In the evening of that same day Pan Kmita came to Vodokty, at the head
of a hundred and some tens of men whom he had brought from Upita so as
to send them to Kyedani; for he saw himself that there were no quarters
in such a small place for a large number of soldiers, and when the
townspeople had been brought to hunger the soldiers would resort to
violence, especially soldiers who could be held in discipline only by
fear of a leader. A glance at Kmita's volunteers was enough to convince
one that it would be difficult to find men of worse character in the
whole Commonwealth. Kmita could not have others. After the defeat of
the grand hetman, the enemy deluged the whole country. The remnants of
the regular troops of the Lithuanian quota withdrew for a certain time
to Birji and Kyedani, in order to rally there. The nobility of
Smolensk, Vityebsk, Polotsk, Mstislavsk, and Minsk either followed
the army or took refuge in the provinces still unoccupied. Men
of superior courage among the nobility assembled at Grodno around
the under-treasurer, Pan Gosyevski; for the royal proclamation
summoning the general militia appointed that as the place of muster.
Unfortunately few obeyed the proclamation, and those who followed the
voice of duty assembled so negligently that for the time being no one
offered real resistance save Kmita, who fought on his own account,
animated more by knightly daring than patriotism. It is easy to
understand that in the absence of regular troops and nobility he took
such men as he could find, consequently men who were not drawn by duty
to the hetmans and who had nothing to lose. Therefore there gathered
around him vagrants without a roof and without a home, men of low rank,
runaway servants from the army, foresters grown wild, serving-men from
towns, or scoundrels pursued by the law. These expected to find
protection under a flag and win profit from plunder. In the iron hands
of Kmita they were turned into daring soldiers, daring even to madness;
and if Kmita had been prudent he might have rendered high service to
the Commonwealth. But Kmita was insubordinate himself, his spirit was
always seething; besides, whence could he take provisions and arms and
horses, since being a partisan he did not hold even a commission, and
could not look for any aid from the treasury of the Commonwealth? He
took therefore with violence,--often from the enemy, often from his
own,--could suffer no opposition, and punished severely for the least
cause.
In continual raids, struggles, and attacks he had grown wild,
accustomed to bloodshed in such a degree that no common thing could
move the heart within him, which however was good by nature. He was in
love with people of unbridled temper who were ready for anything. Soon
his name had an ominous sound. Smaller divisions of the enemy did not
dare to leave the towns and the camps in those regions where the
terrible partisan was raging. But the townspeople ruined by war feared
his men little less than they did the enemy, especially when the eye of
Kmita in person was not resting on them. When command was taken by his
officers, Kokosinski, Uhlik, Kulvyets, Zend, and particularly by
Ranitski,--the wildest and most cruel of them all, though a man of high
lineage,--it might always be asked, Are those defenders or ravagers?
Kmita at times punished his own men without mercy when something
happened not according to his humor; but more frequently he took their
part, regardless of the rights, tears, and lives of people. His
companions with the exception of Rekuts, on whom innocent blood was not
weighing, persuaded the young leader to give the reins more and more to
his turbulent nature. Such was Kmita's army. Just then he had taken his
rabble from Upita to send it to Kyedani.
When they stopped in front of the house at Vodokty, Panna Aleksandra
was frightened as she saw them through the window, they were so much
like robbers. Each one had a different outfit: some were in helmets
taken from the enemy; others in Cossack caps, in hoods and Polish caps;
some in faded overcoats, others in sheep-skin coats; their arms were
guns, spears, bows, battle-axes; their horses, poor and worn, were
covered with trappings, Polish, Russian, or Turkish.
Olenka was set at rest only when Pan Andrei, gladsome and lively as
ever, entered the room and rushed straight to her hands with incredible
quickness.
And she, though resolved in advance to receive him with dignity and
coldness, was still unable to master the joy which his coming had
caused her. Feminine cunning too may have played a certain part, for it
was necessary to tell Pan Andrei about turning his comrades out of
doors; therefore the clever girl wished to incline him first to her
side. And in addition he greeted her so sincerely, so lovingly that the
remnant of her offended feeling melted like snow before a blaze.
"He loves me! there is no doubt about that," thought she.
And he said: "I so longed for you that I was ready to burn all Upita if
I could only fly to you the sooner. May the frost pinch them, the
basswood barks!"
"I too was uneasy lest it might come to a battle there. Praise be to
God that you have returned!"
"And such a battle! The soldiers had begun to pull around the basswood
barks a little--"
"But you quieted them?"
"This minute I will tell you how it all happened, my jewel; only let me
rest a little, for I am wearied. Ei! it is warm here. It is delightful
in this Vodokty, just as in paradise. A man would be glad to sit here
all his life, look in those beautiful eyes, and never go away--But it
would do no harm, either, to drink something warm, for there is
terrible frost outside."
"Right away I will have wine heated, with eggs, and bring it myself."
"And give my gallows' birds some little keg of gorailka, and give
command to let them into the stable, so that they may warm themselves a
little even from the breath of the cattle. They have coats lined with
wind, and are terribly chilled."
"I will spare nothing on them, for they are your soldiers."
While speaking she smiled, so that it grew bright in Kmita's eyes, and
she slipped out as quietly as a cat to have everything prepared in the
servants' hall.
Kmita walked up and down in the room, rubbing the top of his head, then
twirling his young mustache, thinking how to tell her of what had been
done in Upita.
"The pure truth must be told," muttered he; "there is no help for it,
though the company may laugh because I am here in leading-strings." And
again he walked, and again he pushed the foretop on his forehead; at
last he grew impatient that the maiden was so long in returning.
Meanwhile a boy brought in a light, bowed to the girdle, and went out.
Directly after the charming lady of the house entered, bringing with
both hands a shining tin tray, and on it a small pot, from which rose
the fragrant steam of heated Hungarian, and a goblet of cut glass with
the escutcheon of the Kmitas. Old Billevich got this goblet in his time
from Andrei's father, when at his house as a guest.
Pan Andrei when he saw the lady sprang toward her. "Hei!" cried he,
"both hands are full, you will not escape me."
He bent over the tray, and she drew back her head, which was defended
only by the steam which rose from the pot. "Traitor! desist, or I will
drop the drink."
But he feared not the threat; afterward he cried, "As God is in heaven,
from such delight a man might lose his wits!"
"Then you lost your wit long ago. Sit down."
He sat down obediently; she poured the drink into the goblet.
"Tell me how you sentenced the guilty in Upita."
"In Upita? Like Solomon!"
"Praise to God for that! It is on my heart that all in this region
should esteem you as a steady and just man. How was it then?"
Kmita took a good draught of the drink, drew breath, and began,--
"I must tell from the beginning. It was thus: The townspeople with the
mayor spoke of an order for provisions from the grand hetman or the
under-treasurer. 'You gentlemen,' said they to the soldiers, 'are
volunteers, and you cannot levy contributions. We will give you
quarters for nothing, and provisions we will give when it is shown that
we shall be paid.'"
"Were they right, or were they not?"
"They were right according to law; but the soldiers had sabres, and in
old fashion whoever has a sabre has the best argument. They said then
to the basswood barks, 'We will write orders on your skins
immediately.' And straightway there rose a tumult. The mayor and the
people barricaded themselves in the street, and my men attacked them;
it did not pass without firing. The soldiers, poor fellows, burned a
couple of barns to frighten the people, and quieted a few of them
also."
"How did they quiet them?"
"Whoso gets a sabre on his skull is as quiet as a coward."
"As God lives, that is murder!"
"That is just why I went there. The soldiers ran to me at once with
complaints and outcries against the oppression in which they were
living, being persecuted without cause. 'Our stomachs are empty,' said
they, 'what are we to do?' I commanded the mayor to appear. He
hesitated long, but at last came with three other men. They began:
'Even if the soldiers had not orders, why did they beat us, why burn
the place? We should have given them to eat and to drink for a kind
word; but they wanted ham, mead, dainties, and we are poor people, we
have not these things for ourselves. We will seek defence at law, and
you will answer before a court for your soldiers.'"
"God will bless you," cried Olenka, "if you have rendered justice as
was proper."
"If I have." Here Pan Andrei wriggled like a student who has to confess
his fault, and began to collect the forelock on his forehead with his
hand. "My queen!" cried he at last, in an imploring voice, "my jewel,
be not angry with me!"
"What did you do then?" asked Olenka, uneasily.
"I commanded to give one hundred blows apiece to the mayor and the
councillors," said Kmita, at one breath.
Olenka made no answer; she merely rested her hands on her knees,
dropped her head on her bosom, and sank into silence.
"Cut off my head!" cried Kmita, "but do not be angry! I have not told
all yet!"
"Is there more?" groaned the lady.
"There is, for they sent then to Ponyevyej for aid. One hundred stupid
fellows came with officers. These men I frightened away, but the
officers--for God's sake be not angry!--I ordered to be chased and
flogged with braided whips, naked over the snow, as I once did to Pan
Tumgrat in Orsha."
Panna Billevich raised her head; her stern eyes were flashing with
indignation, and purple came out on her cheeks. "You have neither shame
nor conscience!" said she.
Kmita looked at her in astonishment, he was silent for a moment, then
asked with changed voice, "Are you speaking seriously or pretending?"
"I speak seriously; that deed is becoming a bandit and not a cavalier.
I speak seriously, since your reputation is near my heart; for it is a
shame to me that you have barely come here, when all the people look on
you as a man of violence and point at you with their fingers."
"What care I for the people? One dog watches ten of their cabins, and
then has not much to do."
"There is no infamy on those modest people, there is no disgrace on the
name of one of them. Justice will pursue no man here except you."
"Oh, let not your head ache for that. Every man is lord for himself in
our Commonwealth, if he has only a sabre in his hand and can gather any
kind of party. What can they do to me? Whom fear I here?"
"If you fear not man, then know that I fear God's anger, and the tears
of people; I fear wrongs also. And moreover I am not willing to share
disgrace with any one; though I am a weak woman, still the honor of my
name is dearer to me than it is to a certain one who calls himself a
cavalier."
"In God's name, do not threaten me with refusal, for you do not know me
yet."
"I think that my grandfather too did not know you."
Kmita's eyes shot sparks; but the Billevich blood began to play in her.
"Oh, gesticulate and grit your teeth," continued she, boldly; "but I
fear not, though I am alone and you have a whole party of robbers,--my
innocence defends me. You think that I know not how you fired at the
portraits in Lyubich and dragged in the girls for debauchery. You do
not know me if you suppose that I shall humbly be silent. I want
honesty from you, and no will can prevent me from exacting it. Nay, it
was the will of my grandfather that I should be the wife of only an
honest man."
Kmita was evidently ashamed of what had happened at Lyubich; for
dropping his head, he asked in a voice now calmer, "Who told you of
this shooting?"
"All the nobles in the district speak of it."
"I will pay those homespuns, the traitors, for their good will,"
answered Kmita, sullenly. "But that happened in drink,--in
company,--for soldiers are not able to restrain themselves. As for the
girls I had nothing to do with them."
"I know that those brazen ruffians, those murderers, persuade you to
everything."
"They are not murderers, they are my officers."
"I commanded those officers of yours to leave my house."
Olenka looked for an outburst; but she saw with greatest astonishment
that the news of turning his comrades out of the house made no
impression on Kmita; on the contrary, it seemed to improve his humor.
"You ordered them to go out?" asked be.
"I did."
"And they went?"
"They did."
"As God lives, you have the courage of a cavalier. That pleases me
greatly, for it is dangerous to quarrel with such people. More than one
man has paid dearly for doing so. But they observe manners before
Kmita! You saw they bore themselves obediently as lambs; you saw
that,--but why? Because they are afraid of me."
Here Kmita looked boastfully at Olenka, and began to twirl his
mustache. This fickleness of humor and inopportune boastfulness enraged
her to the last degree; therefore she said haughtily and with emphasis,
"You must choose between me and them; there is no other way."
Kmita seemed not to note the decision with which she spoke, and
answered carelessly, almost gayly: "But why choose when I have you and
I have them? You may do what you like in Vodokty; but if my comrades
have committed no wrong, no license here, why should I drive them away?
You do not understand what it is to serve under one flag and carry on
war in company. No relationship binds like service in common. Know that
they have saved my life a thousand times at least. I must protect them
all the more because they are pursued by justice. They are almost all
nobles and of good family, except Zend, who is of uncertain origin; but
such a horse-trainer as he there is not in the whole Commonwealth. And
if you could hear how he imitates wild beasts and every kind of bird,
you would fall in love with him yourself."
Here Kmita laughed as if no anger, no misunderstanding, had ever found
place between them; and she was ready to wring her hands, seeing how
that whirlwind of a nature was slipping away from her grasp. All that
she had said of the opinions of men, of the need of sedateness, of
disgrace, slipped along on him like a dart on steel armor. The unroused
conscience of this soldier could give no response to her indignation at
every injustice and every dishonorable deed of license. How was he to
be touched, how addressed?
"Let the will of God be done," said she at last; "since you will resign
me, then go your way. God will remain with the orphan."
"I resign you?" asked Kmita, with supreme astonishment.
"That is it!--if not in words, then in deeds; if not you me, then I
you. For I will not marry a man weighted by the tears and blood of
people, whom men point at with their fingers, whom they call an outlaw,
a robber, and whom they consider a traitor."
"What, traitor! Do not bring me to madness, lest I do something for
which I should be sorry hereafter. May the thunderbolts strike me this
minute, may the devils flay me, if I am a traitor,--I, who stood by the
country when all hands had dropped!"
"You stand by the country and act like an enemy, for you trample on it.
You are an executioner of the people, regarding the laws neither of God
nor man. No! though my heart should be rent, I will not marry you;
being such a man, I will not!"
"Do not speak to me of refusal, for I shall grow furious. Save me, ye
angels! If you will not have me in good-will, then I'll take you
without it, though all the rabble from the villages were here, though
the Radzivills themselves were here, the very king himself and all the
devils with their horns stood in the way, even if I had to sell my soul
to the Devil!"
"Do not summon evil spirits, for they will hear you," cried Olenka,
stretching forth her hands.
"What do you wish of me?"
"Be honest!"
Both ceased speaking, and silence followed; only the panting of Pan
Andrei was heard. The last words of Olenka had penetrated, however, the
armor covering his conscience. He felt himself conquered; he knew not
what to answer, how to defend himself. Then he began to go with swift
steps through the room. She sat there motionless. Above them hung
disagreement, dissension, and regret. They were oppressive to each
other, and the long silence became every instant more unendurable.
"Farewell!" said Kmita, suddenly.
"Go, and may God give you a different inspiration!" answered Olenka.
"I will go! Bitter was your drink, bitter your bread. I have been
treated here to gall and vinegar."
"And do you think you have treated me to sweetness?" answered she, in a
voice in which tears were trembling.
"Be well."
"Be well."
Kmita, advancing toward the door, turned suddenly, and springing to
her, seized both her hands and said, "By the wounds of Christ! do you
wish me to drop from the horse a corpse on the road?"
That moment Olenka burst into tears; he embraced her and held her in
his arms, all quivering, repeating through her set teeth, "Whoso
believes in God, kill me! kill, do not spare!"
At last he burst out: "Weep not, Olenka; for God's sake, do not
weep! In what am I guilty before you? I will do all to please you.
I'll send those men away, I'll come to terms in Upita, I will live
differently,--for I love you. As God lives, my heart will burst! I will
do everything; only do not cry, and love me still."
And so he continued to pacify and pet her; and she, when she had cried
to the end, said: "Go now. God will make peace between us. I am not
offended, only sore at heart."
The moon had risen high over the white fields when Pan Andrei pushed
out on his way to Lyubich, and after him clattered his men, stretching
along the broad road like a serpent. They went through Volmontovichi,
but by the shortest road, for frost had bound up the swamps, which
might therefore be crossed without danger.
The sergeant Soroka approached Pan Andrei. "Captain," inquired he,
"where are we to find lodgings in Lyubich?"
"Go away!" answered Kmita.
And he rode on ahead, speaking to no man. In his heart rose regret, at
moments anger, but above all, vexation at himself. That was the first
night in his life in which he made a reckoning with conscience, and
that reckoning weighed him down more than the heaviest armor. Behold,
he had come into this region with a damaged reputation, and what had he
done to repair it? The first day he had permitted shooting and excess
in Lyubich, and thought that he did not belong to it, but he did; then
he permitted it every day. Further, his soldiers wronged the
townspeople, and he increased those wrongs. Worse, he attacked the
Ponyevyej garrison, killed men, sent naked officers on the snow. They
will bring an action against him; he will lose it. They will punish him
with loss of property, honor, perhaps life. But why can he not, after
he has collected an armed party of the rabble, scoff at the law as
before? Because he intends to marry, settle in Vodokty, serve not on
his own account, but in the contingent; there the law will find him and
take him. Besides, even though these deeds should pass unpunished,
there is something vile in them, something unworthy of a knight. Maybe
this violence can be atoned for; but the memory of it will remain in
the hearts of men, in his own conscience, and in the heart of Olenka.
When he remembered that she had not rejected him yet, that when he was
going away he read in her eyes forgiveness, she seemed to him as kind
as the angels of heaven. And behold the desire was seizing him to go,
not to-morrow, but straightway, as fast as the horse could spring, fall
at her feet, beg forgetfulness, and kiss those sweet eyes which today
had moistened his face with tears. Then he wished to roar with weeping,
and felt that he loved that girl as he had never in his life loved any
one. "By the Most Holy Lady!" thought he, in his soul, "I will do what
she wishes; I will provide for my comrades bountifully, and send them
to the end of the world; for it is true that they urge me to evil."
Then it entered his head that on coming to Lyubich he would find them
most surely drunk or with girls; and such rage seized him that he
wanted to slash somebody with a sabre, even those soldiers whom he was
leading, and cut them up without mercy.
"I'll give it to them!" muttered he, twirling his mustache. "They have
not yet seen me as they will see me."
Then from madness he began to prick the horse with his spurs, to pull
and drag at the reins till the steed grew wild. Soroka, seeing this,
muttered to the soldiers,--
"The captain is mad. God save us from falling under his hand!"
Pan Andrei had become mad in earnest. Round about there was great calm.
The moon shone mildly, the heavens were glittering with thousands of
stars, not the slightest breeze was moving the limbs on the trees; but
in the heart of the knight a tempest was raging. The road to Lyubich
seemed to him longer than ever before. A certain hitherto unknown alarm
began to play upon him from the gloom of the forest depths, and from
the fields flooded with a greenish light of the moon. Finally weariness
seized Pan Andrei,--for, to tell the truth, the whole night before he
had passed in drinking and frolicking in Upita; but he wished to
overcome toil with toil, and rouse himself from unquiet by swift
riding; he turned therefore to the soldiers and commanded,--
"Forward!"
He shot ahead like an arrow, and after him the whole party. And in
those woods and along those empty fields they flew on like that hellish
band of knights of the cross of whom people tell in Jmud,--how at times
in the middle of bright moonlight nights they appear and rush through
the air, announcing war and uncommon calamities. The clatter flew
before them and followed behind, from the horses came steam, and only
when at the turn of the road the roofs of Lyubich appeared did they
slacken their speed.
The swinging gate stood open. It astonished Kmita that when the yard
was crowded with his men and horses no one came out to see or inquire
who they were. He expected to find the windows gleaming with lights, to
hear the sound of Uhlik's flageolet, of fiddles, or the joyful shouts
of conversation. At that time in two windows of the dining-hall
quivered an uncertain light; all the rest of the house was dark, quiet,
silent. The sergeant Soroka sprang first from his horse to hold the
stirrup for the captain.
"Go to sleep," said Kmita; "whoever can find room in the servants'
hall, let him sleep there, and others in the stable. Put the horses in
the cattle-houses and in the barns, and bring them hay from the shed."
"I hear," answered the sergeant.
Kmita came down from the horse. The door of the entrance was wide open,
and the entrance cold.
"Hei! Is there any one here?" cried Kmita.
No one answered.
"Hei there!" repeated he, more loudly.
Silence.
"They are drunk!" muttered Pan Andrei.
And such rage took possession of him that he began to grit his teeth.
While riding he was agitated with anger at the thought that he should
find drinking and debauchery; now this silence irritated him still
more.
He entered the dining-hall. On an enormous table was burning a tallow
lamp-pot with a reddish smoking light. The force of the wind which came
in from the antechamber deflected the flame so that for a time Pan
Andrei could not see anything. Only when the quivering had ceased did
he distinguish a row of forms lying just at the wall.
"Have they made themselves dead drunk or what?" muttered he, unquietly.
Then he drew near with impatience to the side of the first figure. He
could not see the face, for it was hidden in the shadow; but by the
white leather belt and the white sheath of the flageolet he recognized
Pan Uhlik, and began to shake him unceremoniously with his foot.
"Get up, such kind of sons! get up!"
But Pan Uhlik lay motionless, with his hands fallen without control at
the side of his body, and beyond him were lying others. No one yawned,
no one quivered, no one woke, no one muttered. At the same moment Kmita
noticed that all were lying on their backs in the same position, and a
certain fearful presentiment seized him by the heart. Springing to the
table, he took with trembling hand the light and thrust it toward the
faces of the prostrate men.
The hair stood on his head, such a dreadful sight met his eyes. Uhlik
he was able to recognize only by his white belt, for his face and his
head presented one formless, foul, bloody mass, without eyes, without
nose or mouth,--only the enormous mustaches were sticking out of the
dreadful pool. Kmita pushed the light farther. Next in order lay Zend,
with grinning teeth and eyes protruding, in which in glassy fixedness
was terror before death. The third in the row, Ranitski, had his eyes
closed, and over his whole face were spots, white, bloody, and dark.
Kmita took the light farther. Fourth lay Kokosinski,--the dearest to
Kmita of all his officers, being his former near neighbor. He seemed
to sleep quietly, but in the side of his neck was to be seen a large
wound surely given with a thrust. Fifth in the row lay the gigantic
Kulvyets-Hippocentaurus, with the vest torn on his bosom and his face
slashed many times. Kmita brought the light near each face; and when at
last he brought it to the sixth, Rekuts, it seemed that the lids of the
unfortunate victim quivered a little from the gleam.
Kmita put the light on the floor and began to shake the wounded man
gently. After the eyelids the face began to move, the eyes and mouth
opened and closed in turn.
"Rekuts, Rekuts, it is I!" said Kmita.
The eyes of Rekuts opened for a moment; he recognized the face of his
friend, and groaned in a low voice, "Yendrus--a priest--"
"Who killed you?" cried Kmita, seizing himself by the hair.
"Bu-try-my-" (The Butryms), answered he, in a voice so low that it was
barely audible. Then he stretched himself, grew stiff, his open eyes
became fixed, and he died.
Kmita went in silence to the table, put the tallow lamp upon it, sat
down in an armchair, and began to pass his hands over his face like a
man who waking from sleep does not know yet whether he is awake or
still sees dream figures before his eyes. Then he looked again on the
bodies lying in the darkness. Cold sweat came out on his forehead, the
hair rose on his head, and suddenly he shouted so terribly that the
panes rattled in the windows,--
"Come hither, every living man! come hither!"
The soldiers, who had disposed themselves in the servants' hall, heard
that cry and fell into the room with a rush. Kmita showed them with his
hand the corpses at the wall.
"Murdered! murdered!" repeated he, with hoarse voice.
They ran to look; some came with a taper, and held it before the eyes
of the dead men. After the first moment of astonishment came noise and
confusion. Those hurried in who had found places in the stables and
barns. The whole house was bright with light, swarming with men; and in
the midst of all that whirl, shouting, and questioning, the dead lay at
the wall unmoved and quiet, indifferent to everything, and, in
contradiction to their own nature, calm. The souls had gone out of
them, and their bodies could not be raised by the trumpet to battle, or
the sound of the goblets to feasting.
Meanwhile in the din of the soldiers shouts of threatening and rage
rose higher and higher each instant. Kmita, who till that moment had
been as it were unconscious, sprang up suddenly and shouted, "To
horse!"
Everything living moved toward the door. Half an hour had not passed
when more than one hundred horsemen were rushing with breakneck speed
over the broad snowy road, and at the head of them flew Pan Andrei, as
if possessed of a demon, bareheaded and with a naked sabre in his hand.
In the still night was heard on every side the wild shouts: "Slay!
kill!"
The moon had reached just the highest point on its road through the
sky, when suddenly its beams began to be mingled and mixed with a rosy
light, rising as it were from under the ground; gradually the heavens
grew red and still redder as if from the rising dawn, till at last a
bloody glare filled the whole neighborhood. One sea of fire raged over
the gigantic village of the Butryms; and the wild soldiers of Kmita, in
the midst of smoke, burning, and sparks bursting in columns to the sky,
cut down the population, terrified and blinded from fright.
The inhabitants of the nearer villages sprang from their sleep. The
greater and smaller companies of the Smoky Gostsyeviches and Stakyans,
Gashtovts and Domasheviches, collected on the road before their houses,
and looking in the direction of the fire, gave alarm from mouth to
mouth: "It must be that an enemy has broken in and is burning the
Butryms,--that is an unusual fire!"
The report of muskets coming at intervals from the distance confirmed
this supposition.
"Let us go to assist them!" cried the bolder; "let us not leave our
brothers to perish!"
And when the older ones spoke thus, the younger, who on account of the
winter threshing had not gone to Rossyeni, mounted their horses. In
Krakin and in Upita they had begun to ring the church bells.
In Vodokty a quiet knocking at the door roused Panna Aleksandra.
"Olenka, get up!" cried Panna Kulvyets.
"Come in, Aunt, what is the matter?"
"They are burning Volmontovichi!"
"In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost!"
"Shots are heard, there is a battle! God have mercy on us!"
Olenka screamed terribly; then she sprang out of bed and began to throw
on her clothes hurriedly. Her body trembled as in a fever. She alone
guessed in a moment what manner of enemy had attacked the ill-fated
Butryms.
After a while the awakened women of the whole house rushed into the
room with crying and sobbing. Olenka threw herself on her knees before
an image; they followed her example, and all began to repeat aloud the
litany for the dying.
They had scarcely gone through half of it when a violent pounding shook
the door of the antechamber. The women sprang to their feet; a cry of
alarm was rent from their breasts.
"Do not open! do not open!"
The pounding was heard with redoubled force; it seemed that the door
would spring from its hinges. That moment the youth Kostek rushed into
the midst of the assembled women.
"Panna!" cried he, "some man is knocking; shall I open or not?"
"Is he alone?"
"Alone."
"Go open."
The youth hurried away. She, taking a light, passed into the
dining-room; after her, Panna Kulvyets and all the spinning-women.
She had barely put the light on the table when in the antechamber was
heard the rattle of iron bolts, the creak of the opening door; and
before the eyes of the women appeared Pan Kmita, terrible, black from
smoke, bloody, panting, with madness in his eyes.
"My horse has fallen at the forest," cried he; "they are pursuing me!"
Panna Aleksandra fixed her eyes on him: "Did you burn Volmontovichi?"
"I--I--"
He wanted to say something more, when from the side of the road and the
woods came the sound of voices and the tramp of horses approaching with
uncommon rapidity.
"The devils are after my soul; let them have it!" cried Kmita, as if in
a fever.
Panna Aleksandra that moment turned to the women. "If they ask, say
there is no one here; and now go to the servants' hall and come here at
daylight!" Then to Kmita: "Go in there," said she, pointing to an
adjoining room; and almost by force she pushed him through the open
door, which she shut immediately.
Meanwhile armed men filled the front yard; and in the twinkle of an eye
the Butryms, Gostsyeviches, Domasheviches, with others, burst into the
house. Seeing the lady, they halted in the dining-room; but she,
standing with a light in her hand, stopped with her person the passage
to doors beyond.
"Men, what has happened? What do you want?" asked she, without blinking
an eye before the terrible looks and the ominous gleam of drawn sabres.
"Kmita has burned Volmontovichi!" cried the nobles, in a chorus. "He
has slaughtered men, women, children,--Kmita did this."
"We have killed his men," said Yuzva Butrym; "now we are seeking his
own head."
"His head, his blood! Cut down the murderer!"
"Pursue him!" cried the lady. "Why do you stand here? Pursue him!"
"Is he not hidden here? We found his horse at the woods."
"He is not here! The house was closed. Look for him in the stables and
barns."
"He has gone off to the woods!" cried some noble. "Come, brothers."
"Be silent!" roared with powerful voice Yuzva Butrym. "My lady," said
he, "do not conceal him! That is a cursed man!"
Olenka raised both hands above her head: "I join you in cursing him!"
"Amen!" shouted the nobles. "To the buildings, to the woods! We will
find him! After the murderer!"
"Come on! come on!"
The clatter of sabres and tramp of feet was heard again. The nobles
hurried out through the porch, and mounted with all speed. A part of
them searched still for a time in the stables, the cow-houses, and
hay-shed; then their voices began to retreat toward the woods.
Panna Aleksandra listened till they had ceased altogether; then she
tapped feverishly at the door of the room in which she had hidden
Kmita. "There is no one here now, come out."
Pan Andrei pushed himself forth from the room as if drunk. "Olenka!" he
began.
She shook her loosened tresses, which then covered her face like a
veil. "I wish not to see you or know you. Take a horse and flee hence!"
"Olenka!" groaned Kmita, stretching forth his hands.
"There is blood on your hands, as on Cain's!" screamed she, springing
back as if at the sight of a serpent. "Be gone, for the ages!"