 Book 1, Chapter 1 of Michael Strogoff, Courier of the Tsar. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by David Leeson. Michael Strogoff by Jules Verne. Book 1, Chapter 1, A Fate at the New Palace. Sire, a fresh dispatch. Wents, 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 Kisoff. These words were exchanged about two hours after midnight, at the moment when the fate given at the new palace was at the height of its splendor. During the whole evening the bands of the Priobradzhensky and Polovsky regiments had played without cessation polkas, maserkas, scotishes, and waltzes from among the choicest of their repertoires. Enumerable 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 aids to 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 semi-circular 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. Living with the strains of the orchestra penetrated into their midst. Still farther down in front of the façade 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 fate and to whom General Kisoff had been speaking in that tone of respect with which sovereigns alone are usually addressed, were the simple uniform of an officer of chassours 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 chassours 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 want to obey, the gaiety of the ball was not for a moment checked. Nevertheless, General Kysoff waited until the officer to whom he had just communicated the dispatch forwarded from Tonsk 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. Unvoluntarily 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 Kysoff 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 Amur and Irkutsk, as those also of the Transbalkan 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 Yanisysk, Omsk, Simipotensk, 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 Ertysh and the Obi. And the traitor, Ivan Ogarev, are there no tidings of him? None, replied General Kysoff, the head of the police cannot state whether or not he has crossed the frontier. Let a description of him be immediately dispatched to Nizhny Novgorod, Perm, Ekaterinburg, Kasunov, Chilmin, 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 re-assuming 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 Shassours of the Guard and General Kysoff had possibly opposed. It was not spoken of officially it is true, nor even officially, 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 ascertain 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 the 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 Provenças, 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 gall, 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 conjurers 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 oral 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 Englishmen became erect and turned in all directions while endeavouring 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 locacity even helped him to conceal his thoughts, and he was perhaps even more discreet than his confraire of the Daily Telegraph. Both were present at this fate given at the new palace on the night of the fifteenth 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 Sangfois and the genuine intrepidity of men of their calling. Enthusiastic jockeys in this steeple chase, 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 Asid Jolivais. Harry Blount was the name of the Englishmen. They had just met for the first time at this fate 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 lookout. They felt, in fact, that there was something in the air. Even should it be only a wild goose chase, said Asid Jolivais 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 fate is charming, said Asid Jolivais pleasantly, thinking himself obliged to begin the conversation with this eminently French phrase. I have telegraphed already splendid, replied Harry Blount calmly, employing the words specially devoted to expressing admiration by all subjects of the United Kingdom. Nevertheless, added Asid Jolivais, 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 Asid Jolivais, 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 fate, 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, M. Blount, what occurred at Sacré in 1812? I remember it as well as if I had been there, sir, replied the English correspondent. Then, continued Asid Jolivais, you knew that, in the middle of a fate given in his honour, it was announced to the Emperor Alexander that Napoleon had just crossed the Neiman with the vanguard of the French army. Nevertheless, the Emperor did not leave the fate, and not withstanding the extreme gravity of intelligence which might have caused him his empire, he did not allow himself to show more uneasiness. Then our host exhibited when General Kissoff informed him that the Telegraphic wires had just been cut between the frontier and the government of Ikotsk. Ah, you are aware of that? I am. As regards myself, it would be difficult to avoid knowing it since my last telegram reached Odinsk, observed Asid Jolivais with some satisfaction, and mine only as far as Krasnoyarsk, 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. Blanc. I was equally well acquainted with these measures, and you may be sure that my dear Cossan shall know of them tomorrow, exactly as the readers of the Daily Telegraph shall know it also, Mr. Jolivais. Well, when one sees all that is going on, and when one hears all that is said, an interesting campaign to follow, Mr. Blanc. I shall follow it, Mr. Jolivais. Then it is possible we shall find ourselves on ground less safe perhaps than the floor of this ballroom. Less safe, certainly, but much less slippery, added Alcide Jolivais, 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 core diplomatique, glittered an apron of inestimable price, brought from London, and around this shade-dourve of chaste gold reflected under the light of the lusters a thousand pieces of most beautiful service from the manufactories of Sev. The guests of the new palace immediately began to stream towards the supper rooms. At that moment General Kisoff, who had just re-entered, quickly approached the officer of Chasseau's. Well, asked the latter abruptly as he had done the former time, telegrams past Tomsk no longer sire. It 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 enclosure, from which rose two cathedrals, three palaces, and an arsenal. Around this enclosure could be seen three distinct towns, Kitai Gorod, Beloi Gorod, Zimliana 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 Moskva, the town Moscow, the fortified enclosure the Kremlin, and the officer of Chasseau's 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 Tsar. Tsar had not so suddenly left the ballroom of the new palace when the fate he was giving to the civil and military authorities and principal people of Moscow was at the height of its brilliancy without ample cause, for he had just received information that serious events were taking place beyond the frontiers of the Ural. It had become evident that a formidable rebellion threatened to rest the Siberian provinces from the Russian crown. Asiatic Russia, or Siberia, covers a superficial area of one million seven hundred ninety thousand two hundred eight square miles, and contains nearly two millions of inhabitants, extending from the Ural mountains, which separated from Russia in Europe, to the shores of the Pacific Ocean, it is bounded on the south by Turkestan and the Chinese Empire, on the north by the Arctic Ocean, from the Sea of Cara to Bering's Straits. It is divided into several governments or provinces, those of Tobolsk, Yenisesk, Irkutsk, Omsk, and Yakutsk, contains two districts, Okotsk and Kamchatka, and possesses two countries now under the Muscovite dominion, that of the Kyrgyz and that of the Chuchis. This immense extent of steps, which includes more than one hundred and ten degrees from west to east, is a land to which criminals and political offenders are banished. Two governor generals represent the supreme authority of the Tsar over this vast country. The higher one resides at Irkutsk, the far capital of eastern Siberia. The river Chuna separates the two Siberias. No rail yet furrows these wide planes, some of which are in reality extremely fertile. No iron ways lead from those precious mines which make the Siberian soil far richer below than above its surface. The traveller journeys in summer in a kibic or telga in winter in a sledge. An electric telegraph with a single wire more than eight thousand bursts in length alone affords communication between the western and eastern frontiers of Siberia. On issuing from the Ural, it passes through Ekaterinburg, Kassernov, Tyumen, Ishim, Omsk, Ilamsk, Kolevan, Tomsk, Krasnoyarsk, Nizhny Udinsk, Irkutsk, Verkney Nertshink, Strelink, Albazin, Blagavstynks, Radey, Olomskaya, Aleksandrovsky, and Nikolayevsk, and six rubles and nineteen copecs are paid for every word sent from one end to the other. Premier Kutsk there is a branch to Kyatka on the Mongolian frontier, and from thence for thirty copecs a word the post conveys the dispatches to Peking in a fortnight. It was this wire extending from Ekaterinburg to Nikolayevsk, which had been cut, first beyond Tomsk and then between Tomsk and Kolevan. This was why the Tsar to the communication made to him for the second time by General Kysov had answered by the words, A courier this moment. The Tsar remained motionless at the window for a few moments when the door was again opened. The chief of police appeared on the threshold. Enter General, said the Tsar briefly, and tell me all you know of Ivan Ogorov. He is an extremely dangerous man, Sire, replied the chief of police. He ranked as Colonel, did he not? Yes, Sire, was he an intelligent officer? Very intelligent, but a man whose spirit it was impossible to subdue, and possessing an ambition which stopped at nothing, he became involved in secret intrigues, and was degraded from his rank by his Highness the Grand Duke and exiled to Siberia. How long ago was that? Two years since, pardoned after six months of exile by your Majesty's favour, he returned to Russia, and since that time has he not revisited Siberia? Yes, Sire, but he voluntarily returned there, replied the chief of police, adding, and slightly lowering his voice, there was a time, Sire, when none returned from Siberia. Well, whilst I live, Siberia is, and shall be a country whence men can return. The Tsar had the right to utter these words with some pride, for often by his clemency he had shown that Russian justice knew how to pardon. The head of the police did not reply to this observation, but it was evident that he did not approve of such half-measures. According to his idea, a man who had once passed the Ural Mountains in charge of policemen ought never again to cross them. Now it was not thus under the new reign, and the chief of police sincerely deplored it. What? No banishment for life or other crimes than those against social order? What? Political exiles returning from Tobolsk, from Yakutsk, from Yarkutsk? In truth, the chief of police, accustomed to the despotic sentences of the UK's which formerly never pardoned, could not understand this mode of governing, but he was silent, waiting until the Tsar should interrogate him further. The questions were not long in coming. Did not Ivan Ogarev, has the Tsar returned to Russia a second time after that journey through the Siberian provinces, the object of which remains unknown? He did, and have the police lost trace of his sense? No, Sire, for an offender only becomes really dangerous from the day he has received his pardon. The Tsar frowned. Perhaps the chief of police feared that he had gone rather too far, though the stubbornness of his ideas was at least equal to the boundless devotion he felt for his master. But the Tsar, disdaining to reply to these indirect reproaches cast on his policy, continued his questions. Where was Ogarev last heard of? In the province of Perm. In what town, at Perm itself? What was he doing? He appeared unoccupied, and there was nothing suspicious in his conduct. Then he was not under the surveillance of the secret police? No, Sire. When did he leave Perm? About the month of March to go. Where is unknown? And it is not known what has become of him? No, Sire, it is not known. Well then I myself know, answered the Tsar. I have received anonymous communications which did not pass through the police department, and, in the face of events now taking place beyond the frontier, I have every reason to believe that they are correct. Do you mean, Sire? cried the chief of police, that Ivan Ogarev has a hand in this taught a rebellion? Indeed I do, and I will now tell you something which you are ignorant of. After leaving Perm, Ivan Ogarev crossed the Ural mountains, entered Siberia, and penetrated the Kyrgyz steppes, and there endeavored, not without success, to foment rebellion amongst their nomadic population. He then went so far south as free Turkistan. There, in the provinces of Bokhara, Kokand, and Kunduz, he found chiefs willing to pour their tartar hordes into Siberia, and excite a general rising in Asiatic Russia. The storm has been silently gathering, but it has at last burst like a thunder clap, and now all means of communication between Eastern and Western Siberia have stopped. Moreover, Ivan Ogarev, thirsting for vengeance, aims at the life of my brother. The Tsar had become excited whilst speaking, and now paced up and down with hurried steps. The chief of police said nothing, but he thought to himself that, during the time when the emperors of Russia never pardoned an exile, schemes such as those of Ivan Ogarev could never have been realized. Approaching the Tsar, who had thrown himself into an arm-chair, he asked, Your Majesty has of course given orders so that this rebellion may be suppressed as soon as possible? Yes, answered the Tsar, the last telegram which reached Nizhny Udinsk would set in motion the troops in the governments of Yenisei, Irkutsk, Yakutsk, as well as those in the provinces of the Amur and Lake Baikal. At the same time, the regiments from Perm and Nizhny Novgorod, and the Kostriks from the frontier, are advancing by forced marches toward the Ural Mountains, but some weeks must pass before they can attack the Tartars. And Your Majesty's brother, His Highness the Grand Duke, is now isolated in the government of Irkutsk, and is no longer in direct communication with Moscow? That is so. But by the last dispatches he must know what measures have been taken by Your Majesty and what help he may expect from the government's nearest Irkutsk. He knows that, answered the Tsar, but what he does not know is that Ivan Ogarev, as well as being a rebel, is also playing the part of a traitor, and that in him he has a personal and bitter enemy. It is to the Grand Duke that Ogarev owes his first disgrace, and what is more serious is that this man is not known to him. Ogarev's plan, therefore, is to go to Irkutsk and, under an assumed name, offer his services to the Grand Duke. Then, after gaining his confidence, when the Tartars have invested Irkutsk, he will betray the town and with it my brother, whose life he seeks. This is what I have learned from my secret intelligence. This is what the Grand Duke does not know, and this is what he must know. Well, Sire, an intelligent, courageous courier, I momentarily expect one, and it is to be hoped he will be expeditious, added the Chief of Police, for allow me to add, Sire, that Siberia is a favourable land for rebellions. Do you mean to say, General, that the exiles would make common cause with the rebels? exclaimed the Tsar. Excuse me, Your Majesty, stammered the Chief of Police, for that was really the idea suggested to him by his uneasy and suspicious mind. I believe in their patriotism, returned the Tsar. There are other offenders besides political exiles in Siberia, said the Chief of Police. The criminals? Oh, General, I give those up to you. They are the vilest, I grant, of the human race. They belong to no country. But the insurrection, or rather the rebellion, is not to oppose the Emperor. It is raised against Russia, against the country which the exiles have not lost all hope of again seeing, and which they will see again. No, a Russian would never unite with a Tartar to weaken, were it only for an hour the Moskovite power. The Tsar was right in trusting to the patriotism of those whom his policy kept for a time at a distance. Clemency, which was the foundation of his justice, when he could himself direct its effects, the modifications he had adopted with regard to applications for the formerly terrible UK's, warranted the belief that he was not mistaken. But even without this powerful element of success in regard to the Tartar rebellion, circumstances were not the less very serious, for it was to be feared that a large part of the Kyrgyz population would join the rebels. The Kyrgyz are divided into three hordes, the greater, the lesser, and the middle, and number nearly 400,000 tents, or two million souls. Of the different tribes, some are independent, and others recognize either the sovereignty of Russia or that of the Khans of Kiva, Kokand, and Bokhara, the most formidable chiefs of Turkestan. The middle horde, the richest, is also the largest, and its encampments occupy all the space between the rivers Sarasu, Ertish, and the upper Ishim, Lake Saissang, and Lake Aksikal. The greater horde, occupying the countries situated to the east of the middle one, extends as far as the governments of Omsk and Tobolsk. Therefore, if the Kyrgyz population should rise, it would be the rebellion of Asiatic Russia, and the first thing would be the separation of Siberia to the east of the Yenisei. It is true that these Kyrgyz, mere novices in the art of war, are rather nocturnal thieves and plunderers of caravans than regular soldiers. As Monsieur Levshin says, a firm front or a square of good infantry could repel 10 times the number of Kyrgyz, and a single cannon might destroy a frightful number. That may be, but to do this it is necessary for the square of good infantry to reach the rebellious country, and the cannon to leave the arsenals of the Russian provinces, perhaps two or three thousand bursts, distant. Now, except by the direct route from Ekaterinburg to Irkutsk, the often marshy steps are not easily practicable, and some weeks must certainly pass before the Russian troops could reach the Tartar hordes. Omsk is the center of that military organization of western Siberia which is intended to overaw the Kyrgyz population. Here are the bounds, more than once infringed by the half subdued nomads, and there was every reason to believe that Omsk was already in danger. The line of military stations, that is to say, those Cossack posts which are arranged in echelon from Omsk to Semipolotinsk must have been broken in several places. Now it was to be feared that the grand sultans who govern the Kyrgyz districts would either voluntarily accept or involuntarily submit to the dominion of Tartars, Muslims like themselves, and that to the hate caused by slavery was not united the hate due to the antagonism of the Greek and Musliman religions. For some time indeed the Tartars of Turkestan had endeavored, both by force and persuasion, to subdue the Kyrgyz hordes. A few words only with respect to these Tartars. The Tartars belong more especially to two distinct races, the Caucasian and the Mongolian. The Caucasian race, which, as Abel de Remusas says, is regarded in Europe as the type of beauty in our species because all the nations in this part of the world have sprung from it, includes also the Turks and the Persians. The purely Mongolian race comprises the Mongols, Manchu, and Tibetans. The Tartars, who now threatened the Russian Empire, belonged to the Caucasian race and occupied Turkestan. This immense country is divided into different states governed by Khans and hence termed Khanates. The principal Khanates are those of Bokhara, Kokand, Kunduz, etc. At this period the most important and the most formidable Khanate was that of Bokhara. Russia had already been several times at war with its chiefs, who, for their own interests, had supported the independence of the Kyrgyz against the Muscovite Dominion. The present chief, Fyofar Khan, followed in the steps of his predecessors. The Khanate of Bokhara has a population of 2,500,000 inhabitants, an army of 60,000 men trebled in time of war, and 30,000 horsemen. It is a rich country, with varied animal, vegetable, and mineral products, and has been increased by the accession of the territories of Balkh, Okoy, and Meimane. It possesses 19 large towns. Bokhara, surrounded by a wall measuring more than 8 English miles, and flanked with towers, a glorious city made illustrious by Avicinna and other learned men of the 10th century, is regarded as the center of Muslim science, and ranks among the most celebrated cities of Central Asia. Samarkand, which contains the tomb of Tamerlane and the famous palace where the blue stone is kept on which each new Khan must seat himself on his accession, is defended by a very strong citadel. Karshi, with its triple cordon situated in an oasis, surrounded by a marsh, peopled with tortoises and lizards, is almost impregnable, yes Charjwi is defended by a population of 20,000 souls, protected by its mountains, and isolated by its steppes, the Khanate of Bokhara is a most formidable state, and Russia would need a large force to subdue it. The fierce and ambitious Fiophar now governed this corner of tartary. Relying on the other Khans, principally those of Kokand and Kunduz, cruel and rapacious warriors, all ready to join an enterprise so dear to tartar instincts, aided by the chiefs who ruled all the hordes of Central Asia, he had placed himself at the head of the rebellion of which Ivan Ogaref was the instigator. This traitor, impelled by insane ambition as much as by hate, had ordered the movement so as to attack Siberia. Mad indeed he was, if he hoped to rupture the Muscovite Empire, acting under his suggestion, the Imir, which is the title taken by the Khans of Bokhara, had poured his hordes over the Russian frontier, he invaded the government of Simipolotinsk, and the Khasiks, who were only in small force there, had been obliged to retire before him. He had advanced farther than Lake Baokash, gaining over the Kyrgyz population on his way. Pillaging, ravaging, enrolling those who submitted, taking prisoners those who resisted, he marched from one town to another, followed by those impedimenta of Oriental sovereignty which may be called his household, his wives, and his slaves, all with the cool audacity of a modern Genghis Khan. It was impossible to ascertain where he now was, how far his soldiers had marched before the news of the rebellion reached Moscow, or to what part of Siberia the Russian troops had been forced to retire. All communication was interrupted. Had the wire between Kolevon and Tomsk been cut by Tartar scouts, or had the Imir himself arrived at the Yenisesk provinces? Was all the lower part of western Siberia inaffirmant had the rebellion already spread to the eastern regions? No one could say. The only agent which fears neither cold nor heat, which can neither be stopped by the rigors of winter nor the heat of summer, and which flies with the rapidity of lightning the electric current, was prevented from traversing the steppes, and it was no longer possible to warn the Grand Duke shut up in Irkutsk of the danger threatening him from the treason of Ivan Ogarev. A courier only could supply the place of the interrupted current. It would take this man some time to traverse the five thousand two hundred bursts between Moscow and Irkutsk. To pass the ranks of the rebels and invaders he must display almost superhuman courage and intelligence, but with a clear head and a firm heart much can be done. Shall I be able to find this head and heart? Thought the Tsar. End of Book 1, Chapter 2 Book 1, Chapter 3 of Michael Strogoff, Courier of the Tsar. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Michael Strogoff by Jules Verne. Book 1, Chapter 3. Michael Strogoff meets the Tsar. The door of the Imperial Cabinet was again opened and General Kysoff was announced. The courier, inquired the Tsar eagerly. He is here, Tsar, replied General Kysoff. Have you found a fitting man? I will answer for him to your majesty. Has he been in the service of the palace? Yes, Tsar. 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, Tsar. He has all the qualities necessary to succeed, even where others might possibly fail. What is his age? Thirty. Is he strong and vigorous? Tsar, he can bear cold, hunger, thirst, fatigue, to the very last extremities. He must have a frame of iron. Tsar, 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 Tsar. 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 Moskovite 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 in decision. 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 police, trimmed with fur and ornamented with yellow braid, on his breast glittered across and several medals. Michael Strogoff belonged to the special core of the Tsar'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 Tsar perceived at a glance, was that he was a full-filler of orders. He therefore possessed one of the most serviceable qualities in Russia, one which, as the celebrated novelist Torgenev says, will lead to the highest positions in the Muscovite empire. In short, if any one 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 favourable 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 steps 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 versed, 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 Yakut 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 wither to turn. All his father's secrets were known to him. He had learned 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 Urtish, 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 20, it was decided that he should enter the personal service of the Emperor of Russia in the core of the couriers of the Tsar, 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 Shamil, then later in an important mission to Petropolovsky in Kamchatka, 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 Tsar's presence in complete ignorance of what the Emperor expected from him. The Tsar fixed a penetrating look upon him without uttering a word, whilst Michael stood perfectly motionless. The Tsar, 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 Tsar re-read it attentively, then signed it, preceding his name with the words Bitpoh Simu, 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 Tsar, rising, told Michael Strogoff to draw near. Michael advanced a few steps, and then stood motionless, ready to answer. The Tsar again looked him full in the face and their eyes met. Then, in an abrupt tone, thy name, he asked. Michael Strogoff, Tsar, thy rank, captain in the core of couriers of the Tsar. Thou dost know Siberia, I am a Siberian, a native of Omsk, Tsar. Has thou relations there? Yes, Tsar. What relations, my old mother? The Tsar suspended his questions for a moment, then pointing to the letter which he held in his hand. Here is a letter which I charged thee, Michael Strogoff, to deliver into the hands of the Grand Duke, and no other but him. I will deliver it, Tsar. 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 Ogarev, who will perhaps meet thee on the way. I will beware of him. Wilt thou pass through Omsk, Tsar, 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 wither thou art going. I swear it. Michael Strogoff continued the Tsar, 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 Tsar 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 Tsar. I think so, Sire, replied General Kisoff, and your Majesty may be sure that Michael Strogoff will do all that a man can do. He is indeed a man, said the Tsar. 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 travelled 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 Tsar's messengers. Michael Strogoff was a man who feared neither frost nor snow. He would have preferred travelling 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 the other means of locomotion present are greatly diminished, the wide steps 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 snowstorms 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 Tsar 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 contended himself with furnishing him with a Potorozhna. This Potorozhna was made out in the name of Nicholas Korpanov, merchant, living at Irkutsk. It authorized Nicholas Korpanov 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 Potorozhna is simply a permission to take post horses, but Michael Strogoff was not to use it unless he was sure that by doing so 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 Korpanov, travelling 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 traveller of rank consisted of not less than two hundred mounted Cossacks, two hundred foot soldiers, twenty-five basket 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 Tsar. Accordingly, on the morning of the sixteenth 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 Muzhik, wide trousers, guarded 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 yatigan, 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 Nizhny 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 Nizhny 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 opened and listened with both ears. In fact, rumour of the rising of the Kyrgyz hordes and of the Tartar invasion had transpired in some degree. The occupants of the carriage, whom Chance had made his travelling 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 Nizhny Novgorod, a very mixed assembly composed of Jews, Turks, Cossacks, Russians, Georgians, Kalmukhs, 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 certainly have been enough to restrain the merchant's tongues. But in the compartment occupied by Michael Strogoff, there was no one who seemed a military man, and Czar's courier was not the person to betray himself. He listened then. They say that caravantees are up, remarked a Persian, known by his cap of astrakhan fur, and his ample brown robe, worn threadbare by use. "'Hey, there's no fear of teas falling,' answered an old Jew of sullen aspect. Those in the market at Nizhni 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 Samarkand, 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 the Qiva to the Chinese frontier.' "'Well,' replied the Persian, if the carpets do not arrive, the drafts will not arrive either, I suppose. "'And the Prophet's 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 shalds from the East. "'Why, look out, little father,' said a Russian traveller 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 tell your hair, or if you throw ashes on your head,' replied the traveller, "'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 iderdown, nor honey, nor wax, nor hemp seed, nor salt meat, nor caviar, nor wood, nor wool, nor ribbons, nor hemp, nor flax, nor Morocco, nor furs. "'But do you buy them?' asked the Persian, interrupting the traveller'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 overly particular in these times, and you never can know with whom you are travelling.' 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 traveller, and communication between the different provinces of Central Asia will become very difficult. "'Is it true,' asked his neighbour, "'that the Kyrgyz of the Middle Horde have joined the tartars?' "'So it is said,' answered the traveller, 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 Kyrgyz. "'If the Kyrgyz to send the ear-tish, the route to Irkutsk will not be safe,' observed his neighbour. "'Besides, yesterday I wanted to send a telegram to Krasnoyarsk, 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 Nizhny Novgorod fair won't end as brilliantly as it has begun,' replied 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 traveller 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 travellers, 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 manufacturers, the number of their inhabitants, the average mortality, etc., and all this he wrote down in a notebook, 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, Travellers of Great Discretion, Very Close as to Political Matters. Whilst Alcide Jolivet noted down his impressions thus minutely, his confrère in the same train, travelling 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 Nizhny 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 travellers 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 Vladimir. 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 Kyrgyz. The police had as yet found no traces of Ivan Ogarev. It was not known whether the traitor calling in the foreigner to avenge his personal rankor had rejoined Fyofar Khan, or whether he was endeavouring to foment a revolt in the government of Nizhny Novgorod, which at this time of year contained a population of such diverse elements. Perhaps among the Persians, Armenians, or Kalmukhs, 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, four million 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 70 millions of inhabitants. In it, 30 different languages are spoken. The Slavonic race predominates, no doubt, but there are besides Russians, Poles, Lithuanians, Corlanders. Add to these, Finns, Laplanders, Estonians, several other northern tribes with unpronounceable names, the Permiax, the Germans, the Greeks, the Tartars, the Caucasian tribes, the Mongol, Kalmukh, Samoid, Kamchatkin, and Aleutian hordes, and one may understand that the unity of so vast a state must be difficult to maintain, and that it could be only the work of time aided by the wisdom of many successive rulers. Be that as it may, Ivan Ogarev 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 Ogarev. 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 any one, moreover, help obeying, unhesitatingly, orders which emanate from a monarch who has the right to employ this formula at the head of his UKS? We, by the grace of God, Emperor and Autocrat of all the Russians of Moscow, Kiev, Vladimir and Novgorod, Tsar of Kazan and Astrakhan, Tsar of Poland, Tsar of Siberia, Tsar of the Torek Chersenies, Senor of Skov, Prince of Smolinsk, Lithuania, Volkinia, Podolia, and Finland, Prince of Estonia, Livonia, Korlandana of Semigalia, of Bialystok, Karylia, Sugria, Perm, Vyatka, Bulgaria, and many other countries, Lord and Sovereign Prince of the Territory of Nizhny Novgorod, Chemigov, Ryazan, Polotsk, Rostov, Yaroslavl, Bielozursk, Udoria, Abdoria, Kondinia, Vitebsk and of Mistislav, Governor of the Hyperborian Regions, Lord of the Countries of Ivaria, Kartalinia, Grusinia, Kabardinia, and Arminia, Hereditary Lord and Suzerain of the Cherkes Princes, of those of the mountains and of others, heir of Norway, Duke of Schleswig Holstein, Sturman, Dietmarsen, 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, Vladimir, Kiev, Kazan, Astrakhan, and of Siberia, and environed by the collar of the Order of St. Andrew surmounted by a royal crown. As to Michael Strogov, his papers were in order, and he was, consequently, free from all police supervision. At the station of Vladimir the train stopped for several minutes, which appeared sufficient to enable the correspondent of the Daily Telegraph to take a two-fold view, physical and moral, and to form a complete estimate of this ancient capital of Russia. At the Vladimir station fresh travellers joined the train. Among others a young girl entered the compartment occupied by Michael Strogov. A vacant place was found opposite the courier. The young girl took it after placing by her side a modest travelling bag of red leather, which seemed to constitute all her luggage. Then seating herself with downcast eyes, not even glancing at the fellow travellers whom Chance had given her, she prepared for a journey which was still to last several hours. Michael Strogov could not help looking attentively at his newly arrived fellow traveller. As she was so placed as to travel with her back to the engine he even offered her his seat, which she 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 Slavonic 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 like 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 traveller was tall and upright as far as could be judged of her figure from the very simple and ample police 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 traveller 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 police, gracefully adjusted at the neck by a blue tie. Under this police, a short skirt also dark fell over a robe which reached the ankles. Half boots of leather, thickly sold, 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 wither 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 Nizhny 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 any one, 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 enter fear with what does not concern them. But Michael Strogoff cast on him a glance so stern that the sleeper lent 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 bursts before arriving at Nizhny Novgorod, at a sharp curve of the iron way, the train experienced a very violent shock. Then, for a minute, it ran on to 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 Nizhny Novgorod. Before anyone could get out of the carriages, the inspectors of police presented themselves at the door and examined the passengers. Michael Strogoff showed his Podorozhna, made out in the name of Nicholas Korpenov. He had consequently no difficulty. As to the other travelers in the compartment all bound for Nizhny Novgorod, their appearance, happily for them, was in no wise suspicious. The young girl in her turn exhibited not a passport since passports are no longer required in Russia, but a permit endorsed 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 Ekutsk? Yes. By what route? By Perm. Good, replied the inspector, take care to have your permit visaed at the police station of Nizhny Novgorod. The young girl bent her head in token of ascent. Hearing these questions and replies, Michael Strogov 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 Strogov 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. The two announcements. Nizhny Novgorod, lower Novgorod, situate at the junction of the Volga and the Oka, is the chief town in the district of the same name. It was here that Michael Strogov was obliged to leave the railway, which at the time did not go beyond that town. Thus, as he advanced, his travelling would become first less speedy, and then less safe. Nizhny Novgorod, the fixed population of which is only from thirty to thirty-five thousand inhabitants, contained at that time more than three hundred thousand, that is to say the population was increased tenfold. This addition was in consequence of the celebrated fair, which was held within the walls for three weeks. Formerly Makaryev had the benefit of this concourse of traders, but since 1817 the fair had been removed to Nizhny Novgorod. Even at the late hour at which Michael Strogov left the platform, there was still a large number of people in the two towns separated by the stream of the Volga, which composed Nizhny Novgorod. The highest of these is built on a steep rock and defended by a fort called in Russia Kreml. Michael Strogov expected some trouble in finding a hotel, or even an inn, to suit him, as he had not to start immediately, for he was going to take a steamer. He was compelled to look out for some lodging, but before doing so, he wished to know exactly the hour at which the steamboat would start. He went to the office of the company whose boats plied between Nizhny Novgorod and Perm. There, to his great annoyance, he found that no boat started for Perm till the following day at twelve o'clock. Seventeen hours to wait. It was very vexatious to a man so pressed for time. However, he never senselessly murmured. Besides, the fact was that no other conveyance could take him so quickly either to Perm or Cassane. It would be better then to wait for the steamer, which would enable him to regain lost time. Here then was Michael Strogov strolling through the town and quietly looking out for some inn in which to pass the night. However, he troubled himself little on this score, and but that hunger pressed him he would probably have wandered on till morning in the streets of Nizhny Novgorod. He was looking for supper rather than a bed, but he found both at the sign of the city of Constantinople. There the landlord offered him a fairly comfortable room, with little furniture it is true, but not without an image of the virgin and a few saints framed in yellow gauze. A goose filled with sour stuffing swimming in thick cream, barley bread, some curds, powdered sugar mixed with cinnamon, and a jug of kvass, the ordinary Russian beer, were placed before him and sufficed to satisfy his hunger. He did justice to the meal, which was more than could be said of his neighbor at table, who, having in his character of old believer of the sect of Raskolniks, made the vow of abstinence, rejected the potatoes in front of him, and carefully refrained from putting sugar in his tea. His supper finished, Michael Strogoff, instead of going up to his bedroom, again strolled out into the town. But although the long twilight yet lingered, the crowd was already dispersing, the streets were gradually becoming empty, and at length everyone retired to his dwelling. Why did not Michael Strogoff go quietly to bed, as would have seemed more reasonable after a long railway journey? Was he thinking of the young Livonian girl who had been his traveling companion? Having nothing better to do, he was thinking of her. Did he fear that, lost in this busy city, she might be exposed to insult? He feared so, and with good reason. Did he hope to meet her, and if need were, to afford her protection? No. To meet would be difficult. As to protection, what right had he, alone, he said to himself, alone, in the midst of these wandering tribes? And yet the present dangers are nothing compared to those she must undergo. Siberia, Irkutsk, I am about to dare all risks for Russia, for the Tsar, while she is about to do so, for whom, for what? She is authorized across the frontier, the country beyond is in revolt, the steps are full of tartar bands. Michael Strogoff stopped for an instant and reflected. Without doubt, thought he, she must have determined on undertaking her journey before the invasion. Perhaps she is even now ignorant of what is happening. But no, that cannot be. The merchants discussed before her the disturbances in Siberia, and she did not seem surprised. She did not even ask an explanation. She must have known it then, and knowing it is still resolute. Poor girl! Her motive for the journey must be urgent indeed. But though she may be brave, and she certainly is so, her strength must fail her, and to say nothing of dangers and obstacles she will be unable to endure the fatigue of such a journey. Never can she reach Irkutsk. Indulging in such reflections, Michael Strogoff wandered on as chance led him. Being well acquainted with the town, he knew that he could easily retrace his steps. Having strolled on for about an hour, he seated himself on a bench against the wall of a large wooden cottage, which stood with many others on a vast open space. He had scarcely been there five minutes when a hand was laid heavily on his shoulder. What are you doing here? Roughly demanded a tall and powerful man who had approached unperceived. I am resting, replied Michael Strogoff. Do you mean to stay all night on the bench? Yes, if I feel inclined to do so, answered Michael Strogoff, in a tone somewhat too sharp for the simple merchant he wished to personate. Come forward then so I can see you, said the man. Michael Strogoff, remembering that, above all, prudence was requisite, instinctively drew back. It is not necessary, he replied, and calmly stepped back ten paces. The man seemed, as Michael observed him well, to have the look of a Bohemian, such as are met at fairs, and with whom contact, either physical or moral, is unpleasant. Then, as he looked more attentively through the dusk, he perceived, near the cottage, a large caravan, the usual travelling dwelling of the Zingaris or Gypsies, who swarm in Russia whenever a few co-pecs can be obtained. As the Gypsy took two or three steps forward and was about to interrogate Michael Strogoff more closely, the door of the cottage opened. He could just see a woman, who spoke quickly in a language which Michael Strogoff knew to be a mixture of Mongol and Siberian. Another spy, let him alone, and come to supper. The Papluka is waiting for you. Michael Strogoff could not help smiling at the epithet bestowed on him, dreading spies as he did, above all else. In the same dialect, although his accent was very different, the Bohemian replied in words which signify, You are right, Sengar, besides we start tomorrow. Tomorrow, repeated the woman in surprise, Yes, Sengar, replied the Bohemian, Tomorrow, and the father himself sends us where we are going. Thereupon the man and woman entered the cottage and carefully closed the door. Good, said Michael Strogoff to himself, If these Gypsies do not wish to be understood when they speak before me, they had better use some other language. From his Siberian origin, and because he had passed his childhood in the steps, Michael Strogoff, it has been said, understood almost all the languages in usage from Tartary to the Sea of Ice. As to the exact signification of the words he had heard, he did not trouble his head, for why should it interest him? It was already late when he thought of returning to his end to take some repose. He followed, as he did so, the course of the Volga, whose waters were almost hidden under the countless number of boats floating on its bosom. An hour after, Michael Strogoff was sleeping soundly on one of those Russian beds which always seemed so hard to strangers, and on the morrow, the 17th of July, he awoke at break of day. He still had five hours to pass in Nizhny Novgorod, it seemed to him an age. How was he to spend the morning unless in wandering, as he had done the evening before, through the streets? By the time he had finished his breakfast, strapped up his bag, at his Potoroshna inspected at the police office, he would have nothing to do but start. But he was not a man to lie in bed after the sun had risen, so he rose, dressed himself, placed the letter with the imperial arms on it carefully at the bottom of its usual pocket, within the lining of his coat, over which he fastened his belt. Then he closed his bag and threw it over his shoulder. This done, he had no wish to return to the city of Constantinople, and intending to breakfast on the bank of the Volga near the wharf, he settled his bill and left the inn. By way of precaution Michael Strogoff went first to the office of the steam-packet company, and there made sure that the Caucasus would start at the appointed hour. As he did so, the thought for the first time struck him that, since the young Livonian girl was going to perm, it was very possible that her intention was also to embark in the Caucasus, in which case he should accompany her. The town above, with its Krenlin, whose circumference measures two bursts, and which resembles that of Moscow, was altogether abandoned. Even the governor did not reside there. But if the town above was like a city of the dead, the town below, at all events, was alive. Michael Strogoff, having crossed the Volga on a bridge of boats, guarded by mounted Cossacks, reached the square where the evening before he had fallen in with the Gypsy camp. This was somewhat outside the town, where the fair of Nishni Novgorod was held. In a vast plain rose the temporary palace of the Governor-General, whereby imperial orders that great functionary resided during the whole of the fair, which, thanks to the people who composed it, required an ever-watchful surveillance. This plain was now covered with booths, symmetrically arranged in such a manner as to leave avenues broad enough to allow the crowd to pass without a crush. Each group of these booths, of all sizes and shapes, formed a separate quarter particularly dedicated to some special branch of commerce. There was the iron quarter, the furrier's quarter, the woollen quarter, the quarter of the wood merchants, the weaver's quarter, the dried fish quarter, etc. Some booths were even built of fancy materials, some of bricks of tea, others of masses of salt meat, that is to say, of samples of the goods which the owners thus announced were there to the purchasers, a singular and somewhat American mode of advertisement. In the avenues and long alleys there was already a large assemblage of people, the sun, which had risen at four o'clock, being well above the horizon, an extraordinary mixture of Europeans and Asiatics, talking, wrangling, haranguing, and bargaining. Everything which can be bought or sold seemed to be heaped up in this square. Furs, precious stones, silks, cashmere shawls, turkey carpets, weapons from the Caucasus, gauzes from Smyrna and Ispahan, tiffless armor, caravan teas, European bronzes, Swiss clocks, velvets and silks from Lyon, English cottons, harness, fruits, vegetables, minerals from the Ural, malachite, lapis lazuli, spices, perfumes, medicinal herbs, wood, tar, rope, horn, pumpkins, watermelons, etc. All the products of India, China, Persia, from the shores of the Caspian and the Black Sea, from America and Europe, were united at this corner of the globe. It is scarcely possible truly to portray the moving mass of human beings surging here and there, the excitement, the confusion, the hubbub, demonstrative as were the natives and the inferior classes, they were completely outdone by their visitors. There were merchants from Central Asia, who had occupied a year in escorting their merchandise across its vast plains, and who would not again see their shops and counting houses for another year to come. In short, of such importance is this fair of Nishni Novgorod, that the sum total of its transactions amounts yearly to nearly a hundred million dollars. On one of the open spaces between the quarters of this temporary city were numbers of mountabanks of every description, gypsies from the mountains telling fortunes to the credulous fools who are ever to be found in such assemblies, Zingaris or Siganes, a name which the Russians give to the gypsies who are the descendants of the ancient cops, singing their wildest melodies and dancing their most original dances, comedians of foreign theaters, acting Shakespeare, adapted to the taste of spectators who crowded to witness them. In the long avenues the bear showmen accompanied their four-footed dancers, menageries resounded with the horse cries of animals under the influence of the stinging whip or red-hot irons of the tamer, and besides all these numberless performers, in the middle of the central square surrounded by a circle four deep of enthusiastic amateurs, was a band of mariners of the Volga, sitting on the ground, as on the deck of their vessel, imitating the action of rowing, guided by the stick of the master of the orchestra, the veritable helmsmen of this imaginary vessel, a whimsical and pleasing custom. Suddenly, according to a time-honored observance in the fair of Nishni Novgorod, above the heads of the vast concourse a flock of birds was allowed to escape from the cages in which they had been brought to the spot. In return for a few co-pecs charitably offered by some good people, the bird fanciers opened the prison doors of their captives, who flew out in hundreds, uttering their joyous notes. It should be mentioned that England and France at all events were this year represented at the great fair of Nishni Novgorod by two of the most distinguished products of modern civilization, Messieurs Harry Blount and Alcide Jolivet. Jolivet, an optimist by nature, found everything agreeable, and as by chance both lodging and food were to his taste, he jotted down in his book some memoranda particularly favourable to the town of Nishni Novgorod. Blount, on the contrary, having in vain hunted for a supper, had been obliged to find a resting place in the open air. He therefore looked at it all from another point of view and was preparing an article of the most withering character against a town in which the landlords of the ends refused to receive travellers who only begged leave to be flayed morally and physically. Michael Strogoff, one hand in his pocket, the other holding his cherry-stemmed pipe, appeared the most indifferent and least impatient of men, yet, from a certain contraction of his eyebrows every now and then, a careful observer would have seen that he was burning to be off. For two hours he kept walking about the streets, only to find himself invariably at the fair again. As he passed among the groups of buyers and sellers, he discovered that those who came from countries on the confines of Asia manifested great uneasiness. Their trade was visibly suffering. Another symptom also was marked. In Russia, military uniforms appear on every occasion. Soldiers are want to mix freely with the crowd, the police agents being almost invariably aided by a number of Cossacks, who, lance on shoulder, keep order in the crowd of three hundred thousand strangers. But on this occasion the soldiers, Cossacks and the rest, did not put in an appearance at the great market. Doubtless, a sudden order to move having been foreseen, they were restricted to their barracks. Moreover, while no soldiers were to be seen, it was not so with their officers. Since the evening before, aids to camp, leaving the Governor's palace galloped in every direction. An unusual movement was going forward which a serious state of affairs could alone account for. There were innumerable couriers on the roads both to Vladimir and to the Ural Mountains. The exchange of telegraphic dispatches with Moscow was incessant. Michael Strogoff found himself in the Central Square when the report spread that the head of police had been summoned by a courier to the Palace of the Governor-General. An important dispatch from Moscow, it was said, was the cause of it. The fare is to be closed, said one. The regiment of Nizhny Novgorod has received the route, declared another. They say that the tartars of Ministomsk, here is the head of police, was shouted on every side. A loud clapping of hands was suddenly raised which subsided by degrees and finally was succeeded by absolute silence. The head of police arrived in the middle of the Central Square, and it was seen by all that he held in his hand a dispatch. Then, in a loud voice, he read the following announcements. By order of the Governor of Nizhny Novgorod, first, all Russian subjects are forbidden to quit the province upon any pretext whatsoever. Second, all strangers of Asiatic origin are commanded to leave the province within twenty-four hours. Michael Strogoff by Jules Verne. Book One, Chapter Six, 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 Ogarev was still in the province, this would at any rate prevent him, unless with the greatest difficulty, from rejoining Fyofar 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, Gypsies, 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 Nizhny 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 wheel. 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 mountabanks, of which there were a considerable number, they had nearly a thousand diversed 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 Nizhni 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 steps 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 gypsies 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 has never called anything else among the people. How could those gypsies 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 travelling alone across the steppe may be easily guessed to be a courier of the Tsar. If, on the contrary, this young girl accompanies me I shall appear in the eyes of all the Nicholas Korpanov of my Potorozhna. 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 Nizhny Novgorod. I must look for her, and may God guide me. Michael left the great square of Nizhny 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 travelling 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 Nizhny 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 thunderclap 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 endeavours were in vain, and he at last almost despaired of finding her again. It was eleven o'clock, and Michael thought of presenting his Potorozhna 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. Mountabanks, Gypsies, Tighanis, 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 the 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 rubles were powerful enough to gain him a passage. The man, after taking him into the waiting room, went to call an upper clerk. Michael's stroke off would not be long in making everything right with the police and being free in his movements. While waiting he looked about him, and what did he see, there, fallen, rather than seated, on a bench, was a girl, preyed to a silent despair, although her face could scarcely be seen, the profile alone being visible against the wall. Michael's stroke off 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 authorizations, 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's stroke off reappeared, accompanied by the agent. In his hand he held his Potorozhna, 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's stroke off, 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's stroke off, and together they left the police station.