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, on the part of Prince Alexis. Long experience had prepared
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
could not exchange a single wink of silent advice. The 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 road walked a man, wearing the long cloth
caftan of a 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 attendant, “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 with astonishing
speed. The merchant was the taller, 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 Alexis kicked off his boots and followed; the pond
gradually 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.