CHAPTER XX.
HISTORICAL NOTICE OF ASTRAKHAN—MIXED POPULATION; ARMENIANS, TATARS—SINGULAR RESULT OF A MIXTURE OF RACES—DESCRIPTION OF THE TOWN—HINDU RELIGIOUS CEREMONIES—SOCIETY.
The history of Astrakhan is so well known that the reader will no doubt thank us for not recapitulating the various political revolutions that have taken place in the regions of which this town has been for so many ages the brilliant metropolis. After having made part of the empire of the Kaptshak, founded by Batou Khan, and after a long series of intestine commotions, Astrakhan at last became an independent state in the beginning of the fifteenth century. One hundred and fifty years later there broke out between the Russians and the Tatars that obstinate strife which was to end by delivering the country of the tsars from the yoke of its oppressors. In 1554, Ivan the Terrible, partly by treachery, and partly by force of arms, possessed himself of the khanat of the Caspian, and was the first to assume the title of King of Casan and Astrakhan. This valuable conquest was incorporated with the empire, and led to the submission or emigration of all the adjacent tribes. Astrakhan has ever since belonged to Russia; but it soon lost the prosperity that had rendered it so celebrated of yore under the Tatars of the Golden Horde. Fifteen years after the Russian conquest, the Turks directed an expedition against Astrakhan, in concert with the Tatars of the Crimea; but the effort was abortive, and the bulk of the Ottoman army perished in the deserts of the Manitch. Towards the end of the seventeenth century, Astrakhan again underwent a brief but bloody revolution: the rebel Stenko Razin, made himself master of the town, gave it up to horrible massacres, and for a while caused serious alarm to Russia. At present the ancient capital of the Tatar kingdom is merely the chief town of a government, which though presenting a surface of more than 4000 geographical square miles, yet possesses only 285,000 inhabitants, of whom 200,000 are nomades. It contains a great number of squares, churches, and mosques. Its old embattled towers and its walls, which still include a considerable space of ground, remind the traveller of its ancient warlike renown. Its population, a medley of all the races of Asia, amounts in number to 45,703, the bulk of whom are Russians, Kalmucks, and Tatars. The Armenians are shopkeepers here, just as they are in all countries in the world; notwithstanding their religion, which should make them coalesce with the Westerns, they retain in their manners and customs every thing belonging to the East. The Armenian carries everywhere with him that spirit of traffic which is common to him with the Jew; always at work on some stroke of business, always ready to seize a flying opportunity; discounting, computing, figuring, with indefatigable patience. Meet him where you will, in the fertile valleys of Armenia, in the snowy North, or beneath a southern sky, everywhere he exhibits that intense selfishness which stands him in lieu of the patriotic feelings so potent in most other branches of the human family. This nation, dispersed over the whole world like the Jews, presents one of those distinctive types of feature characteristic of an unmixed race, which are to be found in full preservation only among Eastern nations. The brown mantle in which the Armenian women wrap themselves at Constantinople, is here replaced by long black veils that cover them from head to foot. This garment, which displays the shape very well, and falls in graceful folds to the feet, when well put on, reminds one of the elegant lines of certain Grecian statues; and what makes the resemblance the more striking, is that the Armenian women are particularly remarkable for their stately carriage and the severe dignity of their features.
The Tatars, upwards of 5000 in number, are engaged in trade, and chiefly in that of cattle. The numerous mosques and the cupolas of their baths contribute to give Astrakhan quite an oriental appearance.
The Indians who were formerly rather numerous in this city, have long since abandoned the trade for which they frequented it, and none of them remain but a few priests who are detained by interminable lawsuits. But from the old intercourse between the Hindus and the Kalmucks has sprung a half-breed now numbering several hundred individuals, improperly designated Tatars. The mixed blood of these two essentially Asiatic races has produced a type closely resembling that of European nations. It exhibits neither the oblique eyes of the Kalmucks, nor the bronzed skin of the Indians; and nothing in the character or habits of the descendants of these two races indicates a relationship with either stock. In striking contrast with the apathy and indolence of the population among which they live, these half-breeds exhibit in all they do, the activity and perseverance of the men of the north. They serve as porters, waggoners, or sailors, as occasion may require, and shrink from no kind of employment however laborious. Their white felt hats, with broad brims and pointed conical crowns, their tall figures, and bold, cheerful countenances, give them a considerable degree of resemblance to the Spanish muleteers.
This result of the crossing of two races both so sharply defined is extremely remarkable, and cannot but interest ethnologists. The Mongol is perhaps above all others the type that perpetuates itself with most energy, and most obstinately resists the influence of foreign admixture continued through a long series of generations. We have found it in all its originality among the Cossacks, the Tatars, and every other people dwelling in the vicinity of the Kalmucks. Is it not then a most curious fact to see it vanish immediately under the influence of the Hindu blood, and produce instead of itself a thoroughly Caucasian type? Might we not then conclude that the Caucasian is not a primitive type, as hitherto supposed, but that it is simply the result of a mixture, the two elements of which we must seek for in Central Asia, in those mysterious regions of the great Tibetan chain which have so much occupied the inventive genius of ancient and modern writers?
The Persians, like the Indians, are gradually deserting Astrakhan. The prohibitive system of Russia has destroyed all their commercial resources, and now only some hundreds of them, for the most part detained by penury, are to be found in their adopted country, employed in petty retail dealings. We went over the vast Persian khans of Astrakhan, but saw none of those gorgeous stuffs for which they were formerly so celebrated. The ware rooms are empty, and it is but with great difficulty the traveller can now and then obtain cashmeres, silky termalamas, or any other of those productions of Asia which so much excite our curiosity, and which were formerly a source of prosperity to the town.
Astrakhan has for some years had a lazaret on the mouths of the Volga at seventy-five versts from its walls. The history of this establishment is curious enough. Before it was built on the site it now occupies, building had been carried on to a considerable extent at two other spots which were successively abandoned as unsuitable. It was not until much time and money had been spent, that an engineer took notice of a little island exceedingly well adapted to the purpose, and on which the lazaret was finally erected. Some years afterwards there was found in the town archives a manuscript note left by Peter the Great at his departure from Astrakhan, and in which he mentioned that very island as well suited for the site of a lazaret. A glance had enabled the tsar to perceive the importance of a locality which many engineering commissions discovered only after repeated search.
Paving is a luxury quite unknown in Astrakhan, and the streets are as sandy as the soil of the environs. Though they are almost deserted during the day, on account of the intense heat, few spectacles are more lively and picturesque than that which they present in the evening, when the whole town awakes from the somnolency into which it had been cast by a temperature of 100. Every one then hastens to enjoy the refreshing air of the twilight; people sit at the doors amusing themselves with the sight of whatever passes; business is resumed, and the shops are in a bustle; a numerous population of all races and tongues spreads rapidly along the bridges and the quays bordered with trees; the canal is covered with caïques laden with fruit and arbutus berries; elegant droshkies, caleches, and horsemen rush about in all directions, and the whole town wears a gala aspect that astonishes and captivates the traveller. He finds there collected into a focus all the picturesque items that have struck him singly elsewhere. Alongside of a Tatar dwelling stretches a great building blackened by time, and by its architecture and carvings carrying you back to the middle ages. A European shop displays its fashionable haberdashery opposite a caravanserai; the magnificent cathedral overshadows a pretty mosque with its fountain; a Moorish balcony contains a group of young European ladies who set you thinking of Paris, whilst a graceful white shadow glides mysteriously under the gallery of an old palace. All contrasts are here met together; and so it happens that in passing from one quarter to another you think you have but made a short promenade, and you have picked up a stock of observations and reminiscences belonging to all times and places. The Russians ought to be proud of a town which did not spring up yesterday, like all the others in their country, and where one is not plagued with the cold, monotonous regularity that meets you without end in every part of the empire.
The churches in Astrakhan are not built in the invariable Greek style of all the other religious buildings of Russia: they have carvings, spires, and balustrades, something to attract the gaze, and details to fix it. The cathedral, built towards the end of the seventeenth century, is a large square edifice, surmounted by five cupolas, gilded and starred with azure, and presenting a style midway between those of Asia and Europe. The interior is hung with pictures of no value in point of art, but attractive to the eye from the richness of their frames, most of which are of massive silver curiously chased. The most interesting monument in Astrakhan is a small church concealed in Peter the Great's fort. It is attributed to Ivan IV. Its architecture is purely Moorish, and it is fretted all over with details exceedingly interesting to an artist. Unfortunately, it has long been abandoned, and is now used as a warehouse.
The climate of Astrakhan is dry, and very hot. For three months the thermometer seldom falls in the day below 95. This great heat enervates both mind and body, and sufficiently accounts for the extreme sloth of the inhabitants. But in consequence of its dryness the atmosphere possesses a transparent purity that would enchant a painter, giving as it does to every object a warmth and lucidity worthy of Italy.
A very serious source of annoyance to the Astrakhaners, and still more to the foreigner, is the swarm of gnats and other insects that fill the air at certain seasons. Their pertinacious attacks baffle all precautions; it is in vain you surround yourself with gauze at night, and resign yourself to total darkness during the day, you are not the less persecuted by them, and you exhaust yourself with ineffectual efforts against an invisible enemy.
They are sinking an artesian well in the upper part of the town. They had reached, when we were there, a depth of 166 yards; but instead of water there escaped a jet of carburretted hydrogen, which had been burning for three weeks with great brilliancy.
Astrakhan now contains 146 streets, 46 squares, 8 market-places, a public garden, 11 wooden and 9 earthen bridges, 37 churches (34 of stone, 3 wooden), 2 of which are cathedrals; 15 mosques, 2 of them of stone; 3883 houses, 288 of which are of stone, the rest of wood. All narratives of travels tell of the gardens of Astrakhan, and the magnificent fruit produced in them. Unfortunately, these are pure fictions, for there are but 75 gardens or vineyards around the town, and it is only by means of irrigation with Persian wheels that they are rendered productive. All the fruit of the place, moreover, is very poor, if not decidedly bad. The grapes alone are tolerable and of very various kinds, suitable for the table, but none of them fit for making wine. As for the celebrated water-melons, they are held in very low esteem in the country, and the people of the town talk only of those of Kherson and the Crimea. It is very possible, however, that the fruit of Astrakhan may have deserved its high reputation previously to the Muscovite domination. Here, as everywhere else, the Russian population, in taking the place of the Tatars, can only have destroyed the agricultural resources of the country. The Russian townspeople being exclusively traders and shopkeepers, and never engaging in rural pursuits, the gardens almost all belong to Tatars and Armenians.
As for the government of Astrakhan, its territory is one of the most sterile in the empire. Agriculture is there wholly unproductive; in general nothing is sowed but a little maize and barley, provisions of all kinds being procured from Saratof, by way of the Volga. It is this that gives some little briskness to the navigation of that river; for besides the corn consumed by Astrakhan, and the towns dependent on its jurisdiction, Saratof and the adjoining regions send supplies also to Gourief, on the mouth of the Ural, to the army cantoned on the Terek, and even to the Transcaucasian countries. Nevertheless, there are no boats plying regularly on the Volga; it is only at the period of the fair of Nijni Novgorod, that the clumsy steamer we saw proceeding to Prince Tumene's condescends to dawdle up the stream.
The day after our arrival in Astrakhan we were taken to the house of some Hindu brahmins, where we were to be present at the evening prayers. We were received by the chief among them in the most courteous and obliging manner. The room into which he led us looked to the west, and had no other furniture than large Turkish divans, and the only thing capable of attracting our attention was a little chapel let into the wall, and which two priests were in the act of arranging for the ceremony. One of them kept his eyes constantly turned towards the west, watching with religious attention the descent of the sun's disc to the horizon. These brahmins were dressed in long brown robes, crossed in front by a white scarf, the two ends of which swept the ground. Their bronzed and antiquely moulded visages were surmounted by white muslin turbans with large folds. The leader, who was much less absorbed in his devotions than the rest, was continually smiling upon us, and waving a monstrous Persian fan that had the effect of a smart breeze. Meanwhile the sun was fast declining; at last its total disappearance was announced by the harsh sound of a conch-shell, whereupon one of the priests lighted several tapers and placed them before an image in the chapel. Another began to wash curiously-shaped vessels, filled them with water of lustration, and prostrated himself before them with great unction. A large grey stone set in the wall, appeared to be the principal object of their adorations. According to the explanation given to us by the chief priest, the soul of a celebrated saint, grown weary of the world and of men, had retired within that mystical covering; hence the stone is sacred in the eyes of the Hindus, and the mere sight of it, as they declare, is capable of working miracles. After worshipping in silence for some minutes, the chief priest began to burn perfumes, and the room was soon filled with a cloud of smoke, seen through which every object assumed a vaguer and more mysterious form, the pungent aromatic odour, combined with the heat and the strangeness of the scene before our eyes, acted so strongly upon us that we were soon unable to distinguish what was real from what was fantastic. In fact, our semi-ecstatic condition was in remarkable accordance with the moral state of our brahmins. Their religious enthusiasm soon ceased to content itself with mere prostrations. Hitherto every thing had passed in complete silence, but at a given signal two priests knelt down before the holy stone and recited a prayer, in slow and guttural accents. Another with his arms crossed on his breast, stood a few steps off from the chapel, and now and then blew upon a shrill whistle. The fourth, armed with a conch-shell, stood upon one of the divans, and added his voice to the sounds which his companions gave out with increasing loudness. Presently their eyes kindled, the muscles of their frames grew tense, the conch vibrated, a bell was rapidly agitated by the leader, and then began so strange and infernal a din, a scene so grotesque and wild, that one would really have thought the brahmins were all possessed by devils. Their attitudes and frantic gestures conveyed the idea of exorcism rather than of prayer. What we felt it would be impossible to describe; it was a mixture of surprise, curiosity, disgust, and fright. Had not fatigue compelled the actors in this sabbat to stop after ten minutes' exertion, I doubt that we should have been able to support a longer continuance of such a spectacle. One would almost be disposed to say that men take pains to worship God in the least religious manner possible. I have seen the whirling and howling dervishes at Constantinople, whose strange and frightful performances can be compared only to those of the medieval convulsionaries. The religious music of the Kalmucks is not behind-hand with these aberrations of the human mind; and here is the Hindu, worship, which seems to vie with whatever is most demented and extravagant in other religions.
When the abominable concert was ended, the leader took a handful of yellow flowers, like marigolds, dipped them in Ganges water, and presented one to each of us. Then he kneaded a piece of dough in his hands, and gave it a symbolic form, stuck seven small tapers in it, waved it in every direction before the chapel, and then turning towards us, repeated the same ceremony. Lastly, he took a small white shell, which had been lying until then on the sacred stone, filled it with sacred water from the Ganges, and sprinkled us with it very devoutly. Meanwhile, his companions were setting out a table with a collation of fine fruit and pastry, of which the leader did the honours to us with much politeness and gallantry. So ended a scene as difficult to describe well as to forget.
Now let us leave the Indians and their odd ceremonies, and recur to the European usages, which, to our great surprise we found in many salons of Astrakhan.
A singular thing, and one which must strike the traveller strongly, is the moral influence which France exercises in all countries of the world. Wherever you find any trace of civilisation, you are sure to discern the effect of that influence, whether in manners, dress, or political opinions, and that, even among rulers the most distant.
Most of our romance-writers are probably not aware that their works are read with avidity even on the banks of the Caspian, and are criticised there with as much acuteness as in the great capitals of Europe. All who call themselves Russians, in Astrakhan, speak French, and receive every month our newest publications from Brussels. In many of the libraries I found Lamartine, Balzac, Alexandra Dumas, Eugène Sue, George Sand, De Musset, &c., and many other names less known perhaps in Paris than in Astrakhan.
The Russian ladies read a great deal; they are generally gifted with natural talent, and converse with tact and to the purpose. Their only fault in this respect is, that they confine their reading to romances and novels, which almost always warp their judgment, and give them quite erroneous notions of our habits and our literature. Paul de Kock and Pigault Lebrun are especial favourites throughout the empire, and their pictures of low life are read much more eagerly than the elegant and chastened pages of our best writers. I must acknowledge, however, that many Russian ladies are capable of appreciating the gravest works. I saw on many a table in Astrakhan, "Les Ducs de Bourgogne," "L'Histoire du Bas Empire," "La Conquête des Normands," and even treatises on geology. It is needless to add, that our fashions and the prodigies of our civilisation are adopted with the same avidity as our literature.
I had some difficulty in believing myself on the verge of the Caspian, when listening to conversation on the fine arts, and on industrial economy, just as in Vienna or Paris. Music, too, is in high vogue in Astrakhan, and many of Donizetti's pieces are sung there by brilliant and cultivated voices. Our quadrilles, too, are all the rage there, and so are the charming melodies of Loïza Puget.
On the faith of some travellers who have been, or are reported to have been in Astrakhan, we expected to find a good many English, Italians, and even French in the town; but the fact is, it does not even contain a single individual of those nations, and its society consists solely of Russians and Germans, sent thither as employés. I could hear of but one Belgian, formerly a prisoner of war, who became a tailor, and now enjoys a very handsome fortune. Astrakhan pretends to have a theatre, but I have little to say for it. Imagine a very ugly and very black hall furnished with some thirty niches in double row; a pit adorned with a few dirty caftans; an orchestra composed of a paltry violin and half-a-dozen trumpets, the whole lighted up by a row of candles on the proscenium, and you have an idea of what presumes to call itself a theatre on the Caspian shores. As for the pieces and the actors, they are altogether beneath criticism.
The governor gave a grand ball and some soirées during our stay in Astrakhan. Though the heat was intolerable, the rooms were every time filled with a fashionable throng, always eager for pleasure. The Russian governors of provinces play the part of petty kings, and exercise over all classes an influence, which has its source in the very constitution of the country. Under an absolute government, every superior employé exercises unbounded authority in his own sphere. He has his courtiers, his favourites, his numerous chancery, his orderly officers, and his etiquette modelled on that of St. Petersburg, in short all that constitutes the outward tokens of power. But all these appearances of grandeur and might are but relative, for above these petty kings stands a sovereign will, that can by one word strip them of their privileges, and send them to Siberia. We must not imagine that slavery exists in Russia only for the people; whether you go east or west, into the brilliant salons of St. Petersburg, or into the isbas of the Muscovite peasant, you find it everywhere; only it is commonly disguised under forms that deceive many travellers, whose judgments are beguiled by the glittering varnish with which the Russian contrives to invest himself, by his numerous staff, his princely abode, and the pomp of his official life. And yet what is all this in reality? Something like the soap bubbles that glisten with all the colours of the rainbow, but vanish with the least breath.
The magnificence of the governor's palace astonished us. On our arrival for the ball, after passing through several rooms sumptuously furnished, we were led into a boudoir, where we found Madame Timirasif, the governor's lady, surrounded by all the élite of the place. She introduced me to several ladies who spoke French very well, and with whom I was soon engaged in a conversation as frivolous and varied as the chit-chat of the Parisian world of fashion. But the music soon began, and we repaired to a very large ball-room, most splendidly lighted, and already thronged with officers. The orchestra, placed on a raised platform, played French quadrilles in excellent style. I took advantage of an interminable mazurka, to learn the names of various personages: General Brigon, a Livonian, hetman of all the Cossacks; Count Pushkin, curator of the university of Casan; Admiral Lazaref; the Kalmuck prince, Tondoudof; the Princess Dolgoruky; and a young Persian, who occupied the attention of all the ladies during the ball. His handsome Oriental countenance, his rich costume, the grace with which he danced French quadrilles and mazurkas, and above all, his title of traveller, gave him an extraordinary éclat, which seemed in no wise to astonish him. I will say nothing of a collection of colonels and aides-de-camp, an inevitable and always profuse element of every Russian party, nor of a battalion of excellencies loaded with more stars and decorations than are commonly seen in the court balls of France or England.
The governor's wife is a specimen of the Russian lady in the highest perfection of the class. Elegant, lively, fascinating, and pleine de distinction, she possesses all the qualities requisite in the queen of a drawing-room. She did the honours of that remarkable soirée with charming grace. The ball ended with a grand supper, which was prolonged until morning.
We passed fifteen well-spent days in Astrakhan. Notwithstanding the heat, we were running about from morning till night, escorted by an aide-de-camp, whom his excellency had assigned to us as cicerone. This very obliging officer being perfectly well acquainted with the country, and being incessantly on the look-out for any thing that could interest us, it came to pass that in eight days we had a much better knowledge of the town than the governor himself. One thing alone escaped our search, namely, one or two families of Parsees, who still inhabit Astrakhan, but whom our guide could not succeed in ferreting out. It was in vain he hunted about and questioned every body; no one could give him any precise information on the subject. Soirées, cavalcades, numerous dinners, and above all, a pleasing intimacy with many agreeable families, filled up our tourist existence in the most charming manner, and made us postpone as long as possible a departure, which was to snap asunder such pleasing social ties.
It would be impossible to surpass the active kindness shown us by the governor and all the best society of Astrakhan. During our whole stay the governor put his caleche at our disposal, and was imitated in this by many other persons. But notwithstanding all these temptations to prolong our abode, we were obliged at last to set in earnest about arrangements for our journey across the Kalmuck steppes. Our first care was to provide all that was indispensable to prevent our dying of hunger on the way. An expedition of this kind is like a long sea voyage; the previous cares are the same; one must enter into the same sort of details as the sailor who is bound for a distant shore.
We laid in a great stock of biscuits, rice, oil, candles, dry fruit, tea, coffee, and sugar, and sent them forward with our escort to Houidouk, a post station near the Caspian, where my husband was to begin his series of levels.
This escort, consisting of ten camels with their drivers and some Cossacks fully armed, had been selected by the governor and M. Fadiew, with a carefulness that proved how much they were both concerned for our safety. I cannot sufficiently express my gratitude for all the kindness they showed us on this occasion; their anxiety about the result of so hazardous a journey betrayed itself by numberless precautions and recommendations, which might have had some influence on our determination if it had not been irrevocably fixed.
The governor chose from among his best officers, a Tatar prince to command our escort. This young man, who was an excellent sportsman, had a hawk, from which he was inseparable, and to this circumstance was owing the orders he received to accompany us. General Timirasif, always mindful of the privations that awaited us, thought he could not do better than furnish us with so clever a purveyor; who, indeed, proved to be of immense assistance to us. When he presented the officer to us, with his hawk on his fist, his face beamed with satisfaction. "Now," he said, laughing, "my conscience is at ease; here I give you a brave soldier for your champion, and a travelling companion, who will not let you be starved to death in the wilderness."
Orders were sent forward in advance, along all the line we were to traverse as far as Haidouk, that we should be supplied with horses at every station without delay.