Old Krepetski, as had been foreseen by the butler, went to Yedlinka
after midday on the morrow, but beyond all expectation he appeared
there with so kindly a face, and so gladsome, that Pan Serafin, who had
the habit of dozing after dinner, and felt somewhat drowsy, became wide
awake with astonishment at sight of him. Almost at the threshold the
old fox began to mention neighborly friendship and say what delight his
old age would find in more frequent and mutual visits; he gave thanks
for the kindly reception, and only after finishing these courtesies did
he come to the real question.
"Benefactor and neighbor," said he, "I have come with the salute which
was due you, but also, as you must have divined, with a request which,
in view of my age, you, I trust, will give ear to most kindly."
"I will yield gladly to every proper wish which you may utter," said
Pan Serafin.
The old man began to rub his hands.
"I knew that! I knew it beforehand," said he. "What a thing it is to
deal with a man who has real wisdom; one comes to an agreement
immediately. I said to my son 'Leave that to me! the moment,' said I,
'that thou hast to do with Pan Serafin all will go well, for there is
not another man, not merely so wise, but so honorable in this region.'"
"You praise me too greatly."
"No, no, I say too little. But let us come to the question."
"Let us."
Old Krepetski was silent for a while, as if seeking expressions. He
merely moved his jaws, so that his chin met his nose. At last he
laughed joyously, put his hand on Pan Serafin's knee, and continued,--
"My benefactor, you see our goldfinch has flown from the cage."
"I know. Because the cat frightened it."
"Is there not pleasure in talking with such people?" cried the old man,
rubbing his hands. "Oh, that is wit! The prelate Tvorkovski would burst
with envy, as God is dear to me!"
"I am listening."
"Well, to the question, and straight from the bridge. We should like to
take back that goldfinch."
"Why should you not?"
Pan Krepetski moved his chin toward his nose once, and a second time.
He was alarmed; the affair went too easily; but he clapped his hands,
and cried with feigned joyousness,--
"Well, now the affair is finished! Would to God that such men as you
were born everywhere!"
"It is finished so far as I am concerned," said Pan Serafin. "Only
there is need to ask that little bird whether she wants to go back
again; besides she cannot go back to-day, for your son has so throttled
her that she is barely breathing."
"Is she sick?"
"Sick; she is lying in bed."
"But is she not pretending?"
Pan Serafin's face grew dark in a moment.
"My gracious sir," said he, "let us talk seriously. Your son Martsian
has acted unworthily with Panna Anulka, not in human fashion, and not
as a noble; he has acted altogether with infamy. Before God and man you
have offended grievously to give an orphan into hands such as his, and
intrust her to a tyrant so shameless."
"There is not a bit of truth in what she says," cried the old man.
"Why not? You know not what she has said, and still you deny. It is not
she who is speaking; blue lumps and marks of blows speak for her, marks
which my housekeeper saw on her young body. As to Martsian, all the
servants in Belchantska have seen his approaches and his cruelty, and
are ready to testify when needed. In my house is Vilchopolski who is
going to-day to Radom to tell the prelate Tvorkovski what has
happened."
"But you have promised to give me the girl."
"No, I only said that I would not detain her. If she wants to go back,
very well! If she wishes to stay with me, very well also! But attempt
not to bring me to refuse my roof and a morsel of bread to an orphan
who is grievously offended."
Old Krepetski's jaws moved time after time. For a while he was silent,
and then began,--
"You are right, and you are wrong. To refuse a shelter and bread to an
orphan would be unworthy, but as a wise man consider that it is one
thing not to refuse hospitality, and something different to stand with
rebellion against the authority of a father. I love Tekla, my youngest
daughter, sincerely, but it happens sometimes that I give her a push.
Well, what then? If she, after being punished by me, should flee to
you, would you not permit me to take her, or would you refer me to her
pleasure? Think of this--what sort of order would there be in the
world, if women had their will? A married woman, even when old, must
hearken to her husband, and yield to him; but what must it be in the
case of an immature girl, as against the commands of her father, or
guardian?"
"Panna Anulka is not your daughter, nor even your relative."
"But we inherited the guardianship over her from Pan Gideon. If Pan
Gideon had punished the girl, you, of course, would not have had a word
against him; but it is the same thing touching me and my son, to whom I
have committed the management of Belchantska. Some one must manage,
some one must have authority to punish. Difficult to do without that. I
do not deny that Martsian, as a man, young and impulsive, exceeded the
measure, perhaps, especially since he was met with ingratitude. But
that is my affair! I will examine, judge, and punish; but I will take
the girl back, and I think, with your permission, that even the king
himself would have no right to raise any hindrance."
"You speak as in a tribunal," said Pan Serafin. "I do not deny that you
have appearances on your side; but appearance is one thing, and the
real truth another. I do not wish to hinder you in anything, but I tell
you honestly what the opinion of people is, and with that opinion I
advise you to reckon. For you it is not a question of Panna Anulka, nor
of guardianship over her, but you suspect that there may be a will in
the hands of the prelate, with a provision for the young lady,
therefore you are afraid that Belchantska might slip from you together
with Panna Anulka. Not long ago I heard one of the neighbors speak in
this way: 'Were it not for that uncertainty the Krepetskis would be the
first to drive the orphan from the house, for those people have not God
in their hearts.' It is very disagreeable for me and repulsive to say
such things in my house to you, but you ought to know them."
Flames of anger gleamed in the eyes of the old man, but he controlled
himself, and said with a voice which was quiet, though somewhat
broken,--
"The malice of people! Low malice, nothing more, and stupidity besides
that. How could it be? We would then drive from the house a young lady
whom Martsian wants to marry? By the dear God, think over this! The two
things do not hold together."
"They talk in this way: 'If it shall appear that Belchantska is hers
then Martsian will marry her, but if the place is not hers he will
simply disgrace her.' I am not any man's conscience, so I merely repeat
what people say, but with this addition of my own, that your son
threatened shame to the girl. I know that surely, and you, who know
Martsian and his vile desires, know it also."
"I know one and another thing, but I know not what you wish to say."
"What I wish to say? This, which I have said to you already. If Panna
Anulka agrees to return to you I have no right to oppose her or you,
but if she is not willing, I will not expel her from this house, for I
have given my word not to do so."
"The question is not that you should expel her, but that you should
permit me to take her, just as you would permit me if one of my own
daughters were with you. This only I beg, that you stand not in my
way."
"Then I will tell you clearly. I will permit no violence in my house! I
am master, and you, who have just mentioned the king, should understand
that on this point the king himself could not oppose me."
On hearing this Pan Krepetski balled his fists, so that his palms were
pierced by his finger-nails.
"Violence? That is just what I fear. I, if ever I have had to act
against people (and who has not had to deal with the malice of men?),
have acted against them through the law, always, not through violence.
But what the proverb says is not true, that the apple falls near its
tree.--It falls far away sometimes. I, for your good and safety,
desired to settle this question in peacefulness. You are undefended in
the forest, while Martsian--it is grievous for a father to say this of
a son--has not taken after me in any way. I am ashamed to confess it,
but I am not able to answer for him. The whole district is in dread of
his passionateness, and justly, for he is ready to disregard everything
and he has about fifty sabres at his order. You, on the other hand, are
unarmed. I repeat it, you live in the forest, and I advise you to
reckon with this situation. I am alarmed myself at it."
Hereupon Pan Serafin rose, walked up to Krepetski, and gazed into his
eyes.
"Do you wish to frighten me?" inquired he.
"I am afraid myself," repeated the old man.
But their further conversation was interrupted by sudden shouts in the
courtyard from the direction of the granary and the kitchen, so they
sprang to the open window, and at the first moment were petrified with
amazement. There between two fences ran with tremendous speed toward
the gate and the courtyard some kind of rare monster, unlike any
creature on earth, and behind it on excited horses dashed the four
Bukoyemskis, shouting and cutting the air with their whip-lashes. The
monster rushed into the yard, and behind it came the brothers, like
hell hunters, and continued their chasing.
"Jesus, Mary!" cried out Pan Serafin.
He ran to the porch, and after him ran old Krepetski.
Only there could they see with more clearness. The monster seemed like
a giant bird, but also like a horse and a rider, for it ran on four
legs with a certain form sitting on it. But the rider and the beast
were so covered with feathers that their heads seemed two bundles.
It was impossible to see clearly, for the steed rushed like a wind
round the courtyard. The Bukoyemskis followed closely, and did not
spare blows, by which feathers were torn away and fell to the ground,
or circled in the air as do snowflakes.
Meanwhile the monster roared like a wounded bear, and so did the
brothers. Pan Serafin's voice and that of his visitor were lost in the
general tumult, though all the power in their lungs was used then in
shouting.
"Stop! By God's wounds, will ye stop!"
But the four brothers urged on, as if seized by insanity--and they had
rushed five times round the yard when from the kitchen, and the
stables, and barns, and granaries, and outhouses a great crowd of
servants ran in, who hearing the cry "Stop!" repeated as if in
desperation by Pan Serafin, plunged forward and, seizing bits and
bridles, strove to stop the horses.
At last the horses of the four brothers were brought to a standstill,
but with the feathery steed there was very great trouble. Without a
bridle, beaten, terrified, the beast reared at sight of the servants,
or sprang to one side with the suddenness of lightning. They stopped it
only at the fence when preparing to spring over. One of the men grasped
its forelock, another caught its nostrils, a number seized its mane; it
could not jump with such a burden, and fell to its knees. The beast
sprang up quickly, it is true, but did not try to rush away; it only
trembled throughout its whole body.
They removed the rider, who, as it seemed then, had not been thrown
because his feet were bound firmly beneath the beast's belly. They
pulled the feathers from his head, and under the feathers appeared a
visage covered so thickly with tar that no man there recognized the
features.
The rider gave faint signs of life, and only when taken to the porch
did old Krepetski and Pan Serafin see who it was and cry out
"Martsian!" with amazement.
"This is that vile scoundrel!" said Mateush. "We have punished him not
a little, and have hunted him in here, so that Panna Sieninski may know
that tender souls have not gone from this world yet."
Pan Serafin seized his head with his hands, and shouted,--
"The devil take you and your tender souls! Ye are nothing but bandits!"
Then, turning to Pani Dzvonkovski who had run up with the others and
was crossing herself, he cried,--
"Pour vodka into his mouth. Let him regain consciousness, and be taken
to bed."
There was hurry and disorder. Some ran to make the bed ready, others
for hot water, still others for vodka; a number began to pull the
feathers off Martsian, in which they were aided by his father, who was
gritting his teeth, and repeating,--
"Is he alive? Is he dead? He is alive! Vengeance! Oh Vengeance!"
Then he sprang up on a sudden, jumped forward, and thrusting up to the
very eyes of Pan Serafin, fingers, bent now like talons, he shouted,--
"You were in the conspiracy! You have killed my son--you Armenian
assassin!"
Pan Serafin grew very pale, and seized his sabre, but almost at the
same instant he remembered that he was the host, and Krepetski a
visitor, so he dropped the hilt, and raised two fingers immediately.
"By that God who is above us," said he, "I swear that I knew
nothing--and I am ready to swear on the cross in addition--Amen!"
"We are witnesses that he knew nothing!" cried Marek Bukoyemski.
"God has punished," said Pan Serafin; "for you threatened me, as a
defenceless old man, with the passion of your son. Here is his passion
for you!"
"A criminal offence!" bellowed the old man. "The headsman against you,
and your heads under the sword edge! Vengeance! Justice!"
"See what ye have done!" said Pan Serafin, as he turned to the
Bukoyemskis.
"I said it was better to run away at once," answered Lukash.
Pani Dzvonkovski now came with Dantsic liquor, and fell to pouring it
from the bottle into the open mouth of the sufferer. Martsian coughed,
and opened his eyes the next minute. His father knelt down to him.
"Art alive? Art alive?" asked he in a wild joyful outburst.
But the son could not answer yet, and was like a great owl, which,
struck with a bullet, has fallen on its back and lies there, with
outstretched wings, panting. Still consciousness was coming to him, and
with it memory. His glance passed from the face of his father to that
of Pan Serafin, and then to the Bukoyemskis. Thereupon it grew so
terrible that if there had been the least place for fear in the hearts
of the brothers, a shiver would have passed from foot to head through
their bodies.
But they only went nearer to Martsian, like four bulls which are ready
to rush with, their horns at an enemy, and Mateush inquired,--
"Well? Was that too little?"