_PAVEL PETROVITCH AND THE ENCHANTER._
There was still no news. It was the beginning of the year 1781. With
the retirement of Prince Gregory Orloff, and the fallen fortunes of
the tutor of the Tzarevitch, Pânin, the new counsellors of the Empress
Ekaterina, having in view the lessening of the influence of her son,
Pavel Petrovitch, advised her to send the Tzarevitch and his wife on a
long foreign journey, ostensibly to make the acquaintance of foreign
courts.
Irena learnt this with a beating heart from Vâra’s letter. Their
Imperial Highnesses left the environs of Petersburg on the 19th of
September, 1781. Under the name of Count and Countess “du Nord,” they
passed the Russian frontier of Poland, at the little town of Oukraine,
Vasilkoff, in the middle of October.
A young person, dressed in the dark vestments of a nun, who arrived the
day before by the Kieff track,[54] was waiting here to meet Nelidova.
She was taken into the apartment of Ekaterina Ivanovna. Into this room
there entered also, from the garden, the Count and Countess du Nord,
as if by accident, whilst the horses were being changed. They remained
several minutes, and when they came out, the count was fearfully pale,
and the countess in tears.
“Poor Penelope,” said Pavel to Nelidova, getting into the carriage, on
observing through the trees the dark figure of Irena.
The conversation of Ekaterina Ivanovna with the stranger after
the departure of the august travellers was so prolonged that the
carriage of the maid of honour was much behindhand, according to the
_marche-route_, and the horses had to be cruelly driven to catch up the
Imperial carriages.
“A rose, a rose! Not myrtle!” cried out Nelidova in French,--very
mysteriously to all around,--to the stranger, to whom she waved her
handkerchief from the carriage window, by way of encouragement.
“She is truly a sorrowing Penelope,” said Ekaterina Ivanovna, as,
driving away, she lost sight in the distance of the dark motionless
figure of Irena.
The journey of the Count and Countess du Nord was very interesting.
They travelled through all Germany, and spent the New Year in Venice.
The 8th of January, 1780, the grand-duke, Pavel Petrovitch, wrapped
in the picturesque Italian cloak _Tabaro_, and the grand-duchess, in
the graceful Venetian mantilla and the _Cendadi_, visited the picture
gallery and the palace of the Doge in the morning, and in the evening
went to the theatre of the “Prophet Samuel,” where “Iphigenia in
Tauridus,” was to be played in honour of the august visitors, as it
was known to be their favourite opera. The celebrated composer Glück
himself conducted the orchestra.
After the opera, the public poured out, and crowded the square of St.
Mark, where a national masquerade had been organised in honour of the
Imperial travellers.
The square was covered with a noisy, vivacious crowd. Every one noticed
that the Count du Nord, after having led the Countess straight from the
theatre to the palace which had been prepared for them, was walking,
wearing a mask, up and down, a little out of the way of the crowd, with
a very tall foreigner, also masked, whom Glück himself had presented to
him at the opera.
The full moon shed her silvery light, and all around there were many
coloured fires and lamps. The noise and chattering of the mixed crowd
failed to attract the attention of the two interlocutors.
“Who is that?” asked a lady of her husband, turning his attention
to the fact that the Count du Nord was attentively listening to
the conversation of the foreigner by his side. “Don’t you know him
again--the friend of Glück--our celebrated necromancer, our raiser of
ghosts?”
Pavel was very much agitated, and in a bad humour. He had wanted to
make fun of the stranger, but the recollection of a certain fact had
involuntarily embarrassed him.
“You, Enchanter, living, according to your own words, an innumerable
number of years,” said he, very politely, although in a slightly
mocking tone; “you are in connection not only with the living, but with
those beyond the tomb. That is, doubtless, one of your jokes, and I,
of course, do not believe one word of it,” he added, trying to be very
amiable; “it would be silly to believe such tales. But there are tales
and tales, you understand me?… I should very much like to question you
concerning a certain incident.…”
“I am at your orders,” said the stranger.
“For instance,--and this is quite a conversation _àpropos_,” continued
the Count du Nord; “I have always been very much interested in
the supernatural, especially in the inexplicable interference of
supernatural agents in our intellectual life. I should very much like …
I would ask you, as we have met so unexpectedly, to explain to me one
very mysterious event, a very strange meeting.…”
“I am quite at your service,” answered the stranger, politely bowing.
His companion walked on a few steps silently.
Pavel struggled within himself, trying to trip up the conjurer, and at
the same time to stifle in his own heart something very sad, torturing,
which was perhaps one of his mental tribulations. Raising his mask, he
wiped his brow.
“I once saw a spirit,” he said, hesitatingly, unable to restrain his
emotion; “I saw a shadow, sacred to me.…”
The stranger bowed slightly, following Pavel, who turned the corner of
the square to the dimly-lighted river side.
“It was in Petersburg,” again began the count. He then related to his
companion the celebrated fact, already made known somehow abroad, of
his having seen the spirit of his ancestor; how, on a certain moonlight
night, walking along the streets with his aide-de-camp, he had felt
that between him and the wall of the house on the left side there
rose all at once something in a long cloak and old-fashioned cocked
hat--how he had “_felt_” that apparition, by the icy cold which had
frozen his left side, and with what horror he had followed step by step
the apparition, which noisily struck the pavement--it was the noise of
stone against stone.
The apparition, invisible to the aide-de-camp, had addressed Pavel in
a sad, reproachful voice: “Pavel, poor Pavel, poor prince, do not love
the world too much; you will not remain long in it; fear the reproaches
of thy conscience; live by the laws of justice … in life.…”
“The apparition did not finish,” said the count. “I still did not
understand what it was. At last I looked up and turned giddy; before
me, in the full moonlight, stood my grandfather, Peter the Great, just
as I remembered him. I recognised directly his caressing look of love,
fixed on me. I wanted to ask him … but he disappeared, and I remained
leaning against the bare, cold wall.” Saying these last words, Pavel
again raised his mask, and wiped his face with his handkerchief; he was
pale and very much embarrassed. It seemed as though before his eyes
there again rose, the dear, sad apparition.