Complete Works of Henryk Sienkiewicz

by Henryk Sienkiewicz

  “To tell the truth,” responded Pani Otocka, “I want to leave Jastrzeb as soon as possible. We are not necessary for Aunt but are rather a hindrance in the preparations for her departure, and I confess that I am possessed by fear. Please read that letter again carefully. Why, there are threats there against all the residents of Jastrzeb and even against Marynia if she stays with us.”

  Gronski thought of Ladislaus receiving at the same time a death sentence, and in the first moments it occurred to him that it might have some connection with Laskowicz’s letter. But after a while he recollected that similar sentences were sent to the doctor and even the aged notary: therefore to pacify Pani Otocka, he said:

  “These are times of continual menaces and everybody receives them, but I do not think that Laskowicz intended to warn Marynia of any imminent attack threatening us in Jastrzeb. He undoubtedly wished to say that the waves of socialism will sweep away all who do not float with it, and therefore us. But as the peace of yourself and Marynia is involved, as to leaving, why of course! Why should we not leave even to-morrow?”

  “I already thought of that, but Aunt urged us to wait for her and Aninka promised her that.”

  “Then let her remain, and you ladies leave. Ah, so Miss Anney delays the departure? Good news for Laudie! May I tell him that? A while ago, he begged me to learn something from you, — for the poor fellow barely lives. He is the most love-sick swain within the boundaries of the Commonwealth.”

  “So it has gone as far as that?”

  “It has! Evidently there is something inflammatory in the atmosphere of Jastrzeb. Here everybody falls in love, either openly or in secret.”

  Hearing this, Pani Otocka unexpectedly blushed like a fifteen-year-old girl, and though this happened often and upon the most trivial provocation, Gronski being unable to surmise what had passed through her mind, looked at her with a certain wonder.

  “How then?” he said. “There are Laudie, Laskowicz, and Dolhanski. But Dolhanski has the most energy, for, after his latest repulse, he immediately decamps upon a new expedition, while Laudie fears.”

  “What?” asked Pani Otocka, raising her eyes.

  “First, a repulse from which he thinks he could not recover, and, again, a discussion with his mother which awaits him.”

  “Perhaps something else awaits Cousin Laudie, but he need not fear about Aninka.”

  “He will die from joy when I tell him that, but in my way, I, who am known to you as a meddler, could die from curiosity.”

  “What of it, when I have no right to speak about it?”

  “Not even when we leave Jastrzeb?”

  “Not even then. After all, everything will soon clear up.”

  “In such case, I have procured enough for the nonce, and in the meanwhile I will return to Laudie to tell him the good news and apprise him of our departure. I will not mention anything about Laskowicz’s letter, for tomorrow he will set off for the city and, if they met, a nasty encounter might result.”

  XIII

  Ladislaus, however, did not go to the city on the day following his conversation with Gronski, for he was notified that the meeting of the executors of Zarnowski’s will was postponed for one week. The reason for this was that in two days a convention of the citizens of the vicinity was to commence in reference to providing insurance for the superannuated rural officials and manor-servants, and also in regard to the more burning question of introducing the Polish language into the communes, — a question in which the communal justices as well as the villagers were interested. Ladislaus determined, by all means, to participate in these debates, but as they were to take place in the forenoons, he formulated a plan of going to them every morning and returning home in the afternoon. In view of the proximity of Jastrzeb to the city, this plan was quite feasible.

  However, he was disappointed in the hope that he could devote those two days exclusively to the guests, or rather to the most precious of guests in Jastrzeb, as the disorders in Rzeslewo broke out with renewed virulence and they required almost all his time. The strike of the manor help, indeed, ceased so completely that the intervention, which Dolhanski advised, became superfluous and it was necessary to restrain it. But in the meantime individual tenants and some of the husbandmen began to commit depredations in the forest. Ladislaus, at the head of the local and Jastrzeb foresters, sought these disorderly persons, who, indeed, hid at the sight of him: nevertheless they assumed a very threatening attitude towards the servants, promising to all swift vengeance. The foresters received bulky letters, assuring them “that they would get a bullet in the head, and the heir also would.” But the heir, who was not wanting in youthful energy and was not averse to adventure, did not at all neglect the defence of the Rzeslewo forests, and, what was more, he personally rushed over to Rzeslewo and summoning the malefactors, declared that he would invoke courts and punishment.

  And afterwards, he repaired at the designated time to the conference. It was to be the last day of the sojourn in Jastrzeb of Pani Otocka, Marynia, and Gronski, who decided to leave on the following day for Warsaw. Miss Anney, at Pani Krzycki’s solicitation, agreed to remain for a few days, and leave with her. Ladislaus announced that he would return as soon as possible in order to spend the evening with all of them and to listen for the last time to Marynia’s bewitching violin. He also said that he would induce the notary and the doctor to come with him.

  As a result, they waited dinner for them. In the meantime, about four o’clock, Gronski sat in his room writing a letter to Dolhanski, Marynia, upstairs, played her daily exercises, Pani Otocka sat with the patient, and Miss Anney went out on the balcony, ostensibly to photograph the old and lofty trees which enclosed the courtyard on two sides, but in reality to see whether he, whom they expected at home, was returning. So instead of photographing, she began to lose her sight and soul in the shady depths of the old linden roadway. Hope that soon she would behold in that depth a cloud of dust, horses, and carriages, and that afterwards the lively form of a youth would leap out, filled her with a quiet joy. Lo, after a while she would see before her that countenance, stately, sympathetic, and sincere; those eyes, whose every glance spoke to her a hundred times more than the lips, and would hear that voice which penetrated to her heart and thrilled it like music. At this thought, Miss Anney was encompassed with such sweet, calm feeling, as if she were a child and as if some loved hand were lightly rocking her to sleep; as if she were resting in a boat, which the gentle waves bore somewhere into a distance, unknown, but radiant. To permit herself to be rocked, to allow herself to be borne, to confide in the waves, to not think, for the time being, of where the boat will stop, — this was all that the heart of the maiden, at such moments, desired. But at other moments, when she propounded to herself the question, “What will happen further?” she looked with faith into the future. Sometimes when sleep refused to close her eyes, there flitted through her mind, like dark butterflies, uncertainties and fears, but even then she said to herself that the heaven may become cloudy in the future, but at present she was enjoying charming, fair weather, and every day was like a flower, and she plucked those flowers, one after another and laid them upon her bosom. So she thought that for this it was worth while to live and even to die.

  And at that moment, though her soul was dissolving in the sun, in the serene atmosphere, in the rustle of leaves and in the great pastoral calm, flooded with light, she had no desire to die, for it seemed to her that, with the air, she inhaled joyful appeasement. Everything about her began to lose the mark of reality and change into an azure vision of happiness, half dreamy, half wakeful. From this revery she was aroused by the sight, awaiting which she had sat for almost an hour on the balcony. Lo, at the uttermost end of the roadway her eagerly desired cloud of dust appeared and it approached with unusual rapidity. Miss Anney recollected herself. In the first moments she wanted to retire. “It is necessary, it is necessary,” she said to herself, “otherwise he will be apt to think that I was waiting for him.” An
d she would have been sincerely indignant had any one suggested to her that such was the case. But suddenly her knees became so weak that she sat again, clutching the camera in order that it might appear that when found on the balcony she was taking photographs. In the meantime the cloud drew nearer the gates of entry, continuing with the same speed. Soon in harmony with the picture which the maiden had previously formed, the gray heads of the fore horses emerged from the dust. Like lightning, an impression of joy shook Miss Anney. “How he is flying and how anxious he is!” But immediately afterwards, as she began to wonder at the amazing speed, she thought that the horses were frightened. They were already so close to the gates that she could perceive the wind-tossed manes, the distended bloody nostrils and the frantic motions of the horses’ feet. Suddenly she rose and her eyes reflected horror, for she observed that the coachman sat, bent so that only the top of his head could be seen — without a cap. In the meantime the intractable horses dashed through the gate; at the winding, the coachman fell off and the carriage with slightly diminished speed swung in a semi-circle along the border of the flower-bed. In the carriage, on the rear seat, Ladislaus sat alone, with his head tilted upwards and propped upon a carriage cushion. A cry of terror escaped from Miss Anney’s breast. The horses, in the twinkle of an eye, reached the balcony and being accustomed to stop before it, implanted their hoofs in the ground. Ladislaus moved and, pale as a corpse, with blood streaming over his collar and coat sleeves, staggered from the carriage; when the maiden hurried towards him, he cried, grasping the air with his mouth:

  “Nothing!... I am wounded, but it is nothing!”

  And he toppled to the ground at her feet.

  And she, in a moment raised him with a strength, amazing in a woman, and supporting him with her arms and breast, began to shriek:

  “Save him! Help! Help!”

  PART SECOND

  I

  When Miss Anney raised the wounded young man, the household servants were in the other part of the house. Nearest to her — for they were in the vestibule playing billiards — were Pani Zosia and Marynia. These ladies rushed upon the balcony and, seeing Miss Anney supporting the disabled youth, emulating her example, began to shout at the top of their voices. She, in the meantime, placed him upon a bench on the balcony and enclosing him in her arms, called for water. Both sisters hurried to the sideboard for it and alarmed the whole house. Gronski and everything living collected there. In the first moments Gronski lost his head and when he recovered his senses he sent Pani Otocka to Ladislaus’ mother to apprise her of the occurrence. In the meanwhile Miss Anney ordered the servants to carry the wounded man. She, herself, was compelled for a while to attend to her maid, who at the sight of Ladislaus, began to scream and then fell into hysterical convulsions. Gronski hastened to the stable to dispatch horses for the doctor.

  But before the wounded man was borne to his room his mother came precipitately. At the news of the misfortune, she forgot about her rheumatism and assisted in the removal of her son, and in undressing and laying him in bed. Afterwards she began to wash out the wounds with a sponge. Ladislaus, owing to a copious flow of blood, fell into a long faint, and, after regaining consciousness for a brief interval, fainted again: in consequence of which he could not give any information about the occurrence. He only repeated several times, “In the woods, in the woods!” From which they could infer that the attack took place, not upon the public highway but on the borders of Rzeslewo or Jastrzeb.

  In the meantime, the rattle of a britzka resounded before the balcony and, a moment later, Gronski summoned Miss Anney from her room, where she was hastily changing her clothes, which were covered with blood.

  “I am riding alone,” he said. “The coachman is on the sick list and the housekeeper has taken charge of him. None of the grooms want to go. All are scared and positively refuse. Only the old lackey is willing to drive, but I think that he cannot drive any better than I can.”

  “It is imperatively necessary to drive for the doctor at once,” answered Miss Anney, pressing the palms of her hands to her burning cheeks, “but it is also necessary to prepare for the defence of the house. Please hurry to the farmers’ quarters and send for the forest rangers to come with their arms. Otherwise those men will be apt to break in here and administer the finishing blow to him.”

  “That is true.”

  And she continued hurriedly:

  “It is necessary to send some one for the men in the sawmill and arm them with firearms. The field hands will follow their example. In all probability an assault will be made upon the manor-house and here are only women. You must assume charge of the defence. Please go at once, and do send for the forest rangers.”

  Gronski admitted the propriety of the advice, and proceeded immediately to the farmers’ buildings. It was within the range of possibility that the assailants, not knowing the result of their shooting, might wish to ascertain and perhaps finish their work. This had happened in several instances, and in view of this, all, and, more particularly, the women, were concerned. Gronski was not an energetic man, but no coward, and the thought of the being most precious to him in the world, Marynia, infused him with energy. He immediately sent the field hands for the forest rangers, as well as to the sawmill, where a dozen or more men worked, of whom it was known in the manor, as well as in the village, that they read “The Pole” and did not fear any one. The manor domestics very quickly recovered from their consternation. The reason for this was that the wounded coachman, though he did not see the assailants who had fired from thickets, claimed with great positiveness that “the Rzeslewo people attacked the young heir” on account of disputes about the forest. This removed from the affair the awe of mystery; and a peasant does not fear danger but mystery. Besides, as there existed between the men of Jastrzeb and the men of Rzeslewo an ancient grudge, dating from the time of the wrangle about bounding the stream, as soon as the news of the attempt of the Rzeslewo men spread over the village, those of Jastrzeb ceased not only to fear, but a desire for revenge was bred in them. The manor servants began to feel ashamed now that they had refused to drive for the doctor. Others, hearing that Rzeslewo wished to make an onslaught on Jastrzeb manor, seized pitchforks and pulled out pickets from the fences. Gronski, aware of the death sentence received by Ladislaus, viewed the matter differently, but kept his opinion to himself, understanding that a peasant, though he often suddenly displays unusual terror, when once he starts to pull out pickets from fences, does not fear anybody whatsoever.

  Therefore delighted with this turn of affairs, he took with him a stout groom, who undertook to convey him to the city. But here a surprise awaited him, for before the balcony there was not a trace of the britzka and on the balcony stood the old lackey Andrew, with dejected face, and Marynia, pale, terror-stricken, with tears in her eyes, and who seeing him began to cry:

  “How could you, sir, permit her to ride alone? How could you do it?”

  “Miss Anney drove alone to the city!” exclaimed Gronski.

  And his countenance reflected such amazement that it was easy to perceive that it had happened without his knowledge or consent.

  “My God!” he said, “she sent me to the farmhouses to arrange the defence, and it never occurred to me that in the meantime she would jump into the britzka and drive away. It never occurred to me for a moment.”

  But Marynia did not stop her lamentations.

  “They will kill her in the woods; they will kill her,” she repeated, wringing her hands.

  Gronski, in order to quiet her, assured her that he would send out succor at once, but returning to the farmhouses, he began to reason that if he, himself, set out after her on horseback he would accomplish nothing and would leave the house without a masculine head, and if he should send the field laborers, before they reached the forest Miss Anney would outstrip them. It was possible for them to insure, fairly well, her safe return, but to insure her safe passage through the woods in the direction of the city it was absolutely too
late.

  This was likewise acknowledged by Dolhanski, who not knowing of anything, returned by chance a half an hour later from Gorek to Jastrzeb. Hearing of the occurrence and Miss Anney’s expedition, he could not refrain from exclaiming:

  “But that is a brave girl. I wish I was Krzycki.”

  After which, going with Gronski to see the injured man, he added:

  “We will have to go out to meet her. I will attend to that.”

  Ladislaus was already completely conscious and wanted to rise. He did not do so on account of his mother’s entreaties and adjurations. His two friends did not tell him who had gone after the doctor. They only informed him that the doctor would arrive without delay and, after a short while, left, having something else to attend to. Dolhanski now assumed command over the improvised garrison which was to defend the manor-house. Gronski did not expect to find in him such an extraordinary supply of energy, sangfroid and self-confidence. He soon imparted this feeling to the household servants and the foresters; and the organization of the defence was not difficult. Two Jastrzeb forest rangers and one from Rzeslewo, who came later, had their own firearms, and in the manor-house were found Ladislaus’ six fowling-pieces and, of these, two were short rifles. Dolhanski distributed this entire arsenal among men who knew how to use the weapons. A few servants from the village, who had participated in the Japanese war, appeared. Under these circumstances there was no fear of a sudden and unexpected attack. The workingmen from the sawmill, being of the Nationalistic persuasion, were anxious “that something should happen,” so that they could “show how the teeth of uninvited guests are cleaned.”

  Having arranged everything in this manner, Dolhanski intrusted the defence of the manor-house and the women to Gronski. Before that, however, he calmed them as to Miss Anney with the assurance that he returned from Gorek through the selfsame forest and rode in safety. This was the actual fact. But what was stranger, he did not meet the Englishwoman, from which they inferred that the courageous but prudent young lady evidently drove on another side road. However, as the distance to the city was not great and her return might be expected soon, he proceeded to meet her, taking along with him two forest rangers armed from head to foot. Gronski again was compelled to admire the shrewdness and ingenuity with which he issued in the name of the “Central Government” a command to the peasants of the village, that they should, in case they heard shots in the forest, rush in a body to their aid. The peasants did not know what this “Central Government” was. Neither did Dolhanski. He only knew that the name alone would create an impression, and the supposition that it was some Polish authority would ensure it a willing obedience.