Bab Bab 4 · FROM MOSCOW TO NIJNI-NOVGOROD

. 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

confrère, 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, Grouzinia, 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 viséd, 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.