HALF an hour afterwards, Michael and Nadia had left Tomsk.
Many others of the prisoners were that night able to escape from the Tartars, for officers and soldiers, all more or less intoxicated1, had unconsciously relaxed the vigilant2 guard which they had hitherto maintained. Nadia, after having been carried off with the other prisoners, had been able to escape and return to the square, at the moment when Michael was led before the Emir. There, mingling3 with the crowd, she had witnessed the terrible scene. Not a cry escaped her when the scorching4 blade passed before her companion’s eyes. She kept, by her strength of will, mute and motionless. A providential inspiration bade her restrain herself and retain her liberty that she might lead Marfa’s son to that goal which he had sworn to reach. Her heart for an instant ceased to beat when the aged5 Siberian woman fell senseless to the ground, but one thought restored her to her former energy. “I will be the blind man’s dog,” said she.
On Ogareff’s departure, Nadia had concealed6 herself in the shade. She had waited till the crowd left the square. Michael, abandoned as a wretched being from whom nothing was to be feared, was alone. She saw him draw himself towards his mother, bend over her, kiss her forehead, then rise and grope his way in flight.
A few instants later, she and he, hand in hand, had descended7 the steep slope, when, after having followed the high banks of the Tom to the furthest extremity8 of the town, they happily found a breach9 in the inclosure.
The road to Irkutsk was the only one which penetrated10 towards the east. It could not be mistaken. It was possible that on the morrow, after some hours of carousal11, the scouts12 of the Emir, once more scattering13 over the steppes, might cut off all communication. It was of the greatest importance therefore to get in advance of them. How could Nadia bear the fatigues15 of that night, from the l6th to the 17th of August? How could she have found strength for so long a stage? How could her feet, bleeding under that forced march, have carried her thither16? It is almost incomprehensible. But it is none the less true that on the next morning, twelve hours after their departure from Tomsk, Michael and she reached the town of Semilowskoe, after a journey of thirty-five miles.
Michael had not uttered a single word. It was not Nadia who held his hand, it was he who held that of his companion during the whole of that night; but, thanks to that trembling little hand which guided him, he had walked at his ordinary pace.
Semilowskoe was almost entirely17 abandoned. The inhabitants had fled. Not more than two or three houses were still occupied. All that the town contained, useful or precious, had been carried off in wagons18. However, Nadia was obliged to make a halt of a few hours. They both required food and rest.
The young girl led her companion to the extremity of the town. There they found an empty house, the door wide open. An old rickety wooden bench stood in the middle of the room, near the high stove which is to be found in all Siberian houses. They silently seated themselves.
Nadia gazed in her companion’s face as she had never before gazed. There was more than gratitude19, more than pity, in that look. Could Michael have seen her, he would have read in that sweet desolate20 gaze a world of devotion and tenderness.
The eyelids21 of the blind man, made red by the heated blade, fell half over his eyes. The pupils seemed to be singularly enlarged. The rich blue of the iris22 was darker than formerly23. The eyelashes and eyebrows24 were partly burnt, but in appearance, at least, the old penetrating25 look appeared to have undergone no change. If he could no longer see, if his blindness was complete, it was because the sensibility of the retina and optic nerve was radically26 destroyed by the fierce heat of the steel.
Then Michael stretched out his hands.
“Are you there, Nadia?” he asked.
“Yes,” replied the young girl; “I am close to you, and I will not go away from you, Michael.”
At his name, pronounced by Nadia for the first time, a thrill passed through Michael’s frame. He perceived that his companion knew all, who he was.
“Nadia,” replied he, “we must separate!”
“We separate? How so, Michael?”
“I must not be an obstacle to your journey! Your father is waiting for you at Irkutsk! You must rejoin your father!”
“My father would curse me, Michael, were I to abandon you now, after all you have done for me!”
“Nadia, Nadia,” replied Michael, “you should think only of your father!”
“Michael,” replied Nadia, “you have more need of me than my father. Do you mean to give up going to Irkutsk?”
“Never!” cried Michael, in a tone which plainly showed that none of his energy was gone.
“But you have not the letter!”
“That letter of which Ivan Ogareff robbed me! Well! I shall manage without it, Nadia! They have treated me as a spy! I will act as a spy! I will go and repeat at Irkutsk all I have seen, all I have heard; I swear it by Heaven above! The traitor27 shall meet me one day face to face! But I must arrive at Irkutsk before him.”
“And yet you speak of our separating, Michael?”
“Nadia, they have taken everything from me!”
“I have some roubles still, and my eyes! I can see for you, Michael; and I will lead you thither, where you could not go alone!”
“And how shall we go?”
“On foot.”
“And how shall we live?”
“By begging.”
“Let us start, Nadia.”
“Come, Michael.”
The two young people no longer kept the names “brother” and “sister.” In their common misfortune, they felt still closer united. They left the house after an hour’s repose28. Nadia had procured29 in the town some morsels30 of “tchornekhleb,” a sort of barley31 bread, and a little mead32, called “meod” in Russia. This had cost her nothing, for she had already begun her plan of begging. The bread and mead had in some degree appeased33 Michael’s hunger and thirst. Nadia gave him the lion’s share of this scanty34 meal. He ate the pieces of bread his companion gave him, drank from the gourd35 she held to his lips.
“Are you eating, Nadia?” he asked several times.
“Yes, Michael,” invariably replied the young girl, who contented36 herself with what her companion left.
Michael and Nadia quitted Semilowskoe, and once more set out on the laborious37 road to Irkutsk. The girl bore up in a marvelous way against fatigue14. Had Michael seen her, perhaps he would not have had the courage to go on. But Nadia never complained, and Michael, hearing no sigh, walked at a speed he was unable to repress. And why? Did he still expect to keep before the Tartars? He was on foot, without money; he was blind, and if Nadia, his only guide, were to be separated from him, he could only lie down by the side of the road and there perish miserably38. But if, on the other hand, by energetic perseverance39 he could reach Krasnoiarsk, all was perhaps not lost, since the governor, to whom he would make himself known, would not hesitate to give him the means of reaching Irkutsk.
Michael walked on, speaking little, absorbed in his own thoughts. He held Nadia’s hand. The two were in incessant40 communication. It seemed to them that they had no need of words to exchange their thoughts. From time to time Michael said, “Speak to me, Nadia.”
“Why should I, Michael? We are thinking together!” the young girl would reply, and contrived41 that her voice should not betray her extreme fatigue.
But sometimes, as if her heart had ceased to beat for an instant, her limbs tottered42, her steps flagged, her arms fell to her sides, she dropped behind. Michael then stopped, he fixed43 his eyes on the poor girl, as though he would try to pierce the gloom which surrounded him; his breast heaved; then, supporting his companion more than before, he started on afresh.
However, amidst these continual miseries44, a fortunate circumstance on that day occurred which it appeared likely would considerably45 ease their fatigue. They had been walking from Semilowskoe for two hours when Michael stopped.
“Is there no one on the road?”
“Not a single soul,” replied Nadia.
“Do you not hear some noise behind us? If they are Tartars we must hide. Keep a good look-out!”
“Wait, Michael!” replied Nadia, going back a few steps to where the road turned to the right.
Michael Strogoff waited alone for a minute, listening attentively46.
Nadia returned almost immediately and said, “It is a cart. A young man is leading it.”
“Is he alone?”
“Alone.”
Michael hesitated an instant. Should he hide? or should he, on the contrary, try to find a place in the vehicle, if not for himself, at least for her? For himself, he would be quite content to lay one hand on the cart, to push it if necessary, for his legs showed no sign of failing him; but he felt sure that Nadia, compelled to walk ever since they crossed the Obi, that is, for eight days, must be almost exhausted47. He waited.
The cart was soon at the corner of the road. It was a very dilapidated vehicle, known in the country as a kibitka, just capable of holding three persons. Usually the kibitka is drawn48 by three horses, but this had but one, a beast with long hair and a very long tail. It was of the Mongol breed, known for strength and courage.
A young man was leading it, with a dog beside him. Nadia saw at once that the young man was Russian; his face was phlegmatic49, but pleasant, and at once inspired confidence. He did not appear to be in the slightest hurry; he was not walking fast that he might spare his horse, and, to look at him, it would not have been believed that he was following a road which might at any instant be swarming50 with Tartars.
Nadia, holding Michael by the hand, made way for the vehicle. The kibitka stopped, and the driver smilingly looked at the young girl.
“And where are you going to in this fashion?” he asked, opening wide his great honest eyes.
At the sound of his voice, Michael said to himself that he had heard it before. And it was satisfactory to him to recognize the man for his brow at once cleared.
“Well, where are you going?” repeated the young man, addressing himself more directly to Michael.
“We are going to Irkutsk,” he replied.
“Oh! little father, you do not know that there are still versts and versts between you and Irkutsk?”
“I know it.”
“And you are going on foot?”
“On foot.”
“You, well! but the young lady?”
“She is my sister,” said Michael, who judged it prudent51 to give again this name to Nadia.
“Yes, your sister, little father! But, believe me, she will never be able to get to Irkutsk!”
“Friend,” returned Michael, approaching him, “the Tartars have robbed us of everything, and I have not a copeck to offer you; but if you will take my sister with you, I will follow your cart on foot; I will run when necessary, I will not delay you an hour!”
“Brother,” exclaimed Nadia, “I will not! I will not! Sir, my brother is blind!”
“Blind!” repeated the young man, much moved.
“The Tartars have burnt out his eyes!” replied Nadia, extending her hands, as if imploring52 pity.
“Burnt out his eyes! Oh! poor little father! I am going to Krasnoiarsk. Well, why should not you and your sister mount in the kibitka? By sitting a little close, it will hold us all three. Besides, my dog will not refuse to go on foot; only I don’t go fast, I spare my horse.”
“Friend, what is your name?” asked Michael.
“My name is Nicholas Pigassof.”
“It is a name that I will never forget,” said Michael.
“Well, jump up, little blind father. Your sister will be beside you, in the bottom of the cart; I sit in front to drive. There is plenty of good birch bark and straw in the bottom; it’s like a nest. Serko, make room!”
The dog jumped down without more telling. He was an animal of the Siberian race, gray hair, of medium size, with an honest big head, just made to pat, and he, moreover, appeared to be much attached to his master.
In a moment more, Michael and Nadia were seated in the kibitka. Michael held out his hands as if to feel for those of Pigassof. “You wish to shake my hands!” said Nicholas. “There they are, little father! shake them as long as it will give you any pleasure.”
The kibitka moved on; the horse, which Nicholas never touched with the whip, ambled53 along. Though Michael did not gain any in speed, at least some fatigue was spared to Nadia.
Such was the exhaustion55 of the young girl, that, rocked by the monotonous56 movement of the kibitka, she soon fell into a sleep, its soundness proving her complete prostration57. Michael and Nicholas laid her on the straw as comfortably as possible. The compassionate58 young man was greatly moved, and if a tear did not escape from Michael’s eyes, it was because the red-hot iron had dried up the last!
“She is very pretty,” said Nicholas.
“Yes,” replied Michael.
“They try to be strong, little father, they are brave, but they are weak after all, these dear little things! Have you come from far.”
“Very far.”
“Poor young people! It must have hurt you very much when they burnt your eyes!”
“Very much,” answered Michael, turning towards Nicholas as if he could see him.
“Did you not weep?”
“Yes.”
“I should have wept too. To think that one could never again see those one loves. But they can see you, however; that’s perhaps some consolation59!”
“Yes, perhaps. Tell me, my friend,” continued Michael, “have you never seen me anywhere before?”
“You, little father? No, never.”
“The sound of your voice is not unknown to me.”
“Why!” returned Nicholas, smiling, “he knows the sound of my voice! Perhaps you ask me that to find out where I come from. I come from Kolyvan.”
“From Kolyvan?” repeated Michael. “Then it was there I met you; you were in the telegraph office?”
“That may be,” replied Nicholas. “I was stationed there. I was the clerk in charge of the messages.”
“And you stayed at your post up to the last moment?”
“Why, it’s at that moment one ought to be there!”
“It was the day when an Englishman and a Frenchman were disputing, roubles in hand, for the place at your wicket, and the Englishman telegraphed some poetry.”
“That is possible, but I do not remember it.”
“What! you do not remember it?”
“I never read the dispatches I send. My duty being to forget them, the shortest way is not to know them.”
This reply showed Nicholas Pigassof’s character. In the meanwhile the kibitka pursued its way, at a pace which Michael longed to render more rapid. But Nicholas and his horse were accustomed to a pace which neither of them would like to alter. The horse went for two hours and rested one — so on, day and night. During the halts the horse grazed, the travelers ate in company with the faithful Serko. The kibitka was provisioned for at least twenty persons, and Nicholas generously placed his supplies at the disposal of his two guests, whom he believed to be brother and sister.
After a day’s rest, Nadia recovered some strength. Nicholas took the best possible care of her. The journey was being made under tolerable circumstances, slowly certainly, but surely. It sometimes happened that during the night, Nicholas, although driving, fell asleep, and snored with a clearness which showed the calmness of his conscience. Perhaps then, by looking close, Michael’s hand might have been seen feeling for the reins60, and giving the horse a more rapid pace, to the great astonishment61 of Serko, who, however, said nothing. The trot62 was exchanged for the amble54 as soon as Nicholas awoke, but the kibitka had not the less gained some versts.
Thus they passed the river Ichirnsk, the villages of Ichisnokoe, Berikylokoe, Kuskoe, the river Marunsk, the village of the same name, Bogostowskoe, and, lastly, the Ichoula, a little stream which divides Western from Eastern Siberia. The road now lay sometimes across wide moors63, which extended as far as the eye could reach, sometimes through thick forests of firs, of which they thought they should never get to the end. Everywhere was a desert; the villages were almost entirely abandoned. The peasants had fled beyond the Yenisei, hoping that this wide river would perhaps stop the Tartars.
On the 22d of August, the kibitka entered the town of Atchinsk, two hundred and fifty miles from Tomsk. Eighty miles still lay between them and Krasnoiarsk.
No incident had marked the journey. For the six days during which they had been together, Nicholas, Michael, and Nadia had remained the same, the one in his unchange-able calm, the other two, uneasy, and thinking of the time when their companion would leave them.
Michael saw the country through which they traveled with the eyes of Nicholas and the young girl. In turns, they each described to him the scenes they passed. He knew whether he was in a forest or on a plain, whether a hut was on the steppe, or whether any Siberian was in sight. Nicholas was never silent, he loved to talk, and, from his peculiar64 way of viewing things, his friends were amused by his conversation. One day, Michael asked him what sort of weather it was.
“Fine enough, little father,” he answered, “but soon we shall feel the first winter frosts. Perhaps the Tartars will go into winter quarters during the bad season.”
Michael Strogoff shook his head with a doubtful air.
“You do not think so, little father?” resumed Nicholas. “You think that they will march on to Irkutsk?”
“I fear so,” replied Michael.
“Yes . . . you are right; they have with them a bad man, who will not let them loiter on the way. You have heard speak of Ivan Ogareff?”
“Yes.”
“You know that it is not right to betray one’s country!”
“No . . . it is not right . . .” answered Michael, who wished to remain unmoved.
“Little father,” continued Nicholas, “it seems to me that you are not half indignant enough when Ivan Ogareff is spoken of. Your Russian heart ought to leap when his name is uttered.”
“Believe me, my friend, I hate him more than you can ever hate him,” said Michael.
“It is not possible,” replied Nicholas; “no, it is not possible! When I think of Ivan Ogareff, of the harm which he is doing to our sacred Russia, I get into such a rage that if I could get hold of him —”
“If you could get hold of him, friend?”
“I think I should kill him.”
“And I, I am sure of it,” returned Michael quietly.
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1
intoxicated
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| 喝醉的，极其兴奋的 | |
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vigilant
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| adj.警觉的，警戒的，警惕的 | |
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mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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scorching
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| adj. 灼热的 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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extremity
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| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
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breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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carousal
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| n.喧闹的酒会 | |
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scouts
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| 侦察员[机，舰]( scout的名词复数 )； 童子军； 搜索； 童子军成员 | |
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13
scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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fatigues
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| n.疲劳( fatigue的名词复数 )；杂役；厌倦；（士兵穿的）工作服 | |
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thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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wagons
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| n.四轮的运货马车( wagon的名词复数 )；铁路货车；小手推车 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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iris
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| n.虹膜，彩虹 | |
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formerly
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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radically
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| ad.根本地，本质地 | |
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traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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procured
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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morsels
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| n.一口( morsel的名词复数 )；（尤指食物）小块，碎屑 | |
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barley
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| n.大麦，大麦粒 | |
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mead
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| n.蜂蜜酒 | |
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appeased
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| 安抚，抚慰( appease的过去式和过去分词 )； 绥靖（满足另一国的要求以避免战争） | |
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scanty
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gourd
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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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laborious
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| adj.吃力的，努力的，不流畅 | |
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miserably
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| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
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perseverance
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| n.坚持不懈，不屈不挠 | |
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incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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tottered
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| v.走得或动得不稳( totter的过去式和过去分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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miseries
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| n.痛苦( misery的名词复数 )；痛苦的事；穷困；常发牢骚的人 | |
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considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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phlegmatic
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| adj.冷静的，冷淡的，冷漠的，无活力的 | |
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swarming
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| 密集( swarm的现在分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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51
prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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52
imploring
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| 恳求的，哀求的 | |
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53
ambled
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| v.（马）缓行( amble的过去式和过去分词 )；从容地走，漫步 | |
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amble
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| vi.缓行，漫步 | |
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exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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56
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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57
prostration
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| n. 平伏, 跪倒, 疲劳 | |
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58
compassionate
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| adj.有同情心的，表示同情的 | |
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consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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60
reins
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| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
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61
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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62
trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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63
moors
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| v.停泊，系泊（船只）( moor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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