A PERILOUS NIGHT ADVENTURE ON THE STEPPE OF OMSK.
An ostentatious Siberian custom--The steppe--The cemeteries
--Omsk--Its situation--Its society--The emancipation of
the serfs related by a citizen--M. Kroupinikof--Visit to an
encampment of Kirghiz--Masquerade at Omsk.
We left Tumen about eight o’clock in the morning. Constantine,
thoroughly familiar with Siberian customs, had put into the sledge
several bottles of champagne, to provide for what was about to take
place. The precaution was good, but the supply, alas! insufficient.
To open a bottle of champagne is in Siberia the greatest luxury that
can be paraded before admiring eyes. This is the consequence of its
high price and the caprice of fashion. In America, it is said that “the
keeping of the proprieties is as indispensable as clean linen”[7];
here, perhaps, if doing _the right thing to do_ be considered as one
of them, the clean linen would have to give way to the proprieties. A
dinner, a fête, an anniversary, or any like ceremony in Siberia without
champagne, would be marked as being wanting in its most necessary
element; and it is certainly not here that common-sense is so robust
as to disregard the whimsical consensus of opinion that holds the
civilized world in subjection _à la mode_, from Indus to the Pole.
[7] Emerson.
About six hours after we had left Tumen, we arrived at a place where
we had to take different roads. M. Pfaffius, Mrs. Grant, and Madame
Nemptchinof, were going to take the road to Tomsk, whilst I had to
turn a little more to the south. In order to defeat this project, Mrs.
Grant had recourse to a little manœuvre, which very nearly turned
Constantine’s head. With a view to dissuading the latter from yielding
to my plan, Mrs. Grant had taken her place in the closed sledge of
Madame Nemptchinof; then she had arranged to bring Ivan and her young
companion together, by making them mount side by side. Constantine,
who was apparently smitten with the charms of the young English lady,
seeing her _en tête-à-tête_ with Ivan, seized a bottle of champagne,
and cutting the wire, directed the cork at his rival’s head, which
Miss Campbell carefully shielded with her great fur glove; then the
fire commenced on all sides, whilst I wondered what unseasonable
and scandalous bacchanals were about to be inaugurated with so much
uncorked wine. Happily, however, we tasted but a very moderate
quantity. Then all my companions, in conformity with an ostentatious
custom in Siberia, dismounted from their vehicles, each of them holding
two bottles, and, advancing before my horses a few paces, poured the
precious beverage on the snowy ground, just at the spot the skates of
my sledge were destined to pass over. I scrupulously performed the same
ceremony, a ceremony too solemn to be profaned with a laugh, which I
could hardly repress, and then I took leave of this very agreeable
caravan, but not without the prospect of meeting again, either at
Tomsk, Irkutsk, or Kiachta.
As we resumed our way, but now in different directions, I heard a few
more detonations of corks; and when the sound of the bells had died
away and all had vanished from sight, Constantine looked at me most
piteously. The _tête-à-tête_ had evidently left some rankling effect
in his breast that would have resisted any attempt at consolation had
I ventured on so delicate a task; for, as far as I could see, he had
received no encouragement whatever from Miss Campbell, and as, in
this instance, the wounds of self-esteem and slighted love could not
be salved with this same remedy, having no other to offer, I left the
malady to cure itself.
What struck me all at once on this route was its absolute solitude.
The carrying sledges bringing tea and other merchandise from China and
the products of the Trans-Baikal to Nijni-Novgorod avoid passing by
Omsk; it would be going out of the way to no purpose. It is therefore
a rare occurrence to fall in with a sledge in this district. The snow,
besides, is scarcely sufficiently beaten down to admit of an easy
march. Here, in the absence of such movement, one is oppressed with
an impression of wild waste, cheerless immensity, mournful silence.
Gradually, vegetation diminishes, becomes more scattered and stinted,
then disappears altogether, and the traveller enters at last on the
great steppes.
But how changed during summer! Then the steppe is an immense prairie,
whose rich, curly grass soothes the eye with its refreshing tint, and
protects the body from jolting with its luxuriant bed.
And in winter, it is a vast plain rendered level and white by the snow
with which it is covered. The French language, unfortunately, is here
again insufficient to explain in a word the character of its outline.
We call La Beauce a flat country; now the steppe in its snowy dress
is not like La Beauce; neither is it level like the Mediterranean in
calm weather, nor like the bed of a river. The surface of the steppe is
strictly horizontal throughout. But Providence--as if to compensate in
some measure to the eye of the artist for the absence of interesting
scenery--has diffused, it is true, over this bare country, some of
the finest effects of light with which any land is beautified and
resplendent. And yet, in spite of this attraction, however varying and
diversified, its joyless aspect preys on the mind of the traveller who
enters on such a desert.
We had passed Ischim at nine in the morning; about five in the evening,
we had again changed horses, when it was quite dark, and wearied with
fatigue, I had fallen asleep. Suddenly I was awoke with a start by a
fearful shock that had as suddenly roused Constantine. Our yemschik
had gone astray in this frightful wilderness. The absence of the moon
and the veiling of the stars with heavy snow clouds were together the
cause of this misadventure. His fear of being underrated, and perhaps
of animadversion, had hindered him from avowing immediately his
awkwardness and blundering, and for three hours at least, he had been
wandering about, where chance led him, with the hope of finding his way
again--a hope poor indeed when he had lost all idea of direction and
every vestige of landmark. The fall into a pit, concealed by the snow,
which we had just experienced, obliged him now to avow his blunder.
Constantine and I unrolled ourselves from our blankets, got down, and
set to work, with lantern in hand, to find the road. On looking round,
we contemplated the spectacle of our sledge and horses almost buried in
the snow, and it was one of dire significance. Of the sledge the only
part visible was the hood, and of the horses little more than their
shoulders and heads.
Sinking ourselves up to the waist, and consequently unable to move one
foot before the other without great effort, having to battle besides
against the violent cutting wind loaded with the snow it had swept up
in its passage and hurled in our faces, we struggled thus desperately
to see a few paces, as much as we could hope to see before us, but to
no purpose, and were forced to return to our sledge in despair, to
breathe again and recover a little more strength.
[Illustration: PERILOUS ADVENTURE ON THE STEPPE OF OMSK.]
After an hour of this painful work, we were no more enlightened as to
the way we should take than at first, and, moreover, we were exhausted.
Over the land there was not a vestige of anything but the snow to
be seen; for at a short distance all around there was nothing but
darkness, impenetrable; not a star in the sky was visible, not a sound
in the air audible, to induce us to risk the chance of attempting
one direction in preference to another. The situation was portentously
critical, and, unless we would resign ourselves then to our fate, it
was necessary to make a supreme effort. In this dilemma we consulted
together as to what expedient we should next try. This decided on,
the yemschik unharnessed one of the horses with the object of riding
as quickly as possible in search of some village, and began, with a
lantern in one hand, leading the horse with the other, to discover
afoot some trace of the way from which he had strayed.
We watched him struggling with the elements till the last beam of
light died away; then Constantine and I, thrown back on ourselves in
the darkness--a night with no day near at hand, and a solitude without
refuge or clear prospect of retreat--had little to contemplate but our
dismay. We thought of our poor horses exposed without movement, of
our inability to relieve them from the cold, and, seeing how utterly
helpless we were, we wrapped ourselves in our furs and blankets and
re-entered our shelter. There we made some effort to cheer each other.
We saw passing, in imagination, caravans of Kirghiz, from whom we
were, in reality, not distant, and we fancied ourselves led prisoners
into the heart of Tartary, in some wild lawless territory not yet
brought under subjection. We saw also--but this time it was not a
vision--five or six packs of wolves prowling around our poor beasts,
watching for a meal if they should be dying or dead, but, happily,
these prowlers scampered away at the sound of my revolver. The first
shot was not without a moment of terror, for I was not at all assured
that the result would not be disastrous. Having my rifle packed up in
my trunk through not having foreseen what was likely to come to pass, I
found myself absolutely defenceless, in case they should be emboldened,
in the lonely position we were, to join in a united attack. Retreat we
had none, except behind the canvas; we might close in front; but how
long would this resist their assault, met with the shot of a single
revolver? Their disappearance therefore was hailed with joy.
Many tedious hours thus passed away, and, since our thoughts were
occupied in waiting for the return of our man, who might bring us
the relief we had not yet despaired of, every hour passed seemed in
the aggregate as many nights in succession. He had long been absent,
when I began to be tormented with a suspicion of his fidelity. If we
ever stirred from the spot and should be fortunate enough to reach the
first village, might he not there expect a severe chastisement for the
serious consequences of his culpable neglect, involving perhaps the
loss of the horses, from which he might think to escape with impunity
by leaving us to our fate? Then we thought of the small store of
provisions we had brought with us; and, determined not to surrender
ourselves yet to our prospective fate of desertion and protracted
hunger and cold, I proposed to Constantine to descend and follow on
foot the footsteps of the yemschik, with the hope of extricating
ourselves from our perilous position.
We had got out, and were on the point of putting our project into
execution, when we perceived, to our horror, that no track could be
found. The blast had been strong enough to sweep the snow across the
path he had taken; no depression, however slight, was visible; every
vestige of a footprint had been effaced. To wander from where we were,
we should be speedily lost; to remain on the spot, our fate seemed not
less inevitable, but as we had some provisions and shelter, it would be
prolonged, and the return of day might bring us rescue. “Let us wait
daybreak,” said Constantine; “then perhaps we may catch a glimpse of
our man in the distance, if he is still alive; for at this moment, if
he has not succeeded, he must have given up further searching.”
We had been an hour, I thought, so well as I could conjecture time,
sitting side by side in the vehicle, when I fancied my ears caught the
sound of cries in the distance. But it was so feeble, that I trembled
lest my excited imagination should have deceived me. I replied,
however, though my voice was too weak, and Constantine refused to join
his to mine. I thought he had resigned himself to his fate; but it was
fear, overpowering fear that closed his throat. He yielded at last to
my entreaties, and then voices in response, the last glimmer of hope,
seemed really approaching.
After a little while, we attempted to shout more intelligibly a few
words, and then came replies. At last, to our infinite joy, we saw our
liberators. They were coming in great number and with many horses, to
rescue us from our impending fate.
No mariner lingering on a wreck and watching for rescue, in any sign
of movement on a lonely shore, could have hailed deliverers with more
exultation. Our spirits mounted now in proportion to their recent
depression. We joked pretty freely on the stupidity of our yemschik,
whom his comrades now turned into ridicule. The two poor beasts, that
remained harnessed to the sledge, paid dearly for this adventure. When
they attempted to drag them out of the hollow, they were rigid and
benumbed with the cold; they could not follow us a single pace, and
Constantine understood at once that these men had decided on putting an
end to their suffering.
Daylight had just appeared, when we made our entry into the village.
All the inhabitants having heard of the great peril we had encountered,
ran out to see us pass, and bowed and made the sign of the cross to
the great St. Sergius and the Virgin of Kazan in expression of their
gratitude for our deliverance.
Our journey continued this day without any particular incident; the
reflection on that of the preceding night, and the congratulation on
our narrow escape from such peril, were sufficient to engross our
thoughts. The aspect of this great desert, covering the vestiges of
many an untold catastrophe with its snowy shroud, made me tremble
at the remembrance of it; and I have often thought since that if
our yemschik had not come to our succour in time, the only abode he
would have had to conduct us to would have been a cemetery. In the
steppe, the resting places of the dead are the only spots planted with
trees, and, on that account, are seen at a great distance. They bring
to these melancholy spots birch trees from Krasnoiarsk, at a great
expense, and these little groups of white trunks, glittering in the
sunbeams, become so many landmarks for the lonely wanderer. They give
also to this desolate spot, from one point of view, notwithstanding
the mournful association from another, an aspect of calm joyfulness,
when the solemnity of the scene draws the thoughts nearer to hope and
resurrection, rather than to despair and definitive annihilation. When
the sky is clear and the cold intense, these cemeteries on the steppes
are radiant with reflected beams, even where everything is luminous in
the immensity around.
The following morning when I awoke at daybreak, I found we were
stopping on the way. I opened the canvas curtain that closed in the
front of the sledge, to ascertain if we were still on the road, and
finding that we were, I could not help laughing at the situation
we were in. The scenery had not changed; it was still the steppe,
and nothing but the steppe around in view; but our driver was in a
profound slumber, with his head resting on our provisions; the horses
also, feeling themselves allowed to have their own way, were standing
stock-still, and probably were slumbering also; but as to Constantine
there was no doubt, for his snoring, loud enough “to frighten the
wolves,” proclaimed his happy condition, and considering the exhausting
effect of the emotions he must have experienced, I was at first loth
to rouse him. Still this indulgence could not go on very long with the
prospect of a journey of eighteen hundred leagues before us, and having
contemplated a few moments the drollery of this quiescent attitude--a
drollery all the more irresistible from contrast with the seriousness
of the situation--I resolved to wake him and accordingly did so as
gently as possible. Now fully roused from his drowsiness, he regarded
the driver a moment with irritation, and then, instead of employing
the bland proceeding I had adopted towards him, commenced pommelling
the yemschik’s head with his fist, the only efficacious method, he
suggested, for a skull so thick. The horses now, in their turn, were
quickly set going with means still more energetic and as we whisked
briskly along in the fresh morning air, I admired with rapture those
sublime changes of light that invariably accompany the rising of the
sun in a cloudless sky in these latitudes, and their reflection in
paler tints successively passing over the surface of the snow.
At last, after this eventful course, we arrived at Omsk, in a cutting
atmosphere of forty-five degrees,[8] an intensity of cold that scarcely
diminished during the remainder of my sojourn in Siberia.
[8] Nearly 50° of Fahrenheit’s scale below the lowest temperature
indicated thereon, = 82° below freezing point.
Many geographers erroneously represent Tobolsk to be the capital of
Siberia, but the honour belongs to Irkutsk. Tobolsk is not even the
seat of a Government, for Omsk is the capital of Western Siberia.
I needed but a very short stay at Omsk to congratulate myself on having
chosen my route by this city. This fortified place, for such it is, is
situated on the top of a little hill, on the borders of the Irtish. The
view, therefore, is commanding over this river; then beyond, over its
opposite bank, which is marked by a mound, the steppe stretches away
in front and on the right and left till lost to sight in the horizon.
The steppe, viewed from this point, has not the same uniformity to
the eye which I before mentioned. The snow takes here and there tints
so distinct and dissimilar, and these are ever varying with such
inimitable beauty and artistic combination, that the steppe seen from
Omsk is lovelier, more diversified, and more imposing even than the
sea. A Frenchman, whom I have already mentioned, and in whose company
I have spent hours in contemplating this magnificent spectacle without
ever tiring of it, told me that, during summer, the steppe was still
more interesting. The grass, he said, takes changing hues so deep as
to be almost black; then it seems that instead of a boundless green
sward, there is a vast gulf of immeasurable depth yawning before the
spectator; and then, perhaps, an hour afterwards, according to the
position of the sun and the state of the firmament, an illimitable
field of brilliant verdure rises under the eye, and replaces, as if
by enchantment, the mysterious gloom of the bottomless abyss by the
inspiring gaiety of a vernal landscape.
The steppe, to the inhabitants of Omsk, is as the desert to the
wandering Bedouin, the sea to the navigator, the Alps to the Swiss.
They search in its changing aspects for prognostics of the weather,
and these determine their daily movements. At Omsk, the people have
a strong attachment to the steppe; it furnishes abundant pasture to
the flocks and herds, and an exciting hunting ground to these ardent
lovers of the chase, who find here no lack of wild animals. The public
fêtes take place here, and the promenade is in view of the steppe.
To go on the steppe, or merely to see it, constitutes, in fact, the
chief occupation of life for the inhabitants of Omsk, and, indeed, when
one has once seen the steppe, it is not difficult to conceive this
passionate attachment; as for myself, who had very narrowly escaped
leaving my bones to bleach there on its snowy bed, and on that account,
perhaps, should have been repelled from it rather than attracted to it,
I was probably more enthusiastic over its charms than anybody, and it
was with regret and tender melancholy that I was obliged to withdraw
from the contemplation of a spectacle so truly magnificent and sublime.
Society in Siberian cities is composed of functionaries, who are deemed
the aristocracy, and traders and miners. At Omsk only is there found
a third element, a real middle class of retired citizens, that is to
say, men who, having made their fortunes, devote their time to study or
amusement.
The first of these citizens to whom I was introduced having spoken very
favourably of the decree of the emancipation of the serfs, I mentioned
to him the conversation I had with the old aristocrat of Kazan. “This
gentleman has not told you,” he said, “all the vexatious proceedings
that the serfs were constantly obliged to submit to by their lords, and
the extortions of which they were the victims. He has not told you that
the serfs never had the right to quit the land of their lord, how many
cudgellings they may have been made to undergo, and how often the lords
gambled away between one another, on the throw of a die, a property
consisting of five or six families. He has not said a word about the
manœuvre of the lords, who, being obliged every year to abandon to
the service of the Emperor a certain number of their vassals, choose,
as might be expected, the least vigorous, who, notwithstanding the
feeble state of their health, become soldiers for life. Certainly,”
he continued, “we do not yet enjoy complete liberty; we cannot quit
Russian territory before having complied with the requirements of the
military law; we can change neither religion nor country; but after
all, every one is treated alike, and the sovereignty of the Emperor is
not to be compared with the vexatious seigniory of the lords.”
It will require, certainly, great address for the Czar to introduce,
without violent transition or revolution, the necessary liberal
reforms. It is to be hoped he may succeed, thanks to the fetishism that
surrounds his person. He puts, perhaps, a little too much confidence
in the ever-increasing power of the trading class, the possessors of
the great wealth of the country, who are still devoted to the Emperor,
on account of their hatred to the aristocracy, but who might well turn
against their benefactor so soon as they found themselves in a position
sufficiently strong.
Another citizen of Omsk entertained me with his views on another
subject, not less interesting. It was M. Kroupinikoff, who had been
fifteen years among the Kirghiz, as Government official, charged with a
difficult duty.
The Kirghiz, whose territory is subjected to the Czar, have,
nevertheless, remained in their wild state, and with a longing to
recover sooner or later their lost national independence. In order to
prevent them from uniting anywhere in great masses, the Government has
assigned to each tribe a zone, and they are interdicted from going
beyond this limit under penalty of death.
It was M. Kroupinikoff’s duty to take care that every Kirghiz kept
within the bounds of his respective territory.
To accomplish this difficult and dangerous task, he had but an
insufficient escort. “To give you an instance,” he said, “I was
attacked and made a prisoner by these wild people, and I don’t know
what would have happened if I had not fortunately made my escape,
and, indeed, without horse and almost without anything to eat. This
enterprise, probably, is much more hazardous for me than another
to sojourn among the Kirghiz, whose character on the whole is not
ferocious. What they detested in me was the functionary, and not the
man.
“For a period of fourteen days and fourteen nights, I was exposed to
the rigorous cold on the steppe, wandering on foot, amid deep snow. I
was suffering from hunger, and yet hardly dared to touch a morsel of
the food I had succeeded in bringing with me, for fear the last crumb
should disappear long before I should be able to drag myself as far as
Omsk. But I arrived in a state painful even to remember; for it was in
this adventure that I was seized with the malady with which, you see,
I am now tormented, without a hope of ever being cured.” This poor man,
indeed, had a nervous trembling from head to foot, that did not allow
him a moment’s repose, the bare contemplation of which was sufficient
at the first glance to make one shudder.
“If you like, monsieur,” he politely offered, “I will take you to see
a Kirghiz encampment I know, not very far from here; I shall be most
happy to have a little excursion in your company; that will recall
my old occupations.” I accepted his proposal gladly, and early the
following morning we left in a sledge, and took our way towards the
south.
The Kirghiz anciently formed a part of the great Mohammedan family,
and roved along the flowery banks of the Tigris and the Euphrates. It
is not exactly known at what epoch, and in what disaster, they were
defeated by the Turks, and subsequently driven from their old haunts
into the great Tartar steppe. They tried many times to reconquer their
ancient land, but only in vain. One expedition of the Kirghiz is
mentioned, that penetrated, in 1738, as far as Tashkend.
Müller gives us an account of some of the institutions of these people
during the period preceding their final submission to the Russians.
When war was declared, the chief named those who were to enlist, and
assigned them the quota of arms and horses they were to furnish to the
army.
In administering justice, judgments were given by an assembly of
elders. He who was found guilty of murder first suffered the penalties
pronounced by the tribunal, and was then delivered over to the
relatives of his victim, who were at liberty either to kill him, or to
keep him as a slave. In the latter event, the assassin had to furnish
to his masters one hundred horses and two camels, with liberty to
substitute five sheep for every horse.
If the victim of an assassination were a woman or child, the relatives
of these had no right to demand the life of the murderer, and the fine
was reduced to one half. The crime of rape was punished in the same
manner as the murder of women or children.
The Kirghiz still have among them a great number of diviners,[9] in
whose revelations they have more or less faith according to the method
these magicians employ in predicting.
[9] _Pallas._
Some divine with books without having recourse to the stars. Others
employ the shoulder blade of a sheep. It is absolutely necessary that
this bone be denuded of flesh with a knife, and that human teeth have
not gnawed it, otherwise it would have no virtue. When one of these
magicians is consulted, he puts the shoulder blade on the fire, and
makes his predictions according to the fissures produced by the heat.
These diviners pretend with their science to determine how far distant
an absent person may be.
The Kirghiz call the third class of magicians _bukscha_. To obtain
a prediction from them, they exact a horse, a sheep, or a goat.
The magician begins the ceremony by chanting and beating on a drum
furnished with rings; and whilst thus occupied, he goes through a
succession of leaps and contortions of the body for half an hour. When
this part of the ceremony has ended, he has a sheep brought to him, and
killing it, receives the blood in a vessel, expressly made for this
purpose; he then keeps the skin for himself, and distributes the flesh
among the spectators, who eat it. He afterwards takes the bones, and,
dyeing them red or blue, throws them towards the west. Then he scatters
the blood in the same direction, begins again his contortions, and,
after an interval, gives his response to the question proposed to him.
A fourth class of diviners are called _kamtscha_. They augur from the
colour of the flame that rises from butter or fat thrown into the fire.
The latter class of diviners is not much esteemed.
I had been about two hours on our excursion in conversation with M.
Kroupinikoff, when I perceived three tents made of pointed stakes,
pitched side by side, and covered with felt. As we had been some time
announced, the head of the family received us before his encampment.
This man was tall, and of a haughty look, and his dress, composed
mostly of trophies of the chase, was really very picturesque. His head
was covered with a hood of red wool, surmounted with a wolf’s head
stuffed, the ears of which, being turned forwards, seemed as if they
were his own. His shoulders were covered with a red shirt and a wolf’s
skin. From his waist hung a pouch, similar to a Highlander’s, but made
of the skin of the white deer of the desert. His legs were swathed in
skins of different colours; his sandals were of plaited straw, his
feet disappearing under leather gaiters, that expanded below like
Mexican trousers. In imitation of the ancient savages, this man bore
at the same time his weapon of war and of the chase. He had a bow over
his shoulder, arrows suspended from a shoulder belt, an enormous club
hanging from his waist, and a falcon perched on his hand. This club
served him to strike down the wolves as soon as he ran them down with
his fleet courser. Near him stood a hare-hound of a breed, it appears,
found only among these people. They are hairless all over the body,
excepting on the ears, where the hair is of unusual length. On seeing
this one, I fancied it had been shaved by the Kirghiz, who are very
much attached to these dogs, but M. Kroupinikoff assured me that this
was their natural state. These animals, they say, are swifter and more
intelligent than Scotch or Syrian hounds. Excepting the peculiarity of
the long hair on the ears, which detracts from their beauty, they are
extremely graceful animals.
The Kirghiz being Mohammedans, the women of this tribe hid themselves
from our eyes in their tents. M. Kroupinikoff being unwilling to
displease the chief by asking to be admitted into the tent, preferred
asking him to show me how he hunted the wolf with the club.
He was in his saddle in an instant, and executed before us a manœuvre
with a dexterity that would have been envied by Arabs if they could
have seen him. Off he went, cutting through the air like a dart,
hiding himself from view by leaning down close beside the shoulder of
his courser, and low enough to strike the snow with his tomahawk. And
the next moment, hanging on by some part of the harness, he appeared
completely close under his steed.
This wild, wolf-eared figure, arrayed in red; this sinewy, sinuous
hunter of the desert, guiding his courser, like the bound of a tiger on
some imaginary prey, was altogether a striking spectacle, and one quite
as interesting as it was startling and fantastic. We bid adieu to
this son of Genghis Khan, and returned to Omsk, with this vision ever
present to my imagination, like a vivid dream.
I was amused with a diversion quite peculiar to this city, that takes
place during the three first days of the year. It consists in going to
pay a visit to one’s friends disguised in costume and masked, in a way
so effectually, that it is impossible to be recognized. To give more
animation occasionally to the amusement, families mutually exchange
houses, disguising themselves also, and then the visitors and the
visited find themselves equally mystified. These merry _réunions_ are
generally accompanied with dancing and refreshments. The society of
Omsk is too limited to afford facilities for any intrigue, and too
strict even that such, if any, should be attended with any serious
consequence; but for all that, there are few cities in the world,
perhaps, where during these three days so much boisterous mirth may be
heard as in this privileged spot on the Tartar steppe.