ARGUMENT
Telimena’s plans for the chase—The little gardener is prepared for
her entry into the great world, and listens to the instructions of
her guardian—The hunters’ return—Great amazement of Thaddeus—A
second meeting in the Temple of Meditation and a reconciliation
made easy by the mediation of ants—Conversation at table about the
hunt—The Seneschal’s tale of Rejtan and the Prince de Nassau
interrupted—Preliminaries of peace between the two factions also
interrupted—Apparition with a key—The brawl—The Count and Gerwazy
hold a council of war.
The Seneschal, after honourably concluding his hunt, was returning from
the wood, but Telimena in the depths of the deserted mansion was just
beginning her hunting. To be sure she sat without moving, with her arms
folded on her breast, but with her thoughts she was pursuing two beasts;
she was searching for means to invest and capture them both at once—the
Count and Thaddeus. The Count was a young magnate, the heir of a great
house, handsome and attractive, and already a trifle in love! Well? He
might be fickle! Then, was he sincerely in love? Would he consent to
marry? especially a woman some years older than he? and not rich?
With these thoughts Telimena rose from the sofa and stood on tiptoe; you
would have said that she had grown tall. She opened slightly her gown over
her bosom, leaned sideways, surveyed herself with a diligent eye, and
again asked counsel of her mirror; a moment later, she lowered her eyes,
sighed, and sat down.
The Count was a grandee! Men of property are changeable in their tastes.
The Count was a blond! Blonds are not over passionate. But Thaddeus? a
simple lad! an honest boy! almost a child! he was beginning to fall in
love for the first time! If well looked to he would not easily break his
first ties; besides that, he was already under obligations to Telimena.
While they are young, though men are fickle in their thoughts, they are
more constant in their feelings than their grandfathers, because they have
a conscience. The simple and maidenlike heart of a youth long preserves
gratitude for the first sweets of love! It welcomes enjoyment and bids it
farewell with gaiety, like a modest meal, which we share with a friend.
Only an old drunkard, whose inwards are already burning, loathes the drink
in which he drowns himself. All this Telimena knew thoroughly, for she had
both sense and large experience.
But what would people say? One could withdraw from their sight, go to
another locality, live in retirement, or, what was better, remove entirely
from the vicinity, for instance make a little trip to the capital; she
might introduce the young lad to the great world, guide his steps, aid
him, counsel him, form his heart, have in him a counsellor and brother!
Finally, she might enjoy the world herself, while her years permitted.
With these thoughts she walked boldly and gaily several times up and down
the chamber—again she lowered her brow.
It might be well also to think about the fate of the Count—could she not
manage to interest him in Zosia? She was not rich, but of equal birth to
his, of a senatorial family, the daughter of a dignitary. If their
marriage should come to pass, Telimena would have a refuge for the future
in their home, being kin to Zosia and the one who secured her for the
Count; she would be like a mother for the young couple.
After this decisive consultation, held with herself, she called from the
window to Zosia, who was playing in the garden.
Zosia was standing bareheaded in her morning gown, holding a sieve aloft
in her hands; the barnyard fowls were running to her feet. From one side
the rough-feathered hens came rolling like balls of yarn; from the other
the crested cocks, shaking the coral helms upon their heads and oaring
themselves with their wings over the furrows and through the bushes,
stretched out broadly their spurred feet; behind them slowly advanced a
puffed-up turkey cock, fretting at the complaints of his garrulous spouse;
there the peacocks, like rafts, steered themselves over the meadow with
their long tails, and here and there a silver-winged dove would fall from
on high like a tassel of snow. In the middle of the circle of greensward
extended a noisy, moving circle of birds, girt round with a belt of doves,
like a white ribbon, mottled with stars, spots, and stripes. Here amber
beaks and there coral crests rose from the thick mass of feathers like
fish from the waves. Their necks were thrust forward and with soft
movements continually wavered to and fro like water lilies; a thousand
eyes like stars glittered upon Zosia.
In the centre, raised high above the birds, white herself, and dressed in
a long white gown, she turned about like a fountain playing amid flowers.
She took from the sieve and scattered over the wings and heads, with a
hand white as pearls, a dense pearly hail of barley grains: it was grain
worthy of a lord’s table, and was made for thickening the Lithuanian
broths; by stealing it from the pantry cupboard for her poultry Zosia did
damage to the housekeeping.
She heard the call “Zosia”—that was her aunt’s voice! She sprinkled out
all at once to the birds the remnant of the dainties, and twirling the
sieve as a dancer a tambourine and beating it rhythmically, the playful
maiden began to skip over the peacocks, the doves, and the hens. The
birds, disturbed, fluttered up in a throng. Zosia, hardly touching the
ground with her feet, seemed to tower high above them; before her the
white doves, which she startled in her course, flew as before the chariot
of the goddess of love.
Zosia with a shout rushed through the window into the chamber, and, out of
breath, sat down upon her aunt’s lap; Telimena, kissing her and stroking
her under the chin, with joy observed the liveliness and charm of the
child (for she really loved her ward). But once more she made a solemn
face, rose, and walking up and down and across the chamber, and holding
her finger on her lips, she spoke thus:—
“My dear Zosia, you are quite forgetful both of your age and of your
station in life. Why, to-day you are beginning your fourteenth year; it is
time to give up turkeys and hens. Fie! is such fun worthy of a dignitary’s
daughter? And you have petted long enough those sunburned peasants’
children, Zosia! My heart aches to look at you; you have tanned your
shoulders dreadfully, like a real little gypsy; and you walk and move like
a village girl. From now on I shall see that all this is changed. I shall
begin to-day; to-day I shall take you into society, to the drawing-room,
to our guests; we have a throng of guests here. See that you do not cause
me shame.”
Zosia jumped from her place and clapped her hands; and, clasping both arms
around her aunt’s neck, she wept and laughed by turns for very joy.
“O auntie, it is so long since I have seen any guests! Since I have been
living here with the hens and turkeys, the only guest that I have seen was
a wild dove. I’m just a little tired of sitting in the chamber; the Judge
even says that it is bad for the health.”
“The Judge,” interrupted her aunt, “has continually been bothering me with
requests to take you out into society; has continually been mumbling under
his breath that you are already grown up. He doesn’t know what he is
talking about himself; he is an old fellow who never had any experience in
the great world. I know better how much preparation a young lady needs, in
order to make an impression when she comes out in society. You see, Zosia,
that any one who grows up in the sight of men, even though she may be
beautiful and clever, produces no impression, since all have been
accustomed to seeing her ever since she was small. But if a well-trained,
grown-up young lady suddenly appears glittering before the world from no
one knows where, then everybody crowds up to her out of curiosity,
observes all her movements, each glance of her eye, attends to her words
and repeats them to others; and when a young person gets to be in fashion,
every one must praise her, even if he does not like her. I hope that you
know how to behave; you grew up in the capital. Though you have been
living two years hereabouts, you have not yet completely forgotten St.
Petersburg. Well, Zosia, make your toilet; get the things from my desk,
you will find ready everything needed for dressing. Hurry up, for at any
minute they may come home from hunting.”
The chambermaid and a serving girl were summoned; into a silver basin they
poured a pitcher of water, and Zosia, fluttering like a sparrow in the
sand, washed with the aid of the servant her hands, face, and neck.
Telimena opened her St. Petersburg stores and took forth bottles of
perfumes, and jars of pomade; she sprinkled Zosia over with choice
perfume—the fragrance filled the room—and smeared her hair with ointment.
Zosia put on white open-work stockings and white satin shoes from Warsaw.
Meanwhile the chambermaid had laced her up, and then thrown a
dressing-sack over the young lady’s shoulders: after crimping her hair
with a hot iron they proceeded to take off the curl-papers; her locks,
since they were rather short, they made into two braids, leaving the hair
smooth on the brow and temples. Then the chambermaid, weaving into a
wreath some freshly gathered cornflowers, gave them to Telimena, who
pinned them skilfully on Zosia’s head, from the right to the left: the
flowers were relieved very beautifully against the light hair, as against
ears of grain! They took off the dressing-sack; the toilet was complete.
Zosia threw over her head a white gown, and rolled up a little white
handkerchief in her hand, and thus, all in white, she looked like a white
lily herself.
After adjusting once more both her hair and her apparel, they told her to
walk the length and breadth of the room. Telimena observed her with the
eyes of an expert; she drilled her niece, grew angry, and grimaced;
finally at Zosia’s curtsy she cried out in despair:—
“Unhappy me! Zosia, you see what comes of living among geese and
shepherds! You stride along like a boy, and turn your eyes to the right
and left like a divorced woman! Curtsy! see how awkward you are!”
“O, auntie,” said Zosia sadly, “how am I to blame? You have locked me up,
auntie; there was nobody to dance with; to pass the time away I liked to
feed the birds and to pet the children. But just wait, auntie, till I’ve
lived among other people for a little while; you’ll see how I improve.”
“Well, of the two evils,” said her aunt, “it was better to stay with the
birds than with such a rabble as have hitherto been our guests; just
recollect who have been our visitors here: the parish priest, who mumbled
a prayer or played checkers, and the lawyers with their tobacco pipes!
They are noble cavaliers! You would have learned fine manners from them!
Now at all events there is some one to show yourself to; we have a
well-bred company in the house. Note well, Zosia, we have here a young
Count, a gentleman, well educated, a relative of the Wojewoda; see that
you are polite to him.”
The neighing of horses is heard and the chatter of the hunters; they are
at the gate: here they are! Taking Zosia on her arm she ran to the
reception room. None of the sportsmen had as yet come in; they had to
change their clothes in the chambers, as they did not wish to join the
ladies in their hunting coats. The first to enter were the young men,
Thaddeus and the Count, who had dressed in great haste.
Telimena discharged the duties of hostess, greeted those who entered,
offered them seats, and entertained them with conversation; she presented
her niece to each in turn, first of all to Thaddeus, as being his near
relative. Zosia curtsied politely; he bowed low, wanted to say something
to her, and had already opened his lips; but, when he looked into Zosia’s
eyes he was so abashed, that, standing dumb before her, he first flushed
and then grew pale. What lay upon his heart, he himself could not guess;
he felt himself very unhappy—he had recognised Zosia—by her stature and
her bright hair and her voice! That form and that little head he had seen
as she stood upon the fence; that charming voice had aroused him to-day
for the hunt.
The Seneschal extricated Thaddeus from his confusion. Seeing that he was
growing pale and that he was tottering on his legs, he advised him to go
to his room and rest. Thaddeus took his stand in the corner and leaned on
the mantel, without saying a word—his wide-open, wandering eyes he turned
now on the aunt and now on the niece. Telimena perceived that his first
sight of Zosia had made a great impression on him; she did not guess all,
but she seemed rather distracted as she entertained the guests, and did
not take her eyes from the young man. Finally, watching her chance, she
ran up to him. “Are you well? Why are you so gloomy?” she asked him; she
pressed her questions, she hinted about Zosia, and began to jest with him.
Thaddeus was unmoved; leaning on his elbow, he kept silent, frowned, and
puckered his lips: so much the more did he confuse and amaze Telimena.
Suddenly she changed her countenance and the tone of her discourse; she
arose in wrath, and with sharp words began to shower on him sarcasms and
reproaches. Thaddeus, too, started up, as if stung by a wasp; he looked
askance; without saying a word he spat, kicked away his chair, and bolted
from the room, slamming the door behind him. Luckily no one of the guests
paid attention to this scene except Telimena.
Flying out through the gate, he ran straight into the field. As a pike,
when a fisherman’s spear pierces through its breast, plunges and dives,
thinking to escape, but everywhere drags with it the iron and the line; so
Thaddeus bore with him his troubles, as he ploughed through the ditches
and vaulted the fences, without aim or path; until, after wandering for no
small time, he finally entered the depths of the wood, and, whether on
purpose or by chance, happened on the little hill which was the witness of
his yesterday’s happiness, and where he had received that note, the
earnest of love: a place, as we know, called the Temple of Meditation.
When he glanced about, behold! there she was! It was Telimena, solitary,
buried in thought, and changed in pose and costume from her of yesterday:
dressed all in white, seated upon a stone, and motionless, as if herself
carved of stone, she had buried her face in her open hands; though you
could not hear her sobs you felt that she was dissolved in tears.
In vain did the heart of Thaddeus defend itself; he took pity, he felt
that compassion moved him. He long gazed without speaking, hidden behind a
tree; at last he sighed, and said to himself angrily: “Stupid, how is she
to blame if I deceived myself?” So he slowly thrust out his head towards
her from behind the tree. But suddenly Telimena tore herself from her
seat, threw herself to the right and the left, and jumped across the
stream; with outstretched arms and dishevelled hair, all pale, she rushed
for the wood, leapt into the air, knelt, and fell down; and, not being
able to get up again, she writhed on the turf. One could see by her
motions from what dreadful torture she was suffering; she seized herself
by the breast, the neck, the soles of her feet, her knees. Thaddeus sprang
towards her, thinking that she had gone mad or was having an epileptic
fit. But these movements proceeded from a different cause.
By a neighbouring birch tree was a great ant-hill; the frugal insects were
wont to crawl around over the grass, mobile and black. Whether from
necessity or from pleasure one cannot tell, they were especially fond of
visiting the Temple of Meditation; from the hillock, their capital, to the
shores of the spring they had trodden a path, by which they led their
troops. Unfortunately Telimena was sitting in the middle of the pathway;
the ants, allured by the sheen of the snow-white stocking, crawled up on
it, and in swarms began to tickle and bite. Telimena was forced to run
away and shake herself, finally to sit down on the grass and catch the
insects.
Thaddeus could not refuse her his aid; brushing her gown he bent down to
her feet; by chance he approached his lips to Telimena’s temples—in so
tender a posture, though they said nothing of their recent quarrels,
nevertheless they were reconciled; and there is no telling how long their
discourse would have lasted, had not the bell from Soplicowo aroused them.
It was the signal for supper; it was time to return home, especially since
in the distance the crackling of broken branches could be heard. Perhaps
they were looking for them? To return together was not fitting; so
Telimena stole to the right towards the garden, and Thaddeus ran to the
left, to the highway. On this detour both were somewhat disturbed: it
seemed to Telimena that once from behind a bush shone the thin, cowled
face of Robak; Thaddeus saw distinctly that once or twice a long white
phantom made its appearance on his left; what it was he knew not, but he
had a suspicion that it was the Count in his long English frock coat.
They had supper in the old castle. The obstinate Protazy, not heeding the
definite orders of the Judge, had again stormed the castle in the absence
of the people of higher station, and, as he said, had foreclosed the
mortgage on it. The guests entered in order and stood about the table. The
Chamberlain took his place at the head; this honour befitted him from his
age and his office; advancing to it he bowed to the ladies, the old men,
and the young men. The Collector of Alms was not at the table; the
Chamberlain’s wife occupied the place of the Bernardine, on her husband’s
right. The Judge, when he had stationed the guests as was fitting,
pronounced a Latin grace. Brandy was passed to the gentlemen; thereupon
all sat down, and silently and with relish they ate the cold salad of beet
leaves whitened with cream.
After the cold dish came crabs, chickens, and asparagus, along with
glasses of Malaga and of Hungarian wine; all ate, drank, and were silent.
Probably never since the time when the walls of this castle were erected,
which had generously entertained so many noble gentlemen, and had heard
and echoed so many vivats, had there been memory of so gloomy a supper.
The great, empty hall of the castle echoed only the popping of corks and
the clink of plates; you would have said that some evil spirit had tied up
the lips of the guests.
Many were the causes of this silence. The sportsmen had returned from the
forest talkative enough, but when their ardour had cooled, and they
thought over the hunt, they realised that they had come out of it with no
great glory: was it necessary that a monkish cowl, bobbing up from God
knows where, like Philip from the hemp,91 should give a lesson to all the
huntsmen of the district? O shame! What would they say of this in Oszmiana
and Lida, which for ages had been rivals of their own district for the
supremacy in woodcrafts? So they were thinking this over.
But the Assessor and the Notary, besides their mutual grudges, had on
their minds the recent shame of their greyhounds. Before their eyes
hovered a rascally hare, leaping nimbly about and bobbing its little tail
from the wood’s edge, in mockery of them; with this tail it beat upon
their hearts as with a scourge: so they sat with faces bent over their
plates. But the Assessor had still more recent reasons for chagrin, when
he gazed at Telimena and at his rivals.
Telimena was sitting half turned away from Thaddeus, and in her confusion
hardly dared to glance at him; she wanted to amuse the gloomy Count, and
to make him talk more freely, so as to get him into better humour; for the
Count was strangely glum when he returned from his walk, or rather, as
Thaddeus thought, from his ambuscade. While listening to Telimena he
raised his brow haughtily, frowned, and looked at her almost with
contempt; then he sat down as near Zosia as he could, filled her glass,
and passed plates to her, saying a thousand polite things, and bowing and
smiling; sometimes he rolled his eyes and sighed deeply. It was evident,
however, despite such skilful deception, that he was flirting merely to
spite Telimena; for every time that he turned his head away, apparently by
accident, his threatening eye glittered upon Telimena.
Telimena could not understand what all this meant; shrugging her
shoulders, she thought, “He’s showing off!” After all she was rather glad
of the Count’s new courtship, and turned her attention to her other
neighbour.
Thaddeus, also gloomy, ate nothing and drank nothing; he seemed to be
listening to the conversation, and glued his eyes on his plate. When
Telimena poured him out wine, he was angry at her importunity; when she
asked about his health, he yawned. He took it ill (so much had he changed
in one evening) that Telimena was too ready to flirt; he was vext that her
gown was cut so low—immodestly—and now for the first time, when he raised
his eyes, he was almost frightened! For his sight had quickened; hardly
had he glanced at Telimena’s rosy face, when all at once he discovered a
great and terrible secret! For Heaven’s sake, she was rouged!
Whether the rouge was of a bad sort, or somehow had been accidentally
scratched upon her face, at all events, here and there it was thin, and
revealed beneath it a coarser complexion. Perhaps Thaddeus himself, in the
Temple of Meditation, speaking too near her, had brushed from its white
foundation the carmine, lighter than the dust of a butterfly’s wing.
Telimena had come back from the wood in too much of a hurry, and had not
had time to repair her colouring; around her mouth, in particular,
freckles could be seen. So the eyes of Thaddeus, like cunning spies,
having discovered one piece of treason, began to explore one after another
her remaining charms, and everywhere discovered some falsity. Two teeth
were missing in her mouth; on her brow and temples there were wrinkles;
thousands of wrinkles were concealed beneath her chin.
Alas! Thaddeus felt how unwise it is to observe too closely a beautiful
object; how shameful to be a spy over one’s sweetheart; how even loathsome
it is to change one’s taste and heart—but who can control his heart? In
vain he tried to supply the lack of love by conscience, to warm again the
coldness of his soul with the flame of her glance; now that glance, like
the moon, bright but without warmth, shone over the surface of a soul that
was chilled to its depths. Making such complaints and reproaches to
himself, he bent his head over his plate, kept silent, and bit his lips.
Meanwhile an evil spirit assailed him with a new temptation, to listen to
what Zosia was saying to the Count. The girl, captivated by the Count’s
affability, at first blushed, lowering her eyes; then they began to laugh,
and finally to talk about a certain unexpected meeting in the garden,
about a certain stepping over the burdocks and the vegetable beds.
Thaddeus, eagerly pricking up his ears, devoured the bitter words and
digested them in his soul. He had a frightful meal. As a serpent in a
garden drinks with its double tongue from poisonous herbs, then rolls into
a ball and lies down upon the path, threatening the foot that may
carelessly step upon it, so Thaddeus, filled with the poison of jealousy,
seemed indifferent, but yet was bursting with malice.
In the merriest assembly, if a few are out of sorts, at once their gloom
spreads to the rest. The sportsmen had long ceased to speak, and now the
other side of the table became silent, infected with the spleen of
Thaddeus.
Even the Chamberlain was unusually gloomy and had no wish to chat,
observing that his daughters, handsome and well-dowered young ladies as
they were, in the flower of youth, by universal opinion the best matches
in the district, were silent and neglected by the young men, who were also
silent. This also caused concern to the hospitable Judge; and the
Seneschal, noticing that all were thus silent, called the meal not a
Polish but a wolves’ supper.
Hreczecha had an ear very sensitive to silence; he himself was a great
talker, and he was inordinately fond of chatterers. It was no wonder! He
had passed all his life with the gentry at banquets, hunts, assemblies,
and district consultations; he was accustomed to having something always
drumming in his ears, even when he himself was silent, or was stealing
with a flapper after a fly, or sat musing with closed eyes; by day he
sought conversation, by night they had to repeat to him the rosary
prayers, or tell him stories. Hence also he was a staunch enemy of the
tobacco pipe, which he thought invented by the Germans in order to
denationalise us. He used to say, “To make Poland dumb is to Germanise
Poland.”92 The old man, who had prattled all through his life, now wished
to repose amid prattle; silence awoke him from sleep: thus millers, lulled
by the clatter of the wheels, as soon as the axles stop, awake crying in
fright: “The Lord be with us!”93
The Seneschal by a bow made a sign to the Chamberlain, and, with his hand
raised to his lips, motioned to the Judge, asking for the floor. The
gentlemen both returned that mute bow, meaning, “Pray speak.” The
Seneschal opened his address:—
“I might venture to beg the young men to entertain us at this supper,
according to the ancient custom, not to sit silent and munch: are we
Capuchin fathers? Whoever keeps silent among the gentry acts exactly like
a hunter who lets his cartridge rust in his gun; therefore I praise highly
the garrulity of our ancestors. After the chase they went to the table not
only to eat, but that they might together speak forth freely what each one
had within his heart; the faults and merits of the huntsmen and the
beaters, the hounds, the shots—all were included in the order of the day;
there would arise a hubbub as dear to the ears of the sportsmen as a
second rousing of the beast. I know, I know what ails you all; that cloud
of black cares has undoubtedly arisen from Robak’s cowl! You are ashamed
of your bad shots! Let not your shame burn you; I have known better
hunters than you, and they used to miss; to hit, to miss, to correct one’s
mistake, that is hunter’s luck. I myself, though I have been carrying a
gun ever since I was a child, have often missed; that famous sportsman
Tuloszczyk used to miss, and even the late Pan Rejtan did not always hit
the mark. Of Rejtan I will speak later. As for letting the beast escape
from the line of beaters, as for the two young gentlemen’s not holding
their ground before the beast as they ought, though they had a pike in
their hands, _that_ no one can either praise or blame: for to retreat with
one’s gun loaded was, according to our old ideas, to be a coward of
cowards; likewise to shoot blindly, as many do, without letting the beast
come close or sighting at it, is a shameful thing; but whoever aims well,
whoever lets the beast come near him as is proper, even if he misses, may
retire without shame; or he may fight with the pike, but at his own
pleasure and not from compulsion; since the pike is put in a sportsman’s
hands not for attack but for defence alone. Such was the ancient custom;
and so believe me, and do not take your retreat to heart, my beloved
Thaddeus and Your Honour the Count. But whenever you call to mind the
happenings of to-day, remember also the caution of the old Seneschal, that
one hunter should never get in another’s way, and that two should never
shoot at the same time at the same game.”
The Seneschal was just pronouncing the word _game_, when the Assessor
whispered under his breath, _dame_. “Bravo,” cried the young men; there
arose a murmur and laughter; all repeated Hreczecha’s caution, especially
the last word: some cried _game_, and others, laughing aloud, _dame_; the
Notary whispered _skirt_, the Assessor, _flirt_, fixing upon Telimena eyes
like stilettos.
The Seneschal had not thought at all of making any personal allusions, and
had not noticed what they were secretly whispering; glad that he had been
able to stir up laughter among the ladies and the young men, he turned to
the hunters, wishing to cheer them up also; and he began anew, pouring
himself out a glass of wine:—
“In vain do my eyes seek the Bernardine; I should like to tell him a
curious incident, similar to what occurred at our hunt to-day. The Warden
told us that he had known but one man who could shoot at long range with
as good aim as Robak, but I knew another; by an equally sure shot he saved
the lives of two men of high rank. I saw it myself, when Rejtan, the
deputy to the Diet, went hunting with the Prince de Nassau in the forests
of Naliboki. Those lords were not jealous of the fame of an untitled
gentleman, but were the first to propose his health at table, and gave him
countless splendid presents, and the hide of the boar that had been slain.
Of that wild boar and of the shot I will tell you as an eyewitness, for
the incident was similar to that of to-day, and it happened to the
greatest sportsmen of my time, to the deputy Rejtan and the Prince de
Nassau.”
But then the Judge spoke up, pouring out a beaker:—
“I drink the health of Robak; Seneschal, clink your glass with mine. If we
cannot enrich the Alms-Gatherer with a gift, we will at least try to pay
him for his powder; we promise solemnly that the bear killed this day in
the wood shall suffice the cloister kitchen for two years. But the skin I
will not give to the Monk; I will either take it by force or the Monk must
yield it to me through humility, or I will buy it, though it cost me the
pelts of ten sables. Of that skin we will dispose according to our will;
the first crown and glory the servant of God has already received, the
hide His Excellency the Chamberlain shall give to him who has deserved the
second reward.”
The Chamberlain rubbed his forehead and lowered his eyebrows. The
sportsmen began to murmur, and each made some remark; one how he had
discovered the beast, another how he had wounded it; this one had called
on the dogs, and that turned back the beast into the forest once more. The
Assessor and the Notary disputed, one exalting the merits of his Sanguszko
gun, the other those of his Sagalas musket from Balabanowka.
“Neighbour Judge,” pronounced the Chamberlain at last, “the servant of God
has rightfully won the first reward; but it is not easy to decide who is
the next to him, for all seem to me to have equal merits, all to be equal
in skill, adroitness, and courage. Fortune, however, has this day
distinguished two by the danger in which they were; two were nearest to
the bear’s claws, Thaddeus and the Count; to them the skin belongs.
Thaddeus will yield, I am sure, as the younger, and as the kinsman of our
host; hence Your Honour the Count will receive the _spolia opima_.94 Let
this trophy adorn your hunting chamber, let it be a reminder of to-day’s
sport, a symbol of fortune in the chase, a spur to future glory.”
He concluded gaily, thinking that he had soothed the Count, and did not
know how grievously he had stabbed his heart. For at the mention of his
hunting chamber the Count involuntarily raised his eyes; and those horns
of stags, those branching antlers like a forest of laurels, sown by the
hands of the fathers to form crowns for the sons, those pillars adorned
with rows of portraits, that coat of arms shining in the vaulting, the old
Half-Goat, spoke to him from all sides with voices of the past. He awoke
from his musings, and remembered where he was and whose guest; he, the
heir of the Horeszkos, was a guest within his own threshold, was feasting
with the Soplicas, his immemorial foes! And moreover the jealousy that he
felt for Thaddeus incensed the Count all the more powerfully against the
Soplicas. So he said with a bitter laugh:—
“My little house is too small; in it there is no worthy place for so
magnificent a gift: let the bear rather abide amid these horned trophies
until the Judge deign to yield it to me together with the castle.”
The Chamberlain, guessing whither things were tending, tapped his golden
snuffbox, and asked for the floor.
“You deserve praise, my neighbour Count,” he said, “for caring for your
interests even at dinner time, not living thoughtlessly from day to day as
do fashionable young fellows of your years. I wish and hope to end the
trial in my Chamberlain’s court by a reconciliation; hitherto the only
difficulty has been over the improvements. I have formed a project of
exchange, to make up for the improvements with land, in the following
fashion.”
Here he began to develop in due order, as he always did, a plan for the
exchange that was to take place. He was already in the middle of the
subject, when an unexpected movement started at the end of the table; some
were pointing at something that they had noticed, and others were looking
in the same direction, until finally all heads, like ears of grain bent
down by a wind behind them, were turned away from the Chamberlain, to the
corner.
From the corner, where hung the portrait of the late Pantler, the last of
the Horeszko family, from a little door concealed between the pillars, had
quietly come forth a form like a phantom. It was Gerwazy; they recognised
him by his stature, by his face, and by the little silvery Half-Goats on
his yellow coat. He walked straight as a post, silent and grim, without
taking off his hat, without even inclining his head; in his hand he held a
glittering key, like a dagger; he opened a case and began to turn
something in it.
In two corners of the hall, against pillars, stood two musical clocks in
locked cases; the queer old fellows, long at odds with the sun, often
indicated noon at sunset. Gerwazy had not undertaken to repair the
machines, but he would not give up winding them; he turned the key in the
clocks every evening, and the time for winding had just come. While the
Chamberlain was occupying the attention of the parties interested in the
case, he drew up the weight; the rusty wheels gnashed their broken teeth;
the Chamberlain shuddered and interrupted his dissertation. “Brother,” he
said, “postpone a bit your faithful toil;” and he went on with his plan of
an exchange; but the Warden, to spite him, pulled still more strongly the
other weight, and suddenly the bullfinch perched on the top of the clock
began to flap its wings and pour forth one of its melodies. The bird,
which had been artistically made, but was, unfortunately, out of order,
began to moan and whistle, ever worse and worse. The guests burst out
laughing; the Chamberlain had to break off again. “My dear Warden,” he
cried, “or rather screech owl,95 if you value your beak, quit that
hooting.”
But Gerwazy was not at all frightened by the threat; with dignity he put
his right hand on the clock and rested the left on his hip; with both
hands thus supported he cried:—
“My precious Chamberlain, a grandee is free to make jokes. The sparrow is
smaller than the owl, but on its own shavings it is bolder than the owl in
a mansion not its own. A Warden is no owl; whoever comes by night into
another man’s loft is an owl, and I will scare him hence.”
“Put him out!” shouted the Chamberlain.
“Count, you see what is being done,” called the Warden. “Is Your Honour
not yet sufficiently tainted by eating and drinking with these Soplicas?
In addition, must I, the keeper of the castle, Gerwazy Rembajlo, Warden of
the Horeszkos, be insulted in the house of my lords?—and will you endure
it!”
Thereupon Protazy called out three times.—
“Silence, clear the room! I, Protazy Baltazar Brzechalski, known under two
titles, once General of the Tribunal, commonly called Apparitor, hereby
make my apparitor’s report and formal declaration—claiming as witnesses
all free-born persons here present and summoning the Assessor to
investigate the case in behalf of His Honour Judge Soplica—as to an
incursion, that is to say, an infringement of the frontier, a violent
entry of the castle, over which hitherto the Judge has had legal
authority, an evident proof of which is the fact that he is eating in the
castle.”
“Wind-bag,” yelled the Warden, “I’ll show you now!”
And, taking from his belt his iron keys, he whirled them round his head
and hurled them with all his might; the bunch of iron flew like a stone
from a sling. It would surely have split Protazy’s brow into quarters, but
luckily the Apparitor ducked and escaped death.
All started from their places. For a moment there was a dead silence; then
the Judge cried, “To the stocks with that bully! Ho, boys!”—and the
servants rushed nimbly along the narrow passage between the wall and the
bench. But the Count blocked their way with a chair, and, placing his foot
firmly on that feeble entrenchment, called out:—
“Beware, Judge! No one shall do injury to my servant in my own house;
whoever has a complaint against the old man, let him present it to me.”
The Chamberlain cast a sidelong glance into the eyes of the Count:—
“Without your valuable aid I shall manage to punish the insolent old
fellow; but Your Honour the Count is appropriating the castle ahead of
time, before the decree is pronounced. You are not lord here, you are not
entertaining us. Sit quiet as you have been sitting; if you honour not my
grey head, at least respect the first office in the district.”
“What do I care?” muttered the Count in return. “Enough of this prattle!
Bore other men with your respects and offices! I have been guilty of folly
enough already, when I joined with you gentlemen in drinking bouts that
end by becoming coarse brawls. Give me satisfaction for the injury to my
honour! We shall meet again when you are sober—follow me, Gerwazy!”
The Chamberlain had never expected any such answer as this, and was just
filling his glass, when he was smitten by the insolence of the Count as by
thunder: resting the bottle motionless against the glass, he leaned his
head to one side and pricked up his ears, opening wide his eyes and half
unclosing his lips; he held his peace, but squeezed the glass in his hand
so powerfully that it broke with a snap and sent the liquor spurting into
his eyes. One would have said that with the wine fire was poured into his
soul; so did his face flame, so did his eye blaze. He struggled to speak;
the first word he ground indistinctly in his mouth, until it flew forth
between his teeth:—
“Fool! you cub of a Count! I’ll teach you! Thomas, my sabre! I’ll teach
you _mores_, you fool; get to hell out of here! Respects and offices wound
your delicate ears! I’ll pay you up right off over your pretty earrings.
Get out of the door, draw your sword! Thomas, my sabre!”
Then friends rushed to the Chamberlain, and the Judge seized his hand.
“Hold, sir, this is our affair; I was challenged first. Protazy, my
hanger! I will make him dance like a bear on a pole!”
But Thaddeus checked the Judge:—
“My dear uncle, and Your Honour the Chamberlain, is it fitting for you
gentlemen to meddle with this fop? Are there not young men here? And you,
my brave youth, who challenge old men to combat, we shall see whether you
are so terrible a knight; we will settle accounts to-morrow, and chose our
place and weapons. To-day depart, while you are still whole.”
The advice was good; the Warden and the Count had fallen into no common
straits. At the upper end of the table only a mighty shouting was raging,
but at the lower end bottles were flying around the head of the Count. The
frightened women began to beseech and weep; Telimena, with a cry of
“Alas!” lifted her eyes, rose, and fell in a faint; and, inclining her
neck over the Count’s shoulder, laid upon his breast her swan’s breast.
The Count, infuriated though he was, checked himself in his mad career,
and began to revive her and chafe her.
Meanwhile Gerwazy, exposed to the blows of stools and bottles, was already
tottering; already the servants, doubling up their fists, were rushing on
him from all sides in a crowd, when, fortunately, Zosia, seeing the
assault, leapt up, and, filled with pity, sheltered the old man by
extending her arms like a cross. They checked themselves; Gerwazy slowly
retired and vanished from sight; they looked to see where he had hidden
himself beneath the table, when suddenly he came out on the other side as
if from under the earth, and, raising aloft a bench in his strong arms,
whirled round like a windmill and cleared half the hall. He seized the
Count, and thus both, sheltered by the bench, retired towards the little
door; when they were already almost at the threshold, Gerwazy stopped,
once more eyed his foes, and deliberated for an instant, whether to retire
under arms, or with new weapons to seek fortune in war. He chose the
second; already he had swung back the bench for a blow, like a
battering-ram; already, with head bent down, breast thrust forward, and
foot uplifted, he was about to attack—when he caught sight of the
Seneschal, and felt terror in his heart.
The Seneschal, sitting quietly, with half-closed eyes, had seemed buried
in deep thought; only when the Count had bandied words with the
Chamberlain and threatened the Judge, the Seneschal had turned his head,
had twice taken a pinch of snuff and rubbed his eyes. Although the
Seneschal was only a distant relative of the Judge, yet he was established
in his hospitable house, and was beyond measure careful about the health
of his friend. Therefore he gazed with curiosity at the combat, and slowly
extended on the table his arm, hand, and fingers; on his palm he laid a
knife, with the haft extended to the tip of the index finger, and the
point turned towards his elbow; then with his arm extended a trifle
backward he poised it as if playing with it—but he watched the Count.
The art of throwing knives, terrible in hand to hand combat, had at that
time already fallen into disuse in Lithuania, and was familiar only to old
men; the Warden had tried it often in tavern quarrels, and the Seneschal
was expert at it. From the motion of his arm one could see that he would
hit hard, and from his eyes one could easily guess that he was aiming at
the Count (the last of the Horeszkos, although in the female line); the
young men, less observant, did not understand the motions of the old
Seneschal, but Gerwazy turned pale, shielded the Count with the bench, and
withdrew towards the door.—“Catch him!” shouted the crowd.
As a wolf when surprised over its carrion throws itself blindly into the
pack that disturbs its meal; he is already chasing them, he is about to
tear them, when amid the yelping of the dogs a gun hammer gently clicks;
the wolf recognises it by the click, glances in that direction; he notices
that in the rear, behind the hounds, a hunter, half crouching and upon one
knee, is moving the gun barrel towards him and is just touching the
trigger; the wolf droops its ears and scuttles off with its tail between
its legs; the pack with a triumphant uproar rush on and pluck it by its
shaggy flanks; the beast often turns, glances at them, snaps its jaws; and
hardly does he threaten them with the gnashing of his white teeth when the
pack scamper away whining: so did Gerwazy withdraw with threatening mien,
checking his assailants by his eyes and by the bench, until the Count and
he reached the back of the dark niche.
“Catch him!” they cried again; the triumph was not long: for over the
heads of the throng the Warden appeared unexpectedly in the gallery, by
the old organ, and with a crash began to tear out the leaden pipes; he
would have worked great havoc by his blows from above. But the guests were
already leaving the hall in a throng; the terrified servants did not dare
to hold their ground, but, seizing some of the platters, ran out after
their masters; they left behind even the plates and a part of the service.
Who last, caring not for the threats and blows, retired from the scene of
battle? Protazy Brzechalski. He, standing unmoved behind the Judge’s
chair, in his apparitor’s voice recited his notification until he had
reached the very end; then he abandoned the empty battlefield, where
remained corpses, wounded, and ruins.
Among the men there were no casualties; but all the benches had legs
dislocated, and the table was also crippled: stripped of its cloth, it lay
upon plates dripping with wine—like a knight upon bloody shields—among
numerous bodies of chickens and turkeys, from which protruded the forks
lately stuck within their breasts.
In a moment all within the deserted building of the Horeszkos had returned
to its wonted calm. The darkness thickened; the remnants of the
magnificent feast lay like that nocturnal banquet to which the ghosts of
the departed must gather when evoked at the festival of the
_Forefathers_.96 Now the owls had cried thrice from the garret, like
conjurers; they seemed to greet the rising of the moon of which the form
fell through the window on the table, trembling like a spirit in
Purgatory; from the vaults beneath rats leapt out through holes, like the
souls of the damned; they gnawed and drank; at times in a corner a
forgotten champagne bottle would pop as a toast to the spirits.
But on the second story, in the room that was still called the mirror
room, though the mirrors were gone, stood the Count on the balcony facing
the gate. He was cooling himself in the breeze; he had put his long coat
on only one arm, folding the other sleeve and the skirts about his neck
and draping his breast with the coat as with a cloak. Gerwazy was walking
with long steps through the apartment; both were deep in thought, and were
talking together.
“Pistols,” said the Count, “or, if they prefer, sabres.”
“The castle,” said the Warden, “and the village, both are ours.”
“Challenge the uncle, the nephew,” exclaimed the Count, “the whole
family!”
“Seize the castle,” exclaimed the Warden, “the village and the lands!”—As
he said this he turned to the Count.—“If you wish to have peace, take
possession of the whole. Of what use is the lawsuit, my boy! The affair is
plain as day: the castle has been in the hands of the Horeszkos for four
hundred years; a part of the estate was torn from it in the time of the
Targowica confederacy, and, as you know, given into the possession of the
Soplica. You ought to take from them not only that part, but the whole,
for the costs of the suit, and as punishment for their plundering. I have
always said to you, let lawsuits alone; I have always said to you, raid
them, make a foray97 on them. That was the ancient custom: whoever once
possessed an estate was the heir thereof; win in the field and you will
win in the court too. As for our ancient quarrels with the Soplicas, for
them I have a little penknife that is better than a lawsuit; and, if
Maciej gives me the aid of his switch, then we two together will chop
those Soplicas into fodder.”
“Bravo!” said the Count, “your plan, of Gothico-Sarmatian stamp, pleases
me better than the wrangling of advocates. See here! Through all Lithuania
we will make a stir by an expedition such as has not been heard of for
many a long day. And we shall enjoy it ourselves. For two years have I
been abiding here, and what fighting have I ever seen? With boors over a
boundary line! Our expedition, however, promises bloodshed; in one such I
took part during my travels. When I tarried in Sicily with a certain
Prince, brigands bore away his son-in-law into the mountains, and
insolently demanded a ransom from his kinsfolk; we, hastily gathering our
servants and vassals, attacked them: I killed two robbers with mine own
hand; I was the first to break into their camp; I freed the prisoner. Ah,
my Gerwazy, how triumphant, how beautiful was our return, in
knightly-feudal style! The populace met us with flowers—the daughter of
the Prince, grateful to the deliverer, with tears fell into my embraces.
When I arrived at Palermo, they knew of it from the gazette, and all the
women pointed at me. They even printed a romance about the whole event,
where I am mentioned by name. The romance is entitled, _The Count; or, The
Mysteries of the Castle of Birbante-Rocca_. Are there dungeons in this
castle?”
“There are immense beer-cellars,” said the Warden, “but empty, for the
Soplicas have drunk up the wine!”
“We must arm the jockeys on the estate,” added the Count, “and summon the
vassals from the village.”
“Lackeys? God forbid!” interrupted Gerwazy. “Is a foray a drunk and
disorderly affair? Who ever heard of making a foray with boors and
lackeys? Sir, you know nothing at all about forays! Vassals, that is,
mustachioed champions,98 are something quite different; vassals of that
sort can be found. But we must not look for them in the peasant villages,
but through the hamlets of the gentry, in Dobrzyn, in Rzezikow, in
Cientycze, in Rombanki;99 the gentry of ancient lineage, in whom flows
knightly blood, are all well disposed to the family of the Horeszkos, and
are all mortal enemies of the Soplicas! Thence I will collect some three
hundred mustachioed gentlemen; that is my affair. Do you return to your
mansion and sleep your fill, for to-morrow there will be hard work; you
are fond of sleeping, it is already late, the second cock is already
crowing. I will guard the castle here until day breaks, and at sunrise I
shall be in the hamlet of Dobrzyn.”
At these words the Count withdrew from the balcony, but before he departed
he glanced through the opening of an embrasure, and exclaimed, seeing a
multitude of lights in the household of the Soplicas, “Illuminate if you
will! To-morrow at this time it will be bright in this castle, but dark in
your mansion.”
Gerwazy sat down upon the floor, leaned against the wall, and bent down
his thought-laden brow towards his breast. The light of the moon fell on
his bald pate, and Gerwazy drew upon it various patterns with his finger;
it was evident that he was spinning warlike plans for future expeditions.
His heavy lids were more and more weighed down; his head nodded on his
powerless neck; he felt that sleep was overcoming him, and began according
to his wont his evening prayers. But between the Pater Noster and the Ave
Maria arose strange phantoms, wavering, and jostling each other: the
Warden sees the Horeszkos, his ancient lords; some carry sabres, and
others maces;100 each gazes menacingly and twirls his mustache,
flourishing his sabre or brandishing his mace—after them flashed one
silent, gloomy shadow, with a bloody spot upon its breast. Gerwazy
shuddered, he had recognised the Pantler; he began to cross himself, and,
the more surely to drive away his terrible visions, he recited the litany
for souls in Purgatory. Again his eyes closed fast and his ears rang—he
sees a throng of mounted gentry; their sabres glitter: “The foray, the
foray against Korelicze, and Rymsza at the head!” And he beholds himself,
how he flies on a grey horse, with his dreadful sword uplifted above his
head; his taratatka,101 opened wide, rustles in the breeze; his red plumed
hat has fallen backward from his left ear; he flies on, and upon the road
overthrows both horsemen and foot-travellers, and finally he burns the
Soplica in his barn. Then his head, heavy with its musings, drooped upon
his breast, and thus fell asleep the last Warden of the Horeszkos.