Part 36

One good result of this love of talking, so unusual among men, is the command of language which they acquire. In this they seem all alike, rich and poor, high and low, educated and uneducated. Their rich, sonorous, but rather hard language, though only a dialect of the Tartar, is remarkably expressive. Even a foreigner who is unacquainted with it can feel that every word is distinctly pronounced, every syllable correctly accented, so that one can almost make out the sense from the sound. Their way of speaking is very sprightly, the cadence of each phrase corresponding to its meaning, and the pauses correctly observed, so that a conversation sounds somewhat broken, though the flow of speech is never arrested for a moment. An expression of face which speaks for itself, and very lively gestures, add to the effect of their speech. If the subject be particularly interesting, their vivacity is apt to increase to such a pitch of excitement that one begins to fear that from words they will go on to blows. But even the most heated wordy strife invariably ends in quietness and peace.

It will be readily understood that the bard holds a prominent place among such a people. Everyone who distinguishes himself above his fellows by his fluency of speech gains respect and honour. The presence of a singer who can improvise is indispensable to every festival. His creative power need not be of a very high order; but his words must flow without interruption and in a definite and familiar metre to gain him the reputation of a poet. But every Kirghiz bard has at his command a store of poetic ideas which is by no means scanty, and to clothe these ideas in words is easy enough to him. The nomadic pastoral life, though on the whole monotonous, has its charms, and certain chords only require to be struck to give keen pleasure to every hearer. Numerous sagas and legends, which live in the minds of all, yield abundant material for filling up blanks; and thus the bard’s narrative flows on like a calm stream whose springs never dry up: it is only necessary to keep it in the proper metre to make him a poet for ever. Even this is made easy to him; for every bard accompanies his recitative on the three-stringed Kirghiz zither, and as he links on each measure to the next by playing on this, he can make the interlude last until the next verse has taken shape in his mind. The speed and skill with which this is done determines his rank as a poet. But if a woman is inspired to poetry she is sure of universal admiration, and if she consents to sing in competition with a man, the enthusiastic listeners extol her above all others of her sex.

The vast steppe is much less favourable to regular instruction than it is to poetry. This explains why so few Kirghiz are able to write, and why there is so little written literature. Only the sons of the wealthiest and highest in rank among them are taught to read and write. In the two schools founded by the government in Ustkamenegorsk and Zaizan Kirghiz boys are taught,--indeed, they only are admitted to that in the first-named town,--but the influence of these institutions does not reach to the heart of the steppe. There a boy only learns if he happens to come in contact with a mollah who has as much desire to teach as the boy has to learn. But even then his instruction is confined to the simplest things, and consists chiefly in learning to read and form Arabic characters. The contents of the principal, if not the only text-book, the Koran, are not usually intelligible to the mollah himself; he reads the sentences without knowing their meaning. I have only known one Kirghiz who understood Arabic, and he was a sultan. Everyone else who was distinguished above his fellows by his knowledge of the sacred writings, and who, as a faithful adherent of Islam, performed the five prescribed prayers, understood at most the words of the call to prayer and of the first sentences of the Koran; the rest he repeated with the seriousness of all Mohammedans, but without understanding the meaning. And yet I was deeply impressed when, in the midst of the vast steppe, where no minaret towered up towards heaven, the voice of the mueddin uttered the call to prayer, and the faithful knelt in long rows behind the Iman or leader, and pressed their foreheads to the ground in prayer, as the law of the Prophet ordains.

The consciousness of strength and dexterity, of skill in riding and hunting, of poetic talent and general mental activity, and the feeling of independence and freedom caused by the vastness of the steppe gives confidence and dignity to the bearing of the Kirghiz. The impression he makes upon an unprejudiced observer is therefore a very favourable one, and it increases the more intimately one becomes acquainted with him. So it was in my case, and it is also the opinion of Russians who have associated with Kirghiz for years, in particular, of the government officials, and of other travellers who have lived among them. It is scarcely too much to say that the Kirghiz possesses very many good qualities and very few bad ones, or reveals very few to strangers. Mentally wide-awake, shrewd, vivacious, intelligent where things known to him are concerned, good-humoured, obliging, courteous, kindly, hospitable and compassionate, he is, of his kind, a most excellent man, whose bad qualities one can easily overlook if one studies him without prejudice. He is polite without being servile, treats those above him respectfully but without cringing, those beneath him affably but not contemptuously. He usually hesitates a little before replying to a question, but his answer is quiet and clear, and his sharply-accented way of speaking gives it an expression of definiteness. He is obliging towards everyone, but does more from ambition than from hope of gain, more to earn praise and approval than money or money’s worth. The District Governor, Tamar Bey Metikoff, who gave us his escort for almost a month, was the most obliging, polite, kindly man under the sun, always ready to fulfil a wish of ours, untiring in our service or for our benefit, and all this solely in the hope of gaining our approval and that of the Governor-general. He told us so in the clearest language when we tried to force presents upon him.

In harmony with such ambition is the pride of the higher-class Kirghiz in his descent and family. He boasts of distant ancestors, and occasionally traces back his pedigree to Chingis-Khan, only marries with those of equally good birth, suffers no spot on his honour, and forgives no insult to it. But in addition, he exhibits a personal vanity which one would scarcely expect of him. Not only authority and wealth, dignity and rank, but youth and beauty are, in his eyes, gifts to be highly esteemed. But he differs from many handsome young men among us in that he never descends to coxcombry. He boasts openly and without reserve of the gifts bestowed on him by nature or acquired by his own skill, but such boasting is quite natural to him, and is not distorted by any show of false modesty. As far as his means will permit he clothes himself richly, ornamenting his coat and trousers with braiding, his fur cap with the feathers of the horned owl; but he never becomes a mere dandy. The women, as may be imagined, are still more anxious to set their charms in the best possible light, and I was not at all surprised to learn that they prepare from the juice of a certain root a delicate, fragrant, and lasting colouring which they apply to their cheeks--in other words, that they paint their faces.

As a natural outcome of his desire to please, the Kirghiz gives a willing adherence to all the manners and customs of his people. His culture and good breeding manifest themselves chiefly in a strict observance of all those customs which have been handed down to him from the past, and have been materially influenced by Islam. This implies a certain formality and ceremoniousness in all mutual intercourse, but it also puts a check on undue arrogance, and banishes everything unseemly, almost everything awkward, from their social relations, for everyone knows exactly what he has to do to avoid giving offence or making himself disagreeable.

Even mutual greeting is attended with a certain amount of ceremony which is observed by everyone, and is therefore, of course, quite clearly defined. If two parties of Kirghiz meet, a considerable time is always taken up in the exchange of greetings. The members of both bands simultaneously lay their right hands over the region of the heart, and stretch the left hand towards the right of the other, whereupon each draws his right hand from his heart and joins it with the left, so that now for an instant all four hands are in contact. At the moment of embracing, both pronounce the Arabic word “Amán” (peace), while beforehand they exchanged the usual Mohammedan greeting, “Salám alëik” or “alëikum” (Peace be with thee, or with you), and the reply, “Alëikum el salám”. In this manner every member of one band greets every member of the other; both bands, therefore, when they meet, range themselves in rows, along which one after another runs hastily, so as to give the temporarily-restrained “red tongue” its full freedom as quickly as possible. The shorter method, which, however, is only used in the case of large gatherings, is to stretch out the hands towards each other and clasp them together.

If the Kirghiz visit each other in their auls, another form has to be gone through before the customary greeting takes place. Within sight of the yurt the approaching visitors rein in their horses, walk them for a little, and finally stand still. At this sign some one comes to meet them from the aul, greets them, and conducts them to the yurt, which the women have in the meantime decorated by spreading out their most valuable rugs. Strangers who are unknown in the aul must, before greeting, answer inquiries as to their name, station, and whence they have come; but they are received and hospitably treated in any case, for the Kirghiz shows hospitality towards everyone, irrespective of station and religion, though he always prefers distinguished guests. The guest enters the yurt with the customary greeting, pulls off his shoes at the door, but of course keeps on his soft riding-boots. If he is of equal standing with his host, he sits down in the place of honour; but if of humbler degree, he keeps modestly in the background, and lets himself down on the rug in a kneeling posture.

In honour of an esteemed guest the host orders a sheep to be killed, but has it first brought to the yurt to be blessed by the guest. At this sign all the neighbours assemble to take part in the sumptuous feast. The head and breast of the sheep are roasted on the spit, the rest of the flesh is cut into pieces and boiled in a cauldron, and loin, ribs, shoulders, and haunches, whenever they are cooked, are set before the guest in a vessel. The guest washes his hands, cuts the flesh from the bones, dips it in the salt broth, and says to the host, who has till then remained standing, “It is only through the host that the meat gains flavour; sit down”; but the host replies, “Thanks, thanks, but eat”, and does not at once accept the invitation of the guest. Thereupon the latter cuts a piece from the ribs, calls the host to him, and puts it into his mouth; then cutting a second piece, he lays it in a bowl and hands it to the housewife. The host then sits down, but it is still the guest who distributes the meat to the members of the company. He cuts it into pieces of a convenient size for the mouth, mixes them with fat, dips three of them at a time into the broth, and puts them into the mouth of one of his fellow-feasters after another. It would be an insult to the giver if the receiver did not at once swallow the pieces, even though, if they be large, he chokes so frightfully that he becomes blue in the face, and urgently requires the assistance, which his neighbours immediately give by striking him on the back with their fists, to render the process of swallowing easier. The guest, on the other hand, must never give more than three pieces, for if he exceeds this number, if he stuffs five at a time into the mouth of a man, and if the man is choked in the attempt to swallow the too generous gift at once, the giver must compensate the bereaved family to the value of one hundred horses, while if anyone chokes over the three pieces, he is not held responsible. After the meat has been consumed, the chief guest hands round the vessel containing the broth, and each drinks from it according to his necessities or desires. At the close of the meal, though not until all have washed their hands, every well-to-do host, whose mares are yielding milk at the time, hands round koumiss, and this much-loved beverage is received by everyone with obvious reverence. If anyone has not yet taken part in the meal, he comes now to refresh himself with this nectar. They drink to intoxication, for the Kirghiz has as great a capacity for drinking this highly-prized milk-wine as he has for eating, and in both respects he is anything but modest or moderate.

But the ceremony attending ordinary visiting is nothing compared with that observed in connection with all important family events, such as weddings or burials. In the case of the former, the joy finds vent in much practical joking; in the latter, mourning is accompanied by ceremonies indicative of respect to the dead. Wooing and weddings, burial and memorial celebrations give rise to a whole chain of festivals.

As among all Mohammedans, the father woos on behalf of his son, and pays the future father-in-law a varying, and often very considerable sum. A matrimonial agent, who is proclaimed as such by the fact that he wears one leg of his trousers over and the other under his boot, makes his appearance in the yurt in which a daughter is blossoming into womanhood, and prefers a request for her in the name of the father of a marriageable youth. If the bride’s father is agreeable, he demands that the sender of the message, with the elders of his aul, shall come to treat with him on the subject. These comply, and, according to custom, rein in their horses within sight of the aul. A messenger from the bride’s father rides to meet them, greets them formally, and conducts them to the festive yurt decorated in their honour. There they are at once regaled with koumiss, and a bard arrives to contribute to their entertainment. He is rewarded by loud applause, and incited to further effort by magnificent promises. They praise the depth of his thought, the finished style of his execution; they promise him a horse, an Iamba, or four pounds of uncoined silver as his reward. The master of the yurt protests against this, insisting that he alone has the right to reward the singer; but the guests promise so much the more, for they know that their host will not permit the fulfilment of their promises. When the song is ended a lively conversation takes place between the host and his neighbours and guests; they talk about everything imaginable except the object of the visit, and at length they disperse, and the guests ride to their homes again.

The next morning the father of the bride with his train return the visit, and after being greeted and feasted in the same manner, request to see the young man’s mother. They at once repair to the yurt of the housewife, and greet her with much ceremony and courtesy. Then the father produces the roasted brisket of a sheep, and distributes pieces of this much-prized meat to his guests with the words, “Let this sheep’s breast be a pledge that our plans will be successfully carried out”. Then begins a discussion over the amount of the “kalüm” or price to be paid for the bride. A mare of from three to five years of age is the unit of calculation; an ambler or a camel is considered equivalent to five mares, and six or seven sheep or goats make up the value of one.

The bride’s father demands 77 mares, but lets himself be beaten down to 57, 47, 37, 27, according to his means and those of the bridegroom’s father. If both are poor they come even farther down till they are agreed. As soon as the bargain is concluded, the bride’s father declares the betrothal fixed, and prepares to go, leaving a present in or before the yurt. But the bridegroom’s father, if it is possible at all, sends half the kalüm with him, and pays the remaining half as soon as may be.

A fortnight after payment of the kalüm, the bridegroom is at liberty to visit his bride for the first time. Accompanied by as many friends of his own age as possible, he sets out under the guidance of an older friend of the family, who is familiar with all the customs to be observed, but he dismounts in the neighbourhood of the bride’s aul, erects a small tent, and retires into it, or conceals himself in some other way. His followers go on to the aul, and, after having been ceremoniously welcomed, enter it and distribute, amid much jesting, all sorts of little presents, rings, necklaces, sweets, ribbons, and pieces of coloured cloth, among the crowd of women and children. Then they enter the festive yurt with all the young people of both sexes. The host provides meat and drink; first, the breast of a sheep, which he cuts with the words already mentioned, then “meibaur”--small pieces of the heart, liver, and kidneys smeared with fat. The dishes are placed before the elderly leader of the party, who, as chief guest, proceeds in the manner before described, but as he puts the pieces into the mouth of the first young man, he smears his face with the fat broth. This is the signal for the beginning of all manner of practical jokes, and the youths, maidens, and younger women indulge in them freely. A very common one among the girls is to sew the clothing of the young men with rapid stitches to the rugs on which they are sitting.

When the meal is over the youthful guests are allowed a short interval of repose, but only to give them time to collect their ideas. Then the girls and women challenge the young men to a singing competition, and giving them the place of honour, sit down opposite them; then one begins her song. It fares ill with the youth whom she addresses if he is not ready with his reply. The merry troop falls upon him, they nip him and pinch him, drive him from the yurt, and hand him over to the young men of the aul, who are congregated outside on the watch for such victims. A bucket of water is poured over the unfortunate blunderer, and thus bathed and humiliated, he is led back to the yurt to undergo another trial. If he fails in this also he is condemned to be dressed as a woman, and put in the pillory. Woe to him if he is thin-skinned, it will be a day of torture for him. Joking is the order of the day, and no surly person will be tolerated. Whoever can best enter into the spirit of it is the hero of the day; whoever is unable to take his share is the general sacrificial lamb.

During these amusements the bride sits concealed behind a curtain in the back of the yurt. The young people of the aul take advantage of her solitude to steal her away, while the bridegroom’s friends are occupied with the singing competition. They make an opening between the pieces of felt covering the yurt, drag her through it, put her on horseback, and carry her off unresisting to the yurt of one of her relatives, where she is given into the hands of the assembled older women. If the robbery succeeds, the robber challenges the youths to find the bride and to deliver her from the women. The company hastily breaks up, and they beg her guardians to restore the bride to them. But, however persuasive their words may be, their request is refused. The bride sits before their eyes in a yurt from which a portion of the felt cover has been removed, but violence is out of the question, so the youths begin to bargain. The women demand nine different dishes prepared by the young men’s own hands, but, after a time, they agree to accept nine gifts instead, and they give up the bride, stipulating that she shall be taken back to her father’s yurt.

Meanwhile the bridegroom sits waiting in his tent. He has not been quite alone, for some of the young married women had gone to seek him as soon as his companions arrived, and had been received by him with a respectful greeting called “taschim”. He had bowed so low before them that his finger-tips had touched the ground, and had then raised himself slowly, letting his hands glide up his shins until he had reached his full height; the women had accepted his homage, and had borne him company all day, giving him food and drink, and whiling away the time with talk and jesting, but not allowing him to leave the tent. Not before sundown, and only after much coaxing does he receive permission to sing a song within the aul and before the bride’s yurt. He mounts his horse, rides into the aul, sings his greeting to the inhabitants, and, stopping before the yurt of his bride-elect, expresses his lover’s plaint in a song, original or otherwise.

Sweetheart, my love brings me dule and pain, For it’s thrice that I’ve tried to win thee; Thou would’st not waken; my heart is fain; For it’s thrice thou would’st not hear me.

But late in night, when the camels rest, All fixed by their hairy tether, My heart shall fly to its own warm nest, Our hearts shall be one together.

Let me but see thy face, sweetheart, And I shall be brave and strong; Thou hast stolen away my peace, sweetheart, And left me with only a song.

I pray for a draught of koumiss, love, For dry and parched is my soul; Thou wilt hearken and give me bliss, love, And make my bleeding heart whole.

But should all my pleading tease thee, And thine ear be deaf to my song, The friends will help me to please thee, And the wedding shall be ere long.

Without entering the yurt he returns to his tent. Soon an old woman comes to him and promises that she will take him to the bride if he will make her a present. He at once agrees, and they set out together. But they do not attain their object without having to overcome various obstacles. Another woman lays the fork which is used to lift the ring of the yurt to its place, across his path; to step over it would be unlucky, for the person who laid it down must take it away again. A gift overcomes this difficulty, but a second is met with very soon. A woman, apparently dead, lies on the path; but a second gift calls the dead to life again, and the way is clear to within a short distance of the yurt. But there stands a figure which snarls like a dog. Shall it be said that the dog snarled at the bridegroom? Never! A third gift closes the snarling mouth, and the much-tried youth reaches the yurt without further hindrances. Two women keep the door shut, but do not refuse to open it when a gift is offered; within, two others hold the curtain fast; on the bride’s couch lies her younger sister; but he succeeds in getting rid of them all; the yurt is almost empty; the old woman lays the bridegroom’s hands in those of the bride and leaves them. At last they are alone together.

Under the supervision of the old woman, who is called “dyenke”, the bridegroom visits the bride many times, without, however, presenting himself before her parents until what remains of the kalüm is paid. Then he sends a messenger to the bride’s father to ask if he may take his bride to his own yurt. Permission is given, and the bridegroom sets out for the aul, once more with a large following and many gifts, pitches his tent at a suitable distance, receives visits from the women as before, spends the night alone in the tent, and, next morning, sends from it to the aul all the necessary woodwork for the erection of a yurt, which he has to provide. Thereupon the women assemble and hastily finish the sewing together of the felt covering supplied by the bride, if it is not already done, and then they set to work to erect the new yurt. The favourite woman of the aul has the honour of lifting the roof-ring, and holding it in position until the spars are fitted into it; the others share the rest of the work of setting up and covering it. While this is going on the bridegroom makes his appearance; the bride, too, is brought upon the scene, and both are told to walk from their places to the yurt to decide the great question as to who shall be supreme within it. The mastery will fall to the lot of the one who reaches it first.

A sheep brought by the bridegroom has been slaughtered, and a meal prepared to be eaten within the new yurt. During the course of the meal, the young master wraps up a bone in a piece of white cloth, and throws it, without looking upwards, through the hole at the top of the yurt into the open air. If he succeeds in doing so, it is a sign that the smoke from this yurt will always rise straight to heaven, which betokens happiness and prosperity for the inhabitants.

After the preliminary repast in the new yurt, the guests repair to that of the bride’s father, where a second meal awaits them. The younger people remain in the new yurt, and for them the bride’s mother prepares food and drink; and she must provide it bountifully, lest the young people should break up the light structure over their heads, and, to punish her niggardliness, scatter its parts in all directions far away in the steppe. Not even the abundantly filled dish itself is safe from the boisterous spirits of these unruly wedding guests; one of them pulls it from the hostess, and rides away with it; others attempt to catch him and secure the spoil, and so the fun goes on till the dishes are in danger of becoming cold.

The following morning the bride’s father asks for the first time to see the bridegroom, invites him to his yurt, greets him warmly, praises his looks and talents, wishes him happiness in his married life, and gives him all sorts of presents as the bride’s dowry. This takes place in the presence of the whole company who had assembled in the yurt before the bridegroom’s entrance. Finally, the richly adorned bride enters it also. If there is a mollah in the aul, or if one can be procured, he pronounces a blessing over the young pain.

Then the farewell song, the “jar-jar”, is sung to the bride, and, with tearful eyes, she responds to every verse, every strophe, with the lament of departing brides.