Complete Works of Henryk Sienkiewicz

by Henryk Sienkiewicz

  “Pan Selim! I am very—”

  Then she stopped suddenly, for she was afraid of weeping; emotion was uppermost in spite of her.

  “Panna Hania, do not mention that. Do not mind it; do not be troubled.”

  “You see how difficult it is for me to speak of this matter, but I wished to thank you.”

  “For what, Panna Hania? For what? I cannot endure tears in your eyes. For you I would gladly—”

  Now in his turn he did not finish, for he could not find the expression; and perhaps he noticed in season that he had let the feelings with which his breast was filled go too far, so he turned away his face not to let his emotion be seen, and was silent.

  Hania looked at him with eyes bright from tears, and I then did not ask what had happened.

  I loved Hania with all the power of a youthful soul; I deified her; I loved her with the love which is only in heaven. I loved her form, her eyes, every hair of her head, the sound of her words. I loved every bit of her dress. I loved the air which she breathed; that love pervaded me through and through, and was not only in my heart, but in my whole being. I lived only in her and through her; that love flowed in me as my blood; it radiated from me as the warmth of my body. For others something besides love might exist; for me the whole world existed in love; there was nothing beyond it. To the world I was blind, deaf, and indifferent, for my reason and senses were held by that single feeling. I felt that I was blazing like a lighted torch, that that flame was devouring me, that I was dying. What was that love? A mighty voice, a mighty calling of one soul to another, “My deified, my sacred one, my love, hear me!” I did not inquire what had happened, for I understood that not to me, not to me, was Hania answering that heart question. In the midst of indifferent people, a man thirsting for love wanders as in a forest, and he shouts and calls as in a forest, waiting to learn if some voice of sympathy will answer him; so now I did not ask any longer what had happened, for beside my own love and my own useless shouting, I felt and overheard two voices in sympathy, the voices of Selim and Hania. They were calling to each other mutually with the voices of hearts; they were calling unfortunately for me, and they themselves did not know that. One was to the other as a forest echo, and one followed the other as the echo follows the voice. And what could I do against this necessity which they could call happiness, but which I must call misfortune? What could avail against that order of nature, against that fatal logic of things? How win Hania’s heart when some irresistible power was impelling it in another direction?

  I separated from the company and sat on a bench of the garden, and thoughts like these were sounding in my head, like flocks of frightened birds. A madness of despair and suffering seized me. I felt that in the midst of my family, in the midst of well-wishing hearts, I was lonely. To me the whole world seemed a desert, seemed orphaned; the heaven above me was so indifferent to the wrong done by people that in spite of me one thought beyond others mastered me, swallowed everything, and covered me with its gloomy peace. The name of it was death. And then, an escape from that vicious circle, an end to sufferings, an end of all that sad comedy, a cutting of all the painful knots binding the soul, and repose after torture, — ah! that repose, for which I was so thirsty, that dark repose, that repose of nothingness, but calm and eternal.

  I was one exhausted by tears, by suffering and drowsiness. Oh, to sleep! to sleep at any price, even at the price of life. Then from the calm immense blue of heaven to which my former faith of childhood had fled, one thought flew to me like a bird and sat in my brain. That thought was in the brief words: but if —

  That was a new circle in which I was involved by the force of implacable necessity. Oh, I suffered greatly, but there from the neighboring alley joyous words came to me, or low, half-audible whispers of conversation. Around me was the odor of flowers; on the trees twittering birds were settling themselves to rest; above me hung the calm sky, ruddy with the evening twilight. All was peaceful, all happy; amidst that bloom of life, in pain and with set teeth, I alone desired to die. Suddenly I trembled; before me rustled the dress of a woman.

  I looked; it was Panna Lola. She was calm and mild; she looked at me with sympathy, and perhaps with more than sympathy. Amidst the light of evening and the shadows cast by the trees, she seemed pale; her abundant tresses, unwound as if by chance, fell upon her shoulders.

  At that moment I did not feel any hatred toward her. “Oh; thou single compassionate soul!” thought I, “dost thou come to console me?”

  “Pan Henryk, you are somehow sad, perhaps suffering?”

  “Oh, yes, suffering,” cried I, with an outburst; and seizing her hand I placed it against my burning forehead, then I kissed it quickly and ran off.

  “Pan Henryk!” cried she after me, in a low voice.

  But at that moment, at the crossing of the paths, appeared Selim and Hania. Both had seen my outburst, had seen me kiss and press Lola’s hand to my forehead, so smiling, they exchanged glances, as if saying to each other, “We understand what that means.”

  But soon it was time to go home. Immediately beyond the gate Selim’s road lay in another direction, but I was afraid that he might wish to conduct us. I mounted in haste, and said aloud that it was late, and time for Selim and me. When parting, I received from Panna Lola a wonderfully warm pressure of the hand, to which I gave no response.

  Selim turned immediately beyond the gate; for the first time he kissed Hania’s hand for good-night, and she did not forbid.

  She ceased to ignore me. She was in too mild a mood to remember the morning anger, but I interpreted that mood of mind in the worst sense possible. Pani d’Yves fell asleep after a few moments, and began to nod in all directions. I looked at Hania. She was not asleep; her eyes, opened widely, were bright as if from happiness. She did not break the silence; she was evidently too much occupied with her own thoughts. Only when near the house did she look at me, and, seeing that I was so meditative, she asked, —

  “Of what are you thinking? Is it of Lola?”

  I did not answer a word; I only gritted my teeth. Tear, tear me, if that gives thee pleasure; from me thou wilt not get one groan.

  Hania in reality had not even dreamed of tearing me. She asked, for she had a right to ask. Astonished at my silence, she repeated the question. Again I gave no answer. She thought, therefore, that it was pouting continued since morning, and so was silent.

  CHAPTER VIII.

  ONE morning, some days later, the first ruddy light of early dawn came in through a heart cut in the window-shutter, and roused me from sleep. Soon after, some one knocked on the shutter; and in the rosy opening appeared, not the face of Mitskewich’s Zosia, who in a similar manner roused Tadeush, nor of my Hania either, but the mustached face of Vah, the forester, and his deep voice cried, —

  “Panich!”

  “What?”

  “Wolves are following a wolf bitch in the Pohorovy woods. Shall we go to lure them?”

  “Right away!”

  I dressed, took my gun and hunter’s knife, and went out. Vah was all wet from the morning dew; on his shoulder was a single-barrelled gun, long and rusty, but he never missed aim with this piece. It was early; the sun had not risen yet. People had not gone to their work, nor cattle to pasture. The sky was only colored blue, rosy and golden on the east; on the west it was sombre. The old man hurried in his fashion.

  “I have a horse and cart. Let us ride to the Pits,” said he.

  We took our seats and drove on. Just beyond the granaries a hare, or rabbit, sprang out of the oats, ran across the road and into the meadow, marking with a darker trace the surface silvered over by dew.

  “A cat crosses the road!” said the forester; “a charm on a dog!” Then added: “It is late already. The earth will soon get a shadow.”

  This meant that the sun would rise before long, for with the light of dawn bodies cast no shadow.

  “But is it bad hunting when there are shadows?” asked I.

  “With long shad
ows it is passable, but with short ones useless work.”

  In hunter’s language this meant that the later the hour, the worse the hunting, for, as is known, the nearer midday the shorter the shadows.

  “Where shall we begin?” asked I.

  “At the Pits in the Pohorovy woods.”

  The Pohorovy woods were a part of the forest which was very dense, — that part where “the Pits” were; that is, holes made by the roots of old trees thrown down by storms.

  “And do you think that luring will succeed?”

  “I will begin to play as a wolf bitch, perhaps some wolf will come.”

  “But he may not.”

  “Ei! he will come.”

  When we reached Vah’s cottage we left the horse and cart, and went forward on foot. After half an hour’s walk, when the sun had begun to rise, we sat down in a pit.

  Round about us was a thicket of impenetrable small growth; only here and there were enormous trees. The pit was so deep that even our heads were concealed in it.

  “Now back to back!” muttered Vah.

  We sat back to back; above the surface of the ground appeared only the crowns of our heads and the gun-barrels.

  “Listen!” said Vah. “I will play.”

  Putting two fingers in his mouth and modulating his drawling voice with them, he began to imitate a wolf bitch; that is, to howl like a she-wolf when she entices he-wolves.

  “Listen!”

  And he placed his ear to the ground.

  I heard nothing, but Vah took his face from the earth and whispered, —

  “Oh, there is sport, but far away, two miles.”

  Then he waited a quarter of an hour; again he put his fingers to his mouth and howled. The doleful, ominous sound passed through the thicket; and far, far away it flew over the damp earth, rebounding from pine to pine. Vah put his ear to the ground again.

  “They are playing, but not farther than a mile away.”

  Indeed, I heard then, as it were a distant echo of howling, very far away yet, barely audible.

  “Where will it come out?” asked I.

  “On you, Panich.”

  Vah howled a third time; a howling answered quite near now. I grasped the gun more firmly, and we held the breath in our breasts. The silence was absolute; a breeze merely shook from hazel-nut bushes dewdrops, which fell pattering on the leaves. From afar, from the other edge of the forest, came the calling of wood grouse.

  Suddenly, some three hundred yards distant, something shook in the forest. The juniper bushes moved quickly, and from the midst of the dark needle-like leaves emerged a triangular head, gray, with pointed ears and red eyes. I could not shoot, for the head was too far away, so I waited patiently, though with beating heart. Soon the whole beast came out of the junipers, and with a few short springs ran up toward the pit, smelling carefully on every side. At one hundred and fifty yards the wolf halted and listened, as if foreboding something. I saw that he would not come nearer, and drew the trigger.

  The report of the gun was mingled with the painful cry of the wolf. I sprang out of the pit, Vah after me, but we did not find the wolf at the place. Vah, however, examined the spot carefully where the dew was wiped away on the ground, and said, —

  “He colors!”

  Indeed, there were traces of blood on the grass.

  “You haven’t missed, though far. He is coloring. Oh, he is coloring! We must follow.”

  And so we went. Here and there we came upon trampled grass and more traces of blood. The wounded wolf rested from time to time; that was evident. Meanwhile an hour passed in woods and thickets, then a second. The sun was now high; we had gone over an immense piece of road without finding a thing except traces, which at times disappeared altogether. Then we came to the corner of the forest; traces continued for about two versts more through a field toward the pond, and were lost at last in swampy ground covered with reeds and sweet flag. It was impossible to go farther without a dog.

  “He will stay there; I shall find him to-morrow,” said Vah, and we turned toward home.

  Soon I ceased to think of Vah’s wolf and the result of the hunt, which was rather unfortunate. I returned to my usual circle of suffering. When we were approaching the forest, a hare sprang up almost from under my feet; instead of shooting it, I trembled, as if roused from sleep.

  “Ah!” cried Vah, in indignation, “I would shoot my own brother if he jumped up in that way.”

  I only laughed and went on in silence. When crossing the so-called “forest road” which led to the highway of Horeli, I saw fresh tracks of a horse wearing shoes.

  “Do you know, Vah, what tracks these are?”

  “It seems to me that they are made by the young Panich from Horeli, on his way to the mansion.”

  “Then I will go to the mansion. Farewell, Vah.”

  Vah begged me timidly to go to his cottage, which was not far, to refresh myself a little. I saw that in case of refusal I should cause him great pain; still I refused, but promised to come next morning. I did not wish to leave Selim and Hania together long without me.

  During the five days which had passed since the visit to Ustrytsi Selim had come almost daily. But I guarded them like the eye in my head, and to-day for the first time came the chance that they could be alone. “Now,” thought I, “it will come to a confession between them,” and I felt that I was growing as pale as he who loses hope of hope.

  I feared this as a misfortune, an unavoidable sentence of death, which we know to be coming, but which we delay as long as possible.

  On reaching home, I met Father Ludvik in front of the mansion, with a bag on his head, and a wire net over his face; he was going to the beehives.

  “Is Selim here, Father Ludvik?” asked I.

  “He is; he came about an hour and a half ago.”

  “Where shall I find him?”

  “He went to the pond with Hania and Evunia.”

  I ran to the garden quickly, then to the brink of the pond where the boats were. One of the largest was missing. I looked out over the pond, but at first could see nothing. I guessed that Selim must have turned to the right toward the alders; in this way the boat and those in it were concealed by the reeds on the bank. I seized an oar, sprang into a one-seated boat, pushed out quietly, kept among the reeds, did not leave them. There I could see without being visible.

  In fact, I soon saw them. On a broad part of the pond, free of reeds, was a motionless boat, the oars hanging. At one end was sitting my little sister, Evunia, turned away from Hania and Selim; at the other end were the two. Evunia, bending over the boat, struck the water joyously with her little hands, and was occupied entirely with this amusement; but Selim and Hania, almost leaning against each other, seemed absorbed in conversation. Not the least breath of wind wrinkled the transparent blue surface; the boat, Hania, Evunia, and Selim were reflected in it as in a mirror, calm, motionless.

  That was a very beautiful picture, perhaps, but at sight of it the blood rushed to my head; I understood everything. They had taken Evunia, for the child could not be in their way or understand their confessions. They took her for appearance’ sake. “All is over,” thought I. “All is over!” sounded the reeds. “All is over!” blurted out the ripple, striking the side of my boat; and it grew dark in my eyes. I felt cold and hot. I felt that pallor was covering my face. “Thou hast lost Hania! thou hast lost her!” cried voices above me and in me. Then I heard, as it were, the same voices crying, “Jesus, Mary!” and then these continued, “Push up nearer; hide in the reeds; thou wilt see more!” I obeyed, and pushed on with the boat as silently as a cat. But at that distance I could not hear conversation; I only saw more distinctly that they were sitting side by side on one bench, not holding each other’s hands, but Selim was turned toward Hania. It seemed to me after a while that he was kneeling before her, but it only seemed so. He was turned toward her and was looking at her entreatingly; she was not looking at him, but seemed to glance on every side and unquietly; then
she raised her eyes. I saw that she was confused; I saw that he was begging for something. I saw finally that he placed his palms together before her, that she turned her head and eyes toward him slowly, that she began to lean toward him, but suddenly recovered herself and pushed back toward the edge of the boat. Then he seized her hand, as though fearing that she might fall into the water. I saw that he did not let the hand go; after that I saw nothing. I let the oar drop, and I fell on the bottom of the boat, for a cloud covered my eyes. “Save! save, O God!” cried I, in spirit; “here they are killing a man!” I felt that breath lacked me. Oh, how I loved her, and how unhappy I was! Lying on the bottom of the boat and tearing my clothing with rage, I felt all the helplessness of that rage. Yes; I was powerless, powerless as an athlete with bound hands, for what could I do? I might kill Selim; I might drive my boat against theirs and sink both in the water; but from Hania’s heart I could not tear her love for Selim and take it for myself alone, — that was impossible.