Part I

.

_Ode in Honour of the Empress Anna_, in F. R. Grahame’s _The Progress of Science, Art and Literature in Russia_.

_Morning Meditation_, and part of the _Ode on the Accession of Catherine II._, in C. E. Turner’s _Studies in Russian Literature_, and, the same article, in Fraser’s Magazine, 1877.

_A Chronological Abridgement of Russian History_; translated from the original Russian ... and continued to the present by the translator (J. G. A. F.), London, 1767.

LETTERS TO I. I. SHUVÁLOV[134]

I

Dear Sir, Iván Ivánovich:--Your Excellency’s kind consideration in honouring me with a letter assures me, to my great joy, of your unchanged feelings to me, and this I have for many years regarded as one of my great fortunes. How could the august generosity of our incomparable Empress, which I enjoy through your fatherly intercession, divert me from my love and zeal to the sciences, when extreme poverty, which I have endured voluntarily for the sake of science, has not been able to distract me from it? Let not your Excellency think it self-praise in me, if I am bold to present to you my defence.

When I was studying in the School of the Redeemer, I was surrounded on all sides with powerful obstacles that made against science, and in those years the influence of these tendencies was almost insurmountable. On the one hand, my father, who had never had any other children but me, said that in leaving him I, being his only son, had left all his possessions (such as they were in those parts), which he had acquired for me in the sweat of his brow, and which strangers would carry away after his death. On the other hand, I was confronted with unspeakable poverty: as I received but three kopeks a day, all I dared spend a day for food was half a kopek for bread and half a kopek for kvas, while the rest went for paper, shoes and other necessities. In this way I passed five years, and did not abandon study. On the one hand, they wrote to me that, knowing the well-being of my father, well-to-do people of my village would give me their daughters in marriage, and in fact they proposed them to me, when I was there; on the other hand, the small schoolboys pointed their fingers at me, and cried: “Look at the clodhopper who has come to study Latin at the age of twenty!” Soon after that I was taken to St. Petersburg, and was sent abroad, receiving an allowance forty times as large as before. But that did not divert my attention from study, but proportionately increased my eagerness, though there is a limit to my strength. I most humbly beg your Excellency to feel sure that I will do all in my power to cause all those who ask me to be wary in my zeal to have no anxiety about me, and that those who judge me with malicious envy should be put to shame in their unjust opinion, and should learn that they must not measure others with their yardstick, and should also remember that the Muses love whom they list.

If there is anyone who persists in the opinion that a learned man must be poor, I shall quote on his side Diogenes, who lived in a barrel with dogs, and left his countrymen a few witticisms for the increase of their pride; on the other side I shall mention Newton, the rich Lord Boyle, who had acquired all his glory in the sciences through the use of a large sum of money; Wolff, who with his lectures and presents had accumulated more than five hundred thousand, and had earned, besides, a baronetcy; Sloane, in England, who had left such a library that no private individual was able to purchase it, and for which Parliament gave twenty thousand pounds. I shall not fail to carry out your commands, and remain with deep respect your Excellency’s most humble servant, Mikháylo Lomonósov. St. Petersburg, May 10, 1753.

II

Dear Sir, Iván Ivánovich:--I received yesterday your Excellency’s letter of May 24th, in which I see an unchangeable token of your distinguished favour to me, and which has greatly pleased me, especially because you have deigned to express your assurance that I would never abandon the sciences. I do not at all wonder at the judgment of the others, for they really have had the example in certain people who, having barely opened for themselves the road to fortune, have at once set out on other paths and have sought out other means for their farther advancement than the sciences, which they have entirely abandoned; their patrons ask little or nothing of them, and are satisfied with their mere names, not like your Excellency who ask for my works in order to judge me. In these above-mentioned men, who in their fortune have abandoned science, all can easily perceive that all they know is what they have acquired in their infancy under the rod, and that they have added no new knowledge since they have had control of themselves. But it has been quite different with me (permit me, dear sir, to proclaim the truth not for the sake of vainglory, but in order to justify myself): my father was a good-hearted man, but he was brought up in extreme ignorance; my step-mother was an evil and envious woman, and she tried with all her might and main to rouse my father’s anger by representing to him that I eternally wasted my time with books; so I was frequently compelled to read and study anything that fell into my hands, in lonely and deserted places, and to suffer cold and hunger, until I went to the School of the Redeemer.

Now that I have, through your fatherly intercession, a complete sufficiency from her august Imperial Highness, and your approbation of my labours, and that of other experts and lovers of the sciences, and almost their universal delight in them, and finally no longer a childish reasoning of an imperfect age,--how could I in my manhood disgrace my early life? But I shall stop troubling your patience with these considerations, knowing your just opinion of me. So I shall report to your Excellency that which your praiseworthy zeal wishes to know of the sciences.

First, as to electricity: There have lately been made here two important experiments, one by Mr. Richmann by means of the apparatus, the other by me in the clouds. By the first it was proved that Musschenbroek’s experiment with a strong discharge can be transferred from place to place, separating it from the apparatus for a considerable distance, even as much as half a mile. The second experiment was made on my lightning apparatus, when, without any perceptible thunder or lightning, on the 25th of April, the thread was repelled from the iron rod and followed my hand; and on the 28th of the same month, during the passage of a rain-cloud without any perceptible thunder or lightning, there were loud discharges from the lightning apparatus, with bright sparks and a crackling that could be heard from a great distance. This has never been noticed before, and it agrees completely with my former theory of heat and my present one of the electric power, and this will serve me well at the next public lecture. This lecture I shall deliver in conjunction with Professor Richmann: he will present his experiments, and I shall illustrate the theory and usefulness arising from them; I am now preparing for this lecture.

As to the second part of the text-book on eloquence, it is well on its way, and I hope to have it printed by the end of October. I shall use all my endeavour to have it out soon; I do not send your Excellency any manuscript of it, as you have asked for printed sheets. As I have promised, I am also using all my endeavour in regard to the first volume of the _Russian History_, so as to have it ready in manuscript by the new year. From him who delivers lectures in his subject, who makes new experiments, delivers public lectures and dissertations, and besides composes all kinds of verses and projects for solemn expressions of joy; who writes out the rules of eloquence for his native language and a history of his country, which, at that, he has to furnish for a certain date,--I cannot demand anything more, and I am ready to be patient with him, provided something sensible will result in the end.

Having again and again convinced myself that your Excellency likes to converse about science, I eagerly await a pleasant meeting with you, in order to satisfy you with my latest endeavours, for it is not possible to communicate them all to you at a distance. I cannot see when I shall be able to arrange, as I had promised, the optical apparatus in your Excellency’s house, for there are no floors, nor ceilings, nor staircases in it yet, and I lately walked around in it with no small degree of danger to myself. The electric balls I shall send you, as you wish, without delay, as soon as possible. I must inform your Excellency that there is here a great scarcity in mechanics, so that I have not been able to get anywhere, not even at your estate, a joiner for any money, to build me an electric apparatus, so that up to the present I have been making use, instead of a terrestrial machine, of the clouds, to which I have had a pole erected from the roof. Whatever instruments your Excellency may need, I beg you to permit me to report in the office of the Academy in your name that the orders for them should be given to the mechanics, or else the business will be endlessly prolonged. In fine, I remain, with the expression of deep respect, your most humble and faithful servant, Mikháylo Lomonósov. St. Petersburg, May 31, 1753.

ODE IN HONOUR OF THE EMPRESS ANNA, ON THE OCCASION OF THE CAPTURE OF KHOTÍN FROM THE TURKS, BY THE RUSSIAN ARMIES, IN 1739

A sudden ecstasy has seized my soul; it transports me to the summit of a lofty mountain, where the wind has ceased to howl, and all is hushed in the deep valleys below. Silent are the listening streams, to which it is natural to murmur, or with loud rush to roll down the mountains; crowns of laurel are weaving; thither rumour is seen to hasten; afar off the blue smoke rises in the fields.

Is not Pindus beneath my feet? I hear the sweet music of the pure sisters. Parnassian fire burns within me. I hasten to the sacred band. They offer me to taste of the healing stream. “Drink, and forget thy troubles; bathe thine eyes in Castilian dew; stretch them forth over the deserts and hills, and fix them on the spot where the bright light of day is seen rising out of the dark shadows of night.”

As a ship, amidst the angry waves which seek to overwhelm her, sails on triumphantly, and appears to threaten should they dare to impede her course; grey froth foams around her, her track is imprinted in the deep; thus crowds of Tartars rush towards and surround the Russian forces, but in vain; powerless and breathless they fall.

The love of their country nerves the souls and arms of Russia’s sons; eager are all to shed their blood; the raging tumult but inspires them with fresh courage; as the lion, by the fearful glare of his eyes, drives before him whole herds of wolves, their sharp teeth vainly showing; the woods and shores tremble at his roar; with his tail he lashes the sand and dust; with his strength he beats down every opposing force.

Hear I not the deafening din of Ætna’s forges? Roars not the brass within, bubbling with boiling sulphur? Is not Hell striving to burst its chains, and ope its jaws? The posterity of the rejected deity have filled the mountain track with fire, and hurl down flame and liquid metal; but neither foe nor nature can withstand the burning ardour of our people.

Send away thy hordes, Stamboul, beyond these mountains, where the fiery elements vomit forth smoke, ashes, flame and death; beyond the Tigris, whose strong waves drag after them the huge stones from the shores, but the world holds no impediment to arrest the eagle in his flight. To him the waters, the woods, the mountains, the precipices and the silent deserts are but as level paths; wherever the wind can blow, thither he can wing his way.

Let the earth be all motion like the sea; let myriads oppose; let thickest smoke darken the universe; let the Moldavian mountains swim in blood; such cannot harm you, O Russians! whose safety Fate itself has decreed for the sake of the blessed Anna. Already in her course your zeal has led you in triumph against the Tartars, and wide is the prospect before you.

The parting ray of daylight falls gently into the waters, and leaves the fight to the night fires; Murza has fallen on his long shadow; in him the light and soul of the infidels pass from them. A wolf issues from the thick forest and rushes on the pale carcass, even in the Turkish camp. A dying Tartar, raising his eyes towards the evening star for the last time, “Hide,” he feebly cries, “thy purple light, and with it the shame of Mahomet; descend quickly with the sun into the sea.”

Why is my soul thus oppressed with terror? My veins grow stiff, my heart aches. Strange tones meet mine ear; a howling noise seems passing through the desert, the woods and the air. The wild beast has taken refuge in its cavern; the gates of heaven are opened; a cloud has spread itself over the army; suddenly a countenance of fire shines forth: a hero appears chasing his enemies before him, his sword all red with blood.

Is it not he who, near the rapid waters of the Don, destroyed the walls raised to check the Russians’ progress? And the Persians in their arid deserts, was it not by his arms they fell? Thus looked he on his foes when he approached the Gothic shores; thus lifted he his powerful arm; thus swiftly his proud horse galloped over those fields where we see the morning star arise.

Loud thunder rattles around him; the plains and the forests tremble at the approach of Peter, who by his side so sternly looks towards the south, girt round with dreadful thunder! Is it not the conqueror of Kazán? It is he, ye Caspian waters, who humbled the proud Selim, and strewed the desert with the dead bodies of his enemies.

Thus the heroes addressed each other: “Not in vain we toiled; not fruitless our united efforts, that the whole world should stand in awe of Russia. By the aid of our arms, our boundaries have been widened on the north, on the west, and on the east. Anna now triumphs in the south; she has crowned her troops with victory.” The cloud has passed, and the heroes within it: the eye no longer sees, the ear no longer hears them.

The blood of the Tartar has purpled the river; he dares not again venture to the fight; he seeks refuge in the desert; and, forgetful alike of the sword, the camp, his own shame, he pictures to himself his friends weltering in their blood; the waving of the light leaf startles him like whizzing balls as they fly through the air.

The shouts of the victors echo through the woods and valleys; but the wretch who abandons the fight dreads his own shadow. The moon, a witness to her children’s flight, shares in their shame, and, deeply reddening, hides her face in darkness. Fame flies through the gloom of the night; her trumpet proclaims to the universe the terrible might of Russia.

The Danube rushes into the sea, and, roaring in echo to the acclamations of the conquerors, dashes its furious waves against the Turk, who seeks to hide his shame behind its waters. To and fro he runs like a wild beast wounded, and, despairing, he thinks that for the last time he moves his steps; the earth disdains to support the wretch who could not guard her; darkness and fear confuse his path.

Where is now the boasting Stamboul?--thy courage, thy obstinacy in the fight, thy malice against the nations of the North, thy contempt of our strength? No sooner hadst thou commanded thy hordes to advance than thou thoughtest to conquer; cruelly thy janissary vented his rage; like a tiger he rushed upon the Muscovite troop. Soon the boaster fell; he weltered in his own blood.

Water with your tears, children of Hagar, the foot which has trampled you down! Kiss ye that hand whose bloody sword brought fear before your eyes. Anna’s stern glance is quick to grant relief to those who seek it; it shines forth, for the storm has passed away. She sees you prostrate before her; fervent in affection towards her own subjects, to her enemies she proffers punishment or pardon.

Already has the golden finger of the morning star withdrawn the starry curtain of night; a horse fleet as the wind, his rider Phœbus in the full blaze of his glory, issues from the east, his nostrils breathing sparks of radiant light. Phœbus shakes his fiery head, dwells in wonder on the glorious work and exclaims: “Few such victories have I witnessed, long as I have continued to give light to the world, long as the circle of ages has revolved.”

Like as the serpent rolls itself up, hissing and hiding its sting under a rock, when the eagle, soaring into those regions where the winds blow not, above lightnings, snow and tempests, looks down upon the beasts, the fishes and the reptiles beneath him, thus Khotín trembles before the eagle of Russia; thus its inhabitants crouch within its walls.

What led your Tartar race, Kalchák,[135] to bend so promptly beneath the Russian power? to deliver up the keys of your town in token of submission, evading thus disgrace more deep? The clemency of Anna, of her who is ever ready to raise the suppliant. Where flows the Vistula, and where the glorious Rhine, even there her olive-trees have flourished; there have the proud hearts of her defeated foes yielded up their lives.

Joyful are the lands which have thrown off the cruel yoke; the burden the Turks had laid on them is thrown back upon themselves! The barbarian hands which held them in restraint now wear their chains in captivity; and the feet are shackled which trampled down the field of the stranger, and drove away his flocks.

Not thus alone must thou be humbled; not all thy punishment this, O Turkey! A far greater hast thou merited, for thou didst refuse to let us live in peace. Still does the rage of your haughty souls forbid you to bend before Anna? Where would ye hide yourselves from her? Damascus, Cairo, Aleppo, shall flame! Crete shall be surrounded with her fleets; Euphrates shall be dyed with your blood.

A sudden and universal change! A dazzling vision passes before my eyes, and with heaven’s purest beams outshines the brightness of the day! The voices of heroes strike upon my ear. Anna’s joyous band, in glory clad, bear up eternity beyond the starry orbs, and Truth with her golden pen traces her glorious deeds in that book which is not reached by corruption.

Russia thrives like a young lily under Anna’s care; within China’s distant walls she is honoured, and every corner of the earth is filled with her subjects’ glory. Happy art thou, O my country, under the rule of thy Empress! Bright the laurels thou hast gained by this triumph. Fear not the ills of war; they fly from the land where Anna is glorified by her people. Malicious envy may pour forth her poison, she may gnaw her tongue in rage. Our joy heeds it not.

The robbers who, from beyond the Dniester, came to plunder the fields of the Cossacks, are driven back, scattered like dust; no longer dare they venture on that soil where the fruits of the earth and the blessings of peace together flourish. In safety the merchant pursues his traffic, and the mariner sees a boundary to the waves; no obstacles impede his course. The old and the young are happy; he who wished for the hour of death now prays for lengthened life; his heart is gladdened by his country’s triumphs.

The shepherd drives his flocks into the meadow, and enters the forest without fear; there, with his friend who tends his sheep, he sings the song of joy, his theme the bravery of the soldier; he blesses the passing moments of his life, and implores endless peace on the spot where he sleeps in quiet. Thus, in the simple sincerity of his heart, he glorifies her who shields him from his enemies.

O thou great Empress! The love of Russia, the dread of thy foes, the heroine of the northern world, the hope, the joy, the goddess of the shores of seven wide seas, thou shinest in the cloudless lights of goodness and beneficence. Forgive thy slave that he has chosen thy glory for his lay, and that his rugged verse, in token of submission to thy rule, has thus dared to attempt to magnify thy power.--Given in F. R. Grahame’s _The Progress of Science, Art and Literature in Russia_.

MORNING MEDITATIONS

O’er the wide earth yon torch of heavenly light Its splendour spreads and God’s proud works unveils; My soul, enraptured at the marvellous sight, Unwonted peace, and joy, and wonder feels, And with uplifted thoughts of ecstasy Exclaims, “How great must their Creator be!”

Or, if a mortal’s power could stretch so high-- If mortal sight could reach that glorious sun, And look undazzled at its majesty, ’T would seem a fiery ocean burning on From time’s first birth, whose ever-flaming ray Could ne’er extinguished be by time’s decay.

There waves of fire ’gainst waves of fire are dashing, And know no bounds; there hurricanes of flame, As if in everlasting combat flashing, Roar with a fury which no time can tame: There molten mountains boil like ocean-waves, And rain in burning streams the welkin laves.

But in Thy presence all is but a spark, A little spark: that wondrous orb was lighted By Thy own hand, the dreary and the dark Pathway of man to cheer--of man benighted; To guide the march of seasons in their way, And place us in a paradise of day.

Dull Night her sceptre sways o’er plains and hills, O’er the dark forest and the foaming sea; Thy wondrous energy all nature fills, And leads our thoughts, and leads our hopes to Thee. “How great is God!” a million tongues repeat, And million tongues re-echo, “God, how great!”

But now again the day star bursts the gloom, Scattering its sunshine o’er the opening sky; Thy eye, that pierces even through the tomb, Has chased the clouds, has bid the vapours fly; And smiles of light, descending from above, Bathe all the universe with joy and love.

From Sir John Bowring’s _Specimens of the Russian Poets_.

EVENING MEDITATIONS

ON SEEING THE AURORA BOREALIS

The day retires, the mists of night are spread Slowly o’er nature, darkening as they rise; The gloomy clouds are gathering round our heads, And twilight’s latest glimmering gently dies: The stars awake in heaven’s abyss of blue; Say, who can count them?--Who can sound it?--Who?

Even as a sand in the majestic sea, A diamond-atom on a hill of snow, A spark amidst a Hecla’s majesty, An unseen mote where maddened whirlwinds blow, And I midst scenes like these--the mighty thought O’erwhelms me--I am nought, or less than nought.

And science tells me that each twinkling star That smiles above us is a peopled sphere, Or central sun, diffusing light afar; A link of nature’s chain:--and there, even there, The Godhead shines displayed--in love and light, Creating wisdom--all-directing might.

Where are thy secret laws, O Nature, where? In wintry realms thy dazzling torches blaze, And from thy icebergs streams of glory there Are poured, while other suns their splendent race In glory run: from frozen seas what ray Of brightness?--From yon realms of night what day?

Philosopher, whose penetrating eye Reads nature’s deepest secrets, open now This all-inexplicable mystery: Why do earth’s darkest, coldest regions glow With lights like these?--Oh, tell us, knowing one, For thou dost count the stars, and weigh the sun!

Whence are these varied lamps all lighted round?-- Whence all the horizon’s glowing fire?--The heaven Is splendent as with lightning--but no sound Of thunder--all as calm as gentlest even; And winter’s midnight is as bright, as gay, As the fair noontide of a summer’s day.

What stores of fire are these, what magazine, Whence God from grossest darkness light supplies? What wondrous fabric which the mountains screen, Whose bursting flames above those mountains rise; Where rattling winds disturb the mighty ocean, And the proud waves roll with eternal motion?

Vain is the inquiry--all is darkness, doubt: This earth is one vast mystery to man. First find the secrets of this planet out, Then other planets, other systems scan! Nature is veiled from thee, presuming clod! And what canst thou conceive of Nature’s God?

--From Sir John Bowring’s _Specimens of the Russian Poets._

FOOTNOTES:

[134] To his patron, upon his having expressed his fear that Lomonósov would lose his zeal for the sciences when he received the gift of an estate from the Empress.

[135] Kalchák-pasha was the commander of Khotín.

Alexander Petróvich Sumarókov. (1718-1777.)

Sumarókov is the first litterateur of Russia, that is, the first man to regard literature as a profession, independently of an official position. After graduating from the military school, in 1740, he served for a while under some military commanders, but devoted all his leisure time to writing poetry according to the rules laid down by Tredyakóvski. There was no species of poetical literature in which he did not try himself and did not produce prolifically. He has left odes, eulogies, fables, satires and dramas. In many of these he broke virgin soil in Russia, and in his unexampled conceit he was not slow to proclaim his highest deserts: “What Athens has seen and Paris now sees, after a long period of transition, that you, O Russia, have perceived at once by my efforts.” In spite of his mediocrity and acquaintance with only the pseudo-classic French style (for he disdained all serious study of antiquity), Sumarókov was highly valued in his day, and his example has done much to advance Russian literature. In 1756 the Russian Theatre was created by a decree of the Senate, and Sumarókov was chosen as its first director. To fill his repertoire, he was compelled to write plays himself, and he produced them with astounding facility. His best drama is probably _The False Demetrius_, though there is little historical truth in it. In 1761 he issued the first independent journal, _The Industrious Bee_, which, however, was filled mainly with his own writings. Sumarókov’s influence on Russian letters lasted up to the time of Púshkin, though Karamzín was the first to doubt his greatness.

Sumarókov’s _The False Demetrius_ has been translated into English: _Demetrius the Impostor_; a tragedy [in five acts and in prose], translated from the Russian, London, 1806.

## Act II., Scene 7, is also given in C. E. Turner’s _Studies in Russian

Literature_, and, the same, in Fraser’s Magazine, 1877.

THE FALSE DEMETRIUS

## ACT II., SCENE 1. GEORGE AND XENIA

_Xenia._ Blessed in the world is that purple-bearing man who does not suppress the freedom of our souls, who elevates himself for society’s good, and with leniency adorns his royal dignity, who gives his subjects auspicious days, and whom evildoers alone have cause to fear.

_George._ O thou sad Kremlin! Thou art this day a witness how that virtue was cast down from the throne. Languishing Moscow trembles in despair; happiness flees its walls in sorrow; the bright days seem darker than dense night; the fair groves about Moscow are clad in sombreness. When the solemn bell rings in the city, it seems to us that it repeats the city’s general groan and that it proclaims our Church’s fall through the machinations of the pope. O Lord, remove that terror from the Russians! Already the report flies through the square that Clement has promised reward in heaven to the rebels, the foes of our country’s city, and that he in advance forgives them all their sins. Moscow will suffer as suffers the New World! There the papists have stained with blood the earth, have slaughtered its inhabitants, have plundered the surviving, have burnt the innocent in their own land, holding the cross in one hand, in the other--the bloody sword. What has happened to them in their dire fate will now, O Russia, be done to you!

_Xenia._ All powers of evil,--Demetrius, Clement, Hell,--will not efface you from my heart! O Heaven, remove the fury of the papal power, and with it Xenia’s unbearable distress, that Russia might raise its head, and I might be my sweetheart’s wife! Grant us to see the monarch on the throne, subject to truth, not arbitrary will! All truth has withered; the tyrant’s law is only what he wants; but on the happiness of their subjects are based the laws of righteous kings, for their immortal glory. God’s vicar is to be the Tsar. Strike me, destroy me, merciless Tsar! Megæra has swept you from Tartarus, the Caucasus has borne you, Hyrcania has nurtured you. The heretic, with his crowd of slaves, will, cursing, oust the bodies of saintly men from their graves. Their names will in Russia for ever perish, and the houses of God will in Moscow be deserted. Nation, tear the crown from the creator of dire torments; hasten, wrest the sceptre from the barbarian’s hands!

## SCENE 7

_Demetrius_ (_alone_). My crown lies not firmly upon my head, and the end of my greatness is at hand. Each moment I expect a sudden change. O Kremlin’s walls that frighten me! Meseems each hour you announce to me: “Villain, you are a foe, a foe to us and the whole land!” The citizens proclaim: “You have ruined us!” And the temples weep: “We are stained with blood!” The fair places about Moscow are deserted, and Hell from its abyss has oped its jaws at me; I see the sombre steps that lead to the infernal regions, and the tormented shades of Tartarus: I am already in Gehenna, and burn in the flame; I cast my glance to heaven, and see the celestial regions: there are good kings in all the beauty of their natures, and angels besprinkle them with dew of paradise; but what hope have I to-day in my despair? I shall be tormented in eternity even as I suffer now. I am not a crowned potentate in a magnificent city, but an evil malefactor, in hell tormented. I perish, dragging a multitude of the people to destruction. Flee, tyrant, flee! From whom?--From myself, for I see no one else before me. Run! But whither? Your hell is ever with you! The assassin is here, run! But I am that assassin! I tremble before myself, and before my shade. I shall avenge myself! On whom? Myself. Do I hate myself? I love myself! For what? I see it not. All cry against me: rapine, unfair justice, all terrible things,--they cry together against me. I live to the misfortune, shall die to the fortune of my nearest. The fate of men, the lowliest, I envy: even the mendicant is sometimes happy in his poverty. But I rule here,--and am always tormented. Endure and perish, having ascended the throne by deceit! Drive, and be driven! Live and die a tyrant!

INSTRUCTION TO A SON

Perceiving his tearful end near at hand, a father thus instructed his beloved, only begotten son:

“My son, beloved son! I am old to-day; my mind grows dull, my fervour is all gone; I am preparing to go before the Judge, and shall soon pass to eternity, the immeasurable abode of mortals. So I wish to tell you how you may live, and to show you the road to happiness. You will travel over a slippery path: though all in the world is vanity, yet why should one disdain happiness in life? Our whole mind ought to be bent upon obtaining it, and our endeavour should be to get all we need.

“Give up that chimera which men call honour; of what good is it when you have nothing to eat? It is impossible to get along in commerce without cheating, and in poverty without dishonesty and theft. By hook and by crook I have scraped together a fortune for you; now, if you should squander it all, I shall have sold my soul in vain. Whenever I think of that, my rest is gone.

“Increase your income, keep indolence from your heart, and keep your money against an evil day. Steal, if you can steal, but do it secretly,--by all means increase your income every year! The eye is not satisfied with mere looking on. If you can cheat, cheat artfully, for ’tis a shame to be caught in the act, and it often leads to the gallows. Make no acquaintances for the mere sake of knowing them, but put your spoon there where the jam is thickest! Revere the rich, to get your tribute from them. Never tire praising them with condescension; but if they be distinguished people, subdue them by creeping!

“Be humble with all men, and simulate! If a mighty person chides anyone, together with the mighty chide him! Praise those whom the powerful praise, and belittle those they belittle! Keep your eyes wide open and watch whom great boyárs are angry with.

“If you walk upon the straight road, you will find no fortune. Swim there where favourable winds carry you! Against men whom the people honour speak not a word; and let your soul be ever ready to thank them, though you receive nothing from them! Endeavour to speak like them. Whatever the puissant man says are sacred words; never contradict him, for you are a small man! If he say red of that which is black, say too: ‘’Tis rather red!’ Before low-born men rave like a devil; for if you do not, they will forget who you are, and will not respect you: the common people honour those who are haughty. But before the high-born leap like a frog, and remember that a farthing is as nothing in comparison with a rouble. Big souls have they, but we, my beloved son, have only little souls! Be profuse in thanks, if you expect some favour from your benefactor; spare your thanks where you have nothing to gain, for your grateful spirit will be lost.

“Do yourself no injury, and remain honest to yourself, loving yourself most sincerely! Do no injury to yourself, but for others have only appearances, and remember how little wisdom there is in the world, and how many fools. Satisfy them with empty words: honour yourself with your heart, but others with your lips, for you will have to pay no toll for fondling them. Let others think that you place yourself much lower than them, and that you have little regard for yourself; but do not forget that your shirt is nearer to your body than your caftan!

“I will allow you to play cards, provided you know how to handle them. A game without cunning has no interest, and playing you must not sacrifice yourself to others. Whatever game you play, my son, remember not to be always honest!--Have contempt for peasants, seeing them below your feet, but let your lips proclaim the puissant as gods, and speak no surly word to them. But love none of them, no matter what their worth, though their deeds be trumpeted through the subsolar world! Give bribes, and yourself accept them! When there are no witnesses, steal and cheat as much as you please, but be wary with your misdoings in presence of witnesses! Change the good that there is in people into evil, and never say a good word of another! For what are you to gain from praising them? Indeed, their virtues put you only in a bad light. Go not out of the way to serve another, where there is no gain for you.

“Hate the learned, and despise the ignorant, and ever keep your thoughts fresh for your own advantage! Above all, beware of getting into the satire of impudent scribblers! Disturb and break the ties of families, friendship and marriage, for ’tis more convenient to fish in muddy waters. Know no love, family nor friends, for ever holding yourself alone in mind! Deceive your friends, and let them suffer through you sorrow and misfortune, if you are the winner thereby! Garner your fruits wherever you can! There are some who foolishly call it dishonest to bring woes to your friends, but they do not see that duty teaches me only to love myself, and that it is not at all dishonourable when necessity demands that others perish: it is contrary to nature not to love yourself best. Let misfortune befall my country, let it go to the nethermost regions; let everything that is not mine be ruined,--provided I have peace.

“Forget not my rules! I have left you my fortune and my wisdom. Live, my son, live as your father has lived!”

He had barely uttered these words, when he was struck by lightning, and he departed from his child and home; and the soul that had for so long been disseminating poison flew out of the body and took its flight to hell.

TO THE CORRUPTERS OF LANGUAGE

In a strange land there lived a dog in a thick forest. He deemed his citizens to be uncultured, so passed his days in the country of the wolves and bears. The dog no longer barked, but growled like a bear, and sang the songs of wolves. When he returned to the dogs, he out of reason adorned his native tongue. He mixed the growl of bears and howl of wolves into his bark, and began to speak unintelligibly to dogs. The dogs said: “We need not your new-fangled music--you only spoil our language with it”; and they began to bite him, until they killed him.

I have read the tombstone of that dog: “Never disdain your native speech, and introduce into it nothing foreign, but adorn yourself with your own beauty.”

THE HELPFUL GNAT

Six fine horses were pulling an immense carriage. The carriage would have been a heavy one without any people in it; but this enormous carriage was filled with people, and was in size a haystack. It slowly moved along, travelling not over boards, but carrying the master and his wife through heavy sand, in which it finally stuck fast. The horses’ strength gave out; the lackeys on the footboard, to save the horses and wheels, stepped down; but yet the rick did not move. The driver called to the horses: “Get up, get up!” and struck them with the whip, as if it was their guilt. He struck them hard and yelled and yelled, until he grew hoarse, while the horses were covered with foam, and steam rose from them.

A gnat flew by, perceived the plight of the carriage, and was anxious to do it a good turn, and help it out. So it began to goad the horses and the driver, to make the driver on his box more agile, and that the horses might draw with more vim. Now it stung the driver, now the horses; it perspired, worked with might and main, but all in vain; it buzzed and buzzed, but all its songs were useless; there was not the slightest sign that the carriage would move; so after having laboured hard, it flew away. In the meanwhile, the horses had rested themselves, and dragged the huge mass out of the sand. The gnat saw the carriage from afar, and said: “How foolish it all was of me to abandon the carriage just as it was to move! ’Tis true I have worked hard in the sand, but at least I have moved the carriage.”

FOUR ANSWERS

You ask me, my friend, what I would do: (1) if I were a small man and a small gentleman; (2) if I were a great man and a small gentleman; (3) if I were a great man and a great gentleman; (4) if I were a small man and a great gentleman. To the first question I answer: I should use all my endeavour to become acquainted in the houses of distinguished people and men of power; I would not allow a single holiday to pass, without making the round of the city, in order to give the compliments of the season; I would walk on tiptoes in the antechambers of the mighty, and would treat their valets to tobacco; I would learn to play all kinds of games, for when you play cards you can sit down shoulder to shoulder with the most distinguished people, and then bend over to them and say in a low tone: “I have the honour to report to your Excellency such and such an affair,” or again become bolder and exclaim: “You have thirteen and I fourteen.” I would not dispute anything, but would only say: “Just so; certainly so; most certainly so; absolutely so.” I would tell the whole world that such and such a distinguished gentleman had condescended to speak to me, and if I could not say so truthfully, I would lie about it, for nothing so adorns speech as a lie, to which poets are witnesses.

Finally, I would obtain by humility and flattery a profitable place, but above all I would strive to become a governor, for that place is profitable, honourable and easy. It is profitable, because everybody brings gifts; it is honourable, because everybody bows before a governor; it is easy, because there is very little work to do, and that is done by a secretary or scribe, and, they being sworn people, one may entirely rely upon them. A scribe has been created by God by whom man has been created, and that opinion is foolish which assumes that a scribe’s soul is devoid of virtue. I believe there is little difference between a man and a scribe, much less difference than between a scribe and any other creature.

If I were a great man and a small gentleman, I would, in my constant attempt to be useful to my country and the world at large, never become burdensome to anyone, and would put all my reliance upon my worth and my deserts to my country; and if I should find myself deceived in this, I should become insane from so much patience, and should be a man who not only does nothing, but even thinks nothing.

If I were a great man and a great gentleman, I would without cessation think of the welfare of my country, of incitements to virtue and dignity, the reward of merit, the suppression of vice and lawlessness, the increase of learning, the cheapening of the necessaries of life, the preservation of justice, the punishment for taking bribes, for grasping, robbery and theft, the diminution of lying, flattery, hypocrisy and drunkenness, the expulsion of superstition, the abatement of unnecessary luxury, the limitation of games at cards which rob people of their valuable time, the education, the founding and maintenance of schools, the maintenance of a well-organised army, the scorn of rudeness, and the eradication of parasitism.

But if I were a small man and a great gentleman, I would live in great magnificence, for such magnificence is rarely to be found in a great soul; but I will not say what else I would do.

Vasíli Ivánovich Máykov. (1728-1778.)

Máykov was the son of a landed proprietor. He entered military service, in 1766 was made Associate Governor of Moscow, and occupied other high offices. He began to write early and, being an admirer of Sumarókov,--like all the other writers of his day,--he wrote odes, eulogies, fables, tragedies, all of them in the pseudo-classic style. He knew no foreign languages, and his imitations are at second hand. This, however, gave him a great advantage over his contemporaries, in that he was better acquainted with Russian reality than with foreign models. His mock-heroic poem _Eliséy, or Excited Bacchus_, from which “The Battle of the Zimogórans and Valdáyans,” given below, is an extract, is far superior for real humour, Russian environment and good popular diction to anything else produced by the Russian writers of the eighteenth century; and the undisputed popularity of the _Eliséy_, which was not dimmed even by Bogdanóvich’s _Psyche_, was well merited.

THE BATTLE OF THE ZIMOGÓRANS AND VALDÁYANS

The field was all ploughed and sowed in oats, and after these labours all the cattle and we were resting. Already had the grain sprouted a quarter of an inch, and our time had come to cut the hay. Our meadow, as all know well, bordered on the meadow of the Valdáyans; no one could tell where the line between them was but a surveyor, so the strongest hand mowed the grass there, and the meadows were always a cause of quarrels; even then they were the cause of our terrible battle.

The day had come, and we went into the meadow, taking with us milk, eggs and whey-cheese, loading ourselves with kvas, beets, dumplings, brandy and buckwheat cakes. No sooner had we appeared with our provender in the meadow, than we espied the host before us: the proud Valdáyans were standing there with arms of war. We became frightened and ran away like rabbits, and running we looked for weapons resembling theirs: withes, pales, poles, cudgels and clubs. We vied with each other to arm ourselves with sticks and to prepare ourselves for the fray. The chief of our village, foreseeing a terrible calamity, seated himself on his horse and gathered us all together; having gotten us together, he took a pen and began to scribble. Though he was not a Frenchman nor a Greek, but a Russian, yet he was a government official and wore a crimson uniform. God forfend that a scribe should be a military commander! He took out his pen, and began to write down the names, while our backs were already smarting from the descent of a hail of stones upon them. Is it possible Pallas was with the scribe? For he was still writing down names, while the Valdáyans were drubbing us. Old women in the huts were lamenting to heaven; small children, all the girls and women, and chickens hid behind the stove and underneath it.

Seeing that there was to be no end to his writing, we no longer listened to the scribe, but like a whirlwind swept down from all sides and, pressing forward in a mass, hastened to the fight. Neither fences nor water could keep us back, and the only salvation for the Valdáyans was in flight; but they stood out stubbornly against us, and with agility swung their wooden arms at us. We could not break asunder the order of their ranks, and from both sides there flew upon us stones and mud, the implements of war of furious men. We were bespattering and striking each other down without mercy, but ours stood like a firm wall.

Forgive me for mentioning names which it would not be otherwise proper to utter here, except that without them we would not have been victorious. Even if our scribe had been much wiser, he would not have broken that wall with his skull, which we barely smashed with our clubs. We had for some time been striking each other mightily with stones, when our Stépka the intrepid (he was not very clever, but a powerful man) rushed with grim rage into the thickest fight among the Valdáyans: he struck them down with a cudgel, and they raised a cry, but Stépka hacked among them like a butcher. Then his nephew, too, took a club, flew at them, but lost courage and showed them his back, whereupon a frisky Valdáyan jumped upon it and was on top of our hero. In the very midst of the sanguinary fray he had jumped upon the hero’s shoulder, and boasted before his whole horde that he had begun with a battle and had ended with leapfrog. But the jest ended badly for him, for the Valdáyan had not yet thanked us for the ride, when Stépka’s nephew grabbed the Valdáyan by the girdle and so hurled him to the ground that he broke his nose and so flattened it that he now has to wear a plaster upon it.

Then, lo, we all suddenly noticed in the distance a rider all covered with dust: that was the proud leader of the Valdáyans; that beast was a worthy likeness of our own manager. Raging with an internal fire against us, he galloped upon his steed towards our hero. All thought that they would end the terrible battle by a duel; we all stood in quiet expectancy, and terror seized us all. Already the heroes approached each other on their horses, but suddenly, it seemed, they changed their minds: they did not fight, they only cursed each other, leaving us alone to finish the battle, while their horses took them back to their homes.

In the meantime, if you wish to know it, the sun shone so that it was time for us to dine; if the accursed battle had not taken place, I, no doubt, would have swallowed two or three bites by that time; but, under the circumstances, I thought neither of beet soup nor buckwheat mush.

When the horses had taken away the commanders, we carried on a real war: all order was suddenly gone, and at the same time all distinction of great and small disappeared; we were all mixed up, and all were equal. Suddenly my brother swooped down like a hawk, to aid us, and he mixed up the battle, like wheat mush in a vat. Accuse me not of lying in what I am going to tell of my brother: holding a heavy club in his hand, he carried terror to all our enemies: wherever he passed there was a street, and where he turned about, there was a square. He had been vanquishing the Valdáyans for an hour, and they had all been running away from him, when all at once there appeared his adversary. My brother’s exploit was stopped, for that Valdáyan hung upon his neck, and bit off my brother’s right ear. And thus my beloved brother Ilyúkha, who had come to the battle with ears, went away with but one. He dragged himself along, bleeding like a pig, maimed, torn, but above all, disgraced.

Think of my loss! He lost an ear, and I a brother! Since then I no longer recognise him as my brother. Do not imagine that I have spoken this in vain: when he was possessed of both ears, he was easily moved by the words of the unfortunate; but now that door is entirely locked, and he hears only when one says: “Here, take this!” but he no longer hears the word “give,” and with his left ear accepts nobody’s prayers. In an empty well it is not likely you will find a treasure, and without it I do not care even for my brother.

Having lost such a hero, we were bereft of all means of victory; the Valdáyans henceforth got the better of us, struck us down, pressed hard upon us and drove us from the field. We should have been that day entirely undone, had not Stépka saved us from our dire distress: like a bolt of lightning he suddenly rushed upon us from behind, and stopped us, who were then in full flight. “Stand still, good fellows!” he yelled, “stand still! Come together in close array, and begin anew the battle!” All was changed. O most happy hour! At Stépka’s voice crowds of men came together, came, bore down the adversary, defeated them, and wrung the victory they held from their hands. They rushed together, correcting their disorder, and hotter than before the battle was renewed.

Already we were driving our enemy back to their village, and depriving them of their cudgels and sticks, and our battle would have been at an end, if a monk had not appeared to their aid. This new Balaam was urging on his beast and beating it with a stick for its sluggishness; but all his beating of his dobbin moved her not a step ahead. He somehow managed to reach the top of the hill, and there his holy lips uttered curses against us. But neither these, nor the wooden arms, kept us back, and we flew against our enemy, and did our work among them. That worthy man, seeing our stubbornness, leaped from his horse, and showed the swiftness of his feet, which was greater than when he first had come, and, showing us his back, fled to his house.

Dark night had already put out its veil, when all were worn out with fighting. The Valdáyans being vanquished, we all went from the field, and reached home, though hungry, yet alive.

THE COOK AND THE TAILOR

’Tis easier for a cook to roast and stew than for a tailor to talk of cookery. It was, I know not where, in Lithuania or Poland,--he knows of it who knows more than I; all I know is that a lord was travelling, and as he was returning from a visit he was, naturally, drunk. A man came from the opposite direction, and he met the lord, phiz to phiz. The lord was blown up with conceit and liquor, and two servants led his horse for him. The horse strutted proudly along, and the lord was steeped in arrogance like a cock. The man that met him was poorly clad. The lord interrogated him, like a man of sense:

“What handicraft have you?”

“A cook, my lord, stands before you.”

“If so, then answer me, before I spit into your face: you are a cook, so you know what dainties are; what then is the greatest dainty?”

“A roast pig’s hide,” the cook answered without hesitation.

“You, cook, are not a fool,” the lord said to him, “and gave me readily an answer, from which I conclude that you know your business.”

With these words, the lord gave him a generous reward, just like a father, though he had begot no children. My cook, for joy, tripped lightly along and was soon out of sight. Whom should he meet but a tailor, an old acquaintance, nay, a friend,--not to the grave, yet a friend.

“Whither do you hurry so fast, friend Ilyá?”

The other replied: “Now, my friend, I can boldly assure you that the cook’s profession is better than yours. You, drunken Petrúshka, do not even guess that Ilyá is going to have a big celebration! Look at my pocket. I and my wife will be satisfied with what we now have; we cannot unto our deaths spend all the lord, who just passed me drunk upon the road, has given me.”

And he pulled out his purse that was filled with gold coins: “That’s what I got for a pig!”

And he showed his money in his bag, and told his friend all that had happened. The tailor was melting with envy, as he tried to count the money, and he thought: “Of course the lord is a fool for having given a bag full of money for a pig; I will run after him, and overtake him, and if all the wisdom is only in a pig’s hide, I’ll shave him clean, like a scribe.”

Having said this, the senseless man started on the road. The lord was riding leisurely along, and as the tailor was running fast, he soon overtook him. He cried to him:

“Wait, lord! I am not a Tartar, and I will not cut you down; I have no sword, and I will not injure you. I am all worn out with running; I am a cook, and not a thief.”

The lord heard the words and, looking back, saw that it was not a robber with a club, so he reined in his horse. The tailor ran up to him, panting like a dog, and barely breathing, having lost his strength in running. The lord asked him:

“Why, beast, have you been running so senselessly after me? You have only frightened me: I thought it was a robber with a club that was after me.”

The tailor said: “I am not a thief, my lord!”

To which the lord: “What manner of creature are you, then?”

“I am a cook by trade, and know how to stew and roast well.”

The lord asked him at once: “What is the sweetest part of the ox?”

The rash man said: “The hide.”

No sooner said than the cook’s sides and face, and belly and back were swollen, being struck with a whip. The tailor walked slowly off, weeping disconsolately, and cursing the lord and the trade of a cook.

Mikhaíl Vasílevich Danílov. (1722-1790.)

The _Memoirs_ of Danílov are interesting for the reason that they indicate the sources from real life from which Catherine II., Fon-Vízin and others drew the characters for their comedies. Thus, Matréna Petróvna of Danílov’s _Memoirs_ is the prototype of Mávra’s mistress in _O Tempora_ (p. 272) and of Mrs. Uncouth in _The Minor_, p. 342.

FROM HIS “MEMOIRS”

I was my father’s favourite son. When I was about seven years old, or more, I was turned over, in the village of Kharín where my father lived, to the sexton Philip, named Brudásty, for instruction. The sexton was of low stature, broad in his shoulders; a large round beard covered his chest, his head of thick hair came down to his shoulders, and gave the appearance of having no neck. There studied with him at the same time two of my cousins, Eliséy and Borís. Our teacher Brudásty lived alone with his wife in a very small hut; I used to come to Brudásty for my lessons early in the morning, and I never dared to open his door, until I had said aloud my prayer, and he answered “Amen.” I remember to the present day the instruction I received from Brudásty, probably for the reason that he often whipped me with a switch. I cannot in all faithfulness say that I was then guilty of indolence or stubbornness; on the contrary I studied very well for my years, and my teacher gave me lessons of moderate length and not above my strength, so that I readily memorised them. But we were not allowed to leave Brudásty for a moment, except for dinner; we had to sit uninterruptedly on the bench, and during the long summer days I suffered greatly from this continuous sitting, and grew so faint that my memory left me, and when it came to reciting my lesson in the evening, I had forgotten all I knew, and could not read half of it, for which the final resolve was that I was to be whipped for my stupidity. I grew to believe that punishment was an indispensable accompaniment of study. Brudásty’s wife kept on inciting us, during the absence of her husband, that we should yell louder, even if it was not our lesson. We felt some relief in our tedious sitting when Brudásty was away in the field working. Whenever Brudásty returned I recited my lessons correctly and without breaking down, just as I did in the morning when my thoughts were not yet tired out. From this I conclude that compulsory study is useless to the child, because the mental powers weaken from bodily labour and become languid. This truth becomes apparent when we compel a child to play beyond its pleasure: both the game and toys become wearisome to the child from mere ennui, and it will rarely play with them, if not altogether hate them.... Such is the fruit of senseless and worthless teachers, like Brudásty: from mere weary sitting, I got into the habit of inventing all kinds of accidents and diseases, which, in reality, I never had.

Having learned the A B C from Brudásty, my father took me near the city of Túla to a widow, Matréna Petróvna, who had married a relative of ours, Afanási Denísovich Danílov. Matréna Petróvna had at her house a nephew of hers and heir to her property, Epishkóv. It was for his sake that she had asked my father to bring me to her house to study, that her nephew might have a companion. As the widow loved her nephew very much and fondled him, we were never compelled to study; but being left to my choice in the matter, and fearing no punishment, I soon finished my oral instruction, which consisted only of the two books: the Book of the Hours and the Psalter.

The widow was a very pious woman: hardly a day passed without having divine services in her house, either with a priest, or sometimes a servant acted in his capacity. I was employed to read the prayers during these services, and as the widow’s favourite cousin had not yet learned to read, he, from great envy and anger, used to come to the table where I was reading the psalms, and kick me so painfully with his boots that I could not repress my tears. Though the widow saw her nephew’s naughtiness, she never said anything more than in a drawling voice, as if against her will: “Ványa, you have had enough fun!” as though she did not see that Ványa’s fun had caused tears to flow from my eyes. She could not read; but she used to open every day a large book on her table, and pretended to read loudly the prayer of the Holy Virgin to her people. The widow was very fond of cabbage soup with mutton at dinner, and I must confess that as long as I lived at her house I do not remember a single day that passed without a drubbing. The moment she seated herself at the table to eat her favourite soup, some of the servants dragged the cook that had cooked the soup into the dining-room, put her on the floor and mercilessly beat her with rods, and the widow never stopped eating as long as they beat the cook and she cried with pain; that had become a regular custom and evidently served to heighten her appetite. The widow was so stout that her width was only a trifle less than her height.

One day her nephew and I took a walk, and there was with us a young servant of hers who taught us to read and was at the same time studying himself. Her nephew and prospective heir led us to an apple-tree that grew outside the enclosure, and he began to knock down some apples, without having first asked his aunt’s permission. This crime was reported to his aunt. She ordered all three of us to be brought into her presence for a just punishment. She ordered in great anger to take up at once our innocent servant and teacher and to place him on a wooden horse, and he was unmercifully whipped for a long time, while they kept on repeating: “Don’t knock the apples off the tree!” Then came my turn: the widow ordered to have me put on the horse, and I received three blows on my back, though I, like the teacher, had not knocked down any apples. Her nephew was frightened, and he thought that his turn would now come to be punished, but his fear was groundless; all the widow did was to reprimand him as follows: “It is wrong, it is not proper, sir, to knock down apples without having received my permission,” and then she kissed him and said: “I suppose, Ványa, you were frightened as they whipped your companions; don’t be afraid, my darling! I’ll not have you whipped.”

Catherine the Great. (1729-1796.)

The French culture, which had held sway in Russia before Catherine II., became even more pronounced when she ascended the throne. She corresponded with Voltaire, offered d’Alembert the place of tutor to her son, paid Diderot a salary as keeper of his own library, which she had purchased from him, and, in the first part of her reign, laboured, at least platonically, for the introduction of new laws in the spirit of Rousseau and Montesquieu. She planned to build schools and academies, encouraged the establishment of printing presses, by making them free from government control, and by her own example did much to foster literature. One of her earliest ventures is her famous _Instruction_ for the commission that had been called to present a project for a new code of laws. She composed a large number of comedies, tragedies and operas, wrote a work on Russian proverbs and a number of fairy tales. Of the latter her _Prince Khlor_ gave Derzhávin an occasion to immortalise her as _Felítsa_, and to inaugurate a new style of ode. Catherine was the first to found a satirical journal, the _All Kinds of Things_ (see p. 326), the prototype of a number of similar periodical publications. The latter part of her reign is characterised by a reactionary tendency, due to her general distrust of the Masons, who had taken a firm foothold in Russia and whom she suspected of favouring the French Revolution. She then put literature under a ban, and caused much annoyance to men like Nóvikov and Radíshchev.

Her _Prince Khlor_ has been translated into English under the title: _Ivan Czarovitz; or, The Rose Without Prickles That Stings Not, A Tale_, written by her Imperial Majesty, translated from the Russian Language, London, 1793. It had previously appeared in a periodical paper, _The Bee_, published at Edinburgh. It is reproduced here.

## Act I., Scene 4, of _Mrs. Grumble’s Birthday_, in C. E. Turner’s

_Studies in Russian Literature_, and the same, in Fraser’s Magazine, 1877.

There is also a translation of Catherine’s _Memoirs_, originally written by her in French, under the title: _Memoirs of the Empress Catherine II., Written by Herself_, with a Preface by A. Herzen, translated from the French, London and New York, 1859.

O TEMPORA

## ACT I., SCENE 1. MR. SENSIBLE, MÁVRA

_Mávra._ Believe me, I am telling you the truth. You cannot see her. She is praying now, and I dare not go into her room myself.

_Sensible._ Does she really pray all day long? No matter at what time I come, I am told I cannot see her: she was this morning at matins, and now she is praying again.

_Mávra._ That is the way our time is passed.

_Sensible._ It is good to pray. But there are also duties in our life, which we are obliged to carry out. Do you mean to tell me that she prays day and night?

_Mávra._ No. Our exercises are often changed, yet all goes in a certain order. Sometimes we have simple services; at others they read the Monthly Readings; at others again the reading is omitted, and our lady gives us a sermon on prayer, abstinence and fasting.

_Sensible._ I have heard it said that your lady is very sanctimonious, but I have not heard much about her virtues.

_Mávra._ To tell the truth, I cannot say much about that either. She very often speaks to her servants on abstinence and fasting, especially when she distributes the monthly allowances. She never shows so much earnestness in praying as when creditors come and ask to be paid for goods taken on credit. She once hurled the prayer-book so violently at my head that she hurt me and I was compelled to lie in bed for nearly a week. And why? Because I came during vesper service to report that the merchant had come to ask for his money which he had loaned to her at six per cent., and which she had loaned out again at sixteen. “Accursed one,” she cried to me, “is this a time to disturb me? You have come, like Satan, to tempt me with worldly affairs at a time when all my thoughts are given to repentance and are removed from all cares of this world.” After having uttered this in great anger, she hurled her prayer-book at my temple. Look, there is still a mark there, but I have covered it with a beauty-spot. It is very hard to please her, for she is a very strange person: sometimes she does not want to be spoken to; and then again she prattles in church without stopping. She says that it is sinful to judge your neighbour, and yet she herself passes judgment on all, and talks about everybody. She especially cannot bear young ladies, and she is always of the opinion that they never do as they ought to do.

_Sensible._ I am glad to find out about her habits. This knowledge will help me a great deal in the matter of Mr. Milksop’s marriage. But, to tell the truth, it will be a hard thing for him to get along with such a woman: she will either drive him out of the house or into his grave. She demanded herself that I should come to Moscow to talk over her grandchild’s marriage. So I took a leave of absence for twenty-nine days, and came down here from St. Petersburg. It is now three weeks that I have been here, and that I have attempted to see her, and she is all the time finding new excuses. My time will soon be up, and I shall have to return. What is it going to be to-day? She has promised to give a decisive answer, though I do not yet see the beginning of it.

_Mávra._ Have a little patience, sir. Maybe you will be able to see her after vespers; before that time she does not like to receive guests.

_Sensible._ But I have a great deal to talk to her about, so please tell her that I am here. Maybe she will let me in this time.

_Mávra._ No, sir, for nothing in the world will I report to her, for I shall be beaten, or at least roundly scolded. She grumbles at me as it is and calls me a heathen because I sometimes read the Monthly Essays, or Cleveland.

_Sensible._ But you may tell her that I am very anxious to see her.

_Mávra._ As soon as vespers are over, I shall go to her, but not sooner. Yet, I do not advise you to stay longer than six o’clock. At that time she receives the visits of ladies like her who amuse her with bits of news that they have gathered in all the corners of the city. They talk about all their acquaintances, and malign them, and in their Christian love pass them over in review. They inform her of all the news of St. Petersburg, adding to them their own lying inventions: some say less, others more. No one in that assembly is responsible for the truth,--that we do not care for,--provided all they have heard and have invented has been told.

_Sensible._ Will she at least invite me to supper? What do you think about that?

_Mávra._ I doubt it. What suppers do you expect of fasters?

_Sensible._ What? Do you fast out of stinginess? To-day is not a fast-day.

_Mávra._ I did not mean exactly that, only,--only--we do not like extra guests.

_Sensible._ Speak more openly with me, Mávra, for you certainly must know your mistress. Tell me the truth. It seems to me that she is full of superstitions and hypocrisy, and that she is at that a mean woman.

_Mávra._ He who looks for virtues in long prayers and in external forms and observances will not leave my lady without praise. She strictly observes all holidays; goes every day to mass; always places a taper before the images on a holiday; never eats meat on a fast-day; wears woollen dresses,--do not imagine that she does so from niggardliness,--and despises all who do not follow her example. She cannot bear the customs of the day and luxury, but likes to boast of the past and of those days when she was fifteen years old, since when, the Lord be blessed! there have passed fifty years or more.

_Sensible._ As regards external luxury, I myself do not like it, and I gladly agree with her in that, just as I respect the sincerity of ancient days. Praiseworthy, most praiseworthy is the ancient faithfulness of friendship, and the stern observance of a promise, for fear that the non-observance of the same might redound to one’s dishonour. In all that I am of the same opinion with her. It is a pity, a real pity, that now-a-days people are ashamed of nothing, and many young people no longer blush when they utter a lie or cheat their creditors, nor young women when they deceive their husbands.

_Mávra._ Let us leave that alone. In her dress and head-gear, you will find the representation of the fashion of her ancestors, and in this she discovers a certain virtue and purity of morals.

_Sensible._ But why ancestral morals? Those are nothing else but meaningless customs which she does not distinguish or cannot distinguish from morals.

_Mávra._ Yet, according to the opinion of my lady, the older a dress, the more venerable it is.

_Sensible._ Tell me, then, what she does during the whole day.

_Mávra._ But how can I remember it all? And then, I can hardly tell it all, for you will only laugh. Well, I do not care; I’ll tell you a little about it. She rises in the morning at six o’clock and, following a good old custom, gets out of bed bare-footed; then she fixes the lamp before the images; then reads her morning prayers and the Book of the Saints; then she combs her cat and picks the fleas off of her, and sings the verse: “Blessed is he who is kind to the beasts!” During this singing she does not forget to think of us also: she favours one with a box on her ears, another with a beating, and another with scolding and cursing. Then begins the morning mass, during which she alternately scolds the servant and mumbles prayers; she now sends the people that had been guilty of some transgression on the previous day to the stable to be beaten with rods, and now again she hands the censer to the priest; now she scolds her grandchild for being so young, and now again she makes her obeisances as she counts the beads on the rosary; now she passes in review the young men into whose hands she could rid herself of her grandchild without a dowry, and now ... ah! wait a minute, sir, I hear a noise, and it is time for me to get away from here. It is, no doubt, my lady, and I am afraid she might find us together: there is no telling what she might think of it. (_Exit._)

PRINCE KHLOR

Before the times of Ki, Knyaz of Kíev, a Tsar lived in Russia, a good man who loved truth, and wished well to everybody. He often travelled through his dominions, that he might know how the people lived, and everywhere informed himself if they acted fairly.

The Tsar had a Tsarítsa. The Tsar and the Tsarítsa lived harmoniously. The Tsarítsa travelled with the Tsar, and did not like to be absent from him.

The Tsar and Tsarítsa arrived at a certain town built on a high hill in the middle of a wood, where a son was born to the Tsar; and they gave him the name Khlor. But in the midst of this joy, and of a three-days’ festivity, the Tsar received the disagreeable intelligence that his neighbours do not live quietly,--make inroads into his territories, and do many injuries to the inhabitants of the borders. The Tsar took the armies that were encamped in the neighbourhood, and went with his troops to protect the borders. The Tsarítsa went with the Tsar; the Tsarévich remained in the same town and house in which he was born. The Tsar appointed to him seven prudent matrons, well experienced in the education of children. The Tsar ordered the town to be fortified with a stone wall, having towers at the corners; but they placed no cannon on the towers, because in those days they had no cannon. The house in which the Tsarévich remained was built of Siberian marble and porphyry, and was very neat and conveniently laid out. Behind the palace were planted gardens with fruit trees, near which fish-ponds beautified the situation; summer-houses made in the taste of various nations, from which the view extended to the neighbouring fields and plains, added agreeableness to the dwelling.

As the Tsarévich grew up, his female guardians began to remark that he was no less prudent and sprightly than handsome. The fame of the beauty, wisdom and fine accomplishments of the Tsarévich was spread abroad on all sides. A certain Khan of the Kirgíz Tartars, wandering in the deserts with his kibítkas,[136] heard of this and was anxious to see so extraordinary an infant; and having seen him, he formed a wish to carry him away into the desert. He began by endeavouring to persuade the guardians to travel with the Tsarévich and him into the desert. The matrons told him with all politeness that it was impossible to do this without the Tsar’s permission; that they had not the honour of knowing my lord Khan, and that they never pay any visits with the Tsarévich to strangers. The Khan was not contented with this polite answer, and stuck to them closer than formerly, just like a hungry person to a piece of paste, and insisted that the nurses should go with the child into the desert. Having at last received a flat denial, he was convinced he could not succeed in his intentions by entreaties, and sent them a present. They returned him thanks,--sent his present back, and ordered to tell him that they were in want of nothing.

The Khan, obstinate and fixed in his resolution, considered what was to be done. It came into his head to dress himself in tattered clothes; and he sat down at the gate of the garden, as if he were a sick old man; and he begged alms of the passengers. The Tsarévich happened to take that day a walk in the garden; and, observing that a certain old man sat at the gate, sent to ask who the old man was. They returned with answer that he was a sick beggar; Khlor, like a boy possessed of much curiosity, asked leave to look at the sick beggar. The matrons, to pacify Khlor, told him that there was nothing to be seen; and that he might send the beggar alms. Khlor wished to give the money himself, and ran off. The attendants ran after him; but the faster they ran, the faster the child set out, and got without the gate. Having run up to the faint beggar, his foot catched a stone, and he fell upon his face. The beggar sprang up, took the child under his arm, and set a-running down the hill. A gilded rospúski (a kind of cart with four wheels) trimmed with velvet, stood there: he got on the rospúski, and galloped away with the Tsarévich into the desert.

When the guardians had run up to the gate, they found neither beggar nor child; nor did they see any traces of them. Indeed there was no road at the place where the Khan went down the hill. Sitting on the rospúski, he held the Tsarévich before him with one hand, like a chicken by the wing; and with the other he waved his cap round his head, and cried three times, “Hurrah!” On hearing his voice, the guardians ran to the slope of the hill, but it was too late: they could not overtake them.

The Khan carried Khlor in safety to his camp, and went into his kibítka, where the grandees met the Khan. The Khan appointed to Khlor his best starshiná.[137] This starshiná took him in his arms, and carried him into a richly ornamented kibítka, covered with Chinese stuffs and Persian carpets. He set the child on a cushion of cloth, and tried to pacify him; but Khlor cried and repented he had run away from his guardians. He was continually asking whither they were carrying him, for what reason, to what purpose, and where he was. The starshiná and the Kirgíz that were with him told him many stories. One said that it was so ordained by the course of the stars; another that it was better living than at home. They told him all but the truth. Seeing that nothing could pacify him, they tried to frighten him with nonsense; they told him they would turn him into a bat or a hawk,--that they would give him to the wolf or frog to be eaten. The Tsarévich was not fearful, and amid his tears laughed at such nonsense. The starshiná, seeing that the child had left off crying, ordered the table to be covered. They covered the table and served the supper. The Tsarévich ate a little: they then presented preserves and such fruit as they had. After supper they undressed him and put him to sleep.

Next morning before daybreak, the Khan gathered his grandees, and spoke to them as follows: “Let it be known unto you that I yesterday carried off the Tsarévich Khlor, a child of uncommon beauty and prudence. I wish to know perfectly whether all is true that is said of him; and I am determined to employ every means of trying his qualifications.” The grandees having heard the Khan’s words bowed themselves to the girdle. The flatterers among them praised the Khan’s conduct, that he had carried off a child, nay, the child of a neighbouring Tsar. The mean-spirited approved, saying: “Right lord Khan, our hope, whatever you do must be right.” A few of them who really loved the Khan shook their heads, and when the Khan asked why they held their tongues, they told him frankly: “You have done wrong in carrying off the son of a neighbouring Tsar; and you cannot escape misfortune, unless you compensate for this step.” The Khan answered: “Just so,--you are always discontented!” and passed by them. He ordered the Tsarévich to be brought to him as soon as he should awake. The child, seeing that they wished to carry him, said: “Do not trouble yourselves, I can walk. I will go myself.” Having come into the Khan’s kibítka, he bowed to them all, first to the Khan, and then to the rest on the right and left. He then placed himself before the Khan with such a respectful, polite and prudent mien, that he filled all the Kirgíz and the Khan himself with wonder. The Khan, however, recollecting himself, spoke as follows: “Tsarévich Khlor! They say of you that you are a wise child, pray seek me a flower,--a rose without prickles that stings not. Your tutor will show you a wide field. I give you a term of three days.” The child bowing again to the Khan said: “I hear,” and went out of the kibítka to his home.

In the way he met the Khan’s daughter, who was married to the Sultan Bryúzga.[138] This man never laughed himself, and could not bear that another should smile. The Sultana, on the contrary, was of a sprightly temper and very agreeable. She, seeing Khlor, said to him: “Welcome, Khlor, how do you do? Where are you going?” The Tsarévich answered: “By order of your father the Khan, I am going to seek the rose without prickles that stings not.” The Sultana Felítsa (that was her name) wondered that they should send a child to seek such a rarity, and, taking a sincere liking to the boy, she said to him: “Tsarévich, stay a little, I will go with you to seek the rose without prickles that stings not, if my father will give me leave.” Khlor went into his kibítka to dine, for it was dinner-time, and the Sultana went to the Khan to ask leave to go with the Tsarévich to seek the rose without prickles that stings not. He did not only not give her leave, but strictly forbade her to go with the child to seek the rose without prickles that stings not.

Felítsa, having left the Khan, persuaded her husband, Sultan Bryúzga, to stay with her father the Khan, and went herself to the Tsarévich. He was very happy to see her, and begged her to sit down beside him, which she did, and said: “The Khan has forbid me to go with you, Tsarévich, to seek the rose without prickles that stings not; but I will give you good advice: pray do not forget,--do you hear--do not forget what I tell you.” The Tsarévich promised to remember. “At some distance from hence,” continued she, “as you go to seek the rose without prickles that stings not, you will meet with people of very agreeable manners who will endeavour to persuade you to go with them. They will tell you a great many entertainments, and that they spend their time in innumerable pleasures. Do not believe them: they lie. Their pleasures are false, and attended with much weariness. After them you will see others who will still more earnestly press you on the same subject. Refuse them with firmness, and they will leave you. You will then get into a wood. There you will find flatterers who by agreeable conversation, and every other means, will endeavour to draw you out of your proper way. But do not forget that you have nothing to do but to seek one flower, a rose without prickles that stings not. I love you, and will send my son to meet you, who will help you to find the rose without prickles that stings not.” Khlor, having heard the words of Felítsa, asked her: “Is it so difficult to find the rose without prickles that stings not?” “No,” answered the Sultana, “it is not so very difficult to an upright person who perseveres firmly in his intention.” Khlor asked if ever anybody had found that flower. “I have seen,” said Felítsa, “peasants and tradesmen who have as happily succeeded in this pursuit as nobles, kings or queens.” The Sultana having said this, took leave of the Tsarévich. The starshiná, his tutor, led him to seek the rose without prickles that stings not; and for this purpose let him out at a wicket into a large game park.

On entering the park, Khlor saw a vast number of roads. Some were straight, some crooked, and some full of intricate windings. The child did not know which way to go, but on seeing a youth coming towards him, he made haste to meet him and ask who he was. The youth answered: “I am Razsúdok (Reason), the son of Felítsa. My mother sent me to accompany you in your search for the rose without prickles that stings not.”

The Tsarévich thanked Felítsa with heart and lips and, having taken the youth by the hand, informed himself of the way he should go. Razsúdok said with a cheerful and assured look: “Fear naught, Tsarévich, let us go on the straight road, where few walk though it is more agreeable than the others.” “Why do not all keep the straight road?” said the Tsarévich. “Because,” replied the youth, “they lose themselves and get bewildered in the others.” In going along, the youth showed Khlor a very beautiful little path, and said: “Look, Tsarévich! This is called the Path of the Nonage of Well-Disposed Souls. It is very pretty but very short.”

They pursued their way through a wood into an agreeable plain, through which ran a rivulet of clear water. On the banks they saw troops of young people. Some were sitting on the grass, and others were lying under the trees. As soon as they saw the Tsarévich, they got up and came to him. One of them with great politeness and insinuation of manner addressed him. “Give me leave,” said he, “to ask you, sir, where you are going? Did you come here by chance? Can we have the pleasure of serving you in anything? Your appearance fills us with respect and friendship, and we are ravished with the number of your brilliant accomplishments.” The Tsarévich, recollecting the words of Felítsa, replied: “I have not the honour to know you, and you also are unacquainted with me. I therefore attribute your compliments to your politeness, and not to my own merits. I am going to seek the rose without prickles that stings not.” Another of the company joined the conversation, and said: “Your intention is a proof of your talents. But oblige us so far as to favour us with your company a few days, and to take a share in the inimitable pleasures which we enjoy.” Khlor told him that he was restricted to a time, and that he could not delay lest he should incur the Khan’s displeasure. They endeavoured to persuade him that rest was necessary for his health, and that he could not find a place for this purpose more convenient, nor people more inclined to serve him. It is impossible to conceive how they begged and persuaded him. At length the men and women took each other by the hand, and formed a ring about Khlor and his conductor, and began to leap and dance, and hinder them from going farther; but while they were whirling themselves about, Razsúdok snatched Khlor under his arm and ran out of the ring with such speed that the dancers could not catch hold of them.

Having proceeded farther, they came to Lentyág[139] Murza (the sluggard chief), the chief governor of the place, who was taking a walk with his household. He received Khlor and his conductor very civilly, and asked them into his lodging. As they were a little tired, they went in with him. He desired them to sit down on the divan, and laid himself by them on down pillows covered with old-fashioned cloth of gold. His domestic friends sat down round the walls of the chamber. Lentyág Murza then ordered pipes, tobacco and coffee to be served. Having understood that they did not smoke nor drink coffee, he ordered the carpets to be sprinkled with perfumes, and asked Khlor the reason for his excursion into the game park. The Tsarévich answered that by the order of the Khan he was in quest of the rose without prickles that stings not. Lentyág Murza was amazed that he could undertake such an arduous attempt at so early an age. Addressing himself to Khlor: “Older than you,” said he, “are scarce equal to such a business. Rest a little, don’t proceed farther. I have many people here who have endeavoured to find out this flower, but have all got tired and have deserted the pursuit.” One of them that were present then got up and said: “I myself more than once tried to find it, but I tired of it, and instead of it I have found my benefactor Lentyág Murza, who supplies me with meat and drink.”

In the midst of this conversation Lentyág Murza’s head sunk into a pillow, and he fell asleep. As soon as those that were seated about the walls of the room heard that Lentyág Murza began to snore, they got up softly. Some of them went to dress themselves, some to sleep. Some took to idle conversation, and some to cards and dice. During these employments some flew into a passion, others were well pleased, and upon the faces of all were marked the various situations of their souls. When Lentyág Murza awoke, they again gathered around them, and a table covered with fruit was brought into the room. Lentyág Murza remained among his pillows, and from thence asked the Tsarévich, who very earnestly observed all that passed, to eat. Khlor was just going to taste what was offered by Lentyág Murza, when his conductor pulled him gently by the sleeve, and a bunch of fine grapes which he had laid hold of fell out of his hand and was scattered upon the pavement. Recollecting himself immediately he got up, and they left Lentyág Murza.

Not far from this they spied the house of a peasant, surrounded by several acres of well-cultivated ground, on which were growing several kinds of corn, as rye, oats, barley, buckwheat, etc. Some of this corn was ripening, and some only springing up. A little farther they saw a meadow on which horses, cows and sheep were grazing. They found the landlord with a watering-pan in his hand, with which he was watering the cucumbers and cabbage set by his wife. The children were employed in clearing away the useless weeds from among the garden stuffs. Razsúdok addressed them: “God be with you, good people!” They answered: “Thank you, young gentlemen,” and they made a distant bow to the Tsarévich as to a stranger; but in a friendly manner they addressed Razsúdok: “Be so kind as to go into our dwelling: your mother the Sultana loves us, visits us and does not neglect us.” Razsúdok consented and with Khlor went into the yard. In the middle of the yard there stood an old and lofty oak, under which was a broad and clean-scraped bench, with a table before it. The landlady and her daughter-in-law spread a table-cloth, and placed on the table a bowl of buttermilk, and another with poached eggs. They set down also a dish of hot pancakes, soft-boiled eggs, and in the middle a good bacon ham. They brought brown bread, and set down to everyone a can of sweet milk, and by way of dessert presented fresh cucumbers and cranberries with honey.

The landlord pressed them to eat. The travellers, who were hungry, found everything excellent, and during supper talked with the landlord and landlady, who told them how healthily, happily and quietly they lived, and in all abundance suitable to their condition, passing their time in country work, and overcoming every want and difficulty by industry. After supper they spread on the same bench mats, and Razsúdok and Khlor put their cloaks on the mats. The landlady gave to each a pillow with a clean pillow-slip; so they lay down, and being tired they soon fell asleep.

In the morning they got up at daybreak, and having thanked their landlord, who would have nothing for their lodging, they pursued their journey. Having got about half a mile, they heard the sound of the bagpipe. Khlor wanted to go nearer, but Razsúdok hinted that the bagpipe would lead them out of their way. Curiosity got the better of Khlor, and he went up to the bagpipe, but when he saw the mad pranks of disfigured drunkards staggering about the piper, he was terrified, and threw himself into the arms of Razsúdok, who carried him back to the road.

Having passed through a grove, they saw a steep hill. Razsúdok told Khlor that the rose without prickles that stings not grew there. Khlor, oppressed with the heat of the sun, grew tired. He began to fret, said there was no end to that road, how far it is, and asked if they could not find a nearer way. Razsúdok answered that he was carrying him the nearest way, and that difficulties are only to be overcome by patience. The Tsarévich in ill-humour cried out, “Perhaps I shall find the way myself!” waved his hand, doubled his pace, and separated himself from his guide.

Razsúdok remained behind and followed slowly in silence. The child entered a market town where there were few who took notice of him, for it was a market-day, and everybody was engaged in business in the market-place. The Tsarévich, wandering among carts and traders, began to cry. One person who did not know him passed by, and seeing him crying said to him: “Have done crying, you little whelp; without you we have noise enough here.” At that very moment Razsúdok had overtaken him. The Tsarévich complained that they had called him whelp. Razsúdok said not a word, but conducted him out of the crowd. When Khlor asked him why he did not talk with him as formerly, Razsúdok answered: “You did not ask my advice, but went to an improper place, and so don’t be offended if you did not find the people to your mind.” Razsúdok wished to prolong his speech when they met a man, not overyoung, but of an agreeable appearance, surrounded with a great many boys. As Khlor was curious to know everything, he called one of the boys, and asked who the man was. “This man is our master,” said the boy; “we have got our lesson and are going to take a walk,--but pray where are you going?” The Tsarévich told him that they were seeking the rose without prickles that stings not. “I have heard,” said the boy, “from our master an explanation of the rose without prickles that stings not. This flower signifies nothing more than virtue. Some people think to find it by going byways, but nobody can get it unless he follows the straight road; and happy is he that by an honest firmness can overcome all the difficulties of that road. You see before you that hill on which grows the rose without prickles that stings not; but the road is steep and full of rocks.” Having said this, he took his leave and went after his master.

Khlor and his guide went straight to the hill, and found a narrow and rocky track on which they walked with difficulty. They there met an old man and woman in white, both of a respectable appearance, who stretched out their staffs to them and said: “Support yourselves on our staffs and you will not stumble.” The people thereabouts told them that the name of the first was Honesty, and of the other Truth.

Having got to the foot of the hill, leaning on the staffs, they were obliged to scramble from the track by the branches, and so from branch to branch they got at length to the top of the hill, where they found the rose without prickles that stings not. He made haste to the Khan with the flower, and the Khan dismissed him to the Tsar. The Tsar was so well pleased with the arrival of the Tsarévich and his success that he forgot all his anxiety and grief. The Tsar, the Tsarítsa and all the people became daily more fond of the Tsarévich, because he daily advanced in virtue. Here the tale ends, and who knows better, let him tell another.

FOOTNOTES:

[136] A sort of tents made of mats; also a kind of covered waggon used for travelling in Russia.

[137] An elder.

[138] From a word meaning choleric.

[139] From a word meaning indolent.

Prince Mikháylo Mikháylovich Shcherbátov. (1733-1790.)

Prince Shcherbátov derived his origin from St. Vladímir, and united in his person a love of the ancient order of things and the prerogatives of the nobility with a refined liberalism, the result of an education according to Western ideas. In the sixties, Catherine II. entrusted Prince Shcherbátov with the arrangement of the archives of Peter the Great, and the result of his labours in this direction was the publication of a number of chronicles and documents referring to various periods of Russian history. Then he wrote a _History of Russia_ from the most ancient times to the election of Mikhaíl Fedórovich, in seven volumes. Though not distinguished for elegance of style, it deserves especial mention as the first native history in which not only native sources were thoroughly ransacked, but the facts were properly co-ordinated in a philosophical system. His sympathies for the old régime led him to emphasise the dark side of the period following the reform of Peter the Great, and he elaborated his theory in a work _On the Corruption of Manners in Russia_, which was so bold in laying bare the immorality of the Court at his time that he did not dare to publish it. It first saw the light in London in 1858, where it was issued by Herzen. In another work, _Journey to the Land of Ophir, by Mr. S., a Swedish Nobleman_, he developed his ideas of what a monarchy ought to be, in the manner of Sir Thomas More’s _Utopia_. This work was first published a few years ago.

ON THE CORRUPTION OF MANNERS IN RUSSIA

Ancient families were no longer respected, but “chins” and deserts and long service. Everybody was anxious to get some “chin,” and as it is not given to everybody to distinguish himself through some meritorious act, many tried through flattery and subserviency to the Emperor and the dignitaries to gain that which merit gave to others. By the regulations of the military service, which Peter the Great had newly introduced, the peasants began with their masters at the same stage as soldiers of the rank and file: it was not uncommon for the peasants, by the law of seniority, to reach the grade of officer long before their masters, whom, as their inferiors, they frequently beat with sticks. Noble families were so scattered in the service that often one did not come again in contact with his relatives during his whole lifetime.

How could there remain any manliness and firmness in those who in their youth trembled before the rod of their superiors; who could not obtain any honours except by servility; and who, being left without the active support of their relatives, without union and protection, were left alone, at any time liable to fall into the hands of the mighty?

I must praise Peter the Great for his attempts to eradicate superstition in the observances of the divine Law, for indeed superstition is not a worship of God and the Law, but rather a desecration; to ascribe to God improper acts is nothing but blasphemy.

In Russia they regarded the beard as a physical attribute of God, for which reason they thought it a sin to shave it off, thus falling into the heresy of anthropomorphism. They proclaimed everywhere miracles, needlessly performed, and holy images, whose properties were rarely attested; they encouraged superstitious worship, and increased the revenues of corrupt servants of the Lord. All that Peter the Great endeavoured to abolish: he promulgated ukases for the shaving off of beards, and by means of the _Spiritual Reglement_ put a stop to false miracles and visions, as well as improper gatherings near the holy images on the crossroads. Being convinced that the divine Law demands the preservation of the human race, and not its uncalled-for destruction, he by a decision of the Synod and all the Patriarchs granted a dispensation to eat meat during the fast, in case of necessity, particularly in the service on the seas, where people are subject to scurvy; he ordered that those who, by such abstinence, of their own free will sacrificed their lives and became subject to diseases resulting therefrom, should be cast into the water. All that is very good, only the latter thing is a little too severe.

But when did he enact that? When the people were not yet enlightened, and by thus abating the superstition of the unenlightened, he at the same time deprived them of their faith in the divine Law. This act of Peter the Great is to be likened to the act of the unskilled gardener who lops the watery branches of a weak tree, that absorb its sap. If the tree were well rooted, this lopping would cause it to bring forth good and fruitful branches; but, being weak and sickly, the cutting off of the branches that imbibed the external moisture through its leaves and fed the weak tree causes no healthy and abundant growth of new branches, nor does the wound heal up, but there are formed cavities that threaten the destruction of the tree. Similarly the lopping off of the superstitions has been injurious to the fundamental parts of faith itself: superstition has decreased, but so has also faith; there has disappeared the slavish terror of hell, but also the love of God and His divine Law; and the manners that were formerly corrected by faith have lost this corrective and, lacking any other enlightenment, soon began to be corrupted.

With all the reverence that I have in my heart for this great monarch and great man, with all my conviction that the weal of the Empire demanded that he should have other legitimate children than Alexis Petróvich as heirs of his throne,--I cannot but censure his divorce from his first wife, née Lopúkhin, and his second marriage to the captive Catherine Aleksyéevna, after his first wife had been sent to a monastery. This example of the debasement of the sacred mystery of marriage has shown that these bonds may be broken without fear of punishment. Granted that the monarch had sufficient cause for his

## action, though I do no see it, except her leaning for the Monses, and

opposition to his new regulations; but what reasons of State led his imitators to do likewise? Did Paul Ivánovich Eguzínski, who sent his first wife into a monastery and married another, _née_ Galóvkin, have any reasons of State for getting heirs by breaking the divine Laws? Not only many high dignitaries, but those of lower ranks, like Prince Borís Sóntsev-Zasyékin, have also imitated him.

Although Russia, through the labours and care of this Emperor, has become known to Europe and has now weight in affairs, and her armies are properly organised, and her fleets have covered the White and Baltic seas, so that she has been able to conquer her old enemies and former victors, the Poles and Swedes, and has gained fine districts and good harbours; although the sciences, arts and industries began to flourish in Russia, and commerce to enrich her, and the Russians were transformed from bearded men into clean-shaven ones, and exchanged their long cloaks for short coats, and became more sociable and accustomed to refinement; yet at the same time the true attachment to the faith began to disappear, the mysteries fell into disrepute, firmness was weakened and gave way to impudent, insinuating flattery; luxury and voluptuousness laid the foundation for their domination, and with it selfishness began to penetrate the high judicial places, to the destruction of the laws and the detriment of the citizens. Such is the condition of morals in which Russia was left after the death of the great Emperor, in spite of all his attempts, in his own person and through his example, to ward off the encroachment of vice.

Now let us see what progress vice has made during the reign of Catherine I. and Peter II., and how it has established itself in Russia.

The feminine sex is generally more prone to luxury than the male, and so we see the Empress Catherine I. having her own court even during the life of her husband, Peter the Great. Her chamberlain was Mons, whose unbounded luxury was his first quality that brought him to a shameful death; her pages were Peter and Jacob Fedórovich Balkóv, his nephews, who during his misfortune were driven from the Court. She was exceedingly fond of ornaments, and carried her vanity to such an excess that other women were not permitted to wear similar ornaments, as, for example, to wear diamonds on both sides of the head, but only on the left side; no one was allowed to wear ermine furs with the tails, which she wore, and this custom, which was confirmed by no ukase or statute, became almost a law; this adornment was appropriated to the Imperial family, though in Germany it is also worn by the wives of burghers. Does not this vanity seem to indicate that when her age began to impair her beauty, she was trying to enhance it by distinctive adornments? I do not know whether this opinion was just, and whether it was proper for the Emperor to appear every hour of the day before his subjects in a masquerade dress, as if he lacked other distinguishing adornments.

Vasíli Petróvich Petróv. (1736-1799.)

Petróv was the son of a poor clergyman. He studied in the Theological Academy at Moscow, where he was made a teacher in 1760. Through Potémkin, his friend, he was presented to the Empress, who, in 1768, appointed him her private translator and reader. In 1772 he was sent to England, where he soon acquired the language. In London he translated Milton’s _Paradise Lost_ and made a careful study of Addison, especially of his _Cato_. Petróv wrote a large number of adulatory odes, now long forgotten; he showed more talent in his satires, which he wrote in England, and in which the influence of the English writers whom he studied may be perceived. The following ode, probably his best, is from Sir John Bowring’s _Specimens of the Russian Poets_,