After that interview with Basia, Azya flew to his own room, as full of delight and consolation as if he had gained health after a sore illness. A while before wild despair had been tearing his soul; that very morning he had received a dry and brief letter from Pan Bogush of the following contents:—
My beloved Azya,—I have halted in Kamenyets, and to Hreptyoff I will not go this time; first, because fatigue has overcome me, and secondly, because I have no reason to go. I have been in Yavorov. The hetman not only refuses to grant you permission by letter to cover your mad designs with his dignity, but he commands you sternly, and under pain of losing his favor, to drop them at once. I, too, have decided that what you have told me is worthless. It would be a sin for a refined, Christian people to enter into such intrigues with Pagans; and it would be a disgrace before the whole world to grant the privileges of nobility to malefactors, robbers, and shedders of innocent blood. Moderate yourself in this matter, and do not think of the office of hetman, since it is not for you, though you are Tugai Bey's son. But if you wish to re-establish promptly the favor of the hetman, be content with your office, and hasten especially that work with Krychinski, Adurovich, Tarasovski, and others, for thus you will render best service.
The hetman's statement of what you are to do, I send with this letter, and an official command to Pan Volodyovski, that there be no hindrance to you in going and coming with your men. You'll have to go on a sudden to meet those captains, of course; only hurry, and report to me carefully at Kamenyets, what you hear on the other bank. Commending you herewith to the favor of God, I remain, with unchanging good wishes,
Martsin Bogush of Zyemblyts,
Under-Carver of Novgrod.
When the young Tartar received this letter, he fell into a terrible fury. First he crushed the letter in his hand into bits; then he stabbed the table time after time with his dagger; next he threatened his own life and that of the faithful Halim, who on his knees begged him to undertake nothing till he had recovered from rage and despair. That letter was a cruel blow to him. The edifices which his pride and ambition had reared, were as if blown up with powder; his plans were destroyed. He might have become the third hetman in the Commonwealth, and held its fate in his hand; and now he sees that he must remain an obscure officer, for whom the summit of ambition would be naturalization. In his fiery imagination he had seen crowds bowing down daily before him; and now it will come to him to bow down before others. It is no good for him either that he is the son of Tugai Bey, that the blood of reigning warriors flows in his veins, that great thoughts are born in his soul—nothing—all nothing! He will live unrecognized and die in some distant little fortalice forgotten. One word broke his wing; one "no" brought it about, that, henceforward, he will not be free to soar like an eagle to the firmament, but must crawl like a worm on the ground.
But all this is nothing yet, in comparison with the happiness which he has lost. She for the possession of whom he would have given blood and eternity; she for whom he was flaming like fire; she whom he loved with eyes, hearty soul, blood,—would never be his. That letter took from him her, as well as the baton of a hetman. Hmelnitski might carry off Chaplinski's wife; Azya, a hetman, might carry off another man's wife, and defend himself even against the whole Commonwealth, but how could that Azya take her,—Azya, a lieutenant of Lithuanian Tartars, serving under command of her husband?
When he thought of this, the world grew black before his eyes,—empty, gloomy; and the son of Tugai Bey was not sure but he would better die, than live without a reason to live, without happiness, without hope, without the woman he loved. This pressed him down the more terribly since he had not looked for such a blow; nay, considering the condition of the Commonwealth, he had become more convinced every day that the hetman would confirm those plans. Now his hopes were blown apart like mist before a whirlwind. What remained to him? To renounce glory, greatness, happiness; but he was not the man to do that. At the first moment the madness of anger and despair carried him away. Fire was passing through his bones and burning him fiercely; hence he howled and gnashed his teeth, and thoughts equally fiery and vengeful were flying through his head. He wanted revenge on the Commonwealth, on the hetman, on Pan Michael, even on Basia. He wanted to rouse his Tartars, cut down the garrison, all the officers, all Hreptyoff, kill Pan Michael, carry off Basia, go with her beyond the Moldavian boundary, and then down to the Dobrudja, and farther on, even to Tsargrad itself, even to the deserts of Asia.
But the faithful Halim watched over him, and he himself, when he had recovered from his first fury and despair, recognized all the impossibility of those plans. Azya in this too resembled Hmelnitski; as in Hmelnitski, so in him, a lion and a serpent dwelt in company. Should he attack Hreptyoff with his faithful Tartars, what would come of that? Would Pan Michael, who is as watchful as a stork, let himself be surprised; and even if he should, would that famous partisan let himself be slaughtered, especially as he had at hand more and better soldiers? Finally, suppose that Azya should finish Volodyovski, what would he do then? If he moves along the river toward Yagorlik, he must rub out the commands at Mohiloff, Yampol, and Rashkoff; if he crosses to the Moldavian bank, the perkulabs are there, friends of Volodyovski, and Habareskul of Hotin himself, his sworn friend. If he goes to Doroshenko, there are Polish commands at Bratslav; and the steppe, even in winter, is full of scouts. In view of all this, Tugai Bey's son felt his helplessness, and his malign soul belched forth flames first, and then buried itself in deep despair, as a wounded wild beast buries itself in a dark den of a cliff, and remained quiet. And as uncommon pain kills itself and ends in torpidity, so he became torpid at last.
Just then it was announced to him that the wife of the commandant wished to speak to him.
Halim did not recognize Azya when he returned from that conversation. Torpor had vanished from the Tartar's face, his eyes danced like those of a wild-cat, his face was gleaming, and his white teeth glittered from under his mustaches; in his wild beauty he was like the terrible Tugai Bey.
"My lord," inquired Halim, "in what way has God comforted thy soul?"
"Halim," said Azya, "God forms bright day after dark night, and commands the sun to rise out of the sea." Here he seized the old Tartar by the shoulders. "In a month she will be mine for the ages!"
And such a gleam issued from his dark face that he was beautiful, and Halim began to make obeisances.
"Oh, son of Tugai Bey, thou art great, mighty, and the malice of the unbeliever cannot overcome thee!"
"Listen!" said Azya.
"I am listening, son of Tugai Bey."
"I will go beyond the blue sea, where the snows lie only on the mountains, and if I return again to these regions it will be at the head of chambuls like the sands of the sea, as innumerable as the leaves in those wildernesses, and I will bring fire and sword. But thou, Halim, son of Kurdluk, wilt take the road to-day, wilt find Krychinski, and tell him to hasten with his men to the opposite bank over against Rashkoff. And let Adurovich, Moravski, Aleksandrovich, Groholski, Tarasovski, with every man living of the Lithuanian Tartars and Cheremis, threaten the troops. Let them notify the chambuls that are in winter quarters with Doroshenko to cause great alarm from the side of Uman, so that the Polish commands may go far into the steppe from Mohiloff, Yampol, and Rashkoff. Let there be no troops on that road over which I go, so that when I leave Rashkoff there will remain behind me only ashes and burned ruins."
"God aid thee, my lord!" answered Halim.
And he began to make obeisances, and Tugai Bey's son bent over him and repeated a number of times yet,—
"Hasten the messengers, hasten the messengers, for only a month's time is left!"
He dismissed Halim then, and remaining alone began to pray, for he had a breast filled with happiness and gratitude to God.
And while praying he looked involuntarily through the window at his men, who were leading out their horses just then to water them at the wells; the square was black there was such a cr
owd. The Tartars, while singing their monotonous songs in a low voice, began to draw the squeaking well-sweeps and to pour water into the trough. Steam rose in two pillars from the nostrils of each horse and concealed his face. All at once Pan Michael, in a sheepskin coat and cowhide boots, came out of the main building, and, approaching the men, began to say something. They listened to him, straightening themselves and removing their caps in contradiction to Eastern custom. At sight of him Azya ceased praying, and muttered,—
"You are a falcon, but you will not fly whither I fly; you will remain in Hreptyoff in grief and in sorrow."
After Pan Michael had spoken to the soldiers, he returned to the building, and on the square was heard again the songs of Tartars, the snorting of horses, and the plaintive and shrill sound of well-sweeps.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
The little knight, as Basia had foreseen, cried out against her plans at once when he learned them, said he never would agree to them, for he could not go himself and he would not let her go without him; but on all sides began then prayers and insistence which were soon to bend his decision.
Basia insisted less, indeed, than he expected, for she wished greatly to go with her husband, and without him the journey lost a part of its charm; but Eva knelt before the little knight, and kissing his hands implored him by his love for Basia to permit her to go.
"No other will dare approach my father," said she, "and mention such an affair,—neither I, nor Azya, nor even my brother. Basia alone can do it, for he refuses her nothing."
"Basia is no matchmaker," said Pan Michael, "and, besides, you must come back here; let her do this at your return."
"God knows what will happen before the return," answered Eva, with weeping,—"it is certain only that I shall die of suffering; but for such an orphan for whom no one has pity, death is best of all."
The little knight had a heart tender beyond measure, hence he began to walk up and down in the room. He wished above all not to part with his Basia, even for a day, and what must it be for two weeks! Still, it was clear that the prayers moved him deeply, for in a couple of days after those attacks he said one evening,—
"If I could only go with you! But that cannot be, for service detains me."
Basia sprang to him, and putting her rosy mouth to his cheek began to cry,—
"Go, Michael, go, go!"
"It is not possible by any means," answered Pan Michael, with decision.
And again two days passed. During this time the little knight asked advice of Zagloba as to what he ought to do; but Zagloba refused to give advice.
"If there are no other obstacles but your feelings," said he, "what have I to say? Decide yourself. The house will be empty here without the haiduk. Were it not for my age and the hard road, I would go myself, for there is no life without her."
"But you see there is really no hindrance: the weather is a little frosty, that is all; for the rest, it is quiet, there are commands along the road everywhere."
"In that case decide for yourself."
After that conversation Pan Michael began to hesitate again, and to weigh two things. He was sorry for Eva. He paused also over this,—is it proper to send the girl alone with Azya on such a long road? and still more over another point,—is it proper to withhold help from devoted people when the opportunity to give it is so easy? For what was the real difficulty? Basia's absence for two or three weeks. Even if it were only a question of pleasing Basia, by letting her see Mohiloff, Yampol, and Rashkoff, why not please her? Azya, in one event or another, must go with his squadron to Rashkoff; hence there would be a strong and even a superfluous guard in view of the destruction of the robbers, and the quiet during winter from the horde.
The little knight yielded more and more, seeing which the ladies renewed their insistence,—one representing the affair as a good deed and a duty, the other weeping and lamenting. Finally Azya bowed down before the commandant. He knew, he said, that he was unworthy of such a favor, but still he had shown so much devotion and attachment to the Volodyovskis that he made bold to beg for it. He owed much gratitude to both, since they did not permit men to insult him, even when he was not known as the son of Tugai Bey. He would never forget that the wife of the commandant had dressed his wounds, and had been to him not only a gracious lady, but as it were a mother. He had given proofs of his gratitude recently in the battle with Azba Bey, and with God's help in future he would lay down his head and shed the last drop of his blood for the life of the lady, if need be.
Then he began to tell of his old and unfortunate love for Eva. He could not live without that maiden; he had loved her through whole years of separation, though without hope, and he would never cease to love her. But between him and old Pan Novoveski there was an ancient hatred, and the previous relation of servant and master separated them, as it were, by a broad ravine. The lady alone could reconcile them to each other; and if she could not do that, she could at least shelter the dear girl from her father's tyranny, from confinement and the lash.
Pan Michael would have preferred, perhaps, that Basia had not interfered in the matter; but as he himself loved to do good to people, he did not wonder at his wife's heart. Still, he did not answer Azya affirmatively yet; he resisted even additional tears from Eva; but he locked himself up in the chancery and fell to thinking.
At last he came out to supper on a certain evening with an agreeable expression of face, and after supper he asked Azya suddenly, "Azya, when is it time for you to go?"
"In a week, your great mightiness," answered the Tartar, unquietly. "Halim, it must be, will have concluded negotiations with Krychinski by that time."
"Give orders to repair the great sleigh, for you must take two ladies to Rashkoff."
When she heard this, Basia began to clap her hands, and rushed headlong to her husband. After her hurried Eva; after Eva, Azya bowed down to the little knight's knees with a wild outburst of delight, so that Pan Michael had to free himself.
"Give me peace!" said he; "what is there wonderful? When it's possible to help people, it is hard not to help them, unless one is altogether heartless; and I am no tyrant. But do you, Basia, return quickly, my love; and do you, Azya, guard her faithfully; in this way you will thank me best. Well, well, give me peace!"
Here his mustaches began to quiver, and then he said more joyously, to give himself courage,—
"The worst are those tears of women; when I see tears there is nothing left of me. But you, Azya, must thank not only me and my wife, but this young lady, who has followed me like a shadow, exhibiting her sorrow continually before my eyes. You must pay her for such affection."
"I will pay her; I will pay her!" said Azya, with a strange voice; and seizing Eva's hands, he kissed them so violently that it might be thought he wished rather to bite them.
"Michael!" cried Zagloba, suddenly, pointing to Basia, "what shall we do here without her?"
"Indeed it will be grievous," said the little knight, "God knows it will!" Then he added more quietly: "But the Lord God may bless my good action later. Do you understand?"
Meanwhile Basia pushed in between them her bright head full of curiosity.
"What are you saying?"
"Nothing," replied Zagloba; "we said that in spring the storks would come surely."
Basia began to rub her face to her husband's like a real cat. "Michael dear! I shall not stay long," said she, in a low voice.
After this conversation new councils were held during several days touching the journey. Pan Michael looked after everything himself, gave orders to arrange the sleigh in his presence, and line it with skins of foxes killed in autumn. Zagloba brought his own lap-robe, so that she might have wherewith to cover her feet on the road. Sleighs were to go with a bed and provisions; and Basia's pony was to go, so that she might leave her sleigh in dangerous places; for Pan Michael had a particular fear of the entrance to Mohiloff, which was really a breakneck descent. Though there was not the slightest likelihood of an attack, the little kn
ight commanded Azya to take every precaution: to send men always a couple of furlongs in advance, and never pass the night on the road but in places where there were commands; to start at daylight, and not to loiter on the way. To such a degree did the little knight think of everything, that with his own hand he loaded the pistols for the holsters in Basia's saddle.
The moment of departure came at last. It was still dark when two hundred horse of the Lithuanian Tartars were standing ready on the square. In the chief room of the commandant's house movement reigned also. In the chimneys pitchy sticks were shooting up bright flames. The little knight, Pan Zagloba, Pan Mushalski, Pan Nyenashinyets. Pan Hromyka, and Pan Motovidlo, and with them officers from the light squadrons, had come to say farewell. Basia and Eva, warm yet and ruddy from sleep, were drinking heated wine for the road. Pan Michael, sitting by his wife, had his arm around her waist; Zagloba poured out to her, repeating at each addition, "Take more, for the weather is frosty." Basia and Eva were dressed in male costume, for women travelled generally in that guise on the frontiers. Basia had a sabre; a wild-cat skin shuba bound with weasel-skin; an ermine cap with earlaps; very wide trousers looking like a skirt; and boots to her knees, soft and lined. To all this were to be added warm cloaks and shubas with hoods to cover the faces. Basia's face was uncovered yet, and astonished people as usual with its beauty. Some, however, looked appreciatively at Eva, who had a mouth formed as it were for kisses; and others did not know which to prefer, so charming seemed both to the soldiers, who whispered in one another's ears,—
"It is hard for a man to live in such a desert! Happy commandant, happy Azya! Uh!"
The fire crackled joyfully in the chimneys; the crowing of cocks began; day approached gradually, rather frosty and clear; the roofs of the sheds and the quarters of the soldiers, covered with deep snow, took on a bright rose color.
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