الفصل الفصل 3 · MICHAEL STROGOFF MEETS THE CZAR

. 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.”

“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.