UC-NRLF 
 
 B M Dfll Dfl2 
 
 SELECT NOVELS. ^g| 
 
 91 
 
 THE HIRGTIO. 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE RUSSIAN OP 
 
 LAjf^TCHNIKOFF. 
 
 
 k 
 it 
 
 THOMAS B. SHAW, PA. 
 
 § 
 
 OF Cambridge; adjun'ot pkoifssoe or >.:.nT.isu r-rrRATOKE in the ^^©i 
 
 • IMPEEl LYCEUM OF TSAKSKOE PJiLO. 
 
 Your blessing, O m)' brethren ' while m ancient tale I lell"-- Sakhamff. ■'^^j^ 
 
 jri W - Y O R X t ^Jir 
 
 HARPER ^ BROTHERS, 82 CLl FF-STRE E '.. Cf'^ 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE RUSSIAN OF 
 
 LAJETCHNIKOFF. 
 
 THOMAS B. SHAW, B.A. 
 
 OF CAMBRIDGE ; ADJUNCT PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH LITERATURE IN THE IMPERIAL 
 LYCEUM OF TSAR9K0E SELO. 
 
 Your blessing, my brethren ! while an ancient tale I tell." — Sakhumff. 
 
 NEW-YORK: 
 
 PUBLISHED BY H A R P E R & B R O T li E R S, 
 
 No. 82 C Li ff-Stre et. 
 
 1844. 
 

THE TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 Of all the qualities which a work of fiction must jios- 
 sess, in order to excite and maintain the attention of the 
 re ider, the most indispensable is, undoubtedly— Novelty : 
 without this seasoning of novelty, the most solid and nour- 
 ishing literary fare will be pronounced insipid ; with it, 
 even what is unwholesome and pernicious, will go glibly 
 down the throat of the public consumer. 
 
 In England, above other countries, is this demand for 
 novelty felt and heard ; there literary, like commercial in- 
 dustry, is so active, that the imagination of the supplier— 
 whether author, artist, or cotton-printer— is kept on the 
 ruck to invent new patterns ; or, to return to the culinary 
 metaphor with which we began, 
 
 "Onine peraclutn est, 
 Et jam defecrt, noslnim mare, dum gula sjevit ; 
 Retibus adsiduis penilus serutante macello 
 . Proninii, nee paiilur Tyirhenuni crescere piscem." 
 
 The novelist appears to have exhausted most of the 
 modes of existence, most of the historical epochs, most of 
 the countries from which any materials for picturesque 
 description, striking costume, or lively play of character, 
 could be extracted ■ the genius of Scott has conquered al- 
 most as much of the romantic, as the creative soul of 
 Shakspeare had before invaded of the dramatic world, 
 leaving no room for inferior writers of fiction. 
 
 The East, too, that exhaustless reservoir of the marvel- 
 lous — that fount.-iin abundant yet mysterious, like " the 
 secret head of Nilus," whence so many, perhaps all the 
 streams of fiction, ultimately derive, has been, if not drain- 
 ed, yet defiled by the foul urns that have too often of late 
 been dipped into its waters. The Middle Ages have been, 
 as we have said, occupied by the " Great Magician ;" no- 
 thing, therefore, was left to reader and writer but to 
 search for novelty — that Saint Graal of our modern chiv- 
 alry, the chivalry of the pen — in the nooks and shady 
 spaces of private life. Here a new vein was opened, but 
 this, in its turn, was speedily exhausted ; and the reader, 
 after descending, by a gradual declension, from the lords 
 and ladies of the once "fashionable" novel, has now 
 "touched the very base string of humility," and revels in 
 the sordid crimes and squalid miseries of the station-house, 
 the alley, and the pawnbroker's shop. 
 
 We have said that, in this hum after new scenes and 
 new characters, the novelist lias penetrated into every 
 country: there is one remarkable exception. While the 
 literature of every land has been laid under contribution, 
 its history ransacked, and its manners daguerreoty'ped, one 
 nation has apparently almost altogether escaped ; and this 
 a nation by no means inferior to many others in the wealth 
 either of recollections of past ages, or the peculiarities of 
 social and political constitution. 
 
 How happens it that Russia, an empire so gigantic in 
 e.xtent, and so important a member of the great European 
 family — that Russia, with her reminiscences of two cen- 
 turies and a half of Tartar dominion, of her long and 
 bloody struggles with the Ottoman and the Pole — whose 
 territories stretch almost from the arctic ice to the equator, 
 and whose half Oriental diadem bears inscribed upon it 
 such names as Peter and Catharine — should have been 
 passed over as incapable of supplying rich materials for 
 fiction and romance 1 
 
 If the hundred nations which cover so vast a proportion 
 of the globe, from the dwarfish hunter of the Yenisei to 
 the tawny brigand of the Caucasus, could offer no pecu- 
 liarities of manners, no wild superstitions, to gratify our 
 ever-craving curiosity ; assuredly the fierce domination of 
 the Golden Horde, the plain of Polldva, the gray Kreml of 
 Mother Moscow, and the golden cupolas of N6vgorod the 
 Great, might be expected to afford something interesting. 
 • It is, however, no less singular than true, that with the 
 I literature and manners of Russia, the English public is 
 still totally unacquainted. Little has hitherto appeared 
 iu the way of translation from the Russian, save a few 
 miserable scraps and extracts, the subjects as ill selected 
 as the versions were feebly executed ; some of these, in- 
 deed, were not made from the original language, but were 
 manufactured from a wretched French reckauffee of an 
 equally worthless German translation. 
 
 It is obvious, that the only mode by which we can ho|)e 
 to make the English public really Well acquainted with 
 
 f their brethren of the North, is to allow the latter to speak 
 for themselves. Of the immense number of travellers 
 whom ennui or curiosity sends forth every year from our 
 shores to visit foreign countries, a very small proportion 
 visits Russia ; and this, for obvious reasons, consists chief- 
 ly of the rich and noble classes of society. A man of for- 
 tune, travelling "en prince" is not likely to lake the 
 trouble of acquiring a new and difficult language, solely 
 for the purpose of studying the manners and feelings of the 
 peasantry-^a language, too, which he can dispense with ; 
 ,as for him it is possible to travel from one extremity of 
 the empire to the other without knowing a single word of 
 it. Besides this, Russian is emphatically the language of 
 the lower classes, between which and the higher ranks a 
 barrier is fixed, more insurmountable than one accustomed 
 to the subdivisions of English society can conceive. 
 
 The great distances traversed by such a^ traveller, gen- 
 erally in a limited time ; the prejudices and superstitiong 
 of the people ; the habit, till of late years, universal among 
 the higher classes, of using the French language as a me- 
 dium of comnmnication with each other — all this tends to 
 increase the difficulty of a foreigner's attempt to make 
 himself acquainted with the sentiments and character of 
 the Russian people. 
 
 The literature of this country has often been reproached 
 with its jwverty; an accusation certainly true if a com- 
 parison be made between Russia and Western Europe, 
 but considerably exaggerated. Comparatively poor it un- 
 deniably is : it contains, however much — both prose and 
 poetry— that would possess novelty and high interest to 
 the British reader. 
 
 The indulgent — nay, flattering — reception met with by 
 the Translator in his first attempt to make hiscountrymea 
 acquainted with the productions of the Northern Muse, 
 has encouraged him to offer the present work in an Eng- 
 lish dress. 
 
 He was induced to select this romance for several rea- 
 sons : it is the work of an author to whom all the critics 
 have adjudged the praise of a perfect acquaintance with 
 the epoch which he has chosen for the scene of his drama. 
 Russian critics, some of whom have reproached M. La- 
 jfitchnikoff with certain faults of style, and in particular 
 with innovations on orthography, have all united in con- 
 ceding to him the merit of great historical accuracy — not 
 only as regards the events and characters of his story, but 
 even in the less important matters of costume, language, 
 &c. 
 
 This degree of accuracy was not accidental : he pre- 
 pared himself for his work by a careful study of all the 
 ancient documents calculated to throw light upon the pe- 
 riod which he desired to recall — a conscientious correct- 
 ness, however, which may be pushed too far; for the (.si 
 ginal work is disfigured by a great number of obsolete 
 words and expressions, as unintelligible to the modern 
 Russian reader (unless he happened to be an antiquarian) 
 as they would be to an Englishman. These the Transla- 
 tor has, as far as possible, got rid of, and has endeavoured 
 to reduce the explanatory foot-notes — those " blunder- 
 marks," as they have been well styled — to as small a 
 number as is consistent with clearness in the text. 
 
 As to the dialogue, it has been thought best, in order to 
 preserve that air of antiquity — that precious <Ervgo which 
 gives value even to an insignificant coin — to employ that 
 species of half Elizabethan dialect so happily adopted by 
 Scott. It is not, |)erhaps, chronologically correct (nor, in- 
 deed, is it so, with some few exceptions, in the works of 
 the Great Romancer), but it is sufficiently removed from 
 the spoken English of the present day, to assist the reader 
 in carrying back his imagination to a remote period. It is 
 easily intelligible, and free from the air of pedantry with 
 which the use of real old English — for instance, of the 
 fifteenth century — would be chargeable. 
 
 The mode by which the Translator has essayed to ob ■ 
 tain something like a true pronunciation of Russian names 
 and words, will, he hopfes, be found worth explanation. 
 Most of the ordinary errors in this point arise, firstly, from 
 the .accent not being indicated, and, secondly, from the 
 absurd and capricious manner in which we have adopted 
 I the French and German versions of the Russian orthog- 
 I raphy. Thus, for example, the names of Koutouzoff and 
 I S(>uv6roff— names, one would think, of sufficient note to 
 I deserve a true pronunciation — have been transmogrified 
 I into Cut-us-olfand Suwarrow, axd subjected to divers iia- 
 
 337838 
 
IV 
 
 THE TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 it«emly jests on their appearance when thus metamor- 
 phrwpil. 
 
 Tlie French, whom thtir national self-complacency, 
 and Ihc (it-ciili irity ot' llit-ir proniinciaiion, render of all 
 n-itions tlic wr rsl ad.-iptcd to be f:iiUiful interpreters of 
 Boundit. employed, to express the sound of the Russian v, 
 not their own v. which precisely resembles it, but bor- 
 rowed from the (Jerman^' the letter ic ! Mow, w is cer- 
 tainly pronounced by ihe Teutonic nnllons like our r, and 
 in, then-fore. «ell Hble to repreicnt to a fierman the Rus- 
 sian letter in question ; but, at the same time, the le is a 
 cuosonant, of whose true sound the French have no iilca. 
 To atid to tills confusion, the KnglUb, wbose pronuncia- 
 tion of the letter u> differs from that of all other nations. 
 ha%e retalued this Frcnek version of the Gmnan-Rusf! 
 The conse<|uence is, that a Russian nauie, pronounced by 
 an English uuMiib, would oAen be unintelligible lo the 
 x-ery owner of the appellation. 
 
 These errors have liad (he effect of cau<<in<; what in 
 tbeinaelves are sounds neither difficiill nor uihuniionious, 
 to lio reitarded as soaiulliing ludicrously complicated and 
 unpronounceable: 
 
 •• Th»»kilful (Title iwljf biiraes 
 
 tiuxl, icngh, cnDk,gultunl, lunh, stid* Dunes." 
 
 In how many ways may we see the word Voevoda 
 vrritten ? Woiwode. W'aywod. and Heaven knows wliiit 
 bcsldrs! Boyann, the aii'< ient litle of nobility in Russitn. 
 ii decisional ly boyar or Ixiynrd — why there should be a </ 
 at the end of'ii, a' Frenchman alone can tell : (lerhaps the 
 eiror arose from some foreiener, ignorant of ihe language, 
 supposing the plural, which is boyare, to be the singular, 
 nnd tliii^ |ier|)eiiiating an error in a thousand varied fomis. 
 
 It is surely lime to correct some of these absurditie?, tri- 
 fling, indeed, in llieiii.<elves, but to be deprecated when 
 they serve to discourage the reader, and lend to render a 
 niAle and manly language un|>npular. 
 
 On a former 'occasion we ventured to sketcif out a kind 
 of system for a nenrer approach tu a true pronunciation of 
 RiisMinn words ; and we have found no reason to change 
 the few nnd simple rules we then gave. We shall rc|)eal 
 them here : '■ Tlic vowels, a, «, i. o, y, are supposed to be 
 pronounced n« in French ; the diphthong ou as in the 
 word you ; the j always with the French sound. 
 
 " \V ith respect to the combinations of consonanL«, k/i 
 has the gnttiiral sound of the eh in the Scottish word loch, 
 and eh i.i rather like a rough rir coarse aspirate. 
 
 "The simple g is invariably to be pronounced hard as in 
 ^Mn or full. 
 
 " To avoid the possibility of error, the combination telt, 
 though not a very soft one to the eye. represents a Russian 
 loiter for which there is no character in English ; it is, of 
 course, ullered as in the word tcaUh. 
 
 "We have invariably indicated the syllable on which 
 the stress or accent is to fall." 
 
 'I'he e|M>ch clnwen by I.uj6tchnikoffi» the fifteenth cen- 
 tury; an age most |iowerfully interesting in the liistory of 
 every country, and not less so In th:it of Russia. It was 
 then that the wpirit of inquiry, the thirst for new facts and 
 Investigalions in religious, |)olitic8l, and physical philoso- 
 phy, wan at once stimulated and gralilied by the most im- 
 liortant discoveries that man had as yet made, and extend- 
 ed iLscIf far beyond the limits of what was then civilized 
 Europe, and upoke, by Ihe powerful voice of loAnn III., 
 oven lo Russia, plunged as she then was in ignorance and 
 .supersiition. Riido a.s nro the outlines of this great sover- 
 eign's historical jM>rtrail, nnd rough as were the means by 
 which he endeavoured tr) ameliorate his country, it is ini- 
 IMMaible to deny him a place among those rulers who have 
 won the iiaiiic of benefactors to Iheir native land. 
 
 Though we cannot award to him the praise of the war- 
 rior, pcrha|M the very weakness which induced him to 
 <^ho<>se, ns Ihe Instruments of his policy, rather the ixjace- 
 ful nrb) of the iliploniiitlsl than the barbarous violence of 
 Che swoni— (K^rhaps this defect, if defect it be, enabled 
 hlin to give a more .salutary direction to Ihe Infant ener- 
 gies of his country, lie wns not, it Is true— 
 *• Oiip of thffr pnlent ni«<lti>en, who keep all 
 Miukiml iwake, while Ihejr, by Iheir fml deejt, 
 Are (Irumminic l^^ril ii|)an thn hnllnw worlJ, 
 Only lo oiake a tuunU la lut torafeil" 
 hut In silence he prepared for the more lasting, if less 
 lirlllinnt, triumphs of civili/ntlon and internal improvement, 
 it wajt by him thai Riis<ii — alternately deluged with 
 blood, |N>ured forth In obscure nnd fniilless contlicts, and 
 slumbering In sullen exhnu»tion till ibi resources were 
 again repaired for fresh struggles wilb inloriial and foreign 
 focK— wn.s Instructed that in an imperlectly civilized coun- 
 try Is nothing but a fanlasllc and dangerous meteor. He 
 laid, as far as human wigncliy could lay. Ihe foundations 
 of a solid and durable cdltice — 
 
 ** It cenuf indncilr. r( ditnertum monlibu* allii, 
 Coin|wMuit, legnque deuti, L«liiiinqiM vocari 
 Maliiil." 
 
 That this .(liiii e was »o si>ecdily to fall in ruins at his 
 
 death, that the foreign arts he planted, and so sedulously 
 fostered in the snowy soil of the North, were to be with- 
 ered by the flame of civil war, or to be devoured at the 
 root by the secret worm of barbarism ; that the code of 
 laws — the Soudeknik — which he compiled, was so soon 
 to be .■substantially if not formnlly ubolished, w,is certainly 
 more than mere human foresight could have anticipated. 
 The ways ot' I'rovidence are inscrutable. Il can be no re- 
 proach to Ir>ann's sagacity that he was unable to prophesy 
 that his throne was. afle*>a short interval, lo be filled by 
 one oi' those iiiunsters whose atrocities almost defy the 
 belief uf succeeding ages, and which force us to have re- 
 course to the h\ (lothesis of tlieir deeds beiug ratlier tlie 
 sympumis of insanity, Ihim the capricious extravagances 
 of mere human tyranny. 
 
 Willi M. Lujetchnikuff's mode of treating the principal 
 
 ] figure in his canvass — the slem yet not unattruciive por- 
 
 I trair of ioann — we think that none of his English readers 
 
 will be dLsiKk-ed to find fault. The inferior personages in 
 
 Ins drama are, for the iiioet part, faithful sketches from 
 
 . the rude likenesses executed by the old chroniclers— those 
 
 I .'Vlbcrt Diirers of history, whoi-'e rugged but vigorous strokes 
 
 often anticipate and surp.'us the luore smooth and elabo- 
 
 I rale touches of succeeding arrists. 
 
 I Of Aphanasii Nikitia it is necessar>- to mention that he 
 '■ is no fictitious character: his account of his wanderings 
 : over many lands, particulariy the East, is still extajitand 
 , is a work of extreme interest, not only as being'tbe pro- 
 duction of the- earliest Russian traveller, and curiously 
 coloured by the peculiarities and prejudices of his age and 
 nation, but as being, in fact, one of the earliest records of 
 a traveller's journey in those remote countries. Some 
 [ poriions of this curious itinerary, M. Laj,jtchnikuff has not 
 iiiiskilfiilly interwoven in his romance. 
 
 None of our English readers who have visited Moscow 
 will, we think, fail lo find some interest in Fioraventi 
 , .-Vrisloile, the architect of the cathedral in the Kreml — a 
 work siill rcniaining in a perfect stale of preservation; 
 and remarkable, nol only from the thnusiuid associations 
 att'ichcd to a building in which so many of the Rus.sian 
 Tsars have been crowned, but also as a specimen of style 
 of architecture singul.iriy interesting in iiself, and the 
 most striking examples of which are only to be found ia 
 ' Constantinople, in Venice, and in Russia. 
 
 With these brief remarks we shall conclude our intro- 
 duction ol' iM. Liijetchnikolf lo the British public, leaving 
 I him, like Gines de Pusumonte, to draw up his curtain and 
 set his puppets in motion. We (latter ourselves, that if 
 the eloquence and spirit of his dialogue suffers in tlie 
 hands of his interpreter, the substance of it has been ren- 
 { dered ^vilb fidelity. 
 
 The reader wjll remark in the mottoes prefixed to the 
 ch^ipters, and also treqiienlly occurring in the body of the 
 rouiaace, short passages, sometimes with rhymed ternii- 
 naiions, and an apparently irregular metrical arrange- 
 ment, which he may, pcrha|)s, take for unsuccessful at- 
 teuipls at rhyme. They are, however, the first essay 
 hitherto made to give any idea in Englisti of the tone and 
 .structure of Ihe ancient national poetry of the Russian 
 people. However irregular tlioy may seem, tliey are 
 verses, and are governed by a peculiar system of versifi- 
 cation. Of their " metrical canons," it may be wurlli 
 while to give some notion in this place. 
 
 They are not necessirily rhymed ; indeetf rhvme is, in 
 many cases, held to be a defect. The principal" thing ne- 
 cessary to please the Russian ear in this kind of com|H>si- 
 tiou, is a regular recurrence of accents. This the Trans- 
 lator has indicated by a mark placed over the syllabic on 
 which the stress is laid in singing ; for they are essential- 
 ly songs, and meant, like all poetry of a very ancient char- 
 acter, to be sung. Ur. Bowring, in his •• Russian Anthol- 
 ogy," has given versions of several specimens of liiese sin- 
 gular compositions; but without venturing to retain tlieir 
 metrical form — in our opinion, the most curious |iecuUar- 
 ity they (lossess. We ho|)e that our boldness, in attempt - 
 lug to give them both in dress and in substance, will be 
 rewarded with approbation. 
 
 The only circumstance to which we think it neccssnry 
 to call our reader's attenlion, is the frequent employment, 
 in the dialogue, of phrases which have the sententious 
 form, and fre4|ucntly the jingle, of jirovcrbs and old saws. 
 As these, re|ioated from tradition, or invented extempore, 
 colour, in a great measure, Ihe ancient language of Rui- 
 sla, and are still very iH-rceptible in the dialogue of the 
 lower classes, the Translator has thought it his duly to re- 
 lulu them, however strange may be their effect lo nn Eng- 
 lish eye. They are national and characlerislic, and have, 
 at least, the merit of signifying something — an advantage 
 not always [HWBessed by the " be chcsms," " m.ishallahsi" 
 and " bunil fnihcrs," so plentifully strewn over ihe pages 
 of most modern "Orienlal" novels. 
 
 THOMAS B. SHAW. 
 Turkoe Scio, Au^l ^^, ISt3. 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 "With the blessing of God, rejoice and hfiil, our good 
 Lord and Son, Great Prince Dinitrii IVi\novitcli, of all 
 Russia .... many years!" — Words of the Primate at 
 the ceremony of the Coronation of Dmitrii Iviinovitch, 
 grandson of lodnn III., as Great Prince. 
 
 It was the 27th of October, 1505. As if for 
 the coronation of a Tsar, Moscow was decorated 
 and adorned. The Cathedral of the Assump- 
 tion, the Church of the Annunciation, tlie Stone 
 Palace, the Tower Palace, the Krenil with its 
 towers, a multitude of stone churches and 
 houses, scattered over the city — all this, just 
 come out of the hands of skilful architects, bore 
 the stamp of freshness and newness, as if it had 
 risen up in one day by an almighty will. In 
 reality, all this had been created in a short time 
 by the genius of loann III. A person wlio, thirty 
 years back, had left Moscow, poor, insignificant, 
 resembling a large village, surrounded by ham- 
 lets, would not have recognized it, had he seen 
 it now ; so soon had all Russia arisen at the 
 single manly call of this great genius. Taking 
 the colossal infant under his princely guardian- 
 ship, he had torn off its swaddling bands, and 
 not by years, but by hours, he reared it to a 
 giant vigour. N6vgorod and Pskoff, which had 
 never vailed their bonnet to mortal man, had 
 yet doffed it to him, and had even brought him 
 the tribute of liberty and gold : the yoke of the 
 Khans had been cast off, and hurled beyond the 
 frontiers of the Russian land ; Kaz^n, though 
 she had taken covert from the mighty hunter, 
 yet had taken covert like the she-wolf that has 
 no earth — her territories had melted away, and 
 were united into one immense appanage ; and 
 the ruler who created all this was the first Rus- 
 sian sovereign who realized the idea of a Tsar. 
 
 Nevertheless, on the 27th of October 1505, 
 the Moscow which he had thus adorned was 
 preparing for a spectacle not joyful but melan- 
 choly, loann, enfeebled in mind and body, lay 
 upon his death-bed. He had forgotten his great 
 exploits ; he remembered only his sins, and re- 
 pented of them. 
 
 It was towards the evening-tide. In the 
 churches gleamed the lonely lamps ; through the 
 mica and bladder panes of the windows glim- 
 mered the fires, kindled in their houses by faith 
 or by necessity. But nowhere was it popular 
 love which had lighted them ; for the people 
 did not comprehend the services of the great 
 man, and loved him not for his innovations. At 
 one corner of the prison, the Black Izba,* but 
 later than the other houses, was illumined by 
 a weak and flickering light. On the bladder, 
 which was the substitute for glass in the win 
 
 * /zfid— properly a cottage built of logs laid horizontal 
 !y on one another, but anciently employed, generally, in 
 the sense of- house." " Black Izbi"— a dwelling of the 
 meanest kind ; so called from the absence of a chimney 
 rendering the walls black with smoke.— T. B. S. 
 
 dow, the iron grating, with its spikes, threw a 
 net-like shadow, which was only relieved by a 
 speck, at one moment glittering like a spark, at 
 another emitting a whirling stream of vapour. 
 It was evident that the prisoner had made this 
 opening in the bladder, in order, unperceived by 
 his guards, to look forth upon the light of 
 heaven. 
 
 This was part of the prison, and in it even 
 now was pining a youthful captive. He seemed 
 not more than twenty. So young ! What 
 early transgression could have brought him 
 here 1 From his face you would not believe in 
 such transgressions ; you would not believe that 
 God could have created that fair aspect to de- 
 ceive. So handsome and so noble, that you 
 would think, never had one evil intention passed 
 over that tranquil brow, never had one passion 
 played in those eyes, filled with love to his 
 neighbour and calm melancholy. And yet by 
 his tall, majestic figure, as he starts from his 
 reverie, and shakes his raven curls, he seems to 
 be born a lord, and not a slave. His hands are 
 white and delicate as a woman's. On the 
 throat of his shirt blazes a button of emerald ; 
 in the damp and smoky izba, on a broad bench 
 against the wall, are a feather-bed with a pillow 
 of damask, and with a silken covering ; and by 
 the bedside a coffer of white bone in filigree 
 work. Evidently this is no common prisoner. 
 No common prisoner ! — no, he is a crowned 
 prince ! . . . and pure in thought and deed as 
 the dwellers of the skies. All his crime is a 
 diadem, which he did not seek, and which was 
 placed on his head by the caprice of his sov- 
 ereign ; in no treason, in no crime had he been 
 accomplice ; he was guilty by the guilt of 
 others — by the ambition of two women, the in- 
 trigues of courtiers, the anger of his grandfather 
 against others, and not against him. They had 
 destined him a throne, and they had dragged 
 him to a dungeon. He understood not why 
 they crowned him, and now he understands 
 not why they deprived him of liberty — of the 
 light of heaven— of all that they deny not even 
 to the meanest. For him his nearest kinsman 
 dared not even pray aloud. 
 
 This was the grandson of Ivan III., the only 
 child of his beloved son — Dmitrii Ivanovitch. 
 
 At one time he sat in melancholy musing, 
 resting his elbows on his knees, and losing his 
 fingers in the dark curls of his hair ; then he 
 would arise," then lie down. He was restless 
 as though they had given him poison. No one 
 was with him. A solitary taper lighted up his 
 miserable abode. The stillness of the izba was 
 disturbed only by the drops from the ceiling, or 
 the mice nibbling the crumbs that had fallen 
 from the captive's table. The little light now 
 died away, now flared up again ; and in these 
 flashes it seemed as though rows of gigantic 
 
THE ftfill"ETIC. 
 
 spiders crept along the ^&1L . lo reslit^; tljege 
 were scribblings in various' la ftguagts, scrawled 
 with charcoal or wiih a nail. Hardly was it 
 possible to spell out among tliem — " Matheas," 
 " Marpha, posadnilza of Novgorod the Great," 
 " Accursed be" .... "licbc fHutter, licbe ©" 
 . . . . ; and still several words more, half oblit- 
 erated by the damp which had trickled along 
 the wall, or been scratched out by the anger or 
 the ignorance of the guards. 
 
 The door of the dungeon softly opened. Dmi- 
 trii Iv&novitch started up. " Aph6nia, is it 
 Ihou !" he joyfully enquired ; but seeing that 
 he had mistaken for another the person who 
 entered, he exclaimed sadly — " Ah, it is thou, 
 Nebogalii ! Why comelh not Aph6nia ! I am 
 sad, I am lonely, I am devoured by grief, as if a 
 serpent lay at my heart. Didst thou not say 
 thai Aphonia would come as soon as they lighted 
 the candles in the houses 1" 
 
 '• Aph&nasii Nikilin hath a mind as single as 
 his eye," said the deacon Dmitrii Nebogitii, a 
 kind and good-natured oflicer, yet strict in the 
 performance of the charge given him by the 
 Great Prince, of guarding his grandson. -(We 
 may remark, that at this time he, in conse- 
 quence of the illness of Umitrii, the trea.surer 
 and groom of the bedchamber, fulfilled tlieir 
 duties. All honour to a prince, even though he 
 be a prisoner I) 
 
 " Make thyself easy, Dmitrii Iv&novitch ; 
 soon, be sure, will come our orator. Thou 
 wottest thyself he groweth infirm, he see'th not 
 well, and so must grope along the wall ; and 
 till he Cometh, my dear child, play, amuse thy- 
 self with thy toys. Sit down cozily on thy bed ; 
 I will give thee thy coffer." 
 
 And Dmitrii Ivanovitch, a child, though he 
 was more than twenty years old, to escape 
 from the weariness that oppressed him, instant- 
 ly accepted the proposition of his deacon, sat 
 down with his feet on his bed, took the ivory 
 box upon his knees, and opened it with a key 
 that hung at his girdle. By degrees,, one after 
 the other, he drew out into the light a number 
 of precious articles which had been imprisoned 
 in the cofler. 
 
 The young prince held up to the fire, now a 
 chain of gold with bears' heads carved on the 
 Imks, or a girdle of scaly gold, then signet-rings 
 of jacinth or emerald, then crucifixes, collars, 
 bracelets, precious studs : he admired them, 
 threw lilt; collars round his neck, and asked the 
 deacon whcilicr they became him ; took orient 
 pearls ami rubies by the handful, let them stream 
 like rain through his fingers, amused himself in 
 playing with them, like an absolute child— and 
 suddenly, hearing a voice in the neiglibouriiig 
 chamber, threw them all back any how into the 
 coffer. His face lighted up. 
 
 " 'Tis Aph6nia !" he cried, giving back the 
 box to the deacon, and descending from the 
 bed. 
 
 " Lock it, Dmitrii Iv6novilch," said Nebop6tii 
 firmly ; " without that I will not receive it." 
 
 Hastily clinked the key in the cofTer ; the 
 door opened, and there entered the izb& an old 
 man of low stature, bowed down by the burden 
 of years ; the silver t)f his hair was already be- 
 coming golden with age. From the top of his 
 head to the corner of his left eye was deeply 
 gashed a scar, which had thus let full an eter- 
 
 nal curtSin before that eye, and therefore the 
 other was fixed in its place, like a precious 
 stone of wondrous water, for it gUttered with 
 unusual brilliancy, and seemed to see for itself 
 and for its unfortunate twin brother. No son 
 more affectionately meets a tenderly beloved 
 father, than Dmitrii Ivanovitch met the old 
 man. Joy sparkled in the eyes of the Tsare- 
 vitch, and spoke in his every gesture. He took 
 his guest's walking-staff, shook from his dress 
 the powdered snow, embraced him, and seated 
 him in the place of honour on his bed. Never- 
 theless, the guest was no more than Aphanasii 
 Nikitin, a merchant of Tver, a trader without 
 trade, without money, poor, but rich in know- 
 ledge, which he had acquired in an adventurous 
 journey to India, rich in experience and fan- 
 cies, which he knew how to adorn beside with 
 a sweet and enchanting eloquence. He lived 
 on the charity of his friends, and yet was no 
 man's debtor : the rich he paid with his tales, 
 and to the poor he gave them for nothing. He 
 was allowed to visit the Great Prince Dmitrii 
 Ivanovitch, (whom, however, it was forbidden 
 to call Great Prince.) We may judge how de- 
 lightfully he filled up the dreadful solitude of 
 the youth's imprisonment, and how dear he 
 therefore was to the captive. And what did 
 Dmitrii give him for his labour 1 Much, very 
 much to a good heart, — his delight, the only 
 pleasure left him in the world — and this reward 
 the Tveritchanin* would not have exchanged 
 for gold. Once the Tsarcvitch had desired to 
 present him with one of the precious articles 
 from his ivory box ; but the deacon gently re- 
 minded the captive, that all the articles in his 
 coffer were his, that he might play with them 
 as much as he pleased, but that he was not at 
 liberty to dispose of them. 
 
 The day before Aphanasii Nikitin had begun 
 a tale about the " Almat/ne," surnamed the Here- 
 tic. To-day, when he had seated himself, he con- 
 tinued it. His speech flowed on like the song of 
 the nightingale, which we listen to from the flush 
 of morning till the glow of eve, without shutting 
 our eyes even for a moment. Greedily did the 
 Tsarevitch listen to the story-teller, his cheeks 
 burned, and often tears streamed from his eyes. 
 Far, very far he was borne away from his dun- 
 geon, and only from time to time the rude brawl- 
 ing of the guards behind the partition-wall re- 
 called him to bitter reality. In the mean time the 
 deacon Nebogitii's pen was hurriedly scratching 
 along the parchment : the sheets, pasted one to 
 another in a long line, were fast covered with 
 strange hieroglyphics, and wound up into a huge 
 roll. He was writing down from Aphinasii 
 Nikitin's mouth, ,1 talc touching a certayne Al- 
 mayne, surnamed the Heretic. 
 
 Suddenly, in the midst of the tale, there rush- 
 ed into the dungeon the dvoretzkiit of the Great 
 Prince. " Ivfin Vassilievitch is about to render 
 up his soul to God," said he, hastily ; " he 
 grieveth much about thee, and hath sent for 
 thee. Make haste !" 
 
 The prince was convulsively agitated. Over 
 his face, which became white as a sheet, passed 
 
 • In Riissin, designations of p)er8ons from their native 
 counlrv hnvu the tcmiiiintioi* in ,- ax, .\nglitch&nin, ait 
 Encli'iiinnn ; Tveritchinln, a native of Tver. 
 
 t J>rortUkii—a (;rcal orticcr of the |>alace (dvoriti) in 
 the court of ihc ancient Tsars. 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 some thought ; it flashed in his eyes. Oh, this 
 was a thought of paradise ! Freedom .... a 
 crown .... the people .... mercy .... per- 
 haps a block .... what was there not in that 
 thought ? The captive— the child who had just 
 been playing with jewels— arose the Great 
 Prince of all Russia. 
 
 Ivin was still a sovereign, though on his dying 
 bed ; death had not yet locked for ever his lips, 
 and those lips might yet determine on his suc- 
 cessor. The thoughts of another life, remorse, 
 an interview with his grandson, whom he had 
 himself of his own free-will crowned Tsar, and 
 whom they had just brought from a dungeon — 
 what force must these thoughts have on the will 
 of the dying man ! 
 
 They gave the prince his bonnet, and just as 
 he stood, conducted by the deacon and other 
 officers, he hastened to the Great Prince's pal- 
 ace. In the hall he encountered the sobbing of 
 the kinsmen and servants of the Tsar. " It is 
 over ! — my grandsire is dead !" thought he, and 
 .his heart sank within him, his steps tottered. 
 
 The appearance of Dmftrii Ivanovitch in the 
 palace of the Great Prince, interrupted for a 
 time the general lamentation, real or feigned. 
 The unexpectedness, the novelty of the object, 
 the strange fate of the prince, pity, the thought 
 that he, perhaps, would he the sovereign of Rus- 
 sia in a moment, overwhelmed the minds and 
 hearts of the courtiers. But even at this period 
 there were among the long-beards some wise 
 heads : acute, far-sighted calculations, which 
 we now call politics, were then as now oracles 
 of fate, and though sometimes, as happens even 
 in our own days, they were overthrown by the 
 mighty hand of Providence. 
 
 These calculations triumphed over the mo- 
 mentary astonishment ; the tears and sobbing 
 began again, and were communicated to the 
 crowd. Only one voice, amidst the expressions 
 of simulated woe, ventured to raise itself above 
 • them: "Haste, my lord, our native prince— 
 thou hast been sent for no short time — Ivan 
 Vassilievitch is yet alive— the Lord bless thee, 
 and make thee our Great Prince !" 
 
 This voice reassured the youth ; but when he 
 was about to enter the bed-chamber where the 
 dying man lay, his strength began to fail. The 
 door opened ; his feet seemed nailed to the 
 threshold. Ivan had only a few minutes feft to 
 live. It seemed as if death awaited only the 
 arrival of his grandson, to give him his dis- 
 missal. Around his bed stood his sons, the 
 primate, his favourite boyarins, his kinsmen. 
 
 " Hither — to me, Dmitrii — my dear grand- 
 son," said the Great Prince, recognising him 
 through the mists of death. 
 
 Dmitrii Ivanovitch threw himself towards the 
 bed, fell upon his knees, kissed the cold hand 
 of his grandsire, and bedewed it with his tears. 
 The dying man, as if by the power of galvanism, 
 raised himself, laid one hand on his grandson's 
 head, with the other blessed him, then spoke in 
 a breathless voice : " I have sinned before God 
 and thee .... Forgive me ... . forgive .... 
 The Lord and I have crowned thee .... be 
 .... my . . . ." 
 
 The face of Vassilii loannovitch was con- 
 vulsed with envy and fear. Yet one word 
 jnore .... 
 
 But death then stood on the side of the strong- 
 
 est, and that word was never pronounced in 
 this world. The Great Prince Ivan Vassilie- 
 vitch yielded up his last breath, applying his 
 cold lips to the forehead of his grandson. His 
 son, who had been earlier designated by him as 
 his heir, immediately entered into all his rights. 
 They tore Dmitrii from the death-bed, led him 
 out of the Great Prince's palace, and conducted 
 him back to his dungeon. There, stretched on 
 his bed, was reposing Aph6nia in the deep slum- 
 ber of the just. Having bewailed his woes, the 
 ill-fated Dmitrii lay down beside the old man. 
 Prince and peasant were there equal. The one 
 dreamed that night of royal banquets, and of a 
 glorious crown, glittering like fire, upon his 
 head, and of giving audience to foreign ambas- 
 sadors, and reviewing vast armies. The other 
 — of the hospitable palm and the rivulet in the 
 deserts of Arabia. The poor man awaked the 
 first, and how was he surprised to find the 
 Tsar^vitch by his side ! Mournfully he shook 
 his hoary head, and wept, and was about to 
 bless him, when he heard the joyful gallant cry 
 of Dmitrii Ivanovitch as he dreamed—" War- 
 riors ! .... on the Tartars ! .... on Lithua- 
 nia !.. . ." 
 
 And immediately awoke the young prince. 
 Long he rubbed his eyes, and gazed around 
 him, and then, falling on Aphonia's bosom, he 
 melted into tears. " Ah ! father, father, I have 
 been, dreaming" .... 
 
 His words were strangled by sobs. 
 
 Soon all that he had seen and heard in the 
 palace of the Great Prince began to appear to 
 him as a dream. Only when he recalled to his 
 memory that weary vision, he felt on his fore- 
 head the icy seal which had been placed on it 
 by the lips of the dying Tsar. 
 
 The winter came : all was as before in the 
 Black Izba : nothing but the decorations of the 
 scene had changed ; the uniform sound of the 
 falling drops was dumb, the bright speck had 
 vanished from the bladder window-pane : in- 
 stead, a silvery film of frost adhered to the cor- 
 ners of the walls and the crevices of the ceiling, 
 and the bright speck, through which the captive 
 could see the heavens, with their sun and free 
 birds, was veiled with a thick patch. But Apho- 
 nia, as of old, visited the dungeon. He had fin- 
 ished his tale of the Almayne, whom they called 
 the Heretic, and the scribe Nebogatii, putting it 
 on paper word for word, had placed the roll in 
 his iron chest — an amusement for his descen- 
 dants. 
 
 Thus passed a little more than three years. 
 
 The royal prisoner was no longer in his dun- 
 geon, and Aphanasii Nikitin was seen no more 
 within it. Assuredly Dmitrii Ivanovitch had 
 been set at liberty. Yes, the Lord had set him 
 free from all earthly bonds. Thus writes an 
 annalist: "In the year 1509, on the 14th of 
 February, departed this life the Great Prince, 
 Dmitrii Ivanovitch, in prison." Gerberstein 
 adds : " It is thought that he was starved— with 
 cold or with hunger— to death, or stifled with 
 smoke." 
 
 This prologue requires explanation. Here it 
 is : In the year 1834, in the government of 
 
 S , were put up to auction the estates of 
 
 one of Catharine's great nobles. A rich old 
 hbrary, in which (as I was assured by credible 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 people) were to be found historical treasures, 
 was sold in detail to any body who chose to bid. 
 Hastening to the spot, I threw myself upon the 
 plunderers, in order, by force of gold, to snatch 
 from them some rarity which they could not 
 appreciate. Vain hope ! I was too late. A 
 great part of the library, they told me for my 
 consolation, had come into the possession of a 
 
 butcher of .S , who was selling the books by 
 
 the bale, by weight.* I rush to him, and re- 
 ceive for answer, that all the volumes are al- 
 ready sold to different people. "There are the 
 remains," said he, pointing to a heap of bindings 
 and worm-eaten rolls ; " look them over, you 
 may find something to your taste." 
 
 With trembling greediness I set to work : I 
 bury myself in du.st and scraps of paper .... 
 Here is nothing, there as much, further on 
 trash ! Again to search . . . again I plunged 
 into them .... Time flies. The butcher sta.es, 
 and ihmks me crazy .... At last (O, my bless- 
 ings up<in his dwelling!) I unroll one worm- 
 oaten .MS , pushed aside by the forces of the 
 literary empire to the yery cwnerof the garret. 
 The title is attractive — " A Talc tochyng a cer- 
 tayne Almayne, surnamcd y' Heretick" I read 
 the text — a treasure ! I turn over the ragged 
 leaves wiih the caution of a surgical operator. 
 In the heart of the roll is an Italian manuscript ; 
 in It the names are the same as in the Russian 
 .M.S., with the addition of some new ones, for 
 the greatest part those of foreigners : the hero 
 of the story is the same in both. It was evi- 
 dently written by a person contemporary and 
 acquainted with him. The relation breathes a 
 remarkable affection for him, and elevated sen- 
 timents. In the tiilepage are only the words— 
 "In memory of my frund Antonio." This I 
 managed hastily to glance through in the 
 strange archives o.*" Uie butcher. I cannot 
 conceal my rapture; and, in the heat of my 
 joy, I offer the bearded shopkeeper the finest 
 lo that he might pick out of my herd. The bar- 
 gain is struck at once : I carry home the roll, 
 trembling for its delicate existence ; I turn over 
 il.<.' leaves of the Russian MS., as if they were 
 the petals of some rare flower ready to fall. 
 Hardly do I succeed in rescuing from destruc- 
 tion the ha^f of it. The Italian manuscript is 
 in a sounder condition. Out of the two I have 
 composed •' The Tale of the Heretic," filling up 
 from history the interstices produced by destruc- 
 tive time 
 
 " A trick of the novelist !" cry, perhaps, some 
 of my fair or gentle readers ; " a trick to inter- 
 est us the more in his production !" 
 
 Believe or not, my right worshipful sirs, and 
 you, most dearest of the dear, perhaps most 
 fairest, ladi<;s ,— say what you please, that I 
 wrote this preface simply with the aim of pre- 
 senting you with a picture of Moscow, re-edi- 
 fied and decorated by the great Iv6n-a picture 
 which could not be introduced in mv novel : I 
 cannot refute you. You may sav that I have 
 done this, desiring to find a placis somewhere 
 for the romantic and inlcresting character of 
 Dmitrii Iv&novitch, which eould not have found 
 room in the first plan of the romance, already 
 
 • A fiicl ! The new s of ihiti mcrlflcc re.ichcd even 
 .Mosrow, nnd Ihe bibliomanes of thr rflpllnl cntrpntcd me 
 t<i dWcovcT whether «>nip hislorlcnl mritlcii might not l>c 
 found at Die bulcher's.— AVJe of the Author. 
 
 occupied by another personage ; and in the sec- 
 ond, it could find no room either ; — you may 
 add, that I, in consequence of this necessity, 
 imagined the discovery of the manuscripts. 
 Say just what you please : I cannot give you 
 ocular demonstration ; I am unable to prove on 
 paper the justice of my deductions, and there- 
 fore I am innocently guilty — I am ready to un- 
 dergo your judgment. What is to be donel It 
 is not the first time that tale-tellers are accused 
 of deception. Some one, I think, has said, — 
 " If the deception resembles truth, and is liked, 
 then the tale is very good." This is no subject 
 for the researches of the historical police. 
 Neither do I pretend to justify two or three an- 
 achronisms as to years, seasons of the year, or 
 months, committed in filling up the intervals of 
 the manuscripts. They were intentional — this 
 is easy to be seen. To point them out in notes 
 I considered superfluous : it is sufficient to turn 
 to any history of Russia to discover — for in- 
 stance, that the reduction of Tver took place 
 in autumn, and not in summer ; that such and 
 such an event happened in different years ; that 
 the punishment of the heretics was at N6vgo- 
 rod, and not at Moscow. I leave it to children 
 to seek out the voluntary and involuntary sins. 
 Such anachronisms (remark, not in the customs, 
 in the character of the time) I can never con- 
 sider as transgressions in the historical novel- 
 ist. He must follow rather the poetry of histo- 
 ry than its chronology. His business is not to 
 be the slave of dates ; he ought to be faithful 
 to the cliaracter of the epoch, and of the dra- 
 matis persona which he has selected for repre- 
 sentation. It is not his business to examine 
 every trifle, to count over with servile minute- 
 ness every link in the chain of this epoch, or of 
 the life of this character ; that is the depart- 
 ment of the historian and the biographer. The 
 mission of the historical novelist is to select 
 from them the most brilliant, the most inter- 
 esting events, which are connected with the 
 chief personage of his story, and to concentrate 
 them into one poetic moment of his romance. 
 Is it necessary to say that this moment ought 
 to be pervaded by a leading idea 1 . . . . Thus I 
 understand the duties of the historical novelist. 
 Whether I have fulfilled them, is quite another 
 question. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 IN BOHEMIA. 
 
 " O, it swilled ever luringly 
 O'er the in^'nds, tlie spring ris-ulet ; 
 And it VAto nw.iy, liired nwiiy, 
 'i'lie fair Ii4l>y from its iii6ther'8 anna. 
 She was loft iilone, that iu6ther sad. 
 On tho'stcop liank, ilie dftrkred hank ; 
 She will cry nloiid. < », so m6iirnfully ! 
 U return to iiie, durlini; one I 
 
 O rci&rn, my lM.'16veU one!" 
 
 Old SoHg. 
 
 Do you know, gontle reader, where the 
 White Mountain is ! If you do not, I will tell 
 you ; it is in Bohemia, near the frontiers of Sax- 
 ony Thither I will now convey you. 
 
 There, at no groat distance from the moun- 
 tain, loomed, ttirough the grey twilii;ht of an 
 autumnal evening, a tower on the hank of the 
 Elbe : it was newly washed in a shower which 
 had just cleared off. From two windows, or 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 rather two narrow slits in the thick wall, glim- 
 mered a light, illuminating their small diamond 
 panes, and throwing its dancing flash and shade 
 far along the bosom of the river. 'Twas a 
 wild night ! Not a sparklet in the wide heavens 
 — not a single streak of white to harbinger the 
 dawn. The darkness looks immeasurable in 
 its vast gloom — the night seems as though it 
 would have no end. The blast appears to be 
 struggling to force an entrance into the tower, 
 " and shrieks like an evil spirit as it wrestles 
 with its time-worn battlements. The yelling 
 of the wind is repeated by the long howl of the 
 wolves in the surrounding thickets. The river, 
 lashed by the blast, seems to bend its current 
 sideways to the bank, and to besiege the foot 
 of the tower, as though eager to batter it with 
 its waves. 
 
 Within the tower all is still. Nothing is heard 
 but the plaintive swelling and falhng of the 
 wind, fitfully playing with the bars of the win- 
 dow its wild and mournful harmonies. The 
 large chamber is dimly lighted by a pile of wooj 
 blazmg on the hearth ; all around indicates 
 simplicity, not to say poverty. Nothing is vis- 
 ible in the way of decorations but a number of 
 elks' horns and weapons suspended upon the 
 walls. With the head resting upon the back 
 of a tall old chair, reclines the 'faded form of 
 an aged woman, whose features, though bear- 
 ing the livid traces of severe illness, and 
 stamped by the track of sorrow and suffering, 
 prove that in her youth she must have been 
 lovely. Gloomy and painful thoughts from 
 time to time appeared to chase each other 
 across that face, and her soul seemed swelling 
 with tears which hope or patience had retained 
 within their source. The old woman was ev- 
 idently the mistress of the tower — a tower that 
 had once been a castle. At some distance from 
 her is placed a hoary-headed old man, her re- 
 tainer, seneschal, castellan ; one of those fig- 
 ures which it is impossible to gaze at without 
 becoming better and more benevolent — without 
 feeling yourself elevated nearer to heaven. 
 Where such old men dwell, there, we may be 
 assured, dwells God's blessing. At one mo- 
 ment, seated on a three-legged stool, he strug- 
 gles with drowsiness, then arises and proceeds 
 to arrange the fire, then listens by the door. In 
 the midst of the deep winter embodied in the 
 faces of these two persons, has bloomed a ver- 
 nal flower — a maiden of sixteen. By her dress, 
 her place in the recess of the hall, we must 
 take her for a servant. She sits spinning on a 
 low bench, in the full blaze of the fire. On her 
 pretty face, too, deep anxiety is expressed. At 
 the least noise behind the door, her hands drop 
 the thread, and her eyes turn enquiringly to the 
 portal. Nothing breaks the stillness of the 
 chamber but the low buzzing of the spinning- 
 wheel, and the plaintive howl of the wind, im- 
 ploring to be let in through the casement. 
 
 It is night, but the inhabitants of the poor 
 castle do not sleep ! They are evidently expec- 
 ting some one. 
 
 Suddenly there rose the long note of a horn, 
 and that seemed to be struggling with the blast. 
 None heard it but the girl. — " Father," she said, 
 breaking her thread in her agitation, " Yakoubek 
 is come." 
 
 The retainer arose to his full height. The 
 
 old woman, raising her head from the back of 
 her chair, lifted to heaven her eyes, which were 
 full of tears. All was expectation in the cham- 
 ber. 
 
 Again the horn sounded, but in a shriller and 
 livelier tone than before; and this time it was 
 plainly heard above the troubled blast. In 
 tense anxiety was expressed on the faces of all. 
 The girl's bosom seemed to heave. 
 
 " Why dost thou not show him a light, Yan 1" 
 said the old woman. 
 
 " I am stupified with joy, lady baroness," 
 replied the retainer, hastening to liglit at the , 
 fire the wick of an iron lamp, which the maidea 
 had handed to him in the mean time. But the 
 new-comer, it seemed, was no laggard. The 
 door opened, and tliere entered the room a 
 young man of twenty, good-looking and active. 
 With a glance of love to the girl, a respectful 
 obeisance to the Baroness Ehrenstein, (such 
 was the name of the lady of the poor castle.) 
 he threw his drenched hat and large wide-top- 
 ped gloves at the feet of his beloved ; and, un- 
 slinging the horn from his shoulders, he pro- 
 ceeded to unbuckle the buff-coat which defended 
 his breast. *" 
 
 "Is all vi'ell'!" enquired the baroness with a 
 trembling voice ; and, but for fear of degrading 
 her birth, she would have cast herself on the 
 neck of the messenger. 
 
 " God be praised, my gracious lady ! God be 
 praised ! I bring a thousand salutations from 
 my young master," replied the new-comer ; 
 "but the night is as dark as a wolf's throat: 
 you ride, and ride, and come full drive against 
 a branch or a stump ; and there are swarms of 
 evil spirits in the cross roads of the White 
 Mountain, where a traveller has lately been 
 murdered. They try to get up behind you on 
 your horse's crupper, and ride with you. One 
 of them almost drove me right into the Elbe."j 
 
 The old retainer shook his head, intimating 
 that the youth was talking nonsense. 
 
 " You should have said an ave to our Lady 
 ot Loretto," interrupted the baroness. 
 
 " 'Twas nought but an ave to our Lady that 
 saved me from a ducking : but for your orders 
 to come back with speed, I would have only- 
 accompanied my young master ; and but (here 
 he looked lovingly at the girl) for my desire to 
 please you, by bringing you tidings of him, I 
 would have slept at the last village. But rain, 
 rain ! it poured by buckets-full." 
 
 " Poor Yakoubek ! you must be drenched to 
 the skin," said the baroness : " warm yourself 
 at the fire," she was going to continue ; but 
 seeing him take from his bosom a neat folded 
 paper" wrapped round with green silk, and 
 sealed with wax, she could only exclaim— "A 
 letter from him /" 
 
 With trembling hands she seized the mis- 
 sive, and pressed it to her withered bosom ; 
 then she gazed at it admiringly, and put it back 
 into her breast. 
 
 Why did she not hasten to open the precious 
 letter ! Why ^ Because the baroness could not 
 read. (Observe, this was at the end of the fif- 
 teenth century.) 
 
 Yakoubek then, with a joyful face, delivered 
 to his mistress a well-crammed purse, for which 
 he had been feeling all about his dress. 
 
 " Such a good young master !" said he, giving, 
 
10 
 
 THE HERETIC. 
 
 up his charge : " he feared more on my account 
 than for the money. Such a kind man ! Yet 
 )lie will not let himself be trampled on. How 
 -ihe knightly blood speaks in him, though he is 
 le " 
 
 Here Yan could no longer restrain himself; he 
 twitched the speaker so sharply by the sleeve, 
 that he made him bite his tongue. In the mean 
 time, the baroness held the purse, and wept 
 Bilcntly as she gazed on it. What a sad tale 
 jnight have been read in those tears, if any one 
 could have translated them into words ! Then, 
 recovering herself, she wiped her eyes, and be- 
 gan to question Yakoubek as to how her son had 
 arrived at Lipetsk ; for all her care was about 
 liim, what he had done there, how and with 
 whom he had begun his journey. 
 
 Yakoubek only awaited these questions to let 
 loose his tongue. 
 
 "We went on safe and sound," he began, 
 " till wc came to a pine-forest, as thick and 
 '■*]ark as an old boar's bristles. Some ill-looking 
 •rascals showed us the white of their eyes ; but 
 "ve were in force, and could have given them as 
 •good as they brought, anj^ we showed them no- 
 thing but our horses' tails. Then" .... 
 
 The terrified baroness began to listen more 
 eagerly. 
 
 ""At a hostflrj', a cursed hostess — and the 
 she-cat was young too — gave us some ham, be- 
 lieve mc, gracious lady, as rusty as the old hel- 
 mets in the armory ! My young master could 
 not eat it, and swallowed a morsel of biscuit, 
 -washed down with water ; but I was fool enough 
 to take a mouthful of the ham, and even now 
 the very recollection makes me" .... 
 
 "Talk sense, Yakoubek," angrily interrupted 
 the old retainer . " if you go on chattering such 
 nonsense, your tale will be longer before it comes 
 to an end than the Danube." 
 
 " Let the youth talk as he likes, whatever 
 comes uppermost," said the baroness, to whom 
 the least det ailsabout her beloved son were in- 
 teresting. 
 
 "Thank ye, Master Yan !" cried the youth, 
 confused, with a bow to the old retainer ; many 
 thanks for correcting a clown. But you lived 
 in the time of the late baron" .... 
 
 At the word "late," a slight quivering passed 
 over the lips of the baroness. " You have lived 
 in great cities ; you have seen the Emperor and 
 fit. Stephen's church, and you are as chary of 
 your words as if they were rose-nobles ; but this 
 is the first time since I was born that I have 
 been to Lipetsk— ah, what a town I" Then re- 
 collecting himself, he shook his head, and vva- 
 ved his hand as if to drive away a fly. " But 1 
 am wasting foolish words, as if they were cop- 
 ])er skillings : then, you see, gracious lady," he 
 continued, turning to the old woman, " we got 
 on prosperously ; only on the road his honour 
 «lid nothing but grieve for you, and was perpet- 
 ually l)egging and enjoining me : ' Look ye, 
 Yakoubek, serve my mother faithfully and zeal- 
 ously, as if you were her own children : if I gel 
 rich, I will not forget you. As to Van,' he Con- 
 tinvied, ' I am not afraid about him ; the old 
 man, I am convinced, would lay down his life 
 for her, (a tear sparkled on Van's eyelashes, 
 •while a smile pa.ssed over Ins lips ;) but you are 
 young.' He always said 'you;' he must have 
 jaeant . . . hm I if thou wilt let me speak Mas- 
 
 ter Yan ; . . . . then he bowed, looking very ten- 
 derly at the girl. Blushing like a crimson pop- 
 py, she pretended to be searching for something, 
 rummaged about, and then quitted the room, as 
 if to look for it. 
 
 " I can guess that riddle," said the baroness, 
 in a kind voice : "Antony meant Lioubousha." 
 
 " .My kind young master I" continued the 
 youth ; " he did not forget me ... . and on the 
 road to Lipetsk, and when he was leaving, he 
 advised me: 'Do not forget, Yakoubek. Tell 
 my mother that I promised to marry you. My 
 mother and our good Yan will certainly not re- 
 fuse me.' " 
 
 " I have long ago given you my blessing, my 
 good friends. What says the father!" 
 
 " I have no son ; you shall be a son to me !" 
 said the old man ; "only I will not give you my 
 blessing till you have told us all the news of our 
 young lord without any additions about yourself" 
 
 Yakoubek almost leaped for joy : he ventured 
 respectfully to kiss the baroness's hand ; he 
 kissed Yan on the shoulder, then assuming a 
 grave air, as though he had mounted the cathe- 
 dra, he continued his account of young Ehren- 
 stein. " At Lipetsk we were expected — we I — 
 I mean to say his honour .... we reached the 
 house. Lord ! thought I, does not the king at 
 least live here ! Clap ten such towers as this 
 in a row, they would not make such a house. 
 If you look up at the chimneys, your hat falls 
 off; if you go in, you lose your way, as if you 
 were in an unknown forest. The rooms were 
 ready. Soon after, the Muscovite ambassador 
 came to my young lord, shook him by the hand, 
 and spoke to him very affably. He said that his 
 sovereign would be very glad to receive his hon- 
 our, young master, and would raise him to great 
 favour, dignity, and wealth. My master hardly 
 understood a word of what the ambassador said 
 to him ; it was all translated by an Italian who 
 had lived in Muscovy. But I did not let slip a 
 word, except now and then a hard one, not like 
 our speech. The ambassador spoke something 
 like Tchekh (Bohemian.) I thought to myself, 
 perhaps he has learned Tchekh : but no ! his 
 servant spoke the same tongue as himself, so, 
 thinks I, that must be Muscovite speech. Says 
 the ambassador to young master ; ' The Tchekhs 
 and Muscovites are the sons of one mother, but 
 have been divided by wars.' So, thinks I, I 
 could easily turn interpreter" .... 
 
 "Thou forgettest," interrupted Yan with a 
 smile, " that an interpreter must understand the 
 tongue of the person for whom he is translating. 
 Dost thou see!" 
 
 " To be sure. What a blockhead I am ! ... . 
 For instance, the ox and the sheep want to 
 speak together ; I understand the sheep-lan- 
 guage, and the sheep understand me ; but I 
 don't understand ox-language, and here we stick 
 in the mud." 
 
 The baroness could not help smiling at this 
 illustration. 
 
 " Well, well," said Yan, " first finish what 
 you have to say about young master, and then 
 you may go a wool-gathering as much as you 
 please." 
 
 " Do not frighten yourself, Master Yan. 
 Though I look aside now and then, I still stick 
 to the young baron's skirts." 
 
 " Thou didst not call him Baron on the road^" 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 II 
 
 said the old woman with an anxious look. " That 
 "was strongly forbidden." 
 
 "I will not lie, gracious lady. Once my 
 tongue did make a slip. I inadvertently dis- 
 obeyed you. The word dropped from my 
 tongue ; but I corrected myself in a twinkling : 
 ' Do not think,' said I to him, ' that I call you 
 baron because you are one : I call you so be- 
 cause the Tchekhs and Germans call all their 
 masters baron; I imitate them from habit. In 
 the same way we call your mother baroness, as 
 ■we love her.' No, no ! I am no fool : when I 
 fall into a scrape, I want no one else to help me 
 out." 
 
 "Thanks, Yakoubek ! well, what happened 
 to you at Lipetsk 1" 
 
 ■" Why, then they brought my young master 
 a heap of skins of animals from the ambassa- 
 dor. Muscovite beasts, such as martens and 
 squirrels — and they piled up a mountain of them 
 in the room. All this was a kind of earnest 
 from the Great Prince, the interpreter said. 
 'What are we to do with thisV said young 
 master ; but, before the words were out of his 
 mouth, the merchants came flocking up like 
 hungry wolves that have snifTed a carrion, and 
 began to chaffer. After all, they laid a heap of 
 gold and silver on the table, and took away the 
 skins. My young master kept only a few ; he 
 has sent you a dozen martens, and bestowed a 
 dozen squirrel-skins on me. 'These are for 
 thy bride,' he said, ' for winter clothing.' Then 
 came the driver, who was to take him — a Jew" 
 
 "A Jew !" exclaimed the baroness, clasping 
 lier hands, and raising her eyes to heaven. 
 " Holy Virgin, shelter him beneath thy merci- 
 ful protection ! Angels of the Lord, drive far 
 from him every evil spirit !" 
 
 " I myself did not much like that an unbe- 
 lieving Jew should drive my young master ; 
 l)ut, when matters were cleared up, my heart 
 was relieved. The driver hardly looked at 
 him, before he threw himself down and kissed 
 the skirt of his mantle. ' Thou art my bene- 
 factor, my preserver,' he said. ' Dost thou not 
 remember at Prague, when the schoolboys were 
 setting savage dogs at me] Their fangs were 
 in me ; you threw yourself upon them, you 
 killed them with your dagger, and chastised the 
 boys. I can never forget your benevolence ; 
 when I do, may the God of Jacob and the God 
 of Abraham forget me ! In Moscow I have 
 powerful friends, men of consequence. Speak 
 but the word ; I am at your service. Dost thou 
 want money 1 Say— Zacharias, T want so 
 much, and I will bring it to you. I will walk 
 softly, I will not breathe, that they may not see, 
 may not hear, that you had it from a Jew.' I 
 understood not his words ; I only saw the Jew- 
 beat his breast, and then again begin kissing the 
 skirt of my lord's mantle ; but young master 
 afterwards translated it all to me word for word, 
 that I might relate it to you. 'My mother will 
 be less anxious when she hears this,' he said ; 
 ' I believe Zacharias, he will not deceive me. 
 Besides, the ambassador answered for him : he 
 is well known at Moscow, and all believe him 
 to be an honest man. Through him, too, I can 
 write to my mother.' At last they assembled 
 for the journey : they were a great many go- 
 ing. There were all sorts of workmen," (a 
 
 slight blush passed over the face of the baron- 
 ess,) " men who cast things in copper, and those 
 who build stone churches ; I could never tell 
 you all. They took their seats on the carriages. 
 I accompanied my master out of the town. He 
 again repeated his injunctions to serve you 
 faithfully, zealously, as he would serve you 
 himself; and repeated this a hundred times. 
 At a short distance from the town his carriage 
 stopped. Then he condescended to embrace 
 me. 'Will God let us meet again?' he said, 
 and wept. His last words were all about you. 
 The carriage went on — he still stood up in 
 front, and long nodded his head, and waved 
 his hand, as though begging me to salute you. 
 I did not stir from my place ; but he went — my 
 dear master — went further and further, till he 
 disappeared. I felt as if my heart would break. 
 I longed to call him hack, I longed to kiss his 
 hand once more. He was gone ! Had it not 
 been for you and Lioubousha, with the blessing 
 of God, I would not have remained here." 
 
 Yakoubek could not go on : tears prevented 
 him from speaking. The mother sobbed ; the 
 retainer wept. One would have thought that 
 all the three had just returned from the funeral 
 of a dear friend. Long, almost all night, did 
 the inhabitants of the poor castle remain awake ; 
 long did they talk of the young Ehrenstein. At 
 length the baroness retired to her bed-chamber, 
 ordering Yan to fetch Father Laurence to her 
 in the morning. This was a deacon of the 
 neighbouring Moiavian brotherhood ; the confi- 
 dential reader of her correspondence. The 
 morning came, and Father Laurence read to 
 the baroness the following letter from her son : — 
 
 " Dearest Mother, 
 
 "I hasten to inform you that I am safely 
 arrived at Lipetsk. I am well and happy — as 
 happy as a son can be, separated from a mother 
 whom he tenderly loves. Do not accuse me 
 of being visionary. A love for science, for my 
 fellow-creatures, and no less the hope of being 
 useful to you, have induced me to take this 
 step. You yourself have blessed my enterprise, 
 kind, dearest mother ! 
 
 " At Lipetsk the Russian ambassador was 
 already awaiting us. He did not disappoint 
 me ; but gave me without delay the considerable 
 sum which you will receive by Yakoubek. It 
 is but for you that I value money — that I may 
 comfort your old age. The favour of the Mus- 
 covite king, which his envoy gives me the hope 
 of obtaining, w-ill enable me to be still more 
 useful to you hereafter. 
 
 " With what pleasure did I hear the first 
 sounds of the Muscovite — or, as it is otherwise 
 called Russian language ! With still greater 
 pleasure did I learn that it is related to our 
 own. Already I comprehend a good deal of 
 the conversation of the envoy with whom I am 
 going. I am sorry that I do not understand 
 Tchekh better. I hope, at my arrival in Mos- 
 cow, soon to learn to speak Russian ; this will 
 iTiake my new acquaintance more disposed to 
 love me. I already like them, as descended 
 from the same race. 
 
 " As to the request which Yakoubek will 
 make to you, grant it for my sake and for his. 
 
 " Prizing your parental blessing above all 
 things, I prepare myself for my long journey ; 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 tlial blessing, with your image, is in my heart. 
 I kiss your hands a thousand limes. — Your du- 
 tiful son, *' Antony Ehkenstein." 
 
 Many times was Father Laurence compelled 
 to read this letter — each time it was bedewed 
 with tears, and pressed to the mother's heart. 
 The first days of separation were killing to her : 
 every where she wandered about the former 
 haunts of her beloved son, figuring to herself 
 that she might meet him. The things that he 
 had left behind him she gazed at with a kind 
 of reverence : it was forbidden for any one to 
 sit down in the chair that Antony had ordinari- 
 ■ ly used at dinner, or even to move it from its 
 place. This was not permitted even to Father 
 Laurence : a flower pluckad by Antony on the 
 last day before his departure was placed, like a 
 holy thing, on the leaf of the manuscript Bible 
 at which he had ceased reading. In his room 
 all was allowed to remain in the same order as 
 when he had left it. Sometimes the aged 
 mother stole thither to sit on the dear wander- 
 er's bed and weep. No complaint to Heaven — no 
 repining : she followed him only with daily and 
 nightly prayers for his health and happiness. 
 But the wanderer was departing ever further 
 and further ; yet long he beheld the blue sky of 
 his native land — that sky in which it was so de- 
 lightful to plunge the soul ; the mountains and 
 rocks wildly and fantastically relieved against 
 it ; the silver spangling of the winding Elbe ; 
 the spiry poplars standing like sentinels of the 
 shore ; the flowery clusters of the wild cherry- 
 trees, which peered boldly in at the windows 
 of his chamber ; oltener still he saw, in dream 
 or reverie, the trembling withered hand of his 
 mother stretched above him in benddiction. 
 
 We know that Antony was the son of the 
 Baroness Ehrcnstein. We will say more : — 
 his father was living, rich, powerful, occupying 
 an important ofllce at the court of the Emperor 
 fVedrick IIL ; but at the poor castle, this is a 
 secret known to none but old Yan and the bar- 
 oness. The other inhabitants of the tower — 
 Antony himself— considered him to be dead. 
 But why so, wherefore, in what capacity, did 
 young Antony go to Russia? 
 
 Antony was a physician. 
 
 The son of a baron a physician ? . . . Strange! 
 wonderful ! How reconcile with his profession 
 the pride of the German nobility of that day 1 
 To judge what the baron must have felt, we 
 must remember that at this period physicians 
 » were for the most part Jews, those outcasts of 
 humanity, those Pariahs of society. In «uir own 
 time, and not far back, in enlightened countries 
 they have begun to speak of them as men — 
 they have begun to assign them a fixed station 
 in the civic family ; but how were they looked 
 npon in the fifteenth century, when the Inqui- 
 sition was established, burning them and the 
 Moors by thousands ] when even Christians 
 were burned, quartered, strangled like dogs, for 
 being Christians according to the theory of 
 Wicliffe and of lluss, and not according to the 
 canon of a Pius or a Sixtus I The rulers per- 
 secuted the Jews with fire, sword, and anallie- 
 ma ; the populace, enraged against them by re- 
 ports that they stole children and drank their 
 blood on Easter-day, avenged on them one iin- 
 agiuary crime by real ones a hundiedfold grea- 
 
 ter. They thought God's light, the air of heav- 
 en, defiled by their breath, their impure eyes ; 
 and hastened to rob them of God's light, of the 
 air of heaven. Hangmen, armed with pincers 
 and razors, even before the victims reached the 
 place of execution, ripped and tore the skin from 
 their bodies, and then threw them mangled in- 
 to the fire. The spectators, without waiting 
 till they were consumed, dragged the horrid 
 remnants from the pile, and trailed the tatters 
 of humanity through the streets, bloody and 
 blackened, cursing over them. To prolong, if 
 hut for a time, their miserable existence, the 
 Jews undertook the most diflicult duties : to 
 avoid Scylla, they threw themselves headlong 
 into Charybdis. The profession of leech was 
 then one of the most perilous : we may guess, 
 that a great number of these involuntary phy- 
 sicians deceived many with their involuntary 
 science, or were paid with interest for their 
 cheats and ignorance. Did the patient depart 
 into the other world ] — they sent the physician 
 after him. One example will suffice : it is a 
 remarkable one. The leech Pietro I.£oni of 
 Spoletto, having exhausted all the resources of 
 his art on the dying Lorenzo de' Medici, gave 
 him as a last experiment a powder of pearls and 
 precious stones. This did no good. Lorenzo 
 the Magnificent started off for ever to that 
 bourne, for which the non magnificent also 
 must set off. What became of Leoni ! The 
 friends of the defunct did not hesitate long : 
 they killed the leech without delay, or, as oth- 
 ers say, so tortured him, that he threw himself 
 into a well, to avoid new agonies. How many, 
 then, of these martyrs must have perished ob- 
 scurely, not deserving the mention of the anna- 
 list ] After all this, a non-Jew must have pos- 
 sessed great self-denial, and great devotion to 
 science and humanity, to dedicate himself to 
 the profession of medicine. 
 
 Judge, then, what the baron must have felt 
 on seeing his son a leech. 
 
 How then, why, wherefore, did this come to- 
 pass 1 
 
 CHAPTER IL 
 
 THE REVENGE. 
 
 "... If e'er my sleeping foe I found 
 By Ocean's dread abyss, I swear, 
 Nor then nor there my foot should spare 
 To spurn to death the accursed hound. 
 Unblenching, down into the sea 
 I'd hurl him in his mortal fear ; 
 And his awakening npony — 
 I'd mock It with a joyous' sneer ! 
 And lon^ his falling crush should be 
 A sweetest concord to mine ear-' — PousmtlN. ' 
 
 They were laying the foundations of a temple- 
 
 at Rome That this was a memorable day 
 
 may be judged, when I say that they were lay- 
 ing the foundations of St. Peter's. On this day 
 was fixed the corner-stone, the embryo of that 
 wondrous structure ; but half a century was yet 
 to elapse before the genips of Bramante was to 
 complete it. From all directions were crowd 
 ing Italians and foreigners; many out of curi 
 osity lo witness a magnificent spectacle, some 
 from duly, others from love for art, or religious 
 fct ling. The ceremony fully corresponded with 
 the giandeur of its object ; the Pojie (Nicholas 
 j V,, the founder of the Vatican library) had. not 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 13 
 
 his treasures ; a crowd of cardinals, 
 d'nkes, princes, the successor of St. Peter in 
 person, with his cortege, a legion of Condottie- 
 ri, glittering with arms, pennons, oriflamines ; 
 flowers, gold, chanting— all this enveloped in 
 steaming incense, as if it marched in clouds, 
 presented a wondrous spectacle. But who could 
 have imagined that a mere trifle had nearly de- 
 stroyed the grandeur of this procession ! 
 
 Into the crowd of distinguished foreigners, 
 -vvho surpassed each other in dress and stateli- 
 Tiess, following the Pope's train at a short dis- 
 tance, had insinuated itself a little deformed fig- 
 ure of an Italian, habited in a modest cloak. 
 This had the effect of a spot of dirt on the mar- 
 ble of a sculptor, a beggarly patch on a velvet 
 toga, the jarring of a broken string in the midst 
 of an harmonious concert. It seemed as if the 
 abortion had mingled with that brilliant throng 
 on purpose to revenge upon it his own deformi- 
 ty. The splendid young men around him began 
 to whisper among themselves, and to cast side- 
 long glarrces at him, and by degrees to jostle 
 him. The dwarf went on in silence. Then 
 they began to enquire who was this insolent 
 luiknown, who had dared to spoil a cortege so 
 carefully prepared ; and they learned that he 
 was a physician of Padua. "A leech ! certes, 
 a grand personage ! . . . Some Jew!" At this 
 moment divers pretty faces looked out of a win- 
 dow ; one laughed archly, and another seemed 
 to point with her finger at the train of young 
 
 men Was this to be endured 1 The 
 
 -sidelong glances and grimaces began again ; a 
 cross-fire of mockery was poured forth ; some 
 trode on the dwarf's toes, others shouldered 
 him : he, as though he was deaf, blind, or sense- 
 less, continued to advance. " He stinks of car- 
 rion !" said one : " Of barber's soap !"' cried an- 
 other. " I'll shave him with my doul)led-edged 
 razor !" added a third, menacing him with his 
 sabre. " Metal is too noble for such rascaille !" 
 said a stately young German who was next to 
 the Italian ; " the baton is good enough for 
 him !" Then the figure clapped its little hand 
 to its side as if to find a dagger, but it had no 
 arms : from its tiny mouth burst forth the word 
 "knecht !" probably because some of the Ger- 
 man mercenaries were called lanzknechts. O, 
 you should have seen what an effect this word 
 produced on the young Teuton ! A crimson 
 flush mounted to his face, his lips quivered ; 
 with a vigorous hand he seized the little man 
 by the collar, lifted him into the air, and hurled 
 him out of the line of procession. This was 
 done so rapidly, that nothing could be seen but 
 arms and legs struggling for two or three in- 
 stants in the air. Nought was heard but a 
 Avliizz, then a fall on the pavement, and then — 
 neither sigh nor motion. " Well done. Baron !" 
 cried the athlete's companions, closing up the 
 ranks, and laughing inaudibly as though nothing 
 had happened. The unfortunate wretch who had 
 been thrown to the dust with such gigantic force, 
 was the Paduan doctor, Antonio Fioraventi. 
 In that diminutive frame was manifested the 
 highest intellect. All spoke of his learning, of 
 the miracles which he had performed on the 
 sick, of the goodness of his heart, of the disin- 
 terestedness of his character. But they knew 
 not the greatness of his soul ; for he never had 
 been obliged to struggle with destiny or man. 
 
 Till then his life had been one uninterrupted 
 success ; learning, wealth, glory — all had been 
 given to him, as though in compensation for the 
 injustice of nature ; and all this was concealed 
 under the veil of an almost feminine modesty. 
 On seeing him for tlie first time, it was almost 
 impossible to avoid laughing at his diminutive, 
 distorted figure ; but at every succeeding inter- 
 view he seemed to grow imperceptibly taller 
 and less ugly in your eyes, so attractive were 
 his intellect and his heart. Travelling in search 
 of opportunity to exercise his humanity and 
 science, he had only just arrived in Rome, and 
 at his first step, as it were, across the threshold 
 of the Eternal City, he made a most unhappy 
 stumble. At the time of the procession, an in- 
 distinct but overwhelming impulse had carried 
 him, without the sanction of his will, into the 
 circle of the brilliant foreigners : how severely 
 was his punishment for his absence of mind ! 
 
 When he came to himself all was still and 
 empty around him — only dark phantoms ap- 
 peared to dance before his eyes ; and among 
 them the young German seemed to be tramp- 
 ling on him : his head was so heavy, his thoughts 
 so confused, that he could hardly understand 
 where he was. Re-assembling his ideas, he 
 crawled to his lodging ; but the image of his 
 opponent followed him all the way. From this 
 moment, that image never quitted Antonio Fio- 
 raventi ; had he been a painter, he could at once 
 have put him on canvass, he could have pointed 
 him out among crowds of people ; he would have 
 known him at the end of a thousand years. 
 
 He passed some weeks in a violent fever : in 
 his delirium he saw nothing but the German ; 
 at his recovery, the first object his mind could 
 recall was the hated German. With returning 
 strength grew the desire for revenge ; his en- 
 dowments, science, his wealth, his connexions, 
 his life— he would have sacrificed all to this feel- 
 ing. A thousand means, a thousand plans were 
 thought of, by which to avenge his humiliation. 
 Could those thoughts have been fulfilled, from 
 them would have arisen a giant reaching to the 
 sky. Antonio began to cherish his life, as we 
 guard the sharp blade of the falchion when we 
 make ready for the battle. To revenge— and 
 then to throw his soul into the talons of the 
 fiend, if it were not granted him to prostrate it 
 before the throne of God ! Thirty years had he 
 fulfilled the commandment of the Lord, " Love 
 thy neighbour as a brother" — thirty years had 
 he strained along the path of heaven : and in a 
 moment. Destiny had barred that path from him, 
 and hung him over the abyss of hell. Had fate 
 then the right to say — " Fall not !" There was 
 One, whose head had not turned at the sight of 
 that precipice ; but he was not a man, he walk- 
 ed upon the waters as on dry land. Whose 
 fault was it, if a common mortal could not keep 
 from falling ? 
 
 Thus said, within himself, Antonio Fiora- 
 venti ; and sharpened in his soul the arms of 
 vengeance. " To work !" said he at last, as 
 soon as he was in a condition to leave the 
 house. His search led him every where — to 
 the court, to the high-road, to the temples and 
 to the villas, to the library and the burial- 
 ground. Often was he seen in secret confer- 
 ence with the doorkeepers, in friendly conver- 
 sation with the police; high and low — every 
 
14 
 
 THE HERETIC. 
 
 thing was a good means, provided he could 
 reach his aim. Under the sultry sky, in rain, 
 in storm, he stood at the cross-roads, waiting 
 for his German Yes I he called him Ai*, as 
 though he had bought him for an incalculable 
 price of vengeance. Every quarter, every 
 house, was sifted to the bottom by his enqui- 
 ries ; Rome was stripped naked before him ; 
 and when he learned that his foe was no longer 
 in Rome, he left the Eternal City, hurling back 
 on it a curse for his farewell. 
 
 His enquiries, however, had not been entirely 
 vain. He obtained a list of all the strangers 
 who had come to Rome from different courts 
 to be present at the founding of the church. 
 Often did he read it over, and consider the va- 
 rious names contained in it ; he learned them 
 by heart — now to one, now to another name, as 
 if by presentiment, did he affix the bloody mark 
 — that mark for which- he was ready to stake 
 his own blood ; and sometimes he swelled with 
 pleasure, as if, in possessing this list, he was 
 the master of those whose names composed it. 
 What would he not have given for the magic 
 power of calling them to his presence ! . . . . 
 Oh ! then he would have marked one of them 
 with a different kind of blood-stroke ! 
 
 Three, four years, perhaps even longer, did 
 Antonio Fioraventi wander over Italy, seeking 
 for his enemy ; but in vain. It seemed as 
 though, in the course of time, his desire for 
 vengeance either disappeared altogether, or be- 
 came more reasonable ; he devoted himself 
 again entirely to science — to make an important 
 discovery in medicine — to- acquire for himself a 
 great name, an European glory ;— this was the 
 way he would avenge himself on his insulter. 
 His portrait would be painted ; the German 
 would see it, would recognize it. " This," 
 they would say, "is the portrait of the famous 
 Anlonio Fioraventi, that dwarfish leech whom 
 the huge Teuton had so cruelly outraged." He 
 would throw his glory in his enemy's teeth ; 
 this, too, would be a vengeance. O, such a 
 vengeance would be a noble feeling! With 
 faith in his own science, and a thirst for new 
 knowledge, he visited the mo.st famous learned 
 institutions, and at length arrived at Augsburg. 
 Here a report was soon abroad, that he could 
 recall the dying to life, could raise them from 
 the dead. They vaunted particularly his skill 
 in the diseases of women, to which he had 
 principally directed his attention. The physi- 
 cians of Augsburg, in return for his counsels 
 and secrets, hastened to accord him the chief 
 place among them ; they led him to the palace 
 and to the cottagp, for even to the latter he 
 never refused to carry his skill and experience. 
 
 Once he was called in to the house of the 
 Baron Ehrenstein. The baron, at the age of 
 thirty, handsome, distinguished, and rich, had 
 crowned these advantages by contracting an 
 alliance with a distant relation of King Potli 
 brad— a young lady of ravishing beauty ; but it 
 was neither ambition nor the honour of a royal 
 relationship thai confirmed this match. Pas- 
 sionate and devoted love had led the bride- 
 groom and the bride to the marriage altar. 
 Three years had passed, and the married pair, 
 as though but newly betrothed, seemed as if 
 they could neither see nor talk of each other 
 enough, nor exhaust each other's ardent caress- 
 
 es. Three years had thus passed like one uiv 
 broken honey-moon. At the beginning of the 
 fourth, the baroness seemed about to offer her 
 husband the first-fruits of their love. Long be- 
 forehand they had exhausted all tender cares, 
 all the wonders o( luxury, to receive into life 
 and to cherish this spoiled child of fortune^ 
 Long beforehand the astrologers, of whom there 
 were numbers at this period, had promised him 
 beauty, fortune, valour, long life — every thing 
 short of immortality. On one side hope, on the 
 other interest and flattery, had woven ovet the 
 cradle of the infant about to come into the 
 world a canopy so brilliant, that heaven alone, 
 with its innumerable stars, was to be compared 
 with it. To the baron, the hope of becoming a 
 father was superior to all the joys of earth, ex- 
 cepting the happiness of loving his dear and 
 lovely wife, and of being beloved by her ; and 
 so the baroness prepared to lie in. All the pe- 
 riods of pregnancy were favourably concluded, 
 and promised a similar result ; but when the 
 decisive moment arrived, the reverse occurred. 
 Three days passed, and every day augmented 
 her sufferings and her danger : we may judge 
 how the baron felt during this time. The most 
 skilful physicians were called in ; they employ- 
 ed every means with which they were acquaint- 
 ed, but in vain : they gave her over. The un- 
 fortunate lady could no longer support her ago- 
 ny ; she wished for death, and begged to see a 
 priest. Ere the holy man arrived, one of the 
 physicians advised Ehrenstein to call in the cel- 
 ebrated Italian Fioraventi, then recently arrived 
 at Augsburg. " If he cannot save her," said 
 the adviser, •' she cannot be saved by man. 
 The Italian can almost revive the dead." 
 
 The priest was mounting the stairs with the 
 elements ; behind him came Antonio Fioraven- 
 ti : the master of the house advanced to meet 
 him, pale, trembling, with white lips and dish- 
 eveled hair. It was noon. The sun brightly 
 illuminated the staircase — every object was 
 distinctly seen : the first movement oithe bar- 
 on — the proud, the haughty kinsman of a king 
 — was to throw himself at the feet of the Ital- 
 ian, and to implore him to save his wife. Gold,^ 
 lands, honours — all were promised to him if he 
 would save her who was dearer than life itself. 
 
 Antonio glanced at the master of the house 
 
 Great God ! Merciful powers ! 'Twas he, 
 that terrible, that hated German, who h.id in- 
 sulted him so cruelly at Rome. It was impos- 
 sible to mistake. The man whom he had been 
 tracking so many years — whose blood he had 
 so thirsted for — for vengeance on whom he 
 would have sold himself to Satan — that man 
 was at his feet, in his power. Fioraventi 
 laughed within his soul a laugh of hell : the 
 man who had heard tlwt laugh would have felt 
 his hair bristle up. His hands shook, his lips 
 quivered, his knees sank under him ; but he 
 struggled to be calm, and said, with a Satanic 
 smile — " Well, we will see !" 
 
 In these words a whole eternity was con- 
 densed. 
 
 The baron did not recognize him : how could 
 he, in the midst of such agonizing despair, re- 
 member, or form a clear idea of any thing ! He 
 saw in him only the preserver of his wife — his 
 guardian angel ; and he was ready to bear him 
 in his arms lo the chamber of the sufferer. 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 IS 
 
 " Haste, in the name of God, haste !" cried 
 Ehrenstein, in a tone that would have touched 
 a tiger. 
 
 '• Well, we will see !" sternly replied Fiora- 
 venti, and at this moment the genius of revenge 
 illumined, as with a flickering lightning flash, 
 the dark abysses of his soul, and traced out 
 what he was to do. 
 
 They proceed : they enter the sufferer's cham- 
 ber. A half light, cautiously admitted, allowed 
 the physician to distinguish her features, and to 
 perform his duties. How beautiful she was, in 
 spite of her suflferings ! His foe was happy in 
 her ! so much the better ! Still more deep and 
 vast would be his vengeance ! . . . 
 
 " God be thanked — the priest !" said the bar- 
 oness in a dying voice. 
 
 " No, my love ! it is not the priest," softly 
 whispered Ehrenstein consolingly : " do not de- 
 spair ; this is a famous physician who will save 
 you. . . . My presentiment will not deceive me. 
 .... I believe firmly ; and do thou, dearest, be- 
 lieve too" .... 
 
 "Ah, learned physician! save me!" faintly 
 uttered the dying lady. 
 
 A minute — two — three — five — of deep, grave- 
 like silence ! they were counted on the hus- 
 band's heart by the icy fingers of death. At 
 length Fioraventi went up to him. 
 
 " She" 
 
 And the physician stopped. 
 
 Ehrenstein devoured him with hungry eyes 
 and ears. His mouth was open, but he uttered 
 no sound. He was panting to say "life" or 
 "death." 
 
 " She" .... 
 
 And the physician again stopped. The bar- 
 on's face became convulsed. 
 
 " She shall be saved. I answer for it with my 
 lile," said Fioraventi firmly — and the baron look- 
 ed like some statue about to descend from its 
 pedestal. Ehrenstein was irradiated with life : 
 in silence he took Antonio's hand, in order to 
 press it to his lips. The physician drew it back. 
 
 " Slie shall be saved, and your child also," he 
 whispered ; " but with a condition on my part" 
 
 " Whatever you can wish," replied the baron. 
 
 " Think not that my request will be easy for 
 you." 
 
 " I will refuse nothing. Demand my lands, 
 my life, if you will." 
 
 "I am an Italian," said the physician; "I 
 trust not to words .... The matter affects my 
 welfare .... I must have an oath" .... 
 
 " I swear" .... 
 
 " Stop ! I saw a priest there" .... 
 
 " I understand : you desire .... Let us go !" 
 They went into the next chamber. 
 
 There stood an old man — a servant of God — 
 holding the sacred elements : he was preparing 
 to separate the earthly from the earth, and to 
 
 give it wings to heaven. " Holy father," said 
 
 the baron solemnly, " be a mediator between me 
 and the living God, whom now I call on to wit- 
 ness my oath." 
 
 The priest, not understanding wherefore, but 
 moved by the deep voice of the baron, raised 
 the cup with the sacraments, and reverently 
 bent his hoary head. 
 
 " Now repeat after me," interrupted Fiora- 
 venti in a trembling voice, as though awe-struck 
 
 by the sanctity of the solemn rite ; " but re- 
 member that twenty minutes, and no more, re- 
 main for me to save your wife : let them pass ; 
 and then blame yourself." Ehrenstein contin- 
 ued in the same deep, soul-felt tone, but so as 
 not to be heard in his wife's chamber — " If my 
 Amalia is saved, I swear by Almighty God, and 
 by the most holy body of his only-begotten Son ; 
 may I perish in the agonies of hell, and may all 
 my house perish even as a worm, when I de- 
 part from my oath." Then he turned his eyes 
 on the physician, awaiting his dictation. The 
 physician continued firmly : — " If a son is bora 
 to me, the first-born" .... 
 
 The baron repeated : — " If a son is born to 
 me, the first-born" .... 
 
 " In a year to give up him, my son, to the Pa- 
 duan doctor, Antonio Fioraventi" .... 
 
 The baron stopped .... A fountain of fire 
 rushed to his heart .... He gazed at the tempt- 
 er with all the power of his memory .... That 
 glance recalled the adventure in Rome .... he' 
 recognized his opponent, and guesed his sen- 
 tence. 
 
 " Speak, my lord baron : of the twenty min— 
 utes some are already gone" .... 
 
 Ehrenstein continued with quivering lips : — 
 " In a year to give up him, my son, to the Padu- 
 an doctor, Antonio Fioraventi : the same whom. 
 I, about five years ago, insulted without reason, 
 and whom I now, before Jesus Christ, who par- 
 doned the sins even of the thief, humbly im- 
 plore to pardon me." 
 
 " Pardon 1 .... ha ! ... . No, proud baron ! 
 there is no mercy for you now ! . . . . Five years 
 have 1 waited for this moment .... Say : — ' I 
 swear and I repeat my oath ; to give up- my first- 
 born when he is a year old, to the leech Fiora- 
 venti, that he may bring him up to be a physi- 
 cian ; wherefore I endow Master Fioraventi 
 with the authority of a father ; and that I wilt 
 in no way interfere with his education, or in 
 any thing else concerning him. If a daughter 
 is born to me, to give her in marriage to th& 
 leech .... he alone, Fioraventi, is to have the 
 right to absolve me from this oath.' " 
 
 " No ! I will not utter that" .... 
 
 " Save me, I die !" was heard from the ad- 
 joining chamber. It was the faint voice of the 
 Baroness Ehrenstein. 
 
 And the baron, without delay, repeated all 
 Fioraventi's words, one after the other, in a fu- 
 neral voice, as if he was reading his own death- 
 doom : a cold sweat streamed from his forehead. 
 When he had concluded, he sank senseless into 
 a chair, supported by his faithful attendant Yarr 
 and the priest, who had been for some time agi- 
 tated witnesses of this dreadful scene. Both- 
 hastened to render him assistance. 
 
 In the mean time Fioraventi rushed into the 
 bed-chamber. After some minutes, Ehrenstein- 
 opened his eyes, and the first sound he heard 
 was the cry of an infant. 
 
 All was forgotten. 
 
 He went cautiously to the door of the bed- 
 chamber, and applied his ear to it ; the lying-in 
 
 woman was talking in a low voice She 
 
 was thanking the physician. 
 
 The leech returned, and said: — "My lord 
 baron, I congratulate you on a son." 
 
16 
 
 THE HERETIC. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 WAS IT FULFILLED 
 
 "The secret cause of his anguish 
 No man knew, but they saw how long and sorely lamenting 
 Sorrowed the desolate Tsar, as his son's return he awaited ; 
 Best knew he none by day, by mght sleep lulled not his eye- 
 lids. 
 Tirac rolled nye on his course." . . . 
 
 The Lay oj the Tsar BerendH. ■ ■ ■ Joikoffsk6i 
 
 The Baroness Ehrenstein, ignorant of what 
 had passed between her husband and the physi- 
 cian, gave the name of the Jailer to her infant 
 son, out of gratitude for the leech's services. 
 The little .Vniony bloomed like a rose; every 
 day he grew more lively under his mother's eye, 
 clierishcid by her tender care : and with the child 
 bloomed also the mother. The father was only 
 delighted in appearance ; the thought that he 
 had given him up to the phsyician — that he had 
 sold him, as it were, to Satan— that he would 
 be nothing but a leech, poisoned all his joy ; oft- 
 en did the sight of the infant thus devoted from 
 the cradle to ignominy, force tears from his 
 eyes ; but then, fearing that his wife might per- 
 ceive his sorrow, he would swallow the grief 
 that swelled in his throat. A leech I — Heavens ! 
 what would the world— what would his kins- 
 men say 1 his friends — above all, his foes — when 
 they learned the destiny of the baron's son ! 
 How announce it to his wife I It would kill her. 
 Better had he never been born, ill-faled babe. I 
 
 "My dear love," said the baroness one day, 
 filled with rapture, as .she held on her knees the 
 lovely infant, " it was not for nothing that the 
 astrologers promised our child such gifts. Ad- 
 mire him : look I what fire, what intelligence, in 
 his eyes I He looks at us as if he understood 
 lis. Methinks the stars of greatness are beam- 
 ing on him. Who knows what high destiny 
 awaits him ; even the Bohemian king, Podibrad, 
 was but a simple noble I" 
 
 These words tore the father's soul. " My be- 
 loved," he said, " it is sinful for a father or 
 mother to predict the fate of their children. 
 'Tis a sin of presumption, and offends Provi- 
 dence, which knows better than we do what is 
 l)est for us." 
 
 "Tru»," replied the mother, agitated by her 
 presentiments, and perhaps also by the sorrow 
 which appeared in her husband's words and 
 looks ; " 'i'rue, these predictions may offend the 
 Lord. Let us only pray that he will not take 
 him from us. O ! I could not survive my An- 
 tony I" 
 
 And the mother crossed the infant in the name 
 of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, fearing that 
 her proud wishes might call down on him the 
 anger of Heaven ; and she pressed him to her 
 bosom, where her heart was beating like a late- 
 ly hurried pendulum that is about to return to 
 its regular vibration. 
 
 " Why did this son live — this child devoted 
 til sorrow and its parents' shame ! What had 
 lie to do Willi the leech's life? Belter bad the 
 Lord taken him, early, to himself— to the choir 
 of his angels .... or rather, why did he not 
 take the unhappy father ! .... Thus the oath 
 would not be lulfillod— the mother did not Uke 
 the oath : mother and son would be happy." 
 
 'I'hus thought the father — the haughty baron. 
 Soiiitlimes the idea arose in his mind of volun- 
 tarily breaking the oath : no one knew of its ex- 
 
 istence but the old priest and Yan : the priest 
 had buried his part of the secret in the walls of 
 some monastery — with the faithful retainer the 
 secret was dead. But, weak-minded as the 
 baron was, he dreaded eternal torments : the 
 oath was graven in such burning characters in 
 his memory, hell was so vividly painted in his 
 conscience, that he determined on fulfilling the 
 obligation. Some months passed, and still he 
 delayed to disclose to his wife the dreadful se- 
 cret of his oath ; many were his attempts, his 
 struggles, his resolves, but they all concluded 
 by deferring the explanation. Amalia was again 
 pregnant ; this circumstance brought some re- 
 lief to the agonized soul of the baron. Perhaps 
 she would give him another son I . . . . Then 
 the first might be given up a sacrifice to inex- 
 orable fate — let hivi be a physician ! . . . . 
 
 A year passed, and as yet the mother knew 
 nothing of the terrible secret. The baron waits 
 one day .... two .... Fioraventi appears 
 not to claim his victim. Perhaps he will not 
 come ! . . . . Weeks pass .... no tidings of 
 him .... What if he be dead ! . . . . 
 
 And the baron silently blessed each passing 
 day. Why uselessly agitate the mother \ Per- 
 haps Fioraventi had satiated his vengeance on 
 the day of their son's birth ; perhaps the gen- 
 erous Fioraventi is satisfied with the tortures of 
 suspense which he has already inflicted on his 
 insulter, and desires no further fulfilment of the 
 oath. Noble Fioraventi 1 May the blessing of 
 God be upon thee ! 
 
 Spare thy blessings '. The Italian is not a 
 child, to play with his feelings as with golden 
 bubbles that vanish in the air. 
 
 One day — it was on the same day of the 
 month, at the same hour, that the adventure 
 had happened at Rome — (the revenge was cal- 
 culated; — Yan, with a pallid face, entered his 
 master's chamber. Yan spoke not a word ; but 
 the other understood him. 
 
 '• Here !" he enquired of the domestic, turn- 
 ing as pale as death. 
 
 " He ordered me to say that he is here," re- 
 plied Yan. 
 
 Some days passed, and yet Fioraventi ap- 
 peared not for his victim. Terrible days I They 
 deprived the baron of several years of life ! Oh, 
 that he could conceal from the great nobility, 
 from his kinsmen, his acquaintance, the court, 
 from the lowest of his vassals, that his son was 
 to be given up to a leech, as an apprentice is 
 given to a shoemaker or a carpenter for a certain 
 number of years ! These thoughts tormented 
 him yet more than the sacrifice of his child. 
 One day they brought the baron a letter. It 
 was from Fioraventi ! 
 
 Docs it bring mercy or doom \ 
 
 He opened it with quivering hands, and 
 breathle.ssly read : " I hear that the baroness is 
 soon about to lie in again. Her confinement 
 will be difficult, I am convinced. I offer my 
 services." 
 
 We may guess that these services were ac- 
 cepted with delight and gratitude. Fioraventi 
 concluded right : the baroness's labour was dif- 
 ficult ; and again the leech congratulated the 
 baron on the safety of the mother and of a son, 
 F(T(linand ; only adding—" Now we will share ; 
 one for you, the other for me." This decision, 
 pronounced with inllexibility, gave the father 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 IT 
 
 the sad assurance that the destiny of his eldest 
 son was not changed, and that all that was now 
 left him was to prepare Amalia for it on her 
 recovery. Two months' respite was given. 
 Ehrenstein only requested that he might be al- 
 lowed to place the child in some obscure place 
 or village of Italy, where neither the baron nor 
 the physician were known. 
 
 All this was granted, even like an alms which 
 a rich man throws to a beggar. Yet one more 
 favour. It was permitted to the father and 
 mother to see their child every three years for 
 a week, or even for a month, to caress him, to 
 tell him he was their son ; but in the character 
 of poor German nobles of the house of Ehren- 
 stein, under condition, however, of confirming 
 in the boy a lovo for, and devotion to physic. 
 Yet another condition was exacted : all kinds 
 of aid and presents from his relations were to 
 be decidedly refused . The baron agreed to th is, 
 rather as these conditions secured the secret 
 from publicity, which he dreaded more than any 
 thing. 
 
 At this time a fresh calamity fell upon the 
 baron's house. 
 
 In spite of all the investigations of reason, 
 there are still some questions relating to the 
 connexion between the internal and external 
 Avorld, which must for ever remain unsolved. 
 In a future world, perhaps, we may receive an 
 explanation of the thousand difficulties which 
 are offered by another state of existence. The 
 law of presentiment is among the number of 
 these questions. Who is there, from the king 
 to the peasant, who has not felt its power, and 
 who, in this chain of human beings, has ever 
 explained its process 1 . . . . 
 
 I preface with this reflection what I am 
 about to tell of the presentiment which the bar- 
 oness felt of her approaching loss. She dream- 
 ed that a ravenous wolf snatched her eldest 
 habe from her bosom, and, throwing the child 
 over his shoulder, bore him away .... she 
 knew not where. When she awoke, her agi- 
 tation was so violent that her milk was driven 
 to the head. Fioraventi again saved her life : 
 but he could not obliterate the traces of her 
 dreadful disorder. The baroness lost her beau- 
 ty ; dark stains disfigured her. One misfortune 
 brougiit on another — the gradual cooling of her 
 husband's love. Inconstant in his nature, his 
 affection fled with the beauty of its object. Up 
 to this time he had loved her ardently ; there 
 was no sacrifice which he would not have made 
 to secure her welfare, nay, even her tranquilli- 
 ty ; but his heart was like the transforming 
 vase of a juggler— his flame could, in a few 
 hours, change into ice. Thus it now happened. 
 Henceforward all his cares were concentrated 
 on his younger son. If, after a few months, the 
 choice had been offered to him of losing Ferdi- 
 nand or his wife, for whose preservation he had 
 given up his son, and would have sacrificed 
 himself, he would now, without hesitation, 
 lyjve consented to lose his wife, though, per- 
 haps, he would not openly have said so. 
 
 Such was his character in the affairs of life. 
 To-day, from vanity, he would have bared his 
 breast to the spear point, or set out on a new 
 crusade — to-morrow, he would not stir a pin's 
 length— he would not defile his foot to save a 
 perishing friend. To-day, at the foot of the foe 
 B 
 
 whom yesterday he had vanquished — to-mor- 
 row, ready to repeat the scene of the Roman 
 father. To-day, he would seat you in the high- 
 est place at his board, overwhelming you with, 
 all the names of honour he could drag from the 
 vocabulary of politeness and esteem — to-mor- 
 row, at the first nod from a vagabond gipsy, 
 without examination, without reflection, he 
 would let you dance attendance at his castle 
 gate if you had need of him, and receive you 
 with all the baronial hauteur — " welcome, 
 friend." Such characters are not rare. 
 
 At the recovery of the baroness, they prepa- 
 red to make a pilgrimage to our Lady of Loret- 
 to, to show their gratitude for the double pres- 
 ervation of the mother from death. They took 
 with them theelder of the children ; the young- 
 er they left with a nurse, under the care of a 
 near kinsman. Fioraventi followed them on 
 their journey, but not without precautions : he 
 comprehended the baron's character, and was 
 convinced that he who, out of fear of hell, would 
 fulfill his dreadful oath, would not scruple (ac- 
 cording to the temper he might be in) to send 
 him into the other world; and therefore the 
 physician took care to be accompanied by a 
 number of well-armed dependents. Arriving 
 at a place previously fixed on, the baron, who 
 had left his attendants in the last town, and 
 bringing with him only his wife and Yan, 
 awaited the meeting with the leech. It now only 
 remained for the baron to finish a drama which 
 had become wearisome to him, and to prepare 
 Amalia for a separation from her eldest son. 
 At this moment, slumbering love, or pity and 
 remorse, awakened in him : despair was paint- 
 ed in his face, when he came to his wife with 
 intelligence of the dreadful sentence. " Thou 
 art ill, my love," said she, terrified by the agi- 
 tated state in which she saw him. 
 
 He confessed that he had long been suffer- 
 ing. Amalia reproached him for concealing his 
 affliction from her : she covered him with her 
 tears and kisses, she consoled him with ex- 
 pressions such as only the fondest and most 
 anxious love could dictate. The baron confess- 
 ed that his disease was in the soul .... that 
 it had commenced at the time of their first 
 child's birth. . . . He communicated to her who 
 so passionately loved him the doubts, the fears, 
 the consolations, the anger, the struggle of duty 
 with affection, the devotion to God ; and whea 
 he had exhausted all feelings, amidst the ten- 
 derest caresses he proposed to her the alterna- 
 tive of losing her husband for ever, or her child 
 for a time. At length he related his story with 
 regard to Fioraventi ; he described it as a vis- 
 itation from God ; he reminded her of her suf- 
 ferings, and preparations for death ; the appear- 
 ance of the Italian, and the price at which he 
 had saved her — by entering into a dreadful oath, 
 thinkmg that the rapacious physician wished to 
 extort an extravagant price for his services. 
 By not fulfilling the oath, he would call down 
 on himself the anger of God, the destruction of 
 their son, and of all their race. By fulfilling it, 
 he submitted himself to the will of Providence. 
 Perhaps the Lord had sent them a consoling 
 angel in their second son. The Italian, it might 
 be, would take pity on them, and in time remit 
 his sentence. He had already shown generos- 
 ity in permitting them to see their child every 
 three vears. 
 
18 
 
 THE HERETIC. 
 
 All tbis had been skilfully prepared, and was 
 eloquently urged ; but what arguments can con- 
 quer the feelings of a mother, from whom they 
 are about to take her son T All her soul was 
 centred in the torture of this feeling — she 
 thought of nothing else, she desired to know 
 nothing else. To retain her son near her, she 
 would have been ready to give up rank, wealth 
 — all ; and to become a slave. But the non- 
 fulfilment of the oath would bring dreadful mis- 
 fortunes on her husband; she decided on the 
 sacrifice. 
 
 The mother consented to all : she begged 
 only to be allowed to give up the child herself: 
 she still entertained the hope of obtaining some 
 concession from the cruel Fioraventi. " He is 
 not a tiger, and even a tiger would drop the 
 child from its fangs on beholding the despair of 
 a mother." She desired first to try to touch the 
 Italian : she would listen to no one, and pro- 
 ceeded herself to the hut where he was waiting. 
 She was slopped at the door. In her humilia- 
 tion, she waited an hour — two — three 
 
 Nothing would bend the Italian. At last they 
 brought her a letter : — " Lady Baroness,.my 
 word is immutable. Pray to God that I may 
 soon die ; for unless I do, your son will be a 
 physician. One thing only I can grant a moth- 
 er, from whom I take all her happiness ; that is, 
 to permit her to see Antonio in my house, not 
 every three years, as I said to your husband, 
 but every year, under the conditions, however, 
 which are probably known to you. The infrac- 
 tion of these conditions gives me the right to 
 retract my indulgence. This is my last con- 
 cession, and my last word. At tho appointed 
 time I expect my ward Antonio." 
 
 They gave up their child ; they parted from 
 him. The inother did not die of grief, for in 
 her heart was the hope of seeing her son in a 
 year; and with hope we do not die. At that 
 moment the physician — the insignificant leech 
 — saw the baroness at his feet. Intellect re- 
 tained the mastery. 
 
 The pair of Ehrenstcins returned to Augs- 
 burg without their eldest son. He had died, 
 they said, on the journey. 
 
 The baron, having quieted his conscience by 
 the performance of his oath, did, in this critical 
 situation, every thing that could be expected 
 Jrom a sensible husband, and gave up Antony, 
 feeling, when he had done so, as if a mountain 
 had been removed from his heart Imagination 
 gradually seemed to make his present peaceful, 
 and his future bright. Little by little, he began 
 to forget his eldest son : at first he thought of 
 him as of an object to be pitied ; then as of an 
 object remote, strange ; at last— hateful. In a 
 year the parents were permitted to see Antony. 
 The mother set out, alone, for this interview. 
 Two more years— then three — and the baron's 
 heart had begun to account of his son as of one 
 dead. He centred all his hopes, his love, on 
 his younger chdd ; but the passion that hence 
 forward possessed him was ambition.. Em- 
 ploying every artifice to gain each step which 
 could elevate Inm in the favour of his sovereign, 
 rehnquishing for each advance some feudal 
 right, he at length reached one of the highest 
 places at tho court of the Emperor Frederick 
 HI. He became his favourite hy ceasing to bo 
 a man : the higher he rose, the further did he 
 
 spurn away from him the memory of the son 
 whom he had renounced ; that memory at l&st 
 totally vanished from his mind, like an insignif- 
 icant speck swallowed up by the gloom of night. 
 If ever a thought of Antony entered his mind, 
 it was only how he might remove every suspi- 
 cion of his shameful existence. 
 
 Antony's mother remained the same tender 
 parent as at the first moment of his life ; what 
 do I say 1 — her love grew with his unhappy lot. 
 Of the two children, Antony was, in fact, her 
 favourite. Ferdinand enjoyed all the rights of 
 birth; he was cherished every day in his moth- 
 er's bosom, he grew up in all the luxury of pa- 
 rental fondness, the spoiled child of his father's 
 ostentation. His desires were guessed, that 
 they might be anticipated. This darling of des- 
 tiny lacked nothing from his very birth ; but 
 the other had hardly seen the light before he 
 was exiled from the paternal house, from home, 
 despoiled of ai\ his rights, and was growing up 
 in the hands of a foreigner, a stranger — the foe 
 of his family. The caress which a mother lav- 
 ished upon him — even the privilege of seeing 
 him — was purchased from that stranger at a 
 heavy price of humiliation. How could she but 
 love, and love. the most, this child of misfor- 
 tune ! Fate itself seemed to have determined 
 on sharing the two children between the father 
 and the mother ; so complete was the difference 
 between them. Amalia — unhappy — exiled from 
 her husband's heart. . . . Antony — also exiled — 
 also unhappy — his features the features of his 
 mother, his character cast in the same mould, 
 as hers. He loved her even more fondly thaa 
 his guardian. Ferdinand, like the baron, proud, 
 vain, of an unsettled disposition, resembled him 
 also in face : he remarked his father's coldness 
 to, and sometimes coarse treatment of, liis 
 mother ; and he even dared, in some uncon- 
 trollable sallies against her, to show himself 
 the worthy son of his sire, and the inheritor of 
 all his qualities. He tortured animals, cruelly 
 beat the horse on which he rode, and the do- 
 mestics who delayed to perform his orders ; in- 
 sulted, in imitation of his father, the court fool 
 and court physician — Master Leon, as he was 
 called — and once set his dogs upon him. He 
 showed no inclination to learn, and was addict- 
 ed only to athletic sports. How many rea- 
 sons were there — not to speak of misfortunes — 
 to prefer the eldest son to this ! 
 
 Years passed on, in the full performance of 
 the promises interchanged by the parents and 
 the instructor of Antony — in the rapture of 
 the periodical meeting and in the tears of the 
 periodical separation, which seemed to the 
 mother's heart an age. But the more she for- 
 got her afflictions in her love for the dear exile, 
 in his attachment to his mother, in the noble 
 qualities of his heart and intellect, the more 
 sedulous grew the baron in inventing new sor- 
 rows for her. She was ordered to assure An- 
 tony of his father's death ; a sentence which 
 announced to her that her son had for ever lost 
 him as a parent : wo may .judge what the moth- 
 er must have felt in communicating this false 
 intelligence to her child. Nevertheless, she 
 obeyed the will of her lord and master, secretly 
 indulging the hope that lime might change his 
 sentiments. The child who had never known 
 a father's love, received the intelligence of lus 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 10 
 
 death as of that of a stranger. Ferdinand at- 
 tained his twenty-third year : he caught cold, 
 was attacked by a violent fever, and died. 
 This misfortune, sent by Heaven as if to pun- 
 ish the cruel father and husband, overwhelmed 
 him. It seemed as though this loss was likely 
 to recall his love for his eldest son ; but no ! he 
 remained as nmch estranged -from him as be- 
 fore. 
 
 In the mean time Antony grew up, and was 
 educated at Padua, under the name of a poor 
 German noble, Ehrenstein. Handsome, clever, 
 easily accessible to all impressions of virtue 
 and enlightenment, exhibiting in all his actions 
 an elevated feeling, and a kind of chivalric ad- 
 venturousness, he was the delight of Fioraven- 
 ti. With advancing years, he became enam- 
 oured of the science to which his instructor had 
 devoted him ; the young candidate gave him- 
 self up to it with all the zeal of an ardent and 
 lofty soul. No avaricious views were those 
 which led him to the altar of science, but love 
 of humanity and thirst for knowledge. But he 
 had one important fault, originating in the char- 
 acter of his own mind, and of the epoch in which 
 he lived. This was an ardent and visionary 
 turn of mind, irrepressible till gratified. " That 
 is like my brother Alberto, who is in Muscovy," 
 said Fioraventi, reproving him for this fault : 
 " he is gone to build a wondrous temple in a 
 savage country, where they know^ not yet how 
 to burn bricks and make mortar." " I envy 
 him," cried the youth; "he does not crawl, 
 step by step, along the same road as the crowd ; 
 he flaps the wing of genius, and soars far above 
 the common race of mortals : and even if he 
 falls, he has at least aspired to heaven. He is 
 consoled by the thought that he lias vanquished 
 the Material, and will build for himself a death- 
 less monument, which even our Italy will 
 adore !" These visions, thought Fioraventi, 
 will pass away in time ; with the desire of per- 
 fecting himself will come experience — and he 
 looked on his pupil with the delight of a father, 
 and with the pride of an instructor. To make 
 him a famous physician — to present him to so- 
 ciety a member more useful than a petty baron, 
 perhaps altogether insignificant — to give sci- 
 ence new progress, to history a new name — 
 these were the thoughts and hopes with which 
 he quieted his conscience. 
 
 At the age of twenty-five, Antony Ehrenstein 
 completed his medical course at the university 
 of Padua. Antony a physician — Fioraventi's 
 revenge was satisfied. At this time, he con- 
 sented to his pupil's desire to travel in Italy. 
 The young physician set off for Milan : there 
 he intended to hear, from the lips of the cele- 
 brated Niccola di Montano, those lessons of el- 
 oquence and philosophy that were then consid- 
 ered as the only conductors to all science, and 
 which kings themselves condescended to at- 
 tend. Instead of these lectures, he heard the 
 sound of the lash inflicted on the learned man 
 by his former pupil, the Duke of Milan, Galeaz- 
 zo Sforza. Instead of the numerous audience 
 of Di Montano, he saw the unwilling victims 
 given over, by the voluptuous and haughty ty- 
 rant, to the insults of his courtly slaves and 
 flatterers. He saw them scoffing at humanity, 
 and overwhelming their fellow-creatures with 
 humiliation. At Rome the same depravity — 
 
 the fagot, the dagger, and the poison at every 
 step. As Antony proceeded on his journey, he 
 saw every where sedition, scantily relieved with 
 the exploits of the select few, and every where 
 the triumph of the ignorant mob and of brute 
 force. How was it possible for a virgin mind, 
 with all its love for what was noble and virtu- 
 ous, to look with patience on the spectacle of 
 such a world! Filled with indignation, he re- 
 turned to Padua : the only consolation he brought 
 home with him was the recollection of his friend- 
 ship'with Lionardo da Vinci, who had become 
 attached to him as to a son. Accident had 
 brought them together : the artist, meeting him, 
 had Been so struck with the union of physical 
 and intellectual beauty in his face, that he had 
 endeavoured to attract him to his studio. In 
 more than one figure of a heavenly messenger, 
 on the canvass of Lionardo da Vinci, we may 
 recognise Antony. From this famous painter 
 he learned anatomy. On leaving Italy, he went 
 to see his mother in the poor Bohemian castle, 
 on the bank of the Elbe, which she had bought 
 solely for the interviews with her son, and for 
 his future visits : this, she informed him, was 
 the whole of his family possessions. Here he 
 remained nearly a year, occasionally visiting 
 Prague and its university, then a celebrated one. 
 
 Soon after his return to Padua, Fioraventi 
 received a letter from Muscovy, through the 
 Russian envoy then at Venice. This letter 
 was from his brother Rudolph Alberti, surnam- 
 ed Aristotle, a famous architect, who had been 
 for some time residing at the court of the Mus- 
 covite Great Prince, Ivan III., Vassilievitch. 
 The artist begged his brother to send a physi- 
 cian to Moscow, where he would be awaited by 
 honours, wealth, and fame. 
 
 Fioraventi began to look out for a physician 
 who would volunteer into a country so distant 
 and so little known : he never thought of pro- 
 posing the journey to his pupil : his youth — the 
 idea of a separation — of a barbarous country — 
 all terrified the old man. His imagination was 
 no longer wild — the intellect and the heart 
 alone had influence on him. And what had 
 Antony to hope for there ^ His destiny was 
 assured by the position of his instructor — his 
 tranquillity was secured by circumstances — he 
 could more readily make a name in Italy. The 
 place of physician at the court of the Muscovite 
 Great Prince would suit a poor adventurer ; 
 abundance of such men might be found at that 
 time possessed of talents and learning. But 
 hardly was Aristotle's letter communicated to 
 Antony, than visions began to float in his ar- 
 dent brain. "To Muscovy!" cried the voice 
 of destiny — "To Muscovy!" echoed through 
 his soul, like a cry remembered from infancy. 
 That soul, in its fairest dreams, had long pined 
 for a new, distant, unknown land and people : 
 Antony wished to be where the physician's foot 
 iiad never yet penetrated : perhaps he might 
 discover, by questioning a nature still rude and 
 fresh, powers by which he could retain on earth 
 its short-Uved inhabitants ; perhaps he ijiight 
 extort from a virgin soil the secret of regenera- 
 tion, or dig up the fountain of the water of life 
 and death. But he who desired to penetrate 
 deeper into the nature of man might have re- 
 marked other motives in his desire. Did not 
 knightly blood boil in his veins 1 Did not the 
 
20 
 
 THE HERETIC. 
 
 spirit of adventure whisper in his heart its 
 hopes and high promises ? However this might 
 be, he offered, with dehght, to go to Muscovy ; 
 and when he received the refusal of his pre- 
 ceptor, lie began to entreat, to implore him in- 
 cessantly to recall it. " Science calls me thith- 
 er," he said; "do not deprive her of new ac- 
 quisitions, perhaps of important discoveries. 
 Do not deprive me of glory, my only hope and 
 happiness." And these entreaties were follow- 
 ed by a new refusal. " Knowest thou not," 
 cried Fioravenii, angrily, "that the gales of 
 Muscovy are like the gates of hell — step beyond 
 them, and thou canst never return." But sud- 
 denly, unexpectedly, from some secret motive, 
 he ceased to oppose Antony's desire. "With 
 tears he gave him his blessing for the journey. 
 " Who can tell," said he, " that this is not the 
 ■will of fate ] Perhaps, in reality, honour and 
 fame await thee there." 
 
 At Padua was soon known Antony Ehren- 
 stein's determination to make that distant jour- 
 ney ; and no one was surprised at it : there 
 were, indeed, many who envied him. 
 
 In truth, the age in which Antony lived was 
 calculated to attune the mind to the search af- 
 ter the unknown, and to serve as an excuse for 
 his visions. The age of deep profligacy, it was 
 also the age of lofty talents, of bold enterprises, 
 of great discoveries. They dug into the bow- 
 els of the earth ; they kept up in the laboratory 
 an unextinguished fire ; they united and separ- 
 ated elements ; they buried themselves living, 
 in tiie tomb, to discover the philosopher's stone, 
 and they found it in the innumerable treasures 
 of chemistry which they bequeathed to posteri- 
 ty. Nicholas Diaz and Vasco de Gama had 
 passed, with one gigantic stride, from one hem- 
 isphere to another, and showed that millions of 
 their predecessors were but pigmies. The ge- 
 nius of a third visioncd forth a new world, with 
 new oceans — went to it, and brought it to man- 
 kind. Gunpowder, the compass, printing, cheap 
 paper, regular armies, the concentration of 
 stales and powers, ingenious destruction, and 
 ingenious creation — all were the work of this 
 wondrous age. At this time, also, there began 
 to spread indistinctly about, in Germany and 
 many other countries of/Europe, those ideas of 
 reformation, which soon were strengthened, by 
 the persecution of the Western Church, to array 
 themselves in the logical head t)f Luther, and 
 to llaiue up in that universal crater, whence the 
 fury, lava, and smoke, were to rush with such 
 tremendous violence on kingdoms and nations. 
 These ideas were then spreading through the 
 multitude, and when resisted, they broke through 
 their dikes, and burst onward with grcatre vio- 
 lence. The character of Antony, eager, thirst- 
 ing for novelty, was the expression of his age : 
 litt abandoned himself to the dreams of an ar- 
 d(Mit soul, and only sought whither to carry 
 himself and his accumulations of knowledge. 
 
 Muscovy, wild still, but swelling into vigour, 
 wiili all her bnundless snows and forests, the 
 mystery of her orientalism, was to many a new- 
 ly discovered land — a rich mine for human ge- 
 nius. Muscovy, then for the first time beginning 
 III gam mastery over her internal and external 
 fots, thin first felt the necessity for real, mate- 
 rial rivili/ation. 
 
 Among iho family of arts and trades which 
 
 came at her call, the first were architecture, 
 painting, and the art of founding bells and can- 
 non. In military affairs they began to call in 
 the power of firearms in aid of the force of their 
 muscles. The temples demanded greater mag- 
 nificence, the princess and boyarins required 
 greater convenience and security from confla- 
 gration. All these wants Ivan III., Vassflie- 
 vitch, fostered and gratified, looking already on 
 Russia with the eye and the intentions of a Tsar. 
 Perhaps the marriage-ring of the last descend- 
 ant of the Palaeologi had strengthened his innate 
 love for the splendour of royal life, if not a pas- 
 sion for art and science. Sophia talked to him 
 of the wondrous palaces and temples of Italy, 
 of the magnificence of the courts of that coun- 
 try ; and in these recitals she pointed out to 
 him the means of realizing those ideas of exter- 
 nal grandeur which were already stirring in the 
 sovereign's head and heart. Never could the 
 wants of the Russians in this respect have 
 been better satisfied: into Italy were thronging 
 crowds of learned men, terrified by the Ottoman 
 sword ; Italy, in her turn, hastened to share 
 with other nations the overplus of treasures and 
 endowments brought to her by the descendants 
 of Phidias and Archimedes. Poverty, boldness, 
 and love of the beautiful, brought these treas- 
 ures hither : architects, founders, painters, 
 sculptors, workers in gold and silver, crowded 
 to Moscow. 
 
 " No one has heard as yet of any distinguish- 
 ed physician having visited Muscovy ; but what 
 good might he not do there ! . . . . For a phy- 
 sician the task of enlightenment is more easy, 
 more ready, than for any one else : man is al- 
 ways willing to be instructed by his benefactor. 
 The Russian people is young, fresh, conse- 
 quently ready to receive all that is noble and 
 sublime," thought Antony: "to Moscow, An- 
 tony ! thither with your ardent soul, your vir- 
 gin hopes, with your learned experience — thith- 
 er, to this Columbia of the East I" 
 
 The young physician was followed from Pa- 
 dua by the affection of his learned preceptors, 
 by wishes for his success — by the love of all 
 who knew him. He was followed, too, by the 
 regrets of the passionate maidens of Italy : if he 
 had remained, many a white and delicate wrist 
 would have been held out to the young leech, 
 that he might mark in it the beating of the pul- 
 ses that were quickened by his touch. How 
 many secret consultations were preparing for 
 him ! And, in truth, it was not science, it was 
 not the bachelor's diploma, that caused these 
 regrets ; ye gods ! what science ! .... A pair 
 of blue eyes, full of fire and attractive pensivc- 
 ness, flaxen curls as soft and waving as a lamb's 
 fleece ; the fair complexion of the north, a form 
 magnificently miuililcd. What more ! And 
 that youthful bashliilness which it is so enchant- 
 ing to subdue. That the taste of the Italian 
 women is just, is proved by their countrymen. 
 On meeting the German bachelor, the artists 
 fixed on him an eager and admiring look : the 
 eye of Lmnardo da Vinci knew well how to ap- 
 preciate the beautiful. In spile, however, of the 
 seductions of the Italian sirens, the burning 
 challenges of their eyes and lips, the bouquet of 
 flowers and fruits thrown on him, after the cus- 
 tom of the country, from their windows, Antony 
 Ehrenstein carried from Italy a heart free from 
 all passion and every sensual slain. 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 21 
 
 Fioraventi bade farewell to his pupil with 
 many and bitter tears ; acconapanying him as 
 far as the Bohemian castle. He supplied him 
 not only with every necessary for his journey, 
 but with every means for presenting himself 
 with brilliancy at the court of the Muscovite 
 sovereign. 
 
 If there were a paradise upon earth, Antony 
 would have found it in the whole month which 
 he passed in the Bohemian castle. Oh ! be 
 would not have exchanged that poor abode, the 
 wild nature on the banks of Elbe, the caresses 
 of his mother, whose age he would have cher- 
 ished with his care and love — no ! he would not 
 have exchanged all this for magnificent palaces, 
 for the exertions of proud kinsmen to elevate 
 him at the imperial court, for numberless vas- 
 sals, whom, if he chose, he might hunt to death 
 with hounds. 
 
 But true to his vow, full of the hope of being 
 useful to bis mother, to science, and to human- 
 ity, the visionary renounced this paradise : his 
 mother blessed him on his long journey to a 
 distant and unknown land ; she feared for him ; 
 yet she saw that Muscovy would be to him a 
 land of promise — and how could she oppose his 
 wishes 1 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE PLOT. 
 " Fate's heavy hand hath press'd thee sore, 
 And life is ang-uish to thee ; 
 But I have means to end the woe 
 That o'er thy head doth lower. 
 Thy Maker is thy fellest foe : 
 
 Trust to Asmodeus' power .... 
 With heart and hand I'll ^uard thy weal, 
 Even as friend and brother." 
 
 Joukoffskoi — Gromoboi. 
 
 "Thus they their compact made for mutual assistance." 
 
 Khmaylnitzkoi. 
 
 The Feast of St. Hierasimus was come, the 
 4th of March, the day when first appear the 
 cawing harbingers of bounteous Spring ; but 
 the rooks had not yet arrived, as though Win- 
 ter, grown proud or lazy, had refused to stir, 
 and yield his reign to his joyous rival. The 
 day was just breaking. At a mill-dam, situated 
 near the pool of Neglinnaia, two horsemen 
 might be seen to meet, apparently two boyarins. 
 They then began to direct their path to the 
 Kreml, towards the Borovitchi gate. It would 
 appear almost impossible to bring together two 
 beings so unlike each other in point of exterior ; 
 nevertheless, a penetrating glance migbt have 
 detected in each of them a character cast in 
 the same mould, with some of those inconsid- 
 erable differences which Nature so lavishly ex- 
 hibits. 
 
 Have you ever seen Petr6ff in Robert le Dia- 
 ble ? Of course you have. I have seen him 
 but once in that part ; but to this day, when- 
 ever I think of him, I fancy I can hear those 
 accents, like echoes from hell — " Yes, Ber- 
 tram ! r and I behold that look from which, as 
 from the storied fascination of the rattlesnake, 
 your mind can hardly free itself— that saffron- 
 coloured countenance, writhen by the trace of 
 passions— and that forest of hair, from which a 
 nest of serpents seems ready to creep forth. 
 Now, clothe that Petroff in the ancient Russian 
 dress, belt him with a silver girdle, in a rich 
 
 shouba of fox-skin, and a high cap of soft fur 
 and you will immediately have before you one 
 of the two persons who were riding along the 
 mill-dam of Negh'nnaia. He was mounted on 
 a powerful steed, accoutred with a Circassiaa 
 saddle, caparisoned with jingling ornaments in 
 arabesque, llowered in silver, and bordered with 
 fish teeth. The other horseman was a little 
 lean personage, with sunken eyes, a starveling 
 face, and gestures so subdued and timid, that 
 he seemed afraid of so much as disturbing the 
 air ; so obsequious and cringing — a real lamb ! 
 , . . . But though he seemed to creep out stealth- 
 ily from under his shell into the light of heav- 
 en, and peered askance around him from half- 
 opened eyes, yet, believe me, he could mark his 
 victim with a hawk's glance ; swiftly would he 
 pounce on it, and rapidly again he vvould hide 
 himself in his dark, obscene covert. Taking 
 off his cap, which was rather shabby, (ibis he 
 did, as well as his companion, very frequently, 
 on passing every church, before which the Rus- 
 sian Bertram crossed himself rapidly, while the 
 meek man made the holy sign earnestly, stri- 
 king his breast the while)— taking off his cap, 
 he uncovered a head fringed irregularly with 
 ragged tufts of hair. As if to be of a piece with 
 his locks, the edge of his shouba was so worn 
 that it would have been difficult to determine 
 what animal had supplied the fur of which it 
 was made. A starved jade of a horse, with 
 caparisons suitable to its wretchedness, scram- 
 bled and tottered along under him. He was 
 much older than his companion — the latter 
 might be rather more than forty, and was in 
 the full vigour of life — the former seemed a de- 
 crepit old man. The one was a boyarin ; the 
 other, a boyarin and dvoretzkoi (major-domo) 
 to the Great Prince. These gentlemen bore 
 names well suited to their nature : the first was 
 called Mamon ; the second, Roussalka.* 
 
 " Is God still good to thee, Mikhail Yakovle- 
 vitch ]" asked Mamon. 
 
 "Thanks to thy prayers, brother Grigorii 
 Andreevitch," replied Roussalka; "or else the 
 earth would not bear me with the weight of my 
 sins." 
 
 " The Lord alone is sinless." 
 
 " The Lord in heaven ; and add, our lord the 
 Great Prince of all Russia." 
 
 " It seemeth he hath taken thee bad: into 
 favour." 
 
 Here Mamon glanced cunningly at his com- 
 panion. The latter, without the least sign of 
 vexation, replied — " Where there is wrath, there 
 also is mercy : to one he giveth to-day, to an- 
 other to-morrow ; one man sinketh, another 
 svvimmeth ; all the difficulty is to know how to 
 catch him, kinsman." 
 
 " One may catch ; but he slippeth through 
 one's fingers. What have I and thou gained 1 
 Castles m the air, and the nickname of inform- 
 ers A rare gain ! Look at the other 
 
 boyarins. Look no further than Obrazetz ! 
 He hath built himself a fine stone palace, so 
 high that it overlooketh the Kreml." 
 
 " They say, he meteth out his rose-nobles by 
 bushels. Where is the wonder, then ? He 
 
 * Roussdlka—a.n evil spirit, haunting the sea with comb 
 and mirror, like our mermaid ; but occasionally met with 
 also in the forests and rivers, as the " Nckka" of Denmark. 
 -T. B. S. 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 scraped it up at Novgorod — no offence to his 
 grace ! The Lord keep us from that sin !" 
 (here he crossed himself.) " War plunder is 
 fair plunder." 
 
 " 'Tis no sin to break a cursed cow's horn. 
 The proud Shel6netz, he thinketh no man his 
 mate !" 
 
 " How is it that thy son is no mate for his 
 daughter, in birth and rank, in brains and 
 beauty?" 
 
 Mam6n's eyes gleamed. He had just de- 
 manded the voevoda Obrazetz's daughter in j 
 marriage for his son, and received a refusal. 
 There were reports that it was because the 
 mother of this Mam6n was a witch, and had 
 been burned.* At Roussalka's words, he felt 
 as if his cap had been on fire : he pressed it 
 down with a mighty hand, and replied, smiling 
 bitterly — " Thou hast heard it, then V 
 
 " I alone, think'st thou V 
 
 "Not thou alone? . . . ay, others . . . many 
 ... all Moscow !" 
 
 " This world is full of reports, good Grig6rii 
 Andreevitch." 
 
 " What ! they laugh ! . . . they say, whither 
 ■would the witch-brood thrust itself? ... Ha ! 
 they prate? .... Speak, good friend, I pray 
 thee." 
 
 " 'Twere a sin to hide it Obrazetz 
 
 himself vauntcth" .... 
 
 " Vaunteth ! accursed hound ! . . . . But 
 thou, good brother, didst thou not put in a lit- 
 tle word for me ?" . . . . 
 
 " I racked my brain .... I worked the voe- 
 voda behind his back. My soul was in the 
 •work. I put all my persuasion on my tongue. 
 .... I said that Obrazetz had sent the svat* 
 to thee, and" .... 
 
 " Sent or not, what care I ! . . . . Look, 
 brander !"t added Mamon, shaking his fist to- 
 wards the house of the voevoda Obrazetz, 
 *' deeply hast thou seared thy brand in my 
 breast ; I will tear it off, though it drag a mass 
 of my flesh with it— I will dress it daintily with 
 poison .... strong poison !....! will serve 
 it up on no common dish, but on silver .... 
 thou shalt cat it, and praise the cook ! Thou 
 ■wilt help, Mikhail Yakovlevitch ? Ay, good 
 faith, thou wilt ! . . . . Feast for feast. He 
 hath feasted thee, too, right well .... at his 
 house-warming, hath he not?" 
 
 It was now Roussalka's turn. His face was 
 convulsed : he began to twitch his eyelids : it 
 ■was evident he was touched to the quick. He, 
 however, by a violent effort remained silent. 
 His companion continued to cast on him a 
 glance of mockery. " And the feast was for all 
 comers ! Many a barrel of mead did they roll 
 out of the cellar ; many a grave head sank below 
 the table ; and they brought round rosc-noblos to 
 the g\iests, in memory of the bancjuet .... Wert 
 thou bidden, dvoretzkoi of the Great Prince?" 
 
 Nothing could so deeply move the greedy 
 soul of the dvori'tzkoi as the being reminded of 
 lost gain. He seemed to be agitated, and an- 
 
 ♦ By inn Andrtevitoh, Princo of MojAisk.— iYo<« of the 
 Aulltor. 
 
 i Nval—a iwnioii wlio makes for another a propoenl of 
 imimnuo ; marriage broker. This duty waa called tva- 
 tovilv6.—T. B. S. 
 
 t An ofTiour whoso duty it was to brand horses, and col- 
 Wl a tax for the crown, or for monasteries.— iVotc of the 
 Author. 
 
 swered with a sigh— "What should I have done 
 amooig the warriors of the Shelon ! I have nev- 
 er flayed off the skins of captive Novgorodet- 
 zes." (He alluded to the Prince Daniel Dmi- 
 trievitch Kh61mskoi.) " We have never led a 
 youngster son, a weak child, beneath the cru- 
 sader's sword. No child-angel can accuse us ! 
 We have never torn a child from its mother to 
 slaughter 1" (Here he hinted at Obrazetz him- 
 self) " What can wc do ? We are afraid to kill 
 a chicken I How should we, then, presume to 
 thrust ourselves into the throng of valiant war- 
 riors, whose arms, God forgive them ! are up to 
 the elbows in blood ? 
 
 " No ! we will not kill a chicken, whose neck 
 we can twist ; but we will bend our bow, and 
 let fly a sharp arrow at the vulture that is soar- 
 ing on high : . . . . 'twill be rare to see him 
 tumble ! 'Tis useless to conceal sin : 'lis a 
 mortal feud with both of us : false humility is 
 worse than pride : 'tis but a sheep that will 
 bow its head under the knife. ' An eye for an 
 eye, a tooth for a fooh,' saith the Scripture: 
 we are but sinful men ! In my mind, for one 
 eye should be plucked out two — for one tooth, 
 not one should be left behind — even if it gave 
 thy soul to %Satanas !" 
 
 Roussalka spat, crossed himself, and mur- 
 mured — " God forgive us I" 
 
 " It is not prayers, but craft, that I expect 
 from my counsellor and friend. Thy head doth 
 not burn nor whirl like mine. Thou shalt stand 
 up for me, I for thee. There are those who 
 will second both of us — we will answer for 
 them — all round, come what may ! In other 
 lands, as our travellers say, nobles rein not 
 themselves too hard." 
 
 Roussalka continued, with a fiendish smile — 
 " I will not hide from thee, good brother ! . . . . 
 I was telling to our Prince a poor thought of 
 my brain ; 'twill be as good to the voevoda as 
 a stroke with a club. Hast thou heard ! There 
 cometh from Germany the leech Antony, very 
 skilful in the cure of all manner of diseases: he 
 is now three days' journey off." .... 
 
 "What of that?" 
 
 " This, thou hotbrain ! Obrazetz hath a new 
 stone palace, finely built, and — thou mayest say 
 — it shall fall upon his head. He hath pulled 
 down his rotten wooden house : he hath no- 
 where to go. Our fair lord, the Great Prince, 
 in case of any ill event — from which God keep 
 Ivan Vassflievitch every hour of his life !— he 
 willeth I say, that the leech should be lodged 
 near the palace. From thence to Obrazetz's 
 house is not a stone's throw. Now the leech 
 Antony — an unclean Almaync — must" .... 
 
 "Must be lodged in the voevoda's palace !" 
 burst in Mamon, with a voice of delight ; " will 
 take his best chambers — armory, hall, and 
 dortour .... An Almayne will be worse in his 
 house than an unclean spirit ! You may smoke 
 him with incense — ye may exorcise him with 
 holy water; but this friend, once placed there 
 by loanii Vassflievitch, ye will never conjure 
 out with all your power. The master himself 
 must run. But is such the Great Prince's will?" 
 
 " I will answer for that, good brother ! I 
 
 will expound unto thee Today I speak 
 
 against thee — to-morrow, thou against me — 
 one against the other. Let us shake the boughs, 
 but not touch the root. I am safe, thou art 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 &3 
 
 «afe, and our little matters are done. Obra- 
 ■zetz, thou knowest, had a brawl with the Al- 
 mayne ambassador in the audience-chamber, 
 loann Vassilievitch looked not too lovingly on 
 him then ; and the voevoda bad fallen into dis- 
 Tavour but that the battle of Shelon was still 
 warm in the prince's memory .... And so ... . 
 he is still well with him. But if thou hearken- 
 'est with thine ear at the Great Prince's heart — 
 oh! it boiletlv it seetheth with anger against 
 him ; and he will not be easy till it boil over on 
 the fiery boyarin, until he hath paid him, Al- 
 «iayne for Almayne. We have but to hint" .... 
 
 Mamon reined in his steed, took off his bon- 
 net, and, lowering it, made a profound obeisance, 
 as if acknowledging the other's Satanic superi- 
 ority. 
 
 The latter, smiling in his turn, raised his own 
 cap, and continued — " We are friends ; we will 
 settle our accounts hereafter, good brother Gri- 
 gorii Andreevitch." 
 
 " We have settled them already, if thou wilt 
 confess my services. Let us talk freely. But 
 now thou wert speaking of the matter of the 
 Prince Loukomskii, of his interpreter." 
 
 " God watch over loann Vassilievitch, and 
 the good Russian land ! . . The Lithuanian was 
 sent by his King, Kazimir, to take off loann Vas- 
 silievitch — a slave informed — the poison was 
 found. What is easier than to take sanctuary 
 in Lithuania, where every man findeth refuge 
 who Cometh under the wrath of our good lord !" 
 
 " I put Loukomskii to the question, and the 
 interpreter — they would confess nothing. I 
 sent for some old women — made them lick the 
 poison. I crammed a good dose of it down the 
 throat of one. I gave some to a dog — neither 
 hag nor hound died." 
 
 " And what next, brother 1" asked Roussalka, 
 anxiously. 
 
 " Next ! . . . . when thou madest the trial . 
 . . . the same dog burst with one grain of it. 
 I made all fast with a good hempen cord ; dost 
 thou mark ! Fear not. I will not make thee 
 out a liar, Mikhail Yakovlevitch." 
 
 The dvoretzkoi, in his turn, took off his shab- 
 by cap, and bowing low, ejaculated — '• The 
 Lord himself will repay thee!" 
 
 "Enough ! sin not, Mikhail : we are friends, 
 we will settle our accounts : only help me in 
 Obrazetz's matter." 
 
 The dvoretzkoi pointed meaningly to the 
 Church of the Saviour, which they were now 
 approaching. The pinnacles of the Great 
 Prince's palace peered above it. Tnat their 
 plot might not be suspected, they entered, one 
 by the water-gate of the Kreml, the other by 
 the Kikolskoi gate. Their separation was only 
 to last till they reached the Great Prince's 
 court, whither they were both bound. 
 
 To the salutations of the passengers, who 
 ■ knew that they were powerful men, Mamon re- 
 plied by slightly raising his cap, while Roussal- 
 ka answered them by low reverences. Some 
 young soldiers, who had nothing to lose but 
 their heads, shouted after the former the name 
 of " Pickthank," which he left behind him to 
 posterity ; for the second, they expressed their 
 contempt only by a slight laugh. It must be 
 confessed that Mam6n was peculiarly disliked 
 by the people ; because, at the time of the in- 
 vasion of the Russian territory by the horde of 
 Makhmet, he had disposed the Great Prince to 
 
 timid measures ; and had ever been a whisper- 
 er about every thing that took place in private 
 life and in the world. Roussalka knew how to 
 avoid this odium by veiling his actions under 
 an air of virtue and necessity, and found a jus- 
 tification with a generous people in his affected 
 poverty, his universal affability, and Christian 
 meekness : while his haughty and arrogant 
 friend trampled public opinion in the dust, and 
 boasted of his place, which brought him near 
 the person of the Great Prince, and often vaunt- 
 ed of his own power and opportunities for do- 
 ing harm. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE SALUTATION. 
 
 The Great Prince was then residing in the 
 wooden palace called the " Old Place" beyond 
 the Church of the Annunciation, then recently- 
 built. In addition to this, there was still stand- 
 ing the ruinous old palace behind the church of 
 Michael the Archangel (this was still of wood) 
 in the square of YarosUff. All these buildings 
 were about to be taken down, one after the other: 
 the Gobkti Palace, and the Toicer Palace of the 
 Women, were already completed in the mind's 
 eye of Ivan Vassilievitch; and he was only- 
 awaiting, to execute his plan.s, the skilful archi- 
 tects who were shortly to arrive with the Ger- 
 man physician. The residence of the Great 
 Princes consisted of a number of chambers, 
 giving off or issuing from a principal building. 
 These were variously designated according to 
 their object and situation; the "Hall," the 
 " Middle Izba," the " West Chamber," the "Au- 
 dience-hall," the "Hall of the Square Pillar," 
 the "Dortour," the " Banqueting-room," the 
 "Store-rooms," and so on. These buildings 
 were all surrounded by corridors or covered gal- 
 leries, the sides of which were solid, leading to 
 the parish church and to various oratories; the 
 principal of ihe.se galleries conducted to the 
 Church of the Annunciation, called for this rea- 
 son the Great Prince's church. The ruler of the 
 people never began or finished a day without a 
 prayer in the house of God. Even the sick and 
 the women were not excused from this duty; 
 windows were made in their chambers in such a 
 manner, that they could hear divine service, and 
 perform their devotions, within sight of the im- 
 ages of the churches. In the same manner in 
 after times almost every rich man had a church 
 in the court-yard of his house. Many flights of 
 steps, among which the "Red Stairs" were dis- 
 tinguished, by being of stone and by sculptured 
 ornaments, led down into the great square. The 
 " WatcrsUle Palace" projected from the front of 
 the private residence. The architecture of these 
 times was simple — even childish: its principal 
 triumphs consisted in some external decorations. 
 The front, as is generally the ca.se in all the 
 more splendid Russian churches, indicated, by 
 the elevation of its cupolas, that the heart of the 
 worshipper should be raised on high. Glance 
 at the engravings of Indian temples, particularly 
 tho.se of the Zigs, and you will find in them the 
 archetype of the Russian churches. The artists 
 endeavoured in general to surpass each other in 
 the luxuriance of twisted columns and ara- 
 besque carvings, in the decoration of the orna- 
 mented windows. This carving was so excel- 
 lent as to resemble the most delicate lace- work : 
 in spite, however, of these adornments, the an- 
 
24 
 
 THE HERETIC. 
 
 cient abode of the Great Princes acquired an air 
 of gloom from the rusty iron gratings which de- 
 fended ihe windows, the dim panes of mica fixed 
 in lead, and from the sloping attics losing them- 
 selves in the old tomb-like roof, on which time 
 had scattered patches of green and reddish moss. 
 We have said that the palace was situated in 
 the square. Four streets, rather wider than was 
 usual in those days, crowded with churches, 
 chapels, and hou.ses resembling the dwellings ol' 
 rich farmers in the governments of N6vgorod 
 and Pskoff— and you have the Court Square! 
 We must add, that many small hou.ses, in spite 
 of the presence of the palace, projected irregu- 
 larly from the line of the street, as if to boast of 
 their owners' liberty. The whole of the Cily, 
 bounded b}' the wall of the Kreml, resembled an 
 ant-hill of towers and churches, through which 
 some child had traced, in various directions, a 
 number of random paths. Above these paths 
 the roofs of the houses almost met each other, 
 so that a bold and active man — to say nothing 
 of the Devil on Two Sticks — might have made 
 a tolerably long journey upon them. It was 
 from this crowded state of the city it happened, 
 that conflagration had .so often devoured the 
 ■whole of Moscow. But in this old palace, be- 
 yond Ihe Church of the Annunciation, dwelt the 
 first Tsar of AH Russia : here he projected and 
 prepared her future power: hither, alarmed by 
 the signs of that power, the sovereigns of many 
 countries sent their ambassadors to bow before 
 him, and entroat his alliance. On approaching 
 this palace, the Russian courtiers redoubled 
 their prayers to the Almighty, that he might 
 save them from the wrath of their terrible earthly 
 ruler. 
 
 The sun, not far above the horizon, was shed- 
 ding his morning radiance over the earth, yet all 
 the inhabitants of the palace were a-foo't, and 
 had begun their daily occupations; the court 
 attendants were every where busied in their va- 
 rious duties. Their offices had been instituted 
 by Ivan, in imitation of the royal households of 
 Europe; but they were designated by Russian 
 titles expressive of their official employments, 
 (titles afterwards unfortunately changed by Peter 
 the First.) The dvorfeizkoi Roussalka arrayed 
 himself in a fresh dress: he had had lime, how- 
 ever, to pay a short visit to Ivan's grandson, and 
 10 carry him some playthings— to perform vari- 
 ous commissions for Sophia the consort of the 
 Great Prince, and Helena the wife of his son, 
 although these princesses were not on good 
 terms with each other: one courtier he had 
 gratified with a caressing word, another with a 
 jest; he was seen every where, he busied him 
 self in every thing. Not contenting himself 
 •with the performance of his regular and stated 
 duties, he endeavoured to anticipate the desires 
 and wishes of his sovereign, even lor the follow- 
 ing day. The dvor^tzkoi's duties were confined 
 to the Great Prince's court; but he extended 
 their circle, by every means in his power, W- 
 yond its limits. OnRous.'^alka were heaped the 
 itiostdiflicult and ticklish tasks, not unfrequcntly 
 the most (iamjerons and dirty ones: he sometimes 
 volunteered himself to undertake them, as if to 
 show th;it, though weak in his exterior, he was 
 yet a giant in craft and iniellect. Iv;in liked 
 such .servants, and it was of such a one he said, 
 pointing to him with triumph— "A cur he may 
 be, but he layeth eggs for me!" When he re- 
 marked their ra.scalities, he punished them with 
 an angry word, a stroke of the staff; or a tempo- 
 
 rary disgrace; but more frequently he shut his 
 eyes to their delinquencies, when they did not 
 injure his person or the state. Holding the staff 
 of the Great Prince, and the second state bonnet, 
 the dvoretzkoi was awaiting the sovereign's ap- 
 pearance at the door of the middle izba, which 
 separated the sleeping chamber from the hall of 
 the square pillar, where Roussalka was now in 
 attendance. The naked walls of this chamber 
 were decorated only on the four sides by images* 
 of enormous size, in frames, with curtains of ' 
 damask, bordered with fringes strung with gold ' 
 drolmilzas, or Hungarian pfennings. In the; 
 wide chamber there was no furniture but an oak) 
 table, adorned with delicate carving, and tw(> 
 stools with cushions covered with cloth ; beneath 
 each was a footstool, and on the floor was spread 
 a carpet of KizMahk {Persian manufacture) — an 
 " underfoot," as it was called by our ancestors. 
 All was as still as in a tomb. Motionless stood 
 Roussalka, his ears and all his thoughts bent 
 upon the door through which the Great Prince 
 was to enter. Suddenly, within the middle izba, 
 was heard a cry, like that of a feeble old man, 
 uttered in a strange hoarse voice — "Tsarlvi'm 
 Vassilievitch! Tsar Ivin !" Then Rou.ssalka 
 smiled craftily, shrugged his shoulders, and 
 nodded his head, as much as to sa)' — "That's 
 the affair!" then applied his ear to the door. 
 Thus they spoke within — "Ha! ha! ha! this is 
 a trick of thine, Phominishna,"t said a male 
 voice; "Thou madest me go forth against the 
 Tartars, and now I see thy train .... Thanks, 
 thanks !" A door creaked, and at the same mo- 
 ment a woman's voice was heard — "It is time! 
 Ail Russia boweth down to thee in that name; 
 and even the Roman Cnesar calleth thee .so." 
 
 "Tsar Ivan ! Tsar Ivan !" again cried the old- 
 man-like voice. 
 
 " Enough !" interrupted the commanding voice 
 of the male speaker; "I have, as it is, many 
 Tsars in my brain ! It is not thou that hast moved 
 me. In my heart 'tis lime ; but in the world it 
 is not come' yet. Long have the eyes beheld it; 
 but the teeth could not grasp it ... . All Russia ! 
 where is it "? Where is that kingdom, mighty, 
 united, commanding; like one body, in whicii 
 hand and foot do what the head willeth?" 
 
 " Thou has quieted the Tartar, thou hast quell- 
 ed Nf)Vgorod, and spread thy power so wide, that 
 thou mayest call thyself the Russian Tsar," in- 
 terrupted Sophia Phominishna. 
 
 " Ay, I have spread it wide; and what I have 
 grasped that hold I firm ; but here, it is my own 
 people that weigh upon me, and bind me. 'Tis 
 even so with my kinsmen ! 1 am hampered bv 
 YarosldfT, Rostisff, Ouglftch, Riazan. The gate 
 of my kingdom is not firmly barred, while Vereia 
 heloiigelh to another. As I go to my good town 
 of Novgorod, I stumble over Tver .... Look 
 from the window, my love; canst thou not be- 
 hold from it a foreign principality, a foreign pow- 
 er 1 Admire the stone palaces, 'the noble cathe- 
 drals of my capital— our dwelling! .... Is there 
 any thing like it in foreign lands'? Out and 
 
 * The Grrnk Cljurch forliiJs the use n( sculpture in the 
 ropresi-iitntion iif snrroil personiiges, the tlcroration of 
 chiirrhcs, <tr. ; nnplovinc- for this jinrposp pirturef, gPli- 
 rrnlly in Ihe smooth hanl Dy7.anlino style, the whole sur- 
 face, e.trn)iiiiii» tlie face uiij haiid.s, hping' cnrrustril with 
 silver or koUI. These, Ihonch not sirirtly work.'* of sculp- 
 ture, are called in Russian Shraz or 0:6n, (the latter is the 
 Greek tiKurv ;) ii term which the Iranslntorhas preferred to 
 remler " inmife.'— T. H. S. 
 
 • I'hominishna is "daughter of PhomA" — Thomiw : the 
 Great Trincess Sophin wns the dau(;htcr of Thomas, the 
 last of the Palieogi.-T. B. S. 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 S5 
 
 alas ! I was even ashamed before the Almayne 
 ambassador." 
 
 " Aristotle will build us a splendid temple for 
 the Holy Virgin; we shall soon have artists .... 
 They shall build a palace— mansioe* for thy 
 boyarins. Five years — and thou wilt not know 
 Moscow again." 
 
 " First let us root up the hedge and pull down 
 the barrier; and then, if the Lord give me life, 
 will we build us a.ro)'al dwelling— then will I 
 be the Tsar of All Russia, not in name alone — 
 then will I say, Verily God hath chosen for this 
 his servant Ivan. Yea, I will be a Tsar." 
 
 With these words the door flew open, and the 
 Great Prince entered suddenly into the hall of 
 the pillar, where Roussalka had found lime to 
 array his features in the necessary expression 
 of servility. 
 
 Ivan Vassilievitch was preparing to receive 
 the Bishop of Tver, and a deputation of the chief 
 men of that city, sent on an embassy to him by 
 his brother-in-law, the Great Prince of Tver, 
 Mikhail Bovisovitch. These envoys came from 
 the younger brother, who had been deprived of 
 his right o^ equality, to offer excuses on the oc- 
 casion of the seizure of his correspondence with 
 Kazimir, King of Poland. For this reception 
 the Great Prince was dressed in various habili- 
 ments, of different names — in a rich kaftdn of 
 state, embroidered with figures of men — the wider 
 this garment spread, the more beautiful and mag- 
 nificent was it considered by our forefathers — 
 his black hair fell richly from beneath a kaphia 
 (close Tartar skull-cap) embroidered with pearls. 
 On his breast hung a golden chain, suspending 
 a large cross of cypress-wood, which contained 
 fragments of a relic ; on the middle finger of his 
 right hand glittered a ring of gold, of filigree 
 work, which, however, owed none of its splen- 
 dour to the stone set in it, the latter appearing lit- 
 tle belter than a common pebble; but this stone 
 Ivan Vassilievitch would not have exchanged 
 for gems of the purest water — it was a talisman, 
 a present from his ally and friend, Mengli-Ghirei, 
 Khan of Krim-Tartaiy, and which the latter had 
 received from India. Thus, in the words of a 
 chronicler ran the letter of Mengli-Ghirei, which 
 accompanied this gift : " It is known to thee, 
 that in the Indies, in the land called Kerditchen, 
 there is a beast called an Unicorn, the horn 
 whereof hath this virtue — he who beareth in his 
 hand the horn, be he eating or drinking any 
 thing, and if there be in what he eateth or drink- 
 eth any poison, the same shall do unto the man 
 no hurt." For this reason a portion of the horn 
 was set in a ring, and Ivan Vassilievitch never 
 took it off, guarding carefully the present of his 
 ally, perhaps in anticipation of an attempt to 
 poison him. The Prince threw a rapid fiery 
 glance from under his black broad eyebrows 
 upon the dvoretkoi — a glance which iew could 
 bear, and which threw women of a weak consti- 
 tution into a fainting fit. It seemed to embrace 
 the minister from head to foot, and to read his 
 very soul. On the other hand, the profound, al- 
 most religious, reverence witn'which Roussalka 
 seemed to try to hide himself from that penetra- 
 ting glance, was followed by the presentation of 
 the staff and the kissing of the mighty hand. 
 The bonnet Ivan Vassilievitch did not take, but 
 intimated, by a nod, that the dvoretzkoi should 
 place it on one of the stools. " Heard'st thou, 
 dvoretzkoi, with what a lofty title I was greeted 
 by the bird froca beyond seal" asked the Great 
 Prince, clearing up his frowning brow. 
 
 In fact, the strange voice which had been heard 
 by the dvoretzkoi was the cry of a parrot, sent 
 by the German amlassador to the Great Prin- 
 cess Sophia Phomfnishna. The daughter of the 
 Palceologi, endowed by nature with a force of 
 intellect and will which had been denied to her 
 brothers, knew well how trifling a circumstance 
 might suffice to decide her husband to complete 
 the great work ripening in his vigorous mind^ 
 She had been the first to refuse openly to remain 
 any longer the vassal of the Tartars. By de- 
 manding for her own use the lodging appropria- 
 ted to the horde, and by this means ejecting them 
 from the Kreml, Sophia had given the Great 
 Prince the idea that their concessions had orig- 
 inated in conscious weakness, and that he might 
 with as much ease expel them altogether from 
 the Russian soil. Now, when Ivan, having hum- 
 bled Kazan, conquered Novgorod, and made 
 conditions with the horde, began to meditate the 
 complete liberation of his kingdom from a vas- 
 salage which fettered him within, and made him 
 enemies without, Sophia, cunning and ambitious, 
 was endeavouring, by various means, to render 
 easy to him his unjust but unavoidable task; 
 and for this purpose she had privately taught 
 the foreign bird to salute him with the name of 
 Tsar, which flattered him so much. 
 
 " 'Tis plain the bird is a prophet, my lord!" 
 said the austere courtier, carrying a stool towards 
 the window, and placing a footstool covered with 
 gold beneath the Great Prince's feet, and spread- 
 ing a carpet over it. All this was performed at 
 a sign from the glance and baton of the sover- 
 ergn, so rapidly made that the eye could hardljr 
 follow their movements. But the dvoretzkoi 
 lacked not activity. Whence came his dexter- 
 ity 1 he was an old feeble man, whose soul seem- 
 ed departing from his body. 
 
 On the covers of the seats were embroidered 
 lions tearing serpents in pieces; and on the 
 brocade for stools the double-headed eagle. This 
 was a new object, and did not escape the Great 
 Prince's observation. His black eyes sparkled 
 with pleasure; for some time he admired the 
 imperial snakes and bird, and before he seated 
 himself on the stool, and placed his foot gently 
 on the footstool, he said, with kindness—" And 
 thou too, old dog, hast been conspiring with 
 Phomfnishna to please me." 
 
 The. dvoretzkoi bowed low, stroking with his 
 hand his ragged, pointed beard. 
 
 "O ho!" continued the Great Prince; "'tis 
 easy to prepare imperial paraphernalia — to sur- 
 round me with woven eagles and brocade lions 
 — to teach popinjays to salute me as I wish — but 
 to be a Tsar in word and deed is not so easy. 
 Thou knowest well how much it cost me to strug- 
 gle with my kinsmen. They sat down at a great 
 table in the high places, and began to fall to. 
 But I will not give them spoons, nor pass the 
 wine: and yet there they sit, as if they were 
 growing to their places." 
 
 " What are we to do, my lord, if they know- 
 not good manners 1" 
 
 " Rap them on the pate, and away with them 
 from table. Good faith, 'tis time ! Let them cry — 
 let them grumble — ' He thinketh no shame to flay 
 his kinsmen; he will pay for that in the other 
 world !' No, I shall not have to pay for that. 
 Before I was a brother, an uncle, a kinsman, I 
 was lord of All Russia ! When I appear before 
 the awful judgment-seat of Christ, he will as- 
 suredly ask me — ' Ha.st thou cared for the Rus- 
 sian land, whereof I made thee lord and father 1 
 
iJ6 
 
 THE HERETIC. 
 
 /Didst thou unite, didst thou strengthen that Rus- 
 sia, weak, torn, and riven asunder"?' This is 
 what he will ask me, and not whether I drank 
 ifrom the same cup as my brothers and kinsmen ; 
 ■whether I patted them on the head; whether I 
 coaxed them — they, and their kinsmen, and 
 strangers— to suck the blood of Russia." 
 
 Ivan Vassilievitch stopped, and looked at the 
 -dvoretzkoi, as if inviting a reply. 
 
 The other understood him, and said with a 
 low reverence : " Vouchsalis me, my lord. Great 
 Prince — me thy servant, to speak a foolish 
 •word." 
 
 " Speak a wise one ; if thou givest me a fool- 
 ish one I shall call thee fool." 
 
 Another bow : Roussalka accompanied it with 
 the following discourse— " To him who entereth 
 into marriage, the Lord commandeth to leave 
 father and mother, and cleave only to his wife. 
 Into the same state of marriage didst thou enter. 
 Lord of All Russia, when thou receivedst by 
 thy birth, and from the hands of a holy man in 
 the house of God, a blessing on thy reign. Ap- 
 ply this precept to thyself, my lord ; more wisely 
 I cannot answer thy speech : I am neither deacon 
 nor clerk." 
 
 " Thy clergy is in thy brain, Mikhail : 'tis 
 •well !" 
 
 As he pronounced the.se last words, the Great 
 Prince leaned his chin on his arms, which he 
 ■crossed on the top of his baton, and plunged into 
 a deep reverie. Thus he passed some minutes, 
 during which the dvoretzkoi dared not even to 
 stir. It cannot be said that during these tew 
 minutes the angel of peace was hovering above 
 them : in them the terrible demon ofdiscord 
 aro.se. During that pause was decided the fate 
 of Tver, once the mighty rival of Moscow. 
 
 At length Ivan Vassilievitch said — "Summon 
 hither Mamrtn and my deacons." 
 
 The command was instantly obe)'ed: the dvo- 
 retzkoi returned immediately with his friend, al- 
 ready known to us, and three new faces. 
 
 CHAPTER VL 
 
 THE LORD AND HIS HOUSEHOLD. 
 
 Twineth, twineth h6p-blossoin, 
 
 G16ry < 
 R6un(], around the p61e— O ! the silvery pole ; 
 
 Glorv ! 
 Si twine Princes and vdliant RoVHrins, 
 
 Gl6ry ! 
 Il6und the noble TsAr, the true Christian Tsar. 
 
 G16ry ! 
 
 On entering the izbA of the square pillar, they 
 Till made the sign of the cross before the image 
 <if the Saviour, and then bowed low. very low, 
 to the Great Prince. From the difference of 
 their stature, they seemed as if they had come 
 one out of the other, like a nest of' boxes, or a 
 set of drinking glas.ses for travelling. The tall- 
 est of the party was Fefidor Kmirifzin; this was 
 a man a full' head taller than Mam6n, under 
 fifly years of age, but looking older than he 
 really was. Unremitted intellectual labour and 
 care had bent his fiijiiro, and exhausted him into 
 an appearance of ill health. On his bald head, 
 behind the ears alone, there remained, as if for 
 a sample, two or three pair of scattered sandy 
 curls. His face was wasted, but the dimly 
 gleaming eves yet gave forth the fire of intellect; 
 on his high and cavernous f>rehond God had 
 plainly stamped the seal of lofty llioushts. He 
 
 was employed by the Great Prince in diplomatic 
 affairs. Next followed Mam6n. Then came 
 the deacon, Volodimir Elizdroff Gouscff, a man of 
 business, a lawyer, who deserves the memory 
 of posterity for his compilation of the Soudebiiik, 
 (code of laws.) The remaining person seemed 
 as if he had been taken out of Kourftzin's bo- 
 som, so diminutive was he. In the kingdom of 
 the Lilliputians he might perhaps have been 
 made drum-major of the guards — for there he 
 might have been considered a tall man, as he 
 would have been superior to so many ; but, 
 among our huge countr}'men, he would have 
 hardly reached up to the shoulder of a little rifle- 
 man — so completely does every thing depend 
 upon comparison. But one appendage to his 
 person overshadowed the whole man — he almost 
 realized the dwarfs of our nursery stories, of 
 whom they say, they are no bigger than my nail, 
 with a beard just like a horse's tail — a giganticj 
 a magnificent beard ! From it the deacon was 
 called Borodatii, (Beardie.) You are not, how- 
 ever, to suppose that all his merits were confined 
 to this hairy ornament. No ! his name has come 
 down to us coupled with other qualities ; for in- 
 stance, he knew how to ^pcak, as the chroniclers 
 have it. These authors he had learned by heart ; 
 he had crammed himself with their writings as 
 one loads a cannon, and wrote fiiuhi, as they 
 called it in those days, or inflatedly, as'we should 
 say now, the history of his master's exploits. 
 To him, too, was confided the task of instruct- 
 ing the clergy of the court in sacred singing; as 
 an old historian phrases it — " dyvers manere of 
 melodyous dulcitude ;" in a word, he was the 
 human humming-bird of the court. Sweet was 
 his song; he thrilled, hardly bending the bough 
 on which he perched, and he feared not the 
 pounce of hawk within his liny nest. He was 
 too small to attract the bird of prey. 
 
 " Well ! . . . . how goeth the matter of the 
 Lithuanians'?" was the Great Prince's stem en- 
 quiry to Mam6n. By his expression, he was 
 awaiting a bloody answer. 
 
 " Both the Prince Louk6mskii, and the inter- 
 preter Matiphas, have confessed that they tried 
 to poison thee at the command of Kazimfr," re- 
 plied Mam6n, firmly. " To make trial, I gave 
 some old women the poison : with one grain of 
 it they swelled up, and a dog burst." 
 
 Ivan Vassilievitch took off his taphia, cro.ssed 
 himself, and continued with fervour, turning to- 
 wards the image of the Saviour — " I thank thee, 
 O Lord and Saviour! for that thou hasi vouch- 
 safed to keep thy sinful servant from a violent 
 death." Then applying his lips to his ring of 
 licrdiUhin, he added'—" Thanks, too, to Mengli- 
 Ghirt'i : but for this, thy gift, it had been ea.sy 
 for the fiend to raise instigations, and to sow 
 them even among kinsmen ; now fear we our 
 own kinsmen more than a stranger." 
 
 " Alas ! our good lord and prince, think'st 
 thou that we, ihy faithful slaves, would permit 
 that ?" cried the dvoretzkoi and Mam6n with 
 one voice. 
 
 " The eye of the Lord watcheth over lawful 
 rulers," said Gfiuseff, "and over thee chiefly, 
 my Lord Great Prince, for the building up and 
 weal of Russia." 
 
 The liny deacon, BorodAtii, sang, loo, hi* 
 paneeyric through his nose; Kouritzin was si- 
 lent. 
 
 Ivan Vasstlievitch coniinued, without seem- 
 ing to hear the assurances of his courtiers : 
 " Good faith— verily, a most mighiy, noble, glo- 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 27 
 
 •riousking! Worse than a heretic ! A Christ- 
 ian king! He taketh not with force but with 
 poison ! Dare henceforward to bark — to say 
 •that I sought peace from interest, though of my 
 own right I might claim our ancient province 
 of Lithuania .... But be wary, Mam6n ; take 
 care that there was no deceit in thine inquest— 
 neither favour nor revenge !" 
 
 " Seven good witnesses, children of boyarins, 
 kissed the cross with me; we have not sinned 
 either before God or before thee, my lord." 
 
 " 'Tis well .... But what punishment, Vo- 
 lodfmer Elizarovitch, is decreed in thy soudeb- 
 nik against the felon who reacheth at another's 
 iife V 
 
 " In the soudebnik it is decreed," replied G6u- 
 seif, " whoever shall be accused of larceny, rob- 
 bery, murder, or false accusation, or other like 
 evil act, and the same shall be manifestly guilty, 
 the boyarin shall doom the same unto the pain 
 cf death, and the plaintitf shall have his goods ; 
 and if any thing remain, tlTb same shall go to 
 Ihe boyarin and the deacon." .... 
 
 ''Ay, the lawyers remember themselves — 
 never fear that the boyarin and deacon forget 
 Iheir fees. And what is written in thy book 
 against royal murderers and conspirators V 
 
 " In our memory such case hath not arisen." 
 
 " Even so 1 you lawyers are ever writing leaf 
 after leaf, and never do ye write all; and then 
 the upright judges begin to gloze, to interpret, to 
 take bribes for dark passages. The law ought 
 to be like an open hand without a glove, (the 
 Prince opened his fist;) every simple man ought 
 to see what is in it, and it should not be able to 
 conceal a grain of corn. Short and clear; and, 
 when needful, seizing firmly ! . . , . But as it 
 IS, they have put a ragged glove on law; and, 
 besides, they close the fist. Ye may guess — odd 
 or even ! they can show one or the other, as they 
 like." 
 
 " Pardon, my Lord Great Prince ; lo, what we 
 nvill add to the soudebnik— the royal murderer 
 and plotter shall not live." 
 
 " Be it so. Let not him live, who reached at 
 another's life." (Here he turned to Kouritzin, 
 but remembering that he was always disinclined 
 to severe punishments, he continued, waving his 
 hand.) " 1 forgot that a craven* croweth not like 
 a cock." (At these words the deacon's eyes 
 sparkled with satisfaction.) "Mamon, be this 
 thy care. Tell thy judge of Moscow — the court 
 judge — to have the Lithuanian and the inter- 
 preter burned alive on the Moskva — burn them, 
 dost thou hearl that others may not think of 
 such deeds." 
 
 The dvoretzkoi bowed, and said, stroking his 
 ragged beard — " In a few days will arrive the 
 strangers to build the palace, and the Almayne 
 leech : the Holy Virgin only knoweth whether 
 there be not evil men among them also. Dost 
 thou vouchsafe me to speak what hath come 
 into my mind 1" 
 
 " Speak." 
 
 " Were it not good to show them an exam- 
 ple at once, by punishing the criminals before 
 them V 
 
 The Great Prince, after a moment's thought, 
 leplied — " Aristotle answereth for the leech An- 
 tony ; he is a disciple of his brother's. The art- 
 ists of the palace — foreigners — are good men, 
 .jquiet men ... but ... . who can tell! . . . . 
 
 * A jeu de mots impossible to be rendered in English ; 
 Kountza, in Russia, is " a hen." 
 
 Mam6n, put off the execution till after the com- 
 ing of the Almayne leech ; but see that the fet- 
 ters sleep not on the evil doers !" 
 
 Here he signed to Mam6n to go and fulfil his 
 order. 
 
 " By the way, my lord," said Roussalka, when 
 his friend had departed, " where wiliest thou that 
 we lodge the Almayne 1" 
 
 "As near as possible to my palace, in case of 
 need." 
 
 "Aristotle saith it would be a shame to lodge 
 him in our izbas: but the only stone house in 
 the neighbourhood is the voevoda's — the house 
 of Vassilii Feodorovitch Obrazetz. Thou thy- 
 self commandedst me to remind thee" .... 
 
 The Great Prince divined the meaning of the 
 dvoretzkoi, and laughingly replied — '•' Well, 
 Mikhail, right well .... 'twill not be over- 
 pleasing to the boyarin ; but still he will not be 
 poisoned by the atmosphere of the Almayne. 
 Let him know from whence cometh the bad 
 weather." 
 
 He stopped, and turned with an air of steru 
 command to Kouritzin. 
 
 The latter had addressed himself to speak — 
 " The ambassadors from Tver .... from 
 the" .... 
 
 " From the prince, thou wouldst say," burst 
 in Ivan Vassilievitch: " I no longer recognize a 
 Prince of Tver. What — I ask thee what did he 
 promise in the treaty of conditions which his 
 bishop was to negotiate % — the bishop who is 
 with us now." 
 
 " To dissolve his alliance with the Polish 
 king, Kazimir, and never without thy knowledge 
 to renew his intercourse with him ; nor with 
 thine ill-wishers, nor with Russian deserters : to 
 swear in his own and his children's name, never 
 to yield to Lithuania." 
 
 " Hast thou still the letter to King Kazimfr 
 from our good brother-in-law and ally — him 
 whom thou yet callest the Great Prince of 
 Tverl" 
 
 " I have it, my lord." 
 
 "What saith it?', 
 
 " The Prince of Tver urgeth the Polish King 
 against the Lord of All Russia." 
 
 " Now, as God shall judge me, I have right on 
 my side. Go and tell the envoys from Tver, 
 that I will not receive them : I spoke a word of 
 mercy to them — they mocked at it. What do 
 they take me for"? ... . A bundle of rags, 
 which to-day they may trample in the mud, and 
 to-morrow stick up for a scarecrow in their gar- 
 dens ! Or a puppet — to bow down to it to-day, 
 and to-morrow to cast it into the mire, with 
 Vuiduibdi, father, vuiduibaV.* No! they have 
 chosen the wrong man. They may spin their 
 traitorous intrigues with the King of Poland, 
 and hail him their lord; but I will go myself 
 and tell Tver who is her real master. Tease 
 me no more with these traitors I" 
 
 Saying this, the Great Prince grew warmer 
 and warmer, and at length he struck his staflT 
 upon the ground so violently that it broke in. 
 two. 
 
 "Hold ! here is our declaration of war," he ad- 
 ded — "yet one word more : had it bent it would 
 have remained whole." 
 
 * When Vladimir, to convert the Russians to Christiani- 
 ty, caused the image of their idol Per6un to be thrown 
 into the Dniepr, the people of Kleff are said to have shout- 
 ed " vuiduihdi, batioushka, 'duirfuiidi .'"— bAtioushka signi- 
 fies " father ;" but the rest of the exclamation has never 
 been explained, though it has passed into a proverb. — T. 
 B. S. 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 Kourfizin, taking the fatal fragments, went 
 out. The philosopher of those days, looking at 
 them, shook his head and thought — " Even so 
 breaketh the mighty rival of Moscow !" 
 
 " God hath been merciful to me," continued 
 the Great Prince, growing somewhat calmer : 
 " Rost63 and Yarosleff have renounced their 
 rights: let us strike while the iron is hot. A 
 word is but breath ; but what is written with a 
 pen deeds cannot blot out again,* as saith 'my 
 little mannikin no bigger than my nail, with a 
 beard flowing to his waist, just like a horse's 
 tail.'" 
 
 The gigantic beard almost touched the 
 ground, so low was the bow made by its dimin- 
 utive owner. 
 
 " But thou art not the man, Beardikin, to fin- 
 ish this business; for thee 'twill suflice to dis- 
 patch a courier to the voev6da Daniel Kh6im- 
 skoi, at his estates, with my order to repair to 
 Moscow without delay ; and go to Obrazetz, 
 and tell him, my servant, that I do him the 
 grace to place in his house the Almayne leech 
 who Cometh hither anon, and command him to 
 give him bread and salt,! and lo treat him hon- 
 ourably. There is a heap I have piled on 
 thee!"' 
 
 " Zeal giveth strength," replied Borodatii ; 
 " mine would enable me to bear a ton of thy com- 
 mands." 
 
 " Good! — And thou, Elizerovitch, ride thou to 
 Rost6ffand Yaroslavl, and bind firmly, with the 
 knots of law, their gentle cession . . ." Dost thou 
 understand 1" 
 
 " I understand, my lord." 
 
 Thus the Great Prince dismissed all his min- 
 isters of the household, except the dvoretzkoi. 
 He had honoured G6useff with the familiar ap- 
 pellation Elizerovitch, because his mission was 
 a difticult one, to compel, by menaces and ca- 
 resses, the Princes of Rost6tr and Yaroslafl' to 
 yield up their territories to Ivan Vassilievitch ; 
 a cession at which they themselves had hint- 
 ed. Rousselka remained, and looked enqui- 
 ringly at the Great Prince, as if desiring to 
 let him know that he had something lo tell 
 him. 
 
 " What wouldst thoul" enquired Ivan Vassi- 
 lievitch. 
 
 " Dost thou vouchsafe to let me speak a word 
 that I have long concealed? .... I thought to 
 burv it in my .soul lest it might ofltnd thee, my 
 lord; but the Holy Virgin hath appeared to me 
 thrice in a dream : she urged me, saying, Speak ! 
 speak !".... 
 
 " Speak, then ! To the devil with thy grima- 
 ces; time is precious." 
 
 " Is it known to thee, that the Jewish heresy 
 of the sorcerer Zakherii, haih come over hither 
 from Nevgorod? that it flourisheth here in Mos- 
 cow 1 that many shepherds of souls are tainted 
 Willi it'! many boyarins near thy person are 
 fallen into this heresy"? that the chief leader 
 among them is thy deacon Kourilzin, whom 
 thou iiast so much honoured with thy favour? 
 Is it known to lliec, that they are leading astray 
 the faithful, and even — (he looked round to lis- 
 ten if any one overheard him, and then added 
 ^oftIy) .... even thy daughter-in-law." 
 
 • The Ruraiani «ro (iTcomlingly foiid of introdnring in 
 their ronvnrsntion cithrr old HnwR and proverbs, (which in 
 all roiintrips arc geriprnlly rhymoil.) or extempore senten- 
 <e», with the jinple and antitlicsiH of such proverbial ex- 
 jiresHKinii.— T B. S. 
 
 t £read and salt— tho emblems of hospitality. — T. B. S. 
 
 " I know," coolly rejoined Ivan Vassilievitch, 
 " that they busy themselves with the philosophical 
 sciences — much good may it do them ! Let 
 them alone so long as they neglect not their duty ;. 
 but if we listen to old wives' tales, we cannot 
 boil a pot o[ slrJii, let alone rule an empire. As 
 to Kourilzin, I forbid thee, or any one else, to 
 say any evil of him. I can never forget what he 
 hath done forme — my strong alliance with Men- 
 gli-Ghirei, my league with the King of Hunga- 
 ry and the Hospodar of Moldavia — all is his 
 work : and if I be strengthened by these allian- 
 ces, and can now reach even at'Liihuania, for 
 all this 1 owe an obeisance, yea, a low obei- 
 sance, to Kourilzin. Be sure, I will remember 
 good and evil to the brink of the grave, and I 
 know how to repay both the one and the other. 
 Do thou, talebearer as thou art, but a lithe of 
 the good he hath done, and thou shall know 
 me." 
 
 " It was from devotion to thy person, my Lord 
 Great Prince, that * spake. 1 could not hold my 
 peace .... The Christian people openly mur- 
 mured against thee" .... 
 
 At these words the eyes of Ivan Vassilievitch 
 gleamed with a sullen lire. He started Irom his 
 seat, clutched with a mighiy hand Rousselka's 
 throat, and shaking him, shouted, breathless 
 with rage: — " People? .... where is it? ... . 
 Show it to me — let me hear it murmur, and I 
 will throttle it as I do thee ! Where is this 
 people ? Speak ! Whence cometh it ? . . . . 
 There is on earth a Russian monarchy, and all 
 this, by God's blessing, lieth in me — in me 
 alone! .... Dost thou hear, rogue? Go, pro- 
 claim this every where .... in the markets, in 
 the churches, in every ward, in ever}' hundred. 
 Let it be cried .... and if the voice of man be 
 too weak, let it be clanged out by the balls, 
 thundered forth by the cannon." (He hurled 
 the dvoretzkoi from him, and began to stride up 
 and down the izba with long steps.) " In good 
 faith, a Christian people! .... Is it not the 
 same that crouched for two hundred years at the 
 Tartar's foot, and bowed down lo his wooden 
 blocks; that kissed the hand of Nfivgorod, of 
 Pskoff', of Lithuania; that cowered in ihe dust 
 before any stranger that but lifted a stick over 
 it ! . . . . I was the first to sober it from its foul, 
 drunken fit. I set it on its feet, and said — 
 'Stand up, come to thyself; thou art a Russian!' 
 And this scum dareth to murmur against its 
 lord ! If I leave this people now, what would 
 become of il! It would rot like a worm, be- 
 neath the foot of the first valiant passer-by! . . . 
 Go, proclaim my favour to Kourilzin, lo my 
 faithful servant .... say thai I bestow on him 
 a kafien of gold .... dost thou hear ? . . . . 
 from off my own shoulders. And sa)- ii so that 
 this fair 'people' of thine may know it ... . 
 Now, out of my sight, base picklhank !" 
 
 The dvor^'tzkoi threw himself at his sov- 
 ereign's feet— "Mercy, my lord and father; my 
 Kins blinded me!" he cried. " Abate ihy wrath, 
 and I will do thee a service — thou wilt be pleas- 
 ed The Prince of Ver6ia is sick lo death. 
 
 A kinsman of mine came on purpose with these 
 
 tidings Hasten, my lord, to send a coa- 
 
 tier before he render up his soul lo God." 
 
 This intelligence went direct lo ihc Great 
 Prince's hcan" He was Ihundersiriick. The 
 son of the Prince of Ver^ia was living in exile 
 in Lithuania. Il was necessary for the impe- 
 rial founder to lose no time in seizing his terri- 
 tories, lest he might be anticipated in doing so 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 29 
 
 by an enemy. "Sick," he added, changing 
 •countenance ; " to death ! saidst thou 1" 
 
 " Mv kinsman sailh that he cannot recover." 
 
 " Ay, Mikhiul,thou canst do me a service. I 
 ■will never forget it. Thy brain is no dull one . 
 ... I know not how it came to go astray but 
 now . . . The Evil One, 'tis plain, had entan- 
 gled thee in old women's gossip .... In truth, 
 'tis for the first time .... and haply, 'twas not 
 
 without soine design. Rise Thou art sure 
 
 thou hast spoken to none of the prince's sick- 
 ness!" 
 
 " As God see'th me, to none. Bury me alive 
 in the earth if I have whispered it to any ! 1 
 know it, and thou, my lord, and my kinsman; 
 and him I assured that he would draw both me 
 and himself into a noose if he uttered it." 
 
 "Then thou, my good Mikhiil," (the Great 
 Prince patted him on the head as a master ca- 
 resses a clever pupil,) " speed thee now, this 
 very instant, secretly to Vereia .... We will 
 say that thou art sick. Ride haste, post haste, 
 kill a dozen horses if thou wilt, only find the 
 Prince Mikhail Andreevitch alive .... What 
 thou wilt, find him hut alive! .... Flatter him, 
 caress him, cant to him; if needful, frighten him 
 .... and bring me post-haste, a bu.xom letter, 
 giving the Great Prince of Moscow his territory 
 —all; without remainder forever— by reason of 
 his son's disobedience." 
 
 And guilty was that unhappy son, who had 
 married the niece of Sophia Phominishna, daugh- 
 ter of Andrew Palreologos, but only of having 
 accepted from Sophia, some rich jewels, which 
 -had belonged to Ivm's first wife ; a present 
 which the Great Prince had demanded back. 
 These jewels were only needed by the Great 
 Prince as a ground of quarrel. The young 
 prince had purchased them dearly by the loss to 
 Russia of Vereia, Yaroslavetz, and Baylo-Ozero. 
 
 " Wait not for instructions," continued Ivan 
 Vassilievitch. "Thou shalt have a hundred 
 roubles — dost thou hear 1 a hundred roubles and 
 my thanks." 
 
 As he said this, he trembled with eagerness. 
 
 A hundred roubles were dancing before the 
 eyes of the greedy dvoretzkoi ; but they did not 
 deprive him of his habitual cunning. "And 
 w^hat if he stretch out his legs before 1 come 1" 
 he asked. 
 
 " He must not, he cannot .... dost thou mark 
 mel If he doth, come not back to me." 
 
 " I can make a dead man sign." 
 
 Here Roussalka finished his phrase with a 
 gesture. 
 
 With the promise of a hundred roubles and 
 favour he was dispatched to Vereia. And the 
 late threatening storm — it had all passed away 
 .... How, then, had he committed the blunder 
 of making his inopportune complaints 1 Was 
 it a blunder 1 No, this was an artful com- 
 mencement of his attack. It was expedient for 
 him to support the members of Zakharii's sect 
 — they had bribed him. For the attainment of 
 this object, it was far the most feasible course to 
 speak against them, and take the side of their 
 opponents — that is, of the populace. In this 
 manner he could represent the people to the 
 sovereign, jealous of his power, as a second 
 power, which dared to oppose itself to him, 
 though only by words. As he had calculated, 
 so it turned out. The Great Prince was indig- 
 nant against those who had dared to censure 
 him. In case of personal danger, Rouss;ilka 
 had, i?i pctlo, the news of the Prince of Vereia's 
 
 illness. And thus, on all points, he had played 
 a winning game : from the sectarians he had re- 
 ceived large presents; from Ivan Vassilievitch 
 a hundred roubles— a considerable sum at that 
 time .... and, above all, an augmentation of the 
 Great Prince's favour. As to the kick, that was 
 a thing he cared not about. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE INHABITANTS OF THE STONE PALACE. 
 
 O, the c6urt of the Tsnr stands on s6ven versts, 
 
 Stands on s6ven versts — on eight pillars tall. 
 
 In the midst of the oiiurt. i' the midst of the square^ 
 
 There be thr6e towers fiir, 
 
 Thr6e towers fair, golden pinnacled : 
 
 In the first tower shineth a golden sun, 
 
 In the next tiiwcr shineth a gleaming raoon, 
 
 In the third t6wer shine starlets numberless. 
 
 In the centre of the ciiij* — namely, on the very 
 spot where, even in our own memory, stood the 
 stone cannon-yard, and which in its turn has 
 been taken down — was situated the magnificent 
 house of the Muscovite voevoda, the boyaria 
 Vassilii Feodorovitch Simskoi, surnamed Obra- 
 zetz. His mansion skirted on one side the small 
 square, the centre of which was occupied by the 
 church of St. Nicholas-of-the-Flax, at the turn- 
 ing below Konstantino-Yelen&tfskaia Street, and 
 on the other it abutted on the wail of the Kreml. 
 The house being constructed of stone by the 
 skill of foreign artists, and called by them & pal- 
 ace (palazzo,) the Russians of that epoch adopt- 
 ed the name of ■paUtli (palace,) to designate a 
 house of stone. At that time there existed but 
 two of these— that of Obrazetz, and that of the 
 mayor of Moscow. 
 
 It was chiefly the palace of the voev6da that 
 the crowd went to admire. For some weeks 
 it was besieged by them. And how could they 
 but wonder 1 Children, whether in units, or as a 
 crowd of units, love toys; and Obrazetz's house 
 was a great stone toy, such as had never been 
 seen in Russia. Not only were the walls as 
 extensive as some streets in Moscow, but won- 
 drous subtleties of art were carved on it wherev- 
 er you looked, as if by the hand of a magician. 
 The windows were small, and seemed, as it 
 were by stealth, to pierce the walls, as though 
 fearful of hurting the owner's eyes by too much 
 light. Above and below each window were 
 seen the palm branches which were strewed un- 
 der the feet of Christ on Palm Sunday, and the 
 bunches of grapes with which Noah made him- 
 self drunk. Thus the spectators expounded the 
 external decorations of the house. All this was 
 carved in stone, and displayed a wondrous skill. 
 All the projections were decorated with yellov/ 
 paint, and the hollows between them with light 
 blue. 'Twas marvellously beautiful! Thereof, 
 of German iron, beaten out as thin as the leaf 
 upon the tree, glittered like fire. Look into the 
 court, and there are fresh wonders ! Two flights 
 of steps, descending on either side, seem to em- 
 brace the court-yard. These are covered by a 
 kind of canopy, bordered with an architrav^e sup- 
 ported on twisted columns, such as are not to be 
 seen even in the Great Prince's palace. A tur- 
 ret is fixed above along the roof, either by the 
 skill of man or the power of the fiend, and hangs 
 in the air like a swallow's nest: below it is at- 
 
 * The " city," in Moscow, is a comparatively small space 
 near the Kreml, now occupied by the gostinnoi dvor, or 
 bazar. 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 tached, somehow or other, a winding staircase. 
 On three sides of the tcfwer are windows, glazed 
 with little round panes of glass, (no small won- 
 der in those days:) when the sun shines on it, it 
 looks like a lantern with a multitude of candles 
 lighted in it. Look out of the window towards 
 the Kreml, you will see the cannon-yard, the 
 Red Square, the shops, Varskaia Street, and the 
 Spass-v-Tchegaaskh beyond the Ya6uza. Look 
 from the middle window, you will behold the 
 Great Street running along the bank of the 
 Moskva, the river with all its windings, from 
 SimonolT monastery to Vorobei Sel6, and the 
 whole of the city beyond the Moskva, just as in 
 a picture. Closer to you, along the town hill, 
 extend izb:is, one beyond tlie other, stretching to 
 Konstantino-Yelenoffskaia Street, and you can 
 look into their courts as if into your own. Near- 
 er yet, below you, lies the apple-garden, in which 
 you can almost count every leaf From the third 
 window, the beautiful side of the city, from the 
 Great Prince's palace to the Taim'nskia gate, 
 was painted, with all its churches, as if on the 
 canvass. But, above all, you should see the 
 mew in the court ! The architect has raised on it 
 a spire with a golden ball, that flashes in the sky. 
 Long was this considered to be the work of 
 the Evil One ; its owner, the voev6da, a com- 
 panion in arms of Daniel Dmftrii Kholmskoi at 
 the siege of N6vgorod, and next to that celebra- 
 ted leader in military renown, was assuredly no 
 coward : this surname of Obrazetz (pattern or 
 model) was given to him from his always fight- 
 ing in the van of his troops; but when about to 
 remove into his new house, a shudder came over 
 his heart: he would rather have stricken battle, 
 one against ten, with German men-at-arms, or 
 Tartars, or volunteers of N6vgorod, than face 
 the evil spirit even in a single form. It is true, 
 for his tranquillity and that of his family, every 
 means had been employed to expel the unclean 
 spirit that must have entered a house construct- 
 ed by foreigners and infidel heretics. They 
 had burned incense to such a degree that you 
 could hardly breathe, had sung masses, and had 
 sprinkled with Epiphany-water* every part of 
 the house, habitable or not. They had fixed in 
 all the passages and over every door and gate, 
 copper crosses with huly images upon them, and 
 chiefly with the efligy of St. Nikfta, who drives 
 away the devil with his stafl!". In this way they 
 hoped to secure their dwelling also from the fu- 
 ture incursions of the unclean one : they held the 
 house-warming feast on the day of St. Simeon 
 the year-bringer, that is, on the first of Septem- 
 ber, which was considered new-year's day. They 
 did not, however, forget the Chief Master of the 
 house, the Domestic Genius, who is still called 
 by this name in the villages. Without him, 
 they say, the house cannot stand. The oldest 
 w man in the familv went to the hearth of the 
 former dwelling, look some lighted coals in a 
 potsherd from the stove— inviting, as she did so, 
 S(»iubor/>j to come out, and then rolled up the 
 fire in a cloth; the gate was opened, Obrazetz 
 with all his household came lo meet the old 
 ■woman with " bread and salt," bowed first slight- 
 ly, then again, a third time, then a fourth, very 
 
 * It is pretty well known, that one of the most iwrulinr 
 and nirikinR cfrfnioniog of the Russian church i.i the solemn 
 lilessinKof the wiitcni on the dny of the Kpiphnny. A por- 
 tion of the water so ronserrntcd is preserved in every housn 
 fur the whole year, and is 8iii>|H»ed to possess very irrcat 
 virtues; in particular it is held, whrn drunk or sprinkled, 
 to lie iin antidote to the eflects of magic and the evil eve. — 
 T. U. S. 
 
 low ; shook his hoary head, and invited Some-- 
 body into the new house, in the following words 
 — •" Grandsire, we beseech thee, come with us to 
 a new abode." Then the door of the house was 
 opened, the old woman released Somebodv from 
 the cloth into the new stove, placed there also 
 the lighted coals, (not forgetting a supply of fuel 
 for the mystic fire:) the bread and salt are set on^ 
 the great table, the guests assemble, and the' 
 house-warming begins. The domestic Penates 
 being thus installed, what is there to fear! they 
 must only take care not to offend the house-spir- 
 it. The Muster was once, and but once oflended : 
 he took a dislike to a black charger which the 
 boyarin had lately bought. Once he scared him 
 all night long, rode him like a hundred hell cats, 
 tore out the hair of his mane, and kept blowing 
 into his ears and nostrils. They soon guessed 
 that the Master was displeased; to quiet him, 
 they sold the horse, and kept no more black ones. 
 They also hung up a bear's head in the stable, 
 to prevent any houseless spirit from fighting 
 with the Master, and gaining any advantage 
 over him. At length the house spirit was ap- 
 peased, and the inmates of the Stone Palace en- 
 joyed all the benefits of his paternal care. 
 
 Yes, Russia was then filled with enchantment. 
 A host of prejudices and superstitions, survivors- 
 of the infancy of the world — the mythic age, 
 spirits and genii, flying in multitudinous swarms 
 from India and the far north, formed alliance 
 with our giants and jesters; princesses, princes, 
 knights of the west, brought hither in the wal- 
 lets of Italian artists : all the.se peopled at that 
 epoch houses, forests, and air, and rendered our 
 Russia a kind of poetic world, a creation of en- 
 chantment. Spirits greeted the new-born infant 
 at its entrance into life, rocked it in the cradle, 
 wandered with the child as he gathered flowers 
 in the meadow, splashed him as he paddled in 
 the streamlet, hallooed to him in the woods, and 
 led him to the labyrinih where our earthly The- 
 seuses were to vanquish the foul Minotaur, the 
 demon of the wood, by turning their coat inside 
 out,* or by charms purchased of an old woman, 
 our Russian Medea. Spirits were throned in 
 the eyes. The Evil Eyes, whose glance alone 
 could bring misfortune, fell like shooting-stars 
 on the woman who yielded herself up lo soft 
 midnight reverie; troubled the wicked in their 
 graves, and came forth in the form of the evil- 
 doer from the tomb, to scarce the midnight pas- 
 senger, if good Christians had nut remembered 
 to drive a stout stake through the coftin. All 
 unusual accidents, all ill-luck and violent pas- 
 sions, were the work of spirits. 
 
 In an atmosphere thus breathing enchantment, 
 lived the family of Obrazetz, composing that 
 household which we are about lo visit. 
 
 Read through the chronicles of this period, 
 and you will more than once encounter the name 
 of Obrazetz among the warriors who fought 
 against N6vgorod, the Lithuanians, and the 
 Tartars. Look upon Vassilii Feodoroviich when 
 sixty years had strewn his head with snow, and 
 you will .say that glance, sparkling with fire, 
 must have fallen upon the enemy like the ire of 
 the e.ngle; that giant arm, waving the falchion, 
 must have levelled ranks of dead before it: that 
 broad and grizzled chest, that Herculean stature, 
 were created to be a bulwark ot war. Having 
 
 * To avert the evil conseiiurnres attendant upon tin 
 nu-etinfr with the Laytovik, the Russian wood-domon, i 
 was necessary to turn the sh6>il>a inside out. The saim 
 sujH!rstilion is fotma m Scotland and England — T- B. S. 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 31 
 
 paid to his count»-y his tribute of service as a 
 warrior, lor which he was rewarded with the 
 dignity of boyarin, a. rank then very rarely con- 
 ferred, he paid a second tribute, as a courtier, to 
 the Great Prince, by erecting, to gratify him, a 
 stone palace. Here he lived quietly, hitherto 
 undisturbed by Ivdn, beloved by his friends, re- 
 spected by the people, a kind father, a stern but 
 benevolent master ; here he hoped to devote the 
 last years of his life to calm retirement, and to 
 prepare himself for eternity by the practice of 
 religion and charity. Raised above the crowd 
 by rank and wealth, he was, however, by no 
 means exempt from its prejudices ; he loved his 
 neighbour according to the law of Christ, but 
 under that title he included his countrymen 
 alone : whatever was not Russian, was with him 
 on the level of a dog: the Italians — ov foreigiiers 
 as they were called at that time — he suffered in 
 his house, and honoured with his society, be- 
 cause they had built, or were preparing to build, 
 churches to God ; the Bolognese architect, Al- 
 bert Fioraventi, otherwise called Aristotle, he 
 respected as an engineer, as the future builder of 
 the Cathedral of the Assumption, and still more 
 as the father of a child who had been christened 
 after the Russian rite. But the Germans, the 
 unbelieving Germans, he abhorred with all the 
 strength of a soul — fierce, indeed, but not mali- 
 cious. This sentiment in him, finding its source 
 in popular prejudice, was still further strength- 
 ened by a particular event ; he could never par- 
 don the Germans for the death of a beloved son, 
 who had been killed before his eyes. This son 
 had but recently completed his sixteenth year, 
 the ceremony of the postriga* had only just'been 
 performed on him, when his father had enticed 
 him from his mother's side to the war against 
 the Livonians. How he admired his warrior- 
 beauty, shadowed by the plumed helm, his youth- 
 ful fire and bravery,'which gave the promise of 
 his one day becoming a renowned chief! and 
 this beauty, this pride, this hope, was mown 
 down in an instant by the steel of a foul heretic. 
 Years passed on ; but ever in the old man's 
 dreams rose the image of his beauteous strip- 
 ling, as, streaming with blood, he raised from 
 the dust his head, clouded with the shadow of 
 death, crossed himself, and threw on the father 
 a look ... a farewell look. Then the enemy's 
 horses had trampled him under their hoofs. O ! 
 the father would never forget that look — to his 
 last gasp he would remember it. Never would 
 he forget the mother's cry, calling on him to 
 render account what he had done with her dai-- 
 ling child. She had not long survived her be- 
 reavement. Henceforth Obrazetz revenged this 
 loss upon all the Germans, by a hatred which 
 fur them could know no pity. As to the slayer 
 of his son, he had not broken his mace of arms 
 on his liead — no, he had made him prisoner, 
 b.ound him to his horse's tail, and galloped 
 through the forest, dragging him over stock and 
 stone, till he had left nothing of his foe but 
 bloody tatters to feast the wolves. He conceal- 
 ed not his detestation of the German even in 
 the Great Prince's presence. On one occasion, 
 in the very audience-chamber, he had called the 
 Knight Poppel, the German ambassador, a foul 
 heretic. It was with difficulty that they ap- 
 
 " Posti i^a, cutting the hair ; a religious ceremony equiv- 
 alent to the assumption of the " virile gown" (also accom- 
 panleil by cutting the hair) amonpr the Romans ; it was 
 perf.irme'l at the age of sixteen, after which the boy was 
 supposed tit for war &c. — X. B. S. 
 
 peased the wrath of Ivan Vassilievitch ; the- 
 Great Prince, who insisted that all should re* 
 spect those whom he deigned to honour, and 
 should dislike whatever he did not love, retain- 
 ed in his mind the memory of this insult, notr 
 withstanding the great services of Obrazetz. 
 
 The voev6da had still a son, Ivan Khabar*- 
 Slmskoi — (Remark, that in those times, children 
 frequently did not bear the name of their father, 
 or, when they did, bore an additional designa- 
 tion. These surnames were given either by the 
 Great Prince, or by the people, for some exploit 
 or some bad action, and generally indicated 
 some bodily or mental quality) — Ivan Khabar, 
 then about twenty-two or twenty-three years old, 
 tall, black-browed, black-eyed, handsome ; in a 
 word, the model of a young Russian gallant. 
 He had, on more than one occasion, shown his 
 courage before the enemy; he had accompanied 
 the volunteers of Souroj against Viatka, and 
 against the M6rdvui-na Lejakh ; he wasted his 
 valour in brawls with his countrymen, in night 
 forays, in the life of a hot-headed scapegrase — 
 " Ho, Ivan, thy pate is not over firm upon thy^ 
 shoulders !" his father would often say. " 'Twill" 
 last long enough for me, father !" was his an- 
 swer. Often did the sire shut his eyes to his 
 son's pranks, in the hope that his boiling, vehe- 
 ment spirit would subside, and, like a torrent 
 swelled by rain, return in due time to its banks r 
 the bounds fixed by God, thought he, no man 
 can pass ; thou can.st not outride thy destiny. 
 The young steed, though he may have a spice 
 of the devil in him, will yet be a destrier; the 
 jade — even when a colt — is nothing but a jade. 
 
 But the old man's best consolation and hope, 
 the treasure which he was never weary of gazing 
 on, was his daughter Anastasia. The fame of 
 her loveliness had spread all through Moseow, 
 far beyond the walls of her parental dwelling, 
 the lofty enclosure and the bolted gates. The 
 female connoisseurs in beauty could find no 
 fault in her, except that she was somewhat too 
 slight and flexible, like a young birch-tree. 
 Aristotle, who in his time had beheld many 
 Italian, German, and Hungarian beauties, and 
 who enjoyed frequent opportunities of seeing 
 Anastasia — the artist Aristotle used to affirm, 
 that he had never encountered any thing so love- 
 ly. " The Signorina Anastasia," he would say, 
 " though, by her fair complexion, evidently a 
 child of the snowy North, by the splendour of 
 her dark eyes, by the voluptuous langour which 
 is shed around her form, is exactly like one of 
 my own countrywomen. Were I a painter, I 
 would take her to personify the glowing Aurora 
 when about to plunge into the embrace of her 
 burning bridegroom." The artist always stop- 
 ped to gaze on her with singular rapture. Iv»a 
 the Young, the Great Prince's eldest son by his 
 first wife, one day ran unexpectedly into Obra- 
 zetz's garden, in sportive pursuit of Khab ir- 
 Simskoi, for whom he had a great regard, and 
 finding there his friend's sister, stood before her 
 like oue in a dream, like a man thunderstruck. 
 He had entertained the intention of espousing 
 her ; but his ambitious father, who sought in the 
 marriages of his children, unions, not of affec- 
 tion, biU of policy, forced him to the altar with 
 Helena, daughter of Stephen, hospodar of Mol- 
 davia, (converted to our faith as Voev&da of 
 Vallachia, whence the bride was called Hel- 
 ena Voloshanka of Vallachia.) The old wom- 
 en who know every thing, are sure of every 
 thing — the witches discovered that the yoving- 
 
32 
 
 THE HERETIC. 
 
 Prince had exactly at that time begun to pine 
 and languish; he never ceased to cherish the 
 closest attachineot to Khabar, in which perhaps 
 another'feeling was concealed. 
 
 Anasiasia was altogether, in body and soul, 
 something wonderful. From her very infancy 
 Providence had stamped her with the seal of 
 the marvellous; when she was born a star had 
 fallen on the house — on her bosom she bore a 
 mark resembling a cross within a heart. When 
 ten years old, she dreamed of palaces and gar- 
 dens, such as eye had never seen on earth, and 
 faces of unspeakable beauty, and voices that 
 sang, and self-moving dulcimers that played, as 
 it were, within her heart, so sweetly and so well, 
 that tongue could never describe it ; and, when 
 she awoke from those dreams, she lelt a light 
 pressure on her feet, and she thought she per- 
 ceived that something was resting on them with 
 ■white wings folded; it was very sweet, and yet 
 aw.ul — and in a moment all was gone. Some- 
 times she would meditate, sometimes she would 
 dream, .^he knew not what. Often, when pros- 
 trate bel'ore the image of the Mother of God, she 
 wept ; and these tears she hid from the world, like 
 some holy thing sent down to her from on high. 
 She loved all that was marvellous; and therefore 
 she loved the tales, the legends, the popular 
 songs and stories oftho.se days. How greedily 
 did she listen to her nurse ! and what marvels 
 did the eloquent old woman. unfold, to the young, 
 burning imagination of her foster child ! Anas- 
 tasia, sometimes abandoning herself to poesy, 
 ■would lorget .sleep and food; sometimes her 
 dreams concluded the unfinished tale more viv- 
 idly, more eloquently far. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE T.\LE-TELLER AND THE MESSENGER. 
 
 We have already said that the Feast of St. 
 Hierasimus was come. It was noon. Vassl- 
 lii Feodorovitch Obrazeiz, having been reposing, 
 according to the Russian custom, after dinner, 
 was about to wash his face, which was heated 
 with sleep. This was done, without the assist- 
 ance of a servant, in a copper hand-basin, the 
 present of the famous Aristotle; the utensil was 
 fixed above a tub, as clean and bright as if it 
 liad just left the carpenter's hands — a wondrous 
 gift ! Touch but a handle at the bottom, and 
 water gushes forth as from a fountain. Then 
 lie took a towel bordered with line lace, the 
 work of Anastasia, which was hanging on a 
 nail ready for the hand of its owner. A horn 
 comb, dipped in iinass mixed with honey, was 
 passed lluoiigh the hoary locks of his hair, ren- 
 dering ihcm smooth and flat. Whether this op- 
 eration was well done or not, he could not as- 
 certain himself; for in those times a mirror had 
 been seen by iew. Aristotle had indeed given 
 a fragment of looking glass to Anasiasia; but 
 when the inmates of the Stone Palace looked 
 into it, and — defend us from the foul fiend! — 
 iiirning their faces toward it, they saw the Evil 
 < me rellocted in their vyes, and mocking at them, 
 iliey threw away the enchanted mirror, without 
 saying any thing about it to the foreigner. Hav- 
 ing arranged his hair, the old man put on asum- 
 iinT dress, and went inio a chamber which he 
 called his armory. This was an apartment of 
 iideralile size. Cin the walls, which were dec- 
 orated with glazed bricks, were suspended steel 
 
 caps of coarse workmanship; breastplates, some 
 inlaid with silver, and others common; iron 
 ones, stained with rust in bloody spots; kanji- 
 ars (a weapon of the sword or dagger species, 
 rather smaller than the former, and larger than 
 the latter), some of which, by their delicate carv- 
 ings in gold and other ornaments, were evident- 
 ly of Eastern origin; spears and pikes; the 
 shcsto-peor* the ensign of the rank of voev6da, 
 similar to the modern marshal's baton; and sev- 
 eral iron shields with square flutings. In the 
 angle of one corner hung the image of St George 
 the Victorious; at a short distance from the 
 wall v:ere two benches covered with draperj-^ of 
 cloth, and between them an oak table, exquis- 
 itely clean, with carved feel and drawers ; on 
 this stood the great mazer-cup, and the silver 
 measure, with the accompanying silver ladle. 
 Before the table, in the place of hoiwur, all re- 
 splendent with arabesques, was placed a mag- 
 nificent chair of honour, shaped like those arm- 
 chairs that fold up, the invention and master- 
 piece of some foreigner. 
 
 Obra-zetz filled up the measure with foaming 
 amber-mead, and had hardly drained it, when the 
 knock of a stranger resounded on the door-post 
 of the outer gate. The bark of the house-dog 
 was heard ; it was evident, from the master's 
 face, that the person who arrived was an ex- 
 pected guest. This was speedily proved ; two 
 visiters entered unannounced. One was an old 
 man of short stature, already beginning to bend 
 beneath the weight of years ; dark locks were 
 still mingled sparingly with his silver hair ; 
 from the top of nis head to ihe corner of his left 
 
 e3-e, was trenched a deep gash 
 
 but you have already recognized, I daresay, the 
 tale-teller and traveller, Aphanasii Nikitin.' Let 
 us only remark, that he now appeared ten years 
 younger than when we saw him in the prison of 
 Dmitrii Ivanovitch, thoi^h there was lo elapse 
 between this present period and that, a space of 
 more than twenty years. It is necessary to add, 
 that his face now bore recent traces of a tropical 
 sun, acquired during his late journey to India; 
 and that this .strong sunburnt brown tint gave 
 him, at the end of winter, an expression unu.sual 
 in a Russian. I know not whether I remarked 
 in my first tale about him, that goodness of 
 heart was painted vividly in his countenance. 
 The other visiter was a lad under fourteen, 
 handsome and lively. In his large blue eyes, 
 you might plainly see that intellect was always 
 awake in this favourite of Providence. He held 
 up his head with a kind of noble dignity and 
 self-reliance. The curls of his fair hair had re- 
 luctantly submitted to the scissors ; they were 
 cut round in the Russian fashion, but neverthe- 
 less they obstinately twined, and formed a sort 
 of coronal of ringlets on his head. Both the 
 old man and the ""boy wore the Russian habit; 
 but the clothes of ihe former were jioor, while 
 those of his young companion were of fine Ger- 
 man cloth, and trimmed with sable. Notwith- 
 standing this apparent inequality in their con- 
 dition, the latter yielded precedence to the fiu"- 
 mer, whenever he had an opportunity of show- 
 ing r espect. Both, on entering the ap a nment, 
 
 * Shexio-ptnr (liurallv, " six-fetttlipr")— n w<ni>oii, and 
 ot lh(i siini.i linio tho ensign of commiind, of llic voct_.Iii 
 iir coiirml, similar to tho mnrshiil's Imton of our days. 
 It r.spiiit.li-a the massc-d'arnips of tho thirteenth and four- 
 lociith centurii-s, l)cinff nn iron staff, with a. kuob at the 
 01.(1, armr.l with pronifs of iron. Many of those instru- 
 nioi.ts, s..mo richly piWed and iiiluid, arc preserved in Ihu 
 armory of Moscow. — T. B. S. 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 33 
 
 ^:nade three signs of the cross before the image, 
 pronouncing the words — "Lord, have mercy !" 
 and then bowing to the master of the house, 
 with the salutation— "God give you health!" 
 The elder stopped and left his staff near the 
 <loor. 
 
 " Welcome, Andri6usha !" said Vassilii Feo- 
 dorovitch, sealing himself with luxurious delib- 
 eration on his chair, which creaked under his 
 portly weight, and kissing the top of the boy's 
 head; then turning to the old man, he contin- 
 ued — "Right welcome, Aph6nia; sit down in 
 the best pface ; honour be given every where to 
 the tale-teller and traveller. Entertain us now 
 -with an account of the way they make war in 
 the Indies, o]loperv6diger." 
 
 In employing this barbarous word, Obrazetz 
 meant to jest with the tale-teller, who was fond 
 of introducing into his stories strange-sounding 
 phrases, which he called Hindostane. 
 
 "The veteran voevoda is like an old falcon, 
 which, though no longer able to fly after its prey, 
 y^et struggleth towards it, and flappeth its wings. 
 Be it related as thou wilt, boyarin ; thy words are 
 ■commandments. We will not throw thy bread 
 and sail into the dirt," replied the old man, seat- 
 ing himself cautiously on the bench ; " but I 
 must beware lest I dirty the cover, my lord; me- 
 Ihinks, 'tis tine cloth from over-sea." 
 
 " If thou dost, we will put on another; and we 
 have plenty. Now, how fareth thy father 1" ad- 
 ded Obrazetz, holding the boy between his knees, 
 and laying his hand on hi? shoulder. 
 
 " He is ever sad ; Ivan Vassilievitch will not 
 give him enough ground for the cathedral." 
 
 " I suppose, then, he would take in the whole 
 chyl" 
 
 "Nay, he who would build a temple to the 
 Creator of the World ought not to lack space," 
 replied the youth proudly. 
 
 " I love Andrei for his wise speech 1" cried the 
 boyarin with affection. " But it is of no use to 
 waste time in vain. Run to thy godmother, and 
 bring her hither, to hear the tales of the traveller 
 Aphanasii Nikitin." 
 
 And Andrei, the son of the architect Aristotle, 
 flew to fulfil the boyarin's bidding. From the 
 chamber, which for the present we shall call the 
 armoury, folding-doors of iron, capable of being 
 closed with a bolt, but now open, led to a dark 
 corridor, from whence a flight of steps, with a 
 balustrade, ascended to the apartment of Anas- 
 tasia. On the other side, from the boyarin's back 
 chambers in the right wing of the house, another 
 staircase wound up to the same room, and both 
 met in the well-warmed upper hall which divi- 
 ded Anastasia's chamber from her nurse's room. 
 
 Andrei, on reaching this antechamber, knock- 
 ed at a door covered with felt, and making his 
 voice as harsh and at the same lime as plaintive 
 as he could, sang — 
 
 " Little children frank and free, 
 Ope the gate now hastilie ; 
 'Tis your mother, come and see ' 
 Mother bringing milk for ye."* 
 
 An agreeable voice was heard from within — 
 "How thou scaredst me, little wolf .... what 
 wouldst thou 1" 
 
 The ambassador then explained the object of 
 his mission; the click of the latch was heard, 
 and Anaslasia appeared, carrying a little cush- 
 ion for working lace. Delight was painted on 
 
 * A verse of the Ru.ssian nursery-tale, answering to our 
 " Little Red Riding-hood." It is, of conrse, the wolfs re- 
 quest for admittance 
 
 c 
 
 her beautiful countenance. " Welcome, my 
 dove !" she said, kissing her godson on the fore- 
 head. He took the cushion from her, and both, 
 like a pair of birds, flew to the armoury'. " How 
 fareth it with thee, father 1" asked Anaslasia, 
 bowing low to the traveller, as she hastened to 
 place herself, with her work, close to him on the 
 bench. Her godson seated himself on a stool at; 
 the feel of Obrazetz. 
 
 "With the help of your prayers, we creep 
 along reasonably well at a fool's pace," replied 
 Aphanasii Nikitin; " and dost thou still roll, as 
 of old, my round pearl, in thy father's palm 1 
 Are ye sealed, lordings, and ready to hear once 
 more the wanderings of a sinful traveller over 
 three seas, blue and wavyl The first sea, keep 
 in mind, the sea of Derbend, or the Caspian 
 ocean ; second .sea, the Indian, or the ocean of 
 Hindostan ; the third, the Black Sea, the oceaa 
 of Stamboul." 
 
 These seas were the Tveritchanin's "cheval de 
 bataillc ; they served sometimes as a keynote, 
 sometimes as a prelude, to his tales. 
 
 " We are sealed," said Obrazetz ; and all was 
 attention. 
 
 How charmingly these four figures were 
 grouped! How noble was the aged man, free 
 from stormy passions, finishing the pilgrimage 
 of life ! You seemed to behold him in pure 
 white raiment, ready to appear before his heav- 
 enly judge. Obrazetz was the chief of the parly 
 in years, in grave majestic dignity, and patriarch- 
 al 'air. Crossing his arms upon his staff, he 
 covered them with his beard, downy as the soft 
 fleece of a lamb ; the glow of health, deepened 
 by the cup of strong mead, blushed through the 
 snow-while hair with which his cheeks were 
 thickly clothed; he listened with singular atten- 
 tion and delight to the story-teller. This pleas- 
 ure was painted on his face, and shone brightly 
 in his eyes; from time to lime a smile of good- 
 humoured mockery flitted across his lips, but 
 this was only the innocent offspring of irony 
 which was raised in his good heart by Aph6nia's 
 boasting (for very iew story-tellers, you know, 
 are free from this sin). Reclining his shoulders 
 against the back of his arm-chair, he shut his 
 eyes, and, laying his broad hairy hand upon An- 
 driousha's head, he softly, gently dallied with the 
 boy's flaxen locks. On his countenance the 
 gratification of curiosity was mingled with affec- 
 tionate tenderness: he was not dozing, but seem- 
 ed to be losing himself in sweet reveries. In the 
 old man's visions arose the dear never-firgolten 
 son, whom he almost fancied he was caressing. 
 When he opened his eyes, their white lashes 
 still bore traces of the touching society of his 
 unearthly guest; but when he remarked that the 
 tear betra3'ing the secret of his heart had disturb- 
 ed his companions, and made his daughter anx- 
 ious, the former expression of pleasure ag'ain 
 dawned on his face, and doubled the delighted 
 attention ol' the v/hole party. Picturesque, too, 
 was the story-teller — the Polyphemus — that won- 
 der amid the ignorance of his countrymen — driv- 
 en by the spirit of knowledge from the cradle of 
 the Volga to the source of the Ganges — from the 
 trader's shop under the wall of the Church of 
 the Saviour, to the temple where they bowed 
 down before the golden bull; and who knew not 
 that he had achieved an exploit which might 
 have given him a glorious name in a civilizod 
 country 1 He recounted his adventures, some- 
 times with the simplicity, sometimes with the 
 slyness, of a child : O, and he surely must be 
 
34 
 
 THE HERETIC. 
 
 among the number of those whom our Lord lov- 
 ed to ibndle ; and of whom he said, " hinder them 
 not to come unto me !" The daughter of Obra- 
 zetz, too, a young, lovely creature, who had ex- 
 cited a lieeiing of admiration in the artist, who 
 ■was learned in the beautiful — herself ignorant 
 the while that she was so fair, innocent, inexpe-. 
 rienced, yet full of life swelling to burst its 
 bounds. See how her hands, quitting the unfin- 
 ished llower, are lifted and held up in the atti- 
 tude of wonder! She is all attention; she ac- 
 companies the traveller step by step along the 
 banks of the Ganges; her face seems to burn 
 with the sun of India; her eyes, following her 
 imagination, appear to devour the distant space. 
 The boy, too, brought from the orange groves of 
 Ausonia, from the gondola rocking to the har- 
 monious love-song on the waves of the Adriatic, 
 to the snow-wreaths of Muscovy, to find there a 
 new country with new faith ancl customs, with 
 what pleasure does he abandon himself to the 
 caresses of Obrazetz — though they, he knows, 
 belong not to him ! With what attention he list- 
 ens to the traveller':? tale! No childish allure- 
 ment, no gift or play, so fascinating at his age, 
 could tear him i'rom the society of his elders. 
 Already, to a degree far beyond his years, did he 
 sympathize with all that is good, great, and glo- 
 rious ; like a young sif ed at the trumpet-note, he 
 seems ready to dash into the strife against injus- 
 tice and violence. How warm is this domestic 
 picture ! With what a chiaroscuro of household 
 happiness, of quiet, innocent habits, is it illumi- 
 nated ! It is like some patriarchal family light- 
 ed up by the lamp burning before the image of 
 the heavenly babe. 
 
 We have said that all was attention; but we 
 must explain how the following prelude intro- 
 duced the actual story : — 
 
 When his hearers were all seated, Aphanasii 
 Nikitin asked the daughter of Obrazetz whether 
 she remembered what he had formerly told her. 
 
 "God keep me from forgetting!" cried Anas- 
 tasia — " Thou recountest so well, grandfather, 
 that all seemed real before my eyes. If thou 
 w'li, I will repeat it again, in brief Thou de- 
 partedst from thy native city, Tver; from the 
 golden dome of our Holy Saviour, protected by 
 him — from the Great Prince Mikh;iil Borfsso- 
 vitch, and from the Archbishop Gennadius. 
 Then didst thou float down the Volga, and re- 
 ceivedst, at Kalii'izin, the benediction of the Ab- 
 bot Makilrii. At Nijiiii-N6vgorod thou await- 
 cdst the Tartar ambassador, who was returning 
 to his own land from our Great Prince Ivan with 
 falcons: there thou wert joined by certain of our 
 Russes, who were minded, like thee, to go tbrth 
 into distant lands, and with them thou descend- 
 est the rest of the Volga. On a certain river ye 
 were fallen upon by Tartars; and between you 
 and them arose a bloody skirmish ; and many of 
 your company laid their heads in the dust. Here 
 they gashed thee, poor man, on the forehead and 
 eye ! It is not in vain that I love not the.se Tar- 
 tars, even as though my heart boded ill from 
 them even to myself." 
 
 " To mc there is no nation more foul than the 
 Almaynes!" burst in the boyarin, who never 
 miseed an opportunity of expressing his haired 
 to them. 
 
 Anastasia continued — "The sea of Derb^nd, 
 thou saidst, grandfather, is bottomless. When 
 the mermaids are sporting in it, and combing 
 the waves with their silver combs, you fly over 
 it like a whitc-wing«d swan; but when they lie 
 
 at the bottom warily, and take hold of the ship, 
 then stand you still in one place, as though you 
 were chained there. Neither dost breeze blow 
 nor wave wash. By day the heaven blazeth 
 above thee, and the sea beneath thee; by night 
 the Lord stringeth the sky with stars, like golden 
 coins, and the mermaids strew the waters with 
 like stars; but when they are angered they begin 
 to rock the ship, and lift it up, up, up! so high, 
 that thou thinkest thou canst reach the stars, and 
 then plunge it to the bottom, and dash it to chips 
 against a rock, unless ye hasten to repeat, ' Lord, 
 have mercy upon us !' At the mere thought, my 
 heart sinketh within me: yet should I love to 
 glide over that sea, like a grey duck or a snow- 
 white swan." 
 
 "Ah! thou art my sweet-voiced swallow, my 
 fluttering bird!" interrupted the traveller; "I 
 could almost think thou hadst flown with me 
 over the sea. 'Tis true, much woe and sorrow 
 have I borne; I, a sinful servant of God. 'Tis 
 well said in the adage, Desire is stronger than 
 force. I was no bigger than Andrei A ristotle, ere 
 I had travelled all over the principality of Tver. 
 There, as soon as summer came, I went with 
 the pilgrims wherever they wandered, or joined 
 a train of waggons with merchandise; when I 
 grew up, there was no end to my projects: to go 
 far, far away, to the borders of the world — to be- 
 hold, with my own eyes, all that is done on God's 
 earth: what beasts, birds, men, live in different 
 countries — all this I longed to behold; even as 
 if— :-God forgive me ! — some spirit possessed me, 
 and commanded me to wander; and even now — 
 now that I am peacefully sitting in holy Russia, 
 in the white stone palace — safe and warm, on 
 cushions of cloth, with a boyarin, a giver of 
 bread and salt, (hospitable,) and drinking his 
 sweet mead — sh.iU I confess it, my gracious pa- 
 trons 1 — even now my heart yearns to wander 
 far away, o'er thrice nine lands, and thrice ten 
 distant kingdoms. I have been to the rising of 
 the sun, and now I am pining to behold his set- 
 ting: sickness hath prevented me But let 
 
 us return to my poor wanderings beyond three 
 seas — the blue, olloperv6diger, and the first 
 sea." .... 
 
 The impatient Anastasia interrupted his reci- 
 tal. " We remember, grandfather, we remem- 
 ber thou hast suffered much woe and sorrow: 
 those of thy company who had any thing to do 
 in Russia, returned to Russia; but he that had 
 nothing to draw him home, went whither his 
 eyes led him. Thou wentest to Bak6u, where 
 there blazeth out of the ground an inextinguish- 
 able fire — Lord, Lord, how wonderfully i.s thy 
 world made! And then thou passedst Easter- 
 day at Gourmfiuz, where the sun scorchelh a 
 man like boiling oil : at last thou didst arrive in 
 the chief city of the great Sultan of the Indies: 
 in that land there be apes, with the hands and 
 feet and wit of man; only ihey speak not as we 
 do: these apes live in the forest, and ihey have 
 an ape prince. If any man oflend them, they 
 complain to their prince: they fall upon a town, 
 pull down the houses, and kill the people. There 
 is also in that land the bird /wurloiick ; it flieth 
 at night, and crieth gouk, gouk, and when it 
 perchelh on a house, there a man will die. If 
 any man try to kill the bird, fire cometh out of 
 its mouth." 
 
 On a sudden, at these words, was heard touk, 
 touk, as if a bird was tapping with its beak, and 
 then the croak of a raven." The girl stopped 
 short in her tale j all except Andridusha looked 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 35 
 
 at each other and crossed themselves, ejacula- 
 ting — " The strength of the cross be with us ! O 
 Lord, save us from evil !" 
 
 The gay face of the boy, and his reputation 
 fbr tricks, soon dissipated their fear: when they 
 recovered themselves, Aphanasii Nikitin, cough- 
 ing, took up the tale where the boyarin's daugh- 
 ter had left off. " The land of Hindostan is right 
 populous and right glorious," he began .... 
 
 " Thou hast again wandered from the point of 
 how they make war in the Indies," interrupted 
 the voev6da, desirous that a relation of military 
 affairs should lead his mind away from the 
 gloomy impression produced by the cry of the 
 raven. 
 
 " In a moment, my good lord, I will bring ray 
 tale to that. Now, the first sea, the sea of Der- 
 bend" .... 
 
 "The Caspian ocean, olloperv6diger," broke 
 in Andri6usha, laughing. "We knew all that, 
 grandfather, long ago." 
 
 The voev6da shook his finger at the boy. 
 Anastasia reminded the traveller where he had 
 left off, and he continued as follows: 
 
 "The Soldan is carried in a golden litter: 
 above it is a velvet canopy with a golden top, 
 and over all blazeth a ruby as large as a hen's 
 egg. Before the Soldan are led about twenty 
 horses harnessed to golden sledges. Behind 
 him, three hundred men on horseback, five hun- 
 dred on foot, and trumpeters, and players on the 
 dulcimer, harpers and fifers, ten of each. But 
 when he rideth out for pleasure with his mother 
 and his wife, he hath with him ten thousand 
 horsemen and fifty thousand footmen, three hun- 
 dred elephants, caparisoned in gilded trappings, 
 with castles fixed thereon ; and in each castle 
 six raen-at-arms, with cannon and arquebuses. 
 On the great elephants ride twelve men, and on 
 each are two standards. To their tusks are tied 
 great swords, a quintal in weight, and to their 
 trunks great iron clubs. Between the ears of 
 the elephant sitteth a man-at-arms with an iron 
 crook to guide the elephant withal. Before him 
 go trumpeters and dancers by the hundred; and 
 three hundred common horses, harnessed to gold- 
 en sledges. Behind these are a hundred apes 
 and a hundred concubines. The Soldan him- 
 self is habited in a robe all covered with rubies, 
 a turban with a great diamond thereon ; in the 
 sunshine it dazzleth the eyeS, even as the light- 
 ning. He weareth a quiver adorned with ja- 
 cinths, and three swords all damasked with gold. 
 His saddle is of gold, and his stirrups of gold — 
 all is gold. Behind him goeth a royal elephant, 
 all trapped in brocade, and bearing 'in his mouth 
 an iron chain, to beat down horses and men who 
 approach too near the Soldan. In the Soldan's 
 palace there be seven gates, and at each gate 
 stand a hundred guards, and a hundred kafir 
 scribes; whosoever goeth in or goeth out, they 
 write him down. And his palace is right won- 
 derful, being all carved work and gold, and sculp- 
 tured even to the top, wonderful to be seen. 
 Their Bout-khans fTemples of Buddh) are with- 
 out doors, and look towards the east ; the Bout 
 is carved in black stone, right great, having a 
 tail spreading over him. He holdeth up "his 
 right hand, stretching it forth like OusUnian 
 (Justinian,) the Tsar of Tsargrad (Emperor of 
 Constantinople:) in his left hand he beareth a 
 spear, and there is no clothing on his body; his 
 visage and back are like those of an ape. Be- 
 fore the Bout standeth a bull, very huge, carved 
 of black stone, and ail gilded; "his horns are 
 
 bound with brass; around his neck hang three 
 hundred little bells, and the hoofs thereof are 
 shod with brass. They kiss his hoof, and scat- 
 ter flowers over him. Within the Bout-khaci 
 they ride on bulls. The Indians call the bull fa- 
 ther, and the cow mother. Their «/w7rtrt;:r (pros- 
 trations and prayers) are made toward theLast: 
 they lilt up both their hands, and place them on 
 the crown of their head, then they bow to the 
 earth, and prostrate themselves on the ground. 
 This is their worship. The Indians eat not any 
 manner of flesh; neither oxen, nor sheep, nor 
 fish, nor swine. AVhen they eat any thing,' they 
 hide themselves from heretics, lest any one 
 should look into their drinking-vessel or their 
 food; and, if a heretic looketh at any thing, they 
 will not use it for food. When they eat, they 
 cover themselves with a cloth, lest they be seen 
 of any man. When they sit down to meat, they 
 wash their hands and feet, and rinse their 
 mouths; and, if any man die among them, they 
 burn him, and sprinkle his ashes on the wa- 
 ter" .... 
 
 Long, long tales told the one-eyed traveller 
 about the manners and customs of the Hindoos, 
 and at last he came to the manner of making 
 war in the Indies. Then was heard suddenly 
 the sound of the iron ring which announced the 
 arrival of a stranger, breaking the thread of the 
 story. This was followed by the clatter of a 
 horse's hoofs, and immediately after by the bus- 
 tle of domestics in the court-yard and the hall. 
 Khabar-Simskoi rushed into the armory, and was 
 about to speak, but was interrupted by his fa- 
 ther — " Art thou preparing to turn heretic, Ivan, 
 that thou comest into a room without crossing 
 thy brow, or saluting the good people ! Would 
 a bow make thy head fall off?" 
 
 The son of Obrazatz blushed, and hastened to 
 make three signs of the cross before the image, 
 and a bow to the traveller and Andrei; then, 
 standing in a respectful attitude, he said — "The 
 matter calleth for haste .... Here is the deacoa 
 Borodatii from Ivan Vassilievitch." 
 
 " Since when hath hot-brain begun to fear the 
 Tsar's deacons 1 Hast thou been falling .into 
 some scrape 1" 
 
 " If I had, I would not bend for mercy even to 
 the Great Prince." 
 
 "With such thoughts as these, 'twill not be 
 long ere thou fallest under the axe." 
 
 "Then would I bow my head: 'twould only 
 be to my mother, the damp earth: but now evil 
 hath fallen, not on me, but on our house. The 
 deacon is come with an order from our lord, and 
 hath told me" .... 
 
 The boyiirin did not allow his son to finish ; 
 "Let him tell me himself. . . . 'tis clear, 'Long 
 beard, short wit.' Order the slaves to receive 
 the messenger of our lord, and go thyself to meet 
 him with honour." While the father and son 
 were talking, Anastasia, her godson, and the 
 tale-teller, had disappeared from the armoury. 
 The boyarin, having put on a better dress than 
 that in which he was, returned to receive the 
 deacon. The latter did not keep him waiting 
 long. First loomed into sight the gigantic beard, 
 and then the man humming-bird, introduced by 
 Khabiir himself with ceremonious respect. 
 
 " Our lord Great Prince, ruler of All Russia, 
 Ivan Vassilievitch," said, or to speak more prop- 
 erly, sang, through the nose, our little deacon — 
 "hath dispatched from his august presence me, 
 his unworthy slave, to announce to thee, boya- 
 rin, that there comelh hither from Almayne the 
 
36 
 
 THE HERETIC. 
 
 leech Antonj-— very skilful in llie cure of all dis- 
 eab«s: he is now but three days' journey from 
 Moscow; and therefore our mighty lord hath 
 vouchsafed that this leech, in case of any evil 
 hap .... from which may God .... may the an- 
 gels and archangels fan from him with their 
 wings, even as ... . whereupon the which" . . . 
 
 The orator was confused, and lost the thread 
 of his speech; but after a moment's reflection, he 
 continued, in a firm voice — " Our great lord had 
 vouchsafed that this Almayne leech, Antony, 
 should remain near his high person; and there- 
 fore he hath granted to thee, boyarin, of his 
 grace, to receive the Almayne into thy palace as 
 an inmate, and to choose the best chamber and 
 hall therein" . . . 
 
 You ought to have seen the expression of the 
 boyiirin's face on hearing this command. He 
 turned pale, his lips quivered. A German — a 
 foul German! a heretic ! aLatiner!* one of his 
 son's murderers! to dwell under his roof— to 
 profane the purity of his house! to shame his 
 old age ! . . . but what was lo be done 1 He 
 viust receive the abhorred inmate, even with 
 bread and salt — with compelled honour. Such 
 was the Great Prince's will. Obrazelz, had he 
 even been ignorant that Ivan Vassflievilch loved 
 10 bend whatever resisted him, and had never 
 found a spirit so iron as not to yield and fashion 
 itself at his pleasure, even then he would not 
 have dared to disobey. The name of the sov- 
 ereign, .second only to that of God, was respected 
 by him as in the olden times, according to the 
 precepts of his forefathers. 
 
 " I, and all of mine, are God's and the Tsar's," 
 replied the boyarin, restraining his feeling: 
 "choose in my poor house whatever chambers 
 please ye." 
 
 "Only not my sister's," cried Khabar; "the 
 man that looketh within it shall not live." 
 
 " Peace !" sternly exclaimed the boyarin : 
 " ' the egg leacheth not the fowl.' " Then, turn- 
 ing to the deacon, he added, "fulfill the order of 
 our good lord." 
 
 The selection was soon made — the choice had 
 been previously arranged by Roussallca. The 
 quarter towards the Kreml, containing the hall, 
 the armoury, and a corner chamber adjoining it, 
 ■was fixed ujA)n for the leech's lodging. After 
 this, custom required that the messenger of the 
 sovereign should be entertained. The cups be- 
 gan to go round; but this time the sweetmeats 
 tasted like physic to the boyarin. He could not 
 drown his mortification. The tiny deacon, who 
 assuredly was only fit to drink out of thimbles, 
 fell down, like a drowned fly, at the tenth gob- 
 let 
 
 HRest there, little creature, till a happy awak- 
 ing! 
 
 The voev6da departed to his own apartments, 
 (which we shall henceforward call the master's 
 quarter,) and left orders with his son lo put the 
 deacon to bed, and conduct him home with hon- 
 our when he should be sober again. Such was 
 then the law of hospitality, even if the guest were 
 worse than a Tariart in the eyes of his enlcr- 
 tainer. But the hot-brain, Khabar-- determined 
 otherwise. 
 
 "Wait!" he said, looking at th« dead-drunk 
 
 * Tti« auricnl Greek Chnrch lioUl in RTcat abliorrcnrr 
 the LbIiiik, or Uoman Calliolii-s— T. B. S. 
 
 t " \Vi)rsc llinii aXnrtnr," n proverbial expression of ills- 
 like, easily tramahlu to the hatn'J inspired by ihc Tartar 
 yoke. Thus tlie Frenolinien used to call his creditors, 
 "ses Anglais "—T B- S. 
 
 deacon : " Wait awhile, thou ill-omened raven ! 
 I will clip thy wings so that thou shall never fly 
 lo us again with thine evil tidings !" 
 
 And Khabar borrowed from his sister's nurse 
 some strong swaddling-bands and a sheet; wrap- 
 ped up the deacon, and swaddled him like a 
 baby. His gigantic beard was carefully combed, 
 and spread out in all its proud magnificence. 
 When this was done, the gentle, courteous, wiz- 
 zened phiz of the little man, seemed lo be lighted 
 up with a smile. No, that smile Khabar would 
 not have lost for the most precious gifts — to have 
 enjoyed it, he was willing to lie a whole month 
 in the Blacl: IzW,, (prison.) He took his baby 
 in his arms, and went out of the court-yard. 
 Hardly had they thrown eyes on the swaddled 
 up infant with the tremendous beard, when the 
 passengers before, behind — merchants, workmen 
 — all rushed towards him, and furmed a merrv 
 tumultuous procession. Shouting, giggling ha 
 ha's, filled the air — 'twas a real festival of Mo- 
 mus! The mob grew and grew, and at last 
 dammed up the street; those only who were tol- 
 erably near to the chief acter in the farce, could' 
 understand what they saw: but the further ofl" 
 any man was, the more extravagant were the re- 
 ports that reached him. One cried — "A child 
 hath been born with a beard a fathom long!" 
 another — " A bearded star hath fallen on the 
 earth!" a third— "They have found a monster, 
 a living head with a beard !" It would requrie a 
 volume to relate all the wonderful things they 
 saiil about the beard. The old people .sav/ in it 
 the end of the world, and the coming Antichrist ; 
 the young were delighted to laugh at something 
 that had never been seen before. They shoved 
 each other, they fought, they paid money, only 
 to' have a look at the beard. Then there min- 
 gled in the crowd the constables; their threats, 
 their sticks, even the name of the Great Prince 
 — all was useless. The huge procession went 
 on, further and further, and only slopped at the 
 deacon Borodatii's izba. The poor little man 
 had been able to become sober, but could not 
 come quite to himself on account of the noise 
 and rabblemenl which surrounded him, nor form 
 a distinct idea of what was being done with him. 
 For some time his servants refused lo let in their 
 master, and il was not till convinced by the 
 sound of his voice, and by his beard, that they 
 admitted him, and received him carefully in their 
 arms. 
 
 The report of this prank soon reached even 
 the Great Prince's palace. While the jest, ima- 
 gined by the audacious Khabar, was going for- 
 ward, what terror filled his father's house, as 
 soon as the news was spread that a German was 
 to live among its inmates ! Still further was 
 this terror increased, by stories which flowed in 
 on all sides about the dreaded stranger. Some 
 artirmed that he belonged lo the Jewish heresy : 
 others, that he was brought to Russia by a broth- 
 er Hebrew. Some added, that he was a sorcer- 
 er, who could give life or death by herbs and 
 dead men's bones; that he could predict mens 
 destiny wilh the blood of infants or a human 
 skull ;■ that he drew people lo him with a hook 
 made of the claws of the Evil One. What oth- 
 er horrors were not said about him? And his 
 face! that could not be human! Certainly, it 
 must be a horrid one with a beak, with owl's 
 ears ! What a person lo have in the house ! . . . 
 Evil days had fallen on Obrazttz and his family. 
 He seemed himself as though he had lost his 
 wife and son a second lime. Khabar raged and 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 37 
 
 stormed like a mountain torrent. Anastasia, 
 hearing the horrible stories — is sometimes trem- 
 bling like an aspen-leaf, and then weeps like a 
 fountain. She dares not even look forth out of 
 the sliding window of her bower. Why did Vas- 
 silii Feodorovitch build such a fine house? 
 Why did he build it so near the Great Prince's 
 palace ? 'Tis clear, this was a temptation of 
 the Evil One. He wanted, forsooth, to boast of 
 a nonsuch ! He had sinned in his pride .... 
 What would become of him, his son and daugh- 
 ter 1 Better for them had they never been born ! 
 .... And all this affliction arose from the bo- 
 yarin being about to receive a German in his 
 house ! 
 
 They, however, thought of every thing that 
 could prevent the infidel spirit from coming in 
 contact with the orthodox one. Again began 
 the holy-water sprinkling; again the incense- 
 burning to such a degree, that one could hardly 
 distinguish objects through its dim grey veil. 
 Again the praying with prostration to the earth, 
 for protection against the incursions of the fiend. 
 Then the copper cross was fixed on the lodging 
 of the expected stranger, with as much noise and 
 howling as if it were the last nail in a good 
 man's coffin. This was not enough : the unclean 
 mouth of a heretic, could it, should it touch the 
 vessels out of which ate true believers — good 
 Christians, who had been baptized ! Was it a 
 reasonable thing 1 They bought new pewter 
 vessels, ladles, bottles, drinking-cups — all that 
 was necessary for the German's table. These 
 ■were never to be carried into the orthodox quar- 
 ter: and at his departure were to be burned all 
 together. They divided the court-yard with a 
 lofty fence, and made separate doors into the 
 heretic's division. To wait upon the leech An- 
 tony, they selected a lad under twenty ; and for 
 their choice of him, in particular, there was an 
 important reason. He was without kith or kin 
 — an orphan. 
 
 This circumstance would rather have induced 
 our ancestors to take care of him. No, this was 
 not the reason why they chose him as the vic- 
 tim — as if to be devoured by the " Serpent of the 
 Mountains"* he was "half-christened;" (he 
 had never been known to possess any other 
 name.) At the moment of his baptism a terri- 
 ble storm had arisen ; and the holy mystery had 
 never been completed. This had been repeated 
 to him from his infancy. What religion he pro- 
 fessed he knew not himself, and therefore he 
 never went to church. It was as if he had been 
 purposely prepared to be the heretic's servant. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE ARRIVAL AND RECEPTION. 
 
 " It is not to be supposed that the roads in those days, (i. 
 e., in the fifteenth century,) resembled the present Chavs- 
 see from Moscow to Petersburg." — Polevoi — The Oath at 
 the Tomb of our Lord. 
 
 On the Smolensk road, about seven versts 
 from Moscow, several sledges were ploughing 
 their way through the snow-wreaths. These 
 vehicles were of great — nay, extreme length, 
 with hoods made of hoops covered with canvass, 
 similar to those carriages which the Jews still 
 employ in their journeys from Poland into Rus- 
 sia. The horses were tall, not of R ussian blood, 
 
 * A terrible dragon or serpent, in the Russian fairy tales, 
 whicli keeps watch over the " Living Water"— T- B. S. 
 
 and appeared still taller from the huge collars, 
 decorated with crescents, stars, and balls of cop- 
 per, with which they were equipped. Thesefor- 
 naments gave notice of their approach by the 
 tinkling sound of the metal. On the front seats 
 of the sledges sate the drivers — for the most part 
 Jews. It seems, as I have already said, that at 
 this epoch there was no gainful employment 
 which the sons of Judah did not adopt. They 
 wielded, with a master's hand, the whip or the 
 caduceus; they laboured, with equal dexterity, 
 with tongue or brain : the sword alone was re- 
 fused them. To Russia, in particular, notwith- 
 standing the hatred and detestation with which 
 they were regarded — to Pskofl^, N6vgorod, and 
 Moscow, thronged Hebrews, as cloth merchants, 
 izcoztchiks, (drivers of hired carriages,) inter- 
 preters, and agents. If they succeeded, they re- 
 turned home from Russia loaded with rich sa- 
 bles: If they failed — they left their heads here. 
 
 In the van of the procession, from between a 
 ragged foxskin cap and a greasy sheepsin gown 
 there projected, like a vane, a sharp-pointed, 
 beard, flutterfng in the wind, and covered with 
 the downy whiteness of frost. Eyes, grey as 
 those of the owl, gleaming from below brows 
 powdered with rime, seem to outrun the jaded 
 horses, and peer inquisitively afar. Arriving at 
 Poklonnaia Gora, the Hebrew jumped hastily 
 from his seat. In front of him a prospect of 
 some dozen versts was spread out, illuminated 
 by a splendid winter day. He strained his eyes, 
 then stretched them again, stopped his horses, 
 went up to the hood of the sledge, and knocked 
 upon it with his whip; saying, in a voice as tri- 
 umphant and full ot delight as if he were an- 
 nouncing the discovery of an unhabited island ia 
 a shoreless ocean : — " Kucke, kucke, geschwind, 
 herr! (look, look, make haste, sir!) There is 
 Moscow" .... 
 
 =' Moscow 1" .... asked some one from un- 
 der the hood, in a voice of equal delight, but 
 tremulous; and immediately was thrust out a 
 head covered with a fur cap: there looked out a 
 young man's face, handsome and ruddy with the * 
 frost. " Moscow V he repeated, lowering his 
 voice, "Where is itT' . . . . 
 
 " There, on the hill in the forest," replied the 
 Hebrew: but remarking that his fellow-travel- 
 ler's face assumed a strong expression of disap- 
 pointment, he added, in a perplexed tone — " Vhy, 
 you are hard topleash, master; you vished, per- 
 haps, for Jerusalem .... Vhy did you not live 
 in de time of Solomon den 1 But, perhaps, yoa 
 vanted Kroleflz, Lipetsk, or something more !" 
 " Ay, by thy description, honest Zakharia, 
 something like them," replied the young travel- 
 ler ironically ; and then he began to gaze intent- 
 ly on the distance. He was still looking for 
 Moscow, the capital of the Great Prince, with its 
 glittering palaces, its splendid temples with gild- 
 ed cupolas, gold-pointed spires piercing the heav- 
 ens; and he saw before him, scattered along the 
 snow-covered side of a hill, a disorderly crowd 
 of huts, half enclosed in a broken wall, half 
 stretching out beyond it. He saw all this embo- 
 somed in a black bristling forest, from which 
 here and there peeped out the low stone churches 
 of monasteries. The river, which added in sum- 
 mer-time so much beauty to the town, was now 
 locked up in ice, and could hardly be distin- 
 guished winding along its snowy banks. It is 
 true, Moscow was surrounded by numerous vil- 
 lages, outskirts, and suburbs ; separated from it 
 sometimes by fields, sometimes by woods, and 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 here and there connected by long lines of houses. 
 It is true, that had all these outskirts, suburbs, 
 and villages been united by the imagination of 
 the spectator into one whole, the city might well 
 have excited his astonishment by its enormous 
 size, as the future metropolis of Russia. But the 
 first impression was made; and to the eyes of 
 our travellers, Moscow was confined to that lim- 
 ited space which, to the present day, though in 
 the midst of the town, retains the name of the 
 citij. Perhaps at this moment Antony was think- 
 ing of the odorous atmosphere of Italy, its pal- 
 aces and temples, beneath the vault of a glowing 
 heaven, the tall jiyraiiiid-like poplars, and the 
 vine-tendrils of his native land — perhaps he was 
 thinking of Fioraventi's words: " H>: tluit entcr- 
 dh thai sate never shall return" — He was think- 
 ing of iiis mother's tears — and he mournfully 
 bent down his head. 
 
 From this reverie he was aroused by voices 
 shouting around him — " Moscow ! Moscow ! 
 fcJignor Antonio," and his sledge was encircled 
 by five or six men of various ages dressed in 
 winter habits. Schoolboys returning home for 
 the holidays, greet not with greater joy the spire 
 of their native village. 
 
 "But what a miserable hole of a town!" said 
 one of them. 
 
 "An encampment of savages!" cried another. 
 
 "Look! and their houses are buiJded like 
 tents," chimed in a third: "the first poor begin- 
 ning of architecture." 
 
 " We will set all that to rights. 'Tis not for 
 nothing that the}' have invited us hither. We 
 ■will build palaces, mansions, temples. We will 
 gird the town with a noble wall. We will raise, 
 fortifications; we will fill them with cannon. 
 Oh ! in a dozen years they shall not know Mos- 
 cow again" .... 
 
 " But what is our Fioraventi Aristotle about'? 
 for we see nought but piles of brick on the mount- 
 ain and below it." 
 
 " Fie is making ready for work" .... ex- 
 claimed one of the travellers, sarcastically twirl- 
 ing his mustache. 
 
 "He hath been thinking about it ten years; 
 in the eleventh he will make up his mind" . . . 
 
 " 'Tis because he worketh for eternity, not for 
 to-day," interrupted Antony with a generous an- 
 ger. " Which of you helped him to straighten 
 the Campanile of Cento? Ye stood gaping by 
 ■when he was moving Del Tempio la Magione."* 
 Grow up to his size first, and then measure your- 
 .selves with him. But now .... beware .... 
 Avith one glance of genius he will crush you." 
 
 "I love Antonio for that," cried one of the 
 crowd, a man of middle age, who had till now 
 preserved a contemptuous silence. " I love An- 
 tonio ! He is a true paladin, the defender of jus- 
 tice and honour .... Comrade, give me thy 
 hand !" lie added with feeling, stretching out his 
 own to Ehrenstein. " Tl)ou hast said a good word 
 for one who is a countryman of mine, and a 
 great artist." 
 
 Those who had commenced the boasting con- 
 versation were silent, abashed by their compan- 
 ion's words. Probably they dared not begin an 
 altercation, out of respect for his age or endow- 
 ments; and they bore Antony's reproach in si- 
 lence, because they Jnight some time or other 
 need his assistance: besides this, his chivalrous 
 soul, they knew, would submit to no hard lan- 
 guage, lie who hail given him his hand in sign 
 of friendship was the future builder of the Carved 
 
 * The Campauile of Sta Maria, m Uologna. 
 
 Palace.* The other travellers were masons, 
 stone-cutters, and founders in metal. 
 
 And so they began to approach Moscow. 
 
 The first disagreeable impression of disap- 
 
 Cointed expectation being past, Antony consoled 
 imself Was it for lifeless edifices that he had 
 come to a distant land? Was it curiosity that 
 had attracted him thither? No! It was love 
 for humanity, for science, for glory — it was this 
 that pointed out to him the road to Muscovy: a 
 weak man implored the aid of a strongerman — the 
 strongerflew at his call : " to whom much is given, 
 of him much will be required," said Christ him- 
 self The light enjoyed by him, it was his duty 
 to share with others as long as he owed any 
 thingjto humanity. It might be, great toils await- 
 ed him ; but without toil there can be no great 
 achievement. 
 
 His imagination, aroused by these consolatory 
 reflections, presented to him a panorama of Mos- 
 cow, arrayed in far less gloomy colours. He 
 brought thither the spring with all its enchanting 
 life. He bade the river flow once more between 
 its banks. He lighted up the outskirts with gar- 
 dens, and breathed perfumes over them. He 
 sent a breeze to play with airy fingers on the 
 strings of the dark pine forest, and drew from it 
 wild wondrous harmonies. He peopled the whole 
 with piety, innocence, love, and patriarchal sim- 
 plicity; and Moscow appeared before him reno- 
 vated by the, poetry of heart and imagination. 
 
 In this mood of mind the travellers arrived at 
 the village of Dorogomilova. The ragged boys 
 who were playing with snowballs in the streets, 
 greeted them with various shouts and cries. 
 They yelled out: "Jews! Dogs! They cruci- 
 fied Christ." — Others : " Tatare boyare, boyare 
 Tatare !"t 
 
 " What cry these boys?" enquired Antony of 
 his driver, who understood the Russian lan- 
 guage. 
 
 "Vhat cry dey ?" replied the Jew: "in de 
 Sherman tongue dat is — 'hail, dear shlran- 
 gers !' " 
 
 And immediately upon this the boys saluted 
 the dear strangers' with a volley of snowballs. 
 Then began to stream out of the houses, clotted, 
 tangled beards of various colours, sheepskin 
 caps, lapti,\ sheepskin coats all covered with 
 patches, horned headgears, and faces, the ex- 
 pression of which was far from favourable to the 
 travellers. It is true, now and then glanced out 
 a hazel eye from under the dark brow of a pret- 
 ty girl, able to lead a saint into temptation — a 
 smile on cherry lips, parted to show a row of 
 pearly teeth; there appeared, too, tall stalwart 
 young men, such as Napoleon would have been 
 enraptured to enrol in his legion : but even 
 among these, hatred of foreigners showed itself 
 in looks and insulting words. It was not to see 
 the travellers, however, that they came throng- 
 ing out of their houses : no, they were stream- 
 ing towards Moscow, as if to see some specta- 
 cle for which they feared to be too late. " Make 
 haste, accursed heretics!" they cried to the stran- 
 gers ; " at last the rulers have had the sense to 
 roast ye .... make haste, and there will be 
 room for vou too!" 
 
 The Hebrew augured ill from these threats: 
 
 * Aloviz. — Note of the Author. 
 
 t Kvcn in th« pre'sciit day, in the villnjres of the province 
 of Tver, the trnvellor is often greeted— ii rnlio, prolmbly, of 
 the fiiriiiPf sovpreigns of the country, the Tnrlars,— iVo<e of 
 the Author. 
 
 t Shoes of plaited birch-bark, still worn by the peasant*. 
 — T. B. S. 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 39 
 
 knowing, however, that to exhibit fear would be 
 to expose the whole party to imminent danger, 
 he answered in a steady voice — "Evil may 
 come to others, but good will be to us; we are 
 carrying church-builders- to the Great Prince." 
 
 '"Tis rarely done of Ivan Vassilievitch, our 
 lord: he perillelh his soul by consorting with 
 Jews and heretics !" cried one of the crowd. 
 
 "He pulleth down the church of the Most 
 Holy Mother of God, and in the place thereof 
 he buildeth palaces and houses for his boyarins, 
 and for his dog-whippers .... and maketh gar- 
 dens," added another. " 'Tis a curse on the 
 country, and nothing else." 
 
 "Ay, and a holy place, where stood the house 
 of the Lord, is now not even fenced in; and the 
 dogs — God keep us 1 — can run on it." 
 , " That is the cause of the fires in Moscow." 
 
 And the terrible apparitions in the heav- 
 ens." 
 
 Such was the language of the Russian people 
 at this epoch, discontented with innovations and 
 contact with foreigners. But they spoke thus 
 when they knew that their speech would not 
 reach the Great Prince, who loved not to be 
 crossed, or to have his doings found fault with. 
 They murmured behind his back; but in Mos- 
 cow itself the boyarins and people never dared 
 to give utterance to their dissatisfaction. Anto- 
 ny, who did not understand the speech of the in- 
 habitants of these suburbs, could only guess, by 
 the malignity expressed in their faces, by the fe- 
 rocious glances cast at the strangers, that here, 
 at least, dwelt none of the mild children of the 
 patriarchal age. 
 
 The road led through the forest which girded 
 the city. Wooden crosses in considerable num- 
 bers, sometimes by the roadside, sometimes in 
 the recesses of the wood, awakened in the trav- 
 ellers thoughts of Russian piety : thoughts which 
 would have given place to a feeling of terror, 
 had they known that these crosses marked the 
 burial-place of unfortunate persons M'ho had 
 perished by knife or halter. Not only in remote 
 ■times, but even down to the end of the eighteenth 
 century, the forests surrounding Moscow con- 
 cealed bands of robbers, and murders were not 
 un frequent. 
 
 The bridge over the river Moskva, built on 
 beams, quivered under the sledges of the travel- 
 lers, as if it had been elastic. Advancing a lit- 
 tle further, beyond the village of Tchortolino 
 (now the Pretchlstenka), they entered the sub- 
 urb of Zaneglinnye; but here nothing indicated 
 the capital of Muscovy. Miserable, poor huts 
 made of boards slightly nailed together, here 
 and there hovels hastily erected on the ashes of 
 a recent conflagration, churches and bell-towers 
 in great numbers, but afl of wood and very poor, 
 "with huge sheds round them, such as we see 
 even now in the villages of the steppes. The 
 people, too, generally dressed in naked sheep- 
 skin shovbas, uncovered with cloth,* the multi- 
 tudes of the halt, the lame, beggars, and idiots, 
 surrounding the churches, and'in the cross-roads 
 — all this was no very exhilarating prospect to 
 our travellers. 
 
 They had hardly reached the K6u to hk off ram- 
 part, which leads from the Straytenskii monas- 
 tery, along the river Moskva, beyond the Great 
 Street {Velikam Oiilitza), when they beheld a 
 
 * Shouba, a kind of lon^ fur-coat, with the hair inside : 
 the sh6iiba of ttie peasant is of sheepskin, and without any 
 covering of cloth. — T. B. S. 
 
 column of smoke ascending into the air, grow- 
 ing thicker and thicker as it was reinforced with 
 fresh wreaths of vapour, till at last it seemed a 
 gigantic pillar, decorated with the fantastical or- 
 naments of some order which never existed, and 
 appeared to support the sky. The artists, for 
 some moments, admired this strange phenome- 
 non, to which the ardent imagination of the 
 south gave a kind of creative existence, and ia 
 fancy represented it on paper. Antony, howev- 
 er, regarded it with a kind of melancholy pre- 
 sentiment, though agreeing with his companions 
 that a conflagration could not be the cause of 
 this phenomenon. 
 
 At their arrival in the Great Street, they were 
 met by a number of officers sent by the Great 
 Prince, with an interpreter, to congratulate the 
 travellers on their safe arrival, and to conduit 
 them to the houses prepared for them ; but, in- 
 stead of taking them along the Great Street, the 
 officers commanded the drivers to descend to 
 the river — alleging the impossibility of passing 
 through the street, which they said was choked 
 up with the ruins of houses in consequence of 
 the late fire. 
 
 Before they got down to the river, the travel- 
 lers had observed that the column of smoke 
 arose from a pile lighted on the stream itself. 
 Was it soiue festival — a relic of the times of 
 idolatry 1 Was it a dance round a fire 1 Per- 
 haps it was some inconsolable widow, who was 
 
 about to burn herself in the Indian fashion 
 
 The mob is shouting, laughing, clapping its 
 hands — is is clear some sport is preparing. 
 
 Close to the pile itself the sledges stopped; 
 the crowd rendering it impossible to pass fur- 
 ther. A strange spectacle awaited the new- 
 comers ! 
 
 The blazing pile was about fourteen feet iu 
 width. On the other side of the fire were heard 
 shouts of triumph and delight. A throng of peo- 
 ple were approaching it, dragging along some 
 large object. What could it be — a belli But 
 as soon as its two-legged team stepped aside, 
 the spectators beheld a cage, grated with thick 
 iron wire, and within it two men. One was a 
 youth, the other appeared aged. The despair in 
 their eyes — their prayers — the blazing pile— the 
 iron cage— the delight of the mob .... O, it 
 was doubtless an execution that was about to 
 take place! The cage was pushed along on. 
 rollers — right into the blazing pile ! The flame, 
 stifled for a moment by the heavy weight, belch- 
 ed forth volumes of smoke — the bottom of the 
 cage began to writhe, and soon crackled in the 
 heat. A groan was heard. The hearts of the 
 travellers were frozen with horror ; their hair 
 bristled on their heads. Antony and his com- 
 rades implored the officers to remove them from 
 this agonizing scene ; they were answered, that, 
 as an example to others, a punishment was be- 
 ing inflicted on villanous, godless traitors, Lith- 
 uanians, the Prince Ivan Loukomskii and his 
 interpreter Matiphas, who had attempted to poi- 
 son the Great Prince, the Lord of All Russia, 
 Ivan Vassilievitch. Antony began, through the 
 interpreter, to urge his request with warmth. 
 No answer was returned. 
 
 " By Almighty God," cried the sufferers, bow- 
 ing to the people; "by our God anc jnurs, we 
 swear — we are innocent ! O Lord ! thou seest 
 that we are guiltless; and thou knowest who 
 
 have accused us before the Great Prince 
 
 Mamon, Roussalka — ye shall answer in the oth- 
 er world! .... Unhappy strangers, why have 
 
40 
 
 THE HER'ETIC. 
 
 ye come hither 1 Beware .... In the name 
 of the Father, and of the Son, and" .... 
 
 The smoke enwrapped them in its volumes, 
 and stifled the words on the lips of the wretched 
 men. 
 
 " Ha, ha ! they bellow !" cried the spectators. 
 
 The bridge over the river Moskva, in sight of 
 which this horrid scene took place, was creak- 
 ing under the crowd. The balustrade yielded 
 and swayed beneath the pressure. In vain did 
 '.he old men and people of experience warn the 
 Ibolhardy spectators; the only reply was the 
 voice of Russian fatalism — ''We cannot die 
 twice, and once we must." And immediately 
 after this the balustrade crashed in sunder, and 
 carried with it dozens of people on the ice of the 
 Moskva. Many were fatally injured. 
 
 By this time the fire had begun to burst freely 
 forth from under the cage, and many branched 
 tongues of flame began to lick its sides. A fiery 
 fountain spouted from the bottom. Two dark 
 figures could be distinguished through the blaze. 
 They embraced each other .... fell .... and 
 in a short lime nothing remained of them but 
 ashes, which the wind bore into the bystanders' 
 eyes. The iron cage grew redhot — along its 
 crimson bars ran here and there bright sparks, 
 which snapped like fire-works. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE NEWSMONGER. 
 
 " Who art thou ? 
 — All tciences, all arts, this fertile brain adorn, sir ; 
 An universal genius I think that I was bom, sir. 
 I'm every where at home ; par tout, sir, I have been ; 
 My tongue can plump a purse that's sometimes rather lean ; 
 "Thougih times be often hard, I scramble as I can, 
 Sometimes, pcrchauce, a rogue, sometimes an honest man." 
 
 Khmaylnitzkoi. 
 
 " He is come ; he is come !" resounded through 
 the mansion of Obrazcf-5, and every living being 
 in it, excepting Khabar, pale, panting, trembling, 
 first uttered a sigh of terror, and then began to 
 bustle about. They tried to move — their leet 
 tottered ; they tried to give orders, or to trans- 
 mit them to one another — their lips produced 
 only an inarticulate sound. Recovering them- 
 selves at length, they opened the gate : What ! 
 not yet he — the terrific stranger ! It was the 
 servants of the Great Prince, with bread am/ sail 
 from Ivan Vassi'lievitch. They carried on dishes 
 pairs of fowls, geese, turkeys, pork, baked meats, 
 a keg of foreign wine, and — it is impossible to 
 give a list of all they brought, which .seemed 
 enough to feast at least a dozen. They also led 
 along a horse, richly caparisoned, a present to 
 the leech. At the h(?ad of this procession was 
 the boyarin Main6n, who had begged permission 
 to conduct it, as this duty would give him an 
 opportunity of oppressing the heart of Obrazetz 
 by his hateful presence. "When the voev6da 
 learned the arrival of his detested foe under his 
 roof, he gave orders to his domestics not to go 
 to meet the procession ; his son, in particular, 
 he had strongly forbidden to enter into any 
 ((uarrel with his enemy ; the rather, as Khabar 
 had lately been excused, under his father's re- 
 sponsibility, frutn an im|)risonment, incurred by 
 his pranks. The hissing sound, indicative of 
 the arrival of a sledge, was lieard at the gate; 
 the procession got in motion, and drew up in the 
 couit-yard in two lines, in orilcr to receive the 
 stranger. He leaped swiftly from the sledge, 
 
 I thanked Zacharias for driving him, and offered, 
 him money, but the Jew refused it, only sayin°': 
 " I pray thee remember, if thou hast need of any- 
 thing, I am ihy servant while I live." 
 
 Curiosity is so strong in human nature, that 
 it can conquer even fear: notwithstanding the 
 orders of the boyarin, all his servants rushed to 
 obtain a glance at the terrible stranger; one at 
 the gate, another through the crevices of the 
 wooden fence, another over it. Khabar, with, 
 his arms haughtily a-kimbo, gazed with stern 
 pride from the other gate. Now for the frightful 
 face with mouse's ears, winking owlish eyes 
 streaming with fiendish fire ! now for the beak J 
 They beheld a young man, tall, graceful, of no- 
 ble deportment, overflowing with fresh vigorous 
 life. In his blue eyes shone the light of good- 
 ness and benevolence through the moisture 
 called up by the recent spectacle of the execu- 
 tion : the lips, surmounted by a slight, soft 
 mustache, bore a good-humoured smile — one of 
 those smiles that it is impossible to feign, and. 
 which can only find their source in a heart 
 never troubled by impure passions. Health and 
 frost had united to tinge the cheeks with a light 
 rosy glow ; he took off" his cap, and his fair curls 
 streamed forth over his broad shoulders. He 
 addressed Mam6n in a few words of such Rus- 
 sian as he knew, and in his voice there was 
 something so charming, that even the evil spirit 
 which wandered through the boyiirin's heart,, 
 sank down to its abyss. This, then, was the 
 horrible stranger, who had alarmed Obrazetz 
 and his household! This, then, was he— after 
 all ! If this was the devil, the fiend must again 
 have put on his original heavenly form. All the 
 attendants, as they looked upon him, became 
 firmly convinced that he had bewitched their 
 eyes. 
 
 " Haste, Nastia !* look how handsome he 
 is!" cried Andri6usha to the voev6da's daugh- 
 ter, in whose room lie was, looking through the 
 sliding window, which he had drawn back. 
 " After this, believe stupid reports ! My father 
 says that he is my brother: oh, how I shall love 
 him ! Look, my dear^" 
 
 And the son o"f Aristotle, affirming and swear- 
 ing that he was not deceiving his godmother,, 
 drew her, trembling and pale, to the window. 
 Making the sign of the cross, with a fluttering 
 heart she ventured to look out — she could not 
 trust her eyes ; again she looked out ; confusion ! . 
 a kind of delighted disappointment, a kind of 
 sweet thrill running tiirough her blood, never 
 before experienced, fixed her for some moments 
 to the spot : but when Anastasia recovered her- 
 self from the.se impressions, she felt ashamed 
 and grieved that she had given way to them. 
 She already felt a kind of repentance. The 
 sorcerer has put on a mask, she thought, remem- 
 bering her father's words : from this moment 
 she became more frequently pensive. 
 
 At length the traveller succeeded in disembar- 
 rassing himself of the ceremony of reception ; . 
 having generously rewarded the servants of the 
 T.sar. His liberality forbade him to remain in 
 any one's debt, even though his circumstances 
 frequently opposed the dictates of his heart. He 
 was left alone, and shut himself up in his cham- 
 ber. Here he offered to the Creator the sacrifice 
 of a reasonable creature ; but even this was 
 
 * xYd-t/in— the diminulivo of Anostasiii : NAstonka, th» 
 same. Russian caressing names KcniTallf end in sia, sha, 
 6ushn, or6uBhka-as VAsia, (for Ivan ;) Aiulriiiusha, (An- 
 drei;). Varpholomtoushka, (Bartholomew.)— T. B. S. 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 41 
 
 turned to his disadvantage. They gossiped that 
 he was imploring the Evil Spirit tp release him 
 from the holy influences of his new habitation. 
 
 He cast a glance round the rooms ; one (the 
 corner one") had windows towards the street and 
 the wall ol the Kreml. Tlie other, formerly the 
 armory, looked into the court-yard. His new- 
 abode seemed convenient and agreeable enough. 
 
 In a few moments some one knocked at the 
 door, and announced himself as Bartholomew, 
 interpreter to the great Lord and Tsesar, Ivaan 
 Vassilievitch, to report the execution of a com- 
 mission he had received from Antony. The 
 doors were opened to him. 
 
 There entered a man ol forty, or rather more ; 
 as in Borodatii's case it was the beard that had 
 the pre-eminence, in this man it was the nose — 
 a wonder of a nose ! It was narrow at the 
 bridge, but spread out towards the nostrils like a 
 funnel, and was speckled all over with purple 
 pimples. His little lips, aifectedly pinched and 
 protruded forwards, wore the expression of pre- 
 paring to play on the flute ; they appeared, under 
 the hair of the chestnut beard and mustache — 
 They appeared — the deuse take it! I have lost 
 the comparison ; it has slipped from my memory 
 into an abyss — 'tis gone, and I cannot catch it 
 again. Ladies and gentlemen, you must make 
 a new one for yourselves. The interpreter's 
 little eyes expressed any thing but indifference 
 to the feminine sex ; and, but for the forty 
 years, and something more, for the frequent 
 pranks and visits to the cellar, which had deco- 
 rated his forehead with divers significant hiero- 
 glyphics, and left bald patches on his pate— but 
 for the pimples on his nose, and but for one of 
 his legs', which loved subordination, and always 
 waited till the other stepped out — but for all 
 these little circumstances, I say, you would have 
 thought Master Interpreter a very charming 
 man. At least he considered himself as such. 
 This confidence in his own personal endow- 
 ments he used to support by tales of his achieve- 
 ments. At Lipetsk, he said, a certain maiden 
 had drowned herself for love of him ; and then 
 there was the wife of the master of a printing- 
 house — a beauty in the full sense of the word — 
 ■with whom he was on the point of running 
 away, like the bull with Europa. They were 
 pursued and separated. The husbands of the 
 whole town had united in a conspiracy, and 
 threatened his life : in consequence of this, t»dded 
 Bartholomew, he had been compelled to pass 
 the Rubicon, and to fly to Moscow. Here he 
 learned the Russian language, and began to 
 perform the duties of translator of German pa- 
 pers, aud interpreter of German conferences. 
 
 Throwing open the skirts of a lynx-skin shou- 
 ha, Bartholomew exhibited his robe of reddish- 
 yellow daaiask with gilded buttons. It is true 
 his leg obstinately persisted in its trick of stum- 
 bling, but he soon conquered it, put himself into 
 a majestic attitude, and informed Antony that 
 Aristotle was not a home. At the invitation of 
 his host he seated himself on a bench. As a 
 juggler spins IVom his mouth hundreds of yards 
 of coloured riband, so he began to spin out, 
 with no interruption, his motley tales. 
 
 " Make use of me entirely," he said. " You 
 have so enchanted me, in a moment, as I may 
 say, that I — I — now, truly, had I been a womaii, 
 I should have been over head and ears in love 
 with you. I am sure you would not have been 
 cruel. For — see now, prithee — there is a kind 
 of indescribable sympathy between us — is it 
 not so T' 
 
 " O, exactly so !" replied Antony, smiling. 
 
 " In consequence of this feeling — use mc as 
 you will. If you want any thing of the Great 
 Prince, one word — but one word. O, the Great 
 Prince is most gracious to mel Here, for in- 
 stance, be so good as to look at this shouba — " 
 
 " I sea." 
 
 "And what a sh6uba it is! You are a 
 foreigner ; 3'ou assuredly do not know the price 
 of these things. This is lynx. — lynx, most 
 honourable sir — very little inferior to sable; 
 and sable the Roman Caesar himself values as a 
 most precious gift. It can only be compared to 
 the soft glossy locks of a woman. And this 
 silken stuff which covers it is soft, warm, elas- 
 tic as woman's darling little knee. And theso 
 buttons ! Is it not true they glitter like her 
 bright eyes 1 All this is the gift of the Great 
 Prince for my poor services. What a great man 
 that is ! If you knew what a master he is — how- 
 many new ranks he has created I — ranks that 
 never existed before. And he has ranged each., 
 in its place. I will tell you, (here he began to ■ 
 count on his fingers.) First, boyarin ; second,, 
 voevoda ; third, okolnitchii ;* grand dvoretzkoi 
 (remark, there are also deputies,) translator, and 
 so forth ; treasurer, seal-bearer, deacon, officer 
 of the bed-chamber, of the wardrobe, falconer, 
 equerry, huntsman, steward, officer of the tent, 
 and a vast number of other ranks. You will 
 certainly obtain one of the first." 
 
 " You do me honour ! Not, however. I hope, . 
 that of officer of the bed-chamber." 
 
 " And what pay all these get from the treasu- 
 ry ! We eat our bellyful, drink as much naead 
 as we can, amuse ourselves just as we like; we' 
 are as happy as the day is long; a noble master!. 
 'Tis a pity, though, that he should stick to his 
 wife alone. Ah, what a garland of beauties I 
 would have culled him ! (He applied three fin- 
 gers to his lips, with a smack, as if they tasted 
 very sweet.) 'Tis true I came to Muscovy be- 
 cause I expected to find the East here .... a real 
 East ! You understand me 1" 
 
 " And you were probably mistaken T' inter- 
 rupted Antony, blushing like a young maiden. 
 " I have heard that they shut up the women here,, 
 and that there are no conquests for a man, what- 
 ever be his powers of fascination." 
 
 "Oh do not think that!" exclaimed the trans- 
 lator with a conceited smile. " Hem ! we have 
 had opportunities .... But one must be discreet 
 in these affairs. The customs themselves are 
 not so rigid as they say abroad. In the first 
 place, at the feasts, the hostess, at the command 
 of her husband, always regales the guests. She 
 is obliged to kiss them. Then glances are in- 
 toxicating. Mead strong, husband absent in 
 another city for business, war, or commerce — 
 not only a Paris, but such as I, simple as I stand 
 here, raise violent flames in ladies' hearts. A 
 woman, you know, is always a woman. The 
 secrecy of love is but an additional charm to 
 her" .... 
 
 " But the maidens of this country — they surely 
 have no opportunity of meeting men 1" 
 
 "Not openly; but they can always find means 
 for secret interviews. They go to dance the 
 roundt in the gardens ; there be fences in the 
 gardens ; in the fences there be chinks, through 
 which one may converse, and even snatch a kiss. 
 
 * Okolnitchii, the second rank of nobles in ancient Rus- 
 sia.— T. B. S. 
 
 t Khorovodui, a kind of game (from the Greek x6poi,\ 
 consisting of dancing in a ring, and singing. — T. B. S. 
 
42 
 
 THE HERETIC. 
 
 A speechless converse from a chamber-window 
 — a good-natured nurse — a porter devoted to 
 your interest— a quiet house-dog — and the very 
 wicket itself stills its creaking as if to aid love. 
 Among us — that is, among you in Germany — 
 the castles are stronger than the bowers in this 
 country, and the guards are more faith'ful than 
 the servants here ; and yet even there Copid 
 plays his tricks. Trust me, most honourable sir, 
 his empire is ever strongest where they keep the 
 women under bolt and bar. The Russian songs 
 prove this belter than any thing else. 1 must tell 
 you that I am collecting them, and have already 
 written a whole volume of preface to them. I 
 must confess, by the way, that in reading it over, 
 I was astonished how I could write so finely; 
 and I could have wept delight over my offspring. 
 But I was speaking of the songs. You will 
 chiefly find in them — now, bad neighbours who 
 remark the lovers' secret interviews, and tell the 
 father and mother; in another song, the wife 
 wishes 10 (id rid cf her old husband; in another, 
 she complains of infidelity ; in a third, she leaves 
 father and mother for some young scapegrace ; 
 every where you find woman's love ready for all 
 sacrifices — every where the jollity and bravery 
 of man. Do you require living examples V 
 
 " O, you have given me examples enough !" 
 
 "Nay, allow me; I will but hint You 
 
 see, we too are enlightened — we know a secret 
 or so ... . Yonder, not far off", lives the widow 
 Selinova.* You see the next house, at the bend 
 of the Konstantino-YeIon6ffskaia street. The 
 little widow is mad with love for the son of vour 
 liost." 
 
 "What, that tall, proud-looking youth, who 
 was standing at the otiier gate of my entertainer's 
 house?" 
 
 " Ye.s, that handsome young man — at least, I 
 should call him handsome, if his height did not 
 spoil him." 
 
 Antony smiled ; but fearing to offend his com- 
 panion, he became as attentive as before. The 
 interpreter continued — " If discretion did not 
 command me to lay my finger on my lips, I 
 could give you much information about the 
 pranks of this place. We know a thing or two 
 .... We have admission to the boyarins' 
 liouses: we see their wives and daughters: but 
 first I must beg you to remark, that before you 
 can expect favours from either the one or "the 
 other, you must go over to their religion." 
 
 " In that case I shall never enjoy their good- 
 will," said Ehrenstein. "Flow did you" .... 
 
 " I confess I took the Greek faith here. This 
 is an indispensable condition, if you wish the 
 Russians to love you. If you do not give way 
 in this you will be called a heretic, a Latiner, a 
 heathen, though yon be the best Christian in the 
 world. Thev will fly from you, abhor you, just 
 as in India they do the Pariahs. Where India 
 is, I wish I may die if I can inform you ; but the 
 Russian traveller, Aph;'inasii Nikftin, hath told 
 me all about it. I shall have the honour to pre- 
 sent him to you. Tiiere, you must know, there 
 are a class of people called Pariahs, who from 
 generation to generation are despised, insulted, 
 and persecuted by all, so that it is a pollution 
 even to touch them. They avoid them as if they 
 were lepers. Now, here foreigners are just the 
 same. Nothing but the all-powerful protection 
 
 * RimsJnn surnmtios am dorlinod an snlwtiiiitiveii ; hem-.o 
 the snrnc family namo, when hitriw liy ii man, has a mascu- 
 tinp ; mill !))• a wuman, a rnmiiiinr t<Tniiimtion. Thus, 
 Scllnova, the wife of SeHnoff.— T. B. S. 
 
 of the Great Prince preserves them from danger. 
 On the other hand, foreigners who adopt our 
 faith, are held in great honour and aflTection by 
 the Russians." 
 
 Antony was about to interrupt him, by asking 
 more detailed information respecting the condi- 
 ' tion of foreigners in Russia ; but the printer 
 j would not stop, and went on printing his gossip 
 I at the rate of a steam-press—" But I have di- 
 gressed, methinks, from my subject: let us re- 
 turn to the pretty women. Thi^, I confess, is 
 ray weak point, my heel of Achilles. I was 
 talking of the widow Selinova: her friend, her 
 lover— call it as you will— is not over faithful to 
 her. The rogue has lately made acquaintance 
 with — whom do you think 1 .... with the 
 Greek girl Haidee'; and Haidee— who is she, 
 think ye"? Neither more nor less that the mis- 
 tress of Andreas Paloeologos, the Greek Emperor 
 and despot of the Morea — the Great Prince's 
 brother-in-law. You see into whose nest the 
 young Russian has crept ! . . . . Here, you 
 may think a man must often feel whether his 
 head is on his shoulders. I must tell you, by 
 the way, that the Russians ever like to wade in 
 the deepest waters. We Germans are still cal- 
 culating and considering how to leap over a 
 ditch, when the Russian is either on the other 
 side, or has broken his neck. Haidee, as I was 
 saying, is a Greek; but I did not tell you how- 
 handsome she is. Where the dense are such 
 beauties born? (Bartholomew's eyes glistened 
 and danced even more than usual.) You would 
 think — God forgive me! — that the devil had cast 
 her in some diabolical mould or other, and in- 
 fused in her black eyes some of his own infernal 
 flames. She torments your very soul, and fol- 
 lows 3-ou in your very dreams. Beautiful! a 
 wonder of beauty ! But I know a Muscovite 
 girl prettier even than Haidee; worth ten of the 
 Greek. And where do you think she dwells? 
 Here, in this very house-^in the bower over your 
 head. She is the daughter of your host — why, 
 most illustrious sir, she has stars instead of eyes ! 
 — cheeks like the glowing dawn, and lips .... 
 lips" — (here the speaker stopped short, snapped 
 his fingers, seized his funnel of a nose; but could 
 find no fit comparison for the maiden's lip^-, 
 waved his hand, and went on with his descrip- 
 tion.) " Her dark-brown silken tresses are lux- 
 uriant enough, I swear, to chain you; and her 
 little feet — they are a mere mouthful. Hark! 
 do you hear them ? tuk, tuk, they go, above you 
 there .... there she is, touching the floor with 
 her little feet .... Hark! how enchanting!" 
 
 With a deep sigh Bartholomew sent up a kiss 
 towards the ceiling from his projecting lips. 
 
 "Bui how is she named?" enquired Antony, 
 with a smile. 
 
 " Anastasia — if you want any thing tend6#er, 
 Nfistenka." 
 
 " What, and have you made a conquest here, 
 too?" 
 
 " O, 'twould be a sacrilege to think of such a 
 
 thing! She is as far above me as the sun. No 
 
 tongue can wag to say any thing evil of her. She 
 
 I is as proud and haughty as a queen. The heart 
 
 ' of Iv;in the Young, destined her a share of his 
 
 throne: but fate willed otherwise." 
 
 j The door opened, and the appearance of a new 
 
 face interrupted the talk of the Cyiherean tale- 
 
 ' teller, whose go.ssip was not without interest to 
 
 I Ehrenstein. " Fioravenii Ar\siol]e himself!" said 
 
 the interpreter, hastily rising from his seat. 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 ,43 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE ARTIST. 
 
 "They were poets, and their fictions were so sublime, 
 that they fell down trembling before their own creations." 
 — N. Nadejdin. 
 
 " Antonio, dear Antonio ! adopted son of my 
 brother, what gods have brought thee hither?" 
 cried the artist, embracing the traveller. 
 
 This was a tall man of middle age, whose 
 black flowing locks were already tinged with 
 hoar: on the lofty forehead, that throne of intel- 
 lect, might he seen a deep hollow — the trace left 
 by the finger of God when it rested, in the middle 
 of his creative thought, on the brow of his anointed. 
 Goodness shone forth in every feature — " Hadst 
 thou a good journey, art thou well, contented 
 with thy abode 1 dost thou need anything 1" 
 These questions, one crowding on the other, 
 were the outpouring of an ardent and loving 
 soul ; and they rushed forth so rapidly, that An- 
 tony could not find time to answer them — " How 
 many years it is since 1 saw thee! thou wert 
 not much taller than my .... Andrea," he add- 
 ed, turning to his son, who hitherto had been 
 standing in silence at the door, remarking with 
 delight, and an enthusiasm above his years, the 
 pleasing scene of his father's interview with the 
 stranger; his blue, intellectual eyes sparkled 
 with the indescribable sympathy which attract- 
 ed him towards Ehrenstein — "Andrea," contin- 
 ued the artist, " why standest thou as if thou wert 
 nailed there 1 Why dost thou not embrace our 
 Antonio 1 He, too, is my son ; thou wilt be his 
 younger brother." 
 
 And the boy threw himself, with no childish 
 feelings, into the arms of him who had been 
 named his brother : Antony received him in his 
 embrace, and kissed his forehead — " Thou wilt 
 love me, dear Andrea, wilt thou notl" 
 
 " I love thee already, Antonio." 
 
 In the mean time Aristotle gave a hint to Bar- 
 tholomew (who was of inferior rank to himself) 
 to leave them to themselves; the presence of a 
 stranger seemed like a sacrilege and obstacle to 
 their union. This hint was obeyed without hesi- 
 tation, and with such rapidity and address, that 
 Ehrenstein did not remark how he had slipped 
 out. On this occasion the interpreter's short leg, 
 •which usually beat crotchets, executed semi- 
 quavers, as though afraid of delaying its master. 
 
 " Here is a letter from my second father," said 
 Antony, delivering it to the architect; "in the 
 rapture of your affectionate caresses, I had al- 
 most forgotten to give it to you." 
 
 The letter was as follows—" Herewith is the 
 son of my heart. Replace me for Antonio, mv 
 dear brother. I should have simply said — I send 
 him to thee without preface ; but so strange is 
 his position in the world, his e.xistence is so ex- 
 traordinary, that I ought, in placing him under 
 thy wing, to explain what I desire thee to do on 
 this occasion. The child of fate— an ardent 
 dreamer, too, like thyself— in a remote and un- 
 civilized country, the very name of which hath 
 but lately reached us ; by these rights he, more 
 than others, may claim thine aid "and powerful 
 protection. Thou lovest me ; thou hast a strong 
 sympathy with all that is noble, and assuredly 
 thou wilt love my Antonio. I will not praise 
 his intellect : I formed it myself I will not praise 
 to thee the elevation of his mind: thou thvself 
 wilt perceive it. His heart is pure: guard, O 
 my brother ! that shrine, in which the angels may 
 aoirror themselves. I fear only one thing— his 
 
 soul is so inflamed with dreams of sublimity and 
 virtue, that he forgetteth to take care of his own 
 interest, and the advantages of life. Is it for me 
 to say to thee, try to cool his vehement ardour— 
 to thee, who art thyself so ardent with all the en- 
 thusiastic projects of youth? Remember, my 
 dear brother, that my revenge hath robbed him 
 of illustrious birth, of rank, of wealth. God only 
 knoweth what I have taken Irom him, and what 
 I have given him in exchange ; and make up for 
 him the loss by thy love, which is very, very dear 
 to Antonio — dearer than thou canst imagine. 
 " Here is the key to this enigma: — 
 " When I took away Antonio, then an infant 
 of a year old, my triumph was the triumph of 
 the tiger which hath seized his victim from 
 among the band of hunters who are chasing him. 
 I swore I would make my ward a leech, and then 
 proclaim him as the Baron Ehrenstein. Till I 
 had fulfilled my vow, every thing seemed to con- 
 spire to aid its execution; my heart overflowing 
 with revenge, the love of the mother, the cold- 
 ness of the father. But when my Antonio be- 
 came, in theory and practice, a physician, my 
 heart, vanquished by the noble qualities of his 
 mind, by my love for him, rejected the thought 
 of a public revenge, such as I had determined 
 to brand the proud baron withal. ' Who gave 
 thee the right,' cried a secret voice, 'to punish 
 the innocent for the guilty 1 is it for thee to do 
 this, O mani With what price, with what la- 
 bour, didst thou buy this being 1 The father 
 might, perhaps, belong to thee by the right of 
 vengeance; but what hath the son ever done to 
 thee 1 Dost thou mean to create a destiny of thine 
 own? .... Yielding to this secret voice, I 
 confined my vengeance to writing to the baron. 
 'Your son is a leech. Would you have him 
 with you T I sent my letter by a trusty messen- 
 ger, and— I confess to thee— I trembled lest the 
 baron should come to reason, lest conscience 
 and nature should speak stronger than pride; 
 and .... lest he should take my Antonio from 
 me, lest he should destroy all the happiness of 
 the boy's life. O, then he would have repaid 
 me vengeance for vengeance ! But I was soon 
 restored to tranquility. I found a being, created 
 in the likeness and by the will of God, and bear- 
 ing the name of Christian, who .... wouldst 
 thou believe it "? . . . . my tongue cannot force 
 itself to utter .... I found a father who re- 
 nounced his child ! And he renounced him, 
 why 1 Because this son — though he might cease 
 to be a leech, yet had been one. We beheld the 
 baron in every thing .... I think I see him 
 now .... I see that miserable lordling, kneel- 
 ing before me, weeping and imploring me not to 
 take away his son, a year-old morsel of baronial 
 flesh. Heartless wretch ! . . . . In his place I 
 would have fulfilled the oath I had made to the 
 Italian physician ; but I would have given up 
 my son dead, or to the dead ! Now, when this 
 son's mind is enlightened by religion and science, 
 when he is made, in fact, better than he could 
 have become in his father's house, amidst the 
 servility of menials and the pride of a father — 
 now I offer him this treasure, a treasure of which 
 a prince of the empire might well be proud — and 
 the baron orders me to be informed, through a 
 trusty servant, that he has no son. This, he adds, 
 is notorious to the emperor, the court, the clergy, 
 and — if it become necessary to countervail my 
 calumny — he relies on their protection. As a 
 cruel proof that he deprives Antonio of all rights 
 on his heartj his name, his family rank, he has 
 
44 
 
 THE HERETIC. 
 
 adopted Poppel, the son of his deceased sister; 
 he wai brought up in his house, along with his 
 second son Ferdinand. The Emperor, pitying 
 him for having no children, has seconded his 
 wishes and confirmed his choice. As a sign of 
 his favour, he hath raised the adopted son to the 
 rank of knight. Thus the baron hath bound him- 
 self, even for the future. It is impossible for him 
 to retract, after the emperor hath given his word. 
 ' If ever I attempt,' he comraandeth them to tell 
 me, 'to make known that he has a son a physi- 
 oian, he will take measures to shut up that .son 
 in some place, where the prisoner assuredly will 
 never more be heard of 
 
 " The time has been, when, strong in body and 
 mind, I would have resisted the proud baron and 
 unfeeling father; but now I am on the brink of 
 the grave — revenge hath yielded to attachment 
 for my pupil. Assured also that Antonio, if in- 
 formed of nis birth, would not desire to be unwil- 
 lingly recognised as a son and heir, I even rejoice 
 that I have, by this trial of the father, cleared my 
 own conscience, fulfilled the wishes of the moth- 
 er, and obtained, as it were, my Antonio a sec- 
 ond time. We all return to the circle of our for- 
 mer hopes, duties, and intentions. 
 
 "We were still discussing our future plans, 
 when I received from thee a letter begging me to 
 find thee a physician lor the court of Muscovy. 
 When informed of the contents of this letter, An- 
 tonio offered himseli', with enthusiasm, for the 
 proposed employment. Having other views for 
 him, however, 1 at first gave him a decided re 
 fusal: but I received an answer from the baron 
 and after that an anonymous letter, informing 
 me, that unless my pupil's name were changed, 
 he might expect imprisonment. To induce An- 
 tonio to consent to a change of name, I could nev- 
 er hope, from the innate pride and firmness of 
 his character; and I thought it, too, unworthy 
 both of himself and me, to so much as propose 
 such a thing. The baron's death might still un- 
 do the knot of destiny; in the mean time the 
 thought that a monastery, a prison, a dungeon 
 might be my ward's lot, terrified me. Thou 
 knowest how easily this may be done in Italy in 
 our times, when lives, even more important, are 
 bought for a piece of gold. Besides, I had re- 
 ceived from credible persons information of the 
 designs menacing Antonio's liberty. This dan- 
 ger changed all my plans ; I gave him my bles- 
 sing, and he set out on his distant journey. Age, 
 feebleness, the weight of my sins, have made lue 
 so weak, I love him so much, that I am ready to 
 consent even to part with him for ever, if by so'do- 
 ing I can secure him so good a position as thou 
 promiscst in Muscovy. At the first letter I re- 
 ceive from thcc, and with Antonio's consent, I 
 intend to send thither all I possess, and end my 
 days in a monastery. Already half my life hath 
 been one heavy, dreadful sin — revenge. It is 
 time to think of eternity. 
 
 "How happy is Antonio in his dreams! A 
 child of destiny, he is unconscious of how much 
 is done for him— of how we labour for him. He 
 knoweth nothing of his father's rank and wealth, 
 or that that monster hath renounced him. Hap- 
 py ignorance ! Long may he remain in it ! He 
 dwells ia paradise— he hath not eaten the for- 
 l)idden fruit. It is our duly to keep him in this 
 delightful enchantment. 
 
 " This, then, my beloved brother, is the cause 
 wherefore I .send ihee the son of my heart; con- 
 fiding to ihee, with him, liis hopes, his perils, 
 and his fate. Remember I am his debtor in 
 every thing, body and soul, here and hereafter." 
 
 While Aristotle was reading his brother's let- 
 ter, the young physician was conversing at the 
 table with Andri6usha, encircling with one arm 
 the boy's slender, graceful form. Notwithstand- 
 ing the diflference of age, there established itself 
 between them from that moment, a strong and 
 solid Iriendship. 
 
 " Come, both of ye, my children, come to my 
 heart !" said the architect, with tears in his eyes, 
 when he had read through the letter; pressing 
 both of them to his bosom. 
 
 Then again began questions and tales about 
 the life of young Ehrenstein, his education, his 
 visit to the Eternal City, the hopes that had at- 
 tracted him to Russia. The artist at one mo- 
 ment paid these recitals the tribute of his tears; 
 at another, burning with love to the beautiful, he 
 would press with rapture the hand of the phy- 
 sician. Then again he shook his head, as though 
 not quite assured of the fulfilment of the young 
 man's lofty hopes ; but these fears, these doubts, 
 were momentary. The flame that glowed ia 
 Ehrenstein's bosom soon communicated to the 
 breast of Aiistotle^ and the artist, forgetting bit- 
 ter experience, joined his own visions to the vis- 
 ions of the stranger, built with him temples to^ 
 science, to the love of humanity, to every thing 
 beautiful, and promised Antony to aid him ia 
 all. With sincere delight did Andri6usha listea 
 to their conversation, and gazed with a kind of 
 pride, now at his father, now at the dear Ger- 
 man, as he called Ehrenstein. On the other 
 hand, Ehrenstein, charmed with his intellectual 
 appearance, reading in the boy's eyes a ready 
 reply to the questioning of his own heart, enjoy- 
 ed the thought, that in him he should really find 
 a brother. And Aristotle rejoiced, like a happy" 
 father, reading the same hope in the language o£ 
 their eyes, which so clearly expressed their at- 
 traction towards each other, and in the caresses 
 which they shared. 
 
 " Thou hadst but a bad reception," said Aris- 
 totle ; " the execution of the Lithuanians." .... 
 " Oh ! I had long forgotten in your company 
 every thing painful. But thou re'mindest me of 
 the execution ; and those unhappy wretches 
 seem to flit before my eyes. What cruelty !" 
 "Gently, young man! Th^ lightning' of 
 heaven sometimes consumeth, sometimes redu- 
 ceth villages to ashes: yet doth it clear the air 
 for a good harvest. Shalt thou, therefore, mur- 
 mur against Heaven ! Partial evil is nothing, 
 when it saveth the whole. I cannot tell thee 
 accurately; but I think that the execution of the 
 Lithuanians was necessary, not alone for the 
 safety of Ivan. Doth it not weaken the intrigues 
 of Lithuania. Russia's dangerous rival 1 The 
 Great Prince's suspicions are not without founda- 
 tion. In the first place, weakness is ever sus- 
 picious; and Ivan hath not yet had time to 
 strengthen himself so far as not to fear for the 
 stability of the edifice he hath founded. In the 
 second place, the neighbours of Russia have be- 
 gun to grow jealous, and seriously so, ot her 
 growing power : nor are there any means, secret 
 or open, permitted or forbidden, of which they 
 will not make use in order to crush her in the 
 person of her sovereign. Here, then, is clearly 
 the motive for severe measures, and the assu- 
 rance of their justice: here punishment taketh 
 place openly, without any concealment. Some- 
 times Ivan doth indeed play a dark game .... 
 but how can we find a difficulty in excusing these 
 crooked and secret measures, when we behold in 
 their consequences the good of his eaapire ! 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 45 
 
 'What cruelty!' sayst thou, looking at the exe- 
 cution of the Lithuanians; but canst thou more 
 •easily find excuse for what hath been, and is still, 
 done' in our own Italy 1 The tire and the iron 
 cage — are tliese worse than the horrors and the 
 cruelties, disgraceful to humanity, which thou 
 must have too ofien beheld in the petty princi- 
 palities of Ausonia 1 Looli at what is going on 
 in Spain ! There they have established what 
 they call the Inquisition; which, on the informa- 
 tion of a hireling spy, draggeih victims to the 
 stake, and burneth them to death, by quick or 
 slow fire ! I am no defender of cruelty in any 
 case; but if in enlightened countries they give 
 no breathing-time to the bloody axe, surely it is 
 excusable in Muscovy to" .... 
 
 " I am ready to yield to thy proof," said the 
 leech; "particularly after what I have, alas! 
 beheld at Milan and at Rome. Permit me, 
 however, to remark, thou dsfendest the customs 
 of this country as warmly as if Muscovy were 
 thy native land" .... 
 
 A slight blush tlitted across the face of Fiora- 
 venti Aristotle. He seemed to be preparing to 
 make some confession ; but not liking that his 
 son should hear it, he sent him to inquire about 
 the health of the Signorina Anastasia— " She is 
 good and kind," said Alberto; "she loveth thee 
 so well." 
 
 The boy immediately comprehended that his 
 presence interfered with the freedom of the con- 
 versation, and hastened to tear himself from the 
 embrace of his new brother, nodding affection- 
 ately as he did so. " Dost thou know, Anto- 
 nio," he cried, stopping at the door: "they told 
 the signorina, to whom I am now going, that 
 thou hadst horns, and a frightful face." 
 
 "Really!" said Antony, blushing; "endeav- 
 our to undeceive her." 
 
 "I have already managed to do that. I will 
 tell thee some day all about it." 
 
 With these words the arch boy darted from 
 the chamber. 
 
 " Thou art, perhaps, astonished," said Aris- 
 totle, "that my Andrea is no stranger in the 
 house here. I will add, that the signorina's 
 bed-chamber, even the master's oratory, are 
 never closed to him. To a foreigner ! a Latin- 
 er! you will say, having already had an oppor- 
 tunity of observing the dislike felt by all Rus- 
 sians towards a foreigner. No ! my son, though 
 the son of an Italian — of a zealous Catholic — is 
 no foreigner in Muscovy. He is a real Rus- 
 sian, and hath taken the faith of Russia ; and 
 this by my own desire, without compulsion of 
 any power whatever." 
 
 " I thought that the printer Bartholomew" . . . 
 
 The young man did not finish his phrase: Aris- 
 totle interrupted him — " That is, thou thought- 
 est that he alone was capable of this. Without 
 being ashamed, I say, I have done the same 
 -with my son. Thou hast seen my Andrea. 
 Thou hast understood this child — this treasure 
 — this pledge of a wife — of such a wife! If 
 thou but knewest .... Fioraventi is his fa- 
 ther. Fioraventi is as proud of him as of one 
 of his best works. Ay, one of the best ! . . . . 
 .for there is another which— I am ashamed to 
 confess to thee — is dearer to me than all. I am 
 vain, selfish, ready for my own name, for my 
 own glory, to sacrifice God knoweth what! In 
 one word, thou wilt know me better — I am a 
 madman .... But in my senseless love for 
 myself I have not forgotten my son — I have 
 considered his welfare. I will not conceal it I 
 
 from thee, my friend; Muscovy must be my 
 grave. This is the law of destiny. I am ne- 
 cessary to the Tsar; engineer, brickmaker, 
 founder, mason, architect — I am all for him; 
 and there is no three that can drag me from this 
 country, no magic which can enable me to re- 
 turn to my own, until men arise capable of re- 
 placing me: and they. . . . God knoweth when 
 they will appear .... The Great Prince over- 
 whelmeth me with favour; payeth me with 
 treasure, with caresses, with kindnesses. His 
 most distinguished generals, the highest signori, 
 dare not approach him unannounced; but this 
 I can do at any time. The glance at which all 
 tremble, hath never once been turned on me in 
 wrath. But this same Great Prince, this friend 
 and patron, hath entwined me in such a net of 
 iron, that I can never burst through it. My ev- 
 ery step, my every action, is known to him. 
 As I know my fate, I determine to dedicate to 
 him my life, my powers. Perhaps I myself op- 
 pose not this inevitable destiny : perhaps I my- 
 self have sought it. Let Muscovy, then, be my 
 tomb; at least I will erect over it a monument 
 that enlightened nations shall some day, per- 
 haps, come to admire. Into this creation I have 
 thrown all my soul : my knowledge, my coun- 
 try, my life, my immortality. But my son ! — 
 that beloved pledge bequeathed to me by my 
 wife ! my son — whom I myself so fondly love 
 . . . . I have thought for him too. The" Great 
 Prince, to reward my services, hath sworn not 
 to desert my child when I shall be no more. He 
 caresseth him even now, as he caresseth not his 
 own children. I wish Andrea Aristotle to be a 
 general" .... 
 
 "Why not an architect like thyself?" 
 " " Why 1 why .... Here, even here, thou 
 must behold a selfish madness .... I wish 
 there to be but one Fioraventi an artist in the 
 world. Yes, yes! thou wilt know me better, 
 young man : yes, yes! 'tis not youth alone that 
 burneth with fiery dreams. Beneath these white 
 ashes, too (he pointed to his white hair), there 
 is hid an unextinguishable volcano .... But 
 let me return to my son. The penetrating eyes 
 of Ivan read my soul; and Ivan calleth my An- 
 drea his general — converses with him about 
 military affairs, lights up the desire for military'- 
 glory in his young heart, and strongly enjoineth 
 his own sons, for the sake of their father's soul, 
 never to forget their father's voevoda. 'Tis well, 
 methought. I shall die — and he will be rich by 
 the favour of the Russian Tsars. But with 
 what eyes, with what feelings will the heretic 
 be regarded at the court of some future Great 
 Prince, by the boyarins, priests, and people ! 
 At present I am protected from their hatred 
 and contempt by the name of church-builder; 
 for the present, I, and other persons of different 
 faith, am shielded by the formidable will of 
 Ivan, before which every thing gives way — man 
 and destiny. But rulers with this union of 
 mighty intellect and will, are born but once in a 
 century: who can answer for the future 1 .... 
 Besides, I wish the future rulers to love my An- 
 drea of their own free-will .... I wish every 
 Prussian — every rank — to surround him with re- 
 spect as a native, as a countryman. Then he 
 will be able to aim high . . .'. I did not long 
 hesitate. Andrea took the Russian faith. His 
 godfather was Ivan the Young. He will be a 
 father to my son when I am no more." 
 
 " Pardon me for my thoughtless reproach. 1 
 would have done the same "for a beloved being. 
 
A6 
 
 THE HERETIC, 
 
 so dear to ray heart. But .... now for anoth 
 er question. Do not attribute it to idle curiosity 
 in a young man, whose whole title to thy indul- 
 gence consisleih in being thy brothers pupil. 
 Take this question only as a sign of my love for 
 the beauiitui. Tell me in what great monu- 
 ment of arcbitectu.-e, here in Muscovy, thou in- 
 tendesi to hand down thy name to future agesl" 
 
 The artist's face was again flushed with a 
 glow of modesty. He pressed with enthusiasm 
 the physician's hand; and with quivering lips, 
 which proved the agitation of his soul, he an- 
 swered : "Ay! thou wilt understand me, young 
 man. Thy journey to a foreign land, almost on 
 the borders of humanity, undertaken without 
 views of interest, is already a proof of a noble 
 soul. My aim, too, is the realization of an idea 
 elevated and sublime .... (at least I think so 
 .... Of this in any case I am assured) to thee 
 I can disclose my heart, my projects. I will re- 
 late to thee my toils and my hopes; I will tell 
 thee how I dread to die without doing some- 
 thing worthy of immortality, and by what means 
 I wish to purchase a name on earth. Favour 
 me with the indulgence which my weaknesses 
 implore from thy generosity. 
 
 "Thou knowest," continued Aristotle, "that 
 I have made myself some reputation in Italy." 
 
 " The monuments of art which thou hast left 
 in that country will never let it die, even though 
 thou wert to produce nothing more." 
 
 " No, my friend ; these efforts, rather bold than 
 inspired, may have given me a humble niche in 
 the chronicles of art. Experiments are not ex- 
 ploits: for triumphs it is that I am now prepar- 
 ing myself While living in Italy, there dimly 
 arose 'in my soul an ideal which was destined to 
 be realized, under possible earthly proportions, 
 afterwards here in Moscow. Even then the idea 
 gave me no rest: following the brilliant meteor, 
 and without power to execute my project, I 
 yielded to the burden of an intolerable anguish: 
 and was this surprising! I — a weak man, a 
 creature of nothing — desired to build a worthy 
 temple to God — the mighty God — the Creator of 
 the universe! All that I undertook to express 
 in lines, colours, forms, corporeal methods, seem- 
 ed to me immeasurably small beside this ideal— 
 the offspring of my diviner part. Anguish, tor- 
 ture insupportable ! I called to my aid dead and 
 living nations : interrogated every age, I evoked 
 the past and the present— hundreds of genera- 
 tions: that each might contribute its mite to- 
 wards the building of a temple to God. Then 
 unfolded themselves at my call the Parthe- 
 non, the Coloseum, the Alhambra, St. Sophia, 
 troops of myths in stone descended from their 
 pedestals : the pyramids of Egypt tottered to 
 their foundations, and stood aroiuiu me, like sec- 
 ular oaks around an emmet, hardly visible to 
 the eye. 'What temple would>t thou build to 
 God, when we are but the tombs of men; yet 
 even on these tombs toiled centuries and mill- 
 ions of hands]' seemed to ask these giants o(^ the 
 ancient world; and my imagination died away 
 within me at the question. And then, when at 
 my call arose cities and nations; when each of 
 them offered me one letter of my divine poem— 
 I could not even compose these letters of vari- 
 ous lands into one harmonious word : is it 
 strange! Each letter was an inspiration; ihcv 
 all resounded in my .soul like a wondrous myri- 
 ad-chorus of angels, accompanied by a tempest 
 frotn all the ends of the world. Mv head grew 
 giddy; my heart fainted within me! I fell sick 
 
 .... They were even about to shut me up 
 with madmen : perhaps it would have been just. 
 Long I remained in a feeble condition. Restor- 
 ed at length by the physician's aid, and my love 
 for my son, I returned to my senses : and the 
 first voice of reason commanded me to fly from 
 Italy, where methought the very air inflamed 
 the imagination to madness. The Turkish Sul- 
 tan invited me, through the Doge Marcelli, to 
 Constantinople. • What noble or sublime works/ 
 said I to myself, 'can I execute for a people the 
 enemy of Christ ; a people to whom is promised, 
 in a future world, nothing but a refined sensual- 
 ity! Is it fountains and baths! Is it seraglios! 
 . . . . Seraglios! baths! when the foundations 
 of a temple to the living God were already laid 
 in my heart !' I spurned the Sultan's gold. 
 Then followed another invitation. This was 
 from the sovereign of this country, and was ac- 
 companied by a proposition to build a temple to 
 the most holy Mother of God. With pleasure 
 .... what do I say ! with rapture I accepted 
 this new proposal ; and here I am. Here, my 
 friend, I think to realize the ideal which for so 
 many years hath been rising up dimly in my 
 soul. At last I have united it with possibilit)' — 
 with the powers of one generation — with the will 
 and resources of one sovereign. I am now put- 
 ting it on paper. When I have finished it, thou 
 shall see it, and tell me whether it be worthy of 
 its destination. Then I shall submit it to the 
 judgment of Ivan Sophia, and the Primate. But 
 what toils, what struggles hath it not cost me — 
 what will it not yet cost me, ere I can bring my 
 idea to completion ! What have I not even now 
 to fear from the decision of the secular and ec- 
 clesiastical powers, well-disposed it may be to- 
 wards my work, but little acquainted with what 
 is beautiful in art ! Ay, if thou knewest how 
 dearly is bought each step that leads me to my 
 aim ; through what petty cares and trivial mate- 
 rialities I have to clear my path towards that 
 object ! I say it not boastingly ; but a man mus. 
 possess ray iron will, my burning passion for 
 art, not to be repulsed by such obstacles. I will 
 but give thee some examples of these obstacles. 
 Invited hither for the construction of the church 
 of Our Lady, I found the art of building in its 
 most es.sential part — that of the mere mateiiak 
 .... in the rudest itlfancy. Before I could 
 build, I was obliged to teach them to destro\ . 
 The old Church of the Assumption, which had 
 partially yielded to the Russian builders, in oth- 
 er parts held together firmly, in spite of the ef- 
 forts of a thousand hands, labouring to throw it 
 down. When I taught them the mechanism of 
 the battering-ram, they considered me a magi- 
 cian. They knew not how to make bricks. 
 How much time did I not employ in teaching 
 them this art ! With my own hands I tempered 
 the clav, I made the moulds; I showed them the- 
 method of burning. They knew not how to 
 make mortar, and this, too, I myself showed 
 them." 
 
 "Bricks, mortar! .... When God himself 
 was reflected in thy soul! Heavy is the strug- 
 between the Ideal and the Material ! I 
 should have sunk beneath it." 
 
 Heavy it was, 'lis true; but I sank not. Oh ! 
 I had strength enough for other heavy trials too. 
 There arose a war with Nfivgonui. Ivan select- 
 ed me from among his architects for his engi- 
 neer. He rcquiretl me to build bridges for the « 
 passage of his army over rivers; I built him 
 bridges. He wanted me to cast cannon-balls ; 1 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 i1 
 
 cast them. He expressed a wish that I should 
 direct the artillery; I performed his wish. He 
 desired to coin money; I coined him money. In 
 a word, I transformed myself into whatever Ivan 
 wished me to be. Think not that I did all this 
 out of luve or devotion to the Tsar. I love him 
 — I am devoted to him, as a man grateful for his 
 favour; but it was another Heeling, it was an- 
 other motive that directed my actions. I made 
 myself the slave of his will — his day-labourer — 
 in order to win his favour and confidence; for 
 his favour and confidence were necessary for 
 the fulfilment of ray idea. The temple I wish 
 to erect is of gigantic dimensions. I want for it 
 about half the height of the Kreml, hundreds of 
 thousands of hands, piles of gold — the price of 
 terrible, almost blood-stained labours. I am 
 buying from by master almost every yard of 
 ground — each hundred hands, each handful of 
 silver. And till now — shall I confess it lo thee, 
 ray friend 1 — I have had nothing but toil, noth- 
 ingbut struggle; and not an approaching glimpse 
 of success. I am still very far from my object. 
 All I have made my own is the hope of one day 
 attaining it. Who can tell 1 Perhaps bitter re- 
 ality, necessity, ignorance, will kill my achieve- 
 ment in the embryo. Perhaps death will reach 
 me ere I can complete it" .... 
 
 Here the artist sighed heavily, and tears filled 
 his eyes. Antony pressed his hand with sym- 
 pathy and equal love for what was noble, though 
 with diflerent views; and hastened to relieve his 
 friend's heart by those tender consolations of 
 which the artist stood so much in need. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 RUSSIAN GALLANTS. 
 
 On the third day Aristotle came to the young 
 physician in order to carry him to be presented 
 to the Great Prince. 
 
 "The Tsar is enraptured at thy arrival, and 
 Is burning with impatience to see thee," said the 
 artist; "and in order the better to please our 
 sovereign, who loveth to surround himself with 
 the splendour of the court he hath created, do 
 thou — his court physician — appear before him 
 in thy best attire. I have commanded them to 
 saddle thy steed; for I must tell thee, that here 
 it is accounted shameful for distinguished per- 
 sons to go on foot. Our horses will enable us to 
 snatch an hour to glance, as we go, at the city, 
 which is passing away. I say so, because the 
 future Moscow is about to rise from the ashes 
 of the present." 
 
 In a few minutes Ehrenstein had completed 
 his full-dress toilette, and was already mounted 
 on a fiery steed, accompanied by Aristotle and 
 an ofiicer, also on horseback. How handsome 
 he was in his German costume! How well- 
 contrasted was the black velvet of his fur-edged 
 doublet with the fairness of his face, and the 
 bright streaming curls with the bonnet of violet 
 velvet, overshadowed by a plume of waving 
 feathers ! The modesty of his profe-ssion and of 
 his character did not permit him to lavish on 
 his dress the gold with which his instructor had 
 generously supplied him; and therefore it glit- 
 tered, sparingly but tastefully, only in the buckle 
 of his cap, the clasp of his mantle, and the gir- 
 dle which supported the poniard at his side. To 
 try the paces of hi.s steed, he made two or three 
 turns round the court-yard ; how gracefully he 
 sat his horse — how masterly he guided him! 
 
 Nor was this wonderful. In his education nei- 
 ther the art of horsemanship nor that of wield- 
 ing the sword had been neglected: because, said 
 his instructor, all thi-s is indispensable to a phy- 
 sician. They call thee to a patient — they send 
 thee the first horse that cometh to hand"; thou 
 must ride to the help of thy fellow-creature 
 through storm and tempest, and along bad roads. 
 Thy life is endangered; they have insulted thy 
 honour, thy dignity as a man. Learn how to 
 defend the one and the other. Learn how to 
 wipe out thy humiliation in the insulter's blood. 
 From all this it may be seen that any princess 
 might have chosen our young leech as one of 
 her pages or paladins. 
 
 All was empty in the boyarin's court-yard 
 when they rode out of it. This time no one 
 dared to look at the heretic, even through the 
 chinks of the wooden fence, because he had 
 been busy all night long with the evil ones. 
 Thus they interpreted his having worked before 
 cock-crow, putting in order his travelling medi- 
 cine-chest. He would not allow himself to go 
 to rest, till he had prepared himself to perform 
 his duty at the first call of a sufferer. And thus 
 their ignorance had explained his midnight la- 
 bour. The loneliness of his dwelling, the mas- 
 ter of which had obstinately refused to see him, 
 in spite of his courteous messages, struck him 
 with painful surprise. " Thou art come to a 
 land whose people is yet in a state of ignorance," 
 said Aristotle to him consolingly : " wonder not 
 if it shun every thing that is new to it. Wait. 
 All will be changed by patience, time, indul- 
 gence, the toys and rod of the schoolmaster-Tsar, 
 if it be needful, an' the child be too froward. 
 Besides, when thou comest to know these sav- 
 ages better, thou wilt find in them many noble- 
 qualities — thou wilt love them, and thou too wilt; 
 acquire their love. Thou wilt see that much of 
 what is excellent hath remained among them 
 from the mixture of their national manners with 
 the Teutonic customs : though the Tartar yoke 
 hath destroyed many of their good qualities." 
 
 "I will still dream of their love," said Ehren- 
 stein, "till I am quite disenchanted." 
 
 At this moment Aristotle threw a quick pene- 
 trating glance at Anastasia's chamber. " What !" 
 he interrupted, smiling, "it was not for nothing 
 that the reputation of being a sorcerer preceded 
 thee hither T" 
 
 " I do not understand thee." 
 
 " Thus it is. My old eyes have just received 
 a proof of thy magic. Thou sawest not, but I 
 saw right well, one of our Muscovite beauties, 
 and, indeed, the fairest among them, venturing 
 to gaze on thee from the window of her bower, 
 with greedy curiosity, though they had painted 
 thee to her as a monster with horns and hoofs." 
 
 " Where is she, where 1" cried Antony, blush- 
 ing. 
 
 " Where is she 1 . . . . rather ask, where is 
 the lightning when it hath just flashed. I only 
 caught a sparkling glance of the black Italian 
 eyes, and .... I fear .... we shall have a 
 storm. Hath she so soon forgot her father's 
 stern commandment 1 .... Mischief is near at 
 hand. Solitude, a handsome youth .... in 
 such close neighbourhood .... a maiden's 
 heart . . . . O, Signora Anastasia ! I fear for 
 thee. No, I should fear for thee, I ought to 
 have said, were I not confident in my young 
 friend." 
 
 Antony pressed his hand, as if to thank him 
 for his goud ooinion of him ; and when they had 
 
A9 
 
 THE HERETIC. 
 
 an enchanted castle 
 
 Passing out of the F16roffV.kii gate, and cross- 
 ing one of the three wooden bridges over the 
 ditch, which runs parallel with the stone wall 
 extending from the pool of Neglfnnaia to the 
 river Moskva, they came out upon the Red 
 •Square. The range of sheds called the Cannon- 
 Arsenal ; rows of wooden booths or shops, ca- 
 pable of being taken down and set up again in a 
 tew hours, like a camp ; the stone house of the 
 mayor of Moscow, Khovrin ; a multitude of 
 ■wooden churches worthy of the appellation of 
 chapels — such was the Red Square! Further 
 on, all is the same as what the traveller has al- 
 ready seen in the suburbs ; but all these poor 
 temples were blazing with tapers, lighted by re- 
 ligious zeal. At the windows of the houses 
 there was not a human face to be seen ; perhaps, 
 liere and there, the thin curtain was stealthily 
 stirred, and from behind it there might have 
 glanced an arm of satin, or flashed a magic eye. 
 in the streets our cavaliers were greeted at one 
 time with slavish servility, at another with 
 <;oarse insolence. The pass'enger either bowed 
 almost to the ground, or, as the proverb hath it, 
 " whistled after you so shrilly, that the blood 
 seemed to freeze in your veins." Amongst these 
 the gallant of the city, fair and ruddy, bustled 
 by, with cap on one side, waist tightly pinched 
 in by his girdle, ready " to take you on fang or 
 fist," seeming able to lay downhis life for his 
 brother, his comrade, his sweetheart or his coun- 
 try, his Tsar or his religion. These shades of 
 Russian character, or the elTects of foreign in- 
 fluence, Aristotle endeavoured to e.xplain to his 
 companion. They were frequently met by stran- 
 gers—Tartars, Jews, Italians— the cement with 
 which Ivan was hastily fixing his edifice. 
 
 " Thou hast hitherto .seen nought but huts and 
 chapels," said Aristotle, as much ashamed of 
 the meanness of the Russian capital as if it had 
 been his native city. "Thou wilt see the hum- 
 ble palace of the Great Prince, and thou wilt ask 
 — 'Where then is Moscow!' This is my an- 
 swer — Moscow, the splendid capital of Ivan, ex- 
 ists as yet only in his heart and thought.s. But 
 what he thinks is as sure to be fulfilled as the de- 
 crees of fate. I will add, too, Moscow existelh 
 in the artists whom thou broughtest with thee, 
 and in those who arrived before thee. Ere a 
 <lozen years be passed it shall be created, and 
 thou thyself shalt wonder at the metamorphosis. 
 Thou see'st how many foreigners we meet — 
 these are all materials' for the future grandeur 
 nnd magnificence of Moscow. Look, what an 
 extent of houses and churches are pulled down 
 beyond the wall of the Krcml, and ininc:ine how 
 strong, how invincible must be the will of a ru- 
 ler, who hath dared to lay the hammer of destruc- 
 tion on so much that was ancient, so much thai 
 was holy. And what murmurs were exrited by 
 
 this innovation 1 The ignorant crowd lookelh 
 
 not at future advantages. Disturb but its pres- 
 ent welfare, even for its own good, and it is dis- 
 contented. I will tell thee what I propo.se to do 
 in my plan. Yoniler, next to thv lodging, will 
 be erected the gate of Flora and Laura, and 
 above it will soar a magnificent spire. Thence 
 •will stretch a noble wall, girdling the middle of 
 
 ridden out of the gate, the novelty of the objects i the city, and decorating it with its beautiful tow 
 which surrounded him, distracted his thoughts ers. The stone house of thy host, and this other 
 from the Signorina Anastasia. It mus< not, here, the dwelling of the Mayor of Moscow, are 
 iiowever, be concealed, that she had excited in | but the first-born of a great family, which will 
 him a mysterious interest, like that raised by the not delay to come into the world." The archi- 
 heroine of some romance of chivalry, hidden in tects who came with thee, are entrusted with the 
 
 erection of a splendid mansion for the reception 
 of ambassadors, and of a palace for the Great 
 Prince. Add to this a multitude of noble stone 
 churches, which are to be built, and the Cathe- 
 dral of the Annunciation of the Mother of God, 
 committed to my care. Thou see'st the enor- 
 mous piles of materials which crowd the Kreml 
 and choke it up; and thou mayest calculate 
 what can be constructed out of them. This is 
 only the half of what I am preparing for the ca- 
 thedral. From these piles the genius of Italy is 
 to erect an eternal monument to it.self, or a tro- 
 phy of Art's defeat by the Material. Woe to 
 me if the victory fall to the latter !" 
 
 '■ Far from thee be the gloomy thought. Nev- 
 er be hope extinguished in thy soul, and may it 
 ever light thee to thy future creation !" 
 
 "Ay, away with the gloomy thought! .... 
 Thou see'st these huts in hundreds, these church- 
 es in dozens; they will come down at one word 
 from Iv n . . . . Ah, my friend, 'twill be a tem- 
 ple, a real temple to the Mother of God ! Fu- 
 ture generations, as they enter it, shall pronounce 
 with veneration the name of Fioraventi Aris- 
 totle .... Yes, Antonio, I shall survive in it." 
 
 " The man who can speak so ardently of the 
 future, contemning worldly honour and advan- 
 tage, must produce something worthy of immor- 
 tality!" replied Antony, with enthusiasm. 
 
 Long they continued to discourse about the 
 splendid church — about the commanding site 
 from which it would overlook the whole' city.; 
 and in this colloquy they rode up the hill by ' 
 Spasana-b6rou, from whence they could obtain 
 a view over the whole Zaneglinnaia. Here the 
 glance of the young man was fi.xed by two specks 
 which darted from opposite sides of the Pool of 
 Neglfnnaia. He at last distinguished that these 
 were two boys. They encountered in the midst 
 of the frozen pool, and instantly began a battle 
 with their fists. In a few minutes there extend- 
 ed along each bank a line. 
 
 "Ah, there will be some sport I" cried Aris- 
 totle. " Presently thou shalt see a specimen of 
 our Russian gallants." 
 
 " What is this V enquired Ehrenstein. 
 
 "A party stru£?glc," answered the artist smi- 
 ling. "Our Guelfs and Ghibellines. Thou 
 sawest two boys begin the combat: now these 
 two sparks, thrown by a powerful liand, no 
 sooner come in collision, than you may expect 
 a conflagration. Ride we nearer to the place oi 
 action." 
 
 And they hastened along the bank of the pool, 
 by the .side of the Kreml. 
 
 Both lines, consisting of children, were 
 charging ranfr against rank with tremendouv 
 cries^ and engaged in a pugilistic battle. Ths' 
 war-cry on one side wa.s, Zaneglinniie ; on tlio 
 other, iGorfidskiie (town boys.) Behind them 
 were incessantly Ibrmed fresh lines, each com- 
 posed of taller and stronger lads than the prece- 
 ding rank; and at length appeared chosen cham- 
 pions. The engagement grew general. They 
 fought in crowds, in lines, hand to hand. The 
 battle was hot. "Warmer than ever in the 
 memory of man," said the old folks. The spec- 
 tators, for the most part people of middle or ad 
 vanced age, composed a black ring on the bank^i 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 49 
 
 of the pool. From amongst them arose praises 
 of the victors, or reproaches of the conquered. 
 One deserved the wreath of laurel, another the 
 whip. Incessantly were heard cries, " Our side 
 hath it !" " B-rave fellows !" or " Cowards, cra- 
 vens, pock-puddings !" Only those who were 
 grievously hurt, wlio had fought away all their 
 strength, or the youngest, yielding their place to 
 older or stronger combatants, left the ranks of' 
 the m6lee. Many were seen to be crippled for 
 life, but not one groan was heard. Even their 
 relation.';, as they led them away from the con- 
 flict, neither complained, nor exhibited any vio- 
 lent grief. They only abused them as cowards, 
 or praised them as brave fellows. When they 
 had recovered from their hurts, they placed 
 themselves in the ranks of the spectators; and, 
 with them, took a lively interest in their party, 
 with shouts of praise or insult. 
 
 The young physician, through Aristotle, offer- 
 ed his services to those who were hurt. Instead 
 of answering, the fathers placed themselves be- 
 tween their children and the leech, and plainly 
 refused his aid. They would rather see them 
 (deformed for life. Assuredly, too, when they 
 a^ached home, they mixed Thursday's salt and 
 ■coals in water, wherewith to sprinkle their 
 •child, on whom had glanced the evil eye of a 
 Ijeretic. 
 
 At length the ranks of the rhcl^e began to 
 grow thinner; the voices to grow still; but it 
 would even now have been difficult to decide 
 which parly had won. All at once there thun- 
 dered along the banks of the pool unanimous 
 shouts of "Mamon!" " Simskoi-Khabar !" and 
 the crowd, as if enchanted, lowered their hands 
 and separated. A deep, a death-like silence en- 
 sued. 
 
 " What fine fellows !" said Antony ; " if I mis- 
 take not, the face of one of them is known to me." 
 
 " No wonder. It is the son of thy host: he is 
 called by the people, Khobar! which meaneth, 
 noinner, gainer. Seldom happeneth it that his 
 side winneth not in the fist fight ; whence he 
 hath gained his title. To-day they have chosen 
 him a new opponent, and apparently a formida- 
 ble one. Look ! what a powerful, active athlete. 
 Their fathers are enemies ; the &ons are now 
 antagonists. But here, in the ring, where they 
 meet for single combat, they must throw aside 
 .all enmity, all unfriendly feeling towards each 
 •other. 1 must explain further, that their blows 
 may only be aimed at that part of the body be- 
 tween the throat and the girdle. Woe to" him 
 whose hand touches the face of his opponent ! 
 This, in its way, is a chivalrous sport: even 
 here generosity is the device of the combat- 
 ants." 
 
 In reality, hardly had the fighters marked out 
 a ring beyond which they were not to pass, 
 when the combatants took off their caps and 
 bowed low on the four sides. Mamon could 
 distinguish among thousands the flashing cyeof 
 his father : he saw nothing else, and heard on 
 the Neglinnaia side a deep murmur of praise. 
 Tittered by his friends. Simskoi-Khabar beheld 
 his sire's calm, approving glance; the town- 
 side was as silent as a wall of stone. The son 
 of Obrazetz glanced up at the hill of the Kreml, 
 towards Spasana-b6rou .... There, 
 in a lofty bower, he beheld an open window, 
 and a crimson veil floating within it. He knew 
 well whose hand had displayed that signal, and 
 ji£ gaily advanced to his antagonist. 
 
 The young men met, and kissed each other. 
 D 
 
 An ominous silence ! .... the thousands 
 leared to breathe — to remove their eyes even for 
 an instant from the spectacle. Then the rivals 
 measured each other with their eyes .... 
 They prepared for the encounter. A confident 
 smile gl-eamed on Khabar's lips, while those of 
 Mamon seemed to quiver with a kind of convul- 
 sion. 
 
 "Poor Mamon ! I will wager a hundred to 
 one that the son of Obrazetz will win," said Eh- 
 renstein, warming more and more. " Each mo- 
 tion of his, even no*v, is as a well-poised sword 
 and a firm shield. O, that I might cross my 
 good blade with that active gallant!" 
 
 " Gently, young leech !" replied Aristotle ; 
 " thy blood speaketh in vain. Thou hast forgot- 
 ten that it is thy business to heal wounds, not to 
 give them. To put thy mind at rest, I will add, 
 here fighting with arms is only permitted in trial 
 of battle." 
 
 A loud laugh from the people interrupted his 
 explanation. It accompanied the fall of Ma- 
 mon's son, who had lost his balance while plant- 
 ing a violent blow on his opponent; which the 
 latter had dexterously parried. Simskoi did not 
 hesitate a moment, but offering his arm, he 
 raised him from the ground. Sullenly and 
 abashed arose young Mamon, without so much 
 as thanking his generous rival. On this occa- 
 sion he showed himself the worthy son of his 
 father. But the people did not suffer this in- 
 gratitude: on every side arose shouts of disap- 
 probation. "Foul, foul! Bow; thy head will 
 not fall off! Bow ! bow!" And young Mamoa 
 was compelled to bend his head. Then recom- 
 menced the battle. The glances of each com- 
 batant kept wakeful watch — followed each 
 slightest intention — the faintest shade of will. A 
 hardly perceptible movement of the hand, a bend 
 of shoulder, head, or knee, is a triumph or a de- 
 feat. .Their thought in an instant divining a 
 feint or even an intention, calculates the results, 
 profits by them, parries a blow, or prepares 
 against a fall. Pass but this instant, and victo- 
 ry is your antagonist's. Sudd(.«ily is heard a 
 dull blow; it is echoed by the heart of every 
 spectator; and young Mamon falls like a tree, 
 hewn through at the root. Blood spouts from 
 his mouth. Shouts of joy resound on the towa 
 side. The murmur of the mill-wheels repeated, 
 as it were, the cry of victory. The conqueror 
 was overwhelmed by compliments — the beaten 
 man surrounded by his kinsmen and friends, 
 who bore him half-dead home. 
 
 Aristotle rode up to the voevoda Obrazetz.— 
 " What wouldsf thou have done," he asked hfm, 
 " if thy son had not raised his antagonist 1" 
 
 " What 1 I would have renounced him ("re- 
 plied the voevoda ; and seeing his guest, he has- 
 tily turned his horse and galloped away. 
 
 "A strange man, that host of thine!" said 
 Aristotle to his companion. " He feareth the 
 devil, like a child frighted by its nurse's tale. 
 He hateth those of other religions, and counteth 
 them worse than any unclean animal. His en- 
 emy on the field of battle he will unpityingly 
 slaughter; and yet his honour, his generosity, 
 are extraordinary. With his own hands he 
 would slay a soldier for plundering a prisoner; 
 and he is ready to slay his own son if he do any- 
 thing which he counteth base." 
 
 " It seemeth I am fated to know his worth only 
 through others," said Antony with some pique. 
 " If, however, my respacted friend could but 
 bring us together" 
 
50 
 
 THE HERETIC. 
 
 Time— time— and patience," replied the art- 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE TRIAL. 
 
 They entered the palace of the Great Prince. 
 At this mbment the dvoretzkoi, with low rever- 
 ences, was conducting to the door a Jew, who 
 appeared to have just come out of the interior 
 chambers. The artist and the leech were met 
 by several courtiers. 
 
 " Thou assuredly desirest to know something 
 of the faces that surround the Great Prince," 
 said Aristotle to his young companion; "as 
 they make their appearance ; and according to 
 their degree of diblinction, I will satisfy thy cu- 
 riosity. This man here, who is conducting the 
 Jew" .... 
 
 " The Russians shun even Christians that are 
 notof iheir faith, and 3-et doth their lord associate 
 with a Jewl" interrupted Antony: " that is right 
 strange !" 
 
 " To him every instrument is welcome that 
 can be useful," replied the artist; " but this Jew 
 is the confidential agent of the celebrated He- 
 brew of Kaffa, Khozi-Kokos, who procured 
 Ivan the alliance of the Khan of the Crimea; 
 and through that neither more nor less than the 
 security of Russia. And that slender, short, 
 old man, who is conducting him, is the Signor 
 Castellano of the Great Prince — Roussalka, a 
 cralty fox, such as there be few. Is it necessa- 
 ry to the sovereign to reach any object by a 
 somewhat foul path, some object useful to him- 
 self and to the empire — he maketh of his castel- 
 lan a bridge ; and over that, wiihout so much as 
 dirtying his feet, he goeth to what he would. In 
 the mean time, Roussalka is bemudded from 
 head to heel. Not long ago he cooked up a 
 masterly dish of policy ; he arrested death itself 
 by the bedside of the Prince of Vereia, until he 
 had time to make a will in favour of Ivan ; and 
 this will — no trifle, ye must think — gave Ivan 
 the towns of Yaroslavetz, Vereia, Biaylo-ozero, 
 which lay in his dominions like a mote in the 
 eye. Ask not with what instruments the opera- 
 tion was performed ; suffice it to say, the mole 
 was removed from Russia. That— is the bo- 
 yarin Mamon. Thou hast already seen him. 
 They could not have given him a more appro- 
 priate name. Beware of that serpent, I should 
 nave said, had he lurked beneath the rose. The 
 little creature next him is the deacon Boroddtii, 
 the historian of the Great Prince's campaigns. 
 His writings are as luxuriant as the curls of his 
 head — his eloquence as lengthy as his beard. 
 His heart is that of a dove — or, to speak more 
 correctly, that of a roasted apple. A day or two 
 ago, the son of thy host played him an unlucky 
 tricif ; instead of conducting'him home with cer- 
 emony and honour, after a drinking-bout with 
 Obrazi^lz and himself, Khabar swaddled him up, 
 and made him the sport of the people. The 
 Gre.Tt Prince espoused with warmth the part of 
 his deacon; but to the latter peace and quietness 
 are meat and drink, so he determined at all 
 costs to finish the motler peacefully. The good 
 creature did not hesitate, but gave the Great 
 Prince a description of the wonderful adventures 
 of the beardie mannikin. Ivan laughed, and at 
 the prayer of the deacon, who as.sured him that 
 they had not insulted him, but only laughed at 
 him, pardoned Obrazttz's son. Tins proceeding 
 
 touched Simskoi : he made a humble apology to 
 the person he had outraged. It is a pity Kourit- 
 zin is not here: he burneih to make acquaint- 
 ance with thee. He is Ivan's right hand — a wise 
 and honest diplomatist. To the pursuit of al> 
 stract science and secret knowledge, he had con- 
 secrated some hours— all thai were lell him 
 from state affairs. But — the Signor Castellano 
 is returning from the inner apartments, probably 
 to call us to the Great Prince's presence." 
 
 As he spoke, Roussalka apfiroached and in- 
 formed theui that the Lord Great Prince, Ivan 
 Vassilievitch, commanded them to "behold his 
 imperial eyes." 
 
 They eniered a chamber of moderate size. 
 Ivan Vassflievitch, robed in a splendid habit, 
 was seated on an ivory chair, on which the skil- 
 ful and delicate chisel of Grecian art had repre- 
 sented various events of sacred and profane his- 
 tory. Up to this throne was an ascent of three 
 steps, carpeted with cramohy damask. At the 
 sides stood two boyarins, and next to one of 
 them a stool, on which was placed a silver basin 
 and ewer, together with a line towel, delicately 
 bordered with lace. Over the chair hung (he 
 portrait of a woman of exquisite beauty. This 
 picture — or, as our ancestors called it, this Tsa- 
 revna, drmcn in a frame — had been sent to Mos- 
 cow by Pope Paul II., at the time when a mar- 
 riage was proposed between the Great Prince 
 and the daughter of Palacologos. On two of 
 the walls were fixed oaken cupboards for plate, 
 &c., inlaid with gold; in which, through glas.s 
 doors, might be seen silver cups, destined, it 
 would seem, for the use of giants. Add to this 
 two stoves with Icjdnkas* ol Dutch tiles, deco- 
 rated with flowers and griffins — a most precious 
 piece of furniture in those days. On a table be> 
 tween two windows was perched a green parrot 
 in a pretty cage — languidly drooping its beak. 
 
 When Aristotle, who on this occasion served 
 as interpreter, presented the physician, Ivan 
 Vassilievitch fixed a penetrating glance on the 
 stranger — partially rose up from his chair, and 
 extended his hand to the physician, which the 
 latter kissed, kneeling on one knee. Imme- 
 diately after the Great Prince had been thus pol- 
 luted by heretic lips, they presented the ewer and 
 basin; but the Prince, by a slight gesture, indi- 
 cated to the boyarin whose duty it was to per- 
 form this service, that his office was not needed. 
 
 " O, but how young he is!" said Ivan to Aris- 
 totle: "he hath no beard." 
 
 " In wisdom and learning he hath outstripped 
 his years," replied the artist. 
 
 " Right ! with you, in warm countries, men 
 ripen sooner than with us. Ay, there came an 
 ambassador from the Roman king — the knight 
 Nicholas Poppel. He was even younger than 
 this." 
 
 Then he questioned the physician as to whether 
 he was satisfied with the provisions that had been 
 sent him — whether he wanted for any thing; and, 
 when Antony satisfied him on his own account, 
 he l)egan a conversation with him about the ."^ate 
 of Italy, the Pope, the political relations of those 
 governments, and the opinion which they had of 
 Russia. His sensible questions, and occasion- 
 ally sensible answers, formed a singular contrast 
 
 * The stove— thut niiivernal aprondaRe to it Ilussian 
 iiMim— IS used ns a )>cd by ttio pcnsaiils. It is ihererorc 
 iimslructcil in the rotlnifcs with a kind of l)road plalform, 
 atioiit a yard and a half above the floor, on which thr peas- 
 niil sproiids his shAuba, and sleeps ; this is called a lejanka. 
 a lying-down place. — T. B. S. ■ 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 51 
 
 with the coarse forms of his age, his character, 
 and country. Satisfied with Ehrenstein's replies, 
 he more than once repeated to Aristotle, with 
 evident delight— "Thou art right: he is of the 
 youngest; but he is early wise." At length he 
 "turned the conversation to Antony's methods of 
 cure. 
 
 " How dost thou discover what aileth a man V 
 he enquired, turning to the physician. 
 
 " By what the pulse of the arm of itself inform- 
 eth us, and by the appearance of the tongue," re- 
 plied Ehrenstein. 
 
 "Of that we will make instant trial," said 
 Ivan V"as^^lievitch, and gave command that all 
 the courtiers should immediately hasten to the 
 chamber of audience. 
 
 They all entered, one afier the other, pale, 
 trembling, expecting something terrible from 
 the suddenness of the order. They were com- 
 manded to stand in a single line, to open their 
 mouths, and to hold out their hands. Even here 
 was preserved the order of precedence, which 
 had been shortly before introduced, and was 
 strictly enforced. At this inspectorial parade, it 
 was droll to behold the terror painted on their 
 long faces: they could not have been in a less 
 fright, if they had been preparing to undergo an 
 operation. It was hardly possible to refrain 
 from laughing at the singular collection of 
 grimaces offered by the poor patients, as they 
 protruded their tongues and held out their hands. 
 One, with tears in his eyes, lolled forth his 
 Jongue, lilce a calf which they are preparing to 
 slaughter: that of another trembled, like the 
 fork of a serpent : a third opened his mouth 
 wide, like a jaded horse when it yawns. The 
 physician himself laughed in spite of all he 
 could do. When the unfortunate wretches were 
 informed that there was to be an inspection into 
 the state of their health, in many of them the 
 thought of being enchanted by the German sor- 
 cerer, acted so violently as to 'throw them into a 
 fever: others hardly escaped a different disor- 
 der. They muttered all the prayers they knew : 
 some, notwithstanding the glance of Ivan was 
 fixed upon them with all its electric terror, were 
 forced by despair to cry aloud — "Lord, have 
 mercy upon us !" " Lord, let thy servant depart 
 in peace !" Antony made an inspection of each ; 
 to each, through the medium of Aristotle, he put 
 the questions enjoined by his science ; and he 
 broke the chains of each in turn, with the sen- 
 tence — that he was well, and in need of no medi- 
 cine whatever. "The nightingale ceased its 
 song, but still they listened on;" that is to say, 
 the leech left off his examination, but all the 
 patients continued to hold out their tongues and 
 extend their shaking fists. The sovereign was 
 obliged to order that both the one member and 
 the other should be restored to its ordinary posi- 
 tion. What sprinklings of holy water — what 
 exorcisms awaited them at home! Terror long 
 held these suffering worthies in its claws; but 
 stronger than all it agitated Borodiitii and— who 
 would have thought it 1 — Mam6n. For this rea- 
 son, Antony wished to make some sport with 
 them, and particularly with Mam6n, for whom 
 he felt an aversion. 
 
 " One hath no bile at all," he said ; " the other 
 too much. In lime, this superabundance and 
 this deficiency may cause them a serious ill- 
 ness." 
 
 "And is there no remedy for thisl" asked 
 Ivan Vassilievitch. 
 
 "Yea, my lord; by transfusing the blood of 
 
 one into the veins of the other," answered An- 
 tony. 
 
 Mam6n's lips turned white, and trembled; the 
 tiny deacon's beard absolutely jumped. 
 
 "Jest not with the prince," said Aristotle to 
 his young friend: "would it be wonderful if he 
 should desire to make trial of this horrible 
 method on his boyarins V 
 
 " But," continued the leech, " the remedy 
 which I have hinted at demandeth great cau- 
 tion, and is therefore perilous. In his lajt ill- 
 ness. Pope Innocent VIII. desired to have re- 
 course to it. The experiment was first tried on 
 three boys of ten years old; but as the trial did 
 not at all succeed, and the boys died, the holy 
 father would not consent to submit to it. All 
 that can be done, therefore, is for the person 
 who hath a superabundance of bile to be as 
 quiet and tranquil as possible; and for him who- 
 hath a deficiency, to stir his blood by more fre- 
 quent exercise." 
 
 The Great Prince seemed much plea.'^ed with 
 the knowledge and explanations of the ph3'-si- 
 cian : for which reason he gave an order to Ma- 
 men that all inhabitants of Moscow afiiicted 
 with any disease, should without delay present 
 themselves to the court leech, or send for him to 
 show him their tongue and hold out their hand. 
 For the disobedient, a penalty was added. 
 
 " To business ! I have in my house a pa- 
 tient." said Ivan Vassilievitch : " canst thou cure 
 himr 
 
 He rose from his chair and approached the 
 parrot. The winged flutterer was really sick: 
 a film was on his tongue. Ivan Vassilievitch 
 showed him to the physician, adding, that Pho- 
 minishna was very fond of him. 
 
 Antony blushed, and was hesitating whether 
 to refuse to perform the fantastical desire of the 
 Great Prince; "but induced by a look from 
 Aristotle, and by the thought, that to a woman — 
 a weak, lender creature — her pet is very dear, he 
 replied — " We must see his tongue too." 
 
 "N6vgorod and the Horde we have man- 
 aged," said the Great Prince; "but here what 
 are we to dol The bird is not large; but we 
 cannot make him do what doth not please him. 
 Perhaps he will obey the Great Princess, whom 
 he loveth much." 
 
 " Love is ever stronger than power !" exclaim- 
 ed Antony, inspired by the nobleness of his char- 
 acter, and his wish to commence the part of a 
 friend to humanity, and counsellor to the Tsar, 
 which his dreams had painted in such brilliant 
 colours. 
 
 It might be thought, judging by the character 
 of Ivan, that the artist did not venture to trans- 
 late this apoplhegm of the incautious young 
 man : but, on the contrary, he interpreted'it ex- 
 actly to the prince. Aristotle, on this occasion, 
 well understood the Great Prince as posterity 
 knew him, when it reproached VassJlii Ivano- 
 vitch with being unlike his father in this respect 
 — viz. that the latter " laved to 'tiveei with opposi- 
 tion, and favoured those who coiitradicled him." 
 We mustremark, however, that he loved oppo- 
 sition in words, but not in deeds. 
 
 " Is it so, fair youth 1" cried the Great Prince, 
 laughing; "look ye; the parrot, though more 
 reasonable than other birds, is yet, notwithstand- 
 ing, caged ; which provelh that he is not com- 
 pletely reasonable. 'Tis you, Germans, who 
 imprisoned him. As for me, love and gentle- 
 ness are excellent where all are children of one 
 united, harmonious family, so reasonable that 
 
52 
 
 THE HERETIC. 
 
 they understand the will of the father. ' He de- 
 sireih of u.^ peace and order,' they say, ' for our 
 own good;' but what wilt thou say, good youth, 
 if, in the parent's absence, the prodigal children 
 depart from their sire's house — if each, at his 
 own pleasure, fenceih off a portion of their com- 
 mon inheritance — if they will neither hear nor 
 obey their mother — if they even rage against her 
 •who gave them food and drink 1 The father's 
 house is on fire — no man cometh to extinguish 
 it; robbers come and plunder it — the children 
 laugh. The sire cometh — how is he to curb 
 them, unite them, bring them to order 1 By 
 gentleness, ihink ye? ... . The mother had 
 tried that alreatly .... No ! by wisdom and 
 power, by strength of soul. But when the father 
 hath brought back the children to obedience, and 
 they feel their fault— will not love then bring 
 back peace on every side 1 It may be so : but 
 we have not yet come to that, nor shall we soon 
 come to it. Is it not true, Aristotle"? Thou 
 knowest our people better." 
 
 Aristotle, pleased with the wise words of the 
 Great Prince, confirmed his assertions, like a 
 master who is well contented by the answers of 
 a clever pupil at an examination. As if for a 
 demonstration of his argument, the Sovereign 
 seized the parrot by the head, and skilfully held 
 it, while the bird submitted to the magic'terror 
 of his eye. The film was successfully removed 
 by the leech. 
 
 The cure of the parrot, and the examination 
 of the courtiers, did not conclude the trial of the 
 physician. The Great Prince commanded him 
 and Aristotle to wait in the middle izba. Half 
 an hour had not elapsed ere he came out to 
 them in a shouba and bonnet, and with a wave 
 of his staff invited them to follow him. 
 
 At the Red Stairs was standing a fapkan (a 
 covered winter sledge,) to which were harnessed 
 two sannUa (so they called horses in their win- 
 :er capari.son.) The pads were of velvet, the 
 rings and plates on the pads and bridles were 
 gilded. All this had been sent from Lithuania. 
 The horses were driven by a postilion, riding on 
 one of them. When Ivun Vassilievitch was 
 helped into the tapkan, which might be recog- 
 nized as the Great Prince's by the double-headed 
 eagle fixed on the front, some of the guards rode 
 before it, crying— "Make way, make way!" 
 Six of the soldiers rode at the' sides, guarding 
 every moment the equipage from overbalancing, 
 and supporting it with their bodies at ever>' steep 
 declivity; even a small inclination was danger- 
 ous, as the horses were harnessed to the carriage 
 only by traces, and without a pole, (remark that 
 the pole wa.s considered by our ancestors as an 
 -'•cursed thing.) A number of boyurins rode 
 behino, among whom were the artist and the 
 physician. They went at a fool's pace; the 
 moment that the lotjd cry — " Make way, make 
 way !" was heard, all who were passing in ih? 
 street took off their caps and prostrated them- 
 selves on the ground. 
 
 "This slavish custom," said Aristotle to his 
 young comrade, " was brought hither, with 
 many similar ones, from the Tartans. Their 
 dommalion corroded this country, as it were, 
 with a strong rust; and the Russians will be 
 long ere they wipe it off. Thus, the conquered 
 —even in spite of themselves— acquire the char- 
 acter of the conquerors, notwithstanding the 
 haired they feel towards them." 
 
 'I Happy is the conquered," replied Ehren- 
 slem, '• il his new master stand upon a higher 
 
 step of civilization than himself. W->e to him 
 if he fall under the rule of such as a Tartar '. 
 What cannot force do 1" 
 
 " 'Tis a pity that even what is good, even ea- 
 lightenment, can only be infused into a rude 
 people by a wise violence and an inflexible will ; 
 for this mass is indispensable to a vigorous ruler 
 like him who is now riding before us. I coun- 
 sel thee, my friend, to act for the good of hu- 
 manity in this country no otherwise than through 
 this powerful conductor." 
 
 " Ay, thou and I have made a noble begin- 
 ning of our achievements," interrupted Antony, 
 in a tone of irony; "thou, preparing to erect a 
 wondrous temple to the Mother of God, burnest 
 bricks and mixest mortar; and I, though not, 
 like thee, endowed with divine gifts, yet arriving 
 here from a distant country to cast my mite into 
 the treasury of science, I .... I cure parrots' 
 tongues, and feel the pulses of a crowd of court- 
 ly slaves ! Truly the beginning doth not prom- 
 ise much." 
 
 " Antonio — Antonio ! Is it thou that speakest 
 thus .... But two days here— thy work not 
 yet begun, and already thy young blood rebel- 
 leth against reason: the least inconvenience 
 driveth thee far from thy noble aim. Is it thus 
 men go to combat for a crown of victory ! What 
 wouldst thou have said, hadst thou been in my 
 place ? . . . Have I been deceived in thee 1 . . . 
 Be that as it may, I recognize no more in thee 
 than that firm soul that was but lately ready to 
 battle with Destiny itself!" 
 
 " I confess my fault, my noble friend ! I con- 
 fess it. My mind still requireth support; my 
 education is not yet finished. O, be thou my 
 guide, my preceptor! Pardon my thoughtless 
 words, and attribute them to the new impres- 
 sions of these two days. The execution of the 
 Lithuanians — my host's causeless haired — the 
 esirangement of almost all the Muscovites, when 
 I loved them beforehand so warmly — the parrot 
 — the courtiers — the servility — all this hath turn- 
 ed my head." 
 
 " I warned thee that thou wouldst find thyself 
 amidst an infant people, ihat thou wouldst be 
 near the ruler of this people — a man great in 
 many respects, but still belonging to his country 
 and epoch; and even now — I will tell thee be- 
 forehand — we are riding to the prison. I am 
 sure he wisheth to show thee his distinguished 
 captives. This time, thou must pardon him as 
 a ruler who desirelh to show triumphantly how 
 he hath succeeded, by force of his own mind, in 
 binding with chains the terrible foes who so long 
 kept Russia in discord and alarm. He is a 
 Hercules, but still an infant Hercules. He re- 
 joiceth that even in his cradle he hath strangled 
 .serpents; and he delighteth in exhibiting them 
 dead or dying. I will add, remember the time 
 in which we live, the country in which we are 
 . . . . Remember the head of our own church, 
 P.aul II., who presided in person at the torture: 
 remember Sixtus IV., Sleiihen of Moldavia, 
 called his .son, who made cripples of his prison- 
 ers; Galeazzo Sfor/a, ... I will ?ay ho more. 
 These examples are enough to pacify thy dis^ 
 pleasure at the spectacle which awaitefh thee." 
 Aristotte had scarcely time to say this, when- 
 the tnphiin entered the Court of the Prisons. 
 The railings, bristling with spikes, rendered un- 
 necessary' any furtlier defence of this place. 
 The guards leaped from their horses, and the 
 gloomy hold was opened in an instant. At the 
 fool of the sleos leading to the prison, they as- 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 53 
 
 sisted the Great Prince to descend from the tap- 
 kan ; the sentinels were all in motion. They 
 consisted of guards who had kissed the cross as a 
 pledge of the faithful performance of their duty. 
 At the sight of the Great Prince they grasped 
 their battle-axes, drew themselves up, took off 
 their caps, and made a low obeisance. In the 
 hall the penetrating glance of Ivan seemed to 
 mark every thing at once. Further on, when 
 he entered the narrow passages, his eyes gleam- 
 ed with a savage joy ; he felt like the master of 
 a menagerie, who is proud to show to worthy 
 visitors the fierce animals he has caught and 
 keeps in cages ; and, indeed, the cells in which 
 the prisoners were confined resembled nothing 
 so much as filthy dens. 
 
 "Aristotle," said the Great Prince, "explain 
 to our court leech what fowl are sitting in these 
 coops; and let him examine them, to see how 
 lung they will live. The Tartars, thou wottest, 
 I must in any case keep for the future. It may 
 chance we may have to frighten others with 
 them. And the woman, thou knowest, is even 
 now ' a sheep for. the devil.' " . . . . 
 
 This plain explanation, translated by Aristotle 
 to Antony, promised the latter an opportunity of 
 beginning the labours of benevolence, for which 
 he had been preparing himself as he travelled to 
 Moscow. In the first apartment they found a 
 whole family of Tartars. Men and women — 
 mothers and children — hu^bands and wives — all 
 ■were piled pell-mell, some on benches, others on 
 the ground. The filth and stench were insup- 
 portable. Their pale livid faces, their downcast 
 haggard look, described their miserable condi- 
 tion more eloquently than words. 
 
 "Wouldst thou "believe it," said Aristotle, 
 "that yonder lean wretch with saffron eyes, who 
 hath just arisen before the Great Prince," was the 
 Tsar of Kazan, Aleghaml His kingdom, not 
 long since, was formidable to Russia — a few 
 months past, a Muscovite general took him pris- 
 oner, and placed another Tsar on his throne. 
 Admire here the vicissitudes of human destiny. 
 Not long ago he ruled a mighty kingdom, and 
 now he hath not where to lay his head. To the 
 ancestors of these Tartars the Russian princes 
 paid homage — from them they begged permission 
 to reign, they held their stirrup, they paid tribute 
 to them. But now . . . . O, surely, kings ought 
 to come hiter to learn humility! But .... such 
 is the blindness of man — thou seest with what 
 triumph the Great Prince beholdeth his prison- 
 er. His liberation cannot be — ought not to be 
 thought of The entreaties of the Princes of 
 Shibai and Nogai, his kinsmen, have had no 
 success. There have been many discussions on 
 this subject with Ivan, in which they sent one 
 another heavy compliments and light gifts. But 
 the only gainer in this intercourse "was Ivan. 
 He discovered the weakness of the Tartar prin- 
 ces, and perhaps found among them enemies to 
 themselves. I know no ruler who so well 
 knoweth how to take advantage of circumstan- 
 ces; 1 said that Alegham's liberation was a 
 thing not to be thought of; but, from what Ivan 
 himself hath hinted, I think we may endeavour 
 to belter his condition." 
 
 Conforming himself to this hint, the young 
 physician said — " If the Great Prince desire that 
 his royal prisoner should live, he must transfer 
 him with his family to a better and more spa- 
 cious habitation, and give him the opportunity 
 of breathing fresh air. If this be not done, I can- 
 not answer for his life lasting more than a few 
 •weeks." 
 
 Ivan Vassflievitch became thoughtful — "Ay, 
 this man is still necessary to me," he continued 
 half aloud; and ordered Mamon, who under- 
 stood the Tartar language, as did many Rus- 
 sians in those days, to inform Alegham that he 
 would immediately send him with his two 
 wives to Vologda, and his mother, brothers, 
 and sisters, to Kargopol, on the Biaylo-Ozero. 
 " There," added he, " he may walk about as he 
 pleaseth. I will allow him for his subsistence a 
 pittance of two allincs* a day." 
 
 When this was interpreted to Alegham, the 
 Tsar of Kazan threw himself at the feet of the 
 Great Prince : his example was followed by all his 
 family, except one of his wives. She was about 
 to catch him by his robe, to restrain him from 
 this slavish expression of gratitude, and cried 
 out with indignation — " What wouldst thou do, 
 Tsar of Kazan !" But Alegham was already at 
 Ivan's feet, and the Tsarina threw upon her hus- 
 band a glance of profound contempt. 
 
 This woman afterwards became the wife of 
 Tsar Makhmet Amin : she remembered the hu- 
 miliation of her first husband, and succeeded in 
 exciting her second against Ivan. 
 
 A new apartment— Again remarkable prison- 
 ers — again Tartars — again proofs of Ivan's wis- 
 dom and firmness, by which he had tranquillized 
 the East. Shut up here were two brothers; one 
 a hoary-headed old man, the other of an age bor- 
 dering on that of his companion. Seated side 
 by side, with their hands twined round each oth- 
 er's neck, they were gazing one another in the 
 face. In that they beheld their country, their 
 heaven, their kinsmen, and their frieiids— all 
 that was most precious — that was lost to them 
 for ever. In this attitude the Great Prince found 
 them. Confused, they untwined their embrace, 
 and remained seated. 
 
 "Thou wouldst have guessed that these two 
 are brothers, even if I had not informed thee," 
 said Aristotle; "scions of that mighty power 
 which wellnigh overwhelmed Russia, and was 
 thus diverted from Europe. In fact, these are 
 the brothers of Mengli-Ghirei, Khan of the Cri- 
 mea, and best friend and ally of Ivan. They 
 are Nordooulat and Aidar." 
 
 " Friend — ally V enquired Antony with aston-, 
 ishment ; "how reconcile that with their impris- 
 onment"?" 
 
 " I will tell thee more. Nordooulat, the grey- 
 haired man, who is gazing so bitterly at the 
 Great Prince, served him in the war against the 
 Great or Golden Horde, and its Tsar Akhmet — 
 a war in which was decided the question, wheth- 
 er Russia was or was not to be the slave of the 
 East; whether a new deluge of barbarians was 
 to pour into Europe; but" .... 
 
 Here was heard the imploring voice of Andri- 
 ousha, Aristotle's son. Without being remark- 
 ed, he had suddenly made his way to the side of 
 the Great Prince, who was caressingly stroking 
 his head. 
 
 "Make me a present, Ivan Vassilievitcb, of 
 these two poor old men," said Andriousha, fond- 
 lin? the stern ruler. 
 
 The Great Prince laughed, and asked the boy 
 what he would do with the prisoners. 
 
 "I will give them their liberty, that they may 
 bless thy name," replied Andriousha. 
 
 "I grant it. Give these two their freedom," 
 said Ivan Vassilievitcb, turning to Mamon; 
 "and send them to Vologda. Appoint them 
 
 * Russian money was anciently counted by "oWi'ne*;" 
 each altine contained three kopeks. — T. B. S, 
 
54 
 
 THE HERETIC. 
 
 there an ample maintenance. This I do for the 
 sake of my son's godson." 
 
 The intelligent boy took care to beg nothing 
 more. 
 
 The artist and the physician thought that the 
 Great Prince had decided on this generous con- 
 duct in consequenue of overhearing their con- 
 versation, and subdued by the eloquent sorrow 
 of Nordooi'ilat, once his faithful servant. Aris- 
 totle, however, was not surprised when the 
 Great Prince took him aside, and added in a low 
 voice — 
 
 "It was opportunely that Andriousha spoke 
 for them : the Khan of the Golden Horde en- 
 treateth me, through his ambassador, to send 
 Nordooulat to him. Methinks thou must have 
 met of late an accursed Hebrew at my palace. 
 That same Hebrew hath filched from the Khan's 
 ambassador a letter to Nordooiilat, and hath suc- 
 ceeded in replacing it unperceived. Even with- 
 out a written letter, I should have straightway 
 guessed their cunning plots. My friend Mengli- 
 Ghirei wellnigh got himself into the wolf's 
 mouth— Coward! he feared the threats of the 
 Golden Horde, and sent to implore me to liber- 
 ate his brother, with whom he meaneth to reign 
 conjointly. But I will show him he is wrong; 
 and he himself will hereafter be glad at what I 
 have done. The King of Poland inviteth Ai- 
 dar; Nordooulat is clever; Aidar is not, but 
 dangerous notwithstanding. My foes have plot- 
 ted craftily: in open daylight they would set a 
 trap in sight of the fox. I will show them my 
 tail: What! are we fools? We can count five 
 
 on our fingers In Mengli-Ghirei I have 
 
 a faithful friend, and he will do as I would have 
 liim. They desire me to put in his place a man 
 inore fierce and clever; I shall have them safer 
 at Vologda, where they can receive no more let- 
 ters, and will never behold the Tartar's crafty 
 face; but still I will keep my word to Andriou- 
 sha— at Vologda they shall be free." 
 
 These words, when translated to Antony, sat- 
 isfactorily explained the Tsar's object in keep- 
 ing in prison the brothers of Mengli-Ghirei, the 
 friend and ally of Ivan, and found in the young 
 man's heart an excuse for his tortuous policy. 
 ; A new apartment. 
 
 Here the Great Prince rapped with his staff at 
 a grating; at the knock there looked out an old 
 woman, who was fervently praying on her 
 knees. She was dressed in a much-worn high 
 cap, and in a short veil, poor, but white as new- 
 fallen snow; her silver hair streamed over a 
 threadbare mantle : It was easy to guess that 
 this was no common woman. Her features 
 were very regular, in her dim eyes was express- 
 ed intellect, and a kind of stern greatness of soul. 
 She looked proudly and steadily at the Great 
 Prince. 
 
 " For whom wert thou praying, Marphoushal" 
 asked the sovereign. 
 
 " For whom but for the dead!" she sullenly 
 replied. 
 
 "But for whom in particular, if I may make 
 bold to ask V 
 
 "Ask concerning that of my child, thou son 
 of a dog— of him who was called thy brother, 
 whom thou murdennlst — of Novgorod, which 
 thou hast drowned in blood and covered with 
 ashes!" 
 
 " O, ho, ho! ... . Thou hast not forgotten thy 
 folly, then— Lady of Novgorod the Great." 
 
 " I was such once, my fair lord !" 
 
 Al these words she arose. 
 
 " Wilt thou not think again 1" 
 
 " Of what 1 .... I said that I was praying for 
 the dead. Thy Moscow, with all its hoveU, can 
 twice a-year be laid in ashes, and twice built up 
 again. The Tartar hath held it two ages m 
 
 slavery It pined, it pined away, and yet 
 
 it remains whole. It hath but changed one bon- 
 dage for another. But once destroy the queen — 
 Novgorod the Great — and Novgorod the Great 
 will perish for ever." 
 
 "How canst thou tell thatl" 
 
 "Can ye raise up a city of hewn stone in a 
 hundred years 1" 
 
 " I will raise one in a dozen." 
 
 " Ay, but this is not in the fairj' tale, where 
 'tis done as soon as said. Call together the 
 Hanse traders whom thou hast driven away." 
 
 " Ha, hucksteress ! thou mournest for the tra- 
 ders more than for N6vgorod itself." 
 
 "By my huckstering she grew not poor, but 
 rich." 
 
 " Let me but jingle a piece of money, and 
 straight will fly the merchants from all corners 
 of the world, greedy for my grosches." 
 
 " Recall the chief citizens whom thou hast ex- 
 iled to thy towns." 
 
 "Cheats, knaves, rebels! they are not worth. 
 this!" 
 
 " When was power in the wrong'? Where is 
 the Waaler of life that can revive those thou ha«t 
 slain ? Even if thou couldst do all this, liberty, 
 liberty would be no more for N6vgorod, Ivaa 
 Vassllievitch; and N6vgorod will never rise 
 again! It may live on awhile like lighted flax, 
 that neither flameth nor goeth out, even as I live 
 in a dungeon!" 
 
 "It is thine inflexible obstinacy that hath ru- 
 ined both of ye. I should like to have seen how 
 thou wouldst have acted in my place." 
 
 "Thou hast done thv work. Great Prince of 
 Moscow, I — mine. Triumph not over me, in 
 my dungeon, at my last hour." 
 
 "Marpba Bor^tzkaia coughed, and her face 
 grew livid: she applied the end of her veil to 
 her lips, but it was instantly stained with blood, 
 and Ivan remarked this, though she endeavoured 
 to conceal it. 
 
 " I am sorry for thee, MaiT>ha," said the Great 
 Prince in a compassionate tone. 
 
 "Sharp is thy glance What! doth it 
 
 delight thee 1 . . . . Spread this kerchief over 
 
 N6vgorod 'Twill be a rich pall!" .... she 
 
 added, with a smile. 
 
 " Let me in ! let me in ! .... I cannot bear it 
 . . . . Let me go in to her!" cried Andrifiusha, 
 bursting into tears. 
 
 On the Great Prince's countenance was min- 
 gled compassion and vexation. He, however, 
 lifted the latch of the door, and let the son of 
 Aristotle pass in to Boretzkaia. 
 
 Andrea kissed her hand. Boretzkaia uttered 
 not a word; she mournfully shook her head, and 
 her warm tears fell upon the boy's face. 
 
 "Ask him how many years she can live," said 
 the Great Prince to Aristotle, in a whisper. 
 
 "It is much, much, if she live three months; 
 but, perhaps, 'twill be only till spring," answered 
 Antony. " No medicine can save her : that blood 
 is a sure herald of death." 
 
 This reply was translated to Ivan Vassilicvitch 
 in as low a tone as possible, that Boretzkaia 
 might not hear it ; but she waved her hand, and 
 said c:ilmtv— " I knew it long ngo" .... 
 
 " Hearken, Marpha Isakovna ; if thou wilt, I 
 will give thee thy liberty, and send thee into an- 
 other town." 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 55 
 
 "Another town .... another place .... God 
 hath willed it so without thee!" 
 
 " I would send thee to Bayjetzkoi-Verkh." 
 
 " 'Tis true, that was our country. If I could 
 but die in my native land !" 
 
 "Then God be with thee: there thou mayest 
 say thy prayers, give alms to the churches. I 
 •will order thy treasury to be delivered up to thee 
 — and remember not the Great Prince of Mos- 
 cow in anger." 
 
 She smiled. Have ye ever seen something 
 resembling a smile on the jaws of a human skull 1 
 
 "Farewell, we shall never meet again," said 
 the Great Prince. 
 
 " We shall meetat the judgment-seat of God !" 
 ■was the last reply of Boretzkaia. 
 
 Thoughtfully departed the Great Prince from 
 the dungeon ; thoughtful, without looking round 
 him, he passed softly by the abodes of the other 
 prisoners; and when he felt ihe fresh air blow- 
 ing on him, he crossed himself, bowing towards 
 a neighbouring church, and ejaculated — "Wilt 
 thou then judge thy servant Ivan, and not the 
 Prince of Moscow!" 
 
 At this moment, from the steps in front of the 
 Black Izba, there opened before the artist a view 
 of the spot on which was to be built the Cathe- 
 dral of the Annunciation : he grew thoughtful — 
 bis heart and soul flew thither. 
 
 "Hark thee, Aristotle," said the Great Prince 
 to him, laying his hand on the Italian's shoulder: 
 "thou must prepare more of these railings. At 
 night I mean to close up the streets with them 
 from drunken and evil-disposed people." 
 
 The artist fell, as it were from heaven into the 
 mud. He turned red, then pale, glanced at his 
 companion, and — said not a word. 
 
 On the road he related to Antony the story of 
 Marpha of Novgorod, and how with her had 
 died in Russia the vigour of the commonality, 
 ■which had been brought from Germany to Nov- 
 gorod and PskofFby the commercial spirit ; but 
 he said nothing about the subject of the Great 
 Prince's last words. 
 
 " Ivan doth not always chant such a dirge of 
 mercy'?" remarked the leech. 
 
 By their side Andriousha gaily pranced along 
 on a fiery steed. - 
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE PATIENTS. 
 
 " And what if I thy bold-faced saucy cheat 
 Before the time to all the world discover 7" . . . . 
 
 P6US1IKIN. 
 
 From this moment Andri6usha was a frequent 
 visitor to Ehrenstein: he taught him Russian; 
 and the intelligent pupil, with the aid of the 
 Tchekh language, made rapid progress. It was 
 delightful to see how the boy dressed himself in 
 magisterial importance during the lessons; and 
 how obediently the Paduan bachelor listened. 
 Sometimes the master would knit his brows 
 when the pupil's obstinate tongue — accustoined 
 to the easy sounds of the Italian— refused to ut- 
 ter the sometimes difficult combinations of Rus- 
 sian consonants. The lesson ended, the professor 
 and disciple were gone, and in their place ap- 
 peared friendship with her smiles, her lively con- 
 versation, and caresses. Friendship ! when one 
 of them was more than twenty-five, and the other 
 not above half that age ! . . . . what matter 1 
 Both were young in soul — both felt aspirations 
 
 after all that was noble, and a mysterious attrac- 
 tion for each other. They seemed to have rivet- 
 ed some indescribable chain which fate alone 
 could undo. They called each other friend, and 
 could not understand how strangers could find 
 any thing extraordinary in their connexion. 
 Antony was alone in a foreign land : the artist, 
 in consequence of the multitude of his various 
 occupations, could but seldom visit him. The 
 master of the house, and almost all the Russians, 
 continued to estrange themselves, or rather to 
 shun him with abhorrence ; Andrea was the 
 only being in Russia that loved him, that under- 
 stood him, that communicated with him the 
 thoughts of an intellect early developed, and a 
 warm and benevolent soul. To Andriousha no 
 less did the young physician become something 
 indispensable — a fifth element, as it were : with- 
 out him the world would have been a blank. 
 Born in Italy, he still remembered, like some 
 spirit exiled to this dull earth from another and 
 brighter world — he remembered with lively re- 
 gret the luxuriance of southern nature, the skies 
 of those lands — their groves of orange and cy- 
 press ; and it seemed as if there breathed on him 
 from Antony the warm odorous air of that bless- 
 ed region. Something strange and mysterious, 
 loo, attracted him to the young German .... 
 what it was he could never describe, even to 
 himself. The boy warmly loved one other be- 
 ing, good and beautiful too — but this being he 
 loved less than Antony. This was Obrazetz's 
 daughter, Anastasia. Frequently did he go frona 
 Ehrenstein to her, and from her to his friend ; 
 and this intercourse, which began in innocence, 
 established between them a kind of magic, three- 
 fold bond. 
 
 Ehrenstein had never seen Anastasia ; but had 
 often listened to the steps of her little feet upon 
 the ceiling of his chamber. Often Andriousha 
 would relate how beautiful she was, how good, 
 how kind, how she loved him, how she kissed 
 him. This close proximity to a young maiden, 
 to whom the descriptions of his friend, as well 
 as his own imagination, gave all that was near- 
 est perfection, external as well as intellectual; 
 the mystery that surrounded her; her close retire- 
 ment; the difficulty of beholding her — all this 
 awoke in Antony's heart a feeling to which he 
 had hitherto been a stranger. He frequently 
 thought upon her, listened to any story about 
 her with peculiar delight, kissed Andriousha 
 inore frequently, when the latter mentioned that 
 Anastasia had kissed him — and often beheld ia 
 his dreains a lovely female form, which he call- 
 ed by her name. In one word, he was in love 
 with her, though he had never seen her. But 
 soon he called "this feeling folly — the caprice of 
 solitude; and he extinguished it by renewed ap- 
 plication to his science, to which he devoted him- 
 self with fresh warmth and sedulity. If he men- 
 tioned any thing about Anastasia now, it was 
 only as a jest; even the sound of her step over- 
 head he now learned to hear with indifference, 
 as we listen to the unvarying beat of the pendu- 
 lum of a clock. The visitors who soon besieged 
 him on all sides, aided him to cast away every 
 thought about her ; and at last Muscovite patients 
 presented themselves to him. They had, then, 
 thrown aside their hatred of the foreigner, and 
 theirdread of the sorcerer, as he had been hitherto 
 accounted. At last, to work, Antony! Thy 
 heart bounds with the sweet hope of helping suf- 
 fering humanity; let them besiege thee night 
 and day— let them give thee no rest ! These 
 
56 
 
 THE HERETIC. 
 
 toils, these importunities will be delightful to 
 thee. Thou wouldst not exchange them for all 
 the lazy luxury of wealth. 
 
 '=Who is there"?" 
 
 "I, your most obsequious servant, his high- 
 ness's interpreter, Bartholomew; and I come not 
 alone. With me there is an obsequious patient 
 
 master sinned ; and 'tis finished. This we hare- 
 settled with the right worshipful baron the 
 
 richest, and, I must add, the most generous of 
 mortals. This agreement is sealed with a 
 solemn oath." 
 
 During this lively conversation, which the 
 living skeleton understood by the citation of the 
 
 if you will permit him to be so, right worship- j text, he called the boy to him, convulsively patted 
 
 lul Master Leech." him on the head with a fatherly tenderness, pad- 
 
 " i pray ye, enter." I riling with his bony fingers on the downy cheek", 
 
 And — dot-and-go-one, dot-and-go-one ! — there 
 glided into the chamber the splendidly illumi- 
 nated face of the printer, the terrible vanquisher 
 of all women from the Rhine to the Ya6uza. 
 Clinging to him by his clawlike fingers, there 
 crawlsd IPj, as ;1 for contrast, an animated skele- 
 ton, covered with a wrinkled hide; its head and | 
 
 then leered at the physician, as though he would 
 say — " Look, 'tis like a ripe cherry!" 
 
 " Harkye, Bartholomew !" said the young phy- 
 sician, sternly— " Once for all I tell thee, if ever 
 thou uaiest again to come to me with such prop- 
 ositions, I will throw thee out of the window." 
 I The eager and submissive interpreter of all 
 chin were fringed with a few remnants of white | work by no means expected such a reply. He 
 hair, and it was swathed in a sh6uba. He seem- 1 was altogether disconcerted, and in a pitiful 
 ed to breathe oiu, as it were, an odour of corrup- mumbling tone he continued, laying on every 
 tion. This being, which had once been man, {word, and almost every syllable, a comma em- 
 
 might have dwelt on earth perhaps eighty years 
 by his eyes, his lips, his voice, by each convul- 
 sive jerk that replaced movement, death seemed 
 to be saying — " Forget not that I am here ; I sit 
 firm— my respite is but short." But the man — 
 for man he once had been — had forgotten this, 
 and was come to ask Antony the leech, the Al- 
 mayne sorcerer, who could restore youth and 
 strength to the aged, by transfusing into their 
 veins the blood of children — he came to ask him 
 
 phasis, like that made by his leg — "You . 
 yourself .... most high wor .... shipful 
 . . . . said .... to the Great Prince" .... 
 
 "True, true! I was in the wrong. But, to- 
 console this decrepit old man of thine, I will give 
 him the elixir of life — not long invented. Tell 
 him, that 'tis a pity he could not have made use 
 of it some twenty years sooner : then he would 
 have lived twenty years longer. But even as it. 
 is, if he will taketen drops of it morning and 
 
 for life, life but for ten or twenty years. He had \ evening .... I hope it will strengthen the old 
 
 man .... keep him up, if but for a lime ' . . . . 
 
 A phial of the elixir was given to the walking 
 skeleton, with a translation of the physician's 
 directions. The dotard's trembling, bony hand 
 laid on the table a schiflTsnobel. A .schiflsnobel ! 
 Whatever you may think, the fee was a prince- 
 ly one, judging from the fact, that even Ivan 
 Vassilievitch himself was wont to send to the 
 kinsmen of his Iriends, to Tsarinas, to their chil- 
 dren, a schiflTsnobel at a time — it was very rare 
 indeed if he gave two. Notwithstanding the 
 splendour of the fee, the physician returned the 
 money, saying that he would accept it when the 
 medicine began to act. With this, he conduct- 
 ed the patient and his go-between to the door. 
 
 The elixir, it seemed, did not operate so pow- 
 erfully as the decrepit old man had hoped. He 
 laid all the blame on the bov, his kholop, whom, 
 as Bartholomew had said, the physician had de- 
 sired to save ; and he did " sin" — by dashing out 
 the Jtoy's brains. But "in ihys cas, y judge* 
 didde" not " account hym guilty— nor judge 
 hym," because the laws were not written by 
 slaves. The slave was buried, and nothing 
 more was said about it. Within a week, how- 
 ever, a higher Judge had summoned the lord 
 also before his judgment-seat. 
 
 On the next day, late in the evening, came 
 another tap at the door. 
 
 " Who is there T' 
 
 "'Tis I, if I may venture to say so; your 
 most devoted .servant, the printer Bariholomeus." 
 
 " Como in." 
 
 " I am not alone, I have .... with me" .... 
 
 " Remember our agreement, Master Barthol- 
 omew." 
 
 " How can I forget it ! . . . sooner may my 
 right hand wither away I .... I have with me 
 .... a young ladv ... not a dry, decrepit, old 
 dotard, on whom it would be too much honour 
 even to spit . . . No, a voung, benutiful lady, 
 whose fingers you would never be tired of kiss- 
 ing .... the rich widow, Silinova ; she is wail- 
 ing on the stairs j may she enter 1" 
 
 young wile, he was rich, he 7)iusi live on 
 awhile. Antony himself was an aged man: 
 they had beheld him by night, through the win- 
 dow, old — by day, he transformed himself into a 
 handsome blooming youth. Who was there, in 
 all Moscow, that knew not thisl .... 
 
 The living skeleton looked wistfully, yet with 
 fear, at the leech, and still more beseechingly he 
 pointed to a boy of ten years old, who was stand- 
 ing, in a kind of awe, by the door. Nothing, it 
 seemed, could be better chosen ; just the age, just 
 the appearance, that the German had described 
 to the Great Prince as proper for the great opera- 
 tion of restoring youth. 
 
 Antony himself was petrified. "No," he 
 thought, "never will I consent to this frightful 
 experiment ! And even if it should succeed .... 
 at the expense of this child's young, blooming 
 life, to prolong for a year or two the mere ani- 
 mal existence of a dotard I who perhaps is a 
 burden to the earth .... Nsver, never!" 
 
 "Fear not, most high worshipful sir!" said 
 Bartholomew with a simper, "that, in case of 
 the death of this boy, either you or this respecta- 
 ble gentleman will have to answer for it. Fear 
 not, fear not, this lad is— a k/wl6p." 
 
 "I understand not the meaning of 'kkolSp,'" 
 replied Antony; "I only know that he is a hu- 
 man being." 
 
 " Human ! .... hm! .... a human being 
 .... I have the honour to inform you he is a 
 kholop— a slave. Be assured, I am' myself ex- 
 ceeding cautclons in these matters; aiid there- 
 fore have I looked into the soudi^bnik of the 
 Great Prince of All Russia. There, the law is 
 clearly laid down: ' Bot whosoeuer, beeing a 
 lord, schal pcradventure sinne, and bete hys 
 kholop, or his bondwoman, so thatte y sam dye 
 iherof; thanne yn no cas .schal y' lorde bee 
 judged or accownled guilty thefof.' When 
 translated, this means .... (here the eager in- 
 terpreter turned the text into German.) In case 
 ol llic death of this lad, we shall say that his 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 57 
 
 "If she pleases." 
 
 " I suppose she couieth to consult me about a 
 son, a relation — who knoweth V thought An- 
 lony, as he hastily donned a rich mantle. 
 
 In reality, there timidly entered the room a 
 pretty woman, of about the same age as Ehren- 
 stein; she seemed quaking in every limb, and 
 nevertheless to be burning with agitation. She 
 did not dare to lift up her eyes .... soon tears 
 began to stream from them, and she fell at the 
 physician's feet. 
 
 " Rise, I entreat you .... Without this I will 
 do all you desire," said Antony, raising her. 
 
 " I will not rise, worthy man, till thou doest 
 what I ask. Be a father, be a brother to me ; 
 help me, or I will lay hands on myself!" .... 
 
 And the pretty young woman clasped his 
 knees, sobbing. 
 
 " Explain, Bartholomew, what she desireth of 
 me." 
 
 " This is the matter," replied the printer with 
 a grin. " This is the same woman .... I ex- 
 plained, methinks, on the first day of your arri- 
 val, most high worshipful sir ... . that she is in 
 love with the son of your host." 
 
 The widow Selinova interrupted him in con- 
 fusion, forgetting that the physician understood 
 very little Russian. — " True, true ! for him I for- 
 got virtue while my husband was alive; I forgot 
 my race and blood ; I forgot censorious neigh- 
 bours ; shame ! — I forgot that there were other 
 people in the world besides him. For him I gave 
 up my soul. When he was leading me astray 
 — when he was turning my head— he called me 
 his bright sun, his never-setting star : he prevail- 
 ed by such tales as these — ' That day when I 
 forget my love, may my swift feet break under 
 me, my manly hands fall powerless ; may sand 
 be strewn over my eyes, may my white breast 
 be covered with the plank !' See now, in my 
 blue eyes there is no ray — not a spark. My 
 lover bath no faith in his false heart : all his 
 words are deceit. My beloved is enamoured of 
 another, who dwelleth with the brother of Pho- 
 minishma. And who is she to rival me "? In 
 ■what is she better than 1 1 Perhaps she is bet- 
 ter, because she admits to the bed of Andrei Pho- 
 mitch a succession of fickle youths ! She hath 
 enchanted — the accursed Greek ! — my curled 
 lover. Ever since that day, the faithless boy 
 laugheth at ray caresses, and answereth my love 
 ■with such mocker}' as this — ' The heart loveth 
 freedom, and slavery is a shame to the brave ! 
 Get thee gone — go to the fiend ! If thou wilt not 
 leave me alone. I will take wood from the court, 
 I will make a pile, and I will burn thy fair body 
 even to ashes ; I will scatter the dust in the plain, 
 and none shall mourn or weep for thee.' What- 
 ever I do, I cannot cease to love him. I track 
 his steps ; I wither away, I pine. Thou see'st I 
 would fain not weep; even though mine eyes 
 were dry, my heart would sob. Have pity on 
 me ! have mercy, good man ! Tear him from 
 the accursed Greek by the powers of good or ill 
 — restore him to me. Take for thy good service 
 my hammered chests, my precious treasures- 
 pearls of orient ! Take all that I have, but give 
 me back my lover as he was of old, my belov- 
 ed !" " ^ 
 
 When Selinova had concluded her prayer, 
 Bartholomew translated it as well as he could. 
 Submitting to the prejudices of his times and of 
 his heart, Antony did not laugh at her. He 
 himself, as well as his instructors, was firmly 
 convinced that there exists a secret science 
 
 which can influence, by attraction and repulsion, 
 the poles of the heart. Besides this, with his 
 good-nature, was it possible to laugh at feelings 
 so ardent and so strong, which had induced a 
 young woman to forget shame so far as to come 
 and implore a stranger's help 1 But how to 
 assist herl Untbnunately, Antony was igno- 
 rant of the occult science: to refuse Selinova's 
 request would be to drive her to despair. 
 " Time," he thought, " will bring her a better 
 cure; let us leave it to time. I will tell her that, 
 for the completion of the necessary incantations, 
 two, three, new moons are requisite, according 
 to circumstances: that I must have a personal 
 intercourse with Khabar — with the Greek." 
 
 And he acted accordingly. Only in addition 
 to his advice, he took her white hand, placed her 
 on a seat, consoled her, and promised her all 
 kinds of aid : and the pretty widow, whether 
 tranquillized by his assurances, or feeling a new 
 sentiment towards the handsome stranger, or by 
 the desire of taking revenge on her former lover, 
 departed from the physician, feeling almost con- 
 soled. The old song is right — 
 
 " O, a young widow weepeth as the dew doth fall ,- 
 TJpriseth the beaming sun, the dew drielh up," 
 
 The proverb — " it never rains, but it pours,"" 
 was exemplified on this occasion : never had the 
 physician prescribed to a patient so nauseous a 
 draught as Bartholomew made him swallow at 
 each of his visits. On the following day, again 
 a reception — again the appearance of the inev- 
 -itable translator. With him came the boyaria 
 Mamon. The union of these two personages 
 boded no good ; but the printer had been pretty 
 well frightened by the leech: was he come again 
 to demand some absurdity 1 
 
 Was it really so'? "The pitcher goeth oft to 
 the well, and is broken at last." It was not 
 money nor pleasures that the Interpreter sought 
 in his meditation. No — his passion was to ob- 
 tain the good- will of others; in any manner, with 
 any person — even against his own interest. He 
 was ready to lie for another, for himself, so that 
 he could in any way curry favour. That he had 
 himself known Antony in Germany an old man^ 
 withered, white-haired — that Antony was a most 
 mighty necromancer — could make old men 
 young — could enchant cold and faithless hearts 
 — could bewitch wood, iron, houses, whole 
 towns ; these reports were all fictions of Barthol- 
 omew's. O, when it came to inventing, he was 
 no fool ! Believe or not, that was no affair of 
 his ! But that he was believed, was proved by 
 all the patients that he had brought to the young 
 physician. A new proof of this was the boyarin 
 Mam8n : himself the son of a witch, burned by 
 the Prince of Mojaisk for intercourse with the 
 Evil One, he had already been terrified by the 
 leech's proposal to transfuse his blood in e.x- 
 change for that of the little deacon ; and the boy- 
 arin had now recourse to the magic of ihe here- 
 tic. It may be guessed that what he needed was 
 power to work death and mischief; and it was 
 indeed no trifle. He came to request him, in 
 the first place, to drive Anastasia mad with love 
 for his son ; in the second, to enchant a steel, so 
 that it might not betray himself or that unhappy 
 son, in the event of a judicial combat. 
 
 " What would the baron 1" enquired Antonj'. 
 
 Mamon was no coward, but he was awe- 
 struck when it was necessary to have recourse 
 to supernatural aid. Trembling, he pointed to 
 the Interpreter. 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 " The baron," continued the Interpreter, re- 
 membering the intractable character of the leech, 
 and anxious to get safe and sound out of the ad- 
 venlure, which his passion for making him.self 
 useful had made him undertake — "the baron 
 
 .... as you see hath a swelling in his 
 
 liver" .... 
 
 " I see nothing," interrupted the physician. 
 
 " As you know, I meant to say. Then at 
 times he hath a whirling in the head, and sink- 
 ings of the heart; and then again, something af- 
 ter the manner of a consumption; and again at 
 times, something after the manner of an hydropi- 
 sy; at limes" .... 
 
 "At Umes death, too, I suppose. Either all 
 these diseases exist only in the baron's imagina- 
 tion, or you, good Master Interpreter — be not 
 ofl'ended — are pleased to lie. As far as I can 
 judge from the patient's eyes and complexioi., 
 both tinged with a saffron hue, he hath simply 
 an overflow of bile; and therefore I counsel him 
 chietly to give way less frequently to fits of chol- 
 cr; and, in addition to this, to use (so and so)" 
 
 Here Antony advised him to take an infusion 
 ■^f various herbs exceedingly common, and such 
 as might probably be found in the neighbourhood 
 of Moscow. 
 
 Bartholomew communicated all this to Ma- 
 mon in the following fashion : " Thou must pro- 
 cure, boyiirin, at the new moon, two young toads 
 of different .^exes ; keep them together where 
 thou judgest fit, three days and three nights, by 
 day in the beams of the sun, by night under the 
 rays of the moon ; then bury them alive together 
 at midnight, at the full of the moon, in the forest, 
 in an ant-hill ; and on Ihe next night take out of 
 tbe male toad a hook which he halh under his 
 heart, but the toad of the female sex leave in the 
 ant-hill. With this hook let your son catch the 
 maiden, calling her by her name" .... 
 
 The ph3'sician shook his head, and said — 
 "Thou art a cheat!" 
 
 " A cheat, a cheat !" cried somebody from be- 
 hind the door ; and the poor Interpreter, surround- 
 ed on every side by a sudden attack, trembling 
 like a leaf, neither dead nor alive, stopped short 
 at the magic cry. He had not strength to move 
 his tongue, he dared not even turn round. 
 
 The door flew open, and the chill of death 
 seemed to breathe from it on the culprit. The 
 detector stood outside, and had consequently 
 heard all. He appeared, armed with the flaming 
 sword of proof. It was Andriousha. There 
 was no escape. Bartholom6w looked at his 
 judge .... In that glance were united abject 
 i'ear, entreaty, hope, apprehension, torture ; the 
 glance was so eloquent, that Andriousha was 
 moved to save the unhappy culprit; but remem- 
 bering that the cheater had made a tool of his 
 friend, and that now he could put an end, once 
 for all, to the translator's rogueries, he abandon- 
 ed him as a sacrifice to his angry dupes. 
 
 " If Master Court Interpreter," cried the son 
 of Aristotle, "translates as correctly as that liie 
 German papers and treaties between our great 
 lord and the ambassadors, we may congratulate 
 Russia on some rare strokes of policv. On thy 
 knees, this instant — this moment, Master Bar- 
 tholomew! — and beg for pardon. Thou wilt he 
 lucky if the leech and the boyi'irin onlv drag thee 
 out by the ears, on condition that thou never 
 ag.iin show thy fare before them!" 
 
 Obeying the boy's angry look and command, 
 the unfortuate printer fell on his knees, folding 
 
 his hands pitifully on his breast, and bendirg his 
 eyes on the ground. He had not a word tc say 
 for himself. 
 
 Andriousha explained to his friend and the 
 boyarin, how he had followed the Interpreter 
 (whom he had long counted a liar,) and had list- 
 ened to his translation. He then gave the true 
 version. Detected in this cheat, the Interpreter 
 confessed to the villanous reports respecting An- 
 tony which he had so busily circulated through 
 Moscow. Mamon was about to fly at him, and 
 would have fairly throttled him; but Ehrenstein 
 protected the poor devil, begging the boyarin to 
 content himself with the punishment already in- 
 flicted of terror and humiliation. On this occa- 
 sion, the new and eloquent little translator ex- 
 plained to the boydrin how much the inhabitants 
 of Moscow were mistaken in considering the 
 physician a sorcerer: that science had only giv- 
 en him the knowledge of natural powers, and of 
 the mode of employing them for the benefit of 
 humanity : that even if there existed in the world 
 other powers to attract or to repel, by means of 
 which a man acquainted with their .secret influ- 
 ences might perform things apparently super- 
 natural, yet that he — Antony the leech — was un- 
 happily ignorant of those powers, and was him- 
 self but a seeker after them; and therefore that 
 he must refuse every person who should ask his 
 aid in such matters. But as a physician, he 
 hoped by the help of God, and of science, which 
 is also God's gift, to cure the sick; and he was 
 ready, without any distinction of lime or weath- 
 er, without any views of interest, to be useful to 
 any one who had the least need of his assistance. 
 
 Thus finished another unsuccessful consulta- 
 tion. 
 
 " It seems that I am fated to burn bricks here 
 too," said the physician, sadly to his little friend, 
 when the boyarin, followed by the printer, had 
 departed. 
 
 "Raise the sick from his bed!" thought Ma- 
 mon, with a sneer ; " what old woman's songs 
 would this poticarier sing us! .... The man 
 who is fated to live will rise through the ice-hole 
 — from under a falling house can he leap, and 
 arise from the grave. Him who is fated to die, 
 even the staff" of Ivan Vassilievitch cannot raise. 
 Let him get a beard, and then he may make ac- 
 quaintance wiih the Fiend. The Devil would 
 carry a hundred such Almayne quacksalvers at 
 his belt : better go to the witch, or to the Jew 
 with the book of Adam!" 
 
 Nevertheless the boyarin, though he laughed 
 at the leech's ignorance of sorcery, determined 
 to keep silence on this point. "Let him have 
 the reputation of being an enchanter, one who is 
 acquainted with the secrets of the Ibul fiend !" 
 said the boyarin to himself, as he descended the 
 stairs — " I, loo, will e.xert myself to spread the 
 report : the more terrible we can make the pow- 
 er of the German, the more bitter will he be to 
 my good friend !" 
 
 "Ho, Insatiate!" he said, looking at a tall 
 peasant, as pale as a corpse, who was standing 
 on the steps— " What dost thou here?" 
 
 " I would see Antony the leech— assuredly to 
 be healed." 
 
 "Go to him, go! His devil is stronger than 
 thine, than the one that is in thee. He will 
 siicedily fight him, and drive him away." 
 
 The boyarin had hardly time to pronounce 
 these words, when the voice of Andri6usha, call- 
 ing the sick man, was heard above in the hall. 
 
 He was nicknanied Insatiate, from the nature of 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 59 
 
 his disease. He ate much — incredibly much — 
 sometimes enough to make a meal for four 
 healthy men; and yet he was always hungry. 
 His count. -nance expressed deep-seated disease ; 
 yet Ihe eyes had a kind of supernatural double 
 brilliancy and liveliness, as if, by some mistake 
 of nature, two beings were looking througli 
 them, enclosed in a single body. This double 
 expression of the eyes struck' the physician. 
 The following was the account, which, in an- 
 swer to the leech's questions, Insatiate gave of 
 his disorder: 
 
 " He was a driver. Once, in the night-lime, 
 he had chanced to stop with his vehicle at a vil- 
 lage inn, where there arrived, almost at the same 
 time with him, a merchant with two horses from 
 a distant country. Apparently this merchant 
 was very fond of his steeds ; for while he him- 
 self ate as sparingly as a monk in the first ages 
 of Christianity, he gave abundance of oats to 
 his 'flesh and blood,' as he called them, and ex- 
 pressed great delight that they fed so well. 
 The merchant complained only of one thing; 
 namely, that fate had not given him the means of 
 feeding them on fine barley, giving them honey 
 mixed with their water, keeping them in velvet 
 meadows, of petting ttiem, of never wearying 
 them with work. Apparently he was rather 
 simple, or a very good Christian, as he trusted 
 in the honesty of his neighbour. These re- 
 marks, confirmed by the temptation of the Evil 
 One, led the driver into a bad action. Hardly 
 had the merchant found time to pour, with fa- 
 therly care, a good bellyful before his pets, and 
 to enter the izba contented and easy about them, 
 when the driver, following him to the door with 
 his eyes, pilfered the oats from the stranger's 
 horses, and gave them to his own. The food 
 which he had bought for them at the last bait- 
 ing-place would remain for another time. His 
 horses almost burst themselves, while the mer- 
 chant's steeds — his pets, his joy, the pride of his 
 heart — could hardly catch a grain. The guests 
 came out into the court, crossed themselves, and 
 exchanged the usual Christian salutations; as 
 they had arrived from diflferent quarters, so they 
 departed, each by his own road. From that mo- 
 ment the merchant had never been heard of. At 
 first the driver laughed at him in his sleeve; but 
 on and on he went, his mind growing gloomier 
 and gloomier, till at last his soul was as dark as 
 a wolfs throat. Already it began to be no 
 laughing matter. From that day forward he 
 grew ill at ease. One day he was on the road 
 as usual. It was eventide. A stifling heat lay 
 on the earth — it felt as when the evil spirit is 
 throttling the sleeper who has no strength to es- 
 cape. The sky seemed like a wall of redhot 
 iron. Afar, lights now darted along like ser- 
 pents, and then again spun like a top. He was 
 plodding on kneedeep in sand ; hunchbacked, 
 dwarfish fir-trees stood, like sentinels, along the 
 road. When you think you have passed them, 
 look beside you, and there they are, shaking 
 their grizzled heads, and clawing at you with 
 their hooked talons! 'Twas very eerie ! The 
 driver was alone : if he could but have spied a 
 dwelling! "Weariness and thirst were torturing 
 him: his breast seemed on fire: his lips are J 
 parched up; but suddenly the lightning flashes 
 on the stagnant surface of a marshy pool like a 
 filthy sewer. The driver rushes to it : a thick 
 rusty slime covers it with a greenish bloody 
 mantle, which is cut in various directions by 
 loathsom insects, darting quickly along it as if i 
 
 they were skating; or by bursting bubbles, blown 
 up by the inhabitants of its depths. It was 
 horrible to look at this pool; what then would 
 it be to drink from itl What was to be done 7 
 Thirst conquered abhorrence. The driverscoop- 
 ed up a hatful of the water; he blew on it to 
 force aside the filthy scum — crossed himself — 
 and, shutting his eyes, drank. At that instant — 
 he knew not how ; he could give no account of 
 it — he remembered the merchant and his horses. 
 Something began to lie heavy at his heart: in 
 three days he felt as if a stone was pressing on 
 his breast beneath the brisket; and this stone 
 seemed to be alive, to move, and suck at his 
 heart." 
 
 "Ah, I understand!" cried Antony with de- 
 light, like a person who has just guessed a diffi- 
 cult riddle, over which he has been beating his 
 brains. " But go on." 
 
 The driver continued, breathing heavily from 
 time to time, like a labourer who has been lift- 
 ing a great weight. Pressing close up to the 
 physician, Andriousha listened, and translated 
 the story into Italian. Antony devoured every 
 word with eagerness. 
 
 "From that hour," said Insatiate, "I have 
 never had a moment's ease; and, above all, I 
 can never satisfy my hunger, however much I 
 eat. Even though I eat a loaf as large as a man's 
 head, and a whole sheep, I am still hungry. I 
 have been to the wise women — the wise women 
 straightway guessed that 1 had stolen the oats 
 from the stranger's horses, but they could do 
 nothing for me. Wherever I went they always 
 told me the same. What money have I not paiJI 
 What oats have I not given to strangers' hor- 
 ses 1 What work have I not done in monaste- 
 ries 1 All was in vain. Every where they call 
 me the Insatiate. This word hath become a 
 jeer; the boys mock me with it, and throw stones 
 at me. Thou see'st these five bones !" (he show- 
 ed his gigantic fist.) " I could smash any one I 
 pleased. But what good would that do 1" (In- 
 satiate shook his head;) "and I do not shake 
 them off even. There is a stone in my bosom 
 heavier than those they cast at me; there it 
 seemeth to be planted ! Hark, how it rumbles ! 
 Dost thou hear it 1 And then they call me In- 
 satiate! Oh, it is heavy — so heavy ! If I could 
 but depart from the light of day ! . . . . He.?p 
 me, good man ! drive it out of me I I will be 
 thy bond slave to my dying day; though they 
 say that thou art an accursed Latiner, a Ger- 
 man heretic — worse than a Tartar!" 
 
 And Insatiate, as he finished his story, wept 
 — wept bitterly. 
 
 Having made the necessary medical examina- 
 tion, Antony said — "Yes, in thy body there is 
 nested a living animal. With the help of God 
 I will drive out of thee this horrible creature, 
 and thou wilt be well. Pray to the most Holy 
 Virgin; and when the Italian Aristotle shall 
 build her temple, labour thou at the foundatioa 
 of the altar." 
 
 Insatiate promised, and with lively confidence 
 gave himself up to the leech's will. The cure 
 was complete ; the next day the patient got rid of a 
 toad, which he had probably swallowed in an em- 
 bryo state in the stagnant water. When com- 
 pletely recovered, he every where sang the praises 
 of the leech Antony, and in his daily prayers re- 
 membered gratefullv the German's name; im- 
 ploring God to convert him to the true faith. 
 The Russian people explained this cure after 
 their own fashion. 
 
60 
 
 THE HERETIC. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE ENCHANTMENT. 
 
 There fl^wthe nightingale 
 
 By the greenwood, by the green (mderwood, 
 
 By the greenwood, by the bkrcben grove, 
 
 Flew awiy the nightingale 
 
 To a green g4rden, she kn*w not where ; 
 
 Then pirched the otghtlngale 
 
 UpAn a branch, she kn6w not where, 
 
 O that brinch, how it all6red her then 1 
 
 O that greenwood, how it ch&rmed her then 
 
 How she lived it, that nightingale. 
 
 Singing, how she j6)-ed lu it ! 
 
 She never will depart from it. 
 
 What was doing during this interval in the 
 other half of the stone palace 1 It is time to cast 
 a glance in that direction. 
 
 The sojourn of the heretic in Obrazetz's pal- 
 ace threw a gloom around it : it seemed as if the 
 mark of an anathema had been fixed upon the 
 house; and, therefore, all its inhabitants cursed 
 and hated the foul German. Every day were 
 spread fresh reports of his connexion with the 
 Evil One, and of his wicked deeds. At one time 
 they saw the devil flying to him down the chim- 
 ney in the form of a shooting star, or troops of 
 young witches rushing to meet him. At another, 
 they enjoined all fathers and mothers to conceal 
 their children, particularly such as were hrand- 
 some; they say he steals them, in order to be- 
 come young and beautiful by drinking their 
 blood. They informed one another in confidence 
 that he had enchanted a sword for Mamon, in 
 case of the judicial combat ; that he had cast out 
 an evil spirit in the shape of a toad, from Insa- 
 tiate, and that he kept tnis imp in a bottle to let 
 loose upon the first person who should offend 
 him; that when passing by the churches, he 
 dreads even to walk in their shadow. They not 
 infrequently observe that the deacon Kourilzin, 
 the greatest of heretics, visited him at dead of 
 night, when all good people were asleep, and 
 passed the hours of darkness with him in devil- 
 ish ceremonies; and that they had seen the Evil 
 One fly out of the chimney in a wreath of smoke. 
 Did one of the male or female slaves die in the 
 house? — 'Twas the heretic's fault. They were 
 compelled to get living fire, (by rubbing two 
 pieces of wood togethe^. — Note, in the evening, 
 when all the fires of the house were put out, and 
 even that in the ovens was quenched with wa- 
 ter;) they made a pile, and forced every domes- 
 tic animal to jump over it, to purify it from the 
 demon-influence. All the inhabitants of the 
 Stone Palace (that is to say on the boyarin's 
 side) approached this sacred fire to light their 
 candles at it. The fresh living fire was distribu- 
 ted about the hou.se, and lighted it up afresh. It 
 was lucky if ihe Master's heart was even now 
 satisfied by those purifying rites. From this 
 time, the four-footed animals enjoyed the desired 
 health ; from this time, too, the inhabitants of the 
 palace began to sweep vv for Ike night, that the 
 guardian angels might Jiave free liberty in the 
 hours of sleep to wander round the slumbercrs; 
 without running the danger of stumbling against 
 any thing, and being thereby offended. 
 
 Obrazrtz could find no means of getting rid of 
 his terrible guest, and no way of releasing him- 
 self from his heretical bondage. Beg Ivan Vas- 
 silievetch to loose his chains— he dared not: An- 
 tony the leech was rising hipfher day by day in 
 the Great Prince's favour. In his aflliction the 
 boyarin frequently compared himself with the 
 much suffering Job; all whose sorrows, he 
 thought, he would willingly have accepted in 
 exchange for this slate of imprisonment. 
 
 The half-christened lad, Antony's servant, was 
 much attached to him. " Birds of a feather floct 
 together," said the people of the boyarin's side; 
 and they never permitted the youth, under any 
 pretext, to appear in that quarter. Even Andri- 
 ousha, since he became intimate with the here- 
 tic, was not received by Obratzetz so affection- 
 ately as before; and he was obliged, whenever 
 he approached the boyarin, to purify himself by- 
 washing. Anastasia, however, loved her god- 
 son as much as ever, and found even more than 
 her former delight in conversing with him — 
 About whet? — can you guess 1— about the her- 
 etic. 
 
 About the heretic ! .... Is it possible? 
 
 Now you must know, good people, Anastasia 
 was bewitched. 
 
 The sorcerer had bewitched her from the first 
 moment she beheld him: oi this Anastasia was 
 firmly convinced. How otherwise explain what 
 she felt towards the German? — him who was 
 linked with the fiends ? To whom had they told 
 so much ill about the heretic as to her? What"? 
 after all the charms against the Evil Eye that 
 her nurse had mumbled over her: after all the 
 sprinkling of holy water with Thursday's salt*= 
 infused in it, and coals; after the cares of the 
 whole swarm of her tierwomen ; after all the ad- 
 vice of her father, of the whole household — and 
 of her own sense swayed by common prejudices ; 
 the foul German, the Latiner, the necromancer, 
 hardly reached the staircase, ere Anastasia had 
 managed to send away her nurse, her guadian. 
 maidens; prejudice, fear, shame — and there she 
 was at the sliding window! 
 
 It is to be remarked, that the sliding window 
 is a characterisfic peculiar to the Russian peo- 
 ple: even in our own times, compel a Russian 
 merchant or peasant to make double casements 
 for the winter; he will perhaps make them, but 
 he will nevertheless always leave one window 
 free — that can be opened or shut as he pleases 
 with a sliding door. Without this window, his 
 house feels to him like a prison — close, stifling, 
 and gloomy : he would, rather than have no free 
 opening, kiiock out a pane of glass: what cares 
 he, the iron child of the north, for the frost ! Sur- 
 rounded with .snow, in the bitterest cold, he 
 opens his beloved little window, and through it 
 admires God's light, the midnight sky, strewn 
 with angel eyes. "He looks out at the passengers 
 going and coming, listens to their gossiping talk, 
 hearkens with a kind of delighted sympathy to 
 the ru.stling sound of the belated traveller's step 
 upon the snowy road, to the distant tinkle of the 
 sledge-bell dying faintly along the wintry desert 
 —sounds which have a pensive attraction for the 
 Russian heart. 
 
 In Anastasia's solitude, the sliding window 
 which had replaced one of the Italian casements 
 of her bower, had afforded her also much amuse- 
 ment: it was destined to have a powerful influ- 
 ence on her fate, from the hour when she first 
 beheld from it the young and handsome foreign- 
 er. In spite of herself she was attracted to that 
 window; in spite of herself she gazed through 
 its modest .solitarv little pane, or had even ven- 
 tured to slide it back, but in such a manner as 
 
 ♦ Thumdny's Salt— On Thursday in Easlor week salt is 
 burned or roasted with an eg^ : and a quantity is preserved 
 ill every house. This salt is supposed to possess groat me- 
 (lirinal and anti-magical properties; nnil is given to the sick 
 (little, <tc , Ac,, on various occa-iions. A portion is always 
 eaten with the tirst food taken after the fasts, in order that 
 Ibis food mav not hurt the stomach, ic — T. B- S. 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 61 
 
 she could not be seen. The little pane was al- 
 ways bright and clean ; but when the fierce frost 
 breathed upon it, what would she not do to get 
 rid of its snowy dimness-! 
 
 Th.ere he was— the sorcerer— the handsome 
 stranger ! How the fire of his blue eyes seemed 
 to devour the distance ! How his fair face seem- 
 ed to rival the snow, when the first ray of morn- 
 ing streams upon it! What a well-knit, active 
 form— what a noble walk! How well his rich 
 dress became him ! He seemed himself to have 
 all the luxurious softness of the velvet. Anas- 
 tasia's heart beat violently, as if it had been 
 struggling to burst from her bosom and fly to- 
 •wards him — it ultimately sank and fluttered. 
 She admires him, she watches him to the gate 
 like a faithful slave who watches his master as 
 he departs — she devours his footsteps. There 
 is the clink of the latch — he is gone .... Her 
 heart dies away, as though he were plunged into 
 eternity. She is sad, very sad ; she is weary of 
 the light of day ; but the enchanter returns .... 
 and Anastasia await-s him, minutes, hours, even 
 a whole day. The poor girl cannot eat, or if 
 she forces herself to swallow any thing, 'tis only 
 to conceal from the household her sickness of the 
 heart. Yes, she is ill; she is bewitched. 
 
 Frequently she questions herself as to the 
 cause of her sorrow; she demands from her 
 heart an account why it loves a stranger, a her- 
 etic, whom all good people shun, and her sire 
 curses ; whose religion was banned by the fa- 
 thers of the church. " Enchantment !" cried her 
 conclusions; "there neither Is nor can.be any 
 'Other cause." Often she turns to the Mother of 
 God — with burning tears she implores her to 
 save her from the snares of the tempter. For 
 two or three minutes she is more easy; but 
 again the image of the handsome foreigner lives 
 before her sight, sits by her side, and holds her 
 hand in his. If she shuts her eyes, the very 
 same unearthly being which she saw in the vis- 
 ions of childhood, the very same, only with the 
 glance, the smile of the German, is lying at her 
 feet, folding its white pinions. She awakes, 
 and anguish, like a venomed sting, is buried 
 deep in her heart. Sometimes she hears en- 
 chanting sounds, (Antony was playing on the 
 lute;) there is the celestial voice; there are the' 
 self-sounding dulcimers that in the visions of 
 her infancy had rung so sweetly through her 
 ieart. 
 
 Occasionally Andri6usha comes from the phy- 
 sician to his godmother: her conversation was 
 upon one subject alone — about the enchanter. 
 Andriousha relates with warmth how good his 
 friend is, how affectionate, how feeling; he en- 
 deavours by every kind of tender caresses, to [ 
 prove to her the injustice of the evil reports about ■ 
 the. leech; he swears by all that is holiest in the I 
 world, that Antony is not a witch, nor Tartar 1 
 heretic, but a Christian like themselves, only not | 
 of the Russian faith. Anastasia longed to be- | 
 lieve, but dared not, dared not— could not. He 
 '.DO magician! Why then did she love him, i 
 -when he had never spoken a syllable to her; i 
 ■when he had never beheld her — not even oncel 
 How could he be a Christian, and not of the Rus- j 
 sian faith? and not wear a cross on his breast 1 j 
 The poor maiden could neither guess nor under- ! 
 stand. Only when Andriousha prepares to re- 
 turn to the physician, Anastasia gives her god- 
 son a sweet farewell kiss, and involuntarily, with | 
 her satin-soft hand, signs him with the cross, j 
 Did she not wish to send both the caress and the I 
 
 holy sign to the stranger 1 And all her thoughts 
 were on the handsome foreigner, and at all times, 
 in all places, he — he alone — was with her. 
 
 It was decided that she was sick — that she was 
 bewitched. 
 
 But the young physician, entirely devoted to 
 science, had forgotten that there existed such a 
 person in the world as Anastasia. 
 
 Thus passed several weeks. 
 
 The Feast of the Annunciation arrived : 
 throughout the city on every side arose the sound 
 of bells; almost all the human beings in the 
 boyarin's quarter had crowded to the house of 
 God. There remained at home only Anastasia, 
 her faithful nurse, a few of her women, and sev- 
 eral other servants. The nurse, the maidens, the 
 servants, every one in his or her own corner, had 
 lighted their tapers and were saying their pray- 
 ers : Anastasia had finished her devotions, and 
 was seated by the fatal window. A kind of holy 
 stillness brooded over the whole house; no 
 knocking was heard at the door, the latch tink- 
 led not at the gate, no causeless word broke the 
 deep silence. To disturb it would have seemed 
 sacrilege. On Antony's side there was the same 
 calm and stillness: he was sitting pensively at 
 the window. Was he thinking of the prayers 
 of his fellow-Christians in the cathedrals of his 
 second fatherland, Italy, the friendly pressure of 
 his learned preceptor's hand, the enchanting 
 smile and burning glances of the maidens, or 
 the caresses and blessings of his mother 1 Did 
 he not feel his rude exile from the domestic life 
 of Moscow — his loneliness 1 
 
 All was quiet in the house as in a desert. At 
 length he heard over-head footsteps .... the steps 
 of a virgin, and of one, as he had been assured, 
 most lovely, benevolent, and good. How many 
 attractions swarm around her I She is, like him 
 — alone. 'Tis as though they were alone in the 
 house— alone on earth. Did they not under- 
 stand each other ■? Did not their souls unite 
 through the frail partition that divided theml 
 Who could tein .... He had often told Andri- 
 ousha that-between them two and Anastasia there 
 existed a magic, threefold bond. Why had he 
 destroyed this bond by his indifference 1 Why 
 was not Andriousha with him, to talk about the 
 lovely Anastasia, to let him take from him her 
 kiss, her blessing — again to knit that threefold 
 bond? 
 
 Again the bells rang out; the service in some 
 of the churches had concluded. 
 
 Andriousha appeared at his thought. This 
 time he was announced by tne chirping and flut- 
 tering of various kiads of birds. All out of 
 breath, rosy with haste, he rushed into the cham- 
 ber: in his hand he holds a triumphant trophy 
 of the solemn festival, a huge cage with a mul- 
 titude of feathered inhabitants. They were bul- 
 finches, larks, and chaffinches — all harbingers 
 of the bounteous spring. This was a present to 
 Andriousha from the children of the Great 
 Prince. Poor prisoners, how they beat against 
 their dungeon walls! 
 
 " What meanest thou to do with themi" said 
 Antony. 
 
 " The window .... open the window!" cried 
 the boy, with rapture. "Dost thou not J<now 
 to-day is the Annunciation 1" 
 
 Antony obeyed with pleasure his little friend's 
 desire. The window was opened, and through 
 it the fresh vernal air floated into the room. The 
 sun threw into it sheaves of dazzling gold, as if 
 rejoicing in the first festival of the year. Hun- 
 
62 
 
 THE HERETIC. 
 
 dreds of birds darted hither and thither through 
 the air, or chirped and sang npon the trees, 
 which were now piuting forth their bads; others 
 ■were perched on the roofs and walls. " Dost 
 thou not hear how they keep holiday on their day 
 of liberty, as if they, loo, had ^lad tidings to tell 1" 
 said Andriousha: "To-day they free the winged 
 prisoners; to-day, too, they set at liberty those 
 who have been imprisoned for debt." 
 
 " What a beautiful custom !"♦ said the physi- 
 cian ; "it reconcileth me to the Russians. Thy 
 father .speaketh true ; beneath the coarse cover- 
 ing of their manners lie concealed many excel- 
 lent qualities." 
 
 During this time Andriousha was opening the 
 doors of the cage. 
 
 "Go ye, also," he cried, "and bear glad ti- 
 dings!" and the prisoners, one struggling before 
 the other, hurried thronging from their confine- 
 ment. Many of them instantly vanished out of 
 sight ; others, as if wondering at their unexpect- 
 ed liberty, perched hard by, pruning their wings 
 and gazing around them. Only at the bottom 
 of the cage, in a separate division, there remain- 
 ed one bird. Andriousha gazed at it some time 
 with wistful indecision. "This one sang so 
 sweetly all the winter in my room," he said, sor- 
 rowfully. 
 
 Antony replied not, but looked in his face as 
 ifintercedingforthe poor prisoner: the boy, with 
 the swiftness of lightning understood hinn. 
 
 "Tnie," he cried; "this little bard sang for 
 me so long, that I ought to be the more ready to 
 release him. But he must receive his freedom 
 from my godmother; he is so pretty !" 
 
 And the boy disappeared with his precious 
 bird. 
 
 In a few minutes Antony heard a casement 
 open in the chamber over-head; he stretched 
 himself as far as he could out of his own win- 
 dow, looked up ... . first, a small white hand 
 waved in the air, then a little singing-bird dart- 
 ed away from it, and then there was drawn, as 
 it were, against the sky, the face of a girl, (nev- 
 er in his li.*e had he beheld any thing so lovely), 
 and then there fell upon his whole being the 
 earnest enchanting gaze of a pair of dark eyes, 
 and in a moment the fair vision .... was gone. 
 He felt as if his senses were departing; he seem- 
 ed riveted to the spot; a dim mist darkened his 
 eyes; when he returned to himself, Antony 
 strove to reduce his thoughts to order .... What 
 had he seen ! Was it a being of earth, or a 
 dweller of the heavens'? .... He remembered 
 the wondrous outline of the face, and the soft 
 glow that seemed dawning on it, and the lan- 
 guishing yet burning glance, and the long dark- 
 brown hair which fell carelessly from the win- 
 dow, and the white fairy hand : all this was gra- 
 ven on his heart. We have already said that 
 he had never yet known love for any woman — 
 the stronger therefore was the feeling that now 
 overwhelmed him so suddenly. It was at once 
 the sensation of loneliness, of a life in a strange 
 land, the thirst of a burning soul; a soul loving, 
 yet hitherto veiled with a covering of cold re- 
 serve, by circumstances — a thirst to unite with a 
 soul that could understand him — to communi- 
 cate his elevated hopes, even though they were 
 destined to be deceived — his aspirations towards 
 .ill that was noble— to share all this with a liv- 
 
 * This lieautiriil niii'um in mill krpt up in many iwrti! of 
 Russia. .Small liinls nrn suineliinvs snnod up alive, in ]>ic- 
 cniHt, BO lliut " when the pie is f<))vnc<l the liirjs begin to 
 sing,'* as tl*" tiiirB/.».i. rKvmf. >i«i>i it — T n s 
 
 cry rhyme haih it.— T. D. S. 
 
 ing being. The fountain had been concealed for 
 ages beneath a ponderous rock; the rock was 
 struck by the thunderbolt, and the fount burst 
 forth like living silver. Stop its flowing if ye 
 can ! This was love, such as is felt for the first 
 and last time by strong and extraordinary minds. 
 "Perhaps, too, it was the love of romance," you 
 say— you may add, 'twas the love of the fifteenth 
 cpntur}-; a century marked with the distinctive 
 stamp of the marvellous, and which had not yet 
 thrown off its iron panoply, tempered in the fire 
 of chivalry. 
 
 From this time Anastasia was no longer to 
 Antony a mere creature of the imagination — that 
 name was no longer a union of empty sounds, 
 a mere word. In her was joined all earthly and 
 heavenly loveliness, purity, goodne.=.s, intellect, 
 strength of soul. In her person he glorified na- 
 ture, humanity, God himself She was his tie 
 to Russia; his ark of life and death. From this 
 time his solitude was peopled; it was inhabited 
 by Anastasia. His love was uncalculating, un- 
 reasoning ; it was wholly in its source — the 
 heart. Reason had no part in it ; it was pure, 
 as the cloudless heaven. No dark thought or 
 intention troubled this sentiment; he desired no- 
 thing but to behold Anastasia — but to look upon 
 her. The fear, however, of wounding her, of 
 drawing suspicion upon her, quenched this desire 
 within him. He never again ventured to open 
 the window beneath her chamber: it might be 
 remarked by her father, her brother, the neigh- 
 bours; they might think some evil of the maid- 
 en. But he often listened — did not the window 
 tinkle over head 1 No ; all was still. 
 
 On entering or quitting the house he never 
 again saw Anastasia; but once, on returning 
 home, he found on the .=:teps a branch which had 
 been thrown from above ; a parrot's feather, 
 which had been presented by Sophia Phomi- 
 nishna to the Great Prince's little favourite, and 
 had passed from Andrea to the boyarin's daugh- 
 ter ; and once he found a riband from her hair. 
 He knew from whence came these precious 
 things ; he understood their speechless language, 
 and in his happiness he prized them higher than 
 all the favours of Iran Vassilievitch. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE FUGITIVE. 
 
 And Ivan Vassilievitch did show marked fa- 
 vour to the physician. At one time he would 
 .send him a gracions message; at another, a 
 command to brhohl his royal eyes, or a dish from 
 his table, or a piece of German cloth for clothes. 
 He frequently had conversations with him. An- 
 tony began to express himself tolerably well in 
 Russian : he, however, still employed an inter- 
 preter; generally Andriousha or Aristotle, who 
 delighted with all his sn:l in the advancement 
 of his brother's pupil. These conversations 
 were generally about the affairs of Italy, so well 
 known to EhVenstein. The Great Prince was 
 particularly fond of hearing accounts how the 
 Roman Empire, once so mighty, was withering 
 away, divided into petty republics ; and from 
 these relations his strength of character enabled 
 him to draw a lesson profitable to himself Anto- 
 ny informed him in what order, at no very remote 
 period, there had been establixheii a post-office, 
 first in France, and afterwards in the German 
 states. Ivan Vassilievitch introduced into his 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 own country posts and stations. Antony ex- 
 plained to him other new inventions in Europe, 
 and the Great Prince prepared to profit by them I 
 on the first opportunity. 
 
 By such inlluence and meditation as that of 
 Antony, the contemporary and powerful devel- 
 opment of civilization in the West, found in the 
 clear-sighted soul of Ivan an echo, rude indeed, 
 uncalculating, hardly recognizing its own pow- 
 ers of the spirit of improvement that spoke 
 through the daughter of Palaeologos, the Gterman 
 and Russian ambassadors, the artists, the physi- 
 cians, and travellers. In the West, dexterity 
 exhibited in the cabinets of sovereigns; discus- 
 sions carried on through accredited envoys ; an 
 active school and arena for subtle and crafty in- 
 tellects, which jiad received the designation of 
 "politics," or "diplomacy," had begun to take 
 the place of armies. These arms were skilfully 
 wielded by Ivan Vassilieviich also ; the other 
 nations and sovereigns were beginning to con- 
 centrate their power; the same thing was done 
 by the Russian Great Prince when he united his 
 provinces into one whole. There the idea of 
 royal power enveloped itself in solemn and 
 splendid ceremonies and forms, acting through 
 them upon the feelings of the mass. The court 
 precedence, kissing of hands, magnificent recep- 
 tions of foreign ambassadors, banquets, ranks, 
 heraldry, titles, give form to this idea even 
 among us. In the West the system of regular 
 warfare was established. Ivan was also institu- 
 ting regiments. 1 have already alluded to the in- 
 troduction of posts. We have seen, too, how the 
 spirit of intellectual inquisitiveness, which gave 
 to the fifteenth century Wicliffe, Huss, and last- 
 ly, Luther, had been communicated to our Rus- 
 sia under the form of the Jewish heresy: in a 
 word, the then life of Europe, though under 
 coarser forms, has descended even to us. It is 
 not my business to explain here why that life, 
 after Ivan III., did not receive among us a grad- 
 ual development, and one which led to more im- 
 portant and specific results. 
 
 We have seen that Ivan Vassilievitch was 
 concentrating the power of his throne and of 
 Russia. Tver separated him from the northern 
 provinces : he determined, by fair means or foul, 
 to annihilate this barrier, and to unite the heart 
 of Rnssia with its northern members. Having 
 
 Previously secured confidential partisans in 
 Ver, and having discovered, as we have seen 
 in the first part of our romance, a pretext for 
 declaring war against its prince, Ivan Vassilie- 
 vitch was assembling troops, in order to over- 
 throw, by one effort, the power he had so long 
 been undermining by artifice. 
 All the land of Russia began to be moved. 
 While the armament of Moscow was prepar- 
 ing for the campaign, another body of troops 
 was ordered from Novgorod. The Russian, in 
 the time of Ivan Vassilievitch, had more than 
 once tasted military glory. There were there- 
 fore, on the present occasion, a multitude of 
 volunteers eager to seek it. The direction of 
 the artillery was confided to Aristotle, who was 
 torn away for this purpose from his great work. 
 The artist once more had to transform himself 
 into an engineer. 
 
 In order that this army might be committed to 
 a worthy leader, they were awaiting at Moscow 
 the celebrated voevoda, the Prince Daniel Dmi- 
 tri! Kholmskii, whom a sickness, real or pre- 
 tended, had detained in his distant possessions. 
 Pretended, I say, and no wonder, as he was a 
 
 Tveritchanin (native of Tver) by birth: a de- 
 scendant of the princes of Tver, and must obvi- 
 ously have been unwilling to obey his sover- 
 eign's command in going against his native 
 land. 
 
 The court physician also was commanded to 
 mount on horseback. His duty attached him to 
 the person of the Great Prince, who intended 
 himself to accompany the army. Ivan Vassi- 
 lievitch, under the shield of his general, desired 
 to earn for himself the title of "conqueror of 
 Tver." It was with delight that Ehrenstein re- 
 ceived this order, which would give him the- 
 means of in some measure distracting his 
 thoughts from Anasiasia, and offered him the 
 hope of being serviceable to the cause of human- 
 ity. With these hopes also mingled his inborn 
 spirit of chivalry, which was to be appeased 
 neither by education nor by the modest pacific 
 professioQ of the leech. Nature, in spile of him- 
 self, attracted him towards that destiny from 
 which he had been torn by the vengeance of 
 Fioraventi. These hopes were also cherished 
 by Aristotle, who coveted for his brother's pupil 
 new honours and new advantages. 
 
 After a day passed in the squares where the 
 troops were mustering, Antony had lain down, 
 but could not sleep ; whether it was that he was 
 agitated by the thoughts of Anastasia, whose 
 form flitted before him like a fair enchanting 
 vision, or of the expedition, which was repre- 
 sented by his ardent imagination, his noble heart, 
 as an enchanting picture. Suddenly, in the 
 midst of these reveries, which prevented him 
 from sleeping, he heard strange cries in the 
 street. They shouted— "Seize him 1 seize him f 
 hither, here, this way! To Obrazetz's palace: 
 we will answer for him with our heads !" 
 
 Antony opened the window towards the street : 
 the night was .so dark, that the city seemed buried 
 in the bowels of the earth ; objects were all fused 
 into one black mass ; he could just distinguish 
 the movements of several figures, at one mo- 
 ment leaping over the railing or grate, at an- 
 other vanishing into the gloom : he followed 
 them rather by ear than by sight. 
 
 But look! something is moving close to the 
 house .... something scrambles up the wall, 
 and, before him is a tall, an unusually tall fig- 
 ure, blocking up almost the whole window. It 
 must have required superhuman strength and 
 activity to climb up the wall to such a height: 
 this thought, and the unexpectedness of the ap- 
 parition, caused Antony, at the first moment of 
 surprise, to start back in alarm. " Save me, in 
 the name of God, save me !" said the unknown, 
 in a low voice ; and without waiting for an an- 
 swer, he leaped into the room with such violence 
 and suddenness, that he almost knocked the phy- 
 sician off his feet ; and then cautiously closed 
 the window. 
 
 Antony knew not what to think of this appa- 
 rition—nor had he time. The tall figure stands 
 before him as if mounted on stilts, feels him all 
 over, seizes him by the hand, presses it, and 
 pantingly exclaims,'in a low voice — " Save me ! 
 .... the constables are after me ... . they 
 would put me in chains. My friend .... but 
 art thou he .... or Ivan Khabar 1" 
 
 "No! but 'tis all the same .... what wouldst 
 thou 1" replied the leech, guessing that the un- 
 happy man, flying from pursuit, was seeking 
 to conceal himself in the house of his friend 
 Obrazetz. A friend of the voevoda, he thought^ 
 cannot be a bad man. 
 
64 
 
 THE HERETIC. 
 
 " No ! . . . . great Heaven ! who art thou, 
 then ! . . . . Ah, I understand .... the Ger- 
 man leech .... I am lost !" 
 
 And, as he spoke, he took a step back, as 
 though he were about to throw himself out of 
 the window. 
 
 Antony held him back, and said, with extra- 
 ordinary force and earnestness, in as good Rus- 
 sian as he could . . . . " Yes, I am the leech ; 
 but I am a Christian too, as well as the Russians. 
 Fear nothing. Trust In me in the name of the 
 Mother of God." 
 
 " "Well, in the name of the Mother of God. 
 By thy voice I feel that thou art no traitor. 
 Now I will tell thee : I am — the voevoda Prince 
 Kholmskii ; perhaps thou hast heard of meT' 
 
 •' Arisi'Ctle hath told me much of the famous 
 •conqueror of Mov'^"'^^'^-" 
 
 " And that conqueror, at the command of the 
 Great Prince, they are now chasiJ^j • .- • ; 'hey 
 would chain him, they would throw hiu2 '"'o ^ 
 dungeon!" 
 
 " How so 1 They expect thee even now from 
 thy possessions, to 'entrust to thee the army of 
 Moscow, which is going against Tver." 
 
 " I arrived, was with Ivan Vassilievitch . . . 
 Tver is my native land .... I refused to go 
 .... But hark ! They are knocking at the 
 gate as if the fire bell were ringing. Save me 
 from the fetters, from deep shame !" 
 
 " Oh, if it be so, I will save thee, even if I 
 have to pay for it with my life ! It is only across 
 my dead body that they shall reach thee." 
 
 In reality, they were knocking at the gate till 
 the very walls of the house trembled: they 
 shouted — " Open the gate .... In the name of 
 the Lord Great Prince, open! .... or we will 
 beat it in !" 
 
 The knocks, shouting, and uproar, increased 
 every moment. 
 
 All in the house were fast asleep — all were 
 thrown into confusion, and started to their feet: 
 the boyarin, his daughter, and the servants, 
 doorkeepers, falconers, poultrymen, seneschals, 
 cooks, grooms, firelighters, gardeners, tirewom- 
 en, &c. — all that compo.sed the household of a 
 boyarin in those days. The men rushed, panic- 
 stricken, in all directions, as if the house were 
 on fire ; questioning one another about the cause 
 of the disturbance, lighting tapers, and jostling 
 €ach other. They heard the name of the Great 
 Prince, and thought that he was perhaps come 
 himself to seize their master, in consequence of 
 Kome denunciation. The boyarin was alarmed, 
 expecting something extraordinary, and had re- 
 course in prayer to the heavenly Mediatress ; 
 Anastasia was half dead with terror; her broth- 
 er was not at home, he was passing a night of 
 debauch somewhere. 
 
 In the meantime Antony was actively em- 
 ployed. 
 
 In his room stood a huge cupboard, in which 
 he kepi his drugs. Out with the boxes and bot- 
 tles — in with the prisoner! 
 
 "Speak! canst thou breathe freely 1" 
 
 " Cluite freely," 
 
 The prisoner crouched down on his hams; 
 but even thus there was not room for him. 
 What was to be done !...." Pown on thy 
 knees! So, 'tis well. God be with thee !" 
 
 The doors are locked, the boxes and bottles 
 under the bed. 
 
 In this miserable cupboard, then, which served 
 « heretic to keep his drugs in, in humble atti- 
 tude, was placed the grandson of Vs^volod An- 
 
 dreevitch of Tver — the far-famed leader, the 
 hero of Shel6n, the conqueror of N6vgorod and 
 Kazen, the brightest gem in Ivan's crown, ihe 
 glory and honour of Russia ; the man who made 
 a thousand warriors, the enemies of his coun- 
 try, fly before him; who, standing at the head 
 of his troops before the terrible Akhmet, in that 
 moment which decided the fate of Russia, would 
 not listen to the commands of his stern sovereign 
 to retreat — now so dreaded the wrath of Ivan 
 Vassilievitch, that he concealed himself in a 
 German's cupboard. 
 
 At the name of the Great Prince they opened 
 the gate. The boyarin Mamon was there with 
 the party. He was to be found every where, 
 where there was to be an execution of a cruel 
 order; when his bad heart could find employ- 
 ment worthy of itself. Above all, he was every 
 where to be found where he could find an oppor- 
 tunity to revenge himself on his enemicj. At 
 the head of the constables and the guards, he ex- 
 plained to Obraz^tz's domestics, that, in obedi- 
 ence to tiic ortlers of Ivan Vassilievitch, he had 
 come to seize the PrmuC Daniel Dmitrieviich 
 Kholmskii; that they had traced hrm I'iC^ ^is 
 own house to the boyarin's palace, and that he 
 could be concealed nowhere but there. One of 
 the constables bore in his hand a chain with 
 which to confine the fugitive. Mamon demand- 
 ed, in the Great Prince's name, that they should 
 permit him to make search throughout the whole 
 house. 
 
 Could Obrazetz dare to oppose the dreaded 
 awful name! — Obrazetz, wno venerated that 
 name after the old fashion, as commanded by 
 his parent^; who enshrined it in bis heart like 
 the commandment of God ! 
 
 The constables and guards, in a crowd, led by 
 the exulting Mamon, burst into the palace like 
 enemies, snatched the tapers from the slaves' 
 hands, thundering, shouting, clanking chains, 
 penetrating every where, in the chambers, the an- 
 terooms, oratory, and audience-chamber, courts, 
 gardens, and uninhabited buildings ; peering 
 about, clattering their swords, turning every 
 thing upside dowm. Even as far as Anasta.sia's 
 chamber penetrated the disorderly rout. But 
 here they encountered a barrier — virgin modes- 
 ty, protected by a father's and brother's love. 
 Here, at the door of this chamber, Mamon's ap- 
 proach was awaited by old Obrazetz himself 
 and by his son, who had hastened home at the 
 first information of a trusty servant. Both were 
 armed. They were surrounded by a few of their 
 bravest followers with axes and clubs, who 
 seemed ready, at the first look of their master, 
 to send into the other world, unhesitatingly, 
 whomsoever that look should point out. At 
 sight of this living barrier Mamon's steps falter- 
 ed : he stopj>ed before it with his train. 
 
 " God sce'ih," said Obrazetz firmly, " that the 
 Prince Kholmskii neither is, nor can be, in ray 
 daughter's chamber. Make but one step in ad- 
 vance, Mamon, and (the old man trembled) thou 
 wilt lead me into the sin of bloodshed." 
 
 " What, do we meet again, my branderl" said 
 Mamon, with a hellish laugh. 
 
 The thick white brows of the voevwla began 
 to knit ; the flash of his contracting eye glared 
 upon his foe, and seemed to pierce him through. 
 With his gigantic knotty hand he convulsively 
 clutched his blade, his breast heaved like a tem- 
 pest billow, and giving utterance to a kind of in- 
 articulate sound, sank again. The boyurin's 
 rage was appeased by the thought that blood 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 65 
 
 -would be spilt near his daughter's chamber. 
 He saw the gesture of his son's arm, seized his 
 iand, and prevented a fatal blow. 
 
 Mamon perceived this terrible by-play— he 
 liastened to depart. 
 
 " We have not yet been to the leech's cham- 
 ber," said he, preparing to descend the stairs. 
 
 "Go there, and to the devil, or to thy mother 
 the witch; and if thou make not the more haste, 
 beware lest thou leave thine accursed bones 
 here !" cried Khabar-Simskii after him. 
 
 Mamon stopped, and contemptuously shaking 
 his head, expressed his rage in a laugh, redhot 
 irom hell. 
 
 " Father, let me" cried Khab;'i, frantic with 
 
 fury. 
 
 Obrazetz again stopped him, and said with en- 
 ergy — "Hold, my son! Where thou wilt; but 
 -not here, by thy sister's chamber." 
 
 "Dost thou hear 1" was Simskii's question, 
 full of the thirst of vengeance. 
 
 "Ay, we hear!" was the sullen reply of Ma- 
 mon. 
 
 The knocking, the running through the house, 
 the shouting, the steps over-head at Anastasia's 
 chamber — all these had echoed deeply into the 
 ears and heart of Ehrenstein, who was trembling 
 from his ignorance of what was going on in the 
 hoyirin's family. He would have given much 
 to have been there: over-head all grew still — 
 ihe noise seemed to come in his direction. It 
 approached nearer and nearer. They knock at 
 Ihe door of his hall — he strikes a light. 
 
 What a misfortune — what an agony ! Traces 
 nf huge feet which had lately been through mud 
 were marked on the floor, and led, like a path, 
 ■straight to the cupboard. 
 
 What is to be donel .... clothes, towels — 
 •every thing that comes to hand — down on the 
 /loor with them — the fatal traces are annihilated 
 —God be thanked ! 
 
 He turns towards the door — he listens. Some- 
 thing within the cupboard fails down with such 
 ■violence that the doors tremble— then a death 
 Jattle, then 
 .grave ? 
 
 Antony's heart sank within him; his hair 
 bristled up. 
 
 What if Kholmskii, overwhelmed by the 
 thought of the Great Prince's anger, by the fear 
 -of imprisonment and execution, agonized with 
 .terror, exhausted by the rapidity of his flight, 
 the exertions of climbing up the wall — by all 
 that had come upon him at once, so terribly and 
 unexpectedly ; what if he had yielded up his life 
 .... perhaps he had been suffocated in the 
 cupboard — perhaps a fit of apoplexy .... it 
 "was horrible ! 
 
 They would find the Prince Kholmskii dead 
 in the leech;? chamber .... what would re- 
 port say! ... . already he had the character 
 of being a necromancer. They would call him 
 .1 murderer: they would demand his head. The 
 .sovereigns, incensed by the concealment of the 
 fugitive, would give him up to the people : An- 
 tony knew what sort of thing was an infuriate 
 populace — the rage of a wild beast is nothing to 
 its cruelty. He was willing to meet and battle 
 Avith death by the bedside of the sufferer— he 
 ■was ready to go even to an unmerited block; 
 he was ready to go to the battle at the call of 
 duly ; but death, in the talons of a frantic mob- 
 that was dreadful! And, what \vas still more 
 .horrible, he would be the unwilling cause of a 
 fellow-creature's death . , , . 
 
 xh, and then the silence of the 
 
 To look into the cupboard, to make trial of 
 n)edical remedies, was an impossibility: the 
 knocking grew momentarily more violent. To 
 delay opening the door would be to attract sus- 
 picion on himself, and render the search more 
 strict. Who can tell ! They may break opea 
 I he door, and then they will find him face to 
 lace with the fugitive I 
 But Kholmskii perhaps was still alive'. 
 Neither reason, nor strength of mind, nor 
 muscles — noiliing human could save him. Only 
 God, God alone: all his trust is in him ! 
 
 Agony is in his heart: yet Antony endeavours 
 to compose his features as circumstances re- 
 quire. A stiletto under his arm, a lamp in his 
 hand, and he opens the door of the hall. 
 Before him is Mamon and his rout. 
 " What would ye with me at this hour of 
 night 1" sternly asked Antony. 
 
 " Be not offended, Master Leech," replied 
 Mamon, bowing courteously: "by the Great 
 Prince's order, we are seeking an important 
 fugitive. He hath fled hither to the boyarin's 
 palace, and is hidden here. One of our people, 
 methinks, said but now that he heard Kholmskii 
 climb the wall — that thy window opened" .... 
 " 'Tis false !" interrupted Ehrenstein ; " climb ! 
 his eyes must have been dazzled .... I am no 
 harbourer of runaways .... What is the 
 meaning of this insult? .... Who said that? 
 .... I will complain to the Great Prince." 
 
 "'Twas not I;" "nor I," "nor 1," cried a 
 number of voices, among which was that of the 
 informer himself They thought that they had 
 been tricked by the evil spirit. They knew in 
 what high favour the sovereign held the leech, 
 and they dreaded the wrath of Ivan Vassilie- 
 vitch, for unnecessarily disturbing his favour- 
 ite's repose. They dreaded, too, the vengeance 
 of the heretic sorcerer himself, who, they were 
 more certain than ever, was a magician, from 
 his having learned to express himself in Rus- 
 sian so soon — and as there was no longer any 
 testimony of the fugitive having been seen at 
 his window, Mamon, for reasons of his own, 
 did not insist. 
 
 " However," said Antony, "not to leave you 
 in suspicion, I ask, I demand, a search." 
 
 And Mamon, followed by two constables, 
 glancing fearfully around them, and muttering a 
 prayer, entered the leech's bed-chamber. 
 
 Every place was searched — on the bed — under 
 the bed — in every corner. Mamon went up to 
 the closed cupboard; and listened at it with a 
 greedy ear. Ehrenstein collected all his cour- 
 age and presence of mind, not to betray his agi- 
 tation. Nay, he even smiled, though he felt as 
 if his heart were beating like a hammer on an 
 anvil. 
 Now, if the boyarin should require the door 
 
 to be opened If Kholmskii be only in a 
 
 swoon, and should come to himself just at the 
 moment when Mamon is listening — if he should 
 
 groan — or even sigh 
 
 Being in no condition to account for his 
 movements, Antony steals his hand nearer and 
 nearer his stiletto. 
 All is silent ; no one moves. 
 " There is no one !" said Mamon, after a 
 pause. 
 
 " There is no one I" repeated the constable.s, 
 in a tremulous voice. 
 " Where can he have hidden himself!" 
 " Let us search round the house." 
 And the rout streamed confusedly out of the 
 
66 
 
 THE HERETIC. 
 
 leech's chamber, with divers strange remarks. 
 One man had seen human bones pounded in a 
 mortar; another, bottles full of blood ; a third, a 
 child's head (God knows what it was that fear 
 had exhibited to him under this form) ; a fourth 
 had heard 'the Evil One answer their voices out 
 of a kind of box that hung upon the wall (prob- 
 ably from the lute). Poor devils ! They were 
 lucky to escape safe and sound. 
 
 God be praised— the searchers were gone ! An- 
 tony listens— the latch of the gate clinks .... 
 the gate slams to ... . curses are heard on 
 Obrazetz, on Kholmskii. A minute or two 
 more, and all again relumed to profound still- 
 ness. 
 
 The door is locked, a sheet spread before the 
 window .... his trembing hand, leeling for 
 the lock, with difiiculty opens the cupboard. 
 
 Before Antony's eyes lay an old man of ex- 
 traordinary .stature, doubled up in a small space : 
 he was on his knees; his head bent closely 
 down, supported against the side planks of the 
 cupboard. His face was not visible, but the 
 leech guessed that the head belonged to an aged 
 person, as the black of his hair was thickly 
 mingled with threads of silver. Not the slight- 
 est motion could be perceived in him. "With 
 great toil Antony relieved the man or the corpse 
 from his constrained altitude, and with still 
 greater labour lifted him on his bed. 
 
 To the pulse !— God be thanked, it beats, 
 though faintly, faintly, like a feeble echo of life 
 from a distant world. This symptom restores 
 to the physician his skill, his reason, his strength, 
 all that had been on the point of leaving him. 
 The remedies are instantly employed, and 
 Kholmskii opens his eyes. For a long time he 
 could not understand his condition; where he 
 was, what had happened to him. At length, 
 aided by his reluming powers and the explana- 
 tions of the leech, he was able to give an ac- 
 count of his position. Touched by Antony's 
 generous assistance so deeply as to forget that 
 he was a heretic, he thanked him with tears in 
 liis eyes. 
 
 " The Lord will repay thy kindness," said he; 
 "Ah! if thou wouldst but take our faith," add- 
 ed the voevoda, " I would give thee whichever 
 of my daughters thou wouldst." 
 
 It was not till now tiiat Antony could exam- 
 ine his exterior, which was powerfully mould- 
 ed. The lines of his face were harsh, strongly 
 marked, but at the same time expressive of 
 grandeur and nobleness of soul ! Though on 
 what had wellnigh been his death-bed, and men- 
 aced by the axe of his powerful sovereign, ready 
 that very moment to descend upon his head — 
 though only just recovering from a first and un- 
 expected blow — he seemed as calm as if, after 
 a laborious day, he were reposing beneath a 
 hospitable roof. The voevoda's life was saved; 
 his liberty was secured — but for how long"? 
 Who could answer for that 1 It was necessary 
 to find the means either of delivering him en- 
 tirely from the persecutions of the Great Prince, 
 or of concealing him from them for a lime, un- 
 til the ruler's wralh was overpa.st. Ehrenslein 
 firmly resolved in his own mind to underlalu" 
 ilio task of propitiating Ivan Vassilievitcli, as 
 well by his own personal influence as by thai 
 of the powerful Aristotle. In doing this, the 
 greatest circumspection would be necessary. 
 Obrazetz alone could hope to conceal tor a short 
 time so distinguished a fugitive. But how to 
 convey Kholmskii to the boyarin now, in the 
 
 night-time. Weakened by loss of blood, the- 
 voevoda was in no condition to walk without 
 help, and even frith assistance, there was no 
 possibility of getting him over the enclosure 
 which divided theboyarin's court-yard from the 
 heretic's quarter. To conduct him round by the 
 street and through the two gales, was not to be 
 thought of To knock at the door in order to 
 obtain entrance to the boyarin was fraught with 
 danger. Who could be sure of Mamon not 
 having set a watch round the house 1 But 
 time flies. The .second cocks had proclaimed 
 to the city that midnight was come : it would be 
 impossible to defer the voevoda's removal till 
 morning; for then the physician's servant would 
 appear from the ground-floor, and visitors would, 
 present themselves. Nor was it to be thought 
 of again to conceal the voevoda in the cupboard, 
 and again to begin the frightful process, a repe- 
 tition of which might cost one or the other of 
 them his life. 
 
 It was, however, necessary to decide on some- 
 thing or other, and Antony determined to get over 
 to the boyarin's side by any means he could think 
 of: the expedition was not, at least, a distant 
 one, however diflicull it might be rendered by 
 the barriers interposed between the two sides. 
 Providing himself, therefore, with his trusty po- 
 niard, which he stuck into his girdle, he seized 
 a shesiopeor, a kind of mace armed at the end 
 with a number of metal spikes ; this was a pres- 
 ent from Aristotle,, and had been taken in the 
 war against Novgorod. In addition to this, 
 Kholmskii gave him a signet-ring : a ring with his 
 family crest, which served as a seal in the attes- 
 tation of important acts : he carried it always on 
 his finger. On the present occasion this ring was 
 intended to assure Obrazetz that the physician 
 was really an ambassador from his old friend 
 and companion in arms. With these tveapons 
 for war and peace, Antony addressed himself to 
 his expedition, not forgetting lo lock his door on 
 the distinguished stranger. 
 
 The first attempt he made was upon the fence, 
 which, as we have said, divided the boyarin's 
 court-yard from ihat of the heretic. Youth and 
 determination will do wonders, and with their 
 assistance he passed this barrier — that is, he 
 clambered over it ; not, however, without paying 
 for his attempt by several slight bruises, and the 
 loss of divers Iragments of his dress. How his 
 heart beat as he found himself entering the coirrt 
 of the boyarin for the first lime, at midnight, like 
 a thief— the dwelling of one who cherished to- 
 ward him an unmerited abhorrence and hatred. 
 The light of a lamp was trembling in an upper 
 chamber: there lived Anastasia ! How near 
 was that treasure, yet how firmly locked from 
 him ! He had not, however, much time for these 
 thoughts, for at that moment a huge dog flew at 
 him — his bark ran lar around. The combat was 
 short as unequal — the stiletto in his side, a blow 
 of the shesiopeor on his skull, and the faithful 
 guardian was silenced for ever. Antony was 
 sorry for ihe poor hound, but there was no pos- 
 sibility of dispensing with this victim. Is it not 
 even ijius, too, in the world 1 Do we not often 
 meet with generous but unfortunate peonle, who, 
 while serving others to obtain their ends, them- 
 selves fall victims to ihose whom they aid 1 
 
 On went Antony, and reached the great flight 
 of steps. He cautiously rattled the latch of the 
 iron door which led into the hall. No answer. 
 He veniurcd to touch the door, and it opened. 
 Antony was in the hall. Groping about him for 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 67 
 
 some moments, he hit upon another door ; at this 
 also he gives a gentle enquiring knock. Some 
 one answers from within with a cough : the door 
 opens, and — before him is an old man, hoary as 
 a white-headed eagle. The taper held in his 
 hand lights up a face which bears marks of 
 painful anxiety ; but as soon as he sees, having 
 screened his eyes with his hand, who it is that 
 stands before him, his face grows dark with ter- 
 ror. It was Obrazetz himself. 
 
 Full of disquietude about his friend and com- 
 panion in arms, he had not been able to sleep ; 
 with the idea that the fugitive might yet appear 
 to seek an asylum under his roof, he had com- 
 manded his domestics to go to sleep, (in his haste 
 he had forgotten to order them to lie up the dog ;) 
 but had himself left open the wicket which led 
 into the street, and unl«-cked the doorof the hall. 
 Then he had passed the time, now in praying to 
 the Mother of God, known under the title of 
 " Help in E.xtremity," (Our Lady of Peril,) now 
 in opening the window to catch the slightest 
 sound that arose through the stillness of the 
 night, then again in coming down to the hall. 
 He had heard the bark of the dog, the rustling of 
 steps on the stone staircase, the knock at the iron 
 door, and he was hastening to meet his friend. 
 
 And what ! before him stood his terrible guest 
 — was it indeed he, or was it a phantom in his 
 form 1 What could he want with the boyiirin 
 at midnight, when even in the daytime he had 
 never been in that part of the house ! . . . . Pale, 
 trembling from head to foot, Obrazetz could 
 hardly raise his arm and make signs of the 
 cross ; ejaculating aloud — " May God arise, and 
 may his enemies be scattered !" 
 
 " Ay, may God arise, and may his enemies be 
 scattered !" repeated the young man after him. 
 Let us again mention, that Ehrenstein even 
 yet could not express himself well in Russian ; 
 but only so as to make himself understood. 
 
 "God is with us!" added he with energy; 
 " and in proof of this, he hath, even now, vouch- 
 safed me his peculiar favour. Thy friend, the 
 Prince Kholmskii, is in my chamber. He came 
 there by mistake. Dost thou not believe it 1 
 Lo ! here is his signet-ring." 
 
 The boyarin crossed himself as he glanced at 
 the token, and recognized it ; but seeing blood 
 on the German's hand, he cried with horror — 
 " Great God ! he is not wounded, killed !" 
 
 "Calm thyself, this is the blood of thy dog.' 
 To work, boyarin ; the day is breaking. For the 
 last time I ask thee : wilt thou conceal thy friend 
 in thy house, or leave him with me, in danger 1" 
 " Will I hide him'? Assuredly," replied the 
 boyarin, re-assembling his scattered thoughts : 
 "go back instantly by the same path by which thou 
 earnest, and I, with my son "..'.. (here he 
 thought for a moment)—" my son will conduct 
 the Prince through the iron door which leadeth 
 from thy quarter to ours." 
 
 Not the slightest thanks, not even the merest 
 expression of a good heart appreciating his noble 
 action. To the stern soul of the boydrin it seem- 
 ed that such gratitude would have overpaid a 
 greater exploit ; and besides, in performing it, 
 Antony had broken through (he rigid barrier 
 which divided the orthodox from the heretic 
 quarter. 
 
 The Prince Kholmskii, of whom report said 
 that he flayed the prisoners taken in war, and 
 slew with his own hands his own soldiers when 
 he caught them pillaging, was sensible of the 
 kindness that had been shown him, He refused 
 
 to take back his ring, and begged the leerh to 
 keep it as a memorial of his generous deed. The 
 signet, as to the metal, was of no great value, 
 and Antony could not refuse. 
 
 When Khabar opened the iron door, in order to 
 admit the prince through it into the other quarter, 
 he bowed gracefully to the German, and said a 
 heartfelt — " Ilhank thee. If thou needest rescue, 
 call but Khabar." From this moment he be- 
 gan to cherish a friendly feeling toward the leech. 
 Was it to be wondered all His generous heart 
 echoed the voice of another heart as generous ; 
 besides, youth, open and confiding, easily throws 
 off its prejudices, is less calculating than age. 
 The latter is, as it were, ossified in its opinions ; 
 possessed of more experience, but at the same 
 time is more prone to suspicion. Obrazetz would 
 not consent, even then, to see his guest, though 
 Kholmskii eagerly remonstrated against his re- 
 fusal. To all the arguments of his friend, he 
 answered only by silence. In his mind there were 
 arrayed against the physician the strongest pre- 
 judices, cherished by his abhorrence of every- 
 thing foreign— unorthodox— accursed — as he call- 
 ed it — by the holy fathers of the church, and held 
 still more accursed by a heart stern and rendered 
 implacable from the moment when his beloved 
 son had fallen before the arm of a German. 
 
 From Anastasia they concealed Antony's ge- 
 nerous deed, but she seemed almost instinctively 
 to have guessed the truth; and the next day, 
 when the magician left his chamber, she threw 
 on him, from the window, a burning glance, 
 which flitted before him like that on a former 
 occasion, and, like that, left a deep impression 
 on his heart. He ventured to bow to her ; she 
 nodded, and disappeared. From that moment, 
 when they were sure that no one beheld them, 
 their ej'es began to carry on a dialogue, which 
 received an eloquent meaning at one time from 
 the blushes of Anastasia, like the dawning that 
 heralds the tempest ; at another from glances 
 dim with love, and then, again, from the paleness 
 which confessed that there was no longer a strug- 
 gle between her reason and her heart. Antony- 
 guarded this treasure like some priceless dia- 
 mond, which would be torn from him the mo- 
 ment he showed it to another; thus it was only 
 when alone that he could enjoy it, triumph in it, 
 and let his soul bask in its radiance. 
 
 In a few days Kholmskii's fate was decided. 
 Obrazetz had recourse to the intercession of 
 the Primate, and other powerful ecclesiastics. 
 This mediation was certain to be successful, the 
 rather that the Prince gave himself up volunta- 
 rily into the hands of his sovereign. The inter- 
 cessors prayed the Great Prince to pardon the- 
 voevoda, who had always been a faithful servant 
 to Ivan Vassilievitch ; had brought to him and 
 all the Christian nation nothing but honour and 
 advantage, and was ready even now to go any 
 where, whithersoever his Lord, and the Lord of 
 All Russia, should command, excepting only 
 against Tver. " Great sin would fall upon thy 
 head, dear Lord, and son of ours," said one ec- 
 clesiastic, " if the voevoda should spill the blood 
 of his countryfnen." On their side, Aristotle 
 and the court physician skilfully explained to 
 the T.?ar, that the report of his unmerited seve- 
 rit}' towards the illustrious voevoda, might in- 
 jure him in the good opinion entertained of him 
 iiy the Roman Ctesar and other potentates ; that 
 by rigour to the voevoda, the Great Prince would 
 give hi-s other subjects an inducement to become 
 traitors to their country j that Kholmskii ought 
 
68 
 
 THE HERETIC. 
 
 not to be punished, but rather rewarded, for his 
 generous refusal, ai>d that this reward would 
 stimulate others to imitate so noble a patriotism. 
 Above all, Aristotle proved to him how easily, 
 without the assistance of the voevoda, he might 
 reduce Tver to submission ; and how glorious 
 it would be for Ivan Vassilievitch, without ex- 
 posing himself to danger, to complete, in person, 
 a conquest so skilfully prepared by his wise and 
 dexterous policy. " Let the glory of this great 
 exploit belong to thee alone," added Aristotle. 
 
 Ivan was not a great warrior. When it be- 
 came a question of actual hostilities, he pre- 
 ferred to keep out of the way — he was pleased 
 with laurels gathered by the' hands of others; 
 but no one can refuse him credit for skill in the 
 difficult art of preparing for war, selecting the 
 most favourable moment for it, and obtaining 
 from it the greatest advantage : and the.se quali- 
 ties are, at least, as rare and as precious as per- 
 sonal courage, and as worthy of respect as the 
 fame of a distinguished general. On the present 
 occasion, Ivan, relying on the powerful aid of 
 his partisans, who had promised to open the 
 gates of the city the moment he appeared before 
 it, confided in the strength and valour of Kie 
 troops of Moscow, and in the skill of his engi- 
 reer, who was so dexterous in the management 
 of cannon. He was assured that he would not 
 lisk his safety in the reduction of the principali- 
 ty of Tver. In this confidence he proclaimed, 
 that as soon as the floods subsided, he would, in 
 person, accompanied by his son, lead his troops 
 again.st the rebellious Prince, who had insulted 
 the sanctity of treaties and the ties of kindred. 
 At the same time he pardoned Kholmskii. This 
 net of mercy, however, was not unaccompanied 
 by conditions advantageous to himself: know- 
 ing how necessary the voevoda would be to him 
 in future, and fearing that, at the first disagree- 
 ment, he might lake it into his head to fly into 
 Lithuania— where all the enemies and traitors 
 to the Prince of Moscow found a refuge, in the 
 same way as Moscow was the asylum of all re- 
 bels and traitors to Lithuania — he demanded a 
 signed engagement for him. On the same day, 
 eight similar engagements, or signed deeds, sonie 
 under a penalty of two hundred and fifty roubles, 
 some even higher, amounting in all to two thou- 
 sand roubles, were given by the principal inha- 
 bitants of Moscow, chiefly the boyarins, promi- 
 sing to pay the Great Prince these sums, in the 
 event of the voevoda flying or departin^^ into a 
 foreigo country. With this valuation of the dis- 
 tinguished voevoda at two thousand roubles, 
 Ivan Vassilievitch was content: besides this, the 
 Prince Kholmskii hissed Iht cross; that " (T?7 
 against his lord he would desire 7W)k." And his 
 suzerain, the Great Prince, "had mercy upon 
 l)is servant, and forgave him his unbuxomness." 
 
 This affair w.ts henceforward buried in com- 
 plelc oblivion. In the course of lime the Great 
 Prince gave his daughter in marriage to Kholm- 
 skii's son. Thus, at this epoch, went hand in 
 hand extraordinary severity, accompanied by 
 chains and death; and extraordinary favour, 
 conducting the lately-doomed culprit into the 
 family of the Tsar.* 
 
 * Kh(>lni«kii'ii Bon, in tlir Tfign of Vnssilii Ivanoritch, wns 
 ii<<nt to llnvlo-ozcro, and dicil ihrrr in exile. His only rrimf 
 wns thm vpry niarringc witti the .Inughter of Ivan III.— 
 note of the Author. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIL 
 
 THE LAST OF HIS RACE. 
 
 " If thy son be a sot, wealth helpeth him not." 
 
 Proverb. 
 " Hark ! a noise. Is it the Tsar ? 
 
 No, 'tis the fool." 
 
 PousHKiN— Borii Godounoff. 
 
 What a tremendons, what an impassable bar- 
 rier was that which divided the family of Obra- 
 zeiz from the stranger ! But the brave and ge- 
 nerous Khabar had once looked through that 
 barrier; and now a second time knocked for ad- 
 mittance at the door and heart of Antony. The 
 visit was in the evening : it was a time for 
 stealth, you will say; and you will guess the 
 truth. Khabar came, unperceived by the do- 
 mestics, (God help him, if his fathershould hear 
 of it !) to consult the leech about a sick person. 
 He was now sure — convinced — that Antony 
 could pertbrm wonders; this he had been told 
 by the beautiful woman to whom he was con- 
 ducting him. At any time the leech would have 
 hastened at the call of a suflerer, rnd yet more 
 willingly at Moscow ; where as yet, with the 
 exception of the parrot and Insatiate, he had not 
 had a single patient under his hands, and where 
 he wished so eagerly to acquire by his skill the 
 Russian's confidence and love. And now, above 
 all, with what delight would he not fly to the aid 
 of a sick fellow-creature, when il is Anastsia's 
 brother that calls him! Anastasia's brother! 
 how much music in those words ! On his face 
 there was an expression that belonged to her: 
 some family resemblance, some trail of her phy- 
 siognomy — of that face which was painted on 
 his soul ; a trail not quite faithful, yet recalling 
 the original. He came to Anumy with a secret 
 request, in all the confidence of friendship: who 
 could have promised this two days ago *? The 
 young leech himself could hardly believe the 
 visit, and in his delight knew not how to show 
 enough consideration for his guest of the mo- 
 ment ; or how he could prove to him that he was 
 not thai terrible German sorcerer that they had 
 represented him in Moscow. One slight appeal 
 10 his benevolent heart, and he was ready to re- 
 -spond to this mark of confidence with any sa- 
 crifice : this he had very clearly shown by his 
 aid of the Prince Kholmskii. Having set out 
 for Muscovy with so loving a soul, with such 
 flattering dreains of living in a new country, he 
 could not but feel, on his arrival, the full weight 
 and bitterness of his solitude in a strange land, 
 and the injustice of the people ; and all of a sud- 
 den Heaven vouchsafes him the kind glance of 
 a lovelv maiden the gratitude of a distinguished 
 leader whose benefactor he had been permitted 
 to become, and now sends him a friendly confi- 
 dence. 
 
 Generous Antony I he had already forgotten 
 all the ill-will and haired of the Russians; and 
 he was happy. 
 
 They go : over the sky are strewn myriads of 
 stars streaming Ibrth their twinkling rays; but 
 these stars burn not for us — they have their own 
 worlds which they warm and illumine. On ihis 
 evening the lamp of our earth wa« not lighted ; 
 Aniony followed his guide in darkness, not 
 knowing whither he was Icadinsj him. All he 
 knew was, that they had not quilled the ciiy, 
 and that they were traversing narrow winding 
 streets; by their being every moment m danger 
 of running against the corners of houses. They 
 could scarcely distinguish objects; but suddenly 
 
THE HERETIC, 
 
 they found themselves surrounded on all sides 
 by a multitude of bright lights, by the beams of 
 which pious men and women seemed to be as- 
 sembling (or evening prayer, or for the guard of 
 the TsaV's palace. The air was impregnated 
 with fragrant incense; in reality, Antony and 
 his guide were at the Great Prince's palace, 
 which was encircled by churches and chapels, 
 lighted up by religious zeal. Then again all 
 was dark. 
 
 " Be cautious," said Khabar, in an almost in- 
 audible whisper, taking the leech by the hand in 
 order to lead him through a narrow passage be- 
 tween the houses ; " caution, caution. Master 
 Leech ! hers a word may bring danger on us!" 
 
 Soon the wind blew freshly upon them: this 
 sign informed Antony that they had left the en- 
 closure of the houses, and that they were ascend- 
 ing an eminence. By the stars, retlected in 
 patches of water as in polished steel, and by the 
 sound of mill-wheels, Antony concluded that he 
 was on the hill above the pool of Neglinnaia; 
 on which there still remained patches ol belated 
 ice. His memory was instantly recalled to the 
 pugilistic battle on the pool ; and thence, by the 
 process of mental association, to the crimson 
 veil v,^hich had been hung out from the tower. 
 " That turret cannot be far olf !" he thought. 
 
 His companion stopped him. 
 
 " Here !" said Khabar; and just as he was en- 
 tering a wicket, he felt some one seize him firm- 
 ly round the legs. 
 
 " I will not let thee 1" exclaimed a stifled fe- 
 male voice, expressive of despair. " 1 will not 
 let thee — thou shalt trample me to death first! 
 "When thou comest in, villain, thou shalt not find 
 thy Greek alive." 
 
 Instead of answer nothing was heard but a 
 violent blow. 
 
 " Kill me, but I will not let thee pass !" again 
 cried the voice of despair. 
 
 " Scream louder, and 1 will kill thee !" said 
 Khabar. 
 
 A light from a window illuminated imper- 
 fectly and for a moment a young and pretty 
 woman, without kerchief or veil, (which were 
 lying at a short distance from her on the ground,) 
 and with her hair all dishevelled. She had 
 twined her arms round Khabar's legs, and under 
 a hail-storm of blows was kissing his knees, 
 perhaps endeavouring, by gluing her lips to 
 him, to stifle the screams of pain. 
 
 'Twas Selinova. She desired not to destroy 
 her lover, but only to draw him away from her 
 dangerous rival ; and at what a moment! when 
 the aid of a physician was indispensable to that 
 rival. The moment for safety might pass, and 
 the victory would be on her side. Terror, indig- 
 nation, despair, were mingled in Khabar's coun- 
 tenance: for him, too, the decisive moment had 
 arrived. It was necessary to triumph, cost 
 what it might; or to destroy her for whose sake 
 he had sacrificed Selinova — her who apparently 
 was so dear to him. That beloved one — so far 
 dearer than all, so precious — was dying, was 
 awaiting his help, there — in the house — to'which 
 his entrance was barred by the frightful jealousy 
 of a woman ! He made an eSort to drag Seli- 
 nova from his legs, as you tear the ivy that for 
 years has entwined its tendrils round a mighty 
 oak; he threw her on his shoulders, and telling 
 Antony to enter the house through the open 
 wicket, bore olf his spoil. 
 
 And the leech, under the burden of strange 
 and painful impressions, entered the court and 
 
 ascended a flight of steps. The staircase was 
 lighted with lamps, a rich oriental qarpet was 
 spread along it. "Antony passed into a hall, and 
 thence into an ante-chamber There seemed to 
 be an unusual bustle in the house: alarm was 
 painted in the faces of all. In the confusion 
 they hardly seemed to remark the physician. 
 The servants were not Russian ; in some un- 
 known language they asked him what he want- 
 ed ; he spoke to them in Russian — in German — 
 'twas all the same : in Italian — they understood 
 him. " Signor Antonio, the signor leech !" re- 
 sounded through the house. With eagernesg 
 they conducted him to a small chamber, richly 
 decorated in the oriental taste. 
 
 On a bed was stretched a young woman, 
 whose beauty was triumphant even over disease. 
 The dim eyes gave forth a phosphoric bright- 
 ness; the lips were parched. Two long black 
 I tresses streamed over her snowy shoulders, and 
 upon her heaving bosom, like two black ser- 
 j pents that have been crushed by a bold step. 
 Above her, before an image of Greek painting, 
 adorned with precious stones, burned a lamp 
 made of an entire shell of nacre. At sight of a 
 young and handsonie physician, the patient, not- 
 withstanding her sufferings, endeavoured to ar- 
 range her dress, and to banish from her counte- 
 nance and attitude all that was disagreeable, 
 produced by her torturing disorder. " If there is 
 yet time, restore me to life, Signor Leech ; I am 
 £0 young, I would yet live on a little longer," 
 she said in the Italian language, which sounded 
 doubly sweet from her lips; and instantly she 
 gave him her hand. Drawing him towards her, 
 she added, in a whisper, at his ear — " They 
 have given me poison : I feel it; but, for God's 
 sake, speak of it to no one." 
 
 Beside the bed was a man of more than forty; 
 bald, short, feeble, with crooked, goat-like legs. 
 He was evidently the master of the house, as the 
 attendants, who stood around distracted with 
 sorrow, seemed to pay respect to him. His eyes 
 were red and swollen with weeping: instead ot 
 being active and giving help, he wept and whin- 
 ed like an old woman. '-Save her!" he im- 
 plored the leech in a pitiful voice, and in bad 
 Italian ; " if I still had my empire, I would give 
 it to save Haidee's life. Now I will reward- 
 thee in a manner befitting the Despot of the Mo- 
 rea." 
 
 Who would have guessed it*? This man, 
 stamped with imbecility physical and intellect- 
 ual — this whiner was the last scion of the Em- 
 perors of Byzantium — Andreas Palaeologos. ; 
 
 And this was all that was left of the greatness 
 of the Roman empire ! 
 
 His father, Thomas, brother of the last of the 
 Constantines, with one son — this Andreas— and 
 his daughter Sophia, Princess of Servia, had 
 sought refuge from the victorious sword of the 
 Ottomans, first at Corfu, and afterwards in Italy. 
 The other son preferred to remain at Constanti- 
 nople — as our countrymen the Russians said at. 
 the time, eating the bread of the infidel emperor 
 — and Ibund no reason to repent: he enjoyed ex- 
 istence, comfort, and tranquillity under the pro- 
 tection of the generous sultan. The exiled 
 Thomas carried to Rome the head of the apostle 
 Andrew, his right to the Byzantine throne, and 
 his misfortunes: the precious relic was accepted 
 by the Pontiff, who promised, aided by th^ Duke 
 of Milan, to restore him to his lost crown. 
 These promises were never fulfilled, and he died 
 an exile at Durazzo, leaving for his monument 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 a few lines in the Italian chronicles, where he is 
 recorded to have served in some magnificent 
 ceremony or other, as a no less magnificent 
 iiffizianlc. Desiring to find in the East an oppo- 
 nent to the infidel conqueror of the city of Con- 
 stantine, and to draw Russia within the shadow 
 of his tiara, the Pope, Paul II., betrothed the 
 daughter of Thomas to the Russian Great Prince. 
 Ivan deceived the Roman Pontiff in his calcula- 
 tions. The arrival in Moscow of Andreas, 
 whether from a simple desire of visiting his sis- 
 ter, or a foolish hope of flattering his brother-in- 
 Ibw with his right to Byzantium, but served to 
 prove to him that those rights only are real 
 ■which can be maintained by intellect, power, 
 and money. Ivan Vassilievitch was not the 
 man to be dazzled by such tinsel: he immedi- 
 ately guessed the Greek's true value, and fore- 
 seeing that he would be a burden on him, treated 
 him with no great distinction. The amity of 
 the Sultan, though that of an accursed and un- 
 believing infidel, founded as it was on arms, had 
 much greater attractions for his eye. To him j 
 the Pope, the Jew Khozi, Stephen of Moldavia, j 
 Batorii of Hungary, the Tartar Khan — were all 
 equally attractive, when he had need of them. 
 
 We' have said that Andreas Palseologos, im- 
 mersed in tears, was standing by the bed-side of 
 a beautiful and suffering woman : but we have 
 not said who this woman was — poisoned by 
 some wicked hand, which in all probability had 
 been guided by the jealousy of a rival. She was 
 his mistress; a year before she had been sold, 
 against her will, by the avarice of her own 
 mother. Fortunately for her, the poison was in 
 itself feeble, or weakened by terror or conscience, 
 and no time had been lost. The power of the 
 remedies employed by Antony was victorious 
 over the action of the venom. Haid^e was 
 saved. This lovely being, but a moment ago 
 so near annihilation, bloomed once more like a 
 bright and living rose. In her lip, her cheek, 
 the fresh blood again began to course from its 
 secret fountain. With both her hands — hands 
 so exquisitely modelled — she seized that of the 
 young physician, pressed it to her bosom, and 
 raising to heaven her dark liquid eyes, which 
 streamed with tears, thanked him more elo- 
 quently than with words. 
 
 At such an unusual expression of gratitude 
 Antony was confused, and blushed deeply .... 
 Incoherently, almost unintelligibly, he expressed 
 liis delight at having restored life to so beautiful 
 a being. Recollecting Anastasia's brother, he 
 no longer wondered how the Greek was prefer- 
 red to Selinova. 
 
 The Despot of the Morea, in the fulness of 
 his delight, kept sneaking round the bed, like 
 the learned cat at the end of its chain ; and sud- 
 denly, at the first glance thrown on him in ])ity, 
 began to mumble the little hand that was ex- 
 tended to him by Haidee, unwillingly, nay, al- 
 most contemptuously. "Now, come down to 
 my companions, to my friends," he cried, snap- 
 ping his fin<jors, and drawing Antony after him ; 
 "we will make festival on the recovery of our 
 queen. If I could, I would make the whole 
 world rejoice with us." 
 
 The physician unwillingly fillowcd him, re- 
 warded with a farewell look," a Haltering glance, 
 such as women, confident in their beautv, so well 
 know how to give. They had hardly reached 
 the threshold of the chamtwr, when the musical 
 voice ol" Haidee .sounded in the ear ol Palwolo- 
 go3. He rushed to her on his tottering little legs. 
 
 " Dost thou hear ; this is for him, for my pre- 
 server !" she cried in an imperious tone, giving 
 Paloeologos a gold chain of great price. 
 
 " That is a good girl !" he answered ; " I meant 
 .... but I knew not what to give .... I was think- 
 ing about it. Now, one more farewell kiss on 
 the little hand, or at least on the little finger." 
 
 " No, they are waiting lor thee — begone !" said 
 Haidee; and the Despot — despot only in name — 
 hurried to perlbrm the will of his mistress. 
 
 Antony thought of his poor mother, and ac- 
 cepted the royal present. He had already re- 
 ceived a rich necklace from the Great Princess 
 Sophia Phominishna for the cure of the parrot ; 
 sables and marten skins from the Great Prince 
 — all was for her, his dear, his tenderly-loved 
 mother. How exultingly she would deck her- 
 self in them, and show herself to her acquain- 
 tance! "All this my good Antony sent me !" 
 she would say, with a mother's pride. 
 
 As soon as Haidee was sure that Palajologos 
 was gone, she ordered all her women to leave 
 her, and then called one of them back — "Thou 
 gavesi me just now some drink," she said, and 
 shaking her head reproachfuUj', " what had I 
 done to thee V 
 
 The woman turned as pale as death ; sobbing, 
 she fell at her mistress's feet, and confessed all. 
 Selinova had bribed her; the poison had been 
 given, but terror or conscience had diminished 
 the quantity. 
 
 " Let this remain between God and ourselves," 
 .'•aid Haidee, giving her her hand ; " pray to the 
 Father of us all to pardon thee, as 1 do. Shall 
 his sinful servant dare to judge another sinner 1 
 . . . . But .... they come ; arise, lest they find 
 thee in tliis attitude" .... 
 
 And what had passed remained for ever a se- 
 cret between these two women, the leech, and 
 God. 
 
 Khabar appeared. The love and devotion of 
 the .servants — men and women — to their mis^ 
 tress, opened the doors to him at all hours of the 
 day or night, removed for him the vigilance of 
 the guards — these feelings were sentinels when 
 he visited her in secret. His face was clouded. 
 It instantly cleared up, however, at the first look 
 that Haidee gave him. " Here ! to my heart, my 
 precious one — my treasure!" she cried, as she 
 pressed the youth's dark curls to her bosom ; 
 " but for thee I had died— 'twas thou who sent 
 me a leech." 
 
 "Assuredly 'twas I : who else 1 I would go 
 to the pit of hell — God forgive me — for thee, my 
 darling, my little pearl !" 
 
 " A'<>?(' wilt thou call the leech a cursed heretic 
 —a witch V 
 
 " O ! I now am ready to call him brother. 
 What — tell me, hide nothing from me — what 
 ailed thee, my little dovel Was it not poison 
 now 7" 
 
 " Yes, 'twas poison .... but from no hand 
 but mine own .... I myself, like a little fool, am 
 alone to blame. 1 wished to save a silver ladle, 
 and took a copper one. In the dark I observed 
 not that it was covered with rust^ and I ladled 
 some drink with it. A little more, the leech said, 
 and my eyes would have closed for ever. God 
 knoweth 1 should not regret life; I should re- 
 gret thee alone ! Thoii wouldst have wept 
 awhile over my cold grave, and forgot the Greek 
 girl Haidee." 
 
 " No ! I would not have wearied mine eyes 
 with tears: I would have covered them with 
 yellow sand; I would have espoused another, 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 ■-an eternal mistress ; and made my marriage-bed 
 on the coffin plank." 
 
 The tender and passionate Haidee kissed him 
 with a southern kiss. Thus the parclied earth, 
 in scorching day, drinks eagerly the dew ot hea- 
 ven ! 
 
 "Hush!" cried Khabar, raising his head like 
 a steed at the sound of ihe war-trumpet. " There 
 is a noise below. I will go." 
 
 " Let them feast ! My poor king, as they call 
 liim, is now mad with drinking. But thou, my 
 true king, my lor*, grant a few moments to thy 
 slave !" 
 
 " Fasting .... and I not there !....! cannot 
 
 Farewell, my dove ! The dark nights are 
 
 'Ours." 
 
 " Thy pleasure is mine. Go." 
 
 And Khabar rushed from her embrace — from 
 one banquet to another. 
 
 In the mean time the leech had been intro- 
 duced into a motley society, which was impa- 
 tiently awaiting Palceologos in a large long 
 chamber. There were mingled Russians, Greeks, 
 Italians, architects, and masons, workers in sil- 
 ver and copper, boyarins with the vilch* and 
 "without the vitch, guards, the deacon Borodaiii, 
 the interpreter Bartholomew; there were also 
 members of the higher and lower orders and 
 ranks which Ivan Vassilievitch had created and 
 classed according to dignity: but now all were 
 levelled in the bacchanalian orgie. Their im- 
 patience proceeded, not from any desire to enjoy 
 the presence of the mighty despot of the Morea, 
 and pretender to the Byzantine throne, but rathe* 
 from their thirst for foreign wines, with which 
 he usually regaled his guests. In his absence, 
 the huge goblets, yawning on their sides, the 
 silver-ciiased cups and flagons, with a melan- 
 choly thirsty air, and the ladies — that looked as 
 if they had turned on their faces for very shame 
 — were scattered pell-mell on an oaken table, 
 now left alone and deserted, like some ruined 
 spendthrift, who can no longer feast his friends 
 Avith splendid banquets. By the number of ca- 
 pacious vessels heaped in picturesque disorder, 
 by the abundant splashes of wine upon the table, 
 the stupiQed looks and red noses of the guests, it 
 ■was very easy to see that Bacchus had not been 
 asleep, and that his cupbearers had done their 
 office wiih zealous activity. The benches had 
 suffered most of all: they stood in a position, in- 
 ducing one to think that the revellers had been 
 making use of them to demonstrate extraordinary 
 problems in military tactics : the covers of the 
 forms were in one place pulled off and streaming 
 down like a cascade, or an outspread wing; in 
 another, unntercifully rumpled, they served" as a 
 pillow to a guest who was sleeping on the floor. 
 Teniers would have found here an abundant 
 harvest for his pencil. One of the guests, in 
 spite of the fumes of the wine that were whirling 
 in his brain, and remembering that he was in the 
 house of the pretender to the Byzantine throne, 
 was endeavouring with all his might to put the 
 bridle of ceremony on lips, hands, feet — all that 
 might forget itself in the dwelling of so illustri- 
 ous a personage. Another was sneaking round 
 the deserted table, and wistfully peering now 
 into this, now into that empty flagon. A third 
 was bestriding a bench as if it were a steed. 
 There were some, too, so outrageous, as to lie 
 -down on the flioor, and trumpet forth a snoring 
 
 * All boyarins were not fiutitled to be nddressed by the 
 respectable termiaatioa vitch subjoined to their patronymic. 
 — T. B. 
 
 concerto to the honour of the despot of the Mo- 
 rea. But the moment Andreas Palaeologos ar- 
 rived, all was awake and in motion — one of his 
 own accord, as if jt>y som-e magnetic sympathy, 
 another by a jog from his neighbour — and in- 
 stantly formed around their entertainer an in- 
 quisitive and varied group. Each spoke as well 
 as he could, and in what language he was able, 
 and each tried to anticipate the other in his eager 
 enquiries; and the whole formed a gabbling 
 enough to raise the dead. At last could be dis- 
 tinguished the words — "Can we congratulate 
 you on the signora's recovery ]" 
 
 " Lord Despot, how fareth it with thy dove, 
 Haida Andreevnal" 
 
 Here the Russian was anticipated by a for- 
 eigner. 
 
 But the Russian had shown no small clever- 
 ness in choosing his term: who could tell the 
 name of Haidee's father ! Tlte Despot is her 
 father, brother, friend — all, all. What could be 
 better than Andreevna 1 Let any body try to 
 invent a better title! You "can see with half 
 an eye that he knows what he is about," as the 
 prefect's wife would say in Gogol's novel. 
 
 " Saved — saved — she is saved !" cried the Des- 
 pot of the Morea: "and here is her preserver," 
 he added, pointing to Antony. 
 
 "What disease had the lady"?" 
 
 " She ate something unwholesome," (here he 
 clapped his hand on his stomach and made a 
 wrj^ face as if he had just swallowed something 
 very sour;) "but now .... all is over .... all 
 is well, my lads! Now for a carouse in Byzan- 
 tine fashion — to the leech's health! Cupbearer, 
 the best Italian wine." 
 
 At this exclamation the goblets were all in 
 motion. Cups and flagons waved and clanked 
 in the hands of the revellers. 
 
 The Russian guests crossed themselves. 
 
 "To the health of Antony the Almayne!" 
 shouted a number of voices in Russian. 
 
 " Blessings be On him 'in the dew of heaven, 
 and in the fatness of the earth !' " added the dea- 
 con Borodatii. 
 
 " To the health of our Antonio! he is ours by 
 education, he is our countryman !" roared the 
 Italians. 
 
 "It was our Greek that brought him hither! 
 He hath saved the rose of our imperial garden — 
 he is no stranger with us either," chorused the 
 Greeks. 
 
 "We do foul sin, Matvei Sidorovitch !" whis- 
 pered a boyarin without the vitck to his comrade 
 with the vitch; "the wine sticketh in my throat 
 like glue. What! to the health of a foul heretic 
 — a necromancer! .... If he were at least an 
 Italian" .... 
 
 " 'Twas even so with me, Simeon. My hand 
 will not raise the goblet to my lips! I might 
 as well try to liCt, God knoweth what. But 
 see ! our neighbour here hath grown thoughtful 
 too" .... 
 
 The neighbour tremblingly pointed to his cup, 
 which was full to the brim.' 
 
 " Look there ! see'st thou not something loll- 
 ing out its tongue at us !" 
 
 And each Bian, seeing his own ugly face re- 
 flected in the wine, his staring hair, thought he 
 beheld the devil with his horns. 
 
 " Have ye quaffed all outl" asked the Des- 
 pot. 
 
 "All, all !" roared the guests; " without leav- 
 ing a drop." 
 
 " Here is a proof .... full proof .... drunk 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 out " . . . . repeated the boyarin with the vUcfi 
 and his coinracfes, concealing their cups behind 
 liieir outspread palms. 
 
 When it became Antony's turn to thank the 
 c.mpany, by emptying in their honour an enor- 
 mous measure, which would have laid him 
 straightway under the table, as he was unaccus- 
 tomed to the juice of the vine, he merely touch- 
 ed the goblet with his lips. His excuse was the 
 obligation of his profession, which might call 
 him to his cuty at any hour of day or night, and 
 the weak state of his health — " A leech is as a 
 priest; both make a vow to serve God, in devot- 
 ing themselves to the service of humanity. Each 
 must present himself at the altar pure and unde- 
 filed. — If, by my presence, I d istu rb your pleasure, 
 1 am ready to depart." 
 
 "No, no! we desire it not. Thou art our 
 most welcome guest!" cried Palaeologos. "See 
 how we carouse with our friends ! Wine! haste! 
 wine! more wine ! .... Or doth the Byzantine 
 Emperor lackl" .... 
 
 At this moment the interpreter Bartholomew, 
 swaying from side to side like a pendulum, reel- 
 ed up to Antony's side — the leech saw him not — 
 then he reeled to the other side — with no better 
 success. * At last he stopped close to him, and 
 Avhispered at his ear till the young man could not 
 help starting. 
 
 " Thou here !" 
 
 " Of course, most high worshipful sir .... I 
 informed you, melhinks, that I am quite one of 
 th-e family — quite at home. Hm! said I well 1 
 What a glorious noble fellow is the heir of Con- 
 stantine the Great!" 
 
 " In what, except gloriously drainingthe cups 1 
 In this too, methinks, his 'star is beginning to 
 grow dim.'" 
 
 "Softly, softly, most worshipful: you kill one 
 to say so ... . But did you see the pretty crea- 
 ture 1 What ! did I lie 1" 
 
 " For once you spoke the truth." 
 
 "If you .... only give me a hint .... I 
 will take care .... trust to me !" 
 
 And the interpreter, with an air of stupid cun- 
 ning, winked his eye. 
 
 " Thou doest me too much honour. Add this 
 garland to the hundreds that have been shower- 
 ed on you from the Rhine to the Moskva." 
 
 And Antony, leaving the interpreter sticking 
 in the mud, hastened to the architects with whom 
 he had travelled from Germany. 
 
 At the highest uproar of the revel, Khabar 
 made his appearance. Having found out that 
 many were ill-disposed towards the leech on ac- 
 count of his refusal to drink — " I will answer 
 for him and 'for myself!" he cried; and before 
 him ihey placed a measure, into which was pour- 
 ed twice the number of flagons that had been 
 drunk by any one of the company in his absence. 
 
 " That is the way we bathe in wine — in Ryznn- 
 tine fashion !" cried Andreas Palaiologos. ' His 
 little legs were twisted across each otlier like wet 
 threads; his lower jaw, which at all times pro- 
 jected, now hung down, so that his profile, with 
 all its sharp angles indicative of silliness, was 
 rellccted on the wall in the most ludicrous man- 
 ner. 
 
 " That is our way— in Russian fa.shion !" said 
 Khal)ar, draining the gigantic measure. 
 
 Drink developes the real character more read- 
 ily llian any thing else. It is not at the bottom 
 of a well, Init at the bottom of a glass, that we 
 should seek for truth. Audacity glittered in the 
 eyes of Ithabar ; while the Despot of the Morea 
 
 showed the effects o^ wine by boasting. Botb 
 occupied the chief position on the scene of revel. 
 
 "What are we doing I" said I^habar; "we 
 have drunk to the health of the Great Prince and 
 our noble host ; but we have not honoured his no- 
 ble brother, Manuel Phomitch, who is keeping-, 
 for him the city of the Constantines!" 
 
 Befogged as were the brains of Phomitch, he, 
 nevertheless, at least comprehended the gibe, and 
 proclaimed that his brother, in consequence of 
 his flight to the Sultan, had been deprived of all 
 right to the Byzantine throne. The toast was re- 
 fused. 
 
 " O, my brethren, grievous is the burden of em- 
 
 Eire !" said the Despot mournfully; yet drawing- 
 imself up — " I myself have renounced it. To- 
 be sure, the empire of Byzantium is not like your 
 principality of Moscow. How many seas and 
 rivers doth it contain 1 How many great cities T 
 Its smallest town is greater than Moscow. I will 
 not say a horseman — even a bird could not in a 
 whole year fly over aur empire. But your little 
 nook of a country — 'tis a mere handful." 
 
 " Our land is also in the palm of God, and in the 
 hand of our great lord Ivan Vassilievitch, and 
 that hand reacheth far!" exclaimed proudly the- 
 deacon Borodatii, drawing himself up, and stro- 
 king his beard. Triumph and delight gleamed 
 in the eyes of the tiny Titus Livius of the Great. 
 Prince. 
 
 "Thanks, thanks!" cried Khabar— " thou hast: 
 helped me out. Neverdidst thou speak so sweet-- 
 ly and so well. Let us kiss, and drink to the hon- 
 our and glory of old Russia .... Add, beside, 
 that our holy mother Russia is growing up, not 
 by years but by hours; while Byzantium hath 
 been growing less, ever less and less, till she i.«5 
 all reduced to the great lord, Despot of Morea, 
 Andrei Phomitch." 
 
 " And how would your Princeling of Moscow, 
 my ungrateful brother-in-law — how would he 
 have appeared in the world but for the children, 
 ofPhomal" 
 
 Khabar, with some of the guards, burst into a 
 loud laugh. Around the scene of the di.spute a 
 circle began to form. Antony looked with pleas- 
 ure upon this contest, in which were actors on 
 one side, noble patriotism and loyalty; on the 
 other, boasting weakness. Who but would have 
 wished for the victory to fall to the former: who 
 but would have answered for its domg so? 
 
 " Ay, it was but since my sister Sophia ?ho- 
 minishna appeared in Russia, that your nation 
 hath been heard of in the world. The Tartars 
 were driven away; Novgorod fell, and Moscow 
 began to look something like a town. It is only 
 since then that Ivan Vassilievitch came to be 
 thought something of" 
 
 " Oh !" burst Irom the gallant breast of Kha- 
 bar. He seemed as if he could have devoured 
 the Byzantine boaster with his eyes. 
 
 A boyarin, with a thick white beard, appear- 
 ed on the scene, and said, bowing low — "We 
 honour and reverence thy mistress and ours, the 
 Great Princess Sophia Phominishna ; for that 
 she loved Russia better than her native countiy, 
 (if it is worth speaking of that mi.serable rouii- 
 trv, eaten up as it is by an unbelieving hcreiie 
 instead of a Tartar locust;) but it is not noble in 
 thee. Lord Despot of Morea, behind the back of 
 our sovereign, Ivan Vassilievitch, to bar" . . . 
 . . (the boy.irin .stopped and shook his head) . . 
 . • " nor would it be noble in me, in return for 
 thy favours, my lord, to speak an evil word." 
 
 " Your sovereign, iny ungrateful brother-in-law^. 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 73- 
 
 himself slighteth me — counteth me worse than a 
 refuse marten skin. He gave my daughter to 
 thO Prince of Vereia; and now, for some wom- 
 an's baubles, hath driven him to Lithuania. I 
 thank him. What honour have I at the Great 
 Prince's court 1 In what respect am I heldl 
 What £;ifis have I from him? I am worse ofl' 
 than I he Tartar Tsarevitch, Danyar." 
 
 " The Tartar Tsarevitch'.s grandfather, father, 
 and lie himself, have done much Christian ser- 
 vice," said the boydrin, again bowing: ^let 
 each be rewarded according to his service." 
 
 " And I I . . . . fools that ye are !" 
 
 The boyarin bowed still lower, and scratched 
 his head. 
 
 "Know ye not that I carry in my pocket the 
 Byzantine empire ']" 
 
 " 'Tis not over large," interrupted Khabar, " if 
 it can find room in thy pocket. I could stow 
 away half a dozen of thy empires in my pouch." 
 This reply was received with a general bunst 
 of laughter by the younger part of the Russians, 
 and by many of the foreigners who understood 
 the Russian language. Some one among them, 
 as if by accident, jostled the Despot of the Mo- 
 rea ; another, behind, made as if he was going 
 to tillip him on his bald pate. The Greeks 
 mournfully shook their heads. The boyarin, 
 with the bushy white beard, preserved a cold 
 haughty air. 
 
 " 1 would have I offered this Ivan of 
 
 yours my Byzantine empire!" 
 
 " The crane to heaven is flying," sang Khabar. 
 
 " Interrupt me not, whelp!" screamed the pre-_ 
 
 tender, stamping his little foot imperiously :' 
 
 '•Know'st thou"? One word to my sister, and 
 
 thou art in chains !" 
 
 Khabar took fii-e, and arose in his whole ma- 
 jesti.c height from the bench on which he had 
 hitherto been sitting before the Despot; he turn- 
 ed up the right sleeve of his kaftan, and, placing 
 his left hand on his waist, twisted the thumb in 
 his glittering girdle. 
 
 The pretender, delighted with his own cour- 
 age, perhaps the first he ever exhibited, contin- 
 ued, swelling and heating himself more and 
 more — "Ivan did not honour me as it became 
 him to honour me, an Emperor and his own 
 brother-in-law ; so I have given all his rights to 
 'my Byzantme empire to the Spanish king, Fer- 
 dinand, and Clueen Isabella." 
 
 " Thou ha.si forgot, Lord Despot," said one of 
 the Greeks respectfully, " that thou previously 
 gavest these rights to the French kin^ Charles 
 VIII. — that on that occasion he clothed himself 
 in the purple of the Constanlines, and trium- 
 phantly styled himself Augustus." 
 
 "Aye," contemptuously cried Andreas Palse- 
 ologos, "he ofl'ended me; so I was wroth with 
 him, and gave them to another. He is just such 
 
 a felon as" the Russian Ivan" 
 
 " Thou liest !" shouted Khabar, and instantly 
 gave a slap on the face to the heir of Constantine 
 the Great and Augustus. 
 
 " Well done!" cried Antony; "he who know- 
 eth not how to make others respect him, is un- 
 worthy of respect." 
 
 And he threw the gold chain, the gift of the 
 Despot, at the giver's feet. It was become a 
 burden to the generous young man. 
 
 " Right well !" echoed some voices ; " in the 
 name of all Russia we thank thee, Ivan Vassi- 
 iievitch Khabar!" 
 
 " Oh, oh !" whined the Despot, holding his 
 cheek : " Greeks, my Greeks I take my part 
 
 Your sovereign hath been insulted humil- 
 iation !" 
 
 All was an uproar. One man snatched up his 
 cap and rushed out; another sneaked ofl" without 
 his bonnet. The vigorous bufle.t resounded in 
 the ear of the feasters, and sobered many of them. 
 A few of the domestics who composed the Des- 
 pot's court, crowded up to seize Khabar; but 
 stopped short, alarmed by his stern immoveable 
 attitude, or by the cries of the Rus-iuns, that 
 they would not leave a stick of the house stand- 
 ing, if so much as a hand was laid upon their 
 comrade. Perhaps the attendants obeyed Hai- 
 dee's commands in sparing her lover. It finish- 
 ed by the Despot's going, in the hope of redress 
 from the Great Princess, to complain to his mis- 
 tress; and the hall, a lew moments ago so gay 
 and noisy, became empty and still. The last, 
 who quitted it were Khabar and his father's 
 guest. 
 
 At the gate some one stopped Khabar. It was 
 the Greek girl. She came not to reproach him, 
 (how could her heart do that 1) but to bid hinx 
 farewell — perhajis for long — perhaps she was 
 never to see him more. How will they report 
 this adventure to Ivan Vassilievitch; in what, 
 humour will it find the terrible ruler 1 
 
 CHAPTER XVIIL 
 
 DECISION WITHOUT APPE.tL. 
 
 By a covered passage leading from the Great 
 Prince's palace to the Church of the Annuncia- 
 tion, which was constructed at this period of 
 wood, Iv^n Vassilievitch was returning from 
 morning prayer. When he left the church his 
 face was cheerful, and bore the calm expression 
 left on it by his recent devotions ; but the fur- 
 ther he advanced, the gloomier and more wrath- 
 ful grew his brow, and the brighter gleamed 
 displeasure in his glance. Behind him, plunged 
 in mournful thought, walked a tall handsome 
 youth ; this was his son Ivan. 
 
 They were followed by the boyarin Mamon. 
 Neither of the latter dared to interrupt the 
 gloomy silence of the Great Prince ; Ivin the 
 Young endeavoured to hush even the sound or 
 his footsteps, so as not to offend his father's 
 ears, at a moment when the slightest imprudent; 
 movement might give a fatal direction to the 
 e.\p!osion of his displeasure : he knew that that; 
 displeasure, if not exasperated by the compli- 
 ance or the selfishness of those around him,, 
 might yet sink back to rest, or at least not lead 
 to fatal consequences. And therefore he took: 
 care not; to destroy this chance; like a skilful 
 engineer, who gives free passage to the flood 
 swelled by storms, lest it destroy his dam. On 
 the boyarin"s face was playing, now the delight 
 of successful villany, and then terror ; with 
 eyes and ears he greedily followed every move- 
 ment of his sovereign. Their silence resem- 
 bled the stillness which prevails as the fatal lots 
 are being drawn from the urn ; — the lot was 
 drawn. Ivan Vassilievitch stopped in the mid- 
 dle of the passage, and turning to his son, said, 
 " Hast thou heard, Ivan, what thy favourite 
 Khabar hath done?" 
 
 "I have heard, my lord;" replied Ivan the 
 Young, calndy. 
 
 " 'Tis naught, then, thou think'st, to strike tho- 
 Despot of the Morea !" 
 
74 
 
 THE HERETIC. 
 
 "But wherefore! have they told thee that, 
 father r' 
 
 " Neither why nor wherefore : he was as- 
 suredly drunk. It is thanks to thee that he 
 hath worn his head to this day." 
 
 " If he wears that head from henceforward, 
 it will be for thy good, my lord, and that of our 
 failhful Russia," replied Ivan the Young, with 
 composure: "if he lay his head on the block 
 for this matter, I would kiss that head." 
 " How so V 
 
 The Great Prince looked sternly at Mamon ; 
 the latter struggled with all his might to hide 
 his confusion, and meet his ruler's eye with 
 calmness. 
 
 " Behold how the fact was," replied Ivan the 
 Young, with the countenance of truth. " Yes- 
 ter evening, at a feast in the palace of Andrei 
 Phomltch, there were assembled, as if in insult, 
 boyarins and rabble, old and young, to revel : 
 Avhen drunk, he made friends and fellows with 
 all, drank to the health of a vile Greek harlot, 
 and embraced a shoemaker who maketh her 
 shoes. Thou knowest how he dishonoureth, 
 by his debauches, his race, and bringelh shame 
 on my mother, Sophia Fhominishna. In the 
 full tide of drunkenness he began to speak evil 
 of the Russian land, saying that it stands only 
 through the Greeks, and that all its power and 
 honour ariseth from the Greeks; that but for 
 \hem, we should never have driven out the 
 Tartars, nor taken Novgorod, nor built and ex- 
 tended Moscow : he barked, too, somewhat as 
 it' thou, ray lord, did'st not feel his favour, and 
 but scantly honoured him, and that therefore 
 lie had given liis right to his Byzantine empire, 
 
 rot to thee, but to the Spanish king" 
 
 " Ha, dog ! . . . . What ! when even his ken- 
 nel is given him out of charity, and doth he 
 give empires 1 One brother playeth the buffoon 
 lor the infidel Tsar, and licketh the trenchers in 
 his kitchen ; the other sneaketh about from 
 corner to corner, and selleth castles in the clouds 
 lo any one who is fool enough to buy them . . . 
 . . . Well, what followed !" 
 
 " I dare not speak how he bayed at thee." 
 "Speak! I command thee." 
 " He said, that he had not given thee Con- 
 stantinople, because thou wert .... I cannot, 
 father ; my tongue will not utter it" .... 
 '• Iviin, dost thou know me ?" 
 This question would have produced an an- 
 swer even from the dead. 
 
 " He called thee ' hound,' 'accursed dog ;' and 
 Khabiir thereupon lent him a buffet." 
 
 " Wlial ! and he did not throttle him !" cried 
 the Great Prince, unable to utter another word 
 His eyes gleamed fiercely, the breath seemed 
 .stifled in his bosom. Calmmg himself a little, 
 he said — " And was it so in truth V 
 
 '• Ask the deacon Borodatii. the oldest and 
 most trustworthy of the boyarins who were at 
 the feast — ask the court leech, Antony." 
 Ivan Vassilievitch grew thoughtful. 
 '•No. it needs not. Thou say'st it, Ivan; 
 shall I ask boyarins and deacons V 
 
 The Great Prince fondly loved his son, and 
 was confident in his prudence and honesty. 
 
 " What hast thou l)ecn telling me V he cried, 
 turning to Manual, and striking him with his 
 tflaff" a violent blow on the fai-e. 
 
 Mauiun felt that his hfe hung on a hair, and 
 
 replied with steadiness — " It is in thy power, 
 my Iprd, to execute me; but I relate what I 
 heard : I myself was not at the banquet." 
 
 "And that in future thou mayest more care 
 fully inform thyself, thou shalt pay Simskoi- 
 Khabar a hundred roubles for slanderirfg him ; 
 thou shalt carry it thyself, and shalt bow thrice 
 at his feet. Dost thou hear?" .... 
 
 "Ivan," he added, "give order, that from this 
 day forth they call him in every act Khabar. It 
 is proJUable to the Russian Tsar to have such 
 brave men. Thou dost well to favour him." 
 
 " And how came the leech Antony at the 
 revel !" enquired the Great Prince of his son 
 when Mamon had departed. 
 
 " Andrei Phomitch's Greek concubine had 
 fallen sick. They called the leech in ; and 
 when he had relieved her, they brought him 
 against his will to the feast. He refused to 
 drink : they say the despot gave him a gold 
 chain for curing the Greek, but when he spake 
 evil of thee, the leech threw him back his gift : 
 and the chain was a rich one." 
 
 'Tvvas evident by the sparkling of the Great 
 Prince's eyes, that this news was agreeable to 
 him. Nevertheless, he said — " 'Twas not wise, 
 if the gaud was rich." 
 
 Thus was decided the fate of Khabar. An 
 hour earlier, it would have been impossible to 
 answer for his life. Mamon was certain of the 
 success of his accusation, having the gravity of 
 the ofl'ence in his favour, and the protection, 
 too, of Sophia. Although the Great Princess 
 did not love her brother, as well on account of 
 the weakness of his character as of the profli- 
 gacy so shamefully exhibited on this occasion, 
 she nevertheless felt lively and heartfelt indig- 
 nation at the unheard-of insult which had been 
 offered to him. But Ivan Vassilievitch had de- 
 cided, and no ties on earth could alter his de- 
 termination. Powerless against that decision, 
 Sophia felt displeasure against Khabar, and from 
 this moment began to cherish a feeling of en- 
 mity towards the physician. We must add, 
 that between her and the wife of Iv.in the 
 Young, there had arisen a kind of jealous rival- 
 ry ; and therefore this success obtained by the 
 young prince touched her to the quick. To her 
 brother, after the Great Prince's decision, no- 
 thing remained but to quit Russia. 
 
 How happened it that Ivan the Young played 
 the intercessor ! Boldness even here befriended 
 Khabar. With the first dawn of morning he 
 had presented himself to him, and related all 
 that li.^d occurred at the despot's banquet. He 
 summoned, in confirmation of his words, the 
 tiny deacon, the boyarin who had answered 
 Andrei Phomitch. two of the guard, and the 
 leech Antony. Alf confirmed the truth. We 
 have seen that the noble, straightforward char- 
 acter of the heir to the Russian throne, enabled 
 him to profit hy the information of his favourite 
 and the wilnerf^es to whom he appealed, and to 
 give a powerful protection to truth and to a 
 noble exploit. 
 
 It was not without some agitation that Kha- 
 bar and Antony the leech awaited, each in his 
 own dwelling, the catastroplie of this adventure : 
 the one, though ho did not repent of what he 
 had done, and would have repeated it had the 
 same occasion presented itself, though ready 
 fearlessly to submit to a capital punishment, 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 75 
 
 yet feared the shame which such a pvinishment 
 would cast upon his aged lather and his maiden 
 sister. Antony was uneasy for him on the 
 same grounds : he had begun to take a hvely 
 interest in him, he sympaliiized with the motives 
 of his bold deed — coarse, it is true, yet at the 
 same time attractive from the nobleness which 
 originated it. He was inclined to excuse the 
 very weaknesses of Khabar. In his desire to 
 obtain the good-will of the Russians, Antony, 
 at the feast of yesterday, had endeavoured to 
 ■unite himself with their party, and was delighted 
 that honour and justice were also on that side. 
 With peculiar pleasure he heard that the boya- 
 rin's retainers, forgetting the title of heretic — a 
 name so hateful to them — which had attached 
 itself to him, loudly sang his praises for having 
 thrown back tlie despot's guerdon. Who could 
 tell but that, from this desire to obtain their re- 
 gard, he might perhaps have embraced their 
 side even in a less laudable quarrell Could 
 he then be blamed on this occasion! Let any 
 young man in his place cast the first stone. 
 His feelings may be guessed when he saw that 
 circumstances began to connect him every day 
 more closely with Khabar's fate. 
 
 His love for Anastasia, strengthened by ob- 
 stacles, assuredly played an important part amid 
 these agitations of his mind, and in his sympa- 
 thy with her brother. Without definite object, 
 without being able to render any account to 
 reason, this love was nevertheless perpetually 
 acquiring fresh violence : it made a still greater 
 advance from the following circumstance : — 
 
 When Antony returned home with Khabar, 
 the morning, heralding a splendid day, had al- 
 ready dawned. To see their farewell, no stran- 
 ger could have guessed that one of the young 
 men was accounted, by the famdy of the other, 
 a minister of Satan. Admittance through the 
 wicket was obtained for Khabar, by the devo- 
 tion of a servant. Antony opened his gate 
 with a key which he carried with him. He 
 stopped on the stone steps to take breath after 
 his rapid walk, and to inhale the fresh vernal 
 air. The gardens on the declivity of the town 
 hill, and beyond the Moskva, were bursting into 
 Jeaf They seemed as if they were covered 
 with a veil of green. The river Moskva, freed 
 from its icy fetters, was putting off its thin cur- 
 tain of mist, as if to show the proud loveliness 
 of its waters and the fresh verdure of its banks. 
 Through the fantastic shifting shroud of this 
 mist, could be seen now the cupola which 
 crowned the Donskoi monastery, gleaming over 
 the meadows, then the white walls of Simonoff. 
 Hardly had Antony found time to cast an eager 
 and delighted glance over this picture, so new 
 to him, when the well-remembered window 
 creaked over his head ; he looked, and — can 
 he trust his eyes! — does he dream! — at the 
 window appears Anastasia, at an hour when 
 the birds had hardly begun lazily to prune their 
 wings. Yes, 'tis she, but pale and sorrowful. 
 It seemed to Antony, from the appearance of 
 her eyes, that she had been weeping, and that 
 
 she shook her head as if reproachfully He 
 
 doffed his bonnet, and stood before her with 
 his hands clasped, as if imploring her for some 
 grace ; but the fatal window closed — the lovely 
 vision vanished. 
 
 Not knowing what to think of this mournful 
 
 apparition, Antony remained for some moments 
 on the steps ; but seeing that the window did 
 not again open, and fearing some indiscreet wit- 
 ness, he entered iiis own abode. Anastasia is 
 sad — she passes her night in tears ! he thought ; 
 and remembering all the marks of interest she 
 had shown him — him, a foreigner, one detested 
 by her father — he felt a sad yet sweet sensa- 
 tion, and applied to himself, with a feeling of 
 pride and love, the appearance of to-day. He fell 
 asleep when the sun was already high ; but even 
 in his sleep the form of Anastasia left him not. 
 
 Together with his heart examine the heart of 
 the maiden, brought up in domestic seclusion, 
 who had never left her chamber-cell, nor passed 
 beyond the bounds of her garden, and suddenly 
 touched with love. Add to this, that she every 
 day beholds the object of her affection ; add, 
 too, her father's detestation of that object ; add, 
 too, that she was bewitched ; that she, a mor- 
 tal, could not hope to oppose the supernatural 
 powers, which were not to be chased away even 
 by the most passionate, the most ardent prayer. 
 After analyzing all this, can it be wondered at, 
 that she had already ceased to oppose those 
 powers, and that she yielded herself to the en- 
 chantment ! Eagerly tracing the steps of the 
 beloved stranger, Anastasia had remarked his 
 departure from the house, the day before, with 
 her brother — with her brother, who led a lite of 
 revel, whom her father frequently reprimanded 
 for his nocturnal excursions. Was it surprising 
 that he should seduce her lover also into this 
 life of dissipation ! Long did she wait for An- 
 tony, but Antony returned not. Never yet had 
 he been so late : in her breast jealousy began 
 to speak : she reproached her brother, she re- 
 proached the beloved stranger, with whom she 
 had never yet exchanged a'word, but whom she 
 already accounted hers. She was melancholy, 
 she was displeased, she accused herself of cold- 
 ness, she wept. And at last he came. Let him 
 see her weaknese, let him know that she had 
 been weeping, and for him ! 
 
 The poor bird was alarmed at mid-day, by the 
 appearance of the cruel vulture which had so 
 often hovered round her nest. Again appeared 
 Mamon in the house of Obrazetz ; but this time 
 not as the proud messenger of the Great Prince, 
 but as a culprit, in the custody of two of the con- 
 stables and two armed retainers. Before they 
 led him from his house they had deprived him 
 of his weapons. 
 
 In the name of the Lord Great Prince, they 
 asked for Simskoi-Khabar, son of the voevoda. 
 It was not without some fluttering of the heart 
 that he awaited his sentence of death. Instead 
 of his doom, they informed him that the boya- 
 rin Mamon, by order of Ivan Vassilievitch had 
 brought him a hundred roubles as a fine for 
 slandering Khabar, and was to strike the earth 
 with his forehead ; yes, he had come, that Ma- 
 mon, the proud, the terrible, the vengeful, to beg 
 pardon of his foe ! And how could he refuse 
 to come! he was sent by the Great Prince, 
 Ivan Vassilievitch. Horrible was the expres- 
 sion of his saffron face, distorted by the furies 
 of his soul, his bloodshot eyes, his forest of sa- 
 ble hair, wildly standing on end. In such a 
 form would the artist represent Satan, fettered 
 by supernal power. 
 
 And he came, and gave Khabar a hundred 
 
76 
 
 THE HERETIC. 
 
 roubles.— "A hundred roubles in full count,' 
 said he in a rirm voice, and fell prostrate hum 
 bl) before his foe, — once twice. — " That was for 
 tlie Prince !" he cried ; " but this is mine," 
 bending over Khabar's foot, and leaving on it a 
 deep bloody impression of his teeth. " That is 
 my mark," he repeated with an infernal laugh. 
 Well was he named Mamon. Khabar uttered 
 a cry, so severely was he wounded, and his 
 first movement was to tear a handful out of his 
 opponent's beard. They were instantly parted. 
 
 " To the lists ! I challenge thee to the held !" 
 shouted Mamon. 
 
 " To the fit^ld !" cried Khabar : " it hath long 
 been time. Let God judge between us." 
 
 And the foes, having kissed the cross, and 
 chosen seconds and sponsors, separated, thirs- 
 ting for each other's blood. 
 
 Obrazetz, not desiring to witness his enemy's 
 huindiation, was not present at this scene. 
 When made acquainted with this catastrophe, 
 he blessed his son. Notwithstanding the se- 
 vere mierdiction of the ecclesiastical powers, it 
 was held disgraceful to refuse the trial by com- 
 bat, to which any man was free to challenge 
 another for a blow ; and the prohibition of the 
 ecclesiastical fathers was terrific :* "And what- 
 soever man schal be deffyed vnto y Feeld, and 
 schal com vnto anie Preeste for that hee maie 
 receve y' Holie Sacrament, the sam schal in noe 
 'wyse com to y' Holie Communion, or kisse y 
 Crosse : and whoso schal slay a man yn ye sayde 
 Feelde schal utterly destroie and kil hys soule ; 
 and eftir y' wordys of Basilius the Crete, hee 
 schal be called and hy^ht an Assassin, and 
 schal nat com ynto y« Chirche, nor receive y" 
 gyftis, nor y= -brede, nor receve y'' Holie Sacra- 
 ment eight and tene yearis .... He who ys 
 slayne, him schal tHey nat bury." What a sen- 
 tence for our religious, god-fearing ancestors ! 
 But honour, (though under another name,) 
 which to them was dearer than every thing, 
 claimed in their estimation the foremost place. 
 
 When they carried the news of this challenge 
 to the Great Prince, he said — "Now it is not 
 my affair, but the affair of the soudebnik." 
 
 The soudebnik contained the following law : — 
 " Whosoever schal pluck or tere anothere man- 
 ny's iierd, and gif a vvetenesse schal testefic 
 thereunto, the sam schal kiss the Crosse and 
 doe battel in y' Feeld." 
 
 Against the law, laid down by the Great 
 Prince himself, with his son and the boyarins, 
 it was impossible to go; only it was ordered 
 that the combat should not take place before 
 the army returned from Tver : for the cam- 
 paign they needed a brave soldier like Khabar. 
 
 The word " Field" cast a gloom over the 
 house of Obrazetz, which, even without this 
 cause of anxiety, was not too gay. This word 
 fell like the stroke of a dagger on Anastasia's 
 heart ; she knew that she was the cause of the 
 terrible enmity between her father and Mamon, 
 and might become that of her brother's death. 
 The word " Field" long went through the 
 houses, an in our days the fatal card with the 
 black border and death's heads. The passenger 
 going by the dwellings of Manuin and Obrazetz, 
 might already scent in imagination the odour 
 of incense and of corpses. 
 
 * yi(U the iiicsxagc of llio I'rimato IMioIliis lo Uic cili- 
 zons of N6vgoro(l, In lUO.—.Vute of the .-luthor. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE CROSS. 
 
 " Ah, nurse, dear nurse — I feel so wearv, 
 
 So sad :iiid ill — I sigh and sob 
 
 Oh, feel how my poor heart is Dealing !" . .. 
 " Alas ! thou must be sick, my sweeting!" 
 
 Help my child, O Lord, and save! 
 
 VVhate'er thou wishest, asli and have .... 
 
 Let the holy water bless thee ! 
 
 Thy |K>or cheek is burning, dove" .... 
 " 1 am not ill, nurse . . . I'm ... in love." 
 
 POUSHKIN. 
 
 KHAB.tR's confidence in Antony the leech was 
 so great, that he begged him to cure him of the 
 injuries inflicted by the living weapon. The 
 wound was tolerably deep; but how can we 
 e.xpect a young gallant, hardened by Russian 
 snows, and the fatalism of his country, to pay 
 any attention to danger ! Under the operation 
 performed by Antony upon his foot, he no more 
 winced than if a bee had slightly stung him. 
 Thanks to the force of youth and strength, and 
 to the vigorous remedies employed by the phy- 
 sician, his cure was rapid : but even before his- 
 recovery, he showed himself to his comrades, 
 and, covered by the veil of night, robbed the 
 pretender to the Byzantine throne of some of 
 his Haidee's burning kisses. The only thing^ 
 that disquieted Khabar in this aflliir, was the 
 sorrow of his sister; the cause of which was 
 nothing but her lively interest in him : that 
 there was any other cause he did not evea 
 suspect. 
 
 Anastasia, who was now enabled to attribute 
 her melancholy to the campaign which was so 
 soon to separate her from her brother, and to 
 the approaching combat, no longer restrained 
 her grief, no longer stilled her tears within her 
 bosom. They assured her that the combat 
 would not take place— that the Great Prince, 
 by his all-powerful command, had reconciled, 
 the foes ; that Khabar would content himself 
 with exacting the fine of a few altntes fixed by 
 law for a Uoodi/ wound, and that the whole ai- 
 fair woidd be forgotten. These assurance* 
 tranquillized her on her brother's account, and 
 at the same time concentrated all her thoughts 
 upon one object, all the energies of her soul, 
 that had before been divided between two per- 
 sons e(]ually dear to her. 
 
 Equally dear ] God only knows ! His eye 
 alone, glancing to the depth of her breast, could 
 see that her allection preponderated to the side 
 of the heretic, so completely had enchantment 
 mastered her soul. 
 
 Anastasia, during a whole day, looked and 
 listened as the troops were assembling for the 
 campaign. Formerly she had delighted to gaze 
 from her window on their movements, so trium- 
 phant, so full of life ; she consoled herself vviili 
 the thought, that the departure of the greater 
 part of the young gallants of Moscow would 
 give her more freedom to walk in the gardens 
 with her companions, and to dance the round. 
 But now the sight of these troops was intolera- 
 ble to her ; it seemed as if they were besieging 
 her, and blockading her father's house. Did 
 she open the window towards the river MoskvS, 
 along the Great Street were filing dense mas- 
 ses of soldiers : did she go to the other case- 
 ment — she saw the priests by the churches of 
 the city blessing the standards ; fathers, moth- 
 ers, and kinsmen, incessantly entering the 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 77 
 
 House of God, to perform the ceremony of 
 yostriga on their children, and to say prayers 
 for the fortunate result of the campaign — she 
 saw Iv&n the Young reviewing the troops. Did 
 she open the window that looked into the stran- 
 ger's court-yard — there she saw nothing . . . . 
 tears dimmed her eyes, and, sitting in the cor- 
 ner of her maiden bower, she could not forget 
 herself: around her resounded the clattering of 
 horse's hoofs along the wooden pavement, and 
 penetrated to her chamber. On all sides she 
 \vas besieged with signs of separation ; her 
 heart was overwhelmed with insupportable an- 
 guish. 
 
 In our times, an excellent education, the pre- 
 cepts of the mother and the governess, select 
 reading, instruction from infancy in the laws of 
 God, moral examples, and the relations of soci- 
 ety, early guard the young girl's heart from the 
 sunken rocks past which she has to sail ; teach 
 her intellect to be ever on the watch against 
 lemptation, and to distinguish falsehood from 
 truth, what is injurious from what is profitable. 
 What guarded the hearts of our great-grand- 
 inothers from temptation but walls and fences ^ 
 "What was their reasonable education, what the 
 precepts and examples, what the social relations, 
 v.-jiich could impress upon them the dangers of 
 love, and prepare the maiden's heart for the 
 trials it was to undergo 1 A mother : a frequent 
 recourse to God and the saints, it is true, was 
 the substitute — and sometimes an admirable 
 one — for much of our modern education. But 
 the precepts of the mother were, for the most 
 part, confined to a rigid command to beware of 
 the Evil Eye, to use the cross and prayers as a 
 ..protection against diabolic influences; and what- 
 ever good might have been effected by the moth- 
 er's exhortations in the heart of the daughter, 
 ivas too frequently neutralized by the absurd 
 conversation of the nurse and the tirewoman — 
 tales about the adventures of bold and handsome 
 princes, and songs fnll of the sweetness and 
 melancholy of love. The walls vvere high, the 
 tower and the chamber of the maiden were 
 strongly guarded ; but, let once apportunity aid 
 .the inclination, or the mere curiosity, of the 
 -heart — ^once that barrier passed, and sin, if not 
 passion, triumphed over all — over the ties of 
 family, over maiden shame, over religion. How 
 numerous were the examples of boyarins' daugh- 
 ters, tempted by wandering gallants, flying with 
 them to the wild greenwood, and there leading, 
 Mith their paramours, a rude and robber life! 
 Songs — those faithfulest legends of manners — 
 prove this better than any thing. 
 
 However it might be, whether from unreason- 
 ing pliancy, the influence of the fiend, or the law 
 of nature, Anastasia was entirely mastered by 
 'her love, and no longer dreamed of opposing a 
 feeling which she attributed to magic. Like her 
 companions, she had hved in maiden seclusion, 
 ■was nourished in the same prejudices, felt the 
 influence of the same tales and songs as dis- 
 turbed the judgment of her friends; and, re- 
 mark, she had not above her a mother's eye — 
 "a mother's daily blessing; besides, every day 
 afforded her the opportunity of beholding the 
 young and attractive foreigner, from whom she 
 was separated only by a fence of wood ; and 
 •cannot the heart overleap such barriers ! 
 
 And thus Anastasia, given up wholly to her 
 
 love, was agitated by the thought that she was 
 to be separated for a long period from the objejt 
 of her affection. However she might examine 
 her heart, however she might struggle lo ex- 
 pel from it the Latiner, the Papist, the necro- 
 mancer—she could not do it. Think as earnestly 
 as she might, she could not tell the meaning of 
 the words " Latmer" and '• Papist ;" something 
 it must he, and something terrible— evidently, 
 it meant a servant of the Evil One— of that sort 
 accursed by the holy councils. However, her 
 godson, Andriousha, had often assured her — had 
 sworn by all the saints — that Antony was a 
 Christian, that he believed in God, the Holy 
 Virgin, and the Saints of God. How was she 
 to examine into this ; and, at the same time, 
 how was she to save him from the agonies of 
 hein Long and earnestly did she meditate on 
 this, till at last her heart inspired her with a 
 great project — difficult, indeed, for a maiden 
 brought up in rigid orthodo.xy. What could be 
 more precious to her than the crucifix which 
 she always wore suspended round her neck^ 
 This holy thing, the sacred present of her moth- 
 er, had never left her person since her baptism. 
 It guarded her from sickness and misfortune, 
 from the thunderbolt, and from the nrwlignant 
 beams of the star that strikes in the darkness 
 of the night. It linked her to heaven, to all that 
 her burning faith had imaged there, to her guar- 
 dian angel. This sacred talisman, the pledge 
 of purity of thought and feeling, had plighted her 
 to the Lord ; it was to descend, a holy heritage, 
 to her posterity, as it had come down to her 
 from her grandmother and great-grandmother, 
 or accompany her to the grave, a sinless and 
 godly virgin. She would have to present it at 
 the terrible day of doom, without spot, without 
 the rust of deadly sin ; and yet with this holy 
 relic, this sacred heirloom of family and heaven, 
 she resolved to part — she resolved to give it to a 
 heretic to save his soul .... and lose her own ! 
 .... no, it would be a good work to turn a 
 Latiner to the orthodox faith. What struggles, 
 what agonies, what prayers, did not this sacri- 
 fice cost her ! . . . and yet she determined to 
 make it. 
 
 To the performance of her intention Andriou- 
 sha was necessary ; he was her godson, and the 
 confident of all the secrets of her heart. She 
 began to expect him with impatience— time was 
 precious. 
 
 Her father and brother had gone to the Field 
 of Koutchkoff to see Aristotle prove an enor- 
 mous cannon— the triumph of his skill in found- 
 ery. The greater part of the domestics had ac- 
 companied them. Andriousha had come to 
 visit his friend Antony, but had not found him 
 at home. The boy was preparing for the 'post- 
 riga, (to which the Great Prince had consent- 
 ed, notwithstanding his little favourite's not 
 having attained the legal age for warfare, six- 
 teen years.) Perhaps he feared that he would 
 not have another opportunity, before his de- 
 parture, of seeing his godmother, whom he so 
 fondly loved. He was sorry to leave Anastasia, 
 she was so pretty, so caressing ; she kissed him 
 so sweetly, just as his mother had been wont to 
 kiss him ; and he came to bid her farewell. 
 
 Hovi' was Anastasia to begin the confidence 
 which she was about to make to her godson ! 
 She prepared to speak, and yet she trembled ; 
 
78 
 
 THE HERETIC. 
 
 she was as pale as death, as though she were 
 summoning up her courage to do some great 
 crime. Andriousha remarked her agitation, and 
 inquired if she was not ill. 
 
 " I am not well," said Anastasia ; and then, 
 after a short pause, making an extraordinary 
 effort, she took Andriousha by the hand, pressed 
 it eagerly, and asked him if he loved his god- 
 mother. 
 
 '• Next to my father, those whom I love most 
 are thyself and Antony," cried the boy, kissmg 
 her hand. 
 
 From the maiden's innate modesty, and be- 
 cause it was contrary to the Russian customs, 
 she had never before allowed him to kiss her 
 hand ; but now she only gently drew it back ; 
 then arose and looked if there was any one at 
 the door of the hall : as soon as she was con- 
 vinced that no one could hear her conversation 
 except Andriousha, she asked him whether he 
 loved the leech. 
 
 " Again I say, I know not what I would not 
 do for him and for thee!" replied Andriousha, 
 in a voice of lively interest. 
 
 " If so, I would ask thee touching a matter. 
 Didst thou not tell me that Antony is baptized 1" 
 
 " I did." 
 
 "That he helieveth, as we do, in the Lord 
 God, the Holy Mother, and the Holy Saints !" 
 
 •' I am ready, even now, to swear it." 
 
 " Wherefore, then, say they that he weareth 
 no cross "?" 
 
 " My friend is wont to say, that his cross is in 
 his heart." 
 
 " I understand thee not. That is something 
 strange to me. Behold now, if all this be so, 
 if he be not leagued with the Evil Spirit, will he 
 not put on my cross !" 
 
 The boy's eyes sparkled. " Love me no 
 more, let me never again behold thee," he cried, 
 " if my friend doth not put on thy cross, and 
 wear it." 
 
 " I will then .... I will give him my cross 
 .... But hark thee, Andriousha, my dove" .... 
 she could not finish ; but he instinctively under- 
 stood that in her words there was a question of 
 life and death. 
 
 Wiih a trembling hand, flushed and agitated, 
 Anastasia took off her cross. It was a large 
 silver crucifix, bearing an image of the Saviour 
 in black enamel ; a small hag was attached to 
 it. Gazing fearfully towards the door, she sus- 
 pended it round Andriousha's neck, carefully 
 concealing it in his bosom. A\\ this was done 
 with great haste and agitation, as though she 
 feared that her resolution would fail : her fin- 
 gers were entangled in tlie silken string, and she 
 with difficulty disengaged them. 
 
 "Tell him to cross himself in our manner* 
 when he lieth down to rest, and when he wakelh 
 from his sleep," continued Anastasia; "and 
 beware, .\ndri6usha, betray me not ; do not 
 ruin me ! . . . . reveal not to my father that .... 
 Swear it !" 
 
 She said, " to her father" only, confident that 
 her godson would never divulge it to any one 
 else. 
 
 * The RuMinn mode of making the tiftk of the cross 
 difTcra from the oninc rite ns performed by the Roman 
 Catholics. In both chmh llic tingcrs nre curried fir^t to 
 the fort'head, hut (hence, in^trnd of applying iheni to ihe 
 Irfl khonlder. n» the Catholic docs, the Riissinn proceeds 
 to Uic right.— T. B. 8. 
 
 And Andriousha, trembling like the accom- 
 plice in some crime, bound himself to secrecy 
 by the most solemn oath he could think of — 
 '• Maybe," he added, imperfectly comprehending 
 his godmother's agitation, and desiring to tran- 
 quillize himself and her, " maybe, Nastia, we 
 shall convert him to our faith by this cross. 
 God knoweth whether this gift of thine may 
 not be on his breast, when thou standest with 
 him in the church, under the crown. "t 
 
 " No, Andriousha ; speak not to me of the 
 crown .... It is not for that I do this .... I 
 only grieve that he is a heretic .... I would 
 save him from the molten pitch in the other 
 world" .... 
 
 " Oh, Nastia, if he goeth not to Paradise, who 
 can hope to come there V 
 
 The nurse's cough was heard ; the pair, who 
 had concluded their secret treaty, hastened to 
 recover from their confusion, and bid farewell 
 to each other. Andriousha promised to visit his 
 godmother again before his departure with the 
 army. 
 
 When Andriousha was gone, Anastasia felt 
 her bosom cold, cold, as though a mass of ice 
 lay on it. She was plunged in tormenting 
 thoughts, and now for the first time there rush- 
 ed into her mind the difficulty of concealing 
 from her nurse the absence of her cross. Where 
 could she have put it ! where lost it ! Forget- 
 ting what had passed, she murmured to herself 
 incoherent words, then felt for her crucifix, and 
 missing it, was in agonies of despair. She had 
 exchanged her mother's blessing for deadly sin ; 
 she had sold herself to Satan. Poor maiden I 
 It was clear she was brought to this by necro- 
 mantic power." 
 
 ■'What aileth thee, my dear1" enquired the 
 nurse ; " thou art all on fire ; thou sittest shud- 
 dering, and murmurest unintelligible words." 
 
 " I am ill, dear nurse ; I know not what I ail 
 myself" 
 
 " Hath not some evil eye beheld thee ] hast 
 thou not caught cold ! Drink some Epiphany 
 water, my darling ; 'twill take away thine ail- 
 ment like a charm.'' 
 
 .\nastasia took her nurse's advice : with a 
 prayer and a sign of the cross she drank the 
 water, and felt somewhat relieved. Was it to 
 last long ?" 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE KNIGHT POPPEL. 
 
 This is the place to relate how a new charac- 
 ter appeared to take a share in the drama of 
 our hero, and perhaps to perform one of the 
 most important parts. This was Nicholas Pop- 
 pel, a knight of the empire, the nephew and 
 adopted son of the Baron Ehrenslein. Tall, 
 handsome, active, haughty, and self-confident, 
 he possessed all the extertor merits, and all the 
 brilliant vices, calculated to please a courtier 
 who possessed the same qualities Ehrenstein, 
 in adopting him, had gratified, at the same time, 
 himself and the Emperor, who showed peculiar 
 
 t Durlni; the celehralion of the Kussian marriage cere- 
 
 I niony, two crowns are held, one over the head of the 
 
 brldv, and Ih.- other over that of the bridc(tro«ini.» This 
 
 offlre Is performed l>y ixsrsons chosen from nmong the 
 
 1 wedding party l>y the " happy pair.'— T. I). S. 
 
THE HERETIC, 
 
 favour to Poppel on account of the journey he 
 had made to Muscovy, a land of wonders, as it 
 was then represented. The Emperor expressed 
 his satisfaction at the excellent selection which 
 the baron had made ; after this, li.ow could the 
 baron, devoted as he was to ambition, thinking 
 of nothing but his own advancement, allow him- 
 self to entertain so much as the thought of con- 
 fessing, that a son of his — a leech — who had 
 been renounced by him from his infancy, had it 
 in his power to stain for ever an escutcheon, 
 which he himself considered equal to the blazon 
 of many a crowned head ! How could he ven- 
 ture, by the discovery of his fatal secret, to irri- 
 tate his sovereign I His heart was hackneyed 
 in the struggle after courtly laurels, and the 
 voice of nature was unheard amid the cliorus 
 of passions, singing their music upon one and 
 the same motive. It seemed as though all cir- 
 cumstances concurred to cherish in his heart 
 this petty passion, and to extinguish the famtest 
 spark of conscience — all things— even the court 
 at which he, with others like himself, were roll- 
 ing the wheel of fortune over the wrecks of 
 feudalism — even the guide himself of this wheel. 
 The court was plunged in frivolity ; the Em- 
 peror, by his littleness of soul, made foreign na- 
 tions wonder, and his own despise. This em- 
 peror was Frederick HI., a monarch powerful 
 in the resources of his empire ; but contempti- 
 ble in those of his own character. We remem- 
 ber how he terrified the Roman Pontiff by fall- 
 ing unexpectedly upon him on Christmas Eve, 
 and how all this menace, which made Rome fly 
 to arms, finished by Frederick's kissing the 
 Pope's hand and foot, holding his stirrup, pub- 
 licly reading the gospel in the habit of a canon 
 of the Church, and at last departing amidst the 
 laughter of the very persons who had been so 
 terrified by him. Greatness of mind and weak- 
 ness in a sovereign, are communicated to his 
 court, and influences even the popular masses. 
 This was said long, long ago, and has often been 
 repeated : was it wonderful that the character 
 of the baron, weak, frivolous, inconstant, per- 
 petually waHowing in the slough of selfishness 
 and vanity, should have found a new source of 
 baseness in the vices of his sovereign 1 If even 
 he did think of his son, it vvas only how to pre- 
 vent any hint of his plebeian existence from 
 reaching the ears of the Emperor and of his 
 courtiers. To the honour of our times, such 
 characters appear to us monstrous; but in the 
 fifteenth century, and even for a considerable 
 time later, they were not unfrequent. 
 
 Hearing of Antony's love for science, hearing 
 of the attachment exhibited towards him by 
 the leech Fioraventi, the baron was delighted 
 both at the one and the other : both the one and 
 the other would break for ever his humiliating 
 connexion with the disinherited son. The self- 
 devoting love of the baroness for her child did 
 not alarm her husband ; on this side he was 
 secured by Amalia's oath, that she would never 
 dare to disclose the secret of Antony's birth, nor 
 attempt to claim for him his lawful inheritance. 
 Under this condition she was permitted to see 
 her son at the poor Bohemian castle ; after her 
 interviews with him, she had more than once 
 attempted to touch the heart of the cruel father ; 
 but failing in this, and only irritating her hus- 
 band by her pertinacity till he treated her more 
 
 coarsely than before, she retired altogether to- 
 the Bohemian castle. There she shut herself 
 up, as if in a convent, passing her days in pray- 
 ers for the welfare of her favourite. The choice 
 of Poppel as the heir to their name and rank: 
 would have cruelly wounded her, had not the 
 tidings from Moscow, which she received througli 
 the countrymen of the Jew Zacharias, faithiul 
 to his promise of gratitude — tidings of the fa- 
 vour shown by the Tsar of that country, and 
 honours heaped upon her son — consoled the un- 
 happy mother. From this moment all her 
 thoughts and feelings turned towards the East. 
 Muscovy became dearer to her than her native 
 land. This country, which she had hitherto 
 accounted barbarous, she began to figure to her- 
 self as a kind of Eden : its mere name threw 
 her into a sweet agitation ; she drank in with 
 greediness all reports about it, to trace in them 
 some slightest vestige of her darling son. 
 There he would be happy without his baronial 
 title — there he was safe ! Why should not An- 
 tony remain in Muscovy 1 At his first call she 
 determined herself to retire to that country — 
 that land which her heart had drawn nearer to 
 herself. There even death itself would be 
 sweet, with him for whose sake alone life was 
 precious to her. We have seen that the bar- 
 on's tranquillity on the score of his disinterest- 
 ed son had been disturbed by Fioraventi's inti- 
 mation, that he had been devoted to the profes- 
 sion of physic : we have seen how the baron 
 quitted his defensive attitude, and began to act 
 on the offensive by menaces of employing more 
 formidable weapons — menaces which had driv- 
 en Antony to take shelter under the protection 
 of the Great Prince. In the niean time, the 
 reports of the favour shown by that ruler to the 
 leech Ehrenstein still further alarmed the proud 
 father, and necessitated a new and more anx- 
 ious vigilance. He began to apprehend that 
 Antony, by means of the intercourse between 
 Ivan and the Emperor, now become more fre- 
 quent, might endeavour, at the instigation of 
 Fioraventi, to pursue his lost rights, and disclose 
 all the secret of his birth and education, all so 
 humiliating to a baronial heart ; and therefore, 
 on ascertaining that the Emperor had deter- 
 mined on dispatching a new ambassador to 
 Muscovy, to confirm and strengthen his amica- 
 ble relations with its sovereign, he succeeded in 
 having this mission confided to his nephew and 
 heir, Poppel. To this Frederick HI. the more 
 readily consented, from Poppel having been, as 
 we have probably mentioned, in Muscovy some 
 years before, and consequently being well ac- 
 quainted with the ruler and the court of the 
 country. On the former occasion the baron's 
 nephew had visited Russia rather as a traveller 
 in search of adventures than in any diplomatic 
 mission. He had been commissioned by the 
 King of Rome, Maximilian, to learn what kind 
 of country was that eastern land, about which 
 reports began to reach even to the house and 
 court of the Csesars, and t-be affairs of which 
 were beginning gradually to connect themselves 
 with the politics of Europe. As he had arrived 
 in Muscovy without a suite, the Russians would 
 not believe that he was an ambassador from the 
 Roman sovereign ; he had, however, been ena- 
 bled to boast of having received favours from 
 the Great Prince, whose delight it was to see 
 
80 
 
 THE HERETIC. 
 
 foreigners arrive at his newly-created court, to 
 admire his power, and to carry back accounts 
 of that power to their own country. This time 
 tiie knight Poppel came to Moscow as an actu- 
 al ambassador from the Emperor, with presents 
 and full credentials. 
 
 Though not informed by his uncle of the fam- 
 ily secret involvmgthe birth of Antony, he was, 
 however, empowered by the baron to discover 
 "ivhat sort of a pretender to the name of Ehren- 
 stein was to be found in the court of Ivan ; and 
 to endeavour by every means in his power, 
 without injuring him, to impress upon the Rus- 
 sian sovereign that the leech Antony was of 
 low ex Taction, and had adopted, without pos- 
 sessing any right to it, the noble name so illus- 
 trious in Germany. If Antony had happened, 
 unintentionally, to bear the name of Ehrenstein, 
 and was content to bear it quietly, without 
 boasting of his family, and its distinction in the 
 empire, or preferring any claim to baronial rank, 
 then Poppel was instructed to leave him in 
 tranquillity. Who was more likely to execute 
 this commission with rigorous punctuality than 
 the person who had been selected to inherit the 
 haughty baron's name and rank? Assuredly 
 the knight Poppel, armed with such powers, 
 and such splendid hopes, would be likely not to 
 show any want of energy in defending his 
 Tights ; it was only to be feared that he, from 
 the lightness of his character, might overstep 
 the authority entrusted to him — an authority, 
 on this occasion, sufficiently limited. He reach- 
 ed Moscow two days before the trial of the 
 •enormous cannon. 
 
 On the day of his arrival, Antony received a 
 •Tisit from the deacon Koun'tzin. Every inter- 
 view with this wise and science-loving deacon 
 began with the communication of some favour 
 or gracious message from the prince, with an 
 oPCl't of his services, or a warning against some 
 <langer. All this he said and did as in the name 
 of some mysterious personage, who had row- 
 •maniled him to be Antony's protector, and to 
 vatch over his welfare. Commanded ? Who 
 eould this he but the Great Prince! It was 
 not he, however. Even had Koun'tzin brought 
 to these interviews a heart full of friendly inter- 
 est, his conversation, overflowing with the love 
 of science, would always have rendered him a 
 •welcome guest to Antony ; in this manner the 
 solitude of Ehrenstein was becoming gradually 
 more and more i)eopled with love, kindness, 
 and friendship. The only thing which gave 
 liim pain was the stern and obstinate estrange- 
 ment of Obrazclz himself 
 
 The deacon, having informed him of Poppel's 
 •arrival, added that he was charged by command 
 •of his secret master, whom he always called his 
 j)receptor also to place Antony from that time 
 forward, more particularly upon his guard. At 
 •the monuMit of communicating this warning he 
 'yave him a letter. 'Twas written in the well- 
 Tinown hand of the iMtiravian brother. Hea- 
 vens ! 'twas a letter from his mother, 'i'he 
 missive was kissed a thousand times before An- 
 tony's trembling hands could break the seal. It 
 informed her much-loved son how she rejoiced 
 in his welfare ; hinting, also, that in conse- 
 <iuence of certain circumstances, involving a 
 f.imily secret, his mother desired that Antony 
 ■lioukl remain in Muscovy, \^ hither she intend- 
 
 ed to follow him as soon as he had obtained a 
 permanent settlement in that country. Tlte 
 baroness cautioned him to be on his guard with 
 the imperial ambassador, the knight Poppel — 
 "This man is perilous to thee," added the ten- 
 der mother; " he hath been adopted by the Ba- 
 ron Ehrenstein, a relation of ours, who is fa- 
 voured by the Emperor, proud, out of mea- 
 sure ambitious, and who would count himself 
 and all his house disgraced, if he should hear 
 that his namesake is a leech." 
 
 What tender love breathed, like a perfume, 
 through this letter ! An^tony read and re-read 
 many times each expression, which only a wo- 
 man, a mother, or some creature equally loving, 
 could have linked together into such simple and 
 powerful eloquence. These expressions had 
 not been hunted for in the intellect or the imag- 
 ination ; they fell direct from the heart to the 
 pen. Even so are pre(;ious pearls shaken from 
 their cradle by the slightest touch ; while the 
 poor, unripe, and worthless ones can only be 
 obtained by forcing open with violence the 
 close-shut lips of the shell. A man who loves 
 says almost the same thing, but not quite the 
 same ; perhaps more sensibly, but never with 
 such an insinuating sweetness. Antony's mo- 
 ther begged him to remain in Russia; she 
 herself desired to join him : and why not T 
 thought the young man, inflamed by the dream 
 which his heart approved. Is not her will the 
 will of fate ] The sovereign of Russia held him 
 in high honour; Ivan the Young, the heir and 
 hope of Russia — good, brave, and generous — 
 was singularly well disposed towards him. 
 The Russians, at least many of them, were 
 ceasing to cherish ill-will towards him, and with 
 time would love him ; already he had made 
 friends even among them. He might always 
 visit his preceptor when he pleased. There 
 was also one being which became, day by day, 
 more dear to him, which flitted round him in 
 his dreams, nestled in his bosom, and implored 
 him so tenderly not to depart. You will guess 
 that this was Anastasia ; for her sake he would 
 have exchanged his fatherland — the wondrous 
 sky of Italy— its earth, that luxurious flower- 
 sprent cradle, where the zephyr, nourished on 
 perfume and soilness, hushes the favoured child 
 of nature with the harmony of Tasso's song ; 
 for her he would exchange the Coloseum, the 
 Madonna, the Academia, all, all, for the grey 
 heaven of the North — for the deep snow, the 
 wild fir-trees, and the barken huls, with all the 
 ignorance that dwelt beneath their roofs. What 
 then ! His mother would bring with her his 
 country; the wondrous heaven of Italy he 
 would find in Ana^tasia's eyes, the burning 
 noon on her lips, all delights, all possible joys, 
 in her love. Kulhis creed was not the same as 
 hers ; therefore it was that they had given him 
 the name of Heretic — equivalent in the eyes of 
 Russians to that of Tartar. By simply adopt- 
 ing the Russiah faith, he might annihilate all 
 the barriers, all the obstacdes. that so complete- 
 ly divided him from the family of Obrazets. It 
 as only on this condition that Anastasia's 
 hand could ever be his ; hut then he would be 
 a traitor, and from interest. Never would he 
 consent to that ! " No, it is not my lot to pos- 
 sess this treasure," he said to hiinself ; and all 
 the while sweet Haltering thoughts sprang up 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 81 
 
 in the ardent dreamer's head and heart, and 
 gave hiin some inexplicable hope. The very 
 obstacles, the very strangeness of the German's 
 iove for a ilussiaii maiden, gave additional fer- 
 vour to that love. 
 
 '• Be cautious with Poppel, I entreat thee, my 
 dearest son 1" These words seemed to cast a 
 dark gloom over his mother's letter, and over 
 his own heart : 'twas strange ! Koun'tzen, too, 
 had warned him against the same person. 
 
 " Was it my fault," said Antony to the dea- 
 con, in a familiar conversation with him, " that 
 I was born an Ehrenstein, and that fate brought 
 into the world a haughty baron, a namesake ? 
 God be with him ! I would not force myseli 
 into his family, and I am willing to forget him 
 as wholly as if I had never even heard his 
 name. The baron is childless, and hath adopt- 
 ed Poppel ; can these worshipful knights fear 
 that I should put forth claims to their inherit- 
 ance ! 0, they may be quite easy on that score ! 
 I am proud enough to spurn all honours and 
 riches, even though the law adjudged them to 
 me, without my humiliating myself, without my 
 suing, or making myself unworthy of honours 
 or wealth. My name is my lawful possession ; 
 I will not change it to pleasure any haughty ba- 
 ron on the face of the earth. It is an honour 
 to me, not because it is borne by a baron of the 
 empire, but because I bear it. My profession 
 hath not disgraced it, and I know how to make 
 it respected, if any dares to cast a stain upon 
 it. I will never be the first to insult any man 
 — my mother and those who desire my happi- 
 ness, may be assured of that ; but I will never 
 submit to the insult of another. Both nature 
 and education have taught me how to wash out 
 in blood any blot upon my honour. Well are 
 such styled offences of blood. I will be cau- 
 tious of Poppel ; such is the will of my mother. 
 The further I can keep from him the better ; — 
 but if the haughty lordling attacks me — let him 
 beware !" 
 
 The knight Poppel was received on this oc- 
 casion with extraordinary honour as the impe- 
 rial ambassador. Officers met him at some 
 distance from Moscow, to congratulate him on 
 his safe arrival. A deputation had been select- 
 ed for this purpose, consisting of the dvoretzkoi, 
 the deacon Kouri'tzin, and some bayarins. This 
 train was attended by the inevitable Bartholo- 
 mew, whose duty it was to translate word for 
 word whatever the ambassador might say. They 
 ■were all splendidly attired in their glittering dress 
 of ceremony; the sun seemed to joy in being 
 reflected from their robes. The procession at- 
 tended the envoy to the lodging prepared for 
 him. The deportment and language of the 
 boyarins expressed profound respect ; and their 
 quiet simplicity and ceremonial etiquette only 
 swelled the knight's vanity, and blinded the 
 little penetration he possessed. He prepared to 
 lead these simpletons astray; the cunningest 
 of all, at least in his own estimation was Bar- 
 tholomew. In the meantime the "clowns," as 
 the ambassador called them behind their back, 
 had already penetrated his character, and put 
 themselves in condition to give an accurate ac- 
 count of his moral and intellectual qualities. 
 
 The ambassador, intoxicated by his own 
 grandeur, swelled and strutted, talking in a 
 manner equally thoughtless and ill-bred. He 
 F 
 
 often twisted his mustache, played with the 
 golden fringe of his mantle, smoothed with a 
 look of vanity the velvet of his dress, jingled his 
 spurs like a boy, among his late comrades and 
 playfellows, when he has just put on for the 
 tiist time the uniform of an officer. 
 
 " What, when I came to your country before, 
 air sirs, ye would not believe that I was the 
 Emperor's ambassador! He hath," said ye, 
 " but few servants ; he giveth no largess of du- 
 cats or velvet. Now, look ye !" (he pointed to 
 the crowd of court attendants, who stood at a 
 respectful distance behind him, all gallantly at- 
 tired.) 
 
 " We see, Lord Baron Poppel," replied the 
 dvoretzkoi ; " we beseech thee, hold us not in 
 fault for our former unbelief We be but sim- 
 ple, foolish folk : we live out of the world ; we 
 know not the usages beyond sea." 
 
 " Would ye have ducats — right noble ducats 1 
 I can dress all your officers in Venetian velvet." 
 
 The deputation bowed profoundly to the gold- 
 en calf 
 
 " Would ye letters— a ' sheet,' as ye call it — 
 from my great Emperor, lord of half the world T 
 Here," (he pointed to a silver coffer which was 
 standing on the table,) " I bring letters to your 
 illustrious Prince. Ye paid me but scant hon- 
 our before, but your lord sees far ; he hath eyes 
 of reason. He speedily understood the knight 
 Poppel; and, therefore, my sovereign offereth 
 to confer on the Great Prince, his dear friend, 
 the dignity of king." 
 
 "Our lord, the Great Prince of All Russia, 
 Ivan Vassilievitch," answered Kouritzin, firmly, 
 and drawing himself up, " desireih the friend- 
 ship of the Cajsar, but not his favour ; an equal 
 cannot confer on an equal. I speak not willing- 
 ly ; but if any thing is confided to your highness 
 by the Emperor, it is not for us to hear his il- 
 lustrious words — it is for our lord, the Great 
 Prince of All Russia, to answer, not for us." 
 
 Poppel blushed slightly, and endeavoured to 
 conceal his confusion under the tinkle of his 
 spurs. The deacon's words, however, had stop- 
 ped his mouth for a time, and rendered him 
 grave ; and not without reason. He had as- 
 sured Frederick that Ivan, though a powerful 
 and wealthy prince, would hold it a signal fa- 
 vour if the Emperor were to confer on him the 
 title of king: but the thing was done; he bore 
 a proposition on the subject to the Great Prince, 
 and still confidently hoped that he could fasci- 
 nate his ambitions heart with the splendour of 
 royalty. When Popple's confusion had passed, 
 he expressed a desire, on the part of his mas- 
 ter, to receive as a present from Ivan Vassilie- 
 vitch some living elks, and at the same time 
 one of the nation called the Bogouliats,* who 
 eat raw flesh ; and he added, that the Emperor 
 was displeased that he had not brought with 
 him, on his return from his former visit to Rus- 
 sia, specimens of these animals and men. Then, 
 haughtily raising his head, he inquired of the 
 dvoretzkoi whether Antony the leech had been 
 long in Muscovy. 
 
 " Since the feast of St. Hierasimus of the 
 Crows," replied the dvoretzkoi. 
 
 " And doth the most mighty and most illustri- 
 ous Ivan admit a vagabond into his presence !" 
 
 * Bogoulitches, inhabitants of what is now the province 
 of Berczoff, in the government of Tol>6l3k.— JV<>t« of Vie 
 Author. 
 
82 
 
 THE HERETIC. 
 
 " Our lord, the Great Prince of All Russia, 
 holdelh the leech Antony in high honour, and 
 ofttimes permitteth him to behold his royal 
 eyes, and by them even the rabble is enlighten- 
 ed." 
 
 " 'Tis pity — great pity ! 'Tis a mere Jew vil- 
 lain and cheat. I knew him at Nuremberg ; he 
 began there by doctoring horses, then allied him- 
 self to the Evil One, and grew addicted to ne- 
 cromancy." 
 
 The interpreter smiled, and, turning to the 
 boyarins, made a sign with his hand, as much 
 as to say, " You see ! I told you so !" 
 
 " Then," continued Poppel, " he began to try 
 his leech-craft on men ; and sent them into the 
 next world by dozens at a time. They would 
 have hanged him ; but he managed to hide him- 
 self somehow, and to fly to your country." 
 
 The boyarins gazed with horror at each other : 
 the deacon Kouritzin alone did not exhibit on 
 his countenance the slightest sign of astonish- 
 ment or fear. It was not worth his while to 
 spend his words in a dispute with the knight : a 
 man will not enter into an argument with a boy. 
 Bartholomew made a dot-and-go-one movement 
 ■with his leg, and then, transforming his attitude 
 into a figure of a note of interrogation, exclaim- 
 ed — " A Jew rascal .... he must undoubted- 
 ly be so, most illustrious ambassador ! I saw 
 it at once the moment I looked upon him, and 
 said so to all I met. An accursed Jew ! Ay, 
 ay ! indubitably. And he speaketh through the 
 nose with the true whine of Israel, and is as 
 arrant a coward as we usually find among the 
 Hebrew pack. Sometimes he is as proud as if 
 he were fain to spit in the face of Heaven ; then, 
 again, you have but to speak a little sharply to 
 him, and anon he will tremble you an' 'twere an 
 aspen leaf" 
 
 " I am well content that here, at least, you 
 have penetrated him, worshipful Master Inter- 
 preter." 
 
 "Now, many of us count him a trumpery 
 quacksalver : I have proclaimed him to all Mos- 
 cow. Without boasting, I may be bold to say, 
 most illustrious ambassador, I have but to hint 
 a thing, and at all ends of the city they cry — 
 ' That must be so ; the court interpreter hath 
 said it !' O, Russia knoweth me, and I know 
 Russia I" 
 
 " I shall entreat thee to be useful to me too, 
 in repeating my words !" 
 
 " I will not fail— I will not fail ' I will soon 
 spread new tidings about him on the wings of 
 zeal," (dot-and-go-one again of the lame leg;) 
 " and I will do it out of love for pure truth," 
 (another hop.) " How we shall bless you here, 
 most noble of noblest knights, if you can prevail 
 on our lord to kick the Jew quacksalver out of 
 the bounds of Muscovy I" 
 
 "That is easily done. 1 will open Ivan's 
 eyes : I will ofTer him another leech. I have in 
 my rye a man rwt like that mountebank : name- 
 ly, Maslt-r Leon, the Emperor's court physician 
 —such a jolly knave, such a jester I And aj 
 wonderful master of his mystery. For exam- 
 ple, once the Emperor wished to try how far 
 his skill could go : he ordered them to have him j 
 baited with dogs Tlie dogs rent him to tatters, ; 
 but all of ihem died, and he ?— he died too, think I 
 ye! or at least was laid up' No, he healed all [ 
 ibo wounds, and the next day appeared laughing ■ 
 at court, as if nothing had happened.'* 
 
 " Wonderful !" cried the interpreter, and has- 
 tened to communicate to the deputation this 
 triumph of medical skill. 
 
 The boyarins crossed themselves with signs 
 of fear and astonishment. Kouritzin alo'ne, 
 with an expression of incredulity, shook his 
 head. 
 
 " And how call you this fellow here .... 
 this .... Jew ?" 
 
 " Antony the leech," replied the dvoretzkoi. 
 
 "He hath, I suppose, some surname?" 
 
 " I think Hershtan, my lord." 
 
 "That is, Ehrenstein," added the translator. 
 
 "Ehrenstein! And doth the villain know 
 whose mantle he haih put on ? ... . In the 
 whole empire, methinks in the whole world, 
 there is but one Baron Ehrenstein : he is near 
 the person of my Emperor, Frederick the Third : 
 he is lord of broad lands, and richer than many 
 provincial princes of Russia. He hath no chil- 
 dren ; and I, the knight Poppel, simple as I 
 stand here, have been accounted by him and the 
 Emperor worthy to be inheritor of the illustri- 
 ous name and rank of Baron Ehrenstein." 
 
 " The Almighty knoweth whom he honoureth 
 with such high favours," said the interpreter. 
 
 " We will teach this base pretender — we will 
 finish his schooling," interrupted Poppel. grow- 
 ing more heated, and with a sneer. Then he 
 turned to the deputation, and said, bowing court- 
 eously — " For the present, permit me to bid ye 
 farewell, fair and worthy sirs ; and to entreat 
 you to convey to the high, mighty, and thrice 
 illustrious Lord of All Russia, rny gratitude for 
 the signal honour he hath shown me in sending 
 ye to greet me ; I feel, to the bottom of my 
 heart, the weight of this honour, and shall en- 
 deavour worthily to deserve it." 
 
 The boyarins respectfully took their leave ; 
 there, however remained with the envoy, as 
 was customary, two officers. This was intend- 
 ed to be a mark of honour, and. at the same 
 time, to keep a watch upon his movements. 
 Poppel made a sign to the interpreter, request- 
 ing him to remain. 
 
 " Go, good fellow, to the leech Antony," he 
 said to Bartholomew, " and tell him that I, am- 
 bassador of the Roman Emperor, command 
 him, a subject of the Emperor, to repair instant- 
 ly to my presence." 
 
 " Is it to cure any of your servants 1 God 
 forbid ! Once a baron here, an old man, took 
 it into his head to consult him. In a moment 
 the leech sent him into the other world ; and a 
 boy, too, of the baron's, a servant — whom ho 
 loved as a son — only touched the lips of the 
 dead, to give him the last Christian kiss* — he, 
 too, gave up the ghost, so strong was the poison 
 that Antony had given to the dead." 
 
 "O, disquiet not thyself! I would not trust 
 him with a cat of mine. Only do my bidding." 
 
 Almost out of his wits with delight— like a 
 man possessed of the demon of vanity, Bartho- 
 lomew presented himself before tlie leech Anto- 
 ny. Tone, attitude, gesture, expression —all 
 marked a sense of importance, beyond any thing 
 that had been seen or heard of in him before. 
 This unusual ecstasy did not escape Ehrenstein : 
 
 * M a Iliis.sian funcrnl, just bcfori? the corpse U cnrrieii 
 to the grave, the fnce of tlie denti is uncovered, and nil 
 prc'onl approach to kiss the forehead, Uicrein oflering 
 "the last Christian salutation."- T. B. S. 
 
THE HERETIC 
 
 he measured him from head to foot, looked him 
 all over, and could not refrain from laughter. 
 
 The interpreter began to unfold his mission, 
 puffing for breath, but still preserving his tre- 
 mendous majesty : — " The ambassador of the 
 most high and mighty Emperor Frederick the 
 Third, tiie thrice noble knight Poppel, by addi- 
 tion Baron Ehrenstein, (here he looked ironical- 
 ly at Antony,) commandeth thee, the leech An- 
 tony, to appear before him without delay." 
 
 " Commandeth ! .... me ! ... . without de- 
 lay ? ... . said Antony, continuing to laugh with 
 all his soul — '-Thou hast mistaken, methinks, 
 Signor Great Ambassador of ambassadors." 
 
 " I tell thee what I heard with mine own 
 ears." 
 
 " Ay, they are long enough .... Are any of 
 his train sick!" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " And if I go not, what — will my head be firm 
 on my shoulders 
 
 Beware ! 
 
 I will not answer for it 
 the leech !" 
 
 " Then go thou, most illustrious interpreter, 
 and tell this most illustrious ambassador, and 
 knight, and baron, that he is a churl ; and that, 
 if he would see me, let him appear before me, 
 Antony the leech, by addition, Ehrenstein — 
 plain Ehrenstein, without the ' Baron ;' and, at 
 the same time, tell that fool, formerly printer, 
 Bartholomew, that if he dareth to show his face 
 to me, I will cut off his long ears." (Here, with 
 a vigorous hand, he compelled the interpreter to 
 make a most scientific pirouette, opened the 
 door, and hurled the contemptible being out of 
 it so violently, that his feet clattered down the 
 stairs as if they were counting the steps.) 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 yoke ; a high mound of earth ran along it by the 
 ford of Zaneglinnaia, and there quitting it, 
 served as a boundary to this ward and its pool, 
 finally ending at the river Moskva. The ima- 
 gination would but confuse itself in tracing the 
 other boundaries of the Koutchkoff field, which 
 was year by year intersected by fresh lines of 
 street, erected by the increasing population of 
 Moscow. The topography of those days is so 
 complicated and so obscure, that the patience of 
 a Balbi would find it an insuperable stumblins- 
 block. 
 
 The appearance of the Koutchkoff field was 
 highly diversified : smiling pastures, rich har- 
 vests and groves, and steaming swamps. There, 
 between the streets, fed flocks and herds, or 
 moved long ranks of mowers, or gleamed the 
 reapers through the waving corn ; there cried 
 the land-rail and the corn-crake ; the nightin- 
 gale poured forth his burning song, or the groan 
 I of the murdered traveller died away unheard. 
 
 Antony | On the day on which we are about to visit the 
 Koutchkoff field — a day bright and cheery, 
 lighted up with gay sunbeams — along the mead- 
 ow extending from the Purification Church to 
 the marsh (where now are the Clear Pools) the 
 people were scattered in numerous and motley 
 crowds, apparently awaiting some spectacle with 
 joyful impatience. The Great Prince himself, 
 with his son and a train of courtiers (among 
 whom Andriousha had succeeded in being,) was 
 sitting on horseback under the grove which sha- 
 ded the walls of the monastery, and seemed to 
 share the impatience of the crowd. Within 
 sight of them, close to the marsh, had been con- 
 structed a wooden hamlet, at which they were 
 about to fire the immense cannon recently cast 
 by Aristotle.* Several foolhardy young men, 
 reckless by daring or by fatalism, had concealed 
 themselves at daybreak in this wooden fort, and 
 there lay perdue, fearing only that the consta- 
 bles should drive them from their hiding-place— 
 i. e. that they shgiild save them from danger of 
 death. In the thicket, too, was stationed the 
 knight Poppel on foot, concealing himself be- 
 hind the officers and Bartholomew from the 
 sight of the Great Prince, to whom he had not 
 yet been presented. He enquired of the inter- 
 preter wliether he could see the leech Antony, 
 who had succeeded in offending him so bitterly 
 by his disobedience. What were his feeUngs, 
 when the interpreter pointed out to him a tall 
 handsome German, in a velvet mantle, grace- 
 fully managing a fiery steed ! The Great 
 Prince was seen frequently to turn to his leech, 
 and appeared to be conversing with him most 
 graciously. Bitterly was Poppel undeceived ! he 
 had previously made an imaginary portrait of An- 
 tony, whom he had pictured to himself as a lit- 
 tle sickly dwarfish individual, with a red beard. 
 His face grew livid with rage ; hate and envy 
 sparkled in his eyes : he bit his lip : he thought 
 he beheld in the person of the young German 
 his rival as well in the favour of the Russian 
 sovereign as in the pursuit of his family rights. 
 The leech threw him completely into the shade 
 by his manly vigorous form, and his graceful de- 
 portment : his dress, too, was not less rich than 
 
 " Aye keep well this talisman : 
 'Tis Love's gift, and it will aid thee 
 More than magic ever can !' — P6uskin. 
 
 Moscow, which at the period of our story 
 spread over numerous suburbs, wards, and out- 
 skirts, enclosed between them groves, fields, and 
 meadows. The most extensive of these fields 
 ■were those of Vorontzoffand Koutchkoff; in the 
 first of whicli was situated a palace and gardens 
 of the Great Princes of Muscovy — a favourite 
 summer residence of the sovereigns. Here 
 they enjoyed the sport of hawking : from hence 
 they went to chase wild beasts in the deep for- 
 ests which covered the eastern bank of the Ya- 
 ouza ; from hence they could revel in the dis- 
 tant view of their Kreml — the quarter beyond 
 the Moskva, the Danileffskii monastery, and the 
 suburbs on ihe further side of the Yaouza. In 
 front, straight across the stream, whose rapid 
 current was interrupted by numerous mills, the 
 Great Prince's palace gazed face to face on the 
 holy walls of the Andronieffskii convent. The 
 Vassilicff field, (where now is situated the Found- 
 ling Hospital,) for the most part marshy ground, 
 lay between the Great Street and the Varskaia 
 
 Street, which was higher up. The Koutchkoff, that of the imperial ambassador, and was even 
 field began at the Church of the Purification, i in belter taste. The spurs alone were wanting 
 
 the name of which awakens such numberless * t,v, ~ ~ 
 
 recollections of our liberation from the Tartar | c..nJf-ra:VarbTDeb~-^Y^^^^^^^^ 
 
84 
 
 THE HERETIC. 
 
 (Poppel remarked even this !).... to make 
 him equal lo the ilhistrious knight ; hut even 
 the spurs might be granted him by the Great 
 Prince. From this moment he vowed to hum- 
 ble Antony, to trample him in the dust, to anni- 
 hilate him : this was the internal vow made by 
 the noblest of noble knights ! . . . . Poor An- 
 tony ! and was it thy fault that thou wert born 
 so well-looking T 
 
 " It comes ! it comes !" shouted the people ; 
 and immediately after these exclamatiens, in the 
 direction of the forest, which blackened both 
 banks of the rivulet named the Neglinnaia, 
 streamed a manycolf)ured throng, over whose 
 heads gaped a huge brazen gullet. This was a can- 
 non of extraordinary size and calibre ; it seem- 
 ed to be reclining, as it were, on the shoulders 
 of the people who were dragging it along, and it 
 wallowed heavily from side to side, as though 
 delighting in its triumph. Joyful shouts accom- 
 panied and received it ; behind it came Aristo- 
 tle, on horseback. Those of the people who 
 were nearest extolled liis might, his skill — even 
 kissed his feet. " Ey, what a mother of can- 
 nons thou hast made!" they said, in ecstasy, 
 struck with the idea of power embodied in the 
 engine he had constructed. Try to touch the 
 mob as powerfully with the idea of the Beau- 
 tiful ! 
 
 When the cannon arrived at the destined 
 spot, Aristotle commanded the German artille- 
 ryman (tlirs duty was usually performed by Ger- 
 mans) to lower it from its truck : then levelling 
 it at the wooden fortress, he fixed it on the car- 
 riage, and ordered the gunner to load it with 
 powder, and to put in the ball, which was near- 
 ly as large as a man's head. The people were 
 warned to retire to a greater distance. The 
 match was already burning in the hand of Aris- 
 totle himself; he prepared to apply it to the 
 touch-hole and .... he stopped ; a thoughtful 
 shade passed over his face, his hand trembled 
 What if the gun should bursy .... He feared 
 not for himself; no! hut for his creation — his 
 cathedral — which would perish with him. He 
 raised his eyes to heaven, crossed himself, ap- 
 plied the linstock to the cannon— the brazen 
 throat belched forth a burst of smoky fire, a re- 
 port followed ; the neighbourhood repeated it in 
 numberless echoes. It seemed as though the 
 foundations of the earth were shaken : a part of 
 the people fell on their faces, thinking that an 
 enormous iron wheel had just thundered along 
 the ground. Again a report, yet louder; again 
 — and the people, becoming familiarized to the 
 sounds, arose crossing themselves, and bless- 
 ing themselves from peril of the bearer of the 
 thunder. They look — the wooden fort wss al- 
 ready in flames. Hardly had Aristotle ex[ilain- 
 ed that he would fire no more, when loud shouts 
 filled the air, and the artist was lifted on high in 
 the arms of the delighted crowd. In this tri- 
 umphal manner they carried him to the Great 
 Prince. Ivan Vassilievitch was transported 
 with joy ; lie threw a golden chain around the 
 artist's neck, kissed him on the forehead, and 
 gave him the title of gold-bearer. The people 
 were in raptures at these favours shown to a 
 man who had cast a l)ell to call them to prayer, 
 cannons to conquer their enemies, and was pre- 
 paring to build a cathedral to the Holy Virgin. 
 
 Suddenly, from among the burning ruins of 
 
 the fort, there arose joyful cries, the bree2e 
 swept aside the smoky curtain, and there ap- 
 peared, one after the other, two heads : they 
 belonged to the pair of daring hairbrains who 
 had concealed themselves in the building. 
 Providence had preserved them. Excepting 
 some trifling bruises on the limbs, they had suf- 
 fered no injurj- whatever. 
 
 '• Well done, lads ! well done, gallants !" roar- 
 ed the people to them. 
 
 And for a praise like this, they had wellnigh 
 sacrificed their lives ! Such, from time to lime 
 immemorial has been the Russian. 
 
 The Great Prince, delighted with the suc- 
 cessful trial of the cannon, and resolving to 
 make use of it at the siege of Tver, bade fare- 
 well to Aristotle, and galloped ofT to the city, 
 followed by the whole train of courtiers, and 
 among them Antony. A cloud of dust rose up 
 behind their horses, and, drifting over the thick- 
 et, enveloped the imperial ambassador. The 
 mob had hardly observed him, and had paid no 
 particular attention to him. One spectacle, by 
 its superior interest, had distracted them from 
 the other. Enraged and sullen, Poppel, slouch- 
 ing his hat over his eyes, and plunging his spurs 
 into his steed, wreaked his vengeance on the 
 poor animal. Galloping home, he shut himself 
 up alone with his gloomy thoughts. 
 
 On the other hand, Antony was all joy, all 
 triumph. That day the Great Prince had been 
 unusually gracious to him ; for which there 
 were two reasons. He knew that Aristotle, so 
 useful, so indispensable a servant, loved Antony 
 like a son ; and he endeavoured on this occa- 
 sion to express his good-will towards the artist, 
 by showing favour to those belonging to him. 
 Ivan had also already heard of the insolent 
 message of the ambassador to his court physi- 
 cian, and desired, by the kindness of his de- 
 meanour towards the insulted person, to com- 
 pensate for the outrage offered by the haughty 
 baron. As he rode w ith Andriousha to his own 
 lodging, Antony retained no recollection of the 
 affront which had been offered to him by the 
 German envoy. He was, however, less de- 
 lighted by the favour shown him by the Great 
 Prince, than by a secret voice that seemed to 
 whisper in his heart, and prophesy something 
 unusually agreeable. This presentiment was 
 confirmed by Andnousha's mysterious words, 
 promising him, as soon as he reached home, to 
 make him a present, so precious, so invaluable, 
 that he could not even conceive it in his imagi- 
 nation. Aiiastasia has some share in this se- 
 cret ! thought the young man, urging forward 
 his steed. When the gate of his quarter was 
 opened, he, without waiting till they removed the 
 lofty horizontal bar, boldly dashed his horse 
 over it. 
 
 '• Speak quickly, quick ! Dear -\ndri6usha, 
 what is thy secret !'" enquired Antony, almost 
 before they had entered his chamber. 
 
 The boy assumed an important air. — " What 
 I have tc tell thee is no trifle," said he in a 
 sligtilly agitated voice, and trembling. " They 
 say that in this matter lieth the salvation of thy 
 soul." 
 
 " Explain ! torture me not !" 
 
 " Here, in Moscow, report goeth abroad that 
 thou art leagued with the Evil One. I know 
 that this is false—a calumny of foolish and wick- 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 85 
 
 ed people. Tuou art only of the Latin faith, 
 like my father, as I myself was ; a Latin, but a 
 good Christian. It seemeth, however, that the 
 Russian faith is, somehow, better than yours ; 
 otherwise they would not have made me change 
 my former religion. Thou sayest, that thou 
 bearest the cross in thy heart. Nastia and I 
 understand not this, and we are much afflicted 
 at our uncertainty. Wilt thou not set our 
 minds at ease? - . . . (Andriousha drew forth 
 the massive silver cross from his bosom, and 
 undid the string from his neck.) "Take this 
 cross, whereon is the image of the Saviour, put 
 it on, and wear it. This cross is Anastasia's — 
 her mother's dying gift. She hath taken it off 
 for thee — for the health of thy soul, for thy sal- 
 vation. May it protect thee in all thy paths, and 
 bring thee into the Russian Church ! Ah I 
 mayest thou one day meet there my god-mo- 
 ther !" 
 
 As Andriousha spoke these words, tears 
 streamed over the eloquent missionary's burn- 
 ing cheek ; nor could his young friend repress 
 his feelings. He bathed the precious gift with 
 his tears. He covered it with burning kisses. 
 Crossing himself, Antony put on the crucifix. 
 " Behold !" he said, " I put on her cross with 
 joy — with rapture. Tell Anastasia this ; tell 
 her, that every day I will pray before it — that it 
 shall never leave me, unless they take it from 
 my corse .... No, no ! what am I doing, what 
 am I saying, fool that I am !" he added, recov- 
 ering from his first feeling of rapture. 
 
 A dreadful thought flashed on his brain. He 
 loved Anastasia with a pure yet ardent love ; 
 with wliat definite aim he knew not himself; 
 but whither would his acceptance of the cross 
 lead him 1 Would it not betroth him to Anas- 
 tasia as bridegroara to bride ? To a Russian 
 maiden ! — to one that could never be his until 
 he changed his religion ! To possess Anasta- 
 tasia, he must become a traitor to his faith 
 .... Twas no light cross that he was about to 
 bear. Could he dare to refuse ill In what 
 light would he appear to her 1 As a necroman- 
 cer, as a magician, as one leagued with the 
 Fiend .... Was he, then, to plunge blindly into 
 the fatal future ! .... He reflected, too, that 
 Anastasia, by relinquishing, from love to him, 
 her cross, her mother's blessing, might repent 
 of her sacrifice — that the thoughts of that sacri- 
 fice would afflict her. Meanwhile he would 
 wear the cross, but only for that day— to-mor- 
 row he would restore it to Anastasia. By this 
 be would prove to her that he was not allied to 
 the powers of evil, and that he was a good 
 Christian. By giving back the cross he would 
 tranquillize her. Thus he would reconcile his 
 duty and conscience with his love. 
 
 "I will not hide from thee," said he to his 
 little friend, as he prepared himself for this mo- 
 ral triumph, "that Anastasia had acted unwa- 
 rily in sending me this priceless gift unknown 
 to her father, even though what she hath done 
 arose only from desire to help and save her bro- 
 ther's soul ; and I have perhaps, unreflectingly, 
 said what thou oughtest not to have heard. 
 And thou too, poor boy ! hast fallen into this 
 sad struggle, which was unfit for thee .... I 
 am the cause of all. Forgive me, dearest friend, 
 dear brother ! . . . . Thou knowest not the fatal 
 passions that tear the heart of man, and cloud 
 
 his reason, even till God's noblest creature be- 
 cometh like unto the beasts. Never mayest 
 thou know those passions, pure and noble crea- 
 ture ! Thy years are years of Paradise: woe 
 to him who troubleth them ! . . . . See now, I 
 take the cross, and I put it on with Christian 
 joy and gratitude ; but to-morrow I will restore 
 it. I will never give her cause to repent. The 
 blessings of a mother cannot choose but be dear 
 to her. Her sorrow would poison, for me, all 
 the sweetness of her gift ; it will only remind 
 me how grievous must he for her the sacrifice 
 that she hath made at the cost of her health, of 
 her tranquillity ; and for the preservation of 
 both the one and the other, I am ready for any 
 sacrifice, for any torture. Learn more surely, 
 this day, this moment if possible, whether she 
 doth not encounter such a danger. Look with 
 attention in her countenance ; see whether thou 
 dost not mark the trace of sickness, the shadow 
 of grief Listen to her words, to her voice- 
 Conceal nothing from me ! Tell her, in my 
 name, all that thou hast seen or heard. Bless 
 her for her priceless gift ! Say, that from this 
 day forth I will cross myself with the Russian 
 cross, and pray with the Russian prayers. Thou 
 wilt teach me the Russian prayers, wilt thou 
 not 1 I will begin and end them with a thought 
 of her." 
 
 Antony spoke this, interrupting his words, 
 now by showering kisses on the dear missionary, 
 then again by drawing the cross from his bosom 
 and pressing it to his lips. The boy saw his 
 friend for the first time in such an agony of 
 agitation ; his lips formed the words convul- 
 sively ; his eyes gleamed with a kind of ecsta- 
 cy ; his cheeks were flushed. Andriousha was 
 terrified by the agitation which he beheld : he 
 already repented of having deprived both, per- 
 haps, of tranquillity and health. Endeavouring, 
 as far as he could, to calm his friend, he pro- 
 mised to do all that he requested ; but the dan- 
 ger of witnesses prevented him, that day at 
 least, from speaking to Anastasia on the sub- 
 ject of their grand secret. 
 
 Antony's fears were prophetic : a storm had 
 already gathered over the head of the enchanted 
 maiden. 
 
 At midnight the old nurse had cautiously 
 risen from her bed, and looked how her foster- 
 child was sleeping. The poor girl was quite 
 feverish : her swan-like bosom seemed to heave 
 laboriously. The nurse was about to throw 
 over the maiden a covering of marten skins : 
 she looks with falcon eyes — " Holy Mother of 
 God ! her cross is gone ! Lord, good Lord ! 
 what can have become of her cross 1" The 
 old woman wellnigh shrieked. She sought 
 around the chamber — 'twas nowhere to be 
 found ! Perhaps the string had broken, and 
 the cross was lying by her side, under the pil- 
 low. At any rate, she must wait till morning. 
 The whole night she never shut her eyes. In 
 the morning she looked for the cross, in the 
 bed — under the bed — 'twas not to be seen. 
 She then began to observe whether its absence 
 was remarked by Anastasia Vassilievna. No ! 
 not a word on the subject. Only in dressing 
 herself, the daughter of the boyarin, with appa- 
 rent confusion, concealed her bosom from the 
 nurse. The latter ventured to speak about the 
 cross — Anastasia sobbed ; and at last, on the 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 nurse's promises, vows, and oaths, not to tell 
 her father, the maiden said that she had proba- 
 bly dropped the cross as she was walking in the 
 garden — that she had sought for it, but could 
 not find it. To what tortures can we compare 
 Anastasia's condition at this moment ! And 
 even the nurse felt no slight suffering. To tell 
 the boyarin, would be to confess herself in fault 
 for not remarking how the cross was lost : not 
 to tell him, might endanger her life. Whether 
 to tell him or not, the old woman could not de- 
 cide : it finished, however, by her fearing to 
 afflict her mistress, and hoping to recover the 
 lost crucifix, and concealing its loss from the 
 boyarin, who was severe and implacable on 
 such occasions. 
 
 I had almost forgotten to relate, that on the 
 same day the knight Poppel visited Aristotle to 
 complain of the insolence of the leech, who was 
 confided, as he heard, to the protection of the 
 artist. 
 
 " He hath acted as he ought," replied the 
 artist. 
 
 ' What, a scoundrel Jew dare to disobey the 
 Emperor's ambassador I" shouted the haughty 
 baron. 
 
 '• 'Tis a slander unworthy a common man, 
 much more an imperial dignitary ! Leave such 
 reports to the printer Bartholomew. None but 
 a fool would believe them." 
 
 " At least he is a quacksalver." 
 
 " Say rather, phy.sician to the court of the 
 Lord of Moscow. Know that the pupil of my 
 brother is of a blood as noble as thine own, and 
 hath equal rights to respect." 
 
 " I suppose, because he playeth the baron ! 
 What, Sir Artist — dost thou design to make a 
 real baron of him V 
 
 " Nothing would be easier. He hath but to 
 claim what is his of right." 
 
 " Verily ! . . . . And, I suppose, as Baron Eh- 
 renstein ?" 
 
 " Undoubtedly, as what he is." 
 
 "This is Moscow news; at least, we know 
 it not at my master's court." 
 
 " If it needs, they shall learn it there also as 
 an ancient title of blood." 
 
 Poppel grew more and more enraged, and 
 snorted with fury. The artist spoke with cour- 
 tesy, sangfroid, and calmness. 
 
 " Dost thou know that this right is mine — 
 that I am ready to defend it with my sword ? 
 
 " This time the sword of the knight will be 
 broken against the law and the word of the Em- 
 peror." 
 
 " In his Majesty's name, I demand from thee 
 an explanation of these riddles of thine." 
 
 " 1 will give it when I count it needful. I 
 respect thy master equally with other crowned 
 heads, but I acknowledge not his sovereignly. 
 I am a citizen of Venice, and am here under the 
 powerful protection of the Russian sovereign, 
 Ivan, third of the name." 
 
 " My sword shall force thee to explain thy- 
 self" 
 
 Aristotle burst into a laugh. 
 
 ' 'And this instant ; if thou hast but a spark 
 of honour." 
 
 Poppel seized the hilt of his sword. 
 
 " Gently, young man I" said the artist stern- 
 ly, laying iiis hand on the knight's shoulder ; 
 "moderate thy passion ; it can in nowise heip 
 
 thy business. Compel me not to think that the 
 arms of honour are, in thy hand, nothing but a 
 dangerous plaything in the hands of a child ; 
 and that the German Emperor hath chosen to 
 represent his person at the court of Moscow, 
 not by a reasonable man but a hot-brained boy. 
 Think again. Sir Knight I Look on my grey 
 hairs — at my age I might be thy father, and 
 dost thou challenge me to a senseless combat ! 
 What glory for the mighty hand of youth to be 
 raised against the feeble arm of an old man 1 
 'Twould be much to boast of I .... And in 
 mine own house ! Would they not call us both 
 madmen. Believe me, I will not draw my 
 sword. Thou niayest fall upon me unarmed, 
 and exchange the name of knight for that of 
 assassin. That I am no coward, the lord of 
 Muscovy will tell thee, and his best voevodas ; 
 and therefore I counsel thee to employ thine 
 arms and thine ardour in a better cause, and to 
 seek a more equal combat. I will add, besides, 
 SIgnor Knight, that violence, whatever it may 
 do, can only hasten the destruction of the rights 
 in which thou art unlawfully dressed. Be rea- 
 sonable and calm, and perhaps fate itself may 
 aid thee in spite of justice." 
 
 With these words Aristotle begged the knight 
 to leave him, and not to detain him from the 
 important duties confided to him by the Great 
 Prince. In case of refusal, he said he would 
 be obliged to call in from the antechamber the 
 two officers who were enjoined to watch the 
 ambassador. 
 
 The knight Poppel was rash and haughty, 
 but not brave. In men like him true courage 
 cannot exist. He only wore its form, and this 
 could deceive inexperience alone. "What a 
 well-made fellow !" you cry, admiring the 
 graceful outline of some elderly dandy. " 'Tis 
 all buckram, my dear sir, buckram and skill ; 
 nothing else in the world !' his valet-de-cham- 
 bre will tell you, and unmask before you this 
 artificial Antinous. Just so was Poppel's cour- 
 age Abashed, feeling the good lesaon he had 
 just received, and full of dim ideas of a rival 
 about to dispute his rights to the inheritance of 
 a nobie name and rich estate, he left the artist ; 
 but even then he would not confess his defeat. 
 With his nose haughtily lifted in the air, like 
 some bawbling shallop just cast by a mighty 
 billow on the beach, he hummed, as he passed 
 through the door, the gay song — 
 
 " O, Charles the Gre.nt was an emperor bold I 
 
 Seven ba.slards he had, no more : 
 They all. did dream of a crown of gold, 
 Yet only one it wore." 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THE CAMPAIGN. 
 " O whUher fly, my gxie( to "scape ? 
 To fdrest green, my \v6o to slay ? 
 To rivers bright, my \v6o to drown? 
 To !><iimy fields, my w6e to lose ? 
 In f6re8U green 'tis ih^ro with me ! 
 In rivers like a t6ar it flows ! 
 In siinny plain the gri*»s it dries ! 
 From fAther and from mdlher aye 
 I hide myself, 1 cArth myself." 
 
 Merzliakoff. 
 
 Youth, like strong mead, foams and swells 
 over the brink until it calms itself It was to 
 the revelry of youth that Khabur devoted the 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 B1 
 
 whole night, in which now wine, now struggles 
 "with hit coiTi'ades for supremacy in sports, now 
 love, ill turn called into play all his vigorous en- 
 ergy, and in all he came off victorious. 
 
 The morning star lighted him from the gate 
 of tlie Despot of the Morea : the rosy dawn 
 smiled on him as he reached his home. 
 
 Soon throughout the boyarin's quarter there 
 began an unusual stir. Hither and thither bus- 
 tled the domestics, bringing arms from the store- 
 room, trying the paces of a steed, preparing an 
 abundant provision of meat and drink for the 
 armour-bearer, the squire, and other slaves, vvho 
 were to accompany their master's son to the 
 field. In the midst of all this bustle was heard 
 the loud clattering of horses' feet, and immedi- 
 ately afterwards a numerous procession stopped 
 at the gate. All who composed it were chosen 
 men, matched in height and appearance to one 
 another. 
 
 Their cheeks glowed with the purple bloom 
 of health ; their eyes sparkled like the glance of 
 the falcon. " Largess to friend, death to foe !" 
 ■was written on their haughty yet courteous 
 brows. They were attired in short kaftans of 
 Germa?:; cloth ; on their heads were perched flat 
 bonnets, coquettishly placed aside, giving them 
 the air of gay wild gallants. A girdle, embroid- 
 ered with silver, tightly confined their waist ; 
 by their side hung scabbards containing a long 
 knife and a dagger, cnlayled yn goldsmythis 
 werke ; at their backs a cudgel, so ponderous 
 that none but an athletic champion could wield 
 it. From this band three men detached them- 
 selves, and dismounting from their horses, an- 
 nounced iheir arrival by means of a ring sus- 
 pended from the gate-post. These were the 
 heads and hundred- men selected from several 
 guilds of the silk-merchants and clothiers, who 
 "were desirous of seeking war-honour before 
 Tver. They had come, by permission of the 
 Great Prince, to how before Sfmskoi-Khabar, 
 and entreat him to take them under his com- 
 mand. The son of Obrazetz, well known for his 
 daring at feasts and in the city brawls, was no 
 less celebrated for military bravery ; he had al- 
 j-eady once led the volunteers against the M6rd- 
 vui, and had gained in that expedition a large 
 share of glory for himself and for his troops. 
 In his campaign against the Mordvui, had been 
 exhibited not only bravery, the quality of every 
 private soldier, but the rapid intelligent glance 
 of a general, skilful to take advantage of every 
 jneans offered by the enemy's ground, and the 
 customs of those against whom he was opera- 
 ting. He had also shown himself possessed of 
 the power of inspiring love and discipline in his 
 warriors, who obeyed his orders with good-will. 
 The Prince Daniel Dmitrievitch Kholmskii, who 
 had entrusted him with a detachment against 
 Kazan, predicted, after this trial, that he would 
 be a famous leader. Ivan Vassilievitch knew 
 well how to appreciate these qualities, and on 
 their account pardoned Khabar for the wild 
 .pranks of his youth ; although he usually said, 
 on these occasions, that he forgave him on ac- 
 count of Ivan the Young's friendship for him. 
 .And now Khabar expected with delight the com- 
 mand of the volunteers. They were all enter- 
 tained, and drank the loving-cup, which the old 
 voevoda himself carried round to them, wishing 
 .each of them the success he desired. The next 
 
 day they were to assemble at St. John's Church, 
 there to hear a mass — from thence to repair to 
 the parish church of St. Nicholas of the Flax, 
 and thence — straight to horse. Obrazetz prom- 
 ised to obtain them from Ivan Vassilievitch the 
 favour of being sent in the avant-garde, in order 
 that they, with the body-guard of the Tsar, 
 might clear the line of march before the army. 
 At daybreak the next morning all the house- 
 hold of Obrazetz was on foot. When the hour 
 arrived for arming his son for the march, the 
 voevoda's face was clouded with sorrow : this 
 was no transitory grief, like the vernal inunda- 
 tion which swells suddenly on all sides, roars 
 over the whole country, and subsides as speed- 
 ily as it rose, vanishing as though it had never 
 been. No, the father's sorrow resembled a clear 
 fountain, which wells up half-unseen from be- 
 neath a ponderous stone, and yet feeds eternal- 
 ly some wide river. Many dark thoughts, during 
 the past night, had risen in the old man's soul ; 
 and his anxiety was not unreasonable. He had 
 already loet one son in war — that darling youth 
 even now oft appeared before him in angelic 
 robes ; then pointing with indescribable anguish 
 to a wound which marked his breast, seemed to 
 wail forth — " It paineth me, oh, my father ! yes, 
 it paineth me sore." Then came his mother — 
 what precious beings, and how bitter their loss ! 
 And now the old man, following them with his 
 eyes, dismissed his remaining son to the war ; 
 and even if the battle should spare him, yet the 
 lists awaited him at Moscow. If he should fall, 
 who would remain to protect his sister — a maid- 
 en not yet settled in lifel But dishon.our was 
 worse than death — " The dead feel no shame," 
 is a saying valued among the Russians. Be- 
 sides, he would never survive shame. All his 
 trusts was in the ordeal of God : the mercies of 
 the Lord are unaccountable. Trusting in them, 
 Obrazetz proceeded to the oratory, whither, by 
 his command, he was followed by Khabar and 
 Anastasia. 
 
 Silently they go, plunged in feelings of awe : 
 they enter the oratory ; the solitary window is 
 curtained ; in the obscurity, feebly dispelled by 
 the mysterious glimmer of the lamp, through 
 the deep stillness, fitfully broken by the flaring 
 of the taper, they were gazed down upon from 
 every side by the dark images of the Saviour, 
 the Holy Mother of God, and the Holy Saints. 
 From them there seems to breathe a chilly air 
 as of another world : here thou canst not hide 
 thyself from their glances ; from every side 
 they follow thee in the slightest movement of 
 thy thoughts and feelings. Their wasted faces, 
 feeble limbs, and withered frames — their flesh 
 macerated by prayer and fasting— the cross, 
 the agony — all here speaks of the victory of 
 will over passions. Themselves an example of 
 purity in body and soul, they demand the same 
 purity from all who enter the oratory, their 
 holy shrine. 
 
 To them Anastasia had recourse in the agita- 
 tion of her heart ; from them she implored aid 
 against the temptations of the Evil One ; but 
 help there was none for her, the weak in will, 
 the devoted to the passion which she felt for an 
 unearthly tempter. 
 
 Thrice, with crossing and with prayer, did 
 Obrazetz bow before the images ; thrice did his 
 son and daughter bow after him. This pious 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 preface finished, the old man chanted the psalm, 
 " Whoso dwelleth under the defence of the Most 
 High.'"' Thus, even in our own times, among 
 us in Russia, the pious warrior, when going to 
 battle, almost always arms himself with this 
 shield of faith. With deep feeling, Khabar re- 
 peated the words after his father. All this pre- 
 pared Anastasia for something terrible; she 
 trembled like a dove which is caught by the 
 storm in the open plain, where there is no shel- 
 ter for her from the tempest that is ready to 
 burst above her. When they arose from prayer, 
 Obrazetz took from the shrine a small image of 
 St. George the Victorious, cast in silver, with 
 a ring for suspending it on the bosom. " In the 
 name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the 
 Holy Ghost !" he said, with a solemn voice, 
 holding the image in his left hand, and with his 
 right making three signs of the cross — " with 
 this mercy of God I bless thee, my dear and 
 only son, Ivan, and I pray that the holy martyr, 
 George, may givr» thee mastery and victory 
 over thine enemies : keep this treasure even as 
 the apple of thine eye. Put it not off from thee 
 in any wise, unless the Lord willeth that the 
 foe shall take it from thee. I know thee, Ivdn, 
 they will not take it from thee living ; but they 
 may from thy corse. Keep in mind at every 
 season thy father's blessing." 
 
 Anastasia turned as white as snow, and trem- 
 bled in every limb ; her bosom felt oppressed as 
 •with a heavy stone, a sound as of hammering 
 •was in her ears. She seemed to hear all the 
 images, one after another, sternly repeating her 
 father's words. He continued — "It is a great 
 thing, this blessing. He who remembereth it 
 not, or lightly esteemeth it, from him shall the 
 heavenly Father turn away his face, and shall 
 leave him for ever and ever. He shall be cast 
 out from the kingdom of he«ven, and his por- 
 tion shall be in hell. Keep well my solemn 
 word." 
 
 Every accent of Obrazetz fell upon Anasta- 
 sia's heart like a drop of molten pitch. She 
 seemed to be summoned before the dreadful 
 judgment-seat of Christ, to hear her father's 
 curse, and her own eternal doom. She could 
 restrain herself no longer, and sobbed bitterly ; 
 the light grew dim in her eyes ; her feet began 
 to totter. Obrazetz heard her sobs, and inter- 
 rupted his exhortation. " Nastia, Niistia! what 
 ailcth theeV he enquired, with lively sympa- 
 thy, of his daughter, whom he tenderly loved. 
 She had not strength to utter a word, and fell 
 into her brother's arms. Crossing himself, the 
 boyarin put back the image into its former place, 
 and then hastened to sprinkle his child with 
 holy water which always stood ready in the or- 
 atory. Anastasia revived, and when she saw 
 herself surrounded by her father and brother, 
 in a dark, narrow, sepulchral place, she uttered 
 a wild cry, and turned her dim eyes around 
 " My life, my darhng child, my dove ! what ail- 
 eth thee !" cried the father. " Recollect thy- 
 self: thou art in the oratory, 'Tis plain some 
 evil eye hath struck thee. Pray to the Holy 
 Virgin : she, the merciful one, will save thee 
 from danger." 
 
 The father and son bore her to the image of 
 the Mother of God. Her brother with difficulty 
 raised her arm, and she, all trembling, made the 
 bign of the cross. Deeply, heavily she sighed. 
 
 applied her ice-cold lips to the image, and then 
 signed to them with her hand that they should 
 carry her out speedily. She fancied that shs 
 saw the Holy Virgin shake her head with a re- 
 proachful air. 
 
 When they had carried Anastasia to her 
 chamber, she felt better. The neigh of a steed 
 at Antony's staircase enabled her to collect her 
 thoughts and come to herself The sound 
 turned her mind to the beloved foreigner, and 
 to the danger which would have menaced her- 
 self and him if she had betrayed the secret of 
 the crucifix. The feeling of remorse was over- 
 come by love, and in its place arose the desire 
 to remove the suspicions of her father and 
 brother as to the real cause of her illness, if 
 such suspicions existed. She summoned up 
 her energies to deceive, but as yet she knew 
 not how. The words, " separation from her 
 brother," " the danger of war," " the weariness 
 of solitude," cold and unconnected words, died 
 away upon her lips. But it was not a difficult 
 task to convince them, even without words, 
 that these were the real causes. The dove, 
 the water of the fountain, untrodden snow, were 
 figured in the mind of her father and brother 
 as less pure than Anastasia. Obrazetz would 
 have slain the man who should dare to say to 
 the contrary ; it would have been a death-blow 
 to himself even to suspect it. In his head there 
 perhaps flitted some dim thoughts of ill ; per- 
 haps of ill caused by the heretic •, but that An- 
 astasia herself could ever venture to enter inta 
 any plot of the heart with him, could not even 
 be conceived by the boyarin's imagination. The 
 voevoda and his son, tranquillized by her recov- 
 ery, returned to the oratory ; not, however, 
 without apprehension, that the benediction, so 
 painfully interrupted, might turn out unfortu- 
 nate. The father feared, that the cause of this 
 unlucky accident was God's anger against his 
 son on account of his dissipated life. Calling 
 to his aid the words of the holy fathers, the 
 examples of purity and sinlessness exhibited by 
 many famous Russian warriors, who had earn- 
 ed glory on this earth, and an unfading crown 
 in heaven, he exhorted Khabar to reform—" On 
 thee, more than another," said Obrazetz, " lieth 
 a heavy answer for thy sins. Thee the Lord 
 hath gifted with reason, with bodily strength, 
 with valour : to one is given a talent, to anoth- 
 er two ; to thee is given much, and thou tram- 
 plest it all in the mire. The Prince Kholmskii 
 laudeth thy military talents, and hopeth that in 
 time thou wilt replace me. The old men, once 
 my companions in arms, and now thine, my 
 heart— all tell me that the name of Khabar- 
 Simskoi will be yet more famous in Russia than 
 the name of Obrazetz-Simskoi. Thy father, 
 thy sovereign — the Great Prince, thy native 
 land, expect this from thee. Dishonour not my 
 hoary head, trample not upon my bones when 
 I am laid in the grave — upon the ashes of thy 
 mother and thy brother. Forget not that thou 
 hast a sister of an age to be married .- thy shame 
 may fall on her— on all thy race. Remember 
 that the Lists —the jndc;meni of Go(/— await thee 
 here : to it thou must offer thyself with pure 
 repentance, washed from every s»tain. Ivan, it 
 is time to repent ; it is time to remember that 
 I have not long to live. Soon I, too, shall de- 
 part to another world. What dost thou com- 
 mand me to tell thy mother there !" 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 8ft 
 
 The old man's voice was full of sorrow, 
 though not a drop stood in his stern eye. On 
 Khabar's face the tears poured down in streams .- 
 he fell at his father's feet, and gave him a pro- 
 mise, in the name of the Lord, in the name of 
 his mother, to reform from that moment : and to 
 merit the love of his kinsmen both here on earth, 
 and beyond the grave. As witnesses to his vow 
 he took the saints of God. The promise was 
 sincere ; his strength and firmness of will were 
 sufficient for its performance. 
 
 The faces of both father and son brightened 
 up : their hearts, too, were more at ease. At 
 the same time it seemed to them as though the 
 oratory grew lighter, and the images of the 
 saints gazed benignantly upon them. 
 
 At length the bells tolled for mid-day mass ; 
 mournfully they clanged ; they announced to 
 almost every house the departure of one dear 
 inhabitant at least. Anastasia made an effort, 
 and without wailing till her brother came to bid 
 farewell to her, went herself to meet him. Kha- 
 bar, whom Ivan Vassilievitch called his post- 
 haste voevoda, was already in full armour. His 
 old squire gazed with rapture, now on his char- 
 ger, now on the glittering panoply, as though 
 upon a creation of his own : the one he had 
 decked out with all his skill ; the other, with all 
 his skill also, he had polished till it shone like a 
 mirror. In the farewell of the brother and sister 
 spoke love, the most tender, the most touching. 
 Often was the iron cuirass dimmed with tears ; 
 often did the hard gauntlets imprint the trace of 
 his embrace upon the delicate waist of Anasta- 
 sia. All the domestics assembled in a crowd 
 on the steps, and followed the boyarin's son with 
 blessings. His father accompanied him as far 
 as the church. 
 
 Some one came to meet him, proudly pranc- 
 ing on a fiery steed, which raised a cloud of dust 
 as he curveted along. The people stopped as 
 he passed, and doffed their caps. By his rich 
 armour, by the steel helmet adorned with tur- 
 quoise, by the silver inlaid work of the cuirass 
 and sword, glittering in the rays of the sun, you 
 would have taken him for some noble youth who 
 had just undergone the postriga ; hut in his face, 
 his stature, his gestures, you would recognize 
 in him a boy, delighted with his steed and ar- 
 mour as with a toy. It was Andriousha, Aris- 
 totle's son — himself a toy of the Great Prince. 
 He had ridden from the Church of the Annun- 
 ciation, where the ceremony of the postriga had 
 been performed on him : his appearance struck 
 Obrazetz painfully ; it recalled to his memory 
 his own fair boy. Just such had been his young- 
 er son, when he was armed to attack the Knights 
 of the Cross. The boyarin hastened to enter 
 the church, and by prayer to stifle in his heart 
 the mournful cry of nature. In bidding adieu 
 to his remaining son, he clasped him in a long 
 and strict embrace.—" The Lord be with thee I" 
 he cried in a quivering voice ; and these words 
 accompanied Khabar throughout the whole cam- 
 paign, greeted him when first he opened his 
 eyes, and closed his lids to coming sleep. With 
 these words he was armed more strongly than 
 with his iron helmet or his sword. 
 
 Andriousha hastened to pay his visit to Anas- 
 tasia before the boyarin could return from 
 church. In the antechamber of the upper room 
 he met the nurse, who, congratulating him upon 
 
 (he postriga, cautiously yet caressingly enquir- 
 ed, if the darling young gallant had seen her 
 mistress's crucifix : perhaps she had dropped it, 
 Andriousha had found it, had desired to play her 
 a trick, and had hidden it. At this unexpected 
 question the little warrior fired up like gunpow- 
 der, but speedily recovered himself, and said 
 with indignation — "Dost thou jest, nurse 1" 
 
 And she began to swear, and call God to wit- 
 ness that she spoke the truth ; and only implor- 
 ed him not to say a word about it either to- 
 Anastasia or to the boyarin. 
 
 " Thou knowest how stern he is," she added ; 
 " he will straightway cut off the poor woman's 
 head. But if thou hadst seen, my darling, how 
 thy godmother laments, how restless she is ! 
 she can neither eat nor drink, and talketh in her 
 sleep of nothing but the cross. Ay, and me- 
 tliinks she repeateth also the name of the ac- 
 cursed heretic T Of a surety, the guardian angel 
 hath fled from my child." 
 
 The old woman awaited Andriousha's reply. 
 Andriousha was already in his godmother's 
 chamber. Here he was met with smiles, wel- 
 comes, caresses springing froin the heart ; but 
 under these roses the boy's observation plainly 
 saw the serpent Grief It peered out through 
 Anastasia's every word, every gesture. He did 
 not long remain in the chamber ; with his load 
 of sad remarks he departed to the leech, and 
 related all. How deeply touched was Antony 
 at the recital ! He upbraided, he cursed him- 
 self, for listening to two children, for taking ad- 
 vantage of the weakness of an inexperienced 
 maiden, accepting from her a present which 
 might ruin her for ever. To restore the gift, to 
 print a farewell kiss upon it, and to pray to God 
 that the crucifix might arrive in time to relieve 
 Anastasia from all pain and danger — this is what; 
 Antony hastened to do. This prayer was heard ; 
 the cross was received in time. 
 
 Anastasia was deeply agitated when she saw- 
 it. It is plain he hath not worn it ! . . . . she 
 thought, and a kind of despair overwhelmed her. 
 It had been better if her father had known of 
 the loss of the crucifix. What would become 
 of her"! There was a time when the dwellers 
 in heaven would not have renounced her, thougti 
 the Holy Virgin herself might have looked into 
 her heart : and now, black passions are boiling 
 in her soul ; her hands almost rejected the 
 cross ; her lips almost uttered — " Perish, then, 
 my soul !" .... But the guardian angel arrest- 
 ed her on the brink of danger : she seized the 
 crucifix, and with tearful eyes placed it in her 
 bosom ; her godson, in broken fragments and 
 with great caution, in order to escape the nurse's 
 sharp eyes and ears, related his conversatioa 
 with the old woman, the tormenting fears of 
 Antony lest others might learn the loss of the 
 precious crucifix— his fears for her health and 
 tranquillity — Andriousha related all — all that his 
 friend had told him, and .\nastasia could not but 
 bless them both. She promised herself to be 
 more cautious and more reasonable ; she tried 
 to promise to cease to love — but this she could 
 not do. The cross passed from the bosom of 
 the dear heretic to that of the maiden ; and 
 there, helped by Andriousha's words, it added 
 new fuel to the flame. 
 
 The cunning nurse, though sh.e had heard- 
 nothing of what had passed between the god- 
 
90 
 
 THE HERETIC. 
 
 mother and godson, guessed that there was some 
 secret concealed in it. These conjectures were 
 confirmed, when, on undressing her foster-child, 
 she saw on her breast the silver crucifix, which 
 Anastasia took care, as if accidentally, to show. 
 To communicate these guesses direct to the 
 boyarin, she dared not : they might cause ill 
 consequences to herself, to Anastasia, to An- 
 driousha : she might raise a conflagration be- 
 yond her skill to extinguish. She might, how- 
 ever, provide against future danger. To suc- 
 ceed in this, it was only necessary prudently 
 and cunningly to hint to the boyarin that it was 
 improper for Andriousha to have free access to 
 his godmother's chamber. He was, it was true, 
 but fourteen years old — a mere child ; and, .be- 
 sides, was so quiet — so well-behaved ! But 
 Andriousha had just received the postriga by 
 special favour of the Great Prince, Ivan Vassi- 
 lievitch ; and the word "postriga" turned every 
 boy's head. As he was fit for war, he could not 
 be a more child. Who would take the trouble 
 to inform himself of the youth's age? Evil 
 tongues would often hiot harm which they dared 
 not utter. The honour of a maiden ought to be 
 like a mirror, which, though not defiled, is yet 
 dimmed by an impure breath. As the nurse 
 thought, so she acted. The boyarin thanked 
 her for her sensible advice ; and promised that, 
 when Andriousha returned from the campaign, 
 his access to Anastasia should be interdicted, 
 and he should be only allowed to speak to her 
 in the presence of her father and brother. All 
 was arranged as well as possible. 
 
 Antony himself, the cause of thisiamily agi- 
 tation — hitherto the unknown cause — determin- 
 ed to remove the slightest suspicion from the 
 beautiful creature for whose honour he was 
 Teady to lay down his life. He sought no fur- 
 ther opportunities of seeing Anastasia. On the 
 morrow he was to set off on the expedition with 
 the Great Prince's train ; and he instantly call- 
 ed for his horse, and rode away from the house 
 of the boyarin, in order toi)ass the night at Ar- 
 istotle's ; from thence start on the march, de- 
 terminim? never more to set foot in the dwelling 
 inhabited by Anastasia. " Time," he thought, 
 "reason, the impossibility of our meeting, will 
 ■vanquish a passion which, perhaps, is nothing 
 but the fancy of a maiden shut up between four 
 walls. I will, at least, restore her to tranquil- 
 lity." 
 
 As soon as he was left alone with his own 
 thoughts, he cast back a glance on the path 
 which he liad trod since his arrival in Russia. 
 Wherefore had he journeyed thither 1 Was it 
 not that he might devote himself to the service 
 of science and humanity, to gain a triumph for 
 them? And what had he performed — this priest 
 of the beautiful and of the good ! He had cured 
 a parrot ; he had dressed gallantly ; had suc- 
 ceeded in pleasing the Great Prmce, and in 
 leading astray the heart of an inexperienced 
 maiden. A noble, ;i glorious triumph ! Was 
 it worth while to come so far for this ! In Italy 
 lie was at least free : hut now he was the bond- 
 slave of passion— now he could no longer hope 
 to shake oflits chains. He could never return 
 to his native land ; he had exchanged it for a 
 foreign country : in Ru.ssia from henceforvvard 
 he must live — in Russia die. To the house of 
 a Russian boyarin, who detested him, were 
 
 linked his thoughts— his whole existence : in 
 that house lay all the weal, all the woe, of his 
 life. There was his fate. Such was the ac- 
 count to which Antony called himself respecting 
 his actual position. 
 
 In the struggle with his passion he promised 
 to free himself from its slavery, and to quiet 
 the cry which arose against it from the depths 
 of his conscience. He promised ; ay ! we shall 
 see which of the two young men, nearly of the 
 same age, will possess strength of mind enough 
 to perform his vow — the Russian wild gallant, 
 or the steady bachelor of Padua. 
 
 The gates of the heretic's quarter were closed 
 and locked up. Anastasia saw this : her heart 
 and ears greedily followed the clatter of the 
 horse's feet as it died away in the distance ; 
 drank in the last clink of the shoes, as though 
 the sound were the dying beat of the beloved 
 one's pulse ere it was for ever stilled He was 
 gone .... the poor girl was terrified by her 
 loneliness : her heart died within her : it seem- 
 ed to her as if father, brother, kiu'-all the world 
 — abandoned her, an unhappy orphan. Oh, 
 with what delight would she now undergo the 
 tortures of that morning and the preceding days, 
 but to know that he was there — not far from her 
 — in the same house with her ; that she might 
 behold him, might meet his eye, and even await 
 his returning ! 
 
 An unusual noise disturbed Anastasia's rev- 
 erie. The tramp of horsemen filled the neigh- 
 bouring street. 
 
 "Hark! they strike the atabal !" cried the 
 nurse, rushing to the window. " Look ! a great 
 troop is going by. See, how the soldiers' 
 casques and breastplates glitter in the sun ! 
 And there is the voevdda at the head of his 
 band : in his hand he beareth a shestopeor 
 adorned with precious stones. In heaven tliere 
 is but one sun ; but there every gem is a sun ! 
 And how young, how handsome he is ! Ah ! 
 Holy Mother ! it is the young prince Ivan. Oh, 
 oh ! but for Helena of Vallachia thou wouldst 
 now be a princess : the Tsar would have loved 
 thee, and kissed thy rosy lips ; and thou wouldst 
 have been able, my dove, to cherish mine old 
 age : I should have slept under marten skins, 
 pillowed on swan's down, dressed in silk and 
 sindal, and quaffed strong mead. But it was 
 fated that the Vallachian should turn up to cloud 
 our happiness, and to rob us of a dear bride- 
 groom. She came hither to Russia, and brought 
 us nothing but the Jewish heresy — she and the 
 deacon Koun'tzin ; may she and the accursed 
 deacon burn for it I I,ook now ! the young 
 prince Ivan ! if he be not grown as sad and 
 gloomy as if he had become a widower yester- 
 day ! He mourneth for thee, my child. As he 
 passod our house, his heart could not resist, 
 and he looked up tenderly to thy window ; and 
 see! they bear the standard on a waggon!* 
 Look, how it fluttereth in the breeze ! Cross 
 thyself, my child, before the image of our Sav- 
 iour" .... 
 
 The old woman very reverently made the 
 holy sign ; and Anastasia, without looking out 
 of the window, sitting on her bed, mechanically 
 crossed herself The nurse continued — "The 
 
 * Thi' RFfnt slanilnrd, like the onflamme of France, the 
 Scottish eiisi|;ii nt Uannockbum, &.C., was borne oa a wheel 
 carnage. ~T. B. S. 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 91 
 
 image is embroidered in gold ; they say that 
 Sophia Phomi'nishna worked it with her own 
 hands. Hey ! what fair gallants ! Who can 
 tell ! perhaps one of them is thy future hus- 
 band . . . . O, Lord ! O, saints of mine ! Look ! 
 — 'Or do my old eyes deceive mel Ah, 'tis he, 
 'tis he, in verity ! our tale-teller, Aphanasii Ni- 
 kftin ; his bare feet are fettered— his poor hands 
 are fixed behind with melted lead .'"* 
 
 In reality, they were carrying along the tale- 
 teller, Aphanasii Nikitin. in chains, under a 
 guard of constables. What had the poor man 
 done? why this punishment? Thus it was: 
 Ivan Vassilievitch having been informed that he 
 was a native of Tver, and that he knew every 
 corner and every bush around it, ordered him 
 -with his own lips to accompany the army, and 
 ■on arriving at the city to give any information 
 that might be required of him. To this Apha- 
 nasii Nikitin answered — " The will of God is 
 mighty in heaven, and the will of the Great 
 Prince, Ivan Vassilievitch, on earth. Let him 
 order me to drown myself — I will drown ; but 
 against my native city, against the golden- 
 domed cathedral of our Saviour, I will not go. 
 Sooner will I drink mine own blood than con- 
 sent to lead an army against my kinsmen and 
 my brethren." At these words the fury of Ivan 
 Vassilievitch was awakened — "What ! this is 
 not the voevodo Prince Kholmskii !" he cried 
 in an angry voice : " A pedlar — a clown ! Let 
 him be put in chains, and carried to Tver wheth- 
 ■er he will or no. Since he refuseth to show us 
 the road thither, we will show it to him, and 
 further too !" 
 
 It was for this cause that the tale-teller, Aph- 
 anasii Nikitin, was in chains. The iron clink- 
 ed as he went along the street, and the nurse 
 began to lament. At these mournful sounds 
 Anastasia arose. She took from her ivory cof- 
 fer some small coins, and ordered the old wom- 
 an to carry them to the poor prisoner. " I will 
 take it, my dear," said the nurse, still gazing 
 from the window, not to lose the pleasure of the 
 spectacle. " I will take it, even if Ivan Vassi- 
 lievitch trampleth me under his horse's feet. 
 Look ! there is our heretic .... what doth he 
 there? .... I must run, my child — I must run, 
 •not to be too late !" 
 
 Hardly had the nurse left the room ere Anas- 
 tasia looked cautiously from the window, and 
 saw that her beloved Antony had anticipated her. 
 
 In spite of his resolutions, he desired to pass 
 once more by Obrazetz's house, to bid farewell 
 to her dwelling, if not to her — perhaps for ever. 
 .In doing this he came up with the main guard 
 as it was beginning its march, and caught sight 
 of poor Aphanasii Nikitin, to whom he had been 
 made known by Andriousha, and who frequent- 
 ly had conversed with him about the life and 
 nature of the West ; and he hastened to give 
 the prisoner's guard a handful of silver. Apha- 
 nasii Nikitin looked gratefully at the leech'; but 
 the constable turned his back upon the heretic, 
 and the silver was scattered on the wooden road. 
 At this moment the nurse ran up and gave her 
 mistress's money to the constable. The latter 
 crossed himself and received it. With shame 
 
 * It is still doubted by antiquaries whether this cruel 
 mode of confining a prisoner was actually practised, or 
 whether it is only a technical expression for some severe 
 .Aiethod of chainingr a culprit. — T. B. S. 
 
 and mortification Antony rode away. It may 
 be imagined with what feelings the daughter of 
 Obrazotz looked upon this scene, A 11 — all turn- 
 ed from the heretic ; but she, unhappy girl ! en- 
 chanted by the powers of evil, so fondly — so im- 
 measurably loved him ! 
 
 Long lay the scattered money upon the wood- 
 en road. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIH. 
 
 THE SIEGE. 
 " Fair and softly goeth far in a day." 
 
 Old Proverb. 
 The troops made very short marches. They 
 had not yet arrived so far as Klin, when the vol- 
 unteers were already before Tver. These brave 
 bands of irregulars, led by Khabar, spread ter- 
 ror around the city : at one moment they would 
 make their appearance in the suburbs with 
 shouts and cries, announcing storm and sack, 
 at another they would vanish in the forests of 
 Tver, leaving no track of their march. Khabar 
 did not content himself with having a private 
 conference with those citizens of Tver who 
 were devoted to Ivan, and who had previously 
 been bought over to his interest ; he was not 
 contented with making a reconnoisance of the 
 weak points in the enemy's fortifications ; he 
 passed the Volga, and established a communica- 
 tion with the army which was advancing from 
 Novgorod, under the command of the lieuten- 
 ant of that city. Returning to the right bank 
 of the river, he sent a message to the Great 
 Prince, Ivan Vassilievitch, informing him that, 
 with his bands of the volunteers of Moscow, he 
 would undertake to make himself master of 
 Tver. He requested the assistance of Aris- 
 totle's cannon. Thus Khabar-Sfmskoi, togeth- 
 er with his comrades, continued to deserve his 
 reputation for activity and military skill. 
 
 Ivan Vassilievitch, whom in all justice we 
 may call the delayer, commanded a courier to 
 convey his tvord of favour, first to Khabar, and 
 secondly to all the volunteers, and to inform 
 them that he ivas coming. And he continued to 
 advance in the same tortoise-like manner as be- 
 fore. For the first person who dared to mur- 
 mur rather too loudly against this dilatoriness, 
 the Great Prince of Moscow showed his favour 
 by building him an edifiice in a cross-road — an 
 edifice composed of two upright posts and a 
 transverse beam. Aphanasii Nikitin was pre- 
 pared for the same fate. He made himself ready 
 to die with Christian firmness ; but just as they 
 were about to tie the fatal knot, his life was 
 i spared, and he was permitted to go about his 
 business. Whether this was done at the request 
 of Ivan the Young, or from the private impulse 
 of the Great Prince, is unknown. However, it 
 may be easily supposed that the Tveritchanin 
 wandered away in the direction opposite to 
 Tver, in order not to be a witness of the ruin 
 and conflagration of his native city. For the 
 road he was well provided by the generous gifts 
 of the boyarins and common people, and by An- 
 tony he was presented with a balsam for his arms, 
 wounded by the melted lead with which they had 
 been fixed together. No man who encountered 
 him ever heard him utter a word of complaint, 
 either .against the Great Prince or against his 
 
92 
 
 THE HERETIC. 
 
 own fate. Praying both for the Prince and for 
 his people, but more fervently for the preserva- 
 tion of his native city from destruction, and 
 praising the Lord alone, he hastened back to 
 Moscow to finish his half-told tales. 
 
 The Great Prince of Moscow ordinarily pitch- 
 ed his camp in large villages. There halted 
 with him Ivan the Young, the courtiers, the 
 chief regiment with the imperial standard, Ar- 
 istotle with the fire-arms, and the inseparable 
 Tsarevitch of Kassi'm, Danyar. This prince 
 enjoyed his particular love and favour for the 
 fidelity with which he had served Russia. In 
 his person Ivan wished clearly to prove how ad- 
 vantageous it would be to the Tartars to pass 
 over under the protection of the Russian ruler. 
 Already more than a week had passed since the 
 troops had quitted Moscow. It was that hour 
 of the day when the sun chases the dew and 
 coolness of the morning. The weather was 
 beautiful : all nature seamed to smile, and im- 
 ago the arrival of summer; and the rivulets, 
 dancing in the sunbeams, all gold and flame ; 
 and the breeze, laden with fragrance from the 
 foliage of the trees ; and the billows of the ed- 
 dying harvest, like the waving lines of burnish- 
 ed steal in the ranks of charging cavalry ; and 
 the choirs of birds singing, each in its own har- 
 mony, the praises of the Almighty. This en- 
 chanting smile, this imaging of nature, melted 
 even the iron soul of Ivan Vassilievitch. Pass- 
 ing the rivulet beyond the village of Tchashni- 
 kofi", he ordered his tent to be pitched on an 
 elevation, and commanded the troops to make 
 a halt round. He rode up the eminence, took 
 of his horzn (military mantle), and dismounted 
 from his horse. All this was performed with 
 the assistance of different officers of the court : 
 the ceremonial was kept up even in the field — 
 even in the field he desired to appear a Tsar. 
 
 " Here I would fain build myself a village,'' 
 said Ivan Vassilievitch, admiring the scene. 
 
 And in reality it was something to be ad- 
 mired. 
 
 In general, it is to be remarked, that man, 
 from some innate tendency towards the beau- 
 ties of nature— perhaps a trace of the first in- 
 habitant of the earth — be he Tsar or peasant, 
 loves to place his dwelling in a beautiful situa- 
 tion. Nothing but necessity, but force, can 
 drive him to the arid plain, to the forest neigh- 
 bouring the swamp. In the sites selected for 
 the Russian towns, and the imperial pleasure 
 villages, this taste is particularly observable. 
 Ivan Vassilievitch, in praising the lovely pic- 
 ture spread before him by the great artist, re- 
 membered his own villages, Vorobievo, Kolo- 
 nuinskoye Island, his VorontzolT field, where he 
 met the spring, and passed the summer in the 
 delights of hawking and wandering through the 
 gardens. While they were pitching his tent, 
 he seated himself on a folding-chair, which was 
 always carried with him. Around him stood 
 Ivan the Young, and several of the officers of 
 his household. Among them might be observ- 
 ed the round-shouldered Tartar, who associated 
 more familiarly than any other person with the 
 Great Prince. This was Danyar, Tsarevitch 
 of Kassim, the object of his singular favour.* 
 
 * In mai 
 Srrcnt care < 
 tKt Author. 
 
 y of the writings of this (lorirxl wo remark ihc 
 f DanyAr's interKsta exhibited by \vkn—yott of 
 
 In front of them, at the bottom of the hill, were 
 running Andriousha and a lad of seventeen, the 
 son of the Tsarevitch — Karakatcha : the one, a 
 type of European beauty, with the stamp of the 
 Creator's love for his creature imprinted on 
 every lineament ; the other, narrow-eyed, taw- 
 ny, with high cheekbones, and the serpent-like 
 expression of one who had crawled into the 
 world from some foul thicket of the tropics 
 among the reptiles, with whom he had mingled 
 his human nature. Karakatcha had caught a 
 dove, and was preparing to chop it in pieces 
 with his knife ; Andriousha entered into a 
 struggle, to save the winged prisoner . inferior 
 to the Tartar in strength, but far more dexter- 
 ous and active, he succeeded in seizing the 
 victim in time and setting it at liberty. The 
 momentary struggle was succeeded by a truce, 
 concluded by the transfer of a piece of money^ 
 which seemed to give much pleasure to the 
 Tartar Tsarevitch. Both the boys, throwing 
 off the weight of their arms, hastened to relieve 
 themselves of the -heat which oppressed them, 
 by bathing in the cool waters of the streamlet. 
 Their companionship at the court of the Great 
 Prince, whither they went, as it were, to school 
 every day, had brought them together, and 
 forced them to forget the difference of their 
 faith and manners, (Karakatcha was still a Ma- 
 hometan.) 
 
 " Right noble boys !" said Ivan Vassilievitch; 
 turning to the Tartar Tsarevitch and the artist ; 
 " they will be great leaders in my son's time, if 
 God doth not grant me myself to see it." 
 
 This praise brought a glow of satisfaction on 
 the faces of the two fathers. 
 
 "And when are we to christen thy son T' 
 demanded the Great Prince of the Tsarevitch. 
 
 " The hour will come ; there is time enough, 
 my good Lord Ivan," answered Danyar. " Thou 
 thyself dost not hurry, yet thou dost great 
 things." 
 
 "According to the Italian proverb, which 
 Aristotle taught me—' fair and softly goeth far 
 in a day.' And I do not force thee. Thy fa- 
 ther and thou have served me faithfully, though 
 ye were not christened. It was but for the sal- 
 vation of his soul I spake of christening.'^ 
 
 "'Tis yet but a foolish child. But if in fair 
 field he cutteth off two Tveritchanin heads, 
 then he will be a man ; 'twill be time to chris- 
 ten him and find him a wife." 
 
 " Good ! and I have a bride ready for him — 
 a rare beauty I She must be of the same age 
 as thy son." 
 
 " Who is she, my good lord !" 
 
 "The daughter of my voevoda Obrazetz." 
 
 At these words a slight convulsion passed, 
 over the lips of Ivan the Young— Antony blush- 
 ed and turned pale. Ivan Vassilievitch re- 
 marked all this. 
 
 " I will give my boy to her," said the Tsare- 
 vitch, with evident pleasure. " They say, she 
 is a right fair damsel ! she can embroider skull- 
 caps ; we will blacken her teeth— we will red- 
 den her nails— and in a twinkling she will be 
 fit for our prophet Mahomet in Paradise." 
 
 Ivan Vassilievitch laughed heartily at this 
 criticism. 
 
 A tent was pitched for the Tsar, and a guard 
 placed before it. Next to it they put up a 
 church of linen, (they first spread the ground 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 with skins, and then with cloth, on which they 
 erected the altar ; when they took down the 
 church, they scorched with fire the place on 
 ■which it had stood ) The Great Prince retired 
 into his tent with his son ; and all the attend- 
 ants separated, each to his own quarters. The 
 road to Tver on the northern side of the camp 
 •was carefully barricaded with iron railings, and 
 wagons, and guarded by sentinels. The troops 
 (there were only cavalry in those days) scat- 
 tered themselves over the neighbouring coun- 
 try, keeping the Great Prince's tent as the cen- 
 tre of the circle which they formed. And how 
 were the troops quartered ! What had they in 
 the way of camp, of cantonments ? They 
 merely pitched the tent of each voevoda ; be- 
 side it they placed the wagon bearing the 
 standard of the regiment ; next to this, like- 
 wise on wagons, the fire-arms, composed of 
 matchlocks, and a cannon, if there happened to 
 be one. The horses were allowed to range in 
 herds over the meadows or the sown fields, as 
 they might happen ; the soldiers separated into 
 messes around their voevodas, boiled their cop- 
 per kettles, filled with a kind of soup composed 
 of biscuit and oatmeal ; sang songs, told stories, 
 and all under the open sky, in spite of rain and 
 snow, frost and heat. What cared they for the 
 attacks of the elements ! By nature and edu- 
 cation they were hardened as if locked up in 
 steel. The horses, brought from the Asiatic 
 steppes, bore as patiently as their riders the 
 hardest weather, and throve upon the most 
 meagre food. 
 
 Mournful, gloomy, lay Antony in the tent of 
 Fioraventi Aristotle. At the time of setting 
 out on the campaign, he had striven to silence 
 the voice of his heart in the occupations of his 
 profession. He searched all the recesses of the 
 forest, he plunged to the depths of the ravine ; 
 he collected there plants, some whose medical 
 properties he already knew, others which were 
 unknown in southern countries : the latter he 
 was preparing as a present to the place of his 
 education. Did he halt in a village! there, 
 with the assistance of his servant, he made en- 
 quiries for witches and wise women, who often 
 possessed, as he had heard from Aj-istotle, med- 
 
 . ical secrets, handed down from generation to 
 generation. Some of these secrets he succeed- 
 ed in obtaining, with the aid of the terrible 
 powder of the Great Prince, or the force of 
 gold. Thus, by returning to his learned occu- 
 
 . pations, he had placed, he thought, a strong and 
 insurmountable barrier between himself and 
 Anastasia, whose image still frequently pursued 
 him. Obrazetz's prejudices, his aversion to 
 him, his education, his country, his religion — a 
 multitude of other obstacles which swarmed 
 around him at the first thought of a union with 
 her, came to the aid of science and reason, in- 
 ducing him to stifle the feeling which had mas- 
 tered him. But when Antony heard the name 
 of Anastasia from the lips of an unbelieving 
 Mahometan — that name which he pronounced 
 with reverent love in the sanctuary of his heart 
 
 that name which was united with all that 
 
 Avas most beautiful in earth and heaven ; when 
 he heard that Anastasia was to be given to a 
 misbegotten Tartar — she whom he thought no 
 one had a right to possess but himself and 
 God — then his bloood rushed backward to his 
 
 heart, and he was terrified by the idea of her 
 belonging to another. Never yet had this 
 thought presented itself to his mind in so dread- 
 ful a shape. Like some passionate lover of art 
 who goes day by day to a picture-gallery to 
 worship one particular Madonna, and who sud- 
 denly finds that it is about to be brought to the 
 hammer ; and now the immortal one is chaffer- 
 ed for by pedlars — worldly wretches, contempt- 
 ible shopkeepers, Jews, are appraising its mer- 
 its — dare even to discover faults ! The ama- 
 teur would give for it all that he possesses — 
 would give himself; but he has too little, he is 
 too poor, he cannot offer a price, and the divine 
 work must belong to another. In his soul al- 
 ready resounds the cry of the auctioneer — 
 "going, going !" — with a sinking heart he sees 
 the fatal hammer rise ... In such a condition 
 was Antony. 
 
 And wherefore did he love Anastasia? .... 
 He had never so much as spoken to her; and 
 to create so ardent aid profound a passion as 
 that he felt, small is the power of mere exter- 
 nal loveliness. Small, indeed ; but in her eyes 
 he beheld what the worshipper of art beheld in 
 his Madonna — the loveliness of the soul ; some- 
 thing indescribable, unintelligible ; perhaps his 
 own past existence in another world, a world 
 before this earth ; perhaps his future, his sec- 
 ond, / — the personality with which he would 
 form one in those mansions, many of which the 
 Son of God has made ready in his Father's 
 house. Could he break up this union, those 
 spousals of two spirits 1 could he give up to an- 
 other his second / to worldly insult 1 No, that 
 must never be. 
 
 Aristotle, with a father's eye, remarked the 
 swift flush and the unusual paleness of Antony's 
 face, which betrayed the secret of his heart, 
 when the Great Prince mentioned the boyarin's 
 daughter, and he saw how some immeasurable 
 grief was devouring him. Rendered anxious 
 by what he beheld, he endeavoured to engage 
 the attention of his young friend, and began to 
 discuss with him the character of Ivan. 
 
 "Yes," said the artist engineer, "'qui va 
 piano va sano:' this national proverb I transla- 
 ted for the Great Prince into the Russiaa 
 tongue. Ivan was right well pleased with it, 
 and no wonder; 'tis a precept to which he 
 oweth all his successes. And therefore I in- 
 tend to adopt it as a motto for the medals of 
 the great founder of Russia." 
 
 "i3ut doth he not abuse this cautious slow- 
 ness!" exclaimed Antony, challenged to the 
 lists of argument, from which his heart was far 
 away. "Thou toldest me that Ivan, by his 
 crafty policy, had previously prepared every 
 thing for the destruction of Tver. It seemeth 
 to me, to judge by circumstances, that he hath 
 but to menace it with the terror of his name 
 and army, in order to attain the object for which 
 he is now losing time." 
 
 " As far as I understand his intentions, Ivan 
 is desirous that the Great Prince of Tver should 
 fly from his capital, leaving his city a safe and 
 uncontested spoil. The latter is expecting aid 
 from Lithuania, and thinks that Novgorod, so 
 recently subdued, will not send Ivan its army. 
 The Russian Tsar knows for a certainty, that 
 Tver will obtain no aid from any quarter : in 
 his iron will he hath commanded Novgorod to 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 march against the enemy, and, obedient to that 
 will, Novgorod's army already stands before the 
 walls of the monastery of the Three Children. 
 Perhaps the Great Prince, as thou sayest, hath 
 in reality calculated too cautiously : — I will not 
 dispute ; he was born, not a warrior, but a pol- 
 itician. A slow, and I may add, penetrating 
 policy hath always triumphed with him ; ail his 
 successes have arisen from his knowing how 
 to await the moment most advantageous to him- 
 self. Apparently, even now, he dreads, or, 
 rather, is unwilling to exchange for new, un- 
 tried arms, that old trusty weapon which hath 
 never failed him. It was well said by Stephen, 
 hospodar of Moldavia— 'I wonder at my cousin: 
 he stayeth at home, making good cheer and 
 sleeping quietly, and nevertheless defeateth his 
 enemies. I am always on horseback and in the 
 field, and yet cannot manage to protect my own 
 country ' Yes, Iviin doth not bustle to and fro, 
 doth not prance unceasingly on a war-horse ; 
 he dotli not brag of his conquests and projects, 
 but silently, in secret, he prepareth great ac- 
 tions, the execution of which astonisheth other 
 sovereigns. 'Luck, good fortune!' cry his ill- 
 wishers and they who envy him. Luck ! . . . . 
 Luck may, indeed, once or twice, in the ab- 
 sence of genius, crown him who plays his part 
 on an imperial stage, be he general, counsellor, 
 or king ; but bitterly will that man be punished, 
 who trusts to luck alone without other great 
 qualities : No ! almost all Ivan's successes may 
 be attributed to the strength of his intellect, the 
 firmness of his will, an active and penetrating 
 mind, the art of preparing and profiting by cir- 
 cumstances. History will doubtless place him 
 among the small number of great actors who 
 have changed the destiny of kingdoms, and 
 built up an edifice to last for many ages. The 
 name of the founder of Russia will assuredly 
 belong to Ivan. And were it not for the cruel- 
 ty of his character, a fault born with him, and 
 strengthened by education and local circum- 
 stances, we might well be proud of the -happi- 
 ness of serving him. It is not for us, weak 
 mortals, to prophesy his future ; old age, peevish 
 and infirm, usually injures the powers of the i^i- 
 tellect, and confirms the«-evil propensities. But, 
 however that may be, Russia must never pro- 
 nounce the na«ie of Ivan, after all he hath done 
 for her, but with veneration. If thou wouldst 
 seek for spots in his reign— and from them the 
 weakness of man permits not any ruler to be 
 exempt— stern truth will point to one, and that 
 no slight one. This stain is not to be wiped 
 out by the eager justification of those who are 
 devoted to him ; it is not to be smoothed away 
 by the persevering sophistries of future reason- 
 ers, and the vain powers of their eloquence. 
 Ye cannot make black white." 
 
 Carried away by curiosity, .\ntony requested 
 the artist to explain what was the charge on 
 which stern truth might summon Ivan before 
 the judgment-scat of posterity, .\ristolle hast- 
 ened to .satisfy his desire. "What were the 
 Mongul hordes to Russia !" recommenced Aris- 
 t(rtle. " .\ curso of two centuries long, which 
 lay upon this unhappy country in all the weight 
 of its oppression. The P^ast, overflowing with 
 population, was ready to pour in, with that pop- . 
 Illation, the elements of barbarism, whithcrso-J 
 ever accident might direct the flood. The an- [ 
 
 gels of God hastened to make Russia a bulwark 
 to the West, where the flower of civilization 
 was just bursting into bloom, and whither the 
 conquerors were attracted by the hope of rich 
 plunder ; and thus Russia became an unfortu- 
 nate sacrifice for the safety of the other nations. 
 When her destiny was fulfilled. Providence 
 granted her, even before the reign of Ivan, a 
 period of breathing-time. To Ivan was left the 
 glory of liberating his country from the yoke 
 that for two centuries had oppressed it. Thus 
 it was : — Akhmet, Tsar of the Golden Horde, 
 appeared in Russia with a numerous army. 
 .\ccording to his custom, the Great Prince did 
 not slumber. In the well-stored treasury of 
 his intellect and his will, he found means by 
 which he might be certain to repulse his terri- 
 ble foe, and these means he prepared as well 
 as possible. The enthusiasm of the people, its 
 confidence of victory, the valour and power of 
 the army, the unskilful calculations of Ivan's 
 enemies, the mistakes of Akhmet himself, all 
 united to answer for the triumph of Russia. 
 And what was the result ? When the fatal 
 hour arrived to strike the blow, when Akhmet 
 himself evidently vacillated whether he should 
 attack or defend himself, Ivan's heart failed 
 him — yes, his heart failed him, that is the right 
 word — he began to delay, to procrastinate, to 
 defer the attack. Yes, the decisive hour had 
 arrived, the hour that must decide whether he 
 was to lose the fruits of the triumphs won by 
 intellect, or whether he was to enjoy them — 
 whether Russia was to be free or not ; and it 
 is precisely in such moments that we recognize 
 the greatness of a sovereign. At a moment 
 when he would have been his own best coun- 
 sellor in pursuing great measures, when those 
 measures were successfully, assuredly prepar- 
 ed, he left the army and came to Moscow, un- 
 der the pretext of taking counsel with his moth- 
 er, with the clergy, with the boyarins. His 
 mother, the clergy, a majority of the boyarins, 
 the voice of God, the voice of the nation, all 
 urged him to fight the enemy. He did not lis- 
 ten to those whose counsel he had come to ask, 
 but he did listen to the base courtiers, who 
 knew how to profit by the weakness of their 
 master ; their underhand counsels flattered his 
 failing courage. Instead of confirming the peo- 
 ple in their heart and hope, he only alarmed 
 them by his indecision, and by marked precau- 
 tions to put his own family out of danger. The 
 enemy was still far off; what had he to fear as 
 to his family ! When a king goes to defend his 
 people's rights and honour in the field, the 
 queen must remain with the nation as a pledge 
 of its security — at least until the last extrem- 
 ity, if she hath not heart enough to die with 
 the honour of that people Ivan, on the con- 
 trary, hastened in good time to remove Sophia 
 and his children from Moscow, far away into 
 the northern provinces. A strange policy, il 
 he wished to tranciuillize the nation ! . . . . There 
 remained in the capital, in the Monastery of 
 the Ascension, the Great Prince's mother, a 
 feeble old woman, and this head, already de- 
 clining to the grave, served the nation as a 
 pledge of security : in it was centred all the 
 hope and confidence of Moscow. What would 
 that confidence not have been, if Sophia had 
 remained 1 . . . . The nation expected that the 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 95 
 
 Great Prince, after the example of Donsk6i, 
 would hasten to the army ; but all he did was 
 to burn the suburbs, intimating to the people 
 by this melancholy precaution, that he would 
 await the enemy in Moscow. His presence 
 with the army, which was impatiently expect- 
 ing to see him at its head, would have been the 
 best assurance of victory. Instead, however, 
 of hastening to the troops, he summoned to 
 himself— again to counsel !— the leaders of the 
 army, his son Ivan, and the Prince Kh61mskii. 
 And at what a time 1 When the latter, by his 
 intellect, his valour, his experience, and by his 
 glorious title of conqueror of Novgorod, was 
 the chief strength of the army ; when the for- 
 mer, beloved of Russia, was its soul. To leave 
 their comrades at that fatal, that decisive hour, 
 would have seemed to them a dreadful sin, for 
 which they would have to answer before God, 
 and both of them did their duty ; both disobey- 
 ed the command of Ivan. The Great Prince's 
 flatterers blamed them ; but Ivan himself better 
 understood their noble conduct and his own er- 
 ror — he never made them answer for their dis- 
 obedience, and never punished them for it. At 
 last he joined the army, and there he took care 
 to remain far from the place of action. He be- 
 gan again to procrastinate — for what^ Was it 
 that the spirit of his army should be chilled by 
 inaction, that it should lose its courage and hes- 
 itate ? The army fled at ihe first movement of 
 Akhmet. But Providence was on the side of 
 Russia. Akhmet, thinking that the cunning 
 Ivan was leading him into an ambuscade, him- 
 self fled ; and when informed of the destruction 
 of his own camp by the Tartars, left Russia 
 altogether, in order to protect his territories. 
 An(l this gond fortune, this providential interfer- 
 ence, Ivan's counsellors attributed to his fore- 
 sight, to his refined, to his treble refined calcu- 
 lations. But words prove nothing if they are 
 contradicted by facts. The people with more 
 justice glorified only the mercy of God. ' It was 
 not arms and the wisdom of man that saved us, 
 but the Lord of Heaven !' said the people, fol- 
 lowing their spiritual pastors, and it spoke the 
 truth. History is not panegyric, and history 
 will say the same. I relate this to thee, not to 
 cloud the greatness of Ivan : he is the builder 
 up of his kingdom, and, in spite of this grievous 
 error, will be always great in the eyes of his 
 contemporaries and of posterity."* 
 
 " Well, hast thou done with Akhmet 1" en- 
 quired some one in a sharp voice, shaking the 
 curtain of the tent. 
 
 Aristotle, in spite of himself, shuddered and 
 felt confused. It was the voice of the Great 
 Prince. 
 
 The curtains of the tent opened, and Ivan, 
 showing between them his countenance, con- 
 tracted by an ironic smile, continued — " I have 
 been here a good while, but all I have heard of 
 thy tale is, ' Ivan and Akhmet, then Sophia, and 
 then again Akhmet and Ivan.' Art thou not 
 pleasant on some of my old sinsi .... I will 
 i!0t conceal it ; there was a time when I vacil- 
 lated, hesitated, I know not how myself. Who 
 
 * It is not, perhaps, the duty of a novelist, to indulge in 
 n digression respecting Ivan's great fault. In justification 
 I may allege my desire to offer a tribute to Truth, which 
 guided the pen of Karamzin ic his description of IvAiis error ; 
 an error defended by M. Polevoi without any hisloriciil or 
 logical proofs. — Note of the Author. 
 
 would believe that now ! .... To speak true, 
 there was something to be afraid of! In one 
 hour I might have lost all that I had taken years 
 to arrange, and what I had projected for Russia 
 to last for ages. The Lord delivered me. But 
 .... as our proverb saith — ' he that bringeth 
 up old times, out with his eyes.' Do me justice 
 in this matter to the German. Good rest to 
 thee, Aristotle !" With these words Ivan Vas- 
 si'lievitch let down the curtain and disappeared, 
 leaving the two friends in no small embarrass- 
 ment. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 THE UNEXPECTED ESCORT. 
 " Lo, I bring, I bring to th6e. svat, a gift, 
 
 'Tis a c6ffer of gold with f6rged arrows st6red,. 
 And a c6mb, a wondrous c6mb, d6ul)le-toothed. 
 To equip a gallant, like a mirror it shines. 
 With the first fair gift the h6art I will c6mfort, 
 With the second fair gift I will lav thee to r6st." 
 Old Song. 
 
 The army of Ivan inundated the environs of 
 Tver for a distance of some dozens of versts. 
 Its arrival was announced by a discharge of the 
 gigantic cannon — one single discharge ; but one 
 which carried consternation to the houses and 
 hearts of the people of Tver. The silence which 
 succeeded was yet more terrible ; it was like 
 the momentary breathing-time which nature 
 grants to the wretch who is lying on his death- 
 bed. Night shrouded the city and its surround- 
 ing country with her gloom, but soon the latter 
 sparkled with a thousand watch-fires, like the 
 rich pall of velvet which they prepare for the 
 illustrious dead. What did Tver during this 
 night ] What doth the unhappy woman who is 
 preparing herself for widowhood, who is una- 
 ble to snatch her beloved, her darling, from the 
 almighty foe 1 What doth she but sob and beat 
 her breast ! 
 
 The morning of the following day lighted up 
 the hundred cantonments of the Muscovites ; 
 and the endless colonnade of smoke which arose 
 along the plain. The monster-cannon opened 
 in front its huge throat ; suddenly, at the first 
 ray of the sun, it seemed to yawn, and its awake- 
 ning re-echoed through the suburbsof Tver ; it 
 shattered a number of huts, and crushed in one 
 of them a whole family at once. Immediately 
 after the giant, awoke its fierce children, and 
 thundered out in their own language — "Wait 
 awhile, Tver, we will give thee sorrow if thou 
 doest not behave thyself." Thus, at least, were 
 the sounds interpreted by the men of Tver, who 
 ventured to look out from the farthest fortifica- 
 tion on the camp of the enemy. They saw the 
 German cannoniers fixing the matchlocks on 
 their carriages and iron limbers ; the soldiers 
 weaving hurdles for the siege out of brushwood, 
 and covering them with melted pitch ; detach- 
 I ments armed with bows, swords, and pikes, en- 
 circling Tver in a curved line oti the Moscow 
 side. They saw all this, and spread througlv 
 all the houses the terrible news. " Tver is no 
 more," they cried through the streets ; " the 
 \ harvest is ripe, the reapers are ready." A 
 } black raven at the same moment proclaimed 
 1 death to the city from the cross of the golden- 
 I domed cathedral of our Saviour, and from the 
 1 ridge of the Great Prince's palace. Not leas 
 
96 
 
 THE HERETIC. 
 
 bodinglj-, the princes and boyarins, the secret 
 partisans of Ivan Vassflievitch, scattered them- 
 selves among the people and defenders of Tver, 
 ■whispering the impossibility of opposing the 
 force of the Prince of Moscow. " Let him," 
 they said, " make in his wrath one blow with 
 his mighty arm, and he levelleth his foe to the 
 earth ; when he ovcrflowelh with mercy, he is 
 as the sun after rain." The day arrived, and 
 they appeared before the Great Prince of Mos- 
 cow with offers of submission. 
 
 Tver was already subdued without a conflict 
 But its Great Prince, Mikhail Borisovitch, and 
 the boyarins who remained faithful to him, de- 
 termined still to defend themselves. They re- 
 tired with their troops to the citadel, which was 
 ■washed on the one side by the Volga, on the 
 other by the Tmaka ; the gates were shut, the 
 towers bristled with arquebuses, the battlements 
 were lined with warriors, armed, with melted 
 pitch, with stones, with arrows. Both the for- 
 tresses and its defenders were prepared to give 
 the besiegers a bloody reception. A poor de- 
 fence, when hope had departed from the de- 
 fenders, and treason was whispering in their 
 hearts the fatal word of ruin ! 
 
 Ivan Vassilievitch halted in the village of 
 Koltzova, from whence he could see Tver, as it 
 ■were in a picture. Khabar presented himself 
 before him to ask for orders. He knew that 
 Mikhail Borisovitch, trembling for his own se- 
 curity, and still more for his young wife, grand- 
 daughter of the Polish king, Kazimir, was pre- 
 paring on the following night to escape from the 
 citadel. Khabar promised to seize him, and 
 offered his own head as a gage of his success. 
 
 " What should I do with them ?" asked Ivan 
 Vassilievitch: "the maintenance of my pris- 
 oners is very chargeable. Let them fly to Li- 
 thuania ; traitors to Russia will still be traitors. 
 A slice cut off thou canst not join again to the 
 loaf by force. Let Mikhail Borisovitch go 
 •where he will, that Kazimir may know that his 
 friend and cousin of Tver is not formidable to 
 me. Tver, even without a hostage, is mine— 
 I have her safe." 
 
 And on this occasion his calculations were 
 correct. In a private conference he spoke fur- 
 ther to Khabar ; but that conference remained 
 a secret. 
 
 Khabar had friends in every cantonment. 
 Many and strange were the tales he told them 
 about Tver. " With one ear I dipped in, with 
 the other I dipped out," he said, "and I suc- 
 ceeded in making an obeisance in the Church 
 of the gold-domed Saviour. The gallants of Tver 
 had bought and sold my head ; but I said to 
 them — ' Don't hurry yourselves my lads, don't 
 fatigue yourselves in vain ; I am sorry for ye ; 
 even as it is ye begin to grow lean ; this hot- 
 brained pate of mine is sold to the golden cupo- 
 la of Moscow : She cannot let ye have it cheap : ! 
 yc cannot afford to give the price.' " 1 
 
 " Now, then, tell us, didst thou make love to 
 many of the pretty girls of Tver? Didst thou 
 Toll out many a barrel from the boyarin's cel- 
 lars!" enquired the wild gallants of Moscow. 
 
 "I made love only to one pretty girl, to a 
 thought of reforming," answered Khabar." She 
 •whispered a word of love in my ear, and ordered 
 me to tell ye — ' We are all kin, brothers, to our 
 holy Russia ; we shall soon be united to Ivan 
 
 Vassilievitch I will come to ye, my brethren, 
 and I will fall down at your feet ; take me, my 
 friends, into your family. I will show ye my 
 white bosom ; sow it with a little seed, with a 
 kind word, and it shall spring up into a stately 
 tree. If ye take off the head, weep not for the 
 hair ; be merciful, and I will be for ever your 
 slave and sister.' " 
 
 " Let the bell-ringer ring to mass ! But we 
 are not going to play the priest, my boys !" ex- 
 claimed Khabiir-Simskoi's former comrades. 
 " Will they like us 
 
 m ' With fire and smoke to c«nse them straight, 
 m Or with Kisteu* to cross their pate V 
 
 Thou art a leader of the war, and not a hermit, 
 good Khabar. Thou hast found this fit of pie- 
 ty, like a cast-off gown, in some cell or other, 
 and thou wilt wear it o' festival days ; it doth 
 not fit thee — it was not made for thee, boy : 
 hark .'—'tis gone ! — and even its track hath van- 
 ished ! Thy natural and gallant disposition is 
 like the careering of the wild breeze over the 
 plain — or the hawk that flaps her wings amain : 
 that belongs to thee, as the shore to the sea. 
 
 ' Or maiden or widow so fine, is the damsel I joy to cal' 
 
 mine ; 
 A kiss on AerUp so divine — or, it sparkles and glows like the 
 
 wine ; 
 But the other's lip hideth a thorn, that sorrowful mistress 
 
 uf thine I' 
 
 Give a glance at the bright sparkling bovpl, and 
 sorrow hath fled from thy soul. Thou, Kha- 
 bar, art Ivan Vassilievitch's voevoda when be- 
 striding the fiery steed ; but thou art ours when 
 thou art stretched out under the bench, at the 
 board of the bright sunny mead." 
 
 Thus the gallants exchanged jests after the 
 Russian fashion. Barrels of mead, the plunder 
 of some boyarin's cellar in the neighbourhood, 
 were temptingly abundant through the camp, 
 and looked very affectionately at Khabar ; the 
 talk of his companions lighted up in his heart 
 his former thirst for pleasure. But he remem- 
 bered his promise to his father, his duty, and 
 thanked his friends in a single goblet. From 
 them he proceeded to Aristotle's tent. He had 
 occasion to consult with him about the illumi- 
 nation which was to take place at night. His 
 lively description of the gay and joyous life of 
 the tolxniUcrs, inflamed the imagination of the 
 leech and Andriousha ; both entreated the young 
 voev6da to take them with him on a night expe- 
 dition. Khabar had not forgotten the leech's 
 services at the court of Palseologos, and loved 
 him in spite of himself, notwithstanding his be- 
 ing a heretic. In the goodness of his heart, 
 Obrazetz's son was ready to serve him to the 
 utmost of his power. He consented to take 
 them intohis band ; on the condition, however, 
 that Antony should wear the dress of the Rus- 
 sians, and hav6 his hair cut after their fashion. 
 This request flattered Antony's heart: «*< would 
 hear of this transformation, she would see him 
 in the Russian dress, thought the young man, a 
 child in heart—and he himself offered the scis- 
 sors to Khabar. Down fell the ringlets of his 
 bright and flowing locks at the feet of the voe- 
 voda ; in a few seconds the German leech was 
 metamorphosed into a handsome Russian gal- 
 
 * Kinten, n weapon much used by the ancient Russians. 
 It consisted of a l»ll of iron, (sometimes spiked,) attached 
 to a short rope or thong. — T. B. S. 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 97 
 
 "lant. An equipment was soon found ; helmet, 
 cuirass, and broadsword. The military trap- 
 pings became him as well as if he had worn 
 ihem from his infancy ; it was evident that he 
 ■was born for the profession of arms, and that 
 destiny had erred in devoting him to another 
 calling. 
 
 " Thou takest with thee both my sons," 
 said the engineer to Khabdr, when he commu- 
 nicated the Great Prince's permission to the 
 children to volunteer; " look that thou keepest 
 Ihem like thine own brethren." 
 
 When he bade them farewelll, he presented 
 each of them with a number of iron balls filled 
 Avith gunpowder — as many as they could take, 
 explaining the method of preserving and employ- 
 ing them. He had only just invented them, 
 and called them playthings. These balls were 
 destined to play a terrible part in the imagina- 
 tion of our ancestors, who beheld the devil in 
 all kinds of instruments which exceeded their 
 comprehension ; by comparing them with the 
 grenades of our own times, we may form some 
 idea of the tremendous effects attributed to 
 them. 
 
 Whoever has visited the Zeltikoff monastery, 
 l)y the road which runs along the Tmaka, must 
 have doubtless stopped more than once to ad- 
 mire the picturesque windings of the river. The 
 traveller is not struck here by wild, grand views, 
 recalling the poetic confusion of the elements 
 in some dreadful confusion of the world ; he 
 Avill find here no huge rocks — those steps by 
 which the Titans marched to the conflict with 
 Jieaven, and from which they fell, casting away 
 in the unequal fight fragments of their arms, 
 ■which even yet terrify the imagination : he will 
 not behold here traces of the deluge, hardened 
 us when it rushed from the bowels of the earlh ; 
 the secular oak, that Ossian of the forest, chant- 
 ing, in the hour of the tempest, the victory of 
 •heaven over earth ; he will not hear the bellow- 
 ing of the cataract, thundering from afar, that 
 eternal echo of those blaspheming shouts which 
 clove the ear of nature, in the wrestling of cre- 
 ation with its Maker. No, he will not be struck 
 here with this wild and sublime picture. A 
 modest rivulet, as if not daring to sport ; the 
 calm ripple of its waters, the subdued clatter of 
 a mill ; banks which, after leaving the road for 
 a while, soon return to it, and then wind away 
 from it again ; a meadow stretching away into 
 thickets ; a dark pine forest, now sighing like 
 a hermit after heaven, now murmuring as it 
 Avere a prayer to itsel.f, now chanting a low 
 sweet melody, like a psalmist in profound 
 thought, who runs over the golden strings of 
 liis dulcimer ; in front two monasteries, around 
 deep loneliness— all along his path reminds him 
 tiiat he is going towards a religious habitation. 
 
 It was exactly here, close to the road which 
 leads along the rivulet of Tmaka, that there 
 stood, at the time of which we write, a small 
 mill, (on the very same spot where there is one 
 at this day.) 'i'he wheels were silent. The 
 Tveritchanins and common people of the neigh- 
 bourhood, occupied with the agitations of war, 
 ■were not busy in their daily labour — it was no 
 time to grind flour when the fate of the whole 
 land was hanging in the scales of destiny. It 
 was eventide, and, therefore, the sole inhabi- 
 tants of the miller's cottage, its master, a white- 
 G 
 
 j headed old man, and a boy of twelve years old, 
 ; his adopted son, a dumb child, had lain down to 
 I rest. The stillness of their solitude was only 
 j broken by the prattle of th^ivulet, which, as if 
 complaining of its confinement, wept here and ' 
 there through the mill-race. Suddenly the boy 
 started up to listen, waved his hand, and utter- 
 ed an inarticulate cry. The dumb boy's hear- 
 ing was extraordinarily acute ; his plaintive cry 
 always gave faithful intelligence of the approach 
 of a visitor or passer-by. And now this pre- 
 diction, inducing the old man to look out of the 
 window, was speedily confirmed. The noise 
 of horsemen was heard. The miller lighted a 
 splinter of pine, and its glare, falling from the 
 window on the left bank of the rivulet, fitfully 
 illuminated a crowd of cavaliers. One of them 
 dismounted from his horse, and requested the 
 miller in a subdued voice, as not daring to make 
 himself heard too loudly, to show him the road 
 across the mill-dam. The request was obeyed 
 without hesitation, and the horsemen, of whom 
 the miller counted about a hundred, passed over 
 the mill-dam, and spread themselves on the 
 right bank of the Tmaka. Marshes, and the 
 ditches which had been dug between them, pro- 
 tected the troop from any enemy's attack. The 
 horsemen remaining on the left bank, (perhaps 
 there were twenty,) crowded into the courtyard 
 of the mill, and into the cottage itself This 
 was the band of Tver, which the Prince Mik- 
 hail Kholmskii, (a kinsman of the Muscovite 
 voevoda, the Prince Daniel Dmitrievitch,) one 
 of the most faithful servants of his lord, had as- 
 sembled almost by force, and detached hither. 
 The soldiers who composed it marched as it 
 were in a funeral procession ; and no wonder — 
 they were arrayed not to defend their sovereign 
 in his capital, over the graves of his crowned 
 forefathers, beneath the shadow of the golden- 
 domed Saviour, but to escort a man who had 
 ceased to be their sovereign, and who had, of 
 his own free-will, without a struggle, left them 
 at the mercy of another, already victorious by 
 the terror of his name alone. Without bidding 
 farewell for ever to his subjects, by night, hke 
 a thief, depriving them of their Great Prince, 
 and of all the sanctity comprehended in that 
 name, he was about to fly, a cowardly exile, to 
 Lithuania, a country immemorially the enemy 
 of their own. Did not this shameless flight re- 
 lease them from their allegiance ! This thought 
 alone was enough to destroy their courage. 
 With it were mingled the inducements and the 
 bribes of Ivan's partisans ; the rumours of the 
 favour with which the rich and powerful Great. 
 Prince of Moscow, who must sooner or later 
 be their master, overwhelmed those who would 
 set the example of going over to his side ; and 
 the rumours, too, of the punishment which 
 would fall on those whose obstinacy would de- 
 lay their desertion too long. An hour had not 
 passed before the greater part of them, one af- 
 ter another, under various pretexts, skulked 
 away behind the bushes, directed their horses' 
 heads along the left bank of the rivulet, and 
 crossing it at a convenient place, betook then>- 
 selves to the Muscovite camp. This they had 
 only thus long delayed to do-, from the impossi- 
 bility of deserting from the town without dan- 
 ger. Only about a dozen brave men, remain- 
 ing among the bushes, refused to betray their 
 
98 THE HERETIC. 
 
 duty. And for this rtiere was an important rea- ; another, or when a spinner turns the spindle 
 
 son— sleep had overcome them. They had you could not tell whether the snow was falling 
 yielded themselves up to it, trumpeting the from heaven, or whirling up from earth — you 
 praises of Prince Mikhail Borisovitch and Ivan could not see a speck of God's creation. My 
 Vassflievitch without distinction, as they ap- son was asleep, but I could not sleep — lexpect- 
 peared in their dreams. The chief of this band '. ed every moment that the roof would be torn 
 suspected nothing of what was going on. He ! off, and that we should be carried away, body 
 was quietly seated in the cottage, addressing his ' and goods. I lighted myself a pine splinter, but 
 conversation alternately to the miller, to the ' my heart kept on beating. All of a sudden, I 
 centurion and captain often, who were with I hear something behind me breathing chill on me. 
 him, or who were listening. At midnight he i I lelt a kind of cold air ; I look, and I see be- 
 expected the agreed-on signal from the road to ' fore me a tall white-headed old man, with his 
 Starilza. i hair all dishevelled, like a pine, a beard down 
 
 " Who is that 1 thy son ?" he asked the mil- to his knees, as large as a good armful of comb- 
 ler, pointing to the boy. | ed flax, as white as one of us when we have 
 
 '•My adopted son, fair sir. 'Twill be three, been grinding flour two days and nights run- 
 years, come the Fast of Assumption, since I ning; his eyes were grey, and seemed to look 
 found him in the woods of the monastery. He ] one through ; he wore a fur gown with the hair 
 
 hath never uttered a word — it is clear the Wood 
 Spirit hath passed over him. From that day he 
 hath been as dumb as a fish. We have not dis- 
 covered either his family or kin ; so I, ye see, 
 became a father to him." 
 
 Then began tales, among the warriors of 
 Tver, about various dumb people, who had be- 
 come so from the Wood Spirits having passed 
 over them. 
 
 " But how doth the Wood-demon agree with 
 thy House-spirit !" asked the chief again. 
 
 " It would be sinful to say that I have reason 
 to complain of him, though he hath rw reason 
 either to use us ill : we take care of his dwell- 
 ing in the woods, and we never insult him." 
 
 " Perhaps, then, he hath visited thee, grand- 
 father!" 
 
 " And he hath done that too, fair sir." 
 
 "Did he come himself, or didst thou invite 
 him ] Didst thou regale him with cake or crab- 
 stick 1" laughingly asked one of the captains, 
 a free-thinker, an espnt-fuit, of those times, who 
 was sitting close to the window. 
 
 '• Jest not about him, boyarin ; if thou shout 
 in wood or plain, crack ! he will reply again," 
 answered the miller. 
 
 At this moment somebody scratched loudly 
 at the wnidow, and the captain fancied he had 
 heard a thousand footsteps in the forest. 
 
 At these sounds the brave warrior felt "goose- 
 skin" creeping all over him. 
 
 " Look," cried the chief, bursting into a loud 
 laugh, " the centurion hath changed counte- 
 nance ; he is frightened, at a cat !" 
 
 " Thou wouldst not he our chief if thou wert 
 not braver than we." answered the captain an- 
 grily, retiring from the window. 
 
 " x\ow, then, old fellow," said the chief, turn- 
 ing to the miller, " untruss ; tell us how the 
 Wood-spirit came to see thee." 
 
 "Assuredly; if it will give pleasure to you, 
 my lord. It was the summer before last, about 
 the feast of St. Nikolai of the Winter, in the 
 night-lime, as it might be now — may 1 speak it in 
 a good hour, and hold my tongue in an evil one I 
 The frost was fierce, it raged like a famished 
 beast ; ye could not put your nose out of doors, 
 so sharply would it nip it in its claws ; my cot- 
 tage groancdand creaked, as if someone waslay- 
 ing on to its ribs with an oaken cudgel. About 
 an hour's space passed, and then it lulled a little 
 All about rose up the whirlwinds, groaning, 
 swirling, twirling like a spindle, or as when a 
 troop of horse are galloping and chasing one 
 
 outwards. 
 
 " 'Tvvould be a sin to deny that my tongue 
 clove to the roof of my mouth ; my feet felt as 
 if they were nailed to the ground. ' Fear no- 
 thing,' he said, T have come to warm myself; 
 ever since I have made the forest grow, I never 
 saw such weather.' And he began to warm 
 himself at the stove, spreading out his bony fin- 
 gers. When he had thawed himself awhile, he 
 prepared to go back to his place. ' I thank 
 thee,' he said — ' never will I forget thy kindness.' 
 From that time, my good lord, I have never seen 
 him again. But the Wood-spirit hath kept his 
 word. The husbandmen that bring their corn- 
 to me to be ground, never have done praising a 
 good man who meeteth them in the forest in bad 
 weather, and guideth them to me : if a man's 
 nag is knocked up, he just lays his hand on their 
 sledge, and it goes on of itself as they had har- 
 nessed a five-year-old to it. And the little roads 
 that lead to my house, are always as level and 
 smooth as the first snow-roads, and " . . . . 
 
 A distant groan was heard, and then it was 
 repeated. 
 
 " Is it not our sentinels on the high-road that 
 are calling us !" asked the chief. 
 
 "They would have sent a picket," said the 
 captain. 
 
 " Look out of the window." 
 
 The captain was ashamed to refuse. With 
 a presentiment of some evil he drew back the 
 sliding window, and instantly started away from 
 it with a shout of terror. Not he alone, but 
 many of the soldiers — the chief himself— saw 
 sparks spreading before the window, and glar- 
 ing upon them a hoary old man, with a long 
 white beard. 
 
 Nobody dared to stir. The window remained 
 open. Two or three moments passed, and again 
 appeared the old man's face. This time he 
 cried, in a hoarse voice — " Get ye gone from 
 hence, over the mill-dam. Enter not my forest, 
 or your very bones shall never be gathered." 
 
 And he vanished. 
 
 Trembling seized the warriors : they seemed 
 to dread to look at one another ; much less could 
 they stir from their places, so completely had 
 the Wood-spirit frightened them. They sat 
 upon the benches, neither alive nor dead. 
 
 Immediately afterward there appeared a ball 
 of fire, rolling over and over, and crackling like 
 the laughter of an hundred witches at their Sab^ 
 bath. It seemed as if the trees of the forest 
 were crushed. Then a crash was heard that 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 made the walls quake ; a splinter flew from the 
 window and wounded one of the soldiers in the 
 face. All immediately threw themselves out of 
 the cottage on all fours ; upsetting each other, 
 shoving, and crowding, they rushed into the 
 court where their horses were ; tumbhng over 
 their comrades who were sleeping in the yard, 
 and who, frightened out of their wits by this 
 rough awakening from their sleep, rushed hither 
 and thither, seizing the first horse that came to 
 hand, mounting anyhow, by head or tail. The 
 frightened steeds darted out of the court-yard 
 to the mill-dam, into the forest, or tumbled with 
 a loud splash into the water ; their masters, 
 crowding over the dam, and shoving against 
 each other, fell in also. The uproar was tre- 
 mendous. The band posted on the right bank 
 of the rivulet in the underwood was also struck 
 with panic. Not knowing what was the matter, 
 they galloped along the mill-dam, capsizing 
 those they met, and cutting at each other or the 
 air. And again the Wood-demon glared with 
 his fiery eyes, now in one place, now in another ; 
 again the ball of fire rolled along, wounding and 
 killing the fliers. The infernal laugh resound- 
 ed behind them, and was repeated along the 
 water and through the forest by a hundred 
 echoes. In a few minutes, out of the whole 
 band which was to have escorted the Great 
 Prince of Tver, there remained in the mill and 
 its vicinity, to a distance of some hundred fath- 
 oms round, only about a dozen wounded or kill- 
 ed, drowned in the river or buried in the swamp. 
 The rest had all galloped off full speed straight 
 to the Great Prince of Moscow. In the course 
 of their flight they saw in different quarters of 
 Tver fiery tongues begin to gleam, and flit along 
 the roofs : they heard the thunder of the cannon 
 resounding louder and louder through the sub- 
 urbs, and the beating of the kettle-drums. Soon, 
 mingling with this dirge of Tver, arose the cries 
 of the besiegers and the groans of the inhabit- 
 ants. 
 
 Silence again sank down around the cottage. 
 But the miller, almost frightened out of his sen- 
 ses by all that he had seen and heard, stood, nei- 
 ther dead nor alive, still on the same spot, in the 
 middle of his hut, muttering a prayer. In this 
 attitude he was found by fresh guests. These 
 were two armed gallants ; they bore in triumph 
 on their arms a little Wood-spirit, and seated 
 him on a bench. Then such a fit of laughter 
 began among them, that they were forced to 
 hold their sides. 
 
 " Well, much thanks, father ; thou hast help- 
 ed us," said the little Wood-demon. 
 
 The old man comprehended nothing of this 
 apparition, and knew not what to answer. 
 
 "Well (lone the brave army of Tver!" ex- 
 claimed one of the new-comers ; " it ran away 
 from a horse's tail." 
 
 Then Andriousha (for it was really he, dis- 
 guised with some white tails, which they had 
 cut off from two horses for the nonce, and hast- 
 ily twisted round his chin and head) — then An- 
 driousha took off the attributes of the Wood- 
 demon, and appeared before the miller in his 
 real form. These unexpected guests were soon 
 joined by several dozens of Khabar-Simskoi's? 
 brave band, and then began the tales of the 
 manner in which this strange victory had been 
 won. Having laughed their fill, and having 
 
 recompensed the miller with the horses that 
 were left in the court, for damage done to his 
 cottage and for the future burial of the killed, 
 the volunteers hastened to another piece of bu- 
 siness. Andriousha, and the two soldiers to 
 whose care he was confided, were dispatched 
 to Kliabar to report the success of their attempt : 
 those who remained joined the troops, which 
 were posted about the forest in such a manner, 
 that, at tlie first signal, they could concentrate 
 themselves on any point that signal might in- 
 dicate. 
 
 In the mean time Khabar Sfmskoi, with the 
 leech Antony, and some dozen soldiers, was 
 employed on another service. They had taken 
 prisoners two small pickets, which were posted 
 at the exit from the suburb beyond the Tmaka, 
 rather nearer to the pine forest, and had given 
 them over to an ambush composed of some of 
 the volunteers, by whom they were conducted 
 in turn to the Zeltikoff monastery. When the 
 voevoda was convinced, by these attempts to 
 make a sortie, and by the information of An- 
 driousha, that the Muscovite troop had no dan- 
 ger to apprehend in the direction of the suburbs 
 beyond the Tmaka, he posted a picket of a small 
 number of his cavaliers at the very same spot, 
 close to the exit from the suburb, on which the 
 defeated Tveritchanins had been stationed. 
 From thence he detached a party of his cavalry 
 along the Tmaka on one side, and along the 
 Volga on the other. It was impossible for the 
 fish to slip by. They awaited a good haul. 
 
 " They are coming," said Andriousha, whose 
 daring, which it was impossible to restrain, had 
 carried him closer to tlie suburb: "I was the 
 first to hear them ; tell my father of this, and 
 Ivan Vassi'lievitch." 
 
 And in reality the gallop of cavalry was soon 
 distinguished, and speedily a number of horse- 
 men appeared through the darkness, and came 
 up in a line with Khabar. 
 
 "Who goes tliere V he cried. 
 
 "Friends," boldly replied one of the horsemen. 
 
 " And ye 1" enquired a tremulous voice. 
 
 " Thine escort, my lord," answered Khabar, 
 guessing that this was the voice of the Great 
 Prince of Tver, a feeble old man ; then he 
 whistled shrilly. 
 
 At this signal, the cordon which had been 
 formed, closed round him in a few moments. 
 The darkness did not permit faces to be distin- 
 guished. 
 
 " Come closer to me, my lord," said Khabar ; 
 "by my side thy path will be clear." 
 
 The Great Prince Mikhail Borisovitch advan- 
 ced from among his attendants, and rode close 
 up to Khabar, followed by another person on 
 horseback. "For the love of God, take care 
 of my Princess," he said. " O, Lord! forgive 
 me my sins !" 
 
 " Be thou not disquieted about me," exclaim- 
 ed a gay female voice. Antony closed up to the 
 side of the Princess. In this manner the pre- 
 cious pledge was under the swords of two pow- 
 erful gallants, either of whom, in case of need, 
 was a match for two opponents. The Great 
 Prince's attendants were surrounded by Kha- 
 bar's band. Kholmskii, suspecting nothing, 
 rode a few paces behind. He was less anxious 
 about his position than disquieted hy the thought 
 of flying fe-om the city ; and stopped from time 
 to time to listen whether they were pursued. 
 
100 
 
 THE HERETIC. 
 
 The body was put in motion ; it proceeded in 
 silence. The stillness was only broken by 
 Mikhail Borisovitch, who ever and anon en- 
 treated them to go gently, and give him time to 
 breathe and make a piteous prayer. 
 
 They had just brgun to approach the wood, 
 when cannon thundered in the direction of .Mos- 
 cow, the sound of kettle-drums was heard in 
 the city, and the suburbs began to grow visible. 
 
 Mikhail Borisovitch's horse stumbled, but 
 Khabar succeeded in catching the rein, held it 
 up, and thus saved the Prince from a fall. 
 
 Objects began to start out from the gloom. 
 
 The Great Prince glanced at his fellow-trav- 
 eller, glanced at the fellow-traveller of the 
 Princess, and again at his own. The features 
 ■were unknown to him, both with swords drawn ; 
 his attendants were surrounded by strangers 1 
 He was confounded : a deathlike paleness over- 
 spread his cheeks ; the unfortunate old man 
 felt about to faint, and reined in his horse. The 
 young Princess, suspecting nothing, gazed with 
 a kind of childish coquettishness at her hand- 
 some squire. She was in man's attire — a pret- 
 tier boy was never seen ; but the fair Lithuani- 
 an knew how to betray, and skilfully, too, that 
 she was a woman. 
 
 To Kholmskii all this terrible by-play was 
 now explained — his master was a prisoner. 
 
 " We are betrayed !" he cried ; " friends, let 
 us rescue our Great Prince, or die with him !" 
 
 At this explanation the attendants drew their 
 swords, and were about to cut their way out of 
 the net in which they were involved. 
 
 Khabar whistled, and the forest seemed alive 
 with hundreds of soldiers. " Be not rash. Prince, 
 if thou lovest the welfare and the life of thy sov- 
 ereign," he shouted, seizing the reign of Mikhail 
 Borisovitch's horse. " Spill not blood in vain : 
 preserve his head — one blow and it shall fall !" 
 
 Again he wliistled, and another troop advan- 
 ced from the pine- wood. 
 
 "Thou see'st, thy men are prisoners; mine 
 start up in thousands, if need be. The troop 
 of Tveritchanins, which thou sentest to the 
 mill, is all driven away, and hath already yield- 
 ed to our Great Prince. Neither now nor here- 
 after hath Mikhail Borisovitch anything to look 
 for from Tver. Know, that the Muscovites 
 can gain glory and honour for their sovereign ; 
 and, if need he, that they can escort even a 
 stranger prince in all honour." 
 
 What could be done by a handful against an 
 overwhelming force? The last defenders of 
 the Great Prince lowered their weapons. Prince 
 Kholmskii now began to propose conditions. 
 
 Khabar turned to the Great Prince of Tver. 
 _^"7ime is precious for thee and for Tver, once 
 tliiiii', Mikhail Borisovitch," said the voevoda. 
 "Tlipu see'st how the city is blazing. This is 
 a flash from the wrathful eyes of Ivan Vassilie- 
 vitch ; it will consume the houses of God, the 
 dwellings of rich and poor. Thou alone can 
 quench that flame. The Tveritchanins were 
 once thy children : how canst thou be their fa- 
 ther, if, in leaving them, thou desirest their 
 curses, and not their blessings for thy memo- 
 ry 1 nearest Ihou their cryT . . . . They pray 
 to thee at parting — 'tis for mercy; save their 
 dwellings, wives, children— save them from un- 
 merited blood and fire. Instead of these flames 
 that run along the roofs, leave words of mcrcv, 
 like tapers before the image of our Lord. " 
 
 At the commencement of these arguments 
 terror and indecision were imaged in the face 
 of Mikhail Borisovitch ; at length his heart was 
 touched, and he said — " What am I to do 1 in- 
 struct me." 
 
 "This. Send instantly, with my courier, the 
 Prince Kholmskii to Tver, and command him 
 without delay, in thy name, to open the gates 
 of the city to the Great Prince of Moscow, Ivan 
 Vassilievitch, and to make submission on the 
 part of Tver, to him as to its lawful sovereign." 
 
 " With whom, then, am I and the Princess 
 to remain 1" enquired the timid old man. 
 
 " From us thou hast nothing to fear. We 
 have not come to lead the Prince of Tver into 
 captivity, but to conduct with honour Mikhail 
 Borisovitch, cousin of the Great Prince of Mos- 
 cow. Our lord hath already enough princes in 
 his prisons : Ivan Vassilievitch commanded me 
 to tell thee this. My young men, cloth-work- 
 ers and silk-merchants of Moscow, will conduct 
 thee to the first station, and to the second if 
 thou wish. Select thyself the escort, as many 
 as thou wilt. For a single hair of thine they 
 shall answer with their heads. This I swea'r 
 to thee by the Most Holy Mother of God and 
 the merciful Saviour." 
 
 Here he crossed himself 
 
 " If thou dost not trust me, I am Khabar- 
 Simskoi. I will yield me unarmed as a hostage 
 to the Prince Kh61mskii." 
 
 " For Khabar I will answer " said Kholmskii. 
 
 Who is there that, in the place of the Great 
 Prince of Tver — childless, hopeless, surrounded 
 by treachery, in his old age — would not have 
 consented to the proposition of the Muscovite 
 voev6da ? 
 
 Doffing his bonnet and skull-cap, and thrice 
 signing himself with the cross, the old man, in 
 view of the conflagration of his capital, yielded 
 up the cathedral of the Holy Saviour and the 
 principality of Tver to the ruler of .Ml Russia. 
 Sadly touching were his words, like the last in- 
 junctions of a dying man. Tears streamed 
 down his pale, feeble face, and more than once 
 he was interrupted by his sobs. 
 
 When you ride past the pine forest of Zelti- 
 koff, remember that this abdication was per- 
 formed under its darksome shade. 
 
 " If I had possessed many servants like 
 thee," said Mikhail Borisovitch, as he embraced 
 Khabar at parting, "Tver would yet have been 
 mine." 
 
 The Lithuanian girl turned her head aside, 
 not to show the tears which fell from her eyes 
 as she extended her hand to Khab;ir in sign of 
 good-will. The young man, however, refused 
 to kiss her hand, and said haughtily — " Pardon 
 me, I may not kiss the hand of a foreign sove- 
 reign." 
 
 The Princess blushed deeply, and the arches 
 of her black brows were bent in displeasure. 
 
 " But I may kiss that pretty hand !" exclaim- 
 ed Andrioiisha, dismounting from his horse and 
 taking off his helmet. 
 
 The white hand was given to him with de- 
 light, and the lady embraced the handsome boy- 
 warrior. 
 
 "Who is to escort us?" said the Princess, 
 bending on Antony her eyes, sparkling with live- 
 ly satisfaction. 
 
 Khabar hastened to select a sufficient number 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 101 
 
 of volunteers, who were ordered to guard the;] 
 late ruler of Tver to the first station ; he him- 
 self hurried off with Kholmskii to the city, in 
 order to stop the spreading of the flames and 
 useless bloodshed. Antony accompanied him ; 
 it was time for him to be performing his du- 
 ties as a leech, (this he had ahiiost forgotten.) 
 He was extremely glad to be rescued from the 
 seducing eyes of Kazimir's grand-daughter, 
 whose brightness, if not dangerous, was at least 
 likely to disturb his tranquillity. In his place, 
 the indefatigable Andriousha begged to be cho- 
 sen one of the escort. The consequence was, 
 that at the first halt in the woods, the knees of 
 the beautiful Lithuanian served him as a pillow : 
 wearied out, he slumbered on them, as in the 
 lap of his mother, a deep, an angel's slumber ; 
 and the warm, melling kiss of his fair nurse, 
 disturbed not his pure visions. 
 
 The next day the Princess and the Prince 
 begged Andriousha to accompany them some 
 dozen versts further. He consented. The 
 Prince travelled in a waggon which had been 
 dispatched to meet him from the first station ; 
 the Princess rode with Andriousha on horse- 
 back. Lovely children — surely brother and sis- 
 ter ! — you would have said, observing them 
 romping together, racing with each other, and 
 stopping in the woods to hear the singing of the 
 birds. The grand-daughter of Kazimir forgot 
 the crown she had lost, and seemed to revel in 
 her freedom, like a bird just let out of a golden 
 cage. At Tver she had been confined by the 
 seclusion of a palace ; every thing there was so 
 strange to her ! In Lithuania she would meet 
 her mother, her friends, her kinsmen — a life of 
 liberty. This thought delighted her, for she 
 was young and lively ; still a guest at the feast 
 of life. 
 
 When Andriousha bade farewell to the ex- 
 iles, they invited him to accompany them to 
 Lithuania. " No," he said, " I cannot ; I am 
 a Russian !" 
 
 The remainder of the tale how Tver was sub- 
 dued, I will finish in the words of the historian. 
 '• Then the bishop, the prince Mikhaila Kholm- 
 skii, and other princes, boyarins, and citizens of 
 the land, having preserved to the end their fidel- 
 ity to their lawful sovereign, opened the gates 
 of the city to Ivan, came forth and saluted him 
 as the supreme monarch of Russia. The Great 
 Prince sent his boyarins and deacons to receive 
 the allegiance of the inhabitants, commanded 
 that the dead should be buried .... and en- 
 tered Tver, heard mass in the cathedral of the 
 Transfiguration, and solemnly proclaimed that 
 he gave the principality to his son, Ivan Ivano- 
 vitch, left him there, and returned to Moscow. 
 In a short lime he sent his boyarins to Tver, to 
 Staritza, Zoubtziff, Opoki, Klin, Kholm, Nov- 
 gorodok, to inscribe all the lands, and divide 
 them into ploughgates for the payment of the 
 taxes of the crown. So rapidly vanished the 
 famous state of Tver, which, from the time of 
 St. Mikhad Yaroslavitch, had borne the title of 
 the great principality, and had long struggled 
 with Moscow itself for supremacy." 
 
 i ♦ -; ;c:^A?T^R ;xxY. 
 
 THE MANDRAKE. 
 
 "Plunged in a languagcless foreboding, 
 Leaving his comrades far behind. 
 Into that lonely land he hurried, 
 And prick'd through forests drear and blind. 
 In thoughts of woe and vengeance buried.— 
 And prompting aye his soul to ill, 
 A demon voice around him flutter'd, 
 ' My sword shall burst that bar— I'll kill !' — 
 Ever that dark Knight inly mutter'd." 
 
 PousHKiN — Rousldn and JLiudmila. 
 
 We have seen, in our tale, two opposed par- 
 ties—that of the boyarin Mamon against the 
 family of Obrazetz, and that of the knight Pop- 
 pel against the leech Ehrenstein ; I will not 
 mention the secret inimical proceedings of the 
 father against the son, so revolting to the feel- 
 ings. The one was inspired with the means of 
 mischief, by the very demon of evil and hate ; 
 the others, fulfilling their duty, repulsed thera 
 with strength and generosity of heart. Hither- 
 to the first had succeeded in nothing, if we ex- 
 cept the heretical demon which Mamon had 
 placed in the house of Obrazetz to injure him, 
 and afflict the daughter he so tenderly loved. 
 They took advantage of the absence of the 
 Great Prince, and of their chief opponents, to 
 seek out new and more sure weapons with in- 
 fernal ingenuity. All expedients were tried 
 over in a heart and intellect inventive of evil ; 
 and some are horn with a genius even for this. 
 Revenge of slighted love added to this party a 
 third character, the widow Selinova. From a 
 victim she had become a sacrificer, edged the 
 knife for Khabar's ruin, and mingled the poison 
 to destroy him. Among them circulates the 
 everlasting Interpreter, ready to curry favour 
 with friend and foe, ready to do a service evea 
 to his enemy, so long as he could be serving 
 somebody. All who surrounded Antony and 
 Anastasia were busied in intrigues : while they, 
 simple and innocent, suspected nothing, saw 
 nothing, heard not the menaces of the demon. 
 
 Bartholomew did not delay to bring together 
 Poppel and Mamon. The harebrained frivolous 
 knight, and the wicked boyarin, soon came to 
 an understanding. The latter had need of the 
 knight, and took care to flatter his vanity by 
 peculiar marks of respect, and skilful expres- 
 sions of a desire to please him. The Germaa 
 needed some object on which to support his 
 vanity, and was well pleased to find that sup- 
 port on the shoulders of a boyarin, a confiden- 
 tial servant of Ivan. And the secret and mu- 
 tual attraction between such similar souls — 
 what is their connexion but a strong amalgam ! 
 Gold can only be united with an impure metal 
 by the employment of another noble metal, and 
 then it is not difficult for the refiner to unite 
 two substances of the same species. The dif- 
 ference between them consists only in the 
 heaviness of the one and the lightness of the 
 other. Once united, they present a single im- 
 pure whole, and the point of junction is imper- 
 ceptible, though that junction is the work of an 
 unskilful artificer. 
 
 " What did Mamon want with the knight 1" 
 
 Our readers remember, that the boyarin was 
 preparing himself for the ordeal by battle witli 
 his deadly foe. He knew that the foreigners 
 were more skilful in the use of arms, (a fact 
 which had been recently proved by a certaia 
 
103 
 
 THE MERETIC. 
 
 Lithuanian, who Wad <lJ9feated ii.the li»t<j a cel- 
 ebrated Russian champiun solely by his dexlei- 
 ity, wherefore Ivan Vassflievitch, from that 
 time, had strictly forbidden the Russians to 
 fight with foreigners ;) he had heard that in the 
 suite of the ambassador there happened to be 
 a_ master of this art, and he conceived an irre- 
 pressible desire t-o take lessons of him. This 
 could by no means be done without Poppel's 
 permission. Being introduced to him by the 
 translator, the knight gave with willingness not 
 only this permission, but himself— a celebrated 
 master of the art of fence, as he boasted — of- 
 fered to perfect him in the science of wielding 
 the sword. " The son of Obrazetz must fall," 
 he said. But how so? might have been en- 
 quired ; why, you do not know, even by sight. 
 "How sol" he would have answered; "how 
 
 so K ... I wish Mamon to be victorious 
 
 I have said that the other shall fall, and fall he 
 shall. Now, ye shall see." It is true there are 
 such blockheads ; there are also cases in which 
 for such words as these, spoken thoughtlessly, 
 and afterwards kept by strength and cunning, 
 the unhappy are innocently ruined, involved in 
 snares on all sides — and with them fall for ever 
 their honour and their fame. 
 
 At first the noble knight seconded Mamon 
 from desire to benefit him, and to injure a man 
 of whom he knew nothing ; and then he was 
 confirmed in his desire to serve his new ac- 
 quaintance, by recognizing in his opponent a 
 young man with military talents, who had done 
 good service to his country. To the envious it 
 always appears that the shadow of a great man 
 may fall upon him and obscure him from the 
 eyes of the multitude, though they may be 
 journeying in different paths ; and then he in- 
 variably thinks that the multitude have nothing 
 else to do but to admire his greatness. Down 
 with the lofty man, and the sooner the better ! 
 .... At last, from that idea, which was the 
 motive for the knight's zeal for Mamon, he ad- 
 vanced to the desire of injuring Kliabar in or- 
 der to benefit himself He promised to assist 
 his friend's vengeance ; in exchange, the noble, 
 grateful Mamon, learning that the leech Anto- 
 ny was an obstacle to the German's welfare, 
 promised to sweep away that trifling impedi- 
 ment if he came off victorious in the lists. And 
 the simple creature who had formed their con- 
 nexion, the universal llattercr Bartholomew, 
 could not have imagined that he would have 
 been the ground on which such splendid designs 
 were to be embroidered. 
 
 Mamon did not rest contented with the ordi- 
 nary means of man in order to destroy his foe: 
 he sought others in the supernatural world ; he 
 had recourse even to the Fiend. He had heard 
 that the adepts of the Jewish heresy, which 
 had its nest at Moscow, were in possession ot 
 cabalistic or necromantic secrets, by which they 
 could perform wonders, and determined on hav- 
 ing recourse to the power of these enchanters. 
 
 We have already said that the philosophical 
 curiosity of the fifteenth century, which was 
 now reaching its dose, had agitated nearly ev- 
 ery population of Europe. Its services were 
 innumerable ; wlui knows them not ! But that 
 spirit of experimental enquiry was not content- 
 ed with immortalizini? lho\ight, with liberating 
 it from the slavery of antiquity, from the power 
 
 of Popery ; bestowing on man an unsleeping 
 pilot over the ocean, and bringing down the 
 thunderbolt from heaven ; not contented with 
 giving the human race a new world on its own 
 planet ; — no, this all-devouring curiosity desired 
 to gain a still further victory over heaven, to 
 steal from it a secret, hitherto accessible to no 
 man, and to no century. This contagion had 
 unavoidably extended itself to Russia, through 
 the medium of diplomatic relations, the natural 
 connexion with one of the western courts, and 
 through the seekers of profit and adventure. 
 Under the forms of the Jewish heresy it had ac- 
 tually communicated itself to our country. At 
 first Kfeffhad caught it from the Hebrew' Skha- 
 ria, "a man right cunning of mind, sharp of 
 tongue ; then Novgorod from him also ; thence 
 victory transferred it to Moscow. Now, fresh 
 seeds of these opinions were brought in by the 
 suite of Helena, daughter of Stephan the Great, 
 (as he was styled among us, voevoda of Valla- 
 chia.) " This misfortune came first out of the 
 land of Hungarie," says the annalist. The dea- 
 con Kourilzin, wise, acute, but carried away by 
 a blind and simple love for science, took to his 
 heart this contagion in Hungary, and dissemi- 
 nated it as far as he could. On this occasion, 
 "on the wise man," as the proverb hath it, 
 "came the simplicity of the child;" and only 
 on this occasion the diplomatic services he had 
 rendered to Ivan III., worthily appreciated as 
 they were, were a pledge of his dexterous and 
 penetrating intellect. And we must repeat, 
 that the cause of this simple confidence was 
 that very love of knowledge, that insatiable cu- 
 riosity, which mastered not only the solitary 
 men of genius, but even the coarse masses of 
 the fifteenth century. Skharia boasted of his 
 knowledge of the cabalistic art. It pretended 
 to solve the enigmas of life and death ; the 
 thirst for explaining these mysteries tormented 
 the wise deacon, and therefore he plunged 
 headlong into this chaos, taking for his guide 
 the cunning Jew. The powerful example of the 
 deacon, that of the wife of Ivan the Voung, 
 Helena, who was infatuated by the lying sci- 
 ence, the dexterity and cunning of the mission- 
 aries — credulity, sense, and folly — all united at 
 lengtii in maintaining the Jewish heresy, which 
 had threatened, at Novgorod and Moscow, to 
 shake the corner-stone of our well-being. Cler- 
 gy and women, princes and mob, rich and poor, 
 crowded in multitudes to the synagogue, not- 
 withstanding the warnings and even the anath- 
 emas of their ecclesiastical pastors, really zeal- 
 ous for the salvation of souls. So strong was 
 the contagion that even the head of the Musco- 
 vite church, the primate Zozima, took a lively 
 interest in it. In his palace there not unfre- 
 quenlly took place assemblies of the heretics. 
 "We have seen," writes Tosif of Volok, "the 
 child of Satan on the throne of God's saints, 
 Peter and Alexei ; we have seen the ravening 
 wolf in the clothing of the peaceful shepherd." 
 The Great Prince looked on the heresy as a 
 matter of philosophy, of love of knowledge, so 
 natural to man. That it had no dangerous ob- 
 ject he was satisfactorily assured by those 
 about liim, themselves either members of the 
 secret association, or bribed over to their inter- 
 ests ; but more than all by his favourite, Kour- 
 itzin, who had given him so many proofs of de- 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 103 
 
 -volion and fidelity. The matter was so craftily 
 managed that Ivan Vassilievitch, with all his 
 farsightedness, never so much as suspected 
 the contrary. We must add, too, that a degree 
 of toleration, rare in that period, glittered, the 
 chief gem in the crown of this man of genius. 
 This, together with a decided spirit of despotism, 
 which purposely went against the popular cur- 
 rent, undeniably, sometimes stupidly, obstinate 
 against his useful innovations, was the cause 
 why the Great Prince remained deaf to all the 
 xepreseiitations of the clergy, respecting the 
 necessity of inflicting an exemplary punishment 
 on the heretics. 
 
 Antony had been conveyed to Moscow by the 
 Jew. Could the young bachelor have imagined 
 that he should he carried to the capital of Rus- 
 sia by the founder of a sect in that country? 
 His driver was no less a person than Skharia. 
 He had not failed, it is true, to remark in him, 
 during his journey, an unusual intellect, a se- 
 ductive eloquence, chemical knowledge, and a 
 striking love of science; but the Jew's cunning 
 succeeded so perfectly in confusing all this, 
 that frequently the most sensible conversation 
 was followed by the most absurd questions and 
 observations, which at first confounded Antony's 
 guesses. Never, during the whole journey, did 
 the Hebrew, even by an insinuation, seek to 
 shake in the young man the foundations of his 
 jeligious belief He perceived that he had met 
 with an intellect clear and firm, naturally logi- 
 cal, and tempered in the forge of science. As 
 yet Antony had never experienced love ; love, 
 for which, as all the world knows, even Her- 
 cules spun at the distaff, Richelieu wore mot- 
 ley, &c. &c. : was it then surprising that our 
 bachelor should lose in Russia all the logic 
 given him by God, and perfected in the schools 1 
 But at that time, i. e. on the journey to Mus- 
 covy, his intellect, like some mighty athlete, 
 Avas ready to start up in complete armour, 
 ■whatever were the direction, and whatever the 
 force, of the attack. And therefore the crafty 
 Hebrew, in religious matters, confined himself 
 to a defensive attitude against Antony ; but be 
 compensated for this silence in another way. 
 He took advantage of the long journey, to ob- 
 tain from the Paduan bachelor various facts in 
 .chemistry, with which the latter had enriched 
 himself — "Assuredly, the cunning rascal wishes 
 to play the magician in Russia !" said Antony 
 to himself, as he reviewed in his own mind all 
 his proceedings and conversations. In his con- 
 ductor he had never suspected the existence of 
 the head of a sect. And when arrived at Mos- 
 cow, Skharia never attempted to introduce 
 Antony among his adepts ; he feared even then 
 that the force of logical conclusions, and his 
 inspired eloquence, would ruin the edifice which 
 he had constructed on so slight a scaffolding; 
 and though the young bachelor did become 
 acquainted with Kouritzin, their conversations 
 Avere always confined to natural science alone. 
 Skharia had so dexterously put the latter on his 
 guard respecting religious subjects, that he — 
 fearing the young man's indiscretion, natural at 
 his age, and dangerous from his position, so 
 near the Great Prince's person — never so much 
 as spoke to Antony on religious questions. To 
 this was limited, externally at least, the inter- 
 '«ourse between the leech and the head of the 
 
 heretical sect, as well as its protector in Russia. 
 Never once had Skharia visited Antony, never 
 once had he even sent to him ; a feeling of 
 gratitude, delicate and cautious, prevented him 
 from afibrding even ground for suspicion that 
 the leech was acquainted with a Jew. Had 
 not the heretic — even as it was — a sufficient 
 reputation for witchcraft and necromancy 1 
 What would have been the consequence, if he 
 were observed carrying on an intercourse with 
 the enemy of Christ 1 For the heart of the de- 
 spised Jew preserved the memory of the young 
 bachelor's hei>efits, like a holy commandment. 
 That heart laid strict orders on Kouritzin to 
 protect him, to guard hiin like the apple of his 
 eye, like a beloved child of his own — to inspire 
 the Groat Prince with every good feeling to- 
 wards him — to assist him, in case of need, with 
 money, with the power of his influence, with 
 fire and sword, how he pleased, so as to protect 
 the beloved head from the storms of life. It 
 was that heart which obtained, from agents at 
 the Emperor's court, and in the suite of Poppel 
 himself, information as to the dangers which 
 menaced the Baron Ehrenstein's son, and he 
 commanded the deacon to keep a strict watch 
 over his safety ; and the deacon, the obedient 
 disciple of Skharia, performed with the greatest 
 punctuality and zeal the command of his in- 
 structor and second father, as he styled him. 
 The Hebrew was informed of every thing that 
 took place in Obrazetz's house, as well in the 
 •boyarin's as in the heretic's quarter. How he 
 gained this information, Kouritzin himself did 
 not know, and attributed this omniscience to 
 the secrets of magic. In the meanwhile Skha- 
 ria was acquainted also with Antony's love for 
 the boyarin's daughter, and was alarmed at this 
 passion, which might ruin the young foreigner; 
 and, therefore, he began unceasingly to watch 
 him and all that surrounded him. But in the 
 course of these researches he had become more 
 favourably disposed to the family of Obrazetz, 
 which previously he had not liked, from not 
 having been able to shake its religious convic- 
 tions. In the struggle between the two parties, 
 he was on that side to which Antony was 
 attracted by the feelings of his heart. 
 
 The arrival of Skharia in Moscow was, for 
 his partisans and disciples, a veritable triumph. 
 It was said that he had obtained possession of 
 a book, which Adam had received from God 
 himself, and also the head of our primogenitor ; 
 that he had brought with him divers new se- 
 crets, which would astonish the human race. 
 These reports reached even Mamon. His at- 
 tempts to obtain magical assistance from An- 
 tony had not succeeded ; and, therefore, he had 
 decided on having recourse to the necromancy 
 of the all-powerful Jew enchanter. The ab- 
 sence of Iviin Vassilievitch left him free to 
 fulfil this intention. True, it was difficult to 
 obtain access to the great magician, whose 
 place of abode was unknown to all except 
 those most closely connected with him. He 
 was every where, they said, and no where. 
 Still more difficult would it be to obtain access 
 for those who, without having devoted them- 
 selves to his instructions, merely sought magic 
 assistance; and Mamon was, of course, to be 
 counted among the latter number. With the 
 aid, however, of large sums of money, and the 
 
10.4 
 
 THE HERETIC- 
 
 eager zeal of friends, he succeeded in having a 
 day appointed for his reception. 
 
 He was conducted at night, with bandaged 
 eyes, through various streets, and after many 
 complicated turns admitted into a house. With 
 difficulty he crawled up a staircase, winding in 
 a spiral. On arriving at a particular spot, he 
 was exhorted to bend down his head as low as 
 possible ; but much as he forced himself to 
 stoop, he received so vigorous a blow, that 
 sparks flashed before his eyes. Here they 
 stopped him, and warned him not to stir from 
 the spot under penalty of being crushed to 
 atoms. Then he was struck by certain sweet 
 superhuman sounds, now swelling, now sink- 
 ing, and at last dying away, and producing an 
 irresistible sleep. Hardly had he begun to 
 yield to the unwilling drowsiness, when thun- 
 der roared, and a sulphurious smell was per- 
 ceived. The floor tottered beneath him, and 
 he felt as if he were sinking through the earth. 
 A tremor seized him. He was al)out to cross 
 himself, but refrained, remembering that the 
 slightest mark of the cross would destroy him. 
 Suddenly the bandage fell from his eyes, and he 
 found himself surrounded by moving clouds of 
 blue mist or smoke, in which, as it appeared to 
 him, he was borne along. Little by little, the 
 clouds grew thin, fiery specks began to gleam, 
 and he was gradually free'd from his mysterious 
 pall. Mamon found himself in a gigantic cham- 
 ber; before him stood a table of enormous size, 
 covered with brocade, in which gold was so 
 thickly interwoven in innumerable particles, 
 that it pained the eyes to look on it. On the 
 table stood seven candles of pure wax, of a vir- 
 gin whiteness, in golden candlesticks ; and 
 there lay on it, beside, an enormous" open book, 
 so ancient that it looked as though the first 
 touch would reduce it to dust, and a human 
 skull. Mamon observed the bead of a serpent 
 peering out from its eye-sockets. Behind the 
 table, on a kind of elevation, sate an old man. 
 His stern glance from under bushy white eye- 
 brows, his tawny face, the white bearJ reaching 
 to his knees, the black, ample mantle, inscribed 
 with cabalistic characters of a bloody colour : 
 all this must have awe-struck him who came 
 to consult the oracle. 
 
 " The reason why thou comest is known to 
 us," said the mysterious old man, in a voice that 
 seemed to issue from the grave : " thou art to 
 fight in the list with thy sworn foe, Khahar- 
 Simskoi, and thou asketh us for victory over 
 him. Is it not so ?" 
 
 Mamon replied, that the mysterious person- 
 age, whom he knew not how to name, had read 
 his thoughts, and foil upon his face at some dis- 
 tance from the terrible being. 
 
 " Thy faith is strong in our power," continued 
 the mysterious old man. " Even now, as thou 
 appearedst before us, the book of our father 
 Adam opened of itself, and showed how to save 
 thee from the steel. Listen! The spirits of 
 the night have broirght into the world the won- 
 der-working man-drake. Its power deslroyeth 
 lite strongest iron ; its touch alone against a 
 sword breakcth it in pieces. It is hidden from 
 the eye of man in the depth of unapproachable 
 fcrests ; it is I'ncoasingly guarded by two ser- 
 p( nts, wno Acsp watcii over it in turns, day and 
 Light. The eagle, the king of birds, hath alone 
 
 the gift and strength to take it from their guard. 
 Command thy servants to find in the surround- 
 ing woods an eagle's nest with nestlings. Now- 
 is just the time when they are fledged. Pre- 
 pare a net woven of wires, of the thickness of 
 a sword-blade, order the servants to watch till 
 the male and female eagle fly away for prey for 
 their young. If the hen remain, let them fright- 
 en her away. Then must the net be fi.xed over 
 the nest in such- wise, that it will be impossible 
 for the old birds to pass through to their young 
 ones, or give them food. These humble pre- 
 paratory duties thy servants can perform ; thus 
 it is spoken in the book of Adam. Between 
 evening and dawn the eagle will find the man- 
 drake, he will with it break in pieces the net, 
 and hide the mandrake in the nest for another 
 similar occasion. Now beginneth thy turn^ 
 Dost thou feel in thyself enough strength and 
 valour to fight, without human aid, alone with 
 the two eagles — namely, by the nest where thou 
 must thyself find and take the mandrake ? Re- 
 member, when thou performest this achieve- 
 ment, no huinan soul but thyself must be nearer 
 than a hundred fathoms, nor must see thee take 
 the wonder-working mandrake. Thou mayest 
 fight with whatever weapons thou thinkest good, 
 but without a breast-plate. Look whether the 
 achievement be not above thy strength." 
 
 " I am ready even for a flock of eagles, if 
 only I may obtain victory over my hated foe," 
 answered Mamon. 
 
 The mysterious servant of the invisible 
 spirits assured him of undoubted victory if he 
 only could obtain the mandrake ; and gave hiiu 
 instructions how to attach it to the point of his 
 sword, by means of a substance which was not 
 metal, but resembled iron in colour. 
 
 "Now," said he, "begone and perform all 
 that I have told thee, without departing one 
 hair's-breadih from our words, and with faith in 
 our might, which we have received from the 
 father of the human race." 
 
 In obedience to instructions previously given 
 him, Mamon placed on the table a handful of 
 silver, and again fell on the earth. Then again 
 began to rise the columns of smoke, growing 
 denser and denser, and at length shrouding all 
 objects. Then vanished the mysterious old 
 man, and the book of Adam ; there only glim- 
 mered and flashed up and down seven fiery 
 specks, and the skull gnashed its yellow teeth. 
 Mamon's head began to turn, and he fell down 
 insensible. When he came to himself, he was 
 on the hank of the Ya6uza, where his slaves 
 awaited his return with his horse. 
 
 On the next day the thirst for vengeance early 
 roused Mamon. His first thought, his first ac- 
 tion, was to dispatch fowlers and falconers in 
 every direction through the surrounding forests. 
 .\ rich reward was promised to the man who 
 should find an eagle's nest with eaglets. A. 
 week did not pass away before one of the peo- 
 ple he had sent brought him the wished- for 
 tidings. About twenty versts from the city, to- 
 wards Iho north, in the depth of the forest, by 
 the inlormation of the neighbouring peasants, a 
 nest had been discovered with two young 
 eagles, just beginning to be Hedged — " .\nd we 
 had an opportunity to get a glance at the old 
 one," said the happy fowler : " such a bird t 
 never saw in my life. When he soars, he ob- 
 scurelh the sun with his wings." 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 105 
 
 The promised reward, increased too by a 
 present, was paid. Now was tlie tiaie to make 
 tlie iron net, and fix it over the nest. People 
 were sent to execute this ; their head was 
 pledged for the performance of the order. 
 
 In the mean time the boyarin, sleeping and 
 awake, was in imagination fighting with the 
 eagle. He calculated all possible attacks on 
 tlie part of the king of the birds, he studied all 
 modes of defence against bin), all means of de- 
 stroying him. Mamon even fought with bears: 
 the shaggy quadruped was more than a match 
 for any bird, though a royal one ; yet many a 
 bruin fell before his powerful and dexterous arm. 
 He anticipated a triumph both over the eagle 
 and over Khabar : his breast swelled at the re- 
 sult of his successful experiment, his heart 
 bounded. After dispatching the fowlers, he set 
 ofl' himself with a number of falconers, in order 
 to be nearer to the place of action. The forest 
 in which the nest had been found stood not far 
 from the left bank of the river Moskva. On this 
 bank a rich tent was pitched for the boyarin. 
 The fowlers posted themselves around it. An- 
 other person, more tranquil in soul, would have 
 been enraptured with the picturesque panorama 
 which surrounded the boyarin. How many ob- 
 jects were there for a good and loving heart, 
 not yet chased from the paradise of pure 
 thoughts and enjoyments ! The river sportive- 
 ly spread its silver sheet, and imaged a multi- 
 tude of various capes, reaches, and creeks : the 
 creative pencil of the Almighty Artist had scat- 
 tered, here green silken lawns, there mirror-like 
 lakes, gazing lovingly up at their heaven ; there 
 groups or shadowy clumps of trees, or a dark 
 pine-forest, which crowned a height with its 
 jagged wall, or timidly advanced from the sides 
 of mountains, or poured its dark torrent down 
 their slopes. Whoever knows the banks of 
 Arkhangelsk and Ilinsk, will confess with me 
 that there was ample food for admiration. It 
 was exactly in this spot that the boyarin fixed 
 his halting-place. But his soul flew far away to 
 another spoil ; and, like a hungry carrion-crow, 
 could not rest until it had drank blood. Had 
 he possessed the power, he would have invited 
 all the birds of prey from the surrounding forest 
 to his feast of blood, where he would have offer- 
 ed them, as the best regale, the carcass of his 
 foe. 
 
 In the midst of these dark thoughts Mam6n 
 heard the fatal announcement — " rcadij.'' Agi- 
 tated, all trembling, he demanded "from his 
 emissaries a repetition of their report. Though 
 engaged in sacrilege, he signed the cross, that 
 emblem of peace and purity of soul ; the blas- 
 phemer dared to pray to the Almighty for suc- 
 cess in his enterprise. He questioned the peo- 
 ple in detail, how, and what they had done ; 
 how they had executed his command. He lis- 
 tened greedily to the relation of the fowlers ; 
 and, when their tale was done, he still desired 
 to hear it all again ; and again he forced them 
 to repeat it. 
 
 When Mamon's attendants were informed 
 that he was going alone against the eagles, (not, 
 however, knowing what was his object,) they 
 all, casting themselves at his feel, began to im- 
 plore him not to attempt so unequal a contest. 
 It was for no love of him they did this — the 
 boyarin was cruel even to Ihera— no, but from 
 
 fear on their own account. He might have 
 gone, and welcome, to certain death, so long as 
 they would not have to answer for it. Would, 
 their story be believed, that he had forbidden 
 them to follow him when going to such evident 
 danger? The prayers of his attendants were 
 in vain ; the boyarin determined on the conflict. 
 
 On the morrow, at daybreak, he was to be at 
 the place of action. 
 
 He did all he could to close his eyes, but could 
 not. At midnight he fell into a doze, but fright- 
 ful visions pursued him even in sleep. Now a 
 crow pecked him on the bosom, and, tearing 
 forth his heart, croaked and chuckled over it. 
 Then a long string of spirits, all pale-white and. 
 transparent, skitn around him, fiit over him, 
 seize him, so that his life seems torn away, and 
 whirl him through the cold, clammy mist of 
 their substance. At another time he is impri- 
 soned in a human skeleton, as in a cage, witii 
 the agony of gazing through the bony grating;^ 
 upon the world, free, sporting, rejoicing — he 
 struggles to burst out, and his head is fixed be- 
 tween the dry ribs. Then again a cold, slimy 
 snake curled up upon him as he slept, and lay- 
 in a wreath upon his bosom, it does not remain 
 on his breast, it descends, and then again it 
 crawls upon his bosom, it fixes its head to his 
 open mouth, and Mamon sucks, sucks it in witli 
 a slow and long-drawn gurgle. And every time 
 at these horrible visions Mamon was awakened. 
 His heart died within him, his hair bristled up. 
 Oh, that he could but hear the herald-crowing: 
 of the cock ! He awakes his people, and, not 
 trusting his own eyes, demands whether the 
 dawn was breaking. " The morning is yet not 
 come," they said ; and he lay down, and agaia 
 began to doze. Then appeared before him his 
 mother in an iron cage, enveloped in flames; 
 through the dreadful tongues of fire she put 
 forth a yellow withered face, shook the half- 
 burned tatters of her arm, and said — ' Go not .'"' 
 He again awoke. Some one was standing over 
 him. — " Robbers !" he shouted in a dreadful 
 voice. 
 
 " It is I, boyarin," said the fowler ;" I have- 
 come to say the breeze hath got up from the 
 east, the dawn is about to break." 
 
 And Mamon arose, and stood in deep thought 
 awhile, like the traveller before the frail planks,, 
 which will either bear him safe across the abyss, 
 or plunge him deep within it. 
 
 He walked forth out of the tent. The dawn- 
 ing was already matching shade after shade of 
 her yellow and crimson draperies. The atten- 
 dants were ready with all preparations for tlie 
 chase. The saddled steeds neighed. 
 
 " A horse and hunting-tackle !" cried Mamon. 
 
 In an instant he was fully accoutred, bow^ 
 arrows, kisten, one knife, then another. 
 
 According to the directions of the magician, 
 he put on no breast-plate. At the head of a 
 numerous train he rode into the forest. 
 
 At first they proceed along paths but slightly 
 beaten ; then even these disappear in the thiclc 
 moss, which had never borne the track of living 
 being. Marks on the trees, made by the hun- 
 ters whom the boyarin had sent, alone served 
 to guide their course. The trees grew huger 
 and thicker as they advance ; proud and mighty, 
 they shut out with their thick tops all the pros- 
 pect which separated them from each other, and. 
 
106 
 
 THE HERETIC. 
 
 seemed to forbid the growth in their society of 
 saplings and brushwood — that mob which had 
 dared to thrust itself among them. Their sum- 
 .mits alone enjoyed the light ; below them all 
 Avas gloom. It was only here and there that a 
 sunbeam, stealthily gliding in between their 
 boughs, encircled their boles with its umbered 
 ribands, sprinkling the moss with golden dew, 
 checkering the shrubs with its flitting network. 
 33eneath this ray lay basking, now a lizard green 
 as verdigris, now a snake warming his leopard- 
 spotted back. All was still throughout the for- 
 est ; not one singing-bird was seen. Hardly 
 did the vermin, hearing the approacli of man, 
 Tustle and slink away ; or the trees, touched by 
 the gentle wind, seem to communicate to eacli 
 other some mysterious news. Here and there 
 the horsemen were obliged to burst through the 
 living barricade with the chest of their steeds. 
 And now they have ridden about two versts. — 
 "" Are we near the place ]" inquired Mamon. 
 
 " About two hundred fathoms," replied one 
 of the fowlers. 
 
 They continued to ride a little further, and 
 Mamon orders them to halt. Receiving direc- 
 tions in which line to ride so as to find the fatal 
 tree, and giving them orders to gallop instantly 
 to his aid as soon as tiiey heard his voice, and 
 crossing himself, he departed alone to seize the 
 mandrake. 
 
 The steed, feeling his loneliness, turned res- 
 live and began to rear ; over his coat passed 
 changing shadows. But one movement, one 
 accent of his powerful rider, and the steed, trem- 
 iAiog, darted on. 
 
 Here at last was the longed-for tree. Steps 
 liad been cut in its stem. It was an elm, and 
 had been growing for ages. The leafy head was 
 in tiie full vigour of its strength, while on its 
 stem the tooth of time had hollowed out a deep 
 cavity, and the tough roots hardly rose from the 
 earth. Scattered around, the heads and skele- 
 tons of animals showed that here was the haunt 
 of birds of prey. On the summit of the tree 
 was a shapeless heap of dry sticks — the eaglet's 
 t^radle, the object of the boySrin'S journey . The 
 liing of birds screamed as he perceived his foe ; 
 in the sounds of his own voice might be distin- 
 guished the humiliation and despair of the migh- 
 ty. The air was filled with his complaints. 
 Mamon dismounted from his horse, tied him to 
 a tree at some distance, and approached the 
 fatal elm. At the root lay fragments of iron. 
 ■Whether the net had been badly forged by the 
 hand of a person bribed by the cunning Skliaria, 
 %vhethor the eagles had broken it, or the fowlers 
 llieniselves, corrupted by the Jew's silver, is a 
 j)oint of which the relator of our tale can give 
 no account. He only knows that the traces of 
 the broken net struck and encouraged the boya- 
 rin. 
 
 The eagle was perched upon a branch. 
 
 As he saw him, Mamon turned up his sleeve ; 
 tremhhng with dilight, he drew his bow-— aim- 
 ed — the string claiijied, the arrow whistled .... 
 JJut the eye which frared not to gaze on the 
 sun, anticipated the shaft : the eagle Hew away, 
 liis broad wings rustled, and soon he vanished 
 into the covert of the distant trees. The shaft 
 burying itself deep into an enormous bough, (i.\ed 
 humming there, and ihi- dry twigs flew around, 
 ^"he boyirin again began to await the return of 
 
 the eagle, but he came not ; the winged king 
 himself was watching him. Impatience seized 
 -Mamon. Bow and quiver were thrown aside ; 
 he begins to clamber up the tree, and the eagle 
 again flies over him. Making a wide circle in 
 the air, he perched upon his native elm, close to 
 his offspring. His screaming was like the war- 
 trumpet calling to the battle. Roused by his 
 voice, the mother bird darted from the nest, 
 where she was sitting; she turns her head, 
 and, seeing the enemy, she answers the male 
 with a complaining scream. It seemed as if 
 they were agreeing to defend their young, or die. 
 Mamon is already advancing along the boughs ; 
 suddenly around him there is a rustling roar, as 
 of a hail-storm. The eagles whirl above him, 
 furiously screeching, stretch their talons towards 
 him, and so daringly approach him that they al- 
 most reach him with their beaks. He defends 
 himself from the one, the other flies at him. 
 Suddenly he strikes the male with his kisten — 
 the weapon, glancing ofithe bird's wing, breaks 
 in two a thick branch, and, carried away by the 
 force of the blow, falls to the earth. The fright- 
 ened horse starts aside. The birds, as if dis- 
 couraged by the blow, give themselves a moment 
 of repose. Mamon profits by the interval, climbs 
 higher on the branch ; another he reaches, a 
 third, and now he is close to the nest. But the 
 eagles do not leave their young ones without 
 protection. They perch between the nest and 
 the enemy. Their savage glance was fi.xed on 
 Mamon, and terrified his soul. With their wings 
 they cover him as with a tent. At the first 
 movement of his knife the male flies to another 
 branch, behind the foe. Mamon follows him 
 with his eye, and, while he raises his foot a lit- 
 tle higher on the branch, with one hand he grasps 
 at the nest, with the other he endeavours to 
 plunge the knife into the breast of the female ; 
 she starts aside, under the cover of the branch- 
 es, and is only slightly wounded. At her pite- 
 ous cry the eaglets put their heads out of the 
 nest ; the male flies at Mamon from behind, 
 plunges his talons into him, and tears his back 
 with his beak. Emboldened by the example of 
 the male, the she eagle on her side throws her- 
 self on the enemy. The fight begins. The birds 
 screech, buffet him with their wings, tear him 
 with their beak as with a sickle, and mangle 
 hiin with their talons. But Mamon defends 
 himself with desperation, fighting and stabbing 
 with his knife. Blood flows on both sides. The 
 cries of their oflspring inspire the winged com- 
 batants with new fury. The hunter has no 
 longer the hope of escaping from their terrible 
 talons : he gives the signal of despair, and the 
 forest repeats it with a thousand echoes. The 
 eagles enwrap Mamon with their wings, entan- 
 gle themselves with him. and all three, exhaust- 
 ed, streaming with blood, tumble fr(mi the tree 
 in a disorderly mass : stopped by the branches, 
 they swing a moment on them as in an airy 
 cradle, and at last tumble with a crash to the 
 ground. Terrified by the fall, the steed neighs, 
 bursts the halter, and gallops off. 
 
 The attendants rush to the spot, stab tho 
 eagles with knives, batter them with kistens, 
 and with difficulty save their master, half dead, 
 from his horrid prison. The feet of the birds, 
 though hacked oflT, yet cling to the foe, fastened 
 deeply into him by the talons. 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 107 
 
 The nest is thrown down, the eaglets killed. 
 
 They convey away the boyarin with caution, 
 and carry him on a litter to a neighbouring vil- 
 lage. Thanks to the wings of the birds, he had 
 escaped a fatal fall. But on his body there was 
 hardly a spot without a wound. 
 
 Thus finished Mamon's adventure in search 
 of the mandrake. Reports were spread abroad 
 that, in a combat with a bear, he had fallen un- 
 der it-s paw ; but that he had, nevertheless, 
 ■come off victorious. For this exploit the boya- 
 rin received from brave men many any unmerit- 
 ed bow. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 THE CUNNING MEDIATRESS. 
 "Passion that in youth inspired her. 
 She had ne'er forgot in age, 
 Tlioiigh this love was late, it fired her 
 To a fierce and sullen rage." 
 
 RoDSLAN ayid Liudmilla. 
 Anastasia, in bidding farewell to her brother, 
 and following with her heart the beloved for- 
 eigner, remained in deep loneliness. Never yet 
 liad she so powerfully felt that loneliness ; her 
 breast was torn, her heart seemed crushed. 
 She comprehended that she loved the heretic ; 
 but wherefore, how, and with what object she 
 loved him, she could give no account to her- 
 self The thought of being his wife, even if it 
 ever entered her brain, alarmed her very self: 
 .a maiden, educated in the strictest orthodoxy, 
 how could she ever unite her destiny in the 
 house of God with an accursed German? 
 Fresh reports, too, reached her — reports spread 
 by Bartholomew, (that fireman's rattle, which 
 excited a disturbance without itself knowing 
 what it did,) and confirmed by the imperial am- 
 bassador — that Antony the leech was a Jew, a 
 quacksalver, and God knows what beside. Her 
 poor reason was still further armed against the 
 inmate of her home by these rumours. But to 
 tear him from her heart, to forget him, she could 
 not — this was above the powers of Anastasia. 
 Enchantment had overpowered her weak will. 
 This thought grew day by day more strong with- 
 in her. 
 
 Was it true that Antony had accepted her 
 crucifix ! .... And had he worn it! Even if 
 he had worn it, it was evident that it had 
 caused him uneasiness. But, perhaps, he had 
 accepted the cross in order to enchant it. From 
 that moment her bosom seemed filled with 
 seething pitch ; when she looked at Antony, she 
 could not remove her eyes from his form, she 
 could not satisfy herself with gazing on him ; 
 she felt as if she could have plucked her soul 
 from her bosom, and given it to him. If she 
 •could, she would have fiown to him like a bird, ■ 
 and, forgetting maiden shame, father, brother, ' 
 all — embraced him and died upon his breast. 
 He was now afar, at Tver ; yet she always saw 
 him as though he was by her side, as if with 
 his magic glance he implored her to admit him 
 to her heart— she could not shut him out. Did 
 she close her eyes \ there, too, was the en- 
 chanter, sitting by her, and murmuring seduc- [ 
 live, tender words, to which she could only ' 
 find answer in Heaven. Did she open hert 
 eyes ! before her stood the handsome foreign- 1 
 <er, as in life. Nor cross nor sign would drive , 
 
 away the phantom. Her maiden companions 
 told her (surely they had heard it from their 
 mothers,) that a girl might love a bridegroom, 
 but only one whom she had seen several times ; 
 that she might love a husband when she had 
 lived with him a year or two. But he had nev- 
 er been her betrothed ; why, then, from the 
 first moment she had ever seen him, had she 
 yielded up all her soul, her every thought, to 
 him ! Even if he were to trample hereunder 
 his foot, even then she could not leave him. 
 Did she wander in the garden \ bending down 
 her head, she sought for some bright unearthly 
 flower. Her little glancing feet were entan- 
 gled in the silken grass; returning home, she 
 murmured to herself—" All the flowers, the fair 
 flowers, I have seen ; but one flower I have not 
 found, the fair scarlet flower of mine ! Is it, 
 then, withered by the hot sun I Or is it beaten 
 down by the rushing rain ! Or doth it not grow 
 a't all in the garden ! " Neither sports, nor dance, 
 nor songs, could distract her sorrow. In the 
 midst of the choral dance she beheld the beloved 
 stranger. Did one of her companions press her 
 hand, she trembled ; the song but lighted up the 
 fire in her heart, and filled it with fresh sorrow. 
 Without hope, without a sweet future, she only 
 desired to liberate herself from her intolerable 
 enchantment. But she dared not speak about 
 her sorrows to any being on the earth. Hav- 
 ing sinned only in love for the heretic, she often 
 melted into tears in the midst of her devotions, 
 beat her breast, and did penance for grievous 
 sin ot which she herself was guiltless. 
 
 The nurse had remarked that her foster-child 
 was pining away with some secret sorrow, that 
 her face grew paler. Her father, too, began to 
 observe it. They sent to consult the old wise 
 women ; they told fortunes, they tried to discov- 
 er Anastasia's cause of sorrow with water, 
 with coals, with Thursday sail; they brought 
 out the mysterious circles on the doors ; they 
 placed charms beneath the images in the Church 
 of the Nine Martyrs. The fortune-tellers at 
 last decided that she was pining for a future 
 husband, whom some enemy had crossed. 
 There was abundance of suitors ; some seemed 
 not much to the boyarin's taste — it is true she 
 was his only daughter, alone to him, like the sun 
 in heaven ; others were deterred by marriage- 
 brokers, previously bribed by Mamon. " Ana- 
 stasia Vassilievna hath faults," they said ; " she 
 hath a birthmark, here a freckle, there a scar; 
 she is frequently attacked by blindness ; she 
 groweth old ; she cannot live long." It was 
 impossible to bring these allegations to ocular 
 proof; the suitors believed the words of the 
 marriage-broker, and held their peace. The fa- 
 ther and the nurse had recourse to pilgrimages ; 
 they set up tapers before the altars, lighted an 
 ever-burning lamp, gave abundant alms to the 
 poor, and all with the single hope of relieving 
 their darling Nastia, the ligiit of their eyes, 
 from the influence of the wicked man who had 
 crossed her happy marriage. 
 
 The widow Seli'nova had been informed by 
 the fortune-tellers with whom she was acquaint- 
 ed, and by the companions of Anastasia, of her 
 illness. Having reviewed in her crafty mind the 
 feelings of the heart, and the results of experi- 
 ence, she began to guess that there was in all 
 this an undivulged secret. To discover this, 
 
108 
 
 THE HERETIC. 
 
 and to obtain Anastasia's confidence — this was 
 what she determined on doing, cost what it 
 might. By marriage she was a distant relation 
 of Obrazetz's. When she became a widow, 
 she rarely visited the voevoda's house, as if to 
 guard against the dangerous assiduities of Kha- 
 bar : she was so young — she might yet look 
 forward to a second marriage, and her good 
 name was so precious ! ... In society she was 
 a msdel of reserve, never let drop an indiscreet 
 word ; never raised her eyes before a man ; 
 blushed deeply at the sound of an incautious 
 word. Mothers often set her as an example 
 before their daughters. But this exterior re- 
 serve was changed into passionate devotion, 
 when in private with her chosen lover. All 
 was for him the voluptuous joys of the night 
 and by day the sweet remembrance of them ; 
 the hope of future pleasures, and every kind of 
 sacrifice that could be exacted from her by a 
 fiery youth who was a tyrant in love, or could 
 be imagined for his gratification. In such 
 cases love is a wondrous creator. Compared 
 with love what is Byron, Mitzkcvitch, or 
 Poushkin] All gifts were laid down by the 
 worshipper at the foot of the idol— gold, peace 
 of mind, beauty. But the careless and dissi- 
 pated Khabar, could he confine his victory to 
 one object ! Such a victory would have been 
 for him nothing but a slavery ! " Free arm, 
 free will, and free heart," was his motto. Away 
 with every obstacle from his path ! — nay, he 
 would have overthrown whomsoever had placed 
 one in it ; try but to cast a chain over him, he 
 would dash it off with a giant's force. He saw 
 danger in his amour with Haidee, and pursued 
 that arnour despite the watchfulness of the des- 
 pot of the Morea, perhaps at the dagger's point 
 —a dagger sharpened by the power of gold. 
 To-morrow he might lose his head, but to-day 
 he would enjoy his will. When Seh'nova learned 
 that she had a rival in his heart, that the sacri- 
 fices of another were more welcome, jealousy 
 inflamed her. At first she tried to recall his 
 love by new caresses, new sacrifices. Like an 
 abject slave, she bore cruel usage — even blows 
 — from him. To whom would she not have 
 had recourse in order to recall her faithless 
 lover ? — to the witches, to the Jew who pos- 
 sessed the book of Adam, and to the leech An- 
 tony ! She had even sunk so far as to entreat 
 the aid of the interpreter Bartholomew. Like 
 a simple child she was ready to confide even in 
 those whom she knew to be mocking her, and 
 to do as they counselled her. But when all 
 these means failed, she determined, whatever it 
 might cost, to destroy her rival We have seen 
 that this attempt did not succeed. She now 
 determined on revenging herself on Khabar 
 with any weapons which she could find ; and 
 for this, taking advantage of his absence, she 
 crept like a snake into ObrazfHz's house. Tier 
 dwelling was close to that of Ana.stasia's father, 
 and her visits became frequent. 
 
 The Imyarin knew, and desired to know no- 
 thing of his son's connexions. He was grieved 
 by Ills dissipated conduct, and sometimes re- 
 proached him, in the hope, as we have said in 
 a former chapter, that the young steed would 
 gradually lose the vice of his blood. But the 
 single exhortation which he had adilressed to 
 him at parting, had, in reality, produced a great- 
 
 er effect than any number of angry remon- 
 strances. When he saw the widow Sehnova 
 in his house, he led her, with simple greetings, 
 to his daughter, as a sensible and discreet com- 
 panion. At each fresh visit, she insinuated her- 
 self further into Anastasia's confidence. Now 
 she would invent some new sport in the gar- 
 dens, then she would teach her songs, the feel- 
 ing of which harmonized with the temper of 
 Anastasia's soul, or show her ingenious pat- 
 terns for her lace- work, or spread for her the 
 flying carpet of the fairy tale. And, in spite of 
 yourself, you would listen to Selinova ; her 
 simple conversation was always made up of 
 fragments of song ; how could you but listen, 
 when she spoke only to please I In the mean 
 time the widow tried cautiously, artfully, to dis- 
 cover whether the maiden's heart beat for any 
 of the young neighbours wliom she might have 
 seen through the garden fence ; but she ascer- 
 tained that none of the young dandies of that 
 day, with their hair cut round, had fascinated 
 Obrazetr's daughter. Next, she turned the 
 conversation on Ivan the young. It was noto- 
 rious that Anastasia had inspired the prince,, 
 the heir to the throne of Muscovy, with a pas- 
 sion which had been destroyed by the Great 
 Prince's projects ; he never seeking in the 
 marriages of his children a union of the heart, 
 but a political advantage. " Did she not regret 
 such a handsome, noble young bridegroom ; 
 was she not pining for a palace and the glitter 
 of a crown V thought Selinova. And after 
 making a trial in this direction, she remained 
 uncertain, like the hero of our fairy tales at the 
 crossing of several roads, not knowing which 
 to take in order to arrive at the object of his 
 journey. Anastasia had altogether forgotten 
 the prince. His passion had always been con- 
 sidered by her as a pleasantry : and even now 
 she received the mention of him as little else 
 than a jest. It was, neve-rtheless, impossible- 
 to doubt that it was the heart and not the bod- 
 ily health of Obrazetz's daughter, that was af- 
 fected. Selinova's experienced eye soon dis- 
 tinguished this. Who could be the object of 
 her love ? The wily widow was tormented 
 with the desire of finding out this. 
 
 One day, they were silting alone together, 
 making lace. A kind of mischievous spirit 
 whispered her to speak of the heretic. Imagine 
 yourself thrown by destiny on a foreign land. 
 All around you are speaking in an unknown 
 tongue ; their language appears to you a chaos 
 of wild, strange sounds. Suddenly, amid tl>e 
 crowd drops a word in your native language. 
 Does not then a thrill run over your whole be- 
 ing ! does not your heart leap within youl Or 
 place a Russian peasant at a concert where is 
 displayed all the creative luxury and all the bril-^ 
 liant difficulties of foreign music. The child of 
 nature listens witli indifference to the incom- 
 prehensible sounds ; but suddenly Vorobieva 
 wKh her nightingale voice trills oat.— The cuc- 
 koo from out the firs so dank hath not curkoncd. 
 Lo(»k what a change comes over the half-asleep 
 listener. Thus it was with Anastasia ! Till 
 this moment Selinova had spoken to her in a 
 strange language, had only uttered sounds unin- 
 telligible to her ; but the instant that she spoke 
 the >ii)/ive word, it touched the heart-string, and 
 all the chords of her being thrilled as if they 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 109 
 
 \vere about to burst. Anastasia trembled, her 
 Viands wandered vaguely over her lace cushion, 
 lier face turned deadly pale. She dared not 
 raise her eyes, and replied at random, absently. 
 "Ah!" thought Selinova, "that is the right 
 Ley : that is the point whence cometh the 
 storm !" 
 
 Both remained silent. At length Anastasia 
 ventured to glance at her visitor, in order to see 
 by the expression of her face, whether she had 
 remarked her confusion. Selinova's eyes were 
 iixed upon her work, on her face there was not 
 ^ven a shade of suspicion. The crafty widow 
 intended little by little, imperceptibly, to win the 
 >confidence of the inexperienced girl. 
 
 " And where then is he gonel" she asked af- 
 ter a short pause, without naming the person 
 about whom she was enquiring. 
 
 "He is gone with the Great Prince on the 
 ■campaign," answered Anastasia blushing ; then, 
 after a moment's thought, she added — " I sup- 
 pose thou askedst me about my brother 1" 
 
 " No, my dear, our conversation was about 
 Antony the leech. What a pity he is a heretic ! 
 You will not easily find such another gallant 
 among our Muscovites. He hath all, both 
 both height and beauty : when he looketh, 'tis 
 as though he gave you large pearls ; his locks 
 lie on his shoulders like the light of dawn ; he 
 is as white and rosy as a young maiden. I 
 u-onder whence he had such beauty — whether 
 •by the permission of God, or, not naturally, by 
 "'the influence of the Evil One. I could have 
 Booked at him — may it not be a sin to say, I 
 could have gazed at him for ever without being 
 weary !" 
 
 At these praises Anastasia's pale counten- 
 ance blushed like the dawning that heralds the 
 tempest. "Thou hast then seen him T' asked 
 the enamoured maiden, in a trembling, dying 
 voice, and breaking off her work. 
 
 " I have seen him more than once. On the 
 .steed doth he ride I 'Neath him frets the steed 
 with pride. Doth he gallop? What is the 
 ■whirlwind in the desert plain ! He seemeth to 
 ■snort fire — that steed ; and devour the earth 
 with speed. Doth he ride along the mead 1 
 'Neath his tread new verdure gleameth ; o'er 
 the stream to his embrace, to rush it seemeth. 
 I have not only seen him, but wonder now, my 
 dear — I have visited him in his dwelling!" 
 
 The maiden shook her head ; her eyes were 
 ►dimmed with the shade of pensiveness ; a thrill 
 •of jealousy, in spite of herself, darted to her 
 iheart. " Whati and didst thou not fear to go 
 tt.0 him ]" she said — " Is he not a heretic 1" 
 
 " If thou knewest it, Nastenka, what wouldst 
 thou not do for love 1" 
 
 "Lovel" .... exclaimed Anastasia, and her 
 lieart bounded violently in her breast. 
 
 " Ah ! if I were not afraid, I would disclose to 
 thee the secret of my soul." 
 
 " Speak, I pray thee speak ! Fear not ; see ! 
 I call the Mother of God to witness, thy words 
 shall die with me." 
 
 And the maiden with a quivering hand, sign- 
 ed a large cross. 
 
 " If so, I will confide to thee what I have 
 never disclosed but to God. It is not over one 
 blue sea alone that the mist lieth, and the dark- 
 some cloud ; it is not over one fair land de- 
 scendeth the gloomy autumn night ; there was 
 
 a time when my bosom was loaded with a heavy- 
 sorrow, my rebellious heart lay drowned in woe 
 and care : I loved thy brother, Ivan Vassilie- 
 vitch. (The maiden's heart was relieved, she 
 breathed more freely.) Thou knowest not, my 
 life, my child, what kind of feeling is that of 
 love, and God grant that thou mayest never 
 know ! The dark niglit cometh, thou canst not 
 close thine eyes ; the bright dawn breaketh, 
 thou meetest it with tears ; and the day is all 
 weary — 0, so we?ry ! There are many men in 
 the fair world, but thou see'st only one, in thy 
 bower, in the street, in the house of God. A 
 stone lieth ever on thy breast, and thou canst 
 not shake it off." 
 
 Then Selinova wept sincere tears. Her com- 
 panion listened to her with eager sympathy ; 
 the feelings just depicted were her own. 
 
 " Now," continued the young widow, address- 
 ing herself to her object, " I was told by good 
 people — ' Antony the leech,' they said, ' is come 
 from Almayne ; he cureth, they say, all manner 
 of diseases, of the Evil Eye, and of the wind, 
 and of our own folly.' I listened to these good 
 friends, and went to the leech with the inter- 
 preter Bartholomew." 
 
 " And 'What help did our Antony give thee V 
 " He gave me an herb, muttered something 
 over it, and ordered me to throw it over my 
 head. Wilt thou believe me, my dear, it reliev- 
 ed me like a charm? my breast felt light, my 
 heart gay. Then the heretic fixed his eyes 
 upon me, and I felt his gaze drawing me to- 
 wards him. But I implored him to let my soul, 
 go free, and he took pity on me, and let me go. 
 From that instant I began again to know what 
 was night, what day ; my vision left me. I 
 flew away like a liberated bird ; I sing from 
 morn till night, and laugh at my past sorrow." 
 This insiduous tale began to act with a won- 
 drous influence on the listener. Anastasia fell 
 into a profound reverie, began to entangle her 
 bobbins and to make strange patterns ; just such 
 as her favourite cat w'ould have executed if 
 she had been set to work lace. How could she 
 escape the dreadful weight of anguish which 
 was devouring her, thought she ; and she had 
 determined on consulting with Selinova, when 
 suddenly her friend had seemed to guess her 
 very cause of sorrow. There was a deep si- 
 lence. It was broken by the young widow. 
 
 " Nastenka, my life 1" she began in a tone of 
 such touching, such lively interest, as called for 
 her reluctant confidence. 
 
 The daughter of Obrazetz glanced at her with 
 eyes full of tears, and shook her head. 
 
 " Confide in me, as I have confided in thee," 
 continued Selinova, taking her hand and press- 
 ing it to her bosom. I have lived longer in the 
 world than thou .... believe me, 'twill give 
 thee ease .... 'tis clear from every symptom, 
 my love, what thou ailest." 
 
 And Anastasia, sobbing, exclaimed at last — 
 " 0, my love, my dearest friend, Praskovia Val- 
 dimirovna, take a sharp knife, open my white 
 breast, look what is the matter there !" 
 
 " And wherefore need we take the sharp 
 knife, and wherefore need we open the white 
 breast, or look upon the rebellious heart? 
 Surely, by thy fair face all can tell, my child, 
 how that fair face hath been darkened, how the 
 fresh bloom hath faded, and bright eyes grown 
 
no 
 
 THE HERETIC. 
 
 dull. After all, 'tis clear thou lovest some 
 wandering falcon, some stranger youth." 
 
 Anastasia answered not a word ; she could 
 not speak for tears, and hid her face in her 
 hands. At last, softened by Selinova's friendly 
 sympathy, and her assurances that she would 
 be easier if she would confide her secret to such 
 a faithful friend, she related her love for the 
 heretic The episode of the crucifix was omit- 
 ted in this tale, which finished, of course, with 
 assurances that she was enclfanted, bewitched. 
 
 Poor Anastasia,' 
 
 Snowdrop! beautiful flower, thou springest 
 up alone in the bosom of thy native valley ! 
 And the bright sun arises every day to glass 
 liimself in thy morning mirror ; and the beam- 
 ing moon, after a sultry day, hastens to fan thee 
 with her breezy wing ; and the angels of God, 
 lulling thee by night, spread over thee a starry 
 canopy, such as king never possessed. Who 
 can tell from what quarter the tempest may 
 bring from afar, from other lands, the seed« of 
 the ivy, and scatter them by thy side ; and the 
 ivy arises and twines lovingly around thee, and 
 chokes thee, lovely flower ! This is not all : 
 the worm has crawled to thy root, hath fixed 
 its fang tlierein, and kills ye both, if some kind 
 hand save ye not. 
 
 The crafty friend had triumphed ; the great, 
 the precious secret was hers. With this talis- 
 man the enchantress might perform wondrous 
 things. She had but to wave it, and the secret 
 thought would swell above the brink. The first 
 idea that arose was that of persuading Anasta- 
 sia that she really was enchanted. How was 
 she to be set free from that enchantment, to 
 whom was she to have recourse, if not to the 
 author of it ] He would perhaps take pity on 
 the unhappy maiden, and save her from intoler- 
 able sorrow, as he had delivered Selinova. 
 Anastasia herself had more than once thought 
 of this. Upon this they agreed as well as pos- 
 sible. But how was the daughter of Obrazulz 
 to visit the leech ? How was she to manage so 
 as to escape the notice of the domestics and 
 neighbours ] She would die at the very thought 
 of their knowing of her proceeding. The zeal- 
 ous mediatress would arrange all this. From 
 Anastasia's chamber a staircase led to ttie iron 
 door wiiich divided the heretic's from the boya- 
 rin's quarter : this door was fastened with a 
 single iron bolt. A favourable moment would 
 arrive— father, brother, would be from home ; 
 Selinova would stand on guard, and all would 
 go well. Anastasia would present herself be- 
 fore Antony the leech, would fall at his feet, 
 bedew them with her tears . . . The enchant- 
 ment would be removed — and the beautiful 
 maiden would dart from his chamber to her 
 bower, as the l)ird which a greedy raven was 
 about to clutcii, and to whicli new wings had 
 suddenly been given, speeds lightly and gaily 
 away, and pours forth her soul in songs of vir- 
 gin happmess. Tlie very reflection upon these 
 projects was a great relief to the mind of Anas- 
 tasia. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVn. 
 
 THE ENCHANTMENT LOOSED. 
 
 " This dark woe of mine hath no wings to flv. 
 
 This poor soul of mine hath no voice to cry, 
 
 This lorn love of mine hath no will to die." 
 
 MERZLiAK6rr. 
 Anastasia was for a while consoled by the 
 thought that the enchantment would be re- 
 moved. Then the fair image of the foreigner 
 began again to force its way into her bosom, 
 and her hope began to yield to her former sor- 
 row. It seemed as if there was traced around 
 her a magic circle, out of which she could not 
 pass. She was, she thought, imprisoned in it 
 till the grave. Now, all her thoughts were on 
 the dear heretic ; all her employment was to 
 await his return. She had grown accustomed 
 to his name, she no longer dreaded it ; it had 
 become as sweet to her as the name of father 
 or brother, nay, perhaps yet dearer still. She 
 sat cowering at the window of her chamber, 
 and gazed afar, to see whether the Great Prince's 
 attendants were galloping from Tver. With a 
 trembling of the heart she listened to conversa- 
 tion : did not some one speak of the heretic T 
 She even listened to the voice of the breeze : 
 did not the midnight breeze bring some news 
 of him T He, the sovereign of her heart, was 
 unceasingly in her thoughts ; of him she held in 
 secret long dialogues with herself, and longed 
 for father, domestics, the people, all the universe, 
 to talk also of Antony. And yet she heard 
 nothing of him from any one. Did a horseman 
 gallop by, or knock at the gate, she trembled 
 like an autumnal leaf upon the bough. She 
 rose to meet the day ; she passed it in waiting 
 for the stranger. Untaught by reason to gov- 
 ern her feelings, she gave herself up entirely to 
 the will of passion. With tears, in reverie, she- 
 besought the <1ear .\ntony to return, soon, soon, 
 and save her from destruction ; she feared not 
 the sin of imploring the heavenly powers for 
 him, she bluslied not to express her agonizing 
 impatience to her crafty friend. 
 
 Tver was not yet completely taken, ere in 
 Moscow men were talking of its submission. 
 Who had brought the tidings, nobody could tell ; 
 so frequently has a nation a sort of miraculous 
 presentiment of great events. Within four- 
 and-twenty hours, a courier had galloped from 
 the Lord of .\ll Russia to Sophia Phomlnishna 
 and the primate with the confirmation of the 
 tidings. Moscow burst into triumphal rejoic- 
 ings. The elder sister had come with an hum- 
 ble head to join the once scattered family, and 
 to double its union and its strength. Accord- 
 ing to the pious custom of the Russians, tribute 
 was first rendered to God — a thanksgiving ser- 
 vice was performed ; then to the Tsar. When 
 Sophia Phomi'nishna came forth from the 
 Church of the .Vnnunciation, the populace hail- 
 ed her with joyful acclamations. In the streets 
 they embraced , they congratulated each other, 
 they besieged the courier, and would not let him 
 pass, demanding the details of the great event 
 — when, how, Tver was taken, who had laid 
 down their lives for mother Moscow, who had 
 distinguished themselves by valour. We may 
 guess, that in the fulness of their joy — and this 
 was also a Russian custom— in all parts of the 
 city there were many who celebrated the vic- 
 tory in a state of insensibility ; that is, by drains- 
 
THE HERETIC 
 
 111- 
 
 ing cup and flagon till they could no longer re- 
 member any thing. The courier was invited to 
 a multitude of houses, was feasted and honour- 
 ed as if it was he who had gained the victory. 
 
 In his tales the name of Khabar was repeat- 
 ed more frequently than that of all the rest, 
 and repeated as the name of an illustrious he- 
 ro. The volunteers came next, in the most hon- 
 ourable line of the oral bulletin. " Wc, too, are 
 something !" said the cloth-workers and silk- 
 merchants in their shops and warehouses, draw- 
 ing themselves up, and stroking their beards 
 with vanity—" We are not trampled in the dirt : 
 we have taken Tver." Some heartily congrat- 
 ulated them as the real victors, bowing to the 
 ground; others thought proper to contest their 
 triumph, and engaged with them in brawls of 
 their fashion, which went so far as the spilling 
 of blood, and even killing. The name of An- 
 drei Aristotle, to the astonishment of all, flew 
 also, with honour, from mouth to mouth. 
 "What a brave boy !" cried the old men when 
 they heard of his exploits : " bold, though not 
 old, he will not wait for years to be a leader of 
 the spears." — " No wonder for his bravery," 
 added others ; " his father hath plucked some 
 apples for him in the devil's garden : throw but 
 one among a troop, and straightway the troop 
 hath vanished. They say, besides, ' that Anto- 
 ny the leech made a circle round him, and he 
 can have no hurt either from fire or the ene- 
 my's arrows.' " More than all the rest did this 
 news delight the heart of the old voevoda, 
 Obrazelz. The courier, immediately after leav- 
 ing the palace of the primate, presented himself 
 before him with the gracious word from the 
 Lord of All Russia, and his best thanks to the 
 lather for the son. This time nature conquer- 
 ed firmness, and the old man's face was be- 
 dewed with tears. Never had his own glory 
 flattered him so much, as the renown his son 
 had gained. First in his own oratory, and then 
 in the house of God, he laid the trophies of his 
 son before the cross of Him by whom death it- 
 self was vanquished, and under whose protec- 
 tion had been obtained those triumphs by a 
 warrior so dear to his heart. 
 
 Then the messengers of the Great Prince 
 began incessantly to enter Moscow ; the dust 
 did not rest a moment in the streets of the city. 
 The dvoretzkoi also arrived with his train. As 
 soon as he had finished his duties at the Great 
 Prince's palace, he paid a visit to his sick friend, 
 whom he found almost on his death-bed, dread- 
 fully disfigured, but still entertaining hopes of 
 recovery. Disease and disappointment at hav- 
 ing failed to obtain the mandrake, which had 
 been just within his reach, had added new fe- 
 rocity even to the savage soul of Mamon. Nev- 
 er had the fever of revenge so fiercely burned 
 in his heart. When he heard of Khabar's .suc- 
 cesses, his face was horribly convulsed. When, 
 too, the dvoretzkoi told him the news, that the 
 Great Prince intended to give Obrazelz's daugh- 
 ter to the Tsarevitch Karakatcha, he started up 
 for the first time from his sick bed and yelled 
 out— "As God see'th, while I live that shall 
 never be I They would not give her to my son, 
 and she shall remain a maid for ever. She may 
 take the vows ; she may bury herself alive in 
 the earth. What care I !— she shall never 
 wed ! Look, my friend, on me, on my son ; 
 
 this is all thrAr doing." The son of Mamon, 
 who was standing by the bedside, was as pal» 
 as death ; from his quivering chest there sounds 
 ed ever and anon the hollow cough which is the 
 presage of death— the echo from a tomb. 
 
 In obedience to the boyarin's orders, his ser- 
 vants brought him his richest cups and flagons. 
 Without speaking a single word, he placed them 
 in the dvoretzkoi's bosom, in his pockets — 
 wherever he could. The latter would not take 
 them, refused to accept them, thanked him j 
 again refused, and accepted them nevertheless^ 
 He comprehended his friend, and left him, bear^ 
 ing off a speechless but eloquent pledge of ven- 
 geance. 
 
 A new visitor brought comfort to the agitated 
 soulofMam6n. This was Selinova. She had 
 beaten a pathway in her dark intercourse be- 
 tween the two enemies' houses. Long had sha 
 hesitated whether to relate the story of Anas- 
 tasia's enchantment : but the thought of Kha- 
 bar's insults and infidelity, the thought that h& 
 would soon return and be by Haidee's side — by 
 her side, joyous, triumphant over all — this 
 thought had vanquished the feelings of compas- 
 sion, excited in her mind by her conscience and 
 the affection of the enamoured girl. She rela- 
 ted to Mamon all that she had learned respect- 
 ing the maiden's inclination for the heretic. 
 Wickedness has its moments of delight. Ma- 
 mon laughed a bitter laugh when he received 
 the astounding information which had fallen, 
 upon him so unexpectedly. 
 
 "Our Lord the Great Prince is come!" re- 
 sounded through the city, and in every quarter 
 of the town arose a murmur as in the beehive 
 when the queen returns, having flown away to 
 wander free, far from her watchful guard. " The. 
 Lord Great Prince is come!" was repeated in 
 the palace of Obrazetz, and Anastasia's heart 
 beat with expectation. It was not her brother 
 whom she was awaiting : with respect to Kha- 
 bar, a message had been sent to her father that,, 
 at the command of Ivan Vassflievitch, he would 
 remain for a time at Tver, in attendance upoa 
 Ivan the Young. All trembling, she sat at the 
 window of her chamber. And see ! at last a 
 horseman gallops up to the palace ; he halts at 
 the heretic's quarter. At his knock upon the 
 gate, Antony's attendant opens it, stops, and 
 gazes for some time at the stranger, and then 
 eagerly hastens to make his obeisance to him. 
 
 That is not Antony. He was in the German 
 mantle, his bright locks falling in curls upon his 
 shoulders ; but this was a young man with his 
 hair cut round, in the Russian dress, in helmefe 
 and cuirass. His cheeks seem to glow ; he is 
 covered with dust from head to foot. In the 
 mean time the attendant takes his horse, waits, 
 upon him as upon his master, and makes a sign 
 that he can enter his dwelling. Through the 
 aperture of the hardly opened window Anastasia 
 follows the unknown with her eyes. She knows 
 not what to think of his appearance in place of 
 Antony the leech. But see ! he stops on the 
 steps, doffs his casque, decorated with a green 
 branch and with a parrot's plume, wipes his 
 face with a handkerchief, and lingers on the 
 staircase, gazing mournfully at the window of 
 the chamber. "Heavens! 'tis he !" cries Anas- 
 tasia, blushing and turning pale. Yes, the 
 stranger was Antony Ehrenstein ! Love had 
 
112 
 
 THE HERETIC. 
 
 been too strong for his vow . he could not per- 
 form it, he had been again drawn back to that 
 enchanted house, to which was linked his heart 
 — his whole being. 
 
 "Who IS that, my child!" asked the nurse, 
 entering, and surprising her foster-child in her 
 incautious exclamation. 
 
 " 'Tis he ... . nurse .... Look, if my broth- 
 er be not come I" . . . . replied the terrified girl, 
 Tushing from the window. Slie knew not what 
 she was saying; the thought, that by her ex- 
 clamation she might have awakened suspicion 
 in the nurse's imagination, was the principal 
 cause of her confusion. 
 
 " There is a young man standing on the her- 
 etic's staircase," said the nurse, shaking her 
 liead ; " but it is not thy brother. See ! he hath 
 gone into Antony the leech's quarter." 
 
 Antony, on seeing the nurse's withered coun- 
 ••tenance instead of Anastasia's, hastened to en- 
 ter his own dwelling. 
 
 Tlien began a lecture addressed to the poor 
 girl, showing how dangerous it was to look into 
 a strange court-yard, how easily the Evil Eye 
 might take her, and, above all, the eye of a her- 
 etic necromancer : all this enforced by various 
 popular texts, and confirmed by proofs and ex- 
 amples. It was a real torment ! Anastasia, as 
 it was, was on the rack ; now her very suul 
 ■was being lacerated. " I thought it was my 
 brother," she said a dozen times in excuse, en- 
 treating forgiveness with tears. But seeing 
 that nothing could restrain the tremendous tor- 
 rent, which threatened to drown her, she vow- 
 ed, in a tone of despair, that she would lay vio- 
 lent hands on herself if the nurse did not leave 
 off tormenting her, and promise never to betray 
 this circumstance to her father. These threats 
 acted like a bucket of cold water on a madman, 
 %vho is whirling his head around, or is about to 
 dash it against a wall : the nurse held her tongue, 
 and promised with an oath not to speak on the 
 subject to the boyarin. Nevertheless, on the 
 first occasion of Anastasia's going down stairs 
 to her father, the fatal window was firmly, sol- 
 idly nailed up. In this manner her chamber 
 \vas rendered worse than a prison to her; they 
 bad taken away her last consolation— her last 
 joy. p'rom this time she could not bear her 
 nurse, and drove her away from her whenever 
 she appeared. What had become of iier poor 
 lieart and reason ? Severe measures to quell 
 licr feelings had only strengthened her love ; 
 and she fancied that, from tlio moment of An- 
 tony's arrival, the enchantment had acquired a 
 greater, more irresistible power. Her torment 
 Avas insupportable ; she was on the point of lo- 
 sing her reason, or, in reality, of laying hands 
 «in herself, as she had threatened her nurse. 
 ^>(!I^'nova, in her visits, but lieaped combustibles 
 beneath the pile, which was already inextin- 
 fimsbable, but cherished the unhappy maiden's 
 llii>ui;hl that she was enchanted. Notliing rc- 
 inained but to cut this knot, which Fate had 
 knitted in her destiny. 
 
 In this ajiony of mind she passed a week. 
 j\nastasia deciiled on the grievous but inevita- 
 ble effort. She only awaited an opportunity of 
 making It. This opportunity arrived. Her hro- 
 tlier was not yet returned from Tver, her father 
 li;\d gone to feast with a friend on the occasion 
 «f some fanuly festival, her nurse had been dis- 
 
 patched to make some purchases in the shops ; 
 the leech was at home — this fact was proved 
 by the sounds floating from his chamber, the 
 plaintive tones of his voice, and of the ma- 
 gic instrument with which, among other means, 
 he had bewitched the daughter of Obrazetz. 
 Her heart died away in her breast, so that she 
 could hardly breathe. She had determined on 
 going, and yet s'he feared to go. Bashfulness, 
 terror, love under the disguise of indescribable 
 sorrow, long struggled in her heart, and reduced 
 her to a feverish condition. At last a kind of 
 frenzy possessed her ; she determined, and dis- 
 patched her tirewoman to beg Selinova to come 
 to her. The widow knew why she was sum- 
 moned, and hastened to make her appearance. 
 
 The waiting- women were dismissed to the 
 garden, to walk or dance. 
 
 Anastasia offered her trembling hand to Seli- 
 nova. They passed out of the chamber, and 
 descended a dark staircase leading to the here- 
 tic's quarter. Many times did the daughter of 
 Obrazetz entreat her companion to give her a 
 moment to take breath ; often did her foot slip 
 on the stairs. 
 
 Before them stood the fatal door. 
 
 Anastasia stopped; she could hardly breathe. 
 Through the chaos of her thoughts appeared 
 one terrible idea. To whom was she going ? — 
 she, a maiden, the daughter of a boyarin ! . . . . 
 To a man I to a foreigner I If her father — her 
 brother were to see her 1 One glance from 
 them would kill her on the spot. There was 
 yet time to change her mind ; she could yet re- 
 turn. She looked at her friend, as if to implore 
 her aid. A ray of light througli a chink of the 
 iron door fell upon her face. Selinova remark- 
 ed her indecision, and at the instant to hold the 
 weak half maddened girl on the fatal threshold ; 
 she drew back the iron bolt, the door opened 
 . . . . The crafty widow gave it a slight push 
 forward, and Anastasia was in the heretic's 
 quarter, in the same chamber with Antony the 
 leech himself. . . . Selinova hurriedly and cau- 
 tiously concealed herself behind the door, so 
 that he could not see her. 
 
 Antony had laid his viol aside, aijd was sit- 
 ting, resting his elbows on the table, in a pro- 
 found reverie. A rustle behind the door caus- 
 ed him to start. He began to listen .... The 
 rustling behind the door increased. What 
 could it mean"! Was it an attack! Strange! 
 by daylight! from the boyarin's quarter! .... 
 His arms hung on the wall, close to his hand ; 
 one step, and he could seize them. He had no- 
 thing to fear but force .... But for what mo- 
 tive ! Was it from hatred to a heretic ! . . . . 
 
 Hark ! the holt grates .... the door creaks 
 . . . . opens .... Heavens! Anastasia! .... 
 'Tis herself! Antony uttered a cry of surprise, 
 and clasped his hands. Thunderstruck at her 
 appearance, he had not the power to stir from 
 the spot. 
 
 Anastasia was at his feet, entreating him for 
 something .... At last he with diflicnliy dis- 
 tinguished the words—" Mercy ! have pity upon 
 me .... loose me from the power of the Evil 
 One .... I cannot bear it more .... it is hea- 
 vy .... it strangles me !" . . . 
 
 The young man raises her, takes her hand, 
 presses it in his own, eiilroats her to explain 
 herself, savs that it is he who should rather be 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 113 
 
 at her feet ; and at the same time, while await- 
 ing tier explanation, relates, in the most tender, 
 the most burning expressions, his love, his tor- 
 ment, and his Tears. Agitated, in tears, ah 
 glowing with blushes, she appears even more 
 lovely than he had seen her before, from afar. 
 No. never in his life, in Italy, in his native land, 
 on the road to Moscow, had he ever met a wo- 
 man who could bear even the remotest com- 
 parison with her. Nowhere but in the brain 
 of an artist-poet could her ideal be realized. 
 He knows not what he says or what he does : 
 carried away by his feelmgs, he swears eternal 
 love to her, and dares to imprint a kiss upon her 
 hand. 
 
 And she .... What had she come to tell 
 him, what had she come to implore him] .... 
 "Where was her determination, the object of all 
 her struggles ! His voice, his words and ca- 
 resses, had thrown all into confusion. She 
 forgot the past, she understood not the present; 
 but that present was so sweet, it thrilled so de- 
 liciously through her blood, that she would not 
 have exchanged it for all the past of her life. 
 Her tongue essayed to give him the name of 
 enemy of God, magician, enchanter ; but refused 
 to utter the sounds as though they were blas- 
 phemy. My life ! my joy ! she would have 
 said ; but she could not, though her heart in se- 
 cret eonfirmed the name. Her hand was in 
 his ; she would have withdrawn it, but had not 
 the power. At last she fell sobbing on his 
 breast. 
 
 Antony clasped her in his embrace, seated 
 her on a bench, and knelt before her. Under- 
 standing imperfectly what she meant by the 
 ■words — "power of the Evil One," "magic," 
 and joining these words with the reports which 
 had been disseminated about him through Mos- 
 cow, he swore by the Lord God, the Holy Vir- 
 gin, and all the saints, that he was a Christian, 
 that he accounted magic as a grievous and 
 mortal sin, and had never thought of casting 
 any glamour over her. As witnesses to his 
 truth he pointed to the image, of Greek paint- 
 ing, which was placed in his chamber, crossed 
 himself in the Russian manner, drew forth from 
 his bosom and kissed a silver crucifix, which 
 he had begged Khabar to give him, 
 
 " I love thee more than like itself," he said 
 to her, "more than the mother who bore me. 
 My only joy is to behold thee, but from 
 far : I wither away like the leaf of autumn 
 without thee. Light of my eyes, my life I I 
 would not e.xchange one glance of thine for all 
 the heaps of gold — for all the wealth of the 
 Great Prince — for the honours of his boyarins — 
 for all together. And thus it is I who am en- 
 chanted ; it is I upon whom the glamour is cast. 
 No, my dearest, my beloved, this is love and 
 not enchantment. It is God who hath done 
 this, and not the powers of evil. Demand of 
 me what thou wilt, I will give thee my body 
 piecemeal, my blood drop by drop ; command, 
 speak but the words, I will perform it. Am I 
 hateful to thee 1 Order me to fly to some dis- 
 tant land — I will fly, and I will haste away there 
 in mourning for thee ; but I will perform thy 
 bidding." 
 
 " No," said Anastasia with a sigh of love, 
 "remain, but take our faith." 
 
 She, to save whose honour he would have 
 H 
 
 given up his life, had passed the threshold of a 
 man's chamber; this alone had thrown a spot 
 upon her virgin purity. Antony saw the abyss 
 over which Fate had suspended an ine.xperi- 
 enced maiden and himself; they had gone too 
 far to turn back, and — he gave his promise to 
 take the Russian faith. Her hand was to be 
 the condition. To this there was no answer ; 
 but he read one in the beautiful eyes, shadowed 
 by the veil of long black lashes, and the blush 
 which flitted over her cheek. He encircled her 
 waist with his arm, and pressed her to his 
 heart. His kiss died upon her lips, the kiss of 
 bridegroom to bride, the kiss that affiances them 
 for life and death. Anastasia had not strength 
 to resist. 
 
 The door creaked. Anastasia recollected 
 herself, and tore herself from his embrace. 
 
 " Who is there 1" he asked with terror. 
 
 "My friend .... fear nothing" .... replied 
 Anastasia, rushing to the door. 
 
 Antony stood motionless, as though struck 
 by the thunderbolt. 
 
 " A friend 1 — then there had been witnesses 
 of their interview — then the honour of a maiden 
 was pledged to a third person !" thought he, as 
 he repeated the fatal vow in his mind. 
 
 The iron door groaned on its hinges, the bolt 
 grated ; and all that was inanimate returned to 
 its place. But what a change had been expe- 
 rienced by the three beings who had performed 
 the preceding scene ! Yes, three ; for even 
 Selinova. who was capable of poisoning her 
 lover, and then committing suicide for him, was 
 capable also, in the moment of revenge, of any 
 crime, and in the moment of generosity of the 
 most extraordinary sacrifices, was so touched 
 by the love of Antony and the daughter of 
 Obrazetz, that she repented of her malicious 
 proceedings and intentions towards them. She 
 swore to Anastasia to be silent about their in- 
 terview, and left her to the enjoyment of her 
 happiness — that happiness which she knew by- 
 experience was so fugitive upon earth — and de- 
 parted straight to Mamon. Here, with tears in 
 her eyes, beating herself on the breast, she in- 
 formed him, that all that she had said respect- 
 ing Anastasia was an invention of her own, all 
 calumny, a lie ; that she was agonized, tortured 
 by remorse, and ready to confirm all this by the 
 most dreadful vow, even under the bells,* if he 
 thought proper. Infuriated by this information, 
 which ruined his best hopes, Mamon gnawed 
 his fist, and very nearly kicked the young wid- 
 ow from his house. 
 
 And how was it with Anastasia"! .... Where 
 had she been — what had she heard — what felt ' 
 On hand, lip, bosom, on her whole frame, giowed 
 traces which she would carry with her even to 
 the grave. How handsome, how kind he was ! 
 . . . . No ! he was not an accursed heretic, an 
 enchanter ; but her dear Antony, her beloved, 
 her bridegroom, her priceless treasure I All 
 that she had felt, Antony had felt too ; as it 
 had been with her, so had it been with Antony : 
 this was not glamour — this they call love, Fool- 
 
 * A per.son charged with debt, &c., nnd un.ible to dis- 
 prove by evidence his liability, had the privilege of clear- 
 ing himself by proceeding, with ;i cert.nin number of com 
 purgatori to n church, on which occasion the bnlls were 
 rung, and there taking a solemn oath of iiis iiOt teins 
 justly charged.— T. B. S. 
 
114 
 
 THE HERETIC 
 
 ish girl ! and she had not comprehended this 
 jefore ! It was all wrong that she had heard 
 from her friends about love ; it was evident 
 they did not know what it was. He would 
 adopt the Russian faith .... he would demand 
 her in marriage .... her father would ask, 
 "Dost thou love Antony?" "I love him as 
 the light of God," she would say. No, she 
 would never have the courage to say so to her 
 father ; he would understand it in her silence 
 .... What had he said to her — her beloved ! 
 Among all ihe tender words of father, brother, 
 friends, she had never heard such words. 
 Where could he have found them 1 They had 
 made her soul so well, so joyful, that she could 
 liave hearkened for ever without being weary. 
 Many of his words she had not understood ; but 
 it was clear they, too, were the same tender 
 caresses that he had murmured to her in her 
 dreams — to which she could nowhere find fit 
 answer but in Paradise ! And when he took 
 her hand, she hud not seen heaven's light, her 
 eyes had grown dim. She felt as once when 
 her nurse — for a jest — had intoxicated her wjih 
 strong mead. Tis true, her eyes were dim, 
 but her heart was so bright— brighter than she 
 could tell. And when he kissed her lips .... 
 Heavens ! she did not remember whether she 
 was alive or whether she died at that moment ! 
 
 Anastasia was all boiling with rapture — all 
 full of life, like the festival goblet brimming to 
 the foani-crovvn of its sparkling contents : like 
 the rose bursting forth from its virgin bud be- 
 neath the burning glow of noon. 
 
 And how was it with Antony 1 . . . . Was he 
 not the child to whom chance had sent the pre- 
 cious toy which he has awaited with the pain 
 and terror of impatience 1 No! he was young 
 in years, but in soul he was a man, ready to 
 keep his word in the struggle with all the pow- 
 ers of the earth, and all ihe inflictions of desti- 
 ny. He would not retreat, though before him 
 he beheld an abyss. He had given a promise ; 
 he would fulfill it ; nought but death could pre- 
 vent him. Already the struggle in his heart 
 had ceased : there was one duty — a holy, an 
 inevitable one. His determination was confirm- 
 ed by the thought, that his mother, his instruc- 
 tor, had hinted, had indeed all but commanded 
 him in each of their letters, to remain in Rus- 
 sia. His mother had herself promised, for some 
 important but secret cause, to come over to 
 him, if he could find an establishment there. 
 Russia would become his second country ; it 
 was therefore indispensable that he should 
 adopt the Russian faith. And what then ? that 
 faith was a Christian one, pure from the re- 
 proach of corruption and fanaticism, with which 
 the Western church might be charged. Whole 
 nations in the south of Europe were agitated 
 by the ground swell of religious opinion — Wic- 
 lifTc, Ihiss, had thousands of followers ; his na- 
 tive land had spilt, too, so much blood for these 
 opinions ! .... It was true that, there, convic- 
 tion was the moving power — and here, wes 
 there not interest, selfishness ? No, here it was 
 not alone selfishness, nor love. The salvation 
 of a fellow-creature, a friend, a sister, a bride, 
 from dishonour, from ruin, in this world and in 
 the next , the salvation of a whole family from 
 shame, of an aged father from an untimely 
 death, and himself, perhaps, from the dreadful 
 
 [ sin of homicide — was not all this a loRy aim, 
 and one well worthy of the sublimestsaciificesT 
 ! Antony knew that by these sacrifices he would 
 I dot destroy his soul ; and even if it were need- 
 ful that he should destroy his soul for Anasta- 
 sia, for the preservation of her honour, which 
 was placed in such frightful peril — he would not 
 have hesitated. These are the reasonings with 
 which the hero of our tale armed himself in or- 
 der to quiet his conscience, which was some- 
 what disturbed. It is useless to conceal it — 
 many of ihem were dictated by his heart, by 
 passion rather than reason or strength of will. 
 We do not wish to make him out better than 
 he was. 
 
 The idea of obtaining the hand of the boya- 
 rin's daughter was by no means an unreasona- 
 ble one. There was one condition — the change 
 of religion. With the fulfilment of this condi- 
 tion, the foreigner would osbtain access to the 
 house of God : the head anointed with the holy 
 oil, might stand beneath the marriage crown 
 with a Russian maiden. How many examples 
 were there, of newly-christened Tartars espou- 
 sing the daughters of boyarins ! The fathers 
 thought to save a soul by such a marriage, 
 which, according to their notions, redeemed an 
 infidel from eternal fires. The Great Prince 
 himself had approved of similar unions of Rus- 
 sians with foreigners, and had endowed the 
 newly-married couples with estates. But of 
 course it was not estates that attracted Antony : 
 he would refuse them. Anastasia's hand was 
 promised by the Great Prince to Karakatcha, 
 Tsarevitch of Kassimoff, and the boyarin Obra- 
 zetz cherished a peculiar ill-will towards the 
 
 inmate of his palace How prevent the 
 
 dreadful union with the Tartar, and demolish 
 the obstacles which separated him from Anas- 
 tasia T To whom could he most readily and 
 with the greatest hope of success have recourse, 
 in order to attain both objects ? .... In the 
 midst of such thoughts he was found by Andri- 
 ousha. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVni. 
 
 THE artist's FEVF,n-riT. 
 " A lover, when he beholds the death of the woman he 
 ftdbres; a mother, parting for ever from her daughter; a. 
 father, deserted by ungrateful rhildren ; on exile, who can- 
 not silence or disprove calumny : none of these unhappy 
 Ijeings can know suffering like that which is eiporicneed 
 by the artist who feels himself passing away, unapprecia- 
 ted, to eternity."— Lakont. 
 
 " Dear, ah, dear Antony ! save my father," 
 cried the son of Aristotle, rushing into the cham- 
 ber. 
 
 "What is the matter T' inquired the leech, 
 kissing the boy. " And thou thyself art all over 
 blood." 
 
 " 1 hurt my temple a little .... fell on the 
 staircase .... 'twill pass .... But my father, 
 my father ! Ah, what will become of him ! . . . . 
 It is now twenty-four hours since he has either 
 eaten, or drank, or slept; he is delirious, com- 
 plaining that they will not let him soar to heav- 
 en ... . Just at daybreak he shut his eyes ; I 
 went up to him on tiptoe, I felt his head— his 
 brow was burning, his lips parched, he breathed 
 heavily .... he opened his dim eye.<!, gazed 
 without knowing what he saw, and talks inco- 
 hercnily with hiinsclf. Now he is sitting in the 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 115 
 
 square, on the brides that they are preparing be- 
 low the Ciiurch of Our Lady, waving his arm 
 and beating his breast." 
 
 " Calm thyseli; 'Tis nothing, my dear boy . . . 
 Some artist's irritation. Let us go to him, and 
 ook what is to be done." 
 
 They hurried out, and almost at full speed di- 
 rected their path to the ruins of the Cathedral of 
 the Annunciation. 
 
 They found the artist in the same attitude as 
 when Andriousha had left him. His liead was 
 bare, his long hair streaming disorderly on the 
 breeze : despair was imaged in his haggard 
 eyes; a golden chain with a medal, the gift of 
 the Great Prince, was turned round and hang- 
 ing on his bac'-. Amid the heaps of .stone he 
 looked a living ruin. At the approach of the 
 physician, an ironic smile passed over his lips. 
 " Whence come yeV he asked, turning to An- 
 tony. " From the court of the Lord of all Rus- 
 sia, is it not sol Well, and howl hast thou 
 cured the parrots, and the Great Prince's cats'! 
 The useful before the beautiful ! So it ought to 
 be. Cure them, cure them, fair leech; 'tis a bet- 
 ter trade than to strain after the secrets of heaven 1 
 
 And hast thou looked at the courtiers' 
 
 tongues 1 Ha ! Are they in a sound condi- 
 tion ■?.... As of old — they are smeared with 
 ]ioney when they have to tell a bitter truth; as 
 of old — with gall, when they have to defend the 
 disgraced .... I could sprinkle them with un- 
 slaked lime, I could tear them with red hot pin- 
 cers till the day of judgment ! . . . . Pigmies ! . . . 
 What, Master Leech — thou who ladlest out the 
 water of life and death, hast thou come to look 
 at the artist's humiliation — to laugh at him when 
 the hand of ignorance hath destroyed, at one 
 blow, all his brightest dreams, his strugglings 
 towards heaven 1 . . . Look! admire! . . . Well, 
 is it merry ■? . . . Laugh not too soon; wait a 
 •while, the same fate awaits thee !" 
 
 " We have come to comfort thee, to help thee 
 with our love," said Antony, touched even to 
 tears. " Dost thou not know thy children 1" 
 
 "Help! . . . 'Tis too late!" .... (Aristotle 
 shook his head.) " I have no children . . . Look, 
 there is my creation, my child !" — (he pointed 
 to the torn fragments of a plan which were 
 scattered around.) " This k its grave. Bury 
 me with it, here beside it ... . Ay, the grave, 
 nothingness, that is what awaits me ! ... I meant 
 to build them a temple, a temple of God — do you 
 mark mel But what do they wanti They 
 want cannon, bells, something larger, something 
 better, something noisier, something more beau- 
 tiful ! Well, I make them a bell to ring out 
 their ignorance to the whole world, to tell that 
 they have lured me hither with a heavenly 
 hope, and, instead of that, they have filled my 
 eyes with dust and lime. I will cast them a 
 cannon two versts long, I will level it at this 
 miserable city of huts— it shall all be ruins, all 
 in dust, living and dead ! . . . Oh, then I shall be 
 left alone ! No man will hinder me from build- 
 ing my temple. I can yet collect its fragltients : 
 it is here yet," (Aristotle struck his fist against 
 his forehead, and then against his breast,) — 
 " here, while I live ! Then from the ruins I will 
 build a temple to the living God ; let the nations 
 come from afar and worship him' in this bound- 
 less desert." 
 
 It was bitter to Andriousha to listen to his fa- 
 ther's frenzied words. He sat down on a stone 
 by his side, kissed his hand, and bathed it with 
 his tears. Desiring to arrange his father's dress 
 
 as well as he could, and to render less remarka- 
 ble the disorder of his exterior, which humilia- 
 ted the old man in the eyes of the passengers, he 
 took off as though for heat, his bonnet, in order 
 to look like his father, and arranged the chain 
 of gold. Aristotle glanced at him with ten.ier- 
 ness — "Arrange it, arrange it, my child," he 
 said, stroking his son's head: "This is the pre- 
 cious, the rich reward for burning bricks, for 
 building bridges, for casting a great gun ! I will 
 leave it to thee as an inheritance, along with the 
 name of founder and bricklayer !".... (After 
 I thinking awhile, and shaking his head.) "It 
 I was not such a reward as I thought of when I 
 journeyed hither. A chain of undying years to 
 ndoin my name: the glorious name of Aristotle 
 the Artist, the builder of the temple — that was 
 the heritage I meant to leave thee." (He stop- 
 ped and wept.) " I thank God, I restrained my- 
 self from making thee an artist. Dost thou re- 
 member, Antony, thou blamedst me for thati" 
 
 The leech beheld in his friend's weeping a fa- 
 vourable symptom ; pleased, too, that the con- 
 versation had turned on Andriousha, he hasten- 
 ed to keep it up. " I blamed thee not, my good 
 friend," said he ; " but I only asked thee about the 
 destination of thy son. Be not ungrateful for 
 the mercies of the Creator; he hath been gener- 
 ous to the family of Flora venti in great gifts. 
 Thy brother is a famous leech; Italy, the prom- 
 ised land of the beautiful, accounts thee a great 
 artist; to thy son hath fallen the warrior's lot. 
 Who can tell with what glorious deed he will 
 fulfill that destiny ! Thou hast assuredly acted 
 reasonably in giving him a path, which will be 
 opened so wide by Fate herself, and by his no- 
 ble character. It is not for all to travel the 
 same road," 
 
 At this moment the sky was covered by a 
 cloud, the wind whistled as if just freed from 
 confinement, and began to pierce the artist. He 
 felt his head. Andriousha anticipated him, and 
 gave him a bonnet, which he had carried after 
 his father when he had quitted the house, udd 
 had then placed not far from him, among the 
 stones. Aristotle covered his head. 
 
 " There will be a smart shower," said his son.. 
 
 " Let us take shelter under my roof," suggest- 
 ed Antony, giving his hand to the artist. The 
 latter did not resist, and in silence, like an obe- 
 dient child, followed him, first throwing a wist- 
 ful glance at the fragments of the plan. He 
 seemed to grieve that they should be wetted in 
 the rain. Andriousha understood his father's 
 glance, collected the fragments, and carefully put 
 them into his bosom. 
 
 " Ay, 'tis well, well done !" said Aristotle ia 
 a melancholy tone, as he followed his friend.. 
 
 He remained to pass the night with Antony, 
 and spent the next twenty-four hours in an agi- 
 tated condition both of body and mind. His 
 talk was for the most part incoherent. At 
 length he appeared to return to himself; but 
 when his senses came back, he began to bewail 
 his destiny. Thus, or nearly in this fashion, 
 did he speak to his j'oung friend: — " Thou 
 knowest not, Antony, what a life is that of an 
 artist ! While yet a child, he is agitated by 
 heavy, incomprehensible thoughts : to him the 
 sphyh.x, Genius, hath already proposed its enig- 
 mas ; in his bosom the Promethean vulture is 
 perched, and groweth with his growth. His 
 comrades are playing and making merry; they 
 are preparing for their riper years recollections 
 of childhood's days of paradise — childhood, that 
 
il6 
 
 THE HERETIC. 
 
 never can be but once : the time cometh, and he 
 remembereth but the tormentine: dreams ol that 
 age. Youth is at hand ; lor others 'tis the time 
 oi love, ol soli lies, of revelry — the feast of life ; 
 for ihe artist, none of ihese. Solitary, flying 
 from society, he avoideih the maiden, he avoiu- 
 eih joy; plunging into me loneliness of his soul, 
 he there, with indescribable mourning, with 
 tears of inspiration, on his knees before his Ideal, 
 imploreth her to come down upon earth to his 
 frail dwelling. Days and nights he waileth, 
 and pineth after unearthly beauty. Woe to him 
 if she doth not visit him, and yet greater woe to 
 him if she doth ! The tender frame of youth 
 cannot bear her bridal kiss ; union with the gods 
 is latal to man ; and the mortal is annihilated in 
 her embrace. I speak not of the education, of 
 the mechanical preparation. And here at every 
 step the Material enchainelh thee, buildeth up 
 barriers before thee : marketh a formless vein 
 upon thy block of marble, mingling soot with 
 thy carmine, entangling thy imagination in a 
 net of monstrous rules and formulas, command- 
 eth thee to be the slave of the house-painter or 
 of the stone-cutter. And what awaiieth thee, 
 when thou hast come forth victorious from this 
 mechanic school — when thou hast succeeded in 
 thr«wing off the heavy sum of a thousand un- 
 necessary rules, with which pedantry hath over- 
 whelmed thee — when thou takest as thy guide 
 only those laws which are so plain and simple 1 
 ....What awaiteth ihee, then 1 Again the 
 Material ! Poverty, need, forced labour, appre- 
 ciators, rivals, that ever-hungry flock which fli^ 
 eth upon thee ready to tear thee in pieces, as 
 soon as it knoweth that thou art a pure possessor 
 of the gift of God. Thy soul burneih to create, 
 but thy carcass demandelh a morsel of bread; 
 inspiration veileih her wing, but the body ask- 
 eth not only to clothe its nakedness with a de- 
 cent covering, but fine cloth, silk, velvet, that it 
 may appear before thy judges in a proper dress, 
 wiihout which they will not receive thee, thou 
 and thy productions will die unknown. In or- 
 der to obtain food, clothes, thou must worJ: : a 
 merchant will order from thee a cellar, a ware- 
 house ; the signore, stables and dog-kennels. 
 Now at last thou hast procured thyself daily 
 bread, a decent habit for thy bones and flesh : 
 inspiration thirsteth for its nourishment, demand- 
 ing from thy soul images and forms. Thou Gre- 
 atest, thou art bringing thy Ideal to fulfilment. 
 How swiftly move the wheels of thy being! 
 Thy existence is tenfold redoubled, thy pulse is 
 bealin" as \\'!;f!^ ^hou breathest '.lie htmosphere 
 of high mountains. ThoU spetidest in one day 
 whole months of life. How many nights pnss- 
 ed without sleep, how manv days in ceaseless 
 chain, all filled with agitation ! Or rather, there 
 is nor day nor night for thee, nor seasons of the 
 year, as ior other men. Thy blood now boileth, 
 then freezeth ; the fever of imagination wasieih 
 thee away. Triumph setleth thee on fire, the 
 fear of failure niaddeneth thee, tearing thee to 
 pieces, tormenting thee with dread of the judg- 
 ments of men; then again ariseth the terror of 
 dying with the task unfinished. Add, loo, the 
 inevitable shade of glory, which stalketh ever in 
 thy footsteps, and giveth thee not a moment of 
 repose. This is the period of creation I While 
 creating, thou hast Ixon dwelling at the foot.stool 
 of God. Crushed by thy contact with the hem 
 of his garment, overwhelmed by inspiration 
 from Him whom the world can scarcely bear, a 
 poor mortal, half alive, half dead, thou descend- 
 
 est upon earth, and carries! with thee what thou 
 hast created there, in His presence! Mortals 
 surround thy production, judging, valuing, dis- 
 cussing it in detail ; the patron kiudeth tne or- 
 naments, the grandeur ot the columns, the weight 
 of the work; the distributors of favour gamble 
 away thy honour, or creep like mice under thy 
 plan, and nibble at it in the darkness of night. 
 No, my friend, the life of an artist is the life of 
 a martyr." 
 
 Thus spoke Aristotle, without giving Antony 
 time to reply, which he several times attempted 
 to do. As soon as he grew calmer, the young 
 man ventured to answer him as follows: " Thou 
 hast drawn an unenviable picture of the arti.si's 
 life ! Allow me to say, thou hast selected only 
 the dark side of the "painting. Two or three 
 questions, and 1 have done." 
 
 " I await them." 
 
 " When creating, or, as thou hast justly ex- 
 pressed it, when dwelling at the footstool of sub- 
 lime beauty, catching at the hem of its garment, 
 hast thou not enjoyed in one moment bliss 
 which the common mortal cannot purchase with 
 his whole life! Hast thou not, when embody- 
 ing thy Ideal, had sweet, had heavenly momenf, 
 which thou wouldst not exchange for all the 
 treasures of the world 7 Hast thou not been 
 happy in the remembrance of these moments'? 
 Is it little that thou hast been gifted by Godl . . 
 Art thou not far above millions of thy fellow- 
 creatures 1 . . . Thou sinnest, my friend !" 
 
 " 'Tis true, 'tis true, Antonio !" cried the artist 
 with feeling, pressing his friend's hand; "all this 
 1 have enjoyed. And if I had to begin my life 
 again, if I had the choice of the pleasures of the 
 ri'ch man, the conqueror, the king, or of my past 
 joys, I would again choose the latter. ag;iin 1 
 would follow the artist's peaceful path. Yes, 
 that hath been given to me which was neces«ary 
 for me. that which my soul required even before 
 its appearance in the world. But — man is a 
 strange being; selfishness, love of glory, call it 
 how thou wilt, driveth him to frenzy. He is not 
 content with enjoying his own creation himself 
 — hedesireth that others, that millions enjoy it 
 also; he is not content with the praises of his 
 contemporaries — he desireth that posterity, fu- 
 ture generations, future ages, bow down before 
 him. UJisatisfied with the shortness of his life, 
 he pineth- to live bej"ond the grave. Dead, be- 
 neath the tombstone, he heareth neither praise 
 nor judgment; but he tormenteth himself here, 
 to e.scape the one, and to enjoy the other, dream- 
 ing that his name will go from mouth to mouth, 
 when he is sleeping in the dust." 
 
 "A noble dream !" said Antony. " Without 
 it. what would distinguish man from the beast? 
 Without if, the earth would want its best orna- 
 ment— humanilv its best achievements." 
 
 " Well, well,' mv friend ! We had ended 
 where we ought to have begnn. What is the 
 "ood of Ihe pining afler the beaulilul without 
 fulfilment— the loHv, noble desire to live through 
 .icc<: flie feeling of self-knowledge, the f^iensith 
 of so'nl, the gifts of heaven, the powerof creating 
 a worthy immortality, when there is no possi- 
 bililv of realizins thv creations in worthy, eter- 
 nal form'*'' . . The material, the vile material, 
 is what tortureth me, agonizelh me, driveth me 
 to frenzy' . . . Hear, and condemn me, if I de- 
 serve it I told thee, with what lofty, what ar- 
 dent hopes, I bent my course to Muscovy; what 
 rich offers I refu.sed, in order to realize those 
 hopo6. Neither the friendship of the Doge Mar- 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 117 
 
 celli, nor the pressing invitations of other Italian 
 sovereigns, nor the prayers of rny I'riends and 
 kinsmen, nor a future in an unknown land, wi-;h 
 which they frightened me — nothing could stop 
 me. I leil my fatherland with its blessed sky. 
 I came to a distant country, at the very extrem- 
 ity of the world, buried in mountains of snow, 
 attracted by ilie promises with which they flat- 
 tered my heart, and by my own confidence, that 
 here I could enjoy facilities for my tcork, such as 
 I had hitherto only dared to hope. Here, a soli- 
 tary artist, caressed by the government, enjoying 
 the love, the respect of a religious nation, ready 
 to make any sacrifices for my church, I dreamed 
 that I might realize my creation quicker than 
 elsewhere. At last I am here. Thou knowest 
 what menial services it cost me to obtain the fa- 
 vour of the Great Prince. I served him like a 
 day-labourer; my face was singed with gunpow- 
 der, my back was bent before its time in the 
 vault, my hands were horn with toil. It was, 
 however, by such labours that I reached the 
 apogee of the Tsar's favour. And the love of 
 the people, of the mob, I acquired so far as to 
 receive myself their contributions for the build- 
 ing of the church. My son, whom I had given 
 to this nation as a pledge of my devotedness, my 
 trust in it, whom I had caused to adopt the Rus- 
 sian faith — my aid in warfare, my austere life, 
 my preparation of rough materials, the cannons 
 and the bells I cast, even my title of Church- 
 builder — all procured me the respect and love 
 of the Russians. I had prepared a great quantity 
 of materials for the church, and could continue 
 to prepare yet more at the time of construction ; 
 ten thousand bricks are brought every day for 
 nothing from my kilns. The boyarins who pos- 
 sess houses around the Assumption are volun- 
 tarily pulling them down to give room for the 
 church : ' for the foundations of the house of God 
 we are ready to lay down our bodies,' they say 
 ->■ 'this is different from pulling down churches 
 to make room for gardens.' I can dispose, too, 
 of thousands of zealous hands. Ivan's treasury, 
 enriched by triumphs in which I have had no 
 small share, would open every means for me. 
 All — even the recent success of the reduction of 
 Tver, authorized me to approach the execution 
 of my creation. There was wanting but the 
 word of Ivan — ' Let it be so.' Well, the day be- 
 fore yesterday I received an order to present my 
 plan to him. I take it. The Great Prince him- 
 self, Sophia, and a high ecclesiastical personage, 
 were my judges. With a trembling heart I un- 
 roll my plans, I explain them .... I behold dis- 
 pleasure upon Ivan's face ; still more on the 
 countenance of the ecclesiastic; Sophia looked 
 at me with compassion and a lively interest. 
 ' For God's sake,' said the Great Prince, ' what 
 is this that thou wouldst build usl' 'A cathe- 
 dral of the Mother of God, such as would be 
 worthy of her,' replied I. 'A cathedral 1' cried 
 Ivan, ' we want a house of God ; but what is this 
 thou hast made usi . . . Hast thou been to Vla- 
 dimir, hast thou seen the cathedral church 
 there V ' I have been there, and have seen it.' 
 ' Build us one like that. Master Aristotle, only 
 somewhat larger and thicker; that is for Vladi- 
 mir, and ours must be fit for Moscow — dost thou 
 understand 1 For this we will thank ye, in the 
 name of all orthodox Russia, and we will not 
 leave thee unrewarded.' ' If so, why didst thou 
 invite a celebrated master from Venice]' I said, 
 with indignation, rolling up my plan. ' Thou 
 mightcst have ordered any bricklayer to build 
 
 it !' ' Now thou art angered ! Hold, show me 
 thy paper again,' and he began again to examine 
 it. 'As thou wilt, but we understand it not — we 
 understand it not. It looks, even on paper, ready 
 to tumble down.' At this moment the ecclesi- 
 astic looked at the plan, and exclaimed — ' 'Tis 
 exactly a Latin chapel!' ' It is not at least a 
 Jewish school,' I cried. The priest turned pale. 
 Sophia began to defend me, saying that such a 
 church would be the wonder of foreigners, that 
 the cathedral at Constantinople in honour of her 
 patron saint could hardly be compared to it for 
 beauty and grandeur. The Great Prince shook 
 his head, and thought awhile. ' And how manyl 
 fathoms dost thou need for thy church V he 
 asked. 'Two hundred,' said I. 'Two hun- 
 dred ? thou art mad, Aristotle ! Why, then, the 
 boyarins' houses must be levelled, the ancient 
 churches must come down.' ' The izbas of thy 
 boyarins, and the chapels which you call 
 churches, assuredly must come down. Thoa 
 thyself wert pulling them down for the garden?. 
 If thou wouldst be a great .sovereign, thou muse 
 do what is great, and worthy of the admiralioa 
 of the world.' ' Well ; but where are we to find 
 ,so many bricks V ' In my kilns there are al- 
 ready a great many ready ; I will prepare more.' 
 ' Where am I to get bricks for the Kreml 1 For- 
 get not, I must build a wall, gates, towers.' 
 ' Where thou wilt, my lord, but I have prepared 
 the bricks for the Cathedral of Our Lady, and 
 not for thy Tartar towers.' ' No, this cannot 
 be,' cried Ivan, enraged; 'thou art mad, Aris- 
 totle — thou hast a fever-fit. I have done much 
 to please thee, but this cannot be — 'tis impossi- 
 ble. Canst thou bend an oak into a bow, and 
 then expect it to grow up to heaven 1 All Rus- 
 sia is but newly fledged, and thou wouldst pluck 
 it of its last feather. Be angry or not, I wil 
 that the Cathedral of Our Lady be built on the 
 model of the church of Valdimir, only rather 
 more spacious and thicker: that it be a church, 
 not a temple, not a Latin chapel.' ' Thou hast 
 many Italian architects, command them.' ' I 
 will that thou build it.' ' I will not.' ' I will 
 have thee in chains,' shouted Ivan, striking his 
 staff" on the ground, and devouring me with his 
 burning eyes: ' thou shalt build it in chains.' 'I 
 will build my temple in chains, if thou wilt.' ' I 
 want a church-on the model of that of Vladimir.' 
 ' I will not.' ' What, dost thou not know me V 
 ' I know thee, but I will not.' I thought he 
 would have struck me with his staff; but he 
 only shook it at me without striking. I went 
 out from his presence, clapping the door behind 
 me. And this is the end of all my painful toils 
 for this ruler ; this is the fruit of my inspiration, 
 the fu-lfilraent of my fondest hopes ! ... Is it not 
 enough to drive one mad V 
 
 " As far as I can see, thou hast mistaken the 
 Great Prince, mistaken as to his means and 
 those of Russia," said Antony, takiiig on this 
 occasion the part of counsellor. "With great- 
 ness of soul thou hast unthinkingly attributed to 
 him a love for the fine arts which we are accus- 
 tomed to find in the princes of Italy. Let a sav- 
 age, be he as wise as you will, pass from his 
 hut into a marble palace, will he not be terrified 
 and repelled by it 1 ... . Now, if my wish be not 
 too presumptuous, permit me to see thy plans. 
 Trust ihera to the judgment, not of my knowl- 
 edge, but of my love for the beautiful, and of a 
 cool reason. It may be, that acquaintance with 
 the great monuments of architecture in Italy, ac- 
 quaintance with great artists, may have formed 
 
118 
 
 THE HERETIC. 
 
 my taste so far that I may by feeling understand 
 what others understand by science." 
 
 The anisl, now tranquillized, consented with 
 pleasure to his young friend's proposition. The 
 fragments of the plan, which were not numer- 
 ous, were instantly placed together on the table, 
 and united with paste. But just as Antony had 
 put them together, and was examining them, 
 there presented himself a messenger from the 
 Great Prince. His business was to the leech 
 alone; and he called him into the hall. Here 
 he explained that Ivan Vassilievitch was ex- 
 tremely anxious about the artist's health, whom 
 he was afraid of losing, and gave command to 
 Antony to present himself with a saii.'sfactory 
 account, (i.e., with the tidings that Aristotle was 
 rapidly recovering — it was Antony's business to 
 make the sick well: he might die himself, but 
 ihe patient must recover, particularly when the 
 Lord of All Russia commanded.) "Now, this 
 fever-tit," said the mes.senger, " is not the first 
 that hath happened. Once Ivan Vassilievitch 
 pulled down two or three izbas close to the As- 
 sumption, and the palace-inaster became quiet 
 again. But this time our Lord can do no more ; 
 pull down, you see, all the izbas, all the church- 
 es and houses in the town ! Judge thyself, as a 
 reasonable man, is it possible 1" Antony could 
 not help smiling when he heard the simple ex- 
 planation; but at the same time he received 
 new conviction that his fritnd's demands ex- 
 ceeded the possibility of satisfying them. Reas- 
 sured the messenger that the artist was out of 
 danger, promising to afford him the necessary 
 help in case of need, and instantly to present 
 himself to the Great Prince. 
 
 On returning to his chamber, he found the ar- 
 tist with his face a little more cheerful. Wheth- 
 er it was the enquiry from the Great Prince 
 which had given Ari.stotle fresh hope, (he could 
 not but be sure that that message was about 
 him,) or the examination of his plan, which had 
 effected such a change for the belter, or perhaps 
 both these causes at once, the leech found a 
 smile upon his lips. But little by little the 
 smile vanished away, and fresh clouds gathered 
 upon his brow. " Thou art right, Antonio," he 
 ciied; " I am a madman !" 
 
 Antony began to examine the plan. What he 
 saw, language can never describe. Perhaps an 
 edifice, like the Temple of St. Peter at Rome, 
 perhaps a Christian Pantheon, a Divina Com- 
 niedia in stone. Familiar with the highest pro- 
 ductions of architecture in Italy, he had prepar- 
 ed his iinaginalion for something extraordinary ; 
 but he saw that Aristotle's building outstripped 
 imagination and possibility. Long he stood be- 
 fore the drawings, quite unable to give any ac- 
 count of his impressions. 
 
 The portico of the temple was gloomy; as 
 soon as you entered it, you were surrounded by 
 a religious awe; all there was expressive of the 
 weight of sin, humiliation, despondency, contri- 
 tion. Gigantic quadrangular colunms, com- 
 po.-^cd of huge stones, rudely hewn, and speckled 
 with the moss of ages, besprinkled with the 
 moul.lincss of time, piled in a wondrous harmo- 
 nious disorder, seemed as though raised by the 
 almighty arm of nature, and not of man ; from 
 vault-i, of similar proportions to the columns, 
 sternly looked forth colossal statues of stone, 
 and seemed preparing to crush you : the hollow 
 murmur of prayer would resound along those 
 vaults like a breath from the frail bosom— not 
 of one man, but of all humanity. Through 
 
 moderately large openings, scattered irregularly 
 here and there, the sunbeams in two or three 
 spots sparingly dropped their light, now on the 
 divine image of the crucified Saviour, now on 
 his grave-clothes, now on the face of the Mag- 
 dalen, bedewed with tears. But the further you 
 advanced into the interior of the temple, the 
 lighter, brighter, more cheerful it became: here 
 proportions, forms, images, cast off' their fetters, 
 more air was admitted, all glimmered in the 
 half light of hope, and the trust in immortality. 
 At length, as you approached the last apart- 
 ment, you seemed to tread down the earth from 
 beneath your feet, and plunge into a kind of 
 holy immensity. There dwelt blessing; there 
 all was ether, harmony, brilliancy, and joy. 
 Words cannot describe what Antony felt as he 
 gazed upon the plan of the wondrous threefold 
 temple. 
 
 " No !" cried the young man, after a long 
 pau-ie, with an enthusiasm he was not able to 
 conceal ; "no, great artist, thou createst not for 
 this age, but for centuries which are to come 
 hereafter, when the power of Archimedes' lever 
 will replace thousands of men Even the imag- 
 inati-on is hardly able to embrace the immensity 
 of this edifice, and, dumb with astonishment, 
 falleth prostrate before it. What would be the 
 effect if it were executed? .... Pardon me, if 
 I tell thee a bitter truth .... the Russian sov- 
 ereign is right, a hundred limes right! If he 
 could reach the grandeur of this edifice, he would 
 still more fully understand the impossibility of 
 realizing it. Cast away, while it is yet lime, 
 thy hopes — thine idea far exceedeth possibility. 
 And is it not ever thus? What heaven hath 
 created, earth cannot execute." 
 
 Pale, trembling, Aristotle listened to him, as 
 if he were hearing h-is sentence of death. He 
 had prepared himself for this verdict; and yet, 
 when he heard it, he could not return to reason. 
 " Filled with the sublime visions of genius, a 
 dweller in heaven coming down to our poor 
 world," continued the young man, taking the ar- 
 tist's cold hand and pressing it, "thou hasi mis- 
 taken our earthly calculations, our proportions. 
 Still greater hath been thine error, in dreaming 
 of realizing thy building here, in Russia, in these 
 days. Thou wonderest that they understand 
 thee not here; is it surprising! Thou art come 
 too soon. Think, Ivan is gifted with a mighty 
 soul, with a will of iron: he can conquer time 
 and circumstances, but he is not almighty .... 
 Can he inspire himself with the feeling of the 
 beautiful — an ardent love for it, so far as to adopt 
 thy work nmc? Can he sacrifice to it the wealth 
 of his treasury — can he renounce other objects, 
 which he considers more profitable and impor- 
 tant ? Is he to devote thousands of his people's 
 arms, thousands of his boyarins' houses, and 
 churches which orthodox Moscow counts so 
 precious! In him the idea of strength, consist- 
 ng in uniting into one the scattered parts of a 
 vast whole, fulfills its destination: but the idea 
 of the beautiful is unintelligible to him, or is 
 conceived but dimly, and always under the forms 
 of strength, of firmness, of variety. Listen to 
 me: diminish the proportions of thy plan a third, 
 f not a half, and even then the genius of the 
 lieautiful will recogni.se thy production as his 
 own ; posterity willadmire it. But even in this 
 case, prepare "the Russian sovereign for the ex- 
 pcriu^ent by a building such as Ivan and his peo- 
 ple have commanded— if not according to the 
 idea of the beautiful, yet according to ihe idea 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 119 
 
 of the vast — and let this be the mediator between 
 the Russians and thyself. Build them fir>t a 
 •church as a peace-maker. It will be a new sac- 
 »Tifice from thee to the Ru.ssian people. And 
 then, reducing the proportions of thy temple, se- 
 lect a siie for it not in the Kreml, but on one of 
 ihe heights in the neighbourhood of Moscow. 
 'Then, full master of thy plan, assisted by human 
 j-esources, and with the help of God, raise thy- 
 self an immortal monument. For this thou 
 mayest take Ivan's word." 
 
 '■Ivan's word!" .... cried Aristotle, and 
 sobbed like a child. 
 
 " What I have been saying to thee, till now, 
 I said to thy reason. Now, I turn to thy heart. 
 In refusing to build a church to Our Lady, dost 
 thou not deprive her of one of her altars'? There, 
 where thousands might be worshipping, where 
 rthey might be bringing her worthy offerings, wilt 
 -thou leave a place .of desolation, of disorder, of 
 uncleanness 1 What is become of the feeling of 
 •Christian humility 1 .... Oh, my friend! what 
 Jiast thou done with that feeling of piety which 
 ever distinguished theel" 
 
 These words penetrated the artist with inex- 
 pressible terror. 
 
 " Yes, I was a madman !" he cried ; " imagina- 
 tion obscured my reason, selfishness destroyed 
 in me all that was good, all that was holy; it 
 ■was no temple to the Lord that I wished to create, 
 but to myself, not to Our Lady — I desired to be 
 worshipped in it myself ! .... I am worse than 
 an idolater ! I am like the Israelites, who, know- 
 ing the true God, fell down before the golden 
 ■calf. Thou hast restored me to my senses, my 
 young but reasonable friend. Yes ! I will make 
 a peace-offering; but not to the Great Prince, 
 not to the Russian people, but to the Mother of 
 God. To her I make a vow to build a church 
 as they command me to build it, and not as I 
 wished to construct it in my selfishness, (the 
 artist crossed himself) Look down, most Holy 
 Mother, with a mercitul eye upon my contrition, 
 and take pity on me, a miserable sinner, from 
 thy heavenly throne!" 
 
 Trembling with a holy enthusiasm, he seized 
 his plan and tore it into small pieces, and then 
 fell sobbing before the image of the Virgin. 
 Long he lay prostrate on the ground, and when 
 he arose his face was bright. He embraced his 
 young friend, kissed his son with tenderness, 
 like a man returning home from a distant and 
 painful journey. The crisis was terrible, but it 
 was over. The voice of religion had done what 
 neither the stern power of the Prince could do, 
 nor the strength of friendship, nor the arguments 
 of reason. 
 
 "Now," said Aristotle, turning with firmness 
 to the leech, "go to the Great Prince, and tell 
 him, that I, not fearing chains, but to fulfill a 
 .vow to the Holy Virgin, will begin to-morrow 
 to construct a church on the model of that at 
 Vladimir." 
 
 The news of Aristotle's recovery from the 
 fever-Jit; as the Russians called these attacks, 
 gratified Ivan Vassilievitch. He had been alarm- 
 ed lest his engineer and church-builder should 
 go out of his mind; and that, too, while he was 
 still needful tp him! The artist, perhaps, was 
 among that number of madmen of genius, who 
 .ought to be shut up, along with Tasso and 
 Beethoven, in Bedlam. But it must be remark- 
 •ed that there were not, at this period, any houses 
 for the care of the insane. Ivan Vassilievitch 
 could not disguise his joy : he thanked the leech 
 
 more than once, and gave him a promise, when 
 ArLstotle had completed the Church of the As- 
 sumption as he, the Great Prince, desired, to 
 give him any site he pleased out of the town, 
 and the assistance of his treasury, for a new 
 church, which the architect wa- to build after 
 his own fashion, provided he would reduce the 
 proportions of his plan. 
 
 On the next day, with the proper religious 
 ceremonies, the first stone was laid of the founda- 
 tion of the cathedral Church of the Assumption. 
 Immediately afterwards Aristotle began to con- 
 struct it on the model of the church at Vladimir. 
 He remarked with delight, that the type of this 
 edifice was to be found in Venice, namely, in 
 the church of St. Mark. But the struggle which 
 had given him the victory of religious will over 
 love of glory and his fondest hopes had been so 
 strong, that it laid him on a sickbed, from which 
 he was with difficulty raised by the care of his 
 friendly physician, and his beloved son. 
 
 In such circumstances how could Antony 
 think of his own hopes 1 And whom could he 
 take to assist him in his plans of marriage, rath- 
 er than Aristotle"? .... The artist's recovery 
 must decide his fate. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 THE RECEPTION OF THE EMBASSY. 
 
 In Moscow and the neighbouring villages was 
 an unusual stir. Constables, guards, and re- 
 tainers, are galloping from morn till night, and 
 (hiving out the people. The Russian peasant is 
 always delighted to stare, for days together, even 
 at what he does not understand, so long as he 
 has no work to do ; and on this occasion they 
 drove him with the stick into the city to make 
 holiday for a whole four-and-twerity hours. 
 Thousands are streaming from all parts, and 
 they will lie heavy on old Moscow's heart ; she 
 will be stifled ! With this populace they intend- 
 ed to make a show of the strength of Muscovy. 
 
 And at the Great Prince's court there is no 
 less bustle. On the morrow is to be the recep- 
 tion of the imperial ambassador. In the Rus- 
 sian Tsar, for such Ivan Vassilievitch had be- 
 gun to style himself, was already developed the 
 feeling of his own and his people's dignity; and 
 therefore, in his relations with the imperial am- 
 bassador, who was arrogant and presumptuous, 
 the courtiers of the Great Prince had higgled 
 and bargained lor the least advantage. Several 
 days running, the boyarins had presented them- 
 selves at the ambassador's dwelling, to discuss 
 the ceremonies of introduction, presentation, 
 sitting down, standing up, kissing of hands, the 
 number of reverences, the one step backwards 
 or forwards, and almost of the privilege of sneez- 
 ing. They had ascertained what Poppel would 
 say, and took their measures to prepare a fitting, 
 answer. Poppel demanded that the Great Prince 
 should give him an audience alone — this was 
 refused. At last, when all was arranged on 
 both sides, the day was fixed for the reception. 
 
 The minds, or rather the imaginations, of the 
 people were occupied with the splendid recep- 
 tion of ambassadors, as though with festivals. 
 But, under the mask of the tiustle of a ceremo- 
 nial, the Founder of Russia was preparing the 
 way for a new triumph. He secured a whole 
 province without the sword, without leagues or 
 treaties. 
 
 There had arrived at his court a guest from 
 
120 
 
 THE HERETIC 
 
 Ouglitch, his own brother, Andrei VassfHevitch 
 the eJder. The stranger was received with 
 splendid and unsparing hospitalitj'. As soon as 
 he arrived, he passed the whole' evening with 
 the Great Prince in gay and open conversation. 
 He had expected displeasure for not having sent 
 to Moscow a band of auxiliaries against the 
 Tsars of the Horde. Nothing was mentioned 
 on the subject; never before had he been so af- 
 fectionately received, never had the Great Prince 
 talked so unreservedly to him. On the next 
 day he was invited with the boyarins to dinner. 
 Ivan Vassflievitch met him, seated him in the 
 place of honour, overwhelmed him with cares- 
 ses, and a friendship so skilfully assumed, that 
 the Prince of Ouglitch took these false jewels 
 for real. In the eyes, in the language of his 
 host, not even a shade of treachery was to be 
 discerned. He did not betray himself till the end. 
 This drama was played in the Western Izba, 
 "which really was so named because it looked 
 towards the setting sun; but henceforward, it 
 was to be associated with the setting of the un- 
 fortunat-e prisoner's sun of happiness. It was 
 now time to let the trap fall on the incautious 
 victim. Ivan Vassflievitch went out into the 
 audience-chamber, and returned no more. It 
 was the hour fixed for the banquet. Those who 
 were invited to the feast were splendidly enter- 
 tained. In the dining, hall, the courtiers of An- 
 drei Vassflievitch were assembled under a guard. 
 Suspecting nothing, he was waiting till they 
 should come to announce that dinner was serv- 
 ed. And some Muscovite boyarins appeared. 
 One of them* seemed desirous of communica- 
 ting something to him, but was unable ; tears 
 prevented him from speaking. At last, with 
 frequent interruptions from them, he said—" My 
 lord, Prince Andrei Vassilievitch, thou art the 
 prisoner of God, and of the Lord Great Prince, 
 Ivan Vassilievitch, of All Russia, thine elder 
 brother." Andrei changed colour, arose from 
 his place, but speedily recovering himself, said, 
 with firmness — "God's will be done, and that of 
 the Prince, my brother; but the Lord will judge 
 between us, that I am unjustly deprived of liher- 
 tv." Leaving his brother's hospitable palace, 
 the unfortunate prince exchanged his province 
 Ouglitch for a dungeon and for chains. 
 
 On the same day there was spread through 
 Moscow a rumour of the imprisonment of the 
 Prince of Ouglitch. It filled with horror the 
 small number of good men, who feared not open- 
 ly to condemn this proceeding of the Great 
 Prince. But the greater number, the mob, which 
 never reasons, were against the unhappy pris- 
 oner, calling him traitor, betraver, the foe" of the 
 church and of his country. The courtiers of 
 Ivan Vassilievitch took care to instil into the 
 ears of the people reports that the Prince of Oug- 
 litch had been detected in a correspondence with 
 the Polish king, to whom he had promised the 
 head of Ivan Vassilievitch: that he had come 
 expressly for this to Moscow, with a great num- 
 ber of boyarins; that he had aciuallv arrived at 
 the Great Prince's palace, and that he had made 
 an attempt on his elder brother's life, but that 
 this had f«iled, from the infidelity of one of his 
 people. Then they recalled his former offences 
 against Moscow, long ago forgotten and forgiv- 
 en. Of his .services to Moscow, no one men- 
 tioned a single word. And thus it was no won- 
 der that the majority was on the side of power 
 
 rather than on that of justice. On the following 
 day a spectacle was prepared for the gaping 
 mob, and the unfortunate prisoner was soon for- 
 gotten. He had none to plead his cause but 
 God. 
 
 In the evening of the same day on which the 
 Prince of Ouglitch had been seized and thrown- 
 into fetters. Antony the leech was summoned to 
 the Great Prince. He found Ivan Vassilievitch 
 in an agitated state. 
 
 " Hark ye, leech," said the Great Prince, " my 
 brother is dying; save him. for God's sake!" 
 Antony promised to do all he could. 
 " He is my brother, though he hath behaved 
 ill to me," continued the Great Prince, "even 
 though he hath attempted my life, hath reached 
 at Moscow: therefore is he cast into irons — but 
 I would not that any fatal harm should fall upon 
 him ; God see'th I would not. I only would 
 teach him, punish him, as a father punisheth. 1 
 wish the good of Moscow and of my brothers. 
 Who will care for them if not I ? Am not I the 
 eldest of the house"? And Andrei and I have 
 grown up together from our cradle." 
 
 Here he wept feigned tears. But his fear was 
 real. He dreaded lest Andrei Vassilievitch. 
 should die on the first day of his imprisonment, 
 and that his death might attract suspicion upon 
 himself. To cut a throat, to strangle, to poison 
 —these methods he never adopted with his pris- 
 oners; he counted such a deadly sin. Ordina- 
 rily he killed them by the slow death of chains, 
 leaving their lives to God : this was no sin ! ... . 
 " I will keep him a month or two, and let him 
 go," said he to the leech ; " he may go where he 
 will. Though he be wicked, he is yet of my 
 blood! .... Save him, Antony ! I will never 
 j forget thy services. I will find thee a bride af- 
 ter thine own heart .... I will give thee lands 
 .... Save my soul from a great disgrace. The 
 dvoretzkoi here will conduct thee to Andrei Var- 
 silievitch." 
 
 Antony was thunderstruck by the hint abo'Jt 
 the bride .... Was it possible that the Gieai 
 Prince already knew of his love for Anastasia 1 
 ! Who could have told him of it"? ... . It was, 
 I however, impossible to indulge in wonder for a 
 I long time: he hurried to the prisoner, whom he 
 [ found in a dangerous state. The Prince of 
 i Ouglitch had borne bravely the first blow, but 
 I when he sounded the depth of his misfortune, 
 I when he compared the future which awaited 
 i him, with the lot of former important prisoners 
 j of his brother, he was terrified with that future. 
 i All his blood had rushed to his heart .... It 
 I is not our business to describe the measures ta- 
 t ken by Antony to relieve the unfortunate prince: 
 I suffice it to say, (hat by the power of medical 
 I remedies he succeeded, in spite of the patient's 
 { opposition, in affording him the necessary relief 
 j Perhaps he was to blame in prolonging liisdan- 
 [ geon life for two years more. 
 I Brightly and gaily had the euest from Oug- 
 litch ari.sen on the horizon of Moscow, like the 
 young moon ; and, like the young moon, speedi- 
 j iy did he sink beneath it. And on his lonely 
 j death-bed the only farewell voice was the clink: 
 ' of the fetters. 
 
 I The speed V aid alTorded to the Prince of Oug- 
 I litch, raised the leech in the eyes of the Russian 
 ' sovereign. He still continued to hold him in 
 i high honour; gif^s followed gifts, and gave an 
 additional value to words of favour. Antony 
 I profited by these favours to bes some indulgence 
 ' for the unhappy prisoner. His letters were re- 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 121 
 
 moved for a while ; but as soon as he recovered 
 they were put on again. They assured Antony 
 that he was altogether relieved <roin them, and 
 frona that time forward, the leech was noi per- 
 mitted to visit the prisoner. 
 
 Between the acts of this cruel drama they per- 
 formed the reception of the ambassador. From 
 his lodging Pop-pel was conducted in an exten- 
 sive circuit through the best streets, the Great 
 Street, Varskoi Street, the Red Square, and the 
 chief street in the city. All this was crammed 
 ■with the people, as close as the seeds in a sun- 
 flower. Room was only left for the ambassa- 
 dor's train, his attendants, and his guard of hon- 
 our. Every window was crowded with living 
 faces; the walls were threaded with heads, as in 
 the enchanted castle; the roofs were sown with 
 groups of people. All Moscow was streaming 
 from its outskirts and suburbs to its heart. 
 
 " Silence ! they are playing on the kettle- 
 drum ! They come, they come !"' resounded 
 through the people, and this cry passed in a few 
 moments from the ambassador's palace to the 
 water-side haUs, where the reception was to take 
 place. Breasts were jammed against breasts, 
 backs were squeezed down with tremendous 
 weight, complaints and cries arose. " Never 
 mind ! they come, they come !" and then stream- 
 ed on the procession. At the head came a horse- 
 man beating on plates of brass ; behind him 
 came pouring a glittering stream of chosen horse- 
 men in helmet and cuirass, with sword and 
 spear. Beyond them extended in two lines a 
 number of boyarins, with the immoveably im- 
 portant air of mandarins, in rich dresses, on 
 which the sun played, and reflected his beams. 
 Some of them seemed as if they were carrying 
 on thick cushions bushy beards, combed hair 
 upon hair, so fat were they. And there is the 
 imperial ambassador himself He wears a beret 
 of crimson velvet, placed jauntily aside, with a 
 plume of waving feathers, confined by a buckle 
 of precious stones : skilfully arranged is the dra- 
 pery of his velvet mantle," bordered round the 
 edge with gold lace. Poppel, with eyes half- 
 shut in haughtiness, and with his hand placed 
 coquettishly at his girdle, sits proudly upon a 
 steed loaded with glittering caparisons, and per- 
 petually provokes his mettle with his spurs. 
 And in reality you might have put him into a 
 frame, and exhibited him in the market-place as 
 a perfect picture of an equestrian figure! 'Tis 
 the brightest, noblest moment of his life ! The 
 triumphal entry of Trajan into Rome after his 
 Dacian victory — the bridge of Areola — the sum- 
 mit of the Pyramids for Napoleon ! Behind him 
 came his train, in dresses which yielded in beau- 
 ty and splendour to the ambassador's habit, as 
 the moon yields to the sun. The envoy and his 
 suite were without arms — a custom insisted on 
 by the suspicious character of the Russians. At 
 the end of the procession again came boyarins 
 in two lines. 
 
 All this train was to stop in front of the loater- 
 nde hulls. The knight Poppel had desired to 
 Tide up to the very staircase; but as the Great 
 Prince alone had the privilege of dismounting 
 at the red stairs, the arrangers of the procession 
 had so skilfully crowded the people at this spot, 
 that the proud knight was compelled to dismount 
 from his horse exactly where he had been order- 
 ed. At the bottom of the stone steps he was 
 met by the ok61nitchie with low reverences, who 
 shook him by the hand, (a custom borrowed 
 from the foreigners,) and with the usual saluta- 
 
 tion in the name of his lord. At the middle of 
 the staircase was a boyarin who performed the 
 same ceremony; at the entrance to the hall, ihe 
 deacon Koniiizin, who conducted Puppei into 
 the antechamber. Inferior attendants of the 
 Great Prince met and conducted the ambassa- 
 dor's train. But here the procession suddenly- 
 stopped. A slight confusion took place; dis- 
 cussions began among the boyarins; and a mur- 
 mur aiose like the buzzmg of bees, when the 
 smoke drives them out amid their toil. It was 
 suddenly discovered that one of the boyarins had 
 put on a kaftan that did not belong to his par- 
 ticular rank, and had taken a wrong place. 
 Then the dvoretzkoi humbly entreated the am- 
 bassador and his suite to return to the staircase 
 and recommence the ceremony. Vexed and 
 mortified, the knight was compelled to perform 
 the great Castellan's request. The procession 
 was completely repeated. At the first palace, 
 separated from the apogee of the train only by a 
 door, the deacon Koun'tzin stopped it. Here 
 there stood, on both sides, the reta ners and the 
 inferior ranks of the nobles, glittering in dresses 
 of state, which had been given out to them from 
 the stores of the Great Prince. It seemed to the 
 foreigners as if they had entered the enchanted 
 palace, where people were turned to stone, so 
 motionless stood the attendants, without so much 
 as winking — so deep was the silence. The 
 stoppage continued some minutes longer, during 
 which nothing was heard but the impatient tin- 
 kle of the knight's spurs. At last the door open- 
 ed, and the ambassador and his suite received 
 permission to enter the neio palace. On berth 
 sides, in two lines, stood boyarins, looking like 
 sheaves of gold. At the extremity of the hall, 
 but not distinguished by any ornament except 
 that of several rich images, and elevated on a 
 number of steps, rose a throne of nut-tree wood, 
 all carved, of fine Greek work. Above it blazed 
 an image in the rays of precious gems ; at the 
 footstool the double-headed eagle already dis- 
 played its wings. The canopy, supported on 
 carved columns, was in the form of a pyramid. 
 At the sides of the throne stood two benches 
 covered with drapery of cloth of gold, embr:lci- 
 ered with lions. On one lay a bonnet, blazing 
 with pearls and precious gems, and on the other 
 an enchased staff or .sceptre, a cross, a silver 
 wash-hand basin, and two ewers and napkins. 
 A few paces backward, a single bench was left; 
 empty, and near it an empty stovarUzc* The 
 Great Prince wa^ habited in a kaftan of state, a 
 silver ground with green leaves upon it, a gipoa 
 of yellow satin, a collar of diamonds and to- 
 pazes ; on his breast hung a cross of cypress- 
 wood, containing relics: his feet, clothed in 
 shoes embroidered in gold on a ground of white 
 kid leather, rested on a velvet footstool. Amid 
 the crowd of all these persons and things, amid 
 the splendour of rich dresses, you were transfix- 
 ed by the lightning eye of the Ru.ssian sover- 
 eign. Poppel had already beheld those eyes 
 more than once ; but even now he could not 
 bear their thrilling glance, and bent his own 
 upon the ground. A few paces forward, and — 
 again a stoppage, as if in order to prepare him 
 for the honour of seeing the illustrious counte- 
 nance of Ivan. At length the ambassador was 
 
 * Antiquaries are still undecided as to the meaniiier of 
 this wrird stoyantze, some supposin;';' it to mean a kind of 
 cupboard or niche, others a low table. 
 
 " Non nostrum est tantas componere lites." 
 
 T. B. S. 
 
122 
 
 THE HERETIC. 
 
 ^conducted to the steps of the throne. Here 
 Kouritzin, turning lo the Great Prince with a 
 low reverence, said — " My lord, Great Sover- 
 ■eign of All Russia, the knight Nicholas Poppel, 
 ambassador from the Roman Caesar, maketh 
 obeisance to thee; vouchsafe him to do saluta- 
 •tion from his sovereign." The Great Prince 
 nodded his head, and the deacon communicated 
 the permission lo the envoy. Having made 
 salutation from the Emperor" Frederick HI., and 
 the Austrian King Maximilian, Poppel ascend- 
 ed the second step of the throne and knelt. Ivan 
 Vassilievitch arose, " and enquired concerning 
 the health o( the most illustrious and illumina- 
 ted Frederick, the Roman Caesar, and the Ka- 
 koussian king, and others his right well beloved 
 allies, and gave his hand to the ambassador 
 •standing, and commanded him to sft upon the 
 bench, close over against himself" His hand, 
 <lefiled by the kiss of a Roman Catholic, was 
 purified by washing; the service was performed 
 by the dvoretzkoi. Immediately after, the am- 
 bas.sador and all his attendants took their seats 
 ■on the benches. After remaining seated a short 
 time, he arose, and the boyarins followed his 
 example. Then was delivered the letter of trust 
 (credentials) on a damask cushion. The Great 
 Prince made a movement as if to touch it with 
 his hand, but without doing so gave a sign to 
 the deacon, who took the letter and laid it on a 
 cushion in the empty stoyanlze. Then the dea- 
 con, again turning to Ivan Vassilievitch with 
 the usual obeisance, proclaimed — " Lord, Great 
 Prince of All Russia, the ambassador from the 
 ■Caesar maketh obeisance to thee with presents 
 from his lord." The Great Prince made a gra- 
 cious signal to the ambassador, and the imperial 
 attendants, one after the other, presented on 
 bended knee a collar and necklace of gold, fif- 
 teen Muscovite ells of velvet of Venice, "dark 
 bine and fine;" for the ^rs^-^om son of the Great 
 Prince /(7i^, velvet of cramoisine and gold, with 
 a lining of blue camelolte." For the gifts the 
 ambassador was ordered to give thanks to his 
 highness. At last, with the same ceremonies, 
 the ambassador was commanded to speak in the 
 name of his sovereign. At this moment Ivan 
 Vassilievitch arose from his throne, and made 
 several steps forward. 
 
 Poppel spoke as follows — " I entreat discretion 
 and secresy. If thine enemies, the Poles and 
 Bohemians, knew concerning what I am about 
 to speak, my life would be in peril. "We have 
 heard that thou, most illustrious and thrice-puis- 
 sant Iviin, most mighty lord of Russia, hast de- 
 manded for thyself from the Pope the dignity of 
 king," (at the.«e words over Ivan's countenance 
 flitted a dark shade of displeasure.) " But know, 
 that not the Pope, but the Emperor alone, can 
 make kings, princes, and knights. If thou de- 
 sirest lo be a king," (Ivan Va.ssilievilch retreat- 
 ed, and sat down indignantly on his throne; the 
 harebrained Poppel, in repealing his words, 
 made no change in them,) " then do I ofler thee 
 my services therein. It will be only needful lo 
 conceal this matter from the Poli>h king, who 
 fcareih that thou, when made a sovereign equal 
 with himself, mayest take from him the lands 
 anciently Russian." Every word proved that 
 the ambassador understood neither the character 
 of the ruler lo whom he was addressing himself, 
 nor the spirit of the people; that he was igno- 
 rant of the mere properties of time and place: 
 every word betrayed Poppel's folly and inexpe- 
 rience. To this harangue our Ivan replied firm- 
 
 ly, with a majestic voice, and without rising 
 from the throne — " Thou askest us, whether we 
 desire to be made by the Ciesar a king in our 
 own land. Know, Sir Poplefl!", we have been, 
 by God's grace, lords in our land from the be- 
 ginning, from our first ancestors; we have our 
 place from God; even as our forefathers had it, 
 even so have we; and we ask God alone that be 
 may grant to us and to our children to be even 
 for ever, as we are now, lords in our land. But 
 to hold it as vassals from any other we have 
 never willed as yet, nor even now will we." 
 The deacon Kouritzin repeated this speech to 
 the interpreter. A terrible moment for Barthol- 
 omew I Not to translate with perfect accuracy, 
 word for word, the speech of his formidable mas- 
 ter to the imperial ambassador, was more than 
 he dared, because the deacon understood toler- 
 ably well the German language ; to translate it 
 accurately would incense the ambassador. How- 
 ever, personal security, which he had often sa- 
 crificed to serve others, obtained the preference, 
 and he, hesitating and trembling, performed his 
 duty of interpreter. It was very easy for Poppel 
 to understand, from Ivan's wrathful eyes, the 
 general purport of the speech. 
 
 Already these messengers of anger had agitat- 
 ed him. When he heard the substance of the 
 speech he stood confused, like a schoolboy de- 
 tected in a fault, for which he has been previously 
 warned that he will be punished. His confusion 
 was still further increased by a circumstance of 
 the moment. When he, at the opening of his 
 speech, made his bow lo the Great Prince and his 
 court, he remarked among the latter the counte- 
 nance of a young boyarin which forcibly struck 
 him. It was the exact image of the Baroness 
 Ehrenstein in ber younger days. The baroness 
 never loved Poppel ; this he well knew and well 
 remembered. Her stern glance, in which he had 
 ever read evident aversion — her harsh unfriend- 
 ly words were inscribed upon his very heart. 
 Now, at the triumphant moment of his life, it 
 seemed as though she appeared before him in 
 the palace of the Great Prince to spoil his tii- 
 umph and to add to his confusion. In the young 
 boyarin he beheld the same stern wrathfulg lance, 
 the same expression of ill-will ! 
 
 The knight, naturally insolent, here lost his 
 self-possession altogether, and did not even at- 
 tempt to find an answer, in order lo repair, if. 
 possible, his mistake. In the eyes of Ivan Vas- 
 silievitch was expressed the gratification of a 
 triumph gained over a distinguished foreigner. 
 Having enjoyed this triumph, he hastened to re- 
 assure the ambassador with gracious words; he 
 had no wish to interrupt the friendship which he 
 had but just established with the German .states, 
 the rather as he was well acquainted with the 
 other propositions of the ambassador, which flat- 
 tered his self-love. " This is no impediment," 
 said Ivan, "to our good understanding with the 
 Roman Caesar. Therefore we have received the 
 letter of trust and gifts from his highness and 
 majesty with all love." These words, commu- 
 nicated in order through the deacon and interpre- 
 ter, encouraged Poppel. 
 
 It is known that at this audience the ambassa- 
 dor, " in the name of Frederick, proposed that 
 Ivan should give one of 1ms daughters. Helena 
 or f>odosia,'to Albrecht, Markgrnf of Baden, 
 the Emperor's nephew, and thai he should be 
 allowed to see the bride." The Great Prince 
 willinsly accepted the proposal, and consented, 
 in performance of this afBair, to dispatch to the 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 133 
 
 Emperor, along with Poppel, an ambassador of 
 his own. As to the desire of seeing the bride, 
 Ivan Vassilievitch explained that the customs 
 of Russia did not permit a maiden to be shown 
 before the time to her bridegroom or his repre- 
 .sentalive. Then came a request on the part of 
 Poppel, that Ivan should forbi.d the people of 
 Pskoff from passing into the lands of the " Livo- 
 iiian Germans," subjects of the Empire. The 
 Great Prince ordered him to be answered — 
 " That the men of Pskoft' had lands of their own, 
 and would not pass out into the territories ot 
 others." Thus were the political demands dis- 
 posed of The face of the young boyarin remind- 
 -ed the ambassador of his domestic affairs. He 
 remembered the leech Ehrenstein ; and in his 
 desire to injure his uncle's kinsman, and the man 
 he called his rival, his envious heart found a 
 pretext for directing the conversation, such as, 
 assuredly, he would never have been supplied 
 with by a course of rhetoric so fertile in pretexts. 
 He communicated to Ivan Vassilievitch the re- 
 quest " of his holy Coesarian Majesty, to have 
 some live animals, called in Russian /o^s, (inoosc- 
 deer,) if possible young, without horns, or with 
 their horns filed, so that they could do no hurt ; 
 and one of the Bogouliats, who eat raw flesh. 
 " These gifts his Caesarian Majesty would count 
 as singular favours"' said Poppel. " [n ex- 
 change, he promiseth to send thee a leech from 
 his court, Master Leon, most skilful in the heal- 
 ing of all manner of diseases. He was no pre- 
 tender, this leech, hut right wise, learned — hav- 
 ing the diploma of leech from the Emperor 
 himself; famous not only in the imperial domin- 
 ions, but even in foreign lands. And I am com- 
 manded by my most high and illustrious lord to 
 say— Tru.st not too much to a leech who hath 
 been sent to thee from the German lands." " How 
 sol" asked Ivan. " He is an adventurer, a pre- 
 tender, an ignor" . . . 
 
 At these words the young boyarin who had so 
 much struck the knight by his resemblance to the 
 Baroness Ehrenstein, seemed about to rush for- 
 ward out of the line of the Russian courtiers: it 
 was Antony himself. He flushed up and trem- 
 bled with anger, when he heard the insulting 
 speech of Poppel. His lips were about to utter, 
 in the hearing of all, the word " liar ;" but Aris- 
 to te, who was standing next to him, so strongly 
 seized him by the arm and pressed it, the Great 
 Prince so covered him with his fiery glance, and 
 sternly raise I his finger, that he restrained him- 
 self .... God knows, what an uproar Anto- 
 ny's fatal word might have produced in the as- 
 sembly, and what a dreadful storm it might have 
 called down upon his head. But when Ivan 
 Vassilievitch had majestically restrained and 
 dispelled the tempest, he himself arose in defence 
 of the insulted — " It is not well in thee. Sir Nik- 
 olai Popleff," said he, "to speak evil of our 
 court physician: his skill and devotion Antony 
 has proved more than once by deeds. Antony 
 is dear to us for ever, and, therefore, we hold 
 him in our favour. And we neither want nor 
 desire another leech. As to the Bogouliatim, 
 who eateth raw flesh, and the young los.ws, Ivan 
 Vassilievitch promiseth them right willingly. 
 And, at the same time, he would request work- 
 men, diggers of mines, and a miner wh«i is skill- 
 ed in separating gold and silver from the earth, 
 and a skilful silver-master, who knoweth how to 
 make great bowls and flagons, to enchase and 
 carve the bowls." With this interchange of re- 
 . quests the audience concluded. The ambassador 
 
 was conducted away with the same honour as he 
 had been introduced, if not even with more, as it 
 was necessary to sweeten -the bitternesi of the 
 answers that had been given him. 
 
 Infuriated by the failure of his dipLmalic ex- 
 periments, from which he had expected great 
 favour, both with the Emperor and the Great 
 Prince ; infuriated at the failure of his attempt 
 to overthrow Antony Ehrenstein in the estima- 
 tion of the Russian ruler; pursued by the family 
 resemblance between his foe and the baroness, 
 Poppel cursed himself and his fate. Thus a 
 poor fisherman, who has unsuccessfully cast his 
 nets for days together, is ready almost to throw 
 himself into the water. Amid these black 
 thoughts, he was interrupted by a letter from 
 Antony the leech ; this was a challenge to sin- 
 gle combat for personal insults. With trembling 
 hand Poppel answered — "The knight, Nicolas 
 Poppel, by adoption Baron Ehrenstein, girded 
 with the sword by the hand of the Emperor, will 
 never degrade himself so far as to take up the 
 glove thrown down by a base quacksalver." 
 " In that case," replied Antony, " the noble leech 
 Ehrenstein gives him, a vile coward, a blow 
 with his glove, which the most noble knight 
 may show to his Emperor, as a proof that he is 
 unworthy to bear his honourable title." Poppel 
 received the box on the ear like a philosopher, 
 in the hope of paying it back with a blow that 
 should give more pain. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 THE PROPOSAL OF MARRIAGE. 
 
 " O my father, O ray dearest sire ! 
 Tell me why thou art olfended, say, 
 With thy child, thy little daughter dear; 
 That thou givest her to stranger folk ; 
 To a stranger folk she knoweth not ; 
 To a stranger land, a land afar ? 
 Hath she, then, so soon wearied thee 1 
 That thou drivest her from thine eyes afar: 
 Have I worn out all my garments gay? 
 Have I eaten of the sugar'd cates ? 
 Have I drank the mead, the honey dew? 
 Have I trodden down the garden green?" 
 
 From the moment of Anastasia's visit to the 
 beloved stranger, there had at times crept into 
 her heart the feeling of having done wrong. 
 She felt all the burden of a secret concealed 
 from her father. At other moments she was 
 continually haunted by the dark thought that 
 she was enchanted by Antony; but this re- 
 morse, this dark idea, was soon put to flight by 
 recollections of the sweet moments which love 
 had afforded her. Now, the mere separation 
 from Antony tormented her more than all. She 
 longed for one more delicious interview with 
 him, for one more maddening kiss ! . . . . All 
 she thought of was, how she would be caressed 
 by Antony, when she would belong to God and 
 him alone. 
 
 His thoughts and feelings were elevated above 
 earthly joy. Like a red-cross knight, he had 
 started to'deliver the Tomb of our Lord from 
 the yoke of the infidel ; on the journey he had 
 been benighted in an enchanted forest, and had 
 there met with a young inexperienced fellow 
 pilgrim, a brother of the cross. Discovering 
 his delu.sion, it was his duty to put himself and 
 his ward on the true path. How could he re- 
 member at such a moment the pleasures of the 
 tourney, or the crown of victory '?.... And 
 thus Antony thought only how to save the soul 
 
124 
 
 THE HERETIC. 
 
 of his mistress from earthly, and perhaps eter- 
 nal ruin. He was sometimes afflicted by the 
 apprehension that he would do great sin in leav- 
 ing the religion of his fathers ; but beside this 
 fear appeared another and a triumphant thought, 
 of the sanctity of duty, of the unavoidableness 
 of the sacrifice. The nearer his desire was to 
 its fulfillment, the more was his heart cleansed 
 from the impurities of passion. Often, and even 
 without any assignable reason, he became 
 mournful, very mournful; then he would pray 
 — of what, God only knew; his prayers were 
 not expressed in words, but only in burning 
 tears. His happiness was so obscure ! . . . . 
 with its bright torrent a streani of impurity was 
 mingled .... 
 
 Two letters, one to his mother, the other to 
 his instructor, were sent through Kouritzin. In 
 the first, Antony besought his parent's blessing 
 on the great work which he was approaching, 
 and entreated her to come into Russia, if but to 
 visit him. " You yourself desired, my dearest, 
 precious mother," he wrote, " that I should never 
 again return either into Bohemia or to Italy, and 
 that I should find a settlement here. You your- 
 self have often hinted that the performance of 
 this desire would be the best consolation of your 
 old age, and add to your prospect of tranquil- 
 lity at your death. Providence has evidently 
 willed the same thing as yourself; it has brought 
 me here to the house of a Russian boyarin, 
 where love has created me a new country. If 
 you knew Anaslasia (here he decribes her ex- 
 ternal and mental qualities) ; if you knew how 
 much she loves me, you would assuredly wish 
 me no other partner." Nearly the same were 
 the contents of the letter to his instructor. In it 
 he added the weight of his doubts on the subject 
 of his change of religion ; and even here he qui- 
 eted his conscience by the reflection that he had 
 chosen a faith not torn to pieces by corruption, 
 with which the Western Church might be re- 
 proached. Antony wrote with confidence re- 
 specting his future union. Whether this confi- 
 dence was well founded we shall presently see. 
 As soon as Aristotle found himself recover- 
 ing from his illness, his young friend hastened 
 to disclose to him the state of his heart, his 
 wishes, his hopes, his fears. In what employ- 
 ment, do you think, did Antony find the artist'? 
 He was again composing plans for his immense 
 church. To tear himself from that would have 
 been death to him. He was all wrapped up in 
 his occupation. When the leech entered, Aris- 
 totle turned red and pale, as if he had been de- 
 tected in .some crime, mnd hastened to conceal 
 the plan as well as he could. Instead of finding 
 in the artist a zealous second to his marriage 
 projects, Antony discovered in him an ardent 
 opponent of the affair. His terrible trial had 
 rriade Aristotle timorous even to weakness ; in 
 every thing he could see nothing but fflilure. 
 He promised Antony, however, lo be his advo- 
 cate with the boyarin Obrazetz, as his ncarc5»( 
 relation— as his father. But he gave him no 
 hopes, dilating upon the invincible obstacles 
 presented in the voevoda's hatred to the German 
 — one of the race of his accursed foes — even 
 though that German should adopt the Ru.ssian 
 faith. Such a beginning promi.sed no good ; 
 now, as always happens, obstacles excited in 
 Antony a stronger desire to obtain the object 
 wl'ich'constiluietl the happiness and torment of 
 his life. 
 
 Walking like a man in a dream, and pro- 
 
 foundly plunged in melancholy thought, Anto- 
 ny was proceeding home; — in his way, puffing, 
 purple with heat and violent movement, stood 
 the interpreter Bartholomew. He stopped ex- 
 actly in his path, so as not to be avoided, bow- 
 ing low, shaking his head and foot, and fanning 
 himself with his cap: he attempted to speak, but 
 fatigue prevented him. The young man polite- 
 ly begged him to let him pass. 
 
 "Nay, most thrice-worshipful sir," said Bar- 
 tholomew at last with unusual warmth, as if he 
 had suddenly got down a morsel that was stick- 
 ing in his throat — "Nay, I will not let you pass 
 till you listen to me. You may kill me, you 
 may thrash me, only hear me out. You do not 
 love me — you hate me, despise me, I know full 
 well; but I cannot help loving you — that is 
 above my powers. I am the same as I was at 
 the first moment when I saw you .... I feel 
 just the same respect for you, the same ardent 
 love, and I am ready to sacrifice for you, God 
 knows what. Do with me what you .... 
 Now, what would you like to make of me T 
 .... Your most devoted slave 1 .... 'Tis 
 nothing .... Your packhorse"? .... Or 
 worse 1 .... Ah! to find something worse t 
 .... Now, think yourself .... 
 
 And Bartholc<n6w began to beat himself des- 
 pairingly on the bosom with his fist, like a scur- 
 vy actor, who is out in his part. With con- 
 tempt Antony looked at him, and shrugged his 
 shoulders. 
 
 " You will not speak ; do but listen then. You 
 do not knowpt; but I am your most devoted 
 servant, your most humble of slaves, I know 
 .... A report is going through the city ; it may 
 reach the father .... or the brother .... then 
 your death would be inevitable .... They say 
 you have seduced An'' .... 
 
 "Wretch! finish not the word, or I will slay 
 thee, here, on the spot!" cried the young man, 
 turning pale, and trembling in every limb; and, 
 as if fearing that his menaces might be fulfilled, 
 he rushed headlong away from the contemptible 
 informer. 
 
 " And thus, after all," said he to himself, " thj 
 honour of a maiden — thanks to me !— is bandied 
 from mouth to mouth : even this vile scoundrel 
 is trumpeting it about! Assuredly her friend 
 must have disclosed it! ... . How can I hope 
 lo save her in time from the arrows of scandal 1 
 Where is the generosity, where the use of the 
 sacrifice? One wav alone is left me — to throw 
 myself at the Great Prince's feet, tell him all, 
 arid implore him to be my saviour and benefac- 
 tor. I will do it instantly. He hinted so gra- 
 ciously about a bride, that I will be my own ad- 
 vocate." 
 
 Antonv bent his steps to the palace of the 
 Great Prince ; but as he was passing Kourit- 
 zin's house, his good angel whispered him to ap- 
 ply lo the deacon, who had been so zealous in 
 his interest.s. He found him engaged in an im- 
 portant occupation. It was, we may add, a dif- 
 ficult one, because Kouritzin, the protector of 
 the .Jewish heresy in Russia, had been compell- 
 ed, by order of the Great Prince, to draw up a 
 list of the heretics, with a decree of banishment 
 and other penalties against them, which, how- 
 ever, were not severe. On this occasion, Ivan 
 Vassilievitch had perfectly understood his rela- 
 tions and his duties as regarded his favourite 
 .servant; and that servant had no less clearly 
 comprehended, as his master desired, his duties 
 to him, and his relations with his brother here- 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 121S 
 
 tics. As generally occurs in these cases, Kou- 
 litzin had made his list of those persons who 
 Avere most insignilicant, least to be relied on, 
 and most credulous of all. 
 
 " Here," said he, explaining to the young man 
 what he was about, '• here at last I^r.in Vassilie- 
 vitch, under the influence of the priests, hath 
 •opened his eyes! .... A shrewd heresy this 
 'that hath been disclosed !....! long ago said 
 to him— he hearkened not, believed not! ... . 
 Oh, if thou didst but know, Master Leech, how 
 much there is of what is attractive and sublime 
 in this heresy ! Wherefore hath it spread day 
 afier day 1 . . . . And nevertheless it is a terri- 
 ble crime, the ruin of the people ! .... It must 
 be rooted up, cost what it may .... And on 
 this occasion Ivan Vassilievitch is too merciful, 
 or too obstinate. He saith — I will not do as the 
 ^people like! and thus he hindereth me much. 
 What ! he haih decreed the most trilling punish- 
 ments, mere child's play, nothing but a mock- 
 ery ! . . . . One is to be exiled to a distant city, 
 another to be mocked by the people .... and 
 thou seest thyself" .... 
 
 The report had certainly reached Antony, that 
 Kourilzin belonged to the Jewish heresy, body 
 and soul. He was not therefore astonished at 
 Lis cunning; he had ceased to be astonished at 
 any thing. It was no time to examine into his 
 xeal religious opinions, and to endeavour to turn 
 ■him to ihe truih, and therefore the young man 
 , hastened to disclose to him his position. He 
 praised Antony's intentions; revived and en- 
 couraged his hopes; told him that the Great 
 Prince was already informed of the inclination 
 of his court physician for the daughter of Obra- 
 zetz. That the sovereign was in possession of 
 this secret, Kouritzin confessed was owing to his 
 inlbrmation ; but the manner in which it became 
 known to Kouritzin, he neither could nor dared 
 disclose. — " Some day or other thou wilt know 
 this," said the deacon, and then added — " Ivan 
 Vassilievitch is already thine advocate. Adopt 
 the Russian faith, and 1 pledge myself to add 
 my own intercession with him ; but I fear, if 
 thou attempt too rudely to turn our lord, thou 
 wilt spoil all. My counsel, for the better success 
 of this affair, is, to seek a sensible, dexterous 
 svat, not among the great men of the land, not 
 among princes and boyarins, but a private man, 
 who may vanquish Obrazetz's aversion to a fo- 
 reigner. And this I cannot undertake — we are 
 strangers, as thou knowest, to each other. Stay, 
 let me .see, whom can we find .... Ay, so 
 . . . . , whom better than the TveritchiDin Apho- 
 nia! .... I think thou knowest him 1" 
 
 " I know him, and will add, as far as I can 
 judge from my connexion with him, he loveth 
 me well, notwithstanding my being a heretic. 
 More than once have I wandered with him in 
 fancy over the German and Italian lands, and 
 for this he counts himself in my debt." 
 
 " Be it so, in God's name ! Implore him to be 
 thy svat. Tell him that thou lovest Obrazetz's 
 daughter, having seen her only once at the win- 
 dow, and that after thy return from Tver. Of 
 course, as a foundation of the business, thou 
 must lay down a promise to take our Russian 
 orthodox faith — it is the fountain of all bles- 
 sings, (the heretic pronounced these words with 
 a well-affected unction.) And add, too, the will 
 of our most mighty Lord, Ivan Vassilievitch. 
 Only beware of saying that Isent thee; this is 
 indispensable. And now, from my heart I ^Ish 
 thee joy of a beautiful wife and possessions." 
 
 "No, on this occasion 1 will accept no valu- 
 able gifts from the Great Prince, even though by 
 so doing I expose myself to his displeasure. I 
 will not sell myself. At least my soul shall be 
 clear, here and in the other world, of the stain of 
 avarice. In all the rest I will obey thee; and, 
 to prove this, I will go straight from thy house lo 
 Aphanasii Nikitin." 
 
 " Wilt thou go alone, on foot, to the village ot 
 Tchertolino ■?" asked Kouritzin. 
 
 "Alone. What have I to fearl I did not 
 take my horse, in order not to excite curiosity in 
 the places I was visiting." 
 
 " Why not defer it till to-morrow 1 The way 
 is long, there is a wood to pass surrounded by 
 marshes .... Thou hast enemies .... thou hast 
 forgotten Poppel" .... 
 
 " I do not think that the knight will attempt 
 the assassin's trade. With God's blessing, I 
 have decided. To-morrow, perhaps, it will be too 
 late." 
 
 " Thou hast said well. Thy friends will be on 
 their guard." 
 
 There was nothing for Antony to do but to 
 thank the deacon. 
 
 On arriving at the cottage where the traveller 
 dwelt, the leech heard streaming from it sounds 
 of religious singing. The tones were so light, 
 so free from aught earthly, they seemed to speak 
 of peace of soul, unity, a child-like simplicity, 
 and yet at times a masculine strength of feeling, 
 tenderness, warmth penetrating your heart and 
 the marrow of your bones. This was not the 
 voice of earthly passion, this was the language 
 of communion with God. Ehrenstein stopped 
 at the gate and listened to the sacred song with 
 rapture. The sounds sank lower and lower, and 
 suddenly ceased, as if they were vanishing on 
 earth, laden with the burden of their heavenly 
 load. But Antony had not recovered from the 
 feeling of tenderness which came over him, when 
 the song was heard anew. Now it was a voice, 
 mournful and agonizing the soul ! The old man 
 sang — " Weep not for me, oh mother, when thou 
 see'st me in the grave !" The address to a moth- 
 er, the grave, the sad lamenting song, brought 
 sorrow in spite of himself, and a holy awe into 
 the young man's heart. '• Oh, is the voice pro- 
 phetic, thou saintly old man ! .... Is thy voice 
 prophetic 1" . . . . said he with tears in his eyes, 
 removing his hand from the ring with which he 
 was going to knock upon the door post. He was 
 just about to retire from the gate, and he chang- 
 ed his mind. " I am a child, a coward!" said 
 he to himself; " what ! can the address of the Son 
 of God to his mother so confuse thee 1 In the 
 name of the Lord I will go about thy holy work, 
 and will not fear the arrow that flee'th from the 
 darkness." 
 
 With the last word he knocked at the gate, 
 and at Aphanasii Nikitin's question, " Who Com- 
 eth 1" he replied — " In the name of the Lord." 
 The gate was immediately opened ; and, as was 
 customary, the person who admitted him made 
 the sign of the cross, to guard against any evil 
 accident. Aphonia did not refuse acquaintance 
 with foreigners; with what a multitude of na- 
 tions had he communicated ! In all his inter- 
 course with them, however, he signed himself 
 with the cross, which, he was convinced, had 
 often saved him from harm. 
 
 His dwelling was poor, but clean. The prin- 
 cipal ornament of the chamber consisted in an 
 image of the Holy Virgin, on the bottom of which 
 the traveller had displayed all the rare objects 
 
126 
 
 THE HERETIC. 
 
 ■which he had been able to bring to Russia from 
 distant lands. Indian mats for ornaments, pearls 
 and precious stones on the dress of ihe image, 
 palm-leaves and branches of the date-tree, beau- 
 tiful feathers of rare birds, forming the frame. 
 There was his past, his present, and his future: 
 here he had united all his wealth, earthly and 
 heavenly. 
 
 "Is it willingly or unwillingly that thou com- 
 est to me 1" asked the old man. 
 
 "Unwillingly," replied the youth, "because I 
 have come upon a business of life and death : 
 willingly, because I have chosen thee in this 
 business, Aphanasii Nikitich, to be to me a fa- 
 ther. Be my father, refuse me not !" 
 
 Such a commencement astonished the Tver- 
 itchanin. But when the young man began to 
 relate his determinations and his request, the 
 old man's solitary eye gleamed with a strange 
 light ; his lips parted in a smile. When he had 
 heard the demand he expressed his perfect will- 
 ingness to be Antony's advocate and svat, for the 
 sake of doing a deed of Christian charity: only 
 the success must be left in the hand of the 
 Lord. 
 
 " Remain here in my house an hour," said 
 Aphonia, seizing his cap and staff; "1 wil re- 
 turn straightway. An evil deed thou shouldst 
 put off from day to day, and pray ; haply it will 
 Jbe weary of hrooding m thy bosom, and will be 
 driven out by prayer; in good hour it will van- 
 ish, like an evil spirit at the sound of the matin- 
 bell. With a good deed 'tis different. When 
 thou see'st a precious bird, aim at it instantly 
 with thine arrow, bend thy bow — 'tis thine, the 
 bird of heaven. Let it fly, and it is lost in the 
 skies." 
 
 " I am only afraid tliat I came inopportunely," 
 said Antony ; " I was about to knock at thy door 
 when I heard thee singing a dirge. It filled my 
 soul with unspeakable sorrow. How couldst 
 thou so soon turn from praising the Lord to such 
 a song as that"?" 
 
 "HowT' answered the Tveritchanin, a little 
 confused ; " I cannot well tell thee how. It was 
 God's hour, not mine. But afflict not thyself in 
 vain. Where the Lord is, there all is happiness 
 and good. Let us pray to him, and rejoice our 
 souls in him." 
 
 And the old man prostrated body and soul be- 
 fore the image — Antony followed him. 
 
 " Now, having prayed, with God s blessing we 
 will leave ourselves to his judgment," said the 
 former, and left the cottage. 
 
 We may guess in what a state of agitation 
 the young man was left. Every step, every word 
 of the strange mediator between him and his 
 fate, was counted and weighed in his ab.sence ; 
 counted as though by Ihe throbbing of his sink- 
 ing heart. 
 
 " Now," thought Antony, " the old man has 
 reached Obrazelz's gate, now he is ascending the 
 stairs .... He is in the boyarin's chamber .... 
 he pronounces Anastasia's name, and mine . . . 
 My lot is being weighed in the balance of fate 
 . . . . O Lord ! cast down upon it a glance of 
 mercy !" 
 
 In the mean time Aphonia had swiftly direct- 
 ed his steps to the dwelling of Obrazetz, revolv- 
 ing in his head and heart speeches by which he 
 could successfully act upon Anastasia's father. 
 The traveller had not long before been with a 
 holy man, Josiph of Volok, and had listened to 
 the sacred eloquence addressed from his mellif- 
 luent I ills to ac ertain bovarin, whose heart was 
 
 deeply touched by it. From this fountain he 
 prepared to draw on the present occasion. At 
 first, however, his road was rugged, and his 
 breast at times required a moment to breathe; 
 his trembling hand seized the ring and knocked 
 uncertainly at the pillar of the gate. The boy- 
 arin was at home, they opened the wicket to 
 Aphonia ; to Aphonia it was never shut, at what- 
 ever hour of the day he might come. He as- 
 cends the stairs. In the antechamber he stopped 
 to breathe, and to arrange his dress and beard. 
 
 Vassilii Feodorovitch was in bed in his cham- 
 ber. He was grievously ill. Never before in 
 his life had he felt any serious attack, and there- 
 fore his present malady, which had suddenly 
 seized him, seemed a dangerous sign. A bed of 
 sickness — perhaps of death — and the future — 
 these were the great themes which presented 
 themselves to the natural eloquence of our trav- 
 eller-orator. 
 
 As usual, Ihe guest entering the chamber, 
 placed his staff near the door, made three signs 
 of the cross before the image, and a low obeis- 
 ance to the master of the house, and wished him 
 good health; as usual, the host greeted him af- 
 fectionately, and seated him in the place of hon- 
 our. After a little dialogue on both sides, the 
 Tveritchanin began as follows: — "So now the 
 beautil'ul summer is gone. The birds have made 
 their nests, have brought up their young ones, 
 have fed them, and taught them to fly. The 
 wind may arise from the north — it is no longer 
 feared by the nestlings ; their parents have 
 shown them the way through the heavens to 
 sunny waters, and to meadows of abundance. 
 If the old birds delay too long to take out the 
 young, what wonderif the snowy winter finds 
 the little nestlings — the poor birds !" 
 
 The boyarin gazed fixedly at Aphonia's face, 
 and said-^" Thou hast some meaning in thy 
 words, Nikitich." 
 
 "Thou knowest well, boyarin, before the tale 
 there is always a prologue; and I am leailing 
 my discourse to this, that our life is but a shoit 
 summer. He who hath children ought to be- 
 think him how to make them a warm nest, that 
 they may escape from foul weather to the sun- 
 ny waters." 
 
 " The birds of heaven neither sow nor reap, but 
 they die not of hunger!" exclaimed the boyarin. 
 " Over all of them equally doth the Lord watch ; 
 all of them equally doth he guard from bad 
 weather; Ive showeth them all the path to an 
 abundant land ; but we, for ouror our forefather's 
 sins, have not all received an equal share — to 
 one man is given a talent, to another two, to 
 some nothing at all. We toil and take thought 
 for our children; but" .... (here he sighed 
 deeply.) 
 
 "One of them flieth like a falcon from the 
 Great Prince's fist," interrupted Aphonia; "and 
 ever, as he circleth round, mounteth higher and 
 higher: for the other binl this fate was not des- 
 tined. The swallow singeth by herself, but soon 
 she will cut the air with her wings, though now 
 .she dares not fly far from her parents' nest. Put 
 she cannot always be warmed in the cradle; the 
 time will soon come when she must herself build 
 her little nest, and bring up nurselings of her 
 own." 
 
 " Apain, I answer, our lot and our gifts are in 
 the hand of God: without him a hair falleth not 
 from our heads." 
 
 " Be not angry, my Lord Vassilii Feodoro- 
 vitch, that I, a humblv-born houseless traveller, 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 KT 
 
 speak to thee the truth, not as a reproach, not as 
 leasoning with thee, but merely to arouse thy 
 recollection. Our minds are fixed upon the 
 treasures of the earth, or for ourselves, or for our 
 children; but for the treasures of heaven, which 
 aifc neither corrupted, nor can the worm devour 
 them, we take no thought. And when the hour 
 of Christ Cometh, our damask kaftans, our silver 
 cups, our iron coffers — these we shall not carry 
 ■with us; we shall appear before him naked[, 
 ■with nothing but our sins or our good deeds." 
 
 *God knoweth, according to my power and 
 reason, I labour to save the souls of myself and 
 my children." 
 
 "Thou labourestl what, by seeking rich and 
 noble bridegrooms for my lady Anastasia Vassi- 
 lievnal" .... 
 
 The boyarin was not offended at this reproach, 
 and answered kindly — 
 
 , " Thou art right; 1 sought such, according to 
 the weakness of my blood, and of humanity. 
 And therefore, perhaps, the Lord hath punished 
 me by the proposal of Mamon. From that time 
 my tree putteth forth no more sweet apples ; 
 from that time Nastenka's suitors have vanish- 
 ed ; and she herself, all mournful, hath pined 
 away like a blade of grass on a naked rock. 
 And have I not said prayers in the holy places; 
 have I not set up tapers in the church: have I 
 not lighted a lamp to burn for ever V 
 
 "Thou hast heard the word of God— ' Faith 
 without works is dead.' " 
 
 " I have heard it, and I have done according 
 to God's word. I have clothed the naked; I 
 have helped those whose dwellings have been 
 burned down; I have given meat in years of 
 famine; I have redeemed prisoners from the 
 infidels. And I have so done this, that my left 
 hand hath not known what my right hand gave." 
 "Assuredly all this is pleasing to God. But 
 this thou gavest of thy superfluity, of what thou 
 hadst too much. Thou hast not shared thy last 
 morsel ; thou hast not given thy last mite. This 
 is a far different thing than if thou, to save the 
 soul of thy unfriend, hadst given something 
 dearer to thee, more precious than all on earth, 
 a piece of thy flesh and blood." 
 
 Saying this, the old man drew himself up and 
 gazed piercingly with his glittering, solitary eye, 
 upon his listener, like an archer, desiring to see 
 "whether he has hit the mark. If he had been 
 compelled to repeat his words, he would have 
 been unable to do so, it seemed as though some 
 one else had spoken within him. 
 
 At the word "unfriend," the boyarin turned 
 pale and trembled. " Thou dost not speak of 
 Mamon 1" he cried in the condemned voice of 
 a man begging for mercy. 
 
 " What then 1 if I had spoken of him. He is 
 thy foe !" 
 
 "Aphanasii Nikititch, my friend, thou de- 
 sirest the dishonour of my hoary head, the dis- 
 honour of my son, my daughter — of all my race. 
 Thou desirest that 1 die in sorrow; that from 
 the other world I hear my children reproach 
 me, perhaps curse me for their shame; that I 
 hear the people and my foes laughing over my 
 grave, and insulting it. ' This,' they will say, 
 ' this was the tender f ither ! this was the way 
 he loveci his children ! . . . . This was the way 
 he se'.tled his beloved and only daughter; he 
 wedded her to the grandson of a witch who was 
 burned in Mojaisk in the market-place!' The 
 grandson of a sorceress, the son of my deadly foe, 
 with whom ray son must fight in tlie lists', will 
 
 receive my daughter No, Aphanasii Ni- 
 kititch, ask, demand from me something else, 
 God knows, that for a deed of charity I will not 
 spare my blood." 
 
 This was the very point to which Aphanasii. 
 Nikititch wished to lead him ; he almost triumph- 
 ed in his victory. 
 
 " Calm thyself, boyarin, it is not of Mamon. 
 I would speak. Shall his lost soul be saved by 
 thy beloved daughter — that pure dove? She. 
 would only ruin her own. It is not herself that 
 he seeketh lor his son, but thy wealth. My 
 bridegroom is far different, he seeketh only heav- 
 enly wealth : it is with this dowery alone that he 
 would receive our darling, Anastasia Vassil^ 
 ievna." 
 " I cannot even guess of whom thou speakest." 
 Aphonia crossed himself and said — "I have 
 conie to thee as a svat, my Lord"Vassilii Feodo- 
 rovitch, but not a common, everyday one : I de- 
 sire that at the great day of judgment thy soul 
 may appear before Christ like a pure and spot- 
 less virgin. Now, thou see'st there are two 
 bridegrooms to choose from for Anastasia Vas- 
 silievna. Our lord Ivan Vassilievitch favour- 
 elh each of them ; 1 stand up strongly for one — 
 both are heretics. One is a Tartar and Tsare- 
 vilch." 
 " Karakatcha, son of Danyar Kassimoff." 
 •' Exactly so." 
 
 " I have already received hints about him. I 
 am not against him, if he will take our taith." 
 " Certainly ! he is a Tsarevitch ! . . . . Forsooth, 
 
 a noble deed of charity the honour goeth 
 
 for nothing!" .... 
 
 This sarcasm deeply penetrated the religious 
 soul of Obrazetz : he was embarrassed as if he- 
 had betrayed himself before his judge; but to 
 justify himself, he answered with firmness — 
 "Then I will not give her to the Tsarevitch ; 
 God knoweth, I will not ... . Who is the other'? 
 .... Do not torture me, in God's name !" 
 
 "Boyarin, remember I perform the part of no 
 common svat; we are preparing a crown of im- 
 mortaliiy for thee and another servant of God." 
 " Speak, my friend, speak !" 
 " The other is— Antony the leech." 
 " The German I" . . . . cried Obrazetz, tnun- 
 derstruck. 
 
 This word represented the whole race of Lat- 
 iners— accursed, hated— the death of his beloved 
 son, the whole life of the boyarin, with all its 
 prejudices and beliefs. 
 
 " Surely ; I did not hide from thee that the 
 suitor was a heretic." 
 
 " A necromancer — a servant of the Evil One!" 
 cried the boyarin. 
 
 " Slander, Vassilii Feodorovitch I Slander is 
 a great sin. Who can say, pledging his soul, 
 that he hath ever heard him use a wicked word, 
 or seen him in the works of Satan I 1 have 
 often visitedhim, have frequently conversed with 
 him : all his talk was of God's wonderful crea- 
 tion ; it was full of reason, a noble and bright el- 
 oquence, like a resounding torrent. Modest as 
 a maiden, brave as thy son, merciful to the poor. 
 Never can I forget his goodness. One thi'ng 
 alone holdeth him in the claws of the Fiend, one 
 thing alone plungeth him in the bur.iing pitch- 
 he is unchristened. But if he will take our faith, 
 he will be purified from all stain— sooner than 
 ourselves will he reach the dwelling of God: 
 Remember, boyarin, thou hast pledged thy sa- 
 cred word." 
 
 Obrazetz, instead of answering, burst into tears, 
 for the first time since the death of his wife. 
 
128 
 
 THE HERETIC. 
 
 "What dost thou ask from me 1" he exclaimed 
 at last, sobbing. 
 
 " Thy blood, the dearest morsel of thy flesh, 
 that ihoir mayest save the soul of God's servant, 
 Antony, from eternal fire : have mercy on thine 
 own Soul." 
 
 " Give me three days' time — but till my son's 
 return." 
 
 " Will Jesus Christ give thee this time to 
 cleanse thyself from thy sins, when thou appear- 
 esi before him in the other world!" (These 
 words belonged not to Aphanasii Nikitin, but to 
 Josiph of Volok.) " Perhaps to-morrow may be 
 too late. Refuse Antony, and who can be sure 
 that he will not instantly depart to his own infi- 
 del land? And then lie' will remain for ever in 
 the chains of hell. And when he appeareth 
 the other world, bound hand and foot, when 
 they take him to hurl him into the burning pitch 
 — ' O Lord !' he will say, ' I desired to come to 
 thee, but thy servant Vassilii did not let me. 
 It is he who bound me hand and foot; it is he 
 ■who hurled me into everlasting fire; bind him, 
 therefore, with me, and hurl him into the fi-i-e 
 •with me. ' Will thine alms save thee then, think- 
 €st ihou, or thy masses 1 Think again, Vas- 
 silii Feodorovitch ; repeat thy sacred word ; the 
 angels will rejoice when they rece ve into their 
 choirs a new Christian soul, and will sing — 
 ' Glory, slory to thee, O Lord, on earth and in 
 the heavens !' " 
 
 Obrazetz sighed deeply, as if he would breathe 
 forth all his being; and glanced at the image of 
 the Saviour with the love and agony of a man 
 ■crucified with him; and suddenly starting from 
 his sick-bed, strong and steady, he exclaimed 
 with solemnity — " Let us pray to the Lord !" 
 
 After him arose the Tveritchanin. And they 
 prayed. 
 
 "O Lord, merciful Father!" .said Obrazetz 
 kneeling, "accept from thine unworthy servant 
 a great and painful sacrifice. I have but one 
 daughter, my well-beloved — mv treasure — and 
 her I give to thee. Lord, Lord ! remember me 
 and my daughter when thou comest into thy 
 kingdom." 
 
 And the boyarin embraced the traveller. Hav- 
 ing finished the spiritual work, they returned to 
 what belonged to earth. They struck hands, and 
 determined to prepare Anastasia; to inform An- 
 tony, through Aphonia, of Obrazetz's consent ; 
 and to tell him that he, in order to save the 
 maiden's modesty and honour from any stain of 
 popular report, must depart on the next day to 
 another house, and immediately take the boy- 
 arin's confes.sor, who would instruct !iim in true 
 Christianity. The marriage was fixed not to 
 take place before the judgment of God should de- 
 cide Khabar's fate in the lists. Whether Anto- 
 ny had ever seen the boyarin's daughter was not 
 asked; perhaps Obrazetz feared to learn what 
 would have been displeasing to him to know. 
 
 The moment the svat had gone, Anastasia was 
 summoned to her father. 
 
 "What could it be fori .... Surely some- 
 thing imporinnt !" thought she, and her henrt flut- 
 tered in her bosom ; her feet irembled under her. 
 
 When she entered her father's bed-chamber, 
 his grave yet afleetionate face — his glance, pen- 
 otraiing her soul — the image, adorned with the 
 lightefl tapers as before a festival — all proved 
 that she must prepare herself for something ex- 
 trnordinary. 
 
 The old man spoke in a touching voice of his 
 sickness, of his presentiment of approaching 
 
 death. A raven, too, bad perched upon the 
 house-top and would not be driven away, and 
 the dog had dug a hole before the window of his 
 chamber, and Anastasia's mother had appeared 
 to him in a dream, and called him to herself 
 
 "Father, ah, do not die! do not depart from 
 us!" ... . sobbed forth Anastasia, and burst into 
 tears. 
 
 " I would not leave thee, my child, my pome- 
 granate ! but God calls me, and we may not stay. 
 It is time to think of settling thee .... thou art 
 of a fit age to wed .... wicked men will say — 
 ' She is old !'" 
 
 Among the lessons given by the nurse to her 
 charge, how she was to hear herself, and speak, 
 was one — with what voice she was to answer 
 her father when he spoke to her of a husband. 
 The motto which we have taken for the present 
 chapter had been learned by Anastasia, and oft- 
 en repeated, with the necessary thoughtful study, 
 against a similar occasion ; but this was no time 
 for it. She stood at the head of her father's bed, 
 paralysed with grief She could not utter a word, 
 and wiped away with the fine sleeve of her dress 
 the tears that streamed forth in torrents. 
 
 Her father continued — "According to the law 
 of God, I have chosen thee a husband" .... 
 
 "I am God's and thine," sobbed Anastasia, 
 falling at her father's feet. "Stay awhile . . . 
 give me not away, my father! . . . Art thou then 
 angry with me for any thing 1 Oram I no long- 
 er dear to theel Or art thou weary of my vir- 
 gin beauty 1 Make me not pine away before my 
 time; kill me not!" ... 
 
 " Thou canst not call back past days, nor take 
 again a word once given. And I have pledged 
 a solemn promise — I have made a vow unto the 
 Lord. Nastia, redeem thy father's sins, recall 
 not my plighted word." 
 
 Instead of answering, Anastasia sobbed, and 
 embraced her father's knees. 
 
 "Even to a heretic ... to a Tsarevitchl . . . 
 We will bring him into the Christian faith; he 
 will walk under the Great Prince's protection," 
 said the father, desiring to prepare her for a her- 
 etic husband. 
 
 " To whom thou wilt ... I am God's asd 
 thine . . . Only give me not to a Tartar! . . . 
 When thou ai^t in the grave, I wiH follow thee 
 . . . I will lay hands on myself!" 
 
 " Ah ! my poor child, my poor dove, what will 
 become of theel . . . Forgive me. my child, my 
 beloved daughter; I have promised yet worse 
 than to a Tartar ; I have promised thee to a her- 
 etic Gierman — to Antony the leech." 
 
 " To Antony V . . . Anastasia tried to say, but 
 the word was stifled in her breast. 
 
 AVhal had she heard! . . . The dear friend of 
 her heart, her joy, the delight ofhcr eyes, Anto- 
 ny— her husbanil! Did her ears deceive herl 
 Had she not spoke that loved name herself in 
 forceifulness'? . . . She struggled to conceal her 
 ('elight, but she could not — it was seen in her 
 convulsive trembling, in every gesture, even in 
 her tears. 
 
 " It is thy will, my father !" she said at length, 
 passionately kissing his feet. 
 
 And she could say no more. But her father's 
 piercing glance remarked, in his daughter's eager 
 caresses, a feeling which he had never suspected 
 could exist. The boyarin thanked the Lord that 
 this feeling would be covered by the marriage 
 crown, and would redeem the soul of a heretic 
 from the bondage of hell. Thus were over- 
 thrown the obstacles in the palace of Obiazetz. 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 129 
 
 On the same day the boyarin sent in his son's 
 -name to Mamon, to enquire if he was recovered, 
 and ready for the judgment of God, (this mes- 
 sage had already been sent more than once.) 
 Mamon replied, " I am ready, and waiting." On 
 T-eceiving his answer, an express was di-spatched 
 to Tver. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 THE WOOD. 
 " When the white moon alone is standing 
 Alone and steadfast in the sky, 
 To greenwood then from caves \re hie, 
 Unto our trade of |>eril bandiug — 
 Behind a tree we sit and watch" . . . 
 
 POUSHKIN. 
 
 Antony was happy ; he had saved the honour 
 ^f his mistress — he was to possess her. He 
 ■could hardly believe his bliss. In fulfilment of 
 Obrazetz's desire, and stilLmore, of that of his 
 >own heart, he determined on changing his abode 
 <on the morrow, and on going to Aristotle's 
 house, and thence to another dwelling, as soon 
 -as he could find one. But that night he was to 
 pass beneath the same roof with Anastasia. It 
 was already twilight, when, bidding farewell to 
 Jhis benefactor and svat, he left his house. He 
 had far to go. Kourilzin had not sent his horse, 
 as he had promised. He proceeded rapidly. In 
 sight of the Zaneglinnoi, at the declivity of the 
 hill, stretching to a mossy swamp, a considera- 
 ble wood lay in his path. It grew darker and 
 •darker. The moon was just peering above the 
 earth, and threw a lazy light, at one time gazing 
 
 • sleepily in the traveller's face, at another glim- 
 :niering through the leaves of the trees, like a 
 
 bright circle of diamond, or stooping behind a 
 tree shattered by the lightning. At last even 
 the moon, as if wearied with her journey, was 
 ab<:ut to sink into the bosom of the earth. The 
 Kreml alone, sprinkled with her last radiance, 
 
 ■cut sharply against the sky the roofs of its hous- 
 
 •es and the crosses of its churches; all around 
 stretched itself in shadow at its feet, like slaves 
 at the foot of their padishah. 
 
 As he approached the wood, Antony was en- 
 veloped in the chilly exhalations of the swamp; 
 
 ithe sky itself, sprinkled here and there with tutis 
 and streaks of cloud, stood over him like a dome 
 
 ■ of marble. Wreaths of fog floated through the 
 thickets, and the trees seemed lo wave, putting 
 on strange fantastic forms, and whispering 
 among themselves. The birch waved its curling 
 head, or streamed upon the breeze its long float- 
 ing pennons: the black firs stretched out their 
 hooked arms, atone lime threatening from above, 
 at another blocking up the passage; the aspen 
 •whispered, and around the traveller began to flit 
 those strange phantoms which imagination calls 
 up before us on such occasions. Like witches 
 
 • on their festival, swarms of bats flitted about, 
 weaving their airy dances almost under the trav- 
 ■eller's nose. To accompany them, the night- 
 hawk, and the wood-demon the screech-owl, 
 burst into its infernal laugh. A traveller, though 
 no coward, might have felt eerie. But Antony 
 Mds hastening home to that beloved roof be- 
 
 .-Jieath which dwelt his bride. He was warm, he 
 was free from fear. In case of meeting with 
 unfriendly people, a stiletto at his side, and a 
 Itisten armed with a sharp iron point, which 
 Aphonia had given him — these weapons, in the 
 hands of a powerful and courageous young man, 
 snight serve as a defence to be relied on. 
 
 It is true he felt some apprehension on ac- 
 count of a horseman who had IbUowed him near- 
 ly all the way from Tchertolino, keeping paral- 
 lel with his road, and continued to follow him 
 at a few fathoms' distance. 
 
 He stopped, and the horseman stopped too; 
 he moved on, and the same thing was done by 
 the inevitable traveller. He called out — no an- 
 swer was returned. He remembered Kourit- 
 zin's words, and considering himself, armed as 
 he was, a match for three, he made ready to de- 
 fend himself. At last he was weary of appre- 
 hensions which were not fulfilled. "Assured- 
 ly the traveller is afraid of me, and I am alarm- 
 ed at him," thought Antony, as he proceeded 
 onward without looking behind him, and listen- 
 ing to the clatter of the horse's hoofs as it fol- 
 lowed him, as you listen to the buzzing of a fly, 
 which circles round you unceasingly, but with- 
 out stinging you. The sweet moments which 
 awaited him in his future union with Anasta- 
 sia, penetrated into his heart and imagination. 
 She alone, and her perfections, occupied his 
 mind. He was altogether buried in this reverie, 
 when out of a wreath of fog some one cautious- 
 ly called him by his name. 
 
 " 'Tis I," he answered, and stopped. 
 
 Immediately after this reply, some one darted 
 out of the hushes and rushed straight at him. 
 " Prague — the dogs— my saviour !" said the un- 
 known, in German, seizing Antony with unu- 
 sual force by the sleeve, dragging him into the 
 bushes and throwing him down. The falcon 
 pounces not more rapidly from its soaring upon 
 its prey. 
 
 " For God's sake !" he added, in a whisper, 
 " stir not, and be silent." 
 
 The secret watchword, which M-as known 
 only to Antony, was sutficient to induce him to 
 confide in the strange unknown. This watch- 
 word reminded him of the circumstance at 
 Prague, when he saved the Jew Zakharia from 
 the infuriated animals that were about to tear 
 him to pieces. The well-known pronunciation, 
 betrayed the driver who had brought Antony t^ 
 Russia. Though comprehending nothing, he 
 submitted to the will of his companion, did not 
 move, and remained silent. 
 
 A minute passed .... two .... three .... 
 the horseman rode by them in pursuit of the 
 young man. Antony felt his companion vio- 
 lently squeeze his arm. After a short delay a 
 wliistle was heard .... it was answered by a 
 whistle in (he ravine. 
 
 '■ JN'ow, quick, follow me," whispered Zakha- 
 ria, or Skharia, as they called him in Russia; 
 " a i'ew fathoms off there waitelh thee an am- 
 buscade of robbers ; thy life hath been bought 
 by Poppel." 
 
 Resistance would have been madness; the 
 3'oung man hastened after Skharia. They 
 dashed into the thickness of the wood, further 
 and further, till they were lost in its recesses. 
 The guide, however, stopped from time to time 
 in order to allow the noise to cease, caused by 
 their hands and feet, as they forced their way 
 among the shrubs and underwood. He desired 
 that this rustling should be taken for the sound 
 of the breeze rushing through the wood. 
 
 " Be sure to keep in view that little star," said 
 Znkharia, pointing to one which was feebly 
 twinkling in the east — " pray to God that it do 
 not hide itself." 
 
 And onward, onward they rushed by its con- 
 soling gleam. At last they burst, fatigued, out 
 
130 
 
 THE HERETIC. 
 
 of the wood. Before them laj' the swamp. It 
 seemed to them a pit in which coals were burn- 
 ing, so thickly arose the smoke of the fog. At 
 this moment the breeze bore onward to their ear 
 cries of " Escaped ! . . . . lost ! . . . . scatter, 
 .spread yourselves ! . . . . seize the accursed !" 
 And the sound of horses seemed to spread in 
 diflerent directions, along the road to Tcherto- 
 lino and along the edge of the wood. The 
 Jew's heart seemed about to burst out of his 
 breast: even Antony felt alarmed. 'Twas sad 
 to leave his life at its happiest moment — horri- 
 ble to die beneath the bludgeon or the knife of a 
 robber. 
 
 " Here, somewhere hereabout, is a causeway 
 made in the marsh with fagots," said Zakharia, 
 in an agony of terror: "let us separate, thou to 
 the left, I to the right .... let us look for it ... . 
 If you find it, cough; I will do the same . . . . 
 The causeway, or we are lost!" 
 
 They separated for the search. In a few mo- 
 ments Antony gave the signal agreed on. The 
 Jew rushed up to him. The very snot, where 
 under the dark streak of the mist a bluish vault 
 seemed to be formed, indicated the causeway. 
 The fugitives are upon it; in this direction, 
 along the edge of the wood, riders were gallop- 
 ing .... closer and closer came the sound of 
 their horses .... the panting of the wearied 
 animals is heard .... 
 
 "Hush! give me thy hand, or I shall fall," 
 said the Jew, in a breathless voice, seizing An- 
 tony by the arm. "Close by there is a bridge 
 over the stream .... and there" .... 
 
 He could not finish his sentence; he was al- 
 most fainting. The Hebrew had already lost 
 presence of mind, and he was besides weak phys- 
 ically. He was in reality ready to fnil. He 
 had sufficient courage to undertake an exploit, 
 but, feeble by constitution, he was unable to 
 finish it. On the other hand, the cool courage 
 of the young man was only developed in all its 
 strength at the moment of greatest peril. He 
 seized Zakharia, dragged him across the little 
 bridge, and placed him, almost breathless, on 
 the dry bank. Then he returned — away went a 
 plank into the stream which flowed through the 
 swamp — another, a third— and the communica- 
 tion was destroyed. The fugitives were con- 
 cealed by the <bg. They were saved ; before 
 them arose the suburb, the roofs of its houses 
 peering through the mist. Thev heard the 
 lauseway cracking under the feet of horses— all 
 Was suddenly still. Then arose cries and groans; 
 entreaties for help, warnings and curses. Prob- 
 ably a horse had fallen into the broken bridge 
 and carried the rider with it. 
 
 " Ha, ha ! thou hast caught it '" cried the He- 
 brew, returninij to his senses as soon as he found 
 himself out of danger. " He that di^geth a pit 
 for another, shall fall therein himself But let 
 us haste. In the suburb thou wilt find thy" .... 
 
 Zakharia did not finish— something whistled 
 past his ear. This was an arrow, let fly by one 
 of their pursuers, aimed at the place where 
 voices were heard. Frightened out of his wits, 
 he stooped towards the ground, dragged his com- 
 panion by the kaftan, and began to crawl through 
 the fog, almost on all fours, towards the suburb. 
 Antony could do nothing better than follow him 
 without stopping. 
 
 "Well," said Zakharia, as soon as he found 
 himself in a place of safely — that is, in a cottage 
 evidently known to him, as he gaive a .signal 
 knock — "well, I have made a warm ablution, 
 
 according to the law of my fathers. It has no^ 
 rained, and yet I have not a dry rag about me," 
 
 The wicket was opened, and immediately- 
 locked behind them. 
 
 "Now I may sing thanksgiving and praise to 
 the God of Abraham and Jacob," said the He- 
 brew, conducting his companion into a cleau 
 large chamber; " thou art saved." 
 
 " How can I ever thank thee, good Zakharia !" 
 answered Antony, pressing the Jew's hand with 
 feeling. This expression of gratitude took place 
 at night; no treasures would have bribed the 
 young man to have touched a Jew by daylight, 
 before witnesses, in spite of all that he had done 
 for him, and all that he was ready at any time 
 to do for him. 
 
 " How 1 .... I am still thy debtor. Thou 
 savedst my life without any views of interest, 
 without knowing me, from mere humanity. Yet 
 more, thou savedst a Jew ! — A Jew ! what is be 
 in the eyes of a Christian 1 .... I am thy debtor, 
 and I am only paying what I have received from, 
 thee. To-morrow I shall have left Moscow. 
 God knoweth if ever I shall see thee again, or 
 speak to thee! .... Now I can at leisure give 
 an account of tliat sum of good which I have 
 received from thee, I may disclose to thee . . . ,. 
 Confident in the honour of thy soul, 1 know that 
 not a word of mine will go further." 
 
 "O, assuredly, thou mayest confide in me!" 
 
 "I told thee, as we were travelling to Russia, 
 that I would never forget thy benevolence; that 
 I possessed powerful friends, who could do thee 
 more good than Aristotle himself Thou often 
 laughedst at me, thou countedst lue a braggart;, 
 yet 1 lied not. The miserable Hebrew, whom 
 the schoolboys of Prague could with impunity 
 bait with dogs — thy driver — is the founder of a 
 far-extended sect in Russia. Here I have my 
 little empire; my word is law," (the Hebrew 
 drew himself proudly up, his eyes sparkled ;) 
 "here I avenge myself for my humiliation in 
 Germany; I take with usury here all that my 
 fellow-creatures, men, refuse me elsewhere. la 
 the families of princes and boyarins, in the 
 palace of the primate, even in the family of the 
 Great Prince, I have my followers, my pupils, 
 my disciples. Many women, throug"h whom 
 much luay be done, notwithstanding their seclu- 
 sion, are my warmest protectresses." 
 
 The 3'ouhg man listened to the Jew's disclo-- 
 sure with horror. He raised his eyes to heaven, 
 as if to implore it to interfere. .... 
 
 "Oh!" thought he, "if I remain in Russia, I 
 will seek out these unfortunate lost sheep; I will 
 struggle by the force of religious reasoning to 
 bring theni back to their Heavenly Shepherd. 
 He would disregard Zakharia." 
 
 "Now, through these powerful persons," said 
 the Hebrew, "I have intiuenced even the Great 
 Prince's disposition towards thee. Through one 
 of them the Russian ruler has been long ac- 
 quainted with thy inclination for the daughter 
 of Obrazptz." 
 
 " From whom didst thou learn the secret of 
 my heart V 
 
 '" Thy servant, the half-christened, is my dis- 
 ciple. He was commissioned to follow all tiiy 
 steps and movements, that in case of need he 
 might help thee. How he watched thy commu- 
 nications with the boyarin's daughter, ask him- 
 .self The contempt in which he was treated in 
 Obrazelz's house, ha<l taught him cunning. 
 Wherefore is our race so cunning, think ye 1 
 Thy servant knew that I wished thy welfart- ., 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 131 
 
 obeying my command, devoted to thee, he ful- 
 filled the duty of a spy with singular skill and 
 zeal. The proof is, thou hast never even sus- 
 pected him. 
 
 "Never— never!" 
 
 " Forgive us; what we did was for thy good. 
 We enveloped thee in a net, in order if thou 
 shouldst fall into a whirlpool, we might the 
 more easilv draw thee out. I knew thai Poppel 
 was thy sworn foe. It was not in vain that thy 
 mother pointed him out as being dangerous to 
 thee. On the journey the foolish knight hinted, 
 before his attendants, at his secret intentions 
 against thee. He spoke of the commission he 
 had from the Baron Ehrenstein to get rid of thee, 
 whatever it might cost: a leech of his name 
 would cast a stain upon his baronial shield. 
 Immediately after his arrival at Moscow, he be- 
 gan to sharpen against thee the weapons of 
 calumny. When this failed, he had recourse to 
 the weapons of the assassin. Through the 
 boyarin Mamon thy life was bought. In the 
 house of the ambassador I had devoted persons, 
 who informed me, or Kouritzin, of every thing. 
 The ofhcers sent to watch Poppel were chosen 
 from among my disciples. At every place, at 
 every lime, my eyes and heart were watching 
 over thee. And at all times and places I took 
 care that no one should know, should see, that a 
 Jew was interested i-n thee— never was I seen in 
 conversation with thee. Never even in thy 
 dwelling. I knew that my intercourse with 
 thee would injure thee, particularly in Obra- 
 zetz's house ; I preserved thy name from this 
 blot, even as I would preserve my daughter's 
 honour. Thou canst not reproach me with the 
 contrary." 
 
 The Jew spoke with singular feeling ; his eyes 
 were filled with tears. 
 
 "O, assuredly not !" cried the young man, 
 deeply touched. "I never suspected that thou 
 wert in Moscow." 
 
 " All this went on well till to-day. To-day, 
 Kouritzin let me know that thou hadst gone to 
 Aphanasii Nikitin, notwithstanding his entrea- 
 ties to put off thy journey till to-morrow. He 
 waited for thy return at a convenient place; but 
 thou returnedst not. Immediately after this one 
 of the hired band informed me of the same thing, 
 with the addition, that if thou wert to delay thy 
 return, thou wouiolst fall into an ambuscade at 
 the marsh, between Zanegliimaia and Tchertol- 
 ino. I calculated the hour. To assemble our 
 devoted adherents to protect thee, there was no 
 time : to send thee thy horse and servant would 
 be useless. Neither horse nor servant would 
 have been of any help in the narrow ravine, 
 when thou wert surrounded by a dozen robbers. 
 Kouritzin sent people to have thy horse and ser- 
 vant at least dispatched hither, to the house of 
 one of my most devoted disciples. I must in- 
 form thee that I have no fixed dwelling : to-night 
 I sleep at the house of one of ray people, to-morr 
 row at that of another." 
 
 " Unenviable is thy lot, little king of the here- 
 tics!" thought Antony. 
 
 " 1 at last determined to go from hence, right 
 along the causeway of the marsh, to get through 
 the wood to the road leading to Tchertolino, and 
 there to wait for thee at the edsre of the forest It 
 was known to me that one of the robbers was to 
 follow thee. In the event of my not being able 
 to get thee away from his watch, we two would 
 have slopped him and fought with him. God be 
 praised ! I came ia time — thou art saved. 1 
 
 gave thanks to the Almighty that he had vouch- 
 safed me this day the power of rendering thee a 
 service. If this had happened to-morrow, God 
 knoweth how it would have ended. To-morrow 
 — this very day — I shall depart from hence ; cir- 
 cumstances will oblige me to go earlier than I 
 thought. I shall leave Russia — for ever. But 
 tell me, what success had the intercession of 
 Nikitin? Dost thou need the resistless will of 
 the Great Prince V 
 
 " That is now unnecessary. My fate is de- 
 cided. Anastasia is given to me by her father; 
 I shall remain in Russia." 
 
 " I am well pleased that my Kouritzin hath 
 pointed out to thee a faithful svat, and that in 
 this, if not I — yet one of my most zealous disci- 
 ples', hath helped thee. Though I depart, I leave 
 thee in his care .... at least for such a time 
 as the Baron Ehrenstein shall remain here. One 
 thing I entreat thee, not to disclose to the deacoa 
 what thou knowest concerning him .... what 
 you call .... desertion." 
 
 The young man promised this. He was, how- 
 ever, not much pleased to continue under the 
 guardianship of the heretics, and he made a 
 vow in his own mind to liberate himself as soon 
 as possible from it. " I shall visit Prague ; I 
 shall see, if not thy mother, at least her servants 
 .... What dsot thou command me to say 1" 
 
 " Tell her, good Zakharia, that I am happy . . 
 . . . as happy as man can be on earth. Tell 
 her all that thou knowest concerning me, and 
 my love for Anastasia, and her father's consent, 
 and the Russian sovereign's favour. In wealth, 
 in honour, beloved by a most beautiful and vir- 
 tuous maiden, under the hand and eye of God — 
 what can I lack more "? Yes, I am happy. I 
 should say completely happy, but one thing is 
 yet wanting — the presence and blessing of my 
 mother! Entreat her, to complete my bliss, to 
 come and take a glance at me in Moscow." 
 
 " And they would call her a heretic, and she 
 would not be happy here in a Russian family," 
 thought the Hebrew, but did not say so, to avoid 
 grieving: Antony. 
 
 "Add, that thou hast seen me in the happiest 
 moment of my life, when I was going for the 
 first time to pass a night beneath the same roof 
 with my bride. These moments belong to me, 
 this day is mine — to-morrow is in the hand of 
 God." 
 
 " We have now explained to each other all 
 that is necessary for us to know," said Zakharia. 
 " Permit me — for a farewell — permit the Hebrew 
 .... here no man can see us .... I will put 
 out the candle .... permit me to embrace 
 thee, to press thee to my heart for the first and 
 last time." 
 
 The young man did not allow Zakharia to 
 put out the candle ; he embraced him in the light 
 .... with a feeling of love and sincere grati- 
 tude. I 
 They bade each other farewell. When An- 
 tony left the court-yard, his servant, the half- 
 baptized, approached him, also to bid him fare- 
 well. He was going with his instructor and 
 protector to disL^int lands. The young man 
 knew how to appreciate in this circumstance, 
 also the delicate" feelings of the Hebrew. It 
 would be disagreeable to him to have among 
 his servants a heretic, a deserter from the name 
 of Christ! As he returned home, he deeply- 
 considered the noble sentiments of the Jew with 
 I peculiar gratitude; but he determined to make a 
 1 proper ablution, after being touched by the hands 
 which had crucified our Saviour. 
 
132 
 
 THE HERETIC. 
 
 The night was feebly contending with dawn 
 when the young man entered his own gate. He 
 had left his horse at Aristotle's house, whither 
 he had ridden to tell him of his happiness. 
 Heavens ! what feelings rushed along his blood, 
 as he entered the court-yard of Obrazetz's house ! 
 when he knocked at his door! As in former 
 times, the window in Anastasia's tower was 
 open, (the nurse had permitted this, having 
 heard, nut without wonder, of her foster-child's 
 betrothal to Antony the leech, whom she was 
 henceforward forbidden to call heretic — she de- 
 sired by this to gratify her future master:) as in 
 former days, Anastasia is silting at the window, 
 and awaiting the return of her enchanter. She 
 throws him a flower: the flower is warm, as 
 though from her bosom. The lovers waited 
 until dawn. As before, tliey carried on a speech- 
 less dialogue ; long they discoursed to each other 
 in passionate, eloquent glances and gestures. 
 Morning .separated them. Anastasia was about 
 to close her window, and opened it again. An- 
 tony was about to retire to his own chamber, 
 but again came back to gaze. Once more they 
 said farewell. Her eyes were dim with weep- 
 ing ; the time during which they were to be sep- 
 arated, seemed to her an eternity. 
 
 And in his dreams Antony beheld .... Oh, 
 what floated in his dreams no tongue can tell! 
 
 '*'No!" said he to himself as he awoke ; "no, 
 I am too happy ! . . . Oh, that I were never to 
 awake! .... I once saw a bee, intoxicated in 
 the aromatic cup of a flower; the breeze carried 
 it away with the blossom, and wafted them to- 
 gether to a burning pile that had been lighted by 
 the passenger. Why may not my lot be like 
 that ■? 'Twas a frantic thought, worthy an idol- 
 ater!" he added, looking at the image of the 
 Saviour: "a Christian's death should not be 
 like this— there is a bliss above that of earth." 
 
 Aristotle and his son found him still in bed. 
 plunged alternately in sweet reveries, and reli- 
 gious contemplations. The friend!)- welcome 
 of the one, the caresses of the other, completed 
 his happiness. More than all did Andriousha 
 rejoice in his bliss: he had done so much in it 
 hiin.self; his godmother and friend had been long 
 betrothed by him. 
 
 " Now, thou rememberest," said he to Antony, 
 " I prophesied that thou wouldst stand with dear 
 and lovely Nastia under the crowns in the 
 church." 
 
 CHAPTF.R XXXII. 
 
 TIIK Pt'NISHMENT OP THE HERETIC."?. 
 "■ And vpon thys mateip, my Lnrdis, ye Crete Prince 
 willpd nice to sprke niio poro mymlp, and mce thynVetli, 
 my Lnrilis, yt our l^-iirdo wil purofve hvs sowle ofsinne ijif 
 heo to dcde ye hcrettckeS."—Leiler of Jos^ Volok to the 
 CUrgij rj Ivan III. 
 
 Ivan was not overmuch honoured by the cler- 
 gy and tiie people, for having, in order to deco- 
 rate his capital, pulkd down ancient churches, 
 and iran'.ferred a burial-giound beyond the sub- 
 uriis; and they did not spare to call him a sar-ri- 
 legious profaner of the grave. The weapons they 
 employed against him, were quotations from 
 Holy Writ and sarcasms. "And what ychnl 
 wee sale of y pulling down of chirckes, and 
 sweeping awaie y graves of y° dead 7" wrote 
 Gennndius, Archbishop Novgorod to the primate 
 Zosimns; " and yo makiii;,' in the stance thereof 
 gardens, and y« performing of unclenenes! Be- 
 fore God a sin, and before man a shame !" 
 
 These shafts were launched against Ivan Vas- 
 silievitch, but did not wound him; he laughed 
 them to scorn, and persevered in acting as he 
 thought fit. 
 
 The representations, both frequent and press- 
 ing, the voice of the people, submissive indeed, 
 but importunate, on the subject of the Jewish 
 heresy, at length awakened his attention. He 
 gave orders that the church should be convoked, 
 and that the heresy should be obliterated. They 
 desired to torture the accused — he forbade i^"; 
 they called for capital punishment — he did not 
 give his permission. The sovereign " kept him- 
 self clear from the sin of punishing them with 
 death." In accordance with his will, the church 
 publicly cursed the heresy : to one, they decreed 
 exile, another was to be exposed to the insults of 
 the people. The punishment of public shame 
 was exemplary in the reign of the sovereign, 
 and in the fifteenth century. 
 
 We have seen that the composition of the list 
 of heretics was confided to their protector — we 
 also remarked of whom the list consisted. The 
 Great Prince, to gratify some of the ecclesias- 
 tics, added from himself a number of notorious 
 seceders from the faith, who were pointed out to 
 him. Those who were sentenced to banishment 
 were, without delay, sent off into distant cities, 
 the others were taken under a guard : they were 
 to afford a day of amusement for the people. On 
 this occasion it would have been in no way safe 
 for Skharia to have remained in Moscow. Ivan 
 Vassilievitchdid not so much as suspect that he 
 was in his capital; and if the wrathful glance of 
 the Great Prince had been once attracted to- 
 wards him, he would have met with the fate of 
 Mamon's mother. Assuredly they would not 
 have spared the Jew. It was therefore more 
 sensible in him to escape by times from Mos- 
 cow. And this he had done, carrying with him 
 rich offerings accumulated from credulity, from 
 folly, and tlie love of every thing wonderful, ev- 
 ery thing mysterious — that disease of the age. 
 In his waggon he carried treasures wherewith 
 in future time he might redeem himself and his 
 family from the persecutions of the German cit- 
 izens and princes. 
 
 The day of the spectacle was not delayed : all 
 were busy. The scene of the sports was arran- 
 ged to be" the Red Square, and the neighbouring 
 streets. On this occasion, the people were not 
 driven to the concourse, as at the ambassador's 
 procession : it came of its own accord to the 
 spot. Then the business was foreign from the 
 people's tastes, excepting that of gaping curios- 
 ity ; they were conducting some German or oth- 
 er to their sovereign, but why and wherefore the 
 Lord only knows ! To-day it assembles for a 
 festival of its own, for a business of its own, be- 
 gun at its own suit, for an object dear to its 
 heart, almost in harmony with its desires, and 
 decided by its sentence: here it is at once a 
 spectator of the execution and its executioner. 
 Free lihcrtv was granted to it to insult its supe- 
 riors, and it hastened to profit by this spectacle, 
 nnd to prepare itself sweet recollections against 
 future hours of oppression. 
 
 The markets etnptied, the shops were shut, 
 work was at an end. The inhabitants of Mos- 
 cow and the neighhourhood, old and younsr, from 
 early dawn, had taken possession of their places 
 in the square and in the principal streets. Peo- 
 ple from afar, on horseback and on foot, who 
 had come to Moscow for business, no sooner 
 heard of the sport, than they forgot weariness 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 133 
 
 and need, turned aside from their road, and hast- 
 ened to post themselves on the centre ot common 
 curiosity. Hither, too, galloped a multitude of 
 the Great Prince's courtiers; and among their 
 number the Tsarevitch Karakaicha, and his 
 comrade Andrei Aristotle. The square was 
 crammed with gazers. Not with so much gree- 
 diness fly the ravens to their prey of carrion, as 
 there streamed hither men to behold the humilia- 
 tion of their fellow-men ; not so thickly wave the 
 poppies in the ploughed land, where the hus- 
 bandman has scattered an abundant seed, as 
 crowded human heads in that square. The 
 trees in the Great Prince's gardens, which had 
 not yet been completely fenced in, were broken 
 down by the shock of thousands, receiving the 
 first impulse from some mover in the I'ront 
 ranks. The artisans, who bedewed the morsel ot 
 bread with painful sweat, forgot that they were 
 in an instant annihilating what their brethren 
 had laboured on for years, (the mob never 
 thinks of this;) the servants ot the Prince for- 
 got that they were devastating the pleasure- 
 grounds of him who was not only their lord, but 
 their terrible sovereign ; Christians — that they 
 "were trampling beneath their feet holy things, 
 the churchyard, and the ashes of their forefa- 
 thers, for which they were so devoted. The 
 sticks of the constables were busy in Ihe attempt 
 to produce order; but had they been clubs, they 
 could never have succeeded there. 
 
 At last rides by a crier — his arm bare to the 
 elbow, supporting an axe. Before this harbin- 
 ger the people separated, leaving a broad street. 
 " Here, good Christian people, cometh the army 
 of Satan !" roared the herald in a hoarse voice. 
 " Thus our lord, the Great Prince of All Russia, 
 punisheth heretics, such as depart from the name 
 of Christ." 
 
 And immediately after him, like the bursting 
 of a cluster of rockets, from one end of the 
 square to the other arose laughter, hooting, cries 
 of joy and of insult; this uproar spread through 
 the whole mass of the people, and at last filled 
 the square. 
 
 A strange, a wonderful procession ! Worth a 
 dozen of the ambassador's ! From afar you 
 cannot distinguish what is coming. You see 
 horses, people leading them, riders, but all this 
 so monstrous, so fantastical, so strangely bediz- 
 e?ied with rags and straw, that at first you can- 
 not make out the objects Ah, here it 
 
 comes ! . . . . what can it be 1 It is a proces- 
 sion of horsemen, riding in pairs, slow, stately, 
 and rugular. In the first ranks appear misera- 
 ble jades, selected apparently from that market 
 ■where the steeds are valued only for their hides 
 — admirable subjects for the anatomical theatre. 
 They hardly can set one leg before the other : 
 they are machines, set in motion and kept going 
 only by the strength of the men who lead them; 
 and if stopped, could not without great difficulty 
 be made to move again. In the middle and rear 
 ranks the horses are somewhat stronger and 
 handsomer — probably with some object. They 
 are all caparisoned with straw and tinsel trap- 
 pings. They were led by dirty, tattered, but 
 powerful ragamuffins, who towed them along 
 with the mock dignity and skill of the most dex- 
 terous grooms, or of the bear-leaders of Smorgo- 
 nia. To look at their efforts, you would sup- 
 pose that the spirited steeds were about to burst 
 away from them. The riders were mounted 
 •with their face to the tail, with their shoubas 
 tiimed the wrong side out. On their heads were 
 
 helmets made ot birch-bark, pointed at the top, 
 with crests of birch-brooms, such as form the 
 costume of the devil among our artists of Souz- 
 dal. Their triumphant brows were adorned 
 with a thick wreath of straw, and the inscrip- 
 tion — " The Army of Satan !" Their faces were 
 like those in the common prints of the Last 
 Judgment, so pale were they, so terrified, so 
 confused. Was this to be wondered at"? The 
 condemned knew not what might be the end of 
 the triumphal procession amidst the people, 
 which besieged them with their shouts, and was 
 perhaps about to pelt them with stones. They 
 could hardly keep their seat on their horses. 
 One struggles to preserve his equilibrium like a 
 skilful balancer, and sits his jade as if he was 
 mounted on a tight-rope : another waves his 
 head like a pendulum, or incessantly ducks. 
 Now one of the steeds makes a false step, and 
 the rider slides downward with him; nothing 
 but the strength of the leader holds them up. 
 One, turning his arms backward, cunningly lays 
 hold of the main ; another delicately takes hold 
 of the point of the tail with two or three fingers, 
 as a skilful wigmaker takes up the toupee of his 
 customer. There was, however, one desperate 
 fellow among the train, who, turning his leg 
 over his horse's back, sits as on a cushion, nod- 
 ding with his helmet to the people, and making 
 them die with laughing at his comical grimaces. 
 This piece of audacity was rewarded by the 
 laughter and the forbearance of the spectators. 
 
 But this forbearance was paid for by the oth- 
 ers. At first the procession was encountered 
 with laughter and insults. They shouted — 
 "Dogs! .... they crucified Christ! Jews! 
 devils! What campaign are they going onl 
 .... To their prince, Satan !" Despite of 
 these cries the procession continued to advance 
 in order. Soon, however, the mob was not con- 
 tent with insult; they began to spit in the cul- 
 prits' faces. Then this became too little. Black- 
 guard boys began to seize the horses by the tail, 
 to pull them, and to lash them with whips, to 
 adorn them with bunches and garlands of burrs, 
 with which they had provided themselves. Oth- 
 ers roared — "Whatl do we meet the boyarins 
 and princes of his highness, Satan, without o^ 
 fering them bread and salf? Can't we spare 
 them somel .... We have enough!" and 
 therewith a hail-storm of stones began to show- 
 er upon the unhappy wretches. Then the 
 beasts, though they were long suffering enough, 
 at last were driven frantic. One four-footed 
 Bolivar kicked desperately, broke his halter, 
 dashed out of the rauks, and, by so doing, de- 
 stroyed all the regularity of the procession. The 
 signal was given : the confusion spread like fire 
 among straw. Even those very animals which 
 had gone all their lives at a quiet pace, grew 
 restive all of a sudden, and lost all respect for 
 their leaders. One prances, another kicks, an- 
 other bites, another lies down ; a few, in whose 
 blood seethed the fire of the free steppes, raa 
 away. Then the uproar became almost gener- 
 al. Some of the leaders let go the reins; the 
 riders commend their souls to God. One man's 
 helmet is forced over his eyes, and he, at one 
 moment arranging that, at another, studying to 
 guide his horse, performs feats of posture-making 
 that he could not have executed at another time 
 for love or money. Another's helmet flies on one 
 side, and he bends over like the leaning tower 
 of Pisa. A third has clutched his horse's tail, 
 and in the most farcical manner conceivaWe, 
 
134 
 
 THE HERETIC. 
 
 he holds his bouquet to his nose; another has 
 embraced wilh passionate lervour the waist of 
 his four-footed friend. Many fall off— on whom 
 as they lie, to contradict the proverb, fall show- 1 
 ers of blows; the lowest of the rabble fails notj 
 to set his seal on them — the mark of his despo- ! 
 tism of an hour. ! 
 
 But what is this that is dashing on against the ' 
 tumultuous horde, swifter than the bird, fleeter' 
 than the wind? .... A blood stallion without 
 a rider! He seems to flv in air, and the cloud 
 of dust alone, which rolls beneath him, shows 
 that he touches the earth. His nostrils burn like 
 red-hot coals; and the rich bridle anil the Cir- 
 cassian saddle, decorated with golden damask, 
 and his black silken coat— all glitter like fire in 
 the sunbeams, and he is all on fire himself No- 
 thing can stop him; he overthrows, he tramples 
 down, he flies over all that is in his way. The 
 people forgets its sport; every eye is turned on 
 the steed: those who are nearest to him wrestle 
 and struggle to get out of his way. They cry 
 — " Catch him, catch him, 'tis the Tsarevitch's 
 steed! Arlstotleff's steed!" .... But no man 
 attempts to seize him— seize a bird on the wing! 
 .... In his frenzy the horse dashes straight at 
 the railing which surrounds the cannon shed, 
 and — the top spikes are in his chest. Once 
 breathed the noble brute, and fell dead. 
 
 Whose horse is it 1 Who is the rider he haih 
 thrown off? .... Good Lord! is it Andriousha, 
 Aristoileff's sonl 
 
 No, this was the steed of the Tsareviteh Kara- 
 kaicha, the son of the favourite of the Tsar. 
 Fiery and mettlesome, he had, however, hither- 
 to obeyed his powerful and dexterous lord. The 
 Tsareviich, almost born in the saddle, had al- 
 ways been able to guide him to his will. Both 
 Asiatics, the steed and rider understood each 
 other well. What could have happened to the 
 unfortuna'.e animal 1 whether from the cries of 
 the peop! • 'r the uproar of the procession, he 
 had sud.jniy turned frantic, had thrown his 
 rider, and had darted off, as if possessed wilh an 
 evil spirit. They said that an unknown man, 
 pushing himself out from the fi-rst ranks of the 
 people, had but looked at him from behind . . . 
 Who he was, what was his appearance, nobody 
 could exactly tell. It was certain he was a 
 ■witch, an enchanter!" .... 
 
 The Tsareviteh is lying without movement in 
 the square .... a statue cast in bronze, hurled 
 down from its pedestal ! The pallor of death 
 appears even through his tawny face; his lips 
 are white, his head is deeply gashed: that lie 
 lived could onlj be guessed by the streams of 
 blood, dyeing with their purple the ground which 
 pillows him. 
 
 The people made a circle round him, groan- 
 ing and disputing : no one thinks of offering help. 
 The Tartars burst through the ring, make their 
 way up to their dying prince, cry and sob over 
 him. Immediately after them gallops up the 
 Tsareviteh Danyar. He leaps from his horse, 
 throws himself on the body of his son, beating 
 his breast and tearing his hair; and at last, feel- 
 ing life yet in his boy's heart, commands his 
 servants to carry him home. Antony, too, 
 hastens up, desiring to examine the wounded 
 man — they do not allow him to approach. 
 
 In a few minutes the news of the accident 
 reached the Great Prince himself. He loved 
 Danyar, and God knows what he would not 
 have sacrificed to restore him an only and pas- 
 sionately loved son, the last scion of his race. 
 
 Antony was summoned. He was commanded 
 to ride instantly to the palace of the Tartar 
 Tsareviteh, to examine the wounded youth, and 
 to return to the Great Prince with infornaation 
 whether he would live, and whether he could be 
 cured. With him were dispatched the dvoretzkoi 
 and another boyarin. They were to convey the 
 commands of Ivan Vassilievitch to Danyar, to 
 permit the leech to examime his son. 
 
 The Tartar did not dare to oppose the awful 
 will of the Great Prince; Antony was admitted 
 to the bedside of the young Tsareviteh. The 
 blood had ceased to flow, but a fever had exhibit- 
 ed itself, though not in a violent stage. The 
 leech did not confine himself to a mere inspec- 
 tion; he even outstepped the orders of the Great 
 Prince. The indispensable bandages were pre- 
 pared, and then the seat of injury was sought 
 for. Ivan Vassilievitch was expec ing the leech 
 with such impatience that he came to meet him 
 on his return. "How is heT' he enquired, in 
 an agitated voice. 
 
 "God is merciful!" replied the leech: "the 
 hurt is severe, fever hath shown itself, but the 
 wounds and the disea.se are not mortal. If thou 
 wilt permit me to treat the Tsareviteh, he will 
 be cured." 
 
 "Save him, and I will refuse thee nothing; 
 thou shah forever walk in my favour and hon- 
 our. But beware .... canst thou cure himT' 
 "I will answer for it, my lord." 
 " Do so, and then ask of me what thou wiltT' 
 Ivan Vassilievitch had hardly pronounced 
 these words when there galloped up to the Great 
 Prince's palace the Tsareviteh Danyar. 
 
 " He Cometh not for nothing!" cried the Great 
 Prince, turning pale, and glancing with distrust 
 at his leech : " is he not dead already V 
 
 "It cannot be ... . I have not lied to thee, 
 my lord," answered Antony with firmness. 
 
 Danyar rushed up to the Great Prince, fell at 
 his feet, and cried, in a voice of agony — " Fa- 
 ther, Ivan, let not the leech go to my child. He 
 hath anointed his head with some drug; Karaka- 
 icheuka began to cry as if he had eaten hem- 
 lock. Tartars, Russians, all say the leech will 
 kill him. He will kill him, and I shall die wilh 
 my child. The Caesar's ambassador said he 
 hath given manv poi" .... 
 
 " Antony !" broke in the Great Prince, sternly 
 gazing at him. 
 
 " They are fools and slanderers, and the am- 
 bassador too; they know not what they say, 
 or they speak from hatred," replied Antony. 
 "When I went to the sick, he was lying in a 
 fainting fit. With my bandages and medicine 
 he came to himself: God be praised, life was 
 awakened in him! He will cry out a little, and 
 then he will stop. If he is not treated, and if he 
 is given over to the hands of the Tartar or Rus- 
 sian quacks, then I cannot answer that he will 
 not die to-morrow or the next day.** 
 
 " One of my Tartars is going to cure him," 
 said Danyar. 
 
 "Thy Tartars lie! .... Enough of spraw- 
 ling in the dust, like an old woman!" replied 
 Ivan Vassilievitch, making a sign to the Tsare- 
 viteh to rise; then, turning to the leech, he said 
 —"Again I ask, wilt thou pledge thyself, if thou 
 treatest hir^i, to cure the Tsareviich 1" 
 
 " I have already said once, my lord ; never do 
 I lie— never do I depart from my word." 
 
 " Wilt thou lay down thy head in pledge here- 
 of T' asked the Great Prince, throwing on the 
 I leech his fiery glance. 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 135 
 
 •*" 'Twas a tremendous, a fatal moment for An- 
 tony'! .... The words of Ivan Vassilievitch 
 
 were as an axe suspended over his head. It was 
 ihe great— "To be, or not to be!" of Hamlet 
 .... On one hand was the dangerous nature 
 
 •of the disorder, in which no desperate symptoms 
 'had shown themselves; his honour, insulted by 
 The imperial ambassador in the eyes of the Great 
 'Prince of all Moscow .... He would have to 
 
 sit down -with the titles of ignorant, unlearned, 
 quack;; or to defeat his opponent by his art, his 
 ■knowledge, to win forever the confidence of the 
 Hussian ruler and his people, to tear from the 
 hands of ignorance and hate a crown of honour 
 for science, for the profit of humanity . . . . 
 
 Was it not for this that Antony had journeyed to 
 an imcivilized country ? This was a noble op- 
 portunity tor his object! .... On the other 
 
 iiiand, a trifle opposing the course of disease, a 
 ■single unfavourable minute sent from above, and 
 ..... .. farewell Anastasia, farewell mother, iare- 
 
 ;-well all that now so strongly bound him to life 
 — all that rendered that life so bright ! 
 
 But .... honour — honour gained the mas«- 
 
 tery. Antony looked to heaven, as if to say — 
 fnrely Thou wilt not desert me! and then pro- 
 jiounced aloud, in a voice which sounded of 
 heartfelt confidence — "I will lay down my head 
 -as a pledge. But on condition" .... 
 
 '• Hold, thou see'st the image of our Saviour," 
 interrupted Ivan Vassilievitch in his majestic 
 fatal voice — " I call God to witness, that if thou 
 Icillest the Tsarevitch thy head shall fly off. 
 Dost thou hearl .... My word never passeth 
 
 "by. Cure him, and the daughter of any of my 
 I'oyarins is thine, and any lands thou wilt in all 
 Russia." 
 
 " I think not of reward," said Antony, " I 
 think but of my Avord. I only demand, that all 
 my orders touching the sick be performed punc- 
 tually, word for word, not departing from them 
 even by a hair; that they may give my medi- 
 cines at the times and in the manner that I or- 
 /der; that they admit me to the Tsarevitch at 
 any hour of day or night. Further, I demand, 
 that one of thy boyarins of trust, whomsoever 
 .ihou mayest appoint — except Mamon — shall 
 •watch by him closely, when I am not with the 
 •jpatient. These are my conditions, my lord; 
 w-ithout them my skill and my good-will are 
 jiothing; without them I will not take upon me 
 to treat him." 
 
 " Be it as thou wilt. Dost thou hear, my 
 friend T" said Ivan kindly. " My word is pledg- 
 ed for thy son; I answer for him. Get thee 
 Jiome, listen not to empty tales, and disquiet not 
 thyself in vain. But if after this thou dost not 
 .according to my word, I will not let the leech 
 treat thy son, and I will be thine unfriend be- 
 :side." 
 
 " If it be so, father Ivan, I will obey thee," 
 said Danyar. 
 
 And all, more or less reassured, separated to 
 their different duties. 
 
 Soon Mam6n heard of the Tsarevitch's acci- 
 dent as being fatal. One of his servants had 
 informed him that the Tsarevitch was already 
 dead. 
 
 " Ha, my friend ! thou hast earned them — 
 thou hast paid for my silver cups !*.... said 
 
 Mamon to his son, with a delight which he 
 could not hide; "hast thou heard 1" 
 " I have heard," coldly replied the son. 
 " Ha ! . . . she shall not be the Tsarevitch's — 
 the Tartar's ; she shall not be his bride! I said 
 it . . . Rejoice, son !" 
 
 I His son answered him with a hollow, death- 
 j like cough. 
 
 I As yet the .secret had not reached them, that 
 I Obrazetz had promised his daughter to Antony 
 I the leech. Although Mamon was disturbed by 
 the news, that the old voevoda had expelled the 
 heretic from his house, yet the tidings of the 
 Tsarevitch's death compensated in the mean 
 time for this discouragement. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 THE LISTS. 
 
 " Be of good courage now ; trust to my power to aid, 
 To help thee I devote my soul, my wit, my blade." 
 
 PHMAYLNITZKOI; 
 
 " He do^g'd his foe, he tracked him long, 
 He found him — struck — but strength and speed 
 Nerved not his arm iu hour of need.'' 
 
 POUSHKIX. 
 
 Instantly on receiving the news that he was 
 invited to the ordeal, Khabar galloped from 
 Tver, knocking up a number of horses on the 
 road. What awaited him in his father's house's 
 His father dying, his sister betrothed to a here- 
 tic .. . He could hardly credit the latter tidings 
 — he would not have believed it, had he not 
 heard it, from his father himself He sincerely 
 loved Antony, and was rejoiced that so valiant 
 and generous a youth, whom he was ready to 
 consider as a brother, would posses-s his sister. 
 Approving :)f his father's consent, he spoke to 
 ^im of the noble qualities of Antony the leech, 
 c' Ms bravery, his attachment to the Russians, 
 ant. ' ''s desire, probably a feeling of long stand- 
 ing, ti 'become a Russian in religion and in 
 manners. At the time of the campaign he had 
 often found him in prayer ; he had given him, 
 at his urgent entreaty, together with the Russian 
 dress, also a crucifix. By all this Antony's 
 stain of heresy was obliterated; the Russian 
 faith would purify him from any defilemen?, 
 which Latinism might have left on his souL 
 Even here, by the bedside of a dying tathet*, 
 Khabar-Simskoi returned to his vow of refor- 
 mation, his promise to be for the future without 
 spot, without reproach. In his ardent but yet 
 firm character he found the strength to pe?form 
 this vow. Once pure from all the reproach of 
 dissoluteness and wild life, the only vices of his 
 character, he entered that oratory where his 
 heart had been so powerfully addressed by the 
 voice of nature and of religion — where he had 
 performed his transformation. How sweetly 
 did this resolution and these tidings of Antony 
 console the dying old man ! How delighted 
 was Khabar that he could afford him this con- 
 solation, perhaps in the last hours of his life ! 
 
 In preparing for the Usis, Khabar desired to 
 make his peace with all at variance with him; 
 excepting, of course, Mamon, his dispute with 
 whom was about to be decided by the judgment 
 of God. Nevertheless he entreated pardon from 
 Mamon's son, through his second, for having in 
 the fist-combat crippled him for life. He visit- 
 ed also Selinova ; he implored her forgiveness, 
 and entreated her to absolve his soul from the 
 humiliations which, willingly or unwillingly, he 
 had inflicted upon her. How could the young 
 widow refuse to pardon him for whom she had 
 periled her own soul 1 One word, one glance, and 
 she was once more his slave. Without thinking 
 ofagain renewing theirformer ties, Khabar spoke 
 to her of the sacredness of his duties towards his 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 earthly and his heavenly Father — towards his 
 sister. He assured her with a solemn oath, 
 (without an oath she would not have believed 
 him,) that he had left Haidee forever, and would 
 only love that bride — that sinless maiden, whose 
 husband he would be with the choice of his sire 
 and the blessing of God. He also counselled 
 Selinova to think of her reunion with virtuous 
 people — to think of shame, of God, of a future 
 life. With these arguments he created be- 
 tween himself and her a sacred barrier, through 
 which even her desires would not dare to 
 pass. More powerfully than all the eloquent 
 demonstrations of this young, dark -browed 
 preacher with burning eyes, acted Khabiir's 
 promise never more to see the most dangerous 
 of her rivals. They separated, pleased with 
 each other, at peace, like brother and sister who 
 had been contending. This feeling of brother 
 and sister they preserved towards each other till 
 their death. That the young widow no longer 
 remembered him with bitter or improper senti- 
 ments, she soon proved in the most convincing 
 manner; within a few months she married a 
 handsome young monk of the Augustine order, 
 Ivan, (surnamed among us, for some unknown 
 reason, Spasdcl — Saviour,) whom her burning 
 glances had succeeded in driving mad with love 
 — in compelling him to put off the while gown, 
 and to adopt the Russian faith. With her hand 
 the new-made Christian received estates from 
 the Russian Great Prince, and both have been 
 mentioned by the Russian Clio in the following 
 lines: — "May 17. Ivan Spasitel, an Italian, 
 tonsured chaplain of the Augustine rule of 
 white monks, renounced his faith, and quitted 
 the monkish profession, taking to wife .... 
 Selinova, and the Great Prince vouchsafed him 
 a village." 
 
 You remember that Mamon had taken lessons 
 of fencing from a courtier in the train of the 
 German ambassador. On his recovery from the 
 effects of his expedition in search of the man- 
 drake, he had applied himself with peculiar zeal 
 to his warlike instruction, by which he hoped 
 to secure a victory. His progress was more 
 than satisfactory: eye, hand, heart, guided his 
 well-aimed blows. With this circumstance 
 Bartholomew was acquafnted. Bartholomew 
 had experienced, in word and deed, the good- 
 will of the old voevoda, whose godson he was. 
 You may judge yourselves whether mere grat- 
 itude would not have induced him to gratify 
 his protector with a new and important piece oi 
 information ! For no money in the world would 
 he have betrayed the secret of Mamon and the 
 imperial ambassador; but duty — a high, a holy 
 duty — commanded him to break the seal, and 
 with an anguish of the heart, enough to tear him 
 in suntler, he carried his tribute to Obrazftz's 
 bed-side. Khabar was present on this occasion. 
 
 " God knoweth," said the eternal translator or 
 talebearer, " that it is only from the most ardent 
 love, from the most deeply-elevated devotion, 
 that I disclose to you my great secret. I implore 
 you to be silent on the subject. If the imperial 
 ambassador or Mamon were to know what I am 
 doinR, 1 might feel for my head on my shoul- 
 ders." 
 
 He was parodying the imperial ambas.sador's 
 speech to the Great Prince. 
 
 "Fear not, we will not betray thee," replied 
 the boyarin. " But be not offended at my ad- 
 vice, good godson; if thou uiterest it not, we 
 shall be none the worse." 
 
 " From thy news, Bartholomew Vassilfe- 
 vjich," cried Khabar, " we shall not reap much 
 good, as in the field, where we have ear so far 
 from ear, that each other's voice they cannot 
 hear. Be not angered." 
 
 " If it be so, as ye will .... ihx)U, a former 
 leader, and thou, present leader of the tremen- 
 dous forces of our most illustrious lord, blame 
 yourselves if the victory in the lists remain to 
 your enemy .... What is to be done 1 my 
 sacrifice pleaseth you not .... If so, I will be 
 si" .... 
 
 He was about to say— I will be silent ; but he 
 did not finish his sentence. He had not strength 
 enough to achieve the terrible exploit of holding 
 his tongue. He had rolled up in his breast the 
 stone of Sisyphus, and he threw it off at one 
 effort. All was disclosed that he had to disclose. 
 " And what of this V asked the father, fixing 
 his penetrating eyes on his son, on whose face 
 passed a slight shade of thoughtfulness. 
 
 " What 1 Have ye then forgot the brave man 
 that the Lithuanian beat by the trick of his 
 weapon ? Yes, ye have forgotten wherefore,, 
 from that time, it hath been forbidden to fight 
 with foreigners ! . . . . But there is yet time for 
 thy son. In two or three days, a gifted warrior 
 like him may learn the German art of wielding 
 the sword. Phit, phit, phit !" — (here the inter- 
 preter drew himself up, and began to show with, 
 his arms how to advance upon an opponent) — 
 "and pouf! right to the heart : never spare him,. 
 
 j beat him, kill him, thrust without sparing, up to 
 your elbow, right into that bloodthirsty heart,, 
 whence there hath streamed forth so much sor- 
 row to this house, that reposeth under the bless-- 
 ing of God !" 
 
 Father and son smiled in spite of themselves. 
 " Teach me, teach me. Master Translator !" 
 said Khabar ; " perhaps I shall have occasion to 
 fight with my neighbour's cock." 
 
 " Ye laugh' ! You may laugh ! now I am old,"' 
 exclaimed Bartholomew with a heavy sigh, like 
 an old lion which can no longer defend him.self. 
 
 ["Ye should have seen me in former years! 
 
 j Will ye believe me 1 . . . . certes, now to look 
 
 • at me, a poor cripple, it is hard to believe I once 
 
 i fought with three such gallants as thou. One 
 lunged at my eye, another at my heart, a third 
 at a place more sensitive .... you may call it 
 
 I .... at the knee. But I was no fool, I re- 
 marked their thrusts, and pif, paf ! .... the- 
 fellow that aimed at my eye, had his own eye- 
 
 ; whipped out. I spitted it on the point of my 
 
 j sword, and sent it straight at the other's heart, 
 so that after his death they found the eye stick- 
 ing in his heart. That's the way to do it, my 
 
 ; lord !" 
 
 " But what became of the third, did he sneak 
 off!" asked KhabAr. 
 
 I " The third .... ha, ha, ha! ... . the stroke 
 was long talked of in Germany as a wonder of 
 skill. But now I am a peaceful citizen ; my 
 sword — the tongue." 
 
 ! " Often a sword over jour own head, Bar- 
 tholomew," said the boyarm. 
 
 " Often a sword wielded for the good of my 
 neighbour. Now, as I did a while ago, I turn 
 the discourse to the saving of thy son. The 
 Germans tell me, Mamon will certainly kill his 
 
 : opponent. Why should not your son learn from. 
 some skilful warrior, such as— not to go far — 
 
 . from Master Aniony ihe leech?" 
 
 I " Was it not thou ihat said that he was afraid 
 
 ' of his own shadow V cried Khabar. 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 137 
 
 " Then my tongue ought to have stuck to my 
 throat ! What, had I lost my reason 1 Cer- 
 tainly, I must have spoken of some other Anto- 
 ny, a German ; but not of your future kinsman. 
 Oh, my eyes see far ! ... . The short and long ot 
 the matter is, that Master Antony fenceth to a 
 marvel." 
 
 " I have heard so too ; but the short and long 
 is, that I shall not do for this school," said Kho- 
 bar. " I trust in my own eye and hand ; and 
 more than all, in the just judgment of God. I 
 will have no sharers in my honour or dishonour, 
 I will bow to no man for my head." 
 
 The eyes of Obrazelz, hitherto so dim, gleam- 
 ed with an unusual light. He arose in his bed, 
 and exclaimed in a quivering voice — "Thus 
 it hath ever been with our race ! My son will 
 not betray the heritage of his forefathers : Kha- 
 bar, yet Simskoi too. What the Lord shall de- 
 cide in his judgment, so be it." 
 
 "O, if so — if my cousel please you not," in- 
 terrupted Bartholomew reddenning, "then know, 
 
 I have still a way left to serve you But 
 
 this I will never disclose ; do what you will, I 
 v/ill never disclose, not even if the Great Prince 
 were to command me. ... I would lay my head 
 
 on the block sooner than disclose it Haply 
 
 the Almighty, loving you, may use me as his 
 
 instrument I met an idiot by the way, 
 
 clearly a holy man, and he told me such words 
 that .... No, do as ye will, I will never disclose 
 .... I will seal up my heart, I will lock my lips 
 .... Farewell, farewell!" 
 
 And Bartholomew, fearing for his own deter- 
 mination, fearing to betray himself, rushed, 
 without looking around him, out of the boyarin's 
 palace. 
 
 You may guess that father and son could not 
 help laughing at this secret, certainly invented 
 by the zeal of the universal flatterer. 
 
 The okolnitchi had fixed the day, the hour, of 
 the ordeal by combat. This was communica- 
 ted to the sponsors on both sides. At the same 
 time they were asked, whether the opponents 
 would do battle in person or through paid war- 
 riors. The sponsors bound themselves to place 
 the parties themselves in the field on the ap- 
 pointed day. Then they were asked witli what 
 arms and weapons the combatants would fight, 
 on foot or on horseback. They answered on 
 foot, and with swords. 
 
 The great day arrived. Both Mamon and 
 Khabar had fulfilled their Christian duties, as if 
 at the hour of death ; it may be guessed with 
 very difierent feelings. Obrazetz had command- 
 ed himself to be carried to the oratory, and there 
 devoutly with tears he prayed, and awaited the 
 decision of the ordeal. 
 
 In the same spot where now stands the Church 
 of St. Nicholas in the Fields, on the Nikolskoi, 
 was a low stone barrier about half the height of 
 a man, surrounded by another fence of living 
 trees, which embraced within its walls a four- 
 cornered piece of ground. In it stood a wooden 
 church, dedicated to St. George the Victorious, 
 so old that its wails on each side had sunk, and 
 the roofs were dotted with the mouldiness of 
 time. Between the church and the wall was 
 left a small square, perhaps of a doze-n fathoms, 
 on which the grass was beaten down by horses' 
 hoofs. Sometimes the verdure, sprinkled with 
 the traces of blood, midnight sighs and groans, 
 the wandering of the dead, the tapers burning in 
 the church with a bloody light, all these marks 
 give rise to wonder, when I add, that the place 
 
 on which they might be .seen was called the Jield 
 — that is, the scene of judicial combats. 
 
 Early in the morning, when it was hardly 
 daylight, a crowd of horsemen galloped irom, 
 different points to the barrier. Some arrived 
 two or three moments before the others. These 
 were the okolnitchi, the deacon Kouritzin, a 
 scribe, Mamon the elder, Khabar-Simskoi, the 
 two sponsors, the two seconds, and a few con- 
 stables. Attendants who accompanied them, 
 took their masters' horses, and presenting the 
 combatants with their weapons, retired to some 
 distance from the barrier. The sponsors and 
 seconds were commanded to bear witness, that 
 they had brought with them no armour, club, or 
 cudgel; which was severely forbid by the laws. 
 All entered the barrier through a wicket except 
 the constables, who were lelt there to keep watch 
 that no one should venture to come in from with- 
 out. In case of disobedience the constables' 
 duty was to seize the offenders, and commit them 
 to prison. It is true, behind one corner of the 
 barrier, in some thick tufts of nettles, was heard, 
 a rustling ; but it either did not awaken the sus- 
 picions of the police-officers of that day, or was 
 left by them purposely without search. Perhaps 
 the scales of justice had been weighed down on 
 this occasion by gold, friendship, or interest; 
 who can tell by whatl 
 
 The wicket was made fast with a strong iroa 
 crook; those who were thus locked in proceed- 
 ed to the wooden fence surrounding the church. 
 Here the okolnitchi demanded of the combatants 
 who were " their sponsors and seconds." Whea 
 they were pointed out, Mamon and Khabar, and. 
 after them the sponsors and seconds, were com-- 
 manded to kiss the cross which was fixed in the: 
 church door. From all of them was required an. 
 oath, that they with their arms "had never gone 
 to any witches or astrologers; that they had 
 brought no witches to the field; and that there 
 would be none thereof in the field." Which be- 
 ing affirmed by kissing the cross, they were in- 
 formed that if they had done this " unfairly," and 
 trustworthy witnesses should disclose the same, 
 they would undergo by the laws of the city, from, 
 the Lord of All Russia, a severe punishment, 
 and from the priests, by the ecclesiastical disci- 
 pline, clerical excommunication. 
 
 From the porch they advanced into the field.. 
 They measured out the circle, perhaps a fatal 
 one for one of the combatants. The adversaries 
 entered it. The seconds and sponsors were in- 
 structed where they were to stand, behind. Thea 
 Khabar's second informed the okolnitchi and 
 the deacon, that the fight, contrary to law, was 
 uneven, and therefore could not begin. They 
 demanded explanation. It appeared that Ma- 
 mon's shirt of mail was longer than Khabar's, 
 and, consequently, defended him more from, 
 blows. 
 
 " Let it alone !" cried Khabar. " The heavier 
 the armour the richer the spoil." 
 
 " 'Ti-s for a trader to think of gain !" said Ma- 
 mon ; " I will take my foe's body without weight 
 or measure." 
 
 "Well, if I am a trader, I will measure thine 
 armour with my sword; I will pay for it with, 
 thy blood. "^ 
 
 Mamon bowed. "As we have met, then wilt 
 I give it for thy soul's rest, and even this day 
 hang it on thy grave." 
 
 " An unnecessary pain for thee, my lord ! . . . . 
 I will rather take it as a keepsake of my friend. 
 Why delay 1 Even now I will put on the boya- 
 
138 
 
 THE HERETIC. 
 
 rin's precious gift. Therefore my arms are su- 
 perfluous." 
 
 With these words, Khabar took off his helmet 
 £nd shirt of mail, and hurled them over the bar- 
 rier like a pebble. 
 
 " I will not be left behind !" cried Mamon, as 
 he doffed his own armour. "We waste words, 
 not blood. Thou spendest time, boy; it is plain 
 thou art sorry to leave the fair world." 
 
 " Thou railest at me for the good I do ! ... . 
 say rather, I thank ye. I give thee another hour 
 in God's world to enjoy thyself. But there are 
 bounds even to kindness. It is time for Mamon 
 to seek the place where dwell other Mamons. 
 •Come on !" 
 
 And they advanced, Khabar — handsome, 
 "bright, like the bright day of heaven; Mamon 
 -^gk)omy as the grave, with a face scarred with 
 '••bloody seams, with his forest of hair standing 
 erect, as if his hellish hate had armed that too 
 to the fight, with eyes starting from their sock- 
 ets; Khabar full of the justice of his cause, the 
 bravery of his race, and hope in God; Mamon, 
 overflowing with revenge and malice, no less 
 Iwave, inspired besides with confidence in his 
 skill — "Thou wilt conquer," said his teachers 
 to him, Poppel's courtiers and Poppel him- 
 self. These words gave wings to his soul, 
 armed his hand with unusual firmness, his eye 
 with unusual certainty. In reality the fighi 
 soon became unequal. Khabar perpetually 
 attacked, Mamon only endeavoured to defend 
 himself and parry his adversary's blows ; in do- 
 ing so he was gradually e.xhan.-ting him. The 
 son of Obrazetz already perceived, though in- 
 distinctly, that the superiority was on the side 
 of his opponent; for the first time in his lite 
 his heart was visited by uneasiness. Mamon 
 seemed to grow taller and broader before him. 
 Forced back almost to the fatal circle, where a 
 half step backward — and ruin awnited him, and 
 shame to all the race of Simskoi, Khabar sought 
 'for means to gain one step forward. Once he 
 had been wounded in the shoulder, once he had 
 been almost disarmed. And now the blow was 
 raised which bent him back, as a strong arm 
 bows a young birch-tree. 
 
 Thine hour is come, gallant youth ! Far and 
 -wide, gaily, in pleasure and in joy, hast thou 
 ■wandered along the fairest path of life; the 
 beautiful l«ve twined thy dark curls, showering 
 varm kisses on thine eyes and lips, have cherish- 
 ed thee in their downy bosoms : thy comrades 
 have bowed before thee: thy father, Russia, 
 have "loried in thee. Thou hast lived thv life, 
 thou hast filled ihy breast with joy. Thine 
 hour is come for thee to lay thy gallant head in 
 the cool damp earth. Why didst thou not lay it 
 down in the stricken field', in honourable fight 
 asrainst the Tartars and the Mordrui, the foes of 
 Mother Moscow, the golden pinnacle of Rus- 
 sia"? Then thou hadst died, wept by thy com- 
 panions in arms, and thou wouldst have lived 
 in the memory of thy people. But now thou 
 mnsi die a shameful ifeath .... And they will 
 refuse ihi-e Christian burial. 
 
 His .second turned pale; the deacon, the okol- 
 nitchi, were Ionising in their souls to ward off 
 the blow .... this might be seen in their eyes, 
 hi the movement of iheir heads .... they strain 
 forward, as though the sword were raised above 
 them. 
 
 At this very in.stant some one from behind the 
 barrier cried out—" The eagles are coming ! the j 
 .engles !" Mamon shuddered, turned pale, look- ' 
 
 ed up to the sky, and retired in spite of himself; 
 Did he expect to sec his winged foes? Were 
 they flying to take part in the fight against him* 
 The blow was lost. It was plain God himself 
 was on Khabar's side. The son of Obrazetz 
 hastened to profit by his opponent's unexpected 
 panic, and to take up a lavourable posilian. 
 " Recover thyself!" he cried to him. But 
 Mamon had lost his presence of mind, and act- 
 ed like a child. Soon the sword is beaten from 
 his hand, his wrist and face are deeply gashed. 
 His antagonist, feeling that he owed his Victory 
 to accident, gives him his life. Disfigured for 
 ever, almost blinded, Mamon curses every thing 
 and all men; himself, the witnesses, and Provi- 
 dence — he blasphemes. "Do I wish to liveT' 
 he screams to Khabar — "I do; I will live for 
 the ruin of thee and thy race. Thou hast made 
 a mistake, my friend! .... It had been well 
 for thee if thou hadst killed me !" 
 
 The constables search, or pretend to search, 
 for the person who cried out about the eagles, 
 but do not succeed in finding him. (This failure 
 is to be attributed to the power, perhaps also to 
 the bribes, of Kouriizin.) The judges and wit- 
 nesses of the combat, the deacon himself, gaze 
 in terror in each other's faces, as if asking 
 whence came the strange voice — the strange cry 
 about the eagles 1 Why did the mention of 
 eagles terrify the combatant 1 This is not nalu- 
 rat; was it magic, or a voice from God 1 
 
 And who do j-ou think it was who had cried 
 out? Bartholomew. The interpreter had kept 
 his word — he had performed a service, and, 
 screened by the bushes which surrounded the 
 circle, he had escaped safe and sound from his 
 benevolent ambuscade. If he had not, he would 
 have soon found himself in prison. Oh, to do a 
 service, he was ready even for the fetters! 
 
 The ordeal was decided. The second of the 
 defeated combatant called his attendants. Ma- 
 mon, all streaming with blood, was borne hcire 
 his sponsor paid the okolnitchi and the deacon 
 a fee, the scribe drew up an account of the com- 
 bat, the deacon signed it. 
 
 In the mean time, Khabar, beneath the porch, 
 w-as praying to St. George the Victorious, who 
 had lifted up his sword in his behalf 
 
 At length solitude reigned in the lists. The 
 birds of prey alone flew up, to look whether 
 there was no carrion for them. 
 
 Khabar foimd his father in the orator}-. There 
 Obrazetz had been kneeling in prayer, and had 
 fallen into a death-like .lethargy. On one side 
 he was supported by Anastasia, who was be- 
 dewing him with her tears, on the other by the 
 old nurse. Suddenly he began to quiver. 
 
 " He comes !" he cried, turning to the image 
 of the Saviour, his eyes glimmering with un- 
 wonted light. 
 
 Some one stealthily darted into the adjoining 
 chamber. Anastasia had not heard it, but the 
 
 father had The door opened. ' Khabar 
 
 stood before them. 
 
 " The field is fought 1" asked the dying man. 
 
 "It is. Not I, but the Lord hath conquered," 
 replied his son, and related how the combatants 
 had borne themselves; not concealing his ill 
 success at the beginning of the battle, nor the 
 accident to which he owed his victory. 
 
 " Very merciful art thou to me, O Lord ! . . . . 
 thou ha.«t saved my race from shame .... I may 
 die in honour .... Ivan .... Anastasia .... 
 Ant .... receive my bles" .... 
 
 He could not utter more, bnt made a sign that 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 139 
 
 they should bear him to the image; and he 
 passed away in the arms of his chiUlren. The 
 face cf the dead was lighted with the smile of 
 the jnst ; assuredly angels had welcomed to them- 
 selves an earthly guest returning home again. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 THE MSPUTE FOR THE BRIDE. 
 
 And gloomilr the witch repeated : 
 " Soon shall' he fall, soon shall he fall !" 
 Then thrice between her lips she mutter'd, 
 Thrice stamp'd her foot upon the ground, 
 And, a wing'd snake, awav she flutter'd. 
 
 RousLAN and LiudmiLa. 
 
 The Tsarevitch Karakatcha was sitting up 
 in bed. His head was still handaged ; on his 
 face remained traces of his disease ; but it was 
 evident that the energies of powerful vigorous 
 life were obliterating them. A malicious smile 
 was on hi-s lips — from time to time he burst 
 into a laugh. 
 
 Wh U was the cause of his merriment 1 The 
 jests with which Roussalka was amusing him. 
 The dvoretzkoi had so well succeeded in mak- 
 ing himself agreeable to the youth, that he had 
 become his inseparable companion. Though 
 this nurse of the masculine gender had not at 
 first much pleased Antony, who well knew his 
 crafty disposition, yet in the end be had him- 
 self begged him to make frequent visits to the 
 patient, seeing how successfully the old man 
 had assisted the cure with his jokes ; and the 
 recovery had been rendered difficult by the fits 
 of rage to which the spoiled Tartar had given 
 way. What was there that Roussalka would 
 have refused to do, to afford pleasure to the 
 young Tsarevitch ! At one time he gratified 
 him with the music of a cat, suspended in the 
 air at the tail of a kite ; at another he delighted 
 his benevolent heart by bringing him an offer- 
 ing of birds, which the invalid cut to pieces 
 w-ith his sabre, or blinded. And then Roussal- 
 ka would represent, with gestures enough to 
 make one die of laughing, the Germans, with 
 itheir ambassador, and the manner of their ap- 
 pearance at the court of the Great Prince ; or 
 the Russians, when they brought tribute to the 
 Tartar Khans, and himself and his own father 
 in the form of a he-goat. Since the time of his 
 accident, the Tsarevitch could not hear without 
 a shudder the clatter of a horse's foot, or even 
 his neigh. For a Tartar to be afraid of a 
 steed, was the same thing as for a sailor to 
 dread the water. Thi« gave great anxiety to 
 Danyar. To remedy this misfortune, to cure 
 liis son of hippophobia, the dvoretzkoi took on 
 himself Success confirmed the promises and 
 proved the labours of Roussalka. He frequent- 
 ly played at Henry the Fourth's game— that is, 
 he transformed himself into a nag, went on all 
 fours, neighing and prancing. The difference 
 was only this— that the good king made him- 
 self a child for his own little children, while the 
 ♦Ivoretzkoi played the quadruped to amuse a 
 Tartar Tsarevitch of eighteen. The game, 
 however, finished by Karakatcheuka mounting 
 on his back, and driving him along with good 
 cuts of the whip. And for this the tender, 
 :Marrow-eyed papa knew not how to thank the 
 «clever, obliging courtier. 
 
 The news was already generally known, that 
 Obrazetz had given his dying benediction on his 
 daughter's union with Antony the leech. This 
 unexpected circumstance had overwhelmed 
 Mamun with unusual despair— already tortured 
 in body and soul. He sought anew an oppor- 
 tunity of revenging himself on Obrazetz, even 
 in the grave, through his children. "Thou 
 hast altogether forgot me," he said to his friend 
 the dvoretzki ; " where is thy word, where 
 thine oath 1 Is it thus thou rewardest me for 
 my services 1 Did I not save thy head in the 
 matter of the Prince Loukomskii 1 . . . . Crush 
 me this leech in any way thou wilt .... I 
 have promised it to the imperial ambassador 
 . . . . I have sworn that the daughter of Obra- 
 zetz shall never be wed to living man .... If 
 thou wilt not pleasure me in this, then will I 
 never let thee rest even in the other world." 
 
 Delicacy, if not conscience, was aroused in 
 the dvoretzkoi by this reproach : it reminded 
 him, also, of something which his friend's dis- 
 cretion had left unsaid — the rich gifts which 
 Mamon had showered upon him with a prodigal 
 hand from his treasury. Whether these were 
 followed by new gifts, or whether gratitude was 
 his only inducement, we know not : we only 
 know, that Roussalka promised his sick friend 
 to dissolve the new connexion. 
 
 In order to attain his object, he insinuated 
 himself into the confidence of Karakatcha : he 
 began by extolling Anastasia's beauty, and suc- 
 ceeded in awaking in the young Asiatic, with 
 fiery unbridled passions, a desire to possess 
 her whatever it might cost. The Tsarevitch 
 had never in h>s life been denied any thing ; 
 had he asked for bird's milk, even that would 
 have been sought for to please him : so spoiled 
 was he by his father. But for a heretic to ob- 
 tain, without circuitous proceedings, a Russian 
 maiden, the daughter of a boyarin, was not even 
 to be thought of. In the path between them 
 there stood an important condition, before 
 which it would be necessary to bow— namely, 
 the change of religion : there were also obsta- 
 cles— Obrazetz's blessing on his daught6?r's be- 
 trothal to Antony the leech, and the consent of 
 the Great Prince. The condition might in- 
 stantly be obviated, by performing it : to anni- 
 hilate the obstacle Roussalka was now feeling 
 his way. 
 
 " She was betrothed to thee by the Great 
 Prince himself," said the artful dvoretzkoi, 
 among other things; "for this our lord, Ivan 
 Vassilievitch, pledged his word to thy father as 
 they were marching on the campaign against 
 Tver. 'Twill be a pity if she belong to an- 
 other ! Shame, if the Tsarevitch's bride belong 
 to an Almayne leech ! The people will say — 
 the Tsarevitch was drinking mead, but it ran 
 over his lips, and went not down bis throat : 
 the precious goblet was plucked from his hand 
 by a foreign stranger fellow !" 
 
 " I will give her up to no man !" cried Kara- 
 katcha, striking his fist on the bed. " Ivan 
 Vassilievitch promised her to me ; so she is 
 mine. Did he promise her in jest ! My father 
 gave him his warriors, and he hath not takea 
 them back." 
 
 And Karakatcheuka began to roll about, to 
 cry like a spoiled child, to whom his nurse will 
 not give some favourite toy. 
 
140 
 
 THE HERETIC. 
 
 " Console thy darling boy," said the dvoretz- j more. Call our Tartars, and let them flog him 
 kni to Danyar alone ; " promise him Obrazetz's '. to the gate with their whips." 
 daughter, though falsely ! She flits before thei "The man that toucheth me shall not remain 
 poor child even in his dreams. When he is ' alive," said Antony sternly, laying his hand on 
 well, then thou canst manage as thou thinkestj his stiletto, his inseparable companion. "My 
 fit. But, now he is weak, yield to his humour."; Lord Dvoretzkoi, wert thou not, thou, a confi- 
 
 The fond father promised to tranquillize his dential servant of the Great Prince, placed here 
 
 dear son by confirming the dvoretzkoi's words, 
 that .\nastasia was really promised to him by the 
 Great Prince, and that no power on earth could 
 deprive him of his bride. The leech, he added, 
 they could drive from his claim by threats or 
 bribes. He was no very terrible enemy ! He 
 
 that they might obey my orders, and dost thou 
 allow me to be insulted by senseless Tartars !" 
 Seeing that the flame he had kindled was 
 likely to burst forth into an inextinguishable 
 conflagration, Roussalka began to cool it. Let 
 it burst forth without him, so much the better. 
 
 would consider it a happiness to give way to j so long as he could keep out of it himself. He 
 the Tsarevitch. ! went up, now to the father, now to the son. 
 
 In this discussion Antony found his patient j implored them to abate their wrath; he as- 
 and his nurse. On examining the former, he. ' sured them that the afllair should be settled 
 according to all the symptoms, might congratu- j without violence ; that he, their faithful servant, 
 late hiiTiself on his speedy recovery ; he only j would lose his head if harm was offered to the 
 
 found a slight degree of fever. And therefore 
 he begged them to dispatch to him a faithful 
 Tartar, by whom he promised to send the med- 
 icine. 
 
 "Thou givest me bitter drugs," said Kara- 
 Katcha ill-temperedly ; " but my bride, the fair 
 est flower of my garden, thou jugglest 
 from under my nose 
 
 court physician ; that he rather counselled ihera^- 
 to entreat the leech to yield up his bride in the 
 Tsarevitch's favour. And he turned to Antony 
 with a prayer not to irritate the Tartars, and to 
 promise to give way just for the moment. 
 " The accursed Tartar whelp," he said, " would, 
 ay j soon be well, and all would be right again ! 
 But Karakatcha would not listen to hira. 
 
 He 
 
 "What bride V asked .\ntony embarrassed,! became furious, he stamped, he tore his hair, 
 as if he had not understood to whom he alluded. • by which the bandages were displaced, and the^ 
 
 " What bride 1 Obrazetz's daughter ! She blood showed itself; convulsions began to shake 
 is betrothed tome. She was promised to me I him. The father was terrified, 
 by Ivan Vassilicvitch himself Thou shalt give [ " The leech is a sorcerer ; he hath brought 
 her up whether thou wilt or no." back my son's disease, in order to avenge him- 
 
 Aniony laughed, as he would have laughed self about the maiden," thought Danyar, and 
 
 at the request of a child who had begged for the 
 moon from the sky. 
 
 " Father, give him a handful of silver — ^let 
 him yield by fair means." 
 
 Danyar was about to depart to perform his 
 son's will. 
 
 This had now gone beyond a joke. The idea 
 of selling his bride irritated Antony. He de- 
 tained the old man, and said to him with dis- 
 pleasure — " 'Tis a vain trouble, Tsarevitch. 
 Heap up piles of thy silver till it is equal to the 
 palace of the Great Prince, and then I will not 
 exchange my bride for it." 
 
 " Kaiakatcheuka is in love with her; yield, 
 leech !" 
 
 " I am myself in love with her," cried Antony 
 ironically ; " I woukl not give her up for an em- 
 pire." , 
 
 " We will take her by force !" cried Danyar, 
 firing up. 
 
 " We will take her by force I" repeated Ka- 
 rakatcha, rising from the bed. 
 
 " To do that, no force on earth is sufficient. 
 Remember, you are not at Kasimoff." 
 
 " My Kasimoff is there, where I am with my 
 band," said Danyar : " even in Moscow I am 
 still Tsarevitch. If that is not enough, I will 
 obtain a paper giving me the maiden, from my j 
 good friend Ivan Vassilievitch." 
 
 " The Great Prince hath promised me any 
 boyarin's daughter for the cure of thy son. Thy 
 son is well, and I choose the daughter of Obra- 
 zetz." 
 
 " My son would have been well without thee. 
 VVc called thee in only to pleasure Ivan Vassilie- 
 vitch." 
 
 "Why chaffer with him so long, father?" 
 cried Karakatcha. " I am well ; I want him no 
 
 threw himself at .A.ntony"s feet, imploring him 
 to save Karakatcheuka, and swearing that he 
 would never agiin attempt to obtain his bride. 
 
 Thus do savages rush, in their passions, Iroin 
 one extreme to the other ! 
 
 Was it possible for .\ntony to be angry with 
 such savages ; the rather as in the recovery of 
 the Tsarevitch was involved all that was dear- 
 est to him in the world — Anastasia. his life, his 
 honour? He hastened to afford assistance to 
 Karakatcha, and soon succeeded in relieving 
 him. 
 
 The strong constitution of the Tartar, assist- 
 ed by medicine, again set him on his legs ; so 
 that in tw« days' time he was, as before, laugh- 
 ing heartily at the jests of the dvoretzkoi, and 
 giving himself up to the innocent amusements 
 of his good heart. The news of the successful 
 cure reached even the Great Prince. 
 
 With the leech a peace was concluded, which 
 Danyar did not infringe by the slightest attempt. 
 The .\lraayne sorcerer had conjured back the 
 sickness, and had as soon healed it again : how 
 was it possible not to fear and respect him! 
 But the darling son, probably at the dvoretzkoi's 
 instigation, again took it into his head to make 
 his demands on Anastasia. 
 
 " Cease this folly," said Antony in a threat- 
 ening voice, " or it will be worse with thee than 
 before. I will convulse thee in a moment !" 
 
 The Tsarevitch was terrified by this menace,, 
 and remained dumb. 
 
 On the same day Antony had sent by a faith- 
 ful servant, a Tartar, a new medicine, which 
 he thought would conclude the cure. It was- 
 time to receive the prize promised by the Great 
 Prince ; thc_revvard for which he had suffered 
 so much. 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 141 
 
 He already touched the goal of all his desires 
 -and prayers ; his foes and those of the family 
 of Obrazetz were vanquished ; his honour and 
 his head, redeemed from the terrible pledge to 
 which the word of Ivan had bound them, the 
 hand of Anastasia would soon rivet his ties to 
 fate and to mankind. No man, no obstacle, 
 could contest his bliss ; even his conscience 
 ■was silent, to give him, as it would seem, full 
 freedom to revel in his hopes. The kind good 
 ■old man who was departed, seemed about to 
 <lraw away from him Anastasia's heart and 
 thoughts. They had hardly been able to tear 
 lier from her father's grave ; but in the space 
 of some time a living friend, her enchanter, her 
 plighted husband, again took up all her thoughts 
 and feelings. She could not long restrain her- 
 self from seeing him. The indulgent nurse ar- 
 ranged for them, beneath the veil of an autum- 
 :ial night, at the wicket of the court, a sweet, a 
 maddening interview. With Anastasia's broth- 
 er Antony's friendship grew stronger and strong- 
 er. Thus near was the pinnacle of his happi- 
 ness. An autumnal twilight was thickening 
 
 over the city. In the izba of the Tsarevitch 
 Danyar all was buried in profound sleep. Kar- 
 akatcha slumbered, his father did so too ; in the 
 seighbouring chamber the Tartars were follow- 
 ing the e.vample of their lords : all were hoarse- 
 ly snoring to such a pitch, that the listener 
 -would have needed strong ears not to be driven 
 out of the house. Yet in the chamber of Kara- 
 katcha there loas a listener, to whom this mu- 
 sic was far sweeter than all the harmonies of 
 earth. He lay upon a bench, and pretended to 
 >be asleep ; I say, pretended, because he, in the 
 midst of the most furious accompaniment, arose 
 from the bench, and cautiously, hardly breath- 
 ing, began to steal across the room to a shelf, 
 over the very ear of Danyar. The old Tsare- 
 vitch, like the serpent of the mountain in the 
 fairy tale, kept there the water of life for his 
 son. Profiting by his slumber, the man who 
 had glided up to the shelf, with one hand took 
 something that stood on it, and with the other 
 deposited something in the place of the object 
 he had stolen. Having done this, he returned 
 ifo his bench, stretched himself again upon it, 
 and again began to snore as though nothing had 
 happened. 
 
 Danyar awoke first, and ordered an attend- 
 ant to give him a candle. When this was 
 done, he with difficulty managed to awake 
 Roussalka, who was sleeping on the bench. 
 Than the young Tsarevitch awoke also. 
 
 " It is time for Karakatcheuka's physic," said 
 Danyar, taking the phial from the shelf. 
 
 From the moment he observed that the med- 
 icine evidently relieved his son from the last 
 attack, he had with the greatest punctuality 
 followed the directions of Antony. On the pres- 
 ent day, he had received fresh orders to begin 
 the phial that had been sent as soon as the fires 
 ■were lighted in the houses ; and therefore the 
 old Tsarevitch hastened not to let pass the time 
 fixed for the dose. 
 
 " Eh !" exclaimed Roussalka, " I would long 
 ago have thrown all the phials out of the win- 
 dow, and now more than ever. Methought 
 the leech had a kind of look that" .... 
 
 " Scare him not, dvoretzkoi," cried Danyar ; 
 " as it is, thou makest my child angry. Drink 
 
 it up, Karakatcheuka ; hearken not to him . . 
 . . the leech said it would be sweet . . . . foi 
 the last time" .... 
 
 And Karakatcha, himself afraid of disobeying 
 the all-powerful physician, drank from a silver 
 cup a liquid that had been poured into it. The 
 draught seemed exceedingly grateful, and he 
 asked for more. " Give me more .... The 
 leech said, that if I drank it all up, so much the 
 better!" 
 
 There was one man in the chamber who 
 changed countenance — namely, Roussalka. No 
 one remarked his confusion. He soon recov- 
 ered himself, and applied himself to amuse the 
 young Tsarevitch with buffi)onery, which he 
 again commenced. All were merry ; Karakat- 
 cha more than the rest. But a quarter of an 
 hour did not pass, before he began to complain 
 of a pain in his stomach and breast .... His 
 lips turned blue, his face became at one mo- 
 ment red, at another deadly pale. At first he 
 groaned, then his groans were succeeded by 
 shrieks .... They sent for the leech. The 
 messenger returned with the answer that he 
 was not at home. Fresh couriers were dis- 
 patched in various directions to seek for him. 
 The dvoretzkoi offered himself for this service 
 — only then, when he saw that the Tsarevitch 
 was dying. 
 
 They dissevered the leech at last .... Poor, 
 unhappy Antony ! He found the Tsarevitch a 
 corpse. 
 
 Danyar was lying insensible on his son's 
 body ; he saw not the leech, or he would have 
 slain him. The Tartars were about to rush at 
 Antony, but he was saved by the constables, 
 already sent with orders from the Great Prince 
 to take him in custody and put him in chains. 
 Antony did not resist them ; he knew that his 
 fate was decided ; he understood Ivan Vassilie- 
 vitch, and be remembered that the word of the 
 terrible ruler would not pass by in vain. Though 
 innocent, he must bow his head beneath the 
 axe of the executioner. 
 
 The following is the manner how, and the 
 person from whom, Ivan Vassilievitch received 
 the first tidings of the Tsarevitch's death : 
 
 Roussalka, instead of going to seek the leech, 
 as he pretended, galloped straight to the palace 
 of the Great prince. 
 
 " My Lord Great Prince," said he, entering 
 Ivan Vassilievitch's sleeping-chamber, and 
 trembling all over ; " I bring thee evil tidings." 
 
 "What — a fire! My horse!" cried the 
 Great Prince, who on such occasions always 
 repaired to the spot himself to extinguish the 
 conflagration, even though it took place at mid- 
 night. 
 
 " No, my lord, the Tsarevitch Karakatcha . 
 . . . is dead." 
 
 The Great Prince turned pale and crossed 
 himself. 
 
 "Dead! .... I cannot be! Karakatcha was 
 well to-day .... the leech said. Thou liest, 
 or thou art mad !" 
 
 " It is true, my lord. Order enquiry to be 
 made. The dear boy was quite well. He eat 
 to-day well, slept sound, played with me .... 
 But .... he had a (piarrel with Antony the 
 leech about his bride, Obrazetz's daughter .... 
 and Antony sent him poison .... killed him 
 for a jest. I saw with my own eyes how the 
 
142 
 
 THE HERETIC. 
 
 My 
 
 poor Tsarevitch wis tortured in departing 
 heart was torn with pity." 
 
 " Killed ! .... for a jest 1" . . . . cried Ivan 
 Vassilievitch, frantic with rage. "My word is 
 pledged .... Thou heard'st it ! . . . . Hath 
 he then two heads ! .... In fetters with him, 
 to the prison ! .... He shall die a hungry 
 death !".... 
 
 He could not utter a word more ; his eyes 
 glared, foam was on his hps. Then calming 
 himself a little, he shook his head and burst 
 into tears. " I promised to Danyar to cure his 
 son !" he continued. " He had but one — one 
 child ; but one comfort for his old age ! I have 
 paid him well for his faithful service ! .... It , 
 was not for nothing that the father opposed his 
 being treated ! . . . . No, I had to persuade him ! 
 .... Killed him for a jest! .... Rasping to 
 death is too little I . . . . Burning on a slow fire 
 too little ! .... I will give him up to the Tar- 
 tars, to be tormented, to be sported with .... 
 let them do what they will with him ! . . . . 
 And in the other world he shall remember my 
 \vord." 
 
 Then he made him repeat how Antony had 
 quarrelled about the daughter of Obrazetz ; 
 when and by whom the poison was sent ; 
 whether it soon began to torment the Tsare- 
 vitch after he had taken it. Roussalka repeat- 
 ed the whole, artfully interweaving in his tale 
 Antony's former dispute w ith the Tsarevitch ; 
 how he, the dvorelzkoi, had parted them ; how 
 the leech had threatened that day to repay Ka- 
 rakatcha more bitterly than before ; how he had 
 ordered the father to give him the poison to 
 drink, even all at one dose — saying, " it will be 
 sweet .... for the last time," and that his 
 face had darkened as he said so. He had not 
 brought the poison himself, as on former occa- 
 sions, but had sent it by a Tartar, in order that 
 he might have the excuse that wicked people 
 had changed it. " I advised the father," con- 
 tinued Roussalka, " I entreated him not to give 
 the medicine ; but no, he gave it, as though he 
 were out of his senses, as if he had eaten of the 
 
 insane root Plainly, he was compelled 
 
 by the Evil One." 
 
 When he had heard all this malicious tale, 
 the Great Prince repeated the strictest orders 
 to keep .\ntony in the prison, in irons, till he 
 should deliver him up to the Tartars to torture 
 and make sport with him. He was about to 
 order Anastasia to be shut up in a monastery, 
 but he changed his intention. Probably he 
 called to mind the services of her father and 
 brother. — " The maiden is innocent," he said, 
 and commanded them to change the order. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 THE PRISON. 
 " I was all full of hope and joy : I dreamM 
 That iiu sail parting day, no future hour of sadness, 
 Would t\cT romc upon nie. Tears, and hale, and madness 
 TrcuKon uiul raluniny— a black and Tenffefiil AihkI — 
 Mream'd suildmi on my head ! where was I .' where? 1 stood 
 ].ik(i imvvller, liKhlniiiK-biostod in the desert, 
 And all was d:irk around me."— I'ousiiKlN. 
 
 Wb are already acquainted with the prison 
 In th«! very same division of the Black Izba in 
 which had been imprisoned first Ma/iphas, the 
 interpreter of the Prince Loukomskii, and then 
 
 the posadnitza Marpha, Antony was confined. 
 Yesterday he was free, with new pledges of love 
 and friendship, almost at the summit of happi- 
 ness ; and to-day in chains, deprived of all hope, 
 he was awaiting death as his only relief He 
 had entreated ihem to examine into the affair 
 of theTsareviich's illness — it was refused ; his- 
 crime, they cried, was as clear as day. 
 
 " O God, thou alone art left me !" he said be- 
 dewing his fetters with his tears ; " I rebel not 
 against thy will. Perhaps thou wiliest to pun- 
 ish me for leaving my faith, which I did not ac- 
 count a transgression ; perhaps thou chastiseth 
 me in love for me ... . Who can tell what 
 bitterness might have poisoned my future life ! 
 Now I drink my cup alone, and then I might 
 have had to share it with a wife, with children 
 . . I should have doubly suffered, beholding 
 their sufferings. I know that Anastasia loveth 
 me ; but at her age impressions are so transient 
 . . She may live long .... she will lament 
 and weep awhile for the heretic, and then she 
 will cease .... What cannot lime perform ? 
 . . . . Nevertheless it is very bitter to leave her all 
 that she gave, and all that she promised me. 
 .... If she love me truly, with a love not of 
 this world, then we shall soon meet again ; if 
 God hath joined our souls, man shall not sunder 
 us. But to one dying to this world, what are 
 these desires ? . . . . She is so young, so beau- 
 tiful, so made for happiness ! . . . . O Lord I 
 vouchsafe that she may be blessed by the joys, 
 the triumphs of love, the happiness ot wife, of 
 mother — all the blessings of existence ; vouch- 
 safe to her all that thou takest from me in the 
 fairest years of life ; grant me but in one of thy 
 mansions to rejoice in her happiness ! . . . . 
 O Lord, Father of Creation ! what wilt thou do 
 with my mother ? What will become of her 
 when she learns my imprisonment, my ignomin- 
 ious death ! One thing I beseech thee 
 
 for her sake ; so do, that till the end of her life" 
 she may not hear of the terrible change in my 
 destiny — that she may think uie still alive and 
 happy ! Deny me not, my God — thou, who 
 thyself calledst me to this world, and art now 
 about to summon me into another — that even 
 there I may be consoled for my earthly sorrows 
 by the peace of my mother." 
 
 In such meditations Antony passed days and 
 nights, nor did he forget his old instructor in 
 his prayers ; but, knowing the tirmness of his 
 soul, this knowledge softened his remembrance 
 of him. Sometimes, forgetting himself, he still 
 thought of his future life on earth ; of the bliss 
 of loving, of the heavenly days promised by his 
 union with Anastasia : sometimes he fancied, 
 as in a dream, that all around him was a vision, 
 a phantasm. But he was soon awakened from 
 this enchantment by the cold weight and clink- 
 ing of his chains, by the iron-barred window, 
 in which the light hardly penetrated thrwugli 
 the panes of bladder into the stench and tilth of 
 his cage. On the wall were rudely scratched 
 the names of his predecessors there — Maiheas, 
 Marpha, the posadnitza of Novgorod the Great. 
 What had been the fate of ihe.sc ! . . . . One 
 was burned alive in an iron cage, the other had 
 pined away in his dungeon. Could he have 
 thought, when he arrived in .Moscow a few 
 months back, and beheld the flames devouring 
 the unhappy Lithuanians, that the same fate was 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 143 
 
 to fall upon himself! Could he have imagined, 
 when he visited the black izba in the courtly train 
 of I van, honoured with hjs particular notice and 
 distinguished favour — as it were, hand in hand 
 with him — that he would be shut up in the very 
 same cell vviiere he had been so shocked by the 
 sufferings of the posadnitza of Novgorod I Oh, 
 if vain illusions had not obscured his reason, he 
 might have seen what he had to expect in a 
 coimtry where ignorance and prejudice had ex- 
 cluded him from the community of Christians, 
 and numbered him among the children of Satan ! 
 Had he not seen the Prince Kholmskoi himself, 
 the ornament and glory of his country, save 
 himself from the block by hiding his head be- 
 neath the shield of accident, in his chamber — 
 the chamber of a foreigner? Had he not been 
 warned by the frightful fate of the Prince of 
 Ouglitch, the Great Prince's own brother, who 
 had been invited by him to the friendly board, 
 and borne along to a dungeon, where at that 
 very moment he was withering away 1 Next 
 to him, behind the partition-wall of his cell, 
 were heard sighs and groanings : were they not 
 the groans of that very Prince of Ouglitch 1 
 How soon had he shared the lot of that suffer- 
 er I ... . Poor Antony, he had no ears to hear, 
 IK) eyes to see ; he had lost his powers of rea- 
 .son ! Passion had blinded him to all. But, 
 nevertheless, if he had again to begin his life in 
 Russia, knowing that it must finish as it would 
 finish now, he would again have chosen to meet 
 with Anastasia, to repeat the torments and the 
 bliss of the last few months, and then to die — 
 even a death of ignominy. He had already en- 
 joyed blessings such as a mortal can but once 
 enjoy on earth ; he had already received from 
 her a precious tribute, such as it is the lot of 
 few on earth to share ; h-e had received his part 
 on earth — what could he hope morel The 
 Lord plainly loved him, for he would call him to 
 himself at the brightest moment of existence. 
 0, that (here he might find a continuation of 
 past moments of bliss ! . . . . 
 
 To the hopes and consolations which flutter- 
 ed over the whirlpool of his thoughts and feel- 
 ings, was superadded one deep source of joy : 
 Fate had preserved him, even against his will, 
 from renouncing his religion .... he would 
 die in the faith of his fathers. But even this 
 alleviation was of short continuance. He was 
 overwhelmed by the bitter thought, that Anas- 
 tasia, after his death, would estrange her heart 
 from the heretic, would not visit the grave of a 
 Latiner ; and perhaps a necromancer, the ser- 
 vant of the Evil One, would again in her 
 thoughts replace Antony, her plighted husband. 
 They would cast out his corpse into the forest 
 or the swamp, a prey for the ravens. This 
 thought so completely possessed him, that it 
 became his only desire to have a Russian 
 priest, w1)o might guide him on the path to an- 
 ether world, in the name and with the authority 
 of the Saviour. What sufferings had not his 
 FOul encountered in the first days of his impris- 
 onment ! I will not speak of his physical pri- 
 vations. Every day they diminished his food : 
 at last they began to give him dry bread by 
 morsels, or water by jugs. His table was strict- 
 ly watched by the dvoretzkoi of the Great Prince. 
 Privations of this kind he bore with firmness ; 
 but what more than all tormented him was his 
 
 uncertainty about his friends, and about Anas^^ 
 tasia. 0, for the consolation of knowing that 
 they were thinking of him ! O, for one word 
 of tidings from them ! To prisoners under cap- 
 ital sentence it was forbidden to admit any pe»- 
 son whatever, except those who were to take- 
 charge of them during their confinement. Bufc 
 the will of man, in union with intellect or love,. 
 is stronger than bars or fetters, more sharp- 
 sighted than any Argus. 
 
 On the Feast of the Protection of the Virgin, 
 through the grating of his cell, from the passage 
 of the prison, the withered arm of a woman 
 threw him a Kalalch* The bread had been 
 broken. Antony took it up, and what did he 
 seel In this present was concealed a treasure 
 — Anastasia's crucifix ! He could not but rec-- 
 ognise it. The cross was covered with his 
 burning kisses, bedewed with his tears, and 
 hastily concealed in his bosom, deep, deep, a-t 
 his heart, God forbid, that his guards should 
 see his sacred companion, and take it from 
 him ! Rather death itself Now Antony is no 
 longer alone ; with him was his Saviour dying 
 on the cross ; with him she, his bride, his wife 
 in this world and the next. She was again 
 plighted to him for ever .... 
 
 To add to his happiness, on the following 
 night he was visited by Keuritzin, who had 
 found access to the prison by a golden — an 
 all-powerful key, under the protection of offi- 
 cers devoted to him. He remembered well,, 
 and was eager to perform the commands of his 
 instructor Shkaria, and he brought what was 
 calculated to fortify both the body and soul of 
 the prisoner. Food, more plentiful and palata- 
 ble, materials for writing, in case of his being 
 able to correspond with his friends at a favour- 
 able opportunity, news of those concerning 
 whom the unfortunate prisoner was most anx- 
 ious to hear, and hopes of mollifying the 
 Great Prince — this is what the great Kouritzin 
 brought him. Antony placed but little confi- 
 dence in the hopes ; hut the sympathy and love 
 of his friends repaid him for all his past suffer- 
 ings — " In prison, in misfortune, it is now that 
 I feel the true value of friendship, of love," said 
 he to the deacon ; " can I murmur, after all that 
 the Lord hath vouchsafed to me, can I complain 
 of my fate 1 There, next to me, is a crowned 
 Prince, but — dost thou hear his groans \ . . . . 
 he is wasting away, deserted by all ! . . . . 
 With the treasure which thou hast brought me, 
 I can die without a murmur ; in the last mo- 
 ment of my life I must bless him who guides me 
 on my path, and kiss the hand that leads me to 
 it." How fervently did AntOny thank his noc- 
 turnal visitor for having furnished him with 
 materials for writing ! He implored him as one 
 last favour, to visit him once more, and receive- 
 from him some letters for his mother. 
 
 " The good Zakharia will enable them to reach 
 her, if thou cast find an opportunity of sending^ 
 them to him," said the prisoner. " And for 
 this, in the other world, at the throne of God, I 
 will pray for the salvation of his soul. If thoa 
 see'st Zakharia, tell him that I, before my death,, 
 thanked him with my tears ; and that I will not 
 forget him en high." And he devoted all the 
 
 * Kalatch, a species of very fine white bre.id or roll, pecu- 
 liar to Moscow. They are generally eaten hot, and are de- 
 licious ; experto crede—T. B. S. 
 
1« 
 
 THE HERETIC. 
 
 hours, during which he could conceal himself 
 from the watchful eyes of guards, to the duty af 
 ^vriiing a number of letters to his mother. These 
 letters bote different dales, and might serve for 
 -a year or two. In them Antony represented 
 his happy life with a lovely and adored wife, 
 the favour of the sovereign, the hope of one day 
 \isiting Bohemia with the Russian Embassy — 
 all, all that he could invent for the consolation 
 of his mother. His soul was agonized ; he 
 swallowed his tears, that they might not fall 
 ■upon the paper on which he was tracing lines 
 Avhere all were false except the assurances of 
 filial love. 
 
 With what rapture did not Poppel and Mamon 
 triumph in their victory ! The first was over- 
 joyed at having rid himself of a man who was 
 formidable to his uncle, and whom he himself 
 Jiated for his family resemblance, for his physi- 
 ognomy, for his external and mental merits, and 
 «till more from some obscure and unintelligible 
 feeling of aversion. The secret voice of his 
 heart had, it iscertain, always armed him against 
 JVntony Ehrenstein .... But Mamon ! Se- 
 verely wounded, disfigured for life, he revived 
 -again as if be hail been sprinkled with the Water 
 of Life. Me called to him his domestic spectre, 
 ■who presented himself before him, as if from 
 the grave, only to hear the joyful news of some 
 misfortune. 
 
 " Hast thou heard V said he tohts son ; " thy 
 fair bridegroom — thou knowest .... the Al- 
 ■mayne Antony, has been cast into the black 
 izba ; his head is not firm on his shoulders. 
 Ha ! said I not so ] The daughter of Obrazetz 
 -shall never wed. It shall never be— never be ! 
 .... Who will take her after a heretic ] . . . . 
 Kejoice, my fair Lord Khabar-Siniskoi, in thy 
 .stone palace ! Kejoice, and thy father too, in 
 his earth hole ! Dost thou hear my friend, Vas- 
 silii Feodorovitch ] We will bow to thee for 
 this bread and salt ; we will thank thee for this 
 sweet intoxicating mead. 'Twill give a fillip 
 to thy nose even under thy brocade winding- 
 sheet !" .... (And Mamon laughed a hellish 
 laugh.) " Wherefore speak'st thou not, my 
 son !" 
 
 Like a dweller in another world, giving note 
 •of his presence among the living only by break- 
 ing the rottenness of the grave, the younger 
 Mamon expressed on his countenance neither 
 joy nor sorrow. As usual, his reply to his fa- 
 ther's exultation was the hollow cough presage- 
 ful of the tomb 
 
 " Why dost thou not speak 1" repealed the 
 elder Maimii). 
 
 " Father, I am dying !" piteously exclaimed 
 liis son. 
 
 " Die, then— but die rejoicing thai they have 
 avenged thee on thy foe !" 
 
 Suspecting nothing, knowing nothing. Anas- 
 lasia thouglit only of the raptures of love. Even 
 X\n: memory of her father visited her — as a sweet 
 •vision, ll was not as a corpse in the grave that 
 she miaged him to herself, but alive— with a 
 smile, a blessing ; as if he were saying—" Thou 
 see'sl, Nastia, I guessed thou lovest Antony ; 
 live happy— the blessing of <jod be with ye !" 
 Kind father ; ho is now rejoicing among the 
 angels, and delighling in the welfare of his chil- 
 xlren ! 
 
 At this very moment tlie nurse, crying, weep- 
 
 ing as if over a corpse, fell at her foster-daugh- 
 ter's feet. " What hath happened 1" enquired 
 Anastasia, terrified. 
 
 " Ah, my child, thou full of sorrows !" whined 
 the nurse ; " they have cast thy bridegroom into 
 the black izba ; he was treating the young Tar- 
 tar Tsarcviich, and he killed him. He must lose 
 his head." 
 
 The blow was unexpected. Anastasia trem- 
 bled and turned pale as death. Without utter- 
 ing a word, she fell into a kind of deep reverie, 
 fixing her 'eyes on one object. She seemed 
 turned to stone in her deep thought, and looked 
 like the sculptured emblem of grief The nurse 
 implored her to return to herself — even shook 
 her ; she remained still in her former attitude. 
 Suddenly her eyes flashed out a strange unnatu- 
 ral light ; she turned them wildly around, laugh- 
 ed convulsively, and cried — " They have taught 
 thee to say this to mock me ; nay, deceive me 
 not ! .... In spite of ye, ye shall not part me 
 from Antony : he is my plighted lord — my love !" 
 . . . . Then again she began to think, and fell 
 into her former stony immobility. The nurse 
 was frightened. WHiom could she call ? — the 
 powers of heaven and the old wise women. 
 They muttered charms over her ; they sprinkled 
 her; they read prayers — nothing did any good. 
 They were about to fumigate her, to beat her 
 with a nail, to apply fire to the soles of her feet 
 — with great difficulty she came to herself. 
 
 Her brother arrived. Anastasia knew him, 
 and threw herself, weeping, on his neck. " Thou 
 aft my dear, my own brother !" was all siie 
 could sob out. She did not dare to pronounce 
 her bridegroom's name, much less to ask about 
 him ; maiden bashfulness, and more than all, 
 stern custom, forbade her to speak of what was 
 swelling at her heart. She, a maiden, was only 
 permitted to weep for a father or a brother ; 
 tears consecrated to any other man, even to a 
 bridegroom, were counted a crime. But in 
 these few words there was so much misery, so 
 much entreaty, that her brother could not but 
 understand about whom Anastasia was thus 
 agonized. 
 
 Khabar ordered the nurse and all the other 
 domestics to leave the chamber. When this 
 was done, he began to reprove he^ for giving 
 way to such despair in the presence of others ; 
 he represented to her, that the domestics might 
 conclude unfavourably of her — •' Is it bitter to 
 thee ? then man thy heart. Die beneath the 
 lash, but be still : thus hath it ever been with 
 our race," said he to his sister. " But for thee, 
 a maiden, it is more than all forbidden to lament 
 tor a bridegroom who hath not yet taken our 
 faith." Having made this paternal remon- 
 strance, he began to caress and console her. — 
 " There is hope of saving Antony. A courier 
 hath been sent to the country to the Prince 
 Kholmskoi, who hath reciuested us, in case of 
 any danger to Antony, to let him know by an 
 express. The son of Kh6lmskoi is wedded to 
 the Great Prince's daughter. We must be help- 
 ed both by the voevoda's services and family 
 ties .... Khabur's own horses are saddled. 
 He will gallop to Tver to the young Prince Ivan : 
 the prince loves Antony, and w ill move in his 
 favour. The Princess Helena of Vallachia prom- 
 ises, whatever it may cost, to save the unhap 
 py leech. J'owerful men are interested for him, 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 145 
 
 Hie favourite of Ivan Vassflievitch, the deacon 
 Kourilzin, even the Primate Zosimus. The lat- 
 ter protects Antony, as being a lamb which is 
 now likely to be lost to the flock of Christ. Tlie 
 refining-pot is just prepared to purify him, and 
 they are about to pluck him from it, and hurl 
 him into eternal fire. All have hope of soft- 
 ening Ivan Vassilievitch. And if prayers, in- 
 terest, and argument cannot succeed, there is 
 yet another means" .... 
 
 This is what the brother communicated to his 
 sister ; and Anastasia, convulsively embracing 
 him, implored him to gallop swiftly to Tver. In 
 a few days — namely, on the feast of the Pro- 
 tection of the Holy Virgin— the old woman who 
 prepared the miserable food for the prisoners, 
 had thrown the German in his dungeon the ka- 
 latch : we know already what it contained. 
 This was managed by Anastasia's nurse. What 
 had it not cost the daughter of Obrazetz to in- 
 duce her foster-mother to such an exploit ! 
 Tears, prostrations, promises of rich gifts and 
 favours for the rest of her life, threats of sui- 
 cide — all was employed to attain her object. 
 She felt a thousand times easier when she was 
 assured of the fulfilment of her wish. The pre- 
 cious cross was on Antony's breast ; it would 
 save him. 
 
 The Prince Kholmskoi arrived in haste ; his 
 entreaties were joined to those of his daughter- 
 in-law — the daugher of the Great Prince, the 
 letters of Ivan the Young, sent by Khabar, of 
 Helena, of the Primate ; many of these per- 
 sons fell at the feet of the stern ruler — all was 
 in vain. " If I wished it myself I cannot do it," 
 was the Great Prince's answer to them. " I 
 have given my word to Danyar, my friend and 
 servant ; I have sworn before the image of our 
 Saviour. Not for mine own son would I go 
 back." 
 
 Aristotle and Andriousha he would not see. 
 In order to avoid meeting them he did not leave 
 his palace for several days. The construction 
 of the cathedral was stopped. The artist or- 
 dered the Great Prince to be informed, that the 
 'Church would not be finished till Antony was 
 ■set free, that it was only at Antony's request 
 thatvhe had begun its construction. Ivan Vas- 
 silievitch's sole answer was a gloomy silence. 
 
 In the meanwhile they assured Anastasia 
 that all was going well, that there was hope .... 
 
 The friends of the unfortunate prisoner never 
 ceased, however, to make every effort, to em- 
 ploy every means, in their power to save him. 
 In this struggle against man and fate, the most 
 active was the son of Aristotle. 
 
 It was sad to see Andriousha ! He hardly 
 ate, or drank or slept. They could only force 
 him to strengthen himself with food, by telling 
 him that his exertions were more needed by 
 Antony than those of any one else. He did no- 
 thing but wander round the prison of his friend, 
 or round the palace of the Great Prince. Here 
 he watched the coming out of Ivan Vassilie- 
 vitch, even his looking out from a window ; and 
 once he did look out. Then the boy knelt 
 down, bowed to the earth, beat his breast, and 
 pointed to heaven, to the temple of God, to his 
 own tears. What was the reply of Ivan Vas- 
 silievitch I He hastily turned away his head. 
 
 Wandering day and night around the black 
 izba, like some passionate lover round the 
 K 
 
 dwelling of his mistress, who is kept by a stern 
 father or cruel guardian under bolt and bar, 
 Andriousha sometimes fancied that, through a 
 crack in one of the bladder panes of the dun- 
 geon window, he caught a glimpse of the dear, 
 the precious prisoner. The crevice — he began 
 to remark — grew wider and wider day by day. 
 At last he was able to distinguish through it the 
 lineaments of the face, so well known and so 
 beloved. Then what a moving, eloquent dia- 
 logue he carried on by signs with his friend ! 
 And who would have cared to hinder this dia- 
 logue ! Any one that pleased, might wave his 
 head before the black izba, in sign of love to 
 any of the prisoners, since not a hair's-breadth 
 of liberty was added to the captive. Less than 
 all had they any thing to fear from a boy ! 
 
 And could the good Tveritchanin fail to take 
 a lively interest in Antony's fate— Aphanasii, 
 his delighted fellow-traveller in imagination 
 over the Western lands — his svat 1 He often 
 accompanied the boy in his secret journeys, 
 and with him rejoiced in the communication 
 opened with the dear prisoner. Andriousha 
 succeeded, standing on the old man's shoul- 
 ders, in observing through the window of the 
 dungeon, that no one was in the cell except the 
 prisoner himself Then he ventured to thrust 
 his hand through the iron grating and the crev- 
 ice in the bladder of the window, making him 
 happy with a friendly pressure of the hand, and 
 succeeded in saying to him—'- To-morrow is 
 the great day ... • expect me." He had no 
 time to say more, and heard nothing from An- 
 tony in reply. Some one entered the dungeon- 
 Yes, to-morrow was the great day for An- 
 tony. His friends knew that the old Tartar 
 Tsarevitch had recovered from the frightful 
 lethargy with which his son's death had over- 
 whelmed him, and that he was ready to demand 
 from Ivan Vassilievitch an exemplary revenge 
 for his boy's head. To-morrow, at all hazards, 
 his victim must be saved. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 THE CATASTROPHE. 
 
 " The dim lamp sleepily 
 'Gan pale before the flush of morning ; 
 Into the dungeon streani'd the morn. The Poet's eye 
 Raised to the grate a glance unshrinking— 
 A noise ! They come— they call— 'Tis they—Prepare to 
 
 die ! 
 Hark ! bolt and bar and lock is clinking, 
 They call . . . O stay, O stay ! but one day— one day 
 
 more !" ^ , . ,^, . . 
 
 PousHKiN — Andre Chenier. 
 
 " The great day?' .... said Antony to him- 
 self " Perhaps the day of pardon, of mercy ! 
 . . . , Perhaps of death ! . . . . More likely the 
 latter. The sentences of Ivan are fatal ; the 
 thunderbolt, in falling from heaven, turneth not 
 back. Perhaps my friends have determined on 
 saving me ! But how 1 With what sacrifices, 
 under what conditions'!" 
 
 "May this day be truly great," said he, as he 
 awoke in the morning, and begged to have a 
 priest. 
 
 They had the cruelty to refuse ; or, what is 
 the same thing, they answered not. 
 
 Kouritzin came not for the letters. What 
 
146 
 
 THE HERETIC, 
 
 bad hindered him 1 He would not deceive, if 
 there had heen any possibility of coming. He 
 would undermine the foundations of the prison ; 
 he would make an entrance even through the 
 chimney, if he could find no other path. Of this 
 Antony was convinced. Was it not then the 
 true reason of his absence, that there was yet 
 hope of the Great Prince's mercy 1 . . . . 
 
 Hope ! . . . . Great God ! how did his heart 
 beat at the word, his blood more swiftly rush 
 through his veins ! How, at the word, started 
 they from the gloom all the dear ones with 
 caresses, with all the gifts of life, and surround 
 him ! O, stay, remain but for a little, beloved 
 visions, at the pillow of the unhappy ; help him 
 to forget this day the fetters, the black izba, the 
 groans, of his companions in captivity ; enchant 
 him, dear guests, with your caresses, give him 
 yet one festival on earth, perhaps the last, on 
 the threshold of eternity ! . . . . 
 
 No ! they had come but for a moment, and 
 instantly vanished, driven away by the agony 
 of uncertainty. 
 
 How heavily the hours dragged on till evening! 
 
 No one had come. Antony is watching at 
 the window .... 
 
 He listens . ... no one ! All is still, as on 
 the confines of the world. 
 
 Involuntarily he glanced at the wall .... By 
 the feeble glimmer of the night-lamp, the fatal 
 names of the wretches whose place he now fill- 
 ed in the dungeon, and who had already vanish- 
 ed from the earth, started from the gloom and 
 struck upon his eye. Eloquent, grave lines ! 
 And wherefore should he not erect also a simi- 
 lar memorial of himself? Perhaps a new in- 
 mate would soon inhabit that cell, and would 
 read in his turn these lines. He would then be 
 not alone, he would surround himself with the 
 family of his comrades that were no more, and 
 carry on with them a dialogue of the heart. 
 
 Antony found a nail, and scratched upon 
 the wall the four words — licbe fHutter, 
 licbc 53 ... . words of farewell to earth, or, 
 what IS the same thing, to those who were 
 dearer than all in the world. When he had 
 written them he melted into tears, as if he was 
 tearing himself from the embrace of his dear 
 mother, his darling bride, whom he was never 
 more to sec. 
 
 In after days these words attracted the deep 
 attention of llie crowned grandson of Ivan, im- 
 pris(med in the same cell of the black izba ; 
 often sought the ill-fated Dmftrii Ivanovitch the 
 key to these hieroglyphics. It was only the 
 tale-teller Aphonia who could explain them in 
 relating the story of the prisoner. It was not 
 in vain that Antony wrote these four words in 
 his native language ; they served as noble fune- 
 ral games in his memory, performed some years 
 altcrvvards by the lips of the good old man, and 
 the heart of the young captive, who knew not 
 his own crime. 
 
 Suddenly was heard a rustling at the window 
 .... Antony rushed to it ... . he listens .... 
 .Some one is cautiously clambering up the wall 
 .... an eye gleamed at the crevice in the win- 
 dow, and then the eye was succeeded by a little 
 hand. It held a file and a folded paper. Anio 
 ny seized both the one and the other, concealed 
 the file in bis bosom, and read with difficulty, 
 in terrible agitation, the following lines, which | 
 
 fluttered and wavered before his eyes : — " To' 
 morrow they are to give up thy head to the 
 Tartars. This night thou must escape. File 
 through the iron grating ; the guard will not 
 hinder thee. Through the window, and to the 
 Mill of Zaneglinnaia ! A horse and guide await 
 thee there. From him wilt thou receive arms 
 and money. Further on, on the road, the 
 Prince Kholmskoi and Khabar have posted in 
 various spots their men and horses. They will 
 conduct thee to the Lithuanian frontier. Save 
 thyself by flying to thy country. Farewell, 
 dear, ever loved friend ! Remember that there 
 are in Russia those who love thee well — O, 
 how well ! — and will only be happy when they 
 hear that thou art happy : forget not, too, thy 
 little friend Andrei. God grant thee time and 
 means to escape ! Till then I cannot be at 
 rest. Once inore farewell, dear Antony !" 
 
 The soul of the captive was filled with light ; 
 joy gleamed in his eyes. He again felt the 
 fresh air, he saw the fields, the sky, all so bright, 
 so wide, so boundless .... But hardly had 
 flitted by the first moments of rapture, awaken- 
 ed by the thought of escape, of liberty, than self- 
 ishness gave place to another feeling. Whither 
 should he fly ? To Bohemia. True, there he- 
 would find fatherland, safety, his dear-loved 
 mother ; but would he find that which was the 
 ornament of his life — would he find Anastasia T 
 What would become of him without her? He 
 would die of grief And here, at Moscow, what 
 would be the consequences of his escape T. 
 Would not the prison-guards suffer — the retain- 
 ers? Perhaps, and his friends as well? For 
 him there would be executions ; innocent blood 
 would be shed. No, no ! never would he con- 
 sent to sacrifice to his own safety, not his friends 
 only, but even his fellow-creatures, even the 
 humblest of the prison-guards. No man should 
 sufl^er for him. The Lord had judged him ; he-- 
 would drink his cup alone. 
 
 On one side the world called him to itself; 
 on the other a sublime, a Christian feeling com- 
 manded him not to hea-rken to this enchanting 
 call. His head seemed full of fire, his heart 
 died within him .... But he must decide .... 
 He did. 
 
 His first act was to burn Andriousha's letter. 
 He did not give him back the file, not to pain 
 him too suddenly, but he hastily wrote on a 
 scrap of paper — " I know what fate may over- 
 whelm those to whom my head is confided. 
 God and my conscience forbid me to profit by 
 the means of safety which they propose to me. 
 I might escape, but my fellow-creatures would 
 be ruined. I thank my friends. I thank thee, 
 dear Andriousha. The remembrance of your 
 friendship will sweeten my last moinents. Fare- 
 well, I embrace you all fondly, fondly. There, 
 also, I shall he near you." Having writtca 
 these lines, and seized the letters which he had 
 prepared for his mother, he coughed at the crev- 
 ice of the window. " What wouldst thou ?" 
 spoke a well-known voice. "Thy hand," he 
 answered. The little hand again appeared at 
 the crevice. Antony pressed it to his lips, and 
 placed in it his missives. In receiving what 
 given, Andric^usha felt tears dropping on his fin- 
 gers. " What could they mean ?" thought he, 
 with a sinking of the heart ; and, seizing tho 
 hand of his friend, he hastened in his turn to 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 147 
 
 cover it with kisses, and then descended from | 
 the shouhiers of the good Tveritchanin, who | 
 now, as before, served him as a hving ladder. 
 The enigma which tortured him, was solved at 
 home by the light of the fire. 
 
 In order not to fall into temptation, Antony 
 threw the file out of the window— the last in- 
 strument of escape ! .... It is finished ! .... 
 Almost the whole night the captive passed in 
 prayer. It was sad to leave this world ; hut 
 the thought that he would put ofT this earthly 
 vesture in purity — that love and friendship 
 would conduct him with such sincere, such liv- 
 ing devotion — lightened to his soul the path of 
 the cross. 
 
 At midnight he began to doze. He fancied 
 that he heard as in a dream a sobbing at his 
 window. (This was the sobbing of Andriousha, 
 who had read the captive's answer.) But An- 
 tony was so uninterruptedly, so sweetly weigh- 
 ed down with sleep, that he had no strength to 
 resist it, and he slumbered on his rugged couch 
 till dawn. 
 
 Suddenly ... he hears a noise, a bustle .... 
 " Where is the Almayne 1" shouts a voice in bad 
 Russian — "The Great Prince hath given us his 
 head. Give up the Almayne." 
 
 And immediately after there thronged into 
 the cell a number of Tartars, athletes in stat- 
 ure, their eyes glaring with rage ; they rushed 
 upon him, threw him down, and, placing their 
 knees on his back, bound his hands behind him. 
 'Twas a needless violence ! Antony resisted 
 not. 
 
 " I will go whither ye will," said he, firmly ; 
 '* I only ask one thing in the name of your fa- 
 ther, of your mother. Kill me speedily, torture 
 me not." 
 
 "For a dog, a dog's death !" cried the Tar- 
 tars : " thou hadst no mercy on our Tsare- 
 vitch." 
 
 " Take that for my nephew !" 
 "And that for my kinsman !" 
 "And this for our Tsarevitch !" 
 And blows hailed on the unhappy victim, 
 struck at random : one beat him with his fist, 
 another with the handle of his knife. 
 
 Around the prison were assembled a multi- 
 tude of Tartars on horseback, and on foot. 
 They greeted the captive with insults, with 
 •ries, with laugliter. Thus does the company 
 of Satan receive its victim at the gates of hell. 
 
 The horrible procession moved along the 
 riverside, by the Great Street, towards the 
 bridge over the Moskva. Crowds of people 
 began to join in behind it. It might have been 
 expected that the mob would add its insults to 
 those with which the Tartars received their un- 
 happy victim ; on the contrary, the Russians, 
 beholding the youth, the beauty, the noble mien 
 of Antony, and hearing that he had been about 
 to take the Russian faith, pitied him, and re- 
 proached the Tartars ; many women wept. 
 
 Near the Konstantino-Yelenoffskii gate, the 
 Prince Kholmskii, Aristotle, and Khabar en- 
 countered the procession. They rushed up to 
 the leaders and offered them a rich ransom to 
 set free their captive. The friends of Antony 
 were joined by a young and beautiful woman ; 
 she offered in contribution a chain of gold, 
 bracelets, and other female ornaments. This 
 <was Haidee. 
 
 Some ol the Tartars were shaken by these 
 offers ; but the kinsmen of Karakatcha would 
 not relent. At last tiie friends of the unfortu- 
 nate prisoner, by increasing their bribes, could 
 only induce them to delay the execution a few 
 moments longer. 
 
 They still expected mercy from Ivan Vassl- 
 lievitch. Andiiousha had gone to him; Kou- 
 n'tzin had promised at all hazards to admit An- 
 driousha to the Great Prince. 
 
 In order, in case of pardon, the sooner to 
 communicate it to the executioners of the pun- 
 ishment, Khabar had galloped to the Konstan- 
 tino-Yelenoffskaia street ; there he awaited the 
 messenger. Aristotle in the mean time had 
 forced his way up to the condemned captive, 
 and was consoling and comforting him. 
 
 Koun'tzin had kept his word — Andriousha 
 was already at the ruler's feet, embracing them, 
 covering them with tears. At first he could 
 not utter a word. 
 
 How changed was the Great Prince's little 
 favourite since he last had seen him ! Where 
 was the bloom of his face, the sparkle of his 
 eyes'! All this was gone; instead, was ex- 
 haustion and the paleness of the grave ; his 
 eyes were sunk, his face was convulsed, his lips 
 parched, as if they were crusted with earth. 
 
 "What wouldst thou T' asked the Prince, 
 touched in spile of himself 
 
 " Mercy, O my Lord ! pardon Antony the 
 leech," said Andriousha in a voice in which all 
 his soul was poured forth. " God see'th, he is 
 not guilty ; some wicked men changed the 
 medicine. I know him : I will answer for him, 
 he would never do a wicked deed. Have mer- 
 cy upon him. my Tsar, my father ! Be gener- 
 ous ! I will be thy bond-slave until the grave. 
 Make of me what thou wilt, architect, stone- 
 hewer, day-labourer : whatever thou wilt, I 
 will be all for thee. I will serve thee as a faith- 
 ful slave while I have a drop of blood remain- 
 ing. Employ me in whatever work thou wilt ; 
 in war, in death ; put me in Antony's place, 
 but only have mercy upon him. I will for ever 
 pray to God for thee." 
 
 In aid of the eloquent intercessor came 
 Sophia Phomlnishna from another chamber, 
 whence she heard the piteous prayer, which 
 tore her soul ; and she began urgently to im- 
 ph)re the Great Prince to show pity on the 
 leech. At this moment she remembered not 
 her grudge against Antony for insulting her 
 brother, Andrei Phomitch. 
 
 " "J'is well," said the sovereign deeply 
 touched ; " I accord ye the life of Antony the 
 leech. Koun'tzin," he added, turning to his 
 deacon, "send the guards in my name to liber- 
 ate the leech from the Tartars, and call Danyar 
 to me. Haply I may bend him." 
 
 Andriousha shrieked for joy .... he arose . 
 . . . again fell at the feet of Ivan Vassilievitch, 
 kissed them, and, swifter than lightning, flew 
 from the palace of the Great Prince. The 
 dvoretzkoi, who tried to stop him in the pas- 
 sage, he hurled prostrate. Forgetting where 
 was his hat, he rushed, with uncovered head, 
 like a madman, along square and street. 
 
 In the Konstantino-Yelenoffskaia street, 
 Khabar was no longer to be seen .... Had 
 they already 1 . . . . 
 I Andriousha's heart died within him. Ago- 
 
148 
 
 THE HERETIC. 
 
 nized with terror, panting for breath, he fell 
 .... he struggled to breath, arose .... again 
 rushed on, and again fell .... he tried to shout, 
 but his voice was dried up, and uttered only 
 unintelligible sounds ; he tried to crawl on, but 
 could not ... . Strength, life, had left hira. He 
 dashed himself upon the frozen earth ; he 
 seemed to be wrestling for life and death . . . . 
 and at length he fell exhausted in a swoon. 
 
 In this condition he was found by Aristotle, 
 himself almost in a state of frenzy. 
 
 " It is too late !" he cried in a death-like voice, 
 raising his dying son, throwing him on his 
 shoulder, and carrying him away, — himself he 
 knew not whither. With this burden he wan- 
 dered about like a shadow, groping his way by 
 the houses and the fences. Some one who 
 knew them, took pity upon them, and led them 
 home. 
 
 Yes, it was too late. They had seen the 
 Tsarevitch Danyar galloping to his people, ra- 
 ging at them, and giving stern order to finish 
 the horrid sacrifice ; they had seen the Tartars 
 drag Antony from the bank under the bridge on 
 the ice of the frozen river ; they had seen An- 
 tony bow to the people ; when freed from his 
 bonds he crossed himself, pressed something to 
 his bosom, and then the Tartar .... lifting 
 him high triumphantly, by the thick, bright 
 curls of the fair head .... 
 
 And the sun at that very moment so brightly 
 shone in heaven ! 
 
 Having collected the remains of the dead, 
 Khabar and the Tveritchanin Apnonia buried 
 them at night near the "court of the Antonoff, 
 behind Saint Lazarus."' 
 
 And it was for this that Antony Ehrenstein 
 had come to Russia ! And it was, too, that he 
 might leave the following just and honourable 
 Imes about himself in history—" The leech An- 
 tony the Almayne did come hither {in 1485) to y' 
 Grele Prince ; the said Anton icas held in grete 
 honour of the Grete Prince ; m showing his craft 
 upon Karakatcfui, Tsarevitch Danyar, he slew the 
 aforesaid with poison, killing him for a jest. And 
 the prince thereupon did give him up to 'the Tar- 
 tares' .... and they took the said leech to the 
 rivere of Moskva, under the bridge, in wynter, 
 and did there cuttc hys throte with thetrc knyves, 
 like a shcpe." 
 
 And what became of Anastasia ? Day by 
 day in her eyes and in her soul it grew darker 
 and darker, until all was melted into one dread- 
 ful gloom. Antony incessantly appeared be- 
 fore, and called her to himself 
 
 " I come, I come — my love, my husband !" 
 she cried in her frenzy. 
 
 She languished awhile, pining and withering 
 away ; at last madness fired her soul .... she 
 laid hands on herself 
 
 Ask me not how this was. 
 
 You know by history that the execution of 
 the leech threw into violent terror all the for- 
 eigners dwelling in Moscow ; that Aristotle was 
 about to fly to his own country ; that the Great 
 Prince " took him, plundered him, and impris- 
 oned him in the court of Antonoff, behind Sanct 
 Lazarus ;" that the artist performed his vow— 
 finished the Cathedral of the Annunciation of 
 the Holy Virgin. But what afterwards became 
 of him and his son— where they directed their 
 steps, you can nowhere discover. In vain your 
 
 God 
 
 heart enquires where lies their dust 
 knows !" 
 
 'Tis sad, 'tis very sad ! 
 
 You certainly do not ask me what was Kha- 
 bar-Simskois future fate. Well known to the 
 heart of every Russian must be the liberation of 
 Nijnii-Novgorod from our foes ; the saving of 
 our honour at Riazan. besieged by the Tartars 
 in the time of Vassi'lii Ivanovitch ; and other 
 exploits of this renowned voevoda. 
 
 We have forgotten to say, that on the day of 
 Antony's execution was born Ivan's grandson, 
 Dmiirii Ivanovitch. 
 
 We think it necessary to add, in concluding 
 our tale, that the place of the leech Antony at 
 the court of the Great Prince was supplied, at 
 Poppels recommendation, by Master Leon, a Jew 
 by birth ; that this master treated and effectually 
 cured Ivan the Young, and was for this crime 
 publicly executed on the Bolvanoffka, beyond 
 the river Moskva. At this no one was sorry : 
 well did the villain deserve his torments. 
 
 Let us now change the scene to Germany. 
 
 Poppel, on returning to his sovereign's court, 
 hastened to gratify his uncle with the news of 
 his namesake's death. "Wretch!" cried the 
 baron, driven almost to frenzy : " he was my 
 son. I am his murderer. I curse thee and 
 myself!" 
 
 He hastened to relate to every one the story 
 of Antony's birth and of his own wickedness. 
 Soon a monastery received him in its walls. 
 At the same monastery there afterwards arrived 
 another seeker for retirement : this was Anto- 
 nio Fioraventi. We may judge what was their 
 first meeting. Yet long they continued to 
 meet, day after day, in the passages of the mon- 
 astery ; they bowed humbly to each other, and 
 hastened to wash away, at the foot of the 
 cross, with tears of deep remorse, the blood 
 of the innocent victim with which they were 
 stained. 
 
 I met with one person, the irritable critic of 
 every thing and every body ; a tall, withered, 
 dried-up old fellow, who asked me why I had 
 not explained to Antony, before his death, that 
 he was the baron. " What for !" asked I. 
 
 " Why, he would have died easier," was the 
 reply. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 AO.ilN IN BOHEMIA. 
 
 " Play we lo an end our play, sing our song out while 
 
 we may." 
 
 You remember, doubtless, the castle by the 
 White Mountain, on the bank of the Elbe, 
 though it is long since we left it. Here, in 
 rather less than three years since we were 
 there, let us again enter the court-yard belong- 
 ing to this poor castle. 
 
 A lovely day of autumn — remember, in Bohe- 
 mia — is already inclining towards evening, am! 
 throws its rosy veil over sky, over stream — 
 over all things. And the castle is all glowing 
 with the blaze, as though there were a festival 
 there. All creation, penetrated by a kind of 
 balmy quietness, breathes soft, and light, and 
 low. In the courtyard of the castle, a majestic 
 elm, still beautiful, though old age and autumn 
 have despoiled it of its ornaments, has drawn 
 toward itself a young vine, which firmly em- 
 
THE HERETIC. 
 
 149 
 
 braces it, twines in wanton wreaths around its 
 branches, and adorns it with its clusters warmly 
 glowing in the last rays of the sun. On one of 
 the boughs is suspended a cradle, all nested in 
 flowers. An aged man, white-haired, tall, 
 withered, with tender assiduity is rocking it, 
 seated on a stool. But the infant has begun to 
 cry, and the old man hastens to draw back the 
 curtains, takes the baby in his arms, dandles 
 and nurses it till the mother comes. Now a 
 young woman takes the sweet burden from the 
 male nurse, sits down also beneath the elm, and 
 begins to feed it from the breast. Her glances 
 gaze now at the child with love, then with ten- 
 derness they meet two dear beings who have 
 approached the elm, and stopped at a short dis- 
 tance. One— a tall, handsome, blooming pea- 
 sant or farmer, (judging by his dress, which is 
 distinguished from that of a peasant by some 
 shades of taste;) the other — a child of two 
 years old. Between these two a struggle is 
 going on, and the mother guesses that the vic- 
 tory will remain on the side of the latter. The 
 child, all flushed and rosy, is trying with all his 
 might to drag along the spade which the young 
 peasant has brought from his labour in the 
 fields. The father wishes to let him have his 
 ■way, but, at the same time, he is afraid that the 
 load, above his strength, may hurt the boy. At 
 last a peace is made ; the boy is to do as he 
 likes — he drags along the spade, but the father 
 ties his garter to it, on which is supported the 
 whole weight of the tool. This contest and 
 victory singularly amuses the old man and the 
 young woman. All this picture is coloured with 
 the rosy liquid light of sunset. 
 
 Hail, old friends, Yan, Yakoubek and Lioubou- 
 sha ! But your family has increased. Every 
 thing proves that ye live contented and happy. 
 Ye have not sought this happiness beyond the 
 sea ; ye have found it around yourselves. God 
 be praised, ye know not even the name of the 
 passions ! Your blood has never boiled with 
 them; your hearts have never been rent in 
 pieces by them ; their hellish tortures have 
 never deprived you of food, of sleep, nor ago- 
 nized your imagination with threatening phan- 
 toms. God be praised ! Peace and 
 
 blessedness shall never depart even from your 
 graves ! " Here rest the good," will say the 
 neighbours who knew ye, as they point to your 
 turf, and the traveller will remember ye with a 
 blessing. 
 
 The young woman, having suckled her infant, 
 puts him hack in the cradle, and the old man 
 again applies himself to lull it to sleej). A ta- 
 ble is spread beneath the elm ; soon the even- 
 ing meal is ready. But before they sit down 
 to it, all the family piously say a prayer ; and 
 the child, repeating after his mother, lisps a 
 thanksgiving to God for its daily bread. They 
 take their seats; Lioubousha alone delays to 
 sit down. She strains her glances on the 
 neighbouring mountain, along which winds the 
 road leading to the castle, and seems to follow 
 with her eyes some moving object. 
 
 " What art thou hunting for there, Lioubou- 
 sha 1" asked Yakoubek. "Is it the cow that 
 has strayed! Here's a job for me, just as it 
 was last year .... she will give me work till 
 night !" 
 
 "No," answered the young woman, "there 
 
 is a traveller creeping along the mountain ; an 
 old man .... yes, I can see he is very weary. 
 Shall we not wait for him!" 
 
 Yakoubek made a penthouse over his eyes 
 with his hand, and after a short pause exclaim- 
 ed — " It is a traveller ! By his dress, it is clear 
 he doth not belong to these parts. Well, we 
 will wait for him." 
 
 They covered up the milk from the flies, quiet- 
 ed the impatience of the boy with a slice of 
 bread, and began to await the wayfarer. But 
 as he crept along with difficulty, the young wo- 
 man went to meet him, welcomed him with 
 friendly words, and taking him by the hand 
 helped him on quicker to the elm. 
 
 The traveller's dress was not German, and he 
 spoke a language which, though intelligible to 
 the Bohemians, was not Tchekh. The old man, 
 before he bowed to his host, made several signs 
 of the (^ross before an image placed in a small 
 cavity of the elm, which highly pleased the pious 
 Bohemians. 
 
 They seated him in the place of honour, and 
 welcomed him as well as they could both with 
 bodily food and kindness. Soon the whole fam- 
 ily took a great fancy to the old man. And even 
 the little son of Yakoubek, who was two years 
 old, and had been at first afraid of him, probably 
 because he had only one eye, in a short time 
 crept up to him, and began to ask for his staff 
 to ride on horseback upon. 
 
 And there was an important reason why the 
 inhabitants of the castle should love the trav- 
 eller — he was a Russian ; he had come from 
 Moscow. You have guessed, that it was the 
 Tveritchanin, Aphanasii Nikitin. He had trav- 
 elled to the countries towards the rising of the 
 sun ; he had desired also to visit those which 
 lay at his setting, and here .... he had come 
 . ... It is true it was not curiosity alone that 
 attracted him to Bohemia ; he bore to Antony's 
 mother one of the letters from the departed. 
 
 " When they learned that the traveller was 
 a Russian, Yan, Yakoubek, and Lioubousha 
 overwhelmed him with questions about their 
 young master. " Good heaven ! from Russia, 
 from Moscow !" said they ; " if we had known 
 that we should receive so welcome a guest, we 
 would have gone to meet thee at Lipetsk, and 
 brought thee hither in our arms !" 
 
 But the traveller, before he answered their 
 multitudinous questions, himself asked them 
 where was the boyarinia, the mother of his 
 young lord, Antony. 
 
 " There !" answered Yan, pointing to heaven. 
 
 The old man crossed himself with piety, and 
 cried, — " Glory be to God !....! was about 
 to bring her news of her son .... but they 
 have already met, already spoken to each 
 other." 
 
 The tidings of their young master's death 
 deeply touched the good inhabitants of the 
 tower. They remembered the beauty of his 
 person, his noble heart, his last visit to the cas- 
 tle, distinguished by various deeds of charity ; 
 they blessed him for the happiness which he 
 had procured for the whole family, they re- 
 membered their young lord's departure for Mus- 
 covy .... 
 
 " As if he had foreseen that he would never 
 come back," said Yakoubek, interrupting his 
 words with sobs ; " ' who knoweth whether we 
 
150 
 
 THE HERETIC. 
 
 shall ever meet again V he said at Lipetsk, when 
 I attended him there .... It was not for no- 
 thing that my heart died away I I should have 
 liked to have seen him hut once more I I think 
 I could have borne it better !" 
 
 " Thanks be to God that the Lady Baroness 
 died before him," said Yan, '■ or how she would 
 have suffered, poor lady, at her end !" 
 
 " But when did the boyarinia finish her life V 
 asked the traveller. 
 
 " It will soon now be two years," replied 
 Yan. " She was well and calm .... gay, I 
 cannot say ; for gay I had not seen her since a 
 long, a very long time .... Suddenly, without 
 any cause, she began to mourn, she became 
 thoughtful, she grew unquiet .... thou seest, 
 good man, this must have been caused by some 
 bad dream about her son . . . . ' It is not in 
 vain,' she said ; ' something, yes, something 
 bad hath happened to him.' I reasoned with 
 her as far as my poor wit would go, or rather 
 my love and devotion to her ; and sent Father 
 Laurence to her with the Church's consolations. 
 No, the gracious lady insisted on one thing — 
 that some harm had happened to her son. She 
 faded, faded away, and took to her bed. 
 
 But one day, in the morning, they brought 
 her through the Jew Zakharia — perhaps thou 
 knowest him or hast seen him in Russia---lo 
 they brought her a letter from my young lord ! 
 You should have seen what happened with her 
 then ! Before, she could hardly lift her hand, 
 but then she herself arose in bed, and began to 
 press the letter to her heart and weep. Oh, 
 those were tears, such as God grant we may 
 weep in the other world ! She called us all 
 around her, and showed the letter to us ; joy 
 
 gleamed in her eyes, and her cheeks glowed 
 just like a young maiden's. Then she dressed 
 herself in her best clothes : there were the sa- 
 bles, too, that my Lord Antony gave her — and 
 sent for Father Laurence to read the letter. 
 And he read to her how happily our young lord 
 was living, and how he was loved by his young 
 beautiful wife, and how the Lord King of 
 Muscovy covered him with his favour. Well, 
 goodman, she could not long bear such extremi- 
 ty of joy ... in three days she rendered up her 
 soul to God. And in dying, she ever held the 
 letter to her bosom. So they buried her with 
 it." 
 
 The traveller's heart was swelling as he lis- 
 tened to this tale ; often did he wipe away 
 with the back of his hand the tears that rolled 
 down in spite of him, one after the other. He 
 did not undeceive the inhabitants of the poor 
 castle with regard to Antony's welfare : he 
 would not take so great a sin upon his soul. 
 On the contrary, he endeavoured to paint in 
 still fairer colours the happy life of the court 
 physician in Russia, and added that he had only 
 recently died. But as he recounted all this, he 
 could not refrain from weeping .... 
 
 He passed two weeke enjoying the hospitality 
 of his new friends, as if he were in his own 
 family ; he desired at first to go yet further to 
 the West, but he went not — some mournful re- 
 membrance drew him back to Russia. 
 
 The inhabitants of the tower conducted him 
 on his way, as if they were escorting once 
 more their young lord on his road to Russia. 
 Long they stood at the cross-road, till he had 
 altogether vanished from their sight ; long con- 
 tinued the talk about him in the happy family. 
 
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