CHAPTER XV.

LAKE BAIKAL TO KIACHTA

Observations on Eastern Siberia and its inhabitants--Their dream of Independence--Motives that might contribute to independence --Example of the Chinese--The Yakuts and the inhabitants of Kamtchatka.

While breakfasting the following morning at Verchni-Oudinsk, I overheard a singular conversation between three men, who were probably natives of this part, for they declared themselves to be more attached to Eastern Siberia than to the Russian Empire; and these reminded me of the people of Vannes or St. Brieux, who profess to love Brittany more than France. If the empire were in danger or the throne of the Czar threatened, these men would no doubt do their duty and, perhaps, better than many others; but, for all that, it was easy to perceive that this Eastern portion of Siberia was by far the nearest to their heart. “What a beautiful country!--How fertile it is!” they exclaimed, “we have not only abundance of wheat and other grain, but what excellent wine comes from the Ussury valley. I cannot understand at all why our Emperor lives at St. Petersburg. You will see; our capital, which is so unhealthy, will be abandoned one of these days: then the Court will come and establish itself on the banks of the river Okhotsk.”

I do not think that the dream of these simple people is worth consideration, still, at some future period, this feeling might develop into a longing for national independence in a manner much more practical among these inhabitants of the banks of the Amoor, and in this event would not be without significance.

It is not very long since the country to the north of the Amoor has been annexed to the Russian Empire, and, as it was a complete desert before this period, it is not surprising that this region is still only very thinly peopled.

The Amoor river has a course of a thousand leagues, and the Governor General informed me, that on this immense territory there were, including the military and civil service, in all twenty-six thousand souls. But since these inhabitants are natives of the old Russian Empire, and are here as colonists, it is natural they should still remain attached to their native country and their Emperor. In the course of a few generations, however, the people of the banks of the Amoor will not fail to perceive that independence will lead to wealth, and, with this incentive, what efforts would they not make to obtain it?

In short, the corn of Siberia is very often preferred by the inhabitants of Northern Russia to that of Odessa. The cultivators on the banks of the Amoor could supply not only themselves but export grain, and profit largely by the exportation. The valley of the Ussury, which would produce not only wine, but all the fruits of the South, such as oranges and bananas, would create additional riches. The inhabitants of this country would not then be obliged, as they are now, to send to St. Petersburg all the gold they get out of the earth. They might also accumulate wealth from other sources in their land, from the immense deposits of iron and graphite, (for the famous Alibert mine is in this district), from clay for the manufacture of porcelain, the forests, and also the coal of the island of Tarakai. Moreover, the sea of Okhotsk would furnish them with an easy outlet, and communication with the markets of the world, whilst the Russian ships from St. Petersburg, could not leave the Baltic, if opposed by Germany, Sweden, and Denmark, or indeed even by England and Holland.

It will be evident from these facts, that this region, measuring ten or twelve hundred leagues in length by eight or nine hundred wide, has all the resources necessary to form not only an independent state, but one of the richest even in the world. It is not at all unlikely, in the course of a few years, that the inhabitants of this country, hitherto a little overruled and overreached by the Czar, will open their eyes to the tempting advantages within their reach, and attempt to secure them fully by making an effort to gain their independence. It may be objected, perhaps, that the prospect of a revolution in Russia is far too remote for such a movement to come to pass; that the religion is too deeply rooted in the hearts of the people, and, consequently, they have too much veneration for the sacred person of the Czar to venture to assail him. This is, to a certain extent, true, and what I have related about the sentiments of the assassins towards the Poles, in the prison of Irkutsk, gives some weight to the objection. Still, in Russia, it must be admitted, that the respect for religion--contrary to its form of manifestation in France--diminishes in proportion as the social rank rises. And then, if the respect for religion vanishes, that for the authority of the Emperor will soon follow. In Eastern Siberia, in fact, where everyone is trying to enrich himself and often succeeds, examples among these of this disregard for religion, which I have heard so frankly expressed, are not wanting; and when this will have spread among the multitude, the sacred authority of the Emperor, that keeps this country in subjection, will have lost its hold.

I can give instances of this irreverence, for, while I was at Irkutsk, I happened to ask one of the richest and most important personages there, if the priests were gathered from the peasantry. “Oh, no,” he replied. “Then they belong to the upper classes?” “Not at all.” “Then where are they recruited?” “God knows where,” he replied, with the utmost contempt, as if they were quite beneath his notice.

Another inhabitant of Irkutsk, in a still higher position, asked me one day, how I had passed my Sunday. I told him that, among other occupations, I had been in the morning, to hear mass by the archimandrite, and in the evening at the theatre, to hear _Orphée aux Enfers_. “Then,” added my interlocutor, “you have assisted, to-day, at two _représentations bouffes_.”

I do not affirm that all the members of the Russian aristocracy speak so contemptuously of their religion and their priests: but here, certainly, are two remarks that no Catholic in our country even, without faith and without any apparent respect whatever for religion or authority, would have dared to make.

There is not in Siberia as in European Russia so great a distance between the people and the upper classes. The peasantry, one day, will not fail to notice the manner in which their creed, to which they have always bent the knee in veneration, is treated by their superiors, and will not be slow in claiming the alluring liberty they have discovered in those who should serve as models for their conduct.

It may be objected again, that this patient and submissive character of the Russian people, and the remoteness of the Eastern Siberians from any civilized nation that might set them an example and encourage them, would retard this emancipation.

The Russians, it is true, are so habituated to a state of patient endurance, in which they live; their resignation is so manifested in their conduct, in their forms of politeness bordering on servility, in their music, and even in their amusements, that it seems impossible there should be a great leader forthcoming from among them capable of changing their destiny. Their neighbours, the Chinese, live under a form of Government, perhaps, still less desirable, and, consequently, these two nations seem incapable of ever escaping from the slavery under which they now live.

But the Chinese, it must be admitted, are far from accepting their subjection with as much resignation as their neighbours of the North. Hitherto accustomed to regard the frontiers of their empire as the limits of the world, and ignorant of the means by which liberty is acquired, it is not surprising that they should have submitted to an authority imposed on them from the first by irresistible force. But to change their views completely, they require only to know us, and then this enlightenment will gradually spread among them. They are not indeed very partial to us, but we astonish them, and they study us. They will soon appreciate the difference of condition between the European nations and the people of the Celestial Empire: they will come among us to educate themselves still more; and since the Chinese are naturally intelligent and logical, doing nothing superficially, they will adopt among themselves such of our institutions as appear to them sound, and adapted to secure the prosperity and happiness of a nation.

In this event the example would probably be followed in rich, but unhappy Siberia.

The three men I have mentioned, taking their meal at Verchni-Oudinsk, and who seemed so convinced of the brilliant future of Eastern Siberia, were not long in entering into conversation with us. Pablo availed himself of the opportunity for expatiating on the terrors he had experienced on Lake Baikal. He described them with much emphasis, not forgetting the most trifling incident, and embellished his narrative with a recital of certain feats of personal prowess that had inevitably escaped my observation. I should certainly have cut short so bombastic and prolonged an entertainment, if I had not seen this man take from my store of provisions a bottle of brandy which I had kept for a different object, deliberately fill his glass and then his companions’, and calmly continue his diversion, sipping all the time as if he were taking his _kirsch_ or _anisette_.

I wondered at this habit of swallowing thus such strong spirit. It was probably the cold of Siberia that induced the habit, for he was not addicted to it at Constantinople. This droll fellow, in gratifying this singular taste, revealed a superstition still more odd. He took a pinch of earth from a kind of snuff-box he kept constantly in his pocket, and throwing it into his brandy, gulped it, as if it had been deliciously sweetened with so much sugar.

When I asked him the reason for this practice, he explained: “This earth has been taken from my native land. If I swallow a morsel of it in this way, from time to time, I am sure of not catching any epidemic disease in the country where I am travelling. If you had known that, before quitting France, you would not have been ill on your arrival at Irkutsk.”

Pablo, it may be seen, was a singular creature. Good nature and devotedness were so conspicuous in him, that I congratulated myself on having brought him with me: but I should never come to the end if I were to relate all the eccentricities of this half-cracked, childish, superstitious specimen of human nature.

Before leaving Verchni-Oudinsk and entering on Chinese territory, I ought to say a few words about a few tribes inhabiting Eastern Siberia, many specimens of which I had the opportunity of seeing before quitting this part of the Russian Empire.

The Yakuts are copper-coloured and have long black hair. Their wives are regarded with contempt. They are invariably covered with ornaments, generally of iron, yet artistically worked. The Yakuts are good-natured, honest, and hospitable. Their religious belief is exaggerated to superstition and idolatry. Their priests, in fact, are sorcerers who exercise great influence over this simple people by their practice of magic.

When Müller was here, he desired to see a priestess who, he was informed by the Yakuts, plunged a knife into her body without causing death. The first time, it seems, the operation did not succeed, but the next day, the attempt was renewed, and this time the blow was better directed. She had really plunged the blade into the intestines, and withdrew it covered with blood! “I examined the wound,” says Müller, “I saw her take a morsel of flesh, which she cut from the incision and, then grilling it on the fire, eat it. She afterwards dressed the wound with a plaster of larch resin and birch bark, and bound it over with a rag. But there was an incident still more singular. She was compelled to sign a sort of official report, in which she declared she had never plunged the knife into her body before having operated before us; that she did not even intend, at first, to go so far; that she designed merely to deceive us as well as the Yakuts, in dexterously slipping the knife between her skin and her dress; that the Yakuts had never suspected the truth of the spell, but we had watched her too closely; that, besides, she had heard from other sorcerers, when one would strike effectively he did not die after it however little he tasted of his own fat; and that, now being required of her own free will to tell the truth, she could not deny that, until now, she had deceived the Yakuts. The wound, which she dressed twice only, was quite cured in ten days, and, probably, her youth contributed much to this prompt cure.”

The city of Yakutsk, in the centre of the territory inhabited by the Yakuts, is considered to be the coldest city in Siberia. It serves as a place of exile. I have frequently heard of a poor poet, who was condemned to live indefinitely in this city, after two years of preliminary imprisonment, for having written a little book unfavourable to the Russian Government, which to me seemed quite harmless. This book is entitled _Sto. délaïti_, “What is to be done”?[19]

[19] See Note 11.

The inhabitants of Kamtchatka are divided into three peoples, whose language and manners are dissimilar. The Koriaks in the north, the Kamtchatdales in the centre, and the Kuriles in the south.

Among the Koriaks,[20] some are nomadic, others stationary.

[20] Krachenninikov.

The wandering Koriaks have Arab features, and small eyes, shaded with thick eye-brows; they are not so stout nor so tall as the stationary Koriaks; they are also less robust and courageous.

And yet, the nomads despise the sedentary tribe as slaves, and these quietly accept this servility. When a wandering Koriak presents himself to a sedentary one, the latter cringes to him, loads him with presents, and pockets all the disdain and insult hurled at him by his guest, without a word of reproach.

The nomads are very jealous of their wives. They slay them at once when caught in adultery, and sometimes even on a bare suspicion of infidelity. They take offence at everything. Their wives must appear sluttish and begrimed, for fear of irritating their husbands with too many luring charms. They never wash nor comb themselves; they never have any colour on their cheeks. “Why should they varnish themselves?” their husbands ask, “unless they want to please others.” They therefore, sometimes, hide really good clothing under a bundle of rags.

The manners of the fixed Koriaks are quite different. They receive strangers, in the way mentioned of the Laplanders by Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, and they would kill a guest who would refuse to take his place in the conjugal bed.

The Koriaks, whether vagrant or stationary, like all the inhabitants of Kamtchatka, have no religion. “A chief of these tribes,” says Krachenninikov, “with whom I had an opportunity of conversing, had no idea of the Divinity.” The Koriaks, however, fear an evil spirit, and sometimes sacrifice to him a reindeer, but without the object of satisfying themselves whether this sacrifice should bring them good or evil.

Could the name of worship be given to a superstitious custom, very prevalent among the stationary Koriaks, which consists in giving a place in the conjugal bed to stones swathed in clothing? “An inhabitant of Oukinka had two of these stones; a large one, which he called his wife, and a little one, which was his son. I asked him,” said Krachenninikov, “the reason of this strange act. He told me that, one day, when his body was covered with an eruption, he had found his great stone on the bank of a river; as he desired to take it, it blew on him like a human being, and, through fear, he cast it into the river. From this moment his malady got worse until the end of a year, when, having gone to search for the stone at the place he had thrown it, he was astonished to see it again at some distance from the spot, lying on a great flat stone with a little one beside it. He took them both, carried them to his dwelling, dressed them, and soon after his malady disappeared. Since that time, he said, I have always carried the little stone with me, and I love my stone wife more than my living one.”

This story of Krachenninikov shows to what extent of folly, the need of a belief in a Divinity may drive a man whose mind is neither enlightened nor directed.

The Kamtchatdales have dark skins, broad and flat faces and squat noses.[21] They have a fishy odour; they exhale also a strong scent of sea birds, and sometimes of musk, caused by their eating of the animal containing it without preparation.[22]

[21] Steller.

[22] Abbé Chappe.

They live, however, principally on fish, which they cook in diverse ways. The most common consists in cutting several salmon in six parts. They put the heads into a pit to decompose, dry the back and belly with smoke, and the tail and flanks in the air. They then pound the whole together, and afterwards dry this paste, which serves them almost daily for their food. Ducks and geese and eggs preserved in fish fat form also, it is said, a portion of their subsistence.

These people formerly had no other drink than water; and to make themselves a little lively, they used to drink an infusion of mushrooms. Since the Russian conquest they have become acquainted with brandy, and now imbibe a large quantity of it.

The Kamtchatdales have a great passion for dress. The costume of a rich man was formerly made of the skins of the reindeer, the fox, the dog, the marmot, the wild ram, bears’ and wolves’ feet, many seals and feathers. It required twenty animals, at least, to clothe a Kamtchatdale. Commerce was carried on exclusively by barter. A complete costume was worth about a hundred martens or a hundred foxes.[23]

[23] Müller.

But now this singular people have borrowed from the Russians the taste for the clothing material of civilized life, and in a slight degree for the form also. The women have odd whims; they stain their faces with red and white. They are very particular in not showing themselves to a stranger before having undergone a special ablution, and then having been well reddened and tricked out.

In order to obtain fire they use the fire drill, and it is produced by twirling rapidly between the hands a round dry stick passed through a hole in a plank. A bit of bruised dry grass serves as tinder.

The manners of the Kamtchatdales are so very gross, that they resemble the instincts of animals rather than the habits of man. They have no idea of the spirituality of the soul.[24] Moreover, they have no religion. A single _fête_, called Purifications, fully described by Krachenninikov, consists so much more in dancing and revelling than in prayers and sacrifices, that it would be evidently wrong, I think, to consider it as forming part of any religious system.

[24] Steller.

The Kuriles inhabit the islands of the same name which stretch, one after the other, between the extremity of Kamtchatka and Japan. These people feel the influence of the civilized nation so near them; still they approach much nearer the inhabitants of Kamtchatka than those of Japan. They dwell in tents, like their neighbours on the north, and live on fish.

The Kamtchatdales and the Kuriles differ, however, on many points. A Kurile wife, when unfaithful to her husband, dishonours him. He then challenges his adversary, and they have a duel with clubs. He who challenges is the first to receive, on his back, three blows with a club of the thickness of a man’s arm. And then he returns as many to his enemy; the combat continues in this way, till one of them demands pardon or succumbs to the number and violence of the blows.

The Kurile mothers have a very cruel practice. When they have two infants at a birth, they kill one; and yet these people are gentle and humane. They respect old age, they are attached to their kindred, and form friendships.