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 old sage with a mingling of wonder and awe. Although raised in the shadow of the king’s court and spoiled by its rottenness and meanness, he was underneath it all a prince, a soldier and a man; he was moved to feel within his heart, if only a very tiny fraction, some of the strong emotion which emanated from the person of Zakhar Berkut. At the same time his conscience had been far from clear for expressing those insincere words giving recognition to the king’s unquestionable right to sovereignty. His own spirit had often rebelled against this right and here he had tried to cover up with the king’s claims to unbridled domination, his own craving for power. It was therefore not surprising that Zakhar Berkut’s words penetrated deeper into his heart than he cared to admit. For the first time he glanced at him sympathetically and all at once felt sorry for that mighty relic whose downfall, to his way of thinking, was so imminently inescapable.

“Poor old man, I pity your gray old head and your youthful spirit. You have lived a long time upon this earth, too long it seems to me! Living within your heart in antiquity, with the passionate thoughts of your youth, you have stopped understanding the new view-points and developments of modern times. That which was desirable long ago does not necessarily have to be now or forever. Everything that lives must be outlived. Outmoded and out-lived also are your youthful dreams of freedom and democracy. Afflictive times are now upon us, old man! They demand one mighty ruler over all our land who would knit the strength and power of the whole nation together into one central unit, enabling him to better defend the country against the enemy which advances from the East. You, old fellow, do not know all this and so you think that things are just the way they used to be a long time ago.”

“You are wrong again, Boyarin,” replied Zakhar Berkut. “I admit that it is not good for an old man to give himself up to golden dreaming while closing his eyes to modern needs