Complete Works of Henryk Sienkiewicz

by Henryk Sienkiewicz

  “The boy is of sulphur and powder! Hangman take thee! If that is the case, then the affair is quite different; but tell me, how was it?”

  “Last evening Pani Boski went to her room to bring a handkerchief for Zosia, I after her. She turns around: ‘Who is there?’ And I, with a rush to her feet: ‘Beat me, mother, but give me Zosia, — my happiness, my love!’ But Pani Boski, when she recovered herself, said: ‘All people praise you and think you a worthy cavalier; still, I will not give an answer to-day, nor to-morrow, but later; and you need the permission of your father.’ She went out then, thinking that I was under the influence of wine. In truth, I had a little in my head.”

  “That is nothing; all had some in their heads. Did you not see the pointed caps sidewise on the heads of Naviragh and the Anardrats toward the end?”

  “I did not notice them, for I was settling in my mind how to get my father’s consent in the easiest way.”

  “Well, did it come hard?”

  “Toward morning we both went to our room; and because it is well to hammer iron while it is hot, I thought to myself at once that it was necessary to feel, even from afar, how my father would look at the matter. ‘Listen, father: I want Zosia terribly, and I want your consent; and if you don’t give it, then, as God lives, I’ll go to the Venetians to serve, and that’s all you’ll hear of me.’ Then did not he fall on me with great rage: ‘Oh, such a son!’ said he; ‘you can do without permission! Go to the Venetians, or take the girl, — only I tell you this, that I will not give you a copper, not only of my own, but of your mother’s money, for it is all mine.’”

  Zagloba thrust out his under-lip. “Oh, that is bad!”

  “But wait. When I heard that, I said: ‘But am I asking for money, or do I need it? I want your blessing, nothing more; for the property of Pagans that came to my sabre is enough to rent a good estate or purchase a village. What belongs to mother, let that be a dower for Eva; I will add one or two handfuls of turquoise and some silk and brocade, and if a bad year comes, I’ll help my father with ready money.’ My father became dreadfully curious then. ‘Have you such wealth?’ asked he. ‘In God’s name, where did you get it? Was it from plunder, for you went away as poor as a Turkish saint?’

  “‘Fear God, father,’ answered I. ‘It is eleven years since I began to bring down this fist, and, as they say, it is not of the worst, and shouldn’t it collect something? I was at the storming of rebel towns in which ruffiandom and the Tartars had piled up the finest plunder; I fought against murzas and robber bands: booty came and came. I took only what was recognized as mine without injustice to any; but it increased, and if a man didn’t frolic, I should have had twice as much property as you got from your father.’”

  “What did the old man say to that?” asked Zagloba, rejoicing.

  “My father was amazed, for he had not expected this, and began straightway to complain of my wastefulness. ‘There would be,’ said he, ‘an increase, but that this scatterer, this haughty fellow who loves only to plume himself and puts on the magnate, squanders all, saves nothing.’ Then curiosity conquered him, and he began to ask particularly what I have; and seeing that I could travel quickly by smearing with that tar, I not only concealed nothing, but lied a little, though usually I will not over-color, for I think thus to myself: ‘Truth is oats, and lying chopped straw.’ My father bethought himself, and now for plans: ‘This or that [land] might have been bought,’ said he; ‘this or that lawsuit might have been kept up,’ said he; ‘we might have lived at each side of the same boundary, and when you were away I could have looked after everything.’ And my worthy father began to cry. ‘Adam,’ said he, ‘that girl has pleased me terribly; she is under the protection of the hetman, — there may be some profit out of that, too; but do you respect this my second daughter, and do not squander what she has, for I should not forgive you at my death-hour.’ And I, my gracious benefactor, just roared at the very suspicion of injustice to Zosia. My father and I fell into each other’s embraces, and wept till the first cockcrow, precisely.”

  “The old rogue!” muttered Zagloba, then he added aloud: “Ah, there may be a wedding soon, and new amusements in Hreptyoff, especially since it is carnival time.”

  “There would be one to-morrow if it depended on me,” cried Pan Adam, abruptly; “but this is what: My leave will end soon, and service is service, so I must return to Rashkoff. Well, Pan Rushchyts will give me another leave, I know. But I am not certain that there will not be delays on the part of the ladies. For when I push up to the old one, she says, ‘My husband is in captivity.’ When I speak to the daughter, she says, ‘Papa is in captivity.’ What of that? I do not keep that papa in bonds, do I? I’m terribly afraid of these obstacles; if it were not for that, I would take Father Kaminski by the soutane and wouldn’t let him go till he had tied Zosia and me. But when women get a thing into their heads you can’t draw it out with nippers. I’d give my last copper, I’d go in person for ‘papa,’ but I’ve no way of doing it. Besides, no one knows where he is; maybe he is dead, and there is the work for you! If they ask me to wait for him, I might have to wait till the Day of Judgment!”

  “Pyotrovich, Naviragh, and the Anardrats will take the road to-morrow; there will be tidings soon.”

  “Jesus save us! Am I to wait for tidings? There can be nothing before spring; meanwhile I shall wither away, as God is dear to me! My benefactor, all have faith in your wit and experience; knock this waiting out of the heads of these women. My benefactor, in the spring there will be war. God knows what will happen. Besides, I want to marry Zosia, not ‘papa;’ why must I sigh to him?”

  “Persuade the women to go to Rashkoff and settle. There it will be easier to get tidings, and if Pyotrovich finds Boski, he will be near you. I will do what I can, I repeat; but do you ask Pani Basia to take your part.”

  “I will not neglect that, I will not neglect, for devil—”

  With that the door squeaked, and Pani Boski entered. But before Zagloba could look around, Pan Adam had already thundered down with his whole length at her feet, and occupying an enormous extent of the floor with his gigantic body, began to cry: —

  “I have my father’s consent. Give me Zosia, mother! Give me Zosia, give me Zosia, mother!”

  “Give Zosia, mother,” repeated Zagloba, in a bass voice.

  The uproar drew people from the adjacent chambers; Basia came in, Pan Michael came from his office, and soon after came Zosia herself. It did not become the girl to seem to surmise what the matter was; but her face grew purple at once, and putting one hand in the other quickly she dropped them before her, pursed her mouth, and stood at the wall with downcast eyes. Pan Michael ran for old Novoveski. When he came he was deeply offended that his son had not committed the function to him, and had not left the affair to his eloquence, still he upheld the entreaty.

  Pani Boski, who lacked, indeed, every near guardianship in the world, burst into tears at last, and agreed to Pan Adam’s request to go to Rashkoff and wait there for her husband. Then, covered with tears, she turned to her daughter.

  “Zosia,” asked she, “are the plans of Pan Adam to your heart?”

  All eyes were turned to Zosia. She was standing at the wall, her eyes fixed on the floor as usual, and only after some silence did she say, in a voice barely audible, —

  “I will go to Rashkoff.”

  “My beauty!” roared Pan Adam, and springing to the maiden he caught her in his arms. Then he cried till the walls trembled, “Zosia is mine! She is mine, she is mine!”

  CHAPTER XXXVI.

  Pan Adam started for Rashkoff immediately after his betrothal, to find and furnish quarters for Pani and Panna Boski; two weeks after his departure a whole caravan of Hreptyoff guests left the fortalice. It was composed of Naviragh, the two Anardrats, the Armenian women (Kyeremovich and Neresevich), Seferevich, Pani and Panna Boski, the two Pyotroviches, and old Pan Novoveski, without counting a number of Armenians from Kamenyets, and numerous servants, as well as a
rmed attendants to guard wagons, draft horses, and pack animals. The Pyotroviches and the delegation of the patriarch of Echmiadzin were to rest simply at Rashkoff, receive news there concerning their journey, and move on toward the Crimea. The remainder of the company determined to settle in Rashkoff for a time, and wait, at least till the first thaws, for the return of the prisoners; namely, Boski, the younger Seferevich, and the two merchants whose wives were long waiting in sorrow.

  That was a difficult road, for it lay through silent wastes and steep ravines. Fortunately abundant but dry snow formed excellent sleighing; the presence of commands in Mohiloff, Yampol, and Rashkoff insured safety. Azba Bey was cut to pieces, the robbers either hanged or dispersed; and the Tartars in winter, through lack of grass, did not go out on the usual roads.

  Finally, Pan Adam had promised to meet them with a few tens of horses, if he should receive permission from Pan Rushchyts. They went, therefore, briskly and willingly; Zosia was ready to go to the end of the world for Pan Adam. Pani Boski and the two Armenian women were hoping for the speedy return of their husbands. Rashkoff lay, it is true, in terrible wilds on the border of Christendom; but still they were not going there for a lifetime, nor for a long stay. In spring war would come; war was mentioned on the borders everywhere. When their loved ones were found, they must return with the first warm breeze to save their heads from destruction.

  Eva remained at Hreptyoff, detained by Pani Basia. Pan Novoveski did not insist greatly on taking his daughter, especially as he was leaving her in the house of such worthy people.

  “I will send her most safely, or I will take her myself,” said Basia, “rather I will take her myself, for I should like to see once in my life that whole terrible boundary of which I have heard so much from childhood. In spring, when the roads will be black from chambuls, my husband would not let me go; but now, if Eva stays here, I shall have a fair pretext. In a couple of weeks I shall begin to insist, and in three I shall have permission surely.”

  “Your husband, I hope, will not let you go in winter unless with a good escort.”

  “If he can go, he will go with me; if not, Azya will escort us with a couple of hundred or more horses, for I hear that he is to be sent to Rashkoff in every case.”

  The conversation ended with this, and Eva remained in Hreptyoff. Basia, however, had other calculations besides the reasons given to Pan Novoveski. She wished to lighten for Azya an approach to Eva, for the young Tartar was beginning to disquiet her. As often as he met Basia he answered her queries, it is true, by saying that he loved Eva, that his former feeling had not died; but when he was with Eva he was silent. Meanwhile the girl had fallen in love with him to desperation in that Hreptyoff desert. His wild but splendid beauty, his childhood passed under the strong hand of Novoveski, his princely descent, and that prolonged mystery which had weighed upon him, finally his military fame, had enchanted her thoroughly. She was waiting merely for the moment to open to him her heart, burning as a flame, and to say to him, “Azya, I have loved thee from childhood,” to fall into his arms and vow love to him till death. Meanwhile he closed his teeth and was silent.

  Eva herself thought at first that the presence of her father and brother restrained Azya from a confession. Later, disquiet seized her too, for if obstacles arose unavoidably on the part of her father and brother, especially before Azya had received naturalization, still he might open his heart to her, and he was bound to do so the more speedily and sincerely the more obstacles were rising on their road.

  But he was silent.

  Doubt crept at last into the maiden’s heart, and she began to complain of her misfortune to Basia, who pacified her, saying: —

  “I do not deny that he is a strange man, and wonderfully secretive; but I am certain that he loves you, for he has told me so frequently, and besides he looks on you not as on others.”

  To this Eva, shaking her head, answered gloomily: “Differently, that is certain; but I know not whether there is love or hatred in that gaze.”

  “Dear Eva, do not talk folly; why should he hate you?”

  “But why should he love me?”

  Here Basia began to pass her small hands over the maiden’s face. “But why does Michael love me? And why did your brother, when he had barely seen Zosia, fall in love with her?”

  “Adam has always been hasty.”

  “Azya is haughty, and dreads refusal, especially from your father; your brother, having been in love himself, would understand more quickly the torture of that feeling. This is how it is. Be not foolish, Eva; have no fear. I will stir up Azya well, and you’ll see how courageous he’ll be.”

  In fact, Basia had an interview with Azya that very day, after which she rushed in great haste to Eva.

  “It is all over!” cried she on the threshold.

  “What?” asked Eva, flushing.

  “Said I to him, ‘What are you thinking of, to feed me with ingratitude? I have detained Eva purposely that you might take advantage of the occasion; but if you do not, know that in two, or at furthest three weeks, I will send her to Rashkoff. I may go myself with her, and you’ll be left in the lurch.’ His face changed when he heard of the journey to Rashkoff, and he began to beat with his forehead to my feet. I asked him then what he had on his mind, and he answered: ‘On the road I will confess what I have in my breast. On the road,’ said he, ‘will be the best occasion; on the road will happen what is to happen, what is predestined. I will confess all, I will disclose all, for I cannot live longer in this torment.’ His lips began to quiver, so anxious was he before, for he has received some unfavorable letters from Kamenyets. He told me that he must go to Rashkoff in every event, that there is an old command of the hetman to my husband touching that matter; but the period is not mentioned in the command, for it depends on negotiations which he is carrying on there with the captains. ‘But now,’ said he, ‘the time is approaching, and I must go to them beyond Rashkoff, so that at the same time I can conduct your grace and Panna Eva.’ I told him in answer that it was unknown whether I should go or not, for it would depend on Michael’s permission. When he heard this he was frightened greatly. Ai, you are a fool, Eva! You say that he doesn’t love you, but he fell at my feet; and when he implored me to go, I tell you he just whined, so that I had a mind to shed tears over him. Do you know why he did that? He told me at once. ‘I,’ said he, ‘will confess what I have in my heart; but without the prayers of your grace I shall do nothing with the Novoveskis, I shall only rouse anger and hatred in them against myself. My fate is in the hands of your grace, my suffering, my salvation; for if your grace will not go, then better that the earth swallowed me, or that living fire burned me.’ That is how he loves you. Simply terrible to think of! And if you had seen how he looked at that moment you would have been frightened.”

  “No, I am not afraid of him,” answered Eva, and she began to kiss Basia’s hands. “Go with us; go with us!” repeated she, with emotion; “go with us! You alone can save us; you alone will not fear to tell my father; you alone can effect something. Go with us! I will fall at the feet of Pan Volodyovski to get leave for you. Without you, father and Azya will spring at each other with knives. Go with us; go with us!” And saying this, she dropped to Basia’s knees and began to embrace them with tears.

  “God grant that I go!” said Basia. “I will lay all before Michael, and will not cease to torment him. It is safe now to go even alone, and what will it be with such a numerous retinue! Maybe Michael himself will go; if not, he has a heart, and will give me permission. At first he will cry out against it; but just let me grow gloomy, he will begin to walk around me at once, look into my eyes, and give way. I should prefer to have him go too, for I shall be terribly lonely without him; but what is to be done? I will go anyhow to give you some solace. In this case it is not a question of my wishes, but of the fate of you and Azya. Michael loves you both, — he will consent.”

  After that interview with Basia, Azya flew to his own room, as full of delight a
nd consolation as if he had gained health after a sore illness. A while before wild despair had been tearing his soul; that very morning he had received a dry and brief letter from Pan Bogush of the following contents: —

  My beloved Azya, — I have halted in Kamenyets, and to Hreptyoff I will not go this time; first, because fatigue has overcome me, and secondly, because I have no reason to go. I have been in Yavorov. The hetman not only refuses to grant you permission by letter to cover your mad designs with his dignity, but he commands you sternly, and under pain of losing his favor, to drop them at once. I, too, have decided that what you have told me is worthless. It would be a sin for a refined, Christian people to enter into such intrigues with Pagans; and it would be a disgrace before the whole world to grant the privileges of nobility to malefactors, robbers, and shedders of innocent blood. Moderate yourself in this matter, and do not think of the office of hetman, since it is not for you, though you are Tugai Bey’s son. But if you wish to re-establish promptly the favor of the hetman, be content with your office, and hasten especially that work with Krychinski, Adurovich, Tarasovski, and others, for thus you will render best service.

  The hetman’s statement of what you are to do, I send with this letter, and an official command to Pan Volodyovski, that there be no hindrance to you in going and coming with your men. You’ll have to go on a sudden to meet those captains, of course; only hurry, and report to me carefully at Kamenyets, what you hear on the other bank. Commending you herewith to the favor of God, I remain, with unchanging good wishes,

  Martsin Bogush of Zyemblyts,

  Under-Carver of Novgrod.

  When the young Tartar received this letter, he fell into a terrible fury. First he crushed the letter in his hand into bits; then he stabbed the table time after time with his dagger; next he threatened his own life and that of the faithful Halim, who on his knees begged him to undertake nothing till he had recovered from rage and despair. That letter was a cruel blow to him. The edifices which his pride and ambition had reared, were as if blown up with powder; his plans were destroyed. He might have become the third hetman in the Commonwealth, and held its fate in his hand; and now he sees that he must remain an obscure officer, for whom the summit of ambition would be naturalization. In his fiery imagination he had seen crowds bowing down daily before him; and now it will come to him to bow down before others. It is no good for him either that he is the son of Tugai Bey, that the blood of reigning warriors flows in his veins, that great thoughts are born in his soul — nothing — all nothing! He will live unrecognized and die in some distant little fortalice forgotten. One word broke his wing; one “no” brought it about, that, henceforward, he will not be free to soar like an eagle to the firmament, but must crawl like a worm on the ground.