Many nobles appeared at the festival from near and even distant places.
There were assembled the Kohanovskis, the Podgaiyetskis, the
Silnitskis, the Potvorovskis, the Sulgostovskis, Tsyprianovitch with
his son, the Bukoyemskis and many others. But the greatest interest was
roused by the arrival of Prince Michael Chartoryski, the voevoda of
Sandomir, who stopped at Prityk on his way to the Diet at Warsaw and,
in waiting for the festival, had passed some days in devotion. All were
glad of his presence, for he added splendor to the occasion, and at the
same time it was possible to learn from him no little touching public
questions. He spoke of the injustices which the Porte had committed
against the Commonwealth in fixing the boundary of Podolia, and the
raids which in defiance of treaties had ruined Russian lands recently.
He declared war to be certain. He said that a treaty with the Emperor
would be concluded beyond question, and that even adherents of France
would not show it open opposition, since the French court, though
unfriendly in general to the Empire, knew the peril in which the
Commonwealth found itself. Whether the Turks would hurl themselves
first against Cracow, or Vienna was unknown to Prince Michael, but it
was known to him that the enemy were preparing "arms and men"
at Adrianople, and in addition to the forces with Toekoeli at Koshytsi,
nay those in all Hungary, thousands were assembling from Rumelia, from
Asia, from regions on the Euphrates and the Tigris, from Africa, from
the Red Sea to the waves of the measureless ocean.
The nobles heard this news eagerly; the older men, who knew how
gigantic was the power of the pagan, with anxiety in their faces, the
younger men with knit brows, and with fire in their glances. But hope
and enthusiasm were predominant, for fresh in their minds was the
memory of Hotsim, where the king reigning actually, a hetman at that
time, leading Polish forces, besieged a Turkish power greater than his
own, bore it apart upon sabres, and trampled it with horsehoofs. They
were comforted by the thought that the Turks, who rushed with
irresistible daring on all troops of other nations, felt their hearts
weaken when they had to stand eye to eye in the open field against that
terrible "Lehistan" cavalry. Still greater hope and still higher
enthusiasm were roused by the preaching of Father Voynovski. Pan Gideon
was somewhat afraid lest in that sermon there might be some reference
to sins, and certain points of blame which would touch him and his
treatment of Yatsek, but there was nothing of that sort. War and the
mission of the Commonwealth had swept the priest away heart and soul.
"Christ," said he, "has chosen thee among all the nations, He has
placed thee on guard before all the others, He has commanded thee to
stand beneath His cross and defend, to thy last drop of blood and the
last breath in thee, that faith which is the foundation of living. The
field of glory lies open before thee, hence, though blood were to flow
around thee on both sides, though arrows and darts were to stick in
thee, rise, lion of God, shake thy mane, and thunder so that from that
thunder the marrow will melt in the bones of the pagan, and crescents
and horse-tails will fall, like a pine wood in front of a tempest."
Thus did Father Voynovski speak to the knightly hearers before him,
because he was an old soldier who had fought all his life and knew how
it was on the battlefield. When he spoke of war it seemed to those
present that they were looking on the canvases in the king's castle at
Warsaw, on which various battles and Polish victories were presented as
if real.
"See, now," said he, "the regiments are starting. Their spears are
lowered to a line with the middle of the horse-ears; they have bent
forward in the saddle, there is a cry of fear among the pagans, and
delight up in heaven. The Most Holy Mother runs to the window with all
her might, crying: 'Oh come, dear Son, and see how the Poles are
attacking!' The Lord Jesus with his holy cross blesses them. 'By God's
wounds!' he cries, 'there they are, my nobles, my warriors. Their pay
here is ready for them!' And the archangel, holy Michael, strikes his
palms on his thighs and shouts: 'Into them, the dog-brothers! Strike!'
That is how they rejoice up in heaven. And those down here cut and cut.
Men, standards, horses roll over and over. They rush across the bellies
of Janissaries, over captured cannon, and trampled crescents; they
advance to glory, to reward, to an accomplished mission, to salvation,
to immortality."
When at last he finished with the words, "And Christ calls you, too; it
is your time now to the field of glory!" there rose a shout in the
church, and a clattering of sabres. At Mass, when during the Gospel
every blade sounded in its scabbard, and steel glittered in the
sunlight, it seemed to tender women that war had already begun; and
they fell to sobbing, committing their fathers and husbands and
brothers to the Most Holy Lady.
The Bukoyemskis, whispering among themselves, made a vow to move
immediately after the festival, and not to take to their lips, until
Easter, water, milk, or even beer, but content themselves with drinks
which keep up heat in the blood, and therefore valor.
General enthusiasm was so great that even the cold, stern Pan Gideon
did not resist it. He thought for a while that, though his left arm was
missing, he might hold the reins in his teeth, and with his right hand
take vengeance once more for the wrongs which he had suffered from
cursed pagans, and besides gild anew his former services to the
Commonwealth. But he made no vow, and left the whole matter for further
meditation.
Meanwhile the service was concluded in splendor. From the cemetery were
fired cannon given by the Kohanovskis for important occasions. In the
tower the swinging bells thundered. The tame bear in the choir pumped
the organ with such vigor that the tin pipes almost flew from their
settings. The church was filled with smoke from censers, and trembled
from the voices of people. Mass was celebrated by the prelate
Tvorkovski, from Radom,--a learned man, full of sentences, quotations,
examples, and proverbs; at the same time he was gladsome, and knew the
world thoroughly. For these reasons, men went to him for counsel in
every question; and so did Pan Gideon, who went the more readily, as
the prelate was a friend of his. On the eve of the festival, Pan Gideon
was with him at confession; but when, besides the confession, he began
to acknowledge his intentions, the object of which was Panna Anulka,
the prelate deferred that to a later and special meeting, saying that
he had barely time to hear the sins of common people. "On the way back
from the festival," said he to Pan Gideon, "you can send home the women
and stay with me at Radom, where, _procul negotiis_ (far from
business), I can listen to you in freedom."
And thus did they manage. Hence, a day later they sat down before a
decanter of worthy Hungarian and a plate of roast almonds, which the
prelate took with wine very willingly.
"I am silent," said he; "and attentive--speak on!"
Pan Gideon took a draught from the glass and looked from his iron eyes
with some discontent at the prelate, because the latter had not eased
his conversation by a proper beginning.
"Hm! somehow it is not easy; I see that it is more difficult than I
imagined."
"Then I will help you. Did you wish to speak of some holy thing?"
"Of a holy thing?"
"Yes; which has two heads and four feet."
"What sort of holy thing is that?" asked Pan Gideon, astonished.
"I mention a riddle. Guess it."
"My dear prelate, whoso has important affairs in his head has no time
for riddles."
"Pshaw! Think a while!"
"Some holy thing with two heads and four feet?"
"Yes."
"As God lives, I know not."
"It is holy matrimony. Is that not so?"
"True, as God is dear to me! Yes, yes, precisely on that subject do I
wish to talk with you."
"Then it is a question of Anulka Sieninski?"
"Of her exactly. Do you see, my benefactor, she, of course, is not my
relative, or if she is, the relationship is so distant that no one
could prove it. But I have become attached to her, for I reared her,
and I am bound in gratitude to her family, for what the Pangovskis had
in Russia, just as the Jolkievskis, Danilovitches, and Sobieskis, they
had from the Sieninskis, or through them. I should like to leave the
orphan what I have, but in fact the fortune of the Pangovskis has
vanished through Tartar attacks; there remains only the estate of my
late wife. It is mine; she left it by will to me; but this place is
full of her relatives. First of all is Pan Grothus, the starosta of
Raigrod. I do not fear him, for he is rich beyond need, and a good man.
For that matter it was he who gave me this idea, which before that had
occurred, it is true, more than once to me; for the desire was at the
bottom of my heart in a slumber, but he roused it. In addition to Pan
Grothus are the Sulgostovskis, the Krepetskis, the Zabierzovskis. These
look even to-day with ill-will at the young lady; but how would they
look after my death? If I make a will and leave what I own to her they
will go to the courts; there will be lawsuits dragging on from tribunal
to tribunal. How could she, poor thing, help herself? I cannot leave
her in such a condition. Attachment, compassion, and gratitude are
strong links. I ask with a clear conscience if I am not bound to secure
her even in such a way?"
The prelate bit a nut in two and showed the second half to Pan Gideon.
"Do you know why this nut pleases me? Because it is good! If it were
decayed I would not eat it."
"Then what?"
"Then that Anulka pleases your taste, for she is an almond. Hai! and
what an almond! If she were fifty years old it is certain that your
conscience would not be so troubled concerning her future."
Pan Gideon was confused at this, but the prelate continued,--
"I do not take this ill of you, for, as you see, there must be a good
reason for everything, and God has so arranged that every man prefers a
young turnip to an old one. With wine it is different, therefore we
agree willingly as to wine with the arrangement of Providence."
"Yes, it is true. Except wine, what is young is better always; Pan
Kohanovski wrote only humorously, that an old man, like an old oak, is
better than a young one. This is the one question for me: if I leave
property to her as my wife no one will dare move a finger; but if I
leave it to her as a ward, there will be many lawsuits and quarrels,
and perhaps armed attacks also. Who could protect her from the latter?
Of course not Pani Vinnitski!"
"That is undoubted."
"But since I am neither a giddy nor an empty man, I did not wish to
decide this alone, hence I have come to you to confirm me in the
conviction that I am acting wisely, and that you will support me with
clear counsel."
The prelate thought a while, and then added,--
"You see, that advice in a matter of this kind is difficult, and a man
repeats more than once to himself with B[oe]tius, _Si tacuisses,
philosophus mansisses_ (if thou remain silent, thou wilt be a
philosopher); or with Job, 'Even a fool if he remain silent will be
considered a wise man.' Your intention, in so far as it is roused by
warm affection, is justified, and in so far also as it flows from care
for the good of the girl, is even praiseworthy. But will not some
injustice be done her, will there not be need to constrain her, or to
lead her with threats to the altar? For I have heard that she and
Yatsek Tachevski are in love. And truly, without beating about the
bushes, I have more than once seen him a frequent guest at your
mansion."
"What have you seen?" inquired Pan Gideon, abruptly.
"Nothing sinful, but signs through which intimacy and love are denoted.
I saw more than once how they held each other's hands longer than was
needed, how they followed each other with their eyes. I saw him once in
a tree dropping cherries down into her apron, and how they so looked at
each other that the cherries fell to the ground past one rim of the
apron. I saw her when looking at flying storks lean on him, and
then--women are always subtle--scold him for coming too near her. And
what more did I see? Various things which prove secret wishes. You will
say that this is nothing. Of course, nothing! But that she felt the
will of God toward him as much, or more, than he toward her, only a
blind man could help seeing, and I wonder that you did not see this. I
wonder still more, if you did see it, that you did not stop it in view
of your own intentions."
Pan Gideon had seen and known this, but still the words of the prelate
produced on him a terrible impression. It is one thing when some
pain-causing secret is hidden in the heart, and quite another when a
strange hand pushes into one's bosom and shakes up that secret. So now
his face became purple, his eyes filled with blood, a great bunch of
veins came out on his forehead, and he began to pant on a sudden, and
to breathe so quickly that the prelate, in alarm, asked,--
"What is the matter?"
Pan Gideon answered, with a motion of the hand, that it was nothing,
but he remained silent.
"Drink some wine," cried the priest.
He stretched out his arm and with trembling hand took the glass, raised
it to his lips, drank, blew through his lips, and whispered,--
"It darkened before my eyes just a trifle."
"Because of what I told you?"
"No. That for some time has occurred to me often, but now I am fatigued
by the fast, by the journey, and by the spring, which is unexpected and
early."
"Then perhaps it would be better not to wait for May, but be bled
immediately."
"I will be bled, but I will rest a while now, and we will return later
on to this business."
A fairly long time passed before Pan Gideon recovered completely, but
at last he recovered. The veins relaxed on his forehead, his heart
began to beat evenly, and he continued,--
"I will not say that strength fails me. Were I to squeeze with my one
hand I could crush, as I think, this silver goblet very easily; but
though strength and health are both in God's hand they are not
identical."
"Man's life is fragile!"
"But just because of that, if something is to be done there is need to
act quickly. You speak, my benefactor, of Pan Yatsek and that affection
which the young people might feel for each other. I will say sincerely
that I was not blind. I too saw what was happening, but only in recent
days did I note it; for remember that till recently she was a green
berry, which even now has barely ripened. He came every day, it is
true, but because, perhaps, he had not much to eat in his own house;
besides, I received him, as it were, through compassion. Father
Voynovski trained him in Latin and at the sabre, and I gave him
nourishment. That's the whole story. Only a year ago he reached
manhood. I looked on them as children who were thinking of various
plays and amusements. I considered it an ordinary occurrence. But that
such a pauper should dare to think; and, besides, of whom?--of Panna
Anulka! That, I confess, never came to my mind, and only in the last
hours did I take note of anything."
"Nonsense! A pauper is a pauper, but Tachevski--"
"Of Hungerdeath! No, my benefactor, he who licks a stranger's saucepan
should be asked only into dogs' company. When I saw what kind of man he
was I looked at him more carefully, and know you what I found? This,
that not merely was he a pauper and a giddy head, but a venomous
reptile, ever ready to sting the hand feeding him. Thank God he is
gone; but he has stung, not me alone, but that innocent maiden."
"How is that?"
Pan Gideon began to relate how it was, painting with such blackness the
deeds of Tachevski that a hangman might have been called in immediately
to take him.
"Never fear, my benefactor," said he at last. "During our journey to
Prityk the Bukoyemskis poured out in full to Anulka; ah, to the full so
completely that it flowed over, and now the situation is such that
never will the girl feel such abhorrence for any creature of God as for
that whipper-snapper, that roysterer, that abortion."
"Be moderate, or your blood will boil again."
"True. And I did not wish to speak of him, but of this, that I have not
in view any injustice to the girl, or any constraint. Persuasion is
another thing, but even that should be used by a stranger, yet by a man
who is at the same time her friend and mine,--a man known for wit and
dignity, who can use noble phrases, move the heart and convince the
reason. Hence my desire is to beg you, my special benefactor, to see to
this. You will not refuse me; you will do this, not merely from
friendship, you will do it because it is honorable and proper."
"It is a question of her good and of yours, hence I will not refuse;
but I should like to have time to decide how this may be accomplished
most easily."
"Then I will go at once to the barber and have myself bled, so as to go
home clearer witted,--but do you make your plan. For you that will not
be difficult, and on the other side there will be, as I think, no
obstacle."
"There can be only one obstacle, lord brother."
"What is it?"
"Friendship should tell the truth, hence I speak freely. You are an
honorable person, I know that, but rather stubborn. You have this
reputation, and you have it because your dependants all fear you
tremendously. Not only the peasants, concerning whom you have
quarrelled with Father Voynovski, but your servants, attendants, and
managers. Tachevski feared you, Pani Vinnitski fears you, the young
lady fears you. Two matchmakers will appear according to custom. I will
do what I can, but I will not guarantee that the other may not destroy
all my labor."
During one moment Pan Gideon's eyes flashed with anger, for he did not
like to have the truth told in his presence; but amazement now
conquered his anger, so he asked,--
"Of what are you speaking? What other matchmaker is there?"
"Fear," said the prelate.