_THE SIBERIAN FRONTIER AT KIAKHTA._
Hospitable reception.--History of Kiakhta.--Treaties between
Russians and Chinese.--Early trading.--Decline of commerce.--The
tea trade.--Troitzkosavsk church.--Miraculous ikons.--Kiakhta
church.--Russian churches in general.--Bells.--Valuable
ikons.--Climate of Kiakhta.--Drive to Ust-Keran.
I have said in the previous chapter that we reached Kiakhta. It would
have been more accurate to have said Troitzkosavsk, which is within
sight of and may be called a suburb of Kiakhta, situated on the
Siberian frontier. Here we were lodged, for by the terms of a treaty
between Chinese and Russians, no officer or stranger may sleep in
Kiakhta proper. On arriving, we learned, to our dismay, that there
was no hotel or guest-house in either town. We therefore went to the
office of the Ispravnik, and in his absence showed our documents,
which served so far to establish our respectability, that we were told
we might have accommodation at the police-station. For this offer of
course we were grateful, but, before accepting it, we thought we would
present some of our letters of introduction. One was addressed to Mr.
Tokmakoff, a first-class merchant in the place; but he was away in
Mongolia, and his wife and family were living at their summer house
“in the country.” We had another letter, given me by Mr. Larsen, the
telegraphist at Irkutsk, to Mr. Koecher, the principal of the _real_
or commercial school, who lived in one of the best houses of the town,
and who, upon our presenting the letter, immediately pressed us to take
up our abode with him. We were only too thankful to do so, and, after a
fortnight’s inconveniences in sleeping, to find ourselves in quarters
with proper and comfortable beds. Our host was living bachelor fashion,
and was expecting to leave shortly for Petersburg; his wife had already
preceded him. He spared no pains to make us comfortable, and, being
thus settled, we had time to look about the place, which, on leaving
England, had been the utmost bound to which my travelling imagination
had carried me. The Mohammedans say, “See Mecca and expire”; the
Italians, “See Naples and die”; and in somewhat of the same spirit I
had fixed upon Kiakhta as the _ultima thule_ of my Siberian wanderings:
not that there is much that is remarkable in the physical aspect of the
place, but from Kiakhta one walks out of Siberia into China and sees
the blue hills of Mongolia. The town, moreover, has a history, and was
the scene of a treaty between the two largest empires in the world.
So far back as the 17th century, trade was carried on, though not
protected by Government, between the Siberians and their southern
neighbours the Chinese.[1]
But in 1692 a treaty was made at Nertchinsk, opening the way to regular
and permanent commerce between the two countries, though subject to
certain vexatious forms and restrictions. Subsequently Peter the Great,
seeing the advantage of this treaty, desired that the privilege of
trading with China, then confined to individuals, should be extended
to caravans; and, the Emperor approving, the right of trading thus was
appropriated as a monopoly by the Russian Crown.
So things went on till 1722, when, the Russians offending their
celestial neighbours, the Chinese Emperor expelled all Muscovites from
his dominions, and brought trading affairs to a standstill. Six years
later the treaty of Kiakhta was concluded, which stipulated that a
caravan of not more than 200 persons should visit Peking every three
years, and that the subjects of each nation, though not allowed to
cross the frontier with their wares, might dispose of them to each
other at two places on the border--Kiakhta, and Tsurukhaitu on the
Argun, about 60 miles from Nertchinsk. This led to the foundation of
the town of Kiakhta; and as there were certain conditions in the treaty
limiting the number of persons, and imposing various restrictions upon
those who should live there, another town was built a mile off, and
called Troitzkosavsk, in which these restrictions were evaded.[2]
The traveller of to-day does not see Kiakhta as it was in palmy times,
though a considerable trade is still carried on between China and
Eastern Siberia, and large consignments are sent to Nijni Novgorod and
Moscow. The tradition is still kept up that the sea passage injures
the flavour of the herb, and that caravan tea is the best, which
commands, accordingly, prices up to ten shillings per pound. I have
heard quite recently of “yellow” tea, which even at Kiakhta costs this
sum, and which, brought overland, would probably command in Petersburg
16_s._ or 18_s._ per pound. One hears also in Russia of “blossom” tea,
which consists of only the dried flowers of the tea plant, and of
other choice growths, the best of which are not brought to England at
all. There is one kind of yellow tea, I am told, costing as much as
five guineas a pound. The Emperor of China is supposed to enjoy its
monopoly. A friend of mine, who received a few pounds as a present,
tells me she did not think it distinguishable from that sold at 5_s._ a
pound. Blossom tea is well known throughout Russia, and is mixed in the
proportion of two-ounces to one pound of ordinary tea.[3]
In addition to ordinary and superior sorts, the Russians import,
chiefly for consumption by the military and native populations, immense
quantities of tea pressed into the form of tablets, or bricks, each
of which weighs about 2 lbs. These bricks are made of tea-dust mixed
with a common coarse sort made of twigs, stalks, and tea refuse, the
whole being first submitted for a minute to the action of steam and
then pressed into a mould. Some say that bullocks’ or other blood is
also mixed with brick tea, but I have not heard this corroborated. The
tea-dust used for brick tea costs in China about 5_d._ per pound, the
manufacture about 1½_d._ more, and the article bears a handsome profit.
In 1878 the Russian manufacturers in China were said to have realized
a profit of 75 per cent. This they cannot do, however, all the year
round, for the making of the bricks goes on only from the middle of
June to the end of September, during which season they work at it night
and day.
Apart, however, from the trade which passes over the Siberian frontier,
there is much in Kiakhta and Troitzkosavsk to interest the western
traveller. Among other novelties are to be seen Mongolian cavalry
dashing about the streets, the soldiers being known mainly by a piece
of ribbon streaming from their hats. The united population of the two
places amounts to nearly 5,000, who are supplied with provisions by
both Russians and Chinese. There may be seen coming from their farms
and gardens numbers of peasant wagons, as well as clumsy Mongolian
carts, the latter on wheels without spokes, formed of large wooden
discs, which oxen cause to wabble along. Common vegetables are to be
had in abundance. A large square in the centre of Troitzkosavsk is used
for a corn and hay market, and is provided in Russian fashion with a
huge pair of scales sanctioned by the authorities. Here the vendors of
agricultural and garden produce assemble, and generally manage to get
rid of their stock and garden produce early in the day. Young chickens
cost 4_d._ each, lemons in winter 1_s._ a-piece, and occasionally even
double that price, and Cognac brandy 9_s._ per bottle. Troitzkosavsk
is also supplied with excellent fish, but we found it difficult to get
good fruit. Besides the market square at Troitzkosavsk, there are two
public gardens at Kiakhta, and also a cemetery.
We went to the small prison, and found it a poor affair. The
police-master told us he had received a letter concerning our intended
visit long before, and had been expecting us. Where the information
came from he did not say; but it served to remind us again that, though
more than 4,000 miles from the capital, we were not lost sight of.
This was the last place at which I heard of our coming having been
announced beforehand, though a general at Petersburg had told me that
I might usually expect this; for how, said he, are the Governors to
whom your letter is addressed to know that your document is not forged
unless they are advised that a letter has been given you? and then, to
illustrate his remark, he said that, on one occasion, a man, dressed
like a gendarme, presented himself at Irkutsk with a forged letter and
got a prisoner released.
I may add to the foregoing that Kiakhta was the last, and almost the
only, place other than Petersburg where symptoms of a disaffected or
revolutionary spirit came under my notice; and this in the solitary
instance, that when an educated man in the town was shown in an English
newspaper a portrait of Vera Sassulitch, the would-be murderess of
Trepoff, I heard that he admired and praised her. As for Nihilism, I
heard, in crossing Russia, so little about it that I am ashamed to say
I left the country with very vague ideas as to what it is. I am not
sure that I know much about it now, but an Englishman who has spent
a large portion of his life in Russia and Siberia tells me there are
various kinds of Nihilists. The mildest type, if they can be called
such, simply want free speech and a free press, as do, I am told, all
the “Slavophils”; the next wish for a ministry responsible to the
people; but both these classes (which are supposed to be numerous)
think the time not yet come, and that they must wait for further
enlightenment of the people. With this opinion my friend agreed,
feeling sure that at present the educated Russian and the moujik would
quarrel, he said, if one were dependent on the other. The third class
are the “black” Nihilists, who want the dethronement of the reigning
dynasty and a republic, and who are willing to adopt any means, even
the most criminal, to gain their end.
Of all this and its like I heard next to nothing after leaving
Petersburg; there, however, great excitement prevailed. I arrived
only a few days after one of the attempts on the late Emperor’s life,
and a friend called to tell me they were at their wits’ end to know
what to do. Turning back his coat collar, he showed me sewn thereon
the certified badge of his calling, so placed that it might be ready
to show the police, if required, at a moment’s notice. The English,
he said, were strongly suspected, and he doubted whether he should be
safe in affording me his usual protection and kindly services. He had
told one of his Russian friends that I had arrived in the country for
the purpose of distributing books and tracts, but the Russian did not
believe that I could be come for such a charitable object, but thought
I must be sent by the English Government. The rumours afloat respecting
the English were both numerous and ridiculous. The authorities had not
then succeeded in finding the press from which were issued the Nihilist
placards and papers, and, as the ambassadors’ residences are privileged
places, supposed to be closed against the police, it was affirmed that
the secret press must be there. My friend told me he heard it said
that “proclamations” against the Russian Government could be bought
at the English Embassy for a rouble each. Another rumour said that
the Russians were persuaded that the centre of the revolution was in
the English Embassy, and that they had even thought of setting fire
thereto, with the hope of securing, in the confusion, the revolutionary
papers. I smiled on hearing this, and concluded that it could be
only the most ignorant of the people who believed such puerilities,
but on repeating it as a joke to a Russian fellow-traveller from
Moscow, he said he quite believed that the forbidden press was in the
Ambassador’s house, and that the revolutionists obtained their money
from the English Government. I heard, too, in Petersburg that it was
thought by the lower orders that the Nihilists obtained a large portion
of their funds from the “International” in England.
All this smoke and rumour, however, we left behind on quitting Moscow,
and though we may perchance have been watched, I was never conscious
of it. I mention this because as some were surprised at my going to
Russia when in such a disturbed condition, so others may be curious
to know how this disturbance affected me as a traveller; and though I
am far from supposing that my very limited and isolated experience is
worth much, or perhaps anything, in showing the political condition of
Russia and Siberia at the time of my visit, yet I wish to convey the
impression that Russian atrocities and inflamed horrors, as posted on
placards and shouted by London newsboys, shrink into very much smaller
dimensions when the scene of action is reached. Such at least has been
my invariable experience, and to this I shall further allude hereafter.
They have also at Troitzkosavsk a church in which “a miracle” seemed
about to be recognised during our sojourn; for, on the first night of
our stay, after I had gone to bed, a woman came to the party of friends
with whom I had left Mr. Interpreter, and told them that she could see
a strange halo of light in the church, but whether caused by celestial
radiance or angels’ wings she did not say. The party turned out,
therefore, my interpreter included, and made for the church, into which
they could not gain admittance, and which was apparently empty, though
they managed at last, by looking through a crevice or window, to descry
a lamp burning before a glass ikon, which happened to slant at such an
angle as dimly to reflect through the darkness the rays of light to the
spot where they had been seen by the woman. This took away the sense
of the miraculous, not altogether to the satisfaction of some of the
party, who seemed to think “there was something in it.”[4]
The great ecclesiastical wonder of Kiakhta is its cathedral, said to
be the finest in Eastern Siberia, and to have cost 1,400,000 roubles,
equal at the time of building to at least £150,000. It was built at the
expense of the Kiakhta merchants, and possesses some excellent bells.[5]
[Illustration: THE GREAT BELL OF MOSCOW AND IVAN VELIKI TOWER.]
In bells, the Russian Church is the richest in the world--so far, at
least, as regards their size. The largest we have in England--that of
Christ Church, Oxford, weighing 7 tons--is but a baby compared with
many in Russia. The largest in Petersburg weighs 23 tons; “Great John,”
in the older capital, weighs 96 tons; whilst the old “Tsar Kolokol,” or
the King of Bells, in Moscow, weighed originally nearly 200 tons, or
432,000 lbs. Reckoning their value at 18 silver roubles per pood, we
get a price for our Oxford bell of £1,100; and for that of the largest
one of Moscow of £32,000. This monster bell is 26 ft. high, and 67 ft.
round!
It was neither its bells, however, nor its architecture that made
Kiakhta cathedral “a fine church,” but rather its costly fittings. It
has two altars, both of silver; a candlestick with numerous rubies and
emeralds, and a large chandelier studded with precious stones. More
striking still, perhaps, was the profusion of objects made of solid
silver, such as the “royal doors,” which are said to weigh 2,000 lbs.;
and, above all, the _ikonostasis_ of gold and glass, or crystal--the
value of the last, no doubt, being considerably enhanced by the cost
of carriage to so remote a spot. There were also several paintings,
executed at great expense in Europe.
We mounted the tower, and from thence had a view of the surrounding
country and of the three towns of Troitzkosavsk, Kiakhta, and the
Chinese Maimatchin. On a slight elevation, about a mile to the north,
at the head of an open sand-valley between two ranges of moderately
high hills, lay Troitzkosavsk, with its 4,600 inhabitants, its
school, houses, shops, Government buildings, and a number of persons
and officials who could not strictly be called merchants. There is
also a large building which formerly was the Custom House, where the
duties on tea were collected.[6] Below us was Kiakhta, with about 400
inhabitants, the abode of Russian mercantile aristocrats and their
belongings, making a population, according to Hoppe’s Almanack, of
about 5,000. The town lies snugly in a hollow, between hills of sand
and fir-trees, well sheltered from northerly winds, and opening out
southwards towards Mongolia. A small rivulet, called the Bura, runs
through the hollow, and, turning westward to the sandy plain, makes its
way at last into the Selenga. The country round looks sandy and dry,
which is in keeping with the meteorological conditions of the place.
Southerly winds prevail, and there is a deficiency of moisture in the
atmosphere; hence they have only a slight fall during the year either
of rain or of snow. So much is this the case that wheeled vehicles
are used all through the winter, and goods and travellers at that
season are thus driven some miles out of Troitzkosavsk to the spot
where snow begins, and sledges are usable. Kiakhta is about 2,500 feet
above the sea level. The greatest cold in 1877 was in February, when
the thermometer stood at 42° below zero; whilst the greatest heat that
year, namely 100°·5, was in August.
On the first morning after our arrival, our host sent us in his
carriage for a drive of 20 miles to Ust-Keran, the summer residence of
Mr. Tokmakoff, where also we expected to find a fellow-countryman, who,
we heard, was Professor of English in the gymnase at Troitzkosavsk.
It was a fine day, and our horses dashed along over a wide extent
of country, somewhat suggestive of Salisbury plain. We saw very
few people, but, happening to meet a vehicle, we pulled up, and my
interpreter, having descended, went to the carriage to know if we
were taking the right road. He called to me that we were right for
Madame Tokmakoff’s, upon which I shouted, “Ask him if the Englishman
is there!” whereupon someone in the carriage replied, “I am the
Englishman.” It was pleasant to hear this spoken in my native
tongue, and I hastened to make the acquaintance of Mr. Frank M----,
who was spending his vacation as tutor, and teaching English, in
the very family to which we were going. He therefore turned back,
and accompanied us to Madame Tokmakoff’s, by whom we were heartily
welcomed, and where we were reminded of home by the sight of
cricket-bats, stumps, and sundry other English things.
The great event of the afternoon was driving some miles further to a
Buriat lamasery, or monastery, inhabited by priests, for whom I had
taken some Scriptures; but none of them spoke Russian, and as we could
not well make them understand, I left the books with our friend to give
when an interpreter could explain, and this little commission he kindly
performed. I shall have occasion to speak of this lamasery hereafter.
On our way we had to cross a river, the vehicle being put on a raft,
and the horses swam through the stream--not considered extraordinary in
these parts, for the same evening we saw a dozen horses returning from
their work, and when they came to the river, they plunged in of their
own accord, and swam across.
One of the men on the bank was very much puzzled to make me out,
especially as I asked questions, and made notes of the replies. He
seemed to think there might be “something up,” but said that “I
wore no official clothes, and so he could not tell what sort of a
‘_tchinovnik_’ I was.” His suspicions, however, abated, and his vanity
seemed tickled, when he was told that I had come from a very far
country, that I was anxious to know about their manners and customs,
and made notes of what I heard and saw to tell my countrymen on my
return. After inspecting the monastery, we drove back to Kiakhta the
same evening, having spent a particularly agreeable day.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] In 1655 a Russian embassy was sent to Peking, with a view to the
arrangement of a commercial treaty. The route then lay from Tobolsk up
the Irtish to its source, over the Altai mountains, through the vast
domain of the Kalmuks, and across the Mongolian steppes. The Russian
envoy, however, refused to lie down and submit to Chinese etiquette
in approaching the Emperor, and was sent away, partly, perhaps, for
his want of obsequiousness, and more, perhaps, because the Chinese did
not see the need of a treaty, the boundaries of the two empires being
then not so perfectly in contact as now. A second embassy, sent in
1675, proved also a failure; but after this there happened a series
of events which caused the Chinese to realize that the Russians were
nearer neighbours than they had been accustomed to regard them. This
was brought about by the advances of the Siberians in the region of the
Amur, where they had taken up their abode among the Daurians and other
tribes, whom they so far encroached upon as to cause the Daurians to
appeal for aid to the Chinese. This aid was given, and thus the Chinese
and the Russians came first to blows in 1684.
[2] Kiakhta became the centre of Russo-Chinese commerce, which was
greatly increased after 1762, when Catherine II. abolished the Crown
monopoly of the fur trade, together with the exclusive privilege of
sending caravans to Peking. These concessions increased the traffic
enormously, and the influence of the business transacted on the
frontier extended from Kiakhta all across Siberia and Russia, and
even to the middle of Germany. Thus, from 1728 to 1860, the Kiakhta
merchants enjoyed almost a monopoly of Chinese trade, and made fortunes
estimated by millions of roubles. The treaty of 1860, however, opened
Chinese ports to Russian ships, and thus dealt a severe blow to the
Kiakhta trade; for up to that time only a single cargo of tea was
carried annually into Russia by water. Before 1860, the importation of
tea at Kiakhta was about one million chests annually, without taking
any account of brick tea, and, previous to 1850, all trade done at
Kiakhta was in barter, tea being exchanged for Russian furs and other
goods, because the Russian Government prohibited the export of gold and
silver money.
[3] When crossing the Pacific I fell in with a tea merchant homeward
bound from China, and from him I gathered that three-fourths of
the Russian trade is done in medium and common teas, such as are
sold in London in bond from 1_s._ 2_d._ down to 8_d._ per English
pound, exclusive of the home duty. The remaining fourth of their
trade includes some of the very best teas grown in the Ning Chow
districts--teas which the Russians will have at any price, and for
which, in a bad year, they may have to pay as much as 3_s._ a pound
in China, though in ordinary years they cost from 2_s._ upwards. The
flowery Pekoe, or blossom tea, costs also about 3_s._ in China.
[4] In Russia one continually meets with these sacred pictures, said
to work miracles: and sometimes _relics_, though the latter not so
often as in Roman countries. In two places I have been curious enough
to inquire for the evidence that might be given to substantiate the
so-called miracles. Of course, in many cases, the wonderful things
said to have been performed are enveloped in the mist of antiquity,
but one explanation offered at Novgorod, in the Yuryef monastery,
was to the effect that the very man who had shown us the bells, many
years ago, saw two women arrive at the place, who were screaming and
possessed of the devil, but that on coming to the grave of Father
Fochi (the great saint of the place) they were made whole. The second
explanation offered me, at the Spasski monastery in Yaroslaf, was of
a similar character. A certain ikon, before which I was standing, was
alleged to have been placed in the church in 1828. A girl, 17 years
of age, was seized by demoniacal possession, and dreamed that she saw
a certain picture. On waking, she was said to have searched through
the town for the picture, which, on looking through the church window,
she recognized in the ikon before us, and from that day she was made
whole! Such are some of the stories upon which rest the alleged power
of ikons to work miracles. But, as I have said before, the Russians are
by no means “sceptical.” Consequently, if a church or a monastery only
possesses a well-known miracle working ikon, the fortune of the place
is made. Persons come from far and near to pray before it, bringing,
of course, a present, and not unfrequently adding a thank-offering if
the prayer be heard. A poor man, having a diseased leg or a sick cow,
purchases a little silver model of his leg or his cow, and hangs it
upon the ikon (I have seen several such), or, if the offerer be rich,
he brings gems to adorn the wonder-working picture. These pictures,
on special occasions, are taken to the houses of the faithful, being
carried through the streets in procession, the people doffing their
caps; and I have seen the more devout, in the hope of receiving a
blessing, run between the bearers and under the picture carried upon
their shoulders. At Kasan we saw the coffin of Bishop Gregory, from
which chips are cut by sufferers to place on their wounds to be healed.
The monk who accompanied us, and who was, intellectually, superior to
some I have met, said that it was a well-known fact, and believed by
all, that the relics of saints placed upon diseased parts of the body,
and used with faith, are good for healing. The bishop, he said, died
200 years ago, but the wood of the alleged coffin did not appear to
me to have reached the age of 200 weeks, and the whole concern looked
modern.
[5] This reminds me that, though allusions have often been made to
churches, I have not yet described what a Russian church is like.
It should be premised, then, that the ideas of an Englishman and a
Russian differ widely as to what a grand church should be. Given an
English committee, money in hand, and they say, “Go to; let us build a
church to the praise and glory of--the architect;” whereas a Russian
merchant, his pocket full of roubles, seeks him out a lapidary, to whom
he takes emeralds, rubies, diamonds, and pearls; a smith, to whom he
consigns poods of silver; and a cunning workman, who can emblazon and
embroider priestly robes and ecclesiastical garments. The consequence
is that the English ecclesiologist, standing before “a fine church” in
Russia, finds almost nothing upon which to expend his vocabulary of
architectural terms. He sees merely wood, stone, or brick and plaster
buildings, not too evenly finished, and whitewashed over in such a
fashion that, but for their proportions, they would not be thought too
good for an English homestead.
The Russian churches are so far alike that they are all modelled on
the Byzantine style of architecture--a Byzantine church having been
described as a “gabled Greek cross, with central dome inscribed in a
square.” On the exterior, besides the central, there is sometimes a
western dome, often there is one at each angle of the square, and,
occasionally, one at each end of the cross. Accordingly, instead
of spires, the eye of a traveller in Russia becomes accustomed to
cross-crowned domes, which, as they are brightly painted and sometimes
covered even with gold, and furnished with bells, affect both eye and
ear not unpleasingly.
On entering a Russian church from the west, the internal arrangement is
seen to be fourfold: first, the narthex, or porch, which was anciently
for catechumens and penitents; next the nave, or body of the church;
then a narrow platform, raised by steps, answering to the choir;
and, beyond that, the sanctuary. The sanctuary is divided into three
chambers: the central one being called “the altar,” in which stands the
holy table, and behind it the bishop’s throne; the southern chamber
forming the sacristy, where are kept the vestments and treasures;
whilst that on the north is for preparing the sacramental elements.
The sanctuary is parted off from the choir by a high panelled screen,
called the _ikonostasis_, pierced by three doors, the centre opening
being called the “royal gates,” on the north side of which hangs a
gilded sacred picture of the Virgin, and on the south side a picture of
our Saviour, and the patron saint of the church. The remaining parts
of the screen are covered with other pictures, upon the frames and
coverings of which, apart from their artistic value, an almost fabulous
amount is sometimes lavished. The precious stones on the picture of
Our Lady of Kasan, for instance, in Petersburg, are valued at £15,000;
whilst, at Moscow, one emerald on the picture of the Holy Virgin of
Vladimir is valued at £10,000--the value of the whole of those on this
latter ikon being estimated at £45,000.
[6] All duties are now arranged at Irkutsk, and the annual quantity of
_leaf_-tea (exclusive of brick-tea) that passes through is upwards of
5,000 tons.