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.