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° or 95°.
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
