Original in Latin can be found here: books.google.de
There is nothing more pleasant and beneficial in a person’s life than reading books that recount sacred and secular history. From the former, one can gain true knowledge of God (for what is Holy Scripture if not a true historical account of God the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit?), and from the latter, one can understand how to live and shape their future. It is essential that educated people diligently turn their minds to studying these books, for historical writings contain a vast array of teachings on how to avoid vices and cultivate virtues. There are also countless examples showing that wicked people and tyrants were punished and often met violent deaths, while good and pious individuals were always saved and died natural deaths. This is done so that those who read historical works always have before their eyes a model to guide their actions, learning from others’ examples how to conduct themselves in life to gain God’s favor and avoid incurring His wrath and just punishment through a wicked life. By observing others, one learns to take care of themselves and avoid what brought wrath and punishment upon others, for the Lord punishes terrible crimes with terrible penalties, as both sacred and secular history testify.
Since there are many historians who, in printed form, extensively discuss the benefits of historical writings, I consider it unnecessary to dwell on this at length. I intend to recount, as briefly as possible, in a few words and in the form of a historical narrative, the journey to Russia undertaken by myself and other nobles who accompanied me. However, as I do not consider myself capable of describing it in an elegant style (for I confess that I am only superficially acquainted with the Latin language, and my manner of expression is far from perfect, which is unsurprising, primarily because for six lustra—thirty years—I was detached from scholarly pursuits and, being constantly occupied with courtly and domestic affairs, could neither further my studies nor revisit what I had once learned; and also because everything was written on the road, quickly and in haste), I ask the kind reader to receive it graciously, to correct any shortcomings, and not to judge too harshly. Nevertheless, so that the reader knows what to expect from me in a narrative of this kind, I will outline it in brief. First, I wish to explain the reason for our journey, then—who was sent, by whom, to whom, when, and by what route; what dangers awaited us, how we were received, how we were treated, and how we were released and sent back. And all this I will present concisely, so as not to tire the reader’s ears with trivialities and lengthy accounts. Thus, I hope the kind reader will receive all this in the most concise form.
I believe no one doubts that in ancient times, especially during the reign of the pious, blessed King Christian, the beloved father of the current king, there was friendship and alliance between Denmark and Russia. These two states were so bound by a peace treaty that the inhabitants of each could freely trade and conduct business in the other’s territories, with designated houses assigned to them—Russians in Copenhagen and Danes in Narva. They could even travel wherever they wished without danger. Knowing of this alliance, King Frederick II deemed it wise to follow the example of his predecessors, especially his dearest father, and immediately after his coronation, through his envoys—Hofmeister Eiler Hardenberg, Marshal Jens Ulfstand, and Jakob Brockenhuus—decided not only to reaffirm the old alliance but to renew friendship and mutual correspondence through new treaties. This was not with the intent to harm any other Christian ruler or to ally with the Russian ruler for aid against enemies, but rather to ensure that both rulers’ states flourished in peace through such an alliance.
This treaty held until 1575, when, due to disputes between the king and the Livonian governors of the Moscow Grand Duke, something contrary to the treaty occurred: three Livonian fortresses—Gapsel, Leal, and Loden—were taken by the Grand Duke from the king. The Grand Duke had previously, once or twice in letters, urged the king to surrender them, as the treaty’s text indicated that the right to possess them belonged to the king. Since this offense, committed against a sworn oath, could not be resolved without military conflict, bloodshed, and the loss of subjects unless a new treaty satisfactory to both parties was renewed and affirmed, our king deemed it fitting to first pursue negotiations rather than the force of arms, as befits a wise man (in the words of Terence), so that his subjects would not suffer from increased taxes, wars, and other calamities, and so that innocent blood would not be spilled, for he cared more for his subjects’ peace than for a just desire for vengeance. Such was the primary reason for this embassy—the first matter I promised to address. Now I must list the individuals sent on this embassy, entrusted with this task. They were Gregers Ulfstand of Estrup, Arnold Ugerup of Urop, Poul Verniken—the secretary—and myself. To lend greater weight to the embassy, six nobles were added to assist us. Among them, the first was Jene Venstermann of Olstrup, tasked with managing the funds and serving as our treasurer; the second was Sten Matssen, whom we recognized as our marshal; the third, Henning Falster, oversaw our kitchen; and the fourth, Jørgen Svave, was responsible for beverages. There were also Daniel Horken and Jørgen Munk. All of them traveled with us, accompanied by servants and attendants, so that our group totaled 100 people, not counting three trumpeters and as many musicians.
Thus, setting sail, we hoisted our sails to the winds on the Friday closest to the Feast of the Ascension, the 9th of May. Leaving Dragør with a favorable wind, we set out on three sailing ships and eight rowing galleys toward the island of Bornholm, 25 nautical miles from Copenhagen. We arrived there the next day, anchored, and spent the night. The following day, at dawn, when the wind seemed to favor our course, we set sail again and headed for Gotland.
During the voyage, a sudden headwind from the north arose, hindering our progress. After being tossed about for several hours in various directions by clashing waves, we were forced to return with all our ships to Bornholm, where we had begun. But hear what happened during this time. A perfectly clear sky was suddenly covered with clouds so thick that, on eight ships positioned quite close to us, we could not discern even large objects, let alone small ones. As a result, one of the galleys, named Abraham, unexpectedly struck the bow of our ship with such force, due to the density of the clouds, that it nearly capsized under the waves. It lost the part of its starboard side that protruded above the water and was closest to us, and its foresails and foremast, as well as its mizzenmast, were damaged. All this was later repaired with great effort on Bornholm.
We, too, did not escape unscathed; part of our ship’s bow was lost, causing significant damage, as water poured in through the breaches from all sides. Day and night, we were forced to pump water from the hold more than usual and contend with dampness.
After this, as mentioned, we approached Bornholm that same night, but the clouds obscured the sky, preventing us from seeing the coastal cliffs. Thus, we anchored in the open sea. When dawn broke, the sky cleared, and the clouds parted, revealing that we had dangerously positioned ourselves near the cliffs, believing there was a mile or more between us and the island. Had we come closer, our ships would have been lost. Therefore, we must offer the greatest praise to Almighty God, who saved us from these maritime dangers.
On the 20th of the same month, when the morning favored our journey, we set out again and, on the 25th, the Feast of the Holy Trinity, having sailed 110 miles, arrived by God’s grace at the island of Ösel. The next day, we disembarked from the ships, set foot on Livonian soil, and greeted the land.
There, spending nights near the fortress of Arensburg in the suburb of Hagdwerg, we remained until the 30th of the month, witnessing the greatest miseries of the people—a famine so severe that, as we saw, they ate bread made from ground bran, hay, and straw, just as in many other places along our route they ate grass gathered from meadows and pastures.
Leaving Arensburg on that day, we traveled three miles and spent the night at the royal estate of Telse. The next day, we reached Sonnenburg, covering five miles.
On the first day of June, we crossed the Moonsund strait and arrived at the royal estate of Mongard, which had been destroyed and burned by Russians and Swedes, so we slept under the open sky that night.
On the 2nd [of June], we crossed another strait, called the Great Moonsund (where our ship, with great danger, struck an unknown rock, and had we not reached the harbor in the boat we had, we might have perished, for the ship hit the rock with such force that the sailors freed it and brought it to navigable waters only with great effort, after two or three hours). We arrived at Wigt, two miles from the island of Moon. There, Russians met us and informed us that a Swedish army was nearby, so we could not safely reach Pernau until they moved elsewhere, as the Russians had only a small force and could not resist them. We stayed there for three days, spending all nights in the open. As we were provided with no food except three sheep, one ox, and two chickens, and no beverages, our servants were forced to quench their thirst with water. Thus, we boarded the ship, intending to reach Pernau by sea. But after being tossed about uselessly for three or four hours by raging waves and battered by fierce winds, we were forced to return to the harbor we had left and spend the night near a fortress called Werder, which had been destroyed years earlier.
The next day, June 5th, accompanied by 40 horsemen and several musketeers, we traveled five miles by cart and horse to a village between Pernau and Werder. On the 6th [of June], we reached Pernau, covering another five miles. We hoped to find a suitable host who would care for us to some extent and provide shelter so we could recover and regain strength lost during sleepless nights. But our hopes were dashed. Upon arrival, two bailiffs (who were to be our escorts and provide necessities) met us and forbade us from entering the city, stationing a large number of archers at the gates to block our entry. We were directed to houses in the suburb. But as soon as I met the host, a fire broke out in my room, and it burned down quickly, so I barely escaped. Some clothing, a sword, a spear, and other items were lost, and had our other belongings not remained on the ships, they would have been destroyed as well. Seeing this, we began to consider where we could stay safely. After much deliberation, we decided to remain on the ships until horses arrived to carry us further, but this, too, was forbidden. Moreover, archers stationed along the shore prevented us from doing as we wished. Thus, we were forced to camp in a field near the city and stayed there until the third day.
There, we learned that the reports about the Swedes were true. In those days, they were in the suburb of Pernau with a small detachment. The Russians made a sortie from the city against them, and a minor skirmish ensued, with significant losses for the Russians: the Swedes killed 80 of them.
On the 9th [of June], we set out, escorted by 100 archers and 20 horsemen. After traveling one mile, we spent the night, as was customary, in the open field.
The next day, June 10th, we covered seven miles and rested in the shade of trees.
On the 11th [of June], we arrived at Fellin, a city seven miles from the previous location. On the way, Russians met us with 100 musketeers and a few horsemen. As we were not allowed to enter the city, we spent eight days in a field outside the walls, unable to find horses or carts, though we were repeatedly deceived with promises of imminent departure that proved false.
Here, I believe it cannot be overlooked that many Livonian women brought their children to our pastor, seeking to have them cleansed with the water of holy baptism, which was done. During our stay, our pastor baptized over 55 children, some of whom were over two years old. Had we not been there by chance, they would have been deprived of the holy sacrament of baptism.
Seeing the plight of these people, let us learn to thank Almighty God for His mercy toward us, for preserving His word pure and unchanged in our kingdoms, adorning our church with the sacraments of baptism and communion, which the unfortunate Livonians lack due to sins committed long ago. Therefore, with all our hearts, we must strive to ensure that the Holy Spirit remains with us, enlightening our hearts, so that God’s word, granted to us pagans by His mercy without cost, is not neglected, and so that we do not lose it through our wicked lives and evil ways. On June 18th, we left Fellin and, after traveling four miles, stopped at a pasture. There, Russians met us with 200 archers and 100 horsemen. Fearing enemy detachments nearby, an additional 1,000 horsemen—all Tatars—and 100 musketeers joined us along the way to protect us from attack if necessary. Nearby are the fortresses of Helmodt, Rüge, and Karkis, still under the Grand Duke’s control.
At dawn the next day, around two o’clock, we set out and headed straight for Dorpat. Crossing the Halstevere strait and traveling six miles that day, we stopped by a river. From there, we set out at dawn on the 20th [of June] and, covering seven miles, arrived in Dorpat. The city is surrounded by a fortified wall and built with stone houses, reportedly in the same style as Lübeck, though recently nearly all the houses were destroyed and devastated.
As we were not permitted to enter, we camped in a village half a mile away, sleeping under the cover of tree canopies, as there were no suitable accommodations at the inns. Since Swedish forces had captured and ravaged the entire region between Fellin and Dorpat around that time, the Russians, for this reason, did not lead us by the direct route but took us several miles off-road—over bridges, hills, forests, and swamps—with great danger and damage to our horses and belongings.
After arriving in Dorpat, we learned the details of a battle between Swedish cavalry and Russians that had occurred a few days earlier while we were in Pernau. It happened as follows: the Swedes secretly left the fortress of Oberpolen (recently taken by the Swedish king) at night and approached Dorpat to seize plunder. Upon arriving, they set fire to the large and wealthy suburb. The Russians in the city, seeing this, attacked them. Outnumbered, the Swedes fled, and the Russians pursued, capturing 40 Swedes. After this victory, the Russians attempted to advance further with their forces, gathering up to 4,000 men and marching on Oberpolen. Arriving there, they believed everything was going according to plan and nothing prevented them from achieving their goal. But hear what unexpectedly happened. The Swedes, informed of their approach, employed a military ruse. They abandoned their equipment and the goods taken from Dorpat in front of the city gates, enticing the enemy to reclaim what they had lost and pretending they could not bring the goods into the fortress due to the enemy’s sudden advance. Meanwhile, they hid in a nearby grove, concealed by foliage and dense undergrowth, where they could easily remain unseen. The Russians, unaware of this, eagerly seized the abandoned goods and equipment, breaking open chests and celebrating a triumph before securing victory. Seeing this, the Swedes sprang from the forest, attacked the preoccupied Russians, wounded and killed them, and slaughtered them with hostile hands. Of the 4,000, only three escaped, according to those who told us—if their account is to be believed—for they were Muscovites.
From there, on June 22nd, we set out for Pskov, a city 25 miles from Dorpat. We spent the first and second nights under trees, covering six miles.
On the 23rd [of June], at dawn, we continued, traveling seven miles, and the next day—the Feast of St. John the Baptist—arrived in Pskov, covering seven miles from the previous location. That day, many Tatars crossed our path. They are an unsightly people, moving in groups toward Livonia against the Swedes and Poles. All were mounted, lightly armed, and carried no military equipment except bows. The Russians said their number exceeded 5,000 and claimed 20,000 more would follow. They endure great hardships, easily tolerating hunger and thirst. They carry all necessary provisions with them, needing no wagons, and eat horse meat, portions of which are tied to their saddles. Moreover, they are pagans, living for pleasure and taking as many wives as they desire. When I spoke to one through an interpreter, he admitted to having 10 wives—German, Russian, and Tatar.
That day, we passed Lake Peipus, which stretches 20 miles in length and width, fed by 72 streams but drained by only one, flowing toward Narva.
We also reached the site where, 40 years ago, a battle occurred between Russians and Livonians, in which the latter prevailed, killing 4,000 enemies. A chapel was erected there to commemorate the victory.
We visited a monastery called Ibdokt and saw their icons, but though the door was opened, we were not allowed to enter the sanctuary, as they deemed us unworthy of entering the holy of holies.
It was said that another large and wealthy monastery, with 300 monks, lies nearby, its church located underground and invisible. By custom, they constantly pray and fast, and the Grand Duke has granted them liberties and many villages. They are so exempt from duties that their peasants are free from military service and taxes. Thus, they continually pray for the Grand Duke’s victory, especially in Livonia, and are regarded as an oracle. Though we wished to see this monastery, lack of time prevented us.
Upon arriving in Pskov, we were assigned a house in the suburb (as entering the city was not our choice), where we were to remain until the prince informed us how to proceed. Both we and our servants were immediately forbidden from leaving.
Even when we lacked drink, we were not allowed to buy anything from nearby merchants. We learned that one man was harshly punished for selling a modius of milk to our servants. However, we were shown some respect: the bailiffs accompanying us procured necessities, though with great difficulty, promising much but delivering little.
What more can be said? These people are so deceitful and far from the path of truth that they cannot be trusted. They break their word, consider it no shame to lie, deceive, or steal. Daily, they stole from the food, beer, and mead delivered to us, often taking nearly half, caring little that we noticed and accused them of theft. Moreover, they frequently withheld horses and carts meant for our belongings, returning them to the boyars for a fee, which inconvenienced us, as our servants often had to walk. I became convinced that no group of people is more devoid of shame and fear than those we encountered. This is what I wished to say about their character; now let us turn to other matters.
The city of Pskov lies on a plain, surrounded by walls, towers, and moats. From there, one can sail along the Narva River, which flows through the city and empties into Lake Peipus. There is an abundance of wax, flax, and hemp, and the market seems designed for these goods. Finally, this wealthy city is adorned with 300 churches and 150 monasteries, according to those who claim to know their exact number. Almost all are built of stone, gleaming and lending the city great splendor, with towers covered in iron and painted lead-gray.
Though we expected to stay for half a month, on the evening of June 28th, the bailiffs informed us that they had received a letter that day ordering us to proceed to Novgorod, 35 miles from Pskov. Thus, on the 30th [of June], we set out, spending the night in a field after covering seven miles. The next day, we traveled five miles, the third day seven, and the fourth six. On that day, we reached Lake Ilmen, 10 miles long and eight miles wide, and crossed it by ship to Novgorod.
Near a settlement called Novaya Russa, there are saltworks that would seem a wondrous creation of Almighty God. The river there, like others, has fresh water, but nearby is a salty lake from which strong salt is extracted, so the Russians lack no salt. There are also several saltworks near Novgorod and elsewhere. This struck me as truly remarkable, especially since I had often heard from my compatriots that the Russians suffered a salt shortage after obstacles were placed on their sea routes and access to Narva was blocked. But I learned otherwise.
Upon arriving in Novgorod, we were led to chambers once occupied by the murdered brother of the Muscovite. These, like the entire city and other houses across Russia, are built of wood. We were immediately forbidden from stepping foot in any other house, which was hard to bear, as we could not procure necessities. Nevertheless, excluding three nights spent in Pskov’s suburb, this was the first city to shelter us since leaving Ösel, our king’s domain, 112 miles away.
Here, we learned that the Tatar khan, called the Crimean, was at Moscow’s gates with many thousands of Tatars, intending to invade Russia by force. Thus, the Grand Duke deemed it unwise to remain in Moscow and chose to take refuge in the Sloboda fortress, where he could be safe from their incursion. He recalled the damage inflicted eight years ago when the khan burned nearly all of Moscow, destroying 40,000 houses and killing or burning 200,000 Russians.
Here, I nearly forgot to mention the merits of this city, which justly deserve note, especially since it was once the most significant city in the region. Eighty years ago, it did not recognize the Moscow prince as its lord but lived by its own laws. Its domains stretched far, bordering Norway on one side and Livonia on the other, spanning 300 miles in length and 200 in width. Its power was so great that it could easily defend itself against enemies and neighboring states. Hence the saying: “Who can do anything against God and Great Novgorod?” This power persisted until hatred and strife arose among its rulers, leading them to entrust their dispute to the Muscovite, who later sided with the weaker party, subdued the other, seized the city, and made himself its lord.
As for its construction, it is built splendidly in the Russian style, adorned with countless churches and monasteries. It lies in a beautiful, flat location, abounding in wheat, green meadows, fisheries, lakes, rivers, and all blessings.
I must also recount the destruction of cities, villages, and hamlets between Pernau and Novgorod and its cause.
About nine years ago, if I am not mistaken, the Grand Duke grew suspicious of his half-brother, believing he plotted to harm him. Whether this was true, God knows. He summoned him and offered him poison. After drinking it, he fell ill and died. Then the Grand Duke selected 300 oprichniki, granting them power over life, death, property, houses, and household goods. They scoured the region between Moscow and Pskov, leveling countless houses, killing men, women, and children at their discretion, robbing merchants, destroying fishponds, burning fish, and causing such ruin that it is dreadful to speak of, let alone witness. Thus, had the bailiffs not supplied us with necessities from elsewhere, we would have perished from hunger and deprivation. The people fell into such want that, except in a few places, we could not buy even a single egg.
At the same time, the tsar summoned many people to Novgorod, as if to discuss urgent matters. When they arrived, he ordered them herded onto a bridge near the city—one we saw daily. There, he had them thrown into the river below. Many thousands, whom he suspected of siding with his brother (previously eliminated by poison), were killed or drowned. Most astonishingly, so many perished that the river was clogged with corpses beyond human expectation, unable to flow in its usual channel, and it flooded green meadows and fertile fields. Though this seems improbable and far-fetched, it is true, as I learned in Russia from trustworthy people still living in Novgorod under the Muscovite’s rule. Otherwise, I would not have written it.
While we remained there, our bailiffs harassed us daily with great hostility, which should not be omitted but mentioned, so that educated people understand the cruelty with which these barbarians treat Germans under their power. After 14 days of detention in Novgorod, the bailiffs came and announced that a messenger had arrived from Moscow that day. By the Grand Duke’s order, he declared that we and our servants were free to go wherever we wished and conduct trade if needed, which brought us joy, as we longed to move and stretch our bodies, confined until then. The next day, through our interpreter, we requested boats to cross the river flowing through the city and permission to hunt birds with snares, if possible. This was immediately denied.
Not only in this instance did they show themselves to be unkind people; the next day, when we sought to restore our strength by walking in the nearby flat countryside, they immediately followed us, reproached us, and forbade us from doing so again, saying that the tsar had permitted us to buy what we needed, but only our servants were allowed to leave the house, not us. We responded: “We were sent by His Most Serene Royal Majesty to the Grand Duke of Moscow to carry out the task entrusted to us, at the request of the Grand Duke, who repeatedly asked in his letters for envoys to be sent to him. We did not come to engage in trade. Therefore, it seems strange to us that what is permitted to our servants is forbidden to us. We are not accustomed to constantly sitting indoors but are more used to engaging in activities beneficial to our health. We desire nothing more than to visit the Muscovite, but if that is not possible, we believe it cannot be forbidden for us to occasionally leave the house, nor do we consider ourselves prisoners. However, if matters proceed contrary to all expectations and the sworn oath (for we were protected by the reliable immunity of envoys), we would like to be informed.” We added that the tsar’s envoy, who recently visited our king, was not held under guard as we are here, nor was he harmed in the slightest. On the contrary, he was warmly received, transported in a carriage wherever he wished, invited to feasts, and kindly entertained. It is astonishing that the Russians make no effort to reciprocate this gracious treatment.
To this, they replied (paying no heed to what we said) that we are now in their land and must obey their orders and behave as they prescribe, for every country has its customs that all must follow. They had no doubt that we clearly understood that every stream must follow the flow of the waters.
Hearing this and similar remarks, we were filled with such disgust at their behavior that it is impossible to express, let alone write. Moreover, seeing that they detained us for so long (treating us like prisoners), we hoped they would allow us to send a messenger to the emperor to request an audience with His Majesty. They refused, claiming that he was well aware of our arrival and could, at his discretion, detain or release us, asserting that everything was in the hands of God and the tsar. Receiving this response, we ceased to trouble them and began to lead a secluded life mixed with sorrow. While we were there, no one visited us except two decrepit boyars, who initially acted with great importance. However, being uneducated, their behavior must be noted so that educated people may understand the extent of their barbarism and how crude and unrefined these apprentices and asses are.
On the evening of July 19th, they appeared before our meal and approached our table. After eating heartily and drinking much mead, as is their custom, cheese was served. Upon seeing and tasting it, they asked for it, which we allowed. They immediately handed it to their servants to keep. Then dessert was served—sugar, pomegranates, dates, figs, spices, ginger, and the like, all brought from Denmark. They ate as much as they could and stuffed what remained in the bowls into their sashes. They ate soup in a revolting manner, licking it off their fingers, so that we were nearly sick, like urchins or beggars eating at the threshold. Though they had plenty of beer and mead to satisfy them, they were not content with such drinks and demanded our beverages—Rhenish wine or another kind. This was done, and they were served red Alicante wine. After tasting it, they drank to each other “with a kiss,” that is, raising their glasses and kissing.
Not only did they display this coarseness; we witnessed it daily in others. Every day, musicians came to us, performing comedies in their style. Often, during the performance, they bared their buttocks and shamelessly displayed private parts, kneeling and raising their rears upward, casting aside all shame and modesty. Women sometimes did the same. Once, while standing on the platform in front of our house with our numerous servants, we saw women in a neighboring house lift their clothes and display their private parts—both front and back—through the window. They extended bare legs—alternating left and right—along with their rears and other parts, unembarrassed by the presence of the bailiffs.
From this, one can see and clearly understand that these people have very crude and depraved manners. If they were compared to cultured people, the latter would laugh at them, as if they differed little, if at all, from fools.
One of the following days, our bailiff, named Fyodor, an elderly and dignified man, came to us, and I engaged him in a conversation about their faith. When the discussion turned to sinning against the Holy Spirit, he said that anyone could be saved, even if they added sin upon sin daily, as long as they eventually intended to reflect on their actions and repent.
Defending the opposite view, I said: “It is true that any sinner, even one stained by many and great sins, can be saved if they repent and seek God’s mercy with faith. But if, against reason and soul, they shamelessly sin against His mercy daily, hoping to reform their life someday, they surely sin against the Holy Spirit, and this sin will not be forgiven in this life or the next.”
Hearing this, he responded admirably, saying all sins are forgiven and offering an example: “Mary Magdalene was a most wicked harlot who repeatedly indulged in debauchery, thus committing grave sins. Yet, because she once yielded to a man she met on the road who urged her to commit adultery for the sake of God, and he obtained what he desired, she was saved and marked in red among the saints—all because she did not refuse but permitted it for God’s name.”
Though this is utterly absurd and reeks of fables and nonsense, I deemed it necessary to recount, as it was cited to prove a tenet of his faith. Let our people know how shrouded their minds are in darkness and how far Holy Scripture is from those who, instead of the Gospel, recall delusions and fables, considering them revelations. It seems to me that the prophet’s saying applies to them: “Because they do not believe the truth, God gave them a lively mind to believe lies.” Since God’s word is not their light, they inevitably dwell in darkness. Their pitiable state should justly teach us to be more cautious, to cherish God’s word with the utmost reverence and gratitude, and to ensure it does not abandon us due to our neglect and disrespect.
I will not discuss other flaws and errors they shared with us on other days during our stay in Novgorod. But having observed some of their rituals, I think it fitting to describe them.
On August 1st, after sunrise, as we sought to alleviate the misery of our situation with a walk, we noticed a large crowd gathered by the river near the city. Nearly all the townspeople were there—men and women, some carrying infants, others leading children by the hand, along with a great number of monks and nuns. After they assembled, the archbishop approached with a cross in hand, accompanied by priests and others of the same kind. Ascending a bridge over the river, built specifically for this purpose, he delivered a speech, blessed the river, and sanctified the water in a ritual resembling the Catholic one. Then, a great many men stripped naked in full view, without covering their private parts, and plunged into the river, heedless of the women and maidens watching. The women also poured this water over their children and washed their idols with this holy water, marking the day as a holiday.
I am unsure whether to recount how they enlist saints’ aid in brewing beer and the actions accompanying it. After pouring water into a barrel, they submerge an image of a saint (kept at hand for this purpose) tied to a long stick and quickly withdraw it. They do the same when adding malt and hops. Then they raise the stick, kneel, bow their heads, make the sign of the cross on their foreheads, and worship the image. They are so steeped in such superstitions and prejudices that they believe their labor will be in vain without these rituals. Mentioning these rituals, I also find it necessary to add something about the Russian religion and what I learned from conversing with them, their discussions, gestures, and other means.
Their religion is almost Catholic. They venerate icons and observe four annual fasts: the first, for six weeks from the Sunday after Trinity until the Feast of Peter and Paul; then 14 days until the Assumption of the Virgin Mary; then six weeks before Christmas; and finally, seven weeks before Easter. During these times, they eat neither meat nor butter, only fish, vinegar, garlic, root vegetables, and the like.
They have the sacraments of baptism and communion, receiving the latter under both kinds, using only red wine, not other beverages.
They attend church daily, and even if the doors are closed, they make the sign of the cross, kneel, and bow their heads to the ground before them.
They have no oaths or curses and do not use God’s name to swear or the devil’s name when cursing. Instead, they swear and insult with phrases like “go to your mother,” “dog,” “son of a dog,” or “bastard,” saying: “Pudi matter,” “Sabach,” “Sugin sin,” “Pledin sin.”
Their priests are uneducated, knowing only Russian (for there are no learned people there). All are married, as unmarried men are not permitted to perform priestly duties. Most astonishingly, a widowed priest is immediately removed from his duties and forbidden from remarrying unless he lives as a private citizen. They dress in the Greek style, wear long hair, and do not shave their beards. They never deliver sermons but daily read from the Gospel and sing sacred hymns in their manner. They do not honor the Sabbath but, after hastily performing the service, engage in trade and business.
Their churches are adorned with numerous idols and icons. Upon seeing them, they immediately pray. They also have icons in their homes, each person owning their own, which they honor extraordinarily. They wear crosses around their necks, venerating them specially. I must not omit that I frequently discussed their religion and rituals with their priests and boyars. I argued that one should not pray to saints, proving it with Scripture, citing Exodus 20 and Deuteronomy 5: “Do not make idols, do not worship them, do not honor them.” Also, Isaiah 44, which sharply condemns idol-makers, Baruch 6, Psalm 115, and Paul’s Epistle to the Corinthians: “Flee from idolatry.”
I thought these citations would persuade them, but I wasted my time. They could offer no justification or arguments (speaking very reservedly about such significant matters) and only replied: “Our ancestors venerated saints’ images, and we will do the same.” They added that daily miracles prove the validity of icon veneration and that, like earthly rulers who have chancellors, senators, and secretaries whom subjects approach before the ruler, the greater their influence, the quicker one can achieve results.
I replied: “Things are different in heaven than on earth, and we have clear evidence that we must honor the One God in Trinity, and the Trinity in unity, not saints.” I also said there is no mediator between God and man except Jesus Christ, that we access the Father through the Son, not Peter, Paul, Nicholas, or others, and that the Lord forbids honoring images and invoking other gods in the first commandment, so we must avoid idolatry.
My arguments silenced them, leaving them without response. Realizing this, they angrily retorted: “Until now, those who spoke offensively about our cult’s objects were always imprisoned and punished with death. It is clear that Luther and all his followers are condemned, while those who unashamedly worship saints will be saved. In Russia, in Novgorod, for example, there are cases where, if their words are to be believed, the bodies of the dead, buried many years ago, remain untouched by decay. Their heads, necks, chests, shoulders, and arms rise again, visible to all, making it easy to conclude that these people are marked by great holiness and numbered among the saints.”
Hearing such things, I ended the dispute and, mindful of their threats, said no more about icons, placing a finger to my lips.
After staying in this place against our will for a month and five days, on August 4th, just as the sun rose between 3 and 4 a.m., the bailiffs came, knocked on my door, and demanded entry. I was greatly surprised, as they had never visited so early, and my body was still resting under the covers. As soon as the door was opened, they approached my bed, showing letters they had received, summoning us to Moscow at last. They demanded we prepare to depart as quickly as possible, reporting that they were ordered to take us from Novgorod to another place that same day, or face execution.
Hearing this, I said I had long been ready and desired nothing more than to leave, that nothing was more important than departure, and there would be no delay on my part. After conveying this, they left, promising to arrange horses and carts as soon as possible. However, due to a severe shortage of horses, we could not set out before 2 p.m., when we boarded ships with a small number of servants and headed to Bronnitsa, a city four nautical miles from Novgorod. The others traveled by land on carts and horseback, covering eight miles, and joined us that night in the aforementioned place.
The next day, setting out very early, we reached Zaitsevo, covering seven miles, then eight miles in a day to Kresttsy, and from there to Yazhelbitsy, eight miles away.
These journeys, like those that followed, were made with great difficulty, as our horses, meant to pull carts, were overloaded, and the drivers, abandoning them, fled. Our servants were forced to take their place for 67 miles, as in every village where we stayed, the men fled with their horses and belongings, leaving us to reach Torzhok on the horses we had from Novgorod.
As a result, some horses suffocated and died from the intense heat and heavy loads, and our servants were so exhausted they could barely move their legs. Not only the length and hardship of the journey, which they traveled on foot, drained their strength, but hunger and thirst did so as well. From Novgorod to Vyshny Volochyok, a distance of 53 miles, they were given not a drop of beer, mead, or any other drink, and the poor souls had to drink water with great disgust, their thirst rarely quenched with milk mixed with water. Though these exhausted people and horses could not endure such great hardships, the bailiffs forbade resting during the day, constantly ordering us to move forward, citing the tsar’s command that we reach Moscow by August 19th. This could not be disobeyed, so neither people, horses, equipment, nor our other belongings were spared.
As we were continually disappointed in our hopes for better treatment and lived under the same conditions everywhere, we seized a legitimate opportunity to complain to the bailiffs and demand horses, carts, and food. Inviting them, we addressed them thus: “We have no doubt you recall how recently in Novgorod you announced that you received letters from your tsar ordering you to take us directly to Moscow, demanding we prepare to leave as soon as possible, and this departure occurred that same day. For several days now, we and our servants have endured the gravest hardships, hoping daily for improvement. Until now, we refrained from complaining to avoid seeming impatient, but as our sufferings grow and become heavier each day, food grows scarce, and people and animals weaken, we cannot withhold our heartfelt feelings. We say:
“We were sent by the Danish King Frederick II to the Grand Duke of Moscow with other nobles and servants to fulfill our assigned tasks, expecting to be provided with necessities for sustenance. Instead, we have faced hunger, thirst, a lack of horses and drivers, and other inconveniences beyond all expectations, which seems very strange—especially since, during our nearly five-week detention in Novgorod, you had ample time to prepare everything needed for our journey. We and our servants are not accustomed to quenching days-long thirst with water daily. Moreover, we did not bring our servants to act as drivers or walk on foot but to serve us and bear witness to the dignity of the king, kingdom, and us, not to our shame. We have enough money that, if we could buy necessities, neither our servants would lack anything, nor would we need to ask the Russians for anything free. Since this is the case, and they do not consider us Jews or Turks, we wish, in response to our most courteous request, that they treat us as Christians should treat Christians (a title they claim), lest they offend God’s name, bring dishonor to their Grand Duke, and insult our king.”
Hearing this, they replied that they were fully aware of our servants’ severe and varied sufferings but could not change this. They would try, if possible, to find more—and fresher—horses elsewhere. With these words, they departed.
You may ask how we proceeded. The next morning, we attempted to continue on the same horses, as we could not obtain others, and with great difficulty covered eight miles to reach the city of Yedrovo. Upon arriving, those responsible for providing horses had fled to the forests, leaving the city. The few who remained were severely beaten by the bailiffs with sticks and whips until they promised to procure horses. Even the servant of God’s word was not spared, beaten and berated until he provided a horse.
Beyond this, they managed to extract only six horses from the entire city’s residents by force. The next day, August 10th, these were led back to the fields at night, so on the same wretched animals that had carried us from Novgorod, we traveled another nine miles to the city of Kolomna. From there, on August 11th, we covered five miles and reached Vyshny Volochyok, with great harm to these animals, as many fell and died on the way.
Along this entire route, nearly all villages were destroyed and razed by the Muscovite in the same manner as those on the other side of Novgorod, as he believed their inhabitants sided with his murdered brother and plotted his assassination. The aforementioned city is washed by a river navigable to Tver, 26 miles away. It is also said that near the city is a spring feeding a stream that flows to Novgorod, suitable for navigation.
On the 12th [of August], we broke camp and arrived that evening in Vydropusk, covering seven miles. Up to this point extend the domains of Novgorod, and from here begins the Moscow Principality. Its land is very different from what we had passed—flat, fertile, cultivated, and abounding in produce everywhere.
From there, on horses and carts, on August 13th, we reached Torzhok, seven miles from the previous place. This city lies in a flat and beautiful location by the Tvertsa River, built with wooden houses in the Russian style. Here, our servants, for the first time, somewhat filled their hungry stomachs with mead, as they had long endured hunger and suffering, as mentioned earlier.
From there, on August 14th, we set out and arrived in Tver, a distance of 12 miles. Once a wealthy trading center, this city is now utterly desolate and reduced to extreme poverty because it was the stronghold of the murdered prince, the Grand Duke’s brother. It was once surrounded by moats, ramparts, and walls, but now it is so ruined that no trace of the wall remains. From here, one can sail to Kazan and Astrakhan, then along the Volga River to the Caspian Sea, heading east.
It is impossible to describe the hardships we faced upon arriving here. That day, we traveled 12 miles, moving from Lucifer to Hesperus. During the journey, the bailiffs assured us that provisions were prepared, but they lied (as they often did in other cases), for nothing was arranged. Moreover, starving, we were given nearly empty, roofless accommodations, and until the next day, we were forced to rest our hungry and exhausted bodies in them. This was not surprising, as we encountered no hospitality anywhere in Russia. In every place we passed, there were empty houses abandoned by people and livestock, so it is hard to believe any state not attacked by enemies could be in greater desolation than this realm.
We learned from experience that the rumors spread about the Muscovite are far from the truth. He rules his subjects with such cruelty and tyranny, reducing them to such submission that they dare not resist his orders in the slightest, showing complete readiness to obey any command. Yet, they are stubborn, disobedient, and prone to all vices, for our bailiffs could not obtain horses, carts, or drivers from city residents without beatings. With whips, sticks, and clubs, they beat them to the ground until they promised to provide what was needed. However, the residents showed compliance only until they could escape. On the road, whenever possible, they either stole back the horses they had provided or fled themselves. From this, one can infer the torments and difficulties we endured on this long journey, often lacking food, drink, shelter, horses, carts, drivers, and more, not to mention the treatment we received, which is impossible to forget or erase from memory.
On the 15th [of August], leaving Tver, we reached Gorodno, six miles away, and the next day to Klin, covering 10 miles. From there, on the 17th, we arrived in Dmitrov, eight miles away. This city has a fortress surrounded by a wall made of logs, mud, and straw. From here, we set out very early and spent the night in Troitsa, six miles from the previous city. Here, one can see a fairly large monastery surrounded by towers, fortifications, and a stone wall, the chief monastery of all Russia, reportedly home to 300 monks. It has many beautiful lakes, dense forests, and is ideal for fishing and hunting. As the tsar’s fortress of Sloboda (where he often stays due to its scenic location) is nearby, he frequently visits to offer prayers to his God. We were informed that he would be there that evening and that we were invited, with horses already sent to take us to Sloboda. Thus, early in the morning, we set out on a six-mile journey and, around 1 p.m., arrived in the city on August 19th.
On the way, the Grand Duke’s boyars met us with 100 horses as follows: as the fortress came into view, we saw riders from afar. Approaching closer, we realized they were sent to meet us. Riding straight to us, they approached my cart and said they were sent by the Grand Duke of Moscow and Tsar of All Russia to greet us and direct us to our assigned lodging.
The speaker, named Boler, was blind in his right eye. As he did not dismount or show me any respect, I showed him none either, remaining in my cart and listening to his words. Realizing I had no intention of leaving the cart, he ordered me to do so, which I did. He then dismounted and repeated his earlier words. Though I wished to respond as best I could, thank the tsar for the roadside reception, and say what was fitting for such occasions, I was given no chance to speak. He ordered me back into the cart, which I did, and under their guidance, we hastened to the city and arrived at the designated house.
(The city is 100 miles from Novgorod, though the priest’s report states 110 miles.)
That evening, between 9 and 10 p.m., as we rested, Boler returned and, among other things, asked whether we came with good intentions and honest purpose, urging me to reveal this. I replied:
“We were sent by His Royal Majesty to the Grand Duke as a friend, tasked only with matters aimed at the peace of both realms. If matters were otherwise and our king had different intentions toward the tsar, his orders could have been carried out by men of lower rank.” Hearing this, he asked me to disclose our mission, but I said: “We hope to appear before the tsar soon, and if that happens, we will present our entire case to him.” Hearing this, he left and returned the next day, August 20th, announcing the tsar’s order to appear before him the following day. He added that he saw our sincerity and goodwill and could not refrain from advising us on how to gain the tsar’s favor. He suggested we present our mission with the utmost respect, carefully choosing our words to avoid angering the tsar, excluding irrelevant matters, diligently listing all His Majesty’s titles before those of our king, and mentioning everything that glorifies him.
During this conversation, a Russian translator named Yakov, an Austrian by origin, added regarding the titles: “The good lord’s reminder to state the tsar’s titles before your king’s has reasons worth mentioning. The main one is to avoid dishonor through your neglect. I recall that years ago, envoys who visited the tsar were shamefully dismissed immediately after arriving because they delayed the tsar’s titles, stating their rulers’ first.” He got only this far.
Taking this advice as a battle signal, I immediately replied: “We have been sent to kings and princes before and carried out royal orders in a way that was approved. We hope to conduct this matter so that neither the tsar nor our king is dishonored, and we will greet him in the German custom. If, however, he wishes to advise us on how to gain the tsar’s favor and mercy without depriving our king of due honor, we will accept it with the utmost goodwill as from a friend and consider it a kindness.
As for presenting the matter, we have our king’s instructions on how to proceed and neither have the right nor wish to add anything of our own.”
He then asked whether we were tasked with mentioning the fortresses taken from the king in Livonia and, if so, considered it pointless to raise this.
I told him: “We are instructed to present our matters before the emperor and senate, not others. Thus, I find it tactless to trouble us with these questions.”
He then asked whether His Royal Majesty sent gifts for the tsar and whether each of us intended to present something.
I said the king sent gilded goblets for the tsar and his eldest son. He replied that gifts must also be given to the younger son. We promised to follow his advice. Hearing this, he ordered a list of the gifts to be made and handed over to him. Taking them, he left and returned that evening, announcing that the tsar ordered us to appear before him the next day, August 21st, the most welcome news for us.
The next day, around 9 a.m., he came and urged us to prepare to depart. Without delay, we mounted horses and headed straight to the fortress.
There, on both sides of the road, stood a long line of 2,000 archers in full gear, leaving a gap through which we proceeded. Moving further, we reached the fortress, truly vast and royally built of stone, surrounded by walls and moats, containing three remarkable churches.
There, we saw a crowded gathering place of boyars dressed in red and multicolored garments. Passing them, we entered the palace, filled with other boyars, richly attired, each seated in their place. We greeted them and, as we approached the throne room, a translator named Kaspar met us at the entrance. He reminded us not to mention the king’s titles before the tsar’s and to honor the tsar’s son with a respectful title. When we were admitted, we saw the tsar and his eldest son, both seated—the father on a throne raised one cubit above the floor, the son slightly lower to his right.
The tsar was clad in a golden silk tunic adorned with precious stones, a gold necklace with various gems around his neck, and a cap decorated with stones and jewels, topped with a golden crown. Rings with large pearls adorned every finger, and he held a gilded scepter in his hand. The son wore a red silk tunic studded with precious stones and a fur-lined headdress.
Beside them stood four youths holding small axes, dressed in white linen garments.
A large number of boyars were also present, seated throughout, all in expensive clothing.
As soon as we came into the tsar’s view, he extended his hand, and a herald, addressing me loudly, said: “Jakob, Ivan Vasilyevich grants you the honor of shaking his hand; approach and extend your hand to him.” I did so, with due respect, as did I with his son. He then called Gregers, Arnold, and all others of noble rank in the same manner. Afterward, he asked me about the health of our king. I replied that when I left, he was in perfect health and, I hoped, still was.
I then began my speech, conveying greetings from the king. The tsar graciously heard the greeting and his titles but interrupted, not allowing us to address the main matter, ordering us to present the rest to the boyars. As we were given no chance to speak, we had to leave unspoken what we were tasked to convey on the king’s behalf. He then ordered us to sit, and as soon as we did, the herald proclaimed: “The tsar invites you to a feast today; rise and give thanks to His Majesty,” which we did. He then ordered the gifts brought in, which were taken and removed by servants as soon as they were presented.
We were then led to another room, where we remained until the arrival of the councilors Bogdan Yakovlevich Belsky, Vasily Grigoryevich Zyuzin, Dementiy Ivanovich Cheremisinov, clerk Andrey Yakovlevich Shchelkalov, and clerk Andrey Vasilyevich Sherefetdinov, sent by the tsar to negotiate with us. We conversed with them until mealtime.
We were then returned to the previous place. The tsar sat above his son, having changed from his previous ornate clothing into a dark linen garment, with a red cloth cap adorned with stones. His son, also having changed, wore white, and all the boyars were dressed in more modest attire, the purple, costly garments belonging to the tsar, purchased to display his importance and splendor, having been removed. Many boyars were invited to the feast but sat at other tables, while we were near the tsar on his left.
Before the meal was served, the prince drank spiced wine. Servants then brought dishes, presenting all plates to him in order. He distributed them among the boyars: the first dish he sent to his chief commander, Prince Ivan Fyodorovich Mstislavsky, who received it as a great honor—at this, all boyars stood—the second to his brother-in-law Nikita Romanovich, who accepted it with equal respect, the third to me, and the rest to Gregers, Arnold, and our other nobles. Some dishes were also given to his boyars.
As the number of dishes was endless, so were the standings, for we had to rise each time a dish was served—65 in total. Some boyars closely watched us, demanding we honor their tsar. Later, the prince sent me a goblet filled with mead, then another with a different kind, and then ordered a golden cup filled with malmsey. After sipping it, he sent it to me. I tasted it and passed it to Gregers, he to Arnold, then to Poul Verniken, then Juhan Vesterman, and so on, so all could enjoy his generosity, considered a sign of favor, as he did not taste from other cups.
He then spoke to me through the translator, saying he knew we had traveled a long way by land and sea, endured great hardships, and that anything necessary for sustenance would be provided. He added that our detention in Novgorod for weeks had reasons, as he was occupied with other matters, making an earlier departure impossible. This was all he said to me and others during the meal.
The tables were so crowded with silver goblets and dishes that no space remained, with dishes stacked on dishes and cups on cups. Many different foods and types of mead were served simultaneously. The tsar and his son used knives half a cubit long but wooden cups and spoons. Their nauseating and uncouth eating manners are known to all who attended the feast. Never in my life have I seen anyone of such high rank and position eat more slovenly than this mighty ruler. At the meal’s end, the translator ordered us to rise, and the tsar called us to him, giving each a silver goblet filled with red mead. We took them from his hand in order of rank, drained them, and departed to our assigned lodgings.
On August 23rd, after an idle day, we were again invited to the palace, instructed to bring no more than 20 servants. In the same order and pomp as before, we proceeded. The same archers and boyars were there, with the tsar and his son in their usual places. As we entered the palace doors, the translator told us to sit on benches provided, but as soon as we sat, he ordered us to rise and go to the negotiation room. The councilors who had previously begun talks with us again asked about the purpose of our embassy, continuing from 9 a.m. to 1 p.m., if memory serves. When finished, we returned home.
The next day, St. Bartholomew’s Day, visiting the tsar, we found him in his usual place, dressed in a green silk tunic, his son in red. After seeing them, we withdrew and, after briefly sitting and rising, continued our business with great difficulty. It is impossible to express the danger of being among them and the effort required to conduct this matter.
You can judge these barbarians’ behavior from this: they consider everything they say unassailable, allow no objections during negotiations, follow no order, speak recklessly about everything at once, jumping from one topic to another as it strikes them, do not listen attentively, interrupt, and, as the Greek proverb says, act in their own interest, considering only their proposals. If something they dislike is proposed, they call it nonsense, irrelevant to the matter. They think highly only of themselves, deeming others nothing by comparison. Thus, it is rightly said: “Among the good, you will be good; among the bad, you will be bad.”
Their prince displayed such proud and haughty manners, constantly raising his eyebrows, puffing out his chest, and swelling his whole body, especially when hearing his titles. The saying fits here: “As the ruler, so the manners of his subjects.”
Moreover, they are cunning, deceitful, stubborn, willful, hostile, unkind, and vicious—to say nothing of shameless—prone to all abominations. They prefer violence over reason. Believe me, they have forsaken all virtues.
On August 27th, after everything was recorded, the one-eyed man invited us to the fortress. With horses provided, we arrived. Upon entering, all his boyars were present—some in carts, others on the stairs we ascended, shining in royal garments, projecting utmost importance. Passing them, we entered the throne room and respectfully greeted the Grand Duke, a custom now familiar after appearing “before his clear eyes” (to use their phrase) so many times.
Proceeding with the councilors to the usual room for our business, we negotiated from 9 a.m. to 1 p.m. We thought our matter concluded. We left Poul Verniken in the fortress to copy the documents in final form. After waiting long for his return, late at night, nearly midnight, a tsar’s messenger arrived and brazenly announced that the tsar had altered some articles’ wording, nullifying what we had finalized and recorded the previous day. He said that if we did not comply with the tsar’s wishes, our entire matter would fail. He urged us to immediately disclose our intentions. Hardly had he finished when another messenger arrived, demanding an immediate response.
It is impossible to express how stunned we were for various reasons and how doubtful we felt, especially since we were confident in our matter, having discussed and resolved everything with utmost care the previous day, and because we were given no time to reflect. With no other option, the safest course seemed to sign and ratify what would promote peace and tranquility.
I nearly forgot to mention that they conduct all business at night. While we were there, they did not sleep a single night, and the archers remained day and night in the same place as on that day, though only Poul Verniken, occupied with copying documents, stayed in the fortress.
The next day, August 28th, after the changes made the previous night were reread, recorded, sealed with our seals, and ratified, we returned to the tsar’s residence. Seated on his throne, the tsar addressed Gregers, Arnold, and me, saying he intended to confirm with a kiss on the cross what his boyars had discussed and decided with us. He immediately ordered the binding documents read aloud, which took an hour.
As we stood close to him and saw his highly ornate clothing, it seems fitting to describe how he was dressed, how he behaved, and the court’s customs.
He wore a red silk tunic with sewn-on precious stones and gems, a gold and gemstone necklace hanging from his neck, resembling those once worn by noble Danish ladies. On his head was a golden crown atop a cap with precious stones and gems. In his hand, he held a golden orb the size of a child’s head, encrusted with gems, roughly resembling that shape. Nearby was a gilded stand for placing the orb. After holding it long in his right hand and frequently raising it, he placed it there. He also put his cap in a golden cup prepared for this and sat bareheaded.
Meanwhile, during the reading of the documents, he engaged in entirely different matters, seeming present only in body, not soul: he called boyars, speaking and chuckling with one or another, passing the entire time thus.
Nearby stood Bogdan Ivanovich Belsky, to whom he spoke cheerfully and with utmost cordiality, showing him his costly rings (adorning every finger on both hands). Extending his arms, he touched golden scabbards hidden under his cloak, displaying them, and ran his hand over a gilded sword belt. In his right hand, he held a scepter encrusted with sparkling stones, and on his feet were boots adorned with gems. On either side stood four youths in white silk garments with gold chains, armed with small axes. His son, in his place, wore a red tunic and held a gilded wedge-shaped staff.
When the reading ended, the prince called two boyars holding a cup and ordered the documents brought. Taking them, he rose and, with a hand adorned with rings like a sultan, solemnly placed the king’s documents in the cup, his own atop them, and a stone or gem-encrusted gilded cross above. Bringing the cup to his face, he kissed the cross, declaring he would keep his promises faithfully.
Then, the New Testament in Russian was brought. We placed our fingers on it, kissed the Gospel of St. John, and, as instructed, swore on our king’s behalf that he, too, would faithfully uphold everything.
After this, he ordered us to sit, brought three cups of mead, and had each of us drink in turn. Taking them from his hand, we drained them. He extended his hand to bid us farewell, as did his son. Both entrusted us with wishing our king good health on their behalf.
With these words, we were dismissed, but first, we thanked him for his kindnesses and requested the release of Livonian captives from Ösel and Vik, to which he consented. Having completed this, we returned home, around noon, if I am not mistaken.
After dinner, a messenger from the one-eyed man (who often visited and was to care for us) announced that the tsar’s gifts were ready, and he wished to deliver them. He repeated this a second and third time, hinting that the one-eyed man wanted to show the tsar the gifts he expected to receive from us.
After his departure, the one-eyed man himself arrived with gifts of furs, carried by 43 men, all listed, each designated for specific recipients.
The gifts were truly valuable—worth several thousand thalers at a fair price. There were 27 forties of sable fur and 17 of marten. However, none were given to anyone except Gregers, Arnold, Poul Verniken, Juhan Vesterman, Jørgen Svava, and me—those who presented gifts to the tsar.
This, dear reader, is what you will learn from me about our final visit to the Muscovite, what occurred, and the ceremonies accompanying the treaty’s signing. For now, you cannot expect more. Before moving to other events, I will briefly describe how we and our servants were treated in Sloboda and the kindnesses shown us.
That evening, upon arriving, we were told the tsar learned we had trumpeters, used daily on the road, especially to signal mealtimes. He forbade this and prohibited any of us from leaving the courtyard onto the street, requiring everyone to stay within the house.
What else? When invited to court, our servants were not allowed to accompany us; the Russians assigned their own people to attend us, barring others’ entry.
As for food, we were treated poorly, given only beef, mutton, and poultry, never fish, despite abundant fishponds nearby. They provided no beer, only cheap, undrinkable mead for the servants, resembling water, often left untouched. Exhausted by thirst, they lacked even water, as leaving the house was forbidden. Cooking water, brought from elsewhere, was unclean, kept in dirty vessels, yet they often quenched their thirst with it.
I will omit that no one visited or spoke with us except the bailiffs and Boler, who served us. We would have perished from thirst had we not brought our own wine, intended to treat Russian boyars. As no one we deemed worthy appeared, we used the remaining wine ourselves.
Having fulfilled the first part of my plan—describing the journey to the Muscovite, covering 332 miles by sea and land—I now proceed to the second part, briefly recounting our return to Denmark.
On August 29th, after receiving the gifts, we were told to prepare to depart that day, without prior notice. As it was around 2 p.m., we left at 5 p.m., traveling six miles through a sleepless night to reach Troitsa Monastery. The next day, we arrived in Dmitrov. On the way, we saw St. Nicholas Monastery, finely built of stone like a fortress. On the third day, August 31st, we entered Klin and, leaving it, spent the night in Gorodno on September 1st.
As distances between places were detailed earlier, I will omit them here to avoid excess, focusing my pen on describing cities, villages, and noteworthy events of this journey.
Leaving Gorodno, we reached Tver. Along the way, we encountered Tatars returning from Livonia with many captives—some wounded—men, women, girls, and boys.
Women and girls taken captive are sold, divided among friends, or given as gifts, used at their captors’ discretion. When they tire of them, they release, expel, or abandon them to others’ abuse. O human woe and misery! Can anything be more horrific than falling under such tyrants, who treat Christians like brute, irrational animals?
What could be more pitiable for spouses bound by indissoluble marriage than to be separated? A husband is sent to Kazan or Astrakhan against Tatars, while a Russian abducts his wife, defiles her, and covers her with shame. One falls, exhausted by wounds; the other revels day and night with his wife, indulging in vice. Such people, I believe, will face no less misfortune than David, who violated Bathsheba and sent Uriah to his death.
These sins are committed not only by subjects and residents but even by the prince himself. He reportedly keeps 50 noble maidens from Livonia in his harem, traveling with them wherever he goes, using them in place of a wife, as he is unmarried.
Let us leave their punishment to the justest judge—God, who will repay in due time, for He has a punishing eye, as a Greek author says: ecei qeoV ekdikon omma (“God has a punishing eye”).
In Tver, we learned that the Tatar khan had long left Crimea and, unexpectedly for the Russians, appeared with a large army during the days we left the tsar. Using extraordinary military cunning, he seized Russian territories. How? A month earlier, he sent a bold, uncommitted man to negotiate a truce with the Muscovite. The tsar sent his clerk Vasily Shchelkalov to discuss it. Meanwhile, the Tatar khan armed himself, prepared for war, and, though his envoy remained in Russia, began hostilities, invading the tsar’s realm by force. The outcome and end of these military actions will surely become clear in time. Note: all that is hidden eventually comes to light.
On September 3rd, we reached Torzhok and stayed the next day, unable to obtain horses and carts. Our new bailiffs learned from those who took us to Sloboda to take money from city governors to keep their fresh horses, leaving us with the same ones that brought us. Though we urged them to correct their vices by others’ examples, lest they face the same suspicion (some bailiffs were imprisoned after our departure for thefts committed on the road, released only after whippings and a 700-thaler fine—ill-gotten gains perish ill), they ignored our admonitions, staining themselves with the same thievery. It can be said with certainty: since humans existed, none were more dishonest.
On September 5th, we passed Vydropusk, encountering crowds of Tatars with captives taken near Riga.
On September 6th, we spent in Vyshny Volochyok, boarding ships built for us during our stay in Sloboda, and headed to Novgorod, 100 miles away. As this waterway was not only dangerous but extremely arduous, I must describe the difficulties and dangers we faced. Listen.
We sailed safely, considering the numerous rocks, cliffs, and obstacles. Our ships struck rocks so often and forcefully that, had they not been new, they could not have withstood such collisions. We sailed with the current, which in places was so swift that the bow or stern frequently hit rock peaks, damaging the ships. Then we encountered shallows, more dangerous than others, strewn with stones and unfit for navigation. There, powerful water currents, over four miles, plunged from great heights into deep, stone-filled lakes, with waves of immense force smashing ships to pieces. To prevent this, we unloaded our cargo and traveled those four miles by horse and cart, allowing our lightened ships to pass. When we reboarded, they were partially damaged and broken.
Moreover, our bailiffs deliberately took us by water, meandering over 30 miles, so a road passable by cart in one day took two or three days by oar. They led us in a winding path, turning east, west, or south as the river’s branches diverged, making this waterway endlessly long as we sailed back and forth.
The houses where we stopped, never entered before sunset, were empty, dirty, dilapidated, stifling from stove heat (used in all homes), used with great disgust, not aiding recovery.
Why did we travel by water, not land? I venture three reasons: first, their severe shortage of provisions and horses prevented land transport to Novgorod; second, the tsar feared his army, returning from Livonia with captives, might encounter us; third, by taking a circuitous route, he delayed our journey so his envoys, bound for Denmark, could join us sooner.
Whatever the case, we endured these and other hardships, shuddering to recall them. We were so hated by our bailiffs that, seeing our displeasure, they eagerly contrived to cause it.
Almost daily, we rose at dawn to hasten this long, dangerous journey. They withheld rowers, preventing us from advancing beyond their whim. Though we often requested rowers and other sailing necessities, neither pleas nor threats availed, except what pleased them. Conversely, when only three or four miles remained, they woke us at one or two a.m., demanding we proceed. They disrupted our sleep with such clamor that we had to comply.
What else? If we reached a place where goods could be bought, they immediately forbade merchants from showing or offering anything. If they learned merchants mentioned trade to us, they whipped them, ensuring they fled from us like the plague. An example: on September 12th, at dusk, we reached the shores of Bely. Sending our translator, we bought two geese with our money to restore strength sapped by fatigue (on this route, we received only cows, sheep, and chickens, brought late at night, leaving our cooks barely time to slaughter and cook; before finishing, they were forced back onto ships, nearly exhausted). When the bailiffs learned of this, the poor souls who sold us the geese were cruelly whipped and beaten, as if they had insulted the tsar’s majesty, with such ferocity that no Christians would have beaten them more inhumanely.
That day, we met many ships pulled upstream by horses, laden with captives, including many noble women and maidens, their faces and gestures showing profound grief. Though deeply moved, we could offer no help.
On September 16th, late at night, we reached St. Nicholas Monastery, quite beautiful and in a lovely location but desolate: the tsar, enraged at the monks, killed them all and drowned them. We were forbidden from cooking within the monastery or allowing trumpeters to sound, as it was a holy place.
Finally, after wandering 11 days by water and land, facing many dangers and constantly meandering from Lucifer to Hesperus, we arrived in Novgorod by ship on September 17th. Upon arrival, we entered our former lodging, expecting to depart the next day or the day after, as our business was concluded in Sloboda. We were mistaken, detained until the 24th, kept so strictly that we were never allowed to stray a mile beyond their will.
Though we daily pressed them to set a departure date, as nothing was more urgent with winter approaching and the dangerous sea crossing ahead, we gained nothing until horses and carts arrived to take us to Pskov.
Could any people have more deceit and hatred than those who did everything to provoke our anger, sorrow, and distress? This would take too long to recount, especially as I hasten to other matters.
While detained, a large crowd of over 1,000 Livonian captives—old and young, men and women—was paraded through the city, beyond those we met on the road. Some were taken by Tatars to Muscovy, others sold in the city, displayed at the church entrance for all to see. Buyers and sellers gathered before our house, the former choosing and purchasing at low prices. These wretched people, filthy, naked, and ragged, evoked our deepest compassion.
On September 24th, after eight days of detention in Novgorod against our will, the boyars decided to release us. With horses and carts prepared, we set out at 2 p.m. and reached the ruined city of Lentovo by evening. On the 25th, we arrived in Novaya Russa, and on St. Michael’s Day, in Pskov, spending two nights in places unworthy of mention.
We stayed there until October 1st. As no fresh horses were provided to replace the exhausted ones from Novgorod, we were forced to travel to Dorpat on the same. The first night, we found shelter in Garelle, then reached Repensk, Garensk, and on October 4th, Dorpat.
Here, before continuing, we were delayed nearly a month due to the late arrival of the Grand Duke’s envoys, meant to travel to Denmark with us, appearing only on October 10th. Words cannot express how wretched this delay was, fraught with hardships and anguish. Reasons included: first, the impending sea journey, with real danger of ice making sailing impossible, as winter approached when ships typically head to harbors and stow sails; second, Polish, Swedish, and Muscovite armies camped near our route, making it difficult for Russians to escort us to Pernau, frequently changing plans between sea and land routes based on enemy camp reports; third, our location was unsafe, with daily threats of sudden enemy attacks, as such raids had occurred that summer, and unburied corpses of the slain, torn by dogs and pigs, could still be seen at the city gates.
Thus, the Livonians’ unspeakable miseries deserve pity, and the Russians’ cruelty, raging like roaring lions and savagely pursuing to capture and torment like mad dogs or pigs, deserves condemnation.
I know not what to say of their lives, except that they have no occupation but military service, enduring hardship, hunger, and thirst, living like irrational animals. They mostly quell hunger with bread and thirst with water, using the same “beer” as frogs. Rarely allowed home, they are constantly forced to fight, defending Russian borders against Tatars or Livonian ones against Poles and Swedes. Enough of this; let us turn to how we were received in Dorpat.
Approaching, we were firmly convinced the locals would show hospitality, but thanks to the bailiffs, our expectations were dashed. Forbidding us from staying in the city, they took us to a suburb recently burned by Swedes, to filthy, broken, ruined houses. If you saw them, you would call them stables or pens fit for dogs or pigs, not dwellings for us, impossible to clean of soot and dirt in three or four hours, lacking beds, tables, windows, benches, or any furnishings. We were not greatly surprised, especially since Isdan Ivanovich, who traveled with us from Denmark and was Dorpat’s governor, often assured us on the road that he would not forget the kindnesses shown him in Copenhagen. Though we did not dine that day, the bailiffs brought no provisions, and we went to bed, satisfied with a few fish secretly bought with our money. For our servants, Norwegian herring was purchased cheaper than in Copenhagen or elsewhere in Denmark—three for a Danish solid. I would not have believed it had I not seen it, as they were brought from far away.
On October 5th, the fortress governor, through his servants, sent us dessert: 15 apples (if I recall the number correctly), 20 pears, and two quadrants of mead. The next day, Isdan’s servant followed suit, also bringing mead and apples.
Additionally, a boyar who was to travel with us to Denmark visited us, declaring that he came to show his goodwill and kindness and to inquire whether we needed anything for sustenance, promising to arrange it. After accepting our thanks, he departed. When we sought to trouble him that same day about some necessities, he had fled to Pskov, 25 miles away, as noted earlier. This act clearly shows the discord between his heart and words: the former lacked any truth, while the latter indulged in empty talk.
I nearly forgot to recount how the bailiffs schemed against us and our messenger sent ahead to Ösel, along with their other intrigues. This must not be concealed but revealed, so all may know their hatred toward us and their treachery and deceit, which exceeded all bounds. Thus, I wish you, reader, to learn of this.
When we left Sloboda, the one-eyed Boldan spoke of our ships for crossing the sea, asking where we would board them. We told him they would remain near Arensburg fortress as long as possible, not departing until the skippers received word from us, unless forced by a severe storm or heavy icing. Hearing this, he suggested it would be wise to send someone ahead to inform the skippers we were en route to Ösel, allowing them to prepare necessities. After completing this task, the messenger would rejoin us in Dorpat or elsewhere. He added that the bailiffs would be instructed to provide a guide whenever we wished, ensuring the messenger’s task was completed swiftly and safely. We accepted this advice with gratitude, fully convinced it was sincere, but, as we later realized, we were deceived, as I will explain.
In Novgorod, recalling what was said in Sloboda, we discussed equipping a guide and horses for our messenger with the bailiffs, who expressed readiness to comply. Provided with horses and a guide, he left Novgorod on September 19th. But before his departure, the bailiffs, after discussing various matters, raised the issue of the ships, stating a tsar’s order that our ships dock at Pernau, and we, along with the tsar’s envoys, must go there. Greatly alarmed, we replied: “What you propose seems strange. In our view, we cannot be prevented from returning to our king’s domain—Ösel—where provisions for our sea journey are prepared, and where we must fulfill our royal orders. You are unaware of navigation rules, and large ships like ours cannot reach Pernau due to rocks and reefs. We cannot attempt the impossible.”
They received this as if a tale told to the deaf. To conclude this matter, after lengthy disputes, we were forced to summon our hired sailing ships and rowing galleys from Ösel to Pernau by letter, or we would not have been permitted to begin our land journey from Novgorod. But they did not stop at this deception, devising further schemes. Our messenger, strictly instructed to return to us as quickly as possible, was deliberately delayed for many days along the way to reach Ösel as late as possible. When he finally arrived, completed his tasks, and headed to Pernau, they hindered his progress, nearly detaining him until our arrival, had our stay in Dorpat not been so prolonged.
This suggests that the treacherous one-eyed man had planned in Sloboda to obstruct our land travel and redirect the ships to Pernau, though he remained silent about it then. In truth, he cared not for our convenience, as he pretended.
I have no desire to dwell on this further. I will mention one noteworthy event. After our messenger redirected the ships and galleys to Pernau, and some time passed before we reached Arensburg, the fortress commander sent a messenger to inform us that the ships had turned toward Pernau. He urged us to hasten, lest the early onset of winter in this northern region hinder our journey.
A companion from Pernau was assigned to guide this messenger directly to Dorpat. When the Russians learned both arrived on October 16th, they seized the guide and imprisoned him for accompanying the messenger and showing the way. Imagine the treachery of these Russians, their burning hatred toward us, and how burdensome it was to deal with them for half a month. Despite our persistent requests, he was not released from prison nor granted pardon.
While there, we heard rumors that Swedish forces were nearby, ravaging the area between Pernau and Dorpat, attacking Pernau, Fellin, and the fortresses of Armut, Karkis, Rüge, and other Russian-held points. We learned this from heavy cannon fire heard for three days. Though the Russians denied it, we surmised that either Fellin or one of these three fortresses was under siege.
Due to this army’s presence, we were in fear, doubt, and indecision, as we had no refuge in the city if enemies approached suddenly, its gates being closed to us. The houses where we sheltered were far from the city, easily looted, burned, or razed by enemies.
One might ask where the Russian army was, failing to oppose the enemy and allowing them to attack and rampage. I would say they were besieging Wenden fortress with armed units, claiming orders to capture it before withdrawing. Recently, Duke Magnus, son of Danish King Christian III, was captured there. The Muscovite showed such cruelty toward noble women and maidens that I shudder to hear or speak of it. As this is irrelevant to our narrative, I omit it, referring those interested to the recently published Livonian Apology, which details this calamity.
Now, let us discuss the rituals accompanying the transport and setup of military cannons. When cannons are moved, a priest attends, sprinkling them with holy water and consecrating them with Russian prayers and hymns. Then, wretched peasants are forced to pull them, used in place of horses. I saw 800 men dragging a massive cannon.
The day after it was brought to the military camp, we learned that Poles in Wenden fortress made a sortie against the Russians, engaged in a small battle, and won. About 2,000 Russians were killed; their army’s leader, struck by a cannonball, died, and his body was brought to Dorpat and buried with a mournful ceremony. The second-in-command was wounded, as were many boyars, and all Dorpat’s surgeons, summoned to treat them, held little hope for their recovery.
Despite this defeat, the Russians tightened the siege rather than withdrawing, especially due to clerk Andrey Shchelkalov, recently sent by the tsar to command the army in his name, urging soldiers to take the fortress—or rather, announcing the tsar’s intent to execute any who abandoned the siege before capturing it. He was also ordered to show no mercy to enemies, except the fortress commander, whom the tsar wished to torment personally.
Let this conclude this topic, and let us turn to another.
After long awaiting the envoys, they arrived on October 19th, lifting our spirits, as this promised departure. Until then, the bailiffs blamed the delay on them, but, as in many cases, they deceived us here too.
After arriving, they delayed three days before meeting us or sharing any news. After this, they sent horses through the bailiffs for us to visit them. Upon arriving, after greetings, before discussing other matters, they complained that Swedish troops were between Dorpat and Pernau, the road we were to travel. They deemed it wise for us to stay in Dorpat until the Swedes left for elsewhere, ensuring safer travel to Pernau.
In response, I said: “We have been detained everywhere for a long time, contrary to our king’s and our expectations and all assurances, despite our right to free passage and a safe-conduct guaranteeing unhindered entry to Russia and return home. Without this, the king would never have sent us. If you refuse to honor this and release us, it will surely be known to Almighty God and our king.” I added that we did not fear the Swedish king’s army, as our king had no enmity with him, and we were ready to travel without a guide. Though said openly and sharply, they ignored it, repeating the same tune, so we left their residence and returned to ours in anger, especially since the road was clear and safe, the Swedes having long left to join forces with Poles near Wenden. The Swedes were not mistaken in expecting Polish reinforcements, and on the day the Russians attempted to storm Wenden, both armies united, attacked the prepared enemy, and overwhelmed the Russian camp, killing thousands. Nearly their entire army fled, 33 cannons with shot and powder were captured, and the remnants scattered, barely reporting the defeat. Some wounded and ragged survivors reached Dorpat. If you saw them, you would laugh, not weep.
Clerk Andrey Shchelkalov, tasked with leading the troops, suffered in this disaster. He would have been captured had he not fled immediately to Rönneburg fortress. The Russians’ fear after this enemy victory was indescribable; it is said no such battle had occurred in these lands since the current tsar’s father. This fear of Poles and Swedes so unnerved our bailiffs escorting us to Pernau that they often lost composure, avoiding direct routes and traveling off-road for long periods. But enough of this; let us return to our journey.
On October 29th, after a month less three days in filthy houses outside Dorpat’s gates, while the tsar’s envoys stayed in the city (moving there upon learning enemies were near), and rural residents fled with their belongings under city protection, we set out. Partly due to fear of enemies and partly the approaching winter, we traveled only half a mile that day to a village, Arvekolla, then six miles to Jellingfer, and on the third day, four miles to Oberpalen.
I am unsure whether to mention that the Russians recently attacked this city’s fortress and recaptured it during our stay in Novgorod. Previously, it had been taken by the Swedish king after Duke Magnus, brother of the Danish king, yielded it. Thus, the Russians besieged it fiercely, angered that a fortress once theirs was lost.
From there, we went to Karoll, three miles from Oberpalen, and on November 2nd, to Fellin, covering six miles.
Our bailiffs again forbade us from entering the city, and we camped in a field under the open sky, as poverty had overtaken once-wealthy homes in these places. We learned that the Reval Swedish commander, Hannibal, soon after, with all the spoils from Wenden, traversed untouched Russian territory toward Reval, unhindered despite passing near Fellin and Pernau. This suggests the Russians’ weakened strength, as they made no sorties or sought to reclaim the spoils.
On November 4th, we set out for Pernau, spending the first night in Kept, three miles away. With Hannibal absent, having recently headed to Reval, the Russians in these areas, relieved from war, hurried us to reach Pernau before he redirected his troops toward the city. Thus, we arrived in Pernau on November 6th, spending one night in wretched huts five miles from Kept and seven from Pernau. Our bailiffs escorted us there, though we were beyond Russian and Livonian domains, reaching the sea we were to cross. Yet, true to form, they could not resist obstructing us and provoking our anger.
Upon arriving, I went to a German host’s house outside the city gates, expecting him to provide necessities, as I had not eaten for three days. But I was disappointed. They seized him and his wife, taking them into the city, forbidding him from visiting his home while we were there. We had to settle for these empty, plundered quarters, remaining there a second day. But this was not the greatest hardship; others, far worse, I must relate.
Before our arrival, a Copenhagen merchant on a ship we hired to transport our goods was detained to prevent us from seeing him until our departure. Similarly, on our departure day, they held a Lübeck citizen, whose ship we planned to use for the Russian envoys, and an Arensburg citizen who arrived with letters from the royal governor. When he realized he could not escape, he demanded to reach us, explaining he had letters to deliver. Learning this, they took, opened, and read the letters, sending them to us already opened. Though it was clear that honest people do not open, let alone read, others’ letters—especially those of people who treated them well and carried out important royal missions—they ignored this, showing no shame or embarrassment, insisting everything was permitted.
As the Russian envoys, set to sail with us to Denmark, were there, they feared we might board the ships without them. Thus, armed archers guarded us at night to intercept us if we tried to flee secretly.
Such is the treachery and deceit of these brazen Russians! Who among mortals could imagine they would treat friends and recent allies this way? Who would not feel hostility at their treatment, as no one among them escapes danger, and all suffer their surrounding malice? Surely, any sane person would endure any hardship rather than face such peril.
Enough of them; with God’s help, let us return to our digression. Listen, reader, to a truthful account without malice.
On November 9th, six months after leaving our ancestral hearths, early before dawn, we embarked on our sea journey, as land travel was forbidden. To avoid departing without notice or against their will (as they thought we might), we announced our departure with three trumpet blasts. Archers, mentioned earlier, escorted us to the shore, ready to hinder us had four nobles not offered to accompany the envoys. Weighing anchor, we sailed to Moon Island and arrived in our king’s domains the next day.
As we nearly suffered shipwreck during the voyage, I will briefly recount the circumstances.
Heading to Moon, 14 miles from Pernau, with strong winds and full sails, our ship struck a rock. We lowered and slackened the sails, standing on the rock for an hour in great danger. But God’s mercy, which saved us from many perils before, brought us safely to harbor after much toil. From there, we reached Arensburg on the Nones of November. There, the island’s governors and nobles warmly received us, giving great thanks to Almighty God for freeing us unharmed from the hands of a true Pharaoh—the Muscovite, the fiercest enemy of Germans—and returning us to our long-desired land. They showed readiness to extend every kindness, joyfully learning of the treaty between the Muscovite and our king, sparing them the barbaric Russian customs endured by other Livonians, accustomed to German laws for centuries.
We stayed until November 20th, deciding to return home via Germany to avoid sea cold and hardships. We arranged necessities for the journey.
This, dear reader, is my brief account of our journey to Russia. Now, I plan to describe our return to Denmark in few words. But first, I will add a brief note on what I omitted earlier due to time constraints and rapid travel.
In recounting the journey to Russia, I mentioned that Tatars may take as many wives as they wish, as we learned in Novgorod. There was a Tatar, called “Caesar” by locals, who kept six wives from noble Livonian families, with whom he lay in turn. Yet, all six recognized and honored a seventh, Russian wife as their mistress. When he desired another, he sent a ring or token to the one he lusted for. Receiving it, she showed readiness to fulfill his wishes, acting as a wife until he desired another, summoning her with a similar token.
I also mentioned Isdan Ivanovich, recently sent as an envoy to the Roman Emperor. Note that this man proved base and ungrateful, showing us no kindness during our month in Dorpat, barely acknowledging us, despite often promising to repay the generosity shown him in Copenhagen. If you ask what this was, we will not shy from telling, not to boast immodestly, but to expose this brute’s ingratitude and deceitful nature.
Our king gifted him a gold chain, though he was not an envoy to His Majesty but happened to be in Copenhagen, hoping for safe passage home on royal ships. Indeed, he was safely delivered to Pernau; otherwise, the Swedish fleet would have prevented his return. As for me, seeking to show kindness while he was in Copenhagen, I sent him wine, fish, hares, goats, and other necessities daily, invited him to dine, received him honorably, and gifted him firearms and similar items. Gregers and Arnold did the same, expecting gratitude and reciprocity in Russia. But there, I saw he was far from this, casting aside decency, forgetting promises, and proving most ungrateful and unkind.
When mentioning Oberpalen fortress, I forgot to note what we saw: dogs tearing at corpses hanging on gallows, gnawing them to the bone, and heads of the slain impaled on fence stakes along the road, alongside unburied bodies. Nor should it be hidden that Russians treat their captives so inhumanely, forbidding them from receiving anything from envoys or travelers, obstructing aid, and prohibiting alms. In Dorpat, hearing the cries of these wretches, we sent them 20 thalers, but they were not allowed to take them, and those who let us approach were whipped.
Another memory: the Russian envoys sent with us to Denmark never invited us to dine in Dorpat or sent us anything. Seizing a chance to shame them, we invited them, buying necessities with our money. We learned they were more inclined to receive kindness than give it, eagerly accepting our invitation without hesitation, never honoring us before or after.
This is what I briefly added. Now, let us describe the return to Denmark, whence we began. As this route is well-known, I will list only the names of cities, fortresses, and villages we passed and their distances.
On November 20th, leaving Arensburg and traveling three miles, we reached Salme village the next day. The following day, we arrived at the royal estate in Torrihe, three miles away, then to Schwarfer estate, nobleman Georg Witing’s residence, one mile further.
Here lies Ösel’s harbor, washed by the Riga Gulf, separating Ösel from Courland across the gulf. On November 24th, we boarded frail boats and crossed seven nautical miles with great danger and difficulty—partly due to bitter cold, forcing us to navigate frozen seas with sails and oars for one mile, and partly due to no harbor on Courland’s side, where open sea and huge waves crash, rife with rocks. Without Courlanders’ aid, no one could land with intact ships. They vigilantly watch for sails, meeting and assisting boats. What more? I would not believe any ocean coast held more perilous waters.
We completed this crossing happily with God’s help, but had we not arrived that day, the next, in winter, we might not have reached shore, as the sea froze solid overnight, impassable on foot the day we arrived but traversable by horse the next.
Here, as often before, we have cause to offer utmost thanks to Almighty God, who, through His holy angels, guided us unharmed and freed us from looming danger.
On November 26th, we reached Suten, three miles away, then four miles to Posen, home to Duke Magnus’s Dondang castle, where the Vinda River, frozen solid, was crossed by cart. Five miles to Etvalen, residence of Hans Beer, a most praiseworthy man who met us on the road, invited us, and hosted us kindly and generously. We left him on November 29th, reaching Hasenpoth that day, five miles away, then five miles to Grebbin, and four miles to Siebenberg toward Heiligen Aa.
Here, we crossed a river separating Courland’s duchy from Poland’s Lithuania or Sarmatia.
While there, we learned of a major peasant uprising spanning 10 or 12 miles, gathering on our route to confront the region’s governors over new tax burdens. They chose a one-eyed peasant as leader, who tyrannically whipped and flogged those hiding at home, disobeying, or resisting. So many peasants assembled that all feared them. The governors, protecting themselves and thwarting their plans, gathered 500 Tatars and Poles to defeat them in open battle. Whether this happened, we do not know, as we took another route, bypassed their camp, and, passing Polangen, reached Memel that day.
There stands a well-fortified small fortress and city. Though we planned a one-day rest for our tired horses before continuing, we were delayed three days by the raging river we had to cross. Filled with ice, driven to and fro by fierce winds, it was impassable until a hard freeze calmed it.
During these days, rain and moisture made the sea stormy, breaking ice and posing danger, as experienced by those sailing a ship, swept with it into open sea by ice. They suffered two nights at sea but were rescued by locals and returned to their abandoned port.
Crossing the river the next day, we reached Regiomont on December 11th, 18 miles away. Leaving on the 13th, we arrived in Melbing on the 15th, rested horses the next day, and reached Danzig on the 18th, covering 24 miles. Our weary horses rested there two days.
Friends in Danzig, whom our king greatly aided, received and treated us honorably, not forgetting His Majesty’s recent help. As we prepared to leave, a group of senators led us to port fortifications near the city, showing the fierce enemy attacks endured during its last siege. They offered endless thanks to Almighty God and our king for aid in that perilous time, escaping their enemies’ hands.
After a lavish evening feast they hosted, we continued by cart, covering two miles to spend the night in Kallipke, where we parted with Danzig senator Michael Sifrid, who accompanied us thus far. The next day, traveling seven miles, we reached Landswitz; the following day, seven miles past Leonburg to Zagars; then to Zettsemin, four and a half miles away.
On this route, we passed Zamnau, one mile from Ketzlin, and Karlin, three miles further. These cities recognize Duke Casimir the Younger of Pomerania as lord, under the local bishop, whose see is in both cities and quite wealthy. From there, we reached Neugard county that day, and by evening, the day before Christmas, traveled five miles to Neugard city, the count’s residence. The next day, we reached Damm, seven miles away, passing Goldske, three miles from it; then one mile to Stettin, 43 miles from Danzig. Hiring new carts, we traveled two miles that day to Falkenwolle village. From there, covering five miles, we rested briefly in Akkermunde, and after a meal, traveled two miles to spend the night in Bugowitz. Passing Anklam, six miles away, we reached Damin early morning. On December 29th, we arrived in Rostock, passing Tesselin fortress, five miles away. Midway, Pomerania’s border ends, and Mecklenburg’s duchy begins.
On December 31st, we reached Wismar, six miles from Rostock, having spent the 30th traveling three miles and staying in a village. On January 1st, we passed Travemünde, entering Holstein, covering six miles and staying in a village. The next day, we reached Segeberg, two miles away. There, we visited our friend Hendrik Rantzau, our king’s governor in Holstein, who was delighted by our arrival and offered every kindness. Leaving him, we traveled three miles that day. On January 3rd, we reached Rendsburg; on the 4th, Flensburg; on the 5th, Haderslev. From January 5th, we entered our homeland, arriving in Kolding, having traveled 244 nautical and 566 land miles.
Here, we met our king, overjoyed to see His Majesty healthy and unharmed.
We also found our queen joyful, as in those days she gave the king and kingdom a beautiful child, entrusted to Almighty God. Let us pray wholeheartedly that this infant, like the Son of God born 1579 years ago around this time, grows in years and wisdom, ever more loved by God and people.
This is the brief account of our journey to Russia. I hope, dear reader, you receive it kindly and see clearly the dangers and misfortunes we endured.
Now, we must thank Almighty God as best we can for freeing us from the Muscovite, the cruelest Pharaoh and fiercest enemy of the Christian name, and returning us unharmed to our ancestral hearths. May praise and glory be His forever.
To Him, the one God, be honor, glory, and praise. The end.