He tells us his first warning that he was approaching the historic gate between the old world of the perishing East and the new commercial, more enterprising world of Europe, was a Tartar cemetery, perched upon an amphitheatre-like hill overtopping the Caspian Sea. Prince Bagration, who was still accompanying him, exclaimed:
“Look! That is the tomb of Sultanetta!” pointing enthusiastically toward a monument of rose color and green towering conspicuously among the sacred graves turned toward the East.
“Who is she?” queried Dumas.
“Once the mistress of a Tartar Prince, and renowned throughout the entire Caucasian country for her beauty ... and her adventures,” he added.
“Perhaps you will hear the story at Derbend.”
At Derbend they found an invitation awaiting them from the Commandant of the Fortress, to take dinner on the following day. While at dinner the wife of the Commandant remarked:
“Monsieur Dumas, just outside the window here”—pointing with her hand—“near where you are sitting, is the grave of Oline Nesterzof!” “And who is she?” inquired again the great romancer, scenting avidly, as was his habit, a novelty for his eager, prolific pen. “She was the mistress of Bestushev-Marlinski.”
“Ah! that name again! Poet, goldsmith, artist, romancer, revolutionist!” he enumerated with relish and excitement.
“I heard of him first at Novogorod, and saw the jewels he made of iron. Unavoidably I seem to be setting out on the trail of Marlinski.”