CHAPTER XII.
PERM TO CALAIS.
The Perm was a large and comfortable vessel, replete with every modern appliance, even to a piano and electric bells, and I doubt whether one would have found a better cuisine on a Cunarder or White Star Liner. But, despite her gorgeous fittings, she was filthily dirty, and her cabins infested with vermin, so much so, that sleep at night was out of the question. This was probably due to the large number of deck passengers she carried, among them a large number of Kirghiz Tartars, fine, well-built fellows, and a striking contrast to their squat, stumpy brothers in Mongolia. Many wore the native dress: a kind of woollen night-cap, which can be pulled down over the ears and neck in cold weather, and loose baggy trousers, stuffed into short butcher-boots. A loose coat worn over the shirt, open at the neck and wide at the sleeves, with a belt round the waist, completed the costume. In winter a short pelisse of sheep’s wool (called Poloushouba), is also worn, the wool inwards. The Kirghiz Tartars are Mahometans, and their grave, reserved demeanour was a strange contrast to the buffoonery and skylarking proclivities of our merry little friends of the Gobi Desert.
The ordinary daily life of the Kirghiz, however, differs but little from that of the latter. The tents of the former are exactly the same shape, and of the same material, as those we saw in Mongolia. The Kirghiz, too, is quite as gluttonous and filthy in his habits as the Mongolian Tartar, and, unlike most Mahometans, is given to getting drunk on the sly. In one point only do they differ: the zealous and watchful eye that a Kirghiz keeps upon his womankind would be ridiculed by the happy-go-lucky, trusting Mongol, and yet I fancy, with all his care, that the wife, or wives, of the former are really not a whit more virtuous than the ladies of Mongolia, for all their yashmaks and assumed modesty.
We experienced cold and rainy weather all the way to Kazan, which was reached on the 3rd of October.
The scenery of the Kama and Volga rivers differs little from that of the Obi, and though the latter would be called a fine river in Europe, it appeared dwarfed, in our eyes, into insignificance after the huge lake-like Yenisei and Obi. The navigation of the Volga is in parts extremely dangerous, but the risk small, for dangerous channels are well marked with buoys, and after dark by barges, on board of which huge bonfires are kept blazing all night. On clear nights this had a pretty effect, and the avenues of fire reflected in the dark water, the green and red lights of passing steamers, towing huge, shadowy lighters up or down stream, the dark, starlit sky, and voices of distant boatmen, as they trolled out some river-song, was impressive and picturesque. But the nights were getting very cold, and we did not spend much of our time on deck, preferring even the stuffy saloon, with its smoky atmosphere and smell of stale food, to the cutting north-easter outside.
We stayed at Kazan six hours. This city, which may be called the true boundary between European and Asiatic Russia, is about seven versts from the landing-stage, with which there is communication by tramway. As a town, Kazan is unique. The ancient Tartar capital, it has outwardly kept up many of its oriental customs and all its Eastern appearance. The veiled faces of the women, the fierce, swarthy Tartars in wild, barbaric costume, bristling with daggers and cartridge-belts, the mosques, minarets, and oriental-looking houses, mingling in strange incongruity with the modern stone houses of the Russian population, à la mode de Paris, four stories high, with balconies, porte cochères, and carved façades, made one almost wonder whether the long journey from China had not turned one’s head and indelibly mixed Europe and Asia in our minds, even to the objects around us. But the streets of Kazan are, notwithstanding their varied architecture, regular, well-built, and gas-lit. There is not much trade, the exports being principally hides, tallow, and iron. Costly weapons are made by the Tartars, swords, pistols, and scimitars, with hilts and barrels inlaid with gold and silver.
The best society in Kazan is equal to that of Moscow or Petersburg, some Russian families having settled here since the days of the expulsion of the Tartar dynasty. A charming person, Madame ————, who was proceeding to Vienna on a visit to her sister, joined us here. She had been married four years, and had during that time only once left her husband’s château in the environs of Kazan.
Madame ———— was a native of Moscow, spoke French like a Parisian, and sang like an angel. From this point to Nijni Novgorod was pleasant enough, for we managed, by dint of bribery, to get the piano removed from the crowded saloon to a smaller cabin on the lower deck, and had a couple of pleasant musical soirées together, the quartette consisting of our three selves and the captain, who sang Volga boat-songs in a sweet tenor voice, and was, though Siberian, a charming and well-educated man. Madame ————, though she had been banished for so long from the civilized world, was a delightful companion. Her knowledge of England and English literature was, however, somewhat limited. I asked her, on one occasion, if she liked English authors as well as French. “No,” she replied, “I can’t say I do. There is such a sameness about English writing; though it is true, I have only read two English books.” On asking her which, she replied, “‘The London Journal’ and ‘Bow Bells’!” No wonder she had not the highest opinion of British authorship!
I was quite sorry, when we reached Nijni Novgorod, to bid the little lady adieu. One is not often blessed with such a pleasant travelling companion in civilized regions, much less in these unfrequented byways of Europe. Nor did she seem the least dismayed at the long journey before her alone and unprotected; but Russian women are the best travellers in the world.