Chapter XVI: The Bottle Cast Into the Sea

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.

* * * * *

Three o’clock in the night. My confession is ended. The bottle is ready; and if there’s no hope of being saved, I’ll throw it in the sea.

One word more. I should like to let Irena----my last greeting; my last wish.--She ought to know--Good God! what is that? Impossible! Already the end? What an awful crash!--The frigate has struck something. Ah! screams.--I must run to my crew.--His Holy Will be done.

* * * * *

The bottle was thrown overboard, with the diary and a note. The last was written in French: “Whoever finds this diary is requested to forward it to Livorno, to the Russian lady, Mistress Pchelkina. Should she not be found, to Russia, Chernigoff, Brigadier Leon Rakitin, for his daughter, Irena Rakitin. May 15th, 1775. Pavel Konsov, lieutenant of the Russian fleet.”

END OF PART I.