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 détour. 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 40,000l., 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 à 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
