CARAVAN ACROSS THE DESERT OF GOBI.
A Mongolian Prince and his Court--Prayer turning--Our life in
the desert--The sandy plain--Want of water--Lunar mirage--
Three executions--A traveller astray in the desert--Arrival at
Kalkann and the Great Wall of China.
The following morning was ushered in with a wind so violent that no
one attempted to emerge from his shelter, and, singular enough, this
Easter day, which ought to have been passed in rejoicing, disappeared
without anyone having sought the society of his fellow travellers. The
weather the following day was not better, and we had, in addition,
several hail showers that quite whitened the surface of the desert.
Therefore, we did not break from our long confinement till the approach
of evening, when M. Schévélof descried, with the aid of his telescope,
far away, a large assemblage of tents. On drawing nearer we perceived
to our disappointment that they were not inhabited by Europeans; for
our guide soon discovered that it was a halt of a Mongolian prince,
surrounded with his court.
About a score of tents were pitched beside each other, and that of the
prince was distinguished by its larger size and by its being enclosed
with a kind of wall covered with coarse paintings. Another of about the
same size, surrounded with _praying-wheels_, appeared to be the temple
of the tribe. On our approach the dogs, that guarded each a tent, set
up such a barking and howling that the whole community was stirred up
with alarm. Many of the inhabitants seeing, in the distance, we were
strangers, came out to meet us from curiosity, and, at the same time,
to be assured of our pacific intentions. After an interview between
one of these and M. Schévélof, the latter informed us we were to be
admitted to the presence of the prince.
The simplicity and bareness of his tent astonished me. There was
nothing special to be seen in the interior but a little stove, with
a pipe leading from it through the top of the tent. The sole luxury,
therefore, of this princely habitation, consisted in a precaution
against asphyxia, a danger to which all others in tent life are exposed
through the noxious and nauseous smoke. He was squatting on a carpet,
and was clad in an ample blue silk robe edged with black velvet, his
feet being covered with a kind of black silk boots. His belt, to which
were attached all the requisites for smoking and the production of
fire, as is usual with the Mongols, was embroidered with silver. His
head was covered with a cap of yellow leather, having the border in fur
turned up, and surmounted with a blue ball, from which hung a little
tuft of hair.
As soon as we entered, he drew from his pocket a little bottle filled
with essence of tobacco, which he presented to M. Schévélof. Our leader
then withdrew the stopper, to which was attached a minute spoon, took
in this a drop of the essence and bore it to his nose, affecting to
be highly delighted with the effect, and then, replacing the stopper,
passed it to M. Marine, telling him to repeat the same ceremony. When
we had, all five of us, gone through this pantomime of simulated joy,
for Pablo did not miss the opportunity of keeping close to my side
to share in this novel ceremony, it was necessary to say something.
This delicate mission, of course, was the duty of M. Schévélof, who
acquitted himself of it with dignity. He then asked permission to
visit the temple, and this being accorded, we went to see the lama,
who offered to pray to the god to bless the remainder of our journey.
As a recompense for this protection of a deity, I presented him with
a brick of tea, five needles, and a bit of thread--a recompense in
my estimation ample enough, considering the cost of the benediction,
however highly cherished might be its effect.
As soon as I retired to my carriage, it was surrounded by five lamas
who, prostrated before it, were chanting prayers, each of them
turning all the time little _portable prayer wheels_. This comedy was
irresistibly ludicrous: the sight of these grave priests, solemnly
turning their prayers as a child winds round a toy windmill, was too
much for my gravity, and I was obliged to hide my irreverent laughter
in the far corner of my carriage. The grand priest, however, soon
opened the door without ceremony, to gratify his curiosity with its
contents. Not knowing what to do with my visitors, I took a bottle of
scent and presented it to their noses, and they were so delighted with
the odour that I sprinkled them with it just as the caravan began to
march. Their gratitude at this favour was unbounded: they all bowed
repeatedly in acknowledgment, and when they were disappearing from
my sight, they were being mobbed apparently by the members of the
community, who had come up to sniff at their shoulders, so wonderfully
odoriferous. This incident was, perhaps--judging from the popular
excitement--of sufficient importance to them to be handed down to
posterity.
From this time we had beautiful weather, and it became warm also. Our
days passed away much in the same way, it is true, but not without
pleasure and even merriment at times. When the caravan halted in the
mornings, we all came out of our carriages. As we were not in want of
water during the first half of our journey, at least for drinking, a
discussion usually took place every day, as they were pitching the
tents, between my companions, on tea-making. Were they to have fine
tea or brick tea? Should they mix with it sheep’s milk, wine, or lemon?
Should it be prepared entirely in the Mongolian way, that is, with
butter, flour, and salt? Many other suggestions, too long to mention
here, were made by M. Kousnietzof and even Pablo who, having lived in
many lands, had also his methods. When we had all refreshed ourselves,
the tents were struck, the camels resumed their march, and, shouldering
our guns, we wandered about till five or six in the evening, when we
joined our carriages and fell in again with the march of the caravan.
Some pursued winged game. M. Kousnietzof never finished the day without
having bagged a duck, or a partridge; the latter of a kind common
everywhere in Mongolia, but still little known in Europe, with feet
covered with hair, not unlike rat’s feet.
For my part, I preferred hunting the white deer and bucks, which we
sometimes saw in great numbers, but always at a long distance. How many
leagues have I not gone out of my way in the hope of stalking one of
these animals! On one occasion, in particular, being fully satisfied
I had wounded one badly, I was led a pretty dance after it, and I do
not know where I should have wandered, if twilight had not warned me
that unless I turned back I might lose sight of the caravan, and then
go astray in the middle of this desert--the greatest desert in the
world.[27]
[27] See note 14.
M. Marine, through caution or fear of fatigue, did not venture far
from the caravan. Sometimes, even, he used to sit at the opening of
his carriage, with his feet resting on the steps, and, from this
advantageous position, pepper away at everything that came into view,
whatever animal it might be, or at whatever distance it might be beyond
gun-shot. One day, however, M. Schévélof and I succeeded in stimulating
in him the ardour and enthusiasm of a hunter, under circumstances that
amused us for a very long time afterwards.
I happened to be walking about half a mile in advance of the caravan,
in conversation with its pleasant leader, when we perceived on the
ground a dead ermine--unquestionably dead, as its putrid odour proved.
We took it up and perched it in a tuft of grass, raising its head and
pointing its ears to make it look as lively as possible; having done
this we went to M. Marine to inform him that an excellent opportunity
presented itself to have a good shot. Full of excitement at a chance
such as he had long pined for on the steps of his carriage, he advances
slowly and noiselessly, entreating us not to stir a peg, and to speak
only in whispers. He shoulders his piece, aims carefully, fires,
and sees nothing escape; clearly he had bagged something at last.
“Bravo!” I exclaimed, with a movement as if I intended to secure the
animal in a bound; and here the comic part of the incident began. M.
Marine stretches out his arm and with a furious gesture stops me. I
comply, and he again takes aim with the greatest precaution, whilst M.
Schévélof is ready to split with laughing. “Ah! this time he is surely
dead,” exclaimed M. Marine immediately after the second shot. “But why
did you fire twice?” I asked. “I feared I might have missed the first
time, and that it might not have heard the report.” After this reply we
had no end of fun with poor Ivan Ivanovitch.
Shortly after this we came on the great sandy plain I have mentioned
that forms the centre of the Gobi desert. The first day passed pretty
well: a certain gloom pervaded us, it is true, though we did not pay
much attention to it. The second day was more trying. M. Kousnietzof
found that they had put a few grains of salt too many in the tea: every
one seemed in the humour to complain. The third day was still worse.
Wassili Michäelovitch did not even make his appearance in the tent
during the morning halt: with the excuse that he had an interesting
book to read, he breakfasted in his carriage. We could not have had
more agreeable travelling companions, but we all felt the depressing
influence of the bareness of nature--the emptiness of space around us.
In the immense solitudes of Siberia there are forests presenting
diverse features that relieve the eye with the change of colour or
form; on the open sea the waves are constantly in movement, movement
that is suggestive of life and consequently engages our sympathy; but
here in the desert there is a complete absence of change as well as
movement. There is nothing but an endless solitude of silence and rest.
Nowhere, perhaps, except in the presence of the dead, or alone among
the tombs, of which the desert is strongly suggestive, do we feel so
doleful and lonely, such an oppression on the spirits, encompassed as
we are by this endless and changeless sandy waste.
As an illustration of the influence of surrounding nature on the mind,
we could not resist the gloominess it inspired, and lounged along,
moping in our joylessness, one far apart from the other.[28]
[28] See note 15.
With our eyes cast down, we occupied ourselves in picking up some rare
stones with which the desert of Gobi is scattered in certain parts;
large agates and many other minerals, unknown to me, quite transparent,
and tinged with orange or green; the soil was quite covered with these,
presenting a gigantic mosaic.
The Mongol chief declared one morning that our provision of water was
exhausted. “I had reckoned,” he said, “on renewing the supply from a
pond here that generally contains water, but you see the spot and that
it is quite dry.” This news, though rather serious, caused a little
diversion in the monotony of our existence, and actually made us merry.
M. Schévélof and I alone had thought of providing wine, and our stock
of it was not large. We had no tea this day, neither with salt, sugar,
nor flour; and our tins of preserves had diminished considerably.
Filling our glasses with wine, so suddenly enhanced in value, we drank
a toast to the prospect of soon finding water.
M. Kousnietzof who, like a true Siberian, would have preferred half
a cup of tea to a whole bottle of the most delicate wine, could not
accommodate himself very easily to this privation. He was occupied,
all day long, in inspecting the horizon around with his telescope,
and again resumed at intervals his persevering work at night. “Wada!
Wada!” (water, water,) he suddenly calls out, stopping the caravan,
and pointing at a spot with a bluish surface near the horizon. In
our enthusiasm we all jumped out of our carriages, and began leading
the camels that bore the water kegs towards the indicated spot. M.
Kousnietzof ran and M. Marine danced with joy, Pablo sang and I
followed M. Schévélof, who doubted, and he was the wisest of all. This
deceptive blue tint was produced merely by a large bed of salt; so we
returned, looking rather _blue_ ourselves, to our carriages. The same
night, we witnessed a deception of another kind in a lunar mirage.
This phenomenon, which appears to be rather rare, is one of the most
graceful and enchanting presented by nature. The landscape that charmed
our sight was certainly a phantom, for it was far too dissimilar
from any real one to be met with in the middle of the desert; and if
I had not witnessed it myself, I should certainly have believed, if
my companions had faithfully described it to me, that they had been
indulging in a flight of imagination. We had before our eyes not only
a little lake reflecting the moonbeams from its smooth surface, but we
distinguished on its borders the outlines of groups of fine trees, and
even some wading birds. Wassili Michäelovitch, who at Verchni-Oudinsk
had never even heard of such a thing as a mirage, went leaping towards
this little lake, when the Mongols stopped his enthusiastic course
by loud peals of laughter. It is probable that this phenomenon,
however rare elsewhere, is not uncommon in the Desert of Gobi, since
the natives accompanying us appeared in no wise surprised at such a
beautiful vision.
Two days afterwards we came upon a little pond of dirty water, quite
stagnant, and surrounded with skeletons of all kinds of animals that
had come there to quench their thirst and then die. This water, in
which I did not venture to wash myself, was welcomed by us as a
God-send. The camels that had not drunk for a very long while, and
even, till just previously, eaten anything for many days, needed
ample rest. We, therefore, made here a long halt. After the repast M.
Kousnietzof began giving us some airs on his guitar, and our caravan,
that had been as dull as the ditch water, cheered up a little. We were
still in the heart of this great solitude, but we were confident that
the most difficult part had been passed, and we should now overcome all
further obstacles.
Five or six days later we fell in with a few Mongols. Our leader
exchanged one of our camels that was jaded for one of theirs fresh and
strong: we bought, also between us, a sheep. This day did not pass
without some excitement. The new camel had not yet been broken in to
any kind of work: it was therefore necessary to begin by piercing a
hole through his nose, in order to pass a stick through it for the
purpose of taming and leading him. This operation was not performed
without difficulty, for it is extremely painful to the animal. And,
besides, one of our camels had its foot cracked; this kind of accident
happens pretty often at the end of journeys, on account of the
protracted fatigue and the hardness of the ground. The Mongols treat it
by sewing together the wound, and the suffering of the poor beast may
be easily imagined. But the principal business was the killing of our
sheep; the first Mongol appointed by our leader for this work refused
to obey; he opened his robe, and showing us a little copper idol
suspended on his chest, “I am a lama,” he said, “and I am forbidden
to spill blood, even the blood of animals.” Another Mongol undertook
the function of a butcher, but he killed the sheep in a strange way.
He made a long incision in the abdomen, and then thrust his arm into
the wound to seize the heart and stop its beating by holding it fast.
[Illustration: MY MONGOLIAN CARRIAGE.]
An adventure, of which I was the hero, caused some delay. About an hour
after the caravan had resumed its march, after the usual night halt,
the tether that attached my camel to Pablo’s carriage got loose; and
the beast, feeling itself no longer drawn along, stopped altogether.
When my camel found himself thus left behind, I was in the rear of the
caravan. The Mongols were sleeping profoundly between the two humps of
their camels, and, consequently, not knowing that anything was amiss,
kept on their course. The reader may imagine my sensations on finding
myself quite alone on awaking in the morning. Fortunately I had the
presence of mind to avoid going in search of the caravan; for if I
had attempted to overtake it I should, in all probability, have gone
astray altogether, and, perhaps, in this plight if any natives had
observed my weakness and inexperience, they might have shown towards
me little benevolence and hospitality. I sat down on the ground before
my stupid-looking camel, with a good mind to give him a sound beating:
but, fearing he might take flight, I was constrained to treat him
kindly, for I dreaded beyond everything to be obliged to stir even a
hundred yards from the spot where I had been left, because there I
hoped to be found again. This anxious loneliness, happily, came to an
end about ten in the morning. At daybreak, the Mongols having perceived
my absence, stopped and turned back on the traces of the caravan,
spreading out in different directions. I was soon led back, and the
caravan hailed my return with joyous shouting. Pablo was quite overcome
with joy on seeing me safe again; his fidelity and attachment could not
be more strongly manifested.
The surface was now gradually becoming a little hilly, and we were soon
surrounded with high mountains. The temperature had become quite mild,
and as the moon shone in all its splendour, our journeying was now easy
and agreeable. The tents of the Mongols were more numerous, and we met
two or three Chinese caravans going to Maimatchin. At last the route,
like the way on leaving Urga, was again strewn all over with huge
stones, and these enabled our guide to announce to us that three days
later we should come in sight of the Great Wall.
When Mongolia is traversed from north to south, the traveller rises
gradually, without suspecting it on account of the ease of the ascent,
to four thousand feet above the sea-level. On arriving at this
culminating point the land is found cut almost perpendicularly to the
depth of this elevation, and in such a manner that, to continue the
route, it is necessary to descend by a series of zig-zags cut out by
the hand of man, the descent of which is as rapid as the most perilous
mountain paths of the Alps and Pyrenees. It is along this peaked crest
that the Great Wall of China runs. It is not built of brick, like the
interior walls of Nang-Kao for example, of which I shall say something
hereafter, and which many travellers erroneously take for the true
Great Wall. But the true Great Wall that separates, in the first place,
Mongolia from China proper, is built of stones laid over each other
without cement. Towers, placed at certain distances from each other,
are more solidly constructed, and have thus more effectually resisted
the wear of time. This wall has the form of capital A open: the
others, which I believe are seven in number, unless I passed more in
the night without having seen them, form as many transverse bars.
When our caravan, after three days of fatiguing march across the rough
stony land I have mentioned, reached the Great Wall of China, it was
about six in the morning on the 29th of April. The sun appeared on the
horizon, and we could distinguish a series of hills stretching far away
into the interior, with the intervening spaces veiled in cloud. We
could see these undulations of the Celestial Empire to advantage at the
great elevation we had arrived at, and we sat down some time admiring
the magnificent spectacle.
My attention was struck immediately by the remarkable difference
between the country we had just travelled over and the one we were
about to enter. Behind me was a wild uncultivated waste, and before me
extended that famous fertile land that bestows annually on its people
two crops of corn or rice, and two crops of vegetables. On one side
it was an unpeopled desert, and on the other a swarming of human
beings numbering probably more than four hundred millions, and whose
assemblage of four hundred thousand even constitutes but a village
among its populous cities. But a little while ago it was everywhere
bleak and barren, and for the future it will be sunshine over rich
verdant lands. Thus much for the most striking advantages on the side
of China, to which may be opposed others on the side of Mongolia.
The air of Mongolia was pure and invigorating; that of China will be
nauseating and unhealthy. The soil was covered with a sand so coarse
that the most violent winds were unable to raise it: the soil in
future will be composed of a dust so fine that the least breeze will
lift it in clouds, impeding the sight and respiration. The Mongols
were hospitable; the Chinese will be hostile; the mere circumstance of
being there constitutes an offence in their eyes, and one they would
punish if they dared. It would be difficult to find two neighbouring
countries more dissimilar than China and Mongolia in the nature of the
soil and in the character of the inhabitants. The Great Wall, which has
separated them in the past, does not seem by its ruin to bring them
nearer to one another in the future. If I were asked which of these two
peoples I prefer, though it is difficult to compare a civilized with
a savage race, I should reply: “The Mongol is superior to the Chinese
in honesty and disposition; but the latter to the Mongol in talent and
ingenuity in the arts.”
We descended on foot the zig-zags that lead from the Great Wall to
Kalkann. The natives formed in two rows to see us pass. They came
from all parts, even from underground; for they live in caves like
the caverns of Touraine, which they have scooped out of the rock in
the side of the mountain. The women with their little feet walk with
difficulty, and holding a child by one hand make use of the other as a
balancing pole to maintain their equilibrium. M. Schévélof got into a
rage two or three times with these people, who pressed in around and
would not get out of the way to let us pass, and yet we were only in
the rural part. Five hours after passing the Great Wall we came to the
bottom of the valley, which narrows here almost to a gorge. The aspect
of the country is picturesque. A little rivulet, which occasionally
swells out in width to fill the whole valley, meanders along, sometimes
at the foot of an enormous rock, sometimes lost in a thicket of
verdure. Everything is pretty and graceful, but strange in form and
arrangement. I recognised here the models of Chinese landscapes I
have seen in France, and which I had always taken to be imaginary
compositions. Thus in the midst of this valley, formed between two
great hills of majestic dark rocks, rises abruptly a pointed granite
mound, on the top of which is built a temple: a little further, an
enormous red rock is suspended, in a manner incomprehensible, on the
apex of a cone of earth. The whole of this singular bit of nature is
variegated and enlivened by trees, irregularly disposed here and there,
freshly decked in their vernal dress.
If the reader will picture to his fancy this landscape, peopled with
men of effeminate look with long pig-tails, and women with painted
faces presenting the appearance of wax figures, he will form some idea
of the country we traversed in descending from the Great Wall of China.