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.