MICHAEL STROGOFF
OR, THE COURIER OF THE CZAR
by Jules Verne
BOOK I
CHAPTER I A FETE AT THE NEW PALACE
“SIRE, a fresh dispatch.”
“Whence?”
“From Tomsk?”
“Is the wire cut beyond that city?”
“Yes, sire, since yesterday.”
“Telegraph hourly to Tomsk, General, and keep me informed of all that
occurs.”
“Sire, it shall be done,” answered General Kissoff.
These words were exchanged about two hours after midnight, at the moment
when the fete given at the New Palace was at the height of its splendor.
During the whole evening the bands of the Preobra-jensky and Paulowsky
regiments had played without cessation polkas, mazurkas, schottisches,
and waltzes from among the choicest of their repertoires. Innumerable
couples of dancers whirled through the magnificent saloons of the
palace, which stood at a few paces only from the “old house of
stones”--in former days the scene of so many terrible dramas, the
echoes of whose walls were this night awakened by the gay strains of the
musicians.
The grand-chamberlain of the court, was, besides, well seconded in his
arduous and delicate duties. The grand-dukes and their aides-de-camp,
the chamberlains-in-waiting and other officers of the palace, presided
personally in the arrangement of the dances. The grand duchesses,
covered with diamonds, the ladies-in-waiting in their most exquisite
costumes, set the example to the wives of the military and civil
dignitaries of the ancient “city of white stone.” When, therefore, the
signal for the “polonaise” resounded through the saloons, and the guests
of all ranks took part in that measured promenade, which on occasions
of this kind has all the importance of a national dance, the mingled
costumes, the sweeping robes adorned with lace, and uniforms covered
with orders, presented a scene of dazzling splendor, lighted by hundreds
of lusters multiplied tenfold by the numerous mirrors adorning the
walls.
The grand saloon, the finest of all those contained in the New Palace,
formed to this procession of exalted personages and splendidly dressed
women a frame worthy of the magnificence they displayed. The rich
ceiling, with its gilding already softened by the touch of time,
appeared as if glittering with stars. The embroidered drapery of the
curtains and doors, falling in gorgeous folds, assumed rich and varied
hues, broken by the shadows of the heavy masses of damask.
Through the panes of the vast semicircular bay-windows the light, with
which the saloons were filled, shone forth with the brilliancy of a
conflagration, vividly illuminating the gloom in which for some hours
the palace had been shrouded. The attention of those of the guests not
taking part in the dancing was attracted by the contrast. Resting in the
recesses of the windows, they could discern, standing out dimly in the
darkness, the vague outlines of the countless towers, domes, and spires
which adorn the ancient city. Below the sculptured balconies were
visible numerous sentries, pacing silently up and down, their rifles
carried horizontally on the shoulder, and the spikes of their helmets
glittering like flames in the glare of light issuing from the palace.
The steps also of the patrols could be heard beating time on the stones
beneath with even more regularity than the feet of the dancers on the
floor of the saloon. From time to time the watchword was repeated from
post to post, and occasionally the notes of a trumpet, mingling with
the strains of the orchestra, penetrated into their midst. Still farther
down, in front of the facade, dark masses obscured the rays of light
which proceeded from the windows of the New Palace. These were boats
descending the course of a river, whose waters, faintly illumined by a
few lamps, washed the lower portion of the terraces.
The principal personage who has been mentioned, the giver of the fete,
and to whom General Kissoff had been speaking in that tone of respect
with which sovereigns alone are usually addressed, wore the simple
uniform of an officer of chasseurs of the guard. This was not
affectation on his part, but the custom of a man who cared little for
dress, his contrasting strongly with the gorgeous costumes amid which
he moved, encircled by his escort of Georgians, Cossacks, and
Circassians--a brilliant band, splendidly clad in the glittering
uniforms of the Caucasus.
This personage, of lofty stature, affable demeanor, and physiognomy
calm, though bearing traces of anxiety, moved from group to group,
seldom speaking, and appearing to pay but little attention either to
the merriment of the younger guests or the graver remarks of the exalted
dignitaries or members of the diplomatic corps who represented at the
Russian court the principal governments of Europe. Two or three of these
astute politicians--physiognomists by virtue of their profession--failed
not to detect on the countenance of their host symptoms of disquietude,
the source of which eluded their penetration; but none ventured to
interrogate him on the subject.
It was evidently the intention of the officer of chasseurs that his own
anxieties should in no way cast a shade over the festivities; and, as he
was a personage whom almost the population of a world in itself was wont
to obey, the gayety of the ball was not for a moment checked.
Nevertheless, General Kissoff waited until the officer to whom he had
just communicated the dispatch forwarded from Tomsk should give him
permission to withdraw; but the latter still remained silent. He had
taken the telegram, he had read it carefully, and his visage became even
more clouded than before. Involuntarily he sought the hilt of his sword,
and then passed his hand for an instant before his eyes, as though,
dazzled by the brilliancy of the light, he wished to shade them, the
better to see into the recesses of his own mind.
“We are, then,” he continued, after having drawn General Kissoff aside
towards a window, “since yesterday without intelligence from the Grand
Duke?”
“Without any, sire; and it is to be feared that in a short time
dispatches will no longer cross the Siberian frontier.”
“But have not the troops of the provinces of Amoor and Irkutsk, as those
also of the Trans-Balkan territory, received orders to march immediately
upon Irkutsk?”
“The orders were transmitted by the last telegram we were able to send
beyond Lake Baikal.”
“And the governments of Yeniseisk, Omsk, Semipolatinsk, and Tobolsk--are
we still in direct communication with them as before the insurrection?”
“Yes, sire; our dispatches have reached them, and we are assured at the
present moment that the Tartars have not advanced beyond the Irtish and
the Obi.”
“And the traitor Ivan Ogareff, are there no tidings of him?”
“None,” replied General Kissoff. “The head of the police cannot state
whether or not he has crossed the frontier.”
“Let a description of him be immediately dispatched to Nijni-Novgorod,
Perm, Ekaterenburg, Kasirnov, Tioumen, Ishim, Omsk, Tomsk, and to all
the telegraphic stations with which communication is yet open.”
“Your majesty’s orders shall be instantly carried out.”
“You will observe the strictest silence as to this.”
The General, having made a sign of respectful assent, bowing low,
mingled with the crowd, and finally left the apartments without his
departure being remarked.
The officer remained absorbed in thought for a few moments, when,
recovering himself, he went among the various groups in the saloon, his
countenance reassuming that calm aspect which had for an instant been
disturbed.
Nevertheless, the important occurrence which had occasioned these
rapidly exchanged words was not so unknown as the officer of the
chasseurs of the guard and General Kissoff had possibly supposed. It
was not spoken of officially, it is true, nor even officiously, since
tongues were not free; but a few exalted personages had been informed,
more or less exactly, of the events which had taken place beyond the
frontier. At any rate, that which was only slightly known, that which
was not matter of conversation even between members of the corps
diplomatique, two guests, distinguished by no uniform, no decoration,
at this reception in the New Palace, discussed in a low voice, and with
apparently very correct information.
By what means, by the exercise of what acuteness had these two ordinary
mortals ascertained that which so many persons of the highest rank and
importance scarcely even suspected? It is impossible to say. Had
they the gifts of foreknowledge and foresight? Did they possess a
supplementary sense, which enabled them to see beyond that limited
horizon which bounds all human gaze? Had they obtained a peculiar power
of divining the most secret events? Was it owing to the habit, now
become a second nature, of living on information, that their mental
constitution had thus become really transformed? It was difficult to
escape from this conclusion.
Of these two men, the one was English, the other French; both were tall
and thin, but the latter was sallow as are the southern Provencals,
while the former was ruddy like a Lancashire gentleman. The
Anglo-Norman, formal, cold, grave, parsimonious of gestures and words,
appeared only to speak or gesticulate under the influence of a spring
operating at regular intervals. The Gaul, on the contrary, lively and
petulant, expressed himself with lips, eyes, hands, all at once,
having twenty different ways of explaining his thoughts, whereas his
interlocutor seemed to have only one, immutably stereotyped on his
brain.
The strong contrast they presented would at once have struck the most
superficial observer; but a physiognomist, regarding them closely, would
have defined their particular characteristics by saying, that if the
Frenchman was “all eyes,” the Englishman was “all ears.”
In fact, the visual apparatus of the one had been singularly
perfected by practice. The sensibility of its retina must have been as
instantaneous as that of those conjurors who recognize a card merely by
a rapid movement in cutting the pack or by the arrangement only of
marks invisible to others. The Frenchman indeed possessed in the highest
degree what may be called “the memory of the eye.”
The Englishman, on the contrary, appeared especially organized to listen
and to hear. When his aural apparatus had been once struck by the sound
of a voice he could not forget it, and after ten or even twenty years he
would have recognized it among a thousand. His ears, to be sure, had not
the power of moving as freely as those of animals who are provided with
large auditory flaps; but, since scientific men know that human ears
possess, in fact, a very limited power of movement, we should not be far
wrong in affirming that those of the said Englishman became erect, and
turned in all directions while endeavoring to gather in the sounds, in
a manner apparent only to the naturalist. It must be observed that this
perfection of sight and hearing was of wonderful assistance to these two
men in their vocation, for the Englishman acted as correspondent of the
Daily Telegraph, and the Frenchman, as correspondent of what newspaper,
or of what newspapers, he did not say; and when asked, he replied in a
jocular manner that he corresponded with “his cousin Madeleine.” This
Frenchman, however, neath his careless surface, was wonderfully shrewd
and sagacious. Even while speaking at random, perhaps the better to hide
his desire to learn, he never forgot himself. His loquacity even helped
him to conceal his thoughts, and he was perhaps even more discreet than
his confrere of the Daily Telegraph. Both were present at this fete
given at the New Palace on the night of the 15th of July in their
character of reporters.
It is needless to say that these two men were devoted to their mission
in the world--that they delighted to throw themselves in the track of
the most unexpected intelligence--that nothing terrified or discouraged
them from succeeding--that they possessed the imperturbable sang froid
and the genuine intrepidity of men of their calling. Enthusiastic
jockeys in this steeplechase, this hunt after information, they
leaped hedges, crossed rivers, sprang over fences, with the ardor of
pure-blooded racers, who will run “a good first” or die!
Their journals did not restrict them with regard to money--the surest,
the most rapid, the most perfect element of information known to this
day. It must also be added, to their honor, that neither the one nor
the other ever looked over or listened at the walls of private life,
and that they only exercised their vocation when political or social
interests were at stake. In a word, they made what has been for some
years called “the great political and military reports.”
It will be seen, in following them, that they had generally an
independent mode of viewing events, and, above all, their consequences,
each having his own way of observing and appreciating.
The French correspondent was named Alcide Jolivet. Harry Blount was the
name of the Englishman. They had just met for the first time at this
fete in the New Palace, of which they had been ordered to give an
account in their papers. The dissimilarity of their characters, added to
a certain amount of jealousy, which generally exists between rivals
in the same calling, might have rendered them but little sympathetic.
However, they did not avoid each other, but endeavored rather to
exchange with each other the chat of the day. They were sportsmen,
after all, hunting on the same ground. That which one missed might be
advantageously secured by the other, and it was to their interest to
meet and converse.
This evening they were both on the look out; they felt, in fact, that
there was something in the air.
“Even should it be only a wildgoose chase,” said Alcide Jolivet to
himself, “it may be worth powder and shot.”
The two correspondents therefore began by cautiously sounding each
other.
“Really, my dear sir, this little fete is charming!” said Alcide Jolivet
pleasantly, thinking himself obliged to begin the conversation with this
eminently French phrase.
“I have telegraphed already, ‘splendid!’” replied Harry Blount calmly,
employing the word specially devoted to expressing admiration by all
subjects of the United Kingdom.
“Nevertheless,” added Alcide Jolivet, “I felt compelled to remark to my
cousin--”
“Your cousin?” repeated Harry Blount in a tone of surprise, interrupting
his brother of the pen.
“Yes,” returned Alcide Jolivet, “my cousin Madeleine. It is with her
that I correspond, and she likes to be quickly and well informed, does
my cousin. I therefore remarked to her that, during this fete, a sort of
cloud had appeared to overshadow the sovereign’s brow.”
“To me, it seemed radiant,” replied Harry Blount, who perhaps, wished to
conceal his real opinion on this topic.
“And, naturally, you made it ‘radiant,’ in the columns of the Daily
Telegraph.”
“Exactly.”
“Do you remember, Mr. Blount, what occurred at Zakret in 1812?”
“I remember it as well as if I had been there, sir,” replied the English
correspondent.
“Then,” continued Alcide Jolivet, “you know that, in the middle of a
fete given in his honor, it was announced to the Emperor Alexander that
Napoleon had just crossed the Niemen with the vanguard of the
French army. Nevertheless the Emperor did not leave the fete, and
notwithstanding the extreme gravity of intelligence which might cost him
his empire, he did not allow himself to show more uneasiness.”
“Than our host exhibited when General Kissoff informed him that the
telegraphic wires had just been cut between the frontier and the
government of Irkutsk.”
“Ah! you are aware of that?”
“I am!”
“As regards myself, it would be difficult to avoid knowing it, since
my last telegram reached Udinsk,” observed Alcide Jolivet, with some
satisfaction.
“And mine only as far as Krasnoiarsk,” answered Harry Blount, in a no
less satisfied tone.
“Then you know also that orders have been sent to the troops of
Nikolaevsk?”
“I do, sir; and at the same time a telegram was sent to the Cossacks of
the government of Tobolsk to concentrate their forces.”
“Nothing can be more true, Mr. Blount; I was equally well acquainted
with these measures, and you may be sure that my dear cousin shall know
of them to-morrow.”
“Exactly as the readers of the Daily Telegraph shall know it also, M.
Jolivet.”
“Well, when one sees all that is going on....”
“And when one hears all that is said....”
“An interesting campaign to follow, Mr. Blount.”
“I shall follow it, M. Jolivet!”
“Then it is possible that we shall find ourselves on ground less safe,
perhaps, than the floor of this ball-room.”
“Less safe, certainly, but--”
“But much less slippery,” added Alcide Jolivet, holding up his
companion, just as the latter, drawing back, was about to lose his
equilibrium.
Thereupon the two correspondents separated, pleased that the one had not
stolen a march on the other.
At that moment the doors of the rooms adjoining the great reception
saloon were thrown open, disclosing to view several immense tables
beautifully laid out, and groaning under a profusion of valuable
china and gold plate. On the central table, reserved for the princes,
princesses, and members of the corps diplomatique, glittered an epergne
of inestimable price, brought from London, and around this chef-d’oeuvre
of chased gold reflected under the light of the lusters a thousand
pieces of most beautiful service from the manufactories of Sevres.
The guests of the New Palace immediately began to stream towards the
supper-rooms.
At that moment. General Kissoff, who had just re-entered, quickly
approached the officer of chasseurs.
“Well?” asked the latter abruptly, as he had done the former time.
“Telegrams pass Tomsk no longer, sire.”
“A courier this moment!”
The officer left the hall and entered a large antechamber adjoining. It
was a cabinet with plain oak furniture, situated in an angle of the New
Palace. Several pictures, amongst others some by Horace Vernet, hung on
the wall.
The officer hastily opened a window, as if he felt the want of air, and
stepped out on a balcony to breathe the pure atmosphere of a lovely July
night. Beneath his eyes, bathed in moonlight, lay a fortified inclosure,
from which rose two cathedrals, three palaces, and an arsenal. Around
this inclosure could be seen three distinct towns: Kitai-Gorod,
Beloi-Gorod, Zemlianai-Gorod--European, Tartar, and Chinese quarters of
great extent, commanded by towers, belfries, minarets, and the cupolas
of three hundred churches, with green domes, surmounted by the silver
cross. A little winding river, here and there reflected the rays of the
moon.
This river was the Moskowa; the town Moscow; the fortified inclosure
the Kremlin; and the officer of chasseurs of the guard, who, with folded
arms and thoughtful brow, was listening dreamily to the sounds floating
from the New Palace over the old Muscovite city, was the Czar.
CHAPTER II RUSSIANS AND TARTARS
THE Czar had not so suddenly left the ball-room of the New Palace,
when the fete he was giving to the civil and military authorities and
principal people of Moscow was at the height of its brilliancy, without
ample cause; for he had just received information that serious events
were taking place beyond the frontiers of the Ural. It had become
evident that a formidable rebellion threatened to wrest the Siberian
provinces from the Russian crown.
Asiatic Russia, or Siberia, covers a superficial area of 1,790,208
square miles, and contains nearly two millions of inhabitants. Extending
from the Ural Mountains, which separate it from Russia in Europe, to the
shores of the Pacific Ocean, it is bounded on the south by Turkestan and
the Chinese Empire; on the north by the Arctic Ocean, from the Sea of
Kara to Behring’s Straits. It is divided into several governments or
provinces, those of Tobolsk, Yeniseisk, Irkutsk, Omsk, and Yakutsk;
contains two districts, Okhotsk and Kamtschatka; and possesses two
countries, now under the Muscovite dominion--that of the Kirghiz and
that of the Tshouktshes. This immense extent of steppes, which includes
more than one hundred and ten degrees from west to east, is a land to
which criminals and political offenders are banished.
Two governor-generals represent the supreme authority of the Czar over
this vast country. The higher one resides at Irkutsk, the far capital of
Eastern Siberia. The River Tchouna separates the two Siberias.
No rail yet furrows these wide plains, some of which are in reality
extremely fertile. No iron ways lead from those precious mines which
make the Siberian soil far richer below than above its surface. The
traveler journeys in summer in a kibick or telga; in winter, in a
sledge.
An electric telegraph, with a single wire more than eight thousand
versts in length, alone affords communication between the western
and eastern frontiers of Siberia. On issuing from the Ural, it passes
through Ekaterenburg, Kasirnov, Tioumen, Ishim, Omsk, Elamsk, Kolyvan,
Tomsk, Krasnoiarsk, Nijni-Udinsk, Irkutsk, Verkne-Nertschink, Strelink,
Albazine, Blagowstenks, Radde, Orlomskaya, Alexandrowskoe, and
Nikolaevsk; and six roubles and nineteen copecks are paid for every
word sent from one end to the other. From Irkutsk there is a branch to
Kiatka, on the Mongolian frontier; and from thence, for thirty copecks a
word, the post conveys the dispatches to Pekin in a fortnight.
It was this wire, extending from Ekaterenburg to Nikolaevsk, which had
been cut, first beyond Tomsk, and then between Tomsk and Kolyvan.
This was why the Czar, to the communication made to him for the second
time by General Kissoff, had answered by the words, “A courier this
moment!”
The Czar remained motionless at the window for a few moments, when the
door was again opened. The chief of police appeared on the threshold.
“Enter, General,” said the Czar briefly, “and tell me all you know of
Ivan Ogareff.”
“He is an extremely dangerous man, sire,” replied the chief of police.
“He ranked as colonel, did he not?”
“Yes, sire.”
“Was he an intelligent officer?”
“Very intelligent, but a man whose spirit it was impossible to subdue;
and possessing an ambition which stopped at nothing, he became involved
in secret intrigues, and was degraded from his rank by his Highness the
Grand Duke, and exiled to Siberia.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Two years since. Pardoned after six months of exile by your majesty’s
favor, he returned to Russia.”
“And since that time, has he not revisited Siberia?”
“Yes, sire; but he voluntarily returned there,” replied the chief of
police, adding, and slightly lowering his voice, “there was a time,
sire, when NONE returned from Siberia.”
“Well, whilst I live, Siberia is and shall be a country whence men CAN
return.”
The Czar had the right to utter these words with some pride, for often,
by his clemency, he had shown that Russian justice knew how to pardon.
The head of the police did not reply to this observation, but it was
evident that he did not approve of such half-measures. According to
his idea, a man who had once passed the Ural Mountains in charge of
policemen, ought never again to cross them. Now, it was not thus under
the new reign, and the chief of police sincerely deplored it. What! no
banishment for life for other crimes than those against social order!
What! political exiles returning from Tobolsk, from Yakutsk, from
Irkutsk! In truth, the chief of police, accustomed to the despotic
sentences of the ukase which formerly never pardoned, could not
understand this mode of governing. But he was silent, waiting until
the Czar should interrogate him further. The questions were not long in
coming.
“Did not Ivan Ogareff,” asked the Czar, “return to Russia a second time,
after that journey through the Siberian provinces, the object of which
remains unknown?”
“He did.”
“And have the police lost trace of him since?”
“No, sire; for an offender only becomes really dangerous from the day he
has received his pardon.”
The Czar frowned. Perhaps the chief of police feared that he had gone
rather too far, though the stubbornness of his ideas was at least
equal to the boundless devotion he felt for his master. But the Czar,
disdaining to reply to these indirect reproaches cast on his policy,
continued his questions. “Where was Ogareff last heard of?”
“In the province of Perm.”
“In what town?”
“At Perm itself.”
“What was he doing?”
“He appeared unoccupied, and there was nothing suspicious in his
conduct.”
“Then he was not under the surveillance of the secret police?”
“No, sire.”
“When did he leave Perm?”
“About the month of March?”
“To go...?”
“Where, is unknown.”
“And it is not known what has become of him?”
“No, sire; it is not known.”
“Well, then, I myself know,” answered the Czar. “I have received
anonymous communications which did not pass through the police
department; and, in the face of events now taking place beyond the
frontier, I have every reason to believe that they are correct.”
“Do you mean, sire,” cried the chief of police, “that Ivan Ogareff has a
hand in this Tartar rebellion?”
“Indeed I do; and I will now tell you something which you are ignorant
of. After leaving Perm, Ivan Ogareff crossed the Ural mountains, entered
Siberia, and penetrated the Kirghiz steppes, and there endeavored, not
without success, to foment rebellion amongst their nomadic population.
He then went so far south as free Turkestan; there, in the provinces of
Bokhara, Khokhand, and Koondooz, he found chiefs willing to pour their
Tartar hordes into Siberia, and excite a general rising in Asiatic
Russia. The storm has been silently gathering, but it has at last burst
like a thunderclap, and now all means of communication between Eastern
and Western Siberia have been stopped. Moreover, Ivan Ogareff, thirsting
for vengeance, aims at the life of my brother!”
The Czar had become excited whilst speaking, and now paced up and down
with hurried steps. The chief of police said nothing, but he thought to
himself that, during the time when the emperors of Russia never pardoned
an exile, schemes such as those of Ivan Ogareff could never have been
realized. Approaching the Czar, who had thrown himself into an armchair,
he asked, “Your majesty has of course given orders so that this
rebellion may be suppressed as soon as possible?”
“Yes,” answered the Czar. “The last telegram which reached Nijni-Udinsk
would set in motion the troops in the governments of Yenisei, Irkutsk,
Yakutsk, as well as those in the provinces of the Amoor and Lake Baikal.
At the same time, the regiments from Perm and Nijni-Novgorod, and the
Cossacks from the frontier, are advancing by forced marches towards
the Ural Mountains; but some weeks must pass before they can attack the
Tartars.”
“And your majesty’s brother, his Highness the Grand Duke, is now
isolated in the government of Irkutsk, and is no longer in direct
communication with Moscow?”
“That is so.”
“But by the last dispatches, he must know what measures have been
taken by your majesty, and what help he may expect from the governments
nearest Irkutsk?”
“He knows that,” answered the Czar; “but what he does not know is, that
Ivan Ogareff, as well as being a rebel, is also playing the part of a
traitor, and that in him he has a personal and bitter enemy. It is to
the Grand Duke that Ogareff owes his first disgrace; and what is
more serious is, that this man is not known to him. Ogareff’s plan,
therefore, is to go to Irkutsk, and, under an assumed name, offer his
services to the Grand Duke. Then, after gaining his confidence, when the
Tartars have invested Irkutsk, he will betray the town, and with it my
brother, whose life he seeks. This is what I have learned from my secret
intelligence; this is what the Grand Duke does not know; and this is
what he must know!”
“Well, sire, an intelligent, courageous courier...”
“I momentarily expect one.”
“And it is to be hoped he will be expeditious,” added the chief of
police; “for, allow me to add, sire, that Siberia is a favorable land
for rebellions.”
“Do you mean to say. General, that the exiles would make common cause
with the rebels?” exclaimed the Czar.
“Excuse me, your majesty,” stammered the chief of police, for that was
really the idea suggested to him by his uneasy and suspicious mind.
“I believe in their patriotism,” returned the Czar.
“There are other offenders besides political exiles in Siberia,” said
the chief of police.
“The criminals? Oh, General, I give those up to you! They are the
vilest, I grant, of the human race. They belong to no country. But the
insurrection, or rather, the rebellion, is not to oppose the emperor; it
is raised against Russia, against the country which the exiles have
not lost all hope of again seeing--and which they will see again. No, a
Russian would never unite with a Tartar, to weaken, were it only for an
hour, the Muscovite power!”
The Czar was right in trusting to the patriotism of those whom his
policy kept, for a time, at a distance. Clemency, which was the
foundation of his justice, when he could himself direct its effects,
the modifications he had adopted with regard to applications for the
formerly terrible ukases, warranted the belief that he was not mistaken.
But even without this powerful element of success in regard to the
Tartar rebellion, circumstances were not the less very serious; for it
was to be feared that a large part of the Kirghiz population would join
the rebels.
The Kirghiz are divided into three hordes, the greater, the lesser,
and the middle, and number nearly four hundred thousand “tents,” or two
million souls. Of the different tribes some are independent and others
recognize either the sovereignty of Russia or that of the Khans of
Khiva, Khokhand, and Bokhara, the most formidable chiefs of Turkestan.
The middle horde, the richest, is also the largest, and its encampments
occupy all the space between the rivers Sara Sou, Irtish, and the Upper
Ishim, Lake Saisang and Lake Aksakal. The greater horde, occupying the
countries situated to the east of the middle one, extends as far as the
governments of Omsk and Tobolsk. Therefore, if the Kirghiz population
should rise, it would be the rebellion of Asiatic Russia, and the first
thing would be the separation of Siberia, to the east of the Yenisei.
It is true that these Kirghiz, mere novices in the art of war, are
rather nocturnal thieves and plunderers of caravans than regular
soldiers. As M. Levchine says, “a firm front or a square of good
infantry could repel ten times the number of Kirghiz; and a single
cannon might destroy a frightful number.”
That may be; but to do this it is necessary for the square of good
infantry to reach the rebellious country, and the cannon to leave the
arsenals of the Russian provinces, perhaps two or three thousand versts
distant. Now, except by the direct route from Ekaterenburg to Irkutsk,
the often marshy steppes are not easily practicable, and some weeks must
certainly pass before the Russian troops could reach the Tartar hordes.
Omsk is the center of that military organization of Western Siberia
which is intended to overawe the Kirghiz population. Here are the
bounds, more than once infringed by the half-subdued nomads, and there
was every reason to believe that Omsk was already in danger. The line of
military stations, that is to say, those Cossack posts which are ranged
in echelon from Omsk to Semipolatinsk, must have been broken in several
places. Now, it was to be feared that the “Grand Sultans,” who govern
the Kirghiz districts would either voluntarily accept, or involuntarily
submit to, the dominion of Tartars, Mussulmen like themselves, and
that to the hate caused by slavery was not united the hate due to the
antagonism of the Greek and Mussulman religions. For some time, indeed,
the Tartars of Turkestan had endeavored, both by force and persuasion,
to subdue the Kirghiz hordes.
A few words only with respect to these Tartars. The Tartars belong more
especially to two distinct races, the Caucasian and the Mongolian. The
Caucasian race, which, as Abel de Remusat says, “is regarded in Europe
as the type of beauty in our species, because all the nations in this
part of the world have sprung from it,” includes also the Turks and the
Persians. The purely Mongolian race comprises the Mongols, Manchoux, and
Thibetans.
The Tartars who now threatened the Russian Empire, belonged to the
Caucasian race, and occupied Turkestan. This immense country is divided
into different states, governed by Khans, and hence termed Khanats. The
principal khanats are those of Bokhara, Khokhand, Koondooz, etc. At this
period, the most important and the most formidable khanat was that of
Bokhara. Russia had already been several times at war with its chiefs,
who, for their own interests, had supported the independence of the
Kirghiz against the Muscovite dominion. The present chief, Feofar-Khan,
followed in the steps of his predecessors.
The khanat of Bokhara has a population of two million five hundred
thousand inhabitants, an army of sixty thousand men, trebled in time
of war, and thirty thousand horsemen. It is a rich country, with varied
animal, vegetable, and mineral products, and has been increased by the
accession of the territories of Balkh, Aukoi, and Meimaneh. It possesses
nineteen large towns. Bokhara, surrounded by a wall measuring more than
eight English miles, and flanked with towers, a glorious city, made
illustrious by Avicenna and other learned men of the tenth century, is
regarded as the center of Mussulman science, and ranks among the most
celebrated cities of Central Asia. Samarcand, which contains the tomb
of Tamerlane and the famous palace where the blue stone is kept on which
each new khan must seat himself on his accession, is defended by a very
strong citadel. Karschi, with its triple cordon, situated in an oasis,
surrounded by a marsh peopled with tortoises and lizards, is almost
impregnable, Is-chardjoui is defended by a population of twenty thousand
souls. Protected by its mountains, and isolated by its steppes, the
khanat of Bokhara is a most formidable state; and Russia would need a
large force to subdue it.
The fierce and ambitious Feofar now governed this corner of Tartary.
Relying on the other khans--principally those of Khokhand and Koondooz,
cruel and rapacious warriors, all ready to join an enterprise so dear
to Tartar instincts--aided by the chiefs who ruled all the hordes of
Central Asia, he had placed himself at the head of the rebellion of
which Ivan Ogareff was the instigator. This traitor, impelled by insane
ambition as much as by hate, had ordered the movement so as to attack
Siberia. Mad indeed he was, if he hoped to rupture the Muscovite Empire.
Acting under his suggestion, the Emir--which is the title taken by the
khans of Bokhara--had poured his hordes over the Russian frontier. He
invaded the government of Semipolatinsk, and the Cossacks, who were
only in small force there, had been obliged to retire before him. He had
advanced farther than Lake Balkhash, gaining over the Kirghiz population
on his way. Pillaging, ravaging, enrolling those who submitted, taking
prisoners those who resisted, he marched from one town to another,
followed by those impedimenta of Oriental sovereignty which may be
called his household, his wives and his slaves--all with the cool
audacity of a modern Ghengis-Khan. It was impossible to ascertain where
he now was; how far his soldiers had marched before the news of the
rebellion reached Moscow; or to what part of Siberia the Russian troops
had been forced to retire. All communication was interrupted. Had the
wire between Kolyvan and Tomsk been cut by Tartar scouts, or had the
Emir himself arrived at the Yeniseisk provinces? Was all the lower part
of Western Siberia in a ferment? Had the rebellion already spread to the
eastern regions? No one could say. The only agent which fears neither
cold nor heat, which can neither be stopped by the rigors of winter nor
the heat of summer, and which flies with the rapidity of lightning--the
electric current--was prevented from traversing the steppes, and it was
no longer possible to warn the Grand Duke, shut up in Irkutsk, of the
danger threatening him from the treason of Ivan Ogareff.
A courier only could supply the place of the interrupted current. It
would take this man some time to traverse the five thousand two hundred
versts between Moscow and Irkutsk. To pass the ranks of the rebels and
invaders he must display almost superhuman courage and intelligence. But
with a clear head and a firm heart much can be done.
“Shall I be able to find this head and heart?” thought the Czar.
CHAPTER III MICHAEL STROGOFF MEETS THE CZAR
THE door of the imperial cabinet was again opened and General Kissoff
was announced.
“The courier?” inquired the Czar eagerly.
“He is here, sire,” replied General Kissoff.
“Have you found a fitting man?”
“I will answer for him to your majesty.”
“Has he been in the service of the Palace?”
“Yes, sire.”
“You know him?”
“Personally, and at various times he has fulfilled difficult missions
with success.”
“Abroad?”
“In Siberia itself.”
“Where does he come from?”
“From Omsk. He is a Siberian.”
“Has he coolness, intelligence, courage?”
“Yes, sire; he has all the qualities necessary to succeed, even where
others might possibly fail.”
“What is his age?”
“Thirty.”
“Is he strong and vigorous?”
“Sire, he can bear cold, hunger, thirst, fatigue, to the very last
extremities.”
“He must have a frame of iron.”
“Sire, he has.”
“And a heart?”
“A heart of gold.”
“His name?”
“Michael Strogoff.”
“Is he ready to set out?”
“He awaits your majesty’s orders in the guard-room.”
“Let him come in,” said the Czar.
In a few moments Michael Strogoff, the courier, entered the imperial
library. He was a tall, vigorous, broad-shouldered, deep-chested man.
His powerful head possessed the fine features of the Caucasian race. His
well-knit frame seemed built for the performance of feats of strength.
It would have been a difficult task to move such a man against his will,
for when his feet were once planted on the ground, it was as if they had
taken root. As he doffed his Muscovite cap, locks of thick curly hair
fell over his broad, massive forehead. When his ordinarily pale face
became at all flushed, it arose solely from a more rapid action of the
heart. His eyes, of a deep blue, looked with clear, frank, firm gaze.
The slightly-contracted eyebrows indicated lofty heroism--“the hero’s
cool courage,” according to the definition of the physiologist. He
possessed a fine nose, with large nostrils; and a well-shaped mouth,
with the slightly-projecting lips which denote a generous and noble
heart.
Michael Strogoff had the temperament of the man of action, who does not
bite his nails or scratch his head in doubt and indecision. Sparing of
gestures as of words, he always stood motionless like a soldier before
his superior; but when he moved, his step showed a firmness, a freedom
of movement, which proved the confidence and vivacity of his mind.
Michael Strogoff wore a handsome military uniform something resembling
that of a light-cavalry officer in the field--boots, spurs, half
tightly-fitting trousers, brown pelisse, trimmed with fur and ornamented
with yellow braid. On his breast glittered a cross and several medals.
Michael Strogoff belonged to the special corps of the Czar’s couriers,
ranking as an officer among those picked men. His most discernible
characteristic--particularly in his walk, his face, in the whole man,
and which the Czar perceived at a glance--was, that he was “a fulfiller
of orders.” He therefore possessed one of the most serviceable qualities
in Russia--one which, as the celebrated novelist Tourgueneff says, “will
lead to the highest positions in the Muscovite empire.”
In short, if anyone could accomplish this journey from Moscow to
Irkutsk, across a rebellious country, surmount obstacles, and brave
perils of all sorts, Michael Strogoff was the man.
A circumstance especially favorable to the success of his plan was,
that he was thoroughly acquainted with the country which he was about
to traverse, and understood its different dialects--not only from having
traveled there before, but because he was of Siberian origin.
His father--old Peter Strogoff, dead ten years since--inhabited the town
of Omsk, situated in the government of the same name; and his mother,
Marfa Strogoff, lived there still. There, amid the wild steppes of the
provinces of Omsk and Tobolsk, had the famous huntsman brought up
his son Michael to endure hardship. Peter Strogoff was a huntsman by
profession. Summer and winter--in the burning heat, as well as when
the cold was sometimes fifty degrees below zero--he scoured the frozen
plains, the thickets of birch and larch, the pine forests; setting
traps; watching for small game with his gun, and for large game with the
spear or knife. The large game was nothing less than the Siberian bear,
a formidable and ferocious animal, in size equaling its fellow of the
frozen seas. Peter Strogoff had killed more than thirty-nine bears--that
is to say, the fortieth had fallen under his blows; and, according to
Russian legends, most huntsmen who have been lucky enough up to the
thirty-ninth bear, have succumbed to the fortieth.
Peter Strogoff had, however, passed the fatal number without even a
scratch. From that time, his son Michael, aged eleven years, never
failed to accompany him to the hunt, carrying the ragatina or spear to
aid his father, who was armed only with the knife. When he was fourteen,
Michael Strogoff had killed his first bear, quite alone--that was
nothing; but after stripping it he dragged the gigantic animal’s skin to
his father’s house, many versts distant, exhibiting remarkable strength
in a boy so young.
This style of life was of great benefit to him, and when he arrived
at manhood he could bear any amount of cold, heat, hunger, thirst, or
fatigue. Like the Yakout of the northern countries, he was made of iron.
He could go four-and-twenty hours without eating, ten nights without
sleeping, and could make himself a shelter in the open steppe where
others would have been frozen to death. Gifted with marvelous acuteness,
guided by the instinct of the Delaware of North America, over the white
plain, when every object is hidden in mist, or even in higher latitudes,
where the polar night is prolonged for many days, he could find his way
when others would have had no idea whither to turn. All his father’s
secrets were known to him. He had learnt to read almost imperceptible
signs--the forms of icicles, the appearance of the small branches of
trees, mists rising far away in the horizon, vague sounds in the air,
distant reports, the flight of birds through the foggy atmosphere, a
thousand circumstances which are so many words to those who can decipher
them. Moreover, tempered by snow like a Damascus blade in the waters of
Syria, he had a frame of iron, as General Kissoff had said, and, what
was no less true, a heart of gold.
The only sentiment of love felt by Michael Strogoff was that which he
entertained for his mother, the aged Marfa, who could never be induced
to leave the house of the Strogoffs, at Omsk, on the banks of the
Irtish, where the old huntsman and she had lived so long together. When
her son left her, he went away with a full heart, but promising to come
and see her whenever he could possibly do so; and this promise he had
always religiously kept.
When Michael was twenty, it was decided that he should enter the
personal service of the Emperor of Russia, in the corps of the couriers
of the Czar. The hardy, intelligent, zealous, well-conducted young
Siberian first distinguished himself especially, in a journey to the
Caucasus, through the midst of a difficult country, ravaged by some
restless successors of Schamyl; then later, in an important mission
to Petropolowski, in Kamtschatka, the extreme limit of Asiatic Russia.
During these long journeys he displayed such marvelous coolness,
prudence, and courage, as to gain him the approbation and protection of
his chiefs, who rapidly advanced him in his profession.
The furloughs which were his due after these distant missions, he never
failed to devote to his old mother. Having been much employed in the
south of the empire, he had not seen old Marfa for three years--three
ages!--the first time in his life he had been so long absent from her.
Now, however, in a few days he would obtain his furlough, and he had
accordingly already made preparations for departure for Omsk, when the
events which have been related occurred. Michael Strogoff was therefore
introduced into the Czar’s presence in complete ignorance of what the
emperor expected from him.
The Czar fixed a penetrating look upon him without uttering a word,
whilst Michael stood perfectly motionless.
The Czar, apparently satisfied with his scrutiny, motioned to the chief
of police to seat himself, and dictated in a low voice a letter of not
more than a few lines.
The letter penned, the Czar re-read it attentively, then signed it,
preceding his name with the words “Byt po semou,” which, signifying “So
be it,” constitutes the decisive formula of the Russian emperors.
The letter was then placed in an envelope, which was sealed with the
imperial arms.
The Czar, rising, told Michael Strogoff to draw near.
Michael advanced a few steps, and then stood motionless, ready to
answer.
The Czar again looked him full in the face and their eyes met. Then in
an abrupt tone, “Thy name?” he asked.
“Michael Strogoff, sire.”
“Thy rank?”
“Captain in the corps of couriers of the Czar.”
“Thou dost know Siberia?”
“I am a Siberian.”
“A native of?”
“Omsk, sire.”
“Hast thou relations there?”
“Yes sire.”
“What relations?”
“My old mother.”
The Czar suspended his questions for a moment. Then, pointing to the
letter which he held in his hand, “Here is a letter which I charge thee,
Michael Strogoff, to deliver into the hands of the Grand Duke, and to no
other but him.”
“I will deliver it, sire.”
“The Grand Duke is at Irkutsk.”
“I will go to Irkutsk.”
“Thou wilt have to traverse a rebellious country, invaded by Tartars,
whose interest it will be to intercept this letter.”
“I will traverse it.”
“Above all, beware of the traitor, Ivan Ogareff, who will perhaps meet
thee on the way.”
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