Fire in the Steppe (19 page)

Cold sweat covered Krysia, and she sat on the bed. Bright moonlight fell into the room, which seemed somehow weird and terrible in those white rays.

"What is that?" thought Krysia. "There Basia is sleeping. I see her, for the moon is shining in her face; and I know not when she came, when she undressed and lay down. And I have not slept one moment; but my poor head is of no use, that is clear." Thus meditating, she lay down again; but Regret and Remorse sat on the edge of her bed, exactly like two goddesses, who were diving in at will through the rays of moonlight, or sweeping out again through its silvery abysses.

"I shall not sleep to-night," said Krysia to herself, and she began to think about Ketling, and to suffer more and more.

Suddenly the sorrowful voice of Basia was heard in the stillness of the night, "Krysia!"

"Are you not sleeping?"

"No for I dreamed that some Turk pierced Pan Michael with an arrow. O Jesus! a deceiving dream. But a fever is just shaking me. Let us say the Litany together, that God may avert misfortune."

The thought flew through Krysia's head like lightning, "God grant some one to shoot him!" But she was astonished immediately at her own wickedness; therefore, though it was necessary for her to get superhuman power to pray at that particular moment for the return of Pan Michael, still she answered,—

"Very well, Basia."

Then both rose from their beds, and kneeling on their naked knees on the floor, began to say the Litany. Their voices responded to each other, now rising and now falling; you would have said that the chamber was changed into the cell of a cloister in which two white nuns were repeating their nightly prayers.

Next morning Krysia was calmer; for among intricate and tangled paths she had chosen for herself an immensely difficult, but not a false one. Entering upon it, she saw at least whither she was going. But, first of all, she determined to have an interview with Ketling and speak with him for the last time, so as to guard him from every mishap. This did not come to her easily, for Ketling did not show himself for a number of consecutive days, and did not return at night.

Krysia began to rise before daylight and walk to the neighboring church of the Dominicans, with the hope that she would meet him some morning and speak to him without witnesses. In fact, she met him a few days later at the very door. When he saw her, he removed his cap and bent his head in silence. He stood motionless; his face was wearied by sleeplessness and suffering, his eyes sunk; on his temples there were yellowish spots; the delicate color of his face had become waxlike; he looked like a flower that is withering. Krysia's heart was rent at sight of him; and though every decisive step cost her very much, for she was not bold by nature, she was the first to extend the hand, and said,—

"May God comfort you and send you forgetfulness!"

Ketling took her hand, raised it to his forehead, then to his lips, to which he pressed it long and with all his force; then he said with a voice full of mortal sadness and of resignation, "There is for me neither solace nor forgetfulness."

There was a moment when Krysia needed all her self-control to restrain herself from throwing her arms around his neck and exclaiming, "I love thee above everything! take me," She felt that if weeping were to seize her she would do so; therefore she stood a long time before him in silence, struggling with her tears. At last she conquered herself and began to speak calmly, though very quickly, for breath failed her:—

"It may bring you some relief if I say that I shall belong to no one, I go behind the grating. Do not judge me harshly at any time, for as it is I am unhappy. Promise me, give me your word, that you will not mention your love for me to any one: that you will not acknowledge it; that you will not disclose to friend or relative what has happened. This is my last prayer. The time will come when you will know why I do this; then at least you will have the explanation. To-day I will tell you no more, for my sorrow is such that I cannot. Promise me this,—it will comfort me; if you do not, I may die."

"I promise, and give my word," answered Ketling.

"God reward you, and I thank you from my whole heart! Besides, show a calm face in presence of people, so that no one may have a suspicion. It is time for me to go. Your kindness is such that words fail to describe it. Henceforth we shall not see each other alone, only before people. Tell me further that you have no feeling of offence against me; for to suffer is one thing and to be offended another. You yield me to God, to no one else; keep this in mind."

Ketling wished to say something; but since he was suffering beyond measure, only indefinite sounds like groans came from his mouth; then he touched Krysia's temples with his fingers and held them for a while as a sign that he forgave her and blessed her. They parted then; she went to the church, and he to the street again, so as not to meet in the inn an acquaintance.

Krysia returned only in the afternoon; and when she came she found a notable guest, Bishop Olshovski, the vice-chancellor. He had come unexpectedly on a visit to Pan Zagloba, wishing, as he said himself, to become acquainted with such a great cavalier, "whose military pre-eminence was an example, and whose reason was a guide to the knights of that whole lordly Commonwealth." Zagloba was, in truth, much astonished, but not less gratified, that such a great honor had met him in presence of the ladies; he plumed himself greatly, was flushed, perspired, and at the same time endeavored to show Pani Makovetski that he was accustomed to such visits from the greatest dignitaries in the country, and that he made nothing of them. Krysia was presented to the prelate, and kissing his hands with humility, sat near Basia, glad that no one could see the traces of recent emotion on her face.

Meanwhile the vice-chancellor covered Zagloba so bountifully and so easily with praises that he seemed to be drawing new supplies of them continually from his violet sleeves embroidered with lace. "Think not, your grace," said he, "that I was drawn hither by curiosity alone to know the first man in the knighthood; for though admiration is a just homage to heroes, still men make pilgrimages for their own profit also to the place where experience and quick reason have taken their seats at the side of manfulness."

"Experience," said Zagloba, modestly, "especially in the military art, comes only with age; and for that cause perhaps the late Pan Konyetspolski, father of the banneret, asked me frequently for counsel, after him Pan Nikolai Pototski, Prince Yeremi Vishnyevetski, Pan Sapyeha, and Pan Charnyetski; but as to the title 'Ulysses,' I have always protested against that from considerations of modesty."

"Still, it is so connected with your grace that at times no one mentions your real name, but says, 'Our Ulysses,' and all divine at once whom the orator means. Therefore, in these difficult and eventful times, when more than one wavers in his thoughts and does not know whither to turn, whom to uphold, I said to myself, 'I will go and hear convictions, free myself from doubt, enlighten my mind with clear counsel.' You will divine, your grace, that I wish to speak of the coming election, in view of which every estimate of candidates may lead to some good; but what must one be which flows from the mouth of your grace? I have heard it repeated with the greatest applause among the knighthood that you are opposed to those foreigners who are pushing themselves on to our lordly throne. In the veins of the Vazas, as you explained, there flowed Yagellon blood,—hence they could not be considered as strangers; but those foreigners, as you said, neither know our ancient Polish customs nor will they respect our liberties, and hence absolute rule may arise easily. I acknowledge to your grace that these are deep words; but pardon me if I inquire whether you really uttered them, or is it public opinion that from custom ascribes all profound sentences to you in the first instance?"

"These ladies are witness," answered Zagloba; "and though this subject is not suited to their judgment, let them speak, since Providence in its inscrutable decrees has given them the gift of speech equally with us."

The vice-chancellor looked involuntarily on Pani Makovetski, and then on the two young ladies nestled up to each other. A moment of silence followed. Suddenly the silvery voice of Basia was heard,—

"I did not hear anything!"

Then she was confused terribly and blushed to her very ears, especially when Zagloba said at once, "Pardon her, your dignity. She is young, therefore giddy. But as to candidates, I have said more than once that our Polish liberty will weep by reason of these foreigners."

"I fear that myself," said the prelate; "but even if we wished some Pole, blood of our blood and bone of our bone, tell me, your grace, to what side should we turn our hearts? Your grace's very thought of a Pole is great, and is spreading through the country like a flame; for I hear that everywhere in the diets which are not fettered by corruption one voice is to be heard, 'A Pole, a Pole!'"

"Justly, justly!" interrupted Zagloba. "Still," continued the vice-chancellor, "it is easier to call for a Pole than to find a fit person; therefore let your grace be not astonished if I ask whom you had in mind."

"Whom had I in mind?" repeated Zagloba, somewhat puzzled; and pouting his lips, he wrinkled his brows. It was difficult for him to give a sudden answer, for hitherto not only had he no one in mind, but in general he had not those ideas at all which the keen prelate had attributed to him. Besides, he knew this himself, and understood that the vice-chancellor was inclining him to some side; but he let himself be inclined purposely, for it flattered him greatly. "I have insisted only in principle that we need a Pole," said he at last; "but to tell the truth, I have not named any man thus far."

"I have heard of the ambitious designs of Prince Boguslav Radzivill," muttered the prelate, as if to himself.

"While there is breath in my nostrils, while the last drop of blood is in my breast," cried Zagloba, with the force of deep conviction, "nothing will come of that! I should not wish to live in a nation so disgraced as to make a traitor and a Judas its king."

"That is the voice not only of reason, but of civic virtue," muttered the vice-chancellor, again.

"Ha!" thought Zagloba, "if you wish to draw me, I will draw you."

Then the vice-chancellor began anew: "When wilt thou sail in, O battered ship of my country? What storms, what rocks are in wait for thee? In truth, it will be evil if a foreigner becomes thy steersman; but it must be so evidently, if among thy sons there is no one better." Here he stretched out his white hands, ornamented with glittering rings, and inclining his head, said with resignation, "Then Condé, or he of Lorraine, or the Prince of Neuberg? There is no other outcome!"

"That is impossible! A Pole!" answered Zagloba.

"Who?" inquired the prelate.

Silence followed. Then the prelate began to speak again: "If there were even one on whom all could agree! Where is there a man who would touch the heart of the knighthood at once, so that no one would dare to murmur against his election? There was one such, the greatest, who had rendered most service,—your worthy friend, O knight, who walked in glory as in sunlight. There was such a—"

"Prince Yeremi Vishnyevetski!" interrupted Zagloba.

"That is true. But he is in the grave."

"His son lives," replied Zagloba.

The vice-chancellor half closed his eyes, and sat some time in silence; all at once he raised his head, looked at Zagloba, and began to speak slowly: "I thank God for having inspired me with the idea of knowing your grace. That is it! the son of the great Yeremi is alive,—a prince young and full of hope, to whom the Commonwealth has a debt to pay. Of his gigantic fortune nothing remains but glory,—that is his only inheritance. Therefore in the present times of corruption, when every man turns his eyes only to where gold is attracting, who will mention his name, who will have the courage to make him a candidate? You? True! But will there be many like you? It is not wonderful that he whose life has been passed in heroic struggles on all fields will not fear to give homage to merit with his vote on the field of election; but will others follow his example?" Here the vice-chancellor fell to thinking, then raised his eyes and spoke on: "God is mightier than all. Who knows His decisions, who knows? When I think how all the knighthood believe and trust you, I see indeed with wonderment that a certain hope enters my heart. Tell me sincerely, has the impossible ever existed for you?"

"Never!" answered Zagloba, with conviction.

"Still, it is not proper to advance that candidacy too decidedly at first. Let the name strike people's ears, but let it not seem too formidable to opponents; let them rather laugh at it, and sneer, so that they may not raise too serious impediments. Perhaps, too, God will grant it to succeed quickly, when the intrigues of parties bring them to mutual destruction. Smooth the road for it gradually, your grace, and grow not weary in labor; for this is your candidate, worthy of your reason and experience. God bless you in these plans!"

"Am I to suppose," inquired Zagloba, "that your dignity has been thinking also of Prince Michael?"

The vice-chancellor took from his sleeve a small book on which the title "Censura Candidatorum" stood in large black letters, and said, "Read, your grace; let this letter answer for me."

Then the vice-chancellor began preparations for going; but Zagloba detained him and said, "Permit me, your dignity, to say something more. First of all, I thank God that the lesser seal is in hands which can bend men like wax."

"How is that?" asked the vice-chancellor, astonished.

"Secondly, I will tell your dignity in advance that the candidacy of Prince Michael is greatly to my heart, for I knew his father, and loved him and fought under him with my friends; they too will be delighted in soul at the thought that they can show the son that love which they had for the father. Therefore I seize at this candidacy with both hands, and this day I will speak with Pan Krytski,—a man of great family and my acquaintance, who is in high consideration among the nobles, for it is difficult not to love him. We will both do what is in our power; and God grant that we shall effect something!"