Michael Strogoff

Michael Strogoff

By Jules Verne.

Translated by W. H. G. Kingston.

Table of Contents

1. Titlepage
2. Imprint
3. Part I
   1. I: A Fête at the New Palace
   2. II: Russians and Tartars
   3. III: Michael Strogoff Meets the Czar
   4. IV: From Moscow to Nizhny Novgorod
   5. V: The Two Announcements
   6. VI: Brother and Sister
   7. VII: Going Down the Volga
   8. VIII: Going Up the Kama
   9. IX: Day and Night in a Tarantass
   10. X: A Storm in the Ural Mountains
   11. XI: Travelers in Distress
   12. XII: Provocation
   13. XIII: Duty Before Everything
   14. XIV: Mother and Son
   15. XV: The Marshes of the Baraba
   16. XVI: A Final Effort
   17. XVII: The Rivals
4. Part II
   1. I: A Tartar Camp
   2. II: Correspondents in Trouble
   3. III: Blow for Blow
   4. IV: The Triumphal Entry
   5. V: “Look While You May!”
   6. VI: A Friend on the Highway
   7. VII: The Passage of the Yenisey
   8. VIII: A Hare Crosses the Road
   9. IX: In the Steppe
   10. X: Baikal and Angara
   11. XI: Between Two Banks
   12. XII: Irkutsk
   13. XIII: The Czar’s Courier
   14. XIV: The Night of the Fifth of October
   15. XV: Conclusion
5. Endnotes
6. Colophon
7. Uncopyright

Imprint

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Part I

I

A Fête at the New Palace

“Sire, a fresh dispatch.”

“Whence?”

“From Tomsk?”

“Is the wire cut beyond that city?”

“Yes, sire, since yesterday.”

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

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

These words were exchanged about two hours after midnight, at the moment when the fête given at the New Palace was at the height of its splendor.

During the whole evening the bands of the Preobrazhensky and Pavlovsky regiments had played without cessation polkas, mazurkas, schottisches, and waltzes from among the choicest of their repertoires. Innumerable couples of dancers whirled through the magnificent saloons of the palace, which stood at a few paces only from the “old house of stones”⁠—in former days the scene of so many terrible dramas, the echoes of whose walls were this night awakened by the gay strains of the musicians.

The grand-chamberlain of the court, was, besides, well seconded in his arduous and delicate duties. The grand-dukes and their aides-de-camp, the chamberlains-in-waiting and other officers of the palace, presided personally in the arrangement of the dances. The grand duchesses, covered with diamonds, the ladies-in-waiting in their most exquisite costumes, set the example to the wives of the military and civil dignitaries of the ancient “city of white stone.” When, therefore, the signal for the “polonaise” resounded through the saloons, and the guests of all ranks took part in that measured promenade, which on occasions of this kind has all the importance of a national dance, the mingled costumes, the sweeping robes adorned with lace, and uniforms covered with orders, presented a scene of dazzling splendor, lighted by hundreds of lusters multiplied tenfold by the numerous mirrors adorning the walls.

The grand saloon, the finest of all those contained in the New Palace, formed to this procession of exalted personages and splendidly dressed women a frame worthy of the magnificence they displayed. The rich ceiling, with its gilding already softened by the touch of time, appeared as if glittering with stars. The embroidered drapery of the curtains and doors, falling in gorgeous folds, assumed rich and varied hues, broken by the shadows of the heavy masses of damask.

Through the panes of the vast semicircular bay-windows the light, with which the saloons were filled, shone forth with the brilliancy of a conflagration, vividly illuminating the gloom in which for some hours the palace had been shrouded. The attention of those of the guests not taking part in the dancing was attracted by the contrast. Resting in the recesses of the windows, they could discern, standing out dimly in the darkness, the vague outlines of the countless towers, domes, and spires which adorn the ancient city. Below the sculptured balconies were visible numerous sentries, pacing silently up and down, their rifles carried horizontally on the shoulder, and the spikes of their helmets glittering like flames in the glare of light issuing from the palace. The steps also of the patrols could be heard beating time on the stones beneath with even more regularity than the feet of the dancers on the floor of the saloon. From time to time the watchword was repeated from post to post, and occasionally the notes of a trumpet, mingling with the strains of the orchestra, penetrated into their midst. Still farther down, in front of the façade, dark masses obscured the rays of light which proceeded from the windows of the New Palace. These were boats