resounds down the valley, there is whispering among the crowns of the
palm-trees with which the night-wind plays, and on the flat shore the
waves splash in rhythmic cadence. The thundering waves and the rippling
water, the rushing wind and the whispering palms unite their music in
an exquisite lullaby, which leads all the sleepers to the happy land of
golden dreams.
A JOURNEY IN SIBERIA.
We had left the populous streets of St. Petersburg and the gilded
domes of Moscow far behind us; and before us rose the towers of
Nijni-Novgorod on the further bank of the Oka. We had reason to be
grateful for the manner of our reception in the two capitals of the
Russian Empire. We had respectfully taken leave of his Majesty our own
noble Emperor in Berlin, had received cordial recommendations from the
German Foreign Office, and had met with a friendly welcome from the
German Embassy in St. Petersburg, so we had hoped for a favourable
reception in Russia, but the hospitality accorded us far exceeded our
boldest expectations. His Majesty the Czar was pleased to give us an
audience; princes and princesses of the imperial house deigned to
receive us; the chancellor, the ministers, and high officers of state,
had all met us with that thoughtful courtesy and obliging complaisance
for which educated Russians are noted; and we were furnished with the
introductions whose importance we afterwards realized.
As far as Nijni-Novgorod we had enjoyed the modern conveniences of
travel; thenceforward we were to learn how Russians traverse distances
of thousands of kilometres or versts, how they travel in summer and in
winter, by day and by night, in furious storm and in smiling sunshine,
in splashing rain, icy snow, and dusty drought, in sledges and in
wagons. Before us stood a huge and massive travelling sledge, clamped
at all its joints, with broadly projecting stays to guard against
overturning, with a hood to shelter the travellers from rain and snow,
and drawn by three horses on whose yoke a little bell tinkled.
On the 19th of March we began a rapid journey over the frozen surface
of the Volga, but it was not without its hindrances. For a thaw had
accompanied us from Germany to Russia, and had warned us to hasten from
St. Petersburg and Moscow, and a thaw remained our constant companion,
as if we were heralds of the spring. Holes in the ice filled with
water, warning us of the yawning depth beneath, drenched the horses,
the sledge, and ourselves, or forced us to make tiresome circuits; the
cracking and groaning of the ice made the danger seem worse than it
really was, and both drivers and postmasters became so anxious, that
after a short journey we were forced to exchange the smooth surface of
ice for the as yet unbeaten summer highway. But this highway, traversed
by thousands and thousands of freight wagons and by an equal number of
exiles to dread Siberia, soon became to us, as to the prisoners, a way
of sighs. Loose or slushy snow about three feet deep, covered the road;
to right and left rushed little streams, wherever, in fact, they could
find a course; the horses, now yoked in a line, one behind the other,
strove, in a pitiable way, to keep their footing; with leaps and bounds
they would try to keep the tracks of those who had gone in front, and
at every false step they would sink up to the breast in the snow or in
the icy water. Behind them floundered the sledge, creaking in every
joint, as it plunged with a jerk from height to hollow; for hours
sometimes it remained stuck in a hole, baffling the most strenuous
exertions of the horses. On such occasions the wolf-scaring bell,
the gift of the mysterious Faldine, seemed to sound most eerily. In
vain the driver threatened, entreated, swore, groaned, yelled, cried,
roared, cursed, and whipped; in most cases we did not get under weigh
again until other travellers came to our assistance.
Painfully the journey lengthened to four and five times the proper
time for the distance. To look out of the sledge to right or left
was scarce worth the trouble, for the flat country was dreary and
featureless; only in the villages was there anything visible and
interesting, and that only to those who knew how to look. For the
winter still kept the people in their small, neatly built, but often
sadly dilapidated log-huts; only fur-clad boys ran barefoot through the
slushy snow and filthy mud which older boys and girls sought to avoid
by help of stilts; only some old, white-bearded beggars loafed round
the post-houses and taverns, beggars, however, whom every artist must
have found as charming as I did. When they asked for alms, and stood
in the majesty of old age, with uncovered bald heads and flowing hoary
beards, disclosing the filthiness of their body and the raggedness of
their clothes, they seemed to me such marvellous pictures and types of
world-renouncing saints, that I could not keep myself from giving to
them again and again, if only to get in thanks the sign of the cross,
repeated from three to nine times in a manner so expressive and devout
that only a real saint could equal it.
In the villages we also saw more of the animal life than we did in
the fields or even in the forests which we traversed. For in the open
country winter still kept its fetters on life and all was quiet and
death-like; we saw hardly any birds except the hooded crow and the
yellow bunting; and the snow showed scarce any tracks of mammals. In
the villages, however, we were welcomed at least by the delightful
jackdaws, which adorned the roofs of the log-houses, by the ravens,
which with us at home are the shy frequenters of mountain and forest,
but are here the most confident companions of the villagers, by magpies
and other birds, not to speak of domestic animals, among which the
numerous pigs were especially obtrusive.
After an uninterrupted journey of four days, without refreshing
sleep, without any real rest, without sufficient food, we felt as if
we had been beaten in every limb, and were, indeed, glad to reach
Kazan--the old capital of the Tartars. We crossed the Volga on foot,
picking our steps over the much-broken ice, and drew near to the city
of sixty towers, which we had seen the day before shining in the
distance. I fancied myself once more in the East. From the minarets
and the spire-like wooden towers I heard again the notes which call
every faithful follower of Islam to prayer; dark-eyed women bustled
about among the turbaned men, veiling themselves anxiously from their
country folk, but unveiling inquisitively before us, and picking their
steps, on account of their dainty but not waterproof saffron shoes,
along the steps of the houses protected by the overhanging eaves. In
the uproar of the bazaar young and old thronged and bustled without
restraint. Everything was just as it is in the East. Only the numerous
stately churches--among which we saw the convent of “the black Madonna
of Kasan not made by human hands”, conspicuous both in site and
architecture--were out of keeping with the Eastern picture, though they
showed plainly enough that Christians and Mohammedans were here living
in mutual tolerance.
On lighter sledges, but over even more unsubstantial highways, we
journeyed onwards towards Perm and the Ural. The road led through
Tartar and Russian villages and the fields around them, and again
through extensive forests. The Tartar villages usually compared
favourably with those of the Russians, not only in the absence of
swine, which the Tartars hold unclean, but even more in the always
well-cared-for cemeteries, usually surrounded by lofty trees. For the
Tartar respects the resting-place of his dead, the Russian at most
those of his saints. The woodlands, though divided up, are really
primeval forests, which rise and flourish, grow old and disappear,
without human interference, for they are too far from navigable rivers
to be as yet of much commercial value.
Two large rivers, however, the Viatka and the Kama, cross our route.
The winter holds them bound, though the approach of spring is beginning
to loosen their fetters. The banks are flooded, and the horses of the
carriers, who scorn the temporary bridges, are now and then forced to
swim and to drag the sledge like a boat behind them.
Before we reached Perm we had to exchange the sledge for the wagon,
and in this we trundled along towards the Ural, which separates Europe
from Asia. The highway leads over long ranges of hills, with easy
slopes, but gradually ascending. The landscape changes; the mountain
scenery presents many pictures, which are beautiful if they are not
grand. Small woods, with fields and meadows between, remind us of the
spurs of the Styrian Alps. Most of the woods are thin and scraggy, like
those of Brandenburg, others are more luxuriant and varied, and cover
wide areas without interruption. Here they consist of low pines and
birches, and there of the same trees mingled with limes, aspens, black
and silver poplars, above whose rounded crowns the cypress-like tops
of the beautiful pichta or Siberian silver-fir tapers upwards. On an
average the villages are larger and the houses more spacious than in
the districts previously traversed, but the roads are bad beyond all
description. Thousands of freight wagons creep wearily along, or rather
in, the deep miry ruts: slowly and painfully we also jog along until,
after three days’ journeying, we reach the watershed between the two
great basins of the Volga and the Ob, and learn from the milestone,
which bears “Europe” on the west side and “Asia” on the east, that we
have reached the boundary. Amid the clinking of glasses we think of our
loved ones at home.
The pleasant town of Yekaterinburg, with its gold-smelting and
gem-cutting industries, could not long detain us in spite of the
hospitality of its inhabitants. For the spring was gaining strength,
and the bridges of ice on the rivers and streams, which we had to cross
on our way to distant Omsk, were melting and crumbling. So we pushed
hastily onwards through the Asiatic region of the Perm government till
we reached its boundary and entered Western Siberia.
[Illustration: Fig. 58.--A Post Station in Siberia.]
Here, at the first post-house, we were met by the district officer
of Tiumen, who greeted us in the name of the governor, and offered
us escort through his district. In the chief town of the district
we found the house of one of the rich inhabitants prepared for our
reception. Thenceforth we were to learn what Russian hospitality meant.
Hitherto, indeed, we had been everywhere received and treated most
hospitably, but now the chief officials of the district or province
exerted themselves unsparingly on our behalf, and the best houses were
thrown open to us. In fact, we were treated like princes, simply
on account of our scientific mission. Words fail me to express our
gratitude with adequate warmth. Beyond Tiumen, in which we stayed
three days, inspecting the prisons of the exiles, the tanneries, and
other sights of this first Siberian town, the peasants showed us their
mastery even of the rivers. For the approaching spring had melted the
ice on the Pyshma and the blocks had begun to move; we, however, had
to get across before this happened. At the village of Romanoffskoye
the inhabitants with bared heads stood waiting for us on the bank of
the Pyshma, and even the river had to wait before it was permitted to
shake off its icy bonds. Boldly and cleverly the peasants had thrown a
makeshift bridge across the half-melted stream, using a large boat as a
centre pier, above and around which they had fettered the treacherous
ice with strong hawsers and ropes. Willing hands unyoked the team of
five required for our day’s journey, seized spokes and axles, and bore
one wagon after another across the yielding bridge, which groaned and
creaked under its burden. The task was safely accomplished, and on we
went merrily through water and snow, mud and mire, over log-roads and
ice.
The Tobol, which we wished to cross on Good Friday, the 14th April,
the first day of true spring, was less accommodating. Here also all
requisite arrangements had been made to secure our passage: one of the
wagons was unyoked and rolled on to the ice, but this suddenly cracked
and split, and forced a hasty retreat. The bells on the cross-trees had
tinkled merrily when we left Yalutoroffsk; they sounded sadly as we
drove back again, and it was not till Easter-day that we were able to
cross the great river with the help of a ferry-boat.
So we continued on our way. Before and behind us the rivers threw off
the yoke of winter; only the dreaded Irtish lay still hard-bound and
secure under our feet, and thus, after more than a month’s journey
without further adventure, we reached Omsk, the capital of Western
Siberia.
After we had seen what was to be seen in Omsk,--the streets and the
houses, the military academy, the museum, the hospital, the military
prison, and so on, we continued our journey toward Semipalatinsk,
along the highway which runs along the right bank of the Irtish,
connecting the villages of the so-called Cossack line. Already,
in passing from Yalutoroffsk to Omsk, we had journeyed through a
steppe--that of Ishim; now the steppe surrounded us on all sides, and
almost every night the heavens were red with the flames of last year’s
grass and herbage, which was now being burnt. Troops of migrating birds
followed the river directly behind the ice as it drifted northwards;
crowds of aquatic birds peopled all the steppe streams and lakes;
various species of lark flew hither and thither in flocks; the dainty
falcons of the steppe had already betaken themselves to their summer
quarters; the spring had indeed come.
In Semipalatinsk we had the good fortune to find in the governor,
General von Poltoratski, a warm friend, ready to aid us in all our
endeavours, and in his lady the most amiable of hostesses. Not content
with having secured our hospitable reception, the general most kindly
proposed to make us acquainted with the Kirghiz, who form a great part
of the population of his district, and to this end organized a great
hunting expedition after archars, the wild sheep of Siberia, which are
almost twice the size of our domestic animals.[80]
On the 3rd of May we started on the chase, crossing the Irtish and
following the post-road to Taschkent, in the Kirghiz steppe. After a
journey of sixteen hours we reached the region of the chase--a rocky
part of the steppe, and soon we were standing before the _aul_ or
_yurt_-camp which had been prepared for us. There we were welcomed
by the general’s wife, who had gone on ahead of us the day before,
and cordially also by about a score of Kirghiz sultans and district
governors, and their numerous followers.
During the next three days there was great sport on the Arkat
mountains. It was holiday with the Kirghiz, who are always eager for
fun, and it was not less so for us. Hill and valley resounded with the
hoofs of fourscore or more horsemen, who took part in the two-days’
hunt; the sun, when he was pleased to show himself, shone down on
strange, gay garments which had been hitherto hidden under furs;
there was a merry bustle over hill and dale. The Kirghiz, once so
much dreaded, whose very name means robber, are now the most faithful
and contented Russian subjects, and there they were with their
best horses--their most precious pacers, their tamed golden-eagles,
greyhounds, and camels, their zither-musicians and impromptu poets,
their wrestlers and other gymnasts--a merry crew. They sat together
in groups and companies; they darted hither and thither, singly or
in troops, wheeling their horses in sheer high spirits; with the
keenest interest they watched the wrestling bouts or the boys racing
on horseback; they led the chase with astuteness and good judgment,
and listened with delight to the words of the extempore singer who
celebrated its fortunes. One of the Kirghiz had already killed an
archar before our arrival; good luck brought a second victim to my
rifle. It was this good fortune which inspired the poet. His verses
were not particularly full of ideas, but they were none the less so
characteristic that I recorded them as a first sample of Kirghiz
poetry. While the poet sang, an interpreter translated his words into
Russian, and the General rendered them in German, while I took them
down in shorthand:--
“Speak, red tongue, speak while thou hast life, for after death thou
shalt be dumb.
Speak, red tongue, which God hath given me, for after death thou shalt
be silent.
Words such as thou now utterest will no longer flow from thee after
death.
I see before me people rising like the mountains, to them I will
declare the truth.
I seem to see the rocks and mountains, to the reindeer I would liken
them.
Greater are they than boats, like a steamship on the waves of Irtish.
But I see in thee, oh Ruler, after the majesty of the Emperor, the
highest, to be compared to a mountain, precious as an ambling reindeer.
It was my mother who bore me, but my tongue hath God given.
If I should not now speak before thee, to whom should I ever speak?
Full freedom have I to speak, let me speak as if to my own folk.
Prosperity to thee, sir, all hail and blessing to thy guests, among
them noble men, though they have thus unbent among us.
Each guest of the General is also ours, and assured of our friendship.
God alone gave me my tongue, let me speak further.
On the mountains we saw huntsmen, marksmen, and drivers, but with one
only was there good fortune.
As the top of the highest mountain towers above all others, so did
he excel all, for he sent two well-aimed balls into the body of the
archar and brought it to the yurt.
Every huntsman wished to bring in booty, but only one had his wish
fulfilled: to us was joy, and to thee, noble lady, whom I now address.
All the people are delighted, not the men only, to see thee, to greet
thee; all of us wish thee joy, and a thousand years of life and health.
And of thy good pleasure receive our homage. Thou mayest well have
seen a better people, but no truer has ever offered greeting and
welcome.
May God bless thee, thee and thy house and thy children. I cannot find
words enough to praise thee, but God has given me my tongue, and it
has spoken, the red tongue, what sprang from the heart.”
We left the Arkat mountains, and soon thereafter the district governed
by our kind host, whom we left at the hunting-ground; and very shortly
afterwards we were welcomed in Sergiopol, the first town in Turkestan,
by Colonel Friedrichs, who greeted us in the name of the governor of
this great province, and gave us escort on our way. Kirghiz chiefs
became our guard of honour, and supplied us with draught-horses which
could never before have done duty as such, so madly did they at
first try to run off with the heavy wagon. Kirghiz sultans showed us
hospitality, looked after our food and shelter, and erected yurts at
every place where we wished to rest, or were expected to do so. Kirghiz
also caught snakes and other creeping things for our collections, threw
their nets on our behalf into the steppe-lakes, and followed us like
faithful dogs on our hunting expeditions. Thus we journeyed through the
steppe-land, now gorgeous in the full beauty of spring, delaying for
a time to hunt and collect at Alakul (“the shining lake”), crossing
valleys full of blossom and smiling hills, to Lepsa, the Cossack
settlement on the Alatau, one of the grandest of the steppe mountains.
We traversed the settled region, a little paradise, flowing with milk
and honey; ascended the high mountains, rejoicing in the rushing
torrents, the green Alpine lakes, and the lovely vistas, and finally
directed our course to the north-east towards the Chinese frontier, for
the shortest and most convenient route to the Altai led us through a
portion of the Celestial Empire.
In Bakti, the last Russian outpost, news was brought to us that
His Ineffability the Jandsun Dyun, the Governor of the province
Tarabagatai, sent to greet us in the name of China, and invited us to a
banquet. To meet the hospitable wishes of the noble mandarin, we rode
on the 21st May to Tchukutchak or Tchautchak, the capital of the said
province.
The company which rode through the summer glory of the steppe was
larger and more splendid than ever. Partly in order to have a quite
necessary security in a country disquieted by insurrection, partly
in order to appear with dignity, not to say with pomp, before
his Highness, we had added to our ranks. For, besides the thirty
Cossacks from Sachan, under the leadership of our new escort, Major
Tichanoff, and besides our old Kirghiz friends, we had with us a half
sotnia of Cossacks from Bakti. The beating hoofs of our small army
sounded strangely in the otherwise desolate steppe. All our Kirghiz
were arrayed in holiday dress, and their black, blue, yellow, and
red kaftans, covered with gold and silver braid, vied in sheen and
splendour with the uniforms of the Russian officers. At the boundary,
which had recently been agreed upon, a Chinese warrior of high rank
waited to greet us. Thereupon he wheeled round and galloped off as fast
as his horse would bear him to inform his commander of our approach.
Stumbling over rubbish heaps, between half-ruined and half-built
houses, but also between blossoming gardens, our horses bore us towards
the town. There apish Mongolian faces grinned at us, and appallingly
ugly women outraged my sense of beauty. Our cavalcade drew up in
front of the Governor’s house, and we craved admission at the broad
portal. Opposite it rose a wall of beautiful workmanship, with some
strange animal figure in the centre; while to right and left on the
ground lay some Chinese instruments of torture. An official of the
house bade us enter, but indicated at the same time that the Cossacks
and Kirghiz were to remain outside. The governor received us with the
greatest solemnity in what seemed at once his sitting-room, office,
and court of justice. Preserving all the dignity of a high mandarin,
sparse of speech, in fact, uttering but a few disjointed words, always
accompanied, however, with a cheerful, grinning smile, he gave us his
hand, and bade us sit down at the breakfast-table. This gave promise
of tea, and bore innumerable small dishes with strange delicacies, and
“we raised our hands to the daintily prepared meal”. The food consisted
of rice, various fruits dried and preserved in oil, slices of ham as
thin as parchment, dried shrimp-tails, and a multitude of unknown, or,
at any rate, unrecognizable tit-bits and sweets; the drinks consisted
of excellent tea and sickeningly sweet rice-brandy of the strength
of spirits of wine. After the meal, which I, at least, managed to
get through with impunity, having fortified myself beforehand with a
substantial snack of a less doubtful kind, the hookahs were produced,
and we were shown various intelligible and unintelligible objects
of interest in that room and the one adjoining. Among these were
landscapes and pictures of animals, commendatory letters from the
government, the great seal of state wrapped up with comical carefulness
in brightly coloured silk, extraordinary arrows of an import which only
a Chinese mind can fathom, samples of European industry, and so forth.
The conversation was extremely limited, and unspeakably dignified. Our
addresses had to be translated from French to Russian, from Russian to
Kirghiz, and from Kirghiz into Chinese; and the answers had to pass
through the reverse process. Little wonder, then, that the speeches
acquired a tone of great solemnity! After breakfast some Chinese
archers came in to display their warlike valour and skill; thereafter
the Jandsun himself in all his glory led us to his kitchen-garden
to let us taste its produce. At length he bade us farewell, and we
rode again through the streets and markets of the town, and found
hospitality in the house of a Tartar, where we enjoyed an excellent
meal, especially graced by the presence of a young wife, as pretty as a
picture, who was summoned to the men’s apartments to do us honour. It
was towards sunset that we left the town, which is not without historic
interest.