but just beyond the verge of the steppes. The faint lines that chequered
the sky gradually assumed a greater distinctness of form and colour; at
first the mountains seemed so many light, transparent vapours, floating
upon the wind; but by degrees the airy vision developed into
forest-crowned mountains, deep shadowy gorges, and domes clothed with
mists. Our minds were almost overwhelmed with a multitude of emotions,
excited by the prodigal nature before us, the magnificent vegetation,
and the various hues of forest and mountain, peak, crag, ravine, and
snowy summits. It was beautiful, superbly beautiful, and then it was the
Caucasus! The Caucasus--a name associated with so many grand historic
memories, with the earliest traditions and most fabulous creeds--the
abode, in the world's grey morning, of the races whence have sprung so
many famous nations. Around it hangs all the vague poetry of the ages,
visible only to the imagination through the mysterious veil of
antiquity."
* * * * *
At Georgief they rested on the threshold of the Caucasus. Thence they
proceeded to Piatigorsk, celebrated for its mineral waters. On the road
they fell in with a troop of Circassians. "I shall never forget," says
Madame de Hell, "the glances which they flung on our Cossacks as they
passed by, though it was only in looks they durst manifest the hatred
that seethed in their hearts against everything Russian. They were all
fully armed. Beneath their black bourkas glittered the sheen of their
pistols and their damasked poniards. I confess their appearance pleased
me most when they were just vanishing from sight on the summit of a
hill, where their martial figures were outlined against the sky. Seeing
them through the mist, I began to think of Ossian's heroes."
Piatigorsk is not so much a town as a pleasant cluster of
country-houses, inhabited for some months of the year by a rich
aristocracy. All about it is gay and pretty, and everywhere are those
signs of affluence which the Russian nobles love to see around them.
Nothing offends the eye; nothing touches the heart; there are no poor,
no squalid huts, no indication of the wretchedness of poverty. It is a
terrestrial Elysium, where great ladies and princes, courtiers and
generals, look out upon none but agreeable images, selected from all
that is charming in art and nature. Thermal springs are found on most of
the surrounding heights, and the works that afford access to them do
credit to the skill of the Russian engineers and the liberality of the
Russian government. On one of the loftiest peaks rises an octagonal
building, consisting of a cupola resting upon slender shapely columns,
which are encircled at their base by a graceful balustrade. The
interior, open on all sides, contains an AEolian harp, the melancholy
notes of which, blending with all the mountain echoes, descend softly to
the valley.
The route of our travellers, after quitting Piatigorsk, lay along the
broad deep valley of the Pod Kouwa, which, on the right, is bounded by
rocks piled one upon another, like billows suddenly petrified, and
bearing witness to some great upheaval in the past; on the left, tier
after tier of richly wooded mountains rise gradually to the majestic
chain of the Kazbek. Eventually the road leaves the valley, at a point
where it has become very narrow, and traverses a long sinuous ledge,
parallel with the course of the torrent, until it begins to enter the
mountains. Here the miry soil through which their horses had laboured
with much difficulty, and the grey sky, and the moist atmosphere that
had hitherto accompanied them, were at once exchanged for a dry air,
cold, dust, and sunshine. This sudden contrast is a phenomenon peculiar
to elevated regions.
Madame de Hell was strongly impressed by the wild picturesque character
of the scenery of this part of the Caucasus. At certain intervals,
conical mounds of earth, about sixty feet high, stood conspicuous--watch
towers, where sentinels are stationed day and night. Their outlines,
sharply marked against the sky, produce a curious and striking effect
amidst the profound solitude. The sight of these Cossacks, with muskets
shouldered, pacing up and down the small platform on the summit of each
eminence, conveyed to the spectator's mind a knowledge of the rapid
advance which Russian civilization had made into this remote region.
It was mid-October, but vegetation still retained its freshness. The
steep mountain sides were covered with rich greenswards, which afforded
abundant pasture for the scattered flocks of goats. Their keepers,
clothed in sheepskins, and carrying, instead of the traditional crook,
long guns slung across their shoulders, with two or three powder and
ball cases at their waists, seemed in strange contrast to the pastoral
sentiment of the landscape. Gigantic eagles, roused from their eyries,
swept with heavy wing from crag to crag, the monarchs of these
solitudes. Here our travellers really looked out upon those features of
the Caspian wilderness on which their imaginations had so often dwelt.
Of the Circassian inhabitants of this mountain region, before they were
completely subjugated by the despotism of the white Czar, Madame de Hell
furnishes a graphic account. Bred amid the sights and sounds of war they
went always well armed, carrying a rifle, a sabre, a long dagger, which
they wore in front, and a pistol in the belt. Their picturesque costume
consisted of tight pantaloons, and a short tunic, which was belted round
the waist, and had cartridge pockets worked on the breast; a round laced
cap, encircled with a black or white border of long-wooled sheepskin,
formed their head-gear. In cold or rainy weather, they wore a _bashlik_,
or hood, and a _bourka_, or cloak, of impervious felt. They were bold
and skilful riders, and their horses, though small, were remarkable for
spirit and endurance. It is well known that a Circassian horseman would
cover twenty-five or even thirty leagues of ground in a night. When
pursued by the Russians, they would leap the most rapid torrents. If
their steeds were young, and unaccustomed to such perilous exploits,
they would gallop them up to the brink of the ravine, cover the head
with their bourkas, and then dash, almost always without mishap, down
precipices from twenty to fifty feet in depth.
It is unnecessary to dwell on their address in the use of fire-arms and
of their two-edged daggers. Armed only with the latter weapon, they were
often known, during their long and heroic struggle for independence, to
leap their horses over the Muscovite bayonets, stab the soldiers, and
break up and put to flight their serried battalions. When surrounded in
their forts or villages, and shut out from all hope of escape, they
frequently sacrificed their wives and children--like the Jews in the
last agonies of their war with Rome--set fire to their dwellings, and
perished heroically in the flames. With true Oriental devotedness they
stand by their dead and wounded to the last extremity, and fight with
the most dogged courage to prevent them from falling into the hands of
the enemy.
Madame de Hell is not disposed to endorse the reputation for beauty
which so many writers have agreed in bestowing upon the Circassian
women. She considers them even inferior, physically, to the men. "It is
true," she says, "we were unable to visit any of the great centres of
population, or to travel amongst the independent tribes, but we saw
several _aouls_ on the banks of the Kouban, and were entertained in a
princely family, and nowhere did we meet with any of those surpassing
beauties whom more fortunate travellers have celebrated." What she _did_
observe in those daughters of the mountains was the elegance of their
shape and the natural grace of their movements. A Circassian woman is
never awkward. Dressed in rags or in brocade, she never fails to assume,
spontaneously and without thought of display, the most graceful and
picturesque attitudes. "In this respect," says Madame de Hell, "she is
unquestionably superior to the highest efforts of fascination which
Parisian art can achieve."
A visit to the family of a Circassian prince "at home" is thus narrated
by our travellers:
The dwelling was a wretched mud hut, in front of which, on a mat, lay
the prince in his shirt, and barefooted. He received his visitors very
hospitably, and after the usual courtesies proceeded to make his
toilette. He sent for his finest garments and costliest "leg gear,"
girded on his weapons, and then led the way into his "interior," which
was as bare and unfurnished as any Connemara peasant's cabin, the only
objects visible being a saddle, a few vessels, and a divan covered with
reed matting. His guests having rested for a few minutes, the prince
introduced them to his wife and daughter, who had been apprised of their
arrival, and were anxious to see them.
These ladies occupied a hut of their own, consisting, like the prince's,
of a single room. They rose at the entrance of their visitors, and
saluted them with much grace; then, motioning them to be seated, the
mother sat down in the Turkish fashion on her divan, while her daughter
reclined against the couch on which the strangers had taken their
places. They, when the reception was over, remarked with surprise that
the prince had not crossed the threshold, but had simply put his head in
at the door to answer their questions and converse with his wife. The
explanation afforded was, that a Circassian officer cannot, consistently
with honour, enter his wife's apartment during the day, and it seems
that in all families with the slightest pretension to distinction this
rule is rigorously observed.
A greater appearance of comfort was observable in the princess's
apartment than in her husband's, as might well be the case. It contained
two large divans, the silk cushions of which were gay with gold and
silver embroidery, carpets of painted felt, several trunks, and a very
pretty work-basket. A small Russian mirror and the prince's armorial
trophies formed the decoration of the walls. But the floor was not
boarded, the walls were rough plastered, and the only provision for
light and air were two little holes furnished with shutters. The
princess, a woman apparently between five-and-thirty and forty years of
age, was by no means fitted to sustain the Circassian reputation for
beauty. Her dress had a character of its own: under a brocaded pelisse,
with short sleeves and laced seams, she wore a silk chemise, which
displayed more of the bosom than European notions of decorum would
approve. A velvet cap, trimmed with silver, smooth plaits of hair, cut
heart-shape on the forehead, a white veil falling from the top of the
head and covering over the bosom, and finally, a red shawl thrown
carelessly over the lap--_voila tout!_ As for the daughter, she was
charming. She wore a white robe fastened round the waist by a red
kazavek. Her features were delicate; she had a complexion of exquisite
fairness, revealing the play of "the pure and eloquent blood" which
"spoke in her cheek, and so distinctly wrought that one might almost say
her body thought;" and a profusion of glossy raven tresses escaped from
under her cap.
Beyond all praise was the geniality of the two ladies. About the country
of their visitors, their calling, and the objects of their journey, they
put a thousand questions. The European costume, and especially the straw
hats, interested them greatly. Yet there was a certain air of coldness
and impassiveness about them, and not once did the princess smile, until
a long curtain accidentally fell, and shut her out for a moment from her
guests. After a short but rapid conversation the visitors asked the
princess's permission to take her portrait and sketch the interior of
her abode. She offered no objection. When the drawings were finished, a
collation was served, consisting of fruits and cheese-cakes. In the
evening, the strangers took their leave, and, on coming out of the hut,
they found all the inhabitants of the _aoul_ assembled to witness their
departure and do them honour.
* * * * *
We must resume our narrative of Madame de Hell's journey. On their way
to Stavropol, they experienced a mountain-storm, one of the grandest and
most terrible they had ever witnessed. The roar of the thunder,
repeated by every echo in cavern and ravine, mingled with the groaning
and jarring of the great trees, with the loud gusts of the furious wind,
with all those mysterious voices of the tempest which come we know not
whence, but deeply stir the heart, and have so potent a harmony and such
a sublimity and force of sound that the least superstitious mind
involuntarily awaits some supernatural manifestation, some message from
the other world. We have ourselves listened to a storm in a Highland
glen--the wind sweeping down the rugged declivities with terrible
impetuosity, and the thunder-peals reverberating from peak to peak,
while the clouds
"From many a horrid rift abortive poured
Fierce rain with lightning mixed, water with fire,"
until the sense of an eerie and mysterious Presence has forced itself
upon our mind, and we have been able to understand the emotions in which
originated the visions of wraith and phantom of the bards of old. Our
travellers, however, passed through the gale unhurt. A tremendous
outburst of rain, the final effort of the tempest, cleared the sky,
which towards the west was gradually lighted up with gleams of purple
light, contrasting gloriously with the darkness of the rest of the
firmament. A gorgeous rainbow, one foot of which rested on the highest
peak of the Caucasus, while the other was enveloped in the mists of
evening, rose before them for a few moments, like an image of hope, and
then slowly faded into thin air. At length they reached the station,
but in an unpleasant condition--wet, weary, dazed, and not a little
surprised to find themselves safe and sound after the adventures of the
day.
* * * * *
Descending the last spurs of the Caucasus, our travellers next day
entered upon the region of the plains. The road was thronged with
vehicles of all kinds, horsemen, and pedestrians, all hurrying to the
great fair of Stavropol, and every variety of type which characterizes
the peoples of the Caucasus: Circassians, Cossacks, Turcomans, Tartars,
Georgians--some in brilliant costumes, caracolling on their high-bred
Persian horses, others huddled up with their families in hide-covered
carts, others again driving before them immense herds of sheep and
swine, and others gravely leading a train of loaded camels. Madame de
Hell particularly noticed a handsome young Circassian, mounted on a
richly caparisoned horse, who rode constantly by the side of an
unusually elegant pavosk (a kind of litter), the curtains of which were
kept down. This carriage stimulated her curiosity, and, in such a
country, was well adapted to suggest to a lively fancy the outlines of a
romance. No doubt, she thought, the pavosk contained a young and
beautiful Circassian, whose charms would fascinate some Oriental prince,
and place a queen's diadem upon her brow. At an inn, in Stavropol,
Madame de Hell again fell in with the Circassian and his mysterious
charge, but the latter was veiled from head to foot "The young
mountaineer," she says, "prepared a divan with cushions and pillows very
like our own, and, a few moments afterwards, returned, carrying in his
arms a woman completely shrouded in her veil; he placed her very
delicately upon the divan, and seated himself by her side with every
mark of tenderness. Occasionally he lifted the young girl's veil to
question her in the most respectful manner. The whole scene was invested
with a poetic charm which I vainly endeavour to express. In the
attitudes, the costume, the physiognomy of this little group, there was
an Oriental grace which would have impressed a painter. Not only was the
picture pleasant to the eye, but it was suggestive to the imagination.
Unfortunately, the delightful vision disappeared like a dream. A few
minutes, and in came our host in search of the mysterious couple, to
conduct them to a private apartment. Infinite precautions were taken in
the removal of the unknown lady, who seemed to be on the brink of the
grave. Next morning we questioned our host in reference to the incident,
but he replied very vaguely, and all we could gather was, that the young
girl had come to Stavropol to consult a famous physician respecting her
condition, which offered but little hope. We could gain no information
from them as to the relations existing between her and the young chief,
the moral causes of her malady, or, in a word, the interesting part of
the story."
FOOTNOTES:
[4] George Eliot.
MADAME HOMMAIRE DE HELL.
II.
From Stavropol, a pleasant and lively town, the capital of the Caucasus,
our travellers journeyed toward the Don with singular rapidity,
accomplishing the distance of 316 versts,[5] in two-and-twenty hours.
They ate and slept in their carriage, and did not alight until they
reached the river-side, where every kind of tribulation lay in wait for
them. Madame de Hell would afterwards remark on the strange tenacity
with which ill-luck adheres to us when it has overtaken us. At ten
o'clock at night, when they were still at some distance from the Don,
they were informed that the bridge across it was in a dangerous
condition, and that probably they would be compelled to wait till the
next day before they could cross. For such a delay they were unprepared,
having calculated on a good supper and a good bed that night under a
friendly roof in Rostov. Another reason for haste was the change in the
weather, which had suddenly turned cold; so, disregarding the
information given them, they continued to push forward until they
reached the bridge. There the signs of its insecure condition were too
numerous to be denied. Several carts stood unyoked, and peasants lay
beside them, calmly waiting for daylight. Then was repeated the bad news
which had already discouraged our travellers, and it seemed clear that
they would have to spend some hours in the britchka, exposed to the
chill night air, while, once on the other side, they could reach Rostov
in a couple of hours.
So influential a consideration carried the day. They would not halt;
they would cross the bridge--though not without taking all due
precautions. Alighting from the carriage, they allowed it to go forward,
the coachman driving slowly, while the Cossack, with his lantern,
pointed out all the dangerous places. "I do not think," says Madame de
Hell, "that in the whole course of my travels we were ever in so
alarming a situation. The danger was urgent and real. The cracking of
the woodwork, the darkness, the noise of waters dashing through the
decayed floor that bent and trembled under their tread, and the cries of
alarm uttered every moment by the coachman and the Cossack might well
have filled us with apprehension; yet I do not think that the thought of
death ever occurred, or, rather, my mind was too confused to formulate
any thought at all. Frequently the wheels sank between the broken
planks, and these were moments of terrible anxiety; but at last, by dint
of patient effort, we reached the opposite bank in safety, after a
passage of more than an hour. I could not have held out much longer; the
water on the bridge was over our ankles. The reader will understand with
what satisfaction we again took our places in the carriage. We were then
better able to realize the nature of the perils we had incurred, and for
a moment almost doubted our actual safety. For awhile we seemed to hear
the dash of the waters breaking against the bridge; but this feeling was
soon dispelled by others--the night's adventures were by no means at an
end.
"At some versts from the Don," continues Madame de Hell, "our unlucky
star threw us into the hands of a drunken driver, who, after losing his
way, and jolting us over ditches and ploughed fields, actually brought
us back in sight of the dreadful bridge, the thought of which still made
us shudder. We would fain have persuaded ourselves that we were
mistaken, but the truth was beyond dispute; there before us rolled the
Don, and yonder stood Axai, the village through which we had passed
after reseating ourselves in the britchka. Conceive our indignation at
having floundered about for two hours only to find ourselves again at
our point of departure! The sole resource we could think of was to pass
the night in a peasant's cabin, but our abominable coachman, whom the
sight of the river had suddenly sobered, and, perhaps, the fear of a
sound thrashing, threw himself on his knees, and so earnestly implored
us to try the road again, that we consented. The difficulty was, how to
get back into the road, and many a false start was made before we
effected it. In crossing a ditch the carriage was so violently shaken,
that the coachman and our dragoman were thrown from their seats, the
latter falling upon the pole in such a way that he was not easily
extricated. His cries for help, and his grimaces when my husband and the
Cossack had set him on his feet, were so desperate, that one might have
supposed half his bones to be broken, though, in reality, he had
sustained only a few bruises. As for the yemshik, he picked himself up
very composedly, and climbed into his seat again as if nothing unusual
had befallen him. From the quiet way in which he resumed the reins, one
might have thought that he had just risen from a bed of roses; such is
the uniform apathy of the Russian peasant!"
They spent a week with their friends at Taganrog, and thence proceeded
to Odessa, the great commercial entrepot of the Euxine. In one night the
grim blasts of the Ural had swept away all that October had spared. The
weather was still sunny when they arrived on the shores of the Sea of
Azov; but next day the sky wore that sombre chilly hue which always
precedes the _metels_, or snow-storms. All nature seemed to be prepared
for the reception of winter--that eternal ruler of the North. Its advent
was indicated by the thin ice-crust that covered the beach, the harsh
winds, the frost bound soil, and the increasing lurid gloom of the
atmosphere; symptoms which made our travellers apprehensive of possible
suffering on their road to Odessa, their intended winter-quarters,
whence they were distant about 900 versts.
It was indeed the worst season for travelling in Russia. Travellers have
good reason to fear the first snows, which, as they are not firm enough
to bear a sledge, are almost every year the cause of many accidents. The
winds, too, at this season are excessively violent, and raise the drifts
in terrific whirling snow-storms, which threaten the destruction of the
traveller. Madame de Hell and her husband, however, accomplished their
journey in safety, though not without enduring considerable pain and
anxiety. Nothing can be more awful than the snowy wastes they were
compelled to traverse, swept and ravaged as they were by furious blasts.
All trace of man's existence--all trace of human labour--is buried
beneath the great cold white billows, which lie heaped upon one another,
like breakers on a stormy coast.
* * * * *