William Kingston - The Circassian Chief - A Romance of Russia

Between the ancient and modern capitals of Russia, a fine broad road now affords an easy communication, although, but a few years ago, the traveller who would journey from one city to the other, was compelled to proceed at a slow pace, along a wild track, over rough stony ground, through swamps, under dark forests, and across bleak and unsheltered plains.

The sun had already begun his downward course towards the more happy, and free lands of the far West, shedding forth his summer rays on the heads of two horsemen, who pursued their way in a southerly direction, along the yet unimproved part of the road, to which we have alluded. Their pace, as the nature of the ground over which they travelled required, was slow – their attention being chiefly occupied in guiding their steeds between the many deep ruts and cavities, which lay in their path.

The tone of their voices, their noble bearing, and general appearance, bespoke them at a glance, to belong to a station far above the common rank of life. They were dressed alike, in a half military uniform; their arms consisting solely of pistols, and heavy riding whips the latter even no despicable weapon when wielded by a strong arm.

The travellers might have been taken for brothers, but that the dark flashing eye, black hair, clear olive-complexion, and regular Grecian features of the one, offered too great a contrast to the laughing blue eye, light complexion and hair of the other, whose features, though inferior to those of his companion, were not deficient in manly beauty. There appeared to be scarcely any difference in their ages, both having emerged from boyhood, into that joyous time of life, when the man has completely shaken off what he then considers the irksome trammels of his childish days; happily, unconscious how soon in their stead, advancing years may too probably bring around him the many cares, and disappointments that flesh is doomed to bear, from manhood to the grave.

The last mentioned of the two wayfarers, was in reality, however, the elder; although the light laugh he occasionally indulged in, and his debonair manner, gave him a younger look, than his more serious companion. They were followed at a short distance by a most primitive looking, low, square vehicle, containing their baggage; drawn by a shaggy little pony, and driven by a man almost as rough looking and unpolished as the animal itself. A low crowned, broad-brimmed hat of felt, covered a head of sandy hair, while a huge long beard of the same hue hung down upon his breast: the twinkle of his light grey eye, and a smile on his lips, giving a good humoured expression to his flat, and otherwise unmeaning features.

His dress consisted of a long coat of coarse cloth, buckled round the waist by a leathern belt, and boots of the latter material, untanned, reaching just above his ankles. He urged on his little animal, as fast as it could travel, over the rugged road, whistling, as he lashed his whip, and whirled it round his head – his thoughts evidently not extending beyond his immediate occupation.

The scenery through which the road led, was probably as dreary and uninteresting as any to be found in Russia; a country, which can boast of but few natural beauties, throughout its widely extended territory. It ranged over a landscape, as far as the eye could reach, consisting of a dry uncultivated plain, with here and there, a few clumps of stunted trees struggling into existence upon the arid and ungrateful soil – fit emblems of the miserable, and enslaved peasantry of the country.

The travellers had continued on their course through scenery equally unpicturesque for some distance, when gradually it began to improve, exhibiting a greater number of trees, and a brighter verdure. A proposal was then made by one of them, to which the other readily assented; this was to urge forward the driver of their baggage-cart, with his charge to Tver, a town they purposed resting at for the night, while they followed at their leisure, through the forest they were approaching. The servant was summoned by the name of Karl, and ordered to proceed with as much speed as his weary beast was capable of, in order to secure a lodging and to prepare supper, the materials for which he carried, together with their bedding for the night – a necessary precaution, the inns at the small towns in Russia, affording very miserable accommodation.

Karl signified his comprehension of the order and willingness to obey it, by a few guttural sounds, and several low bends of the neck; when flourishing his long whip, he bestowed a few additional lashes on the flanks of the pony, who reluctantly started into a trot, dragging the rude little vehicle over ruts and stones after a most uncomfortable fashion.

The cavaliers then followed quietly on, at the slow pace which the heat of a warm spring day made most agreeable, each occupied with his own thoughts; those of the younger of the two appearing to be rather of a sombre hue, as occasionally a shade of melancholy would pass across his expressive features; while, at other times, his bright eye would kindle with animation, and his lip would curl, as if some strong feelings were working within his bosom. His friend, however, endeavoured to amuse himself, and to enliven the journey with snatches of gay French songs, which he carolled forth in a rich, clear, and cheerful voice; and he now and then broke into a merry laugh. At length, weary apparently of his own thoughts, he exclaimed —

“Thank Heaven, Ivan, my friend, that we are for ever free from dull and laborious studies, and those odious college drills. Bah! I have so worn out my eyes and the small portion of brains I was ever endowed with, by reading, I will not look into a book for a year to come. We shall have no more of those sham fights, but henceforth may expect every day to be called upon to engage in the honour and glory of real warfare. What say you, Ivan, does not your pulse beat with quicker throbs in anticipation of the glorious scenes of battle and conquest, which we may soon find ourselves engaged in? What say you, shall we flesh our maiden swords in the carcases of the turbaned infidels of Turkey? They are said to be no despicable enemies to contend with; or if perchance our regiment should be out of favour at head-quarters, we may be sent to try our mettle against the mountain barbarians of the Caucasus. I hear that there is enough of hard fighting with them; more perhaps than is at all times agreeable. It is said, indeed, that the Emperor considers a campaign in the Caucasus an excellent field for the display of the military talents of those, whose ideas of that phantom called ‘Liberty’ do not exactly coincide with his own. If such be the case, I shall not be much surprised if we some day receive an intimation that our valuable services are required to strengthen his armies in that distant and savage part of the globe. What say you, Ivan, to this notion? Do you not eagerly long to be wielding your sword against the savage hordes of those unchristianised barbarians of Circassia?”

The brow of Ivan had contracted during these observations, which were uttered in a light, careless tone, and he had several times attempted to interrupt his friend; now, that the latter had concluded, he indignantly exclaimed:

“I thought you knew me better, Thaddeus, than to make a proposition of that nature to me. Never will I unsheathe my sword to aid the cause of tyranny and injustice – such vile work I leave to slaves and hirelings. Should Russia herself be assailed, most willingly would I shed my blood for her defence, as in such a glorious struggle as that when she so gallantly beat back the aspiring conqueror of Europe from her territories; but never will I lend my arm to assist in subjugating a free and independent people, over whom she has not even the shadow of a right to claim command. Rather would I break my weapon into fragments, and forswear all hope of advancement in the world.”