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_,