"'Yes, the Boyard is old in years but young in spirit. He loves a joke--so do I in the hours not devoted to prayers or my affairs of state. But since I killed that foolish jester, no one knows how to amuse me. I see that the Boyard Morozof wants the post. I have promised to show him a favour--I name him my chief jester! Bring the cap and bells! Put them on the Boyard.' The muscles of the Tsar's face worked sharply, his voice was unchanged. "Morozof was thunder-struck: he could not believe his ears. He looked more terrible even than the Tsar. When Gresnoi brought the cloak, with its tinkling bells, Morozof pushed him aside. 'Stand back! Do not dare, outcast, to touch Boyard Morozof! Your fathers cleaned out my ancestor's kennels. You leave me alone! Tsar, withdraw your order. Let me be put to death. With my head you can do as you will. You may not touch my honour!' "Ivan looked round at the opritchniks. 'You see I am right in saying that the Boyard will have his joke. I have no right to promote him to the office of jester, eh?' "'Tsar, I implore you to withdraw your words. Before you were born I fought for your father with Simski against the Cheremiss; with Odoevski and Mstislavski drove back the Krim-Tartars, and chased the Tartars away from Moscow. I defended you when a child; fought for your rights and the rights of your mother. I prized only mine honour; that has always remained unstained. _Will_ you mock the grey hairs of a faithful servant? Behead me rather--if you will.' "'Your foolish words show that you are well fitted for a jester. Put on the cloak! And you fellows, help him. He is used to be waited upon.' "The opritchniks put on the fool's cloak, the parti-coloured cap, and retreating, bowed low before him. 'Now amuse us as did the late jester!' said their leader. "Morozof was resolute. 'I accept the new post, to which the Tsar has appointed me. It was not fit for Boyard Morozof to sit at table with a Godunov--but the court fool may keep company even with such as the Basmanovs. Make way for the new jester, and listen, all of you, how he will amuse Ivan Vasilievich!' He made a gesture of command: the opritchniks stood aside, and with his bells tinkling, the fine old man marched up the room and seated himself on the stool before the Tsar, but with such dignity that he seemed to be wearing the royal purple instead of the motley of the court fool.