บทที่ บทที่ 6 · BROTHER AND SISTER

. 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

produced by the carrying out of the prescribed measures had now reached

its height. Recriminations from the banished strangers, shouts from the

agents and Cossacks who were using them so brutally, together made an

indescribable uproar. The girl for whom he searched could not be there.

It was now nine o’clock in the morning. The steamboat did not start till

twelve. Michael Strogoff had therefore nearly two hours to employ in

searching for her whom he wished to make his traveling companion.

He crossed the Volga again and hunted through the quarters on the

other side, where the crowd was much less considerable. He entered

the churches, the natural refuge for all who weep, for all who suffer.

Nowhere did he meet with the young Livonian.

“And yet,” he repeated, “she could not have left Nijni-Novgorod yet.

We’ll have another look.” He wandered about thus for two hours. He went

on without stopping, feeling no fatigue, obeying a potent instinct which

allowed no room for thought. All was in vain.

It then occurred to him that perhaps the girl had not heard of the

order--though this was improbable enough, for such a thunder-clap could

not have burst without being heard by all. Evidently interested in

knowing the smallest news from Siberia, how could she be ignorant of

the measures taken by the governor, measures which concerned her so

directly?

But, if she was ignorant of it, she would come in an hour to the quay,

and there some merciless agent would refuse her a passage! At any cost,

he must see her beforehand, and enable her to avoid such a repulse.

But all his endeavors were in vain, and he at length almost despaired

of finding her again. It was eleven o’clock, and Michael thought of

presenting his podorojna at the office of the head of police. The

proclamation evidently did not concern him, since the emergency had been

foreseen for him, but he wished to make sure that nothing would hinder

his departure from the town.

Michael then returned to the other side of the Volga, to the quarter

in which was the office of the head of police. An immense crowd was

collected there; for though all foreigners were ordered to quit the

province, they had notwithstanding to go through certain forms before

they could depart.

Without this precaution, some Russian more or less implicated in

the Tartar movement would have been able, in a disguise, to pass

the frontier--just those whom the order wished to prevent going. The

strangers were sent away, but still had to gain permission to go.

Mountebanks, gypsies, Tsiganes, Zingaris, mingled with merchants from

Persia, Turkey, India, Turkestan, China, filled the court and offices of

the police station.

Everyone was in a hurry, for the means of transport would be much sought

after among this crowd of banished people, and those who did not set

about it soon ran a great risk of not being able to leave the town in

the prescribed time, which would expose them to some brutal treatment

from the governor’s agents.

Owing to the strength of his elbows Michael was able to cross the court.

But to get into the office and up to the clerk’s little window was a

much more difficult business. However, a word into an inspector’s ear

and a few judiciously given roubles were powerful enough to gain him a

passage. The man, after taking him into the waiting-room, went to call

an upper clerk. Michael Strogoff would not be long in making everything

right with the police and being free in his movements.

Whilst waiting, he looked about him, and what did he see? There, fallen,

rather than seated, on a bench, was a girl, prey to a silent despair,

although her face could scarcely be seen, the profile alone being

visible against the wall. Michael Strogoff could not be mistaken. He

instantly recognized the young Livonian.

Not knowing the governor’s orders, she had come to the police office

to get her pass signed. They had refused to sign it. No doubt she was

authorized to go to Irkutsk, but the order was peremptory--it annulled

all previous au-thorizations, and the routes to Siberia were closed to

her. Michael, delighted at having found her again, approached the girl.

She looked up for a moment and her face brightened on recognizing her

traveling companion. She instinctively rose and, like a drowning man who

clutches at a spar, she was about to ask his help.

At that moment the agent touched Michael on the shoulder, “The head of

police will see you,” he said.

“Good,” returned Michael. And without saying a word to her for whom he

had been searching all day, without reassuring her by even a gesture,

which might compromise either her or himself, he followed the man.

The young Livonian, seeing the only being to whom she could look for

help disappear, fell back again on her bench.

Three minutes had not passed before Michael Strogoff reappeared,

accompanied by the agent. In his hand he held his podorojna, which

threw open the roads to Siberia for him. He again approached the young

Livonian, and holding out his hand: “Sister,” said he.

She understood. She rose as if some sudden inspiration prevented her

from hesitating a moment.

“Sister,” repeated Michael Strogoff, “we are authorized to continue our

journey to Irkutsk. Will you come with me?”

“I will follow you, brother,” replied the girl, putting her hand into

that of Michael Strogoff. And together they left the police station.