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?”
THE COUNT ALEXIS ORLOFF.
“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.
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.
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.
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.
“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.
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.
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.