Chapter Chapter 21 · THE TRIUMPHAL ENTRY

. THE TRIUMPHAL ENTRY

TOMSK, founded in 1604, nearly in the heart of the Siberian provinces,

is one of the most important towns in Asiatic Russia. Tobolsk, situated

above the sixtieth parallel; Irkutsk, built beyond the hundredth

meridian--have seen Tomsk increase at their expense.

And yet Tomsk, as has been said, is not the capital of this important

province. It is at Omsk that the Governor-General of the province and

the official world reside. But Tomsk is the most considerable town of

that territory. The country being rich, the town is so likewise, for

it is in the center of fruitful mines. In the luxury of its houses, its

arrangements, and its equipages, it might rival the greatest European

capitals. It is a city of millionaires, enriched by the spade and

pickax, and though it has not the honor of being the residence of the

Czar’s representative, it can boast of including in the first rank

of its notables the chief of the merchants of the town, the principal

grantees of the imperial government’s mines.

But the millionaires were fled now, and except for the crouching poor,

the town stood empty to the hordes of Feofar-Khan. At four o’clock the

Emir made his entry into the square, greeted by a flourish of trumpets,

the rolling sound of the big drums, salvoes of artillery and musketry.

Feofar mounted his favorite horse, which carried on its head an aigrette

of diamonds. The Emir still wore his uniform. He was accompanied by

a numerous staff, and beside him walked the Khans of Khokhand and

Koundouge and the grand dignitaries of the Khanats.

At the same moment appeared on the terrace the chief of Feofar’s wives,

the queen, if this title may be given to the sultana of the states

of Bokhara. But, queen or slave, this woman of Persian origin was

wonderfully beautiful. Contrary to the Mahometan custom, and no doubt by

some caprice of the Emir, she had her face uncovered. Her hair, divided

into four plaits, fell over her dazzling white shoulders, scarcely

concealed by a veil of silk worked in gold, which fell from the back

of a cap studded with gems of the highest value. Under her blue-silk

petticoat, fell the “zirdjameh” of silken gauze, and above the sash

lay the “pirahn.” But from the head to the little feet, such was the

profusion of jewels--gold beads strung on silver threads, chaplets of

turquoises, “firouzehs” from the celebrated mines of Elbourz, necklaces

of cornelians, agates, emeralds, opals, and sapphires--that her dress

seemed to be literally made of precious stones. The thousands of

diamonds which sparkled on her neck, arms, hands, at her waist, and at

her feet might have been valued at almost countless millions of roubles.

The Emir and the Khans dismounted, as did the dignitaries who escorted

them. All entered a magnificent tent erected on the center of the first

terrace. Before the tent, as usual, the Koran was laid.

Feofar’s lieutenant did not make them wait, and before five o’clock the

trumpets announced his arrival. Ivan Ogareff--the Scarred Cheek, as

he was already nick-named--wearing the uniform of a Tartar officer,

dismounted before the Emir’s tent. He was accompanied by a party of

soldiers from the camp at Zabediero, who ranged up at the sides of the

square, in the middle of which a place for the sports was reserved. A

large scar could be distinctly seen cut obliquely across the traitor’s

face.

Ogareff presented his principal officers to the Emir, who, without

departing from the coldness which composed the main part of his dignity,

received them in a way which satisfied them that they stood well in the

good graces of their chief.

At least so thought Harry Blount and Alcide Jolivet, the two

inseparables, now associated together in the chase after news. After

leaving Zabediero, they had proceeded rapidly to Tomsk. The plan they

had agreed upon was to leave the Tartars as soon as possible, and to

join a Russian regiment, and, if they could, to go with them to Irkutsk.

All that they had seen of the invasion, its burnings, its pillages, its

murders, had perfectly sickened them, and they longed to be among the

ranks of the Siberian army. Jolivet had told his companion that he could

not leave Tomsk without making a sketch of the triumphal entry of the

Tartar troops, if it was only to satisfy his cousin’s curiosity; but the

same evening they both intended to take the road to Irkutsk, and being

well mounted hoped to distance the Emir’s scouts.

Alcide and Blount mingled therefore in the crowd, so as to lose no

detail of a festival which ought to supply them with a hundred good

lines for an article. They admired the magnificence of Feofar-Khan, his

wives, his officers, his guards, and all the Eastern pomp, of which the

ceremonies of Europe can give not the least idea. But they turned away

with disgust when Ivan Ogareff presented himself before the Emir, and

waited with some impatience for the amusements to begin.

“You see, my dear Blount,” said Alcide, “we have come too soon, like

honest citizens who like to get their money’s worth. All this is before

the curtain rises, it would have been better to arrive only for the

ballet.”

“What ballet?” asked Blount.

“The compulsory ballet, to be sure. But see, the curtain is going to

rise.” Alcide Jolivet spoke as if he had been at the Opera, and taking

his glass from its case, he prepared, with the air of a connoisseur, “to

examine the first act of Feofar’s company.”

A painful ceremony was to precede the sports. In fact, the triumph of

the vanquisher could not be complete without the public humiliation of

the vanquished. This was why several hundreds of prisoners were brought

under the soldiers’ whips. They were destined to march past Feofar-Khan

and his allies before being crammed with their companions into the

prisons in the town.

In the first ranks of these prisoners figured Michael Strogoff. As

Ogareff had ordered, he was specially guarded by a file of soldiers. His

mother and Nadia were there also.

The old Siberian, although energetic enough when her own safety was in

question, was frightfully pale. She expected some terrible scene. It was

not without reason that her son had been brought before the Emir. She

therefore trembled for him. Ivan Ogareff was not a man to forgive

having been struck in public by the knout, and his vengeance would

be merciless. Some frightful punishment familiar to the barbarians

of Central Asia would, no doubt, be inflicted on Michael Ogareff had

protected him against the soldiers because he well knew what would

happen by reserving him for the justice of the Emir.

The mother and son had not been able to speak together since the

terrible scene in the camp at Zabediero. They had been pitilessly kept

apart--a bitter aggravation of their misery, for it would have been some

consolation to have been together during these days of captivity. Marfa

longed to ask her son’s pardon for the harm she had unintentionally done

him, for she reproached herself with not having commanded her maternal

feelings. If she had restrained herself in that post-house at Omsk,

when she found herself face to face with him, Michael would have passed

unrecognized, and all these misfortunes would have been avoided.

Michael, on his side, thought that if his mother was there, if Ogareff

had brought her with him, it was to make her suffer with the sight of

his own punishment, or perhaps some frightful death was reserved for her

also.

As to Nadia, she only asked herself how she could save them both, how

come to the aid of son and mother. As yet she could only wonder, but

she felt instinctively that she must above everything avoid drawing

attention upon herself, that she must conceal herself, make herself

insignificant. Perhaps she might at least gnaw through the meshes which

imprisoned the lion. At any rate if any opportunity was given her she

would seize upon it, and sacrifice herself, if need be, for the son of

Marfa Strogoff.

In the meantime the greater part of the prisoners were passing before

the Emir, and as they passed each was obliged to prostrate himself,

with his forehead in the dust, in token of servitude. Slavery begins by

humiliation. When the unfortunate people were too slow in bending, the

rough guards threw them violently to the ground.

Alcide Jolivet and his companion could not witness such a sight without

feeling indignant.

“It is cowardly--let us go,” said Alcide.

“No,” answered Blount; “we must see it all.”

“See it all!--ah!” cried Alcide, suddenly, grasping his companion’s arm.

“What is the matter with you?” asked the latter.

“Look, Blount; it is she!”

“What she?”

“The sister of our traveling companion--alone, and a prisoner! We must

save her.”

“Calm yourself,” replied Blount coolly. “Any interference on our part in

behalf of the young girl would be worse than useless.”

Alcide Jolivet, who had been about to rush forward, stopped, and

Nadia--who had not perceived them, her features being half hidden by

her hair--passed in her turn before the Emir without attracting his

attention.

However, after Nadia came Marfa Strogoff; and as she did not throw

herself quickly in the dust, the guards brutally pushed her. She fell.

Her son struggled so violently that the soldiers who were guarding him

could scarcely hold him back. But the old woman rose, and they were

about to drag her on, when Ogareff interposed, saying, “Let that woman

stay!”

As to Nadia, she happily regained the crowd of prisoners. Ivan Ogareff

had taken no notice of her.

Michael was then led before the Emir, and there he remained standing,

without casting down his eyes.

“Your forehead to the ground!” cried Ogareff.

“No!” answered Michael.

Two soldiers endeavored to make him bend, but they were themselves laid

on the ground by a buffet from the young man’s fist.

Ogareff approached Michael. “You shall die!” he said.

“I can die,” answered Michael fiercely; “but your traitor’s face, Ivan,

will not the less carry forever the infamous brand of the knout.”

At this reply Ivan Ogareff became perfectly livid.

“Who is this prisoner?” asked the Emir, in a tone of voice terrible from

its very calmness.

“A Russian spy,” answered Ogareff. In asserting that Michael was a spy

he knew that the sentence pronounced against him would be terrible.

The Emir made a sign at which all the crowd bent low their heads. Then

he pointed with his hand to the Koran, which was brought him. He opened

the sacred book and placed his finger on one of its pages.

It was chance, or rather, according to the ideas of these Orientals, God

Himself who was about to decide the fate of Michael Strogoff. The people

of Central Asia give the name of “fal” to this practice. After having

interpreted the sense of the verse touched by the judge’s finger, they

apply the sentence whatever it may be.

The Emir had let his finger rest on the page of the Koran. The chief of

the Ulemas then approached, and read in a loud voice a verse which ended

with these words, “And he will no more see the things of this earth.”

“Russian spy!” exclaimed Feofar-Kahn in a voice trembling with fury,

“you have come to see what is going on in the Tartar camp. Then look

while you may.”