I felt angry and petulant. “My grandmother is right,” I said; and there and then I determined to strive to forget everything. If Irena had had any heart, she would have found some opportunity of writing me a line and sending it. I remember especially how one night I found amongst some papers a hymn from “Iphigenia,” one of Glück’s operas not yet produced in Russia, which I had obtained with great difficulty from an amateur musician for Irena, but which I had been unable to give to her. With tears in my eyes I burnt it. After long days of sorrowful despair, I decided to leave my birthplace. The parting with my grandmother was very touching, for we both felt that we should never meet again. * * * * * Agraffena Vlassovna, during her retreat in a neighbouring convent, took cold, and after a short illness, died. I was left alone in the world, like a forgotten blade of grass in a field. Having left Konsovka, I wandered for some time about Moscow, where I made the acquaintance of Count Orloff. Thence I went to Petersburg, and tried to get some information concerning the Rakitins, who were still living on the Oka. Always hoping to get news of my faithless Irena, I made many inquiries; but no one could tell me what I wanted to know. My furlough was not yet ended; I was free. But what was left in the world for me? What could I do? What could I undertake? Meanwhile, from the south, from over the water, came news that was on every one’s lips. It was the beginning of the Turkish war. A happy idea flashed through my mind. I applied to the Board of Admiralty, and begged to be transferred to the squadron then sailing in Grecian waters. Count Feodor Orloff helped me very much by giving me a letter of introduction to Count Alexis, who was at that time admiral of the fleet in the Mediterranean Sea. How I came there and what I went through, it would be useless to relate. Always repeating the name that once was so dear to me, I threw myself into every danger. I courted death at Spezzia, at Navarino, and at Chesma. “Irisha! Irisha![7] what have you done with me! O my God! put an end to my life!” I cried. But death did not come. Instead of being killed, I was taken prisoner soon after the glorious battle of Chesma, and left in dreary captivity in Stamboul! * * * * *