Pan Michael

but at Azya’s persuasion she stayed with Eva in the sleigh, which was steadied with lariats, and let down from the height with the greatest precaution. All this time Azya walked near the sleigh; but occupied altogether with their safety, and in general with the command, he spoke scarcely a word either to Basia or Eva. The sun went down, however, before they succeeded in passing the mountains; but the detachment of Cheremis, marching in advance, made fires of dry branches. They went down then among the ruddy fires and the wild figures standing near them. Beyond those figures were, in the gloom of the night and in the half-light of the flames, the threatening declivities in uncertain, terrible outlines. All this was new, curious; all had the appearance of some kind of dangerous and mysterious expedition⁠—wherefore Basia’s soul was in the seventh heaven, and her heart rose in gratitude to her husband for letting her go on this journey to unknown regions, and to Azya because he had been able to manage the journey so well. Basia understood now, for the first time, the meaning of those military marches of which she had heard so much from soldiers, and what precipitous and winding roads were. A mad joyousness took possession of her. She would have mounted her pony assuredly, were it not that, sitting near Eva, she could talk with her and terrify her. Therefore when moving in a narrow, short turn the detachment in advance vanished from the eye and began to shout with wild voices, the stifled echo of which resounded among overhanging cliffs, Basia turned to Eva, and seizing her hands, cried⁠—

“Oh, ho! robbers from the meadows, or the horde!”

But Eva, when she remembered Azya, the son of Tugai Bey, was calm in a moment.

“The robbers in the horde respect and fear Azya,” answered she. And later, bending to Basia’s ear, she said, “Even to Belgrod, even to the Crimea, if with him!”

The moon had risen high in heaven when they were issuing from the mountains. Then they beheld far down, and, as it were, at the bottom of a precipice, a collection of lights.

“Mohiloff is under our feet,” said a voice behind Basia and Eva.

They looked around; it was Azya standing behind the sleigh.

“But does the town lie like that at the bottom of the ravine?” asked Basia.

“It does. The mountains shield it completely from winter winds,” answered Azya, pushing his head between their heads. “Notice, your grace, that there is another climate here; it is warmer and calmer. Spring comes here ten days earlier than on the other side of the mountains, and the trees put forth their leaves sooner. That gray on the slopes is a vineyard; but the ground is under snow yet.”

Snow was lying everywhere, but really the air was warmer and calmer. In proportion as they descended slowly toward the valley, lights showed themselves one after another, and increased in number every moment.

“A respectable place, and rather large,” said Eva.

“It is because the Tartars did not burn it at the time of the peasant incursion. The Cossack troops wintered here, and Poles have scarcely ever visited the place.”

“Who live here?”

“Tartars, who have their wooden mosque; for in the Commonwealth every man is free to profess his own faith. Wallachians live here, also Armenians and Greeks.”

“I have seen Greeks once in Kamenyets,” said Basia; “for though they live far away, they go everywhere for commerce.”

“This town is composed differently from all others,” said Azya; “many people of various nations come here to trade. That settlement which we see at a distance on one side is called Serby.”

“We are entering already,” said Basia.

They were, in fact, entering. A strange odor of skins and acid met their nostrils at once. That was the odor of morocco, at the manufacture of which all the inhabitants of Mohiloff worked somewhat, but especially the Armenians. As Azya had said, the place was different altogether from others. The houses were built in Asiatic fashion; they had windows covered with thick wooden lattice; in many houses there were no windows on the street, and only in the yards was seen the glitter of fires. The streets were not paved, though there was no lack of stone in the neighborhood. Here and there were buildings of strange form with latticed, transparent walls; those were drying-houses, in which fresh grapes were turned into raisins. The odor of morocco filled the whole place.

Pan Gorzenski, who commanded the infantry, had been informed by the Cheremis of the arrival of the wife of the commandant of Hreptyoff, and rode out on horseback to meet her. He was not young, and he stuttered; he lisped also, for his face had been pierced by a bullet from a long-barrelled janissary gun; therefore when he began to speak (stuttering every moment) of the star “which had risen in the heavens of Mohiloff,” Basia came near bursting into laughter. But he received her in the most hospitable manner known to him. In the “fortalice” a supper was waiting for her, and a supremely comfortable bed on fresh and clean down, which he had taken by a forced loan from the wealthiest Armenians. Pan Gorzenski stuttered, it is true, but during the evening he related at the supper things so curious that it was worth while to listen.

According to him a certain disquieting breeze had begun to blow suddenly and unexpectedly from the steppes. Reports came that a strong chambul of the Crimean horde, stationed with Doroshenko, had moved all at once toward Haysyn and the country above that point; with the chambuls went some thousands of Cossacks. Besides, a number of other alarming reports had come from indefinite places. Pan Gorzenski did not attach great faith to these rumors, however. “For it is winter,” said he; “and since the Lord God has created this earthly circle the Tartars move only in spring; then they form no camp, carry no baggage, take no food