Fire in the Steppe (43 page)

"Very pretty rhymes," cried Zagloba; "I am skilled in the matter, for I have made many such. Bark away, cavalier, bark away; and when you find the ring I will continue in this sense,—

"Vivat! vivat Pan Zagloba!" cried the officers, with a mighty voice, so that the dignified Naviragh was frightened, and the two learned Anardrats were frightened, and began to look at one another with exceeding amazement.

But Pan Adam went around twice more, and seated his partner at last on the bench, panting, and astonished at the boldness of her cavalier. He was very agreeable to her, so valiant and honest, a regular conflagration; but just because she had not met such a man hitherto, great confusion seized her,—therefore, dropping her eyes still lower, she sat in silence, like a little innocent.

"Why are you silent; are you grieving for something?" asked Pan Adam.

"I am; my father is in captivity," answered Zosia, with a thin voice.

"Never mind that," said the young man; "it is proper to dance! Look at this room; here are some tens of officers, and most likely no one of them will die his own death, but from arrows of Pagans or in bonds,—this one to-day, that to-morrow. Each man on these frontiers has lost some one, and we make merry lest God might think that we murmur at our service. That is it. It is proper to dance. Laugh, young lady! show your eyes, for I think that you hate me!"

Zosia did not raise her eyes, it is true; but she began to raise the corners of her mouth, and two dimples were formed in her rosy cheeks.

"Do you love me a little bit?" asked he.

And Zosia, in a still lower voice, said, "Yes; but—"

When he heard this. Pan Adam started up, and seizing Zosia's hands, began to cover them with kisses, and cry,—

"Lost! No use in talking; I love you to death! I don't want any one but you, my dearest beauty! Oh, save me, how I love you! In the morning I'll fall at your mother's feet. What?—in the morning! I'll fall to-night, so as to be sure that you are mine!"

A tremendous roar of musketry outside the window drowned Zosia's answer. The delighted soldiers were firing, as a vivat for Basia; the window-panes rattled, the walls trembled. The dignified Naviragh was frightened a third time; the two learned Anardrats were frightened; but Zagloba, standing near, began to pacify them.

"With the Poles," said he to them, "there is never rejoicing without outcry and clamor."

In truth, it came out that all were just waiting for that firing from muskets to revel in the highest degree. The usual ceremony of nobles began now to give way to the wildness of the steppe. Music thundered again; dances burst out anew, like a storm; eyes were flashing and fiery; mist rose from the forelocks. Even the oldest went into the dance; loud shouts were heard every moment; and they drank and frolicked,—drank healths from Basia's slipper; fired from pistols at Eva's boot-heels. Hreptyoff shouted and roared and sang till daybreak, so that the beasts in the neighboring wilds hid from fear in the deepest thickets.

Since that was almost on the eve of a terrible war with the Turkish power, and over all these people terror and destruction were hanging, the dignified Naviragh wondered beyond measure at those Polish soldiers, and the two learned Anardrats wondered no less.

All slept late next morning, except the soldiers on guard and the little knight, who never neglected service for pleasure. Pan Adam was on his feet early enough, for Panna Zosia seemed still more charming to him after his rest. Arraying himself handsomely, he went to the room in which they had danced the previous evening to listen whether there was not some movement or bustle in the adjoining chambers where the ladies were.

In the chamber occupied by Pani Boski movement was to be heard; but the impatient young man was so anxious to see Zosia that he seized his dagger and fell to picking out the moss and clay between the logs, so that, God willing, he might look through the chink with one eye at Zosia.

Zagloba, who was just passing with his beads in his hand, found him at this work, and knowing at once what the matter was, came up on tiptoe and began to belabor with the sandalwood beads the shoulders of the knight.

Pan Adam slipped aside and squirmed as if laughing; but he was greatly confused, and the old man pursued him and struck him continually.

"Oh, such a Turk! oh, Tartar! here it is for you; here it is for you! I exorcise you! Where are your morals? You want to see a woman? Here it is for you; here it is for you!"

"My benefactor," cried Pan Adam, "it is not right to make a whip out of holy beads. Let me go, for I had no sinful intention."

"You say it is not right to strike with a rosary? Not true! The palm on Palm Sunday is holy, and still people strike with it. Ha! these were Pagan beads once and belonged to Suban Kazi; but I took them from him at Zbaraj, and afterward the apostolic nuncio blessed them. See, they are genuine sandalwood!"

"If they are real sandalwood, they have an odor."

"Beads have an odor for me, and a girl for you. I must dress your shoulders well yet, for there is nothing to drive out the Devil like a chaplet."

"I had no sinful intention; upon my health I had not!"

"Was it only through piety that you were opening a chink?"

"Not through piety, but through love, which is so wonderful that I'm not sure that I shall not burst from it, as a bomb bursts. What is the use in pretending, when it is true? Flies do not trouble a horse in autumn as this affection troubles me."

"See that this is not sinful desire; for when I came in here you could not stand still, but were striking heel against heel as if you were standing on a firebrand."

"I saw nothing, as I love God sincerely, for I had only just begun to pick at the chink."

"Ah, youth! blood is not water! I, too, must at times even yet repress myself, for in me there is a lion seeking whom he may devour. If you have honorable intentions, you are thinking of marriage."

"Thinking of marriage? God of might! of what should I be thinking? Not only am I thinking, but 'tis as if some one were pricking me with an awl. Is it not known to your grace that I made a proposal to Panna Boski last evening, and I have the consent of my father?"

"The boy is of sulphur and powder! Hangman take thee! If that is the case, then the affair is quite different; but tell me, how was it?"

"Last evening Pani Boski went to her room to bring a handkerchief for Zosia, I after her. She turns around: 'Who is there?' And I, with a rush to her feet: 'Beat me, mother, but give me Zosia,—my happiness, my love!' But Pani Boski, when she recovered herself, said: 'All people praise you and think you a worthy cavalier; still, I will not give an answer to-day, nor to-morrow, but later; and you need the permission of your father.' She went out then, thinking that I was under the influence of wine. In truth, I had a little in my head."

"That is nothing; all had some in their heads. Did you not see the pointed caps sidewise on the heads of Naviragh and the Anardrats toward the end?"

"I did not notice them, for I was settling in my mind how to get my father's consent in the easiest way."

"Well, did it come hard?"

"Toward morning we both went to our room; and because it is well to hammer iron while it is hot, I thought to myself at once that it was necessary to feel, even from afar, how my father would look at the matter. 'Listen, father: I want Zosia terribly, and I want your consent; and if you don't give it, then, as God lives, I'll go to the Venetians to serve, and that's all you'll hear of me.' Then did not he fall on me with great rage: 'Oh, such a son!' said he; 'you can do without permission! Go to the Venetians, or take the girl,—only I tell you this, that I will not give you a copper, not only of my own, but of your mother's money, for it is all mine.'"

Zagloba thrust out his under-lip. "Oh, that is bad!"

"But wait. When I heard that, I said: 'But am I asking for money, or do I need it? I want your blessing, nothing more; for the property of Pagans that came to my sabre is enough to rent a good estate or purchase a village. What belongs to mother, let that be a dower for Eva; I will add one or two handfuls of turquoise and some silk and brocade, and if a bad year comes, I'll help my father with ready money.' My father became dreadfully curious then. 'Have you such wealth?' asked he. 'In God's name, where did you get it? Was it from plunder, for you went away as poor as a Turkish saint?'

"'Fear God, father,' answered I. 'It is eleven years since I began to bring down this fist, and, as they say, it is not of the worst, and shouldn't it collect something? I was at the storming of rebel towns in which ruffiandom and the Tartars had piled up the finest plunder; I fought against murzas and robber bands: booty came and came. I took only what was recognized as mine without injustice to any; but it increased, and if a man didn't frolic, I should have had twice as much property as you got from your father.'"

"What did the old man say to that?" asked Zagloba, rejoicing.

"My father was amazed, for he had not expected this, and began straightway to complain of my wastefulness. 'There would be,' said he, 'an increase, but that this scatterer, this haughty fellow who loves only to plume himself and puts on the magnate, squanders all, saves nothing.' Then curiosity conquered him, and he began to ask particularly what I have; and seeing that I could travel quickly by smearing with that tar, I not only concealed nothing, but lied a little, though usually I will not over-color, for I think thus to myself: 'Truth is oats, and lying chopped straw.' My father bethought himself, and now for plans: 'This or that [land] might have been bought,' said he; 'this or that lawsuit might have been kept up,' said he; 'we might have lived at each side of the same boundary, and when you were away I could have looked after everything.' And my worthy father began to cry. 'Adam,' said he, 'that girl has pleased me terribly; she is under the protection of the hetman,—there may be some profit out of that, too; but do you respect this my second daughter, and do not squander what she has, for I should not forgive you at my death-hour.' And I, my gracious benefactor, just roared at the very suspicion of injustice to Zosia. My father and I fell into each other's embraces, and wept till the first cockcrow, precisely."

"The old rogue!" muttered Zagloba, then he added aloud: "Ah, there may be a wedding soon, and new amusements in Hreptyoff, especially since it is carnival time."

"There would be one to-morrow if it depended on me," cried Pan Adam, abruptly; "but this is what: My leave will end soon, and service is service, so I must return to Rashkoff. Well, Pan Rushchyts will give me another leave, I know. But I am not certain that there will not be delays on the part of the ladies. For when I push up to the old one, she says, 'My husband is in captivity.' When I speak to the daughter, she says, 'Papa is in captivity.' What of that? I do not keep that papa in bonds, do I? I'm terribly afraid of these obstacles; if it were not for that, I would take Father Kaminski by the soutane and wouldn't let him go till he had tied Zosia and me. But when women get a thing into their heads you can't draw it out with nippers. I'd give my last copper, I'd go in person for 'papa,' but I've no way of doing it. Besides, no one knows where he is; maybe he is dead, and there is the work for you! If they ask me to wait for him, I might have to wait till the Day of Judgment!"

"Pyotrovich, Naviragh, and the Anardrats will take the road to-morrow; there will be tidings soon."

"Jesus save us! Am I to wait for tidings? There can be nothing before spring; meanwhile I shall wither away, as God is dear to me! My benefactor, all have faith in your wit and experience; knock this waiting out of the heads of these women. My benefactor, in the spring there will be war. God knows what will happen. Besides, I want to marry Zosia, not 'papa;' why must I sigh to him?"

"Persuade the women to go to Rashkoff and settle. There it will be easier to get tidings, and if Pyotrovich finds Boski, he will be near you. I will do what I can, I repeat; but do you ask Pani Basia to take your part."

"I will not neglect that, I will not neglect, for devil—"

With that the door squeaked, and Pani Boski entered. But before Zagloba could look around, Pan Adam had already thundered down with his whole length at her feet, and occupying an enormous extent of the floor with his gigantic body, began to cry:—

"I have my father's consent. Give me Zosia, mother! Give me Zosia, give me Zosia, mother!"

"Give Zosia, mother," repeated Zagloba, in a bass voice.

The uproar drew people from the adjacent chambers; Basia came in, Pan Michael came from his office, and soon after came Zosia herself. It did not become the girl to seem to surmise what the matter was; but her face grew purple at once, and putting one hand in the other quickly she dropped them before her, pursed her mouth, and stood at the wall with downcast eyes. Pan Michael ran for old Novoveski. When he came he was deeply offended that his son had not committed the function to him, and had not left the affair to his eloquence, still he upheld the entreaty.

Pani Boski, who lacked, indeed, every near guardianship in the world, burst into tears at last, and agreed to Pan Adam's request to go to Rashkoff and wait there for her husband. Then, covered with tears, she turned to her daughter.

"Zosia," asked she, "are the plans of Pan Adam to your heart?"

All eyes were turned to Zosia. She was standing at the wall, her eyes fixed on the floor as usual, and only after some silence did she say, in a voice barely audible,—

"I will go to Rashkoff."

"My beauty!" roared Pan Adam, and springing to the maiden he caught her in his arms. Then he cried till the walls trembled, "Zosia is mine! She is mine, she is mine!"

Pan Adam started for Rashkoff immediately after his betrothal, to find and furnish quarters for Pani and Panna Boski; two weeks after his departure a whole caravan of Hreptyoff guests left the fortalice. It was composed of Naviragh, the two Anardrats, the Armenian women (Kyeremovich and Neresevich), Seferevich, Pani and Panna Boski, the two Pyotroviches, and old Pan Novoveski, without counting a number of Armenians from Kamenyets, and numerous servants, as well as armed attendants to guard wagons, draft horses, and pack animals. The Pyotroviches and the delegation of the patriarch of Echmiadzin were to rest simply at Rashkoff, receive news there concerning their journey, and move on toward the Crimea. The remainder of the company determined to settle in Rashkoff for a time, and wait, at least till the first thaws, for the return of the prisoners; namely, Boski, the younger Seferevich, and the two merchants whose wives were long waiting in sorrow.