Complete Works of Henryk Sienkiewicz

by Henryk Sienkiewicz

  Pan Volodyovski did not march, for he was not able yet to use his arm; he remained therefore as if district commander among the women. The neighborhoods were deserted, and only old men and women sat around the fires in the evening. It was quiet in Ponyevyej and Upita; they were waiting on all sides for news.

  Panna Aleksandra in like manner shut herself in at Vodokty, seeing no one but servants and her guardians of Lauda.

  CHAPTER II.

  The new year 1655 came. January was frosty, but dry; a stern winter covered sacred Jmud with a white coat three feet thick, the forests were bending and breaking under a wealth of snow bunches, snow dazzled the eyes during days of sunshine, and in the night by the moon there glittered as it were sparks vanishing on a surface stiffened by frost; wild beasts approached the dwellings of men, and the poor gray birds hammered with their beaks the windows covered with hoar frost and snow-flowers.

  On a certain evening Panna Aleksandra was sitting in the servants’ hall with her work-maidens. It was an old custom of the Billeviches, when there were no guests, to spend evenings with the servants singing hymns and edifying simple minds by their example. In this wise did Panna Aleksandra; and the more easily since among her house-maidens were some really noble, very poor orphans. These performed every kind of work, even the rudest, and were servants for ladies; in return they were trained in good manners, and received better treatment than simple girls. But among them were peasants too, differing mainly in speech, for many did not know Polish.

  Panna Aleksandra, with her relative Panna Kulvyets, sat in the centre, and the girls around on benches; all were spinning. In a great chimney with sloping sides pine-logs were burning, now dying down and now flaming freshly with a great bright blaze or with sparks, as the youth standing near the chimney threw on small pieces of birch or pitch-pine. When the flame shot upward brightly, the dark wooden walls of the great hall were to be seen, with an unusually low ceiling resting on cross-beams. From the beams hung, on threads, many-colored stars, made of wafers, trembling in the warm air; behind, from both sides of the beams, were bunches of combed flax, hanging like captured Turkish horse-tail standards. Almost the whole ceiling was covered with them. On the dark walls glittered, like stars, tin plates, large and small, standing straight or leaning on long oaken shelves.

  In the distance, near the door, a shaggy-haired man of Jmud was making a great noise with a hand-mill, and muttering a song with nasal monotone. Panna Aleksandra slipped her beads through her fingers in silence; the spinners spun on, saying nothing the one to the other.

  The light of the flame fell on their youthful, ruddy faces. They, with both hands raised, — with the left feeding the soft flax, with the right turning the wheel, — spun eagerly, as if vying with one another, urged on by the stern glances of Panna Kulvyets. Sometimes, too, they looked at one another with quick eye, and sometimes at Panna Aleksandra, as if in expectation that she would tell the man to stop grinding, and would begin the hymn; but they did not cease working. They spun and spun on; the threads were winding, the wheel was buzzing, the distaff played in the hand of Panna Kulvyets, the shaggy-haired man of Jmud rattled on with his mill.

  But at times he stopped his work. Evidently something was wrong with the mill, for at those times was heard his angry voice: “It’s down!”

  Panna Aleksandra raised her head, as if roused by the silence which followed the exclamations of the man; then the blaze lighted up her face and her serious blue eyes looking from beneath black brows. She was a comely lady, with flaxen hair, pale complexion, and delicate features. She had the beauty of a white flower. The mourning robes added to her dignity. Sitting before the chimney, she seemed buried in thought, as in a dream; doubtless she was meditating over her own lot, for her fates were in the balance. The will predestined her to be the wife of a man whom she had not seen for ten years; and as she was now almost twenty, there remained to her but unclear childhood reminiscences of a certain boisterous boy, who at the time when he with his father had come to Vodokty, was more occupied with racing through the swamps with a gun than in looking at her. “Where is he, and what manner of man is he now?” These were the questions which thrust themselves on the mind of the dignified lady. She knew him also, it is true, from the narratives of the late under-chamberlain, who four years before had undertaken the long journey to Orsha. According to those narratives, he was a cavalier “of great courage, though very quick-tempered.” By the contract of marriage for their descendants concluded between old Billevich and Kmita the father, Kmita the son was to go at once to Vodokty and be accepted by the lady; but a great war broke out just then, and the cavalier, instead of going to the lady, went to the fields of Berestechko. Wounded at Berestechko, he recovered at home; then he nursed his sick father, who was near death; after that another war broke out, and thus four years passed. Since the death of the old colonel considerable time had elapsed, but no tidings of Kmita.

  Panna Aleksandra therefore had something to meditate upon, and perhaps she was pining for the unknown. In her pure heart, especially because it knew not love as yet, she bore a great readiness for that feeling. A spark only was needed to kindle on that hearth a flame quiet but bright, and as steady as the undying sacred fire of Lithuania.

  Disquiet then seized her, — at times pleasant, at times bitter; and her soul was ever putting questions to which there was no answer, or rather the answer must come from distant fields. The first question was whether he would marry her with good-will and respond with readiness to her readiness. In those days contracts by parents for the marriage of their children were usual; and if the parents died the children, held by the blessing, observed in most cases the contract. In the engagement itself the young lady saw nothing uncommon; but good pleasure does not always go hand in hand with duty; hence the anxiety that weighed down the blond head of the maiden. “Will he love me?” And then a flock of thoughts surrounded her, as a flock of birds surround a tree standing alone in spacious fields: “Who art thou? What manner of person? Art walking alive in the world, or perhaps thou hast fallen? Art thou distant or near?” The open heart of the lady, like a door open to a precious guest, called involuntarily to distant regions, to forests and snow-fields covered with night: “Come hither, young hero; for there is naught in the world more bitter than waiting.”

  That moment, as if in answer to the call, from outside, from those snowy distances covered with night, came the sound of a bell.

  The lady trembled, but regaining her presence of mind, remembered that almost every evening some one came to Vodokty to get medicine for the young colonel.

  Panna Kulvyets confirmed that idea by saying, “Some one from the Gashtovts for herbs.”

  The irregular sound of the bell shaken by the shaft rang more distinctly each moment; at last it stopped on a sudden. Evidently the sleigh had halted before the door.

  “See who has come,” said Panna Kulvyets to the man of Jmud who was turning the mill.

  The man went out of the servants’ hall, but soon returned, and taking again the handle of the mill, said phlegmatically, “Panas Kmitas.”

  “The word is made flesh!” cried Panna Kulvyets.

  The spinners sprang to their feet; the flax and the distaffs fell to the floor.

  Panna Aleksandra rose also. Her heart beat like a hammer; a flush came forth on her face, and then pallor; but she turned from the chimney, lest her emotion might be seen.

  Then in the door appeared a certain lofty figure in a fur mantle and fur-bound cap. A young man advanced to the middle of the room, and seeing that he was in the servants’ hall, inquired in a resonant voice, without removing his cap, “Hei! but where is your mistress?”

  “I am the mistress,” said Panna Billevich, in tones sufficiently clear.

  Hearing this, the newly arrived removed his cap, cast it on the floor, and inclining said, “I am Andrei Kmita.”

  The eyes of Panna Aleksandra rested with lightning-like swiftness on the face of Kmita, and then dropped again t
o the floor; still during that time the lady was able to see the tuft shaven high, yellow as wheat, an embrowned complexion, blue eyes, looking quickly to the front, dark mustache, a face youthful, eagle-like, but joyous and gallant.

  He rested his left hand on his hip, raised his right to his mustache, and said: “I have not been in Lyubich yet, for I hastened here like a bird to bow down at the feet of the lady, the chief hunter’s daughter. The wind — God grant it was a happy one! — brought me straight from the camp.”

  “Did you know of the death of my grandfather?” asked the lady.

  “I did not; but I bewailed with hot tears my benefactor when I learned of his death from those rustics who came from this region to me. He was a sincere friend, almost a brother, of my late father. Of course it is well known to you that four years ago he came to us at Orsha. Then he promised me your ladyship, and showed a portrait about which I sighed in the night-time. I wished to come sooner, but war is not a mother: she makes matches for men with death only.”

  This bold speech confused the lady somewhat. Wishing to change the subject, she said, “Then you have not seen Lyubich yet?”

  “There will be time for that. My first service is here; and here the dearest inheritance, which I wish to receive first. But you turned from the hearth, so that to this moment I have not been able to look you in the eye — that’s the way! Turn, and I will stand next the hearth; that’s the way!”

  Thus speaking, the daring soldier seized by the hand Olenka, who did not expect such an act, and brought her face toward the fire, turning her like a top. She was still more confused, and covering her eyes with her long lashes, stood abashed by the light and her own beauty. Kmita released her at last, and struck himself on the doublet.

  “As God is dear to me, a beauty! I’ll have a hundred Masses said for my benefactor because he left you to me. When the betrothal?”

  “Not yet awhile; I am not yours yet,” said Olenka.

  “But you will be, even if I have to burn this house! As God lives, I thought the portrait flattered. I see that the painter aimed high, but missed. A thousand lashes to such an artist, and stoves to paint, not beauties, with which eyes are feasted! Oh, ’tis a delight to be the heir to such an inheritance, may the bullets strike me!”

  “My late grandfather told me that you were very hot-headed.”

  “All are that way with us in Smolensk; not like your Jmud people. One, two! and it must be as we want; if not, then death.”

  Olenka laughed, and said with a voice now more confident, raising her eyes to the cavalier, “Then it must be that Tartars dwell among you?”

  “All one! but you are mine by the will of parents and by your heart.”

  “By my heart? That I know not yet.”

  “Should you not be, I would thrust myself with a knife!”

  “You say that laughing. But we are still in the servants’ hall; I beg you to the reception-room. After a long road doubtless supper will be acceptable. I beg you to follow me.”

  Here Olenka turned to Panna Kulvyets. “Auntie, dear, come with us.”

  The young banneret glanced quickly. “Aunt?” he inquired,— “whose aunt?”

  “Mine, — Panna Kulvyets.”

  “Then she is mine!” answered he, going to kiss her hand. “I have in my company an officer named Kulvyets-Hippocentaurus. Is he not a relative?”

  “He is of the same family,” replied the old maid, with a courtesy.

  “A good fellow, but a whirlwind like myself,” added Kmita.

  Meanwhile a boy appeared with a light. They went to the antechamber, where Pan Andrei removed his shuba; then they passed to the reception-room.

  Immediately after their departure the spinners gathered in a close circle, and one interrupted another, talking and making remarks. The stately young man pleased them greatly; therefore they did not spare words on him, vying with one another in praises.

  “Light shines from him,” said one; “when he came I thought he was a king’s son.”

  “And he has lynx eyes, so that he cuts with them,” said another; “do not cross such a man.”

  “That is worst of all,” said a third.

  “He met the lady as a betrothed. It is easily seen that she pleased him greatly, for whom has she not pleased?”

  “But he is not worse than she, never fear! Could you get his equal, you would go even to Orsha, though likely that is at the end of the world.”

  “Ah, lucky lady!”

  “It is always best for the rich in the world. Ei, ei, that’s gold, not a knight.”

  “The Patsuneli girls say that that cavalry captain who is stopping with old Pakosh is a handsome cavalier.”

  “I have not seen him; but how compare him with Pan Kmita! Such another as Pan Kmita surely there is not in the world!”

  “It’s down!” cried the man of Jmud on a sudden, when something broke again in the mill.

  “Go out, shaggy head, with thy freaks! Give us peace, for we cannot hear. — True, true; hard to find better than Pan Kmita in the whole world; surely in Kyedani there is none such.”

  “Dream of one like him!”

  “May his like come in a dream!”

  In such fashion did the girls talk among themselves in the servants’ hall. Meanwhile in the dining-room the table was laid in all haste, while in the drawing-room Panna Aleksandra conversed face to face with Kmita, for Aunt Kulvyets had gone to bustle about the supper.

  Pan Andrei did not remove his gaze from Olenka, and his eyes shot sparks more and more every moment; at last he said, —

  “There are men to whom land is dearer than all things else; there are others who chase after plunder in war, others love horses; but I would not give you for any treasure. As God lives, the more I look the more I wish to marry; so that even if it were to-morrow — Oh, that brow, — just as if painted with burned cork!”

  “I hear that some use such strange things, but I am not of that kind.”

  “And eyes as from heaven! From confusion, words fail me.”

  “You are not greatly confused, if in my presence you can be so urgent that I am wonder-stricken.”

  “That is our way in Smolensk, — to go boldly at women as we do into battle. You must, my queen, grow accustomed to this, for thus will it ever be.”

  “You must put it aside, for thus it cannot be.”

  “Perhaps I may yield, may I be slain! Believe, believe me not, but with gladness would I bend the skies for you. For you, my queen, I am ready to learn other manners; for I know myself that I am a simple soldier, I have lived more in camps than in chambers of castles.”

  “Oh, that harms nothing, for my grandfather was a soldier; but I give thanks for the good-will,” said Olenka; and her eyes looked with such sweetness on Pan Andrei that his heart melted like wax in a moment, and he answered, —

  “You will lead me on a thread.”

  “Ah, you are not like those who are led on threads; to do that is most difficult with men who are unsteady.”

  Kmita showed in a smile teeth as white as a wolf’s teeth, “How is that?” asked he. “Are the rods few that the fathers broke on me in the monastery to bring me to steadiness and make me remember various fair maxims for guidance in life—”

  “And which one do you remember best?”

  “‘When in love, fall at the feet,’ — in this fashion.”

  When he had spoken, Kmita was already on his knees. The lady screamed, putting her feet under the table.

  “For God’s sake! they did not teach that in the monastery. Leave off, or I shall be angry — my aunt will come this minute—”

  Still on his knees, he raised his head and looked into her eyes. “Let a whole squadron of aunts come; I shall not forbid their pleasure.”

  “But stand up!”

  “I am standing.”

  “Sit down!”

  “I am sitting.”

  “You are a traitor, a Judas!”

  “Not true, for when I kiss ’tis with
sincerity, — will you be convinced?”

  “You are a serpent!”

  Panna Aleksandra laughed, however, and a halo of youth and gladness came from her. His nostrils quivered like the nostrils of a young steed of noble blood.

  “Ai! ai!” said he. “What eyes, what a face! Save me, all ye saints, for I cannot keep away!”

  “There is no reason to summon the saints. You were absent four years without once looking in here; sit still now!”

  “But I knew only the counterfeit. I will have that painter put in tar and then in feathers, and scourge him through the square of Upita. I will tell all in sincerity, — forgive, if it please you; if not, take my head. I thought to myself when looking at that portrait: ‘A pretty little rogue, pretty; but there is no lack of pretty ones in the world. I have time.’ My late father urged me hither, but I had always one answer: ‘I have time! The little wife will not vanish; maidens go not to war and do not perish.’ I was not opposed at all to the will of my father, God is my witness; but I wanted first to know war and feel it on my own body. This moment I see my folly. I might have married and gone to war afterward; and here every delight was waiting for me. Praise be to God that they did not hack me to death! Permit me to kiss your hand.”

  “Better, I’ll not permit.”

  “Then I will not ask. In Orsha we say, ‘Ask; but if they don’t give, take it thyself.’”

  Here Pan Andrei clung to the hand of the lady and began to kiss it; and the lady did not resist too greatly, lest she might exhibit ill-will.

  Just then Panna Kulvyets came in. When she saw what was going on, she raised her eyes. That intimacy did not please her, but she dared not scold. She gave invitation to supper.

  Both went to the supper-room, holding each the other’s hand as if they were related. In the room stood a table covered, and on it an abundance of all kinds of food, especially choice smoked meats and a mouldy thick bottle of strength-giving wine. It was pleasant for the young people with each other, gladsome, vivacious. The lady had supped already; therefore Kmita sat alone, and began to eat with animation equal to that with which he had just been conversing.