hundred-fold stronger and more vivid than in
us, ecstatic composers of narratives in words and
on paper.
"You have grown accustomed, I suppose, to
these
magnificent pictures!" I said.
"Yes, sir, you can even grow accustomed to
the whistling of a
bullet, that is to say, accus-
tomed to concealing the
involuntary thumping
of your heart."
"I have heard, on the
contrary, that many an
old
warrioractually finds that music agreeable."
"Of course, if it comes to that, it is agree-
able; but only just because the heart beats
more
violently. Look!" he added, pointing
towards the east. "What a country!"
And, indeed, such a panorama I can hardly
hope to see
elsewhere. Beneath us lay the
Koishaur Valley, intersected by the Aragva and
another
stream as if by two silver threads; a
bluish mist was gliding along the
valley, fleeing
into the neighbouring defiles from the warm
rays of the morning. To right and left the
mountain crests,
towering higher and higher,
intersected each other and stretched out, covered
with snows and thickets; in the distance were
the same mountains, which now, however, had
the appearance of two cliffs, one like to the
other. And all these snows were burning in the
crimson glow so
merrily and so
brightly that it
seemed as though one could live in such a place
for ever. The sun was scarcely
visible behind the
dark-blue mountain, which only a practised eye
could
distinguish from a thunder-cloud; but
above the sun was a blood-red
streak to which
my
companion directed particular attention.
"I told you," he exclaimed, "that there
would be dirty weather to-day! We must make
haste, or perhaps it will catch us on Mount
Krestov. -- Get on!" he shouted to the drivers.
Chains were put under the wheels in place of
drags, so that they should not slide, the drivers
took the horses by the reins, and the descent
began. On the right was a cliff, on the left a
precipice, so deep that an entire village of
Ossetes at the bottom looked like a swallow's
nest. I shuddered, as the thought occurred to
me that often in the depth of night, on that
very road, where two wagons could not pass,
a
courier drives some ten times a year without
climbing down from his rickety
vehicle. One
of our drivers was a Russian
peasant from Yaro-
slavl, the other, an Ossete. The latter took out
the leaders in good time and led the shaft-horse
by the reins, using every possible
precaution --
but our
heedless compatriot did not even climb
down from his box! When I remarked to him
that he might put himself out a bit, at least in
the interests of my portmanteau, for which I
had not the slightest desire to
clamber down into
the abyss, he answered:
"Eh, master, with the help of Heaven we
shall arrive as safe and sound as the others; it's
not our first time, you know."
And he was right. We might just as easily
have failed to arrive at all; but arrive we did,
for all that. And if people would only reason
a little more they would be convinced that life
is not worth
taking such a deal of trouble
about.
Perhaps, however, you would like to know the
conclusion of the story of Bela? In the first
place, this is not a novel, but a
collection of
travelling-notes, and,
consequently, I cannot make
the staff-captain tell the story sooner than he
actually proceeded to tell it. Therefore, you
must wait a bit, or, if you like, turn over a few
pages. Though I do not
advise you to do the
latter, because the crossing of Mount Krestov
(or, as the erudite Gamba calls it, le mont St.
Christophe[1]) is
worthy of your curiosity.
[1] Krestov is an
adjective meaning "of the cross"
(Krest=cross); and, of course, is not the Russian for
"Christophe."
Well, then, we descended Mount Gut into the
Chertov Valley. . . There's a
romantic desig-
nation for you! Already you have a
vision of
the evil spirit's nest amid the
inaccessible cliffs --
but you are out of your
reckoning there. The
name "Chertov" is derived from the word
cherta (boundary-line) and not from chort (devil),
because, at one time, the
valley marked the
boundary of Georgia. We found it choked with
snow-drifts, which reminded us rather vividly
of Saratov, Tambov, and other
charming localities
of our fatherland.
"Look, there is Krestov!" said the staff-
captain, when we had descended into the Chertov
Valley, as he
pointed out a hill covered with a
shroud of snow. Upon the
summit stood out
the black
outline of a stone cross, and past it led
an all but imperceptible road which travellers
use only when the side-road is obstructed with
snow. Our drivers, declaring that no avalanches
had yet fallen, spared the horses by conducting
us round the mountain. At a turning we met
four or five Ossetes, who offered us their services;
and, catching hold of the wheels, proceeded, with
a shout, to drag and hold up our cart. And, in-
deed, it is a dangerous road; on the right were
masses of snow
hanging above us, and ready, it
seemed, at the first
squall of wind to break off
and drop into the
ravine; the narrow road was
partly covered with snow, which, in many places,
gave way under our feet and, in others, was
converted into ice by the action of the sun by
day and the frosts by night, so that the horses
kept falling, and it was with difficulty that we
ourselves made our way. On the left yawned a
deep chasm, through which rolled a
torrent, now
hiding beneath a crust of ice, now leaping and
foaming over the black rocks. In two hours we
were
barely able to double Mount Krestov -- two
versts in two hours! Meanwhile the clouds had
descended, hail and snow fell; the wind, burst-
ing into the
ravines, howled and whistled like
Nightingale the Robber.[1] Soon the stone cross
was
hidden in the mist, the billows of which, in
ever denser and more
compact masses, rushed in
from the east. . .
[1] A legendary Russian hero whose whistling knocked people
down.
Concerning that stone cross, by the way,
there exists the strange, but
widespread,
traditionthat it had been set up by the Emperor Peter
the First when travelling through the Caucasus.
In the first place, however, the Emperor went no
farther than Daghestan; and, in the second
place, there is an
inscription in large letters on the
cross itself, to the effect that it had been erected
by order of General Ermolov, and that too in the
year 1824. Nevertheless, the
tradition has taken
such firm root, in spite of the
inscription, that
really you do not know what to believe; the more
so, as it is not the custom to believe
inscriptions.
To reach the station Kobi, we still had to
descend about five versts, across ice-covered rocks
and plashy snow. The horses were exhausted; we
were freezing; the
snowstorm droned with ever-
increasing
violence, exactly like the storms of
our own northern land, only its wild melodies
were sadder and more melancholy.
"O Exile," I thought, "thou art weeping
for thy wide, free steppes! There mayest thou
unfold thy cold wings, but here thou art stifled
and confined, like an eagle
beating his wings, with
a
shriek, against the
grating of his iron cage!"
"A bad look out," said the staff-captain.
"Look! There's nothing to be seen all round
but mist and snow. At any moment we may
tumble into an abyss or stick fast in a cleft; and
a little lower down, I dare say, the Baidara has
risen so high that there is no getting across it.
Oh, this Asia, I know it! Like people, like
rivers! There's no
trusting them at all!"
The drivers, shouting and cursing, belaboured
the horses, which snorted, resisted obstinately,
and refused to budge on any
account, notwith-
standing the
eloquence of the whips.
"Your honour," one of the drivers said to me
at length, "you see, we will never reach Kobi
to-day. Won't you give orders to turn to the
left while we can? There is something black
yonder on the slope -- probably huts. Travellers
always stop there in bad weather, sir. They
say," he added, pointing to the Ossetes, "that they
will lead us there if you will give them a tip."
"I know that, my friend, I know that without
your telling me," said the staff-captain. "Oh,
these beasts! They are
delighted to seize any
pretext for extorting a tip!"
"You must
confess, however," I said, "that
we should be worse off without them."
"Just so, just so," he growled to himself. "I
know them well -- these guides! They scent out
by
instinct a chance of
takingadvantage of
people. As if it was impossible to find the way
without them!"
Accordingly we turned aside to the left, and,
somehow or other, after a good deal of trouble,
made our way to the
wretched shelter, which
consisted of two huts built of stone slabs and
rubble, surrounded by a wall of the same
material. Our
ragged hosts received us with
alacrity. I
learned afterwards that the Govern-
ment supplies them with money and food upon
condition that they put up travellers who are
overtaken by storm.
CHAPTER VIII
"ALL is for the best," I said, sitting down
close by the fire. "Now you will finish
telling me your story about Bela. I am certain