_CONFESSION AND ABSOLUTION._
The priest carefully put the chalice on the table, drew a chair near
the bed, passed his fingers through his bushy hair, and glancing at the
image over the head of the sick girl, gently bent over her.
“Your name?” he asked.
“Princess Elizabeth.…”
“I conjure you, speak the truth,” continued Father Peter, trying to
recollect the French words. “Who were your parents, and where were you
born?”
“I swear by the Almighty God that I do not know,” answered the captive,
with a hollow cough. “I knew and believed only what others told me.”
She answered all the other questions in a voice broken and so low as to
be scarcely heard. She touched lightly on her childhood, the South of
Russia, the village where she had lived, Siberia, her flight to Persia,
and her residence in Europe.
“You are a Christian?” asked the priest.
“I was baptized into the Russian faith, and therefore look upon myself
as belonging to the Russian Church, although until now, for many
reasons, I have been deprived of the blessings of Confession and Holy
Communion.… I have sinned a great deal. Trying to tear myself from my
awful position, I gave my friendship to people who only betrayed me.…
Oh, how thankful I am for your visit!”
“Among your papers were found two wills.… From whom did you receive
them, and--hide nothing from God and from me--by whom was your
Manifesto to the Russian fleet written?”
“All that was sent to me quite ready by persons quite unknown to me,”
said the sick girl. “I had secret friends who pitied me. They tried to
restore to me my lost rights.”
“But what is this?” thought the bewildered priest, listening to her.
“Is all this fiction or truth? If this is deceit, my God, at what a
moment!”
“You are on the borders of the grave,” said he, in a trembling voice;
“on the verge of eternity.… Repent.… Between us there is only one
witness--God.”
The penitent struggled within herself. Her bosom rose and fell, and
her hand convulsively clutched her handkerchief and held it to her lips.
“In expectation of God’s judgment and my near death,” said she, turning
her eyes to the image of the Saviour, “I confess and swear that all
that I have told you and others is the truth. I know nothing more.…”
“But all this is impossible,” said Father Peter, in an agitated voice.
“All that you have told me is so very improbable.”
The poor girl closed her eyes, as if from unendurable acute suffering.
Large tears rolled down her thin and faded cheeks.
“Who were your accomplices?” asked the priest, after a short pause.
“Oh, no one! Have pity, have mercy; … and if I, weak, persecuted,
without means.…”
The Princess did not finish. A hollow cough shook her frame. She
suddenly raised herself, clutched at her breast, at the bed, and fell
back, apparently lifeless.
The fainting fit lasted several minutes. Father Peter, thinking she was
dying, began reading the prayers. The sick girl came to herself.
“Do not agitate yourself; be calm,” said the priest, noticing she was
coming to.
“Oh, I cannot any more! Leave me! Go away!” murmured the sick girl.
“Another time.… Let me rest.”
“I have just christened your son,” said the priest, wishing to give her
a little courage. “I wish you joy for him. God is merciful; you may yet
live for him.…”
A faint smile came on the poor parched lips of the captive. Her eyes
wandered aimlessly around, as though seeing beyond that room, that
fortress, beyond everything surrounding her, far away.…
Father Peter blessed the poor girl, gazed at her for some time,
took the chalice, and having postponed the celebration of the Holy
Communion, left the room.
“Well! what?” asked the commandant, who was waiting for him in the
corridor; “has she confessed, communicated?”
The priest inclined his head, silently bowed to the commandant, entered
the carriage, and left the Ravelin.
On the morning of the 2nd of December, he was asked to come to the
fortress, and to bring the Elements of the Eucharist with him. The sick
girl was fading rapidly.
“Think well, my daughter, and ease your soul, by repentance,” extorted
the priest. “I conjure you, in the name of God, for the sake of the
future life!”
“I am a sinner,” answered the dying girl, in a strangely quiet voice;
“from my very youth I have sinned against God, and feel myself to be a
great impenitent sinner.”
“I absolve thee from thy sins, my daughter,” said the priest, devoutly
praying and blessing her; “but thy Pretendership, thy sins against the
empress,--thy accomplices?”
“I am a Russian grand-duchess! the daughter of the late empress,”
faintly murmured the captive, hardly moving her benumbed lips. The
priest bent over her to administer the Sacrament; but the captive lay
motionless, almost lifeless.