The Circassian Chief: A Romance of Russia

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 One – Chapter Sixteen

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.”