Complete Works of Henryk Sienkiewicz

by Henryk Sienkiewicz

  “But come down out of those clouds!” cried Kmita.

  With that the cavaliers burst into one enormous laugh; but all at once remembering the command of Kmita, they seized their mustaches with their hands.

  Kokosinski was confused in the highest degree. He grew purple, and said, “Do the greeting yourselves, pagans, since you confuse me.”

  Panna Aleksandra took again, with the tips of her fingers, her skirt. “I could not follow you gentlemen in eloquence,” said she, “but I know that I am unworthy of those homages which you give me in the name of all Orsha.”

  And again she made a courtesy with exceeding dignity, and it was somehow out of place for the Orsha roisterers in the presence of that courtly maiden. They strove to exhibit themselves as men of politeness, but it did not become them. Therefore they began to pull their mustaches, to mutter and handle their sabres, till Kmita said, —

  “We have come here as if in a carnival, with the thought to take you with us and drive to Mitruny through the forest, as was the arrangement yesterday. The snow-road is firm, and God has given frosty weather.”

  “I have already sent Aunt Kulvyets to Mitruny to prepare dinner. But now, gentlemen, wait just a little till I put on something warm.”

  Then she turned and went out.

  Kmita sprang to his comrades. “Well, my dear lambs, isn’t she a princess? Now, Kokosinski, you said that she had saddled me, and why were you as a little boy before her? Where have you seen her like?”

  “There was no call to interrupt me; though I do not deny that I did not expect to address such a person.”

  “The late under-chamberlain,” said Kmita, “lived with her most of the time in Kyedani, at the court of the prince voevoda, or lived with the Hleboviches; and there she acquired those high manners. But her beauty, — what of that? You cannot let your breath go yet.”

  “We have appeared as fools,” said Ranitski, in anger; “but the biggest fool was Kokosinski.”

  “Traitor! why punch me with your elbow? You should have appeared yourself, with your spotted mouth.”

  “Harmony, lambs, harmony!” said Kmita; “I will let you admire, but not wrangle.”

  “I would spring into the fire for her,” said Rekuts. “Hew me down, Yendrus, but I’ll not deny that.”

  Kmita did not think of cutting down; he was satisfied, twisted his mustache, and gazed on his comrades with triumph. Now Panna Aleksandra entered, wearing a marten-skin cap, under which her bright face appeared still brighter. They went out on the porch.

  “Then shall we ride in this sleigh?” asked the lady, pointing to the silvery bear. “I have not seen a more beautiful sleigh in my life.”

  “I know not who has used it hitherto, for it was captured. It suits me very well, for on my shield is a lady on a bear. There are other Kmitas who have banners on their shield, but they are descended from Filon Kmita of Charnobil; he was not of the same house from which the great Kmitas are descended.”

  “And when did you capture this bear sleigh?”

  “Lately, in this war. We poor exiles who have fallen away from fortune have only what war gives us in plunder. But as I serve that lady faithfully, she has rewarded me.”

  “May God grant a better; for war rewards one, but presses tears from the whole dear fatherland.”

  “God and the hetmans will change that.”

  Meanwhile Kmita wrapped Panna Aleksandra in the beautiful sleigh robe of white cloth lined with white wolfskin; then taking his own seat, he cried to the driver, “Move on!” and the horses sprang forward at a run.

  The cold wind struck their faces with its rush; they were silent, therefore, and nothing was heard save the wheezing of frozen snow under the runners, the snorting of the horses, their tramp, and the cry of the driver.

  At last Pan Andrei bent toward Olenka. “Is it pleasant for you?”

  “Pleasant,” answered she, raising her sleeve and holding it to her mouth to ward off the rush of air.

  The sleigh dashed on like a whirlwind. The day was bright, frosty; the snow sparkled as if some one were scattering sparks on it. From the white roofs of the cottages, which were like piles of snow, rosy smoke curled in high columns. Flocks of crows from among the leafless trees by the roadside flew before the sleighs with shrill cawing.

  About eighty rods from Vodokty they came out on a broad road into dark pine-woods which stood gloomy, hoary, and silent as if sleeping under the thick snow-bunches. The trees flitted before the eye, appeared to be fleeing to some place in the rear of the sleigh; but the sleigh flew on, every moment swiftly, more swiftly, as if the horses had wings. From such driving the head turns, and ecstasy seizes one; it seized Panna Aleksandra. She leaned back, closed her eyes, and yielded completely to the impetus. She felt a sweet powerlessness, and it seemed to her that that boyar of Orsha had taken her by violence: that he is rushing away like a whirlwind, and she growing weak has no strength to oppose or to cry, — and they are flying, flying each moment more swiftly. Olenka feels that arms are embracing her; then on her cheek as it were a hot burning stamp. Her eyes will not open, as if in a dream; and they fly, fly.

  An inquiring voice first roused the sleeping lady: “Do you love me?”

  She opened her eyes. “As my own soul.”

  “And I for life and death.”

  Again the sable cap of Kmita bent over the marten-skin cap of Olenka. She knew not herself which gave her more delight, — the kisses or the magic ride.

  And they flew farther, but always through pine-woods, through pine-woods. Trees fled to the rear in whole regiments. The snow was wheezing, the horses snorting; but the man and the maiden were happy.

  “I would ride to the end of the world in this way,” cried Kmita.

  “What are we doing? This is a sin!” whispered Olenka.

  “What sin? Let us commit it again.”

  “Impossible! Mitruny is not far.”

  “Far or near, ’tis all one!”

  And Kmita rose in the sleigh, stretched his arms upward, and began to shout as if in a full breast he could not find place for his joy: “Hei-ha! hei-ha!”

  “Hei-hop! hoop-ha!” answered the comrades from the sleighs behind.

  “Why do you shout so?” asked the lady.

  “Oh, so, from delight! And shout you as well!”

  “Hei-ha!” was heard the resonant, thin alto voice.

  “O thou, my queen! I fall at thy feet.”

  “The company will laugh.”

  After the ecstasy a noisy joyousness seized them, as wild as the driving was wild. Kmita began to sing, —

  “Look thou, my girl! look through the door,

  To the rich fields!

  Oh, knights from the pine-woods are coming, my mother,

  Oh, that’s my fate!

  Look not, my daughter! cover thy eyes,

  With thy white hands,

  For thy heart will spring out of thy bosom

  With them to the war.”

  “Who taught you such lovely songs?” asked Panna Aleksandra.

  “War, Olenka. In the camp we sang them to one another to drive away sadness.”

  Further conversation was interrupted by a loud calling from the rear sleighs: “Stop! stop! Hei there — stop!”

  Pan Andrei turned around in anger, wondering how it came to the heads of his comrades to call and stop him. He saw a few tens of steps from the sleigh a horseman approaching at full speed of the horse.

  “As God lives, that is my sergeant Soroka; what can have happened?” said Pan Andrei.

  That moment the sergeant coming up, reined his horse on his haunches, and began to speak with a panting voice: “Captain!—”

  “What is the matter, Soroka?”

  “Upita is on fire; they are fighting!”

  “Jesus Mary!” screamed Olenka.

  “Have no fear! — Who is fighting?”

  “The soldiers with the townspeople. There is a fire on the square! The townspeople are enraged, and they have
sent to Ponyevyej for a garrison. But I galloped here to your grace. I can barely draw breath.”

  During this conversation the sleighs behind caught up; Kokosinski, Ranitski, Kulvyets-Hippocentaurus, Uhlik, Rekuts, and Zend, springing out on the snow, surrounded the speakers with a circle.

  “What is the matter?” asked Kmita.

  “The townspeople would not give supplies for horses or men, because there was no order for it; the soldiers began to take by force. We besieged the mayor and those who barricaded themselves in the square. Firing was begun, and we burned two houses; at present there is terrible violence, and ringing of bells—”

  Kmita’s eyes gleamed with wrath.

  “We must go to the rescue!” shouted Kokosinski.

  “The rabble are oppressing the army!” cried Ranitski, whose whole face was covered at once with red, white, and dark spots. “Check, check! mighty lords!”

  Zend laughed exactly as a screech-owl hoots, till the horses were frightened; and Rekuts raised his eyes and piped, “Strike, whoso believes in God! smoke out the ruffians!”

  “Be silent!” roared Kmita, till the woods echoed, and Zend, who stood nearest, staggered like a drunken man. “There is no need of you there, no need of slashing! Sit all of you in two sleighs, leave me the third. Drive back to Lyubich; wait there unless I send for succor.”

  “How is that?” asked Ranitski, opposing.

  But Pan Andrei laid a hand on his throat, and his eyes gleamed more terribly. “Not a breath out of you!” said he, threateningly.

  They were silent; evidently they feared him, though usually on such familiar footing.

  “Go back, Olenka, to Vodokty,” said Kmita, “or go for your Aunt Kulvyets to Mitruny. Well, our party was not a success. But it will be quieter there soon; only a few heads will fly off. Be in good health and at rest; I shall be quick to return.”

  Having said this, he kissed her hand, and wrapped her in the wolf-skin; then he took his seat in the other sleigh, and cried to the driver, “To Upita!”

  CHAPTER V.

  A number of days passed, and Kmita did not return; but three men of Lauda came to Vodokty with complaints to the lady. Pakosh Gashtovt from Patsuneli came, — the same who was entertaining at his house Pan Volodyovski. He was the patriarch of the village, famed for wealth and six daughters, of whom three had married Butryms, and received each one hundred coined dollars as dowry, besides clothing and cattle. The second who came was Kassyan Butrym, who remembered Batory well, and with him the son-in-law of Pakosh, Yuzva Butrym; the latter, though in the prime of life, — he was not more than fifty years old, — did not go to Rossyeni to the registry of the general militia, for in the Cossack wars a cannon-ball had torn off his foot. He was called on this account Ankle-foot, or Yuzva Footless. He was a terrible man, with the strength of a bear, and great sense, but harsh, surly, judging men severely. For this reason he was feared somewhat in the capitals, for he could not pardon either himself or others. He was dangerous also when in liquor; but that happened rarely.

  These men came, then, to the lady, who received them graciously, though she divined at once that they had come to make complaints, and wanted to hear something from her regarding Pan Kmita.

  “We wish to pay our respects to Pan Kmita, but perhaps he has not come back yet from Upita,” said Pakosh; “so we have come to inquire, our dear darling, when it will be possible to see him.”

  “I think the only hindrance is that he is not here,” answered the lady. “He will be glad with his whole soul to see you, my guardians, for he has heard much good concerning you, — in old times from my grandfather, and lately from me.”

  “If only he does not receive us as he received the Domasheviches when they went to him with tidings of the colonel’s death,” muttered Yuzva, sullenly.

  The lady listened to the end, and answered at once with animation: “Be not unjust about that. Perhaps he did not receive them politely enough, but he has confessed his fault in this house. It should be remembered too that he was returning from a war in which he endured much toil and suffering. We must not wonder at a soldier, even if he snaps at his own, for warriors have tempers like sharp swords.”

  Pakosh Gashtovt, who wished always to be in accord with the whole world, waved his hand and said: “We did not wonder, either. A beast snaps at a beast when it sees one suddenly; why should not a man snap at a man? We will go to old Lyubich to greet Pan Kmita, so that he may live with us, go to war and to the wilderness, as the late under-chamberlain used to do.”

  “Well, tell us, dear darling, did he please you or did he not please you?” asked Kassyan Butrym. “It is our duty to ask this.”

  “God reward you for your care. Pan Kmita is an honorable cavalier, and even if I had found something against him it would not be proper to speak of it.”

  “But have you not seen something, our dearest soul?”

  “Nothing! Besides, no one has the right to judge him here, and God save us from showing distrust. Let us rather thank God.”

  “Why thank too early? When there will be something to thank for, then thank; if not, then not thank,” answered the sullen Yuzva, who, like a genuine man of Jmud, was very cautious and foreseeing.

  “Have you spoken about the marriage?” inquired Kassyan.

  Olenka dropped her eyes: “Pan Kmita wishes it as early as possible.”

  “That’s it! and why shouldn’t he wish it?” muttered Yuzva; “he is not a fool! What bear is it that does not want honey from a tree? But why hurry? Is it not better to see what kind of man he is? Father Kassyan, tell what you have on your tongue; do not doze like a hare at midday under a ridge.”

  “I am not dozing, I am only turning in my head what to say,” answered the old man. “The Lord Jesus has said, ‘As Kuba [Jacob] is to God, so will God be to Kuba.’ We wish no ill to Pan Kmita, if he wishes no ill to us, — which God grant, amen.”

  “If he will be to our thinking,” said Yuzva.

  Panna Billevich frowned with her falcon brows, and said with a certain haughtiness: “Remember that we are not receiving a servant. He will be master here; and his will must have force, not ours. He will succeed you in the guardianship.”

  “Does that mean that we must not interfere?” asked Yuzva.

  “It means that you are to be friends with him, as he wishes to be a friend of yours. Moreover he is taking care of his own property here, which each man manages according to his wish. Is not this true, Father Pakosh?”

  “The sacred truth,” answered the old man of Patsuneli.

  Yuzva turned again to old Butrym. “Do not doze, Father Kassyan!”

  “I am not dozing, I am only looking into my mind.”

  “Then tell what you see there.”

  “What do I see? This is what I see: Pan Kmita is a man of great family, of high blood, and we are small people. Moreover he is a soldier of fame; he alone opposed the enemy when all had dropped their hands, — God give as many as possible of such men! But he has a company that is worthless. Pan Pakosh, my neighbor, what have you heard about them from the Domasheviches? That they are all dishonored men, against whom outlawry has been declared, infamous and condemned, with declarations and trials hanging over them, children of the hangman. They were grievous to the enemy, but more grievous to their own people. They burned, they plundered, they rioted; that is what they did. They may have slain people in duels or carried out executions, — that happens to honest men; but they have lived in pure Tartar fashion, and long ago would have been rotting in prison but for the protection of Pan Kmita, who is a powerful lord. He favors and protects them, and they cling to him just as flies do in summer to a horse. Now they have come hither, and it is known to all what they are doing. The first day at Lyubich they fired out of pistols, — and at what? — at the portraits of the dead Billeviches, which Pan Kmita should not have permitted, for the Billeviches are his benefactors.”

  Olenka covered her eyes with her hands. “It cannot be! it cannot be!”


  “It can, for it has been. He let them shoot at his benefactors, with whom he was to enter into relationship; and then they dragged the girls of the house into the room for debauchery. Tfu! an offence against God! That has never been among us! The first day they began shooting and dissoluteness, — the first day!”

  Here old Kassyan grew angry, and fell to striking the floor with his staff. On Olenka’s face were dark blushes, and Yuzva said, —

  “And Pan Kmita’s troops in Upita, are they better? Like officers, like men. Some people stole Pan Sollohub’s cattle; it is said they were Pan Kmita’s men. Some persons struck down on the road peasants of Meizagol who were drawing pitch. Who did this? They, the same soldiers. Pan Sollohub went to Pan Hlebovich for satisfaction, and now there is violence in Upita again. All this is in opposition to God. It used to be quiet here as in no other place, and now one must load a gun for the night and stand guard; but why? Because Pan Kmita and his company have come.”

  “Father Yuzva, do not talk so,” cried Olenka.

  “But how must I talk? If Pan Kmita is not to blame, why does he keep such men, why does he live with such men? Great mighty lady, tell him to dismiss them or give them up to the hangman, for otherwise there will be no peace. Is it a thing heard of to shoot at portraits and commit open debauchery? Why, the whole neighborhood is talking of nothing else.”

  “What have I to do?” asked Olenka. “They may be evil men, but he fought the war with them. If he will dismiss them at my request?”

  “If he does not dismiss them,” muttered Yuzva, in a low voice, “he is the same as they.”

  With this the lady’s blood began to boil against those men, murderers and profligates.

  “Let it be so. He must dismiss them. Let him choose me or them. If what you say is true, — and I shall know to-day if it is true, — I shall not forgive them either the shooting or the debauchery. I am alone and a weak orphan, they are an armed crowd; but I do not fear them.”