"I would much rather," I added, "ask her if she knows anything about
that curious superstition of which you spoke. Good woman," I said to
her, "have you heard tell of a part of this forest where the beasts live
in a community, independent of man's rule?"
The witch nodded her head in the affirmative, and she gave a low laugh,
half silly, half malicious.
"I come from it," she said. "The beasts have lost their king. Noble, the
lion, is dead; the animals are about to elect another king. If you go
there perhaps they will make you king."
"What are you saying, mother?" and the Count burst into shouts of
laughter. "Do you know to whom you are talking? Do you not know that
this gentleman is.... (what the deuce do they call a professor in
Jmoudic?) a great savant, a sage, a _waïdelote_?"[9]
The witch stared at him fixedly.
"I was mistaken," she said. "It is thou who ought to go there. Thou wilt
be their king, not he; thou art tall, and strong, and hast claws and
teeth."
"What do you think of the epigrams she levels at us?" said the Count.
"Can you show us the way, mother?" he asked.
She pointed with her hand to a part of the forest.
"Indeed?" said the Count. "And how can you get across the marsh? You
must know, Professor, that she pointed to an impassable swamp, a lake of
liquid mud covered over with green grass. Last year a stag that I
wounded plunged into this infernal marsh, and I watched him sink slowly,
slowly.... In five minutes I saw only his horns, and soon he disappeared
completely, two of my dogs with him."
"But I am not heavy," said the old woman, chuckling.
"I think you could cross the marsh easily on a broomstick."
A flash of anger shone in the old woman's eyes.
"Sir," she said, returning to the drawling and nasal twang of the
beggar, "haven't you a pipe of tobacco to give a poor woman? Thou hadst
better search for a passage through the swamp than go to Dowghielly,"
she added in a lower tone.
"Dowghielly!" said the Count, reddening, "what do you mean?"
I could not help noticing that this word produced a singular effect upon
him. He was visibly embarrassed; he lowered his head in order to hide
his confusion, and busied himself over opening the tobacco pouch which
hung at the hilt of his hunting knife.
"No, do not go to Dowghielly," repeated the old woman. "The little white
dove is not for thee, is she, _Pirkuns_?"
At that moment the snake's head appeared out of the collar of the old
woman's cloak and stretched up to its mistress's ear. The reptile,
trained doubtless to the trick, moved its jaws as though it spoke.
"He says I am right," said the old woman.
The Count gave her a handful of tobacco.
"Do you know me?" he asked.
"No, sir."
"I am the master of Médintiltas. Come and see me one of these days; I
will give you tobacco and brandy."
The old woman kissed his hand and moved away with rapid strides. We soon
lost sight of her. The Count remained thoughtful, tying and untying the
fastenings of his bag, hardly conscious of what he was doing.
"Professor," he said to me after a somewhat long silence, "you will
laugh at me. That old crone knew both me and the road which she showed
me better than she pretended.... After all, there is nothing so very
surprising in that. I am as well known in this countryside as the white
wolf. The jade has seen me several times on the road to Dowghielly
Castle.... A marriageable young lady lives there, so she concluded that
I was in love.... Then some handsome boy has bribed her to tell me bad
luck.... It is obvious enough. Nevertheless, ... in spite of myself, her
words have affected me. I am almost frightened by them.... You have
cause to laugh.... The truth is that I intended to go and ask for dinner
at the Castle of Dowghielly, and now I hesitate.... I am a great fool.
Come, Professor, you decide it. Shall we go?"
"In questions of marriage I never give advice," I said laughingly. "I
take good care not to have an opinion."
We had come back to our horses.
"The horse shall choose for me," cried the Count, as he vaulted into the
saddle and let the bridle lie slack.
The horse did not hesitate; he immediately entered a little footpath,
which, after several turnings, descended into a metalled road which led
to Dowghielly. Half an hour after we reached the Castle steps.
At the sound of our horses a pretty, fair head appeared at a window,
framed between two curtains. I recognised the translator of Miçkiewicz,
who had taken me in.
"You are welcome," she said. "You could not have come more apropos,
Count Szémioth. A dress from Paris has just arrived for me. I shall be
lovely past recognition."
The curtains closed again.
"It is certainly not for me that she is putting on this dress for the
first time," muttered the Count between his teeth whilst mounting the
steps.
He introduced me to Madam Dowghiello, the aunt of the _panna_ Iwinska,
who received me courteously and spoke to me of my last articles in the
Koenigsberg _Scientific and Literary Gazette_.
"The Professor has come to complain to you," said the Count, "of the
malicious trick which Mademoiselle Julienne played on him."
"She is a child, Professor; you must forgive her. She often drives me to
distraction with her follies. I had more sense at sixteen than she has
at twenty, but she is a good girl at heart, and she has many good
qualities. She is an admirable musician, she paints flowers exquisitely,
and she speaks French, German and Italian equally well.... She
embroiders."
"And she composes Jmoudic verses," added the Count, laughing.
"She is incapable of it," exclaimed Madam Dowghiello; and they had to
explain her niece's mischievousness.
Madam Dowghiello was well educated, and knew the antiquities of her
country. Her conversation was particularly agreeable to me. She read
many of our German reviews, and held very sane views upon philology. I
admit that I did not notice the time that Mademoiselle Iwinska took to
dress, but it seemed long to Count Szémioth, who got up and sat down
again, looked out of the window, and drummed on the pane with his
fingers as a man who has lost patience.
At length, at the end of three-quarters of an hour, Mademoiselle
Julienne appeared, wearing with exquisite grace a dress which would
require more critical knowledge than mine to describe. She was followed
by her French governess.
"Do I not look pretty?" she said to the Count, turning round slowly so
that he could see her from all sides.
She did not look either at the Count or at me, but at her new dress.
"How is it, Ioulka," said Madam Dowghiello, "that you do not say good
day to the Professor? He complains of you."
"Ah, Professor!" she cried, with a charming little pout. "What have I
done? Have you come to make me do penance?"
"We shall punish ourselves, Mademoiselle, if we deprive ourselves of
your presence," I answered. "I am far from complaining; on the contrary,
I congratulate myself on having learnt, thanks to you, that the
Lithuanian Muse has reappeared more brightly than ever."
She lowered her head, and, putting her hands before her face, taking
care not to disarrange her hair, she said, in the tones of a child who
has just stolen some sweetmeats--
"Forgive me; I will not do it again."
"I will only pardon you, my dear Pani," I said to her, "if you will
fulfil a certain promise which you were good enough to make to me at
Wilmo, at the house of the Princess Katazyna Paç."
"What promise?" she asked, raising her head and laughing.
"Have you forgotten so soon? You promised me that if we met in Samogitia
you would let me see a certain country dance which you said was
enchanting."
"Oh, the roussalka! I shall be charmed; and the very man I need is
here."
She ran to a table loaded with music-books, and, turning over one
hastily, put it on the piano stand.
"Mind, my dear, _allegro presto_," she said, addressing her governess.
And she played the prelude herself, without sitting down, to show the
time.
"Come here, Count Michel! you are too much of a Lithuanian not to be
able to dance the roussalka; ... but dance like a peasant, you
understand."
Madam Dowghiello in vain tried to object. The Count and I insisted. He
had his motives, for his part in the dance was extremely agreeable, as
we soon saw. The governess, after several attempts, said she thought she
could play that kind of waltz, strange though it was; so Mademoiselle
Iwinska, after moving some chairs and a table that were in the way,
took hold of her partner by the collar of his coat and led him into the
centre of the room.
"You must know, Professor, that I am a roussalka, at your service."
She made a low bow.
"A roussalka is a water nymph. There is one in each of the big pools of
black water which adorn our forests. Do not go near! The roussalka comes
out, lovelier even than I, if that be possible; she carries you to the
bottom, where, very likely, she gobbles you up...."
"A real siren," I cried.
"He," continued Mademoiselle Iwinska, pointing to Count Szémioth, "is a
very foolish young fisherman who exposes himself to my clutches, and, to
make the pleasure last longer, I fascinate him by dancing round him for
a time.... But, alas! to do it properly I want a sarafane.[10] What a
pity! You must please excuse this dress, which has neither character nor
local colour.... Oh! and I have slippers on. It is quite impossible to
dance the roussalka with slippers on ... and heels on them too."
She picked up her dress, and, daintily shaking a pretty little foot at
the risk of showing her leg, she sent the slipper flying to the end of
the drawing-room. The other followed the first, and she stood upon the
parquetry floor in her silken stockings.
"We are quite ready," she said to the governess.
And the dance began.
The roussalka revolves and revolves round her partner; he stretches out
his arms to seize her, but she slips underneath him and escapes. It is
very graceful, and the music has movement and originality. The figure
ends when the partner, believing that he has seized the roussalka, tries
to give her a kiss, and she makes a bound, strikes him on the shoulder,
and he falls dead at her feet.... But the Count improvised a variation,
strained the winsome creature in his arms, and kissed her again and
again. Mademoiselle Iwinska uttered a little cry, blushed deeply, and
threw herself, pouting, into a couch, complaining that he had hugged her
like the bear that he was. I saw that the comparison did not please the
Count, for it brought to his mind the family misfortune, and his brow
darkened. I thanked Mademoiselle Iwinska most warmly, and praised her
dance, which seemed to me to have an antique flavour, and recalled the
sacred dances of the Greeks. I was interrupted by a servant announcing
General and Princess Véliaminof. Mademoiselle Iwinska leaped to the sofa
for her shoes, hastily thrust in her little feet, and ran to meet the
Princess, making successively two profound bows. I noticed that at each
bow she adroitly drew on part of her slipper. The General brought with
him two aides-de-camp, and, like us, had come to ask for hospitality. In
any other country I imagine the mistress of the house would have been a
little embarrassed to receive all at once six hungry and unexpected
guests; but Lithuanian hospitality is so lavish that the dinner was not
more than half an hour late, I think; there were too many pies, however,
both hot and cold.
[1] "The two together make a pair"; word for word, Michon (Michael) with
Lokis, both are the same. _Michaelium cum Lokide, ambo [duo] ipsissimi._
[2] The Russian for one possessed is "a howler"; _klikoucha_, the root
of which is _klik_, clamour, howling.
[3] _Siatelstvo_, "Your _shining light_"; the title used in addressing a
count.
[4] The knights of the Teutonic order.
[5] Felt cloak.
[6] Julienne.
[7] See _Messire Thaddée_, by Miçkiewicz, and _Captive Poland_, by M.
Charles Edmond.
[8] A Circassian gun-case.
[9] A bad translation of the word "professor." The _waïdelotes_ were the
Lithuanian bards.
[10] A peasant's skirt, without a bodice.