“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.”
“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 whichnow 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 notlook 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.
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 somepapers 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 theTurkish 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 hehad 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 myanger, 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 throughhis 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.
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 anchorweighed. 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 velvetkaftan[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 redkountouska,[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 auburnhair, 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.
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 versionof 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 allimagining. 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 legendRedivivus 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—Iam 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 tracesof 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.
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 amasteritsa.[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 helpspeaking 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 darknesswillclear 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, whatcan 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.… Ishallbe acknowledged. Do you hear? Theymustacknowledge 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.
“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 theperron[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 couldI, 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 inthe 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 newparvenus, styled, in their own fashion, “Tarakanovka.” The Dowager Empress Elizabeth, and after her all the court, in fun called the child the PrincessTmoutarakanova.[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 andbowing. “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 thePrincess, 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 theperron, 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 ofmasques, 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 thisPrincess 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.
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 Alexisespecially 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 hishothouses, 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 forpince-nezand 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 greattinspectacles 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 racingdroskieswould 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 hisromanovski 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 withkvas.
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 himinto 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 princelylevées, 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 roundbourgeoishat, 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 Princesstroubled 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, congratulateyou, 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 100versts. 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 moreinterested; 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 thecrowned 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 thatsheis 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.”
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 helprelating 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 fromPetersburg 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 herentourage, 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. Ihave 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.”