Through Siberia

Nertchinsk.—Its climate and history.—Scene of a Russo-Chinese treaty.—Appearance of the town.—Visits to authorities.—Dinner with a rich merchant.—Siberian table customs.—Poverty of travelling fare.—Fine arts in Siberia.—Painting and photography.—Journey from Nertchinsk.

Before passing from Nertchinsk, a few words should be said respecting its history, and as at Nertchinsky Zavod, 2,230 feet above the sea, there is a meteorological observatory—its climate, also. Mr. Atkinson writes: “The climate is not so horrible as many have supposed, nor is the earth a perpetual mass of ice at a few feet below the surface, as I have seen it stated. The summers are not so long as in Europe, but they are very hot, and the country produces a magnificent flora. Both agriculture and horticulture are carried on successfully, and vegetables of almost every kind can be grown here. Tobacco is extensively cultivated, for which the people find a sale among the Buriats and Tunguses.”

Again, Baron Rosen, speaking of Chita, which is on the same parallel and within 200 miles of Nertchinsk, says: “The high situation of Chita considerably increases the cold in winter, but it is healthy, with a fresh bracing climate. The sky is almost always clear, excepting in August, when the thunder is incessant for days together, and then follows a shower, beginning with enormously large single drops, which in a few hours floods all the roads; for the water falls rapidly down the slopes, digging deep trenches as it runs. The great electricity of the air is remarkable: the slightest movement of cloth or wool produces sparks or crackling. The rapidity of the vegetation is most extraordinary; for both corn and vegetables ripen within the five weeks in which the frosts cease, i.e., from the middle of June to the end of July. One of my comrades first introduced the growing of cucumbers in the open air, and melons in hot-beds.” And the Baron afterwards adds: “When I was chosen senior of the prison, I salted down in brandy casks 60,000 cucumbers out of our garden.” Whether the Baron is accurate in speaking of five weeks only during which there is no frost, seems doubtful. I observe in the meteorological report from Nertchinsky Zavod, that in 1877 the lowest temperature was, in June, 36°·8; in July, 47°·8; and in August, 41°. If, therefore, frost occurred in these months, it must have been ground-frost caused by radiation; which would not affect the crops. The lowest temperature of the year, which occurred in January, was 45°·5 below zero; the highest temperature, 95°·3, occurring in August.

It should be observed that the Trans-Baikal province has a climate almost peculiar to itself. From the north, the Polar Sea, immense tracts of swamp, lakes, and rivers supply the atmosphere with moisture, a great deal of which is precipitated, in passing southwards, over a region more than 1,000 miles in breadth; and as the clouds approach the Altai, in process of elevating themselves to pass the mountains, they part with their last drops, which fall along the northern, southern, and eastern sides of the range. But this happens, of course, only when the prevailing winds are from the north. Upon the south there are few lakes or rivers; while the land in general is dry, and remote from the sea. The winter clouds from the Indian Ocean in the south, and the Caspian on the west, discharging themselves upon the mountains of Thibet and Bucharia, rarely pass the desert of Gobi. Accordingly, the winds blowing so regularly from this direction bring no water; and thus, rain clouds coming for the most part from the Pacific only, it comes to pass that the fall of rain and snow about Chita and Nertchinsk is exceedingly small, and the winter passenger, for lack of snow upon which to drive, has frequently in this region to mount his sledge on wheels.⁠[1] As summer travellers, however, we had no difficulties of this kind, and the absence of rain we regarded as a blessing. The weather was delightful, and I was looking forward, after passing a few more stations, to bid farewell to tarantass and horses, and by steamer to descend the Amur.

The town of Nertchinsk is one of the oldest in Eastern Siberia, having been founded in 1658. After about 10 years it began to rise into a place of importance, and 20 years later was the birthplace of a famous treaty between the Russians and the Chinese.⁠[2]

The question in dispute was the boundary of the two empires; the Russians first proposing, and the Chinese refusing, that the Amur should be the boundary; after which the Chinese proposed, and the Russians refused, that Albazin, Nertchinsk, and Selenginsk should be surrendered. After several conferences neither party showed a disposition to yield, and both prepared for battle; but this was averted, and a treaty was at length drawn up fixing the boundary between the empires, but by no means in accordance with Russian wishes, for they were completely shut out from the Amur.

After this, Nertchinsk remained for a long time the most easterly of the large towns in the Trans-Baikal region. The discovery of metals in the surrounding mountains increased its importance, and the continued arrival there of exiles, and the stories connected with them, caused the place to be only too well known—at least by name—throughout the empire.

The town is charmingly situated, 1,845 feet above the sea. The surrounding country is picturesque, and the soil rich. Hill, valley, river, mountain, all combine to make it an interesting spot, apart from its legendary and historic associations. Mr. Knox entered the town from the east, and speaks of the view as especially pleasing, because it was the first Russian town where he saw evidences of age and wealth. The domes of its churches glistened in the sunlight that had broken through the fog and warmed the tints of the whole picture! It struck me, however, very differently. The natural beauties of the place, of course, one could not but admire, but I had left behind the handsome cities of European Russia, and had passed through many cleanly and newly-built towns in Siberia, in comparison with which Nertchinsk struck me as being black with age and decay. There was a woebegone look about the place, and the streets seemed deplorably neglected. Many of the houses were falling to pieces, and gave the town a most untidy appearance.

We reached Nertchinsk on Wednesday morning, July 23rd, and made it our first business to seek the Ispravnik, from whom I wished to get general information respecting prisons and mines, and permission, perhaps, to visit some of them within reasonable distance, though I hardly hoped to see the great mines, as I knew they were more than 100 miles away from the town, and if I attempted to reach them I should either miss the penal colony of Kara, or lose the steamer which was shortly to leave Stretinsk. We had thought it just possible, moreover, that the Ispravnik might provide some one who could speak English, French, or German, to accompany me to Stretinsk, and thus leave my interpreter free to return.

Nertchinsk formerly stood at the junction of the Nertcha, which flows from the north, and the Shilka. The repeated damage to the houses from floods caused its removal, though even on its present site the lower part of the town has been more than once under water. It was to this lower part we drove in search of the authorities, but the Ispravnik was away “in the country,” and his representative was asleep.

We went next to present a letter of introduction to Mr. Bootyn, of whom we had heard at the Alexandreffsky Central Prison, and subsequently at Irkutsk. On approaching his house, it proved to be not only the most remarkable in the town, but, I might add, the grandest we had seen in Siberia. The houses of Nertchinsk have already been alluded to as old, black, and rotten; but Mr. Bootyn is a merchant, miner, and millionaire, who has been to England and round the world, and he was building himself a house, in the construction of which were manifest sundry foreign ideas. It was a huge erection, part of which was executed in Byzantine and castellated styles; and the establishment comprised dwelling-houses, gardens, conservatories, and shops—all in one. The Mr. Bootyn to whom our letter was addressed was from home, but we were received by his brother, and invited to dine in the verandah conservatory.

This gave us an insight into the social habits of another class of Russians, and I was now beginning to know pretty well what to expect when invited by a Siberian to dinner. Their hospitality is unbounded, though, of course, its manifestation differs according to the means of the host. Our first dinner in Siberia was at a merchant’s house, where brother-merchants in travelling put up, and hence it was called a hotel. We were asked if we would have our dinner in our own room, or en famille. I was rash enough to choose the latter, and we found ourselves seated at the table with mine host and a queer lot of male guests (there were no females), who appeared to be clerks or fellow-lodgers. We were first requested to help ourselves from a tureen, in the centre of the table, to stchee, or soup, on the top of which the fat floated like oil; and for the next course we had bones of veal, followed by game and sour berries. Our fellow-guests ate ravenously, tearing the bones to pieces with their teeth. Nothing was placed on the table to drink, but towards the close of the meal a glass of milk, as is common in Western Siberia, was given to each. The foregoing represents, I should think, the dinner of the well-to-do Siberian tradesman. There is nothing like display, and things are sometimes served in a rough fashion. If any one wishes to be brushed clean of over-fastidiousness in the arrangements of the table, I can conscientiously recommend a tour across Siberia. In one house where I was entertained—and entertained most kindly—the fish was brought in in the frying-pan, and thus placed in the middle of the table, which, if it did not minister to the delights of the eye, gave us food admirably hot. On one occasion we dined with a teacher of languages in a classical school, and he gave us stchee, roast meat with sour wild cherries, then preserved maroshka berries and pudding. We dined in a similar fashion with a medical doctor, but fared more sumptuously in the house of a gold-seeker, where salt-spoons reminded us of England.

At Nertchinsk we had fallen on pleasant places. The number of plants and flowers (I had almost said shrubs) on the table went far to hide the guests from one another, but there was abundance of excellent food. Had we been bibbers of wine, there was no lack of the choicest vintages; but, upon our declining alcohol, we were offered some excellent cherry syrup, which, in so remote a region, was a great luxury. Further east, I was invited to dinner by the acting governor of a town, where the first course was provided, they said, for my special benefit. It was a salmon pie. Fish pie is a grand dish with peasants, and their betters too, throughout Russia. If well prepared it is excellent. The crust is not made with butter, but with yeast, as it is commonly eaten in Lent, when butter is forbidden. I dined most sumptuously, however, in Siberia, at Vladivostock, with the officers of a Russian man-of-war, at the house of the Governor. Here everything was served with the elegance and refinement of an English mansion; and the customs observed were much the same, except that the hostess (in the absence of her husband, the Governor) gave a toast standing, and left her seat to come round and do the honours by touching glasses with several of her guests. Thus I saw something of the table customs of nearly all classes. Grace was sung before meals in the house of a devoutly orthodox general in Petersburg, and now and then I saw a peasant, before or after a meal, turn to the ikon and cross himself; but grace before meat did not appear to obtain as a custom in Siberia. I partook, too, of all sorts of Siberian food, from sumptuous dinners down to what was often very humble fare indeed. I think the best dinner we got at a post-station consisted of chicken soup, then the newly-killed chicken that made it, and pancakes. This, perhaps, was due in part to our not usually caring to wait until a meal could be cooked, and we could not always eat what the post-people had prepared for themselves, even when it was ready. Our provision basket, however, supplied us with a few relishes to bread and butter, and thus we made shift from town to town. I never travelled with anything like such bodily fatigue as during the drive across Siberia; and never, that I can remember, ate so little animal food during a corresponding period of time; but I have no hesitation in saying that my health was better after the journey than before it.

Before we left Mr. Bootyn’s, we were shown some of the best rooms in the house, elegantly furnished. In one of them was a fair collection of European paintings, some of which I recognized as Swiss scenes. I do not remember seeing any other paintings in Siberia worth naming, nor do I remember being shown any statuary. Both would, of course, be carried safely with difficulty over such immense distances and such uneven roads.

The Siberians are, however, by no means behind in photography. When preparing for my tour, I had serious thoughts of taking with me a camera and dry plates, thinking thereby to secure some novel pictures, to the surprise, perhaps, of the people. It proved well that I attempted nothing of the kind, for much trouble was thereby saved to me, and instead of my astonishing the natives, I found that the natives astonished me. I visited parts of Siberia of which no English author has written, but discovered that photography had everywhere preceded me; and though there were many villages in which we could not procure white bread, there were few towns in which the same could be said of photographs.⁠[3]

In Siberia, some of the photographers are Polish exiles; some are Germans; one I met was a Frenchman, and another a Finn. Their landscapes are not particularly good, and their productions are dear. Landscapes of the size of views which may be purchased in Rome for sixpence cost in Siberia at least six shillings; and when, at Krasnoiarsk, our party went to be photographed, we paid for cabinet groups at the rate of sixteen shillings the half-dozen copies. It should be remembered, however, that the demand is limited.

After taking leave of Mr. Bootyn, we prepared for a journey of 150 miles, which was to bring us to Stretinsk. The upper town of Nertchinsk is built at the end of a long sweeping prairie, exposed to all the winds that blow up through the valley, or down from the cold summits of the Yablonoi Mountains. We came towards night to a solitary house in the midst of the steppe, the poorest station we had seen. The outer roof was off, and the building divided into two compartments—one for travellers and the other for horses—the one being not much better than the other; whilst on the opposite side of the road was the only building in sight—a roofless shed. The only food to be obtained was black bread, salt, and water, and in this place it looked at first as if we should be compelled to stay; for they had not six—that is, two “pairs” of—horses; they had four; and I suggested that the difficulty should be overcome by putting two horses to each vehicle. But this they said was illegal, because their four horses would make only one “pair,” and these they were willing to attach to our tarantass, if we would pile on the rest of our boxes before and behind. By what mathematical process they explained this reasoning about pairs I have never yet fathomed, but we were only too thankful to get on at any price, and early next morning we drove into Stretinsk.