 | Beauty and the beast |  |
A STORY OF OLD RUSSIA.
1. I.
WE are about to relate a story
of mingled fact and fancy. The
facts are borrowed from the
Russian author, Petjerski; the
fancy is our own. Our task
will chiefly be to soften the outlines
of incidents almost too sharp and rugged for literary
use, to supply them with the necessary coloring and
sentiment, and to give a coherent and proportioned
shape to the irregular fragments of an old chronicle.
We know something, from other sources, of the
customs described, something of the character of the
people from personal observation, and may therefore the
more freely take such liberties as we choose with the rude,
vigorous sketches of the Russian original. One who happens
to have read the work of Villebois can easily comprehend
the existence of a state of society, on the banks
and will soon become incredible. What is strangest
in our narrative has been declared to be true.
2. II.
We are in Kinesma, a small town on the Volga, between
Kostroma and Nijni-Novgorod. The time is about
the middle of the last century, and the month October.
There was trouble one day, in the palace of Prince
Alexis, of Kinesma. This edifice, with its massive white
walls, and its pyramidal roofs of green copper, stood
upon a gentle mound to the eastward of the town, overlooking
it, a broad stretch of the Volga, and the opposite
shore. On a similar hill, to the westward, stood the
church, glittering with its dozen bulging, golden domes.
These two establishments divided the sovereignty of
Kinesma between them. Prince Alexis owned the bodies
of the inhabitants, (with the exception of a few merchants
and tradesmen,) and the Archimandrite Sergius owned
their souls. But the shadow of the former stretched also
over other villages, far beyond the ring of the wooded horizon.
The number of his serfs was ten thousand, and his
rule over them was even less disputed than theirs over
their domestic animals.
The inhabitants of the place had noticed with dismay
that the slumber-flag had not been hoisted on the castle,
although it was half an hour after the usual time. So
rare a circumstance betokened sudden wrath or disaster,
the people for anything that might happen, and
they were consequently not astonished at the singular
event which presently transpired.
The fact is, that in the first place, the dinner had been
prolonged full ten minutes beyond its accustomed limit,
owing to a discussion between the Prince, his wife, the
Princess Martha, and their son Prince Boris. The last
was to leave for St. Petersburg in a fortnight, and wished
to have his departure preceded by a festival at the castle.
The Princess Martha was always ready to second the desires
of her only child. Between the two they had
pressed some twenty or thirty thousand rubles out of the
old Prince, for the winter diversions of the young one.
The festival, to be sure, would have been a slight expenditure
for a noble of such immense wealth as Prince Alexis;
but he never liked his wife, and he took a stubborn
pleasure in thwarting her wishes. It was no satisfaction
that Boris resembled her in character. That weak successor
to the sovereignty of Kinesma preferred a game
of cards to a bear hunt, and could never drink more than
a quart of vodki without becoming dizzy and sick.
“Ugh!” Prince Alexis would cry, with a shudder of
disgust, “the whelp barks after the dam!”
A state dinner he might give; but a festival, with
dances, dramatic representations, burning tar-barrels, and
cannon,—no! He knitted his heavy brows and drank
deeply, and his fiery gray eyes shot such incessant glances
from side to side that Boris and the Princess Martha
pet bear, Mishka, plied with strong wines, which Prince
Alexis poured out for him into a golden basin, became at
last comically drunk, and in endeavoring to execute a
dance, lost his balance, and fell at full length on his back.
The Prince burst into a yelling, shrieking fit of laughter.
Instantly the yellow-haired serfs in waiting, the Calmucks
at the hall-door, and the half-witted dwarf who
crawled around the table in his tow shirt, began laughing
in chorus, as violently as they could. The Princess Martha
and Prince Boris laughed also; and while the old
man's eyes were dimmed with streaming tears of mirth,
quickly exchanged nods. The sound extended all over
the castle, and was heard outside of the walls.
“Father!” said Boris, “let us have the festival, and
Mishka shall perform again. Prince Paul of Kostroma
would strangle, if he could see him.”
“Good, by St. Vladimir!” exclaimed Prince Alexis.
“Thou shalt have it, my Borka![1]
Where's Simon Petrovitch?
May the Devil scorch that vagabond, if he
doesn't do better than the last time! Sasha!”
A broad-shouldered serf stepped forward and stood
with bowed head.
“Lock up Simon Petrovitch in the southwestern
tower. Send the tailor and the girls to him, to learn
their parts. Search every one of them before they go in,
and if any one dares to carry vodki to the beast, twenty-five
lashes on the back!”
Sasha bowed again and departed. Simon Petrovitch
was the court-poet of Kinesma. He had a mechanical
knack of preparing allegorical diversions which suited
the conventional taste of society at that time; but he had
also a failing,—he was rarely sober enough to write.
Prince Alexis, therefore, was in the habit of locking him
up and placing a guard over him, until the inspiration
had done its work. The most comely young serfs of both
sexes were selected to perform the parts, and the court-tailor
arranged for them the appropriate dresses. It depended
very much upon accident—that is to say, the mood
of Prince Alexis—whether Simon Petrovitch was rewarded
with stripes or rubles.
The matter thus settled, the Prince rose from the
table and walked out upon an overhanging balcony,
where an immense reclining arm-chair of stuffed leather
was ready for his siesta. He preferred this indulgence in
the open air; and although the weather was rapidly growing
cold, a pelisse of sables enabled him to slumber
sweetly in the face of the north wind. An attendant
stood with the pelisse outspread; another held the halyards
to which was attached the great red slumber-flag,
ready to run it up and announce to all Kinesma that the
noises of the town must cease; a few seconds more, and
all things would have been fixed in their regular daily
courses. The Prince, in fact, was just straightening his
shoulders to receive the sables; his eyelids were dropping,
and his eyes, sinking mechanically with them, fell
upon the river-road, at the foot of the hill. Along this
merchant.
Prince Alexis started, and all slumber vanished out
of his eyes. He leaned forward for a moment, with a
quick, eager expression; then a loud roar, like that of
an enraged wild beast, burst from his mouth. He gave a
stamp that shook the balcony.
“Dog!” he cried to the trembling attendent, “my
cap! my whip!”
The sables fell upon the floor, the cap and whip appeared
in a twinkling, and the red slumber-flag was folded
up again for the first time in several years, as the Prince
stormed out of the castle. The traveller below had heard
the cry,—for it might have been heard half a mile. He
seemed to have a presentiment of evil, for he had already
set off towards the town at full speed.
To explain the occurrence, we must mention one of
the Prince's many peculiar habits. This was, to invite
strangers or merchants of the neighborhood to dine with
him, and, after regaling them bountifully, to take his pay
in subjecting them to all sorts of outrageous tricks, with
the help of his band of willing domestics. Now this particular
merchant had been invited, and had attended;
but, being a very wide-awake, shrewd person, he saw
what was coming, and dexterously slipped away from the
banquet without being perceived. The Prince vowed
vengeance, on discovering the escape, and he was not a
man to forget his word.
Impelled by such opposite passions, both parties ran
but his long caftan, hastily ungirdled, swung behind him
and dragged in the air. The short, booted legs of the
Prince beat quicker time, and he grasped his short,
heavy, leathern whip more tightly as he saw the space
diminishing. They dashed into the town of Kinesma a
hundred yards apart. The merchant entered the main
street, or bazaar, looking rapidly to right and left, as he
ran, in the hope of espying some place of refuge. The
terrible voice behind him cried,—
“Stop, scoundrel! I have a crow to pick with you!”
And the tradesmen in their shops looked on and
laughed, as well they might, being unconcerned spectators
of the fun. The fugitive, therefore, kept straight on,
notwithstanding a pond of water glittered across the
farther end of the street.
Although Prince Alexis had gained considerably in
the race, such violent exercise, after a heavy dinner, deprived
him of breath. He again cried,—
“Stop!”
“But the merchant answered,—
“No, Highness! You may come to me, but I will
not go to you.”
“Oh, the villian!” growled the Prince, in a hoarse
whisper, for he had no more voice.
The pond cut of all further pursuit. Hastily kicking
off his loose boots, the merchant plunged into the water,
rather than encounter the princely whip, which already
began to crack and snap in fierce anticipation. Prince
deepened, and in a minute the tall merchant stood
up to his chin in the icy water, and his short pursuer likewise
but out of striking distance. The latter coaxed and
entreated, but the victim kept his ground.
“You lie, Highness!” he said, boldly. “If you want
me, come to me.”
“Ah-h-h!” roared the Prince, with chattering teeth,
“what a stubborn rascal you are! Come here, and I
give you my word that I will not hurt you. Nay,”—seeing
that the man did not move,—“you shall dine with
me as often as you please. You shall be my friend; by
St. Vladimir, I like you!”
“Make the sign of the cross, and swear it by all the
Saints,” said the merchant, composedly.
With a grim smile on his face, the Prince stepped
back and shiveringly obeyed. Both then waded out, sat
down upon the ground and pulled on their boots; and
presently the people of Kinesma beheld the dripping pair
walking side by side up the street, conversing in the most
cordial manner. The merchant dried his clothes from
within, at the castle table; a fresh keg of old Cognac was
opened; and although the slumber-flag was not unfurled
that afternoon, it flew from the staff and hushed the town
nearly all the next day.
3. III.
The festival granted on behalf of Prince Boris was
one of the grandest ever given at the castle. In character
revel and the French entertainments which were then introduced
by the Empress Elizabeth. All the nobility, for
fifty versts around, including Prince Paul and the chief
families of Kostroma, were invited. Simon Petrovitch
had been so carefully guarded that his work was actually
completed and the parts distributed; his superintendence
of the performance, however, was still a matter of doubt,
as it was necessary to release him from the tower, and
after several days of forced abstinence he always manifested
a raging appetite. Prince Alexis, in spite of this
doubt, had been assured by Boris that the dramatic part
of the entertainment would not be a failure. When he
questioned Sasha, the poet's strong-shouldered guard, the
latter winked familiarly and answered with a proverb,—
“I sit on the shore and wait for the wind,”—which
was as much as to say that Sasha had little fear of the
result.
The tables were spread in the great hall, where places
for one hundred chosen guests were arranged on the
floor, while the three or four hundred of minor importance
were provided for in the galleries above. By noon the
whole party were assembled. The halls and passages
of the castle were already permeated with rich and unctuous
smells, and a delicate nose might have picked out
and arranged, by their finer or coarser vapors, the dishes
preparing for the upper and lower tables. One of the
parasites of Prince Alexis, a dilapidated nobleman, officiated
as Grand Marshal,—an office which more than compensated
in continual fear and trembling. The Prince had
felt the stick of the Great Peter upon his own back, and
was ready enough to imitate any custom of the famous
monarch.
An orchestra, composed principally of horns and brass
instruments, occupied a separate gallery at one end of the
dining-hall. The guests were assembled in the adjoining
apartments, according to their rank; and when the first
loud blast of the instruments announced the beginning of
the banquet, two very differently attired and freighted
processions of servants made their appearance at the same
time. Those intended for the princely table numbered
two hundred,—two for each guest. They were the handsomest
young men among the ten thousand serfs, clothed
in loose white trousers and shirts of pink or lilac silk;
their soft golden hair, parted in the middle, fell upon their
shoulders, and a band of gold-thread about the brow prevented
it from sweeping the dishes they carried. They
entered the reception-room, bearing huge trays of sculptured
silver, upon which were anchovies, the finest Finnish
caviar, sliced oranges, cheese, and crystal flagons of Cognac,
rum, and kümmel. There were fewer servants for
the remaining guests, who were gathered in a separate
chamber, and regaled with the common black caviar,
onions, bread, and vodki. At the second blast of trumpets,
the two companies set themselves in motion and entered
the dining-hall at opposite ends. Our business,
however, is only with the principal personages, so we will
and satisfy their senses with the coarser viands, while their
imagination is stimulated by the sight of the splendor and
luxury below.
Prince Alexis entered first, with a pompous, mincing
gait, leading the Princess Martha by the tips of her fingers.
He wore a caftan of green velvet laced with gold,
a huge vest of crimson brocade, and breeches of yellow
satin. A wig, resembling clouds boiling in the confluence
of opposing winds, surged from his low, broad forehead,
and flowed upon his shoulders. As his small, fiery eyes
swept the hall, every servant trembled: he was as severe
at the commencement as he was reckless at the close of a
banquet. The Princess Martha wore a robe of pink satin
embroidered with flowers made of small pearls, and a
train and head-dress of crimson velvet. Her emeralds
were the finest outside of Moscow, and she wore them all.
Her pale, weak, frightened face was quenched in the dazzle
of the green fires which shot from her forehead, ears,
and bosom, as she moved.
Prince Paul of Kostroma and the Princess Nadejda
followed; but on reaching the table, the gentlemen took
their seats at the head, while the ladies marched down to
the foot. Their seats were determined by their relative
rank, and woe to him who was so ignorant or so absentminded
as to make a mistake! The servants had been
carefully trained in advance by the Grand Marshal; and
whoever took a place above his rank or importance found,
when he came to sit down, that his chair had miraculously
and violently upon the floor. The Prince at the
head of the table, and the Princess at the foot, with their
nearest guests of equal rank, ate from dishes of massive
gold; the others from silver. As soon as the last of the
company had entered the hall, a crowd of jugglers, tumblers,
dwarfs, and Calmucks followed, crowding themselves
into the corners under the galleries, where they
awaited the conclusion of the banquet to display their
tricks, and scolded and pummelled each other in the
mean time.
On one side of Prince Alexis the bear Mishka took
his station. By order of Prince Boris he had been kept
from wine for several days, and his small eyes were keener
and hungrier than usual. As he rose now and then,
impatiently, and sat upon his hind legs, he formed a curious
contrast to the Prince's other supporter, the idiot, who
sat also in his tow-shirt, with a large pewter basin in his
hand. It was difficult to say whether the beast was most
man or the man most beast. They eyed each other and
watched the motions of their lord with equal jealousy;
and the dismal whine of the bear found an echo in the
drawling, slavering laugh of the idiot. The Prince glanced
form one to the other; they put him in a capital humor,
which was not lessened as he perceived an expression of
envy pass over the face of Prince Paul.
The dinner commenced with a botvinia—something
between a soup and a salad—of wonderful composition.
It contained cucumbers, cherries, salt fish, melons, bread,
huge fishermen, dressed to represent mermen of the Volga,
naked to the waist, with hair crowned with reeds, legs
finned with silver tissue from the knees downward, and
preposterous scaly tails, which dragged helplessly upon
the floor, entered the hall, bearing a broad, shallow tank
of silver. In the tank flapped and swam four superb sterlets,
their ridgy backs rising out of the water like those
of alligators. Great applause welcomed this new and
classical adaptation of the old custom of showing the living
fish, before cooking them, to the guests at the table. The
invention was due to Simon Petrovitch, and was (if the
truth must be confessed) the result of certain carefully
measured supplies of brandy which Prince Boris himself
had carried to the imprisoned poet.
After the sterlets had melted away to their backbones,
and the roasted geese had shrunk into drumsticks and
breastplates, and here and there a guest's ears began to
redden with more rapid blood, Prince Alexis judged that
the time for diversion had arrived. He first filled up the
idiot's basin with fragments of all the dishes within his
reach,—fish, stewed fruits, goose fat, bread, boiled cabbage,
and beer,—the idiot grinning with delight all the while,
and singing, “Neuyesjaï golubchik moi,” (Don't go away,
my little pigeon), between the handfuls which he crammed
into his mouth. The guests roared with laughter, especially
when a juggler or Calmuck stole out from under the
gallery, and pretended to have designs upon the basin.
Mishka, the bear, had also been well fed, and greedily
he would not dance. Sitting up on his hind legs, with his
fore paws hanging before him, he cast a drunken, languishing
eye upon the company, lolled out his tongue,
and whined with an almost human voice. The domestics,
secretly incited by the Grand Marshal, exhausted their
ingenuity in coaxing him, but in vain. Finally, one of
them took a goblet of wine in one hand, and, embracing
Mishka with the other, began to waltz. The bear
stretched out his paw and clumsily followed the movements,
whirling round and round after the enticing goblet.
The orchestra struck up, and the spectacle, though not
exactly what Prince Alexis wished, was comical enough
to divert the company immensely.
But the close of the performance was not upon the
programme. The impatient bear, getting no nearer his
goblet, hugged the man violently with the other paw,
striking his claws through the thin shirt. The dance-measure
was lost; the legs of the two tangled, and they
fell to the floor, the bear undermost. With a growl of
rage and disappointment, he brought his teeth together
through the man's arm, and it might have fared badly with
the latter, had not the goblet been refilled by some one
and held to the animal's nose. Then, releasing his hold,
he sat up again, drank another bottle, and staggered out
of the hall.
Now the health of Prince Alexis was drunk,—by the
guests on the floor of the hall in Champagne, by those in
the galleries in kislischi and hydromel. The orchestra
in which the departure of Prince Boris was mentioned;
the tumblers began to posture; the jugglers came forth
and played their tricks; and the cannon on the ramparts
announced to all Kinesma, and far up and down the Volga,
that the company were rising from the table.
Half an hour later, the great red slumber-flag floated
over the castle. All slept,—except the serf with the
wounded arm, the nervous Grand Marshal, and Simon Petrovich
with his band of dramatists, guarded by the indefatigable
Sasha. All others slept,—and the curious crowd
outside, listening to the music, stole silently away; down
in Kinesma, the mothers ceased to scold their children,
and the merchants whispered to each other in the bazaar;
the captains of vessels floating on the Volga directed their
men by gestures; the mechanics laid aside hammer and
axe, and lighted their pipes. Great silence fell upon the
land, and continued unbroken so long as Prince Alexis
and his guests slept the sleep of the just and the tipsy.
By night, however, they were all awake and busily preparing
for the diversions of the evening. The ball-room
was illuminated by thousands of wax-lights, so connected
with inflammable threads, that the wicks could all be kindled
in a moment. A pyramid of tar-barrels had been
erected on each side of the castle-gate, and every hill or
mound on the opposite bank of the Volga was similarly
crowned. When, to a stately march,—the musicians blowing
their loudest,—Prince Alexis and Princess Martha led
the way to the ball-room, the signal was given: candles
castle, but over the landscape for five or six versts, around
everything was bright and clear in the fiery day. Then
the noises of Kinesma were not only permitted, but encouraged.
Mead and qvass flowed in the very streets, and
the castle trumpets could not be heard for the sound of
troikas and balalaïkas.
After the Polonaise, and a few stately minuets, (copied
from the court of Elizabeth), the company were ushered
into the theatre. The hour of Simon Petrovitch had
struck: with the inspiration smuggled to him by Prince
Boris, he had arranged a performance which he felt to be
his masterpiece. Anxiety as to its reception kept him sober.
The overture had ceased, the spectators were all
in their seats, and now the curtain rose. The background
was a growth of enormous, sickly toad-stools, supposed to
be clouds. On the stage stood a girl of eighteen, (the
handsomest in Kinesma), in hoops and satin petticoat,
powdered hair, patches, and high-heeled shoes. She held
a fan in one hand, and a bunch of marigolds in the other.
After a deep and graceful curtsy to the company, she came
forward and said,—
“I am the goddess Venus. I have come to Olympus
to ask some questions of Jupiter.”
Thunder was heard, and a car rolled upon the stage.
Jupiter sat therein, in a blue coat, yellow vest, ruffled shirt
and three-cornered hat. One hand held a bunch of thunderbolts,
which he occasionally lifted and shook; the other,
a gold-headed cane.
“Here am, I Jupiter,” said he; “what does Venus
desire?”
A poetical dialogue then followed, to the effect that
the favorite of the goddess, Prince Alexis of Kinesma, was
about sending his son, Prince Boris, into the gay world,
wherein himself had already displayed all the gifts of all
the divinities of Olympus. He claimed from her, Venus,
like favors for his son: was it possible to grant them? Jupiter
dropped his head and meditated. He could not answer
the question at once: Apollo, the Graces, and the
Muses must be consulted: there were few precedents
where the son had succeeded in rivalling the father,—yet the
father's pious wishes could not be overlooked.
Venus said,—
“What I asked for Prince Alexis was for his sake:
what I ask for the son is for the father's sake.”
Jupiter shook his thunderbolt and called “Apollo!”
Instantly the stage was covered with explosive and
coruscating fires, — red, blue, and golden, — and amid
smoke, and glare, and fizzing noises, and strong chemical
smells, Apollo dropped down from above. He was accustomed
to heat and smoke, being the cook's assistant, and
was sweated down to a weight capable of being supported
by the invisible wires. He wore a yellow caftan, and
wide blue silk trousers. His yellow hair was twisted
around and glued fast to gilded sticks, which stood out
from his head in a circle, and represented rays of light.
He first bowed to Prince Alexis, then to the guests, then to
Jupiter, then to Venus. The matter was explained to him
He promised to do what he could towards favoring the
world with a second generation of the beauty, grace, intellect,
and nobility of character which had already won his
regard. He thought, however, that their gifts were unnecessary,
since the model was already in existence, and
nothing more could be done than to imitate it.
(Here there was another meaning bow towards Prince
Alexis,—a bow in which Jupiter and Venus joined. This
was the great point of the evening, in the opinion of Simon
Petrovitch. He peeped through a hole in one of the
clouds, and, seeing the delight of Prince Alexis and the
congratulations of his friends, immediately took a large glass
of Cognac).
The Graces were then summoned, and after them the
Muses,—all in hoops, powder, and paint. Their songs
had the same burden,—intense admiration of the father,
and good-will for the son, underlaid with a delicate doubt.
The close was a chorus of all the deities and semi-deities
in praise of the old Prince, with the accompaniment of
fireworks. Apollo rose through the air like a frog, with
his blue legs and yellow arms wide apart; Jupiter's chariot
rolled off; Venus bowed herself back against a mouldy
cloud; and the Muses came forward in a bunch, with
a wreath of laurel, which they placed upon the venerated
head.
Sasha was dispatched to bring the poet, that he might
receive his well-earned praise and reward. But alas for
Simon Petrovitch? His legs had already doubled under
him. He was awarded fifty rubles and a new caftan,
days afterward.
The supper which followed resembled the dinner, except
that there were fewer dishes and more bottles. When
the closing course of sweatments had either been consumed
or transferred to the pockets of the guests, the Princess
Martha retired with the ladies. The guests of lower rank
followed; and there remained only some fifteen or twenty,
who were thereupon conducted by Prince Alexis to a
smaller chamber, where he pulled off his coat, lit his pipe,
and called for brandy. The others followed his example,
and their revelry wore out the night.
Such was the festival which preceded the departure of
Prince Boris for St. Petersburg.
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
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
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
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
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.
5. V.
Prince Boris, in St. Petersburg, adopted the usual
habits of his class. He dressed elegantly; he drove a
dashing troika; he played, and lost more frequentiy than
he won; he took no special pains to shun any form of
fashionable dissipation. His money went fast, it is true;
but twenty-five thousand rubles was a large sum in those
days, and Boris did not inherit his father's expensive
constitution. He was presented to the Empress; but
his thin face, and mild, melancholy eyes did not make
much impression upon that ponderous woman. He frequented
the salons of the nobility, but saw no face so
beautiful as that of Parashka, the serf-maiden who personated
Venus for Simon Petrovitch. The fact is, he had
a dim, undeveloped instinct of culture, and a crude, half-conscious
worship of beauty,—both of which qualities
found just enough nourishment in the life of the capital
to tantalize and never satisfy his nature. He was excited
by his new experience, but hardly happier.
Although but three-and-twenty, he would never know
the rich, vital glow with which youth rushes to clasp all
forms of sensation. He had seen, almost daily, in his
father's castle, excess in its most excessive development.
It had grown to be repulsive, and he knew not how to
fill the void in his life. With a single spark of genius,
and a little more culture, he might have become a passable
author or artist; but he was doomed to be one of
those deaf and dumb natures that see the movements of
the lips of others, yet have no conception of sound. No
for even his vices were without strength or character.
The dark winter days passed by, one by one, and the
first week of Lent had already arrived to subdue the
glittering festivities of the court, when the only genuine
adventure of the season happened to the young Prince.
For adventures, in the conventional sense of the word, he
was not distinguished; whatever came to him must come
by its own force, or the force of destiny.
One raw, gloomy evening, as dusk was setting in, he
saw a female figure in a droschky, which was about turning
from the great Morskoi into the Gorokhovaya (Pea)
Street. He noticed, listlessly, that the lady was dressed
in black, closely veiled, and appeared to be urging the
istvostchik (driver) to make better speed. The latter cut
his horse sharply: it sprang forward, just at the turning,
and the droschky, striking a lamp-post was instantly
overturned. The lady, hurled with great force upon the
solidly frozen snow, lay motionless, which the driver observing,
he righted the sled and drove off at full speed,
without looking behind him. It was not inhumanity,
but fear of the knout that hurried him away.
Prince Boris looked up and down the Morskoi, but
perceived no one near at hand. He then knelt upon the
snow, lifted the lady's head to his knee, and threw back
her veil. A face so lovely, in spite of its deadly pallor,
he had never before seen. Never had he even imagined
so perfect an oval, such a sweet, fair forehead, such
such wonderful beauty of mouth and chin. It was fortunate
that she was not very severely stunned, for Prince
Boris was not only ignorant of the usual modes of restoration
in such cases, but he totally forgot their necessity,
in his rapt contemplation of the lady's face. Presently
she opened her eyes, and they dwelt, expressionless, but
bewildering in their darkness and depth, upon his own,
while her consciousness of things slowly returned.
She strove to rise, and Boris gently lifted and supported
her. She would have withdrawn from his helping
arm, but was still too weak from the shock. He,
also, was confused and (strange to say) embarrassed;
but he had self-possession enough to shout, “Davai!”
(Here!) at random. The call was answered from the Admiralty
Square; a sled dashed up the Gorokhovaya and
halted beside him. Taking the single seat, he lifted
her gently upon his lap and held her very tenderly in
his arms.
“Where?” asked the istvostchik.
Boris was about to answer “Anywhere!” but the
lady whispered in a voice of silver sweetness, the name
of a remote street, near the Smolnoi Church.
As the Prince wrapped the ends of his sable pelisse
about her, he noticed that her furs were of the common
foxskin worn by the middle classes. They, with her heavy
boots and the threadbare cloth of her garments, by no
means justified his first suspicion,—that she was a grande
dame, engaged in some romantic “adventure.” She was
felt—without knowing what it was—the atmosphere of
sweet, womanly purity and innocence which surrounded
her. The shyness of a lost boyhood surprised him.
By the time they had reached the Liténie, she had
fully recovered her consciousness and a portion of her
strength. She drew away from him as much as the narrow
sled would allow.
“You have been very kind, sir, and I thank you,” she
said; “but I am now able to go home without your further
assistance.”
“By no means, lady!” said the Prince. “The streets
are rough, and here are no lamps. If a second accident
were to happen, you would be helpless. Will you not
allow me to protect you?”
She looked him in the face. In the dusky light, she
saw not the peevish, weary features of the worldling, but
only the imploring softness of his eyes, the full and perfect
honesty of his present emotion. She made no further
objection; perhaps she was glad that she could trust
the elegant stranger.
Boris, never before at a loss for words, even in the
presence of the Empress, was astonished to find how awkward
were his attempts at conversation. She was presently
the more self-possessed of the two, and nothing
was ever so sweet to his ears as the few commonplace remarks
she uttered. In spite of the darkness and the
chilly air, the sled seemed to fly like lightning. Before
he supposed they had made half the way, she gave a sign
of squared logs.
The two lower windows were lighted, and the dark figure
of an old man, with a skull-cap upon his head, was
framed in one of them. It vanished as the sled stopped;
the door was thrown open and the man came forth hurriedly,
followed by a Russian nurse with a lantern.
“Helena, my child, art thou come at last? What has
befallen thee?”
He would evidently have said more, but the sight of
Prince Boris caused him to pause, while a quick shade of
suspicion and alarm passed over his face. The Prince
stepped forward, instantly relieved of his unaccustomed
timidity, and rapidly described the accident. The old
nurse Katinka, had meanwhile assisted the lovely Helena
into the house.
The old man turned to follow, shivering in the night-air.
Suddenly recollecting himself, he begged the Prince
to enter and take some refreshments, but with the air and
tone of a man who hopes that his invitation will not be
accepted. If such was really his hope, he was disappointed;
for Boris instantly commanded the istvostchik to
wait for him, and entered the humble dwelling.
The apartment into which he was ushered was spacious,
and plainly, yet not shabbily furnished. A violoncello
and clavichord, with several portfolios of music, and
scattered sheets of ruled paper, proclaimed the profession
or the taste of the occupant. Having excused himself a
moment to look after his daughter's condition, the old
of a musical work.
“You see my profession,” he said. “I teach music?”
“Do you not compose?” asked the Prince.
“That was once my ambition. I was a pupil of Sebastian
Bach. But—circumstances—necessity—brought
me here. Other lives changed the direction of mine. It
was right!”
“You mean your daughter's?” the Prince gently suggested.
“Hers and her mother's. Our story was well known
in St. Petersburg twenty years ago, but I suppose no one
recollects it now. My wife was the daughter of a Baron
von Plauen, and loved music and myself better than her
home and a titled bridegroom. She escaped, we united
our lives, suffered and were happy together,—and she
died. That is all.”
Further conversation was interrupted by the entrance
of Helena, with steaming glasses of tea. She was even
lovelier than before. Her close-fitting dress revealed the
symmetry of her form, and the quiet, unstudied grace of
her movements. Although her garments were of well-worn
material, the lace which covered her bosom was genuine
point d'Alençon, of an old and rare pattern. Boris
felt that her air and manner were thoroughly noble; he
rose and saluted her with the profoundest respect.
In spite of the singular delight which her presence occasioned
him, he was careful not to prolong his visit beyond
the limits of strict etiquette. His name, Boris Alexeivitch,
without his rank; and when he stated that he was employed
in one of the Departments, (which was true in a measure,
for he was a staff officer,) they could only look upon
him as being, at best, a member of some family whose
recent elevation to the nobility did not release them from
the necessity of Government service. Of course he employed
the usual pretext of wishing to study music, and
either by that or some other stratagem managed to leave
matters in such a shape that a second visit could not occasion
surprise.
As the sled glided homewards over the crackling snow,
he was obliged to confess the existence of a new and powerful
excitement. Was it the chance of an adventure,
such as certain of his comrades were continually seeking?
He thought not; no, decidedly not. Was it—could it be
—love? He really could not tell; he had not the slightset
idea what love was like.
6. VI.
It was something at least, that the plastic and not unvirtuous
nature of the young man was directed towards a
definite object. The elements out of which he was made,
although somewhat diluted, were active enough to make
him uncomfortable, so long as they remained in a confused
state. He had very little power of introversion, but he
was sensible that his temperament was changing,—that he
grew more cheerful and contented with life,—that a chasm
with the old music-master and his daughter became
more familiar. His visits were made so brief, were
so adroitly timed and accounted for by circumstances, that
by the close of Lent he could feel justified in making the
Easter call of a friend, and claim its attendant privileges,
without fear of being repulsed.
That Easter call was an era in his life. At the risk of
his wealth and rank being suspected, he dressed himself
in new and rich garments, and hurried away towards the
Smolnoi. The old nurse, Katinka, in her scarlet gown,
opened the door for him, and was the first to say, “Christ
is arisen!” What could he do but give her the usual kiss?
Formerly he had kissed hundreds of serfs, men and women,
on the sacred anniversary, with a passive good-will.
But Katinka's kiss seemed bitter, and he secretly rubbed
his mouth after it. The music-master came next: grisly
though he might be, he was the St. Peter who stood at the
gate of heaven. Then entered Helena, in white, like an
angel. He took her hand, pronounced the Easter greeting,
and scarcely waited for the answer, “Truly he has
arisen!” before his lips found the way to hers. For a
second they warmly trembled and glowed together; and
in another second some new and sweet and subtle relation
seemed to be established between their natures.
That night Prince Boris wrote a long letter to his
“chère maman,” in piquantly misspelt French, giving her
the gossip of the court, and such family news as she usually
craved. The purport of the letter, however, was only
way that it is doubtful whether the Princess Martha fully
understood it.
“Poing de mariajes pour moix!” he wrote,—but we will
drop the original,—“I don't think of such a thing yet.
Pashkoff dropped a hint, the other day, but I kept my
eyes shut. Perhaps you remember her?—fat, thick lips,
and crooked teeth. Natalie D— said to me, “Have
you ever been in love, Prince?” Have I, maman? I did
not know what answer to make. What is love? How does
one feel, when one has it? They laugh at it here, and of
course I should not wish to do what is laughable. Give me
a hint: forewarned is forearmed, you know,”—etc., etc.
Perhaps the Princess Martha did suspect something;
perhaps some word in her son's letter touched a secret
spot far back in her memory, and renewed a dim, if not
very intelligible, pain. She answered his question at
length, in the style of the popular French romances of
that day. She had much to say of dew and roses, turtledoves
and the arrows of Cupid.
“Ask thyself,” she wrote, “whether felicity comes with
her presence, and distraction with her absence,—whether
her eyes make the morning brighter for thee, and her
tears fall upon thy heart like molten lava,—whether heaven
would be black and dismal without her company, and
the flames of hell turn into roses under her feet.”
It was very evident that the good Princess Martha had
never felt—nay, did not comprehend—a passion such as
she described.
Prince Boris, however, whose veneration for his mother
was unbounded, took her words literally, and applied
the questions to himself. Although he found it difficult,
in good faith and sincerity, to answer all of them affirmatively
(he was puzzled, for instance, to know the sensation
of molten lava falling upon the heart), yet the general conclusion
was inevitable: Helena was necessary to his happiness.
Instead of returning to Kinesma for the summer, as
had been arranged, he determined to remain in St. Petersburg,
under the pretence of devoting himself to military
studies. This change of plan occasioned more disappointment
to the Princess Martha than vexation to Prince
Alexis. The latter only growled at the prospect of being
called upon to advance a further supply of rubles, slightly
comforting himself with the muttered reflection,—
“Perhaps the brat will make a man of himself, after
all.”
It was not many weeks, in fact, before the expected
petition came to hand. The Princess Martha had also
foreseen it, and instructed her son how to attack his father's
weak side. The latter was furiously jealous of certain
other noblemen of nearly equal wealth, who were with him
at the court of Peter the Great, as their sons now were at
that of Elizabeth. Boris compared the splendor of these
young noblemen with his own moderate estate, fabled a
few “adventures” and drinking-bouts, and announced his
determination of doing honor to the name which Prince
Alexis of Kinesma had left behind him in the capital.
There was cursing at the castle when the letter arrived.
Many serfs felt the sting of the short whip, the slumber-flag
was hoisted five minutes later than usual, and the consumption
of Cognac was alarming; but no mirror was
smashed, and when Prince Alexis read the letter to his
poor relations, he even chuckled over some portions of it.
Boris had boldly demanded twenty thousand rubles, in the
desperate hope of receiving half that amount,—and he
had calculated correctly.
Before midsummer he was Helena's accepted lover.
Not, however, until then, when her father had given his
consent to their marriage in the autumn, did he disclose
his true rank. The old man's face lighted up with a glow
of selfish satisfaction; but Helena quietly took her lover's
hand, and said,—
“Whatever you are, Boris, I will be faithful to you.”
7. VII.
Leaving Boris to discover the exact form and substance
of the passion of love, we will return for a time to
the castle of Kinesma.
Whether the Princess Martha conjectured what had
transpired in St. Petersburg, or was partially informed of
it by her son, cannot now be ascertained. She was sufficiently
weak, timid, and nervous, to be troubled with the
knowledge of the stratagem in which she had assisted in
order to procure money, and that the ever-present consciousness
thereof would betray itself to the sharp eyes
latter towards her and his household began to change
about the end of the summer. He seemed to have a
haunting suspicion, that, in some way he had been, or was
about to be, overreached. He grew peevish, suspicious,
and more violent than ever in his excesses.
When Mishka, the dissipated bear already described,
bit off one of the ears of Basil, a hunter belonging to the
castle, and Basil drew his knife and plunged it into Mishka's
heart, Prince Alexis punished the hunter by cutting
off his other ear, and sending him away to a distant estate.
A serf, detected in eating a few of the pickled cherries
intended for the Prince's botvinia, was placed in a
cask, and pickled cherries packed around him up to the
chin. There he was kept until almost flayed by the acid.
It was ordered that these two delinquents should never
afterwards be called by any other names than “Crop-Ear”
and “Cherry.”
But the Prince's severest joke, which, strange to say,
in no wise lessened his popularity among the serfs, occurred
a month or two later. One of his leading passions
was the chase,—especially the chase in his own forests,
with from one to two hundred men, and no one to dispute
his Lordship. On such occasions, a huge barrel of
wine, mounted upon a sled, always accompanied the crowd,
and the quantity which the hunters received depended
upon the satisfaction of Prince Alexis with the game they
collected.
Winter had set in early and suddenly, and one day, as
their forenoon's spoil, and found themselves on the bank
of the Volga, the water was already covered with a thin
sheet of ice. Fires were kindled, a score or two of hares
and a brace of deer were skinned, and the flesh placed on
sticks to broil; skins of mead foamed and hissed into the
wooden bowls, and the cask of unbroached wine towered
in the midst. Prince Alexis had a good appetite; the
meal was after his heart; and by the time he had eaten a
hare and half a flank of venison, followed by several bowls
of fiery wine, he was in the humor for sport. He ordered
a hole cut in the upper side of the barrel, as it lay; then,
getting astride of it, like a grisly Bacchus, he dipped out
the liquor with a ladle, and plied his thirsty serfs until
they became as recklessly savage as he.
They were scattered over a slope gently falling from
the dark, dense fir-forest towards the Volga, where it terminated
in a rocky palisade, ten to fifteen feet in height.
The fires blazed and crackled merrily in the frosty air;
the yells and songs of the carousers were echoed back
from the opposite shore of the river. The chill atmosphere,
the lowering sky, and the approaching night could
not touch the blood of that wild crowd. Their faces
glowed and their eyes sparkled; they were ready for any
deviltry which their lord might suggest.
Some began to amuse themselves by flinging the clean-picked
bones of deer and hare along the glassy ice of the
Volga. Prince Alexis, perceiving this diverson, cried out
in ecstasy,—
“Oh, by St. Nicholas the Miracle-Worker, I'll give
you better sport than that, ye knaves! Here's the very
place for a reisak,—do you hear me children?— a !
Could there be better ice? and then the rocks to jump
from! Come, children, come! Waska, Ivan, Daniel,
you dogs, over with you!”
Now the reisak was a gymnastic performance peculiar
to old Russia, and therefore needs to be described. It
could become popular only among a people of strong
physical qualities, and in a country where swift rivers
freeze rapidly from sudden cold. Hence we are of the
opinion that it will not be introduced into our own winter
diversions. A spot is selected where the water is deep
and the current tolerably strong; the ice must be about
half an inch in thickness. The performer leaps head
foremost from a rock or platform, bursts through the ice,
is carried under by the current, comes up some distance
below, and bursts through again. Both skill and strength
are required to do the feat successfully.
Waska, Ivan, Daniel, and a number of others, sprang
to the brink of the rocks and looked over. The wall
was not quite perpendicular, some large fragments having
fallen from above and lodged along the base. It would
therefore require a bold leap to clear the rocks and strike
the smooth ice. They hesitated,—and no wonder.
Prince Alexis howled with rage and disappointment.
“The Devil take you, for a pack of whimpering
hounds!” he cried. “Holy Saints! they are afraid to
make a reisak!”
Ivan crossed himself and sprang. He cleared the
rocks, but, instead of bursting through the ice with his
head, fell at full length upon his back.
“O knave!” yelled the Prince,—“not to know where
his head is! Thinks it's his back! Give him fifteen
stripes.”
Which was instantly done.
The second attempt was partially successful. One of
the hunters broke through the ice, head foremost, going
down, but he failed to come up again; so the feat was
only half performed.
The Prince became more furiously excited.
“This is the way I'm treated!” he cried. “He forgets
all about finishing the reisak, and goes to chasing sterlet!
May the carps eat him up for an ungrateful vagabond!
Here, you beggars!” (addressing the poor relations,)
“take your turn, and let me see whether you are men.”
Only one of the frightened parasites had the courage
to obey. On reaching the brink, he shut his eyes in mortal
fear, and made a leap at random. The next moment
he lay on the edge of the ice with one leg broken against
a fragment of rock.
This capped the climax of the Prince's wrath. He fell
into a state bordering on despair, tore his hair, gnashed
his teeth, and wept bitterly.
“They will be the death of me!” was his lament.
“Not a man among them! It wasn't so in the old times.
Such beautiful reisaks as I have seen! But the people are
becoming women,— hares,— chickens, — skunks! Villains,
and disgraced me; I am ashamed to look my neighbors
in the face. Was ever a man so treated?”
The serfs hung down their heads, feeling somehow responsible
for their master's misery. Some of them wept,
out of a stupid sympathy with his tears.
All at once he sprang down from the cask, crying in a
gay, triumphant tone,—
“I have it! Bring me Crop-Ear. He's the fellow for
a reisak,—he can make three, one after another.”
One of the boldest ventured to suggest that Crop-Ear
had been sent away in disgrace to another of the Prince's
estates.
“Bring him here, I say? Take horses, and don't draw
rein going or coming. I will not stir from this spot until
Crop-Ear comes.”
With these words, he mounted the barrel, and recommenced
ladling out the wine. Huge fires were made, for
the night was falling, and the cold had become intense.
Fresh game was skewered and set to broil, and the tragic
interlude of the revel was soon forgotten.
Towards midnight the sound of hoofs was heard, and
the messengers arrived with Crop-Ear. But, although the
latter had lost his ears, he was not inclined to split
his head. The ice, meanwhile, had become so strong
that a cannon-ball would have made no impression upon
it. Crop-Ear simply threw down a stone heavier than
himself, and, as it bounced and slid along the solid floor,
said to Prince Alexis,—
“Am I to go back, Highness, or stay here?”
“Here, my son. Thou'rt a man. Come hither to
me.”
Taking the serf's head in his hands, he kissed him on
both cheeks. Then he rode homeward through the dark,
iron woods, seated astride on the barrel, and steadying
himself with his arms around Crop-Ear's and Waska's
necks.
8. VIII.
The health of the Princess Martha, always delicate, now
began to fail rapidly. She was less and less able to endure
her husband's savage humors, and lived almost exclusively
in her own apartments. She never mentioned
the name of Boris in his presence, for it was sure to throw
him into a paroxysm of fury. Floating rumors in regard
to the young Prince had reached him from the capital,
and nothing would convince him that his wife was not
cognizant of her son's doings. The poor Princess clung
to her boy as to all that was left her of life, and tried to
prop her failing strength with the hope of his speedy return.
She was now too helpless to thwart his wishes in
any way; but she dreaded, more than death, the terrible
something which would surely take place between father
and son if her conjectures should prove to be true.
One day, in the early part of November, she received
a letter from Boris, announcing his marriage. She had
barely strength and presence of mind enough to conceal
some means or other the young Prince had succeeded in
overcoming all the obstacles to such a step: probably the
favor of the Empress was courted, in order to obtain her
consent. The money he had received, he wrote, would
be sufficient to maintain them for a few months, though
not in a style befitting their rank. He was proud and
happy; the Princess Helena would be the reigning beauty
of the court, when he should present her, but he desired
the sanction of his parents to the marriage, before
taking his place in society. He would write immediately
to his father, and hoped, that, if the news brought a storm,
Mishka might be on hand to divert its force, as on a former
occasion.
Under the weight of this imminent secret, the Princess
Martha could neither eat nor sleep. Her body wasted
to a shadow; at every noise in the castle, she started and
listened in terror, fearing that the news had arrived.
Prince Boris, no doubt, found his courage fail him
when he set about writing the promised letter; for a fortnight
elapsed before it made its appearance. Prince Alexis
received it on his return from the chase. He read it
hastily through, uttered a prolonged roar like that of a
wounded bull, and rushed into the castle. The sound of
breaking furniture, of crashing porcelain and shivered
glass, came from the state apartments: the domestics fell
on their knees and prayed; the Princess, who heard the
noise and knew what it portended, became almost insensible
from fright.
One of the upper servants entered a chamber as the
Prince was in the act of demolishing a splendid malachite
table, which had escaped all his previous attacks. He
was immediately greeted with a cry of,—
“Send the Princess to me!”
“Her Highness is not able to leave her chamber,”
the man replied.
How it happened he could never afterwards describe
but he found himself lying in a corner of the room. When
he arose, there seemed to be a singular cavity in his
mouth: his upper front teeth were wanting.
We will not narrate what took place in the chamber
of the Princess. The nerves of the unfortunate woman
had been so wrought upon by her fears, that her husband's
brutal rage, familiar to her from long experience, now
possessed a new and alarming significance. His threats
were terrible to hear; she fell into convulsions, and before
morning her tormented life was at an end.
There was now something else to think of, and the
smashing of porcelain and cracking of whips came to an
end. The Archimandrite was summoned, and preparations,
both religious and secular, were made for a funeral
worthy the rank of the deceased. Thousands flocked to
Kinesma; and when the immense procession moved
away from the castle, although very few of the persons had
ever known or cared in the least, for the Princess Martha,
all, without exception, shed profuse tears. Yes, there
was one exception,—one bare, dry rock, rising alone out
of the universal deluge,—Prince Alexis himself, who walked
as stone. They remarked that his face was haggard, and
that the fiery tinge on his cheeks and nose had faded into
livid purple. The only sign of emotion which he gave
was a convulsive shudder, which from time to time passed
over his whole body.
Three archimandrites (abbots) and one hundred priests
headed the solemn funeral procession from the castle to
the church on the opposite hill. There the mass for the
dead was chanted, the responses being sung by a choir
of silvery boyish voices. All the appointments were of
the costliest character. Not only all those within the
church, but the thousands outside, spared not their tears,
but wept until the fountains were exhausted. Notice was
given, at the close of the services, that “baked meats”
would be furnished to the multitude, and that all beggars
who came to Kinesma would be charitably fed for the
space of six weeks. Thus, by her death, the amiable
Princess Martha was enabled to dispense more charity
than had been permitted to her life.
At the funeral banquet which followed, Prince Alexis
placed the Abbot Sergius at his right hand, and conversed
with him in the most edifying manner upon the necessity
of leading a pure and godly life. His remarks upon
the duty of a Christian, upon brotherly love, humility, and
self-sacrifice, brought tears into the eyes of the listening
priests. He expressed his conviction that the departed
Princess, by the piety of her life, had attained unto salvation,—and
added, that his own life had now no further
“Can you not give me a place in your monastery?”
he asked, turning to the Abbot. “I will endow it with a
gift of forty thousand rubles, for the privilege of occupying
a monk's cell.”
“Pray, do not decide too hastily, Highness,” the Abbot
replied. “You have yet a son.”
“What!” yelled Prince Alexis, with flashing eyes,
every trace of humility and renunciation vanishing like
smoke,—“what! Borka? The infamous wretch who
has ruined me, killed his mother, and brought disgrace
upon our name? Do you know that he has married a
wench of no family and without a farthing,—who would
be honored, if I should allow her to feed my hogs? Live
for him? live for him? Ah-r-r-r!”
This outbreak terminated in a sound between a snarl
and a bellow. The priests turned pale, but the Abbot
devoutly remarked—
“Encompassed by sorrows, Prince, you should humbly
submit to the will of the Lord.”
“Submit to Borka?” the Prince scornfully laughed.
“I know what I'll do. There's time enough yet for a
wife and another child,—ay,—a dozen children! I can
have my pick in the province; and if I couldn't I'd
sooner take Masha, the goose-girl, than leave Borka the
hope of stepping into my shoes. Beggars they shall be,
—beggars!”
What further he might have said was interrupted by
be the dead),—after which, the trisna, a drink composed
of mead, wine, and rum, was emptied to the health of the
departed soul. Every one stood during this ceremony,
except Prince Alexis, who fell suddenly prostrate before
the consecrated pictures, and sobbed so passionately that
the tears of the guests flowed for the third time. There
he lay until night; for whenever any one dared to touch
him, he struck out furiously with fists and feet. Finally
he fell asleep on the floor, and the servants then bore him
to his sleeping apartment.
For several days afterward his grief continued to be
so violent that the occupants of the castle were obliged
to keep out of his way. The whip was never out of his
hand, and he used it very recklessly, not always selecting
the right person. The parasitic poor relations found
their situation so uncomfortable, that they decided, one
and all, to detach themselves from the tree upon which
they fed and fattened, even at the risk of withering on a
barren soil. Night and morning the serfs prayed upon
their knees, with many tears and groans, that the Saints
might send consolation, in any form, to their desperate
lord.
The Saints graciously heard and answered the prayer.
Word came that a huge bear had been seen in the forest
stretching towards Juriewetz. The sorrowing Prince
pricked up his ears, threw down his whip, and ordered a
chase. Sasha, the broad-shouldered, the cunning, the
ready, the untiring companion of his master, secretly ordered
serfs. There was a steel-bright sky, a low, yellow sun,
and a brisk easterly wind from the heights of the Ural.
As the crisp snow began to crunch under the Prince's
sled, his followers saw the old expression come back to
his face. With song and halloo and blast of horns, they
swept away into the forest.
Saint John the Hunter must have been on guard over
Russia that day. The great bear was tracked, and after
a long and exciting chase, fell by the hand of Prince
Alexis himself. Halt was made in an open space in the
forest, logs were piled together and kindled on the snow,
and just at the right moment (which no one knew better
than Sasha) the cask of vodki rolled into its place. When
the serfs saw the Prince mount astride of it, with his ladle
in his hand, they burst into shouts of extravagant joy.
“Slava Bogu!” (Glory be to God!) came fervently from
the bearded lips of those hard, rough, obedient children.
They tumbled headlong over each other, in their efforts
to drink first from the ladle, to clasp the knees or kiss the
hands of the restored Prince. And the dawn was glimmering
against the eastern stars, as they took the way to
the castle, making the ghostly fir-woods ring with shout
and choric song.
Nevertheless, Prince Alexis was no longer the same
man; his giant strength and furious appetite were broken.
He was ever ready, as formerly, for the chase and the
drinking-bout; but his jovial mood no longer grew into a
crisis which only utter physical exhaustion or the stupidity
astride the cask, his shouts of laughter would suddenly
cease, the ladle would drop from his hand, and he would
sit motionless, staring into vacancy for five minutes at a
time. Then the serfs, too, became silent, and stood still,
awaiting a change. The gloomy mood passed away as
suddenly. He would start, look about him, and say, in a
melancholy voice,—
“Have I frightened you, my children? It seems to
me that I am getting old. Ah, yes, we must all die, one
day. But we need not think about it, until the time comes.
The Devil take me for putting it into my head! Why,
how now? can't you sing, children?”
Then he would strike up some ditty which they all
knew: a hundred voices joined in the strain, and the hills
once more rang with revelry.
Since the day when the Princess Martha was buried,
the Prince had not again spoken of marriage. No one,
of course, dared to mention the name of Boris in his presence.
9. IX.
The young Prince had, in reality, become the happy
husband of Helena. His love for her had grown to be a
shaping and organizing influence, without which his nature
would have fallen into its former confusion. If a
thought of a less honorable relation had ever entered his
mind, it was presently banished by the respect which a
nearer intimacy inspired; and thus Helena, magnetically
to herself, her own work in him. Ere long,
she saw that she might balance the advantages he had
conferred upon her in their marriage by the support and
encouragement which she was able to impart to him; and
this knowledge, removing all painful sense of obligation,
made her both happy and secure in her new position.
The Princess Martha, under some presentiment of
her approaching death, had intrusted one of the ladies in
attendance upon her with the secret of her son's marriage,
in addition to a tender maternal message, and such presents
of money and jewelry as she was able to procure
without her husband's knowledge. These presents reached
Boris very opportunely; for, although Helena developed
a wonderful skill in regulating his expenses, the spring
was approaching, and even the limited circle of society in
which they had moved during the gay season had made
heavy demands upon his purse. He became restless and
abstracted, until his wife, who by this time clearly comprehended
the nature of his trouble, had secretly decided
how it must be met.
The slender hoard of the old music-master, with a few
thousand rubles from Prince Boris, sufficed for his modest
maintenance. Being now free from the charge of his
daughter, he determined to visit Germany, and, if circumstances
were propitious, to secure a refuge for his old age
in his favorite Leipsic. Summer was at hand, and the
court had already removed to Oranienbaum. In a few
weeks the capital would be deserted.
“Shall we go to Germany with your father?” asked
Boris, as he sat at a window with Helena, enjoying the
long twilight.
“No, my Boris,” she answered; “we will go to
Kinesma.”
“But— Helena,—golubchik,—mon ange,—are you in
earnest?”
“Yes, my Boris. The last letter from your—our
cousin Nadejda convinces me that the step must be taken.
Prince Alexis has grown much older since your mother's
death; he is lonely and unhappy. He may not welcome
us, but he will surely suffer us to come to him; and we
must then begin the work of reconciliation. Reflect, my
Boris, that you have keenly wounded him in the tenderest
part,—his pride,—and you must therefore cast away your
own pride, and humbly and respectfully, as becomes a
son, solicit his pardon.”
“Yes,” said he, hesitatingly, “you are right. But I
know his violence and recklessness, as you do not. For
myself, alone, I am willing to meet him; yet I fear for
your sake. Would you not tremble to encounter a maddened
and brutal mujik?—then how much more to meet
Alexis Pavlovitch of Kinesma!”
“I do not and shall not tremble,” she replied. “It
is not your marriage that has estranged your father, but
your marriage with me. Having been, unconsciously, the
cause of the trouble, I shall deliberately, and as a sacred
duty, attempt to remove it. Let us go to Kinesma, as
humble, penitent children, and cast ourselves upon your
you will have given me the consolation of knowing that I
have tried, as your wife, to annul the sacrifice you have
made for my sake.”
“Be it so, then!” cried Boris, with a mingled feeling
of relief and anxiety.
He was not unwilling that the attempt should be
made, especially since it was his wife's desire; but he
knew his father too well to anticipate immediate success.
All threatening possibilities suggested themselves to his
mind; all forms of insult and outrage which he had seen
perpetrated at Kinesma filled his memory. The suspense
became at last worse than any probable reality. He wrote
to his father, announcing a speedy visit from himself and
his wife; and two days afterwards the pair left St. Petersburg
in a large travelling kibitka.
10. X.
When Prince Alexis received his son's letter, an expression
of fierce, cruel delight crept over his face, and
there remained, horribly illuminating its haggard features.
The orders given for swimming horses in the Volga—one
of his summer diversions—were immediately countermanded;
he paced around the parapet of the castle-wall
until near midnight, followed by Sasha with a stone jug
of vodki. The latter had the useful habit, notwithstanding
his stupid face, of picking up the fragments of soliloquy
which the Prince dropped, and answering them as if
many a hint of cruelty, and was too discreet ever
to dispute his master's claim to the invention.
Sasha, we may be sure, was busy with his devil's work
that night. The next morning the stewards and agents
of Prince Alexis, in castle, village, and field, were summoned
to his presence.
“Hark ye!” said he; “Borka and his trumpery wife
send me word that they will be here to-morrow. See to
it that every man, woman, and child, for ten versts out on
the Moskovskoi road, knows of their coming. Let it be
known that whoever uncovers his head before them shall
uncover his back for a hundred lashes. Whomsoever
they greet may bark like a dog, meeouw like a cat, or bray
like an ass, as much as he chooses; but if he speaks a
decent word, his tongue shall be silenced with stripes.
Whoever shall insult them has my pardon in advance.
Oh, let them come!—ay, let them come! Come they
may: but how they go away again”—
The Prince Alexis suddenly stopped, shook his head,
and walked up and down the hall, muttering to himself.
His eyes were bloodshot, and sparkled with a strange
light. What the stewards had heard was plain enough;
but that something more terrible than insult was yet held in
reserve they did not doubt. It was safe, therefore, not
only to fulfil, but to exceed, the letter of their instructions.
Before night the whole population were acquainted
with their duties; and an unusual mood of expectancy,
not unmixed with brutish glee, fell upon Kinesma.
By the middle of the next forenoon, Boris and his
wife, seated in the open kibitka, drawn by post-horses,
reached the boundaries of the estate, a few versts from
the village. They were both silent and slightly pale at
first, but now began to exchange mechanical remarks, to
divert each other's thoughts from the coming reception.
“Here are the fields of Kinesma at last!” exclaimed
Prince Boris. “We shall see the church and castle from
the top of that hill in the distance. And there is Peter,
my playmate, herding the cattle! Peter! Good-day,
brotherkin!”
Peter looked, saw the carriage close upon him, and,
after a moment of hesitation, let his arms drop stiffly by
his sides, and began howling like a mastiff by moonlight.
Helena laughed heartily at this singular response to the
greeting; but Boris, after the first astonishment was over,
looked terrified.
“That was done by order,” said he, with a bitter
smile. “The old bear stretches his claws out. Dare
you try his hug?”
“I do not fear,” she answered; her face was calm.
Every serf they passed obeyed the order of Prince
Alexis according to his own idea of disrespect. One
turned his back; another made contemptuous grimaces
and noises; another sang a vulgar song; another spat
upon the ground or held his nostrils. Nowhere was a
cap raised, or the stealthy welcome of a friendly glance
given.
The Princess Helena met these insults with a calm,
fields and hills were prospectively his property, and so
also were the brutish peasants. It was a form of chastisement
which he had never before experienced, and
knew not how to resist. The affront of an entire community
was an offence against which he felt himself to be
helpless.
As they approached the town, the demonstrations of
insolence were redoubled. About two hundred boys, between
the ages of ten and fourteen, awaited them on the
hill below the church, forming themselves into files on
either side of the road. These imps had been instructed
to stick out their tongues in derision, and howl, as the
carriage passed between them. At the entrance of the
long main street of Kinesma, they were obliged to pass
under a mock triumphal arch, hung with dead dogs and
drowned cats; and from this point the reception assumed
an outrageous character. Howls, hootings, and hisses
were heard on all sides; bouquets of nettles and vile
weeds were flung to them; even wreaths of spoiled fish
dropped from the windows. The women were the most
eager and uproarious in this carnival of insult: they beat
their saucepans, threw pails of dirty water upon the
horses, pelted the coachman with rotten cabbages, and
filled the air with screeching and foul words.
It was impossible to pass through this ordeal with indifference.
Boris, finding that his kindly greetings were
thrown away,—that even his old acquaintances in the
bazaar howled like the rest,—sat with head bowed and
heavy with tears; but she no longer trembled, for she
knew the crisis was yet to come.
As the kibitka slowly climbed the hill on its way to
the castle-gate, Prince Alexis, who had heard and enjoyed
the noises in the village from a balcony on the western
tower, made his appearance on the head of the steps
which led from the court-yard to the state apartments.
The dreaded whip was in his hand; his eyes seemed
about to start from their sockets, in their wild, eager,
hungry gaze; the veins stood out like cords on his forehead;
and his lips, twitching involuntarily, revealed the
glare of his set teeth. A frightened hush filled the castle.
Some of the domestics were on their knees; others watching,
pale and breathless, from the windows: for all felt
that a greater storm than they had ever experienced was
about to burst. Sasha and the castle-steward had taken
the wise precaution to summon a physician and a priest,
provided with the utensils for extreme unction. Both of
these persons had been smuggled in through a rear entrance,
and were kept concealed until their services should
be required.
The noise of wheels was heard outside the gate, which
stood invitingly open. Prince Alexis clutched his whip
with iron fingers, and unconsciously took the attitude of a
wild beast about to spring from its ambush. Now the
hard clatter of hoofs and the rumbling of wheels echoed
from the archway, and the kibitka rolled into the court-yard.
It stopped near the foot of the grand staircase.
order to hand down his wife; but no sooner had he made
a movement than Prince Alexis, with lifted whip and
face flashing fire, rushed down the steps. Helena rose,
threw back her veil, let her mantle (which Boris had
grasped, in his anxiety to restrain her action,) fall behind
her, and stepped upon the pavement.
Prince Alexis had already reached the last step, and
but a few feet separated them. He stopped as if struck
by lightning,—his body still retaining, in every limb, the
impress of motion. The whip was in his uplifted fist;
one foot was on the pavement of the court, and the other
upon the edge of the last step; his head was bent
forward, his mouth open, and his eyes fastened upon the
Princess Helena's face.
She, too, stood motionless, a form of simple and perfect
grace, and met his gaze with soft, imploring, yet
courageous and trustful eyes. The women who watched
the scene from the galleries above always declared that
an invisible saint stood beside her in that moment, and
surrounded her with a dazzling glory. The few moments
during which the suspense of a hundred hearts hung upon
those encountering eyes seemed an eternity.
Prince Alexis did not move, but he began to tremble
from head to foot. His fingers relaxed, and the whip fell
ringing upon the pavement. The wild fire of his eyes
changed from wrath into an ecstasy as intense, and a
piercing cry of mingled wonder, admiration and delight
burst from his throat. At that cry Boris rushed forward
sank beside her husband, with upturned face, as if seeking
the old man's eyes, and perfect the miracle she had
wrought.
The sight of that sweet face, so near his own, tamed
the last lurking ferocity of the beast. His tears burst
forth in a shower; he lifted and embraced the Princess,
kissing her brow, her cheeks, her chin, and her hands,
calling her his darling daughter, his little white dove, his
lambkin.
“And, father, my Boris, too!” said she.
The pure liquid voice sent thrills of exquisite delight
through his whole frame. He embraced and blessed Boris,
and then, throwing an arm around each, held them to
his breast, and wept passionately upon their heads. By
this time the whole castle overflowed with weeping. Tears
fell from every window and gallery; they hissed upon the
hot saucepans of the cooks; they moistened the oats in
the manger; they took the starch out of the ladies'
ruffles, and weakened the wine in the goblets of the
guests. Insult was changed into tenderness in a moment.
Those who had barked or stuck out their tongues at Boris
rushed up to kiss his boots; a thousand terms of endearment
were showered upon him.
Still clasping his children to his breast, Prince Alexis
mounted the steps with them. At the top he turned,
cleared his throat, husky from sobbing, and shouted—
“A feast! a feast for all Kinesma! Let there be rivers
of vodki, wine and hydromel! Proclaim it everywhere
have arrived, and whoever fails to welcome them to Kinesma
shall be punished with a hundred stripes! Off, ye
scoundrels, ye vagabonds, and spread the news!”
It was not an hour before the whole sweep of the
circling hills resounded with the clang of bells, the blare
of horns, and the songs and shouts of the rejoicing multitude.
The triumphal arch of unsavory animals was
whirled into the Volga; all signs of the recent reception
vanished like magic; festive fir-boughs adorned the houses,
and the gardens and window-pots were stripped of their
choicest flowers to make wreaths of welcome. The two
hundred boys, not old enough to comprehend this sudden
bouleversement of sentiment, did not immediately desist
from sticking out their tongues: whereupon they were
dismissed with a box on the ear. By the middle of the
afternoon all Kinesma was eating, drinking, and singing;
and every song was sung, and every glass emptied in
honor of the dear, good Prince Boris, and the dear, beautiful
Princess Helena. By night all Kinesma was drunk.
11. XI.
In the castle a superb banquet was improvised. Music,
guests, and rare dishes were brought together with
wonderful speed, and the choicest wines of the cellar
were drawn upon. Prince Boris, bewildered by this sudden
and incredible change in his fortunes, sat at his father's
right hand, while the Princess filled, but with much
Martha. The golden dishes were set before her,
and the famous family emeralds—in accordance with the
command of Prince Alexis—gleamed among her dark
hair and flashed around her milk-white throat. Her
beauty was of a kind so rare in Russia that it silenced
all question and bore down all rivalry. Every one acknowledged
that so lovely a creature had never before
been seen. “Faith, the boy has eyes!” the old Prince
constantly repeated, as he turned away from a new stare
of admiration, down the table.
The guests noticed a change in the character of the
entertainment. The idiot, in his tow shirt, had been
crammed to repletion in the kitchen, and was now asleep
in the stable. Razboi, the new bear,—the successor of
the slaughtered Mishka,—was chained up out of hearing.
The jugglers, tumblers, and Calmucks still occupied
their old place under the gallery, but their performances
were of a highly decorous character. At the least sign
of a relapse into certain old tricks, more grotesque
than refined, the brows of Prince Alexis would grow
dark, and a sharp glance at Sasha was sufficient to correct
the indiscretion. Every one found this natural
enough; for they were equally impressed with the elegance
and purity of the young wife. After the healths
had been drunk and the slumber-flag was raised over the
castle, Boris led her into the splendid apartments of his
mother,—now her own,—and knelt at her feet.
“Have I done my part, my Boris?” she asked.
“You are an angel!” he cried. “It was a miracle!
My life was not worth a copek, and I feared for yours. If
it will only last!—if it will only last!”
“It will,” said she. “You have taken me from poverty,
and given me rank, wealth, and a proud place in the
world: let it be my work to keep the peace which God
has permitted me to establish between you and your
father!”
The change in the old Prince, in fact, was more radical
than any one who knew his former ways of life would
have considered possible. He stormed and swore occasionally,
flourished his whip to some purpose, and rode
home from the chase, not outside of a brandy cask, as
once, but with too much of its contents inside of him:
but these mild excesses were comparative virtues. His
accesses of blind rage seemed to be at an end. A powerful,
unaccustomed feeling of content subdued his strong
nature, and left its impress on his voice and features.
He joked and sang with his “children,” but not with the
wild recklessness of the days of reisaks and indiscriminate
floggings. Both his exactions and his favors diminished
in quantity. Week after week passed by, and there was
no sign of any return to his savage courses.
Nothing annoyed him so much as a reference to his
former way of life, in the presence of the Princess Helena.
If her gentle, questioning eyes happened to rest
on him at such times, something very like a blush rose
into his face, and the babbler was silenced with a terribly
significant look. It was enough for her to say, when
that right?” He confusedly retracted his orders, rather
than bear the sorrow of her face.
The promise of another event added to his happiness:
Helena would soon become a mother. As the time
drew near he stationed guards at the distance of a verst
around the castle, that no clattering vehicles should pass,
no dogs bark loudly, nor any other disturbance occur
which might agitate the Princess. The choicest sweetmeats
and wines, flowers from Moscow and fruits from
Astrakhan, were procured for her; and it was a wonder
that the midwife performed her duty, for she had the fear
of death before her eyes. When the important day at last
arrived the slumber-flag was instantly hoisted, and no
mouse dared to squeak in Kinesma until the cannon announced
the advent of a new soul.
That night Prince Alexis lay down in the corridor, outside
of Helena's door: he glared fiercely at the nurse as she
entered with the birth-posset for the young mother. No
one else was allowed to pass, that night, nor the next.
Four days afterwards, Sasha, having a message to the
Princess, and supposing the old man to be asleep, attempted
to step noiselessly over his body. In a twinkle
the Prince's teeth fastened themselves in the serf's leg,
and held him with the tenacity of a bull-dog. Sasha
did not dare to cry out: he stood, writhing with pain,
until the strong jaws grew weary of their hold, and then
crawled away to dress the bleeding wound. After that,
no one tried to break the Prince's guard.
The christening was on a magnificent scale. Prince
Paul of Kostroma was godfather, and gave the babe the
name of Alexis. As the Prince had paid his respects to
Helena just before the ceremony, it may be presumed
that the name was not of his own inspiration. The father
and mother were not allowed to be present, but they
learned that the grandfather had comported himself throughout
with great dignity and propriety. The Archimandrite
Sergius obtained from the Metropolitan at Moscow a very
minute fragment of the true cross, which was encased in a
hollow bead of crystal, and hung around the infant's neck
by a fine gold chain, as a precious amulet.
Prince Alexis was never tired of gazing at his grandson
and namesake.
“He has more of his mother than of Boris,” he would
say. “So much the better! Strong dark eyes, like the
Great Peter,—and what a goodly leg for a babe! Ha!
he makes a tight little fist already,—fit to handle a whip,
—or” (seeing the expression of Helena's face)—“or a
sword. He'll be a proper Prince of Kinesma, my daughter,
and we owe it to you.”
Helena smiled, and gave him a grateful glance in return.
She had had her secret fears as to the complete conversion
of Prince Alexis; but now she saw in this babe a
new spell whereby he might be bound. Slight as was her
knowledge of men, she yet guessed the tyranny of long-continued
habits; and only her faith, powerful in proportion
as it was ignorant, gave her confidence in the result
of the difficult work she had undertaken.
12. XII.
Alas! the proud predictions of Prince Alexis, and the
protection of the sacred amulet, were alike unavailing.
The babe sickened, wasted away, and died in less than
two months after its birth. There was great and genuine
sorrow among the serfs of Kinesma. Each had received
a shining ruble of silver at the christening; and, moreover,
they were now beginning to appreciate the milder regime
of their lord, which this blow might suddenly terminate.
Sorrow, in such natures as his, exasperates instead
of chastening: they knew him well enough to recognize
the danger.
At first the old man's grief appeared to be of a stubborn,
harmless nature. As soon as the funeral ceremonies
were over he betook himself to his bed, and there lay for
two days and nights, without eating a morsel of food. The
poor Princess Helena, almost prostrated by the blow,
mourned alone, or with Boris, in her own apartments. Her
influence, no longer kept alive by her constant presence,
as formerly, began to decline. When the old Prince
aroused somewhat from his stupor, it was not meat that
he demanded, but drink; and he drank to angry excess.
Day after day the habit resumed its ancient sway, and the
whip and the wild-beast yell returned with it. The serfs
even began to tremble as they never had done, so long as
his vices were simply those of a strong man; for now a
fiendish element seemed to be slowly creeping in. He
became horribly profane: they shuddered when he cursed
the venerable Metropolitan of Moscow, declaring that the
to him, instead of the true cross of the Saviour, a piece
of the tree to which the impenitent thief was nailed.
Boris would have spared his wife the knowledge of
this miserable relapse, in her present sorrow, but the information
soon reached her in other ways. She saw the
necessity of regaining, by a powerful effort, what she had
lost. She therefore took her accustomed place at the table,
and resumed her inspection of household matters.
Prince Alexis, as if determined to cast off the yoke which
her beauty and gentleness had laid upon him, avoided
looking at her face or speaking to her, as much as possible:
when he did so, his manner was cold and unfriendly.
During her few days of sad retirement he had brought
back the bear Razboi and the idiot to his table, and vodki
was habitually poured out to him and his favorite serfs
in such a measure that the nights became hideous with
drunken tumult.
The Princess Helena felt that her beauty no longer
possessed the potency of its first surprise. It must now
be a contest of nature with nature, spiritual with animal
power. The struggle would be perilous, she foresaw, but
she did not shrink; she rather sought the earliest occasion
to provoke it.
That occasion came. Some slight disappointment
brought on one of the old paroxysms of rage, and the ox-like
bellow of Prince Alexis rang through the castle. Boris
was absent, but Helena delayed not a moment to venture
into his father's presence. She found him in a hall overlooking
giving orders for the brutal punishment of some scores of
serfs. The sight of her, coming thus unexpectedly upon
him, did not seem to produce the least effect.
“Father!” she cried, in an earnest, piteous tone,
“what is it you do?”
“Away, witch!” he yelled. “I am the master in
Kinesma, not thou! Away, or- ”
The fierceness with which he swung and cracked the
whip was more threatening than any words. Perhaps she
grew a shade paler, perhaps her hands were tightly clasped
in order that they might not tremble; but she did not
flinch from the encounter. She moved a step nearer, fixed
her gaze upon his flashing eyes, and said, in a low, firm
voice—
“It is true, father, you are master here. It is easy to
rule over those poor, submissive slaves. But you are not
master over yourself; you are lashed and trampled upon
by evil passions, and as much a slave as any of these. Be
not weak, my father, but strong!”
An expression of bewilderment came into his face. No
such words had ever before been addressed to him, and
he knew not how to reply to them. The Princess Helena
followed up the effect—she was not sure that it was an advantage—by
an appeal to the simple, childish nature
which she believed to exist under his ferocious exterior.
For a minute it seemed as if she were about to re-establish
her ascendancy: then the stubborn resistance of the beast
returned.
Among the portraits in the hall was one of the deceased
Princess Martha. Pointing to this, Helena cried—
“See, my father! here are the features of your sainted
wife! Think that she looks down from her place among
the blessed, sees you, listens to your words, prays that
your hard heart may be softened! Remember her last
farewell to you on earth, her hope of meeting you—”
A cry of savage wrath checked her. Stretching one
huge, bony hand, as if to close her lips, trembling with
rage and pain, livid and convulsed in every feature of his
face, Prince Alexis reversed the whip in his right hand,
and weighed its thick, heavy butt for one crashing, fatal
blow. Life and death were evenly balanced. For an instant
the Princess became deadly pale, and a sickening
fear shot through her heart. She could not understand
the effect of her words: her mind was paralyzed, and
what followed came without her conscious volition.
Not retreating a step, not removing her eyes from the
terrible picture before her, she suddenly opened her lips
and sang. Her voice of exquisite purity, power, and sweetness,
filled the old hall and overflowed it, throbbing in
scarcely weakened vibrations through court-yard and castle.
The melody was a prayer—the cry of a tortured
heart for pardon and repose; and she sang it with almost
supernatural expression. Every sound in the castle was
hushed: the serfs outside knelt and uncovered their
heads.
The Princess could never afterwards describe, or more
than dimly recall, the exaltation of that moment. She
note the horror of the imminent fate sank out of sight.
Her eyes were fixed upon the convulsed face, but she beheld
it not: all the concentrated forces of her life flowed
into the music. She remembered, however, that Prince
Alexis looked alternately from her face to the portrait of
his wife; that he at last shuddered and grew pale; and
that, when with the closing note her own strength suddenly
dissolved, he groaned and fell upon the floor.
She sat down beside him, and took his head upon her
lap. For a long time he was silent, only shivering as if in
fever.
“Father!” she finally whispered, “let me take you
away!”
He sat up on the floor and looked around; but as his
eyes encountered the portrait, he gave a loud howl and covered
his face with his hands.
“She turns her head!” he cried. “Take her away,—
she follows me with her eyes! Paint her head black, and
cover it up!”
With some difficulty he was borne to his bed, but he
would not rest until assured that his orders had been obeyed,
and the painting covered for the time with a coat of
lamp-black. A low, prolonged attack of fever followed,
during which the presence of Helena was indispensable to
his comfort. She ventured to leave the room only while
he slept. He was like a child in her hands; and when
she commended his patience or his good resolutions, his
face beamed with joy and gratitude. He determined (in
rest of his life to pious works.
But, even after his recovery, he was still too weak and
dependent on his children's attentions to carry out this resolution.
He banished from the castle all those of his poor
relations who were unable to drink vodki in moderation;
he kept careful watch over his serfs, and those who became
intoxicated (unless they concealed the fact in the stables
and outhouses) were severely punished: all excess disappeared,
and a reign of peace and gentleness descended
upon Kinesma.
In another year another Alexis was born, and lived,
and soon grew strong enough to give his grandfather the
greatest satisfaction he had ever known in his life, by tugging
at his gray locks, and digging the small fingers into
his tamed and merry eyes. Many years after Prince Alexis
was dead the serfs used to relate how they had seen
him, in the bright summer afternoons, asleep in his arm-chair
on the balcony, with the rosy babe asleep on his
bosom, and the slumber-flag waving over both.
Legends of the Prince's hunts, reisaks, and brutal revels
are still current along the Volga; but they are now linked
to fairer and more gracious stories; and the free Russian
farmers (no longer serfs) are never tired of relating incidents
of the beauty, the courage, the benevolence, and the
saintly piety of the Good Lady of Kinesma.
| Beauty and the beast | |