WITH THE TSAR AGAIN.
Supper at Karapselka that night was a happy meal for Boris and his
wife, though Nancy, as a matter of fact, preserved her secret private
opinion as to the rights and wrongs of the quarrel over the Streltsi,
and did not altogether forgive Peter for his conduct at that time.
But Boris was happy in his restoration to the Tsar's favour--that was
enough for Nancy to think of to-night; and the Tsar was certainly all
kindness and cordiality and friendship towards her husband. And so the
evening was a right joyous one to herself as well as to Boris.
Peter declared that now he was here he should stay and have one more
hunt with his bear-eater before returning to Moscow. As for his suite
and their feelings, they deserved a lesson for their awkwardness in
losing their master in the forest. They might roam the woods in search
of him all night and to-morrow morning as well. If one or two of the
lazy hounds were eaten by wolves, so much the better; there would be
vacancies for better men!
Accordingly, arrangements were made for the Tsar to sleep at
Karapselka, and Nancy went upstairs to prepare the best bed and the
most luxurious coverings and decorations that the house afforded. And
an extremely good piece of work she made of it; for Nancy was a young
person of some taste in these matters. But when the Tsar was shown,
with pride, to his chamber, the very first thing he did was to gather
all these Turkish coverings and Persian silk draperies and fineries
together and pitch an armful of them outside the door; after which he
dragged the hardest of the mattresses from the bedstead, laid it upon
the floor, and slept upon it.
In the morning, Tsar and hunter had a great spin on snow-shoes. They
found a lynx track, which was great good luck, Boris said, for lynxes
are rare; and following it for miles, they eventually came so close
upon the animal's heels that it was forced to run up a tree to avoid
being caught and killed from behind. No shaking of the tree from below
could bring the lynx to the ground, and it appeared that the animal
must either be shot in the tree or fetched down by hand--which is
an exceedingly unpleasant process, and not to be recommended to the
amateur.
"Now, Boris," said the Tsar, "shall it be you or I? We are both fairly
good at climbing the rigging!" But the hunter could not think of a Tsar
of Russia climbing a pine tree after a lynx, and was half-way up before
the words were well out of Peter's mouth.
The lynx looked down the tree and up the tree, and ran up a little
higher, till the top of the pine bent with its weight like a
fishing-rod. Then it looked at the next tree, which was the better
part of ten yards away; and glared down at Boris, and hissed like a
great cat at bay to a dog. Suddenly the creature jumped straight for
the nearest tree, and alighted fairly upon an outstanding branch; but,
alas, the branch was a dead one, and broke with the weight, and down
came the lynx with a thud to the earth close to the feet of the Tsar.
Down came Boris also, almost as rapidly, and he and the Tsar threw
themselves upon the animal almost at the same instant.
Though stunned with its fall, the infuriated lynx, which vies with
the tiger for ferocity when at bay, instantly seized the Tsar by the
leg--the imperial limb being clad, luckily for the imperial feelings,
in thick Russian thigh-boots--whereupon Peter caught the animal's
neck with one great hand, and deftly passed his knife across its
yellow throat with the other. The sharp teeth loosened their hold of
the leather hunting-boots, the terrible claws relaxed, the wicked,
yellow-green eye grew slowly dim, and the lynx lay dead at Peter's feet.
The Tsar was as pleased as a schoolboy with his success, and together
he and Boris skinned the creature as a memento of the exploit.
Afterwards, as the pair strolled together through the woods, the talk
fell upon politics and the projects of Peter. War was certain and
imminent, the Tsar said; Poland had joined with him in an engagement to
drive the Swede out of the Baltic.
"Only think of it, my Bear-eater," said Peter, "the Baltic!--ports,
Boris, seaports! How we shall fight for our windows. If it takes us a
score of years, we shall have them!"
The Tsar spoke more prophetically than he knew of; for those ports were
won indeed, but the final winning of them actually did cost Russia
twenty years of fighting by sea and land, so stubborn was the struggle.
Then came the question as to what part Boris should play in these
weighty projects which were so soon to be embarked upon; and at this
point the hunter's exultation received a check, for Peter spoke as
though it must be taken for granted that Boris would recommence his
career at the foot of the ladder--he must enlist. That, the Tsar
explained, was indispensable; for he could not stultify himself
by taking Boris back straight into all the ranks and dignities of
his former position. What would the rest of the officers of the
Preobrajensk think? Yes, Boris must enlist.
Boris looked foolish, but said nothing. For the life of him, he could
not tell whether the Tsar was pleased to joke with him or was serious.
"I am only a major myself, you know," continued Peter, "and I cannot
have officers admitted into the regiment at a grade senior to my own;
that would delay my promotion."
"Very well then, your Majesty," said Boris, simply because he could
think of nothing else to say, "then I enlist."
"Come, come, then," said Peter, "we've made a start. I congratulate
you, Mr. Private-soldier Boris Ivanitch, and may your promotion be
speedy!"
Boris began to think that the Tsar was scarcely treating an old friend
very generously. He grinned, however, weakly, because there was nothing
else to do, and said he was "much obliged."
"Let me see," Peter continued, after a pause; "was it you or was it
another who saved me from an old she-bear at Archangel some years
since?"
Boris began to fear for the Tsar's reason, but he replied,--
"It was I, your Majesty; but then you had befriended me a few days
before, so that we were quits for that."
"What! the bear you ran away from? Dear me! yes; so I did. Well, well,
never mind that. As I was about to observe, in consideration of the
service you did me on that day, I think you might be allowed a step in
rank--say a corporal. You are promoted, Mr. Corporal!"
"I am extremely obliged," said poor Boris, bewildered.
"Who was it behaved rather well that afternoon when the pack of wolves
attacked us?" asked Peter, with perfectly-assumed seriousness, a minute
or two later. "Was it you or old Ivan the driver?"
"Oh, Ivan, your Majesty," said Boris, nettled at the Tsar's levity.
"Ah, modest as usual!" said the Tsar. "But it won't do, Boris; you must
be promoted, whether you like it or not! Sergeant of the Preobrajensk,
I congratulate you!"
"Thank you, your Majesty; but surely I have already received all the
recognition those services deserved, for you rewarded me well at the
time with many favours."
"Well, now, there's a good deal in what you say," said Peter, still
quite serious, "and perhaps you are right. Your promotion, Mr.
Sergeant Boris Ivanitch, should, properly speaking, follow some signal
achievement of the present time, and not be awarded for services long
past. Now, see what I have in my mind. You were a good jumper in the
old days; I daresay you are stiffer now, for want of practice. Here
I lay my cap on the ground: for every foot you can jump beyond the
distance of five yards, you shall have a step in rank. There, now,
that's fair enough; only don't jump yourself into a major-general, for
I have too many of them on my hands already."
"Come, come!" thought Boris, "if the Tsar is in this playful mood, I'm
his man!" So the hunter stripped off his kaftan and laid aside his
heavy long-boots, and chose a spot where the snow was hard enough to
bear him running over it, and stood ready to jump for his rank and
position in life.
"Three jumps," said the Tsar, "and I'll measure the best. My foot is
just an English foot, without the boot."
Boris girt up his loins, took a good run, and launched himself into
space. But he was stiff, and barely cleared the five-yard mark planted
by the Tsar.
"Only just got your commission," Peter remarked. "That won't do; you
must leap better than that."
At the second attempt Boris cleared a foot and a half over the mark.
"Better!" said the Tsar; "but leap well up for your last!"
This time the hunter, who was getting into the way of it now, sprang so
lightly and powerfully that the Tsar ran up excitedly to measure the
distance. As he placed his feet down one behind the other, measuring,
he ticked off the promotions thus:--
"Sub-lieutenant, lieutenant, captain, major, and a bit--say brevet
lieutenant-colonel. Bravo, bravo, Colonel Bear-eater, 'tis a good
jump--nineteen and a half feet--and it has landed you one grade
above me! A good jump indeed!" And so pleased was the Tsar with his
pleasantry, that he caused Boris's commission to be made out endorsed
with all these promotions, "for special service."
* * * * *
Boris found great changes in Moscow. As he and the Tsar reached the
western gate of the city, the hunter was immensely surprised to observe
hanging upon a large post what at first sight appeared to be a human
being, but which proved, on closer inspection, to be a suit of clothes
such as he had seen worn in London by the people of the country.
Written underneath the clothes, in large letters that all might read,
was a notice to the effect that it was the Tsar's will that all his
subjects above the rank of peasant should wear clothes of a cut similar
to the suit here represented. Any who left or arrived in the city by
any gate thereof, at any time after the 1st January 1700, without
having previously complied with this ookaz, should be condemned to pay
a heavy fine, or submit to have their kaftans cut short to the knee by
the gatekeeper.
Peter informed his companion that most people had quietly submitted to
the change, but that there were still many who would neither wear the
new clothes nor pay the fine which would be payable at each passing
through the gates of the city, whether leaving or returning; and that
these men went with kaftans cut short to the knee, to the huge delight
of the people.
Boris saw the gatekeeper in the act of cutting down a kaftan; and
certainly the appearance of the obstinate gentleman who wore it was
funny enough to justify the amusement which it caused to the yelling
and hooting crowd who watched him leave the place. Boris laughed till
the tears ran down his cheeks, as he stood with the Tsar and looked on
at the comedy; nor did he stop laughing until the Tsar jogged him by
the elbow and said, "Come, Bear-eater, your turn; will you pay up or be
cut short?" Then Boris laughed no more, but paid up with the best grace
he could.
And this was the Tsar's method of teaching his people the way to dress
_à l'Anglais_. Boris noticed, further, that beards were no longer
worn in Moscow, and found that this also was the result of an ookaz
from Peter, which ookaz cost Boris himself a very fine specimen of
a patriarchal Russian beard; indeed, when he rode down next day to
Karapselka, poor Nancy did not recognize him in his new style of
apparel and without the flowing ornament to his chin, though she was
bound to admit, when she became used to them, that both the changes
were great improvements to his personal appearance.
The officers of the Preobrajensk greeted Boris as one returned from
the grave. He had always been a favourite with his fellows, and their
delight to have him back among them was cordial and sincere. From them
Boris learned that the Tsar's evil humour had lasted for long months
after the hunter's banishment from Moscow; and that his bitterness
against Boris must have been deep indeed, for that he had never once
mentioned the name of the bear-hunter in all the three years of his
absence. Accordingly, they congratulated him the more sincerely
upon his return to favour; and when Boris described to the mess,
or rather to the assembled officers at the favourite eating-house,
where his return was celebrated, how he had literally jumped from
non-commissioned rank to that of brevet lieutenant-colonel, they fairly
roared with laughter in their delight, for, they said, the Tsar must
be quite coming round again to his old _status quo ante Streltsi_, and
they had not heard of so "Peterish" an action on his part for many a
long day.
So, at last, after three years of quiet life in exile at Karapselka,
Boris was restored to favour, and entered once more upon an active
military career. For the next three or four years he enjoyed many
opportunities of distinguishing himself in arms, and of engaging in
the kind of stirring adventure which his soul loved; for, a few months
after his arrival, with Nancy and her babies, in his new Moscow home,
war was declared with Sweden, and the entire army lately raised by
Peter and carefully drilled by himself and his trusted veteran officers
at Preobrajensk, together with the four old regiments raised by Lefort
and Peter for the siege of Azof, marched away for the Swedish fortress
of Narva, and with them went Boris the Hunter.