It was only by dint of courage and perseverance that these first

colonists succeeded in their enterprise, surrounded as they were on all

sides by the savage hordes of the Kalmucks, having no knowledge of the

language of the country, and situated at more than 120 versts from any

Russian town. But after the first difficulties were surmounted, their

prosperity was rapid. As we have already said, the Moravian brethren

form a vast society, spread throughout all parts of the world for the

propagation of the Gospel; but, moreover, for the better fulfilment of

their mission they are all required by the rules of their order to know

some trade, so as to be able to support themselves by the work of their

own hands. Hence Sarepta soon became a seat of manufactures of all

sorts, and an industrial school for the surrounding country, and

Catherine's intentions were realised.

As for the brethren themselves, the establishment of an industrial town

in a land so remote and so destitute of resources and markets, was for

them but a secondary object. Their chief aim was the conversion of the

Kalmucks, to accomplish which they thought rightly that it was

indispensable to have a permanent settlement among those people. All

their proselytising efforts, however, remained fruitless; the Kalmucks

were deaf to their instruction. It was not till 1820 that they succeeded

in converting a few families, and inducing them to receive baptism. But

now the Russian clergy interposed, and insisted on the converts being

baptised according to the Greek rite, and finally, all the Moravian

missions were suppressed. Ever since then Sarepta has been a purely

manufacturing town.

The colony of Sarepta endured great calamities in the beginning. In

1771, the period of the famous emigration of the Kalmucks, the brethren

had a narrow escape of being carried into captivity, and were saved only

by the mildness of the winter, which prevented their enemies from

crossing the Volga and joining the great horde. The Cossack Pougatchef

ravaged the whole country in 1773, and the colonists, 200 in number,

including women, were obliged to retreat to Astrakhan. The defeat of the

rebel shortly afterwards enabled them to return home. Their town had

been destroyed, but they were not disheartened, and it soon rose again

from its ruins. A whole street was burned down in Sarepta in 1812, and

in the same year they lost their warehouses in Moscow, containing an

immense stock of goods, in the great conflagration. But the most

terrible disaster was that of 1823, when two-thirds of the colony and

the largest establishments were reduced to ashes; the loss was estimated

at upwards of 40,000_l._ The Emperor Alexander and the Moravian

Association afforded the poor colonists generous aid, but they could

never restore the old prosperity of Sarepta.

All these heavy blows falling successively on the unfortunate community,

did not, however, prevent the development of its industry. Great

activity prevailed in its very various manufactories down to the

beginning of the present century, and their productions continued to be

in request in all parts of Russia. Some of the brethren established in

the great towns of the empire were the active and honest correspondents

of the Volga colonists. The silks and cottons of Sarepta were so

successful that the weavers of that town formed establishments at their

own cost among the German colonies of the government of Saratof.[17] But

all these elements of wealth were annihilated by the new customs'

regulations; most of the manufactories were closed; as for the rest,

with one or two exceptions, being obliged to confine themselves to the

production of a small number of articles, they can only subsist by dint

of great economy and skill. The difficulty, too, of procuring workmen

makes labour extremely dear in Sarepta; and besides this the colonists

instead of importing the raw materials direct from the foreigner, are

obliged to purchase them in the markets of St. Petersburg and Moscow.

The decrease in the waters of the Sarpa has also been disastrous to the

trade of Sarepta. The brethren had set up a great number of saw and

other mills on the banks, and these brought them large profits; but the

want of water caused them all to be abandoned in 1800. In noticing this

continual struggle of man against nature and events, we cannot but pay

the tribute of our admiration to those intrepid colonists, who, on the

furthest verge of Europe, in the arid steppes of the Volga, have never

suffered themselves to be overcome by their mischances, but have always

found fresh resources in their own energy and perseverance.

The manufacture of mustard is at present the most important branch of

business in Sarepta, producing nearly 16,000 kilogrammes yearly, besides

4800 kilogrammes of oil. This trade is not unimportant to the

neighbouring villages, since it uses upon an average every year 160,000

kilogrammes of mustard seed, for which the manufacturer pays the peasant

at the rate of 1.60 rubles the poud or thirty-three pounds.

The other trades that are still carried on with some degree of success

are the manufactures of silk and cotton tissues, stockings and caps,

tobacco and tanned leather, but these are all upon a greatly reduced

scale and at a greatly diminished rate of profit. There is also a very

clever optician in Sarepta, and there are several confectioners who

travel to Moscow. The colony possesses also warehouses of manufactured

goods, and offers almost all the resources and conveniences of a good

European town.

Agriculture can only be a secondary matter in the colony; of the 17,000

deciatines of land possessed by it 2000 are quite unfit for cultivation,

10,000 are salt, and only 4000 are really good. There is, however, a

little village named Schoenbrunn, not far from the town, in which there

are some families engaged in agriculture and cattle rearing. Merino

sheep have not done well with them hitherto. They had a large stock some

years ago, but it dwindled away either from mismanagement, or from the

severity of the climate, and at present does not exceed 1000 head.

The brethren possess also numerous gardens along the Sarpa, irrigated by

water wheels, and producing all sorts of fruits and plants, but chiefly

tobacco, and latterly indigo, which will no doubt become of great

importance to the colony.

The little town of Sarepta has not changed much within the last eighty

years: its buildings still present the same appearance as they did some

years after the foundation of the colony; but the great industrial

movements of former times have deserted it, and its streets are become

lonely and silent. The fountain still flows on the same spot, and is

still shaded by the same trees; but the blackened walls of the two

finest manufactories, burnt down in the terrible fire of 1823, and which

the colonists have never been able to rebuild, make a singularly painful

impression on the beholder, and tell too plainly that in spite of their

courage and industry, events have been too strong for the Moravians. All

travellers who visit Sarepta, and have an opportunity of appreciating

the worth of its inhabitants, will certainly desire from their hearts a

return of prosperity to this interesting colony: unhappily it is not

probable that these wishes will be very speedily realised.

The Moravian community has augmented but little since 1769; for in 1837

it comprised but 380 souls, viz., 160 men and 220 women; and even of

these, only one half were natives of Sarepta, the remainder being

immigrants from abroad. Many causes combine to keep down the population.

In the first place, no colonist is allowed to marry, until he can prove

the sufficiency of his means; both men and women, therefore, marry late

in life, and large families are extremely rare. Again, no brother can

marry, if his doing so would cause any detriment to another; and all

those who, by their misconduct, in any degree disturb the order and

tranquillity of the colony, are banished and put out of the association.

A sort of passport is given them for the government of Saratof, and then

they are at liberty either to enrol themselves as government colonists,

or to enjoy their privileges as foreigners. Lastly, after the great fire

of 1823, many of the brethren, discouraged by the loss of their all,

left Sarepta, and went to reside elsewhere. All these reasons,

sufficiently account for the stationary condition of the population. Of

strangers to the association, there are in Sarepta, thirty families of

work people from the German colonies of Saratof, forty Russians, and

twenty Tatars; some fifty Kalmuck kibitkas (tents) supply labourers for

the gardens and for other works.

There are now fifty-six stone and 136 wooden houses in Sarepta, and

outside it, one stone and forty-nine wooden. Its public buildings, are a

church, with an organ and a belfry, and three large workhouses for

bachelors, widows, and girls. These serve at the same time as asylums

for orphans, and for all persons who have no families. There are also

schools for the young of both sexes, in which the course of instruction

is rather extensive, and includes the German, Russian, and French

languages, history, geography, and elementary mathematics.

At first, Sarepta was surrounded with ditches and ramparts, supplied

with artillery and defended by a detachment of Cossacks; but these

military displays have long disappeared, and the worthy Moravians are

left alone to their own peaceful pursuits. In describing this

interesting colony, we must not forget its numerous and delicious

fountains. Every street, every house has its own, the water being

conveyed by wooden pipes underground into a common reservoir, whence it

is distributed to all parts. Nor will it be without a keen feeling of

satisfaction that the weary traveller will stop at the Sarepta hotel,

where he will find a good bed and a good table, excellent wine, and all

the comforts he can desire.

The Moravian brethren of Sarepta justly enjoy much more extensive

privileges than all the other colonists of Russia: they pay to the crown

but a slight tax per deciatine of land; and they have the right of

trading in all parts of the empire and to foreign parts, as first guild

merchants without paying any dues. They have their own perfectly

separate administration, and all litigated affairs among them are

settled by themselves, without the interference of any Russian tribunal:

if any disputes arise between them and their neighbours, they have

recourse to the general committee of the German colonies of Saratof, or

in matters of weight, to the ministry in St. Petersburg, through one of

their brethren, who resides there as their agent. In cases of murder

alone, they deliver over the criminal to the Russian authorities.

Banishment is usually the sentence pronounced for other offences by the

tribunal of the association, which consists of a mayor and two

assistants, elected by the community, and who act also as administrators

of the colony, and have under their orders an officer, who is

responsible for all things pertaining to the town and country police.

The public revenue is 20,000 rubles, produced by the rent of the

fisheries and by special taxes; this money is spent in keeping up the

public buildings, the schools, workhouses, &c.

The habits of these colonists, their amount of education, and their

religious principles, make a marked distinction between them and all the

other Germans in Russia. We have seen few sectarians whose religious

views are characterised by so much sound sense. While discharging their

duties with the most scrupulous exactness, they avail themselves of the

good things granted them by Providence, live in a liberal and commodious

manner, and surround themselves with all that can render life easy and

agreeable. What struck us most of all, was to find invariably in the

mere workman as well as in the wealthy manufacturer, a well-bred,

well-informed man, of elegant manners and appearance, and engaging

conversation. We spent but a few days in the colony, but our knowledge

of the German language, enabled us quickly to acquire the friendship of

the principal inhabitants; and when we left the town, our carriage was

surrounded by a great number of those worthy people who came to bid us a

last farewell, and to wish us a pleasant journey through the wild

steppes of the Kalmucks.

FOOTNOTES:

[17] The German colonies of the government of Saratof consist of 102

villages, with a population of 81,271; in 1820 they produced 242,830

hectolitres of wheat, worth 555,263 paper rubles, and tobacco to the

value of 260,485.

CHAPTER XIX.

FIRST KALMUCK ENCAMPMENTS--THE VOLGA--ASTRAKHAN--VISIT TO A

KALMUCK PRINCE--MUSIC, DANCING, COSTUME, &c.--EQUESTRIAN

FEATS--RELIGIOUS CEREMONY--POETRY.

At eight in the evening we left Sarepta, delighted in the highest degree

with the good Moravian brethren, and the cordial hospitality they had

shown us.

At some distance from the colony, a dull white line, scarcely

distinguishable through the gloom, announced the presence of the Volga.

We followed its course all night, catching a glimpse of it from time to

time by the faint glimmering of the stars, and by numerous lights along

its banks; these were fishermen's lanterns. There was an originality in

the whole region that strongly impressed our imaginations. Those

numerous lights, flitting every moment from place to place, were like

the will o' the wisp that beguiles the benighted traveller; and then the

Kalmuck encampments with their black masses that seemed to glide over

the surface of the steppe; the darkness of the night; the speed with

which our troika bore us over the boundless plain; the shrill tinklings

of the horse bells, and above all, the thought that we were in the land

of the Kalmucks, wrought us up to a state of nervous excitement that

made us see every thing in the hues of fancy.

At daybreak, our eyes were bent eagerly on the Volga, that gleamed in

the colours of the morning sky. From the plateau where we were, we could

see the whole country, and it may easily be conceived with what

admiration we gazed on the calm majestic stream, and its multitude of

islands clothed with alders and aspens. On the other side of the river,

the steppes where the Khirgises and Kalmucks encamp, stretched away as

far as the eye could reach, till bounded by a horizon as even as that of

the ocean. It would have been difficult to conceive a more majestic

spectacle, or one more in harmony with the ideas evoked by the Volga, to

which its course of more than six hundred leagues assigns the foremost

rank among the great rivers of Europe.

The post-road, which skirts the river as far as Astrakhan, is difficult,

and often dangerous. Our driver was constantly turning his horses into

the water, to prevent their sinking in a soil that undulates like the

sea with every breath of wind. At intervals we encountered Cossack

villages almost buried under sandy billows, and many cabins entirely

abandoned. This encroachment of the sands, which increases every year in

extent, will soon change the already dreary banks of the Volga into a

real desert. No one can behold the sterility and desolation of these

regions, without marvelling at the patience with which the Cossacks

endure a visitation that from year to year drives them from their

cabins, and compels them to build new ones. For a length of more than

sixty versts, the traveller finds his route shut in between the bed of

the river, and moving hills of sand, whose dead monotony has a most

depressing effect on the spirits. It is still worse at night, for then

he seems surrounded with perils. No wonder if fear possesses him when he

thinks that a plundering nomade horde may be lying in ambush behind

those defiles which the darkness renders still more menacing; the

Cossack posts, however, which he meets from time to time along his road,

contribute greatly to quiet his apprehensions.

These Cossacks were originally from the Don, and were sent by the

government to defend the frontiers of the Volga against the incursions

of the nomades. Settling with their families, they founded several

villages, and afterwards peopled Samara, Saratof, and other towns. There

remains of these colonists only a military population, whose duty is

limited to watching the movements of the Khirgises from a distance, and

protecting travellers. The soil affords them no means of practising

agriculture, but they supply their wants by fishing.

Since our departure from Sarepta, we were much surprised to find on this

little frequented route much better horses than are met with on the main

post-roads; the stations too seemed larger, more commodious and

elegant, and every thing about them betokened attentive care on the part

of the government.

As we approached Astrakhan, the sand-hills diminished insensibly in

height, until they no longer confined the view. All this part of the

steppe is bare of wood, and the salt sandy waste is only spotted here

and there with pools of water and patches of wormwood. No sound is heard

but the shrill cries of the petrels and wild geese that haunt the edges

of the pools. Here and there only we encountered numerous herds of

camels going to drink the clear water of the Volga, or wandering among

the Kalmuck kibitkas scattered over the steppes.

At the last station but one, we were startled from our breakfast by the

sound of military music, which for a moment threw the whole house into a

state of revolution. We were ourselves very much puzzled to know what it

meant, and jumping up from table we ran and saw--what? A steamer, no

less, puffing and smoking, and lashing the astonished waters of the calm

Volga into foam. Gay flags flaunted over its deck, which was crowded

with passengers, and whence proceeded the sounds that had so surprised

us. It passed before us, I will not say proudly, but very clumsily, by

no means skimming along the water like a swallow.

When we saw the crowded state of the deck, a thought struck us that the

matter in some degree concerned ourselves, for as the steamer was from

Astrakhan, it was to be presumed that it carried several persons we had

expected to see there. But our conjectures fell short of the reality,

and our consternation was extreme, when the postmaster told us that the

boat was conveying all the good society of Astrakhan on a visit to a

Kalmuck prince, whose custom it was to give splendid entertainments at

that season of the year. What made the thing still more vexatious, was,

that many persons had already talked to us about the said prince, and

strongly recommended us to go and see him.

There could not have been a more favourable opportunity for indulging

our curiosity; but we were compelled to forego it for want of a

_podoroshni_[18] entitling us to have horses on our way back. The

Russians are such rigid sticklers for forms, that nothing but strong

motives of interest can make them swerve from the letter of their

instructions. Now it happened by a singular piece of ill-luck that our

postmaster was an honest man after his fashion; that is to say, he would

not depart a hair's breadth from his regulations to please any one. His

stupid obstinacy was proof against all solicitations and bribes, and we

gave up the tempting project of visiting the prince, whose palace we had

passed a few hours before, about forty versts from the station.

Our best course under the circumstances would have been to hail the

steamer, and go on board of it, but we did not think of this until we

had lost much time with the postmaster, and then it was too late to

overtake the steamer, notwithstanding its slow rate of moving. When we

afterwards related our mischances to the governor of Astrakhan, he

blamed us much for not having at once thought of so simple an expedient.

About four o'clock P.M. the same day, we came in sight of

Astrakhan. I cannot describe our sensations when from a large boat in

which we embarked, we beheld the fine panorama of the city, its

churches, cupolas, and ruined forts gradually coming forth to the view.

Situated in an island of the Volga, its environs are not covered like

those of most great cities, with villages and cultivated fields: no, it

stands alone, surrounded by water and sand, proud of its sovereignty

over the noble river, and of the name of Star of the Desert, with which

the poetic imagination of the Orientals has graced it.

We had great difficulty in finding a lodging after we had landed, and

though assisted by a police officer, we spent more than two hours in

wandering from place to place, everywhere meeting with refusals. We were

about cutting short our perplexities by taking refuge in a Persian

caravanserai, when chance came to our aid. A Polish lady whom we fell in

with, offered us the accommodation of her house, and with such good

grace, that we could not hesitate to accept her civility. Besides, our

travels in Russia had accustomed us to the sympathy with which every

thing French is greeted by the Poles. The last political events have not

yet been able to weaken their good will towards us; they regard us as

brethren, and are ready to prove it on all occasions.

Except some crown buildings occupied by the _employes_, there is nothing

in Astrakhan to remind us of its being under foreign sway. The town has

completely preserved the Asiatic physiognomy it owes to its climate, its

past history, and its diversified population. It is built partly on a

hill, partly on the plain, and several of its oldest portions stand on

low spots intersected with marshes, and are exposed to very unwholesome

exhalations during the summer, after the river floods. A canal with

quays runs through its whole length.

My husband's first proceeding after a hurried installation in our new

quarters, was to call on M. Fadier, the curator-general of the Kalmucks,

and try to obtain a _podoroshni_ as quickly as possible. He came back in

an hour, and told me that we were to start that evening in a boat

belonging to the admiralty, which was placed at our disposal. The

governor, M. Fadier, the port-admiral, and all the superior society of

the place were visiting the prince, as we had before been told; but

Madame Fadier had been kept at home by indisposition, and that lady,

whose name will frequently appear in our reminiscences of Astrakhan,

obligingly removed all our difficulties.

We embarked in the evening in the boat, with a crew of six stout Kalmuck

rowers and a Tatta pilot. We expected to arrive at the prince's in the

morning; but by some unaccountable chance I was seized all at once with

a dread that obliged us to halt, in spite of our eager desire to reach

our journey's end. The night was very dark, and the river, the waves of

which made our boat reel, seemed to me boundless; yet all this was not

enough to account for the insurmountable terror that took hold of me so

capriciously. Many sea-voyages and long excursions on the Bosphorus in

those light caiques that threaten to upset with the slightest movement,

ought to have seasoned me against such emotions; but fear is a sentiment

that cannot reason, and that comes upon us unawares, without any real

danger to justify it. I must add, however, in palliation of my conduct,

that the frequent lightning and the heaviness of the atmosphere foretold

a storm; and no doubt had something to do with the nervous state in

which I found myself.

Be this as it may, I could not rest until I had heard my husband give

orders to put back into port, and the sequel proved that this was really

the best thing we could do. The night was horrible: one of those

terrific squalls that are so frequent and so dangerous on the Volga,

came on soon after we landed, and made me bless that terror of which I

was at first ashamed, and which I was now tempted to regard as a secret

presentiment of the danger that threatened us.

At sunrise next day we set out by the post, and travelled till evening

along that river on which I had been so much agitated. Its appearance in

the fresh, calm morning was little in accordance with my terror on the

preceding day. The weather showed that brilliancy that always follows a

storm in southern lands, and our spirits were such as to make our little

trip exceedingly agreeable. The postmaster who had annoyed us so much

the preceding day, could not help showing great surprise at our

reappearance. He examined our new _podoroshni_ with scrupulous care, and

having satisfied himself that it was quite as it ought to be, he was

suddenly seized with great respect for us. The quickness with which we

had obtained the paper, was plain proof to him that we were persons of

importance.

We left our post-carriage in the evening, and embarked; for we had still

a dozen versts to travel on the river before reaching the prince's; but

all the phantoms of the previous night had fled before the bright sun,

and I stepped gaily into the boat thinking only of the pleasure of a

long row over the limpid waves of the Volga. But now a last vexation

befel us; one would have fancied some evil genius was amusing himself

with baffling all our arrangements, merely for the purpose of preventing

our paying that visit on which we were so eagerly bent.

Our whole desire was to arrive at the prince's before the departure of

the steamer; for as for the fetes, we had already given up all thought

of them. From what Madame Fadier had told us we were quite at ease, and

never doubted but that we should find the whole company assembled in the

Kalmuck palace. Fancy our dismay then, when our boatman suddenly called

out 'the steamer!' pointing at the same time to a light smoke that rose

above the trees. I am not very prone to superstition, but this obvious

fatality was too much for my philosophy. Here was the best part of the

pleasure we had anticipated from this unlucky trip, struck from us at

one blow, and that at the very moment when we flattered ourselves we had

overcome all obstacles! the steamer passed proudly and triumphantly at a

little distance from us, with its joyous music that seemed to insult our

disappointment, and our poor little boat, tossed about like a nutshell

by the surge of the confounded vessel, had not even the honour of being

seen at first. Some one at last condescended to notice us; a telescope

was pointed in our direction, and we afterwards learned that our

appearance gave rise to a multitude of conjectures, which, of course,

were solved only in Astrakhan.

Nothing remained for us but to bear our fate with philosophical

composure; and we did so with the confident belief that luck, which had

hitherto run so decidedly against us, must soon take a turn in our

favour. Forgetting, therefore, the steamboat, its music, and its

brilliant company, we applied all our attention to the spectacle before

us, which was certainly much better worth seeing than the prosaic

steamer.

The little island belonging to Prince Tumene stands alone in the middle

of the river. From a distance it looks like a nest of verdure resting on

the waves, and waiting only a breath of wind to send it floating down

the rapid course of the Volga; but, as you advance, the land unfolds

before you, the trees form themselves into groups, and the prince's

palace displays a portion of its white facade, and the open galleries of

its turrets. Every object assumes a more decided and more picturesque

form, and stands out in clear relief, from the cupola of the mysterious

pagoda which you see towering above the trees, to the humble kibitka

glittering in the magic tints of sunset. The landscape, as it presented

itself successively to our eyes, with the unruffled mirror of the Volga

for its framework, wore a calm, but strange and profoundly melancholy

character. It was like nothing we had ever seen before; it was a new

world which fancy might people as it pleased; one of those mysterious

isles one dreams of at fifteen after reading the "Arabian Nights;" a

thing, in short, such as crosses the traveller's path but once in all

his wanderings, and which we enjoyed with all the zest of unexpected

pleasure. But we were soon called back from all these charming phantoms

of the imagination to the realities of life? we were arrived. Our

boatman moored his little craft in a clump of thornbroom; and whilst my

husband proceeded to the palace with his interpreter, I remained in the

boat, divided between the pleasure I anticipated from the extraordinary

things to be seen in a Kalmuck palace, and the involuntary apprehension

awakened in me by all the incidents of this visit.

The latter feeling did not last long. Not many minutes had elapsed after

the departure of my companions, when I saw them returning with a young

man, who was presented to me as one of the princes Tumene. It was with

equal elegance and good breeding he introduced me to the palace, where

every step brought me some new surprise. I was quite unprepared for what

I saw; and really in passing through two salons which united the most

finished display of European taste with the gorgeousness of Asia, on

being suddenly accosted by a young lady who welcomed me in excellent

French, I felt such a thrill of delight, that I could only answer by

embracing her heartily! In this manner an acquaintance is quickly made.

The room where we took tea was soon filled with Russian and Cossack

officers, guests of the prince's, and thus assumed a European aspect

which we had not at all expected after the departure of the steamer. But

was this what we had come to see? was it to look at Russian officers,

and articles of furniture of well known fashion, to take caravan tea off

a silver tray, and talk French, that we had left Astrakhan? These

reflections soon yielded to the secret pleasure of meeting the image of

Europe even among the Kalmucks, and being able without the aid of a

dragoman to testify to the charming Polish lady who did the honours of

the drawing-room, the gratification her presence afforded us. The old

Prince Tumene, the head of the family, joined us by and by, and thanked

us with the most exquisite politeness for our obliging visit.

After the first civilities were over, I was conducted to a very handsome

chamber, with windows opening on a large verandah. I found in it a

toilette apparatus in silver, very elegant furniture, and many objects

both rare and precious. My surprise augmented continually as I beheld

this aristocratic sumptuousness. In vain I looked for any thing that

could remind me of the Kalmucks; nothing around me had a tinge of

_couleur locale_; all seemed rather to bespeak the abode of a rich

Asiatic nabob; and with a little effort of imagination, I might easily

have fancied myself transported into the marvellous world of the

fairies, as I beheld that magnificent palace encircled with water, with

its exterior fretted all over with balconies and fantastic ornaments,

and its interior all filled with velvets, tapestries, and crystals, as

though the touch of a wand had made all these wonders start from the

bosom of the Volga! And what completed the illusion was the thought that

the author of these prodigies was a Kalmuck prince, a chief of those

half-savage tribes that wander over the sandy plains of the Caspian Sea,

a worshipper of the Grand Lama, a believer in the metempsychosis; in

short, one of those beings whose existence seems to us almost fabulous,

such a host of mysterious legends do their names awaken in the mind.

Madame Zakarevitch soon made me acquainted with all I wished to know

respecting the princes Tumene and herself. Her husband, who had long

been curator of the Kalmucks, died some years ago, a victim to the

integrity with which he discharged his office. The employes, enraged at

not being able to rob at their ease, combined together to have him

brought to trial and persecuted him to his last moment with their base

intrigues. His wife, who has all the impassioned character of the Poles,

has ever since been actively engaged in vindication of his memory,

devoting time, money, and toilsome journeys, with admirable perseverance

to that sacred task. A friendship of long standing subsists between her

and Prince Tumene, with whose daughter and a lady companion she usually

passes part of the summer.

Prince Tumene is the wealthiest and most influential of all the Kalmuck

chiefs. In 1815 he raised a regiment at his own expense, and led it to

Paris, for which meritorious service he was rewarded with numerous

decorations. He has now the rank of colonel, and he was the first of

this nomade people who exchanged his kibitka for an European dwelling.

Absolute master in his own family (among the Kalmucks the same respect

is paid to the eldest brother as to the father), he employs his

authority only for the good of those around him. He possesses about a

million deciatines of land, and several hundred families, from which he

derives a considerable revenue. His race, which belongs to the tribe of

the Koshots, is one of the most ancient and respected among the

Kalmucks. Repeatedly tried by severe afflictions, his mind has taken an

exclusively religious bent, and the superstitious practices to which he

devotes himself give him a great reputation for sanctity among his

countrymen. An isolated pavilion at some distance from the palace is his

habitual abode, where he passes his life in prayer and religious

conference with the most celebrated priests of the country. No one but

these latter is allowed admission into his mysterious sanctuary; even

his brothers have never entered it. This is assuredly a singular mode of

existence, especially if we compare it with that which he might lead

amidst the splendour and conveniences with which he has embellished his

palace, and which betoken a cast of thought far superior to what we

should expect to find in a Kalmuck. This voluntary sacrifice of earthly

delights, this asceticism caused by moral sufferings, strikingly reminds

us of Christianity and the origin of our religious orders. Like the most

fervent Catholics, this votary of Lama seeks in solitude, prayer,

austerity, and the hope of another life, consolations which all his

fortune is powerless to afford him! Is not this the history of many a

Trappist or Carthusian?

The position of the palace is exquisitely chosen, and shows a sense of

the beautiful as developed as that of the most civilised nations. It is

built in the Chinese style, and is prettily seated on the gentle slope

of a hill about a hundred feet from the Volga. Its numerous galleries

afford views over every part of the isle, and the imposing surface of

the river. From one of the angles the eye looks down on a mass of

foliage, through which glitter the cupola and golden ball of the pagoda.

Beautiful meadows, dotted over with clumps of trees, and fields in high

cultivation, unfold their carpets of verdure on the left of the palace,

and form different landscapes which the eye can take in at once. The

whole is enlivened by the presence of Kalmuck horsemen, camels wandering

here and there through the rich pastures, and officers conveying the

chief's orders from tent to tent. It is a beautiful spectacle, various

in its details, and no less harmonious in its assemblage.

After learning the reasons why we had not arrived two days sooner,

Madame Zakarevitch very agreeably surprised us with the assurance that

it was the prince's intention to have the _fetes_ repeated for us.

Couriers had already been despatched to bring back the priests who had

been engaged in the solemnities of the occasion, in order that we might

have an opportunity of seeing their religious ceremonies. The day being

now far advanced, we spent the remainder of it in visiting the palace in

detail, and resting from the fatigues of our journey.

At an early hour next day, Madame Zakarevitch came to accompany us to

the prince's sister-in-law, who, during the fine season, resides in the

kibitka in preference to the palace. Nothing could be more agreeable to

us than this proposal. At last then I was about to see Kalmuck manners

and customs without any foreign admixture. On the way I learned that the

princess was renowned among her people for extreme beauty and

accomplishments, besides many other details which contributed further to

augment my curiosity. We formed a tolerably large party when we reached

her tent, and as she had been informed of our intended visit, we

enjoyed, on entering, a spectacle that far surpassed our anticipations.

When the curtain at the doorway of the kibitka was raised, we found

ourselves in a rather spacious room, lighted from above, and hung with

red damask, the reflection from which shed a glowing tint on every

object; the floor was covered with a rich Turkey carpet, and the air was

loaded with perfumes. In this balmy atmosphere and crimson light we

perceived the princess seated on a low platform at the further end of

the tent, dressed in glistening robes, and as motionless as an idol.

Some twenty women in full dress, sitting on their heels, formed a

strange and parti-coloured circle round her. It was like nothing I could

compare it to but an opera scene suddenly got up on the banks of the

Volga. When the princess had allowed us time enough to admire her, she

slowly descended the steps of the platform, approached us with dignity,

took me by the hand, embraced me affectionately, and led me to the place

she had just left. She did the same by Madame Zakarevitch and her

daughter, and then graciously saluting the persons who accompanied us,

she motioned them to be seated on a large divan opposite the platform.

No mistress of a house in Paris could have done better. When every one

had found a place, she sat down beside me, and through the medium of an

Armenian, who spoke Russian and Kalmuck extremely well, she made me a

thousand compliments, that gave me a very high opinion of her capacity.

With the Armenian's assistance we were able to put many questions to

each other, and notwithstanding the awkwardness of being obliged to have

recourse to an interpreter, the conversation was far from growing

languid, so eager was the princess for information of every kind. The

Armenian, who was a merry soul, constituted himself, of his own

authority, grand master of the ceremonies, and commenced his functions

by advising the princess to give orders for the opening of the ball.

Immediately upon a sign from the latter, one of the ladies of honour

rose and performed a few steps, turning slowly upon herself; whilst

another, who remained seated, drew forth from a balalaika (an Oriental

guitar) some melancholy sounds, by no means appropriate to the occasion.

Nor were the attitudes and movements of her companion more accordant

with our notions of dancing. They formed a pantomime, the meaning of

which I could not ascertain, but which, by its languishing monotony,

expressed any thing but pleasure or gaiety. The young _figurante_

frequently stretched out her arms and knelt down as if to invoke some

invisible being. The performance lasted a considerable time, during

which I had full opportunity to scrutinise the princess, and saw good

reason to justify the high renown in which her beauty was held among her

own people. Her figure is imposing, and extremely well-proportioned, as

far as her numerous garments allowed me to judge. Her mouth, finely

arched and adorned with beautiful teeth, her countenance, expressive of

great sweetness, her skin, somewhat brown, but remarkably delicate,

would entitle her to be thought a very handsome woman, even in France,

if the outline of her face and the arrangement of her features were only

a trifle less Kalmuck. Nevertheless, in spite of the obliquity of her

eyes and the prominence of her cheek-bones, she would still find many an

admirer, not in Kalmuckia alone, but all the world over. Her looks

convey an expression of the utmost gentleness and good-nature, and like

all the women of her race, she has an air of caressing humility, which

makes her appearance still more winning.

Now for her costume. Over a very rich robe of Persian stuff, laced all

over with silver, she wore a light silk tunic, reaching only to the knee

and open in front. The high corsage was quite flat, and glittered with

silver embroidery and fine pearls that covered all the seams. Round her

neck she had a white cambric habit shirt, the shape of which seemed to

me like that of a man's shirt collar. It was fastened in front by a

diamond button. Her very thick, deep black hair fell over her bosom in

two magnificent tresses of remarkable length. A yellow cap, edged with

rich fur, and resembling in shape the square cap of a French judge, was

set jauntily on the crown of her head. But what surprised me most in her

costume was an embroidered cambric handkerchief and a pair of black

mittens. Thus, it appears, the productions of our workshops find their

way even to the toilette of a great Kalmuck lady. Among the princess's

ornaments I must not forget to enumerate a large gold chain, which,

after being wound round her beautiful tresses, fell over her bosom,

passing on its way through her gold earrings. Her whole attire, such as

I have described it, looked much less barbarous than I had expected. The

ladies of honour, though less richly clad, wore robes and caps of the

same form; only they had not advanced so far as to wear mittens.

The dancing lady, after figuring for half an hour, went and touched the

shoulder of one of her companions, who took her place, and began the

same figures over again. When she had done, the Armenian urged the

princess that her daughter, who until then had kept herself concealed

behind a curtain, should also give a specimen of her skill; but there

was a difficulty in the case. No lady of honour had a right to touch

her, and this formality was indispensable according to established

usage. Not to be baffled by this obstacle, the Armenian sprang gaily

into the middle of the circle, and began to dance in so original a

manner, that every one enthusiastically applauded. Having thus satisfied

the exigency of Kalmuck etiquette, he stepped up to the curtain and laid

his finger lightly on the shoulder of the young lady, who could not

refuse an invitation thus made in all due form. Her dancing appeared to

us less wearisome than that of the ladies of honour, thanks to her

pretty face and her timid and languishing attitudes. She in her turn

touched her brother, a handsome lad of fifteen, dressed in the Cossack

costume, who appeared exceedingly mortified at being obliged to put a

Kalmuck cap on his head, in order to exhibit the dance in all its

nationality. Twice he dashed his cap on the ground with a most comical

air of vexation; but his mother rigidly insisted on his putting it on

again.

The dancing of the men is as imperious and animated as that of the women

is tame and monotonous; the spirit of domination displays itself in all

their gestures, in the bold expression of their looks and their noble

bearing. It would be impossible for me to describe all the evolutions

the young prince went through with equal grace and rapidity. The

elasticity of his limbs was as remarkable as the perfect measure

observed in his complicated steps.

After the ball came the concert. The women played one after the other on

the balalaika, and then sang in chorus. But there is as little variety

in their music as in their dancing. At last we were presented with

different kinds of koumis and sweetmeats on large silver trays.

When we came out from the kibitka, the princess's brother-in-law took us

to a herd of wild horses, where one of the most extraordinary scenes

awaited us. The moment we were perceived, five or six mounted men, armed

with long lassoes, rushed into the middle of the _taboun_ (herd of

horses), keeping their eyes constantly fixed on the young prince, who

was to point out the animal they should seize. The signal being given,

they instantly galloped forward and noosed a young horse with a long

dishevelled mane, whose dilated eyes and smoking nostrils betokened

inexpressible terror. A lightly-clad Kalmuck, who followed them on foot,

immediately sprang upon the stallion, cut the thongs that were

throttling him, and engaged with him in an incredible contest of daring

and agility. It would be impossible, I think, for any spectacle more

vividly to affect the mind than that which now met our eyes. Sometimes

the rider and his horse rolled together on the grass; sometimes they

shot through the air with the speed of an arrow, and then stopped

abruptly, as if a wall had all at once risen up before them. On a sudden

the furious animal would crawl on its belly, or rear in a manner that

made us shriek with terror, then plunging forward again in his mad

gallop he would dash through the taboun, and endeavour in every possible

way to shake off his novel burden.

But this exercise, violent and dangerous as it appeared to us, seemed

but sport to the Kalmuck, whose body followed all the movements of the

animal with so much suppleness, that one would have fancied that the

same thought possessed both bodies. The sweat poured in foaming streams

from the stallion's flanks, and he trembled in every limb. As for the

rider, his coolness would have put to shame the most accomplished

horsemen in Europe. In the most critical moments he still found himself

at liberty to wave his arms in token of triumph; and in spite of the

indomitable humour of his steed, he had sufficient command over it to

keep it almost always within the circle of our vision. At a signal from

the prince, two horsemen, who had kept as close as possible to the

daring centaur, seized him with amazing quickness, and galloped away

with him before we had time to comprehend this new manoeuvre. The

horse, for a moment stupefied, soon made off at full speed, and was lost

in the midst of the herd. These performances were repeated several times

without a single rider suffering himself to be thrown.

But what was our amazement when we saw a boy of ten years come forward

to undertake the same exploit! They selected for him a young white

stallion of great size, whose fiery bounds and desperate efforts to

break his bonds, indicated a most violent temper.

I will not attempt to depict our intense emotions during this new

conflict. This child, who, like the other riders, had only the horse's

mane to cling to, afforded an example of the power of reasoning over

instinct and brute force. For some minutes he maintained his difficult

position with heroic intrepidity. At last, to our great relief, a

horseman rode up to him, caught him up in his outstretched arm, and

threw him on the croup behind him.

The Kalmucks, as the reader will perceive, are excellent horsemen, and

are accustomed from their childhood to subdue the wildest horses. The

exercise we had witnessed is one of their greatest amusements: it is

even practised by the women, and we have frequently seen them vying

with each other in feats of equestrian daring.

The lateness of the hour recalled us to the palace where a splendid

dinner was prepared for us. Two large tables were laid in two adjoining

rooms, and at the head of each sat one of the princes. We took our

places at that of the elder brother, who did the honours in the most

finished style.

The cookery, which was half Russian, half French, left us nothing to

desire as regarded the choice or the savour of the dishes. Every thing

was served up in silver, and the wines of France and Spain, champagne

especially, were supplied in princely profusion. Many toasts were given,

foremost among which were those in honour of the Emperor of Russia and

the King of the French.

I remarked with much surprise, that during the whole dinner, the

princess seemed very ill at ease in presence of her brother-in-law; she

did not sit down until he had desired her to do so, and her whole

demeanour manifested her profound respect for the head of her family.

Her husband, the prince's younger brother, had been absent upwards of

two months. The repast was very lengthened and great animation

prevailed; whilst for our parts, we could hardly reconcile to our minds

the idea that the giver of so sumptuous and so well-appointed an

entertainment was a Kalmuck. The prince put many questions to us about

France, and talked with enthusiasm of his residence in our country, and

the agreeable acquaintances he had made there. Though he did not much

make our current politics his study, he was not ignorant of our last

revolution, and he expressed great admiration for Louis Philippe.

After dinner we went in his carriage to visit the mysterious pagoda

which had so much excited our curiosity.

The moment we set foot on the threshold of the temple, our ears were

assailed with a _charivari_, compared with which a score or two of great

bells set in motion promiscuously, would have been harmony itself. It

almost deprived us of the power of perceiving what was going on around

us. The noise was so piercing, discordant, and savage that we were

completely stupified, and there was no possibility of exchanging a word.

The perpetrators of this terrible uproar, in other words the musicians,

were arranged in two parallel lines facing each other; at their head, in

the direction of the altar, the high-priest knelt quite motionless on a

rich Persian carpet, and behind them towards the entrance stood the

_ghepki_, or master of the ceremonies, dressed in a scarlet robe and a

deep yellow hood, and having in his hand a long staff, the emblem, no

doubt, of his dignity. The other priests, all kneeling as well as the

musicians, and looking like grotesque Chinese in their features and

attitudes, wore dresses of glaring colours, loaded with gold and silver

brocade, consisting of wide tunics, with open sleeves, and a sort of

mitre with several broad points. Their head-dress somewhat resembled

that of the ancient Peruvians, except that instead of feathers they had

plates covered with religious paintings, besides which there rose from

the centre a long straight tuft of black silk, tied up so as to form a

series of little balls, diminishing from the base to the summit. Below,

this tuft spread out into several tresses which fell down on the

shoulders. But what surprised us most of all were the musical

instruments. Besides enormous timbrels and the Chinese tamtam, there

were large sea-shells used as horns, and two huge tubes, three or four

yards long, and each supported on two props. My husband ineffectually

endeavoured to sound these trumpets; none but the stentorian lungs of

the vigorous Mandschis could give them breath. If there is neither tune,

nor harmony, nor method in the religious music of the Kalmucks, by way

of amends for this every one makes as much noise as he can in his own

way and according to the strength of his lungs. The concert began by a

jingling of little bells, then the timbrels and tamtams struck up, and

lastly, after the shrill squeakings of the shells, the two great

trumpets began to bellow, and made all the windows of the temple shake.

It would be impossible for me to depict all the oddity of this ceremony.

Now indeed we felt that we were thousands of leagues away from Europe,

in the heart of Asia, in a pagoda of the Grand Dalai Lama of Thibet.

The temple, lighted by a row of large windows, is adorned with slender

columns of stuccoed brickwork, the lightness of which reminds one of the

graceful Moorish architecture. A gallery runs all round the dome, which

is also remarkable for the extreme delicacy of its workmanship.

Tapestries, representing a multitude of good and evil genii, monstrous

idols and fabulous animals, cover all parts of the pagoda, and give it

an aspect much more grotesque than religious. The veneration of the

worshippers of Lama for their images is so great, that we could not

approach these mis-shapen gods without covering our mouths with a

handkerchief, lest we should profane them with an unhallowed breath.

The priests showed how much they disliked our minute examination of

every thing, by the uneasiness with which they continually watched all

our movements. Their fear as we afterwards learned, was lest we should

take a fancy to purloin some of those mystic images we scrutinised so

narrowly; certainly they had good reason to be alarmed, for the will was

not wanting on our part. But we were obliged to content ourselves with

gazing at them with looks of the most profound respect, consoling

ourselves with the hope of having our revenge on a more favourable

occasion.

When we returned to the palace, we found the old prince in a little

room, of which he is particularly fond, and where he has collected a

great quantity of arms and curiosities. Among other things, we admired

some Circassian chaskas (sabres), richly adorned with black enamelled

silver; Damascus swords, no less valuable for the temper of the blades,

than for the rich incrustations of the hilts and scabbards; Florentine

pistols of the fifteenth century; a jaspar cup of antique form,

purchased for 4000 rubles of a Persian nobleman; Circassian coats of

mail, like those of our knights of old, and a thousand other rarities,

the artistic worth of which testify the good taste of a prince, whom

many persons might consider a barbarian. He also keeps in this cabinet,

as a thing of great price, the book in which are inscribed the names of

those travellers who visit him. Among the names, most of them

aristocratic, we observed those of Baron Humboldt, some English lords,

and sundry Russian and German savans.

We finished our _soiree_ with an extemporaneous ball that lasted all

night. The Armenian, who first proposed the scheme, had to undertake the

business of getting up an orchestra. I know not how he set about it, but

in a few minutes he brought us triumphantly a violin, a guitar, and a

flageolet. Such instruments among the Kalmucks--is it not really

prodigious? We had quickly arranged a _soiree dansante_, as complete as

any drawing-room could exhibit; and the merriment soon became so

contagious, that the princess and her daughter, after much hesitation,

at last overcame all bashfulness, and bravely threw themselves into a

heady gallop, in which, by the by, one of them lost her cap. The

wondering and delighted princess, stuck to me for the rest of the night,

like my shadow, and incessantly assured me, through the Armenian, that

she had never in her life passed so pleasant an evening, and that she

would never forget it. She expressed a strong desire to hear me sing,

and found the French _romances_ so much to her taste, that I had to

promise I would copy out some of them for her. On her part, she gave me

two Kalmuck songs of her own composition, and transcribed with her own

hand.[19] According to Russian custom, the officers did full justice to

the champagne, which was sent round all night at a fearful rate.

We spent the next day in promenades about the island, and in hawking.

This sport is a great favourite with the Kalmucks, and they practise it

in as grand a style as the chatelains of the middle ages. Prince Tumene

has a very well appointed falconry, and his hawks are trained by the

same methods as were adopted by our ancestors. The hawk we had that day

was a small one, of astonishing spirit. The Kalmuck who held it

hoodwinked on his fist had the utmost difficulty in restraining it when

its head was uncovered. He let it fly at a magnificent grey heron, which

it struck down in less than a minute. Several wild ducks were also

killed by it with incredible rapidity.

The succeeding days were filled up with varied and novel amusements; nor

can I describe the assiduous efforts of our entertainers, to let us see

every particular of their manners and customs that might be interesting

to us. Every day some new surprise was adroitly brought forward to delay

our departure. But, alas! every thing must have an end in this world,

and we felt at last constrained to bid adieu to those brilliant and

varied scenes which we found so much to our taste.

On the day fixed for our departure we all breakfasted together, while

the final preparations were going on. The party was a sad one, for all

were occupied with the same thought. Our host's elegant four-in-hand

equipage, lined with white satin, was drawn up before the door, with an

escort of fifteen horsemen. There was a large crowd assembled, who

looked up eagerly to the large balcony, where we were receiving the

stirrup-cup from the old prince. The whole formed a striking and

splendid picture. The refinements of western luxury, mixed up with

Kalmuck faces and costumes, the officers in brilliant uniforms, the

handsome horses champing the bit, and, above all, the noble figure of

the old prince waving a last farewell to us from the balcony, left an

indelible impression on our memories. Young Tumene put himself at the

head of the cavalcade, and continued during all the while he was with us

to astonish us with his feats of horsemanship. The day was splendid, and

every thing concurred to awaken in us a throng of sensations, such as we

shall never, perhaps, experience again.

Madame Zakarevitch and her daughter, whom we had carried off from Prince

Tumene, embarked with us, opposite the posting station, in the boat

provided for us. On the shore, too, we found our carriages ready to

receive us, horses having been ordered by an express sent forward the

day before by the prince.

On finding ourselves again on that route which we had twice already

traversed within less than twenty-four hours, the recollection of our

past annoyances after recurred to us, and we could not help thinking how

unwisely many travellers allow themselves to be swayed by what they call

inauspicious omens; a person, for instance, with a slight leaning to

superstition, would have given up all thoughts of a visit which seemed

forbidden by such a run of unlucky accidents, and would have lost the

opportunity of seeing the extraordinary things I have endeavoured to

describe, and which so much exceeded our expectations.

FOOTNOTES:

[18] A sort of passport licensing you to hire post-horses. You pay a sum

for it proportioned to the distance you wish to travel, and the number

of horses to your carriage.

[19] Here is a translation of one of these songs, which will certainly

not give a high idea of the poetic talents of a Kalmuck princess:--

"Mon cheval roux qui dispute le prix de la course au chameau, bronte

l'herbe des champs du Don. Dieu notre seigneur, tu nous feras la grace

de nous retrouver dans une autre contree. Et toi charmante herbette

agitee par le vent, tu t'etends sur la terre. Et toi, o coeur le plus

tendre volant vers ma mere, dis lui: qu'entre deux montagnes et des

vallees, dans un vallon uni demeurent cinquante braves qui s'approchent

avec courage pour tuer une outarde bien grasse. Et toi, tendre mere

nature, sois nous propice."

[It is with much hesitation and doubt, that I venture to translate this

incomprehensible translation:--_Tr._]

"My bright bay horse, which vies in swiftness with the camel, browses on

the grass of the Don. God, our Lord, thou wilt grant us of thy grace to

meet in another country. And thou charming little grass shaken by the

wind, thou stretchest thyself out on the ground. And thou, O fondest

heart, flying to my mother, tell her that between two mountains and

valleys, in an even strath, dwell fifty braves, who draw together

courageously to kill a very fat bustard. And thou, fond Mother Nature be

propitious to us."

CHAPTER XX.

HISTORICAL NOTICE OF ASTRAKHAN--MIXED POPULATION; ARMENIANS,

TATARS--SINGULAR RESULT OF A MIXTURE OF RACES--DESCRIPTION

OF THE TOWN--HINDU RELIGIOUS CEREMONIES--SOCIETY.

The history of Astrakhan is so well known that the reader will no doubt

thank us for not recapitulating the various political revolutions that

have taken place in the regions of which this town has been for so many

ages the brilliant metropolis. After having made part of the empire of

the Kaptshak, founded by Batou Khan, and after a long series of

intestine commotions, Astrakhan at last became an independent state in

the beginning of the fifteenth century. One hundred and fifty years

later there broke out between the Russians and the Tatars that obstinate

strife which was to end by delivering the country of the tsars from the

yoke of its oppressors. In 1554, Ivan the Terrible, partly by treachery,

and partly by force of arms, possessed himself of the khanat of the

Caspian, and was the first to assume the title of King of Casan and

Astrakhan. This valuable conquest was incorporated with the empire, and

led to the submission or emigration of all the adjacent tribes.

Astrakhan has ever since belonged to Russia; but it soon lost the

prosperity that had rendered it so celebrated of yore under the Tatars

of the Golden Horde. Fifteen years after the Russian conquest, the Turks

directed an expedition against Astrakhan, in concert with the Tatars of

the Crimea; but the effort was abortive, and the bulk of the Ottoman

army perished in the deserts of the Manitch. Towards the end of the

seventeenth century, Astrakhan again underwent a brief but bloody

revolution: the rebel Stenko Razin, made himself master of the town,

gave it up to horrible massacres, and for a while caused serious alarm

to Russia. At present the ancient capital of the Tatar kingdom is merely

the chief town of a government, which though presenting a surface of

more than 4000 geographical square miles, yet possesses only 285,000

inhabitants, of whom 200,000 are nomades. It contains a great number of

squares, churches, and mosques. Its old embattled towers and its walls,

which still include a considerable space of ground, remind the traveller

of its ancient warlike renown. Its population, a medley of all the races

of Asia, amounts in number to 45,703, the bulk of whom are Russians,

Kalmucks, and Tatars. The Armenians are shopkeepers here, just as they

are in all countries in the world; notwithstanding their religion, which

should make them coalesce with the Westerns, they retain in their

manners and customs every thing belonging to the East. The Armenian

carries everywhere with him that spirit of traffic which is common to

him with the Jew; always at work on some stroke of business, always

ready to seize a flying opportunity; discounting, computing, figuring,

with indefatigable patience. Meet him where you will, in the fertile

valleys of Armenia, in the snowy North, or beneath a southern sky,

everywhere he exhibits that intense selfishness which stands him in

lieu of the patriotic feelings so potent in most other branches of the

human family. This nation, dispersed over the whole world like the Jews,

presents one of those distinctive types of feature characteristic of an

unmixed race, which are to be found in full preservation only among

Eastern nations. The brown mantle in which the Armenian women wrap

themselves at Constantinople, is here replaced by long black veils that

cover them from head to foot. This garment, which displays the shape

very well, and falls in graceful folds to the feet, when well put on,

reminds one of the elegant lines of certain Grecian statues; and what

makes the resemblance the more striking, is that the Armenian women are

particularly remarkable for their stately carriage and the severe

dignity of their features.

The Tatars, upwards of 5000 in number, are engaged in trade, and chiefly

in that of cattle. The numerous mosques and the cupolas of their baths

contribute to give Astrakhan quite an oriental appearance.

The Indians who were formerly rather numerous in this city, have long

since abandoned the trade for which they frequented it, and none of them

remain but a few priests who are detained by interminable lawsuits. But

from the old intercourse between the Hindus and the Kalmucks has sprung

a half-breed now numbering several hundred individuals, improperly

designated Tatars. The mixed blood of these two essentially Asiatic

races has produced a type closely resembling that of European nations.

It exhibits neither the oblique eyes of the Kalmucks, nor the bronzed

skin of the Indians; and nothing in the character or habits of the

descendants of these two races indicates a relationship with either

stock. In striking contrast with the apathy and indolence of the

population among which they live, these half-breeds exhibit in all they

do, the activity and perseverance of the men of the north. They serve as

porters, waggoners, or sailors, as occasion may require, and shrink from

no kind of employment however laborious. Their white felt hats, with

broad brims and pointed conical crowns, their tall figures, and bold,

cheerful countenances, give them a considerable degree of resemblance to

the Spanish muleteers.

This result of the crossing of two races both so sharply defined is

extremely remarkable, and cannot but interest ethnologists. The Mongol

is perhaps above all others the type that perpetuates itself with most

energy, and most obstinately resists the influence of foreign admixture

continued through a long series of generations. We have found it in all

its originality among the Cossacks, the Tatars, and every other people

dwelling in the vicinity of the Kalmucks. Is it not then a most curious

fact to see it vanish immediately under the influence of the Hindu

blood, and produce instead of itself a thoroughly Caucasian type? Might

we not then conclude that the Caucasian is not a primitive type, as

hitherto supposed, but that it is simply the result of a mixture, the

two elements of which we must seek for in Central Asia, in those

mysterious regions of the great Tibetan chain which have so much

occupied the inventive genius of ancient and modern writers?

The Persians, like the Indians, are gradually deserting Astrakhan. The

prohibitive system of Russia has destroyed all their commercial

resources, and now only some hundreds of them, for the most part

detained by penury, are to be found in their adopted country, employed

in petty retail dealings. We went over the vast Persian khans of

Astrakhan, but saw none of those gorgeous stuffs for which they were

formerly so celebrated. The ware rooms are empty, and it is but with

great difficulty the traveller can now and then obtain cashmeres, silky

termalamas, or any other of those productions of Asia which so much

excite our curiosity, and which were formerly a source of prosperity to

the town.

Astrakhan has for some years had a lazaret on the mouths of the Volga at

seventy-five versts from its walls. The history of this establishment is

curious enough. Before it was built on the site it now occupies,

building had been carried on to a considerable extent at two other spots

which were successively abandoned as unsuitable. It was not until much

time and money had been spent, that an engineer took notice of a little

island exceedingly well adapted to the purpose, and on which the lazaret

was finally erected. Some years afterwards there was found in the town

archives a manuscript note left by Peter the Great at his departure from

Astrakhan, and in which he mentioned that very island as well suited for

the site of a lazaret. A glance had enabled the tsar to perceive the

importance of a locality which many engineering commissions discovered

only after repeated search.

Paving is a luxury quite unknown in Astrakhan, and the streets are as

sandy as the soil of the environs. Though they are almost deserted

during the day, on account of the intense heat, few spectacles are more

lively and picturesque than that which they present in the evening, when

the whole town awakes from the somnolency into which it had been cast by

a temperature of 100. Every one then hastens to enjoy the refreshing air

of the twilight; people sit at the doors amusing themselves with the

sight of whatever passes; business is resumed, and the shops are in a

bustle; a numerous population of all races and tongues spreads rapidly

along the bridges and the quays bordered with trees; the canal is

covered with caiques laden with fruit and arbutus berries; elegant

droshkies, caleches, and horsemen rush about in all directions, and the

whole town wears a gala aspect that astonishes and captivates the

traveller. He finds there collected into a focus all the picturesque

items that have struck him singly elsewhere. Alongside of a Tatar

dwelling stretches a great building blackened by time, and by its

architecture and carvings carrying you back to the middle ages. A

European shop displays its fashionable haberdashery opposite a

caravanserai; the magnificent cathedral overshadows a pretty mosque with

its fountain; a Moorish balcony contains a group of young European

ladies who set you thinking of Paris, whilst a graceful white shadow

glides mysteriously under the gallery of an old palace. All contrasts

are here met together; and so it happens that in passing from one

quarter to another you think you have but made a short promenade, and

you have picked up a stock of observations and reminiscences belonging

to all times and places. The Russians ought to be proud of a town which

did not spring up yesterday, like all the others in their country, and

where one is not plagued with the cold, monotonous regularity that meets

you without end in every part of the empire.

The churches in Astrakhan are not built in the invariable Greek style of

all the other religious buildings of Russia: they have carvings, spires,

and balustrades, something to attract the gaze, and details to fix it.

The cathedral, built towards the end of the seventeenth century, is a

large square edifice, surmounted by five cupolas, gilded and starred

with azure, and presenting a style midway between those of Asia and

Europe. The interior is hung with pictures of no value in point of art,

but attractive to the eye from the richness of their frames, most of

which are of massive silver curiously chased. The most interesting

monument in Astrakhan is a small church concealed in Peter the Great's

fort. It is attributed to Ivan IV. Its architecture is purely Moorish,

and it is fretted all over with details exceedingly interesting to an

artist. Unfortunately, it has long been abandoned, and is now used as a

warehouse.

The climate of Astrakhan is dry, and very hot. For three months the

thermometer seldom falls in the day below 95. This great heat enervates

both mind and body, and sufficiently accounts for the extreme sloth of

the inhabitants. But in consequence of its dryness the atmosphere

possesses a transparent purity that would enchant a painter, giving as

it does to every object a warmth and lucidity worthy of Italy.

A very serious source of annoyance to the Astrakhaners, and still more

to the foreigner, is the swarm of gnats and other insects that fill the

air at certain seasons. Their pertinacious attacks baffle all

precautions; it is in vain you surround yourself with gauze at night,

and resign yourself to total darkness during the day, you are not the

less persecuted by them, and you exhaust yourself with ineffectual

efforts against an invisible enemy.

They are sinking an artesian well in the upper part of the town. They

had reached, when we were there, a depth of 166 yards; but instead of

water there escaped a jet of carburretted hydrogen, which had been

burning for three weeks with great brilliancy.

Astrakhan now contains 146 streets, 46 squares, 8 market-places, a

public garden, 11 wooden and 9 earthen bridges, 37 churches (34 of

stone, 3 wooden), 2 of which are cathedrals; 15 mosques, 2 of them of

stone; 3883 houses, 288 of which are of stone, the rest of wood. All

narratives of travels tell of the gardens of Astrakhan, and the

magnificent fruit produced in them. Unfortunately, these are pure

fictions, for there are but 75 gardens or vineyards around the town, and

it is only by means of irrigation with Persian wheels that they are

rendered productive. All the fruit of the place, moreover, is very poor,

if not decidedly bad. The grapes alone are tolerable and of very various

kinds, suitable for the table, but none of them fit for making wine. As

for the celebrated water-melons, they are held in very low esteem in the

country, and the people of the town talk only of those of Kherson and

the Crimea. It is very possible, however, that the fruit of Astrakhan

may have deserved its high reputation previously to the Muscovite

domination. Here, as everywhere else, the Russian population, in taking

the place of the Tatars, can only have destroyed the agricultural

resources of the country. The Russian townspeople being exclusively

traders and shopkeepers, and never engaging in rural pursuits, the

gardens almost all belong to Tatars and Armenians.

As for the government of Astrakhan, its territory is one of the most

sterile in the empire. Agriculture is there wholly unproductive; in

general nothing is sowed but a little maize and barley, provisions of

all kinds being procured from Saratof, by way of the Volga. It is this

that gives some little briskness to the navigation of that river; for

besides the corn consumed by Astrakhan, and the towns dependent on its

jurisdiction, Saratof and the adjoining regions send supplies also to

Gourief, on the mouth of the Ural, to the army cantoned on the Terek,

and even to the Transcaucasian countries. Nevertheless, there are no

boats plying regularly on the Volga; it is only at the period of the

fair of Nijni Novgorod, that the clumsy steamer we saw proceeding to

Prince Tumene's condescends to dawdle up the stream.

The day after our arrival in Astrakhan we were taken to the house of

some Hindu brahmins, where we were to be present at the evening prayers.

We were received by the chief among them in the most courteous and

obliging manner. The room into which he led us looked to the west, and

had no other furniture than large Turkish divans, and the only thing

capable of attracting our attention was a little chapel let into the

wall, and which two priests were in the act of arranging for the

ceremony. One of them kept his eyes constantly turned towards the west,

watching with religious attention the descent of the sun's disc to the

horizon. These brahmins were dressed in long brown robes, crossed in

front by a white scarf, the two ends of which swept the ground. Their

bronzed and antiquely moulded visages were surmounted by white muslin

turbans with large folds. The leader, who was much less absorbed in his

devotions than the rest, was continually smiling upon us, and waving a

monstrous Persian fan that had the effect of a smart breeze. Meanwhile

the sun was fast declining; at last its total disappearance was

announced by the harsh sound of a conch-shell, whereupon one of the

priests lighted several tapers and placed them before an image in the

chapel. Another began to wash curiously-shaped vessels, filled them

with water of lustration, and prostrated himself before them with great

unction. A large grey stone set in the wall, appeared to be the

principal object of their adorations. According to the explanation given

to us by the chief priest, the soul of a celebrated saint, grown weary

of the world and of men, had retired within that mystical covering;

hence the stone is sacred in the eyes of the Hindus, and the mere sight

of it, as they declare, is capable of working miracles. After

worshipping in silence for some minutes, the chief priest began to burn

perfumes, and the room was soon filled with a cloud of smoke, seen

through which every object assumed a vaguer and more mysterious form,

the pungent aromatic odour, combined with the heat and the strangeness

of the scene before our eyes, acted so strongly upon us that we were

soon unable to distinguish what was real from what was fantastic. In

fact, our semi-ecstatic condition was in remarkable accordance with the

moral state of our brahmins. Their religious enthusiasm soon ceased to

content itself with mere prostrations. Hitherto every thing had passed

in complete silence, but at a given signal two priests knelt down before

the holy stone and recited a prayer, in slow and guttural accents.

Another with his arms crossed on his breast, stood a few steps off from

the chapel, and now and then blew upon a shrill whistle. The fourth,

armed with a conch-shell, stood upon one of the divans, and added his

voice to the sounds which his companions gave out with increasing

loudness. Presently their eyes kindled, the muscles of their frames grew

tense, the conch vibrated, a bell was rapidly agitated by the leader,

and then began so strange and infernal a din, a scene so grotesque and

wild, that one would really have thought the brahmins were all possessed

by devils. Their attitudes and frantic gestures conveyed the idea of

exorcism rather than of prayer. What we felt it would be impossible to

describe; it was a mixture of surprise, curiosity, disgust, and fright.

Had not fatigue compelled the actors in this sabbat to stop after ten

minutes' exertion, I doubt that we should have been able to support a

longer continuance of such a spectacle. One would almost be disposed to

say that men take pains to worship God in the least religious manner

possible. I have seen the whirling and howling dervishes at

Constantinople, whose strange and frightful performances can be compared

only to those of the medieval convulsionaries. The religious music of

the Kalmucks is not behind-hand with these aberrations of the human

mind; and here is the Hindu, worship, which seems to vie with whatever

is most demented and extravagant in other religions.

When the abominable concert was ended, the leader took a handful of

yellow flowers, like marigolds, dipped them in Ganges water, and

presented one to each of us. Then he kneaded a piece of dough in his

hands, and gave it a symbolic form, stuck seven small tapers in it,

waved it in every direction before the chapel, and then turning towards

us, repeated the same ceremony. Lastly, he took a small white shell,

which had been lying until then on the sacred stone, filled it with

sacred water from the Ganges, and sprinkled us with it very devoutly.

Meanwhile, his companions were setting out a table with a collation of

fine fruit and pastry, of which the leader did the honours to us with

much politeness and gallantry. So ended a scene as difficult to describe

well as to forget.

Now let us leave the Indians and their odd ceremonies, and recur to the

European usages, which, to our great surprise we found in many _salons_

of Astrakhan.

A singular thing, and one which must strike the traveller strongly, is

the moral influence which France exercises in all countries of the

world. Wherever you find any trace of civilisation, you are sure to

discern the effect of that influence, whether in manners, dress, or

political opinions, and that, even among rulers the most distant.

Most of our romance-writers are probably not aware that their works are

read with avidity even on the banks of the Caspian, and are criticised

there with as much acuteness as in the great capitals of Europe. All who

call themselves Russians, in Astrakhan, speak French, and receive every

month our newest publications from Brussels. In many of the libraries I

found Lamartine, Balzac, Alexandra Dumas, Eugene Sue, George Sand, De

Musset, &c., and many other names less known perhaps in Paris than in

Astrakhan.

The Russian ladies read a great deal; they are generally gifted with

natural talent, and converse with tact and to the purpose. Their only

fault in this respect is, that they confine their reading to romances

and novels, which almost always warp their judgment, and give them quite

erroneous notions of our habits and our literature. Paul de Kock and

Pigault Lebrun are especial favourites throughout the empire, and their

pictures of low life are read much more eagerly than the elegant and

chastened pages of our best writers. I must acknowledge, however, that

many Russian ladies are capable of appreciating the gravest works. I saw

on many a table in Astrakhan, "Les Ducs de Bourgogne," "L'Histoire du

Bas Empire," "La Conquete des Normands," and even treatises on geology.

It is needless to add, that our fashions and the prodigies of our

civilisation are adopted with the same avidity as our literature.

I had some difficulty in believing myself on the verge of the Caspian,

when listening to conversation on the fine arts, and on industrial

economy, just as in Vienna or Paris. Music, too, is in high vogue in

Astrakhan, and many of Donizetti's pieces are sung there by brilliant

and cultivated voices. Our quadrilles, too, are all the rage there, and

so are the charming melodies of Loiza Puget.

On the faith of some travellers who have been, or are reported to have

been in Astrakhan, we expected to find a good many English, Italians,

and even French in the town; but the fact is, it does not even contain a

single individual of those nations, and its society consists solely of

Russians and Germans, sent thither as _employes_. I could hear of but

one Belgian, formerly a prisoner of war, who became a tailor, and now

enjoys a very handsome fortune. Astrakhan pretends to have a theatre,

but I have little to say for it. Imagine a very ugly and very black hall

furnished with some thirty niches in double row; a pit adorned with a

few dirty caftans; an orchestra composed of a paltry violin and

half-a-dozen trumpets, the whole lighted up by a row of candles on the

proscenium, and you have an idea of what presumes to call itself a

theatre on the Caspian shores. As for the pieces and the actors, they

are altogether beneath criticism.

The governor gave a grand ball and some soirees during our stay in

Astrakhan. Though the heat was intolerable, the rooms were every time

filled with a fashionable throng, always eager for pleasure. The Russian

governors of provinces play the part of petty kings, and exercise over

all classes an influence, which has its source in the very constitution

of the country. Under an absolute government, every superior employe

exercises unbounded authority in his own sphere. He has his courtiers,

his favourites, his numerous chancery, his orderly officers, and his

etiquette modelled on that of St. Petersburg, in short all that

constitutes the outward tokens of power. But all these appearances of

grandeur and might are but relative, for above these petty kings stands

a sovereign will, that can by one word strip them of their privileges,

and send them to Siberia. We must not imagine that slavery exists in

Russia only for the people; whether you go east or west, into the

brilliant salons of St. Petersburg, or into the isbas of the Muscovite

peasant, you find it everywhere; only it is commonly disguised under

forms that deceive many travellers, whose judgments are beguiled by the

glittering varnish with which the Russian contrives to invest himself,

by his numerous staff, his princely abode, and the pomp of his official

life. And yet what is all this in reality? Something like the soap

bubbles that glisten with all the colours of the rainbow, but vanish

with the least breath.

The magnificence of the governor's palace astonished us. On our arrival

for the ball, after passing through several rooms sumptuously furnished,

we were led into a boudoir, where we found Madame Timirasif, the

governor's lady, surrounded by all the _elite_ of the place. She

introduced me to several ladies who spoke French very well, and with

whom I was soon engaged in a conversation as frivolous and varied as the

chit-chat of the Parisian world of fashion. But the music soon began,

and we repaired to a very large ball-room, most splendidly lighted, and

already thronged with officers. The orchestra, placed on a raised

platform, played French quadrilles in excellent style. I took advantage

of an interminable mazurka, to learn the names of various personages:

General Brigon, a Livonian, hetman of all the Cossacks; Count Pushkin,

curator of the university of Casan; Admiral Lazaref; the Kalmuck prince,

Tondoudof; the Princess Dolgoruky; and a young Persian, who occupied the

attention of all the ladies during the ball. His handsome Oriental

countenance, his rich costume, the grace with which he danced French

quadrilles and mazurkas, and above all, his title of traveller, gave him

an extraordinary eclat, which seemed in no wise to astonish him. I will

say nothing of a collection of colonels and aides-de-camp, an inevitable

and always profuse element of every Russian party, nor of a battalion of

excellencies loaded with more stars and decorations than are commonly

seen in the court balls of France or England.

The governor's wife is a specimen of the Russian lady in the highest

perfection of the class. Elegant, lively, fascinating, and _pleine de

distinction_, she possesses all the qualities requisite in the queen of

a drawing-room. She did the honours of that remarkable _soiree_ with

charming grace. The ball ended with a grand supper, which was prolonged

until morning.

We passed fifteen well-spent days in Astrakhan. Notwithstanding the

heat, we were running about from morning till night, escorted by an

aide-de-camp, whom his excellency had assigned to us as cicerone. This

very obliging officer being perfectly well acquainted with the country,

and being incessantly on the look-out for any thing that could interest

us, it came to pass that in eight days we had a much better knowledge of

the town than the governor himself. One thing alone escaped our search,

namely, one or two families of Parsees, who still inhabit Astrakhan, but

whom our guide could not succeed in ferreting out. It was in vain he

hunted about and questioned every body; no one could give him any

precise information on the subject. _Soirees_, cavalcades, numerous

dinners, and above all, a pleasing intimacy with many agreeable

families, filled up our tourist existence in the most charming manner,

and made us postpone as long as possible a departure, which was to snap

asunder such pleasing social ties.

It would be impossible to surpass the active kindness shown us by the

governor and all the best society of Astrakhan. During our whole stay

the governor put his caleche at our disposal, and was imitated in this

by many other persons. But notwithstanding all these temptations to

prolong our abode, we were obliged at last to set in earnest about

arrangements for our journey across the Kalmuck steppes. Our first care

was to provide all that was indispensable to prevent our dying of hunger

on the way. An expedition of this kind is like a long sea voyage; the

previous cares are the same; one must enter into the same sort of

details as the sailor who is bound for a distant shore.

We laid in a great stock of biscuits, rice, oil, candles, dry fruit,

tea, coffee, and sugar, and sent them forward with our escort to

Houidouk, a post station near the Caspian, where my husband was to begin

his series of levels.

This escort, consisting of ten camels with their drivers and some

Cossacks fully armed, had been selected by the governor and M. Fadiew,

with a carefulness that proved how much they were both concerned for our

safety. I cannot sufficiently express my gratitude for all the kindness

they showed us on this occasion; their anxiety about the result of so

hazardous a journey betrayed itself by numberless precautions and

recommendations, which might have had some influence on our

determination if it had not been irrevocably fixed.

The governor chose from among his best officers, a Tatar prince to

command our escort. This young man, who was an excellent sportsman, had

a hawk, from which he was inseparable, and to this circumstance was

owing the orders he received to accompany us. General Timirasif, always

mindful of the privations that awaited us, thought he could not do

better than furnish us with so clever a purveyor; who, indeed, proved to

be of immense assistance to us. When he presented the officer to us,

with his hawk on his fist, his face beamed with satisfaction. "Now," he

said, laughing, "my conscience is at ease; here I give you a brave

soldier for your champion, and a travelling companion, who will not let

you be starved to death in the wilderness."

Orders were sent forward in advance, along all the line we were to

traverse as far as Haidouk, that we should be supplied with horses at

every station without delay.

CHAPTER XXI.

COMMERCIAL POSITION OF ASTRAKHAN--ITS IMPORTANCE IN THE

MIDDLE AGES--ITS LOSS OF THE OVERLAND TRADE FROM INDIA--

COMMERCIAL STATISTICS--FISHERIES OF THE CASPIAN--CHANGE

OF THE MONETARY SYSTEM IN RUSSIA--BAD STATE OF THE

FINANCES--RUSSIAN POLITICAL ECONOMY.

There is no city, perhaps, of eastern Europe, which has played a more

important part than Astrakhan in the commercial relations between Europe

and Asia. Situated at the lower extremity of the largest navigable river

of Europe, it communicates on the one side by the Caspian with

Turcomania and the northern regions of Persia; on the other side, by

means of the Volga and the Don, it is in direct intercourse with the

central provinces of the Muscovite empire, and the whole coast of the

Black Sea. With such facilities for traffic, Astrakhan would naturally

be one of the chief points of transit for Indian goods during the middle

ages, when the passage by the Cape of Good Hope was unknown, and

European navigators had not yet appeared in the Persian Gulf. It was

towards the middle of the thirteenth century, after the foundation of

the Kaptshak empire, and of the kingdom of Little Tartary, that the

Caspian Sea became a highway for the Indian trade, with which, in still

earlier times, the Petchenegues, the predecessors of the Tatars in the

Tauris, appear not to have been altogether unacquainted. Astrakhan on

one side, and Soldaia on the Black Sea on the other, became the two

great maritime places of the Tatars, and exchanged between them the

merchandise of Europe and Asia, by means of the caravans of the Kouban

and the Volga.[20] From Soldaia the Indian goods were next conveyed to

Constantinople, where they were sold either for the provinces of the

empire, or to foreigners trading in that capital. Afterwards, about

1280, when the Genoese took possession of the coasts of the Tauris,

Soldaia lost its commercial importance, and the splendid colony of Caffa

became the centre of all the Asiatic commerce. Mercantile relations with

India assumed fresh activity at that period, particularly when, after

the dissolution of the empire of the Kaptshak, in the reign of Hadji

Devlet Cherii, the Genoese became masters of Tana, on the Don. The whole

trade in spices, aromatic and medicinal drugs, perfumes, silks, and

other productions of the East in request in Europe, fell thus into the

hands of those intrepid Italian speculators, whose connexions by way of

the Caspian, the Persian Gulf, and the caravans, extended as far as the

Indies.

But soon a new tempest burst forth, more terrible than any of those

which had before shaken the soil of the East. In 1453, Mahomed II.

seized Constantinople, and twenty years later all the Genoese colonies

fell one after another into the power of the Ottomans. It was in vain

the Venetians strove to appropriate the commerce of the Black Sea and

the East; their efforts were fruitless, and the closing of the

Dardanelles was peremptorily declared. The old communications between

Europe and Asia were thus severed, and for many years the precious

commodities of the East ceased to find their way towards Europe. But as

they were in great demand, and were very costly, merchants contrived to

find a new passage for them, and Smyrna became their entrepot. The

situation of that town, however, was far from compensating for the

disadvantage of a long, perilous, and expensive land carriage. Hence the

Indian trade remained in a languid state, until Vasco de Gama's

discovery opened a new route for the people of the West.

Smyrna retained the monopoly of the Eastern trade for more than 250

years; and until the middle of the seventeenth century, Persia was the

first entrepot for Indian productions, which arrived there by way of the

Persian Gulf, Afghanistan, and Beloochistan. They were partly consumed

in the country, and the rest was conveyed either to Smyrna by Erzeroum

and Bagdad, or into Russia by the Caspian Sea and Georgia. In

consequence of this great commercial revolution, the regions now

constituting the south-eastern provinces of Russia, lost all their

importance with regard to the traffic between Europe and Asia. The great

entrepots of Caffa and Tana having fallen into decay, all the routes

leading to them were forsaken. The great caravans of the Volga and the

Kouban disappeared, the navigation of the Caspian was almost

annihilated, and Astrakhan was reduced exclusively to local commerce

with the adjoining districts of Russia.

A hundred years after the taking of Constantinople, Ivan the Terrible

planted his victorious banner on the shores of the Caspian, and the old

city of the Tatars of the Golden Horde fell under the Muscovite sway.

Ever since that event, historians have had to record but a long series

of disasters, mistakes, and decadence. It appears, however, that under

the reign of Ivan the Terrible and his next successors, Astrakhan still

continued to supply Russia with the productions of Persia, and with some

of those of Central Asia. An English company even attempted, about the

year 1560, to open up a commercial intercourse with Persia and

Turcomania by way of the Caspian, but failed completely; and

subsequently the appearance of the Dutch and British flags in the

Persian Gulf, and the immense development of the maritime commerce with

India, for ever extinguished, for Astrakhan, the hope of recovering its

former position. The navigation of the Caspian was completely abandoned,

and the few Asiatic goods which Russia could not dispense with were

conveyed to that country by expensive and perilous overland routes.

Accordingly, when Alexis Michaelovitz ascended the throne about the

middle of the seventeenth century, how to arrive at Persia by sea was

almost become an unsolved problem. To this prince belongs, however, the

honour of the first effort made by Russia to re-establish the commerce

of the Caspian. A maritime expedition was undertaken from Astrakhan in

1660, under the direction of Dutch seamen; but it failed completely, in

consequence of the revolt of the Cossacks, and the successes achieved by

their leader, Stenko Razin. After this ineffectual attempt, things

reverted to their old state, and the commercial history of this part of

the empire presents nothing remarkable until the accession of Peter the

Great.

The trade with Asia was not forgotten under that illustrious regenerator

of the Muscovite nation, who bent all the force of his genius upon the

affairs of the East. Filled with the grand design of making the

merchandise of Asia pass through his dominions, he repaired in person

to Astrakhan, inspected the mouths of the Volga, selected a site for a

quarantine establishment, and set Dutchmen to work to turn the shores of

the Caspian to profitable account, until such time as political

circumstances should enable him to found establishments by force of arms

on the Russian coast. But the brilliant expeditions beyond the Caucasus

subsequently made by Russia led to no commercial result. Central Asia

continued as of old to communicate with Europe by way of Smyrna and the

Indian Ocean; and after Peter's death Russia gave up all her pretensions

to the southern shores of the Caspian, over which she had entertained

strong hopes of establishing her dominion.

Eventually the extension of the Russian possessions southward to the

Kouban and the Terek, and eastward to the Ural, was not without its

fruits. The safety secured to travellers caused the trade with Persia by

way of Georgia to revive in some degree. Astrakhan was again visited by

Persian and Hindu merchants, and by caravans from Khiva and Bokhara; the

western and eastern shores of the Caspian were again frequented by

vessels, and the numerous nomade hordes, of Asiatic habits, that then

occupied the steppes of the Volga and the Kouma, contributed not a

little to give animation to the commercial interchange between Russia

and the Transcaucasian regions.[21]

In the reign of Catherine II. the Russians reappeared once more beyond

the Caucasus on the Caspian shores; but it was not until Alexander's

time that their sway was definitively established in those Asiatic

regions. Once mistress of a vast country conterminous with Persia and

Turkey, and washed both by the Caspian and the Black Sea, Russia

evidently commanded every possible means for developing to her own

advantage a trade between Europe and most of the western regions of

Asia. By way of the Caspian and the Volga she could supply all her

central provinces with Persian silks and cottons, dye-stuffs, and drugs;

besides which she could monopolise the profit on the transit of goods to

the fairs of Germany and down the Danube.

At first the Russian government seemed disposed to favour the

establishment of all these great mercantile relations; but it did not

long persist in its liberal course. It soon began to practise

restrictive measures, thus paving the way for the grand system of

proscription which it afterwards adopted. In the beginning of

Alexander's reign the old trade with Persia still subsisted, and the

Russians continued to buy cottons of excellent quality, at very low

prices, in Mazanderan, a province situated on the Caspian.[22] The

merchants used then to make their payments in ducats, that gold coinage

being a _sine qua non_ in all bargains. But the exportation of ducats

was prohibited in 1812 and 1813, and thenceforth the Persians refused to

trade, not choosing to accept silver coin. The English merchants, always

prompt to seize advantageous opportunities, immediately entered the

markets of Mazanderan, the cottons of which, purchased by them at low

prices, reached Europe by way of the Persian Gulf. At first they paid in

ducats; but England soon substituted for specie cloths, and all other

kinds of goods suitable to the inhabitants of that part of Persia. It

was especially during the war of 1813 that the English led the Persians

to adopt their various manufactures. The stop put to the Russian trade

opened the eyes of the ministry, who soon revoked the measure concerning

ducats, but the mischief was done; commerce had already run into a new

channel. Severe as was this lesson it produced no lasting effect. In

order to favour a single Moscow manufacture, a duty equivalent to a

prohibition was imposed on foreign velvets _in transitu_ for Persia, and

thenceforth an article for which there was so important a demand, ceased

to be an item in the Russian traffic with Persia.

In 1821, the Russian government seemed to be disposed to wiser views,

and allowed European goods free entrance into the ports of Georgia.

Thereupon, a great transit trade rapidly sprang up between Turkey,

Persia, and the great German fairs, by way of Radzivilov, Odessa, Redout

Kaleh, and Tiflis. This new and very promising line of communication had

but a brief duration, for ten years afterwards, Russia, in her

infatuation, destroyed all these magnificent commercial elements, as we

have already shown. She closed the Transcaucasian provinces against

European goods, and thus gave an immediate impulse to the prosperity of

her formidable competitors in Trebisond, which soon surpassed the

establishments on the Persian Gulf, and became the principal port in

Persia and the point of destination for English goods, to the annual

value at present of more than two millions sterling.

The Trebisond route having been once adopted, the trade in drugs and

dye-stuffs was likewise lost for Russia.

It is scarcely conceivable with what perverse obstinacy the Russian

government has persisted in its course, in defiance of all warning; and

whilst the people of Persia and Turkey in Asia, were forsaking their old

commercial routes for new markets, Russia has gone on making her

prohibitive system more and more stringent, even to the extent of

excluding the common pottery, an immense quantity of which was formerly

sent from Khiva and Bokhara to Astrakhan, for the use of the Tatars and

Kalmucks.

It was through the effect of such measures as these that Astrakhan lost

all trace of its former greatness. In 1839 it contained only forty-eight

merchants of the first guild, including women and children, and had but

forty-eight vessels belonging to its port. Of these forty-eight vessels,

having a total tonnage of about nine millions of kilogrammes, eleven

belonged to the crown, twenty-five were the property of private

individuals, and were employed as government transports; there remained,

therefore, for trade only twelve vessels, one-third of which were

unemployed. The vessels belonging to the other ports of the Caspian in

connexion with Astrakhan, such as Baku and Salian, were eight in number,

with a tonnage of 387,000 kilogrammes, besides about sixty coasters,

tonnage unknown. Such is the deplorable condition to which the trade and

navigation of the Caspian have been reduced by an exclusive government,

which would never consent to understand the reciprocal nature of

traffic, but foolishly hoped to preserve its commercial intercourse with

nations whose productions it rejects, and to which it refuses even the

transit of the foreign goods they require. Do what she will, Russia will

never succeed in adequately replacing for the Mussulmans of the south of

the empire the manufactures of Asia, which are peculiarly adapted to

their habits and their wants, or in inducing the Transcaucasian

countries to adopt her own sorry manufactures. The spread of English

commerce, moreover, in the western regions of Asia is now a historical

fact, and Russia cannot possibly check it unless she become mistress,

some time or other, of Constantinople. It is true she may compete in

some hardware goods with the higher-priced productions of England; but

the Asiatics are excellent judges of such matters; they are seldom

tempted by mere cheapness; on the contrary, experience proves that they

prefer the English goods, the soundness and high finish of which they

fully appreciate. But even though the Russian goods were as well made as

the English, the prohibitive system of the empire, and the refusal of

transit to European merchandise, would still be sufficient to deprive

the country of all export trade in the Caspian; for the people of Asia

will always give the preference to those commercial relations which

afford them opportunities for exchanges suitable to their wants, along

with the advantages of a more extensive demand.

The trade of the two Russian ports of the Caspian in 1835, was as

follows:--

Exports. Imports. Duties.

rubles. rubles. rubles.

Astrakhan 2,235,514 2,235,514 127,241

Baku 556,016 1,564,924 81,735

--------- --------- -------

2,791,530 3,800,438 208,976

Which gives for the whole Caspian a general circulation of about

6,500,000 rubles. The trade has still continued to decline since 1835.

We find it stated in the journal of the ministry of the interior, that

the whole exports of the Russian Transcaucasian provinces, by the Black

Sea, the Caspian, and overland, amounted in 1839, to but 3,889,707

rubles,[23] whilst the imports by the Caspian, did not exceed 2,896,008

rubles, nearly a million less than in 1835. In the same year Persia

supplied, by the overland route, goods to the amount of 8,545,035 rubles

to the Caucasian provinces. Now these goods consisted, according to the

documents of the government itself, not of raw materials, but almost

entirely in silk and cotton fabrics. The fact is, that notwithstanding

the high duties of the imperial tariff, the people of Asia, who know

nothing of the fantastic changes of fashion, always prefer the durable

productions of the Persian looms to the flimsy tissues which Russia

offers them, at very high prices, in consequence of the great remoteness

of Moscow, the only seat of manufactures in the empire. Again, the

Persians, finding that Russia can supply them with but few articles

suited to them, keep all the raw materials produced in their country,

and those which reach them from Central Asia, to exchange them for the

European goods, which are now briskly and abundantly supplied in

Trebisond and Tauris. Thus the Ghilan[24] silks, the Mazanderan cottons,

the gall-nuts of Kurdistan, the tobaccoes of Shiraz, the gums,

dye-stuffs, saffron, &c., have completely deserted the Caspian, and the

route from Tiflis to Redout-Kaleh, for that by way of Erzeroum and

Trebisond. Another circumstance in favour of this new line is the low

rate of carriage and duties in Turkey; the latter never exceed three per

cent. for Europeans, and four per cent. for Persians; but in reality

merchants seldom pay more than half that amount. Altogether the transit

from Constantinople does not augment the first cost of goods by more

than ten per cent. Hence it is easy to infer how difficult it is for

Russia, whose manufacturing power is still so inconsiderable, to contend

with the other European states in the markets of Persia, and how grossly

it blundered when it voluntarily annihilated all transit trade through

its dominions, in the vain hope of forcing its own productions on the

Transcaucasian countries.

One of the most curious things connected with the destruction of all

these elements of wealth is the petty artifices practised by the

ministry to make Europe, and the head of the government, believe that

the extension of commerce is nowhere more sedulously pursued than in

Russia. For instance, the fort of Alexandrof has been built on the

north-east coast of the Caspian, under the pretence of providing a

receptacle for the imaginary caravans from Khiva and Bokhara.

Unfortunately, the locality affords neither fresh water nor wood, nor

any one necessary; accordingly, as might have been foreseen, it has not

been visited by a single caravan. The garrison consists of 600 men, and

requires to be constantly renewed in consequence of its suffering by

scurvy; the commandant is obliged to procure fresh water from the mouths

of the Ural, which is conveyed to him in packet-boats. The fort has not

even proved of use for the protection of the fishery which is carried on

not far from its site. The soldiers cannot venture from their redoubts

without incurring the risk of being carried off by the Khirghis. More

than eighty Russian fishermen were made prisoners in 1839 by those

nomades, and sold in Khiva and Bokhara.

It is well known what hopes Peter the Great built on the Black Sea, the

Caspian, and the countries situated beyond the Caucasus. It remains for

us briefly to discuss the question, whether it will ever be possible for

Russia to make the Indian trade return to its old route.

Now that navigation has made such amazing progress, now that the

establishment of steamboats on the Euphrates and the Red Sea, is a

solved problem, and the cost of freight by sea is exceedingly reduced,

we think there is no longer a chance for Russia to divert the course of

the Indian trade, and make it pass through her own dominions. Russia is

conterminous with the Chinese empire, and has long enjoyed certain and

regular communication with it; and yet the English find it very

profitable to sell in Odessa, and all the south of Russia, tea brought

them by ships that double the Cape of Good Hope. It is evident that

Russia is in a still worse position with regard to India than to China.

Should the Russians ever become masters of the Sea of Azof, they might,

perhaps, penetrate to Bokhara and Samarkand by way of the rivers Sir

Daria (Iaxartes) and Amore Daria (Oxus). This was one of Peter the

Great's grand conceptions. But the reiterated attempts that have been

made in Khiva, always to no purpose, prove plainly that conquests are

not easily to be made in those regions, and that such armies as those of

our day are not fitted to traverse the steppes of the Khirghis and

Turcomans. And how were it possible, besides, to establish as regular

and cheap communications with India, by way of Persia or Bokhara, as

those which now exist by sea? It seems, therefore, evident that Peter

the Great's projects are become chimerical at this day, and that all the

efforts Russia can ever make by herself, will be unable to change the

course of the Indian trade. It is only in case of a long maritime war

that she could hope to bring the productions of Central Asia to the

Black Sea, thence to be distributed over continental Europe. But apart

from this trade, there was still a vast field to be wrought: in like

manner as the East Indies are become, commercially speaking,

dependencies of Great Britain, so Persia and Turcomania might have

become tributaries to Russia, had not the latter, blinded by her vanity

and jealous ambition, to adopt her deplorable system of prohibition, and

destroyed the whole European transit trade which was establishing itself

by way of the ports she possesses on the Black Sea.

Our facts and figures have clearly proved that the decay of the

navigation of the Caspian has accompanied that of the Asiatic trade; it

is important, however, to give some notion of the nature and employment

of the vessels actually in use on the Caspian and the Volga. These

vessels are divided into five classes, according to the character of

their build. The first comprises ships that visit all the ports of the

Caspian indiscriminately; the second, those that ply only in the

neighbourhood of Astrakhan; the third, those that confine themselves to

the mouths of the Volga from Astrakhan to the sea; the fourth, the river

boats that never quit the Volga; and the fifth, those belonging to the

Persian provinces.

The ships that visit the ports of the Caspian are called _shkooutes_,

and their hulls are not unlike those of Dutch vessels. They are built of

bad timber, and in defiance of all rules. Their number, though greatly

exceeding the demands of commerce, is not above eighty; they gauge from

1000 to 2000 _hectolitres_. Shipowners generally buy old hulls in Nijni

Novgorod, and turn them into shkooutes, without ever reflecting that

their craziness and want of regularity makes them exceedingly dangerous

as sea-going vessels. And then the command of them is given to ignorant

pilots, who fill the office of captains in all but the name. The crews

consist of from ten to sixteen, and these being chosen by the sole test

of cheapness, the result is that the navigation of the squally and

formidable Caspian is in very bad repute among merchants, and will

inevitably be abandoned altogether.

The shkooutes are employed in conveying Russian and Persian goods, and

the workmen, materials, provisions, and produce, belonging to the

fisheries situated between Salian,[25] Siphitourinsk, Akhrabat, and

Astrabad,[26] and in carrying victuals and stores to the garrisons in

the eastern parts of the Caucasus.

Of all these transports, those of the crown alone afford the shippers

any chance of profit. The Russian authorities and merchants themselves

confess that there is no longer any thing to be got by conveying

merchandise from Astrakhan to Persia. Twenty years ago the freights

obtained for heavy goods were from 1.30 rubles, to 3 per pood, and from

6 to 10 rubles for light and bulky goods. Now the freight for the former

does not exceed from 40 to 70 copeks, and that of the latter never

amounts to one ruble. The return charges cannot be stated with accuracy,

since they depend on the quantity of goods to be shipped, and the number

of vessels ready to load. It often happens that the captains put up

their services to auction, and end with losing instead of gaining. This

diminution in the charges for freight is evidently the consequence of

the superabundance of vessels, of the frequent shipwrecks which cause a

preference for land carriage, and of the small amount of importation

into the Persian provinces.

The vessels that ply on the Caspian in the vicinity of Astrakhan are

known in the country by the name of _razchiva_. They differ very little

from the shkooutes, and cost from 1500 to 4000 rubles. Sailors

distinguish them into two classes, _manghishlaks_ and _aslams_, the

former of which take the name from the port[27] whence they formerly

carried to Astrakhan the goods brought by the Khiva and Bokhara

caravans. This traffic was monopolised by Tatars, who alone had nothing

to fear from the Khirghis and Turkmans, when they landed. In 1832, there

were but eight manghishlaks, half of which were unemployed. These little

vessels carry from 700 to 1200 hectolitres.

The other class of razchivas, designated by the Tartar word _aslam_

(carrier--_voiturier_), are used to convey household vessels, victuals,

timber, and articles requisite for the fisheries. They ply to

Kisliar,[28] Gourief,[29] and Tchetchenze,[30] and traverse all the

north-western parts of the Caspian, from the Volga to Terek, their

principal cargoes being commissariat stores for the troops in the

Caucasian provinces. They bring back wine, rice, and Kisliar brandy,

which is much esteemed in the country. The number of these razchivas

does not, however, exceed fifty. They can make five trips in the year.

These vessels are much more profitable to their owners than are

shkooutes. In reality they are but coasters, and as they seldom venture

out of sight of the shore, they are much less exposed to wreck.

Moreover, in addition to their Astrakhan freights, they keep up an

exchange trade in eatable commodities with the nomades of the Caspian

shores. They are also employed in the fisheries of the Emba and of

Tchetchenze, though the fishermen generally prefer smaller vessels.

The vessels that ply in the mouths of the Volga are some of them decked,

some open. The former, which need to be of a certain strength, carry

goods directly on board the shkooutes in the offing, whereas the latter

stop a little distance from the mouth of the river. Both are really

lighters. The water is so low near the mouths of the Volga, as well as

in all the northern part of the Caspian, that the shkooutes are obliged

to put to sea empty from the port of Astrakhan. About twenty miles from

the shore they take in half their cargo, which is brought to them in

open lighters, nor can they complete their loading until they are 100 or

120 miles from the embouchure, where they are met by decked vessels

whose draught of water does not exceed thirteen feet. The lighters

generally belong to petty captains, who realise a good profit by them;

but a large proportion of them are lost every year.

The boats that float down the Volga to Astrakhan from the interior, are

of extreme diversity of construction. The most remarkable are the

_kladnyas_, which are distinguished above all the rest by their solidity

and their Dutch build. They have but one enormously tall mast with two

sails, one of which is attached to a boom twice as long as the hull of

the vessel. Next after them come the _beliangs_, flat boats built

entirely of deal, and not pitched either within or without. Besides

these there are an infinity of smaller boats, which it is unnecessary to

describe. All these boats convey goods from Astrakhan to Nijni Novgorod,

Saratof, and other places, and _vice versa_, charging for freight from

ten to thirty kopeks per pood, according to distance. They arrive at

Astrakhan at stated times, namely, in May, July, and September. The

steamboat that makes one trip every year between Astrakhan and Nijni

Novgorod, takes from forty to fifty days to ascend the river, and a

fortnight to return. The navigation of the Volga, appears by the

sailors' accounts, to be growing more difficult every year; some parts

of the river are already impracticable for boats of a certain draught.

Indeed the fact seems clearly ascertained that the Volga has undergone a

great diminution of volume within the last century.

The vessels belonging to the Persian provinces resemble the Russian

shkooutes, with this difference, that no pitch is used in their

construction, but their timbers are so accurately joined as to admit no

water. It is superfluous to say that the Persian shipping is in a still

worse position than that of Russia. If to these statistical details we

add that all the Russian goods are conveyed by land to the Caucasian

provinces of the empire, no more will be wanting to show how deserted is

the Caspian Sea.

The manual industry of Astrakhan shares, of course, the decay of its

commerce. The metropolis reckoned fifty-two manufacturing establishments

in 1838, viz.: one for silks, two for cotton cloths, twenty

dyeing-houses, ten tanyards, two candle manufactories, three soap

manufactories, twelve tile manufactories, one tallow melting-house, one

rope-walk; 615 workmen were employed in all these establishments. It was

the fisheries of the Volga that in reality furnished the population with

all the means of subsistence; they are still the chief resource of the

country, and it would seem as though nature had wished to compensate

Astrakhan for the sterility of its soil, by rendering the waters that

wash it more prolific than any others in fish.[31] The waters in which

the fishing is carried on are private property, or farmed out by the

crown and the towns, or they are free to all comers. The most

productive spots belong to the princes Kourakin, Youssoupof, Besborodko,

&c. The crown fisheries were formerly commercial property; they are now

leased to one individual, along with those belonging to the district

capitals of the government of Astrakhan. The waters of Astrakhan, though

belonging to Prince Kourakin, have nevertheless been gratuitously

conceded to the town. They yield for the most part only small kinds of

fish, which are consumed by the inhabitants themselves.

The fisheries of the Emba have been free since 1803. They comprise 300

miles of the Caspian coast, from the mouth of the Ural to Mentvoi

Koultouk, and take their name from the river Emba. They belonged

formerly to the counts Koutussof and Soltykov.

By virtue of a decree, dated March 31, 1803, fishery of all sorts,

including that of seals, is free in the maritime waters of Tchetchenze.

The island of that name, lying not far from the gulf and cape of

Agrakhan, contains vast establishments for smoking, salting, and drying

fish, and numerous dwellings occupied by the fishermen. The fishery here

lasts all the year through, and yields beluga,[32] common sturgeon,

salmon trout, silurus,[33] and two varieties of carp. It has been the

custom of the seal-fishers from time immemorial not to destroy any of

those animals before the 13th of April; whoever infringes this rule is

deprived of all his booty by his comrades, who divide it among

themselves. War is waged upon the seals in five different ways. In

summer they are hunted on the islands and netted in the sea; in winter

they are shot, or killed with clubs on the ice, or at the

breathing-holes they break through it. In summer the seals weigh thirty

pounds, in autumn about sixty, and in winter often ninety-six.

The permanent fisheries are called _vataghis_ and _outshoughis_; the

places where they are temporary are called _stania_. An outshoughi

consists in a barrier of stakes planted across the river, and sometimes

wattled. Below this barrier the apparatus called in Russian _samoloff_,

is placed in the current. It is a cord hung with short lines and hooks,

and the business of the fisherman consists in examining the lines, and

taking off the fish that are hooked. These are immediately taken to a

shed built on piles at the waterside, where they are cut up; the roes,

the fat, and the nerves are afterwards conveyed to places where they

undergo the processes necessary to fit them for commerce.

As the lines of stakes hinder the fish from ascending the river, the

government has for some time prohibited the use of outshoughis, and also

of the lines and hooks, by which it is found that scarcely one fish is

taken out of a hundred that swallow the bait; the rest escape though

wounded, and thus perish uselessly.

The invention of these barriers is ascribed to the Tatars of the khanat

of Astrakhan. As fish was an important article of commerce between them

and the Russians, it may be presumed that they adopted this means to

keep the fish from ascending to the upper portions of the Volga.

The vataghis, usually placed on the heights above the shore, are cellars

in which fish is salted and dried. Before the door there is always a

platform sheltered by a screen of reeds, where the fish are cut up and

cleaned. Nets, some of them several hundred yards in length, are

exclusively used in these establishments. It is forbidden, however, to

stretch them across the entire width of the river.