CHAPTER XVII.
Though Zagloba received the news of Ketling's departure with astonishment, still no suspicion came into his head; for it was easy to admit that Charles II. had remembered the services which the Ketlings had rendered the throne in time of disturbance, and that he wished to show his gratitude to the last descendant of the family. It would seem even most wonderful were he to act otherwise. Besides, Ketling showed Zagloba certain letters from beyond the sea, and convinced him decisively. In its way that journey endangered all the old noble's plans, and he was thinking with alarm of the future. Judging by his letter, Volodyovski might return any day.
"The winds have blown away in the steppes the remnant of his grief," thought Zagloba. "He will come back more daring than when he departed; and because some devil is drawing him more powerfully to Krysia, he is ready to propose to her straightway. And then,—then Krysia will say yes (for how could she say no to such a cavalier, and, besides, the brother of Pani Makovetski?), and my poor, dearest haiduk will be on the ice."
But Zagloba, with the persistence special to old people, determined at all costs to marry Basia to the little knight. Neither the arguments of Pan Yan, nor those which at intervals he used on himself, had serious effect. At times he promised mentally, it is true, not to interfere again in anything; but he returned afterward involuntarily with greater persistence to the thought of uniting this pair. He meditated for whole days how to effect this; he formed plans, he framed stratagems. And he went so far that when it seemed to him that he had hit upon the means, he cried out straightway, as if the affair were over, "May God bless you!"
But now Zagloba saw before him almost the ruin of his wishes. There remained nothing more to him but to abandon all his efforts and leave the future to God's will; for the shadow of hope that before his departure Ketling would take some decisive step with reference to Krysia could not remain long in Zagloba's head. It was only from sorrow and curiosity, therefore, that he determined to inquire of the young knight touching the time of his going, as well as what he intended to do before leaving the Commonwealth.
Having invited Ketling to a conversation, Zagloba said with a greatly grieved face, "A difficult case! Each man knows best what he ought to do, and I will not ask you to stay; but I should like to know at least something about your return."
"Can I tell what is waiting for me there, where I am going?" answered Ketling,—"what questions and what adventures? I will return sometime, if I can. I will stay there for good if I must."
"You will find that your heart will draw you back to us."
"God grant that my grave will be nowhere else but in the land which gave me all that it could give!"
"Ah, you see in other countries a foreigner is a stepchild all his life; but our mother opens her arms to you at once, and cherishes you as her own son."
"Truth, a great truth. Ei! if only I could— For everything in the old country may come to me, but happiness will not come."
"Ah! I said to you, 'Settle down; get married.' You would not listen to me. If you were married, even if you went away, you would have to return, unless you wished to take your wife through the raging waves; and I do not suppose that. I gave you advice. Well, you wouldn't take it; you wouldn't take it."
Here Zagloba looked attentively at Ketling's face, wishing some definite explanation from him, but Ketling was silent; he merely hung his head and fixed his eyes on the floor.
"What is your answer to this?" asked Zagloba, after a while.
"I had no chance whatever of taking it," answered the young knight, slowly.
Zagloba began to walk through the room, then he stopped in front of Ketling, joined his hands behind his back, and said, "But I tell you that you had. If you had not, may I never from this day forward bind this body of mine with this belt here! Krysia is a friend of yours."
"God grant that she remain one, though seas be between us!"
"What does that mean?"
"Nothing more; nothing more."
"Have you asked her?"
"Spare me. As it is, I am so sad because I am going."
"Ketling, do you wish me to speak to her while there is time?"
Ketling considered that if Krysia wished so earnestly that their feelings should remain secret, perhaps she might be glad if an opportunity were offered of denying them openly, therefore he answered, "I assure you that that is vain, and I am so far convinced that I have done everything to drive that feeling from my head; but if you are looking for a miracle, ask."
"Ah, if you have driven her out of your head," said Zagloba, with a certain bitterness, "there is nothing indeed to be done. Only permit me to remark that I looked on you as a man of more constancy."
Ketling rose, and stretching upward his two hands feverishly, said with violence unusual to him, "What will it help me to wish for one of those stars? I cannot fly up to it, neither can it come down to me. Woe to people who sigh after the silver moon!"
Zagloba grew angry, and began to puff. For a time he could not even speak, and only when he had mastered his anger did he answer with a broken voice, "My dear, do not hold me a fool; if you have reasons to give, give them to me, as to a man who lives on bread and meat, not as to one who is mad,—for if I should now frame a fiction, and tell you that this cap of mine here is the moon, and that I cannot reach it with my hand, I should go around the city with a bare, bald head, and the frost would bite my ears like a dog. I will not wrestle with statements like that. But I know this: the maiden lives three rooms distant from here; she eats; she drinks; when she walks, she must put one foot before the other; in the frost her nose grows red, and she feels hot in the heat; when a mosquito bites her, she feels it; and as to the moon, she may resemble it in this, that she has no beard. But in the way that you talk, it may be said that a turnip is an astrologer. As to Krysia, if you have not tried, if you have not asked her, it is your own fault; but if you have ceased to love the girl, and now you are going away, saying to yourself 'moon,' then you may nourish any weed with your honesty as well as your wit,—that is the point of the question."
To this Ketling answered, "It is not sweet, but bitter in my mouth from the food which you are giving me. I go, for I must; I do not ask, because I have nothing to ask about. But you judge me unjustly,—God knows how unjustly!"
"Ketling! I know, of course, that you are a man of honor; but I cannot understand those ways of yours. In my time a man went to a maiden and spoke into her eyes with this rhyme, 'If you wish me, we will live together; if not, I will not buy you.'[15] Each one knew what he had to do; whoever was halting, and not bold in speech, sent a better man to talk than himself. I offered you my services, and offer them yet. I will go; I will talk; I will bring back an answer, and according to that, you will go or stay."
"I must go! it cannot be otherwise, and will not."
"You will return."
"No! Do me a kindness, and speak no more of this. If you wish to inquire for your own satisfaction, very well, but not in my name."
"For God's sake, have you asked her already?"
"Let us not speak of this. Do me the favor."
"Well, let us talk of the weather. May the thunderbolt strike you, and your ways! So you must go, and I must curse."
"I take farewell of you."
"Wait, wait! Anger will leave me this moment. My Ketling, wait, for I had something to say to you. When do you go?"
"As soon as I can settle my affairs. I should like to wait in Courland for the quarter's rent; and the house in which we have been living I would sell willingly if any one would buy it."
"Let Makovetski buy it, or Michael. In God's name! but you will not go away without seeing Michael?"
"I should be glad in my soul to see him."
"He may be here any moment. He may incline you to Krysia."
Here Zagloba stopped, for a certain alarm seized him suddenly. "I was serving Michael in good intent," thought he, "but terribly against his will; if discord is to rise between him and Ket
ling, better let Ketling go away." Here Zagloba rubbed his bald head with his hand; at last he added, "One thing and another was said out of pure goodwill. I have so fallen in love with you that I would be glad to detain you by all means; therefore I put Krysia before you, like a bit of bacon. But that was only through good-will. What is it to me, old man? In truth, that was only good-will,—nothing more. I am not match-making; if I were, I would have made a match for myself. Ketling, give me your face,[16] and be not angry."
Ketling embraced Zagloba, who became really tender, and straightway gave command to bring the decanter, saying, "We will drink one like this every day on the occasion of your departure."
And they drank. Then Ketling bade him good-by and went out. Immediately the wine roused fancy in Zagloba; he began to meditate about Basia, Krysia, Pan Michael, and Ketling, began to unite them in couples, to bless them; at last he wished to see the young ladies, and said, "Well, I will go and see those kids."
The young ladies were sitting in the room beyond the entrance, and sewing. Zagloba, after he had greeted them, walked through the room, dragging his feet a little; for they did not serve him as formerly, especially after wine. While walking, he looked at the maidens, who were sitting closely, one near the other, so that the bright head of Basia almost touched the dark one of Krysia. Basia followed him with her eyes; but Krysia was sewing so diligently that it was barely possible to catch the glitter of her needle with the eye.
"H'm!" said Zagloba.
"H'm!" repeated Basia.
"Don't mock me, for I am angry."
"He'll be sure to cut my head off!" cried Basia, feigning terror.
"Strike! strike! I'll cut your tongue out,—that's what I'll do!"
Saying this, Zagloba approached the young ladies, and putting his hands on his hips, asked without any preliminary, "Do you want Ketling as husband?"
"Yes; five like him!" said Basia, quickly.
"Be quiet, fly! I am not talking to you. Krysia, the speech is to you. Do you want Ketling as husband?"
Krysia had grown pale somewhat, though at first she thought that Zagloba was asking Basia, not her; then she raised on the old noble her beautiful dark-blue eyes. "No," answered she, calmly.
"Well, 'pon my word! No! At least it is short. 'Pon my word!—'pon my word! And why do you not want him?"
"I want no one."
"Krysia, tell that to some one else," put in Basia.
"What brought the married state into such contempt with you?" continued Zagloba.
"Not contempt; I have a vocation for the convent," answered Krysia.
There was in her voice so much seriousness and such sadness that Basia and Zagloba did not admit even for a moment that she was jesting; but such great astonishment seized both that they began to look as if dazed, now on each other, now on Krysia.
"Well!" said Zagloba, breaking the silence first.
"I wish to enter a convent," repeated Krysia, with sweetness.
Basia looked at her once and a second time, suddenly threw her arms around her neck, pressed her rosy lips to her cheek, and began to say quickly, "Oh, Krysia, I shall sob! Say quickly that you are only talking to the wind; I shall sob, as God is in heaven, I shall!"
CHAPTER XVIII.
After his interview with Zagloba, Ketling went to Pan Michael's sister, whom he informed that because of urgent affairs he must remain in the city, and perhaps too before his final journey he would go for some weeks to Courland; therefore he would not be able in person to entertain her in his suburban house longer. But he implored her to consider that house as her residence in the same way as hitherto, and to occupy it with her husband and Pan Michael during the coming election. Pani Makovetski consented, for in the opposite event the house would become empty, and bring profit to no one.
After that conversation Ketling vanished, and showed himself no more either in the inn, or later in the neighborhood of Mokotov, when Pan Michael's sister returned to the suburbs with the young ladies. Krysia alone felt that absence; Zagloba was occupied wholly with the coming election; while Basia and Pani Makovetski had taken the sudden decision of Krysia to heart so much that they could think of nothing else.
Still, Pani Makovetski did not even try to dissuade Krysia; for in those times opposition to such undertakings seemed to people an injury and an offence to God. Zagloba alone, in spite of all his piety, would have had the courage to protest, had it concerned him in any way; but since it did not, he sat quietly, and he was content in spirit that affairs had arranged themselves so that Krysia retired from between Pan Michael and the haiduk. Now Zagloba was convinced of the successful accomplishment of his most secret desires, and gave himself with all freedom to the labors of the election; he visited the nobles who had come to the capital, or he spent the time in conversations with the vice-chancellor, with whom he fell in love at last, becoming his trusted assistant. After each such conversation he returned home a more zealous partisan of the "Pole," and a more determined enemy of foreigners. Accommodating himself to the instructions of the vice-chancellor, he remained quietly in that condition so far, but not a day passed that he did not win some one for the secret candidate, and that happened which usually happens in such cases,—he pushed himself forward so far that that candidacy became the second object in his life, at the side of the union of Basia and Pan Michael. Meanwhile they were nearer and nearer the election.
Spring had already freed the waters from ice; breezes warm and strong had begun to blow; under the breath of these breezes the trees were sprinkled with buds, and flocks of swallows were hovering around, to spring out at any moment, as simple people think, from the ocean of winter into the bright sunlight. Guests began to come to the election, with the swallows and other birds of passage. First of all came merchants, to whom a rich harvest of profit was indicated, in a place where more than half a million of people were to assemble, counting magnates with their forces, nobles, servants, and the army. Englishmen, Hollanders, Germans, Russians, Tartars, Turks, Armenians, and even Persians came, bringing stuffs, linen, damask, brocades, furs, jewels, perfumes, and sweetmeats. Booths were erected on the streets and outside the city, and in them was every kind of merchandise. Some "bazaars" were placed even in suburban villages; for it was known that the inns of the capital could not receive one tenth of the electors, and that an enormous majority of them would be encamped outside the walls, as was the case always during time of election. Finally, the nobles began to assemble so numerously, in such throngs, that if they had come in like numbers to the threatened boundaries of the Commonwealth, the foot of any enemy would never have crossed them.
Reports went around that the election would be a stormy one, for the whole country was divided between three chief candidates,—Condé, the Princes of Neuberg and of Lorraine. It was said that each party would endeavor to seat its own candidate, even by force. Alarm seized hearts; spirits were inflamed with partisan rancor. Some prophesied civil war; and these forebodings found faith, in view of the gigantic military legions with which the magnates had surrounded themselves. They arrived early, so as to have time for intrigues of all kinds. When the Commonwealth was in peril, when the enemy was putting the keen edge to its throat, neither king nor hetman could bring more than a wretched handful of troops against him; but now in spite of laws and enactments, the Radzivills alone came with an army numbering between ten and twenty thousand men. The Patses had behind them an almost equivalent force; the powerful Pototskis were coming with no smaller strength; other "kinglets" of Poland, Lithuania, and Russia were coming with forces but slightly inferior. "When wilt thou sail in, O battered ship of my country?" repeated the vice-chancellor, more and more frequently; but he himself had selfish objects in his heart. The magnates, with few exceptions, corrupted to the marrow of their bones, were thinking only of themselves and the greatness of their houses, and were ready at any moment to rouse the tempest of civil war.
The throng of nobles increased daily; and it was evident that when, after the Diet
, the election itself would begin, they would surpass even the greatest force of the magnates. But these throngs were incompetent to bring the ship of the Commonwealth into calm waters successfully, for their heads were sunk in darkness and ignorance, and their hearts were for the greater part corrupted. The election therefore gave promise of being prodigious, and no one foresaw that it would end only shabbily, for except Zagloba, even those who worked for the "Pole" could not foresee to what a degree the stupidity of the nobles and the intrigues of the magnates would aid them; not many had hope to carry through such a candidate as Prince Michael. But Zagloba swam in that sea like a fish in water. From the beginning of the Diet he dwelt in the city continually, and was at Ketling's house only when he yearned for his haiduk; but as Basia had lost much joyfulness by reason of Krysia's resolve, Zagloba took her sometimes to the city to let her amuse herself and rejoice her eyes with the sight of the shops.
They went out usually in the morning; and Zagloba brought her back not infrequently late in the evening. On the road and in the city itself the heart of the maiden was rejoiced at sight of the merchandise, the strange people, the many-colored crowds, the splendid troops. Then her eyes would gleam like two coals, her head turn as if on a pivot; she could not gaze sufficiently, nor look around enough, and overwhelmed the old man with questions by the thousand. He answered gladly, for in this way he showed his experience and learning. More than once a gallant company of military surrounded the equipage in which they were riding; the knighthood admired Basia's beauty greatly, her quick wit and resolution, and Zagloba always told them the story of the Tartar, slain with duck-shot, so as to sink them completely in amazement and delight.
A certain time Zagloba and Basia were coming home very late; for the review of Pan Felix Pototski's troops had detained them all day. The night was clear and warm; white mists were hanging over the fields. Zagloba, though always watchful, since in such a concourse of serving-men and soldiers it was necessary to pay careful attention not to strike upon outlaws, had fallen soundly asleep; the driver was dozing also; Basia alone was not sleeping, for through her head were moving thousands of thoughts and pictures. Suddenly the tramp of a number of horses came to her ears. Pulling Zagloba by the sleeve, she said,—
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