it is to poetry. This explains why so few Kirghiz are able to write,
and why there is so little written literature. Only the sons of the
wealthiest and highest in rank among them are taught to read and write.
In the two schools founded by the government in Ustkamenegorsk and
Zaizan Kirghiz boys are taught,--indeed, they only are admitted to
that in the first-named town,--but the influence of these institutions
does not reach to the heart of the steppe. There a boy only learns if
he happens to come in contact with a mollah who has as much desire
to teach as the boy has to learn. But even then his instruction is
confined to the simplest things, and consists chiefly in learning to
read and form Arabic characters. The contents of the principal, if not
the only text-book, the Koran, are not usually intelligible to the
mollah himself; he reads the sentences without knowing their meaning. I
have only known one Kirghiz who understood Arabic, and he was a sultan.
Everyone else who was distinguished above his fellows by his knowledge
of the sacred writings, and who, as a faithful adherent of Islam,
performed the five prescribed prayers, understood at most the words
of the call to prayer and of the first sentences of the Koran; the
rest he repeated with the seriousness of all Mohammedans, but without
understanding the meaning. And yet I was deeply impressed when, in the
midst of the vast steppe, where no minaret towered up towards heaven,
the voice of the mueddin uttered the call to prayer, and the faithful
knelt in long rows behind the Iman or leader, and pressed their
foreheads to the ground in prayer, as the law of the Prophet ordains.
The consciousness of strength and dexterity, of skill in riding
and hunting, of poetic talent and general mental activity, and the
feeling of independence and freedom caused by the vastness of the
steppe gives confidence and dignity to the bearing of the Kirghiz.
The impression he makes upon an unprejudiced observer is therefore a
very favourable one, and it increases the more intimately one becomes
acquainted with him. So it was in my case, and it is also the opinion
of Russians who have associated with Kirghiz for years, in particular,
of the government officials, and of other travellers who have lived
among them. It is scarcely too much to say that the Kirghiz possesses
very many good qualities and very few bad ones, or reveals very few
to strangers. Mentally wide-awake, shrewd, vivacious, intelligent
where things known to him are concerned, good-humoured, obliging,
courteous, kindly, hospitable and compassionate, he is, of his kind,
a most excellent man, whose bad qualities one can easily overlook
if one studies him without prejudice. He is polite without being
servile, treats those above him respectfully but without cringing,
those beneath him affably but not contemptuously. He usually hesitates
a little before replying to a question, but his answer is quiet and
clear, and his sharply-accented way of speaking gives it an expression
of definiteness. He is obliging towards everyone, but does more from
ambition than from hope of gain, more to earn praise and approval than
money or money’s worth. The District Governor, Tamar Bey Metikoff, who
gave us his escort for almost a month, was the most obliging, polite,
kindly man under the sun, always ready to fulfil a wish of ours,
untiring in our service or for our benefit, and all this solely in the
hope of gaining our approval and that of the Governor-general. He told
us so in the clearest language when we tried to force presents upon him.
In harmony with such ambition is the pride of the higher-class Kirghiz
in his descent and family. He boasts of distant ancestors, and
occasionally traces back his pedigree to Chingis-Khan, only marries
with those of equally good birth, suffers no spot on his honour, and
forgives no insult to it. But in addition, he exhibits a personal
vanity which one would scarcely expect of him. Not only authority and
wealth, dignity and rank, but youth and beauty are, in his eyes, gifts
to be highly esteemed. But he differs from many handsome young men
among us in that he never descends to coxcombry. He boasts openly and
without reserve of the gifts bestowed on him by nature or acquired by
his own skill, but such boasting is quite natural to him, and is not
distorted by any show of false modesty. As far as his means will permit
he clothes himself richly, ornamenting his coat and trousers with
braiding, his fur cap with the feathers of the horned owl; but he never
becomes a mere dandy. The women, as may be imagined, are still more
anxious to set their charms in the best possible light, and I was not
at all surprised to learn that they prepare from the juice of a certain
root a delicate, fragrant, and lasting colouring which they apply to
their cheeks--in other words, that they paint their faces.
As a natural outcome of his desire to please, the Kirghiz gives a
willing adherence to all the manners and customs of his people. His
culture and good breeding manifest themselves chiefly in a strict
observance of all those customs which have been handed down to him from
the past, and have been materially influenced by Islam. This implies a
certain formality and ceremoniousness in all mutual intercourse, but it
also puts a check on undue arrogance, and banishes everything unseemly,
almost everything awkward, from their social relations, for everyone
knows exactly what he has to do to avoid giving offence or making
himself disagreeable.
Even mutual greeting is attended with a certain amount of ceremony
which is observed by everyone, and is therefore, of course, quite
clearly defined. If two parties of Kirghiz meet, a considerable time is
always taken up in the exchange of greetings. The members of both bands
simultaneously lay their right hands over the region of the heart, and
stretch the left hand towards the right of the other, whereupon each
draws his right hand from his heart and joins it with the left, so
that now for an instant all four hands are in contact. At the moment
of embracing, both pronounce the Arabic word “Amán” (peace), while
beforehand they exchanged the usual Mohammedan greeting, “Salám alëik”
or “alëikum” (Peace be with thee, or with you), and the reply, “Alëikum
el salám”. In this manner every member of one band greets every member
of the other; both bands, therefore, when they meet, range themselves
in rows, along which one after another runs hastily, so as to give the
temporarily-restrained “red tongue” its full freedom as quickly as
possible. The shorter method, which, however, is only used in the case
of large gatherings, is to stretch out the hands towards each other and
clasp them together.
If the Kirghiz visit each other in their auls, another form has to be
gone through before the customary greeting takes place. Within sight
of the yurt the approaching visitors rein in their horses, walk them
for a little, and finally stand still. At this sign some one comes to
meet them from the aul, greets them, and conducts them to the yurt,
which the women have in the meantime decorated by spreading out their
most valuable rugs. Strangers who are unknown in the aul must, before
greeting, answer inquiries as to their name, station, and whence they
have come; but they are received and hospitably treated in any case,
for the Kirghiz shows hospitality towards everyone, irrespective of
station and religion, though he always prefers distinguished guests.
The guest enters the yurt with the customary greeting, pulls off his
shoes at the door, but of course keeps on his soft riding-boots. If
he is of equal standing with his host, he sits down in the place of
honour; but if of humbler degree, he keeps modestly in the background,
and lets himself down on the rug in a kneeling posture.
In honour of an esteemed guest the host orders a sheep to be killed,
but has it first brought to the yurt to be blessed by the guest. At
this sign all the neighbours assemble to take part in the sumptuous
feast. The head and breast of the sheep are roasted on the spit, the
rest of the flesh is cut into pieces and boiled in a cauldron, and
loin, ribs, shoulders, and haunches, whenever they are cooked, are
set before the guest in a vessel. The guest washes his hands, cuts
the flesh from the bones, dips it in the salt broth, and says to the
host, who has till then remained standing, “It is only through the host
that the meat gains flavour; sit down”; but the host replies, “Thanks,
thanks, but eat”, and does not at once accept the invitation of the
guest. Thereupon the latter cuts a piece from the ribs, calls the host
to him, and puts it into his mouth; then cutting a second piece, he
lays it in a bowl and hands it to the housewife. The host then sits
down, but it is still the guest who distributes the meat to the members
of the company. He cuts it into pieces of a convenient size for the
mouth, mixes them with fat, dips three of them at a time into the
broth, and puts them into the mouth of one of his fellow-feasters after
another. It would be an insult to the giver if the receiver did not at
once swallow the pieces, even though, if they be large, he chokes so
frightfully that he becomes blue in the face, and urgently requires the
assistance, which his neighbours immediately give by striking him on
the back with their fists, to render the process of swallowing easier.
The guest, on the other hand, must never give more than three pieces,
for if he exceeds this number, if he stuffs five at a time into the
mouth of a man, and if the man is choked in the attempt to swallow
the too generous gift at once, the giver must compensate the bereaved
family to the value of one hundred horses, while if anyone chokes over
the three pieces, he is not held responsible. After the meat has been
consumed, the chief guest hands round the vessel containing the broth,
and each drinks from it according to his necessities or desires. At
the close of the meal, though not until all have washed their hands,
every well-to-do host, whose mares are yielding milk at the time, hands
round koumiss, and this much-loved beverage is received by everyone
with obvious reverence. If anyone has not yet taken part in the meal,
he comes now to refresh himself with this nectar. They drink to
intoxication, for the Kirghiz has as great a capacity for drinking this
highly-prized milk-wine as he has for eating, and in both respects he
is anything but modest or moderate.
But the ceremony attending ordinary visiting is nothing compared with
that observed in connection with all important family events, such as
weddings or burials. In the case of the former, the joy finds vent
in much practical joking; in the latter, mourning is accompanied by
ceremonies indicative of respect to the dead. Wooing and weddings,
burial and memorial celebrations give rise to a whole chain of
festivals.
As among all Mohammedans, the father woos on behalf of his son, and
pays the future father-in-law a varying, and often very considerable
sum. A matrimonial agent, who is proclaimed as such by the fact that he
wears one leg of his trousers over and the other under his boot, makes
his appearance in the yurt in which a daughter is blossoming into
womanhood, and prefers a request for her in the name of the father of a
marriageable youth. If the bride’s father is agreeable, he demands that
the sender of the message, with the elders of his aul, shall come to
treat with him on the subject. These comply, and, according to custom,
rein in their horses within sight of the aul. A messenger from the
bride’s father rides to meet them, greets them formally, and conducts
them to the festive yurt decorated in their honour. There they are at
once regaled with koumiss, and a bard arrives to contribute to their
entertainment. He is rewarded by loud applause, and incited to further
effort by magnificent promises. They praise the depth of his thought,
the finished style of his execution; they promise him a horse, an
_Iamba_, or four pounds of uncoined silver as his reward. The master of
the yurt protests against this, insisting that he alone has the right
to reward the singer; but the guests promise so much the more, for they
know that their host will not permit the fulfilment of their promises.
When the song is ended a lively conversation takes place between
the host and his neighbours and guests; they talk about everything
imaginable except the object of the visit, and at length they disperse,
and the guests ride to their homes again.
The next morning the father of the bride with his train return the
visit, and after being greeted and feasted in the same manner, request
to see the young man’s mother. They at once repair to the yurt of
the housewife, and greet her with much ceremony and courtesy. Then
the father produces the roasted brisket of a sheep, and distributes
pieces of this much-prized meat to his guests with the words, “Let this
sheep’s breast be a pledge that our plans will be successfully carried
out”. Then begins a discussion over the amount of the “kalüm” or price
to be paid for the bride. A mare of from three to five years of age is
the unit of calculation; an ambler or a camel is considered equivalent
to five mares, and six or seven sheep or goats make up the value of one.
The bride’s father demands 77 mares, but lets himself be beaten down to
57, 47, 37, 27, according to his means and those of the bridegroom’s
father. If both are poor they come even farther down till they are
agreed. As soon as the bargain is concluded, the bride’s father
declares the betrothal fixed, and prepares to go, leaving a present in
or before the yurt. But the bridegroom’s father, if it is possible at
all, sends half the kalüm with him, and pays the remaining half as soon
as may be.
A fortnight after payment of the kalüm, the bridegroom is at liberty
to visit his bride for the first time. Accompanied by as many friends
of his own age as possible, he sets out under the guidance of an older
friend of the family, who is familiar with all the customs to be
observed, but he dismounts in the neighbourhood of the bride’s aul,
erects a small tent, and retires into it, or conceals himself in some
other way. His followers go on to the aul, and, after having been
ceremoniously welcomed, enter it and distribute, amid much jesting, all
sorts of little presents, rings, necklaces, sweets, ribbons, and pieces
of coloured cloth, among the crowd of women and children. Then they
enter the festive yurt with all the young people of both sexes. The
host provides meat and drink; first, the breast of a sheep, which he
cuts with the words already mentioned, then “meibaur”--small pieces of
the heart, liver, and kidneys smeared with fat. The dishes are placed
before the elderly leader of the party, who, as chief guest, proceeds
in the manner before described, but as he puts the pieces into the
mouth of the first young man, he smears his face with the fat broth.
This is the signal for the beginning of all manner of practical jokes,
and the youths, maidens, and younger women indulge in them freely. A
very common one among the girls is to sew the clothing of the young men
with rapid stitches to the rugs on which they are sitting.
When the meal is over the youthful guests are allowed a short interval
of repose, but only to give them time to collect their ideas. Then
the girls and women challenge the young men to a singing competition,
and giving them the place of honour, sit down opposite them; then one
begins her song. It fares ill with the youth whom she addresses if he
is not ready with his reply. The merry troop falls upon him, they nip
him and pinch him, drive him from the yurt, and hand him over to the
young men of the aul, who are congregated outside on the watch for such
victims. A bucket of water is poured over the unfortunate blunderer,
and thus bathed and humiliated, he is led back to the yurt to undergo
another trial. If he fails in this also he is condemned to be dressed
as a woman, and put in the pillory. Woe to him if he is thin-skinned,
it will be a day of torture for him. Joking is the order of the day,
and no surly person will be tolerated. Whoever can best enter into the
spirit of it is the hero of the day; whoever is unable to take his
share is the general sacrificial lamb.
During these amusements the bride sits concealed behind a curtain in
the back of the yurt. The young people of the aul take advantage of her
solitude to steal her away, while the bridegroom’s friends are occupied
with the singing competition. They make an opening between the pieces
of felt covering the yurt, drag her through it, put her on horseback,
and carry her off unresisting to the yurt of one of her relatives,
where she is given into the hands of the assembled older women. If the
robbery succeeds, the robber challenges the youths to find the bride
and to deliver her from the women. The company hastily breaks up, and
they beg her guardians to restore the bride to them. But, however
persuasive their words may be, their request is refused. The bride sits
before their eyes in a yurt from which a portion of the felt cover has
been removed, but violence is out of the question, so the youths begin
to bargain. The women demand nine different dishes prepared by the
young men’s own hands, but, after a time, they agree to accept nine
gifts instead, and they give up the bride, stipulating that she shall
be taken back to her father’s yurt.
Meanwhile the bridegroom sits waiting in his tent. He has not been
quite alone, for some of the young married women had gone to seek him
as soon as his companions arrived, and had been received by him with
a respectful greeting called “taschim”. He had bowed so low before
them that his finger-tips had touched the ground, and had then raised
himself slowly, letting his hands glide up his shins until he had
reached his full height; the women had accepted his homage, and had
borne him company all day, giving him food and drink, and whiling away
the time with talk and jesting, but not allowing him to leave the
tent. Not before sundown, and only after much coaxing does he receive
permission to sing a song within the aul and before the bride’s
yurt. He mounts his horse, rides into the aul, sings his greeting to
the inhabitants, and, stopping before the yurt of his bride-elect,
expresses his lover’s plaint in a song, original or otherwise.
Sweetheart, my love brings me dule and pain,
For it’s thrice that I’ve tried to win thee;
Thou would’st not waken; my heart is fain;
For it’s thrice thou would’st not hear me.
But late in night, when the camels rest,
All fixed by their hairy tether,
My heart shall fly to its own warm nest,
Our hearts shall be one together.
Let me but see thy face, sweetheart,
And I shall be brave and strong;
Thou hast stolen away my peace, sweetheart,
And left me with only a song.
I pray for a draught of koumiss, love,
For dry and parched is my soul;
Thou wilt hearken and give me bliss, love,
And make my bleeding heart whole.
But should all my pleading tease thee,
And thine ear be deaf to my song,
The friends will help me to please thee,
And the wedding shall be ere long.
Without entering the yurt he returns to his tent. Soon an old woman
comes to him and promises that she will take him to the bride if he
will make her a present. He at once agrees, and they set out together.
But they do not attain their object without having to overcome various
obstacles. Another woman lays the fork which is used to lift the ring
of the yurt to its place, across his path; to step over it would be
unlucky, for the person who laid it down must take it away again. A
gift overcomes this difficulty, but a second is met with very soon. A
woman, apparently dead, lies on the path; but a second gift calls the
dead to life again, and the way is clear to within a short distance of
the yurt. But there stands a figure which snarls like a dog. Shall it
be said that the dog snarled at the bridegroom? Never! A third gift
closes the snarling mouth, and the much-tried youth reaches the yurt
without further hindrances. Two women keep the door shut, but do not
refuse to open it when a gift is offered; within, two others hold the
curtain fast; on the bride’s couch lies her younger sister; but he
succeeds in getting rid of them all; the yurt is almost empty; the old
woman lays the bridegroom’s hands in those of the bride and leaves
them. At last they are alone together.
Under the supervision of the old woman, who is called “dyenke”, the
bridegroom visits the bride many times, without, however, presenting
himself before her parents until what remains of the kalüm is paid.
Then he sends a messenger to the bride’s father to ask if he may take
his bride to his own yurt. Permission is given, and the bridegroom
sets out for the aul, once more with a large following and many gifts,
pitches his tent at a suitable distance, receives visits from the women
as before, spends the night alone in the tent, and, next morning, sends
from it to the aul all the necessary woodwork for the erection of a
yurt, which he has to provide. Thereupon the women assemble and hastily
finish the sewing together of the felt covering supplied by the bride,
if it is not already done, and then they set to work to erect the new
yurt. The favourite woman of the aul has the honour of lifting the
roof-ring, and holding it in position until the spars are fitted into
it; the others share the rest of the work of setting up and covering
it. While this is going on the bridegroom makes his appearance; the
bride, too, is brought upon the scene, and both are told to walk from
their places to the yurt to decide the great question as to who shall
be supreme within it. The mastery will fall to the lot of the one who
reaches it first.
A sheep brought by the bridegroom has been slaughtered, and a meal
prepared to be eaten within the new yurt. During the course of the
meal, the young master wraps up a bone in a piece of white cloth, and
throws it, without looking upwards, through the hole at the top of the
yurt into the open air. If he succeeds in doing so, it is a sign that
the smoke from this yurt will always rise straight to heaven, which
betokens happiness and prosperity for the inhabitants.
After the preliminary repast in the new yurt, the guests repair to that
of the bride’s father, where a second meal awaits them. The younger
people remain in the new yurt, and for them the bride’s mother prepares
food and drink; and she must provide it bountifully, lest the young
people should break up the light structure over their heads, and, to
punish her niggardliness, scatter its parts in all directions far away
in the steppe. Not even the abundantly filled dish itself is safe from
the boisterous spirits of these unruly wedding guests; one of them
pulls it from the hostess, and rides away with it; others attempt to
catch him and secure the spoil, and so the fun goes on till the dishes
are in danger of becoming cold.
The following morning the bride’s father asks for the first time to see
the bridegroom, invites him to his yurt, greets him warmly, praises his
looks and talents, wishes him happiness in his married life, and gives
him all sorts of presents as the bride’s dowry. This takes place in
the presence of the whole company who had assembled in the yurt before
the bridegroom’s entrance. Finally, the richly adorned bride enters it
also. If there is a mollah in the aul, or if one can be procured, he
pronounces a blessing over the young pain.
Then the farewell song, the “jar-jar”, is sung to the bride, and, with
tearful eyes, she responds to every verse, every strophe, with the
lament of departing brides.
When this is at an end, camels are brought up to be loaded with the
yurt and the bridal presents, and gaily caparisoned horses to carry the
bride and her mother to the bridegroom’s aul. The young man himself
rides in advance of the procession, and, assisted by his companions,
he urges the camels to their utmost speed, so as to have time to erect
the yurt in his aul with the same ceremonies as had been previously
observed. The bride, having taken tearful leave of her father,
relatives, and companions, the yurt, and the herds and flocks, rides
closely veiled by a curtain which completely envelopes her, and which
is carried by her attendant riders, till she reaches the yurt in which
she is henceforth to reign as mistress. Her father-in-law, who has
meantime inspected the dowry, and praised or found fault with it,
calls her soon after her arrival to his yurt, and she enters it with
three such deep inclinations, that she is obliged to support herself by
laying her hands on her knees; these are to signify that she will be
as obedient to her father and mother-in-law as to her lord and master.
During this greeting, her face remains veiled, as it does thenceforward
before her father and brothers-in-law, and for a year before every
stranger. Later, she veils herself in the presence of her husband’s
eldest brother, but of no one else, for she must marry the brother if
her husband dies, and she must not rouse or foster evil desires in his
heart.
[Illustration: Fig. 73.--Frolics at a Kirghiz Wedding.]