The Globe-republican., 1890-07-09
THE RUSSIAN ryRoL
Riding 1T Break-Nsck Speed Over the
Passes Of the CaucasuA

Passes of the Caucasus
lump into light carriage drawn by
four horses. My driver, Cossack
draped in his 6ourka, is armed with .
magnificent bugle, the use Of which I
can not divine. We rise rapidly up tho
gorge Of Darrell. the Thermopyl@ of the
Caucasus. the bloody road of the debuts
of the conquest Night falls suddenly,
augmented by a storm which opens upon
us the sluices of heaven. A vail of fog
fills space, but our ride in the mountain
becomes all the more fantastic on that
account. At full speed we rush along
the unsafe road, across swollen cascades
which the horses jump bravely. Sheets
of mist float over our heads; from time
to time through rent in them. we per-
ceive the black bar of the overhanging
walls of rock. At our feet the Terel1
roars Sudden apparitiOns stretch out
their arms in the fog; these are oak
trees or poplars- My Cossack puts his
bugle to his lips and blows blast that
the echoes repeat l now understand
the use of his instrument. 1t warns the
carriages that are coming at full speed
sharp bends, and it makes those which
we pass clear the way. At the sound OF
this trumpet of doom, terrified phan-
toms fee before us-Teherkess horse
men of spectral mien, clad in 6dchhk or
bourkd; herds of horses that are return
ing to the plain: heavy Ossete carts.
with whole Mussulman families con-
cealed beneath their canvass awnings.
We still mount higher and higher; the
darkness grows thicker and thicker in
this sort of funnel, as it were the walls
of well, and meetings become more
rare. Below us the torrents roar deep
ly: on the peaks the snow presents con-
fused white masses; torrents and snow
reverberate diffused brightness; you
feel that there is 4 pale fragment of
moon somewhere behind the clouds. At
the post stations where we stop to
change horses two sounds alone trouble
the majestic silence-the rush of water,
and the wind that roars through tho
gorges-''the Russian wind, come from
the steppe, folding it's cold WINGS as
Lermontof says. We cross precipices
at gallo2 over frail little bridges. The
air becomes singing, sharpened by the
cold of the neighbOring SHOWS. The
storm increases in violence. and obliges
us to halt at the inn at the Kazbek Pass,
and wait there until dawn.
Day breaks in bright clear sky
cleared by yesterdays rains. 1t seems
as if one could stretch out ones hand
and touch the first glaciers Of the Kaz-
bek, that giant of the Caucasus, which
lifts it's bald head more than IL, 900 feet
high.
AS we advance along the road cut
across an amphitheater with walls of
granite and basalt, 1 notice several of
these half-ruined villages dominated by
a square tower. Here was the refuge of
a small Christian feudalism which
throughout the Middle Ages defended
itself in these haunts against Mussul-
man invaders and against the fersians
who were masters of the southern val
leys. The descendants of these Georgian
clans till the poor mountain fields with
primitive pillow. They dwell in huts
built of stones without mortar or pIas-
ter, and so low that they can hardly be
distinguished from the rocks with which
their brown color cOnfounds them. A
miserable race which has been hunted
down for centuries, now by the enemy
from the south. and now by the enemy
from the north, and which hides its
dens with the instructive ruse of the
wild beasts. We round the foot of the
Baidar, and every vestige of human life
disappears; the first rays of an invisible
sun fix little pale gold on the summit
of the walls of ice Before reaching the
Goudaour Pass, 74O0 feet, the road
plunges into a trench cut right through
the snow; the eye sees nothing beneath
the heavens but this white sheet
stretched from one peak to the other.
While we are changing horses at the
Goudaour station, dip on my right and
on my left in the two rivulets that
trickle from the partially CONCEALED
snow. The first will join the Tcrek and
water our Europe; the second will go to
form the Aragva, which runs in the val
leys of Asia which we see spread out be-
fore our eyes. Another step and we are
in a new world. From this point the de-
scent begins; at the commencement it is
very steep; the road goes down in in
Vulnerable zigzags, and yet our little
horses rush forward with the swiftness
of whirlwind. How we reach the bot
tom without breaking our bones hum
dred times is the concern of Allah, tho
God of this side of the mountains, the
God of the fatalists.
The deserted monasteries and the dis
mantled castle of Mtzchet are reflected
in the waters of Koura, which carries it's
tumultuous waters to the Caspian, along
the great central valley between the
Caucasus and the Anti-Caucasus. Tho
road opens out into this valley and turns
westward, and soon we perceive the
houses of Tifiis, clinging to the sides of
the hills OF: both banks Of the Koura.-
Vicomte Eugene Melchior de Vogue, in
Harper's Magazine.
For the benefit of English visitors
the Paris Scion catalogue this year
translations of the names of the French
pictures, ami very curious are some of
the results. For instance the hare and
<oI &c, LII