If asked which place I should prefer, Krasnoiarsk or London, to pass the winter in, I should, without hesitation, give the preference to this picturesque Siberian town, with its bright blue sky and exhilarating atmosphere, its gay and interesting society, and many festivities during the Christmas season. I do not think there was ever a country less known or more maligned than Siberia. I found this out more and more every day; but I formed that opinion from the time I landed, after my voyage through the Arctic Seas, and I have not had occasion to alter it, nor am I likely to do so.

In my last chapter I endeavoured to give you a description of Yeniseisk, the first Siberian town of any importance I had then reached, and where I managed to spend five of the pleasantest weeks imaginable among some of the most hospitable people I ever had the good fortune to meet. Far-away Yeniseisk will long remain graven on my memory, not only on account of its being the long-looked-for goal of the most eventful voyage I ever made in my life, but also as recalling many delightful hours and novel experiences.

The journey by sledge from Yeniseisk to Krasnoiarsk, a distance of 331 versts, if one travels day and night, takes forty-eight hours; this, of course, means hard going the whole time, but, as the various post-houses on the road offer but little inducement for the traveller to prolong his stay in them longer than is absolutely necessary, there is no temptation to loiter on the way. I had been strongly advised to buy my own sledge, and not trust to the ramshackle conveyances which could be hired at the different stations, so I determined to go by the advice of people who knew what Siberian travelling meant, and, with the assistance of a kind friend, was fortunate in picking up a sledge in excellent condition wonderfully cheap. All complete it cost me only fifty-two roubles, or about £6 15s.—such a bargain was it that, I was informed, I should doubtless be able to sell it again at the same price anywhere.

In fact, my lucky star seemed to be in the ascendant at that time, for just before leaving Yeniseisk I had a unique little adventure which made my first impressions of Siberian sledging too agreeable for description in plain Anglo-Saxon.

I had made my arrangements for starting, when a Siberian friend of mine called and asked me if I would escort a lady as far as Krasnoiarsk. The sledge held two, but I was alarmed at the idea, especially as I was informed that the lady was a widow. Like Mr. Weller, I avoid widows. It is one of my few guiding principles. I said, therefore, that my baggage was multitudinous and heavy. My friend had placed me under so many obligations that I could not refuse to reconsider the matter, so it was arranged that I should be presented to the widow on the next day to talk the matter over. I went to bed quite determined to have my sledge to myself. In the morning I called. The lady came into the room, and, instead of the wrinkled widow I had conjured up in my mind, behold a most charming and graceful creature of twenty-five, with a most vivacious manner and a smile which melted all the frost in my nature. (I mentally decided that if it cost me another sledge for the baggage the widow should be my companion.) So without the slightest hesitation I said, twirling my moustaches, that I should feel myself a thousand years younger if I might be permitted to escort her to Krasnoiarsk. I made this remark in English, so neither the widow nor my friend understood it; but I quickly assured them in my very best Parisian that on mature consideration I had discovered that there was room for two in the sledge, so the horses were ordered at the Government post-house, and at six o’clock that evening we started on our first stage, about twenty-five versts on the road. A party of friends accompanied us so far, and when we reached the post-house they produced chickens and champagne enough to have bribed the whole Press of Russia. Then good-bye, and away over the moonlit snow, galloping noiselessly through the night. I smoked a heavenly cigar; the widow puffed at a cigarette. And so we travelled, halting only at the post-houses to change the horses. My sledge was heavily laden with tinned meats and food to last me a long way. The post-houses supplied tea and minor necessities.

I was soon initiated by my charming companion into the mode of travelling by sledge here. I learnt that horses (the usual number is a troika, or three) were to be got at each post-house, the cost being three kopeks per horse per verst (rather under a penny for two-thirds of a mile), plus ten kopeks progon, or Government tax, per station. The yemschik, or driver, changes with each relay, and is included in the charges, but he naturally expects a small gratuity for himself. Although this is not obligatory, it is a usual custom to give sixpence or so, according to the length of the stage and how one was driven. The padarojna, or Government permit, authorizing the traveller to have the necessary horses, is a thing of the past, to all intents and purposes. Of course, there is nothing against the traveller wasting his money on one, if he so wishes, but he will find it a nuisance rather than otherwise. A good tip to your last driver goes a long way further towards helping one than all the Government padarojnas, in my humble opinion.

I have travelled right across Siberia without one, and had not the slightest difficulty in getting horses anywhere, and in no case was the delay longer than was necessary to get ready a cup of tea or bouillon-fleet to keep out the cold; but, of course, I was exceptionally fortunate in having had the advice of experienced friends before starting on my journey, and all went as merrily as a wedding-bell, although I knew but the merest smattering of the Russian language. The distances between the different stations never exceeded twenty-five versts (about sixteen miles), and this generally took a little over two hours to do, so it may be remarked the pace was not slow. The post-station, I am informed, is usually the best house in the village (which is not always saying much), the owner being paid a certain sum yearly for the use of his largest room, which he always has to keep ready for travellers, and if necessary, for a small fee, to supply the inevitable samovar. Refreshments, also, he in most cases undertakes to provide; but, as a general rule, these only consist of black bread, milk, and frozen eggs, so the hungry traveller who is at all fastidious does well to provide himself beforehand with all his gastronomical necessaries. Of course, I am now speaking of travelling on the route from Yeniseisk to Krasnoiarsk, and not the “Great Post Road,” which I shall have future occasion to describe. I found these houses, in most cases, clean and comfortably furnished, but always heated to such a degree as to render them almost unbearable; so stifling, as a rule, was the atmosphere that it was generally like walking into a badly ventilated Turkish bath. I never stayed a moment longer than was absolutely necessary, and was always glad to get back again into my comfortable sledge.

The road was in exceptionally good condition for sledging; for the greater part of the way it was like travelling on a velvet-pile carpet. I never saw deeper snow anywhere, the horses at times being absolutely buried up to their withers in it, while the trees on either side of us were simply bent down with the weight of their fleecy pall. The scenery was at times very beautiful, having almost the appearance of an English park, and altogether very different to what I expected to find in the wilds of Siberia.

Taking it all in all, therefore, I found sledging a very pleasant way of travelling, and when snugly tucked up in my furs, as we dashed on through the darkness of the night, I was lulled gradually to sleep by the continuous jingle of the duga bells, the Strand, the Paper, and in fact London itself, seemed but as a dream of a far distant past. Of course this sort of sentimental reverie is only inspired when one is on a good road; if it is otherwise, well, one’s impressions are not of quite so soothing a nature, more especially if they are caused by the corners of a box or the roof of the sledge!

I had reason to congratulate myself on having provided myself with quite a Siberian outfit in the way of furs, for I don’t think I ever felt such cold in my life as I did on the road from Yeniseisk. If one’s face was exposed to the wind for only a few seconds, one’s eyes and nostrils were frozen together and one’s moustache became coated with thick ice. The horses, also, were so covered with white frost that their colour was absolutely unrecognizable. I found from my thermometer that the cold averaged each day no less than 35 deg. below zero (Réaumur)! It will give some idea of its intensity when I mention that whilst smoking in the open air, and having occasion to expectorate, my saliva would often fall to the ground as a solid lump of ice!

On reaching Krasnoiarsk, I was much surprised, and of course pleased, to find quite a decent hotel, where I was accommodated with a couple of really comfortable rooms well furnished, on fairly moderate terms. They would, I fancy, have been considered good anywhere; and when I add that they were fitted with electric bells, that there were sheets and bedding to the bed, and that I had a real “tub” every morning, you will understand that it seemed like getting back to civilization, with the ordinary “comforts” of everyday life once more. Krasnoiarsk is decidedly a picturesque town; and, if it be so in winter, it must be doubly pleasant in summer. Situated on one of the most beautiful portions of the river Yenisei, in the centre of an amphitheatre of high hills, every street has a sort of background of its own, so to speak, and the effect is very pleasing. It is, of course, a much more important place than Yeniseisk, being considerably larger, and is more advanced in every respect. I was struck with this on the night of my arrival, by the appearance and length of the lamp-lit streets we had to drive through before reaching the hotel.

The town was busy enough next morning, for it was market-day, and the traffic in the streets abutting on the market-place was so great that it required the services of several Cossacks, placed at different points for the purpose, to control it; and they had their work cut out for them, for there is evidently no rule of the road here, to all outward appearance, and sledges of all sorts and sizes were dashing about in every direction in the most reckless fashion. The Bolskoi Oulitza, or High Street, presents a very animated appearance on a fine afternoon, and, if the weather be not too cold, one sees many pretty faces and smart equipages. Krasnoiarsk, owing to its sheltered position, is not so cold as Yeniseisk, the average here during the winter months being only 15 deg. below zero (Réaumur). Every afternoon there is quite a crowd of skaters in the fine public gardens, and the scene is a very picturesque one, for there are usually many officers on the ice, their striking uniforms harmonizing well with the furs of the fair sex.

Society in Krasnoiarsk is much gayer than in Yeniseisk. I was fortunate in having letters of introduction to the Governor-General Telakoffski and other officials, also to the two richest mine-owners in the place, Messrs. Consnitsoff and Mativieff, so what with dinners and dances I never found the time hang heavily on my hands of an evening; in fact, it was rather too much the contrary, for so great is the hospitality of the Siberians that it was positively difficult to get an evening to one’s self. Most of the people spoke French or German, and, as many visit Europe every year, they are, so to speak, well in touch with all subjects of social and artistic interest, and the general “tone” of the dinners, dances, and musical evenings was exactly like what one is accustomed to on the continent. Excellent musicians absolutely abound here.

I fancy it would have astonished most people in England, or, for the matter of it, anywhere, could they have been suddenly transported to the spacious ball-room of the club (sobranje) on Christmas Day, when the governor held his annual official reception. The magnificent suite of rooms was simply packed with everybody who was anybody here; all officers and Government officials in full uniform, the civilians in evening dress, whilst the many ladies who were also present, dressed in the latest of Parisian fashion, lent additional interest to a scene the like of which I certainly never even dreamt of seeing in the “dreary land of exile.”

Of course Krasnoiarsk, like most places, has its “season,” which lasts during the winter months only; during the heat of the summer the town has almost a deserted appearance, I heard, as all the rich people then go to their cool villas on the hills in order to escape from the scorching rays of the sun and the blinding dust, and the place is left to the Oi polloi.