secured by circumstances--he could more readily make a name in Italy.
The place of physician at the court of the Muscovite Great Prince
would suit a poor adventurer; abundance of such men might be found at
that time possessed of talents and learning. But hardly was
Aristotle's letter communicated to Antony, than visions began to
float in his ardent brain.--'To Muscovy!' cried the voice of
destiny--'To Muscovy!' echoed through his soul, like a cry remembered
from infancy. That soul, in its fairest dreams, had long pined for a
new, distant, unknown land and people: Antony wished to be where the
physician's foot had never yet penetrated: perhaps he might discover,
by questioning a nature still rude and fresh, powers by which he
could retain on earth its short-lived inhabitants; perhaps he might
extort from a virgin soil the secret of regeneration, or dig up the
fountain of the water of life and death. But he who desired to
penetrate deeper into the nature of man, might have remarked other
motives in his desire. Did not knightly blood boil in his veins? Did
not the spirit of adventure whisper in his heart its hopes and high
promises? However this might be, he offered, with delight, to go to
Muscovy; and when he received the refusal of his preceptor, he began
to entreat, to implore him incessantly to recall it.--'Science calls
me thither,' he said, 'do not deprive her of new acquisitions,
perhaps of important discoveries. Do not deprive me of glory, my only
hope and happiness.' And these entreaties were followed by a new
refusal.--'Knowest thou not,' cried Fioraventi angrily, 'that the
gates of Muscovy are like the gates of hell--step beyond them, and
thou canst never return.' But suddenly, unexpectedly, from some
secret motive, he ceased to oppose Antony's desire. With tears he
gave him his blessing for the journey.--'Who can tell,' said he,
'that this is not the will of fate? Perhaps, in reality, honour and
fame await thee there?'