FLOURISHING LIKE A BAY-TREE.
"While the inhabitants of Zulawce thus excitedly waited for the events
of the coming night, their busy imagination beguiling the slow hours
with various visions of the hapless mandatar, beholding him either
hanged, or shot, or burnt alive, this gentleman himself was similarly
engaged. That is to say, he also was waiting excitedly for the night,
endeavouring to shorten the agony of delay by picturing to himself the
approaching crisis. But the images he had in view were of a vastly
different nature. For he was nowise hiding in an iron closet at
Zulawce, which, even if he had desired it, would have been impossible,
for the simple reason that there was no such stronghold; but he was at
that moment comfortably established in the snug little smoking-room of
his chambers at Colomea--his refuge, both for his pleasures and,
perchance now, in trouble. He had just returned from a dinner which the
district governor at this season was in the habit of giving to the
officials of the place; and between the blue circles ascending from his
expensive cheroot he now beheld visions--imagining the impending scenes
at an evening party to which the richest man of the neighbourhood, Herr
Bogdan von Antoniewicz, an Armenian, had invited a small but select
company. These scenes presumably would be of a pleasant nature, for Mr.
Hajek kept smiling--nay, he even skipped about his room the while he
puffed his fragrant cloudlets with a sort of irrepressible delight. But
if he was expecting some happy event it appeared to be a critical one
also, to judge from the nervous action with which he kept pulling out
his watch, and there was even an occasional shadow of seriousness
gliding over his finely-cut but dissipated features. But this was like
a noonday cloud, only darkening for a moment the brilliant sky, and the
mandatar returned to his smiles.
"Pshaw," he said, stopping before his looking-glass and twirling his
moustache, "as if I had not made sure of her virtues myself!... three
of them! And for the rest of it----" he paused, bowing profoundly to
his image in the glass; "for the rest of it, Mr. Hajek, please to bear
in mind your history and your present dilemma. Ha! ha!" He appeared
immensely tickled with this pretence at honesty; it seemed quite a joke
to ruminate over a bit of self-knowledge, and it kept him in the best
of humour till the clock struck eight, when he rang for his valet, and,
having completed his toilet, he drove to the villa of the Armenian.
It was early for an evening party of distinction, and Mr. Hajek, who
had lived in Paris, and therefore was looked upon as an oracle of good
style by all who pretended to be fashionable at Colomea, would under
ordinary circumstances never have sinned so grievously against the laws
he himself had established. But in the present case it was incumbent on
him to be the first of the guests. For these were not ordinary
circumstances, but, on the contrary, an event which as a rule comes but
once in life; he was driving to the villa in order to celebrate his
betrothal with the widowed Countess Wanda Koninski, the Armenian's only
daughter. It was indeed an event! and the several actors in the little
comedy had even drawn up a programme for the most suitable expression
of their feelings.
It has been maintained by people of experience that it is not so much
fiery love which ensures the happiest marriages--since the flame too
often is sadly transient--but rather an even share of mutual
understanding and a certain sympathetic perception of each other's aims
in life. If it be so, the mandatar and the young widow might fairly be
congratulated. And again, if it be true that a man's relations with his
parents-in-law, in order to be satisfactory, must preclude the
possibility of a delusion on either side concerning each other's moral
worth, not a shadow of a doubt could be entertained but that the
mandatar and the parents of his bride elect would yield a spectacle of
the most charming friendship--quite hand in glove, in fact. For,
excepting Mr. Hajek himself, Herr Bogdan von Antoniewicz certainly was
the greatest rascal of the district.
This prosperous man did not like to be reminded of his earlier years,
nor was he ever heard to refer to his ancestors, although they had been
honest cattle-drovers in Moldavia. He himself had pursued this
occupation in his youth: but possessing a kind of prudence which
rendered his conscience easy and his money-bag close, he managed to
make a little capital, establishing cattle trading on his own account.
Then it happened, as he would describe it, that a sore blow was
experienced by the death of the best of uncles, a merchant at
Constantinople, who had made him his heir. The chief facts were
correct, and the deceased had left his money to his nephew, only it was
not Bogdan who was that nephew, but a poor man of the name of Mikita,
who was in Bogdan's service. The latter had received a ponderous
document with seals and flourishes, announcing to him his uncle's
bequest; and, being unable to read, he had taken it to his master.
Bogdan read it--there was a legacy of ten thousand ducats--and he was
seized with a feeling of vast sympathy with the humble man. He
remembered that Mikita had nine ragged children, and that a shower of
riches coming thus suddenly could be no blessing, since, no doubt, it
would teach him to be thriftless. He said, therefore, to his labourer,
"You're a lucky dog, to be sure, there's your uncle dead and left you
ten ducats!" This, of course, was to try the man, to see if he were
worthy of a great fortune; for what would become of his poor children,
mused the philanthropic Bogdan, if he made away with his ten thousand
ducats, leading a riotous life and turning his back upon work! Let him
prove first how he will take the lesser luck. The poor man but ill
stood the test. He had never known such wealth, and simply cried with
delight, begging his master to lend him a ducat on the strength of his
inheritance. Bogdan did so, hoping the man would not waste so great a
sum, but put it out at interest discreetly. But Mikita, that
spendthrift, knew no better investment than some new clothes for his
little ones, also giving them a regular good meal for once. After
awhile he presented himself again to his master, who, sadly grieving,
handed him a second ducat; and so on till, after six months or so,
the wretched father had actually spent the ten of them. And now the
well-intentioned Bogdan went through a severe conflict with himself,
ending with the renewed conviction that it were an unpardonable want of
foresight to let those children be ruined. So having given to Mikita
ten ill-spent ducats, he got him to put his mark to a receipt that the
full amount of the legacy had been made over to him, and thereupon he
went and presented himself as the required heir.
Thus Bogdan, acting for the best for his humble neighbour, had laid the
foundation of his fortune. But it is well known that one's noblest
actions are often cruelly misjudged, and this matter somehow leaking
out, made it impossible for the tenderhearted cattle-trader to continue
in the neighbourhood. He resolved to shake off from his feet the very
dust of his old life, departing stealthily, and making his way into
Austria, where, with his newly-acquired capital, he bought a large
property, ostensibly bent on farming his land. The property, however,
happened to be situated in the Bukowina, a very central position, where
Austria, Russia, and Moldavia join. Now the import duties in those days
were particularly heavy, and a man of resources living on the frontiers
could not but direct his faculties to studying their results. Mr.
Bogdan was too clever not to see that free commerce naturally must
spring from an overdone system of protection, and, experimenting upon
his theory, he ended in siding with free trade altogether. His property
was delightfully situated for smuggling purposes, and he flattered
himself he would best serve his generation by introducing large
quantities of tobacco from Bessarabia into Austria, to the detriment of
the Imperial monopoly, which was disgracefully selfish, he argued. He
throve for awhile, but the eyes of the customs authorities were upon
him. He escaped conviction just in time, selling his property
advantageously and acquiring a larger one in Eastern Galicia.
He was now forty years of age, rich and prosperous, but alone in his
glory. His heart, such as it was, longed for a distinguished passion,
and his buttonhole gaped for a decoration. He would marry into the
aristocracy, and become the founder of a noble house. As for marrying a
person of title, that is almost easier in those parts than insisting on
the contrary; but on what grounds he could become ennobled, even his
fertile brain was at a loss to suggest. Fortune, however, had always
smiled on him; and it so happened that the mysterious power which rules
our hearts and destinies introduced to him a lady well qualified for
becoming the stepping-stone of his aspirations. In the present instance
that world-famed power elected to show itself in the person of a
certain Jew, who made his living by acting as go-between in the
matrimonial market. This herald appeared one day, proposing to Mr.
Bogdan a union with a certain aristocratic spinster, Antonia von
Kulczika. There was no doubt as to her good birth, but she was not
_very_ young, and not rich--possessed of influence, however, through
having enjoyed the protection, hitherto, of one of the most powerful
magnates of the land. Wicked tongues, of course, delighted in a tale,
for which reason Aaron Moses, in stating the lady's virtues, kept his
hand cautiously on the door-handle. To his agreeable surprise, however,
Mr. Bogdan listened quietly, owning even to a sort of partiality for
the lady he had never seen, and that nothing was required but certain
easily-defined conditions in order to rouse his ardent love, which
conditions being stated, Aaron Moses entered them in his notebook.
Within a month the Jew returned with a deed of gift, whereby the
above-mentioned magnate, with brotherly generosity, settled on the lady
the landed property of Rossow. Mr. Bogdan, on making sure of this, laid
his hand upon his heart, confessing to the Jew his unmistakable
devotion to the lady, to whom he was ready now to be introduced. But
there was no talk of betrothal as yet. True love mostly is of the
shyest, and Mr. Bogdan found no words for his feelings until Aaron
Moses had brought him a letter wherein the magnate, under his own hand,
had given his word of honour that he would procure a patent of nobility
for Mr. Bogdan Antoniewicz within a year of his marriage with Miss
Antonia von Kulczika. This settled, there was nothing left to hinder
the flow of his feelings, and in due course the nuptials were
solemnised.
They were a pattern pair; and if those only can be happy in married
life whose mutual love is equalled by their mutual respect, their
happiness was assured, for the love of this couple could not easily
have been less than the esteem they bore one another. The happy husband
in due time found himself Herr _von_ Antoniewicz, his wife presenting
him, moreover, with a fair-haired little girl. There appeared nothing
to prevent their being received into society, for the lady was
handsome, Bogdan rich and prosperous. The officers of the neighbouring
garrison were the first to get over their qualms, the rest of society
following suit. As years went on the lady, of course, could not be said
to grow in grace or beauty; but Bogdan gained riches steadily,
possessing three large estates now and plenty of money, which he
continued to put to usury advantageously.
Such were the future parents-in-law of Mr. Hajek. Those who knew them
could not but own that all three were worthy of each other, and the
same might be said of the bridal couple itself. Bogdan von Antoniewicz
had his daughter educated after the style most approved of by the
Polish aristocracy. She had a Parisian governess, who taught her French
and the piano, the rest of the 'branches' being confided to a refugee
from Warsaw, in whose estimation there wad no science equal to Polish
patriotism, and in this he instructed her. Wanda should be a true Pole.
It was not pleasant, therefore, when her parents one day made a
sorrowful discovery, proving her Austrian predilections. She had a
lover in the Imperial army, who, on being moved with his regiment, left
it expedient for her father to find her a husband. It had better not be
a rogue, if a fool was to be had, thought the latter; and a suitable
youth was found in the person of one Count Agenor Koninski. Very
suitable he was, being, in the first place, of the bluest aristocracy;
moreover, in the second place, of such doubtful finances that Bogdan's
offer was a godsend to him; and, thirdly, he was an easy-going fellow,
whose wife might be what she pleased. "Koninski" might be correctly
rendered by "horseman"--it was just the name for him. He spent his life
with horses, and even came by his death through them, being thrown on a
racecourse.
The widowed Wanda knew what she owed to her position; her sympathies
were no longer with the Imperial army, but no Polish nobleman therefore
cared for her hand. She and her belongings had thoroughly disgusted
even that lenient body; and, at the time when Mr. Hajek was making
friends at Colomea, the Armenian, in spite of his great wealth, was
reduced to a select circle of visitors--respectable people refused his
invitations. He and his wife had reached their threescore and ten, the
Countess Wanda was thirty, and her boy eleven years old. It was high
time to put an end to the scandal, and gain an able man who could
manage the property. This state of things explains why Bogdan, in spite
of the pride of his acquired nobility, as well as the widowed Countess
herself, had turned their thoughts to the low-born mandatar,
instructing their willing emissary, Mr. Thaddeus de Bazanski,
accordingly--he being no other than that refugee who, in her youth,
had educated Wanda in Polish patriotism, and who still awaited the day
when Russia should suffer, glad meanwhile to act as the Armenian's
hanger-on. He had to take his time in making overtures to the mandatar,
who did not seem open to his hints; but he was able at last to inform
the countess that Mr. Hajek had discovered he loved her; and it was
agreed to celebrate the betrothal forthwith, even on Easter Sunday.
It had been no easy resolve on the part of the mandatar. To be sure,
the widowed Countess possessed three first-rate charms, nay, virtues,
in his eyes, being heiress to the broad lands of Rossow, Horkowka, and
Drinkowce, and he himself was not a man given to prejudice. Still he
had managed somehow to acquire the position of a man of honour in the
district, and was loth to part with this pleasant sensation, all the
more valued, perhaps, for its novelty. But while he yet felt divided,
the news reached him of Taras's declaration, and the cowardly wretch
was seized with a perfect frenzy of fear. Indeed, the real match-maker,
bringing together this pair of worthies, was not so much Thaddeus as
Taras Barabola.
Mr. Hajek had not been in the village, and knew nothing of the great
meeting. He had gone to a mess breakfast at Zablotow, Captain Mihaly,
of the Palffy hussars, in garrison there, having invited him over. It
was a merry gathering, comprising, besides the officers, several young
nobles of the neighbourhood. But none so merry as Hajek himself; and he
kept up his spirits when, breakfast over, he was invited to preside at
the gaming table. He was winning largely, and was a very fountain of
fun to the dissipated party. They went on gambling for the best part of
the day.
But there was a strange interruption, the captain's man announcing,
with a queer expression, that the under-steward, Boleslaw, had arrived,
bearing an important message to the mandatar--a certain peasant named
Barabola having that day declared war against the Emperor.
The news produced the greatest hilarity; the officers roared with
laughter. But Wenceslas Hajek grew deadly pale, and, dropping the cards
from his hands, he jumped from his seat shaking from head to foot.
"Gentlemen," he gasped, "you would not laugh if you knew the man ...
this is a matter of life and death ... excuse me, I must have
particulars...."
He moved to the door, but the captain was before him. "No!" he cried,
facetiously, "you shall not monopolise this declaration of war. _We_
are His Majesty's officers, and ought to have our share--let the man
enter!"
The under-steward appeared, his gigantic frame positively limp with
dismay, as he reported the chief contents of Taras's speech. "You know
what sort of man you have to deal with, sir," he said, in conclusion,
turning to the mandatar. "This day week he means to make his
beginning--make it upon you, sir! He has retired for the present in the
direction of the Red Hollow. Four men are with him to-day; there will
be fifty before the week is out."
The gentlemen ceased to be amused; somehow the giant's consternation
had affected them. But when he had done, their laughter returned.
"War!" they cried, "what fun! Double pay and promotion for all of us!"
The captain adding: "But he has given us a week's grace, so let us
finish our rubber. Mr. Hajek, I think you were meditating a trump ...
but, good heavens, man!" he interrupted himself, evidently alarmed,
"what is the matter? ... He is fainting!"
And, indeed, the mandatar's appearance was enough to startle his
companions. He had sunk down on the nearest chair, the bloodless face
distorted with terror; and as they gazed at him his head sank lower,
till it rested on the table.
"Belshazzar!" cried a youthful lieutenant, "Mene, Tekel, Upharsin! Yes,
yes, my dear Mr. Hajek, your conscience seems ill at ease concerning
these peasants! Why, you are crying!"
The mandatar actually had begun to sob. "Ah!" he moaned, "I must be
off to the town...." He attempted to rise, but fell back on his chair.
"No ... I must go back to the manor first ... my papers.... Captain!"
he shrieked, imploringly, "I entreat you, let your troop be mounted,
and escort me to Zulawce--I mean, stay with me till you can bring me
away again in safety. I'm a dead man, and the manor will be in ruins,
if you refuse!"
"Nonsense!" cried the captain, in disgust. "I should not have believed
it of you! This sudden news has made a coward of you! Don't you know
that I am not at liberty to order my men about in that fashion?"
"Then you shall answer for the consequences!" screamed Hajek, wildly.
"But I shall not go home by myself!" And again he sobbed, but recovered
himself presently. "I must take refuge at Colomea. We are but three of
us--the under-steward, myself, and the coachman, and those cut-throats
are four or five! I trust you will, at least, set us up with arms,
captain, and lend me some of your men to see us safely on our way."
"Certainly," replied Captain Mihaly, coldly. "I am quite able to grant
you an escort."
And within an hour Mr. Hajek was on the road to Colomea, a hussar on
either side of his vehicle, the under-steward besides having provided
himself with a perfect arsenal of weapons. Nevertheless, the mandatar
was dying with fright at every turn, crying aloud with terror as often
as a sound rose in the distance or some horseman appeared in view. In
vain Boleslaw tried to comfort him; all he could do was to remind him
that Taras had said with, his own lips another week would lapse before
he should make his beginning, "and you know he always is true to his
word!"
The mandatar's answer to this was, perhaps, the finest praise ever
awarded to Taras. "Ah!" he groaned, "you may not have heard it
correctly"--for that Taras should ever deviate from his word, in great
things or little, even he did not doubt; but just this made all the
rest so fearful!...
The news had come to him quite unexpectedly, although he had been fully
informed concerning Taras's doings, his prolonged visits to the
mountains, his growing despair, and lastly his cession of property. But
he had misjudged these signs, believing in his own evil soul that Taras
intended to make away with himself, and would probably do so upon the
Emperor's refusal; indeed, he had even pitied the man, after a fashion,
as a butcher may feel pity for a fine bullock whose carcase he intends
to sell well. Now that he had learned Taras's intentions, he seemed
suddenly to be aware what stuff the man was made of, and though but the
barest outline of that memorable speech could have been reported to
him, he had a clearer perception of its drift, no doubt, than most of
those who had heard it with their own ears. "Yes, yes," he groaned,
"the angel has become a fiend, and none so black as those that were all
light before!"
At last the morning dawned. The mandatar ventured to dismiss his
escort, and towards nine o'clock he reached the town, where he parted
also from Boleslaw, sending him back to Zulawce.
"Do you believe the manor is endangered by my absence?"
"No," said the giant, "only by your presence, sir. What Taras wants is
to punish _you_ in life and limb; he does not care for your property,
save as far as it may serve to indemnify the people for their supposed
loss. But I should say he will not touch anything till he has got hold
of yourself."
The mandatar shook. "I daresay you are right," he said. "Nevertheless,
I want you to bring me, without delay, the black casket you will find
in my bedroom cupboard--this is the key. I shall not leave this place
for the present, and shall do my best to have the wretch hanged,
else----"
"He will see you hanged," concluded Boleslaw. "I am afraid you are
right, sir."
And with this parting benediction ringing in his ears, Mr. Hajek
repaired at once to the district governor, to whom he represented the
matter as a rebellion of gigantic dimensions, endangering the lives and
property of thousands of helpless subjects, if a price were not set on
Taras's head forthwith and half a dozen regiments despatched against
him.
Herr von Bauer took refuge in his favourite growling. "Pleasant! most
pleasant!" he muttered, and took to pacing his office like a caged
lion. "Who on earth has to face such bothers but me? Defend your enemy,
not to say your friend, from being a district governor in Galicia! I
hoped we had done with these cut-throats since 'Wild Wassilj' had the
good sense to shoot himself--now there is another of these rascals! But
who would have believed it of Taras Barabola! I would have taken my
oath that he was an honest man. To be sure, he understands nothing of
justice--came to me once expecting _we_ should prosecute for the
recovery of that field. He positively believed it was our duty--to
prosecute, you understand! A man who has such notions may as well turn
hajdamak! They are just savages here--I have always said so ... not a
notion of how the law works!... Well, I am much obliged for your news,
sir, but it is not for us to proceed on it. Things must be done in
order. Kindly send in your information in writing; it will cost you
nothing. Good morning!"
"And may I ask how soon the matter will then be attended to?"
"In due course--first come, first served!"
"Sir! Why this is a most pressing case! I would propose, as a first
step, to send for the hussars from Zablotow----"
"Hussars? Good gracious!" and the district governor grew as red as a
turkey-cock. "Who do you take me for, sir? Am I a general to order
about the military? I am governor of the district, sir--worse luck that
I am!"
The mandatar was abashed, but made another attempt. "Sir," he said,
rather pathetically, "my life is at stake, and what is more, the
property of the Count, my master. I venture to ask how the matter will
be dealt with!"
"In due course, to be sure! When your statement has been filed we shall
despatch a commissary to Zulawce to report to us; and if it is as you
tell me, we have quite a complicated charge of felony: the man has
insulted the Emperor, not to say the Almighty Himself; he has libelled
Government, and is guilty of seditious proceedings. It will be an
interesting case, to be sure; he'll have ten years of penal servitude
for that speech alone. And if he should lay hands on you, as he seems
fully to intend, we will have him hanged! Will that satisfy you?"
But strange to say, the mandatar was not satisfied. "Sir," he
stammered, "delay is most dangerous. Will that commissary be starting
to-morrow?"
"To-morrow?" gasped the governor. "Why not, rather, to-day? Perhaps we
ought to ask your pardon for not having sent him as early as
yesterday!... _To-morrow!_ Are you in your senses, sir?" And he paced
his office more violently than ever. It took him some time to get over,
this unheard-of suggestion, and then he said: "A commissioner will be
sent as soon as feasible; in about a month's time, I should say; things
must be done in due course! And now I have the honour of making my bow
to you."
The mandatar could but take his leave, standing still a moment outside.
It was the very spot where his unhappy victim, and now his implacable
enemy, had first felt the sore pain of disappointed hope and helpless
wrath--these same sensations now having him for their prey. The fear of
death, which he had been able to hold at bay awhile with the vain
expectation that the all-powerful State would hedge him round with
safety, seized upon him afresh, tearing his cowardly heart to pieces.
With tottering knees, and almost beside himself with rage and terror,
he slunk away.
In one of the streets his eye was caught by a shop window exhibiting
fire-arms. He entered and bought a double-barrelled pistol. "If I
should have the misfortune of falling into his hands," he murmured, "I
will at least save myself the worst of ignominy." But a voice in his
heart gave him the lie directly. "Coward!" it said; "you would never
dare it--never!"
Retribution for this man's crimes had begun before Taras lifted a
finger against him, and his just terrors continued--nay, were added to
hourly. The mandatar, even in his least cowardly moments, felt the
situation to be most critical. While Taras lived, his returning to
Zulawce was a movement in the direction of death; and there appeared to
be every likelihood of Taras's continuing in life, while the
authorities were bent on dealing with him "in due course," as the
district governor had taken pains to point out. It seemed highly
advisable, then, for Mr. Hajek to keep at a safe distance from Zulawce,
and this was tantamount to his retiring from his stewardship, since the
peasants, he knew, would never dream of rendering the slightest of
their dues, be it tribute or labour, unless the mandatar were bodily
present to make them. And if he got into arrears with the monthly
payments to the Count, in Paris, this gentleman would not be long in
dismissing him, without the least pity for his difficulties. It was
preferable, then, to anticipate a dismissal. But how to make a living
for the future? To be sure, he had improved the stewardship he was
about to quit, putting by in that little black box of his a neat sum of
several thousand florins in good Austrian securities, although he had
never stinted himself of any personal luxury. Should he fall back upon
these savings, leaving the country altogether and seeking a berth
elsewhere? But in that case, not only this little capital would be
endangered, but another and more precious one would also be lost, even
the good name he had managed to acquire, and which he hoped to turn
into a bait with which to land a fortune one of these days. Nor was
this a mere illusion. Mr. Hajek was too sharp-witted to fool himself,
and he really had come to enjoy a certain position at Colomea; for he
was a man of the world and knew how to ingratiate himself with society,
while even his worst enemy must admit he was an adept in the management
of landed property. He knew, therefore, to what port he ought to run:
he must look out for an heiress and become a landed proprietor himself.
There were several eligible maidens, presumably willing to further his
aims, with handsome sums in their pockets, if not Polish coronets on
their brows. But all these hopes had vanished now; the successful
mandatar might have proffered his suit in such quarters, but never the
luckless culprit whose misdeeds had found him out. The one question for
him was how to gain time, in order to make the best of his miserable
fate.
Thus, by a strange coincidence of circumstances, the mere announcement
of Taras's intentions had sufficed to ruin his enemy effectively; and
the under-steward, returning on Tuesday with the precious black casket,
found his master deeply dejected. Nor was his news calculated to rouse
better hopes. "To tell the truth," said Boleslaw, "I brought away the
worst impressions concerning the peasantry. Not an hour's further
labour will they yield, and no tribute of any kind. Taras is a hero and
a liberator in their eyes; and as for you, sir--I beg your pardon, but
it is a fact--they are all delighted at the bare idea that he is going
to hang you. I spoke with several of the villagers, and they all said
the same thing."
"That will do," said the mandatar, faintly, and motioned him to go.
Left alone, he sank into a chair, and involuntarily put his fingers
round his throat. "There must be an end to this!" he cried. "I must
shake off this business; I will have nothing more to do with these
wretches."
And, going to his desk, he wrote a letter to the Count--it was his
resignation. He folded the sheet, and put it into an envelope, which he
sealed. But there he stopped, dipping his pen again and again without
addressing the missive. "It might be premature after all," he murmured
at last, throwing down the quill and snatching up his hat. "I ought not
to act rashly, at least not before finding out the opinion of the
town."
But if any one wished to know what the world thought at Colomea, he
could not do better than repair to a certain wine-cellar, where the
"daily news" of the place was almost sure to be present, gossipping
away from early morning sometimes till the closing hour at midnight.
This worthy was none other than Mr. Thaddeus de Bazanski, whose
vicissitudes in life were a prolific source of entertainment to all the
tipplers of the place. Mr. Thaddeus, by his own showing, was a man of
consequence; but the jovial company listening to his tales somehow had
agreed to call him Thaddy. Now Thaddy's history--of which he was most
liberal--was of a curious kind, and never the same for two days
running. On a Sunday he would have large possessions in Volhynia; and,
being the last of an honourable name, he had fought the Russians
gallantly, but was left for dead on the field of battle, after which he
made his escape into Galicia. On Mondays he was the son of a Polish
officer in French service, who had enjoyed the close friendship of
Napoleon, and he had been a cadet at Vincennes; but, turning his back
upon his brilliant prospects, he had entered the Polish army for love
of his country--the rest being the same as on Sunday. On a Tuesday his
name, de Bazanski, was merely an alias for prudence' sake, and he was
really the scion of a princely house of Lithuania; but, having
quarrelled with his family, who were of Russian tendencies, he had
entered the Polish army--the rest the same as on Monday. On Wednesdays
he had large possessions in the Ukraine, and in fact all the revolution
of 1831 had been carried on with his money. Having been obliged to
flee, he joined the Carbonari in Piedmont, and now lived in Galicia in
order to be at hand when the great day of revenge should have dawned.
On Thursdays, when the cellars would be specially well filled after the
weekly meeting of the local board, Thaddy's history had quite a
romantic origin. He was a natural son of Alexander I. and a Polish
countess, spending his youth at the Court of St. Petersburg, petted by
all, until he did his duty as the son of his mother, standing up boldly
before his half-brother Nicolas and demanding of him a grant of liberty
for poor Poland. He was refused, and then--the same as on Wednesday. On
Fridays, when the place was but indifferently visited, he was just a
poor brave nobleman, who had spent the best years of his life for the
good of his country, and was ready to do so again; while on the
Saturday his tale had an anti-semitic tinge. His father, on those days,
having been one of the richest landowners of Masovia, had been so
foolish as to allow his Jewish tenants to drop into arrears with their
rents, till the family was nearly beggared. It was then that Thaddeus
showed the stuff he was made of, evicting "those rascally Jews," and
making front against the Russians at the same time; and he was now at
Colomea endeavouring to work up those sad arrears. To be sure, he never
had any success to tell of, but that might be because of his constantly
changing his lawyer, who, it was observed, was mentioned by a different
name every Saturday. For the rest, if any visitor of the cellars ever
had forgotten what day of the week it might be, he had but to listen
for a moment to Thaddy's tale in order to recover the lost thread of
his time.
These varying accounts were calculated to lend an air of distinction to
the narrator, but there were some whose shrewdness believed his fame to
be spurious, and one or two wicked tongues had even asserted that his
features bore a suspicious likeness to a loquacious barber they had
known at Warsaw. Thaddy denounced this as a libel, boldly; but it was
not so easy to accuse people of calumny when they added that his
appearance, somehow, was not of the aristocratic military type! That
was true enough, for there was nothing of the heroic about his mean
little figure, and those greenish eyes, half cunning, half cowardly,
peering away over a coppery nose for any good luck in his way. Of
course he always appeared in the national costume; but the 'kantouche'
was peculiarly long and ill-fitting, not because of any eccentric taste
of his, but simply because nature had endowed Mr. Bogdan with a figure
so utterly different from Thaddy's. His 'confederatka,' however, was
his own--one of the strangest head-gears ever worn by mortal man. It
probably had been high, stiff, and square originally, but it had
collapsed to utter flabbiness, and it could not now be said to be of
any colour, having faded to a mixture of all. Thaddy kept assuring his
listeners that he wore this article on great anniversaries for the most
patriotic of reasons, since it had covered his head at the famous
battle of Ostrolenka. It certainly looked ancient enough to have seen
even the Napoleonic wars; and if it had many holes, that no doubt was a
proof of the many bullets which had threatened the head of its gallant
wearer. As for the anniversaries, there were those who pretended to
observe that the famous confederatka was seen rather often, in fact
quite habitually, on Thaddy's head--but then, the history of Poland is
so rich in events, that the year of the piously inclined is one long
anniversary naturally.
As for the present employment of this national martyr, it was twofold;
he ostensibly waited for the better days of Poland, gaining his
livelihood meanwhile by entertaining the customers at the cellars with
his gossip, and holding himself in readiness for any business in which
an agent might be wanted who was not over squeamish in his views.
When Mr. Hajek, on that Tuesday afternoon, entered the cellars he found
Thaddy alone, in his usual corner, sadly occupied with counting the
flies on the various pictures adorning the room. He looked up, a gleam
of satisfaction shooting across his countenance, and held out his hand,
which cordiality, however, the new comer appeared not to observe. "Ha!"
he cried, "what a strange coincidence; here I was just thinking of you,
actually! There is a curious likeness between this excellent young
man's fate--meaning yourself--and mine, I was saying."
"Indeed!" replied the mandatar, coldly, taking a seat and ordering a
bottle of wine. "Between you and me?"
"Yes, unmistakably," cried Mr. de Bazanski, coming nearer and taking
his place opposite the mandatar. "A striking likeness in fact. It so
occupied my mind that I quite forgot I was thirsty, and, indeed, for
the matter of that, I am of too sociable a turn to have a glass by
myself." This was true enough, for Thaddy never had any drink except in
company. They knew better at the cellars than to give him anything that
was not ordered and paid for by his friends.
Mr. Hajek smiled, requesting the waiter to bring a second glass. "A
striking likeness, you were saying?"
"Most striking, sir, and unmistakable! Just look at me--what is it I
have come to? I am an old officer, to be sure, who will give proof yet
of the stuff he is made of. But what of this? I was thinking of my
happy youth, and how from the battlements of our princely castle in
Lithuania I, with a telescope, would scan our broad domain; forty-nine
villages I could count, and they all were situated on our lands. Yes,
ours was a princely family, and now, alas, I may not even confess to
the name I was born to, I----"
"Yes, yes, I know," interrupted the mandatar; "besides, I was aware
that this is Tuesday."
But Thaddy was not the man to be disconcerted. "Of course, this is
Tuesday," he assented, smilingly. "I was going to add--who is to blame
that I am a stranger now to my princely heritage, if not my wicked
relatives? And who is it that, at the present moment, is a sore trouble
to you, if not this wicked peasantry of Zulawce? Is it not a strange
and striking similarity?"
"Very striking," said Hajek. "Then you have heard about affairs at
Zulawce?"
"Of course I have," cried Bazanski; "why the town is full of it."
And the ex-officer waxed hot with excitement. "You would scarcely
believe it," he cried, "but there are those, actually, who take this
cut-throat's part against you--respectable people--nay, even Poles, I
am ashamed to say!"
"Who, for instance?" inquired the mandatar, apparently unconcerned, but
his heart was beating in spite of him.
"Well, there is that old demagogue, who ought to know better, being a
lawyer--Dr. Starkowski, I mean--to begin with. This very morning we
were sitting here, some twenty of us, and some one started the matter.
My stars, you should have heard him! 'Gentlemen,' he said, quite
solemnly, as though he were on his oath, 'I know this Taras; he is the
most unselfish, the noblest man I have ever met, and filled with a
passion for justice which would grace a king. And that this man, with
the views he holds, had nothing left but to turn hajdamak, must make
every honest man blush for our country. It is my opinion that this
noble-hearted fellow has been morally murdered, and his murderer is the
mandatar of Zulawce.' And the others, so far from contradicting him,
clamoured for more. 'Tell us, Doctor, tell us all about it,' they
cried. And he gave them a long rigmarole of a story about a field, and
perjury, and what not; and when he had finished--'Humph,' said the
others, 'why, if it is so, Mr. Hajek is just a blackguard.' 'He is,'
affirmed the brazen-faced lawyer. Such is the world!"
"Such--is--- the world!" repeated Hajek, absently, and white as a
ghost. It was plain there was nothing left for him now but to make his
speedy escape. The laborious edifice of his wickedness was tottering,
and threatening to bury him in its ruins. But whither should he turn?
He gazed into his future helplessly....
"Such, indeed, is the world," repeated Bazanski, eagerly; "and there
were those present who said--'Dear, dear, it is a mercy to learn that
before it is too late!' Those, you understand, who hitherto would have
considered you an eligible son-in-law--conceited fools!--as if you ever
would have looked at any of their daughters--you, whose heart is
adamant even to a countess."
Hajek turned to him with a start, his face flushing crimson. He had
racked his brain for a way out of his plight, but had forgotten all
about this possibility, in his very grasp if he chose! Three different
estates in the lowlands, beyond the reach of Taras--what a splendid
match to be sure! If he married the countess he need not give another
thought to his master in Paris, nor to that wretch of an "avenger," nor
yet to all the respectable folk at Colomea. And this grandest of
chances had almost escaped him!
"Well," cried the wily Thaddeus, "I do like your pretending to be taken
by surprise; as if you did not know how desperately the amiable
Countess Wanda is in love with you." And he began to describe the
secret passion of that lady with such glowing colours, that any writer
of love sonnets might have envied him. "And there is her great fortune
besides," he said, in conclusion; "but that is a mere accessory. First
love, and then the practical advantages."
Mr. Hajek had recovered himself. "Don't talk rubbish," he said,
sharply. "The countess is not likely to love me, being too--too
experienced to make a fool of herself; and, besides, I am an utter
stranger to her. If she intends to marry me it is simply because she is
in want of a husband, and if I take her it will be because it happens
to suit me. So it is a clear case of the practical advantage first and
foremost; that settled, there may be love, for all I care. What about
the property and the settlement? I daresay you have been instructed....
I don't want any flourishes; just let me know the facts."
Thaddeus de Bazanski was of an adaptable nature. "Just the facts! Yes,
certainly," he said. "There are three estates, as you know--Horkowka,
Drinkowce, and Rossow--quite unencumbered--will fetch in the market
half a million florins any day; the personal property, besides,
amounting to one hundred thousand florins in first-rate securities."
"Very well; and now for the conditions."
"The Rossow estate, on your marriage, will be settled on the countess,
of course, but you will have equal rights to the revenues for your
life; Horkowka, in reversion, on the countess alone; while Drinkowce
and the floating capital will be settled on--on---" Bazanski stammered
and blushed.
"On the lady's child by her first marriage--I understand," said Hajek
quietly. "But now for my conditions! I am quite agreed concerning
Rossow and Horkowka; but the boy has to be provided for out of the
personal property solely, while Drinkowce must be settled on me
absolutely. It shall be mine, whether there be any offspring of the
marriage or not; and it is to remain mine even in the event of a
dissolution."
"Humph! old Bogdan is no fool!"
"Quite sure of that; but neither am I! When shall I look for an
answer?"
"To-morrow at noon. Shall we have another bottle now on the strength of
the prospects?"
"No, not now; go and make sure of the prospects. Good evening to you."
Bazanski gazed after the retreating figure with positive awe. "Ugh!" he
said at length, with a deep breath of admiration, "they were not far
wrong this morning. What a villain! what an incomparable villain!"
And, having thus unburdened his mind, he hastened away to the Villa
Antoniewicz....
At noon punctually the following day he presented himself again to Mr.
Hajek. "I have come to congratulate you!" he cried on the threshold.
"Well, has your patron accepted my conditions?"
"Entirely--excepting only Drinkowce. He is very sorry, but his little
grandson----"
"Very well, that settles it. Excuse me, but I am busy, intending to
start to-night."
"Start! whereto?"
"To--anywhere, so long as it is far enough from here."
"Then do not be in such a hurry! Let me have another word with the
family."
"Very well. I will give you till to-morrow, but I cannot be detained
beyond that."
Thaddy departed on his errand sadly, there was little hope of earning
his pay. He was almost certain that Herr von Antoniewicz would prove
unyielding; but it turned out differently. The Countess, in the first
place, chose to pronounce in the intended bridegroom's favour. "He is
good-looking; tolerably young, of good manners, and sufficiently a man
of the world not to annoy me with any prejudice!" Her father arrived at
a similar conclusion. "The fellow is of suitable stuff to manage the
estates; whether Drinkowce be his or not, it will be his interest to
pull along with us. I am old now, and cannot wait till as great a booby
as your first husband may chance to turn up as a suitor for your hand.
I would prefer an honest booby, of course; but a clever villain
meanwhile must not be despised. He shall not do _me_. I'll take care of
that!"
And the following morning, Thaddeus, with a beaming face, burst into
the mandatar's presence. "Now I may congratulate you really," he cried.
"Drinkowce is yours!"
"Very well," responded Hajek. "I am off on the spot to pay my respects
to my future father-in-law, and to my bride-elect. One thing, though,
before I leave, you will hold your tongue for the present. I might find
it useful to be believed in as a man of honour by some of the folk here
yet awhile!"
"What a delightful joke!" cried Thaddy, full of laughter, and
brandishing the famous confederatka as he made his bow. But when the
door had closed upon him, an expression of admiring awe once more
settled on his features. "What a villain!" he murmured, "what an
incomparable villain!"
Mr. Hajek's visit at the villa proved highly touching; that supreme
moment especially, when, in his capacity of accepted lover, he
imprinted a delicate kiss on the fair one's brow, a proceeding at which
Herr and Frau von Antoniewicz tossed their handkerchiefs before their
tearless eyes, whimpering affectedly, "Be happy, children; as happy as
we ourselves have been!"
When the mandatar returned to his chambers he found on his table a note
from the district governor. "Favour me with a call at my private
residence at once," it said; "I have a communication of importance to
make to you." Hajek was surprised, and slightly fluttered. The die was
cast, his future secured, and if he stayed prudently at Colomea he had
scarcely anything to fear from Taras. And yet he trembled. What if
Taras had been caught, and he had sacrificed himself in vain--allowing
a lady of the countess's antecedents to address him as her promised
husband? Well, never mind, it was impossible to go back now,
considering the manner of his courting. He had cast in his lot with
these creatures and must abide by it.
With a sense of expectation he went his way to the governor's. Herr von
Bauer received him politely. He was one of those officials, rather
numerous at that time, who considered abruptness a sort of armour to be
worn during office hours, but not required when off duty. The district
governor was quite genial within the precincts of his own fireside, and
all the more courteous now for remembering that he had put forth some
special bristles along with that armour in his previous interview with
the mandatar. "A pleasure to see you," he assured Mr. Hajek, shaking
hands vigorously. "I have some important news which will please you,"
he said, winking mysteriously--"please you particularly."
"Has Taras been caught?" inquired the mandatar.
"Caught? Dear me, no! Why, who should have caught him? ... This is what
I wanted to tell you: You know the court sat to-day. We had an unusual
influx of landed proprietors and mandatars, and there was much talking
concerning Taras; in fact he seems the one topic all over the country.
They all agreed that his rising was most dangerous, because the
peasantry everywhere are devoted to him. There could be no doubt, they
assured me, but that the manor house at Zulawce would be attacked on
Sunday, and if he got hold of you, your life was not worth two
straws--not two straws, they said!"
"Well," said the mandatar, with affected composure, "this may be
important to know, but I fail to see why it should please me."
"No, no, of course, the pleasant part is coming--for yourself I mean,
not for me. I hate having things done in an irregular way. But I
suppose this is an exception." A groan escaped him. "Well, sir, I
called a meeting of the board--a special meeting, and it was resolved
to treat the case as a matter of unusual importance, attending to it,
therefore, on the spot--an example of despatch quite unprecedented in
my experience, I assure you. A commissioner will be sent to Zulawce as
early as next Tuesday--we must, if possible, have an exact report of
that speech--and a courier went off this very afternoon to inform the
brigadier-general at Stanislaw of the state of affairs, submitting to
him the necessity of ordering a company of infantry to Zulawce. This I
am sure----"
"Is pleasant to know! so it is," interrupted the mandatar. "But might I
suggest----"
"Yes, certainly; suggest away, sir," said the governor, waxing
impatient. There had been a sound of teacups from the adjoining
apartment.
"It appears to be a general conviction that the manor house at Zulawce
is to be attacked on the night of Easter Sunday. In that case the
military, in order to be of any use should arrive at the place on
Sunday afternoon. But this is scarcely possible if it be infantry. This
is Thursday. The courier, at the earliest, will reach Stanislaw at
daybreak to-morrow. Now, supposing even the general attended to the
matter at once, and made out his order to the soldiers by ten----"
"Or a quarter past," interrupted the governor, rushing into his office
armour evidently. "What are you driving at, sir?"
"You will see presently," retorted the mandatar, nettled in his
turn. "Supposing the general made out his order to the nearest regiment
of infantry by ten o'clock, a detachment could not be off under
four-and-twenty hours, for they are quartered at Czortkow, and it will
be a two days' march for them to reach their destination--by Monday
morning at the earliest, that is. So, you see, the village could only
be protected against Sunday by means of the Palffy hussars, who are at
Zablotow, close at hand."
"Sir," growled the governor, "are you fooling me? Am I the
brigadier-general? I am governor of this district, and my business is
to apply for military intervention if need be, but not to ask for
cavalry or artillery when there are no means of stabling the horses.
There are no large stables at Zulawce, so it must be infantry. They
shall be there when they can; or do you expect us to introduce new
regulations into the country just to suit _your_ need? What do you mean
by directing my attention to the distance, or to the length of time a
detachment will be on the march? Am I supposed to know that? Am I in
the general's coat to give his orders?"
"No--in your own smoking cap and slippers," replied the mandatar
quietly, the words acting like magic. The old growler suddenly
remembered that he was not in his office, but at home, where civility
was due to a caller. And he put off his armour hastily.
"Well--a case of unusual importance, I was saying...." The poor old
gentleman felt guilty, however, and was anxious to make reparation. "It
is a trouble altogether--this Taras--but I was going to add, I have
invited some of our people to dine with us on Sunday, and if you will
do me the honour, we shall be charmed, sir."
He held out his hand to Mr. Hajek who put his fingers into it eagerly.
An invitation to the district governor's annual dinner when all the
elite of the place was assembled would have flattered him at any time;
but to a man who had just become engaged to a lady of the Countess
Wanda's reputation this was simply invaluable....
"So far he has not heard of it, evidently," the bridegroom elect said
to himself as he descended the stairs. "I daresay it will be no secret
by Sunday, and it will be as well for me to be seen then at the
governor's dinner! However, I need not care now for anybody's opinion,
any more than I need for Taras himself. It was foolish of me to excite
myself at all about the military movements. What does it matter to me
whether the Count's manor house be burnt or not, so long as myself and
my cash-box are safe out of it?"
He was still pursuing this high-minded strain of thought, when, at the
end of the street, he came into collision with a figure rushing round
the corner in the opposite direction. But he saw at a glance that
apologies were needless, for it was only Thaddy whom he had sent flying
against the wall.
"Oh, to be sure," cried the latter, rubbing his shoulder, "what
eagerness in a lover! Romeo going to visit Juliet, I'll be bound."
"Oh no, I am going home; but you, I daresay, are making for the
cellars?"
"Alas! I am not in the vein. I was lost in meditation, remembering a
certain conversation I once had with my illustrious half-brother,
Nicolas I., and how my life since----"
"Nicolas I.! You don't mean to say that this is Thursday? I really was
forgetting.... But let me tell you, if you _do_ go to the cellars and
should not find any of your friends in the mood to treat you to a glass
of Moldavian for your story about Nicolas, I'll not have you try your
luck by publishing my engagement with the countess! If you breathe a
word of it, I shall deduct fifty florins from your expected pay. Just
bear that in mind. Good morning!"
The Czar's half-brother stood stock still, overtaken by an evident
conflict. For Bogdan had just told him, "If by this time to-morrow the
whole town is not aware of the engagement, I'll have you kicked
downstairs when next you show your face here." A sore dilemma for the
nobly-born Thaddy--to be kicked downstairs or forego fifty of his
hard-earned florins! He would have submitted to the kicking willingly,
so long as it left him at liberty to remount those stairs after the
performance....
In a distracted state of mind, Thaddy entered the cellars, but the
company there was in good humour, greeting him uproariously. "Good
heavens," they cried, "are we to stand treat for hearing your romances
about Nicolas--this is Thursday!" He could not, of course, submit to
this taunt, and resolved, therefore, for once to keep to realities,
giving them an account of the mandatar's latest achievement, the plain
truth of it, with some exceedingly daring interpolations. But when he
added: "This Mr. Hajek is a villain ingrained, sirs!" there was not one
to dissent from the statement.
Towards noon the following day the mandatar set out to repeat his call
at the villa, saying to himself as he crossed his threshold: "I shall
know within ten minutes whether Thaddy has kept the matter close or
not." And he did know before he had gone the length of the street! The
secretary of the local board, Mr. Wroblewski, was the first
acquaintance he met; but this gentleman appeared to have made a sudden
discovery upon the roof of the town hall, which required his intentest
gaze in that direction, whilst the chief postmaster, Nossek, another of
his acquaintances coming along, was lost in a contemplation of the
paving-stones, quite overlooking the mandatar in consequence. This was
a cut to the heart; but Hajek recovered himself very soon, holding his
head erect and stepping out courageously. "Once settled at Drinkowce,"
he consoled himself, "these things will show in a different light."
He was met in the Armenian's ante-chamber by the chosen bride herself;
she walked slowly, not for sweet modesty's sake, but only because she
was rather fat. That was a drawback to her charms; for the rest she had
sparkling eyes and a rare wig of golden hair, slightly reddish though.
She was in her ripest prime, like a cabbage-rose in September, when the
perfume of spring has fled and the petals have expanded, the season of
sweetness being gone.
He kissed her hands, she offered him her face. "Come," she whispered,
"my parents await you, to settle the programme for Sunday."
They were soon agreed that since the engagement was certain not to
remain a secret even till then, it behoved them to act a little drama
of innocence before the eyes of their guests. "We shall not ask many
people; just a select few," said Frau von Antoniewicz, Mr. Hajek
agreeing to this fervently, well knowing that not a dozen visitors
would be found forthcoming, if pressed ever so hard.
"And now the programme for the evening," resumed the lady--"a select
few; we shall talk and have some music, but no dancing. When the clock
strikes ten my daughter will take her place by the piano to give us an
air of Cherubini's, after which you move up to her, complimenting her
on her exquisite voice; and, giving her your arm, you will lead her
into the smaller drawing-room, where the illumination will be
appropriately subdued. I shall have some things up from the
conservatory--palms and things, to represent a bower; a fauteuil will
be placed conveniently, and a low stool beside it. Wanda will sink
gracefully into the fauteuil; you will be at her feet on the stool--it
will be quite a picture, and there will be a whispering among the
company. This will be the moment when you must kneel, gazing at her
adoringly; she will start up, endeavouring to escape.--It will be
pretty if you can manage a blush, my dear; it is easy, you know, if you
hold your breath.--I shall be crossing the room accidentally, and shall
give a startled cry; whereupon you will take my daughter by the hand,
leading her up to me, saying, 'Best of mothers, give us your blessing,'
or some such suitable words. I shall be greatly touched, and shall say
something appropriate. So will Bogdan. Then we shall have supper; a few
toasts will have to be managed: long life to the lovers, and you must
reply, lifting your glass to Bogdan and me."
"And then the curtain will fall," said Hajek, at which the wrinkled
dame lifted her finger saucily. "My dear Mr. Hajek," she said, "the
whole of life is but a comedy; who thinks differently is a fool. Then
why should I not arrange this little scene before the closing act of my
own life as merrily as I please, and you just be satisfied!"
"Certainly," he said; "but I will stipulate for a comfortable hassock
to kneel upon."
They laughed and went to the dining-room....
Considering how he was being cut by every one in the streets, the
mandatar would not have been in the least surprised to receive some
excuse from the district governor cancelling the invitation to his
dinner. But no message came, for the simple reason that Herr von Bauer
had quite forgotten he had asked the mandatar, and had not even told
his wife. The governor, therefore, was disagreeably surprised when, at
the appointed hour, Mr. Hajek presented himself among his guests, while
the 'district governess'--as his wife, on account of her overbearing
ways, was often called by her jocose acquaintances--flared up crimson
with annoyance. It seemed to her as if the eyes of all present were
filled with angry reproaches. The fact was, the mandatar had arrived at
the very moment when the company was enjoying the newest bit of
scandal, having learned by this time how he and the Countess Wanda,
with the help of Thaddy, had discovered their secret flame. It was an
awkward interruption; not the least so for Hajek himself. But he was
the only one who showed any presence of mind. He made his bow to the
company, some staring back at him utterly surprised, some completely
disgusted; and having kissed the unwilling hand of the lady of the
house, he seized the paralysed fingers of her lord, shaking hands with
a fine pretence of unconcern. Herr von Bauer, of course, submitted,
greeting him with a smile even--"a smile, upon my word," said the witty
Wroblewski, "like that of a convict being tickled." The governor was
endeavouring to do his duty. "Ah," he said, "I am surprised.... ahem,
delighted to see you.... very.... ah!"
And then he recovered himself, perceiving that he owed it to his wife
to take upon himself the onus of this man's presence, and that he could
not expect any of his guests to entertain him. "Dearest Cornelia," he
was heard to say, "I am sure it slipped my memory, but I invited Mr.
Hajek--I asked him on Thursday--on _Thursday_, you know," he added,
pointedly, "and I am afraid I am going to monopolise him on account of
important business"--the mandatar keeping up his most amiable smile.
He drew him into a corner. "I have heard this morning from the
brigadier-general by special messenger. A detachment of infantry has
been despatched to Zulawce, and will arrive there on Monday as you
calculated. But the general, besides this, has thought well to order
the hussars to be there by this evening, just as you proposed. He
thinks it is as well to be on the safe side."
"Very commendable prudence, no doubt, since Taras seems determined----"
"Determined? What is that to us! Who ever heard of cavalry being
ordered to a place where they find no stabling! It is no joke to
disregard established rules--none whatever! But I wash my hands of any
consequences--I do, indeed!"
"And may I ask who will be sent on Tuesday, as you said, as your
commissioner?"
"Kapronski. Well! what is that grimace for? We do things in proper
order. He conducted the inquiry there on the former occasion, he
may therefore be expected to be the man for it now. But--a happy
thought!--I am sure you could give him a hint or two."
The governor rubbed his hands; it seemed a bright idea to set the two
least welcome of his guests at each other, thus rendering them harmless
for the rest of the company. And he gave a sign to Kapronski, who
obeyed with alacrity; for if it was an honour to be invited to the
governor's official dinner, it had, so far, not yielded him any
pleasure. The company was apt to overlook him, and people would appear
to labour under deafness when he addressed them. But being called upon
to enter into conversation with Mr. Hajek was like being lifted on to a
pedestal; for certainly this man stood lower now in the public
estimation than even Kapronski himself. So he approached him
accordingly, drawing up his fawning figure and assuming an expression
of patronage ludicrous to behold.
"You have a favour to ask of me?" he began pompously.
The mandatar gave him a look of cutting sarcasm. "You are mistaken,
sir!"
"I--I misunderstood--a request to make?" Kapronski could not stand
being looked at boldly, and was slipping down from his pedestal
rapidly.
"Nor yet a request, that I am aware," returned Hajek. "The governor
asked my opinion, or any advice I could give, concerning the personal
safety of the commissioner about to be despatched to Zulawce, and I am
ready to advise you." The mandatar had some trouble in keeping serious,
for Kapronski's features, besides recovering their wonted humility at a
stroke as it were, presented a ludicrous picture of most doleful
dismay.
"Personal safety," lie stammered, "why, is there any danger?"
"A great deal," said Hajek, confidently.
Kapronski's face turned white, and red, and ashy grey. "I shall have an
escort," he faltered; "but if Taras should attack us on the road, I am
a dead man! There is no help----"
His voice positively failed him.
"None whatever," assented the mandatar. "Stop--yes, there is," he
added, a sudden thought having flashed through him--indeed a capital
thought, so simple and so clever withal that he was surprised it should
not have presented itself before. "There is!" he said.
"Is there?" returned Kapronski, eagerly.
"Yes, indeed! a sure means of saving yourself and me, and all honest
folks from this cut-throat. Let me remind you that his wife and
children are still at his farm. It will be natural, then, to billet
most of the soldiers upon her. But this is not enough! You must tell
her that she will have to answer for it on the gallows if her husband
hurts a hair of the mandatar's head--be sure and say the mandatar's!
She is in communication with him, no doubt, and----"
"But this would be illegal!"
"Well, that is for you to judge. I only give you a hint or two, out of
kindness. It is you who have to go to Zulawce, not I!"
"Ah!" groaned Kapronski, "if it should get known, it would cost me my
place."
"Well, tell her without witnesses, then you can give her the lie, if
need be. For the rest do as you please--_I_ am safe enough here."
The conversation was interrupted! the governor inviting his guests to
move to the dining-room. "I have thought," he said, addressing the
pair, "it might be most agreeable for each of you if we put you
together."
Kapronski bowed more humbly than ever, Hajek smiling blandly. He had
made up his mind to let everybody feel mortified, but not himself--he
was not going to be annoyed, not he! And he carried out his resolution;
easier for him, no doubt, than for a man of higher mettle.
He drove home in the best of humours, and how he whiled away the rest
of his time, attuning his mind for the events of the evening, we have
had a glimpse of already. We need not describe the solemnities at the
villa, touching as they were, for we know the programme, which was
minutely followed. There were not many to witness the scene; but the
old dame had set her heart on the play-acting, and the mandatar, to
please her, fell in with her fancy. The manner of his kneeling to Wanda
was quite classical, and supper was consumed amid charming hilarity,
not forgetting some wonderful verses with which Thaddy astonished the
company.
But when the guests had departed, a final and real surprise was in
store for the happy bridegroom. He was cooling his brow at the open
window, when suddenly he perceived his coachman, Jasko, in conversation
with a horseman a little way up the road. He could see that the
stranger wore the Huzul garb. The night was dark, and a faint gleam
only from the lighted house fell on the road, but Hajek nevertheless
recognised the horseman. "Good heavens!" he shrieked, "stop him! Seize
him!"
Bogdan and the countess rushed up terrified; but the stranger also had
heard the alarm, and spurring his horse, he dashed away and was lost to
sight.
"My coachman! I entreat you send for my coachman!" cried Hajek, beside
himself. Jasko was called in. "That was Wassilj Soklewicz you were
talking with just now?" said the mandatar, quaking.
"Yes, sir," replied the man, wonderingly.
"Don't you know he is one of the outlaws--one of Taras's band?"
"Mercy on us!" cried the coachman, aghast. "He assured me he had taken
service with the mandatar at Prinkowce, and I believed him, telling him
all about ourselves on Tuesday and Thursday and this evening. I told
him: 'We need not fear Taras now, for we are going to marry a rich
lady, and shall live at Drinkowce. In the meantime, we are quite safe
at Colomea.' At which he laughed, telling me there was no saying what
might happen between now and the wedding; indeed soon----"
"Soon! soon!" groaned the mandatar, falling back on a chair. It chanced
to be the fauteuil near the palms and things. The comedy was being
changed into tragedy.
Bogdan recovered himself first. "I do not believe," he said, "that
Taras is in the neighbourhood and likely to attack you in your chambers
or on your way back to the town; but we will hold ourselves prepared
for the worst. Stay here for the night. I'll have the gates closed, my
men can be armed, and I will send for assistance to the main
guardhouse."
And so he did, but the protection he was able to hold out to his worthy
son-in-law proved of the poorest nevertheless. The officer on duty sent
back orders not to trouble him with idle tales; and, concerning his own
servants, Bogdan knew that they would throw down their arms at the
first sight of danger.
"If Taras indeed were to come, _I_ cannot protect you," he confessed to
the mandatar. "We are not without neighbours, but none of them would
stir to help us."
And with this agreeable assurance they kept watching through the night.