“So I’ll go,” said Pan Volodyovski.
But after a while another thought entered his head: if she says, “Go to war, noble soldier, and after the war you will visit me during one year and look at me like a nearsighted man, for I will not give in a moment my soul and my body to one whom I know not!”
Then all will be lost! That it would be lost Pan Volodyovski felt perfectly; for leaving aside the lady whom in the interval some other man might marry, Volodyovski was not sure of his own constancy. Conscience declared that in him love was kindled like straw, but quenched as quickly.
Then all will be lost! And then wander on farther, thou soldier, a vagrant from one camp to another, from battle to battle, with no roof in the world, with no living soul of thy kindred! Search the four corners of earth when the war will be over, not knowing a place for thy heart save the barracks!
At last Volodyovski knew not what to do. It had become in a certain fashion narrow and stifling for him in the Patsuneli house; he took his cap therefore to go out on the road and enjoy the May sun. On the threshold he came upon one of Kmita’s men taken prisoner, who in the division of spoils had come to old Pakosh. The Cossack was warming himself in the sun and playing on a bandura.
“What art thou doing here?” asked Volodyovski.
“I am playing,” answered the Cossack, raising his thin face,
“Whence art thou?” asked Volodyovski, glad to have some interruption to his thoughts.
“From afar, from the Viahla.”
“Why not run away like the rest of thy comrades? Oh, such kind of sons! The nobles spared your lives in Lyubich so as to have laborers, and your comrades all ran away as soon as the ropes were removed.”
“I will not run away. I’ll die here like a dog.”
“So it has pleased thee here?”
“He runs away who feels better in the field; it is better for me here. I had my leg shot through, and the old man’s daughter here dressed it, and she spoke a kind word. Such a beauty I have not seen before with my eyes. Why should I go away?”
“Which one pleased thee so?”
“Maryska.”
“And so thou wilt remain?”
“If I die, they will carry me out; if not, I will remain.”
“Dost thou think to earn Pakosh’s daughter?”
“I know not.”
“He would give death to such a poor fellow before he would his daughter.”
“I have gold pieces buried in the woods,” said the Cossack—“two purses.”
“From robbery?”
“From robbery.”
“Even if thou hadst a pot of gold, thou art a peasant and Pakosh is a noble.”
“I am an attendant boyar.”
“If thou art an attendant boyar, thou art worse than a peasant, for thou’rt a traitor. How couldst thou serve the enemy?”
“I did not serve the enemy.”
“And where did Pan Kmita find thee and thy comrades?”
“On the road. I served with the full hetman; but the squadron went to pieces, for we had nothing to eat. I had no reason to go home, for my house was burned. Others went to rob on the road, and I went with them.”
Volodyovski wondered greatly, for hitherto he had thought that Kmita had attacked Olenka with forces obtained from the enemy.
“So Pan Kmita did not get thee from Trubetskoi?”
“Most of the other men had served before with Trubetskoi and Hovanski, but they had run away too and taken to the road.”
“Why did you go with Pan Kmita?”
“Because he is a splendid ataman. We were told that when he called on anyone to go with him, thalers as it were flowed out of a bag, to that man. That’s why we went. Well, God did not give us good luck!”
Volodyovski began to rack his head, and to think that they had blackened Kmita too much; then he looked at the pale attendant boyar and again racked his head.
“And so thou art in love with her?”
“Oi, so much!”
Volodyovski walked away, and while going he thought: “That is a resolute man. He did not break his head; he fell in love and remained. Such men are best. If he is really an attendant boyar, he is of the same rank as the village nobles. When he digs up his gold pieces, perhaps the old man will give him Maryska. And why? Because he did not go to drumming with his fingers, but made up his mind that he would get her. I’ll make up my mind too.”
Thus meditating, Volodyovski walked along the road in the sunshine. Sometimes he would stop, fix his eyes on the ground or raise them to the sky, then again go farther, till all at once he saw a flock of wild ducks flying through the air. He began to soothsay whether he should go or not. It came out that he was to go.
“I will go; it cannot be otherwise.”
When he had said this he turned toward the house; but on the way he went once more to the stable, before which his two servants were playing dice.
“Syruts, is Basior’s mane plaited?”
“Plaited, Colonel!”
Volodyovski went into the stable. Basior neighed at him from the manger; the knight approached the horse, patted him on the side, and then began to count the braids on his neck. “Go—not go—go.” Again the soothsaying came out favorably.
“Saddle the horse and dress decently,” commanded Volodyovski.
Then he went to the house quickly, and began to dress. He put on high cavalry boots, yellow, with gilded spurs, and a new red uniform, besides a rapier with steel scabbard, the hilt ornamented with gold; in addition a half breastplate of bright steel covering
