Michael Strogoff; Or the Courier of the Czar: A Literary Classic

by Jules Verne

  The Russian officers reported this change in the state of the river to the Grand Duke. They suggested that this change was probably caused by the circumstance that in some narrower part of the Angara, the blocks had accumulated so as to form a barrier.

  We know that such was the case.

  The passage of the Angara was thus open to the besiegers. There was greater reason than ever for the Russians to be on their guard.

  Up to midnight nothing had occurred. On the Eastern side, beyond the Bolchaïa Gate, all was quiet. Not a glimmer was seen in the dense forest, which appeared confounded on the horizon with the masses of clouds hanging low down in the sky.

  Lights flitting to and fro in the Angara camp, showed that a considerable movement was taking place.

  From a verst above and below the point where the scarp met the river’s bank, came a dull murmur, proving that the Tartars were on foot, expecting some signal.

  An hour passed. Nothing new.

  The bell of the Irkutsk cathedral was about to strike two o’clock in the morning, and not a movement amongst the besiegers had yet shown that they were about to commence the assault.

  The Grand Duke and his officers began to suspect that they had been mistaken. Had it really been the Tartars’ plan to surprise the town? The preceding nights had not been nearly so quiet—musketry rattling from the outposts, shells whistling through the air; and this time, nothing.

  The Grand Duke, General Voranzoff, and their aide-decamps, waited, ready to give their orders, according to circumstances.

  We have said that Ogareff occupied a room in the palace. It was a large chamber on the ground floor, its windows opening on a side terrace. By taking a few steps along this terrace, a view of the river could be obtained.

  Profound darkness reigned in the room. Ogareff stood by a window, awaiting the hour to act. The signal, of course, could come from him alone. This signal once given, when the greater part of the defenders of Irkutsk would be summoned to the points openly attacked, his plan was to leave the palace and hurry to the accomplishment of his work.

  He now crouched in the shadow of the recess, like a wild beast ready to spring on its prey.

  A few minutes before two o’clock, the Grand Duke desired that Michael Strogoff—which was the only name they could give to Ivan Ogareff—should be brought to him. An aide-de-camp came to the room, the door of which was closed. He called. . . .

  Ogareff, motionless near the window, and invisible in the shade, took good care not to answer.

  The Grand Duke was therefore informed that the Czar’s courier was not at that moment in the palace.

  Two o’clock struck. Now was the time to cause the diversion agreed upon with the Tartars, waiting for the assault.

  Ivan Ogareff opened the window and stationed himself at the North angle of the side terrace.

  Below him flowed the waters of the Angara, roaring as they dashed round the broken piles. Ogareff took a match from his pocket, struck it and lighted a small bunch of tow, impregnated with priming powder, which he threw into the river. . . .

  It was by the orders of Ivan Ogareff that the torrents of mineral oil had been thrown on the surface of the Angara!

  There are numerous naphtha springs above Irkutsk, on the right bank, between the suburb of Poshkavsk and the town. Ogareff had resolved to employ this terrible means to carry fire into Irkutsk. He therefore took possession of the immense reservoirs which contained the combustible liquid. It was only necessary to demolish a piece of wall in order to allow it to flow out in a vast stream.

  This had been done that night, a few hours previously, and this was the reason that the raft which carried the true Courier of the Czar, Nadia, and the fugitives, floated on a current of mineral oil. Through the breaches in these reservoirs of enormous dimensions rushed the naphtha in torrents, and, following the inclination of the ground, it spread over the surface of the river, where its density allowed it to float.

  This was the way Ivan Ogareff carried on warfare! Allied with Tartars, he acted like a Tartar, and against his own countrymen!

  The tow had been thrown on the waters of the Angara. In an instant, with electrical rapidity, as if the current had been of alcohol, the whole river was in a blaze above and below the town. Columns of blue flames ran between the two banks. Volumes of vapour curled up above. The few pieces of ice which still drifted were seized by the burning liquid, and melted like wax on the top of a furnace, the evaporated water escaping to the air in shrill hisses.

  At the same moment, firing broke out on the North and South of the town. The enemy’s batteries discharged their guns at random. Several thousand Tartars rushed to the assault of the earth-works. The houses on the bank, built of wood, took fire in every direction. A bright light dissipated the darkness of the night.

  “At last!” said Ivan Ogareff.

  And he had good reason for congratulating himself. The diversion which he had planned was terrible. The defenders of Irkutsk found themselves between the attack of the Tartars and the fearful effects of fire. The bells rang, and all the able-bodied of the population ran, some towards the points attacked, and others towards the houses in the grasp of the flames, which it seemed too probable would ere long envelop the whole town.

  The Gate of Bolchaïa was nearly free. Only a very small guard had been left there. And by the traitor’s suggestion, and in order that the event might be explained apart from him and from political hate, this small guard had been chosen from the little band of exiles.

  Ogareff re-entered his room, now brilliantly lighted by the flames from the Angara; then he made ready to go out.

  But scarcely had he opened the door, when a woman rushed into the room, her clothes drenched, her hair in disorder.

  “Sangarre!” exclaimed Ogareff, in the first moment of surprise, and not supposing that it could be any other woman than the gipsy.

  It was not Sangarre; it was Nadia!

  At the moment when, floating on the ice, the girl had uttered a cry on seeing “the fire spreading along the current, Michael Strogoff had seized her in his arms, and plunged with her into the river itself to seek a refuge in its depths from the flames. The block which bore them was then not more than thirty fathoms from the first quay below Irkutsk.

  Swimming beneath the water, Michael managed to get a footing with Nadia on the quay.

  Michael Strogoff had reached his journey’s end! He was in Irkutsk!

  “To the governor’s palace!” said he to Nadia.

  In less than ten minutes, they arrived at the entrance to the palace. Long tongues of flame from the Angara licked its walls, but were powerless to set it on fire.

  Beyond, the houses on the bank were in a blaze.

  The palace being open to all, Michael and Nadia entered without difficulty. In the general confusion, no one remarked them, although their garments were dripping.

  A crowd of officers coming for orders, and of soldiers running to execute them, filled the great hall on the ground floor. There, in a sudden eddy of the confused multitude, Michael and the young girl were separated from each other.

  Nadia ran distracted through the passages, calling her companion, and asking to be taken to the Grand Duke.

  A door into a room flooded with light opened before her. She entered, and found herself suddenly face to face with the man whom she had met at Ichim, whom she had seen at Tomsk; face to face with the one whose villainous hand would an instant later betray the town!

  “Ivan Ogareff!” she cried.

  On hearing his name pronounced, the wretch started. His real name known, all his plans would be balked. There was but one thing to be done; to kill the person who had just uttered it.

  Ogareff darted at Nadia; but the girl, a knife in her hand, retreated against the wall, determined to defend herself.

  “Ivan Ogareff!” again cried Nadia, knowing well that so detested a name would soon bring her help.

  “Ah! Be silent!” hissed out the traitor between his clenched t
eeth.

  “Ivan Ogareff!” exclaimed a third time the brave young girl, in a voice to which hate had added ten-fold strength.

  Mad with fury, Ogareff, drawing a dagger from his belt, again rushed at Nadia and compelled her to retreat into a corner of the room.

  Her last hope appeared gone, when the villain, suddenly lifted by an irresistible force, was dashed to the ground.

  “Michael!” cried Nadia.

  It was Michael Strogoff.

  Michael had heard Nadia’s call. Guided by her voice, he had just in time reached Ivan Ogareff’s room, and entered by the open door.

  “Fear nothing, Nadia,” said he, placing himself between her and Ogareff.

  “Ah!” cried the girl, “take care, brother! . . . . The traitor is armed! . . . He can see! . . .”

  Ogareff rose, and, thinking he had an immeasurable advantage over the blind man, threw himself on him.

  But with one hand, the blind man grasped the arm of his enemy, seized his weapon, and hurled him again to the ground.

  Pale with rage and shame, Ogareff remembered that he wore a sword. He drew it from its scabbard, and returned a second time to the charge.

  Michael Strogoff also knew him.

  A blind man! Ogareff had only to deal with a blind man! He was more than a match for him!

  Nadia, terrified at the danger which threatened her companion in so unequal a struggle, ran to the door calling for help!

  “Close the door, Nadia!” said Michael. “Call no one, and leave me alone! The Czar’s courier has nothing to fear to-day from this villain! Let him come on, if he dares! I am ready for him.”

  In the meantime, Ogareff, gathering himself together like a tiger about to spring, uttered not a word. The noise of his footsteps, his very breathing, he endeavoured to conceal from the ear of the blind man. His object was to strike before his opponent was aware of his approach, to strike him with a deadly blow. The traitor did not think of fighting, but assassinating the man whose name he had stolen.

  Nadia, terrified and at the same time confident, watched this terrible scene with involuntary admiration. Michael’s calm bearing seemed to have inspired her. Michael’s sole weapon was his Siberian knife. He did not see his adversary armed with a sword, it is true; but Heaven’s support seemed to be afforded him. How, almost without stirring, did he always face the point of the sword?

  Ivan Ogareff watched his strange adversary with visible anxiety. His superhuman calm had an effect upon him. In vain, appealing to his reason, did he tell himself that in so unequal a combat all the advantages were on his side. The immobility of the blind man froze him. He had settled on the place where he would strike his victim . . . He had fixed upon it! . . . What, then, hindered him from putting an end to his blind antagonist?

  At last, with a spring he drove his sword full at Michael’s breast.

  An imperceptible movement of the blind man’s knife turned aside the blow. Michael had not been touched, and coolly he awaited a second attack.

  Cold drops stood on Ogareff’s brow. He drew back a step, then again leaped forward. But as had the first, this second attempt failed. The knife had simply parried the blow from the traitor’s useless sword.

  Mad with rage and terror before this living statue, he gazed into the wide-open eyes of the blind man. Those eyes—which seemed to pierce to the bottom of his soul, and yet which did not, could not, see—exercised a sort of dreadful fascination over him.

  All at once, Ogareff uttered a cry. A sudden light flashed across his brain.

  “He sees!” he exclaimed, “he sees! . . .”

  And like a wild beast trying to retreat into its den, step by step, terrified, he drew back to the end of the room.

  Then the statue became animated, the blind man walked straight up to Ivan Ogareff, and placing himself right before him—

  “Yes, I see!” said he. “I see the mark of the knout which I gave you, traitor and coward! I see the place where I am about to strike you! Defend your life! It is a duel I deign to offer you! My knife against your sword!”

  “He sees!” said Nadia, “Gracious Heaven, is it possible!”

  Ogareff felt that he was lost. But mustering all his courage, he sprang forward on his impassible adversary. The two blades crossed, but at a touch from Michael’s knife, wielded in the hand of the Siberian hunter, the sword flew in splinters, and the wretch, stabbed to the heart, fell lifeless on the ground.

  At the same moment, the door was thrown open. The Grand Duke, accompanied by some of his officers, appeared on the threshold.

  The Grand Duke advanced. In the body lying on the ground, he recognized the man whom he believed to be the Czar’s courier.

  Then, in a threatening voice—

  “Who killed that man?” he asked.

  “I,” replied Michael.

  One of the officers put a pistol to his temple, ready to fire.

  “Your name?” asked the Grand Duke, before giving the order for his brains to be blown out.

  “Your Highness,” answered Michael, “ask me rather the name of the man who lies at your feet!”

  “That man, I know him! He is a servant of my brother! He is the Czar’s courier!”

  “That man, your Highness, is not a courier of the Czar! He is Ivan Ogareff!”

  “Ivan Ogareff!” exclaimed the Grand Duke.

  “Yes, Ivan the Traitor!”

  “But who are you, then?”

  “Michael Strogoff!”

  CHAPTER XV.

  CONCLUSION.

  MICHAEL STROGOFF was not, had never been, blind. A purely human phenomenon, at the same time moral and physical, had neutralized the action of the incandescent blade which Feofar’s executioner had passed before his eyes.

  It may be remembered, that at the moment of the execution, Marfa Strogoff was present, stretching out her hands towards her son. Michael gazed at her as a son would gaze at his mother when it is for the last time. The tears, which his pride in vain endeavoured to subdue, welling up from his heart, gathered under his eyelids, and volatilizing on the cornea, had saved his sight. The vapour formed by his tears interposing between the glowing sabre and his eyeballs, had been sufficient to annihilate the action of the heat. A similar effect is produced, when a workman smelter, after dipping his hand in vapour, can with impunity hold it over a stream of melted iron.

  Michael had immediately understood the danger in which he would be placed should he make known his secret to any one. He at once saw, on the other hand, that he might make use of his supposed blindness for the accomplishment of his designs. Because it was believed that he was blind, he would be allowed to go free. He must therefore be blind, blind to all, even to Nadia, blind everywhere, and not a gesture at any moment must let the truth be suspected His resolution was taken. He must risk his life even to afford to all he might meet the proof of his want of sight. We know how perfectly he acted the part he had determined on.

  His mother alone knew the truth, and he had whispered it to her in Tomsk itself, when bending over her in the dark he covered her with kisses.

  When Ogareff had in his cruel irony held the Imperial letter before the eyes which he believed were destroyed, Michael had been able to read, and had read the letter which disclosed the odious plans of the traitor. This was the reason of the wonderful resolution he exhibited during the second part of his journey. This was the reason of his unalterable longing to reach Irkutsk, so as to perform his mission by word of mouth. He knew that the town would be betrayed! He knew that the life of the Grand Duke was threatened! The safety of the Czar’s brother and of Siberia was in his hands.

  This story was told in a few words to the Grand Duke, and Michael repeated also—and with what emotion!—the part Nadia had taken in these events.

  “Who is this girl?” asked the Grand Duke.

  “The daughter of the exile, Wassili Fedor,” replied Michael.

  “The daughter of Captain Fedor,” said the Grand Duke, “has ceased to be the daughter
of an exile. There are no longer exiles in Irkutsk.”

  Nadia, less strong in joy than she had been in grief, fell on her knees before the Grand Duke, who raised her with one hand, while he extended the other to Michael.

  An hour after, Nadia was in her father’s arms.

  Michael Strogoff, Nadia, and Wassili Fedor were united. This was the height of happiness to them all.

  The Tartars had been repulsed in their double attack on the town. Wassili Fedor, with his little band, had driven back the first assailants who presented themselves at the Bokhara Gate, expecting to find it open for them, and which, by an instinctive feeling, often arising from sound judgment, he had determined to remain at and defend.

  At the same time as the Tartars were driven back the besieged had mastered the fire. The liquid naphtha having rapidly burnt to the surface of the water, the flames did not go beyond the houses on the shore, and left the other quarters of the town uninjured.

  Before daybreak the troops of Feofar-Khan had retreated into their camp, leaving a large number of dead on and below the ramparts.

  Among the dead was the gipsy Sangarre, who had vainly endeavoured to join Ivan Ogareff.

  For two days the besiegers attempted no fresh assault. They were discouraged by the death of Ogareff. This man was the mainspring of the invasion, and he alone, by his plots long since contrived, had had sufficient influence over the khans and their hordes to bring them to the conquest of Asiatic Russia.

  However, the defenders of Irkutsk kept on their guard, and the investment still continued; but on the 7th of October, at daybreak, cannon boomed out from the heights around Irkutsk.