“That is a splendid idea,” cried Basia.
“Splendid or not,” said Zagloba, “do not let them out of your sight. You are a woman, and I think this way, — you will solder them at last, for a woman carries her point always; but see to it that the Devil does not carry his point in the mean while. That would be a shame for you, since the affair is on your responsibility.”
Basia began first of all to spit at Pan Zagloba, like a cat; then she said, “You boast that you were a Turk in your youth, and you think that every one is a Turk. Azya is not that kind.”
“Not a Turk, only a Tartar. Pretty image! She would vouch for Tartar love.”
“They are both thinking more of weeping, and that from harsh sorrow. Eva, besides, is a most honest maiden.”
“Still, she has a face as if some one had written on her forehead, ‘Here are lips for you!’ Ho! she is a daw. Yesterday I fixed it in my mind that when she sits opposite a nice fellow, her sighs are such that they drive her plate forward time after time, and she must push it back again. A real daw, I tell you.”
“Do you wish me to go to my own room?” asked Basia.
“You will not go when it is a question of match-making. I know you, — you’ll not go! But still ’tis too early for you to make matches; for that is the business of women with gray hair. Pani Boski told me yesterday that when she saw you returning from the battle in trousers, she thought that she was looking at Pani Volodyovski’s son, who had gone to the woods on an expedition. You do not love dignity; but dignity, too, does not love you, which appears at once from your slender form. You are a regular student, as God is dear to me! There is another style of women in the world now. In my time, when a woman sat down, the chair squeaked in such fashion that you might think some one had sat on the tail of a dog; but as to you, you might ride bareback on a tom-cat without great harm to the beast. They say, too, that women who begin to make matches will have no posterity.”
“Do they really say that?” asked the little knight, alarmed.
But Zagloba began to laugh; and Basia, putting her rosy face to the face of her husband, said, in an undertone, “Ah, Michael, at a convenient time we will make a pilgrimage to Chenstohova; then maybe the Most Holy Lady will change matters.”
“That is the best way indeed,” said Zagloba.
Then they embraced at once, and Basia said, “But now let us talk of Azya and poor Eva, of how we are to help them. We are happy; let them be happy.”
“When Novoveski goes away, it will be easier for them,” said the little knight; “for in his presence they could not see each other, especially as Azya hates the old man. But if the old man were to give him Eva, maybe, forgetting former offences, they would begin to love each other as son-in-law and father-in-law. According to my head, it is not a question of bringing the young people together, for they love each other already, but of bringing over the old man.”
“He is a misanthrope!” said Basia.
“Baska,” said Zagloba, “imagine to yourself that you had a daughter, and that you had to give her to some Tartar—”
“Azya is a prince.”
“I do not deny that Tugai Bey comes of high blood. Ketling was a noble; still Krysia would not have married him if he had not been naturalized.”
“Then try to obtain naturalization for Azya.”
“Is that an easy thing? Though some one were to admit him to his escutcheon, the Diet would have to confirm the choice; and for that, time and protection are necessary.”
“I do not like this, — that time is needed, — for we could find protection. Surely the hetman would not refuse it to Azya, for he loves soldiers. Michael, write to the hetman. Do you want ink, pen, paper? Write at once! I’ll bring you everything, and a taper and the seal; and you will sit down and write without delay.”
“O Almighty God!” cried he, “I asked a sedate, sober wife of Thee, and Thou didst give me a whirlwind!”
“Talk that way, talk; then I’ll die.”
“Ah, your impatience!” cried the little knight, with animation,— “your impatience, tfu! tfu! a charm for a dog!” Here he turned to Zagloba: “Do you not know the words of a charm?”
“I know them, and I’ve told them,” said Zagloba.
“Write!” cried Basia, “or I shall jump out of my skin.”
“I would write twelve letters, to please you, though I know not what good that would be, for in this case the hetman himself can do nothing; even with protection, Azya can appear only at the right time. My Basia, Panna Novoveski has revealed her secret to you, — very well! But you have not spoken to Azya, and you do not know to this moment whether he is burning with love for Eva or not.”
“He not burning! Why shouldn’t he be burning, when he kissed her in the storehouse? Aha!”
“Golden soul!” said Zagloba, smiling. “That is like the talk of a newly born infant, except that you turn your tongue better. My love, if Michael and I had to marry all the women whom we happened to kiss, we should have to join the Mohammedan faith at once, and I should be Sultan of Turkey, and he Khan of the Crimea. How is that, Michael, hei?”
“I suspected Michael before I was his,” said Basia; and thrusting her finger up to his eye, she began to tease him. “Move your mustaches; move them! Do not deny! I know, I know, and you know — at Ketling’s.”
The little knight really moved his mustaches to give himself courage, and at the same time to cover his confusion; at last, wishing to change the conversation, he said, “And so you do not know whether Azya is in love with Panna Eva?”
“Wait; I will talk to him alone and ask him. But he is in love, he must be in love! Otherwise I don’t want to know him.”
“In God’s name! she is ready to talk him into it,” said Zagloba.
“And I will persuade him, even if I had to shut myself in with him daily.”
“Inquire of him, to begin with,” said the little knight. “Maybe at first he will not confess, for he is shy; that is nothing. You will gain his confidence gradually; you’ll know him better; you’ll understand him, and then only can you decide what to do.” Here the little knight turned to Zagloba: “She seems giddy, but she is quick.”
“Kids are quick,” said Zagloba, seriously.
Further conversation was interrupted by Pan Bogush, who rushed in like a bomb, and had barely kissed Basia’s hands when he exclaimed, “May the bullets strike that Azya! I could not close my eyes the whole night. May the woods cover him!”
“What did Pan Azya bring against your grace?” asked Basia.
“Do you know what we were making yesterday?” And Pan Bogush, staring, began to look around on those present.
“What?”
“History! As God is dear to me, I do not lie.”
“What history?”
“The history of the Commonwealth; that is, simply a great man. Pan Sobieski himself will be astonished when I lay Azya’s ideas before him. A great man, I repeat to you; and I regret that I cannot tell you more, for I am sure that you would be as much astonished as I. I can only say that if what he has in view succeeds, God knows what he will be.”
“For example,” asked Zagloba, “will he be hetman?”
Pan Bogush put his hands on his hips: “That is it, — he will be hetman. I am sorry that I cannot tell you more. He will be hetman, and that’s enough.”
“Perhaps a dog hetman, or he will go with bullocks. Chabans have their hetmans also. Tfu! what is this that your grace is saying. Pan Under-Stolnik? That he is the son of Tugai Bey is true; but if he is to become hetman, what am I to become, or what will Pan Michael become, or your grace? Shall we become three kings at the birth of Christ, waiting for the abdication of Caspar, Melchior, and Baltazar? The nobles at least created me commander; I resigned the office, however, out of friendship for Pavel, but, as God lives, I don’t understand your prediction.”
“But I tell you that Azya is a great man.”
“I said so,” exclaimed Basia, turning toward the do
or, through which other guests at the stanitsa began to enter.
First came Pani Boski with the blue-eyed Zosia, and Pan Novoveski with Eva, who, after a night of bad sleep, looked more charming than usual. She had slept badly, for strange dreams had disturbed her; she dreamed of Azya, only he was more beautiful and insistent than of old. The blood rushed to her face at thought of this dream, for she imagined that every one would guess it in her eyes. But no one noticed her, since all had begun to say “good-day” to Pani Volodyovski. Then Pan Bogush resumed his narrative touching Azya’s greatness and destiny; and Basia was glad that Eva and Pan Novoveski must listen to it. In fact, the old noble had blown off his anger since his first meeting with the Tartar, and was notably calmer. He spoke of him no longer as his man. To tell the truth, the discovery that he was a Tartar prince and a son of Tugai Bey imposed upon him beyond measure. He heard with wonder of Azya’s uncommon bravery, and how the hetman had intrusted such an important function to him as that of bringing back to the service of the Commonwealth all the Lithuanian and Podolian Tartars. At times it seemed even to Pan Novoveski that they were talking of some one else besides Azya, to such a degree had the young Tartar become uncommon.
But Pan Bogush repeated every little while, with a very mysterious mien, “This is nothing in comparison with what is waiting for him; but I am not free to speak of it.” And when the others shook their heads with doubt, he cried, “There are two great men in the Commonwealth, — Pan Sobieski and that Azya, son of Tugai Bey.”
“By the dear God,” said Pan Novoveski, made impatient at last, “prince or not prince, what can he be in this Commonwealth, unless he is a noble? He is not naturalized yet.”
“The hetman will get him ten naturalizations!” cried Basia.
Eva listened to these praises with closed eyes and a beating heart. It is difficult to say whether it would have beaten so feverishly for a poor and unknown Azya as for Azya the knight and man of great future. But that glitter captivated her; and the old remembrance of the kisses and the fresh dream went through her with a quiver of delight.
“So great and so celebrated,” said Eva. “What wonder if he is as quick as fire!”
CHAPTER XXXI.
Basia took the Tartar that very day to “an examination,” following the advice of her husband; and fearing the shyness of Azya, she resolved not to insist too much at once. Still, he had barely appeared before her when she said, straight from the bridge, —
“Pan Bogush says that you are a great man; but I think that the greatest man cannot avoid love.”
Azya closed his eyes, inclined his head, and said, “Your grace is right.”
“I see that you are a man with a heart.”
When she had said this, Basia began to shake her yellow forelock and blink, as if to say that she knew affairs of this kind well, and also hoped that she was not speaking to a man without knowledge. Azya raised his head and embraced with his glance her charming figure. She had never seemed so wonderful to him as on that day, when her eyes, gleaming from curiosity and animation, and the blushing child-like face, full of smiles, were raised toward his face. But the more innocent the face, the more charm did Azya see in it; the more did desire rise in his soul; the more powerfully did love seize and intoxicate him as with wine, and drive out all other desires, save this one alone, — to take her from her husband, bear her away, hold her forever at his breast, press her lips to his lips, feel her arms twined around his neck: to love, to love even to forget himself, even to perish alone, or perish with her. At thought of this the whole world whirled around with him; new desires crept up every moment from the den of his soul, like serpents from crevices in a cliff. But he was a man who possessed also great self-control; therefore he said in spirit, “It is impossible yet!” and he held his wild heart at check when he chose, as a furious horse is held on a lariat.
He stood before her apparently cold, though he had a flame in his mouth and eyes, and his deep pupils told all that his compressed lips refused to confess. But Basia, having a soul as pure as water in a spring, and besides a mind occupied entirely with something else, did not understand that speech; she was thinking in the moment what further to tell the Tartar; and at last, raising her finger, she said:
“More than one bears in his heart hidden love, and does not dare to speak of it to any one; but if he would confess his love sincerely, perhaps he might learn something good.”
Azya’s face grew dark for a moment; a wild hope flashed through his head like lightning; but he recollected himself, and inquired, “Of what does your grace wish to speak?”
“Another would be hasty with you,” said Basia, “since women are impatient, and not deliberate; but I am not of that kind. As to helping, I would help you willingly, but I do not ask your confidence in a moment; I only say this to you: Do not hide; come to me even daily. I have spoken of this matter with my husband already; gradually you will come to know and see my good-will, and you will know that I do not ask through mere curiosity, but from sympathy, and because if I am to assist, I must be certain that you are in love. Besides, it is proper that you show it first; when you acknowledge it to me, perhaps I can tell you something.”
Tugai Bey’s son understood now in an instant how vain was that hope which had gleamed in his head a moment before; he divined at once that it was a question of Eva Novoveski, and all the curses on the whole family which time had collected in his vengeful soul came to his mouth. Hatred burst out in him like a flame; the greater, the more different were the feelings which had shaken him a moment earlier. But he recollected himself. He possessed not merely self-control, but the adroitness of Orientals. In one moment he understood that if he burst out against the Novoveskis venomously, he would lose the favor of Basia and the possibility of seeing her daily; but, on the other hand, he felt that he could not conquer himself — at least then — to such a degree as to lie to that desired one in the face of his own soul by saying that he loved another. Therefore, from a real internal conflict and undissembled suffering, he threw himself suddenly before Basia, and kissing her feet, began to speak thus: —
“I give my soul into the hands of your grace; I give my faith into the hands of your grace. I do not wish to do anything except what you command me; I do not wish to know any other will. Do with me what you like. I live in torment and suffering; I am unhappy. Have compassion on me; if not, I shall perish and be lost.”
And he began to groan, for he felt immense pain, and unacknowledged desires burned him with a living flame. But Basia considered these words as an outburst of love for Eva, — love long and painfully hidden; therefore pity for the young man seized her, and two tears gleamed in her eyes.
“Rise, Azya!” said she to the kneeling Tartar. “I have always wished you well, and I wish sincerely to help you; you come of high blood, and they will surely not withhold naturalization in return for your services. Pan Novoveski will let himself be appeased, for now he looks with different eyes on you; and Eva—” Here Basia rose, raised her rosy, smiling face, and putting her hand at the side of her mouth, whispered in Azya’s ear,— “Eva loves you.”
His face wrinkled, as if from rage; he seized his hips with his hands, and without thinking of the astonishment which his exclamation might cause, he repeated a number of times in a hoarse voice, “Allah! Allah! Allah!” Then he rushed out of the room.
Basia looked after him for a moment. The cry did not astonish her greatly, for the Polish soldiers used it often; but seeing the violence of the young Tartar, she said to herself, “Real fire! He is wild after her.” Then she shot out like a whirlwind to make a report to her husband, Pan Zagloba, and Eva.
She found Pan Michael in the chancery, occupied with the registry of the squadron stationed in Hreptyoff. He was sitting and writing, but she ran up to him and cried, “Do you know? I spoke to him. He fell at my feet; he is wild after her.”
The little knight put down his pen and began to look at his wife. She was so animated and pretty that his e
yes gleamed; and, smiling, he stretched his arms toward her. She, defending herself, repeated again, —
“Azya is wild after Eva!”
“As I am after you,” said the little knight, embracing her.
That same day Zagloba and Eva knew most minutely all her conversation with Azya. The young lady’s heart yielded itself now completely to the sweet feeling, and was beating like a hammer at the thought of the first meeting, and still more at thought of what would happen when they should be alone. And she saw already the face of Azya at her knees, and felt his kisses on her hands, and her own faintness at the time when the head of a maiden bends toward the arms of the loved one, and her lips whisper, “I love.” Meanwhile, from emotion and disquiet she kissed Basia’s hands violently, and looked every moment at the door to see if she could behold in it the gloomy but shapely form of young Tugai Bey.
But Azya did not show himself, for Halim had come to him, — Halim, the old servant of his father, and at present a considerable murza in the Dobrudja. He had come quite openly, since it was known in Hreptyoff that he was the intermediary between Azya and those captains who had accepted service with the Sultan. They shut themselves up at once in Azya’s quarters, where Halim, after he had given the requisite obeisances to Tugai Bey’s son, crossed his hands on his breast, and with bowed head waited for questions.
“Have you any letters?” asked Azya.
“I have none, Effendi. They commanded me to give everything in words.”
“Well, speak.”
“War is certain. In the spring we must all go to Adrianople. Commands are issued to the Bulgarians to take hay and barley there.”
“And where will the Khan be?”
“He will go straight by the Wilderness, through the Ukraine, to Doroshenko.”
“What do you hear concerning the encampments?”
“They are glad of the war, and are sighing for spring; there is suffering in the encampments, though the winter is only beginning.”
Complete Works of Henryk Sienkiewicz Page 272