Hardly had these small changes been effected than I heard a gentle knock at my door.

  “Come in,” I said, in French, of course: French, as you know, was for us Poles practically our mother tongue.

  Gregoriska came in.

  “Ah, Madam! I am glad you speak French.”

  “And I too, sir,” I replied to him, “I am glad to speak this language, since it was thanks to this coincidence that I was able to appreciate the nobility of your behaviour towards me. It was in this language that you defended me against the designs of your brother, and it is in this language that I offer you the expression of my sincere gratitude.”

  “Thank you, Madam. It was no hard task for me to take an interest in a woman who found herself in a difficult position such as yours. I was hunting in the mountains when I heard the sound of sporadic but continuous gunfire; I realized it was some armed attack, and I marched straight towards the fire, as the military term has it. I arrived in time, thank Heavens, but will you allow me to enquire, Madam, by what chance a woman of distinction such as yourself had ventured into our mountains?”

  “I am Polish, sir,” I replied. “My two brothers have just been slain in the war with Russia; my father, whom I left preparing to defend our castle against the enemy, will by now doubtless have gone to join them, and as for myself, following my father’s orders, I fled all those massacres and was on my way to seek refuge in the monastery of Sahastru, where my mother in her youth, in similar circumstances, had found safety and shelter.”

  “You are the enemy of the Russians; so much the better,” said the young man. “That title will be a powerful extra resource for you here in the castle, and we need all our strength to keep up the struggle which faces us. First of all, since I know who you are, let me tell you, Madam, who we are: the name of Brankovan is, I imagine, not unknown to you?”

  I bowed.

  “My mother is the last princess of that name, the last descendant of that illustrious chieftain who was killed on the orders of the Cantemirs, those wretched courtiers of Peter I. My mother’s first husband was my father, Serban Waivady, a prince too, but from a less illustrious race.

  “My father had been brought up in Vienna; there he had learnt to appreciate the advantages of civilization. He resolved to make a European of me. We set off for France, Italy, Spain and Germany.

  “My mother (and I know full well that it does not behove a son to tell you the story I am about to recount; but since, for your greater safety, we need to be well acquainted with one another, you will understand why I am revealing these things to you) – my mother, during my father’s first travels, when I myself was still at a very tender age, had indulged in an illicit relationship with a chief of the partisans. This is the name given in our country,” added Gregoriska with a smile, “to the men who attacked you. Well, my mother, who had indulged in an illicit relation with a certain Count Giordaki Koproli, half Greek, half Moldavian, wrote to my father to tell him everything and to ask him for a divorce; she based her request on the fact that she, a Brankovan, did not wish to remain the wife of a man who day by day was becoming more of a stranger to his own land. Alas! My father did not need to grant his consent to this request, which may appear strange to you, but which among us is the most common and natural thing. My father had just died of an aneurysm from which he had long been suffering, and it was I who received the letter.

  “I could do nothing other than send my most sincere wishes for my mother’s happiness. These wishes were sent to her in a letter that brought her the news that she was a widow.

  “This same letter asked her to give me her permission to continue my travels, a permission which was granted.

  “I had firmly resolved to settle in France or Germany, so as not to find myself in the presence of a man who hated me, and whom I could not love – the husband of my mother. But then, suddenly, I learnt that Count Giordaki Koproli had just been murdered – so they said – by my father’s former Cossacks.

  “I made haste to return home; I loved my mother and I could understand her loneliness and her need to have with her, at a time like this, the people dear to her. Without her having felt any particularly tender love for me, I was still her son. I came home one morning, without being expected, to the castle of our fathers.

  “Here I found a young man whom I took at first to be a stranger, but whom I later learnt was my brother.

  “It was Kostaki, the son of an adulterous liaison, whom a second marriage had rendered legitimate; Kostaki – in other words the untameable creature you have seen, who listens only to his own passions, who holds nothing in this world sacred apart from his mother, who obeys me in the same way that a tiger obeys the strength of his tamer, but keeps roaring in the vague hope that he will be able one day to devour me. Within the castle, in the domain of the Brankovans and the Waivady, I am still the master; but once I am outside its walls, once I am out in the country, he turns back into the savage child of the woods and the mountains, filled with the desire to make everything bend to his iron will. How is it that he yielded today, and that his men yielded also? I do not know – an old habit, a residual respect. But I would not like to hazard a new trial of force. Stay here, and do not leave this room or this courtyard – in short, the area enclosed within the walls, for here I can answer for everything; if you take a single step outside the castle, I can no longer answer for anything, and can offer merely to sacrifice my life in your defence.”

  “So will I not be able, as my father wished, to continue on my way to the convent at Sahastru?”

  “Do so, try it, give the order – I will accompany you; but I will be left by the wayside and you, you… will never get there.”

  “So what should I do?”

  “Stay here and wait, see how things turn out and take advantage of the circumstances. Just imagine that you have fallen into a lair of bandits, and that only your courage can get you out of it, and only your sangfroid can save you. My mother, in spite of her preference for Kostaki, her love child, is kind and generous. What’s more, she is a Brankovan – in other words a true princess. You’ll be meeting her; she will defend you from Kostaki’s brutal passions. Place yourself under her protection – you are beautiful, and she will love you. In any case,” he said looking at me with an indefinable expression, “who could see you and not love you? Now come along to the dining room, where she is awaiting us. Show neither unease nor mistrust; speak in Polish; no one here knows that language – I will translate your words for my mother, and you can rest assured that I will say only what needs to be said. Above all, not a word about what I have just revealed to you; let no one suspect that we are in league. You still do not know how even the most sincere among us will resort to cunning and conceal his thoughts. Now come.”

  I followed him to the staircase, lit up by resin torches burning in iron hands that emerged from the walls.

  It was obvious that this light, quite unusual, had been provided for me.

  We arrived in the dining room.

  As soon as Gregoriska had opened the door, and uttered, in Moldavian, a word that I later learnt meant the foreign girl, a tall woman advanced towards us.

  It was Princess Brankovan.

  Her white hair was gathered in braids around her head; she was wearing a small bonnet of sable, topped by an aigrette, in token of her princely origin. She had on a kind of tunic in cloth of gold, its bodice strewn with precious stones, covering a long dress in Turkish fabric, fringed with fur like her hat.

  In her hand she was holding a rosary whose beads she flicked rapidly between her fingers.

  Next to her stood Kostaki, wearing the strange and splendid costume of the Magyars, in which he struck me as even more strange.

  This was a robe of green velvet, with wide sleeves, that fell down beneath his knees, with breeches of red cashmere, and Turkish slippers of morocco leather with gold embroidery; his head was bare, and his long hair, so black it had a bluish sheen, fell onto his bare neck, with only the thin white strip of his silk shirt peeping out.

  He greeted me, looking ill at ease, and uttered a few words in Moldavian which were unintelligible to me.

  “You may speak French, my brother,” said Gregoriska. “Madam is Polish and she understands that language.”

  Then Kostaki uttered in French a few words that were almost as unintelligible to me as those he had spoken in Moldavian, but his mother, gravely holding forth her hand, interrupted him. It was clear to me that she was thus declaring to her sons that it was for her to greet me.

  Then she began to utter a welcoming speech in Moldavian; its meaning could easily be guessed from the expressions on her face. She showed me the table, offered me a seat next to her and waved her hand to indicate the entire house, as if to say that I should feel at home; and, sitting down first with a benevolent dignity, she made the sign of the cross and began to say a prayer.

  Then we all took our seats, each place being fixed by the demands of etiquette – Gregoriska next to me. I was the foreigner, and so I created a seat of honour for Kostaki, near his mother Smerande.

  This was the Princess’s name.

  Gregoriska too had changed his outfit. He was wearing the Magyar tunic like his brother, but this tunic was in garnet-red velvet, and his breeches in blue cashmere. A magnificent decoration was hanging from his neck; it was the Nisham of the Sultan Mahmoud.

  The rest of the guests were dining at the same table, each at the place that fell to them in accordance with their position among the friends or the servants of the house.

  The dinner was a gloomy affair; not once did Kostaki address me, even though his brother always took care to speak to me in French. As for their mother, she herself offered every dish to me with that same solemn air that never left her. Gregoriska had spoken true: she was a real princess.

  After supper, Gregoriska went over to his mother. He explained to her, in Moldavian, that I needed to be alone, and really ought to rest after the emotions of such a day. Smerande agreed with a nod, held out her hand to me, kissed me on the forehead, as she would have done had I been her own daughter, and wished me a good night’s sleep in her castle. Gregoriska had not been wrong: I had been longing for this moment of solitude. So I thanked the Princess, who came and led me to the door, where the two women who had already brought me to my room were awaiting me.

  I bowed to her in my turn, as well as to her two sons, and returned to the same apartment which I had left an hour before.

  The sofa had been turned into a bed. That was the only change that had been made.

  I thanked the women. I indicated to them that I would get undressed by myself; they immediately left, showing me such marks of respect that it was clear they had been ordered to obey me in all things.

  I was left in that huge room, of which my lamp, as I moved it round, lit up only the parts that I was exploring, without ever being able to light it up as a whole. There was a strange rivalry between the light of my candle and the rays of moonlight coming in through my uncurtained window.

  Apart from the door through which I had entered, and that led out onto the staircase, two other doors opened into my room; but huge bolts set on these doors, and drawn shut on my side, were enough to reassure me.

  I went over to the entrance door and examined it. This door, like the others, was provided with means of defence.

  I opened my window; it looked out over a precipice.

  I realized that Gregoriska had made a deliberate choice in putting me in this room.

  Finally, returning to my sofa, I found on a table placed by my bedside table a little folded note.

  I opened it, and read, in Polish:

  Sleep sound; you will have nothing to fear as long as you stay within the castle. Gregoriska

  I followed this advice, and, as fatigue overpowered my anxieties, I climbed into bed and went to sleep.

  14

  The Two Brothers

  From that date onwards, I was settled in the castle, and that date saw the beginning of the drama which I am about to relate.

  The two brothers fell in love with me, each in a way that reflected the nuances of his character.

  The very next day, Kostaki told me he loved me, declared that I would be his and no one else’s, and that he would slay me rather than let me belong to anyone else.

  Gregoriska said nothing, but he surrounded me with care and attention. All the resources of a brilliant education, all the memories of a youth passed in the most noble courts of Europe were deployed to please me. Alas! This was not difficult. At the first sound of his voice, I had felt how this voice caressed my soul; at the first glance from his eyes, I had sensed how that glance penetrated deep into my heart.

  At the end of three months, Kostaki had repeated to me a hundred times over that he loved me – and I hated him; at the end of three months, Gregoriska had still not breathed a word of love to me, and I sensed that, the moment he demanded it, I would be entirely his.

  Kostaki had given up his various expeditions. He no longer left the castle. He had temporarily abdicated in favour of a kind of lieutenant who, from time to time, would come to ask for his orders and then vanish.

  Smerande too loved me with a passionate friendship, the expression of which filled me with fear. Kostaki was obviously her protégé, and she seemed to be more jealous of my welfare than even he was. However, since she did not understand either Polish or French, and I did not understand Moldavian, she could not urge her son’s case very effectively on me, but she had learnt to say three words in French, which she repeated to me each time that she placed her lips to my brow:

  “Kostaki loves Hedwige.”

  One day, I learnt a terrible piece of news that struck me as a crowning misfortune. The four men who had survived the combat had been restored to liberty; they had set off for Poland, swearing that one of them would return, within three months, to give me news of my father.

  One morning, one of them duly appeared. Our castle had been captured, burnt and razed to the ground, and my father had been slain while defending it.

  Henceforth, I was all alone in the world.

  Kostaki’s pleadings became twice as pressing, and Smerande’s affection twice as intense, but this time I could use mourning for my father as an excuse. Kostaki persisted, saying that the more isolated I was, the more I needed support; his mother persisted too, in the same way and at the same time as he did – maybe even more than he did. Gregoriska had told me of this ability Moldavians have of mastering their feelings when they do not want to allow anyone to read their hearts. He himself was a living example.

  It was impossible to be more certain of a man’s love than I was of his, and yet, if I had been asked on what proof this certainty was based, it would have been quite impossible for me to say; no one, in this castle, had ever seen his hand touch mine, or his eyes seek mine. Jealousy alone could open Kostaki’s eyes to this rivalry, just as my love alone could open my eyes to Gregoriska’s love.

  However, I will confess, Gregoriska’s immense self-control worried me. I believed in his love as a certain fact, but this was not enough: I needed to be convinced. Then, one evening, when I had just returned to my room, I heard a gentle knocking at one of the two doors which as I mentioned were locked and bolted on the inside. From the tone of the knock, I guessed that this request was coming from a friend. I went over and asked who was there.

  “Gregoriska,” replied a voice – there was no danger of my being wrong as to its identity.

  “What do you want?” I asked him, trembling from head to toe.

  “If you trust me,” said Gregoriska, “if you believe me to be a man of honour, grant my request.”

  “Which request?”

  “Extinguish your light, as if you had gone to bed, and, in half an hour, open your door to me.”

  “Come back in half an hour,” was my only reply.

  I put out my light, and waited.

  My heart was beating violently, since I realized that an important event was about to occur.

  The half-hour elapsed; I heard a knock at the door, even quieter than the first time. During the intervening period, I had drawn the bolts; so all that remained was for me to open the door.

  Gregoriska came in, and, without him even needing to ask me to do so, I closed the door shut behind him and bolted it again.

  He stood for a moment mute and immobile, gesturing to me to keep silent. Then, when he had assured himself that no urgent danger was threatening us, he led me into the middle of the vast room, and, sensing from my trembling that I would not be able to remain upright, he went to fetch me a chair.

  “Oh, my God!” I asked him. “What is wrong? Why so many precautions?”

  “For this reason: my life – though that would be no great matter… no, since your life too, perhaps, depends on the conversation we are about to have.”

  I seized his hand, filled with anxiety. He raised my hand to his lips, imploring me with his gaze to forgive such audacity. I lowered my eyes as a sign of consent.

  “I love you,” he said in his voice as melodious as a song. “Do you love me?”

  “Yes,” I replied.

  “Would you consent to be my wife?”

  “Yes.”

  He wiped his forehead with his hand, and breathed a deep sigh of happiness.

  “So you won’t refuse to follow me?”

  “I will follow you anywhere!”

  “You do realize,” he continued, “that we can only be happy if we fly from here?”

  “Ah yes!” I cried. “Let us fly!”

  “Hush!” he said, with a sudden start. “Silence!”

  “You’re right.”

  And I huddled close to him, trembling all over.

  “This is what I have done,” he told me. “This is the reason why it has taken me so long to confess that I love you. The fact is, I wanted to make certain, once I was sure of your love, that nothing could get in the way of our union. I am rich, Hedwige, immensely rich, but after the fashion of Moldavian lords: rich in land, herds and serfs. Well, I have sold lands, herds and villages to the monastery of Hango for one million francs. They have given me three hundred thousand francs’ worth in precious stones, one hundred thousand francs’ worth in gold and the rest in bills of exchange drawn on Vienna. Will one million be enough for you?”