News of Basia’s arrival flew like a thunderbolt through Hreptyoff;
but no one except the little knight, Pan Zagloba, and the
serving-women saw her that evening, or the following evenings.
After that swoon on the threshold she recovered presence of mind
sufficiently to tell in a few words at least what had happened, and
how it had happened; but suddenly a new fit of fainting set in, and
an hour later, though they used all means to revive her, though
they warmed her, gave her wine, tried to give her food, she did not
know even her husband, and there was no doubt that for her a long
and grievous illness was beginning.
Meanwhile excitement rose in all Hreptyoff. The soldiers, learning
that “the lady” had come home half alive, rushed out to the square
like a swarm of bees; all the officers assembled, and whispering
in low voices were waiting impatiently for news from the bedroom
where Basia was lying. For a long time, however, it was impossible
to learn anything. It is true that at times waiting-women hurried
past, one to the kitchen for hot water, another to the dispensary
for plasters, ointments, and herbs; but they let no one detain
them. Uncertainty was weighing like lead on all hearts. Increasing
crowds, even from the village, collected on the square; inquiries
passed from mouth to mouth; men described Azya’s treason, and said
that “the lady” had saved herself by flight, had fled a whole
week without food or sleep. At these tidings the breasts of all
swelled with rage. At last a wonderful and terrible frenzy seized
the assembly of soldiers; but they repressed it through fear of
injuring the sick woman by an outburst.
At last, after long waiting, Pan Zagloba went out to the officers,
his eyes red, and the remnant of the hair on his head standing up;
they sprang to him in a crowd, and covered him at once with anxious
questions in low tones.
“Is she alive; is she alive?”
“She is alive,” said the old man; “but God knows whether she will
live an hour.”
Here the voice stuck in his throat; his lower lip quivered. Seizing
his head with both hands, he dropped heavily on the bench, and
suppressed sobbing heaved his breast.
At sight of this, Pan Mushalski caught in his embrace Pan
Nyenashinyets, though he cared not much for him ordinarily, and
began to moan quietly; Pan Nyenashinyets seconded him at once. Pan
Motovidlo stared as if he were trying to swallow something, but
could not; Pan Snitko fell to unbuttoning his coat with quivering
fingers; Pan Hromyka raised his hands, and walked through the room.
The soldiers, seeing through the windows these signs of despair,
and judging that the lady had died already, began an outcry and
lamentation. Hearing this, Zagloba fell into a sudden fury, and
shot out like a stone from a sling to the square.
“Silence, you scoundrels! may the thunderbolts split you!” cried
he, in a suppressed voice.
They were silent at once, understanding that the time for
lamentation had not come yet; but they did not leave the square.
Zagloba returned to the room, quieted somewhat, and sat again on
the bench.
At that moment a waiting-woman appeared again at the door of the
room.
Zagloba sprang toward her.
“How is it there?”
“She is sleeping.”
“Is she sleeping? Praise be to God!”
“Maybe the Lord will grant--”
“What is the Pan Commandant doing?”
“The Pan Commandant is at her bedside.”
“That is well. Go now for what you were sent.”
Zagloba turned to the officers and said, repeating the words of the
woman,--
“May the Most High God have mercy! She is sleeping! Some hope is
entering me--Uf!”
And they sighed deeply in like manner. Then they gathered around
Zagloba in a close circle and began to inquire,--
“For God’s sake, how did it happen? What happened? How did she
escape on foot?”
“At first she did not escape on foot,” whispered Zagloba, “but with
two horses, for she threw that dog from his saddle,--may the plague
slay him!”
“I cannot believe my ears!”
“She struck him with the butt of a pistol between the eyes; and as
they were some distance behind no one saw them, and no one pursued.
The wolves ate one horse, and the other was drowned under the ice.
O Merciful Christ! She went, the poor thing, alone through forests,
without eating, without drinking.”
Here Pan Zagloba burst out crying again, and stopped his narrative
for a time; the officers too sat down on benches, filled with
wonder and horror and pity for the woman who was loved by all.
“When she came near Hreptyoff,” continued Zagloba, after a while,
“she did not know the place, and was preparing to die; just then
she heard the squeak of the well-sweeps, knew that she was near us,
and dragged herself home with her last breath.”
“God guarded her in such straits,” said Pan Motovidlo, wiping his
moist mustaches. “He will guard her further.”
“It will be so! You have touched the point,” whispered a number of
voices.
With that a louder noise came in from the square; Zagloba sprang up
again in a rage, and rushed out through the doorway.
Head was thrust up to head on the square; but at sight of Zagloba
and two other officers the soldiers pushed back into a half-circle.
“Be quiet, you dog souls!” began Zagloba, “or I’ll command--”
But out of the half-circle stepped Zydor Lusnia,--a sergeant of
dragoons, a real Mazovian, and one of Pan Michael’s favorite
soldiers. This man advanced a couple of steps, straightened himself
out like a string, and said with a voice of decision,--
“Your grace, since such a son has injured our lady, as I live, we
cannot but move on him and take vengeance; all beg to do this. And
if the colonel cannot go, we will go under another command, even to
the Crimea itself, to capture that man; and remembering our lady,
we will not spare him.”
A stubborn, cold, peasant threat sounded in the voice of the
sergeant; other dragoons and attendants in the accompanying
squadrons began to grit their teeth, shake their sabres, puff, and
murmur. This deep grumbling, like the grumbling of a bear in the
night, had in it something simply terrible.
The sergeant stood erect waiting for an answer; behind him whole
ranks were waiting, and in them was evident such obstinacy and rage
that in presence of it even the ordinary obedience of soldiers
disappeared.
Silence continued for a while; all at once some voice in a remoter
line called out,--
“The blood of that one is the best medicine for ‘the lady.’”
Zagloba’s anger fell away, for that attachment of the soldiers to
Basia touched him; and at that mention of medicine another plan
flashed up in his head,--namely, to bring a doctor to Basia. At the
first moment in that wild Hreptyoff no one had thought of a doctor;
but nevertheless there were many of them in Kamenyets,--among
others a certain Greek, a famous man, wealthy, the owner of a
number of stone houses, and so learned that he passed everywhere
as almost skilled in the black art. But there was a doubt whether
he, being wealthy, would be willing to come at any price to such a
desert,--he to whom even magnates spoke with respect.
Zagloba meditated for a short time, and then said,--
“A fitting vengeance will not miss that arch hound, I promise you
that; and he would surely prefer to have his grace, the king, swear
vengeance against him than to have Zagloba do it. But it is not
known whether he is alive yet; for the lady, in tearing herself out
of his hands, struck him with the butt of her pistol right in the
brain. But this is not the time to think of him, for first we must
save the lady.”
“We should be glad to do it, even with our own lives,” answered
Lusnia.
And the crowd muttered again in support of the sergeant.
“Listen to me,” said Zagloba. “In Kamenyets lives a doctor named
Rodopul. You will go to him; you will tell him that the starosta
of Podolia has sprained his leg at this place and is waiting for
rescue. And if he is outside the wall, seize him, put him on a
horse, or into a bag, and bring him to Hreptyoff without stopping.
I will give command to have horses disposed at short distances
apart, and you will go at a gallop. Only be careful to bring him
alive, for we have no business with dead doctors.”
A mutter of satisfaction was heard on every side; Lusnia moved his
stern mustaches and said,--
“I will bring him surely, and I will not lose him till we come to
Hreptyoff.”
“Move on!”
“I pray your grace--”
“What more?”
“But if he should die of fright?”
“He will not. Take six men and move.”
Lusnia shot away. The others were glad to do something for the
lady; they ran to saddle the horses, and in a few “Our Fathers” six
men were racing to Kamenyets. After them others took additional
horses, to be disposed along the road.
Zagloba, satisfied with himself, returned to the house.
After a while Pan Michael came out of the bedroom, changed, half
conscious, indifferent to words of sympathy and consolation. When
he had informed Zagloba that Basia was sleeping continually, he
dropped on the bench, and gazed with wandering look on the door
beyond which she was lying. It seemed to the officers that he was
listening; therefore all restrained their breathing, and a perfect
stillness settled down in the room.
After a certain time Zagloba went on tiptoe to the little knight.
“Michael,” said he, “I have sent to Kamenyets for a doctor; but
maybe it is well to send for some one else?”
Volodyovski was collecting his thoughts, and apparently did not
understand.
“For a priest,” said Zagloba. “Father Kaminski might come by
morning.”
The little knight closed his eyes, turned toward the fire, his face
as pale as a kerchief, and said in a hurried voice,--
“Jesus, Jesus, Jesus!”
Zagloba inquired no further, but went out and made arrangements.
When he returned, Pan Michael was no longer in the room. The
officers told Zagloba that the sick woman had called her husband,
it was unknown whether in a fever or in her senses.
The old noble convinced himself soon, by inspection, that it was in
a fever.
Basia’s cheeks were bright red; her eyes, though glittering, were
dull, as if the pupils had mingled with the white; her pale hands
were searching for something before her, with a monotonous motion,
on the coverlet. Pan Michael was lying half alive at her feet.
From time to time the sick woman muttered something in a low voice,
or uttered uncertain phrases more loudly; among them “Hreptyoff”
was repeated most frequently: evidently it seemed to her at times
that she was still on the road. That movement of her hands on the
coverlet disturbed Zagloba especially, for in its unconscious
monotony he saw signs of coming death. He was a man of experience,
and many people had died in his presence; but never had his heart
been cut with such sorrow as at sight of that flower withering so
early.
Understanding that God alone could save that quenching life, he
knelt at the bed and began to pray, and to pray earnestly.
Meanwhile Basia’s breath grew heavier, and changed by degrees to a
rattling. Volodyovski sprang up from her feet; Zagloba rose from
his knees. Neither said a word to the other; they merely looked
into each other’s eyes, and in that look there was terror. It
seemed to them that she was dying, but it seemed so only for some
moments; soon her breathing was easier and even slower.
Thenceforth they were between fear and hope. The night dragged
on slowly. Neither did the officers go to rest; they sat in the
room, now looking at the door of the bedroom, now whispering among
themselves, now dozing. At intervals a boy came in to throw wood on
the fire; and at each movement of the latch they sprang from the
bench, thinking that Volodyovski or Zagloba was coming, and they
would hear the terrible words, “She is living no longer!”
At last the cocks crowed, and she was still struggling with the
fever. Toward morning a fierce rain-storm burst forth; it roared
among the beams, howled on the roof; at times the flames quivered
in the chimney, casting into the room puffs of smoke and sparks.
About daylight Pan Motovidlo stepped out quietly, for he had to go
on a reconnoissance. At last day came pale and cloudy, and lighted
weary faces.
On the square the usual movement began. In the whistling of the
storm were heard the tramp of horses on the planking of the stable,
the squeak of the well-sweeps, and the voices of soldiers; but soon
a bell sounded,--Father Kaminski had come.
When he entered, wearing his white surplice, the officers fell on
their knees. It seemed to all that the solemn moment had come,
after which death must follow undoubtedly. The sick woman had not
regained consciousness; therefore the priest could not hear her
confession. He only gave her extreme unction; then he began to
console the little knight, and to persuade him to yield to the will
of God. But there was no effect in that consolation, for no words
could reach his pain.
For a whole day death hovered over Basia. Like a spider, which
secreted in some gloomy corner of the ceiling crawls out at times
to the light, and lets itself down on an unseen web, death seemed
at times to come down right there over Basia’s head; and more than
once it seemed to those present that his shadow was falling on her
forehead, that that bright soul was just opening its wings to fly
away out of Hreptyoff, somewhere into endless space, to the other
side of life. Then again death, like a spider, hid away under the
ceiling, and hope filled their hearts.
But that was merely a partial and temporary hope, for no one dared
to think that Basia would survive the attack. Pan Michael himself
had no hope of her recovery; and this pain of his became so great
that Zagloba, though suffering severely himself, began to be
afraid, and to commend him to the care of the officers.
“For God’s sake, look after him!” said the old man; “he may plunge
a knife into his body.”
This did not come, indeed, to Pan Michael’s head; but in that
rending sorrow and pain he asked himself continually,--
“How am I to stay behind when she goes? How can I let that dearest
love go alone? What will she say when she looks around and does not
find me near her?”
Thinking thus, he wished with all the powers of his soul to die
with her; for as he could not imagine life for himself on earth
without her, in like manner he did not understand that she could
be happy in that life without him, and not yearn for him. In the
afternoon the ill-omened spider hid again in the ceiling. The flush
in Basia’s cheeks was quenched, and the fever decreased to a degree
that some consciousness came back to her.
She lay for a time with closed eyes, then, opening them, looked
into the face of the little knight, and asked,--
“Michael, am I in Hreptyoff?”
“Yes, my love,” answered Volodyovski, closing his teeth.
“And are you really near me?”
“Yes; how do you feel?”
“Ai, well.”
It was clear that she herself was not certain that the fever had
not brought before her eyes deceptive visions; but from that moment
she regained consciousness more and more.
In the evening Lusnia and his men came and shook out of a bag
before the fort the doctor of Kamenyets, together with his
medicines; he was barely alive. But when he learned that he was not
in robber hands, as he thought, but was brought in that fashion to
a patient, after a passing faintness he went to the rescue at once,
especially as Zagloba held before him in one hand a purse filled
with coin, in the other a loaded pistol, and said,--
“Here is the fee for life, and there is the fee for death.”
That same night, about daybreak, the spider of ill-omen hid away
somewhere for good; thereupon the decision of the doctor, “She will
be sick a long time, but she will recover,” sounded with joyful
echo through Hreptyoff. When Pan Michael heard it first, he fell
on the floor and broke into such violent sobbing that it seemed as
though his bosom would burst. Zagloba grew weak altogether from
joy, so that his face was covered with sweat, and he was barely
able to exclaim, “A drink!” The officers embraced one another.
On the square the dragoons assembled again, with the escort and the
Cossacks of Pan Motovidlo; it was hardly possible to restrain them
from shouting. They wanted absolutely to show their delight in some
fashion, and they began to beg for a number of robbers imprisoned
in the cellars of Hreptyoff, so as to hang them for the benefit of
the lady.
But the little knight refused.