OUR PARTY ON THE ROAD TO TUMEN.
Trade and manufactures at Catherineburg--Carolling cherubs--
Christmas at Kamechlof--Grand gala at a posting stage--Tumen--
Its situation--Its gipsies--Fruit preserved in ice.
After we had been journeying nine or ten hours in Asia, we arrived
at Catherineburg. This city should serve as an example to many other
Russian cities. Its inhabitants are very industrious, and know how
to turn the resources of their land to account. They have iron
foundries and many other metal works. They sculpture artistically
coloured and transparent stones that are found in the Ural in great
abundance, converting them into objects of very good taste for domestic
ornamentation.
The manager of the establishment where these stones are so artistically
chiselled, showed me a chimney-piece of inestimable value that had just
received its last touches, and was to be sent away to the Emperor. I
asked him who was the owner of the establishment. He replied, “L’état.”
“And who will pay for such a marvel of art?” “L’état”--and he added:
“L’état payera, l’Empereur recevra.” There are not many sovereigns,
perhaps, who have a better right than the Emperor of Russia to say:
“L’état c’est moi.”
When I returned to my inn, I heard that Monsieur Pfaffius had just
arrived at Catherineburg, and that he wished to see me. I was all the
more pleased because it was something unexpected, and I consequently
lost no time in paying him a visit.
And, at the house pointed out to me, I was delighted to find again the
courteous and distinguished man I had left at St Petersburg. “Do you
intend starting soon?” he inquired at once. “As soon as possible.”
“Shall we travel together, then?” “With all my heart.” “Then that is
settled.”
During the conversation two ladies made their appearance in the room
of the Commissary of Kiachta: one of them was about thirty, tall and
as beautiful as an antique statue; the other was less in stature and
much younger. The beautiful, luxuriant, fair hair of the latter fell
perfectly free and charmingly, methought, over her shoulders. Her
youthful countenance beamed with freshness and vivacity.
“I am going to introduce you, if you will allow me,” said Monsieur
Pfaffius, “to Mrs. Grant and Miss Campbell. These ladies are also going
to Kiachta, and I have no doubt you will be highly delighted, as I
shall be, with their agreeable society.”
On talking a few moments with these fair travellers, I learnt that
Mrs. Grant was not English, but Russian, and had married Mr. Grant, an
Englishman, at Kiachta; that her husband had been obliged to return to
England for two or three years, she having accompanied him thither, and
that now she was just returning to Kiachta, her native place, to meet
her husband, who was expected there, taking Miss Campbell with her as a
companion.
The latter, a young English lady, a little adventurous, like a great
many of her country-women, had left her native land just as readily and
just as merrily as she would have remained there, and now seemed to
take pleasure in this wandering life, though she could foresee neither
the end nor the consequences of it; and from day to day, penetrated
still deeper into Asia, happy in running about everywhere, merely to
see everything and pick up every scrap of information. “Have you been
fatigued with the road?” I asked them, fully expecting to hear bitter
complaints of it. “Not in the least, monsieur,” replied Miss Campbell,
with an air that seemed to say she was hurt at the suspicion of having
suffered from such a trifle as the jolting. “Do you go by way of Omsk
to Kiachta?” “That would be going out of our way to no purpose: we go
straight to Tomsk.” “You will travel quickly then?” “As fast as we
can.” “For my part,” I remarked, “I prefer, on the contrary, going
on slowly.” On this observation her eyes seemed to sparkle with some
lively thought. “Indeed, we should not have supposed so.” “Well,
and for what reason?” “They say that you are exceedingly clever in
procuring horses everywhere.”
This observation made me open my eyes with astonishment, and I added:
“Even at the expense of ladies?” “Quite possible.” “Then you know one
who has had the misfortune to be a sufferer from my impatience, at
a certain stage?” “It is not unlikely.” I could never have believed
it if it had not been positively affirmed. I could not believe that
the elegant toilettes then before my eyes could in any way ever have
adorned two such figures so incapable of embellishment as those that
appeared to me at the stage between Kazan and Perm. For they were quite
hooded and overloaded with rough and draggled fur; so much like bales
of raw hides, so little like human beings, that one would never have
suspected that beauty lay there so many skins deep. The reader will
readily understand how ill-adapted is the rigorous climate of Siberia
to setting off the charms of female beauty.
I warmly pleaded to be pardoned for my conduct, and on behalf of
Constantine, who was the guiltier of the two, and the following day we
were all gliding rapidly along in three sledges, one after the other,
on the road to Tumen; happy in the opportunity of chatting together at
every stage, smiling at the embarrassments of the post-masters, which
Monsieur Pfaffius coolly disregarded, and facing cheerfully the snow
and the cold (those two enemies with which travellers in Siberia are
doomed to struggle), but without venturing on the slightest murmur.
Of course the reader is well aware that Russia has not accepted the
reform brought to the calendar by Pope Gregory XIII.; therefore when
we arrived in the little town of Camechlof, on the 6th of January, at
break of day, it was actually then only Christmas-day in Russia, and we
were no sooner quietly seated at table, taking our tea, as is customary
with Russian travellers at every stage, than five or six little
children entered our room, singing Christmas carols.
I have rarely seen a more touching and adorable _tableau_ than this
little group of fair heads, celebrating, with the warbling pure voice
of early childhood, the most poetic episode of sacred history. Is
there really any day more appropriate for singing? Indeed, I have
always thought that if God should, for an instant, lift the veil from
the supernal world on Christmas Day, we should see passing, to and
fro, groups of innocents, around whom was resounding sweet music,
breathing peace and joy to man below. The little children, who thus
agreeably surprised us at so early an hour at Camechlof, suggested to
my imagination a flock wandering from this celestial host.
This vision, brief like their visit, had hardly vanished when we
saw appearing from the other side--the mundane this time--a young
couple, accompanied by a nurse, carrying a very young infant. “Ivan
Michäelovitch,” exclaimed Constantine. “Madame Nemptchinof,” cried Mrs.
Grant, and then followed hand-shaking and embracing; we were again
among acquaintances.
This Madame Nemptchinof was the wife of a tea merchant of Kiachta,
who, notwithstanding her advanced interesting situation, had been to
see one of her daughters at a boarding school in Moscow; her son had
accompanied her, and the little being that had come into the world
during the journey was now on its way to Kiachta.
In our country, undoubtedly, few women would have been equal to
the task of undertaking such a journey, especially under such
circumstances; in Russia, however, such an enterprise is not at all
rare.
Then, before we had finished our tea, another group of children
entered, singing the same song, but these would speedily have dispelled
any lingering vision of cherubs had any now remained, for these
earth-born, unlicked cubs were clearly unhallowed and unlovely.
Having now sufficiently rested, we resumed our journey.
The horse, placed in the centre before the Siberian troïka, has its
collar always surmounted by a bow, which serves as a stay or spring, to
keep the shafts apart, and these are, at the same time, kept in their
places together by a stretched cord. The collar, sustained by the bow
above and resting on this cord, no longer weighs on the neck of the
horse, and thereby diminishes its fatigue. This system of harnessing is
really quite ingenious. Five or six bells are generally suspended from
the bow, and the lively ringing of these relieves a little the monotony
of the journey.
Our departure from Camechlof, with the bells of our caravan of four
sledges in movement, was rather a noisy one. M. Pfaffius and his
servant led the way; then followed, in a second sledge, Mrs. Grant
and Miss Campbell; I occupied with Constantine the third, and Madame
Nemptchinof and her _smalah_ brought up the rear of the caravan in an
enormous closed sledge drawn by four horses.
This part of the journey, if not the most interesting, was at least the
most agreeable.
We were a party of seven, and a very convivial party too, that sat
down to dinner in the evening. The bill of fare contributed largely to
our merriment. Each of us produced our reserves, and it was a charming
picnic, that furnished interesting incidents in abundance. We brought
forward frozen bread, frozen caviare, frozen preserved fruits, and
sausages, so rigid, that they resisted any attempt to yield, even
against the knee, whatever force was employed.
Let one picture to himself seven famishing guests sitting round a table
of thirty dishes any one of which would inevitably break his teeth if
he had not the patience to wait for the effects of a little warmth.
But gradually this element did its work; and in proportion as each
aliment gave way before it, a smile of satisfaction beamed on every
countenance, and, when the point of the knife succeeded at last in
penetrating any part, shouts of triumph announced a victory at hand.
Subjects of conversation were not wanting, and, as I was French, and
the Russians spoke French well, to the great advantage of foreigners
not knowing the Russian language, French was the sole language used at
table this evening.
The youthful Nemptchinof, who had not wandered much nor very far from
Kiachta, was the least conversant with French; knowing Chinese and
Mongolian well, he thought, perhaps, this acquisition well compensated
for his ignorance of the Western languages. In order to express
contentment, satisfaction, approbation, pleasure, he used but one word:
_très gai_, and he pronounced it only with great difficulty; his accent
made the expression still more odd. “Si vous voulez bien m’apprendre
l’Anglais,” said he to Miss Campbell, “je serai _très gai_.” This young
lady, knowing French very well, seemed to watch every opportunity that
offered her amusement by rallying him on his phrases.
When dinner was over, the incessant _badinage_ between the young
English lady and her new Russian acquaintance, that had entertained
us so much with an occasional corruscation like a fresh bottle of
champagne, had subsided into more serious and probably more genial
intercourse between the young couple--a _tête-à-tête_, suggestive
of the smoothness and tenderness of Glinka’s music. This change led
me to speculate on the possible issue of an apparently interesting
flirtation, to which the _badinage_ had so effectively, though probably
undesignedly, prepared the way.
Whether I was justified or not in my conjectures, Mrs. Grant took
another view of the matter, and, on mounting into the sledge, whispered
to me: “I am quite certain that your M. Constantine is in love with
my young English companion, and therefore you will never prevail
upon him to go by way of Omsk. I see clearly, as a consequence, that
we shall all form one party as far as Irkutsk.” “Constantine in
love!” I exclaimed with a smile of incredulity; “that would seem to
me very droll, too droll to be probable. I am disappointed that I
shall be deprived of the pleasure of your company _en route_, for I
have decided on going by way of Omsk, and Constantine is so useful
to me that I cannot, I am sorry to say, dispense with his valuable
services and agreeable society.” Constantine, as I gauged the nature
of his sentiments, was far more likely to derive gratification in
contemplating the influence he might exercise over some fair victim to
love for him, if he, in his self-conceit, imagined it to exist, than
in indulging in any vague similar emotion in his own heart. Mrs. Grant
looked disappointed at my decision. “You will not on that account,” I
added, “be deprived of the enjoyment of a romantic incident; for, if I
am not mistaken in trusting my eyes, the young Ivan, no longer _très
gai_, is a little smitten with the graces of your fair young companion,
and he has been, I think, so far favoured as to rouse the green-eyed
monster. _Nous verrons._”
The following day we arrived in Tumen. This city, like almost every
other of the empire, commands a river from an eminence on its banks,
and this river at Tumen is the Tura.
Its only striking feature is that it is built at the confluence of the
Tura with another little river, which is considered here as a mere
rivulet, one whose existence even is ignored by geographers, but which
nevertheless is as wide as the Seine at Paris, and of sufficient force
to have scooped out a profound gorge in the Tumen hill to discharge
itself in the Tura.
A bridge has been constructed over this river, but it is at the bottom
of the ravine. No care has been taken to diminish the steepness of the
opposite banks, so that, to ascend the last, the traveller is obliged
to descend the first with great rapidity and maintain the impulse over
the bridge and for some distance beyond.
The sledges accomplish this feat at full gallop. As to wayfarers afoot,
they descend the slope generally otherwise than on their feet and much
faster than they like. The cattle, generally so slow, roll down in a
few seconds, as if at the sport of Russian mountains. Everything there
goes down at a giddy pace. The city offers little to interest the
stranger, but it has all the aspect of the East; bazaars in the open
air, in spite of the rigour of the climate, call back to the memory
those of Syria and Africa.
In the _cafés_, the women deck themselves out, at certain hours, in
silks, without divesting themselves of their dirty petticoats, and make
it their business to sing and dance for the entertainment of the guests.
In Africa, they are pleased with the bellowing of the Arab _almees_,
through love for the picturesque, and because there is nothing else to
listen to; but in Russia, the country of sweet and mystic melodies, I
cannot understand how these repulsive gipsies are encouraged to raise
their voices. Those who have eulogised the gipsies of St. Petersburg
and Moscow are not altogether wrong in their appreciation; there they
are civilised, educated a little, and, in some way, denationalised in
character. But here, at Tumen, they are in their native element. I had
the unlucky curiosity to venture into one of these _cafés_, and lost no
time in escaping again, to join with pleasure my travelling companions.
At the end of our evening meal, we had some excellent fruits preserved
in ice. This method of preserving fruit is quite special to Siberia. So
soon as the severe cold sets in, these fruits are exposed in the open
air, if possible to the north, where there is no sun to reach them;
they freeze completely in this way, and are thus preserved, like meat
and all other fresh aliments, in Siberia.
These fruits retain their flavour, notwithstanding their change from a
state of rigid congelation. When they are served, they are as hard as
wood, and if they fall to the ground, they sound like a stone.
The heat gradually softens their texture, and then they reassume their
primitive form. I tasted a pear at Tumen that had become overripe, and
then in which any further change had been completely arrested so far as
flavour was concerned. This method of preserving aliments seems to be
simple, economical, and thoroughly successful.
In summer, Tumen is a great place of call for steamers coming from
Tomsk by the Tom, from the Obi, the Tobol, and the Tura. This city
is therefore a considerable mart for merchandise,[6] its only claim,
apparently, to notice; for it has neither manufactures to interest the
curious in the useful arts, nor beauty of situation to attract the
lover of nature.
[6] See note 2 at end of book.