A Book of Golden Deeds

C >> Charlotte M. Yonge >> A Book of Golden Deeds

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23

At a postern gate, Andrej Kourbsky and two hundred men met Yediguer and
10,000 Tatars, and cut off their retreat, enclosing them in the narrow
streets. They forced their Khan to take refuge in a tower, and made
signs as if to capitulate. 'Listen,' they said. 'As long as we had a
government, we were willing to die for our prince and country. Now Kazan
is yours, we deliver our Khan to you, alive and unhurt--lead him to the
Tzar. For our own part, we are coming down into the open field to drain
our last cup of life with you.'

Yediguer and one old councillor were accordingly placed in the hands of
an officer, and then the desperate Tatars, climbing down the outside of
the walls, made for the Kazanka, where no troops, except the small body
under Andrej Kourbsky and his brother Romanus, were at leisure to pursue
them. The fighting was terrible, but the two princes kept them in view
until checked by a marsh which horses could not pass. The bold fugitives
took refuge in a forest, where, other Russian troops coming up, all were
surrounded and slain, since not a man of them would accept quarter.

Yediguer was kindly treated by Ivan, and accompanying him to Moscow,
there became a Christian, and was baptized by the name of Simeon, in the
presence of the Tzar and his whole court, on the banks of the Moskwa. He
married a Russian lady, and his whole conduct proved that his conversion
was sincere.

But this story has only been told at so much length to show what manner
of man Andrej Kourbsky was, and Ivan Vassilovitch had been, and how they
had once been brethren in arms; and perhaps it has been lingered over
from the melancholy interest there must always be in watching the fall
of a powerful nation, and the last struggles of gallant men. Ivan was
then a gallant, religious and highly gifted prince, generous and
merciful, and with every promise of a glorious reign, full of benefits
to his country. Alas! this part of his career was one glimpse of
brightness in the course of a long tempestuous day. His reign had begun
when he was but three years old. He had had a violent and cruel mother,
and had, after her death, been bred up by evil-minded courtiers, who
absolutely taught him cruel and dissolute amusements in order to prevent
him from attending to state affairs. For a time, the exhortations of the
good and fearless patriarch, and the influence of his gentle wife
Anastasia, had prevailed, and with great vigor and strong principle he
had shaken off all the evil habits of his boyhood, and begun, as it
seemed, an admirable reign.

Too soon, a severe illness shook the balance of his mind, and this
was quickly followed by the death of the excellent Tzarina Anastasia.
Whether grief further unsettled him, or whether the loss of her gentle
influence left him a prey to his wicked councillors, from that time
forward his conduct was so wildly savage and barbarous as to win for him
the surname of the Terrible. Frantic actions, extravagant excesses, and
freaks of horrible cruelty looked like insanity; and yet, on the other
hand, he often showed himself a clear-headed and sagacious monarch,
anxious for the glory and improvement of his people.

But he lived in continual suspicion, and dreaded every eminent man in
his dominions. Kourbsky whom he had once loved and trusted, and had
charged with the command of his army, as his most able boyard, fell
under his suspicion; and, with horror and indignation, learnt that the
Tzar was plotting against his life, and intended to have him put to
death. Kourbsky upon this explained to his wife that she must either
see him put to a shameful death, or let him leave her for ever. He gave
his blessing to his son, a boy of nine years old, and leaving his house
at night he scaled the wall of Moscow, and meeting his faithful servant,
Vasili Shibanoff, with two horses, he made his escape. This Vasili was
his stirrup-bearer, one of those serfs over whom the boyard on whose
land they were born possessed absolute power. That power was often
abused, but the instinctive faithfulness of the serf towards his master
could hardly be shaken, even by the most savage treatment, and a well-
treated serf viewed his master's family with enthusiastic love and
veneration. Vasili accompanied his master's flight through the birch
forests towards the Livonian frontier, the country where but lately
Kourbsky had been leading the Tzar's armies. On the way the prince's
horse became exhausted by his weight, and Vasili insisted on giving up
his own in its stead, though capture in the course of such desertion
would have been certain death. However, master and servant safely
arrived at Wolmar in Livonia, and there Andrej came to the determination
of renouncing the service of the ungrateful Ivan, and entering that of
the King of Poland. For this last step there was no excuse. Nothing can
justify a man in taking up arms against his country, but in the middle
Ages the tie of loyalty was rather to the man than to the state, and
Andrej Kourbsky seems to have deemed that his honor would be safe,
provided he sent a letter to his sovereign, explaining his grievance and
giving up his allegiance. The letter is said to have been full of grave
severity and deep, suppressed indignation, though temperate in tone; but
no one would consent to be the bearer of such a missive, since the cruel
tyrant's first fury was almost certain to fall on him who presented it.
Believing his master's honor at stake, Vasili offered himself to be the
bearer of the fatal letter, and Kourbsky accepted the offer, tendering
to him a sum of money, which the serf rejected, knowing that money would
soon be of little service to him, and seeking no reward for what he
deemed his duty to his lord.

As Ivan's justice had turned into barbarity, so his religion had turned
into foolish fanatic observance. He had built a monastery near Moscow
for himself and three hundred chosen boyards, and every morning at three
or four o'clock he took his two sons into the belfry with him and
proceeded to strike the bells, the Russian mode of ringing them, till
all the brethren were assembled. This bell-sounding was his favorite
occupation, and in it he was engaged when Vasili arrived. The servant
awaited him in the vestibule, and delivered the letter with these words:
'From my master and thine exile, Prince Andrej Kourbsky.'

Ivan answered by such a blow on the leg with his iron-tipped rod that
the blood poured from the wound; but Vasili neither started, cried out,
nor moved a feature. At once the Tzar bade him be seized and tortured,
to make him disclose whether his master had any partners in guilt, or if
any plans were matured. But no extremity of agony could extract aught
but praises of the prince, and assurances of his readiness to die for
him. From early morning till late at night the torturers worked, one
succeeding when another was tired out; but nothing could overcome his
constancy, and his last words were a prayer to implore his God to have
mercy on his master and forgive his desertion.

His praise came even from the tyrant, who wrote to Kourbsky--'Let thy
servant Vaska [Footnote: the abbreviation of Vasili or Basil.] shame
thee. He preserved his truth to thee before the Tzar and the people.
Having given thee his word of faith, he kept it, even before the gates
of death.'

After the flight of Kourbsky, the rage of Ivan continued to increase
with each year of his life. He had formed a sort of bodyguard of a
thousand ruffians, called the Oprichnina, who carried out his barbarous
commands, and committed an infinity of murders and robberies on their
own account. He was like a distorted caricature of Henry VIII, and, like
him, united violence and cruelty with great exactness about religious
worship, carrying his personal observances to the most fanatic
extravagance.

In the vacancy of the Metropolitan See, he cast his eyes upon the
monastery in the little island of Solovsky, in the White Sea, where the
Prior, Feeleep Kolotchof, was noted for his holy life, and the good he
had done among the wild and miserable population of the island. He was
the son of a rich boyard, but had devoted himself from his youth to a
monastic life, and the fame of his exertions in behalf of the islanders
had led the Tzar to send him not only precious vessels for the use of
his church, but contributions to the stone churches, piers, and
hostelries that he raised for his people; for whom he had made roads,
drained marshes, introduced cattle, and made fisheries and salt pans,
changing the whole aspect of the place, and lessening even the
inclemency of the climate.

On this good man the Tzar fixed his choice. He wrote to him to come to
Moscow to attend a synod, and on his arrival made him dine at the
palace, and informed him that he was to be chief pastor of the Russian
Church. Feeleep burst into tears, entreating permission to refuse, and
beseeching the Tzar not to trust 'so heavy a freight to such a feeble
bark'. Ivan held to his determination, and Feeleep then begged him at
least to dismiss the cruel Oprichnina. 'How can I bless you,' he said,
'while I see my country in mourning?'

The Tzar replied by mentioning his suspicions of all around him, and
commanded Feeleep to be silent. He expected to be sent back to his
convent at once, but, instead of this, the Tzar commanded the clergy to
elect him Archbishop, and they all added their entreaties to him to
accept the office, and endeavor to soften the Tzar, who respected him;
and he yielded at last, saying, 'The will of the Tzar and the pastors of
the church must, then, be done.'

At his consecration, he preached a sermon on the power of mildness, and
the superiority of the victories of love over the triumphs of war. It
awoke the better feelings of Ivan, and for months he abstained from any
deed of violence; his good days seemed to have returned and he lived in
intimate friendship with the good Archbishop.

But after a time the sleeping lion began to waken. Ivan's suspicious
mind took up an idea that Feeleep had been incited by the nobles to
request the abolition of the Oprichnina, and that they were exciting a
revolt. The spies whom he sent into Moscow told him that wherever an
Oprichnik appeared, the people shrank away in silence, as, poor things!
they well might. He fancied this as a sign that conspiracies were
brewing, and all his atrocities began again. The tortures to which whole
families were put were most horrible; the Oprichniks went through the
streets with poignards and axes, seeking out their victims, and killing
from ten to twenty a day. The corpses lay in the streets, for no one
dared to leave his house to bury them. Feeleep vainly sent letters and
exhortations to the Tzar--they were unnoticed. The unhappy citizens came
to the Archbishop, entreating him to intercede for them, and he gave
them his promise that he would not spare his own blood to save theirs.

One Sunday, as Feeleep was about to celebrate the Holy Communion, Ivan
came into the Cathedral with a troop of his satellites, like him,
fantastically dressed in black cassocks and high caps. He came towards
the Metropolitan, but Feeleep kept his eyes fixed on the picture of our
Lord, and never looked at him. Someone said, 'Holy Father, here is the
prince; give him your blessing.'

'No,' said the Archbishop, 'I know not the Tzar in this strange
disguise--still less do I know him in his government. Oh, Prince! we are
here offering sacrifice to the Lord, and beneath the altar the blood of
guiltless Christians is flowing in torrents... You are indeed on the
throne, but there is One above all, our Judge and yours. How shall you
appear before his Judgment Seat?--stained with the blood of the
righteous, stunned with their shrieks, for the stones beneath your feet
cry out for vengeance to Heaven. Prince, I speak as shepherd of souls; I
fear God alone.'

The Archbishop was within the golden gates, which, in Russian churches,
close in the sanctuary or chancel, and are only entered by the clergy.
He was thus out of reach of the cruel iron-tipped staff, which the Tzar
could only strike furiously on the pavement, crying out, 'Rash monk, I
have spared you too long. Henceforth I will be to you such as you
describe.'

The murders went on in their full horrors; but, in spite of the threat,
the Archbishop remained unmolested, though broken-hearted at the
cruelties around him. At last, however, his resolute witness became more
than the tyrant would endure, and messengers were secretly sent to the
island of Solovsky, to endeavor to find some accusation against him.
They tampered with all the monks in the convent, to induce them to find
some fault in him, but each answered that he was a saint in every
thought, word, and deed; until at last Payssi, the prior who had
succeeded him, was induced, by the hope of a bishopric, to bear false
witness against him.

He was cited before an assembly of bishops and boyards, presided over by
the Tzar, and there he patiently listened to the monstrous stories told
by Payssi. Instead of defending himself, he simply said, 'This seed will
not bring you a good harvest;' and, addressing himself to the Tzar,
said, 'Prince, you are mistaken if you think I fear death. Having
attained an advanced age, far from stormy passions and worldly
intrigues, I only desire to return my soul to the Most High, my
Sovereign Master and yours. Better to perish an innocent martyr, than as
Metropolitan to look on at the horrors and impieties of these wretched
times. Do what you will with me! Here are the pastoral staff, the white
mitre, and the mantle with which you invested me. And you, bishops,
archimandrites, abbots, servants of the altar, feed the flock of Christ
zealously, as preparing to give an account thereof, and fear the Judge
of Heaven more than the earthly judge.'

He was then departing, when the Tzar recalled him, saying that he could
not be his own judge, and that he must await his sentence. In truth,
worse indignities were preparing for him. He was in the midst of the
Liturgy on the 8th of November, the Greek Michaelmas, when a boyard came
in with a troop of armed Oprichniks, who overawed the people, while the
boyard read a paper degrading the Metropolitan from his sacred office;
and then the ruffians, entering through the golden gates tore off his
mitre and robes, wrapped him in a mean gown, absolutely swept him out of
the church with brooms, and took him in a sledge to the Convent of the
Epiphany. The people ran after him, weeping bitterly, while the
venerable old man blessed them with uplifted hands, and, whenever he
could be heard, repeated his last injunction, 'Pray, pray to God.'

Once again he was led before the Emperor, to hear the monstrous sentence
that for sorcery, and other heavy charges, he was to be imprisoned for
life. He said no reproachful word, only, for the last time, he besought
the Tzar to have pity on Russia, and to remember how his ancestors had
reigned, and the happy days of his youth. Ivan only commanded the
soldiers to take him away; and he was heavily ironed, and thrown into a
dungeon, whence he was afterwards transferred to a convent on the banks
of the Moskwa, where he was kept bare of almost all the necessaries of
life: and in a few days' time the head of Ivan Borissovitch Kolotchof,
the chief of his family, was sent to him, with the message, 'Here are
the remains of your dear kinsman, your sorcery could not save him!'
Feeleep calmly took the head in his arms, blessed it, and gave it back.

The people of Moscow gathered round the convent, gazed at his cell, and
told each other stories of his good works, which they began to magnify
into miracles. Thereupon the Emperor sent him to another convent, at a
greater distance. Here he remained till the next year, 1569, when Maluta
Skouratof, a Tatar, noted as a favorite of the Tzar, and one of the
chief ministers of his cruelty, came into his cell, and demanded his
blessing for the Tzar.

The Archbishop replied that blessings only await good men and good
works, adding tranquilly, 'I know what you are come for. I have long
looked for death. Let the Tzar's will be done.' The assassin then
smothered him, but pretended to the abbot that he had been stifled by
the heat of the cell. He was buried in haste behind the altar, but his
remains have since been removed to his own cathedral at Moscow, the
scene where he had freely offered his own life by confronting the tyrant
in the vain endeavor to save his people.

Vain, too, was the reproof of the hermit, who shocked Ivan's scruples by
offering him a piece of raw flesh in the middle of Lent, and told him
that he was preying on the flesh and blood of his subjects. The crimes
of Ivan grew more and more terrible, and yet his acuteness was such that
they can hardly be inscribed to insanity. He caused the death of his own
son by a blow with that fatal staff of his; and a last, after a fever
varied by terrible delirium, in which alone his remorse manifested
itself, he died while setting up the pieces for a game at chess, on the
17th of March, 1584.

This has been a horrible story, in reality infinitely more horrible than
we have made it; but there is this blessing among many others in
Christianity, that the blackest night makes its diamonds only show their
living luster more plainly: and surely even Ivan the Terrible, in spite
of himself, did something for the world in bringing out the faithful
fearlessness of Archbishop Feeleep, and the constancy of the stirrup-
bearer, Vasili.

FORT ST. ELMO

1565

The white cross of the Order of St. John waved on the towers of Rhodes
for two hundred and fifty-five years. In 1552, after a desperate
resistance, the Turks, under their great Sultan, Solyman the
Magnificent, succeeded in driving the Knights Hospitaliers from their
beautiful home, and they were again cast upon the world.

They were resolved, however, to continue their old work of protecting
the Mediterranean travelers, and thankfully accepted, as a gift from the
Emperor Charles V., the little islet of Malta as their new station. It
was a great contrast to their former home, being little more than a mere
rock rising steeply out of the sea, white, glaring and with very shallow
earth, unfit to bear corn, though it produced plenty of oranges, figs,
and melons--with little water, and no wood,--the buildings wretched, and
for the most part uninhabited, and the few people a miserable mongrel
set, part Arab, part Greek, part Sicilian, and constantly kept down by
the descents of the Moorish pirates, who used to land in the unprotected
bays, and carry off all the wretched beings they could catch, to sell
for slaves. It was a miserable exchange from fertile Rhodes, which was
nearly five times larger than this barren rock; but the Knights only
wanted a hospital, a fortress, and a harbour; and this last they found
in the deeply indented northern shore, while they made the first two.
Only a few years had passed before the dreary Citta Notabile had become
in truth a notable city, full of fine castle-like houses, infirmaries,
and noble churches, and fenced in with mighty wall and battlements--
country houses were perched upon the rocks--the harbors were fortified,
and filled with vessels of war--and deep vaults were hollowed out in the
rock, in which corn was stored sufficient to supply the inhabitants for
many months.

Everywhere that there was need was seen the red flag with the eight-
pointed cross. If there was an earthquake on the shores of Italy or
Sicily, there were the ships of St. John, bringing succor to the crushed
and ruined townspeople. In every battle with Turk or Moor, the Knights
were among the foremost; and, as ever before, their galleys were the aid
of the peaceful merchant, and the terror of the corsair. Indeed, they
were nearer Tunis, Tripoli, and Algiers, the great nests of these
Moorish pirates, and were better able to threaten them, and thwart their
cruel descents, than when so much farther eastward; and the Mahometan
power found them quite as obnoxious in Malta as in Rhodes.

Solyman the Magnificent resolved, in his old age, to sweep these
obstinate Christians from the seas, and, only twelve years after the
siege of Rhodes, prepared an enormous armament, which he united with
those of the Barbary pirates, and placed under the command of Mustafa
and Piali, his two bravest pashas, and Dragut, a terrible Algerine
corsair, who had already made an attempt upon the island, but had been
repulsed by the good English knight, Sir Nicholas Upton. Without the
advice of this pirate the Sultan desired that nothing should be
undertaken.

The Grand Master who had to meet this tremendous danger was Jean Parisot
de la Valette, a brave and resolute man, as noted for his piety and
tenderness to the sick in the infirmaries as for his unflinching
courage. When he learnt the intentions of the Sultan, he began by
collecting a Chapter of his Order, and, after laying his tidings before
them, said: 'A formidable army and a cloud of barbarians are about to
burst on this isle. Brethren, they are the enemies of Jesus Christ. The
question is the defense of the Faith, and whether the Gospel shall yield
to the Koran. God demands from us the life that we have already devoted
to Him by our profession. Happy they who in so good a cause shall first
consummate their sacrifice. But, that we may be worthy, my brethren, let
us hasten to the altar, there to renew our vows; and may to each one of
us be imparted, by the very Blood of the Saviour of mankind, and by
faithful participation in His Sacraments, that generous contempt of
death that can alone render us invincible.'

With these words, he led the way to the church, and there was not an
individual knight who did not on that day confess and receive the Holy
Communion; after which they were as new men--all disputes, all
trivialities and follies were laid aside--and the whole community
awaited the siege like persons under a solemn dedication.

The chief harbour of Malta is a deep bay, turned towards the north, and
divided into two lesser bays by a large tongue of rock, on the point of
which stood a strong castle, called Fort St. Elmo. The gulf to the
westward has a little island in it, and both gulf and islet are called
Marza Muscat. The gulf to the east, called the Grand Port, was again
divided by three fingers of rock projecting from the mainland, at right
angles to the tongue that bore Fort St. Elmo. Each finger was armed with
a strong talon--the Castle of La Sangle to the east, the Castle of St.
Angelo in the middle, and Fort Ricasoli to the west. Between St. Angelo
and La Sangle was the harbour where all the ships of war were shut up at
night by an immense chain; and behind was il Borgo, the chief
fortification in the island. Citta Notabile and Gozo were inland, and
their fate would depend upon that of the defenses of the harbor. To
defend all this, the Grand Master could only number 700 knights and
8,500 soldiers. He sent to summon home all those of the Order who were
dispersed in the different commanderies in France, Spain, and Germany,
and entreated aid from the Spanish king, Philip II., who wished to be
considered as the prime champion of Roman Catholic Christendom, and who
alone had the power of assisting him. The Duke of Alva, viceroy for
Philip in Sicily, made answer that he would endeavor to relieve the
Order, if they could hold out Fort St. Elmo till the fleet could be got
together; but that if this castle were once lost, it would be impossible
to bring them aid, and they must be left to their fate.

The Grand Master divided the various posts to the knights according to
their countries. The Spaniards under the Commander De Guerras, Bailiff
of Negropont, had the Castle of St. Elmo; the French had Port de la
Sangle; the Germans, and the few English knights whom the Reformation
had left, were charged with the defense of the Port of the Borgo, which
served as headquarters, and the Commander Copier, with a body of troops,
was to remain outside the town and watch and harass the enemy.

On the 18th of May, 1565, the Turkish fleet came in sight. It consisted
of 159 ships, rowed by Christian slaves between the decks, and carrying
30,000 Janissaries and Spahis, the terrible warriors to whom the Turks
owed most of their victories, and after them came, spreading for miles
over the blue waters, a multitude of ships of burthen bringing the
horses of the Spahis, and such heavy battering cannon as rendered the
dangers of a siege infinitely greater than in former days. These
Janissaries were a strange, distorted resemblance of the knights
themselves, for they were bound in a strict brotherhood of arms, and
were not married, so as to care for nothing but each other, the Sultan,
and the honor of their troop. They were not dull, apathetic Turks, but
chiefly natives of Circassia and Georgia, the land where the human race
is most beautiful and nobly formed. They were stolen from their homes,
or, too often, sold by their parents when too young to remember their
Christian baptism, and were bred up as Mahometans, with no home but
their corps, no kindred but their fellow soldiers. Their title, given by
the Sultan who first enrolled them, meant New Soldiers, their ensign was
a camp kettle, as that of their Pashas was one, two, or three horses'
tails, in honor of the old Kurdish chief, the founder of the Turkish
empire; but there was no homeliness in their appointments, their
weapons--scimitars, pistols, and carabines--were crusted with gold and
jewels; their head-dress, though made in imitation of a sleeve, was
gorgeous, and their garments were of the richest wool and silk, dyed
with the deep, exquisite colours of the East. Terrible warriors were
they, and almost equally dreaded were the Spahis, light horsemen from
Albania and the other Greek and Bulgarian provinces who had entered the
Turkish service, and were great plunderers, swift and cruel, glittering,
both man and horse, with the jewels they had gained in their forays.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23