From Paris to Pekin over Siberian Snows by Victor Meignan

Author:Victor Meignan [Meignan, Victor]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Nonfiction, Travel
ISBN: 4064066248895
Google: sMhPrgEACAAJ
Publisher: Good Press
Published: 2021-05-19T04:00:00+00:00

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.

On arriving at Irkutsk, I was indisposed, in consequence of the fatigue from so long a journey in a sledge. During these long, gloomy days,—for nothing is more depressing and painful than illness far away from home and in loneliness,—I frequently had a visit from a Polish exile, who, having formerly lived in France, was delighted to come and chat away an hour about the places where he had passed his youth, and the happy days he had known during his eventful and troublous life. His name was Bohdanovitch. Our long conversations were a great solace, and an effective means of dispelling ennui. Among all those of his nation exiled in Siberia, he was the only one who seemed doomed to suffer perpetually from the bare exile itself. He spoke of the prison with the utmost indifference; he repeated many times that he would willingly give all his fortune to see France again, especially Poitou, where he had lived a long while, and whence he had set out to join in the Polish insurrection to please his father, who urged it against his son’s will.

As soon as he was free in Irkutsk, such a man could not resist the temptation to regain France. He

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