Fire in the Steppe

by Henryk Sienkiewicz

  "Horsemen of some kind are pushing on after us."

  "What? How? Who?" asked the drowsy Zagloba.

  "Horsemen of some kind are coming."

  "Oh! they will come up directly. The tramp of horses is to be heard; perhaps some one is going in the same direction—"

  "They are robbers, I am sure!"

  Basia was sure, for the reason that in her soul she was eager for adventures,—robbers and opportunities for her daring,—so that when Zagloba, puffing and muttering, began to draw out from the seat pistols, which he took with him always for "an occasion," she claimed one for herself.

  "I shall not miss the first robber who approaches. Auntie shoots wonderfully with a musket, but she cannot see in the night. I could swear that those men are robbers! Oh, if they would only attack us! Give me the pistol quickly!"

  "Well," answered Zagloba, "but you must promise not to fire before I do, and till I say fire. If I give you a weapon, you will be ready to shoot the noble that you see first, without asking, 'Who goes there?' and then a trial will follow."

  "I will ask first, 'Who goes there?'"

  "But if drinking-men are passing, and hearing a woman's voice, say something impolite?"

  "I will thunder at them out of the pistol! Isn't that right?"

  "Oh, man, to take such a water-burner to the city! I tell you that you are not to fire without command."

  "I will inquire, 'Who goes there?' but so roughly that they will not know me."

  "Let it be so, then. Ha! I hear them approaching already. You may be sure that they are solid people, for scoundrels would attack us unawares from the ditch."

  Since ruffians, however, really did infest the roads, and adventures were heard of not infrequently, Zagloba commanded the driver not to go among the trees which stood in darkness at the turn of the road, but to halt in a well-lighted place. Meanwhile the four horsemen had approached a number of yards. Then Basia, assuming a bass voice, which to her seemed worthy of a dragoon, inquired threateningly,—

  "Who goes there?"

  "Why have you stopped on the road?" asked one of the horsemen, who thought evidently that they must have broken some part of the carriage or the harness.

  At this voice Basia dropped her pistol and said hurriedly to Zagloba, "Indeed, that is uncle. Oh, for God's sake!"

  "What uncle?"

  "Makovetski."

  "Hei there!" cried Zagloba; "and are you not Pan Makovetski with Pan Volodyovski?"

  "Pan Zagloba!" cried the little knight.

  "Michael!"

  Here Zagloba began to put his legs over the edge of the carriage with great haste; but before he could get one of them over, Volodyovski had sprung from his horse and was at the side of the equipage. Recognizing Basia by the light of the moon, he seized her by both hands and cried,—

  "I greet you with all my heart! And where is Panna Krysia, and sister? Are all in good health?"

  "In good health, thank God! So you have come at last!" said Basia, with a beating heart. "Is uncle here too? Oh, uncle!"

  When she had said this, she seized by the neck Pan Makovetski, who had just come to the carriage; and Zagloba opened his arms meanwhile to Pan Michael. After long greetings came the presentation of Pan Makovetski to Zagloba; then the two travellers gave their horses to attendants and took their places in the carriage. Makovetski and Zagloba occupied the seat of honor; Basia and Pan Michael sat in front.

  Brief questions and brief answers followed, as happens usually when people meet after a long absence. Pan Makovetski inquired about his wife; Pan Michael once more about the health of Panna Krysia; then he wondered at Ketling's approaching departure, but he had not time to dwell on that, for he was forced at once to tell of what he had done in the border stanitsa, how he had attacked the ravagers of the horde, how he was homesick, but how wholesome it was to taste his old life.

  "It seemed to me," said the little knight, "that the Lubni times had not passed; that we were still together with Pan Yan and Kushel and Vyershul; only when they brought me a pail of water for washing, and gray-haired temples were seen in it, could a man remember that he was not the same as in old times, though, on the other hand, it came to my mind that while the will was the same the man was the same."

  "You have struck the point!" replied Zagloba; "it is clear that your wit has recovered on fresh grass, for hitherto you were not so quick. Will is the main thing, and there is no better drug for melancholy."

  "That is true,—is true," added Pan Makovetski. "There is a legion of well-sweeps in Michael's stanitsa, for there is a lack of spring water in the neighborhood. I tell you, sir, that when the soldiers begin to make those sweeps squeak at daybreak, your grace would wake up with such a will that you would thank God at once for this alone, that you were living."

  "Ah, if I could only be there for even one day!" cried Basia.

  "There is one way to go there," said Zagloba,—"marry the captain of the guard."

  "Pan Adam will be captain sooner or later," put in the little knight.

  "Indeed!" cried Basia, in anger; "I have not asked you to bring me Pan Adam instead of a present."

  "I have brought something else, nice sweetmeats. They will be sweet for Panna Basia, and it is bitter there for that poor fellow."

  "Then you should have given him the sweets; let him eat them while his mustaches are coming out."

  "Imagine to yourself," said Zagloba to Pan Makovetski, "these two are always in that way. Luckily the proverb says, 'Those who wrangle, end in love.'"

  Basia made no reply; but Pan Michael, as if waiting for an answer, looked at her small face shone upon by the bright light. It seemed to him so shapely that he thought in spite of himself, "But that rogue is so pretty that she might destroy one's eyes."

  Evidently something else must have come to his mind at once, for he turned to the driver and said, "Touch up the horses there with a whip, and drive faster."

  The carriage rolled on quickly after those words, so quickly that the travellers sat in silence for some time; and only when they came upon the sand did Pan Michael speak again: "But the departure of Ketling surprises me. And that it should happen to him, too, just before my coming and before the election."

  "The English think as much of our election as they do of your coming," answered Zagloba. "Ketling himself is cut from his feet because he must leave us."

  Basia had just on her tongue, "Especially Krysia," but something reminded her not to mention this matter nor the recent resolution of Krysia. With the instinct of a woman she divined that the one and the other might touch Pan Michael at the outset; as to pain, something pained her, therefore in spite of all her impulsiveness she held silence.

  "Of Krysia's intentions he will know anyhow," thought she; "but evidently it is better not to speak of them now, since Pan Zagloba has not mentioned them with a word."

  Pan Michael turned again to the driver, "But drive faster!"

  "We left our horses and things at Praga," said Pan Makovetski to Zagloba, "and set out with two men, though it was nightfall, for Michael and I were in a terrible hurry."

  "I believe it," answered Zagloba. "Do you see what throngs have come to the capital? Outside the gates are camps and markets, so that it is difficult to pass. People tell also wonderful things of the coming election, which I will repeat at a proper time in the house to you."

  Here they began to converse about politics. Zagloba was trying to discover adroitly Makovetski's opinions; at last he turned to Pan Michael and asked without ceremony, "And for whom will you give your vote, Michael?"

  But Pan Michael, instead of an answer, started as if roused from sleep, and said, "I am curious to know if they are sleeping, and if we shall see them to-day?"

  "They are surely sleeping," answered Basia, with a sweet and as it were drowsy voice. "But they will wake and come surely to greet you and uncle."

  "Do you think so?" asked the little knight, with joy; and again he looked at Basia, and again thought involuntarily, "B
ut that rogue is charming in this moonlight."

  They were near Ketling's house now, and arrived in a short time. Pani Makovetski and Krysia were asleep; a few of the servants were up, waiting with supper for Basia and Pan Zagloba. All at once there was no small movement in the house; Zagloba gave command to wake more servants to prepare warm food for the guests.

  Pan Makovetski wished to go straightway to his wife; but she had heard the unusual noise, and guessing who had come, ran down a moment later with her robe thrown around her, panting, with tears of joy in her eyes, and lips full of smiles; greetings began, embraces and conversation, interrupted by exclamations.

  Pan Michael was looking continually at the door, through which Basia had vanished, and in which he hoped any moment to see Krysia, the beloved, radiant with quiet joy, bright, with gleaming eyes, and hair twisted up in a hurry; meanwhile, the Dantzig clock standing in the dining-room ticked and ticked, an hour passed, supper was brought, and the maiden beloved and dear to Pan Michael did not appear in the room.

  At last Basia came in, but alone, serious somehow, and gloomy; she approached the table, and taking a light in her hand, turned to Pan Makovetski: "Krysia is somewhat unwell, and will not come; but she begs uncle to come, even near the door, so that she may greet him."

  Pan Makovetski rose at once and went out, followed by Basia.

  The little knight became terribly gloomy and said, "I did not think that I should fail to see Panna Krysia to-night. Is she really ill?"

  "Ei! she is well," answered his sister; "but people are nothing to her now."

  "Why is that?"

  "Then has his grace, Pan Zagloba, not spoken of her intention?"

  "Of what intention, by the wounds of God?"

  "She is going to a convent."

  Pan Michael began to blink like a man who has not heard all that is said to him; then he changed in the face, stood up, sat down again. In one moment sweat covered his face with drops; then he began to wipe it with his palms. In the room there was deep silence.

  "Michael!" said his sister.

  But he looked confusedly now on her, now on Zagloba, and said at last in a terrible voice, "Is there some curse hanging over me?"

  "Have God in your heart!" cried Zagloba.

  CHAPTER XIX.

  Zagloba and Pani Makovetski divined by that exclamation the secret of the little knight's heart; and when he sprang up suddenly and left the room, they looked at each other with amazement and disquiet, till at last the lady said, "For God's sake go after him! persuade him; comfort him; if not, I will go myself."

  "Do not do that," said Zagloba. "There is no need of us there, but Krysia is needed; if he cannot see her, it is better to leave him alone, for untimely comforting leads people to still greater despair."

  "I see now, as on my palm, that he was inclined to Krysia. See, I knew that he liked her greatly and sought her company; but that he was so lost in her never came to my head."

  "It must be that he returned with a proposition ready, in which he saw his own happiness; meanwhile a thunderbolt, as it were, fell."

  "Why did he speak of this to no one, neither to me, nor to you, nor to Krysia herself? Maybe the girl would not have made her vow."

  "It is a wonderful thing," said Zagloba; "besides, he confides in me, and trusts my head more than his own; and not merely has he not acknowledged this affection to me, but even said once that it was friendship, nothing more."

  "He was always secretive."

  "Then though you are his sister, you don't know him. His heart is like the eyes of a sole, on top. I have never met a more outspoken man; but I admit that he has acted differently this time. Are you sure that he said nothing to Krysia?"

  "God of power! Krysia is mistress of her own will, for my husband as guardian has said to her, 'If the man is worthy and of honorable blood, you may overlook his property.' If Michael had spoken to her before his departure, she would have answered yes or no, and he would have known what to look for."

  "True, because this has struck him unexpectedly. Now give your woman's wit to this business."

  "What is wit here? Help is needed."

  "Let him take Basia."

  "But if, as is evident, he prefers that one—Ha! if this had only come into my head."

  "It is a pity that it did not."

  "How could it when it did not enter the head of such a Solomon as you?"

  "And how do you know that?"

  "You advised Ketling."

  "I? God is my witness, I advised no man. I said that he was inclined to her, and it was true; I said that he was a worthy cavalier, for that was and is true; but I leave match-making to women. My lady, as things are, half the Commonwealth is resting on my head. Have I even time to think of anything but public affairs? Often I have not a minute to put a spoonful of food in my mouth."

  "Advise us this time, for God's mercy! All around I hear only this, that there is no head beyond yours."

  "People are talking of this head of mine without ceasing; they might rest awhile. As to counsels, there are two: either let Michael take Basia, or let Krysia change her intention; an intention is not a vow."

  Now Pan Makovetski came in; his wife told him everything straightway. The noble was greatly grieved, for he loved Pan Michael uncommonly and valued him; but for the time he could think out nothing.

  "If Krysia will be obstinate," said he, rubbing his forehead, "how can you use even arguments in such an affair?"

  "Krysia will be obstinate!" said Pani Makovetski. "Krysia has always been that way."

  "What was in Michael's head that he did not make sure before departing?" asked Pan Makovetski. "As he left matters, something worse might have happened; another might have won the girl's heart in his absence."

  "In that case, she would not have chosen the cloister at once," said Pani Makovetski. "However, she is free."

  "True!" answered Makovetski.

  But already it was dawning in Zagloba's head. If the secret of Krysia and Pan Michael had been known to him, all would have been clear to him at once; but without that knowledge it was really hard to understand anything. Still, the quick wit of the man began to break through the mist, and to divine the real reason and intention of Krysia and the despair of Pan Michael. After a while he felt sure that Ketling was involved in what had happened. His supposition lacked only certainty; he determined, therefore, to go to Michael and examine him more closely. On the road alarm seized him, for he thought thus to himself,—

  "There is much of my work in this. I wanted to quaff mead at the wedding of Basia and Michael; but I am not sure that instead of mead, I have not provided sour beer, for now Michael will return to his former decision, and imitating Krysia, will put on the habit."

  Here a chill came on Zagloba; so he hastened his steps, and in a moment was in Pan Michael's room. The little knight was pacing up and down like a wild beast in a cage. His forehead was terribly wrinkled, his eyes glassy; he was suffering dreadfully. Seeing Zagloba, he stopped on a sudden before him, and placing his hands on his breast, cried,—

  "Tell me the meaning of all this!"

  "Michael!" said Zagloba, "consider how many girls enter convents each year; it is a common thing. Some go in spite of their parents, trusting that the Lord Jesus will be on their side; but what wonder in this case, when the girl is free?"

  "There is no longer any secret!" cried Pan Michael. "She is not free, for she promised me her love and hand before I left here."

  "Ha!" said Zagloba; "I did not know that."

  "It is true," repeated the little knight.

  "Maybe she will listen to persuasion."

  "She cares for me no longer; she would not see me," cried Pan Michael, with deep sorrow. "I hastened hither day and night, and she does not even want to see me. What have I done? What sins are weighing on me that the anger of God pursues me; that the wind drives me like a withered leaf? One is dead; another is going to the cloister. God Himself took both from me; it is clear that I am accursed
. There is mercy for every man, there is love for every man, except me alone."

  Zagloba trembled in his soul, lest the little knight, carried away by sorrow, might begin to blaspheme again, as once he blasphemed after the death of Anusia; therefore, to turn his mind in another direction, he called out, "Michael, do not doubt that there is mercy upon you also; and besides, you cannot know what is waiting for you to-morrow. Perhaps that same Krysia, remembering your loneliness, will change her intention and keep her word to you. Secondly, listen to me, Michael. Is not this a consolation that God Himself, our Merciful Father, takes those doves from you, and not a man walking upon the earth? Tell me yourself if this is not better?"

  In answer the little knight's mustaches began to tremble terribly; the noise of gritting came from his teeth, and he cried with a suppressed and broken voice, "If it were a living man! Ha! Should such a man be found, I would— Vengeance would remain."

  "But as it is, prayer remains," said Zagloba. "Hear me, old friend; no man will give you better counsel. Maybe God Himself will change everything yet for the better. I myself—you know—wished another for you; but seeing your pain, I suffer together with you, and together with you will pray to God to comfort you, and incline the heart of that harsh lady to you again."

  When he had said this, Zagloba began to wipe away tears; they were tears of sincere friendship and sorrow. Had it been in the power of the old man, he would have undone at that moment everything that he had done to set Krysia aside, and would have been the first to cast her into Pan Michael's arms.

  "Listen," said he, after a while; "speak once more with Krysia; take your lament to her, your unendurable pain, and may God bless you! The heart in her must be of stone if she does not take pity on you; but I hope that she will. The habit is a praiseworthy thing, but not when made of injustice to others. Tell her that. You will see— Ei, Michael, to-day you are weeping, and to-morrow perhaps we shall be drinking at the betrothal. I am sure that will be the outcome. The young lady grew lonely, and therefore the habit came to her head. She will go to a cloister, but to one in which you will be ringing for the christening. Perhaps too she is affected a little with hypochondria, and mentioned the habit only to throw dust in our eyes. In every case, you have not heard of the cloister from her own lips, and if God grants, you will not. Ha, I have it! You agreed on a secret; she did not wish to betray it, and is throwing a blind in our eyes. As true as life, nothing else but woman's cunning."