses at the occupants of the

boats. The band played a very gay march, and then an aria from a

well-known opera.

What took place below all this while has remained a mystery. Several

asserted afterwards that nothing particular had occurred, but that

at table the betrothal of the count and Princess had been solemnly

announced, and that all had drunk the health of the bridal couple.

Others on oath protested that in another cabin there had been a mock

marriage between the count and Princess, so that Orloff, in her eyes at

least, might seem to be keeping his word, and that in this sacrilegious

ceremony the _rôle_ of Priest and Deacon had been played by Christianok

and Ribas, who were dressed up in the vestments of the clergy of the

fleet, the first acting the part of deacon, and the second that of

priest.

But I am running on too fast; let us return to the deck of the _Three

Hierarchs_.

My strength fails me; my heart bursts; the pen falls from my fingers

when I recollect all that I was so soon to see.

Wherever I shall be,--if I remain, by a miracle of God, alive, or if I

am destined to perish in the waves,--the remembrance of all that I then

saw will only be effaced from my mind with my last dying groan.

The deck was full of life. All had left the cabins, and were now

sitting in detached groups; there was laughing and talking on all

sides; servants were running to and fro, with cooling drinks and wine.

The Princess was leaning over the side of the vessel. The wind was

rising; it was getting cool. She called me to her side with a friendly

nod. I helped her to put on her mantilla.

“If I live a hundred years I shall not forget this,” she whispered,

with a happy smile, shaking me warmly by the hand. “You have kept your

word. All is being fulfilled. I shall soon be in Russia, and once

there--why not hope? They will proclaim the future Empress Elizabeth

II.… Oh! now is the time for wonders. The present empress, what was she

a little while ago?”

Those words filled me with astonishment. I was silent, bewildered by

the wild fantasies of this poor blinded creature.

On board the _Three Hierarchs_ they hoisted a signal flag. Again the

roar of the cannon was heard, mingled with the cries of “Hurrah!” The

bands on all the ships again began playing; the flotilla was beginning

its manœuvres. Enchanted by all this attention on the part of her

future subjects, the Princess, still leaning against the side of the

ship, seemed plunged in agreeable thought, as her eyes followed the

curling smoke from the shots and the movements of the different ships.

I see her now, as she then stood, in her blue velvet mantilla, a small

black straw hat, and a white parasol in her hands.

I also was lost in thought. Yes, all is finished now! The count has

found a companion for life. He will know how to persuade her. Together

they will fly to the feet of a merciful empress.

CHAPTER XIV.

_TREACHERY._

“Your swords, gentlemen!” resounded a most loud and commanding voice

near me.

I glanced round. Captain Litvenoff addressed himself by turn to all the

adjutants and others in the count’s retinue, demanding their swords.

The deck was covered with armed sailors. Admiral Greig, his wife, and

the consul were nowhere to be seen. Quite bewildered, I surrendered my

sword, as did all the others. The Princess, hearing the clatter of arms

and loud words, turned rapidly round. She was as pale as death; she had

taken in the situation at a glance.

“What does all this mean?” she asked in French.

“In the name of the empress, you are arrested,” answered the captain.

“Violence! force!” screamed the Princess. “Help,--here,--to me!”

She rushed to the trap, forcing her way with her feeble hands through

the ranks of armed men. The sailors, sunburnt and sullen, looked at

her in astonishment. Litvenoff stopped her.

“Impossible!” said he. “Be calm.”

“Perfidy! Malediction!” madly cried she. “How dare you--with a

woman--with a Russian Princess. Do you hear? Let me pass,” she cried to

the soldiers in French. “Where is Count Orloff? Call him here. Bring

him here. You shall answer for all this!”

“The count, by order of the empress and admiral, is also arrested,”

answered Litvenoff, respectfully bowing. “He is arrested just as you

are!”

The Princess gave a loud scream, and drew back.

Her reproachful glance fell upon me. It seemed to pierce my heart like

a dagger, as though saying, “It is your fault. You have ruined me.”

She staggered back a few steps, and then fainted away.

The sailors carried her into the cabin. All the servants, except her

maid, who remained with her, had been arrested, and under a strong

escort had been transferred to another ship.

* * * * *

Shattered in my innermost soul by all that I had seen, I recovered my

senses to find myself in a small dim cabin. Lifting up my head, I saw

that I was shut in with that dastard Christianok, the principal author

of our misery, the perpetrator of the treachery. I cannot say what

astonishment I showed. My comrade, at all events, was very calm. He was

lounging, and eating some bon-bons he had snatched up from the table,

and glancing from time to time at our closed door.

“You’re astonished?” he asked me. “Is it not true? What wonderful

things! Yes?”

“Yes, there’s enough to be astonished at!” I answered, concealing my

disgust with difficulty.

“It was impossible otherwise,” said he.

“Why?”

“Because only the bait of marriage could tempt this adventuress.”

“Yes! but why play with her feelings, with her heart?” said I,

impatiently.

“We should never have got her on board otherwise.”

“There were many other ways. I know myself that the count promised

her on his oath to marry her, and that once his wife, she would have

trusted herself with our fleet.”

“Ah! my dear Konsov, what simplicity!” chuckled the cunning knave. “Is

it possible you have not yet guessed? Why, at the very moment when the

count was playing with the Princess at the most tender protestations of

love, I was writing under his dictation, and in his name, a letter to

the empress, telling her that he had decided to do everything to catch

the adventuress, and even, if need be, to tie a stone to her neck, and

throw her into the river.”

“And why didn’t you straightway drown her?” I cried out, scarcely

knowing what I said. “It would have been far more merciful than to

deceive the poor unfortunate, consumptive creature.…”

“She’ll live long enough, yet,” said Christianok. “The orders were to

catch her quietly, cleverly, without any noise. That’s just what we

have done.”

I heard these cold hard words with the greatest indignation. I was

almost beside myself at the heartlessness of the wily Greek.

“No! enough, old man. Calm your knightly feelings; that’s all bosh. In

our time, remember, the most important thing is courage, and impudence

itself must be clever and sharp. Success means might and riches;

non-success, poverty, or what is worse, Siberia. No, you had better get

up. Don’t you see that it’s time?…”

Raising my head, I saw that our door was open, and through it I could

see the whole crew, walking to and fro, and talking gaily. The Greek

and I were taken into the ward-room. There on the table stood a whole

battery of wine bottles. The room was filled with the fumes of tobacco

and punch. We were forced to drink, and then sent on shore. There I

learnt that the count had all this time been with the admiral at the

consul’s, discussing their future movements.

In the evening the streets of Livorno were filled with turbulent and

indignant crowds. The Russians shut themselves up in their houses.

Involuntarily I grasped my hat and cloak, and taking the most deserted

streets, proceeded to the sea-shore.

CHAPTER XV.

_REMORSE._

I fell down on the shore. Oh! my God! what anguish! Tears blinded me.

Sobs stifled me. I hated, I cursed the whole world. “How,” thought I,

“could such a dastardly, godless deed be perpetrated, and I all the

while a partaker in the crime?” My whole frame shook with indignation,

with madness, as with horror I turned over in my mind every little

detail; thought over all the disgusting and dastardly meanness, the

fiendish calculation, the treachery of him to whom I had been so

faithful and so devoted, and who had not scrupled to sport with that

most sacred feeling--love. I could fancy to myself at that very minute

that poor deserted woman, half killed with misery. I could picture her

in my mind sitting in her dark prison, her soul torn with anguish; who

knows, perhaps chained and watched over by coarse, brutal soldiers.

“And when did all that take place?” I repeated to myself. “When all

seemed so smiling, when all her golden dreams seemed ready to be

fulfilled.” The obscure daughter of the late empress had seen at her

feet the highest dignitary of the new empress. The whole fleet had met

her with cries of joy, with roars of cannon. What must she have felt?

what must she have experienced? From under the rock where I was lying I

could see the lovely sunset, gilding with its last rays the top of the

hills, the crosses on the town churches, and, fading almost entirely,

the outlines of the ships at sea. “Oh! infamy! infamy!” I whispered.

“Count Orloff has sullied his soul with an action still darker than all

the rest. No laurels, not even the laurels of Chesma, will now be able

to shield him from the justice of God or man. And also, according to

our services, shall justice be meted out to us--his accomplices in that

dark deed.”

My despair was so strong that I was ready to have done with life.

“No; repent all thy life, repent,” seemed to whisper an inner voice.

“Search for means to redeem thy dark crime.”

A gun was fired from the flag-ship, and on all the other ships nearer

were heard the strains of the vesper music, and then the prayers rose

on the still air. The sable veil of night descended on the sea; on the

guard-ship, and along the shore, the watch-fires began to be lighted.

I rose, and, hardly able to drag my feet along, crawled home. There I

found the orderly of the count waiting for me. I followed him.

“Well! Konsov! now confess you were a little astonished,” said the

count coming to meet me.

My tongue clove to the roof of my mouth. Well, what could I have said

in answer to him? He, gifted with all the blessings of life; this

_preux_ chevalier; this dignitary, brave, bold, daring, courageous,

loaded with honours, a short time ago my idol, was now to me loathsome,

unbearable.

“Do you think that I don’t remember? that I have forgotten?” he

continued, avoiding looking me straight in the face. “Oh! I know well

that for the most important part I am indebted to you.… Had it not been

her faith in you, and in your interest, it would not have been so easy

to cage the bird.…”

The words of the count literally stung me. I stood confused, bewildered.

“But, perhaps you do not know, you have not heard,” as if to console

me, said the count--“do not take on so--we had received from Petersburg

the most formal and detailed instructions concerning this usurper,

this person who had taken to herself a name and lineage not belonging

to her. The order was to arrest her at any cost, and bring her there.

Well, now have you understood?”

In my confusion and trouble I could make no answer.

“The Pretender is now in our hands. The will of our Sovereign has been

fulfilled, and the prisoner will soon sail for the north. There’ll be

enough inquiries set on foot; they’ll dig down to the very roots.… All

that’s not the work of foreigners alone. I think there’ll be mixed up

in this not a few of our own travellers. In the papers of that liar

there are not a few well-known signatures.…”

“Yes, you’re rejoicing; there’ll be again new arrests, again

inquiries,” thought I. “And yourself, what did you do, stony-hearted

man?”

“Why don’t you say something?” asked the count.

“The whole town is in agitation; there are mobs, screams, threats. Have

a care, count,” I added, unable to conceal my disgust; “this is not

Russia.… You might get a stab when least expecting it.”

“Ah, well, my fine fellow,” said he frowning, “whoever touches you or

any other of ours, or even threatens, just point to the sea.… Seven

hundred cannon, all sweeping the whole shore. I’ve only to raise my

hand, and the whole town will be level and clear. There, go now, and

tell every one that, and add that I fear no one.…”

“Braggart!” thought I to myself, shivering with rage.

I left the count without opening my mouth, and without even a bow.

CHAPTER XVI.

_THE BOTTLE CAST INTO THE SEA._

Several wretched, unbearable days passed. Livorno really rose, and

began to threaten us with an open attack. The indignant populace by

night and by day surrounded the palace of the count, and from time

to time threw stones at the building. The count was protected by a

bodyguard of sailors. Boats filled with ladies and gentlemen were

constantly sailing between the ships to try and catch a glimpse of

the unfortunate prisoner. I was sent on board the _Three Hierarchs_

with a letter and parcel of books which had been confided to me by the

count, as I learnt afterwards, for the Princess. As I was returning

to the shore I heard a cry, and turning round, was petrified. At the

open window of the _Three Hierarchs_ I could see, pressed to the iron

grating, a pale countenance and a hand waving a handkerchief. I also

answered by waving my hand. Was it noticed or not from the ship, behind

the high waves? I never knew. The sailors plied their oars sturdily;

there was a strong breeze, and the boat flew on the dancing waves.

* * * * *

Rumours began to circulate that the fleet would soon set sail. Where

for was not yet known.

I got ready to go out and learn, if possible, if I was to remain on the

Count’s staff. I was just taking up my hat, when some one entered the

room. I turned round. At the door stood a dark figure. On looking at

her, I recognised the Russian stranger of the Church Santa Maria.

Her travel-stained dress showed she had just come a long journey.

“You recognise me,” said she, throwing back her veil, and I could see

that her golden, wavy hair had become grey.

“What do you want?” I asked her.

“That’s how you answered for her. Those are your promises,” said she,

advancing a step towards me. “Where are your assurances, your word of

honour as a true man?”

“Listen to me.… I am innocent,” I began.

“Dastards! ruffians!” she screamed. “They’ve laid a trap, they’ve

enticed her, they’ve ruined the poor unfortunate, and then, think

_you_, they will all go scot free? You are easy now, you think. You

mistake. The hour of retribution is near; it will come--it will come--”

She advanced on me so menacingly, that I retreated to the open window.

We were on the second storey, and the window looked out on the garden.

I was very glad that at this minute the garden was quite deserted. The

noise could have attracted eaves-droppers, who might have insulted the

stranger, whose visit I could in no way understand, and who, as it

seemed to me, was quite incapable of being convinced.

“_You’re_ innocent?” she asked. “_Innocent?_”

“Yes. I acted honestly. You will see. I’ll show you; I’ll prove it to

you.…”

“Answer me.--You advised the Princess to come here.--You persuaded her!”

“I persuaded her.”

“You convinced her of the possibility of a marriage with Orloff. No

prevarication. You hear; give me a straight answer,” repeated this

woman, trembling with emotion.

“The count himself assured me, on his word of honour, that he meant

marriage.”

“Perfidious betrayer! Death to you!” cried the stranger, throwing her

hands wildly about.

I had no time to step back. A bullet whizzed by me. I was blinded by

the smoke. I caught the mad woman by the wrist. She began struggling

with all her might, her face distorted with passion, and once more

fired at me, luckily with no more success than at the first time.

Wresting the pistol from her hands, I threw it in the garden. The

noise had attracted the servants. I heard knocks at the door. I flew

to open it, and trying to appear as calm as possible, I assured them

that having unloaded my pistol at the window, it had gone off, but

that nothing had happened. They all left me and went away, throwing

side-glances at me. Having shut the hall door, I returned to the

stranger. I was in a state of mind impossible to describe.

“Ah! ah! what have you done? How could you? And for what? Why?”

My visitor put her head on the table and sobbed wildly.

I began to pace the room up and down, and, happening to glance at the

mirror, I saw a face which I could with difficulty recognise as my own.

“Look here,” at last said I to my visitor, “dry your tears. You must

know that I myself was the victim of the most abominable deceit.” I

began relating to her everything that had passed. “You see,” said I,

finishing, “God is merciful, and I am still alive. Now in your turn;

explain.”

The stranger could not for a long time utter one word. Having given her

some water, I invited her to follow me into the garden. Here, finally,

she recovered her power of speech. Two or three times she looked at me

humbly, as though asking for pardon, then at length she began.

“My tale is sadder than yours is,” she said, sobbing, after we had

taken a few turns in the garden, and had sat down; “but I have been so

guilty towards you,” covering her face with her hands, “that you will

never forgive me.”

“Forget all about that,” said I, recovering my composure. “I am ready

to forgive everything.… All comes from God.… Everything is in His

hands.…”

The stranger turned towards me her pale, sorrowful countenance, and

taking me by the hand again began sobbing.

“You are so generous,” she whispered. “Did you ever hear of the fate of

Merovitch?”

“Oh, yes! of course!”

“Well! I am--the guilty cause of his tentative.… I was his affianced

bride, Polixena Pchelkina.”

I was speechless.… All the details of the attempt of Merovitch, which I

had heard ten years ago from my old grandmother, memory brought back

vividly.

Bending towards her, I took her hand, the one that had just fired at

me, and pressed it with emotion.

“Speak! speak!” whispered I.

“I could no longer remain in Russia,” she continued in a strange

hurried voice. “For ten years I’ve wandered in all directions. I lived

in the nunneries of Volhynie and Lithuania. I tended the sick and

afflicted. A year ago, residing on the borders of the Volga, I first

heard about the Princess Tarakanova, Dame D’Azow, and Wladimirskaya.

Persons, quite unknown to me, called me to her side. You can understand

how I longed to be near her. I tried to get an interview with her.

Furnished with means by those same unknown persons, I first made the

acquaintance of the Princess by letter, and then personally at Ragusa.

I instinctively believed her. Oh! I did wish her happiness. Retribution

for the past! I took care of her, taught her her native language and

history, counselled her, informed her on all points. I followed her

everywhere. After her departure from Ragusa to Rome, I wrote to her,

exhorted her to take care. I was so convinced of her high destiny. You

know the rest.… What was my horror when I heard she was arrested! But I

shall remain at Livorno. I shall wait.… Oh! the Livornians will set her

free! But tell me, what do you think of her? Are you also convinced she

is no Pretender, but really the daughter of the Empress Elizabeth?”

“I can neither affirm nor deny.”

“But I am convinced. That idea is entwined round my heart, and I cannot

abandon it.”

My visitor rose. Having thrown her veil over her head, she fixed her

eyes upon me, pressed my hand, and, looking as though she wished to say

something more, with faltering steps she took her leave.

“You are good; you are compassionate,” said she, turning round on

reaching the garden gate. “Till better times!”

I saw this mysterious person once or twice. I went to her by

invitation. She was living in a small _asteria_, at the sign of “The

Lily,” within the walls of the convent of the Ursulines, whither she

had taken refuge. She still hoped that the Princess might be saved, in

England or in Holland, which our squadron had to pass.

“She--the persecuted--she is sent from Heaven to resuscitate her

birthland,” constantly repeated Polixena, at our last meeting. “I

believe in her. She will not be lost. She will be saved!”

* * * * *

In the night of the 26th of February, our fleet, under the flag of the

Vice-Admiral Greig, was suddenly ordered to raise anchors and sail for

the West. Christianok, with the report of the count to the empress,

travelled by land. He was ordered to go on to Moscow, where, after the

execution of Pougachoff, the empress had taken up her residence. Count

Alexis Gregorevitch at the same time left Livorno. His residence there

was attended with too much risk. Indignant at his dastardly act, the

sons of the ardent and free Italy became at last so enraged against

him, that the count, notwithstanding his strong escort, dared not leave

the house, and, fearing poison, partook of only bread and milk.

I started later on. As if at the dictates of a fatal destiny, I was

ordered on board the newly manned frigate, _The Northern Eagle_. This

frigate took not only the sick men of the crew, but also the great

collection which the count had been at so much pains to acquire,

consisting of pictures, statues, bronzes, and other rare things.

They were the fruit of the count’s victories in the Turkish and

Grecian waters. Amongst other things I found several presents made

by the Princess to the count, and, to my astonishment, her portrait,

resembling so much Elizabeth. “But God’s ways are not our ways.” Hardly

had we loaded the frigate with the riches of Orloff, and left the

harbour, when we encountered a most awful storm. I could not say to the

frigate, “You carry Cæsar!” Long were we tossed on the waves, thrown

first on the coast of Algiers, then on that of Spain. Near Gibraltar

our two masts and all our sails were wrenched away. Finally, we lost

our rudder. For more than a week the current and a light breeze have

borne us along the African coast. We have all lost courage, and can but

pray. On the tenth day, that is to say, yesterday, the wind quite fell.

I go on writing--but can we expect to be saved in this condition? The

frigate, like a lifeless corpse, maimed and disfigured in battle, is

borne whither the waves drive her--

* * * * *

Again another hopeless day has passed. The dark terrifying night is

coming on. Clouds are gathering; again the wind is rising; now it is

raining. The coast of Africa has disappeared, and we are carried on

to the West. The waves are lashing against the sides of the ships,

splashing the deserted deck. The leak in the hold is getting larger

every minute. The exhausted sailors can hardly pump any longer. The

cannon have been thrown overboard. At night we fire our muskets,

vainly imploring aid, but there’s not a sail to be seen. We, doomed

to perdition, are alone. No one hears us. Tragic, awful fate. To be

lost on a solitary ship, without hope, and with all the spoils of the

commander-in-chief. When will the end come? On which rock is our ship

destined to be wrecked, on which fated to founder? Fit retribution for

the action of others. The fatal cargo of Count Orloff is hateful to God.

* * * * *

Three o’clock in the night. My confession is ended. The bottle is

ready; and if there’s no hope of being saved, I’ll throw it in the sea.

One word more. I should like to let Irena----my last greeting; my last

wish.--She ought to know--Good God! what is that? Impossible! Already

the end? What an awful crash!--The frigate has struck something. Ah!

screams.--I must run to my crew.--His Holy Will be done.

* * * * *

The bottle was thrown overboard, with the diary and a note. The last

was written in French: “Whoever finds this diary is requested to

forward it to Livorno, to the Russian lady, Mistress Pchelkina. Should

she not be found, to Russia, Chernigoff, Brigadier Leon Rakitin, for

his daughter, Irena Rakitin. May 15th, 1775. Pavel Konsov, lieutenant

of the Russian fleet.”

END OF PART I.

PART II.

_RAVELIN ALEXEEF._