YEARS OF WAR AND WOE.
From 1092 to 1167.
Character of Vsevolod.--Succession of Sviatopolk.--His
Discomfiture.--Deplorable Condition of Russia.--Death of
Sviatopolk.--His Character.--Accession of Monomaque.--Curious Festival
at Kief.--Energy of Monomaque.--Alarm of the Emperor at
Constantinople.--Horrors of War.--Death of Monomaque.--His Remarkable
Character.--Pious Letter to his Children.--Accession of Mstislaf.--His
Short but Stormy Reign.--Struggles for the Throne.--Final Victory of
Ysiaslaf.--Moscow in the Province of Souzdal.--Death of
Ysiaslaf.--Wonderful Career of Rostislaf.--Rising Power of
Moscow.--Georgievitch, Prince of Moscow.
Vsevolod has the reputation of having been a man of piety. But he was
quite destitute of that force of character which one required to hold
the helm in such stormy times. He was a man of great humanity and of
unblemished morals. The woes which desolated his realms, and which he
was utterly unable to avert, crushed his spirit and hastened his
death. Perceiving that his dying hour was at hand, he sent for his two
sons, Vlademer and Rostislaf, and the sorrowing old man breathed his
last in their arms.
Vsevolod was the favorite son of Yaroslaf the Great, and his father,
with his dying breath, had expressed the wish that Vsevolod, when
death should come to him, might be placed in the tomb by his side.
These affectionate wishes of the dying father were gratified, and the
remains of Vsevolod were deposited, with the most imposing ceremonies
of those days, in the church of Saint Sophia, by the side of those of
his father. The people, forgetting his weakness and remembering only
his amiability, wept at his burial.
Vlademer, the eldest son of Vsevolod, with great magnanimity
surrendered the crown to his cousin Sviatopolk, saying,
"His father was older than mine, and reigned at Kief before my father.
I wish to avoid dissension and the horrors of civil war."
He then proclaimed Sviatopolk sovereign of Russia. The new sovereign
had been feudal lord of the province of Novgorod; he, however, soon
left his northern capital to take up his residence in the more
imperial palaces of Kief. But disaster seemed to be the doom of
Russia, and the sounds of rejoicing which attended his accession to
the throne had hardly died away ere a new scene of woe burst upon the
devoted land.
The young king was rash and headstrong. He provoked the ire of one of
the strong neighboring provinces, which was under the sway of an
energetic feudal prince, ostensibly a vassal of the crown, but who, in
his pride and power, arrogated independence. The banners of a hostile
army were soon approaching Kief. Sviatopolk marched heroically to meet
them. A battle was fought, in which he and his army were awfully
defeated. Thousands were driven by the conquerors into a stream,
swollen by the rains, where they miserably perished. The fugitives,
led by Sviatopolk, in dismay fled back to Kief and took refuge behind
the walls of the city. The enemy pressed on, ravaging, with the most
cruel desolation, the whole region around Kief, and in a second battle
conquered the king and drove him out of his realms. The whole of
southern Russia was abandoned to barbaric destruction. Nestor gives a
graphic sketch of the misery which prevailed:
"One saw everywhere," he writes, "villages in flames; churches,
houses, granaries were reduced to heaps of ashes; and the unfortunate
citizens were either expiring beneath the blows of their enemies, or
were awaiting death with terror. Prisoners, half naked, were dragged
in chains to the most distant and savage regions. As they toiled
along, they said, weeping, one to another, '_I am from such a village,
and I from such a village_. No horses or cattle were to be seen upon
our plains. The fields were abandoned to weeds, and ferocious beasts
ranged the places but recently occupied by Christians."
The whole reign of Sviatopolk, which continued until the year 1113,
was one continued storm of war. It would only weary the reader to
endeavor to disentangle the labyrinth of confusion, and to describe
the ebbings and floodings of battle. Every man's hand was against his
neighbor; and friends to-day were foes to-morrow. Sviatopolk himself
was one of the most imperfect of men. He was perfidious, ungrateful
and suspicious; haughty in prosperity, mean and cringing in adversity.
His religion was the inspiration of superstition and cowardice, not of
intelligence and love. Whenever he embarked upon any important
expedition, he took an ecclesiastic to the tomb of Saint Theodosius,
there to implore the blessing of Heaven. If successful in the
enterprise, he returned to the tomb to give thanks. This was the
beginning and the end of his piety. Without any scruple he violated
the most sacred laws of morality. The marriage vow was entirely
disregarded, and he was ever ready to commit any crime which would
afford gratification to his passions, or which would advance his
interests.
The death of Sviatopolk occurred in a season of general anarchy, and
it was uncertain who would seize the throne. The citizens of Kief met
in solemn and anxious assembly, and offered the crown to an
illustrious noble, Monomaque, a brother of Sviatopolk, and a man who
had acquired renown in many enterprises of most desperate daring. In
truth it required energy and courage of no ordinary character for a
man at that time to accept the crown. Innumerable assailants would
immediately fall upon him, putting to the most imminent peril not only
the crown, but the head which wore it. By the Russian custom of
descent, the crown incontestably belonged to the oldest son of
Sviatoslaf, and Monomaque, out of regard to his rights, declined the
proffered gift. This refusal was accompanied by the most melancholy
results. A terrible tumult broke out in the city. There was no arm of
law sufficiently powerful to restrain the mob, and anarchy, with all
its desolation, reigned for a time triumphant. A deputation of the
most influential citizens of Kief was immediately sent to Monomaque,
with the most earnest entreaty that he would hasten to rescue them and
their city from the impending ruin. The heroic prince could not turn a
deaf ear to this appeal. He hastened to the city, where his presence,
combined with the knowledge which all had of his energy and courage,
at once appeased the tumult. He ascended the throne, greeted by the
acclamations of the whole city. No opposition ventured to manifest
itself, and Monomaque was soon in the undisputed possession of power.
Nothing can give one a more vivid idea of the state of the times than
the festivals appointed in honor of the new reign as described by the
ancient annalists. The bones of two saints were transferred from one
church to another in the city. A magnificent coffin of silver,
embellished with gold, precious stones, and _bas reliefs_, so
exquisitely carved as to excite the admiration even of the Grecian
artists, contained the sacred relics, and excited the wonder and
veneration of the whole multitude. The imposing ceremony drew to Kief
the princes, the clergy, the lords, the warriors, even, from the most
distant parts of the empire. The gates of the city and the streets
were encumbered with such multitudes that, in order to open a passage
for the clergy with the sarcophagus, the monarch caused cloths,
garments, precious furs and pieces of silver to be scattered to draw
away the throng. A luxurious feast was given to the princes, and, for
three days, all the poor of the city were entertained at the expense
of the public treasure.
Monomaque now fitted out sundry expeditions under his enterprising son
to extend the territories of Russia and to bring tumultuous tribes and
nations into subjection and order. His son Mstislaf was sent into the
country of the Tchoudes, now Livonia, on the shores of the Baltic. He
overran the territory, seized the capital and established order. His
son Vsevolod, who was stationed at Novgorod, made an expedition into
Finland. His army experienced inconceivable sufferings in that cold,
inhospitable clime. Still they overawed the inhabitants and secured
tranquillity. Another son, Georges, marched to the Volga, embarked his
army in a fleet of barges, and floated along the stream to eastern
Bulgaria, conquered an army raised to oppose him, and returned to his
principality laden with booty. Another son, Yaropolk, assailed the
tumultuous tribes upon the Don. Brilliant success accompanied his
enterprise. Among his captives he found one maiden of such rare beauty
that he made her his wife. At the same time the kingdom of Russia was
invaded by barbarous hordes from the shores of the Caspian. Monomaque
himself headed an army and assailed the invaders with such impetuosity
that they were driven, with much loss, back again to their wilds.
The military renown Monomaque thus attained made his name a terror
even to the most distant tribes, and, for a time, held in awe those
turbulent spirits who had been filling the world with violence. Elated
by his conquests, Monomaque fitted out an expedition to Greece. A
large army descended the Dnieper, took possession of Thrace, and
threatened Adrianople. The emperor, in great alarm, sent embassadors
to Monomaque with the most precious presents. There was a cornelian
exquisitely cut and set, a golden chain and necklace, a crown of gold,
and, most precious of all, a crucifix made of wood of the true cross!
The metropolitan bishop of Ephesus, who was sent with these presents,
was authorized, in the name of the church and of the empire, to place
the crown upon the brow of Monomaque in gorgeous coronation in the
cathedral church of Kief, and to proclaim Monomaque Emperor of Russia.
This crown, called the _golden bonnet of Monomaque_, is still
preserved in the Museum of Antiquities at Moscow.
These were dark and awful days. Horrible as war now is, it was then
attended with woes now unknown. Gleb, prince of Minsk, with a
ferocious band, attacked the city of Sloutsk; after a terrible scene
of carnage, in which most of those capable of bearing arms were slain,
the city was burned to ashes, and all the survivors, men, women and
children, were driven off as captives to the banks of the Dwina, where
they were incorporated with the tribe of their savage conqueror. In
revenge, Monomaque sent his son Yaropolk to Droutsk, one of the cities
of Gleb. No pen can depict the horrors of the assault. After a few
hours of dismay, shriekings and blood, the city was in ashes, and the
wretched victims of man's pride and revenge were conducted to the
vicinity of Kief, where they reared their huts, and in widowhood,
orphanage and penury, commenced life anew. Gleb himself in this foray
was taken prisoner, conducted to Kief, and detained there a captive
until he died.
Monomaque reigned thirteen years, during which time he was incessantly
engaged in wars with the audacious nobles of the provinces who refused
to recognize his supremacy, and many of whom were equal to him in
power. He died May 19, 1126, in the seventy-third year of his age,
renowned, say the ancient annalists, for the splendor of his victories
and the purity of his morals. He was fully conscious of the approach
of death, and seems to have been sustained, in that trying hour, by
the consolations of religion. He lived in an age of darkness and of
tumult; but he was a man of prayer, and, according to the light he
had, he walked humbly with God. Commending his soul to the Saviour he
fell asleep. It is recorded that he was a man of such lively emotions
that his voice often trembled, and his eyes were filled with tears as
he implored God's blessing upon his distracted country. He wrote, just
before his death, a long letter to his children, conceived in the
most lovely spirit of piety. We have space but for a few extracts from
these Christian counsels of a dying father. The whole letter, written
on parchment, is still preserved in the archives of the monarchy.
"The foundation of all virtue," he wrote, "is the fear of God and the
love of man. O my dear children, praise God and love your fellow-men.
It is not fasting, it is not solitude, it is not a monastic life which
will secure for you the divine approval--it is doing good to your
fellow-creatures alone. Never forget the poor. Take care of them, and
ever remember that your wealth comes from God, and that it is only
intrusted to you for a short time. Do not hoard up your riches; that
is contrary to the precepts of the Saviour. Be a father to the
orphans, the protectors of widows, and never permit the powerful to
oppress the weak. Never take the name of God in vain, and never
violate your oath. Do not envy the triumph of the wicked, or the
success of the impious; but abstain from everything that is wrong.
Banish from your hearts all the suggestions of pride, and remember
that we are all perishable--to-day full of life, to-morrow in the
tomb. Regard with horror, falsehood, intemperance and impurity--vices
equally dangerous to the body and to the soul. Treat aged men with the
same respect with which you would treat your parents, and love all men
as your brothers.
"When you make a journey in your provinces, do not suffer the members
of your suite to inflict the least injury upon the inhabitants. Treat
with particular respect strangers, of whatever quality, and if you can
not confer upon them favors, treat them with a spirit of benevolence,
since, upon the manner with which they are treated, depends the evil
or good report which they will take back with them to their own land.
Salute every one whom you meet. Love your wives, but do not permit
them to govern you. When you have learned any thing useful, endeavor
to imprint it upon your memory, and be always seeking to acquire
information. My father spoke five languages, a fact which excited the
admiration of strangers.
"Guard against idleness, which is the mother of all vices. Man ought
always to be occupied. When you are traveling on horseback, instead of
allowing your mind to wander upon vain thoughts, recite your prayers,
or, at least, repeat the shortest and best of them all: '_Oh, Lord,
have mercy upon us.'_ Never retire at night without falling upon your
knees before God in prayer, and never let the sun find you in your
bed. Always go to church at an early hour in the morning to offer to
God the homage of your first and freshest thoughts. This was the
custom of my father and of all the pious people who surrounded him.
With the first rays of the sun they praised the Lord, and exclaimed,
with fervor, 'Condescend, O Lord, with thy divine light to illumine my
soul.'"
The faults of Monomaque were those of his age, _non vitia hominis, sed
vitia soeculi_; but his virtues were truly Christian, and it can
hardly be doubted that, as his earthly crown dropped from his brow, he
received a brighter crown in heaven. The devastations of the
barbarians in that day were so awful, burning cities and churches, and
massacring women and children, that they were regarded as enemies of
the human race, and were pursued with exterminating vengeance.
Monomaque left several children and a third wife. One of his wives,
Gyda, was a daughter of Harold, King of England. His oldest son,
Mstislaf, succeeded to the crown. His brothers received, as their
inheritance, the government of extensive provinces. The new monarch,
inheriting the energies and the virtues of his illustrious sire, had
long been renowned. The barbarians, east of the Volga, as soon as they
heard of the death of Monomaque, thought that Russia would fall an
easy prey to their arms. In immense numbers they crossed the river,
spreading far and wide the most awful devastation. But Mstislaf fell
upon them with such impetuosity that they were routed with great
slaughter and driven back to their wilds. Their chastisement was so
severe that, for a long time, they were intimidated from any further
incursions. With wonderful energy, Mstislaf attacked many of the
tributary nations, who had claimed a sort of independence, and who
were ever rising in insurrection. He speedily brought them into
subjection to his sway, and placed over them rulers devoted to his
interests. In the dead of winter an expedition was marched against the
Tchoudes, who inhabited the southern shores of the bay of Finland. The
men were put to death, the cities and villages burned; the women and
children were brought away as captives and incorporated with the
Russian people.
Mstislaf reigned but about four years, when he suddenly died in the
sixtieth year of his age. His whole reign was an incessant warfare
with insurgent chiefs and barbarian invaders. There is an awful
record, at this time, of the scourge of famine added to the miseries
of war. All the northern provinces suffered terribly from this frown
of God. Immense quantities of snow covered the ground even to the
month of May. The snow then melted suddenly with heavy rains, deluging
the fields with water, which slowly retired, converting the country
into a wide-spread marsh. It was very late before any seed could be
sown. The grain had but just begun to sprout when myriads of locusts
appeared, devouring every green thing. A heavy frost early in the
autumn destroyed the few fields the locusts had spared, and then
commenced the horrors of a universal famine. Men, women and children,
wasted and haggard, wandered over the fields seeking green leaves and
roots, and dropped dead in their wanderings. The fields and the public
places were covered with putrefying corpses which the living had not
strength to bury. A fetid miasma, ascending from this cause, added
pestilence to famine, and woes ensued too awful to be described.
Immediately after the death of Mstislaf, the inhabitants of Kief
assembled and invited his brother Vladimirovitch to assume the crown.
This prince then resided at Novgorod, which city he at once left for
the capital. He proved to be a feeble prince, and the lords of the
remote principalities, assuming independence, bade defiance to his
authority. There was no longer any central power, and Russia, instead
of being a united kingdom, became a conglomeration of antagonistic
states; every feudal lord marshaling his serfs in warfare against his
neighbor. In the midst of this state of universal anarchy, caused by
the weakness of a virtuous prince who had not sufficient energy to
reign, Vladimirovitch died in 1139.
The death of the king was a signal for a general outbreak--a
multitude of princes rushing to seize the crown. Viatcheslaf, prince
of a large province called Pereiaslavle, was the first to reach Kief
with his army. The inhabitants of the city, to avoid the horrors of
war, marched in procession to meet him, and conducted him in triumph
to the throne. Viatcheslaf had hardly grasped the scepter and
stationed his army within the walls, when from the steeples of the
city the banners of another advancing host were seen gleaming in the
distance, and soon the tramp of their horsemen, and the defiant tones
of the trumpet were heard, as another and far more mighty host
encircled the city. This new army was led by Vsevolod, prince of a
province called Vouychegorod. Viatcheslaf, convinced of the
impossibility of resisting such a power as Vsevolod had brought
against Kief, immediately consented to retire, and to surrender the
throne to his more powerful rival. Vsevolod entered the city in
triumph and established himself firmly in power.
There is nothing of interest to be recorded during his reign of seven
years, save that Russia was swept by incessant billows of flame and
blood. The princes of the provinces were ever rising against his
authority. Combinations were formed to dethrone the king, and the king
formed combinations to crush his enemies. The Hungarians, the Swedes,
the Danes, the Poles, all made war against this energetic prince; but
with an iron hand he smote them down. Toil and care soon exhausted
his frame, and he was prostrate on his dying bed. Bequeathing his
throne to his brother Igor, he died, leaving behind him the reputation
of having been one of the most energetic of the kings of this blood
deluged land.
Igor was fully conscious of the perils he thus inherited. He was very
unpopular with the inhabitants of Kief, and loud murmurs greeted his
accession to power. A conspiracy was formed among the most influential
inhabitants of Kief, and a secret embassage was sent to the grand
prince, Ysiaslaf, a descendant of Monomaque, inviting him to come, and
with their aid, take possession of the throne. The prince attended the
summons with alacrity, and marched with a powerful army to Kief. Igor
was vanquished in a sanguinary battle, taken captive, imprisoned in a
convent, and Ysiaslaf became the nominal monarch of Russia.
Sviatoslaf, the brother of Igor, overwhelmed with anguish in view of
his brother's fall and captivity, traversed the expanse of Russia to
enlist the sympathies of the distant princes, to march for the rescue
of the captive. He was quite successful. An allied army was soon
raised, and, under determined leaders, was on the march for Kief. The
king, Ysiaslaf, with his troops, advanced to meet them. In the
meantime Igor, crushed by misfortune, and hopeless of deliverance,
sought solace for his woes in religion. "For a long time," said he, "I
have desired to consecrate my heart to God. Even in the height of
prosperity this was my strongest wish. What can be more proper for me
now that I am at the very gates of the tomb?" For eight days he laid
in his cell, expecting every moment to breathe his last. He then,
reviving a little, received the tonsure from the hands of the bishop,
and renouncing the world, and all its cares and ambitions, devoted
himself to the prayers and devotions of the monk.
The king pressed Sviatoslaf with superior forces, conquered him in
several battles, and drove him, a fugitive, into dense forests, and
into distant wilds. Sviatoslaf, like his brother, weary of the storms
of life, also sought the solace which religion affords to the weary
and the heart-stricken. Pursued by his relentless foe, he came to a
little village called Moscow, far back in the interior. This is the
first intimation history gives of this now renowned capital of the
most extensive monarchy upon the globe. A prince named Georges reigned
here, over the extensive province then called Souzdal, who received
the fugitive with heartfelt sympathy. Aided by Georges and several of
the surrounding princes, another army was raised, and Sviatoslaf
commenced a triumphal march, sweeping all opposition before him, until
he arrived a conqueror before the walls of Novgorod.
The people of Kief, enraged by this success of the foe of their
popular king, rose in a general tumult, burst into a convent where
Igor was found at his devotions, tied a rope about his neck, and
dragged him, a mutilated corpse, through the streets.
The king, Ysiaslaf, called for a _levy en masse_, of the inhabitants
of Kief, summoned distant feudal barons with their armies to his
banner, and marched impetuously to meet the conquering foe. Fierce
battles ensued, in which Sviatoslaf was repeatedly vanquished, and
retreated to Souzdal again to appeal to Georges for aid. Ysiaslaf
summoned the Novgorodians before him, and in the following energetic
terms addressed them:
"My brethren," said he, "Georges, the prince of Souzdal, has insulted
Novgorod. I have left the capital of Russia to defend you. Do you wish
to prosecute the war? The sword is in my hands. Do you desire peace? I
will open negotiations."
"War, war," the multitude shouted. "You are our monarch, and we will
all follow you, from the youngest to the oldest."
A vast army was immediately assembled on the shores of the lake of
Ilmen, near the city of Novgorod, which commenced its march of three
hundred miles, to the remote realms of Souzdal. Georges was unprepared
to meet them. He fled, surrendering his country to be ravaged by the
foe. His cities and villages were burned, and seven thousand of his
subjects were carried captive to Kief. But Georges was not a man to
bear such a calamity meekly. He speedily succeeded in forming an
alliance with the barbarian nations around him, and burning with rage,
followed the army of the retiring foe. He overtook them near the city
of Periaslavle. It was the evening of the 23d of August. The unclouded
sun was just sinking at the close of a sultry day, and the vesper
chants were floating through the temples of the city. The storm of war
burst as suddenly as the thunder peals of an autumnal tempest. The
result was most awful and fatal to the king. His troops were dispersed
and cut to pieces. Ysiaslaf himself with difficulty escaped and
reached the ramparts of Kief. The terrified inhabitants entreated him
not to remain, as his presence would only expose the city to the
horror of being taken by storm.
"Our fathers, our brothers, our sons," they said, "are dead upon the
field of battle, or are in chains. We have no arms. Generous prince,
do not expose the capital of Russia to pillage. Flee for a time to
your remote principalities, there to gather a new army. You know that
we will never rest contented under the government of Georges. We will
rise in revolt against him, as soon as we shall see your standards
approaching."
Ysiaslaf fled, first to Smolensk, some three hundred miles distant,
and thence traversed his principalities seeking aid. Georges entered
Kief in triumph. Calling his warriors around him, he assigned to them
the provinces which he had wrested from the feudal lords of the king.
Hungary, Bohemia and Poland then consisted of barbaric peoples just
emerging into national existence. The King of Hungary had married
Euphrosine, the youngest sister of Ysiaslaf. He immediately sent to
his brother-in-law ten thousand cavaliers. The Kings of Bohemia and of
Poland also entered into an alliance with the exiled prince, and in
person led the armies which they contributed to his aid. A war of
desperation ensued. It was as a conflict between the tiger and the
lion.
The annals of those dark days contained but a weary recital of deeds
of violence, blood and woe, which for ten years desolated the land.
All Russia was roused. Every feudal lord was leading his vassals to
the field. There were combinations and counter-combinations
innumerable. Cities were taken and retaken; to-day, the banners of
Ysiaslaf float upon the battlements of Kief; to-morrow, those banners
are hewn down and the standards of Georges are unfurled to the breeze.
Now, we see Ysiaslaf a fugitive, hopeless, in despair. Again, the
rolling wheel of fortune raises him from his depression, and, with the
strides of a conqueror, he pursues his foe, in his turn vanquished and
woe-stricken. But
"The pomp of heraldry, the pride of power,
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave,
Alike await the inevitable hour;
The paths of glory lead but to the grave."
Death, which Ysiaslaf had braved in a hundred battles, approached him
by the slow but resistless march of disease. For a few days the
monarch tossed in fevered restlessness on his bed at Kief, and then,
from his life of incessant storms on earth, his spirit ascended to the
God who gave it. Georges was, at that time, in the lowest state of
humiliation. His armies had all perished, and he was wandering in
exile, seeking new forces with which to renew the strife.
Rostislaf, grand prince of Novgorod, succeeded to the throne. But
Georges, animated by the death of Ysiaslaf, soon found enthusiastic
adventurers rallying around his banners. He marched vigorously to
Kief, drove Rostislaf from the capital and seized the scepter. But
there was no lull in the tempest of human ambition. Georges had
attained the throne by the energies of his sword, and, acting upon the
principle that "to the victors belong the spoils," he had driven from
their castles all the lords who had been supporters of the past
administration. He had conferred their mansions and their territories
upon his followers. Human nature has not materially changed. Those in
office were fighting to retain their honors and emoluments. Those out
of office were struggling to attain the posts which brought wealth and
renown. The progress of civilization has, in our country, transferred
this fierce battle from the field to the ballot-box. It is, indeed, a
glorious change. The battle can be fought thus just as effectually,
and infinitely more humanely. It has required the misery of nearly six
thousand years to teach, even a few millions of mankind, that the
ballot-box is a better instrument for political conflicts than the
cartridge-box.
Armies were gathering in all directions to march upon Georges. He was
now an old man, weary of war, and endeavored to bribe his foes to
peace. He was, however, unsuccessful, and found it to be necessary
again to lead his armies into the field. It was the 20th of March,
1157, when Georges, entering Kief in triumph, ascended the throne. On
the 1st of May he dined with some of his lords. Immediately after
dinner he was taken sick, and, after languishing a fortnight in
ever-increasing debility, on the 15th he died.
The inhabitants of Kief, regarding him as an usurper, rejoiced at his
death, and immediately sent an embassage to Davidovitch, prince of
Tchernigof, a province about one hundred and fifty miles north of
Kief, inviting him to hasten to the capital and seize the scepter of
Russia.
Kief, and all occidental Russia, thus ravaged by interminable wars,
desolated by famine and by flame, was rapidly on the decline, and was
fast lapsing into barbarism. Davidovitch had hardly ascended the
throne ere he was driven from it by Rostislaf, whom Georges had
dethroned. But the remote province of Souzdal, of which Moscow was the
capital, situated some seven hundred miles north-east of Kief, was now
emerging from barbaric darkness into wealth and civilization. The
missionaries of Christ had penetrated those remote realms. Churches
were reared, the gospel was preached, peace reigned, industry was
encouraged, and, under their influence, Moscow was attaining that
supremacy which subsequently made it the heart of the Russian empire.
The inhabitants of Kief received Rostislaf with demonstrations of joy,
as they received every prince whom the fortunes of war imposed upon
them, hoping that each one would secure for their unhappy city the
blessings of tranquillity. Davidovitch fled to Moldavia. There was
then in Moldavia, between the rivers Pruth and Sereth, a piratic city
called Berlad. It was the resort of vagabonds of all nations and
creeds, who pillaged the shores of the Black Sea and plundered the
boats ascending and descending the Danube and the Dnieper. These
brigands, enriched by plunder and strengthened by accessions of
desperadoes from every nation and every tribe, had bidden defiance
both to the grand princes of Russia and the powers of the empire.
Eagerly these robber hordes engaged as auxiliaries of Davidovitch. In
a tumultuous band they commenced their march to Kief. They were,
however, repulsed by the energetic Rostislaf, and Davidovitch, with
difficulty escaping from the sanguinary field, fled to Moscow and
implored the aid of its independent prince, Georgievitch. The prince
listened with interest to his representations, and, following the
example of the more illustrious nations of modern times, thought it a
good opportunity to enlarge his territories.
The city of Novgorod, capital of the extensive and powerful province
of the same name, was some seven hundred miles north of Kief. It was
not more than half that distance west of Moscow. The inhabitants were
weary of anarchy and blood, and anxious to throw themselves into the
arms of any prince who could secure for them tranquillity. The fruit
was ripe and was ready to drop into the hands of Georgievitch. He sent
word to the Novgorodians that he had decided to take their country
under his protection--that he had no wish for war, but that if they
manifested any resistance, he should subdue them by force of arms. The
Novgorodians received the message with delight, rose in insurrection,
and seized their prince, who was the oldest son of Rostislaf,
imprisoned him, his wife and children, in a convent, and with
tumultuous joy received as their prince the nephew of Georgievitch.
Rostislaf was so powerless that he made no attempt to avenge this
insult. Davidovitch made one more desperate effort to obtain the
throne. But he fell upon the field of battle, his head being cleft
with a saber stroke.