“I will beware of him.”
“Wilt thou pass through Omsk?”
“Sire, that is my route.”
“If thou dost see thy mother, there will be the risk of being
recognized. Thou must not see her!”
Michael Strogoff hesitated a moment.
“I will not see her,” said he.
“Swear to me that nothing will make thee acknowledge who thou art, nor
whither thou art going.”
“I swear it.”
“Michael Strogoff,” continued the Czar, giving the letter to the young
courier, “take this letter; on it depends the safety of all Siberia, and
perhaps the life of my brother the Grand Duke.”
“This letter shall be delivered to his Highness the Grand Duke.”
“Then thou wilt pass whatever happens?”
“I shall pass, or they shall kill me.”
“I want thee to live.”
“I shall live, and I shall pass,” answered Michael Strogoff.
The Czar appeared satisfied with Strogoff’s calm and simple answer.
“Go then, Michael Strogoff,” said he, “go for God, for Russia, for my
brother, and for myself!”
The courier, having saluted his sovereign, immediately left the imperial
cabinet, and, in a few minutes, the New Palace.
“You made a good choice there, General,” said the Czar.
“I think so, sire,” replied General Kissoff; “and your majesty may be
sure that Michael Strogoff will do all that a man can do.”
“He is indeed a man,” said the Czar.
CHAPTER IV FROM MOSCOW TO NIJNI-NOVGOROD
THE distance between Moscow and Irkutsk, about to be traversed by
Michael Strogoff, was three thousand four hundred miles. Before the
telegraph wire extended from the Ural Mountains to the eastern frontier
of Siberia, the dispatch service was performed by couriers, those who
traveled the most rapidly taking eighteen days to get from Moscow to
Irkutsk. But this was the exception, and the journey through Asiatic
Russia usually occupied from four to five weeks, even though every
available means of transport was placed at the disposal of the Czar’s
messengers.
Michael Strogoff was a man who feared neither frost nor snow. He would
have preferred traveling during the severe winter season, in order that
he might perform the whole distance by sleighs. At that period of the
year the difficulties which all other means of locomotion present are
greatly diminished, the wide steppes being leveled by snow, while there
are no rivers to cross, but simply sheets of glass, over which the
sleigh glides rapidly and easily.
Perhaps certain natural phenomena are most to be feared at that time,
such as long-continuing and dense fogs, excessive cold, fearfully heavy
snow-storms, which sometimes envelop whole caravans and cause their
destruction. Hungry wolves also roam over the plain in thousands. But
it would have been better for Michael Strogoff to face these risks; for
during the winter the Tartar invaders would have been stationed in the
towns, any movement of their troops would have been impracticable, and
he could consequently have more easily performed his journey. But it
was not in his power to choose either weather or time. Whatever the
circumstances, he must accept them and set out.
Such were the difficulties which Michael Strogoff boldly confronted and
prepared to encounter.
In the first place, he must not travel as a courier of the Czar usually
would. No one must even suspect what he really was. Spies swarm in a
rebellious country; let him be recognized, and his mission would be in
danger. Also, while supplying him with a large sum of money, which was
sufficient for his journey, and would facilitate it in some measure,
General Kissoff had not given him any document notifying that he was on
the Emperor’s service, which is the Sesame par excellence. He contented
himself with furnishing him with a “podorojna.”
This podorojna was made out in the name of Nicholas Korpanoff, merchant,
living at Irkutsk. It authorized Nicholas Korpanoff to be accompanied
by one or more persons, and, moreover, it was, by special notification,
made available in the event of the Muscovite government forbidding
natives of any other countries to leave Russia.
The podorojna is simply a permission to take post-horses; but Michael
Strogoff was not to use it unless he was sure that by so doing he would
not excite suspicion as to his mission, that is to say, whilst he was
on European territory. The consequence was that in Siberia, whilst
traversing the insurgent provinces, he would have no power over the
relays, either in the choice of horses in preference to others, or in
demanding conveyances for his personal use; neither was Michael Strogoff
to forget that he was no longer a courier, but a plain merchant,
Nicholas Korpanoff, traveling from Moscow to Irkutsk, and, as such
exposed to all the impediments of an ordinary journey.
To pass unknown, more or less rapidly, but to pass somehow, such were
the directions he had received.
Thirty years previously, the escort of a traveler of rank consisted of
not less than two hundred mounted Cossacks, two hundred foot-soldiers,
twenty-five Baskir horsemen, three hundred camels, four hundred horses,
twenty-five wagons, two portable boats, and two pieces of cannon. All
this was requisite for a journey in Siberia.
Michael Strogoff, however, had neither cannon, nor horsemen, nor
foot-soldiers, nor beasts of burden. He would travel in a carriage or on
horseback, when he could; on foot, when he could not.
There would be no difficulty in getting over the first thousand miles,
the distance between Moscow and the Russian frontier. Railroads,
post-carriages, steamboats, relays of horses, were at everyone’s
disposal, and consequently at the disposal of the courier of the Czar.
Accordingly, on the morning of the 16th of July, having doffed his
uniform, with a knapsack on his back, dressed in the simple Russian
costume--tightly-fitting tunic, the traditional belt of the Moujik,
wide trousers, gartered at the knees, and high boots--Michael Strogoff
arrived at the station in time for the first train. He carried no arms,
openly at least, but under his belt was hidden a revolver and in his
pocket, one of those large knives, resembling both a cutlass and a
yataghan, with which a Siberian hunter can so neatly disembowel a bear,
without injuring its precious fur.
A crowd of travelers had collected at the Moscow station. The stations
on the Russian railroads are much used as places for meeting, not only
by those who are about to proceed by the train, but by friends who come
to see them off. The station resembles, from the variety of characters
assembled, a small news exchange.
The train in which Michael took his place was to set him down at
Nijni-Novgorod. There terminated at that time, the iron road which,
uniting Moscow and St. Petersburg, has since been continued to the
Russian frontier. It was a journey of under three hundred miles, and the
train would accomplish it in ten hours. Once arrived at Nijni-Novgorod,
Strogoff would either take the land route or the steamer on the Volga,
so as to reach the Ural Mountains as soon as possible.
Michael Strogoff ensconced himself in his corner, like a worthy citizen
whose affairs go well with him, and who endeavors to kill time by sleep.
Nevertheless, as he was not alone in his compartment, he slept with one
eye open, and listened with both his ears.
In fact, rumor of the rising of the Kirghiz hordes, and of the Tartar
invasion had transpired in some degree. The occupants of the carriage,
whom chance had made his traveling companions, discussed the subject,
though with that caution which has become habitual among Russians, who
know that spies are ever on the watch for any treasonable expressions
which may be uttered.
These travelers, as well as the large number of persons in the train,
were merchants on their way to the celebrated fair of Nijni-Novgorod;--a
very mixed assembly, composed of Jews, Turks, Cossacks, Russians,
Georgians, Kalmucks, and others, but nearly all speaking the national
tongue.
They discussed the pros and cons of the serious events which were taking
place beyond the Ural, and those merchants seemed to fear lest
the government should be led to take certain restrictive measures,
especially in the provinces bordering on the frontier--measures from
which trade would certainly suffer. They apparently thought only of the
struggle from the single point of view of their threatened interests.
The presence of a private soldier, clad in his uniform--and the
importance of a uniform in Russia is great--would have certainly been
enough to restrain the merchants’ tongues. But in the compartment
occupied by Michael Strogoff, there was no one who seemed a military
man, and the Czar’s courier was not the person to betray himself. He
listened, then.
“They say that caravan teas are up,” remarked a Persian, known by his
cap of Astrakhan fur, and his ample brown robe, worn threadbare by use.
“Oh, there’s no fear of teas falling,” answered an old Jew of sullen
aspect. “Those in the market at Nijni-Novgorod will be easily cleared
off by the West; but, unfortunately, it won’t be the same with Bokhara
carpets.”
“What! are you expecting goods from Bokhara?” asked the Persian.
“No, but from Samarcand, and that is even more exposed. The idea of
reckoning on the exports of a country in which the khans are in a state
of revolt from Khiva to the Chinese frontier!”
“Well,” replied the Persian, “if the carpets do not arrive, the drafts
will not arrive either, I suppose.”
“And the profits, Father Abraham!” exclaimed the little Jew, “do you
reckon them as nothing?”
“You are right,” said another; “goods from Central Asia run a great risk
in the market, and it will be the same with the tallow and shawls from
the East.”
“Why, look out, little father,” said a Russian traveler, in a bantering
tone; “you’ll grease your shawls terribly if you mix them up with your
tallow.”
“That amuses you,” sharply answered the merchant, who had little relish
for that sort of joke.
“Well, if you tear your hair, or if you throw ashes on your head,”
replied the traveler, “will that change the course of events? No; no
more than the course of the Exchange.”
“One can easily see that you are not a merchant,” observed the little
Jew.
“Faith, no, worthy son of Abraham! I sell neither hops, nor eider-down,
nor honey, nor wax, nor hemp-seed, nor salt meat, nor caviare, nor wood,
nor wool, nor ribbons, nor, hemp, nor flax, nor morocco, nor furs.”
“But do you buy them?” asked the Persian, interrupting the traveler’s
list.
“As little as I can, and only for my own private use,” answered the
other, with a wink.
“He’s a wag,” said the Jew to the Persian.
“Or a spy,” replied the other, lowering his voice. “We had better
take care, and not speak more than necessary. The police are not
over-particular in these times, and you never can know with whom you are
traveling.”
In another corner of the compartment they were speaking less of
mercantile affairs, and more of the Tartar invasion and its annoying
consequences.
“All the horses in Siberia will be requisitioned,” said a traveler,
“and communication between the different provinces of Central Asia will
become very difficult.”
“Is it true,” asked his neighbor, “that the Kirghiz of the middle horde
have joined the Tartars?”
“So it is said,” answered the traveler, lowering his voice; “but who can
flatter themselves that they know anything really of what is going on in
this country?”
“I have heard speak of a concentration of troops on the frontier. The
Don Cossacks have already gathered along the course of the Volga, and
they are to be opposed to the rebel Kirghiz.”
“If the Kirghiz descend the Irtish, the route to Irkutsk will not be
safe,” observed his neighbor. “Besides, yesterday I wanted to send
a telegram to Krasnoiarsk, and it could not be forwarded. It’s to be
feared that before long the Tartar columns will have isolated Eastern
Siberia.”
“In short, little father,” continued the first speaker, “these merchants
have good reason for being uneasy about their trade and transactions.
After requisitioning the horses, they will take the boats, carriages,
every means of transport, until presently no one will be allowed to take
even one step in all the empire.”
“I’m much afraid that the Nijni-Novgorod fair won’t end as brilliantly
as it has begun,” responded the other, shaking his head. “But the safety
and integrity of the Russian territory before everything. Business is
business.”
If in this compartment the subject of conversation varied but
little--nor did it, indeed, in the other carriages of the train--in all
it might have been observed that the talkers used much circumspection.
When they did happen to venture out of the region of facts, they never
went so far as to attempt to divine the intentions of the Muscovite
government, or even to criticize them.
This was especially remarked by a traveler in a carriage at the front
part of the train. This person--evidently a stranger--made good use
of his eyes, and asked numberless questions, to which he received only
evasive answers. Every minute leaning out of the window, which he would
keep down, to the great disgust of his fellow-travelers, he lost
nothing of the views to the right. He inquired the names of the most
insignificant places, their position, what were their commerce, their
manufactures, the number of their inhabitants, the average mortality,
etc., and all this he wrote down in a note-book, already full.
This was the correspondent Alcide Jolivet, and the reason of his putting
so many insignificant questions was, that amongst the many answers he
received, he hoped to find some interesting fact “for his cousin.” But,
naturally enough, he was taken for a spy, and not a word treating of the
events of the day was uttered in his hearing.
Finding, therefore, that he could learn nothing of the Tartar invasion,
he wrote in his book, “Travelers of great discretion. Very close as to
political matters.”
Whilst Alcide Jolivet noted down his impressions thus minutely, his
confrere, in the same train, traveling for the same object, was devoting
himself to the same work of observation in another compartment. Neither
of them had seen each other that day at the Moscow station, and they
were each ignorant that the other had set out to visit the scene of the
war. Harry Blount, speaking little, but listening much, had not inspired
his companions with the suspicions which Alcide Jolivet had aroused.
He was not taken for a spy, and therefore his neighbors, without
constraint, gossiped in his presence, allowing themselves even to go
farther than their natural caution would in most cases have allowed
them. The correspondent of the Daily Telegraph had thus an opportunity
of observing how much recent events preoccupied the merchants of
Nijni-Novgorod, and to what a degree the commerce with Central Asia was
threatened in its transit.
He therefore noted in his book this perfectly correct observation, “My
fellow-travelers extremely anxious. Nothing is talked of but war, and
they speak of it, with a freedom which is astonishing, as having broken
out between the Volga and the Vistula.”
The readers of the Daily Telegraph would not fail to be as well informed
as Alcide Jolivet’s “cousin.” But as Harry Blount, seated at the left
of the train, only saw one part of the country, which was hilly, without
giving himself the trouble of looking at the right side, which was
composed of wide plains, he added, with British assurance, “Country
mountainous between Moscow and Wladimir.”
It was evident that the Russian government purposed taking severe
measures to guard against any serious eventualities even in the interior
of the empire. The rebel lion had not crossed the Siberian frontier, but
evil influences might be feared in the Volga provinces, so near to the
country of the Kirghiz.
The police had as yet found no traces of Ivan Ogareff. It was not known
whether the traitor, calling in the foreigner to avenge his personal
rancor, had rejoined Feofar-Khan, or whether he was endeavoring to
foment a revolt in the government of Nijni-Novgorod, which at this time
of year contained a population of such diverse elements. Perhaps among
the Persians, Armenians, or Kalmucks, who flocked to the great market,
he had agents, instructed to provoke a rising in the interior. All this
was possible, especially in such a country as Russia. In fact, this
vast empire, 4,000,000 square miles in extent, does not possess the
homogeneousness of the states of Western Europe. The Russian territory
in Europe and Asia contains more than seventy millions of inhabitants.
In it thirty different languages are spoken. The Sclavonian race
predominates, no doubt, but there are besides Russians, Poles,
Lithuanians, Courlanders. Add to these, Finns, Laplanders, Esthonians,
several other northern tribes with unpronounceable names, the Permiaks,
the Germans, the Greeks, the Tartars, the Caucasian tribes, the
Mongol, Kalmuck, Samoid, Kamtschatkan, and Aleutian hordes, and one
may understand that the unity of so vast a state must be difficult
to maintain, and that it could only be the work of time, aided by the
wisdom of many successive rulers.
Be that as it may, Ivan Ogareff had hitherto managed to escape all
search, and very probably he might have rejoined the Tartar army. But
at every station where the train stopped, inspectors came forward
who scrutinized the travelers and subjected them all to a minute
examination, as by order of the superintendent of police, these
officials were seeking Ivan Ogareff. The government, in fact, believed
it to be certain that the traitor had not yet been able to quit European
Russia. If there appeared cause to suspect any traveler, he was carried
off to explain himself at the police station, and in the meantime the
train went on its way, no person troubling himself about the unfortunate
one left behind.
With the Russian police, which is very arbitrary, it is absolutely
useless to argue. Military rank is conferred on its employees, and
they act in military fashion. How can anyone, moreover, help obeying,
unhesitatingly, orders which emanate from a monarch who has the right to
employ this formula at the head of his ukase: “We, by the grace of God,
Emperor and Autocrat of all the Russias of Moscow, Kiev, Wladimir, and
Novgorod, Czar of Kasan and Astrakhan, Czar of Poland, Czar of Siberia,
Czar of the Tauric Chersonese, Seignior of Pskov, Prince of Smolensk,
Lithuania, Volkynia, Podolia, and Finland, Prince of Esthonia, Livonia,
Courland, and of Semigallia, of Bialystok, Karelia, Sougria, Perm,
Viatka, Bulgaria, and many other countries; Lord and Sovereign Prince
of the territory of Nijni-Novgorod, Tchemigoff, Riazan, Polotsk, Rostov,
Jaroslavl, Bielozersk, Oudoria, Obdoria, Kondinia, Vitepsk, and of
Mstislaf, Governor of the Hyperborean Regions, Lord of the countries of
Iveria, Kartalinia, Grou-zinia, Kabardinia, and Armenia, Hereditary Lord
and Suzerain of the Scherkess princes, of those of the mountains, and
of others; heir of Norway, Duke of Schleswig-Holstein, Stormarn,
Dittmarsen, and Oldenburg.” A powerful lord, in truth, is he whose arms
are an eagle with two heads, holding a scepter and a globe, surrounded
by the escutcheons of Novgorod, Wladimir, Kiev, Kasan, Astrakhan, and
of Siberia, and environed by the collar of the order of St. Andrew,
surmounted by a royal crown!
As to Michael Strogoff, his papers were in order, and he was,
consequently, free from all police supervision.
At the station of Wladimir the train stopped for several minutes, which
appeared sufficient to enable the correspondent of the Daily Telegraph
to take a twofold view, physical and moral, and to form a complete
estimate of this ancient capital of Russia.
At the Wladimir station fresh travelers joined the train. Among others,
a young girl entered the compartment occupied by Michael Strogoff. A
vacant place was found opposite the courier. The young girl took it,
after placing by her side a modest traveling-bag of red leather, which
seemed to constitute all her luggage. Then seating herself with downcast
eyes, not even glancing at the fellow-travelers whom chance had given
her, she prepared for a journey which was still to last several hours.
Michael Strogoff could not help looking attentively at his newly-arrived
fellow-traveler. As she was so placed as to travel with her back to the
engine, he even offered her his seat, which he might prefer to her own,
but she thanked him with a slight bend of her graceful neck.
The young girl appeared to be about sixteen or seventeen years of age.
Her head, truly charming, was of the purest Sclavonic type--slightly
severe, and likely in a few summers to unfold into beauty rather than
mere prettiness. From beneath a sort of kerchief which she wore on her
head escaped in profusion light golden hair. Her eyes were brown, soft,
and expressive of much sweetness of temper. The nose was straight,
and attached to her pale and somewhat thin cheeks by delicately mobile
nostrils. The lips were finely cut, but it seemed as if they had long
since forgotten how to smile.
The young traveler was tall and upright, as far as could be judged of
her figure from the very simple and ample pelisse that covered her.
Although she was still a very young girl in the literal sense of the
term, the development of her high forehead and clearly-cut features gave
the idea that she was the possessor of great moral energy--a point which
did not escape Michael Strogoff. Evidently this young girl had already
suffered in the past, and the future doubtless did not present itself
to her in glowing colors; but she had surely known how to struggle
still with the trials of life. Her energy was evidently both prompt and
persistent, and her calmness unalterable, even under circumstances in
which a man would be likely to give way or lose his self-command.
Such was the impression which she produced at first sight. Michael
Strogoff, being himself of an energetic temperament, was naturally
struck by the character of her physiognomy, and, while taking care
not to cause her annoyance by a too persistent gaze, he observed his
neighbor with no small interest. The costume of the young traveler was
both extremely simple and appropriate. She was not rich--that could
be easily seen; but not the slightest mark of negligence was to be
discerned in her dress. All her luggage was contained in the leather bag
which, for want of room, she held on her lap.
She wore a long, dark pelisse, gracefully adjusted at the neck by a
blue tie. Under this pelisse, a short skirt, also dark, fell over a robe
which reached the ankles. Half-boots of leather, thickly soled, as if
chosen in anticipation of a long journey, covered her small feet.
Michael Strogoff fancied that he recognized, by certain details, the
fashion of the costume of Livonia, and thought his neighbor a native of
the Baltic provinces.
But whither was this young girl going, alone, at an age when the
fostering care of a father, or the protection of a brother, is
considered a matter of necessity? Had she now come, after an already
long journey, from the provinces of Western Russia? Was she merely going
to Nijni-Novgorod, or was the end of her travels beyond the eastern
frontiers of the empire? Would some relation, some friend, await her
arrival by the train? Or was it not more probable, on the contrary, that
she would find herself as much isolated in the town as she was in this
compartment? It was probable.
In fact, the effect of habits contracted in solitude was clearly
manifested in the bearing of the young girl. The manner in which she
entered the carriage and prepared herself for the journey, the slight
disturbance she caused among those around her, the care she took not to
incommode or give trouble to anyone, all showed that she was accustomed
to be alone, and to depend on herself only.
Michael Strogoff observed her with interest, but, himself reserved,
he sought no opportunity of accosting her. Once only, when her
neighbor--the merchant who had jumbled together so imprudently in his
remarks tallow and shawls--being asleep, and threatening her with his
great head, which was swaying from one shoulder to the other, Michael
Strogoff awoke him somewhat roughly, and made him understand that he
must hold himself upright.
The merchant, rude enough by nature, grumbled some words against “people
who interfere with what does not concern them,” but Michael Strogoff
cast on him a glance so stern that the sleeper leant on the opposite
side, and relieved the young traveler from his unpleasant vicinity.
The latter looked at the young man for an instant, and mute and modest
thanks were in that look.
But a circumstance occurred which gave Strogoff a just idea of
the character of the maiden. Twelve versts before arriving at
Nijni-Novgorod, at a sharp curve of the iron way, the train experienced
a very violent shock. Then, for a minute, it ran onto the slope of an
embankment.
Travelers more or less shaken about, cries, confusion, general disorder
in the carriages--such was the effect at first produced. It was to
be feared that some serious accident had happened. Consequently,
even before the train had stopped, the doors were opened, and the
panic-stricken passengers thought only of getting out of the carriages.
Michael Strogoff thought instantly of the young girl; but, while the
passengers in her compartment were precipitating themselves outside,
screaming and struggling, she had remained quietly in her place, her
face scarcely changed by a slight pallor.
She waited--Michael Strogoff waited also.
Both remained quiet.
“A determined nature!” thought Michael Strogoff.
However, all danger had quickly disappeared. A breakage of the coupling
of the luggage-van had first caused the shock to, and then the stoppage
of, the train, which in another instant would have been thrown from the
top of the embankment into a bog. There was an hour’s delay. At last,
the road being cleared, the train proceeded, and at half-past eight in
the evening arrived at the station of Nijni-Novgorod.
Before anyone could get out of the carriages, the inspectors of police
presented themselves at the doors and examined the passengers.
Michael Strogoff showed his podorojna, made out in the name of Nicholas
Korpanoff. He had consequently no difficulty. As to the other travelers
in the compartment, all bound for Nijni-Novgorod, their appearance,
happily for them, was in nowise suspicious.
The young girl in her turn, exhibited, not a passport, since passports
are no longer required in Russia, but a permit indorsed with a private
seal, and which seemed to be of a special character. The inspector read
the permit with attention. Then, having attentively examined the person
whose description it contained:
“You are from Riga?” he said.
“Yes,” replied the young girl.
“You are going to Irkutsk?”
“Yes.”
“By what route?”
“By Perm.”
“Good!” replied the inspector. “Take care to have your permit vised, at
the police station of Nijni-Novgorod.”
The young girl bent her head in token of assent.
Hearing these questions and replies, Michael Strogoff experienced a
mingled sentiment both of surprise and pity. What! this young girl,
alone, journeying to that far-off Siberia, and at a time when, to its
ordinary dangers, were added all the perils of an invaded country and
one in a state of insurrection! How would she reach it? What would
become of her?
The inspection ended, the doors of the carriages were then opened, but,
before Michael Strogoff could move towards her, the young Livonian,
who had been the first to descend, had disappeared in the crowd which
thronged the platforms of the railway station.
CHAPTER V THE TWO ANNOUNCEMENTS
NIJNI-NOVGOROD, Lower Novgorod, situate at the junction of the Volga and
the Oka, is the chief town in the district of the same name. It was here
that Michael Strogoff was obliged to leave the railway, which at the
time did not go beyond that town. Thus, as he advanced, his traveling
would become first less speedy and then less safe.
Nijni-Novgorod, the fixed population of which is only from thirty to
thirty-five thousand inhabitants, contained at that time more than three
hundred thousand; that is to say, the population was increased tenfold.
This addition was in consequence of the celebrated fair, which was held
within the walls for three weeks. Formerly Makariew had the benefit of
this concourse of traders, but since 1817 the fair had been removed to
Nijni-Novgorod.
Even at the late hour at which Michael Strogoff left the platform, there
was still a large number of people in the two towns, separated by the
stream of the Volga, which compose Nijni-Novgorod. The highest of
these is built on a steep rock, and defended by a fort called in Russia
“kreml.”
Michael Strogoff expected some trouble in finding a hotel, or even an
inn, to suit him. As he had not to start immediately, for he was going
to take a steamer, he was compelled to look out for some lodging;
but, before doing so, he wished to know exactly the hour at which the
steamboat would start. He went to the office of the company whose boats
plied between Nijni-Novgorod and Perm. There, to his great annoyance,
he found that no boat started for Perm till the following day at twelve
o’clock. Seventeen hours to wait! It was very vexatious to a man so
pressed for time. However, he never senselessly murmured. Besides, the
fact was that no other conveyance could take him so quickly either to
Perm or Kasan. It would be better, then, to wait for the steamer, which
would enable him to regain lost time.
Here, then, was Michael Strogoff, strolling through the town and
quietly looking out for some inn in which to pass the night. However, he
troubled himself little on this score, and, but that hunger pressed
him, he would probably have wandered on till morning in the streets
of Nijni-Novgorod. He was looking for supper rather than a bed. But
he found both at the sign of the City of Constantinople. There, the
landlord offered him a fairly comfortable room, with little furniture,
it is true, but not without an image of the Virgin, and a few saints
framed in yellow gauze.
A goose filled with sour stuffing swimming in thick cream, barley bread,
some curds, powdered sugar mixed with cinnamon, and a jug of kwass, the
ordinary Russian beer, were placed before him, and sufficed to satisfy
his hunger. He did justice to the meal, which was more than could be
said of his neighbor at table, who, having, in his character of “old
believer” of the sect of Raskalniks, made the vow of abstinence,
rejected the potatoes in front of him, and carefully refrained from
putting sugar in his tea.
His supper finished, Michael Strogoff, instead of going up to his
bedroom, again strolled out into the town. But, although the long
twilight yet lingered, the crowd was already dispersing, the streets
were gradually becoming empty, and at length everyone retired to his
dwelling.
Why did not Michael Strogoff go quietly to bed, as would have seemed
more reasonable after a long railway journey? Was he thinking of the
young Livonian girl who had been his traveling companion? Having nothing
better to do, he WAS thinking of her. Did he fear that, lost in this
busy city, she might be exposed to insult? He feared so, and with
good reason. Did he hope to meet her, and, if need were, to afford her
protection? No. To meet would be difficult. As to protection--what right
had he--
“Alone,” he said to himself, “alone, in the midst of these wandering
tribes! And yet the present dangers are nothing compared to those she
must undergo. Siberia! Irkutsk! I am about to dare all risks for Russia,
for the Czar, while she is about to do so--For whom? For what? She is
authorized to cross the frontier! The country beyond is in revolt! The
steppes are full of Tartar bands!”
Michael Strogoff stopped for an instant, and reflected.
“Without doubt,” thought he, “she must have determined on undertaking
her journey before the invasion. Perhaps she is even now ignorant of
what is happening. But no, that cannot be; the merchants discussed
before her the disturbances in Siberia--and she did not seem surprised.
She did not even ask an explanation. She must have known it then, and
knowing it, is still resolute. Poor girl! Her motive for the journey
must be urgent indeed! But though she may be brave--and she certainly
is so--her strength must fail her, and, to say nothing of dangers and
obstacles, she will be unable to endure the fatigue of such a journey.
Never can she reach Irkutsk!”
Indulging in such reflections, Michael Strogoff wandered on as chance
led him; being well acquainted with the town, he knew that he could
easily retrace his steps.
Having strolled on for about an hour, he seated himself on a bench
against the wall of a large wooden cottage, which stood, with many
others, on a vast open space. He had scarcely been there five minutes
when a hand was laid heavily on his shoulder.
“What are you doing here?” roughly demanded a tall and powerful man, who
had approached unperceived.
“I am resting,” replied Michael Strogoff.
“Do you mean to stay all night on the bench?”
“Yes, if I feel inclined to do so,” answered Michael Strogoff, in a tone
somewhat too sharp for the simple merchant he wished to personate.
“Come forward, then, so I can see you,” said the man.
Michael Strogoff, remembering that, above all, prudence was requisite,
instinctively drew back. “It is not necessary,” he replied, and calmly
stepped back ten paces.
The man seemed, as Michael observed him well, to have the look of
a Bohemian, such as are met at fairs, and with whom contact, either
physical or moral, is unpleasant. Then, as he looked more attentively
through the dusk, he perceived, near the cottage, a large caravan, the
usual traveling dwelling of the Zingaris or gypsies, who swarm in Russia
wherever a few copecks can be obtained.
As the gypsy took two or three steps forward, and was about to
interrogate Michael Strogoff more closely, the door of the cottage
opened. He could just see a woman, who spoke quickly in a language which
Michael Strogoff knew to be a mixture of Mongol and Siberian.
“Another spy! Let him alone, and come to supper. The papluka is waiting
for you.”
Michael Strogoff could not help smiling at the epithet bestowed on him,
dreading spies as he did above all else.
In the same dialect, although his accent was very different, the
Bohemian replied in words which signify, “You are right, Sangarre!
Besides, we start to-morrow.”
“To-morrow?” repeated the woman in surprise.
“Yes, Sangarre,” replied the Bohemian; “to-morrow, and the Father
himself sends us--where we are going!”
Thereupon the man and woman entered the cottage, and carefully closed
the door.
“Good!” said Michael Strogoff, to himself; “if these gipsies do not wish
to be understood when they speak before me, they had better use some
other language.”
From his Siberian origin, and because he had passed his childhood in the
Steppes, Michael Strogoff, it has been said, understood almost all
the languages in usage from Tartary to the Sea of Ice. As to the exact
signification of the words he had heard, he did not trouble his head.
For why should it interest him?
It was already late when he thought of returning to his inn to take some
repose. He followed, as he did so, the course of the Volga, whose waters
were almost hidden under the countless number of boats floating on its
bosom.
An hour after, Michael Strogoff was sleeping soundly on one of those
Russian beds which always seem so hard to strangers, and on the morrow,
the 17th of July, he awoke at break of day.
He had still five hours to pass in Nijni-Novgorod; it seemed to him an
age. How was he to spend the morning unless in wandering, as he had done
the evening before, through the streets? By the time he had finished
his breakfast, strapped up his bag, had his podorojna inspected at the
police office, he would have nothing to do but start. But he was not a
man to lie in bed after the sun had risen; so he rose, dressed himself,
placed the letter with the imperial arms on it carefully at the bottom
of its usual pocket within the lining of his coat, over which he
fastened his belt; he then closed his bag and threw it over his
shoulder. This done, he had no wish to return to the City of
Constantinople, and intending to breakfast on the bank of the Volga near
the wharf, he settled his bill and left the inn. By way of precaution,
Michael Strogoff went first to the office of the steam-packet company,
and there made sure that the Caucasus would start at the appointed hour.
As he did so, the thought for the first time struck him that, since the
young Livonian girl was going to Perm, it was very possible that her
intention was also to embark in the Caucasus, in which case he should
accompany her.
The town above with its kremlin, whose circumference measures two
versts, and which resembles that of Moscow, was altogether abandoned.
Even the governor did not reside there. But if the town above was like a
city of the dead, the town below, at all events, was alive.
Michael Strogoff, having crossed the Volga on a bridge of boats, guarded
by mounted Cossacks, reached the square where the evening before he had
fallen in with the gipsy camp. This was somewhat outside the town, where
the fair of Nijni-Novgorod was held. In a vast plain rose the temporary
palace of the governor-general, where by imperial orders that great
functionary resided during the whole of the fair, which, thanks to the
people who composed it, required an ever-watchful surveillance.
This plain was now covered with booths symmetrically arranged in such
a manner as to leave avenues broad enough to allow the crowd to pass
without a crush.
Each group of these booths, of all sizes and shapes, formed a separate
quarter particularly dedicated to some special branch of commerce. There
was the iron quarter, the furriers’ quarter, the woolen quarter, the
quarter of the wood merchants, the weavers’ quarter, the dried fish
quarter, etc. Some booths were even built of fancy materials, some of
bricks of tea, others of masses of salt meat--that is to say, of
samples of the goods which the owners thus announced were there to the
purchasers--a singular, and somewhat American, mode of advertisement.
In the avenues and long alleys there was already a large assemblage of
people--the sun, which had risen at four o’clock, being well above the
horizon--an extraordinary mixture of Europeans and Asiatics, talking,
wrangling, haranguing, and bargaining. Everything which can be bought
or sold seemed to be heaped up in this square. Furs, precious stones,
silks, Cashmere shawls, Turkey carpets, weapons from the Caucasus,
gauzes from Smyrna and Ispahan. Tiflis armor, caravan teas. European
bronzes, Swiss clocks, velvets and silks from Lyons, English cottons,
harness, fruits, vegetables, minerals from the Ural, malachite,
lapis-lazuli, spices, perfumes, medicinal herbs, wood, tar, rope, horn,
pumpkins, water-melons, etc--all the products of India, China, Persia,
from the shores of the Caspian and the Black Sea, from America and
Europe, were united at this corner of the globe.
It is scarcely possible truly to portray the moving mass of human beings
surging here and there, the excitement, the confusion, the hubbub;
demonstrative as were the natives and the inferior classes, they were
completely outdone by their visitors. There were merchants from Central
Asia, who had occupied a year in escorting their merchandise across its
vast plains, and who would not again see their shops and counting-houses
for another year to come. In short, of such importance is this fair of
Nijni-Novgorod, that the sum total of its transactions amounts yearly to
nearly a hundred million dollars.
On one of the open spaces between the quarters of this temporary city
were numbers of mountebanks of every description; gypsies from the
mountains, telling fortunes to the credulous fools who are ever to
be found in such assemblies; Zingaris or Tsiganes--a name which the
Russians give to the gypsies who are the descendants of the ancient
Copts--singing their wildest melodies and dancing their most original
dances; comedians of foreign theaters, acting Shakespeare, adapted to
the taste of spectators who crowded to witness them. In the long avenues
the bear showmen accompanied their four-footed dancers, menageries
resounded with the hoarse cries of animals under the influence of the
stinging whip or red-hot irons of the tamer; and, besides all these
numberless performers, in the middle of the central square, surrounded
by a circle four deep of enthusiastic amateurs, was a band of “mariners
of the Volga,” sitting on the ground, as on the deck of their vessel,
imitating the action of rowing, guided by the stick of the master of the
orchestra, the veritable helmsman of this imaginary vessel! A whimsical
and pleasing custom!
Suddenly, according to a time-honored observance in the fair of
Nijni-Novgorod, above the heads of the vast concourse a flock of birds
was allowed to escape from the cages in which they had been brought to
the spot. In return for a few copecks charitably offered by some good
people, the bird-fanciers opened the prison doors of their captives, who
flew out in hundreds, uttering their joyous notes.
It should be mentioned that England and France, at all events, were this
year represented at the great fair of Nijni-Novgorod by two of the most
distinguished products of modern civilization, Messrs. Harry Blount
and Alcide Jolivet. Jolivet, an optimist by nature, found everything
agreeable, and as by chance both lodging and food were to his taste,
he jotted down in his book some memoranda particularly favorable to the
town of Nijni-Novgorod. Blount, on the contrary, having in vain hunted
for a supper, had been obliged to find a resting-place in the open
air. He therefore looked at it all from another point of view, and was
preparing an article of the most withering character against a town in
which the landlords of the inns refused to receive travelers who only
begged leave to be flayed, “morally and physically.”
Michael Strogoff, one hand in his pocket, the other holding his
cherry-stemmed pipe, appeared the most indifferent and least impatient
of men; yet, from a certain contraction of his eyebrows every now and
then, a careful observer would have seen that he was burning to be off.
For two hours he kept walking about the streets, only to find himself
invariably at the fair again. As he passed among the groups of buyers
and sellers he discovered that those who came from countries on the
confines of Asia manifested great uneasiness. Their trade was visibly
suffering. Another symptom also was marked. In Russia military uniforms
appear on every occasion. Soldiers are wont to mix freely with the
crowd, the police agents being almost invariably aided by a number
of Cossacks, who, lance on shoulder, keep order in the crowd of three
hundred thousand strangers. But on this occasion the soldiers, Cossacks
and the rest, did not put in an appearance at the great market.
Doubtless, a sudden order to move having been foreseen, they were
restricted to their barracks.
Moreover, while no soldiers were to be seen, it was not so with their
officers. Since the evening before, aides-decamp, leaving the governor’s
palace, galloped in every direction. An unusual movement was going
forward which a serious state of affairs could alone account for. There
were innumerable couriers on the roads both to Wladimir and to the
Ural Mountains. The exchange of telegraphic dispatches with Moscow was
incessant.
Michael Strogoff found himself in the central square when the report
spread that the head of police had been summoned by a courier to the
palace of the governor-general. An important dispatch from Moscow, it
was said, was the cause of it.
“The fair is to be closed,” said one.
“The regiment of Nijni-Novgorod has received the route,” declared
another.
“They say that the Tartars menace Tomsk!”
“Here is the head of police!” was shouted on every side. A loud clapping
of hands was suddenly raised, which subsided by degrees, and finally was
succeeded by absolute silence. The head of police arrived in the middle
of the central square, and it was seen by all that he held in his hand a
dispatch.
Then, in a loud voice, he read the following announcements: “By order of
the Governor of Nijni-Novgorod.
“1st. All Russian subjects are forbidden to quit the province upon any
pretext whatsoever.
“2nd. All strangers of Asiatic origin are commanded to leave the
province within twenty-four hours.”
CHAPTER VI BROTHER AND SISTER
HOWEVER disastrous these measures might be to private interests, they
were, under the circumstances, perfectly justifiable.
“All Russian subjects are forbidden to leave the province;” if Ivan
Ogareff was still in the province, this would at any rate prevent him,
unless with the greatest difficulty, from rejoining Feofar-Khan, and
becoming a very formidable lieutenant to the Tartar chief.
“All foreigners of Asiatic origin are ordered to leave the province in
four-and-twenty hours;” this would send off in a body all the traders
from Central Asia, as well as the bands of Bohemians, gipsies, etc.,
having more or less sympathy with the Tartars. So many heads, so many
spies--undoubtedly affairs required their expulsion.
It is easy to understand the effect produced by these two thunder-claps
bursting over a town like Nijni-Novgorod, so densely crowded with
visitors, and with a commerce so greatly surpassing that of all other
places in Russia. The natives whom business called beyond the Siberian
frontier could not leave the province for a time at least. The tenor of
the first article of the order was express; it admitted of no exception.
All private interests must yield to the public weal. As to the second
article of the proclamation, the order of expulsion which it contained
admitted of no evasion either. It only concerned foreigners of Asiatic
origin, but these could do nothing but pack up their merchandise and
go back the way they came. As to the mountebanks, of which there were a
considerable number, they had nearly a thousand versts to go before they
could reach the nearest frontier. For them it was simply misery.
At first there rose against this unusual measure a murmur of
protestation, a cry of despair, but this was quickly suppressed by the
presence of the Cossacks and agents of police. Immediately, what might
be called the exodus from the immense plain began. The awnings in front
of the stalls were folded up; the theaters were taken to pieces;
the fires were put out; the acrobats’ ropes were lowered; the old
broken-winded horses of the traveling vans came back from their sheds.
Agents and soldiers with whip or stick stimulated the tardy ones, and
made nothing of pulling down the tents even before the poor Bohemians
had left them.
Under these energetic measures the square of Nijni-Novgorod would, it
was evident, be entirely evacuated before the evening, and to the tumult
of the great fair would succeed the silence of the desert.
It must again be repeated--for it was a necessary aggravation of these
severe measures--that to all those nomads chiefly concerned in the order
of expulsion even the steppes of Siberia were forbidden, and they would
be obliged to hasten to the south of the Caspian Sea, either to Persia,
Turkey, or the plains of Turkestan. The post of the Ural, and the
mountains which form, as it were, a prolongation of the river along the
Russian frontier, they were not allowed to pass. They were therefore
under the necessity of traveling six hundred miles before they could
tread a free soil.
Just as the reading of the proclamation by the head of the police
came to an end, an idea darted instinctively into the mind of Michael
Strogoff. “What a singular coincidence,” thought he, “between this
proclamation expelling all foreigners of Asiatic origin, and the words
exchanged last evening between those two gipsies of the Zingari race.
‘The Father himself sends us where we wish to go,’ that old man said.
But ‘the Father’ is the emperor! He is never called anything else among
the people. How could those gipsies have foreseen the measure taken
against them? how could they have known it beforehand, and where do they
wish to go? Those are suspicious people, and it seems to me that to them
the government proclamation must be more useful than injurious.”
But these reflections were completely dispelled by another which drove
every other thought out of Michael’s mind. He forgot the Zingaris,
their suspicious words, the strange coincidence which resulted from the
proclamation. The remembrance of the young Livonian girl suddenly rushed
into his mind. “Poor child!” he thought to himself. “She cannot now
cross the frontier.”
In truth the young girl was from Riga; she was Livonian, consequently
Russian, and now could not leave Russian territory! The permit which
had been given her before the new measures had been promulgated was no
longer available. All the routes to Siberia had just been pitilessly
closed to her, and, whatever the motive taking her to Irkutsk, she was
now forbidden to go there.
This thought greatly occupied Michael Strogoff. He said to himself,
vaguely at first, that, without neglecting anything of what was due to
his important mission, it would perhaps be possible for him to be of
some use to this brave girl; and this idea pleased him. Knowing how
serious were the dangers which he, an energetic and vigorous man, would
have personally to encounter, he could not conceal from himself how
infinitely greater they would prove to a young unprotected girl. As she
was going to Irkutsk, she would be obliged to follow the same road as
himself, she would have to pass through the bands of invaders, as he was
about to attempt doing himself. If, moreover, she had at her
disposal only the money necessary for a journey taken under ordinary
circumstances, how could she manage to accomplish it under conditions
which made it not only perilous but expensive?
“Well,” said he, “if she takes the route to Perm, it is nearly
impossible but that I shall fall in with her. Then, I will watch over
her without her suspecting it; and as she appears to me as anxious as
myself to reach Irkutsk, she will cause me no delay.”
But one thought leads to another. Michael Strogoff had till now thought
only of doing a kind action; but now another idea flashed into his
brain; the question presented itself under quite a new aspect.
“The fact is,” said he to himself, “that I have much more need of her
than she can have of me. Her presence will be useful in drawing off
suspicion from me. A man traveling alone across the steppe, may be
easily guessed to be a courier of the Czar. If, on the contrary, this
young girl accompanies me, I shall appear, in the eyes of all, the
Nicholas Korpanoff of my podorojna. Therefore, she must accompany me.
Therefore, I must find her again at any cost. It is not probable that
since yesterday evening she has been able to get a carriage and leave
Nijni-Novgorod. I must look for her. And may God guide me!”
Michael left the great square of Nijni-Novgorod, where the tumult
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.
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.
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.
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.
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