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Authors: James Palmer
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adventure.
THREE
Suspended Between Heaven and Hell
By the time the letter releasing him from duty arrived at Blagoveshchensk, Ungern was well into Mongolia, âin search of bold accomplishmentsâ, as the letter he carried with him from his commander attested. Hermann Keyserling, a fellow Baltic noble, thought that Mongolia was a natural destination for him. He had a strong impression of Ungern:
certainly the most remarkable person I have ever had the good fortune to meet. One day I said to his grandmother, Baroness Wimpfen, âHe is a creature whom one might call suspended between Heaven and Hell, without the least understanding of the laws of this world.â He presented a really extraordinary mixture of the most profound aptitude for metaphysics and of cruelty. So he was positively predestined for Mongolia (where such discord in a man is the rule), and there, in fact, his fate led him. [. . .] He was not of this world, and I cannot help thinking that on this earth he was only a passing guest. 1
As Ungern passed into Mongolia he was riding through an other-worldly environment. Sometimes on the grasslands he could look in any direction and see no human sign all the way to the horizon, the blue of the sky like a vast ocean above him, broken only by the flicker of a bird of prey. Unless he ran across herders, or saw a marmot scurrying briefly above ground, the world would seem entirely devoid of life. The empty landscape was similar to that of Siberia. Perhaps he even found comfort in being only a speck on a vast expanse of nothingness - he never had great need of any company other than his own.
Not all of Mongolia is flat, particularly in the north-east, and much of the time he would have been travelling through long stretches of hills, rising sometimes into mountains, across swamps, or between thick forests where humans rarely intruded. Small clusters of rocky hills broke up the open countryside, as though the earth had been punched from beneath. Ungern regarded the landscape with a tacticianâs trained eye, looking for routes that a cavalry army could take; he could still remember them a decade later. Such terrain was also attractive to the builders of monasteries, the only permanent structures in most parts of Mongolia, the steep slopes and commanding views being excellent defensive features. Here travellers could find rest and safety; the monks were often trained fighters and the monastery walls thickly reinforced. Ungern would have been made welcome, for the monks paid little heed to race or religion and usually accepted Chinese, Russian and Mongolian visitors alike - a laudable generosity given the fact that the preceding few hundred years had seen several Chinese invasions of Mongolia, and many monastery-fortresses, which had been centres of resistance, had been either burnt down or stuffed with gunpowder and blown up. Destroyed monasteries were not the only ruins Ungern would have encountered; he might have stumbled upon remnants of pre-Mongol civilisations, perhaps the Ozymandian palace of a long-forgotten Turkic king. In the summer heat herds of horses pressed themselves against the old walls, or gathered under the rare bridges, desperate for shade.
Ungern could not have carried enough food and water to survive the entire journey self-sufficiently, so must have relied upon the everyday hospitality of the Mongolians. Mongoliaâs harsh terrain and climate, particularly in the winter, meant that feeding and housing travellers was considered a duty by every household. Even a foreigner would be given shelter for the night unquestioningly, and food for the next day. Ungern must have spent many nights in the cramped and dark interior of a Mongolian tent, with a barrel of fermented mareâs milk by the door and the family sleeping on cushions inside. He must also have seen the regular devotions of the Mongols, sprinkling offerings to the spirits and praying to the gods and Buddhas.
As a
THREE
Suspended Between Heaven and Hell
By the time the letter releasing him from duty arrived at Blagoveshchensk, Ungern was well into Mongolia, âin search of bold accomplishmentsâ, as the letter he carried with him from his commander attested. Hermann Keyserling, a fellow Baltic noble, thought that Mongolia was a natural destination for him. He had a strong impression of Ungern:
certainly the most remarkable person I have ever had the good fortune to meet. One day I said to his grandmother, Baroness Wimpfen, âHe is a creature whom one might call suspended between Heaven and Hell, without the least understanding of the laws of this world.â He presented a really extraordinary mixture of the most profound aptitude for metaphysics and of cruelty. So he was positively predestined for Mongolia (where such discord in a man is the rule), and there, in fact, his fate led him. [. . .] He was not of this world, and I cannot help thinking that on this earth he was only a passing guest. 1
As Ungern passed into Mongolia he was riding through an other-worldly environment. Sometimes on the grasslands he could look in any direction and see no human sign all the way to the horizon, the blue of the sky like a vast ocean above him, broken only by the flicker of a bird of prey. Unless he ran across herders, or saw a marmot scurrying briefly above ground, the world would seem entirely devoid of life. The empty landscape was similar to that of Siberia. Perhaps he even found comfort in being only a speck on a vast expanse of nothingness - he never had great need of any company other than his own.
Not all of Mongolia is flat, particularly in the north-east, and much of the time he would have been travelling through long stretches of hills, rising sometimes into mountains, across swamps, or between thick forests where humans rarely intruded. Small clusters of rocky hills broke up the open countryside, as though the earth had been punched from beneath. Ungern regarded the landscape with a tacticianâs trained eye, looking for routes that a cavalry army could take; he could still remember them a decade later. Such terrain was also attractive to the builders of monasteries, the only permanent structures in most parts of Mongolia, the steep slopes and commanding views being excellent defensive features. Here travellers could find rest and safety; the monks were often trained fighters and the monastery walls thickly reinforced. Ungern would have been made welcome, for the monks paid little heed to race or religion and usually accepted Chinese, Russian and Mongolian visitors alike - a laudable generosity given the fact that the preceding few hundred years had seen several Chinese invasions of Mongolia, and many monastery-fortresses, which had been centres of resistance, had been either burnt down or stuffed with gunpowder and blown up. Destroyed monasteries were not the only ruins Ungern would have encountered; he might have stumbled upon remnants of pre-Mongol civilisations, perhaps the Ozymandian palace of a long-forgotten Turkic king. In the summer heat herds of horses pressed themselves against the old walls, or gathered under the rare bridges, desperate for shade.
Ungern could not have carried enough food and water to survive the entire journey self-sufficiently, so must have relied upon the everyday hospitality of the Mongolians. Mongoliaâs harsh terrain and climate, particularly in the winter, meant that feeding and housing travellers was considered a duty by every household. Even a foreigner would be given shelter for the night unquestioningly, and food for the next day. Ungern must have spent many nights in the cramped and dark interior of a Mongolian tent, with a barrel of fermented mareâs milk by the door and the family sleeping on cushions inside. He must also have seen the regular devotions of the Mongols, sprinkling offerings to the spirits and praying to the gods and Buddhas.
As a
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