By Mrs. MARY S. ROBINSON.

CHAPTER VII.
GALITSCH AND THE GREAT REPUBLIC OF NOVGOROD.

We have briefly traced the history of the principality of Kief and that of its rival, Suzdal. Another powerful state, in the twelfth century was Galitsch, the modern Gallicia, the Red Russia of former days, a region south of Poland. This province, peopled by the Khorvats, or white Kroats, had ever remained Slavonic in nationality. Its princes were elected by popular assembly, and retained their dominion by its consent. The intercourse of Galitsch with her neighbors, Hungary and Poland, led to the formation of a powerful aristocracy, which succeeded, first, in controlling the popular assembly, and later in superseding it by an assembly composed exclusively of nobles. When Iaroslaf Osmomuisl, the same whose praise is sung in the song of Igor, put away his wife, Olga, for his paramour, Anastasia, the nobles compelled him to burn the latter alive, to banish her son, and to recognize Olga’s Vladimir as the rightful heir. The young prince, however, followed in the dissolute ways of his father, and went so far as to take for his second wife the widow of a priest, in defiant violation of a law of the Greek Church. The boyars summoned him to deliver the woman over to punishment. The prince, alarmed, fled to Hungary with his family and his treasure; and though in the vicissitude of events, he was recalled after a time, and bore rule for some years before his death, his dominions passed to Roman, prince of Volhynia, whom the Gallicians had invited to bear rule over them when Vladimir had fled from the realm.

This Roman was no easy-going, light-hearted prince of the usual Slavonic type, but a southern Andrei, a stern hero, visiting vengeance upon his enemies and striking terror into the barbarians. The Gallician boyars who had opposed him were put to death by slow torture. To some who had escaped from the country he promised pardon, but upon their return he confiscated their possessions and procured their condemnation to death. He was wont to say: “To eat your honey in peace you must first kill the bees.” He put to flight the Lithuanian tribes of the north, and harnessed his prisoners to the plow. This act of subjugation is commemorated in the folk song: “Thou art terrible, Roman; the Lithuanians are thy laboring oxen.” The report of his stern valor reached the ears of Pope Innocent III, who sent missionaries to bring him over to the Papal Church, and who promised by the sword of Saint Peter to make a great king of the Gallician-Volhynian prince. In the presence of the envoys, Roman drew his own sword from its scabbard and asked: “Is the sword of Saint Peter as strong as mine? While I wear it by my side I need no help from another.” He met his death in an imprudent, unequal combat, during a war with Poland, in 1215. The chronicle of Volhynia names him “the Great,” “the Autocrat of all the Russias;” and the chroniclers generally extol him as a second Monomakh, a hero who “walked in the ways of God, who fell like a lion upon infidels, who swooped like an eagle upon his prey, who was savage as a wild-cat, deadly as a crocodile.”

A more magnanimous hero was Roman’s son, Daniel, whose youth was roughly schooled in adversity. To his principality came Mstislaf the Bold, son of that Mstislaf the Brave, whom we have seen defying the tyranny of Andrei Bogoliubski. The younger Mstislaf was a knight errant, riding hither and thither in search of adventures. He wedded his daughter to the young Daniel, and virtually bore rule in Galitsch till his death in 1228. In wars with the Hungarians, the Poles, the Tartars, Daniel demeaned himself as the worthy son of a mighty sire, and toward the Gallician boyars, whose turbulence had endangered the state, he used a repressive, though not so severe a policy as that pursued by Roman. The Mongol invasion, that overthrew all the Russian governments, ruined Galitsch for the time, along with the others. Daniel did his best to support his shattered country, but was compelled, as a matter of personal safety to take refuge in Hungary. When permitted to return to the desolated principality, he invited thither a vast number of Greeks, Armenians, and Jews, upon whom he conferred abundant privileges as an inducement for them to remain in a depopulated country. The last named people, alien, tenacious, obnoxious to all Christian civilizations, an isolated race wherever their restless fate and their love of gain lead them to emigrate, have proved a disturbing element in Russian nationality. Incapable of assimilation, or unwilling thereto, their population of three millions have no interests, no sympathies with the rest of the nation, save in the intercourse connected with barter, or the stewardship of estates. A continual source of irritation and antagonism, they are “the Polish scourge” of the empire. The hospitality extended to them by Daniel Roman is regarded as the one mistake of his otherwise sagacious administration.

Unable to cope with the all-devouring Mongols, although he made repeated efforts to check their advances, Daniel took part in various European wars, always with brilliant success. The Hungarians spread the fame of the order of his troops, their oriental weapons, the magnificence of their prince, whose Greek habit was broidered with gold, whose caparisons glistened with richly-chased metals, and with jewels, whose saber and arrows were of marvellous workmanship. His warriors were equipped with short stirrups, high saddles, long caftans, or robes, turbans surmounted by aigrets, sabers and poniards in the belt, bows slung at the shoulder, and arrows in the quiver. Their coursers were fleet as the east wind.

Daniel was among the last of the Russian princes to render submission to the Khan of the Horde. “You have done well to come at last,” said Batui, when the prince presented himself at the Tatar court. The khan waived the humiliations usually put upon the princes at their reception; and seeing that the mare’s milk offered his vassal was distasteful, gave him instead a cup of wine. The Gallician-Volhynian, however, was ever feverish under the hard yoke of the Mongols. The civil conflicts of his youth, the ruin of Russia by the Mongols, and the European wars that filled his later years, left him no repose. In a more propitious era his rare powers could have rendered enduring service to his states. As it was, he could not so much as save his own Galitsch from the arrogance of a foreign conqueror. Upon his death it passed to other princes of his family, vassals of the khan, and two centuries later it was lost to Russia, by absorption into the kingdom of Poland. Its fate is unique; for with this exception, no integral state of the early Russian realm has ever become the permanent possession of aliens.

Unique, also, is the history of the wide and glorious principality of Novgorod, the political center of the Russia of the Northwest, the Slavic home of liberty. Its name shines upon the brief but resplendent roll of free nations with Sparta, Arragon, Switzerland. Nay, in the magnitude of its extent, in the exaltation of its freedom, it is not shamed in comparison with our own republic. The sentiment of liberty is traceable from the beginnings of history. During long periods in the earlier epochs, it lay concealed, a spark covered in ashes; but has ever re-kindled in an auspicious time, lighting horizon and zenith with its effulgence. Under the subjections, the servitudes of the ancient empires, the Hebrew theocracy conserved this inextinguishable aspiration of the race. If certain of the Hebrew kings oppressed their subjects, they found them ready for protest and for revolt. When the Roman empire laid its yoke upon the world, the Hebrews of Palestine chose national extinction to national thraldom, and perished by the talons of the Roman eagles. Even then stood ready the new races of the North to catch the falling torch, and to bear it aloft in their sinewy hands. In the mediÆval darkness, it glowed, a beacon-light from the summits of Arragon in Spain, and from the peaks of Switzerland. But before Switzerland had a name, when Arragon was scarcely more than a name, Novgorod, by the frozen lakes, far in the wilds of an unknown country, unexplored, untrodden by any civilized people—Novgorod, hidden in its northern nights, was cherishing a freedom such as the republic of the Netherlands cherished in the sixteenth, and the republic of America cherishes in the nineteenth century. To the Slavs of Ilmen belongs the proud distinction of guarding intact through more than six hundred years the instinct for freedom inalienable to the Slavic race. The unrest, the ferment of the Russias to-day, may be traced back to the glorious history, the pathetic surrender of Novgorod the Great; and those who seek to read hopefully the signs of the times, look for the day not far distant, when the venerable “My Lord, Novgorod,” shall receive again his banished bell with weeping and with acclamations; when again his citizens shall assemble in the court of Iaroslaf, and shall proclaim liberty to all his children gathered within his vast and ancient borders.

As we have written, the Novgorodians, Slavs of Ilmen, were the people who founded Russian unity, by the call of Rurik. When he came to them, their city contained a hundred thousand inhabitants, and was the capital of a realm that had a population of three hundred thousand. At least three centuries must have been required for the making of such a state; nor is it improbable that some of the aboriginal Finns known to Herodotus (B. C. 500) mingled with the Slav emigrants who passed the confines of Asia in the fourth Christian century. Ethnologists are of opinion that the early Novgorodians, like the other Russians of all time, are a composite race. The earliest chronicles of the city describe it as divided by the Volkhof, and situated on a vast plain in the midst of dense forests. The river runs northward, from Lake Ilmen to Lake Ladoga. On its right bank rose the cathedral of Saint Sophia, built by Iaroslaf the Great; the Novgorodian kreml, or acropolis, enclosing the palaces of archbishop and prince, the quarter of the potters, and the zagorodni, or suburbs. Here, in 1862, amid national solemnities and festivities, was dedicated the monument to Russian unity, that ennobles a thousand years of Russian history. The left bank contains the court of Iaroslaf, the quarter of commerce, as also those of the carpenters, and the Slavs, par eminence. In the earlier centuries it possessed also a Prussian, or Lithuanian quarter; and hither resorted merchants from all parts of the Orient. In the fourteenth century, the city was enclosed by ramparts, formed of gabions, strengthened at frequent intervals by stone towers. Portions of these defences still remain, attesting this immense extent originally. The cathedral, scarred by the wars of eight centuries, still preserves within the vivid hues of its frescoes, its pillars adorned with figures of saints painted upon golden backgrounds. From the interior of the dome, bends the divine form of Our Lord; beneath him hangs the banner of the Virgin, borne upon the ramparts in times of extremity, for the strengthening of the souls of the besieged, or to strike dismay into the souls of the besiegers. From the cupola, the light falls dimly upon the tombs of the mighty Iaroslaf, the holy Archbishop Nikita, whose prayers once extinguished a conflagration, of Mstislaf the Brave, the hero who defied Andrei Bogoliubski, and of many another captain and saint.

This principality was to old Russia what New England was to our Republic in its initiative period: a center of commerce, a hive of industry, the home of the national freedom and religion. It possessed seven large tributary cities, among them Pskof and StaraÏa-Rusa, (old Russia.) Its five provinces covered the whole of Northern Russia, as well as Ingria, beyond the Urals. Among these provinces were Permia on the upper Kama, a land rich in gold and other precious minerals, and traversed by a road leading through a mountain pass; a road connecting Russia with the commercial centres of northern Asia, with Persia, China and India; Russian Lapland, the country of dried fish, reindeer, and fur-bearing animals; Ingria, Karelia, and the ancient, wealthy countries of Esthonia and Livonia. The principality of Novgorod included an area seven times that of our New England. In the capitol were held two large annual fairs; the trade in corn, flax, and hemp, especially from the twelfth to the fifteenth century, made it a commercial entrepÔt of such importance as to give rise to the Russian saying, “Who can prevail against God and Novgorod-Viliki!” (the great). Its population was four hundred thousand; ranking it in this respect, at the time, among the chief cities of christendom. When Sviatoslaf, grandson of Rurik, conqueror of the Danubian Bulgarians wished to reside in the sunny land of Kief, and govern “My Lord Novgorod the Great” by deputies, the vetchÉ of that city sent him the message: “If you do not wish to reign over us, we will find another prince;” nor would they rest content with a lesser personage than Sviatoslaf’s son. Sviatopolk, another grand prince, essayed to force his son upon them. “Send him here if he has a spare head,” said the Novgorodians. In truth the princes knowing the curbs put upon their personal power in this republic, coveted rather, the lesser appanages. Vsevolod Gabriel, discontented with his freemen, left the city to reign at Pereiaslavl. After a time he signified his wish to return, but the citizens declined the proposal. “Prince, you violated your oath to die with us,” said they; “you sought another principality: go now where you will.” Some years later he effected a temporary accommodation with them, but again abandoned his post. Whereupon in a great vetchÉ, wherein were represented Pskof and Ladoga, sentence of condemnation was read against the renegade Vsevolod. “He had no compassion upon our poor; he attempted to establish himself at Pereiaslavl; at the battle of Mont Idano he and his drujinas were the first to flee before the men of Suzdal; he was unstable, sometimes uniting with the prince, sometimes with the enemies of Tchernigof.” Vsevolod was banished from the realm.

The Novgorodians were ever ready to cite from the code of Iaroslaf, granted them, as they aver, by that law-giver, and guaranteeing them large privileges. No authentic traces of this code have been discoverable; but the people conferred their own privileges. The vetchÉ, summoned by the great bell in the court of Iaroslaf, was the virtual sovereign. By its pleasure the princes of the state were nominated, elected or dethroned. If a prince opposed the will of the vetchÉ, the citizens “made a reverence, and showed him the way out.” Before its tribunal he could stand accused. If he persisted in an oppressive course, he was put in durance. In like manner the vetchÉ elected and deposed the archbishops of the republic, decided for peace and war, conducted the trial of state criminals, and all the other important business of government. Decisions were obtained not by majority, but by unanimity. If the minority stood out stubbornly, the majority summarily threw them into the Volkhof; for with all their wealth, pride and freedom, the Novgorodians retained an occasional trace of their barbaric origin. Commercially, their city was the glory of Russia. Large numbers of the people were occupied in the trade of the Dneiper and with Greece, and still larger numbers with the trade of the Volga and the East. The soil of the lake region is marshy, sandy, and sterile; the cause of frequent pestilences to its relatively dense population who are also the prey of famines, since their supplies have to be brought from afar. In prehistoric centuries, Novgorod maintained a commerce with the Orient, attested by the coins and jewels exhumed from the barrows of the Ilmen. It exchanged iron and weapons for the precious metals procured from the Ural mines by the Ingrians. It bought the fish and wares of the Baltic Slavs. In the twelfth century, this northern metropolis had a market and a church for the merchants from the Isle of Gothland,[A] and in this isle arose a Variag church, attended by Novgorodian families. The city had likewise a large German market, fortified with a stockade. The Germans had the monopoly of all the western trade; no Russian being allowed, by the terms of their compact, to sell German, English, Walloon, or Flemish products. Hydromel, works of art from Byzantium, rugs, felts, tissues from India, fabrics from the looms of Persia, tea, and curious wares from China, filled its bazars. In 1480, when Ivan III, himself, Viliki, or the Great, crippled its liberties, he despoiled it of three hundred chariots laden with silver and gold. The adventurous mercantile character and the proud, free spirit of this people, is typified in the Novgorodian Sinbad, Sadko, hero of the popular epic, who sought his fortune on the seas. A second Jonah in a storm, he plunges into the waves, and is received into the palace of the sea king, who tests his prowess in various ways, and gives him the princess of the sea in marriage. After many exciting adventures Sadko stands on the shore surrounded by piles of treasure. Yet these are nothing compared with the treasures of Novgorod the Great. “Men perceive that I am a rich merchant of Novgorod; but my city is far richer than I.”

The Church of this center of medieval freedom, was the close ally, the consort of the free State. The clergy, unlike that of the rest of Russia, were less Russian orthodox than Novgorodians. The Slavs of Ilmen were the last of the people obliged to accept Christianity; but from the twelfth century onward they refused to receive a Greek or a Kievan archbishop. They must have one of their own freemen. He was promptly elected by the vetchÉ, and installed in the Episcopal palace, without other investiture. Thereafter he was revered as the chief dignitary of the republic, a Novgorodian, as a native, while the prince, being a descendant from Rurik, was a foreigner. In public documents the name of the archbishop took precedence. “With the blessing of the Archbishop Moses, Posadnik (chief magistrate) Daniel,” etc., concludes one of their letters patent. He invariably held with the republic in its contentions with the prince; and in its wars his revenues and those of the Church were at its service. An archbishop of the fourteenth century built for the city a kreml of stone at his own personal expense. A century later the riches of Saint Sophia were given as ransom for the prisoners captured by the Lithuanians. The ecclesiastics took part in secular affairs, nor cared they for exemption from any civic duties. The laity were equally active in spiritual work. One of the chief splendors of the city lay in its magnificent churches and its well-appointed monasteries. The lives of the saints of the republic are voluminous; the miracles all redound to her glory. One of them records that the Lord Christ appeared to the artist who was to paint the interior of the dome of Saint Sophia, and charged him: “Represent me not with extended but with closed hands, for in my hand I hold Novgorod; and when my hand is opened, the end of the city is nigh.”

Not less national was the literature of the Great Republic. The life of the city, of its princes, boyars, merchants, is given in its monastic chronicles. The epics recite the exploits of Vasili BuslaÉvitch, the boyar who, with his drujina, held the bridge of the Volkhof against all the muzhiki, the rabble of the city. Many such an iron-hearted adventurer, marking his trail as he journeyed, knowing neither friend nor foe, went forth from this brave, happy, proud community into the trackless wastes of Vologda, Archangel, and Siberia.

During not less than five hundred years the Slav republic, greater in extent than any other except our own, maintained intact the freedom of its barbaric founders, the emigrant Slavs who ended their wanderings by the borders of the lakes. Its conquest by the Mongols is one of the mournfulest chapters in history. An avenging though inadequate sequel to it is “The flight of a Tartar Tribe” as recorded by DeQuincey.[B]