only had he been taught to perform every kind of trick, but he figured as the chief character, and under divers aspects, in a comic repertory dear to the common herd. Sometimes he was a judge, who took bribes and delivered grotesque sentences; sometimes he was a husband, fooled first of all, and then thrashed. He was the Punch, the Snagarelle, of the country. Now and then, indeed, he was promoted to play some tragic part. Physical exercises and effort of every kind, races on foot or on horseback, archery competitions, tournaments, at which the riders picked up rings on their lance-points, and fights, whether with fists or cudgels, were all much enjoyed. But the most favourite sport of all was a match between the bear and hounds, or other animals, or, above all, between the bear and a man. The man, armed with a spear, strove to strike his terrible adversary in the breast just when the creature stood up on its hind legs. If he missed his aim, he ran the risk of being torn to pieces, and this often occurred. The bear's antagonists were generally selected from amongst the Sovereign's dog-boys; but on the lists of the most famous champions we find such aristocratic names as that of Prince Goundorov, who, in 1628, was rewarded with a piece of blue damask for having killed a bear in single combat and of Feodor Sytine, the son of a boïar, torn to pieces, in the course of a less successful struggle, in 1632.
Affairs of honour were also decided with fists or cudgels. It was not considered necessary to unsheath the sword on such accounts, and the fact suffices to show how rustic and savage this half-complete society still was, how far removed from the elegant forms of life already existing in the West. It was a far cry, indeed, to those French and Italian palaces where the guests already talked, after they had laughed and danced; where the man who could tell a story pleasantly, or 'say the word,' was welcomed; where things of beauty were admired, at all events, if comfort was not generally sought; where love was full of poetry, and there was wit even in hatred; where, if a quarrel arose, men slew each other—after they had taken their leave—nobly, as they had delighted to live. To the models of beauty and grace there blossoming in the flush of a new art summer, the spirit of Russia opposed a very different type, personified by another order of vagabonds, one which enjoyed the favour of the populace and the indulgence of the clergy—the iourodivyié or blajennyié, coarse seers and magicians, who turned the people's credulity to account, and skilfully concealed their real trade under professions of extreme austerity and appearances of miraculous power. They stalked naked in the bitterest cold, they let their neglected tresses float on the breeze, they pretended to need neither food nor
