Complete Works of Henryk Sienkiewicz

by Henryk Sienkiewicz

  “Selim is coming, Selim!” cried Kazio.

  “What is that lunatic doing? The gate is closed!” cried I, springing from my place.

  There was no time to open the gate, for no one could reach it in season; meanwhile, Selim urged on like a madman, at random, and it was almost certain that he would fall on the gate, more than two ells high, with sharp peaks at the top.

  “O God, have mercy on him!” cried the priest.

  “The gate! Selim, the gate!” screamed I, as if possessed, waving my handkerchief and running with all my might across the yard.

  Something like five yards from the gate, Selim straightened himself in the saddle, and measured the gate with a glance quick as lightning. Next, the scream of women sitting on the porch came to me, the swift trampling of hoofs; the horse rose, suspended his forelegs in the air, and went over the gate at the highest speed without stopping one instant.

  When before the porch, Selim reined in his steed so that the beast’s hoofs dug into the earth, then snatching the hat from his own head, he waved it like a standard and cried, —

  “How are ye, dear beloved lords? How are ye? My respects to the lord benefactor!” cried he, bowing to my father; “my respects to the beloved priest, Pani d’Yves, Panna Hania! We are all together again. Vivat! Vivat!”

  Then he sprang from the horse, and throwing the reins to Franek, who had run out of the hall the moment before, he embraced my father, then the priest, and fell to kissing the hands of the ladies.

  Pani d’Yves and Hania were pale from terror, and just because of that they greeted Selim as if he had been rescued from death.

  “Oh, thou art playing the madman, the madman! What terror thou didst bring on us!” said Father Ludvik. “We thought that it was all over with thee.”

  “But why so?”

  “That gate. How is it possible to race so at random?”

  “At random? I saw very well that the gate was closed. Oho! I have my perfect Tartar eyes.”

  “And thou dost not fear to race so?”

  Selim laughed. “Not in the least, Father Ludvik. But for that matter, the merit is my horse’s, not mine.”

  “There is a bold boy for you!” said Pani d’Yves.

  “Oh, that is true! Not every man would dare that,” added Hania.

  “It is thy wish to say,” added I, “that not every horse could clear the gate, for more such men could be found.”

  Hania gazed long at me.

  “I would not advise you to try,” said she; then she turned toward Selim and her look expressed admiration, for really this daring deed of the Tartar was one of those risks which always please women. One should have seen him at that moment, his fine, dark hair falling on his forehead, his cheeks flushed from the swift movement, his gleaming eyes, from which shone delight and gladness. As he stood there near Hania, looking her in the eyes with curiosity, no artist could have imagined a more beautiful couple.

  But I was touched in the highest degree by her words. It seemed to me that that, “I would not advise thee to try,” had been spoken in a voice in which a tone of irony was trembling. I looked with an inquiring glance at my father, who had examined Selim’s horse a moment before. I knew his parental ambition; I knew that he was jealous the moment that any one surpassed me in anything, and this had angered him toward Selim for a long time. I concluded, therefore, that he would not oppose in case I wished to show that I was not a worse horseman than Selim.

  “That horse gallops well, father,” said I.

  “Yes, and that Satan sits well,” muttered he. “Couldst thou do the same?”

  “Hania doubts,” answered I, with a certain bitterness. “May I try?”

  My father hesitated, looked at the gate, at the horse, at me, and said, —

  “Give peace.”

  “Naturally!” exclaimed I, in sorrow; “it is better for me to be counted an old woman in comparison with Selim.”

  “Henryk! what art thou saying?” cried Selim, encircling my neck with his arms.

  “Gallop! gallop, boy! and do your best,” said my father, whose pride was touched.

  “Bring the horse here!” called I to Franek, who was leading the tired steed slowly around the yard.

  “Pan Henryk!” cried Hania, springing up from her seat, “then I am the cause of this trial. I do not wish it; I do not wish it. Do not do it; do not, for my sake!”

  And while speaking, she looked me in the eyes, as if she wished to finish with her eyes that which she could not express in words.

  Ah! for that look I would have given the last drop of my blood at that moment; but I could not and would not draw back. My offended pride was stronger just then than aught else; so I mastered myself and answered dryly, —

  “Thou art mistaken, Hania, in thinking that thou art the cause. I shall clear the gate to amuse myself.”

  Thus speaking, in spite of the protests of all save my father, I mounted and moved forward at a walk into the alley of lindens. Franek opened the gate and closed it after me. I had bitterness in my soul, and would have gone over the gate had it been twice as high. When I had ridden about three hundred yards, I turned the horse and began at a trot, which I changed to a gallop immediately.

  All at once I noticed that the saddle was moving. One of two things had happened, — either the girth had stretched during the former leap, or Franek had loosened it to let the horse breathe, and through stupidity, or perhaps forgetfulness, had not informed me.

  Now it was too late. The horse was approaching the gate at the highest speed, and I did not wish to stop him. “If I kill myself, I shall kill myself,” thought I. I pressed the sides of the horse convulsively. The air whistled in my ears. Suddenly the points of the gate gleamed before my eyes. I waved my whip, felt myself borne through air, a scream from the porch struck my ears, it grew dark in my eyes — and after a while I recovered from a faint.

  I sprang to my feet.

  “What has happened?” cried I. “Was I thrown? I fainted.”

  Near me were my father, the priest, Pani d’Yves, Selim, Kazio, and Hania white as linen, with tears in her eyes.

  “What is the matter? What is the matter?” was the cry on all sides.

  “Nothing at all. I was thrown, but that was not my fault. The girth was stretched.”

  In fact, after the momentary faint I felt perfectly well, only breath lacked me a little. My father fell to touching my hands, feet, shoulders.

  “It does not hurt?” inquired he.

  “No; I am perfectly well.”

  My breath too returned to me. But I was angry, for I thought that I seemed ridiculous, — that I must seem ridiculous. In falling from the horse, I was thrown with violence across the whole width of the road, which passed near a grass-plot, and fell on the grass; because of this the elbows and knees of my clean clothing were stained green, my dress and hair disordered. But still the unfortunate outcome had rendered me a service. A moment before, Selim was the object of general attention in our circle, as a guest, and as a guest just arrived; now I had taken from him that palm of victory at the cost of my knees and elbows. Hania, thinking herself all the time, and justly, the cause of this hazardous trial which for me might have ended badly, tried to make up for her hastiness with kindness and sweetness. Under such influence I soon recovered my joyousness, which was communicated to all the society which a moment before had been terrified. We amused ourselves perfectly. Lunch was served, at which Hania was the mistress, and then we went to the garden. In the garden Selim became as full of pranks as a little boy; he laughed, frolicked, and Hania helped him with all her soul. Finally he said, —

  “Oh, how we shall amuse ourselves this time, all three of us!”

  “I am curious to know,” said Hania, “who is the most joyous!”

  “Oh, surely I,” answered Selim.

  “But perhaps it is I. I am gladsome by nature.”

  “But the least gladsome is Henryk,” added Selim. “He is naturally dignified, and a little
sad. If he had lived in the Middle Ages, he would have been a knight-errant and a troubadour, only he cannot sing. But we,” continued he, turning to Hania, “have looked for the poppy and found it.”

  “I cannot agree to that,” answered I. “For any given disposition I prefer the opposite, since in this case one has the qualities which are lacking the other.”

  “Thanks,” replied Selim; “I admit that thou art by nature fond of weeping, and Panna Hania of laughing. Well, let it be that: get married, you two—”

  “Selim!”

  Selim looked at me and began to laugh.

  “Well, young man? Ha! ha! Dost remember the oration of Cicero, ‘commoveri videtur juvenis,’ which in Polish means: the young man seems confused. But that signifies nothing, for without cause even thou canst blush gloriously: Panna Hania, he cooks crawfish 2 gloriously, and now he has blushed for himself and you.”

  “Selim!”

  “Nothing, nothing! I return to my subject. Thou, sir, art a man of weeping, and thou, young lady, art a lady of laughing; get married. What will happen? He will begin to blubber, and you to laugh; you will never understand each other, never agree, different always; and what do I care for chosen natures? Oh, with me it would be different: we should simply laugh all our lives, and that would be the whole story.”

  “What are you saying?” answered Hania, and then both laughed heartily.

  As to me, I had not the least desire to laugh. Selim did not know what injustice he did me in persuading Hania of the difference between her disposition and mine. I was angry in the highest degree, and answered Selim with sarcasm, —

  “Thou hast a strange view, and it astonishes me all the more, since I have noticed that thou hast a weakness for melancholy persons.”

  “I?” said he, with unfeigned astonishment.

  “Yes. I will merely remind thee of a certain maiden, some fuchsias, and a little face between them. I give thee my word that I do not know such a melancholy face.”

  Hania clapped her hands.

  “Oho! I am learning something new!” cried she, laughing. “Is she pretty, Pan Selim; is she pretty?”

  I thought that Selim would grow confused and lose his boldness; but he merely said, —

  “Henryk?”

  “What?”

  “Dost thou know what I do with those whose tongues are too long?” And he laughed.

  Hania insisted on his telling her even the name of this chosen one; without thinking long, he said, —

  “Yozia.”

  But if he had been what he pretended he would have paid dearly for his sincerity, for Hania gave him no peace from that hour till evening.

  “Is she pretty?”

  “Oh, so.”

  “What kind of hair has she, and eyes?”

  “Nice ones, but not such as please me more than all others.”

  “And what kind please you?”

  “Bright hair, and eyes, if they are kind, blue, like those into which I am looking at this moment.”

  “Oo, Pan Selim!”

  And Hania frowned; but Selim, putting his palms together, made himself pleasant with that incomparable sweetness in his eyes, and began, —

  “Panna Hania, be not angry. What has the poor little Tartar done? Be not angry! Let the lady laugh.”

  Hania looked at him, and as she looked the cloud vanished from her forehead. He simply enchanted her. A smile wandered in the corners of her mouth; her eyes grew bright, her face radiant; and at last she answered in a soft, mild voice, —

  “Very well, I will not be angry; but I beg you to be nice.”

  “I will, as I love Mohammed, I will.”

  “And do you love your Mohammed much?”

  “As dogs a beggar.”

  And then both laughed again.

  “But now tell me whom does Pan Henryk love? I asked him, but he would not tell me.”

  “Henryk? Do you know” (here he looked at me askance) “he is not in love with any one yet, perhaps, but he will love. Oh, I know perfectly whom! and as to me—”

  “As to you, what?” inquired Hania, trying to conceal her confusion.

  “I would do the very same — but wait a bit; he may be in love already.”

  “I beg thee to stop, Selim.”

  “Thou, my honest boy,” said Selim, putting his arm around my neck— “Ah, if you knew how honest he is.”

  “Oh, I know that,” said Hania; “I remember what he was to me after my grandfather’s death.”

  A cloud of sadness flew between us then.

  “I will tell you,” said Selim, wishing to change the subject, “that after examination we had a little feast with our master—”

  “And drank?”

  “Yes. Oh, that is the custom which one cannot avoid. So while we were drinking, I, being, as you know, a giddy fellow, raised a toast to you. I acted unwisely, but Henryk sprang up: ‘How dare you mention Hania in such a place as this?’ said he to me; for that was a wine-cellar. We came near fighting. But he will not let any one offend you, no, no—”

  Hania gave me her hand. “How good you are, Pan Henryk!”

  “Well,” answered I, carried away by Selim’s words, “say thyself, Hania, is not Selim just as honest, since he tells this?”

  “Oh, what great honesty!” said Selim, laughing.

  “But it is,” answered Hania; “you are worthy of each other, and we shall have such a pleasant time in company.”

  “You will be our queen!” cried Selim, with enthusiasm.

  “Gentlemen! Hania! we invite you to tea,” called Pani d’Yves from the garden veranda.

  We went to tea, all three of us in the very best feeling. The table was set under the veranda; the lights, shielded by glass tubes, burned brightly, and moths in a swarm circled around them; they butted against the glass walls of the tubes; the leaves of wild grapevines rustled, moved by the warm night air; and beyond the poplars rose a great golden moon. The last conversation between Hania, Selim, and myself had brought us to a wonderfully mild, friendly tone. That calm and quiet evening acted also on the older persons. My father’s face and the priest’s were as serene as the sky.

  After tea Pani d’Yves began to play solitaire; my father fell into perfect humor, for he commenced to tell of old times, which with him was always a sign of good feeling.

  “I remember,” said he, “we halted once not far from a village in Krasnostav. The night was dark; even strain your eyes out, you could not see anything” (here he drew smoke from his pipe and let it go above the light). “People were as tired as a Jew’s nag. We were standing silently, and then—”

  Here began a narrative of wonderful and most wonderful happenings. The priest, who had listened to this more than once, still stopped smoking and listened more attentively; he raised his spectacles to his forehead, and, nodding, repeated “Uhum! Uhum!” or called out, “Jesus, Mary! well, and what?”

  Selim and I, leaning against each other, with eyes fixed on my father, caught his words eagerly. On no face was the expression depicted so definitely as on Selim’s. His eyes were gleaming like coals; a flush covered his face; his hot Eastern nature came to the surface like oil. Hardly could he sit in one place. Pani d’Yves smiled as she looked at him, and showed him to Hania with her eyes; then both began to observe him, for they were entertained by that face, which was like a mirror or the surface of water, in which everything is reflected that comes near its transparency.

  To-day, when I recall evenings like that, I cannot resist my emotion. Many waves on the water, many clouds in the sky, have passed since that time; but still winged memory pushes before my eyes continually similar pictures of the village mansion, the summer night, and that family, harmonious, loving, happy, — a gray veteran telling former adventures of his life; youths with fire in their eyes; farther on a face like a field flower — Ei! Many waves on the water and clouds in the sky have passed since that time.

  Meanwhile the clock struck ten. Selim sprang up, for he had received the
command to return that same night. The whole company decided to go with him as far as the cross at the end of the lindens near the second gate, I on horseback farther, as far as the meadows. We started then, all of us except Kazio, who had fallen asleep in the best fashion.

  Hania, Selim, and I pushed on ahead, we two leading our horses by the bridles, Hania between us. The three old people walked behind. It was dark in the alley; the moon, merely breaking through the dense foliage, marked the dark road with silver spots.

  “Let us sing something,” said Selim, “some song, old and good; for example, the song about Filon.”

  “No one sings that,” answered Hania. “I know another: ‘Oh, autumn, autumn, the leaf is withering on the tree!’”

  We agreed at last to begin with “Filon,” which the priest and my father liked much, for it reminded them of old times, and then sing “Oh, autumn, autumn!” Hania placed her white hand on the mane of Selim’s horse and began to sing, —

  “The moon has gone down, the dogs are all sleeping;

  But some one is clapping beyond the pine wood.

  Surely, Filon, my darling, is watching,

  Awaiting me under the favorite maple.”

  When we finished, the voices of the old people were heard behind us in the darkness: “Bravo! bravo! sing something more.” I accompanied as best I could, but I did not sing well; while Hania and Selim had beautiful voices, especially Selim. Sometimes, when I went too far beyond the notes, they both laughed at me. Then they hummed some other songs, during which I thought, “Why does Hania hold the mane of Selim’s horse, and not the mane of mine?” That horse pleased her peculiarly. Sometimes she nestled up to its neck, or, patting it, repeated, “My steed, mine!” and the gentle beast snorted and stretched out its open nostrils toward her hand, as if looking for sugar. All this caused me to grow sad again, and I looked at nothing save that hand, which continued to rest on the horse’s mane.

  Meanwhile we reached the cross at the end of the linden-trees. Selim bade good-night to all: he kissed the hands of Pani d’Yves and wished to kiss Hania’s; but she would not consent, and looked at me as if afraid. But as a recompense, when he was on horseback she approached him and spoke. In the light of the moon, unobstructed in that place, I saw her eyes raised to Selim’s, and the sweet expression of her face.