CHAPTER II
MIST SHADOWS
At the same time that the wanderer on the rough path of Bjelostok forestwas gathering up its snow roses, another man on the far-off shores ofthe Black Sea was preparing for a long, distant, and hurried journey.The two men hasten to the same goal. They had never seen one another,had never heard the other's name, had never corresponded. Yet each isaware of the other's existence; aware that they are to meet, and thatthis meeting must take place on a given day. The first has, perhaps, theshorter road to take, but he can only ride slowly; he has to avoidinhabited towns, to utilize night for his progress, to pass the days inisolated csards.
The second has the longer and more difficult way; but the only battle hehas to fight is with the elements of earth, water, fire, and wind, andthese he can conquer. The fifth obstacle--man--places himselfobsequiously at his service. This traveller wears the uniform of acolonel. Short of stature, he gains in height by the singular erectnessof his head and the elasticity of his walk. By that walk he can bedetected under any disguise. His closely cropped hair displays a broad,high brow; his eager eyes dance in his head as he speaks. He has anexpressive face--one from which it is easy to read his thoughts, evenwhen his lips are silent--a face in which every muscle moves with hiswords; one in strongest contrast to that of the other man. He can hidehis every feeling under an immovable countenance; this one betraysbeforehand his every thought. During his five minutes' colloquy with thejemsik, he has exhausted a whole gamut of expressions, from flattery torage, as if playing upon the strings of a violin. He gesticulatesviolently with his hands; now his five fingers are under the peasant'snose; then they strike him on the shoulder, punch him in the ribs, seizehim by the lappet of his coat; now shake, then embrace him. He kisseshim, strokes his beard with coaxing action, then tugs at it, pushes himroughly away, finally reaching him his flask for a drink; and perhapshis only object has been to find out whether the road to Jekaseviroslawis passable or not.
For while the snow still lies deep in the forest of Bjelostok, andgun-carriages may yet drive across the ice-covered Niemen, thaw hasalready set in along the valleys of the Dnieper and the Don, and thewhole plain is a sea, from out which the rush huts, with theirsurrounding plantations of reeds, stand out like solitary islands. Toevery hut a boat made of willow is secured; this boat is the one andonly mode of locomotion, albeit a dangerous one, whereby in the springseason the inhabitants can convey themselves to the pasture-land to lookafter their cattle and horses.
As far as eye can reach stretches out the endless reddish-brown plain.Rushes, reeds, and other water-plants not yet freed from their dried-upwinter clothing, lend a deep-red shimmer to the landscape, to which thesprouting willows, now illumined by the light of the setting sun, addtheir tinge of color. The storm-portending evening glow tinges thefleecy clouds flame color, causing the rest of the sky to appear topazgreen. Myriads of water-birds whirl restlessly through the air, fillingthe plain with their cries. In the far distance swim a flock of swans,tinged golden in the setting sun, which, half-sunken beneath thehorizon, sends out its last rays across the changing clouds, like adeparting sovereign clothed in gold and purple.
Across the great, never-ending plain there is but one path, laidbridge-like with willow stems. Over this the traveller must needs makehis way--there is no alternative. The river banks passed, further signof human habitation ceases. The smithy of a gypsy colony, which hasestablished itself on the side of a hill, alone sends its light far outinto the evening mist. Soon that, too, will be lost in the gatheringgloom; then the traveller's three-horsed car must jolt along by thefitful light of the moon. An occasional kurgan rising up here and therein the Steppe is the sole sign that it was once inhabited by a people.Those tschudas upon the brow of the hill were their gods. Blocks ofstone, with roughly carved human heads, proclaim afar, even to the banksof the Amur, the former abiding-place of a race which has not left evena name behind, only its gods, which later races have called tschudas(from the Hungarian word _csuda_, signifying "miracle").
The traveller will find shelter for the night with a Czaban, who haschanced to dig himself a cave near the wayside, and lives there,surrounded by his numerous herds of sheep. The Colonel remarks in hisnote-book that the shepherds living in the neighborhood of the kurgansare a stupid, squalid set, who smell of cheese.
Next morning the chariot with its ringing bells proceeds ever fartherand farther, until the inundated banks of the Dnieper oblige it to halt.Here, the traveller has no resource but to take to a boat. Luckily thestream is sufficiently swollen to enable his boat successfully tonavigate the famous Falls of Herodotus without striking on the rocks.Only of the last does the ferryman warn him. It is the Nyenaschiketz(the Insatiable). There it is not advisable to tempt one's fate byevening light.
"But I must go on," says the traveller, imperiously. He is in haste.That alters the case. His imperious "must" knows no hindrances. Upon itfollows the only answer, "Seisas" (Immediately). This one wordcharacterizes the whole people. It even bridges over the "Insatiable."The boat goes to pieces, but boatman and traveller swim safely toshore. The remainder of the night is passed in a fisherman's hut. Thetraveller here remarks in his note-book that the boatmen and fisher-folkwho live on the banks of the Dnieper are a stupid, squalid set, whosmell of fish.
The opposite bank is inhabited by the Zaporogenes, who take their namefrom the falls "zaporagi"--people who live beside waterfalls. Here it isonly possible to proceed on horseback. By nightfall the traveller hasreached Szetsa, a so-called village. The houses are earthen caves,thatched with grass, called "kurenyi." The traveller, after having sungand drunk with the Zaporogenes, observes in his note-book that thedwellers in "kurenyi" are a stupid, squalid set, smelling ofcoach-grease.
The first work of a Zaporagen is to soak his new garments in tar, tomake them durable. Among that people are to be found the firstindistinct traces of a longing after freedom, primitive, but stillexistent. This instinct reaches its culminating-point in the propensityto rob their neighbors; turn their wives out of doors when tired ofthem, and take to themselves a fresh one, who may please them better.
On, on, in the saddle, until the ancient city of the Steppe looms in thehorizon, "the Mother of Cities." It is Kiev, the so often razed andrebuilt Jerusalem of the Scythians, with its catacombs and remains ofSarmatic saints. In the distance a deceptive Fata Morgana, looking withits gilded cupolas like a city of churches, from out which the mightytower of Lavra rises like a giant.
The traveller avoids alike the Beresztovo, the most inhabited quarter,and the barracks; nor does he avail himself of the hospitable shelter ofthe Lavra monastery, but seeks the Jewish quarter, and there in apoor-looking Jewish hovel passes the night, taking counsel with soldierswho, as though informed beforehand of his coming, have entered one byone through the low entrance-door, to disappear in like manner by theopposite one.
The traveller remarks in his note-book that the Jews are a stupid,squalid set, who smell of anise-seed.
The way lies ever northwards. Spring-time vanishes from the earth; theglow of evening from the sky; a canopy of gloomy gray mist overspreadsthe firmament: the pale disk of the sun is like a medal upon a raggedsoldier's cloak. Even the waning moon only rises late of nights. Thenights grow longer, and the flames of the rush-heaps burning in thefields impede the way. The traveller is often obliged to turn back tothe houses which border the pine forests. They are well-ordered, prettydomiciles, inhabited by apostates who have taken refuge from theirpursuers in the woods.
There, too, sounds an occasional chord of yearning after freedom. Theyare prepared to endure, to make a firm stand, one and the other, inorder to be allowed to write the name of Jesus ("Jhsus"). This issomething for a beginning!
The traveller records in his note-book that the Raskolniks are stupidand unhappy, and smell of leather.
Still farther northwards. Upon the plains green with young wheat followagain expanses of snow; instead of flocks of swans and cranes, swarms ofravens an
d Arctic birds are to be seen thickening the air. This time thetraveller passes the night in the Sloboden, where all sorts andconditions of men congregate--men from the most remote parts in searchof work, offering their pair of hands for any description of labor.Hither each brings his misery, his ignorance, and--foul odors. Themisery and ignorance are one and the same, but the foul odors arediverse: by these they distinguish one from another, through these theyfall into broils. No sooner do they perceive the alien smell than theycome to blows.
Time presses with the traveller. Now he has reached the land of sledges.
Thick mists and snow-storms are his companions. There come days in whichthere is no morning or noon-day; the snow-drifts change the world aroundhim into a prison-house. Such terrific snow-storms are only known inthose parts; they are "pad," the terror of travellers. The night frostshave become insupportable in their severity; the mile-stones lie hiddenunder the snow; the north wind has swept it into hillocks in manyplaces; then, again, into deep holes, in which the sledge sinksaxle-deep: a chorus of wolves howl in the woods. By morning the door ofthe csarda is snowed up; the only mode of egress is to crawl through thehole in the roof, where the jemsik, his sledge already horsed, is inwaiting, leaning against the chimney. He calls laughingly to his fare:
"It is cold enough for a couple of fur coats, sir!"
The north wind has chased away the clouds over night; the sky is thecolor of steel. In the gray lilac-tinted horizon a red glowing fire-ballis rising--it is the sun, which, running its orbit, scarce rises overthe earth; even at mid-day it gives out no warmth. The kingdom of winterreigns. And now the way becomes more peopled. Life seems bright andstirring in this kingdom of winter. Whole strings of sledges, laden highwith wares, move onwards in the one direction; well-appointed equipages,steering clear of the heavily laden freight, pass them by. It is thelast day of the journey. Along the horizon a shining streak growsvisible--the frozen ocean. The streak grows broader and broader, and asthe sun goes down the rays of the aurora borealis stretch up over thestarry sky to its very zenith; and, illuminated by this magic sea ofrosy light, there arises from out the expanse of snow a giant city, withthe white roofs of its palaces, the cupolas of its churches, thebastions of its fortresses, cupolas and bastions alike of dazzlingwhiteness, as though it were the ghost of a city, painted white uponwhite; above it the rosy northern light, behind it the bluish-leadenveil of mist.
The traveller has reached his goal. But the other--is he here too?