ACT I., SCENE 1. MRS. UNCOUTH, MITROFÁN, EREMYÉEVNA

ANTHOLOGY OF

RUSSIAN LITERATURE

From the

Earliest Period

to the Present

Time

BY

LEO WIENER

ASSISTANT PROFESSOR OF SLAVIC LANGUAGES AT HARVARD UNIVERSITY

IN TWO PARTS

8^o with Photogravure Frontispieces

PART I.--From the Tenth Century to the Close of the

Eighteenth Century

PART II.--From the Close of the Eighteenth Century to

the Present Time

G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS

NEW YORK LONDON

[Illustration: Lomonosow]

Anthology of Russian

Literature

From the Earliest Period to the Present Time

By

Leo Wiener

Assistant Professor of Slavic Languages at Harvard University

IN TWO PARTS

[Illustration]

From the Tenth Century to the Close of the

Eighteenth Century

G. P. Putnam’s Sons

New York and London

The Knickerbocker Press

1902

COPYRIGHT, 1902

BY

LEO WIENER

Published, June, 1902

The Knickerbocker Press, New York

TO MY FRIEND AND COLLEAGUE

ARCHIBALD CARY COOLIDGE

THIS WORK IS

GRATEFULLY DEDICATED

PREFACE

The time is not far off when the Russian language will occupy the same

place in the curriculum of American universities that it now does in

those of Germany, France and Sweden. A tongue that is spoken by more

than one hundred million people and that encompasses one-half of the

northern hemisphere in itself invites the attention of the curious and

the scholar. But the points of contact between the Anglo-Saxon and

Slavic races are so many, both in politics and literature, that it is a

matter of interest, if not yet of necessity, for every cultured person

of either nationality to become well acquainted with the intellectual

and social life of the other. In Russia, the English language is

steadily gaining in importance, and not only the universities, but the

gymnasiums as well, offer courses in English. In England and America

there are many signs of a similar interest in their Russian neighbour,

though at present it expresses itself mainly in the perusal of Russian

novels in translations that rarely rise above mediocrity. There is

also a growing demand for a fuller treatment of Russian Literature

as a whole, which even Prince Wolkonsky’s work cannot satisfy, for

the reason that only a small fraction of the nineteenth-century

writers, and hardly anything of the preceding periods, is accessible

to the reader for verification. It is the purpose of this Anthology

to render a concise, yet sufficient, account of Russian Literature

in its totality, to give to the English reader who is not acquainted

with any other language than his own a biographical, critical

and bibliographical sketch of every important author, to offer

representative extracts of what there is best in the language in

such a manner as to give a correct idea of the evolution of Russian

Literature from its remotest time. The selections have been chosen so

as to illustrate certain important historical events, and will be found

of use also to the historical student.

In the preparation of this work, I have availed myself of many native

sources, to which I shall express my indebtedness by a general

declaration that I have with profit perused the monumental works of

Pýpin and the authors on whom he has drawn in the preparation of his

history of Russian Literature. To give variety, I have reproduced

such of the existing translations as are less objectionable. In my

own translations, for which alone I am responsible, I have attempted

to render minutely the originals, with their different styles, not

excepting their very imperfections, such as characterise particularly

the writers of the eighteenth century. Only where the diction is

inexpressibly crude, as in Pososhkóv’s writings, or the text corrupt,

as in the _Word of Ígor’s Armament_, have I made slight deviations for

the sake of clearness.

Russian words are transliterated differently by every translator: some

attempt to give English equivalents, which, even if they were correctly

chosen (they seldom are), cannot possibly give an idea of the phonetic

values in Russian; others follow the simpler method of an etymological

transliteration of letter by letter, but needlessly encumber the words

with diacritical marks and difficult consonant combinations. The

method pursued here, though far from ideal, recommends itself for its

simplicity. Where the Russian and English alphabets are practically

identical, the corresponding letters are used; in the other cases, the

combinations are made with _h_, for which there is no corresponding

sound in Russian; for the guttural vowel _y_ is used, which does also

the duty of the English _y_ in _yes_. There can be no confusion between

the two, as the guttural _y_ before or after a vowel is extremely

rare. It is useless for anyone without oral instruction to try to

pronounce Russian words as the natives do. The nearest approach will

be attained if the consonants be pronounced as in English (_g_ always

hard, _zh_ as _z_ in _azure_, _r_ always rolled, _kh_, guttural like

German _ch_ in _ach_), and the vowels always open as in Italian (_a_

as _a_ in _far_, _e_ as _e_ in _set_, _o_ as _o_ in _obey_, or a little

longer when accented, _u_ as _oo_ in _foot_, or a little longer when

accented, _y_ between consonants is guttural, which it is useless to

attempt and had better be pronounced like _i_: _i. e._, like _i_ in

_machine_ or _bit_, according to the accent). The accents are indicated

throughout the work. Accented _é_ is frequently pronounced as _yó_, but

it would be useless to indicate all such cases. It has not been found

practicable to spell Russian names uniformly when their English forms

are universally accepted.

It will not be uninteresting to summarise all that Englishmen and

Americans have done to acquaint their countrymen with the language and

literature of Russia.

When Russia was rediscovered by England in the middle of the sixteenth

century and the Muscovy Company established itself at Moscow, there was

naturally a demand for Englishmen who could speak Russian. There are

frequent references in native reports to Englishmen who spoke and wrote

Russian fluently and who were even used as ambassadors to the Muscovite

Tsars. It was also an Englishman, Richard James, who, in 1619, made

the first collection of Russian popular songs. In 1696, the first

Russian grammar was published by the Oxford University Press, though

its author, Ludolf, was not an Englishman by birth. In the eighteenth

century, there seems to have been in England no interest in Russia

except as to its religion, which received consideration from certain

divines. An exception must be made in the case of W. Coxe, who in his

_Travels in Poland, Russia, Sweden and Denmark_, 1st edition, London,

1784, gave an excellent account of Russian Literature from German and

French sources. In 1821, Sir John Bowring startled his countrymen with

his _Specimens of the Russian Poets_, which for the first time revealed

to them the existence of a promising literature. Though his knowledge

of Russian was quite faulty, as his translations prove, yet he put the

poems into such pleasing verses that they became deservedly popular.

A second edition followed the same year, and a second part two years

later.

The impulse given by Sir John Bowring found a ready response in the

periodic press of that time. In 1824 the Westminster Review brought out

an article on _Politics and Literature of Russia_, which gave a short

review of eighteenth-century literature. In 1827, R. P. Gillies gave a

good sketch of _Russian Literature_ in vol. i of the Foreign Quarterly

Review, based on the Russian work of Grech. The same year, the Foreign

Review brought out a short account, and the next year an elaborate

article on _Russian Literature and Poetry_, also after Grech, which for

some decades formed the basis of all the articles and chapters dealing

with the same subject in the English language. The Foreign Quarterly

Review brought out similar matter in vol. viii, xxi, xxiii, xxix,

xxx. But more interesting than these, which are nearly all fashioned

after some Russian articles, are the excellent literary notes in every

number, that kept the readers informed on the latest productions that

appeared in Russia. There seems hardly to have been a public for these

notes in England, and indeed they get weaker with the twenty-fourth

volume, and die of inanity in the thirtieth. This early period of

magazine articles is brought to an end by _Russian Literary Biography_,

in vol. xxxvi (1841) of the Westminster Review.

The example set by Sir John Bowring found several imitators. We have

several anthologies, generally grouping themselves around Púshkin, for

the first half of the century: W. H. Saunders, _Poetical Translations

from the Russian Language_, London, 1826; [George Borrow], _The

Talisman, with Other Pieces_, St. Petersburg, 1835; W. D. Lewis,

_The Bakchesarian Fountain, and Other Poems_, Philadelphia, 1849.

The Foreign Quarterly Review brought out in 1832 translations from

Bátyushkov, Púshkin, and Rylyéev, and in Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine

for 1845 T. B. Shaw gave some excellent translations of Púshkin’s

poems. Other articles, treating individual authors, will be mentioned

in their respective places.

While these meagre accounts of Russian Literature, at second hand, and

the scanty anthologies were appearing, there was published in the

Biblical Repository of Andover, Mass., in 1834, the remarkable work

by Talvi, the wife of Dr. Edward Robinson, entitled: _Historical View

of the Languages and Literatures of the Slavic Nations_, and this was

republished in book-form, and enlarged, in New York, in 1850. Though

there existed some special works by Slavic scholars, Talvi’s was the

first to encompass the whole field in a scholarly and yet popular

manner. It is authoritative even now in many departments that have

not been overthrown by later investigations, and it is a matter of

surprise that none of the later English writers should have based their

Russian Literatures on this important work, or should have proceeded in

the path of Slavic studies which she had so beautifully inaugurated.

There is no excuse for G. Cox’s translation of F. Otto’s _History of

Russian Literature, with a Lexicon of Russian Authors_, which appeared

at Oxford in 1839, and adds a number of its own inaccuracies to the

blunders of the German original. Nor is there any notice taken of Talvi

in [C. F. Henningsen’s] _Eastern Europe and the Emperor Nicholas_,

London, 1846, which gives a chapter on Russian Literature, mainly on

Púshkin.

In the sixties W. R. Morfill began to translate some poems from the

Russian, and towards the end of that decade, but especially in the

next, Ralston published his excellent studies on the Folksongs and

Folktales and Krylóv, and in the Contemporary Review, vols. xxiii and

xxvii, two articles on the _Russian Idylls_. The magazines that in

the seventies reviewed Russian Literature got everything at second

hand, and are of little value: National Quarterly Review, vol. xxiv

(1872); Catholic World, vol. xxi (1875); Harper’s Magazine, 1878. Of

books there were issued: Sutherland Edwards’s _The Russians at Home_,

London, 1861, a very useful work for contemporary literature, and F.

R. Grahame’s _The Progress of Science, Art and Literature in Russia_,

London [1865], which contains a great deal of interesting material

badly arranged and ill-digested. The chapter on Literature in O. W.

Wahl’s _The Land of the Czar_, London, 1875, is unimportant.

Since the eighties there have appeared a number of translations from

good foreign authors bearing on Russian Literature: Ernest Dupuy,

_The Great Masters of Russian Literature in the Nineteenth Century_,

translated by N. H. Dole, New York [1886]; E. M. de Vogüé, _The Russian

Novelists_, translated by J. L. Edmands, Boston [1887]; Dr. George

Brandes, _Impressions of Russia_, translated by S. C. Eastman, New

York, 1889; E. P. Bazán, _Russia: Its People and its Literature_,

translated by F. H. Gardiner, Chicago, 1890.

The following more or less original works will be found useful: W.

R. Morfill, _Slavonic Literature_, London, 1883, and _The Story of

Russia_, New York and London, 1890; also his _The Peasant Poets of

Russia_ (Reprint from Westminster Review), London, 1880; C. E. Turner,

_Studies in Russian Literature_, London, 1882, and before, in Fraser’s

Magazine for 1877; Ivan Panin, _Lectures in Russian Literature_, New

York and London, 1889; _Memorials of a Short Life: A Biographical

Sketch of W. F. A. Gaussen_ (chapter on _The Russian People and their

Literature_), London, 1895; Prince Serge Wolkonsky, _Pictures of

Russian History and Russian Literature_ (Lowell Lectures), Boston,

New York and London, 1897; K. Waliszewski, _A History of Russian

Literature_, New York, 1900, but this work must be used with extreme

caution, on account of the many inaccuracies it contains. W. M.

Griswold’s _Tales Dealing with Life in Russia_, Cambridge, 1892, is

a fair bibliography of all the prose translations that have appeared

in the English language before 1892. But few anthologies have of

late seen daylight: C. T. Wilson, _Russian Lyrics in English Verse_,

London, 1887; John Pollen, _Rhymes from the Russian_, London, 1891

(a good little book); E. L. Voynich, _The Humour of Russia_, London

and New York, 1895. The periodical “Free Russia,” published in London

since 1890, contains some good translations from various writers

and occasionally some literary essay; but the most useful periodic

publication is “The Anglo-Russian Literary Society,” published in

London since 1892, and containing valuable information on literary

subjects, especially modern, and a series of good translations

from contemporary poets. Nor must one overlook the articles in the

encyclopedias, of which those in Johnson’s Cyclopedia are especially

good.

Very exhaustive statements of the modern literary movement in Russia

appear from year to year in the Athenæum. More or less good articles

on modern literature, mainly the novel, have appeared since 1880

in the following volumes of the periodical press: Academy, xxi and

xxiii; Bookman, viii; Chautauquan, viii and xxii; Critic, iii; Current

Literature, xxii; Dial, xx; Eclectic Magazine, cxv; Forum, xxviii;

Leisure Hours, ccccxxv; Lippincott’s, lviii; Literature, i; Living

Age, clxxxv; Nation, lxv; Public Opinion, xx; Publisher’s Weekly, liv;

Temple Bar, lxxxix.

In conclusion, I desire to express my gratitude to my friends and

colleagues who have aided me in this work: to Prof. A. C. Coolidge, for

leaving at my disposal his collection of translations from the Russian,

and for many valuable hints; to Dr. F. N. Robinson, for reading a

number of my translations; to Prof. G. L. Kittredge, to whom is largely

due whatever literary merit there may be in the introductory chapters

and in the biographical sketches. I also take this occasion to thank

all the publishers and authors from whose copyrighted works extracts

have been quoted with their permission.

CONTENTS

PAGE

PREFACE v

A SKETCH OF RUSSIAN LITERATURE 1

I. The Oldest Period 3

II. The Folklore 18

III. The Eighteenth Century 26

THE OLDEST PERIOD 39

Treaty with the Greeks (911) 41

Luká Zhidyáta (XI. c.) 44

Instruction to his Congregation 44

The Russian Code (XI. c.) 45

Ilarión, Metropolitan of Kíev (XI. c.) 48

Eulogy on St. Vladímir 48

Vladímir Monomákh (1053-1125) 50

His Instruction to his Children 51

Abbot Daniel, the Palmer (XII. c.) 56

Of the Holy Light, how it Descends from Heaven upon

the Holy Sepulchre 56

Epilogue 61

Cyril, Bishop of Túrov (XII. c.) 62

From a Sermon on the First Sunday after Easter 62

Néstor’s Chronicle (XII. c.) 65

The Baptism of Vladímir and of all Russia 65

The Kíev Chronicle (XII. c.) 71

The Expedition of Ígor Svyatoslávich against the

Pólovtses 72

The Word of Ígor’s Armament (XII. c.) 80

The Holy Virgin’s Descent into Hell (XII. c.) 96

Daniel the Prisoner (XIII. c.) 100

Letter to Prince Yarosláv Vsévolodovich 101

Serapión, Bishop of Vladímir (XIII. c.) 104

A Sermon on Omens 104

The Zadónshchina (XIV. c.) 106

Afanási Nikítin (XV. c.) 111

Travel to India 111

Apocryphal Legends about King Solomon (XV. c.) 114

The Story of Kitovrás 114

Prince Kúrbski (1528-1583) 115

The Storming of Kazán 116

Letter to Iván the Terrible 118

Iván the Terrible (1530-1584) 121

Letter to Prince Kúrbski 121

The Domostróy (XVI. c.) 126

How to Educate Children and Bring them up in the

Fear of God 126

How to Teach Children and Save them through Fear 127

How Christians are to Cure Diseases and all Kinds of

Ailments 128

The Wife is always and in all Things to Take Counsel

with her Husband 128

How to Instruct Servants 129

Songs Collected by Richard James (1619-1620) 130

Incursion of the Crimean Tartars 131

The Song of the Princess Kséniya Borísovna 132

The Return of Patriarch Filarét to Moscow 133

Krizhánich (1617-1677) 134

Political Reasons for the Union of the Churches 135

On Knowledge 136

On Foreigners 136

Kotoshíkhin (1630-1667) 136

The Education of the Princes 137

The Private Life of the Boyárs and of other Ranks 139

Simeón Pólotski (1629-1680) 149

On the Birth of Peter the Great 150

An Evil Thought 151

The Magnet 151

The Story of Misery Luckless-Plight (XVII. or XVIII. c.) 152

THE FOLKLORE 161

Epic Songs 163

Volkh Vseslávevich 163

Ilyá of Múrom and Nightingale the Robber 165

Historical Songs 172

Yermák 172

The Boyár’s Execution 174

The Storming of Ázov 176

Folksongs 177

Kolyádka 178

Bowl-Song 179

A Parting Scene 179

The Dove 180

The Faithless Lover 182

Elegy 182

The Farewell 183

Sing, O sing again, lovely lark of mine 184

Wedding Gear 185

The Sale of the Braid 185

Marriage Song 186

Beggars’ Song 186

An Orphan’s Wailing 187

Conjuration of a Mother 188

Fairy Tales 189

Frost 190

The Cat, the Goat and the Ram 195

The Fox and the Peasant 198

Proverbs 199

THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY 203

Pososhkóv (1670-1726) 205

On Merchants 205

On the Peasantry 209

Prokopóvich (1681-1763) 211

The Spiritual Reglement 212

Funeral Sermon on Peter the Great 214

Tatíshchev (1686-1750) 218

From the “Russian History” 219

Kantemír (1708-1744) 223

To my Mind 224

Tredyakóvski (1703-1769) 230

Ode on the Surrender of Dantzig 230

Princess Dolgorúki (1714-1771) 233

From her “Memoirs” 234

Lomonósov (1711-1765) 241

Letters to I. I. Shuválov 242

Ode on the Capture of Khotín 246

Morning Meditations 252

Evening Meditations 253

Sumarókov (1718-1777) 254

The False Demetrius 255

Instruction to a Son 257

To the Corrupters of Language 260

The Helpful Gnat 260

Four Answers 261

Vasíli Máykov (1728-1778) 263

The Battle of the Zimogórans and Valdáyans 263

The Cook and the Tailor 267

Danílov (1722-1790) 269

From his “Memoirs” 269

Catherine the Great (1729-1796) 272

O Tempora 272

Prince Khlor 276

Shcherbátov (1733-1790) 287

On the Corruption of Manners in Russia 287

Petróv (1736-1799) 291

On the Victory of the Russian over the Turkish Fleet 291

Kheráskov (1733-1807) 298

The Rossiad 298

Metropolitan Platón (1737-1812) 300

What are Idolaters? 300

Address upon the Accession of Alexander I. 304

Khémnitser (1745-1784) 306

The Lion’s Council of State 306

The Metaphysician 307

Knyazhnín (1742-1791) 308

Vadím of Nóvgorod 309

Odd People 311

Princess Dáshkov (1743-1810) 316

The Establishment of a Russian Academy 316

Poroshín (1741-1769) 321

From his “Diary” 321

The Satirical Journals (1769-1774), and Nóvikov (1744-1818) 326

From _All Kinds of Things_ 328

Sound Reasoning Adorns a Man 329

From the _Drone_ 332

Recipe for His Excellency Mr. Lacksense 332

The Laughing Democritos 333

From _Hell’s Post_ 335

From the _Painter_ 337

Fon-Vízin (1744-1792) 341

The Minor 342

An Open-Hearted Confession 351

Letters to Count Pánin 355

Kostróv (1750-1796) 358

Letter to the Creator of the Ode in Praise of Felítsa 359

Radíshchev (1749-1802) 361

Journey from St. Petersburg to Moscow 362

Ablesímov (1742-1783) 370

The Miller 370

Bogdanóvich (1743-1803) 374

Psyche. From Book I. 374

” ” ” II. 375

Derzhávin (1743-1816) 377

Ode to the Deity 379

Monody on Prince Meshchérski 382

Felítsa 385

The Waterfall 390

The Storm 391

The Stream of Time 392

Neledínski-Melétski (1752-1829) 392

To the Streamlet I’ll Repair 392

He whose Soul from Sorrow Dreary 394

Muravév (1757-1807) 395

To the Goddess of the Nevá 395

Kapníst (1757-1824) 397

The Pettifoggery 398

Obúkhovka 402

On Julia’s Death 404

Gribóvski (1766-1833) 405

From his “Memoirs” 405

Kámenev (1772-1803) 411

Gromvál 412

Ózerov (1770-1816) 418

Dimítri Donskóy 419

Prince Dolgorúki (1764-1823) 422

The Legacy 422

My Moscow Fireplace 425

Dmítriev (1760-1837) 428

The Little Dove 429

During a Thunder-Storm 430

Ermák 431

What Others Say 436

Index 441

A SKETCH OF RUSSIAN LITERATURE

I.--THE OLDEST PERIOD

Of the many Slavic nations and tribes that at one time occupied the

east of Europe from the Elbe and the headwaters of the Danube to

Siberia, and from the Ionic Sea to the Baltic and White Seas, some have

entirely disappeared in the ruthless struggle with a superior German

civilisation; others, like the Bulgarians and Servians, have paled into

insignificance under the lethargic influence of the Crescent, to be

fanned to life again within the memory of the present generation by a

breath of national consciousness, which is the result of the Romantic

Movement in European literature; others again like the Bohemians and

Poles, rent asunder by fraternal discord and anarchy, have forfeited

their national existence and are engaged in an unequal battle to regain

it. Of all the Slavs, Russia alone has steadily gathered in the lands

of the feudal lords, to shine at last as a power of the first magnitude

among the sisterhood of states, and to scintillate hope to its racial

brothers as the “Northern Star.”

The unity of the Russian land was ever present to the minds of the

writers in the earliest days of the appanages. The bard of the _Word

of Ígor’s Armament_ and Daniel the Palmer made appeals to the whole

country and prayed for all the princes in the twelfth century, and

for upwards of four centuries Moscow has been the centre towards

which the outlying districts have been gravitating. Yet, in spite of

so continuous and well-defined a political tendency, Russia is the

last of the Slavic nations to have evolved a literature worthy of the

name. Bohemia had a brilliant literature of the Western stamp as

early as the thirteenth century; Bulgaria had made a splendid start

three centuries before, under the impulse of the newly introduced

religion; the Servian city of Ragusa, receiving its intellectual leaven

from its Italian vicinage, invested Petrarch and Dante with Servian

citizenship in the fifteenth century, and, shortly after, gloried in an

epic of a Gundulić, and in a whole galaxy of writers; Poland borrowed

its theology from Bohemia, took an active part in the medieval Latin

literature, and boasted a golden age for its native language in the

sixteenth century. Russia produced an accessible literature only in the

second half of the eighteenth century, became known to Western Europe

not earlier than the second quarter of the next, and had not gained

universal recognition until within the last twenty-five years.

In the case of the Western and Southern Slavs, a community of

interests, whether religious or social, has led to an intellectual

intercourse with their neighbours, from whom they have received their

models for imitation or adaptation. Without a favourable geographical

position, or some common bond with the external world, no nation can

have a healthy development, especially in the incipient stage of its

political existence. Blatant Slavophiles of fifty years ago heaped

reproach on the reforms of Peter the Great, on the ground that they

were fashioned upon Western ideals, and that he had retarded the

evolution of Russia according to its inherent Slavic idea. There still

survive men of that persuasion, though a comparative study of Russian

literature long ago demonstrated that every step in advance has been

made by conscious or unconscious borrowings from abroad. If there was

a Russian literature previous to the introduction of Christianity,

it certainly stood in some kind of relation to the literatures of

the neighbours. The few extant treaties with the Greeks for that

period show unmistakable Byzantine influences, and the Russian Code

of Yarosláv, with its purely Norse laws, dates from a time when the

Varyágs had not yet disappeared in the mass of the Slavic majority.

With the introduction of Christianity, Russia, instead of entering

into closer communion with the rest of the world, was separated from

it even more securely than before, and soon after, an intellectual

stagnation began that lasted very nearly to the end of the seventeenth

century. Various causes combined to produce this singular effect.

Chief of these was its geographical position. Living in the vast

eastern plain of Europe, which in itself would have been productive

of a larger life, the Russian tribes had civilised neighbours on one

side only. On the north they were separated from the Swedes by rude

Finnish tribes; on the south, they had for centuries to contend against

all the nomads, Pechenyégs, Cumanians, Khazars, who slowly proceeded

from Asia to central Europe to become lost in the nations to the

south of the Carpathians and in the Balkan peninsula; in the east the

Finns of the north met the Tartars of the south, and behind them lay

unprofitable Asia. On the north-west, it is true, was the civilised

Teutonic Order, but the inveterate hatred between these Germans and the

Slavs prevented any intercommunication from that quarter. There was

left Poland, through which Russia might issue into Europe; but savage

Lithuania was wedged in between the two, so as to reduce still more the

line of contact with the West. When Lithuania became civilised, and a

part of Poland, the latter had grown suspicious of the youthful Ilyá

of Múrom who “had sat thirty years upon the oven,” and enunciated a

political maxim that either Russia would have to become Polish, or else

Poland Russian. Knowing that there was no other exit for Russia, Poland

permitted no light to reach it from the West. When England began to

communicate with Russia in the sixteenth century, King Sigismund made

an earnest appeal to Queen Elizabeth to stop sending skilled mechanics,

lest the Colossus should awaken and become a danger to Europe.

These external causes of Russia’s aloofness were still more intensified

by a systematic determination of Russia to keep out the Catholic

contamination that would come from intercourse with Europe. This was

a direct outgrowth of its adoption of Christianity from Byzantium,

instead of Rome. Cyril and Methodius, the apostles to the Slavs, were

themselves Bulgarians from Macedonia. When they first carried the new

religion to Moravia and later to Bulgaria, they, no doubt, preached

and wrote in the dialect with which they were most familiar. This

innovation of preaching the gospel in another than one of the three

sacred languages was a necessary departure, in order to win over the

troublesome Slavs to the north of Byzantium. Though at the end of the

ninth century the various dialects were already sufficiently dissimilar

to constitute separate languages, yet they were not so distant

from each other as to be a hindrance to a free intercommunication.

When, a century later, Christianity was introduced into Russia from

Constantinople, Bulgarian priests and bookmen were the natural

intermediaries, and the Bulgarian language at once became the literary

medium, to the exclusion of the native tongue. Soon after, the Eastern

Church separated from Rome, and the Greek-Catholic clergy inculcated

upon their neophytes an undying hatred of the Latins, as the Romanists

were called. In Moscow, the slightest deviation from the orthodox

faith was sufficient cause for suspecting a Romanist heresy, and

anathemas against Roman-Catholics were frequent, but at Kíev, where the

contact with Poland was inevitable, the disputes with the Latins form

a prominent part of ecclesiastical literature. To guard the country

against any possible contagion, the punishment of Russians who crossed

the border, in order to visit foreign parts, was so severe, that few

ever ventured out of the country. The seclusion of Russia was complete.

Even under these difficulties, literature and the arts might have

flourished, if Constantinople had been able to give to the new

converts even its degraded Byzantine culture, or if there had not

been other powerful causes that militated against a development from

within. In the west of Europe the Latin language of the Church did not

interfere with an early national literature. Latin was the language

of the learned, whether clerical or lay, and mediated an intellectual

intercourse between the most distant members of the universal faith.

At the same time, the native dialects had received an impulse before

the introduction of Christianity, often under the influence of Rome,

and they were left to shift for themselves and to find their votaries.

The case was quite different in Russia. The Bulgarian language, which

was brought in with the gospel, at once usurped on the native Russian

to the great disadvantage of the latter. Being closely related to the

spoken Russian, Bulgarian was easily acquired by the clergy, but it was

not close enough to become the literary language of the people. On the

one hand, this new gospel language could at best connect Russia with

Byzantium by way of Bulgaria; on the other, Russian was looked down

upon as a rude dialect and was discouraged, together with every symptom

of the popular creation which was looked upon as intimately connected

with ancient paganism.

This Bulgarian language was not long preserved in its purity. Detached

from its native home, it was immediately transformed in pronunciation,

so as to conform to the spoken Russian; thus, for example, it at

once lost its nasals, which were not familiar to the Russian ear. In

the course of time, words and constructions of the people’s language

found their way into the Church-Slavic, as the Bulgarian was then more

properly called. Naturally, many words, referring to abstract ideas and

the Church, passed from the Bulgarian into the spoken tongue. Thus,

the two dialects, one the arbitrary literary language, the other, the

language of every-day life, approached each other more and more. At the

present time, the Russian of literature contains a large proportion of

these Church-Slavic words; the language of the Bible and the liturgy is

the Church-Slavic of the sixteenth century, which differs so much from

the original Bulgarian that, though a Russian reads with comparative

ease this Church-Slavic, he has to study Bulgarian as a German would

study Old German. This Church-Slavic of the Russian redaction has also

been, and still is, in part, the ecclesiastical language of the other

Greek-Catholic countries of the Slavs.

Some time passed before Russia could furnish its own clergy. All the

leading places in the Church were at first filled with Bulgarians and

Greeks who were steeped in Byzantine religious lore. The Church at

Constantinople stood in direct opposition to the classical traditions

of Greece. These were not separated from the old heathenism, and

to the luxury and voluptuousness of medieval Greece, which was

ascribed to classical influences, the Church opposed asceticism

and self-abnegation. Monasticism was preached as the ideal of the

religious life, and arts and sciences had no place in the scheme of the

Church. Theology and rhetoric were the only sciences which the hermit

practised in his cell, in the moments that were free from prayer and

self-castigation. And it is only the Church’s sciences that ancient

Russia inherited from Byzantium. The civil intercourse between the

two countries was very slight, and the few Russian ecclesiastics who

visited Mount Athos and the Holy Land brought back with them at best

a few legends and apocryphal writings. The Byzantine influence at

home showed itself in a verbal adherence to the Bible and the Church

Fathers, and an occasional attempt at pulpit oratory in the bombastic

diction of contemporary Greece.

Not a science penetrated into ancient Russia. Historically the rest

of the world did not exist for it, and geographically it was only of

interest in so far as it came into contact with Russia: Russia knew

more of Tartars and Cumanians than of Germany or France. Arithmetic,

not to speak of mathematics, and physics, medicine and engineering,

were unknown before the sixteenth century, and then only when a few

foreigners practised these arts in the capital and at the Court. The

only literature that reached Russia was the legendary lore of the South

and West, through Bulgaria and Poland, generally at a time when it had

long been forgotten elsewhere: thus, the Lucidarius and Physiologus

were accepted as genuine bits of zoölogical and botanical science,

long after sober knowledge had taken possession of the universities

of the world. The literature of Russia before Peter the Great is by

no means meagre or uninteresting, but it lacks an important element

of historical continuity; in fact, it is devoid of every trace of

chronology. What was written in the twelfth century might with equal

propriety be the product of the sixteenth, and _vice versa_, and

the productions of the earliest time were copied out as late as the

seventeenth century, and relished as if they had just been written.

Where a certain literary document has come down to us in a later copy,

it is not possible to date it back, unless it contains some accidental

indication of antiquity. In short, there was no progress in Russia

for a period of six or seven centuries, from the tenth century to the

seventeenth.

In this achronism of literary history, there may, however, be discerned

two periods that are separated from each other by the first invasion of

the Tartars. Previous to that momentous event, Kíev formed the chief

intellectual and political centre of the Russian principalities. Here

the Norse traditions, which had been brought by the Varyág warriors,

had not entirely faded away in the century following the introduction

of Christianity, and the Court maintained certain relations with the

rest of the world, as in the case of Yarosláv, who was related, by the

marriage of his children, to the Courts of Norway, France, Germany and

Hungary. On the other hand, Vladímir’s heroes were celebrated abroad,

and Ilyá of Múrom is not unknown to German tradition and the Northern

saga. Not only its favourable geographical position, but its climate

as well, inspired the inhabitants of Kíev with a greater alacrity,

even as the Little-Russians of to-day have developed less sombre

characteristics than the Great-Russians of the sterner north. It is

sufficient to compare the laconic instructions of Luká Zhidyáta in the

commercial Nóvgorod with the flowery style of Serapión’s sermon, or the

dry narrative of the northern chronicles with the elaborate adornment

of the stories in the chronicles of Néstor and Sylvester, to become

aware of the fundamental difference between the two sections of Russia.

The twelfth century, rich in many aspects of literature, including that

beautiful prose poem of popular origin, the _Word of Ígor’s Armament_,

gave ample promise of better things to come. Similarly, the bylínas

of the Vladímir cycle, the best and most numerous of all that are

preserved, point to an old poetic tradition that proceeded from Kíev.

The fact that these bylínas have been lately discovered in the extreme

north-east, in the Government of Olónetsk, while not a trace of them

has been found in their original home, has divided the scholars of

Russia into two camps. Some assert that all the Russians of Kíev

belonged to the Great-Russian division, and that the Tartar invasion

destroyed most of them, and caused the rest to migrate to the north,

whither they carried their poetry. The Little-Russians that now occupy

the south of Russia are supposed by these scholars to have come

from Galicia to repeople the abandoned places. The Little-Russians

themselves claim, with pardonable pride, to be the direct descendants

of the race that gave Russia its Néstor and the bard of the _Word of

Ígor’s Armament_. There are weighty arguments on both sides, and both

the Great-Russians, with whom we are at present concerned, and the

Little-Russians, or Ruthenians, who have developed a literature in

their own dialect, claim that old literature as their own.

The terrible affliction of the Mongol invasion marks, on the one hand,

the beginning of the concentration of Russia around Moscow, and, on the

other, accentuates more strongly the barren activities of the Russian

mind for the next few centuries. Historians have been wont to dwell on

the Tartar domination as the chief cause of Russian stagnation, but

the calmer judgment of unbiassed science must reject that verdict. It

is true, the Tartars carried ruin to all the Russian land, but after

every successful raid, they withdrew to their distant camps, ruling

the conquered land merely by exacting tribute and homage from its

princes. The Tartars in no way interfered with the intellectual and

religious life of the people; on the contrary, they mingled freely with

the subject nation, and intermarriages were common. It has already

been pointed out that the germ of unprogressiveness was older than the

invasion, that the Byzantine religious culture was the real cause of

it. That Moscow was even less progressive than Kíev is only natural.

All its energies were bent on political aggrandisement, on throwing

off the hated Tartar yoke, and it was farther removed from Europe than

the more fortunate southern metropolis. All these conditions were

unfavourable to the practice of the gentler arts.

The religious lore of ancient Russia was derived from the gospel,

which was hardly ever accessible in continuous form, but only as an

_aprakos_, _i. e._, as a manual in which it was arranged according to

the weekly readings. This was supplemented by two peculiar versions of

the Old Testament, the _palæas_, in which passages of the Bible were

intermingled with much apocryphal matter, and which originally had

served as controversial literature against the Jews, and to prove the

coming of Christ; there was no translation of the whole Old Testament,

and as late as the eighteenth century a priest referred to the _palæa_

as to Holy Writ. Prayers to saints, lives and legends of saints, with

moral instructions, complete the list of the religious equipment that

Russia received from Byzantium. One of the oldest Russian manuscripts,

the _Collection of Svyatosláv_, made for Svyatosláv of Chernígov in

1073, is a copy of a similar production, translated from the Greek for

Simeón of Bulgaria. It is an encyclopedia of ecclesiastic and moral

themes, culled from the Church Fathers, among whom John Chrysostom is

most prominent. Later, there were many similar collections, known under

the names of _The Golden Beam_, _Emerald_, _Golden Chain_, and so forth.

By the aid of this literature and such Greek models as were accessible

to the priests, were produced the sermons that have come down to us in

a large number, and a few of which, like those of Cyril of Túrov and

Serapión, do not lack literary polish, and are not inferior to Western

pulpit oratory of the same period. Whenever the preachers turned to

praise the princes, as in the case of Ilarión who eulogised Vladímir,

they had in mind only their orthodox Christianity, for religion was

the all-absorbing question. Similarly, when Vladímir Monomákh wrote

his _Instruction_ to his children, he composed it according to the

model given in Svyatosláv’s _Collection_. Sermons and Instructions,

from the introduction of Christianity to the middle of the eighteenth

century, form one of the most important ingredients of Collections,

and served as models for _Spiritual Testaments_ even in the eighteenth

century. Sylvester’s _Domostróy_ belongs to the same type, though what

in Vladímir was the enthusiasm and earnestness of the new faith, has in

this later document become a series of external observances. Formalism

and adherence to the dead letter characterise the whole period of

Russian unprogressiveness, and remained the characteristic of the

Church at a much later time, in spite of the enlightened labours of a

Feofán or Platón; and it was the same formalism that caused the schism

of the raskólniks, who saw in Nikón’s orthographical corrections of the

corrupt Bible text an assault upon the orthodox religion.

Only a small proportion of the literature of ancient Russia was

produced outside the ranks of the clergy. There were few literate

persons who were not priests or monks; for there hardly existed any

schools during this whole period, and even princes could not sign their

names. The influence of the lettered priest was paramount, and if he

was at all equal to the task of composing readable sermons, these were

eagerly sought for by all who could read them. When, in the sixteenth,

and still more in the seventeenth century, rays of light began to

penetrate into Moscow, the chief and most dangerous task of instruction

fell to the share of those preachers who had come in contact with

Polish learning at Kíev; in the days of Peter the Great, Feofán

Prokopóvich was an important factor in the civilisation of Russia, and

in the beginning of the nineteenth century the sermons of Platón still

form an integral part of literature.

To the student of comparative literature the semi-religious lore, which

finds its expression in the apocrypha, is of vastly greater interest.

The poetical creative activity of the people, combining with the

knowledge of religious lore, has ever been active in producing spurious

legendary accounts of matters biblical. The book of Enoch and the

Talmud disseminated such legends in regard to the Old Testament long

before the birth of Christianity. The Russian apocryphal literature is

rich in legendary accounts of the creation of the world, the confession

of Eve, the lives of Adam, Melchisedec, Abraham, Lot, Moses, Balaam,

the twelve patriarchs, David, and particularly Solomon. Much more

extensive is the store of legends from the New Testament. The birth of

the Holy Virgin is dilated upon in the gospel of Jacob, the childhood

of Christ is told in the gospel of Thomas, while a fuller story of

Pilate’s judgment of Christ and of Christ’s descent into Hell is

given in the old gospel of Nicodemus. Lazarus, Judas, and the twelve

apostles have all their group of legends, but the Assumption of the

Virgin Mary and the Judgment-day were the most popular. The list is

far from being exhausted, and only a small part of the material has

been scientifically investigated and located. Most of these stories

travelled by the customary road over Bulgaria from Byzantium. As they

have also reached the west of Europe, the investigator of their Western

forms has to look into Byzantine sources; but as many of the legends

have been preserved in the Slavic form, and when they have disappeared

from the Greek, or as fuller redactions are to be met with in the

North, he cannot well afford to overlook the Slavic sources. The _index

librorum prohibitorum_ of Russia, fashioned after the Greek, includes

all such apocrypha as were current at the time of the composition of

the first _index_. The clergy were continually preaching against them,

yet their efforts were useless, especially since they themselves were

at the same time drawing extensively on the apocryphal accounts of the

_palæas_, lives of saints, etc.

There is this vast difference in the literature of this kind as it was

current in Russia and in the West. Elsewhere the legends were early

seized upon by the fancy of the poets, were clothed in the conventional

garb of verse, remodelled, combined, beautified, until they became the

stock in trade of literature, while the memory of the unadorned story

had entirely faded from the popular consciousness. Dante’s _Divine

Comedy_ is an illustration of how transformed the legends had become

at a very early date. In Russia nothing of the kind has taken place.

With the usual achronism of its literature, legends of the eleventh

and eighteenth centuries live side by side, or mingle in the same

version, and they have undergone no other change than corruption of

misunderstood passages, transposition of motives, modernisation of

language. The religious songs that a mendicant may be heard singing

at the present time in front of a church are nothing but these old

legends, almost in their primitive form.

Nearly allied to the apocryphal stories are the profane legends that

form the subject-matter of so much of European medieval literature.

The stories of Alexander the Great, the Trojan War, Digenis Akritas,

Barlaam and Josaphat, Calilah-wa-Dimnah, are as common in Russian

literature as in that of France or Germany. Byzantium is the immediate

source of most of these legends both for the East and the West, but

there are also many motives in the Russian stories that were derived

from the West through Servia and Bulgaria. It is not yet quite clear

how these stories came to travel in a direction opposite to the

customary route of popular tales; no doubt the crusades did much to

bring about an interchange of the oral literature of the nations. In

the West, these stories have furnished the most beautiful subjects for

medieval poetry, but as before, the Russian stories have not found

their way into polite literature. They have either remained unchanged

in their original form, or, being of a more popular character than the

religious legends, have adapted themselves to the style of folktales,

as which they have been preserved.

It is not unlikely that many of these tales were brought back from

Palestine, the common camping-ground of the Christian nations during

the crusades. Pilgrimages to the Holy Land began soon after the

introduction of Christianity into Russia, and in the twelfth century

we have the first account of such a journey, from the pen of the abbot

Daniel. None of the later accounts of Palestine and Constantinople

compare in interest with the simple narrative of Daniel the Palmer,

after whose _Pilgrimage_ they are fashioned and whose very words they

often incorporated in their _Travels_. The purpose of all these was

to serve as incitements to religious contemplation. There is but one

account of a journey to the west of Europe. It was undertaken by the

metropolitan Isidor who, in 1437, attended the Council of Florence. A

few years later Afanási Nikítin described his journey to India, which

was one of the earliest undertaken by Westerners in the same century;

but while Vasco de Gama and Columbus were revolutionising the knowledge

of geography, and were making the discovery of a route to India the

object of mercantile development, Nikítin’s report, important though it

was, had absolutely no effect upon dormant Russia.

As there existed no external geography, so there was no external

history. But fortunately for Russia, a long series of chronicles have

saved historical events from oblivion. The earliest chronicle, that of

Néstor, was the model for all that followed. Excepting the history of

Kúrbski, who had come into contact with Western science through the

Polish, and Krizhánich, who was not a Russian, there was no progress

made in the chronological arrangement of historical facts from Néstor

to Tatíshchev, while in style and dramatic diction there is a decided

retrogression. The promise held out by the historian of the twelfth

century was not made good for six hundred years. Néstor and Sylvester,

the continuator, were of the clerical profession, and naturally

the religious element, richly decked out with legend, folktale and

reports of eye-witnesses, is the prevailing tone throughout the whole

production. The Bible and the Byzantines, Hamartolos and John Malalas,

serve as models for the fluent style of this production, but the vivid,

dramatic narrative bears witness to considerable talent in the author.

At first only the cities of Kíev, Nóvgorod and Súzdal, and Volhynia

seem to have possessed such chronicles; but those that are preserved

show traces of being composed of shorter accounts of other individual

places. In the following centuries, most of the larger cities and

monasteries kept chronological records of important events, and with

the centralisation of Russia about Moscow there also appeared a species

of Court chroniclers whose dry narration is often coloured in favour

of the tsarate.

All this mass of literature is essentially ecclesiastic, and hardly

any other could raise its head against the constant anathemas of the

Church. No prohibition of the priests was strong enough to obliterate

the craving for a popular literature, for no school, no science, was

opposed to the superstition of the people, which therefore had full

sway. The best the Church was able to do for the masses was to foster

a “double faith,” in which Christianity and paganism lived side by

side. We shall see later how this state of affairs has been favourable

to the preservation of an oral tradition up to the present time.

Yet, but for the _Word of Ígor’s Armament_, and its imitation, the

_Zadónshchina_, no one could have suspected that the elements of a

natural, unecclesiastic literature were present in ancient Russia.

This _Word of Ígor’s Armament_ is unique. It was composed at a time

when Russia was already well Christianised, yet the references to

Christianity are only sporadic, whereas the ancient pagan divinities

and popular conceptions come in for a goodly share of attention. There

are some who are inclined to see in this production a forgery, such as

Hanka concocted for Bohemian literature, or Macpherson for Celtic, for

the absence of any later works of the kind seems to be inexplicable.

But this absence need not surprise us, for no such work could have

been written at a later time outside the Church, which alone was in

possession of a modicum of learning. It must be assumed that the bard

of the _Word_ represents the last of a bygone civilisation that had its

firm footing in the people, but stood in a literary relation to the

singers of the Norsemen; for there is much in the _Word_ that reminds

one of the Northern sagas. The tradition of the bard came to an end

with this last production, but his manner, corrupted and twisted by

a wrongly understood Christianity, lived on in the folksong of the

people; hence the remarkable resemblance between the two.

But for the inertia of the Russian Church and people, it would not have

been necessary to wait until a Peter the Great violently shook the

country into activity, for long before his time glimpses of European

civilisation reached Moscow. In the fifteenth century, we have found

metropolitan Isidor travelling to the Council of Florence, to cast

his vote in favour of a union of the Churches under Rome. In the same

century foreigners began to arrive in Moscow to practise medicine or

architecture, or to serve in the Russian army; in the time of Iván the

Terrible there was already a considerable foreign colony in Moscow,

and its influences upon individual Russians were not rare. Iván the

Terrible himself made several attempts to get skilled mechanics from

the West, but his efforts were generally frustrated by Poland and the

Germans of the Baltic provinces.

The most important points of contact with the West were in the Church

itself, through Kíev and Western Russia. These outlying parts of

Russia had early come into relation with Poland, and their unyielding

orthodoxy had been mellowed by the prevailing scholasticism of the

Polish theology. In the academy of Kíev, Greek and Latin grammar,

theology and rhetoric were taught, while these sciences--especially

grammar, even though it were Slavic grammar--were looked upon at Moscow

as certain expressions of heresy. The correction of the corrupt church

books, which in itself was advocated by priests who had imbibed the

Kíev culture, made the presence of learned men--that is, of such as

knew grammar enough to discover orthographical mistakes--an absolute

necessity. In the reign of Alexis Mikháylovich, Kíev monks were called

out for the purpose of establishing a school, and only in 1649 was

the first of the kind opened. This innovation divided the churchmen

into two camps,--those who advocated the Greek grammar, and those

who advocated the Latin,--that is, those who would hear of nothing

that distantly might remind them of the Latins, and those who were

for a Western culture, even though it was to be only the scholastic

learning already abandoned in the rest of Europe. The battle between

the two was fought to the death. Those who were in favour of the Latin

were generally worsted, and some of the most promising of them were

imprisoned and even capitally punished; but men like Medvyédev, and

later Simeón Pólotski, laid the foundation for an advancement, however

gradual, which culminated in the reforms of Peter the Great.

Where a few individuals gained some semblance of Western culture, they

could not write freely at home, and had to develop their activities

abroad. Kúrbski, who for a long time stands alone as an historian,

wrote his _History_ in Poland, and it remained without any influence

whatsoever at home; its very existence was not known before our own

times. The same thing happened with Kotoshíkhin, whose description of

Russia was known to the learned of Sweden, but the original of which

was unknown until its accidental discovery by a Russian scholar of the

nineteenth century. So, while the ferment of reform began much earlier

than the eighteenth century, it would have been indefinitely delayed,

causing many a bloody battle, if the Gordian knot had not been cut by

Peter the Great in favour of the West.

II.--THE FOLKLORE

In the Russian terminology, the _people_ includes all the elements of

society that are not covered by the term _intelligence_. This latter

is a comprehensive designation of all the classes that have some

education and can give intelligent opinions on social, political and

cultural themes. The vast majority of the nation are the _people_

in the narrower sense, and it is essentially the characteristic of

the democratic nineteenth century to regard the intellectual life of

this people as worthy of consideration. This is true of the world at

large, but, in Russia, preoccupation with the people, down to the

lowest strata of society, has become a dominating note in literature.

Whatever other causes may have been active in creating this strong

sentiment,--and they will be discussed in a later chapter,--the

strongest impulse to such a people--worship was received from the

unexpected and undreamt-of wealth of that popular literature which has

been unearthed by the diligent labours of a few investigators.

In the eighteenth century, the term _people_ had a wider significance.

All those who did not belong to polite society, that is, all those

who were not dignitaries or functionaries of a higher order, were the

_people_, and at first the literati were included in that general

appellation. Literature was entirely in the service of the higher

classes, whom it was intended to amuse and eulogise; there was no other

audience, and writers had to direct their attention to filling the

demand, as hirelings of princes, and as pamperers of the pseudo-classic

taste and Voltairism which held sway in refined society. Though

frequently originating from the people, these writers dissevered

all connection with it, for they had no longer any interests in

common. With a few occasional exceptions, the people had no place in

literature, and the inflated style that prevailed in prose and poetry

was so far removed from the language of the people that the written

literature could exert little influence upon the popular mind, and if

there existed anything of a traditional nature among the lower classes,

it was little, if at all, contaminated by literary influences. Whatever

it had received from bygone ages was transmitted to the nineteenth

century and collected just in time, before its certain disintegration.

This disregard for the enormous majority of the people was an

inheritance of ancient Russia, before the reforms of Peter the

Great. We have already seen with what unintelligent severity the

Church persecuted every creation of a popular nature. As the nation

consisted of the Church and the people, so, also, everything that was

not directly of a Christian tendency was un-Christian and therefore

tabooed. True Christianity could never take possession of the people

that was not intelligent enough to discern what was religion and what

not, and the result was that “double faith” in which, in spite of the

persistent endeavours of the clergy, the old heathenism showed through

the varnish of the new faith. The anathemas of the Church against

“pagan rites,” which included the singing of harmless songs, continue

down to the eighteenth century.

In the general unprogressiveness of the whole country, the

agricultural classes, that constituted the bulk of the people, have

remained unchanged for centuries. Russia was as much a country of raw

products in the eighteenth century as in the twelfth, and barter and

tribute in kind were common until a very late time. The life of the

peasant has always moved in the same primitive conditions. Nothing

whatsoever has been added to his physical and intellectual existence

since the introduction of Christianity, and the latter itself did

not much affect his spiritual life. He has remained essentially the

same through the ages. The love of singing and story-telling that

characterises him to-day has, no doubt, been his characteristic for

centuries, and as the memory of the untutored man is much better than

that of the lettered, he has been able to transmit orally to our own

day the stock of his ancient songs and tales. The folklore of Russia,

more than that of any Western nation, bridges over the chasm between

the most distant antiquity and the present. It is an inheritance of

the past, the more precious because it has been transmitted by an

unsophisticated class, whereas in the West the people has come to a

great extent under the influence of the literary caste.

When the folklore of Russia first became accessible to scholars, the

adherents of the mythological theory of the origin of popular tales

and songs, which had been enunciated by Grimm, set out at once to

expound the epic songs and fairy tales as purely mythical symbols of a

pre-Christian era. It was assumed that the songs and stories had come

down to us in an almost unchanged text from the most remote antiquity,

and that they were the representatives of a distinctly Russian

conception. In the meantime, Benfey and his followers have pointed out

that the fairy tales of Europe are traceable to their Indian home,

whence they have wandered to the most remote regions, crossing and

recrossing each other, and mingling in a variety of ways. Even the

casual song that bears every appearance of native origin is frequently

identical with similar songs in distant quarters; so, for example,

Professor Child has brought together a vast number of similar motives

from the whole world in his monumental work on the English and Scotch

Ballads. Under the stress of these discoveries, the greater part of the

mythological ballast had to be thrown overboard, and Russian folklore

was brought into direct relations with the rest of the world.

It has been a rude disappointment to those who believed in an

autochthonous development of the bylínas, to discover that they are

often variations of similar accounts in foreign literatures; that,

for example, the story of Sadkó the Merchant has been found to be

identical with a French story; similarly, the ceremonial songs are

not all of native growth. The study of comparative literature is of

recent development, at least so far as Russian sources are concerned,

and only a small part of the material has been properly located; but

this much can even now be asserted,--that the folklore of Russia is

much more intimately connected with that of Europe and Asia than is the

written literature of the old period. Much of the apocryphal matter

came through the South Slavic countries; many stories and songs must

have wandered by way of Poland to White-Russia, and hence farther

into the interior. Anciently there could have been an interchange

of motives between Germany and Russia in the cities of Nóvgorod and

Pskov, which stood in commercial relations with the towns of the Hansa,

while earlier the Northern saga may have left some traces during the

domination of the Norse. But one of the investigators, Stásov, and

after him Potánin, have stoutly maintained that most of the stories of

the Russian epic cycle came with the Tartars directly from Asia.

If we admit all possible borrowings from the West and the East, Russian

folklore is still of unique interest to the student of literature

on account of the evident traces of great antiquity which it has

preserved. The same cause that kept the written literature of Russia

at a low level and destroyed all appreciable chronology has been

active in the traditional literature, and has saved it from violent

transformations. It cannot be asserted that any one song has come

down to us in its original shape. The change of the spoken language

naturally affected the stories and songs, and many a word that has

become obsolete has been superseded, or preserved in an unrecognisable

form. Contemporary facts of history have been introduced in the place

of older ones, as when the heroes of the cycle of Vladímir are made

to fight the Tartars. Motives have become mingled by superposition of

related stories, or by accretion of foreign material. But never has the

people wilfully transformed, corrupted, added or taken away. Though

individuals continually produced new songs and stories, yet they moved

in narrowly prescribed traditional limits, and the moment these passed

to the people and became its common possession, they suffered only the

accidental changes just spoken of. The task of separating later and

adventitious elements from the bulk of this literature has only begun,

and when that is accomplished, the past of Russia will be reproduced

much more clearly than that of other countries of Europe, because an

achronous period separates the last two centuries from the tenth.

Only one epic, the _Word of Ígor’s Armament_, has survived from

antiquity. That others existed, the bard assures us when he tells of

princes, for a period of a whole century, whom Boyán, an older singer,

had celebrated. This precious relic is not only interesting for its

intrinsic poetical merit, permitting us to guess the possibilities of

the Russian untutored mind before the introduction of the repressive

Byzantinism, but it serves as a guide in redating much of the oral

literature of the present day. In the bylínas, the ceremonial songs,

the fairy tales, we continually come upon passages that are constructed

in the same manner as in the _Word_, and the popular poetry of to-day

and the writings of the whole old period contain many identical phrases

and illustrations.

The epic songs, or bylínas, have been discovered in out-of-the-way

places in the swampy region of the Government of Olónetsk. It has

puzzled all the investigators to explain why the memory of Vladímir

and his heroes should have lived so long in these distant regions when

every recollection of them has entirely disappeared in Kíev, the scene

of all their deeds. Throughout these epic songs there is evidence

of their southern origin, yet nothing whatsoever is known of them in

the south of Russia. Various explanations have been attempted, but

the most wide-spread is that the Great-Russians of the south had been

exterminated by the Tartars, and that the few who survived had taken

refuge in the north, while the present inhabitants of the south have

come from the south-east and represent a different tribe. There seems,

however, to be a more plausible explanation. Considering that the

_Word of Ígor’s Armament_ has not survived except in writing, and that

there are no old epics living in the mouths of the people, except in

inaccessible regions, it is natural to assume that no longer poem, nor

a cycle of poems, which demanded a great amount of mental exertion

and a special class of singers, could outlive the persecution of the

Church, and that only where the people were separated from the rest of

the world by impassable swamps and forests, and where, therefore, the

influence of the Church was of necessity weakest, was it possible for

the class of traditional bards to maintain itself.

There is ample evidence that these epics were based on historical

events, and that they belong to the same category as the historical

songs, of which a number have been recorded from the seventeenth

century and later. The oldest are those that Richard James had written

down in 1619; they were composed by some popular bard immediately after

the incidents which they relate. Later historical songs deal with Peter

the Great, while the song collections contain many others that range in

time from Iván the Terrible to the nineteenth century. The manner of

all these is identical, and strongly reminds us of the epic songs. From

this it may be inferred that the bylínas were separate songs, composed

by contemporary bards, and that their present condition is merely

due to that series of corruptions to which all orally transmitted

literature is subject.

In the _Word_, Germans, Venetians, Greeks and Moravians are made to

sing the glory of Svyatosláv. This is certainly not a mere adornment

of speech, but rests on the actual fact of a lively intercommunication

between the East and the West before the introduction of Christianity

and in the first century following it. Thus, the chief hero of the

Vladímir cycle, Ilyá of Múrom, was known to German song and the

Northern saga, where he is often mentioned. It has also been found that

many of the heroes are real personages whose names are recorded in

chronicles. Yet, though Vladímir is made the centre of the Kíev cycle,

his heroes seem to range over two or three centuries; from this we may

conclude that poetical activity continued for a long time, and that it

is only a later tradition that has grouped all the interesting events

around the famous Vladímir. Originally, there must have been a number

of cities of prominence around which separate epics centred, but in

time they were transferred to the three great cities, Kíev, Nóvgorod

and Moscow, where the national life had its fullest development.

In the ceremonial songs, antiquity is even better preserved than in

the epics, and quite naturally. The epics arose on special occasions,

were adapted to transitory historical incidents, and only the most

favourable conditions of seclusion could save them from entire

oblivion. Not so the ceremonial songs. These belonged to a heathen

religion, contained a mythological element, and were part and parcel

of the people’s belief and customs. The chief labour of the Church

consisted in battling against the survivals from heathenism; but all

it accomplished was to ensure an existence for the Christian tenets

by the side of the traditional customs. The pagan festivities were

merged in the corresponding holidays of the Church, but the old games,

rites and songs went on as before. In time, the meaning of all the

customs connected with the seasons, marriage, death, was forgotten,

but the simple ditties were easily remembered, though frequently

transferred to other occasions. Had there existed in the Russian

Middle Ages any incitement to the introduction of new songs, the old

ones would have been abandoned long ago; but city life was weakly

represented in the country, most of the towns hardly differing from

agricultural settlements, and the city song, which always plays havoc

with the country tunes, had little chance to spread. City life is of

quite recent growth in Russia, and industrialism, which is only now

developing under our very eyes, draws many forces away from the plough;

when these return to the village, they bring with them the refrains of

the modern opera, and degraded street ballads. The same lowering of

the popular poetry has been caused in the nineteenth century by the

soldiers who have come in contact with the city. The result of this is

the complete disappearance of popular song from some districts, and its

gradual dying out in others. Should this tendency continue with any

regularity, a new kind of folksong will result, but in the meanwhile

there is produced an uninteresting chaos.

The freer form of the prose story and the fairy tale, which are bound

by neither verse nor tune, makes them more subject to change than the

ceremonial song. Whatever their original meaning may have been, they

have been preserved as mere stories to amuse. Though they frequently

deal with mythical beings who had some special meaning, they have all

an equal value, and one tale is as good as another; consequently they

easily combined with each other, and new elements were continually

added to them. The prose story is, therefore, less local and even

less national: it travels far and wide, and may turn up in any corner

of the globe. The Russian peasant is a good story-teller, witty and

dramatic; hence he has added much local colouring to all the flotsam of

fairyland, and the folktales of Russia have a distinct flavour of their

own, and are relished even more than the popular tales of the West. The

absence of a book influence on these stories shows itself in simplicity

of narration and lack of moral; the latter is particularly the case in

the animal tales, which, contrary to the usual stories of the kind,

contain no explicit instruction.

In the nineteenth century, the popular element enters more and more

into the literary productions, but a proper beginning has hardly

been made in utilising the extremely rich store of Russian folklore.

When the Romantic spirit held sway over the West, Russia had not

yet collected its songs and popular stories, and a Zhukóvski had to

imitate Western models, in order to make Romanticism accessible.

Púshkin divined more correctly the value of the native stories, and

made excellent use of the tales of his nurse. Otherwise, only sporadic

use has been made of the folktale in literature. One of the best

literary rifacimentos is the collection of all the stories told about

the Fox, which Mozharóvski has brought together in one long, connected

series.

III.--THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY

The Court at Moscow had come into contact with foreign ideas ever since

the days of Iván the Terrible. The “German Suburb,” as the foreign

colony was called, was itself a piece of the West, transplanted into

the semi-barbarous capital, and foreigners of necessity occupied

various posts in the Government. Germans, Greeks, and especially

Englishmen were employed as ambassadors and foreign agents, and in the

seventeenth century it was not rare to find Westerners as teachers

of Russian youths. At the same time, clergymen from Kíev carried

ever more and more the Polish scholasticism and rhetoric to the most

orthodox city, and with it came the weak reflection of Western culture.

Alexis Mikháylovich became fascinated by the theatre, and a German

troupe and even English comedians played before the Tsar; among these

early plays was a crude rifacimento of Marlowe’s _Tamerlane_. Sophia

went one step further, and had a Russian translation of Molière’s

_Médecin malgré lui_ performed in her apartments. Even poetry of an

European type had made its appearance before Kantemír, though only in

the mediocre syllabic versification of a Karión Istómin and a Simeón

Pólotski. Yet the progress was very slow, and the historian of Peter’s

time, Tatíshchev, had figured out that at the rate at which it was

proceeding, it would take Russia seven generations, or more than two

hundred years, to be equal in civilisation to the rest of Europe.

Then Peter appeared. He found around him weak tendencies to reform, but

hardly any men to help him carry them out, and no institutions of any

kind on which to engraft the new knowledge he had brought with him

from Holland and Germany. There was no native scientific literature

whatsoever; there were no terms in which to express the truths which

he and his disciples had learned; there was no established language

even for educated people. Peter united in his person the extreme of

practical sense with the idealism of youth; while bent on introducing

mechanical sciences for the advancement of his country, he at the

same time carried on a correspondence with the philosopher Leibniz,

and favoured the introduction of every branch of literature. With an

indomitable will he wanted to merge savage Russia into the liberal

West, and he frequently used savage means to attain his end.

Peter’s idea of conviviality consisted in getting drunk in a room

filled with tobacco smoke, as he had known it in the taverns of

Holland, and the whole aspect of literature of his period is that of a

crude democracy, such as he advocated in his own circle. In whatever he

or his followers wrote there is a tone of rough simplicity, practical

liberalism, and the ardour of manful youth. Everything that could

be useful to the State and nation received his equal attention. He

familiarised his people with the German and Dutch jurists, who were

translated under his care, and with text-books on the most necessary

sciences and arts; he corresponded with German, French and English

scholars on the subject of establishing universities and academies;

he invited actors from Slavic Austria to play in his theatre; and

superintended the translation of Ovid, of encyclopedias, and of

romances. In this burning activity there could be no such a thing as

a literary school; everything was welcome, provided it advanced his

cherished reforms.

There was no time to waste on the mere externals of language. The

authors of the day had to grope their way as best they could. Some

interlarded their style with hybrid words from all the tongues of

Europe; others wavered between a purely Slavic and a more or less

Russianised language, and Peter the Great, though he was fond of a

display of Dutch words, could use a very idiomatic style. While Stefán

Yavórski and Feofán Prokopóvich charmed their congregations with

elegant sermons in which Byzantine rhetoric and Western eloquence had

the fullest sway, Tatíshchev laboured to find the proper expressions

for the historical truths which he had well learned in the West,

and the peasant Pososhkóv dimly guessed the economic problems that

presented themselves to the country, vainly trying to clothe them in an

intelligible language.

Peter did not live to see the fruition of his endeavours in literature.

The time was too short to produce any good writers, and though

_belles-lettres_ were encouraged, the whole attention of the best

minds was absorbed in the acquisition of the most-needed information.

Knowledge was the watchword of Peter’s time, and the desire for

knowledge was so great that even later Lomonósov and Tredyakóvski

thought no hardships too great, to gain the coveted instruction. It

is characteristic of the times, that these two poets in the new style

walked to Moscow to enter school, one from the extreme north, the other

from the extreme south. A mighty task fell to the lot of the generation

that had been born in the days of the great Tsar. They had to transfer

the whole European culture to Russian soil and to discover a means

of expressing it. Kantemír, whose education was of an European type,

chose the ready model of French verse in which to write his satires,

wrestling to say in Russian what he thought out in French. Tredyakóvski

discovered the proper versification for his native tongue, but his

diligence and good sense did not make up for his barren poetical

talent. Sumarókov, single-handed, created the drama, while Lomonósov

fostered the ode, settled grammar and created Russian science.

The intermediate period between the death of Peter the Great and the

accession of Catherine II. was not one that would in itself have

encouraged people to take to literature, which was looked down upon

as the handmaid of the mighty, if the writers had not inherited an

insatiable love of knowledge. The rough and sincere manner of the

Tsar had given way to a flimsy imitation of the Court at Versailles.

With the introduction of Western civilisation, the Empresses Anna and

Elizabeth took over only the mere external appearance, the love of

pleasure, a luxury that was incompatible with their rude surroundings.

Literary men had no public to write for, except the degraded courtiers

who might flatter themselves that they were the Mæcenases of that

literature for which, in their hearts, they cared very little. Odes

by which one might gain a favour, solemn addresses written to order,

tragedies to be furnished by such and such a date, epigrams of a

flippant turn,--these were the verses that the courtiers wanted, and

they were furnished in sufficient quantity. Though Lomonósov was more

intimately acquainted with Günther than with Boileau, yet he, like his

contemporaries, found himself compelled to favour the introduction

of the French pseudo-classic style, which was the only one that high

society knew anything about. From chaos and no literature at all,

Russia was of necessity forced to cultivate the unnatural imitation

of what was supposed to be classic antiquity, before it knew anything

about that antiquity, and before it had tried itself in simpler fields.

The literature of that period was consequently unreal, stilted, distant.

This pseudo-classicism continued to flourish to the end of the century,

though a new spirit had taken possession of men’s minds in the reign

of Catherine. This Empress had educated herself in the school of the

great philosophers who, in the second half of the eighteenth century,

were the dominating spirits in European literature. She corresponded

with Voltaire, had not only studied Montesquieu, but embodied his

_Esprit des Lois_ in her famous instruction for a new code of laws,

invited d’Alembert to be her son’s tutor,--in short, she was in

sympathy with the humanitarian movements of the encyclopedists. She

planned reforms on a magnificent scale,--though but few of them were

executed, as her theories were only academic and had little reference

to existing conditions. Though she planned, with the help of Diderot,

a complicated educational system, yet there were no more schools at

the end of her reign than at the beginning, and the freedom of the

press was curtailed much more in the second half of her rule than in

the first. So long as there were no disturbing elements at home, and

things went to her liking, she was pleased to favour the liberalism

which had spread over Europe, and had found its advocates at other

Courts. Her idealism was of a purely intellectual character, and her

humanitarian views as she had expressed them in her _Instruction_

were good and harmless so long as they remained on paper. The moment

she was disturbed in her philanthropy by the rebellion of Pugachév at

home, and when, later, she was still more startled by the events of

the French Revolution, which it became the fashion to ascribe to the

philosophy of Voltaire, she recanted her liberalism, and tried to crush

all intellectual progress that had grown strong in the earlier part

of her reign. The best authors were ruthlessly persecuted: Radíshchev

was banished to Siberia for his advocating the very theories which she

had propounded in her _Instruction_; Nóvikov’s philanthropic activity

was sufficient cause for his imprisonment, and it was fortunate for

Knyazhnín that he was dead when his _Vadím of Nóvgorod_ made its

appearance.

Yet, Russian literature owes much to Catherine, who, at least in

the first part of her enlightened absolutism, encouraged a healthy

development of Letters, often through her own example. Her own writings

familiarised her people with the best thought of Europe, and as before

her Racine and Boileau, so now Voltaire, Beccaria, Montesquieu, were

upon the lips of all. Literature had begun in imitations of foreign

models, and hardly a trace of anything original is to be found in the

eighteenth century; but even a superficial Voltairism was preferable

to the more distant pseudo-classicism of the preceding reigns, for,

though most of its humanitarianism was spurious and its culture

skin-deep, it led a few more gifted individuals to a clearer perception

of actualities, to a fuller interest in that which was immediate and

around them, and, in the end, to true culture.

The most promising influence on Russian literature was the one

which Addison and the English satirical journals began to exert on

Catherine and on nearly all the writers of the day. The _Spectator_,

the _Guardian_, and the _Tatler_ had found a host of imitators in

continental Europe, and satirical journals sprang up in astonishing

abundance. It is not likely that Catherine became acquainted with the

English originals. Her knowledge came rather through German and French

translations; and the many passages from these English journals that

found their way into Russia after the fifties were likewise generally

derived at second hand. In any case, Addison and the satirical

journals took deep root in Russian soil, and a long series of similar

productions, from 1769 to 1774, had a very salutary effect on the drama

and on those writings in which contemporary manners are held up to the

scorn and ridicule of the people. Catherine herself, the founder of the

first of these journals, had only the intention of practising this kind

of literature for purposes of good-natured banter, and she was rather

shocked when she discovered that her example had given Nóvikov and his

adherents a weapon for attacking all the negative sides of contemporary

civilisation. Without having wished it, Catherine gave into the hands

of the disaffected a means of concentrating themselves around a name, a

standard,--and public opinion became a factor in literature.

Patronage of the mighty was as much a goal towards which authors

aimed in the days of Catherine as in the previous half-century, and

the Empress regarded it as her privilege and duty to draw literary

talent to the Court, by giving them government positions and lavish

gifts. Derzhávin, Fon-Vízin, Bogdanóvich, Kostróv, Petróv, all were

attracted to her as the central luminary. _Felítsa_ was the keynote

of what Derzhávin purported to be a new departure in the writing of

odes, but it was in reality an old laudatory theme with an application

of fashionable liberalism, and _Felítsa_ remained the watchword of

a generation of poets that gyrated around the throne. At the same

time, Catherine made a seeming appeal to public opinion by her

comedies and satires. If Nóvikov took her in earnest, and responded

to her invitation by making a stand against her lukewarm satire by

a systematic arraignment of vice in every form, he soon found it

necessary in his next literary venture, the _Painter_, to appease her

suspicion and anger by a fulsome praise of the Empress. Underneath this

outward dependence upon the Court’s opinion, literary coteries were,

however, beginning to come into existence, and the dramas of the day

received their impulse from their writings, and in their turn were

beginning to look to others than the Court for their approval.

These coteries were concentrated around the Masonic lodges, where,

under the pledge of secrecy, an exchange of ideas could take place, and

which, consequently, Catherine hated more and more. This Freemasonry

was in itself under English influence, whence were taken the ceremonial

and the organisation. It is said that Freemasonry first made its

appearance in Russia under Peter the Great; later it came also under

German influence, had its wide-spread connections in Europe, and, under

the guise of mysterious practices, discussed the means of spreading

popular education, doing unstinted charity, and ensuring freedom of

thought. In the uncertain and superficial state of culture which then

prevailed in Russia, much that these men did was unreal and irrelevant:

they lost themselves in the mystical speculations of the Martinists and

the Rosicrucians, and wasted their time in an unprofitable symbolism.

But it is sufficient to read the biography of a Nóvikov to perceive

that their efforts for the advancement of science and useful knowledge

were more real than those of the cultivated and more materialistic

Catherine. If Catherine had made the press free, she also persecuted

those who had availed themselves of the privilege against her pleasure;

if her mouth spoke fine sentiments, her heart was closed against

their realisation. But Nóvikov, in the silence of his mysticism, made

Russia’s past accessible to the scholar, founded the book trade, and

took a practical interest in the common people by giving them useful

books to read. This Nóvikov, and the unfortunate Radíshchev, whose

book is even now prohibited in Russia, and Shcherbátov, who preferred

the rough old times to the flighty manners of the day,--that is, the

writers who were at outs with existing conditions,--were the carriers

of a new spirit which, though not characteristically Russian, was akin

to it in that it devoted itself with ardour to the treatment of burning

questions from a native standpoint. Two of these writers, Shcherbátov

and Nóvikov, were Slavophiles in the best sense of the word.

We shall now make the balance-sheet of the eighteenth-century

literature in the separate departments, and see what residuum it

bequeathed to the nineteenth century.

In the scholastic style of the Middle Ages it became a settled

practice to dedicate books to powerful persons, and to address them

with eulogies on all solemn occasions. Polish influence had made this

kind of poetry popular at Kíev, and Simeón Pólotski introduced it in

Moscow in time to sing the glory of the new-born Peter. Lomonósov’s

activity began with an ode, and Tredyakóvski, Sumarókov, Petróv and

a host of minor poets, if that name can be applied to writers of

soulless rhymed adulation, proceeded in the beaten track of “ecstatic”

poetry, until Dmítriev gave it the death-blow by his _What Others

Say_. The only positive value lay in the odes of Lomonósov in which he

described phenomena of nature, and those of Derzhávin, who, following

his example, made similar use of them as, for example, in his _Ode

to the Deity_. His _Felítsa_, which marked the disintegration of the

“ecstatic ode,” left its effect in the lighter epistolary poetry of his

contemporaries, like Kostróv, and may even be traced in the playful

productions of the next generation.

The epic is akin to the ode, in that it is a kind of rapturous

eulogy on some momentous event in history. In the mad intoxication

with foreign pseudo-classic ideals there could be no place for a

proper understanding of native history; hence the flatulent epics

of Kheráskov, admired though they were, could be of no lasting

merit. The other epics dealt with foreign subjects. Tredyakóvski’s

_Telemachiad_ could only amuse as a piece of poetical ineptitude, and a

pleasure-loving public of the times of Catherine II. was more inclined

to go into raptures over Apuleius’s _Golden Ass_ which, having passed

through a French transformation, appeared as a species of mock-heroic

in Bogdanóvich’s _Psyche_. Púshkin still took delight in it, and his

earlier productions of this kind have something of Bogdanóvich’s

manner. Máykov’s _Eliséy_, which is really superior to the _Psyche_,

was not so well received because he introduced too freely the popular

element, for which at that time there could be no appreciation.

Lyrics (in the narrower sense of poems expressing the individual

emotion of the writer) can have a place only where the conditions are

favourable to the formation of individual feelings, where well-defined

conceptions of nature and man are common to a certain class of society

or to the whole nation. Nothing of the kind could exist in Russia

throughout the greater part of the eighteenth century, when everything

was only external veneer, and no lyrics made their appearance until

the last quarter, when, under the influence of a thorough acquaintance

with Horace and the French lyricists, some fine verses were produced by

Bogdanóvich, Kapníst, Derzhávin, Dmítriev, Neledínski-Melétski. Most of

these poems only appeared in the nineteenth century, and all belong to

that intermediate stage of literature which was represented by Karamzín

and Dmítriev and which, in spirit, no longer continues the tradition of

the days of Catherine.

Krylóv’s fables are justly celebrated as among the best literature that

Russia evolved in the last century; but they are only the culmination

of a series of fables, most of them adaptations from La Fontaine and

Gellert, in which nearly all the poets tried their skill. By 1700,

there had been current in Russia three translations of Esop’s _Fables_,

and Pólotski had imitated a number of such as he knew. Here again

we see the utter inability of the writers of the eighteenth century

to make use of a popular motive. Nothing is more common in the oral

literature of the people than fables, especially animal fables, yet

they had to borrow their themes from abroad. Sumarókov’s fables make,

with rare exceptions, unprofitable reading; Máykov struck a few times a

proper note, and Khémnitser alone, though he followed Gellert closely,

is still read with pleasure on account of the simplicity of his tales.

Dmítriev, as before, belongs to another period.

Modern Russian poetry practically begins with the satires of Kantemír,

and satires, with their adjunct, comedy, have remained down to our

day the most prominent part of _belles-lettres_; only, whereas their

usual purpose is to provoke laughter, in Russia tears are their more

appropriate due. Under the systematic, though arbitrary and capricious,

persecution of the censorship, writers have evolved the art of telling

a bitter truth by means of satire which by its outward appearance

generally escapes the scrutinising attention of the usually dull

censor, but the esoteric meaning of which is quite comprehensible to

the whole class of readers. In the days of Peter the Great, with his

violent reforms, direct command was more effective than a satire which

but few could unravel, and Kantemír’s _Satires_, in spite of their

literary value, are mere exotics. Catherine thought this species of

essays a good medium for a gentle reproof, but Nóvikov more correctly

divined their office, and much later Gógol and Shchedrín brought them

to great perfection along the path indicated by him.

The same causes which prevented the formation of a Russian epic and

of lyric poetry throughout the greater part of the eighteenth century

militated against the evolution of a native tragedy. Theatrical

performances had been given ever since the days of Alexis, but these

were mainly Mysteries and Moralities that had long been forgotten in

the West, or crude plays and harlequinades by German, Italian and

English travelling comedians. Thus, a taste had been formed for the

drama when Sumarókov was ordered to organise the first Russian theatre,

though there did not exist the elements for a native stage. Sumarókov

furnished pseudo-classic tragedies as readily as he manufactured any

other kind of poetry, and his conceit of being the Russian Racine

indicates whence he took his models. Neither Knyazhnín’s nor Ózerov’s

borrowing of incidents from Russian history could make their tragedies

real: they were accessible only to those who were steeped in French

culture. Not so comedy. Comedy stands in direct relation to satire,

and it has taken firm root in Russian soil. Catherine herself wrote

a number of dramatised satires, and Fon-Vízin’s _Brigadier_ made its

appearance just as satire began to occupy an important place in the

public eye. Fon-Vízin, Griboyédov and Gógol are only the greatest of

the long series of dramatists, who in the eighteenth and nineteenth

centuries used comedy as a weapon for attacking the corruption of

officials, superficiality in education and the brutality of the

serf-owners. Here was an opportunity to introduce a native element,

which becomes for the first time prominent in Ablesímov’s comic opera.

Though Western novels reached Russia in indifferent translations long

before the end of Catherine’s reign, yet there was no proper soil for

them until Radíshchev came under the influence of the English writers,

especially of Sterne, and Karamzín, on the verge of the century,

introduced sentimentalism into literature. Throughout the whole

eighteenth century, little earnestness was shown in literary pursuits.

Prose suffered more than poetry, for prose demands a more assiduous and

constant attention than verse. It was left for the nineteenth century

to settle the prose diction appropriate to the Russian language. In

this neglect of cultivating an elegant prose style is to be found the

main reason for a very extensive literature of memoirs which were not

originally meant for publication, but were intended as mere records

for the use of posterity. The restriction of free speech was another

powerful factor in encouraging this species of historical revelation.

In these memoirs, the student of manners and history and literature

will find much better material for a correct appreciation of the

eighteenth century than in the exotic literature of the upper classes.

The emptiness of the superficial French culture, which was prevalent

in Russia, became apparent only to those who, like Tatíshchev,

Shcherbátov, and Nóvikov, busied themselves with the study of native

history. The progress which history made from Tatíshchev to Karamzín is

the most prominent feature in the evolution of the native literature.

By the historians was laid the real foundation for a native science and

interest in the people. It was quite natural for these men to turn away

from the disheartening corruption of manners which was introduced from

abroad, and to find inspiration in their own past. They, consequently,

were the first Slavophiles, though as yet in the gentler sense of the

word. They did not preach a turning away from European culture, as did

their later spiritual descendants, but a more organic welding of the

new life with the Russian reality.

THE OLDEST PERIOD

Treaty with the Greeks (911)

Néstor’s Chronicle contains three treaties made with the Greeks in the

tenth century. It is evident, from the manner of their composition,

that the chronicler quoted some extant documents which were probably

translated by some Bulgarian from the original Greek. These treaties

are interesting as being the earliest specimens of writing in Russia

and as having been composed before the introduction of Christianity.

We of the Russian nation, Karly, Inegeld, Farlof, Veremud, Rulav, Gudy,

Ruald, Karn, Frelav, Ryuar, Aktevu, Truan, Lidulfost, Stemid, who were

sent by Olég, the Russian Grand Prince, and the illustrious boyárs who

are under his rule, to you, Leo and Alexander and Constantine, the

Greek Emperors and great autocrats by the grace of God, to confirm

and proclaim the amity which has existed for many years between the

Christians and Russians, by the will of our princes and by the order

of all those in Russia who are under his rule. Our illustrious Prince

has often thought, more persistently than the others who have desired

to maintain and proclaim the amity in God which has been between

Christians and Russia, that not only with mere words, but also in

writing and with a solemn oath made over our armour, ought such amity

be proclaimed and confirmed, according to our faith and law. The

following are the articles that we wish to establish in the faith of

God and in love:

In the first place, we will make an agreement with you Greeks to love

each other with our souls and as much as is in our power, and we will

not permit, as far as is in our power, that harm or damage be done to

any of you by those who are under the rule of our illustrious princes,

but we will try, according to our ability, to preserve for ever and

ever, unbroken and undisturbed, the amity which we profess both in

words and in writing under oath. Likewise you Greeks shall preserve the

same love to our illustrious Russian princes and to all who are under

the rule of our illustrious Prince unpolluted and unchanged for ever

and all time.

Under the head which is called damages we will agree as follows:

Whatever may be made manifest in regard to a grievance, let the

information of such grievance be accurate, and let not him be believed

who begins the action; and let not that party take an oath if he

deserve no belief; but if one swear according to his religion, let

there be a punishment if perjury be found.

If a Russian kill a Christian, or a Christian a Russian, let him die

where the murder has been committed. If he who has committed murder run

away, then if he be possessed of property, let the nearest in kin to

the murdered person receive that part which is his by law, and let the

wife of the murderer have as much as belongs to her by law. If he who

has committed the murder be destitute and have run away, let the case

stand against him until he be found, and then he shall die.

If anyone strike another with a sword or beat him with a drinking

vessel, let him for such striking or beating pay five litras of silver

according to the Russian law. If the offender be destitute, let him

pay as much as he can, and let him take off his upper garment which

he wears, and besides let him swear according to his religion that

there is no one to help him, and let the case against him forthwith be

dropped.

If a Russian steal something from a Christian, or a Christian from a

Russian, and the thief at the time when he commits the theft be caught

by him who has lost the article, and the thief struggle and be killed,

let not his death be avenged by either Christians or Russians, but let

him who has lost take back what belongs to him. If a Russian despoil a

Christian, or a Christian a Russian, by torture or by a show of force,

or if he take anything away from a member of the druzhína, let him pay

back threefold.

If a boat be cast by a great wind upon a strange shore, where there

be any of our Russians, and someone come to furnish the boat with its

belongings, we will take the boat through all dangerous places until

it has smooth sailing. If such a boat cannot be returned to its place,

on account of storm or impassable places, we Russians shall see the

oarsmen off safe with their goods, if the accident happens near Greek

land. But if the same happen near Russian land, we will take the boat

to Russian territory, and let them sell the belongings of the boat and

what else of the boat they can sell, and when we Russians shall go

to Greece, with merchandise or with an embassy to your Emperor, the

proceeds from the sale of the belongings of the boat shall be forwarded

without hindrance. Should any man of the boat be killed, or beaten, by

us Russians, or should anything be taken away, the wrongdoers shall be

punished as above.

Should a Russian slave be stolen, or run away, or be sold by force, and

a Russian make complaint of it, and the fact be ascertained in regard

to the slave, then let him be returned to Russia. And if the merchants

should lose a slave and make complaint thereof, let them search for him

and let him be returned; should anyone prevent making such a search,

then the local magistrate shall be responsible for him.

If a criminal should return to Greece from Russia, let Russia institute

a complaint to the Christian Empire, and let the same be returned to

Russia, even against his will.

All these things the Russians are to do to the Greeks, wherever such

things may happen. To make the peace established between the Christians

and Russians firm and lasting, we ordered this document to be written

by John upon two charts and to be signed by the Emperor’s and our own

hand before the blessed cross and in the name of the holy Trinity and

our one, true God, and to be proclaimed and to be delivered to our

ambassadors. And we have sworn to your Emperor according to the law and

custom of our nation, as being God’s own creatures, not to depart,

or let anyone else of our land depart, from the established treaty

of peace and amity. This document we gave to your Empire in order to

confirm the treaty on both sides and to confirm and proclaim the peace

in your country, September the second, the fifteenth week, in the year

from the creation of the world 6024 (911).

Luká Zhidyáta. (First half of XI. century.)

Luká Zhidyáta or Zhiryáta, was bishop of Nóvgorod from 1036-1060. All

we have from him is his _Instruction_, which is written in a coarse,

unadorned style, and is nothing more than a sententious statement of

gospel teachings. The Nóvgorod style, as it appears in its chronicles,

is always laconic and businesslike. Zhidyáta was evidently instructing

a congregation that had not long been converted and that was not yet

firm in the fundamental teachings of Christianity.

INSTRUCTION TO HIS CONGREGATION

Above all, brothers, we Christians must keep the command to believe in

one God who is worshipped in the Trinity, in the Father, the Son, and

the Holy Ghost, as the holy apostles have taught, and the holy fathers

have confirmed. I believe in one God, and so forth. Believe also in

the resurrection, and the eternal life, and the everlasting torment

of the sinful. Be not slow in going to church, and to the morning,

noon and evening masses. When you are about to lie down in your room,

make your obeisance to God. Stand in church in the fear of the Lord,

speak not, nor think of worldly matters, but pray to God with all your

thought that He may forgive you your sins. Live in friendship with all

men, but particularly with your brothers, and let there not be one

thing in your hearts, and another upon your lips. Dig not a grave under

your brother, lest God throw you into a worse one. Be righteous, and

flinch not from laying down your head for the sake of truth and God’s

Law, that God may count you among the saints. Be patient with your

brothers and with other men, and do not repay evil for evil; praise

each other that God may praise you. Cause no strife that you may not

be called a son of the devil, but make peace that you may be a son of

God. Judge your brother neither in speech, nor in thought, but think of

your own sins, that God may not judge you. Be thoughtful and merciful

to strangers, to the poor and to prisoners, and be merciful to your

servants. It is not proper for you, O brothers, to have devilish games,

nor to speak unseemly words. Be not angry, and rail not at anyone; in

danger be patient and rely upon God. Rave not, be not haughty; remember

that to-morrow we shall be stench and worms. Be humble and gentle, and

obediently do the commands of God, for in the heart of the proud sits

the devil, and the word of God will not stick to him. Honour old people

and your parents. Swear not in the name of God, nor curse anyone else,

nor swear by him. Judge rightly, receive no reward, give not in usury.

Fear God, honour the Prince; first serve the Lord, then your master.

With all your heart honour the priest of God, and honour the servants

of the Church. Kill not, steal not, lie not, bear not false witness,

hate not, envy not, calumniate not ..., drink not out of season to

intoxication, but in measure. Be not angry, nor harsh. Rejoice with

those who rejoice, and be sad with the sad. Do not eat abominations;

celebrate the holy days. The peace of the Lord be with you. Amen!

The Russian Code. (XI. century.)

The first draught of the _Russian Code_, or the _Rússkaya Právda_,

as it is called in Russian, is ascribed to Yarosláv the Wise, the

son of Vladímir, Grand Prince of Kíev. He is supposed to have given

it to the Nóvgorodians, whose Prince he had been, for their active

participation in the war that he waged against Svyatopólk in order

to maintain himself on the Kíev throne. This Code is the oldest

extant among all the Slavs. It was evidently borrowed from the laws

of the Scandinavians, and in most points almost coincides with the

old English laws of the same period. This is not surprising, for the

druzhína was originally composed of Norsemen; besides, Yarosláv stood

in direct communication with the west of Europe: thus, one of his

daughters was married to Harald of Norway; another was the wife of

Andrew, King of Hungary; a third was married to Henry of France; and

two of his sons had taken German princesses for wives.

If a man[1] kill a man, let him be avenged by his brother, or father,

or son, or nephew. If there is no one to avenge him, let the price

on his head be 70 grívnas,[2] if he be a prince’s man, or a prince’s

thane’s[3] man. If he be a Russ,[4] or henchman, or merchant, or a

boyár’s thane, or swordsman,[5] or hapless man,[6] or Slovene,[7] let

the price on his head be 40 grívnas. After Yarosláv, his sons Izyasláv,

Svyatosláv, Vsévolod, and their men Kusnyáchko, Perenyég, and Nikifór,

came together and did away with the blood revenge, but substituted

weregild for it, but in everything else his sons left as Yarosláv had

decreed.

If one strike another with the unsheathed sword, or with the haft, the

prince’s fine[8] for the offence is 12 grívnas. If one strike another

with a rod, or cup, or horn, or the blunt edge of a sword, also 12

grívnas; but if the offence be committed in warding off a sword blow,

he shall not be fined. If one strike a man’s hand, and the hand fall

off, or dry up, or if he cut off a foot, or eye, or nose, the fine is

20 grívnas, and 10 grívnas to the maimed man. If one cut off another

man’s finger, 3 grívnas fine, and to the maimed man one grívna of kúnas.

If a bloodstained or bruised man comes to the court, he need not bring

any witnesses, but the fine shall be 4 grívnas; but if he have no marks

upon him, let him bring a witness. If both parties complain, let him

who has begun pay 6 kúnas. If the bloodstained man be he who has begun

the quarrel, and there are witnesses to the quarrel, let his bruises

be his reward.[9] If one strike another with the sword, but kill him

not, the fine is 3 grívnas, and to the sufferer a grívna for his wound

for medicaments; if he kill him, there is the usual weregild. If a man

pushes another, either to him, or from him, or strikes him in his face,

or beats him with a rod, and there are two witnesses, the fine is 3

grívnas.

If one mounts another man’s horse, without having asked permission, the

fine is 3 grívnas. If one loses his horse, or arms, or wearing apparel,

and announces his loss in the market-place, and later recognises his

property in his town, he may take it back, and the fine of 3 grívnas

is paid to him. If one recognises what he has lost, or has been stolen

from him, either a horse, or apparel, or cattle, let him not say: “This

is mine!” but let him go before the judge who will ask: “Where did you

get that?” and the fine will be on him who is guilty; and then he will

take that which belongs to him, and the fine shall be likewise paid to

him. If it be a horse-thief, let him be turned over to the prince for

banishment; if it be a shop-thief, his fine shall be 3 grívnas.

If one gives money on interest, or money as a loan, or grain, let him

have witnesses, and then receive as has been agreed.

If a hired servant runs away from his master, he becomes a slave; but

if he goes to collect his money, and does so openly, or runs to the

prince or the judges on account of injury done him by his master, he is

not enslaved, but gets his right.

If a master has a farm servant, and his war horse be lost, the servant

shall not pay for it; but if his master gives him, who receives his

measure of grain, a plough and harrow, he shall pay for any damage

to them. But if the master sends him on his own business, and they be

damaged while he is away, he shall not pay for them.

If a free peasant assault another without the prince’s permission,

the fine is 3 grívnas to the prince, and one grívna of kúnas for

the wounds. If he assault a prince’s or boyár’s man, the fine is 12

grívnas, and a grívna for the wounds. If one steal a boat, the fine

is 6 kúnas, and the boat is to be returned; for a seafaring boat, 3

grívnas, and for a warboat, 2 grívnas; for a smack, 8 kúnas, and for a

barge, a grívna.

If ropes be cut in somebody’s hunting-ground, the fine shall be 3

grívnas, and a grívna of kúnas for the ropes. If one steal in the

hunting-ground a falcon, or hawk, the fine is 3 grívnas, and to the

owner one grívna; for a dove--9 kúnas, for a chicken--9 kúnas, for a

duck--20 kúnas, for a goose--20 kúnas, for a swan--20 kúnas, and for a

crane--20 kúnas. And if hay or timber be stolen--9 kúnas, and the owner

receives 2 nogátas for each waggonload stolen.

In one puts fire to a barn, he is to be banished and his house

confiscated; first the damage is to be made good, and then the prince

shall banish him. The same, if he put fire to a house. And who

maliciously injures a horse or beast, the fine is 12 grívnas, and for

the damage one grívna.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] That is, an older member of the prince’s druzhína, also called

_boyárs_; the younger members were called _hrid_, _i. e._, Norse

“hirđr,” henchman, or youth, or simply _druzhína_.

[2] A _grívna_ was originally a unit of weight, about a pound, then

only half a pound, and less. About seven _grívnas_ of _kúnas_ were

equal to one _grívna_ of silver; a _kúna_ means “marten’s skin,” which

formed the smaller denomination of money; one _grívna_ was equal to

twenty _nogátas_.

[3] The Russian is _tiún_, which is the Norse _tjonn_; the Old English

_thane_ is of the same origin and has almost the same significance.

[4] A Russ was a Scandinavian who did not bear arms; a Scandinavian who

bore arms was a Varyág.

[5] The prince’s guardsman and inspector of the sword trial.

[6] A “hapless man” was more particularly applied to a son of a priest

who could not read, a freedman, an indebted merchant, all Russians at

the death of a prince.

[7] Inhabitants of Nóvgorod.

[8] The fine was paid to the prince’s treasury.

[9] That is, if the bruised man make complaint, and it be found that

he had started the quarrel, he receives no monetary reward for his

bruises, but has justly been punished by his wounds.

Ilarión, Metropolitan of Kíev. (XI. century.)

Hilarion (in Russian Ilarión) was made metropolitan of Kíev in 1050.

An extant sermon, to which is added the _Eulogy on St. Vladímir_ and

_Exposition of Faith_, witnesses to his acquaintance with classical

Greek, and is one of the best examples of ancient Russian pulpit

eloquence.

EULOGY ON ST. VLADÍMIR

Rome sings the praises of Peter and Paul, through whom it believes in

Jesus Christ, the Son of God; Asia, Ephesus and Patmos praise John the

Theologue; India, Thomas; Egypt, Mark. All countries and cities and

men honour and glorify their teacher who has taught them the orthodox

faith. Let us also, according to our power, praise with humble praises

our teacher and instructor, who has done great and wondrous things, the

great Khan of our land, Vladímir, the grandson of old Ígor, the son of

the glorious Svyatosláv, who ruling their days in courage and valour

have become famous in many lands, and are remembered and honoured even

now for their victories and power, for they did not rule in a poor and

unknown country, but in Russia, which is known and celebrated in all

the corners of the earth.

A good testimony to your piety, O blissful one, is that holy church

of St. Mary, the Mother of God, which you have builded on an orthodox

foundation, and where your valiant body now resteth, awaiting the

archangel’s trumpets. A very good and fine testimony is also your son

George whom God has made an heir to your power, who does not destroy

your institutions, but confirms them; who does not diminish the

benefactions of your piety, but increases them; who does not spoil

but mend, who finishes what you have left unfinished, as Solomon has

completed the works of David; who has builded a large and holy God’s

temple to His All-wisdom, to sanctify your city; who has embellished

it with all beautiful things, with gold and silver and precious stones

and sacred vessels, so that the church is a wonder to all surrounding

lands, and so that no like can be found in all the north, from east

to west; who has surrounded your famous city of Kíev with grandeur as

with a crown; who has turned over your people and city to the holy,

all-glorious Mother of God; who is ever ready to succour Christians,

and for whom he has builded a church with golden doors in the name of

the first holiday of the Lord of the Holy Annunciation, so that the

kiss which the archangel will give to the Virgin may also be on this

city. To Her he says: “Rejoice, blissful one, the Lord is with you!”

but to the city: “Rejoice, faithful city, the Lord is with you!”

Arise, honoured dead, from your grave! Arise, shake off your sleep,

for you are not dead, but sleep to the day of the common resurrection.

Arise! You are not dead, for it is not right for you to die, who have

believed in Christ who is the life of the whole world. Shake off

your sleep, lift your eyes, that you may see with what honours the

Lord has showered you above, and how you live unforgotten upon earth

through your son! Arise! Look at your son George, see your entrails,

your beloved one, see him whom God has brought out of your loins, see

him adorning the throne of your land, and rejoice, and be glad! Then

also see your pious daughter-in-law Iréna, see your grandchildren,

and great-grandchildren, how they live and are cared for by God, how

they keep your piety according to your tradition, how they partake of

the sacrament of the holy church, how they praise Christ, how they

bow before His name! See also your city beaming in its grandeur! See

your blossoming churches, see the growing Christianity, see the city

gleaming in its adornment of saintly images, and fragrant with thyme,

and re-echoing with hymns and divine, sacred songs! And seeing all

this, rejoice and be glad, and praise the good God, the creator of all

this.

Vladímir Monomákh (Monomachos). (1053-1125.)

Vladímir was Grand Prince of Kíev from 1113-1125. As his _Instruction

to his Children_ shows, and as the chronicles witness, he was a very

learned man for his time. From the letters of the metropolitan Nikifór

to the Prince we also learn that he strictly carried out the rules

which he brought to the attention of his posterity: he often slept on

the ground, discarded sumptuous garments, and only on rare occasions

wore the insignia of his office. He was well versed in Byzantine

literature, for his _Instruction_ is not only after the fashion of

older Byzantine _Testaments_, but many passages are taken directly

from the writings of Basil the Great. This _Instruction_ is one of the

most remarkable productions of early Russian literature, especially

on account of the liberal spirit that pervades it, as compared, for

example, with a similar, somewhat earlier document by St. Stephen of

Hungary. This latter fact has served the Slavophiles as an important

argument for the superiority of the Slavic spirit over that of the

west of Europe. The _Instruction_ is included in Néstor’s Chronicle

under the year 1096, but it has been conclusively proved that it is

the work of Vladímir. Parts of the _Instruction_ are translated in A.

P. Stanley’s _Lectures on the History of the Eastern Church_, London,

1861 (and often afterwards), and in N. H. Dole’s _Young Folks’ History

of Russia_, Chicago, 1895.

HIS INSTRUCTION TO HIS CHILDREN

Being ill and about to seat myself in the sleigh,[10] I have considered

in my soul and have praised God for having preserved me, sinful man, to

this day. Do not make light of this instruction, my children, or anyone

else who may hear it, but if it please any of you children, take it to

heart, and give up indolence, and begin to work.

Above all, for the sake of the Lord and your own souls, have the fear

of the Lord in your hearts by doing unstinted charity, for that is the

beginning of all good. If this instruction should not please any of

you, be not angry but say thus: “Starting out on a distant journey and

about to seat himself in the sleigh, he spoke this insipidity.”

My brothers’ messengers met me on the Vólga and said: “Hasten to us

that we may drive out the sons of Rostisláv,[11] and take away their

patrimony, and if you go not with us, we shall stand alone, and you

will be alone.” And I said: “Even though you may be angry, I cannot go

with you and transgress the cross.” And having sent them away, I picked

up a psalter in my sorrow, opened it, and these words were before me:

“Why are you sad, my soul? Why are you grieved?” and so forth. And then

I picked out words here and there, and put them in order, and I wrote:

“If the latter things do not please you, accept the former....”

Forsooth, my children, consider how kind and overkind God, the lover of

men, is. We men, who are sinful and mortal, wish to avenge ourselves

and immediately to spill the blood of him who has done us any wrong;

but our Lord, who rules over life and death, suffers our transgressions

above our heads, nay to the very end of our lives, like a father, now

loving, now chastising his child, and again fondling it. Our Lord has

likewise shown us how to be victorious over our foe, how to assuage and

conquer him with three good acts: with repentance, tears and charity.

It is not hard, my children, to keep this command of the Lord, and

you can rid yourselves of your sins by those three acts, and you will

not forfeit the kingdom of heaven. And, I beg you, be not slack in

the performance of the Lord’s commands, and do not forget those three

acts, for neither solitude, nor monkhood, nor hunger, such as many good

people suffer, is hard to bear, but with a small act you may gain the

favour of the Lord. What is man that Thou shouldst remember him?

Thou art great, O Lord, and Thy works are wonderful, and human

understanding cannot grasp all Thy miracles! And again we say: Thou art

great, O Lord, and Thy works are wonderful, and Thy name be blessed and

praised for ever and through all the earth! For who would not praise

and glorify Thy power and Thy great miracles and goodness that are

evident in this world: how by Thy wisdom the heaven is builded, how the

sun, the moon, the stars, darkness and light, and the earth is placed

on the waters, O Lord! How the various animals, birds and fishes are

adorned by Thy foresight, O Lord! And we also wonder at the miracle,

how that He has created man from the dust, how different the forms of

human faces are, how if you look at the whole world, you will not find

all made in one image, but the face of each according to God’s wisdom.

And we wonder also how the birds of the sky come from the south, and do

not remain in one country, but both the weak and the strong fly to all

lands, by the will of God, in order to fill the woods and fields. All

these God has given for the use of man, for food and enjoyment.

Listen to me, and if you will not accept all, heed at least half. If

God should mollify your hearts, shed tears over your sins and say: “As

Thou hast shown mercy to the harlot, the murderer and the publican,

even thus show mercy to us sinners.” Do this in church and when you

lie down to sleep. Fail not to do so a single night. If you can, make

your obeisance to the ground; if your strength gives out, do it thrice;

in any case, be not slack in it, for with this nightly obeisance and

singing man conquers the devil and frees himself from the sins he has

committed during the day.

When you are riding and have no engagement with anyone, and you know no

other prayer, keep on repeating secretly: “Lord, have mercy upon me!”

for it is better to say this prayer than to think idle things. Above

all, forget not the destitute, but feed them according to your means,

and give to the orphan, and protect the widow, and allow not the strong

to oppress the people. Slay neither the righteous, nor the wrongdoer,

nor order him to be slain who is guilty of death, and do not ruin a

Christian soul.

Whenever you speak, whether it be a bad or a good word, swear not by

the Lord, nor make the sign of the cross, for there is no need. If you

have occasion to kiss the cross with your brothers or with anyone else,

first inquire your heart whether you will keep the promise, then kiss

it; and having kissed it, see to it that you do not transgress, and

your soul perish. As for the bishops, priests and abbots, receive their

benediction in love, and do not keep away from them, but love them

with all your might, and provide for them, that you may receive their

prayers to God. Above all, have no pride in your hearts and minds, but

say: “We are mortal, alive to-day, and to-morrow in the grave. All that

Thou hast given us, is not ours, but Thine, and Thou hast entrusted it

to us for but a few days.” Put away no treasure in the earth, for that

is a great sin.

Honour the elders as your father, and the younger ones as your

brothers. Be not slack in your houses, but watch everything: Do not

rely upon your thane, nor your servant, lest those who come to see you

should make light of your house and of your dinner. If you start out

to a war, be not slack, depend not upon your generals, nor abandon

yourselves to drinking and eating and sleeping. Put out the guards

yourselves, and lie down to sleep only after you have placed the guards

all around the army, and rise early. Do not take off your armour in

haste, without examination, for man perishes suddenly through his

negligence. Avoid lying and drunkenness and debauchery, for body and

soul perish from them.

Whenever you travel over your lands, permit not the servants, neither

your own, nor a stranger’s, to do any damage in the villages, or in the

fields, that they may not curse you. Wheresoever you go, and wherever

you stay, give the destitute to eat and to drink. Above all honour

the stranger, whencesoever he may come, whether he be a commoner, a

nobleman or an ambassador; if you are not able to honour him with

gifts, give him food and drink, for these travellers will proclaim a

man to all the lands, whether he be good or bad. Call on the sick,

go to funerals, for we are all mortal, and pass not by a man without

greeting him with kind words. Love your wives, but let them not rule

you.

But the main thing is that you should keep the fear of the Lord higher

than anything else. If you should forget this, read this often; then

shall I have no shame, and all will be well with you. Whatever good you

know, do not forget it, and what you do not know, learn it; just as my

father had learned, staying at home, five languages,[12] for this makes

one honoured in other lands. Indolence is the mother of all vices: what

one knows, one forgets, and what one does not know, one does not learn.

While doing good, be not negligent in any good act, first of all in

regard to the Church. Let not the sun find you in bed. Thus my father

of blessed memory did, and thus do all good, perfect men. Having prayed

to God at daybreak, he, noticing the rising sun, praised God in joy and

said: “Thou hast made me see, Christ, O Lord, and Thou hast given me

this beautiful light!” and again: “Lord, add years to my years that I

may repent my sins and, improving my life, may praise God.” And thus

he did when he seated himself to take counsel with the druzhína, or

to judge people, or when he went on the chase, or out riding, or laid

himself down to sleep: but sleep has been intended by the Lord for the

afternoon, when both beasts and birds and men rest themselves.

And now I shall tell you, my children, of my labours which I have

performed either in my expeditions or on the chase these thirteen

years. First I went to Rostóv[13] through the country of the

Vyátiches,[14] whither my father sent me when he himself went to Kursk;

next I went to Smolénsk [follows an account of his expeditions]....

Altogether I have made eighty-three long journeys and I cannot recall

how many shorter ones. I have made peace with the Pólovtses twenty

times lacking one, both with my father and without him, giving away

much of my cattle and garments. I have liberated from their shackles

royal princes of the Pólovtses as follows....

I have undergone many hardships in the chase. Near Chernígov I have

with my own hand caught ten or twenty wild horses in the forests, and

I have besides caught elsewhere many wild horses with my hands, as I

used to travel through Russia. Two aurochses threw me and my horse with

their horns; a stag butted me with his horns; an elk trampled me under

his feet, and another butted me with his horns. A boar took away the

sword at my side; a bear bit me into my knee covering; a grim animal

[wolf] leaped at my loins and threw me with my horse; and yet God has

preserved me. I have often fallen from my horse, I twice injured my

head and frequently hurt my hands and feet in my youth, being reckless

of my life and not sparing my head. Whatever there was to be done by

my servants, I did myself, in war and in the chase, in daytime and

at night, in the summer heat and in winter, without taking any rest.

I depended neither on the posádniks[15] nor the heralds, but did all

myself, and looked after my house. In the chase I looked myself after

the hunting outfit, the horses, the falcons and the sparrow-hawks. Also

have I not permitted the mighty to offend the poor peasants and the

destitute widows, and I have myself looked after the church property

and the divine service.

Think not ill of me, my children, nor anyone else who may read this,

for I do not boast of my daring, but praise God and proclaim His

goodness for having preserved me, sinful and miserable man, for so many

years from the hour of death, for having made me, miserable one, active

in the performance of all humane acts. Having read this instruction,

may you hasten to do all good acts and praise the Lord with His saints.

Fear neither death, my children, nor war, nor beast, but do what

behooves men to do, whatever God may send you. Just as I have come out

hale from war, from encounters with animals, from the water, and from

my falls, even so none of you can be injured or killed, if it be not so

ordained by God. And if death come from the Lord, neither father, nor

mother, nor brothers can save you. Though it is good to take care of

oneself, yet God’s protection is better than man’s.

FOOTNOTES:

[10] Karamzín remarks that the dead were always taken away in sleighs,

whether in winter or summer.

[11] Volodár; Prince of Peremýshl, and Vasílko, Prince of Terebóvl.

[12] Karamzín surmises that he knew Greek, Norse, Pólovts (Cumanian)

and Hungarian, besides Russian.

[13] In the Government of Yaroslávl.

[14] A Slavic tribe settled on the river Oká.

[15] Burgomasters.

Abbot Daniel, the Palmer. (Beginning of XII. century.)

Pilgrimages to the Holy Land began in Russia soon after the

introduction of Christianity, but Daniel the abbot is the first who

has left an account of his wanderings. Nothing is known of the life

of this traveller, but from internal evidence it may be assumed that

he visited Palestine soon after the first crusade, from 1106-1108.

From his mention of none but princes of the south of Russia it is

quite certain that he himself belonged there. In a simple, unadorned

language, Daniel tells of his wanderings from Constantinople to the

Holy Land and back again. Characteristic is his patriotic affection

for the whole Russian land and his mention of all the Russian princes

in his prayers,--a rather surprising sentiment for the period when

Russia was nothing but a heterogeneous mass of appanages. None of the

Western accounts of pilgrimages to Palestine surpass in interest that

of the Russian palmer of that period, if they at all equal it.

OF THE HOLY LIGHT, HOW IT DESCENDS FROM HEAVEN UPON THE HOLY SEPULCHRE

Here is what God has shown to me, His humble and unworthy servant,

Daniel the monk, for I have in truth seen with my own sinful eyes

how the holy light descends on the life-giving grave of the Lord our

Saviour, Jesus Christ. Many pilgrims do not tell rightly about the

descent of the holy light: for some say that the Holy Ghost descends

to the Sepulchre of the Lord in the shape of a dove, and others say

that a lightning comes down and lights the lamps over the Sepulchre

of the Lord. But that is not true, for nothing is to be seen, neither

dove, nor lightning, but the divine Grace descends invisibly, and the

lamps over the Sepulchre of the Lord are lit by themselves. I shall

tell about it just as I have seen it.

On Good-Friday after vespers they rub the Sepulchre of the Lord

clean, and wash the lamps that are above it, and fill them with

pure oil without water, and put in the wicks which are not lit, and

the Sepulchre is sealed at the second hour of night. And not only

these lights, but those in all the other churches in Jerusalem are

extinguished.

On that very Good-Friday I, humble servant, went in the first hour of

the morning to Prince Baldwin and made a low obeisance to him. When he

saw me making the obeisance, he called me kindly to him and said to me:

“What do you wish, Russian abbot?” for he had known me before and loved

me much, being a good and simple man, and not in the least proud. And

I said to him: “Sir Prince, I beg you for the sake of the Lord and the

Russian princes, let me also place my lamp over the Holy Sepulchre for

all our princes and for all the Russian land, for all the Christians of

the Russian land!”

The Prince gave me permission to place my lamp there and readily sent

his best man with me to the œkonomos of the Holy Resurrection and to

him who has charge of the Sepulchre. Both the œkonomos and the keeper

of the keys to the Holy Sepulchre ordered me to bring my lamp with the

oil. I bowed to them with great joy, and went to the market-place and

bought a large glass lamp which I filled with pure oil without water,

and carried it to the Sepulchre. It was evening when I asked for the

keeper of the keys and announced myself to him. He unlocked the door of

the Sepulchre, told me to take off my shoes, and led me bare-footed to

the Sepulchre with the lamp which I carried with my sinful hands. He

told me to place the lamp on the Sepulchre, and I put it with my sinful

hands there where are the illustrious feet of our Lord Jesus Christ.

At his head stood a Greek lamp, on his breast was placed a lamp of St.

Sabbas and of all the monasteries, for it is a custom to place every

year a Greek lamp and one for St. Sabbas. By the grace of God the lower

lamps lighted themselves, but not a single one of the lamps of the

Franks, which are hung up, was lighted up. Having placed my lamp upon

the Sepulchre of our Lord Jesus Christ, I bowed before the worshipful

grave, and with love and tears kissed the holy and glorious place where

lay the illustrious body of our Lord Jesus Christ. We came out of the

Holy Sepulchre with great joy, and went each to his cell.

Next day, on the Holy Saturday, in the sixth hour of the day, people

gather before the church of the Resurrection of Christ; there is an

endless number of people from all countries, from Babylon and Egypt and

Antioch, and all the places about the church and about the crucifixion

of the Lord are filled. There is then such a crowd inside and outside

the church that many are crushed while waiting with unlit candles for

the church doors to be opened. Within, the priests and people wait

until Prince Baldwin’s arrival with his suite, and when the doors are

opened all the people crowd in, and fill the church, and there is a

large gathering in the church and near Golgotha and near Calvary and

there where the Lord’s cross had been found. All the people say nothing

else, but keep repeating: “Lord, have mercy upon us!” and weep aloud so

that the whole place reverberates and thunders with the cries of these

people. The faithful shed rivers of tears, and if a man’s heart were of

stone, he could not keep from weeping, for then everybody looks within

himself, remembers his sins, and says: “Perchance on account of my sins

the Holy Ghost will not descend!” And thus all the faithful stand with

tearful countenances and contrite hearts. Prince Baldwin himself stands

there in great fear and humility, and a torrent of tears issues from

his eyes; and his suite stand around him, opposite the grave and near

the great altar.

In the seventh hour of the Saturday Prince Baldwin started with his

suite from home for the Sepulchre, and they all walked barefooted. The

Prince sent to the abbey of St. Sabbas for the abbot and his monks. And

I went with the abbot and the monks to the Prince, and we all bowed

before him. He returned the abbot’s greeting. The Prince ordered the

abbot of St. Sabbas and me, humble servant, to come near him, and the

others to walk before him, but the suite behind him. We arrived at the

western doors of the church of the Lord’s Resurrection, but such a mass

of people barred the way that I could not enter. Then Prince Baldwin

ordered his soldiers to drive the crowd away by force, and they opened

a way through the mass of the people up to the very Sepulchre, and so

we were able to pass by.

We arrived at the eastern doors of the Sepulchre. The Prince came after

us, and placed himself at the right side, near the partition of the

great altar, opposite the eastern doors, where there was a special

elevated place for the Prince. He ordered the abbot of St. Sabbas and

his monks and orthodox priests to stand around the Sepulchre, but

me, humble servant, he ordered to stand high above the doors of the

Sepulchre, opposite the great altar, so that I could look into the

doors of the Sepulchre: there are three of these doors and they are

locked and sealed with the royal seal. The Latin priests stood at the

great altar. At about the eighth hour of the day the orthodox priests

above the Sepulchre, and many monks and hermits who had come, began to

sing their vesper service, and the Latins at the great altar chanted

in their own way. I stood all the time they were singing and watched

diligently the doors of the Sepulchre. When they began to read the

prayers of the Holy Saturday, the bishop walked down with his deacon

from the altar and went to the doors of the Sepulchre and looked

through the chinks, but as he did not see any light, he returned to the

altar. When they had read the sixth prayer, the bishop went again with

his deacon to the door of the Sepulchre, but he did not see anything

within. Then all the people sang in tears: “Kyrie, eleison!”

When it was the ninth hour of the day, and they had begun to sing,

“To the Lord we sing,” a small cloud suddenly came from the east and

stopping over the uncovered middle of the church, came down in a rain

over the Holy Sepulchre and gave us who were standing around the tomb

a good drenching. And then suddenly the holy light glimmered in the

Sepulchre, and then a mighty, bright brilliancy burst forth from it.

Then the bishop came with four deacons and opened the doors of the

Sepulchre and, taking a candle from the Prince, went inside the tomb

and lighted it. After coming out again, he handed the candle to the

Prince. The Prince remained standing in his place, and held the candle

with great joy. From that candle we lighted all our candles, and from

ours all the other candles were lighted.

This holy light is not like any earthly fire, but quite different:

it burns with a bright flame like cinnabar. And all the people stood

with their burning candles and wept for great joy all the time they

saw the divine light. He who has not seen the great joy of that day

cannot believe one who is telling about it, although good and faithful

men believe it all and with pleasure listen to the account of this

divine light and of the holy places, for the faithful believe the

great and small things alike, but to an evil man truth is crooked.

But to me, humble servant, God, and the Holy Sepulchre, and my whole

suite, Russian men from Nóvgorod and Kíev, are my witnesses: Syedesláv

Ivánkovich, Gorodisláv Mikhálkovich, the two Kashkíchs and many others

know me and my narration.

But let us return to our story. When the light shone up in the

Sepulchre, the singing stopped, and all cried aloud: “Kyrie, eleison!”

Then they all went out of the church in great joy and with burning

candles, watching them carefully against gusts of wind, and going home

they all lighted the candles in their churches with that holy light,

and finished the singing in their own churches. But in the large church

of the Sepulchre the priests end the singing without the people. We

went with the abbot and the monks to our monastery, carrying the

burning candles, and after finishing our vesper singing, we went to

our cells praising the Lord who had shown us His grace....

After three days I went to the keeper of the keys of the Holy Sepulchre

and said to him: “I should like to take away my lamp!” He received

me with much kindness, took me alone into the Sepulchre, and walking

in, I found my lamp still burning with the holy light. I bowed before

the Holy Sepulchre and kissed the glorious place where once lay the

illustrious body of our Lord Jesus Christ. Then I measured the length,

the width and the height of the Sepulchre, for one is not allowed to

measure it in presence of others. After having honoured the Lord’s

Sepulchre as much as I could, I gave the keeper a little something and

a blessing. He, seeing my love for the Holy Sepulchre and kindness to

himself, removed a little the boards at the head of the Sepulchre and

broke off a small piece of rock from it which he gave to me after I had

solemnly sworn to him that I would not tell anyone in Jerusalem about

it. I bowed to the Sepulchre and to the keeper, took my lamp which was

still burning, and went away with great joy, having been enriched by

the grace of God, carrying in my hand a gift from the holy place and

a token from the Holy Sepulchre. And thus rejoicing at the treasures

which I had acquired, I went back to my cell.

EPILOGUE

I made my pilgrimage in the reign of Grand Prince Svyatopólk

Izyaslávich, the grandson of Yarosláv Vladímirovich of Kíev. God is

my witness, and the Holy Sepulchre, that in all those holy places I

did not forget the Russian princes and their wives and children, nor

the bishops, abbots, boyárs, nor my spiritual children, nor all the

Christians, but that I remembered them everywhere. And I also thank

God that He has enabled me, humble servant, to inscribe the names of

the Russian princes in the monastery of St. Sabbas, where they are

mentioned even now in their services....

May the benediction of the Lord, of the Holy Sepulchre and of all the

holy places be on all who read this message with faith and love! For

they will receive their reward from God equally with those who have

made pilgrimages to the holy places. Blessed are those who have not

seen and yet believe! Abraham came into the promised land through

faith, for indeed faith is equal to good deeds. For the Lord’s sake,

brothers and fathers, do not accuse my simplicity and rudeness, and do

not make light of this writing; not on my account, but on account of

the holy places, honour it in love, that you may receive your reward

from the Lord our God, and our Saviour Jesus Christ, and may the God of

peace be with all of you unto eternity. Amen!

Cyril, Bishop of Túrov. (XII. century.)

Little is known of the life of this remarkable preacher. He was born

at Túrov, Government of Minsk, about the year 1130, where his parents

were wealthy people. Having become a monk, he distinguished himself

by his austere asceticism and great piety. At the request of the

Prince of Túrov he was made bishop. Eight or nine of his sermons and

some prayers have come down to us in manuscript. His eloquence stands

alone in the whole ancient period of Russian literature. Though other

preachers followed Byzantine models in their sermons, yet none carried

the flowery Greek symbolism so far, or wrote in so fluent a language.

FROM A SERMON ON THE FIRST SUNDAY AFTER EASTER

The Church needs a great teacher and a wise orator to properly

celebrate the holiday, but we are poor in words and dim in mind, not

having the fire of the Holy Ghost,--the enjoyment of words useful to

the soul; yet for the love of my brethren who are with me, we shall

say something about the renewal of the Lord’s resurrection. In the

past week of the Easter there was joy in heaven, and terror in the

nethermost regions, a renewal of life and liberation of the world, a

destruction of hell and victory over death, a resurrection of the dead,

and annihilation of the enticing power of the devil; a salvation of the

human race by the resurrection of Christ; an impoverishment of the Old

Testament and enslavement of the Sabbath; an enrichment of the Church

of Christ, and enthronement of the Sunday.

Last week there was a change of all things, for the earth was opened

up by heaven, having been purified from its satanic impurities, and

the angels with their wives humbly served at the resurrection. All

creation was renewed, for no longer are the air, the sun, the fire, the

springs, the trees, thought to be gods; no longer does hell receive its

due of infants sacrificed by their fathers, nor death its honours, for

idolatry has come to an end, and the satanic power has been vanquished

by the mystery of the cross. The Old Testament has become impoverished

by the rejection of the blood of calves and sacrifices of goats, for

Christ has given Himself to the Lord as a sacrifice for all. And with

this, Sunday ceased to be a holiday, but the Sunday was sanctified on

account of the resurrection, and Sunday is now supreme, for Christ

arose from the dead on that day....

To-day the heavens have been cleared from the dark clouds that

enshrouded them as with a heavy veil, and they proclaim the glory of

God with a clear atmosphere....

To-day the sun rises and beams on high, and rejoicing warms the earth,

for there has arisen for us from the grave the real sun, Christ,

and He saves all who believe in Him. To-day the moon descends from

its high place, and gives honour to the greater lights. The Old

Testament, as had been prophesied, has stopped with its Sabbath, and

with its prophets gives honour to the Testament of Christ with its

Sunday. To-day the winter of sin has stopped in repentance, and the

ice of unbelief is melted by wisdom. To-day spring appears spruce,

and enlivens all earthly existence; the stormy winds blow gently and

generate fruits, and the earth, giving nurture to the seed, brings

forth green grass. For spring is the beautiful faith in Christ which,

through baptism, produces a regeneration of man, and the stormy winds

are the evil, sinful thoughts that, being changed to virtue through

repentance, generate soul-saving fruits; but the earth of our being,

having received the Word of God like a seed, and, passing through an

ecstatic labour, through the fear of Him, brings forth a spirit of

salvation.

To-day the new-born lambs and calves frisk and leap about joyfully and

returning to their mothers gambol about, so that the shepherds, playing

on their reeds, praise Christ in joy. The lambs, I say, are the gentle

people from among the pagans, and the calves--the idolaters of the

unbelieving countries who, having accepted the Law through Christ’s

incarnation and the teachings of the apostles and miracles, and having

returned to the holy Church, suck the milk of its teachings; and the

teachers of Christ’s flock, praying for all, praise Christ, the Lord,

who had collected all the wolves and sheep into one herd.

To-day the trees send forth buds and the fragrant flowers bloom,

and behold, the gardens already emit a sweet odour, and the workers

labouring in hope acclaim Christ the giver of fruits. We were before

like the trees of the forest that bear no fruit, but to-day the faith

of Christ has been grafted on our unbelief, and those who already held

to the roots of Jesse have burgeoned with the flowers of virtue and

expect through Christ a regeneration in heaven, and the saints who

labour for the Church expect a reward from Christ. To-day the ploughman

of the Word leads the oxen of the Word to the spiritual yoke, sinks the

plough of baptism into the furrows of thought and deepening them to

furrows of repentance plants in them the spiritual seed and rejoices

in the hope of future returns. To-day everything old has taken an end,

and all is new for the sake of the resurrection. To-day the apostolic

rivers are full, and the pagan fish let out their broods, and the

fishermen, having examined the depth of the divine incarnation, drag

in full nets into the Church.... To-day the industrious bees of the

monastic order show their wisdom and set all to wonder, for living in

the wilderness and providing for themselves, they astonish both angels

and men, just as the bee flies upon the flowers and forms combs of

honey in order to furnish sweetness to man and what is needed in the

church....

To-day there is a feast of regeneration for the people who are made

new by the resurrection of Christ, and all new things are brought to

God: from heathens, faith; from good Christians, offerings; from the

clergy, holy sacrifices; from the civil authorities, God-pleasing

charity; from the noble, care for the Church; from the righteous,

humility; from the sinners, true repentance; from the unhallowed, a

turning to God; from the hating, spiritual love.

Néstor’s Chronicle. (XII. century.)

Néstor was born about 1056, and at the age of seventeen entered the

monastery of the Grottoes at Kíev. In 1091 he was commissioned to find

in the Grottoes the mortal relics of Theodosius, the founder of the

monastery. Having performed this task he wrote a life of the founder.

He died about 1146. To this Néstor has been ascribed the authorship

of the chronicle which in one of the manuscripts of the fourteenth

century bears the title: _The stories of bygone years, whence the

Russian land began, who first reigned at Kíev, and how the Russian

land was formed_. It has, however, been proved that only a small part

of the chronicle belongs to him, and that the last editor of the whole

was the abbot Sylvester, the continuator of Néstor’s Chronicle for the

twelfth century.

The chronicle contains the reports of important facts in the life of

the princes, arranged in chronological order. The author, or authors,

being of the clerical profession, the influence of Christianity shows

itself throughout in the use of a biblical diction. This is especially

the case where Byzantine chronographers, whose influence on all the

early Russian chronicles is unmistakable, and church and monastery

notes are the source of the historical narrative. But popular stories,

legends and accounts of eye-witnesses also play an important part in

the composition of the work, and in these the diction is more dramatic

and natural. The chronicle covers the period from 862 to 1110, and is

exceedingly valuable as the chief source for the history of Russia

for the time described. It has not come down to us in the original,

but has reached us in copies of the fourteenth century, of which the

Laurentian manuscript, copied by the monk Laurentius for Dimítri

Konstantínovich, Prince of Súzdal, is the most important.

THE BAPTISM OF VLADÍMIR AND OF ALL RUSSIA

In the year 6495 (987), Vladímir called together his boyárs and city

elders, and said to them: “There have come to me Bulgarians who

said: ‘Accept our religion!’ Then came the Germans, and they praised

their religion; after them came the Jews.[16] But after them came the

Greeks, who spoke slightingly of all the other religions, but praised

their own. They spoke much about the beginning of the universe and the

existence of the whole world. They are cunning of speech, and talk so

pleasantly that it is a pleasure to hear them. They say that there is

another world, and that if anyone enters into their faith, he would

live after his death, and would not die for eternity; but that if he

accepts any other faith, he would burn in the other world. Now, what

counsel do you give me? What is your answer?”

And the boyárs and elders said: “You know, O Prince, that nobody

detracts his own, but praises it. If you are anxious to find out the

truth, you have men whom you can send out to see how they all serve

God.”

And the speech pleased the Prince and all people. They selected good

and clever men, to the number of ten, and said to them: “Go first to

the Bulgarians and inquire into their religion!” And they went, and

saw their abominable deeds and worshipping in shrines, and returned to

their land. Vladímir said to them: “Go now to the Germans, find out

there also, and thence go to Greece!”

And they went to Germany and, having seen their divine service, they

came to Constantinople, and went to the Emperor. The Emperor asked them

what they had come for, and they told him all as it was. Having heard

this, the Emperor was glad, and gave them a banquet on that very day.

Next morning he sent to the Patriarch saying: “Some Russians have come

to find out about our faith; so have the church and clergy in order,

and yourself don the holy garments, that they may see the glory of our

God.”

Having heard this, the Patriarch called together the clergy to

celebrate the day according to the custom, and he had the censers

lighted, and arranged the singing and the choir. The Emperor went

with them to church, and they were placed in a prominent place where

they could see the beauty of the church, hear the singing and

archiepiscopal ministration, and watch the attendance of the deacons

in the divine service. They were surprised, and marvelled, and praised

their service. And the Emperors Basil and Constantine called them and

said to them: “Go to your land!” and they sent them away with many

gifts and honours.

They came back to their country, and their Prince called together his

boyárs and old men. Said Valdimir: “The men we have sent away have

come back. Let us hear what has happened!” And he said: “Speak before

the druzhína!” and they spoke: “When we were in Bulgaria, we saw them

worshipping in the temple, where they talk in the shrine and stand

without their girdles. Having made their obeisance, they sit down and

look around hither and thither like madmen, and there is no joy among

them, only sadness and a great stench: their religion is not good. And

we came to Germany, and we saw many ceremonies in their temples, but

of beauty we saw none. We went to Greece, and they took us where they

worship their God, and we do not know whether we were in heaven or

upon earth, for there is not upon earth such sight or beauty. We were

perplexed, but this much we know that there God lives among men, and

their service is better than in any other country. We cannot forget

that beauty, for every man that has partaken of sweetness will not

afterwards accept bitterness, and thus we can no longer remain in our

former condition.” And the boyárs answered and said: “If the Greek

religion were bad, your grandmother Ólga, who was the wisest of all

men, would not have accepted it.” And Vladímir answered and said:

“Where shall we receive our baptism?” But they answered: “Wheresoever

it may please you!”

Next year, the year 6496, Vladímir went with his warriors against

Korsún,[17] a Greek city, and the Korsúnians shut themselves up in

the city. Vladímir was encamped at the side of the city nearest the

harbour, at one shot’s distance from it, and they fought valiantly in

the city, and Vladímir beleaguered it. The townspeople were weakening,

and Vladímir said to them: “If you do not surrender, I shall stay here,

if need be, three years.” They paid no attention to it, and Vladímir

drew up his soldiers, and ordered them to build a rampart to the city.

While they were asleep, the Korsúnians undermined the city wall, and,

stealing the dirt which they had thrown up, carried it into the city,

and deposited it there. The soldiers again filled up the rampart, and

Vladímir remained there.

A Korsún man, by the name of Nastás, shot an arrow upon which was

written as follows: “It is by the wells that are behind you in the

east, that the water is led by pipes into the city; dig them up, and

stop the supply!” Hearing this, Vladímir looked to the heavens and

said: “If it shall come to pass, I will be baptised,” and immediately

he ordered the pipes to be dug up, and the water was intercepted. The

people were exhausted with thirst, and they surrendered themselves.

Vladímir entered the city with his druzhína, and he sent word to the

Emperors Basil and Constantine: “I have taken your famous city. I hear

you have a sister who is still a maiden. If you will not give her to me

for a wife, I shall do unto your city as I have done unto this.”

And they heard the tsar, and were sad, and gave the following answer:

“It does not behoove Christians to give in marriage to a pagan. If you

will receive the baptism, you shall get her, and you will receive the

kingdom of heaven, and will be of one faith with us. If you do not wish

to do so, we cannot give you our sister.”

Hearing this, Vladímir said to the messengers of the Emperors: “Tell

your Emperors that I will be baptised, that I have inquired before

these days into your faith, and am pleased with your belief and divine

service, from what the men that had been sent by us have told me.”

Which when the Emperors heard, they were glad and persuaded their

sister, by the name of Anna, and sent to Vladímir saying: “Receive the

baptism, and then we will send our sister to you.”

But Vladímir answered: “Let them come with your sister to baptise me!”

The Emperors obeyed, and sent their sister and a few high officers and

presbyters. She did not want to go: “It is as if I were going into

captivity,” she said. “It were better if I died here.” And her brothers

said to her: “Perchance God will through you turn the Russian land to

repentance, and free Greece from a dire war. Do you not see how much

evil the Russians have caused to the Greeks? If you will not go, they

will do even thus to us.” They persuaded her with difficulty. She

boarded a boat, kissed her relatives under tears and went across the

sea. She arrived at Korsún, and the Korsúnians met her with honours,

and led her into the city and seated her in the palace.

By God’s will, Vladímir was at that time ailing with his eyes, and he

could not see, and was much worried. The empress sent to him saying:

“If you want to be rid of your disease, be baptised at once. If not,

you will not be rid of it.”

Hearing this, Vladímir said: “If it will be so in truth, then indeed

your Christian God is great.” And he ordered to baptise him. The

bishop of Korsún with the priests of the empress received Vladímir as

a catechumen and baptised him, and the moment he laid his hands upon

him, he regained his eyesight. When Vladímir saw this sudden cure, he

praised God and said: “Now have I for the first time found the real

God!” When his druzhína perceived this, many were baptised. He was

baptised in the church of St. Basil, and that church is situated in

Korsún, there where the Korsúnians have their market-place. Vladímir’s

palace by the church is standing up to the present day. The palace of

the empress is beyond the altar. After the baptism he led the empress

to the betrothal. Those who do not know right say that he was baptised

in Kíev; others say in Vasilév; others again say otherwise.

After that, Vladímir took the empress and Nastás, and the Korsún

priests with the holy relics of Clement and Phœbus, his disciple, and

church vessels, and images, for his own use. He built a church in

Korsún on the hill which they had thrown up in the middle of the city

from the dirt they had carried away, and that church is still standing

there. Going away, he took along with him two brass statues and four

brass horses which stand to-day behind the church of the Holy Virgin,

and which the ignorant think to be of marble. He gave as a marriage

price Korsún back to the Greeks, for the sake of the empress, and went

back to Kíev.

Upon his return, he ordered the idols to be cast down, and some to be

cut to pieces, and others to be consumed by fire; but Perún he had tied

to the tail of a horse, and dragged down the hill over the Boríchev[18]

to the brook, and placed twelve men to strike him with rods, not as

if the wood had any feeling, but as a scorn to the devil who had in

that way seduced people, that he might receive his due punishment from

men. As he was dragged along the brook to the Dnieper, the unbelievers

wept over him, for they had not yet received the holy baptism, and he

was cast into the Dnieper. Vladímir stood by, and said: “Should he

be carried anywhere to the banks, push him off, until he has passed

the rapids, when you may leave him!” They did as they were told. When

he passed the rapids, and was let loose, the wind carried him on a

sandbank, which is named from this “Perún’s Bank,” and is called so to

this day.

After that Vladímir proclaimed throughout the whole city: “Whosoever

will not appear to-morrow at the river, whether he be rich or poor,

or a beggar, or a workingman, will be in my disfavour.” Hearing this,

people came gladly and with joy, and said: “If this were not good, the

Prince and boyárs would not have accepted it.” Next morning Vladímir

went out with the priests of the empress and of Korsún to the Dnieper,

and there came together people without number. They went into the

water, and stood there up to their necks, and some up to their breasts,

but the younger nearer the shore, and others held the younger ones,

while the grown people waded into the water. And the priests stood

there and said the prayers; and there was a joy in heaven and upon

earth at the sight of so many saved souls, but the devil groaned, and

said: “Woe to me! I am driven away from here. Here I had intended to

have my habitation, for here are no apostolic teachings, and they do

not know God, and I rejoiced in the worship with which they served

me. And now I am conquered by ignorant people and not by apostles and

martyrs. I shall no longer reign in these lands.”

Having been baptised, the people went to their houses. Vladímir was

happy for having, himself and his people, found God, and looking up to

heaven he said: “God, Thou hast created heaven and earth! Guard these

Thy new people, and let them, O Lord, find out the real God, such as

the Christian people know Him. Strengthen the true and constant faith

in them, and help me, O Lord, against my foe, that relying upon Thee

and Thy power, I may escape his ambush!”

The people having been baptised, they all went to their homes, and

Vladímir ordered churches to be built, and to place them there where

formerly stood the idols. He built the church of St. Basil on the hill

where stood the idol Perún and the others, to whom the Prince and

others used to bring sacrifices. And he began to locate churches and

priests over the towns, and to lead people to baptism in all towns and

villages. He sent out men to take the children of noblemen, and to put

them out for book instruction; but the mothers of those children wept

for them, for they were not yet firm in their faith, and they wept for

them as for the dead.

FOOTNOTES:

[16] The Khazars, a Tartar tribe that professed the Mosaic Law.

[17] The ancient Tauric Chersonese; this later city was not built on

the ancient site, but near Sebastopol.

[18] A suburb of Kíev.

The Kíev Chronicle. (XII. century.)

The Kíev Chronicle is a continuation of Néstor’s Chronicle, from

1111-1201, and describes mainly the acts of the principality of Kíev.

The best manuscript of this chronicle is from the monastery of St.

Ipáti, near Kostromá, and dates from the end of the fourteenth, or

the beginning of the fifteenth, century. The passage given below is

selected to illustrate the historical account of the same incident

contained in the _Word of Ígor’s Armament_.

THE EXPEDITION OF ÍGOR SVYATOSLÁVICH AGAINST THE PÓLOVTSES[19]

In the year 6693 (1185). At that time Ígor, the son of Svyatosláv, the

grandson of Olég, rode out of Nóvgorod on the 23rd of April, which was

on a Tuesday, having taken with him his brother Vsévolod from Trubétsk,

and Svyatosláv Ólgovich, his nephew, from Rylsk, and Vladímir, his

son, from Putívl, and Yarosláv had sent him, at his request, Olstín

Oléksich, the grandson of Prokhór, with Kovúans[20] from Chernígov.

They proceeded slowly, collecting their druzhína, for their horses were

very fat. As they were going towards the river Donéts, Ígor looked one

evening at the sky, and he saw the sun standing there like a moon, and

he said to his boyárs and druzhína: “Do you see this omen?”

They looked up, and having noticed it, hung their heads, and said:

“Prince, this is not a good omen!”

But Ígor said: “Brothers and druzhína! Nobody knows God’s mystery, and

God is the creator of mystery, as well as of all His world; but we

shall find out in time whether God means our good or our evil.”

Having said this, he forded the Donéts and came to the river Oskól,

where he waited for two days for his brother Vsévolod who was marching

by another road from Kursk; thence they proceeded to Sálnitsa. There

came to them the guards whom they had sent out to reconnoitre; they

said: “We have seen the army of the enemy; they were riding rapidly:

either you ride fast, or we had better return home, for the time is not

propitious.”

But Ígor consulted his brothers and said: “If we return without

fighting, our shame will be greater than death. Let us proceed with

God’s aid!”

Having said this, they travelled through the night, and the next day,

which was a Friday, they met the army of the Pólovtses at noontime.

When they saw them, they were without their tents, for they had left

them behind them, but the old and young were all standing on the other

side of the river Syuurlí. The Russians arranged their six troops as

follows: Ígor’s troop was in the middle, to his right was the troop of

his brother Vsévolod, and to the left that of his nephew Svyatosláv; in

front of him was placed his son Vladímir, and Yarosláv’s Kovúans, and

a third troop of archers was in front of them, and they were selected

from the troops of all the princes; that was the position of their

troops.

And Ígor spoke to his brothers: “Brothers! We have found what we have

been looking for, so let us move on them!” And they advanced, placing

their faith in God. When they came to the river Syuurlí, the archers

galloped out from the troops of the Pólovtses, sent each an arrow

against the Russians, and galloped back again, before the Russians had

crossed the river Syuurlí; equally the Pólovtses who stood farther

away from the river galloped away. Svyatosláv Ólgovich, and Vladímir

Ígorevich, and Olstín with his Kovúans, and the archers ran after them,

while Ígor and Vsévolod went slowly ahead, and did not send forward

their troops; but the Russians ahead of them struck down the Pólovtses.

The Pólovtses ran beyond their tents, and the Russians, having come as

far as the tents, plundered them, and some returned in the night with

their booty to the army.

When the Pólovtses had come together, Ígor said to his brothers and

men: “God has given us the power to vanquish our enemy, and honour and

glory to us! We have seen the army of the Pólovtses that it is large,

and I wonder whether they have all been collected. If we now shall ride

through the night, what surety is there that all will follow us next

morning? And our best horsemen will be in the meantime cut down, and we

will have to shift as best we can.”

And Svyatosláv Ólgovich spoke to his uncles: “I have driven the

Pólovtses a long distance, and my horses are played out; if I am

to travel on to-day, I shall have to fall behind on the road,” and

Vsévolod agreed with him that it was best to rest.

Ígor spoke: “Knowing this, it is not proper to expose ourselves to

death,” and they rested there.

When the day broke on the Saturday, the troops of the Pólovtses began

to appear like a forest. The Russian princes were perplexed, and

did not know whom to attack first, for there was a numberless host

of them. And Ígor said: “See, I have collected against me the whole

land: Konchák, Kozá, Burnovích, Toksobích, Kolobích, Etebích, and

Tertrobích.” And seeing them, they dismounted from their horses, for

they wished to reach the river Donéts by fighting, and they said: “If

we remain on horseback, and run away, and leave our soldiers behind,

we will have sinned before God; but let us die or live together!” And

having said this, they all dismounted and fought on foot.

By the will of God, Ígor was wounded, and his left arm was disabled,

and there was a great sorrow in his troop; and they captured his

general, having wounded him in front. And they fought that day until

evening, and many were the wounded and killed in the Russian army.

They fought till late into the night, and when the Sunday began to

break, the Kovúans became confused and ran away. Ígor was at that time

on horseback, for he was wounded, and he followed them up, trying to

bring them back to the army. Seeing that he had gone far away from his

people, he took off his helmet so that they might recognise him and

might return to the army, and he rode back to his troop. But no one

returned, except Mikhálko Gyúrgevich who had recognised the Prince.

The trouble was, no one, except a few of the rank and file and boyárs’

youths, had thoroughly mingled with the Kovúans, for they were all busy

fighting on foot; among these, Vsévolod excelled in bravery. As Ígor

was approaching his troop, the Pólovtses crossed his path and made him

prisoner within an arrow’s shot from his troop. While Ígor was held

captive, he saw his brother fighting mightily, and in his heart he

implored for his own death that he might not see his brother fall dead;

but Vsévolod was fighting until he had no weapons left in his hands,

and they were fighting around a lake.

It was on the day of the holy Sunday that the Lord brought down

His anger upon them, and changed joy into weeping, and instead of

pleasure gave them sorrow, on the river Kayála. And Ígor spoke: “I

now recall my sins before the Lord my God, for I have caused much

slaughter and bloodshed in the Christian land, and did not spare the

Christians, but took by storm the town of Glyébov near Pereyáslavl.

Then innocent Christians suffered no small measure of evil, for fathers

were separated from their children, brother from brother, friend from

friend, wives from husbands, and daughters from their mothers, and all

was confused in captivity and sorrow. The living envied the dead, and

the dying rejoiced because they had like holy martyrs received their

trial by fire in this life; old men were killed, young men received

fierce and inhuman wounds, men were cut to pieces. All this I have

done, and I am not worthy to live; to-day the revenge of the Lord has

reached me. Where is now my beloved brother? Where is now the son of

my brother? Where is the child of my loins? Where are the counselling

boyárs, where are the brave men, the ranks of the soldiers? Where are

the horses and costly weapons? Am I not separated from all that, and

has not the Lord given me fettered into the hands of the pagans? The

Lord has repaid me for my lawlessness and my meanness, and my sins have

this day come down upon my head. The Lord is just, and His judgments

are right, and I have nothing in common with the living. I see to-day

others receiving the crown of martyrdom, but why can I not, guilty

one, suffer for all of them? But Lord my God! Do not reject me to the

end, but as Thy will, O Lord, is done, so also is Thy mercy to us, Thy

slaves!”

The battle being over, the Pólovtses scattered, and went to their

tents. Ígor was captured by the Targólans, by a man named Chilbúk;

his brother Vsévolod was taken by Román Kzich, Svyatosláv Ólgovich

by Eldechyúk of the Boburchéviches, and Vladímir by Kópti of the

Ulashéviches. Then Konchák took care of Ígor on the battlefield, for

he was wounded. Of the many prisoners taken but few could run away,

God being willing, for it was not possible for anyone to escape, being

surrounded on all sides by the Pólovts army as with mighty walls; and

yet there escaped about fifteen of us Russians, and fewer Kovúans, but

the rest were drowned in the sea.

At that time Grand Prince Vsévolod’s son Svyatosláv had gone to

Koráchev[21] to collect warriors in the upper lands, wishing in the

summer to go to the Don against the Pólovtses. When Svyatosláv returned

and was at Nóvgorod Syéverski, he heard that his brothers had gone

against the Pólovtses, without his knowledge, and he was displeased.

Svyatosláv was travelling in boats, and when he arrived in Chernígov,

Byelovolód Prosóvich came to him and told him what had happened with

the Pólovtses. When Svyatosláv heard that, he sighed much and, wiping

off his tears, he said: “O beloved brothers and sons and men of the

Russian land! Oh, that God would grant me to crush the pagans! But

they, impulsive in their youth, have opened the gates into the Russian

land. The will of the Lord be on everything! However sorry I was for

Ígor, I am more sorry for Ígor, my brother!”

After that Svyatosláv sent his son Olég and Vladímir into the

Posémie,[22] for when the cities of the Posémie heard of the disaster,

they were disturbed, and there was a sorrow and heavy anguish upon

them, such as had never before been in the whole Posémie, in Nóvgorod

Syéverski and in the whole district of Chernígov. They had heard that

their princes had been taken prisoners, and the druzhína had been

captured, and killed; and they became restless, as if in turbid water,

and the cities revolted, and many had no care for their relatives,

but they renounced their souls, weeping for their princes. After that

Svyatosláv sent to David of Smolénsk, saying: “We had intended to go

against the Pólovtses, and pass the summer on the Don; but now the

Pólovtses have vanquished Ígor, and his brother with his son; now come,

brother, to protect the Russian land!” And David came to the Dnieper,

and there arrived also other help, and they stopped at Trepól, but

Yarosláv collected his troops at Chernígov.

The pagan Pólovtses, having conquered Ígor and his brothers, were

filled with great conceit, and they gathered all their tribes against

the Russian land. And there was a strife among them, for Konchák said:

“Let us march against Kíev, where our brothers and our Grand Prince

Bonyák were cut down!” But Kza said: “Let us go against the Sem, where

their wives and children are left, an easy booty for us; we shall sack

their cities without danger!” And thus they divided into two parts.

Konchák went against Pereyáslavl. He besieged the city, and they fought

the whole day. At that time Vladímir Glyébovich was the Prince of

Pereyáslavl. He being bold and a mighty warrior, rode out of the city

and rushed against the enemy, and then a few men of his druzhína were

emboldened, and they fought valiantly. Many Pólovtses surrounded them.

Then the others, seeing their Prince hard pressed, rushed out of the

city, and saved their Prince, who was wounded with three spear thrusts.

This good Vladímir rode back into the city heavily wounded, and he

wiped the sweat from his brave face, having fought doughtily for his

country.

Vladímir sent word to Svyatosláv, and to Rúrik, and to David: “The

Pólovtses are at my gates, help me!” Svyatosláv sent word to David,

who stood at Trepól with his Smolénsk troop. The men of Smolénsk held

a council, and said: “We have marched to Kíev to fight in case there

is a war there; but we cannot look for another war, for we are worn

out.” Svyatosláv hurried to the Dnieper with Rúrik and other troops,

against the Pólovtses, and David went away with his Smolénsk men.

When the Pólovtses heard this, they went away from Pereyáslavl, but

on their way they attacked Rímov. The Rímovans shut themselves up in

the city; having climbed the rampart, two wicker structures gave way

with all their men, God having so willed, and broke in the direction

of the enemy. Terror fell upon the city people. Some of them sallied

from the city and kept up a running fight into the Rímov swamps, and

thus escaped capture; but those who remained in the city were all taken

prisoners. Vladímir sent again to Svyatosláv Vsévolodich and Rúrik

Rostislávich, imploring them to come to his aid. But they were tardy

in coming, having waited for David with his Smolénsk troop, and thus

they did not get there in time to meet the Pólovtses. Having taken the

city of Rímov, the Pólovtses returned to their homes, loaded down with

booty. The princes went back to their homes, and they were very sad,

and they were sorry for Vladímir Glyébovich, for he was struck down

with mortal wounds, and they were sorry for the Christians that had

been taken prisoners by the pagans....

The other Pólovtses were going by another road to Putívl. Kza had a

large host with him; they laid waste the country, burnt the villages,

and also burnt the castle near Putívl, and returned home again.

Ígor Svyatoslávich was that year with the Pólovtses, and he said:

“According to my deserts have I received defeat at Thy hands, my Lord,

and not the daring of the pagans has broken the might of Thy servants.

I do not complain of my suffering, for I have been punished for my

misdeeds.” The Pólovtses, respecting his leadership, did not do him any

harm, but placed over him fifteen guards of their sons, and five lords’

sons, in all twenty. They gave him permission to go where he wanted,

and he went a-hunting with the hawk, and there were with him five

or six of his servants. His guards obeyed him and honoured him, and

whithersoever he sent them, they did his command without grumbling. He

had brought with him a priest from Russia, with all the divine service,

for he did not know the divine will, and he thought he would have to

stay there for a long time. But the Lord delivered him for the many

prayers of the Christians which they sent up to heaven, and the many

tears which they shed for him. While he was among the Pólovtses, there

was a man there, himself a Pólovts, by the name of Lavór; he having a

blessed thought said: “I will go with you to Russia!” At first Ígor had

no confidence in him, but had a high opinion of his own manliness,

for he did not intend to take the man and run with him into Russia; he

said: “For glory’s sake I did not then run away from my druzhína, and

even now will I not walk upon an inglorious road.”

But there were with him the son of the thousand-man and his equerry,

and they pressed him and said: “Go, O Prince, back to Russia, if the

Lord will deliver you!” But the time was not propitious. As we said

before, the Pólovtses returned from Pereyáslavl, and Ígor’s advisers

said to him: “You harbour a proud thought and one that is not pleasing

to God; you do not intend to take the man and run with him, but why do

you not consider that the Pólovtses will return from the war, and we

have heard that they will slay all the princes and all the Russians,

and there will be no glory for you, and you will lose your life.”

Prince Ígor took their advice to heart, being afraid of the return of

the Pólovtses, and bethought himself of flight. He was not able to run

away either in daytime or at night, for the guards watched him, but he

found an opportune time at the setting of the sun. And Ígor sent his

equerry to Lavór, saying: “Cross on the other side of the Tor with a

led horse,” for he intended to fly to Russia with Lavór. At that time

the Pólovtses were drunk with kumys; and it was towards evening when

his equerry came back and told him that Lavór was waiting for him.

Ígor arose frightened and trembling, and bowed before the image of the

Lord and the honourable cross, and said: “Lord, knower of hearts! If

Thou, Master, wilt save me, unworthy one,”--and he took the cross and

the image, lifted the tent’s side, and crawled out. His guards were

gambling and feasting, for they thought that the Prince was asleep. He

arrived at the river, waded across, and mounted the horse; thus they

both rode by the tents.

This deliverance the Lord granted on a Friday, in the evening. He

then walked eleven days to the town of Donéts, and thence he went to

his Nóvgorod, and they were much rejoiced. From Nóvgorod he went to

his brother Yarosláv in Chernígov, to ask for help in the Posémie.

Yarosláv was glad to see him, and promised him aid. Ígor travelled

thence to Kíev to Grand Prince Svyatosláv, and Svyatosláv was glad to

see him, as was also Rúrik.

FOOTNOTES:

[19] For notes consult the _Word of Ígor’s Armament_ (p. 80 _et sqq._).

[20] A Finnish tribe.

[21] Town in the country of the Vyátiches.

[22] The country along the river Sem.

The Word of Ígor’s Armament. (End of XII. century.)

No other production of Russian antiquity has roused so much

interest in Russia and abroad as this version of Ígor’s expedition

by an unknown poet of the end of the twelfth century. Thirty-five

translations into modern Russian, numerous translations into

Little-Russian, Polish, Bohemian, Servian, Bulgarian, Hungarian,

German, French, witness to the enormous popularity this production

has attained. The historical background of the poem is found in the

recital from the Kíev Chronicle, which is given on pp. 71-80. The

disasters which befell Ígor and his army are probably told with better

effect in that prosaic version; but the superior value of the _Word_

lies in its being a precious relic of the popular poetry of the end

of the twelfth century, such as no other nation can boast of. The

_Nibelungenlied_ and the _Chanson de Roland_ are chiefly productions

of a literary character, while the _Word_ bears every evidence of

representing the untutored labour of a popular bard.

Who the author was, when he lived, for whom he sang, are all

unanswered questions, but from internal evidence we glean that he

sang for his contemporaries while Ígor was still alive. From his

apostrophe to Yarosláv Osmomýsl, who died in 1187, we may infer that

the poem was written before that year, and it is not unlikely, from

his vivid description of the battle at the Kayála, that he was an

eye-witness of the expedition which took place in 1185. From the

absence of biblical references it is generally assumed that the author

was not a member of the clerical profession. Here, however, various

difficulties arise. It is quite incomprehensible why there should be

so many references to pagan divinities at a time when Christianity had

been deep-rooted in Russia for fully two centuries; why, except for

the evident imitation of many passages in the _Zadónshchina_, there

should be no reference to the poem by any medieval writer, and why

only one copy of so remarkable a work should have been preserved. If

this poem came so very near being lost to posterity, how many other

remarkable productions of that early period have disappeared? It is

not at all impossible that there existed an extensive popular poetry,

of which only the barest traces have come down to us. This suspicion

is strengthened by the emphatic mention by the author of the _Word_

of a poet Boyán who had lived before his days.

A copy of the poem was discovered by Count A. I. Músin-Púshkin,

Procurator-General of the Holy Synod, in 1795. He it was who in

rummaging St. Petersburg bookstalls had discovered the manuscript of

Néstor’s Chronicle. From a monk he procured a collection of eight

pieces, the fifth of which was this poem. He published the _Word_,

as this poem is called in the manuscript, in 1800, with a modern

Russian translation. The manuscript itself was burnt in the Moscow

conflagration of 1812. The poem has since been edited a countless

number of times, and equally large is the mass of critical essays

to explain the many dark and corrupt places of what now must pass

for the original. When we consider that there are not less than six

versions of the _Word_ in French, it seems strange that it is now

first rendered into English in its entirety. There is an imperfect

translation of a small part of it in H. H. Munro’s _The Rise of the

Russian Empire_, Boston and London, 1900.

I

Were it not well for us, O brothers, to commence in the ancient strain

the sad story of the armament of Ígor,[23] Ígor son of Svyatosláv? And

let the song be told according to the accounts of the time, and not

according to the cunning of Boyán[24] the Wise, for Boyán the Wise,

when he wished to make a song, soared with his thoughts in the tree,

ran as a grey wolf over the earth, flew as a steel-grey eagle below the

clouds. When he recalled the strife of former time, he let loose ten

falcons o’er a flock of swans, and every swan each touched sang first

a song: to old Yarosláv,[25] to brave Mstisláv[26] who slew Redédya

before the Kasóg army, to fair Román Svyatoslávich.[27] But Boyán, O

brothers, did not let loose ten falcons on a flock of swans, but laid

his inspired fingers on the living strings, and they themselves sounded

the glory to the princes.

Let us begin, O brothers, this tale from Vladímir[28] of old to the

late Ígor who strengthened his soul by his valour, and sharpened it

by the courage of his heart, and having filled himself with a manly

spirit, led his valiant army for the land of Russia into the country of

the Pólovtses.[29]

II

Then Ígor looked up to the bright sun, and saw that he had covered

in darkness[30] all his warriors. And Ígor spoke to his druzhína: “O

brothers and druzhína! It is better to be cut to pieces than to be

made a captive! Let us, O brothers, mount our swift horses that we may

behold the beautiful Don!”

A strong desire filled the Prince’s soul to drink from the great Don,

and his eagerness blinded him to the evil omen.

“For I wish,” he said, “to break the spear on the border of the Pólovts

land together with you, sons of Russia! I want to lay down my head, and

drink with my helmet from the Don!”

O Boyán, nightingale of ancient time! It were for you to spell this

army, soaring like a nightingale over the tree of thought, flying like

an eagle below the clouds, stringing together words for the deeds

of that time, racing over Troyán’s[31] footsteps over fields to the

mountains. You ought to have sung a song to Ígor, his grandson: “Not

a storm has driven the falcons over the broad fields: flocks of crows

hasten to the great Don.”... Or you might have sung thus, inspired

Boyán, grandson of Velés[32]:

“The horses neigh beyond the Sulá[33]; glory resounds in Kíev; trumpets

blare in Nóvgorod[34]; the standards are at Putívl[35]; Ígor waits for

his beloved brother Vsévolod. And Vsévolod, the Grim Aurochs, spoke to

him: “My only brother, my only light, glorious Ígor, we are both sons

of Svyatosláv! Saddle, O brother, your swift steeds, for mine are ready

for you, having been saddled in advance at Kursk! My Kurians are tried

warriors, nurtured by the sound of trumpets, rocked in helmets, fed

at the point of the spear. The roads are known to them; the ravines

are familiar to them; their bows are drawn; their quivers open, their

swords--whetted. They race over the fields like grey wolves, seeking

honour for themselves, and glory for their Prince.”

III

Then Prince Ígor stepped into the golden stirrup and galloped over the

clear field. The sun barred his way in darkness; night groaning with

the cries of birds awoke him; beasts howled, and Div[36] called in the

top of a tree, sending the news to the unknown land, to the Vólga, the

Sea border,[37] the Sulá country, Surózh[38] and Korsún,[39] and to

you, idol of Tmútorokan![40] But the Pólovtses hastened by untrodden

roads to the great Don; the carts creaked at midnight, like swans let

loose.

Ígor leads his soldiers to the Don: the birds in the thicket forbode

his misfortune; the wolves bristle up and howl a storm in the mountain

clefts; the eagles screech and call the beasts to a feast of bones; the

foxes bark for the crimson shields. O Russian land, you are already

beyond the mound![41] Night is long and murky; the dawn withholds the

light; mist covers the fields; the nightingale’s song is silent; the

cawing of the crows is heard. The Russians bar the long fields with

their crimson shields, seeking honour for themselves and glory for the

Prince.

IV

Early in the morning, on the Friday, they crushed the pagan Pólovts

host, and, spreading like arrows over the field, seized fair Pólovts

maidens, and with them gold and gold-worked stuffs and costly velvet;

with cloaks and coats and Pólovts lace they bridged their way over

bogs and muddy places. A red flag, white pennon, red panache, silver

cross-beam, for the brave son of Svyatosláv!...[42] Olég’s valiant

brood has flown afar and dreams in the field! They thought not to

offend the falcon, gerfalcon, nor you, black raven, pagan Pólovts! But

Gza ran like a grey wolf, with Konchák[43] in his track, to the great

Don.

V

Very early the next morning a bloody dawn announces the day. Black

clouds come from the sea and try to veil four suns,[44] while blue

lightnings quiver through them. There is to be a mighty thunder, and

the rain is to go down in arrows by the great Don! There spears will

be broken; there swords will be blunted against Pólovts helmets on the

Kayála,[45] by the great Don. O Russian land, you are already beyond

the mound!

Behold the winds, Stribóg’s[46] grandchildren, blow arrows from the sea

on Ígor’s valiant army. The earth groans, the rivers flow turbid; dust

covers the fields; the banners whisper. The Pólovtses come from the

Don, and from the sea, and from all sides: the Russian army recedes.

The devil’s children fill the field with their cries, but the brave

Russians line it with their crimson bucklers.

Grim Aurochs Vsévolod! You stand in the van; you pour arrows on the

warriors; you thunder with steel swords against their helmets. Wherever

you, Aurochs, lead, gleaming with your golden helmet, there fall the

heads of the pagan Pólovtses, their Avar[47] helmets cloven by your

tempered swords, Grim Aurochs Vsévolod! What wound does he brook,

O brothers, having forgotten his honours and manner of life, and

Chernígov town, his paternal golden throne, and the caresses of his

sweetheart, Glyeb’s fair daughter,[48] and the habits and customs of

his home?

VI

Troyán’s age is past, gone are the years of Yarosláv; past are the

expeditions of Olég,[49] the son of Svyatosláv. That Olég had fostered

discord with his sword, and had sowed arrows over the land. In

Tmútorokan city he stepped into the golden stirrup. Great Yarosláv,

that was, heard the tocsin,[50] and Vsévolod’s son Vladímir closed

his ears all the days at Chernígov.[51] But Glory brought Borís,[52]

the son of Vyachesláv, before the judgment seat and bedded him, brave

young prince, on the green feather grass of the steppe, through Olég’s

offence....

Then, in the days of Olég Gorislávich,[53] feuds were sown and grew,

and Dazhbóg’s[54] grandchildren perished, and the years of men were

shortened by the discord of the princes. In those days the warriors

rarely walked behind the plough in the Russian land, but the ravens

croaked as they divided the dead bodies, and crows chattered, flying to

the banquet. Such were the wars and expeditions then, but the like of

this war was never known.

VII

From early morning until evening, from evening until daylight fly

tempered arrows, thunder the swords against the helmets, resound the

steel spears in a strange field, within the country of the Pólovtses.

The black earth beneath the hoofs was sown with bones, and watered with

blood, and a harvest of sorrow went up in the Russian land.

What noise is that, what din, so early in the morning before dawn?

Ígor leads his army; he is sorry for his beloved brother Vsévolod.

They fought a day, they fought another[55]; upon the third at noon

fell the standards of Ígor. The brothers separated on the bank of the

swift Kayála. Here there was not enough of bloody wine; here the brave

Russians ended the feast: they gave their host their fill to drink, and

themselves fell for the Russian land. The grass withered from sorrow,

and the trees in anguish bent down to the earth.[56]

VIII

There befell a hapless hour, O brothers! Already had the wilderness

covered Russia’s hosts, when Mischief arose in the hosts of Dazhbóg’s

grandchildren: she walked as a maiden in Troyán’s land,[57] splashed

her swan pinions in the blue sea,[58] and splashing them in the Don,

recalled heavy times.

Through the feuds of the princes ruin came from the pagans, for brother

spoke to brother: “This is mine and that is mine also,” and the princes

said of trifling matters, “They are important,” and created discord

among themselves; and the pagans came from all sides victorious into

the Russian land.

Oh, far has the falcon[59] flown, driving the birds by the sea, but

Ígor’s brave army will rise no more! Konchák called, and Gza raced over

the Russian land, hurling fire from a flaming horn.[60] Russian women

wept, saying: “No longer will our thoughts reach our dear ones, nor

shall we ever see them with our eyes, nor be adorned with tinkling gold

and silver!”

And Kíev groaned under its sorrow, and Chernígov on account of its

misfortunes. Sadness spread over the Russian land, and a heavy

gloom. The princes fostered discord among themselves, and the pagans

victoriously overran the country, receiving tribute, a squirrel[61]

from each house.

It is Ígor and Vsévolod, Svyatosláv’s brave sons, who through their

discord had wakened dishonour which their father, Svyatosláv[62] of

Kíev, the great, the mighty, had put to sleep: he had invaded the

Pólovts land and had carried terror to them, with his mighty armies

and tempered swords; had levelled their hills and ravines, ruffled

their rivers and lakes, dried up their streams and swamps; and, like

a whirlwind, had snatched pagan Kobyák[63] away from his mighty,

steel-clad Pólovts army by the Ázov Sea, until Kobyák fell in Kíev

city, in the council-room of Svyatosláv. Germans, Venetians, Greeks and

Moravians sing the glory of Svyatosláv, but blame Prince Ígor who had

merged his wealth in the Kayála, the Pólovts river, and had filled it

with Russian gold. Here Ígor was unseated from his golden saddle and

placed upon the saddle of a slave.

IX

The city walls were silent, and merriment was dead. Svyatosláv saw a

troubled dream: “In Kíev on the mount you enveloped me last night,” he

said, “in a black shroud on a bed of yew; they poured out to me blue

wine mixed with bitterness; from empty quivers they showered large gems

upon my lap, and tried to comfort me. Already are there boards without

a cross beam in my hall of gold, and all night have the devilish crows

been cawing.”[64] ...

The boyárs spoke to the Prince: “Prince, sorrow has enthralled your

mind. Two falcons flew from their paternal throne of gold to find

the city of Tmútorokan, and anxious to drink from the Don with their

helmets. The falcons’ wings have been clipped by the pagan swords, and

they have been enmeshed in iron fetters. On the third day it was dark:

two suns were dimmed,[65] two red torches went out, and with them two

young moons, Olég[66] and Svyatosláv, were shrouded in darkness. On

Kayála river darkness veiled the day: the Pólovtses had invaded the

Russian land, like a litter of lynxes.... Fair Gothic[67] maidens sing

upon the shore of the blue sea, tinkling with the Russian gold: they

sing the times of Bus, recall Sharokán’s[68] revenge. But we, your

druzhína, are anxious for the feast.”

Then great Svyatosláv uttered golden words, mingled with tears: “Oh, my

nephews, Ígor and Vsévolod! Too early did you begin to strike the land

of the Pólovtses with your swords, and to seek glory for yourselves.

You were vanquished ingloriously, for ingloriously have you spilled the

blood of the pagans! Your brave hearts are forged with hard steel and

tempered in daring exploits. See what you have done with my silvery

hair! I no longer see with me my mighty, warlike brother Izyasláv

with his Chernígov druzhína.... They overwhelmed their enemies with

dirks, not bearing bucklers, but raising a warcry and resounding the

glory of their forefathers. But you spoke: ‘We alone will vanquish!

Let us ourselves gain the future glory, and share the glory of our

fathers!’ Why should not an old man feel young again? When the falcon

is moulting, he drives the birds far away, and allows not his nest to

be hurt. But alas, the princes will not aid me! My years have turned

to nothing. At Rim[69] they cry under the swords of the Pólovtses,

and Vladímir[70] groans under his wounds. Bitterness and sorrow has

befallen the son of Glyeb!”

X

Grand Prince Vsévolod![71] Fly from afar not only in thought, but come

to protect your paternal throne: for you could dry up the Vólga[72]

with your oars, and empty the Don with your helmets. If you were here,

a Pólovts slave-girl would be worth a dime, and a man-slave--half a

rouble.[73] And you know, together with the brave sons of Glyeb, how to

hurl the Greek fire on land.

You, Grim Aurochs Rúrik and David![74] Did not your golden helmets swim

in blood? Did not your valiant druzhína bellow like aurochses, when

they were wounded by tempered swords in a strange field? Put your feet,

O lords, into your golden stirrups to avenge the insult to the Russian

land, the wounds of Ígor, the valiant son of Svyatosláv!

Yarosláv Osmomýsl of Gálich![75] You sit high upon your throne wrought

of gold, propping with your iron-clad army the Carpathian mountains,

barring the king’s path, closing the gates of the Danube, hurling

missiles higher than the clouds, sitting in judgment as far as the

Danube. Your thunders pass over the land, and you hold the key to the

gates of Kíev; sitting on your paternal throne, you slay the sultans in

their lands. Slay, O lord, Konchák, the pagan villain, to avenge the

Russian land, the wounds of Ígor, the valiant son of Svyatosláv!

And you, valiant Román[76] and Mstisláv! A brave thought carries you

into action.[77] You fly high in your onslaught, like a falcon circling

in the air, about to swoop down upon the birds. You wear iron hauberks

under Latin helmets, and the earth has trembled from you in many a

pagan land: the Lithuanians, Yatvyágans, Deremélans and Pólovtses threw

down their warclubs and bent their heads under those tempered swords.

But now, O Prince, Ígor’s sun is dimmed,--the tree, alas, has shed its

leaves. Along the Ros[78] and the Sulá the Pólovtses have sacked the

towns, but Ígor’s brave army will rise no more. The Don calls you, O

Prince, and the other princes to victory!

Olég’s sons have hastened to the war. Íngvar and Vsévolod,[79] and

the three sons of Mstisláv,[80] a mighty winged brood! Not by the lot

of war have you acquired power. Of what good are your golden helmets,

and Polish warclubs and shields? Bar the enemy’s way with your sharp

arrows, to avenge the Russian land, the wounds of Ígor, the valiant son

of Svyatosláv!

XI

The Sulá no longer flows with a silvery stream by Pereyáslavl town,[81]

and the Dviná flows turbid by mighty Pólotsk, agitated by the pagans.

Izyasláv,[82] Vasílko’s son, alone made his sharp swords ring against

the Lithuanian helmets, outstripping the glory of his grandfather

Vsesláv, but himself was worsted by Lithuanian swords, and fell under

crimson shields, upon the bloodstained grass. Lying on his death-bed,

he spoke[83]: “O Prince, the birds have covered your druzhína with

their wings, and the beasts have lapped their blood.” There was not

present the brother Bryachisláv, nor the other, Vsévolod; alone he lost

the pearl soul out of his valiant body through the golden necklace. The

voices were subdued, merriment died away. The trumpets blare at Goródno.

Yarosláv and all grandchildren of Vsesláv![84] Furl your standards,

sheath your blunted swords, for you have leaped away from your

grandfather’s glory! You have with your discords invited the pagan

hosts against the Russian land, against the life of Vsesláv, for

through your strife has come the enslavement by the Pólovts land.

In the seventh age of Troyán,[85] Vsesláv cast his lot for his beloved

maiden.[86] He bestrode his horse, and galloped to the city of Kíev,

and with the thrust of the spear possessed himself of golden-throned

Kíev. He galloped hence as a grim beast to the south of Byélgorod,[87]

and disappeared in the blue mist; next morning he clanked with the

battering-ram, and opened the gates of Nóvgorod; he shattered the glory

of Yarosláv,[88] and raced as a wolf to the Nemíga from Dudútki.[89]

On the Nemíga, ricks are stacked with heads, and they flail with

tempered chains; the body is placed on the threshing-floor, and the

soul is winnowed from the body. Not with grain were sown the bloody

banks of the Nemíga, but with the bones of Russian sons.

Prince Vsesláv sat in judgment over his people, apportioned cities to

the princes, but himself raced a wolf[90] in the night, and by cockcrow

reached from Kíev to Tmútorokan, and as a wolf crossed the path of

great Khors.[91] When they rang the bell in the church of St. Sophia

for matins, early in the morning at Pólotsk, he heard the ringing in

Kíev. Though his cunning soul could pass into another body, yet he

often suffered woe. Thus wise Boyán of old has justly said: “Neither

the cunning, nor the agile, nor the swift bird can escape the judgment

of the Lord!”

Oh, the Russian land must groan as it recalls the former days and the

ancient princes! It was not possible to nail Vladímir to the hills of

Kíev[92]: now there are standards of Rúrik, and others of David....[93]

XII

Yaroslávna’s[94] voice is heard; like a cuckoo in a lonely spot she

calls plaintively in the morning: “I will fly,” she says, “like a

cuckoo along the Danube,[95] will wet my beaver sleeve in the river

Kayála, will wipe off the Prince’s bloody wounds on his manly body!”

Yaroslávna weeps in the morning at Putívl town on the wall, saying:

“O wind, mighty wind! Why, master, do you blow so strong? Why do you

on your light wings carry the Khan’s arrows against the warriors of

my beloved one? Is it not enough for you to blow on high below the

clouds, rocking the ships on the blue sea? Why, master, have you

dispersed my happiness over the grass of the steppe?”

Yaroslávna weeps in the morning at Putívl town on the wall, saying:

“O famous Dnieper, you have pierced the rocky mountains across the

country of the Pólovtses! You have rocked on your waves the boats of

Svyatosláv as far as the army of Kobák.[96] Fondly bring to me, master,

my sweetheart, that I may not in the morning send tears after him out

to sea.”

Yaroslávna weeps in the morning at Putívl town on the wall, saying:

“Bright, three times bright sun, you give warmth and joy to all! Why,

master, have you thrust your burning beams on the warriors of my

beloved one? Why have you in the waterless plain dried up their bows,

and sealed their quivers in sorrow?”

XIII

The sea is agitated at midnight: mists are borne in the darkness. God

shows to Ígor a way out of the land of the Pólovtses into the country

of Russia to his father’s golden throne. The evening twilight has

gone out. Ígor sleeps; Ígor is awake: Ígor in his thought measures

the plains from the great Don to the small Donéts. His steed is ready

at midnight. Ovlúr whistles beyond the river, gives a sign to the

Prince,--Prince Ígor will be no more!

The earth resounded, the grass rustled, the Pólovts’ tents trembled.

But Ígor raced like an ermine in the reeds, like a white duck over the

water; he jumped on a swift steed, dismounted as a light-footed wolf,

and hastened to the plain of the Donéts; and as a falcon flew through

the mist, killing geese and swans for his breakfast and dinner and

supper. When Ígor flew as a falcon, Ovlúr raced as a wolf, shaking off

the cold dew, for they had worn out their swift steeds.

The Donéts spoke: “Prince Ígor, great is your honour, and the grief to

Konchák, and joy to the Russian land!”

Ígor spoke: “O Donéts, great is your honour, having rocked the Prince

on your wave, having spread out for him the green grass on your silver

banks, having cloaked him with warm mists under green trees. You

have guarded him as a duck on the water, as a gull on the waves, as

a mallard in the air. Not thus the river Stúgna[97]: though having a

scanty stream, it has swallowed other brooks, and has spread the floods

over the bushes. To the young Prince Rostisláv the Dnieper has closed

its dark banks. Rostisláv’s mother weeps for the young Prince. The

flowers faded in their sorrow, and the trees bent in anguish to the

ground.”

It is not magpies that are in a flutter: Gza and Konchák ride in

Ígor’s track. Then the raven did not croak, the jackdaws were silent,

the magpies did not chatter, only leaped from branch to branch. The

woodpeckers indicated the road to the river by their pecking; the

nightingales announced the day by their merry song.

Said Gza to Konchák: “Since the falcon is flying to his nest, let us

shoot the fledgling[98] with our golden darts.”

Said Konchák to Gza: “Since the falcon is flying to his nest, let us

enmesh the fledgling with a fair maiden!”

And Gza spoke to Konchák: “If we enmesh him with a fair maiden, we

shall have neither the young falcon, nor the fair maiden, and the birds

will attack us in the Pólovts plain.”

XIV

Boyán has said: “Hard it is for you, O head, to be without your

shoulders; ill it is for you, O body, to be without a head.” Even so is

the Russian land without Ígor.

The sun shines in the heaven,--Prince Ígor in the land of Russia!

Maidens sing at the Danube: their voices are carried over the sea to

Kíev. Ígor rides over the Boríchev,[99] to the church of the Holy

Virgin of Pirogóshch. The country is happy, the towns rejoice; they

sing songs to the elder princes, and then to the younger. Let us sing

the glory of Ígor Svyatoslávich, of Grim Aurochs Vsévolod, Vladímir

Ígorevich! Hail, princes and druzhína, who battle for the Christians

against the pagan host! Glory to the princes and the druzhína! Amen!

FOOTNOTES:

[23] Ígor was the son of Svyatosláv Ólgovich of Nóvgorod Syéverski, and

grandson of Olég of Tmútorokan.

[24] From the references to the princes whose praise he sang, it is

evident that he lived at the end of the eleventh and the beginning of

the twelfth centuries. Nothing else is known of this famous poet.

[25] Yarosláv, the son of Vladímir, lived from 1019-1054: he was the

author of the Russian Code (see p. 45).

[26] Mstisláv, Prince of Tmútorokan, was the brother of Yarosláv (†

1036). In 1022 he killed in duel the giant Redédya, chief of the Kasógs

who dwelt between the Black and Caspian seas, and conquered their

country.

[27] Román was a brother of Ígor’s grandfather Olég; he was killed by

the Pólovtses in 1079.

[28] Vladímir the Great, father of Yarosláv.

[29] A Turkish tribe, related to the Pechenyégs, who called themselves

Cumanians. They occupied the south of Russia as far as Hungary.

[30] See account of the eclipse in the Chronicle (p. 72).

[31] Troyán is counted among the ancient Russian divinities in _The

Holy Virgin’s Descent into Hell_ (p. 97); but evidently he is also a

reminiscence of the Roman Emperor Trajan, whose ramparts and roads are

still to be traced along the Danube.

[32] The god of the flocks, _i. e._, of wealth and abundance. It is not

quite clear why the poet is called his grandson.

[33] Tributary of the Dnieper.

[34] Nóvgorod Syéverski, Ígor’s capital, in the Government of Chernígov.

[35] The appanage of Ígor’s son Vladímir, in the Government of Kursk.

[36] A bird of ill-omen; according to some, divinity of darkness.

[37] The border of the Black Sea.

[38] The Ázov Sea.

[39] The ancient Tauric Chersonese, near the modern Sebastopol.

[40] An ancient city of the Khazars, on the eastern shore of the Ázov

Sea, on the peninsula of Tamán. It became a Russian possession in the

tenth century.

[41] A frequently recurring sentence, the meaning of which seems to be:

You are lost beyond redemption!

[42] The trophies won by Ígor.

[43] Gza and Konchák, khans of the Pólovtses, were the leaders of the

expedition. See p. 77.

[44] The four suns are: Ígor, his brother Vsévolod, his son Vladímir of

Putívl, and his nephew Svyatosláv Ólgovich of Rylsk.

[45] Tributary of the Don.

[46] God of the winds.

[47] Descendants of the Avars still live between Georgia and Circassia.

[48] Her name was Ólga.

[49] Olég is the grandfather of Ígor. The poet here recalls former

encounters with the Pólovtses. Not having been able to agree with his

uncles, Izyasláv who had occupied the throne in Kíev, and Vsévolod

who had his appanage of Chernígov, Olég escaped to Román the Fair of

Tmútorokan, and decided to get his rights by means of arms. He led

three times the Pólovtses into Russia (in 1078, 1079 and 1094).

[50] That is, in the other world.

[51] Vladímir Monomákh hastened to his father’s aid. See his

_Instruction_, p. 55.

[52] Olég and his cousin, Borís, were at that time absent from

Chernígov. When they arrived and opposed themselves to the superior

force of Izyasláv, Olég advised Borís to surrender; but he would not

listen and made an attack upon his uncle’s army and was killed.

[53] Olég is called the son of “Góre,” _i. e._, woe.

[54] The Russians are sons of Dazhbóg, the god of the sun, while the

enemy are the “devil’s children.”

[55] The first day the Russians defeated the Pólovtses; the next, the

Pólovtses defeated the Russians; on the third day, which was a Sunday,

the Kovúans ran away, and at noon Ígor was made prisoner. See the

Chronicle, p. 74.

[56] Nature sympathises with the Russians.

[57] That is, far away; see note 5, p. 82.

[58] The Sea of Ázov.

[59] That is, Ígor; the Pólovtses are the birds.

[60] The Chronicle says the Pólovtses hurled the Greek fire.

[61] A silver coin.

[62] This Svyatosláv, the son of Vsévolod Ólgovich, had been the Prince

of Chernígov. He was Grand Prince of Kíev from 1174-1194. He had to

give up his throne twice, but in 1181 ascended it for the third time.

He is called Ígor’s and Vsévolod’s father by seniority, though he was

only their uncle by relationship.

[63] The Russians obtained a famous victory over the Pólovtses, of whom

7000 were taken prisoners, in 1184.

[64] A series of evil omens.

[65] Ígor and Vsévolod.

[66] Probably the son of Ígor; but he was only eleven years old during

the expedition.

[67] Descendants of the Goths who had settled along the Black Sea had

been found and described as late as the sixteenth and even seventeenth

centuries in the Crimea and in the Tamán peninsula.

[68] These Gothic girls evidently sang the exploits of Pólovts princes.

Sharokán had made an incursion into Russia in 1107, but he was defeated

and had to flee. In 1111 Sharokán returned with an immense army to

avenge his defeat.

[69] Now Rómen, in the Government of Poltáva.

[70] Vladímir of Pereyáslavl. See the Chronicle, p. 78.

[71] Vsévolod Yúrevich, Prince of Súzdal, whose father, Yúri Dolgorúki,

had been Grand Prince at Kíev.

[72] In 1183 Vsévolod made an expedition against the Bulgarians of the

Vólga; he went down the Vólga as far as Kazán, and then proceeded on

foot.

[73] That is, if Vsévolod were there, he would be so victorious against

the Pólovtses as to lower the price of Pólovts slaves.

[74] The sons of Rostisláv Mstislávich, and great-grandchildren of

Vladímir Monomákh.

[75] Yarosláv Osmomýsl († 1187) was the Prince of Gálich, which in his

days extended as far as the Prut and the Danube and included part of

Moldavia. His daughter was Ígor’s wife.

[76] Román Mstislávich († 1205), Prince of Volhynia, twice occupied the

throne in Gálich. He fought successfully against the Lithuanians and

Yatvyágans, and when he was Prince of Gálich he saved Constantinople

from the impending danger of a Pólovts and Pechenyég invasion. The

Chronicle says of him: “He rushed against the pagans like a lion, raged

like a lynx, and destroyed them like a crocodile, and crossed their

lands like an eagle, for he was as brave as an aurochs,” and “The

Pólovtses used to frighten their children with his name.”

[77] Mstisláv was probably the brother of Íngvar and Vsévolod,

mentioned below.

[78] Tributary of the Dnieper.

[79] The sons of Yarosláv Izyaslávich, Prince of Lutsk, who was Grand

Prince of Kíev in 1173.

[80] Román, Svyatosláv and Vsévolod, sons of Mstisláv,

great-grandchildren of Vladímir Monomákh.

[81] The Pólovtses divided among themselves the towns along the Sulá.

See the Chronicle, p. 77.

[82] Izyasláv’s appanage was Goródno, in the Government of Minsk, hence

farther down “The trumpets blare at Goródno.”

[83] Izyasláv addresses himself.

[84] These are opposed to the brave Izyasláv, who is also a descendant

of Vsesláv. Vsesláv Bryachislávich, Prince of Pólotsk, was, in 1064,

defeated by Izyasláv and his brothers on the Nemíga; later he was

enticed by Izyasláv to Kíev, where he was imprisoned. In 1067 Izyasláv

was driven out by the Kíevans, and Vsesláv was made Grand Prince.

Izyasláv attacked Vsesláv at Byélgorod, but the latter fled to Pólotsk.

[85] The exact meaning of the “seventh age of Troyán” is not known;

some distant time is designated.

[86] That is, for Kíev.

[87] Ten versts from Kíev.

[88] Tributary of the Svísloch, in the Government of Minsk.

[89] Near Nóvgorod.

[90] The chronicles and popular tradition make Vsesláv a werewolf and a

sorcerer.

[91] Another name for Dazhbóg, the god of the sun.

[92] That is, for ever to retain Vladímir in Kíev.

[93] Now there is discord.

[94] Evfrosíniya (Euphrosyne), daughter of Yarosláv Osmomýsl of Gálich,

Ígor’s second wife.

[95] A standing formula for rivers in general, here the Kayála.

[96] Expedition of 1184.

[97] A swampy river in the Government of Kíev. Rostisláv Vsévolodovich,

the son of Vsévolod and Anna, the daughter of a Pólovts Khan, and the

brother of Vladímir Monomákh. After an unsuccessful attack upon the

Pólovtses, he escaped from captivity by jumping into the Stúgna, but

being in heavy armour he was drowned.

[98] Vladímir, the son of Ígor, who was also taken captive. He really

married Konchák’s daughter and returned with her to Kíev in 1187.

The Holy Virgin’s Descent into Hell. (XII. century.)

In spite of the prohibition of the Church, apocryphal literature

reached Russia from Byzantium by way of Bulgaria, and not only spread

all over Russia as a possession of the people, but even crept into

ecclesiastical literature, serving frequently the same purpose as

the writings of the Church Fathers. These apocryphal productions, of

which there is a very large number, held sway over the people from the

twelfth to the seventeenth century, and even now form the background

of many popular tales and songs, especially of those of the “wandering

people” and beggars. One of the most beautiful stories of this kind is

_The Holy Virgin’s Descent into Hell_, the Russian manuscript of which

goes back to the twelfth century. Similar stories were also current

in Italy, where there were colonies of Bulgarian Manicheans, who were

most active in disseminating them. Dante was, no doubt, acquainted

with them when he wrote his _Divine Comedy_.

The Holy Virgin wished to see the torments of the souls, and She spoke

to Michael, the archistrategos: “Tell me all things that are upon

earth!” And Michael said to Her: “As you say, Blessed One: I shall

tell you all things.” And the Holy Virgin said to him: “How many

torments are there, that the Christian race is suffering?” And the

archistrategos said to Her: “Uncountable are the torments!” And the

Blessed One spoke to him: “Show me, in heaven and upon earth!”

Then the archistrategos ordered the angels to come from the south, and

Hell was opened. And She saw those that were suffering in Hell, and

there was a great number of men and women, and there was much weeping.

And the Blessed One asked the archistrategos: “Who are these?” And

the archistrategos said: “These are they who did not believe in the

Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost, but forgot God and believed in

things which God has created for our sakes; they called everything God:

the sun and the moon, the earth and water, beasts and reptiles. They

changed Troyán, Khors, Velés, Perún[100] to gods, and believed in evil

spirits. They are even now held in evil darkness, therefore they suffer

such torments.”

And She saw in another place a great darkness. Said the Holy Lady:

“What is this darkness, and who are those who dwell therein?” Spoke

the archistrategos: “Many souls dwell in this place.” Spoke the Holy

Virgin: “Let the darkness be dispersed that I may see the torment.”

And the angels who watched over the torment answered: “We have been

enjoined not to let them see light until the coming of your blessed Son

who is brighter than seven suns.” And the Holy Virgin was saddened, and

She raised Her eyes to the angels and looked at the invisible throne of

Her Father and spoke: “In the name of the Father and the Son and the

Holy Ghost! Let the darkness be taken off that I may see this torment.”

And the darkness was lifted, and seven heavens were seen, and there

dwelt there a great multitude of men and women, and there was loud

weeping and a mighty noise. When the Holy Virgin saw them, She spoke

to them, weeping tears: “What have you done, wretched and unworthy

people, and what has brought you here?” There was no voice, nor an

answer from them. And the watching angels spoke: “Wherefore do you

not speak?” And the tormented said: “Blessed One! We have not seen

light for a long time, and we cannot look up.” The Holy Virgin looking

at them wept bitterly. And the tormented, seeing Her, said: “How

is it, Holy Virgin, you have visited us? Your blessed Son came upon

earth and did not ask for us, nor Abraham the patriarch, nor Moses

the prophet, nor John the Baptist, nor Paul the apostle, the Lord’s

favourite. But you, Holy Virgin and intercessor, you are a protection

for the Christian people.”... Then spoke the Holy Virgin to Michael

the archistrategos: “What is their sin?” And Michael said: “These are

they who did not believe in the Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost,

nor in you, Holy Virgin! They did not want to proclaim your name, nor

that from you was born our Lord Jesus Christ who, having come in the

flesh, has sanctified the earth through baptism: it is for this that

they are tormented here.” Weeping again, the Holy Virgin spoke to them:

“Wherefore do you live in error? Do you not know that all creation

honours my name?” When the Holy Virgin said this, darkness fell again

upon them.

The archistrategos spoke to Her: “Whither, Blessed One, do you want to

go now? To the south, or to the north?” The Blessed One spoke: “Let us

go out to the south!” And there came the cherubim and the seraphim and

four hundred angels, and took the Holy Virgin to the south where there

was a river of fire. There was a multitude of men and women there, and

they stood in the river, some to their waists, some to their shoulders,

some to their necks and some above their heads. Seeing this, the Holy

Virgin wept aloud and asked the archistrategos: “Who are they that

are immerged up to their waists in the fire?” And the archistrategos

said to Her: “They are those who have been cursed by their fathers and

mothers,--for this the cursed ones suffer torment here.” And the Holy

Virgin said: “And those who are in the fiery flame up to their necks,

who are they?” The angel said to Her: “They are those who have eaten

human flesh,--for this they are tormented here.” And the Holy One

said: “Those who are immerged in the fiery flame above their heads,

who are they?” And the archistrategos spoke: “Those are they, Lady,

who holding the cross have sworn falsely.”... The Holy One spoke to

the archistrategos: “I beg you this one thing, let me also enter,

that I may suffer together with the Christians, for they have called

themselves the children of my Son.” And the archistrategos said: “Rest

yourself in paradise!” And the Holy One said: “I beg you, move the

hosts of the seven heavens and all the host of the angels that we may

pray for the sinners, and God may accept our prayer and have mercy upon

them. I beg you, order the angelic host to carry me to the heavenly

height and to take me before the invisible Father!”

The archistrategos so ordered, and there appeared the cherubim and

seraphim and carried the Blessed One to the heavenly height, and put

Her down at the throne of the invisible Father. She raised Her hands

to Her blessed Son and said: “Have mercy, O Master, upon the sinners,

for I have seen them, and I could not endure: let me be tormented

together with the Christians!” And there came a voice to Her and said:

“How can I have mercy upon them? I see the nails in my Son’s hands.”

And She said: “Master! I do not pray for the infidel Jews, but for the

Christians I ask Thy forgiveness!” And a voice came to Her: “I see how

they have had no mercy upon my children, so I can have no mercy upon

them.”

Spoke again the Holy One: “Have mercy, O Master, upon the sinners,--the

creation of Thine own hands, who proclaim Thy name over the whole

earth and even in their torments, and who in all places say: “Most

Holy Lady, Mother of God, aid us!” Then the Lord spoke to Her: “Hear,

Holy Mother of God! There is not a man who does not praise Thy name.

I will not abandon them, neither in heaven, nor upon earth.” And the

Holy Virgin said: “Where is Moses, the prophet? Where are all the

prophets? And you, fathers, who have never committed a sin? Where is

Paul, God’s favourite? Where is the Sunday, the pride of the Christian?

And where is the power of the worshipful cross through which Adam and

Eve were delivered from their curse?” Then Michael the archistrategos

and all the angels spoke: “Have mercy, O Master, upon the sinners!” And

Moses wept loud and said: “Have mercy upon them, O Lord! For I have

given them Thy Law!” And John wept and said: “Have mercy, O Master! I

preached Thy gospel to them.” And Paul wept and said: “Have mercy, O

Master! For I carried Thine epistles to the churches.”

And those that were in the darkness heard of this, and they all wept

with one voice and said: “Have mercy upon us, Son of God! Have mercy

upon us, King of all eternity!” And the Master said: “Hear all! I

have planted paradise, and created man according to my image, and

made him lord over paradise, and gave him eternal life. But they have

disobeyed me and sinned in their selfishness and delivered themselves

to death.... You became Christians only in words, and did not keep my

commands; for this you find yourselves now in the fire everlasting, and

I ought not to have mercy upon you! But to-day, through the goodness of

my Father who sent me to you, and through the intercession of my Mother

who wept much for you, and through Michael, the archistrategos of the

gospel, and through the multitude of my martyrs who have laboured much

in your behalf, I give you from Good Thursday to the holy Pentecost,

day and night, for a rest, and you praise the Father and the Son and

the Holy Ghost!” And they all answered: “Glory be to Thy goodness!

Glory to the Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost, now and for ever!”

FOOTNOTES:

[99] The slope of the mountain near Kíev, where to-day is the suburb of

Podól.

[100] Pagan divinities. For Troyán, see note on p. 82; Khors, the god

of the sun (_cf._ note on p. 93); Velés, the god of abundance (_cf._

note on p. 83); Perún, the god of thunder (see p. 70).

Daniel the Prisoner. (XIII. century.)

For some unknown reason Daniel had been imprisoned in an island in

the Lake of Lach, in the Government of Olónetsk. He seems to have

belonged to the druzhína of Yarosláv Vsévolodovich of Pereyáslavl,

who died in 1247 as Grand Prince of Vladímir. That is all that is

known about the life of this layman, one of the few in the old period

whose writing has come down to our times. The begging letter which he

addressed to the Prince is composed of incorrectly quoted biblical

passages and popular saws and proverbs; many of these he drew from an

ancient collection, _The Bee_, in which moral subjects are arranged

in chapters. In their turn, Daniel’s saws have largely entered into

the composition of a very popular collection of the same kind, _The

Emerald_.

LETTER TO PRINCE YAROSLÁV VSÉVOLODOVICH

We will blare forth, O brothers, on the reasoning of our mind, as on

a trumpet forged of gold. We will strike the silver organs, and will

proclaim our wisdom, and will strike the thoughts of our mind, playing

on the God-inspired reeds, that our soul-saving thoughts might weep

loud. Arise, my glory! Arise, psalter and cymbals, that I may unfold

my meaning in proverbs, and that I may announce my glory in words....

Knowing, O lord, your good disposition, I take refuge in your customary

kindness, for the Holy Writ says: Ask and you shall receive. David has

said: There is no speech nor language, where their voice is not heard.

Neither will we be silent, but will speak out to our master, the most

gracious Yarosláv Vsévolodovich.

Prince my lord! Remember me in your reign, for I, your slave, and son

of your slave, see all men warmed by your mercy as by the sun; only I

alone walk in darkness, deprived of the light from your eyes, like the

grass growing behind a wall, upon which neither the sun shineth nor the

rain falleth. So, my lord, incline your ears to the words of my lips,

and deliver me from all my sorrow.

Prince my lord! All get their fill from the abundance of your house;

but I alone thirst for your mercy, like a stag for a spring of water.

I was like a tree that stands in the road and that all passers-by

strike;--even thus I am insulted by all, for I am not protected by the

terror of your wrath, as by a firm palisade.

Prince my lord! The rich man is known everywhere, even in a strange

city, while the poor man walketh unseen in his own. The rich man

speaketh and all are silent, and his words are elated to the clouds;

but let the poor man speak out, and all will call out to him, for the

discourse of those is honoured whose garments are bright. But you, my

lord, look not at my outer garb, but consider my inner thoughts, for my

apparel is scanty, and I am young in years, but old in mind, and I have

soared in thought like an eagle in the air.

Prince my lord! Let me behold your fair face and form. Your lips drop

honey; your utterances are like paradise with its fruit; your hands

are filled with gold of Tharsos; your cheeks are a vessel of spices;

your throat is like a lily dropping myrrh--your mercy; your look is as

the choice Lebanon; your eyes are like a well of living water; your

belly is like an heap of wheat, feeding many; your head riseth above my

head....

Prince my lord! Look not at me as a wolf at a lamb; but look at me

as a mother at her babe. Look, O lord, at the birds of the air, that

neither plough, nor sow, nor gather into granaries, but rely upon

God’s kindness. Let not your hand be closed against giving alms to the

needy. For it is written: Give to him who asketh of you, open to him

who knocketh, that you may not forfeit the kingdom of heaven. For it is

also written: Confide your sorrow to the Lord, and He will nurture you

until eternity. Deprive not the needy wise man of his bread, but extol

him to the clouds, like pure gold in a dirty vessel; but the silly rich

man is like a silken pillow-case stuffed full of straw.

Prince my lord! Though I am not a valiant man in war, yet am I strong

in words, and I cull the sweetness of words, mixing them, as sea-water

in a leather bottle, and wind them and adorn them with cunning

parables, and I am glib of speech and ... my lips are pleasing, like a

stream of the river rapids.

Prince my lord! As an oak is strong by the multitude of its roots,

thus is our city under your domination. The helmsman is the head of

the vessel, and you, Prince, are the head of your people. I have seen

an army without a prince;--you might say: a big beast without its

head. Men are the heads of women, and princes--of men, and God--of the

prince. As the pillow-case that is adorned with silk makes a pleasant

appearance, even thus you, our Prince, are glorified and honoured in

many lands through the multitude of your men. As the net does not hold

the water, but keeps a multitude of fish, even thus you, our Prince,

keep not the wealth, but distribute it among the strong, making them

brave, for you will gain gold and cities through them. Hezekiah, the

King of the Jews, boasted before the messengers of the King of Babylon,

when he showed them the treasure of his gold. But they answered: “Our

kings are richer than you, not with the treasure of gold, but with a

multitude of brave and wise men.” (For men will gain gold, but gold

will not gain men.) Water is the mother of the fish, and you are Prince

of your people. Spring adorns the earth with flowers, and you, Prince,

adorn us with your mercy. The sun alone warms with its rays, and you,

Prince, adorn and revive with your mercy.

Prince my lord! I have been in great distress, and have suffered under

the yoke of work: I have experienced all that is evil. Rather would I

see my foot in bast shoes in your house than in crimson boots in the

court of a boyár. Rather would I serve you in homespun than in purple

in the court of a boyár. Improper is a golden ring in the nose of a

swine, and a good garment upon a peasant. Even if a kettle were to have

golden rings in its handles, its bottom would not escape blackness and

burning. Even thus a peasant: let him be ever so haughty and insolent,

he will not escape his blemish, the name of a peasant. Rather would I

drink water in your house, than mead in the court of a boyár; rather

would I receive a roasted sparrow from your hand than a shoulder of

mutton from the hand of a bad master.

Often has my bread, earned by work, tasted as wormwood in my mouth,

and my drink I have mingled with tears. Serving a good master, you

gain your liberty in the end, but serving a bad master, you only gain

an increase of your labour. Solomon has said: Better is one wise man

than ten brave men without understanding; better is one clever man

than ten rulers of cities. Daniel has said: A brave man, O Prince,

you will easily acquire, but a wise man is dear; for the counsel of

the wise is good, and their armies are strong, and their cities safe.

The armies of others are strong, but without understanding, and they

suffer defeat. Many, arming themselves against large cities, start out

from smaller towns; as Svyatosláv, the son of Ólga, said on his way

to Constantinople to his small druzhína: “We do not know, O brothers,

whether the city is to be taken by us, or whether we are to perish from

the city: for if God is with us, who is against us?”...

Not the sea draweth the ships, but the winds; even thus you, O Prince,

fall not yourself into grieving, but counsellors lead you into it. Not

the fire causeth the iron to be heated, but the blowing of the bellows.

A wise man is not generally valiant in war, but strong in counsel;

so it is good to gather wise men around you. It is good to pasture

horses in a fertile field (and to fight for a good prince). Often

armies perish through lack of order. If the armies are strongly placed,

they will, though they be defeated, make a good running fight; thus

Svyatopólk, who was guilty of killing his brothers, was so fortified,

that Yarosláv barely overcame him at night. Similarly Bonyák the Scurfy

through cunning routed the Hungarians at Gálich: when the latter

fortified themselves behind ramparts, the first scattered like hunting

men over the land; thus they routed the Hungarians, and badly defeated

them.

Prince my lord! I have not been brought up in Athens, nor have I

studied with the philosophers, but I have pored over books, like a

bee over all kinds of flowers: from them have I gathered sweetness of

speech, mingling wisdom with it, as sea-water in a leather bottle....

Serapión, Bishop of Vladímir. (XIII. century.)

Serapión had been abbot of the monastery of the Grottoes in Kíev, and

in 1274 he was made bishop of Vladímir and Súzdal. He died in 1275.

We have five of his sermons, which are distinguished for a certain

simple, stern eloquence. The thirteenth century produced very few

writers, and Serapión’s sermons have an additional interest because

they contain references to the Tartar invasion.

A SERMON ON OMENS

The Lord’s blessing be with you!

You have heard, brothers, what the Lord Himself has said in the gospel:

in the last years there will be signs in the sun, in the moon, and in

the stars, and earthquakes in many places, and famine. What had been

foretold by the Lord then, is now fulfilled in our days.[101] We have

seen many times the sun perished, the moon darkened, and the stars

disturbed, and lately we have seen with our own eyes the quaking of

the earth. The earth, firm and immovable from the beginning by the

order of God, is in motion to-day, trembling on account of our sins,

being unable to bear our lawlessness. We did not obey the gospel, did

not obey the apostles, nor the prophets, nor the great luminaries, I

mean Basil and Gregory the theologues, John Chrysostom, and the other

holy fathers, by whom the faith was confirmed, the heretics repelled,

and God made known to all the nations. They have taught us without

interruption, but we are living in lawlessness.

It is for this that God is punishing us with signs and earthquakes.

He does not speak with His lips, but chastises with deeds. God has

punished us with everything, but has not dispelled our evil habits:

now He shakes the earth and makes it tremble: He wants to shake off

our lawlessness and sins from the earth like leaves from a tree. If

any should say that there have been earthquakes before, I shall not

deny it. But what happened to us afterwards? Did we not have famine,

and plague, and many wars? But we did not repent, until finally there

came upon us a ruthless nation, at the instigation of God, and laid

waste our land, and took into captivity whole cities, destroyed our

holy churches, slew our fathers and brothers, violated our mothers and

sisters. Now, my brothers, having experienced that, let us pray to our

Lord, and make confession, lest we incur a greater wrath of the Lord,

and bring down upon us a greater punishment than the first.

Much is still waiting for our repentance and for our conversion. If

we turn away from corrupt and ruthless judgments, if we do away with

bloody usury and all rapacity, thefts, robbery, blasphemy, lies,

calumny, oaths, and denunciations, and other satanic deeds,--if we do

away with all that, I know well that good things will come to us in

this life and in the future life. For He Himself hath said: Turn to me,

and I will turn to you. Keep away from everything, and I will withhold

your punishment. When will we, at last, turn away from our sins? Let

us spare ourselves and our children! At what time have we seen so many

sudden deaths? Many were taken away before they could care for their

houses; many lay down well in the evening and never arose again. Have

fear, I pray you, of this sudden parting! If we wander in the will of

the Lord, God will comfort us with many a comfort, will cherish us

as His sons, will take away from us earthly sorrow, will give us a

peaceful exit into the future life, where we shall enjoy gladness, and

endless happiness with those who do the will of the Lord.

I have told you much, my brothers and children, but I see our

punishments will not be diminished, nor changed. Many take no heed, as

if they weened themselves to be immortal. I am afraid that the word

of God will come to pass with them: If I had not spoken to them, they

would not have sinned; but now they have no excuse for their sin. And

I repeat to you, if we do not change, we shall have no excuse before

the Lord. I, your sinful pastor, have done the command of God in

transmitting His word to you.

FOOTNOTES:

[101] These disturbances of nature are mentioned in the Chronicle under

the year 1230.

The Zadónshchina. (XIV. century.)

The _Zadónshchina_, _i. e._, The Exploits beyond the Don, has come

down in two versions, and is an interesting poetical account of the

battle at Kulikóvo (1380). The _Word of Ígor’s Armament_ had taken a

strong hold on the author, who seems to have been a certain Sofóniya

of Ryazán. Not only are there many parallels in the two poems, but

whole passages are bodily taken from the older text, with corruption

of some phrases, the meaning of which was not clear to the author of

the _Zadónshchina_.

THE ZADÓNSHCHINA

Let us go, O brothers, into the midnight country, the lot of

Japheth,[102] the son of Noah, from whom has risen the most glorious

Russia; let us there ascend the Kíev mountains, and look by the smooth

Dnieper over the whole Russian land, and hence to the Eastern land, the

lot of Shem, the son of Noah, from whom were born the Chinese,[103] the

pagan Tartars, the Mussulmans. They had defeated the race of Japheth

on the river Kayála.[104] And ever since, the Russian land has been

unhappy, and from the battle of the Kálka[105] up to Mamáy’s defeat

it has been covered with grief and sorrow, weeping and lamenting its

children. The Prince and the boyárs, and all the brave men who had left

all their homes, and wealth, and wives, children, and cattle, having

received honour and glory of this world, have laid down their heads for

the Russian land and the Christian faith.

Let us come together, brothers and friends, sons of Russia! Let us

join word to word! Let us make the Russian land merry, and cast sorrow

on the eastern regions that are to the lot of Shem! Let us sing about

the victory over the heathen Mamáy, and an eulogy to the Grand Prince

Dmítri Ivánovich and his brother,[106] Prince Vladímir Andréevich!...

We shall sing as things have happened, and will not race in thought,

but will mention the times of the first years; we will praise the wise

Boyán,[107] the famous musician in Kíev town. That wise Boyán put his

golden fingers on the living strings, sang the glory of the Russian

princes, to the first Prince Rúrik, Ígor Rúrikovich and Svyatosláv,

Yaropólk, Vladímir Svyatoslávich, Yarosláv Vladímirovich, praising them

with songs and melodious musical words.--But I shall mention Sofóniya

of Ryazán, and shall praise in songs and musical words the Prince

Dmítri Ivánovich and his brother, Prince Vladímir Andréevich, for their

bravery and zeal was for the Russian land and the Christian faith. For

this, Grand Prince Dmítri Ivánovich and his brother, Prince Vladímir

Andréevich, sharpened their hearts in bravery, arose in their strength,

and remembered their ancestor, Prince Vladímir of Kíev, the tsar of

Russia.

O lark, joy of beautiful days! Fly to the blue clouds, look towards

the strong city of Moscow, sing the glory of Grand Prince Dmítri

Andréevich! They have risen like falcons from the Russian land against

the fields of the Pólovtses. The horses neigh at the Moskvá; the drums

are beaten at the Kolómna; the trumpets blare at Serpukhóv; the glory

resounds over the whole Russian land. Wonderfully the standards stand

at the great Don; the embroidered flags flutter in the wind; the gilded

coats of mail glisten. The bells are tolled in the vyéche[108] of

Nóvgorod the Great. The men of Nóvgorod stand in front of St. Sophia,

and speak as follows: “We shall not get in time to the aid of Grand

Prince Dmítri Ivánovich.” Then they flew together like eagles from the

whole midnight country. They were not eagles that flew together, but

posádniks[109] that went out with 7000 men from Nóvgorod the Great to

Grand Prince Dmítri Ivánovich and to his brother Vladímir Andréevich.

All the Russian princes came to the aid of Grand Prince Dmítri

Ivánovich, and they spoke as follows: “Lord Grand Prince! Already

do the pagan Tartars encroach upon our fields, and take away our

patrimony. They stand between the Don and Dnieper, on the river

Mechá.[110] But we, lord, will go beyond the swift river Don, will gain

glory in all the lands, will be an object of conversation for the old

men, and a memory for the young.”

Thus spoke Grand Prince Dmítri Ivánovich to his brothers, the Russian

princes: “My dear brothers, Russian princes! We are of the same

descent, from Grand Prince Iván Danílovich.[111] So far we brothers

have not been insulted either by falcon, or vulture, or white

gerfalcon, or this dog, pagan Mamáy.”

Nightingale! If you could only sing the glory of these two brothers,

Ólgerd’s sons,[112] Andréy of Pólotsk and Dmítri of Bryansk, for they

were born in Lithuania on a shield of the vanguard, swaddled under

trumpets, raised under helmets, fed at the point of the spear, and

given drink with the sharp sword. Spoke Andréy to his brother Dmítri:

“We are two brothers, sons of Ólgerd, grandchildren of Gedemín,

great-grandchildren of Skoldimér. Let us mount our swift steeds, let us

drink, O brother, with our helmets the water from the swift Don, let us

try our tempered swords.”

And Dmítri spoke to him: “Brother Andréy! We will not spare our lives

for the Russian land and Christian faith, and to avenge the insult to

Grand Prince Dmítri Ivánovich. Already, O brother, there is a din and

thunder in the famous city of Moscow. But, brother, it is not a din or

thunder: it is the noise made by the mighty army of Grand Prince Dmítri

Ivánovich and his brother Prince Vladímir Andréevich; the brave fellows

thunder with their gilded helmets and crimson shields. Saddle, brother

Andréy, your good swift steeds, for mine are ready, having been saddled

before. We will ride out, brother, into the clear field, and will

review our armies, as many brave men of Lithuania as there are with

us, but there are with us of the brave men of Lithuania seven thousand

mailed soldiers.”

Already there have arisen strong winds from the sea; they have wafted

a great cloud to the mouth of the Dnieper, against the Russian land;

bloody clouds have issued from it, and blue lightnings flash through

them. There will be a mighty din and thunder between the Don and the

Dnieper, and bodies of men will fall on the field of Kulikóvo, and

blood will flow on the river Nepryádva, for the carts have already

creaked between the Don and Dnieper, and the pagan Tartars march

against the Russian land. Grey wolves howl: they wish at the river

Mechá to invade the Russian land. Those are not grey wolves: the

infidel Tartars have come; they wish to cross the country in war, and

to conquer the Russian land. The geese have cackled and the swans have

flapped their wings,--pagan Mamáy has come against the Russian land and

has brought his generals....

What is that din and thunder so early before daybreak? Prince Vladímir

Andréevich has reviewed his army and is leading it to the great Don.

And he says to his brother, Grand Prince Dmítri Ivánovich: “Slacken

not, brother, against the pagan Tartars, for the infidels are already

in the Russian land, and are taking away our patrimony!”...

The falcons and gerfalcons have swiftly flown across the Don, and have

swooped down on the many flocks of swans: the Russian princes have

attacked the Tartar might, and they strike with their steel lances

against the Tartar armour; the tempered swords thunder against the

Tartar helmets on the field of Kulikóvo, on the river Nepryádva. Black

is the earth under the hoofs, but they had sowed the field with Tartar

bones, and the earth was watered with their blood, and mighty armies

passed by and trampled down hills and fields, and the rivers, springs

and lakes were turbid. They uttered mighty cries in the Russian land

... and they vanquished the Tartar horde on the field of Kulikóvo, on

the river Nepryádva.

On that field mighty clouds encountered, and in them lightnings

frequently flashed, and terrible thunders clapped: it is the Russian

brave warriors who were engaging the pagan Tartars for the great

insult, and their mighty gilded armour glistened, and the Russian

princes thundered with their tempered swords against the Tartar

helmets....

At that time neither soldiers nor shepherds called in the field near

the Don, in the land of Ryazán, but only ravens croaked for the sake of

the bodies of the dead, so that it was a terror and a pity to hear: for

the grass was watered with blood, and the trees were bent to the ground

with sorrow, and the birds sang pitiful songs. All princesses and wives

of the boyárs and generals wept for the slain. Fedósya, the wife of

Mikúla Vasílevich,[113] and Mary, the wife of Dmítri, wept early in the

morning at Moscow, standing on the city wall, and spoke as follows:

“Don, Don, you are a swift river, and have cut through stone walls, and

flow through the land of the Pólovtses! Bring back my beloved one to

me!”...

All over the Russian land there spread joy and merriment: the Russian

glory was borne through the land, but shame and destruction came on the

pagan Tartars, evil Mussulmans.... The Grand Prince by his own bravery

and with his druzhína vanquished pagan Mamáy for the sake of the

Russian land and the Christian faith. The pagans deposited their own

arms under the Russian swords, and the trumpets were not sounded, their

voices were silent. Mamáy galloped away from his druzhína, howled like

a grey wolf, and ran away to the city of Khafest....[114]

FOOTNOTES:

[102] The Byzantine chronographers generally begin their accounts with

Noah; so does Néstor, who follows those sources.

[103] The original has a word derived from _Khin_, which seems to be

identical with “China,” and is used in general for Asiatics.

[104] See pp. 75 and 89.

[105] The battle with the Tartars at the river Kálka took place in 1224.

[106] Vladímir Andréevich was the cousin of Dmítri Donskóy, the son of

Iván II.

[107] In the text the word is _boyarin_, _i. e._, “boyár,” evidently

a corruption of Boyán, which is one of the proofs of the Zadónshchina

being a later imitation of the _Word of Ígor’s Armament_.

[108] Popular assembly of Nóvgorod.

[109] Burgomasters or governors of Nóvgorod.

[110] Tributary of the Don.

[111] Iván Kalitá, 1328-1340.

[112] These Lithuanian Princes had acknowledged the sovereignty of

Moscow.

Afanási Nikítin. (XV. century.)

Nikítin set out about 1468 for India, whence he returned in 1474. He

wrote out an account of his many adventures, which is interesting for

its sober though rather one-sided narration. It stands alone in the

old Russian literature as the writing of a layman bent on a commercial

enterprise. His _Travel to India_ has been translated by Count

Wielhorsky for the Hakluyt Society.

TRAVEL TO INDIA

I, poor sinner, brought a stallion to the land of India; with God’s

help I reached Junir all well, but it cost me a hundred roubles.

The winter began from Trinity day, and we wintered at Junir and lived

there two months; but day and night for four months there is but rain

and dirt. At this time of the year the people till the ground, sow

wheat, tuturegan (?), peas, and all sorts of vegetables. Wine is kept

in large skins (?) of Indian goats....

Horses are fed on peas; also on kichiris, boiled with sugar and oil;

early in the morning they get shishenivo. Horses are not born in

that country, but oxen and buffaloes; and these are used for riding,

conveying goods, and every other purpose.

Junir stands on a stony island; no human hand built it--God made the

town. A narrow road, which it takes a day to ascend, admitting of only

one man at a time, leads up a hill to it.

In the winter, the people put on the fata, and wear it around the

waist, on the shoulders, and on their head; but the princes and nobles

put trowsers on, a shirt and a caftan, wearing a fata on the shoulders,

another as a belt round the waist, and a third round their head.

O God, true God, merciful God, gracious God!

At Junir the Khan took away my horse, and having heard that I was no

Mahommedan, but a Russian, he said: “I will give thee the horse and a

thousand pieces of gold, if thou wilt embrace our faith, the Mahommedan

faith; and if thou wilt not embrace our Mahommedan faith, I shall keep

the horse and take a thousand pieces of gold upon thy head.” He gave

me four days to consider, and all this occurred during the fast of

the Assumption of our Lady, on the eve of our Saviour’s day (18th of

August).

And the Lord took pity upon me because of His holy festival, and did

not withdraw His mercy from me, His simple servant, and allowed me not

to perish at Junir among the infidels. On the eve of our Saviour’s day

there came a man from Khorassan, Khozaiocha Mahmet, and I implored him

to pity me. He repaired to the Khan into the town, and praying him

delivered me from being converted, and took from him my horse. Such was

the Lord’s wonderful mercy on the Saviour’s day.

Now, Christian brethren of Russia, whoever of you wishes to go to the

Indian country may leave his faith in Russia, confess Mahomet, and then

proceed to the land of Hindostan. Those Mussulman dogs have lied to me,

saying I should find plenty of our goods; but there is nothing for our

country. All goods for the land of Mussulmans, as pepper and colours,

and these are cheap.

The rulers and the nobles in the land of India are all Khorassanians.

The Hindoos walk all on foot and walk fast. They are all naked and

bare-footed, and carry a shield in one hand and a sword in the other.

Some of the servants are armed with straight bows and arrows.

Elephants are greatly used in battle. The men on foot are sent first,

the Khorassanians being mounted in full armour, man as well as horse.

Large scythes are attached to the trunks and tusks of the elephants,

and the animals are clad in ornamental plates of steel. They carry a

citadel, and in the citadel twelve men in armour with guns and arrows.

There is a place Shikhbaludin Peratyr, a bazaar Aladinand, and a fair

once a year, where people from all parts of India assemble and trade

for ten days. As many as 20,000 horses are brought there for sale

from Beder, which is 20 kors distant, and besides every description

of goods; and that fair is the best throughout the land of Hindostan.

Everything is sold or bought in memory of Shikhbaludin, whose fête

falls on the Russian festival of the Protection of the Holy Virgin (1st

October).

In that Aland (Aladinand?) there is a bird, gukuk, that flies at night

and cries gukuk, and any roof it lights upon, there the man will die;

and whoever attempts to kill it will see fire flashing from its beak.

Wild cats rove at night and catch fowls; they live in the hills and

among stones. As to monkeys, they live in the woods and have their

monkey knyaz, who is attended by a host of armed followers. When any

of them is caught they complain to their knyaz, and an army is sent

after the missing; and when they come to a town they pull down the

houses and beat the people; and their armies, it is said, are many.

They speak their own tongues and bring forth a great many children;

and when a child is unlike its father or its mother, it is thrown out

on the highroad. Thus they are often caught by the Hindoos, who teach

them every sort of handicraft, or sell them at night, that they might

not find their way home, or teach them dancing.--From _India in the

Fifteenth Century_, in the Hakluyt Society Publications, London, 1857.

FOOTNOTES:

[113] A thousand-man of the Russian army.

[114] Probably a mistake for Kaffa in the Crimea.

Apocryphal Legends about King Solomon. (XV. century.)

Among the many apocryphal stories of the Old Testament that were

current in Russia the largest number centre about King Solomon. They

are mostly derived from Byzantine sources which, in their turn,

are often based on Jewish apocryphal accounts; thus the _Story of

Kitovrás_ (evidently transformed from Centaurus) is also given in the

Talmud. Kitovrás is mentioned in Russian literature in the fourteenth

century, but the following passage is from a manuscript of the

fifteenth.

THE STORY OF KITOVRÁS

Then came Solomon’s turn to learn about Kitovrás. He found out that

his habitation was in a distant wilderness. Solomon, in his wisdom,

prepared a steel rope and a steel hoop, and on this he wrote an

incantation in the name of God. And he sent his best boyár with his

men, and ordered them to take with them wine and mead, and the fleece

of sheep. And they came to the appointed place, and behold, there were

three wells, but he was not there. By the instruction of Solomon, they

emptied the three wells, and closed the springs with the fleeces of

the sheep, and filled two of the wells with wine, and the third one

with mead, but they themselves hid themselves nearby, for they knew

that he would come to the wells to drink water. And he came, for he was

very thirsty, and he lay down to drink, but seeing the wine, he said:

“Nobody becomes wise from drinking wine.” But as he was very thirsty,

he said again: “You are the wine that gladdens the hearts of men,” and

he emptied all three wells, and lay himself down to sleep. The wine

heated him up, and he fell into a deep sleep. Then the boyár approached

him, put the hoop upon his neck, and tied the steel rope to him. When

Kitovrás awoke, he wanted to tear himself loose. But Solomon’s boyár

said to him: “The name of the Lord is upon you with a prohibition”; and

he, seeing the name of the Lord upon him, went meekly along.

His habit was not to go by the crooked road, but by the straight road;

and when he arrived in Jerusalem, they levelled the road for him, and

palaces were destroyed, for he would not go by the crooked road. They

came to the house of a widow. She wept loud, and she begged Kitovrás

with the following words: “I am a poor widow.” He turned around the

corner, without leaving the street, and he broke a rib, and said: “A

gentle word breaks bones, but a harsh word rouses anger.” As he was

led through the market-place, he heard a man say: “Is there not a shoe

that will wear seven years?” and Kitovrás laughed out loud. And he saw

another man who was telling fortunes, and he laughed; and he saw a

wedding ceremony, and he wept....

Solomon asked Kitovrás: “Wherefore did you laugh at the man that asked

for a shoe that would last seven years?” And Kitovrás answered: “As I

looked at him, I saw that he would not live seven days.” And Solomon

said: “Wherefore did you laugh at the fortune-teller?” And Kitovrás

said: “He was telling people hidden things, and he did not himself know

that a gold treasure was right under him.” And the King said: “Go and

find out!” They went, and they found that it was so. And the King said:

“Wherefore did you weep when you saw the wedding?” And he said: “I felt

sorry for the groom, for I knew he would not live another thirty days.”

And the King had the matter investigated, and he found that it was so.

Andréy Mikháylovich Kúrbski. (1528-1583.)

Kúrbski was a descendant of the Yarosláv princes who, as he was proud

of mentioning, derived their origin from the great Vladímir. At twenty

years of age he took part in an expedition against Kazán, and a few

years later he distinguished himself at the storming of that Tartar

city. Iván the Terrible personally decorated him for his valour in

these and other expeditions against the Tartars, and sent him with an

army to Livonia to operate against the Livonian order. In 1563 Kúrbski

lost an important battle against Poland. Fearing a terrible vengeance

from the cruel Tsar, not only for this defeat, but also for having

belonged to the party of Sylvester and Adáshev, he fled to Poland,

where he was received with open arms by King Sigismund. As soon as he

had reached the city of Volmar, then in the hands of the Lithuanians,

he sent his faithful servant Váska Shibánov with an epistle (here

given) to the Tsar. Iván, upon learning from Shibánov that the letter

he brought him was from the traitor Kúrbski, struck the sharp point

of his staff through the messenger’s foot and ordered him to read its

contents. Shibánov did so, without expressing any pain, though he was

bleeding profusely.

Kúrbski had belonged in Moscow to the circle of the enlightened

churchman Maksím the Greek, who believed in the importance of profane

studies. Kúrbski had acquired some knowledge of Latin and Greek, which

he perfected in his exile. In Poland he devoted himself to literary

studies, translating Chrysostom and Eusebius, and writing a series

of four epistles to Iván the Terrible, and others to other prominent

personages in Poland. His greatest merit consists in his having

written a _History of Iván the Terrible_, which is the first work in

the Russian language to deserve the name of history; for, while the

older chronicles gave accounts of events, Kúrbski subordinated them to

a general idea which runs through the whole work.

THE STORMING OF KAZÁN

If I wrote everything that took place around the city, there would be

a whole book of it. But it is worth mentioning that they used charms

against the Christian army by which they caused a great rainstorm. From

the beginning of the siege, and when the sun just began to rise, there

walked out upon the walls of the city, in our sight, now their old men,

now their women, and they began to howl satanic words, all the time

waving their garments to our army and turning around in an improper

manner. Then there arose a wind, clouds were formed, however clear the

day may have begun, and there came such a downpour of rain that all

the dry places were changed into bogs and filled with water. And this

happened only over our army, and not elsewhere, so that it did not

proceed from the condition of the atmosphere.

Seeing this, the Tsar was advised to send to Moscow for the wood from

the Saviour’s cross, which is worked into the rood that always lies

near the crown of the Tsar. With God’s aid, they reached Moscow in a

very short time, travelling by water to Nízhni Nóvgorod in swift Vyátka

boats, making the journey in three or four days, and from Nóvgorod to

Moscow by fast relays. When the rood was brought, into which is worked

the wood from the Saviour’s cross on which our Lord Jesus Christ

suffered in the flesh for men, the presbyters made a procession with

Christian ceremonies and blessed the water according to church use;

through the vivifying power of the cross, the pagan charms disappeared

from that very hour completely....

At the end of the seventh week[115] of the city’s investment, we were

ordered to prepare the next day before daybreak for a general assault.

This was to be the signal: when the powder would explode and would

demolish the wall, which had previously been undermined and under which

forty-eight barrels of powder had been placed. More than half of the

infantry was ordered to the assault, a third of the army, or a little

more, remaining in the field to guard the Tsar. We were ready early

in the morning, as we were ordered, about two hours before daybreak.

I was sent to make the assault at the lower gate, above the river

Kazán, and I had with me twelve thousand soldiers. At the four sides

of the city were placed strong and brave men, some of them with large

detachments.... The Tsar of Kazán and his senators had been informed

about all this, and they were prepared against us, as we against

them....

Then God helped us! My brother was the first to mount upon the city

wall by a ladder, and other brave soldiers were with him. Hacking and

spearing the Mussulmans about them, they climbed through the windows

of the great tower, and from the tower they rushed down to the large

city gate. The Mussulmans turned their backs on the gate and ran up the

high hill to the Tsar’s court, which was strongly fortified with a high

fence, between palaces and stone mosques. We after them to the Tsar’s

palace, even though we were burdened with our armour and many brave men

had wounds on their bodies, and very few were left to fight against

them. Our army which was left outside of the city, seeing that we were

within and that the Tartars had run away from the walls, rushed into

the city,--and the wounded that were lying on the ground jumped up, and

the dead were resurrected. And not only they, but those in the camp,

the cooks and those that had been left to watch the horses, and others

who follow with merchandise, all ran into the city, not to fight, but

to plunder: that place was indeed full of the richest booty, gold and

silver and precious stones, and it teemed with sable furs and other

costly things.

LETTER TO IVÁN THE TERRIBLE

To the Tsar, glorified by God, who had once been illustrious in

orthodoxy, but who now, through our sins, has become the adversary of

both. Those who have sense will understand how that your conscience

is corrupt even beyond what is found among the infidels.... I have

not allowed before my tongue to utter any of these things, but having

suffered the bitterest persecution from you, and from the bitterness of

my heart I shall speak to you a little.

Why, O Tsar, have you struck down the mighty in Israel? Why have you

delivered to various deaths the generals given to you by God, and why

have you spilled their victorious, saintly blood in the temples of the

Lord, at your royal banquets? Why have you stained the thresholds of

the churches with the blood of the martyrs, and why have you contrived

persecutions and death against those who have served you willingly and

have laid down their lives for you, accusing good Christians of treason

and magic and other unseemly things, and zealously endeavouring to

change light into darkness and to call bitter what is sweet?

Of what crime have they been guilty, O Tsar, and with what have they

angered you, O Christian vicar? Had they not, through their bravery,

destroyed haughty kingdoms, and made those subservient to you by whom

our forefathers had been once enslaved? Have not the strong German

cities been given to you by God, through their wise foresight? Is that

the way you have rewarded us, poor men, by destroying us altogether?

Do you, O Tsar, deem yourself to be immortal? Or are you carried away

by an unheard-of heresy and imagine that you will not have to appear

before the Supreme Judge, the godlike Jesus, who will judge the whole

world, but especially cruel tormentors? He, my Christ, who sits on

the throne of the cherubim, at the right of the Supreme Power upon

high,--will be the judge between you and me.

What evils and persecutions have I not suffered from you! And what

misery and torment have you not caused me! And what mean calumnies have

you not brought down on me! So many various miseries have befallen

me that I cannot count them all to-day: my heart is still oppressed

with sorrow on account of them. But I shall say this much: I have

been deprived of everything, and through you I am exiled from God’s

own country. I did not implore with gentle words, did not entreat you

with tearful sobs, did not, through the clergy, beg for any favour

from you, and you have repaid me good with evil, and my love with an

irreconcilable hatred.

My blood, which has been spilled for you like water, cries to my Lord

against you! God sees our hearts: I have diligently searched my mind,

have invoked the testimony of my conscience, have looked inwardly, have

rummaged, and have not found myself guilty before you in anything.

I have all the time led your army, and have brought no dishonour

upon you: by the aid of the Lord’s angel, I have obtained brilliant

victories to your glory, and never have your armies turned their backs

to the enemy, but he has always been gloriously vanquished to your

honour. And this I did not in one year, nor in two, but through a long

series of years, and with much toil and patience. I always defended

my country, and little saw of my parents, nor was I with my wife. I

was continually out on expeditions, in distant cities, against your

enemies, and suffered much want and sickness, to which my Lord Jesus

Christ is a witness. I have frequently been covered with wounds from

the hands of the barbarians, in many battles, and all my body is

covered with sores. But all this, O Tsar, is as if it had not been, and

you have shown me your relentless fury and bitter hatred which is more

fiery than a furnace.

I wanted to tell you in order all my warlike exploits that I had

performed to your honour, my Christ aiding me, but I did not do so,

as God knows them better than man can, for He gives rewards for all

this, nay even for a glass of cold water; besides, I know that you know

all that as well. Know also this, O Tsar, that you will not behold my

face again in this world before the glorious coming of Christ. Nor

imagine that I will forgive you what has happened: up to my death will

I continually cry out against you in tears to the uncreated Trinity in

which I believe, and I call to my aid the Mother of the Prince of the

Cherubim, my hope and intercessor, the Virgin Mary, and all the saints,

God’s elect, and my forefather, Prince Feódor Rostislávich, whose

body is incorrupt, having been preserved for many years, and emits an

aromatic odour from his grave and, by the grace of the Holy Ghost,

causes miraculous cures, as you, O Tsar, well know.

Do not imagine, O Tsar, in your vanity that those who have been

innocently struck down by you, and who are imprisoned and unjustly

banished by you, have all perished; do not rejoice and boast your vain

victory. Those who have been slain by you stand before the throne

of God and ask for vengeance against you; and those of us who are

imprisoned or unjustly banished from our country cry day and night to

God! Though in your pride you may boast of your evil power in this

temporal, transitory world, and invent instruments of torture against

the race of Christians, and insult and tread under foot the image of

the angel, with the approbation of your flatterers and companions of

your table and with the approbation of your boyárs who make your body

and soul to perish ... yet this my letter, which is wet with tears, I

shall order to be placed in my tomb, in order to go with you before the

judgment seat of my Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

Written in Volmir, a city of my lord, King August Sigismund, from

whom I hope favours and comfort for all my sorrows, through his royal

kindness, the Lord aiding me.

FOOTNOTES:

[115] The siege of Kazán began on August 23, and the city was taken

October 2, 1552.

Iván the Terrible. (1530-1584.)

Iván the Terrible united the qualities of a great ruler with those

of a most cruel tyrant. In his long epistles to Kúrbski he develops

a strong sarcastic vein and defends himself with specious arguments,

quoting copiously from the Bible and the Church Fathers. He denies his

cruelty, but admits the execution of traitors, who, in his case, form

an enormous category.

LETTER TO PRINCE KÚRBSKI

Our God, the Trinity, who has existed since eternity but now as Father,

Son, and Holy Ghost, has neither beginning nor end; through Him we

live and move about, through Him kings rule and the mighty write laws.

By our Lord Jesus Christ the victorious standard of God’s only Word

and the blessed Cross which has never been vanquished have been given

to Emperor Constantine, first in piety, and to all the orthodox tsars

and protectors of orthodoxy and, in so far as the Word of God has been

fulfillen, they, in eagle’s flight, have reached all the godly servants

of God’s Word, until a spark of piety has fallen upon the Russian

realm. The autocracy, by God’s will, had its origin in Grand Prince

Vladímir, who had enlightened all Russia through the holy baptism, and

the great Tsar Vladímir Monomákh, who had received memorable honours

from the Greeks, and the valiant great Tsar Alexander Névski, who had

obtained a great victory over the godless Germans, and the praiseworthy

great Tsar Dmítri, who had obtained a great victory over the Hagarites

beyond the Don, then it passed to the avenger of wrongs, our ancestor,

the great Tsar Iván, the gatherer of the Russian land from among the

ancestral possessions, and to our father of blessed memory, the great

Tsar Vasíli, until it reached us, the humble sceptre-bearer of the

Russian empire.

But we praise God for the great favour He has shown me in not

permitting my right hand to become stained by the blood of my race:

for we have not snatched the realm from anyone, but by the will of God

and the blessing of our ancestors and parents, were we born in the

realm, were brought up there and enthroned, taking, by the will of

God and the blessing of our ancestors and parents, what belonged to

us, and not seizing that which was not ours. Here follows the command

of the orthodox, truly Christian autocrat, the possessor of many

kingdoms,--our humble, Christian answer to him who was an orthodox,

true Christian and a boyár of our realm, a councillor and a general,

but now is a criminal before the blessed, vivifying cross of the Lord,

a destroyer of Christians, a servant of the enemies of Christianity,

who has departed from the divine worship of the images and has trodden

under foot all sacred commands, destroyed the holy edifices, vilified

and trampled the holy vessels and images, who unites in one person Leo

the Isaurian, Constantine Kopronymos and Leo of Armenia,--to Prince

Andréy Mikháylovich Kúrbski, who through treachery wanted to become a

ruler of Yarosláv.

Wherefore, O Prince, if you regard yourself to have piety, have you

lost your soul? What will you give in its place on the day of the

terrible judgment? Even if you should acquire the whole world, death

will reach you in the end! Why have you sold your soul for your body’s

sake? Is it because you were afraid of death at the false instigation

of your demons and influential friends and counsellors?...

Are you not ashamed before your slave Váska Shibánov, who preserved his

piety and, having attached himself to you with a kiss of the cross, did

not reject you before the Tsar and the whole people, though standing

at the gate of death, but praised you and was all too ready to die

for you? But you did not emulate his devotion: on account of a single

angry word of mine, have you lost not only your own soul, but the

souls of all your ancestors: for, by God’s will, had they been given

as servants to our grandfather, the great Tsar, and they gave their

souls to him and served him up to their death, and ordered you, their

children, to serve the children and grandchildren of our grandfather.

But you have forgotten everything and traitorously, like a dog,

have you transgressed the oath and have gone over to the enemies of

Christianity, and, not considering your wrath, you utter stupid words,

hurling, as it were, stones at the sky....

We have never spilled blood in the churches. As for the victorious,

saintly blood,--there has none appeared in our land, as far as we know.

_The thresholds of the churches_: as far as our means and intelligence

permit and our subjects are eager to serve us, the churches of the

Lord are resplendent with all kinds of adornments, and through the

gifts which we have offered since your satanic domination, not only

the thresholds and pavements, but even the antechambers shine with

ornaments, so that all the strangers may see them. We do not stain the

thresholds of the churches with any blood, and there are no martyrs of

faith with us now-a-days.... Tortures and persecutions and deaths in

many forms we have devised against no one. As to treasons and magic, it

is true, such dogs everywhere suffer capital punishment....

It had pleased God to take away our mother, the pious Tsarítsa Helen,

from the earthly kingdom to the kingdom of heaven. My brother George,

who now rests in heaven, and I were left orphans and, as we received

no care from any one, we laid our trust in the Holy Virgin, and in

the prayers of all the saints, and in the blessing of our parents.

When I was in my eighth year, our subjects acted according to their

will, for they found the empire without a ruler, and did not deign to

bestow their voluntary attention upon us, their master, but were bent

on acquiring wealth and glory, and were quarrelling with each other.

And what have they not done! How many boyárs, how many friends of our

father and generals they have killed! And they seized the farms and

villages and possessions of our uncles, and established themselves

therein. The treasure of our mother they trod under foot and pierced

with sharp sticks, and transferred it to the great treasure, but some

of it they grabbed themselves; and that was done by your grandfather

Mikháylo Tuchkóv. The Princes Vasíli and Iván Shúyski took it upon

themselves to have me in their keeping, and those who had been the

chief traitors of our father and mother they let out of prison, and

they made friends with them. Prince Vasíli Shúyski with a Judas crowd

fell in the court belonging to our uncle upon our father confessor

Fedór Mishúrin, and insulted him, and killed him; and they imprisoned

Prince Iván Fedórovich Byélski and many others in various places, and

armed themselves against the realm; they ousted metropolitan Daniel

from the metropolitan see and banished him: and thus they improved

their opportunity, and began to rule themselves.

Me and my brother George, of blessed memory, they brought up like

vagrants and children of the poorest. What have I not suffered for

want of garments and food! And all that against my will and as did

not become my extreme youth. I shall mention just one thing: once in

my childhood we were playing, and Prince Iván Vasílevich Shúyski was

sitting on a bench, leaning with his elbow against our father’s bed,

and even putting his foot upon it; he treated us not as a parent, but

as a master ... who could bear such presumption? How can I recount all

the miseries which I have suffered in my youth? Often did I dine late,

against my will. What had become of the treasure left me by my father?

They had carried everything away, under the cunning pretext that they

had to pay the boyár children from it, but, in reality, they had kept

it back from them, to their own advantage, and had not paid them off

according to their deserts; and they had also held back an immense

treasure of my grandfather and father, and made it into gold and silver

vessels, inscribing thereupon the names of their parents, as if they

had been their inheritance.... It is hardly necessary to mention what

became of the treasure of our uncles: they appropriated it all to

themselves! Then they attacked towns and villages, tortured the people

most cruelly, brought much misery upon them, and mercilessly pillaged

the possessions of the inhabitants....

When we reached the age of fifteen, we, inspired by God, undertook to

rule our own realm and, with the aid of almighty God, we ruled our

realm in peace and undisturbed, according to our will. But it happened

then that, on account of our sins, a fire having spread, by God’s will,

the royal city of Moscow was consumed. Our boyárs, the traitors whom

you call martyrs, whose names I shall purposely pass over in silence,

made use of the favourable opportunity for their mean treachery,

whispered into the ears of a stupid crowd that the mother of my mother,

Princess Anna Glínski, with all her children and household, was in

the habit of extracting men’s hearts, and that by a similar sorcery

she had put Moscow on fire, and that we knew of her doings. By the

instigation of these our traitors, a mass of insensate people, crying

in the manner of the Jews, came to the apostolic cathedral of the holy

martyr Dimítri of Selún, dragged out of it our boyár Yúri Vasílevich

Glínski, pulled him inhumanly into the cathedral of the Assumption,

and killed the innocent man in the church, opposite the metropolitan’s

place; they stained the floor of the church with his blood, dragged his

body through the front door, and exposed him on the market-place as a

criminal,--everybody knows about this murder in the church. We were

then living in the village of Vorobévo; the same traitors instigated

the populace to kill us under the pretext (and you, dog, repeat the

lie) that we were keeping from them Prince Yúri’s mother, Princess

Anna, and his brother, Prince Mikhaíl. How is one not to laugh at such

stupidity? Why should we be incendiaries in our own empire?...

You say that your blood has been spilled in wars with foreigners, and

you add, in your foolishness, that it cries to God against us. That

is ridiculous! It has been spilled by one, and it cries out against

another. If it is true that your blood has been spilled by the enemy,

then you have done your duty to your country; if you had not done so,

you would not have been a Christian but a barbarian:--but that is not

our affair. How much more ours, that has been spilled by you, cries out

to the Lord against you! Not with wounds, nor drops of blood, but with

much sweating and toiling have I been burdened by you unnecessarily and

above my strength! Your many meannesses and persecutions have caused

me, instead of blood, to shed many tears, and to utter sobs and have

anguish of my soul....

You say you want to put your letter in your grave: that shows that you

have completely renounced your Christianity! For God has ordered not to

resist evil, but you renounce the final pardon which is granted to the

ignorant; therefore it is not even proper that any mass shall be sung

after you. In our patrimony, in the country of Lifland, you name the

city of Volmir as belonging to our enemy, King Sigismund: by this you

only complete the treachery of a vicious dog!...

Written in our great Russia, in the famous, royal capital city of

Moscow, on the steps of our imperial threshold, in the year from the

creation of the world 7072, the fifth day of July.

The Domostróy. (XVI. century.)

The _Domostróy_, _i. e._, House-government, is an important document

of the sixteenth century, as it throws a light on the inner life of

the Russians in the time of Iván the Terrible. Its authorship is

ascribed in the extant manuscripts to Sylvester, the adviser of Iván

the Terrible, but it is assumed that he was only the last compiler of

various codes of conduct that were known in Russia before his day.

At least, the whole production bears the stamp of being a composite

work. Two distinct groups are discerned in it: the first has continual

references to the Tsar and the honours due him; the other deals with

a society whose chief interest is purely commercial, and appeals to

the judgment of the people, instead of to that of the Tsar. From this

the inference is drawn that the first had its origin in Moscow, the

second in Nóvgorod. The morality of the _Domostróy_ is one of external

formalism. To preserve appearances before God and men is, according to

this code, the chief aim in life.

HOW TO EDUCATE CHILDREN AND BRING THEM UP IN THE FEAR OF GOD

If God send children, sons or daughters, father and mother must take

care of these their children. Provide for them and bring them up

in good instruction. Teach them the fear of God and politeness and

propriety, and teach them some handicraft, according to the time and

age of the children: the mother instructing her daughters, and the

father his sons, as best he knows and God counsels him. Love them and

watch them and save them through fear. Teaching and instructing them

and reasoning with them, punish them. Teach your children in their

youth, and you will have a quiet old age. Look after their bodily

cleanliness, and keep them from all sin, like the apple of your eye

and your own souls. If the children transgress through the neglect

of their parents, the parents will answer for these sins on the day

of the terrible judgment. If the children are not taken care of and

transgress through lack of the parents’ instruction, or do some evil,

there will be both to the parents and children a sin before God, scorn

and ridicule before men, a loss to the house, grief to oneself, and

cost and shame from the judges. If by God-fearing, wise and sensible

people the children be brought up in the fear of God, and in good

instruction and sensible teaching, in wisdom and politeness and work

and handicraft, such children and their parents are loved by God,

blessed by the clerical vocation, and praised by good people; and when

they are of the proper age, good people will gladly and thankfully

marry off their sons, according to their possessions and the will of

God, and will give their daughters in marriage to their sons. And if

God take away one of their children, after the confession and extreme

unction, the parents bring a pure offering to God, to take up an abode

in the eternal mansion; and the child is bold to beg for God’s mercy

and forgiveness of his parents’ sins.

HOW TO TEACH CHILDREN AND SAVE THEM THROUGH FEAR

Punish your son in his youth, and he will give you a quiet old age, and

restfulness to your soul. Weaken not beating the boy, for he will not

die from your striking him with the rod, but will be in better health:

for while you strike his body, you save his soul from death. If you

love your son, punish him frequently, that you may rejoice later. Chide

your son in his childhood, and you will be glad in his manhood, and

you will boast among evil persons, and your enemies will be envious.

Bring up your child with much prohibition, and you will have peace and

blessing from him. Do not smile at him, or play with him, for though

that will diminish your grief while he is a child, it will increase

it when he is older, and you will cause much bitterness to your soul.

Give him no power in his youth, but crush his ribs while he is growing

and does not in his wilfulness obey you, lest there be an aggravation

and suffering to your soul, a loss to your house, destruction to your

property, scorn from your neighbours and ridicule from your enemies,

and cost and worriment from the authorities.

HOW CHRISTIANS ARE TO CURE DISEASES AND ALL KINDS OF AILMENTS

If God send any disease or ailment down upon a person, let him cure

himself through the grace of God, through tears, prayer, fasting,

charity to the poor, and true repentance. Let him thank the Lord

and beg His forgiveness, and show mercy and undisguised charity to

everybody. Have the clergy pray to the Lord for you, and sing the

mass. Sanctify the water with the holy crosses and holy relics and

miracle-working images, and be anointed with the holy oil. Frequent the

miracle-working and holy places, and pray there with a pure conscience.

In that way you will receive from God a cure for all your ailments. But

you must henceforth abstain from sin, and in the future do no wrong,

and keep the commands of the spiritual fathers, and do penance. Thus

you will be purified from sin, and your spiritual and bodily ailment

will be cured, and God will be gracious to you.

THE WIFE IS ALWAYS AND IN ALL THINGS TO TAKE COUNSEL WITH HER HUSBAND

In all affairs of every-day life, the wife is to take counsel with her

husband, and to ask him, if she needs anything. Let her be sure that

her husband wants her to keep company with the guests she invites, or

the people she calls upon. Let her put on the best garment, if she

receives a guest, or herself is invited somewhere to dinner. By all

means let her abstain from drinking liquor, for a drunk man is bad

enough, but a drunk woman has no place in the world. A woman ought to

talk with her lady-friends of handwork and housekeeping. She must pay

attention to any good word that is said in her own house, or in that

of her friend: how good women live, how they keep house, manage their

household, instruct their children and servants, obey their husbands,

and ask their advice in everything, and submit to them. And if there be

aught she does not know, let her politely inquire about it.... It is

good to meet such good women, not for the sake of eating and drinking

with them, but for the sake of good converse and information, for it

is profitable to listen to them. Let not a woman rail at anyone, or

gossip about others. If she should be asked something about a person,

let her answer: “I know nothing about it, and have heard nothing of it;

I do not inquire about things that do not concern me; nor do I sit in

judgment over the wives of princes, boyárs, or my neighbours.”

HOW TO INSTRUCT SERVANTS

Enjoin your servants not to talk about other people. If they have

been among strangers, and have noticed anything bad there, let them

not repeat it at home; nor should they bruit about what is going on

at home. A servant must remember what he has been sent for, and he

must not know, nor answer any other questions that are put to him. The

moment he has carried out his commission, he should return home and

report to his master in regard to the matter he has been sent for; let

him not gossip of things he has not been ordered to report, lest he

cause quarrel and coldness between the masters.

If you send your servant, or son, to tell, or do something, or buy a

thing, ask him twice: “What have I ordered you to do? What are you to

say, or do, or buy?” If he repeats to you as you have ordered him,

all is well.... If you send anywhere some eatables or liquids, send

full measures, so that they cannot lie about them. Send your wares

after having measured or weighed them, and count the money, before you

send it out. Best of all, dispatch under seal. Carefully instruct the

servant whether he is to leave the things at the house, if the master

be absent, or if he is to bring them back home....

When a servant is sent to genteel people, let him knock at the door

softly. If anyone should ask him, as he passes through the courtyard:

“What business brings you here?” let him not give him any satisfaction,

but say: “I have not been sent to you; I shall tell to him to whom I

have been sent.” Let him clean his dirty feet before the ante-chamber,

or house, or cell, wipe his nose, clear his throat, and correctly

say his prayer; and if he does not receive an “amen” in response, he

should repeat the prayer in a louder voice, twice or three times.

If he still receives no answer, he must softly knock at the door.

When he is admitted, he should bow before the holy images, give his

master’s respects, and tell his message. While doing so, let him not

put his finger in his nose, nor cough, nor clean his nose, nor clear

his throat, nor spit. If he absolutely must do so, let him step aside.

He must stand straight and not look to either side when reporting the

message; nor should he relate any matter not relevant to the message.

Having done his duty, he should forthwith return home, to report to his

master.

Songs Collected by Richard James. (1619-1620.)

Richard James, a graduate of Oxford, had been sent to Russia to look

after the spiritual welfare of the young Englishmen who were connected

with the Merchant Company. He arrived in Moscow on January 19, 1619,

and started back by the way of Arkhángelsk on August 20 of the same

year. Having been shipwrecked, he was compelled to pass the winter in

Kholmogóry, from which place he left for England the next spring. He

took with him a copy of six songs that some Russian had written out

for him: they are now deposited in the Bodleian Library. These songs

are interesting as being the oldest folksongs collected in Russia,

and as having been composed immediately after the events which they

describe.

_The Song of the Princess Kséniya Borísovna_ is given in W. R.

Morfill’s _Story of Russia_, New York and London, 1890.

INCURSION OF THE CRIMEAN TARTARS[116]

Not a mighty cloud has covered the sky,

Nor mighty thunders have thundered:

Whither travels the dog, Crimea’s tsar?--

To the mighty tsarate of Muscovy.

“To-day we will go against stone-built Moscow,

But coming back, we will take Ryazán.”

And when they were at the river Oká,

They began their white tents to pitch.

“Now think a thought with all your minds:

Who is to sit in stone-built Moscow,

And who is to sit in Vladímir,

And who is to sit in Súzdal,

And who will hold old Ryazán,

And who will sit in Zvenígorod,

And who will sit in Nóvgorod?”

There stepped forward Diví Murza, son of Ulán:

“Listen, our lord, Crimea’s tsar!

You, our lord, shall sit in stone-built Moscow,

And your son in Vladímir,

And your nephew in Súzdal,

And your relative in Zvenígorod,

And let the equerry hold old Ryazán,

But to me, O lord, grant Nóvgorod:

There, in Nóvgorod, lies my luck.”

The voice of the Lord called out from heaven:

“Listen, you dog, Crimea’s tsar!

Know you not the tsarate of Muscovy?

There are in Moscow seventy Apostles,[117]

Besides the three Sanctified;

And there is in Moscow still an orthodox Tsar.”

And you fled, you dog, Crimea’s tsar,

Not over the highways, nor the main road,

Nor following the black standard.

THE SONG OF THE PRINCESS KSÉNIYA BORÍSOVNA[118]

There weepeth a little bird,

A little white quail:

“Alas, that I so young must grieve!

They wish to burn the green oak,

To destroy my little nest,

To kill my little ones,

To catch me, quail.”

In Moscow the Princess weepeth:

“Alas that I so young must grieve!

For there comes to Moscow the traitor,

Gríshka Otrépev Rozstríga,[119]

Who wants to take me captive,

And having captured make me a nun,

To send me into the monastery.

But I do not wish to become a nun,

To go into a monastery:

I shall keep my dark cell open,

To look at the fine fellows.

O our beautiful corridors!

Who will walk over you

After our tsarian life

And after Borís Godunóv?

O our beautiful palace halls!

Who will be sitting in you

After our tsarian life

And after Borís Godunóv?”

And in Moscow the Princess weepeth,

The daughter of Borís Godunóv:

“O God, our merciful Saviour!

Wherefore is our tsardom perished,--

Is it for father’s sinning,

Or for mother’s not praying?

And you beloved palace halls!

Who will rule in you,

After our tsarian life?

Fine stuffs of drawn lace!--

Shall we wind you around the birches?

Fine gold-worked towels!

Shall we throw you into the woods?

Fine earrings of hyacinth

Shall we hang you on branches,

After our tsarian life,

After the reign of our father,

Glorious Borís Godunóv?

Wherefore comes to Moscow Rozstríga,

And wants to break down the palaces,

And to take me, princess, captive,

And to send me to Ustyúzhna Zheléznaya,

To make me, princess, a nun,

To place me behind a walled garden?

Why must I grieve,

As they take me to the dark cell,

And the abbess gives me her blessing?”

THE RETURN OF PATRIARCH FILARÉT TO MOSCOW[120]

The tsarate of Muscovy was happy

And all the holy Russian land.

Happy was the sovereign, the orthodox Tsar,

The Grand Duke Mikhaíl Fedórovich,

For he was told that his father had arrived,

His father Filarét Nikítich,

From the land of the infidel, from Lithuania.

He had brought back with him many princes and boyárs,

He had also brought the boyár of the Tsar,

Prince Mikhaíl Borísovich Sheyn.

There had come together many princes, boyárs, and dignitaries,

In the mighty tsarate of Muscovy:

They wished to meet Filarét Nikítich

Outside the famous stone-built Moscow.

’Tis not the red sun in its course,--

’Tis the orthodox Tsar that has gone out,

To meet his father dear,

Lord Filarét Nikítich.

With the Tsar went his uncle,

Iván Nikítich the boyár.--

“The Lord grant my father be well,

My father, lord Filarét Nikítich.”

They went not into the palace of the Tsar,

They went into the cathedral of the Most Holy Virgin,

To sing an honourable mass.

And he blessed his beloved child:

“God grant the orthodox Tsar be well,

Grand Duke Mikhaíl Fedórovich!

And for him to rule the tsarate of Muscovy

And the holy Russian land.

FOOTNOTES:

[116] Having destroyed almost the whole of Moscow by fire in 1572,

Devlét-Giréy made again an incursion the next year. He was so sure of

an easy victory, that the streets of Moscow, so Kúrbski tells, were

alotted in advance to the Murzas. He came with an army of 120,000 men,

and left on the field of battle 100,000.

[117] Either churches or images of the apostles; a similar

interpretation holds for the next line.

[118] She was shorn a nun by order of the False Demetrius, and was sent

to a distant monastery.

[119] _Rozstríga_ means “he who has abandoned his tonsure.”

[120] Filarét Nikítich, the father of Mikhaíl Fedórovich, returned from

his Lithuanian captivity in 1619 and was at once proclaimed Patriarch.

Yúri Krizhánich. (1617-about 1677.)

Krizhánich was a Croatian who had studied at the Croatian Seminary

at Vienna, at the university of Bologna, and at the Greek College of

St. Athanasius at Rome, where he came in contact with some Russians.

He early dreamed of a union of all the Slavic nations under the

rule of Russia, and in 1657 he went to Southern Russia, where he

began a propaganda among the Cossacks in favour of a union with that

country. Two years later he appeared in Moscow, where his Catholic

religion and his efforts at introducing a Western culture brought

him into disrepute, and he was at once banished to Siberia, where he

lived until the year 1676. He composed a large number of works on an

Universal Slavic language, on the Russian empire in the seventeenth

century, and on the union of the Churches, writing not in Russian,

but in a strange mixture of several Slavic languages, of his own

invention. In these he developed a strong Panslavism, full of hatred

of everything foreign, except foreign culture, and expressed high

hopes for Russia’s future greatness. His works are said to have been

used by Peter the Great, but they were not published until 1860.

POLITICAL REASONS FOR THE UNION OF THE CHURCHES

The sixth reason for my contention is of a political nature, and

refers to the nation’s weal. For this discord of the Churches is even

now the cause of Doroshénko’s rebellion and the Turkish invasion, and

continuation of the present war, and has from the beginning been the

cause of much evil. The Poles have an ancient adage: Aut Moscovia

Polonizat, aut Polonia Moscovizat, _i. e._, Either Moscow shall become

Polish, or Poland shall be a part of the Russian empire. It is written

in the histories of other nations, and the advisers of the Tsar know

it, that in the days of Feódor Ivánovich and later there have been

many congresses held and embassies sent for the purpose of securing

a Russian ruler for Poland and Lithuania. There is no doubt but that

Poland and Lithuania would have become possessions of the Russian

Tsars, if it were not for the division of the Churches. And there would

not have been many old and new wars, nor bloodshed, in which so many

hundreds of thousands of innocent people have perished by the sword,

and have been led into Mussulman captivity. And the Russian nation

would have long ago been far advanced in profane and political sciences

that are so necessary for all well-educated persons, and would not

be scorned and ridiculed and hated by the European nations for its

barbarism. Nor would it suffer such unbearable disgrace and losses in

war and commerce from the Germans and Crimeans, as it is suffering now.

Book knowledge and political wisdom is a leaven of the mind, and a fast

friendship with the Poles and Lithuanians would have made the Russian

nation more renowned and more feared by the surrounding peoples, and

richer in all earthly possessions.

ON KNOWLEDGE

Kings must instruct their subjects, parents their children, how to

obtain knowledge. The time has come for our nation to be instructed

in various branches, for God has in His mercy and kindness uplifted

through Russia a Slavic kingdom to glory, power and majesty, such as

for splendour has never existed before among us. We observe with other

nations that as soon as a kingdom rises to higher importance, the

sciences and arts at once begin to flourish among them. We, too, must

learn, for under the honoured rule of the Righteous Tsar and Great King

Alexis Mikháylovich we have an opportunity to wipe off the mould of

our ancient barbarism, to acquire various sciences, to adopt a better

organisation of society, and to reach a higher well-being.

ON FOREIGNERS

We are not possessed of an innate vivacity, nor praiseworthy national

characteristics, nor sincerity of heart. For people who have such

pride do not allow foreigners to command them, except by force,

whereas our nation of its own free will invites foreigners to come

to its country. Not one people under the sun has since the beginning

of the world been so abused and disgraced by foreigners as we Slavs

have been by the Germans. Our whole Slavic nation has been subject to

this kind of treatment; everywhere we have upon our shoulders Germans,

Jews, Scotchmen, Gypsies, Armenians, Greeks and merchants of other

nationalities, who suck our blood. In Russia you will see nowhere any

wealth, except in the Tsar’s treasury; everywhere there is dire, bare

poverty.

Grigóri Kotoshíkhin. (1630-1667.)

Grigóri Kotoshíkhin was a clerk, and later a scribe (_podyáchi_) in

the Department of Legations, a kind of Foreign Office. He had been

frequently employed as an ambassador in connection with various

treaties between Russia and Sweden and Poland. While at Moscow, he had

been guilty of some dishonesty to his own country by giving certain

secrets of State to the Swedish ambassador; but that was an offence

not uncommon at Moscow, where patriotism was seldom of a disinterested

character. In 1664 he was sent out with the Russian army that was

then operating against Poland. Shortly after, its two generals,

Cherkásski and Prozoróvski, were recalled, and Dolgorúki was sent in

their place. The latter tried to get Kotoshíkhin’s aid in denouncing

his two predecessors for traitorous actions, but Kotoshíkhin refused.

Fearing the wrath of Dolgorúki, he fled, first to Poland, and then,

through Prussia and Lubeck, to Sweden. He settled in Stockholm, where

he was employed in a semi-official capacity in the Foreign Office. In

a fit of intoxication he killed his host, who was the official Russian

translator of Sweden, and for this crime he was beheaded.

Kotoshíkhin had evidently formed the plan of writing about Russian

customs before his arrival in Stockholm, but he was also encouraged

by distinguished Swedish statesmen, who hoped to find important

information about Russia in his work. In his capacity of Legation

scribe Kotoshíkhin had an excellent opportunity to become intimately

acquainted with the immediate surroundings of the Tsar; but he

supplemented his knowledge by a clear insight, which he had gained

in his intercourse with other nations. There is no other work of Old

Russia that gives so detailed an account of contemporary society.

Kotoshíkhin’s work was first discovered in 1840, though several

manuscript translations in Swedish were known to be extant in various

libraries.

THE EDUCATION OF THE PRINCES

FROM CHAP. 1.

For the bringing up of the Tsarévich or Tsarévna they select from

among the women of all ranks a good, pure, sweet-tempered and healthy

woman, and that woman resides for a year in the Upper Palace, in the

apartments of the Tsarítsa. At the expiration of the year, the husband

of that woman, if she be of noble origin, is made governor of a city,

or receives some lands in perpetuity; if she be a scribe’s, or some

other serving-man’s wife, he is promoted and granted a goodly salary;

if he be a countryman, he is given a good sum, and both are freed from

the taxes and other imposts of the Tsar during their whole lives. The

Tsarévich and Tsarévna have also a chief-nurse to look after them,

a distinguished boyár’s wife,--an old widow, and a nurse and other

servants. When the Tsarévich reaches the age of five, he is put in the

keeping of a renowned boyár, a quiet and wise man, and the latter has

for a companion a man from the lower ranks; they also choose from among

the children of the boyárs a few of the same age as the Tsarévich,

to be his servants and butlers. When the time arrives to teach the

Tsarévich to read and write, they select teachers from the instructed

people, who are of a quiet disposition and not given to drinking; the

teacher of writing is chosen from among the Legation scribes; they

receive instruction in Russia in no other language, neither Latin,

Greek, German nor any other, except Russian.

The Tsaréviches and Tsarévnas have each separate apartments and

servants to look after them. No one is permitted to see the Tsarévich

before his fifteenth year, except those people who serve him, and the

boyárs and Near People[121]; but after fifteen years he is shown to all

people, as his father goes with him to church or to entertainments.

When the people find out that he has been presented, they come on

purpose from many cities to get a look at him. As the Tsaréviches, when

they are young, and the elder and younger Tsarévnas go to church, there

are borne cloth screens all around them, so that they cannot be seen;

likewise, they cannot be seen when they stand in church, except by

the clergy, for they are surrounded in church with taffeta, and there

are few people in church during that time but boyárs and Near People.

Similarly, when they travel to the monasteries to pray, their carriages

are covered with taffeta. For their winter rides, the Tsarítsa and

Tsarévnas use kaptánas, that is, sleighs in the shape of small huts

that are covered with velvet or red cloth, with doors at both sides,

with mica windows and taffeta curtains; for their summer rides they

use kolymágas that are also covered with cloth; these are entered by

steps and are made like simple carts on wheels, and not like carriages

that hang down on leather straps. These kolymágas and kaptánas have two

shafts, and are without an axle; only one horse is hitched in them,

with other horses in tandem.

PRIVATE LIFE OF THE BOYÁRS AND OF OTHER RANKS (CHAP. 13)

Boyárs and Near People live in their houses, both of stone and wood,

that are not well arranged; their wives and children live all in

separate rooms. Only a few of the greater boyárs have their own

churches in their courts; and those of the high and middle boyárs who

have no churches of their own, but who are permitted to have priests

at their houses, have the matins and vespers and other prayers said

in their own apartments, but they attend mass in any church they may

choose; they never have the mass in their own houses. The boyárs and

Near People pay their priests a yearly salary, according to agreement;

if the priests are married people, they receive a monthly allowance

of food and drink, but the widowed priests eat at the same table with

their boyárs.

On church holidays, and on other celebrations, such as name days,

birthdays and christenings, they frequently celebrate together.

It is their custom to prepare simple dishes, without seasoning, without

berries, or sugar, without pepper, ginger or other spices, and they are

little salted and without vinegar. They place on the table one dish at

a time; the other dishes are brought from the kitchen and are held in

the hands by the servants. The dishes that have little vinegar, salt

and pepper are seasoned at the table; there are in all fifty to one

hundred such dishes.

The table manners are as follows: before dinner the hosts order their

wives to come out and greet their guests. When the women come, they

place themselves in the hall, or room, where the guests are dining, at

the place of honour,[122] and the guests stand at the door; the women

greet the guests with the small salute,[123] but the guests bow to the

ground. Then the host makes a low obeisance to his guests and bids them

kiss his wife. At the request of his guests, the host kisses his wife

first; then the guests make individual bows and, stepping forward,

kiss his wife and, walking back again, bow to her once more; she makes

the small salute each time she kisses a guest. Then the hostess brings

each guest a glass of double-or treble-spiced brandy, the size of the

glass being a fourth, or a little more, of a quart. The host makes as

many low obeisances as there are guests, asking each one in particular

to partake of the brandy which his wife is offering them. By the

request of the guests, the host bids his wife to drink first, then he

drinks himself, and then the guests are served; the guests make a low

obeisance before drinking, and also after they have drunk and as they

return the glass. To those that do not drink brandy, a cup of Rumney or

Rhine wine, or some other liquor, is offered.

After this drinking the hostess makes a bow to the guests and retires

to her apartments to meet her guests, the wives of the boyárs. The

hostess and the wives of the guests never dine with the men, except

at weddings; an exception is also made when the guests are near

relatives and there are no outsiders present at the dinner. During the

dinner, the host and guests drink after every course a cup of brandy,

or Rumney or Rhine wine, and spiced and pure beer, and various kinds

of meads. When they bring the round cakes to the table, the host’s

daughters-in-law, or married daughters, or the wives of near relatives

come into the room, and the guests rise and, leaving the table, go to

the door and salute the women; then the husbands of the women salute

them, and beg the guests to kiss their wives and drink the wine they

offer. The guests comply with their request and return to the table,

while the women go back to their apartments. After dinner the host and

guests drink more freely each other’s healths, and drive home again.

The boyárs’ wives dine and drink in the same manner in their own

apartments, where there are no men present.

When a boyár or Near Man is about to marry off his son, or himself,

or a brother, or nephew, or daughter, or sister, or niece, he, having

found out where there is a marriageable girl, sends his friends, men or

women, to the father of that girl, to say that such and such a one had

sent them to inquire whether he would be willing to give his daughter

or relative to him or his relative, and what the girl’s dowry would be

in the trousseau, money, patrimony and serfs. If the person addressed

is willing to give him his daughter, or relative, he replies to the

inquiry that he intends to marry off the girl, only he has to consider

the matter with his wife and family, and that he will give a definite

answer on a certain day; but if he does not wish to give him the girl,

knowing that he is a drunkard, or fast, or has some other bad habit, he

will say at once that he will not give him the girl, or he will find

some excuse for refusing the request.

Having taken counsel with his wife and family, and having decided to

give him the girl, he makes a detailed list of her dowry, in money,

silver and other ware, dresses, patrimony and serfs, and sends it to

the people who had come to him from the prospective bridegroom, and

they, in their turn, take it to the bridegroom. Nothing is told of the

matter to the prospective bride, who remains in ignorance thereof.

The dowry of the bride appearing satisfactory, the groom sends his

people to the bride’s parents, to ask them to present the girl. The

bride’s parents reply that they are willing to show their daughter,

only not to the prospective groom, but to his father, mother, sister or

near female relative, in whom the groom may have special confidence. On

the appointed day the groom sends his mother or sister to inspect the

bride; the bride’s parents make preparations for that day, attire their

daughter in a fine garment, invite their relatives to dinner, and seat

their daughter at the table.

When the inspectress arrives, she is met with the honour due her,

and is placed at the table near the bride. Sitting at the table, the

inspectress converses with the girl on all kinds of subjects, in order

to try her mind and manner of speech, and closely watches her face,

eyes and special marks, in order to bring a correct report to the

bridegroom; having stayed a short time, she returns to the bridegroom.

If the inspectress takes no liking to the bride, having discovered

that she is silly, or homely, or has imperfect eyes, or is lame, or a

poor talker, and so reports to the groom, he gives her up, and that is

the last of it. But if the bride has found favour in the inspectress’s

eyes, and she tells the groom that the girl is good and clever, and

perfect in speech and all things, the groom sends his former friends

again to the girl’s parents, telling them that he likes their daughter,

and that he wishes to come to a parley to write the marriage contract,

in order to marry her on a certain date. The bride’s parents send word

to the groom through his trusted people that he should come to the

parley with a few of his friends in whom he has most confidence on a

certain day, in the forenoon or afternoon.

On the appointed day the groom puts on his best clothes, and drives

with his father, or near relatives, or friends whom he loves best to

the bride’s parents. Upon arrival, the bride’s parents and her near

relatives meet them with due honour, after which they go into the

house and seat themselves according to rank. Having sat a while, the

groom’s father or other relative remarks that they have come for the

good work, as he has bid them; the host answers that he is glad to

see them, and that he is ready to take up the matter. Then both sides

begin to discuss all kinds of marriage articles and to set the day

for the wedding according to how soon they can get ready for it, in a

week, a month, half a year, a year, or even more. Then they enter their

names and the bride’s name and the names of witnesses in the marriage

contract, and it is agreed that he is to take the girl on a certain

date, without fail, and that the girl is to be turned over to him on

that date, without fail; and it is provided in that contract that if

the groom does not take the girl on the appointed day, or the father

will not give him his daughter on that day, the offending party has to

pay 1000, or 5000, or 10,000 roubles, as the agreement may be. Having

stayed a while, and having eaten and drunk, they return home, without

having seen the bride, and without the bride having seen the groom; but

the mother, or married sister, or wife of some relative comes out to

present the groom with some embroidery from the bride.

If after that parley the groom finds out something prejudicial to

the bride, or someone interested in the groom tells him that she is

deaf, or mute, or maimed, or has some other bad characteristic, and

the groom does not want to take her,--and the parents of the bride

complain about it to the Patriarch that he has not taken the girl

according to the marriage articles, and does not want to take her, and

thus has dishonoured her; or the bride’s parents, having found out

about the groom that he is a drunkard, or diceplayer, or maimed, or has

done something bad, will not give him their daughter, and the groom

complains to the Patriarch,--the Patriarch institutes an inquiry, and

the fine is collected from the guilty party according to the contract,

and is given to the groom or bride, as the case may be; and then both

may marry whom they please.

But if both parties carry out their agreement, and get ready for the

wedding on the appointed day, then the groom invites to the wedding

his relatives and such other people as he likes, to be his ceremonial

guests, in the same manner as I described before about the Tsar’s

wedding[124]; on the part of the bride the guests are invited in the

same way. On the day of the wedding tables are set at the houses of

the groom and bride, and the word being given the groom that it is time

to fetch the bride, they all set out according to the ceremonial rank:

First the bread-men carry bread on a tray, then, if it be summer, the

priest with the cross rides on horseback, but in winter in a sleigh;

then follow the boyárs, the thousand-man, and the groom.

Having reached the court of the bride’s house, they enter the hall in

ceremonial order, and the bride’s father and his guests meet them with

due honour, and the order of the wedding is the same as described in

the Tsar’s wedding. When the time arrives to drive to church to perform

the marriage, the bride’smaids ask her parents to give the groom and

bride their blessing for the marriage. They bless them with words,

but before leaving bless them with a holy image, and, taking their

daughter’s hand, give her to the groom.

Then the ceremonial guests, the priest, and the groom with his bride,

whose hand he is holding, go out of the hall, and her parents and their

guests accompany them to the court; the groom places the bride in a

kolymága or kaptána, mounts a horse, or seats himself in a sleigh;

the ceremonial guests do likewise, and all drive to the church where

they are to be married. The bride’s parents and their guests return

to the hall, where they eat and drink until news is brought from the

groom; the bride is accompanied only by her own and the bridegroom’s

go-betweens. The two having been united, the whole troop drives to the

groom’s house, and news is sent to the bride’s father that they have

been propitiously married. When they arrive at the groom’s court, the

groom’s parents and their guests meet them, and the parents, or those

who are in their stead, bless them with the images, and offer them

bread and salt, and then all seat themselves at the table and begin to

eat, according to the ceremony; and then the bride is unveiled.

The next morning the groom drives out with the bride’s-maid to call

the guests, those of his and the bride’s, to dinner. When he comes to

the bride’s parents, he thanks them for their having well brought up

their daughter, and for having given her to him in perfect health;

after having made the round to all the guests, he returns home.

When all the guests have arrived, the bride offers gifts to all the

ceremonial guests. Before dinner the groom goes with all the company

to the palace to make his obeisance to the Tsar. Having arrived in the

presence of the Tsar, all make a low obeisance, and the Tsar, without

taking off his cap, asks the married couple’s health. The groom bows

to the ground, and then the Tsar congratulates those who are united

in legitimate wedlock, and blesses the married pair with images, and

he presents them with forty sables, and for their garments a bolt of

velvet, and atlas, and gold-coloured silk, and calamanco, and simple

taffeta, and a silver vessel, a pound and a half to two pounds in

weight, to each of them; but the bride is not present at the audience.

Then the Tsar offers the thousand-man, and bridegroom, and the

ceremonial guests a cup of Rumney wine, and then a pitcher of cherry

wine, and after they have emptied their wine the Tsar dismisses them.

After arriving home, they begin to eat and drink, and after the dinner

the parents and guests bless the married couple with images and make

them all kinds of presents, and after dinner the guests drive home.

On the third day, the bride and groom and the guests go to dinner to

the bride’s parents, with all their guests, and after the dinner the

bride’s parents and their guests make presents to the married couple,

and they drive home; and that is the end of the festivity.

During the time that the groom is in the presence of the Tsar, the

bride sends in her name presents to the Tsarítsa and Tsarévnas, tidies

of taffeta, worked with gold and silver and pearls; the Tsarítsa and

Tsarévnas accept these gifts, and send to inquire about the bride’s

health.

During all the wedding festivities, no women are present, and there is

no music, except blowing of horns and beating of drums.

The proceeding is the same when a widowed daughter, or sister, or

niece is married off: the ceremonial and the festivity are the same.

In the beginning of the festivity, the priest who is to marry the pair

receives from the Patriarch and the authorities a permit, with the

seal attached to it, to marry them, having first ascertained that the

bride and groom are not related by sponsorship, nor by the ties of

consanguinity in the sixth and seventh generation, nor that he is the

husband of a fourth wife, nor she the wife of a fourth husband; but if

he discover that they are related by sponsorship, and so forth, he is

not allowed to marry them. Should the priest permit such an unlawful

marriage to take place, with his knowledge or without his knowledge,

he would be discharged from his priesthood and, if he was knowingly

guilty, he has to pay a big fine, and the authorities lock him up for

a year; but the married pair is divorced, without being fined, except

the sin which they have incurred, and if they have not been previously

married three times, they may marry again.

If a widower wants to marry a maiden, the ceremonial at the wedding is

the same, but during the wreathing in church the wreath is placed on

the groom’s right shoulder, whereas the bride wears her wreath upon her

head; if a widower for the third time marries a maiden, the ceremonial

is the same, but the wreath is placed on the groom’s left shoulder,

and the bride wears hers upon her head. The same is done when a widow

marries for the second or third time. But when a widower marries for

the second or third time a widow, then there is no wreathing, and only

a prayer is said instead of the wreathing, and the wedding ceremonial

is different from the one mentioned above.

The manner of the parley, marriage and ceremonial wedding is the same

with the lower orders of the nobility as described above, and the

wedding is as sumptuous as they can afford to make it, but they do not

call upon the Tsar, except those of his retinue.

Among the merchants and peasants the parley and the ceremonial are

exactly the same, but they differ in their acts and dresses from the

nobility, each according to his means.

It sometimes happens that a father or mother has two or three

daughters, where the eldest daughter is maimed, being blind, or lame,

or deaf, or mute, while the other sisters are perfect in shape and

beauty and speech. When a man begins to sue for their daughter, and he

sends his mother, or sister, or someone else in whom he has confidence

to inspect her, the parents sometimes substitute the second or third

daughter for their maimed sister, giving her the name of the latter,

so that the inspectress, not knowing the deceit, takes a liking to the

girl and reports to the groom that she is a proper person to marry.

Then the groom, depending upon her words, has a parley with the girl’s

parents, that he is to marry her upon an appointed day, and that the

parents are to give her to him upon the appointed day, and the fine

is set so high that the guilty party is not able to pay it. When the

wedding takes place, the parents turn over to him the maimed daughter,

whose name is given in the articles of marriage, but who is not the

one the inspectresses had seen. But the groom cannot discover on the

wedding day that she is blind, or disfigured, or has some other defect,

or that she is deaf or mute, for at the wedding she is veiled and

does not say a word, nor can he know whether she is lame, because her

bride’smaids lead her under her arms.

But in that case the man who has been deceived complains to the

Patriarch and authorities, and these take the articles of marriage

and institute an inquiry among the neighbours and housefolk, each one

individually, whether the person he had married is the one indicated

by name in the marriage articles. If so, the articles are valid, and

no faith is to be put in his contention, on the ground that it was his

business to be sure whom he was going to marry. But if the neighbours

and housefolk depose that the bride is not the same as mentioned by

name in the articles, the married pair is divorced, and the parents

have to pay a large fine and damages to the groom, and besides the

father is beaten with the knout, or his punishment is even more

severe, according to the Tsar’s will.

The same punishment is meted out to the man who presents his serving

maid or a widow in place of his unmarried daughter, by giving her

another name and dressing her up so as to look like his daughter, or

when his daughter is of short stature and they place her on a high

chair in such a way that her defect is not noticeable.

When parents have maimed or old daughters, and no one wants to marry

them, they are sent to a monastery to be shorn nuns.

When a man wants to inspect the bride himself, and the parents grant

the request, knowing that she is fair and that they need not be ashamed

of her, but the groom, having taken no liking to her, decries her with

damaging and injurious words, and thus keeps other suitors away from

her,--and the bride’s parents complain to the Patriarch or authorities:

these institute an inquiry, and having found the man guilty, marry him

to the girl by force; but if he has married another girl before the

complaint has been entered, the girl’s disgrace is taken from her by an

ukase.

When a man marries off his daughter or sister, and gives her a large

dowry in serfs and patrimony, and that daughter or sister, having borne

no children, or having borne some who have all died, dies herself,--the

dowry is all taken from her husband and is turned over to those who had

married her off. But if she leaves a son or daughter, the dowry is, for

the sake of her child, not taken from her husband.

Gentle reader! Wonder not, it is nothing but the truth when I say that

nowhere in the whole world is there such deception practised with

marriageable girls as in the kingdom of Muscovy; there does not exist

there the custom, as in other countries, for the suitor to see and sue

for the bride himself.

The boyárs and Near People have in their houses 100, or 200, or 300,

or 500, or 1000 servants, male and female, according to their dignity

and possessions. These servants receive a yearly salary, if they are

married, 2, 3, 5 or 10 roubles, according to their services, and

their wearing apparel, and a monthly allowance of bread and victuals;

they live in their own rooms in the court of the boyár’s house. The

best of these married servants are sent out by the boyárs every year,

by rotation, to their estates and villages, with the order to collect

from their peasants the taxes and rents. The unmarried older servants

receive some small wages, but the younger ones receive nothing; all the

unmarried servants get their wearing apparel, hats, shirts and boots;

the older of these servants live in the farther lower apartments, and

receive their food and drink from the kitchen; on holidays they receive

two cups of brandy each. The female servants who are widows remain

living in the houses of their husbands, and they receive a yearly

wage and a monthly allowance of food; other widows and girls stay in

the rooms of the boyárs’ wives and daughters, and they receive their

wearing apparel, and their food from the boyár’s kitchen.

When these girls are grown up, the boyárs marry them, and also the

widows, to some one of their servants to whom they have taken a liking,

but sometimes by force. The wedding takes place in the boyár’s hall,

according to the rank of the marrying parties; the food and festive

dresses are furnished by the boyár. The girls are never married to any

person outside the boyár’s court, because both male and female servants

are his perpetual serfs. In the boyár’s house there is an office for

all domestic affairs, where an account is kept of income and expenses,

and all the affairs of the servants and peasants are investigated and

settled.

FOOTNOTES:

[121] A division of nobility below the boyárs.

[122] In the front corner, under the holy images.

[123] Bending as far as the girdle.

[124] “The wedding ceremony is as follows: on the Tsar’s side the

first order is the father and mother, or those who are in place of

his parents; the second order, the _travellers_,--the chief priest

with the cross, the _thousand-man_, who is a great personage in

that procession, and then the Tsar: eight boyárs. The duties of the

_travellers_ are as follows: they stay with the Tsar and Tsarítsa at

the crowning in church, and at the table occupy higher places than

the others; the _friends_ (drúzhka), whose duty it is to call the

guests to the wedding, to make speeches at the wedding in the name of

the thousand-man and Tsar, and to carry presents; the _bride’s maids_

(svákha) whose duty it is to watch the Tsarítsa, to dress her and

undress her; the _candleholder_, who holds the candle when they get

the Tsarítsa ready for the crowning; the _breadholders_, who carry the

bread on litters to and from church (these litters are covered with

gold velvet and embroidered cloth and sable furs); the _equerry_ with

his suite. The third order is the _sitting_ boyárs, twelve men and

twelve women, who sit as guests at the tables, with the Tsar’s parents,

but do not go to church with the Tsar. The fourth order is _of the

court_, who attend to the food and drink.”

Simeón Pólotski. (1629-1680.)

Simeón, whose father’s name was Emelyán Petróvski-Sitniánovich,

studied at Kíev, where the Western scholasticism had found entrance

through the Polish, and where the Orthodox Church stood in less

violent opposition to the Catholic and Protestant Churches and the

sacred and profane learning which they disseminated. Simeón took

the tonsure as a monk in Pólotsk, and developed there his early

pedagogical activity,--hence his name Pólotski. When Pólotsk was

occupied by the Poles, Simeón went to Moscow, where he attracted the

attention of Alexis Mikháylovich by his verses upon the birth of

the Tsarévich Feódor. He became the first Court poet, was employed

as instructor of Alexis, Feódor, and, later, Peter himself, and had

great influence on the education of their sister Sophia. He was also

appointed a teacher of Latin in the School of the Redeemer, where his

first pupils were scribes of the Secret Department, and where later a

new generation of men, among them Lomonósov, received their earliest

instruction in Western culture. Simeón developed an untiring activity

in literature, standing alone in his efforts to engraft an antiquated

scholasticism on the Russian orthodoxy. He was a very learned man,

but, like his spiritual peer Tredyakóvski of the next century, devoid

of poetic genius. His poetry, collected in two large works, _The

Flowery Pleasaunce_ and the _Rhythmologion_, is merely a paraphrase

of foreign models in forced rhymes and a syllabic versification which

is entirely unsuited to the Russian language. He wrote two plays,

in the manner of the old Mysteries, which were among the first to

be given at the newly established Court theatre. He translated much

from the Latin, and composed more than two hundred sermons. In spite

of the mediocrity of his literary efforts, his influence on the next

generation was great; Lomonósov received his first impulse for writing

verses from a perusal of Pólotski’s works.

ON THE BIRTH OF PETER THE GREAT

A great gladness the month of May has brought us, for the Tsarévich

Peter was born in it. But yesterday the famous Constantinople was

captured by the Turks;--to-day the most glorious salvation has

appeared. The conqueror has come, and he will avenge the insult, and

will free the ruling city. O Constantine’s city, mightily rejoice! And

you, holy church of Sophia, rejoice! An orthodox Tsarévich was born

to us to-day, a Grand Prince of Moscow, Peter Aleksyéevich: he will

endeavour to adorn you in honour, and to subdue the Moslem abomination.

And you, ruling city of Moscow, rejoice! For a great joy has taken up

its abode within you. He strengthened your stone-walls that surround

you, porphyrogenite, God-sent son of the Tsar! Peter is his name,--a

firm rock,[125] and being born to strengthen the gates he will be brave

and terrible to the enemy that opposes him. By a wondrous name a rock

of faith, an adornment and joy to the Tsar is born, and an eternal

glory to his parents.

The younger Joseph was beloved by his father, and thus is the younger

Tsarévich beloved by his father. The youngest Benjamin was loved by his

brothers; even thus the youngest Peter is beloved by his two brothers.

Peter is a rock of fortune and a precious stone, endowed by God for the

confirmation of the Church. You, planet Ares and Zeus, rejoice, for the

Tsarévich was born under your lustre! The Tsarévich was born in the

quadrant aspect, and he has come to rule in his house. He announces the

four-cornered token, as if to rule the four corners of the earth. From

God this being was given to this planet, for this planet was found to

be the best for his achievements: bravery, wealth and glory reside upon

it, to place a wreath upon the head of the Tsar.

Rejoice to-day, orthodox Tsar! A glorious son has been born to you! May

your years and the years of the Tsarítsa be many, and may you and your

children prosper, and the new-born Tsarévich, Peter Aleksyéevich, even

now glorious! May you vanquish all foreign mights, and unite all lands

and kingdoms under your rule! May God grant you to see the third and

fourth generation, and your throne for ever unshaken!

AN EVIL THOUGHT

A man found a snake stiff with cold and cast upon the path into the

snow; he took pity on it, and placed it in his bosom. When it was

revived, it began to creep, then bit the senseless man that had warmed

it. Even thus it happens to him who harbours evil thoughts: they soon

come to life, and give mortal stings to the thinker.

THE MAGNET

Iron with a magnet rubbed assumes the power of a magnet: it then

attracts needles, one after another, as long as its power lasts, which

God has placed in the ore. Even so the righteous do in this world: the

wisdom which is given them they give to others, that having been made

wise they may turn from the world, and may turn their hearts to the

living God, and may lead each other into the heavenly region prepared

by God for those who serve Him faithfully.

FOOTNOTES:

[125] That is, deriving _Peter_ from Greek πέτρα, rock.

The Story of Misery Luckless-Plight, How That Misery Luckless-Plight

Caused a Youth to Turn Monk. (XVII. or XVIII. century.)

This beautiful story was found in a manuscript collection of the

seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. It consists of two parts:

the first is an apocryphal account of the fall of man, with the

customary substitution of the grapevine for the apple-tree, in order

to inculcate abstinence from the bowl; the second part, relating the

pursuit of the young man by the demon Misery Luckless-Plight, bears

every evidence of popular origin. The dramatic element of the story,

the symbolic account of the pursuit in the shape of animals, the

parallelism of phrases, are all devices which recur in the popular

tales, from the _Word of Ígor’s Armament_ to the present time.

By the will of the Lord our God and Saviour, Jesus Christ, who

encompasses all, from the beginning of the human race.

In the beginning of this perishable world, God created heaven and

earth, God created Adam and Eve. He ordered them to live in holy

paradise, and gave them this divine command: He told them not to eat

the fruit of the grapevine, from the great tree of Eden. But the human

heart is unthinking and irresistible, and Adam and Eve were tempted.

They forgot God’s command, ate of the fruit of the grapevine, from the

great and wonderful tree, and for that great transgression of theirs

God was wroth with Adam and Eve and drove them out of the holy Edenic

paradise. He settled them upon the low earth, blessed them to grow

and multiply, and told them to appease their hunger through their own

labour from the fruits upon earth.... God gave them this commandment:

there should be marriages, for the propagation of the race of men and

for beloved children.

But the human race was evil: from the very start it was not submissive,

looked with disdain at the father’s instruction, did not obey the

mother, was untrue to the advice of friends. Then there came a weak

and wretched race that turned to reckless deeds, and began to live in

turmoil and wrong, and discarded humility of spirit. And God grew wroth

with them, and sent great calamities down upon them, and great misery,

and immeasurable shame, evil plight, fiendish visitations, a wretched

nakedness, and endless poverty and extreme want, in order to humble us,

to punish us, to lead us on the path of salvation. Such is the race of

man from its father and mother.

* * * * *

The youth had reached the age of discretion and absence of wantonness.

His father and mother loved him much, and they began to teach and

instruct him, to prepare him for good deeds:

“Dear child of ours, listen to your parents’ words of instruction,

listen to their saws, the good and cunning and wise, and you will

not be in want, you will not be in great poverty. Go not, child,

to feasts and celebrations; do not seat yourself on a high place;

drink not two beakers at once; be not tempted by good, fair maidens,

fathers’ daughters. Lie not down in the wilderness. Fear not the wise

man, fear the fool, lest the fools lay hands on you and take off your

costly garments, and cause you great shame and aggravation, and expose

you to the scorn and empty prattle of men. Go not, my child, to the

dice-players and innkeepers, and keep no company with the frequenters

of the tavern. Make no friends with the foolish and simple. Steal not,

rob not, nor deceive, nor tell a lie, nor do wrong. Be not tempted by

gold and silver; collect not unrighteous wealth. Be not a witness to

false swearing, and think no evil of father and mother, or any other

man,--that God may protect you from all evil. Dishonour not, child, the

rich and the poor, but regard them all alike. Keep company with the

wise and sensible, and make friends with friends you may rely upon, who

will not deliver you to evil.”

The youth was then young and foolish, not in his full senses and

imperfect in mind: he was ashamed to submit to his father and bow

before his mother, but wanted to live as he listed. If the youth earned

fifty roubles, he found easily fifty friends, and his honour flowed

like a river: the youth gained many friends for himself, and they

accounted themselves of his race.

And the youth had a trusted friend: he named himself his plighted

brother, and he tempted him with tempting words; he called him to the

tavern yard, led him into the hall of the inn, brought him a cup of

green wine, handed him a beaker of heady beer, and spoke to him the

following words:

“Drink, plighted brother of mine, to your joy, and happiness, and

health. Empty the cup of green wine, and follow it by a glass of sweet

mead. And if you drink, brother, until you be drunk, lie down to sleep

where you have drunk,--depend upon me, your plighted brother. I shall

sit down and keep watch over you: at your head, dear friend, I shall

place a beaker of sweet Ishem wine, by your side I shall place green

wine, and near you I shall place heady beer. I shall watch well over

you, dear friend, and shall take you back to your father and mother.”

At that time the youth depended on his plighted brother; he did not

wish to disobey him. He settled himself near the heady drinks, and

emptied a cup of green wine, followed it by a glass of sweet mead, and

he drank also the heady beer. He drank until he lost his senses, and

where he had drunk, there he fell asleep: he depended upon his plighted

brother.

The day was inclining towards night, and the sun was in the west,

when the youth awoke from his sleep. The youth looked all around him:

all the costly garments had been taken away from him, his shoes and

stockings were all gone, his shirt even was taken from him, and all his

property was stolen. A brick was lying under his unruly head; he was

covered with a tavern sackcloth, and at his feet lay ragged sandals;

at his head his dear friend was no more. And the youth stood up on his

bare feet, and began to clothe himself: he put on the ragged sandals,

covered himself with the tavern sackcloth, covered his white body, and

washed his white face. Sorrow entered the youth’s heart, and he spoke

the following words:

“Though God has granted me a good life, I have now nothing to eat or

drink! Since my money is gone, even the last half-farthing, I have not

a friend, not even half a friend. They no longer account themselves of

my race, all my friends have disappeared!”

The youth felt ashamed to show himself before father and mother, and

his race and family, and to his former friends. He went into a strange,

distant, unknown land. He found a court, a town in size, and a house

in that court, a palace in height. In that house was given a splendid

feast: the guests drank, ate and made merry. The youth came to the

splendid feast, made the sign of the cross over his white face, bowed

before the wonderful images, made his obeisance to the good people on

all four sides. And when the good people saw the youth, how well he

made the sign of the cross, how he acted according to the written rule,

they took him by the hands, seated him at the oaken table, not in a

great place, nor in a small, they seated him in a middle place, where

the younger guests are seated. And the feast was a merry one, and all

the guests at the feast were drunk and merry and boastful; but the

youth sat, not merry at all, gloomy, sorrowful, joyless, and neither

ate, nor drank, nor made merry, nor boasted of anything at the feast.

Said the good people to the youth:

“Wherefore, O good youth, do you sit, not merry at the feast, gloomy,

sorrowful, joyless; you neither drink, nor make merry, nor boast of

anything at the feast? Or has the cup of green wine not reached you,

or is not your seat according to your father’s worth? Or have small

children insulted you? Or foolish and unwise people made light of you,

youth? Or are our children not kind to you?”

But the good youth remained sitting and said:

“Gentlemen and good people! I will tell you of my great misfortune, of

my disobedience to my parents, of my drinking at the inn the cup of

mead, the tempting drinking of heady wine. When I took to drinking the

heady wine, I disobeyed both father and mother: their blessing departed

from me; the Lord grew wroth with me, and to my poverty were added many

great and incurable sorrows and sadness without comfort, want, and

misery, and extreme wretchedness. Want has tamed my flowery speech;

sadness has dried up my white body. For this my heart is not merry,

and my white face is sad, and my eyes dim. I have lost my paternal

honour, and my youthful valour has left me. Gentlemen and good people!

Tell me and teach me how to live in a strange land, among strange

people, and how to find dear friends!”

Said the good people to the youth:

“You are a sensible youth! Be not haughty in a strange land: submit

to friend and foe, bow to old and young, tell not of the affairs

of others, neither what you hear, nor see. Flatter not friends nor

enemies; have no tortuous fits, nor bend as a cunning snake; be

humble before all, but withal keep to truth and right,--and you will

have great honour and glory. When people will find you out, they

will respect and honour you for your great truth, your humility and

wisdom;--and you will have dear friends, who will call themselves your

plighted brothers.”

And the youth went hence into a strange land, and began to live wisely,

and through his great wisdom acquired greater wealth than before. He

looked out for a bride according to custom, for he wished to marry.

The youth prepared a splendid feast, according to his father’s worth

and as best he knew, and invited the honoured guests and friends. But

through his own sin, by God’s will and the devil’s temptation, he

boasted before his honoured guests and friends and plighted brothers. A

boastful word is always rotten, and self-praise brings the destruction

of man: “I, the youth, have gained more possessions than ever!”

Misery Luckless-Plight heard the young man’s boasting, and spoke the

following words:

“Young man, boast not of your fortune, praise not your wealth! I,

Misery, have known people who were wiser and richer than you, but I,

Misery, have outwitted them. When a great misfortune befell them,

they struggled with me unto their death; they were worsted by their

luckless plight,--could not get away from me, Misery, until they

took their abode in the grave, and I covered them for ever with the

earth. Only then they were rid of nakedness, and I, Misery, left

them, though luckless plight remained upon their grave!” And again it

cawed ominously: “I, Misery, attached myself to others, for I, Misery

Luckless-Plight, cannot live empty-handed: I, Misery, wish to live

among people, from whom I cannot be driven away with a whip; but my

chief seat and paternal home is among the carousers!”

Spoke grey Misery the miserable:

“How am I to get at the youth?” and evil Misery devised cunningly to

appear to the youth in his dream:

“Young man, renounce your beloved bride, for you will be poisoned by

your bride; you will be strangled by that woman; you will be killed

for your gold and silver! Go, young man, to the Tsar’s tavern: save

nothing, but spend all your wealth in drink; doff your costly dress,

put on the tavern sackcloth. In the tavern Misery will remain, and evil

Luckless-Plight will stay,--for Misery will not gallop after a naked

one, nor will anyone annoy a naked man, nor has assault any terrors for

a bare-footed man.”

The young man did not believe his dream, but evil Misery again devised

a plan, and stuck once more to the youth for a new luckless plight:

“Are you not, youth, acquainted with immeasurable nakedness, and its

great lightness and inexpensiveness? What you buy for yourself is money

spent, but you are a brave fellow, and can live without expense! They

do not beat, nor torture naked people, nor drive them out of paradise,

nor drag them down from the other world; nor will anyone annoy a naked

man, nor has assault any terrors for a naked man!”

The young man believed that dream: he went and spent all his wealth in

drink; he doffed his costly dress, put on the tavern sackcloth, covered

his white body. The youth felt ashamed to show himself to his dear

friends. He went into a strange, distant, unknown land. On his way he

came to a swift river. On the other side were the ferrymen, and they

asked for money to ferry him across; but the youth had none to give,

and without money they would not take him across. The youth sat a whole

day, until evening, and all that day the youth had nothing to eat, not

even half a piece of bread. The young man arose on his swift feet, and

standing he fell to grieving, and he spoke the following words:

“Woe to me, miserable Luckless-Plight! It has overtaken me, young

man, has starved me, young man, with a hungry death. Three unlucky

days have I passed, for I, young man, have not eaten half a piece of

bread! I, young man, will jump into the swift river: swallow my body,

swift river! And eat, O fish, my white body! And that will be better

than my shameful life, for I have fallen into the hands of Misery

Luckless-Plight.”

At that hour Misery leaped from behind a rock near the swift river:

Misery was bare-footed and naked, and there was not a thread upon it,

and it was girded with a bast thong, and it called out with a mighty

voice:

“Wait, young man, you will not escape from me, Misery! Jump not into

the swift river, nor be in your misery doleful! Though you live in

misery, you need not be doleful, but let your dolefulness die in

misery! Remember, young man, your former life: how your father spoke to

you, and your mother instructed you! Why did you not then obey them?

You would not submit to them, and were ashamed to bow to them, but

wanted to live as you listed! But he who will not listen to the good

teaching of his parents will learn from me, Misery Luckless-Plight!”

Luckless-Plight spoke the following words:

“Submit to me, impure Misery; bow before me, Misery, to the damp earth,

for there is no one wiser in the whole world than I, Misery; and you

will be ferried across the swift river, and the good people will give

you to eat and drink.”

The young man saw his inevitable calamity, and he submitted to impure

Misery, bowed before Misery to the damp earth!

The good fellow went ahead with a light step over the beautiful fair

bank, over the yellow sand. He went happy, not at all doleful, for

he had appeased Misery Luckless-Plight. And as he went, he thought a

thought: Since I have nothing, I need not worry about anything! And as

the youth was not sorrowful, he started a fair song, a mighty, sensible

song it was:

“Sorrowless mother has borne me; with a comb she combed my little

locks, dressed me in costly garments, and stepping aside shaded her

eyes and looked at me: ‘Does my child look well in costly garments? In

costly garments my child is a priceless child!’ Thus my mother always

spoke of me! And then I learned and know it well that a scarlet gown

cannot be made without a master, nor a child be comforted without a

mother, nor a drunkard ever become rich, nor a dice-player be in good

renown; and I was taught by my parents to be a well-dressed boy, who

was born devoid of everything.”

The ferrymen heard the good fellow’s song, took the young man across

the swift river, and took nothing from him for the ferrying. The good

people gave him to drink and to eat, took off his tavern sackcloth,

gave him peasant’s clothes, and spoke to him:

“You are a good fellow, so go to your home, to your beloved, respected

parents, to your father and mother dear, greet your parents, father and

mother, and receive from them the parental blessing!”

From there the youth went to his home. When he was in the open field,

evil Misery had gone before him; it met the youth in the open field,

and began to caw above the youth, like an ill-omened crow above a

falcon. Misery spoke the following words:

“Wait! you have not gone away from me, good fellow! Not merely for a

time have I, Misery Luckless-Plight, attached myself to you; I shall

labour with you to your very death! And not I, Misery, alone, but all

my family, and there is a goodly race of them: we are all gentle and

insinuating, and he who joins our family will end his days among us!

Such is the fate that awaits you with us. Even if you were to be a bird

of the air, or if you went into the blue sea as a fish, I would follow

you at your right hand.”

The youth flew as a clear falcon, and Misery after him as a white

gerfalcon; the youth flew as a steel-blue dove, and Misery after him as

a grey hawk; the youth went into the field as a grey wolf, and Misery

after him with hounds; the youth became the steppe-grass in the field,

and Misery came with a sharp scythe, and Luckless-Plight railed at him:

“You, little grass, will be cut down; you, little grass, will lie on

the ground, and the boisterous winds will scatter you!”

The youth went as a fish into the sea, and Misery after him with

close-meshed nets, and Misery Luckless-Plight railed at him:

“You, little fish, will be caught at the shore, and you will be eaten

up and die a useless death!”

The youth went on foot along the road, and Misery at his right hand. It

taught the youth to live as a rich man, by killing and robbing, so that

they might hang the young man for it, or might put him with a stone in

the water. The youth bethought himself of the road of salvation, and

at once the youth went to a monastery to be shorn a monk, and Misery

stopped at the holy gates,--no longer clung to the youth.

And this is the end of the story: Lord, preserve us from eternal

torment, and give us, O Lord, the light of paradise! For ever and ever,

amen!

THE FOLKLORE

Epic Songs.

The first collection of epic songs was published in 1804, based on

the collection made some years before by the Siberian Cossack Kirshá

Danílov. Since the fifties of the eighteenth century large numbers

of these songs have been gathered in the extreme north-east, by

Kiryéevski, Rýbnikov, Gílferding, and others. They are generally

divided into the cycle of Kíev, with Vladímir and his druzhína,

who defend the country against external enemies, and the cycle of

Nóvgorod, in which is described the wealth and luxury of the once

famous commercial emporium. There is also a division into the older

heroes, of which Volkh Vseslávevich is one, and the younger heroes, of

which Ilyá of Múrom is the most noted.

Good accounts of the epic songs may be found in most of the general

works on Russian literature mentioned in the Preface. The only work

which gives a large number of these epics, with notes, is _The Epic

Songs of Russia_, by Isabel Florence Hapgood, with an introductory

note by Prof. Francis J. Child, New York, 1886.

VOLKH VSESLÁVEVICH

In the heavens the bright moon did shine,

But in Kíev a mighty hero was born,

The young hero Volkh Vseslávevich:

The damp earth trembled,

Trembled the famous Indian realm,

And the blue sea also trembled

On account of the birth of the hero,

The young Volkh Vseslávevich:

The fish went into the depth of the sea,

The birds flew high into the clouds,

The aurochses and stags went beyond the mountains,

The hares and foxes into the woods,

The wolves and bears into the pine-forests,

The sables and martens upon the isles.

Volkh was old an hour and a half,

And Volkh spoke, like peals of thunder:

“Hail to thee, lady mother,

Young Márfa Vseslávevna!

Swathe me not in swaddling-clothes of bast,

Gird me not with bands of silk,--

Swathe me, my dear mother,

In strong mail of tempered steel;

On my grim head place a helmet of gold,

Into my right hand put a club,

A heavy club of lead,

In weight that club of thirty puds.”

Volkh was seven years old:

His mother gave him to be instructed;

As soon as he had learned to read,

She put him down to write with pen,

And he learned swiftly how to write.

When Volkh was ten years old:

Then Volkh learned all cunning arts:

The first of these cunning arts was

To change himself into a falcon clear;

The second cunning art that Volkh had learned

Was to change himself into a grey wolf;

The third cunning art that Volkh had learned

Was to change himself into a dun aurochs with horns of gold.

When Volkh was twelve years old,

He began to collect a druzhína for himself.

He got together a druzhína within three years,

His druzhína was seven thousand strong.

Volkh himself was fifteen years old,

And all his druzhína were fifteen years old.

All that famous host started out

For the capital, for Kíev town:

The Tsar of India was arming himself,

He was boasting and bragging to all

That he would take Kíev town by assault,

Would let God’s churches go up in smoke,

Would destroy the worshipful monasteries.

As soon as Volkh had found that out,

He started out with his druzhína brave

For the famous kingdom of India,

With his druzhína he at once started out.

The druzhína sleeps, but Volkh sleeps not:

He turns himself into a grey wolf,

Runs, races over dark forests and wolds,

And strikes down the antlered beasts;

Nor does he give quarter to wolf or bear,

And sables and panthers are his favourite morsel,

Nor does he disdain hares and foxes.

Volkh gave his brave druzhína to eat and drink,

Gave apparel and footwear to his valiant men:

His men all wore black sable furs,

And other coats of panthers.

The druzhína sleeps, but Volkh sleeps not:

He turns himself into a clear falcon,

And flies far away, beyond the blue sea,

And strikes down the geese, the white swans,

Nor does he give quarter to the grey-white ducks;

And he gave his druzhína to eat and drink:

And his viands were of many a kind,

Of many a kind, and sweetmeats too.

ILYÁ OF MÚROM AND NIGHTINGALE THE ROBBER

Young Ilyá of Múrom, Iván’s son, went to matins on Easter morn. And as

he stood there in the church, he vowed a great vow: “To sing a high

mass that same Easter day in Kíev town, and go thither by the straight

way.” And yet another vow he took: “As he fared to that royal town by

the straight way, not to stain his hand with blood, nor yet his sharp

sword with the blood of the accursed Tartars.”

His third vow he swore upon his mace of steel: “That though he should

go the straight way, he would not shoot his fiery darts.”

Then he departed from the cathedral church, entered the spacious

courtyard and began to saddle good Cloudfall, his shaggy bay steed,

to arm himself and prepare for his journey to the famous town of

Kíev, to the worshipful feast and the Fair Sun Prince Vladímir of

royal Kíev. Good Cloudfall’s mane was three ells in length, his tail

three fathoms, and his hair of three colours. Ilyá put on him first

the plaited bridle, next twelve saddle-cloths, twelve felts, and upon

them a metal-bound Circassian saddle. The silken girths were twelve in

number--not for youthful vanity but for heroic strength; the stirrups

were of damascened steel from beyond the seas, the buckles of bronze

which rusteth not, weareth not, the silk from Samarcand which chafeth

not, teareth not.

They saw the good youth as he mounted,--as he rode they saw him not; so

swift was his flight there seemed but a smoke-wreath on the open plain,

as when wild winds of winter whirl about the snow. Good Cloudfall

skimmed over the grass and above the waters; high over the standing

trees he soared, the primeval oaks, yet lower than the drifting clouds.

From mountain to mountain he sprang, from hill to hill he galloped;

little rivers and lakes dropped between his feet; where his hoofs fell,

founts of water gushed forth; in the open plain smoke eddied and rose

aloft in a pillar. At each leap Cloudfall compassed a verst and a half.

In the open steppe young Ilyá hewed down a forest, and raised a godly

cross, and wrote thereon:

“Ilyá of Múrom, the Old Cossack, rideth to royal Kíev town on his first

heroic quest.”

When he drew near to Chernígov, there stood a great host of

Tartars,--three Tsaréviches, each with forty thousand men. The cloud

of steam from the horses was so great that the fair red sun was not

yet seen by day, nor the bright moon by night. The grey hare could not

course, nor the clear falcon fly about that host, so vast was it.

When Ilyá saw that, he dismounted; flying down before good Cloudfall’s

right foot, he entreated him:

“Help me, my shaggy bay!” So Cloudfall soared like a falcon clear, and

Ilyá plucked up a damp, ringbarked oak from the damp earth, from amid

the stones and roots, and bound it to his left stirrup, grasped another

in his right hand, and began to brandish it: “Every man may take a

vow,” quoth he, “but not every man can fulfill it.”

Where he waved the damp oak a street appeared; where he drew it back, a

lane. Great as was the number that he slew, yet twice that number did

his good steed trample under foot. Not one was spared to continue their

race.

The gates of Chernígov were strongly barred, a great watch was kept,

and the stout and mighty hero stood in counsel. Therefore Ilyá flew on

his good steed over the city wall (the height of the wall was twelve

fathoms) and entered the church where all the people were assembled,

praying God, repenting and receiving the sacrament against sure and

approaching death. Ilyá crossed himself as prescribed, did reverence as

enjoined, and cried:

“Hail, ye merchants of Chernígov, warrior maidens, and mighty heroes

all! Why repent ye now and receive the sacrament? Why do ye bid

farewell thus to the white world?”

Then they told him how they were deceived by the accursed Tartars, and

Ilyá said: “Go ye upon the famous wall of your city, and look towards

the open plain.”

They did as he commanded, and lo! where had stood the many, very many

foreign standards, like a dark, dry forest, the accursed Tartars were

now cut down and heaped up like a field of grain which hath been reaped.

Then the men of Chernígov did slowly reverence to the good youth, and

besought him that he would reveal his name and abide in Chernígov to

serve them as their Tsar, King, Voevóda,--what he would; and that he

would likewise accept at their hand a bowl of pure red gold, a bowl of

fair silver and one of fine seed pearls.

“These I will not take,” Ilyá made answer, “though I have earned them:

neither will I dwell with you either as Tsar or peasant. Live ye as of

old, my brothers, and show me the straight road to Kíev town.”

Then they told him: “By the straight road it is five hundred versts,

and by the way about, a thousand. Yet take not the straight road, for

therein lie three great barriers: the grey wolf trotteth not that way,

the black raven flieth not overhead. The first barrier is a lofty

mountain; the second is the Smoródina River, six versts in width,

and the Black Morass; and beside that river, the third barrier is

Nightingale the Robber.

“He hath built his nest on seven oaks, that magic bird. When he

whistleth like a nightingale, the dark forest boweth to the earth, the

green leaves wither, horse and rider fall as dead. For that cause the

road is lost, and no man hath travelled it for thirty years.”

When Ilyá, the Old Cossack, heard that, he mounted his good steed, and

rode forthwith that way. When he came to the lofty mountain, his good

steed rose from the damp earth, and soared as a bright falcon over them

and the tall, dreaming forest. When he came to the Black Morass, he

plucked the great oaks with one hand, and flung them across the shaking

bog for thirty versts, while he led good Cloudfall with the other. When

he came to Mother Smoródina, he beat his steed’s fat sides, so that the

horse cleared the river at a bound.

There sat Nightingale the Robber (surnamed the Magic Bird), and thrust

his turbulent head out from his nest upon the seven oaks; sparks and

flame poured from his mouth and nostrils. Then he began to pipe like

a nightingale, to roar like an aurochs, and to hiss like a dragon.

Thereat good Cloudfall, that heroic steed, fell upon his knees, and

Ilyá began to beat him upon his flanks and between his ears.

“Thou wolf’s food!” cried Ilyá, “thou grass bag! Hast never been in the

gloomy forest, nor heard the song of the nightingale, the roar of wild

beast, nor serpent’s hiss?”

Then Ilyá brake a twig from a willow that grew nearby, that he might

keep his vow not to stain his weapons with blood, fitted it to his

stout bow, and conjured it: “Fly, little dart! Enter the Nightingale’s

left eye; come out at his right ear!”

The good heroic steed rose to his feet, and the Robber Nightingale fell

to the damp earth like a rick of grain.

Then the Old Cossack raised up that mighty Robber, bound him to his

stirrup by his yellow curls, and went his way. Ere long they came to

the Nightingale’s house, built upon seven pillars over seven versts

of ground. About the courtyard there was an iron paling, upon each

stake thereof a spike, and on each spike the head of a hero. In the

centre was the strangers’ court, and there stood three towers with

golden crests, spire joined to spire, beam merged in beam, roof wedded

to roof. Green gardens were planted round about, all blossoming and

blooming with azure flowers, and the fair orchards encircled all.

When the Magic Bird’s children looked from the latticed casements and

beheld the hero riding with one at his stirrup, they cried: “Ay, lady

mother! Our father cometh, and leadeth a man at his stirrup for us to

eat.”

But Eléna, the One-Eyed, Nightingale’s witch daughter, looked forth

and said: “Nay, it is the Old Cossack, Ilyá of Múrom, who rideth and

leadeth our father in bond.”

Then spoke Nightingale’s nine sons: “We will transform ourselves into

ravens, and rend that peasant with our iron beaks, and scatter his

white body over the plains.” But their father shouted to them that they

should not harm the hero.

Nevertheless Eléna the witch ran into the wide courtyard, tore a steel

beam of a hundred and fifty puds’ weight from the threshold, and hurled

it at Ilyá. The good youth wavered in his saddle, yet, being nimble, he

escaped the full force of the blow. Then he leaped from his horse, took

the witch on his foot: higher flew the witch then than God’s temple,

higher than the life-giving cross thereon, and fell against the rear

wall of the court, where her skin burst.

“Foolish are ye, my children!” cried the Nightingale. “Fetch from the

vaults a cartload of fair gold, another of pure silver, and a third of

fine seed pearls, and give to the Old Cossack, Ilyá of Múrom, that he

may set me free.”

Quoth Ilyá: “If I should plant my sharp spear in the earth, and thou

shouldst heap treasures about it until it was covered, yet would I not

release thee, Nightingale, lest thou shouldst resume thy thieving.

But follow me now to glorious Kíev town, that thou mayest receive

forgiveness there.”

Then his good steed Cloudfall began to prance, and the Magic Bird at

his stirrup to dance, and in this wise came the good youth, the Old

Cossack to Kíev, to glorious Prince Vladímir.

Now, fair Prince Vladímir of royal Kíev was not at home; he had gone

to God’s temple. Therefore Ilyá entered the court without leave or

announcement, bound his horse to the golden ring in the carven pillars,

and laid his commands upon that good heroic steed: “Guard thou the

Nightingale, my charger, that he depart not from stirrup of steel!”

And to Nightingale he said: “Look to it, Nightingale, that thou depart

not from my good steed, for there is no place in all the white world

where thou mayest securely hide thyself from me!”

Then he betook himself to Easter mass. There he crossed himself and

did reverence, as prescribed, on all four sides, and to the Fair Sun,

Prince Vladímir, in particular. And after the mass was over, Prince

Vladímir sent to bid the strange hero to the feast, and there inquired

of him from what horde and land he came, and what was his parentage. So

Ilyá told him that he was the only son of honourable parents. “I stood

at my home in Múrom, at matins,” quoth he, “and mass was but just ended

when I came hither by the straight way.”

When the heroes that sat at the Prince’s table heard that, they looked

askance at him.

“Nay, good youth, liest thou not? boastest thou not?” said Fair Sun

Vladímir. “That way hath been lost these thirty years, for there stand

great barriers therein; accursed Tartars in the fields, black morasses;

and beside the famed Smoródina, amid the bending birches, is the nest

of the Nightingale on seven oaks; and that Magic Bird hath nine sons

and eight daughters, and one is a witch. He hath permitted neither

horse nor man to pass him these many years.”

“Nay, thou Fair Sun Prince Vladímir,” Ilyá answered: “I did come the

straight way, and the Nightingale Robber now sitteth bound within thy

court.”

Then all left the tables of white oak, and each outran the other to

view the Nightingale, as he sat bound to the steel stirrup, with one

eye fixed on Kíev town and the other on Chernígov from force of habit.

And Princess Apráksiya came forth upon the railed balcony to look.

Prince Vladímir spoke: “Whistle, thou Nightingale, roar like an

aurochs, hiss like a dragon.”

But the Nightingale replied: “Not thy captive am I, Vladímir. ’Tis not

thy bread I eat. But give me wine.”

“Give him a cup of green wine,” spake Ilyá, “a cup of a bucket and a

half, in weight a pud and a half, and a cake of fine wheat flour, for

his mouth is now filled with blood from my dart.”

Vladímir fetched a cup of green wine, and one of the liquor of

drunkenness, and yet a third of sweet mead; and the Nightingale drained

each at a draught. Then the Old Cossack commanded the Magic Bird to

whistle, roar and hiss, but under his breath, lest harm might come to

any.

But the Nightingale, out of malice, did all with his full strength. And

at that cry, all the ancient palaces in Kíev fell in ruins, the new

castles rocked, the roofs through all the city fell to the ground, damp

mother earth quivered, the heroic steed fled from the court, the young

damsels hid themselves, the good youths dispersed through the streets,

and as many as remained to listen died. Ilyá caught up Prince Vladímir

under one arm, and his Princess under the other, to shield them; yet

was Vladímir as though dead for the space of three hours.

“For this deed of thine thou shalt die,” spake Ilyá in his wrath, and

Vladímir prayed that at least a remnant of his people might be spared.

The Nightingale began to entreat forgiveness, and that he might be

allowed to build a great monastery with his ill-gotten gold. “Nay,”

said Ilyá, “this kind buildeth never, but destroyeth alway.”

With that he took Nightingale the Robber by his white hands, led him

far out upon the open plain, fitted a burning arrow to his stout bow

and shot it into the black breast of that Magic Bird. Then he struck

off his turbulent head, and scattered his bones to the winds, and,

mounting his good Cloudfall, came again to good Vladímir.

Again they sat at the oaken board, eating savoury viands and white

swans, and quaffing sweet mead. Great gifts and much worship did Ilyá

receive, and Vladímir gave command that he should be called evermore

Ilyá of Múrom, the Old Cossack, after his native town.--From I. F.

Hapgood’s _The Epic Songs of Russia_.

Historical Songs.

The historical songs are composed in the same manner as the epic

songs, of which they are an organic continuation. The oldest

historical songs treat of the Tartar invasion. A large number are

centred about Iván the Terrible, and those that describe Yermák’s

exploits and conquests in Siberia are probably the most interesting of

that period. Some of those referring to the time of the Borís Godunóv

have been given on pp. 130-4, having been collected by Richard James,

the English divine. There are also songs dealing with Sténka Rázin,

the robber, who was executed in 1671, and Peter the Great, of which

that on the taking of Ázov in 1696 is given below.

There are few collections of these songs in English: W. R. Morfill’s

_Slavonic Literature_ and Talvi’s _Historical View_ are the only ones

that give extracts of any consequence. Accounts of these songs may be

found in most of the Histories of Russian Literature mentioned in the

Preface.

YERMÁK

On the glorious steppes of Sarátov,

Below the city of Sarátov,

And above the city of Kamýshin,

The Cossacks, the free people, assembled;

They collected, the brothers, in a ring;

The Cossacks of the Don, the Grebén, and the Yaík,

Their Hetman was Yermák, the son of Timoféy;

Their captain was Asbáshka, the son of Lavrénti.

They planned a little plan.

“The summer, the warm summer is going,

And the cold winter approaches, my brothers.

Where, brothers, shall we spend the winter?

If we go to the Yaík, it is a terrible passage;

If we go to the Vólga, we shall be considered robbers;

If we go to the city of Kazán, there is the Tsar--

The Tsar Iván Vasílevich, the Terrible.

There he has great forces.”

“There, Yermák, thou wilt be hanged,

And we Cossacks shall be captured

And shut up in strong prisons.”

Yermák, the son of Timoféy, takes up his speech:--

“Pay attention, brothers, pay attention,

And listen to me--Yermák!

Let us spend the winter in Astrakhán;

And when the fair Spring reveals herself,

Then, brothers, let us go on a foray;

Let us earn our wine before the terrible Tsar!”

* * * * *

“Ha, brothers, my brave Hetmans!

Make for yourselves boats,

Make the rowlocks of fir,

Make the oars of pine!

By the help of God we will go, brothers;

Let us pass the steep mountains,

Let us reach the infidel kingdom,

Let us conquer the Siberian kingdom,--

That will please our Tsar, our master.

I will myself go to the White Tsar,

I shall put on a sable cloak,

I shall make my submission to the White Tsar.”

“Oh! thou art our hope, orthodox Tsar;

Do not order me to be executed, but bid me say my say,

Since I am Yermák, the son of Timoféy!

I am the robber Hetman of the Don;

’Twas I went over the blue sea,

Over the blue sea, the Caspian;

And I it was who destroyed the ships;

And now, our hope, our orthodox Tsar,

I bring you my traitorous head,

And with it I bring the empire of Siberia.”

And the orthodox Tsar spoke;

He spoke--the terrible Iván Vasílevich:

“Ha! thou art Yermák, the son of Timoféy,

Thou art the Hetman of the warriors of the Don.

I pardon you and your band,

I pardon you for your trusty service,

And I give you the glorious gentle Don as an inheritance.”

--From W. R. Morfill’s _Slavonic Literature_.

THE BOYÁR’S EXECUTION

“Thou, my head, alas! my head,

Long hast served me, and well, my head;

Full three-and-thirty summers long;

Ever astride of my gallant steed,

Never my foot from its stirrup drawn.

But alas! thou hast gained, my head,

Nothing of joy or other good;

Nothing of honours or even thanks.”

Yonder along the Butcher’s street,

Out to the field through the Butcher’s gate,

They are leading a prince and peer.

Priests and deacons are walking before,

In their hands a great book open;

Then there follows a soldier troop,

With their drawn sabres flashing bright.

At his right the headsman goes,

Holds in his hand the keen-edged sword;

At his left goes his sister dear,

And she weeps as the torrent pours,

And she sobs as the fountains gush.

Comforting speaks her brother to her:

“Weep not, weep not, my sister dear!

Weep not away thy eyes so clear,

Dim not, O dim not thy face so fair,

Make not heavy thy joyous heart!

Say, for what is it thou weepest so?

Is ’t for my goods, my inheritance?

Is ’t for my lands, so rich and wide?

Is ’t for my silver, or is ’t for my gold,

Or dost thou weep for my life alone?”

“Ah, thou, my light, my brother dear!

Not for thy goods or inheritance,

Not for thy lands, so rich and wide,

Is ’t that my eyes are weeping so;

Not for thy silver and not for thy gold,

’Tis for thy life I am weeping so.”

“Ah, thou, my light, my sister sweet!

Thou mayest weep, but it won’t avail;

Thou mayest beg, but ’tis all in vain;

Pray to the Tsar, but he will not yield.

Merciful truly was God to me,

Truly gracious to me the Tsar,

So he commanded my traitor head

Off should be hewn from my shoulders strong.”

Now the scaffold the prince ascends,

Calmly mounts to the place of death;

Prays to his Great Redeemer there,

Humbly salutes the crowd around:

“Farewell, world, and thou people of God!

Pray for my sins that burden me sore!”

Scarce had the people ventured then

On him to look, when his traitor head

Off was hewn from his shoulders strong.

--From Talvi’s _Historical View_.

THE STORMING OF ÁZOV

The poor soldiers have no rest,

Neither night nor day!

Late at evening the word was given

To the soldiers gay;

All night long their weapons cleaning,

Were the soldiers good;

Ready in the morning dawn,

All in ranks they stood.

Not a golden trumpet is it,

That now sounds so clear;

Nor the silver flute’s tone is it,

That thou now dost hear.

’Tis the great White Tsar who speaketh,

’Tis our father dear.

“Come, my princes, my boyárs,

Nobles, great and small!

Now consider and invent

Good advice, ye all,

How the soonest, how the quickest,

Fort Ázov may fall!”

The boyárs, they stood in silence,--

And our father dear,

He again began to speak,

In his eye a tear:

“Come, my children, good dragoons,

And my soldiers all,

Now consider and invent

Brave advice, ye all,

How the soonest, how the quickest,

Fort Ázov may fall!”

Like a humming swarm of bees,

So the soldiers spake,

With one voice at once they spake:

“Father dear, great Tsar!

Fall it must! and all our lives

Thereon we gladly stake.”

Set already was the moon,

Nearly past the night;

To the storming on they marched,

With the morning light;

To the fort with bulwarked towers

And walls so strong and white.

Not great rocks they were, which rolled

From the mountains steep;

From the high, high walls there rolled

Foes into the deep.

No white snow shines on the fields,

All so white and bright;

But the corpses of our foes

Shine so bright and white.

Not upswollen by heavy rains

Left the sea its bed;

No! In rills and rivers streams

Turkish blood so red!

--From Talvi’s _Historical View_.

Folksongs.

Pagan Russia was rich in ceremonies in honour of the various

divinities representing the powers of nature. Christianity has not

entirely obliterated the memory of these ancient rites: they are

preserved in the ceremonial songs that are recited, now of course

without a knowledge of their meaning, upon all church holidays, to

which the old festivities have been adapted. Thus, the feast of the

winter solstice now coincides with Christmas, while the old holiday of

the summer solstice has been transferred to St. John’s Day, on June

24th.

The _kolyádas_ are sung at Christmas, and seem to have been originally

in honour of the sun. The name appears to be related to the Latin

“calenda,” but it is generally supposed that this is only accidental,

and that _Kolyáda_ was one of the appellations of the sun. Young boys

and girls march through the village or town and exact contributions of

eatables by reciting the kolyádas. In other places they sing, instead,

songs to a mythical being, Ovsén, on the eve of the New Year. This

Ovsén is some other representation of the sun.

During the Christmas festivity fortunes are told over a bowl of water

which is placed on the table, while in it are put rings, earrings,

salt, bread, pieces of coal. During the fortune-telling they sing the

_bowl-songs_, after each of which a ring, or the like, is removed.

After the fortune-telling follow the games and the songs connected

with these.

Spring songs are recited in the week after Easter. Soon after, and

lasting until the end of June, the round dance, the _khorovód_, is

danced upon some eminence, and the khorovód songs, referring to love

and marriage, are sung. There are still other reminiscences of heathen

festivals, of which the most important is that to Kupála, on the night

from the 23rd to the 24th of June, when the peasants jump over fires

and bathe in the river.

The _wedding-songs_, of which there is a large number in the

long ceremony of the wedding (_cf._ Kotoshíkhin’s account of the

seventeenth century wedding, p. 143 _et seq._) contain reminiscences

of the ancient custom of the stealing of the bride, and, later, of the

purchase of the bride. Most of the love songs that are not part of the

khorovód are detached songs of the wedding ceremonial.

The _beggar-songs_ are more properly apocryphal songs of book origin,

handed down from great antiquity, but not preceding the introduction

of Christianity. There are also _lamentations_, _charms_, and other

similar incantations, in which both pagan and Christian ideas are

mingled.

An account of the folksong will be found in Talvi’s _Historical View

of the Languages and Literatures of the Slavic Nations_, New York,

1850; W. R. S. Ralston’s _The Songs of the Russian People_, London,

1872; _Russian Folk-Songs as Sung by the People, and Peasant Wedding

Ceremonies_, translated by E. Lineff, with preface by H. E. Krehbiel,

Chicago, 1893. Also in the following periodical articles: _The Popular

Songs of Russia_, in Hogg’s Instructor, 1855, and the same article,

in Eclectic Magazine, vol. xxxvi; _Russian Songs and Folktales_, in

Quarterly Review, 1874 (vol. cxxxvi). A number of popular songs have

been translated by Sir John Bowring in his _Specimens of the Russian

Poets_, both parts.

KOLYÁDKA

Beyond the river, the swift river,

Oy Kolyádka!

There stand dense forests:

In those forests fires are burning,

Great fires are burning.

Around the fires stand benches,

Stand oaken benches,

On these benches the good youths,

The good youths, the fair maidens,

Sing Kolyáda songs,

Kolyáda, Kolyáda!

In their midst sits an old man;

He sharpens his steel knife.

A cauldron boils hotly.

Near the cauldron stands a goat.

They are going to kill the goat.

“Brother Ivánushko,

Come forth, spring out!”

“Gladly would I have sprung out,

But the bright stone

Drags me down to the cauldron:

The yellow sands

Have sucked dry my heart.”

Oy Kolyádka! Oy Kolyádka!

--From W. R. S. Ralston’s _The Songs of the Russian People_.

BOWL-SONG

A grain adown the velvet strolled--Glory!

No purer pearl could be--Glory!

The pearl against a ruby rolled--Glory!

Most beautiful to see--Glory!

Big is the pearl by ruby’s side--Glory!

Well for the bridegroom with his bride--Glory!

--From John Pollen’s _Rhymes from the Russian_.

A PARTING SCENE

“Sit not up, my love, late at evening hour,

Burn the light no more, light of virgin wax,

Wake no more for me till the midnight hour;

Ah, gone by, gone by is the happy time!

Ah, the wind has blown all our joys away,

And has scattered them o’er the empty field.

For my father dear, he will have it so,

And my mother dear has commanded it,

That I now must wed with another wife,

With another wife, with an unloved one!

But on heaven high two suns never burn,

Two moons never shine in the stilly night,

And an honest lad never loveth twice!

But my father shall be obeyed by me,

And my mother dear I will now obey;

To another wife I’ll be wedded soon,

To another wife, to an early death,

To an early death, to a forcèd one.”

Wept the lovely maid many bitter tears,

Many bitter tears, and did speak these words:

“O belovèd one, never seen enough,

Longer will I not live in this white world,

Never without thee, thou my star of hope!

Never has the dove more than one fond mate,

And the female swan ne’er two husbands has,

Neither can I have two belovèd friends.”

No more sits she now late at evening hour,

But the light still burns, light of virgin wax;

On the table stands the coffin newly made;

In the coffin new lies the lovely maid.

--From Talvi’s _Historical View_.

THE DOVE

On an oak-tree sat,

Sat a pair of doves;

And they billed and cooed

And they, heart to heart,

Tenderly embraced

With their little wings;

On them, suddenly,

Darted down a hawk.

One he seized and tore,

Tore the little dove,

With his feathered feet,

Soft blue little dove;

And he poured his blood

Streaming down the tree.

Feathers, too, were strewed

Widely o’er the field;

High away the down

Floated in the air.

Ah! how wept and wept,--

Ah! how sobbed and sobbed

The poor doveling then

For her little dove.

“Weep not, weep not so,

Tender little bird!”

Spake the light young hawk

To the little dove.

“O’er the sea away,

O’er the far blue sea,

I will drive to thee

Flocks of other doves.

From them choose thee then,

Choose a soft and blue,

With his feathered feet,

Better little dove.”

“Fly, thou villain, not

O’er the far blue sea!

Drive not here to me

Flocks of other doves.

Ah! of all thy doves

None can comfort me;

Only he, the father

Of my little ones.”

--From Talvi’s _Historical View_.

THE FAITHLESS LOVER

Nightingale, O nightingale,

Nightingale so full of song!

Tell me, tell me, where thou fliest,

Where to sing now in the night?

Will another maiden hear thee,

Like to me, poor me, all night

Sleepless, restless, comfortless,

Ever full of tears her eyes?

Fly, O fly, dear nightingale,

Over hundred countries fly,

Over the blue sea so far!

Spy the distant countries through,

Town and village, hill and dell,

Whether thou find’st anyone,

Who so sad is as I am?

Oh, I bore a necklace once,

All of pearls like morning dew;

And I bore a finger-ring,

With a precious stone thereon;

And I bore deep in my heart

Love, a love so warm and true.

When the sad, sad autumn came,

Were the pearls no longer clear;

And in winter burst my ring,

On my finger, of itself!

Ah! and when the spring came on,

Had forgotten me my love.

--From Talvi’s _Historical View_.

ELEGY

O thou field! thou clean and level field!

O thou plain, so far and wide around!

Level field, dressed up with everything,

Everything; with sky-blue flowerets small,

Fresh green grass, and bushes thick with leaves;

But defaced by one thing, but by one!

For in thy very middle stands a broom,

On the broom a young grey eagle sits,

And he butchers wild a raven black,

Sucks the raven’s heart-blood glowing hot,

Drenches with it, too, the moistened earth.

Ah, black raven, youth so good and brave!

Thy destroyer is the eagle grey.

Not a swallow ’tis, that hovering clings,

Hovering clings to her warm little nest;

To the murdered son the mother clings.

And her tears fall like the rushing stream,

And his sister’s like the flowing rill;

Like the dew her tears fall of his love:

When the sun shines, it dries up the dew.

--From Talvi’s _Historical View_.

THE FAREWELL

Brightly shining sank the waning moon,

And the sun all beautiful arose;

Not a falcon floated through the air,

Strayed a youth along the river’s brim.

Slowly strayed he on and dreamingly,

Sighing looked unto the garden green,

Heart all filled with sorrow mused he so:

“All the little birds are now awake,

All, embracing with their little wings,

Greeting, all have sung their morning songs.

But, alas! that sweetest doveling mine,

She who was my youth’s first dawning love,

In her chamber slumbers fast and deep.

Ah, not even her friend is in her dreams,

Ah! no thought of me bedims her soul,

While my heart is torn with wildest grief,

That she comes to meet me here no more.”

Stepped the maiden from her chamber then;

Wet, oh, wet with tears her lovely face!

All with sadness dimmed her eyes so clear,

Feebly drooping hung her snowy arms.

’Twas no arrow that had pierced her heart,

’Twas no adder that had stung her so;

Weeping, thus the lovely maid began:

“Fare thee well, belovèd, fare thee well,

Dearest soul, thy father’s dearest son!

I have been betrothed since yesterday;

Come, to-morrow, troops of wedding guests;

To the altar I, perforce, must go!

I shall be another’s then; and yet

Thine, thine only, thine alone till death.”

--From Talvi’s _Historical View_.

Sing, O sing again, lovely lark of mine,

Sitting there alone amidst the green of May!

In the prison-tower the lad sits mournfully;

To his father writes, to his mother writes:

Thus he wrote, and these, these were the very words:

“O good father mine, thou belovèd sir!

O good mother mine, thou belovèd dame!

Ransom me, I pray, ransom the good lad,--

He is your beloved, is your only son!”

Father, mother,--both,--both refused to hear,

Cursed their hapless race, cursed their hapless seed:

“Never did a thief our honest name disgrace,--

Highwayman or thief never stained the name!”

Sing, O sing again, lovely lark of mine,

Sitting there alone in the green of May!

From the prison-tower thus the prisoner wrote,

Thus the prisoner wrote to his belovèd maid:

“O thou soul of mine! O thou lovely maid!

Truest love of mine, sweetest love of mine!

Save, O save, I pray, save the prisoned lad!”

Swiftly then exclaimed that belovèd maid:

“Come, attendant! Come! Come, my faithful nurse!

Servant faithful, you that long have faithful been,

Bring the golden key, bring the key with speed!

Ope the treasure chests, open them in haste;

Golden treasures bring, bring them straight to me:

Ransom him, I say, ransom the good lad,

He is my beloved, of my heart beloved.”

Sing, O sing again, lovely lark of mine,

Sitting there alone amidst the green of May!

--From Sir John Bowring’s _Specimens of the

Russian Poets_, Part II.

WEDDING GEAR

The blacksmith from the forge comes he--Glory!

And carries with him hammers three--Glory!

O blacksmith, blacksmith, forge for me--Glory!

A wedding crown of gold, bran-new!--Glory!

A golden ring, oh, make me, do!--Glory!

With what is left a gold pin too!--Glory!

The crown on wedding day I’ll wear--Glory!

On golden ring my troth I’ll swear--Glory!

The pin will bind my veil to hair--Glory!

--From John Pollen’s _Rhymes from the Russian_.

THE SALE OF THE BRAID

It was not a horn that in the early morning sounded;

It was a maiden her ruddy braid lamenting:

“Last night they twined my braid together,

And interweaved my braid with pearls.

Luká Ivánovich--Heaven requite him!--

Has sent a pitiless svákha hither.

My braid has she begun to rend.

Tearing out the gold from my braid,

Shaking my pearls from my ruddy braids.”

--From W. R. S. Ralston’s _The Songs of the Russian People_.

MARRIAGE SONG

Her mother has counselled Máryushka,

Has given counsel to her dear Efímovna.

“Go not, my child,

Go not, my darling,

Into thy father’s garden for apples,

Nor catch the mottled butterflies,

Nor frighten the little birds,

Nor interrupt the clear-voiced nightingale.

For shouldst thou pluck the apples

The tree will wither away;

Or seize the mottled butterfly,

The butterfly will die.

And shouldst thou frighten a little bird,

That bird will fly away;

Or interrupt the clear-voiced nightingale,

The nightingale will be mute:

But catch, my child,

My dear one, catch

The falcon bright in the open field,

The green, the open field.”

Máryushka has caught,

Caught has the dear Efímovna,

The falcon bright in the open field,

The green, the open field.

She has perched him on her hand,

She has brought him to her mother.

“Mother mine, Gosudárynya,

I have caught the falcon bright.”

--From W. R. S. Ralston’s _The Songs of the Russian People_.

BEGGARS’ SONG

“Whither art Thou fleeing?” they spoke in tears to Christ. “For whom

art Thou leaving us? Who will without Thee give us to drink and eat,

will clothe us and protect us against dark night?”

“Weep not, poor people,” replied Christ: “Weep not, mendicants and

homeless and small orphans! I will leave you a golden mountain, will

give you a honeyed river, will give you vineyards, will give you

heavenly manna. Only know how to manage that golden mountain, and to

divide it among yourselves: and you will be fed and given drink; you

will be clothed and covered up in dark nights.”

Then John the Theologue retorted: “Hail to Thee, real Christ, King of

heaven! Permit me to tell Thee a few words, and take not ill my words!

Give them not a golden mountain, nor a honeyed river and vineyards,

give them not heavenly manna! They will not know how to manage that

mountain; it will be beyond their strength, and they will not be able

to divide up: they will not harvest the grapes, will not taste the

manna. Princes and noblemen, pastors, officials and merchants will hear

of that mountain, and they will take away from them the golden mountain

and honeyed river, the vineyards and heavenly manna: they will divide

up the golden mountain among themselves according to their ranks, but

the poor people will not be admitted, and there will be much murder,

and much spilling of blood. The poor will have nothing to live on,

nothing to wear, and nothing to protect themselves with against dark

night: the poor will die of starvation, will freeze to death in cold

winter. Give them rather Thy holy name and Word of Christ; and the poor

will go all over the earth, will glorify Thee, and the orthodox will

give them alms; the poor will be fed and given drink, will be clothed

and protected against cold night.”

“Thank you, John the Theologue!” replied Christ the heavenly King. “You

have said a sensible word, and have discussed well,--you have taken

good care of the poor.”

AN ORPHAN’S WAILING

O mother dear that bare me, O with sadness longed-for one! To whom hast

thou left us, on whom are we orphans to rest our hopes? From no quarter

do warm breezes breathe on us, we hear no words of kindness. Great

folks turn away from us, our kinsfolk renounce us; rust eats into our

orphaned hearts. The red sun burns in the midst of a hot summer, but

us it keeps not: scarcely does it warm us, O green mother-grave! Have

a care for us, mother dear, give us a word of kindness! No, thou hast

hardened thy heart harder than stone, and hast folded thy uncaressing

hand over thy heart.

O white cygnet! For what journey hast thou prepared and equipped

thyself; from which side may we expect thee?

Arise, O ye wild winds, from all sides! Be borne, O winds, into the

Church of God! Sweep open the moist earth! Strike, O wild winds,

on the great bell! Will not its sounds and mine awaken words of

kindness?--From Ralston’s _The Songs of the Russian People_.

CONJURATION OF A MOTHER SEPARATED FROM HER CHILD

I, poor mother, weep in the high chamber of my house; from the dawn I

look afar over the fields, even until the sun goes to rest. There I

sit until night, till the damp dew falls; there I sit in grief, until,

weary of this torment, I resolve to conjure my cruel sorrow. I go into

the field; I have taken the nuptial cup, the taper of betrothal and the

handkerchief of marriage. I have drawn water from the mountain spring,

I have gone into the dark forest, and tracing around me a magic circle,

I have said aloud these words:--

“I conjure my dearest child by that nuptial cup, by that fresh water

and by that marriage handkerchief. With that water I lave his fair

face, with that handkerchief I wipe his honeyed lips, his sparkling

eyes, his rosy cheeks, his thoughtful brow; with that waxen taper I

light up his splendid garments, his sable bonnet, his belt of divers

colours, his embroidered boots, his chestnut locks, his noble figure

and manly limbs, that thou mayest be, my child, more brilliant than

the brightest sunbeams, sweeter to look upon than a sweet spring day,

fresher than water from the fountain, whiter than the wax, stronger

than the magic stone. Far be from thee the demon of sorrow, the

impetuous hurricane, the one-eyed spirit of the woods, the domestic

demon of strange houses, the spirit of the waters, the sorcery of Kíev,

the woman of the twinkling billows, the cursed Babayagá, the winged

and fiery serpent, the crow of evil omen. I put myself between thee

and the ogre, the false magician, the sorcerer, the evil magic, the

seeing blind and the old of double sight. By my words of power, may

thou be, my child, by night and by day, from hour to moment, in the

market-place, and asleep or in watching, safe against the power of

the evil spirits, against death, grief and calamity; upon the water,

against shipwreck; in fire, against burning.

“When thy last hour shall come, recall, my child, our tender love, our

bread and salt. Turn thyself towards thy glorious country, salute it

seven times--seven times with thy face to the earth, bid farewell to

thy family, throw thyself upon the damp ground and lull thyself to a

calm sleep.

“May my word be stronger than water, higher than the mountain,

weightier than gold, harder than rock, stronger than an armed horseman,

and if any dare to bewitch my child, may he be swallowed by Mount

Ararat, in bottomless precipices, in burning tar and crackling fire;

that sorceries and magic may for ever be powerless against thee.”--From

_The Popular Songs of Russia_, in Hogg’s Instructor, 1855.

Fairy Tales.

For an account of the fairy tales see the chapter on Folklore. The

following works, of which Ralston’s is still the best, give a large

number of such stories: _Russian Popular Tales_, from the German

version of Anton Dietrich, London, 1857; W. R. S. Ralston, _Russian

Folk-Tales_, London, 1873; J. T. Naake, _Slavonic Fairy Tales_,

London, 1874; E. M. S. Hodgetts, _Tales and Legends from the Land of

the Tzar_, London, 1890; Jeremiah Curtin, _Myths and Folk Tales of

the Russians, Western Slavs and Magyars_, Boston, 1890; A. Gerber,

_Great Russian Animal Tales_ (vol. vi, No. 2 of the Publications of

the Modern Language Association), Baltimore, 1891; R. Nisbet Bain,

_Russian Fairy Tales from the Skazki of Polevoi_, Chicago, 1895.

There are also some articles in periodicals: _Household Tales of the

Sclavonians and Hungarians_, and _The Household Fictions of Esthonia

and Russia_, in Dublin University Magazine, 1867 (vol. lxx); _Russian

Popular Legends_ (by Ralston), in Fortnightly Review, 1869; _Russian

Songs and Folktales_, in Quarterly Review, 1874 (vol. cxxxvi).

FROST

There was once an old man who had a wife and three daughters. The wife

had no love for the eldest of the three, who was a step-daughter, but

was always scolding her. Moreover, she used to make her get up ever so

early in the morning, and gave her all the work of the house to do.

Before daybreak the girl would feed the cattle and give them to drink,

fetch wood and water indoors, light the fire in the stove, give the

room a wash, mend the dress and set everything in order. Even then her

step-mother was never satisfied, but grumbled away at Márfa, exclaiming:

“What a lazybones! What a slut! Why, here is a brush not in its place,

and there is something put wrong, and she has left the muck inside the

house!”

The girl held her peace, and wept; she tried in every way to

accommodate herself to her step-mother, and to be of service to her

step-sisters. But they, taking pattern by their mother, were always

insulting Márfa, quarrelling with her, and making her cry: that was

even a pleasure to them! As for them, they lay in bed late, washed

themselves in water got ready for them, dried themselves with a clean

towel and did not sit down to work till after dinner.

Well, our girls grew and grew, until they grew up and were old enough

to be married. The old man felt sorry for his eldest daughter, whom he

loved because she was industrious and obedient, never was obstinate,

always did as she was bid and never uttered a word of contradiction.

But he did not know how to help her in her trouble. He was feeble,

his wife was a scold and his daughters were as obstinate as they were

indolent.

Well, the old folks set to work to consider--the husband how he could

get his daughter settled, the wife how she could get rid of the eldest

one. One day she says to him:

“I say, old man! Let’s get Márfa married.”

“Gladly,” says he, slinking off (to the sleeping-place) above the

stove. But his wife called after him:

“Get up early to-morrow, old man, harness the mare to the sledge

and drive away with Márfa. And, Márfa, get your things together in a

basket, and put on a clean shift; you are going away to-morrow on a

visit.”

Poor Márfa was delighted to hear of such a piece of good luck as being

invited on a visit, and she slept comfortably all night. Early next

morning she got up, washed herself, prayed to God, got all her things

together, packed them away in proper order, dressed herself (in her

best things) and looked something like a lass! a bride fit for any

place whatsoever!

Now it was winter-time, and out of doors there was a rattling frost.

Early in the morning, between daybreak and sunrise, the old man

harnessed the mare to the sledge, and led it up to the steps, then he

went indoors, sat down in the window-sill, and said:

“Now then! I have got everything ready.”

“Sit down to table and swallow your victuals!” replied the old woman.

The old man sat down to table, and made his daughter sit by his side.

On the table stood a pannier; he took out a loaf, and cut bread for

himself and his daughter. Meantime his wife served up a dish of old

cabbage soup and said:

“There, my pigeon, eat and be off; I have looked at you quite enough!

Drive Márfa to her bridegroom, old man. And look here, old greybeard!

drive straight along the road at first, and then turn off from the road

to the right, you know, into the forest--right up to the big pine that

stands on the hill, and there hand Márfa to Morózko (Frost).”

The old man opened his eyes wide, also his mouth, and stopped eating,

and the girl began lamenting.

“Now then, what are you hanging your chaps and squealing about?” said

her step-mother. “Surely your bridegroom is a beauty, and he is that

rich! Why, just see what a lot of things belong to him: the firs, the

pine-tops and the birches, all in their robes of down--ways and means

anyone might envy; and he himself a bogatýr!”

The old man silently placed the things on the sledge, made his daughter

put on her warm pelisse and set off on the journey. After a time, he

reached the forest, turned off the road and drove across the frozen

snow. When he got into the depths of the forest, he stopped, made his

daughter get out, laid her basket under the tall pine and said:

“Sit here, and await the bridegroom. And mind you receive him as

pleasantly as you can!”

Then he turned his horse round and drove off homewards.

The girl sat and shivered. The cold pierced her through. She would

fain have cried aloud, but she had not strength enough; only her teeth

chattered. Suddenly she heard a sound. Not far off, Frost was cracking

away on a fir. From fir to fir was he leaping and snapping his fingers.

Presently he appeared on that very pine under which the maiden was

sitting, and from above her head he cried:

“Art thou warm, maiden?”

“Warm, warm am I, dear father Frost,” she replied.

Frost began to descend lower, all the more cracking and snapping his

fingers. To the maiden said Frost:

“Art thou warm, maiden? Art thou warm, fair one?”

The girl could scarcely draw her breath, but still she replied:

“Warm am I, Frost dear; warm am I, father dear!”

Frost began cracking more than ever, and more loudly did he snap his

fingers, and to the maiden he said:

“Art thou warm, maiden? Art thou warm, pretty one? Art thou warm, my

darling?”

The girl was by this time numbed with cold, and she could scarcely make

herself heard as she replied:

“Oh! Quite warm, Frost dearest!”

Then Frost took pity on the girl, wrapped her up in furs and warmed her

with blankets.

Next morning the old woman said to her husband:

“Drive out, old greybeard, and wake the young people!”

The old man harnessed his horse and drove off. When he came to where

his daughter was, he found she was alive and had got a good pelisse, a

costly bridal veil and a pannier with rich gifts. He stowed everything

away on the sledge without saying a word, took a seat on it with his

daughter, and drove back. They reached home, and the daughter fell at

her step-mother’s feet. The old woman was thunderstruck when she saw

the girl alive, and the new pelisse and the basket of linen.

“Ah, you wretch!” she cries, “But you sha’n’t trick me!”

Well, a little later the old woman says to her husband:

“Take my daughters, too, to their bridegroom. The presents he’s made

are nothing to what he’ll give them.”

Well, early next morning the old woman gave her girls their breakfast,

dressed them as befitted brides and sent them off on their journey. In

the same way as before the old man left the girls under the pine.

There the girls sat, and kept laughing and saying:

“Whatever is mother thinking of? All of a sudden to marry both of us

off! As if there were no lads in our village, forsooth! Some rubbishy

fellow may come, and goodness knows who he may be!”

The girls were wrapped up in pelisses, but for all that they felt the

cold.

“I say, Praskóvya! The Frost’s skinning me alive. Well, if our

bridegroom doesn’t come quick, we shall be frozen to death here!”

“Don’t go talking nonsense, Máshka; as if suitors turned up in the

forenoon! Why, it’s hardly dinner-time yet!”

“But I say, Praskóvya! If only one comes, which of us will he take?”

“Not you, you stupid goose!”

“Then it will be you, I suppose!”

“Of course, it will be me!”

“You, indeed! There now, have done talking stuff and treating people

like fools!”

Meanwhile, Frost had numbed the girls’ hands, so our damsels folded

them under their dresses, and then went on quarrelling as before.

“What, you fright! You sleepy face! You abominable shrew! Why, you

don’t know so much as how to begin weaving; and as to going on with it,

you haven’t an idea!”

“Aha, boaster! And what is it you know? Why, nothing at all except to

go out merrymaking and lick your lips there. We’ll soon see which he’ll

take first!”

While the girls went on scolding like that, they began to freeze in

downright earnest. Suddenly they both cried out at once:

“Whyever is he so long coming? You know, you have turned quite blue!”

Now, a good way off, Frost had begun cracking, snapping his fingers and

leaping from fir to fir. To the girls it sounded as if someone were

coming.

“Listen, Praskóvya! He’s coming at last, with bells, too!”

“Get along with you! I won’t listen; my skin is pealing with cold.”

“And yet you’re still expecting to get married!”

Then they began blowing their fingers.

Nearer and nearer came Frost. At length he appeared on the pine, above

the heads of the girls, and said to them:

“Are ye warm, maidens? Are ye warm, pretty ones? Are ye warm, my

darlings?”

“Oh, Frost, it’s awfully cold! We are utterly perished! We’re expecting

a bridegroom, but the confounded fellow has disappeared.”

Frost slid lower down the tree, cracked away more, snapped his fingers

oftener than before.

“Are ye warm, maidens? Are ye warm, pretty ones?”

“Get along with you! Are you blind, that you can’t see our hands and

feet are quite dead?”

Still lower descended Frost, still more put forth his might and said:

“Are ye warm, maidens?”

“Into the bottomless pit with you! Out of my sight, accursed one!”

cried the girls--and became lifeless forms.

Next morning the old woman said to her husband:

“Old man, go and get the sledge harnessed; put an armful of hay in it,

and take some sheepskin wraps. I dare say the girls are half dead with

cold. There is a terrible frost outside! And, mind you, old greybeard,

do it quickly!”

Before the old man could manage to get a bite, he was out of doors and

on his way. When he came to where his daughters were, he found them

dead. So he lifted the girls on the sledge, wrapped a blanket round

them and covered them up with a bark mat. The old woman saw him from

afar, ran out to meet him and called out ever so loud:

“Where are my girls?”

“In the sledge.”

The old woman lifted the mat, undid the blanket and found the girls

both dead.

Then, like a thunder-storm, she broke out against her husband, abusing

him and saying:

“What have you done, you old wretch? You have destroyed my daughters,

the children of my own flesh, my never-to-be-gazed-on seedlings, my

beautiful berries! I will thrash you with the tongs; I will give it you

with the stove-rake.”

“That’s enough, you old goose! You flattered yourself you were going

to get riches, but your daughters were too stiff-necked. How was I to

blame? It was you yourself would have it.”

The old woman was in a rage at first, and used bad language; but

afterwards she made it up with her step-daughter, and they all lived

together peaceably, and thrived, and bore no malice. A neighbour made

an offer of marriage, the wedding was celebrated and Márfa is now

living happily. The old man frightens his grandchildren with (stories

about) Frost, and does not let them have their own way.--From W. R. S.

Ralston’s _Russian Folk-Tales_.

THE CAT, THE GOAT AND THE RAM

Once upon a time there lived in a yard a Goat and a Ram, and they lived

in great friendship with each other: say there was but a bunch of

hay--even that they divided in two equal halves. If there was anyone to

be punched in his sides, it was only Tom-Cat Váska; he was such a thief

and robber,--always on the lookout for prey, and let there be anything

not under lock, his stomach immediately growled for it.

The Goat and the Ram were once lying quietly and having a friendly

chat, when who should turn up but grey-browed, Purring Váska, and he

was whining pitifully. So the Goat and Ram asked him:

“Kitty-Cat, grey-browed Cat, why are you whining so, and why do you hop

about on three legs?”

“How can I help crying? The old woman has beaten me; she struck me

hard, almost pulled my ears out, nearly broke my legs, and came very

near choking my life out of me.”

“What have you been guilty of, to deserve such a fate?”

“All the trouble was, I was hungry, and lapped up the cream.” And the

Purring Cat once more began to whine.

“Kitty-Cat, grey-browed Cat! What are you whining about?”

“How can I help crying? As the old woman was beating me, she kept on

saying: ‘Where shall I get the cream when my son-in-law will come

to-morrow? I’ll have to butcher the Goat and the Ram!’”

The Goat and the Ram howled loud: “O you grey Cat, senseless head! Why

have you ruined us? We’ll butt you to death!”

Then Purring Váska humbly confessed his guilt and begged forgiveness.

They forgave him, and the three held a council of how matters stood and

what was to be done.

“Well, middle brother Ram,” asked Purring Cat, “have you a tough head?

Just try it against the gate!”

The Ram took a run and hit the gate with his head: the gate shook, but

did not open. Then rose the elder brother Billy-Goat, took a run, hit

the gate and it flew open.

The dust rose in a cloud, the grass bent to the ground, while the Goat

and Ram were running, and the grey-browed Cat was hopping after them on

three legs. He grew tired, and he begged his plighted brothers: “Elder

brother and middle brother! Don’t abandon your younger brother a prey

to the wild beasts!”

So the Goat stopped and took him on his back, and again they raced over

hills, and vales, and drifting sands. And they came to a steep hill and

a standstill. Under that steep hill was a mowed meadow, and on that

meadow there was a whole town of haystacks. The Goat, and Ram, and Cat

stopped to take a rest; it was a cold autumn night. Where were they to

get some fire? The Goat and the Ram were still thinking about it, when

the Purring Cat got some twigs with which he tied the Goat’s horns,

and he told the Goat and the Ram to strike each other’s heads. They

hit each other with such a might that sparks flew from their eyes: the

twigs crackled.

“That’ll do,” said the grey Cat. “Now we will warm ourselves.” No

sooner said than he put a haystack on fire.

They had not yet gotten warm, when lo! there was an uncalled guest,

a Peasant-in-gabardine, Mikháylo Ivánovich. “Let me,” he said, “warm

myself and take a rest; I don’t feel well.”

“You are welcome, Peasant-in-gabardine, Ant-eater! Good fellow, where

do you come from?”

“I went to the beehives and had a fight with the peasants; so I am sick

now, and I am on my way to the Fox to get cured.”

They passed the dark night together: the Bear under a haystack, Purring

Váska on the haystack, and the Goat and the Ram by the fire.

“Ugh, ugh!” said the White Wolf, “it is not Russian flesh I smell. What

manner of people may they be? I must find out!”

The Goat and the Ram bleated with fright, and Purring Váska held such

discourse: “Listen, White Wolf, Prince of all the wolves! Don’t anger

our eldest one, for if he should get at you, it will be your end. Don’t

you see his beard? that’s where his strength lies. With his beard he

strikes down the animals, but with his horns he only flays them. You

had better ask him with due respect to let you have your fun with your

younger brother that is lying under the haystack.”

So the wolves bowed to the Goat, and surrounded Míshka, and began to

tease him. He got up, waxed angry and just grabbed a wolf with each

paw; they howled their “Lazarus,” but somehow managed to get away with

drooping tails, and they raced as fast as their feet would carry them.

In the meanwhile the Goat and the Ram seized the Cat, and ran into

the woods, where they once more met some grey wolves. The Cat crawled

up to the top of a pine-tree, and the Goat and the Ram got hold of a

branch of the pine-tree with their fore legs, and hung down from it.

The wolves stood under the tree, grinned and howled, watching the Goat

and the Ram. The grey-browed Cat saw that things were very bad, so he

began to throw down pine cones upon the wolves, and kept saying: “One

wolf! Two wolves! Three wolves! Just a wolf apiece. It is not so long

ago I, Purring Váska, ate up two wolves with all their bones, so I am

not hungry yet; but you, big brother, have been out a-hunting bears,

and you did not get any, so you may have my share!”

Just as he said that, the Goat could not hold on any longer, and

dropped with his horns straight down on a wolf. But Purring Váska

yelled out: “Hold him, catch him!” The wolves were so frightened that

they started on a run, and did not dare look back. That was the last of

them.

THE FOX AND THE PEASANT

Once upon an evening the Fox, feeling grieved, took a walk to divert

herself and breathe the fresh air. Though she had not expected it,

there presented itself an opportunity to have her revenge, for whom

should she see but Vúkol in his cart! As she scented some fish, she

decided to steal them. The question now was how to steal them out

of Vúkol’s cart. Of course, it was too risky to crawl in, for Vúkol

would lay on his whip, or, catching her by her tail, would kill her

altogether. So Lísa Patrikyéevna softly ran all around the Peasant,

who was hastening home, lay down on the ground and barely breathed.

The rogue lay there as if she really were dead: her mouth open, her

teeth grinning, her snout turned upwards, her nose flabby; she neither

moved, nor heaved, nor wagged her tail.

Vúkol was travelling at a slow pace, when suddenly his nag neighed.

“What’s the matter?” spoke Vúkol, rose and looked down the road. “Oh,

I see! God has sent me a nice gift. I’ll pick it up; it will be a fine

thing for my wife, for its fur is as soft as a shawl.” Having very

wisely discussed thus, Vúkol took the Fox by the tail and put her on

the fish, and went over the bridge. But Lísa Patrikyéevna was very

happy and, to carry out the first part of her program, quietly devoured

a good-sized tench; then she started dropping one fish after another

on the road, until she had emptied the whole cart. Then she stealthily

dropped down from the cart herself and started on a run without turning

back, so that the dust flew up.

It grew dark, and murky night was near; Vúkol Sílych pulled his reins,

and the horse raced faster. He reached his house, without discovering

the theft, and, smiling to his wife, he said with a merry voice to her:

“Woman, just look into the cart and see what I have brought you! I

found it in the road, near the bridge, by the pines and birches.”

His wife Dárya rummaged in the hay, tossed it to and fro, hoping to

find her present. “Where is it? What a shame!” She turned everything

upside down, shook the fish bag, but she only got her hands dirty,--the

present she did not find. Put out about such a deception, she said to

her husband, Vúkol: “What a stupid you are!”

In the meantime Patrikyéevna carried all the fish to her lair, and she

had an easy time of it all autumn, and even winter. But this revenge is

insignificant: her greater revenge is still ahead. Things are bad for

you, Vúkol Sílych! Be prepared for the worst.

Proverbs.

The first collection of Russian proverbs was made by the poet

Bogdanóvich, at Catherine’s command. The most extensive collection

of the present time is the one by Dal. In the English language there

are but two small accounts of these proverbs: one, in R. Pinkerton’s

_Russia; or, Miscellaneous Observations on the Past and Present of the

Country and its Inhabitants_, London, 1833, and _Russian Proverbs_, in

Quarterly Review, vol. cxxxix.

The heart has ears.

Home is a full cup.

A maiden’s heart is a dark forest.

Calumny is like a coal: if it does not burn it will soil.

Good luck disappears like our curls; bad luck lasts like our nails.

Sorrow kills not, but it blights.

The pine stands afar, but whispers to its own forest.

Blame not my bast shoes, my boots are in the sledge.

The poor man has a sheepskin coat, but a human soul too.

Behind the orphan God Himself bears a purse.

Poverty is not a sin, but twice as bad.

Seven nurses cost the child an eye.

May God make me fleshy: rosiness I can get for myself.

A dog is wiser than a woman: it does not bark at its master.

Seven axes will lie together, but two spindles asunder.

Let a woman into Paradise, she’ll be for bringing her cow with her.

The Holy Russian land is large, but everywhere the dear sun shines.

Our stove is our own mother.

Not corners but pies make a room fair.

Even bad kvas is better than water.

By that which wounded may your wound be cured.

Black may be toil, but white is its price.

God waits long, but hits hard.

Terrible are dreams, but God is merciful.

God is high, and the Tsar far off.

Pray to God, but row to shore.

The wolf catches the destined sheep.

Be born neither wise nor fair, but lucky.

Moustaches for honour, but even a goat has a beard.

An old crow croaks not for nothing.

Love your wife like your soul, and beat her like your fur coat.

Not long hurt the bumps from a loved one’s thumps.

A wife is not a guitar; when your playing is done, you can’t hang her

up on the wall.

It’s a bore to go alone, even to get drowned.

A parent’s blessing can neither be drowned in water nor consumed in

fire.

A visible girl is of copper, but an invisible one of silver.

Hold out, Cossack; thou wilt become Hetman.

He who sweats afield, and prays to God at home, will never starve.

Boldness drinks mead and chafes fetters.

A bad peace is better than a good quarrel.

If the thunder rolls not, the muzhík will not cross himself.

Don’t beat the muzhík with a cudgel, but beat him with a rouble.

To rotten wares the seller is blind.

A snipe is small, but, for all that, a bird.

Fear not the threats of the rich but the tears of the poor.

Drink at table, not behind a pillar.

Who can withstand God and Nóvgorod the Great?

Where there is an oath, there is also a crime.

God’s will and the Tsar’s decree.

The Tsar’s wrath is the messenger of death.

God loves the just, but judges love the pettifogger.

I bailed him out: he taught me a lesson.

The knout is not the devil, but it will seek out the truth.

Wide is the gateway leading into a boyár’s court, but narrow--out of it.

Slavery drinks mead, and freedom water.

--From Quarterly Review, vol. cxxxix.

THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY

Iván Tikhónovich Pososhkóv. (1670-1726.)

An interesting figure that belongs both to the old and the new régime

is Pososhkóv. He was the son of a peasant and had received no other

education than what he could pick up from the reading of church

books. He also acquired a knowledge of arithmetic, a rare science for

the men of the older generation, and of grammar, and much practical

experience in his wanderings through Russia. Being a good business

man and a close observer of current events, he became very rich,

owned several factories, and carried on commerce on a large scale.

He had brought from his peasant home the religious piety of the old

order of things, but at the same time was shrewd enough to see the

advantages of reform, which he favoured to the best of his ability.

His son was among the first Russians who were sent abroad to be

instructed. He provided him with ample means and a written _Father’s

Testament to his Son, with a Moral, in Confirmation of Holy Writ_.

This _Testament_ belongs in the same category as the _Domostróy_ (see

p. 126), but the spirit of reform has softened many of the ancient

crudities. Of his other works the most interesting is his _The Book on

Poverty and Wealth, That is, An Exposition of what Causes Dire Poverty

and Abundantly Increases Wealth_, which is characteristic of the

transitional stage of Russia. In this work, Pososhkóv combines shrewd

guesses on economic problems with crude conceptions of their solution.

“THE BOOK ON POVERTY AND WEALTH”

FROM THE CHAPTER “ON MERCHANTS”

The merchant guild must not be disregarded, for without merchants

no country, neither large nor small, can exist. The merchant is the

companion of the military: the soldier fights, and the merchant aids

him by furnishing him with all the necessaries. For this reason an

unstinted care should be bestowed upon them, for as the soul cannot

exist without a body, even so the soldier cannot get along without

the merchant; nor can the merchant get along without the soldier.

A country expands through the profession of war, and is beautified

through commerce. Consequently the merchants must be protected against

offenders, so that they receive not the least insult from government

officials. Many unthinking people disdain the merchants, loathe them

and offend them without provocation, and yet there is no condition of

life which can get along without the merchant.

But the merchants must be guarded not only against outside offenders:

they must not interfere with each other as well, and men from other

ranks must not enter the merchant guild and thus cause them no end of

disturbance. Commerce should be free, so that they themselves may be

benefited and the interests of his Imperial Highness be guarded.

If commerce were free for the Russian merchants, and neither men from

other ranks nor foreigners would in the least impair the commerce of

Russians, the revenue would be increased. I am of the opinion that

without changing the duties, the revenue would be doubled or trebled,

whereas now the greater half is lost through the traders from the other

ranks.

If a person belonging to some other rank, whether he be senator, or

officer, or nobleman, or government official, or clerical, or peasant,

should wish to carry on commerce, let him leave his former rank and

join the merchant guild, and trade in a straightforward manner, and not

by stealth, and pay his duties and other merchant taxes, and let him

never again do anything by stealth, as before, without consent of the

Merchant Commander, and escape the paying of imposts.

Every rank must behave in such a manner as not to sin before God and

do wrong before the Tsar; and they should live as is their profession:

if one be a soldier, let him be a soldier, and if he have another

vocation, let him devote himself entirely to that vocation.

Our Lord Himself has said: No man can serve two masters. So let the

soldier, or man of another rank, stay in his profession, and let him

not enter into another rank, for if he devote himself to commerce, he

will curtail his military duties. The Lord Himself has said: Where your

treasure is, there will be your heart also. And St. Paul the apostle

has said that no soldier can find favour with his captain who meddles

with commerce. There is a popular saw which says, Choose one or the

other, war or commerce.

For these reasons it does not behoove the soldier or man of another

rank to trade. If, however, he have a desire to become a merchant, let

him join the guild.

If there be no prohibition for external merchants, from the ranks of

the nobles, officers or peasants, the merchants will not be able to

become enriched, and it will not be possible for the revenue to be

increased.

... At the present time boyárs, noblemen and their people, soldiers and

peasants carry on commerce, without paying any tax, and many merchants

carry on trade in their names, and pay no tax. Not half the revenue is

collected, nor ever can be collected, if commerce is not to be made

free from the nobles and officials, since many mighty people have taken

to trade, and some who are not themselves powerful but are not subject

to the magistrate.

I know, for example, one case in a Nóvgorod county where there are a

hundred or two of merchant-peasants, and who do not pay a farthing’s

worth of taxes. And if a collector, seeing them, tries to collect the

revenue, the gentry take the peasant’s part and send the collector away

more dead than alive, and the government officers look on, and dare not

interfere. And there are some wealthy men, who have some five or six

hundred peasants carrying on such illicit trade, and pay not a farthing

to the Great Tsar. If all be arranged as I have proposed, commerce will

awaken as if from a dream.

It is a very bad custom the merchant people have, to do each other

wrong by cheating each other. Both foreigners and Russians are in the

habit of showing good-looking wares that are badly made within or

filled up with bad stuff; or bad wares are mixed with wares of a good

quality and are sold as if of good quality, taking for them an unfair

price, and greatly deceiving inexperienced people. They give wrong

weights and measures, deceive in price, and do not think all that to be

a sin, although they cause so much injustice to the inexperienced. Yet

those who deceive are in the end ruined through their own iniquity, and

become impoverished.

... In order to establish justice in the Merchant Rows, let there be

appointed hundred-men and fifty-men and ten-men, and over the shop

where there is an hundred-man let there be nailed a round board,

painted white, so that it can be easily seen, and on that board let

there be written “hundred-man.” Do the same with the shop of the

fifty-man and ten-man, so that those who purchase any goods may know

where to show their wares, if they should want to find out whether they

have received the right weight, or measure, or whether the wares are

good or bad, and whether they have paid the correct price for them.

If a merchant have received more than the worth of the wares, let him

be fined a dime or two for every unfair kopek, and let him be beaten

with rods or a whip, that he may not do so again in the future; and if

he repeat his offence, let the fine and punishment be increased.

But if one give wrong measure and weight, or sell different goods

from what the buyer demanded, and give him inferior goods, let his

punishment be much more severe, and the fine be ten times the price of

the goods.

And if an hundred-man, or fifty-man, or ten-man be guilty of such

a transgression, let the fine for the ten-man be tenfold, for the

fifty-man fiftyfold, and for the hundred-man hundredfold, and let

the punishment be with the knout, as many strokes as may be decided

upon. The hundred-men and fifty-men should receive very stringent

instructions to watch without relenting the ten-men and not to

be indulgent to them, but to fear the law like fire, lest their

transgressions reach the ears of high personages. And the ten-men

should watch all the shops under their charge, and see to it that no

inferior wares are adulterated by the admixture of better material, but

that they are sold such as they are, the good wares as good wares, the

mediocre as mediocre, and the poor as poor, and that right weights and

measures be given, and that the prices be not raised on the goods, and

that there be no adulterations. Let only the right price be asked, and

let them measure foreign stuffs, brocade, calamanco and silks from the

first end, and not from the last. And no matter what buyer there come,

whether rich or poor, whether experienced or inexperienced, let them

all be treated in the same fair manner, and let there not a kopek be

added to the price of one rouble or ten roubles.

Whatever fine is to be collected should be collected by the

hundred-men, without delay, on the day the offence has been committed.

All the fines ought to be entered in a ledger which should be reported

every month in the proper office. No transaction, neither great

nor small, should take place with the foreigners who frequent the

fairs, without the permission of the Chief Commander of the Merchant

Guild. Whoever dares to sell even a rouble’s worth of goods to these

foreigners without the permission of the Chief Commander shall be

fined a hundredfold, a hundred roubles for every rouble sold, and the

punishment shall be administered with the knout, as many strokes as may

be decreed, that they should remember them and never do so again.

FROM THE CHAPTER “ON THE PEASANTRY”

Much might be added to the protection of the peasantry if their houses

were rebuilt so that they could live more freely and peacefully; for

much damage is done to them through overcrowding: if one man’s house

take fire, the whole village is threatened, and frequently not a single

house is left. This leads to endless poverty. If they had not been so

much crowded in their settlements, they would not be so easily ruined.

It is against this ruin that they ought to be protected. Let them build

their houses farther from each other, nor join yard to yard, but with

intervals, a few houses in a lot; the streets ought to be wide, where

there is sufficient space, not less than two hundred feet in width;

where the space is crowded, not less than one hundred feet in width.

In this way, if there should be a fire, all the neighbours would run

to put it out: there being intervals between the houses, it would be

easy to reach them from all sides, and as there would be little danger

for the neighbouring houses, the peasants would not rush, as before, to

save their own possessions, but would aid their unfortunate neighbour.

As the settlements are now arranged, it is utterly impossible for the

neighbours to bring aid; they rush for their own, which they cannot all

save, but generally lose everything they have. Thus they are ruined and

become impoverished.

Not a small degree of annoyance is caused the peasants from not having

literate people among them. There are many villages of twenty or

thirty houses that have not a single man that can read; if any come to

them with an ukase, or without an ukase, pretending to have one, they

believe him, and suffer damages; for they are all blind,--they see

nothing and understand nothing. They are not able to dispute with the

people that pretend having ukases, and they frequently pay unwarranted

taxes to them. To guard the peasants from such losses, it seems to

me, they ought to be compelled to send their children of ten years

and less to some subdeacon to be instructed how to read and write. I

think it would not be a bad thing if the smallest village were not

without a literate man, so there ought to be a strict law compelling

the peasants to have their children instructed for three or four years.

And there ought to be a severe punishment for those who do not have

their children taught anything for four years, or who do not have them

instructed at all as they grow up.

Having learned to read and write, they will not only conduct more

intelligently the affairs of their masters, but they will be also

useful in the Government, being eligible as hundred-men and fifty-men,

and no one would abuse them and mulct them for nothing.

Feofán (in private life Eleázar) Prokopóvich. (1681-1763.)

Peter the Great’s reforms were not so much the beginning of a new

movement, as the accomplishment of a mental ferment which was taking

place in Russia towards the end of the seventeenth century, and

they were successful and permanent in the degree that he made use

of persons who were already in sympathy with Western culture. The

most important of these was Feofán Prokopóvich. Prokopóvich studied

in the schools of Kíev, then became a Uniat and continued his

studies in Poland, then went to Rome and entered the College of St.

Athanasius, which had been established for the purpose of a Catholic

propaganda among the Greeks and Slavs of the Eastern Church. There

he distinguished himself for his brilliant learning, which included

a thorough knowledge of the classics. He returned to Russia in 1702,

renounced his Uniat affiliations and became a teacher in the Kíev

Academy. Here he composed a text-book on the art of poetry and a

tragi-comedy, _Vladímir_, which was played by the students of the

Academy. Peter I. met Feofán in 1709, after the victory at Poltáva,

when the latter received him in Kíev with a panegyric. In 1716 he

was called to St. Petersburg, where, during the absence of Peter, he

employed his oratorical powers to advocate the Emperor’s reforms. The

following year he was made bishop of Nóvgorod. The following year he

was entrusted with reforming the government of the Church, which he

did by his famous _Spiritual Reglement_, a work that breathes the most

enlightened liberalism. One of the chief changes introduced by this

_Reglement_ was the abandonment of the all-powerful Patriarchate, and

the substitution for it of the Holy Synod, of which he became the

ruling spirit. After the death of Peter the Great, his enemies swooped

down upon him, but, having passed the school of the Jesuits, he was

an adept at diplomacy and intrigue, and paid them back in their own

coin. However, Prokopóvich is remembered for the enormous good he did,

for his prodigious learning, to which many foreigners who visited

Russia are witnesses, but especially for encouraging scholarship and

literature. Tatíshchev and Kantemír were his friends, and upon the

appearance of Kantemír’s first satire (see p. 223), he was the first

to hail his promising talent.

There is a translation of Prokopóvich’s Catechism under the title,

_The Russian Catechism_, composed and published by order of the Czar

[Peter I. Translated from the Russian by J. T. Philipps], London

[1723], second edition 1725.

FROM “THE SPIRITUAL REGLEMENT”

OF INSTRUCTION

It is known to the whole world how weak and impotent the Russian army

was when it had no regular instruction, and how incomparably its

strength was increased and became great and terrible when our august

monarch, his Imperial Highness Peter the First, instructed it in a

proper manner. The same is true of architecture, medicine, political

government, and all other affairs.

But, most of all, that is true of the government of the Church: when

there is not the light of instruction, the Church cannot have any good

conduct, and impossibly can there be avoided disorder and superstitions

that deserve a great deal of ridicule, as well as strife, and most

foolish heresies.

Many foolishly assert that instruction is the cause of heresy. But the

heretics of ancient days, the Valentinians, Manichæans, Catharists,

Euchites, Donatists and others, whose stupid acts are described by

Irenæus, Epiphanius, Augustine, Theodoret and others, raved, not

through instruction, but through arrogant foolishness. And did not

our own dissenters rave so deliriously through their lack of culture,

and ignorance? Though there are some heresiarchs, such as were Arius,

Nestorius and a few others, yet their heresies arose not through

instruction, but from an imperfect understanding of the Holy Writ,

and they grew and were strengthened through malice and false pride

which did not permit them to change their wrong opinion after they had

discovered the truth, and against their conscience. And though their

instruction gave them the power to use sophisms, that is, cunning

proofs of their elucubrations, yet he who would want to ascribe this

evil simply to instruction would be compelled to say that where a

physician poisons a patient, his knowledge of medicine was the cause

thereof, and where a soldier valiantly and cunningly strikes down

the enemy, military art is the cause of killing. And when we look

through history, as through a telescope, at the past ages, we shall

discover more evil in the Dark Ages than in those that were enlightened

through culture. The bishops were not so arrogant before the fifth

century as they were afterwards, especially the bishops of Rome and

Constantinople, because before there was learning, and afterwards it

grew less. If learning were dangerous to the Church and State, the

best Christians would not study themselves, and would forbid others to

study; but we see that all our ancient teachers studied not only the

Holy Writ, but also profane philosophy. Besides many others, the most

famous pillars of the Church have advocated profane learning, namely:

Basil the Great in his instruction to the studying youths, Chrysostom

in his books on monastic life, Gregory the Theologue in his sermon on

Julian the Apostate. I should have a great deal to say, if I were to

dwell on this alone.

Good and thorough instruction is the root and seed and foundation of

all usefulness, both for the fatherland and the Church. There is,

however, a kind of instruction which does not deserve that name, though

it is deemed by certain clever but not well-informed men to be the real

instruction.

Many are in the habit of asking in what schools such and such an

one has been educated? When they hear that he has been in rhetoric,

philosophy and theology, they are prone to place him very high, for the

sake of those names, but in that they frequently err, for not all get

good instruction from good teachers, one on account of his dulness,

another on account of his laziness; how much is that the case when the

teacher is little, or not at all, proficient in his subject!

It is important to know that from the sixth to the fifteenth century,

that is, for nine hundred years, all learning in Europe was of a very

meagre and imperfect character, so that we see in the authors who wrote

at that time great sharpness of wit, but small enlightenment. With

the fifteenth century there began to appear better-informed and more

skilful teachers, and by degrees many academies acquired a greater

importance than in those ancient Augustan times; many other schools, on

the contrary, stuck fast in their ancient slime, preserving, indeed,

the names of rhetoric, philosophy and other sciences, but in reality

having none of them. Different causes have led to this, but space does

not permit their mention here.

People who have received, so to say, an empty and fantastic education

in these institutions are generally more stupid than those who

have received none at all. Being themselves in the dark, they deem

themselves to be perfect, and imagining that they have learned all

that there is to be learned, neither have the desire, nor think it

worth while to read books and study more. On the other hand, a man

who has received the proper schooling is never satisfied with his

knowledge, and never stops learning, even though he has passed the age

of Methuselah.

But this is the greatest misfortune: the above-mentioned imperfectly

instructed people are not only useless, but also very harmful to

society, State and Church. They humble themselves beyond necessity

before the authorities, attempting through cunning to appropriate to

themselves favours, and crawl into higher places. They hate people

of the same standing as themselves, and if anyone is praised for his

learning, they use their utmost endeavour to depreciate and denounce

him before the people and authorities. They are prone to take part in

rebellions, hoping to gain advantages for themselves through them.

When they take to theological discussions, they cannot help falling

into heresies, for, being ignorant, they easily fall into error, after

which they will not change the opinion they have uttered, for fear of

appearing not to have known all. But wise men have this proverb: “It is

the property of a wise man to change his opinion.”

FUNERAL SERMON ON PETER THE GREAT

What is this, and what have we lived to see, O Russians? What are we

doing now? We are burying Peter the Great! Is it not a dream? Not a

vision of the night? Oh, what a real sorrow! Oh, what certain bitter

reality! Contrary to all expectations and hopes he has ended his life

who has been the cause of our innumerable benefactions and joys, who

has resuscitated Russia as if from the dead, and has raised it to great

power and glory, nay, has begot it and brought it up, he the true

father of his country, whom for his deserts all the good sons of Russia

wished to be immortal, and whom, on account of his youth and bodily

strength, they had hoped to see many years alive. O dire calamity! He

has ended his life just as he was beginning to live after his labours,

unrest, sorrows, calamities, after so many and varied deaths.

We see well how we have angered Thee, O Lord, and how long we have

tempted Thy long-suffering! O we unfortunate and unworthy people! O the

infinitude of our sins! He who does not see that is blind. He who sees

it and does not confess is turned to stone in his heartlessness. But

why should we increase our woes and heart-pain, which we ought rather

attempt to allay? But if we are to mention his great talents, acts and

works we shall only be stung more severely by the loss of our good man,

and we shall sob aloud. Only in a lethargy, or some deathlike sleep,

could we at all forget our so sad loss. What a great and what a good

man we have lost!

O Russia, this Samson of yours came to you when no one in the world

had expected him, and when he appeared the whole world marvelled. He

found you weak in power, and to conform with his name he made you of

stone and adamant. He found an army dangerous at home, weak in the

field and scorned by the foe, and he gave his country a useful army

that is terrible to the enemy, and everywhere renowned and glorious.

He defended his country, and at the same time returned to it the lands

that had been taken away from it, and increased it by the acquisition

of new provinces. When he crushed those who rose against us, he at

the same time broke the strength of our ill-wishers and subdued their

spirits, and, closing up the lips of envy, compelled the whole world to

proclaim glorious things of himself.

O Russia, he was your first Japheth, who had accomplished a deed

unheard of in your annals, having introduced the building and sailing

of ships. He gave you a new fleet that, to the wonderment of the world

and surpassing all expectation, was in no way inferior to much older

fleets, and he opened for you a path to all the ends of the earth, and

spread your power and glory to the extreme corners of the ocean, to the

limits of your usefulness, to the limits which justice had placed; and

the might of your dominion, which heretofore was firm on land, he has

now made strong and permanent upon the sea.

O Russia, he is your Moses! Are not his laws like a firm protection of

truth, and like unbreakable fetters of wrong-doing? And are not his

statutes clear, a light upon your path? And are not the high ruling

Senate and the many special institutions of his so many lights in

the search of advantage, the warding off of harm, the safety of the

peaceful, and the unmasking of the wrongdoers? He has verily left us in

doubt whether he is more to be praised for being loved and cherished

by the good and simple-hearted, or for being hated by unrepenting

flatterers and rascals.

O Russia, he is your Solomon, who has received from the Lord his very

great reason and wisdom. Have we not sufficient testimony thereof in

the many philosophic arts, which he himself practised and many subjects

introduced under his supervision, and in the many cunning industrial

arts which have never before been heard of among us? And he also

introduced the chins[126] and degrees, and civil order, and decent

manners in daily intercourse, and the rules of acceptable habits and

customs, and now we see and admire the external appearance and internal

worth of our country, which from within and without is far superior to

what it was in former years.

He is also, O Russian Church, your David and Constantine. The synodal

government is his creation, and its written and oral instructions were

his care. Oh, how often his heart was heavy when he saw the ignorance

in the path of salvation! How great his zeal was against superstition

and deceptive simulations, and the senseless, hostile and destructive

heresy amongst us! How great was his desire and endeavour to see more

learning among the clergy, and a greater godliness and more decent

worship in the people!

But, O renowned man! Can we in a short sermon mention all his glory?

The present sorrow and grief which compels us to shed tears and sigh

does not allow of an extended speech. Perhaps in time this thorn

that stings our hearts will be dulled, and then we will speak at

greater length of his deeds and virtues, though we shall never be able

sufficiently to praise him according to his worth. To-day, though

we are only making a short mention of him and, as it were, are only

touching the hems of his garments, we, poor unfortunate people, see, O

hearers, who has left us and whom we have lost.

Let us not, O Russians, faint with sorrow and grief, for the great

monarch and our father has not left us in a bad plight. He has left us,

but not poor and necessitous: the immeasurable wealth of his power and

glory, which has been realised by his above-mentioned deeds, is with

us. Russia will be such as he has made it; he has made it an object of

love to the good, and it will be loved; he has made it terrible to the

enemy, and terrible it will remain; he has made it glorious throughout

the whole world, and it will not cease to be glorious. He has left us

religious, civil and military institutions. He has left us, and his

body will decay, but his spirit will stay.

Above all, in leaving this temporal world, he has not left us orphaned.

How could we, indeed, call ourselves orphaned when we see his legacy

to the throne, his real helpmate in life, a ruler like him after his

demise, you, most gracious and autocrat Empress, great heroine and

monarch, and mother of all the Russias? The whole world is a witness

that your sex does not prevent your being like Peter the Great. Who

does not know your wisdom as a ruler, and your motherly womanliness,

and your natural God-given talents? And all this took place and was

confirmed in you not merely through your association with so great

a monarch, but also in your communion with his wisdom, labours and

various calamities. He, having tried you during a series of years,

like gold in the crucible, deemed it insufficient to have you as a

cohabiter of his bed, but made you also the heir to his crown, and

power, and throne. How can we help hoping that you will confirm what he

has done, will create anew what he has left undone and will keep all in

good condition? Only, O valiant soul, try to overcome this unendurable

calamity which has been intensified by the loss of your most beloved

daughter, and which, like a severe wound, has been torn beyond measure

by this new sting. And as you have been seen by all ever present with

Peter of glorious deeds, an incessant companion in all his labours and

troubles, so try even now to be such in this your very bitter loss.

And you, noble assembly, of all ranks and degrees, sons of Russia,

with your faithfulness and obedience console your Empress and mother.

Console yourselves also, seeing the undoubted signs of Peter’s spirit

in your Empress, and that not all of Peter has passed away. Then let us

bow before our Lord who has thus visited us, praying Him, the God of

mercy and father of all consolation, to wipe the unrestrained tears of

her Highness, our most autocratic Empress, and her precious blood, her

daughters, grandchildren, nieces and all the high family, and to soothe

the grief of their hearts with His gracious care, and to console us all

in His mercy.

O Russia, seeing what a great man has left you, see also how great he

has left you. Amen!

FOOTNOTES:

[126] There are fourteen rank distinctions, called “chins,” in Russia;

they are acquired through service only, independently of birth.

Vasíli Nikítich Tatíshchev. (1686-1750.)

Tatíshchev was one of the most distinguished and intelligent friends

of the reforms of Peter the Great. Having studied first at Moscow and

then in Germany, he was attached to the Berg-und-Manufaktur-Kolleg

(Department of Mining and Manufactures). The president of the

institution pointed out to Peter the Great the necessity for a

geography of the empire, and this task was entrusted to Tatíshchev.

In the course of his work, the latter was induced to make a thorough

study of old historical documents, of which he discovered a large

number. Several of the chronicles he mentions and had access to

have not been preserved, and later historians have to rely on

the statements made by Tatíshchev for some important historical

information. In 1720 he was sent to Siberia for the purpose of

prospecting for copper and silver and establishing various plants.

Then began a laborious career, in a large variety of capacities, among

them that of Governor of Astrakhán. The years 1724-26 he passed in

Sweden, where he cultivated the acquaintance of Swedish scholars and

made a study of foreign sources of Russian history. Thus Tatíshchev

had ample opportunities for becoming the first historiographer

of Russia. His _History of Russia_, which was published in the

reign of Catherine the Great, shows an intimate knowledge of the

philosophical systems of Descartes and Tomasius, and the political

systems of Christian Wolff, Puffendorf and Hugo Grotius, as well as

Machiavelli and Locke. He was opposed to a political supremacy of

the Church even more decidedly than Prokopóvich, the author of the

_Spiritual Reglement_ (see p. 211). It is an interesting fact that

when Tatíshchev found no sympathy for his _History_ in St. Petersburg,

he corresponded with a friend in England for the purpose of having

it published in English by the Royal Society at London, but there

could not be found an Englishman who was competent to undertake

the translation. Of his other works, his _Spiritual Testament and

Instruction to my Son Evgráf_, though replete with liberal views, is

the last in the long chain of _Instructions_ in which the older period

abounds, such as the _Instruction_ of Vladímir Monomákh (p. 50), and

the _Domostróy_ of Sylvester (p. 126). It has been translated into

English: _The Testament of B. Tatischef_, translated from the Russian

manuscript by J. Martinof, Paris, 1860.

FROM THE “RUSSIAN HISTORY”

One ought not to discuss the usefulness of history, for everybody

can see and feel it; but as some are not accustomed to see things

clearly and discuss them in detail, and often through their perverted

understanding make the useful to appear as harmful and the harmful as

useful, and consequently transgress in their acts and deeds (as indeed

I have heard such people, to my disgust, talk loud of the uselessness

of history), I deemed it proper to give a short review of it.

To begin with, history is nothing else than the recounting of past

acts and occurrences, good and bad; for all that we have experienced

in recent or long-passed days through our senses of hearing, seeing

and feeling, or that we reproduce by our memory, is really history, and

it teaches us, whether through our acts or those of others, to emulate

the good and beware of the evil. For example, when I recollect that

I saw yesterday a fisherman who had been catching fish and had had a

certain success in it, I naturally receive in my mind an impulse to do

likewise; or if I saw yesterday a thief or some other criminal, who had

been sentenced to a severe punishment or death, terror will naturally

keep me from committing such an act as would cause my utter ruin. All

the histories we read act upon us in the same manner: the deeds of

ancient days are represented to us so vividly that we seem to have seen

and felt them ourselves.

For this reason we may say that no man, no condition of life, no

profession, science, nor government, much less a single individual,

can be perfect, wise and useful without a knowledge of the same. For

example, let us take the sciences. The first and greatest of them all

is theology, that is, the science of God, His all-wisdom, almightiness,

which alone leads us to future bliss, and so forth. Now, no theologian

can be called wise who does not know the ancient divine acts which have

been revealed to us in the Holy Scriptures, and when, with whom and why

there have been disputes about certain dogmas and articles of faith,

or when and why this has been established and that discarded; why

certain statutes and orders of the ancient Church have been changed,

discontinued, and new ones introduced; consequently he must know divine

and church history, as well as civil history, as Huet, the famous

French theologian, has sufficiently pointed out.

The second science is jurisprudence, which teaches proper conduct and

our duties to God, ourselves and our neighbours, in order to acquire

peace of body and soul. No jurist can be called wise who does not know

former interpretations and discussions of natural and civil laws. And

how can a judge pass right judgment if he does not know the origin and

application of old and new laws? Indeed, he must know the history of

the laws.

The third is medicine, or leechcraft, which science consists in the

art of preserving health, and bringing back the lost health, or in

preventing the disease from spreading. All this depends on history,

for the physician must gain his knowledge from the ancients, must know

what is the cause of diseases, what medicine and treatment to give,

what the property and strength of each medicine is, all of which no

man could find out in a hundred years through his own experience and

investigation. But to experiment on the sick is a dangerous matter,

from which they could easily be ruined, though this is not infrequently

the case with certain ignoramuses. I shall not mention many other parts

of philosophy, but I may summarise by saying that all philosophy is

based on history and supported by it, for all the right and wrong and

faulty opinions which we find with the ancients are history as regards

our knowledge, and form the basis for our corrections.

Statesmanship is composed of three different parts: of the internal

government, or economy, external relations, and military affairs. All

three demand not less history than the other sciences, and without it

cannot be perfect. Thus, in political economy it is necessary to know

what has caused ruin in former days: how it has been warded off or

minimised; what have been the favourable influences; how obtained and

preserved, so that the present and future may be wisely judged in the

light of that knowledge. On account of this wisdom, the ancient Romans

represented their god Janus with two faces, for he knew perfectly the

past, and from its examples wisely judged the future.

For the administration of foreign affairs it is necessary to know not

only one’s own country, but also other governments: what conditions

they have formerly been in; what has brought about changes in them;

what states they are in now; with whom they have had disputes and wars,

and for what; what treaties have been made and confirmed with them, in

order to proceed intelligently in the acts at hand.

For military leaders it is very important to know by what device and

cunning great forces of the enemy have been vanquished, or kept from

victory, and so forth, as we see Alexander the Great having held

Homer’s books on the Trojan war in great respect, and having been

instructed by them. For this reason many great generals have described

their own acts and those of others. Of these the most illustrious

example is Julius Cæsar, who has described his wars, that future

generals might after him use his acts for their own examples, and many

famous generals on land and on the sea have followed in his footsteps

by writing of their exploits. Many great rulers have either themselves

written of their acts, or have ordered expert people to write of

them, not only that their memory should live in glory, but that their

descendants should have examples to follow.

As regards the usefulness of Russian history it must be remarked, that,

as is the case with all other histories, the knowledge of one’s own

history and geography is more important for any nation or region than

that of foreign histories; at the same time it must be kept in mind

that without the knowledge of foreign histories, one’s own is not clear

and sufficient: 1. That the writer of contemporary history cannot know

all the external influences for good and bad; 2. That the writers are

frequently compelled, out of fear, to suppress, or change, or modify

some very important circumstances of contemporary history; 3. That

from passion, love, or hatred, they describe quite differently from

what were the actual occurrences, and that the facts are frequently

related more correctly and in detail by outsiders. Thus, in my present

work, the first part, dealing with the Russian antiquity, has mainly

been drawn from foreign sources for lack of native writers, and in the

other parts many errors and lacunæ have been corrected and filled out

from foreign sources. European historians accuse us of having no old

history, and of knowing nothing of our antiquity, simply because they

do not know what historians we possess, and though some have made a

few extracts, or have translated from them a passage here and there,

others, thinking that we have no better ones than those quoted, despise

them. Some of our own ignorant writers agree with them, while those

who do not wish to trouble themselves by looking into the ancient

sources or who do not understand the text, have, ostensibly to give a

better explanation, but in reality to hide the truth, invented fables

of their own and thus have obscured the real facts as told by the

ancients, as, for example, in the case of the foundation of Kíev, and

that of Nóvgorod by Slavén, and so forth.

I wish to say here emphatically that all the famous European historians

will not be able to know or tell anything correctly of many of our

antiquities, no matter what their efforts in Russian history may be,

if they do not read our sources,--for example, of the many nations

who have existed here in ancient days, as the Amazons, Alans, Huns,

Avars, Cimbrians and Cimmerians; nor do they know anything of the

Scythians, Sarmatians and Slavs, their tribes, origin, habitations and

migrations, or of the anciently famous large cities of the Essedonians,

Archipeans, Cumanians, etc., where they have lived, and what their

present names are; but all this they could find out through a study of

Russian history. This history is not only of use to us Russians, but

also to the whole learned world, in order that by it the fables and

lies invented by our enemies, the Poles and others, for the sake of

disparaging our ancestors, may be laid bare and contradicted.

Such is the usefulness of history. But everybody ought to know, and

this is easily perceived, that history describes not only customs,

deeds and occurrences, but also the consequences resulting from them,

namely, that the wise, just, kind, brave, constant and faithful are

rewarded with honour, glory and well-being, while the vicious, foolish,

evildoers, avaricious, cowardly, perverse and faithless will gain

eternal dishonour, shame and insult: from which all may learn how

desirable it is to obtain the first and avoid the second.

Prince Antiókh (Antiochus) Kantemír. (1708-1744.)

Antiókh Kantemír was not a Russian by birth. His father, Demetrius,

had for a number of years been hospodar of Moldavia. Harassed by

the intrigues of a rival at Constantinople, he emigrated with

four thousand of his Moldavians to Russia, where he arrived after

the unfortunate Prut expedition, in 1711. Himself one of the most

accomplished scholars and linguists of Europe, he with the aid of his

cultivated Greek wife bestowed the minutest care on the education of

his six children.

Having arrived in Russia in his third year, Antiókh acquired Russian

as his mother tongue, though he also spoke fluently six or seven

other languages, and was well versed in Latin and ancient Greek. By

education, however, he was anything but a Russian, and his sympathies

were naturally directed towards the most extreme reformatory

tendencies which Peter the Great advocated for the State and Feofán

Prokopóvich for the Church; both of them were not slow in recognising

his unusual talents. In 1732 Empress Anna appointed him ambassador to

the Court of St. James, and in 1738 he was transferred to Paris, where

he passed his short life in communion with Maupertuis, Montesquieu,

Abbé Guasco, and others. Besides a few shorter poems and imitations

and translations of Anacreon, and an unfinished ode on the death of

Peter the Great, Kantemír composed ten satires, of which the one

below is the first. It is on these satires that his reputation mainly

rests. In style, they are imitations of Boileau and Horace, though

never slavish. His language is not always free from Gallicisms, but

otherwise it represents the first successful attempt to introduce

colloquial Russian into poetry. The chief value of the satires,

independently of their literary perfection, lay in their powerful

attack on all the contemporary elements of Russian society that were

antagonistic to the Western reform.

Specimens from several of Kantemír’s satires are given in C. E.

Turner’s _Studies in Russian Literature_, London, 1882, and the same

article, in Fraser’s Magazine, 1877.

Parts of the First Satire, in article on _Russian Literature_, in

Foreign Quarterly Review, vol. i.

TO MY MIND

Immature Mind, fruit of recent study! Be quiet, urge not the pen into

my hands: even without writing one may pass the fleeting days of life

and gain honours, though one be not a poet. Many easy paths lead in our

days to honours, and bold feet need not stumble upon them: the least

acceptable is the one the nine barefooted sisters have laid out. Many

a man has lost his strength thereon, without reaching a goal. You have

to toil and moil there, and while you labour, people avoid you like the

plague, rail at you, loathe you. He who bends over the table, fixing

his eyes upon books, will gain no magnificent palaces, nor gardens

adorned with marbles; will add no sheep to his paternal flock.

’Tis true, in our young monarch[127] a mighty hope has risen for the

Muses, and the ignorant flee in shame from him. Apollo has found in him

a strong defender of his glory, and has seen him honouring his suite

and steadily intent upon increasing the dwellers on Parnassus.[128] The

trouble is, many loudly praise in the Tsar what in the subject they

haughtily condemn.

“Schisms and heresies are begot by science.[129] He lies most who knows

most; who pores over books becomes an atheist.” Thus Crito grumbles,

his rosary in his hands, and sighs, and with bitter tears the saintly

soul bids us see how dangerous is the seed of learning that is cast

among us: our children, who heretofore gently and meekly walked in

the path of their forefathers, eagerly attending divine service and

listening in fear to what they did not understand, now, to the horror

of the Church, have begun to read the Bible; they discuss all, want to

know the cause of all, and put little faith in the clerical profession;

they have lost their good habits, have forgotten how to drink kvas, and

will not be driven with a stick to partake of salt meat. They place no

candles before the images, observe no feasts. They regard the worldly

power misplaced in clerical hands, and whisper that worldly possessions

ill become those who have renounced a worldly life.

Sylvan finds another fault with science: “Education,” he says, “brings

famine in its track. We managed to get along before this without

knowing Latin much better than we live now. We used to harvest more

grain in our ignorance, but now that we have learned a foreign

language, we lose our corn. What of it if my argument be weak and

without sense and connection,--what matters that to a nobleman? Proof,

order of words, is the affair of low-born men; for aristocrats it

suffices boldly to assent, or contradict. Insane is he who examines the

force and limitations of his soul; who toils whole days in his sweat,

in order to learn the structure of the world and the change or cause

of things: ’tis like making pease to stick to the wall. Will all that

add one day to my life, or one penny to my coffers? Can I by means of

it find out how much my clerk and superintendent steal a year or how to

add water to my pond, or to increase the number of barrels in my still?

“Nor is he wise who, full of unrest, dims his eyes over a smoking fire,

in order to learn the properties of ores. We have passed our A B C,

and we can tell without all that the difference between gold, silver

and copper. The science of herbs and diseases is idle talk. You have

a headache, and the physician looks for signs of it in your hand! The

blood is the cause of all, if we are to put faith in them. When we feel

weak, it is because our blood flows too slowly; if it moves fast, there

is a fever, he says boldly, though no one has ever seen the inside of a

living body. And while he passes his time in such fables, the contents

of our money-bags go into his. Of what use is it to calculate the

course of the stars, and without rhyme or reason pass sleepless nights,

gazing at one spot: for mere curiosity’s sake to lose your rest, trying

to ascertain whether the sun moves, or we with the earth? We can read

in the almanac, for every day in the year, the date of the month and

the hour of sunrise. We can manage to divide the land in quarters

without Euclid, and we know without algebra how many kopeks there are

in a rouble.” Sylvan praises but one science to the skies,--the one

that teaches how to increase his income and to save expenses. To labour

in that from which your pocket does not swell at once, he deems a very

dangerous occupation for a citizen.

Red-faced Lucas, belching thrice, speaks in a chanting voice: “Study

kills the companionship of men. We have been created by God as social

beings, and we have been given intelligence not for our own sakes

alone. What good does it do anybody, if I shut myself up in my cabinet,

and for my dead friends lose the living--when all my comradeship,

all my good fellows, will be ink, pen, sand and paper? In merriment,

in banquets we must pass our lives. Life is short, why should we

curtail it further, worry over books, and harm our eyes? Is it not

better to pass your days and nights over the winecup? Wine is a divine

gift, there is much good in it: it befriends people, gives cause for

conversation, makes glad, dispels heavy thoughts, eases misery, gives

courage to the weak, mollifies the cruel, checks sullenness, and leads

the lover more readily to his goal. When they will begin to make

furrows in the sky, and the stars will shine through the surface of the

earth; when swift rivers will run to their sources, and past ages will

return; when at Lent the monk will eat nothing but dried sturgeon, then

will I abandon my cup and take to books.”

Medor is worried because too much paper is used for letters and for

printed books, and because he will soon be left without paper to

curl his locks with. He would not change for Seneca a pound of good

face-powder; in comparison with Egór,[130] Vergil is not worth two

farthings to him, and he showers his praises on Rex,[131] not Cicero.

This is a part of the speeches that daily ring in my ears, and for

this, O Mind, I advise you to be dumber than a dumpling. Where there is

no profit, praise encourages to work, and without it the heart grows

faint. But it is much worse, when instead of praises you earn insults!

It is harder than for a tippler not to get his wine, or for a priest

not to celebrate on Holy Week, or for a merchant to forego heady liquor.

I know, O Mind, that you will boldly answer me that it is not easy for

an evil-minded man to praise virtue; that the dandy, miser, hypocrite,

and the like, must perforce scorn science, and that their malevolent

discourse concerns no men of culture.

Your judgment is excellent, correct; and thus it ought to be, but in

our days the words of the ill-disposed control the wise. Besides, the

sciences have other ill-wishers than those whom, for shortness’ sake,

I merely mentioned or, to tell the truth, dared to mention. There are

many more. The holy keepers of the keys of heaven and those to whom

Themis has entrusted the golden scales little love, nearly all of them,

the true adornment of the mind.

You want to be an archbishop? Don a surplice, above it let a gorgeous

chasuble adorn your body, put a golden chain[132] around your neck,

cover your head with a high hat, your belly with a beard, order the

crosier to be carried in pomp before you; place yourself comfortably

in your carriage and, as your heart bursts with anger, cast your

benedictions to the right and left. By these signs you will easily

be recognised as the archpriest, and they will reverently call you

“Father.” But science? What has the Church to gain from it? Some priest

might forget a part, if he wrote out his sermon, and thus there would

be a loss of the Church’s revenues, and these are the Church’s main

privileges and greatest glory.

Do you wish to become a judge? Don a wig full of locks, scold him who

comes with a complaint but with empty hands, let your heart firmly

ignore the tears of the poor, and sleep in your arm-chair when the

clerk reads the brief. When someone mentions to you the civil code, or

the law of nature, or the people’s rights, spit in his face; say that

he lies at random and tries to impose an intolerable burden on the

judges; that it is the clerk’s business to rummage through mountains of

documents, but that it suffices for a judge to announce his sentence.

The time has not come down to us when Wisdom presided over everything

and distributed wreaths, and was the only means for advancement. The

golden age has not come down to our generation. Pride, indolence,

wealth, have vanquished wisdom; ignorance has taken the place of

wisdom: it glorifies itself under the mitre, walks in embroidered

gowns, sits in judgment behind the red cloth, boldly leads armies.

Science trudges along in rags and patches, and is driven from nearly

all houses with contumely; they do not want to know her and evade her

friendship, just as those who have suffered upon the sea avoid service

on a ship. All cry: “We see no good in science; the heads of learned

men are full, but their hands are empty.”

If one knows how to shuffle cards, to tell the flavours of various

wines, can dance, plays three pieces on the flute, cleverly matches the

colours in his apparel, for him, even in his tender years, all high

honours are but a small reward, and he regards himself to be the equal

of the Seven Sages.

“There is no justice in the world!” cries the brainless subdeacon.

“They have not yet made me a bishop, though I read fluently the Book

of the Hours,[133] the Psalter and the Epistles, and even Chrysostom

without stumbling, although I do not understand him.”

The warrior grumbles because he has not yet charge of his regiment,

though he knows how to sign his name. The scribe is angry because he

is not yet seated behind the red cloth, though he is able to make a

copy in a clear hand. He thinks it an insult to grow old in obscurity,

though he counts seven boyárs in his family and is possessed of two

thousand village houses, even though he can neither read nor write.

Hearing such words, and seeing such examples, be silent, Mind, complain

not of your obscurity. His life has no terrors, though he may deem it

hard, who silently retires to his quiet nook. If gracious Wisdom has

taught you anything, rejoice in secret, meditating by yourself over

the advantages of learning. Explain it not to others, lest, instead of

praises which you expect, you be roundly scolded.

FOOTNOTES:

[127] Peter II., born 1715; ascended the throne in 1729, the year the

satire was written in.

[128] Immediately upon arriving in Moscow, Peter II. confirmed the

privileges of the Academy of Sciences.

[129] Compare Feofán Prokopóvich’s _Spiritual Reglement_, p. 212.

[130] A famous shoemaker in Moscow; died in 1729.

[131] A German tailor of Moscow.

[132] With the image of the Holy Virgin or the Saviour,--the so-called

panagia.

[133] Prayer-book containing the prayers for every hour; it was

commonly used as a text-book for reading.

Vasíli Kiríllovich Tredyakóvski. (1703-1769.)

Like Lomonósov, Tredyakóvski was of humble origin, his father

having been a priest in the city of Astrakhán; also, like his more

illustrious colleague a few years later, he walked to Moscow and

there entered the School of the Redeemer. He later passed a few years

abroad, where he became acquainted with French literature. Upon his

return to St. Petersburg in 1730, he translated a French book; in this

translation the spoken Russian is for the first time used, free from

Slavic influence. Even before this, Tredyakóvski had written verses in

the syllabic versification, but in 1735 he discovered that the tonic

versification was the only one adapted to the Russian language, and at

once set out to write in that measure. His chief deserts do not lie

in poetry, for his verses show an absolute absence of talent, and he

later became a byword for insipidity. He was the first man to point

out the necessity of using the Russian language for literary purposes,

and to indicate the line in which Russian poetry must develop. By his

enormous industry in translating from foreign languages he became an

important factor in the dissemination of learning. The following ode

is really an imitation of Boileau’s _Sur la prise de Namur_.

ODE ON THE SURRENDER OF DANTZIG

What strange intoxication emboldens my voice to singing? Muses,

dwellers of Parnassus, does not my mind perceive you? I hear your

sweet-sounding strings, your beautiful measure and moods, and a fire

arises in my thoughts. O nations, listen all! Stormy winds, do not

blow: my verse sings of Anna.

Pindar, and after him Flaccus, have in high-flowing diction risen from

the mist to the bright stars, like swift eagles. But if my song to-day

were to equal my sincere and eternal zeal for Anna, Orpheus of Thrace

and Amphion of Thebes would be in ecstasy from it.

Now I strike the dulcet lyre to celebrate the magnificent victory

to the greater downfall of the enemy. Oh, what victorious might has

adorned our joy, for the might of the adversary was equal to ours.

There is no limit to our pure joy that surpasses all example, that has

given balm to our hearts.

Has Neptune himself built the walls, those that stand by the sea? Do

they not resemble the Trojan walls, for they would not let in the

innumerable Russian army, mightily opposing it? Do not all call the

Vistula Skamander? Do they not all regard Stoltzenberg as Mount Ida?

That is not Troy, the mother of fables: there is not one Achilles here;

everyone of the rank and file is in bravery a Hercules. What might is

that that hurls lightning? Is it not Minerva gleaming in her helmet?

’Tis evident from her looks, from her whole appearance, that she is a

goddess: without her ægis she is terrible,--’tis Anna, chief of all

empresses.

That also is a Russian army that has closely invested Dantzig, the

city of the foe. Each warrior, hastening to the battle, it behooves to

call a Mars. Each is ready boldly to shed his blood, or to crown the

undertaking for Anna’s sake. Each one is strong with Anna’s fortune:

Anna is their strong hope; and, knowing that Anna is gracious to them,

they are faithful and not undecided.

Golden beam of the European and Asian Sun! O Russian monarch, the key

to your happiness is the kindness to your subjects and your benign

rule! The whole world honours your name, and the universe will not hold

your glory seeing that, O beautiful flower of virtues!

What do I see? Does not my eye deceive me? A youth has opposed himself

to Hercules, lifting high his brows behind ramparts, beyond the river!

’Tis Dantzig, having taken foolish counsel, as if drunk with heady

wine, that dares to oppose the great autocrat! In its blindness it does

not see the abysses, nor all death-bearing valleys.

It receives Stanislaus in its midst, who seeks twice a crown, and hopes

to be defended to the end through nearby Neptune: fearing the Russian

thunder it invokes the aid of a distant people from the banks of the

Seine: but they beat the drums at the waters of Wechselmünde for a

retreat.

Dantzig is proud of its fire and steel, and its regiments of soldiers,

and directs its engines of war against the Russians on the hills. Being

rich in stores it calls to Stanislaus; it in vain implores its soldiers

that have no brave hearts, but think only of this, how to save their

lives, and run.

O Dantzig, oh! What are you daring! Come to your senses, collect

yourself, for you are hurling yourself to destruction. Why have you

stopped? You are hesitating! Surrender! Wherefore have you such

boldness and do not tremble before Anna? Many tribes of their own free

will and without strife submit to her: China bows down before her

twice, in order not to pay her tribute.

Nowhere has there been the like of Anna in kindness, nor is there

anywhere in the world one so able to wage war with the unyielding. Her

sword wound with the olive branch is only ominous in war. Abandon,

Dantzig, your evil purpose: you see, the Alcidæ are ready with cruel

miseries for your inhabitants. You hear Anna’s angry voice: save

yourself!

You are closely pressed by thousands of athletes; you are mightily

struck by the flash of angry lightnings. You cannot withstand: the

thunder is ready not in jest. Your ramparts are without defence; the

earth opens up abysses; roofs fly into the air; your walls are emptied

of men.

If all the powers combined were to aid you, O Dantzig; if the elements

defended you; if from all the ends of the world soldiers came to spill

their blood for you,--yet nothing would be able to save you from

suffering and to stop your misery, and wring you out of Anna’s hands.

Your adversaries see to-day the bravery of Russian soldiers: neither

fire nor water harms them, and they advance with open breasts. How

readily they advance! How forgetful they are of their lives! The

cannon’s thunder frightens them not! They make the assault, as if going

to a wedding feast! Only through smoky darkness one may see that their

brows are facing the forts.

Within the walls of the wretched city all are struck down with fear:

everything falls and flies to dust,--the besiegers are on the walls!

The last magistrates, seeing from their tower their vain hope in the

distant armies and Stanislaus who had taken refuge within their walls,

besides themselves, exclaim: “We are fated to fall!”

What I have prophesied is about to happen,--Dantzig begins to tremble:

all think of surrendering, as before they all decided to fight, and of

saving themselves from the engines of war, from flying bombs and from

all the pests the city is oppressed by. All cry, for the burden was too

heavy to carry, “It is time now to open the gates to Anna’s army.”

So it is done: the sign for surrender is given, and Dantzig is at our

feet! Our soldiers are happy in their success; the fires have gone

out; there is an end to misery. Immediately Glory took its flight and

announced with its thundering trumpet: “Anna is fortunate! Anna is

unconquerable; Anna, exalted by all, is their common glory and honour.”

Lyre! abate your song: it is not possible for me properly to praise

diadem-bearing Anna and her great goodness, any more than I can fly. It

is Anna’s good fortune that she is loved by God. He always watches over

her, and through Him she is victorious. Who would dare to oppose her?

May Anna live many years!

Princess Natálya Borísovna Dolgorúki. (1714-1771.)

The Princess Dolgorúki was the daughter of Count Sheremétev, who was

intimately connected with the reforms of Peter the Great. In 1729 she

was betrothed to Prince Iván Aleksyéevich Dolgorúki, the favourite of

Peter II.; Feofán Prokopóvich performed the ceremony of the betrothal,

and the whole Imperial family and the most distinguished people of

the capital were present. A few days later Peter II. died, and Anna

Ioánnovna ascended the throne. Dolgorúki was banished to Siberia, and

she married him in order to follow him into exile. They passed eight

years in the Government of Tobólsk, when her husband was taken to

Nóvgorod and executed. For three years she remained in ignorance of

his fate, when the Empress Elizabeth permitted her to return to St.

Petersburg. In 1758 Princess Dolgorúki entered a monastery at Kíev,

and ten years later she wrote her _Memoirs_, at the request of her son

Michael. In 1810 her grandson, the poet Dolgorúki (see p. 422), had

these _Memoirs_ printed. The Princess Dolgorúki has become a synonym

for a devoted Russian woman, and she has frequently been celebrated

in poetry, especially by Rylyéev, Kozlóv and Nekrásov. There is also

an English book treating of her life: _The Life and Times of Nathalia

Borissovna, Princess Dolgorookov_, by J. A. Heard, London, 1857.

FROM HER “MEMOIRS”

My mind totters when I recall all that has befallen me after my

happiness which at that time appeared to me to be eternal. I did not

have a friend to teach me that I ought to walk more warily on the

slippery road of pleasure. My Lord! What a threatening storm arose

against me, and what calamities from the whole world befell me! Lord!

Give me strength to tell of my sufferings, that I may describe them for

the information of the curious and the consolation of the afflicted

who, thinking of me, might be consoled. I have passed all the days of

my life in misery, and have experienced all: persecution, exile, want,

separation from my beloved one,--everything that one can think of. I do

not boast of my endurance, but will boast of the mercy of the Lord who

has given me so much strength to bear all that I have borne up to now.

It would be impossible for a man to endure such strokes, if the power

of the Lord did not strengthen him from on high. Consider my bringing

up, and my present state!

Here is the beginning of my misery that I had never expected. Our

Emperor had departed from this life, and before I had expected it,

there was a change of the crown. It evidently had pleased God to

chastise the people for their sins: a merciful Tsar was taken away from

them, and great was the weeping in the nation. All my relatives came

together, were sorrowing and weeping, and wondering how to announce to

me the calamity. I generally slept late, until nine o’clock; as soon as

I awoke, I noticed that the eyes of all were in tears; though they were

careful to hide it, yet it was quite obvious they had been weeping.

I knew that the Tsar was sick, and even very sick, but I had great

hope the Lord would not abandon His orphans. They were of necessity

compelled to tell me the truth. As soon as this news reached my ears, I

lost my consciousness; when I regained it, I kept on repeating: “I am

lost, lost!” No other words left my lips but “lost.” However they tried

to console me, they could not stop my weeping, nor keep me quiet. I

knew too well the custom of my country, that all the favourites perish

with the death of their Emperors: what could I, then, expect? Yet, I

did not think that the end would be as bad as it actually was, for

though my fiancé was beloved by the Tsar, and had many distinctions,

and all kinds of affairs of State had been entrusted to him, yet I

placed some hope in his honest acts. Knowing his innocence, and that he

had not been tainted by any improper conduct, it appeared to me that a

man would not be accused without a proper judicial trial, or be subject

to disfavour, and be deprived of his honours and possessions; I learned

only later that truth is not helpful in misfortune.

So I wept unconsolably. My relatives, in their search for means of

consoling me, pointed out to me that I was yet a young person, and had

no reason to grieve so senselessly; that I could reject my fiancé if

things went badly with him, and that there were other suitors who were

not of less worth than he, even if they had not his high honours. And

indeed there was a suitor who was very anxious to have me, but I did

not like him, though all my relatives wanted me to marry him. That

proposition weighed so heavily upon me, that I was not able to answer

them. Consider yourself, what kind of a consolation that could be to

me, and how dishonourable such an act would have been,--to be ready to

marry him when he was great, but to refuse him the moment he was cast

into misfortune. I could not agree to any such unscrupulous advice; I

resolved at once to live and die together with him to whom I had given

my heart, and not to allow anyone else to share my love. It was not my

habit to love one to-day and another to-morrow; such is the fashion

in the world, but I proved to the world that I was faithful in love.

I have been a companion to my husband in all his troubles, and I am

telling the truth when I assert that in all my misery I never repented

having married him, and did not murmur against the Lord for it. He is

my witness: I bore everything while loving him, and as much as was

in my power, I kept up his courage. My relatives were evidently of a

different opinion, and therefore advised me otherwise, or maybe they

simply pitied me.

Towards evening my fiancé came to my house, and complained to me of his

misfortune. He told me of the pitiable death of the Emperor, who did

not lose consciousness to the last, and bid him good-bye. While he told

me all this, we both wept, and swore to each other that nothing should

separate us but death; I was ready to go with him through all the

terrestrial misfortunes. Thus it grew worse from hour to hour. Where

were those who formerly had sought our protection and friendship? They

had all hid themselves, and my relatives stood aloof from me; they all

left me for the new favourites, and all were afraid to meet me, lest

they should suffer through the suspicion under which I was. It were

better for a person not to be born in this world, if he is to be great

for a while, and then will fall into disgrace: all will soon despise

him, and no one will speak to him.

* * * * *

Here we remained about a week, while a vessel was being fitted out to

take us down the river. All that was terrible to me, and I ought to

pass it in silence. My governess, to whose care I had been entrusted

by my mother, did not wish to leave me, and had come with me to the

village. She thought that we would pass all the days of our misfortune

there; but things turned out differently, and she was compelled to

leave me. She was a foreigner, and could not endure all the hardships;

yet, as much as she could she did for me in those days: went on the

ill-starred vessel that was to take us away, fixed everything there,

hung the walls with tapestry to keep out the dampness, that I might not

catch a cold; she placed a pavilion on board, partitioned off a room,

in which we were to live, and wept for me all the time.

At last there arrived the bitter day when we must depart. We were given

ten people to attend on us, and a woman for each person, in all, five.

I had intended to take my maid with me, but my sisters-in-law dissuaded

me: they gave me theirs to take her place, and gave me another maid for

an assistant to the laundresses, who could do nothing else but wash

clothes; I was compelled to agree to their arrangement.

My maid wept, and did not want to part from me. I asked her not to

importune me with her tears, and to take things as fate had decreed.

Such was my equipment: I had not even my own serf, and not a penny of

money. My governess gave me every kopek she had; it was not a great

sum, only sixty roubles, and with that I departed. I do not remember

whether we went on foot to the vessel, or whether we drove to it in a

carriage. The river was not far from our house; there I bid good-bye to

my family, for they had been permitted to see us off.

I stepped into the cabin, and saw how it was fixed up: my governess had

done all she could to help me in my evil plight. I had to thank her

here for the love she had shown to me, and for the education she had

given me; I also bid her farewell, not expecting ever to see her again:

we grasped each other’s necks, and my hands grew stiff with cold,

and I do not remember how we were torn from each other. I regained

consciousness in the place that served as a cabin. I was lying in the

bed, and my husband was standing over me, holding me by my hand, and

making me smell some salts. I jumped down from my bed, ran upstairs,

thinking that I would still catch a glimpse of it all, but those were

all unfamiliar scenes,--we had sailed away a long distance. Then I

noticed that I had lost a pearl that I wore on my finger; I evidently

dropped it in the water as I bade my family farewell; I was not even

sorry for it,--other thoughts were occupying me: life was lost, and

I was left alone, had lost all for the sake of one man. And thus we

sailed all night long.

The next day there was a stiff breeze; there was a storm on the river,

and the thunder sounded more terrible on the water than on land, and

I am naturally very much afraid of thunder. The vessel rolled from

side to side, and every time it thundered people fell down. My younger

sister-in-law was very much frightened, and wept and cried aloud. I

thought the world had come to an end; we were compelled to make for

the shore, where we passed a sleepless night in terror. As soon as it

dawned, the storm subsided; we continued our voyage, which lasted

three weeks. Whenever the weather was quiet, I sat near the window in

the cabin; I wept or washed my kerchiefs, while the water was nearby.

At times I bought a sturgeon, and, tying him to a rope, let him swim by

my side, so that I was not the only captive, but the sturgeon with me.

Whenever the wind began to rock the boat, my head began to ache, and I

felt nauseated; then they took me out on deck, where I lay unconscious

until the wind subsided, being covered with a fur coat: on the water

the winds are piercing. Often he sat by my side, to keep me company.

When the storm was over, I rested; but I could not eat much from nausea.

Here is what once happened to us: There was a frightful storm, and

there was not a person on board who knew where there were the deep

places and the shallows, or where we could land. The sailors were

merely peasants that had been taken from the plough, and who were

sailing where the wind bore them. It was getting dark, the night was

near, and the wind did not permit us to make a landing. They threw out

an anchor in the middle of the stream, where it was deepest, and the

anchor was carried away. The companion of my misfortunes would not

let me go on deck, for he was afraid that I would be crushed in the

turmoil. The people were running all about the boat: some were pumping

out the water, others were tying up the anchor; all were at work. While

nothing was being done successfully, the boat was suddenly drawn into

an eddy. I heard a terrible noise, and did not know what had happened.

I arose to look out: our boat was standing as if in a box, between two

shores. I asked where we were, but nobody could tell me, for they did

not know themselves. On one shore there was nothing but a birch wood,

but it was not a very thick forest. The earth on that shore began to

settle, and the forest slid several fathoms into the river, or eddy,

where we were standing. The forest rustled terribly under our very

boat, and then we were lifted up, and again drawn into the eddy. Thus

it lasted for a long time. All thought that we would perish, and the

sailors were ready to save their lives in boats, and to leave us to

death. Finally, so much of the land was torn loose that only a small

strip was left, and beyond it we could see some water, supposedly a

lake. If that strip were carried away, we would be in that lake. The

wind was awful, and our end would certainly have come, if God’s mercy

had not saved us. The wind calmed down, and no more land was being

carried away, and we were saved; at daylight we rode out of the eddy

into the river, and continued our voyage. That eddy had carried part of

my life away; yet I endured it all, all the terrors, for the end of my

sufferings was not yet to be: I was preparing myself for greater woes,

and God gave me strength for them.

* * * * *

We reached the provincial town of the island where we were to reside.

We were told that the way to that island was by water, and that a

change would be made here: the officer of the guard was to return, and

we were to be turned over to an officer of the local garrison, with a

detachment of twenty-four soldiers. We stayed here a week, while they

were fixing the boat that was to take us there, and we were transferred

from hand to hand, like prisoners. It was such a pitiable sight that

even a heart of stone would be softened. At this departure, the officer

wept, and said: “Now you will suffer all kinds of insult. These are not

ordinary men: they will treat you like common people, and will show you

no indulgence.” We all wept, as if we were parting from a relative. We

had at least gotten used to him. However badly we were off, yet he had

known us in our fortune, and he felt ashamed to treat us harshly.

When they had fixed the boat, a new commander took us to it. It was

quite a procession. A crowd of soldiers followed us, as if we were

robbers. I walked with downcast eyes, and did not look around: there

was a great number of curious people along the road on which they led

us. We arrived at the boat. I was frightened when I saw it, for it was

quite different from the former one: out of disrespect to us, they gave

us a worthless one. The boat was in accordance with the designation

which we bore, and they did not care, if we were to perish the next

day: we were simply prisoners,--there was no other name for us. Oh,

what can there be worse than that appellation? The honour we received

was in conformity with it! The boards on the boat were all warped, and

you could see daylight through them; the moment a breeze began to blow,

it creaked. It was black with age and soot: labourers had been making

fires in it, and no one would have thought to travel in it. It had been

abandoned, and was intended for kindling wood. As they were in a hurry

with us, they did not dare keep us back long, and gave us the first

boat they could find. But maybe they had express orders to drown us.

God having willed otherwise, we arrived safely at the appointed place.

We were compelled to obey a new commander. We tried all means to

gain his favour, but in vain. How could we have found any means? God

grant us to suffer with a clever man! But he was a stupid officer. He

had risen from a common peasant to be a captain. He thought he was a

great man, and that we must be kept as severely as possible, since we

were criminals. He regarded it below his dignity to speak to us; yet

in spite of all his arrogance, he came to dine with us. Consider for

yourself whether the man had any sense from the way he was dressed:

he wore his uniform right over his shirt, and slippers on his bare

feet; and thus he sat down to dinner with us! I was younger than the

rest, and uncontrollable: I could not help laughing as I looked at

his ridiculous get-up. He noticed that I was laughing at him, and

said, himself smiling: “Lucky for you that my books have burnt, or I

should have a talk with you!” However bitter I felt, I tried to get

him to talk more; but he never uttered another word. Just think what

a commander we were given to watch us in all we did! What were they

afraid of? That we would run away? Not their watch kept us back, but

our innocence: we were sure that in time they would see their error,

and would return us to our former possessions. Besides, we were

restrained by the fact that we had a large family. And thus we sailed

with the stupid commander a whole month until we arrived at the town

where we were to reside.

Mikhaíl Vasílevich Lomonósov. (1711-1765.)

Lomonósov was born in the village of Denísovka, in the Government

of Arkhángelsk, not far from the spot where, one hundred and fifty

years before, the English had rediscovered Russia. In his letters

to Shuválov, Lomonósov tells us of the difficulties with which he

had to contend at home and at the School of the Redeemer at Moscow.

His brilliant progress caused him to be chosen among the first men

to be sent abroad at Government expense to study mining, and to get

acquainted with mining methods in Holland, England and France. In

spite of insufficient support from the Government and a roving life at

German universities, Lomonósov made excellent progress in philosophy,

under Christian Wolff at Marburg, and in the sciences at Freiburg.

After marrying a German woman, wandering about and starving, Lomonósov

returned to St. Petersburg. Before reaching home, he had sent to St.

Petersburg his _Ode on the Occasion of the Capture of Khotín_. It

was the first time the tonic versification was successfully applied

to the language, and though the diction of the ode is turgid and the

enthusiasm forced, yet it became the model for a vast family of odes

and eulogies, generally written to order, until Derzhávin introduced a

new style with his _Felítsa_.

Upon his return, Lomonósov became attached to the University, which

was mainly filled with German professors. His own unamiable temper,

combined with the not more amiable characters of German colleagues,

was the cause of endless quarrels and exasperations. Under the most

depressing difficulties, Lomonósov, the first learned Russian,

developed a prodigious activity. He perfected the Russian literary

language, lectured on rhetoric and the sciences and wrote text-books,

odes and dramas. For a century he passed in Russia as a great poet,

and his deserts in other directions were disregarded. But a more sober

criticism sees now in Lomonósov a great scientist who has increased

knowledge by several discoveries, and only a second-rate poet. Only

where he described phenomena of nature or scientific facts, did he

become really inspired, and write poems that have survived him. His

services to the Russian language and literature are many. He did

for them what Peter the Great did for the State: by his own mighty

personality and example be put them on the road which they have never

abandoned, and though lacking originality, the school of Lomonósov

itself survived in Russian literature to the end of the eighteenth