going down of the sun they pitch their tent for the night. For this
purpose an opening in the forest beside a spring of water, or the bank
of a running stream is selected, where the horses, relieved of their
saddles, may find pasture. At morning and noon a little flour of millet
and honey suffices for the meals. This in fact is the usual
war-provision, and is said to be a diet which gives strength to both
body and mind. Being carried in a skin hung at the saddle-bow it soon
ferments, but is eaten afterwards with great relish, and may be kept in
this condition for a considerable length of time. A cup to convey the
water from the spring is made of the burdock leaf which also answers the
purpose of a carpet for the saying of prayers, and even furnishes
afterward a grateful repast for the horses. To this frugal fare,
however, will very likely be added at evening a pheasant or hare, a
turkey or a deer shot on the road, and cooked either by being roasted
before the fire, or laid, cut in slices, on live embers. Whatever chance
game the luck of the day may furnish for the supper, it will be sure to
be eaten with a relish that will need no sauce; though even with nothing
more than his unleavened bread and water the Circassian is perfectly
contented, and adds thanks therefor in his prayers.
Supper finished, ablutions performed, and prayers said, the hunters
unroll their blankets, placing one on the ground and the other over
them, with their feet turned towards the fire blazing with large logs of
wood; and so under the protection of the open heavens and the stars,
which are the thousand watchful eyes of Allah, his simple children
sleep.
In entering upon the region of the higher mountains the valleys grow
narrower, showing only here and there a mere line of green, or oftener,
the silver thread of torrents rushing headlong over the rocks. Strong
was the contrast when in an opening between the mountains the hunter
looked down upon the shepherd's cottage, with its shade of nut-bearing
trees and its fold of white fleeces, or upon a patch of cultivated
ground high among the rocks to which the husbandman climbs for the sake
of a few handfuls of grain, or the pasture of his cow or goat; and when,
on the other hand, he beheld around him, as was often the case, only the
mountain tops sparsely covered with dwarfed oaks and planetrees, the
rocks frequently naked save here and there the covering of moss, the
immense masses broken up into clefts and chasms, piled on top of each
other in forms the most shapeless and grotesque, an utter waste, and the
more desolate from some wild bird of the mountains which occasionally
flapped its wings overhead, or the wild goat which startled sprang away
among the distant rocks.
Yet there are localities still higher up where from favorable exposure
the mountaineer pushes an adventurous plough, tilling his slope with
rifle slung at his back, and gathering his harvest full three months
later than in the plains below. Here, too, blooms the Caucasian rose or
rhododendron, and the azalia-pontica, from the blossoms of which is made
the honey of that intoxicating quality mentioned by Strabo, and which,
when mixed in small quantity with the ordinary mead, forms a beverage as
potent as the alcoholic liquors of the north.
On reaching the snow-line of the Kasbek, at farthest, the progress of
the hunters would be arrested. On their way hither they would have
occasionally brought down a fallow deer or a fat bear, besides pheasants
and the wild hens of the mountains, hares, and large grey squirrels.
They might even have had a shot or two at a wild sheep or buffalo, which
as well as horses sometimes roam untamed the mountains; and from time to
time their rifles must have been tempted also by the porcupine crossing
their path, by the fox surprised far from his hole, by the wild-cat
driven into a tree, and even by the wolf prowling around their steps
towards nightfall.
Here, with the never-melting snows not far overhead, they would find
small stone houses erected expressly for the use of the chamois-hunter.
For along these elevated crags runs and bounds the nimble rupicapra; in
certain favorite tracts is occasionally met the ibex, roaming solitary
over his scanty pastures; and on the very highest rocks, where in winter
they lie with faces to the wind, insensible to the most intense cold,
are seen herds of still another species of the wild goat resembling in
shape the tamed one, but larger, having long beautiful horns, and flesh
with the dainty flavor of venison.
XII.
IN THE WHITE MOUNTAINS.
But proud as is the returning hunter of the beautiful chamois horns hung
upon his saddle-bow, it could scarcely be otherwise than that the soul
of one so smitten with the love of natural scenery as was Schamyl,
should here be more occupied with contemplating the grandeur of the
mountain tops than in chasing the timid, graceful animals which
thereupon find a home. If in the course of his ascent he had kept his
eyes pretty steadily fixed upon the magnificent summits far off white
with snows, but nearer blue with the ice which has led the Tartars to
give to them the name of Ialbus or ice-mane; if lower down he had gazed
with admiration at the oaks which for two centuries had grasped with
their roots and overspread with their branches the rocks in situations
to which upon the Alps and the Pyrenees only climbs the pine; and if
higher up he had not passed by unnoticed even the lowly pink and rose of
the mountains, blooming along the snow-line, but even there sought out
by the bee and the butterfly of Apollo; how would he be overwhelmed with
the sublimity of the scene on finding himself in the dread company of
Kasbek and the hundred other peaks which are his vassals! Standing on
the steps of the throne of this, like Elbrus, dsching padischah, or king
of spirits, he would gaze around upon a host of cones and needles
glittering in the sunlight, while far below lay the Black or wooded
mountains, looking for the most part with the same face of precipices
upon the remoter steppes as do the White mountains on themselves. Indeed
there is wanting only the lakes of the Bernese Alps, glaciers as
magnificent as those of Chamouni, and cascades like the Staubbach and
the fall of the Aar to make this Caucasian range the most beautiful, as
it probably is the most sublime, on the face of the earth.
Still the Caucasus boasts of more majestic woods and a more luxuriant
flora than the Alps; and when to its scenery is added the coloring lent
it by the rising and the setting sun, there can be no higher beauty in
nature anywhere. Especially during the summer months travellers have
noted a remarkable purity of atmosphere in these mountains, and
represent them as being full of light a considerable time before the
appearing of the sun on the horizon; while in autumn there is sufficient
vapor to furnish the landscape with that drapery of blue mist and
variously tinted clouds, so characteristic of the summer views of the
Alps. In this long interval, between the break of day and the complete
sunrise, it seems to the dullest observer as if nature were standing
wrapt in adoration of the great Creator. Clad in snows and ice the
thousand peaks are like white-robed priests ministering in a temple not
made with hands; and when the loftiest tops are tipped with the purple
of the coming day, it is as it were the incense-burning censers which
they swing high in heaven. Then the lower mountains, too, receive an
additional beauty when the level rays light up with a still brighter red
the mighty masses of porphyry, and the dark granite glows with a
vermilion not its own. Every variety and form of rock is transfigured by
the new-born light from heaven. The white chalkstone glitters from afar;
the light grey feldspar assumes a warm flesh tint; the limestone becomes
straw color; the crystals of hornblende flash like fire-flies; and the
veins of white quartz, running with their nodules of serpentine and
chlorite through the dark clay-slate, gleam as do chain lightnings
through the clouds.
At sight of the gathering tempest the superstitious huntsman is not
entirely exempt from terror. Some of the calcareous mountains, like the
Beschtau, for example, being a perfect barometer, he knows, when their
top becomes covered with clouds as with a hat, and their entire form is
gradually enveloped in a mantle of mists, that there will be foul
weather. Even the degree of wind and rain may be calculated with a
considerable degree of certainty from the extent and different tints of
the vapors; and if the indications are exceedingly threatening the
hunter immediately erects his tent, if he have one, as on the ocean the
sailor furls his canvas; or, lacking this protection, he seeks for the
shelter of some projecting rock, or the entrance of a cavern. There when
the sun is shrouded in clouds, and the blackness almost of night falls
like a pall over the mountains, when the wind howls around the summits,
and the thunder with its infinity of reverberations rattles, and bounds
from crag to crag throughout the chain, seeming to make the very rocks
tremble and totter, then affrighted he hears in the winds the flapping
of the wings of that monstrous bird of the mountains whose age is a
thousand years; in the lightnings which play over the abyss he sees the
glaring eyes and waving mane of the wild white horse who, issuing from
his stall under the glaciers, races with the storm; and in the thunders
hears the resounding wheels of the chariot of Elijah kept, say some of
the ancient Christian traditions, in the Redeemer's palace on the top of
Kasbek.
But in a brief hour the storm is overpast; for the changes of weather in
this range of mountains, extending from one great sea to another, are
sudden in all seasons of the year excepting summer. The clouds are
rapidly rolled away to the eastward where the bow of promise spans the
heavens as brilliant as when it was first bent over the neighboring
Ararat, and where the accumulated piles of vapor are gorgeously
burnished by the rays of the descending sun. Then rises over the broken
ridge of the Black mountains the moon, just beginning, perhaps, to wane.
How black indeed are they compared with the snow-white peaks which stand
bathed in the silvery light. How black, too, is the abyss out of which
rise the perpendicular cliffs, and the lofty conical shafts glittering
with ice. The summits cast their long, sharply cut shadows athwart each
other; every leaf on tree or plant which still holds its raindrop
flashes as with a diamond; the night has not a breath of air; and nature
lies entranced without a pulsation, save in the roar and trickling of
everywhere falling waters.
XIII.
SONGS
It has been reported respecting the boy Schamyl that his parents being
poor peasants he gained a livelihood by singing in the streets. But
while this, not comporting well with Circassian manners and modes of
life, is hardly to be credited, it is very probable that he began at an
early age to sing the simpler popular airs, and might even when no more
than four years old have amused his elders with his childish rendering
of ballads above his comprehension. For the voice of song is often heard
in these mountains; and, as in the days of Orpheus, the lyre still moves
the rock of the Caucasian heart, taming with its gentle influences its
wildness, and softening its asperity.
It is in songs that the Circassians, having no written language, have
treasured up what little they possess of history; and by the constant
singing of them have the traditions and myths of a very remote antiquity
been handed down from generation to generation.
The wandering minstrel is the principal schoolmaster in the Caucasus.
Wherever he arrives there is a friendly dispute in the hamlets as to who
shall have the honor of rendering him the cup of hospitality. Every
house in the aoul is open to receive him; he has always the best of
entertainment; and his place in the social scale is, by general consent,
fixed among the highest. He rehearses not only the legendary ballads to
the listening circle of men and children, but conveys in song from tribe
to tribe the chronicle of recent events, and the latest intelligence of
the doings of the common enemy. His numbers describe how in some late
foray the warriors, leaping down from the rocks, scattered the
flax-haired Muscovites, and pillaged the stanitzas of the Cossacks. He
wails the lament of the hero fallen in the battle field. He brands the
coward and the traitor. He extols the green vales and strong rocks of
the father-land; falls in every breast the love of independence; and
celebrates in tenderer notes the praises of the fair.
His instrument is a kind of lyre not unlike our violin. It has but three
strings which are made of horse-hair; the bow is almost an arc; and the
head of the instrument rests, like that of the violoncello, on the
ground or the divan.
Or the minstrel may accompany his strains upon the pipe, as is often
done in the open air. Made of metal, even of silver, this instrument is
one of considerable value; though more frequently it is a mere reed from
the marshes of the Terek or the Kuban. It is usually about two feet in
length; has three holes for the fingers near its lower extremity, and a
short mouth-piece open at the sides. With something of the monotony of
the bagpipe its notes are shrill; and when on the march among the hills
the war-song is executed upon it, sometimes accompanied by the lyre, no
"gathering" played to the pibroch ever more stirred the mountaineer
heart in the highlands of Scotland.
The Circassians also beguile the way on their journeys with riding
songs. These are sung in alternate strains, one being generally a
clamorous recitative, and the other a kind of choral fugue, strange and
romantic, and heard with pleasing effect in the mountains. Often when
toiling at a foot-pace up the precipitous path of the torrent, or
descending equally slow into the pass gloomy with impending rocks and
drooping boughs, the travellers will burst involuntarily into a wild and
plaintive lament over some fallen chieftain, one portion of the party
singing in subdued tones a hurried chant like the English litany, and
the other answering at the end of the stanzas with their full, mellow
Ay! ay! a-rira! which, like the pealing organ through the aisles, swells
and floats away between the rocky sides of the glen.
Similar are the boat-songs on the Euxine and the Caspian. Of these there
is a great variety, and all are chanted to the measured movement of the
oars, now stronger, now weaker, and each stanza followed by a chorus.
Their A-ri-ra-cha always produces great effect on the rowers, and is
mingled more or less with shouts, screams, and a mad-like laughter,
while the long flat-bottomed canoe flies through the water driven by
bending oars.
All festal occasions in Circassian life are enlivened by the presence of
the minstrel. He is present when the warriors of the tribe assemble to
sit in the council ring beneath the oaks; and in the intervals between
the harangues of the orators who, sword in hand, urge the storming of a
Russian fort or a raid upon the steppes, he fans the flame in their
breasts by striking his lyre in praise of some hero illustrious in arms.
When also a chieftain, desirous of raising a band of volunteers for some
expedition against the enemy, rides from aoul to aoul summoning all good
swords to follow, he transports along with him on the crupper of an
attendant the aged minstrel, who at the gates sings the call to arms.
His sightless eyeballs in frenzy roll, and the braves, both old and
young, carried away now by his pathos and now by his rage, shout in
chorus their ka-ri-ra, and spring into their saddles. And when at last
the warrior's race finished, his companions bring him, lashed on his
steed, back at night to the aoul from which he rode so gayly forth in
the morning, and with arms locked around each other's necks stand
encircling the bard, the latter commences a monotonous but beautifully
plaintive wail, his voice subdued with sorrow, and running at the end of
the lines upon the same note, which rapidly caught and prolonged is like
an uncontrollable gust of anguish, until the brothers in arms, no less
impassioned, break in with a chorus so sad, slow, and low that every eye
would fill with tears were it ever permitted the Circassian to weep for
the brave.
But besides the music heard on these extraordinary occasions, the
singing of ballads coupled with the telling of stories is the common
entertainment of the Circassian winter evening. Then when the large logs
of oak blaze on the hearth of the apartment reserved in every house for
the reception of guests, and the door of which remains hospitably open
throughout the day, a little company is assembled at nightfall to while
away with song an hour or two before retiring to rest. The professional
minstrel, who is capable of extemporizing both words and melodies, may
not be present, but there will be some one, perhaps an aged blind man,
or a lad skilled in music beyond his fellows, who can touch the lyre.
Any person, however, happening to be present, _furore dulci plenes_, is
at liberty to volunteer a song.
It may be a humorous one, pointed with quaint wit, barbed with sarcasm,
seasoned with homely proverbs, and acted out with singular powers of
mimicry and even of ventriloquism. But more frequently it will treat of
the adventures of the hunter or the traveller, and the still graver
themes of war and love. If a solo, it will often be a rapid recitative,
varied at short intervals by a few tenor and bass notes thrown in by
three or four other voices, and producing an effect like the swell and
fall of the organ. If a trio or quartette, there will still be added
from time to time a heavy bass accompaniment, a sort of fugue, and in
war-songs often resembling the moaning of the sea in a storm, or the
wailing over the dead brought home from the battle field. Other ballads
again will be more gay and lively, with responses executed by three
different parties alternately. Let whatever be the theme and whoever the
performers, as the song proceeds, and the feelings of all become wrought
up to the highest pitch of enthusiasm by the recital of the great deeds
done in battle, or gallant sacrifices dared in love, the voices of one
or more of the listeners will be sure to break into the strain; the
whole audience will join in the cheerful chirrup of hai-hai-cha! or the
dirge-like wail of wai-wai-wai! and at the finale some deli-kan,
inspired perhaps by the sight of maiden faces cautiously peering in at
door or window, will scarcely be able to refrain from firing his pistol
up the chimney, or even through the ceiling.
How untrue the representation that a people in whose hearts lives the
love of songs like these are a race of freebooters! Listening constantly
to the praise of heroes, whether famous in the legends of antiquity or
still living surrounded with the respect of their fellows, the soul of
the young warrior is early inspired with a love for war and glory. He,
too, will be a hero. He will be the first in his district, the chief of
his tribe, the praise of the mountains, and the terror of the plains. He
therefore goes forth to distinguish himself in the fight, and bring home
trophies of his prowess. If theft is held in esteem by the Circassian,
as formerly by the Spartan warrior, it is so mainly for its adroitness,
a quality so necessary in circumventing the enemy; and if he exults in
stripping the discomfited Muscovite and Cossack of their arms and
clothing, these are the tokens of his valor, and chiefly as such are
prized by him.
XIV.
DANCES.
Schamyl, though from boyhood exhibiting in manners and character a
certain degree of thoughtful gravity beyond his years, was, like all his
countrymen, a dancer. Nor does the Circassian dance require, for the
most part, any levity of disposition in the performer; some varieties of
it being practised as a martial exercise, and with a decorum bordering
on seriousness. In the war-dance the Lesghian, more particularly, is
imperious in look as well as animated in action. He carries himself
haughtily through all the evolutions, moving with equal grace and
rapidity, keeping perfect time in his complicated steps, exhibiting an
elasticity of tread, a suppleness of limbs, and a vigor of body truly
astonishing; while at the same time the fierce earnestness of his
countenance and his noble bearing are, as it were, a challenge to his
enemies. Among European dances this warlike figure most resembles the
highland fling of Scotland.
The dancing of the women appears tame and monotonous in comparison.
Theirs is a slow movement, the principal charm of which is in its grace,
and which requires for its execution a certain undulating motion of the
body rather than any extra exertion of the feet and legs.
At all public festivals the two sexes always dance together. Generally
after supping on roasted sheep or sodden kid, together with cakes of
pastry and the aromatic honey, followed on the part of the male portion
of the company by brimming bowls of mead, they form a ring on the
greensward for their favorite pastime and crowning pleasure of the
feast. The circle is often a very large one, with a bonfire in the
centre during the evening. The daughters unveiled, are led down from
their tents, situated a little apart on the hill-side, by their
carefully muffled mothers, who with a prudence characteristic of them in
other lands, also generally select from the candidates for the estate of
matrimony such partners as may best suit both the present proprieties
and the future possibilities of the case. Without a trifle of coquetry
there is no dancing even in Circassia. The pipers then having taken
their places, strike up a merry measure, to which moves gracefully round
the whole circle. The beaux are expected to look grave as judges or the
council ring itself, but the movement allows of a good deal of jamming
and squeezing; so much so, indeed, that the fair ones are not
unfrequently taken off their feet and borne around for short distances
by the force of the pressure. When they touch the ground, however, their
robes being short and their trowsers tightly fastened above the ancle,
the movement of their feet, which are almost always pretty, is shown off
to advantage.
It is a truly pleasing sight, the dance on the green of the valley, by
daytime beneath the wide spread shade of aged oaks, in the twilight by
the light of the harvest moon at its full, or with only the stars of
night aided by the blazing pile of logs to illumine the scenes; while
the long frocks of the deli-kans wave in concert with the skirts of the
maidens, and youthful pleasure trips on tiptoe around the ring.
There is also the clown's dance, generally executed at entertainments
after the mead or _boza_ has worked sufficiently on the brain to produce
a moderate degree of hilarity. It commences with a measured clapping of
hands; a few low notes succeed, which, as the audience joins in, swell
into a lively air; when some wild-looking "ghilly" in a long, tattered
coat springs into the centre of the circle and begins shuffling. As he
proceeds the singing grows gradually louder, accompanied from time to
time with a more violent clapping of hands. Even shouts and screams are
occasionally added to spur him on. Excited to the highest pitch of
enthusiasm he then hops about with vigor, springing on the very points
of his toes, and spinning around with great velocity, until suddenly
down he drops flat on the green with strange ventriloquial sounds,
mingled with moans as if the fall had half killed him. Then he throws
off a volley of witty impromptus which set the ring in a roar of
laughter; to these are added comical imitations of the cries of various
animals; next he addresses some chieftain present in a strain of mock
eloquence; and finally, the laughing devil leaping out of his eye, ends
his buffoonery with dealing a pretty good whack or two over the
shoulders of the most reverend seignor in the company, who, if he
himself is a serf, may be his own master.
Frequently the dancer accompanies his motions more or less with his
voice, being assisted also by the audience, who beat the measure with
their hands, and chant the chorus of A-ri-ra-ri-ra. And as from time to
time holding up his long garment behind with both hands, and bending his
body low, he watches exultingly the movement of his feet, he shouts
aloud with plaintive voice as if undergoing severe pain instead of
experiencing an ecstasy of delight.
When the song of the dancer runs on love and vaunts the praises of some
maiden renowned for beauty, the young warriors present pledge their own
sweethearts in bowls of boza, and every few minutes discharge their
pistols or rifles in the air. This latter act is always regarded as a
challenge to the whole company, and whoever has a charge of gunpowder
left immediately burns it in honor of the superior charms of his
lady-love.