“I am so sorry that we must part,” said he, “that I have come to get a good look at you. God knows when we shall see each other again.”
“I shall come in all certainty to the election,” said the little knight, embracing his old friend, “and I will tell you why. The hetman wishes to have here the largest number possible of men beloved by the knighthood, so that they may capture nobles for his candidate; and because — thanks to God! — my name has some weight among our brethren, he wants me to come surely. He counts on you also.”
“Indeed, he is trying to catch me with a large net; yet I see something, and though I am rather bulky, still I can creep out through any hole in that net. I will not vote for a Frenchman.”
“Why?”
“Because he would be for absolutum dominium (absolute rule).”
“Condé would have to swear to the pacta conventa like any other man; and he must be a great leader, — he is renowned for warlike achievement.”
“With God’s favor we have no need of seeking leaders in France. Pan Sobieski himself is surely no worse than Condé. Think of it, Michael; the French wear stockings like the Swedes; therefore, like them they of course keep no oaths. Carolus Gustavus was ready to take an oath every hour. For the Swedes to take an oath or crack a nut is all one. What does a pact mean when a man has no honesty?”
“But the Commonwealth needs defence. Oh, if Prince Yeremi were alive! We would elect him king with one voice.”
“His son is alive, the same blood.”
“But not the same courage. It is God’s pity to look at him, for he is more like a serving-man than a prince of such worthy blood. If it were a different time! But now the first virtue is regard for the good of the country. Pan Yan says the same thing. Whatever the hetman does, I will do, for I believe in his love of the Commonwealth as in the Gospel.”
“It is time to think of that. It is too bad that you are going now.”
“But what will you do?”
“I will go to Pan Yan. The boys torment me at times; still, when I am away for a good while I feel lonely without them.”
“If war comes after the election, Pan Yan too will go to it. Who knows? You may take the field yourself; we may campaign yet together in Russia. How much good and evil have we gone through in those parts!”
“True, as God is dear to me! there our best years flowed by. At times the wish comes to see all those places which witnessed our glory.”
“Then come with me now. We shall be cheerful together; in five months I will return to Ketling. He will be at home then, and Pan Yan will be here.”
“No, Michael, it is not the time for me now; but I promise that if you marry some lady with land in Russia, I will go with you and see your installation.”
Pan Michael was confused a little, but answered at once, “How should I have a wife in my head? The best proof that I have not is that I am going to the army.”
“It is that which torments me; for I used to think, if not one, then another woman. Michael, have God in your heart; stop; where will you find a better chance than just at this moment? Remember that years will come later in which you will say to yourself: ‘Each has his wife and his children, but I am alone, like Matsek’s pear-tree, sticking up in the field.’ And sorrow will seize you and terrible yearning. If you had married that dear one; if she had left children, — I should not trouble you; I should have some object for my affection and ready hope for consolation; but as things now are, the time may come when you will look around in vain for a near soul, and you will ask yourself, ‘Am I living in a foreign country?’”
Pan Michael was silent; he meditated; therefore Zagloba began to speak again, looking quickly into the face of the little knight, “In my mind and my heart I chose first of all that rosy haiduk for you: to begin with, she is gold, not a maiden; and secondly, such venomous soldiers as you would give to the world have not been on earth yet.”
“She is a storm; besides, Pan Adam wants to strike fire with her.”
“That’s it, — that’s it! To-day she would prefer you to a certainty, for she is in love with your glory; but when you go, and he remains — I know he will remain, the rascal! for there is no war — who knows what will happen?”
“Basia is a storm! Let Novoveski take her. I wish him well, because he is a brave man.”
“Michael!” said Zagloba, clasping his hands, “think what a posterity that would be!”
To this the little knight answered with the greatest simplicity, “I knew two brothers Bal whose mother was a Drohoyovski, and they were excellent soldiers.”
“Ah! I was waiting for that. You have turned in that direction?” cried Zagloba.
Pan Michael was confused beyond measure; at last he replied, “What do you say? I am turning to no side; but when I thought of Basia’s bravery, which is really manlike, Krysia came to my mind at once; in her there is more of woman’s nature. When one of them is mentioned, the other comes to mind, for they are both together.”
“Well, well! God bless you with Krysia, though as God is dear to me, if I were young, I should fall in love with Basia to kill. You would not need to leave such a wife at home in time of war; you could take her to the field, and have her at your side. Such a woman would be good for you in the tent; and if it came to that, even in time of battle she would handle a musket. But she is honest and good. Oh, my haiduk, my little darling haiduk, they have not known you here, and have nourished you with thanklessness; but if I were something like sixty years younger, I should see what sort of a Pani Zagloba there would be in my house.”
“I do not detract from Basia.”
“It is not a question of detracting from her virtues, but of giving her a husband. But you prefer Krysia.”
“Krysia is my friend.”
“Your friend, not your friendess? That must be because she has a mustache. I am your friend; Pan Yan is; so is Ketling. You do not need a man for a friend, but a woman. Tell this to yourself clearly, and don’t throw a cover over your eyes. Guard yourself, Michael, against a friend of the fair sex, even though that friend has a mustache; for either you will betray that friend, or you yourself will be betrayed. The Devil does not sleep, and he is glad to sit between such friends; as example of this, Adam and Eve began to be friends, till that friendship became a bone in Adam’s throat.”
“Do not offend Krysia, for I will not endure it in any way.”
“God guard Krysia! There is no one above my little haiduk; but Krysia is a good maiden too. I do not attack her in any way, but I say this to you: When you sit near her, your cheeks are as flushed as if some one had pinched them, and your mustaches are quivering, your forelock rises, and you are panting and striking with your feet and stamping like a ring-dove; and all this is a sign of desires. Tell some one else about friendship; I am too old a sparrow for that talk.”
“So old that you see that which is not.”
“Would that I were mistaken! Would that my haiduk were in question! Michael, good-night to you. Take the haiduk; the haiduk is the comelier. Take the haiduk; take the haiduk!”
Zagloba rose and went out of the room.
Pan Michael tossed about the whole night; he could not sleep, for unquiet thoughts passed through his head all the time. He saw before him Krysia’s face, her eyes with long lashes, and her lip with down. Dozing seized him at moments, but the vision did not vanish. On waking, he remembered the words of Zagloba, and called to mind how rarely the wit of that man was mistaken in anything. At times when half sleeping, half waking, the rosy face of Basia gleamed before him, and the sight calmed him; but again Krysia took her place quickly. The poor knight turns to the wall now, sees her eyes; turns to the darkness in the room, sees her eyes, and in them a certain languishing, a certain encouragement. At times those eyes are closing, as if to say, “Let thy will be done!” Pan Michael sat up in the bed and crossed himself. Toward morning the dream flew away altogether; then it became oppressive and bitter to him. Shame seized him, and he began
to reproach himself harshly, because he did not see before him that beloved one who was dead; that he had his eyes, his heart, his soul, full not of her, but of the living. It seemed to him that he had sinned against the memory of Anusia, hence he shook himself once and a second time; then springing from the bed, though it was dark yet, he began to say his morning “Our Father.”
When Pan Michael had finished, he put his finger on his forehead and said, “I must go as soon as possible, and restrain this friendship at once, for perhaps Zagloba is right.” Then, more cheerful and calm, he went down to breakfast. After breakfast he fenced with Basia, and noticed, beyond doubt, for the first time, that she drew one’s eyes, she was so attractive with her dilated nostrils and panting breast. He seemed to avoid Krysia, who, noting this, followed him with her eyes, staring from astonishment; but he avoided even her glance. It was cutting his heart; but he held out.
After dinner he went with Basia to the storehouse, where Ketling had another collection of arms. He showed her various weapons, and explained the use of them. Then they shot at a mark from Astrachan bows. The maiden was made happy with the amusement, and became giddier than ever, so that Pani Makovetski had to restrain her. Thus passed the second day. On the third Pan Michael went with Zagloba to Warsaw to the Danilovich Palace to learn something concerning the time of his departure. In the evening the little knight told the ladies that he would go surely in a week. While saying this, he tried to speak carelessly and joyfully. He did not even look at Krysia. The young lady was alarmed, tried to ask him touching various things; he answered politely, with friendliness, but talked more with Basia.
Zagloba, thinking this to be the fruit of his counsel, rubbed his hands with delight; but since nothing could escape his eye, he saw Krysia’s sadness. “She has changed,” thought he; “she has changed noticeably. Well, that is nothing, — the ordinary nature of fair heads. But Michael has turned away sooner than I hoped. He is a man in a hundred, but a whirlwind in love, and a whirlwind he will remain.”
Zagloba had, in truth, a good heart, and was sorry at once for Panna Krysia. “I will say nothing to the maiden directly,” thought he, “but I must think out some consolation for her.” Then, using the privilege of age and a white head, he went to her after supper and began to stroke her black, silky hair. She sat quietly, raising toward him her mild eyes, somewhat astonished at his tenderness, but grateful.
In the evening Zagloba nudged Pan Michael in the side at the door of the little knight’s room, “Well, what?” said he. “No one can beat the haiduk?”
“A charming kid,” answered Pan Michael. “She will make as much uproar as four soldiers in the house, — a regular drummer.”
“A drummer? God grant her to go with your drum as quickly as possible!”
“Good-night!”
“Good-night! Wonderful creatures, those fair heads! Since you approached Basia a little, have you noted the change in Krysia?”
“No, I have not,” answered the little knight.
“As if some one had tripped her.”
“Good-night,” repeated Pan Michael, and went quickly to his room.
Zagloba, in counting on the little knight’s instability, over-reckoned somewhat, and in general acted awkwardly in mentioning the change in Krysia; for Pan Michael was so affected that something seemed to seize him by the throat.
“And this is how I pay her for kindness, for comforting me in grief, like a sister,” said he to himself. “Well, what evil have I done to her?” thought he, after a moment of meditation. “What have I done? I have slighted her for three days, which was rude, to say the least. I have slighted the cherished girl, the dear one. Because she wished to cure my wounds, I have nourished her with ingratitude. If I only knew,” continued he, “how to preserve measure and restrain dangerous friendship, and not offend her; but evidently my wit is too dull for such management.”
Pan Michael was angry at himself; but at the same time great pity rose in his breast. Involuntarily he began to think of Krysia as of a beloved and injured person. Anger against himself grew in him every moment.
“I am a barbarian, a barbarian!” repeated he. And Krysia overwhelmed Basia completely in his mind. “Let him who pleases take that kid, that wind-mill, that rattler,” said he to himself,— “Pan Adam or the Devil, it is all one to me!”
Anger rose in him against Basia, who was indebted to God for her disposition; but it never came to his head once that he might wrong her more with this anger than Krysia with his pretended indifference. Krysia, with a woman’s instinct, divined straightway that some change was taking place in Pan Michael. It was at once both bitter and sad for the maiden that the little knight seemed to avoid her; but she understood instantly that something must be decided between them, and that their friendship could not continue unmodified, but must become either far greater than it had been or cease altogether. Hence she was seized by alarm, which increased at the thought of Pan Michael’s speedy departure. Love was not in Krysia’s heart yet. The maiden had not come to self-consciousness on that point; but in her heart and in her blood there was a great readiness for love. Perhaps too she felt a light turning of the head. Pan Michael was surrounded with the glory of the first soldier in the Commonwealth. All knights were repeating his name with respect. His sister exalted his honor to the sky; the charm of misfortune covered him; and in addition, the young lady, living under the same roof with him, grew accustomed to his attraction.
Krysia had this in her nature, she was fond of being loved; therefore when Pan Michael began in those recent days to treat her with indifference, her self-esteem suffered greatly; but having a good heart, she resolved not to show an angry face or vexation, and to win him by kindness. That came to her all the more easily, since on the following day Pan Michael had a penitent mien, and not only did not avoid Krysia’s glance, but looked into her eyes, as if wishing to say, “Yesterday I offended you; to-day I implore your forgiveness.” He said so much to her with his eyes that under their influence the blood flowed to the young lady’s face, and her disquiet was increased, as if with a presentiment that very soon something important would happen. In fact, it did happen. In the afternoon Pani Makovetski went with Basia to Basia’s relative, the wife of the chamberlain of Lvoff, who was stopping in Warsaw; Krysia feigned purposely a headache, for curiosity seized her to know what she and Pan Michael would do if left to themselves.
Zagloba did not go, it is true, to the chamberlain’s wife, but he had the habit of sleeping a couple of hours after dinner, for he said that it saved him from fatness, and gave him clear wit in the evening; therefore, after he had chatted an hour or so, he began to prepare for his room. Krysia’s heart beat at once more unquietly. But what a disillusion was awaiting her! Pan Michael sprang up, and went out with Zagloba.
“He will come back soon,” thought Krysia. And taking a little drum, she began to embroider on it a gold top for a cap to give Pan Michael at his departure. Her eyes rose, however, every little while, and went to the Dantzig clock, which stood in the corner of Ketling’s room, and ticked with importance.
But one hour and a second passed; Pan Michael was not to be seen. Krysia placed the drum on her knees, and crossing her hands on it, said in an undertone, “But before he decides, they may come, and we shall not say anything, or Pan Zagloba may wake.”
It seemed to her in that moment that they had in truth to speak of some important affair, which might be deferred through the fault of Pan Michael. At last, however, his steps were heard in the next room. “He is wandering around,” thought she, and began to embroider diligently again.
Volodyovski was, in fact, wandering; he was walking through the room, and did not dare to come in. Meanwhile the sun was growing red and approaching its setting.
“Pan Michael!” called Krysia, suddenly.
He came in and found her sewing. “Did you call me?”
“I wished to know if some stranger was walking in the house; I have been here alone for two hours.”
Pan Michael drew up a chair and sat on the edge of it. A long time elapsed; he was silent; his feet clattered somewhat as he pushed them under the table, and his mustache quivered. Krysia stopped sewing and raised her eyes to him; their glances met, and then both dropped their eyes suddenly.
When Pan Michael raised his eyes again, the last rays of the sun were falling on Krysia’s face, and it was beautiful in the light; her hair gleamed in its folds like gold. “In a couple of days you are going?” asked she, so quietly that Pan Michael barely heard her.
“It cannot be otherwise.”
Again a moment of silence, after which Krysia said, “I thought these last days that you were angry with me.”
“As I live,” cried Pan Michael, “I would not be worthy of your regard if I had been, but I was not.”
“What was the matter?” asked Krysia, raising her eyes to him.
“I wish to speak sincerely, for I think that sincerity is always better than dissimulation; but I cannot tell how much solace you have poured into my heart, and how grateful I feel.”
“God grant it to be always so!” said Krysia, crossing her hands on the drum.
To this Pan Michael answered with great sadness, “God grant! God grant — But Pan Zagloba told me — I speak before you as before a priest — Pan Zagloba told me that friendship with fair heads is not a safe thing, for a more ardent feeling may be hidden beneath it, as fire under ashes. I thought that perhaps Pan Zagloba was right. Forgive me, a simple soldier; another would have brought out the idea more cleverly, but my heart is bleeding because I have offended you these recent days, and life is not pleasant to me.”
When he had said this. Pan Michael began to move his mustaches more quickly than any beetle. Krysia dropped her head, and after a while two tears rolled down her cheeks. “If it will be easier for you, I will conceal my sisterly affection.” A second pair of tears, and then a third, appeared on her cheeks.
Complete Works of Henryk Sienkiewicz Page 251