Chapter X: Is the Count a Traitor?

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?”

_“He was neither revengeful,_
_Nor proud, wicked and deceitful._
_He was beloved by the Nation,_
_To the Empress true.”_]

“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.