On the Field of Glory Part 36

"Benefactor," cried he, "with such a head you ought to be chancellor. I understand! I understand! You said nothing, you did not miss the truth, and you have frightened the Krepetskis, who think that perhaps there is a will, nay, that it is even in your possession; they must count with this, and be moderate toward the orphan."

The prelate, pleased with the praise, rapped his head with his knuckles.

"Not quite like a nut with holes in it?" asked he.

"Ho, there is so much reason there that it finds room with difficulty."

"If G.o.d wish, it will burst, but meanwhile, I think that I have saved the orphan really. I must confess, however, that the Krepetskis spoke of her with greater humanity and with more kindness than I had expected. The women, it is true, have taken some trifles, but the old man declared that he would have them given back to the young lady."

"Though the Krepetskis were the worst among men," said Pan Serafin, "they would not dare to rob an orphan over whom the eyes of such a wise and good priest are so watchful. But, my very reverend benefactor, I wish to mention another thing. I wish to beg you to show me this favor; come now to Yedlinka, let me have the honor of entertaining under my roof such a notable personage, with whom conversation is like the honey of wisdom and politeness. Father Voynovski has promised already to visit me, and we will talk, the three of us, concerning public and private matters."

"I know what hospitality yours is," answered the prelate, with affability, "to refuse would be real suffering, and since Lent, the time of self-subjection is past, I will go for a pleasant day to you, willingly. Let us take farewell of the Krepetskis, but first of the orphan, so that they shall see the esteem in which we hold her."

They went, and finding Anulka alone, spoke kind, heartfelt words, which gave her consolation and courage. Pan Serafin stroked her bright head, just as would a mother who desires to comfort a sorrowing child; the prelate did the same, and the honest Father Voynovski was so moved by her thin face and her beauty in its sadness, which reminded him of a flower of the field cut down too early by a scythe-stroke, that he too pressed her temples, and having a mind always thinking of Yatsek, he said half to himself, half to her,--"How can one wonder at Yatsek, since this picture was before him. But those Bukoyemskis lied, when they said that he went away gladly."

When Anulka heard these words, she put her lips to his hand on a sudden, and for a long time she could not withdraw them. The sobbing, which came from her heart, shook her bosom; and they left her in an immense, irrepressible onrush of weeping.

An hour later they were in Yedlinka, where good news was awaiting them.

A man had arrived bringing a letter from Stanislav, in which he stated that he and Yatsek had joined the hussars of Prince Alexander; that they were well, and Yatsek, though pensive at all times, had gained a little cheerfulness, and was not so forgetful as during the first days.

Besides words of filial love, there was in the letter one bit of news which astonished Pan Serafin: "If thou, my father, my most beloved and great mighty benefactor, see the Bukoyemskis on their return be not astonished, and save them with kindness, for they have been met by most marvellous accidents, and I cannot help them. If they were not to go to the war they would die, I think, from sorrow, which even now has almost killed them."

In the course of the following months Pan Serafin visited Belchantska repeatedly, wishing to learn what was happening to Anulka. This was not caused by any personal motive, for Stanislav was not in love with the young lady, and she had broken altogether with Yatsek; he acted mainly from kindness, and a little from curiosity, for he wished to discover in what way, and how far the girl had aided in breaking the bonds of attachment between herself and Yatsek. He met opposition, however. The Krepetskis respected his wealth, hence they received him politely; but theirs was a wonderfully watchful hospitality, so continuous and active that Pan Serafin could not find himself alone with the girl for one instant.

He understood that they did not wish him to ask her how she was treated, and that set him to thinking, though he did not find that she was either ill treated, or made to serve greatly. He saw her, it is true, once and a second time cleaning with a crust of bread white satin shoes of such size that they could not be for her own feet, and darning stockings in the evening, but the Krepetski girls did the same, hence there could not be in this any plan to humiliate the orphan by labor.

The old maids were at times as biting and stinging as nettles, but Pan Serafin remarked soon that such was their nature, and that they could not restrain themselves always from gnawing even at Martsian, whom still they feared so much that when either one had thrust out her sting half its length a look from him made her draw it back quickly. Martsian himself was polite and agreeable to Anulka, though without forwardness, and after the departure of old Krepetski and Tekla he became still more agreeable.

This departure was not pleasing to Pan Serafin, though it was simple enough that they could not leave an old man, who was somewhat disabled in walking, without the care of a woman, and since they had two houses they had divided the family. Pan Serafin would have preferred that Tekla remain with the orphan, but when on an occasion he hinted remotely that the ages of the two maidens made them company for each other, the elder sister met his words in the worst manner possible,--

"Anulka has shown the world," said Johanna, "that age does not trouble her. Our late uncle and Pani Vinnitski have proved this--so we are not too old for her."

"We are as much older than she, as Tekla is younger, and I do not know as we are that much," added the second sister; "besides our heads must manage this household."

But Martsian broke into the conversation,--

"Tekla's service," said he, "is dearest to father. He loves her beyond any one, at which we cannot wonder. We thought to send Panna Anulka with them, but she is accustomed to this house, so I think she will feel more at home in it. As to our care, I will do what I can to make it not too disagreeable."

Then, with feet clattering, he approached the young lady, and tried to kiss her hand, which she drew away quickly, as if frightened. Pan Serafin thought that it was not proper to remove Pani Vinnitski, but he kept to himself that idea, not wishing to interfere in questions beyond his authority. He noted more than once that on Anulka's face fear as well as sadness was evident, but at this he was not greatly astonished, for her fate was in fact very grievous. An orphan, without a kindred soul near her, without her own roof above her head, she was forced to live on the favor of people who to her were repulsive, and who had an evil fame generally, she was forced to suffer pain over the vanished and brighter past, and to be in dread of the present. And though a person may be in suffering to the utmost, that person will have some solace if he, or she, may cherish hope of a better future. But she had no chance for hope, and she had none. To-morrow must be for her as to-day and the endless years to come, with the same drag of orphanhood, loneliness, and living on the bread of a stranger's favor.

Pan Serafin spoke of this often with Father Voynovski, whom he saw almost daily, since it was pleasant for them to talk about their young heroes. Father Voynovski, however, shrugged his shoulders with sympathy and magnified the keenness of the prelate who, by hanging the threat of a will like a Damocles sword above the Krepetskis, had protected the orphan, at least from evil treatment.

"Such a keen man!" said he. "Now you have him, and now he has slipped from you. Sometimes I think that perhaps he has not told the whole truth to us, and that there is a will in his hands, and that he will bring it out unexpectedly."

"That has occurred to me also, but why should he hide it?"

"I know not; perhaps to test human nature. I think only of this: Pan Gideon was a clear-sighted man, and it cannot find place in my head that he should not have made long ago some provision."

But after a time the ideas of both men were turned in a different direction, for the Bukoyemskis arrived, or rather walked in from Radom.

They appeared at Yedlinka one evening, with sabres, it is true, but with not very sound boots, and with torn coats on their bodies. They had such woe-be-gone faces that, if Pan Serafin had not for some time been expecting them, he would have been terribly frightened, and would have thought that news of his son's death had come with them.

The four brothers embraced his knees, and kissed his hands straightway; he, looking at their misery, dropped his arms at his sides in amazement.

"Stashko wrote," said he, "that it had gone ill with you, but this is terrible!"

"We have sinned, benefactor!" answered Marek, beating his breast.

The other brothers repeated his words.

"We have sinned, we have sinned, we have sinned!"

"Tell me how, and in what. How is Stashko? He has written me that he saved you. What happened?"

"Stashko is well, benefactor; he and Pan Yatsek are as bright as two suns."

"Glory to G.o.d! glory to G.o.d! Thanks for the good news. Have you no letter?"

"He wrote, but did not give us the letter. It might be lost," said he.

"Are you not hungry? Oh, what a condition! It is as if I had four men risen from the dead now before me."

"We are not hungry, for entertainment is ready at the house of every n.o.ble--but we are unfortunate."

"Sit down. Drink something warm, but while the servants are heating it tell me what happened. Where have you been?"

"In Warsaw," said Mateush, "but that is a vile city."

"Why so?"

"It is swarming with gamblers and drunkards, and on Long Street and in the Old City at every step there is a tavern."

"Well, what?"

"One son of a such a one persuaded Lukash to play dice with him. Would to G.o.d that the pagans had impaled the wicked scoundrel on a stake ere that happened."

"And he cheated?"

"He won all that Lukash had, and then all that we had. Desperation took hold of us, and we wanted to win the coin back, but he won further our horse with a saddle and with pistols in the holsters. Then, I say to your grace, that Lukash wished to stab himself. What was to be done?

How were we to help comforting a brother? We sold the second horse, so that Lukash might have a companion to walk with him."

"I understand what happened," remarked Pan Serafin.

"When we became sober there was still keener suffering; two horses were gone, and we had greater need of consolation."

"So ye consoled yourselves till the fourth horse was gone?"

"Till the fourth horse. We sinned, we sinned!" repeated the contrite brothers.

"But was that the end?" continued Pan Serafin.