No one but a Russian lord could have effected such metamorphoses. Master

of a whole population of slaves, he has never to pay for labour; and

whims which would be ruinous to others, cost him only the trouble of

conceiving them. In the dry season, which often lasts for more than five

months, chain pumps worked by horses supply water to every part of this

extensive garden, and thus afford what the unkind skies deny it. The

work to be done in the spring season generally requires the labour of

more than 200 pair of hands daily, and during the rest of the year

three-score peasants are constantly employed in pruning the trees,

plucking up the weeds that rapidly spring up in the walks, training the

vines, and attending to the flowers. In return for all this expenditure

the general has the satisfaction of seeing his table covered with the

finest fruits and most exquisite preserves; and for one who inhabits a

desert these things unquestionably have their value. On the whole

Clarofka is a real _pays de cocagne_ for good cheer: the steppes abound

with game of every kind, from grouse to the majestic bustard. A hunter

is attached to the farm, and daily supplies the table with all the

delicacies of this sort which the country affords. The sea also

contributes abundance of excellent fish. It is evident, therefore, that

in a gastronomic point of view it would be difficult to find a more

advantageous residence; but this merit, important as it is, fails to

make amends for the intolerable ennui one labours under in Clarofka.

Thanks to the garden, one may forget the steppe during the fine season;

and then there is the amusement of fishing, and of picking up shells on

the sea-shore, so that one may contrive to kill time passably well. But

what are you to do in winter, when the snow falls so thickly that you

cannot see the houses, particularly when the _metel_ turns the whole

country topsy-turvy? No language can give an idea of these _metels_ or

hurricanes. They come down on the land with such whirling and driving

gusts, such furious and continuous tempests, such whistlings and

groanings of the wind, and a sky so murky and threatening, that no

hurricane at sea can be more alarming. The snow is now piled up like a

mountain, now hollowed into deep valleys, and now spread out into

rushing and heaving billows; or else it is driven through the air like a

long white veil expanding and folding on itself until the wind has

scattered its last shreds before it. In order to pass from one house to

another, people are obliged to dig paths through the snow often two

yards deep. Whole flocks of sheep, surprised by the tempest not far from

their folds, and even herds of horses, have been driven into the sea and

drowned. When beset by such dangers their instinct usually prompts them

to cluster together in a circle and form a compact mass, so as to

present less surface to the _metel_. But the force of the wind gradually

compelling them forwards, they approach the shore, the ground fails

them, and finally they all disappear beneath the waves. These tempests

are generally succeeded by a dead calm, and an intense cold that soon

changes the surface of the Dniepr and the sea-shore into a vast mirror.

This is the most agreeable part of the winter. The communications

between neighbours are renewed; sporting expeditions on a great scale,

excursions in sledges, and entertainments within doors follow each other

almost without interruption. Despite the intensity of the cold, the

Russians infinitely prefer it to a milder temperature, which would put a

stop to their business as well as to their pleasures. The great fairs of

the empire generally take place in winter; for then the frozen lakes and

rivers serve the inhabitants as a safe and rapid means of communication.

In this way they traverse immense distances without quitting their

sledges, and even without perceiving whether they are on land or water.

Wrapped up in their furs they encounter with impunity a temperature of

35 deg. for several consecutive days, without any other auxiliaries than

brandy and tea, which they consume in fearful quantities. During our

winter residence in Clarofka, we had an opportunity of convincing

ourselves that people suffer much less from cold in northern than in

southern countries.

In Constantinople, where we had passed the preceding winter, the cold

and the snow appeared to us insupportable in the light wooden houses,

open to every wind, and furnished with no other resource against the

inclemency of the weather than a manghal, which served at best only to

roast the feet and hands, whilst it left the rest of the body to freeze.

But in Russia even the mujik has constantly a temperature of nearly 77 deg.

in his cabin in the very height of winter, which he obtains in a very

simple and economical manner. A large brickwork stove or oven is formed

in the wall, consisting of a fireplace and a long series of quadrangular

flues ending in the chimney and giving passage to the smoke. The fire is

made either of _kirbitch_[2] or of reeds. When these materials are

completely consumed, the pipe by which the flues communicate with the

chimney is hermetically closed, and the hot air passes into the room by

two openings made for that purpose. Exactly the same apparatus is used

in the houses of the wealthy. The stoves are so contrived that one of

them serves to heat two or three rooms. The halls, staircases, and

servants' rooms, are all kept at the same temperature. But great caution

is necessary to avoid the dangers to which this method of warming may

give rise. I myself was saved only by a providential chance from falling

a victim to them. I had been asleep for some hours one night, when I was

suddenly awakened by my son, who was calling to me for drink. I got up

instantly, and without waiting to light a candle I was proceeding to

pour out a glass of water, but I had scarcely moved a few steps when the

glass dropped from my hand and I fell, as if struck with lightning, and

in a state of total insensibility. I had afterwards a confused

recollection of cries that seemed to me to have come from a great

distance; but for two minutes I remained completely inanimate, and only

recovered consciousness after my husband had carried me into an icy room

and laid me on the floor. My son suffered still more than myself, but it

happened most strangely that my husband was not in the smallest degree

affected, and this it was that saved us. The cause of this nocturnal

alarm was the imprudence of a servant who had closed the stove before

all the kirbitch was consumed; this was quite enough to make the

atmosphere deadly. All the inmates of the house were more or less

indisposed.

The hothouse temperature kept up in all the apartments cannot fail to

act injuriously on the health. For more than ten months the outer air

is never admitted into the house, and foreigners are affected in

consequence with an uneasy sense of oppression and a sort of torpor that

almost incapacitates them for thinking. As for the Russians, who are

habituated to the thing from their childhood, they suffer little

inconvenience from it; nevertheless many maladies probably owe their

origin to this artificial warmth, which is equally enervating for body

and mind. To this cause, no doubt, we must attribute the utter absence

of blooming freshness from the cheeks of the Russian ladies. Incapable

of enduring the slightest change of temperature, they have not the least

idea of the pleasure derived from inhaling the fresh air, and braving

the cold by means of brisk exercise. But for dancing, of which they are

passionately fond, their lives would pass away in almost absolute

immobility, for lolling in a carriage is not what I call putting oneself

in motion. There is scarcely any country where women walk less than in

Russia, and nowhere do they lead more artificial lives. We had a Russian

family for two months at Clarofka, returning from the waters of the

Caucasus, and waiting until the sledging season was fully set in, to get

back to Moscow. This family, consisting of a husband and wife and the

sister of the latter, was a great godsend for us during part of the

winter. Madame Bougainsky is a very clever young woman, equally well

acquainted with our literary works as with our Parisian frivolities. But

dress and play are for her the two grand concerns of life, and all the

rest are but accessories. I do not think she went out of doors three

times during her two months' stay in Clarofka. The habit of living in

the world of fashion and in a perpetual state of parade had taken such

inveterate hold on her, that, without thinking of it, she used to dress

three or four times a day, just as if she were among the salons of

Moscow. I learned from her that the Russian ladies are as fond of play

as of dancing, and that many ruin themselves thereby. On the whole,

there is little poetry or romance in the existence of Russian women of

fashion. The men, though treating them with exquisite politeness and

gallantry, in reality think little about them, and find more pleasure in

hunting, smoking, gaming, and drinking, than in lavishing on them those

attentions to which they have many just claims. The Russian ladies have

generally little beauty; their bloom, as I have said, is gone at twenty;

but if they can boast neither perfect features nor dazzlingly fair

complexions, there is, on the other hand, in all their manners

remarkable elegance, and an indescribable fascination that sometimes

makes them irresistible. With a pale face, a somewhat frail figure,

careless attitudes, and a haughty cast of countenance, they succeed in

making more impression in a drawing-room than many women of greater

beauty.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] _Liman_, a Tartar word signifying harbour, is the name given to the

gulfs formed by the principal rivers of Southern Russia before their

entrance into the sea.

[2] Kirbitch consists of dung kneaded into little bricks, and dried in

summer. Along with straw and reeds, it forms the only firing used for

domestic purposes. At Odessa, however, they procure firewood from

Bessarabia, but it costs as much as ninety francs the cube fathom.

APPENDIX TO CHAPTER VII.

A propensity to sedentary habits is not peculiarly a female failing in

Russia, as will appear from the following extract: "The Russian has as

little taste for promenading on foot as any Oriental. Hence, with the

exception of the two capitals, and the north-west provinces, in which

German usages prevail, there are no public walks or gardens for

recreation. True enjoyment, according to the notions of the genuine

Muscovite, consists in sitting down to a well-furnished table, either in

his own house or a neighbour's, and indulging after the repast in some

game which requires the least possible exertion of body. Soon after my

arrival in Kasan, I was glad to employ the early days of summer, which

there begins at the end of May, in making pedestrian excursions in the

neighbourhood, to the great and general surprise of my new friends, who

could not conceive why I thus roamed like an idiot about the country, in

which I had no business, as they very well knew. It was conjectured that

I was ill, and had adopted this laborious discipline as a mode of cure;

but even under this interpretation my proceedings seemed very strange to

them, for their own invariable practice when they feel unwell, is to go

to bed immediately. In one of my walks I fell in with an acquaintance,

who asked me what took me to the village, to which he supposed I was

going. On my replying, that I had nothing whatever to do there, and that

as yet I had neither seen the village nor any of its inhabitants, he

said then of course I was going to look at it. No, I told him, that was

not my intention, for I knew very well I should see nothing there

different from any of the other villages in the vicinity. 'Well, then,

Daddy (_batiushka_),' said my puzzled and curious friend, 'do tell me,

what is it you are afoot for?' 'I am afoot, simply for the sake of being

afoot,' was my answer, 'for the pleasure of a little exercise in the

open air.' My friend burst into a loud fit of laughter at this

explanation of my rambling habits, which had so long been an enigma to

himself and every body else. To walk for walking sake! He had never

heard any thing like that in all his life, and it was not long before

this most novel and extraordinary phrase ran the round of the whole

town, so that even to the following year it remained a standing joke

against me in every company I entered."--_Von Littrow._

_Suffocating vapours._--Accidents like that which befel Madame Hommaire,

are unavoidably frequent under such a system of warming, and with

servants so negligent as those in Russia; but happily they do not often

end fatally. The worst result of them is generally a violent headache,

all trace of which disappears the following day. Incredible as it may

appear, the common people take pleasure in the sort of intoxication

produced by the inhalation of diluted carbonic acid, and purposely

procure themselves that strange enjoyment on leisure days. "They close

the stoves before the usual time, and lie down on them; for in the

peasants' houses the stoves are so constructed as to present a platform,

on which the family sleep in winter. On entering a cabin on these

occasions, you see the inmates lying close together on their bellies,

chatting pleasantly with one another. Their faces are tumid and of a

deep red hue, from the effects of the noxious gas. There is an unusual

lustre in their protruding eyeballs, and in short, they have all the

outward appearance of intoxication, though the intellectual functions

are not affected by the gas. The headache they suffer may, indeed, be a

drawback to their pleasure, but the increased warmth thus obtained, is

so delightful to them, that they are content to purchase it even at that

price. There is no mistaking their evident enjoyment and satisfaction,

though one may not be tempted to partake in their joy."

Another mode of obtaining artificial heat is practised in what the

Russian peasants call their smoke-rooms. These rooms have but a few very

small windows, just large enough to pass the head through, and seldom

glazed, except with talc, where that mineral is abundant and cheap.

Where this is not the case they are stopped up, in winter only, with

moss and rags. When the fire is lighted, the chimney is closed, and the

smoke escapes through the stove-door into the room. Being lighter than

the cold air, it ascends at first, and hangs overhead in a thick cloud.

But as its mass increases, it gradually descends, until there is no

standing upright in the room without danger of suffocation. As the smoke

approaches the floor, so too do the inmates, first stooping, then

kneeling, sitting, and at last lying prone. If the smoke threatens quite

to reach the ground, they open the windows or air-holes, which are not

quite level with a man's head, and the black vapour rushes out. The

under part of the room is thus left free, the prostrate inmates

gradually rise, and set about their occupations in the clear warm space

below. The first time I entered one of these dark sooty dens, I was so

disgusted with it, that I should not have hesitated in my choice between

a prison and so horrible an abode. I was, therefore, not a little

surprised when I saw the inmates lying on the floor, gossiping quite at

their ease, and bandying about jokes that will hardly bear repeating,

but which manifested a degree of mirthfulness in these people I had,

until then, thought quite impossible."--_Idem._

CHAPTER VIII.

AN EARTHQUAKE--LUDICROUS ANECDOTE--SLEDGING--SPORTING--

DANGEROUS PASSAGE OF THE DNIEPR--THAW; SPRING-TIME--MANNERS

AND CUSTOMS OF THE LITTLE RUSSIANS--EASTER HOLIDAYS--THE

CLERGY.

That same winter at 10 P.M. on the 11th of January, we had a

smart shock of earthquake, but which happily did no mischief in that

part of the steppes. We were seated at the whist table, when we were

suddenly startled by a loud rolling noise, that seemed rapidly

approaching us, and the cards dropped from our hands. The sound was like

that of a large heavily-laden waggon rattling over the pavement.

Scarcely two seconds after our first surprise the whole house received a

sudden shock, that set all the furniture in motion, before the idea of

an earthquake had occurred to our minds. This first shock was followed

by another of longer duration, but less alarming character; it was like

the undulation of the waves when they are seeking to recover their

equilibrium. The whole house was filled with dismay, except the party in

the drawing-room; with us surprise prevailed over fear, and we remained

motionless as statues, whilst every one else was running out of doors.

The earthquake, of which mention has been made in several journals, gave

occasion to a ludicrous story that was related to us some days after.

One of the general's peasants, an old fellow whose conscience was no

doubt burthened with some weighty sin, imagined when he felt his house

dancing like a boat on the waves, that the devil in person was come to

bid him prepare to accompany him to the bottomless pit. Tearing out his

hair by the roots, bawling, roaring, and crossing himself, he begins to

confess his sins aloud, and gives himself up to the most violent terror

and despair. His wife, who was no less alarmed, accused her husband of

all sorts of wickedness; the husband retorted on the wife, and the whole

night was passed in unspeakable confusion. The day dawned, but brought

no comfort to the unfortunate sinner, whose spirits were all in a

ferment, like new wine. Fully assured that the devil would soon come and

lay his claws on him, he had no thought of going to his daily work. His

wife was equally regardless of her household cares; what was the use of

her preparing the porridge, when she and her husband were sure of

breakfasting with Lucifer? So there they sat, waiting the fatal moment,

with an anxiety that would have petrified them at last, but for an

unexpected incident. All the other peasants, probably having less on

their consciences, had been a-field since dawn. The head man of the

village missed Petrovitch and his wife; he waited for them some hours,

and at last bent his steps towards their cabin, calculating as he went

how many stripes of the knout he should administer to them for their

unpardonable neglect of duty. He steps in, but no one seems to notice

his presence. Petrovitch sits huddled together in a corner, staring

before him with glassy eyes; whilst his wife, on her knees before a

picture of St. Nicholas, never for a moment interrupts her crossings and

lamentations. "Hallo! what's all this?" cries the overseer, "have you

lost your wits, and don't you know that you ought to have been at work

hours ago?" "Oh Ivan Ivanovitch, it's all over; I shall never work

again." "Not work again, wont you? we shall see. Come, start, booby!"

And down comes the knout on the back of the peasant, who receives the

blows with the most stoical composure. "O beat me if you like; it's all

the same. What signify a few blows more or less, when a body is going to

be roasted with the fiends?" "What on earth do you mean?" said the

puzzled overseer; "what has happened to you to make you talk such

nonsense?" "Nonsense here, or nonsense there, I have had a warning in

the night." Ivan now recollected the earthquake, and suspecting he had

found a clue to the mystery, burst into a hearty fit of laughter. "Oh,

you may laugh; but you don't know that I am a great sinner, and that the

devil came last night to claim my soul." After amusing himself

sufficiently with the man's terrors, the overseer had the utmost

difficulty in convincing him that all the other houses had been shaken

like his own, and that the devil had nothing to do with the matter.

Sledge driving is one of the greatest amusements of the Russian winter.

The horses, stimulated by the cold, sweep with you over the plain with

the most mettlesome impetuosity. In the twinkling of an eye, you have

left behind you the whole surface of a frozen lake, measuring several

versts in length. It is a downright steeplechase: the keenness of the

air, the rapid motion, the shouts of the driver urging the willing

steeds, the vast plain that seems to enlarge as you advance, all produce

an intense excitement, and pleasurably dispel the torpor caused by the

indolent life of the steppes. We frequently crossed the Dniepr in this

manner, to drive about the streets of Kherson, where all the fashion of

the neighbourhood rendezvous from noon to two o'clock. It is an exercise

which has as much charm for the Russians as for foreigners; the smallest

landowner, or the lowest clerk in a public office, though he earns but a

few rubles a year, must have his sledge and his two horses, if he

starves for it half the year. At the usual hour you may reckon more than

a hundred sledges of every form, most of them covered with rich rugs and

furs, chasing each other through the streets, and each containing a

gentleman and lady, and a driver furred from head to foot. This sort of

amusement is an admirable aid to coquetry. Nothing can be more

fascinating than those female figures wrapped up in pelisses, and with

their faces dimly seen through their blonde veils; appearing for an

instant, and then vanishing into the vaporous atmosphere, followed by

many a tender glance.

I must say a few words as to the field sports of the steppes. Shooting

parties use a very long low carriage called a _dolgushka_, and

accommodating more than fifteen persons seated back to back. The feet

rest on a board on each side about a foot from the ground. Behind the

driver is a large box for holding provisions and all the accoutrements

of the sportsmen; and the game is received in another box fixed at the

end of the carriage. Nothing can be more convenient for country parties.

The _dolgushka_ is drawn by four horses yoked abreast; birds are much

less afraid of it than of a man on foot, and come near enough to allow

the sportsman to shoot without alighting. Parties often amounting to

many hundreds, both nobles and peasants, assemble for the pursuit of

wolves, foxes, and hares. The usual scene of these hunts is a desert

island belonging to General Potier. They begin by a general beating of

the steppes, whereupon the wild animals cross the ice to the little

island, thinking to be safe there from the balls of their pursuers; but

their retreat is soon invaded. The hunters form a circle round the

island, and then begins a slaughter that for some time clears the

country of those sheep devourers. Two or three battues of this kind take

place every year, chiefly for the purpose of destroying the wolves that

come in flocks and carry dismay into the sheep-folds.

Among the peculiarities presented by the plains of the Black Sea, I must

not omit to mention the extensive conflagrations that regularly take

place in winter, and remind one of the scenes witnessed by many

travellers in the prairies of America. In Russia, it is the inhabitants

themselves who set fire to the steppes, thinking that by thus clearing

away the withered herbage from the surface, they favour the growth of

the new grass. But the flames being often driven by the winds in all

directions, and over immense surfaces, now and then occasion great

disasters; and there have been instances in which sheep-folds and whole

flocks have been consumed.

The thaw begins on the Dniepr, about the end of March. It is preceded by

dull cracklings and muffled sounds, giving token that the river is

awakening from its long icy sleep, and is about to burst its prison. All

communication between the farms and Kherson is interrupted for more than

six weeks; posts of Cossacks stationed along the banks, give notice of

the danger of crossing; but as the temperature is continually changing

at that season, the final break-up does not take place for a long while.

At the beginning of the thaw we persisted in going to Kherson, in

opposition to all advice. When we came to the banks of the Dniepr and

manifested our intention of crossing, all the boatmen stared at us in

amazement, and not one of them would let us hire his sledge. We were

therefore about to give up our project, when we saw two or three

gentlemen coming towards us on foot across the Dniepr, followed by an

empty sledge. They told us that the river was partially clear of ice

opposite Kherson, and that it would be extremely dangerous to attempt

crossing in a sledge. They had left Kherson at six in the morning, (it

was then ten) and had been all that time engaged in effecting their

passage. They united with the boatmen in dissuading us from undertaking

such a journey, the danger of which was now the greater, inasmuch as

the sun had acquired much power since the morning; but all was of no

avail; their sledge which they placed at our disposal decided the

business, and we embarked gaily, preceded by a boatman, whom our example

had encouraged, and who was to sound the ice before us. A glowing sun

streamed over the vast sheet of ice, raising from it a bluish vapour,

which the driver and the guide watched with lively anxiety.

Notwithstanding their looks of uneasiness we pushed on rapidly, and the

boatman was oftener on the sledge than in advance of it. By and by,

however, the sounds of cracking ice growing more and more frequent,

rather cast a gloom over our imaginations, and made us begin to fear

that we should meet with more serious obstacles further on. We saw the

ice melting in some degree beneath the rays of the sun, and gradually

parting from the shores of the islands we were coasting; and what still

more augmented our uneasiness, was the elasticity of the ice, which bent

very visibly under the motion of our sledge. Its gradual rise and fall

seemed like the breathing of the river, becoming more and more distinct

as the ice diminished in thickness. As our guide still continued to

advance, we had no other course than to follow him, and so we came to an

arm of the Dniepr, which is much dreaded on account of its current, the

rapidity of which does not allow the ice to acquire much solidity even

in the most intense frosts. We all proceeded to cross it on foot, each

maneuvering as best he could on a surface as smooth as a mirror. At

last, notwithstanding our zigzags, our tumbles, and the splitting of the

ice, we found ourselves safe over the perilous passage, very much

delighted at having escaped so well, and at feeling solid ground under

our feet. We had then more than two versts to travel over an island,

before we came to the branch of the river opposite Kherson. With the

utmost confidence, then, we seated ourselves once more in the sledge,

and bounded away at full speed over a soft surface of snow melting

rapidly in the sun. But it is always when the mind is most at ease, that

accidents seem to take a malicious pleasure in surprising us. A wide

crevice, which the driver had not time to avoid, suddenly yawned athwart

our course; the sledge was immediately upset, and we were all pitched

out. My husband, who was seated on the top of the baggage, was quite

stunned by the blow; the driver and the guide, who were thrown a

considerable distance from the sledge, remained motionless likewise; and

as for me, I found myself rolled up in my pelisse in the middle of a

bush. When I cast a look on my companions in misfortune, they were

beginning to stir and to feel themselves all over. They seemed in no

hurry to get up, and they cut such piteous figures, that I could not

help laughing most heartily. Notwithstanding our bruises we were soon on

our legs, with the certainty that none of our bones were broken. The

driver limped back to his seat, in great amazement at not receiving a

severe castigation for his awkwardness. Had this mishap occurred to

Russians, the poor fellow would not have escaped with less than a sound

drubbing. We were more magnanimous, and imputed wholly to fortune an

accident which, indeed, could not easily have been avoided.

Our journey continued without much to alarm us, until we were just about

to commit ourselves to the wide arm of the Dniepr, that still lay

between us and the town. Its surface presented an appearance that was

really frightful. Enormous banks of ice were beginning to move, and had

already left a great part of the river exposed. Besides this, the ice

that still remained fixed, was so intersected with clefts, that we could

not advance without serious danger. Our position was becoming more and

more critical, and we were thinking of returning to the island we had

just left, and waiting until a boat could take us across to Kherson; but

as there would probably have been as much risk in returning as in

proceeding, we continued our route but with the utmost caution. The

first glow of exulting boldness was over, and we sorely regretted our

temerity. The floor that separated us from the waters seemed so

treacherous, that we every moment despaired of escape. This state of

perplexity lasted more than an hour; but at last we reached the vessels

that were ice-locked at some distance from the harbour. We were now in

safety, and we finished our perilous expedition in a boat.

Two days afterwards a southerly wind had almost completely swept away

the immense sheet of ice that for so many months had imprisoned the

waters of the Dniepr. The thaw took place so rapidly, that the river was

free before any one could have noted the progress of its deliverance. In

eight days there was not a vestige of ice, and we returned to Clarofka,

without experiencing any of the emotions we had felt on our first rash

and picturesque expedition. But this mild weather, very unusual in the

month of March, soon gave place to sharp frosts, which renewed the

winter mantle of the Dniepr, and did not entirely cease until the

beginning of April. At this season the steppes begin to be clothed with

a magnificent vegetation, and in a few days they have the appearance of

a boundless meadow, full of thyme, hyacinths, tulips, pinks, and an

infinity of other wild flowers of great sweetness and beauty. Thousands

of larks nestle in the grass, and carol everywhere over the traveller's

head. The sea, too, partakes in the common gladness of the general

season. Its shells are more beautiful and more numerous; its hues are

more varied, and its murmurs gentler. Plants and animals seem all in

haste to live and reproduce their kind, as if they foresaw the brief

duration of these pleasant days. Elsewhere, summer is often but a

continuation of spring; fresh blossoms come forth, and nature retains

her vital power for a long period; but here a fortnight or three weeks

are enough to change the vernal freshness of the landscape into a

sun-burnt waste. In all these countries there are really but two

seasons; you pass from intense cold to a Senegal heat; without the body

having time to accustom itself to this sudden change of temperature. The

sea-breezes alone make it possible to endure the heat which in July and

August almost always amounts to 94 deg. or 95 deg.

The thing to which the stranger finds it most difficult to accustom his

eyes in Russia, is the horrible sheep-skins in which men, women, and

children are muffled at all times of the year. These half-tanned skins,

which are worn with the wool inwards, give them a savage appearance,

which is increased in the men by the long beard and moustaches they

invariably wear. Yet there are handsome faces to be seen among the

Russian peasants, and in this respect Nature has been much more liberal

to the men than to the women, who are generally very ugly. The dress of

the latter consists in a shift with wide sleeves, fitting tight round

the throat, and trimmed with coloured cotton, and a petticoat fastened

below the bosom. Instead of a petticoat, girls commonly wear a piece of

woollen stuff, which laps across in front, without forming a single

plait, and is fastened by a long, narrow scarf, embroidered at the ends.

Their legs are quite bare, and any rather sudden movement may open their

singular garment more than is consistent with decorum. On holidays they

add to their ordinary attire a large muslin cap, and an apron of the

same material, adorned with a wide flounce. Their hair is tied up with

ribands, into two tresses, that fall on their shoulders, or are twisted

into a crown on the top of the head. When they marry, they cease to wear

their hair uncovered; a handkerchief of a glaring colour is then their

usual head-dress. We are now speaking only of the women of Little

Russia; but those of Great Russia retain the national costume called

_serafine_, which is very picturesque, and is still worn at court on

special occasions.

The women of Little Russia, accustomed to field labour from their

childhood, and usually marrying at the age of fifteen or sixteen, are

old before they have reached their thirtieth year; indeed, one can

hardly say when they cease to be young, since they never exhibit the

bloom of youth. Whether a Russian woman's age be fifteen, twenty, or

thirty, it is all one in the end. Immediately after childhood, her limbs

are as masculine, her features as hard, her skin as tanned, and her

voice as rough as at a more advanced age. So much has been written about

the relaxed morals and the drunkenness of the Russian peasants, that we

need not dwell on the subject. We shall only say that their deplorable

passion for strong liquors, is continually on the increase, and that

most of the young women are as much addicted to them as the old. It

frequently happens that a peasant and his wife go on Sunday to a

_kabak_, drench themselves with brandy, and on their way back fall dead

drunk into some gully, where they pass the whole night without being

aware of their change of domicile.

A fondness for dancing is another distinguishing characteristic of this

people. You often see a party of both sexes assemble after work, and

continue dancing all the evening. The Ruthenians are remarkable for

their gaiety and extreme indifference to worldly cares. Leaving to

their masters the whole trouble of providing for their lodging and

maintenance, they never concern themselves about the future. Their tasks

once ended, they think only of repose, and seldom entertain any idea of

working for themselves. When you pass through their villages, you never

see the peasants busy in repairing their hedges, cultivating their

gardens, mending their implements, or doing any thing else that bespeaks

any regard for domestic comforts. No--the Russian works only because he

is forced to do so; when he returns from his labour, he stretches

himself out to sleep on his stove, or goes and gets drunk at the next

_kabak_. A curious custom I have noticed in Southern Russia, and which

is common to all classes, is that of chewing the seeds of the melon or

the sunflower, from morning till night. In order to indulge this taste,

every one dries in the sun the seeds of all the melons he eats during

the summer, and puts by his stock for the winter. I have seen many wives

of _pometchiks_ (landowners) pass their whole day in indulging this

queer appetite.

In Russia, as in all imperfectly civilised countries, religious

ceremonies still retain all their ancient influence. They afford the

peasant a season of pleasure and emancipation, that makes him for a

moment forget his thraldom, to revel in intoxication. Full of

superstition, and indolent to an extreme degree, he longs impatiently

for the interval of relaxation that allows him to indulge his favourite

propensities. For him the whole sum and substance of every religious

festival consists in cessation from toil, and in outward practices of

devotion that bear a strong impress of gross idolatry. The Russian

thinks he perfectly understands and fulfils his religion, if he makes

innumerable signs of the cross and genuflections before the smoky

picture that adorns his isbas, and scrupulously observes those two

commandments of the Church, to fast and make lenten fare. His conscience

is then quite at ease, even though it should be burdened with the most

atrocious crimes. Theft, drunkenness, and even murder, excite in him

much less horror than the mere idea of breaking fast or eating animal

food on Friday.

Nothing can exceed the depravity of the Russian clergy; and their

ignorance is on a par with their vicious propensities. Most of the monks

and priests pass their lives in disgraceful intoxication, that renders

them incapable of decently discharging their religious duties. The

priestly office is regarded in Russia, not as a sacred calling, but as a

means of escaping from slavery and attaining nobility. The monks,

deacons, and priests, that swarm in the churches and monasteries, are

almost all sons of peasants who have entered the Church, that they may

no longer be liable to the knout, and above all to the misfortune of

being made soldiers. But though thereby acquiring the right to plunder

the serfs, and catechise them after their own fashion, they cannot

efface the stain of their birth, and they continue to be regarded by the

nobility with that sovereign disdain which the latter profess for all

who are not sprung from their own caste. The great and the petty nobles

are perfectly agreed in this respect, and it is not uncommon to see a

pometshik raise his hand to strike a pope, whilst the latter humbly bows

his head to receive the chastisement. This resignation, which would be

exemplary if it were to be ascribed to evangelical humility, is here but

the result of the base and crouching character of the slave, of which

the Russian priest cannot divest himself, even in the midst of the

highest functions of his spiritual life.

The appearance of the popes provokes equal disgust and astonishment. To

see those men, whose neglected beards, besotted faces, and filthy dress,

indicate a total want of all decent self-respect, it is impossible to

persuade oneself that such persons can be apostles of the divine word.

As usual in the Greek Church, they are all married and have large

families. You may look in vain in their dwellings for any indication of

their sacred character. A few coarsely-coloured pictures of saints, and

a few books flung into a corner of the room, in which the whole family

are huddled together, are the only marks of the profession exercised by

the master of the house. As they receive nothing from the state, it is

the unfortunate serfs who must support their establishments, and even

supply them with the means of indulging their gluttony and drunkenness.

It is particularly on the eve of a great Church festival, that the

Russian priest is sure of an abundant harvest of poultry, eggs, and

meal. Easter is the most remarkable of these festivals, and lasts a

whole week. During the preceding seven weeks of Lent, the Russian must

not eat either eggs, meat, fish, oil, butter, or cheese. His diet

consists only of salted cucumbers, boiled vegetables, and different

kinds of porridge. The fortitude with which he endures so long a

penance, proves the mighty influence which religious ideas possess over

such rude minds. During the last few days that precede the festival, he

is not allowed to take any food before sunset, and then it may be fairly

admitted that brandy is a real blessing for him.

It is impossible to imagine all the discussions that take place between

the popes and the peasants on these occasions. As the Russian must then

fulfil his religious duties, whether he will or not, he is at the mercy

of the priest, who of course makes him pay as dearly as he can for

absolution, and keeps a regular tariff, in which offences and

punishments are set down with minute precision. Thus for a theft, so

many dozens of eggs; for breach of a fast, so many chickens, &c. If the

serf is refractory, the punishment is doubled, and nothing can save him

from it. The thought of complaining to his lord of the pope's

extortionate cupidity never enters his head; for assuredly, if he were

to adopt such a course, he would think himself damned to all eternity.

As long as the holidays last, the lords keep open table, and every one

is free to enter and take part in the banquet. Such was the practice of

the _knias_ (princes) and boyards of old, who lived as sovereigns in

their feudal mansions, and extended their hospitality to all strangers,

without distinction of country or lineage. Many travellers allege that

this patriarchal custom still prevails in some families of Great Russia.

But here, except on gala days, most of the pometshiks live in such a

shabby style, as gives but a poor idea of their means or of their

dispositions.

To return to our Easter holidays: the last week of Lent is employed in

making an immense quantity of cakes, buns, and Easter bread, and in

staining eggs with all sorts of colours. A painter was brought expressly

from Kherson to our entertainer's mansion for this purpose, and he

painted more than 1000 eggs, most of them adorned with cherubims,

fat-cheeked angels, virgins, and all the saints in paradise. The whole

farm was turned topsy-turvy, the work was interrupted, and the steward's

authority suspended. Every one was eager to assist in the preparations

for merry making; some put up the swings, others arranged the ball-room;

some were intent on their devotions, others half-smothered themselves in

the vapour baths, which are one of the most favourite indulgences of the

Russian people: all in short were busy in one way or other. A man with a

barrel organ had been engaged for a long while beforehand, and when he

arrived every face beamed with joy. The Russians are passionately fond

of music. Often in the long summer evenings, after their tasks are

ended, they sit in a circle and sing with a precision and harmony that

evince a great natural aptitude for music. Their tunes are very simple

and full of melancholy; and as their plaintive strains are heard rising

at evening from some lonely spot in the midst of the desert plain, they

often produce emotions, such as more scientific compositions do not

always awaken.

At last Easter day was come. In the morning we were greatly surprised to

find our sitting-room filled with men who were waiting for us, and were

meanwhile refreshing themselves with copious potations of brandy. The

evening before we had been sent two bottles of that liquor, and a large

basket of cakes and painted eggs, but without any intimation of the use

they were to be put to; but we at once understood the meaning of this

measure, when we saw all these peasants in their Sunday trim, and a

domestic serving out drink to them, by way I suppose of beguiling the

time until we made our appearance.

The moment my husband entered the room, all those red-bearded fellows

surrounded him, and each with great gravity presented him with a painted

egg, accompanying the gift with three stout kisses. In compliance with

the custom of the country my husband had to give each of them an egg in

return, and a glass of brandy, after first putting it to his own lips.

But the ceremony did not end there: _Kooda barinya? kooda barinya?_

(where is madame), _nadlegit_ (it must be so), and so I was forced to

come among them and receive my share of the eggs and embraces. During

all Easter week the peasant has a right to embrace whomsoever he

pleases, not even excepting the emperor and the empress. This is a relic

of the old patriarchal manners which prevailed so long unaltered all

over northern Europe. In Russia, particularly, where extremes meet, the

peasant to this day addresses the czar with _thou_ and _thee_, and calls

him father in speaking to him.

When we had got rid of these queer visitors we repaired to the parlour,

where the morning repast was served up with a profusion worthy of the

times of Pantagruel. In the centre of the table stood a sucking pig

flanked with small hams, German sausages, chitterlings, black puddings,

and large dishes of game. A magnificent pie containing at least a dozen

hares, towered like a fortress at one end of the table, and seemed quite

capable of sustaining the most vehement onslaught of the assailants. The

sondag and the sterlet, those choice fish of Southern Russia, garnished

with aromatic herbs, betokened the vicinity of the sea. Imagine, in

addition to all these things, all sorts of cordial waters, glass vases

filled with preserves, and a multitude of sponge cake castles, with

their platforms frosted and heaped with bonbons, and the reader will

have an idea of the profuse good cheer displayed by the Russian lords on

such occasions.

General Potier, surrounded by all his household retinue, and by some

other guests, impatiently awaited the arrival of the pope, whose

benediction was an indispensable preliminary to the banquet. He arrived

at ten o'clock precisely, accompanied by a monk, and began to chant a

hallelujah, walking two or three times round the table; then blessing

each dish separately, he concluded by bravely attacking the sucking pig,

to the best part of which he helped himself. This was the signal to

begin; every one laid hold on what he liked without ceremony; the pie,

the hams, and the fish, all vanished. For more than a quarter of an hour

nothing was to be heard but a continual noise of knives and forks, jaws

munching, and glasses hobnobbing. The pope set a bright example, and his

rubicund face fully declared the pleasure he took in fulfilling such

functions of his office.

The Russians in general are remarkable for gluttony, such as perhaps is

without a parallel elsewhere. The rudeness of their climate and their

strong digestive powers would account for this. They make five meals

daily, and those so copious and substantial that one of them would alone

be amply sufficient for an inhabitant of the south.

During the repast a choir of girls stood before the windows and sang

several national airs in a very pleasing style; after which they

received the usual gratuity of nuts with tokens of the liveliest glee.

The Russians are strict observers of all ancestral customs, and Easter

would be no Easter for them if it came without eggs or nuts.

On leaving the breakfast table we proceeded to the place where the

sports were held; but there I saw nothing of that hearty merriment that

elsewhere accompanies a popular holiday. The women, in their best

attire, clung to the swings, I will not say gracefully, but very bodily,

and in a manner to shame the men, who found less pleasure in looking at

them than in gorging themselves with brandy in their smoky _kabaks_.

Others danced to the sound of the organ with cavaliers, whose zigzag

movements told of plenteous libations. Some old women nearly dead drunk

went from one group to another singing obscene songs, and falling here

and there in the middle of the road, without any one thinking of picking

them up.

We noticed on this occasion an essential characteristic of the Russian

people. In this scene of universal drunkenness there was no quarrelling;

not a blow was struck. Nothing can rouse the Russians from their apathy;

nothing can quicken the dull current of their blood; they are slaves

even in drink.

Next day we went to dine with one of the general's neighbours, who gave

us a most sumptuous reception. Before we sat down to table, we were

shown into a small room with a side-board loaded with cold meat, caviar,

salted cucumbers, and liqueurs, all intended to whet our appetites. This

collation, which the Russians call _sagouska_, always precedes their

meals; they are not content with their natural appetite, but have

recourse to stimulants that they may the better perform their parts at

table.

All the time of dinner we were entertained by a choir of forty young men

who sang some fine harmonised pieces, and some Cossack airs that pleased

us much. Our entertainer was one of the richest landowners in New

Russia, and his manner of living partakes of many of the old national

usages. His musicians are slaves taught by an Italian long attached to

the establishment in the capacity of chapel master.

Such are the Easter festivities. As the reader will perceive, they

consist on the whole in eating and drinking inordinately. The whole week

is spent in this way, and during all that time the authority of the

master is almost in abeyance; the coachman deserts the stables, the cook

the kitchen, the housekeeper her store-room; all are drunk, all are

merry-making, all are intent on enjoying a season of liberty so long

anticipated with impatience.

The rejoicings in the town are of the same character. The _katchellni_,

a sort of fair lasting three days, brings together all classes of

society. The nobles and the government servants ride about in carriages,

but the populace amuse themselves just as they do in the country, only

they have the pleasure of getting drunk in better company.

CHAPTER IX.

EXCURSION ON THE BANKS OF THE DNIEPR--DOUTCHINA--ELECTION OF

THE MARSHALS AND JUDGES OF THE NOBILITY AT KHERSON--HORSE-RACING

--STRANGE STORY IN THE "JOURNAL DES DEBATS"--A COUNTRY HOUSE

AND ITS VISITERS--TRAITS OF RUSSIAN MANNERS--THE WIFE OF TWO

HUSBANDS--SERVANTS--MURDER OF A COURIER--APPENDIX.

We left Clarofka in May, to explore the banks of the Dniepr, and the

shores of the Sea of Azov. The object we had in view was purely

scientific, but the journey became doubly interesting by affording us a

closer insight into the habits of Russian society, and the manner in

which noble families live on their estates. I had intended to visit

Taganrok, but on this occasion I proceeded no further than Doutchina,

the property of a Baroness de Bervick, who most hospitably insisted on

my remaining with her whilst my husband was continuing his geological

researches in the country of the Cossacks.

Doutchina is situated on the post-road from Kherson to Iekaterinoslav,

in a broad ravine formed by a brook that falls into the Dniepr a little

way from the village. From the high ground over which the road passes,

the eye suddenly looks down on a beautiful landscape--a most welcome

surprise for the traveller who has just passed over some hundred versts

of uncultivated plains.

In Russia, travelling is not, as elsewhere, synonymous with seeing new

sights. In vain your _troika_ bears you along with dizzy speed; in vain

you pass hours, days, and nights in posting; still you have before your

eyes the same steppe that seems to lengthen out before you as you

advance, the same horizon, the same cold stern lines, the same snow or

sunshine; and nothing either in the temperature or the aspect of the

ground indicates that you have accomplished any change of place.

It is only in the vicinity of the great rivers that the country assumes

a different aspect, and the wearied eye at last enjoys the pleasure of

encountering more limited horizons, a more verdant vegetation, and a

landscape more varied in its outlines. Among these rivers, the Dniepr

claims one of the foremost places, from the length of its course, the

volume of its waters, and the deep bed it has excavated for itself

athwart the plains of Southern Russia. But nowhere does it present more

charming views than from the height I have just mentioned and its

vicinity. After having spread out to the breadth of nearly a league, it

parts into a multitude of channels, that wind through forests of oaks,

alders, poplars, and aspens, whose vigorous growth bespeaks the richness

of a virgin soil. The groups of islands capriciously breaking the

surface of the waters, have a melancholy beauty and a primitive

character scarcely to be seen except in those vast wildernesses where

man has left no traces of his presence. Nothing in our country at all

resembles this kind of landscape. With us, the creature has everywhere

refashioned the work of the Creator; the mark of his hand appears even

on the most inaccessible mountains; whereas, in Russia, where the nobles

are the sole proprietors, nature still remains, in many places, just as

God created it. Thus these plavniks[3] of the Dniepr, seldom touched by

the woodman's axe, have all the wild majesty of the forests of the new

world. For some time after my arrival at Doutchina, I found an endless

source of delight in contemplating those majestic scenes, lighted by a

pale sky, and veiled in light mists, that gave them a tinge of sadness,

sometimes more pleasing than the glare of noon.

Doutchina, situated, as I have said, on a ledge of a ravine that ends in

the plavniks, is altogether unlike the other villages of Russia. Its

pretty cottages, separated by gardens and groups of fruit-trees, its

picturesque site and magnificent environs, strikingly remind one of the

Danube, near Vienna. The whole country, as far as one can see from the

highest point of the road, belongs to the Baroness of Bervick, and forms

one of the most valuable estates in the neighbourhood. But her residence

is strangely unsuited to her fortune, being a mere cabin, open to every

wind, and fit, at most, for a sporting lodge. As we looked on this

shabby abode, we were amazed that a wealthy lady, still young and

handsome, should be content to inhabit it, and to endure a multitude of

privations, which we should have thought intolerable to a person of her

station. At the time we became this lady's guest, she had left France

about eighteen months, to reside on this property, bequeathed to her by

her late husband.

Some days after my husband's departure we set out for Kherson, where the

elections of the marshals and judges of the nobility were soon to take

place. All the great families of the government of Kherson were already

assembled in the town, and gave it an appearance of animation to which

it had long been a stranger. These elections, which take place only

every three years, are occasions for balls and parties, to which the

pometchiks and their wives look forward with eager anticipation. For

more than a fortnight the town is thronged with officers of all ranks,

and elegant equipages with four horses, that give the streets and

promenades an unusually gay appearance. The Russians spare no expense on

these occasions of display. Many a petty proprietor's wife, who lives

all the year on _kash_[4] and dried fish, contrives at this period to

out-do the ladies of the town in costly finery.

The amusements began with a horse-race, which made some noise in the

world in consequence of an article in the _Journal des Debats_. Those

who have any curiosity to know how one may mystify a newspaper, and

amuse oneself at the expense of a credulous public, have but to read a

certain number of the year 1838, which positively alleges, that forty

ladies, headed by the young and beautiful Narishkin, appeared on the

course as jockeys, rode their own horses, &c., and a thousand other

things still more absurd and incredible. All I can say of this race, at

which I was present, is, that it was like every other affair of the

kind, and was not distinguished by any remarkable incident or romantic

adventure. Eight horses started, one of which belonged to the Countess

Voronzof and another to General Narishkin, and the riders were not

lovely ladies, but rather clumsy grooms. The first prize, a large

silver cup worth 1500 rubles, was won by the Countess Voronzof's

Atalanta: the second was carried off by the general's horse. Such is the

way in which these things always end, and the consequence may very

likely be, that the races will cease altogether. The landowners know

very well that their horses stand no chance against those belonging to

great people, and as they are sure of being beaten they will at last

grow tired of the mock contest. The Countess Voronzof ought to consider

that these races are not merely an amusement, but that they were

instituted for the purpose of encouraging the improvement of the breed

of horses.

After the race there was a grand dinner at the general commandant's,

which was attended by all the rank and fashion then assembled in

Kherson. It was at this dinner I first remarked the custom observed by

the Russians of placing the gentlemen on one side of the table and the

ladies on the other, a custom both unsightly and injurious to

conversation. It has almost fallen into disuse in Odessa, like all the

other national practices; but in the provincial towns it would still be

thought a deadly insult to a lady to help her after a gentleman, and no

doubt it is in order to avoid such a breach of politeness that the

ladies are all ranged together in one row.

The nobility of the district gave a grand ball that evening in one of

the club-rooms, and there I noticed all the contrasts that form the

ground-work of Russian manners. The mixture of refinement and barbarism,

of gallantry and grossness, which this people exhibits on all occasions,

shows how young it still is in civilisation. Here were officers in

splendid uniforms and ladies blazing with diamonds, dancing and playing

cards in a very ugly room with old patched and plastered walls, dimly

lighted by a few shabby lamps, and they were as intent on their

pleasures as if they were in a court drawing-room, and never seemed to

think that there was any thing at all offensive to the sight in the

accommodations around them. The refreshments, consisting of dried fruits

and _eau sucree_, were in as much demand as the best ices and sherbets

could have been. The same inconsistency was displayed in the behaviour

of the gentlemen towards the ladies. Though ready, like the Poles, to

drink every man of them to his fancy's queen out of the heel of her

shoe, they did not think it unbecoming to take their places alone in the

quadrilles, neither troubling themselves to go in search of their

partners nor escorting them back to their seats after the dance. Setting

aside, however, this total want of tact, they perfectly imitate all the

outward shows and forms of politeness.

A final ball, given by the governor at the conclusion of the election,

was much more brilliant than those of the noblesse, and satisfied my

critical eye in every respect. Every thing testified the taste and

opulence of our entertainer. A splendid supper was served up at

midnight, and a chorus of young lads sang some national airs, full of

that grave and melancholy sweetness that constitutes the charm of

Russian music. When the champagne was sent round the governor rose and

made a speech in Russian, which was responded to by a general hurrah:

the healths of the emperor, the empress, and the rest of the imperial

family, were then drunk with shouts of joy; the married ladies were next

toasted, then the unmarried, who were cheered with frantic acclamations.

These duties being accomplished, the company returned to the ball-room,

where dancing was kept up until morning. This entertainment was perfect

in its kind; but, in accordance with the national habits, it was

destined to end in an orgy. We learned the next day that the dawn had

found the gentlemen eating, drinking, and fighting lustily. It was

reckoned that 150 bottles of champagne were emptied on this occasion,

and as the price of each bottle is eighteen francs, the reader may hence

form some idea of Russian profusion.

Two days afterwards we left Kherson for the country seat of the marshal

of the nobles, where a large party was already assembled. The manner in

which hospitality is exercised in Russia is very convenient, and entails

no great outlay in the matter of upholstery. Those who receive visiters

give themselves very little concern as to whether their guests are well

or ill lodged, provided they can offer them a good table; it never

occurs to them that a good bed, and a room provided with some articles

of furniture, are to some persons quite as acceptable as a good dinner.

Whatever has no reference to the comfort of the stomach, lies beyond the

range of Russian politeness, and the stranger must make up his account

accordingly. As we were the last comers, we fared very queerly in point

of lodging, being thrust four or five of us into one room, with no other

furniture than two miserable bedsteads; and there we were left to shift

for ourselves as we could. The house is very handsome in appearance; but

for all its portico, its terrace, and its grand halls, it only contains

two or three rooms for reception, and a few garrets, graced with the

name of bed-rooms. Ostentation is inherent in the Russian character, but

it abounds especially among the petty nobles, who lavish away their

whole income in outward show. They must have equipages with four horses,

billiard-rooms, grand drawing-rooms, pianos, &c. And if they can procure

all these superfluities, they are quite content to live on mujik's fare,

and to sleep in beds without any thing in the shape of sheets.

Articles of furniture, the most indispensable, are totally unknown in

the dwellings of most of the second-rate nobles. Notwithstanding the

vaunted progress of Russian civilisation, it is almost impossible to

find a basin and ewer in a bed-room. Bedsteads are almost as great

rarities, and almost invariably you have nothing but a divan on which

you may pass the night. You may deem yourself singularly fortunate if

the mistress of the mansion thinks of sending you a blanket and a

pillow; but this is so unusual a piece of good luck that you must never

reckon upon it. In their own persons the Russians set an example of

truly Spartan habits, as I had many opportunities of perceiving during

my stay in the marshal's house. No one, the marshal himself not

excepted, had a private chamber; his eldest daughter, though a very

elegant and charming young lady, lay on the floor, wrapped up in a cloak

like an old veteran. His wife, with three or four young children, passed

the night in a closet that served as boudoir by day, and he himself made

his bed on one of the divans of the grand saloon. As for the visiters,

some slept on the billiard-table; others, like ourselves, scrambled for

a few paltry stump bedsteads, whilst the most philosophical wore away

the night in drinking and gambling.

I say nothing as to the manner in which the domestic servants are

lodged; a good guess as to this matter may be easily made from what I

have just said of their masters. Besides, it is a settled point in

Russia never to take any heed for servants; they eat, drink, and sleep,

how and where they can, and their masters never think of asking a word

about the matter. The family whose guests we were was very large, and

furnished us with themes for many a remark on the national usages, and

the notions respecting education that are in vogue in the empire. A

Swiss governess is an indispensable piece of furniture in every house in

which there are many children. She must teach them to read, write, and

speak French, and play a few mazurkas on the piano. No more is required

of her; for solid instruction is a thing almost unknown among the petty

nobles. A girl of fifteen has completed her education if she can do the

honours of the drawing-room, and warble a few French romances. Yet I

have met with several exceptions to this rule, foremost among which I

must note our host's pretty daughter Loubinka, who, thanks to a sound

understanding and quick apprehension, has acquired such a stock of

information as very few Russian ladies possess.

It is only among those families that constantly reside on their estates

that we still find in full vigour all those prejudices, superstitions,

and usages of old Russia, that are handed down as heir-looms from

generation to generation, and keep strong hold on all the rustic

nobility. No people are more superstitious than the Russians; the sight

of two crossed forks, or of a salt-cellar upset, will make them turn

pale and tremble with terror. There are unlucky days on which nothing

could induce them to set out on a journey or begin any business. Monday

especially is marked with a red cross in their calendar, and woe to the

man who would dare to brave its malign influence.

Among the Russian customs most sedulously preserved is that of mutual

salutations after meals. Nothing can be more amusing than to see all the

persons round the table bowing right and left with a gravity that proves

the importance they attach to a formality so singular in our eyes. The

children set the example by respectfully kissing the hands of their

parents. In all social meetings etiquette peremptorily requires that the

young ladies, instead of sitting in the drawing-room, shall remain by

themselves in an adjoining apartment, and not allow any young man to

approach them. If there is dancing the gravest matron in the company

goes and brings them almost by force into the ball-room. Once there they

may indulge their youthful vivacity without restraint; but on no pretext

are they to withdraw from beneath the eyes of their mothers or

chaperons. It would be ruinous to a young lady's reputation to be caught

in a _tete-a-tete_ with a young man within two steps of the ball-room.

But all this prudery extends no further than outward forms, and it would

be a grand mistake to suppose that there is more morality in Russia than

elsewhere. Genuine virtue, such as is based on sound principles and an

enlightened education is not very common there. Young girls are

jealously guarded, because the practice is in accordance with the

general habits and feelings of the country, and little reliance is

placed in their own sense of propriety. But once married, they acquire

the right of conducting themselves as they please, and the husband would

find it a hard matter to control their actions. Though divorces are

almost impossible to obtain, it does not follow that all wives remain

with their husbands; on the contrary, nothing is more common than

amicable arrangements between married people to wink at each other's

peccadilloes; such conventions excite no scandal, and do not exclude the

wife from society. One of these divorces I will mention, which is

perhaps without a parallel in the annals of the civilised world.

A very pretty and sprightly young Polish lady was married to a man of

great wealth, but much older than herself, and a thorough Muscovite in

coarseness of character and habits. After two or three years spent in

wrangling and plaguing each other, the ill-assorted pair resolved to

travel, in the hopes of escaping the intolerable sort of life they led

at home. A residence in Italy, the chosen land of intrigues and illicit

amours, soon settled the case. The young wife eloped with an Italian

nobleman, whose passion ere long grew so intense that nothing would

satisfy him short of a legal sanction of their union. Divorces, as every

one knows, are easily obtained in the pope's dominions. Madame de K. had

therefore no difficulty in causing her marriage to be annulled,

especially with the help of her lord and master, who, for the first time

since they had come together, agreed with her, heart and soul. Every

thing was promptly arranged, and _Monsieur_ carried his complaisance so

far as to be present as an official witness at _Madame's_ wedding,

doubtless for the purpose of thoroughly making sure of its validity.

Three or four children were the fruit of this new union; but the lady's

happiness was of short duration. Her domestic peace was destroyed by the

intrigues of her second husband's family; perhaps, too, the Italian's

love had cooled; be this as it may, after some months of miserable

struggles and humiliations, sentence of separation was finally

pronounced against her, and she found herself suddenly without fortune

or protector, burdened with a young family, and weighed down with

fearful anticipations of the future. Her first step was to leave a

country where such cruel calamities had befallen her, and to return to

Podolia, the land of her birth. Hitherto her story is like hundreds of

others, and I should not have thought of narrating it had it ended

there; but what almost surpasses belief, and gives it a stamp of

originality altogether out of the common line, is the conduct of her

first husband when he heard of her return. That brutal, inconstant man,

who had trampled on all social decencies in attending at the marriage of

his wife with another, did all in his power to induce her to return to

his house. By dint of unwearied efforts and entreaties he succeeded in

overcoming her scruples, and bore her home in triumph along with her

children by the Italian, on whom he settled part of his fortune. From

that time forth the most perfect harmony subsists between the pair, and

seems likely long to continue. I saw a letter written by the lady two or

three months after her return beneath the conjugal roof; it breathed the

liveliest gratitude and the fondest affection for him whom she called

_her beloved husband_.

The Russians pique themselves greatly on having a large retinue of

servants; the smallest proprietor never keeps fewer than five or six;

yet this does not prevent their houses from being, without exception,

disgustingly dirty. Except the state-rooms, which the servants make a

show of cleaning, all the rest of the house is left in a state of filth

beyond description. The condition of these domestic servants is much

less pitiable than one would suppose; they are so numerous that they

have hardly any thing to do, and spend half the day in sleeping. The

canings they receive from time to time do not at all ruffle their good

humour. It is true they fare horribly as to victuals, and have no other

bed than the bare ground; but their robust constitutions enable them

easily to endure the greatest privations, and if they have salted

cucumbers, arbutus berries, and _kash_, they scarcely envy their masters

their more nutritious viands.

After some ten days spent very agreeably in the house of the marshal of

the nobles, we at last set out on our return for Doutchina, where my

husband was soon to meet us again. On arriving at the third

post-station, we were surprised to find the house filled with Cossacks

and police-officers. Neither postmaster, horses, nor coachmen, were to

be seen, and it was plain some extraordinary event had taken place. We

were presently informed that a murder had been committed two days

before, at a very short distance from the station, on the person of a

courier, who had a sum of 40,000 rubles in his charge. The following are

the details communicated to us on the subject. A courier arrived at the

post-station in the evening, having with him a small valise containing a

considerable amount of property. He drank a few glasses of brandy with

the postmaster before he resumed his journey, and told him he was not

going further than Kherson, and would return that way next day.

That same night some peasants found a deserted carriage on the highway,

near Kherson, and were soon satisfied on examining it, that a crime had

been committed in it. Several pieces of silver coin were scattered in

the straw, as if some one had forgotten them there in his haste, and

copious marks of blood were discernible on the ground and in the

carriage. These facts were communicated to the police, inquiries were

instituted, and the courier's body, with a deep gash in the head, was

found in a ditch two or three versts from the station. The driver had

disappeared, and the postmaster, an unfortunate Jew, who was perhaps

innocent of all participation in the crime, was immediately taken to

prison. Such was the state of the case when we arrived at the station

and found it all in confusion, and filled with Cossacks.

This tragic event threw the whole country into agitation, but it was not

until six weeks afterwards that the police at last succeeded in

arresting the perpetrator of the deed, in consequence of quite new

information, which gave a still stranger complexion to the whole story.

By the murderer's own statement, it appeared that he belonged to a

family of shopkeepers, and that he had given up his business only to

execute a long cherished project. Some months before the murder he had

gone into the Crimea, where he had taken pains to conceal his identity

and baffle any attempt to track his steps, by letting his beard grow,

adopting the habits and appearance of a mujik, and frequently changing

his place of abode. When he thought his measures complete in this

respect, he went and hired himself as postillion to the Jew, who kept

the post-station before mentioned. He had been waiting more than a month

for a favourable opportunity, when the unfortunate courier, who was his

victim, arrived. He confessed he had hesitated for some moments before

committing the murder, not from horror of the deed itself, but because

he recognised in the courier an old companion of his boyhood. Twice,

perceiving that the man was asleep, he had left his seat and got up

behind the carriage with the intention of knocking him on the head; but

twice his courage failed him; the third time, however, he drew the

courier's own sabre and cleft his skull with it at a blow. Having

secured the valise, he threw the corpse into a ditch, and continued his

journey to within a short distance of Kherson, where he left the

kibitka, changed his dress, cut off his beard, and then entered the city

on foot. His family received him without the least suspicion, never

doubting but that he came straight from the Crimea, and for more than

six weeks he lived quite at his ease, making like every body else

numberless conjectures respecting the event which was the constant theme

of conversation. Meanwhile, several persons having been struck by the

resemblance of his features to those of the postillion who had

disappeared, they put the police on the alert, and he was arrested just

as he was setting out for Bessarabia. He was condemned to a hundred

strokes of the knout, and the postmaster was sent to Siberia. The

children of the latter were enrolled as soldiers, and all he was worth

became the booty of the police.

With such penal laws, Russia has little to fear from malefactors.

Notwithstanding its vast extent and its thinly scattered population,

the traveller is safer there than in any other country. But this state

of things is to be ascribed rather to the political situation of the

people, than to the strict administration of the police, and it is easy

to conceive that in a country, in which there are none but slaves bound

to the soil, highway robberies, generally speaking, are morally

impossible, because they can scarcely ever yield any gain to their

authors. There existed, nevertheless, in Bessarabia, from 1832 to 1836,

a very formidable gang of robbers, of which the police found it

extremely difficult to rid the country. The captain, of whom a thousand

extraordinary tales are told, was a revolted slave, unconsciously

playing the part of Fra Diavolo, in a corner of Russia. He waged war not

against individuals, but against society. It is alleged, that he never

killed any one, and that many a peasant found with him an asylum and

protection. He was a daring fellow, beloved by his gang, and a merciless

plunderer of landlords, and above all of Jews. It was not until the

close of 1836 that he was taken, through the treachery of a girl he was

attached to, who betrayed him to the officers of justice. He died under

the knout; the death of their leader dispersed his gang, and they fell

one by one into the hands of the police.

Some days after my husband's return, we took our leave of the baroness

to return to Clarofka. Our main journey through the Kalmuck steppes and

to the Caucasus, being fixed for the following spring, part of the

winter was spent in making preparations for our departure. Count

Voronzof most obligingly furnished us with letters for the governors and

authorities of the countries we were to pass through.

FOOTNOTES:

[3] The name applied collectively to the islands and channels formed by

all the great rivers of Southern Russia.

[4] A favourite Russian dish, a sort of porridge of buckwheat or Indian

corn.

APPENDIX TO CHAPTER IX.

_Petty Larceny._--"Highway robbery and burglary, with violence, are

things wholly unknown in the greater part of Russia. The peasants laugh

when they see foreigners travelling about with swords, pistols, and a

whole arsenal of weapons. The Russian trader journeys from one end of

the empire to the other, often with all he is worth in the world, and

does not think it necessary even to carry a knife in his pocket; yet one

never hears of their being robbed by force on the highways, at least in

the parts of the country with which I was more intimately acquainted.

Cases of the kind do indeed occur in the southern provinces, adjoining

the Turkish dominions, and in Siberia, where so many malefactors are

settled, and where there is often extreme distress. Some may be disposed

to ascribe this unfrequency of highway robbery to the great remoteness

of the villages from each other, and to the severity of the climate,

which must deter rogues from remaining much in the open air, especially

at night. But even in summer, and in the more populous regions, where

the villages are tolerably close together, highway robbery is equally

rare, and the absence of this crime seems to me attributable rather to

the character of the people themselves, to whom the practice seems

repugnant and unnatural. It were to be wished that they had the same

instinctive aversion to robbery without violence, but this unfortunately

is not the case. As I was a frequent sufferer from the nimbleness of

their fingers, I had occasion enough to ponder on the causes of this

striking propensity of theirs, and I came to the conclusion, paradoxical

as it may perhaps seem, that it arises not so much from want of moral

feeling as from want of intellectual cultivation. Most of the common

folk who are given to this vice (for among educated persons it is as

rare and is reputed as infamous as in any other country) see no harm at

all in pilfering, and are, therefore, prone to practise it whenever they

have an opportunity. I am fully persuaded that these people, who are

often the most good-natured and even honest-hearted fellows, would

desist from the practice if they were once taught to regard it in a

different light, and were made conscious of its impropriety. This is a

case as to which primary instruction, village schools, and church

sermons, in the vernacular tongue, would deal most happily and

beneficially for the morals of the nation. But village schools are rare,

and sermons or religious instruction of any kind, are rarer still; books

there are none, and if there were any the populace could not read them.

What means then have they of becoming enlightened as to themselves and

the things around them, and of correcting the views and notions handed

down to them from generation to generation? Centuries ago they worked

out for themselves their own system of ethics, if I may so speak, and

they now make the best they can of it. Certain things, for instance,

such as household furniture and the like, are regarded as sacred; the

owners may leave them all night in the street, and be sure of finding

them again in the morning, whereas there are a thousand other things

which they cannot watch too carefully, though far less serviceable, and

consequently less tempting. On the former there is a sort of interdict

laid by tacit consent, whereas the latter are looked upon as common

property. The same man who will not hesitate to pick another's pocket,

or to filch something from his table, will never, even though quite safe

from detection, open a closed door, or put his hand in at an open window

to take any thing out of a room. He would call this 'stealing'

(_vorit_,) and that has an ugly sound even in Russian ears, and is

considered a great sin. But the first-mentioned little matters he looks

on as allowed, or at least not forbidden, and he applies to them the

endearing diminutive _vorovat_, a pretty, harmless word, not at all

associated with the odious idea of thieving properly so called. To put

this matter in a clearer light I will relate two little incidents that

came under my own personal observation.

"I was once in the house of a common chapman on an affair of business,

in which he behaved like an upright worthy man. We had finished the

transaction between us, and were sipping our tea, when an old man with

an open, honest-looking countenance, but very poorly clad, came in and

offered the chapman a silver spoon for sale. After some chaffering the

latter bought the spoon at a price much below its worth, and said,

banteringly, as he paid over the money: '_Sukin tu sin, tu vorovat_.'

'You pilfered it, you son of a b----.' (This last phrase, as I have

elsewhere remarked, is practically equivalent to 'my good friend,' or

the like.) The old man looked at him with a roguish twinkle of the eye,

laid his hand on his breast, and said very gravely: '_Niet sudar, Bog

podal_,' 'No, sir, God bestowed it,' and then went quietly about his

business. I often took pains to come at the special meaning of this

'_Bog podal_,' by a series of indirect questions, and every time I

became more and more assured that by many persons the phrase was

understood as signifying a sort of divine permission to steal.

"The second anecdote is perhaps still more characteristic. In the year

1816 I was on my way with a German friend to the country-seat of Count

S. We thought we were the only persons in our little open carriage who

understood the German language, in which we conversed, when, to our

surprise, our long-bearded _ishvorshtik_ (coachman) joined in the

discourse with great fluency, though his German was somewhat broken.

Observing our astonishment, he told us that he had been in Germany, and

had served in a detached corps of the army, which had been organised in

the form of a _landwehr_, or local militia: he had passed a summer in

Saxony, and seen Leipsig, Dresden, Wittenberg, &c. All this he told us

with an air of no small self-complacency. 'And how did you like

Germany?' said I. 'Why, pretty well,' he answered, 'only for one thing

that I could not abide at all.' He might have settled there

advantageously, and his colonel would have given him his discharge, as

the corps was to be disbanded; but this _one thing_ he talked of was not

to be got over, and so he had preferred to return home. 'And what was

this thing that stuck so in your stomach?' 'Sir,' said he, turning to us

with one eye half shut, and speaking almost in a whisper, '_Sudar,

vorovat ne velat_,' 'Sir, they won't allow a body to do a wee bit of

pilfering.' We were not a little confounded by this unexpected reply,

and my friend, who had not been long in Russia, was beginning to lecture

him on the enormity of such principles, when the coachman, who had no

mind to hear a long sermon, laughingly cut short the preacher's

harangue, and gave him to understand that he was wandering wide of the

mark. 'O, you don't understand me, _sudar_, I don't mean stealing; of

course not; I know very well it is a bad thing; I only mean _vorovat_,

which surely ought to be allowed everywhere; leastways it ought to be

allowed to a poor soldier.'

"The world is ruled by opinion: we should therefore try to set this

governing power right, where we can, and where that may not be one, we

should at least make the best use we can of it in the state in which we

find it. Russia affords one striking exemplification of this wise system

of compromise with reference to the subject we have been discussing. It

is a received opinion among the populace, as I have said, that a man may

filch a little from a stranger without being guilty of downright

dishonesty, but to rob one's own master, is a grievous and unpardonable

sin. Hence, the surest way of protecting yourself against a house-thief,

when you once know him, is to take him into your service. From that

moment you are not only safe from any larceny on his part, but you have

secured besides the best watch against all other thieves, since it is a

point of honour with him to prevent all acts of peculation that might

entail suspicion on himself; and he knows practically all the tricks and

stratagems against which he must be on his guard. An officer of high

rank in the Russian army, a German by birth, told me, that once when his

battalion had to encamp for several weeks together along with a Cossack

pult, he and his men had like to be stripped of all they had by a

continual course of thieving. Every morning brought a disastrous list of

clothes missing, horse trappings carried off, &c. &c. More sentinels

were placed, strict vigilance was observed, but every precaution failed.

Almost at his wit's end, the officer complained to the hetman of the

pult, and was advised by him to withdraw all his own sentries, and to

make one of the Cossacks mount guard in his own quarters, and in every

division of those occupied by his men. The German could not help

thinking the proposed measure very like committing the fold to the

custody of the wolf, but as he knew nothing better he could do, he

adopted it, and from that moment all the thieving was at an end. The

Cossacks always laid themselves down at nightfall right before the doors

of the quarters and stables, and the officer never again heard even of

any attempt to annoy him or his men. Such is the force of opinion, and

of the manner in which these people (and all of us, too, if we will but

own it) are in the habit of seeing things."--_Von Littrow._

Von Littrow remarks that we ought not to be too hasty in laying to the

account of moral depravity the nimbleness of finger of the Russian

peasant, but consider whether even among the most civilised people there

are not some relics of the olden barbarism, some striking deviations

from moral propriety, which OPINION is pleased to look on with

indulgence. Books change owners in the German universities by a

surreptitious process, for which a slang word has been adopted. This

kind of _vorovat_ is called "shooting" (_schiessen_) and some very

learned professors we are told, plume themselves on the skill with which

they contrive to "shoot" rare specimens of natural history, &c. There

are men otherwise of great probity and worth, who we fear are not always

scrupulously careful to return a borrowed umbrella.

_Russian Servants._--"Where a German would think himself very well off

with the attendance of one woman servant, a Russian tradesman, in like

pecuniary circumstances, keeps at least four; but the German's one

servant does quite as much as the Russian's four put together. In the

houses of the wealthy, the number of menservants amounts to fifty,

sixty, and even a hundred or more. There is an intendant and a

_maitre-d'hotel_, a couple of dozen of pages and footmen, the master of

the house's own men, the lady's own men, and again own men for the young

gentlemen and for the young ladies; then come the butlers, caterers,

hunters, doorkeepers, porters, couriers, coachmen, and stable-boys,

grooms and outriders, cooks and under-cooks, confectioners,

stove-lighters, and chamber-cleaners, &c. &c., not to mention the female

servants of all sorts. But the worst of the thing is the continual

increase of this numerous body; for it is a matter of course in Russia

that every married man who enters service takes his wife with him; his

children, too, belong to the house and remain in it; nay, his kith and

kin, if not actually domesticated in the establishment, take up their

abode in it for days and weeks together, without demur; besides which,

the friends and acquaintances of the servants may drop in when they

please, and partake of bed and board. 'When I married,' said a wealthy

Russian to me, 'I made up my mind to have no more of these

good-for-nothing people in my house than were unavoidably necessary for

myself and my wife, and I therefore restricted myself to forty, but

after the lapse of three or four years, I remarked, to my great

astonishment, that this number was already almost doubled.' In any other

country, some three or four of these fellows would be thought enough to

wait at table even in the best appointed houses; but in Russia, where

dinner parties often consist of forty or fifty persons, there must be a

servant behind every chair, or the whole set out would be considered

extremely shabby. It was formerly the custom generally, and it is so

still in the country-houses of the great, to have a footman constantly

stationed in each of the rooms of the numerous suite of apartments, and

one or two lads outside, their business being to do the office now

performed by bells. An order given by the lord of the mansion in the

innermost apartment, was transmitted from room to room, and from door to

door, until it reached the last of the train, who fetched the article

called for, and so it was passed from hand to hand until it reached the

_gosudar_ (the lord).

"A Polish countess told me, that she once called on Count Orloff on

business, and while they were conversing, the count desired the servant

who stood by the door, to call for a glass of water. The man disappeared

for a moment to speak to his next neighbour, and immediately returned to

his post; half-an-hour elapsed, and no water came. The thirsty count had

to repeat the order, and turning to the countess, he said, 'See what a

poor man I am; I have more than a hundred and twenty servants in this

house alone, and if I want a glass of water, I cannot have it.' The

countess smiled at the poor man, and told him that if he was a good deal

poorer, and had but one servant, he would be better attended on. The

Countess Orloff, his daughter, who inherited his whole fortune, is said

to have upwards of 800 servants of both sexes in her palace at Moscow,

and to maintain a special hospital for them."--_Von Littrow._

CHAPTER X.

DEPARTURE FOR THE CASPIAN--IEKATERINOSLAV--POTEMKIN'S RUINED

PALACE--PASKEVITCH'S CAUCASIAN GUARD--SHAM FIGHT--INTOLERABLE

HEAT--CATARACTS OF THE DNIEPR--GERMAN COLONIES--THE SETCHA OF

THE ZAPOROGUES--A FRENCH STEWARD--NIGHT ADVENTURE--COLONIES

OF THE MOLOSHNIA VODI--MR. CORNIES--THE DOUKOBOREN, A RELIGIOUS

SECT.

About the middle of May, 1839, we left the shores of the Black Sea,

accompanied by a Cossack and an excellent dragoman, who spoke all the

dialects current in Southern Russia. After we had travelled more than

100 leagues upwards along the banks of the Dniepr, we reached

Iekaterinoslav, a new town, which about fifty years ago consisted only

of some wretched fishermen's cabins, scattered along the margin of the

river.

Iekaterinoslav, founded in 1784 by the great Catherine, who laid the

first stone in the presence of the Emperor Joseph II., is built on such

a gigantic plan as makes it a perfect wilderness, in which the sparse

houses and scanty population seem lost, as it were. Its wide and regular

streets, marked out only by a few dwellings at long intervals, seem to

have been planned for a million of souls; a whole government would have

to be unpeopled to fill them, and give them that life and movement so

necessary to a capital. But there seems no likelihood that time will

fill up the void spaces of this desert, for the number of its

inhabitants has not much increased within forty years; it is a

stationary town, which will probably never realise the expectations

formed by the empress when she gave it her name. It contains, however,

some large buildings, numerous churches, bazaars, and charming gardens.

But for the absurd mania of the Russians for planning their towns on an

enormous scale, it would be a delightful abode, rich in its beautiful

Dniepr and the fertile hills around it.

But Iekaterinoslav possesses one thing that distinguishes it from all

the towns with which Russian civilisation is beginning to cover the

south of the empire; and that is Potemkin's palace and garden. The

palace is in ruins though it was built for Catherine II., barely sixty

years ago. The indifference of the Russians for their historical

monuments is so great, that they hasten to destroy them, merely to clear

the ground of things that have ceased to be of use.

The government, despotic as it is, unfortunately has not the power to

stay the instinctive vandalism of its people. We will give melancholy

proofs of this by and by, when we come to speak of the ancient tombs of

the Crimea, so rich in objects of art, and so precious for their

antiquity, yet which, in spite of the pretended care of the police, are

day by day disappearing before the barbarous cupidity of the peasants,

and still more of the _employes_.

To judge from its remains, Potemkin's palace appears to have been one of

truly royal magnificence; on each side are still standing wings which

must have contained a great number of apartments. There is a profusion

of colonnades, porticoes, capitals, and beautiful cornices in the

Italian style of the period; but all is at the mercy of the first

peasant who wants stones or wood to repair his cabin. The ground is all

strewed over with shapeless fragments, blocks of stone, and broken

shafts. Nothing can look more sad than such skeletons of monuments which

no accumulated ages have hallowed, and which have not even a veil of ivy

to hide their decrepitude, nor any thing to throw a cast of dignity over

their blank disorder. The feeling they impart is like that produced by

the effects of an earthquake: no lesson given by the past, nothing for

the imagination to feed on: no chronicles, no poetry.

The haughty Catherine little suspected that one day the serfs would

carry away piecemeal that magnificent edifice planned by the inventive

genius of her favourite, at the most brilliant period of her life. It

was there she rested from the fatigues of her fantastic journey, and

prepared herself for the new wonders that awaited her in the Crimea.

The amorous sovereign of the largest empire in the world, left the ices

of St. Petersburg, and performed a journey of 1800 versts, to visit the

richest jewel added to her imperial crown, that enchanting Tauris which

Potemkin laid at her feet.

At intervals all along the route from Iekaterinoslav to Kherson, stand

little pyramids surrounded by a balustrade, to mark the spots where the

empress halted, changed horses, &c. In many places are still to be seen

palaces that suddenly sprang up on her way, as if at the touch of an

enchanter's wand. The whole tract of country is stamped with

reminiscences of her grandeur, though she but passed rapidly through

these deserts, which were metamorphosed beneath her glance into smiling

and populous plains.

Of all these ephemeral palaces, that of Iekaterinoslav was the most

worthy to harbour the imperial beauty. It stands on a gentle slope

descending to the Dniepr, and is still surrounded with a magnificent

park, presenting an admirable variety of sites and views: forests,

labyrinths, and granite rocks, clothed with rich vegetation, with paths

so capricious, thickets so dense, and resting-places so mysterious, that

every step reveals some token of the genius of a courtier, and the power

of an empress.

Opposite the palace a little granite island lifts itself above the

waters of the Dniepr like a Nereid. Its sole inhabitants are some white

albatrosses and an old forest-keeper, whose cabin is hidden among trees.

He leads a true hermit life. His gun and his fishing-tackle supply his

food; the bushes and briars yield him firing, and thus he finds every

thing requisite for his wants within the limits of his retreat. He has a

nutshell of a boat, in which he can visit every nook of the island

shore, which he shares with the fowls of the air. Except a few

fishermen, no one ventures to thread that labyrinth of rocks and

whirlpools that render the Dniepr so dangerous hereabouts.

Besides Potemkin's Park, the town has another of great beauty, which

serves as a public promenade. It is crowded twice a week, when a

military band performs. Its extent, its broad sheets of water, its shady

alleys and fine expanse of lawn, make it one of the handsomest gardens I

have seen in Russia.

We spent a week in Iekaterinoslav under the roof of an excellent French

family long settled in the country. The cloth factory of Messrs. Neumann

is the only industrial establishment in the town. Their machines,

imported from France and England, and their thorough knowledge of their

business, enable them to give the utmost perfection to their goods,

notwithstanding which M. Neumann assured us that he should certainly be

obliged to shut up his establishment before the lapse of two years. We

have already set forth the causes that obstruct the progress of

manufactures in Russia, and completely paralyse the industrial efforts

of the ablest men.

During our stay in Iekaterinoslav, we had all the pleasure of an

excursion into the mountains of Asia, without the trouble of changing

our place. It is only in Russia one can encounter such lucky chances.

Three hundred mountaineers of the Caucasus arrived in the town, and by

the governor's desire entertained the inhabitants with a display of

their warlike games and exercises. They were on their way to Warsaw, to

serve as a guard of honour for Paskevitch, the hero of the day. This

whim of a man spoiled by fortune and the emperor, is tolerably

characteristic of the Russians: merely to satisfy it, some hundreds of

mountaineers had to quit their families, and traverse vast distances to

go and parade on the great square of a capital.

The sight of those half-barbarians arriving like a torrent, and taking

possession of the town as of a conquered place, was well calculated to

excite our curiosity. We forgot time and place as we gazed on this

unwonted spectacle, and seemed carried back among the gigantic invasions

of Tamerlane, and his exterminating hordes of Asia, with their wild

cries and picturesque costumes, swooping down with long lances and fiery

steeds on old Europe, just as they appeared some centuries before, when

they subjected all the wide domains of Russia to their sway.

These mountaineers are small, agile, and muscular. There is no saying

how they walk, for their life is passed on horseback. There is in the

expression of their countenances, an inconceivable mixture of boldness,

frankness, and fierce rapacity. Their bronzed complexion, dazzlingly

white teeth, black eyes, every glance of which is a flash of lightning,

and regular features, compose a physiognomy that terrifies more than

great ugliness.

Their manoeuvres surpass every thing an European can imagine. How

cold, prim, and faded seem our civilised ways compared with those

impassioned countenances, those picturesque costumes, those furious

gallops, that grace and impetuosity of movement, that belong only to

them. They discharge their carbines on horseback at full speed, and

display inimitable address in the exercise of the djereed. Every rider

decks his steed with a care he does not always bestow on his own

adornment, covering it with carpets, strips of purple stuffs, cashmere

shawls, and all the costly things with which the plunder of the caravans

can supply him.

The manoeuvres lasted more than two hours, and afforded us an exact

image of Asiatic warfare. They concluded with a general _melee_, which

really terrified not a few spectators, so much did the smoke, the

shouts, the ardour of the combatants, the discharges of musketry, and

the neighings of the horses complete the vivid illusion of the scene. It

was at last impossible to distinguish any thing through the clouds of

dust and smoke that whirled round the impetuous riders.

Paskevitch will perhaps be more embarrassed with them than he expects.

From the moment these lions of the desert arrived, the town was in a

state of revolution. The shopkeepers complained of their numerous

thefts, and husbands and fathers were shocked at their cavalier manners

towards the fair sex.

Though it was but the beginning of June, the heat had attained an

intensity that made it literally a public calamity. The hospitals were

crowded with patients, most of them labouring under cerebral fevers, a

class of affections exceedingly dangerous in this country. The dust lay

so thick in the street, that the foot sank in it as in snow, and for

more than a fortnight the thermometer had remained invariably at 84 deg. R.

You have but to visit Russia to know what is the heat of the tropics. We

nevertheless carried away not a few agreeable recollections of

Iekaterinoslav, thanks to its charming position, and some distinguished

_salons_ of which it has reason to be proud.

On leaving Iekaterinoslav we proceeded to the famous cataracts of the

Dniepr, on which attempts have been ineffectually made for more than a

hundred years to render them navigable, and in the vicinity of which

there are several German colonies.

My husband having in the preceding year discovered a rich iron mine in

this locality, we had to stop some time to make fresh investigations. I

have already spoken so much of the Dniepr, that I am almost afraid to

return to the subject. In this part of its course, however, there is

nothing like the maritime views of Kherson, the plavnicks of the

Doutchina, or the cheerful bold aspect of the vicinity of

Iekaterinoslav. Near the cataracts, the river has all the depth and

calmness of a beautiful lake; not a ripple breaks its dark azure

surface. Its bed is flanked by huge blocks of granite, that seem as

though they had been piled up at random by the hands of giants. Every

thing is grand and majestic in these scenes of primeval nature; nothing

in them reminds us of the flight and the ravages of time. There are no

trees shedding their leaves on the river's margin, no turf that withers,

no soil worn away by the flood: the scene is an image of eternal

changelessness.

The Dniepr has deeps here which no plummet has ever fathomed, and the

inhabitants allege that it harbours real marine monsters in its abysses.

All the fishermen have seen the silurus, a sort of fresh water shark,

capable of swallowing a man or a horse at a mouthful, and they relate

anecdotes on this head, that transport you to the Nile or the Ganges,

the peculiar homes of the voracious crocodile and alligator. One of

these stories is of very recent date, and there are many boatmen who

pretend to speak of the fact from personal knowledge. They positively

aver, that a young girl, who was washing linen on the margin of the

water, was carried down to the bottom of the Dniepr, and that her body

never again rose to the surface.

A German village is visible on the other side of the river, at some

distance from the house of Mr. Masure, the proprietor of the mine. Its

pretty red factories with their green window-shutters, the surrounding

forest, and a neighbouring island with cliffs glistening in the sun,

fill the mind with thoughts of tranquil happiness. On the distant

horizon the eye discerns the rent and pointed rocks, and the fleecy

spray of the cataracts. Here and there some rocks just rising above the

water, one of which, surnamed the Brigand, is the terror of boatmen, are

the haunts of countless water-fowl, whose riotous screams long pursue

the traveller as he ferries across from bank to bank. All this scene is

cheerful and pastoral, like one of Greuze's landscapes; but the bare

hills that follow the undulations of the left bank show only dreariness

and aridity.

The Germans settled below the cataracts of the Dniepr are the oldest

colonists of Southern Russia: their colony was founded by Catherine II.,

in 1784, after the expulsion of the Zaporogue Cossacks, who were removed

to the banks of the Kouban. It is composed solely of Prussian

Mennonites, and comprises sixteen villages, numbering 4251 inhabitants,

very industrious people, generally in the enjoyment of an ample

competence. Corn and cattle form the staple of their wealth, but they

are also manufacturers, and have two establishments for making cotton

goods, and one for cloth. These Mennonites, however, have remained

stationary since their arrival in Russia: full of prejudices, and

intensely self-willed, they have set their faces against all innovation

and all intellectual development. One of their villages stands on the

island of Cortetz, in the Dniepr, once the seat of the celebrated Setcha

of the Zaporogue Cossacks. The Setcha, as the reader is perhaps aware,

was at first only a fortified spot, where the young men were trained to

arms, and where the public deliberations and the elections of the chiefs

were held. Afterwards it became the fixed abode of warriors who lived in

celibacy; and all who aspired to a reputation for valour were bound to

pass at least three years there. I went over the island of Cortetz, and

saw everywhere numerous traces of fortifications and entrenched camps.

It would not have been easy to select a position more suited to the

purpose the Cossacks had in view. The island is a natural fortress,

rising more than 150 feet above the water, and defended on all sides by

masses of granite, that leave scarcely any thing for art to do to render

it impregnable.

We made our first halt, after our departure from the cataracts, at the

house of a village superintendent, in whom we discovered, with surprise,

a young Frenchman, with the most Parisian accent I ever heard. He is

married to a woman of the country, and has been two years _prigatchik_

(superintendent) in one of General Markof's villages. He placed his

whole cabin at our disposal, with an alacrity that proved how delighted

he was to entertain people from his native land. We had excellent honey,

cream, and water-melons, set before us in profusion; but in spite of all

our urgent entreaties, we could not prevail on him to partake with us.

This made a painful impression on us. Is the air of slavery so

contagious that no one can breathe it without losing his personal

dignity? This man, born in a land where social distinctions are almost

effaced, voluntarily degraded himself in our eyes, by esteeming himself

unworthy to sit by our side, just as though he were a born serf, and had

been used from his childhood to servility.

He gave us a brief history of his life, a melancholy tissue of

disappointments and wretchedness, the narration of which deeply affected

us. His ardour and his Parisian wilfulness, his efforts and his hopes,

all the exuberance of his twenty years, were cast into a withering

atmosphere of disgusts and humiliations, which at last destroyed in him

all feeling of nationality: he is become a slave through his intercourse

alike with the masters and with the serfs; and what completely proves

this, is the cold-blooded cruelty with which he chastises the peasants

under him. The whole village is struck with consternation at the

punishments he daily inflicts for the most trivial offences. While he

was conversing with us, word was brought him that two women and three

men had arrived at the place of punishment in pursuance to his orders.

Notwithstanding our entreaties, and the repugnance we felt at being so

near such a scene, he ordered that they should each receive fifty blows

of the stick, and double the number if they made any resistance. The

wretched man thus avenges himself on the mujiks, for what he has

himself endured at the hands of the Russian aristocracy, and it is at

best a hazardous revenge; even for his own sake he ought not to

exasperate the peasants, who sometimes make fearful reprisals; frequent

attempts have already been made to assassinate him, and although the

criminals have paid dearly for their temerity, he may one day fall a

victim to some more cunning or more fortunate aggressor. Only the week

before our visit, as his wife told us, a more daring attempt than any

preceding one, had been made by a peasant who from the first had

declared himself his enemy.

After a long walk in the fields, the superintendent sat down under the

shade of some trees in a ravine. Overcome with heat and fatigue, he at

last fell asleep, after placing his two pistols by his side. An

instinctive fear possessed him even in sleep, and kept him sensible of

the least noise around him. The body slept, but not the mind. Suddenly

his ear catches a suspicious sound; he opens his eyes, and sees a mujik

stooping down softly in the act of picking up one of his pistols. There

was so much ferocity in the man's looks, and such a stealthiness in his

movements, that there could be no doubt of his intentions. The

superintendent, with admirable presence of mind, raised himself on his

elbow, and asked, with a yawn, what he was going to do with the pistol;

to which the mujik, instantly putting on an air of affected stolidity

peculiar to the Russian serf, answered, that he was curious to see how a

pistol was made. So saying, he handed the weapon to his master, without

appearing in the least disconcerted. The unfortunate man nearly died

under the knout, and the superintendent's wife remarked, with a

_naivete_, thoroughly Russian, that he would have done much better to

die outright.

We had further opportunities in this village for remarking how little

compassion the Russian peasants have for each other. They look on at the

beating of a comrade without evincing the least sympathy, or being moved

by so degrading a sight to any reflection on their unhappy condition; it

seems as though humanity has lost all claim on their hearts, so

completely has servitude destroyed in them all capability of feeling,

and all human dignity.

We left this station about six in the evening, having still some twenty

versts to travel before arriving at the first village of the German

colonies of the Moloshnia, where we intended to pass the night. Thanks

to the bad horses and the stupid driver our countryman had given us, we

had scarcely got over a quarter of the ground when we were in total

darkness.

The coachman was all black and blue from the brutal treatment of his

master, who had given him half a dozen blows in our presence. The fellow

was every moment changing his road at random, without regard to the

fresh corrections of the same sort, which Antoine showered thickly upon

him by way of admonition. He made us lose a great deal of time on the

way, besides wearing out the strength of his cattle to no purpose.

Nothing can be more wearisome and monotonous than travelling in the

steppes; but it is, above all, by night that the uniformity of the

country is truly discouraging, for then you are every moment in danger

of turning your back on the point you want to reach: you have an

immensity like that of the sea around you, and a compass would be of

real service. Such, however, is the instinct of the peasants, that they

find their way with ease, in the darkest night or the most violent

snow-storm, through tracks crossing each other in every direction.

Our driver was an exception to the general rule, but sulkiness had more

to do than inability with his apparent embarrassment. Our perplexity

increased considerably when we found that the horses at last refused to

move. The night was very gloomy; there was not a twinkling of light, nor

any sound or sign of human habitations; every fresh question we put to

our driver only elicited the laconic answer, "_nesnai_" (I don't know);

and when a Russian has said _he does not know_, no power of tongue or

stick can make him say _he knows_. Of this we had a proof that night.

Our Cossack, tired of vainly questioning the unlucky driver, began to

tickle his shoulders with a long whip he carried at his girdle; but it

was all to no purpose; and but one course remained to us, if we would

not pass the night in the open air. The Cossack unharnessed one of the

horses, and set off to reconnoitre. After an absence of two hours, he

came back and told us we were not very far from a German village, and

that we might reach it in two hours; that is to say, provided our horses

would move; but they were dead beat.

Here, again, the Cossack relieved us from our difficulty, by yoking to

the carriage a poor little colt that had followed its mother, without

suspecting that it was that night to begin its hard apprenticeship. Weak

as was this reinforcement, it enabled us to advance, though very slowly;

but at last the barking of dogs revived the mettle of our horses, and

they broke into a trot for the first time.

A forest of handsome trees and distant lights gave indubitable assurance

of a village. It was not like the ordinary villages, collections of

mean-looking _kates_ rising like mushrooms out of the arid ground,

without a shrub to screen them; we were entering the German colonies,

and the odours from the blossoming fruit-trees, and the sight of the

pretty little red houses of which we caught glimpses through the trees,

soon carried us in imagination far away from the Russian steppes.

With as keen delight as ever oasis caused the desert wanderer, we

entered this pretty village, the name of which (_Rosenthal_, Rosedale)

gives token of the poetic feeling of the Germans. Its extensive gardens

obliged us to make a long _detour_. The people were all in bed when we

arrived, and we had much difficulty in finding the house of the

_schultz_ (the headborough). At last we discovered it, and the

hospitable reception we met with soon made us forget the events of this

memorable night.

The region occupied by these colonies is unlike the steppes, though the

form of the ground is the same. The villages are very close to each

other, are all built on the same plan, and are for the most part

sheltered in ravines. The houses have only a ground-floor, and are built

with wood or with red and blue bricks, and have very projecting roofs.

Their parti-coloured walls, their carved wooden chimneys, and pretty

straw roofs, that seem as neatly finished as the finest Egyptian mats,

produce a charming effect as seen through the green trees of the gardens

that surround them. They are almost all exactly similar, even to the

most minute details: a few only are distinguished from the rest by a

little more colouring or carving, and a more elegant balustrade next the

garden.

The fields are in excellent cultivation; the pastures are stocked with

fine cattle; and sheep-folds and wells placed here and there enliven the

landscape, and break the fatiguing monotony of the plain; the whole face

of the country tells of the thriving labours of the colonists. But one

must enter their houses to appreciate the habits of order and industry

to which they owe not only an ample supply for the necessaries of life,

but almost always a degree of comfort rarely to be found in the

dwellings of the Russian nobles. One might even accuse the good

housewives of a little sensuality, to see their eider-down beds and

pillows heaped almost up to the ceiling. You may be certain of finding

in every house a handsome porcelain stove, a glazed cupboard, containing

crockery, and often plate, furniture carefully scrubbed and polished,

curtains to the windows, and flowers in every direction.

We passed two days in Orlof with the wealthiest and most philanthropic

proprietor in all the German villages. M. Cornies came into the country

about forty years ago, and started without capital, having like the

others only a patch of land and some farming implements. After the lapse

of a few years every one already envied his fortune, but all

acknowledged his kindly solicitude for those who had been less

prosperous than himself. Endowed with an active and intelligent

character, and strongly interested in the cause of human improvement, he

afterwards became the leader in the work of civilising the Nogai

Tartars, and he now continues with very great success the work so ably

begun by one of our own countrymen, Count Maison. M. Cornies is a

corresponding member of the St. Petersburg Academy, and has contributed

to its Transactions several papers of learned research, and remarkable

for the comprehensive scope of their ideas; hence he enjoys a great

reputation not only among his countrymen, but likewise throughout all

Southern Russia. His flocks, his nurseries, and his wools, are objects

of interest to all persons engaged in trade, and his plans for the

improvement of agriculture and cattle rearing, are generally adopted as

models.

Though M. Cornies is worth more than 40,000_l._, his way of life is in

strict conformity with the rigorism and simplicity of the Mennonites, to

which sect he belongs. The habits of these sectarians are of an extreme

austerity that strips domestic life of all its ordinary charms. The wife

and daughters of a Mennonite, whatever be his fortune, are the only

female servants in his house, and Madame Cornies and her daughters

waited humbly on us at table, as though they had no right to sit at it

with the head of the family. Notwithstanding this apparent inequality of

the sexes, there is a great deal of happiness in the married life of the

Mennonites; nor should it be forgotten that in judging of all matters

appertaining to foreigners, we should endeavour to behold things in the

peculiar light in which education and custom invest them for native

eyes.

The dress of the women is like their habits of life, plain and simple.

It consists invariably of a gown of blue printed cotton, the bodice of

which ends just below the bosom, an apron of the same material, and a

white collar with a flat hem; the hair is combed back _a la Chinoise_,

and on it sits a little black cap without trimming, tied under the chin.

This head-dress, which has some resemblance to that of the Alsatian

women, sets off a young and pretty face to advantage, but increases the

ugliness of an ugly one. The dress of the men is the same as that of the

German peasants, with the exception of some slight modifications.

One dish of meat and two of vegetables, compose the whole dinner of a

Mennonite; each person at table has a large goblet of milk set before

him instead of wine, the use of which is altogether prohibited in their

sect.

There are no regular priests in these colonies; the oldest and most

esteemed members of each community, are elected to fulfil the office of

the ministry. These elders read the Bible every Sunday, preach, and give

out the hymns, which are sung by the whole congregation.

The Mennonites are generally well educated; but their information has no

more than their wealth the effect of impairing the patriarchal

simplicity of their habits. We happened to see a young man, belonging to

one of the wealthiest families, on his return from a long foreign tour;

he had visited France, Switzerland, and Germany, and yet it was with a

most cordial alacrity he returned to share in the agricultural labours

of his father and his brothers.

All these German colonies are divided into two distinct groups: the one

established on the right bank of the Moloshnia Vodi[5] is composed of

people from Baden and Swabia, and comprises twenty-three villages, with

6649 inhabitants; the other seated on the left coast of the Black Sea,

and along the little rivulet Joushendli, contains forty-three Mennonite

villages. As the latter is unquestionably the most important and

thriving colony in Southern Russia, we will direct our attention to it

almost exclusively.

The Mennonites, so called after the name of the founder of their sect,

profess nearly the same religious principles as the Anabaptists of

France. They first arose in Holland, the language of which country they

still speak, and settled towards the close of the last century in

Northern Prussia, in the vicinity of Dantzig. Attempts having been made

about that time, to force them into military service, contrary to their

tenets, a first migration took place, and the colony of Cortetz, below

the cataract of the Dniepr, was founded under the auspices of Catherine

II. That of Moloshnia Vodi, was founded in 1804, by a fresh body of

emigrants; it was greatly enlarged in 1820, and at the end of the year

1837, it covered 100,000 hectares of land, and contained forty-three

villages, with 9561 inhabitants, including 984 families of proprietors.

The non-agricultural population is composed of handicraftsmen of all

sorts, some of whom are very skilful. Alpstadt, the chief place of the

colony, has a cloth manufactory, in which seven looms are at work. Wages

are very high; for almost all the workmen as soon as they have saved any

money, give up their trade and addict themselves to agriculture.

Each village is under the control of a headborough, called the

_schultz_, and two assistants. They are elected every three years, but

one of them remains in office a year after the two others, that he may

afford their successors the necessary current information. An

_oberschultz_ (mayor), who likewise has two assistants, resides in the

chief place of the colony. These magistrates decide without appeal, in

all the little differences that may arise between the colonists.

Important cases are carried before the central committee. As for

criminal cases, of which there has yet been no example, they fall under

the jurisdiction of the Russian tribunals. Laziness is punished by fine

and forced labour for the benefit of the community.

The inspector, who represents the government, resides in the Swabian

colony, on the right bank of the Moloshnia. Odessa is the seat of the

administrative council, which consists of a president and three judges,

all Russians, nominated by the emperor. The committee exercises a

general control over all the colonies, and ratifies the elections of the

schultzes and their assistants. Its last president was the infantry

general Inzof, a man remarkable for his personal character and the deep

interest he took in the establishments under his direction.

Every proprietor has sixty-five hectares of land, for which he pays an

annual quit-rent to the crown of fifteen kopeks per hectare; besides

which he pays four rubles a year towards defraying the general expenses

of the colony, the salaries of the committee, the inspector, the

schoolmasters, &c. Each village has a granary for reserve against

seasons of dearth; it must always contain two tchetverts of wheat for

every male head.

The cattle is all under the management of one chief herdsman, at whose

call they leave their stalls in the morning, and return in the evening

to the village.

Every five or six years one or more new villages are established. A

newly-established family does not at once receive its sixty-five

hectares of land; if the young couple do not choose to reside with their

parents, they generally build themselves a little house beyond the

precincts of the village. But when the young families are become so

numerous that their united allotments shall form a space sufficient for

the pasture of their flocks in common, and for the execution of the

agricultural works enjoined by the regulations, then, and not till then,

the new colonists obtain permission to establish themselves on the

uncultivated lands. At present the Mennonite colony possesses nearly

30,000 hectares of land not yet brought under the plough. Thus these

Germans, transplanted to the extremity of Southern Russia, have

successfully realised some of the ideas of the celebrated economist,

Fourrier.

It will readily be conceived that under such a system of administration,

and, above all, with their simple habits, their sobriety and industry,

these Mennonites must naturally have outstripped the other colonists in

prosperity. Those from Swabia and Baden, though subjected to precisely

the same regulations, will never attain to the same degree of wealth.

They are generally fond of good cheer, and addicted to drink; but they

have, perhaps, the merit of understanding life better than their

Puritanical neighbours, and of making the most of the gifts Providence

has bestowed on them.

The Mennonite colony possessed at the close of 1837:--

Horned cattle 7,719

Horses 6,029

Merino sheep 412,274

Fruit-trees in the gardens 316,011

Forest trees 609,096

These last have since perished for the most part. The sale of wheat in

1838, amounted to 600,000 rubles. The provisions for public instruction

are highly satisfactory. The colony numbers forty schools, attended by

2390 pupils of both sexes, who are taught the German language,

arithmetic, history, and geography. Russian is also taught in two of the

schools.