mendicant monk "idiotic for Christ's sake," its familiar appellation, "Blessed Willie," is derived from him. He it was who so often interposed his person between the Tsar and the objects of his wrath. He upbraided Ivan; threatened him with all manner of disasters, but neither Ivan nor his opritchniks ever hurt the naked body of the old beggar. He used to address the Tsar familiarly, "Ivashka" (Bad Jacky); when the Tsar offered him money he let it fall to the floor, blew on his fingers, said the coins burned, and asked Ivan why he had his gold from hell. Then he would tell Ivan that on his forehead were already growing the horns of a goat--that he was becoming a devil really--then hold him up to the ridicule of the court and the people--and Ivan, enraged, dared not strike him down himself or order anyone to do so. Now, the wonderful monument of Ivan's time is called by the name of the man he feared; it is _he_ the orthodox remember; it is his church; they honour and revere him. Later another popular prophet, "Ivan the Idiot" was buried there by order of the Tsar Theodore: his chapel adjoins that of "Blessed Willie," below the level of the church itself at the east end. The church has not much history; the Poles plundered it, Napoleon ordered his generals to "Destroy that Mosque"--instead they quartered themselves there. It has been many times repaired; was reconsecrated in 1812 and remains, what it is, a striking memorial of a fearful era. As a place of worship it is now but little used. Its architecture is not of the kind to inspire lofty thoughts, or draw any nearer to God. Its associations are all unpleasant, reminiscent of the excesses of Ivan, the weaknesses of his immediate successors. Worse, it lacks sincerity: intuitively one knows that such a building cannot shelter truth or engender hope. To uncover at its portal seems a mockery; to connect it with aught that is pure and Holy, a rank blasphemy. Glittering in bright sunlight, gay with colour, resplendent with reflections from a glorious sky, it seems only like a kaleidoscopic flash on a variegated canvas. To know Vasili Blajenni, the visitor should walk round it in the dusk of the evening, in the gloom of a winter's day, or, in summer, in that half-light of midnight that there does duty for darkness. Standing in the shadow of the Kremlin wall, on soil saturated fathoms deep with the blood of innocent martyrs, examine the building closely and call to memory the people by whom and for whom it was produced. Then and then only may the conception of this fungus-like excrescence seem possible, and Vasili Blajenni stand revealed as an expression of inordinate vanity, uncontrolled passion, insatiate lust. Like attributes without a soul--weird, monstrous, horrible. No fitting memorial of any man, yet not out of character with what is known of him they called Ivan the Terrible.