第 一 章 · A FÊTE AT THE NEW PALACE

. A FÊTE AT THE NEW PALACE

“SIRE, a fresh dispatch.”

“Whence?”

“From Tomsk?”

“Is the wire cut beyond that city?”

“Yes, sire, since yesterday.”

“Telegraph hourly to Tomsk, General, and keep me informed of all that

occurs.”

“Sire, it shall be done,” answered General Kissoff.

These words were exchanged about two hours after midnight, at the moment

when the fête given at the New Palace was at the height of its splendor.

During the whole evening the bands of the Preobra-jensky and Paulowsky

regiments had played without cessation polkas, mazurkas, schottisches,

and waltzes from among the choicest of their repertoires. Innumerable

couples of dancers whirled through the magnificent saloons of the

palace, which stood at a few paces only from the “old house of

stones”--in former days the scene of so many terrible dramas, the

echoes of whose walls were this night awakened by the gay strains of the

musicians.

The grand-chamberlain of the court, was, besides, well seconded in his

arduous and delicate duties. The grand-dukes and their aides-de-camp,

the chamberlains-in-waiting and other officers of the palace, presided

personally in the arrangement of the dances. The grand duchesses,

covered with diamonds, the ladies-in-waiting in their most exquisite

costumes, set the example to the wives of the military and civil

dignitaries of the ancient “city of white stone.” When, therefore, the

signal for the “polonaise” resounded through the saloons, and the guests

of all ranks took part in that measured promenade, which on occasions

of this kind has all the importance of a national dance, the mingled

costumes, the sweeping robes adorned with lace, and uniforms covered

with orders, presented a scene of dazzling splendor, lighted by hundreds

of lusters multiplied tenfold by the numerous mirrors adorning the

walls.

The grand saloon, the finest of all those contained in the New Palace,

formed to this procession of exalted personages and splendidly dressed

women a frame worthy of the magnificence they displayed. The rich

ceiling, with its gilding already softened by the touch of time,

appeared as if glittering with stars. The embroidered drapery of the

curtains and doors, falling in gorgeous folds, assumed rich and varied

hues, broken by the shadows of the heavy masses of damask.

Through the panes of the vast semicircular bay-windows the light, with

which the saloons were filled, shone forth with the brilliancy of a

conflagration, vividly illuminating the gloom in which for some hours

the palace had been shrouded. The attention of those of the guests not

taking part in the dancing was attracted by the contrast. Resting in the

recesses of the windows, they could discern, standing out dimly in the

darkness, the vague outlines of the countless towers, domes, and spires

which adorn the ancient city. Below the sculptured balconies were

visible numerous sentries, pacing silently up and down, their rifles

carried horizontally on the shoulder, and the spikes of their helmets

glittering like flames in the glare of light issuing from the palace.

The steps also of the patrols could be heard beating time on the stones

beneath with even more regularity than the feet of the dancers on the

floor of the saloon. From time to time the watchword was repeated from

post to post, and occasionally the notes of a trumpet, mingling with

the strains of the orchestra, penetrated into their midst. Still farther

down, in front of the facade, dark masses obscured the rays of light

which proceeded from the windows of the New Palace. These were boats

descending the course of a river, whose waters, faintly illumined by a

few lamps, washed the lower portion of the terraces.

The principal personage who has been mentioned, the giver of the fête,

and to whom General Kissoff had been speaking in that tone of respect

with which sovereigns alone are usually addressed, wore the simple

uniform of an officer of chasseurs of the guard. This was not

affectation on his part, but the custom of a man who cared little for

dress, his contrasting strongly with the gorgeous costumes amid which

he moved, encircled by his escort of Georgians, Cossacks, and

Circassians--a brilliant band, splendidly clad in the glittering

uniforms of the Caucasus.

This personage, of lofty stature, affable demeanor, and physiognomy

calm, though bearing traces of anxiety, moved from group to group,

seldom speaking, and appearing to pay but little attention either to

the merriment of the younger guests or the graver remarks of the exalted

dignitaries or members of the diplomatic corps who represented at the

Russian court the principal governments of Europe. Two or three of these

astute politicians--physiognomists by virtue of their profession--failed

not to detect on the countenance of their host symptoms of disquietude,

the source of which eluded their penetration; but none ventured to

interrogate him on the subject.

It was evidently the intention of the officer of chasseurs that his own

anxieties should in no way cast a shade over the festivities; and, as he

was a personage whom almost the population of a world in itself was wont

to obey, the gayety of the ball was not for a moment checked.

Nevertheless, General Kissoff waited until the officer to whom he had

just communicated the dispatch forwarded from Tomsk should give him

permission to withdraw; but the latter still remained silent. He had

taken the telegram, he had read it carefully, and his visage became even

more clouded than before. Involuntarily he sought the hilt of his sword,

and then passed his hand for an instant before his eyes, as though,

dazzled by the brilliancy of the light, he wished to shade them, the

better to see into the recesses of his own mind.

“We are, then,” he continued, after having drawn General Kissoff aside

towards a window, “since yesterday without intelligence from the Grand

Duke?”

“Without any, sire; and it is to be feared that in a short time

dispatches will no longer cross the Siberian frontier.”

“But have not the troops of the provinces of Amoor and Irkutsk, as those

also of the Trans-Balkan territory, received orders to march immediately

upon Irkutsk?”

“The orders were transmitted by the last telegram we were able to send

beyond Lake Baikal.”

“And the governments of Yeniseisk, Omsk, Semipolatinsk, and Tobolsk--are

we still in direct communication with them as before the insurrection?”

“Yes, sire; our dispatches have reached them, and we are assured at the

present moment that the Tartars have not advanced beyond the Irtish and

the Obi.”

“And the traitor Ivan Ogareff, are there no tidings of him?”

“None,” replied General Kissoff. “The head of the police cannot state

whether or not he has crossed the frontier.”

“Let a description of him be immediately dispatched to Nijni-Novgorod,

Perm, Ekaterenburg, Kasirnov, Tioumen, Ishim, Omsk, Tomsk, and to all

the telegraphic stations with which communication is yet open.”

“Your majesty’s orders shall be instantly carried out.”

“You will observe the strictest silence as to this.”

The General, having made a sign of respectful assent, bowing low,

mingled with the crowd, and finally left the apartments without his

departure being remarked.

The officer remained absorbed in thought for a few moments, when,

recovering himself, he went among the various groups in the saloon, his

countenance reassuming that calm aspect which had for an instant been

disturbed.

Nevertheless, the important occurrence which had occasioned these

rapidly exchanged words was not so unknown as the officer of the

chasseurs of the guard and General Kissoff had possibly supposed. It

was not spoken of officially, it is true, nor even officiously, since

tongues were not free; but a few exalted personages had been informed,

more or less exactly, of the events which had taken place beyond the

frontier. At any rate, that which was only slightly known, that which

was not matter of conversation even between members of the corps

diplomatique, two guests, distinguished by no uniform, no decoration,

at this reception in the New Palace, discussed in a low voice, and with

apparently very correct information.

By what means, by the exercise of what acuteness had these two ordinary

mortals ascertained that which so many persons of the highest rank and

importance scarcely even suspected? It is impossible to say. Had

they the gifts of foreknowledge and foresight? Did they possess a

supplementary sense, which enabled them to see beyond that limited

horizon which bounds all human gaze? Had they obtained a peculiar power

of divining the most secret events? Was it owing to the habit, now

become a second nature, of living on information, that their mental

constitution had thus become really transformed? It was difficult to

escape from this conclusion.

Of these two men, the one was English, the other French; both were tall

and thin, but the latter was sallow as are the southern Provençals,

while the former was ruddy like a Lancashire gentleman. The

Anglo-Norman, formal, cold, grave, parsimonious of gestures and words,

appeared only to speak or gesticulate under the influence of a spring

operating at regular intervals. The Gaul, on the contrary, lively and

petulant, expressed himself with lips, eyes, hands, all at once,

having twenty different ways of explaining his thoughts, whereas his

interlocutor seemed to have only one, immutably stereotyped on his

brain.

The strong contrast they presented would at once have struck the most

superficial observer; but a physiognomist, regarding them closely, would

have defined their particular characteristics by saying, that if the

Frenchman was “all eyes,” the Englishman was “all ears.”

In fact, the visual apparatus of the one had been singularly

perfected by practice. The sensibility of its retina must have been as

instantaneous as that of those conjurors who recognize a card merely by

a rapid movement in cutting the pack or by the arrangement only of

marks invisible to others. The Frenchman indeed possessed in the highest

degree what may be called “the memory of the eye.”

The Englishman, on the contrary, appeared especially organized to listen

and to hear. When his aural apparatus had been once struck by the sound

of a voice he could not forget it, and after ten or even twenty years he

would have recognized it among a thousand. His ears, to be sure, had not

the power of moving as freely as those of animals who are provided with

large auditory flaps; but, since scientific men know that human ears

possess, in fact, a very limited power of movement, we should not be far

wrong in affirming that those of the said Englishman became erect, and

turned in all directions while endeavoring to gather in the sounds, in

a manner apparent only to the naturalist. It must be observed that this

perfection of sight and hearing was of wonderful assistance to these two

men in their vocation, for the Englishman acted as correspondent of the

_Daily Telegraph_, and the Frenchman, as correspondent of what newspaper,

or of what newspapers, he did not say; and when asked, he replied in a

jocular manner that he corresponded with “his cousin Madeleine.” This

Frenchman, however, neath his careless surface, was wonderfully shrewd

and sagacious. Even while speaking at random, perhaps the better to hide

his desire to learn, he never forgot himself. His loquacity even helped

him to conceal his thoughts, and he was perhaps even more discreet than

his confrère of the _Daily Telegraph_. Both were present at this fête

given at the New Palace on the night of the 15th of July in their

character of reporters.

It is needless to say that these two men were devoted to their mission

in the world--that they delighted to throw themselves in the track of

the most unexpected intelligence--that nothing terrified or discouraged

them from succeeding--that they possessed the imperturbable sang froid

and the genuine intrepidity of men of their calling. Enthusiastic

jockeys in this steeplechase, this hunt after information, they

leaped hedges, crossed rivers, sprang over fences, with the ardor of

pure-blooded racers, who will run “a good first” or die!

Their journals did not restrict them with regard to money--the surest,

the most rapid, the most perfect element of information known to this

day. It must also be added, to their honor, that neither the one nor

the other ever looked over or listened at the walls of private life,

and that they only exercised their vocation when political or social

interests were at stake. In a word, they made what has been for some

years called “the great political and military reports.”

It will be seen, in following them, that they had generally an

independent mode of viewing events, and, above all, their consequences,

each having his own way of observing and appreciating.

The French correspondent was named Alcide Jolivet. Harry Blount was the

name of the Englishman. They had just met for the first time at this

fête in the New Palace, of which they had been ordered to give an

account in their papers. The dissimilarity of their characters, added to

a certain amount of jealousy, which generally exists between rivals

in the same calling, might have rendered them but little sympathetic.

However, they did not avoid each other, but endeavored rather to

exchange with each other the chat of the day. They were sportsmen,

after all, hunting on the same ground. That which one missed might be

advantageously secured by the other, and it was to their interest to

meet and converse.

This evening they were both on the look out; they felt, in fact, that

there was something in the air.

“Even should it be only a wildgoose chase,” said Alcide Jolivet to

himself, “it may be worth powder and shot.”

The two correspondents therefore began by cautiously sounding each

other.

“Really, my dear sir, this little fête is charming!” said Alcide Jolivet

pleasantly, thinking himself obliged to begin the conversation with this

eminently French phrase.

“I have telegraphed already, ‘splendid!’” replied Harry Blount calmly,

employing the word specially devoted to expressing admiration by all

subjects of the United Kingdom.

“Nevertheless,” added Alcide Jolivet, “I felt compelled to remark to my

cousin--”

“Your cousin?” repeated Harry Blount in a tone of surprise, interrupting

his brother of the pen.

“Yes,” returned Alcide Jolivet, “my cousin Madeleine. It is with her

that I correspond, and she likes to be quickly and well informed, does

my cousin. I therefore remarked to her that, during this fête, a sort of

cloud had appeared to overshadow the sovereign’s brow.”

“To me, it seemed radiant,” replied Harry Blount, who perhaps, wished to

conceal his real opinion on this topic.

“And, naturally, you made it ‘radiant,’ in the columns of the Daily

Telegraph.”

“Exactly.”

“Do you remember, Mr. Blount, what occurred at Zakret in 1812?”

“I remember it as well as if I had been there, sir,” replied the English

correspondent.

“Then,” continued Alcide Jolivet, “you know that, in the middle of a

fête given in his honor, it was announced to the Emperor Alexander that

Napoleon had just crossed the Niemen with the vanguard of the

French army. Nevertheless the Emperor did not leave the fête, and

notwithstanding the extreme gravity of intelligence which might cost him

his empire, he did not allow himself to show more uneasiness.”

“Than our host exhibited when General Kissoff informed him that the

telegraphic wires had just been cut between the frontier and the

government of Irkutsk.”

“Ah! you are aware of that?”

“I am!”

“As regards myself, it would be difficult to avoid knowing it, since

my last telegram reached Udinsk,” observed Alcide Jolivet, with some

satisfaction.

“And mine only as far as Krasnoiarsk,” answered Harry Blount, in a no

less satisfied tone.

“Then you know also that orders have been sent to the troops of

Nikolaevsk?”

“I do, sir; and at the same time a telegram was sent to the Cossacks of

the government of Tobolsk to concentrate their forces.”

“Nothing can be more true, Mr. Blount; I was equally well acquainted

with these measures, and you may be sure that my dear cousin shall know

of them to-morrow.”

“Exactly as the readers of the _Daily Telegraph_ shall know it also, M.

Jolivet.”

“Well, when one sees all that is going on....”

“And when one hears all that is said....”

“An interesting campaign to follow, Mr. Blount.”

“I shall follow it, M. Jolivet!”

“Then it is possible that we shall find ourselves on ground less safe,

perhaps, than the floor of this ball-room.”

“Less safe, certainly, but--”

“But much less slippery,” added Alcide Jolivet, holding up his

companion, just as the latter, drawing back, was about to lose his

equilibrium.

Thereupon the two correspondents separated, pleased that the one had not

stolen a march on the other.

At that moment the doors of the rooms adjoining the great reception

saloon were thrown open, disclosing to view several immense tables

beautifully laid out, and groaning under a profusion of valuable

china and gold plate. On the central table, reserved for the princes,

princesses, and members of the corps diplomatique, glittered an epergne

of inestimable price, brought from London, and around this chef-d’oeuvre

of chased gold reflected under the light of the lusters a thousand

pieces of most beautiful service from the manufactories of Sevres.

The guests of the New Palace immediately began to stream towards the

supper-rooms.

At that moment. General Kissoff, who had just re-entered, quickly

approached the officer of chasseurs.

“Well?” asked the latter abruptly, as he had done the former time.

“Telegrams pass Tomsk no longer, sire.”

“A courier this moment!”

The officer left the hall and entered a large antechamber adjoining. It

was a cabinet with plain oak furniture, situated in an angle of the New

Palace. Several pictures, amongst others some by Horace Vernet, hung on

the wall.

The officer hastily opened a window, as if he felt the want of air, and

stepped out on a balcony to breathe the pure atmosphere of a lovely July

night. Beneath his eyes, bathed in moonlight, lay a fortified inclosure,

from which rose two cathedrals, three palaces, and an arsenal. Around

this inclosure could be seen three distinct towns: Kitai-Gorod,

Beloi-Gorod, Zemlianai-Gorod--European, Tartar, and Chinese quarters of

great extent, commanded by towers, belfries, minarets, and the cupolas

of three hundred churches, with green domes, surmounted by the silver

cross. A little winding river, here and there reflected the rays of the

moon.

This river was the Moskowa; the town Moscow; the fortified inclosure

the Kremlin; and the officer of chasseurs of the guard, who, with folded

arms and thoughtful brow, was listening dreamily to the sounds floating

from the New Palace over the old Muscovite city, was the Czar.