On the Field of Glory

"No one will drive in from that side, for the windows look into the garden."

"But the dog is not barking, he is howling."

That was the case really. The dog had barked once, twice, a third time, then the barking turned to a low, gloomy howling.

Pan Gideon quivered despite himself, for he remembered how years and years earlier in another place, at his house, which stood five miles from Pomorani, in Russia, dogs had howled in the same way before a sudden onrush of Tartars.

The thought came to Panna Anulka, that she had no cause to expect any one, and that should any man come to her from the darkness to that lighted mansion he would be late in his coming. But it seemed somehow strange to other guests, all the more as the first dog was joined by a second, and a double howl was heard now near that window. So they listened in disagreeable silence, which was broken only after a while by Martsian Krepetski, -

"A guest at whom the dogs howl is nothing to us," said he.

"Wine!" called Pan Gideon.

But the glasses were full, hence there was no need to pour at that moment. Old Krepetski, father of Martsian, rose from his chair somewhat heavily, wishing to speak, as seemed evident. All turned their eyes to him. Old men began to surround their ears with their hands to hear better, but he only moved his lips after long waiting, his chin almost meeting his nose, for he was toothless.

Meanwhile, notwithstanding the fact that the earth was soft from thawing, there came from the other side of the house, as it were, a dull clatter and it was heard rather long, long enough to go twice round the courtyard. Hence old Krepetski, who had raised his glass, held it a while, looked at the door, and then put the glass down again; other guests acted in like manner.

"See who has come!" said Pan Gideon to his attendant.

The youth rushed out, returned straightway, and answered, -

"There is no one."

"That is strange," said the prelate. "The sound was heard clearly."

"We all heard it," said one of the twin Sulgostovskis.

"And the dogs have stopped howling," said others.

Then the door of the entrance, badly fastened by the servant, as was evident, opened of itself, and a new draught of air entered with such violence that it quenched from ten to twenty candles.

"What is that?" "Shut the door!" "The candles are dying!" said a number of voices.

But with the wind had rushed into the hall, as it were, some unknown terror. Pani Vinnitski, who was superstitious and timid, began then to cross herself audibly.

"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost-"

"Woman! be silent!" commanded Pan Gideon.

Then turning to Panna Sieninski he kissed her hand.

"A quenched candle cannot trouble my gladness," said he, "and God grant me to be as happy to the end of my days as I am at this moment. Is that not right, my Anulka?"

"Yes, guardian," said she, bending toward his hand.

"Amen!" ended the prelate, who rose to address them.

"Gracious ladies and gentlemen, since that unexpected sound stopped, as is evident, Pan Krepetski's ideas let me be the earliest expounder of those feelings with which our hearts are warmed toward the future wife and her husband. Hence, ere we cry out O Hymen, O Hymenaios, before we, in Roman fashion, begin to call Thalassius, the beautiful youth who God grant may appear at the earliest, let us raise ex imo this first toast to their prosperity and coming happiness: Vivant, crescant, floreant" (may they live, increase, flourish).

"Vivant! Vivant!" thundered all guests.

The Radom orchestra was heard that moment, and outside the windows the drivers fell to cracking their whips.

Long did the shouts last, with the stamping of feet, the sounding of horns and the cracking of whips. The servants, too, raised a shout throughout the whole mansion, and in the dining-hall, amid endless cheers, rose great sounds of wine-gulping.

"Vivant, crescant, floreant!"

Silence came only when Pan Gideon stood up, raised his glass, and said in a loud voice, -

"My guests and relatives, very gracious and most dear to my heart! I express with inadequate words my gratitude to all; I will first bow to you profoundly for that brotherly and neighborly good-feeling which you have shown me by meeting here under my poor roof in such numbers-"

The words "under my poor roof" were pronounced with a kind of marvellously mild, and, as it were, submissive accents, then he sat down and bent his head, so that the forehead rested really on the table. And the guests wondered that a man usually so distant and so haughty should speak with such affection. They thought that great happiness melts even hearts the most obdurate, and, waiting for what he had to say further, they looked at his iron-gray head resting yet on the edge of the table.

"Silence! We are listening!" said voices.

And in fact deep silence had followed.

But Pan Gideon was motionless.

"What is the matter? What has happened? For God's sake! Speak on!" cried they.

But Pan Gideon answered only with a terrible rattling; then his shoulders and arms began on a sudden to quiver.

Panna Sieninski sprang from her chair pale as a wall, and cried in terrified accents, -

"Guardian! guardian!"

At the table were dismay and confusion; cries and questions rose everywhere. Guests surrounded Pan Gideon, the prelate seized his arms and brought him to the back of the chair, some began to throw water on him, others cried, "Take him to the bed and bleed him as quickly as possible." Some of the women were tearful; some ran, as if frantic, through the chambers with groans or with sharp lamentation. But Pan Gideon remained sitting, his head was thrown back, the veins in his forehead were distended like straps, his eyes were closed firmly, the hoarseness and rattling grew louder.

The unexpected guest had come indeed out of darkness and entered the mansion, dreadful and merciless.