"Pshaw," he said, stopping before his looking-gla.s.s and twirling his moustache, "as if I had not made sure of her virtues myself!... three of them! And for the rest of it----" he paused, bowing profoundly to his image in the gla.s.s; "for the rest of it, Mr. Hajek, please to bear in mind your history and your present dilemma. Ha! ha!" He appeared immensely tickled with this pretence at honesty; it seemed quite a joke to ruminate over a bit of self-knowledge, and it kept him in the best of humour till the clock struck eight, when he rang for his valet, and, having completed his toilet, he drove to the villa of the Armenian.

It was early for an evening party of distinction, and Mr. Hajek, who had lived in Paris, and therefore was looked upon as an oracle of good style by all who pretended to be fashionable at Colomea, would under ordinary circ.u.mstances never have sinned so grievously against the laws he himself had established. But in the present case it was inc.u.mbent on him to be the first of the guests. For these were not ordinary circ.u.mstances, but, on the contrary, an event which as a rule comes but once in life; he was driving to the villa in order to celebrate his betrothal with the widowed Countess Wanda Koninski, the Armenian's only daughter. It was indeed an event! and the several actors in the little comedy had even drawn up a programme for the most suitable expression of their feelings.

It has been maintained by people of experience that it is not so much fiery love which ensures the happiest marriages--since the flame too often is sadly transient--but rather an even share of mutual understanding and a certain sympathetic perception of each other's aims in life. If it be so, the mandatar and the young widow might fairly be congratulated. And again, if it be true that a man's relations with his parents-in-law, in order to be satisfactory, must preclude the possibility of a delusion on either side concerning each other's moral worth, not a shadow of a doubt could be entertained but that the mandatar and the parents of his bride elect would yield a spectacle of the most charming friendship--quite hand in glove, in fact. For, excepting Mr. Hajek himself, Herr Bogdan von Antoniewicz certainly was the greatest rascal of the district.

This prosperous man did not like to be reminded of his earlier years, nor was he ever heard to refer to his ancestors, although they had been honest cattle-drovers in Moldavia. He himself had pursued this occupation in his youth: but possessing a kind of prudence which rendered his conscience easy and his money-bag close, he managed to make a little capital, establishing cattle trading on his own account.

Then it happened, as he would describe it, that a sore blow was experienced by the death of the best of uncles, a merchant at Constantinople, who had made him his heir. The chief facts were correct, and the deceased had left his money to his nephew, only it was not Bogdan who was that nephew, but a poor man of the name of Mikita, who was in Bogdan's service. The latter had received a ponderous doc.u.ment with seals and flourishes, announcing to him his uncle's bequest; and, being unable to read, he had taken it to his master.

Bogdan read it--there was a legacy of ten thousand ducats--and he was seized with a feeling of vast sympathy with the humble man. He remembered that Mikita had nine ragged children, and that a shower of riches coming thus suddenly could be no blessing, since, no doubt, it would teach him to be thriftless. He said, therefore, to his labourer, "You're a lucky dog, to be sure, there's your uncle dead and left you ten ducats!" This, of course, was to try the man, to see if he were worthy of a great fortune; for what would become of his poor children, mused the philanthropic Bogdan, if he made away with his ten thousand ducats, leading a riotous life and turning his back upon work! Let him prove first how he will take the lesser luck. The poor man but ill stood the test. He had never known such wealth, and simply cried with delight, begging his master to lend him a ducat on the strength of his inheritance. Bogdan did so, hoping the man would not waste so great a sum, but put it out at interest discreetly. But Mikita, that spendthrift, knew no better investment than some new clothes for his little ones, also giving them a regular good meal for once. After awhile he presented himself again to his master, who, sadly grieving, handed him a second ducat; and so on till, after six months or so, the wretched father had actually spent the ten of them. And now the well-intentioned Bogdan went through a severe conflict with himself, ending with the renewed conviction that it were an unpardonable want of foresight to let those children be ruined. So having given to Mikita ten ill-spent ducats, he got him to put his mark to a receipt that the full amount of the legacy had been made over to him, and thereupon he went and presented himself as the required heir.

Thus Bogdan, acting for the best for his humble neighbour, had laid the foundation of his fortune. But it is well known that one's n.o.blest actions are often cruelly misjudged, and this matter somehow leaking out, made it impossible for the tenderhearted cattle-trader to continue in the neighbourhood. He resolved to shake off from his feet the very dust of his old life, departing stealthily, and making his way into Austria, where, with his newly-acquired capital, he bought a large property, ostensibly bent on farming his land. The property, however, happened to be situated in the Bukowina, a very central position, where Austria, Russia, and Moldavia join. Now the import duties in those days were particularly heavy, and a man of resources living on the frontiers could not but direct his faculties to studying their results. Mr.

Bogdan was too clever not to see that free commerce naturally must spring from an overdone system of protection, and, experimenting upon his theory, he ended in siding with free trade altogether. His property was delightfully situated for smuggling purposes, and he flattered himself he would best serve his generation by introducing large quant.i.ties of tobacco from Bessarabia into Austria, to the detriment of the Imperial monopoly, which was disgracefully selfish, he argued. He throve for awhile, but the eyes of the customs authorities were upon him. He escaped conviction just in time, selling his property advantageously and acquiring a larger one in Eastern Galicia.

He was now forty years of age, rich and prosperous, but alone in his glory. His heart, such as it was, longed for a distinguished pa.s.sion, and his b.u.t.tonhole gaped for a decoration. He would marry into the aristocracy, and become the founder of a n.o.ble house. As for marrying a person of t.i.tle, that is almost easier in those parts than insisting on the contrary; but on what grounds he could become enn.o.bled, even his fertile brain was at a loss to suggest. Fortune, however, had always smiled on him; and it so happened that the mysterious power which rules our hearts and destinies introduced to him a lady well qualified for becoming the stepping-stone of his aspirations. In the present instance that world-famed power elected to show itself in the person of a certain Jew, who made his living by acting as go-between in the matrimonial market. This herald appeared one day, proposing to Mr.

Bogdan a union with a certain aristocratic spinster, Antonia von Kulczika. There was no doubt as to her good birth, but she was not _very_ young, and not rich--possessed of influence, however, through having enjoyed the protection, hitherto, of one of the most powerful magnates of the land. Wicked tongues, of course, delighted in a tale, for which reason Aaron Moses, in stating the lady's virtues, kept his hand cautiously on the door-handle. To his agreeable surprise, however, Mr. Bogdan listened quietly, owning even to a sort of partiality for the lady he had never seen, and that nothing was required but certain easily-defined conditions in order to rouse his ardent love, which conditions being stated, Aaron Moses entered them in his notebook.

Within a month the Jew returned with a deed of gift, whereby the above-mentioned magnate, with brotherly generosity, settled on the lady the landed property of Rossow. Mr. Bogdan, on making sure of this, laid his hand upon his heart, confessing to the Jew his unmistakable devotion to the lady, to whom he was ready now to be introduced. But there was no talk of betrothal as yet. True love mostly is of the shyest, and Mr. Bogdan found no words for his feelings until Aaron Moses had brought him a letter wherein the magnate, under his own hand, had given his word of honour that he would procure a patent of n.o.bility for Mr. Bogdan Antoniewicz within a year of his marriage with Miss Antonia von Kulczika. This settled, there was nothing left to hinder the flow of his feelings, and in due course the nuptials were solemnised.

They were a pattern pair; and if those only can be happy in married life whose mutual love is equalled by their mutual respect, their happiness was a.s.sured, for the love of this couple could not easily have been less than the esteem they bore one another. The happy husband in due time found himself Herr _von_ Antoniewicz, his wife presenting him, moreover, with a fair-haired little girl. There appeared nothing to prevent their being received into society, for the lady was handsome, Bogdan rich and prosperous. The officers of the neighbouring garrison were the first to get over their qualms, the rest of society following suit. As years went on the lady, of course, could not be said to grow in grace or beauty; but Bogdan gained riches steadily, possessing three large estates now and plenty of money, which he continued to put to usury advantageously.

Such were the future parents-in-law of Mr. Hajek. Those who knew them could not but own that all three were worthy of each other, and the same might be said of the bridal couple itself. Bogdan von Antoniewicz had his daughter educated after the style most approved of by the Polish aristocracy. She had a Parisian governess, who taught her French and the piano, the rest of the 'branches' being confided to a refugee from Warsaw, in whose estimation there wad no science equal to Polish patriotism, and in this he instructed her. Wanda should be a true Pole.

It was not pleasant, therefore, when her parents one day made a sorrowful discovery, proving her Austrian predilections. She had a lover in the Imperial army, who, on being moved with his regiment, left it expedient for her father to find her a husband. It had better not be a rogue, if a fool was to be had, thought the latter; and a suitable youth was found in the person of one Count Agenor Koninski. Very suitable he was, being, in the first place, of the bluest aristocracy; moreover, in the second place, of such doubtful finances that Bogdan's offer was a G.o.dsend to him; and, thirdly, he was an easy-going fellow, whose wife might be what she pleased. "Koninski" might be correctly rendered by "horseman"--it was just the name for him. He spent his life with horses, and even came by his death through them, being thrown on a racecourse.

The widowed Wanda knew what she owed to her position; her sympathies were no longer with the Imperial army, but no Polish n.o.bleman therefore cared for her hand. She and her belongings had thoroughly disgusted even that lenient body; and, at the time when Mr. Hajek was making friends at Colomea, the Armenian, in spite of his great wealth, was reduced to a select circle of visitors--respectable people refused his invitations. He and his wife had reached their threescore and ten, the Countess Wanda was thirty, and her boy eleven years old. It was high time to put an end to the scandal, and gain an able man who could manage the property. This state of things explains why Bogdan, in spite of the pride of his acquired n.o.bility, as well as the widowed Countess herself, had turned their thoughts to the low-born mandatar, instructing their willing emissary, Mr. Thaddeus de Bazanski, accordingly--he being no other than that refugee who, in her youth, had educated Wanda in Polish patriotism, and who still awaited the day when Russia should suffer, glad meanwhile to act as the Armenian's hanger-on. He had to take his time in making overtures to the mandatar, who did not seem open to his hints; but he was able at last to inform the countess that Mr. Hajek had discovered he loved her; and it was agreed to celebrate the betrothal forthwith, even on Easter Sunday.

It had been no easy resolve on the part of the mandatar. To be sure, the widowed Countess possessed three first-rate charms, nay, virtues, in his eyes, being heiress to the broad lands of Rossow, Horkowka, and Drinkowce, and he himself was not a man given to prejudice. Still he had managed somehow to acquire the position of a man of honour in the district, and was loth to part with this pleasant sensation, all the more valued, perhaps, for its novelty. But while he yet felt divided, the news reached him of Taras's declaration, and the cowardly wretch was seized with a perfect frenzy of fear. Indeed, the real match-maker, bringing together this pair of worthies, was not so much Thaddeus as Taras Barabola.

Mr. Hajek had not been in the village, and knew nothing of the great meeting. He had gone to a mess breakfast at Zablotow, Captain Mihaly, of the Palffy hussars, in garrison there, having invited him over. It was a merry gathering, comprising, besides the officers, several young n.o.bles of the neighbourhood. But none so merry as Hajek himself; and he kept up his spirits when, breakfast over, he was invited to preside at the gaming table. He was winning largely, and was a very fountain of fun to the dissipated party. They went on gambling for the best part of the day.

But there was a strange interruption, the captain's man announcing, with a queer expression, that the under-steward, Boleslaw, had arrived, bearing an important message to the mandatar--a certain peasant named Barabola having that day declared war against the Emperor.

The news produced the greatest hilarity; the officers roared with laughter. But Wenceslas Hajek grew deadly pale, and, dropping the cards from his hands, he jumped from his seat shaking from head to foot.

"Gentlemen," he gasped, "you would not laugh if you knew the man ...

this is a matter of life and death ... excuse me, I must have particulars...."

He moved to the door, but the captain was before him. "No!" he cried, facetiously, "you shall not monopolise this declaration of war. _We_ are His Majesty's officers, and ought to have our share--let the man enter!"

The under-steward appeared, his gigantic frame positively limp with dismay, as he reported the chief contents of Taras's speech. "You know what sort of man you have to deal with, sir," he said, in conclusion, turning to the mandatar. "This day week he means to make his beginning--make it upon you, sir! He has retired for the present in the direction of the Red Hollow. Four men are with him to-day; there will be fifty before the week is out."

The gentlemen ceased to be amused; somehow the giant's consternation had affected them. But when he had done, their laughter returned.

"War!" they cried, "what fun! Double pay and promotion for all of us!"

The captain adding: "But he has given us a week's grace, so let us finish our rubber. Mr. Hajek, I think you were meditating a trump ...

but, good heavens, man!" he interrupted himself, evidently alarmed, "what is the matter? ... He is fainting!"

And, indeed, the mandatar's appearance was enough to startle his companions. He had sunk down on the nearest chair, the bloodless face distorted with terror; and as they gazed at him his head sank lower, till it rested on the table.

"Belshazzar!" cried a youthful lieutenant, "Mene, Tekel, Upharsin! Yes, yes, my dear Mr. Hajek, your conscience seems ill at ease concerning these peasants! Why, you are crying!"

The mandatar actually had begun to sob. "Ah!" he moaned, "I must be off to the town...." He attempted to rise, but fell back on his chair.

"No ... I must go back to the manor first ... my papers.... Captain!"

he shrieked, imploringly, "I entreat you, let your troop be mounted, and escort me to Zulawce--I mean, stay with me till you can bring me away again in safety. I'm a dead man, and the manor will be in ruins, if you refuse!"

"Nonsense!" cried the captain, in disgust. "I should not have believed it of you! This sudden news has made a coward of you! Don't you know that I am not at liberty to order my men about in that fashion?"

"Then you shall answer for the consequences!" screamed Hajek, wildly.

"But I shall not go home by myself!" And again he sobbed, but recovered himself presently. "I must take refuge at Colomea. We are but three of us--the under-steward, myself, and the coachman, and those cut-throats are four or five! I trust you will, at least, set us up with arms, captain, and lend me some of your men to see us safely on our way."

"Certainly," replied Captain Mihaly, coldly. "I am quite able to grant you an escort."

And within an hour Mr. Hajek was on the road to Colomea, a hussar on either side of his vehicle, the under-steward besides having provided himself with a perfect a.r.s.enal of weapons. Nevertheless, the mandatar was dying with fright at every turn, crying aloud with terror as often as a sound rose in the distance or some horseman appeared in view. In vain Boleslaw tried to comfort him; all he could do was to remind him that Taras had said with, his own lips another week would lapse before he should make his beginning, "and you know he always is true to his word!"

The mandatar's answer to this was, perhaps, the finest praise ever awarded to Taras. "Ah!" he groaned, "you may not have heard it correctly"--for that Taras should ever deviate from his word, in great things or little, even he did not doubt; but just this made all the rest so fearful!...

The news had come to him quite unexpectedly, although he had been fully informed concerning Taras's doings, his prolonged visits to the mountains, his growing despair, and lastly his cession of property. But he had misjudged these signs, believing in his own evil soul that Taras intended to make away with himself, and would probably do so upon the Emperor's refusal; indeed, he had even pitied the man, after a fashion, as a butcher may feel pity for a fine bullock whose carcase he intends to sell well. Now that he had learned Taras's intentions, he seemed suddenly to be aware what stuff the man was made of, and though but the barest outline of that memorable speech could have been reported to him, he had a clearer perception of its drift, no doubt, than most of those who had heard it with their own ears. "Yes, yes," he groaned, "the angel has become a fiend, and none so black as those that were all light before!"

At last the morning dawned. The mandatar ventured to dismiss his escort, and towards nine o'clock he reached the town, where he parted also from Boleslaw, sending him back to Zulawce.

"Do you believe the manor is endangered by my absence?"

"No," said the giant, "only by your presence, sir. What Taras wants is to punish _you_ in life and limb; he does not care for your property, save as far as it may serve to indemnify the people for their supposed loss. But I should say he will not touch anything till he has got hold of yourself."

The mandatar shook. "I daresay you are right," he said. "Nevertheless, I want you to bring me, without delay, the black casket you will find in my bedroom cupboard--this is the key. I shall not leave this place for the present, and shall do my best to have the wretch hanged, else----"

"He will see you hanged," concluded Boleslaw. "I am afraid you are right, sir."

And with this parting benediction ringing in his ears, Mr. Hajek repaired at once to the district governor, to whom he represented the matter as a rebellion of gigantic dimensions, endangering the lives and property of thousands of helpless subjects, if a price were not set on Taras's head forthwith and half a dozen regiments despatched against him.

Herr von Bauer took refuge in his favourite growling. "Pleasant! most pleasant!" he muttered, and took to pacing his office like a caged lion. "Who on earth has to face such bothers but me? Defend your enemy, not to say your friend, from being a district governor in Galicia! I hoped we had done with these cut-throats since 'Wild Wa.s.silj' had the good sense to shoot himself--now there is another of these rascals! But who would have believed it of Taras Barabola! I would have taken my oath that he was an honest man. To be sure, he understands nothing of justice--came to me once expecting _we_ should prosecute for the recovery of that field. He positively believed it was our duty--to prosecute, you understand! A man who has such notions may as well turn hajdamak! They are just savages here--I have always said so ... not a notion of how the law works!... Well, I am much obliged for your news, sir, but it is not for us to proceed on it. Things must be done in order. Kindly send in your information in writing; it will cost you nothing. Good morning!"

"And may I ask how soon the matter will then be attended to?"

"In due course--first come, first served!"

"Sir! Why this is a most pressing case! I would propose, as a first step, to send for the hussars from Zablotow----"

"Hussars? Good gracious!" and the district governor grew as red as a turkey-c.o.c.k. "Who do you take me for, sir? Am I a general to order about the military? I am governor of the district, sir--worse luck that I am!"

The mandatar was abashed, but made another attempt. "Sir," he said, rather pathetically, "my life is at stake, and what is more, the property of the Count, my master. I venture to ask how the matter will be dealt with!"

"In due course, to be sure! When your statement has been filed we shall despatch a commissary to Zulawce to report to us; and if it is as you tell me, we have quite a complicated charge of felony: the man has insulted the Emperor, not to say the Almighty Himself; he has libelled Government, and is guilty of seditious proceedings. It will be an interesting case, to be sure; he'll have ten years of penal servitude for that speech alone. And if he should lay hands on you, as he seems fully to intend, we will have him hanged! Will that satisfy you?"

But strange to say, the mandatar was not satisfied. "Sir," he stammered, "delay is most dangerous. Will that commissary be starting to-morrow?"

"To-morrow?" gasped the governor. "Why not, rather, to-day? Perhaps we ought to ask your pardon for not having sent him as early as yesterday!... _To-morrow!_ Are you in your senses, sir?" And he paced his office more violently than ever. It took him some time to get over, this unheard-of suggestion, and then he said: "A commissioner will be sent as soon as feasible; in about a month's time, I should say; things must be done in due course! And now I have the honour of making my bow to you."

The mandatar could but take his leave, standing still a moment outside.

It was the very spot where his unhappy victim, and now his implacable enemy, had first felt the sore pain of disappointed hope and helpless wrath--these same sensations now having him for their prey. The fear of death, which he had been able to hold at bay awhile with the vain expectation that the all-powerful State would hedge him round with safety, seized upon him afresh, tearing his cowardly heart to pieces.

With tottering knees, and almost beside himself with rage and terror, he slunk away.