WE were standing at the dock of Saardam, watching the work of the shipbuilders.
Suddenly, one of them, a man of gigantic proportions, waved his arm and spoke to the rest in a strange jargon, a mixture of German, Dutch and Russian, but quite comprehensible nevertheless.
“Who of you wants to go to Russia? The Tsar will pay you ten times your wages here. He will give you full protection, will let you keep your religion, and your customs.”
The rest looked up, some smiling, a few waving their fingers about their temples to indicate that he was raving.
“He has been saying this since he came to work a week ago,” said one.
“Yes, every day he says the same thing.”
“Is he crazy, do you think?”
“Maybe he is a spy.”
“But if a spy, the government would have been after him.”
“Yes, that’s true. He is just a little off.”
“Those of you who are unmarried will find beautiful and strong women there. Those of you who have wives and children will get extra wages. Who wants to go to Russia?”
Several laughed.
One shouted, “You better go on with your work or I’ll tell the boss.”
“Who dares to speak to me in that manner?” He raised an enormous log and was about to strike. The people retreated. He dropped the log which rebounded several times.
“In Russia, your head would have rolled at my feet.”
“And he wants us to go to Russia,” one laughed.
The others joined him.
“Slave on here! You would have become rich in Russia. Fools!”
He turned his back upon them.
“Kotikokura, who is this man? Look! We knew him. We saw him.”
Kotikokura nodded and knit his brow.
The man walked toward us.
“Who, Kotikokura?”
Kotikokura rubbed his chin.
“Those eyes—that chin—his stature—his strength—who?”
Just as he was about to turn the corner, I called out: “Attila! Attila!”
Kotikokura nodded vehemently. The man heard me, stopped in front of us, scrutinized me, and smiled broadly.
“I am a descendant of Attila. Wherever I pass, I conquer.”
“You are not a descendant merely, Sire, but Attila himself,” I said, bowing low.
His eyes, sharp as the points of knives, tried to pierce through me.
“Is it so difficult to recognize a king, Sire?”
“Who are you?” he thundered.
“I am Your Majesty’s servant,” I answered.
He threw his arms about me and kissed me on both cheeks noisily like the clapping of hands. “Peter Romanoff is your friend. Will you come with me to Russia?”
“Wherever Your Majesty commands?”
“Who is that man?” He pointed to Kotikokura.
“My companion, Sire.”
Kotikokura made a profound obeisance.
“I like his face. He looks like one of my people.”
Kotikokura kissed his hands.
Peter walked between us, holding our arms.
“Can you imagine, the fools not willing to go where fortune awaits them? Could they not recognize me? Do I look like a common laborer?”
“Your Majesty, the sun shines in vain for the blind.”
“Splendid! You will teach my ministers the art of courtesy. I want to turn my court into a more magnificent palace than that of Versailles. Louis the Fourteenth is splendid. He has taste and manners. He treated me discourteously but—” he raised his arm and waved his fist,—”I shall be the emperor of the world!”
“Attila!” I exclaimed.
“I need men. I need a navy. These fools will not come.”
“They will come, Sire. I shall persuade them.”
“How can you persuade them when I found it impossible?” he scowled.
“Your Majesty, the people are accustomed to respect the uniform. I shall talk to them dressed as a high officer of your army. They will come.”
“You are my friend, my joy, my hope!” he exclaimed, and kissed my cheek.
He looked at his boots and laughed heartily. “I do not blame the poor devils. Does a great emperor wear muddy boots and a torn coat? Promise them everything, my friend. We need boats and sailors and shipbuilders. Russia shall become the mightiest of nations! She shall conquer the world!”
The tip of his boot struck a horseshoe. He picked it up.
“What other monarch can bend this iron?”
He grasped the shoe with his enormous hands, closed his eyes, and pressed until the points met.
He threw the shoe away. Kotikokura picked it up and with one movement, unbent the iron until it became a straight line.
Peter glared at him. “You are a strong man– —”
Kotikokura grinned.
“But a poor courtier. Don’t you know that it is dangerous to excel the Tsar?”
Kotikokura’s chin dropped.
Peter flung his arms about him and kissed him. “Do not fear. You shall be the commander-in-chief of my bodyguard.”
Kotikokura bowed to the ground.
We entered a wine-shop.
“Wine!” Peter ordered.
We seated ourselves at a table. Kotikokura filled very tall cups.
Peter raised his cup. “To Russia!”
We drank the contents at one gulp. Kotikokura refilled the cups.
“To Peter, Tsar of Russia!” I toasted.
Kotikokura raised his cup. “To Ca-ta-pha, god!”
Peter drank but looked at me for an explanation.
“My friend invokes God to bless the Tsar and his country.”
Peter crossed himself and drank another cup. His face flushed, twitched, as if a fly were pestering it.
“What is your name, my friend, and what is your nationality?”
“Once my name was of great consequence and people trembled at it. Now I have none. I await Your Majesty’s baptismal. And my nationality? I am a Russian!”
He looked at me, his fine lips pouting, his small mustache shivering.
“You are of royal blood.”
He rose, poured some wine over my head. “In the name of Jesus Christ, Our Saviour, and His servant, Peter Romanoff, Tsar of Russia, I baptize you Prince Daniel Petrovich,—for you are as wise as the prophet Daniel and I make you my son. You shall be my chief minister.”
I kissed his hand over which a few drops of the wine trickled.
“Permit me, Sire, to be your shadow, rather than your minister.”
“So be it.”
His Majesty poured some wine over Kotikokura’s head.
“In the name of Jesus Christ, our Saviour, and His servant, Peter Romanoff, Tsar of Russia, I baptize you Duke Samson Romanovich,—for you are as strong as Samson and the adopted son of the House of Romanoff. You are the commander-in-chief of the Tsar’s bodyguard.”
Kotikokura kissed his hand.
The Inn keeper laughed, considering it all the farce of drunken men.
“Chop his head off, Duke!” the Tsar commanded.
Kotikokura rose, drew his knife, and was about to jump at the man’s throat.
“Stop!” I shouted, and turning to the Tsar, I continued, “Sire, we are on foreign soil.”
Peter kissed us both. “I merely wished to test your fidelity. Samson, you acted as you should. It is not for you to question my orders. You are my strength. And you, Daniel, have done your duty well. You are my wisdom. You must not allow anger to overcome your master. I am proud of both of you. The Lord Jesus has sent me the two men needed for my country.”
We all crossed ourselves and proceeded with our drinks.
Peter’s eyes closed and he began to snore.
“Is there a bed here?” I asked the Inn keeper.
“Yes, upstairs.”
“Samson, let us take His Majesty to bed. It is not well for an emperor to expose himself to the ridicule of the rabble.”
Kotikokura lifted the colossal body of the emperor and carried him up the stairs, placing him gently on the bed. He removed his boots and smoothed his pillow. Peter opened his eyes and stood up.
“Once more have I tested you, my dear friends. I only pretended to sleep. Your wisdom, Daniel, is incomparable, and so are your strength and faithfulness, Samson. Approach, that I may kiss you both.”