CHAPTER XLIX.
I had several commissions to execute for the purchase of souvenirs at Ekaterineburg, and lost no time in visiting a dealer. While we were at breakfast an itinerant merchant called, and subsequently another accosted us on the street. At ordinary times, strangers are beset by men and boys who are walking cabinets of semi-precious stones. A small boy met me in the corridor of the hotel and repeated a lapidarious vocabulary that would have shamed a professor of mineralogy.
At the dealer’s, I was very soon in a bewildering collection of amethyst, beryl, chalcedony, topaz, tourmaline, jasper, aquamarine, malachite, and other articles of value. The collection numbered many hundred pieces comprising seals, paper, weights, beads, charms for watch chains, vases, statuettes, brooches, buttons, etc. The handles of seals were cut in a variety of ways, some representing animals or birds, while a goodly portion were plain or fluted at the sides.
The prettiest work I saw was in paper weights. There were imitations of leaves, flowers, and grapes in properly tinted stone fixed upon marble tablets either white or colored. Equal skill was displayed in arranging and cutting these stones. I saw many beautiful mosaics displaying the stones of the Ural and Altai mountains.
Natural crystals were finely arranged in the shape of miniature caves and grottoes. Beads were of malachite, crystal, topaz, and variegated marble, and seemed quite plentiful. Malachite is the most abundant of the half-precious stones of the Ural, crystal and topaz ranking next. Aquamarine was the most valuable stone offered. It is not found in the Urals but comes from Eastern Siberia.
In another establishment there were little busts of the Emperor and other high personages in Russia, cut in crystal and topaz. I saw a fine bust of Yermak, and another of the elder Demidoff, both in topaz. A crystal bust of Louis Napoleon was exhibited, and its owner told me it would be sent to theExposition Universelle. Learning that I was an American, the proprietor showed me a half completed bust of Mr. Lincoln, and was gratified to learn that the likeness was good. The bust was cut in topaz, and when finished would be about six inches high.
Though no work was in progress I had opportunity to look through a private “fabric.” Stone cutting is performed as by lapidaries every where with small wheels covered with diamond dust or emery. Each laborer has his bench and performs a particular part of the work under the direction of a superintendent. Wages were very low, skilled workmen being paid less than ordinary stevedores in America. For three roubles, I bought a twelve sided topaz, an inch in diameter with the signs of the zodiac neatly engraved upon it. In London or New York, the cutting would have cost more than ten times that amount. The Granilnoi Fabric employs about a hundred and fifty workmen, but no private establishment supports more than twenty-five. The Granilnoi Fabric was to be sold in 1867, and pass out of government control. The laborers there were formerly crown peasants, and became free under the abolition ukase of Alexander II. The palace and Imperial museum at St. Petersburg contain wonderful illustrations of their skill.
Diamonds have been sought in the Urals, and the region is said to resemble the diamond districts of Brazil. They have been found in but a single instance, and there is a suspicion that the few discovered on that occasion were a “plant.”
We remained two days at Ekaterineburg, repairing sleighs and resting from fatigue. On account of the holidays, we paid double prices for labor, and were charged double by drosky drivers. At the hotel, the landlord wished to follow the same custom, but we emphatically objected. A theatrical performance came off during our stay, but we were too weary to witness it. Near the hotel there was a “live beast show” almost an exact counterpart of what one sees in America. Music, voluble doorkeepers, gaping crowd of youngsters, and canvas pictures of terrific combats between beasts and snakes, all were there.
According to our custom we prepared to start in the evening for another westward stride. The thermometer was low enough to give the snow that crisp, metallic sound under the runners only heard in cold weather. We took tickets for Kazan, and ordered horses at nine o’clock. As we left the city, we passed between two monument-like posts, marking the gateway.
Two or three versts away, we passed the zavod of Verkne Issetskoi, an immense concern with a population sufficient to found a score of western cities. In this establishment is made a great deal of the sheet-iron that comes to America. The material is of so fine a quality that it can be rolled to the thickness of letter paper without breaking. Every thing at the zavod is on a grand scale even to the house of the director, and his facilities for entertaining guests. All was silent at the time of our passage, the workmen being busy with their Christmas festivities.
Leaving the zavod we were once more among the forests of the Urals, and riding over the low hills that form this part of the range. The road was good, but there were moreoukhabasthan suited my fancy.
I was on constant lookout for the steep road leading over the range, but failed to find it. Before leaving New York a friend suggested that I should have a severe journey over the Ural mountains which were deeply shaded on the map we consulted. I can assure him it was no worse than a sleigh ride anywhere else on a clear, frosty night. The ascent is so gradual that one does not perceive it at all. Ekaterineburg stands eight hundred feet above the sea; the pass, twenty-four miles distant, is only nine hundred feet higher. The range is depressed at this point, but nowhere attains sufficient loftiness to justify its prominence on the maps. In Ekaterineburg I asked for the mountains.
“There they are,” said the person of whom I enquired, and he waved his hand toward a wooded ridge in the west. The designated locality appeared less difficult of passage than the hills opposite Cincinnati.
“Don’t fail to tell the yemshick to stop at the boundary.” This was my injunction several times repeated as we changed horses at the first station. Eight or ten versts on our second course, the sleigh halted and the yemshick announced the highest point on the road.
I stepped from the sleigh and waded through a deep snowdrift to the granite obelisk erected by the first Alexander to mark the line between the two continents. It Is a plain shaft—- Bunker Hill monument in miniature—bearing the word “EUROPE” on one side, and “ASIA” on the other. Two fir trees planted by His August Majesty are on opposite sides of the monument.
EUROPE AND ASIA.
EUROPE AND ASIA.
A snow-drift in the middle of a frosty night is not the place for sentimental musings. I rested a foot in each of two continents at the same moment, but could not discover any difference in their manners, customs, or climate.
Regaining the sleigh, I nestled into my furs, and soon fell asleep. I was in Europe. I had accomplished the hope and dream of my boyhood. But in my most romantic moments, I had not expected to stand for the first time in Europe on the ridge of the Ural Mountains.
A RUSSIAN BEGGAR.
A RUSSIAN BEGGAR.
After passing the boundary, we dashed away over the undulating road, and made a steady though, imperceptible descent into the valley of the Kama. As I commenced my first day in Europe, the sunbeams wavered and glistened on the frost-crystals that covered the trees, and the flood of light that poured full into my opening eyes was painfully dazzling. Where we halted for breakfast, the station was neat and commodious, and its rooms well furnished. We fared sumptuously on cutlets and eggs, with excellent bread. Just as we were seated in the sleigh, a beggar made a touching appeal, as explained by the doctor, in behalf of the prophet Elias. The prophet’s financial agent was of so unprepossessing appearance that we declined investing. Beggars often ask alms in the interest of particular saints, and this one had attached himself to Elias.
We met many sledges laden with goodsen routeto the fair which takes place every February at Irbit. This fair is of great importance to Siberia, and attracts merchants from all the region west of Tomsk. From forty to fifty million roubles worth of goods are exchanged there during the four weeks devoted to traffic. The commodities from Siberia are chiefly furs and tea, those from Europe comprise a great many articles. Irbit is on the Asiatic side of the Ural mountains, about two hundred versts northeast of Ekaterineburg. It is a place of little consequence except during the time of the fair.
After entering Europe, we relied upon the stations for our meals, carrying no provisions with us except tea and sugar. We knew the peasants would be well supplied with edibles during Christmas holidays, and were quite safe in depending upon them. A traveler in Russia must consult the calendar before starting on a journey, if he would ascertain what provision he may, or may not, find among the people.
Congour was the first town of importance, and has an unenviable reputation for its numerous thieves. They do not molest the post vehicles unless the opportunity is very favorable, their accomplishments being specially exercised upon merchandise trains. Sometimes when trains pass through Congour the natives manage to steal single vehicles and their loads. The operation is facilitated by there being only one driver to five or six teams. This town is also famous for its tanneries, the leather from Congour having a high reputation throughout Russia. Peter the Great was at much trouble to teach the art of tanning to his subjects. At present, the Russians have very little to learn from others on that score. Peter introduced tanning from Holland and Germany, and when the first piece of leather tanned in Russia was brought to him he took it between his teeth and exerted all the strength of his jaws to bite through it. The leather resisted his efforts, and so delighted the monarch that he decreed a pension to the successful tanner. The specimen, with the marks of his teeth upon it, is still preserved at St. Petersburg.
While waiting for dinner at Congour, I contemplated some engravings hanging in the public room at the station. Four of them represented scenes in “Elizabeth, or the exiles of Siberia,” a story which has been translated into most modern languages. These engravings were made in Moscow several years ago, and illustrated the most prominent incidents in the narrative.
There were many things to remind me I was no longer in Siberia, and especially on the Baraba steppe. Snows were deeper, and the sky was clearer. The level country was replaced by a broken one. Forests of pine and fir displayed regular clearings, and evinced careful attention. Villages were more numerous, larger and of greater antiquity. Stations were better kept and had more the air of hotels. Churches appeared more venerable and less venerated. Beggars increased in number, and importunity. In Asia the yemshick was the only man at a station who asked “navodku,” but in Europe thechelavekorstarostexpected to be remembered. In Asia, the gratuity was called “Navodku” or whisky money; in Europe, it was “nachi,” tea money.
During the second night, we reached Perm and halted long enough to eat a supper that made me dream of tigers and polar bears during my first sleep. In entering, we drove along a lighted street with substantial houses on either side, but without meeting man or beast. This street and the station were all I saw of a city of 25,000 inhabitants. In summer travelers for Siberia usually leave the steamboat at this point, and begin their land journey, the Kama being navigable thus far in ordinary water. Perm is an important mining center, and contains several foundries and manufactories on an extensive scale. The doctor assured me that after the places I had visited in Siberia, there was nothing to be seen there—and I saw it.
A deep snow had been trodden into an uneven road in this part of the journey. At times it seemed to me as if the sleigh and all it contained would go to pieces in the terrific thumps we received. We descended hills as if pursued by wolves or a guilty conscience, and it was generally our fate to find a huge oukhaba just when the horses were doing their best. I think the sleigh sometimes made a clear leap of six or eight feet from the crest of a ridge to the bottom of a hollow. The leaping was not very objectionable, but the impact made everything rattle. I could say, like the Irishman who fell from a house top, “’twas not the fall, darling, that hurt me, but stopping so quick at the end.”
When the roads are rough the continual jolting of the sleigh is very fatiguing to a traveler, and frequently, during the first two or three days of his journey, throws him into what is very properly designated the road fever. His pulse is quick, his blood warm, his head aches, his whole frame becomes sore and stiff, and his mind is far from being serene and amiable. In the first part of my land journey I had the satisfaction of ascertaining by practical experience the exact character of the road-fever. My brain seemed ready to burst, and appeared to my excited imagination about as large as a barrel; every fresh jolt and thump of the vehicle gave me a sensation as if somebody were driving a tenpenny nail into my skull; as for good-nature under such circumstances that was out of the question, and I am free to confess that my temper was not unlike that of a bear with a sore head.
Where the roads are good, or if the speed is not great, one can sleep very well in a Russian sleigh; I succeeded in extracting a great deal of slumber from my vehicle, and sometimes did not wake for three or four hours. Sometimes the roads are in such wretched condition that one is tossed to the height of discomfort, and can be very well likened to a lump of butter in a revolving churn. In such cases sleep is almost if not wholly, impossible, and the traveler, proceeding at courier speed, must take advantage of the few moments’ halt at the stations while the horses are being changed. As he has but ten or fifteen minutes for the change he makes good use of his time and sleeps very soundly until his team is ready. During the Crimean war, while the Emperor Nicholas was temporarily sojourning at Moscow, a courier arrived one day with important dispatches from Sebastopol. He was commissioned to deliver them to no one but His Majesty, and waited in the ante-room of the palace while his name and business were announced. Overcome by fatigue he fell asleep; when the chamberlains came to take him to the Imperial presence they were quite unable to rouse him. The attendants shook him and shouted, but to no purpose beyond making so much disturbance as to bring the Emperor to the ante-room. Nicholas ordered them to desist, and then, standing near the officer, said, in an ordinary voice, “Vashe prevoschoditelstvo, loshadi gotovey” (Your horses are ready, your Excellency). The officer sprang to his feet in an instant, greatly to the delight of the Emperor and to his own confusion when he discovered where he was.
The Russians have several popular songs that celebrate the glories of sleigh-riding. I give a translation of a portion of one of them, a song that is frequently repeated by the peasants in the vicinity of Moscow and Nijne Novgorod. It is proper to explain that atroikais a team of three horses abreast, thedougais the yoke above the shaft-horse’s neck, and Valdai is the town on the Moscow and St. Petersburg road where the best and most famous bells of Russia are made.
A RUSSIAN SLEIGHING SONG.Away, away, along the roadThe fiery troika bounds,While ’neath the douga, sadly sweet,The Valdai bell resounds.Away, away, we leave the town,Its roofs and spires behind,The crystal snow-flakes dance aroundAs o’er the steppe we wind.Away, away, the glittering starsShine greeting from above,Our hearts beat fast as on we glide,Swift as the flying dove.
A RUSSIAN SLEIGHING SONG.
Away, away, along the roadThe fiery troika bounds,While ’neath the douga, sadly sweet,The Valdai bell resounds.
Away, away, we leave the town,Its roofs and spires behind,The crystal snow-flakes dance aroundAs o’er the steppe we wind.
Away, away, the glittering starsShine greeting from above,Our hearts beat fast as on we glide,Swift as the flying dove.