Fire in the Steppe

by Henryk Sienkiewicz

  After dinner he went with Basia to the storehouse, where Ketling had another collection of arms. He showed her various weapons, and explained the use of them. Then they shot at a mark from Astrachan bows. The maiden was made happy with the amusement, and became giddier than ever, so that Pani Makovetski had to restrain her. Thus passed the second day. On the third Pan Michael went with Zagloba to Warsaw to the Danilovich Palace to learn something concerning the time of his departure. In the evening the little knight told the ladies that he would go surely in a week. While saying this, he tried to speak carelessly and joyfully. He did not even look at Krysia. The young lady was alarmed, tried to ask him touching various things; he answered politely, with friendliness, but talked more with Basia.

  Zagloba, thinking this to be the fruit of his counsel, rubbed his hands with delight; but since nothing could escape his eye, he saw Krysia's sadness. "She has changed," thought he; "she has changed noticeably. Well, that is nothing,—the ordinary nature of fair heads. But Michael has turned away sooner than I hoped. He is a man in a hundred, but a whirlwind in love, and a whirlwind he will remain."

  Zagloba had, in truth, a good heart, and was sorry at once for Panna Krysia. "I will say nothing to the maiden directly," thought he, "but I must think out some consolation for her." Then, using the privilege of age and a white head, he went to her after supper and began to stroke her black, silky hair. She sat quietly, raising toward him her mild eyes, somewhat astonished at his tenderness, but grateful.

  In the evening Zagloba nudged Pan Michael in the side at the door of the little knight's room, "Well, what?" said he. "No one can beat the haiduk?"

  "A charming kid," answered Pan Michael. "She will make as much uproar as four soldiers in the house,—a regular drummer."

  "A drummer? God grant her to go with your drum as quickly as possible!"

  "Good-night!"

  "Good-night! Wonderful creatures, those fair heads! Since you approached Basia a little, have you noted the change in Krysia?"

  "No, I have not," answered the little knight.

  "As if some one had tripped her."

  "Good-night," repeated Pan Michael, and went quickly to his room.

  Zagloba, in counting on the little knight's instability, over-reckoned somewhat, and in general acted awkwardly in mentioning the change in Krysia; for Pan Michael was so affected that something seemed to seize him by the throat.

  "And this is how I pay her for kindness, for comforting me in grief, like a sister," said he to himself. "Well, what evil have I done to her?" thought he, after a moment of meditation. "What have I done? I have slighted her for three days, which was rude, to say the least. I have slighted the cherished girl, the dear one. Because she wished to cure my wounds, I have nourished her with ingratitude. If I only knew," continued he, "how to preserve measure and restrain dangerous friendship, and not offend her; but evidently my wit is too dull for such management."

  Pan Michael was angry at himself; but at the same time great pity rose in his breast. Involuntarily he began to think of Krysia as of a beloved and injured person. Anger against himself grew in him every moment.

  "I am a barbarian, a barbarian!" repeated he. And Krysia overwhelmed Basia completely in his mind. "Let him who pleases take that kid, that wind-mill, that rattler," said he to himself,—"Pan Adam or the Devil, it is all one to me!"

  Anger rose in him against Basia, who was indebted to God for her disposition; but it never came to his head once that he might wrong her more with this anger than Krysia with his pretended indifference. Krysia, with a woman's instinct, divined straightway that some change was taking place in Pan Michael. It was at once both bitter and sad for the maiden that the little knight seemed to avoid her; but she understood instantly that something must be decided between them, and that their friendship could not continue unmodified, but must become either far greater than it had been or cease altogether. Hence she was seized by alarm, which increased at the thought of Pan Michael's speedy departure. Love was not in Krysia's heart yet. The maiden had not come to self-consciousness on that point; but in her heart and in her blood there was a great readiness for love. Perhaps too she felt a light turning of the head. Pan Michael was surrounded with the glory of the first soldier in the Commonwealth. All knights were repeating his name with respect. His sister exalted his honor to the sky; the charm of misfortune covered him; and in addition, the young lady, living under the same roof with him, grew accustomed to his attraction.

  Krysia had this in her nature, she was fond of being loved; therefore when Pan Michael began in those recent days to treat her with indifference, her self-esteem suffered greatly; but having a good heart, she resolved not to show an angry face or vexation, and to win him by kindness. That came to her all the more easily, since on the following day Pan Michael had a penitent mien, and not only did not avoid Krysia's glance, but looked into her eyes, as if wishing to say, "Yesterday I offended you; to-day I implore your forgiveness." He said so much to her with his eyes that under their influence the blood flowed to the young lady's face, and her disquiet was increased, as if with a presentiment that very soon something important would happen. In fact, it did happen. In the afternoon Pani Makovetski went with Basia to Basia's relative, the wife of the chamberlain of Lvoff, who was stopping in Warsaw; Krysia feigned purposely a headache, for curiosity seized her to know what she and Pan Michael would do if left to themselves.

  Zagloba did not go, it is true, to the chamberlain's wife, but he had the habit of sleeping a couple of hours after dinner, for he said that it saved him from fatness, and gave him clear wit in the evening; therefore, after he had chatted an hour or so, he began to prepare for his room. Krysia's heart beat at once more unquietly. But what a disillusion was awaiting her! Pan Michael sprang up, and went out with Zagloba.

  "He will come back soon," thought Krysia. And taking a little drum, she began to embroider on it a gold top for a cap to give Pan Michael at his departure. Her eyes rose, however, every little while, and went to the Dantzig clock, which stood in the corner of Ketling's room, and ticked with importance.

  But one hour and a second passed; Pan Michael was not to be seen. Krysia placed the drum on her knees, and crossing her hands on it, said in an undertone, "But before he decides, they may come, and we shall not say anything, or Pan Zagloba may wake."

  It seemed to her in that moment that they had in truth to speak of some important affair, which might be deferred through the fault of Pan Michael. At last, however, his steps were heard in the next room. "He is wandering around," thought she, and began to embroider diligently again.

  Volodyovski was, in fact, wandering; he was walking through the room, and did not dare to come in. Meanwhile the sun was growing red and approaching its setting.

  "Pan Michael!" called Krysia, suddenly.

  He came in and found her sewing. "Did you call me?"

  "I wished to know if some stranger was walking in the house; I have been here alone for two hours."

  Pan Michael drew up a chair and sat on the edge of it. A long time elapsed; he was silent; his feet clattered somewhat as he pushed them under the table, and his mustache quivered. Krysia stopped sewing and raised her eyes to him; their glances met, and then both dropped their eyes suddenly.

  When Pan Michael raised his eyes again, the last rays of the sun were falling on Krysia's face, and it was beautiful in the light; her hair gleamed in its folds like gold. "In a couple of days you are going?" asked she, so quietly that Pan Michael barely heard her.

  "It cannot be otherwise."

  Again a moment of silence, after which Krysia said, "I thought these last days that you were angry with me."

  "As I live," cried Pan Michael, "I would not be worthy of your regard if I had been, but I was not."

  "What was the matter?" asked Krysia, raising her eyes to him.

  "I wish to speak sincerely, for I think that sincerity is always better than dissimulation; but I cannot tell how much solace you have poured into my
heart, and how grateful I feel."

  "God grant it to be always so!" said Krysia, crossing her hands on the drum.

  To this Pan Michael answered with great sadness, "God grant! God grant—But Pan Zagloba told me—I speak before you as before a priest—Pan Zagloba told me that friendship with fair heads is not a safe thing, for a more ardent feeling may be hidden beneath it, as fire under ashes. I thought that perhaps Pan Zagloba was right. Forgive me, a simple soldier; another would have brought out the idea more cleverly, but my heart is bleeding because I have offended you these recent days, and life is not pleasant to me."

  When he had said this. Pan Michael began to move his mustaches more quickly than any beetle. Krysia dropped her head, and after a while two tears rolled down her cheeks. "If it will be easier for you, I will conceal my sisterly affection." A second pair of tears, and then a third, appeared on her cheeks.

  At sight of this, Pan Michael's heart was rent completely; he sprang toward Krysia, and seized her hands. The drum rolled from her knees to the middle of the room; the knight, however, did not care for that; he only pressed those warm, soft, velvety hands to his mouth, repeating,—

  "Do not weep. For God's sake, do not weep!"

  Pan Michael did not cease to kiss the hands even when Krysia put them on her head, as people do usually when embarrassed; but he kissed them the more ardently, till the warmth coming from her hair and forehead intoxicated him as wine does, and his ideas grew confused. Then not knowing himself how and when, his lips came to her forehead and kissed that still more eagerly; and then he pushed down to her tearful eyes, and the world went around with him altogether. Next he felt that most delicate down on her lip; and after that their mouths met and were pressed together with all their power. Silence fell on the room; only the clock ticked with importance.

  Suddenly Basia's steps were heard in the ante-room, and her childlike voice repeating, "Frost! frost! frost!"

  Pan Michael sprang away from Krysia like a frightened panther from his victim; and at that moment Basia rushed in with an uproar, repeating incessantly, "Frost! frost! frost!" Suddenly she stumbled against the drum lying in the middle of the room. Then she stopped, and looking with astonishment, now on the drum, now on Krysia, now on the little knight, said, "What is this? You struck each other, as with a dart?"

  "But where is auntie?" asked Krysia, striving to bring out of her heaving breast a quiet, natural voice.

  "Auntie is climbing out of the sleigh by degrees," answered Basia, with an equally changed voice. Her nostrils moved a number of times. She looked once more at Krysia and Pan Michael, who by that time had raised the drum, then she left the room suddenly.

  Pani Makovetski rolled into the room; Pan Zagloba came downstairs, and a conversation set in about the wife of the chamberlain of Lvoff.

  "I did not know that she was Pan Adam's godmother," said Pani Makovetski; "he must have made her his confidante, for she is persecuting Basia with him terribly."

  "But what did Basia say?" asked Zagloba.

  "'A halter for a dog!' She said to the chamberlain's lady: 'He has no mustache, and I have no sense; and it is not known which one will get what is lacking first.'"

  "I knew that she would not lose her tongue; but who knows what her real thought is? Ah, woman's wiles!"

  "With Basia, what is on her heart is on her lips. Besides, I have told you already that she does not feel the will of God yet; Krysia does, in a higher degree."

  "Auntie!" said Krysia, suddenly.

  Further conversation was interrupted by the servant, who announced that supper was on the table. All went then to the dining-room; but Basia was not there.

  "Where is the young lady?" asked Pani Makovetski of the servant.

  "The young lady is in the stable. I told the young lady that supper was ready; the young lady said, 'Well,' and went to the stable."

  "Has something unpleasant happened to her? She was so gay," said Pani Makovetski, turning to Zagloba.

  Then the little knight, who had an unquiet conscience, said, "I will go and bring her." And he hurried out. He found her just inside the stable-door, sitting on a bundle of hay. She was so sunk in thought that she did not see him as he entered.

  "Panna Basia," said the little knight, bending over her.

  Basia trembled as if roused from sleep, and raised her eyes, in which Pan Michael saw, to his utter astonishment, two tears as large as pearls. "For God's sake! What is the matter? You are weeping."

  "I do not dream of it," cried Basia, springing up; "I do not dream of it! That is from frost." She laughed joyously, but the laughter was rather forced. Then, wishing to turn attention from herself, she pointed to the stall in which was the steed given Pan Michael by the hetman, and said with animation, "You say it is impossible to go to that horse? Now let us see!"

  And before Pan Michael could restrain her, she had sprung into the stall. The fierce beast began to rear, to paw, and to put back his ears.

  "For God's sake! he will kill you!" cried Pan Michael, springing after her.

  But Basia had begun already to stroke with her palm the shoulder of the horse, repeating, "Let him kill! let him kill!"

  But the horse turned to her his steaming nostrils and gave a low neigh, as if rejoiced at the fondling.

  CHAPTER XI.

  All the nights that Pan Michael had spent were nothing in comparison with the night after that adventure with Krysia. For, behold, he had betrayed the memory of his dead one, and he loved that memory. He had deceived the confidence of the living woman, had abused friendship, had contracted certain obligations, had acted like a man without conscience. Another soldier would have made nothing of such a kiss, or, what is more, would have twisted his mustache at thought of it; but Pan Michael was squeamish, especially since the death of Anusia, as is every man who has a soul in pain and a torn heart. What was left for him to do, then? How was he to act?

  Only a few days remained until his departure; that departure would cut short everything. But was it proper to go without a word to Krysia, and leave her as he would leave any chamber-maid from whom he might steal a kiss? The brave heart of Pan Michael trembled at the thought. Even in the struggle in which he was then, the thought of Krysia filled him with pleasure, and the remembrance of that kiss passed through him with a quiver of delight. Rage against his own head seized him; still he could not refrain from a feeling of sweetness. And he took the whole blame on himself.

  "I brought Krysia to that," repeated he, with bitterness and pain; "I brought her to it, therefore it is not just for me to go away without a word. What, then? Make a proposal, and go away Krysia's betrothed?"

  Here the form of Anusia stood before the knight, dressed in white, and pale herself as wax, just as he had laid her in the coffin. "This much is due me," said the figure, "that you mourn and grieve for me. You wished at first to become a monk, to bewail me all your life; but now you are taking another before my poor soul could fly to the gates of heaven. Ah! wait, let me reach heaven first; let me cease looking at the earth."

  And it seemed to the knight that he was a species of perjurer before that bright soul whose memory he should honor and hold as sacred. Sorrow and immeasurable shame seized him, and self-contempt. He desired death.

  "Anulya,"[11] repeated he, on his knees, "I shall not cease to bewail thee till death; but what am I to do now?"

  The white form gave no answer to that as it vanished like a light mist; and instead of it appeared in the imagination of the knight Krysia's eyes and her lip covered with down, and with it temptations from which the knight wished to free himself. So his heart was wavering in uncertainty, suffering, and torment. At moments it came to his head to go and confess all to Zagloba, and take counsel of that man whose reason could settle all difficulties. And he had foreseen everything; he had told beforehand what it was to enter into "friendship" with fair heads. But just that view restrained the little knight. He recollected how sharply he had called to Pan Zagloba, "Do not offend Panna Krysia, sir
!" And now, who had offended Panna Krysia? Who was the man who had thought, "Is it not best to leave her like a chamber-maid and go away?"

  "If it were not for that dear one up there, I would not hesitate a moment," thought the knight, "I should not be tormented at all; on the contrary, I should be glad in soul that I had tasted such delight." After a while he muttered, "I would take it willingly a hundred times." Seeing, however, that temptations were flocking around him, he shook them off again powerfully, and began to reason in this way: "It is all over. Since I have acted like one who is not desirous of friendship, but who is looking for satisfaction from Cupid, I must go by that road, and tell Krysia tomorrow that I wish to marry her."

  Here he stopped awhile, then thought further thuswise: "Through which declaration the confidence of to-day will become quite proper, and to-morrow I can permit myself—" But at this moment he struck his mouth with his palm. "Tfu!" said he; "is a whole chambul of devils sitting behind my collar?"

  But still he did not set aside his plan of making the declaration, thinking to himself simply: "If I offend the dear dead one, I can conciliate her with Masses and prayer; by this I shall show also that I remember her always, and will not cease in devotion. If people wonder and laugh at me because two weeks ago I wanted from sorrow to be a monk, and now have made a declaration of love to another, the shame will be on my side alone. If I make no declaration, the innocent Krysia will have to share my shame and my fault. I will propose to her to-morrow; it cannot be otherwise," said he, at last.

  He calmed himself then considerably; and when he had repeated "Our Father," and prayed earnestly for Anusia, he fell asleep. In the morning, when he woke, he repeated, "I will propose to-day." But it was not so easy to propose, for Pan Michael did not wish to inform others, but to talk with Krysia first, and then act as was proper. Meanwhile Pan Adam arrived in the early morning, and filled the whole house with his presence.