“One saw everywhere,” he writes, “villages in flames; churches, houses, granaries were reduced to heaps of ashes; and the unfortunate citizens were either expiring beneath the blows of their enemies, or were awaiting death with terror.  Prisoners, half naked, were dragged in chains to the most distant and savage regions.  As they toiled along, they said, weeping, one to another, ’I am from such a village, and I from such a village.  No horses or cattle were to be seen upon our plains.  The fields were abandoned to weeds, and ferocious beasts ranged the places but recently occupied by Christians.”

The whole reign of Sviatopolk, which continued until the year 1113, was one continued storm of war.  It would only weary the reader to endeavor to disentangle the labyrinth of confusion, and to describe the ebbings and floodings of battle.  Every man’s hand was against his neighbor; and friends to-day were foes to-morrow.  Sviatopolk himself was one of the most imperfect of men.  He was perfidious, ungrateful and suspicious; haughty in prosperity, mean and cringing in adversity.  His religion was the inspiration of superstition and cowardice, not of intelligence and love.  Whenever he embarked upon any important expedition, he took an ecclesiastic to the tomb of Saint Theodosius, there to implore the blessing of Heaven.  If successful in the enterprise, he returned to the tomb to give thanks.  This was the beginning and the end of his piety.  Without any scruple he violated the most sacred laws of morality.  The marriage vow was entirely disregarded, and he was ever ready to commit any crime which would afford gratification to his passions, or which would advance his interests.

The death of Sviatopolk occurred in a season of general anarchy, and it was uncertain who would seize the throne.  The citizens of Kief met in solemn and anxious assembly, and offered the crown to an illustrious noble, Monomaque, a brother of Sviatopolk, and a man who had acquired renown in many enterprises of most desperate daring.  In truth it required energy and courage of no ordinary character for a man at that time to accept the crown.  Innumerable assailants would immediately fall upon him, putting to the most imminent peril not only the crown, but the head which wore it.  By the Russian custom of descent, the crown incontestably belonged to the oldest son of Sviatoslaf, and Monomaque, out of regard to his rights, declined the proffered gift.  This refusal was accompanied by the most melancholy results.  A terrible tumult broke out in the city.  There was no arm of law sufficiently powerful to restrain the mob, and anarchy, with all its desolation, reigned for a time triumphant.  A deputation of the most influential citizens of Kief was immediately sent to Monomaque, with the most earnest entreaty that he would hasten to rescue them and their city from the impending ruin.  The heroic prince could not turn a deaf ear to this appeal.  He hastened to the city, where his presence, combined with the knowledge which all had of his energy and courage, at once appeased the tumult.  He ascended the throne, greeted by the acclamations of the whole city.  No opposition ventured to manifest itself, and Monomaque was soon in the undisputed possession of power.