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:

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, Part II.

ON THE VICTORY OF THE RUSSIAN OVER THE TURKISH FLEET[140]

FOOTNOTES:

Mikhaíl Matvyéevich Kheráskov. (1733-1807.)

The son of a Wallachian emigrant, Kheráskov served in succession in the army, the Kommerz-Kolleg (Ministry of Finances) and the Moscow University, where he was first Director and later Curator. He began to write early, and for half a century produced a very large number of poems in every imaginable field of the pseudo-classic school. They now appall us with their inane voluminousness, but in his day he was regarded as a great poet, a veritable Russian Homer. His best heroic epics are his Rossiad and Vladímir Regenerated. The first, containing some ten thousand verses, celebrates the conquest of Kazán by Iván the Terrible; the second, of even more imposing length, tells of the introduction of Christianity into Russia. Though containing some fine passages, these epics reveal too much the influence of Vergil and Tasso, and make rather dreary reading.

FROM THE “ROSSIAD”

I sing Russia delivered from the barbarians, the trampled power of the Tartars, and their pride subdued, the stir of ancient mights, their labours, bloody strife, Russia’s victory, Kazán destroyed! How from the circle of those times, the beginning of peaceful years, a bright dawn has shone forth in Russia!

Oh, thou gleamest above the radiant stars, spirit of poetry! Come from thy heights, and shed over my weak and dim creation thy light, thy art and illumination! Open, O eternity, to me the gates of those habitations where all earthly care is cast away, where the souls of the righteous receive their rewards, where fame and crowns are deemed a vanity, where before the star-sprinkled altar the lowest slave stands in a row with a king, where the poor man forgets his misery, the unfortunate his grief, where every man will be equal to every other. Eternity, reveal thyself to me, that with my lyre I may attract the attention of the nations and their kings!

In the grottoes within the Caucasian icy mountains, which the bold glance of mortal has never spied, where the frost creates an eternal translucent vault and dulls the fall of the sun’s rays, where lightning is dead, where thunder is fettered, there stands, cut into ice, a mighty mansion. There are the storms, there are the cold, blizzards, tempests; there Winter reigns, devouring years. This austere sister of other days, though hoary, is swift and agile. Rival of Spring, Autumn and Summer, she is clad in the purple woven of snow; stark-frozen steam serves her as veil. Her throne has the form of a diamond mountain. Great pillars, of ice constructed, cast a silvery sheen, illumined by the sun; over the heavenly vault glides the solar splendour, and then it seems a mass of ice is on fire.

The elements have no motion: the air dares not move, nor the fire glow. There are no coloured fields; among the fields of ice gleam only frozen flowery vapours; the waters in the heavens, melted by the rays, hang, petrified, in wavy layers; there in the air you may discern the words of prophecy, but all is stark, and nature dead. Only tremor, chill and frost have life; hoar frosts move about, while zephyrs grow dumb; snowstorms whirl about in flight, frosts reign in the place of summer luxury. There the ice represents the ruins of cities, one look at which congeals your blood. Pressed by the frosts, the snows there form silvery mounds and fields of diamonds. From there Winter spreads her dominion over us, devouring the grass in the fields, the flowers in the vales, and sucking up the living sap of trees, and on cold pinions bears frosts to us, driving day away, prolonging gloomy nights, and compelling the sun to turn aside his beaming eyes: with trembling, forests and rivers await her, and chills weave her shrouds from the white billows.

Platón (in civil life Peter Geórgevich) Levshín. (1737-1812.)

What Feofán Prokopóvich had been to the reign of Peter the Great, Platón was to Catherine II. After having studied in the Moscow Theological Academy, where he became a teacher even before ending his course, he took the tonsure at twenty-two; at twenty-five he was made rector of the Seminary. In the same year he attracted Catherine’s attention by an eloquent speech On the Usefulness of Piety, and he was at once called to St. Petersburg to be her son’s spiritual teacher (see p. 326). Platón rose rapidly, and in 1787 he was made metropolitan of Moscow. His liberal and enlightened views on theology were valued not only at home, but his Brief Theology, originally published in 1755, has been translated into most European languages, and three times into English. A Russian source informs us that his book on theology was made a text-book at Oxford and Cambridge. Several Englishmen who had visited him, and Dr. Stanley, spoke in the highest terms of this Russian divine.

The translation of his Brief Theology in English bears the following titles: The Present State of the Greek Church in Russia; or, A Summary of Christian Divinity, by Platón, Late Metropolitan of Moscow, translated from the Slavonian ... by Robert Pinkerton, Edinburgh, 1814, and New York, 1815; The Orthodox Doctrine of the Apostolic Eastern Church; or, A Compendium of Christian Theology, translated from the Greek ... to which is appended a Treatise on Melchisedec, London, Manchester [printed], 1857; Κατηχησις—The Great Catechism of the Holy Catholic Apostolic and Orthodox Church, translated from the Greek by J. T. S., London, 1867. A Sermon preached by order of Her Imperial Majesty, on the Tomb of Peter the Great, in the Cathedral Church of St. Petersburg, London, 1770.

WHAT ARE IDOLATERS?

The second commandment forbiddeth idolatry, and every unlawful mode of worshipping God.

At one time, almost all nations were in such a state of error (and even now there are many in the same situation), that they worshipped the creatures as gods, such as the sun, the moon, fire, also the lower animals, as bulls, cats, crocodiles; and some even worshipped herbs, such as onion and garlic; and to all these they offered sacrifices, and paid other divine honours, or they made statues in the likeness of men and other animals, and bowed down before them as if they were divinities. But from these shocking and awful errors, the grace of Jesus Christ has delivered us (I Peter iv. 3).

Such persons also resemble those idolaters as labour for Mammon and their belly; that is, whose thoughts are all taken up about amassing riches, which they either do not make use of, or only sacrifice to their fleshly lusts. With such people, Mammon and the belly are the idols, to whom they devote all their services; and on this account the Holy Scriptures call the love of riches, idolatry (Col. iii. 5); and those also idolaters who make their belly their God (Phil. iii. 19).

This commandment also forbids the use of all unlawful means in the worship of God; that is, when anyone thinks of pleasing God by that which is not acceptable to Him, and which is not commanded in His Word. Such, for instance, were those Israelites who presented to God costly sacrifices while they led ungodly lives. And therefore God, through His prophet Isaiah, declared sacrifices presented from such hands to be hateful in His eyes; that is, their oblations were vain, their incense was an abomination and their fatted calves like dogs in His sight (chap. i. II). Those persons consequently transgress against this commandment:

1. Who offer hypocritical worship.—Who utter long prayers, which of itself is pious, but suppose that they shall be heard for their much speaking, though at the same time they feel no contrition of spirit. Of a similar character, also, are those hypocrites who on every occasion show themselves zealous for the name of God, zealous for the faith, the glory and the interests of the Church, and who introduce all their speeches with spiritual observations (which in themselves are praiseworthy), but who with all this have nothing in view but the indulgence of a spirit of ostentation, or promoting their own interest in all that they do, and whose zeal consists only in words with which their conduct does not in the least agree.

2. Hypocritical observances of the fasts.—Who fast, that is, abstain from certain kind of food, and on that account hope for divine acceptance, though at the same time they live in every kind of iniquity. By them the real fast, which does not consist merely in abstinence from food, but in restraining the corrupt passions, is evil spoken of. Such, also, are those who adorn the churches, or cover the pictures of the saints with gold and silver, yet at the same time oppress the innocent, who are the Church of the living God, or leave the poor without food. It is in vain, however, for them to declare that they have done all that they should have done in order to be saved; for, according to the words of Christ “these ought they to have done, and not to leave the other undone” (Matt. xxiii. 23).

3. The superstitious.—Who invent certain miraculous kinds of appearances, for the sake of filthy lucre, or from some sort of extravagant ideas about the salvation of their souls, or who attach an unknown kind of sanctity to some particular places, believing that God will hear prayers sooner in one place than in another. In a word, all those who transgress against this commandment, who, according to the testimony of Christ, place their hope of salvation in externals, and “omit the weightier matters of law, judgment, mercy and faith.” Therefore, respecting such characters, divine truth declares “This people draweth nigh unto me with their mouth, and honoureth me with their lips; but their heart is far from me. But in vain they do worship me, teaching for doctrines the commandments of men” (Matt. xv. 8, 9).

Reverencing the pictures is not contrary to this commandment.

We do not act contrary to this commandment, when, according to the ancient custom of Christians, we adorn our temples with the holy pictures. For, in the first place, we do not attempt to draw upon the canvas a representation of the unseen and incomprehensible God, whom we never can represent; but we represent our Saviour in the fashion of a man which He took upon Himself, or His favourites. Secondly, the pictures are made and placed in our churches, not for deification, but to commemorate the acts of God and of His chosen servants, that we, in beholding them (as, for instance, in looking on the picture of our crucified Saviour), may stir up our soul to piety and to the imitation of them in many acts of their lives. Thirdly, the obeisance which we make before the pictures we do not render to the pictures themselves, that is, to the boards, colours, ornaments or skill of the artist, but we render this to the person whom they represent, and to the pictures only an affectionate salutation. Thus, for example, I bow before the picture of my Saviour, but the devotion of my spirit, my faith, supplication and hope, and the obeisance which I pay, are all rendered to my Saviour alone, who is in heaven, and everywhere present, and the picture is only a kind of sensible incitement of my devotion. Moreover, it is necessary to be known that the obeisance performed before the picture of our Saviour, and that before the picture of any of the saints, though to appearances the same, yet in reality are very different indeed. For the worship which I perform before the picture of the Saviour consists in the deepest humility of soul before Him as Lord and Creator of all; but that which I perform before the pictures of the saints is a reverence which I render to them out of a loving heart as His favourites, and as of the same nature, and of the same Church, and members of the same body with myself.

Of such as err in reverencing the pictures.

But notwithstanding all that has been said, this lawful and holy reverencing of the pictures may be turned into the most abominable sin of idolatry. This is the case when anyone hopes in, or attaches all his respect to the holy pictures, and trusts in their material substance; when, for instance, anyone finds greater sanctity in one picture than in another, or places in them any hope of salvation. They, too, are chargeable with this guilt who bring their own particular picture into the church along with them, and only worship before it, or who respect those pictures more which are adorned than the unadorned, the old more than the new, or decline praying at all when they have not a picture before them. All these, and such like, are great transgressors, and prove a great disgrace to the real profession of the Christian faith.

In order to avoid the above-named errors, it is necessary to remember, 1st, That the worship of God can never be sincere, unless it proceed from a contrite and unfeigned spirit. For all external rites of worship are only marks testifying our internal piety and sincerity towards God, without which they signify nothing. And therefore the gospel requires that the worshippers of God should worship Him in spirit (not externally alone), and in truth, or not in hypocrisy. 2d, We must hold to the divine Word alone, and rest assured that it only contains the true rules by which we ought to please God. And therefore Christ said concerning the Holy Scriptures that in them is contained eternal life.—From The Present State of the Greek Church in Russia, translated by R. Pinkerton.

FROM THE ADDRESS UPON THE ACCESSION OF ALEXANDER I.

Thus has the Lord granted to us the privilege of seeing our Emperor crowned and exalted above men. But we, sons of Russia, what is our part in this solemnity? Do not our thanksgivings resound in gratitude to the King of kings for the grace He has bestowed on our monarch and upon us? Yes, they resound with heartfelt fervour, warmed with hopes of a future reign of national glory and happiness!...

This crown, Sire, on your head, is a pledge to us of honour, fame and renown, but imposes upon you duties and labours which can only cease with your life; this sceptre in your right hand, a guarantee to us of repose, demands of you incessant vigilance for our protection; this emblem of empire in your left hand, a promise to us of security, exacts of you little but anxiety and care; this purple, for us a shield and defence from our enemies, challenges you to war and contests; finally, this whole Imperial attire, to us a source of consolation and confidence, is for you a burden wrought with danger and toil—yes, a burden and a labour. For see, to your eyes there will appear an empire the largest upon which the sun has ever shone; from your wisdom it looks for the harmonious connection of its parts, the regulation of the whole. You will see flocking to your feet widows, orphans, the most destitute, the victims of the abuse of power, of favour, of corruption and of crime....

But, alas! that near the angels of light the eye should discover the fiendish spirits of darkness. Flattery, calumny and cunning, with all their wretched brood, will surround your throne, and foolishly imagine that their hypocrisy will beguile you. Bribery and partiality will raise their glossy heads and labour to lower the scale of justice. Luxury, adorned with every voluptuous charm, presents the intoxicating draughts of perilous joys to lead astray from the path of virtue the pure spirit, and engulf it in the slough of indolence and sensuality. Besieged by this riotous band, you will undoubtedly turn to truth, justice, wisdom and religion, and, united with you, they will raise their voice to God that He may rise again in you, and scatter your enemies.

Monarch of Russia! This struggle awaits you. For this contest gird on your sword! Draw it with valour, young hero! Fight, conquer and govern! The omnipotent arm of the Almighty will wonderfully protect you. We say rightly “wonderfully”; for here not to fall, here to conquer, here to maintain order and peace, truly! for this is more than human strength required; and, though the decree of the Eternal Being has appointed for you an exalted rank among men, you are nevertheless a man like any of us.—Given in Grahame’s The Progress of Science, Art and Literature in Russia.

Iván Ivánovich Khémnitser. (1745-1784.)

Khémnitser was the son of a German physician who had emigrated to Russia. At thirteen years of age he left his home and entered military service, which he left in 1769 as a lieutenant; he then served in the Department of Mines, and died in Smyrna, where he was Russian consul. Khémnitser translated La Fontaine’s and Gellert’s fables, but two-thirds of all the fables he wrote are his own. He forms the transitional stage between Sumarókov and Krylóv, and is distinguished for extreme simplicity of language and a certain elegiac tone.

Sir John Bowring has translated his The House-Builder, The Rich and the Poor Man, The Lion’s Council of State, and The Waggons. Sutherland Edwards, in his The Russians at Home, gives a version of The Metaphysician, which is also reprinted in F. R. Grahame’s The Progress of Science, Art and Literature in Russia.

THE LION’S COUNCIL OF STATE

—From Sir John Bowring’s Specimens of the Russian Poets, Part I.

THE METAPHYSICIAN

A father had heard that children were sent beyond the sea to study, and that those who had been abroad are invariably preferred to those who had never been there, and that such people are respected as being possessed of wisdom. Seeing this, he decided to send his son also beyond the sea, for he was rich and did not wish to fall behind the others.

His son learned something, but, being stupid, returned more stupid yet. He had fallen into the hands of scholastic prevaricators who more than once have deprived people of their senses by giving explanations of inexplicable things; they taught him no whit, and sent him home a fool for ever. Formerly he used to utter simply stupid things, but now he gave them a scientific turn. Formerly fools only could not understand him, but now even wise men could not grasp him: his home, the city, the whole world, was tired of his chattering.

Once, raving in a metaphysical meditation over an old proposition to find the first cause of all things,—while he was soaring in the clouds in thought,—he walked off the road and fell into a ditch. His father, who happened to be with him, hastened to bring a rope, in order to save the precious wisdom of his house. In the meantime his wise offspring sat in the ditch and meditated: “What can be the cause of my fall? The cause of my stumbling,” the wiseacre concluded, “is an earthquake. And the precipitous tendency towards the ditch may have been produced by an aërial pressure, and a coactive interrelation of the seven planets and the earth and ditch.”...

His father arrived with the rope: “Here,” he said, “is a rope for you! Take hold of it, and I will pull you out. Hold on to it and do not let it slip!” “No, don’t pull yet: tell me first what kind of a thing is a rope?”

His father was not a learned man, but he had his wits about him, so, leaving his foolish question alone, he said: “A rope is a thing with which to pull people out of ditches into which they have fallen.” “Why have they not invented a machine for that? A rope is too simple a thing.” “’T would take time for that,” his father replied, “whereas your salvation is now at hand.” “Time? What kind of a thing is time?” “Time is a thing that I am not going to waste with a fool. Stay there,” his father said, “until I shall return!”

How would it be if all the other verbose talkers were collected and put in the ditch to serve him as companions? Well, it would take a much larger ditch for that.

Yákov Borísovich Knyazhnín. (1742-1791.)

Knyazhnín was born in Pskov, where he received his early education; in St. Petersburg he acquired German, French and Italian, and began to write verses. He served in civil and military government offices. In 1769 he wrote his first tragedy, Dido, which attracted Catherine’s attention to him. He then married Sumarókov’s daughter and devoted himself more especially to literature. Knyazhnín wrote a number of tragedies and comedies: the subject of all of these is taken from Italian and French, thus his Vadím of Nóvgorod is based on Metastasio’s Clemenza di Tito, and the original of Odd People is Destouches’s L’homme singulier. The Vadím of Nóvgorod had a peculiar history. Knyazhnín had great admiration for Catherine and her autocratic rule. In his Vadím he tried to depict the struggle between republican Nóvgorod and the monarchic Rúrik, in which the latter comes out victorious, to the advantage of unruly Nóvgorod. He had written it in 1789, but did not stage it on account of the disturbed condition of Europe under the incipient French Revolution. Two years after his death, in 1793, Princess Dáshkov, the President of the Academy, inadvertently ordered it to be published. The book appeared most inopportunely, at the very time the Revolution had broken forth. The tendency of the tragedy was overlooked, and only the republican utterances of Vadím were taken notice of. The book was ordered to be burnt by the executioner, but as only a few copies could be found in the storeroom of the Academy, the rest having been sold in the meanwhile, they were privately destroyed.

VADÍM OF NÓVGOROD