ARGUMENT
The Seneschal’s astronomy—The Chamberlain’s remarks on
comets—Mysterious scene in the Judge’s room—Thaddeus, wishing to
extricate himself dexterously, gets into serious trouble—A new
Dido—The foray—The last protest by an Apparitor—The Count conquers
Soplicowo—Storm and massacre—Gerwazy as butler—The banquet after
the foray.
BEFORE a thunderstorm there is a quiet, sullen moment, when the cloud that
has gathered over men’s heads stops and with threatening countenance
checks the breath of the winds; it is silent, but surveys the earth with
the eyes of the lightnings, marking the spots where soon it will cast bolt
after bolt: such a moment of calm rested over the house at Soplicowo. You
would have thought that a presentiment of unusual events had closed all
lips, and had borne off the spirits of all into the land of dreams.
After supper the Judge and his guests went out into the yard to enjoy the
evening, and seated themselves on benches of turf built along the house
wall. The whole company, in gloomy, quiet attitudes, gazed at the sky,
which seemed to grow lower and narrower, and to approach the earth nearer
and nearer, until both, hiding beneath a dark veil, like lovers, began a
mysterious discourse, interpreting their feelings in the stifled sighs,
whispers, murmurs, and half-uttered words, of which the marvellous music
of the evening is composed.
The owl began it, hooting from beneath the house roof; the bats rustled
with flimsy wings, and flew towards the house, where shone the panes of
the windows and human faces; but nearer, the little sisters of the bats,
the moths, hovered in a swarm, attracted by the white garments of the
women; they were especially troublesome to Zosia, beating against her face
and her bright eyes, which they mistook for two candles. In the air an
immense cloud of insects gathered and whirled about, playing like the
music of the spheres; Zosia’s ear distinguished amid the thousand noises
the accord of the flies and the false half-tone of the mosquitoes.
In the fields the evening concert had hardly begun; the musicians were
just finishing the tuning of their instruments: already the land rail, the
first violin of the meadow, had shrieked thrice; already from afar the
bitterns seconded it with a bass boom below in the marshes; already the
woodcocks were rising up with whirling flight, uttering repeated cries, as
though they were beating on drums.
As a finale to the humming of the insects and the din of the birds there
resounded in a double chorus two ponds, like enchanted lakes in the
Caucasus mountains, silent through all the day and playing at evening. One
pond, which had clear depths and a sandy shore, gave forth from its blue
chest a gentle, solemn call; the other pond, with a muddy bottom and a
turbid throat, answered it with a mournfully passionate cry. In both ponds
sang countless hordes of frogs; the two choruses were attuned into two
great accords: one thundered fortissimo, the other gently warbled; one
seemed to complain, the other only sighed; thus the two ponds conversed
together across the fields, like two Æolian harps that play alternately.
The darkness was thickening; only in the woods and among the willows along
the streamlet the eyes of wolves shone like candles, and farther off, on
the narrowed borders of the horizon, here and there were the fires of
shepherds’ camps. Finally the moon lighted her silver torch, came forth
from the wood, and illumined both sky and land. Now they both, half
uncovered from the darkness, slept side by side, like a happy married
pair; the heaven took into its pure arms the breast of the earth, which
shone silvery in the moonlight.
Now, opposite the moon, first one star and then another began to shine;
now a thousand of them, and now a million twinkled. Castor and his brother
Pollux glittered at their head, once called among the Slavs Lele and
Polele;139 now they have been christened anew in the people’s zodiac; one
is called Lithuania and the other the Kingdom.140
Farther off glitter the two pans of the heavenly Scales. Upon them God on
the day of creation—as old men say—weighed in turn the earth and all the
planets before he set the burden of them in the abysses of the air; then
he hung up in heaven the gilded scales: on these men have modelled their
balances and scale pans.
To the north shines the circle of the starry Sieve,141 through which God,
as they say, gifted grains of corn, when he cast them down from heaven for
Adam our father, who had been banished for his sins from paradise.
Somewhat higher, David’s Car,142 ready for mounting, turns its long pole
towards the north star. The old Lithuanians know, concerning this chariot,
that the populace err in calling it David’s, since it is the Angel’s Car.
On it long ago rode Lucifer, when he summoned God to combat, rushing at
full gallop along the Milky Way towards the threshold of heaven, until
Michael threw him from his car, and cast the car from the road. Now it is
stretched out ruined amid the stars; the Archangel Michael will not allow
it to be repaired.
And it is also well known among the old Lithuanians—but this knowledge
they probably derived from the rabbins—that the huge, long Dragon of the
zodiac, which winds its starry coils over the sky, and which astronomers
erroneously christen a serpent, is not a serpent, but a fish, and is named
Leviathan. Long ago it dwelt in the seas, but after the deluge it died for
lack of water; hence on the vault of heaven, both as a curiosity and as a
reminder, the angels hung up its dead remains. In the same way the priest
of Mir has hung up in his church the ribs and shanks of giants that have
been dug from the earth.143
Such stories of the stars, which he had conned from books or learned from
tradition, did the Seneschal relate. Though in the evening the old
Seneschal’s sight was weak, and he could see nothing in the sky through
his spectacles, yet he knew by heart the name and form of every
constellation; with his finger he indicated their places and their paths.
To-day they listened little to him, and gave no heed at all to the Sieve,
or to the Dragon, or even to the Scales; to-day the eyes and thoughts of
all were absorbed by a new guest, recently observed in the sky. This was a
_comet_ of the first magnitude and power,144 which had appeared in the
west and was flying towards the north; with a bloody eye it looked askance
upon the Chariot, as though it wished to seize the empty place of Lucifer;
behind, it threw out a long tail, and with it encircled a third part of
the sky, gathered in hundreds of stars as with a net, and drew them after
it; but it aimed its own head higher, towards the north, straight for the
polar star.
With inexpressible apprehension all the Lithuanian folk gazed each night
at this heavenly marvel, foreboding ill from it, and likewise from other
signs: for too often they heard the cries of ill-omened birds, which,
gathering in throngs on empty fields, sharpened their beaks as if awaiting
corpses. Too often they noticed that the dogs rooted up the earth, and, as
if scenting death, howled piercingly, which was an omen of famine or of
war. But the forest guards beheld how through the graveyard walked the
Maid of Pestilence, whose brow rises above the highest trees, and who
waves in her left hand a bloody kerchief.145
From all this the Overseer drew various conclusions, as he stood by the
fence after coming to report on the work; so likewise did the Bookkeeper,
who was whispering with the Steward.
But the Chamberlain was seated on the bench of turf before the house. He
interrupted the conversation of the guests, a sign that he was preparing
to speak; in the moonlight shone his great snuffbox (all of pure gold, set
with diamonds; in the middle of it was a portrait of King Stanislaw, under
glass); he tapped on it with his fingers, took a pinch, and said:—
“Thaddeus, your talk about the stars is only an echo of what you have
heard in school; as to marvels I prefer to take the advice of simple
people. I too studied astronomy for two years at Wilno, where Pani
Puzynin, a wise and a rich woman, had given the income of a village of two
hundred peasants for the purchase of various glasses and telescopes.
Father Poczobut,146 a famous man, was in charge of the observatory, and at
that time rector of the whole university; however he finally abandoned his
professor’s chair and his telescope and returned to his monastery, to his
quiet cell, and there he died as a good Christian should. I am also
acquainted with Sniadecki,147 who is a very wise man, though a layman. Now
the astronomers regard planets and comets just as plain citizens do a
coach; they know whether it is drawing up before the king’s palace, or
whether it is starting abroad from the city gates; but who was riding in
it, and why, of what he talked with the king, and whether the king
dismissed the ambassador with peace or war—of all that they do not even
inquire. I remember in my time when Branicki started in his coach to
Jassy,148 and after that dishonourable coach streamed a train of Targowica
confederates, as the tail follows that comet. The plain people, though
they did not meddle in public deliberations, guessed at once that that
train was an omen of treason. The report is that the folk has given the
name of broom to this comet, and says that it will sweep away a million
men.” And in reply the Seneschal said with a bow:—
“That is true, Your Excellency the Chamberlain. I remember myself what was
once told me when I was a little child; I remember, though I was not ten
years old at the time, how I saw at our house the late Sapieha, lieutenant
of a regiment of cuirassiers, who later was Court Marshal of the Kingdom,
and finally died as Grand Chancellor of Lithuania, at the age of one
hundred and ten years; when Jan III. Sobieski was king, he had served in
the Vienna campaign under the command of the hetman Jablonowski. So this
Chancellor related that just at the moment when King Jan III. was mounting
his horse, when the papal nuncio had blest him for the journey, and the
Austrian ambassador was kissing his foot as he handed him the stirrup (the
ambassador was named Count Wilczek), the King cried: ‘See what is going on
in Heaven!’ They beheld that over their heads was advancing a comet by the
same path that the armies of Mahomet had taken, from the east to the west.
Later Father Bartochowski, who composed a panegyric for the triumph at
Cracow, under the title _Orientis Fulmen_,149 discoursed much about that
comet; I have also read of it in a work called _Janina_,150 in which the
entire expedition of the late King Jan is described, and where there is
engraved the great standard of Mahomet, and just such a comet as we see
to-day.”
“Amen,” said the Judge in reply, “I accept your augury that a Jan III. may
appear along with the star! To-day there is a great hero in the west;
perhaps the comet will bring him to us: which may God grant!”
Sorrowfully drooping his head, the Seneschal replied:—
“A comet sometimes forebodes wars, and sometimes mere brawls! It is not
good that it has appeared here over Soplicowo; perhaps it threatens us
with some household misfortune. Yesterday we had wrangling and disputes
enough, both at the time of the hunt and during the banquet. In the
morning the Notary quarrelled with the Assessor, and Thaddeus challenged
the Count in the evening. The disagreement seems to have arisen from the
bear’s hide, and if my friend the Judge had not hindered me, I should have
reconciled the two adversaries right at the table. For I should have liked
to tell a curious incident, similar to what occurred at our hunt
yesterday, which happened to the foremost sportsmen of my time, the deputy
Rejtan and the Prince de Nassau. The occurrence was as follows:—
“Prince Czartoryski,151 the general of Podole, was travelling from
Volhynia to his Polish estates, or, if I remember correctly, to the Diet
at Warsaw. On his way he visited the gentry, partly for amusement, and
partly to win popularity; so he called upon Pan Thaddeus Rejtan,152 to-day
of holy memory, who was later our deputy from Nowogrodek, and in whose
house I grew up from childhood. So Rejtan, on the occasion of the Prince’s
coming, had invited guests, and the gentry had gathered in large numbers.
There were theatrical entertainments (the Prince was devoted to the
theatre); Kaszyc, who lives in Jatra, gave fireworks; Pan Tyzenhaus153
sent dancers; and Oginski154 and Pan Soltan, who lives in Zdzienciol,
furnished musicians. In a word, at home they offered entertainments
gorgeous beyond expectation, and in the forest they arranged a mighty
hunt. It is well known to you gentlemen that almost all the Czartoryskis
within the memory of man, though they spring from the blood of the
Jagiellos, are nevertheless not over keen on hunting, though certainly not
from laziness, but from their foreign tastes; and the Prince General
looked oftener into books than into kennels, and oftener into ladies’
alcoves than into the forests.
“In the Prince’s suite was a German, Prince de Nassau,155 of whom they
related that, when a guest in the Libyan country, he had once gone hunting
with the Moorish kings, and there with a spear had overcome a tiger in
hand to hand combat, of which feat that Prince de Nassau boasted greatly.
In our country, at that time, they were hunting wild boars; Rejtan had
killed with his musket an immense sow, at great risk to himself, for he
shot from close by. Each of us admired and praised the sureness of the
aim; only the German, de Nassau, listened with indifference to such
compliments, and, walking off, muttered in his beard that a sure aim
proved only a bold eye, but that cold steel proved a bold hand; and once
more he began to talk big about his Libya and his spear, his Moorish kings
and his tiger. This began to be annoying to Pan Rejtan, who, being a
quick-tempered man, smote his sword and said: ‘My Lord Prince, whoever
looks boldly, fights boldly; wild boars are equal to tigers, and sabres to
spears.’ Then the German and he began somewhat too lively a discussion.
Luckily the Prince General interrupted their dispute, and reconciled them,
speaking in French; what he said to them I know not, but that
reconciliation was only ashes over live coals: for Rejtan took the matter
to heart, bided his time, and promised to play the German a good trick.
This trick he almost atoned for with his own life, but he played it the
next day, as I will tell you immediately.”
Here the Seneschal paused, and, raising his right hand, asked the
Chamberlain for his snuffbox; he took several pinches, but did not
vouchsafe to finish his tale, as though he wished to sharpen the curiosity
of his hearers. At last he was beginning—when that tale, so curious and so
diligently hearkened to, was again interrupted! For some one had
unexpectedly sent a man to the Judge, with the message that he was waiting
on business that brooked no delay. The Judge, wishing them good night,
bade farewell to the company: immediately they scattered in various
directions; some went into the house to sleep, others into the barn, to
rest on the hay; the Judge went to give audience to the traveller.
The others were already asleep. Thaddeus wandered about the hallway,
pacing like a watchman near his uncle’s door, for he had to seek his
counsel about important affairs, on that very day, before he went to
sleep. He did not dare to knock, for the Judge had locked the door and was
talking secretly with somebody; Thaddeus awaited the end of the interview
and pricked up his ears.
From within he heard a sobbing; without touching the latch he cautiously
looked through the keyhole. He saw a marvellous thing! The Judge and Robak
were kneeling on the floor in each other’s embrace, and were weeping hot
tears; Robak was kissing the Judge’s hands, while the Judge, weeping,
embraced Robak around the neck; finally, after a pause of a quarter of an
hour in their talk, Robak softly spoke these words:—156
“Brother, God knows that till now I have never betrayed the secrets that,
in repentance for my sins, I vowed at my confession to keep inviolate;
that, entirely devoted to God and to my country, not serving pride, nor
seeking earthly glory, I have lived till now and wished to die a
Bernardine monk, concealing my name not only from the crowd, but from you
and from my own son! However, the provincial has given me permission to
make the disclosure _in articulo mortis_. Who knows whether I shall
return alive! Who knows what will happen in Dobrzyn! Brother, affairs are
frightfully, frightfully confused! The French are still far away, we must
wait till the winter is over, but the gentry may not restrain themselves.
Perhaps I have been too active in stirring up the insurrection! They may
have understood me ill! The Warden has spoiled all! That crazy Count, I
hear, has rushed away to Dobrzyn; I could not head him off, for an
important reason: old Maciek has recognised me, and if he betrays me I
must needs bow my neck beneath the penknife. Nothing will restrain the
Warden! My life matters little, but by that disclosure I should destroy
the foundations of the plot.
“And yet! I must be there to-day, and see what is going on, though I
perish! Without me the gentry will run wild! Farewell, my dearest brother!
Farewell, I must hasten. If I perish, you alone will sigh for my soul; in
case of war, the whole secret is known to you—finish what I have begun,
and remember that you are a Soplica.”
Here the Monk wiped away his tears, buttoned his gown, drew on his cowl,
and quietly opened the shutters of the rear window; evidently he jumped
through the window into the garden. The Judge, left alone, sat down in a
chair and began to weep.
Thaddeus waited a moment, before he jingled at the latch; when the door
was opened he went in quietly and bowed low.
“My dear uncle,” he said, “I have spent here but a few days, and the days
have passed like a flash. I have not yet had time to enjoy fully your
house and your own company, but I must depart, I must hasten away at once;
to-day, uncle, or to-morrow at the latest. You remember that we have
challenged the Count; to fight him is my affair, and I have sent a
challenge. Since duelling is prohibited in Lithuania, I am going to the
borders of the Grand Duchy of Warsaw; the Count, of course, is a braggart,
but he does not lack courage, and will appear without fail at the
appointed place. We will settle accounts; and, if God grants me his
blessing, I will punish him, and then will swim over the Lososna, where
the ranks of my brothers await me. I have heard that my father in his will
bade me enter the army, and I have not heard that that will has been
cancelled.”
“My dear Thaddeus,” said his uncle, “have you been scalded with boiling
water, or are you dodging like a hunted fox that waves its brush in one
direction and itself runs in another? We have challenged him, to be sure,
and you will have to fight, but why are you so bent on going to-day?
Before a duel it is the custom to send friends and settle the terms; the
Count may still beg our pardon and make amends: just wait, there is still
time enough. Some other whimsy must be driving you away from here; speak
it out frankly: why such excuses? I am your uncle, and, though old, I know
what young hearts are; I have been a father to you.” (As he spoke he
stroked his nephew beneath the chin.) “My little finger has already been
whispering in my ear that you, sir, have been carrying on some intrigues
here with the ladies. Nowadays young men take to the ladies devilish
quick. But, my dear Thaddeus, confess it to me, and frankly.”
“That is the truth,” mumbled Thaddeus, “there are other causes, my beloved
uncle! Perhaps it was my own fault! A mistake! No, a misfortune! It is now
hard to correct it! No, dear uncle, I can stay here no longer. An error of
youth! Uncle, do not question me further; I must depart from Soplicowo as
quickly as may be.”
“Oho!” said his uncle, “this is certainly some love tiff. I noticed
yesterday that you bit your lips while you looked from under your eyebrows
at a certain little girl; I saw that she too had a sour expression. I know
all that nonsense; when a pair of children fall in love, then they have no
end of misfortunes. Now they feel happy, now again they are afflicted and
cast down; now again, for God knows what reason, they are ready to bite
each other; now they stand in corners as if playing blind man’s buff, and
won’t say a word to each other; sometimes they even run out into the
fields. If such an attack is upon you, just be patient, there is a cure
for all that; I will undertake to reconcile you shortly. I know all that
nonsense, I have been young myself. Tell me all about it; in return I too
may reveal something, and thus we will confess ourselves to each other.”
“Uncle,” said Thaddeus, kissing his hand and blushing, “I will tell you
the truth. I have taken a great liking to that little girl, Zosia, your
ward, though I have seen her only a couple of times; but they tell me that
you design for my wife the Chamberlain’s daughter, a beautiful girl, and a
rich man’s daughter. Now I could not marry Panna Rosa when I am in love
with Zosia; it is hard to change one’s heart, but dishonourable to marry
when one loves another. Perhaps time will heal me; I shall depart—for a
long absence.”
“Thaddeus,” interrupted his uncle, “that is a strange way of being in
love, to run away from one’s belovèd. It is well that you are frank; you
see, you would have committed an act of folly by going away. But what
should you say if I helped you to obtain Zosia? Hey? Well, aren’t you
jumping for joy?”
“Your goodness amazes me,” said Thaddeus after a pause, “but yet—the
favour of my kind uncle will avail me nothing! Ah, my hopes are vain, for
Pani Telimena will not yield me Zosia!”
“We will ask her,” said the Judge.
“No one can prevail upon her,” interrupted Thaddeus hastily. “No, I cannot
wait, uncle; I must be on my way quickly, to-morrow. Only give me your
blessing, uncle; I have made all my preparations, and am now leaving for
the Grand Duchy.”
The Judge, twirling his mustaches, gazed angrily at the lad:—
“Are you so frank? Have you opened your heart to me so fully? First that
duel! Then again love and this departure; O, there is something behind all
this! They have been telling me, I have watched your steps! You are a
deceitful, giddy fellow; you have been telling lies. Where were you going
that evening, and what were you tracking like a setter outside the house?
See here, Thaddeus, maybe you have seduced Zosia and are now running away?
If so, booby, you will not succeed! Whether you like it or not, I tell you
that you shall marry Zosia. Otherwise, the horsewhip—to-morrow you shall
stand before the altar! And you talk to me of feelings—of an unchanging
heart! You are a liar! Foh! I’ll look into your case, Pan Thaddeus, I’ll
make your ears smart for you! I’ve had enough trouble to-day—till my head
aches with it—and now you come to keep me from going to sleep in peace!
Now go to bed!”
So speaking he threw open the door and called the Apparitor to undress
him.
Thaddeus went out quietly, hanging his head, and thought over his bitter
interview with his uncle. It was the first time that he had ever been
scolded so severely! He appreciated the justice of the reproaches and
blushed at himself. What should he do? What if Zosia should learn the
whole story? Should he ask for her hand? But what would Telimena say?
No—he felt that he could remain no longer in Soplicowo.
Thus buried in thought, he had hardly made two steps when something
crossed his path; he looked—and saw a phantom all in white, tall, frail,
and slender. It approached him with an outstretched arm, from which was
reflected the trembling light of the moon, and, stepping up to him, softly
moaned:—
“Ungrateful man! You sought my glance, and now you avoid it; you sought
for speech with me, and to-day you close your ears, as though in my words
and in my glance there were poison! I deserve my fate; I knew who you
were! A man! Guiltless of coquetry, I did not wish to torture you, but
made you happy; and is this the gratitude you show me! A triumph over my
soft heart has hardened your heart; since you won it so easily, too
quickly have you despised it! I deserve my fate; but, taught by bitter
experience, believe me, that I despise myself more than you can despise
me!”
“Telimena,” said Thaddeus, “I vow to Heaven that my heart is not hard, nor
do I avoid you through contempt. But just consider, they are watching us,
following us; can we act so openly? What will people say? Why, this is
improper, I vow—it is a sin!”
“A sin!” she answered him with a bitter smile. “O you young innocent! you
lamb! If I, who am a woman, from very force of love care not though I be
discovered, and though I be put to shame—but you! you a man? What matters
it to one of you men, even though he may confess that he has intrigues
with a dozen sweethearts at a time? Speak the truth, you wish to desert
me.”
She dissolved in tears.
“Telimena,” answered Thaddeus, “what would the world say of a man, who
now, at my time of life, in good health, should settle down in a village
and pass his time making love—when so many young men, so many married men
are leaving their wives and children and fleeing abroad, to the standards
of their country? Although I might wish to remain, does it depend on me?
My father in his will bade me enter the Polish army, and now my uncle has
repeated that command; to-morrow I depart; I have already made my
resolution, and with Heaven’s aid, Telimena, I shall not change it.”
“I do not wish to bar your path to glory,” said Telimena, “or to hinder
your happiness! You are a man, you will find a sweetheart worthier of your
love; you will find one richer and fairer! Only for my consolation, let me
know before we part that your liking for me was a true affection, that it
was not merely a jest or wanton lust, but love; let me know that my
Thaddeus loves me! Let me hear once more from your lips the words ‘I
love,’ let me grave them in my heart, and write them in my thoughts; I
shall forgive more easily, though you cease to love me, remembering how
you have loved me!”
And she began to sob.
Thaddeus, seeing that she wept and implored him so feelingly, and that she
required of him only such a trifle, was moved; sincere sorrow and pity
overcame him, and if he had searched the secrets of his heart, perhaps at
that moment he himself could not have told whether he loved her or not. So
he spoke eagerly:—
“Telimena, so may God’s bright lightning strike me, if it be not true that
I have been fond of you—yes, that I have loved you deeply; short were the
moments that we spent together, but so sweetly and so tenderly did they
pass that for long, forever, will they be present to my thoughts, and
Heaven knows that I shall never forget you!”
With a bound Telimena fell upon his neck:—
“This is what I have hoped for; you love me, so I still live! For to-day I
was going to end my life by my own hand! Since you love me, my dear one,
can you abandon me? To you I have given my heart, and to you I will give
my worldly goods; I will follow you everywhere; with you each corner of
the world will be charming; of the wildest wilderness love, believe me,
will make a paradise!”
Thaddeus tore himself from her embrace by force. “What?” said he, “are you
mad? Follow me? Where? How? Shall I, being a common soldier, drag you
after me, as a sutleress?”
“Then we will be espoused,” said Telimena.
“No, never!” shouted Thaddeus. “At present I have no intention whatever of
marrying, nor of making love—nonsense! Let’s drop the matter! I beg you,
my dear, bethink yourself! Be calm! I am grateful to you, but it is
impossible for us to marry; let us love each other, but just—in different
places. I cannot remain longer; no, no, I must go. Farewell, my Telimena,
I leave to-morrow.”
He spoke, pulled his hat over his eyes, and turned aside, meaning to
depart; but Telimena checked him with an eye and countenance like those of
Medusa’s head: against his will he had to remain; he looked with terror on
her form; she had become pale, without motion, breath, or life. At last,
stretching out an arm like a sword to transfix him, with her finger aimed
straight at the eyes of Thaddeus, she cried:—
“This is what I wished! Ha, tongue of dragon, heart of viper! I care not
that, infatuated with you, I scorned the Assessor, the Count, and the
Notary, that you seduced me and have now abandoned me in my orphanhood;
for that I care not! You are a man, I know your falsity; I know that, like
others, you too would be capable of breaking your plighted troth; but I
did not know that so basely you could lie! I have been listening by your
uncle’s door! So what about that child Zosia? Has she attracted your
regard? And do you traitorously lay claim to her! Hardly had you deceived
one unfortunate, when already beneath her very eyes you were seeking new
victims! Flee, but my curses will reach you—or remain, and I will publish
your perfidies to the world; your arts will no longer corrupt others as
they have corrupted me! Away! I despise you! You are a liar, a base man!”
At this insult, mortal for a gentleman’s ears, the like of which no
Soplica had ever heard, Thaddeus trembled, and his face grew pale as that
of a corpse. Stamping his foot and biting his lips, he muttered, “Idiotic
woman!”
He walked away, but the epithet “base” echoed in his heart; the young man
shuddered, and felt that he had deserved it; he felt that he had inflicted
a great wrong on Telimena; his conscience told him that she had reproached
him justly: yet he felt that after those reproaches he loathed her more
violently than ever. Of Zosia, alas! he did not venture to think; he was
ashamed. However, that very Zosia, so lovely and so charming, his uncle
had been seeking to win for him! Perhaps she would have been his wife, had
not a demon, after entangling him in sin after sin, lie after lie, at last
bade him adieu with a mocking laugh. He was rebuked and scorned by all! In
a few short days he had ruined his future! He felt the just punishment of
his crime.
In this storm of feelings, like an anchor of rest there suddenly flashed
upon him the thought of the duel. “I must slay the Count, the scoundrel!”
he cried, “I must perish or be avenged!” But for what? That he did not
know himself. And that great burst of anger, as it had come over him in
the twinkling of an eye, so it vanished away; he was seized anew by a deep
sadness. He meditated whether his observation might not be true, that the
Count and Zosia had some mutual understanding. “And what of that? Perhaps
the Count sincerely loves Zosia; perhaps she loves him, and will choose
him for her husband! By what right could I desire to break off that
marriage; and, unhappy myself, to destroy the happiness of every one?”
He fell into despair and saw no other means except speedy flight. Whither?
To the grave!
So, pressing his fist against his bent brow, he ran to the meadows, where,
below, the ponds glittered, and took his stand above the one with marshy
banks; in its greenish depths he buried his greedy gaze and drew into his
breast with joy the swampy odours, and opened his lips to them; for
suicide, like all wild passions, springs from the imagination: in the
giddy whirling of his brain he felt an unspeakable longing to drown
himself in the swamp.
But Telimena, guessing the young man’s despair from his wild gestures, and
seeing that he had run towards the ponds, although she burned with such
just wrath against him, was nevertheless alarmed; in reality she had a
kind heart. She had felt sorrow that Thaddeus dared to love another; she
had wished to punish him, but she had not thought of destroying him. So
she rushed after him, raising both her arms and crying: “Stop! What folly!
Love me or not! Get married or depart! Only stop!——” But in his swift
course he had far outstripped her; he already—was standing at the shore!
By a strange decree of fate, along that same shore was riding the Count,
at the head of his band of jockeys; and, carried away by the charm of so
fair a night, and by the marvellous harmony of that subaqueous orchestra,
of those choruses that rang like Æolian harps (for no frogs sing so
beautifully as those of Poland), he checked his horse and forgot about his
expedition. He turned his ear to the pond and listened curiously; he ran
his eyes over the fields, over the expanse of the heavens: he was
evidently composing in his thoughts a nocturnal landscape.
In very truth, the neighbourhood was picturesque! The two ponds inclined
their faces towards each other like a pair of lovers. The right pond had
waters smooth and pure as a maiden’s cheeks; the left was somewhat darker,
like the swarthy face of a youth, already shaded with manly down. The
right was encircled with glittering golden sand as if with bright hair;
but the brow of the left bristled with osiers, and was tufted with
willows: both ponds were clothed in a garment of green.
From them there flowed and met two streams, like hands clasped together:
farther on the stream formed a waterfall; it fell, but did not perish, for
into the darkness of the ravine it bore upon its waves the golden shimmer
of the moon. The water fell in sheets, and on every sheet glittered skeins
of moonbeams; the light in the ravine was dispersed into fine splinters,
which the fleeing flood seized and carried off below, but from on high the
moonbeams fell in fresh skeins. You might have thought that by the pond a
nixie157 was sitting, and with one hand was pouring forth a fountain from
a bottomless urn, while with the other she cast sportively into the water
handfuls of enchanted gold that she took from her apron.
Farther on, the brook, running out from the ravine, wound over the plain,
and became quiet, but one could see that it still flowed, for along its
moving, shimmering surface the quivering moonlight twinkled. As the fair
serpent of Zmudz called _giwojtos_, though, lying amid the heather, it
seems to slumber, still crawls along, for by turns it shows silver and
golden, until it suddenly vanishes from the eye in the moss or ferns; so
the brook wound and hid among the alders, which showed black on the far
horizon, raising their light forms, indistinct to the eye, like spirits
half seen and half in mist.
Between the ponds in the ravine a mill was hidden. As an old guardian who
is spying on two lovers and has heard their talk together, grows angry,
storms, shakes his head and hands and stutters out threats against them;
so that mill suddenly shook its brow overgrown with moss and twirled
around its many-fingered fist: hardly had it begun to clatter and stir its
sharp-toothed jaws, when at the same moment it deafened the love talk of
the ponds, and awoke the Count.
The Count, seeing that Thaddeus had approached so near the spot where he
had halted under arms, shouted: “To arms! Seize him!” The jockeys rushed
forward, and, before Thaddeus could comprehend what was happening to him,
they had already caught him; they ran towards the mansion and poured into
the yard. The mansion awoke, the dogs barked, the watchmen shouted, the
Judge rushed out half clad; he saw the armed throng and thought that they
were robbers until he recognised the Count. “What does this mean?” he
asked. The Count flashed his sword over him, but, when he saw that he was
unarmed, his fury grew cool.
“Soplica,” he said, “ancestral enemy of my family, to-day I punish thee
for ancient and for fresh offences; to-day thou wilt render me an account
for the seizure of my fortune before I avenge me for the insult to my
honour!”
But the Judge crossed himself and cried:—
“In the name of the Father and of the Son! foh! My Lord the Count, are you
a robber? By God, does this befit your birth, your education, and the
station you occupy in the world? I will not permit myself to be wronged!”
Meanwhile the servants of the Judge had run up, some with clubs, others
with guns; the Seneschal, standing some distance away, looked curiously
into the eyes of the Count—and held a knife in his sleeve.
They were already on the point of beginning battle, but the Judge
prevented them; it was vain to offer any defence, for a new enemy was
coming up. Among the alders they saw a flash, and heard the report of a
carbine! The bridge over the river rattled with the trampling of cavalry,
and a thousand voices thundered, “Down with the Soplica!” The Judge
shuddered, for he recognised Gerwazy’s watchword.
“This is nothing,” cried the Count, “there will soon be more of us here;
submit, Judge, these are my allies.”
Thereupon the Assessor ran up shouting:—
“I arrest you in the name of His Imperial Majesty! Yield your sword,
Count, for I shall summon the aid of the army; and you are aware, that if
any one dares to make a night attack under arms, it is provided by ukaz
one thousand two hundred, that as a malef——”
Thereupon the Count struck him across the face with the flat of his sword.
The Assessor fell stunned, and disappeared among the nettles; all thought
that he was wounded or dead.
“I see,” said the Judge, “that this looks like brigandage.”
Every one shrieked; all were deafened by the wailing of Zosia, who,
throwing her arms around the Judge, cried like a child pricked with
needles by Jews.
Meanwhile Telimena had rushed among the horses and extended her clasped
hands towards the Count.
“Upon your honour!” she cried with a piercing voice, with head thrown back
and with streaming hair. “By all that is holy, we implore you on our
knees! Count, will you dare to refuse? Ladies beg you; savage man, you
must first murder _us_!”
She fell in a faint.—The Count sprang to her aid, amazed and somewhat
disconcerted by this scene.
“Panna Sophia,” he said, “Pani Telimena, never shall this sword be stained
with the blood of an unarmed foe! Soplicas, you are my prisoners. Thus did
I in Italy, when beneath the crag that the Sicilians call Birbante-Rocca I
overcame a camp of brigands; the armed I slew, those that laid down their
weapons I captured and had bound: they walked behind the steeds and
adorned my glorious triumph; then they were hanged at the foot of Etna.”
It was an especial piece of good luck for the Soplicas that the Count,
having better horses than the gentry, and wishing to be the first in the
engagement, had left them behind, and had galloped at least a mile 158 in
advance of the rest of the cavalry, along with his jockeys, who were
obedient and well disciplined, and formed a sort of regular army. For the
rest of the gentry, as is usually the case with insurgents, were
turbulent, and beyond measure quick at hanging. As it was, the Count had
time to recover from his heat and wrath, and to deliberate how to end the
battle without bloodshed; so he gave orders to lock the Soplica family in
the mansion as prisoners of war, and stationed guards at the doors.
Then with a shout of “Down with the Soplicas!” the gentry rushed on in a
body, surrounded the estate and took it by storm, so much the more easily
since the leader had been captured and the garrison had run away; but the
conquerors wanted to fight and looked for an enemy. Not being admitted to
the mansion, they ran to the farmhouse, to the kitchen—when they entered
the kitchen, the sight of the pots, the hardly extinct fire, the fresh
smell of cooked food, the crunching of the dogs, which were gnawing the
remains of the supper, appealed to the hearts of all, and changed the
current of their thoughts; it cooled their wrath, but inflamed their
desire for food. Wearied by the march and by an entire day of debate, they
thrice shouted with one voice, “Eat, eat!” to which there came a reply of
“Drink, drink!” from among the throng of gentry. There arose two choruses,
some crying “Drink!” and others “Eat!”—the watchwords flew and echoed, and
wherever they reached they made mouths water and stomachs feel empty. And
so, at a signal given from the kitchen, the army unexpectedly dispersed
for foraging.
Gerwazy, repulsed from the Judge’s rooms, had to retire, out of regard for
the Count’s watchmen. So, not being able to take vengeance on his enemy,
he bethought himself of the second great aim of this expedition. As a man
experienced and adept in legal matters, he wished to establish the Count
in his new possessions legally and formally; so he ran for the Apparitor,
and at last, after long search, discovered him behind the stove.
Straight-way he seized him by the collar, dragged him to the yard, and,
pointing his penknife at his breast, spoke thus:—
“Mr. Apparitor, my Lord the Count ventures to ask Your Honour that you
would be so kind as immediately to proclaim before the gentlemen and
brethren the establishment of the Count in the castle, in the estate of
the Soplicas, the village, the sown fields, the fallow land, in a word,
_cum grovibus, forestis et borderibus; peasantibus, bailiffis, et omnibus
rebus et quibusdam aliis_. You know the formula; so bark it out: don’t
leave out anything.”
“Mr. Warden, wait awhile,” said Protazy boldly, thrusting his hands into
his belt. “I am ready to carry out all the orders of the contending
parties, but I warn you that the act will not be valid, being extorted by
violence and proclaimed by night.”
“What violence?” said the Warden. “There is no assault here. Why, I am
asking you politely; if it is too dark for you, then I will kindle a fire
with my penknife so that it will be as bright in your peepers as in seven
churches.”
“My dear Gerwazy,” said the Apparitor, “why be so huffy? I am an
apparitor; it is not my business to discuss the case. Everybody knows that
a party to a suit summons an apparitor and dictates to him whatever he
chooses, and the apparitor proclaims it. The apparitor is the ambassador
of the law, and ambassadors are not subject to punishment, so that I do
not know why you keep me under guard. I will immediately write an act if
some one will only bring me a lantern, but meanwhile I proclaim: Brothers,
come to order!”
And in order to make his voice carry better, he stepped up on a great heap
of beams (near the garden fence beams were drying); he climbed on them,
and at once, as if the wind had blown him away, he vanished from sight;
they heard how he plumped into the cabbage patch, they saw how his white
hat flitted like a dove over the dark hemp. Bucket shot at the hat, but
missed his aim; then there was a crackling of poles—Protazy was already in
the hop patch. “I protest,” he shouted; he was sure of escape, for behind
him he had swamps and the bed of the stream.
After this protest, which resounded like the last cannon shot on conquered
ramparts, all resistance subsided in the mansion of the Soplicas. The
hungry gentry pillaged and seized upon whatever they could find.
Sprinkler, taking his stand in the cow-shed, sprinkled an ox and two
calves on the brows, and Razor plunged his sabre in their throats. Awl
with equal diligence employed his sword, sticking hogs and sucking pigs
beneath the shoulder blades. And now slaughter threatened the poultry—a
watchful flock of those geese that once saved Rome from the treachery of
the Gauls, in vain cackled for aid; in place of Manlius, Bucket attacked
the coop, strangled some of the birds, and tied others alive to the girdle
of his kontusz. In vain the geese called out hoarsely, winding their necks
about; in vain the ganders hissed and nipped their assailant. He ran;
besprinkled with the glittering down, borne forward as if on wheels by the
motion of the close-packed wings, he seemed to be Chochlik, the winged
evil spirit.159
But the most terrible slaughter, though the least uproar, was among the
hens. Young Buzzard assaulted the hencoop, and, catching them with a cord,
he pulled down from the roosts the cocks and the rough-feathered and
crested hens; one after another he strangled them and laid them in a heap;
lovely birds, fed upon pearl barley. Heedless Buzzard, what fervour
carried thee away! Never after this wilt thou win thy pardon from the
angry Zosia!
Gerwazy called to mind the days of old, and bade them give him the belts
from their kontuszes, and with them he drew from the Soplicas’ cellar
casks of old brandy, mead, and beer. Some they broached at once; others
the gentry, thick as ants, seized with a will and rolled to the castle.
There the whole throng gathered for the night encampment; there were
established the Count’s headquarters.
They laid a hundred fires, boiled, broiled, and roasted; the tables bent
beneath the meat, and drink flowed in a river. The gentry were minded to
eat, drink, and sing the whole night through, but slowly they began to
doze and yawn; eye after eye was extinguished, and the whole company
nodded their heads; each fell where he sat, one with a platter, one over a
tankard, one by a quarter of beef. Thus the victors were conquered at last
by Sleep, the brother of Death.