News from Russia arrives only three times a week. As soon as the mail-post is perceived from the belfry, one flag is hoisted to signal the mail from Vladivostock (via America), two flags the post coming from Blagovestchensk (via Siberia) and three flags the courier from Nikolskoe (the small local mail). It took long for letters to come; by the time you get an answer to the questions you made, you may forget what you were asking about. In October I got mother’s letter written in July. Only far echoes come of what is going on in the world outside. I hadn’t got the patience to read the belated accounts that arrive by post weeks after the events. Here is an example of how long it takes for news from the civilised world to reach Khabarovsk. Captain Olsoufieff, Baron Korff’s aide-de-camp, had been sent by the Baron on business to a remote part of Siberia, and has learnt only now, on returning to Khabarovsk, that Baron Korff is dead, and that my husband was his successor! In October the rivers began to freeze, and the mails were delayed for some weeks. We got our correspondence by land across the snow-covered mountains by means of pack-horses, and in what a state can well be imagined. Our letters were all torn and wet, and it was difficult to decipher the contents.
Sergy received one day a curious letter from Hackenberg, a small town in Prussia, from an individual named Wilhelm Doukhow, who informed Sergy that his grandfather had entered the Russian military service in 1812, during the retreat of Napoleon, and had disappeared without vestige. Having learnt by the papers that the family name of the newly appointed General-Governor of the Amour provinces was Doukhovskoy, he begged my husband to inform him if he was not a descendant of his ancestor.
The agents of the Volunteer Fleet gave us constant news of the Nijni-Novgorod. The last news were rather alarming. The boat had left Hong-Kong on the 28th September and hadn’t arrived at Nagasaki at the end of October. Days rolled on and nothing further was heard of the missing ship. At last we had a satisfactory telegram from Vladivostock, announcing that our household and trunks had arrived in safety. The unloading of the boat was done at once, and our servants took the train to Nikolskoe. A boat named the Khanka was waiting for them on the “Oussouri” river. Our servants must hurry as fast as possible in order to arrive at Khabarovsk before the “Amour” was frozen. In the beginning of November our trunks had not yet reached Krasnoyarsk, and the “Amour” was beginning to get covered with ice; in a short time all communication with this Cossack settlement, which is three hundred miles away from Khabarovsk, will be interrupted. Sergy wired to the captain of the Khanka offering the sum of one hundred roubles to his crew, if they managed to arrive at “Novo-Michailovsk” before the river was altogether frozen, but the captain did not manage it however, and we got news that the Khanka with its thirty-five passengers, was caught by the ice within a few miles of a small village called Kroutoberejnaia, where the boat will be obliged to winter. Some of the passengers, a travelling dramatic company going to act at Khabarovsk among them, managed to make their way to that village. The passengers could find only one cottage to shelter them all. My parrot, who travelled with our household, helped to keep everybody in good temper, repeating his favourite cry “stuff and nonsense!” And thus, thanks to “Polly” good-humour was re-established, but not for very long, for no supplies could be got in the surroundings of Kroutoberejnaia, and the provisions on the boat coming to an end, the passengers had the prospect of starvation, as well as the danger of being attacked by “hounhouses” (Chinese bandits.) My husband sent a dozen Cossacks to protect them. It was with great difficulty that these men got to the village where the passengers of the Khanka were sequestered, the roads being almost impracticable. However my husband succeeded in sending a hundred carts to bring over our luggage. The first transport had arrived at last, but instead of our pelisses, for which we waited with such impatience, the trunks contained only our summer things, and in what a lamentable state! The band-boxes containing my hats were completely turned into pancakes. On the 29th November the last transport arrived with 120 big cases. All day long the unpacking was going on, the work of convicts, while joiners and upholsterers were busy mending our furniture. Many valuable things were completely ruined.
Every year in October, during the full moon, the Chinese aborigines of Khabarovsk feasted that planet. They thrust into the “Amour,” from the top of a mountain, lanterns of all the colours of the rainbow. Bands of Chinamen walked about the streets perched on high stilts, shouting and gamboling, to the great joy of the populace.
Every Sunday I go to church, where I try to hide myself behind one of the pillars, having the uncomfortable sensation of being stared at. The deacon of the cathedral is a legendary personage. He was born in America from a Russian colonist and a negress. In his early youth he embarked as ship-boy on board an American vessel which was wrecked on the shores of Vladivostock. One day, as the boy sat on the beach-seat overlooking the sea, forming plans for his future, dressed in rags and famished, he attracted the attention of a rich Austrian merchant, who took him to his house and employed him as aid to his cook. But the castaway, hearing the silent call of the sea, ran away to America, where he became a sailor and ultimately an officer. His second escape from shipwreck was still more romantic. The current sent him with two comrades on a block of ice on which they passed eight days. Being famished, they began by eating their boots, and then decided that one of them should be sacrificed to be devoured by his companion, they drew lots and that terrible fate fell upon the poor castaway who offered up a prayer for preservation, and vowed that if this miracle was vouchsafed, he would become a priest. He had given himself up for lost and was about to blow out his brains, when they perceived, quite close, a black mass. It was an enormous seal which they killed on the spot, and which served as a sumptuous feeding-ground until they were rescued by a passing ship. The future deacon, in gratitude, carried out his promise.
One Sunday morning, before Mass, a group of strange wild people, belonging to the “Golde” tribe, dressed in seal-skins presented my husband with a stag’s head. These “Goldes” are a curious tribe—pagans to the bottom of their hearts. They are baptised twice sometimes, because it is the custom to give them a shirt and a small sum of money when they pass through the ritual of Christianity. The priests, therefore, have to make minute inquiries to be quite sure that the new candidate had not been baptised before. The “Goldes” have prominent cheek-bones, a broad nose, and very coarse and straight hair. Their faces long remain hairless, a scanty beard grows only in their old age. They are dirty people like all nomads, and smell awfully bad; the atmosphere in our apartments was filled with the perfume of their persons. These malodorous men examined everything with great curiosity; the parquet-floors, especially, attracted their attention. We offered tea to the “Goldes,” who carried away the remains of the bread and sugar; it is lucky they didn’t take away the tea-things. I saw from my window two pairs of dogs, harnessed to sledges, being driven at full gallop across the ice to the other side of the Amour. It will be a difficult task for my husband to tame these savages, who camp in winter in the woods, and live on what they hunt, killing the animal with their arrows. As the “Goldes” have no ready-money in their commerce they pay with sable-furs instead of coins.
On the following day the “Goldes” were celebrating their “Feast of the Bear.” They bring up all the year round a young bear and devour it on that day. After lunch a “Golde” brought his two wives to be presented to me. They offered me a model of their national costume, richly embroidered.
Mme. Beurgier has invented a new pastime. Having become a strong adept of spiritualism, she occupies herself with table-turning, and is always discovering some new occult genius, who promises to show her some wonderful manifestations from spirit land. At night she frightens out of her wits poor Mrs. Serebriakoff, whose apartment was next to hers, by conversing with the spirits of the defuncts, who guide her in every smallest action of her life. She had been very sulky and cross for some time past, and said that the spirits advised her to leave Khabarovsk as fast as possible. I did not try to detain her, most certainly. Her luggage was already sent to the railway station, when she came up to bid me good-bye, and when I asked her if she would write to me from time to time, she replied “No,” curtly. And that was her last word to me. Nevertheless I rushed after her, racing downstairs and kissed her warmly, which softened the poor old lady. She began to weep and went to announce to Sergy that it was beyond her power to leave me. She left us for good, however, a week afterwards.
We have now been three months at Khabarovsk. I can’t get accustomed to this life. If I could but follow the example of Mme. Beurgier and fly away from here! All my brightness has gone and my nerves are put out of order. I don’t know what is the matter with me at all; for no reason on earth I suddenly burst into tears and cry for hours. Sergy tried to rouse me from the apathy into which I was falling deeper and deeper every day. I shook myself at last, and am getting back my spirits and my colour. I certainly was not going to let myself grow into a moping misanthrope.