simply incredible thrift, working like a slave, he collected enough to buy that woman from her husband. She was a truly Russian beauty. When Kuchtierin rose to the dignity, first of an Alderman and then Mayor of Tomsk, he dressed his wife in gowns imported from Paris, surrounded her with fabulous luxury and pomp, and loved her as only the savage nomads of old used to love.
When drunk, he would thrash her with mad and pitiless jealousy, and then roll at her feet imploring forgiveness, love, and happiness. …
The life story of famous Yamshchiks is as romantic as it is gloomy and savage. The Siberians love to tell such stories, often with rapture, sometimes with horror.
These men often robbed rich travellers whom they encountered on the road, attacked the mails, wiped out official convoys transporting money, plundered villages and towns, leaving behind them carrion and trails of blood. Many of them waxed exceedingly rich, earned honours and general esteem, silencing the courts with heaps of gold, with brilliant feasts and receptions. Nobody shuddered at the sight of these men, and no one shunned them. Had they not risked their own lives to earn riches and honours?
The heroes of the endless Siberian great road knew how to disarm the world.
