الفصل الفصل 22 · “LOOK WHILE YOU MAY!”

. “LOOK WHILE YOU MAY!”

MICHAEL was held before the Emir’s throne, at the foot of the terrace,

his hands bound behind his back. His mother overcome at last by mental

and physical torture, had sunk to the ground, daring neither to look nor

listen.

“Look while you may,” exclaimed Feofar-Kahn, stretching his arm towards

Michael in a threatening manner. Doubtless Ivan Ogareff, being well

acquainted with Tartar customs, had taken in the full meaning of these

words, for his lips curled for an instant in a cruel smile; he then took

his place by Feofar-Khan.

A trumpet call was heard. This was the signal for the amusements to

begin. “Here comes the ballet,” said Alcide to Blount; “but, contrary to

our customs, these barbarians give it before the drama.”

Michael had been commanded to look at everything. He looked. A troop

of dancers poured into the open space before the Emir’s tent. Different

Tartar instruments, the “doutare,” a long-handled guitar, the “kobize,”

a kind of violoncello, the “tschibyzga,” a long reed flute; wind

instruments, tom-toms, tambourines, united with the deep voices of the

singers, formed a strange harmony. Added to this were the strains of an

aerial orchestra, composed of a dozen kites, which, fastened by strings

to their centers, resounded in the breeze like AEolian harps.

Then the dancers began. The performers were all of Persian origin;

they were no longer slaves, but exercised their profession at liberty.

Formerly they figured officially in the ceremonies at the court of

Teheran, but since the accession of the reigning family, banished or

treated with contempt, they had been compelled to seek their fortune

elsewhere. They wore the national costume, and were adorned with a

profusion of jewels. Little triangles of gold, studded with jewels,

glittered in their ears. Circles of silver, marked with black,

surrounded their necks and legs.

These performers gracefully executed various dances, sometimes alone,

sometimes in groups. Their faces were uncovered, but from time to time

they threw a light veil over their heads, and a gauze cloud passed over

their bright eyes as smoke over a starry sky. Some of these Persians

wore leathern belts embroidered with pearls, from which hung little

triangular bags. From these bags, embroidered with golden filigree, they

drew long narrow bands of scarlet silk, on which were braided verses

of the Koran. These bands, which they held between them, formed a belt

under which the other dancers darted; and, as they passed each verse,

following the precept it contained, they either prostrated themselves

on the earth or lightly bounded upwards, as though to take a place among

the houris of Mohammed’s heaven.

But what was remarkable, and what struck Alcide, was that the Persians

appeared rather indolent than fiery. Their passion had deserted them,

and, by the kind of dances as well as by their execution, they recalled

rather the calm and self-possessed nauch girls of India than the

impassioned dancers of Egypt.

When this was over, a stern voice was heard saying:

“Look while you may!”

The man who repeated the Emir’s words--a tall spare Tartar--was he who

carried out the sentences of Feofar-Khan against offenders. He had taken

his place behind Michael, holding in his hand a broad curved saber, one

of those Damascene blades which are forged by the celebrated armorers of

Karschi or Hissar.

Behind him guards were carrying a tripod supporting a chafing-dish

filled with live coals. No smoke arose from this, but a light vapor

surrounded it, due to the incineration of a certain aromatic and

resinous substance which he had thrown on the surface.

The Persians were succeeded by another party of dancers, whom Michael

recognized. The journalists also appeared to recognize them, for Blount

said to his companion, “These are the Tsiganes of Nijni-Novgorod.”

“No doubt of it,” cried Alcide. “Their eyes, I imagine, bring more money

to these spies than their legs.”

In putting them down as agents in the Emir’s service, Alcide Jolivet

was, by all accounts, not mistaken.

In the first rank of the Tsiganes, Sangarre appeared, superb in her

strange and picturesque costume, which set off still further her

remarkable beauty.

Sangarre did not dance, but she stood as a statue in the midst of the

performers, whose style of dancing was a combination of that of all

those countries through which their race had passed--Turkey, Bohemia,

Egypt, Italy, and Spain. They were enlivened by the sound of cymbals,

which clashed on their arms, and by the hollow sounds of the “daires”--a

sort of tambourine played with the fingers.

Sangarre, holding one of those daires, which she played between her

hands, encouraged this troupe of veritable corybantes. A young Tsigane,

of about fifteen years of age, then advanced. He held in his hand a

“doutare,” strings of which he made to vibrate by a simple movement of

the nails. He sung. During the singing of each couplet, of very peculiar

rhythm, a dancer took her position by him and remained there immovable,

listening to him, but each time that the burden came from the lips of

the young singer, she resumed her dance, dinning in his ears with her

daire, and deafening him with the clashing of her cymbals. Then, after

the last chorus, the remainder surrounded the Tsigane in the windings of

their dance.

At that moment a shower of gold fell from the hands of the Emir and his

train, and from the hands of his officers of all ranks; to the noise

which the pieces made as they struck the cymbals of the dancers, being

added the last murmurs of the doutares and tambourines.

“Lavish as robbers,” said Alcide in the ear of his companion. And in

fact it was the result of plunder which was falling; for, with the

Tartar tomans and sequins, rained also Russian ducats and roubles.

Then silence followed for an instant, and the voice of the executioner,

who laid his hand on Michael’s shoulder, once more pronounced the words,

which this repetition rendered more and more sinister:

“Look while you may”

But this time Alcide observed that the executioner no longer held the

saber bare in his hand.

Meanwhile the sun had sunk behind the horizon. A semi-obscurity began

to envelop the plain. The mass of cedars and pines became blacker and

blacker, and the waters of the Tom, totally obscured in the distance,

mingled with the approaching shadows.

But at that instant several hundreds of slaves, bearing lighted torches,

entered the square. Led by Sangarre, Tsiganes and Persians reappeared

before the Emir’s throne, and showed off, by the contrast, their dances

of styles so different. The instruments of the Tartar orchestra sounded

forth in harmony still more savage, accompanied by the guttural cries of

the singers. The kites, which had fallen to the ground, once more winged

their way into the sky, each bearing a parti-colored lantern, and under

a fresher breeze their harps vibrated with intenser sound in the midst

of the aerial illumination.

Then a squadron of Tartars, in their brilliant uniforms, mingled in

the dances, whose wild fury was increasing rapidly, and then began a

performance which produced a very strange effect. Soldiers came on the

ground, armed with bare sabers and long pistols, and, as they executed

dances, they made the air re-echo with the sudden detonations of their

firearms, which immediately set going the rumbling of the tambourines,

and grumblings of the daires, and the gnashing of doutares.

Their arms, covered with a colored powder of some metallic ingredient,

after the Chinese fashion, threw long jets--red, green, and blue--so

that the groups of dancers seemed to be in the midst of fireworks.

In some respects, this performance recalled the military dance of

the ancients, in the midst of naked swords; but this Tartar dance

was rendered yet more fantastic by the colored fire, which wound,

serpent-like, above the dancers, whose dresses seemed to be embroidered

with fiery hems. It was like a kaleidoscope of sparks, whose infinite

combinations varied at each movement of the dancers.

Though it may be thought that a Parisian reporter would be perfectly

hardened to any scenic effect, which our modern ideas have carried so

far, yet Alcide Jolivet could not restrain a slight movement of the

head, which at home, between the Boulevard Montmartre and La Madeleine

would have said--“Very fair, very fair.”

Then, suddenly, at a signal, all the lights of the fantasia were

extinguished, the dances ceased, and the performers disappeared. The

ceremony was over, and the torches alone lighted up the plateau, which a

few instants before had been so brilliantly illuminated.

On a sign from the Emir, Michael was led into the middle of the square.

“Blount,” said Alcide to his companion, “are you going to see the end of

all this?”

“No, that I am not,” replied Blount.

“The readers of the _Daily Telegraph_ are, I hope, not very eager for the

details of an execution a la mode Tartare?”

“No more than your cousin!”

“Poor fellow!” added Alcide, as he watched Michael. “That valiant

soldier should have fallen on the field of battle!”

“Can we do nothing to save him?” said Blount.

“Nothing!”

The reporters recalled Michael’s generous conduct towards them; they

knew now through what trials he must have passed, ever obedient to his

duty; and in the midst of these Tartars, to whom pity is unknown, they

could do nothing for him. Having little desire to be present at the

torture reserved for the unfortunate man, they returned to the town.

An hour later, they were on the road to Irkutsk, for it was among

the Russians that they intended to follow what Alcide called, by

anticipation, “the campaign of revenge.”

Meantime, Michael was standing ready, his eyes returning the Emir’s

haughty glance, while his countenance assumed an expression of intense

scorn whenever he cast his looks on Ivan Ogareff. He was prepared to

die, yet not a single sign of weakness escaped him.

The spectators, waiting around the square, as well as Feofar-Khan’s

body-guard, to whom this execution was only one of the attractions, were

eagerly expecting it. Then, their curiosity satisfied, they would rush

off to enjoy the pleasures of intoxication.

The Emir made a sign. Michael was thrust forward by his guards to the

foot of the terrace, and Feofar said to him, “You came to see our goings

out and comings in, Russian spy. You have seen for the last time. In an

instant your eyes will be forever shut to the day.”

Michael’s fate was to be not death, but blindness; loss of sight, more

terrible perhaps than loss of life. The unhappy man was condemned to be

blinded.

However, on hearing the Emir’s sentence Michael’s heart did not grow

faint. He remained unmoved, his eyes wide open, as though he wished

to concentrate his whole life into one last look. To entreat pity from

these savage men would be useless, besides, it would be unworthy of him.

He did not even think of it. His thoughts were condensed on his mission,

which had apparently so completely failed; on his mother, on Nadia, whom

he should never more see! But he let no sign appear of the emotion he

felt. Then, a feeling of vengeance to be accomplished came over him.

“Ivan,” said he, in a stern voice, “Ivan the Traitor, the last menace of

my eyes shall be for you!”

Ivan Ogareff shrugged his shoulders.

But Michael was not to be looking at Ivan when his eyes were put out.

Marfa Strogoff stood before him.

“My mother!” cried he. “Yes! yes! my last glance shall be for you, and

not for this wretch! Stay there, before me! Now I see once more your

well-beloved face! Now shall my eyes close as they rest upon it...!”

The old woman, without uttering a word, advanced.

“Take that woman away!” said Ivan.

Two soldiers were about to seize her, but she stepped back and remained

standing a few paces from Michael.

The executioner appeared. This time, he held his saber bare in his hand,

and this saber he had just drawn from the chafing-dish, where he had

brought it to a white heat. Michael was going to be blinded in the

Tartar fashion, with a hot blade passed before his eyes!

Michael did not attempt to resist. Nothing existed before his eyes but

his mother, whom his eyes seemed to devour. All his life was in that

last look.

Marfa Strogoff, her eyes open wide, her arms extended towards where he

stood, was gazing at him. The incandescent blade passed before Michael’s

eyes.

A despairing cry was heard. His aged mother fell senseless to the

ground. Michael Strogoff was blind.

His orders executed, the Emir retired with his train. There remained

in the square only Ivan Ogareff and the torch bearers. Did the wretch

intend to insult his victim yet further, and yet to give him a parting

blow?

Ivan Ogareff slowly approached Michael, who, feeling him coming, drew

himself up. Ivan drew from his pocket the Imperial letter, he opened it,

and with supreme irony he held it up before the sightless eyes of the

Czar’s courier, saying, “Read, now, Michael Strogoff, read, and go and

repeat at Irkutsk what you have read. The true Courier of the Czar is

Ivan Ogareff.”

This said, the traitor thrust the letter into his breast. Then, without

looking round he left the square, followed by the torch-bearers.

Michael was left alone, at a few paces from his mother, lying lifeless,

perhaps dead. He heard in the distance cries and songs, the varied

noises of a wild debauch. Tomsk, illuminated, glittered and gleamed.

Michael listened. The square was silent and deserted. He went, groping

his way, towards the place where his mother had fallen. He found her

with his hand, he bent over her, he put his face close to hers, he

listened for the beating of her heart. Then he murmured a few words.

Did Marfa still live, and did she hear her son’s words? Whether she

did so or not, she made not the slightest movement. Michael kissed her

forehead and her white locks. He then raised himself, and, groping with

his foot, trying to stretch out his hand to guide himself, he walked by

degrees to the edge of the square.

Suddenly Nadia appeared. She walked straight to her companion. A knife

in her hand cut the cords which bound Michael’s arms. The blind man knew

not who had freed him, for Nadia had not spoken a word.

But this done: “Brother!” said she.

“Nadia!” murmured Michael, “Nadia!”

“Come, brother,” replied Nadia, “use my eyes whilst yours sleep. I will

lead you to Irkutsk.”