Chapter XXI: Orloff and the Princess

Worn out with her long sea voyage and imprisonment, the captive dragged on a miserable existence in the fortress. An acute fever, a sharp cough, accompanied by frequent hemorrhage, had developed into rapid consumption.

The frequent visits and questions of the field-marshal Galitzin always threw the Princess into fits of passion.

“What right have you to treat me like this?” she would say in an imperative voice. “What reason have I given for such treatment?”

“Written orders from a higher power--the will of the empress!” answered, panting and puffing, the secretary, Oushakoff.

In the capacity of secretary to the Commission which had been appointed, he had large means placed at his disposal. Therefore, continually complaining of fatigue, of a mass of occupations, and even of pains in his spine, he lingered over the evidence, brought forward a multitude of facts, began a long correspondence about her affairs, and in general led the good-natured Galitzin by the nose, and on the savings made from the money allotted for the keep of the captive managed to buy a nice little house in the courtyard already belonging to him in the Gorokhoviya.[39]

In the interval, the false testament found among the papers of Tarakanova was shown to her.

“Well, what have you to say to that?” asked Galitzin.

“I swear by the Almighty God, by eternal damnation, that I am the author of none of those unfortunate papers. I was told all that.”

“But they are in your own handwriting.”

“Perhaps--it interested me.”

“Then you do not wish to confess to anything, or explain the truth?”

“I’ve nothing to confess. I lived in freedom, I did harm to no one. I was betrayed, made prisoner by treason.”

Galitzin began to lose patience. “What a she-devil they’ve handed over to me!” thought he. “Extract a secret from a stone like that!” The prince groaned aloud and rubbed his nose.

“But, your Grace, recollect,” once whispered the officious Oushakoff, “your hands are unfettered. In the last ukase it makes mention of the utmost severity, of investigation without partiality.”

“Well, of course, one might try,” muttered the bewildered prince, who was in general averse to any severe measure. “Shall I try? It won’t be worse than it is.”

“In the name of the empress,” severely said the field-marshal to the commandant, in the presence of the captive, “in view of her obstinacy--deprive her of everything, except the strictly necessary clothing and bedding. You hear, everything--books, and other things, there; and then, if that does not answer, put her on common prison food.”

The orders of the prince were carried out. The poor, ailing girl, brought up in luxury and comfort, began to receive nothing but black bread, soldier’s _kasha_ (porridge), and _schi_ (sour cabbage soup). Although hungry, she would sit for hours shedding bitter tears over the wooden bowl, but not touching it. On the way to Russia, near the shores of Holland, where the squadron had anchored to take in provisions, she had read in a newspaper, which had fallen by accident into her cabin, all the past life of Orloff, and trembling with passion, she had cursed her folly in having believed in such a man. But worse misery awaited her. Two soldiers were assigned to the captive, and kept watch in her room, night and day. All this would throw the prisoner into fits of passion.

“Repent,” Galitzin would say to her. “I pity you from my heart, but without repentance, don’t expect forgiveness.”

“I’ll accept every torment, even death, Sir Marshal; I’ll accept everything,” said the captive. “But you are mistaken.… Nothing can make me withdraw my evidence.”

“Think over it.…”

“God is my witness.… My torments will fall on the heads of my tormentors.”

“She’ll think over it, your Grace!” whispered Oushakoff, turning over some papers. “One more experiment. She’ll come round all right.”

The experiment was tried. Her Venetian silk nightdress was exchanged for one of sackcloth.

“Almighty God! be witness of my most secret thoughts,” prayed the captive. “What am I to do, what shall I undertake? I believed in my past. It all seemed so plain. I was accustomed to think of it all, to live in that idea. Neither the treason of that monster, nor my captivity, has been able to shake my conviction. No, and not even this iron dungeon, which seems to crush me, can do that. Death is not far off. Oh! Mother of God, oh! lowly Jesus, help me. Who will give me strength, who will guide me, who will save me--from all these horrors, from this prison?”

* * * * *

One cold rainy evening, a hired carriage with the blinds drawn down drove up to the _perron_ of the commandant of the fortress of Petropavlovski, André Gavrilovitch Tchernishoff. Half an hour afterwards, Orloff and the commandant walked in the direction of the Ravelin Alexéef.

“Failing,” said the commandant, walking on, “failing rapidly, especially with this dampness. Yesterday, your Grace, she begged for her own clothes and books; they were returned to her.”

The sentinels were called out of the room of the Princess. Orloff entered the room alone. Tchernishoff remained outside the door. In the dusk, the count could hardly see the low-ceilinged room, with two deeply set windows with thick iron gratings. Between the two windows stood a small table with two chairs. A few books were scattered on the table together with some other things, and, covered with a coarse cloth, stood the untouched food. On the right-hand side stood a screen. Behind the screen was a small table with a water-bottle, a glass, and a cup, and surrounded by chintz curtains, a small iron bedstead. On the bed, in a white dressing gown and cap, lay a girl, so pale, one might think she was dead, covered with a blue velvet mantilla.

Orloff was struck by the frail look of her, who such a short time ago had been so stately, and so charmingly beautiful. There flashed across his mind remembrances of Italy, tender letters, the ardent courtship, the journey to Livorno, the feast on the ship, Ribas and Christianok travestied in the old clerical vestments. “Oh! why did I play that comedy with the marriage ceremony?” thought he. “She was really on board my ship, in my hands.” And vividly there flashed through his mind the picture of the arrest of the Princess. He remembered her cries on deck, and the next day his message to her through Konsov, a letter in German, describing his own false sorrow, oaths of faithfulness till death, and assurances of love. “What sorrow has fallen upon us”--trying to write the most tender words, he had said. “We are both arrested, in chains; but God, the All-merciful, will not forsake us. Let us put our trust in Him. As soon as I get my liberty, I’ll search the whole world till I find you, to guard and serve you all my life.” “And I have found her; here she is!” thought Orloff, involuntarily shuddering, not daring to cross the threshold. At last he ventured near her, close to the screen. At the sound, the unfortunate girl opened her eyes, looked at her visitor, and rose. Her auburn hair, at one time so luxuriant, fell from under her cap, and half-covered her poor pale face, distorted by illness and passion.

“You? You--in this room--near me!” screamed out the Princess, recognising her visitor, and stretching out both her hands in front of her, as though driving away some awful apparition.

Orloff stood motionless.