THE STEPPES OF SOUTHERN RUSSIA.

No. I.

THE physical peculiarities of the southern provinces of Russia are likely to exercise no little influence on the future development of that vast empire, and as few books of real value have appeared on the subject in England, we believe we shall do a welcome service to our readers by condensing for them the information contained in a work* recently published in Germany, by a gentleman who resided many years in different parts of the Czar's dominions, and was himself a frequent witness to the scenes he describes.

The steppes, as they are generally called, extend from the borders of Hun. gary to those of China. They constitute an almost uninterrupted plain, covered in spring and autumn by a luxuriant herbage; in winter by drifting snows, heaped up in some places, and leaving the ground bare in others; and in summer by clouds of dust so excessively fine, that even on the calmest day they hang suspended in the air, having the appearance rather of a vapour exhaled from the ground, than of earthy particles raised by the agitation of the atmosphere. The slight undulations that occasionally occur assume but rarely the character of hills, but artificial hillocks or tumuli are frequently met with, the origin of which it is impossible to trace through the darkness of by-gone ages. The most singular characteristic, however, of the steppe, is the total absence of trees, on a soil remarkable for its richness and the luxuriance of its herbage. For hundreds of miles, a traveller may proceed in a straight line without encountering even a bush, unless he happen to be acquainted with the few favoured spots known to the Tartar sportsmen, to whom they answer the purpose of game preserves. Countless herds of cattle roam over these noble pasture grounds, on which a calf born at the foot of the Great Chinese Wall, might eat his way along till he arrived a well-fattened ox on the banks of the Dniester, prepared to figure with advantage at the Odessa market. The poor animals suffer much during the hot and dry summers, when every blade of grass is parched up; but the careful herdsman, who has provided himself with an abundant stock of hay, is able to keep his beasts alive till autumn returns to gladden them with fresh abundance.

Wherever a ridge of hills occurs, of sufficient height to afford protection against the northern blasts that come sweeping in an unbroken course from the shores of the Arctic Ocean, the character of the country is changed. In the Crimea, for instance, though the northern portion partakes of all the rude characteristics of the steppe, the south coast, sheltered by the central mountains, enjoys a climate equal to that of Italy, and allows the vine and the olive to be cultivated with as much success as in Provence. What these mountains are to the southern coast of the Crimea, the Himalayas are to India, which, if divested of her mountain fence and laid open to the breath of the North Pole, would soon be converted into a new steppe; the icy blast driven far into the tropics would quickly sweep her jungles and pagodas from the earth, and her fair fields, invaded by the Tartar and his herds, would cease to excite the cupidity of foreign adventurers.

A country constituted by nature as are the Russian steppes is evidently destined rather for a wandering and pastoral people, than for a settled and agricultural population; for in regions where but few prominent objects occur, there is but little to attach man to any particular spot. The Russian govern

• Reisen in Sad-Russland, von J. G. Kohl. Two volumes, Leipzig. 1841.

ment, however, in a spirit of perversity not unusual in governments over which public opinion exercises but little influence, appears to have prescribed to itself the task of converting the nomadic tribes into settled agriculturists, and the steppe itself into one vast corn-field. German and Bulgarian colonists have been tempted, by the offer of peculiar privileges, to establish themselves in different parts of the country, in the hope that their example might gradually wean the native tribes from their roving habits. Where the colonists have been located in the vicinity of large towns, the plan has been attended with partial success; but the foreigners soon discover the capabilities of the country, and, in proportion as their means increase, rarely fail to invest their surplus capital in the purchase of flocks and herds, the numerical amount of which constitutes the customary standard by which wealth is estimated throughout the steppe.

We have described the steppes as one vast plain, but it must be borne in mind that this plain is of an elevated character, and terminates at the Black Sea in an abrupt terrace, rising above the water to the height of from 120 to 180 feet. The rivers which intersect this plain, and which in spring are swollen by the rapid thaw of the accumulated snows of winter, cut deep furrows in the surface, and as they frequently change their courses, they occa sionally leave dry ravines that break in some measure the uniformity of the country. Little importance would be attached in other parts of the world to the trifling elevations and depressions thus formed; but in the steppe, the slightest variation of surface becomes a landmark of importance, and separate denominations are given by the inhabitants to every peculiarity of shape which the ground is made to assume under the action of water.

The rain-water flows but slowly away from the level surface of the steppe, and often, after a succession of rainy weather, remains for many days upon the ground, to the depth of several inches. A portion of this water is absorbed by the soil, but the greater part finds its way slowly and imperceptibly into the rivers, carrying along with it a sufficient quantity of earth to impart a black and turbid look to all the streams that intersect the steppe. Many of the rivers, indeed all but the principal streams, are fed only by the rain and snow, and their beds, consequently, are dry in summer. Each of these ravines terminates in a waterfall, formed originally, no doubt, by the terrace that bounds the sea; but in proportion as the water wore away a channel for itself, the waterfall gradually receded, and, in the course of ages, made its way farther and farther into the interior of the country. In some instances this gradual retrogression of the waterfall or termination of the river-bed, is sufficiently rapid to be noticed by the inhabitants, who frequently pretend to be able to determine the average number of feet which a ravine works its way backward year by year.

The elevation of the ground being so nearly alike throughout the whole of the steppe, the ravines formed by the action of the rain-water are of nearly equal depth in every part of the country. They are seldom less than a hundred feet deep, and seldom exceed a hundred and fifty. These ravines, or vuipolotsh, with their lateral branches on each side, as their edges are at all times exceedingly abrupt, offer to the traveller, as well as to the herdsman driving his lowing and bleating charge across the plain, an impassable barrier, to avoid which it is often necessary to go round for many miles. The consequence is, that several roads or tracks are always sure to meet at the head of a vuipolotsh, which thus becomes a spot of some importance throughout the surrounding country. In winter, the ravine is usually filled by the drifting

snow, and is then extremely dangerous to any one not well acquainted with the country. Men and cattle are at that season often buried in the snow-drifts, and their fate is ascertained only when the melting of the snow leaves their bodies exposed at the foot of the precipice.

The above description does not, of course, apply to the larger rivers that are supplied with water throughout the year. The banks of these are less abrupt, but their elevation, though more gradual, is about the same, being seldom less than a hundred, nor more than a hundred and fifty, feet over the level of the water. The beds of these large rivers are in general remarkably broad, and are almost always fringed with a belt of reeds, six or eight feet high, that forms an excellent cover for every description of water-fowl.

While the action of the rain is exercising so powerful an influence in the interior, the sea, as may easily be supposed, is not idle on the coast. A very remarkable characteristic of the Black Sea is, that at the mouth of every river a large lake is gradually formed by the action of the sea. If any of our readers will take up a map of the Black Sea, they will perceive a lake of some extent laid down at the mouth of almost every river, and some of these lakes, it will be seen, are marked as unconnected with the sea. These lakes are known along the coast by the name of liman. These limans, Mr. Kohl supposes to have been formed by the action of the sea driven into the mouth of the river by the violence of the prevailing storms, and constantly undermining the terrace of the overhanging steppe. During tranquil weather, an opposite action is going on. The rivers, as we have above said, are always turbid with the soil of the steppe, and their water, arrested in its course by the tideless sea, deposits its sediment in front of the liman, where a low strip of land is gradually formed. This natural mound, by which every liman is in course of time protected against the farther encroachments of the sea, is called a perissip. Where the supply of water brought down by a river is tolerably large, the perissip is never complete, but is broken by an aperture called a gheerl, that forms a communication between the liman and the sea. Many limans, however, are fed by streams that bring down so feeble a volume of water, that the mere evaporation is sufficient to carry off the whole surplus, and the perissip in such cases becomes perfect, forming a barrier that completely cuts off all communication between the river and the sea. Limans so circumstanced exercise a baneful influence upon the country, in consequence of the offensive effluvia that arise from the stagnant water in summer. All the inhabitants of a village, we are assured, have fallen sick in a single night, when the wind has happened to blow upon them from one of these putrid lakes.

Occasionally, in passing over the steppe, the traveller perceives a slight depression of the surface, as if a mighty giant had laid his hand upon the plain and pressed it down. In such natural basins, called stavoks by the natives, the rain collects, and though the soil soon absorbs the water, the place generally retains some moisture long after the rest of the country has been parched up by the summer heats. The stavok, it may easily be supposed, is, at such a time, an object of no trifling importance to the herdsman, and is carefully guarded against the intrusion of strangers. A belief prevails upon the steppe, that the stavoks are holes formed by the ancient Mongolians, who dug out the earth to form their tumuli, but there is no good reason to suppose that the depression has originated otherwise than by a slight sinking of the subjacent

strata.

The climate of the steppes is one of extremes. In summer, the heat is as intense as the cold is severe in winter, the waters of the Black Sea exercising

apparently but little influence in tempering the atmosphere. This is accounted for by the abrupt rise of the coast, which arrests the strata of air immediately above the surface of the water, and leaves a free course only to those portions of the air that fly at a higher level. The steppe therefore has, usually, an arctic winter and a tropical summer, and enjoys, only during spring and autumn, short intervals of that moderate temperature to which its geographical position, in the temperate zone, would appear to entitle it.

The core or substance of the long winter of the steppe is formed by the three months of December, January, and February, during which all the energies of nature appear sunk in an unbroken sleep; but though unbroken, it is by no means a quiet sleep that Dame Nature is allowed to enjoy during this period of the year, for the snow storms are of frequent occurrence, and so excessively violent, that even the most seasoned veterans of the steppe stand in awe of them. The Russians distinguish these snow-storms into three separate classes. A storm during which the snow simply falls from the clouds is called a myattyol; a storm that raises the snow from the ground, and drives it in large masses before the wind, is called a zamet; but the storm which combines the characters of both the foregoing, and which goes by the name of a viuga, is the dreaded foe against whom all hasten to seek shelter. A zamet is not without its beauties when contemplated from the summit of a tumulus or from some other accidental elevation; the sun may then be seen shining brilliantly overhead, its rays reflected by myriads of icy crystals floating in the air below. For the traveller, however, who does not happen to look down upon it, but, on the contrary, is closely cultivating its acquaintance, the zamet has few charms, and is not unattended by danger. Every road or track is frequently altogether effaced, the ravines are filled up, and cases even occur where men and cattle are suddenly caught by a drift of snow, and completely buried under its accumulating mass. To the viuga no traveller attempts to expose himself, and even the government couriers are excused if, during the three days, the usual duration of one of these storms, they remain closely housed at the station which they happen to have reached.

The winter of the steppe, in intensity of cold, frequently surpasses the severest seasons known on the shores of the Baltic, and the cutting blasts from the north, sweeping huge masses of snow into the Black Sea, often cover it with a thick coating of ice for many leagues from the shore. In the winter between 1837 and 1838, the maximum height of the thermometer for four weeks was -10° R., and several times it fell below -30° (32° below the zero of Fahrenheit), a temperature at which, in St. Petersburg, it is customary to close churches and theatres. The steppe, accordingly, participates in all the severity of a Russian winter, but enjoys few of the advantages which to the northern Russian go far to redeem the intensity of the cold. In northern Russia, and even in the Ukraine, the snow remains on the ground during the greater part of the winter, and the sledges quickly wear the surface of the road into a smooth mass of ice, over which the heaviest goods may be transported with a speed and facility surpassed only by a railroad. The Russian, therefore, usually prefers the winter months, not only for travelling, but also for the conveyance of heavy goods from one place to another. To the denizen of the steppe this natural railroad is unknown. The storms that prevail throughout the greater part of the winter keep the snow in a constant state of agi tation, and prevent it from caking" on the ground. The snow, in consequence, never covers the steppe, but seems to lie scattered over it in patches, according as the wind may have drifted it about.

When the snow melts on the steppe, the spring may be said to commence. This usually takes place in April, but May is sometimes far advanced before the mass of water has had time to find its way into the rivers. During this melting season, the whole surface of the steppe is converted into a sea of mud, through which neither man nor beast can wade without positive danger. Through every ravine rushes a torrent of the dirtiest water that can well be imagined, and about the dwellings of men the accumulated filth of the winter is at once exposed to view, by the disappearance of the snowy mantle that, for a season, had charitably covered a multitude of sins. This operation is frequently interrupted by the return of frost, and the descent of fresh masses of snow, for there is no country, perhaps, where Winter makes a harder fight for it, before he allows himself to be beaten out of the field. For a few days, perhaps, a delightful south wind will diversify the plain with tulips, crocuses, and hyacinths; then all at once a rude north-easter will come scouring from the Ural mountains, making the flowers vanish in a trice, and enveloping the whole scene anew in one white shroud; another shift of the wind, and a gale from the north-west will come sweeping along, discharging its heavy clouds, and washing the face of the steppe from the Ural to the Carpathians. When at last boisterous old Hyems has really been forced to beat his retreat, a most delightful period of the year succeeds, and the steppe, covered with a beautiful and luxuriant herbage, smiles like a lovely oasis between the parched desolation of the summer and the dreary waste of the winter. The whole earth now seems clad in the colour of Hope, while the sky assumes that of Truth; and though it is certainly monotonous enough to behold nothing but blue above and green below, yet the recollection of past hardships, and the consciousness of present abundance, make the season one of rejoicing to the native, and even excite for a while the admiration of the stranger. The latter, however, is certain, before long, to grow weary of a spring unadorned by a single flowering shrub, unvaried by a single bubbling brook. Not a hill to break the tedium of the landscape, through which a well-mounted rider may gallop for hundreds of leagues, and scarcely meet an object to make him conscious that he has quitted the spot whence he started! From Hungary, he may urge his steed to the borders of Circassia without passing one grove of trees; from the Carpathians to the capital of Mongolia he will not once be gladdened by the sound of a streamlet murmuring over its pebbly bed. Grass, grass, grass-and nothing but grass! Nor must this grass be supposed to resemble that which embellishes the velvet lawn of an English park. The herbage of the steppe is so coarse, that an English labourer would have to look long before he found a place soft enough for an afternoon nap; and then, the tulips and hyacinths must not be judged of by the beautiful specimens reared by a Dutch florist. Thunder and lightning are frequent throughout May, but a thunder-storm on the steppe is, comparatively, but a poor kind of spectacle, there being neither trees nor rocks for the lightning to shew his might upon, nor mountains, by their reverberating echoes, to give increased majesty to the pealing artillery of heaven; but these discharges of atmospheric electricity, though they want the grandeur of the alpine tempest, are dear to the people of the steppe, where they are always accompanied either by showers or night dews, so that as long as it thunders there is no lack of fodder for the cattle. In June, the lightning ceases to play, and the periodical drought announces its approach, the whole month passing frequently away without depositing a particle of moisture on the ground. The consequences of this begin to manifest themselves in July, when the heated soil cracks in every direction, opening Asiat.Journ.N.S.VOL.36.No.143.

T