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[8] 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.”
My heart, which was beating so loyally for the great empress then ruling over us, suddenly sank. I read the newspaper, and became convinced that the mulla was right. In Paris first, then in Germany, and afterwards in Venice, a person had appeared calling herself “Elizabeth, Princess of all the Russias.” At the time of writing, this adventuress was preparing to go to the Sultan, to ask him to aid her with an army then encamped on the banks of the Danube in enforcing her claims. The mulla remained with me a little longer, and then went out, casting a side glance at me as he left the room. The news which I had just heard troubled me very much. “How so?” thought I. “Is it not enough that fate sent us the horrible insurrection of Pougachoff?” of which I heard in my prison, “and then the Turks? Are we now to be troubled with this pretender? The former burnt and desolated the whole Po-Volga;[9] this one wants to disturb the whole of the south.” I was quite beside myself, and strode from corner to corner of my cell. In my anger, I went up to my window, seized hold of the grating, and shook it with all my might. I was ready to tear it with my teeth. “Oh! for wings! for wings!” I cried to God. I would have flown to the fleet, told them everything, and warned Orloff, who was so devoted to the empress.… My prayers were answered in a most marvellous manner. Never shall I forget it, though I live for a century.
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 (upon which I used to hang my clothes, and which I had taken from the wall), 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.
CHAPTER IV.
I SEE THE PRINCESS.
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?”