After they had left the castle, Ketling needed to collect his
thoughts and shake himself free from the astonishment into which
Krysia’s action had brought him. He took farewell of her and
Zagloba in front of the gate, and they went to their lodgings.
Basia and Pani Makovetski had returned already from the sick lady;
and Pan Michael’s sister greeted Zagloba with the following words,--
“I have a letter from my husband, who remains yet with Michael at
the stanitsa. They are both well, and promise to be here soon.
There is a letter to you from Michael, and to me only a postscript
in my husband’s letter. My husband writes also that the dispute
with the Jubris about one of Basia’s estates has ended happily.
Now the time of provincial diets is approaching. They say that in
those parts Pan Sobieski’s name has immense weight, and that the
local diet will vote as he wishes. Every man living is preparing
for the election; but our people will all be with the hetman. It is
warm there already, and rains are falling. With us in Verhutka the
buildings were burned. A servant dropped fire; and because there
was wind--”
“Where is Michael’s letter to me?” inquired Zagloba, interrupting
the torrent of news given out at one breath by the worthy lady.
“Here it is,” said she, giving him a letter. “Because there was
wind, and the people were at the fair--”
“How were the letters brought here?” asked Zagloba, again.
“They were taken to Ketling’s house, and a servant brought them
here. Because, as I say, there was wind--”
“Do you wish to listen, my benefactress?”
“Of course, I beg earnestly.”
Zagloba broke the seal and began to read, first in an undertone,
for himself, then aloud for all,--
“I send this first letter to you; but God grant that there
will not be another, for posts are uncertain in this
region, and I shall soon present myself personally among
you. It is pleasant here in the field, but still my heart
draws me tremendously toward you, and there is no end to
thoughts and memories, wherefore solitude is dearer to me
in this place than company. The promised work has passed,
for the hordes sit quietly, only smaller bands are rioting
in the fields; these also we fell upon twice with such
fortune that not a witness of their defeat got away.”
“Oh, they warmed them!” cried Basia, with delight. “There is
nothing higher than the calling of a soldier!”
“Doroshenko’s rabble” (continued Zagloba) “would like
to have an uproar with us, but they cannot in any way
without the horde. The prisoners confess that a larger
chambul will not move from any quarter, which I believe,
for if there was to be anything like this it would have
taken place already, since the grass has been green for
a week past, and there is something with which to feed
horses. In ravines bits of snow are still hiding here and
there; but the open steppes are green, and a warm wind is
blowing, from which the horses begin to shed their hair,
and this is the surest sign of spring. I have sent already
for leave, which may come any day, and then I shall start
at once. Pan Adam succeeds me in keeping guard, at which
there is so little labor that Makovetski and I have been
fox-hunting whole days,--for simple amusement, as the fur
is useless when spring is near. There are many bustards,
and my servant shot a pelican. I embrace you with my whole
heart; I kiss the hands of my sister, and those of Panna
Krysia, to whose good-will I commit myself most earnestly,
imploring God specially to let me find her unchanged, and
to receive the same consolation. Give an obeisance from me
to Panna Basia. Pan Adam has vented the anger roused by his
rejection at Mokotov on the backs of ruffians, but there
is still some in his mind, it is evident. He is not wholly
relieved. I commit you to God and His most holy love.
“P. S. I bought a lot of very elegant ermine from passing
Armenians; I shall bring this as a gift to Panna Krysia,
and for your haiduk there will be Turkish sweetmeats.”
“Let Pan Michael eat them himself; I am not a child,” said Basia,
whose cheeks flushed as if from sudden pain.
“Then you will not be glad to see him? Are you angry at him?” asked
Zagloba.
But Basia merely muttered something in low tones, and really
settled down in anger, thinking some of how lightly Pan Michael
was treating her, and a little about the bustard and that pelican,
which roused her curiosity specially.
Krysia sat there during the reading with closed eyes, turned from
the light; in truth, it was lucky that those present could not see
her face, for they would have known at once that something uncommon
was happening. That which took place in the church, and the letter
of Pan Volodyovski, were for her like two blows of a club. The
wonderful dream had fled; and from that moment the maiden stood
face to face with a reality as crushing as misfortune. She could
not collect her thoughts to wait, and indefinite, hazy feelings
were storming in her heart. Pan Michael, with his letter, with the
promise of his coming, and with a bundle of ermine, seemed to her
so flat that he was almost repulsive. On the other hand, Ketling
had never been so dear. Dear to her was the very thought of him,
dear his words, dear his face, dear his melancholy. And now she
must go from love, from homage, from him toward whom her heart
is struggling, her hands stretching forth, in endless sorrow and
suffering, to give her soul and her body to another, who for this
alone, that he is another, becomes well-nigh hateful to her.
“I cannot, I cannot!” cried Krysia, in her soul. And she felt that
which a captive feels whose hands men are binding; but she herself
had bound her own hands, for in her time she might have told Pan
Michael that she would be his sister, nothing more.
Now the kiss came to her memory,--that kiss received and
returned,--and shame, with contempt for her own self, seized her.
Was she in love with Pan Michael that day? No! In her heart there
was no love, and except sympathy there was nothing in her heart
at that time but curiosity and giddiness, masked with the show of
sisterly affection. Now she has discovered for the first time that
between kissing from great love and kissing from impulse of blood,
there is as much difference as between an angel and a devil. Anger
as well as contempt was rising in Krysia; then pride began to storm
in her and against Pan Michael. He too was at fault; why should
all the penance, contrition, and disappointment fall upon her? Why
should he too not taste the bitter bread? Has she not the right to
say when he returns, “I was mistaken; I mistook pity for love. You
also were mistaken; now leave me, as I have left you.”
Suddenly fear seized her by the hair,--fear before the vengeance
of the terrible man; fear not for herself, but for the head of the
loved one, whom vengeance would strike without fail. In imagination
she saw Ketling standing up to the struggle with that ominous
swordsman beyond swordsmen, and then falling as a flower falls cut
by a scythe; she sees his blood, his pale face, his eyes closed for
the ages, and her suffering goes beyond every measure. She rose
with all speed and went to her chamber to vanish from the eyes
of people, so as not to hear conversation concerning Pan Michael
and his approaching return. In her heart rose greater and greater
animosity against the little knight. But Remorse and Regret pursued
her, and did not leave her in time of prayer; they sat on her bed
when, overcome with weakness, she lay in it, and began to speak to
her.
“Where is he?” asked Regret. “He has not returned yet; he is
walking through the night and wringing his hands. Thou wouldst
incline the heavens for him, thou wouldst give him thy life’s
blood; but thou hast given him poison to drink, thou hast thrust a
knife through his heart.”
“Had it not been for thy giddiness, had it not been for thy wish
to lure every man whom thou meetest,” said Remorse, “all might
be different; but now despair alone remains to thee. It is thy
fault,--thy great fault! There is no help for thee; there is no
rescue for thee now,--nothing but shame and pain and weeping.”
“How he knelt at thy feet in the church!” said Regret, again. “It
is a wonder that thy heart did not burst when he looked into thy
eyes and begged of thee pity. It was just of thee to give pity to a
stranger, but to the loved one, the dearest, what? God bless him!
God solace him!”
“Were it not for thy giddiness, that dearest one might depart in
joy,” repeated Remorse; “thou mightest walk at his side, as his
chosen one, his wife--”
“And be with him forever,” added Regret.
“It is thy fault,” said Remorse.
“Weep, O Krysia,” cried Regret.
“Thou canst not wipe away that fault!” said Remorse, again.
“Do what thou pleasest, but console him,” repeated Regret.
“Volodyovski will slay him!” answered Remorse, at once.
Cold sweat covered Krysia, and she sat on the bed. Bright moonlight
fell into the room, which seemed somehow weird and terrible in
those white rays.
“What is that?” thought Krysia. “There Basia is sleeping. I see
her, for the moon is shining in her face; and I know not when
she came, when she undressed and lay down. And I have not slept
one moment; but my poor head is of no use, that is clear.” Thus
meditating, she lay down again; but Regret and Remorse sat on the
edge of her bed, exactly like two goddesses, who were diving in at
will through the rays of moonlight, or sweeping out again through
its silvery abysses.
“I shall not sleep to-night,” said Krysia to herself, and she began
to think about Ketling, and to suffer more and more.
Suddenly the sorrowful voice of Basia was heard in the stillness of
the night, “Krysia!”
“Are you not sleeping?”
“No for I dreamed that some Turk pierced Pan Michael with an arrow.
O Jesus! a deceiving dream. But a fever is just shaking me. Let us
say the Litany together, that God may avert misfortune.”
The thought flew through Krysia’s head like lightning, “God grant
some one to shoot him!” But she was astonished immediately at her
own wickedness; therefore, though it was necessary for her to get
superhuman power to pray at that particular moment for the return
of Pan Michael, still she answered,--
“Very well, Basia.”
Then both rose from their beds, and kneeling on their naked knees
on the floor, began to say the Litany. Their voices responded to
each other, now rising and now falling; you would have said that
the chamber was changed into the cell of a cloister in which two
white nuns were repeating their nightly prayers.