Meanwhile, the position of the Princess Tarakanova had remained the same. During the celebration of the peace with Turkey, in Moscow, she had been forgotten. However, when all had become quiet again, new points of condemnation were found against her. She was again cross-examined. Even Sheshkovski was called, and let loose on her, and the cross-examinations were more frequent. Worn out by her illness and mental anguish, as well as by her miserable and unusual surroundings, and by the presence of the two sentinels in her room, she began fading rapidly. There were even days when her end was expected every minute. After one of these terrible days, the unfortunate captive seized a pen, and wrote a letter to the empress.
“Snatching myself from the arms of death,” she wrote, “I throw myself at your feet. You ask, who I am? but can the fact of birth be made a crime of, for any one? Night and day men are in my room. My sufferings are such that my whole being is shaken. In refusing me mercy, it’s not to me alone you refuse it.” The empress was very much troubled that she could not leave Moscow herself and personally see the captive, who excited in her by turns the deepest anger, and, involuntarily, the most profound pity.
In the month of August, Field-Marshal Galitzin paid the Princess another visit.
“You called yourself a Persian. Then you said you were born in Arabia; you gave yourself out next as a Tcherkeshenka; and at last as our grand-duchess,” he said. “You stated that you knew the Oriental languages; we gave your letters to persons who know those languages, but they could make nothing out of them. Is it possible—excuse me—that this is also deceit on your part?”
“Oh! how stupid all that is!” answered Tarakanova, with a contemptuous smile, and again coughing. “Do Persians and Arabs teach their wives to read or write? In my childhood I learnt a little by myself, and therefore I ought to be believed more than your readers.”
Galitzin was too sorry for her to go on questioning her on all the points written down by Oushakoff.
“Look here,” said he, dashing away a tear, seeming to recollect something which was a great deal more serious and important, “there’s no time for disputes now … your strength is failing you.… I have not received permission; yet I will give orders for you to be transferred into a better and more spacious apartment, and your food shall be brought you from the table of the commandant.… Would you not like a priest … you understand … we are all in the hands of God … to prepare you … for.…”
“For death … is it not true?” interrupted the captive, shaking her head.
“Yes!” answered Galitzin.
“Yes, I feel myself it is true.”