Ketling and Pan Michael promised each other to ride stirrup to
stirrup again should occasion offer, to sit at one fire, and to
sleep with their heads on one saddle. But meanwhile an event
separated them. Not later than a week after their first greeting,
a messenger came from Courland with notice that that Hassling who
had adopted the youthful Scot and given him his property had fallen
suddenly ill, and wished greatly to see his adopted son. The young
knight did not hesitate; he mounted his horse and rode away. Before
his departure he begged Zagloba and Pan Michael to consider his
house as their own, and to live there until they were tired of it.
“Pan Yan may come,” said he. “During the election he will come
himself surely; even should he bring all his children, there will
be room here for the whole family. I have no relatives; and even if
I had brothers, they would not be nearer to me than you are.”
Zagloba especially was gratified by these invitations, for he was
very comfortable in Ketling’s house; but they were pleasant for
Pan Michael also. Pan Yan did not come, but Pan Michael’s sister
announced her arrival. She was married to Pan Makovetski, stolnik
of Latychov. His messenger came to the residence of the hetman
to inquire if any of his attendants knew of the little knight.
Evidently Ketling’s house was indicated to him at once.
Volodyovski was greatly delighted, for whole years had passed
since he had seen his sister; and when he learned that, in absence
of better lodgings, she had stopped at Rybaki in a poor little
cottage, he flew off straightway to invite her to Ketling’s house.
It was dusk when he rushed into her presence; but he knew her
at once, though two other women were with her in the room, for
the lady was small of stature, like a ball of thread. She too
recognized him; while the other women stood like two candles and
looked at the greeting.
Pani Makovetski found speech first, and began to cry out in a
thin and rather squeaking voice, “So many years,--so many years!
God give you aid, dearest brother! The moment the news of your
misfortune came, I sprang up at once to come hither; and my husband
did not detain me, for a storm is threatening us from the side of
Budjyak. People are talking also of the Belgrod Tartars; and surely
the roads are growing black, for tremendous flocks of birds are
appearing, and before every invasion it is that way. God console
you, beloved, dear, golden brother! My husband must come to the
election himself, so this is what he said: ‘Take the young ladies,
and go on before me. You will comfort Michael,’ said he, ‘in his
grief; and you must hide your head somewhere from the Tartars, for
the country here will be in a blaze, therefore one thing fits with
another. Go,’ said he, ‘to Warsaw, hire good lodgings in time, so
there may be some place to live in.’ He, with men of those parts,
is listening on the roads. There are few troops in the country; it
is always that way with us. You, Michael, my loved one, come to the
window, let me look in your face; your lips have grown thin, but
in grief it cannot be otherwise. It was easy for my husband to say
in Russia, ‘Find lodgings!’ but here there is nothing anywhere. We
are in this hovel; you see it. I have hardly been able to get three
bundles of straw to sleep on.”
“Permit me, sister,” said the little knight.
But the sister would not permit, and spoke on, as if a mill were
rattling: “We stopped here; there was no other place. My host
looks out of his eyes like a wolf; maybe they are bad people
in the house. It is true that we have four attendants,--trusty
fellows,--and we ourselves are not timid, for in our parts a woman
must have a cavalier’s heart, or she could not live there. I have
a pistol which I carry always, and Basia[8] has two of them; but
Krysia[9] does not like fire-arms. This is a strange place, though,
and we prefer safer lodgings.”
“Permit me, sister,” repeated Volodyovski.
“But where do you live, Michael? You must help me to find lodgings,
for you have experience in Warsaw.”
“I have lodgings ready,” interrupted Pan Michael, “and such good
ones that a senator might occupy them with his retinue. I live with
my friend, Captain Ketling, and will take you with me at once.”
“But remember that there are three of us, and two servants and four
attendants. But for God’s sake! I have not made you acquainted with
the company.” Here she turned to her companions. “You know, young
ladies, who he is, but he does not know you; make acquaintance even
in the dark. The host has not heated the stove for us yet. This is
Panna Krystina Drohoyovski, and that Panna Barbara Yezorkovski. My
husband is their guardian, and takes care of their property; they
live with us, for they are orphans. To live alone does not beseem
such young ladies.”
While his sister was speaking, Pan Michael bowed in soldier
fashion; the young ladies, seizing their skirts with their fingers,
courtesied, wherewith Panna Barbara nodded like a young colt.
“Let us take our seats in the carriage, and drive on!” said the
little knight. “Pan Zagloba lives with me. I asked him to have
supper prepared for us.”
“That famous Pan Zagloba?” asked Panna Basia, all at once.
“Basia, be quiet!” said the lady. “I am afraid that there will be
annoyance.”
“Oh, if Pan Zagloba has his mind on supper,” said the little
knight, “there will be enough, even if twice as many were to come.
And, young ladies, will you give command to carry out the trunks? I
brought a wagon too for things, and Ketling’s carriage is so wide
that we four can sit in it easily. See what comes to my head; if
your attendants are not drunken fellows, let them stay here till
morning with the horses and larger effects. We’ll take now only
what things are required most.”
“We need leave nothing,” said the lady, “for our wagons are still
unpacked; just attach the horses, and they can move at once. Basia,
go and give orders!”
Basia sprang to the entrance; and a few “Our Fathers” later she
returned with the announcement that all was ready.
“It is time to go,” said Pan Michael.
After a while they took their seats in the carriage and moved on
toward Mokotov. Pan Michael’s sister and Panna Krysia occupied the
rear seats; in front sat the little knight at the side of Basia. It
was so dark already that they could not see one another’s features.
“Young ladies, do you know Warsaw?” asked Pan Michael, bending
toward Panna Krysia, and raising his voice above the rattle of the
carriage.
“No,” answered Krysia, in a low but resonant and agreeable voice.
“We are real rustics, and up to this time have known neither famous
cities nor famous men.”
Saying this, she inclined her head somewhat, as if giving to
understand that she counted Pan Michael among the latter; he
received the answer thankfully. “A polite sort of maiden!” thought
he, and straightway began to rack his head over some kind of
compliment to be made in return.
“Even if the city were ten times greater than it is,” said he at
last, “still, ladies, you might be its most notable ornament.”
“But how do you know that in the dark?” inquired Panna Basia, on a
sudden.
“Ah, here is a kid for you!” thought Pan Michael.
But he said nothing, and they rode on in silence for some time;
Basia turned again to the little knight and asked, “Do you know
whether there will be room enough in the stable? We have ten horses
and two wagons.”
“Even if there were thirty, there would be room for them.”
“Hwew! hwew!” exclaimed the young lady.
“Basia! Basia!” said Pani Makovetski, persuasively.
“Ah, it is easy to say, ‘Basia, Basia!’ but in whose care were the
horses during the whole journey?”
Conversing thus, they arrived before Ketling’s house. All the
windows were brilliantly lighted to receive the lady. The servants
ran out with Pan Zagloba at the head of them; he, springing to the
wagon and seeing three women, inquired straightway,--
“In which lady have I the honor to greet my special benefactress,
and at the same time the sister of my best friend, Michael?”
“I am she!” answered the lady.
Then Zagloba seized her hand, and fell to kissing it eagerly,
exclaiming, “I beat with the forehead,--I beat with the forehead!”
Then he helped her to descend from the carriage, and conducted her
with great attention and clattering of feet to the ante-room. “Let
me be permitted to give greeting once more inside the threshold,”
said he, on the way.
Meanwhile Pan Michael was helping the young ladies to descend.
Since the carriage was high, and it was difficult to find the steps
in the darkness, he caught Panna Krysia by the waist, and bearing
her through the air, placed her on the ground; and she, without
resisting, inclined during the twinkle of an eye her breast on his,
and said, “I thank you.”
Pan Michael turned then to Basia; but she had already jumped down
on the other side of the carriage, therefore he gave his arm to
Panna Krysia. In the room acquaintance with Zagloba followed. He,
at sight of the two young ladies, fell into perfect good-humor,
and invited them straightway to supper. The platters were steaming
already on the table; and as Pan Michael had foreseen, there was
such an abundance that it would have sufficed for twice as many
persons.
They sat down. Pan Michael’s sister occupied the first place; next
to her, on the right, sat Zagloba, and beyond him Panna Basia. Pan
Michael sat on the left side near Panna Krysia. And now for the
first time the little knight was able to have a good look at the
ladies. Both were comely, but each in her own style. Krysia had
hair as black as the wings of a raven, brows of the same color,
deep-blue eyes; she was a pale brunette, but of complexion so
delicate that the blue veins on her temples were visible. A barely
discernible dark down covered her upper lip, showing a mouth sweet
and attractive, as if put slightly forward for a kiss. She was in
mourning, for she had lost her father not long before, and the
color of her garments, with the delicacy of her complexion and
her dark hair, lent her a certain appearance of pensiveness and
severity. At the first glance she seemed older than her companion;
but when he had looked at her more closely, Pan Michael saw that
the blood of first youth was flowing under that transparent skin.
The more he looked, the more he admired the distinction of her
posture, the swanlike neck, and those proportions so full of maiden
charms.
“She is a great lady,” thought he, “who must have a great soul; but
the other is a regular tomboy.”
In fact, the comparison was just. Basia was much smaller than her
companion, and generally minute, though not meagre; she was ruddy
as a bunch of roses, and light-haired. Her hair had been cut,
apparently after illness, and she wore it gathered in a golden net.
But the hair would not sit quietly on her restless head; the ends
of it were peeping out through every mesh of the net, and over
her forehead formed an unordered yellow tuft which fell to her
brows like the tuft of a Cossack, which, with her quick, restless
eyes and challenging mien, made that rosy face like the face of a
student who is only watching to embroil some one and go unpunished
himself. Still, she was so shapely and fresh that it was difficult
to take one’s eyes from her; she had a slender nose, somewhat in
the air, with nostrils dilating and active; she had dimples in her
cheeks and a dimple in her chin, indicating a joyous disposition.
But now she was sitting with dignity and eating heartily, only
shooting glances every little while, now at Pan Zagloba, now at
Volodyovski, and looking at them with almost childlike curiosity,
as if at some special wonder.
Pan Michael was silent; for though he felt it his duty to entertain
Panna Krysia, he did not know how to begin. In general, the little
knight was not happy in conversation with ladies; but now he was
the more gloomy, since these maidens brought vividly to his mind
the dear dead one.
Pan Zagloba entertained Pani Makovetski, detailing to her the deeds
of Pan Michael and himself. In the middle of the supper he fell to
relating how once they had escaped with Princess Kurtsevich and
Jendzian, four of them, through a whole chambul, and how, finally,
to save the princess and stop the pursuit, they two had hurled
themselves on the chambul.
Basia stopped eating, and resting her chin on her hand, listened
carefully, shaking her forelock, at moments blinking, and snapping
her fingers in the most interesting places, and repeating, “Ah, ah!
Well, what next?” But when they came to the place where Kushel’s
dragoons rushed up with aid unexpectedly, sat on the necks of the
Tartars, and rode on, slashing them, for three miles, she could
contain herself no longer, but clapping her hands with all her
might, cried, “Ah, I should like to be there, God knows I should!”
“Basia!” cried the plump little Pani Makovetski, with a strong
Russian accent, “you have come among polite people; put away your
‘God knows.’ O Thou Great God! this alone is lacking, Basia, that
you should cry, ‘May the bullets strike me!’”
The maiden burst out into fresh laughter, resonant as silver, and
cried, “Well, then, auntie, may the bullets strike me!”
“O my God, the ears are withering on me! Beg pardon of the whole
company!” cried the lady.
Then Basia, wishing to begin with her aunt, sprang up from her
place, but at the same time dropped the knife and the spoons under
the table, and then dived down after them herself.
The plump little lady could restrain her laughter no longer;
and she had a wonderful laugh, for first she began to shake and
tremble, and then to squeak in a thin voice. All had grown joyous.
Zagloba was in raptures. “You see what a time I have with this
maiden,” said Pani Makovetski.
“She is a pure delight, as God is dear to me!” exclaimed Zagloba.
Meanwhile Basia had crept out from under the table; she had found
the spoons and the knife, but had lost her net, for her hair was
falling into her eyes altogether. She straightened herself, and
said, her nostrils quivering meanwhile, “Aha, lords and ladies, you
are laughing at my confusion. Very well!”
“No one is laughing,” said Zagloba, in a tone of conviction, “no
one is laughing,--no one is laughing! We are only rejoicing that
the Lord God has given us delight in the person of your ladyship.”
After supper they passed into the drawing-room. There Panna Krysia,
seeing a lute on the wall, took it down and began to run over the
strings. Pan Michael begged her to sing.
“I am ready, if I can drive sadness from your soul.”
“I thank you,” answered the little knight, raising his eyes to her
in gratitude.
After a while this song was heard:--
“O knights, believe me,
Useless is armor;
Shields give no service;
Cupid’s keen arrows,
Through steel and iron,
Go to all hearts.”
“I do not indeed know how to thank you,” said Zagloba, sitting at
a distance with Pan Michael’s sister, and kissing her hands, “for
coming yourself and bringing with you such elegant maidens that
the Graces themselves might heat stoves for them. Especially does
that little haiduk please my heart, for such a rogue drives away
sorrow in such fashion that a weasel could not hunt mice better. In
truth, what is grief unless mice gnawing the grains of joyousness
placed in our hearts? You, my benefactress, should know that our
late king, Yan Kazimir, was so fond of my comparisons that he could
not live a day without them. I had to arrange for him proverbs and
wise maxims. He used to have these repeated to him before bed-time,
and by them it was that he directed his policy. But that is
another matter. I hope too that our Michael, in company with these
delightful girls, will forget altogether his unhappy misfortune.
You do not know that it is only a week since I dragged him out
of the cloister, where he wished to make vows; but I won the
intervention of the nuncio himself, who declared to the prior that
he would make a dragoon of every monk in the cloister if he did
not let Michael out straightway. There was no reason for him to be
there. Praise be to God! Praise be to God! If not to-day, to-morrow
some one of those two will strike such sparks out of him that his
heart will be burning like punk.”
Meanwhile Krysia sang on:--
“If shields cannot save
From darts a strong hero,
How can a fair head
Guard her own weakness?
Where can she hide!”
“The fair heads have as much fear of those shafts as a dog has of
meat,” whispered Zagloba to Pan Michael’s sister. “But confess, my
benefactress, that you did not bring these titmice here without
secret designs. They are maidens in a hundred!--especially that
little haiduk. Would that I were as blooming as she! Ah, Michael
has a cunning sister.”
Pani Makovetski put on a very artful look, which did not, however,
become her honest, simple face in the least, and said, “I thought
of this and that, as is usual with us; shrewdness is not wanting to
women. My husband had to come here to the election; and I brought
the maidens beforehand, for with us there is no one to see unless
Tartars. If anything lucky should happen to Michael from this, I
would make a pilgrimage on foot to some wonder-working image.”
“It will come; it will come!” said Zagloba.
“Both maidens are from great houses, and both have property; that,
too, means something in these grievous times.”
“There is no need to repeat that to me. The war has consumed
Michael’s fortune, though I know that he has some money laid up
with great lords. We took famous booty more than once, gracious
lady; and though that was placed at the hetman’s discretion, still,
a part went to be divided ‘according to sabres,’ as the saying is
in our soldier speech. So much came to Michael’s share more than
once that if he had saved all his own, he would have to-day a
nice fortune. But a soldier has no thought for to-morrow; he only
frolics to-day. And Michael would have frolicked away all he had,
were it not that I restrained him on every occasion. You say, then,
gracious lady, that these maidens are of high blood?”
“Krysia is of senatorial blood. It is true that our castellans on
the border are not castellans of Cracow, and there are some of whom
few in the Commonwealth have heard; but still, whoso has sat once
in a senator’s chair bequeaths to posterity his splendor. As to
relationship, Basia almost surpasses Krysia.”
“Indeed, indeed! I myself am descended from a certain king of the
Massagetes, therefore I like to hear genealogies.”
“Basia does not come from such a lofty nest as that; but if you
wish to listen,--for in our parts we can recount the relationship
of every house on our fingers,--she is, in fact, related to the
Pototskis and the Yazlovyetskis and the Lashches. You see, it was
this way.” Here Pan Michael’s sister gathered in the folds of her
dress and took a more convenient position, so that there might be
no hindrance to any part of her favorite narrative; she spread out
the fingers of one hand, and straightening the index finger of the
other, made ready to enumerate the grandfathers and grandmothers.
“The daughter of Pan Yakob Pototski, Elizabeth, from his second
wife, a Yazlovyetski, married Pan Yan Smyotanko, banneret of
Podolia.”
“I have caulked that into my memory,” said Zagloba.
“From that marriage was born Michael Smyotanko, also banneret of
Podolia.”
“H’m! a good office,” said Zagloba.
“He was married the first time to a Dorohosto--no! to a
Rojynski--no! to a Voronich! God guard me from forgetting!”
“Eternal rest to her, whatever her name was,” said Zagloba, with
gravity.
“And for his second wife he married Panna Lashch.”
“I was waiting for that! What was the result of the marriage?”
“Their sons died.”
“Every joy crumbles in this world.”
“But of four daughters, the youngest, Anna, married Yezorkovski,
of the shield Ravich, a commissioner for fixing the boundaries
of Podolia; he was afterward, if I mistake not, sword-bearer of
Podolia.”
“He was, I remember!” said Zagloba, with complete certainty.
“From that marriage, you see, was born Basia.”
“I see, and also that at this moment she is aiming Ketling’s
musket.” In fact, Krysia and the little knight were occupied in
conversation, and Basia was aiming the musket at the window for her
own amusement.
Pani Makovetski began to shake and squeak at sight of that. “You
cannot imagine what I pass through with that girl! She is a regular
haydamak.”
“If all the haydamaks were like her, I would join them at once.”
“There is nothing in her head but arms, horses, and war. Once she
broke out of the house to hunt ducks with a gun. She crept in
somewhere among the rushes, was looking ahead of her, the reeds
began to open--what did she see? The head of a Tartar stealing
along through the reeds to the village. Another woman would have
been terrified, and woe to her if she had not fired quickly; the
Tartar dropped into the water. Just imagine, she laid him out on
the spot; and with what? With duck-shot.”
Here the lady began to shake again and laugh at the mishap of the
Tartar; then she added, “And to tell the truth, she saved us all,
for a whole chambul was advancing; but as she came and gave the
alarm, we had time to escape to the woods with the servants. With
us it is always so!”
Zagloba’s face was covered with such delight that he half closed
his eye for a moment; then he sprang up, hurried to the maiden, and
before she saw him, he kissed her on the forehead. “This from an
old soldier for that Tartar in the rushes,” said he.
The maiden gave a sweeping shake to her yellow forelock. “Didn’t I
give him beans?” cried she, with her fresh, childish voice, which
sounded so strangely in view of what she meant with her words.
“Oh, my darling little haydamak!” cried Zagloba, with emotion.
“But what is one Tartar? You gentlemen have cut them down by the
thousand, and Swedes, and Germans, and Rakotsi’s Hungarians. What
am I before you, gentlemen,--before knights who have not their
equals in the Commonwealth? I know that perfectly! Oho!”
“I will teach you to work with the sabre, since you have so much
courage. I am rather heavy now, but Michael there, he too is a
master.”
The maiden sprang up in the air at such a proposal; then she kissed
Zagloba on the shoulder and courtesied to the little knight,
saying, “I give thanks for the promise. I know a little already.”
But Pan Michael was wholly occupied talking with Krysia; therefore
he answered inattentively, “Whatever you command.”
Zagloba, with radiant face, sat down again near Pani Makovetski.
“My gracious benefactress,” said he, “I know well which Turkish
sweetmeats are best, for I passed long years in Stambul; but I know
this too, that there is just a world of people hungry for them. How
has it happened that no man has coveted that maiden to this time?”
“As God lives, there was no lack of men who were courting them
both. But Basia we call, in laughing, a widow of three husbands,
for at one time three worthy cavaliers paid her addresses,--all
nobles of our parts, and heirs, whose relationship I can explain in
detail to you.”
Saying this, Pani Makovetski spread out the fingers of her left
hand and straightened her right index finger; but Zagloba inquired
quickly, “And what happened to them?”
“All three died in war; therefore we call Basia a widow.”
“H’m! but how did she endure the loss?”
“With us, you see, a case like that happens every day; and it is a
rare thing for any man, after reaching ripe age, to pass away with
his own death. Among us people even say that it is not befitting a
nobleman to die otherwise than in the field. ‘How did Basia endure
it?’ Oh, she whimpered a little, poor girl, but mostly in the
stable; for when anything troubles her, she is off to the stable. I
sent for her once and inquired, ‘For whom are you crying?’ ‘For all
three,’ said she. I saw from the answer that no one of them pleased
her specially. I think that as her head is stuffed with something
else, she has not felt the will of God yet; Krysia has felt it
somewhat, but Basia perhaps not at all.”
“She will feel it!” said Zagloba. “Gracious benefactress, we
understand that perfectly. She will feel it! she will feel it!”
“Such is our predestination,” said Pani Makovetski.
“That is just it. You took the words out of my mouth.”
Further conversation was interrupted by the approach of the younger
society. The little knight had grown much emboldened with Krysia;
and she, through evident goodness of heart, was occupied with him
and his grief, like a physician with a patient. And perhaps for
this very reason she showed him more kindness than their brief
acquaintance permitted. But as Pan Michael was a brother of the
stolnik’s wife, and the young lady was related to the stolnik, no
one was astonished. Basia remained, as it were, aside; and only
Pan Zagloba turned to her unbroken attention. But however that
might be, it was apparently all one to Basia whether some one was
occupied with her or not. At first, she gazed with admiration on
both knights; but with equal admiration did she examine Ketling’s
wonderful weapons distributed on the walls. Later she began to yawn
somewhat; then her eyes grew heavier and heavier, and at last she
said,--
“I am so sleepy that I may wake in the morning.”
After these words the company separated at once; for the ladies
were very weary from the journey, and were only waiting to have
beds prepared. When Zagloba found himself at last alone with Pan
Michael, he began first of all to wink significantly, then he
covered the little knight with a shower of light fists. “Michael!
what, Michael, hei? like turnips! Will you become a monk, what?
That bilberry Krysia is a sweet one. And that rosy little haiduk,
uh! What will you say of her, Michael?”
“What? Nothing!” answered the little knight.
“That little haiduk pleased me principally. I tell you that when I
sat near her during supper I was as warm from her as from a stove.”
“She is a kid yet; the other is ever so much more stately.”
“Panna Krysia is a real Hungarian plum; but this one is a little
nut! As God lives, if I had teeth! I wanted to say if I had such
a daughter, I’d give her to no man but you. An almond, I say, an
almond!”
Volodyovski grew sad on a sudden, for he remembered the nicknames
which Zagloba used to give Anusia. She stood as if living before
him there in his mind and memory,--her form, her small face, her
dark tresses, her joyfulness, her chattering, and ways of looking.
Both these were younger, but still she was a hundred times dearer
than all who were younger.
The little knight covered his face with his palms, and sorrow
carried him away the more because it was unexpected. Zagloba was
astonished; for some time he was silent and looked unquietly, then
he asked, “Michael, what is the matter? Speak, for God’s sake!”
Volodyovski spoke, “So many are living, so many are walking through
the world, but my lamb is no longer among them; never again shall
I see her.” Then pain stifled his voice; he rested his forehead on
the arm of the sofa and began to whisper through his set lips, “O
God! O God! O God!”