Chapter VII: I Convey a Letter

“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 the _perron_[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 could I, 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 in the 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 new _parvenus_, styled, in their own fashion, “Tarakanovka.” The Dowager Empress Elizabeth, and after her all the court, in fun called the child the Princess Tmoutarakanova.[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 and bowing. “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 the Princess, 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 the _perron_, 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 of _masques_, 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 this Princess 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.