Though Zagloba received the news of Ketling’s departure with
astonishment, still no suspicion came into his head; for it was
easy to admit that Charles II. had remembered the services which
the Ketlings had rendered the throne in time of disturbance,
and that he wished to show his gratitude to the last descendant
of the family. It would seem even most wonderful were he to act
otherwise. Besides, Ketling showed Zagloba certain letters from
beyond the sea, and convinced him decisively. In its way that
journey endangered all the old noble’s plans, and he was thinking
with alarm of the future. Judging by his letter, Volodyovski might
return any day.
“The winds have blown away in the steppes the remnant of his
grief,” thought Zagloba. “He will come back more daring than when
he departed; and because some devil is drawing him more powerfully
to Krysia, he is ready to propose to her straightway. And
then,--then Krysia will say yes (for how could she say no to such
a cavalier, and, besides, the brother of Pani Makovetski?), and my
poor, dearest haiduk will be on the ice.”
But Zagloba, with the persistence special to old people, determined
at all costs to marry Basia to the little knight. Neither the
arguments of Pan Yan, nor those which at intervals he used on
himself, had serious effect. At times he promised mentally, it is
true, not to interfere again in anything; but he returned afterward
involuntarily with greater persistence to the thought of uniting
this pair. He meditated for whole days how to effect this; he
formed plans, he framed stratagems. And he went so far that when
it seemed to him that he had hit upon the means, he cried out
straightway, as if the affair were over, “May God bless you!”
But now Zagloba saw before him almost the ruin of his wishes. There
remained nothing more to him but to abandon all his efforts and
leave the future to God’s will; for the shadow of hope that before
his departure Ketling would take some decisive step with reference
to Krysia could not remain long in Zagloba’s head. It was only from
sorrow and curiosity, therefore, that he determined to inquire of
the young knight touching the time of his going, as well as what he
intended to do before leaving the Commonwealth.
Having invited Ketling to a conversation, Zagloba said with a
greatly grieved face, “A difficult case! Each man knows best what
he ought to do, and I will not ask you to stay; but I should like
to know at least something about your return.”
“Can I tell what is waiting for me there, where I am going?”
answered Ketling,--“what questions and what adventures? I will
return sometime, if I can. I will stay there for good if I must.”
“You will find that your heart will draw you back to us.”
“God grant that my grave will be nowhere else but in the land which
gave me all that it could give!”
“Ah, you see in other countries a foreigner is a stepchild all his
life; but our mother opens her arms to you at once, and cherishes
you as her own son.”
“Truth, a great truth. Ei! if only I could-- For everything in the
old country may come to me, but happiness will not come.”
“Ah! I said to you, ‘Settle down; get married.’ You would not
listen to me. If you were married, even if you went away, you would
have to return, unless you wished to take your wife through the
raging waves; and I do not suppose that. I gave you advice. Well,
you wouldn’t take it; you wouldn’t take it.”
Here Zagloba looked attentively at Ketling’s face, wishing some
definite explanation from him, but Ketling was silent; he merely
hung his head and fixed his eyes on the floor.
“What is your answer to this?” asked Zagloba, after a while.
“I had no chance whatever of taking it,” answered the young knight,
slowly.
Zagloba began to walk through the room, then he stopped in front of
Ketling, joined his hands behind his back, and said, “But I tell
you that you had. If you had not, may I never from this day forward
bind this body of mine with this belt here! Krysia is a friend of
yours.”
“God grant that she remain one, though seas be between us!”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing more; nothing more.”
“Have you asked her?”
“Spare me. As it is, I am so sad because I am going.”
“Ketling, do you wish me to speak to her while there is time?”
Ketling considered that if Krysia wished so earnestly that their
feelings should remain secret, perhaps she might be glad if
an opportunity were offered of denying them openly, therefore
he answered, “I assure you that that is vain, and I am so far
convinced that I have done everything to drive that feeling from my
head; but if you are looking for a miracle, ask.”
“Ah, if you have driven her out of your head,” said Zagloba,
with a certain bitterness, “there is nothing indeed to be done.
Only permit me to remark that I looked on you as a man of more
constancy.”
Ketling rose, and stretching upward his two hands feverishly, said
with violence unusual to him, “What will it help me to wish for one
of those stars? I cannot fly up to it, neither can it come down to
me. Woe to people who sigh after the silver moon!”
Zagloba grew angry, and began to puff. For a time he could not even
speak, and only when he had mastered his anger did he answer with a
broken voice, “My dear, do not hold me a fool; if you have reasons
to give, give them to me, as to a man who lives on bread and meat,
not as to one who is mad,--for if I should now frame a fiction, and
tell you that this cap of mine here is the moon, and that I cannot
reach it with my hand, I should go around the city with a bare,
bald head, and the frost would bite my ears like a dog. I will not
wrestle with statements like that. But I know this: the maiden
lives three rooms distant from here; she eats; she drinks; when
she walks, she must put one foot before the other; in the frost
her nose grows red, and she feels hot in the heat; when a mosquito
bites her, she feels it; and as to the moon, she may resemble it in
this, that she has no beard. But in the way that you talk, it may
be said that a turnip is an astrologer. As to Krysia, if you have
not tried, if you have not asked her, it is your own fault; but
if you have ceased to love the girl, and now you are going away,
saying to yourself ‘moon,’ then you may nourish any weed with your
honesty as well as your wit,--that is the point of the question.”
To this Ketling answered, “It is not sweet, but bitter in my mouth
from the food which you are giving me. I go, for I must; I do
not ask, because I have nothing to ask about. But you judge me
unjustly,--God knows how unjustly!”
“Ketling! I know, of course, that you are a man of honor; but I
cannot understand those ways of yours. In my time a man went to a
maiden and spoke into her eyes with this rhyme, ‘If you wish me, we
will live together; if not, I will not buy you.’[15] Each one knew
what he had to do; whoever was halting, and not bold in speech,
sent a better man to talk than himself. I offered you my services,
and offer them yet. I will go; I will talk; I will bring back an
answer, and according to that, you will go or stay.”
“I must go! it cannot be otherwise, and will not.”
“You will return.”
“No! Do me a kindness, and speak no more of this. If you wish to
inquire for your own satisfaction, very well, but not in my name.”
“For God’s sake, have you asked her already?”
“Let us not speak of this. Do me the favor.”
“Well, let us talk of the weather. May the thunderbolt strike you,
and your ways! So you must go, and I must curse.”
“I take farewell of you.”
“Wait, wait! Anger will leave me this moment. My Ketling, wait, for
I had something to say to you. When do you go?”
“As soon as I can settle my affairs. I should like to wait in
Courland for the quarter’s rent; and the house in which we have
been living I would sell willingly if any one would buy it.”
“Let Makovetski buy it, or Michael. In God’s name! but you will not
go away without seeing Michael?”
“I should be glad in my soul to see him.”
“He may be here any moment. He may incline you to Krysia.”
Here Zagloba stopped, for a certain alarm seized him suddenly. “I
was serving Michael in good intent,” thought he, “but terribly
against his will; if discord is to rise between him and Ketling,
better let Ketling go away.” Here Zagloba rubbed his bald head with
his hand; at last he added, “One thing and another was said out
of pure good-will. I have so fallen in love with you that I would
be glad to detain you by all means; therefore I put Krysia before
you, like a bit of bacon. But that was only through good-will. What
is it to me, old man? In truth, that was only good-will,--nothing
more. I am not match-making; if I were, I would have made a match
for myself. Ketling, give me your face,[16] and be not angry.”
Ketling embraced Zagloba, who became really tender, and straightway
gave command to bring the decanter, saying, “We will drink one like
this every day on the occasion of your departure.”
And they drank. Then Ketling bade him good-by and went out.
Immediately the wine roused fancy in Zagloba; he began to meditate
about Basia, Krysia, Pan Michael, and Ketling, began to unite them
in couples, to bless them; at last he wished to see the young
ladies, and said, “Well, I will go and see those kids.”
The young ladies were sitting in the room beyond the entrance, and
sewing. Zagloba, after he had greeted them, walked through the
room, dragging his feet a little; for they did not serve him as
formerly, especially after wine. While walking, he looked at the
maidens, who were sitting closely, one near the other, so that the
bright head of Basia almost touched the dark one of Krysia. Basia
followed him with her eyes; but Krysia was sewing so diligently
that it was barely possible to catch the glitter of her needle with
the eye.
“H’m!” said Zagloba.
“H’m!” repeated Basia.
“Don’t mock me, for I am angry.”
“He’ll be sure to cut my head off!” cried Basia, feigning terror.
“Strike! strike! I’ll cut your tongue out,--that’s what I’ll do!”
Saying this, Zagloba approached the young ladies, and putting his
hands on his hips, asked without any preliminary, “Do you want
Ketling as husband?”
“Yes; five like him!” said Basia, quickly.
“Be quiet, fly! I am not talking to you. Krysia, the speech is to
you. Do you want Ketling as husband?”
Krysia had grown pale somewhat, though at first she thought that
Zagloba was asking Basia, not her; then she raised on the old noble
her beautiful dark-blue eyes. “No,” answered she, calmly.
“Well, ’pon my word! No! At least it is short. ’Pon my word!--’pon
my word! And why do you not want him?”
“I want no one.”
“Krysia, tell that to some one else,” put in Basia.
“What brought the married state into such contempt with you?”
continued Zagloba.
“Not contempt; I have a vocation for the convent,” answered Krysia.
There was in her voice so much seriousness and such sadness that
Basia and Zagloba did not admit even for a moment that she was
jesting; but such great astonishment seized both that they began to
look as if dazed, now on each other, now on Krysia.
“Well!” said Zagloba, breaking the silence first.
“I wish to enter a convent,” repeated Krysia, with sweetness.
Basia looked at her once and a second time, suddenly threw her arms
around her neck, pressed her rosy lips to her cheek, and began
to say quickly, “Oh, Krysia, I shall sob! Say quickly that you
are only talking to the wind; I shall sob, as God is in heaven, I
shall!”