Beauty and The Beast, and Tales From Home     （by Bayard Taylor）

CONTENTS.

BEAUTY AND THE BEAST

THE STRANGE FRIEND

JACOB FLINT'S JOURNEY

CAN A LIFE HIDE ITSELF?

TWIN-LOVE

THE EXPERIENCES OF THE A. C.

FRIEND ELI'S DAUGHTER

MISS BARTRAM'S TROUBLE

MRS. STRONGITHARM'S REPORT

BEAUTY AND THE BEAST.

A STORY OF OLD RUSSIA.

I.

We are about to relate a story of mingled fact and fancy.  The

facts are borrowed from the Russian author, Petjerski; the fancy is

our own.  Our task will chiefly be to soften the outlines of

incidents almost too sharp and rugged for literary use, to supply

them with the necessary coloring and sentiment, and to give a

coherent and proportioned shape to the irregular fragments of an

old chronicle.  We know something, from other sources, of the

customs described, something of the character of the people from

personal observation, and may therefore the more freely take such

liberties as we choose with the rude, vigorous sketches of the

Russian original.  One who happens to have read the work of

Villebois can easily comprehend the existence of a state of

society, on the banks of the Volga, a hundred years ago, which

is now impossible, and will soon become incredible.  What is

strangest in our narrative has been declared to be true.

 

II.

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!"

 

 

[1]  Little Boris.

 

 

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 attendent, "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 occurence, 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.

 

 

 

 

III.

 

 

The festival granted on behalf of Prince Boris was one of the

grandest ever given at the castle.  In character it was a

singular cross between the old Muscovite revel and the French

entertainments which were then introduced by the Empress Elizabeth.

 

All the nobility, for fifty versts around, including Prince Paul

and the chief families of Kostroma, were invited.  Simon Petrovitch

had been so carefully guarded that his work was actually completed

and the parts distributed; his superintendence of the performance,

however, was still a matter of doubt, as it was necessary to

release him from the tower, and after several days of forced

abstinence he always manifested a raging appetite.  Prince Alexis,

in spite of this doubt, had been assured by Boris that the dramatic

part of the entertainment would not be a failure.  When he

questioned Sasha, the poet's strong-shouldered guard, the latter

winked familiarly and answered with a proverb,--

 

"I sit on the shore and wait for the wind,"--which was as much as

to say that Sasha had little fear of the result

 

The tables were spread in the great hall, where places for one

hundred chosen guests were arranged on the floor, while the three

or four hundred of minor importance were provided for in the

galleries above.  By noon the whole party were assembled.  The

halls and passages of the castle were already permeated with rich

and unctuous smells, and a delicate nose might have picked out and

arranged, by their finer or coarser vapors, the dishes preparing

for the upper and lower tables.  One of the parasites of Prince

Alexis, a dilapidated nobleman, officiated as Grand Marshal,--an

office which more than compensated for the savage charity he

received, for it was performed in continual fear and trembling.

The Prince had felt the stick of the Great Peter upon his own back,

and was ready enough to imitate any custom of the famous monarch.

 

An orchestra, composed principally of horns and brass instruments,

occupied a separate gallery at one end of the dining-hall.  The

guests were assembled in the adjoining apartments, according to

their rank; and when the first loud blast of the instruments

announced the beginning of the banquet, two very differently

attired and freighted processions of servants made their appearance

at the same time.  Those intended for the princely table numbered

two hundred,--two for each guest.  They were the handsomest young

men among the ten thousand serfs, clothed in loose white trousers

and shirts of pink or lilac silk; their soft golden hair, parted in

the middle, fell upon their shoulders, and a band of gold-thread

about the brow prevented it from sweeping the dishes they carried.

They entered the reception-room, bearing huge trays of sculptured

silver, upon which were anchovies, the finest Finnish caviar,

sliced oranges, cheese, and crystal flagons of Cognac, rum, and

kummel.  There were fewer servants for the remaining guests, who

were gathered in a separate chamber, and regaled with the common

black caviar, onions, bread, and vodki.  At the second blast of

trumpets, the two companies set themselves in motion and entered

the dining-hall at opposite ends.  Our business, however, is only

with the principal personages, so we will allow the common

crowd quietly to mount to the galleries and satisfy their senses

with the coarser viands, while their imagination is stimulated by

the sight of the splendor and luxury below.

 

Prince Alexis entered first, with a pompous, mincing gait, leading

the Princess Martha by the tips of her fingers.  He wore a caftan

of green velvet laced with gold, a huge vest of crimson brocade,

and breeches of yellow satin.  A wig, resembling clouds boiling in

the confluence of opposing winds, surged from his low, broad

forehead, and flowed upon his shoulders.  As his small, fiery eyes

swept the hall, every servant trembled: he was as severe at the

commencement as he was reckless at the close of a banquet.  The

Princess Martha wore a robe of pink satin embroidered with flowers

made of small pearls, and a train and head-dress of crimson velvet.

 

Her emeralds were the finest outside of Moscow, and she wore them

all.  Her pale, weak, frightened face was quenched in the dazzle of

the green fires which shot from her forehead, ears, and bosom, as

she moved.

 

Prince Paul of Kostroma and the Princess Nadejda followed; but on

reaching the table, the gentlemen took their seats at the head,

while the ladies marched down to the foot.  Their seats were

determined by their relative rank, and woe to him who was so

ignorant or so absent-minded as to make a mistake!  The servants

had been carefully trained in advance by the Grand Marshal; and

whoever took a place above his rank or importance found, when he

came to sit down, that his chair had miraculously disappeared,

or, not noticing the fact, seated himself absurdly and violently

upon the floor.  The Prince at the head of the table, and the

Princess at the foot, with their nearest guests of equal rank, ate

from dishes of massive gold; the others from silver.  As soon as

the last of the company had entered the hall, a crowd of jugglers,

tumblers, dwarfs, and Calmucks followed, crowding themselves into

the corners under the galleries, where they awaited the conclusion

of the banquet to display their tricks, and scolded and pummelled

each other in the mean time.

 

On one side of Prince Alexis the bear Mishka took his station.  By

order of Prince Boris he had been kept from wine for several days,

and his small eyes were keener and hungrier than usual.  As he rose

now and then, impatiently, and sat upon his hind legs, he formed a

curious contrast to the Prince's other supporter, the idiot, who

sat also in his tow-shirt, with a large pewter basin in his hand.

It was difficult to say whether the beast was most man or the man

most beast.  They eyed each other and watched the motions of their

lord with equal jealousy; and the dismal whine of the bear found an

echo in the drawling, slavering laugh of the idiot.  The Prince

glanced form one to the other; they put him in a capital humor,

which was not lessened as he perceived an expression of envy pass

over the face of Prince Paul.

 

The dinner commenced with a botvinia--something between a soup

and a salad--of wonderful composition.  It contained cucumbers,

cherries, salt fish, melons, bread, salt, pepper, and wine.

While it was being served, four huge fishermen, dressed to

represent mermen of the Volga, naked to the waist, with hair

crowned with reeds, legs finned with silver tissue from the knees

downward, and preposterous scaly tails, which dragged helplessly

upon the floor, entered the hall, bearing a broad, shallow tank of

silver.  In the tank flapped and swam four superb sterlets, their

ridgy backs rising out of the water like those of alligators.

Great applause welcomed this new and classical adaptation of the

old custom of showing the LIVING fish, before cooking them, to

the guests at the table.  The invention was due to Simon

Petrovitch, and was (if the truth must be confessed) the result of

certain carefully measured supplies of brandy which Prince Boris

himself had carried to the imprisoned poet.

 

After the sterlets had melted away to their backbones, and the

roasted geese had shrunk into drumsticks and breastplates, and here

and there a guest's ears began to redden with more rapid blood,

Prince Alexis judged that the time for diversion had arrived.  He

first filled up the idiot's basin with fragments of all the dishes

within his reach,--fish, stewed fruits, goose fat, bread, boiled

cabbage, and beer,--the idiot grinning with delight all the while,

and singing, "Ne uyesjai golubchik moi," (Don't go away, my

little pigeon), between the handfuls which he crammed into his

mouth.  The guests roared with laughter, especially when a juggler

or Calmuck stole out from under the gallery, and pretended to have

designs upon the basin.  Mishka, the bear, had also been well fed,

and greedily drank ripe old Malaga from the golden dish.  But,

alas! he would not dance.  Sitting up on his hind legs, with his

fore paws hanging before him, he cast a drunken, languishing eye

upon the company, lolled out his tongue, and whined with an almost

human voice.  The domestics, secretly incited by the Grand Marshal,

exhausted their ingenuity in coaxing him, but in vain.  Finally,

one of them took a goblet of wine in one hand, and, embracing

Mishka with the other, began to waltz.  The bear stretched out his

paw and clumsily followed the movements, whirling round and round

after the enticing goblet.  The orchestra struck up, and the

spectacle, though not exactly what Prince Alexis wished, was

comical enough to divert the company immensely.

 

But the close of the performance was not upon the programme.  The

impatient bear, getting no nearer his goblet, hugged the man

violently with the other paw, striking his claws through the thin

shirt.  The dance-measure was lost; the legs of the two tangled,

and they fell to the floor, the bear undermost.  With a growl of

rage and disappointment, he brought his teeth together through the

man's arm, and it might have fared badly with the latter, had not

the goblet been refilled by some one and held to the animal's nose.

 

Then, releasing his hold, he sat up again, drank another bottle,

and staggered out of the hall.

 

Now the health of Prince Alexis was drunk,--by the guests on the

floor of the hall in Champagne, by those in the galleries in

kislischi and hydromel.  The orchestra played; a choir of

serfs sang an ode by Simon Petrovitch, in which the departure of

Prince Boris was mentioned; the tumblers began to posture; the

jugglers came forth and played their tricks; and the cannon on the

ramparts announced to all Kinesma, and far up and down the Volga,

that the company were rising from the table.

 

Half an hour later, the great red slumber-flag floated over the

castle.  All slept,--except the serf with the wounded arm, the

nervous Grand Marshal, and Simon Petrovich with his band of

dramatists, guarded by the indefatigable Sasha.  All others

slept,--and the curious crowd outside, listening to the music,

stole silently away; down in Kinesma, the mothers ceased to scold

their children, and the merchants whispered to each other in the

bazaar; the captains of vessels floating on the Volga directed

their men by gestures; the mechanics laid aside hammer and axe, and

lighted their pipes.  Great silence fell upon the land, and

continued unbroken so long as Prince Alexis and his guests slept

the sleep of the just and the tipsy.

 

By night, however, they were all awake and busily preparing for the

diversions of the evening.  The ball-room was illuminated by

thousands of wax-lights, so connected with inflammable threads,

that the wicks could all be kindled in a moment.  A pyramid of tar-

barrels had been erected on each side of the castle-gate, and every

hill or mound on the opposite bank of the Volga was similarly

crowned.  When, to a stately march,--the musicians blowing their

loudest,--Prince Alexis and Princess Martha led the way to the

ball-room, the signal was given: candles and tar-barre]s burst

into flame, and not only within the castle, but over the landscape

for five or six versts, around everything was bright and clear in

the fiery day.  Then the noises of Kinesma were not only permitted,

but encouraged.  Mead and qvass flowed in the very streets, and

the castle trumpets could not be heard for the sound of troikas

and balalaikas.

 

After the Polonaise, and a few stately minuets, (copied from the

court of Elizabeth), the company were ushered into the theatre.

The hour of Simon Petrovitch had struck: with the inspiration

smuggled to him by Prince Boris, he had arranged a performance

which he felt to be his masterpiece.  Anxiety as to its reception

kept him sober.  The overture had ceased, the spectators were all

in their seats, and now the curtain rose.  The background was a

growth of enormous, sickly toad-stools, supposed to be clouds.  On

the stage stood a girl of eighteen, (the handsomest in Kinesma), in

hoops and satin petticoat, powdered hair, patches, and high-heeled

shoes.  She held a fan in one hand, and a bunch of marigolds in the

other.  After a deep and graceful curtsy to the company, she came

forward and said,--

 

"I am the goddess Venus.  I have come to Olympus to ask some

questions of Jupiter."

 

Thunder was heard, and a car rolled upon the stage.  Jupiter sat

therein, in a blue coat, yellow vest, ruffled shirt and three-

cornered hat.  One hand held a bunch of thunderbolts, which he

occasionally lifted and shook; the other, a gold-headed cane.

 

"Here am, I Jupiter," said he; "what does Venus desire?"

 

A poetical dialogue then followed, to the effect that the favorite

of the goddess, Prince Alexis of Kinesma, was about sending his

son, Prince Boris, into the gay world, wherein himself had already

displayed all the gifts of all the divinities of Olympus.  He

claimed from her, Venus, like favors for his son: was it possible

to grant them?  Jupiter dropped his head and meditated.  He could

not answer the question at once:  Apollo, the Graces, and the Muses

must be consulted: there were few precedents where the son had

succeeded in rivalling the father,--yet the father's pious wishes

could not be overlooked.

Venus said,--

 

"What I asked for Prince Alexis was for HIS sake: what I ask for

the son is for the father's sake."

 

Jupiter shook his thunderbolt and called "Apollo!"

 

Instantly the stage was covered with explosive and coruscating

fires,--red, blue, and golden,--and amid smoke, and glare, and

fizzing noises, and strong chemical smells, Apollo dropped down

from above.  He was accustomed to heat and smoke, being the cook's

assistant, and was sweated down to a weight capable of being

supported by the invisible wires.  He wore a yellow caftan, and

wide blue silk trousers.  His yellow hair was twisted around and

glued fast to gilded sticks, which stood out from his head in a

circle, and represented rays of light.  He first bowed to Prince

Alexis, then to the guests, then to Jupiter, then to Venus.  The

matter was explained to him.

 

He promised to do what he could towards favoring the world with a

second generation of the beauty, grace, intellect, and nobility of

character which had already won his regard.  He thought, however,

that their gifts were unnecessary, since the model was already in

existence, and nothing more could be done than to IMITATE it.

 

(Here there was another meaning bow towards Prince Alexis,--a bow

in which Jupiter and Venus joined.  This was the great point of the

evening, in the opinion of Simon Petrovitch.  He peeped through a

hole in one of the clouds, and, seeing the delight of Prince Alexis

and the congratulations of his friends, immediately took a large

glass of Cognac).

 

The Graces were then summoned, and after them the Muses--all in

hoops, powder, and paint.  Their songs had the same burden,--

intense admiration of the father, and good-will for the son,

underlaid with a delicate doubt.  The close was a chorus of all the

deities and semi-deities in praise of the old Prince, with the

accompaniment of fireworks.  Apollo rose through the air like a

frog, with his blue legs and yellow arms wide apart; Jupiter's

chariot rolled off; Venus bowed herself back against a mouldy

cloud; and the Muses came forward in a bunch, with a wreath of

laurel, which they placed upon the venerated head.

 

Sasha was dispatched to bring the poet, that he might receive his

well-earned praise and reward.  But alas for Simon Petrovitch?  His

legs had already doubled under him.  He was awarded fifty rubles

and a new caftan, which he was not in a condition to accept

until several days afterward.

 

The supper which followed resembled the dinner, except that there

were fewer dishes and more bottles.  When the closing course of

sweatmeats had either been consumed or transferred to the pockets

of the guests, the Princess Martha retired with the ladies.  The

guests of lower rank followed; and there remained only some fifteen

or twenty, who were thereupon conducted by Prince Alexis to a

smaller chamber, where he pulled off his coat, lit his pipe, and

called for brandy.  The others followed his example, and their

revelry wore out the night.

 

Such was the festival which preceded the departure of Prince Boris

for St. Petersburg.

 

 

 

IV.

 

 

Before following the young Prince and his fortunes, in the capital,

we must relate two incidents which somewhat disturbed the ordered

course of life in the castle of Kinesma, during the first month or

two after his departure.

 

It must be stated, as one favorable trait in the character of

Prince Alexis, that, however brutally he treated his serfs, he

allowed no other man to oppress them.  All they had and were--their

services, bodies, lives--belonged to him; hence injustice towards

them was disrespect towards their lord.  Under the fear which his

barbarity inspired lurked a brute-like attachment, kept alive by

the recognition of this quality.

 

One day it was reported to him that Gregor, a merchant in the

bazaar at Kinesma, had cheated the wife of one of his serfs in the

purchase of a piece of cloth.  Mounting his horse, he rode at once

to Gregor's booth, called for the cloth, and sent the entire piece

to the woman, in the merchant's name, as a confessed act of

reparation.

 

"Now, Gregor, my child," said he, as he turned his horse's head,

"have a care in future, and play me no more dishonest tricks.  Do

you hear?  I shall come and take your business in hand myself, if

the like happens again."

 

Not ten days passed before the like--or something fully as bad--

did happen.  Gregor must have been a new comer in Kinesma, or he

would not have tried the experiment.  In an hour from the time it

was announced, Prince Alexis appeared in the bazaar with a short

whip under his arm.

 

He dismounted at the booth with an ironical smile on his face,

which chilled the very marrow in the merchant's bones.

 

"Ah, Gregor, my child," he shouted, "you have already forgotten my

commands.  Holy St. Nicholas, what a bad memory the boy has!  Why,

he can't be trusted to do business:  I must attend to the shop

myself.  Out of the way! march!"

 

He swung his terrible whip; and Gregor, with his two assistants,

darted under the counter, and made their escape.  The Prince then

entered the booth, took up a yard-stick, and cried out in a voice

which could be heard from one end of the town to the other,--

"Ladies and gentlemen, have the kindness to come and examine

our stock of goods!  We have silks and satins, and all kinds of

ladies' wear; also velvet, cloth, cotton, and linen for the

gentlemen.  Will your Lordships deign to choose?  Here are

stockings and handkerchiefs of the finest.  We understand how to

measure, your Lordships, and we sell cheap.  We give no change, and

take no small money.  Whoever has no cash may have credit.  Every

thing sold below cost, on account of closing up the establishment.

Ladies and gentlemen, give us a call?"

 

Everybody in Kinesma flocked to the booth, and for three hours

Prince Alexis measured and sold, either for scant cash or long

credit, until the last article had been disposed of and the shelves

were empty.  There was great rejoicing in the community over the

bargains made that day.  When all was over, Gregor was summoned,

and the cash received paid into his hands.

 

"It won't take you long to count it," said the Prince; but here is

a list of debts to be collected, which will furnish you with

pleasant occupation, and enable you to exercise your memory.  Would

your Worship condescend to take dinner to-day with your humble

assistant?  He would esteem it a favor to be permitted to wait upon

you with whatever his poor house can supply."

 

Gregor gave a glance at the whip under the Prince's arm, and begged

to be excused.  But the latter would take no denial, and carried

out the comedy to the end by giving the merchant the place of honor

at his table, and dismissing him with the present of a fine pup of

his favorite breed.  Perhaps the animal acted as a mnemonic

symbol, for Gregor was never afterwards accused of forgetfulness.

 

If this trick put the Prince in a good humor, some thing presently

occurred which carried him to the opposite extreme.  While taking

his customary siesta one afternoon, a wild young fellow--one of his

noble poor relations, who "sponged" at the castle--happened to pass

along a corridor outside of the very hall where his Highness was

snoring.  Two ladies in waiting looked down from an upper window.

The young fellow perceived them, and made signs to attract their

attention.  Having succeeded in this, he attempted, by all sorts of

antics and grimaces, to make them laugh or speak; but he failed,

for the slumber-flag waved over them, and its fear was upon them.

Then, in a freak of incredible rashness, he sang, in a loud voice,

the first line of a popular ditty, and took to his heels.

 

No one had ever before dared to insult the sacred quiet.  The

Prince was on his feet in a moment, and rushed into the corridor,

(dropping his mantle of sables by the way,) shouting.--

 

"Bring me the wretch who sang!"

 

The domestics scattered before him, for his face was terrible to

look upon.  Some of them had heard the voice, indeed, but not one

of them had seen the culprit, who al ready lay upon a heap of hay

in one of the stables, and appeared to be sunk in innocent sleep.

 

"Who was it? who was it?" yelled the Prince, foaming at the

mouth with rage, as he rushed from chamber to chamber.

 

At last he halted at the top of the great flight of steps leading

into the court-yard, and repeated his demand in a voice of thunder.

 

The servants, trembling, kept at a safe distance, and some of them

ventured to state that the offender could not be discovered.  The

Prince turned and entered one of the state apartments, whence came

the sound of porcelain smashed on the floor, and mirrors shivered

on the walls.  Whenever they heard that sound, the immates of

the castle knew that a hurricane was let loose.

 

They deliberated hurriedly and anxiously.  What was to be done?  In

his fits of blind animal rage, there was nothing of which the

Prince was not capable, and the fit could be allayed only by

finding a victim.  No one, however, was willing to be a Curtius for

the others, and meanwhile the storm was increasing from minute to

minute.  Some of the more active and shrewd of the household

pitched upon the leader of the band, a simple-minded, good-natured

serf, named Waska.  They entreated him to take upon himself the

crime of having sung, offering to have his punishment mitigated in

every possible way.  He was proof against their tears, but not

against the money which they finally offered, in order to avert the

storm.  The agreement was made, although Waska both scratched his

head and shook it, as he reflected upon the probable result.

 

The Prince, after his work of destruction, again appeared upon

the steps, and with hoarse voice and flashing eyes, began to

announce that every soul in the castle should receive a hundred

lashes, when a noise was heard in the court, and amid cries of

"Here he is!" "We've got him, Highness!" the poor Waska, bound hand

and foot, was brought forward.  They placed him at the bottom of

the steps.  The Prince descended until the two stood face to face.

The others looked on from courtyard, door, and window.  A pause

ensued, during which no one dared to breathe.

 

At last Prince Alexis spoke, in a loud and terrible voice--

 

"It was you who sang it?"

 

"Yes, your Highness, it was I," Waska replied, in a scarcely

audible tone, dropping his head and mechanically drawing his

shoulders together, as if shrinking from the coming blow.

 

It was full three minutes before the Prince again spoke.  He still

held the whip in his hand, his eyes fixed and the muscles of his

face rigid.  All at once the spell seemed to dissolve: his hand

fell, and he said in his ordinary voice--

 

"You sing remarkably well.  Go, now: you shall have ten rubles and

an embroidered caftan for your singing."

 

But any one would have made a great mistake who dared to awaken

Prince Alexis a second time in the same manner.

 

 

 

V.

 

 

Prince Boris, in St. Petersburg, adopted the usual habits of his

class.  He dressed elegantly; he drove a dashing troika; he

played, and lost more frequently than he won; he took no special

pains to shun any form of fashionable dissipation.  His money went

fast, it is true; but twenty-five thousand rubles was a large sum

in those days, and Boris did not inherit his father's expensive

constitution.  He was presented to the Empress; but his thin face,

and mild, melancholy eyes did not make much impression upon that

ponderous woman.  He frequented the salons of the nobility, but saw

no face so beautiful as that of Parashka, the serf-maiden who

personated Venus for Simon Petrovitch.  The fact is, he had a dim,

undeveloped instinct of culture, and a crude, half-conscious

worship of beauty,--both of which qualities found just enough

nourishment in the life of the capital to tantalize and never

satisfy his nature.  He was excited by his new experience, but

hardly happier.

 

Athough but three-and-twenty, he would never know the rich,

vital glow with which youth rushes to clasp all forms of sensation.

 

He had seen, almost daily, in his father's castle, excess in its

most excessive development.  It had grown to be repulsive, and he

knew not how to fill the void in his life.  With a single spark of

genius, and a little more culture, he might have become a passable

author or artist; but he was doomed to be one of those deaf and

dumb natures that see the movements of the lips of others, yet have

no conception of sound.  No wonder his savage old father looked

upon him with contempt, for even his vices were without strength or

character.

 

The dark winter days passed by, one by one, and the first week of

Lent had already arrived to subdue the glittering festivities of

the court, when the only genuine adventure of the season happened

to the young Prince.  For adventures, in the conventional sense of

the word, he was not distinguished; whatever came to him must come

by its own force, or the force of destiny.

 

One raw, gloomy evening, as dusk was setting in, he saw a female

figure in a droschky, which was about turning from the great

Morskoi into the Gorokhovaya (Pea) Street.  He noticed, listlessly,

that the lady was dressed in black, closely veiled, and appeared to

be urging the istvostchik (driver) to make better speed.  The

latter cut his horse sharply: it sprang forward, just at the

turning, and the droschky, striking a lamp-post was instantly

overturned.  The lady, hurled with great force upon the solidly

frozen snow, lay motionless, which the driver observing, he righted

the sled and drove off at full speed, without looking behind him.

It was not inhumanity, but fear of the knout that hurried him away.

 

Prince Boris looked up and down the Morskoi, but perceived no one

near at hand.  He then knelt upon the snow, lifted the lady's head

to his knee, and threw back her veil.  A face so lovely, in spite

of its deadly pallor, he had never before seen.  Never had he even

imagined so perfect an oval, such a sweet, fair forehead, such

delicately pencilled brows, so fine and straight a nose, such

wonderful beauty of mouth and chin.  It was fortunate that she was

not very severely stunned, for Prince Boris was not only ignorant

of the usual modes of restoration in such cases, but he totally

forgot their necessity, in his rapt contemplation of the lady's

face.  Presently she opened her eyes, and they dwelt,

expressionless, but bewildering in their darkness and depth, upon

his own, while her consciousness of things slowly returned.

 

She strove to rise, and Boris gently lifted and supported her.  She

would have withdrawn from his helping arm, but was still too weak

from the shock.  He, also, was confused and (strange to say)

embarrassed; but he had self-possession enough to shout, "Davei!"

(Here!) at random.  The call was answered from the Admiralty

Square; a sled dashed up the Gorokhovaya and halted beside him.

Taking the single seat, he lifted her gently upon his lap and held

her very tenderly in his arms.

 

"Where?" asked the istvostchik.

 

Boris was about to answer "Anywhere!" but the lady whispered in a

voice of silver sweetness, the name of a remote street, near the

Smolnoi Church.

 

As the Prince wrapped the ends of his sable pelisse about her, he

noticed that her furs were of the common foxskin worn by the middle

classes.  They, with her heavy boots and the threadbare cloth of

her garments, by no means justified his first suspicion,--that she

was a grande dame, engaged in some romantic "adventure."  She was

not more than nineteen or twenty years of age, and he felt--

without knowing what it was--the atmosphere of sweet, womanly

purity and innocence which surrounded her.  The shyness of a lost

boyhood surprised him.

 

By the time they had reached the Litenie, she had fully recovered

her consciousness and a portion of her strength.  She drew away

from him as much as the narrow sled would allow.

 

"You have been very kind, sir, and I thank you," she said; "but I

am now able to go home without your further assistance."

 

"By no means, lady!" said the Prince.  "The streets are rough, and

here are no lamps.  If a second accident were to happen, you would

be helpless.  Will you not allow me to protect you?"

 

She looked him in the face.  In the dusky light, she saw not the

peevish, weary features of the worldling, but only the imploring

softness of his eyes, the full and perfect honesty of his present

emotion.  She made no further objection; perhaps she was glad that

she could trust the elegant stranger.

 

Boris, never before at a loss for words, even in the presence of

the Empress, was astonished to find how awkward were his attempts

at conversation.  She was presently the more self-possessed of the

two, and nothing was ever so sweet to his ears as the few

commonplace remarks she uttered.  In spite of the darkness and the

chilly air, the sled seemed to fly like lightning.  Before he

supposed they had made half the way, she gave a sign to the

istvostchik, and they drew up before a plain house of squared logs.

 

The two lower windows were lighted, and the dark figure of an old

man, with a skull-cap upon his head, was framed in o, , ne of them.  It

vanished as the sled stopped; the door was thrown open and the man

came forth hurriedly, followed by a Russian nurse with a lantern.

 

"Helena, my child, art thou come at last?  What has befallen thee?"

 

He would evidently have said more, but the sight of Prince Boris

caused him to pause, while a quick shade of suspicion and alarm

passed over his face.  The Prince stepped forward, instantly

relieved of his unaccustomed timidity, and rapidly described the

accident.  The old nurse Katinka, had meanwhile assisted the lovely

Helena into the house.

 

The old man turned to follow, shivering in the night-air.  Suddenly

recollecting himself, he begged the Prince to enter and take some

refreshments, but with the air and tone of a man who hopes that his

invitation will not be accepted.  If such was really his hope, he

was disappointed; for Boris instantly commanded the istvostchik to

wait for him, and entered the humble dwelling.

 

The apartment into which he was ushered was spacious, and plainly,

yet not shabbily furnished.  A violoncello and clavichord, with

several portfolios of music, and scattered sheets of ruled paper,

proclaimed the profession or the taste of the occupant.  Having

excused himself a moment to look after his daughter's condition,

the old  man, on his return, found Boris turning over the

leaves of a musical work.

 

"You see my profession," he said.  "I teach music?"

 

"Do you not compose?" asked the Prince.

 

"That was once my ambition.  I was a pupil of Sebastian Bach.

But--circumstances--necessity--brought me here.  Other lives

changed the direction of mine.  It was right!"

 

"You mean your daughter's?" the Prince gently suggested.

 

"Hers and her mother's.  Our story was well known in St. Petersburg

twenty years ago, but I suppose no one recollects it now.  My wife

was the daughter of a Baron von Plauen, and loved music and myself

better than her home and a titled bridegroom.  She escaped, we

united our lives, suffered and were happy together,--and she died.

That is all."

 

Further conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Helena,

with steaming glasses of tea.  She was even lovelier than before.

Her close-fitting dress revealed the symmetry of her form, and the

quiet, unstudied grace of her movements.  Although her garments

were of well-worn material, the lace which covered her