Our party at M. Schlenker’s passed off most gaily. We recalled the incidents of our journey between Kamechlof and Tumen, the fear we indulged in on parting, the tender reminiscences that followed; and when dinner was over, our agreeable host sat down at the piano to accompany the sweet voice of Miss Campbell. Thus ended a delightful evening.
What delicious enjoyments are obtained through a few days passed thus, in the interval of a long arduous journey! One muses over the adventures of the road already passed, and speculates over those that may come; the novelty of the scene and situation, the society and topics of conversation, the fresh direction to one’s habitual current of thought, the total change, in short, of one’s surroundings, brings an exhilaration that nothing else can supply. Every incident during these days seemed to gleam serenely in a sunshine of poesy. And yet, when sensation becomes thus more keenly alive to the enjoyment of congenial society, we see in the persons around us but the brightest sides of their character, and the hour when the disillusion comes we have already parted each on our way. How many perfections of this kind have I not met with on my route which, unhappily, I have never had the chance to live with more than one short day!
“S’il est des jours amers, il en est de si doux!
Hélas! quel miel jamais n’a laissé de dégoûts?”
CHAPTER XIII.
ATTEMPT AT ESCAPE BY A POLISH EXILE.
Why the Polish exiles cannot escape—Narrative of a attempt by M. Bohdanovitch—Encounter with a bear—Sanitary arrangements in Siberia—Wolf hunts—A blue fox—Different values of furs—A few words on the passion for displaying riches.
After the description I have just given of the mode of life of M. Schlenker, the question may occur to the reader why the Poles banished in Siberia do not avail themselves of the quasi-liberty they enjoy at present to effect their escape. They could not, it is true, return to their own country, but no doubt they would like to live in some other land of their free choice, where the climate would be less rigorous than that of Siberia; such a favour, however, would not be accorded.
But Siberia is barely inhabited, except in the neighbourhood of the great highway that leads from the Ural to the banks of the Amoor and to its mouth. All the rest of this vast territory, known under the same denomination,—excepting, perhaps, that also along the banks of the rivers,—is nothing but an immense wild tract of steppes and forests.
The frontier, moreover, that separates the Russian empire from the Chinese, is formed of a chain of mountains very elevated and by no means easily accessible. And even if the poor fugitive should succeed in reaching the frontier, he would find himself afterwards in the great desert of Gobi, without shelter, without provisions, and even without a passport, necessary for admission into China proper; he would then have to dread being placed under restraint there, infinitely more terrible than exile in Siberia or, what is more likely, extradition, followed by a fresh incarceration, and then perpetual exile to Kamtchatka or the island of Tarakai.