CHAPTER XXVIII.
BANKS OF THE KOUMA; VLADIMIROFKA—M. REBROF'S REPULSE OF A CIRCASSIAN FORAY—BOURGON MADJAR—JOURNEY ALONG THE KOUMA—VIEW OF THE CAUCASIAN MOUNTAINS—CRITICAL SITUATION—GEORGIEF—ADVENTURE WITH A RUSSIAN COLONEL—STORY OF A CIRCASSIAN CHIEF.
Notwithstanding the dangers and hardships that had attended our desert wanderings, it was not without some degree of regret we bade a final adieu to the Kalmucks, whose patriarchal simplicity of life we had shared for more than a month. But as we approached Vladimirofka, and beheld the clear waters of the Kouma, its wooded banks, and the lovely scenery around, the change was indescribably delightful to eyes long accustomed to the blank and arid wilderness.
In front of us stood a handsome dwelling on a gentle slope, flanked with two turrets, and surmounted by a belvedere rising above the trees. Behind us lay the Kalmuck camps and their herds of camels, resembling in the distance those effects of the mirage that are so common in the desert. A little to the left, the village, picturesquely situated at the foot of the mansion, descended in terraces to the margin of the Kouma, displaying its pretty workshops, and its houses parted from each other by plantations of mulberries, hazels, and Lombardy poplars, tinted with the varied hues of autumn. All the enchantments that opulence could call forth from a fruitful soil, were there assembled, as a bountiful compensation for our past fatigues. The camel-drivers and the Cossacks of our escort fully shared our delight, and remained like ourselves wonder-stricken before that brilliant apparition.
Soon afterwards we entered the yard of the mansion, which was soon crowded with employés and servants, all greatly puzzled to conceive whence could have come so strange a caravan. Our appearance might well excite their astonishment. The britchka, drawn by three camels, preceded a little troop composed of four or five Cossacks, armed to the teeth, and several Kalmucks leading other camels loaded with all our nomadic gear. Our Cossack officer, with his falcon on his fist, and his long rifle slung behind him, rode close to the door of the carriage, ready, with Russian precision, to transmit our orders to the escort, and to gallop off at the slightest signal; whilst our dragoman, lolling on the box-seat with Italian nonchalance, looked down with profound disdain on the bustling throng around us, and did not condescend to answer one word to their thousand questions.
M. Rebrof, the proprietor of Vladimirofka, having been waited on by our officer, came out and welcomed us in the most polite and cordial manner, and showed us into delightful apartments on the ground floor, looking out on a large, handsome garden, and containing a billiard-table and several numbers of the Revue Etrangère. Then, after empowering us to make free use of his servants, his garden, his horses, and all his property, our host left us to ourselves, with a delicate tact not always displayed even by well-bred persons.
Well, after all, it is a very good thing when one has long been deprived of all the comforts and conveniences of life, to come upon them again in full measure, and slide back into one's old habits; to pass from the Kalmuck kibitka to a lordly mansion,—from the horrible flat cake of unleavened dough to fresh bread every day—from the wearisome march of the camels to the repose of the divan—from the monotony of the steppes to all the comforts of civilised life. It is really a very good thing, especially if one has the rare good fortune to enjoy, in addition to all these pleasures, the hospitality of a most friendly and engaging family. In fact, what gives the most racy zest to travelling is precisely these contrasts that await you at every step, and which enable you to appreciate matters justly by comparison; for after all what is a good dinner to one who dines well every day? What are a divan, books, music, pictures, to the privileged being who has them always before him? More than half his time is spent in yawning at the chimney corner; music wearies him; reading makes his eyes ache; his cook is a dull blockhead, and has no invention! Oh, the weary dreary lot of the wealthy man! But let some good genius suddenly whisk him off into the heart of the desert; let him be forced to wash down his biscuit with brackish water from the standing pool, to count on his falcon's quarry for his dinner, to lie on the hard ground, to bear rain, wind, and dust, to hear only the cries of camels, and see only Kalmuck faces; and afterwards, when he returns to all the good things he despised before, he will be heard exclaiming in the joy of his heart, "Oh! what a pleasant thing it is to eat, sleep, and dream; what a very comfortable life this is!"
Vladimirofka is one of the finest properties I have seen in Russia. The whole economy of this magnificent establishment bespeaks the enlarged and enlightened views of its master. It is about fifty years since M. Rebrof laid the first foundations of his colony, undismayed by the obstacles and dangers he encountered in all shapes. He wished to make profitable use of the fine waters of the Kouma, which had never before been bridled in their course by man; and now several mills, set up by him, enliven the whole neighbourhood by their continual din. The mildness of the climate has allowed him to make numerous plantations of mulberries, which have perfectly succeeded, and to establish factories, the productions of which may vie with the finest silks of Provence.
Another manufacture which he is carrying on with great spirit is that of Champagne wine. He sends every year at least 10,000 bottles to Moscow, and sells them at the rate of four rubles a bottle. By dint of energy and perseverance he has called up life and abundance in a wild uncultivated spot, which before had served only for the temporary halts of the Kalmucks and Turcomans. Many peasants whom he brought with him from Great Russia, and who had been habituated to an almost savage state of existence, have been transformed by him into good workmen, industrious husbandmen, and, on occasion, into soldiers devoted to their master.
In 1835, some three-score Circassians, tempted by the hope of a rich booty, made a descent from their mountains to sack and pillage Vladimirofka, expecting to surprise the little village population by night, and to find them wholly unprepared. But though M. Rebrof had enjoyed complete security for many years, he had never deceived himself as to the dangers of his position, but always expected to be attacked sooner or later; and, therefore, he had from the first taken all possible precautions against the designs of his formidable neighbours. Two branches of the Kouma served as fosses for the village and the château; there was a small redoubt with two pieces of cannon commanding the most exposed side, and in a room on the ground-floor of the mansion there was a well-stocked armoury, with all things requisite for sustaining a siege. With these means, M. Rebrof felt confident he could resist any attack.
Every night two sentinels kept watch until dawn, and it was this seemingly superfluous measure that saved Vladimirofka from total destruction. The Circassians, never reckoning on such extreme caution, arrived one night in face of the village, and felt sure that their approach was unsuspected. But the alarm had been already given, and the whole population, suddenly aroused out of their sleep, were ready for the fight. Arms were distributed to the workpeople and servants, the drawbridges were raised, the two cannons were loaded with grape, and the château was transformed into a fortress. All this was done with such rapidity, that when the Circassians came to the banks of the river, they found the village in a perfect state of defence. They attempted, however, to swim their horses over the Kouma, but were repulsed by a brisk fire. Three or four other attempts were equally unsuccessful; all points were so well guarded, and the men did their duty so well, that the Circassians were obliged to retreat at break of day. But enraged at their disappointment, they set fire to the village and the surrounding woods, and escaped unmolested, under cover of the conflagration, without its being discovered what direction they took.
As an economist and administrator, M. Rebrof may be compared with the most eminent men of Europe, and his manufacturing enterprises are the more meritorious, as he is destitute of the aid of books. Knowing only his own language, which is very poor in such practical works as would suit his purposes, he has nothing but a few bad translations of French and German works, which would be of little avail but for his own superior sagacity.
His gardens are filled with all the fruits of Europe, and with several kinds of grapes, from which he derives a large profit. Among these I particularly noticed the Schiras grape, which has no stones. Nor must I forget his excellent œil de perdrix wine, which he set before us every day after dinner, with the pride of a manufacturer. Nothing could exceed his satisfaction on hearing us compare it with the best vintages of France, as we did in all sincerity on our first arrival. Afterwards our enthusiasm cooled down a little; but it did not matter; our host was still persuaded that his wine could compete with the best made in Champagne.
It was painful to us to quit Vladimirofka. Had the season been less advanced, we would willingly have remained there another week; but we had still to visit the Caucasus, and September was drawing to a close. We had, therefore, to make haste and profit by the fine weather that still remained for us. M. Rebrof's horses conveyed us to Bourgon Madjar, a property belonging to General Skaginsky. It is situated on the Kouma, about thirty versts from Vladimirofka, like which, it possesses fine woods and beautiful scenery. It was our intention only to change horses there, but the steward, who had been expecting us for two days, determined otherwise, and to please him we were constrained to lose two days in his company. Our complaisance would not have extended so far had our choice been free; but the moment we entered his doors he told us very positively we should have no horses until the day after the morrow. It was to no purpose we raved and entreated; we were forced to submit to a tyranny that was more flattering than agreeable. The difficulty of understanding each other without an interpreter added to our embarrassment and ill-humour. The whole conversation on the first day was made up of two words mozhna (you can stay), and nilza (it is impossible). But setting aside the loss of two days, which were then very precious, I must allow that our time passed agreeably, and our host did his best to entertain us.
The first day was spent in seeing the buildings, gardens, vineyards, mills, and all that was under the immediate management of the steward. Every thing was in as excellent order as if the whole of the fine property had been constantly under the master's eye. But General Skaginsky hardly ever visits it, contenting himself with the receipt of the proceeds, which amount to about 20,000 rubles. The stable contains some capital saddle horses, that tempted us to make a long excursion through the forest. We also saw antelopes almost tame, and of exquisite beauty. Whole herds of them are sometimes found in this part of the steppes. The woods adjacent to the Kouma also contain deer and wild boars. The steward pressed hard for one day more that he might get up a hunt for us, but we would not hear of it, and answered with so peremptory a nilza that he was obliged to submit to what he called our obstinacy.
His anxiety to retain us may be easily accounted for by the extreme loneliness in which he lives. He is a Pole by birth, and has known a different condition from that of a steward, as his tastes prove. He is a poet, a musician, and a wit—three qualities singularly at variance with his calling. But as he is alone, and has no superior to control his tastes, he may meditate, Virgil in hand, on the charms of rural life. A guitar, a few select books, and the visitations of the muse, enable him to nourish an intellectual existence amidst all his prosaic occupations.
After quitting Bourgon Madjar we passed through the place where formerly stood the celebrated Madjar, whose past is still a problem for historians. Nothing remains of it, not even a few bricks to attest its former existence. The Russians have carried it away piecemeal to build their villages. We now rapidly approached the Caucasus; the Elbrouz (the highest mountain of the chain) from time to time gave us a glimpse of its majestic head, almost always wrapped in mist, as if to conceal it from profane eyes. Tradition informs us that Noah's dove alighted on its summit, and there plucked the mystic branch which afterwards became the Christian symbol of peace and hope. Hence the mountain is held in high veneration by all the races of the Caucasus: Christians, idolaters, and Mussulmans, all agree in regarding it as holy.
We were now in an enchanted region, though but just beyond the verge of the steppes. The faint lines discernible in the sky assumed gradually more distinct form and colour; the mountains appeared to us first as light, transparent vapours, floating upon the wind; but by degrees this airy phantasmagoria changed into mountains clothed with forests, deep gorges and domes crowned with mists. We met several horsemen in the Circassian garb, whose manly beauty afforded us examples of the noble Caucasian race. Our minds were almost overwhelmed with a multitude of emotions, excited by the exuberant nature before us, the magnificent vegetation, and the varied hues of the forests and mountains, peaks, crags, ravines, and snowy summits. It was beautiful, superbly beautiful, and then it was the Caucasus! The Caucasus, a name associated with so many grand historic memories, with the earliest traditions and most fabulous creeds; the abode, in the morning of the world, of families whence issued so many great nations. Round it hangs all the vague poetry of the ages visible only to the imagination, through the mysterious veil of antiquity.
What a sad thing it was in the midst of all our ecstatic enthusiasm, to be obliged to descend to the vulgar concerns of locomotion, and to be crossed and thwarted at every step. We were more than ten versts from Georgief, when we were stopped in a village by the perversity of a postmaster, who refused to let us have horses at any price. It was raining in torrents, and the mud in the village was like a quagmire. The Cossack and Anthony ran about among all the peasants, trying to prevail on them to hire us horses; but the Russians are so lazy that they would rather lose an opportunity of earning money than quit their sweet repose. At last, after four hours search, the two men came back with three wretched hacks they had carried off by force from different peasants. For want of a roof to shelter us we had been obliged to sit all that while in the britchka, and when the miserable team was yoked it could hardly draw us out of the mud in which the wheels were embedded. The road all the way to Georgief was the most detestable that could be imagined. The weather cleared up a little, but the rain had converted all the low plains through which we had to pass into marshes, and had rendered the bridges all but impassable. Steep and very narrow descents often obliged us to alight at the risk of leaving our boots in the mud, and for a long while we feared we should not reach Georgief that day. Finally, however, by dint of flogging, our coachman forced the horses up the last hill, and at seven in the evening we reached a wide plateau, at one end of which towered the fortress that commands the road to the Caucasus.
We had been told that we should find a fair going on in Georgief, and this accounted for the number of horsemen we saw proceeding like ourselves in that direction. I must confess in all humility, that I did not feel quite at my ease whenever one of these groups passed close to our carriage. The bad weather, the darkness, the bold bearing of these mountaineers, and their arms half concealed under their black bourkas, made me rather nervous. We arrived, however, safe and sound in Georgief, where we enjoyed our repose and sipped our tea with a zest known only to way-worn travellers.
Whilst we were thus enjoying ourselves, the tinkling of a pereclatnoi bell in the yard announced a fresh arrival. But we gave ourselves very little concern about the event, for in order to be the more at our ease, we had engaged the travellers' room for ourselves alone. In travelling, people grow selfish, in spite of themselves; and in Russia it is a very lucky chance indeed that enables you now and then to display that quality. We therefore paid no heed to the tinklings that seemed with increasing vehemence to demand shelter for the late coming pilgrim. In a few moments there was a loud hubbub at our door, and we heard Anthony's voice stoutly refusing admission into our sanctuary. The postmaster seemed to play but a negative part, venturing only to say now and then, in the humblest tone, "Ne mozhna polkovnick" (it is not possible, colonel). A deluge of douraks, and a few fisticuffs distributed right and left, put an end to the discussion; the door was flung open, and a tall individual, muffled up to the nose, rushed in furiously, halted suddenly, made an awkward bow, and skipped out of the room again, without attempting even to profit by his victory. Amazed at this sudden retreat, Anthony hastily closed the door he had so bravely defended, and then told us that this officer had refused to listen to a word of explanation, and had threatened, if they provoked him, to turn us all into the street, and take our places. This did not in the least surprise us, for in Russia it is a matter of course for a colonel to behave thus to his inferiors, and as this officer was not aware of our being foreigners, he had behaved in the usual peremptory fashion; but he had been taken aback on discovering that we were something else than village pometchiks, and his tone became changed accordingly in the comical manner aforesaid. We were highly diverted by his discomfiture, and to punish his blustering, we let him go and seek a lodging elsewhere.
He had not been gone half an hour when another officer drove into the yard, and with more moderation than his predecessor, took up his quarters in the kitchen, which was divided by a thin partition from our room. He was no sooner installed, than the silence was again broken by loud cracks of a whip, and the poor postmaster was at his wits' end. We paid no attention to this incident until our curiosity was excited by hearing some words of French, accompanied by peals of laughter; and on listening we heard the whole of our late adventure narrated in the most amusing manner, the story being interspersed with keen remarks on the unaccountable propensity of some women for travelling, and filling up every hotel. Of course we recognised in the orator the hero of the adventure himself. Having knocked in vain at all the doors in Georgief, he found he could do no better than return to the confounded station, and take his chance of sleeping in the stable; but hearing that a comrade had taken up his abode in the kitchen, he had determined to beg leave to join him. All this, be it observed, was said in French, to prevent our understanding it; this was amusing enough; but the conversation soon became so confidential, that we were obliged to raise our voices, as a hint to our neighbours to speak Russian. They did nothing all night but smoke, drink tea, and talk.
Next day, having ascertained that we were French, they sent the postmaster to us, begging we would allow them to come and apologise for the inconvenience they had caused us. We found them well-bred gentlemen, and we had a good laugh together at the strange manner in which our mutual acquaintance had taken place. We all left the station nearly together. After breakfasting with us, they set out, one of them for Persia, the other for the north. For ourselves, as we intended to stop some days in Georgief, until the roads should have become drier, we accepted the invitation of the governor of the fortress to reside with him. The mud was so deep in the yard of the post-house, that we were obliged to have a bridge of planks made for us to the carriage, and the grooms and the persons who had occasion to enter the house, had to cross the yard on horseback. In passing through the street we saw an unfortunate peasant sunk up to his middle, and making prodigious efforts to extricate his cart and oxen.
Our hospitable and obliging entertainer, the general, told us many particulars respecting the tribes of the Caucasus, and we saw at his table a great number of Kabardian chiefs whom the fair had brought to Georgief. There was one among them whose handsome, grave features, and somewhat wild appearance, excited our curiosity; and the general perceiving this, told us all he knew about the man. I will relate the story as nearly as possible in his own words.
"About two years ago I was ordered to make a tour of inspection among the friendly tribes of the Caucasus, and had nearly completed it, when arriving one evening near an aoul situated on a mountain, the summit of which you can see from here, I noticed that the village was in great commotion. Being accompanied by a detachment of Cossacks, I had no need to be apprehensive about the result, happen what might; still I thought it advisable to take some precautions, and settled with the commanding officer of the detachment what was to be done if we were attacked. I then got on a few hundred paces ahead of the party, and advanced softly, like an éclaireur, to a place where the whole population was assembled. As it was rather dark, and I was covered with a bourka, no one took any notice of me, and I was allowed to make my observations without impediment.
"When my eyes had grown more familiarised with the objects about me, I perceived that the crowd was gathered round the ruins of a house that seemed to have been very recently burned down. Though ignorant of what had happened, I felt certain that the burning was connected with some deed of violence and bloodshed, for I had long known these mountaineers, whose violent passions are kept in constant excitement by the false position in which they are placed both as to the Russians, whom they detest while they submit to their power, and with regard to the free tribes, who cannot forgive them for their compulsory submission. On inspecting the various groups more narrowly, I saw a Kabardian lying on the ground, with his cloak drawn over his face, while every one gazed on him with a respectful pity. Puzzled still more to know what this meant, and not seeing any reason why I might not make myself known, I was about to put some questions to the person next me, when the sound of approaching hoofs called off the attention of the crowd in another direction. It was my party, who had become uneasy about me, and had quickened their march. The mountaineers all clustered round my soldiers, but without any such hostile demonstrations as we had encountered in the other aouls. Every body seemed under the influence of some unusual feeling, that made him forget for the while the hatred which the mere sight of a Cossack awakens among these people.
"I issued the necessary orders for the encampment of my party, and when all was made safe for the night, I returned to the spot where my curiosity had been so strongly excited; and there lay the mountaineer still stretched on the ground, looking like a corpse under the black bourka that covered him. Several women sat round him, and one of them, who was very young, and seemed less distressed than the others, at last satisfied my impatience, and told me a tale which was confirmed by the whole population of the village.
"The person I saw stretched on the ground before the ashes of his own house, was the chief of the aoul, and belonged to a princely family, living independently amidst their own mountains. At the age of twenty he unfortunately became his elder brother's rival, and in order to possess the wife of his choice, he had carried her off, and settled under the protection of Russia. This latter act, the most infamous of which a mountaineer can be guilty when he commits it of his own accord, remained a long while unpunished during the wars between Russia and the tribes. For fifteen years nothing occurred to make the refugee suppose that his brother thought of him at all. The wife had died a few years after the elopement, leaving him a daughter, who grew up so beautiful, that the whole tribe called her the Rose of the Mountain.
"Now on the day before my arrival in the aoul, four independent mountaineers had visited the chief as friends, and told him that his brother was dead, and that he might now return home without any fear of danger. The strangers spent the night under his roof, and did all they could to persuade him to accompany them; but next day, finding they could make no impression on his mind, they set fire to his house, stabbed him in several places, and seizing his daughter, galloped away before any one was prepared to pursue them. Most of the inhabitants were a-field at the time, and when I came up at dusk it was too late to think of overtaking the assassins. Although I was assured that the man was dead, I had him carried to a house, where every possible care was bestowed upon him. In about an hour he became conscious, and there appeared some hope of saving him. Our acquaintance, which began in so dramatic a manner, afterwards became as intimate as it could be between a Russian general and a Caucasian chief.
"But for a long while my influence over the mind of the unfortunate father was totally unable to overcome the despair and thirst of vengeance occasioned by the abduction of his daughter. At the head of the most determined men of his aoul and of some Cossacks, he thrice endeavoured to force his way into that part of the mountain where his kindred resided; but these attempts led to nothing but desperate conflicts and fierce reprisals. He was about making a fourth attempt about two months ago, when we were informed by a spy that the Rose of the Mountain had been sent to Trebisond, to become the ornament of some harem in Constantinople.
"From that time a gradual change took place in the savage temper of the Kabardian; the idea that his daughter was no longer in the hated mountains, was balm to his wounds. He attached himself to the society of the officers of the garrison, who had become warmly interested in his history. At his own request I have solicited an appointment for him in his majesty's imperial guard, and I hope he will soon be far away from scenes that remind him of such terrible disasters."