MAIMATCHIN TO URGA.
First Stage in Mongolia--The Mongols--Their tents; their life
--How they steer their way in the desert--The Caravan--A
Sacrilege--The Russian Consul at Urga--The Koutoukta.
We felt the cold becoming rather cutting at the fall of night, and
we observed the thermometer already several degrees below zero. We
therefore resolved to alight at a Mongolian encampment, that we might
be able to warm ourselves at the family fire. Besides, M. Marine, like
a true Russian, was longing for a cup of tea, and all the utensils
necessary for this purpose were with the caravan, far beyond our reach.
The tents, near which our yemschik pulled up his troïka, were most
picturesquely pitched on the slope of a hill just on the skirts of a
little pine wood, and these trees were the last I had the pleasure
of regarding for a long time. The night was beautifully clear,
and little plots of snow, that had stood out against the thaw of the
preceding days, were quite luminous in the silvery rays of the moon. We
quickly leapt to the ground and then over the barrier of the paling,
and M. Marine and I, without calling out, presented ourselves at the
opening of the tent which appeared to be the principal habitation.
[Illustration: A STREET IN URGA.]
These tents are firmly raised on wooden lattice-work, covered with
several layers of sheep’s skins. They are about three yards in
diameter, and are entered by a single, narrow, low opening, which
is closed by a sheep’s skin hanging before it. Facing this entrance
may invariably be seen a little statuette or picture, representing
the protecting deity of the family, and, before it, stand seven or
eight small vessels or vases, containing bread, salt, bits of wood,
camel-dung, tea,--everything in fact necessary to the ignoble, barbaric
existence of these poor, rude people.
The tent was occupied by two men and a woman, who were lying around a
fire placed in the centre, and which barely lighted with its glowing
embers this wretched hovel. We soon discovered that this recumbent
attitude was the only one supportable; for the abundance of smoke
rendered respiration impossible beyond two or three feet above the
ground. This is the reason the Mongols appear nearly black, from having
their faces covered with a layer of soot, a coating they are not
accustomed to remove. The wife, like all Mongolian women, was covered
with jewels. A demi-crown in silver was set on her forehead; two large
pins gathered her hair behind her ears, as in Egyptian mummies, and two
enormous brooches, also of silver, fastened the ends of it over her
chest; the whole being ornamented with variously coloured stones.
These three human beings crouching like tired hounds around a
smouldering heap of dried camel-dung, whose feeble and fitful glowing
alone lighted up in the gloaming their black eyes and glittering
jewels, formed a scene, in which the startled imagination conjured
up, from mediæval times, midnight councils of black spirits, looming
through “the fog and filthy air.” It was one altogether spectral and
diabolic. A few hours had indeed transformed my existence, and carried
me beyond the pale of civilized life into a desert, where I was doomed
to pass many long days and nights, in which there was no retreat
but these unearthly abodes. But then, on the other hand, I was well
provided with food and utensils; and, as I looked up through an opening
in the top of the tent, and gazed on the pale twinkling stars, they
seemed to invite me benignly to spread my repast on the desert sand and
trust to their unerring guidance over the trackless way.
Our yemschik was not long in following us into the tent: as he was a
Buriat, he entered into conversation with our hosts, who seemed pleased
to receive us. I tried to make myself intelligible to M. Marine, but
did not venture to do so in Russian: the ease, however, with which I
made myself understood, gave me a high opinion of his intelligence.
The Mongols quickly perceived that signs and gestures were important
elements in our conversation, and I was to them, as to the Chinese of
Maimatchin, an object of much curiosity. I took care, however, to keep
them at a respectful distance, and not to allow myself to be touched by
any member of this filthy, fulsome, fetid race, teeming with vermin
and covered with corroding sores. There is not, I am sure, any people
in the world more disgusting than the Mongols. Water in this region,
unhappily, is too precious to admit of its use for any other purpose
than drinking. These wretched creatures are therefore putrefying in
their wounds: sometimes, in fact, their limbs drop off and they perish
piecemeal, inspiring with horror all those who come near them, who can
only stand helpless and aghast at such a spectacle of human suffering.
When we had refreshed ourselves and warmed our benumbed limbs, we
hastened to emerge from this loathsome hut and to breathe again, under
the star-bespangled firmament, the pure bracing desert air. Then we
stretched ourselves in our tarantass for our night’s repose.
It was about three o’clock in the morning, when our horses had
sufficiently rested, and we resumed our way.
During this journey we found ourselves, many times, suddenly surrounded
by Mongol horsemen clad in yellow jackets and red breeches, who, having
spied a Russian conveyance, had galloped up at full speed to gratify
their curiosity. They had long poles rather heavy fastened to their
horses and trailing behind them, and these left on the sand a trace of
their course.
This precious furrow, playing the part of the little white pebbles of
Tom Thumb, prevents them from going astray, and brings them, after many
days’ wild roving over the desert, unerringly back to their tents.
Armed so formidably as they appeared to be, sometimes with a bow and
arrows, sometimes with a musket bristling with a spike, and always with
a murderous-looking knife, these savage-looking rovers were calculated
to fill one with misgiving as to their pacific intentions. After
having escorted us for a few moments, and satisfied their curiosity by
questioning our yemschik, they started off at full speed, sometimes
standing upright on their stirrups, sometimes bending close over the
neck of their courser, cleaving the air like the flight of a dart.
The Mongols, among whom we pulled up the next day, were too much like
those of the preceding night to render it worth while to say anything
about these. I found it impossible, however, to stay under their tent
as soon as I discovered what kind of a repast these wretched creatures
were crouched around. There was a dead camel lying on the ground at a
few paces from their habitation: the cold had contributed no longer
to its preservation, and all around there was a most repulsive odour.
These poor creatures, by cutting off a slice of this carrion every day,
hoped to have meals for some time to come. When I entered under their
blackened roof in a cloud of smoke from the smouldering camel-dung,
they were greedily devouring, without sauce, salt, or bread, this
revolting, putrid mess, fresh from the pestiferous, reeking caldron of
broth standing beside their horrible meal.
We took good care, M. Marine and I, not to boil the water for our
tea in this pot; we therefore retired from its unsavoury proximity,
and breakfasted on some mutton sausages, with which I had provided
myself. Then I went to cleanse myself in the snow, a luxury I was,
through the thaw, unhappily deprived of a few days subsequently, and,
having emerged from it as clean as a new penny, I stretched myself on
the ground till the horses had sufficiently rested and were ready to
continue the journey.
Whilst thus musing I watched a Mongol, who came out of his tent,
mounted a camel, and disappeared in a turn of the valley, singing
joyfully all the way. I thought this incident worth the consideration
of philosophers who speculate on the sources of happiness. Still, for
my part, I would rather be any animal, however limited its enjoyment of
life might be, than this jubilant Mongol.
Our attention was fully occupied the next day in searching intently the
horizon to catch the faintest trace of our caravan, which we should now
have been approaching. Between Kiachta and Urga, there is no marked
way, and the traveller simply takes a southern course; obstacles,
however, in his path, may cause a deviation of a few miles from the
most direct.
We examined minutely with our telescopes the Mongol encampments, the
troops of camels, and the least shadowy objects, and took long turns in
every direction, with no other result than to discover that our eyes
had been deceived by some phantasm, which we had taken for a group of
vehicles and camels.
But, at last, two flags, waving in the wind at the head of a caravan,
came into view and left us no longer in doubt that it was ours and
really close at hand.
One of the flags bore the Russian eagles, and the other, containing a
prayer, had been placed there by the Mongol guide as a protection for
our journey. I was delighted to see my poor Pablo again, who appeared
to me to be looking quite emaciated. He spoke in the highest terms of
my other companions of the journey, with whom he was already on an
excellent footing. Having heartily saluted and assured them that it
would not be my fault if we were not the best friends in the world, and
then having patted lovingly the poor ox drawing my empty vehicle, we
continued our way.
A few hours afterwards and just as the darkness was closing in we saw,
starting up before us, the dark outline of something very strange. On
approaching we found it was an idol, quite open to the sky and to the
desert, representing probably the deity of travellers. It was made of
compressed bread, covered over with some bituminous substance, and
perched on a horse of the same material, and held in its hand a lance
in Don Quixote attitude. Its horrible features were surmounted with a
shaggy tuft of natural hair. A great number of offerings of all kinds
were scattered on the ground all around. Five or six images, formed
also of bread, were bending in an attitude of prayer before the deity.
We looked slyly and cautiously all around the horizon, and, in spite of
the supplication of our timid yemschik, we laid violent hands on the
ample treasure. We at first snatched up several offerings, then seized
a few idolaters, and finally, seeing no impediment, I wrung off the
head of the god himself and threw it into my big bag. Having committed
this sacrilege, we scampered off from the desecrated altar with all the
precipitancy of guilty consciences pursued by an avenging spirit. I was
not long after all in regretting my sacrilege, for the principal booty,
the head of the god, crumbled away from the shocks of the vehicle so as
to be no longer recognizable.
We were roused the following morning by the sudden, furious scamper of
our horses. The driver had fallen asleep and then dropped the reins to
the ground: the animals, scared with something clinging to their heels
and finding themselves unrestrained, went straight before them, leaping
over ditches, earth mounds, and obstacles of all kinds that came in
their way. The most vigorous shouting, or the most soothing _trémolos_
from the lips of the yemschik, were of no avail; they kept on their
mad, _vent à terre_ course.
Our driver then, like a true, devoted subject of the Emperor of Russia,
as he was, did not hesitate at the critical moment to expose his
life, when, in his conscience, it was imperative to save the lives of
other subjects of the same Emperor. Whilst we held him suspended by
the feet between the vehicle and the horses, he was--hanging in this
way--enabled to gather up the reins which had already become entangled
around the legs of one of the horses. A violent kick or fling, in
this dangerous position, might have fractured the skull of this brave
fellow, whose only fault had been the misfortune to have been suddenly
overcome with too much fatigue, and whose devotion we did not fail to
reward as it merited, when we arrived at Urga.
But our trouble did not end here: we had unfortunately lost our way.
Not one of us knew how long we had been at the mercy of our team and,
consequently, how far we had strayed. After going one way, then another
by chance, having nothing but the sun for a guide, our Buriat began
to despair of finding the right way. In this dilemma, we resolved to
ascend a high mountain and scan the horizon all around, but M. Marine
and I being of course quite ignorant of the conformation and chief
features of the country, the driver alone undertook this ascent. This
accident and its consequences caused us to lose a whole day, but when
he returned, happily, he was confident as to the route he had to take,
and we set off in the same state as the pigeon in the fable, believing
this time, our troubles would end with this trial.
We had not proceeded very far before we were most annoyingly stopped by
a watercourse. We feared that its covering of ice was too fragile to
bear us, and, on the other hand, it was apparently too treacherous to
admit of our sounding it. After my adventures on Lake Baikal, I was
quite prepared to trust myself over this ice without much hesitation,
but, seeing the apprehensions of M. Marine and the driver, I became
timid, and yielded to them.
We got out of the tarantass; M. Marine and I first went across on foot,
and then the driver, after starting the horses at a gallop, followed
us. The resistance of the ice was just sufficient, and the next day,
probably, we could not have crossed, for the ice even now split under
the weight, spurting up the compressed water everywhere through the
inauspicious fissures.
We still had a mountain to ascend before arriving at Urga, and as
our jaded horses crept up with difficulty, we got down to relieve
them. Our attention was at once attracted by the picturesqueness
of the scenery. As we advanced, the valleys around us coming into
view, deepened in shadow and narrowed in width; the crests of the
overhanging mountains were beginning to catch the first rays of the
rising sun, and fascinated us with their luminous splendour. It called
up, in my memory, my former excursions in the Alps and the Pyrenees.
I loitered on my way musingly for some time, and tried to abstract
my thoughts from actuality; from the perils of my adventure, the
remoteness from my friends, and indulged in the illusion that I had
before my eyes the snowy cap of Mont Blanc or the Maladetta. But this
attractive imagery was soon rudely dispelled by the sight of two or
three Mongolian tents on the summit of the hill we had to ascend. These
were too forcibly suggestive of the first encampment I had visited
to permit me to indulge any longer in a day-dream that I was so near
my home. We resumed our places in the tarantass, and our descent of
the mountain, across snow-pits and boggy spots, in the absence of any
roadway whatever, kept us in perpetual alarm. The valley into which we
descended, was strewn with huge stones, and we could not proceed, even
at a snail’s pace, without being tossed with fearful joltings. This
wearying movement lasted five or six hours, and M. Marine became quite
exhausted and alarmingly pale from the effects. Towards one in the
afternoon, we perceived a grand lamasery gracefully rising on the slope
of a mountain, and, in another hour, we at last arrived at Urga, the
capital of Mongolia.
The Russian consul, to whom I had a letter of recommendation, does not
live in the city, and the reason will soon be apparent. His government
has built a fine residence for him in the Siberian style, about two
miles distant, and he has been living there twenty years with his wife,
protected by two companies of Russian gendarmes, opening his house
to travellers, who rarely present themselves, and having beyond this
no other incidents to enliven his existence than he can find in the
neighbourhood of this city, into which I will invite the reader to
enter with me.
The streets are bordered right and left with palisades of trunks of
trees, placed upright and strongly bound together, and these are
pierced here and there, on each side, by gates of the same material
and kind of construction, which give access into courts, where tents,
exactly of the same character as those I have already described, are
permanently pitched. The Mongols are essentially nomads, and would
not, even in towns, live in any other kind of habitation. The governor
of Mongolia, the Grand Lama, the highest dignitaries, live here also
under tents. The lamasery, the _Koutoukta_ palace, and the prison,
alone stand out above the other strange constructions, but since these
three principal are raised commandingly on a series of logs one above
the other, they break slightly the monotonous aspect of the whole.
The lamasery is tolerably rich in its contents. The principal idol
placed in the centre is cast in copper, sixty feet high; and around
this are disposed several other personages, also of copper. Niches are
also sunk along the walls, and contain other little copper idols: I
counted twelve hundred of them. Flags and banners of precious stuffs
embroidered with gold adorn this temple, but prevent one, through
intercepting the view, from appreciating the general effect. On the
right of the principal god a platform is raised for the _Koutoukta_,
who takes his place here during the ceremonies. This _Koutoukta_ is
the favourite deity of the Mongols. He is brought here from Thibet by
the Grand Lama of Urga, who goes into this country to search for him,
guided probably by the indications of the other lamas of the country.
The child lives retired in the recesses of this building, to which
they give the pompous name of “palace.” Through some strange fatality,
a fatality always renewed, this living deity never survives the age
of eighteen or twenty years. The cause of this cruel destiny may be
traced, I think, to the apprehensions of the government of Pekin, who,
jealous of the influence the _Koutoukta_ exercises over the Mongol
population, fears it might become dangerous if protracted beyond this
age. As to the prison, it consists of two enclosures about eighteen
feet high, constructed also with trunks of trees.
Such is the external aspect at first sight; the internal life it covers
is much more singular.
[Illustration: THE GRAND LAMA OF MONGOLIA.]