Basia was red, certainly, but it was unknown whether from cold or emotion; and Pan Adam was as if poisoned. Immediately after, too, he took farewell of the lady of the house. In vain did she try to detain him; in vain Pan Michael himself tried to persuade him to remain to supper: he excused himself with service and went away. That moment Pan Michael’s sister, without saying a word, kissed Basia on the forehead; the young lady flew to her own chamber and did not return to supper.
Only on the next day did Zagloba make a direct attack on her and inquire, “Well, little haiduk, a thunderbolt, as it were, struck Pan Adam?”
“Aha!” answered she, nodding affirmatively and blinking.
“Tell me what you said to him.”
“The question was quick, for he is daring; but so was the answer, for I too am daring. Is it not true?”
“You acted splendidly! Let me embrace you! What did he say? Did he let himself be beaten off easily?”
“He asked if with time he could not effect something. I was sorry for him, but no, no; nothing can come of that!”
Here Basia, distending her nostrils, began to shake her forelock somewhat sadly, as if in thought.
“Tell me your reasons,” said Zagloba.
“He too wanted them, but it was of no use; I did not tell him, and I will tell no man.”
“But perhaps,” said Zagloba, looking quickly into her eyes, “you bear some hidden love in your heart. Hei?”
“A fig for love!” cried Basia. And springing from the place, she began to repeat quickly, as if wishing to cover her confusion, “I do not want Pan Adam! I do not want Pan Adam! I do not want any one! Why do you plague me? Why do you plague me, all of you?” And on a sudden she burst into tears.
Zagloba comforted her as best he could, but during the whole day she was gloomy and peevish. “Michael,” said he at dinner, “you are going, and Ketling will come soon; he is a beauty above beauties. I know not how these young ladies will defend themselves, but I think this, when you come back, you will find them both dead in love.”
“Profit for us!” said Volodyovski. “We’ll give him Panna Basia at once.”
Basia fixed on him the look of a wild-cat and said, “But why are you less concerned about Krysia?”
The little knight was confused beyond measure at these words, and said, “You do not know Ketling’s power, but you will discover it.”
“But why should not Krysia discover it? Besides, it is not I who sing, —
‘The fair head grows faint;
Where will she hide herself?
How will the poor thing defend herself?’”
Now Krysia was confused in her turn, and the little wasp continued, “In extremities I will ask Pan Adam to lend me his shield; but when you go away, I know not with what Krysia will defend herself, if peril comes on her.”
Pan Michael had now recovered, and answered somewhat severely, “Perhaps she will find wherewith to defend herself better than you.”
“How so?”
“For she is less giddy, and has more sedateness and dignity.”
Pan Zagloba and the little knight’s sister thought that the keen haiduk would come to battle at once; but to their great amazement, she dropped her head toward the plate, and after a while said, in a low voice, “If you are angry, I ask pardon of you and of Krysia.”
CHAPTER XII.
As Pan Michael had permission to set out whenever he wished, he went to Anusia’s grave at Chenstohova. After he had shed the last of his tears there, he journeyed on farther; and under the influence of fresh reminiscences it occurred to him that the secret engagement with Krysia was in some way too early. He felt that in sorrow and mourning there is something sacred and inviolable, which should not be touched, but permitted to rise heavenward like a cloud, and vanish in measureless space. Other men, it is true, after losing their wives, had married in a month or in two months; but they had not begun with the cloister, nor had misfortune met them at the threshold of happiness after whole years of waiting. But even if men of common mould do not respect the sacredness of sorrow, is it proper to follow their example?
Pan Michael journeyed forward then toward Russia, and reproaches went with him. But he was so just that he took all the blame on himself, and did not put any on Krysia; and to the many alarms which seized him was added this also, would not Krysia in the depth of her soul take that haste ill of him?
“Surely she would not act thus in my place,” said Pan Michael to himself; “and having a lofty soul herself, beyond doubt, she seeks loftiness in others.”
Fear seized the little knight lest he might seem to her petty; but that was vain fear. Krysia cared nothing for Pan Michael’s mourning; and when he spoke to her too much concerning it, not only did it not excite sympathy in the lady, but it roused her self-love. Was not she, the living woman, equal to the dead one? Or, in general, was she of such small worth that the dead Anusia could be her rival? If Zagloba had been in the secret, he would have pacified Pan Michael certainly, by saying that women have not over-much mercy for one another.
After Volodyovski’s departure, Panna Krysia was astonished not a little at what had happened, and at this, that the latch had fallen. In going from the Ukraine to Warsaw, where she had never been before, she had imagined that it would be different altogether. At the Diet of Convocation the escorts of bishops and dignitaries would meet; a brilliant knighthood would assemble from all sides of the Commonwealth. How many amusements and reviews would there be, how much bustle! and in all that whirl, in the concourse of knights, would appear some unknown “he,” some knight such as maidens see only in dreams. This knight would flush up with love, appear under her windows with a lute; he would form cavalcades, love and sigh a long time, wear on his armor the knot of his loved one, suffer and overcome obstacles before he would fall at her feet and win mutual love.
But nothing of all that had come to pass. The haze, changing and colored, like a rainbow, vanished; a knight appeared, it is true, — a knight not at all common, heralded as the first soldier of the Commonwealth, a great cavalier, but not much, or indeed, not at all, like that “he.” There were no cavalcades either, nor playing of lutes, nor tournaments, nor the knot on the armor, nor bustle, nor games, nor any of all that which rouses curiosity like a May dream, or a wonderful tale in the evening, which intoxicates like the odor of flowers, which allures as bait does a bird; from which the face flushes, the heart throbs, the body trembles. There was nothing but a small house outside the city; in the house Pan Michael; then intimacy grew up, and the rest of the vision disappeared as the moon disappears in the sky when clouds come and hide it. If that Pan Michael had appeared at the end of the story, he would be the desired one. More than once, when thinking of his fame, of his worth, of his valor, which made him the glory of the Commonwealth and the terror of its enemies, Krysia felt that, in spite of all, she loved him greatly; only it seemed to her that something had missed her, that a certain injustice had met her, a little through him, or rather through haste. That haste, therefore, had fallen into the hearts of both like a grain of sand; and since both were farther and farther from each other, that grain began to pain them somewhat. It happens frequently that something insignificant as a little thorn pricks the feelings of people, and in time either heals or festers more and more, and brings bitterness and pain, even to the greatest love. But in this case it was still far to pain and bitterness. For Pan Michael, the thought of Krysia was especially agreeable and soothing; and the thought of her followed him as his shadow follows a man. He thought too that the farther he went, the dearer she would become to him, and the more he would sigh and yearn for her. The time passed more heavily for her; for no one visited Ketling’s house since the departure of the little knight, and day followed day in monotony and weariness.
Pani Makovetski counted the days before the election, waited for her husband, and talked only of him; Basia had put on a very long face. Zagloba reproached her, saying that she had rejected Pan Adam and was the
n wishing for him. In fact, she would have been glad if even he had come; but Novoveski said to himself, “There is nothing for me there,” and soon he followed Pan Michael. Zagloba too was preparing to return to Pan Yan’s, saying that he wished to see his boys. Still, being heavy, he put off his journey day after day; he explained to Basia that she was the cause of his delay, that he was in love with her and intended to seek her hand. Meanwhile he kept company with Krysia when Pan Michael’s sister went with Basia to visit the wife of the chamberlain of Lvoff. Krysia never accompanied them in those visits; for the lady, notwithstanding her worthiness, could not endure Krysia. Frequently and often too Zagloba went to Warsaw, where he met pleasant company and returned more than once tipsy on the following day; and then Krysia was entirely alone, passing the dreary hours in thinking a little of Pan Michael, a little of what might happen if that latch had not fallen once and forever, and often, what did that unknown rival of Pan Michael look like, — the King’s son in the fairy tale?
Once Krysia was sitting by the window and looking in thoughtfulness at the door of the room, on which a very bright gleam of the setting sun was falling, when suddenly a sleigh-bell was heard on the other side of the house. It ran through Krysia’s head that Pani Makovetski and Basia must have returned; but that did not bring her out of meditation, and she did not even withdraw her eyes from the door. Meanwhile the door opened; and on the background of the dark depth beyond appeared to the eyes of the maiden some unknown man.
At the first moment it seemed to Krysia that she saw a picture, or that she had fallen asleep and was dreaming, such a wonderful vision stood before her. The unknown was young, dressed in black foreign costume, with a white lace collar coming to his shoulders. Once in childhood Krysia had seen Pan Artsishevski, general of the artillery of the kingdom, dressed in such a costume; by reason of the dress, as well as of his unusual beauty, the general had remained long in her memory. Now, that young man before her was dressed in like fashion; but in beauty he surpassed Pan Artsishevski and all men walking the earth. His hair, cut evenly over his forehead, fell in bright curls on both sides of his face, just marvellously. He had dark brows, definitely outlined on a forehead white as marble; eyes mild and melancholy; a yellow mustache and a yellow, pointed beard. It was an incomparable head, in which nobility was united to manfulness, — the head at once of an angel and a warrior. Krysia’s breath was stopped in her breast, for looking, she did not believe her own eyes, nor could she decide whether she had before her an illusion or a real man. He stood awhile motionless, astonished, or through politeness feigning astonishment at Krysia; at last he moved from the door, and waving his hat downward began to sweep the floor with its plumes. Krysia rose, but her feet trembled under her; and now blushing, now growing pale, she closed her eyes.
Meanwhile his voice sounded low and soft, “I am Ketling of Elgin, — the friend and companion-at-arms of Pan Volodyovski. The servant has told me already that I have the unspeakable happiness and honor to receive as guests under my roof the sister and relatives of my Pallas; but pardon, worthy lady, my confusion, for the servant told me nothing of what my eyes see, and my eyes are overcome by the brightness of your presence.”
With such a compliment did the knightly Ketling greet Krysia; but she did not repay him in like manner, for she could not find a single word. She thought only that when he had finished, he would incline surely a second time, for in the silence she heard again the rustle of plumes on the floor. She felt also that there was need, urgent need, to make some answer and return compliment for compliment, otherwise she might be held a simple woman; but meanwhile her breath fails her, the pulse is throbbing in her hands and her temples, her breast rises and falls as if she were suffering greatly. She opens her eyelids; he stands before her with head inclined somewhat, with admiration and respect in his wonderful face. With trembling hand Krysia seizes her robe to make even a courtesy before the cavalier; fortunately, at that moment cries of “Ketling! Ketling!” are heard behind the door, and into the room rushes, with open arms, the panting Zagloba.
The two men embraced each other then; and during that time the young lady tried to recover, and to look two or three times at the knight. He embraced Zagloba heartily, but with that unusual elegance in every movement which he had either inherited from his ancestors or acquired at the refined courts of kings and magnates.
“How are you?” cried Zagloba. “I am as glad to see you in your house as in my own. Let me look at you. Ah, you have grown thin! Is it not some love-affair? As God lives, you have grown thin. Do you know, Michael has gone to the squadron? Oh, you have done splendidly to come! Michael thinks no more of the cloister. His sister is living here with two young ladies, — maidens like turnips! Oh, for God’s sake, Panna Krysia is here! I beg pardon for my words, but let that man’s eyes crawl out who denies beauty to either of you; this cavalier has seen it already in your case.”
Ketling inclined his head a third time, and said with a smile, “I left the house a barrack and find it Olympus; for I see a goddess at the entrance.”
“Ketling! how are you?” cried a second time Zagloba, for whom one greeting was too little, and he seized him again in his arms. “Never mind,” said he, “you haven’t seen the haiduk yet. One is a beauty, but the other is honey! How are you, Ketling? God give you health! I will talk to you. It is you; very good. That is a delight to this old man. You are glad of your guests. Pani Makovetski has come here, for it was difficult to find lodgings in the time of the Diet; but now it is easier, and she will go out, of course, for it is not well for young ladies to lodge in a single man’s house, lest people might look awry, and some gossip might come of the matter.”
“For God’s sake! I will never permit that! I am to Volodyovski not a friend, but a brother; and I may receive Pani Makovetski as a sister under my roof. To you, young lady, I shall turn for assistance, and if necessary will beg it here on my knees.”
Saying this, Ketling knelt before Krysia, and seizing her hand, pressed it to his lips and looked into her eyes imploringly, joyously, and at the same time pensively; she began to blush, especially as Zagloba cried out straightway, “He has barely come when he is on his knees before her. As God lives! I’ll tell Pani Makovetski that I found you in that posture. Sharp, Ketling! See what court customs are!”
“I am not skilled in court customs,” whispered the lady, in great confusion.
“Can I reckon on your aid?” asked Ketling.
“Rise, sir!”
“May I reckon on your aid? I am Pan Michael’s brother. An injury will be done him if this house is abandoned.”
“My wishes are nothing here,” answered Krysia, with more presence of mind, “though I must be grateful for yours.”
“I thank you!” answered Ketling, pressing her hand to his mouth.
“Ah! frost out of doors, and Cupid is naked; but he would not freeze in this house,” said Zagloba. “And I see that from sighs alone there will be a thaw, — from nothing but sighs.”
“Spare us,” said Krysia.
“I thank God that you have not lost your jovial humor,” said Ketling, “for joyousness is a sign of health.”
“And a clear conscience,” added Zagloba. “‘He grieves who is troubled,’ declares the Seer in Holy Writ. Nothing troubles me, therefore I am joyous. Oh, a hundred Turks! What do I behold? For I saw you in Polish costume with a lynx-skin cap and a sabre, and now you have changed again into some kind of Englishman, and are going around on slim legs like a stork.”
“For I have been in Courland, where the Polish dress is not worn, and have just passed two days with the English resident in Warsaw.”
“Then you are returning from Courland?”
“I am. The relative who adopted me has died, and left me another estate there.”
“Eternal repose to him! He was a Catholic, of course?”
“He was.”
“You have this consolation at least. But you will not leave us for this property in Courland?�
��
“I will live and die here,” answered Ketling, looking at Krysia; and at once she dropped her long lashes on her eyes.
Pani Makovetski arrived when it was quite dark; and Ketling went outside the gate to meet her. He conducted the lady to his house with as much homage as if she had been a reigning princess. She wished on the following day to seek other quarters in the city itself; but her resolve was ineffective. The young knight implored, dwelt on his brotherhood with Pan Michael, and knelt until she agreed to stay with him longer. It was merely stipulated that Pan Zagloba should remain some time yet, to shield the ladies with his age and dignity from evil tongues. He agreed willingly, for he had become attached beyond measure to the haiduk; and besides, he had begun to arrange in his head certain plans which demanded his presence absolutely. The maidens were both glad, and Basia came out at once openly on Ketling’s side.
“We will not move out to-day, anyhow,” said she to Pan Michael’s hesitating sister; “and if not, it is all the same whether we stay one day or twelve.”
Ketling pleased her as well as Krysia, for he pleased all women; besides, Basia had never seen a foreign cavalier, except officers of foreign infantry, — men of small rank and rather common persons. Therefore she walked around him, shaking her forelock, dilating her nostrils, and looking at him with a childlike curiosity; so importunate was she that at last she heard the censure of Pani Makovetski. But in spite of the censure, she did not cease to investigate him with her eyes, as if wishing to fix his military value, and at last she turned to Pan Zagloba.
“Is he a great soldier?” asked she of the old man in a whisper.
“Yes; so that he cannot be more celebrated. You see he has immense experience, for, remaining in the true faith, he served against the English rebels from his fourteenth year. He is a noble also of high birth, which is easily seen from his manners.”
“Have you seen him under fire?”
“A thousand times! He would halt for you in it without a frown, pat his horse on the shoulder, and be ready to talk of love.”
Complete Works of Henryk Sienkiewicz Page 253