The woman must possess beauty without a blemish. Her condition must not be impaired by any significance of unhealthiness. It was believed a diseased person would bring sickness and misfortune to those living in the mansion.
Prior to the dreaded day of selection, after volunteers failed to present themselves, it became rumored that Simeon Lavkovich had offered his beautiful wife, Lavinia. She submitted herself as the subject of this sacrilegious practise. Such news was incredible. That the most charming woman of Kravetz should resign herself to such an ignoble fate when she could have lived in royal halls! And why should Simeon make such an offer to favor the man who had discharged him and pronounced him unfit to complete the work on his home?
The committee appointed by the count to choose the unfortunate woman gladly accepted Simeon’s wife. They little relished picking out a girl for such a dreadful death. They wished their hands clean of blood and gladly agreed to Simeon’s one condition: that instead of examining her they take his word for it that her beauty was without a mark and that her splendid appearance vouched for her robustness.
On the appointed day, late in August, long before sunrise, the people from far and near poured into Kravetz. The adjoining towns and hamlets had heard of the event. Such an affair came once in a lifetime. It attracted people from distant places. Every buttress, pinnacle, porch, window and roof that offered a point of vantage was congested with men and women and babbling children.
At a quarter of 12 the procession passed about the foundation. Lavinia was in the lead, sparsely clad in a wrapper that clung to her shapely body. The retinue consisted of the count, his family and intimate friends. They sat themselves on a bedecked stand while a guard assisted Lavinia up a pair of stairs to a rostrum erected for this special purpose.
She was the cynosure of all eyes. Her quiet composure appalled the multitude. The abundance of her thick, long hair fell over her shoulders down to her waist. Her queenly head was now modestly bowed. She felt the ruthless eyes of an avaricious throng searing her body.
The clock lacked a minute before the execution of this atrocious act. A silence covered Kravetz. The beating of hearts was almost audible in the oppressive stillness. A feverish glare came into the eyes of a tense crowd. Women clung to supports with nervous fingers.
One man, in an isolated corner on a housetop, was on the verge of collapse, but the seething fire of vengeance urged him to keep his place and witness the outcome of his craftiness. Simeon had reached the hour of his hateful triumph over the woman who had played him wrong and the man who had discharged him.
The voice of conscience hummed in his ear. In vain it whispered: “But was it not your own will that precipitated you into this marriage? Had she not warned and resisted you? Your ear was deaf to all she would say.”
He refused to listen. He hardened himself against this ordeal by having frequent recourse to a bottle hid in his coat. In maudlin tones he incoherently mumbled something about beauty and health. He would bring in the count’s name. Then he would laugh in a way that was not pleasant to hear.
The time had come. The count’s arm was raised. The multitude did not breathe. The arm was motionless. A heartaching second followed. Then the hand fell. It was the signal.
