I slept well during the night, awaking occasionally at the stations or when the sleigh experienced an unusually heavy thump. In the morning I learned we had traveled a hundred and sixty versts from Irkutsk. The road was magnificent after leaving the valley of the Angara, and the sleigh glided easily and with very little jolting.
“No cloud above, no earth below;
A universe of sky and snow.”
I woke to daylight and found a monotonous country destitute of mountains and possessing few hills. It was generally wooded, and where under cultivation near the villages there was an appearance of fertility. There were long distances between the clusters of houses, and I was continually reminded of the abundant room for increase of population.
We stopped for breakfast soon after sunrise. The samovar was ordered, and our servants brought a creditable supply of toothsome little cakes and pies. These with half a dozen cups of tea to each person prepared us for a ride of several hours. We dined a little before sunset, and for one I can testify that full justice was done to the dinner.
Very little can be had at the stations on this road, so that experienced travelers carry their own provisions. One can always obtain hot water, and generally bread, and eggs, but nothing else is certain. In winter, provisions can be easily carried as the frost preserves them alike from decaying or crushing. Soup, meats, bread, and other edibles can be carried on long routes with perfect facility. There is a favorite preparation for Russian travel under the name of pilmania. It is a little ball of minced meat covered with dough, the whole being no larger than a robin’s egg. In a frozen state a bag full of pilmania is like the same quantity of walnuts or marbles, and can be tossed about with impunity. When a traveler wishes to dine upon this article he orders a pot of boiling water and tosses a double handful of pilmania into it. After five minutes boiling the mass is ready to be eaten in the form of soup. Salt, pepper, and vinegar can be used with it to one’s liking.
Our diner du voyage consisted of pilmania, roast beef, and partridge with bread, cakes, tea, and quass. Our table furniture was somewhat limited, and the room was littered with garments temporarily discarded. The ladies were crinolineless, and their coiffures were decidedly not Parisian. My costume was a cross between a shooting outfit and the everyday dress of a stevedore, while my hair appeared as if recently dressed with a currant bush. Captain Paul was equally unpresentable in fastidious parlors, but whatever our apparel it did not diminish the keenness of our appetites. The dinner was good, and the diners were hungry and happy. Fashion is wholly rejected on the Siberian road, and each one makes his toilet without regard to French principles and tastes.
According to Russian custom, somebody was to be thanked for the meal. As the dinner came from the provisions in the servants’ sleigh we presented our acknowledgments to Madame Rodstvenny. With the forethought of an experienced traveler the lady had carefully provided her edibles and so abundant was her store that my supply was rarely drawn upon. We were more like a pic-nic party than a company of travelers on a long journey in a Siberian winter. Mademoiselle was fluent in French, and charming in its use. The only drawback to general conversation was my inability to talk long with Madame except by interpretation. In our halts we managed to pass the time in tea-drinking, conversation, and sometimes with music of an impromptu character. I remember favoring air appreciative audience with a solo on a trunk key, followed by mademoiselle and the captain in a duett on a tin cup and a horn comb covered with letter paper.
There was very little scenery worthy of note. The villages generally lay in single streets each containing from ten to a hundred houses. Between these clusters of dwellings there was little to be seen beyond a succession of wooded ridges with stretches of open ground. The continued snow-scape offered no great variety on the first day’s travel, and before night I began to think it monotonous. The villages were from ten to twenty miles apart, and very much the same in general characteristics. The stations had a family likeness. Each had a travelers’ room more or less comfortable, and a few apartments for the smotretal and his attendants. The travelers’ room had some rough chairs, one or two hard sofas or benches, and the same number of tables. While the horses were being changed we had our option to enter the station or stay out of doors. I generally preferred the latter alternative on account of the high temperature of the waiting rooms, which necessitated casting off one’s outer garment on entering. During our halts I was fain to refresh myself with a little leg stretching and found it a great relief.
The first movement at a station is to present the padaroshnia and demand horses. Marco Polo says, that the great Khan of Tartary had posting stations twenty-five miles apart on the principal roads of his empire. A messenger or traveler carried a paper authorizing him to procure horses, and was always promptly supplied. The padaroshnia is of ancient date, if Marco be trustworthy. It is not less important to a Russian traveler at present than to a Tartar one in earlier times. Our documents were efficacious, and usually brought horses with little delay. The size of our party was a disadvantage as we occasionally found one or two sets of horses ready but were obliged to wait a short time for a third. Paul had a permit to impress horses in the villages while I carried a special passport requesting the authorities to ‘lend me all needed assistance.’ This was generally construed into despatching me promptly, and we rarely failed with a little persuasion and money, to secure horses for the third sleigh.
When we entered the stations for any purpose the sleighs and their contents remained unguarded in the streets, but we never lost anything by theft. With recollections of my experience at stage stations in America, I never felt quite at ease at leaving our property to care for itself. My companions assured me that thefts from posting vehicles seldom occur although the country numbers many convicts among its inhabitants. The native Siberians have a reputation for honesty, and the majority of the exiles for minor offences lead correct lives. I presume that wickedly inclined persons in villages are deterred from stealing on account of the probability of detection and punishment. So far as my experience goes the inhabitants of Siberia are more honest that those of European Russia. In Siberia our sleighs required no watching when we left them. After passing the Ural mountains it was necessary to hire a man to look after our property when we breakfasted and dined.