University of Virginia Library

4. IV.

Before following the young Prince and his fortunes,
in the capital, we must relate two incidents which somewhat
disturbed the ordered course of life in the castle of
Kinesma, during the first month or two after his departure.

It must be stated, as one favorable trait in the character
of Prince Alexis, that, however brutally he treated his
serfs, he allowed no other man to oppress them. All they
had and were—their services, bodies, lives—belonged to
him; hence injustice towards them was disrespect towards
their lord. Under the fear which his barbarity inspired
lurked a brute-like attachment, kept alive by the recognition
of this quality.

One day it was reported to him that Gregor, a merchant
in the bazaar at Kinesma, had cheated the wife of one of
his serfs in the purchase of a piece of cloth. Mounting
his horse, he rode at once to Gregor's booth, called for
the cloth, and sent the entire piece to the woman, in the
merchant's name, as a confessed act of reparation.

“Now, Gregor, my child,” said he, as he turned his
horse's head, “have a care in future, and play me no more
dishonest tricks. Do you hear? I shall come and take
your business in hand myself, if the like happens again.”

Not ten days passed before the like—or something
fully as bad—did happen. Gregor must have been a
new comer in Kinesma, or he would not have tried the
experiment. In an hour from the time it was announced,
Prince Alexis appeared in the bazaar with a short whip
under his arm.

He dismounted at the booth with an ironical smile on
his face, which chilled the very marrow in the merchant's
bones.

“Ah, Gregor, my child,” he shouted, “you have already
forgotten my commands. Holy St. Nicholas, what
a bad memory the boy has! Why, he can't be trusted to
do business: I must attend to the shop myself. Out of
the way! march!”

He swung his terrible whip; and Gregor, with his two
assistants, darted under the counter, and made their escape.
The Prince then entered the booth, took up a
yard-stick, and cried out in a voice which could be heard
from one end of the town to the other,—“Ladies and

gentlemen, have the kindness to come and examine our
stock of goods! We have silks and satins, and all kinds
of ladies' wear; also velvet, cloth, cotton, and linen for
the gentlemen. Will your Lordships deign to choose?
Here are stockings and handkerchiefs of the finest. We
understand how to measure, your Lordships, and we sell
cheap. We give no change, and take no small money.
Whoever has no cash may have credit. Every thing sold
below cost, on account of closing up the establishment.
Ladies and gentlemen, give us a call?”

Everybody in Kinesma flocked to the booth, and for
three hours Prince Alexis measured and sold, either for
scant cash or long credit, until the last article had been
disposed of and the shelves were empty. There was
great rejoicing in the community over the bargains made
that day. When all was over, Gregor was summoned,
and the cash received paid into his hands.

“It won't take you long to count it,” said the Prince;
but here is a list of debts to be collected, which will furnish
you with pleasant occupation, and enable you to exercise
your memory. Would your Worship condescend
to take dinner to-day with your humble assistant? He
would esteem it a favor to be permitted to wait upon you
with whatever his poor house can supply.”

Gregor gave a glance at the whip under the Prince's
arm, and begged to be excused. But the latter would
take no denial, and carried out the comedy to the end
by giving the merchant the place of honor at his table,
and dismissing him with the present of a fine pup of his

favorite breed. Perhaps the animal acted as a mnemonic
symbol, for Gregor was never afterwards accused of forgetfulness.

If this trick put the Prince in a good humor, something
presently occurred which carried him to the opposite
extreme. While taking his customary siesta one afternoon,
a wild young fellow—one of his noble poor relations,
who “sponged” at the castle—happened to pass
along a corridor outside of the very hall where his Highness
was snoring. Two ladies in waiting looked down
from an upper window. The young fellow perceived
them, and made signs to attract their attention. Having
succeeded in this, he attempted, by all sorts of antics
and grimaces, to make them laugh or speak; but he failed,
for the slumber-flag waved over them, and its fear was
upon them. Then, in a freak of incredible rashness, he
sang, in a loud voice, the first line of a popular ditty, and
took to his heels.

No one had ever before dared to insult the sacred quiet.
The Prince was on his feet in a moment, and rushed into
the corridor, (dropping his mantle of sables by the way,)
shouting.—

“Bring me the wretch who sang!”

The domestics scattered before him, for his face was
terrible to look upon. Some of them had heard the voice,
indeed, but not one of them had seen the culprit, who already
lay upon a heap of hay in one of the stables, and
appeared to be sunk in innocent sleep.

“Who was it? who was it?” yelled the Prince, foaming

at the mouth with rage, as he rushed from chamber to
chamber.

At last he halted at the top of the great flight of steps
leading into the court-yard, and repeated his demand in a
voice of thunder. The servants, trembling, kept at a safe
distance, and some of them ventured to state that the offender
could not be discovered. The Prince turned and
entered one of the state apartments, whence came the
sound of porcelain smashed on the floor, and mirrors
shivered on the walls. Whenever they heard that sound,
the immates of the castle knew that a hurricane was let
loose.

They deliberated hurriedly and anxiously. What was
to be done? In his fits of blind animal rage, there was
nothing of which the Prince was not capable, and the fit
could be allayed only by finding a victim. No one, however,
was willing to be a Curtius for the others, and meanwhile
the storm was increasing from minute to minute.
Some of the more active and shrewd of the household
pitched upon the leader of the band, a simple-minded,
good-natured serf, named Waska. They entreated him
to take upon himself the crime of having sung, offering
to have his punishment mitigated in every possible way.
He was proof against their tears, but not against the
money which they finally offered, in order to avert the
storm. The agreement was made, although Waska both
scratched his head and shook it, as he reflected upon the
probable result.

The Prince, after his work of destruction, again appeared

upon the steps, and with hoarse voice and flashing
eyes, began to announce that every soul in the castle
should receive a hundred lashes, when a noise was heard
in the court, and amid cries of “Here he is!” “We've
got him, Highness!” the poor Waska, bound hand and
foot, was brought forward. They placed him at the
bottom of the steps. The Prince descended until the two
stood face to face. The others looked on from court-yard,
door, and window. A pause ensued, during which
no one dared to breathe.

At last Prince Alexis spoke, in a loud and terrible
voice—

“It was you who sang it?”

“Yes, your Highness, it was I,” Waska replied, in a
scarcely audible tone, dropping his head and mechanically
drawing his shoulders together, as if shrinking from
the coming blow.

It was full three minutes before the Prince again
spoke. He still held the whip in his hand, his eyes fixed
and the muscles of his face rigid. All at once the spell
seemed to dissolve: his hand fell, and he said in his ordinary
voice—

“You sing remarkably well. Go, now: you shall
have ten rubles and an embroidered caftan for your singing.”

But any one would have made a great mistake who
dared to awaken Prince Alexis a second time in the same
manner.