The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 17, No. 99, January, 1866: A Magazine of Literature, Science, Art, and PoliticsVarious
General
The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 17, No. 99, January, 1866: A Magazine of Literature, Science, Art, and Politics
Various
American periodicals
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,--
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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