BORIS CHANGES MASTERS.
Boris, when he returned to the village that same afternoon, enjoyed a
veritable triumph at the hands of his delighted fellows. He was honest
enough to confess his indebtedness to the stranger, but this did not
make the slightest difference in the gratitude of the peasants; and
indeed the service which Boris had rendered them, in thus ridding
them of an infliction worse than the most terrible blight, was no
slight one. A large bear, when so disposed, and when allowed to work
his wicked will upon the corn-fields of a village, will very speedily
either consume or trample into hay the entire grain wealth of the
community; so that the gratitude of the peasants was proportionate to
their clear gain in the death of one of the two monster pests which had
come, like a scourge upon the village, to devour the fatness thereof.
Boris was carried shoulder-high through the one street of the place;
while the carcass of the dead robber, slung by his four legs to a pole,
was borne behind, escorted by a booing, yelling crowd of women and
children. A bonfire was lighted at night in honour of the hunter and
his achievement, when portions of the bear were cooked and eaten, more
as an expression of contempt for the late owner of the flesh than for
love of the food. Most of the carcass was given to the dogs, however,
and they, at least, were delighted with the feast.
Boris was well feasted with _vodka_ and with other delicacies
equally bad for him; but being a sensible youth and steady withal,
he did not retire at night in the degraded condition of most of his
fellow-villagers. He was elated, no doubt, not by the fumes of the
spirits, however, but by the sense of triumph; yet the more he pondered
over his fight and victory, the more clearly did he realize his
indebtedness to the timely aid of the strong young giant who had come
to his assistance. As he lay and dozed, half conscious, through the hot
hours of the summer night, Boris weaved the adventure of the day into
a thousand fantastic shapes, in all of which, however, the stranger
played an important part: sometimes he was his own patron saint; then
he was a benevolent _lieshui_, or wood-spirit, a class of beings fully
believed in by the peasants, but, according to popular tradition, more
likely to take the part of the bear than of Boris in a fight between
the two. In a word, the stranger assumed so many various shapes in the
hunter's overwrought brain at night, that when day came Boris was by no
means certain whether the stranger had in reality existed at all, and
was inclined to fancy that the whole thing had been a dream as he lay
and slept after the death of the bear, which he had slain single-handed.
Half hoping that this might prove to be the case--for the idea that
he had almost been worsted by a bear, however huge, was an unwelcome
thought to so renowned a hunter--Boris determined, nevertheless, that
he would at least journey as far as the town, which was but a mile or
two distant, in order to learn for himself whether there indeed existed
a young giant of the name of Petka.
Boris set out at the appointed hour for Archangel and the house of
the burgomaster. The house was easily found, for it was the principal
building of the place, and was so grand, indeed, to look upon that
Boris scarcely liked his mission. What if the whole thing should have
been a dream? Why, what a fool he would appear, coming to this grand
place and inquiring for some one who did not exist; all these serfs and
dressed-up people about the front door would laugh at him, and tell
him to go home and drink less vodka the next time he killed a bear.
However, Boris reflected, if any one should laugh at him, laughers
were easily knocked down. He was as good a man, and perhaps a trifle
better, than any of these embroidered chaps. Let them laugh if they
liked; their mirth might cost them a little of their embroidery! So
Boris pulled himself together, and marched up to the porch of the big
wooden structure which had been pointed out to him as the house of the
burgomaster. A stately doorkeeper, dressed, in spite of the warmth of
the season, in a gold-laced kaftan and a high fur cap, listened to
the young peasant's inquiry with some bewilderment. Was there any one
living there of the name of Petka? Boris had asked,--a young fellow
about his own age? Boris believed he was a barin, but could not be
sure; he gave this address.
"Petka?" repeated the astonished porter. "What do you mean? Petka who?
What's his family name?"
"I only know he called himself Petka; he said sometimes he was known
as Petrushka," said Boris, beginning to feel assured that he was the
victim of a dream. "He was a tall, well-set-up sort of a fellow," he
continued, "as big as I am, or bigger. Come now; is he here, or is he
not? I warn you I am not a man to annoy; I am Boris the Bear-Hunter."
It was not meant as an idle boast. Had the doorkeeper been a native
of the town he would have known well enough who the bearer of this
name was; but it so happened that this man was a new arrival from
Moscow, whence he had come with the retinue of his master the Tsar, and
therefore the title meant nothing to him, but savoured only of boasting
and the conceit of local celebrity.
"Well," he said, "you can go home again and hunt your bears at leisure;
there's no Petka, nor yet Petrushka, here. As for annoying you, I know
nothing about that, but you are going the right way to get yourself
a taste of the knout, my friend; and if you don't clear out of this
street in double quick time, I shall summon those who are very well
able to make you cry, though you may be the best bear-sticker that ever
walked. Now then, off you go!"
The fellow laid his hand upon the hunter's arm, as though to put his
threat of violence into execution; but in doing so he made a great
mistake. Boris was fearless and independent; he was unaccustomed to
threats and interference. As a rule people were afraid of him, and
showed him deference: what right had this man to browbeat and threaten
him? Boris's hot blood resented the insult, and in a moment the man lay
sprawling at his feet, bellowing loudly for help, crying and swearing
in a breath, in a manner which is natural to the Russian peasant. His
cries instantly brought around the pair a host of serfs and servants,
who quickly hustled Boris within the passage, and made as though they
would lay hold of him. But this the high-spirited hunter of bears
would not submit to, and, with his back to the wall, he hit out right
and left with so good effect that the number of his assailants was
considerably reduced in very quick time indeed.
This was a row quite after Boris's own heart, and he was thoroughly
enjoying himself among the noisy crowd of shouting and whining
serving-men, when a loud voice broke in above the noise--a voice that
Boris seemed to recognize, and at the sound of which every other
voice in that noisy hall died away into instant silence. The fallen
assailants of Boris uprose from the earth and ranged themselves in
line, prepared to denounce the foe or to excuse themselves according as
occasion arose. But the new arrival exacted no explanations.
"Why," he cried, "it's my friend the bear-eater! Come along this way,
Bear-eater, and tell me all about this disturbance. Have you killed so
few bears of late that you must needs work off your spare energies at
the expense of my poor servants? Well, well, if you were to rid me of
a score or two of the thieving rogues, I should do well enough without
them, I daresay. But what is it all about?"
"The man with the embroidery wanted to give me the knout because I
asked for you by the name of Petka," said Boris, feeling that there was
more in all this than he had quite understood. This must be something
like a barin, who could talk in so airy a way of a "score or two" of
his servants. "You said your name was Petka, didn't you?"
"Assuredly," said the other, leading the way into a private chamber;
"Petka or Petrushka, sometimes Peter--I answer to all these names. But
come now, to business. I like the look of you, Boris. I want Russians
with strong bodies and brave hearts; I shall have work for them. Do
you feel inclined to enter my service? I will pay you well if you
serve me well. Now, then, no wasting words, for I am due down at the
harbour--is it yes or no?"
"But I am not my own master," said the astonished Boris. "I am the
property of my barin, who employs me to hunt the bears and wolves. I
cannot say I will leave him and serve you, though I like the look of
you well enough. Besides, what do you want me for--to kill bears?"
"You shall hunt the bears to your heart's content," said the barin;
"and as for your master, I will see that he does not object to your
transfer to my service. Is it agreed? come, yes or no."
"Yes, then," said Boris, who both spoke and acted as in a dream. The
mastery of this young giant over him seemed so complete that he could
not have answered otherwise than in the affirmative even if he had
wished to do so. He was drawn by a power stronger than himself.
"Very well," said the other, writing rapidly, "excellently well;
shake hands upon it. Take this to your master, and come to this place
to enter upon your service to-morrow morning. You may ask for Piotr
[Peter] Alexeyevitch, and I shall be ready to receive you. Now I must
go sailing with Meinheer de Kuyper. Stay; your hand-grip now. Good!
that's more like a grip than any I have felt for some time. I shall
like you, I think; only serve me faithfully."
Peter Alexeyevitch, as he had called himself, left the room with these
words. But Boris preserved somewhat painful reminiscences of his new
friend and master for several hours, for the return hand-grip had been
such that the bones of his hand had ground together in the mighty
clasp.