My companion was much offended; it was easy to perceive that; and I held my tongue to give him time to recover his equanimity. An hour after this conversation, I wished to see if he continued to have a grudge against me; “How I long to come to the end!” I exclaimed, “this long route tires me out.” “Ah! Indeed, monsieur,” he exclaimed, bridling up, “how grand Russia is! There is not another empire in the whole world of such vast extent!” “You are mistaken,” I replied, duly estimating the lands uncultivated and absolutely useless, we had just traversed. “And which, if you please?” “The empire of the seas!” I replied gravely. His flattened nostrils then distended and quivered with indignation, and I patiently waited to be greeted with some emphatic Russian execration.
In spite of his amour-propre, Constantine was, nevertheless, of a congenial humour,—towards me at least. Sometimes he excited in me a feeling almost of pity, which I could hardly conceal. Just while we were passing the Ural—that almost imperceptible elevation that is called mountain because it is in Russia, but which would be a mere hill in the Vosges, a mere hillock amid the Alps, a ridge in the Himalayas,—just here, we came on a village of wooden houses, like all Russian villages, but perched against a slope that gave it a picturesque air. A little further down stood a house of less wood construction than the others, and surrounded with a few trees. On this spot Constantine’s eyes were riveted in a kind of reverie. “What a charming abode! Those people should indeed be happy!” he exclaimed. This remark moved me a little with commiseration, and I wondered what enthusiasm he would feel if he could only see our smiling Pyrenees or our Norman valleys, beaming with joy on a sunny May day.
Two days after our departure from Perm, on the 30th of December, about nine in the morning, we passed the boundary that marks the separation of Europe from Asia. It is a construction of stone, neither very high nor very fine, but which strikes the traveller on account of its simplicity and isolation.
Providence has decidedly withheld from this portion of the Russian Empire the imposing marks of its European limits. The quarters of the world generally (their states also, not unusually) have their boundaries defined by grand and prominent frontiers, such as the sea, high mountains, the desert, or some noble river. But here the border of the Ural is so little elevated, so unworthy of its rôle of boundary, that man has thought it his duty to interpose with his pigmy work, and say: It is here!
And here it is at last! We will enter with a beating heart, and advance as far as possible into the strange lands of ancient Asia—the dream of every traveller. We will endeavour to reach, as soon as we can, the shores of Lake Baikal, Mongolia, and the frontiers of China; for I fear my readers are tiring from the monotony of my narrative, as I have myself suffered since I left Perm from the monotony of this long route.
CHAPTER VII.
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.