At Parthenit we failed not to sit under the famous hazel-tree of the Prince de Ligne. Its foliage is so thick and spreading that it overshadows a whole place. The trunk is not less than eight yards in circumference, and is surrounded by a large wooden divan, almost always occupied by travellers, who use it as a tavern. The inhabitants of Parthenit regard this tree with great affection, and beneath its shade they discuss all the important affairs of the village. A limpid fountain, the waters of which are distributed through several channels, adds to the charm of the spot. Our whole cavalcade was completely sheltered under the dome of the magnificent hazel. The Tatars brought us sweetmeats, coffee, and fresh eggs, and obstinately refused to take payment for them. Almost the whole population came to see us, but their curiosity was not at all obtrusive. Such of them as had no immediate business with us kept a respectful distance.
On leaving Parthenit we passed very close to some old fortifications covering a whole hill with their imposing ruins. At evening we arrived at the post station of Alouchta,[70] where our party was to break up. Some of our companions returned to Ialta, others proceeded towards Simpheropol; whilst we ourselves, accompanied by a single Tatar and our dragoman, set out by the sea-coast for Oulou Ouzen. The distance was but twelve versts, but we spent several hours upon it, in consequence of the difficulty of the ground and the steepness of the cliffs which we were often obliged to ascend. We met no one on the way; this part of the coast is quite deserted and sterile.
Oulou Ouzen, our point of destination, is a narrow valley opening on the sea, and belonging to Madame Lang, who has covered it with vineyards and orchards. A week passed quickly away in the agreeable society of our hostess, whose residence is one of the prettiest in the country. Being very fond of birds, she has succeeded by a very simple process in converting her garden into a great aviary. On the day we arrived we were surprised to see her continually assailed by a flock of pretty titmice that pecked at her hair and hands with extraordinary familiarity. They were the progeny in the third and fourth generation of a pair she had reared two years before, and had liberated in the beginning of spring. Next year they returned with a young brood that grew used by degrees to feed on the balcony, and at last to eat out of her hands. These in their turn brought her their young ones; other birds followed their example, and thus she has always a flock of gay dwellers of the air perching and fluttering about her balcony, which is covered with nets to protect them from birds of prey.
At Madame Lang's we met a very agreeable gentleman and a great admirer of the Crimea, M. Montandon, who has written an excellent itinerary of the country. We talked a great deal with him about a French lady, Mademoiselle Jacquemart, whose acquaintance my husband had made some months previously. She has resided for the last fifteen years in Soudagh, a valley near Oulou Ouzen. The Duc de Raguse speaks at great length of her in his Excursion en Crimée, and relates the tragic adventure of which she was the heroine some years ago, but he assigns for it a romantic cause which Mademoiselle Jacquemart has absolutely contradicted.
Few ladies have passed through a more eccentric life than Mademoiselle Jacquemart. In her young days, her beauty, her talents, and her wit invested her with a celebrity, such as rarely falls to the lot of one in the humble position of a governess. After having lived long in the great world of St. Petersburg and of Vienna, she suddenly withdrew to the Crimea, where, having like many others almost ruined herself by vintage speculations, she purchased the little property in which she now resides. Her history and her unusual energy of character led to a close intimacy between her and the old Princess Gallitzin, who was herself enough of an original character to like every thing uncommon, and Mademoiselle Jacquemart was an habitual guest at Koreis.
Before we left Oulou Ouzen we went to spend a day with Madame Lang's only neighbour, an old bachelor, who lives quite alone, not out of misanthropy, but that he may devote himself without interruption to his favourite pursuit of botany. A deep ravine between the two properties, and a steep descent overlooking the sea, render the road so dangerous that ladies can venture to traverse it only in a vehicle drawn by oxen. It was in this strange equipage, guided by a Tatar armed with a long goad, that we reached the house of M. Faviski, who was quite delighted, but greatly puzzled to receive ladies. He did the honours of his bachelor's dwelling, nevertheless, like a very well-bred gentleman.
While we were waiting for dinner, Madame Lang conceived the happy thought of sending for all the Tatar beauties of the village that I might see them. When they arrived, the gentlemen were obliged to leave the room, which was immediately entered by a dozen of pretty bashful young women, looking like a herd of scared gazelles. But after a few words from Madame Lang, who speaks Tatar very well, they soon became familiarised with our strange faces, and grew very merry. They took off their veils and papouches at our request, and favoured us with an Oriental dance. One of them quite astonished me by the magnificent lineaments of her face, which reminded me of the head of an empress on an ancient medal. They examined all the details of our toilette with childlike curiosity, and exacted from us the same attentive notice of the embroidery on their bodices and veils. Meanwhile, so amused were we by this scene, that we had quite forgotten the gentlemen whom we had turned out, and who now began to thump lustily at the door. The Tatar women were now thrown into the most picturesque and comical disorder, and ran about in all directions looking for their veils. In the midst of the confusion I was wicked enough to hide the veil and slippers of the young beauty, and then throw the door wide open. It was curious to see the dismay of the poor blushing creature who knew not how to escape from the bold admiration of several men. She had never in her life been in such a situation before; so when I thought the gentlemen had sufficiently indulged their curiosity, I hastened to relieve her by returning her veil.
Next day, after a fatiguing journey, we reached Soudagh in the evening. It was with no little interest I beheld the humble abode of a woman of talent, who, through some unaccountable whim, had quitted the world while still young, and retired to almost absolute solitude. She was glad to receive the visit of compatriots, and talked frankly to us of the hardships and discomforts of a life she had not the courage to abandon. The extreme loneliness of her dwelling exposed her to frequent attacks by night, and obliged her to have a brace of pistols always at the head of her bed. People stole her fruit, her poultry, and even her vines; she was kept continually on the alert, and had the fear before her of repetition of the horrible attempt to which she was once near falling a victim.
The account she herself gave us of that affair was as follows. Two days before it happened, a Greek applied to her for work and food. Not having any employment for him, she gave him some provisions, and advised him to look elsewhere for work. The next day but one, as she was returning in the evening from a geological excursion, carrying in her hand a small hatchet she used for breaking pebbles, she perceived the same man walking behind her in silence. Feeling some uneasiness, she turned round to look in the Greek's face; but at that moment she felt herself grasped round the waist, the hatchet was snatched out of her hand, and she received several blows with it on the head that deprived her of all consciousness. When her senses returned the assassin had disappeared. How she reached home with her skull fractured, she never could explain. For many months her life was in imminent danger, and her reason was impaired. At the time we saw her she still suffered acutely from some splinters of a comb that remained in her head. This is a much less romantic story than that told by Marmont.