Pan Michael

"Let us take our seats!" cried Pan Michael.

"But will you not drink my health?" asked Zagloba, with a complaining voice.

"If quickly!"

And they drank quickly. Zagloba emptied the goblet at a breath, though there was half a quart in it, then without wiping his mustaches, he cried, "I should be thankless not to drink your health. Pour out, man!"

"With thanks!" answered Brother Yerzy.

The bottom appeared in the bottle, which Zagloba seized by the neck and broke into small pieces, for he never could endure the sight of empty vessels. Then he took his seat quickly, and they rode on.

The n.o.ble drink soon filled their veins with beneficent warmth, and their hearts with a certain consolation. The cheeks of Brother Yerzy were covered with a slight scarlet, and his glance regained its former vivacity. He stretched his hand unwittingly once, twice, to his mustaches, and turned them upward like awls, till at last they came near his eyes. He began meanwhile to gaze around with great curiosity, as if looking at the country for the first time. All at once Zagloba struck his palms on his knees and cried without evident reason,--

"Ho! ho! I hope that Ketling will return to health when he sees you!

Ho! ho!"

And clasping Pan Michael around the neck, he began to embrace him with all his power. Pan Michael did not wish to remain in debt to Zagloba; he pressed him with the utmost sincerity. They went on for some time in silence, but in a happy one. Meanwhile the small houses of the suburbs began to appear on both sides of the road. Before the houses there was a great movement. On this side and that, townspeople were strolling, servants in various liveries, soldiers and n.o.bles, frequently very well-dressed.

"Swarms of n.o.bles have come to the Diet," said Zagloba; "for though not one of them is a deputy, they wish to be present, to hear and to see.

The houses and inns are so filled everywhere that it is hard to find a room, and how many n.o.ble women are strolling along the streets! I tell you that you could not count them on the hairs of your beard. They are pretty too, the rogues, so that sometimes a man has the wish to slap his hands on his sides as a c.o.c.k does his wings, and crow. But look!

look at that brunette behind whom the haiduk is carrying the green shuba; isn't she splendid? Eh?"

Here Zagloba nudged Pan Michael in the side with his fist, and Pan Michael looked, moved his mustaches; his eyes glittered, but in that moment he grew shamefaced, dropped his head, and said after a brief silence, "Memento mori!"

But Zagloba clasped him again, and cried, "As you love me, _per amicitiam nostram_ (by our friends.h.i.+p), as you respect me, get married.

There are so many worthy maidens, get married!"

Brother Yerzy looked with astonishment on his friend. Zagloba could not be drunk, however, for many a time he had taken thrice as much wine without visible effect; therefore he spoke only from tenderness. But all thoughts of marriage were far away then from the head of Pan Michael, so that in the first instant astonishment overcame in him indignation; then he looked severely into the eyes of Zagloba and asked,--

"Are you tipsy?"

"Prom my whole heart I say to you, get married!"

Pan Michael looked still more severely. "Memento mori."

But Zagloba was not easily disconcerted. "Michael, if you love me, do this for me, and kiss a dog on the snout with your 'memento.' I repeat, you will do as you please, but I think in this way: Let each man serve G.o.d with that for which he was created; and G.o.d created you for the sword: in this His will is evident, since He has permitted you to attain such perfection in the use of it. In case He wished you to be a priest, He would have adorned you with a wit altogether different, and inclined your heart more to books and to Latin. Consider, too, that soldier saints enjoy no less respect in

"I do not deny it, and I know that it is hard to skirmish against your reasoning; but you also will not deny that for grief life is better in the cloister than in the world."

"If it is better, bah! then all the more should cloisters be shunned.

Dull is the man who feeds mourning instead of keeping it hungry, so that the beast may die of famine as quickly as possible."

Pan Michael found no ready argument; therefore he was silent, and only after a while answered with a sad voice, "Do not mention marriage, for such mention only rouses fresh grief in me. My old desire will not revive, for it has pa.s.sed away with tears; and my years are not suitable. My hair is beginning to whiten. Forty-two years, and twenty-five of them spent in military toil, are no jest, no jest!"

"O G.o.d, do not punish him for blasphemy! Forty-two years! Tfu! I have more than twice as many on my shoulders, and still at times I must discipline myself to shake the heat out of my blood, as dust is shaken from clothing. Respect the memory of that dear dead one. You were good enough for her, I suppose? But for others are you too cheap, too old?"

"Give me peace! give me peace!" said Pan Michael, with a voice of pain; and the tears began to flow to his mustaches.

"I will not say another syllable," added Zagloba; "only give me the word of a cavalier that no matter what happens to Ketling you will stay a month with us. You must see Yan. If you wish afterward to return to the cloister, no one will raise an impediment."

"I give my word," said Pan Michael.

And they fell to talking of something else. Zagloba began to tell of the Diet, and how he had raised the question of excluding Prince Boguslav, and of the adventure with Ketling. Occasionally, however, he interrupted the narrative and buried himself in thoughts; they must have been cheerful, for from time to time he struck his knees with his palms, and repeated,--

"Ho! ho!"

But as he approached Mokotov, a certain disquiet appeared on his face.

He turned suddenly to Pan Michael and said, "Your word is given, you remember, that no matter what happens to Ketling, you will stay a month with us."

"I gave it, and I will stay," said Pan Michael.

"Here is Ketling's house," cried Zagloba,--"a respectable place." Then he shouted to the driver, "Fire out of your whip! There will be a festival in this house to-day."

Loud cracks were heard from the whip. But the wagon had not entered the gate when a number of officers rushed from the ante-room, acquaintances of Pan Michael; among them also were old comrades from the days of Hmelnitski and young officers of recent times. Of the latter were Pan Vasilevski and Pan Novoveski,--youths yet, but fiery cavaliers who in years of boyhood had broken away from school and had been working at war for some years under Pan Michael. These the little knight loved beyond measure. Among the oldest was Pan Orlik of the s.h.i.+eld Novin, with a skull stopped with gold, for a Swedish grenade had taken a piece of it on a time; and Pan Rushchyts, a half-wild knight of the steppes, an incomparable partisan, second in fame to Pan Michael alone; and a number of others. All, seeing the two men in the wagon, began to shout,--

"He is there! he is there! Zagloba has conquered! He is there!"

And rus.h.i.+ng to the wagon, they seized the little knight in their arms and bore him to the entrance, repeating, "Welcome! dearest comrade, live for us! We have you; we won't let you go! Vivat Volodyovski, the first cavalier, the ornament of the whole army! To the steppe with us, brother! To the wild fields! There the wind will blow your grief away."

They let him out of their arms only at the entrance. He greeted them all, for he was greatly touched by that reception, and then he inquired at once, "How is Ketling? Is he alive yet?"

"Alive! alive!" answered they, in a chorus, and the mustaches of the old soldiers began to move with a strange smile. "Go to him, for he cannot stay lying down; he is waiting for you impatiently."

"I see that he is not so near death as Pan Zagloba said," answered the little knight.

Meanwhile they entered the ante-room and pa.s.sed thence to a large chamber, in the middle of which stood a table with a feast on it; in one corner was a plank bed covered with white horse-skin, on which Ketling was lying.

"Oh, my friend!" said Pan Michael, hastening toward him.

"Michael!" cried Ketling, and springing to his feet as if in the fulness of strength, he seized the little knight in his embrace.

They pressed each other then so eagerly that Ketling raised Volodyovski, and Volodyovski Ketling.

"They commanded me to simulate sickness," said the Scot, "to feign death: but when I saw you, I could not hold out. I am as well as a fish, and no misfortune has met me. But it was a question of getting you out of the cloister. Forgive, Michael. We invented this ambush out of love for you."

"To the wild fields with us!" cried the knights, again; and they struck with their firm palms on their sabres till a terrible clatter was raised in the room.

But Pan Michael was astounded. For a time he was silent, then he began to look at all, especially at Zagloba. "Oh, traitors!" exclaimed he, at last, "I thought that Ketling was wounded unto death."

"How is that, Michael?" cried Zagloba. "You are angry because Ketling is well? You grudge him his health, and wish death to him? Has your heart become stone in such fas.h.i.+on that you would gladly see all of us ghosts, and Ketling, and Pan Orlik, and Pan Rushchyts, and these youths,--nay, even Pan Yan, even me, who love you as a son?" Here Zagloba closed his eyes and cried still more piteously, "We have nothing to live for, gracious gentlemen; there is no thankfulness left in this world; there is nothing but callousness."

"For G.o.d's sake!" answered Pan Michael, "I do not wish you ill, but you have not respected my grief."

"Have pity on our lives!" repeated Zagloba.

"Give me peace!"

"He says that we show no respect to his grief; but what fountains we have poured out over him, gracious gentlemen! We have, Michael. I take G.o.d to witness that we should be glad to bear apart your grief on our sabres, for comrades should always act thus. But since you have given your word to stay with us a month, then love us at least for that month."