Produced by Dagny and John Bickers THE DAUGHTER OF AN EMPRESS By Louise Muhlbach CONTENTS Countess Natalie Dolgorucki Count Munnich Count Ostermann The Night of the Conspiracy Hopes Deceived The Regent Anna Leopoldowna The Favorite No Love Princess Elizabeth A Conspiracy The Warning The Court Ball The Pencil-Sketch The Revolution The Sleep of Innocence The Recompensing Punishment The Palace of the Empress Eleonore Lapuschkin A Wedding Scenes and Portraits Princes also must die The Charmed Garden The Letters Diplomatic Quarrels The Fish Feud Pope Ganganelli (Clement XIV.) The Pope’s Recreation Hour A Death-Sentence The Festival of Cardinal Bernis The Improvisatrice The Departure An Honest Betrayer Alexis Orloff Corilla The Holy Chafferers “Sic transit gloria mundi” The Vapo The Invasion Intrigues The Dooming Letter The Russian Officer Anticipation He! The Warning The Russian Fleet Conclusion THE DAUGHTER OF AN EMPRESS COUNTESS NATALIE DOLGORUCKI “No, Natalie, weep no more! Quick, dry your tears. Let not my executioner see that we can feel pain or weep for sorrow!” Drying her tears, she attempted a smile, but it was an unnatural, painful smile. “Ivan,” said she, “we will forget, forget all, excepting that we love each other, and thus only can I become cheerful. And tell me, Ivan, have I not always been in good spirits? Have not these long eight years in Siberia passed away like a pleasant summer day? Have not our hearts remained warm, and has not our love continued undisturbed by the inclement Siberian cold? You may, therefore, well see that I have the courage to bear all that can be borne. But you, my beloved, you my husband, to see you die, without being able to save you, without being permitted to die with you, is a cruel and unnatural sacrifice! Ivan, let me weep; let your murderer see that I yet have tears. Oh, my God, I have no longer any pride, I am nothing but a poor heart-broken woman! Your widow, I weep over the yet living corpse of my husband!” With convulsive sobs the trembling young wife fell upon her knees and with frantic grief clung to her husband’s feet. Count Ivan Dolgorucki no long felt the ability to stand aloof from her sorrow. He bent down to his wife, raised her in his arms, and with her he wept for his youth, his lost life, the vanishing happiness of his love, and the shame of his fatherhood. “I should joyfully go to my death, were it for the benefit of my country,” said he. “But to fall a sacrifice to a cabal, to the jealousy of an insidious, knavish favorite, is what makes the death-hour fearful. Ah, I die for naught, I die that Munnich, Ostermann, and Biron may remain securely in power. It is horrible thus to die!”