Complete Works of Henryk Sienkiewicz

by Henryk Sienkiewicz

  “Have mercy, serene knight! Do not ruin poor people! God is our witness that we are innocent. We are not going to a rebellion. We are going from the church at Gusiatyn. We crowned our relative Dmitry, the blacksmith, with Ksenia, the cooper’s daughter. We have come with a wedding and with a dance.”

  “These are innocent people,” whispered the sergeant.

  “Out of my sight! They are scoundrels; they have come from Krívonos’s to a wedding!” roared Zagloba.

  “May the plague kill him!” cried the old man. “We have never looked on him with our eyes; we are poor people. Have mercy on us, serene lord, and let us pass; we are doing harm to no man, and we know our duty.”

  “You will go to Yarmolintsi in fetters!”

  “We will go wherever you command. Our lord, it is for you to command, for us to obey. But you will do us a kindness, serene knight! Order your soldiers to do us no harm, and you yourself pardon us simple people. We now beat to you humbly with the forehead, to drink with us to the happiness of the newly married. Drink, your mercy, to the joy of simple people, as God and the holy Gospels command.”

  “But don’t suppose that I forgive you if I drink,” said Zagloba, sharply.

  “No, no, my lord,” exclaimed with joy the old man; “we don’t dream of it. Hei, musicians!” cried he, “strike up for the serene knight, because the serene knight is kind; and you, young men, hurry for mead, — sweet mead for the knight; he will not harm poor people. Hurry, boys, hurry! We thank you, our lord.”

  The young men ran with the speed of wind to the kegs; and immediately the drums sounded, the fiddles squeaked sharply, the piper puffed out his cheeks and began to press the wind-bag under his arm. The groomsmen shook the wreaths on the poles, in view of which the soldiers began to press forward, twirl their mustaches, laugh, and look at the bride over the shoulders of the young fellows. The song resounded again. Terror had passed away, and here and there too was heard the joyful “U-ha! u-ha!”

  Zagloba did not become serene-browed in a moment. Even when a quart of mead was brought to him, he still muttered to himself: “Oh, the scoundrels, the ruffians!” Even when he had sunk his mustaches in the dark surface of the mead, his brows did not unwrinkle. He raised his head, winked his eyes, and smacking his lips, began to taste the liquid; then astonishment, but also indignation, was seen on his face.

  “What times we live in!” muttered he. “Trash are drinking such mead. O Lord, thou seest this, and dost not hurl thy bolts!” Then he raised the cup and emptied it to the bottom.

  Meanwhile the emboldened wedding-guests came with their whole company to beg him to do them no harm and let them pass; and among them came the bride Ksenia, timid, trembling, with tears in her eyes, blushing and beautiful as the dawn. When she drew near she joined her hands. “Be merciful, our lord!” and she kissed the yellow boot of Zagloba. The heart of the noble became soft as wax in a moment. He loosened his leather girdle, began to fumble in it, and finding the last gold sequin of those which Prince Yeremi had given him, he said to Ksenia, —

  “Here! may God bless thee, as he does every innocence!”

  Emotion did not permit further speech, for that shapely dark-browed Ksenia reminded him of the princess whom Zagloba loved in his own fashion. “Where is she now, poor girl, and are the angels of heaven guarding her?” thought he, completely overpowered, ready to embrace every one and become a brother to all.

  The wedding-guests, seeing this lordly act, began to shout from joy, to sing, and crowding up to him to kiss his clothes. “He is kind,” was repeated in the crowd. “He is a golden Pole! he gives away sequins, he does no harm, he is a kind lord. Glory to him, luck to him!” The fiddler quivered, he worked so hard; the hands of the drummers grew weary. The old cooper, evidently a coward to his innermost lining, had held himself in the rear till that moment. Now he pushed forward, together with his wife, the cooperess, and the ancient blacksmithess, the mother of the bridegroom; and now they began such a bowing to the girdle and insistent invitation to the house for the wedding, because it was a glory to have such a guest, and a happy augury for the young couple; if not, harm would come to them. After them bowed the bridegroom and the dark-browed Ksenia, who, though a simple girl, saw in a twinkle that her request was more effective than any other. The best men shouted that the farm was near, not out of the knight’s road; that the old cooper was rich, and would set out mead far better than this. Zagloba gazed at the soldiers; all were moving their mustaches as rabbits do their whiskers, foreseeing for themselves various delights in the dance and the drinks. Therefore, though they did not ask to go, Zagloba took pity on them, and after a while the groomsmen, the young women, and the soldiers were making for the farm in most perfect harmony.

  In fact the farm was near, and the old cooper rich. The wedding therefore was noisy; all drank heavily, and Zagloba so let himself out that he was the first in everything. Soon strange ceremonies were begun. Old women took Ksenia to a chamber, and shutting themselves in with her, remained a long time; then they came forth and declared that the young woman was as a dove, as a lily. Thereupon joy reigned in the assembly; there rose a shout, “Glory! happiness!” The women began to clap their hands, the young fellows stamped with their feet; each one danced by himself, with a quart cup in his hand, which he emptied to “fame and happiness” before the door of the chamber. Zagloba danced also, distinguishing the importance of his birth by this only, that he drank before the door, not a quart, but half a gallon. Then the friends of the cooper and the blacksmith’s wife conducted young Dmitry to the door; but since young Dmitry had no father, they bowed down to Zagloba to take his place. Zagloba consented, and passed in with the others. During this time all became quiet in the house; but the soldiers drinking in the yard before the cottage shouted, crying “Allah!” from joy, in Tartar fashion, and fired from pistols.

  The greatest rejoicing and uproar began when the parents appeared again in the main room. The old cooper embraced the blacksmith’s wife with delight, the young men came to the cooper’s wife and raised her from her feet, and the women glorified her because she had guarded her daughter as the eye in her head, kept her as a dove and a lily. Then Zagloba opened the dance with her. They began to stamp in front of each other; and he, keeping time with his hands, dropped into the prisyadka, sprang so high, and beat the floor with his metal-shod heels in such fashion that bits flew from the planks, and sweat poured from his forehead in abundance. They were followed by others, — those who had space dancing in the room, and those who had not in the yard, — the maidens with the young men and soldiers. From time to time the cooper had new kegs brought out. Finally the whole wedding-feast was transferred from the house to the yard; piles of dry thistles and pitch-pine were set on fire, for a dark night had settled down, and the rejoicing had changed to drinking with might and main. The soldiers fired from their pistols and muskets as in time of battle.

  Zagloba, purple, steaming in perspiration, tottering on his feet, forgot what was happening to him, where he was; through the steam which came from his hair he saw the faces of his entertainers, but if he were to be empaled on a stake he couldn’t tell what sort of entertainers they were. He remembered that he was at a wedding, but whose wedding was it? Ha! it must be the wedding of Pan Yan and the princess. This idea seemed to him the most probable, and finally stuck in his head like a nail, and filled him with such joy that he began to shout like a madman: “Long life! let us love each other, brothers!” and every little while he filled new half-gallons. “To your success, brothers! To the health of the prince! Prosperity to us! May this paroxysm of our country pass!” Then he covered himself with tears, and stumbled going to the keg, and stumbled more and more; for on the ground, as on a field of battle, lay many a motionless body. “O God,” cried Zagloba, “thou hast no longer any manhood left in this Commonwealth! There are but two men who can drink, — one Pan Lashch, and the other Zagloba. As for the rest, my God, my God!” And he raised his eyes in sorrow to the sky. Th
en he saw that the heavenly bodies were no longer fastened quietly in the firmament like golden nails, but some were trembling as if they wished to spring from their settings; others were whirling in a round dance; a third party of them were dancing the kazachka face to face with each other. Then Zagloba fell into terribly deep thought, and said to his musing soul, —

  “Is it possible that I alone in the universe am not drunk?” But suddenly the earth itself quivered, like the stars, in a mad whirl, and Zagloba fell his whole length on the ground.

  Soon awful dreams came to him. It seemed as if nightmares were sitting on his breast, pressing him, squeezing him to the ground, binding him hand and foot. At the same time tumult and as it were the sound of shots struck his ears; a glaring light passed his closed lids, and struck his eyes with an unendurable flash. He wished to rouse himself, to open his eyes, and he could not. He felt that something unusual was happening to him, — that his head was dropping back as if he were being carried by hands and feet. Then fear seized him; he felt badly, very badly, very heavy. Consciousness returned in part, but strangely, for in company with such weakness as he had never felt in his life. Again he tried to move; but when he could not, he woke up more and opened his eyelids.

  Then his gaze met a pair of eyes which were fastened on him eagerly; their pupils were black as coal, and so ill-omened that Zagloba, now thoroughly awake, thought at the first moment that the devil was looking at him. Again he closed his eyes, and again he opened them quickly. Those eyes looked at him continually, stubbornly. The countenance seemed to him familiar. All at once he shivered to the marrow of his bones, cold sweat covered him, and down his spine to his feet passed thousands of ants. He recognized the face of Bogun!

  CHAPTER XL.

  Zagloba lay bound hand and foot to his own sabre, which was passed across behind his knees, in that same room in which the wedding was celebrated. The terrible chief sat at some distance on a bench, and feasted his eyes on the terror of the prisoner.

  “Good-evening!” said he, seeing the open lids of his victim.

  Zagloba made no answer, but in one twinkle of an eye came to his senses as if he had never put a drop of wine to his mouth; the ants which had gone down to his heels returned to his head, and the marrow in his bones grew cold as ice. They say that a drowning man in the last moment sees clearly all his past, — that he remembers everything, and gives himself an account of that which is happening to him. Such clearness of vision and memory Zagloba possessed in that hour; and the last expression of that clearness was a silent cry, unspoken by the lips, —

  “He will give me a flaying now.”

  And the leader repeated, with a quiet voice: “Good-evening!”

  “Brr!” thought Zagloba, “I would rather go to the furies.”

  “Don’t you know me, lord noble?”

  “With the forehead, with the forehead! How is your health?”

  “Not bad; but as to yours, I’ll occupy myself with that.”

  “I have not asked God for such a doctor, and I doubt if I could digest your medicine; but the will of God be done.”

  “Well, you cured me; now I’ll return thanks. We are old friends. You remember how you bound my head in Rozlogi, do you not?”

  Bogun’s eyes began to glitter like two carbuncles, and the line of his mustaches extended in a terrible smile.

  “I remember,” said Zagloba, “that I might have stabbed you, and I did not.”

  “But have I stabbed you, or do I think to stab you? No! For me you are a darling, a dear; and I will guard you as the eye in my head.”

  “I have always said that you are an honorable cavalier,” said Zagloba, pretending to take Bogun’s words in earnest. At the same time through his mind flew the thought: “It is evident that he is meditating some special delicacy for me. I shall not die in simple style.”

  “You speak well,” continued Bogun. “You too are an honorable cavalier; so we have sought and found each other.”

  “What is true is that I have not sought you; but I thank you for the good word.”

  “You will thank me still more before long; and I will thank you for this, that you took the young woman from Rozlogi to Bar. There I found her; and I would ask you to the wedding, but it will not be to-day nor to-morrow, — there is war at present, — and you are an old man, perhaps you will not live to see it.”

  Zagloba, notwithstanding the terrible position in which he found himself, pricked up his ears. “To the wedding!” he muttered.

  “But what did you think?” asked Bogun. “That I was a peasant, to constrain her without a priest, or not to insist on being married in Kieff. You brought her to Bar not for a peasant, but for an ataman and a hetman.”

  “Very good!” thought Zagloba. Then he turned his head to Bogun. “Give the order to unbind me,” said he.

  “Oh, lie awhile, lie awhile! You will go on a journey. You are an old man, and you need rest before the road.”

  “Where do you wish to take me?”

  “You are my friend, so I will take you to my other friend, Krívonos. Then we shall both think how to make it pleasant for you.”

  “It will be hot for me,” muttered Zagloba; and again the ants were walking over his back. At last he began to speak: —

  “I know that you are enraged at me; but unjustly, God knows. We lived together, and in Chigirin we drank more than one bottle. I had for you the love of a father for your knightly daring; a better love you did not find in the whole Ukraine. Isn’t that true? In what way have I crossed your path? If I had not gone with you to Rozlogi, we should have lived to this day in kind friendship; and why did I go if not out of friendship for you? And if you had not become enraged, if you had not killed those unhappy people, — God is looking at me, — I should not have crossed your path. Why should I mix in other men’s affairs? I would have preferred to see the girl yours; but through your Tartar courtship my conscience was moved, and besides it was a noble’s house. You yourself would not have acted otherwise. I might, moreover, have swept you out of the world with the greatest gain to myself. And why did I not do it? Because I am a noble. Be ashamed of yourself too, for I know you wish to take vengeance on me. As it is, you have the girl in your hands. What do you want of me? Have not I guarded as the eye in my head this your property? Since you have respected her it is to be seen that you have knightly honor and conscience; but how will you extend to her the hand which you steep in my innocent blood? How will you say to her, ‘The man who led you through the mob and the Tartars I delivered to torment’? Have shame, and let me go from these bonds and from this captivity into which you have seized me by treachery. You are young, and know not what may meet you, and for my death God will punish you in that which is dearest to you.”

  Bogun rose from the bench, pale with rage, and approaching Zagloba, began to speak in a voice stifled with fury, —

  “Unclean swine! I will have straps torn from you, I’ll burn you on a slow fire, I’ll drive spikes into you, I’ll tear you into rags.”

  In an access of fury he grasped at the knife hanging from his belt, and for a moment pressed it convulsively in his hand. The edge was already gleaming in Zagloba’s eyes, when the chief restrained himself, thrust the knife back into the scabbard, and cried: “Boys!”

  Six Zaporojians came into the room.

  “Take that Polish carrion, throw it into the stable, and guard it as the eye in your head!”

  The Cossacks took Zagloba, — two by his hands and feet, one behind by the hair, — and carrying him out of the house bore him through the yard, and threw him on a dung-heap in the stable standing at one side. Then they closed the door. Complete darkness surrounded the prisoner, but in the cracks between the wall-planks and through holes in the thatch the dim light of night penetrated here and there. After a while Zagloba’s eyes grew accustomed to the darkness. He looked around, and saw there were no pigs in the stable, nor Cossacks. The conversation of the latter, however, reached him clearly through all the four w
alls. Evidently the whole building was surrounded closely; but in spite of these guards Zagloba drew a long breath.

  First of all, he was alive. When Bogun flashed his knife above him he was convinced that his last moment had come, and he recommended his soul to God, — it is true with the greatest fear. But evidently Bogun decided to save him for a death incomparably more complicated. He desired not only to take revenge, but to glut himself with vengeance on the man who had stolen from him the beauty, belittled his Cossack glory, and covered him with ridicule, swaddling him like a baby. It was therefore a gloomy prospect for Pan Zagloba; but he was comforted by the thought that he was still living, that likely they would take him to Krívonos and begin to torture him there, and consequently he had a few, perhaps a number of days before him. In the mean while he lay in the stable alone, and could in the midst of the quiet night think of stratagems.

  That was the one good side of the affair; but when he thought of the bad ones the ants began to travel over his spine in thousands.

  “Stratagems! If a pig lay here in this stable, he would have more stratagems than I, for they would not tie him crosswise to a sabre. If Solomon had been bound in this way, he would have been no wiser than his trousers or my boot-heel. Oh, my God, my God, for what dost thou punish me? Of all people in the world I wanted most to avoid this scoundrel, and such is my luck that he is just the man I have not avoided. I shall have my skin dressed like sviboda cloth. If another had taken me, I might promise to join the rebellion and then run away. But another would not have believed me, and this one least of all. I feel my heart dying within me. The devils have brought me to this place. Oh, my God! my God!”

  But after a while Zagloba thought that if he had his hands and feet free, he might more easily use some stratagem. Well, let him try! If he could only push the sword from under his knees, the rest would go on more easily. But how was he to push it out? He turned on his side, he could do nothing; then he fell into deep thought.