The world was still gray when Father Voynovski was clattering along
through deep snow with a lantern to the doves, partridges, and rabbits
which he kept in his granary in a special enclosure. A tame fox with
bells on her neck followed his footsteps; at his side went a Spitz dog
and a porcupine. Winter sleep did not deaden the latter in the warm
room of the priest's house. The beasts and their master, when they had
crossed the yard slowly, stopped under the out-jutting straw eaves of
the granary, from which long icicles were hanging. The lantern swayed,
the key was heard in the lock, the bolt whined, the door squeaked
louder than the key, and the old man went in with his animals. After a
while he took his seat on a block, placed his lantern on a second
block, and put between his knees a linen bag holding grain and also
cabbage leaves. He began then to yawn aloud and to empty the bag on the
floor there in front of him.
Before he had finished three rabbits advanced from dark corners jumping
toward him; next were seen the eyes of doves, glittering and bead-like
in the light of the lantern; then rust-colored partridges, moving their
heads on lithe necks as they came on in close company. Being the most
resolute, the pigeons fell straightway to hammering the floor with
their bills, while the partridges moved with more caution, looking now
at the falling grain, now at the priest, and now at the she fox; with
her they had been acquainted a long time, since, taken as chicks the
past summer and reared from being little, they saw the beast daily.
The priest kept on throwing grain, muttering morning prayer as he did
so: "_Pater noster, qui es in coelis, sanctificetur nomen_--" Here he
stopped and turned to the fox, and she, while touching his side,
trembled as if a fever were shaking her.
"Ah, the skin on thee trembles as soon as thou seest them. It is the
same every day. Learn to keep down thy inborn appetite, for thou hast
good food at all seasons and sufferest no hunger. Where did I stop?"
Here he closed his eyes as if waiting for an answer, and since he did
not have it he began at the first words: "_Pater noster, qui es in
coelis, sanctificetur nomen Tuum, adveniat regnum Tuum_."
And again he halted.
"Ah, thou art squirming," said he, putting his hand on the back of the
she fox. "There is such a vile nature in thee, that not only must thou
eat, but commit murder also. Catch her, Filus, by the tail, and bite
her if she does any injury--_Adveniat regnum Tuum_--Oh such a daughter!
Thou wouldst say, I know, that men are glad too, to eat partridges; but
know this, that a man gives them peace during fast days, while in thee
the soul of that vile Luther is sitting, for thou wouldst eat meat on
good Friday--_Fiat voluntas Tua_--_Trus! trus! trus!_--_sicut in
coelo_--here are both one with the other!--_et in terra_." And thus
speaking he threw the cabbage and then the grain, scolding the doves
somewhat that, though spring was not near yet, they walked around one
another frequently, cooing and strutting.
At last, when he had emptied the bag he rose, raised the lantern, and
was preparing to go, when Yatsek appeared on the threshold.
"Ah, Yatsus!" cried the priest, "art thou here--what art thou doing so
early?"
Yatsek kissed the priest's hand, and answered,--
"I have come to confession, my benefactor, and at early mass I should
like to approach the Lord's table."
"To confession? That is well, but what has so urged thee? Tell, but
right off, for this is not without reason."
"I will tell truly. I must fight a duel this day, and since in fighting
with five men an accident is more likely than with one, I should like
to clear my soul of offences."
"With five men? God's wounds! But what didst thou do to them?"
"It is just this: that I did nothing. They sought a quarrel, and they
have challenged me."
"Who are they?"
"The Bukoyemskis, who are foresters, and Tsyprianovitch from Yedlinka."
"I know them. Come to the house and tell how it happened."
They went out of the granary, but when half-way to the house the priest
stopped on a sudden, looked into Tachevski's eyes quickly, and said,--
"Hear me, Yatsek, there is a woman in this quarrel."
The other smiled; with some melancholy.
"There is, and there is not," said he, "for really, she is the
question, but she is innocent."
"Ah, ha! innocent! they are all innocent. But dost thou know what
Ecclesiastes says of women?"
"I do not remember, benefactor."
"Neither do I remember all, but what I have forgotten I will read in
the house to thee. '_Inveni amariorem morte mulierem, quae laqueus_
(says he) _venatorum est et sagena cor ejus_.' (I have found woman more
bitter than death. Her heart is a trap and a snare). And farther on he
adds something, but at the end he says: '_Qui placet Deo, effugiet
illam, qui autem peccator est, capietur ab illa_.' (Whoso is pleasing
to God will escape her, but whoso is a sinner will be caught by her.) I
have warned thee not one time but ten not to loiter in that mansion and
now the blow strikes thee."
"Eh, it is easier for you to warn than for me not to visit," answered
Yatsek, with a sigh.
"Nothing good will meet thee in that house."
"True," said the young man, quietly.
And they went on in silence, but the priest with a face of anxiety, for
with his whole soul he loved Yatsek. When his father had died of the
pestilence, the young man was left in the world without any near
relative, without property, having only a very few serfs in Vyrambki.
The old priest cared for him tenderly. He could not give the youth
property, for he with the soul of an angel distributed to the needy all
that his poor parish gave him; still, he helped Yatsek in secret, and
besides, he watched over him, taught him, not only what was in books,
but the whole art of knighthood. For in his day that priest had been a
famed warrior, a comrade and friend of the glorious Pan Michael. He had
been with Charnyetski, he had gone through the whole Swedish conflict,
and only when all had been finished did he put on the robe of a cleric,
because of a ghastly misfortune. He loved Yatsek, in whom he valued,
not simply the son of a famed knightly family, but a serious, lofty
soul, just such as his own was. So he was grieved over the man's
immense poverty, and that ill-fated love which had seized him. Because
of this love, the young man, instead of seeking bread and fame in the
great world of action, was wasting himself and leading a half peasant
life in that dark little corner. Hence he felt a determined dislike for
the house of Pan Gideon, taking it ill of Pan Gideon himself that he
was so cruel to his people. As to Father Voynovski, those "worms of the
earth"[2] were as dear as the apple of his eye to him, but besides them
he loved also everything living, as well those pets which he scolded,
as birds, fish, and even the frogs which croak and sing in the
sun-warmed waters during summer.
There walked, however, in that robe of a priest, not only an angel but,
besides, an ex-warrior; hence when he learned that his Yatsek must
fight with five enemies he thought only of this: how that young man
would prosper, and would he come out of the struggle undefeated?
"Thou wilt not yield?" asked he, halting at the threshold, "for I have
taught thee what I knew myself, and what Pan Michael showed me."
"I should not like to let them slash me to death," replied Yatsek, with
modesty, "for a great war with the Turks is approaching."
At this the eyes of the old man flashed up like stars. In one moment he
seized Yatsek by the button loop of his coat and fell to inquiring,--
"Praised be the name of the Lord! How dost thou know this? Who told
thee?"
"Pan Grothus, the starosta," answered the young man.
Long did the conversation of Yatsek continue with the priest, long was
his confession till Mass time, and when at last after Mass they were
both in the house and had sat down to heated beer at the table, the
mind of the old man was haunted continually by thoughts of that war
with the pagan. Therefore he fell to complaining of the corruption of
manners and the decay of devotion in the Commonwealth.
"My God!" said he, "the field of salvation and glory is open to men,
but they prefer private quarrels and the slaughter of one another.
Though ye have the chance to give your own blood in defence of the
cross and the faith, ye are willing to spill the blood of a brother.
For whom? for what reason? For personal squabbles, or women, or similar
society nonsense. I know this vice to be inveterate in the
Commonwealth, and _mea culpa_, for in time of vain sinful youth I
myself was a slave to it. In winter camps, when the armies think mainly
of idleness and drinking, there is no day without duels; but in fact
the church forbids duels, and punishes for fighting them. Duelling is
sinful at all times, and before a Turkish war the sin is the greater,
for then every sabre is needed, and every sabre serves God and
religion. Therefore our king, who is a defender of the faith, detests
duels, and in the field in the face of the enemy, when martial law
dictates, they are punished severely."
"But the king in his youth fought more than one, and more than two
duels," said Yatsek. "Moreover, what can I do, revered Father? I did
not challenge. They called me out. Can I fail to meet them?"
"Thou canst not, and therefore my soul is confounded. Ah, God will be
on the side of the innocent."
Yatsek began to take farewell, for midday was not more than two hours
from him, and a road of some length was before him.
"Wait," said the priest. "I will not let thee leave in this fashion. I
will have my man make the sleigh ready, put straw in it, and go to the
meeting-place. For if at Pan Gideon's they knew nothing of the duel,
they will send no assistance, and how will it be if one of them, or if
thou, be wounded severely? Hast thought of this?"
"I have not, and they have not thought, that is certain."
"Ah, seest thou! I will go too. I will not be on the field, I will stay
at thy house in Vyrambki. I will take with me the sacrament, and a boy
with a bell too, for who knows what may happen? It is not proper for a
priest to witness such actions, but except that, I should be there with
great willingness, were it only to freshen thy courage."
Yatsek looked at him with eyes as mild as a maiden's. "God reward,"
said he, "but I shall not lose courage, for even if I had to lay down
my life--"
"Better be silent," broke in the priest. "Art thou not sorry not to be
nearing the Turk--and not to be meeting a death of more glory?"
"I am, my benefactor, but I shall try that those man-eaters do not gulp
me down at one effort."
Father Voynovski thought a moment and added,--
"But if I were to go to the field and explain the reward which would
meet them in heaven, were they to die at the hands of the pagan,
perhaps they would give up the duel."
"God prevent!" exclaimed Yatsek. "They would think that I sent thee.
God prevent! Better that I go to them straightway than listen to such
speeches."
"I am powerless," said the priest. "Let us go."
He summoned his servant and ordered him to attach the horse with all
haste to the sleigh; then he and Yatsek went out to assist the man. But
when the priest saw the horse on which Yatsek had come, he pushed back
in amazement.
"In the name of the Father and the Son, where didst thou find such a
poor little creature?"
And indeed at the fence stood a sorry small nag, with shaggy head
drooping low, and cheeks with long hair hanging down from them. The
beast was not greatly larger than a she goat.
"I borrowed it from a peasant. See, how I might go to the Turkish war!"
And he laughed painfully.
To this the priest answered,--
"No matter on what thou goest, if thou come home on a Turkish
war-horse, and may God give thee this, Yatsus; but meanwhile put the
saddle on my beast, for thou canst not go on this poor little wretch to
those nobles."
They arranged everything then, and moved forward,--the priest with the
church boy and bell and a driver for the sleigh, and Yatsek on
horseback. The day was monotonous and misty in some sort; for a thaw
had settled down and snow covered the frozen ground deeply, but its
surface had softened considerably, so that horsehoofs sank without
noise and sleigh-runners moved along the road quietly. Not far beyond
Yedlina they met loads of wood and peasants walking near them; these
people knelt at the sound of the bell, thinking that the priest was
going with the Lord God to a dying man. Then began fields lying next to
the forest,--fields white and empty; these were covered with haze.
Flocks of crows were flying over them. Nearer the forest the haze
became denser and denser, descended, filled all the space, and
stretched upward. When they had advanced somewhat farther, the two men
heard cawing, but the crows were invisible. The bushes at the roadside
were ghostlike. The world had lost its usual sharp outlines, and was
changed into some kind of region deceitful, uncertain,--delusive and
blurred in near places, but entirely unknown in the distance.
Yatsek advanced along the silent snow, thinking over the battle
awaiting him, but thinking more over Panna Anulka; and half to himself
and half to her he soliloquized in spirit: "My love for thee has been
always unchangeable, but I have no joy in my heart from it. Eh! in
truth I had little joy earlier from other things. But now, if I could
even embrace thy dear feet for one instant, or hear a good word from
thee, or even know that thou art sorry if evil befalls me-- All between
me and thee is like that haze there before me, and thou thyself art as
if out beyond the haze. I see nothing, and know not what will be, nor
what will meet me, nor what will happen."
And Yatsek felt that deep sadness was besieging his spirit, just as
dampness was besieging his garments.
"But I prefer that all should be ended, and quickly," said he, sighing.
Father Voynovski was attacked also by thoughts far from gladsome, and
said in his own mind,--
"The poor boy has grieved to the utmost. He has not used his youth, he
has gnawed himself through this ill-fated love of his, and now those
Bukoyemskis will cut him to pieces. The other day at Kozenitse they
hacked Pan Korybski after the festival. And even though they should not
cut up Yatsek, nothing useful can come of this duel. My God! this lad
is pure gold; and he is the last sprout from a great trunk of
knightliness. He is the last drop of nourishing blood in his family. If
he could only save himself this time! In God is my hope that he has not
forgotten those two blows, one a feint under the arm with a side
spring, the other with a whirl through the cheek. Yatsek!"
But Yatsek did not hear, for he had ridden ahead, and the call from the
old man was not repeated. On the contrary, he was troubled very
seriously on remembering that a priest who was going with the Sacrament
should not think of such subjects. He fell then to repenting and
imploring the Lord God for pardon.
Still, he was more and more grieved in his spirit. He was mastered by
an evil foreboding and felt almost certain that that strange duel
without seconds would end in the worst manner possible for Yatsek.
Meanwhile they reached the crossroad which lay on the right toward
Vyrambki, and on the left toward Pan Gideon's. The driver stopped as
had been commanded. Yatsek approached the sleigh then and dismounted.
"I will go on foot to the crucifix, for I should not know what to do
with this horse while the sleigh is taking you to my house and coming
back to me. They are there now, it may be."
"It is not noon yet, though near it," said the priest, and his voice
was changed somewhat. "But what a haze! Ye will have to grope in this
duel."
"We can see well enough!"
The cawing of crows and of daws was heard then above them a second
time.
"Yatsek!"
"I am listening."
"Since thou hast come to this conflict, remember the Knights of
Tachevo."
"They will not be ashamed of me, father, they will not."
And the priest remarked that Yatsek's face had grown pitiless, his eyes
had their usual sadness, but the maiden mildness had gone from them.
"That is well. Kneel down now," said he. "I will bless thee, and make
thou the sign of the cross on thyself before opening the struggle."
Then he made the sign of the cross on Yatsek's head as he knelt on the
snow there.
The young man tied the horse behind the sleigh at the side of the poor
little nag of the peasant, kissed the priest's hand, and walked off
toward that crucifix at the place of the duel.
"Come back to me in health!" cried the priest after Yatsek.
At the cross there was no one. Yatsek passed around the figure
repeatedly, then sat on a stone at the foot of the crucifix and waited.
Round about immense silence was brooding; only great tear-like drops,
formed of dense haze, and falling from the arms of the crucifix, struck
with low sound the soft snow bank. That quiet, filled with a certain
sadness, and that hazy desert, filled with a new wave of sorrow the
heart of the young man. He felt lonely to a point never known to him
earlier. "Indeed I am as much alone in the world as that stick there,"
said he to himself, "and thus shall I be till death comes to me." And
he waved his hand. "Well, let it end some time!"
With growing bitterness he thought that his opponents were not in a
hurry, because they were joyous. They were sitting at Pan Gideon's
conversing with "her," and they could look at "her" as much as might
please them.
But he was mistaken, for they too were hastening. After a while the
sound of loud talking came up to him, and in the white haze quivered
the four immense forms of the Bukoyemskis, and a fifth one,--that of
Pan Stanislav, somewhat smaller.
They talked in loud voices, for they were quarrelling about this: who
should fight first with Tachevski. For that matter the Bukoyemskis were
always disputing among themselves about something, but this time their
dispute struck Stanislav, who was trying to show them that he, as the
most deeply offended, should in that fight be the first man. All grew
silent, however, in view of the cross, and of Yatsek standing under it.
They removed their caps, whether out of respect for the Passion of
Christ, or in greeting to their enemy, may be left undecided.
Yatsek inclined to them in silence, and drew his weapon, but the heart
in his breast beat unquietly at the first moment, for they were in
every case five against one, and besides, the Bukoyemskis had simply a
terrible aspect,--big fellows, broad shouldered, with broomlike
mustaches, on which the fog had settled down in blue dewdrops; their
brows were forbidding, and in their faces was a kind of brooding and
murderous enjoyment, as if this chance to spill blood caused them
gladness.
"Why do I place this sound head of mine under the Evangelists?" thought
Yatsek. But at that moment of alarm, indignation at those roysterers
seized him,--those men whom he hardly knew, whom he had never injured,
but who, God knew for what reason, had fastened to him, and had come
now to destroy him if possible.
So in spirit he said to them: "Wait a while, O ye road-blockers! Ye
have brought your lives hither!"
His cheeks took on color, and his teeth gritted fiercely. They,
meanwhile, stripped their coats off and rolled up the sleeves of their
jupans. This they did without need all together, but they did it since
each thought that he was to open the duel.
At last they all stood in a row with drawn sabres, and Yatsek, stepping
towards them, halted, and they looked at one another in silence.
Pan Stanislav interrupted them,--
"I will serve you first."
"No! I first, I first!" repeated all the Bukoyemskis in a chorus.
And when Stanislav pushed forward they seized him by the elbows.
Again a quarrel began, in which Stanislav reviled them as outlaws. They
jeered at him as a dandy, among themselves the term "dogbrother" was
frequent. Yatsek was shocked at this, and added,--
"I have never seen cavaliers of this kind." And he put his sabre into
the scabbard.
"Choose, or I will go!" said he, with a loud voice, and firmly.
"Choose, thou!" cried Stanislav, hoping that on him would the choice
fall.
Mateush began shouting that he would not permit any small
whipper-snapper to manage them, and he shouted so that his front teeth,
which, being very long, like the teeth of a rabbit, were shining
beneath his mustaches; but he grew silent when Yatsek, drawing his
sabre, again indicated him with the edge of it, and added, "I choose
thee."
The remaining brothers and Stanislav drew back at once, seeing that
they would never agree, in another way, but their faces grew gloomy,
for, knowing the strength of Mateush they felt almost certain that no
work would be left them when he had finished.
"Begin!" called out Stanislav.
Tachevski felt at the first blow the strength of his enemy, for in his
own grasp the sabre blade quivered. He warded the blow off, however,
and warded off, also, the second one.
"He has less skill than strength," thought Tachevski, after the third
blow. Then, crouching somewhat, for a better spring, he pressed on with
impetus.
The other three, inclining downward the points of their sabres, stood
open-mouthed, following the course of the struggle. They saw now that
Tachevski too "knew things," and that with him it would not be easy.
Soon they thought that he knew things very accurately, and alarm seized
the brothers, for, despite endless bickering they loved one another
immensely. The cry, "Ha!" was rent from the breast, now of one, and now
of another, as each keener blow struck.
Meanwhile the blows became quicker and quicker; at last they were
lightning-like.
The spectators saw clearly that Tachevski was gaining more confidence.
He was calm, but he sprang around like a wild-cat and his eyes shot out
ominous flashes.
"It is bad!" thought Stanislav.
That moment a cry was heard. Mateush's sabre fell. He raised both hands
to his head and dropped to the earth, his face in one instant being
blood-covered.
At sight of that the three younger brothers bellowed like bulls, and in
the twinkle of an eye rushed with rage at Tachevski, not intending, of
course, to attack him together, but because each wished to be first in
avenging Mateush.
And they perhaps would have swept Tachevski apart on their sabres if
Stanislav, springing in to assist him, had not cried with all the power
in his bosom,--
"Shame! Away! Murderers, not nobles! Shame! Away! or you must deal with
me, murderers! Away!" And he slashed at the brothers till they came to
their senses. But at this time Mateush had risen on his hands and
turned toward them a face which was as if a mask made of blood had just
covered it. Yan, seizing him by the armpits, seated him on the snow.
Lukash hurried also to give him assistance.
But Tachevski pushed up to Marek, who was gritting his teeth, and
repeated in a quick voice, as if fearing lest the common attack might
repeat itself,--
"If you please! If you please!"
And the sabres were clanking a second time ominously. But with Marek,
who was as much stronger than his enemy as he was less dexterous,
Tachevski had short work. Marek used his great sabre like a flail, so
that Yatsek at the third blow struck his right shoulder-blade, cut
through the bone, and disarmed him.
Now Lukash and Yan understood that a very ugly task was before them,
and that the slender young man was a wasp in reality,--a wasp which it
would have been wise not to irritate. But with increased passion, they
stood now against him to a struggle which ended as badly for them as it
had for their elders. Lukash, cut through his cheek to the gums, fell
with impetus, and, besides, struck a stone which the deep snow had
hidden; while from Yan, the most dexterous of the brothers, his sabre,
together with one of his fingers, fell to the ground at the end of some
minutes.
Yatsek, without a scratch, gazed at his work, as it were, with
astonishment, and those sparks which a moment before had been
glittering in his eyeballs began now to quench gradually. With his left
hand he straightened his cap, which during the struggle had slipped
somewhat over his right ear, then he removed it, breathed deeply once
and a second time, turned to the cross, and said, half to himself and
half to Stanislav,--
"God knows that I am innocent."
"Now it is my turn," said Stanislav. "But you are panting, perhaps you
would rest; meanwhile I will put their cloaks on my comrades, lest this
damp cold may chill them ere help comes."
"Help is near," said Tachevski. "Over there in the mist is a sleigh
sent by Father Voynovski, and he himself is at my house. Permit me. I
will go for the sleigh in which those gentlemen will feel easier than
here on this snow field."
And he started while Stanislav went to cover the Bukoyemskis who were
sitting arm to arm in the snow, except Yan, the least wounded. Yan on
his knees was in front of Mateush, holding up his own right hand lest
blood might flow from the finger stump too freely; in his left he held
snow with which he was washing the face of his brother.
"How are ye?" asked Stanislav.
"Ah, he has bitten us, the son of a such a one!" said Lukash, and he
spat blood abundantly; "but we will avenge ourselves."
"I cannot move my arm at all, for he cut the bone," added Marek. "Eh,
the dog! Eh!"
"And Mateush is cut over the brows!" called out Yan; "the wound should
be covered with bread and spider-web but I will staunch the blood with
snow for the present."
"If my eyes were not filled with blood," said Mateush, "I would--"
But he could not finish since blood loss had weakened him, and he was
interrupted by Lukash who had been borne away suddenly by anger.
"But he is cunning, the dog blood! He stings like a gnat, though he
looks like a maiden."
"It is just that cunning," said Yan, "which I cannot pardon."
Further conversation was interrupted by the snorting of horses. The
sleigh appeared in the haze dimly, and next it was there at the side of
the brothers. Out of the sleigh sprang Tachevski, who commanded the
driver to step down and help them.
The man looked at the Bukoyemskis, took in the whole case with a
glance, and said not a word, but on his face was reflected, as it
seemed, disappointment, and, turning toward the horses, he crossed
himself. Then the three men fell to raising the wounded. The brothers
protested against the assistance of Yatsek, but he stopped them.
"If ye gentlemen had wounded me, would ye leave me unassisted? This is
the service of a noble which one may not meet with neglect or refusal."
They were silent, for he won them by these words--somewhat, and after a
while they were lying upon straw in the broad sleigh more comfortably,
and soon they were warmer.
"Whither shall I go?" asked the driver.
"Wait. Thou wilt take still another," answered Stanislav, and turning
to Yatsek, he said to him,--
"Well, gracious sir, it is our time!"
"Oh, it is better to drop this," said Yatsek, regarding him with a look
almost friendly. "That God there knows why this has happened, and you
took my part when these gentlemen together attacked me. Why should you
and I fight a duel?"
"We must and will fight," replied Stanislav, coldly. "You have insulted
me, and, even if you had not, my name is in question at present--do you
understand? Though I were to lose life, though this were to be my last
hour--we must fight."
"Let it be so! but against my will," said Tachevski.
And they began. Stanislav, had more skill than the brothers, but he was
weaker than any of them. It was clear that he had been taught by better
masters, and that his practice had not been confined to inns and
markets. He pressed forward quickly, he parried with readiness and
knowledge. Yatsek, in whose heart there was no hatred, and who would
have stopped at the lesson given the Bukoyemskis, began to praise him.
"With you," said he, "the work is quite different. Your hand was
trained by no common swordsman."
"Too bad that you did not train it!" said Stanislav.
And he was doubly rejoiced, first at the praise, and then because he
had given answer, for only the most famed among swordsmen could let
himself speak in time of a duel, and polite conversation was considered
moreover as the acme of courtesy. All this increased Stanislav in his
own eyes. Hence he pressed forward again with good feeling. But after
some fresh blows he was forced to acknowledge in spirit that Tachevski
surpassed him. Yatsek defended himself as it seemed with unwillingness
but very easily, and in general he acted as though engaged not in
fighting, but in fencing for exercise. Clearly, he wished to convince
himself as to what Stanislav knew, and as to how much better he was
than the brothers, and when he had done this with accuracy he felt at
last sure of his own case.
Stanislav noted this also, hence delight left him, and he struck with
more passion. Tachevski then twisted himself as if he had had enough of
amusement, gave the "feigned" blow, pressed on and sprang aside after a
moment.
"Thou hast got it!" said he.
Stanislav felt, as it were, a cold sting in the arm, but he answered,--
"Go on. That is nothing!"
And he cut again, that same moment the point of Yatsek's sabre laid his
lower lip open and cut the skin under it. Yatsek sprang aside now a
second time.
"Thou art bleeding!" said he.
"That is nothing!"
"Glory to God if 'tis nothing! But I have had plenty, and here is my
hand for you. You have acted like a genuine cavalier."
Stanislav greatly roused, but pleased also at these words, stood for a
moment, as if undecided whether to make peace or fight longer. At last
he sheathed his sabre and gave his hand then to Yatsek.
"Let it be so. In truth, as it seems, I am bleeding."
He touched his chin with his left hand and looked at the blood with
much wonder. It had colored his palm and his fingers abundantly.
"Hold snow on the wound to keep it from swelling," said Yatsek, "and go
to the sleigh now."
So speaking he took Stanislav by the arm and conducted him to the
Bukoyemskis, who looked at him silently, somewhat astonished, but also
confounded. Yatsek roused real respect in them, not only as a master
with the sabre, but as a man of "lofty manners," such manners precisely
as they themselves needed.
So after a while this inquiry was made of Stanislav by Mateush,--
"How is it with thee, O Stashko?"
"Well. I might go on foot," was the answer, "but I choose the sleigh,
the journey will be quicker."
Yatsek sat toward them sidewise, and cried to the driver,--
"To Vyrambki."
"Whither?" asked Stanislav.
"To my house. You will not have much comfort, but it is difficult
otherwise. At Pan Gideon's you would frighten the women, and Father
Voynovski is at my house. He dresses wounds to perfection and he will
care for you. You can send for your horses, and then do what may please
you. I will ask the priest also to go to Pan Gideon and tell him with
caution what has happened." Here Yatsek fell to thinking and soon after
he added,--
"Oho! the trouble has not come yet, but now we shall see it. God knows
that you, gentlemen, insisted on this duel."
"True! we insisted," said Stanislav. "I will declare that and these
gentlemen also will testify."
"I will testify, though my shoulder pains terribly," said Marek,
groaning. "Oi! but you have given us a holiday. May the bullets strike
you!"
It was not far to Vyrambki. Soon they entered the enclosure, and met
the priest wading in snow, for he, alarmed about what might happen,
could not stay in the house any longer, and had set out to meet them.
Yatsek sprang from the sleigh when he saw him. Father Voynovski pushed
forward quickly to meet him, and saw his friend sound and uninjured.
"Well," cried he, "what has happened?"
"I bring you these gentlemen," said Yatsek.
The face of the old man grew bright for a moment, but became serious
straightway, when he saw the Bukoyemskis and Stanislav blood-bedaubed.
"All five!" cried he, clasping his hands.
"There are five!"
"An offence against heaven! Gentlemen, how is it with you?" asked he,
turning to the wounded men.
They touched their caps to him, except Marek, who, since the cutting of
his shoulder-blade, could move neither his left nor his right hand. He
merely groaned, saying,--
"He has peppered us well. We cannot deny it."
"That is nothing," said the others.
"We hope in God that it is nothing," answered Father Voynovski. "Come
to the house now as quickly as possible! I will care for you this
minute. Move on with the sleigh," said he.
And then he himself followed promptly with Yatsek. But after a while he
stopped on the roadway. Joy shone, in his face again. He embraced
Yatsek's neck on a sudden.
"Let me press thee, O Yatsek," cried he. "Thou hast brought in a sleigh
load of enemies, like so many wheat sheaves."
Yatsek kissed his hand then, and answered,--
"They would have it so, my benefactor."
The priest put his hand on the head of the young man again, as if
wishing to bless him, but all at once he restrained himself, because
gladness in this case was not befitting his habit, so he looked more
severe, and continued,--
"Think not that I praise thee. It was thy luck that they themselves
wished this, but still, it is a scandal."
They drove into the courtyard. Yatsek sprang to the sleigh so that he
might, with the driver and the single house-servant, help out the
wounded men. But they stepped out themselves, except Marek, whose arms
they supported and soon they were all in Yatsek's dwelling. Straw had
been spread there already, and even Yatsek's own bed had been covered
with a white, slightly worn horse skin. At the head a felt roll served
as pillow. On the table near the window was bread kneaded with
spider-web, excellent for blood stopping. There were also choice
balsams which the priest had for healing.
The old man took off his soutane and went to dressing the wounds with
the skill of a veteran who had seen thousands of wounded men, and who
from long practice knew how to handle wounds better than many a
surgeon. His work went on quickly, for, except Marek, the men had
suffered slightly.
Marek's shoulder-blade needed considerably longer work, but when at
last it was dressed the priest wiped his bloody hands, and then rested.
"Well," said he, "thanks to the Lord Jesus, it has passed without
grievous accident. This also is certain, that you feel better,
gentlemen, all of you."
"One would like a drink!" said Mateush.
"It would not hurt! Give command, Yatsek, to bring water."
Mateush rose up on the straw. "How water?" asked he in a voice of
emotion.
Marek, who was lying face downward on Yatsek's bed groaning, called out
quickly,--
"The revered father must wash his hands, of course."
Hereupon Yatsek looked with real despair at the priest, who laughed and
then added,--
"They are soldiers! Wine is permitted, but in small quantity."
Yatsek drew him by the sleeve to the alcove.
"Benefactor," whispered he, "what can I do? The pantry is empty, and so
is the cellar. Time after time I must tighten my girdle. What can I
give them?"
"There is something here, there is something!" said the old man. "When
leaving home I made arrangements, and brought a little with me. Should
that not suffice I will get more at the brewery in Yedlina--for myself,
of course, for myself. Command to give them one glass at the moment to
calm them after the encounter."
When he heard this Yatsek set to work quickly, and soon the Bukoyemskis
were comforting one another. Their good feeling for Yatsek increased
every moment.
"We fought, for that happens to every man," said Mateush, "but right
away I thought thee a dignified cavalier."
"Not true; it was I who thought so first," put in Lukash.
"Thou think? Hast thou ever been able to think?"
"I think just now that thou art a blockhead, so I am able to
think,--but my mouth pains me."
Thus they were quarrelling already. But that moment a mounted man
darkened the window.
"Some one has come!" exclaimed Father Voynovski.
Yatsek went to see who it was, and returned quickly, with troubled
visage.
"Pan Gideon has sent a man," said he, "with notice that he is waiting
for us at dinner."
"Let him eat it alone!" replied Yan Bukoyemski.
"What shall we say to him?" inquired Yatsek, looking at Father
Voynovski.
"Tell him the truth," said the old man--"but better, I will tell it
myself."
He went out to the messenger.
"Tell Pan Gideon," said he, "that neither Pan Tsyprianovitch nor the
Bukoyemskis can come, for they have been wounded in a duel to which
they challenged Pan Tachevski; but do not forget to tell him that they
are not badly wounded. Now hurry!"
The man rushed away with every foot which his horse had, and the priest
fell to quieting Yatsek, who was greatly excited. He did not fear to
meet five men in battle, but he feared greatly Pan Gideon, and still
more what Panna Anulka would say and would think of him.
"Well, it has happened," continued the priest, "but let them learn at
the earliest that it was not through thy fault."
"Will you testify, gentlemen?" inquired Yatsek, turning to the wounded
men.
"Though we are dry, we will testify," answered Mateush.
Still, Yatsek's alarm increased more and more, and soon after, when a
sleigh with Pan Gideon and Pan Grothus stopped at the porch, the heart
died in him utterly. He sprang out, however, to greet and bow down to
the knees of Pan Gideon; but the latter did not even glance at Yatsek,
just as though he had not seen the man, and with a gloomy stern face he
strode into the chamber. He inclined to the priest with respect but
with coldness, for since the day that the old man had reproached him
from the altar for excessive severity toward peasants, the stubborn old
noble was unable to forgive him; so now, after that cold salute, he
turned to the wounded men straightway, and gazed at them a moment.
"Gracious gentlemen," said he, "after what has just happened, I should
not pass the threshold of this building, be sure of that, did I not
wish to show how cruelly I am wounded by that wrong which you have
suffered. See how my hospitality has ended! See how in my house my
rescuers have been recompensed. But I say this, that whoso has wronged
you has wronged me, whoso has spilt your blood has done worse than
spill mine, for the man who challenged you under my roof has insulted
me--"
Here Mateush interrupted him suddenly,--
"We challenged him, not he us!"
"That is true, gracious benefactor," said Stanislav. "There is no blame
to this cavalier in all that has happened, but to us, for which we beg
your grace's pardon submissively."
"It would have been well for the judge to examine the witnesses before
he passed sentence," said Father Voynovski, with seriousness.
Lukash, too, wished to say something, but since his cheek was cut to
the gum and his gum to the teeth, the pain was acute when his chin
moved, so he only put his palm on the plaster which was drying, and
said with one side of his mouth,--
"May the devils take the sentence and my jaw with it also."
Pan Gideon was confused in some measure by these voices, still, he had
no thought of yielding. On the contrary, he looked around with stern
glance, as if wishing in that way to express silent blame for defenders
of Yatsek.
"It is not for me to offer pardon to my rescuers. No blame touches you,
gentlemen. On the contrary, I know and understand all this matter, for
I see that you were insulted on purpose. Indeed, that same jealousy,
which on a dying horse failed to ride living wolves down, increased
later on the desire for vengeance. I was not alone in seeing how that
'cavalier,' whom you defend so magnanimously, gave occasion and did
everything from the earliest moment of meeting to force you to that
action. But the fault is mine more than any man's, since I was mild
with him, and did not tell the man to find for himself at a fair or a
dram shop more fitting society."
When Yatsek heard this his face grew as pale as linen. As to the
priest, the blood rose to his forehead.
"He was challenged! What was he to do? Be ashamed of yourself!"
exclaimed Father Voynovski.
But Pan Gideon looked down at him and answered,--
"Those are worldly questions, in which the laity are as experienced,
and more so, than the clergy, but I will answer your question, so that
no one here should accuse me of injustice. 'What was he to do?' As a
younger to an older man, as a guest to his host, as a man who ate my
bread so many times when he had none of his own to eat, he should first
of all have informed me of the question. And I with my dignity of a
host would have settled it, and not have let matters come to this: that
my rescuers, and such worthy gentlemen, are lying here in their own
blood on straw in this hut as in a hog pen."
"You would have thought me a coward!" cried Yatsek, trembling as in a
fever.
Pan Gideon did not answer a word, and feigned, as he had from the
first, not to see him. Instead of answering he turned then to
Stanislav, and continued,--
"I, with Pan Grothus the starosta, will go to your father in Yedlinka
this instant, to express our condolence. I doubt not that he will
accept my hospitality, hence I invite you with your comrades here
present to return to my mansion. I also remind you that you are here by
chance merely, and that at the moment you are really my guests, to whom
I wish with all my heart to show gratitude. Your father, Pan
Tsyprianovitch, cannot visit the man who has wounded you, and under my
roof you will have greater comfort, and will not die of hunger, which
might happen very easily in this place."
Stanislav was troubled greatly and delayed for a while to give answer,
both out of regard for Yatsek, and because that, being a very decent
young man, he was concerned about propriety; meanwhile his lip and
chin, which had swollen beneath the plaster, deformed him very
sensibly.
"We have felt neither hunger nor thirst here," said he, "as has been
shown already; but in truth we are guests of your grace, and my father,
not knowing how things have happened, might hesitate to come to us. But
how am I to appear before those ladies, your grace's relatives, with a
face which could rouse only abhorrence?"
Then his face twisted, for his lip pained him from long speaking, and
his features, in fact, were not beautiful at the moment.
"Be not troubled. Those ladies feel disgust, but not toward your
wounds, after the healing of which your former good-looks will return
to you. Three sleighs will come here with servants immediately, and in
my house good beds are waiting. Meanwhile, farewell, since it is time
for me and Pan Grothus to set out for Yedlinka--With the forehead!"
And he bowed once to the five nobles. To Father Voynovski he bowed
specially, but he made no inclination whatever to Yatsek. When near the
door the priest approached him.
"You have too little justice and too little tenderness," said he.
"I acknowledge sins only at confession," retorted Pan Gideon, and he
passed through the doorway. After him went the starosta, Pan Grothus.
Yatsek had been a whole hour as if tortured. His face changed, and at
moments he knew not whether to fall at the feet of Pan Gideon with a
prayer for forgiveness, or spring at his throat and avenge the
humiliation through which he was passing. But he remembered that he was
in his own house, that before him was standing the guardian of Panna
Anulka; hence, as the two men walked out he moved after them, not
giving an account to himself of his action, but because of custom which
commanded to conduct guests, and in some kind of blind hope that
perhaps even at parting the stubborn Pan Gideon would bow to him. But
this hope failed him also; only Pan Grothus, a kindly man, as was
evident, and of good wit pressed his hand at the entrance, and
whispered, "Despair not, his first rage will pass, cavalier, and all
will arrange itself."
Yatsek did not think thus, and he would have been sure that his case
was lost utterly had he known that Pan Gideon, though indignant,
feigned anger far more than he felt it.
Stanislav and the Bukoyemskis were his rescuers, but Yatsek had not
killed them, and a duel of itself was too common to rouse such
unmerciful hatred. But Pan Gideon, from the moment that the starosta
had told him how aged men marry and sometimes have children, looked
with other eyes upon Panna Anulka. That which perhaps had never
occurred to him earlier, seemed all at once possible and also alluring.
At thought of the charms of that maiden, marvellous as a rose, the soul
warmed in him, and still more powerfully did pride play in the old
noble. So then, the race of Pangovski might flourish afresh and bloom
up again; and besides, born from such a patrician as Panna Anulka, not
only related to all the great houses in the Commonwealth, but herself
the last sprout of a race from whose wealth rose in greater part the
Sobieskis, Jolkievskis, Daniloviches, and many others. There was a
whirl in Pan Gideon's brain at the thought of this, and he felt that
not only he but the Commonwealth was concerned in Pangovskis of that
kind. So straightway fear rose in him lest it should happen that the
lady might love some one else, and give her hand to another man. One
more important than himself in that region, he had not discovered;
there were younger men, however. But who? Pan Stanislav? Yes! He was
young, of good looks, very rich, but noble in the third generation,
descended from ennobled Armenians. That such a _homo novus_ should
indeed strive for Panna Anulka could not find place in the head of Pan
Gideon in any shape. It was laughable to think of the Bukoyemskis,
though good nobles and claiming kindred with Saint Peter. There
remained then Tachevski alone, a real "Lazarus," it is true, as poor as
a church mouse, but from an ancient stock of great knights; from
Tachevo who had the Kovala escutcheon, one of whom was a real giant,
and had taken part in the dreadful defeat of the Germans at Tannenberg;
he had been famous not only in the Commonwealth but at foreign courts
also. Only a Tachevski could compare with the Sieninskis. Besides, he
was young, daring, handsome, and melancholy; this last often moves the
heart in a woman. He was also at home in Belchantska, and seemed a
friend, nay, a brother to the lady. Hence, Pan Gideon fell now to
recalling various cases, as, for instance, disputes and poutings among
the young people, then their reconciliations and friendship, then
various words and glances, sadness and rejoicing in common, and
laughter. Things which a short time before he had thought scarcely
worthy of notice seemed now suspicious. Yes! danger could threaten only
from that side. The old noble thought, also, that Panna Anulka might,
in part at least, be the cause of the duel, and he was terrified.
Hence, to anticipate the danger, he tried to present to the young lady
in the strongest light possible, all the dishonor of Yatsek's late
action, and to rouse in her due anger; and then by feigning greater
rage than he felt, or than the case called for, to burn all the bridges
between his own mansion and Vyrambki, and, when he had humiliated
Yatsek without mercy, to close the doors of the house to him forever.
And he was reaching his object. Yatsek walked back from the porch, took
a seat at the table, thrust his fingers through his hair, supported his
elbows, and was as silent as if pain had taken speech from him. Father
Voynovski approached and put his hand on his shoulder.
"Yatsus, suffer what thou must," said he, "but a foot of thine should
never enter that mansion hereafter."
"It never will," replied Yatsek, in a dull voice.
"But yield not to pain. Remember who thou art."
The young man set his teeth.
"I remember, but for that very reason pain burns me!"
"No one here applauds Pan Gideon for his action," said Stanislav. "It
is one thing to censure, and another to trample a man's honor."
Hereupon the Bukoyemskis were moving, and Mateush, whom speech troubled
least, added promptly,--
"Under his roof I will say nothing, but when I recover and meet him on
the road, or at a neighbor's, I will tell him to kiss a dog's snout
that same minute."
"O, yei!" said Marek. "To insult such a cavalier! The hour will come
when that will not be forgiven him."
Meanwhile three sleighs with sofas and three servants, besides drivers,
appeared to convey the wounded men to Belchantska. Because of regard
for the expected arrival of Pan Serafin, Yatsek dared not detain them,
and because also of this: that they were really the guests of Pan
Gideon. As to the men, they would not have remained after hearing of
Yatsek's great poverty lest they might burden him. They took farewell
and gave thanks for his hospitality with a heartiness as great as if
there had never been a quarrel between them.
But when Stanislav was taking his seat in the last sleigh Yatsek sprang
forward on a sudden,--
"I will go with you," said he. "I cannot endure to do otherwise! I
cannot endure! Before Pan Gideon returns I must--for the last time--"
Father Voynovski, since he knew Yatsek, knew that words would be
useless; still, he drew him aside and began to expostulate,--
"Yatsek! O Yatsek! a woman again. God grant that a still greater wrong
may not meet thee. O Yatsek, remember the words of Ecclesiastes: 'In a
thousand I found one man, among all I found not one woman.' Take pity
on thyself and remember this."
But these words were as peas against a battlement. In a moment Yatsek
was sitting in the sleigh at the side of Stanislav, and they started.
Meanwhile the east wind had broken the mist and driven it to the
wilderness; then the bright sun from a blue sky looked at them.