Ivan had just strength to express his thanks, and fell back exhausted.

In the mean time, Azila had dispatched the two men to watch the

direction taken by the police, and to bring back word, as soon as it

would be safe for Thaddeus to venture on his return to the city. She

then took her seat by the side of Ivan's humble couch, watching each

movement of his pallid face, while Thaddeus was seated opposite, and

their old host busied himself in producing various articles of

refreshment, including a flask of wine; a small quantity of which

considerably revived Ivan. The old man kept moving about, and muttering

to himself, but bestowing few words on the strangers.

After a considerable time, the scouts came back to report that the road

was clear; the police having returned to their posts in despair that

their prey had escaped.

"It is now time for you to depart, Sir," said Azila, addressing

Thaddeus, "for longer delay here would be hazardous, while your friend,

trust me, will be carefully attended to. One of these men will be your

guide, till you reach a part of the city known to you."

As at these words Thaddeus rose to depart, Ivan exclaimed:

"Adieu, my generous friend! I know not when we may next meet, for all

around me looks dark, and lowering; but something within tells me, that

I shall yet surmount all difficulties. Our courses, I fear, however,

must be widely different; yours is clear before you, though I sincerely

wish that you would follow mine. You shake your head. Well, well, I

cannot now urge you to do as I wish; but I will take care to apprise you

of my movements, and perchance we may some day again meet in happier

circumstances."

After expressing his thanks to Azila, Thaddeus followed one of the

Gipsies, who conducted him at a rapid place, till they arrived at a part

of the city with which he was familiar; when the man pointing to the

direction he was to take, disappeared without waiting for an answer; and

the young Pole soon after reached his lodgings in safety.

Volume 1, Chapter XV.

A gentle and refreshing slumber stole over Ivan's senses, banishing from

his mind all remembrance of the cares and dangers surrounding him, as he

lay on his couch, watched over by the vigilant care of Azila.

He had been undisturbed in his place of refuge for several hours, when

he suddenly started in his sleep, aroused by a singular and hurried

knocking at the door. Azila hastened towards it, as the old man, slowly

rising from his seat, had begun, with muttered grumblings, to undo the

fastenings.

"In mercy, father, let him not in," said Azila, "whoever it may be! He

may bring ruin on your guest. Oh! bid him seek shelter, or whatever he

may want, elsewhere."

"Ay, that I would, with a pestilence on mankind, who are for ever

worrying me," muttered the old man; "but my oath--my oath compels me. I

may refuse admittance to none who make the sign."

Again the knocking was repeated, as the old man, having finished his

task of unbarring, opened the door, and a man pale as death, his dress

torn and disordered, sword in hand, rushed into the vault.

"Hide me--hide me, father!" he exclaimed. "All is lost; many are taken,

some slain, and all dispersed; and even now the police are in pursuit of

me."

The old man peered into the face of the new comer to identify him, and

as if to ask for an explanation of what had happened; while the

stranger, on his part, looked with surprise at seeing Azila and Ivan

already occupants of the vault. He was, however, recognised as one of

the conspirators, as he threw himself exhausted on a stone bench.

"What means this agitation?" said Ivan, as the person recognised him;

"what means this alarm? for I scarcely heard the words you spoke as you

entered."

"Alas!" answered the conspirator, "our noble enterprise has been

discovered before all was fully prepared, and is now utterly and for

ever overthrown. No sooner had the meeting broke up, than, as we were

separating, we found the police gathering in strong force round all the

entrances to the garden. No time was to be lost, many of our friends

had already been seized, when I, with others, made a desperate rush

through one of the avenues, less strongly guarded than the others; some

of us escaping, favoured by the darkness, and our knowledge of the

situation; and fear giving swiftness to my feet, I distanced all

pursuers, and hastened hither. Yet, at one time, I heard my enemies

following close behind me; but they lost sight of me among the lanes

which lead to this spot. Had the assembly broken up sooner, we should

have escaped for this night, as the police had but just begun to arrive

at the place, to which some of the party must have been traced by spies,

or some foul treachery has been at work. I had a narrow escape; but I

had no fear when once I got outside, for I knew that you, father, would

shelter me."

"Ay, ay," muttered the old man, "at the risk of suffering the knout

again, and being sent back in chains to Siberia, if they discovered who

I was. I have had enough of that already; but fear not, I will not

betray you, and it will be long before the knaves find out my den; or

should the worst happen, here is a place they would find it difficult to

discover:--therefore, should the police come here, you must conceal

yourself within."

At those words, he removed what appeared a large ill-shapen slab, or

rather block of stone, in the wall, but which turned on well-made

hinges, and disclosed within, a recess or small chamber ventilated by an

aperture in the roof. It had evidently been formed with great labour

and perseverance for the purpose it was now to be put to, and was

capable of containing three or more persons without inconvenience.

"If the police discover us here, your wounded friend must also take

refuge within this place; and they will have more wit than I give them

credit for, if they espy him. Hark! I hear footsteps; surely none can

have betrayed me. If so, all is lost."

Scarcely were the words uttered, than a thundering attack of blows was

heard at the door, and a voice loudly demanding admittance in the name

of the Emperor. The conspirator turned pale with terror, and rushed

towards the entrance of the concealed chamber.

"Stay," said Azila, "would you leave your wounded comrade to perish,

while you secure your own retreat? First place him in safety, and all

will be well; fear not, for I will soon manage to get rid of our

unwelcome visitors."

Ivan thanked her with a look of gratitude, as the conspirator, following

her directions, with the feeble aid of the old man, lifted him through

the narrow aperture, and laid him on some straw hastily thrown together;

when Azila, carefully closing the entrance, prepared to receive the

emissaries of justice. She threw a cloak over her head and shoulders,

so as completely to cover her form and features, busying herself over

the fire, as if watching some culinary operation, while the old man

employed himself in slowing unbarring the door, muttering and growling

as if just aroused from sleep.

A second and more impatient summons made him hasten to withdraw the

bolts, when the door flew open, almost knocking him down, and a party of

the police rushed into the vault, but started back confounded, on

beholding who were its sole occupants.

Azila's watchful eye marked the servant of Count Erintoff--the ruffian

Kruntz, among the party.

"Well, I could have sworn," said the man; "that I saw some person enter

here not a quarter of an hour ago; and I know that he could not have

again escaped without my seeing him."

"This is strange," said the leader of the police, "we must question the

old man, if he has sense enough to understand us. Here, old man! has

any one lately left this mansion of yours?"

"Few come to visit one overcome with age and infirmities, who dwells in

a dark vault where the light of day scarcely enters," said the hermit;

"no, no! they leave me alone to die in peace and quiet, it is all I

require. What is it that you desire of me, gentlemen? can I do aught to

serve you? I have, indeed, little to offer!"

"Cease your prating, old man!" said the officer, "and listen to what I

say. A foul plot has just been discovered, and some of the conspirators

have taken refuge in this neighbourhood. Now harken! I am not to be

trifled with: you, old man, know somewhat of them."

"Woe is the day, that such things should be!" cried the old man. "Look

around--see! none are here; there must be some mistake."

"We shall prove it," exclaimed the police officer, who, exasperated at

the chance of his prey escaping him, produced a thick leathern thong,

with which he struck the aged hermit a violent blow across the

shoulders; "this will refresh your wits and ideas perchance. Say!

can'st thou now remember, old knave; or must another blow yet revive

you?"

"I cannot speak more than the truth," said the old man, meekly, and

bowing before the petty tyrant, too well accustomed to such deeds.

"Your stripes can draw no more than the truth from me, I know not of

whom you speak."

"Is it so!" cried the officer, now growing furious at his

disappointment, and having strong suspicions that he had, in some way,

been deceived. "We shall see what efficacy there is in leather to draw

the truth from you," aiming at the same time several more blows at the

old man, which made him shrink down cowering before the barbarian,

though he uttered no words of complaint, nor could the slightest

information be elicited from him.

Since the entrance of the myrmidons of police, Azila had kept her seat

apparently unnoticed, bending down her head before the fire, her cloak

concealing her features so effectually that none could know them; at the

same time keeping a watchful eye on those whose presence caused such

risk to Ivan's safety; hoping that a woman's wit, in case of necessity,

would lead them astray. She now, however, could no longer contain her

indignation at the cowardly assault by the police officer on the

defenceless and decrepit old man, for, suddenly rising from her seat,

she boldly confronted the tyrant.

Drawing herself up to her full height, and assuming a look of proud

disdain, she thus addressed the brutal ruffian:

"Dastardly tyrant, can you not find some nobler object to vent your

unjust rage upon, and to display your power, than yonder decrepit old

man? Perchance you may deem a weak and helpless woman a fitter subject

for the exercise of your proud prerogative, if so--strike! fear not! I

can bear as much as that infirm old man--perchance more. What! are you

afraid? Then order some of your myrmidons to begin the attack; do they

also lack courage? Oh! most brave and noble band to fear an old man,

and young woman! Go your way then, if you have no better errand--or

search here first, for what you want!"

The rough natures of the men were awed by the majestic air, and

authoritative manner of Azila, for they drew back to the entrance of the

cavern; while their leader foamed with rage at finding himself baffled

by a young girl; but he meditated revenge.

Azila had shewn much tact in drawing off the officer's anger from the

old man to herself, and then working him into a fury, and increasing it

so as to confuse his faculties, and prevent him from making a stricter

search, when the retreat of the two conspirators might by chance have

been discovered. Her plan had well nigh succeeded, and the officer was

preparing to depart, when something seemed to strike him as left undone,

and turning to the old man, he seized him roughly by the shoulder

demanding his name; the latter hesitating to give this at once, brought

upon himself a fresh shower of blows.

"Stay--stay your hand!" cried he, "do you demand my name? alas! my

memory is so bad that I can scarcely remember it; but I am called

Orenoff, and I live here on the charity which a few people, whose hearts

are not yet turned to stone, bestow on me. My heart has undergone a

like fate, else I could not bear your treatment."

While the old man was babbling away in this strain, the officer made

notes on paper, and presently turning to Azila, said:

"Now, Madam, you must give me some account of yourself, or else prepare

to follow me. What do you here?"

"I answer your questions," replied Azila, "because forsooth, it pleases

me to do so. I came then to attend yonder weak, sick old man, and to

bring him food and medicine, for he has none other to attend him."

"Whence do you come, then?" demanded the officer.

"From a noble and charitable lady," said Azila; "and perchance it may

occur to your wisdom, that it was my cloak, which was seen entering the

vault, and which your spies took for one of the conspirators!"

"If you can give no better account of yourself than this, you must

accompany me forthwith," said the officer.

"But, should it not be my pleasure to leave, you may experience some

difficulty in compelling me," replied Azila.

The officer smiled grimly, and was stepping forward to seize her slight

figure, which could indeed have offered but a slight resistance to his

grasp, when she exclaimed:

"Stand aside, and touch me at your peril!" producing at the same time a

paper from her bosom. "Know you that signature?" she said. "Go your

way, and leave this old man to rest, who is too ill and infirm to move

hence, and learn in future to exercise your bravery on objects capable

of self-defence."

The police officer, with an abashed and scowling look, now prepared to

depart; still however shewing some hesitation, as if doubtful of acting

wisely; but a significant wave of Azila's hand, decided him to order his

men to withdraw, when they, glad to escape, soon made their exit through

the narrow doorway of the vault, followed by their leader.

As their footsteps were heard receding, the old man hastened to close

the door, but was checked by Azila.

"No, father," she said, "let them not suppose that we have aught to

conceal, by manifesting haste to shut them out, or they may perhaps

return and renew their search, although I think their brutal leader

would rather not attempt it." Some minutes accordingly elapsed, ere the

door was again closed and barred.

While this scene was taking place, Ivan's feelings may be better

conceived than described, as he lay concealed with his companion in

their narrow cell; first, on hearing the entrance of the police, and

their treatment of the old man, and again when their leader threatened

to seize Azila. At first he felt inclined to rush out, and at all risks

to arrest the barbarian, but the pain of his wound recalled him to

timely reason, and he reflected that the act would not only sacrifice

his companion and himself, but also indeed doubly commit his aged host

and Azila. The maiden appeared at the entrance of the cell, soon after

the police had withdrawn, and addressing its inmates, said:

"For the present, I trust you are safe, but I cannot answer for how long

a time you may remain so, as the police will yet keep a watch on this

place. I should advise, you, Sir, who are strong and able to seek

safety elsewhere, to retire from hence as soon as I can ascertain that

the road be clear; I am even confident, that they will return here again

before long. Are you ready to depart?"

"Yes, yes," replied the conspirator, "I would rather trust myself to the

dangers of the open streets, than run the risk of being taken here, like

a fox in his hole; but it will be a perilous undertaking to run the

gauntlet through the bands of the lynx-eyed police. Can I serve my

friend, Galetzoff? and shall I not leave him in greater danger?"

"Fear not for him, leave him to my charge," answered Azila, "and now, be

ready to fly hence on my return. I will learn from those on the watch

if all be safe."

The maiden departed, the old man closing the door with the utmost

caution, while the conspirator pressed Ivan's hand, bidding him

farewell, and stood ready to sally forth on her return. She soon came

back, assuring him that none of the police were to be seen in the

neighbourhood; with hurried and anxious look, he then rushed forth to

reach a safer refuge.

The door was now again secured with bar and bolt. Assuming the same

bashful and retiring manner as before, when in Ivan's presence, so

different from her usual free and independent bearing, when in discourse

with others, Azila addressed the wounded youth--

"I must now leave you for a while," she said, "for I go to seek means to

enable you to escape hence, in safety, to the tents of my people, where

your wound will be quickly healed, and you may dwell until you gain

strength to fly from the country. Until my return, I confide you to the

care of an old and tried friend, and a trusty guard watches outside, who

will give immediate notice of the slightest danger." Then making her

usual oriental obeisance, she withdrew towards the door, lingering to

cast one look on her patient; and before he had time to express his

thanks, she had quitted the vault.

Ivan was left in the recess, the entrance being open, while his aged

host prepared himself for slumber on a pallet in a corner of the vault;

he followed the latter's example, although every passing sound aroused

him.

The remainder of the night waned, no fresh event occurring to disturb

the occupants of the dreary vault. No sooner had a few streaks of

morning found ingress through the crevices of the walls, than the old

man arose from his uneasy couch, and after tendering his services to

Ivan, proceeded to prepare a morning meal. This considerably revived

his wounded guest, though the pain he suffered had not diminished.

Still the very recollection of his narrow escape gave him hopes for the

future, and he looked forward with eagerness to the time when his

present confinement would cease, and he should again breathe the pure

air of Heaven in unrestrained liberty. Occupied with these thoughts, he

passed the remainder of the day, anxiously awaiting Azila's return.

Volume 1, Chapter XVI.

The principal place of resort of that singular race of people, the

Zingani, or Gipsies, or as they universally call themselves the Rommany;

of whom there are several thousands in and about Moscow; is the Marina

Rochte, lying about two versts distant from the city.

Most of these people obtain their livelihood in Moscow, either by

keeping taverns, or by dealing in horses and by various other like kinds

of traffic, bearing in general but an indifferently good character. The

class, however, to which we now allude, are of the lowest order; whose

females sing at the taverns and different public gardens in the

neighbourhood, and are not of the best repute, as to modesty of

behaviour. Here they congregate in great numbers, their countenances

resembling those of their race who are to be met with in England; of

brown complexions, and for the most part having beautiful and regular

features; their eyes fiery and intelligent; their hair, somewhat coarse,

of coal black hue; and all having the same free and independent bearing.

There is, however, another class of Zingani, whose very existence will

surprise those who have been accustomed to consider these people as mere

wandering barbarians, incapable of civilisation, and unable to

appreciate the blessings of a quiet and settled life; for many of them

inhabit large and handsome houses in Moscow, appear abroad in elegant

equipages, and are scarcely to be distinguished from the upper classes

of the Russians, unless, indeed by possessing superior personal

advantages and mental accomplishments. Of this singular social

phenomenon at Moscow, the female Gipsies are the principal cause, having

from time immemorial cultivated their vocal powers, with such effect,

that although in the heart of a country in which the vocal art has

arrived at a greater perfection than perhaps in any other part of the

world, the principal gipsy choirs in that city are, by universal

consent, allowed to be unrivalled.

The sums obtained by these singers, are very large, enabling them to

live in luxury of every description, and to maintain their husbands in

almost princely magnificence. Many are married to Russian gentlemen of

consideration. The lovely, talented, and domestic wife of a Count,

well-known in the highest, circles of Moscow, is by birth a Gipsy, and

was formerly the chief pride of a Rommany choir at Moscow, as she is now

one of the principal ornaments of refined society.

In no other part of the world do the gipsies flourish as they do in

Russia, affording a great contrast to the wretched hordes steeped in

penury and vice, who infest the Peninsula; and to the low thieving

trampers of England and Scotland, existing by petty pillage; such bands

often being indeed but a collection of the lowest vagabonds of every

description intermingled with the original race.

There are many opinions as to the land from whence the Zingani have

sprung; it is generally supposed, that they originally came from

Hindostan, being of the lowest class of Indians, called Suders, or those

who have lost caste; that they migrated from thence in great numbers in

1409, when Timour Beg ravaged India, to spread with fire and sword the

tenets of the Mahomedan religion. It seems probable that in their way

towards Egypt, where we first hear of them, that they resided for a time

in the country called Zinganen, at the mouth of the Indus, from whence

they may perhaps have gained the name of Zingani. By what route they

reached Egypt from thence, is not known, but they had fixed themselves

there in great numbers in 1517, when Sultan Selim conquered the country.

They revolted from his rule, under a leader who has assumed the name of

Zinganeus, probably from being chosen chief of that people; but were

completely worsted, being again compelled to seek safety in flight, and

made their appearance in Europe in large bands about the year 1520.

Some of their leaders, who with their followers found their way to the

northern parts of Europe, called themselves dukes and lords of Lower

Egypt, endeavouring to impose on the people, among whom they came, with

pretentions of rank and dignity; in this, however, they were not very

successful, soon sinking into a class considered no better than rogues

and vagabonds.

In Russia, on the contrary, among an ignorant and barbarous population,

their various talents and acuteness enabled them to sustain a superior

station; nor have they, at any time, been there subject to the

persecutions and indignities which they have had to endure in other

countries of Europe. Though some, as we have said, have taken up their

abode in cities, others still retain their primitive and wandering

habits, living in tents; and roving from place to place, as may suit

their fancy; or as they find it convenient to carry on the pursuits by

which they exist.

The tribe or family to which Azila belonged, was under the guidance of a

sagacious leader, and was compelled by him to refrain from all marauding

habits. Though the Zingani chief was possessed of considerable wealth,

he was of too free and independent a disposition to confine himself to

the trammels and restraint of the social life of a city, preferring the

more varied and roving existence enjoyed in a camp. He had, however,

numerous connexions of every rank in the city; among the most superior

of whom, his daughter Azila, had in truth been educated, and when her

own inclinations led her to return to her father's camp, she was still

regarded by them with the greatest affection; and it was by their aid,

assisted by her own talent and penetration, that she was able to collect

the varied information, which as we have seen, was of so much importance

to the conspirators.

It is towards the close of one of the few bright and balmy days which

cheer the hearts of the Russians in their short-lived summer, that we

must again introduce our readers to the camp of our friend, the Zingani

chief. It had lately been pitched on the confines of a wood, at a short

distance from Marina Rochte; and it was evident, from fewer people than

usual being seen about the encampments, that many had joined their

brethren in the village, to enjoy their constant amusements of dancing,

singing, and other sports.

At a short distance from the tented circle, the Zingani chief was slowly

pacing the grass, with his arms crossed on his bosom, and lost in

thought. At length he soliloquised aloud:

"This is the baneful effect of departing from our ancient laws and

customs, by taking part in the affairs of the people with whom we dwell;

losing our freedom and independence, by becoming subject to their cruel

and unjust laws. Ought not I to have prevented that loved girl from

trammelling herself with the affairs of others, who would show but

little gratitude for her exertions, even if successful; and now too,

probably, she herself may be in danger: and if so, what resource have I

but to declare her parentage. That would save her: but the so doing

would bring ruin on one who still lives. If she falls into the power of

the tyrannical dispensers of the law, her fate would be dreadful.

Should I not then save her? Yes, I must, even at the expense of the

oath I so thoughtlessly took. It provided not for such an emergency.

It must be done; and even thus, it would well nigh break my heart to

part from her; to see her subject to all the deceit and treachery to

which her station would expose her--to see her free-born spirit

oppressed by the strict rules and absurd etiquette of society; to see

her governed by one who could not appreciate her qualities, and

shrinking before his stern and savage glance; confined too within walls,

and no longer allowed to wander in free and unrestrained liberty. And

yet, some will say that I am acting wrongly; that I am depriving her of

the enjoyment of luxuries and of wealth, which are her due. Fools--

fools! who value worthless gold, outward pomp, and idle, debilitating

effeminacy, to health, and the free air of heaven."

As he again turned, he saw the object of his thoughts approaching, at a

quick pace, from the direction of the city. Azila appeared hurried and

eager in manner; and after holding a short conference with her father,

they entered together within the circle of tents. The gipsy chief then

summoned round him the men who yet remained in the encampment--persons

in whom he could place the utmost reliance in cases of emergency.

"Men of Rommany!" he said, addressing them in that style of language

which they most love to hear, "there is an arduous and dangerous task to

be performed, which will require the utmost sagacity and care. I have,

therefore, summoned you around me, to select one who will swear to

undertake it; but whoever offers himself, must know, that he risks his

liberty, and perhaps his life."

As he finished speaking, a youth stepped forward from the circle of his

companions, exclaiming:

"I am ready to undertake whatever you propose, if it be within the power

of man!"

The keen, lustrous, dark eye; handsome and intelligent countenance; and

well-knit limbs of the youth, were powerful recommendations in his

favour; and the chief, without hesitation, selected him.

"I well know that I can trust you," said the chief; "the task will

require all your sagacity and courage. Its main object is to ensure the

freedom of the young stranger. But remember, Javis, that if your

attempt be discovered, chains, imprisonment, and banishment, will

infallibly be your lot: and for your reward, if you succeed, the utmost

I can give, are my own and Azila's grateful thanks. More she cannot

give," he added, as a blush rose, for a moment, on the youth's dark

cheek.

"I ask not for reward," answered the youth. "It is but a debt of

gratitude each man of the tribe owes to the young stranger; and I should

be base if I were not ready to pay it: I will save him, or perish in the

attempt."

"I trust you fully, Javis," said the chief; "and now we will call Azila

to our conference."

He beckoned his daughter to approach; and for a considerable time they

held an earnest consultation together.

As they finished speaking, a boy ran in, to inform the chief that a

stranger was approaching the encampment.

"I will speak with him," said the chief.

In a few minutes the boy returned, accompanied by a peasant, whose weary

and sorrowful appearance seemed to demand compassion.

"Who are you?" said the chief, eyeing him narrowly, and apparently

satisfied with his scrutiny. "Who are you, who come uninvited among the

people of Rommany? What do you seek with us?"

"If you are the person I take you to be, you shall presently know,"

answered the peasant; "tell me, are you not that kind, honest Gipsy, who

was once very civil to my master; my poor young master, whom I have been

seeking all over the city, and can hear nothing of. Alas! alas! I fear

that he is in great peril."

"Who is your master?" asked the Gipsy; "when I know that, I may perhaps

answer some of your questions."

"My poor young master," replied the peasant, who proved to be our old

friend Karl, "is the son of Baron Galetzoff. Well, I was sent to Moscow

to-day, and venturing to pay a visit to my young Lord, I heard that he

had disappeared, nobody knows where. I have been seeking for him all

day, in every place I could think of, and have now come to ask you, if

you know any thing of him?"

"It is not my custom to answer the questions of those whom I do not

know," said the Gipsy. "Tell me, how came you to suppose, that I could

tell you any thing of your master?"

"Why, for this reason," said Karl; "I once heard my poor young master,

and his friend Thaddeus Stanisloff, speak of a Zingani chief, who had

promised to assist them, if they got into any difficulties. Well, as I

was wandering about, and looking in search of my master, I saw some of

the Rommany people; and I bethought me that I would come out here, and

learn if their chief was in the neighbourhood, and if he knew any thing

of my dear master."

"Well, my good friend," said the Gipsy, who was pleased with poor Karl's

simplicity and sincerity, "go back now to the city, and say not a word

more of your master; but return here to-morrow, at day-break, and be

careful that you are unobserved, and perhaps you may then see him."

"Thanks, most kind and worthy Sir," answered Karl, "you have made my

heart light and happy again."

He then took his leave, as desired, and returned to Moscow; where, as he

was wandering about, looking into various shops, to pass the time, he

met an acquaintance, to whom he could not resist giving the gratifying

intelligence, that he had heard of his young master, the son of the

Baron Galetzoff, as he still persisted in calling Ivan. He did not

observe that a stranger was standing within ear-shot, at the time; but

he soon found, to his cost, the effects of his thoughtless

communication; for, within, an hour, he was seized by some of the

police, and dragged immediately before a magistrate.

He was at first mildly interrogated respecting Ivan, in the hope of

extracting some voluntary information from him. The magistrate then

pressed him more severely, but discovered that the prisoner was a most

difficult subject to exert his authority upon, and when sternly ordered

to confess all he knew, he stoutly denied ever having received any

information of the person in question.

Unfortunately, however, for poor Karl, his perseverance was of no avail

to himself, for his acquaintance, who had confessed all he knew, was

confronted with him. Another person was found, who proved that he was a

serf of the Baron Galetzoff, and consequently must have known the son of

that noble. His denial was therefore of no further service to him, and

the next day, he was ordered before a criminal court then sitting, where

for his contumacy in refusing to answer any questions, he was condemned

forthwith to receive the punishment of the knout.

Poor Karl turned pale when he heard his sentence pronounced, but his

courage did not forsake him, and he determined to undergo any torture,

rather than betray his young master. He was dragged off, therefore, to

receive his punishment, with two other criminals convicted of heinous

crimes, and whose pallid countenances and trembling limbs, betokened

their dread of the coming torture.

The place of execution and punishment is in an open space, outside one

of the barriers of the city; and there a mob of skin-clad labourers and

peasants had collected, as they saw the prisoners approach, conducted by

their guards and the officers, whose duty it was to see that punishment

was duly inflicted.

Even in Russia, the executioner or Palatch, as he is called, is looked

upon with the same opprobrium and dislike as in most other countries,

and he is always some criminal, still considered as a prisoner, but

lodges by himself in a solitary house outside the gates of the city.

Instances have occurred of criminals actually refusing the odious

office, preferring, rather than undertake its cruel duties, the weary

and toilsome journey to Siberia, with all the miseries and wretchedness

incident to it, and an eternal banishment from their country.

The Palatch, on the present occasion, was a criminal sentenced for life

to hard labour in the Siberian mines for murder. The mere appearance of

this man, bespoke that savage disposition, which could find

gratification in the exercise of his horrid occupation. Underneath his

red tangled locks, a scowling forehead protruded, exhibiting beneath his

rough eye-brows, a pair of bleared eyes; a flattish, turned up nose, was

the only other feature to be seen on his face, his mouth being concealed

by a mass of grizzly red hair, which covered the lower part of his face.

Even the yoke-necked, slavish multitude, set up a shout of disgust, as

the hated inflictor of cruelty appeared; but he seemed callous to their

feelings, commencing the preparations for his loathsome office, with

cool indifference.

The two real criminals were to suffer first, all three being stationed

ready for punishment, in a conspicuous place. The first culprit was

placed before an upright board, shaped like an inverted cone; in the

upper or broad end of which are hollowed out three notches, the middle

one being contrived to receive the neck of the culprit, and the other

two the arms, which are securely bound; the legs being fastened to the

bottom of the board. The upper part of the body is then stripped quite

bare. These preparations being completed, the brutal executioner

flourishes the knout round his head, and with tremendous force it

descends on the back of the victim, horribly lacerating the flesh. The

handle of the knout, is a thick stick eighteen inches long, to the end

of which is fastened a twisted thong of leather, twice the length of the

stick; and to the end of the thong again, there is a copper ring,

through which is passed, with a slip knot, a double strap of leather, an

inch broad near the ring, and tapering to a point near the running end;

the straps being boiled in milk, to swell and harden them.

Poor Karl looked at this formidable weapon, in the hands of the

executioner, with feelings of the most intense hatred; but even the

shrieks of his precursors in suffering, as the lash descended on their

backs, did not make him waver in his constancy. He was doomed to a

still greater trial; for just before it became his turn to suffer, he

heard a voice, calling out his name, proceeding apparently from a telga,

which, with some others, had just left the gates of the city, and was

quickly passing by. He turned round for an instant; and a glance of

pleasure lit up his countenance, as he fancied that he recognised the

voice: but instantly recollecting himself, he again hung down his head,

and appeared to observe nothing around him, till the telga had driven

rapidly away.

At length he was also lashed up for punishment; but he uttered not a

groan, until nature almost gave way before the executioner had finished

his hideous work, which he seemed to go through with greater zest, from

the practice he had already had; as the wild beast, which has once

tasted human blood, feels insatiate until he has gorged himself with it.

Karl knew that at one moment he might have saved himself the torture

inflicted upon him; but he willingly suffered without a complaint--a

true specimen of the Russian national character, displaying sturdy

fidelity and passive endurance, without an expectation or hope of

reward.

As yet, he had not half expiated the crime he was charged with, and

justice still retained him in her clutches. He was carried back to

prison till his wounds were healed, at which period he was compelled to

serve the Emperor as a soldier. The constant draft, which an unhealthy

climate and the Circassian sabres made in the army of the Caucasus,

necessitated the frequent incorporation of criminals in its ranks. With

manacles on his hands and feet, he was marched off with others, formed

into large bands, containing many volunteers, who were, however, treated

in the same way, to prevent their escaping, lest they should change

their minds.

Karl knew that it was useless to complain; and as he was of a contented

and happy disposition, not much addicted to thinking, he determined to

make the best of his lot. Fortunately for themselves, his companions

also were blind to the hardships and miseries they would probably be

compelled to undergo; although thus loaded like culprits with heavy

chains, they passed their time in singing and laughter. As they marched

on, their shouts of merriment rose to the skies, amid the clank of their

chains, as if to mock the cruelty of their oppressors: the poor wretches

being entirely ignorant of the blessings of freedom, and incapable of

feeling their degradation, perhaps even incapacitated for thought! Such

are now the only people in Europe who can securely be governed by

despotism; and such are the senseless tools with which the mighty Czar

of Russia works out his imperial will. What care they how many freemen

they bring to a like state of bondage as their own? The yoke has so

long pressed on their necks, that they heed not its galling weight; but

like the patient oxen, they are content to be goaded on to their work,

at their master's will. This vast, soulless engine, is indeed of

tremendous force; and has but too often been used to crush and overwhelm

freedom, and to plant the banner of tyranny amid lands, where the flag

of liberty has hitherto waved bright and unsullied.

Volume 1, Chapter XVII.

It was towards the close of the day, when a young and active peasant,

who, contrary to the usual character of his class, was rather

intelligent-looking, was slowly driving a small telga or wagon, filled

apparently with hides and merchandise, at the end of a bye-way or narrow

lane, at a point where it joined one of the principal roads leading from

the south towards Moscow. Observing a cloud of dust rising in the

distance, in a southerly direction, he drew up his telga, anxious to

ascertain the cause of it. He presently found it to proceed from a long

train of wagons, about twenty in number, mostly drawn by oxen, but

others, of the same description as the vehicle he himself drove, drawn

by horses. The drivers of the wagons were short, ugly-looking fellows,

with sandy moustaches and beards, black woolly caps, sheep-skin jackets,

the woolly side next the skin. Many of them were half asleep on the

tops of their vehicles, trusting to the sagacity of their beasts; but it

was now time to rouse themselves into activity, for they were

approaching the end of their journey, on which perhaps they had come

several hundred miles. Moscow, their bourne, was at hand.

The young peasant joined in the line of the caravan, driving between the

carts as if apparently he belonged to their party.

Laughter and joking soon arose among the easily pleased wagoners, caused

by his jests and stories; and, searching, under the hides which covered

his cart, he produced a case of vodka, and a glass, which he filled with

the much-prized liquor, handing it about to the people nearest to him.

By this means, and from time to time also singing a song, he soon won

all their hearts; the Russian peasants being as passionately fond of

music, as they are addicted to vodka.

"Jump up, my friend," said he to one of the men trudging along-side,

"you will find a better seat here than in your own wagon."

The man readily complied, and the young peasant began to ply him with a

number of questions. In this way he learned that they were to remain

only one day to rest their cattle, and to start on the following morning

for the south. The information seemed to give him much satisfaction;

and he intimated to his new friends, that he should wish to enter the

city as one of their party, and to return at the same time with them,

reminding them that he should not forget to fill his can of vodka.

The lofty towers, and polished domes of Moscow now appeared in sight;

and being allowed to pass the gates without hindrance, the caravan

proceeded to the part of the city where that class of people chiefly

congregate: the young peasant acting in every way like the rest of the

party.

After dark, however, giving his telga in charge to one of the wagoners,

whom he had more particularly made his friend, he sallied forth into the

still crowded and bustling streets, meeting parties of pleasure

returning from the gardens in the neighbourhood. Rich nobles driving

from one gay scene of dissipation to another; the military returning

from relieving guard; drunken men of all classes, reeling home,

attempting to support each other as they tottered against the

door-posts; none of them, however, joining in bacchanalian songs, as in

England and other countries; for the Russian, though a careless,

light-hearted being, when sober, becomes when overpowered with liquor, a

surly, morose animal, with all his worst passions aroused, and having no

pretensions to enjoyment. This is too common a scene in Russia; but we

should rather pity than blame such slavish beings, sunk so low in

apathetic ignorance, and who are never taught to respect themselves.

The peasant seemed well acquainted with the city; for without once

deviating from his course, he quickly threaded its intricate streets.

Whatever was his business, he soon performed it; and on his return,

again joined the most convivial of his new friends, treating them from

his can of vodka, and singing songs to them till late at night. The

whole of the next day was spent by the carters in distributing the

contents of their vehicles to their different destinations, and in

reloading them with goods to convey to the south. The stranger peasant

having likewise apparently disposed of his cargo, returned with a very

light one, saying that he had a friend with a broken limb, whom he was

anxious to convey to his home in the country.

In the evening, he again unloaded his cart, leaving his goods under

charge of his friend the carter, and drove away in the direction he had

formerly taken; saying, before he went, that he should return with his

maimed companion. He drove his light cart quickly along the streets,

till he reached that part of the city before mentioned, as the

neighbourhood of the place in which the conspirators held their

meetings; when on his giving a low whistle, a lad sprang out from behind

a wall, and taking the place of the peasant, drove slowly on, the other

hastening to the door of the vault, in which Ivan had been so long

concealed.

"Is all safe?" he asked of the lad, who took his place. "Have you seen

none of the cursed police in the neighbourhood?"

"There is nothing to fear, and no one could pass near here, without my

seeing or hearing them," answered the boy.

The peasant gave the peculiar knock at the door of the vault, which

being opened by the old man, he immediately entered. No one appeared in

sight, as the telga drove up to the nearest spot, by which the door

could be approached; and without allowing it scarcely time to stop, the

peasant and a gipsy were seen, bearing the body of a man, wrapped up in

the folds of a peasant's dress, his head bandaged so as completely to

conceal his features. No sooner was he placed in the cart, reclining

his whole length at the bottom, than the young peasant, again taking the

reins, drove rapidly away. The old man was again left to his solitude,

and the two gipsies hastened off in an opposite direction.

The peasant proceeded quickly through the narrow and winding streets of

the city; once or twice the police seeming inclined to stop him, but as

he put on a careless air, whistling and singing as he drove along, they

did not think it necessary to interrupt his progress. At length,

however, an officer of police, in search of some of the conspirators,

who had as yet escaped detection, ordered him in an authoritative tone

to stop his telga. He instantly obeyed, uncovering the face of its

occupant, and displaying a profusion of red shaggy locks, and large

untrimmed beard; a cloth being bound round the head of the wounded man.

The peasant's volubility and frankness, seemed to convince the officer

that there was no cause for suspicion, and he bid the former drive on,

an order most promptly obeyed; until at length the peasant escaping all

further impediments, reached the caravan party in safety.

He was warmly welcomed by his friends, who were making merry over cans

of their beloved quass and vodka; and having attended carefully to the

comforts of his charge, whom he covered up in his wagon, he joined his

comrades, and remained with them, until they stole off to rest in their

carts, the young peasant rolling himself up beneath the shelter of his

own telga.

The next morning they were all astir; but it was some time before they

were ready to begin their journey towards the south. The wounded man

was able to sit up among the merchandise, with which the telga of the

peasant was now loaded, the owner walking by its side; and as they

passed the gates of the city, he had a joke for each of the guards, who

after looking into each vehicle, allowed the caravan to pass on.

At a short distance, outside the gates of the city, they observed a

concourse of people assembled, when the wounded man inquired the cause

of the crowd. "It is only because a few people are going to be

knouted," answered one of the drivers, taking it as a thing of course.

As they passed close to the place of execution, the wounded man observed

one of the unfortunate culprits standing in a conspicuous situation,

just about to receive punishment. He uttered an exclamation, and seemed

as if he would rush forward to the rescue of the criminal; but his

weakness reminded him of his incapability even to walk, as with a look

of indignant regret, he sank back on his seat. The young peasant,

observing the movement, leaped quickly into the telga, urging on his

horse at a faster speed.

"Hist, Sir! hist! Would you spoil all, by want of caution?" he said,

"nothing can save the poor fellow, and I know he would rather die than

bring you into danger. The knowledge that you are safe will fully repay

him."

The caravan had now proceeded on some way, clouds of dust obscuring the

hateful scene from their eyes, and perchance, even among that servile

band of drovers, many a breast might have heaved, indignant at the

cruelty they had witnessed; for to their sorrow they knew, that the

innocent too often suffered punishment, due alone to the guilty, yet

none of them dared to utter their thoughts, even to their comrades. It

was some time before the young peasant could resume his gaiety, as he

returned to his post by the side of his telga; however, he at length

began to talk and laugh as before, his light-hearted companions quickly

dismissing all recollection of the scene they had witnessed.

Some versts further on, after charging his comrades not to mention his

having been with them, and receiving their cordial farewell, he drove

away rapidly along the bye road which there presented itself.

He was long remembered by that kind-hearted and simple race, in whose

breasts enmity retains a slighter hold than gratitude and affection.

The caravan had proceeded for about the space of an hour, along the

road, when an alarm was given, that a party of mounted police were

galloping after them. The emissaries of justice were soon among the

wagoners, calling loudly to them to stop, striking at them with their

thick whips, and demanding a culprit, who had escaped their vigilance.

Though the sturdy carters could easily have overpowered their brutal

assailants, not one attempted to make any resistance; but the young

peasant reaped the reward of his address and wit, in conciliating them,

for they one and all denied any knowledge of the person described, nor

could additional blows gain any further information from them. The

police, after bestowing a few parting stripes, returned the way they

came; many a muttered curse followed them, the honest carters rejoicing

that their friend had escaped, and piously crossing themselves, offered

up many a hearty prayer for his ultimate escape.

The peasant drove on, till he caught sight of the Gipsy encampment of

our former friends, between whose tented walls he forthwith entered, and

was received with a shout of congratulation by its swarthy inhabitants.

The Zingani chief went forward to welcome the new-comers; a cry of

pleasure escaping Azila, who timidly followed her father, as the wounded

man was lifted from his conveyance; and he with the seeming peasant,

throwing off their disguises, discovered to their assembled friends,

Ivan and the young Gipsy Javis.

The chief warmly welcomed Ivan, and congratulated Javis on the

successful commencement of his undertaking, to which Azila added her own

thanks. Ivan was then conducted to the principal tent, where the old

crone Hagar, took the wounded man again under her surgical care, and

from the effects of her healing remedies, he soon experienced relief.

The chief took a seat by his side. "My daughter," said he, "could not

venture again into the city, to aid your escape as she wished, having as

we have reason to know, been already suspected by the police of being

concerned in the late conspiracy; and as you well know, suspicion is

sufficient to condemn a person in this country, of a political crime."

"I trust, my friend, to be soon able to relieve you from the danger you

run in sheltering me," said Ivan.

"Not until you are sufficiently recovered to undertake the journey, will

we allow you to depart," answered the Gipsy, "and then I have hopes,

that by the talents and ingenuity of Javis, you will entirely escape

from the power of your enemies."

While this conversation was going forward, a man who had been sent out

as a scout, hastened into the tent, to say that he had seen a party of

the police, galloping on the high road towards the south, in the

direction the caravan had taken which Javis had just left.

"Ah!" said the chief, "you have had a narrow escape, Sir, but I have my

hopes that the police will lose their scent, and I trust that we are not

yet suspected. We will, however, move our camp as quickly as possible

towards the south, where we may be more secure from their interference."

Volume 1, Chapter XVIII.

We must now refer back for a short period, to the morning on which the

Count Erintoff learned, from public rumour, that a dreadful murder had

been committed, on some one who could not be recognised, owing to the

mangled state of his features, and to the absence of any papers or

valuables upon the body by which it could be known.

The Count congratulated himself that he had at length got rid of one,

whom he most deeply hated; looking upon him as his rival in Azila's

love; and he now therefore anticipated an easy conquest of the beautiful

Gipsy girl. He was however, not aware that she had been made fully

acquainted, not only with his views towards herself, but with his

intention of causing Ivan's assassination.

It will be remembered that there were two Gipsy boys, whom Groff had

kept in the palace for the purpose of enticing Azila thither; these lads

were, by the Count's orders, afterwards allowed to remain, in the hope

of again attracting her there. None of their tribe, however, seemed to

take any notice of them; the wounded boy remaining in bed, and the other

who appeared to be dull and heavy was suffered to wander about the

house, at will. The Count little thinking at the time, that he was an

active, intelligent spy, whom Azila, profiting by the accident which had

introduced them to the palace, had purposely left there to discover and

report all the Count's movements.

The Count being convinced of Ivan's death, when Groff presented himself

to claim the wages of blood, gladly paid the money, and then bethought

himself of some plan, to make the most advantageous use of the papers he

had become possessed of. They clearly proved the existence of some

conspiracy, but of what nature or extent he could not tell; and he began

to consider whether or no, he had not better make further discoveries,

before he communicated it to the government. He ordered Groff,

therefore, to watch the neighbourhood of the place, to learn if others

assembled there; an office the wretch was very unwilling to perform; a

horror seizing him as he approached the spot, where he had committed the

murder, and driving him away, so that he brought back word to his master

that he had seen no one.

The Count's rage and disappointment was excessive, when on the morning

of Ivan's return to Moscow, he heard, by chance, that it was suspected

the Count Flatoff was the person murdered, and on making particular

inquiries at Ivan's hotel, he was informed that on the night of the

murder, he suddenly departed for the country. This, it will be

remembered, was the very time when he was summoned to attend the

death-bed of his mother, owing to which he escaped the fate intended for

him.

He therefore stationed Groff to watch for his return, to bring him

instant information, determining this time to glut his vengeance with

his own hands. Groff had not long to wait before Ivan returned, when he

hastened with the intelligence to his master.

The Count ordered him to arm himself with a sword, and to return to

watch Ivan's movements, in case he should visit the place of meeting;

then taking Kruntz with him, also well armed, he himself repaired to the

neighbourhood. He then informed the chief officer of police, that he

suspected some plot was on foot, desiring that some of the subordinates

might accompany him, in case his suspicions proved correct. His plan

was, to attack Ivan under the pretext of arresting him, and to kill him

when he attempted to defend himself, as he had no doubt he would do.

This purpose, he communicated to his two worthy followers, but it was

fortunately overheard by the young Gipsy spy, who had concealed himself

in the apartment, and as soon as the lad was able to make his escape, he

communicated the information to Azila, who was waiting for him.

The Count's arrangements occupied some time, so that Ivan had left the

place of meeting before the police had arrived, and the Count was but

just in time to encounter him. His fury and disappointment were doubly

increased at finding himself again foiled in his purpose; his only

satisfaction being in the death of Groff, who was in possession of some

rather dangerous secrets. How much greater was his rage, when on

returning with the police, he found that his prey had escaped him

altogether. He eagerly joined in the search, urging on the police to

their work, but to no purpose, until baffled and enraged, he returned to

his palace, resolving not to rest until he had discovered his rival, and

obtained possession of Azila. In order to accomplish the first of these

objects, he instituted inquiries in every direction, sending out spies

with promises of rewards, if they should discover the traitor, he

himself again joining in the search. On inquiring for the Gipsy boys,

in order to ascertain where Azila was to be found, he learned that they

had both escaped, no one could tell how or when. Of Azila, he could not

hear anything, as she had not again appeared in the city.

At all points, he seemed doomed to be disappointed in his vile purposes,

when early one day, he heard that a telga had been seen on the previous

evening, coming from the direction of the place where the conspirators

had held their meetings; and taking the hint, he repaired thither with

some of the police. They went directly to the vault of the old man, who

had been previously suspected. The wretched inmate was dragged from his

abode, and on refusing to answer the questions put to him, which might

betray his late guest, he was sentenced to receive the punishment of the

knout. The sentence was carried into execution. The old man sunk under

it; he died unknown, and unmourned.

The police, however, traced the telga to the place where Javis had

passed the night, and finding that a caravan had set out that morning,

some of their mounted comrades were sent in pursuit. As we have before

stated, they arrived after Javis had driven away, and were again at

fault, not knowing what course to pursue; for they were now persuaded

that they had been led on a wrong scent.

Count Erintoff at length almost despaired of wreaking his vengeance on

Ivan, until, in his inquiries for Azila, he learned that she had been

implicated in the conspiracy, and it then occurred to him, that she

might have been the companion of his flight. He learned also, that the

very tribe of gipsies, to which he knew Azila belonged, had lately been

in the neighbourhood of Moscow, though the police were not aware of the

fact, and that they had moved towards the south soon after the

conspiracy had been discovered. Connecting all these circumstances

together, his hopes of gaining possession of Azila, and of punishing his

enemy, were again raised. On his giving, therefore, the information he

had gained to the police, a party of that force was ordered to attend

him. He now felt certain that they could no longer escape; indulging

his mind with the thoughts of vengeance, and the success of his passion.

He easily traced the route the Gipsies had taken, following up each of

their day's journeys, which he was enabled to accomplish in a much

shorter time than they had done. With savage delight at his expected

triumph, he caught sight of the tents of the Gipsy encampment; when

ordering some of the police to watch well that none escaped, he with the

rest, confiding in the power and terror of the legal authority they

possessed, rushed into the centre of the encampment. The gipsies

appeared to be completely taken by surprise, the women crowding together

in alarm, and the men starting on their feet, and advancing to meet the

intruders.

The chief came out of his tent, as if just aroused from sleep.

"On what account," he demanded, "is the quiet and order of my camp thus

suddenly broken into by the police? Who is it you seek here?"

"The traitor Ivan Galetzoff, and a Gipsy female called Azila," said the

Count; "and if they are not delivered into our hands, you shall suffer."

"Ah!" exclaimed the chief, starting and eyeing the Count narrowly, "I

have no one here among my people, of that name."

"You refuse then to deliver up those we are in search of," said the

Count. "Examine the tents," he exclaimed to his followers; who

immediately commenced pulling them down, strewing the contents in all

directions on the ground. The Gipsies looked on at the work of

destruction with sullen indifference; neither interfering, or offering

any resistance to prevent the injury committed; for the police wantonly

cut the ropes of the tents, broke open the chests, turned the animals

adrift, as they examined the vehicles; so that in a few minutes from the

time they entered the encampment, where the quiet circle of tents then

stood, there was now a scene of confusion and disorder. Yet it was of

no effect, for their intended prisoners could no where be found.

"You have set at defiance the Emperor's authority," said the Count,

addressing the Zingani chief, "and must take the consequences. I arrest

you in the name of the Czar."

"What, has the noble Count Erintoff turned police officer, as well as

assassin?" exclaimed the chief. "I fear you not, Count. Either let me

go free, or take the consequences. The murderer of the Count Flatoff is

known," he added, stepping closer up to him. "I well know your motives,

Count; but will not interfere, while you attempt not to injure me or

mine. I am your prisoner if you wish."

The Count turned pale with rage and fear. He felt that he was entirely

in the power of the bold Gipsy, should he not succeed in destroying him

at once, and that he could not hope to do in the midst of his people,

when no resistance was offered. The only alternative was to make him

his friend, for he saw that terror was not likely to influence him. The

Count, therefore, pretended to be satisfied that the people he sought

were not among the Gipsies; hoping, by throwing them off their guard, to

pounce upon them when unprepared, and intending to take the first

opportunity of crushing: one who had a secret of such importance to him

in his possession. He feared too, that the accusation would lead to

further inquiries as to the means by which he became possessed of the

papers, and how he gained his information of the conspiracy, for he knew

there were already some causes of suspicion existing against him.

Secretly vowing vengeance therefore, he ordered the police to remount,

and accompany him in a further search he meditated making, being

convinced that the fugitives were at no great distance.

The Gipsies saw their enemies depart, with bitter feelings of vengeance

towards them, as they set about repairing the wanton damage they had

sustained, while the latter rode on their way; the Count being resolved

to accuse the Gipsy of having, like his daughter, given his assistance

to the late conspiracy, hoping thus to crush him, without danger to

himself, knowing that the first accusation has always the greatest

weight. How he succeeded will be seen hereafter.

The Count did not gain the reward he expected for the discovery of the

conspiracy; it being strongly suspected, that he would have kept it

concealed completely, had he not been instigated by some motive

advantageous to himself. Instead therefore of receiving some lucrative

office, or of being raised to a higher dignity in rank, the Emperor

fully appreciated his motives, and giving him the credit of believing

that if it had been to his interest, he would have joined the conspiracy

without scruple, appointed him to the command of a regiment in the army

of the Caucasus, hoping thus to get rid of a troublesome and suspected

subject. As the Count had a short time before reached the rank of

Colonel; this order could not appear singular; and although he well

understood the reasons of his appointment, he had no alternative but to

obey.

The regiment which the Count Erintoff commanded, was one of those

forming a brigade under the orders of the Baron Galetzoff, destined for

the army of the Caucasus, now marching towards the south, to embark for

the opposite coast. Levies had been raised in all directions, the

recruits as soon as collected being marched off to the depots in the

south, to join an army with which the Emperor had determined to

overwhelm and crush his mountain opponents of Circassia; and no one

exulted more in the prospect of carrying fire and sword into the country

of his detested enemies, than the Baron Galetzoff, as he reviewed his

well-equipped though mostly newly raised troops.

Under his standard were collected the short hardy natives of the north,

Cossacks from the banks of the Don, and Volga; regiments of enslaved

Poles, now fighting by the side of their conquerors; some few cavalry,

whom the Russians called Circassians, but who were, in truth, men

collected from the confines of the Caucasus; Georgians, Immeritians,

Mingrelians; but not one who could boast of true Circassian descent.

With these troops was also the regiment to which Thaddeus Stanisloff was

attached, he being obliged to leave Moscow ignorant of the fate of his

friend; and many a long day passed, without his receiving any tidings of

him. Absence did not however diminish his friendship, or his regret at

their separation. Though under the orders of the Baron Galetzoff, it

was long before he came in contact with him; he heard it reported, that

there was no one so bitter against the defection of his supposed son, or

more eager in endeavouring to apprehend him, vowing that he should be

punished as a traitor and renegade, if he fell into his power.

Volume 1, Chapter XIX.

It was now the beautiful, balmy, and genial month of a Russian June, all

nature rejoicing, clothed in one entire bright livery of green, fresh

from the new bursting buds, yet unseared by the burning heats of summer,

like the beauteous maiden just ripened into perfect womanhood,

surrounded with a halo of freshness and purity, ere the blasts and

scorching atmosphere of the cruel world have had time to obscure the one

or sully the other.

A few days had been passed by Ivan in the Gipsy camp, with but slow

progress; each day, however, contributing to his strength. At length he

declared himself sufficiently recovered to undertake the more difficult

and dangerous part of his journey on foot; so eagerly burning was he

with the desire of reaching the place of his destination, to fulfil the

vow he had taken at the death-bed of his mother.

Azila had been his constant attendant, enlivening him with her

conversation, and soothing him with her attentions; but so completely

were his thoughts occupied with the events which had occurred, and

especially with those to which he was looking forward, that no other

sentiment entered his heart. That lovely being, day by day, sat by his

side, watching anxiously each look, listening eagerly to each word he

uttered, yet he loved not. He felt sincere gratitude to her as the

preserver of his life, he would have again risked his own to aid her;

but no other feeling excited his bosom. And she--so proud, so

indifferent as she had shewn herself to be, towards the Count Erintoff,

could she give her love to one from whom she could scarce hope for a

return. The hearts of women are uncertain, incomprehensible,

inscrutable, and we will not venture to pronounce by what special agency

Azila's was influenced.

Ivan was much indebted to old Hagar for his rapid recovery, though it

was some time before she would give her consent to his eager wish to

quit her care.

On the last day's journey, as he was riding among the Gipsies, dressed

in the costume of the rest of the party, the chief unfolded the plan he

had formed to enable him to make his further escape from the empire.

"At this time of the year," said the Zingani chief, "thousands of

pilgrims flock from all parts of the empire, to what they

superstitiously call their holy city of Chioff, and I propose that you

should first repair thither with Javis, who is intimately acquainted

with every part of the country, as your guide, both of you disguised as

peasants performing the pilgrimage, for which I have provided every

thing necessary. Should you, by any chance, be again followed, among

the vast crowds who are now assembling at Chioff, you will find more

facilities for preventing all clue of your route being discovered.

After you have passed through the city, you and your guide may assume

the character of pilgrims, returning from thence, towards their

habitations on the confines of the country. I have sent forward a

messenger to some friends of our people, who are now near the place

where you will find the least danger in crossing the frontiers into

Moldavia, to which Javis will lead you; and our people there, will

afford you assistance should you require it. I must now ride forward to

select a spot for our encampment; I wish to keep as much as possible

concealed from all passers by, for we know not who may prove an enemy

among them." Saying which, the Gipsy chief rode on.

We must observe that the Zingani party had been travelling as much as

practicable across the country, keeping all the bye roads and lanes, and

avoiding all communications with the villages, near which they were at

times obliged to pass.

As they journeyed on, Ivan rode up to the side of Azila, for the maiden

seemed sad and dispirited. After some other conversation--

"You go, Sir," said she, "amid scenes of excitement and of wild strife,

where all your thoughts and hopes are centered, and where you will soon

forget those you leave behind, those who would have died to serve you;

but believe me, there is one who will never forget your aid, nor your

bravery in her defence; who--"

"Neither can I ever forget one to whom I owe my life and liberty," he

exclaimed; "nay, much more: who will have enabled me to fulfil, I hope,

a deep sworn vow, the accomplishment of which I have so rashly

hazarded."

Their conversation was here interrupted by the return of the Zingani

chief, who rode to Ivan's side.

Early the following day, Ivan and his guide sallied from a tent, so

completely changed in appearance, that no one could possibly have

recognised in the two old peasants, they now seemed to be, the dark

featured, handsome young men they really were. Their very skin had been

tinged of a reddish hue, with wrinkles on their brows and cheeks; while

red shaggy locks sprinkled with white, covered their own dark hair, and

long full beards of the same colour fell over their breasts to the

waist, large low hats still more concealing their countenances. They

wore long dark coloured gowns, and sheep-skin coats: rough boots of

untanned leather protected their feet, and by their side hung wallets to

contain their food. In their hands they bore thick sticks, ostensibly

to support their tottering steps, but really to serve as a means of

defence, in case of necessity.

Thus equipped, when ready to depart, the Zingani chief embraced them

both, bestowing on them the peculiar blessings of his people, and

charging Javis with many injunctions for the guidance of his conduct on

their journey. The whole tribe assembled to bid them farewell, the old

crone Hagar calling down curses on all who should impede them in their

progress, and blessings on the heads of all who favoured them.

Azila alone was no where to be seen; and feelings which Ivan could

scarcely acknowledge, even to himself, prevented him from asking for

her, till the last moment. The chief, on missing Azila, sent in all

directions to discover her, his alarm becoming considerable when she was

not to be found. The travellers delayed their departure, in the hopes

of gaining intelligence of her before they went; for fears began to be

entertained, that by some means or other she had been entrapped either

by the Count Erintoff or by the police, who might have feared to seize

her by open force, among so large a band of defenders.

While the whole camp was thus thrown into a state of alarm, one of the

scouts, who were at all times kept on the watch, to give timely notice

in case they might be pursued, came running hastily among them, to say

that he had descried, at a distance, a party whom he took to be police,

riding rapidly towards the camp. Without a moment's delay, Javis seized

Ivan's hand, hurrying him away at perhaps a faster rate, than their

apparent age would have warranted; but they were only just in time to

escape, for before they lost sight of the encampment, they perceived the

police ride into it. The delay which there occurred, as we have already

seen, enabled them to make good their distance, though they were in

momentary expectation of being pursued: no signs, however, of their

enemies appearing, they continued their journey at a more moderate

speed.

On the second day, as they were about to repose by the road-side, the

heat of the sun becoming oppressive, they heard the clattering of

horses' hoofs behind them, and perceived, on turning their heads, a

party of the police galloping along the road, before they had time to

attempt concealing themselves. Javis, however, with perfect presence of

mind, begged Ivan to imitate his style of walking, when the police

coming up, merely cast a glance at them, and rode on; but the travellers

saw them stop at a short distance ahead, to interrogate a young peasant

lad, whom they had just before observed. The lad appeared in no way

disconcerted, pointing in answer to their questions, to a road across

the country, which they followed at the same rapid speed.

Quickening their own pace, they soon overtook the boy, who saluted them

as they passed, in respect for their seeming age. They did not think it

prudent to rest, until the evening was far advanced, when Javis led Ivan

to a hut, with the inhabitants of which he exchanged a few words, and

was instantly admitted.

It is not necessary to give here a detail of each day's journey, their

adventures possessing but little interest, merely observing, that on

some nights they rested in the cottages of the peasants, and at other

times they found shelter beneath the shade of the thick leaved trees, or

reposed during the heat of the day, and travelled at night while the

moon shone brightly. Several times, Ivan felt almost confident, that he

had caught sight of the same peasant lad they had passed on their second

day's journey, who seemed to be dogging their steps; but Javis declared

that he had not seen him, so that he concluded he must have again been

mistaken. Ivan had now perfectly recovered not only his strength, but

his spirits, for trusting that his hopes might be realised of reaching

the land of his birth, where all his thoughts and aspirations centered,

he felt that nothing could press him down, or prevent him from

accomplishing his much desired object.

One day, towards the evening, a violent storm overtook them, obliging

them to stop at a wretched hostelry on the road-side, the only house of

public entertainment to be found for a considerable distance. The

fierceness of the tempest made it impossible for them to proceed; in

spite therefore, of the slight danger they perhaps ran in entering a

house where a spy might already be, they agreed to remain there, till a

clear sky should again allow them to prosecute their journey.

While they were seated at the wretched repast the house was able alone

to afford, in an apartment serving the purpose of kitchen and receiving

room for the guests, for whose accommodation tables and benches were

placed at one end of it, a boy entered, who started at seeing them,

turning back as if he would retreat, when Ivan recognised in him the lad

whom he had suspected of following their steps. He entered the house,

throwing himself on a bench near the fire, and while he endeavoured to

dry his wet garments, he seemed lost in a reverie, gazing at the burning

embers on the hearth, speaking to no one, nor turning his head to look

at the other guests.

Ivan at length taking compassion on the youth's disconsolate manner,

forgetful of his suspicions about him, in his assumed character of an

old man, approached to invite him to share their humble fare.

The boy started as Ivan spoke, a blush mantling on his cheek, and he

hesitated to accept the proffered offer, till Javis came to add his

persuasions. At length, he yielded and took his seat at their table,

when Ivan asked him, if he had not before seen him on the road. The boy

acknowledged that they had passed him.

"Are you then going to Chioff, boy, to worship at the shrines of the

holy saints?" asked Ivan.

"Yes, I go thither for that purpose," answered the boy.

"You are but a youthful pilgrim to attempt so long a journey alone and

unprotected," said Ivan. "It surprises me that your parents put you not

under the care of older people travelling the same road, who might have

guarded your youth from the dangers your inexperience may lead you into.

Had you no friends from your neighbourhood, making the pilgrimage?"

"Alas, I have no parents who are able to protect me, and few friends who

love me; but for protection I need it not, I can protect myself."

"Do not say that you have no friends, boy," interrupted Javis, "when

perchance, there are some, who most likely, would be ready to shield you

from the slightest harm."

The boy answered not, but hung down his head, nor did he venture to look

towards Ivan, while he was speaking.

Ivan, in compassion for the boy's timidity, spoke to him a few kind

words of encouragement, when Javis addressed him. "You are travelling

the same road we go, boy, and may, perchance, require protection. You

shall, if you wish, accompany us, and you shall have all that two old

men can bestow. Will you accept our offer?"

The boy again seemed to hesitate, until Ivan pressed him to accept their

protection, when he gladly assented. "You seem, poor boy, weighed down

by some secret sorrow; tell it to us, that we may, if possible, afford

you all the consolation in our power."

"Not for worlds," answered the boy, sadly; "it would but increase my

sorrow to name it, nor would you have power to heal it."

"But tell me, boy," said Ivan, "by what name shall we call you?"

The boy hesitated for a moment, before he spoke. "They call me, Conrin,

Sir."

"Forsooth, boy, the name is a pretty one," said Ivan, "and Conrin will

we call you. You seem fatigued and weary; and now that you have

satisfied your hunger, lie down and rest, for you have yet many a weary

mile to travel, ere you can reach the shrines of the holy saints."

The boy indeed seemed unwilling to enter into conversation, listening

however with earnest attention to the words which fell from the seeming

old men's lips, and as they ceased speaking, he retired to a corner of

the room, where throwing himself on a bench, and wrapping his cloak

close around him, he placed his head on a bundle he carried, and

composed himself to sleep. The poor boy was evidently weary, and

unaccustomed to the fatigues he had undergone on his journey, and though

dressed as a common peasant, there was much greater neatness and care

displayed than usual, the cloak also being a luxury few of his class

possessed.

The storm continued raging furiously as before, and as there were no

beds in the house, nor any thing like such a comfort, the two travellers

were fain to repose as best they might, on the hard benches placed

against the wall.

On the next morning by break of day, their new companion was already on

foot, prepared to start, when the storm having passed away, the whole

party set forward on their journey. They had not proceeded many miles,

when Javis informed his companions, that there was a cottage in the

neighbourhood, from whence he could procure a conveyance to carry them

on at a faster rate; and begging them to rest for a while, he went in

search of it, and soon returned, driving a small vehicle capable of

containing all the three. In this carriage they travelled till the end

of the next day, when Javis again found a fresh horse, so that by thus

frequently changing both horse and carriage, in a few days they reached

the neighbourhood of their destination.

A distance now remained, which would take them two days to perform on

foot, it being necessary to travel thus in their assumed characters of

pilgrims, for already had they overtaken large crowds, all hastening to

the same destination.

The pilgrims travelled in bands of one or two hundred, of both sexes,

and of all ages; the hoary headed grandsire and the athletic youth, aged

women and laughing maidens, the old supporting their weary limbs on

their staves, while by their side ran young children of all ages. The

troop headed by a white bearded monk, leaning on a long staff, clothed

in sackcloth and bare-footed, chaunting forth songs of encouragement to

the weary, and praise to heaven.

Thousands were at that moment on their way, to visit the catacombs of

Chioff, from every part of the immense Empire of Russia; from the bleak

and freezing Kamstchatka, from the vast and far distant regions of

Siberia, from the confines of Tartary, and from the scattered provinces

of the south; performing with unabated perseverance the whole distance

on foot, seldom sleeping under a roof, and living on the precarious

charity of the miserable peasants on their road. Our friends therefore

joined one of the numerous companies, uninvited, yet cheerfully

welcomed.

All day the band travelled on, assembling at night in a grove of a few

lofty wide-spreading trees near the road-side, through which the pale

moon shone brightly on the heads of the numerous groups, here and there

seen amid the darker shades. A fire was lighted to cook their scanty

meal, after partaking of which, they assembled reverentially round an

aged monk; who arose, commencing a slow and solemn chaunt, in which by

degrees, the whole concourse joined. Far off, amid the silence of the

night, were heard the hymns of adoration of those simple people, and for

many hours of the night, did those songs of praise continue, ere

throwing themselves on the bare ground, their bed, the heavens their

only covering, they composed themselves to sleep.

The boy found shelter close to the trees, amid some groups, apparently

of about his own age, the bright moonbeams streaming like rays of glory

on the youthful heads of the sleeping pilgrims.

The road they had been hitherto travelling, had led over the flat and

uninteresting steppe. The country, however, as they approached Chioff

or Kiov, as it is also called, now became slightly undulating; but it

was not until towards the evening, that they came in sight of the Holy

City.

As that unique and strikingly beautiful city first struck their view,

standing in a commanding position, on a hill, the golden cupolas and

domes, with which it is crowned, reflecting the rays of the sun with

dazzling brightness, the pilgrims simultaneously raised a hymn of joy

and praise. Every one of the vast crowd kneeling down, devoutly crossed

himself, rending the air with songs of thanksgiving. After some minutes

spent in prayer, again they all arose, and headed by the reverend monk,

they descended the hill, to cross by a bridge the river Dnieper, whose

waters wash the walls of the city. Some, in eager haste, without

stopping to rest their weary limbs, rushed towards the Cathedral of the

Ascension, or the Church of the Catacombs, which stands a little removed

from the city on the banks of the Dnieper. Others, among whom were Ivan

and his companions, sought rest and food, ere on the next morning, they

should commence paying their adorations at the numerous shrines, they

had vowed to visit. So well had Ivan and Javis sustained their

characters, that not one of the credulous people, among whom they had

freely mixed, suspected that they were otherwise than as what they

appeared.

Next morning Ivan and his companions set forward, to go through the

usual routine of visiting the shrines. It is said, that in some years,

more than fifty thousand pilgrims have visited the catacombs, and even

now the whole city was filled with them, many too encamping outside on

the unsheltered ground, thinking to gain more credit with heaven, by

thus enduring greater hardship on earth. By early dawn, the whole of

that vast concourse of strangers were on foot, hastening to the

different places of worship.

The Church of the Catacombs is adorned with seven golden domes, and

seven golden spires, which are connected with gilt chains, now

glittering with the first bright rays of the rising sun, seeming to shed

a blaze of glory over the holy edifice, as the orisons of the morning

worshippers rose towards heaven. Upwards of five hundred feet above the

river, rises the dome of the belfry, adorned with Ionic columns and

Corinthian pilasters, to which all Russians accord the greatest

admiration and praise.

As the doors of the church were thrown open, the eager pilgrims rushed

in to throw themselves before the shrines of their favourite saints,

whose pictures hung over their altars; though the least devout among

them would have been scandalised had an image or figure stood there

instead.

As the first deep and solemn tones of the sacred harmony in the service

rose towards heaven, Ivan and his companions entered the cathedral, and

following the example of the multitude, knelt before one of the altars;

but there was an almost imperceptible curl of contempt on the lip of

Javis as they did so, even the boy seemed scarcely so devout as the long

pilgrimage he had undertaken would have led one to suppose he should be.

When the service was concluded, the pilgrims bought tapers at the porch

of the church, and forming a procession in a long line, descended a

wooden stair-case of many steps to the mouth of the catacombs, down each

side of which were arranged an uninterrupted line of kneeling devotees,

of the most wretched appearance. The procession halted, as the first

part reached the entrance of the excavated passages of the catacombs,

the priest preceding them; they then slowly and reverently entered the

subterraneous vaults, the roof blackened with the smoke of thousands,

and tens of thousands of the candles of the faithful, which had burnt

there on previous years.

On each side, in niches in the walls, were placed in open coffins, the

bodies of those, who dying in the odour of sanctity, have been canonised

for their pious acts and thoughts. There unburied they remain,

enveloped in wrappers of cloth, and silk, highly ornamented with gold

and silver embroidery, that their fellow mortals who come to them for

intercession, seeing their honours after death, may study to imitate

them in the purity of their lives; while their spirits, having ascended

into heaven, are devoutly believed to exercise an influence with the

Father and Son. Their names are written on their breasts, and many have

also a history of their virtuous actions, while their stiffened hands

placed before them in the attitude of prayer, receive the kisses of the

pilgrims, though few perchance could decypher even the names of those

they worshipped.

Further on, they reached a passage in which was a range of small

windows, where men had, with their own hands, built themselves in with

stones against the wall, leaving open only a small hole to receive their

food; dying with the insane thought, that they were doing their Maker a

good service. Before each of the windows of those fanatics' last

dwelling, now their tomb, knelt some bigoted and devoted worshipper,

firmly believing that their self-immolation and unnatural death, had

purchased for them everlasting life, and place, and power, among the

spirits of the blessed.

Though it may seem incredible, yet so it was, that perchance not even

one of that vast crowd had any just or clear notions of the tenets of

the very religion they professed; for so ignorant are the Russian

peasants, that the most absurd and superstitious legends find fall

credit in their minds. Of the attributes of the Supreme Being, the

majority have but the slightest conception, regarding him in the light

of one inferior to their Emperor, and neither respecting nor fearing him

so much. So completely does the despotic influence of the Czar extend

over the greater mass of the people, that they have been taught to look

upon him as one sent with divine authority, to rule over their lives and

property, against whom it would be the most dreadful impiety to rebel;

and for this end has their religion, and every feeling, and sentiment of

their minds, been made subservient. Yet these are the people, whose

rulers profess to extend the benign light of Christianity, and the

blessings of civilisation, among the nations of the East!

Leaving the church, as they walked through the crowds, Javis adroitly

made inquiries among the peasant pilgrims, as to when a party was likely

to start for the west confines of the Empire and gladly found that a

band was about to return towards the frontier of Bessarabia the very

next morning. With his usual tact and cleverness, he soon discovered

where the party was lodging, introducing himself among the peasants, and

gaining their good will. They therefore gladly received him and his

friends among their company.

The rest of the day was of necessity spent, in their character of

pilgrims, in visiting the churches and most interesting sights of that

gorgeous city, though gladly did they prepare to accompany the party of

self-satisfied pilgrims, who were returning the same way they wished to

pursue.

------------------------------------------------------------------------