Complete Works of Henryk Sienkiewicz

by Henryk Sienkiewicz

  Ah, how the heart rose in me then! I had so much confidence and faith and courage that if not one, but ten Selims had been waiting for me at Vah’s cottage, I should have challenged all ten of them immediately.

  I came at last to the cottage. Selim was waiting for me at the edge of the forest. I confess that when I saw him I felt in my heart something like that which a wolf feels when he sees his prey. We looked each other in the eyes threateningly, and with curiosity. Selim had changed in those two days; he had grown thin and ugly, but maybe it only seemed to me that he had grown ugly, his eyes gleamed feverishly, the corners of his mouth quivered.

  We went immediately to the depth of the forest, but we did not speak a word the whole way.

  At last, when I found a little opening among the pines, I stopped, and asked, —

  “Here. Agreed?”

  He nodded his head and began to unbutton his coat, so as to take it off before the duel.

  “Choose!” said I, pointing to the pistols and the sabre.

  He pointed to a sabre which he had with him: it was Turkish, a Damascus blade, much curved toward the point.

  Meanwhile I threw off my coat; he followed my example, but first he took a letter from his pocket and said, —

  “If I die, I beg to give this to Panna Hania.”

  “I will not receive it.”

  “This is not a confession; it is an explanation.”

  “Agreed! I will take it.”

  Thus speaking, we rolled up our shirt-sleeves. Only now did my heart begin to beat more vigorously. At last Selim seized the hilt of his sabre, straightened himself, took the position of a fencer, challenging, proud, and holding the sabre higher than his head, said briefly, —

  “I am ready.”

  I struck on him at once, and so impetuously that he had to retreat a number of steps, and he received my blows on his sabre with difficulty; he answered, however, each blow with a blow, and with such swiftness that stroke and answer were heard almost simultaneously. A flush covered his face; his nostrils distended; his eyes stared out slantingly in Tartar fashion, and began to cast lightning.

  For a while there was nothing to be heard but the clink of blades, the dry sound of steel, and the whistling breath of our breasts.

  Selim soon understood that if the struggle was to continue, he must fall, for neither his lungs nor his strength would hold out. Large drops of sweat came out on his forehead; his breath grew hoarser and hoarser. But also a certain rage possessed him, a certain madness of battle. His hair, tossed around by the movement, fell on his forehead, and in his open mouth shone his white teeth. You would have said that the Tartar nature had become roused in him and grown wild when he felt the sabre in his hand and smelt blood. Still I had the advantage of equal fury with greater strength. Once he could not withstand the blow, and blood trickled from his left arm. After a few seconds, the very point of my sabre touched his forehead. He was terrible then, with that red ribbon of blood mixed with sweat and trickling down to his mouth and chin. It seemed to rouse him. He sprang up to me and sprang away like a wounded tiger. The point of his sabre circled with the terrible swiftness of a fiery thunderbolt, around my head, arms, and breast. I caught those mad blows with difficulty, all the more since I was thinking rather of giving than taking. At times we came so near each other that breast almost struck breast.

  All at once, Selim sprang away; his sabre whistled right near my temple; but I warded it off with such strength that his head was for a moment undefended. I aimed a blow capable of splitting it in two, and — a thunderbolt, as it were, struck my head suddenly. I cried, “Jesus, Mary!” the sabre dropped from my hand, and I fell with my face to the earth.

  CHAPTER XII.

  WHAT happened to me during a long time, I do not remember, nor do I know. When I woke, I was lying on my back in a chamber and on my father’s bed. My father was sitting near me in an armchair, with his head bent back, pale, and with closed eyes. The blinds were shut; lights were burning on the table; and in the great stillness of the chamber, I heard only the ticking of the clock. I stared for some time at the ceiling vacantly, and was summoning my thoughts sluggishly; then I tried to move, but unendurable pain in my head prevented me. This pain reminded me a little of all that had happened, so I called in a low, weak voice, —

  “Father!”

  My father quivered and bent over me. Joy and tenderness were expressed on his face, and he said, —

  “O God! thanks to Thee! He has recovered consciousness. What son? what?”

  “Father, I fought with Selim.”

  “Yes, my love! Do not think of that.”

  Silence continued for a while, then I asked, —

  “Father, but who brought me to this room from the forest?”

  “I brought thee in my arms; but do not say anything, do not torment thyself.”

  Not five minutes had passed when I inquired again. I spoke very slowly, —

  “Father?”

  “What, my child?”

  “But what happened to Selim?”

  “He fainted also from loss of blood. I had him carried to Horeli.”

  I wanted to inquire about Hania and my mother, but I felt that consciousness was leaving me again. I thought that black and yellow dogs were dancing on their hind legs around my bed, and I looked at them. Then again I seemed to hear the sounds of village fifes; at moments, instead of the clock which hung opposite my bed, I saw a face look out of the wall and draw back again. That was not a condition of complete unconsciousness, but of fever and a scattering of thought; but it must have lasted rather long.

  At times I was a little better, and then I half recognized the faces around my bed, — now my father, now the priest, now Kazio, now Doctor Stanislav. I remember that among those faces was lacking one. I could not make out which; but I know that I felt that lack, and I sought that face instinctively.

  One night when I had slept very soundly, I woke toward morning. The lights were burning on the table. I was very, very weak. All at once I discerned a person bent over the bed whom I did not know at first, but at sight of whom I felt as well as if I had died and was taken into heaven. That was a kind of angelic face; but so angelic, so sacred, kind, with tears flowing out of its eyes, that I felt as though I were preparing to weep. Then a spark of consciousness returned to me; it grew bright in my eyes; and I called weakly in a low voice, —

  “Mamma!”

  The angelic face bent to my emaciated hand, lying motionless on the coverlet, and pressed lips to it. I tried to raise myself, but felt pain again in my temples; hence I exclaimed only, —

  “Mamma! it pains!”

  My mother, for it was she, had begun to change the bandages with ice, which were on my head. That process had caused me no little suffering; but now those sweet, beloved hands with careful delicacy began to move around my poor slashed head, so that, not feeling the least pain, I whispered, —

  “Pleasant! Oh, pleasant!”

  Thenceforward I had more consciousness; only toward evening I fell into a fever; then I saw Hania, though when I was conscious I never saw her near me. But I saw her always in some danger. At one time a wolf with red eyes was rushing at her; again some one was carrying her away, — as it were, Selim, as it were, not Selim, but with a face grown over with black bristles and with horns on his head. Then I cried out sometimes; and sometimes I begged that wolf, or that horned one, very politely and humbly, not to carry her away. At those moments my mother placed her hands on my forehead, and the evil visions vanished immediately.

  At last the fever left me for good. I regained perfect consciousness. That did not mean that I was in better health. Some other kind of sickness attached itself, a certain unheard of weakness, under the influence of which I was evidently sinking.

  During whole days and nights I looked at one point in the ceiling. I was as if conscious, but indifferent to all things; I cared not for life, nor death, nor the persons watching over my bed. I received impressions, saw everyth
ing that was passing around me, remembered everything, but I had not strength to collect my thoughts, I had not strength to feel.

  One evening it seemed evident that I was dying. A great yellow candle was placed near my bed; then I saw Father Ludvik in his vestments. He gave me the sacrament, then he put the holy oil on me, and after that he sobbed so that he came near losing consciousness. They carried my mother out in a faint. Kazio was howling at the wall and tearing his hair. My father was sitting with clasped hands; he was just as if petrified. I saw all of this perfectly, but was perfectly indifferent; and I looked as usual with dead, glassy eyes on the ceiling, on the edge of the bed or the foot of it, or at the window, through which were coming in milky and silvery bundles of moonlight.

  Then, through all doors, the servants began to push into the room, crying, sobbing, and howling. Kazio led them in, and they filled the whole room; but my father sat there as stony as before. At last when all had knelt down, the priest began the Litany, but stopped, for he could not go on from tears. My father sprang up suddenly, and bellowing, “O Jesus! O Jesus!” threw himself his whole length on the floor.

  At that moment I felt that the points of my toes and my feet were beginning to grow cold; a certain wonderful drowsiness seized me, and a yawning. “Ah! now I am dying!” thought I, and fell asleep.

  But instead of dying I fell asleep really, and slept so well that I did not wake till twenty-four hours later, and so greatly strengthened that I was unable to understand what had happened. My indifference had vanished; my powerful young constitution had conquered death itself, and was roused to new life and new forces. Now again there were such scenes of delight at my bed that I shall not attempt to describe them. Kazio was simply frantic from happiness.

  They told me later that immediately after the duel, when my father carried me wounded to the house, and the doctor could not answer for my life, they had to shut up the honest Kazio, for he was simply hunting Selim like a wild beast, and he swore that if I died he would shoot the Tartar at sight. Fortunately Selim too was wounded somewhat, and had to lie a time in bed.

  But now every day brought me new solace. My desire for life returned. My father, my mother, the priest, and Kazio watched day and night above my bed. How I loved them then; how I yearned for them when they left the room! But with life the old feeling for Hania began to speak in my heart again. When I woke from that sleep which all had considered at first an eternal one, I asked straightway for Hania. My father answered that she was well; but that she had gone with Pani d’Yves and my little sisters to his brother’s, for the small-pox was increasing in the village. He told me, moreover, that he had forgiven her, that he had forgotten everything, and asked me to be quiet.

  I spoke frequently of her afterward with mother, who, seeing that that subject occupied me more than all others, began herself a conversation, and finished it with the kindly though indefinite words that when I got well she would speak with my father of many things which to me would be very agreeable, but that I must be quiet and try to recover as quickly as possible.

  While saying this, she smiled sadly, but I wished to weep from delight. Once something happened in the house which disturbed my peace, and even filled me with fear. In the evening, when my mother was sitting near me, the serving-man Franek came in and asked her to Hania’s room.

  I sat up immediately in bed. “Has Hania come?” I asked.

  “No!” answered my mother. “She has not come. He asks me to Hania’s room, for they are painting there and putting on new paper.”

  At times it seemed to me that a heavy cloud and an ill-concealed sadness lay on the foreheads of the persons surrounding me. I had no knowledge of what was passing, and my inquiries were set aside somehow. I asked Kazio; he answered as did others, that in the house all was well; that our little sisters, Pani d’Yves, and Hania would return soon; and, finally, that I must be quiet.

  “But where does this sadness come from?” asked I.

  “Seest thou, I will tell thee all. Selim and the old Mirza come here every day. Selim is in despair whole days. He cries; he wants absolutely to see thee; and our mother and father are afraid that this visit would harm thee.”

  “Wise Selim,” said I, smiling, “he came near splitting my skull, and now he is crying for me. Well, is he thinking of Hania all the time?”

  “How could he have Hania in his head? I know not. For that matter, I did not ask; but I think that he has renounced her altogether.”

  “That is a question.”

  “In every case some one else will get her; be at rest on that point.”

  Here Kazio made a wry face, student fashion, and added with the mien of a rogue, —

  “I know even who. God grant only that—”

  “That what?”

  “That she return as soon as possible,” added he, hurriedly.

  These words pacified me completely. A couple of days later, in the evening, my father was sitting near me with my mother. He and I began to play chess. After a while mother went out, leaving the door open. Through the door a whole row of rooms was visible; at the end of this row was Hania’s room. I looked at it, but I could not see anything, for mine was the only room lighted. Hania’s door, so far as I could see in the darkness, was closed.

  Then some one went in, as it were Doctor Stanislav, and did not shut the door.

  My heart beat unquietly. There was light in Hania’s room.

  The light fell in a bright column to the dark neighboring hall; and on the background of that clear column it seemed to me that I saw a delicate line of smoke, curling as dust curls in sunlight.

  Gradually an indefinable odor struck my nostrils, but an odor which became stronger and stronger every moment. Suddenly the hair rose on my head. I recognized the odor of juniper.

  “Father! what is that?” cried I, throwing the chess-men and chess-board on the floor.

  My father jumped up, confused, perceiving also that cursed odor of the juniper, and closed the door of the room as quickly as possible.

  “That is nothing,” said he, hurriedly.

  But I was already on my feet; and though I staggered, I pushed quickly toward the door.

  “They are burning juniper!” cried I. “I want to go there.”

  My father caught me by the waist.

  “Do not go! do not go! I forbid thee.”

  Despair seized me; so grasping the bandages around my head, I cried, —

  “Well, I swear then that I will tear off these bandages, and open my wounds with my own hands. Hania is dead! I want to see her.”

  “Hania is not dead. I give thee my word!” cried my father, seizing my hands and struggling with me. “She was sick, but she is better. Calm thyself! Calm thyself! Have we not had misfortune enough already? I will tell thee everything, but lie down. Thou canst not go to her. Thou wouldst destroy her. But lie down; I swear to thee that she is better.”

  My strength failed me, and I fell on the bed, repeating only, —

  “My God! My God!”

  “Henryk, come to thyself! Art thou a woman? Be a man. She is no longer in danger. I have promised to tell thee everything, and I will tell it, but on condition that thou collect thy strength. Lay thy head on the pillow. That way. Cover thyself, and be quiet.”

  I was obedient.

  “I am quiet; but more quickly, father, more quickly! Let me know everything right away. Is she really better? What was the matter with her?”

  “Listen, then: that night in which Selim took her away there was a storm. Hania wore only a thin dress which got wet to the last thread. Besides, that mad step cost her not a little. In Horeli, where Selim took her, she had no change of clothes, so she returned in that same little wet dress. That very night she got a chill and a violent fever. The next day old Vengrosia could not hold her tongue, and told her about thy trouble. She even said that thou wert killed. Evidently that hurt her. In the evening she was unconscious. The doctor did not know for a long time what the matter was. Thou knowest th
at small-pox was in the village; it is here yet. Hania caught the small-pox.”

  I closed my eyes, for it seemed that I was losing consciousness; at last I said, —

  “Go on, father, for I am calm.”

  “There were moments of great danger,” continued he. “That same day on which we looked on thee as lost, she too was almost dying. But to both of you a lucky crisis came. To-day she is recovering, as well as thou. In a week or so she will be perfectly well.”

  “But what happened in the house? Oh, what happened?”

  My father was silent and looked at me carefully, as if in fear that his words might have shocked my still feeble mind. I was lying motionless. Silence continued a long time. I was collecting my thoughts and was looking at the new misfortune. My father rose and began to walk with long strides through the room, looking at me from time to time.

  “Father,” said I, after a long silence.

  “What, my boy?”

  “Is she — is she — greatly marked?”

  My voice was calm and low, but my heart was beating audibly in expectation of the answer.

  “Yes,” answered my father. “As usual after the small-pox. Maybe there will be no marks. There are marks, now; but they will disappear, of course.”

  I turned to the wall. I felt that something worse than usual was happening to me.

  A week later, however, I was on my feet, and in two weeks I saw Hania. Ah! I will not even attempt to describe what had become of that beautiful, ideal face. When the poor girl came out of her room, and I saw her for the first time, though I had sworn to myself previously that I would not show the least emotion, I became weak and fell into a dead faint. Oh, how terribly marked she was!

  When they brought me out of the faint, Hania was weeping aloud, certainly over herself and me, for I too was more like a shadow than a man.