“Silence! We are listening!” said voices.
And in fact deep silence had followed.
But Pan Gideon was motionless.
“What is the matter? What has happened? For God’s sake! Speak on!” cried they.
But Pan Gideon answered only with a terrible rattling; then his shoulders and arms began on a sudden to quiver.
Panna Sieninski sprang from her chair pale as a wall, and cried in terrified accents, —
“Guardian! guardian!”
At the table were dismay and confusion; cries and questions rose everywhere. Guests surrounded Pan Gideon, the prelate seized his arms and brought him to the back of the chair, some began to throw water on him, others cried, “Take him to the bed and bleed him as quickly as possible.” Some of the women were tearful; some ran, as if frantic, through the chambers with groans or with sharp lamentation. But Pan Gideon remained sitting, his head was thrown back, the veins in his forehead were distended like straps, his eyes were closed firmly, the hoarseness and rattling grew louder.
The unexpected guest had come indeed out of darkness and entered the mansion, dreadful and merciless.
CHAPTER XIII
The servants, at command of the prelate, bore the sick man to the other end of the mansion, to the “chancellery,” which served Pan Gideon also as a bedroom. They sent immediately for the village blacksmith, who knew how to bleed, and bled men as well as animals. It appeared after a moment that he was in front of the mansion with a whole crowd gathered there for entertainment, but he was quite drunk, unluckily. Pani Vinnitski remembered that Father Voynovski had the fame of being an excellent physician, so a carriage was sent with all speed for him, though it seemed clear that every effort would fail, and that no rescue was possible for the sick man. That was in truth the position.
Except Panna Anulka, Pani Vinnitski, the two Krepetskis, and Pan Zabierzovski, who occupied himself somewhat with medicine, the prelate admitted none to the chancellery, lest a throng might hinder recovery. All other guests, as well women as men, had gathered into the adjoining large chamber where beds for men had been provided. All were like a flock of frightened sheep, filled with fear, alarm, and curiosity. Watching the door, they waited for tidings, and some of them made remarks in undertones touching that terrible happening, and touching those omens which had announced it.
“Did you notice how the lights quivered, and the flames were in some manner blackish? From this it is clear that Death had overshadowed them,” said one of the Sulgostovskis, in a whisper.
“Death was among us, and we did not know her.”
“The dogs howled at her.”
“And that clatter! Perhaps that was just Death on her journey.”
“It is clear that God did not favor the marriage, which would have been an injustice to the family.”
Further whispering was stopped by the coming of Pani Vinnitski and Martsian.
Pani Vinnitski hurried through the chamber, she was in haste to bring a reliquary which warded off evil spirits; but Martsian they surrounded immediately.
“How is he?”
Martsian shrugged his shoulders, raised them till his head seemed to be in his bosom, and answered, —
“He is rattling yet.”
“Is there no hope?”
“None.”
At that moment through the open door came distinctly the solemn words of the prelate, —
“Ego te absolve a peccatis tuis — et ab omnibus censuris, in nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.” (I absolve thee from thy sins, and from all blame, in the name of the Father and Son and Holy Ghost.)
All knelt and began to pray. Pani Vinnitski passed between the kneeling people, holding with both hands the reliquary. Martsian followed and closed the door after him.
But it was not closed long, for a quarter of an hour later Martsian appeared in it and said in his squeaking voice of a clarionet, —
“He is dead!”
Then with the words, “Eternal rest,” they moved one after another to the chancellery, to cast a last look at the dead man.
Meanwhile at the other end of the house, in the dining-hall, revolting scenes were enacted. The servants of the household had hated Pan Gideon as much as they had feared him; hence it seemed to them that with his death would come an hour of relief, delight, and impunity. To servants from outside an occasion was offered for revelry; so all servants, as well those of the house as others summoned in to assist them, tipsy more or less since midday, rushed now at the wine and the viands. Servants raised to their lips whole flasks of Dantsic liquor, Malmoisie, and Hungarian wine; others, more greedy for food, seized pieces of meat and cake. The snow-white tablecloth was stained in one twinkle with gravies. In the disturbance chairs were overturned on the floor and candlesticks on the table. Ornamented cut glasses fell from drunken hands to the floor with a crash and were broken. Quarrels and fights burst out here and there in the dining-hall. Some stole table ornaments directly. In one word, an orgy began, sounds of which flew to the other end of the mansion.
Martsian Krepetski, and after him the two Sulgostovskis, young Zabierzovski and one more of the guests, rushed toward those outcries, and at sight of what was happening drew their sabres. At the first moment disturbance increased. The Sulgostovskis went no further than to strike with the flat of the weapons, but Martsian was seized by an access of fury. His staring eyes protruded still farther, his teeth glittered from under his mustaches, and he began to cut with the sabre edge whatever man met him. Some were covered with blood, others hid under the table; the remainder crowded in disordered flight through the door, and Martsian cut at this throng while he shouted, —
“Dog brothers! Scoundrels! I am master in this place!”
And he rushed after them to the entrance whence his shrieking voice was heard shouting, —
“Clubs! rods!”
And the guests stood in the hall, as in ruins, gazing with mortified look, and shaking their heads at the spectacle.
“I have never seen such a sad sight,” said one Sulgostovski.
“A wonderful death, and wonderful happenings! Look at this it is just as if Tartars had raided the mansion.”
“Or evil spirits,” added Zabierzovski. “A terrible night!”
They commanded the servants hidden under the table to crawl forth and bring some order to the dining-hall. They came out, perfectly sobered from terror, and went to work nimbly.
Meanwhile Martsian had returned. He was calmer, but his lips were still trembling from anger.
“They will come to their minds!” said he, addressing those present. “But I thank you, gentlemen, for helping me to punish those ruffians. It will not be easier here for them than it was in the days of the dead man! My head upon that point.”
The Sulgostovskis looked at him quickly, and one said, —
“You have not to thank us more than we you.”
“How is that?”
“Why art thou qualifying to be the only judge here?” asked the other of the twins.
Martsian, as if wishing to spring to their eyes, sprang upward on his short bow-legs straightway, and shouted, —
“I have the right, the right!”
“What right?”
“A better right than yours.”
“How is that? Hast read the will?”
“What is a will to me?” Here he blew on the palm of his hand; “that’s what it is, — wind! To whom has he willed it — to his wife? But where is his wife? That is the question — we are next of kin here. We — the Krepetskis, not you.”
“But we will see about that. God kill thee!”
“God kill thee! Clear out!”
“Thou goat! Thou nasty cur! Why dost thou tell us to go? Better have a care of thy goat forehead!”
“Are ye threatening?”
Here Martsian shook his sabre and pushed up to the brothers. They too grasped at their weapons.
But at that moment the offended voice of the prelate wa
s heard there behind them, —
“Gracious gentlemen, the dead man is not cold yet.”
The Sulgostovskis were terribly ashamed, and one of them said, —
“Reverend prelate, we are not to blame; we have our own bread and do not desire that of others, but this serpent is beginning to sting, and wishes to drive people out of this mansion.”
“What people? Whom?”
“Whomever he comes upon. To-day us, whom he has ordered away, to-morrow, perhaps, the orphan bride living under this roof here.”
“That is untrue! untrue!” cried Martsian.
And, winding himself into a ball, he laughed sneeringly, rubbed his hands, bowed down and said with a certain envenomed sincerity, —
“On the contrary, on the contrary! I invite all to the funeral and to the feast following after the interment. I beg most humbly; my father and I beg. And as to Panna Sieninski, she will find at all times a roof, and protection, and care at all times, at all times!”
And he went on rubbing his hands very gleefully.
CHAPTER XIV
Martsian had determined indeed to tell Panna Anulka that she must always consider Belchantska as her own, but he deferred this information till after the funeral; he wished first to talk with his father, who, because of the legal actions on which he had been working all his lifetime, was skilled in law, and was able to avoid in advance many troubles. Both were convinced that their cause was a good one; so the next day, just at the moment when men were placing Pan Gideon in his coffin, they shut themselves up in a side chamber and began with good courage to take counsel.
“Providence is above us,” said the old man, “nothing but Providence, to which Pan Gideon will answer seriously for the injustice which he intended to do us.”
“Well, let him answer,” replied Martsian. “It is our happiness that he only intended and did not succeed, for now we will take everything. The Sulgostovskis have quarrelled with me already, but I will tear the souls out of those wretches before I let them have even one field of Belchantska.”
“Ha, the scoundrels! the sons of a such a one! God twist them! I have no fear of such people, I fear only a will. Hast thou asked the prelate? If any one knows of a will it is he.”
“I had no chance yesterday, for he attacked me when quarrelling with the Sulgostovskis and said to us: ‘The dead man is not cold yet,’ then he went for a coffin and a priest, and to-day there has been no opportunity.”
“But if Pan Gideon has willed all to that girl?”
“He had not the right, for this estate belonged to his late wife, our nearest relative.”
“But a will has been mentioned, and there will be costs and going to tribunals, and God knows what more in addition.”
“Father is accustomed to lawsuits. But I have fixed in my head something of such sort that there will be no need of lawsuits; meanwhile beatus qui tenet” (happy is the man in possession); “for this reason I shall not leave Belchantska. I have sent for our servants already. Let the Sulgostovskis or the Zabierzovskis drive me out later.”
“But the girl, if it is willed to her?”
“Who will take her side? She is as much alone in this world as a finger; she has no relatives, no friends — an ordinary orphan. Who will wish to expose his neck for her, lay himself open to quarrels, duels, expenses? How does she concern any one? Tachevski was in love with her, but Tachevski is gone, he may never come back, and if he should he has nothing; he knows as much as my horse about lawsuits. To tell the truth, the position is such that if not Pan Gideon, but her own father, had left her Belchantska, we might come in here and manage in our own way, under pretext of guarding the orphan. I think that Pan Gideon intended to make a will only in the contract of marriage, so either no will at all will be found, or if it be found it will be some old one with a clause for Panna Anulka from her guardian.”
“We can break such a will,” said the old man, “my head on that! Though a lawsuit will not be avoided.”
“How so? I hear father’s words, but I think it will be avoided.”
“If, for speaking between us, Pan Gideon’s wife was weak-minded, if she left all to her husband he had the right to leave it to whomever he selected.”
Old Krepetski uttered the last words almost in a whisper, while looking around on all sides, though he knew that there was no one in the room except him and Martsian.
“How could she leave it to him when she died suddenly?” asked Martsian.
“It was dated the year after their marriage. It is clear that Pan Gideon wheedled her out of it, because they inhabited perilous places, and no man could know when the Tartars might howl out his requiem. They drew up wills to each other in the town at Pomorani; these wills were brought by Pan Gideon to this place. I thought to start lawsuits against him at that time, but saw that I could not do so successfully. Now it is different.”
“We shall succeed now without lawsuits.”
“If so, all the better; but we must be ready for action.”
“Ei! there is no need to be ready.”
“How, then?”
“I will get on without father.”
Old Pan Krepetski, on hearing this, flashed into anger.
“Thou wilt get on? What? How? But spoil not my labor. He will get on! But didst thou not advise me to leave the Silnitskis in peace touching Dranjkov? According to thee, there was no way to master them. No way? Why not? They had witnesses to swear to the land — a great thing! I made men put earth into their boots from my courtyard. Well, and what after that? They went to Silnitski’s land, and took no false oath when each one of them testified: ‘I swear that the land on which I am standing belongs to Krepetski.’ Thou wouldst have thought a whole year, but never invented a reason of that kind. Thou wilt get on? Look at him!”
And he began to move his toothless jaws angrily, as if he were chewing some substance; and his chin touched his nose, which was hooked like the beak of some bird of prey.
“Pant out thy anger, my father, and listen,” said Martsian. “Wherever it is a question of carrying on lawsuits I yield to thee always; but as to what concerns women, my experience is greater, and I trust in myself with more confidence.”
“Is it possible?”
“Therefore, if it comes to a struggle with Parma Anulka it will not be before any tribunal.”
“What art thou working out?”
“To divine is not difficult. Is this not my opportunity? Or wilt thou find another such girl in this region?”
Martsian threw his head up and looked in the eyes of his father. The father looked at him, too, with a glance of inquiry, chewed with his gums, and then asked, —
“How is it, pray tell me.”
“Why not tell? Since yesterday it is circling through my head.”
“Hm! Why not? Because she is as needy as Lazarus.”
“But I will come into Belchantska with songs, and unhindered. She is indigent, but the girl is of great blood. And remember the words of Pan Gideon, that if one were to look through the papers of the Sieninskis, it would be possible to drive from their land one-half of the inhabitants of a province. The Sobieskis grew great from them, hence there should be royal protection. The king himself ought to think of a provision. And the girl has pleased my eye this long time, for she is a dainty morsel — dainty! oh dainty!”
And he sprang about on his short legs, licking his mustache as he did so; wherewith he looked so revolting that old Krepetski remarked to him, —
“She will not want thee.”
“And she wanted old Pan Gideon. Are the girls few who have wanted me? A great many young men have gone to the army; so we may buy girls by the bundle, like shoe-nails. Old Pan Gideon knew why he sent me from the mansion. He would not have done so, had he himself not been looking at Panna Anulka.”
“But supposing that she will not want thee — then what?”
Evil gleams shone from the eyes of Martsian.
“Then,” replied he, with emphasis, “it
is possible so to act with a girl who has no protection, that she herself will beg thee to go to the church with her.”
The old man was frightened at these words.
“Ah!” said he. “But dost thou not know that act to be criminal?”
“I know that no one would take the part of Panna Anulka.”
“But I say to thee, have a care! As it is there are voices against thee. If a man win or lose a lawsuit for property he will not become infamous, but thy thought is of crime — dost understand me?”
“Oh, it will not go to that unless she herself wants it. But do not hinder, only act as I tell thee. After the funeral let father take Tekla home with him, and if there is any excuse also old Pani Vinnitski. I will stay with the girls, with Agneshka and Johanna. They are reptiles, raging at any woman who is younger and comelier than they are. They began yesterday to point their stings at the orphan, but what will they do when living under one roof with her? They will stab, and bite, and insult her, refuse her the bread of compassion. I see this, as if I were reading it in a book, and it is all as water to my mill.”
“What wilt thou grind with it?”
“What will I grind? This: that I will quarrel with those serpents. I will invent something against them; I will give one a slap in the face when it pleases me, then the orphan will kiss me on the hands, on the knees. ‘I am thy defender, thy brother, thy true friend,’ I will say to her, ‘thou art here the real mistress.’ And dost thou think, father, that the heart in her will not soften, that she will not fall in love with him who will be a shield and defence to her, who will wipe away her tears, who will watch day and night over her? And if in her sorrow and abandonment and tears she comes to some extraordinary confidence, so much the better! so much the better! so much the better!”
Here Martsian rubbed his hands and so exhibited his goat eyes to his father that the old man had to spit in abhorrence. “Tfu! Pagan!” exclaimed he. “There is always one thing in thy mind.”
“Indeed ants walk on me when I look at her. It wasn’t for nothing that Pan Gideon drove me from the mansion.”
Complete Works of Henryk Sienkiewicz Page 568