Part 29

Painfully the journey lengthened to four and five times the proper time for the distance. To look out of the sledge to right or left was scarce worth the trouble, for the flat country was dreary and featureless; only in the villages was there anything visible and interesting, and that only to those who knew how to look. For the winter still kept the people in their small, neatly built, but often sadly dilapidated log-huts; only fur-clad boys ran barefoot through the slushy snow and filthy mud which older boys and girls sought to avoid by help of stilts; only some old, white-bearded beggars loafed round the post-houses and taverns, beggars, however, whom every artist must have found as charming as I did. When they asked for alms, and stood in the majesty of old age, with uncovered bald heads and flowing hoary beards, disclosing the filthiness of their body and the raggedness of their clothes, they seemed to me such marvellous pictures and types of world-renouncing saints, that I could not keep myself from giving to them again and again, if only to get in thanks the sign of the cross, repeated from three to nine times in a manner so expressive and devout that only a real saint could equal it.

In the villages we also saw more of the animal life than we did in the fields or even in the forests which we traversed. For in the open country winter still kept its fetters on life and all was quiet and death-like; we saw hardly any birds except the hooded crow and the yellow bunting; and the snow showed scarce any tracks of mammals. In the villages, however, we were welcomed at least by the delightful jackdaws, which adorned the roofs of the log-houses, by the ravens, which with us at home are the shy frequenters of mountain and forest, but are here the most confident companions of the villagers, by magpies and other birds, not to speak of domestic animals, among which the numerous pigs were especially obtrusive.

After an uninterrupted journey of four days, without refreshing sleep, without any real rest, without sufficient food, we felt as if we had been beaten in every limb, and were, indeed, glad to reach Kazan--the old capital of the Tartars. We crossed the Volga on foot, picking our steps over the much-broken ice, and drew near to the city of sixty towers, which we had seen the day before shining in the distance. I fancied myself once more in the East. From the minarets and the spire-like wooden towers I heard again the notes which call every faithful follower of Islam to prayer; dark-eyed women bustled about among the turbaned men, veiling themselves anxiously from their country folk, but unveiling inquisitively before us, and picking their steps, on account of their dainty but not waterproof saffron shoes, along the steps of the houses protected by the overhanging eaves. In the uproar of the bazaar young and old thronged and bustled without restraint. Everything was just as it is in the East. Only the numerous stately churches--among which we saw the convent of “the black Madonna of Kasan not made by human hands”, conspicuous both in site and architecture--were out of keeping with the Eastern picture, though they showed plainly enough that Christians and Mohammedans were here living in mutual tolerance.

On lighter sledges, but over even more unsubstantial highways, we journeyed onwards towards Perm and the Ural. The road led through Tartar and Russian villages and the fields around them, and again through extensive forests. The Tartar villages usually compared favourably with those of the Russians, not only in the absence of swine, which the Tartars hold unclean, but even more in the always well-cared-for cemeteries, usually surrounded by lofty trees. For the Tartar respects the resting-place of his dead, the Russian at most those of his saints. The woodlands, though divided up, are really primeval forests, which rise and flourish, grow old and disappear, without human interference, for they are too far from navigable rivers to be as yet of much commercial value.

Two large rivers, however, the Viatka and the Kama, cross our route. The winter holds them bound, though the approach of spring is beginning to loosen their fetters. The banks are flooded, and the horses of the carriers, who scorn the temporary bridges, are now and then forced to swim and to drag the sledge like a boat behind them.

Before we reached Perm we had to exchange the sledge for the wagon, and in this we trundled along towards the Ural, which separates Europe from Asia. The highway leads over long ranges of hills, with easy slopes, but gradually ascending. The landscape changes; the mountain scenery presents many pictures, which are beautiful if they are not grand. Small woods, with fields and meadows between, remind us of the spurs of the Styrian Alps. Most of the woods are thin and scraggy, like those of Brandenburg, others are more luxuriant and varied, and cover wide areas without interruption. Here they consist of low pines and birches, and there of the same trees mingled with limes, aspens, black and silver poplars, above whose rounded crowns the cypress-like tops of the beautiful pichta or Siberian silver-fir tapers upwards. On an average the villages are larger and the houses more spacious than in the districts previously traversed, but the roads are bad beyond all description. Thousands of freight wagons creep wearily along, or rather in, the deep miry ruts: slowly and painfully we also jog along until, after three days’ journeying, we reach the watershed between the two great basins of the Volga and the Ob, and learn from the milestone, which bears “Europe” on the west side and “Asia” on the east, that we have reached the boundary. Amid the clinking of glasses we think of our loved ones at home.

The pleasant town of Yekaterinburg, with its gold-smelting and gem-cutting industries, could not long detain us in spite of the hospitality of its inhabitants. For the spring was gaining strength, and the bridges of ice on the rivers and streams, which we had to cross on our way to distant Omsk, were melting and crumbling. So we pushed hastily onwards through the Asiatic region of the Perm government till we reached its boundary and entered Western Siberia.

Here, at the first post-house, we were met by the district officer of Tiumen, who greeted us in the name of the governor, and offered us escort through his district. In the chief town of the district we found the house of one of the rich inhabitants prepared for our reception. Thenceforth we were to learn what Russian hospitality meant. Hitherto, indeed, we had been everywhere received and treated most hospitably, but now the chief officials of the district or province exerted themselves unsparingly on our behalf, and the best houses were thrown open to us. In fact, we were treated like princes, simply on account of our scientific mission. Words fail me to express our gratitude with adequate warmth. Beyond Tiumen, in which we stayed three days, inspecting the prisons of the exiles, the tanneries, and other sights of this first Siberian town, the peasants showed us their mastery even of the rivers. For the approaching spring had melted the ice on the Pyshma and the blocks had begun to move; we, however, had to get across before this happened. At the village of Romanoffskoye the inhabitants with bared heads stood waiting for us on the bank of the Pyshma, and even the river had to wait before it was permitted to shake off its icy bonds. Boldly and cleverly the peasants had thrown a makeshift bridge across the half-melted stream, using a large boat as a centre pier, above and around which they had fettered the treacherous ice with strong hawsers and ropes. Willing hands unyoked the team of five required for our day’s journey, seized spokes and axles, and bore one wagon after another across the yielding bridge, which groaned and creaked under its burden. The task was safely accomplished, and on we went merrily through water and snow, mud and mire, over log-roads and ice.

The Tobol, which we wished to cross on Good Friday, the 14th April, the first day of true spring, was less accommodating. Here also all requisite arrangements had been made to secure our passage: one of the wagons was unyoked and rolled on to the ice, but this suddenly cracked and split, and forced a hasty retreat. The bells on the cross-trees had tinkled merrily when we left Yalutoroffsk; they sounded sadly as we drove back again, and it was not till Easter-day that we were able to cross the great river with the help of a ferry-boat.

So we continued on our way. Before and behind us the rivers threw off the yoke of winter; only the dreaded Irtish lay still hard-bound and secure under our feet, and thus, after more than a month’s journey without further adventure, we reached Omsk, the capital of Western Siberia.

After we had seen what was to be seen in Omsk,--the streets and the houses, the military academy, the museum, the hospital, the military prison, and so on, we continued our journey toward Semipalatinsk, along the highway which runs along the right bank of the Irtish, connecting the villages of the so-called Cossack line. Already, in passing from Yalutoroffsk to Omsk, we had journeyed through a steppe--that of Ishim; now the steppe surrounded us on all sides, and almost every night the heavens were red with the flames of last year’s grass and herbage, which was now being burnt. Troops of migrating birds followed the river directly behind the ice as it drifted northwards; crowds of aquatic birds peopled all the steppe streams and lakes; various species of lark flew hither and thither in flocks; the dainty falcons of the steppe had already betaken themselves to their summer quarters; the spring had indeed come.

In Semipalatinsk we had the good fortune to find in the governor, General von Poltoratski, a warm friend, ready to aid us in all our endeavours, and in his lady the most amiable of hostesses. Not content with having secured our hospitable reception, the general most kindly proposed to make us acquainted with the Kirghiz, who form a great part of the population of his district, and to this end organized a great hunting expedition after archars, the wild sheep of Siberia, which are almost twice the size of our domestic animals.

On the 3rd of May we started on the chase, crossing the Irtish and following the post-road to Taschkent, in the Kirghiz steppe. After a journey of sixteen hours we reached the region of the chase--a rocky part of the steppe, and soon we were standing before the aul or yurt-camp which had been prepared for us. There we were welcomed by the general’s wife, who had gone on ahead of us the day before, and cordially also by about a score of Kirghiz sultans and district governors, and their numerous followers.

During the next three days there was great sport on the Arkat mountains. It was holiday with the Kirghiz, who are always eager for fun, and it was not less so for us. Hill and valley resounded with the hoofs of fourscore or more horsemen, who took part in the two-days’ hunt; the sun, when he was pleased to show himself, shone down on strange, gay garments which had been hitherto hidden under furs; there was a merry bustle over hill and dale. The Kirghiz, once so much dreaded, whose very name means robber, are now the most faithful and contented Russian subjects, and there they were with their best horses--their most precious pacers, their tamed golden-eagles, greyhounds, and camels, their zither-musicians and impromptu poets, their wrestlers and other gymnasts--a merry crew. They sat together in groups and companies; they darted hither and thither, singly or in troops, wheeling their horses in sheer high spirits; with the keenest interest they watched the wrestling bouts or the boys racing on horseback; they led the chase with astuteness and good judgment, and listened with delight to the words of the extempore singer who celebrated its fortunes. One of the Kirghiz had already killed an archar before our arrival; good luck brought a second victim to my rifle. It was this good fortune which inspired the poet. His verses were not particularly full of ideas, but they were none the less so characteristic that I recorded them as a first sample of Kirghiz poetry. While the poet sang, an interpreter translated his words into Russian, and the General rendered them in German, while I took them down in shorthand:--

“Speak, red tongue, speak while thou hast life, for after death thou shalt be dumb.

Speak, red tongue, which God hath given me, for after death thou shalt be silent.

Words such as thou now utterest will no longer flow from thee after death.

I see before me people rising like the mountains, to them I will declare the truth.

I seem to see the rocks and mountains, to the reindeer I would liken them.

Greater are they than boats, like a steamship on the waves of Irtish.

But I see in thee, oh Ruler, after the majesty of the Emperor, the highest, to be compared to a mountain, precious as an ambling reindeer.

It was my mother who bore me, but my tongue hath God given.

If I should not now speak before thee, to whom should I ever speak?

Full freedom have I to speak, let me speak as if to my own folk.

Prosperity to thee, sir, all hail and blessing to thy guests, among them noble men, though they have thus unbent among us.

Each guest of the General is also ours, and assured of our friendship.

God alone gave me my tongue, let me speak further.

On the mountains we saw huntsmen, marksmen, and drivers, but with one only was there good fortune.