I see now that thou art ruled by men. And what men! Mere moujiks! Thyself thou art nothing but a vulgar wench (pochlaïa diévitsa), and thou behavest like one! I give up all intercourse with thee. Moscow can do without the English moujiks.'
The abuse was a mere nothing; it was a change from the madrigals usually served up to Elizabeth, and was only calculated to make her laugh. But before there had been time for the Tsar's message to get to London, news reached the capital that he had stripped the Russian company of all its privileges, old and new, confiscated its merchandise, and forbidden its trading operations. This was far more serious. The openings obtained by dint of so much effort were lost! The hope of snatching the Eastern markets from the Venetians and Portuguese had faded! The disaster must be remedied, and but one man in the world seemed capable of doing that. Elizabeth, when she confided the leadership of her solemn embassy to Robert Best, associated Jenkinson with him in the business.
But the bold explorer, who was to act as the head of an independent mission, was to begin by himself suffering cruelly from the altered circumstances. He landed in July, 1571, on an island in St. Nicholas' Bay, called 'Rose Island' by the British sailors, because of the wild roses they had found growing there, and sent a former interpreter of Savine's, Daniel Sylvester, to announce his arrival at Moscow. Sylvester could neither get there himself nor send back news, because of the plague, which had been laying the country waste ever since the Tartar invasion, and which had necessitated quarantines and barriers on every road. Another messenger, who tried to force his way through, barely escaped being burnt alive. Besides this, Ivan was campaigning against the Swedes, and the Russian authorities declared nobody must think of approaching him. They further asserted that Jenkinson would have risked his own life by so doing, for the Tsar held him responsible for the failure of his proposals, and had declared he would cut off his head if he showed his face in his dominions.
Quite unmoved—though the Governor of Kholmogory, influenced by existing circumstances, refused him shelter, food, or protection, and left him exposed to the hostility of the townsfolk—the Englishman waited on wearily in the inhospitable town till January, 1572, and then, putting on a bold face, contrived to force his way through, and ventured to beard the monarch in his den at Alexandrov. He had managed, no doubt, to justify himself in the meantime, for the Sovereign gave him a most gracious reception. Ivan hurried through the necessary ceremonial of the public audience, and eagerly broached a private conversation, at which
