URGA AND THE ENTRY INTO THE DESERT OF GOBI.
Urga--Mongol religion--Praying wheels--Burial ceremonies--
The Holy Mountain--My travelling companions in the desert--
Departure from Urga--First halt--A Mongolian repast--Easter
Eve.
The thought of death and a future life hovers constantly over this
mournful city, and lugubrious religious ceremonies constitute
the principal occupation of its fanatical inhabitants. Banners
inscribed with prayers are all around the palings surrounding their
tents, everywhere fluttering in the breeze; but, as if these were
insufficient, certain fanatics stretch a cord around below this row of
banners, and suspend oriflammes therefrom covered with pious texts.
These stuffs of every colour, as thick as blossom on a peach tree, in
lively agitation from the slightest breeze and glittering in the sun,
give to this city the aspect of a perpetual fête, contrasting most
singularly with the funereal atmosphere one breathes here amid so many
obtrusive relics of the dead.
Their chief religious exercise consists in turning round on an axis
like a horse in a mill a great drum, crammed with a countless number
of written prayers. In the eyes of the faithful, to obtain a turn
or two of this miraculous wheel in their favour, is to procure for
themselves all the blessings they could hope to attain if the prayers
it contains had been turned over on their tongues, or, perhaps,--could
they only see the perfunctory procedure of a more enlightened race,--as
others are sometimes turned over in a book without a handle. These
praying wheels are quite an institution throughout the country. They
are seen in the streets of Urga at every thirty or forty paces, and
of sufficient size to accommodate a working team of four or five men
at a time. Around the lamasery where they are sown broadcast from
eighty to a hundred may be counted. Notwithstanding the wheels are as
plentiful as fire plugs in civilized cities, and much more accessible
when wanted, and, moreover, are as full of prayers “as a pomegranate
is full of seed,” they are still insufficient for certain Mongols of
exemplary piety feeling the need of private devotion, and who make up
for the deficiency by turning a little portable wheel in the left hand,
whilst their right is fully employed in the public duty of working the
big machine of their district. These praying wheels are furnished with
two bells, the one having a grave and the other an acute note, which
thus indicate by their tone every turn and half turn: an incessant
chime is accordingly heard here which contributes very much to the
picturesqueness and grotesqueness of this strange spot.
It is not allowed to enter the space before the palace of the
_Koutoukta_, either on horse or camel or in a carriage. The rite
imposes the duty to approach on foot, but the majority make of it a
work of supererogation and only come crouching on their knees.
But among the curious customs of this people, the most singular are the
ceremonies that accompany death and the disposal of the dead.
It is a great misfortune in the eyes of the Mongols to die in one’s
tent: for the entry into paradise is not only closed against the
defunct, but a sort of unlucky fatality surrounds, for the future, the
dwelling thus contaminated by the presence of a corpse.
As soon as an inhabitant of Urga is seized with a malady considered
incurable, and there is no hope of his recovery, he is carried to a
chamber, called the chamber of the dying, a kind of funereal building
annexed to the lamasery. When the patient is once there, he is in the
hands of his priests, who, far from thinking of any remedy for his
disease or of giving the least humane assistance, busy themselves
merely with saving his soul.
I had the curiosity to enter this abominable hole; but I must admit, I
remained there so short a time, that I can give no adequate description
of it. I witnessed the lugubrious spectacle of five or six men or
women, stretched on carpets on the ground, in the agony of death. But
to finish as soon as possible with this gloomy subject, we will now
accompany a corpse to its last resting place.
The body is wrapped in a winding sheet of blue linen, but with the face
exposed, and carried to a spot about half a mile on the north-east
of the town. Arrived here, it is deposited on the ground, and the
mourners standing all around begin filling the air with their piercing
shrieks. Hardly has this frightful uproar set in than, on looking
round, some enormous dogs are seen prowling about, and while these
are watching with ferocious eyes, a hoarse croaking is heard in the
air, and suddenly ravens and vultures are seen hovering overhead with
their sable wings outspread, trembling with impatience. But these
hideous specimens of animal life, which nature seems to have strangely
adapted to their horrible _rôle_ in bestowing on them beaks and claws
of blood-red, have not long to wait; for, in about ten minutes, the
friends of the deceased, tired of howling, embrace one after the
other the feet of the dead and then retire covering their faces. So
soon as the spot is cleared nothing can equal the horror of the scene
that takes place. The dogs skulk no longer, but advance snarling and
growling at one another all the way, whilst the birds voraciously
pounce down, filling the air with their sinister croaking. An hour
after the ceremony, nothing remains of the dead but the skull and
the winding sheet; but he who has been a spectator of this diabolic
repast--resembling in every way that of the dream of _Athalie_--has
been so profoundly moved, that he will not, for a long time to come, be
able to purge his memory of so ghastly a spectacle.
All this side of the town is strewn with skulls and shrouds: it is
almost impossible to advance without striking the foot against the one,
or getting it entangled with the other. Some lying on the surface and
crumbling away, are sometimes carried by the wind to a long distance;
others are partially decomposed and lie confounded with the earth. When
cyclones visit this district, and the wanderer has the misfortune to
encounter their sweeping clouds of dust, he trembles to think what he
may be breathing or grating between his teeth.
I returned to the Russian Consul’s with my mind quite troubled with
what I had just seen: but I found a great distraction in the delightful
evening I passed with his family, and in chatting about St. Petersburg
and Paris, which my kind hosts knew very well and hoped to visit again
soon. I learnt, however, this evening, some sad news: two of the three
merchants forming the first caravan, of whom M. Pfaffius had spoken to
me with the thought of joining me, had died; one during the journey
from Kiachta to Urga, and the other shortly after having left the
Mongolian capital. I went to visit the two fresh graves of those who
might have been my travelling companions, and I blessed my stars that
Lake Baikal had thus retarded my arrival at Kiachta.
The next morning I went to take a walk, with the young interpreter
of the Consulate, over a neighbouring mountain, known by the name of
the Holy Mountain. It is an object of great veneration, and cannot
be ascended otherwise than on foot. It is not permitted to cultivate
the smallest plot or to cut a single tree there; so that this is the
sole wooded mountain amid the immense bare surface of Mongolia. The
inhabitants of this dismal land often leave their homes and retire into
the recesses of this wood to meditate here, weeks and even months in
gloomy solitude over the vanities of the things of this world, and to
enjoy the consolation procured by leading the life of an anchorite.
I saw several of these hermits, established in the depths of the
wood, occupied incessantly in turning their devotional wheel, and who
charitably offered to intercede for us with the _Koutoukta_.
During my sojourn at Urga, I regretted very much my inability to pay
a visit to this young divinity. He had died about six weeks before
my arrival in the Mongolian capital. I was equally disappointed at
not having seen the Grand Lama, who had gone into Thibet, to hunt for
another little god. I was all the more sorry, inasmuch as the Russian
Consul told me he could, through the Chinese Governor, have enabled me
even to approach the feet of the _Koutoukta_. I should thus have been
enabled, for a few moments, to interpellate a god on things of the
other world. Such a revelation no doubt, if given to the world, would
have assured a great success to this book, for the latest novelties in
spirit rapping would have shrunk into insignificance by comparison.
Day after day went by, and our caravan we passed on the road, had
not yet made its appearance on the horizon. A young Russian had just
arrived in a carriage from Kiachta, and had seen nothing of it on
the way; I began therefore to get a little uneasy, for I had confided
to Pablo not only my baggage, but also my fortune. It will easily be
understood that a large sum in _tea bricks_, the only money current
in Mongolia, and also in silver pieces, with which I was obliged to
provide myself for my future journey in China, constituted altogether
cumbersome luggage. I should, certainly, not have acted in this way
with everybody, but Pablo was quite an exceptional servant on the score
of scrupulous honesty. I had not a moment’s uneasiness from a fear
that he had fled with the cash: I depended, moreover, on his continual
and salutary apprehensions; still, I feared that some evil had visited
the caravan, or that Pablo had died, two events, after all, to me not
improbable. Fortunately nothing of the sort happened; for, on the fifth
day after my arrival at Urga, he presented himself in my room. He at
once took my hand and, in the manner of the Turks, pressed it on his
forehead, and laid down the key of my carriage like a soldier laying
down his sword. Our Mongol guide asked for a day’s delay, that he
might have time to sell the oxen and buy camels, required for drawing
the carriages. I then had time before leaving to become acquainted with
my new companions.
M. Schévélof, the leader of the caravan, was about thirty-eight or
forty. He was making the journey from Kiachta to Hankow for the
seventh time. His complexion was quite yellow from fevers and liver
disease contracted in South China. He spoke Chinese and Mongolian most
fluently, and was at once our mentor and our interpreter; consequently,
if we had lost him on the way, I do not know what would have become of
us.
There was also M. Kousnietzof, a young man of twenty, a native of
Verchni-Oudinsk, not related to the millionaire I have mentioned, but
a young man of the same name leaving his native city for the first
time. Like a true Siberian of pure race, he had thick blonde hair
that hung down to the middle of his back, and not a filament of down
on his chin. Being accustomed to the great boots and full blouse of
the Russian national costume, he was not only uncomfortable in the
trousers and short coat he had put on for the occasion of his journey
into China, but he imagined he was dressed in a manner quite indecent:
therefore, to avoid a blush on his cheek, on presenting himself in the
drawing-room of the Consul’s wife, he had improvised for himself, as
he thought in the most becoming manner, a kind of _jupon_ with his new
shirt, by employing that part the most scrupulously concealed, to cover
the indelicate nakedness of a simple pair of trousers.
It would be difficult to find perhaps a more striking, and at the
same time a more amusing illustration, of the predominance of
conventionalism in the sentiment of modesty.
M. Marine came from Tobolsk, his native city. He was acquainted with
Omsk, the Ural, and Catherineburg; he had been once even as far as
Perm, and spoke enthusiastically of his distant travels and of what
wonders he had formerly seen in the West. His incessant complaining,
his slowness and heaviness of manner in body and mind, wearied us a
great deal at first, but later we turned all these weaknesses to our
amusement, at his expense, and thus this poor sufferer became, I am
ashamed to say, the butt of the party.
It was on the 8th of April when I took leave of the Russian Consul at
Urga, whose name, I regret, I have forgotten. As he was about to leave
shortly for St. Petersburg with all his family, we could wish each
other, mutually, _bon voyage_. He accompanied me as far as the gate of
his grounds, and, after a cordial hand-shaking, I accomplished on foot
the two first _kilomètres_ of the five hundred leagues of desert I had
to travel over.
On marching thus behind a conveyance, which was to be, for many days to
come, my sole habitation, I imagined myself, for an instant, like the
_Chevalier des Grieux_ attached to a company of strolling players. No
one, alas! in the caravan, could complete the illusion by presenting
to my imagination, even in the remotest way, the pretty face of _Manon
Lescaut_.
[Illustration: PRAYING MILL AT URGA. (_p. 322._)]
M. Schévélof’s carriage led the way; it was surmounted with a Russian
flag and a Mongolian prayer banner. Then followed M. Kousnietzof’s
vehicle, and then fourteen camels, carrying the baggage, marching in
a line one after the other. Among this baggage there were two tents;
one for us, and the other for the Mongols, and besides a set of
cooking utensils. And then the rear was brought up by Pablo’s carriage,
M. Marine’s, and my own. We were accompanied by seven natives, who
were under a chief on horseback, and these natives, mounted on camels,
guarded, each from his elevated position, the portion of the caravan
under his care.
We began by threading our way through a fine mountainous country, but
scattered all over with huge stones, which, coming in contact with our
wheels, gave us a most unpleasant shaking. Towards eleven at night, we
halted, but pitched one tent only, intending not to remain long at this
spot. This time, we had the luxury of fresh provisions, which we had
brought with us from Urga, and, after we had dined, we went to see the
Mongols at their repast.
They quickly lighted a fire with camel-dung in the middle of the tent,
and having set over it a caldron filled with water, they threw into it
a whole sheep that had just been roughly hacked into seven portions
without any method. This had hardly simmered a quarter of an hour,
when the chief gave the signal to begin. With their eyes glaring with
ravenous impatience, they all, like beasts of prey, rushed around
the caldron, and seized each a portion, which they began tearing and
devouring, without bread or salt, cracking and crunching the bones
between their teeth, and bolting with painful efforts whatever impeded
this savage feat of gorging. This enormous quantity of flesh, the
whole sheep in fact except the large bones, was despatched with the
celerity of a carcass before a pack of voracious wolves, whose feeding,
rather than a human repast of the most savage race even, it so strongly
resembled.
Since the Mongols have the custom of simply depositing their dead on
the ground, they should, from a desire to avoid a similar treatment of
the remains of animals, dispose of these otherwise, either by burial or
burning. It was the latter process our guides adopted this evening, A
most repulsive odour soon filled the tent and compelled us to quit it,
and as there was no other retreat than our carriages, we turned into
them and slept profoundly.
Our slumbers, however, were of short duration, for we were suddenly
awoke by the cries of our men, who were running after one of our pack
camels. This poor beast, having probably already experienced the
fatigues of the passage of the Gobi, naturally desired to escape from
our caravan. Having luckily shaken off, by his bounding, two little
chests that were attached to his back, and which happened to belong to
me, he had wandered away in the wide desert, or perhaps to the wood
on the Holy Mountain, which we had skirted in our route. In short, we
never saw him any more, and the accident hindered us from striking our
tent this night. Our guide was obliged to go and buy another camel at
Urga, and consequently we could not resume our march till ten in the
morning.
On the third day we arrived at the foot of a chain of mountains that
formed the limits on this side of the desert proper. As the laden
camels cannot ascend any hill, our guide hired oxen of the Mongols, who
are established on this side of the range to let them for this purpose.
It took us four hours to reach the summit, and when I had got so far, I
turned to the north to contemplate, for the last time, the magnificent
Altái mountains, whose crests covered with snow now shut out Siberia
from my eyes; and I bid adieu for ever to its wintry scenes. In this
glance I could trace the whole of the wrong route I had just followed,
and when I turned to the south, where not a flake of snow was visible,
my thoughts brightened with the prospect of spring over the verdant
plains of China, which I hoped soon to reach.
We at last entered the great Desert of Gobi, and began a journey which
happened to be of eighteen days’ duration across this dreary waste.
We stopped but very little on the way, and I wondered how camels,
animals that appear so lank and so loose in their framework, could
support so much fatigue. We pitched our tents about eleven in the
morning, and, while stationary for about two hours, our camels pastured
on some sparse grass. When we started the caravan did not stop again
till eleven at night.
The night halt, during which the camels slept, did not last more than
an hour, and then we went on again without stopping till eleven in the
morning.
The centre of the Desert of Gobi resembles the Sahara. It is a sea
of sand, over the whole extent of which there is no object whatever
to arrest the eye. When a little later we got further into it, and
during the four days which it took us to cross the part wholly void of
vegetation, our camels accomplished their work as usual without taking
the least nourishment. The last day only, several of them stopped and
began to lie down, as if to make us understand their extreme fatigue.
A few blows with the stick soon set them up on their legs again and,
in the end, not one dropped altogether. The horse that our guide had
bought at Kiachta, and whose forage of hay and oats was borne by the
camels, died at the end of a week, and another, we had bought of the
Mongols we met accidentally on our way, shared the same fate. We had
here a striking proof, under our eyes, of the superiority of the camel
over the horse in supporting prolonged fatigue.
The Mongol leader of our caravan had a thorough knowledge of the
desert. During the day he followed, generally, the still visible traces
of caravans; skeletons of camels, horses, or sometimes of oxen,
which we saw scattered here and there. At night, he kept his eye on a
star, as the mariner does on a distant pharos, and marched straight
towards it without looking at the ground, like the Magi of the Gospel.
Sometimes, however, the sky was covered with clouds and the ground
presented no traces of former passages; but these accidents in no way
embarrassed him, he continued guiding our caravan towards Kalkann with
the calm assurance of a navigator steering his ship towards some port
still beyond the reach of vision.
At one night halt, four days after leaving Urga, M. Schévélof reminded
us that the next day the orthodox church would celebrate the feast of
Easter: “We must,” he said, “on this occasion, give ourselves up to
some enjoyment.” The project was cheerfully adopted. M. Marine ran
out and soon brought in some _bonbons_, which he distributed to begin
with; and then I said, “I will provide some delicacy for supper,” and
hastening to my carriage, I quickly selected and brought in a tureen
of _foie gras_, a stock of which I had laid in. M. Schévélof opened a
bottle of Crimean wine, and we sat down to a jolly repast.
The Mongols, hearing our merry-making, came and squatted down at the
entrance of our tent, and began discussing the delicate qualities of
our repast, some vestiges of which they picked up from the ground
with avidity. Young Kousnietzof, impatient to contribute his share to
the festivity, also left the tent, but instead of returning with some
dainty, came in tuning a guitar, which he played delightfully, soothing
us with some of the melancholy thoughts of Wassili-Michäelovitch.
This group of five wanderers, squatting around a fire in this little
habitation, the sole plot lighted in the midst of the deep solitude
and silence of the immensity of the desert, with the party of Mongols
grouped in their national costume at the entrance, presented a highly
picturesque tableau. The hour of the night, the loneliness of the
spot, our remoteness from civilized life and the strangeness of our
surroundings, found us in no mood for protracted gaiety, and this soon
gave way to silent reverie more in harmony with the solemn incident and
the tender melancholy of the Russian airs. We should certainly, in
this mood, have forgotten the hour, if our Mongol chief, more sensible
to the exigencies of the desert than to the notes of the guitar, had
not suddenly appeared to warn us of the necessity of departure. In a
quarter of an hour the tents were folded and packed; we recommenced
our march, and the little spot, that had served us as the site of our
temporary habitation, no longer presented any mark to distinguish it
from the rest of the desert.