Complete works of henryk.., p.558
Complete Works of Henryk Sienkiewicz, page 558
So in spirit he said to them: “Wait a while, O ye road-blockers! Ye have brought your lives hither!”
His cheeks took on color, and his teeth gritted fiercely. They, meanwhile, stripped their coats off and rolled up the sleeves of their jupans. This they did without need all together, but they did it since each thought that he was to open the duel.
At last they all stood in a row with drawn sabres, and Yatsek, stepping towards them, halted, and they looked at one another in silence.
Pan Stanislav interrupted them, —
“I will serve you first.”
“No! I first, I first!” repeated all the Bukoyemskis in a chorus.
And when Stanislav pushed forward they seized him by the elbows.
Again a quarrel began, in which Stanislav reviled them as outlaws. They jeered at him as a dandy, among themselves the term “dogbrother” was frequent. Yatsek was shocked at this, and added, —
“I have never seen cavaliers of this kind.” And he put his sabre into the scabbard.
“Choose, or I will go!” said he, with a loud voice, and firmly.
“Choose, thou!” cried Stanislav, hoping that on him would the choice fall.
Mateush began shouting that he would not permit any small whipper-snapper to manage them, and he shouted so that his front teeth, which, being very long, like the teeth of a rabbit, were shining beneath his mustaches; but he grew silent when Yatsek, drawing his sabre, again indicated him with the edge of it, and added, “I choose thee.”
The remaining brothers and Stanislav drew back at once, seeing that they would never agree, in another way, but their faces grew gloomy, for, knowing the strength of Mateush they felt almost certain that no work would be left them when he had finished.
“Begin!” called out Stanislav.
Tachevski felt at the first blow the strength of his enemy, for in his own grasp the sabre blade quivered. He warded the blow off, however, and warded off, also, the second one.
“He has less skill than strength,” thought Tachevski, after the third blow. Then, crouching somewhat, for a better spring, he pressed on with impetus.
The other three, inclining downward the points of their sabres, stood open-mouthed, following the course of the struggle. They saw now that Tachevski too “knew things,” and that with him it would not be easy. Soon they thought that he knew things very accurately, and alarm seized the brothers, for, despite endless bickering they loved one another immensely. The cry, “Ha!” was rent from the breast, now of one, and now of another, as each keener blow struck.
Meanwhile the blows became quicker and quicker; at last they were lightning-like.
The spectators saw clearly that Tachevski was gaining more confidence. He was calm, but he sprang around like a wild-cat and his eyes shot out ominous flashes.
“It is bad!” thought Stanislav.
That moment a cry was heard. Mateush’s sabre fell. He raised both hands to his head and dropped to the earth, his face in one instant being blood-covered.
At sight of that the three younger brothers bellowed like bulls, and in the twinkle of an eye rushed with rage at Tachevski, not intending, of course, to attack him together, but because each wished to be first in avenging Mateush.
And they perhaps would have swept Tachevski apart on their sabres if Stanislav, springing in to assist him, had not cried with all the power in his bosom, —
“Shame! Away! Murderers, not nobles! Shame! Away! or you must deal with me, murderers! Away!” And he slashed at the brothers till they came to their senses. But at this time Mateush had risen on his hands and turned toward them a face which was as if a mask made of blood had just covered it. Yan, seizing him by the armpits, seated him on the snow. Lukash hurried also to give him assistance.
But Tachevski pushed up to Marek, who was gritting his teeth, and repeated in a quick voice, as if fearing lest the common attack might repeat itself, —
“If you please! If you please!”
And the sabres were clanking a second time ominously. But with Marek, who was as much stronger than his enemy as he was less dexterous, Tachevski had short work. Marek used his great sabre like a flail, so that Yatsek at the third blow struck his right shoulder-blade, cut through the bone, and disarmed him.
Now Lukash and Yan understood that a very ugly task was before them, and that the slender young man was a wasp in reality, — a wasp which it would have been wise not to irritate. But with increased passion, they stood now against him to a struggle which ended as badly for them as it had for their elders. Lukash, cut through his cheek to the gums, fell with impetus, and, besides, struck a stone which the deep snow had hidden; while from Yan, the most dexterous of the brothers, his sabre, together with one of his fingers, fell to the ground at the end of some minutes.
Yatsek, without a scratch, gazed at his work, as it were, with astonishment, and those sparks which a moment before had been glittering in his eyeballs began now to quench gradually. With his left hand he straightened his cap, which during the struggle had slipped somewhat over his right ear, then he removed it, breathed deeply once and a second time, turned to the cross, and said, half to himself and half to Stanislav, —
“God knows that I am innocent.”
“Now it is my turn,” said Stanislav. “But you are panting, perhaps you would rest; meanwhile I will put their cloaks on my comrades, lest this damp cold may chill them ere help comes.”
“Help is near,” said Tachevski. “Over there in the mist is a sleigh sent by Father Voynovski, and he himself is at my house. Permit me. I will go for the sleigh in which those gentlemen will feel easier than here on this snow field.”
And he started while Stanislav went to cover the Bukoyemskis who were sitting arm to arm in the snow, except Yan, the least wounded. Yan on his knees was in front of Mateush, holding up his own right hand lest blood might flow from the finger stump too freely; in his left he held snow with which he was washing the face of his brother.
“How are ye?” asked Stanislav.
“Ah, he has bitten us, the son of a such a one!” said Lukash, and he spat blood abundantly; “but we will avenge ourselves.”
“I cannot move my arm at all, for he cut the bone,” added Marek. “Eh, the dog! Eh!”
“And Mateush is cut over the brows!” called out Yan; “the wound should be covered with bread and spider-web but I will staunch the blood with snow for the present.”
“If my eyes were not filled with blood,” said Mateush, “I would—”
But he could not finish since blood loss had weakened him, and he was interrupted by Lukash who had been borne away suddenly by anger.
“But he is cunning, the dog blood! He stings like a gnat, though he looks like a maiden.”
“It is just that cunning,” said Yan, “which I cannot pardon.”
Further conversation was interrupted by the snorting of horses. The sleigh appeared in the haze dimly, and next it was there at the side of the brothers. Out of the sleigh sprang Tachevski, who commanded the driver to step down and help them.
The man looked at the Bukoyemskis, took in the whole case with a glance, and said not a word, but on his face was reflected, as it seemed, disappointment, and, turning toward the horses, he crossed himself. Then the three men fell to raising the wounded. The brothers protested against the assistance of Yatsek, but he stopped them.
“If ye gentlemen had wounded me, would ye leave me unassisted? This is the service of a noble which one may not meet with neglect or refusal.”
They were silent, for he won them by these words — somewhat, and after a while they were lying upon straw in the broad sleigh more comfortably, and soon they were warmer.
“Whither shall I go?” asked the driver.
“Wait. Thou wilt take still another,” answered Stanislav, and turning to Yatsek, he said to him, —
“Well, gracious sir, it is our time!”
“Oh, it is better to drop this,” said Yatsek, regarding him with a look almost friendly. “That God there knows why this has happened, and you took my part when these gentlemen together attacked me. Why should you and I fight a duel?”
“We must and will fight,” replied Stanislav, coldly. “You have insulted me, and, even if you had not, my name is in question at present — do you understand? Though I were to lose life, though this were to be my last hour — we must fight.”
“Let it be so! but against my will,” said Tachevski.
And they began. Stanislav, had more skill than the brothers, but he was weaker than any of them. It was clear that he had been taught by better masters, and that his practice had not been confined to inns and markets. He pressed forward quickly, he parried with readiness and knowledge. Yatsek, in whose heart there was no hatred, and who would have stopped at the lesson given the Bukoyemskis, began to praise him.
“With you,” said he, “the work is quite different. Your hand was trained by no common swordsman.”
“Too bad that you did not train it!” said Stanislav.
And he was doubly rejoiced, first at the praise, and then because he had given answer, for only the most famed among swordsmen could let himself speak in time of a duel, and polite conversation was considered moreover as the acme of courtesy. All this increased Stanislav in his own eyes. Hence he pressed forward again with good feeling. But after some fresh blows he was forced to acknowledge in spirit that Tachevski surpassed him. Yatsek defended himself as it seemed with unwillingness but very easily, and in general he acted as though engaged not in fighting, but in fencing for exercise. Clearly, he wished to convince himself as to what Stanislav knew, and as to how much better he was than the brothers, and when he had done this with accuracy he felt at last sure of his own case.
Stanislav noted this also, hence delight left him, and he struck with more passion. Tachevski then twisted himself as if he had had enough of amusement, gave the “feigned” blow, pressed on and sprang aside after a moment.
“Thou hast got it!” said he.
Stanislav felt, as it were, a cold sting in the arm, but he answered, —
“Go on. That is nothing!”
And he cut again, that same moment the point of Yatsek’s sabre laid his lower lip open and cut the skin under it. Yatsek sprang aside now a second time.
“Thou art bleeding!” said he.
“That is nothing!”
“Glory to God if ’tis nothing! But I have had plenty, and here is my hand for you. You have acted like a genuine cavalier.”
Stanislav greatly roused, but pleased also at these words, stood for a moment, as if undecided whether to make peace or fight longer. At last he sheathed his sabre and gave his hand then to Yatsek.
“Let it be so. In truth, as it seems, I am bleeding.”
He touched his chin with his left hand and looked at the blood with much wonder. It had colored his palm and his fingers abundantly.
“Hold snow on the wound to keep it from swelling,” said Yatsek, “and go to the sleigh now.”
So speaking he took Stanislav by the arm and conducted him to the Bukoyemskis, who looked at him silently, somewhat astonished, but also confounded. Yatsek roused real respect in them, not only as a master with the sabre, but as a man of “lofty manners,” such manners precisely as they themselves needed.
So after a while this inquiry was made of Stanislav by Mateush, —
“How is it with thee, O Stashko?”
“Well. I might go on foot,” was the answer, “but I choose the sleigh, the journey will be quicker.”
Yatsek sat toward them sidewise, and cried to the driver, —
“To Vyrambki.”
“Whither?” asked Stanislav.
“To my house. You will not have much comfort, but it is difficult otherwise. At Pan Gideon’s you would frighten the women, and Father Voynovski is at my house. He dresses wounds to perfection and he will care for you. You can send for your horses, and then do what may please you. I will ask the priest also to go to Pan Gideon and tell him with caution what has happened.” Here Yatsek fell to thinking and soon after he added, —
“Oho! the trouble has not come yet, but now we shall see it. God knows that you, gentlemen, insisted on this duel.”
“True! we insisted,” said Stanislav. “I will declare that and these gentlemen also will testify.”
“I will testify, though my shoulder pains terribly,” said Marek, groaning. “Oi! but you have given us a holiday. May the bullets strike you!”
It was not far to Vyrambki. Soon they entered the enclosure, and met the priest wading in snow, for he, alarmed about what might happen, could not stay in the house any longer, and had set out to meet them.
Yatsek sprang from the sleigh when he saw him. Father Voynovski pushed forward quickly to meet him, and saw his friend sound and uninjured.
“Well,” cried he, “what has happened?”
“I bring you these gentlemen,” said Yatsek.
The face of the old man grew bright for a moment, but became serious straightway, when he saw the Bukoyemskis and Stanislav blood-bedaubed.
“All five!” cried he, clasping his hands.
“There are five!”
“An offence against heaven! Gentlemen, how is it with you?” asked he, turning to the wounded men.
They touched their caps to him, except Marek, who, since the cutting of his shoulder-blade, could move neither his left nor his right hand. He merely groaned, saying, —
“He has peppered us well. We cannot deny it.”
“That is nothing,” said the others.
“We hope in God that it is nothing,” answered Father Voynovski. “Come to the house now as quickly as possible! I will care for you this minute. Move on with the sleigh,” said he.
And then he himself followed promptly with Yatsek. But after a while he stopped on the roadway. Joy shone, in his face again. He embraced Yatsek’s neck on a sudden.
“Let me press thee, O Yatsek,” cried he. “Thou hast brought in a sleigh load of enemies, like so many wheat sheaves.”
Yatsek kissed his hand then, and answered, —
“They would have it so, my benefactor.”
The priest put his hand on the head of the young man again, as if wishing to bless him, but all at once he restrained himself, because gladness in this case was not befitting his habit, so he looked more severe, and continued, —
“Think not that I praise thee. It was thy luck that they themselves wished this, but still, it is a scandal.”
They drove into the courtyard. Yatsek sprang to the sleigh so that he might, with the driver and the single house-servant, help out the wounded men. But they stepped out themselves, except Marek, whose arms they supported and soon they were all in Yatsek’s dwelling. Straw had been spread there already, and even Yatsek’s own bed had been covered with a white, slightly worn horse skin. At the head a felt roll served as pillow. On the table near the window was bread kneaded with spider-web, excellent for blood stopping. There were also choice balsams which the priest had for healing.
The old man took off his soutane and went to dressing the wounds with the skill of a veteran who had seen thousands of wounded men, and who from long practice knew how to handle wounds better than many a surgeon. His work went on quickly, for, except Marek, the men had suffered slightly.
Marek’s shoulder-blade needed considerably longer work, but when at last it was dressed the priest wiped his bloody hands, and then rested.
“Well,” said he, “thanks to the Lord Jesus, it has passed without grievous accident. This also is certain, that you feel better, gentlemen, all of you.”
“One would like a drink!” said Mateush.
“It would not hurt! Give command, Yatsek, to bring water.”
Mateush rose up on the straw. “How water?” asked he in a voice of emotion.
Marek, who was lying face downward on Yatsek’s bed groaning, called out quickly, —
“The revered father must wash his hands, of course.”
Hereupon Yatsek looked with real despair at the priest, who laughed and then added, —
“They are soldiers! Wine is permitted, but in small quantity.”
Yatsek drew him by the sleeve to the alcove.
“Benefactor,” whispered he, “what can I do? The pantry is empty, and so is the cellar. Time after time I must tighten my girdle. What can I give them?”
“There is something here, there is something!” said the old man. “When leaving home I made arrangements, and brought a little with me. Should that not suffice I will get more at the brewery in Yedlina — for myself, of course, for myself. Command to give them one glass at the moment to calm them after the encounter.”
When he heard this Yatsek set to work quickly, and soon the Bukoyemskis were comforting one another. Their good feeling for Yatsek increased every moment.
“We fought, for that happens to every man,” said Mateush, “but right away I thought thee a dignified cavalier.”
“Not true; it was I who thought so first,” put in Lukash.
“Thou think? Hast thou ever been able to think?”
“I think just now that thou art a blockhead, so I am able to think, — but my mouth pains me.”
Thus they were quarrelling already. But that moment a mounted man darkened the window.
“Some one has come!” exclaimed Father Voynovski.
Yatsek went to see who it was, and returned quickly, with troubled visage.
“Pan Gideon has sent a man,” said he, “with notice that he is waiting for us at dinner.”
“Let him eat it alone!” replied Yan Bukoyemski.
“What shall we say to him?” inquired Yatsek, looking at Father Voynovski.
“Tell him the truth,” said the old man— “but better, I will tell it myself.”
He went out to the messenger.
“Tell Pan Gideon,” said he, “that neither Pan Tsyprianovitch nor the Bukoyemskis can come, for they have been wounded in a duel to which they challenged Pan Tachevski; but do not forget to tell him that they are not badly wounded. Now hurry!”
The man rushed away with every foot which his horse had, and the priest fell to quieting Yatsek, who was greatly excited. He did not fear to meet five men in battle, but he feared greatly Pan Gideon, and still more what Panna Anulka would say and would think of him.
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