BORIS GOES ON THE WAR-PATH.
One day the Tsar asked Boris whether he would like to be one of the
electors of the College of Bacchus, and take part in the election of a
new president.
The College of Bacchus was one of the products of those all too
frequent uproarious moods of the Tsar, when he and his friends would
meet to drink and make a noise, to gamble, wrestle, play with the
_kegels_, or skittles, and, in short, pass a day or a night in those
festivities which Peter found necessary in order to work off some of
the superabundant energy with which nature had dowered him. The college
was, as its name implies, a mere drinking institution, wherein the
hardest drinker was king, or pope, or president; and the last president
of this society having lately died, it became necessary to elect a
successor.
When the Tsar proposed to Boris, however, that the latter should form
one of the electors, he doubtless offered the suggestion more by way
of banter than in sober seriousness; for none knew better than Peter
that such a thing as an election at the College of Bacchus was not at
all in Boris's line. It is distinctly to the credit of the many-sided
Tsar that he thought none the worse of his faithful hunter because
the latter had not proved so good a boon companion as others of his
favourites of the day. He was fully conscious of Boris's many excellent
qualities, and easily forgave him his shortcomings as a reveller in
consideration of his humble birth and upbringing, as well as of his
pre-eminence in other directions. Hence when Peter made the suggestion,
he was not offended, but only amused, when Boris said, with a grimace,
that he thought his Majesty must probably possess many subjects better
qualified than a poor bear-hunter for so exalted an office. Peter, with
a laugh, agreed that this might be so; but added that he was not so
certain that he could find any one better qualified than Boris to act
as judge or referee at the election, since it would be the duty of that
functionary to keep the peace and to restrain the ardour, if necessary,
of the electors, who would be likely to prove an awkward body to
manage, and would require both a strong hand and a cool head to keep in
order during the excitement of the election.
Since Peter appeared anxious that Boris should act in the capacity
last suggested--that of referee--the hunter did not refuse to comply
with his request. The experience was of service to him because it gave
him once for all so great a horror of the vice of drinking that he
never afterwards, to his dying day, took spirits of any kind excepting
on special occasions when he considered the stuff to be required
medicinally, and then in small quantities.
It was no wonder that a sober-minded man like Boris should have refused
to act as one of the electors, as my readers will agree when I explain
the function in use at the elections of the College of Bacchus. The
body of twelve electors were locked up together in a room which
contained a large table in the centre of which was a wine cask, upon
which one of them sat astride, representing Bacchus. On either side of
this emblematical figure were a stuffed bear and a live monkey.
The hour at which those chosen to elect the new president were locked
up was about seven in the evening, from which time until the following
morning, when the door was thrown open once more, each elector was
obliged to swallow at regular intervals a large glassful of vodka, a
spirit nearly, though not quite, so strong as whisky. He whose head
proved best able to support this trying ordeal was the chosen president
for the following year, or series of years.
The function to which Boris had been called was to see that each
elector was supplied with his proper allowance of vodka at the
stipulated times, and to prevent any quarrelling between them. The
hunter found that the office of judge and peacemaker was no sinecure,
and a thousand times during the night did poor Boris bitterly repent
his compliance with the Tsar's wishes in this matter, and long for
the arrival of morning to put an end to the scene of which he was a
thoroughly disgusted and sickened spectator.
This was one of the peculiar ways in which the greatest and by far
the ablest and most enlightened monarch that Russia had ever seen
amused himself, the sovereign but for whom Russia would have lagged
hundreds of years behind in the race of civilization and progress,
but for whose foresight and sagacity, too, Russia might never have
occupied the position she now holds in the councils of Europe and of
the world. This was Peter at his lowest and meanest; and if we shall
see him in these pages at his cruelest and most brutal, we shall also
have the opportunity, I trust, of viewing this many-sided and truly
remarkable man at his highest and noblest--and none was ever nobler and
more self-sacrificing and devoted than he when occasion arose for the
display of his best qualities, for the truth of which statement let the
manner of his death testify.[2]
It must not be supposed that the Tsar himself took part in the
degrading ceremony I have just described. Beyond locking and sealing
the door upon the electors, and again unlocking it at morning, Peter
took no personal part in the proceedings, thus exercising a wise
discretion.
Boris came forth from that room feeling that he could never again
attend the Tsar at one of his drinking bouts at Lefort's or at
Gordon's, or elsewhere; he had seen enough drinking and drunkenness
to make him hate the very sight of a vodka bottle. When he told Peter
of this, and of his intense desire to be exempted from the duty of
attending any further carousals, the Tsar slapped him on the back and
laughed in his loud way.
"I am glad, my Bear-eater," he said, "that I have at least one friend
who is not afraid of being great when I am little! There are plenty
left to drink with me. You shall be a total abstainer, and then I am
sure of some one to steady me when I return at nights less master of
myself than of Russia. I am glad of your decision, my good Boris; you
shall be as sober as you please, so long as I need not follow your
example." With that Peter laughed again, louder than ever, and gave
Boris a great push by the shoulders, which sent him flying backwards
against the wall, and proved conclusively that whatever the Tsar might
be "when he returned late at night," he was master of himself, at all
events, at this particular moment.
Thus it came about that Boris gradually became practically a
teetotaller--which is a _rara avis_ in Russia, and was still more so
in those old days when drunkenness was thought little of, and was even
habitually indulged in by the honoured head of the realm.
Boris had many friends now, chiefly among the officers of his regiment,
with whom, in spite of his humble origin, he was extremely popular.
By this time he excelled in all those arts which were the peculiar
property of the military--in swordsmanship, in drill, and even in
gunnery, upon the practice of which the Tsar laid great stress.
Competitions were held among the officers; and here Boris soon
displayed a marked superiority over his fellows, his accurate eye and
steady hand enabling him to do far better work with the big clumsy
ordnance than his fellows, many of whom could rarely boast of a steady
hand at any time of day. It was a peculiarity of the Tsar himself,
however, who indeed was an exception to all rules, that however deep
his potations might have been, either on the previous evening or on the
very day of the competition, his hand was always steady and his eye
true--in fact, he was at all times the chief rival of Boris for first
gunnery honours.
Such was the life in Moscow during the two or three years which our
friend passed in the capital at this stage of his career--years which
were of incalculable benefit to him as a period of education and
experience; years also which were passed very happily, and during
which the friendship between the young guardsman and Nancy Drury ever
ripened and matured. From Nancy, Boris gradually picked up more than
a smattering of the English language, and by the time he had known
her for two full years the pair were able to converse in English--a
circumstance greatly applauded by Peter, who meditated a visit to our
country, and declared that the hunter should go with him and do the
talking for him.
But before the plans for a trip to England and the Continent had
taken definite shape, events occurred to postpone the journey for a
while. The regiment of Guards to which Boris was attached was ordered
to proceed to the south of Russia, where the Streltsi were already
gathered before the walls of the city of Azof in preparation for a
siege. Boris took an affectionate farewell of his beloved master, who
bade him God-speed and a quick return home. "Don't get into trouble
with your old enemies of the Streltsi," were the Tsar's parting words.
"See if you can be the first man into Azof--I expect it of you--and be
home as quickly as possible; for what am I to do without my faithful
old Sobersides Bear-eater to keep me in order and take care of me?"
Boris laughed at the allusion to his old acquaintances the Streltsi; he
had quite grown out of his dislike and horror for those poor misguided
men, and was inclined to recall their treatment of him with indulgence
and pity rather than with indignation. "I am sure to be back soon,
your Majesty," he said, "if the Tartars don't pick me off. We'll soon
pepper them out of Azof. And, besides, I have attractions here besides
your Majesty's person."
"Ah, the fair Nancy! I had forgotten," said Peter, laughing. "Well,
well, my Bear-eater, happy is he who is beloved by a child; their love
is better than woman's love, and wears better, too. Now go and bid
farewell to your Nancy. Tell her Peter will look after her right well
in your absence!"
Boris went straight from the Tsar to the house of the Drurys, where he
was ever a welcome guest.
Poor Nancy was very miserable at the prospect of parting with her
friend, for she felt that there would be no more long sledge drives
for her over the crisp snow roads, no more pleasant days in mid-forest
watching for bird and beast, nor jolly skating expeditions along the
smooth surface of the river when the wind or thaws had cleared it of
its deep snow-mantle, nor happy half-hours spent in laughing over the
hunter's attempts to master the pronunciation of her own difficult
language. Life would be very dull and miserable for her now, and the
colonel informed Boris that Nancy had even spoken of persuading him,
Boris, to take her with him to the south. "In fact, Boris Ivanitch,"
added Drury, "my wife and I both complain that you have quite stolen
the child's heart from us; and, if we know anything of Nancy, we shall
have our hands full to manage her while you are away."
Nancy had disappeared out of the room, for her feelings had proved too
much for her, and Boris regretfully felt obliged to depart at length
without seeing the child again. But as he groped his way out of the
dark, badly-lighted passage to the front door, he was surprised by
a small, light figure bouncing suddenly into his arms, and a flaxen
head burying itself in his bosom, while hot tears were freely shed
and hot kisses rained over his face and neck and wherever the two
soft lips could plant them. With difficulty Boris unclasped the fond
arms, and detached the pretty head from his shoulder, and tenderly
placed the little feet upon the ground. Then Nancy quickly ran away,
and disappeared without a word, though Boris heard a great sob as the
dainty figure passed out of sight in the dusky distance of the passage.
When the young guardsman, mighty hunter and redoubtable soldier as he
was, left the house and strode down the familiar street for the last
time, there was a tear in his eye that would not be denied, but rolled
deliberately down his cheek till it was dashed away.
On the following morning Boris marched out of Moscow with his regiment,
bound for the seat of war, far away in the south, on the Sea of Azof.
FOOTNOTE:
[2] Peter the Great contracted his last illness through a chill caught
while saving a boat's crew from drowning, which he did at the risk of
his life and unaided, rescuing nearly thirty men one by one.