Read Ebook: The Princess Tarakanova: A Dark Chapter of Russian History by Danilevskii G P Grigorii Petrovich Mouchanoff Ida De Translator

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INTRODUCTION ix-xxviii

CHAP. PAGE

INTRODUCTION.

PRINCESS TARAKANOVA.

It is night; the wind has fallen, and the sea is calmer. I am writing in my cabin. All that I have time to write of what I have seen and undergone, I will place in a bottle, and cast it upon the waters; and you who may chance to find it I entreat, by all that is sacred, to send it to its address. Ah! all-powerful God, grant me powers of memory; enlighten my poor soul, so torn with doubt!

Our victory was sung in odes by the celebrated poet Heraskov, and several lines were dedicated to my humble self, until then unknown to the world. This poem was in every one's mouth. The English in the Russian service--for instance, Mackenzie and Dugdale, who served on one of the fire-ships--took to themselves the credit for the greater part of the glory won at the battle of Chesma. But they did not really much surpass our own officers and men, who all distinguished themselves by their courage and gallantry. After this event I was found worthy of receiving the rank of lieutenant, and the Count Alexis Orloff, the hero of Chesma, having honoured me by his preference, I became his aide-de-camp. My career was thus, so far, very fortunate. Life, on the whole, smiled upon me. But sometimes a fatal destiny pursues man. Suddenly fortune ceased to favour me, angry maybe, at my abrupt, albeit forced, departure from my native land.

Resting on our laurels reaped at Chesma, we led joyous lives. We received flattering invitations from the French, Spanish, Venetians, and men of other nations. All at once, upon me, the alien, there fell a new, unexpected, and very terrible temptation.

The war continued, but Count Orloff, after many noisy battles, lived in luxurious ease with the fleet. He was wont to say, "I am as happy as Enoch, who was taken up to heaven." But these were mere words, for, since he had taken an active part in placing Ekaterina upon the throne, wild and bold ideas were ever coursing through his brain.

Once, when sailing in the Adriatic with the squadron, he despatched me on a secret mission to the brave, warlike Montenegros. This was in the year 1773. The scouts made all arrangements wisely and adroitly; and at night, taking with me what I required on shore, I landed with great caution, and speedily conducted my business. But on our return voyage we were sighted and pursued by the Turkish coastguards. We succeeded in defending ourselves for a considerable time; but in the end our sailors were all killed, while I, severely wounded in the shoulder, lay unconscious at the bottom of the boat, where I was found, and whence I was removed, a prisoner, to Stamboul.

I was disguised in a national Albanian costume. Nevertheless, my captors discovered that I belonged to the Russian navy, and, at first, thinking no doubt that they would receive a good ransom for me, paid me great attention. Ah! thought I, as soon as they find out that their prisoner is no other than Lieutenant Konsov, who threw the first fire-ball which caused the explosion and destruction of their staffship at Chesma, what will my lot be then?

My imprisonment lasted for about two years, coming to an end in the year 1775.

At first I was kept shut up in one of the wings of a seven-towered castle, but afterwards I was chained and confined in one of the three hundred mecheti of Stamboul. I don't know whether at last, by some means, the Turks learned that one of their prisoners was Konsov, or whether, having lost all hopes of a ransom, they resolved to take advantage of my knowledge and abilities; but this I know, they tried to convert me to Mohammedanism.

The mosque in which I was imprisoned is situated on the shores of the Bosphorus, and through my window-grating I could watch the blue sea and the vessels sailing to and fro. The mulla who came to visit me was of Sclavonic origin; he was a Bulgarian from Gabrova. We therefore understood one another without much difficulty. My visitor set to work in a roundabout way to convert me to the Turkish faith. He praised the Turkish people, their customs and morals, and extolled the power and glory of the Sultan. At first, though very indignant at all this, I kept silence, but at last I began to contradict. Thereupon, in order to gain my confidence in himself and his faith, he obtained as a first step permission for my removal to a more comfortable cell, and for my being provided with better food. Accordingly I was transferred to the ground floor of the mosque, part of which the mulla himself inhabited, and was allowed tobacco and all sorts of sweetmeats and wine. Still, notwithstanding all this, my chains were left on me. My teacher , according to the law of Mohammed, could not drink wine, but he enticed and tempted me to. "Turn Islamist," he would say, "and then how happy you will be: your chains will at once fall off you. And see how many ships there are: you may enter the Turkish service on one of them, and in time become one of our captains!"

I lay on my mat without touching any of the tempting viands, and scarcely hearing a word that my tempter said, for my mind was filled with thoughts of my native land. I murmured the names of my friends and of all dear to me, and pondered over my lost happiness. My heart was breaking, my soul was torn with uncertainty and grief. Ah! how well I remember those sad hours, filled with such sorrowful musings!

As I now recollect, my thoughts then wandered to the far-off village, my native Konsovka. I was an orphan, and already had obtained my commission. From the training college I had come straight to the house of my grandmother, whose name was Agraffena Konsova. Not far from us, in the town of Baturin, lived Rakitin, a retired brigadier, a widower, whose estates in the country adjoined ours. Leff Hieraclieovitch had one daughter, Irena Lvovna. To tell all briefly, what with going to the church of Rakitin, visiting Irena at her father's halls, and our secret meetings and walks together, we fell in love with one another. My love for Irena was passionate and unrestrained. With her dusky skin and luxurious black hair, she was charming. She was my life, my idol, to whom I offered prayers night and day. We confessed our love, and day by day became dearer to each other. Ah! those moments, those meetings, those vows!

We began to send each other love letters, full of passionate avowals of love. I was always fond of music, and Irena used to play enchantingly upon the clavichord, and would sing in a lovely voice pieces from Gl?ck, Bach, and Handel. We met often. In this way the summer passed. Ah! dear and never-to-be-forgotten days!

Unfortunately, one of my letters fell into the hands of Irena's father. Was Rakitin too stern with his daughter, or did he talk her over, and so persuade her to give me up, to change me for another?... I know not; it is all too painful for me even to try to remember.

It was autumn, and, as I well recollect, a praznik ; we were preparing for church, when suddenly we heard a carriage drive into our yard. A footman in splendid livery came forward, and placed in my grandmother's hands a packet which he had brought for her. My heart throbbed; my presentiments were fulfilled: Irena's father had sent a firm and decided refusal to my suit.

"MATUSHKA AGRAFFENA VLASSOVNA,--

"Your Pavel Efstafevitch 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 Fr?ulein .

"God forgive him!" I repeated, like one who had lost his senses, as I strode up and down the rooms which once I had loved so much, but which now seemed to me so lonely. The day had been very cloudy, with occasional showers of rain. I ordered my horse to be saddled, and, in my despair, rode off to the steppes. I did not draw rein until I reached the borders of the forest which surrounded the estate of Rakitin. There I wandered through the brushwood like a madman. The wind whistled through the trees and swept over the bare fields. As night came on, I fastened my horse to a tree, and, leaving the forest, made my way through the garden to the window of Irena's room. Ah! what I felt at that moment! I remember, it seemed to me that I had only to call her, and she would throw herself into my arms, and we would go together to the end of the world. Fool that I was! I hoped to see her, to exchange thoughts with her, to pour out my heart, so full of bitter pain. "Leave your father! leave him!" I whispered, gazing in at her window. "He does not pity you; he does not love you." But I pleaded in vain: her window was dark, and nowhere in all the silent house could I hear one word or see one sign of life. On the following night I again went through the garden, and watched the well-known window, through which Irena had often given me her hand or thrown me a letter. Would she not look out? would she not give me some message? One night, after sending her a note, to which I received no answer, I even determined to kill myself before her window, and took my pistol in my hand.

"But no," I decided. "Why such a sacrifice? Perhaps Irena has already bartered me for a richer suitor. Wait a little; I may find out who the happy rival is." Afterwards, but too late, I learned that Rakitin, after writing his refusal of me, had carried his daughter off to a distant property owned by one of his relations, somewhere on the Oka, and was keeping her there in strict confinement.

I felt angry and petulant. "My grandmother is right," I said; and there and then I determined to strive to forget everything. If Irena had had any heart, she would have found some opportunity of writing me a line and sending it. I remember especially how one night I found amongst some papers a hymn from "Iphigenia," one of Gl?ck's operas not yet produced in Russia, which I had obtained with great difficulty from an amateur musician for Irena, but which I had been unable to give to her. With tears in my eyes I burnt it. After long days of sorrowful despair, I decided to leave my birthplace. The parting with my grandmother was very touching, for we both felt that we should never meet again.

Agraffena Vlassovna, during her retreat in a neighbouring convent, took cold, and after a short illness, died. I was left alone in the world, like a forgotten blade of grass in a field.

Having left Konsovka, I wandered for some time about Moscow, where I made the acquaintance of Count Orloff. Thence I went to Petersburg, and tried to get some information concerning the Rakitins, who were still living on the Oka. Always hoping to get news of my faithless Irena, I made many inquiries; but no one could tell me what I wanted to know. My furlough was not yet ended; I was free. But what was left in the world for me? What could I do? What could I undertake? Meanwhile, from the south, from over the water, came news that was on every one's lips. It was the beginning of the Turkish war. A happy idea flashed through my mind. I applied to the Board of Admiralty, and begged to be transferred to the squadron then sailing in Grecian waters. Count Feodor Orloff helped me very much by giving me a letter of introduction to Count Alexis, who was at that time admiral of the fleet in the Mediterranean Sea. How I came there and what I went through, it would be useless to relate. Always repeating the name that once was so dear to me, I threw myself into every danger. I courted death at Spezzia, at Navarino, and at Chesma. "Irisha! Irisha! what have you done with me! O my God! put an end to my life!" I cried. But death did not come. Instead of being killed, I was taken prisoner soon after the glorious battle of Chesma, and left in dreary captivity in Stamboul!

The mulla who visited me became more and more friendly, but also more and more persistent. We met every day, and had long conversations together. Sometimes he made me very angry, even mad, I might say; but at other times he amused me. Then sometimes I would entice him, for company's sake, to defy the command of the prophet, which, perhaps, a minute before he had been teaching me with much fervour, by taking a glass of wine with me; and would pour the wine out for him myself. My teacher could do nothing, of course, but try to please me, and so very heartily began to partake of the wines of Kioska, and others which he used to bring me. Our meetings continued. We talked sometimes of the Orient, of Russia, and many other things.

One evening--it must have been about the middle of the year 1774--at the time when the Muezzin 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."

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 , and, after much painstaking, fashioned it into a key. It is impossible to describe my joy when, for the first night, I took off my chains and went to bed without them. Next morning I again fettered myself, and carefully hid the key in a crevice in the wall. My plan was this:--after having very quickly loosened my chains, I would kill the renegade mulla with them, and run away from the prison without being seen. But where? Thus I planned; but God, who holds our hearts in His hand, delivered me from this sin. The mulla continued to visit me and to drink the wine, which through his intercession had been provided for me in abundance. At last my chance came. Having chosen an evening, I decided upon telling the mulla that, convinced by his wise teaching, I had resolved to embrace the Mohammedan faith. He was transported with delight, and in his joy partook so heartily of the wine as to become intoxicated and begin to doze. I kept refilling his glass. "No," he repeated continually, "I cannot. I shall miss the prayers; I shall be denounced." But I again filled the glass, and he, blinking at me knowingly, again emptied it, threw himself on the floor, and beginning to hum a Bulgarian song, was soon fast asleep. We were both about the same height; my beard, which during my imprisonment had grown very long, only differed from his by being of a slightly lighter colour.

"Oh! good God! is it possible," thought I, with a thrill of joy, "that this is liberty at last?"

Drawing the enormous white turban over my eyes, I devoutly bowed my head, and with silent footsteps and the rosary in my hand, as if repeating a prayer, I slowly left the prison, and crossed the courtyard. The sentinels at the porches and the gates of the mosque were walking silently backwards and forwards with their muskets; but as they did not recognise me I escaped detention. For some time the noise of the street confused me; I quite lost my senses. But I quickly recovered myself, and hastening my steps, soon reached the sea-shore. I signalled to one of the boatmen, took my place in the first little boat that approached me, and, bowing still lower, motioned to the boatman to row me to one of the nearest ships. It was a foreign one, as I had already remarked from my windows. I saw now that it was a French schooner, quite ready to sail, as I could tell by her flag.

A dark, handsome, spirited Frenchman, the commanding officer of the schooner, soon showed me that he was a worthy subject of the nation to which he belonged. Seeing in me a Russian sailor, he looked at me, was silent a moment, and then whispered, "Are you Konsov?"

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

"Oh! how glad I should be if it were so!" he answered, "for we all pity brave Konsov very much, and constantly ask after him. I should be very happy to be of any service to him."

There was nothing to be done; and I concluded it was better to reveal myself. The captain was overjoyed; he conducted me to his own cabin, and at once promised to pay the boatman; whom, however, for safety's sake, he first ordered to be hoisted on deck with the boat. The sails were then unfurled, and the anchor weighed. It was night when the schooner set sail, and by morning we had left Stamboul far behind us. The mulla must have slept soundly and long, for we were not pursued. My boatman, who was sent back from one of the villages we passed, having received all that had been promised him, and the mulla's clothes in which I had escaped into the bargain, was only too glad to hold his tongue. The French officers gave me proper clothing, and generously furnished me with a sum of money, to which all had subscribed. They politely offered to put me on board the first Russian vessel we should meet in the Italian seas.

Meanwhile, I heard from the captain that the mysterious Russian Princess was no longer in Venice, but was now at Ragusa, past which town we should have to sail. I asked to be put on shore, but the French officers did all they could to dissuade me, pointing out the risk I should run in being again so near the Turks. This counsel had no effect on me; I insisted on landing.

After having thanked my generous preservers , 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."

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.

I must confess that the Princess greatly impressed me. I saw before me a beauty of the first order, between twenty-three and twenty-four years of age, taller than the generality of people, graceful, slender, with lovely auburn hair, a very fair skin, beautiful pink cheeks, and a few freckles, which rather suited her style of beauty. Her eyes were hazel, very large and open; one of them rather squinted, and thus gave her an arch and playful look. But, what was far more important, as a child, and later on as a youth, I had often looked upon the portraits of the late Empress Elizabeth; and now on examining the Princess closely I was struck by the likeness to them.

The Princess noticed my confusion with evident pleasure. Saying a few gracious words to me in French, she gave me her hand to kiss, and having received me with all the ceremony etiquette exacted, with a look dismissed her retinue, and motioned me to a chair. We were alone.

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."

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