HOWEVER disastrous these measures might be to private interests,
they were, under the circumstances, perfectly justifiable.
"All Russian subjects are forbidden to leave the province;"
if Ivan Ogareff was still in the province, this would at
any rate prevent him, unless with the greatest difficulty,
from rejoining Feofar-Khan, and becoming a very formidable
lieutenant to the Tartar chief.
"All foreigners of Asiatic origin are ordered to leave the province in
four-and-twenty hours;" this would send off in a body all the traders from
Central Asia, as well as the bands of Bohemians, gipsies, etc., having
more or less sympathy with the Tartars. So many heads, so many spies--
undoubtedly affairs required their expulsion.
It is easy to understand the effect produced by these two thunder-claps
bursting over a town like Nijni-Novgorod, so densely crowded
with visitors, and with a commerce so greatly surpassing that of all
other places in Russia. The natives whom business called beyond
the Siberian frontier could not leave the province for a time at least.
The tenor of the first article of the order was express; it admitted
of no exception. All private interests must yield to the public weal.
As to the second article of the proclamation, the order of
expulsion which it contained admitted of no evasion either.
It only concerned foreigners of Asiatic origin, but these could do
nothing but pack up their merchandise and go back the way they came.
As to the mountebanks, of which there were a considerable number,
they had nearly a thousand versts to go before they could reach
the nearest frontier. For them it was simply misery.
At first there rose against this unusual measure a murmur
of protestation, a cry of despair, but this was quickly
suppressed by the presence of the Cossacks and agents of police.
Immediately, what might be called the exodus from the immense
plain began. The awnings in front of the stalls were folded up;
the theaters were taken to pieces; the fires were put out;
the acrobats' ropes were lowered; the old broken-winded
horses of the traveling vans came back from their sheds.
Agents and soldiers with whip or stick stimulated the tardy ones,
and made nothing of pulling down the tents even before the poor
Bohemians had left them.
Under these energetic measures the square of Nijni-Novgorod would,
it was evident, be entirely evacuated before the evening,
and to the tumult of the great fair would succeed the silence
of the desert.
It must again be repeated--for it was a necessary aggravation
of these severe measures--that to all those nomads chiefly concerned
in the order of expulsion even the steppes of Siberia were forbidden,
and they would be obliged to hasten to the south of the Caspian Sea,
either to Persia, Turkey, or the plains of Turkestan. The post
of the Ural, and the mountains which form, as it were, a prolongation
of the river along the Russian frontier, they were not allowed to pass.
They were therefore under the necessity of traveling six hundred
miles before they could tread a free soil.
Just as the reading of the proclamation by the head of the police
came to an end, an idea darted instinctively into the mind
of Michael Strogoff. "What a singular coincidence," thought he,
"between this proclamation expelling all foreigners of Asiatic origin,
and the words exchanged last evening between those two gipsies
of the Zingari race. 'The Father himself sends us where we wish
to go,' that old man said. But 'the Father' is the emperor!
He is never called anything else among the people. How could
those gipsies have foreseen the measure taken against them? how could
they have known it beforehand, and where do they wish to go?
Those are suspicious people, and it seems to me that to them
the government proclamation must be more useful than injurious."
But these reflections were completely dispelled by another
which drove every other thought out of Michael's mind.
He forgot the Zingaris, their suspicious words, the strange
coincidence which resulted from the proclamation.
The remembrance of the young Livonian girl suddenly rushed
into his mind. "Poor child!" he thought to himself.
"She cannot now cross the frontier."
In truth the young girl was from Riga; she was Livonian,
consequently Russian, and now could not leave Russian territory!
The permit which had been given her before the new
measures had been promulgated was no longer available.
All the routes to Siberia had just been pitilessly closed
to her, and, whatever the motive taking her to Irkutsk,
she was now forbidden to go there.
This thought greatly occupied Michael Strogoff. He said to himself,
vaguely at first, that, without neglecting anything of what was due
to his important mission, it would perhaps be possible for him to be
of some use to this brave girl; and this idea pleased him. Knowing how
serious were the dangers which he, an energetic and vigorous man,
would have personally to encounter, he could not conceal from himself
how infinitely greater they would prove to a young unprotected girl.
As she was going to Irkutsk, she would be obliged to follow the same
road as himself, she would have to pass through the bands of invaders,
as he was about to attempt doing himself. If, moreover, she had
at her disposal only the money necessary for a journey taken under
ordinary circumstances, how could she manage to accomplish it under
conditions which made it not only perilous but expensive?
"Well," said he, "if she takes the route to Perm,
it is nearly impossible but that I shall fall in with her.
Then, I will watch over her without her suspecting it;
and as she appears to me as anxious as myself to reach Irkutsk,
she will cause me no delay."
But one thought leads to another. Michael Strogoff had till now thought
only of doing a kind action; but now another idea flashed into his brain;
the question presented itself under quite a new aspect.
"The fact is," said he to himself, "that I have much more need of her
than she can have of me. Her presence will be useful in drawing
off suspicion from me. A man traveling alone across the steppe,
may be easily guessed to be a courier of the Czar. If, on the contrary,
this young girl accompanies me, I shall appear, in the eyes of all,
the Nicholas Korpanoff of my podorojna. Therefore, she must
accompany me. Therefore, I must find her again at any cost.
It is not probable that since yesterday evening she has been able
to get a carriage and leave Nijni-Novgorod. I must look for her.
And may God guide me!"
Michael left the great square of Nijni-Novgorod, where the tumult
produced by the carrying out of the prescribed measures had now
reached its height. Recriminations from the banished strangers,
shouts from the agents and Cossacks who were using them so brutally,
together made an indescribable uproar. The girl for whom he searched
could not be there. It was now nine o'clock in the morning.
The steamboat did not start till twelve. Michael Strogoff had
therefore nearly two hours to employ in searching for her whom
he wished to make his traveling companion.
He crossed the Volga again and hunted through the quarters
on the other side, where the crowd was much less considerable.
He entered the churches, the natural refuge for all who weep,
for all who suffer. Nowhere did he meet with the young Livonian.
"And yet," he repeated, "she could not have left Nijni-Novgorod yet.
We'll have another look." He wandered about thus for two hours.
He went on without stopping, feeling no fatigue, obeying a potent
instinct which allowed no room for thought. All was in vain.
It then occurred to him that perhaps the girl had not heard
of the order--though this was improbable enough, for such a
thunder-clap could not have burst without being heard by all.
Evidently interested in knowing the smallest news from Siberia,
how could she be ignorant of the measures taken by the governor,
measures which concerned her so directly?
But, if she was ignorant of it, she would come in an hour to the quay,
and there some merciless agent would refuse her a passage!
At any cost, he must see her beforehand, and enable her to avoid
such a repulse.
But all his endeavors were in vain, and he at length almost despaired
of finding her again. It was eleven o'clock, and Michael thought
of presenting his podorojna at the office of the head of police.
The proclamation evidently did not concern him, since the emergency
had been foreseen for him, but he wished to make sure that nothing
would hinder his departure from the town.
Michael then returned to the other side of the Volga,
to the quarter in which was the office of the head of police.
An immense crowd was collected there; for though all foreigners
were ordered to quit the province, they had notwithstanding
to go through certain forms before they could depart.
Without this precaution, some Russian more or less implicated
in the Tartar movement would have been able, in a disguise, to pass
the frontier--just those whom the order wished to prevent going.
The strangers were sent away, but still had to gain permission to go.
Mountebanks, gypsies, Tsiganes, Zingaris, mingled with merchants
from Persia, Turkey, India, Turkestan, China, filled the court
and offices of the police station.
Everyone was in a hurry, for the means of transport would be much
sought after among this crowd of banished people, and those who did
not set about it soon ran a great risk of not being able to leave
the town in the prescribed time, which would expose them to some
brutal treatment from the governor's agents.
Owing to the strength of his elbows Michael was able to cross the court.
But to get into the office and up to the clerk's little window was a much
more difficult business. However, a word into an inspector's ear and a
few judiciously given roubles were powerful enough to gain him a passage.
The man, after taking him into the waiting-room, went to call an
upper clerk. Michael Strogoff would not be long in making everything
right with the police and being free in his movements.
Whilst waiting, he looked about him, and what did he see?
There, fallen, rather than seated, on a bench, was a girl,
prey to a silent despair, although her face could scarcely
be seen, the profile alone being visible against the wall.
Michael Strogoff could not be mistaken. He instantly recognized
the young Livonian.
Not knowing the governor's orders, she had come to the police office
to get her pass signed. They had refused to sign it. No doubt
she was authorized to go to Irkutsk, but the order was peremptory--
it annulled all previous au-thorizations, and the routes to Siberia
were closed to her. Michael, delighted at having found her again,
approached the girl.
She looked up for a moment and her face brightened on recognizing
her traveling companion. She instinctively rose and, like a drowning
man who clutches at a spar, she was about to ask his help.
At that moment the agent touched Michael on the shoulder,
"The head of police will see you," he said.
"Good," returned Michael. And without saying a word to her for whom
he had been searching all day, without reassuring her by even a gesture,
which might compromise either her or himself, he followed the man.
The young Livonian, seeing the only being to whom she could look
for help disappear, fell back again on her bench.
Three minutes had not passed before Michael Strogoff reappeared,
accompanied by the agent. In his hand he held his podorojna,
which threw open the roads to Siberia for him. He again
approached the young Livonian, and holding out his hand:
"Sister," said he.
She understood. She rose as if some sudden inspiration prevented
her from hesitating a moment.
"Sister," repeated Michael Strogoff, "we are authorized to continue
our journey to Irkutsk. Will you come with me?"
"I will follow you, brother," replied the girl, putting her hand into
that of Michael Strogoff. And together they left the police station.
