Russia in 1839 -Empire of the Czar: A Journey Through Eternal Russia

WITH GRIAZNOI.

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slaves as serve us with zeal, we are ready to pay a ransom for you.''

The answer of the slave is worthy of the letter of the master. It not only depicts a vile heart, but also gives an idea of the espionnage exercised by the Russians in foreign lands. It is as follows: —

' My lord, I have not slept in this land of the enemy. I have executed your orders; Iltave gathered information valuable to the safety of the empire ; trusting in nobody, and watching night and day. I was taken, covered with wounds, and abandoned by my cowardly companions in arms. I slew in battle the enemies of the Christian name; and, during my captivity, I have killed the Russian traitors who sought your ruin. They have been secretly destroyed by my hand, and not a single one remains in this place now alive.* I jested at the table of my sovereign only to amuse him; now, I die for GOD and for HIM. It is by special merey of the Most High that I yet breathe; the ardour of my zeal for your service supports me in the hope that I shall return to Russia, in order again to minister to the amusements of my prince. My body is in the Crimea, but my soul is with God and your Majesty. I do not fear death, I fear only your displeasure.'

Such is the amicable correspondence of the Czar and his ereature.

But all the events of this monstrous reign, monstrous especially in its length and its security, are effaced by the crowning crime.

* At the ccrart of the Emperor Nicholas a great nobleman may be seen daily, who is called, privately, the Poisoner. Q 2

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LIVONIA CEDED.

We have already said that, crouching and trembling at the very name of Poland, Ivan yielded to Batori, almost without striking a blow, the province of Livonia, a province furiously contested for ages with the Swedes, the Poles, and its own inhabitants. Livonia was, to Eussia, the gate of Europe, the means of communication with the civilised world. It had been from time immemorial the object of the covetousness of the Czars, and of the efforts of ^he Muscovites. In an unaccountable fit of terror, the most arrogant, and, at the same time, the most cowardly of princes, abandoned this prey to the enemy; not in consequence of any disastrous battle, but spontaneously, with a stroke of his pen, and when in the possession of an innumerable army and an inexhaustible treasure.

The Czarewitch, the beloved son of Ivan IV., on whom he lavished all his tenderness, whom he brought up in his own image, in the exercise of his own crimes and most scandalous debaucheries, felt some shame in contemplating the unmanly conduct of his father and sovereign. He ventured no remonstrance, for he knew Ivan too well; but, carefully avoiding every word that might sound like a reproach, he confined himself to asking permission to go and fight the Poles. ' Ah ! you find fault with my political acts ! this is treason ! ' responded the Czar; ' ЛУю knows if you have not already conceived the design of raising the standard of revolt against me !'

Whereupon, inflamed with sudden rage, he seized a baton bound with iron, and violently struck the bead of his son with it: a favourite endeavoured tc

MURDER OP THE CZAREWITCII.341

stay the hand of the tyrant; Ivan redoubled his blow. and the Czarewitch fell mortally wounded.

Here commences the only affecting scene in the life of Ivan.

The prince lay in agonies for more than one day. As soon as the Czar saw that he had destroyed with his own hand the object that was most dear to him in the world, he fell into a despair as wild and violent as his anger had been terrible: he rolled in the dust, uttering the most horrid howls; he mixed his tears with the blood of his unhappy son, kissing his wounds, invoking heaven and earth to spare to him the life which he had himself destroyed, calling surgeons and sorcerers, and promising treasures and titles to whoever would restore the heir of his throne, the only object of his tenderness—the tenderness of Ivan IV.J!

All was in vain! Inevitable death drew on. . God had judged the father and the son: the son was ordained to die. But his torments were lon¤·; Ivan learnt for onee to feel for the pain of another. For four days the victim struggled with his agony.

But how think you these four days were employed ? how would you expect this son, first perverted by his father, and afterwards unjustly suspected, insulted, and killed by him, to avenge himself ? He passed his time of trial in praying to God for that father, in consoling him, in excusing him, in repeating to him, with a delicacy of feeling worthy the son of the best of men, that his punishment, severe as it might be, was not unjust: for a son who blames, even in the secret of his heart, a crowned father, deseryes to perish.

Q 3

342DEATH-BED OF THE CZAREWITCH.

When the last struggle approached, the unhappy son thought only of hiding the agonies of his death from the eyes of his assassin, whom he venerated as much as if he had been the best of parents and the greatest of kings: he entreated the Czar to retire.

When, instead of yielding to the request of the dying man, Ivan, in the delirium of remorse, first threw himself upon the bed, and then fell on his knees before his victim to ask his pardon, this hero of filial piety regained, under the inspiration of a sentiment of duty, a supernatural energy; already in the clutch of death, he struggled with the power that was dragging him away, and gathered a miraculous strength to repeat, with deep solemnity, that he was guilty, that his death was just, and that it was too gentle. He succeeded in disguising his anguish by force of soul, filial love, and respect for the sovereign; he concealed from his father the agonies of a body in which the vigour of youth struggled terribly against destruction. The gladiator fell with grace; supported, not by a base pride, but by an effort of charity, of which the sole aim was to mitigate the remorse of a guilty parent. He protested to his last gasp, that he was faithful to the legitimate sovereign of Russia; and he died at length, kissing the hand that slew him, and blessing God, his country, and his father.

Here all my indignation turns into a devout astonishment. I admire the marvellous resources of the human soul, which can fulfil its divine calling in all places, and in spite of the most vicious habits and institutions.—Yet I pause, fearful lest the servility

DEATH OF IVAN.

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