Kéraban the Inflexible (Part 1)/Chapter 12
CHAPTER XII.
IN WHICH VAN MITTEN DISCOURSES ON TULIPS FOR, WE TRUST, THE BENEFIT OF THE READER.
The postchaise with fresh horses had quitted Odessa about one o'clock in the afternoon. Kéraban occupied the left corner of the interior, Van Mitten the right, and Ahmet was between them. Bruno and Nizib were in the "cabriolet," where they chatted or slept—chiefly the latter. The sun was shining brightly, and the sea broke in dark blue waves against the gray cliffs.
In the interior of the chaise conversation was at first as limited as in the "cabriolet" outside, and if one party slept higher, the other reflected more deeply. Kéraban was thinking of his firm determination, and of the "turn" he was giving the Ottoman authorities. Van Mitten was thinking of the unexpected journey he was making, and did not cease to wonder how it had happened that he, a citizen of Holland, had been launched thus upon a tour of the Black Sea, when he ought to be resting quietly in Pera or Constantinople.
Ahmet had made up his mind to the journey, but he determined not to spare his uncle's purse whenever delay or trouble might be avoided by using it. They would travel by the quickest and shortest route. The young man was ruminating on this, as the chaise turned the point, and he could perceive the banker's villa. He fixed his gaze upon it; no doubt at the same time Amasia's eyes were directed to the carriage, and their regards crossed in mid-air.
Then, addressing his uncle, Ahmet resolved to open a delicate question, and ask whether he had mastered all the details of the journey.
"Yes," replied Kéraban, "we shall continue upon the shore route all along."
"And whither are we bound just now?"
"To Koblewo, about twelve leagues from Odessa. We shall arrive at the place this evening."
"And after leaving Koblewo?"
"We shall travel all night, and reach Nikolaief to-morrow about midday. We shall then have made eighteen leagues more."
"Very good, uncle; we must travel quickly. But after leaving Nikolaief, don't you think of reaching the Caucasus district in a day or two?"
"How?" asked Kéraban.
"By taking the train. The South Russian line by Alexandroff and Rostow would enable us to accomplish a good third of our journey."
"Use a railway?" exclaimed Kéraban.
At that instant Van Mitten touched his youthful neighbour, and said in a low tone,—
"It is useless to discuss the question. He has a horror of railways."
Ahmet was not unaware of his uncle's peculiarities in this and other respects, but he fancied that for once he would yield. But Kéraban would not be Kéraban if he did give way.
"I think you were speaking of railways?" he said.
"Yes, uncle."
"And you wish that I should do what I have never yet done—"
"It seems to me—"
"You wish that I, Kéraban, should permit myself to be dragged like a fool along an iron rail by a steam engine?"
"When you have tried it—"
"Ahmet, it is evident you have not reflected upon this suggestion which you dare to make to me!"
"But, uncle—"
"I tell you, you have not thought of what you are saying."
"I assure you, uncle, that in the 'waggons'—"
"Waggons!" exclaimed Kéraban, with an accent impossible to describe.
"Yes, the carriages which run on the rails—"
"Rails? What horrible words are these?—and may I ask you what language you are speaking?"
"Only the language of modern travellers."
"Look here, nephew!" exclaimed Kéraban, who was getting excited, "do I look like a modern traveller? Do I look like a man who would permit himself to be dragged along in a 'waggon' by a machine? Is it likely that I should slide along 'rails, when I can drive on a road?"
"When time presses, uncle—"
"Ahmet, look me in the face, and listen to me. If there are no carriages, I will go in a cart. If there is no cart, I will ride; if I cannot get a horse, I will hire a donkey. If there are no donkeys, I will walk; and, when I cannot walk, I will crawl; and, when I can no longer crawl, I—"
"For goodness’ sake, stop!" cried Van Mitten.
"When I cannot crawl on hands and knees, I will drag myself along on my stomach," said Kéraban in conclusion—"yes, on my stomach!"
Then, seizing Ahmet by the arm, he said,—
"Did you ever hear that Mahomet took the train to go to Mecca?"
To this question there was obviously no answer; and Ahmet, who would have replied that, had railways existed in the time of Mahomet, he would no doubt have used them, thought it best to be silent: while Kéraban sat in his corner, grumbling, and condemning all words of a "railway" character.
However, if the chaise did not travel so rapidly as an express, it proceeded quickly. The horses went well upon the level road, and there was nothing to complain of. There was no want of relays. Ahmet, who, with his uncle's consent, had undertaken to pay the expenses, lavished "tips" freely on all concerned, with imperial generosity. Bank-notes flew out of his pocket, and he might have been starting a "paper chase" with rouble currency.
The result of all this liberality was that the travellers reached Koblewo the same day. Thence they turned more inland, and crossing the Bug river, to the heights of Nikolaief, the chaise reached that town easily by midday on the 28th of August.
Three hours' rest was allowed for breakfast, &c., and Ahmet took the opportunity to write to Selim, the banker, telling him of the journey so far, and sending all kinds of messages to Amasia. Seigneur Kéraban occupied himself congenially in drinking coffee, and smoking. Van Mitten and Bruno explored the town, whose prosperity threatens to outdo its rival Kherson, and to usurp the title of the district from it.
Ahmet was the first to give the signal for departure. The Dutchman did not keep him waiting. Kéraban gave a last puff to his narghileh, as the postillion mounted his horse, and the carriage rolled away to Kherson.
There were seventeen leagues to travel across an uninteresting country. Here and there were a few mulberry-trees, poplars, and willows. As they approached the Dneiper, the course of which is terminated at Kherson, the travellers came upon long expanses of ground, planted with tall reeds, which appeared to be covered with the cornflower. But at the approach of the chaise, these "cornflowers" took to themselves wings, and proved to be blue jays, whose discordant chattering was as disagreeable to the ear as their beautiful colours were pleasant to the eye.
At daybreak on the 29th of August, Seigneur Kéraban and his companions reached Kherson without incident. Kherson is the chief seat of government, the foundation of which is due to Potemkin. The travellers could not but congratulate this creation of the imperial favour of Catherine II., for they found an excellent hotel, where they stopped several hours, and some good shops, where they were enabled to replenish their stock of provisions—a duty which Bruno, much sharper than Nizib, performed to a marvel.
Some hours later they changed horses at Aleschki, and descended towards the isthmus of Pérékop, which unites the Crimea to Russia.
Ahmet had not neglected to send a letter to Selim from Aleschki, and when the travellers were again seated in the chaise, Kéraban inquired whether his nephew had sent his regards also to his friend the banker.
"I did not forget to do so, uncle," replied Ahmet, "and I added that we were using all diligence to reach Scutari as soon as possible."
"You did well, nephew; and he must not neglect to give us news of himself on every possible occasion."
"Unfortunately, as we never know beforehand where we may stop," said Ahmet, "our letters must remain unanswered."
"True," said Van Mitten.
"By-the-bye," said Kéraban, addressing his friend, "it seems to me that you do not correspond much with Madame Van Mitten. What will that excellent woman think of you?"
"Madame Van Mitten, do you mean?" asked the Dutchman.
"Certainly."
"Madame Van Mitten is undoubtedly an excellent woman. As a wife, I have not a word to say against her; but as a life companion—but why speak of Madame Van Mitten at all, Kéraban?"
"Eh? Well, because I remember her as a most agreeable woman."
"Indeed!" said Van Mitten, in the tone of a man who hears something for the first time.
"Did not I speak of her in the highest terms, Ahmet, when I returned from Holland?" said Kéraban, turning to his nephew.
"Yes, indeed, uncle," replied the young man.
"And during my journey was I not particularly charmed with the reception she gave me?"
"Ah!" remarked Van Mitten.
"Nevertheless," continued Kéraban, "I must allow that at times she is capricious, and has curious ideas on some points. Still, those qualities are inherent in women, and if they cannot get over them, it is best to have nothing to do with them—which is precisely how I have acted."
"And you have acted wisely," said Van Mitten.
"Is your wife as fond of tulips as ever?" inquired Kéraban. "She is a true Hollander in that respect."
"Yes, passionately fond of them," replied Van Mitten.
"Look here, Van Mitten. Frankly now, I think you are very cool about your wife."
"Cool! The expression is even too warm, if applied to my regard in that quarter."
"What do you say?" exclaimed Kéraban.
"I say," replied the Dutchman, "that I did not wish you to talk of Madame Van Mitten at all! But since you have mentioned her, and the occasion is favourable, I will make a confession."
"A confession!"
"Yes, friend Kéraban; Madame Van Mitten and I are separated."
"Separated?—by mutual consent?"
"Yes."
"For ever?"
"For ever."
"Tell me all about it, unless your feelings—"
"Feelings!" exclaimed the Dutchman; "why should I have any feeling in the matter?"
"Very well, then. Go on; speak. In my position as a Turk, Van Mitten, I am fond of tales; and, as an unmarried man, I delight in all matrimonial histories."
"Well," said Van Mitten, in a disinterested manner, as if he were telling a story concerning a stranger, "for many years Madame Van Mitten and I did not get on very well. We had disputes upon every subject—bed-time, getting-up time, dinner-time: concerning what we should eat, and what we should not eat; on what we should drink; upon what we did; on the time of day it was, and what it ought to be; on the placing of the furniture; whether the fire should be lighted in this or that room; whether the window or door should be shut or open; on what plants should be retained in the garden, and what should be torn up."
"That promised well," remarked Kéraban.
"Yes, but you see it all cane to nothing, as I am of a mild and long-suffering disposition, and I always yielded without causing an open rupture."
"That was perhaps the wisest plan," said Ahmet.
"On the contrary," remarked Kéraban, "it was foolish."
"I don't know anything about it," continued Van Mitten; "but, at any rate, in our last altercation I wished to resist, and I did resist, like a regular Kéraban!"
"By Allah, that is impossible!" cried the individual referred to, who knew himself thoroughly.
"More strongly than any Kéraban," added Van Mitten.
"Mahomet protect me!" replied the other. "Do you mean to assert that you can be more obstinate than I?"
"It seems improbable on the face of it," said Ahmet, in a tone that went to his uncle's heart.
"You will soon see," replied Van Mitten quietly.
"We shall not see that!" cried Kéraban.
"Will you permit me to finish? It was concerning tulips that the discussion arose between me and my wife, about those beautiful tulips—so dear to amateurs—Genners, which grow straight on the stalk, and of which there are more than a hundred varieties. I had none which cost me less than a thousand florins a bulb."
"Eight thousand piastres," said Kéraban, who was accustomed to reckon in Turkish money.
"Yes, about that," replied the Dutchman. "Now Madame Van Mitten took it into her head one day to root up a Valentia, in order to put an Œil de Soleil in its place. This was too much. I objected. She insisted. I endeavoured to seize her; she escaped, and, rushing upon the Valentias, tore one up by the roots."
"Cost! Eight thousand piastres," muttered Kéraban.
"Then," continued Van Mitten, "I precipitated myself on an Œil de Soleil, and broke it."
"Cost! Sixteen thousand piastres," said Kéraban.
"My wife destroyed a second Valentia."
"Twenty-four thousand piastres," replied Kéraban, as if he were calling over his books at his counting-house.
"I responded with another Œil de Soleil."
"Thirty-two thousand piastres."
"Then the battle became general," said Van Mitten, "till madame's ammunition was exhausted. I received two splendid 'cloves' on my head."
It was a regular rain of bulbs.
"Forty-eight thousand piastres!"
"She received three others full in the chest."
"Sixty thousand piastres!"
"It was a regular rain of bulbs—such a thing has never been seen—and it lasted half an hour. The whole garden was torn up, and the conservatory afterwards dismantled. My entire collection was destroyed."
"And, finally, the cost was—how much?" asked Kéraban.
"Greater than if we had only wanted head-wounds, like Homer's economical heroes," replied Van Mitten. "One way and another I fancy the cost was about twenty-five thousand florins."
"Two hundred thousand piastres," said Kéraban.
"But I was firm," said Van Mitten.
"That was worth something."
"Besides, I came away, having given orders to have my property realized, and transmitted to the bank in Constantinople. Then I came to Rotterdam with my faithful Bruno, and made up my mind not to enter my house again until Madame Van Mitten had quitted it—for a better world."
"Where tulip-throwing is unknown," remarked Ahmet.
"Now, Kéraban," said Van Mitten, "have you had many fits of obstinacy which have cost you two hundred thousand piastres?"
"I?" said Kéraban, secretly a little annoyed at this question.
"Yes, certainly," said Ahmet, "my uncle has had some—I know at least one."
"What was that, if you please?" asked Van Mitten.
"Why, this obstinate fit, which, for the sake of ten paras, is sending us all round the Black Sea. This will cost more than your little eradication of tulips."
"It will cost what it will cost," replied Kéraban dryly. "But I think my friend Van Mitten has not paid too dearly for his liberty. That's what comes of having only one wife. Mahomet knew what he was about when he permitted his followers to have as many as they could support."
"Certainly," replied Van Mitten. "I think ten wives are much easier to govern than one."
"What is still more easy," added Kéraban, moralizing, "is to have no wife at all!"
With this observation the conversation ended.
The chaise continued its course: at the post-house relays were found, and the journey was resumed. After travelling all night, the tourists were somewhat fatigued; but, at the instigation of Ahmet, they decided not to lose an hour, and pressed on. Having passed Bolschoi-Kopani and Kalantschak, they reached Pérékop, at the end of the gulf of the same name—the point where the Crimea unites with Russia proper.