A number of days passed, and Kmita did not return; but three men of
Lauda came to Vodokty with complaints to the lady. Pakosh Gashtovt from
Patsuneli came,--the same who was entertaining at his house Pan
Volodyovski. He was the patriarch of the village, famed for wealth and
six daughters, of whom three had married Butryms, and received each one
hundred coined dollars as dowry, besides clothing and cattle. The
second who came was Kassyan Butrym, who remembered Batory well, and
with him the son-in-law of Pakosh, Yuzva Butrym; the latter, though in
the prime of life,--he was not more than fifty years old,--did not go
to Rossyeni to the registry of the general militia, for in the Cossack
wars a cannon-ball had torn off his foot. He was called on this account
Ankle-foot, or Yuzva Footless. He was a terrible man, with the strength
of a bear, and great sense, but harsh, surly, judging men severely. For
this reason he was feared somewhat in the capitals, for he could not
pardon either himself or others. He was dangerous also when in liquor;
but that happened rarely.
These men came, then, to the lady, who received them graciously, though
she divined at once that they had come to make complaints, and wanted
to hear something from her regarding Pan Kmita.
"We wish to pay our respects to Pan Kmita, but perhaps he has not come
back yet from Upita," said Pakosh; "so we have come to inquire, our
dear darling, when it will be possible to see him."
"I think the only hindrance is that he is not here," answered the lady.
"He will be glad with his whole soul to see you, my guardians, for he
has heard much good concerning you,--in old times from my grandfather,
and lately from me."
"If only he does not receive us as he received the Domasheviches when
they went to him with tidings of the colonel's death," muttered Yuzva,
sullenly.
The lady listened to the end, and answered at once with animation: "Be
not unjust about that. Perhaps he did not receive them politely enough,
but he has confessed his fault in this house. It should be remembered
too that he was returning from a war in which he endured much toil and
suffering. We must not wonder at a soldier, even if he snaps at his
own, for warriors have tempers like sharp swords."
Pakosh Gashtovt, who wished always to be in accord with the whole
world, waved his hand and said: "We did not wonder, either. A beast
snaps at a beast when it sees one suddenly; why should not a man snap
at a man? We will go to old Lyubich to greet Pan Kmita, so that
he may live with us, go to war and to the wilderness, as the late
under-chamberlain used to do."
"Well, tell us, dear darling, did he please you or did he not please
you?" asked Kassyan Butrym. "It is our duty to ask this."
"God reward you for your care. Pan Kmita is an honorable cavalier, and
even if I had found something against him it would not be proper to
speak of it."
"But have you not seen something, our dearest soul?"
"Nothing! Besides, no one has the right to judge him here, and God save
us from showing distrust. Let us rather thank God."
"Why thank too early? When there will be something to thank for, then
thank; if not, then not thank," answered the sullen Yuzva, who, like a
genuine man of Jmud, was very cautious and foreseeing.
"Have you spoken about the marriage?" inquired Kassyan.
Olenka dropped her eyes: "Pan Kmita wishes it as early as possible."
"That's it! and why shouldn't he wish it?" muttered Yuzva; "he is not a
fool! What bear is it that does not want honey from a tree? But why
hurry? Is it not better to see what kind of man he is? Father Kassyan,
tell what you have on your tongue; do not doze like a hare at midday
under a ridge."
"I am not dozing, I am only turning in my head what to say," answered
the old man. "The Lord Jesus has said, 'As Kuba [Jacob] is to God, so
will God be to Kuba.' We wish no ill to Pan Kmita, if he wishes no ill
to us,--which God grant, amen."
"If he will be to our thinking," said Yuzva.
Panna Billevich frowned with her falcon brows, and said with a certain
haughtiness: "Remember that we are not receiving a servant. He will be
master here; and his will must have force, not ours. He will succeed
you in the guardianship."
"Does that mean that we must not interfere?" asked Yuzva.
"It means that you are to be friends with him, as he wishes to be a
friend of yours. Moreover he is taking care of his own property here,
which each man manages according to his wish. Is not this true, Father
Pakosh?"
"The sacred truth," answered the old man of Patsuneli.
Yuzva turned again to old Butrym. "Do not doze, Father Kassyan!"
"I am not dozing, I am only looking into my mind."
"Then tell what you see there."
"What do I see? This is what I see: Pan Kmita is a man of great family,
of high blood, and we are small people. Moreover he is a soldier of
fame; he alone opposed the enemy when all had dropped their hands,--God
give as many as possible of such men! But he has a company that is
worthless. Pan Pakosh, my neighbor, what have you heard about them from
the Domasheviches? That they are all dishonored men, against whom
outlawry has been declared, infamous and condemned, with declarations
and trials hanging over them, children of the hangman. They were
grievous to the enemy, but more grievous to their own people. They
burned, they plundered, they rioted; that is what they did. They may
have slain people in duels or carried out executions,--that happens to
honest men; but they have lived in pure Tartar fashion, and long ago
would have been rotting in prison but for the protection of Pan Kmita,
who is a powerful lord. He favors and protects them, and they cling to
him just as flies do in summer to a horse. Now they have come hither,
and it is known to all what they are doing. The first day at Lyubich
they fired out of pistols,--and at what?--at the portraits of the dead
Billeviches, which Pan Kmita should not have permitted, for the
Billeviches are his benefactors."
Olenka covered her eyes with her hands. "It cannot be! it cannot be!"
"It can, for it has been. He let them shoot at his benefactors, with
whom he was to enter into relationship; and then they dragged the girls
of the house into the room for debauchery. Tfu! an offence against God!
That has never been among us! The first day they began shooting and
dissoluteness,--the first day!"
Here old Kassyan grew angry, and fell to striking the floor with his
staff. On Olenka's face were dark blushes, and Yuzva said,--
"And Pan Kmita's troops in Upita, are they better? Like officers, like
men. Some people stole Pan Sollohub's cattle; it is said they were Pan
Kmita's men. Some persons struck down on the road peasants of Meizagol
who were drawing pitch. Who did this? They, the same soldiers. Pan
Sollohub went to Pan Hlebovich for satisfaction, and now there is
violence in Upita again. All this is in opposition to God. It used to
be quiet here as in no other place, and now one must load a gun for the
night and stand guard; but why? Because Pan Kmita and his company have
come."
"Father Yuzva, do not talk so," cried Olenka.
"But how must I talk? If Pan Kmita is not to blame, why does he keep
such men, why does he live with such men? Great mighty lady, tell him
to dismiss them or give them up to the hangman, for otherwise there
will be no peace. Is it a thing heard of to shoot at portraits and
commit open debauchery? Why, the whole neighborhood is talking of
nothing else."
"What have I to do?" asked Olenka. "They may be evil men, but he fought
the war with them. If he will dismiss them at my request?"
"If he does not dismiss them," muttered Yuzva, in a low voice, "he is
the same as they."
With this the lady's blood began to boil against those men, murderers
and profligates.
"Let it be so. He must dismiss them. Let him choose me or them. If what
you say is true,--and I shall know to-day if it is true,--I shall not
forgive them either the shooting or the debauchery. I am alone and a
weak orphan, they are an armed crowd; but I do not fear them."
"We will help you," said Yuzva.
"In God's name," continued Olenka, more and more excited, "let
them do what they like, but not here in Lyubich. Let them be as they
like,--that is their affair, their necks' answer; but let them not lead
away Pan Kmita to debauchery. Shame and disgrace! I thought they were
awkward soldiers, but now I see that they are vile traitors, who stain
both themselves and him. That's the truth! Wickedness was looking out
of their eyes; but I, foolish woman, did not recognize it. Well, I
thank you, fathers, for opening my eyes on these Judases. I know what
it beseems me to do."
"That's it!" said old Kassyan. "Virtue speaks through you, and we will
help you."
"Do not blame Pan Kmita, for though he has offended against good
conduct he is young; and they tempt him, they lead him away, they urge
him to license with example, and bring disgrace to his name. This is
the condition; as I live, it will not last long."
Wrath roused Olenka's heart more and more, and indignation at the
comrades of Pan Kmita increased as pain increases in a wound freshly
given; for terribly wounded in her were the love special to woman and
that trust with which she had given her whole unmixed feeling to Pan
Andrei. She was ashamed, for his sake and for her own, and anger and
internal shame sought above all guilty parties.
The nobles were glad when they saw their colonel's granddaughter so
terrible and ready for unyielding war against the disturbers from
Orsha.
She spoke on with sparkling eyes: "True, they are to blame; and they
must leave not only Lyubich, but the whole country-side."
"Our heart, we do not blame Pan Kmita," said old Kassyan. "We know that
they tempt him. Not through bitterness nor venom against him have we
come, but through regret that he keeps near his person revellers. It is
evident, of course, that being young he is foolish. Even Pan Hlebovich
the starosta was foolish when he was young, but now he keeps us all in
order."
"And a dog," said the mild old man from Patsuneli, with a voice of
emotion,--"if you go with a young one to the field, won't the fool
instead of running after the game fall about your feet, begin to play,
and tug you by the skirts?"
Olenka wanted to say something, but suddenly she burst into tears.
"Do not cry," said Yuzva Butrym.
"Do not cry, do not cry," repeated the two old men.
They tried to comfort her, but could not. After they had gone, care,
anxiety, and as it were an offended feeling against them and against
Pan Andrei remained. It pained the proud lady more and more deeply that
she had to defend, justify, and explain him. But the men of that
company! The delicate hands of the lady clinched at thought of them.
Before her eyes appeared as if present the faces of Pan Kokosinski,
Uhlik, Zend, Kulvyets-Hippocentaurus, and the others; and she
discovered what she had not seen at first, that they were shameless
faces, on which folly, licentiousness, and crime had all fixed their
stamps in common. A feeling of hatred foreign to Olenka began to seize
her as a rattling fire seizes fuel; but together with this outburst
offence against Pan Kmita increased every minute.
"Shame, disgrace," whispered the maiden, with pallid lips, "that
yesterday he went from me to house-wenches!" and she felt herself
overborne. A crushing burden stopped the breath in her breast.
It was growing raw out of doors. Panna Aleksandra walked in the room
with hurried step, but anger was seething in her soul without ceasing.
Hers was not the nature to endure the persecutions of fate without
defending herself against them. There was knightly blood in the girl.
She wanted straightway to begin a struggle with that band of evil
spirits,--straightway. But what remained to her? Nothing, save tears
and the prayer that Pan Andrei would send to the four winds those
shame-bringing comrades. But if he will not do that--And she did not
dare to think more of the question.
The meditations of the lady were interrupted by a youth who brought an
armful of juniper sticks to the chimney, and throwing them down at the
side of the hearth, began to pull out the coals from under the
smouldering ashes. Suddenly a decision came to Olenka's mind.
"Kostek!" said she, "sit on horseback for me at once, and ride to
Lyubich. If the master has returned, ask him to come here; but if he is
not there, let the manager, old Znikis, mount with thee and come
straight to me, and quickly."
The youth threw some bits of pitch on the coals and covered them with
clumps of dry juniper. Bright flames began to crackle and snap in the
chimney. It grew somewhat lighter in Olenka's mind.
"Perhaps the Lord God will change this yet," thought she to herself,
"and maybe it is not so bad as the guardians have said."
After a while she went to the servants' room to sit, according to the
immemorial custom of the Billeviches, with the maidens to oversee the
spinning and sing hymns.
In two hours Kostek entered, chilled from cold. "Znikis is in the
antechamber," said he. "The master is not in Lyubich."
The lady rose quickly. The manager in the antechamber bowed to her
feet. "But how is your health, serene heiress? God give you the best."
They passed into the dining-hall; Znikis halted at the door.
"What is to be heard among you people?" asked the lady.
The peasant waved his hand. "Well, the master is not there."
"I know that, because he is in Upita. But what is going on in the
house?"
"Well!--"
"Listen, Znikis, speak boldly; not a hair will fall from thy head.
People say that the master is good, but his companions wild?"
"If they were only wild, serene lady!--"
"Speak candidly."
"But, lady, if it is not permitted me--I am afraid--they have forbidden
me."
"Who has forbidden?"
"My master."
"Has he?" asked the lady.
A moment of silence ensued. She walked quickly in the room, with
compressed lips and frowning brow. He followed her with his eyes.
Suddenly she stopped before him.
"To whom dost thou belong?"
"To the Billeviches. I am from Vodokty, not from Lyubich."
"Thou wilt return no more to Lyubich; stay here. Now I command thee to
tell all thou knowest."
The peasant cast himself on his knees at the threshold where he was
standing. "Serene lady, I do not want to go back; the day of judgment
is there. They are bandits and cut-throats; in that place a man is not
sure of the day nor the hour."
Panna Billevich staggered as if stricken by an arrow. She grew very
pale, but inquired calmly, "Is it true that they fired in the room, at
the portraits?"
"Of course they fired! And they dragged girls into their rooms, and
every day the same debauchery. In the village is weeping, at the house
Sodom and Gomorrah. Oxen are killed for the table, sheep for the table.
The people are oppressed. Yesterday they killed the stable man without
cause."
"Did they kill the stable-man?"
"Of course. And worst of all, they abused the girls. Those at the house
are not enough for them; they chase others through the village."
A second interval of silence followed. Hot blushes came out on the
lady's face, and did not leave it.
"When do they look for the master's return?"
"They do not know, my lady. But I heard, as they were talking to one
another, that they would have to start to-morrow for Upita with their
whole company. They gave command to have horses ready. They will come
here and beg my lady for attendants and powder, because they need both
there."
"They are to come here? That is well. Go now, Znikis, to the kitchen.
Thou wilt return to Lyubich no more."
"May God give you health and happiness!"
Panna Aleksandra had learned what she wanted, and she knew how it
behooved her to act.
The following day was Sunday. In the morning, before the ladies had
gone to church, Kokosinski, Uhlik, Kulvyets-Hippocentaurus, Ranitski,
Rekuts, and Zend arrived, followed by the servants at Lyubich, armed
and on horseback, for the cavaliers had decided to march to Upita with
succor for Kmita.
The lady went out to meet them calmly and haughtily, altogether
different from the woman who had greeted them for the first time a few
days before. She barely motioned with her head in answer to their
humble bows; but they thought that the absence of Pan Kmita made her
cautious, and took no note of the real situation.
Kokosinski stepped forward more confidently than the first time, and
said,--
"Serene great mighty lady, chief-hunter's daughter, benefactress; we
have come in here on our way to Upita to fall at the feet of our lady
benefactress and beg for assistance, such as powder, and that you would
permit your servants to mount their horses and go with us. We will take
Upita by storm, and let out a little blood for the basswood-barks."
"It is a wonder to me," answered Panna Billevich, "that you are going
to Upita, when I heard myself how Pan Kmita commanded you to remain
quietly in Lyubich, and I think that it beseems him to command and you
to obey, as subordinates."
The cavaliers hearing these words looked at one another in
astonishment. Zend pursed out his lips as if about to whistle in bird
fashion. Kokosinski began to draw his broad palm over his head.
"As true as life," said he, "a man would think that you were speaking
to Pan Kmita's baggage-boys. It is true that we were to sit at home;
but since the fourth day is passing and Yendrus has not come, we have
reached the conviction that some serious tumult may have risen, in
which our sabres, too, would be of service."
"Pan Kmita did not go to a battle, but to punish turbulent soldiers,
and punishment may meet you also if you go against orders. Besides, a
tumult and slashing might come to pass more quickly if you were there."
"It is hard to deliberate with your ladyship. We ask only for powder
and men."
"Men and powder I will not give. Do you hear me, sirs!"
"Do I hear correctly?" asked Kokosinski. "How is this? You will not
give? You will spare in the rescue of Kmita, of Yendrus? Do you prefer
that some evil should meet him?"
"The greatest evil that can meet him is your company."
Here the maiden's eyes began to flash lightning, and raising her head
she advanced some steps toward the cutthroats, and they pushed back
before her in astonishment.
"Traitors!" said she, "you, like evil spirits, tempt him to sin; you
persuade him on. But I know you,--your profligacy, your lawless deeds.
Justice is hunting you; people turn away from you, and on whom does the
shame fall? On him, through you who are outlaws, and infamous."
"Hei, by God's wounds, comrades, do you hear?" cried Kokosinski. "Hei,
what is this? Are we not sleeping, comrades?"
Panna Billevich advanced another step, and pointing with her hand to
the door, said, "Be off out of here!"
The ruffians grew as pale as corpses, and no one of them found a word
in answer. But their teeth began to gnash, their hands to quiver toward
their sword-hilts, and their eyes to shoot forth malign gleams. After a
moment, however, their spirits fell through alarm. That house too was
under the protection of the powerful Kmita; that insolent lady was his
betrothed. In view of this they gnawed their rage in silence, and she
stood unflinchingly with flashing eyes pointing to the door with her
finger.
At last Kokosinski spoke in a voice broken with rage: "Since we are
received here so courteously, nothing remains to us but to bow to the
polished lady and go--with thanks for the entertainment."
Then he bowed, touching the floor with his cap in purposed humility;
after him all the others bowed, and went out in order. When the door
closed after the last man, Olenka fell exhausted into the armchair,
panting heavily, for she had not so much strength as daring.
They assembled in counsel in front of the entrance near their horses,
but no man wanted to speak first. At last Kokosinski said, "Well, dear
lambs, what's that?"
"Do you feel well?"
"Do you?"
"Ei! but for Kmita," said Ranitski, rubbing his hands convulsively, "we
would revel with this lady here in our own fashion."
"Go meet Kmita," piped Rekuts.
Ranitski's face was covered completely with spots, like the skin of a
leopard. "I'll meet him and you too, you reveller, wherever it may
please you!"
"That's well!" cried Rekuts.
Both rushed to their sabres, but the gigantic Kulvyets-Hippocentaurus
thrust himself between. "See this fist!" said he, shaking as it were a
loaf of bread; "see this fist!" repeated he. "I'll smash the head of
the first man who draws his sabre." And he looked now at one and now at
the other, as if asking in silence who wished to try first; but they,
addressed in such fashion, were quiet at once.
"Kulvyets is right," said Kokosinski. "My dear lambs, we need agreement
now more than ever. I would advise to go with all speed to Kmita, so
that she may not see him first, for she would describe us as devils. It
is well that none of us snarled at her, though my own hands and tongue
were itching. If she is going to rouse him against us, it is better for
us to rouse him first. God keep him from leaving us! Straightway the
people here would surround us, hunt us down like wolves."
"Nonsense!" said Ranitski. "They will do nothing to us. There is war
now; are there few men straggling through the world without a roof,
without bread? Let us collect a party for ourselves, dear comrades, and
let all the tribunals pursue us. Give your hand, Rekuts, I forgive
you."
"I should have cut off your ears," piped Rekuts; "but let us be
friends, a common insult has met us."
"To order out cavaliers like us!" said Kokosinski.
"And me, in whom is senatorial blood!" added Ranitski.
"Honorable people, men of good birth!"
"Soldiers of merit!"
"And exiles!"
"Innocent orphans!"
"I have boots lined with wool, but my feet are freezing," said
Kulvyets. "Shall we stand like minstrels in front of this house? They
will not bring us out heated beer. We are of no use here; let us mount
and ride away. Better send the servants home, for what good are they
without guns and weapons? We will go on alone."
"To Upita!"
"To Yendrus, our worthy friend! We will make complaint before him."
"If only we do not miss him."
"To horse, comrades, to horse!"
They mounted, and moved on at a walk, chewing their anger and shame.
Outside the gate Ranitski, whom rage still held as it were by the
throat, turned and threatened the house with his fist. "Ei! I want
blood! I want blood!"
"If we can only raise a quarrel between her and Kmita," said
Kokosinski, "we shall go through this place yet with fire."
"That may happen."
"God aid us!" added Uhlik.
"Oh, pagan's daughter, mad heath-hen!"
Railing thus, and enraged at the lady, snarling sometimes too at
themselves, they reached the forest. They had barely passed the first
trees when an enormous flock of crows whirled above their heads. Zend
began at once to croak in a shrill voice; thousands of voices answered
him from above. The flock came down so low that the horses began to be
frightened at the sound of their wings.
"Shut your mouth!" cried Ranitski to Zend. "You'll croak out misfortune
on us yet. Those crows are circling over us as over carrion."
The others laughed. Zend croaked continually. The crows came down more
and more, and the party rode as if in the midst of a storm. Fools! they
could not see the ill omen.
Beyond the forest appeared Volmontovichi, toward which the cavaliers
moved at a trot, for the frost was severe; they were very cold, and it
was still a long way to Upita, but they had to lessen their speed in
the village itself. In the broad road of the village the space was full
of people, as is usual on Sundays. The Butryms, men and women, were
returning on foot and in sleighs from Mitruny after receiving
indulgence. The nobles looked on these unknown horsemen, half guessing
who they were. The young women, who had heard of their license in
Lyubich and of the notorious public sinners whom Pan Kmita had brought,
looked at them with still greater curiosity. But they rode proudly in
imposing military posture, with velvet coats which they had captured,
in panther-skin caps, and on sturdy horses. It was to be seen that they
were soldiers by profession,--their gestures frequent and haughty,
their right hands resting on their hips, their heads erect. They gave
the way to no man, advancing in a line and shouting from time to time,
"Out of the road!" One or another of the Butryms looked at them with a
frown, but yielded; the party chatted among themselves about the
village.
"See, gentlemen," said Kokosinski, "what sturdy fellows there are here;
one after another like an aurochs, and each with the look of a wolf."
"If it were not for their stature and swords, they might be taken for
common trash."
"Just look at those sabres,--regular tearers, as God is dear to me!"
remarked Ranitski. "I would like to make a trial with some of those
fellows." Here he began to fence with his hand: "He thus, I thus! He
thus, I thus--and check!"
"You can easily have that delight for yourself," said Rekuts. "Not much
is needed with them for a quarrel."
"I would rather engage with those girls over there," said Zend, all at
once.
"They are candles, not girls!" cried Rekuts, with enthusiasm.
"What do you say,--candles? Pine-trees! And each one has a face as if
painted with crocus."
"It is hard to sit on a horse at such a sight."
Talking in this style, they rode out of the village and moved on again
at a trot. After half an hour's ride they came to a public house called
Dola, which was half-way between Volmontovichi and Mitruny. The
Butryms, men and women, generally stopped there going to and returning
from church, in order to rest and warm themselves in frosty weather. So
the cavaliers saw before the door a number of sleighs with pea-straw
spread in them, and about the same number of saddle-horses.
"Let us drink some gorailka, for it is cold," said Kokosinski.
"It wouldn't hurt," answered the others, in a chorus.
They dismounted, left their horses at the posts, and entered the
drinking-hall, which was enormous and dark. They found there a crowd of
people,--nobles sitting on benches or standing in groups before the
water-pail, drinking warmed beer, and some of them a punch made of
mead, butter, vudka, and spice. Those were the Butryms themselves,
stalwart and gloomy; so sparing of speech that in the room scarcely any
conversation was heard. All were dressed in gray overcoats of home-made
or coarse cloth from Rossyeni, lined with sheepskin; they had leather
belts, with sabres in black iron scabbards. By reason of that
uniformity of dress they had the appearance of soldiers. But they were
old men of sixty or youths under twenty. These had remained at home for
the winter threshing; the others, men in the prime of life, had gone to
Rossyeni.
When they saw the cavaliers of Orsha, they drew back from the
water-bucket and began to examine them. Their handsome soldierly
appearance pleased that warlike nobility; after a while, too, some one
dropped the word,--
"Are they from Lyubich?"
"Yes, that is Pan Kmita's company!"
"Are these they?"
"Of course."
The cavaliers drank gorailka, but the punch had a stronger odor.
Kokosinski caught it first, and ordered some. They sat around a table
then; and when the steaming kettle was brought they began to drink,
looking around the room at the men and blinking, for the place was
rather dark. The snow had blocked the windows; and the broad, low
opening of the chimney in which the fire was burning was hidden
completely by certain figures with their backs to the crowd.
When the punch had begun to circulate in the veins of the cavaliers,
bearing through their bodies an agreeable warmth, their cheerfulness,
depressed by the reception at Vodokty, sprang up again; and all at once
Zend fell to cawing like a crow, so perfectly that all faces were
turned toward him.
The cavaliers laughed, and the nobles, enlivened, began to approach,
especially the young men,--powerful fellows with broad shoulders and
plump cheeks. The figures sitting at the chimney turned their faces to
the room, and Rekuts was the first to see that they were women.
Zend closed his eyes and cawed, cawed. Suddenly he stopped, and in a
moment those present heard the cry of a hare choked by a dog; the hare
cried in the last agony, weaker and lower, then screamed in despair,
and was silent for the ages; in place of it was heard the deep bellow
of a furious stag as loud as in spring-time.
The Butryms were astonished. Though Zend had stopped, they expected to
hear something again; but they heard only the piping voice of Rekuts,--
"Those are titmice sitting near the chimney!"
"That is true!" replied Kokosinski, shading his eyes with his hand.
"As true as I live!" added Uhlik, "but it is so dark in the room that I
could not see them."
"I am curious. What are they doing?"
"Maybe they have come to dance."
"But wait; I will ask," said Kokosinski. And raising his voice, he
asked, "My dear women, what are you doing there at the chimney?"
"We are warming our feet," answered thin voices.
Then the cavaliers rose and approached the hearth. There were sitting
at it, on a long bench, about ten women, old and young, holding their
bare feet on a log lying by the fire. On the other side of the log
their shoes wet from the snow were drying.
"So you are warming your feet?" asked Kokosinski.
"Yes, for they are cold."
"Very pretty feet," piped Rekuts, inclining toward the log.
"But keep at a distance," said one of the women.
"I prefer to come near. I have a sure method, better than fire, for
cold feet; which is,--only dance with a will, and the cold flies away."
"If to dance, then dance," said Uhlik. "We want neither fiddles nor
bass-viols. I will play for you on the flageolet."
Taking from its leather case which hung near his sabre the ever-present
flageolet, he began to play; and the cavaliers, pushing forward with
dancing movement to the maidens, sought to draw them from the benches.
The maidens appeared to defend themselves, but more with their voices
than their hands, for in truth they were not greatly opposed. Maybe
the men, too, would have been willing in their turn; for against
dancing on Sunday after Mass and during the carnival no one would
protest greatly. But the reputation of the "company" was already
too well known in Volmontovichi; therefore first the gigantic Yuzva
Butrym, he who had but one foot, rose from the bench, and approaching
Kulvyets-Hippocentaurus, caught him by the breast, held him, and said
with sullen voice,--
"If your grace wants dancing, then dance with me."
Kulvyets-Hippocentaurus blinked, and began to move his mustaches
convulsively. "I prefer a girl," said he; "I can attend to you
afterward."
Meanwhile Ranitski ran up with face already spotted, for he sniffed a
quarrel. "Who are you, road-blocker?" asked he, grasping his sabre.
Uhlik stopped playing, and Kokosinski shouted, "Hei, comrades!
together, together!"
But the Butryms were already behind Yuzva; sturdy old men and great
youths began to assemble, growling like bears.
"What do you want? Are you looking for bruises?" asked Kokosinski.
"No talk! Be off out of here!" said Yuzva, stolidly.
Then Ranitski, whose interest it was that an hour should not pass
without a fight, struck Yuzva with the hilt of his sword in the breast,
so that it was heard in the whole room, and cried, "Strike!"
Rapiers glittered; the scream of women was heard, the clatter of
sabres, uproar and disturbance. Then the gigantic Yuzva pushed out of
the crowd, took a roughly hewn bench from beside a table, and raising
it as though it were a light strip of wood, shouted, "Make way! make
way!"
Dust rose from the floor and hid the combatants; but in the confusion
groans were soon heard.