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 the paper in her bosom before sinking in a swoon.
By 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 behind the coffin, his eyes
fixed and his features rigid 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 value unless he should devote it to religious exercises.
“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 the priests rising
to chant the Blajennon uspennie (blessed 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 a cask of vodki to follow the
crowd of hunters and 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 of drunkenness could overcome. Frequently, while 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.