IRKUTSK TO LAKE BAIKAL.
The natives--The Olkhonese--Shamanism--The Buriats--The
Tungus--The Samoyeds--The Carnival at Irkutsk--Pablo--Adieu
to Constantine--Another perilous night on the ice of Lake Baikal.
Among other races, natives of the island of Olkhon are occasionally
met with in the streets of Irkutsk. The shores of Lake Baikal, before
the Russian conquest, had served, from the most remote times, as a
place of banishment for the Chinese. They called this country, in their
figurative language, the land of long nights. Some of the descendants
of these exiles still exist in these parts, and inhabit a little island
on the western shore of Lake Baikal, called Olkhon. Many of these
islanders still adhere to the ancient Shamanic religion, from which
sprang later, they say, the widely spread worship of Buddha. Not much
is known of this religion of Shamanism beyond the fact that they
worship a supreme being, who resides in the sun.
Müller, in his important work on Siberia, refers to the superstitions
of these people, and gives some account of their ceremonies.
“The Shamanists,” he says, “fear especially ghosts, and the resentments
of the dead, to whom, when alive, they had done some injury. To charm
away the evil that these may visit on them, they leap on certain days
over burning faggots.
“They believe in sorcerers who predict the future for them.
“On fête days, they assemble round one of their priests, who beats on a
drum and recites prayers, whilst an acolyte sprinkles the faithful with
milk and alcohol.”
One of these old Olkhonese, one day, related to me a legend, concerning
the sect inhabiting the Trans-Baikal. In order to understand this
legend, it is necessary to know that there is a great difference of
level between Irkutsk and Lake Baikal, and that all the waters of this
lake are held in check at the highest by an enormous rock, at the
opening of the Angara. If this rock, they say, were to break away,
all the water in the lake would rush down in a single wave, annihilate
Irkutsk and, carrying everything before it with frightful rapidity,
would form a vast sea filling the valley of the Angara. The Shamanists
believe that the souls of the departed are transported on to this rock
after death. The top of this rock where they sojourn is so narrow and
precipitous that they are seized with giddiness, and being close to the
turmoil and rush of the flood into the Angara, they are so bewildered
with it, that they can hardly keep their footing. If they succeed in
doing so, it is because they have been good and have the grace of God;
if, on the contrary, their life has been wicked, they are drawn in
and lost in the rushing waters. The roar produced by the impetuosity
of these waters of the Angara, is, according to these people, nothing
more than the united lamentations of the souls who fear losing their
balance. It is true, that at this spot, the mountains give a striking
echo from the uproar of the fall. I do not suppose I should be
suspected by my readers of belief in the supernatural, and yet, I could
easily fancy, in this imposing concert of nature, that I was sometimes
listening to human voices from the Shamanic rock.
But the Buriats, a people who originate from the neighbourhood of
Nertschinsk, to the west of Irkutsk and Lake Baikal, and the Tungus,
who pretend to be even better horsemen than the Kirghiz or the Mongols,
are the most numerous of these divers races seen at Irkutsk. These two
races have become so Russianized in their habits, and almost in their
costumes, that it is unnecessary to say much about them. Neither the
nose, nor the cheek-bones, nor the forehead is prominent: one can then
easily realize to himself the appearance of the profile of a Buriat.
The women redeem the plainness of their faces by a figure generally
very fine, and an extraordinary smoothness of skin, which has become
proverbial in Siberia. Now and then some Samoyeds are seen, a race
formerly nomadic, but who begin, I am informed, to people Yakutsk, just
as the Buriats and the Tungus have established themselves at Irkutsk
and around there. The clothing of these people of the extreme north, is
made of the skin of the reindeer, ornamented with little bits of cloth,
generally of bright red. I have seen several of them clad in seal
skins, and skins of other amphibious animals: but these it seems, are
the poorest, for this kind of fur is cheap and not warm.
[Illustration: SAMOYED PEASANTS.]
There is no race more degraded in the characteristic of regarding
the women as inferior beings, and among no other, are they treated
so harshly as among the Samoyeds. “They are annoyed and oppressed,”
says Pallas, “even in their own tents. The men put a pole behind the
fire-place, facing the entrance, and the women are not allowed to
stride over this. This stolid, idiotic race of beings believe that if
the wife should unluckily pass within, the night will not end without
a wolf coming and devouring one of their reindeer. To be in a delicate
state, euphemised as ‘interesting,’ is considered degrading. During
this period, women dare not eat fresh meat; they are obliged to be
satisfied with less palatable food. They are particularly ill-treated
at the period of their _accouchement_. They are obliged to make their
confession in the presence of the husband and the midwife: to declare
whether they have been unfaithful to their lords, and if so, to name
the paramour. They take good care not to deny the imputation,
fearing, that in doing so, they would have to endure cruel sufferings
at the critical moment: on the contrary, if they are guilty, they avow
their peccadillo with perfect frankness. Their confession, however, is
attended with no inconvenience. The husband merely goes in search of
the accused, and exacts from him some slight compensation.”
The revelry of the carnival at Irkutsk is quite different from that
in France: it consists principally in continuous promenades in large
open sledges, around which are suspended numerous bells: the harness
also is covered with bells wherever they can be attached. But this is
not sufficient; enthusiasts violently agitate others in their hands
to produce a more effective resonance; and, by way of accompaniment,
that nothing may be missing, children and the lower classes, who, in
ordinary times, slide rapidly on their skates over a little wooden
causeway, covered along the houses with frost-hardened, well-beaten
snow, flit past in greater numbers at these rejoicings, in which bells
again are not wanting to complete the stirring hurly-burly.
My windows unhappily were towards the principal street, where this
abominable jingling was ever present. Never did I feel so much the want
of a little quietness, as during these ten days of carnival, than which
nothing better could be contrived _à porter le diable en terre_.
Never did I salute with more pleasure the arrival of Lent.
During the first three days of this period of penitence, a singular
custom permits the coachmen attached to the house where you are staying
to pay you a visit and demand a present. I, being a foreigner, was
unduly honoured in seeing defile before me, in the rear of the drivers
of the establishment, all the _isvostchiks_ or cabmen that had profited
by my fares during my sojourn.
In order to escape from these importunities, I went to the convent
of St. Innocent, where I witnessed the solemn ceremonies at the
commencement of Lent.
During this period, the saint is the object of the highest veneration.
His tomb is not only opened, like that of Saint Sergius, but his
body, unlike that of the patron of Troitza, is not covered with any
shroud. The body is wonderfully preserved, except in the colour of the
skin, which is quite black. A pious legend informs the inhabitants of
Irkutsk, that this colour arises from the sins of the faithful, that
have quitted their souls the instant they kissed this precious relic. I
have often witnessed the enthusiasm with which the devotees of Eastern
Siberia embrace the venerated remains, and the contentment they feel,
in removing with their nail or a pen-knife, a splinter of the coffin,
the remainder of which will soon in this way inevitably disappear.
It may be noticed also, in many other practices, how very sincere and
profound is the piety of the Siberian peasant.
I have observed, many times, with what scrupulousness, these simple
folks keep the fasts that are prescribed. It occurred to me sometimes,
on days marked for penitence--and there are many--on arriving at a
posting stage, to ask, from curiosity, if I might be provided with
some food. “It is Lent, Monsieur,” they invariably replied, “We can
take nothing but tea to-day: we have no bread even, to offer you.” It
seems strange that a Government which has known how to employ so well
a religion as a political power, should not modify a regulation so
enervating to a poor population needing more food and vigour.
Before leaving Irkutsk, I visited the museum to see the collection of
fossil mastodons, remains that abound in certain strata in Siberia: and
now after having been hunting with the Governor General several times,
and enjoyed myself here for six weeks, I thought it time to resume my
journey.
M. Pfaffius had promised to inform me, from Kiachta, when a caravan
of Russian tea-merchants would form there, in order to proceed to the
south of China.
“Try to find an interpreter,” he told me, “in order that you may never
be at a loss to understand these tea-merchants, and they will undertake
all the necessary arrangements for your journey among the Mongols and
the Chinese.” But I had no choice to make, for only one man presented
himself to accompany me from Irkutsk in the capacity of interpreter.
He was honest to the backbone, I admit, but his history must have
been curious. He claimed to be a French subject, but he was born in
Constantinople, and had never seen France. He was known by the Spanish
name of Pablo, and his passport was written in Greek.
He pretended he could speak all the languages of the Levant, Russian
even, as well as Italian and French; but to make myself intelligible
I was frequently obliged in speaking French to interlard my phrases
copiously with Italian, Russian and even German words. He had, however,
the faculty of making himself so well understood to everybody, by
aiding his jargon with signs, that I considered myself very fortunate
in my acquisition. This genius of elucidating the signification of his
words by gesture, was evidently derived from his former profession,
which was that of a player of pantomime in a circus.
Although this Pablo was now in my service, and was ready to do anything
I required, Constantine wished to help me, for the last time, in my
preparation for departure. Though our characters were opposed in many
features, one does not separate with indifference from a travelling
companion, who has been by your side day and night in a journey of
fifteen hundred leagues, and especially when the parting is to be
for ever. My young fellow traveller moved me by the uneasiness he
manifested on my intended passage over the Lake Baikal. He begged me
again and again, for three days, not to expose myself to this danger,
but to turn the lake on the south; and, as a proof of the interest he
took in my safety, in order to dissuade me from my purpose, he brought
to me, when I was about to start, the chief of police, who assured me
that the Government had taken no precautions this year for the safe
passage of the lake along the ordinary track.
On receiving this intimation I yielded, and, alas! I had much cause to
regret my determination, or rather, having modified it, as the reader
will learn; for prudence, under these circumstances, did not secure
safety. Pablo was overjoyed at my decision. His exaggerated fear of the
dangers, and his solicitude for his personal comfort, had inspired me
from the first with uneasiness regarding our future relations.
I set out from Irkutsk on the 20th of March, at one in the morning.
Constantine came into the sledge, between Pablo and me, and kept me
company as far as the opposite bank of the Angara. This short trip was
a kind of _résumé_ of the three months we had just passed together,
and, when we warmly pressed our hands for the last time, we were
equally deeply moved by the parting. He had before him the prospect of
an indefinitely prolonged sojourn at Irkutsk; and I, a turning point in
my adventures; for the phases of my journey, without him, were about to
change completely.
When Constantine was gone, I was not much disposed to begin a
conversation with Pablo. I could see no utility in this man, except
the prospective one in a future still very uncertain, and, as I then
knew Russian well enough to accomplish alone a journey in Siberia, his
presence for the moment was anything but agreeable.
The country we were passing through was very picturesque. Mountain
after mountain covered with pine trees, producing in the dark a
singular and striking effect with their sable hue, seemed to become
loftier and more imposing on either side, as we advanced. I was now
all the better situated for a full view of nature, being no longer
cooped up in the canopied sledge of Nijni-Novgorod. The one I had now
was entirely open.
At daybreak we came in sight of the Baikal. As the constant and violent
winds in these parts sweep the snow from the surface of the ice, the
frozen surface assumes nearly everywhere a bluish tint resembling, in
some degree, smooth water.
The scene was striking. Deep, deep below our feet, reposed a bay, in
the hollow between two chains of mountains, and then, beyond, the lake
suddenly expanded, and extended as far as the eye could reach, to the
right and left and before us, its endless ice-clad bosom.
“There at last is Lake Baikal!” I exclaimed with enthusiasm at the
startling spectacle. “Monsieur,” said Pablo, jumping up from his
seat, “Has no one, indeed, then told you? You must call it _the sea_;
otherwise it will be angry and cause some evil.”
This superstitious fear revealed, at once, the character of my new
companion. Ignorant and of weak intellect, he had borrowed something
his fear of the unknown had prompted him to accept as a revelation of
truth regarding it from every people he had lived among, probably with
other characteristics. He had thus, I think, acquired from the Germans
and Poles, a little melancholy, from the Turks and Arabs, servility,
and from the Russians and Siberians, superstition; for his honesty and
simplicity, I think he was indebted to none; it was native.
We descended to the shore of the lake by the south side of the
mountain. The snow, that had melted during the previous day, had frozen
again during the night, and formed at every step a slippery surface.
The sledge shot first in one direction, then in another, in a way
to inspire terror, for the route was constantly on the ridge of a
precipice. We were, indeed, sometimes so near it, that the yemschik had
his legs, now and then, dangling over the brink of a frightful abyss. A
sharp clack of the whip, keenly felt, once gave a sudden diversion to
the direction of the vehicle, and we were then miraculously saved from
an appalling pitch. The yemschik, unfortunately, was over-confident,
and, when we had escaped so far, was too ready to believe that all
danger was over. He had neglected, just before our arrival at Baikal,
to give a required sudden turn to the sledge by administering a sharp
cut to the horses, consequently, one of the skates of the sledge passed
over the edge of the road, and the entire vehicle and its contents
instantly followed; we rolled out, Pablo and I, into a ditch five or
six feet deep and almost perpendicular, with all our rugs and baggage
huddled together; a pretty kettle of fish. Pablo was too terrified to
speak, and probably thought it unnecessary to remind me of the anger of
the sea, now only too evident.
A short time after this _divertissement_, we arrived at a stage. The
posting master dissuaded me from continuing my journey by land. “The
road is not only longer,” he said, “but, as you well know, dangerous
also, whilst the ice over the Baikal is extremely thick and not likely
to crack anywhere.” We followed his advice, and trotted away over the
ice.
Pablo was most ridiculously alarmed every time I spoke of _Lake_
Baikal, and tried to charm away the danger by saying, “The sea! the
sea! the sea!” On the right and left towered, over our heads, the two
chains of mountains I have just mentioned, closing in the southern
extremity of the lake, whereon we had just entered; and before us
nothing could be seen, as far as the horizon, but interminable ice.
I was completely lost in admiration of this striking spectacle--such a
one, I think, as is unequalled in the whole world. I had seen nowhere
else in Siberia so complete an example of the mighty, triumphant
effects of winter as this remarkable sea of ice, and in no other part
of this climate, have I seen light assuming such magnificent warm
tones. In the evening particularly, when the crests of the mountains
were glowing in a rich rosy light, the surface of the Baikal, then
in the shadow, reflected an intense blue, similar to that of the
Mediterranean. The tint would have led me to fancy that I was off Nice
or the coast of Algiers, if the sledge, and especially the accompanying
noise of its gliding, had not too forcibly recalled me to actuality.
This appalling noise, of which I have already spoken in my first
sledging experience over the Oka, was much more disquieting there,
however, from the depth of the hollow below. Here it contributed to
the wonder of this unique scene.
The night was just closing in when we arrived at the eastern extremity
of the bay. We went on land merely to dine and change horses. When we
started again on the lake it was nine in the evening, and our yemschik,
instead of keeping a north-east course to take us towards the Eastern
coast, went due north towards the centre of the lake.
Since I had already many times noticed the deviating course of the
yemschiks over frozen water-ways, in order to avoid some pit or some
spot of doubtful solidity, I did not at first ask any question, but
turned round from time to time, to take a view of the retreating land.
Thus occupied, it sank lower and lower in the horizon and at last
disappeared altogether from my eyes. The aspect was now completely
changed; it seemed as if we were on the open sea, for whichever way we
turned we could see land nowhere.
I must confess that, at this moment, I began to feel ashamed a little
of my boasting indifference a few hours before. This desolate,
inhospitable tract now made me shudder, and I seemed to be all at once
inspired with a servile respect for this terrible Siberian sea I had so
inconsiderately insulted from the shore.
It was so very seldom I had had occasion to complain of my yemschik
during my journey, that I was not by any means disposed to find fault
in this instance; I was not long, however, in perceiving he was
intoxicated, and that he had led us astray.
The surface was becoming gradually more and more irregular; a few loose
or superimposed blocks were distributed here and there; presently these
became not only larger, but more numerous. This rough broken way, in
fact, was threatening, for the further we advanced the more our new
difficulties increased, and it was not long before we were obliged to
make our way along mountains of ice surpassing even those of the Tom
and the Angara.
The view of these ever-augmenting obstacles would have been disquieting
in the open day; but now, in the depth of the night, without an outline
of land ever so shadowy to be discerned, and in complete ignorance of
our direction, the situation was indeed alarming. I began questioning
the yemschik, from whom I could get no intelligible answer, even with
the aid of Pablo.
The poor creature was besotted--paralyzed with fear.
Bewildered with the utter helplessness of our perilous situation, the
idea that came uppermost to my mind was, to ask on which side we could
the soonest gain the land. The yemschik held out his hand towards
the west. I understood at once the fearful plight we were in and was
resolved to wait on the spot the break of day. The driver refused to
stop at once, making light of my apprehensions, but the matter was so
serious that I was obliged to draw my revolver and, presenting it at
his head, threatened to shoot him on the spot if he advanced a step
further.
It was now about one o’clock in the morning, and I could distinguish
nothing but mountains of ice surrounding us on all sides. On examining
these hillocks, I found they were built up with blocks of about a foot
thick.
It was clear, therefore, that we were suspended over the depths of the
lake by a floor of no greater thickness. Could we count on this even,
throughout, to bear up the weight of the laden sledge and horses?
Between life and death, between the air we breathed and the bottom of
the lake, there was only one foot of ice. We were not only far from
human beings, but far from the land they inhabited. Who, indeed, knew
where we were? Who would be thinking of us at this hour? Who at this
distance could have heard our last desperate cry of anguish, at the
moment when the ice, breaking under our weight, would open and then
close over us for ever?
The mournful moaning of the wind in the hollows of this glacial wild,
interrupted by the ominous cracking of the ice, like the low booming
of cannon in the distance, broke the silence of the night. Never had
I felt the weakness, the ignoble insignificance of man in a manner so
complete and absolute: never had I been so sensible to the imposing
might of Nature. I held my breath with awe, for man, in her august
presence, would be as meaningless as a grain of sand or the poorest
worm, if the moment should come when he was doomed to be crushed in the
terrible exercise of her power.
When day at last appeared we could realize, still more forcibly,
the danger of our situation. There were fissures scoring the surface
in every direction. Pools of water in certain spots showed that the
congelation in these parts, from some cause or other, had only been
partial. On seeing myself exposed to so many snares, I understood why
the Russian Government had declined assuming any responsibility this
year for the safety of travellers. I was abandoned to my own resources
and trembled for the consequences, for it seemed I was lost.
In the dilemma I knew not what to do; it was necessary to move, for
we could not escape danger by remaining still any longer, and I gave
orders to the driver, mechanically, as if spell-bound, to take his
course towards the rising sun. We started; no way could have been
more prudently selected and, in spite of the element of danger still
existing, be more replete with thrilling interest. We were obliged to
make many long windings to avoid some crevice or other. The yemschik,
now having recovered from the effects of his intemperance, seemed
desirous of redeeming his fault, and went on foot alone in advance in
peril of his life, to ascertain the thickness of the ice. We were
obliged to pull up now and then, as we came near an ominous long streak
of rippling water that barred our passage. If we ventured to brave
it, we decided to draw back on our steps a little way--_reculer pour
mieux sauter_--and then, with the whip smartly applied, aided with
wild gesture, hallooing and screaming, to give a mad rattling pace to
the horses, we cleared, in the twinkling of an eye, but not without a
sickening horror, these treacherous crevices gaping to devour us.
About eight in the morning we caught a glimpse of the land, and soon
after it plainly came into sight. The further we advanced the thicker
and more reliable the ice became, and every step now raised our long
depressed spirits, till, at last, all further danger disappeared. Then,
strange to say, I felt a pang of regret to quit the Baikal: for though
I had blenched with fear, I could not forget that I was still standing
on enchanted ground.
At last, at ten in the morning, I entered the village of Slernaia to
reflect over the twenty-two hours passed on Lake Baikal--the most
stirring and momentous adventure I have experienced in all my travels.