After his interview with Zagloba, Ketling went to Pan Michael’s
sister, whom he informed that because of urgent affairs he must
remain in the city, and perhaps too before his final journey he
would go for some weeks to Courland; therefore he would not be able
in person to entertain her in his suburban house longer. But he
implored her to consider that house as her residence in the same
way as hitherto, and to occupy it with her husband and Pan Michael
during the coming election. Pani Makovetski consented, for in the
opposite event the house would become empty, and bring profit to no
one.
After that conversation Ketling vanished, and showed himself no
more either in the inn, or later in the neighborhood of Mokotov,
when Pan Michael’s sister returned to the suburbs with the young
ladies. Krysia alone felt that absence; Zagloba was occupied wholly
with the coming election; while Basia and Pani Makovetski had taken
the sudden decision of Krysia to heart so much that they could
think of nothing else.
Still, Pani Makovetski did not even try to dissuade Krysia; for
in those times opposition to such undertakings seemed to people
an injury and an offence to God. Zagloba alone, in spite of all
his piety, would have had the courage to protest, had it concerned
him in any way; but since it did not, he sat quietly, and he was
content in spirit that affairs had arranged themselves so that
Krysia retired from between Pan Michael and the haiduk. Now Zagloba
was convinced of the successful accomplishment of his most secret
desires, and gave himself with all freedom to the labors of the
election; he visited the nobles who had come to the capital, or he
spent the time in conversations with the vice-chancellor, with whom
he fell in love at last, becoming his trusted assistant. After each
such conversation he returned home a more zealous partisan of the
“Pole,” and a more determined enemy of foreigners. Accommodating
himself to the instructions of the vice-chancellor, he remained
quietly in that condition so far, but not a day passed that he did
not win some one for the secret candidate, and that happened which
usually happens in such cases,--he pushed himself forward so far
that that candidacy became the second object in his life, at the
side of the union of Basia and Pan Michael. Meanwhile they were
nearer and nearer the election.
Spring had already freed the waters from ice; breezes warm and
strong had begun to blow; under the breath of these breezes the
trees were sprinkled with buds, and flocks of swallows were
hovering around, to spring out at any moment, as simple people
think, from the ocean of winter into the bright sunlight. Guests
began to come to the election, with the swallows and other birds
of passage. First of all came merchants, to whom a rich harvest of
profit was indicated, in a place where more than half a million
of people were to assemble, counting magnates with their forces,
nobles, servants, and the army. Englishmen, Hollanders, Germans,
Russians, Tartars, Turks, Armenians, and even Persians came,
bringing stuffs, linen, damask, brocades, furs, jewels, perfumes,
and sweetmeats. Booths were erected on the streets and outside the
city, and in them was every kind of merchandise. Some “bazaars”
were placed even in suburban villages; for it was known that the
inns of the capital could not receive one tenth of the electors,
and that an enormous majority of them would be encamped outside the
walls, as was the case always during time of election. Finally, the
nobles began to assemble so numerously, in such throngs, that if
they had come in like numbers to the threatened boundaries of the
Commonwealth, the foot of any enemy would never have crossed them.
Reports went around that the election would be a stormy
one, for the whole country was divided between three chief
candidates,--Condé, the Princes of Neuberg and of Lorraine. It was
said that each party would endeavor to seat its own candidate,
even by force. Alarm seized hearts; spirits were inflamed with
partisan rancor. Some prophesied civil war; and these forebodings
found faith, in view of the gigantic military legions with which
the magnates had surrounded themselves. They arrived early, so as
to have time for intrigues of all kinds. When the Commonwealth was
in peril, when the enemy was putting the keen edge to its throat,
neither king nor hetman could bring more than a wretched handful of
troops against him; but now in spite of laws and enactments, the
Radzivills alone came with an army numbering between ten and twenty
thousand men. The Patses had behind them an almost equivalent
force; the powerful Pototskis were coming with no smaller strength;
other “kinglets” of Poland, Lithuania, and Russia were coming with
forces but slightly inferior. “When wilt thou sail in, O battered
ship of my country?” repeated the vice-chancellor, more and more
frequently; but he himself had selfish objects in his heart. The
magnates, with few exceptions, corrupted to the marrow of their
bones, were thinking only of themselves and the greatness of their
houses, and were ready at any moment to rouse the tempest of civil
war.
The throng of nobles increased daily; and it was evident that when,
after the Diet, the election itself would begin, they would surpass
even the greatest force of the magnates. But these throngs were
incompetent to bring the ship of the Commonwealth into calm waters
successfully, for their heads were sunk in darkness and ignorance,
and their hearts were for the greater part corrupted. The election
therefore gave promise of being prodigious, and no one foresaw
that it would end only shabbily, for except Zagloba, even those
who worked for the “Pole” could not foresee to what a degree the
stupidity of the nobles and the intrigues of the magnates would
aid them; not many had hope to carry through such a candidate as
Prince Michael. But Zagloba swam in that sea like a fish in water.
From the beginning of the Diet he dwelt in the city continually,
and was at Ketling’s house only when he yearned for his haiduk; but
as Basia had lost much joyfulness by reason of Krysia’s resolve,
Zagloba took her sometimes to the city to let her amuse herself and
rejoice her eyes with the sight of the shops.
They went out usually in the morning; and Zagloba brought her
back not infrequently late in the evening. On the road and in the
city itself the heart of the maiden was rejoiced at sight of the
merchandise, the strange people, the many-colored crowds, the
splendid troops. Then her eyes would gleam like two coals, her
head turn as if on a pivot; she could not gaze sufficiently, nor
look around enough, and overwhelmed the old man with questions
by the thousand. He answered gladly, for in this way he showed
his experience and learning. More than once a gallant company
of military surrounded the equipage in which they were riding;
the knighthood admired Basia’s beauty greatly, her quick wit and
resolution, and Zagloba always told them the story of the Tartar,
slain with duck-shot, so as to sink them completely in amazement
and delight.
A certain time Zagloba and Basia were coming home very late;
for the review of Pan Felix Pototski’s troops had detained them
all day. The night was clear and warm; white mists were hanging
over the fields. Zagloba, though always watchful, since in such
a concourse of serving-men and soldiers it was necessary to pay
careful attention not to strike upon outlaws, had fallen soundly
asleep; the driver was dozing also; Basia alone was not sleeping,
for through her head were moving thousands of thoughts and
pictures. Suddenly the tramp of a number of horses came to her
ears. Pulling Zagloba by the sleeve, she said,--
“Horsemen of some kind are pushing on after us.”
“What? How? Who?” asked the drowsy Zagloba.
“Horsemen of some kind are coming.”
“Oh! they will come up directly. The tramp of horses is to be
heard; perhaps some one is going in the same direction--”
“They are robbers, I am sure!”
Basia was sure, for the reason that in her soul she was eager for
adventures,--robbers and opportunities for her daring,--so that
when Zagloba, puffing and muttering, began to draw out from the
seat pistols, which he took with him always for “an occasion,” she
claimed one for herself.
“I shall not miss the first robber who approaches. Auntie shoots
wonderfully with a musket, but she cannot see in the night. I could
swear that those men are robbers! Oh, if they would only attack us!
Give me the pistol quickly!”
“Well,” answered Zagloba, “but you must promise not to fire before
I do, and till I say fire. If I give you a weapon, you will be
ready to shoot the noble that you see first, without asking, ‘Who
goes there?’ and then a trial will follow.”
“I will ask first, ‘Who goes there?’”
“But if drinking-men are passing, and hearing a woman’s voice, say
something impolite?”
“I will thunder at them out of the pistol! Isn’t that right?”
“Oh, man, to take such a water-burner to the city! I tell you that
you are not to fire without command.”
“I will inquire, ‘Who goes there?’ but so roughly that they will
not know me.”
“Let it be so, then. Ha! I hear them approaching already. You may
be sure that they are solid people, for scoundrels would attack us
unawares from the ditch.”
Since ruffians, however, really did infest the roads, and
adventures were heard of not infrequently, Zagloba commanded the
driver not to go among the trees which stood in darkness at the
turn of the road, but to halt in a well-lighted place. Meanwhile
the four horsemen had approached a number of yards. Then Basia,
assuming a bass voice, which to her seemed worthy of a dragoon,
inquired threateningly,--
“Who goes there?”
“Why have you stopped on the road?” asked one of the horsemen,
who thought evidently that they must have broken some part of the
carriage or the harness.
At this voice Basia dropped her pistol and said hurriedly to
Zagloba, “Indeed, that is uncle. Oh, for God’s sake!”
“What uncle?”
“Makovetski.”
“Hei there!” cried Zagloba; “and are you not Pan Makovetski with
Pan Volodyovski?”
“Pan Zagloba!” cried the little knight.
“Michael!”
Here Zagloba began to put his legs over the edge of the carriage
with great haste; but before he could get one of them over,
Volodyovski had sprung from his horse and was at the side of the
equipage. Recognizing Basia by the light of the moon, he seized her
by both hands and cried,--
“I greet you with all my heart! And where is Panna Krysia, and
sister? Are all in good health?”
“In good health, thank God! So you have come at last!” said Basia,
with a beating heart. “Is uncle here too? Oh, uncle!”
When she had said this, she seized by the neck Pan Makovetski,
who had just come to the carriage; and Zagloba opened his
arms meanwhile to Pan Michael. After long greetings came the
presentation of Pan Makovetski to Zagloba; then the two travellers
gave their horses to attendants and took their places in the
carriage. Makovetski and Zagloba occupied the seat of honor; Basia
and Pan Michael sat in front.
Brief questions and brief answers followed, as happens usually when
people meet after a long absence. Pan Makovetski inquired about his
wife; Pan Michael once more about the health of Panna Krysia; then
he wondered at Ketling’s approaching departure, but he had not time
to dwell on that, for he was forced at once to tell of what he had
done in the border stanitsa, how he had attacked the ravagers of
the horde, how he was homesick, but how wholesome it was to taste
his old life.
“It seemed to me,” said the little knight, “that the Lubni times
had not passed; that we were still together with Pan Yan and
Kushel and Vyershul; only when they brought me a pail of water
for washing, and gray-haired temples were seen in it, could a man
remember that he was not the same as in old times, though, on the
other hand, it came to my mind that while the will was the same the
man was the same.”
“You have struck the point!” replied Zagloba; “it is clear that
your wit has recovered on fresh grass, for hitherto you were not
so quick. Will is the main thing, and there is no better drug for
melancholy.”
“That is true,--is true,” added Pan Makovetski. “There is a legion
of well-sweeps in Michael’s stanitsa, for there is a lack of spring
water in the neighborhood. I tell you, sir, that when the soldiers
begin to make those sweeps squeak at daybreak, your grace would
wake up with such a will that you would thank God at once for this
alone, that you were living.”
“Ah, if I could only be there for even one day!” cried Basia.
“There is one way to go there,” said Zagloba,--“marry the captain
of the guard.”
“Pan Adam will be captain sooner or later,” put in the little
knight.
“Indeed!” cried Basia, in anger; “I have not asked you to bring me
Pan Adam instead of a present.”
“I have brought something else, nice sweetmeats. They will be sweet
for Panna Basia, and it is bitter there for that poor fellow.”
“Then you should have given him the sweets; let him eat them while
his mustaches are coming out.”
“Imagine to yourself,” said Zagloba to Pan Makovetski, “these
two are always in that way. Luckily the proverb says, ‘Those who
wrangle, end in love.’”
Basia made no reply; but Pan Michael, as if waiting for an answer,
looked at her small face shone upon by the bright light. It seemed
to him so shapely that he thought in spite of himself, “But that
rogue is so pretty that she might destroy one’s eyes.”
Evidently something else must have come to his mind at once, for he
turned to the driver and said, “Touch up the horses there with a
whip, and drive faster.”
The carriage rolled on quickly after those words, so quickly that
the travellers sat in silence for some time; and only when they
came upon the sand did Pan Michael speak again: “But the departure
of Ketling surprises me. And that it should happen to him, too,
just before my coming and before the election.”
“The English think as much of our election as they do of your
coming,” answered Zagloba. “Ketling himself is cut from his feet
because he must leave us.”
Basia had just on her tongue, “Especially Krysia,” but something
reminded her not to mention this matter nor the recent resolution
of Krysia. With the instinct of a woman she divined that the one
and the other might touch Pan Michael at the outset; as to pain,
something pained her, therefore in spite of all her impulsiveness
she held silence.
“Of Krysia’s intentions he will know anyhow,” thought she; “but
evidently it is better not to speak of them now, since Pan Zagloba
has not mentioned them with a word.”
Pan Michael turned again to the driver, “But drive faster!”
“We left our horses and things at Praga,” said Pan Makovetski to
Zagloba, “and set out with two men, though it was nightfall, for
Michael and I were in a terrible hurry.”
“I believe it,” answered Zagloba. “Do you see what throngs have
come to the capital? Outside the gates are camps and markets, so
that it is difficult to pass. People tell also wonderful things of
the coming election, which I will repeat at a proper time in the
house to you.”
Here they began to converse about politics. Zagloba was trying to
discover adroitly Makovetski’s opinions; at last he turned to Pan
Michael and asked without ceremony, “And for whom will you give
your vote, Michael?”
But Pan Michael, instead of an answer, started as if roused from
sleep, and said, “I am curious to know if they are sleeping, and if
we shall see them to-day?”
“They are surely sleeping,” answered Basia, with a sweet and as it
were drowsy voice. “But they will wake and come surely to greet you
and uncle.”
“Do you think so?” asked the little knight, with joy; and again he
looked at Basia, and again thought involuntarily, “But that rogue
is charming in this moonlight.”
They were near Ketling’s house now, and arrived in a short time.
Pani Makovetski and Krysia were asleep; a few of the servants were
up, waiting with supper for Basia and Pan Zagloba. All at once
there was no small movement in the house; Zagloba gave command to
wake more servants to prepare warm food for the guests.
Pan Makovetski wished to go straightway to his wife; but she had
heard the unusual noise, and guessing who had come, ran down a
moment later with her robe thrown around her, panting, with tears
of joy in her eyes, and lips full of smiles; greetings began,
embraces and conversation, interrupted by exclamations.
Pan Michael was looking continually at the door, through which
Basia had vanished, and in which he hoped any moment to see Krysia,
the beloved, radiant with quiet joy, bright, with gleaming eyes,
and hair twisted up in a hurry; meanwhile, the Dantzig clock
standing in the dining-room ticked and ticked, an hour passed,
supper was brought, and the maiden beloved and dear to Pan Michael
did not appear in the room.
At last Basia came in, but alone, serious somehow, and gloomy; she
approached the table, and taking a light in her hand, turned to Pan
Makovetski: “Krysia is somewhat unwell, and will not come; but she
begs uncle to come, even near the door, so that she may greet him.”
Pan Makovetski rose at once and went out, followed by Basia.
The little knight became terribly gloomy and said, “I did not think
that I should fail to see Panna Krysia to-night. Is she really ill?”
“Ei! she is well,” answered his sister; “but people are nothing to
her now.”
“Why is that?”
“Then has his grace, Pan Zagloba, not spoken of her intention?”
“Of what intention, by the wounds of God?”
“She is going to a convent.”
Pan Michael began to blink like a man who has not heard all that is
said to him; then he changed in the face, stood up, sat down again.
In one moment sweat covered his face with drops; then he began to
wipe it with his palms. In the room there was deep silence.
“Michael!” said his sister.
But he looked confusedly now on her, now on Zagloba, and said at
last in a terrible voice, “Is there some curse hanging over me?”
“Have God in your heart!” cried Zagloba.