THE mansion had a porch covered with grapevines, and a view on the yard as well as on a road lined with poplars. In summer Pan and Pani Skorabevski drank coffee on this porch after dinner. They were sitting there now, and with them Father Ulanovski, Father Chyzik, and Stolbitski, the inspector of mines. Pan Skorabevski was a man of rather full habit, and ruddy, with large mustaches. He sat in an armchair, smoking a pipe; Pani Skorabevski was pouring tea; the inspector, who was a sceptic, was jesting with the old canon.
"Now, reverend benefactor, just tell us of that famous battle," said he.
The canon put his hand to his ear, and inquired,—
"Hei?"
"Of the battle!" repeated the inspector, more distinctly.
"Ah! of the battle?" said the canon; and, as it were, meditating, he began to whisper to himself, and to gaze upward as though recalling something. The inspector arranged his face ready for laughter; all awaited the narrative, though they had heard it a hundred times; for they always enticed the old man to repeat it.
"Well," began the canon, "I was still a curate, and the parish priest was Father Gladysh—I am right, Father Gladysh. It was he who built over the vestry. But, eternal light to him!—well, once after mass, I say, 'Father Gladysh?' and he asks, 'What?' 'It seems to me that something will come of this,' I say. And he says, 'It seems to me, too, that something will come of it.' We look; from behind the wind-mill come out some men on horses, some on foot, and next banners and cannon. Then at once I think to myself, Oh! from the opposite side I think, sheep are coming? but they are not sheep, only cavalry. The moment these saw those: Stop! and the other side too: Stop! The minute the cavalry rushed out of the woods, these to the right, those to the left, these to the left, those after them. Then they see: Difficult! then on to them. When they began to fire beyond the mountain, something flashed again. 'Do you see, Father Gladysh?' I say, and he says, 'I see.' And there they were, just thundering from cannon and guns; those to the river, these won't let them cross; this that one, that the other one! Then these for a while have the best, again the others have. Roar! smoke! And then to the bayonets! All at once, I think, these are weakening. 'Father Gladysh,' I say, 'those are winning!' And he says, 'It seems to me, too, that they are winning.' The words were hardly out of my mouth when these to their legs! those after them. Then drown, kill, take captive, and I think, 'It is finishing—' But what finish! that—I say, just, but!—"
Here the old man waved his hand, and, settling himself more deeply into the chair, fell, as it were, into meditation; but his head shook more than usual, and his eyes stared more.
The inspector was crying from laughter.
"Father Benefactor, who was fighting with whom; where was it, and when?"