As Pan Michael had permission to set out whenever he wished, he
went to Anusia’s grave at Chenstohova. After he had shed the
last of his tears there, he journeyed on farther; and under the
influence of fresh reminiscences it occurred to him that the secret
engagement with Krysia was in some way too early. He felt that
in sorrow and mourning there is something sacred and inviolable,
which should not be touched, but permitted to rise heavenward like
a cloud, and vanish in measureless space. Other men, it is true,
after losing their wives, had married in a month or in two months;
but they had not begun with the cloister, nor had misfortune met
them at the threshold of happiness after whole years of waiting.
But even if men of common mould do not respect the sacredness of
sorrow, is it proper to follow their example?
Pan Michael journeyed forward then toward Russia, and reproaches
went with him. But he was so just that he took all the blame on
himself, and did not put any on Krysia; and to the many alarms
which seized him was added this also, would not Krysia in the depth
of her soul take that haste ill of him?
“Surely she would not act thus in my place,” said Pan Michael to
himself; “and having a lofty soul herself, beyond doubt, she seeks
loftiness in others.”
Fear seized the little knight lest he might seem to her petty;
but that was vain fear. Krysia cared nothing for Pan Michael’s
mourning; and when he spoke to her too much concerning it, not
only did it not excite sympathy in the lady, but it roused her
self-love. Was not she, the living woman, equal to the dead one?
Or, in general, was she of such small worth that the dead Anusia
could be her rival? If Zagloba had been in the secret, he would
have pacified Pan Michael certainly, by saying that women have not
over-much mercy for one another.
After Volodyovski’s departure, Panna Krysia was astonished not
a little at what had happened, and at this, that the latch had
fallen. In going from the Ukraine to Warsaw, where she had
never been before, she had imagined that it would be different
altogether. At the Diet of Convocation the escorts of bishops and
dignitaries would meet; a brilliant knighthood would assemble from
all sides of the Commonwealth. How many amusements and reviews
would there be, how much bustle! and in all that whirl, in the
concourse of knights, would appear some unknown “he,” some knight
such as maidens see only in dreams. This knight would flush up
with love, appear under her windows with a lute; he would form
cavalcades, love and sigh a long time, wear on his armor the knot
of his loved one, suffer and overcome obstacles before he would
fall at her feet and win mutual love.
But nothing of all that had come to pass. The haze, changing
and colored, like a rainbow, vanished; a knight appeared, it is
true,--a knight not at all common, heralded as the first soldier
of the Commonwealth, a great cavalier, but not much, or indeed,
not at all, like that “he.” There were no cavalcades either, nor
playing of lutes, nor tournaments, nor the knot on the armor, nor
bustle, nor games, nor any of all that which rouses curiosity like
a May dream, or a wonderful tale in the evening, which intoxicates
like the odor of flowers, which allures as bait does a bird; from
which the face flushes, the heart throbs, the body trembles. There
was nothing but a small house outside the city; in the house
Pan Michael; then intimacy grew up, and the rest of the vision
disappeared as the moon disappears in the sky when clouds come and
hide it. If that Pan Michael had appeared at the end of the story,
he would be the desired one. More than once, when thinking of his
fame, of his worth, of his valor, which made him the glory of the
Commonwealth and the terror of its enemies, Krysia felt that, in
spite of all, she loved him greatly; only it seemed to her that
something had missed her, that a certain injustice had met her, a
little through him, or rather through haste. That haste, therefore,
had fallen into the hearts of both like a grain of sand; and
since both were farther and farther from each other, that grain
began to pain them somewhat. It happens frequently that something
insignificant as a little thorn pricks the feelings of people,
and in time either heals or festers more and more, and brings
bitterness and pain, even to the greatest love. But in this case it
was still far to pain and bitterness. For Pan Michael, the thought
of Krysia was especially agreeable and soothing; and the thought of
her followed him as his shadow follows a man. He thought too that
the farther he went, the dearer she would become to him, and the
more he would sigh and yearn for her. The time passed more heavily
for her; for no one visited Ketling’s house since the departure of
the little knight, and day followed day in monotony and weariness.
Pani Makovetski counted the days before the election, waited for
her husband, and talked only of him; Basia had put on a very long
face. Zagloba reproached her, saying that she had rejected Pan Adam
and was then wishing for him. In fact, she would have been glad if
even he had come; but Novoveski said to himself, “There is nothing
for me there,” and soon he followed Pan Michael. Zagloba too was
preparing to return to Pan Yan’s, saying that he wished to see his
boys. Still, being heavy, he put off his journey day after day;
he explained to Basia that she was the cause of his delay, that
he was in love with her and intended to seek her hand. Meanwhile
he kept company with Krysia when Pan Michael’s sister went with
Basia to visit the wife of the chamberlain of Lvoff. Krysia never
accompanied them in those visits; for the lady, notwithstanding
her worthiness, could not endure Krysia. Frequently and often too
Zagloba went to Warsaw, where he met pleasant company and returned
more than once tipsy on the following day; and then Krysia was
entirely alone, passing the dreary hours in thinking a little of
Pan Michael, a little of what might happen if that latch had not
fallen once and forever, and often, what did that unknown rival of
Pan Michael look like,--the King’s son in the fairy tale?
Once Krysia was sitting by the window and looking in thoughtfulness
at the door of the room, on which a very bright gleam of the
setting sun was falling, when suddenly a sleigh-bell was heard on
the other side of the house. It ran through Krysia’s head that Pani
Makovetski and Basia must have returned; but that did not bring her
out of meditation, and she did not even withdraw her eyes from the
door. Meanwhile the door opened; and on the background of the dark
depth beyond appeared to the eyes of the maiden some unknown man.
At the first moment it seemed to Krysia that she saw a picture,
or that she had fallen asleep and was dreaming, such a wonderful
vision stood before her. The unknown was young, dressed in black
foreign costume, with a white lace collar coming to his shoulders.
Once in childhood Krysia had seen Pan Artsishevski, general of the
artillery of the kingdom, dressed in such a costume; by reason
of the dress, as well as of his unusual beauty, the general had
remained long in her memory. Now, that young man before her
was dressed in like fashion; but in beauty he surpassed Pan
Artsishevski and all men walking the earth. His hair, cut evenly
over his forehead, fell in bright curls on both sides of his
face, just marvellously. He had dark brows, definitely outlined
on a forehead white as marble; eyes mild and melancholy; a yellow
mustache and a yellow, pointed beard. It was an incomparable head,
in which nobility was united to manfulness,--the head at once of
an angel and a warrior. Krysia’s breath was stopped in her breast,
for looking, she did not believe her own eyes, nor could she decide
whether she had before her an illusion or a real man. He stood
awhile motionless, astonished, or through politeness feigning
astonishment at Krysia; at last he moved from the door, and waving
his hat downward began to sweep the floor with its plumes. Krysia
rose, but her feet trembled under her; and now blushing, now
growing pale, she closed her eyes.
Meanwhile his voice sounded low and soft, “I am Ketling of
Elgin,--the friend and companion-at-arms of Pan Volodyovski. The
servant has told me already that I have the unspeakable happiness
and honor to receive as guests under my roof the sister and
relatives of my Pallas; but pardon, worthy lady, my confusion, for
the servant told me nothing of what my eyes see, and my eyes are
overcome by the brightness of your presence.”
With such a compliment did the knightly Ketling greet Krysia;
but she did not repay him in like manner, for she could not find
a single word. She thought only that when he had finished, he
would incline surely a second time, for in the silence she heard
again the rustle of plumes on the floor. She felt also that there
was need, urgent need, to make some answer and return compliment
for compliment, otherwise she might be held a simple woman; but
meanwhile her breath fails her, the pulse is throbbing in her
hands and her temples, her breast rises and falls as if she were
suffering greatly. She opens her eyelids; he stands before her
with head inclined somewhat, with admiration and respect in his
wonderful face. With trembling hand Krysia seizes her robe to make
even a courtesy before the cavalier; fortunately, at that moment
cries of “Ketling! Ketling!” are heard behind the door, and into
the room rushes, with open arms, the panting Zagloba.
The two men embraced each other then; and during that time the
young lady tried to recover, and to look two or three times at
the knight. He embraced Zagloba heartily, but with that unusual
elegance in every movement which he had either inherited from his
ancestors or acquired at the refined courts of kings and magnates.
“How are you?” cried Zagloba. “I am as glad to see you in your
house as in my own. Let me look at you. Ah, you have grown thin!
Is it not some love-affair? As God lives, you have grown thin.
Do you know, Michael has gone to the squadron? Oh, you have done
splendidly to come! Michael thinks no more of the cloister. His
sister is living here with two young ladies,--maidens like turnips!
Oh, for God’s sake, Panna Krysia is here! I beg pardon for my
words, but let that man’s eyes crawl out who denies beauty to
either of you; this cavalier has seen it already in your case.”
Ketling inclined his head a third time, and said with a smile, “I
left the house a barrack and find it Olympus; for I see a goddess
at the entrance.”
“Ketling! how are you?” cried a second time Zagloba, for whom one
greeting was too little, and he seized him again in his arms.
“Never mind,” said he, “you haven’t seen the haiduk yet. One is a
beauty, but the other is honey! How are you, Ketling? God give you
health! I will talk to you. It is you; very good. That is a delight
to this old man. You are glad of your guests. Pani Makovetski has
come here, for it was difficult to find lodgings in the time of the
Diet; but now it is easier, and she will go out, of course, for it
is not well for young ladies to lodge in a single man’s house, lest
people might look awry, and some gossip might come of the matter.”
“For God’s sake! I will never permit that! I am to Volodyovski
not a friend, but a brother; and I may receive Pani Makovetski
as a sister under my roof. To you, young lady, I shall turn for
assistance, and if necessary will beg it here on my knees.”
Saying this, Ketling knelt before Krysia, and seizing her hand,
pressed it to his lips and looked into her eyes imploringly,
joyously, and at the same time pensively; she began to blush,
especially as Zagloba cried out straightway, “He has barely come
when he is on his knees before her. As God lives! I’ll tell Pani
Makovetski that I found you in that posture. Sharp, Ketling! See
what court customs are!”
“I am not skilled in court customs,” whispered the lady, in great
confusion.
“Can I reckon on your aid?” asked Ketling.
“Rise, sir!”
“May I reckon on your aid? I am Pan Michael’s brother. An injury
will be done him if this house is abandoned.”
“My wishes are nothing here,” answered Krysia, with more presence
of mind, “though I must be grateful for yours.”
“I thank you!” answered Ketling, pressing her hand to his mouth.
“Ah! frost out of doors, and Cupid is naked; but he would not
freeze in this house,” said Zagloba. “And I see that from sighs
alone there will be a thaw,--from nothing but sighs.”
“Spare us,” said Krysia.
“I thank God that you have not lost your jovial humor,” said
Ketling, “for joyousness is a sign of health.”
“And a clear conscience,” added Zagloba. “‘He grieves who is
troubled,’ declares the Seer in Holy Writ. Nothing troubles me,
therefore I am joyous. Oh, a hundred Turks! What do I behold? For I
saw you in Polish costume with a lynx-skin cap and a sabre, and now
you have changed again into some kind of Englishman, and are going
around on slim legs like a stork.”
“For I have been in Courland, where the Polish dress is not worn,
and have just passed two days with the English resident in Warsaw.”
“Then you are returning from Courland?”
“I am. The relative who adopted me has died, and left me another
estate there.”
“Eternal repose to him! He was a Catholic, of course?”
“He was.”
“You have this consolation at least. But you will not leave us for
this property in Courland?”
“I will live and die here,” answered Ketling, looking at Krysia;
and at once she dropped her long lashes on her eyes.
Pani Makovetski arrived when it was quite dark; and Ketling went
outside the gate to meet her. He conducted the lady to his house
with as much homage as if she had been a reigning princess. She
wished on the following day to seek other quarters in the city
itself; but her resolve was ineffective. The young knight implored,
dwelt on his brotherhood with Pan Michael, and knelt until she
agreed to stay with him longer. It was merely stipulated that Pan
Zagloba should remain some time yet, to shield the ladies with his
age and dignity from evil tongues. He agreed willingly, for he
had become attached beyond measure to the haiduk; and besides, he
had begun to arrange in his head certain plans which demanded his
presence absolutely. The maidens were both glad, and Basia came out
at once openly on Ketling’s side.
“We will not move out to-day, anyhow,” said she to Pan Michael’s
hesitating sister; “and if not, it is all the same whether we stay
one day or twelve.”
Ketling pleased her as well as Krysia, for he pleased all women;
besides, Basia had never seen a foreign cavalier, except officers
of foreign infantry,--men of small rank and rather common persons.
Therefore she walked around him, shaking her forelock, dilating
her nostrils, and looking at him with a childlike curiosity; so
importunate was she that at last she heard the censure of Pani
Makovetski. But in spite of the censure, she did not cease to
investigate him with her eyes, as if wishing to fix his military
value, and at last she turned to Pan Zagloba.
“Is he a great soldier?” asked she of the old man in a whisper.
“Yes; so that he cannot be more celebrated. You see he has immense
experience, for, remaining in the true faith, he served against the
English rebels from his fourteenth year. He is a noble also of high
birth, which is easily seen from his manners.”
“Have you seen him under fire?”
“A thousand times! He would halt for you in it without a frown, pat
his horse on the shoulder, and be ready to talk of love.”
“Is it the fashion to talk of love at such a time? Hei?”
“It is the fashion to do everything by which contempt for bullets
is shown.”
“But hand-to-hand, in a duel, is he equally great?”
“Yes, yes! a wasp; it is not to be denied.”
“But could he stand before Pan Michael?”
“Before Michael he could not!”
“Ha!” exclaimed Basia, with joyous pride, “I knew that he could
not. I thought at once that he could not.” And she began to clap
her hands.
“So, then, do you take Pan Michael’s side?” asked Zagloba.
Basia shook her forelock and was silent; after a while a quiet sigh
raised her breast. “Ei! what of that? I am glad, for he is ours.”
“But think of this, and beat it into yourself, little haiduk,”
said Zagloba, “that if on the field of battle it is hard to find a
better man than Ketling, he is most dangerous for maidens, who love
him madly for his beauty. He is trained famously in love-making
too.”
“Tell that to Krysia, for love is not in my head,” answered Basia,
and turning to Krysia, she began to call, “Krysia! Krysia! Come
here just for a word.”
“I am here,” said Krysia.
“Pan Zagloba says that no lady looks on Ketling without falling in
love straightway. I have looked at him from every side, and somehow
nothing has happened; but do you feel anything?”
“Basia, Basia!” said Krysia, in a tone of persuasion.
“Has he pleased you, eh?”
“Spare us! be sedate. My Basia, do not talk nonsense, for Ketling
is coming.”
In fact, Krysia had not taken her seat when Ketling approached and
inquired, “Is it permitted to join the company?”
“We request you earnestly,” answered Krysia.
“Then I am bold to ask, of what was your conversation?”
“Of love,” cried Basia, without hesitation.
Ketling sat down near Krysia. They were silent for a time; for
Krysia, usually self-possessed and with presence of mind, had in
some wonderful way become timid in presence of the cavalier; hence
he was first to ask,--
“Is it true that the conversation was of such a pleasant subject?”
“It was,” answered Krysia, in an undertone.
“I shall be delighted to hear your opinion.”
“Pardon me, for I lack courage and wit, so I think that I should
rather hear something new from you.”
“Krysia is right,” said Zagloba. “Let us listen.”
“Ask a question,” said Ketling. And raising his eyes somewhat, he
meditated a little, then, although no one had questioned him, he
began to speak, as if to himself: “Loving is a grievous misfortune;
for by loving, a free man becomes a captive. Just as a bird, shot
by an arrow, falls it the feet of the hunter, so the man struck
by love has no power to escape from the feet of the loved one.
To love is to be maimed; for a man, like one blind, does not see
the world beyond his love. To love is to mourn; for when do more
tears flow, when do more sighs swell the breast? When a man loves,
there are neither dresses nor hunts in his head; he is ready to sit
embracing his knees with his arms, sighing as plaintively as if he
had lost some one near to him. Love is an illness; for in it, as in
illness, the face becomes pale, the eyes sink, the hands tremble,
the fingers grow thin, and the man thinks of death, or goes around
in derangement, with dishevelled hair, talks with the moon, writes
gladly the cherished name on the sand, and if the wind blows it
away, he says, ‘misfortune,’ and is ready to sob.”
Here Ketling was silent for a while; one would have said that he
was sunk in musing. Krysia listened to his words with her whole
soul, as if they were a song. Her lips were parted, and her eyes
did not leave the pale face of the knight. Basia’s forelock fell to
her eyes, hence it could not be known what she was thinking of; but
she sat in silence also.
Then Zagloba yawned loudly, drew a deep breath, stretched his legs,
and said, “Give command to make boots for dogs of such love!”
“But yet,” began the knight, anew, “if it is grievous to love,
it is more grievous still not to love; for who without love is
satisfied with pleasure, glory, riches, perfumes, or jewels?
Who will not say to the loved one, ‘I choose thee rather than a
kingdom, than a sceptre, than health or long life’? And since each
would give life for love willingly, love has more value than life.”
Ketling finished.
The young ladies sat nestling closely to each other, wondering at
the tenderness of his speech and those conclusions of love foreign
to Polish cavaliers, till Zagloba, who was napping at the end, woke
and began to blink, looking now at one, now at another, now at the
third; at last gaining presence of mind, he inquired in a loud
voice, “What do you say?”
“We say good-night to you,” said Basia.
“Ah! I know now we were talking of love. What was the conclusion?”
“The lining was better than the cloak.”
“There is no use in denying that I was drowsy; but this loving,
weeping, sighing--Ah, I have found another rhyme for it,--namely,
sleeping,--and at this time the best, for the hour is advanced.
Good-night to the whole company, and give us peace with your love.
O my God, my God, while the cat is miauwing, she will not eat the
cheese; but until she eats, her mouth is watering. In my day I
resembled Ketling as one cup does another; and I was in love so
madly that a ram might have pounded my back for an hour before
I should have known it. But in old age I prefer to rest well,
especially when a polite host not only conducts me to bed, but
gives me a drink on the pillow.”
“I am at the service of your grace,” said Ketling.
“Let us go; let us go! See how high the moon is already. It will be
fine to-morrow; it is glittering and clear as in the day. Ketling
is ready to talk about love with you all night; but remember, kids,
that he is road-weary.”
“Not road-weary, for I have rested two days in the city. I am only
afraid that the ladies are not used to night-watching.”
“The night would pass quickly in listening to you,” said Krysia.
Then they parted, for it was really late. The young ladies slept
in the same room and usually talked long before sleeping; but this
evening Basia could not understand Krysia, for as much as the first
had a wish to speak, so much was the second silent and answered
in half-words. A number of times too, when Basia, in speaking of
Ketling, caught at an idea, laughing somewhat at him and mimicking
him a little, Krysia embraced her with great tenderness, begging
her to leave off that nonsense.
“He is host here, Basia,” said she; “we are living under his roof;
and I saw that he fell in love with you at once.”
“Whence do you know that?” inquired Basia.
“Who does not love you? All love you, and I very much.” Thus
speaking, she put her beautiful face to Basia’s face, nestled up to
her, and kissed her eyes.
They went at last to their beds, but Krysia could not sleep for
a long time. Disquiet had seized her. At times her heart beat
with such force that she brought both hands to her satin bosom to
restrain the throbbing. At times too, especially when she tried to
close her eyes, it seemed to her that some head, beautiful as a
dream, bent over her, and a low voice whispered into her ear,--
“I would rather have thee than a kingdom, than a sceptre, than
health, than long life!”