Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source:
http://www.archive.org/details/onfieldofgloryhi00sieniala
2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].
ON THE FIELD OF GLORY
THE WORKS OF
HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ
TRANSLATED FROM THE ORIGINAL POLISH
BY JEREMIAH CURTIN.
* * *
_The Zagloba Romances_
With Fire and Sword. 1 vol.
The Deluge. 2 vols.
Pan Michael. 1 vol.
* * *
Quo Vadis. 1 vol.
The Knights of the Cross. 2 vols.
Children of the Soil. 1 vol.
Hania, and Other Stories. 1 vol.
Sielanka, and Other Stories. 1 vol.
In Vain. 1 vol.
Life and Death and Other Legends and Stories. 1 vol.
On The Field Of Glory. 1 vol.
* * *
Without Dogma. (Translated by Isa Young.) 1 vol.
ON THE FIELD OF
GLORY
AN HISTORICAL NOVEL
OF THE TIME OF KING JOHN SOBIESKI
BY
HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ
_Author of "Quo Vadis," "With Fire and Sword," "The Deluge,"
"Knights of the Cross" etc_.
TRANSLATED FROM THE POLISH ORIGINAL BY
JEREMIAH CURTIN
BOSTON
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
1906
_Copyright, 1906_,
By Jeremiah Curtin
* * *
_All rights reserved_
Published January, 1906
THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A.
TO
SIR THOMAS G. SHAUGHNESSY,
PRESIDENT OF THE CANADIAN PACIFIC RAILROAD.
* * *
My Dear Sir Thomas:
Railroads are to nations what arteries and veins are to each
individual. Every part of a nation enjoys common life with every other
through railroads. Books bring remote ages to the present, and assemble
the thoughts of mankind and of God in one divine company. I find great
pleasure on railroads in the day and the night, at all seasons. You
enjoy books with a keen and true judgment. Let me inscribe to you,
therefore, this volume.
Jeremiah Curtin.
INTRODUCTORY
The book before us gives pictures of Polish character and life on the
eve of the second great siege of Vienna.
Twice was that city beleaguered by Turkey. The first siege was
commanded by Solyman, that Sultan who was surnamed Magnificent by
western nations; to Turks he was known as the Lord of his Age and the
Lawgiver.
The first siege was repelled by the bravery of the garrison, by the
heroism of Count Salm its commander, by the terrible weather of 1529,
and also through turbulence of the Janissary forces. The second siege
was crushed in 1683 by Sobieski's wise strategy, the splendid impetus
of the Poles, and the firmness of the allies.
Had the Polish king not appeared the Sultan would have triumphed, hence
Sobieski and his men are hailed ever since as the saviours of Vienna.
The enthusiasm of the time for Sobieski and his force was tremendous.
"There was a man sent from God whose name was John," this was the
Gospel read at the Thanksgiving Mass in Saint Stephen's, the cathedral,
the noble old church of that rescued and jubilant city. Some Poles went
to Rome after that to get relics; the Pope gave this answer: "Take
earth steeped in blood from the field where your countrymen fell at
Vienna."
Many times have men here in America asked me: Are the Poles really held
by such an intensity of passion? if they are, why does it seize them,
whence does it come, what is the source and the cause of it? I reply to
these questions as best I am able, and truthfully: It comes from the
soul of the Slavs in some part, and in some part from history. The
Poles have as a race their original gift to begin with; this gift, or
race element, has met in its varied career certain peoples, ideas, and
principles. The result of this meeting is this: that the Polish part of
the Slav world holds touching itself an unconquerable ideal. It has
absorbed, as it thinks, certain principles from which it could not now
separate.
The Poles could not if they would, and would not if they could, be
dissevered from that which, as they state, they have worked out in
history, that which no power on earth can now take from them, and to
which they are bound with the faith of a martyr.
Through ideas and principles, that is, truths gained in their
experience as a people, and which in them are incarnate and living, the
Poles feel predestined to triumph, time, of course, being given.
What are these ideas and principles? men ask of me often. Combined all
in one they mean the victory and supremacy of Poland. They have been
worked out during centuries, I answer, of Polish experience with
Germany, with Russia, with Rome and Byzantium, with Turks and with
Tartars. But beyond all do they come as the fruit of collisions with
Germany and Russia, and as the outcome of teachings from Rome and the
stern opposition of Byzantium. Through this great host of enemies and
allies, and their own special character, came that incisive dramatic
career which at last met a failure so crushingly manifest.
The inward result and the spiritual harvest to be reaped from this
awful catastrophe are evident only through what is revealed in the
conduct, the deeds, and the words of the people who had to wade through
the dreadful defeat and digest the experience.
Polish character in most of its main traits was developed completely
even earlier than the days of Sobieski, and the men who appeared then
in action differ little from those of the present, hence the pictures
in this volume are perfectly true and of far-reaching interest in our
time.
JEREMIAH CURTIN.
January, 1906.
ON THE FIELD OF GLORY
CHAPTER I
The winter of 1682-83 was a season of such rigor that even very old
people could not remember one like it. During the autumn rain fell
continually, and in the middle of November the first frost appeared,
which confined waters and put a glass bark upon trees of the forest.
Icicles fastened on pines and broke many branches. In the first days of
December the birds, after frequent biting frosts, flew into villages
and towns, and even wild beasts came out of dense forests and drew near
the houses of people. About Saint Damasius' day the heavens became
clouded, and then snow appeared; ten days did it fall without ceasing.
It covered the country to a height of two ells; it hid forest roads, it
hid fences, and even cottage windows. Men opened pathways with shovels
through snow-drifts to go to their granaries and stables; and when the
snow stopped at last, a splitting frost came, from which forest trees
gave out sounds that seemed gunshots.
Peasants, who at that time had to go to the woodlands for fuel, went in
parties to defend themselves, and were careful that night should not
find them at a distance from the village. After sunset no man dared
leave his own doorstep unless with a fork or a bill-hook, and dogs gave
out, until daylight, short frightened yelps, as they do always when
barking at wolves which are near them.
During just such a night and in such a fierce frost a great equipage on
runners pushed along a forest road carefully; it was drawn by four
horses and surrounded by attendants. In front, on a strong beast, rode
a man with a pole and a small iron pot on the end of it; in this pot
pitch was burning, not to make the road visible, for there was
moonlight, but to frighten away wolves from the party. On the box of
the equipage sat a driver, and on a saddled horse a postilion, and at
each side rode two men armed with muskets and slingshots.
The party moved forward very slowly, since the road was little beaten
and in places the snow-drifts, especially at turnings, rose like waves
on the roadway.
This slowness disturbed Pan Gideon Pangovski, who, relying on his
numerous attendants and their weapons, had determined to travel, though
in Radom men had warned him of the danger, and all the more seriously
since in going to Belchantska he would have to pass the Kozenitse
forests.
Those immense forests began at that period a good way before Yedlina,
and continued far beyond Kozenitse to the Vistula, and toward the other
side of the Stenjytsa, and northward to Rytchivol.
It had seemed to Pan Gideon that, if he left Radom before midday, he
would reach home very easily at sunset. Meanwhile he had been forced in
a number of places to open the road close to fences; some hours were
lost at this labor, so that he came to Yedlina about twilight. Men
there gave the warning that he would better remain for the night in the
village; but since at the blacksmith's a pitch light had been found to
burn before the carriage, Pan Gideon commanded to continue the journey.
And now night had surprised him in the wilderness.
It was difficult to go faster because of increasing snowdrifts; hence
Pan Gideon was more and more disquieted and at last fell to swearing,
but in Latin, lest he frighten the two ladies who were with him, Pains
Vinnitski his relative and his ward Panna Anulka Sieninski.
Panna Anulka was young and high-hearted, in no degree timid. On the
contrary, she drew aside the leather curtain at the window, and,
commanding the horseman at the side not to stop the view to her, looked
at the drifts very joyfully, and at the pine trunks with long strips of
snow on them over which played reddish gleams from the pitch pot, which
with the moonlight made moving figures very pleasant to her eyesight.
Then rounding her lips to the form of a bird bill she began to whistle,
her breath became visible and was rosier than firelight, this too
amused her.
But Pani Vinnitski, who was old and quite timid, fell to complaining.
Why leave Radom, or at least why not pass the night in Yedlina since
they had been warned of the danger? All this through some person's
stubbornness. To Belchantska there was a long piece of road yet, and
all in a forest, hence wolves would meet them undoubtedly, unless
Raphael, the Archangel and patron of travellers, would pity them in
their wandering, but alas, of this they were quite undeserving.
When he heard this opinion, Pan Gideon became thoroughly impatient. To
speak of being lost in the wilderness was all that was needed to upset
him.
The road for that matter was straight, and as for wolves, well, they
would or would not come. He had good attendants, and besides, a wolf is
not anxious to meet with a warrior--not only because he fears him far
more than a common man, but also because of the love which the
quick-witted beast has for warriors.
The wolf understands well that no dweller in towns and no peasant will
give him food gratis; the warrior alone is the man who feeds wolves,
and at times in abundance, hence it is not without reason that men have
called war "the wolf's harvest."
But still Pan Gideon speaking thus, and praising the wolves in some
small degree, was not quite convinced of their affection; hence he was
thinking whether or not to command an attendant to slip from his horse
and sit next the young lady. In such case he himself would defend one
door of the carriage, and that attendant the other, while the freed
horse would either rush off ahead or escape in the rear, and thus draw
the wolves after him.
But the time to do this had not come, as it seemed to Pan Gideon.
Meanwhile he placed near his ward on the front seat, a knife and two
pistols; these he wished to have near him since he had only his right
hand for service.
They advanced some furlongs farther in quiet, and the road was growing
wider. Pan Gideon, who knew the way perfectly, drew breath as if
relieved somewhat.
"The Malikov field is not far," said he.
In every case he hoped for more safety in that open space than in the
forest.
But just then the attendant in front turned his horse suddenly, and,
rushing to the carriage, spoke hurriedly to the driver and to others,
who answered abruptly, as men do when there is no time for loitering.
"What is it?" asked Pan Gideon.
"Some noise in the field."
"Is it wolves?"
"Some outcry. God knows what!"
Pan Gideon was on the point of commanding the horseman with the torch
to spring forward and see what was happening, when he remembered that
in cases like this it was better not to be without fire and to keep all
his people together, and, further, that defence in the open is easier
than in a forest, so he commanded to move on with the equipage.
But after a while the horseman reappeared at the window.
"Wild boars," said he.
"Wild boars!"
"A terrible grunting is heard on the right of the road."
"Praise God for that!"
"But perhaps wolves have attacked them."
"Praise God for that also! We shall pass unmolested. Move on!"
In fact the guess of the attendant proved accurate. When they had
driven out to the field they saw, at a distance of two or three
bow-shots on the right near the road, a dense crowd of wild boars, and
a circle of wolves moving nimbly around them. A terrible grunting, not
of fear but of rage, was given out with growing vigor. When the sleigh
reached the middle of the plain, the men, watching from the horses,
observed that the wolves had not dared yet to rush at the wild boars;
they only pressed on them more and more eagerly.
The boars had arranged themselves in a round compact body, the young in
the middle, the old and the strong on the outside, thus, as it were,
forming a moving and terrible fortress, which gleamed with white tusks
and was impervious to attack or to terror.
Between the garland of wolves and that wall of tusks and snouts a
white, snowy ring was clearly visible, since the whole field was in
moonlight.
Some of the wolves sprang up to the boars, but they sprang back very
quickly, as if frightened by the clash of the tusks and the more
terrible outbursts of grunting. If the wolves had closed in battle with
the boars the struggle would have then held them completely, and the
sleigh might have passed without notice; but since this had not
happened, there was fear lest they might stop that dreadful onset and
try then another one.
Indeed after a while a few dropped away from the pack and ran toward
the party, after them followed others. But the sight of armed men
confused them; some began to follow the sleigh, others stopped a few
tens of steps from it, or ran around with mad speed, as if to urge
themselves on to the equipage.
The attendants wished to fire, but Pan Gideon forbade them, lest
gunshots might bring the whole pack to his people.
Meanwhile the horses, though accustomed to wolves, began to push to one
side and turn their heads to their flanks with loud snorting, but soon
something worse happened, and this raised the danger a hundredfold.
The young horse which the torchbearer was riding reared suddenly once,
and a second time, and then rushed madly sidewise.
The rider, knowing that were he to fall he would be torn to bits the
next moment, seized hold of his saddle-bow, but dropped his pot the
same instant; the light sank in the snow deeply; the flame threw out
sparks and was extinguished. The light of the moon was alone on that
plain then.
The driver, a Russ from Pomorani, began to pray; the Mazovian
attendants fell to cursing.
Emboldened by darkness, the wolves pressed on with more insolence, and
from the direction of the wild boars some fresh ones ran up to them. A
few came rather near, with snapping teeth, and the hair standing
straight on their shoulders. Their eyes were all bloodshot, and a
greenish light flashed from them.
A moment had come which was really terrible.
"Shall we shoot?" inquired one of the escort.
"Frighten them with shouts," said Pan Gideon.
Thereupon rose with keenness, "A-hu! a-hu!" The horses gained courage,
and the wolves, impressed by the voices of men, withdrew some tens of
paces.
Then a still greater wonder was manifest.
All at once forest echoes from behind repeated the shouts of the
attendants, but with rising force, ever louder and louder, as it were
outbursts of wild laughter; and some moments later a crowd of dark
horsemen appeared at both sides of the carriage and shot past with all
the speed of their beasts toward the wild boars and the wolves which
encircled them.
In the twinkle of an eye neither wolves nor boars held the snow plain;
they had scattered as if a whirlwind had struck them. Gunshots were
heard, also shouts, and again those strange outbursts of laughter. Pan
Gideon's attendants rushed after the horsemen, so that there remained
at the sleigh only the postilion and the driver.
Inside the sleigh there was such mighty amazement that no one dared
move a lip for some moments.
"But the word became flesh!" called out Pani Vinnitski, at last. "That
must be help from above us."
"May it be blessed, whencesoever it came. Our plight was growing evil,"
said Pan Gideon.
"God sent those young knights!" said Panna Anulka, who wished to add
her word.
It would have been difficult to divine how this maiden could have seen
that those men were knights and young, in addition, for they shot past
like a whirlwind; but no person asked for her reasons, since the older
man and woman were occupied overmuch with what was happening before
them.
Meanwhile, on the plain the sounds of pursuit were heard yet for the
space of some Our Fathers, and not very far from the sleigh was a wolf
with its back broken, evidently by a sling-shot. The beast was on its
haunches and howling so dreadfully that every one shivered.
The man on the leading horse slipped down to kill the beast, for the
horses were plunging with such violence that the sleigh-pole was
cracking.
After a time the horsemen seemed black again on the snow field. They
came in a crowd, without order, in a mist, for though the night was
cold and the air very clear, the horses had been driven unsparingly,
and were smoking like chimneys.
The horsemen approached with loud laughter and singing, and when they
had drawn near, one of them shot up to the sleigh, and asked in glad,
resonant accents,--
"Who is travelling?"
"Pangovski from Belchantska. Whom am I to thank for this rescue?"
"Stanislav Tsyprianovitch of Yedlinka!"
"The Bukoyemskis!"
"Thanks to your mightinesses. God sent you in season. Thanks!"
"Thanks!" repeated a youthful voice.
"Glory to God that it was in season!" continued Pan Stanislav, removing
his fur cap.
"From whom did ye hear of us?"
"No one informed us, but as the wolves are now running in packs, we
rode out to save people; since a person of such note has been found,
our delight is the greater, and the greater our service to God," said
Pan Stanislav, politely.
But one of the Bukoyemskis now added,--
"Not counting the wolf skins."
"A beautiful deed and a real knightly work," said Pan Gideon. "God
grant us to give thanks for it as promptly as possible. I think, too,
that desire for human flesh has left those wolves now, and that we
shall reach home without danger."
"That is by no means so certain. Wolves might be enticed again easily
and make a new onrush."
"There is no help against that; but we will not surrender!"
"There is help, namely this: to attend you to the mansion. It may
happen that we shall save some one else as we travel."
"I dared not ask for that, but since such is your kindness, let it be
as you say, for the ladies here will feel safer."
"I have no fear as we are, but from all my soul I am grateful!" said
Panna Anulka.
Pan Gideon gave the order and they moved forward, but they had gone
only a few tens of paces when the cracked sleigh-pole was broken and
the equipage halted.
New delays.
The attendants had ropes and fell to mending the broken parts
straightway, but it was unknown whether such a patched work would not
come apart after some furlongs.
Pan Stanislav hesitated somewhat, and then said, removing his fur cap a
second time,--
"To Yedlinka through the fields it is nearer than to Belchantska. Honor
our house then, your mightiness, and spend the night under our roof
tree. No man can tell what might meet us in that forest, or whether
even now we may not be too few to resist all the wolves that will rush
to the roadway. We will bring home the sleigh in some fashion, and the
shorter the road is the easier our problem. It is true that the honor
surpasses the service, but the case being one of sore need a man may
not cherish pride over carefully."
Pan Gideon did not answer those words at the moment, for he felt
reproach in them. He called to mind that when two years before Pan
Serafin Tsyprianovitch had made him a visit, he received the man
graciously, it is true, but with a known haughtiness, and did not pay
back the visit. Pan Gideon had acted in that way since Pan Serafin's
family was noble only two generations, he was a "homo novus," an
Armenian by origin. His grandfather had bought and sold brocades in
Kamenyets. Yakob, the son of that merchant, had served in the artillery
under the famous Hodkievitch, and at Hotsim had rendered such service
that, through the power of Pan Stanislav Lyubomirski, he had been
ennobled, and then received Yedlinka for a lifetime. That life estate
was made afterward the property of Pan Serafin, his heir, in return for
a loan given the Commonwealth during Swedish encounters. The young man
who had come to the road with such genuine assistance was the son of
Pan Serafin.
Pan Gideon felt this reproof all the more, since the words "cherish
pride over carefully" had been uttered by Pan Stanislav with studied
emphasis and rather haughtily. But just that knightly courage pleased
the old noble, and since it would have been hard to refuse the
assistance, and since the road to his own house was in truth long and
dangerous, he said to Pan Stanislav,--
"Unless you had assisted us the wolves would perhaps be gnawing our
bones at this moment; let me pay with good-will for your kindness.
Forward then, forward!"
The sleigh was now mended. The pole had been broken as if an axe had
gone through it, so they tied one end of each rope to a runner, the
other to a collar, and moved on in a large gladsome company, amid
shouts from attendants and songs from the Bukoyemskis.
It was no great distance to Yedlinka, which was rather a forest farm
than a village. Soon there opened in front of the wayfarers a large
field some tens of furlongs in area, or rather a broad clearing
enclosed on four sides by a pine wood, and on this plain a certain
number of houses, the roofs of which, covered with straw, were gleaming
and sparkling in moonlight.
Beyond peasant cottages, and near them, Pan Serafin's outbuildings were
visible stretching in a circle around the edge of a courtyard, in which
stood the mansion, which was much disproportioned. The pile had been
reconstructed by its latest owners, and from being a small house, in
which dwelt on a time the king's foresters, it had become large, even
too large, for such a small forest clearing. From its windows a bright
light was shining, which gave a rosy hue to the snow near the walls of
the mansion, to the bushes in front of it, and to the wellsweep which
stood on the right of the entrance.
It was clear that Pan Serafin was expecting his son, and perhaps also
guests from the road, who might come with him, for barely had the
sleigh reached the gate when servants rushed out with torches, and
after the servants came the master himself in a coat made of mink skin,
and wearing a weasel-skin cap, which he removed promptly at sight of
the equipage.
"What welcome guest has the Lord sent to our wilderness?" inquired he,
descending the steps at the entrance.
Pan Stanislav kissed his father's hand, and told whom he had brought
with him.
"I have long wished," said Pan Gideon, as he stepped from the carriage,
"to do that to which grievous need has constrained me this evening,
hence I bless the more ardently this chance which agrees with my wish
so exactly."
"Various things happen to men, but this chance is for me now so happy,
that with delight I beg you to enter my chambers."
Pan Serafin bowed for the second time, and gave his arm then to Pani
Vinnitski; the whole company entered behind him.
The guests were seized straightway by that feeling of contentment which
is felt always by travellers when they come out of darkness and cold
into lighted, warm chambers. In the first, and the other apartments,
fires were blazing in broad porcelain chimneys, and servants began to
light here and there gleaming tapers.
Pan Gideon looked around with a certain astonishment, for the usual
houses of nobles were far from that wealth which struck the eye in Pan
Serafin's mansion.
By the light of the fires and the tapers and candles he could see in
each apartment a furnishing such as might not be met with in many a
castle: carved chests and bureaus and armchairs from Italy, clocks here
and there, Venetian glass, precious bronze candlesticks, weapons from
the Orient, which were inlaid with turquoise and hanging from wall
mats. On the floors soft Crimean rugs, and on two long walls were
pieces of tapestry which would have adorned the halls of any magnate.
"These came to them from trade," thought Pan Gideon, with well-defined
anger, "and now they can turn up their noses and boast of wealth won
not by weapons."
But Pan Serafin's heartiness and real hospitality disarmed the old
noble, and when he heard, somewhat later, the clatter of dishes in the
dining-hall near them, he was perfectly mollified.
To warm the guests who had come out of cold they brought heated, spiced
wine immediately. They began then to discuss the recent peril. Pan
Gideon had great praise for Pan Stanislav, who, instead of sitting in a
warm room at home, had saved people on the highroad without regarding
the terrible frost, and the toil, and the danger.
"Of a truth," said he, "thus, in old days, did those famous knights
act, who, wandering through the world, saved men from cannibals,
dragons, and various other vile monsters."
"If any man of them saved such a marvellous princess as this one,"
added Stanislav, "he was as happy at that time as we are this minute."
"No man ever saved a more wonderful maiden! True, as God is dear to me!
He has told the whole truth!" cried the four Bukoyemskis with
enthusiasm.
Panna Anulka smiled in so lovely a fashion that two charming dimples
appeared in her cheeks, and she dropped her eyelids.
But the compliment seemed over bold to Pan Gideon, for his ward, though
an orphan without property, was descended from magnates, hence he
changed the conversation.
"But have your graces," asked he, "been moving long on the road in this
fashion?"
"Since the great snows fell, and we shall keep on till the frost
stops," said Stanislav.
"And have ye killed many wolves?"
"Enough to give overcoats to all of us."
Here the Bukoyemskis laughed as loud as if four horses were neighing,
and when they had quieted a little, Mateush, the eldest one added,--
"His Grace the King will be proud of his foresters."
"True," said Pan Gideon. "And I have heard that ye are head foresters
in the king's wilderness in these parts. But do not the Bukoyemskis
originate in the Ukraine?"
"We are of those Bukoyemskis."
"Indeed--indeed--of good stock, the Yelo-Bukoyemskis are connected there
with even great houses."
"And with St. Peter!" added Lukash.
"Eh!" said Pan Gideon. And he began to look around with suspicion and
sternly at the brothers to see if they were not trying to jest with
him. But their faces were clear, and they nodded with earnest
conviction, confirming in this way the words of their brother. Pan
Gideon was astonished immensely, and repeated: "Relatives of Saint
Peter? But how is that?"
"Through the Pregonovskis."
"Indeed! And the Pregonovskis?"
"Through the Usviats."
"And the Usviats through some one else," said the old noble, with a
smile, "and so on to the birth of Christ, the Lord. So! It is a great
thing to have relatives in a senate down here, but what must it be to
have kinsmen in the heavenly assembly--promotion is certain in that
case. But how have ye wandered to our wilderness from the Ukraine, for
men have told me that ye are some years in this neighborhood?"
"About three. Rebellions have long since levelled everything in the
Ukraine, and boundaries have vanished. We would not serve Pagans in
partisan warfare, so we served first in the army and then became
tenants till Pan Malchinski, our relative, made us chief foresters in
this place."
"Yes," said Pan Serafin, "I wondered that we found ourselves side by
side in this wilderness, for we are not of this country, but the
changing fortunes of men have transported us hither. The inheritance of
your mightiness," here he turned to Pan Gideon, "is also, as I know, in
Rus near the castle of Pomorani."
Pan Gideon quivered at this, as if some one had struck an open wound in
his body.
"I had property there, and I have it there still," said he, "but those
places to me are abhorrent, for misfortunes alone struck me there, just
like thunderbolts."
"The will of God," said Pan Serafin.
"It is vain to revolt against that; still, life in those regions is
difficult."
"Your grace, as is known, has served long in the army."
"Till I lost my arm. I avenged my country's wrongs, and my own there.
And if the Lord Jesus will pardon one sin for each head that I took
from a pagan, hell, as I trust, will never be seen by me."
"Of course not, of course not! Service is a merit, and so is suffering.
Best of all is it to cast gloomy thoughts from us."
"Gladly would I be rid of them, still, they do not leave me. But
enough! I am a cripple at present, and this lady's guardian. I have
removed in old age to a silent region which the enemy never visits. I
live, as you know, in Belchantska."
"That is well, and I have acted in like manner," added Pan Serafin.
"Young men, though it is quiet now on the borders, hurry off to Tartar
trails in the hope of adventure, but it is ghastly and woful in places
where each man is mourning for some one."
Pan Gideon put his hand to his forehead where he held it rather long,
till at length he said sadly,--
"Only a peasant or a magnate can live in the Ukraine. When an onrush of
pagans strikes that country the peasant flees to a forest and can live
for some months in it like a wild beast; the magnate can live, for he
has troops and strong castles of his own to protect him. But even
then--the Jolkievskis lived in those regions and perished, the
Danilovitches lived there and perished. Of the Sobieskis, the brother
of our gracious King Yan perished also. And how many others! One of the
Vishnievetskis squirmed on a hook in Stambul till he died there. Prince
Koretski was beaten to death with iron rods. The Kalinovskis are
gone,--and before them the Herburts and the Yaglovetskis paid their
blood tribute. How many of the Sieninskis have died at various periods,
and once they possessed almost the whole country--what a graveyard!
Were I to recount all the names I could not finish till morning. And
were I to give the names, not of magnates alone but of nobles, a month
would not suffice me."
"True! true! So that a man wonders why the Lord God has thus multiplied
those Turks and Tartars. So many of them have been killed that when an
earthtiller works in the springtime his ploughshare bites at every step
on the skull of a pagan. Dear God! Even our present king has crushed
them to death in such numbers that their blood would form a large
river, and still they are coming."
These words had truth in them. The Commonwealth, rent by disorder and
unruliness, could not have strong armies sufficient to end in one
mighty struggle the Tartar-Turk avalanche. For that matter, all Europe
could not command such an army. Still, the Commonwealth was inhabited
by men of great daring, who would not yield their throats willingly to
the knife of the eastern attacker. On the contrary, to that terrible
region bristling with grave-mounds, and reeking with blood at the
borders, Red Russia, Podolia, and the Ukraine, new waves of Polish
settlers followed each after the other; these not only stirred up
fertile lands, but their own craving for endless wars, battles, and
adventures.
"The Poles," wrote an old chronicler, "go to Russia for skirmishes with
Tartars."[1]
So from Mazovia went peasants; daring nobles went also, for each one of
whom it was shameful "to die in his bed like a peasant." And there grew
up in those red lands mighty magnates, who, not satisfied with action
even there, went frequently much farther--to Wallachia, or the Crimea,
seeking victory, power, death, salvation, and glory.
It was even said that the Poles did not wish one great war that would
end the whole question. Though this was not true, still, continual
disturbance was dear to that daring generation--but the invader on his
part paid with blood dearly for his venture.
Neither the Dobrudja nor Belgorod lands, nor the Crimean reed barrens
could support their wild Tartar denizens, hence hunger drove them to
the border where rich booty was waiting, but death was waiting also,
very often.
The flames of fire lighted up invasions unknown yet to history. Single
regiments cut into bits with their sabres and trampled into dust under
horsehoofs detachments surpassing them tenfold in number. Only
swiftness beyond reckoning could save the invaders; in general when a
Tartar band was overtaken by troops of the Commonwealth it was lost
beyond rescue.
There were expeditions, especially the smaller ones, from which not one
man went back to the Crimea. Terrible in their time both to Turks and
to Tartars were Pretvits and Hmieletski; knights of less note,
Volodyovski, Pelka, and the elder Rushits, wrote their names down with
blood in men's memories. These for some years, or some tens of years,
at that time, were resting in their graves and in glory; but even of
the mighty ones none had drawn so much blood from the followers of
Islam as the king reigning then, Yan Sobieski.
At Podhaitsi, Kalush, Hotsim, and Lvoff there were lying till that time
unburied such piles of pagan bones that broad fields beneath them were
as white as if snow-covered. At last on all hordes there was terror.
The borders drew breath then, and when the insatiable Turk began to
seek lighter conquests the whole tortured Commonwealth breathed with
more freedom.
There remained only painful remembrances.
Far away from Pan Serafin's dwelling, and next to the castle of
Pomorani, stood a tall cross on a hill, and two lances upon it. Twenty
and some years before that Pan Gideon had placed this cross on the site
of his fire-consumed mansion, hence, as he thought of that cross and of
all those lives dear to him which had been lost in that region, the
heart whined in the old man from anguish.
But since he was stern to himself and to others, and would not shed
tears before strangers, and could not endure paltry pity from any man,
he would not speak longer of his misfortunes, and fell to inquiring of
his host how he lived in that forest inheritance.
"Here," said Pan Serafin, "is stillness, oh, stillness! When the forest
is not sounding, and the wolves are not howling, thou canst almost hear
snow fall. There is calmness, there is fire in the chimney and a
pitcher of heated wine in the evening--old age needs nothing further."
"True. But your son?"
"A young bird leaves the nest sometimes. And here certain trees whisper
that a great war with the pagan is approaching."
"To that war even gray falcons will hasten. Were it not for this, I
should fly with the others."
Here Pan Gideon shook his coat sleeve, in which there was only a bit of
his arm near the shoulder.
And Pan Serafin poured out heated wine to him.
"To the success of Christian weapons!"
"God grant it! Drink to the bottom."
Stanislav entertained at the same time Pani Vinnitski, Panna Anulka,
and the four Bukoyemskis with a pitcher of wine which steamed quite as
actively as the other. The ladies touched the glasses however with
their lips very sparingly, but the Bukoyemskis needed no urging, hence
the world seemed to them more joyous each moment, and Panna Anulka more
beautiful, so, unable to find words to express their delight, they
began to look at one another with amazement and panting; then each
nudged another with his elbow. Mateush at last found expression,--
"We are not to wonder that the wolves wished to try the bones and the
body of this lady, for even a wild beast knows a real tid-bit!"
Marek, Lukash, and Yan, the three remaining Bukoyemskis slapped their
thighs then in ecstasy.
"He has hit the nail on the head, he has! A tid-bit! Nothing short of
it!"
"A Saint Martin's cake!"
On hearing this Panna Anulka laid one hand on the other, and, feigning
terror, said to Stanislav,--
"Oh, help me, for I see that these gentlemen only saved me from the
wolves to eat me themselves."
"Gracious maiden," said Stanislav, joyfully, "Pan Mateush said that we
were not to wonder at the wolves, but I say I do not wonder at the
Bukoyemskis."
"What shall I do then, except to ask who will save me?"
"Trifle not with sacred subjects!" cried Pani Vinnitski.
"Well, but these gentlemen are ready to eat me and also auntie. Are
they not?"
This question remained for some time without answer. Moreover, it was
easy to note from the faces of the brothers that they had much less
desire for the additional eating. But Lukash, who had quicker wit than
his brothers, now added, "Let Mateush speak; he is the eldest."
Mateush was somewhat bothered, and answered, "Who knows what will meet
him to-morrow?"
"A good remark," said Stanislav, "but to what do you apply it?"
"How to what?"
"Why, nothing. I only ask, why mention to-morrow?"
"But knowest thou that love is worse than a wolf, for a man may kill a
wolf, but to kill love is beyond him."
"I know, but that again is another question."
"But if there be wit enough, a question is nothing."
"In that case may God give us wit."
Panna Anulka hid her laughter behind her palm; after her laughed
Stanislav, and then the Bukoyemskis. Further word-play was stopped by a
servant announcing the supper.
Pan Serafin gave his arm to Pani Vinnitski; after them went Pan Gideon;
Stanislav conducted Panna Anulka.
"A dispute with Pan Bukoyemski is difficult," said the young lady, made
gladsome.
"For his reasons are like wilful horses, each goes its own way; but he
has told two truths which are hard of denial."
"What is the first one?"
"That no man knows what will meet him on the morrow, just as yesterday
I did not know, for example, that to-day I should see you."
"And the other?"
"That a man can kill a wolf, but to kill love is beyond him. This also
is a great truth."
Stanislav sighed; the young lady lowered her shady eyelashes and was
silent. Only after a while, when they were sitting at the table, did
she say to him,--
"But you will come, gentlemen, soon to my guardian's, so that he may
show you some gratitude for saving us and for your hospitality also?"
The gloomy feelings of Pan Gideon brightened notably at supper, and
when the host in splendid phrases proposed first the health of the
ladies and that of the honored guest afterward, the old noble answered
very cordially, thanking for the rescue from difficult straits, and
giving assurance of never-ending gratitude.
After that they conversed of public questions, of the king, of the Diet
which was to meet the May following of the war with which the Turkish
Sultan was threatening the German Empire, and for which that Knight of
Malta, Pan Lyubomirski, was bringing in volunteers.
The four brothers listened with no slight curiosity, because every Pole
was received with open arms among Germans; since the Turks despised
German cavalry, while Polish horsemen roused proper terror.
Pan Gideon blamed Lyubomirski's pride somewhat, since he spoke of
German counts thuswise: "Ten of them could find place in one glove of
mine;" still, he praised the man's knightliness, boundless daring, and
great skill in warfare.
On hearing this, Lukash Bukoyemski declared for himself and his
brothers that in spring they would hasten to Lyubomirski, but while the
frost raged they would kill wolves, and avenge the young lady, as
behooved them.
"For, though we are not to wonder at the wolves," said Mateush, "when
one thinks that such a pure dove might have been turned into wolf's
meat the heart flies to the throat from pure anger, and at the same
time it is hard to keep tears down. What a pity that wolf skins are so
low-priced,--the Jews give barely one thaler for three of them!--but it
is hard to keep our tears down, and even better to give way to them,
for whoso could not compassionate innocence and virtue would be a
savage, whom no man should name as a knight and a noble."
In fact, he gave way to his tears then, as did his three brothers;
though wolves in the worst case could threaten only the life, not the
virtue of the lady, still the eloquence of Lukash so moved his three
brothers that their hearts became soft as warmed wax while they
listened. They wished to shoot in the air from their pistols in honor
of the young lady; but the host opposed, saying that he had a sick
forester in the mansion, a man of great merit, who needed silence.
Pan Gideon, who supposed this to be some reduced relative of Pan
Serafin, or in the worst case a village noble, inquired touching him,
through politeness; but on learning that he was a serving-man and a
peasant he shrugged his shoulders and looked with displeased and
wondering eyes at Pan Serafin.
"Oh yes!" said he. "I forgot what people say of your marvellous
kindness."
"God grant," answered Pan Serafin, "that they say nothing worse of me.
I have to thank this man for much; and may every one meet such a
person, for he knows herbs very thoroughly and can give aid in every
illness."
"I wonder, since he cures others so ably, that he has not cured himself
thus far. Send him my relative, Pani Vinnitski,--she knows many
simples, and presses them on people; but meanwhile permit us to think
of retiring, for the road has fatigued me most cruelly, and the wine
has touched me also a trifle, just as it has the Bukoyemskis."
In fact, the heads of the Bukoyemskis were steaming, while the eyes of
those brothers were mist-covered and tender; so when Pan Stanislav
conducted them to another building, where they were to pass the night
together, they followed him with most uncertain tread on frozen snow,
which squeaked under them. They wondered why the moon, instead of
shining in the heavens, was perched on the roof of a barn and was
smiling.
But Panna Anulka had dropped into their hearts so profoundly that they
wished to speak more of her.
Pan Stanislav, who felt no great wish for sleep, directed to bring a
thick-bellied bottle; then they sat near the broad chimney, and, by the
bright light of the torch, drank in silence at first, listening only to
the crickets in the chamber. At last Mateush filled his breast well
with air and blew with such force at the chimney that the flame bent
before him.
"O Jesus! My dear brothers," cried he, "weep, for a sad fate has met
me."
"What fate? Speak, do not hide thy condition!"
"It is this. I am so in love that the knees are weakening under me!"
"And I? Dost think that I am not in love?" shouted Marek.
"And I?" screamed out Lukash.
"And I," ended Yan.
Mateush wanted to give them an answer of some kind, but could not at
first, for a hiccough had seized him. He only stared with great
wonderment, and looked as if he saw them for the first time in life at
that moment. Then rage was depicted on his countenance.
"How is this, O sons of a such a one?" cried he, "ye wish to block the
road to your eldest brother, and deprive him of happiness?"
"O indeed!" answered Marek, "what does this mean? Is Panna Anulka an
entail of some kind, that only the eldest brother can get her? We are
sons of one father and mother, so if thou call us sons of a such a one,
thou art blaming thy father and mother. Each man is free to love as he
chooses."
"Free, but woe to you, for ye are all bound to me in obedience."
"Must we all our lives serve a horseskull? Hei?"
"O pagan, thou art barking like a dog!"
"Thou art thyself doing that. Jacob was younger than Esau, and Joseph
was younger than all his brothers, so thou art blaming the Scriptures,
and barking against true religion."
Pushed to the wall by these arguments, Mateush could not find an answer
with promptness, and when Yan made some remark touching Cain, the first
brother, he lost his head utterly. Anger rose in him higher and higher,
till at last he began with his right hand to search for the sabre which
he had not there with him. It is unknown to what it would have come had
not Yan, who for some time had been pressing a finger to his forehead,
as if wrestling with an idea, cried out in a great voice, and
suddenly,--
"I am the youngest brother, I am Joseph, so Panna Anulka is for me.
undisputedly."
The others turned to him straightway. From their eyes were shooting
fire sparks, in their faces was indignation.
"What? For thee? For thee! thou goose egg! thou straw scarecrow, thou
horse strangler, thou dry slipper--thou drunkard! For thee?"
"Shut thy mouth, it is written in the Scriptures."
"What Scriptures, thou dunce?"
"All the same--but it is there. Ye are drunk, not I."
But at this moment Pan Stanislav happened in among them.
"Ah, is it not a shame for you," said he, "being nobles and brothers to
raise such a quarrel? Is this the way to nourish love among brothers?
But about what are ye fighting? Is Panna Anulka a mushroom that the
first man who finds her in the forest can put her in his basket? It is
the custom among pelicans, and they are not nobles, or even people, to
yield everything through family affection, and when they fail to find
fish they feed one another with blood from their own bodies. Think of
your dead parents; they are shedding tears up there now over this
quarrelling among sons whom they surely advised to act differently from
this when they blessed them. For those parents heavenly food is now
tasteless, and they dare not raise their eyes to the Evangelists whose
names they gave you in holy baptism."
Thus spoke Pan Stanislav and though at first he wished to laugh he was
touched as he spoke by his own words, for he too had drunk somewhat
because of the company at dinner. At last the Bukoyemskis were greatly
moved by his speech, and all four of them ended in tears, while Mateush
the eldest one cried to them,--
"Oh kill me, for God's sake, but call me not Cain!"
Thereupon Yan, who had mentioned Cain, threw himself into the arms of
Mateush.
"Oh, brother," cried he, "give me to the hangman for doing so."
"Forgive me, or I shall burst open from sorrow," cried Marek.
"I have barked like a dog against the commandment," said Lukash.
And they fell to embracing one another, but Mateush freed himself
finally from his brothers, sat on a bench very suddenly, unbuttoned his
coat, threw open his shirt, and, baring his breast, exclaimed in broken
accents,--
"Here ye have me! here, like a pelican!"
Thereupon they sobbed the more loudly.
"A pelican! a genuine pelican! As God is dear to me,--a pelican!"
"Take Panna Anulka."
"She is thine! Take her, thou," said the brothers.
"Let the youngest man have her."
"Never! Impossible!"
"Devil take her!"
"Devil take her!"
"We don't want her!"
Hereupon Marek struck his thighs with his palms till the chamber
resounded.
"I know what's to be done," cried he.
"What dost thou know? Speak, do not hide it!"
"Let Stanislav have her!"
When they heard this the other three sprang from their benches. Marek's
idea struck them to the heart so completely that they surrounded Pan
Stanislav.
"Take her, Stashko!"
"It will please us most of all."
"If thou love us!"
"Do this to please us!"
"May God bless you!" cried Mateush; and he raised his eyes heavenward,
as he stretched his hands over Stanislav.
Stanislav blushed, and he stood there astonished, repeating,--
"Fear God's wounds!"
But his heart quivered at the thought, for having passed two whole
years with his father amid the dense forests, and seeing few people, he
had not met for a legion of days such a marvellous maiden. He had seen
some one like her in Brejani, for he had been sent by his father to
gain elegance at the court there and a knowledge of government. But he
was a lad then, and time had effaced those remote recollections. And
now he saw in the midst of those forests unexpectedly just such a
beautiful flower as the other one, and men said to him straightway: "Oh
take it!" In view of this he was dreadfully shamefaced and answered,--
"Fear God! How could ye or I get her?"
But they, as is usual with men who are tipsy, saw no obstacle to
anything and insisted.
"No man of us will be jealous," said Marek, "take her! We must go to
the war whatever happens; we have had watching enough in this forest.
Thirty thalers for the whole God-given year. It does not buy drink for
us, and what is there left then for clothing? We sold our saddle
beasts, and now we hunt wolves with thy horses and outfits--A hard lot
for orphans. Better perish in war--But take her thou, if thou love us!"
"Take her!" cried out Mateush, "but we will go to Rakuz, to
Lyubomirski, to help the Germans in shelling out pagans."
"Take her immediately."
"Take her to-morrow! To the church with her straightway!"
But Stanislav had recovered from astonishment and was as sober as if he
had not touched a drop since the morning.
"Oh, stop, what are ye saying? Just as if only your will or mine were
all that is needed! But what will she say and what will Pan Gideon say?
Pan Gideon is self-willed and haughty. Even though the young lady grew
friendly in time, he might prefer to see her sow rue than be the wife
of any poor devil like me, or like any one of you brothers."
"Oh pshaw!" exclaimed Yan. "Is Pan Gideon the Castellan of Cracow, or
grand hetman? If he is too high for us let him beware how he thrusts up
his nose in our presence. Are the Bukoyemskis too small to be his
gossips?"
"Ah, never mind! He is old, the time of his death is not distant, let
him have a care lest he be stopped by Saint Peter in heaven's gateway.
Oh take our part! holy Peter, and say this to him: 'Thou didst not know
during life, thou son of a such a one, how to respect my blood
relatives; kiss now the dog's snout for thy conduct.' Let that be said
after death to Pan Gideon. But meanwhile we will not let him belittle
us in his lifetime."
"How! because we have no fortune must we be despised and treated like
peasants?"
"Is that the pay for our blood, for our wounds, for our service to the
country?"
"O my brothers, ye orphans of God! many an injustice has met you, but
one more grievous than this no man has ever yet put on us."
"That is true, that is true!" exclaimed Lukash and Marek and Yan in sad
accents.
And tears of grief flowed down their faces afresh and abundantly, but
when they had wept out their fill they fell to storming, for it seemed
to them that such an offence to men of birth should not be forgotten.
Lukash, the most impulsive of all the four brothers, was the first to
make mention of this matter.
"It is difficult to challenge him to sabres," said he, "for he has lost
an arm and is old, but if he has contemned us, we must have
satisfaction. What are we to do? Think of this!"
"My feet have been frozen to-night," said Lukash, "and are burning
tremendously. But for this, I could think out a remedy."
"My feet are not burning, but my head is on fire," added Marek.
"From that which is empty thou wilt never pour anything."
"Gland is blamed always by Katchan!" said Mateush.
"Ye give a quarrel instead of an answer!" cried Lukash. But Stanislav
interrupted;--
"An answer?" said he, "but to whom?"
"To Pan Gideon."
"An answer to what?"
"To what? How 'to what'?"
They looked at one another, with no small astonishment, and then turned
to Lukash,--
"What dost thou wish of us?"
"But what do ye wish of me?"
"Adjourn this assembly till daylight," said Stanislav. "The fire here
is dying, midnight is past now a long time. The beds are all ready at
the walls there, and rest is ours honestly, for we have worked in the
frost very faithfully."
The fire had gone out; it was dark in the chamber, so the advice of the
host had power to convince the four brothers. Conversation continued
some little time yet, but with decreasing intensity. Somewhat later a
whispered "Our Father" was heard, at one moment louder, at another one
lower, interrupted now and then with deep sighing.
The coals in the chimney began to grow dark and be covered with ashes;
at moments something squeaked near the fire, and the crickets chirped
sadly in the corners, as if mourning for the light which had left them.
Next the sound of boots cast from feet to the floor, after that a short
interval of silence, and then immense snoring from the four sleeping
brothers.
But Stanislav could not sleep, all his thoughts whirled about Panna
Anulka, like active bees about blossoms.
How could a man sleep with such a buzzing in his cranium! He closed his
lids, it is true, once and a second time, but finding that useless he
pondered.
"I will see if there is light in her chamber," thought he, finally.
And he passed through the doorway.
There was no light in her windows, but the gleam of the moon quivered
on the uneven panes as on wrinkled water. The world was silent, and
sleeping so soundly that even the snow seemed to slumber in the bath of
greenish moonlight.
"Dost thou know that I am dreaming of thee?" asked Stanislav in a
whisper, as he looked at the silent window.
The elder Tsyprianovitch, Pan Serafin, in accordance with his inborn
hospitality, and his habit, spared neither persuasion nor pressing to
detain his guests longer in Yedlinka. He even knelt before Pani
Vinnitski, an act which did not come easily because of his gout, which,
though moderate so far, was somewhat annoying. All that, however,
availed not. Pan Gideon insisted on going before midday, and at last,
since there was no answer to the statement that he was looking for
guests at his mansion, Pan Serafin had to yield, and they started that
clear frosty forenoon of wonderful weather. The snow on the fields, and
on tree branches, seemed covered with myriads of fire sparks, which so
glittered in the sunlight that the eye could barely suffer the gleams
shooting back from the earth and the forest. The horses moved at a
vigorous trot till their flanks panted; the sleigh runners whistled
along the snow road; the carriage curtains were pushed back on both
sides, and now at one window and now at the other appeared the rosy
face of the young lady with gladsome eyes and a nose which the frost
had reddened somewhat, a charming framed picture.
She advanced like a queen, for the carriage was encircled by a "life
guard" made up of the Bukoyemskis and Pan Stanislav. The four brothers
were riding strong beasts from the Yedlinka stables (they had sold or
pledged not only their horses but the best of their sabres). They
rushed on now at the side, sometimes forcing their horses to rear, and
sometimes urging them on with such impetus that balls torn from the
frozen snow by their hoofs shot away whistling through the air like
stone missiles.
Perhaps Pan Gideon was not greatly charmed with these body-guards, for
during the advance he begged the cavaliers not to give themselves
trouble, since the road in the daytime was safe, and of robbers in the
forest no report had arisen; but when they had insisted on conducting
the ladies, nothing was left him but to pay for politeness with
politeness, and invite them to Belchantska. Pan Gideon had a promise
also from Pan Serafin to visit him, but only after some days, since it
was difficult for an old man to tear himself free of his household
abruptly.
For the men, this journey passed quickly in wonders of horsemanship,
and for Panna Anulka in appearing at the windows. The first halt to
give rest to their horses was half-way on the road, at a forest inn
which bore the ill omened name "Robbery." Next the inn stood a shed and
the shop of a blacksmith. In front of his shop the blacksmith was
shoeing some horses. At the side of the inn were seen sleighs owned by
peasants; to these were attached lean, rough-coated sorry little beasts
covered over completely with hoar frost; their tails were between their
hind-legs, and bags of oats were tied under their noses.
People crowded out of the inn to look at the carriage surrounded by
cavaliers and remained at a distance. These were not land tillers but
potters, who made their pots at Kozenitse in the summer and took them
in sleighs to sell during winter in the villages; but they appeared
more especially at festivals through the country. These people,
thinking that some man of great dignity must be travelling in a
carriage with such an escort, took their caps off in spite of the
weather and looked with curiosity at the party.
The warmly dressed travellers did not leave the equipage. The
attendants remained mounted, but a page took wine in a decanter to the
inn to be heated. Meanwhile Pan Gideon beckoned "the bark shoes" to
come to him, and then he fell to inquiring whence they came, whither
they were going, and was there no danger from wild beasts in any place.
"Of course there is," answered an old town-dweller, "but we travel
during daylight and in company. We are waiting here for friends from
Prityk and other places. Perhaps too some earth tillers will come, and
if fifteen or twenty sleighs appear, we will move on at night. Unless
they come we will not start, though we take clubs with us."
"But has no accident happened about here?"
"The wolves ate a Jew during daylight. He was taking geese, as it
seems, for on the road were found bones of a horse and a man,--besides,
there were goose feathers. People knew by his cap that the man was a
Jew. But early this morning some man came hither on foot, a young
noble, who passed the whole night on a pine tree. He says that his
horse dropped down dead, and there before his eyes the wolves ate the
beast up. This man grew so stiff on the tree that he had barely
strength to speak to us, and now he is sleeping."
"What is his name? Did he tell whence he came?"
"No. He just drank some hot beer and fell on a bench as if lifeless."
Pan Gideon turned then to the horsemen,--
"Have ye heard that?"
"We have."
"We must rouse the man, and make inquiries. He has no horse, how could
we leave him alone here? My page could sit on the second front carriage
horse, and give up his own. They say that the man is a noble. Perhaps
he is here from a distance."
"He must be in a hurry," said Pan Stanislav, "since he was travelling
at night, and besides without company. I will rouse him and make
inquiry."
But his plan proved superfluous, since at that moment the page returned
from the inn with a tray on which mugs of hot wine were steaming.
"I beg to tell your grace that Pan Tachevski is here," began he on
reaching the carriage.
"Pan Tachevski? What the devil is he doing in this place?"
"Pan Tachevski!" repeated Panna Anulka.
"He is making ready, and will come out this minute," said the page. "He
almost knocked the tray from my hand when he heard of your coming--"
"But who spoke of the tray to thee?"
The page became silent immediately, as if power of speech had deserted
him.
Pan Gideon seized a goblet of wine, took one and a second draught, and
said then to Pan Stanislav, as if with a certain repulsion,--
"He is an acquaintance of ours, and in some sense a neighbor from
Charny-- Well--rather giddy and unreliable--of those Tachevskis who
long ago were, as some people say, of some note in the province."
Further explanations were stopped by Tachevski, who, coming out
hurriedly, walked with firm stride toward the carriage, but on his face
was a certain hesitation. He was a young noble of medium stature. He
had splendid dark eyes, and was as lean as a splinter. His head was
covered with a Hungarian cap, recalling, one might say, the time of
King Batory; he wore a gray coat lined with sheepskin, and long,
yellow, Swedish boots reaching up to his body. No one wore such boots
then in Poland. They had been taken during war in the days of Yan
Kazimir, that was evident, and brought now through need from the
storehouse by Tachevski. While approaching, he looked first at Pan
Gideon, then at the young lady, and smiled, showing white, perfect
teeth, but his smile was rather gloomy, his face showed embarrassment
and even a trace of confusion.
"I rejoice beyond measure," said he, as he stood at the carriage and
removed his cap gracefully, "to see, in good health, Pani Vinnitski and
Panna Sieninski, with your grace, my benefactor, for the road is now
dangerous; this I have learned from experience."
"Cover your head, or your ears will be frozen," said Pan Gideon,
abruptly. "I thank you for the attention, but why are you wandering
through the wilderness?"
Tachevski looked quickly at the young lady, as if to inquire: "Thou
knowst why, dost thou not?" but seeing her eyes downcast, and noting
also that she was biting a ribbon of her hood for occupation, he
answered in a voice of some harshness,--
"Well, the fancy struck me to gaze at the moon above pine trees."
"A pretty fancy. But did the wolves kill thy horse?"
"They only ate him, for I myself drove his life out."
"We know. And thou wert roosting, like a crow, all the night in a pine
tree."
Here the Bukoyemskis burst into such mighty laughter that their horses
were put on their haunches. Tachevski turned and measured them one
after another, with glances which were ice cold and as sharp as a sword
edge.
"Not like a crow," said he then to Pan Gideon, "but like a horseless
noble, at which condition it is granted you, my benefactor, to laugh,
but it may be unhealthy for another to do so."
"Oho! oho! oho!" repeated the Bukoyemskis, urging toward him their
horses. Their faces grew dark in one moment, and their mustaches
quivered. Again Tachevski measured them, and raised his head higher.
But Pan Gideon spoke with a voice as severe and commanding as if he had
power over all of them.
"No quarrels here, I beg! This is Pan Tachevski," said he after a
while, with more mildness, turning to the cavaliers, "and this is Pan
Tsyprianovitch, and each of the other four nobles is a Pan Bukoyemski,
to whom I may say we owe our lives, for wolves met us yesterday. These
gentlemen came to our aid unexpectedly, and God knows in season."
"In season," repeated Panna Anulka, with emphasis, pouting a little,
and looking at Pan Stanislav bewitchingly.
Tachevski's cheeks flushed, but on his face there appeared as it were
humiliation, his eyes became mist-covered, and, with immense sadness in
his accents, he said,--
"In season, for they were in company, and happy because on good horses,
but wolf teeth at that time were cutting old Voloshyn, and my last
friend had vanished. But--" even here he looked with greater good-will
at the Bukoyemskis--"may your hands be sacred, for ye have done that
which with my whole soul I wished to do, but God did not let me."
Panna Anulka seemed changeable, like all women, perhaps too she was
sorry for Tachevski, since her eyes became pleasant and twinkling, her
lids opened and closed very quickly, and she asked with a different
voice altogether,--
"Old Voloshyn? My God, I loved him so much and he knew me. My God!"
Tachevski looked at her straightway with thankfulness.
"He knew you, gracious lady, he knew you."
"Grieve not, Pan Yatsek, grieve not so cruelly."
"I grieved before this, but on horseback. I shall grieve now on foot.
God reward you, however, for the kind words."
"But mount now the mouse-colored horse," said Pan Gideon. "The page
will ride the off leader, or sit behind the carriage. There is an extra
burka at the saddle, put it on, for thou hast been freezing all night,
and the cold is increasing."
"No," said Tachevski, "I am warm. I left my shuba behind, since I felt
no need of it."
"Well, for the road!"
They started. Yatsek Tachevski taking his place near the left carriage
window, Stanislav Tsyprianovitch at the right, so the young lady
sitting in front might without turning her head look freely at the one
and the other.
But the Bukoyemskis were not glad to see Yatsek. They were angry that
he had taken a place at the side of the carriage, so, bringing their
horses together till their heads almost touched, they talked with one
another and counselled,--
"He looked at us insolently," said Mateush. "As God is in heaven he
wants to insult us."
"Just now he turned his horse's tail to us. What do ye say to that?"
"Well, he could not turn the horse's head, for horses do not travel
tail forward like crawfish. But that he is making up to that young lady
is certain," put in Marek.
"Thou hast taken in the situation correctly. See how he bends and leans
forward. If his stirrup strap breaks he will fall."
"He will not fall, the son of a such a one, for the saddle straps are
strong, and he is a firm rider."
"Bend thyself, bend till we break thee!"
"Just look how he smiles at her!"
"Well, brothers, are we to permit this? Never, as God lives! The girl
is not for us, that may be, but does he remember what we did
yesterday?"
"Of course! He must divine that, for he is cunning, and now he is
making up to her to spite us."
"And in contempt for our poverty and orphanhood."
"Oh! upon my word a great magnate--on another man's horse."
"Well, for that matter we are not riding our own beasts."
"One horse remains to us anyhow, so if three sit at home the fourth man
may ride to the war if he wishes; but that fellow has not even a
saddle, for the wolves have made bits of it."
"Besides, he sticks his nose up. What has he against us? Just tell me."
"Well, ask him."
"Shall I do it right away?"
"Eight away, but politely, so as not to offend old Pan Gideon. Only
after he has answered can we challenge."
"And then we shall have him!"
"Which of us is to do this?"
"I, of course, for I am the eldest," said Mateush. "I will rub the
icicle from my mustache, and then at him!"
"But remember well what he says to thee."
"I will repeat every word, like the Lord's prayer."
Thereupon the eldest Bukoyemski set to rubbing off with his glove the
ice from his mustache, and then urging his horse to the horse of Pan
Yatsek he called,--
"My dear Sir?"
"What?" inquired Yatsek, turning his head from the carriage
unwillingly.
"What have you against us?"
Yatsek looked at him with astonishment, and answered,--
"Nothing!" then, shrugging his shoulders, he turned again to the
carriage.
Mateush rode on some time in silence considering whether to return and
report to his brothers or speak further. The second course seemed to
him better, so he continued,--
"If thou think to do anything, I say that thou wilt do what thou hast
said to me. Nothing!"
On Yatsek's face was an expression of constraint and annoyance. He
understood that they were seeking a quarrel, for which at that moment
he had not the least wish whatever. But he found need of some answer,
and that of such kind as to end the conversation, so he asked,--
"Well, thy brothers over there, are they also--"
"Of course! but what is 'also'?"
"Think it out thyself and do not interrupt now my more agreeable
occupation."
Mateush rode along the side of the carriage ten or fifteen steps
farther. At last he turned his horse.
"What did he tell thee? Speak out!" said the brothers.
"There was no success."
"Because thou didst not know how to handle him," said Lukash. "Thou
shouldst have tickled his horse in the belly with thy stirrup, or,
since thou knowst his name, have said: 'Yatsek, here is a platsek (a
cake) for thee!'"
"Or said this to him: 'The wolves ate thy horse, buy a he goat in
Prityk.'"
"That is not lost, but what did it mean when he said: 'Are thy brothers
also?'"
"Maybe he wanted to ask if we were fools also."
"Of course! As God is dear to me!" cried Marek. "He could not think
otherwise. But what now?"
"His death, or ours. As God lives, what he says is open heresy. We must
tell Stashko."
"Tell nothing, for since we give up the young lady to Stashko, Stashko
must challenge him, and here the great point is that we challenge
first."
"When? At Pan Gideon's a challenge is not proper. But here is
Belchantska."
In fact Belchantska was not distant. On the edge of the forest stood
the cross of Pan Gideon's establishment, with a tin Saviour hanging
between two spears; on the right, where the road turned round a pine
wood, broad meadows were visible, with a line of alders on the edge of
a river, and beyond the alders on the bank opposite and higher, were
the leafless tops of tall trees, and smoke rising from cottages. Soon
the retinue was moving past cottages, and when it had gone beyond
fences and buildings Pan Gideon's dwelling was before the eyes of the
horsemen,--a broad court surrounded by an old and decayed picket fence
which in places was leaning.
From times the most ancient no enemy had appeared in that region, so no
one had thought defence needful for the dwelling. In the broad court
there were two dovecotes. On one side were the quarters for servants,
on the other the storehouse, provision rooms, and a big cheese house
made of planks and small timbers. Before the mansion and around the
court were pillars with iron rings for the halters of horses; on each
pillar a cap of frozen snow was fixed firmly. The mansion was old and
broad, with a low roof of straw. In the court hunting dogs were rushing
around, and among them a tame stork with a broken wing was walking
securely; the bird as it seemed had left its warm room a little earlier
to get exercise and air in the cold courtyard.
At the mansion the people were waiting for the company, since Pan
Gideon had sent a man forward with notice. The same man came out now to
meet them and, bowing down, said to Pan Gideon,--
"Pan Grothus, the starosta of Raygrod, has come."
"In God's name!" cried Pan Gideon. "Has he been waiting long for me?"
"Not an hour. He wished to go, but I told him that you were coming and
in sight very nearly."
"Thou didst speak well." Then he turned to the guests,--
"I beg you, gentlemen, Pan Grothus is a relative through my wife. He is
returning, it is evident, to Warsaw from his brother's, for he is a
deputy to the Diet. Please enter."
After a time they were all in the dining-room in presence of the
starosta of Raygrod, whose head almost grazed the ceiling, for in
stature he surpassed the Bukoyemskis, and the rooms were exceedingly
low in that mansion. Pan Grothus was a showy noble with an expression
of wisdom, and the face and bald head of a statesman. A sword scar on
his forehead just over the nose and between his two eyebrows seemed a
firm wrinkle, giving his face a stern, and, as it were, angry aspect.
But he smiled at Pan Gideon with pleasantness, and opened his arms to
him, saying,--
"Well, I, a guest, am now welcoming the host to his own mansion."
"A guest, a dear guest," cried Pan Gideon. "God give thee health for
having come to me, lord brother. What dost thou hear over there now in
Warsaw?"
"Good news of private matters, of public also, for war is now coming."
"War? How is that? Are we making it?"
"Not yet, but in March a treaty will be signed with the Emperor, then
war will be certain."
Though even before the New Year there had been whispers of war with the
Sultan, and there were those who considered it inevitable, the
confirmation of these rumors from the lips of a person so notable, and
intimately acquainted with politics as Pan Grothus, imposed on Pan
Gideon and the guests in his mansion very greatly. Barely had the host,
therefore, presented them to the starosta, when a conversation followed
touching war, touching Toekoeli and the bloody struggles throughout
Hungary, from which, as from an immense conflagration, there was light
over all parts of Austria and Poland. That was to be a mighty struggle,
before which the Roman Caesar and all German lands were then trembling.
Pan Grothus, skilled much in public matters, declared that the Porte
would move half of Asia and all Africa, and appear with such strength
as the world had not seen up to that day. But these previsions did not
injure good-humor in any one. On the contrary they were listened to
with rapture by young men, who were wearied by long peace at home, and
to whom war presented fields of glory, service, and even profit.
When Mateush Bukoyemski heard the words of the starosta he so struck
his knee with his palm that the sound was heard throughout the mansion.
"Half Asia, and what in addition?" asked he. "O pshaw! Is that
something new for us?"
"Nothing new, thou speakest truth!" said the host, whose face, usually
gloomy, was lighted up now with sudden gladness. "If that question is
settled, the call to arms will be issued immediately, and the levies
will begin without loitering."
"God grant this! God grant it at the earliest! Think now of that old
Deviantkievich at Hotsim, blind of both eyes. His sons aimed his lance
in the charge, and he struck on the Janissaries as well as any other
man. But I have no sons."
"Well, lord brother, if there be any one who can stay at home
rightfully you are that person," said the starosta. "It is bad not to
have a son in the war, worse not to have an eye, but worst of all not
to have an arm."
"I accustomed both hands to the sabre," said Pan Gideon, "and in my
teeth I can hold the bridle. Moreover, I should like to fall fighting
on the field against pagans, not because the happiness of my life has
been broken--not from revenge--no--but for this reason, speaking
sincerely: I am old, I have seen much, I have meditated deeply, I have
seen among men so much hatred, so much selfishness, so much disorder in
this Commonwealth, I have seen our self-will, our disobedience and
breaking of Diets, so much lawlessness of all sorts, that I say this
here now to you. Many times in desperation have I asked the Lord God:
Why, O Lord, hast thou created our Commonwealth, and created this
people? I ask without answer and it is only when the pagan sea swells,
when that vile dragon opens its jaws to devour Christianity and
mankind, when, as you say, the Roman Caesar and all German lands are
shivering in front of this avalanche, that I learn why God created us
and imposed on us this duty. The Turks themselves know this. Other men
may tremble, but we will not, as we have not trembled thus far; so let
our blood flow to the very last drop, and let mine be mixed with the
rest of it. Amen."
The eyes of Pan Gideon were glittering and he was moved very deeply,
but still he let no tears fall from his eyes; it may be because he had
cried them out so much earlier, and it may be because he was harsh to
himself and to others. But Pan Grothus put his arm around his neck and
then he kissed him on both cheeks.
"True, true," said he. "There is much evil among us, and only with
blood may our ransom from evil be effected. That service, that watching
which God has given us, was predestined to our people. And the time is
approaching in which we shall prove this. That is our real position.
There are tidings that the avalanche of pagans will turn on Vienna;
when it does we will go there and before the whole world show that we
are purely Christ's warriors, created in defence of the cross, and the
faith of the Saviour. Other nations, who till now have lived without
care behind our shoulders, will see in the clear day of heaven how our
task is accomplished, and with God's will, while the earth stands, our
service and our glory will not leave us."
At these words enthusiasm seized the young men. The Bukoyemskis sprang
up from their chairs, and called in loud voices,--
"God grant it! When will the levies be? God grant it!"
"The souls are tearing out of us," said Stanislav. "We are ready this
minute."
Yatsek was the only man silent, and his face did not brighten. That
news which filled all hearts with pleasure was for him a source of keen
suffering and bitterness. His thoughts and his eyes ran to Panna Anulka
who was passing along near the dining-room joyously, and with
measureless complaint and reproach they spoke thus to her,--
"Had it not been for thee I should have gone to some magnate, and
though I might not have found fortune, I should have a horse and good
arms in every case, and should go now with a regiment to find death, or
else glory. Thy beauty, thy glances, those pleasant words, which at
times thou didst throw like small alms at me, have brought about this,
that I am here on those last little fields of mine, well-nigh expiring
from hunger. Because of thee I have not seen the great world. I have
not gained any polish. In what have I offended that thou hast enslaved
me, as it were, soul and body? And in truth I would rather perish than
be without seeing thee for a twelvemonth. I have lost my last horse in
hurrying to save thee, and now, in return for this, thou art laughing
with another, and glancing at him most bewitchingly. But what shall I
do? War is coming. Am I to be a serving man, or be disgraced among foot
soldiers? What have I done that toward me thou art merciless?"
In this fashion did Yatsek Tachevski complain, he a man who felt his
misery all the more keenly that he was a noble of great knightly
family, though terribly impoverished. And though it was not true that
Panna Anulka had never had mercy on him, it was true that for her sake
he had never gone out to the great world, but had remained with only
two serfs on poor pasture land where the first wants of life were
beyond him. He was seventeen years of age, and she thirteen, when he
fell in love with her beyond memory, and for five years he had loved
the girl each year increasingly, and each year with more gloominess,
for hopelessly. Pan Gideon had received him with welcome at first, as
the scion of a great knightly family to which in former days had
belonged in those regions whole countrysides; but afterward, when he
noted how matters were tending, he began to be harsh to him, and at
times even cruel. He did not close the house against the man, it is
true, but he kept him away from the young lady, since he had for her
views and hopes of another kind altogether. Panna Anulka noting her
power over Yatsek amused herself with him just as a young girl does
with flowers in a meadow. At times she bends over one, at times she
plucks one, at times she weaves one into her tresses, later she throws
it away, and later thinks nothing of flowers, whatever, and still later
on she searches out new ones.
Yatsek had never mentioned his love to the young lady, but she knew of
it perfectly, though she feigned not to know, and in general not to
wish to know of anything which happened within him. She wondered at
him, wondered how he pleased her. Once, when they were chasing some
bees, she fell under his cloak and fondled up to his heart for a
moment, but for two days she would not forgive him because of this. At
times she treated him almost contemptuously, and when it seemed to him
that all had been ended forever, she, with one sweet look, one hearty
word filled him with endless delight, and with hope beyond limit. If at
times, because of a wedding, or a name's day, or a hunt in the
neighborhood, he did not come for some days she was lonely, but when he
did come she took revenge on him for her loneliness, and tormented him
long for it. He passed his worst moments when there were guests at the
mansion, and there happened among them some young man who was clever
and good-looking. Then Yatsek thought that in her heart there was not
even the simplest compassion. Such were his thoughts now because of Pan
Stanislav and all that Pan Grothus had told of the coming war added
bitterness to his cup, which was then overflowing.
Self-control in Pan Gideon's mansion was habitual with Yatsek, still,
he could hardly sit to the end of the supper as he heard the words of
the lady and Pan Stanislav. He saw, unhappy victim, that the other man
pleased her, for he was in fact an adroit and agreeable young fellow,
and far from being stupid. The talk at table turned always on the
levies. Stanislav, learning from Pan Grothus that perhaps the levies
would be made under him in those regions, turned to the lady on a
sudden, and asked,--
"What regiment do you prefer?"
"The hussars," said she, looking at his shoulders.
"Because of the wings?"
"Yes. Once I saw hussars and thought them a heavenly army. I dreamt of
them afterward two nights in succession."
"I know not whether I shall dream when a hussar, but I know that I
shall dream of you earlier, and of wings also."
"Why is that?"
"I should dream of a real angel."
Panna Anulka dropped her eyes till a shade fell on her rosy cheeks from
her eyelids.
"Be a hussar," said she, after an interval.
Yatsek gritted his teeth, drew his palm over his moistened forehead,
and during the supper he did not get word or look from the lady. Only
when they had risen from the table did a sweet, beloved voice sound at
his ear.
"But will you go to this war with the others?"
"To die! to die!" answered Yatsek.
And in that answer there was such a genuine, true groan of anguish that
the voice was heard again, as if in sympathy,--
"Why sadden us?"
"No one will weep for me."
"How know you that?" said the voice now a third time.
Then she slipped away to the other guests as swiftly as a dream vision,
and bloomed, like a rose, at the other end of the drawing-room.
Meanwhile, the two elder men sat after the meal over goblets of mead,
and when they had discussed public questions sufficiently they began to
chat about private ones. Pan Grothus followed Panna Anulka with tender
eyes for a time, and then said to Pan Gideon,--
"That is a brilliant spot over there. Just look at those young people
who are flying like moths round a candle. But that is no wonder, for
were we not in years we too should be flying."
Pan Gideon waved his hand in displeasure.
"Swarms they are,--rustics, homespuns, nothing better."
"How so? Tachevski is not a homespun."
"No, but he is poor. The Bukoyemskis are not homespuns; they even
declare that they are kinsmen of Saint Peter, which may help them in
heaven, but on earth they are nothing but foresters in the king's
wilderness."
Pan Grothus wondered at the relationship of the Bukoyemskis no less
than had Pan Gideon when he heard of it the first time, so he fell to
inquiring in detail, till at last he laughed heartily, and added,--
"Saint Peter was a great apostle, and I have no wish to detract from
his honor; all the more, since feeling old, I shall soon need his
influence. But between you and me, there is not much in this kinship to
boast of--no, he was merely a fisherman. If you speak of Joseph, who
came from King David,--well, you may talk to me."
"I say only that there is no one here fit for the girl, either among
those whom you see now under my roof, or in the whole neighborhood."
"But he who is sitting near Pani Vinnitski seems a nice gentleman."
"Tsyprianovitch? Yes, he is; but Armenian by origin and of a family
noble only three generations."
"Then why invite them? Cupid is traitorous, and before there is time to
turn once the pudding may be cooked for you."
Pan Gideon, who, in presenting the young men had stated how much he
owed them, explained now in detail about the wolves and the assistance,
because of which he was forced to invite the young rescuers to his
mansion through gratitude simply.
"True, true," said Pan Grothus, "but in his own way Amor may cook the
pudding before you have noticed it. This girl's blood is not water."
"Ai! she is a slippery weasel," said Pan Gideon. "She can and will
bite, but she will twist out besides from between a man's fingers, and
no common person could catch her. Great blood has this inborn quality
that it yields not, but rules and regulates. I am not of those who are
led by the nose very easily, still, I yield to her often. It is true,
that I owe much to the Sieninskis, but even if I did not there would be
only slight difference. When she stands before me and puts a tress from
one shoulder to the other, inclines her head to me, and glances, she
gets what she wishes most frequently. And more than once do I think,
what a blessing of God, what an honor, that the last child, the last
heiress of such a famed family, is under my roof tree. Of course you
know of the Sieninskis--once all Podolia was theirs. In truth, the
Sobieskis, the Daniloviches, the Jolkevskis grew great through them. It
is the duty of His Grace the King to remember this, all the more since
now almost nothing remains of those great possessions; and the girl, if
she has any property, will have only that which remains after me to
her."
"But what will your relatives say in this matter?"
"There are only distant Pangovskis, who will not prove kinship. But
often my peace is destroyed by the thought that after me may come
quarrels, with lawsuits and wrangling, as is common in this country.
The relatives of my late wife are for me the great question. From my
wife comes a part of my property, namely: the lands with this mansion."
"I shall not appear with a lawsuit," said Pan Grothus, "but I would not
guarantee as to others."
"That is it! That is it! I have been thinking of late to visit Warsaw
and beg the king to be a guardian to this orphan, but his head is full
now of other questions."
"If you had a son it would be a simple matter to give the girl to him."
Pan Gideon gazed at the starosta with a look so full of pain that the
other stopped speaking. Both men were silent for a long time, till Pan
Gideon said with emotion,--
"To you I might say, my lord brother, with Virgil, _infandum jubes
renovare dolorem_ (thou commandest me to call up unspeakable sorrow).
That marriage would be simple--and I will tell you that had it not been
for this simple method I should have died long ago perhaps. My son
while in childhood was stolen by the Tartars. People have returned more
than once from captivity among pagans when the memory of them had
perished. Whole years have I looked for a miracle--whole years have I
lived in the hope of it. To-day even, when I drink something I think to
myself we, perhaps now! God is greater than human imagining. But those
moments of hope are very shortlived, while the pain is enduring and
daily. No! Why deceive myself? My blood will not be mingled with that
of the Sieninskis, and, if relatives rend what I have into fragments,
this last child of the family to which I owe everything, will be
without bread to nourish her."
Both drank in silence again. Pan Grothus was thinking how to milden the
pain which he had roused in Pan Gideon unwittingly, and how to console
the man in suffering. At last an idea occurred to him which he
considered very happy. "Ai!" exclaimed he, "there is a way to do
everything, and you, my lord brother, can secure bread for the girl
without trouble."
"How?" asked Pan Gideon, with a certain disquiet.
"Does it not happen often that old men take as wives even girls not
full grown yet? An example in history is Konietspolski the grand
hetman, who married a green girl, though he was older than you are. It
is true also, that, having taken too many youth-giving medicines, he
died the first night after marriage, but neither Pan Makovski,
pocillator of Radom, nor Pan Rudnitski lost their lives, though both
had passed seventy. Besides, you are sturdy. Should the Lord again
bless you, well, so much the better; if not, you would leave in
sufficiency and quiet the young widow, who might choose then the
husband that pleased her."
Whether such an idea had ever come to Pan Gideon we may not determine;
it suffices, that, after these words of Pan Grothus, he was greatly
confused, and, with a hand trembling somewhat, poured mead to the
starosta till it flowed over the goblet, and the generous liquor
dropped down to the floor after passing the table.
"Let us drink to the success of Christian arms!" said he.
"That in its time," said Pan Grothus, following the course of his own
thoughts still further; "and dwell in your own way on what I have said
to you, for I have struck, as I think, the true point of the question."
"But why? What reason is there? Drink some more--"
Further words were interrupted by the movement of chairs at the larger
table. Pani Vinnitski and Panna Anulka wished to retire to their
chamber. The voice of the young lady, as resonant as a bell made of
silver, repeated: "Good-night, good-night;" then she courtesied
prettily to Pan Grothus, kissed the hand of Pan Gideon, touched his
shoulder with her nose and her forehead cat fashion, and vanished. Pan
Stanislav, the Bukoyemskis, and Yatsek went out soon after the ladies.
The two older men only remained in the dining-room and conversed long
in it, for Pan Gideon commanded to bring still better mead in another
decanter.