Генрик Сенкевич
Pan Michael
"I am. The relative who adopted me has died, and left me another estate there."
"Eternal repose to him! He was a Catholic, of course?"
"He was."
"You have this consolation at least. But you will not leave us for this property in Courland?"
"I will live and die here," answered Ketling, looking at Krysia; and at once she dropped her long lashes on her eyes.
Pani Makovetski arrived when it was quite dark; and Ketling went outside the gate to meet her. He conducted the lady to his house with as much homage as if she had been a reigning princess. She wished on the following day to seek other quarters in the city itself; but her resolve was ineffective. The young knight implored, dwelt on his brotherhood with Pan Michael, and knelt until she agreed to stay with him longer. It was merely stipulated that Pan Zagloba should remain some time yet, to shield the ladies with his age and dignity from evil tongues. He agreed willingly, for he had become attached beyond measure to the haiduk; and besides, he had begun to arrange in his head certain plans which demanded his presence absolutely. The maidens were both glad, and Basia came out at once openly on Ketling's side.
"We will not move out to-day, anyhow," said she to Pan Michael's hesitating sister; "and if not, it is all the same whether we stay one day or twelve."
Ketling pleased her as well as Krysia, for he pleased all women; besides, Basia had never seen a foreign cavalier, except officers of foreign infantry, – men of small rank and rather common persons. Therefore she walked around him, shaking her forelock, dilating her nostrils, and looking at him with a childlike curiosity; so importunate was she that at last she heard the censure of Pani Makovetski. But in spite of the censure, she did not cease to investigate him with her eyes, as if wishing to fix his military value, and at last she turned to Pan Zagloba.
"Is he a great soldier?" asked she of the old man in a whisper.
"Yes; so that he cannot be more celebrated. You see he has immense experience, for, remaining in the true faith, he served against the English rebels from his fourteenth year. He is a noble also of high birth, which is easily seen from his manners."
"Have you seen him under fire?"
"A thousand times! He would halt for you in it without a frown, pat his horse on the shoulder, and be ready to talk of love."
"Is it the fashion to talk of love at such a time? Hei?"
"It is the fashion to do everything by which contempt for bullets is shown."
"But hand to hand, in a duel, is he equally great?"
"Yes, yes! a wasp; it is not to be denied."
"But could he stand before Pan Michael?"
"Before Michael he could not!"
"Ha!" exclaimed Basia, with joyous pride, "I knew that he could not. I thought at once that he could not." And she began to clap her hands.
"So, then, do you take Pan Michael's side?" asked Zagloba.
Basia shook her forelock and was silent; after a while a quiet sigh raised her breast. "Ei! what of that? I am glad, for he is ours."
"But think of this, and beat it into yourself, little haiduk," said Zagloba, "that if on the field of battle it is hard to find a better man than Ketling, he is most dangerous for maidens, who love him madly for his beauty. He is trained famously in love-making too."
"Tell that to Krysia, for love is not in my head," answered Basia, and turning to Krysia, she began to call, "Krysia! Krysia! Come here just for a word."
"I am here," said Krysia.
"Pan Zagloba says that no lady looks on Ketling without falling in love straightway. I have looked at him from every side, and somehow nothing has happened; but do you feel anything?"
"Basia, Basia!" said Krysia, in a tone of persuasion.
"Has he pleased you, eh?"
"Spare us! be sedate. My Basia, do not talk nonsense, for Ketling is coming."
In fact, Krysia had not taken her seat when Ketling approached and inquired, "Is it permitted to join the company?"
"We request you earnestly," answered Krysia.
"Then I am bold to ask, of what was your conversation?"
"Of love," cried Basia, without hesitation.
Ketling sat down near Krysia. They were silent for a time; for Krysia, usually self-possessed and with presence of mind, had in some wonderful way become timid in presence of the cavalier; hence he was first to ask, —
"Is it true that the conversation was of such a pleasant subject?"
"It was," answered Krysia, in an undertone.
"I shall be delighted to hear your opinion."
"Pardon me, for I lack courage and wit, so I think that I should rather hear something new from you."
"Krysia is right," said Zagloba. "Let us listen."
"Ask a question," said Ketling. And raising his eyes somewhat, he meditated a little, then, although no one had questioned him, he began to speak, as if to himself: "Loving is a grievous misfortune; for by loving, a free man becomes a captive. Just as a bird, shot by an arrow, falls it the feet of the hunter, so the man struck by love has no power to escape from the feet of the loved one. To love is to be maimed; for a man, like one blind, does not see the world beyond his love. To love is to mourn; for when do more tears flow, when do more sighs swell the breast? When a man loves, there are neither dresses nor hunts in his head; he is ready to sit embracing his knees with his arms, sighing as plaintively as if he had lost some one near to him. Love is an illness; for in it, as in illness, the face becomes pale, the eyes sink, the hands tremble, the fingers grow thin, and the man thinks of death, or goes around in derangement, with dishevelled hair, talks with the moon, writes gladly the cherished name on the sand, and if the wind blows it away, he says, 'misfortune,' and is ready to sob."
Here Ketling was silent for a while; one would have said that he was sunk in musing. Krysia listened to his words with her whole soul, as if they were a song. Her lips were parted, and her eyes did not leave the pale face of the knight. Basia's forelock fell to her eyes, hence it could not be known what she was thinking of; but she sat in silence also.
Then Zagloba yawned loudly, drew a deep breath, stretched his legs, and said, "Give command to make boots for dogs of such love!"
"But yet," began the knight, anew, "if it is grievous to love, it is more grievous still not to love; for who without love is satisfied with pleasure, glory, riches, perfumes, or jewels? Who will not say to the loved one, 'I choose thee rather than a kingdom, than a sceptre, than health or long life'? And since each would give life for love willingly, love has more value than life." Ketling finished.
The young ladies sat nestling closely to each other, wondering at the tenderness of his speech and those conclusions of love foreign to Polish cavaliers, till Zagloba, who was napping at the end, woke and began to blink, looking now at one, now at another, now at the third; at last gaining presence of mind, he inquired in a loud voice, "What do you say?"
"We say good-night to you," said Basia.
"Ah! I know now we were talking of love. What was the conclusion?"
"The lining was better than the cloak."
"There is no use in denying that I was drowsy; but this loving, weeping, sighing – Ah, I have found another rhyme for it, – namely, sleeping, – and at this time the best, for the hour is advanced. Good-night to the whole company, and give us peace with your love. O my God, my God, while the cat is miauwing, she will not eat the cheese; but until she eats, her mouth is watering. In my day I resembled Ketling as one cup does another; and I was in love so madly that a ram might have pounded my back for an hour before I should have known it. But in old age I prefer to rest well, especially when a polite host not only conducts me to bed, but gives me a drink on the pillow."
"I am at the service of your grace," said Ketling.
"Let us go; let us go! See how high the moon is already. It will be fine to-morrow; it is glittering and clear as in the day. Ketling is ready to talk about love with you all night; but remember, kids, that he is road-weary."
"Not road-weary, for I have rested two days in the city. I am only afraid that the ladies are not used to night-watching."
"The night would pass quickly in listening to you," said Krysia.
Then they parted, for it was really late. The young ladies slept in the same room and usually talked long before sleeping; but this evening Basia could not understand Krysia, for as much as the first had a wish to speak, so much was the second silent and answered in half-words. A number of times too, when Basia, in speaking of Ketling, caught at an idea, laughing somewhat at him and mimicking him a little, Krysia embraced her with great tenderness, begging her to leave off that nonsense.
"He is host here, Basia," said she; "we are living under his roof; and I saw that he fell in love with you at once."
"Whence do you know that?" inquired Basia.
"Who does not love you? All love you, and I very much." Thus speaking, she put her beautiful face to Basia's face, nestled up to her, and kissed her eyes.
They went at last to their beds, but Krysia could not sleep for a long time. Disquiet had seized her. At times her heart beat with such force that she brought both hands to her satin bosom to restrain the throbbing. At times too, especially when she tried to close her eyes, it seemed to her that some head, beautiful as a dream, bent over her, and a low voice whispered into her ear, —
"I would rather have thee than a kingdom, than a sceptre, than health, than long life!"
CHAPTER XIII
A few days later Zagloba wrote a letter to Pan Yan with the following conclusion, "If I do not go home before election, be not astonished. This will not happen through my lack of good wishes for you; but as the Devil does not sleep, I do not wish that instead of a bird something useless should remain in my hand. It will come out badly if when Michael returns, I shall not be able to say to him, 'That one is engaged, and the haiduk is free.' Everything is in the power of God; but this is my thought, that it will not be necessary then to urge Michael, nor to make long preparations, and that you will come when the engagement is made. Meanwhile, remembering Ulysses, I shall be forced to use stratagems and exaggerate more than once, which for me is not easy, since all my life I have preferred truth to every delight, and was glad to be nourished by it. Still, for Michael and the haiduk I will take this on my head, for they are pure gold. Now I embrace you both with the boys, and press you to my heart, commending you to the Most High God."
When he had finished writing, Zagloba sprinkled sand on the paper; then he struck it with his hand, read it once more, holding it at a distance from his eyes; then he folded it, took his seal ring from his finger, moistened it, and prepared to seal the letter, at which occupation Ketling found him.
"A good day to your grace!"
"Good-day, good-day!" said Zagloba. "The weather, thanks be to God, is excellent, and I am just sending a messenger to Pan Yan."
"Send an obeisance from me."
"I have done so already. I said at once to myself, 'It is necessary to send a greeting from Ketling. Both of them will be glad to receive good news.' It is evident that I have sent a greeting from you, since I have written a whole epistle touching you and the young ladies."
"How is that?" inquired Ketling.
Zagloba placed his palms on his knees, which he began to tap with his fingers; then he bent his head, and looking from under his brows at Ketling, said, "My Ketling, it is not necessary to be a prophet to know that where flint and steel are, sparks will flash sooner or later. You are a beauty above beauties, and even you would not find fault with the young ladies."
Ketling was really confused, "I should have to be wall-eyed or be a wild barbarian altogether," said he, "if I did not see their beauty, and do homage to it."
"But, you see," continued Zagloba, looking with a smile on the blushing face of Ketling, "if you are not a barbarian, it is not right for you to have both in view, for only Turks act like that."
"How can you suppose – "
"I do not suppose; I only say it to myself. Ha! traitor! you have so talked to them of love that pallor is on Krysia's lips this third day. It is no wonder; you are a beauty. When I was young myself, I used to stand in the frost under the window of a certain black brow; she was like Panna Krysia; and I remember how I used to sing, —
'You are sleeping there after the day;
And I am here thrumming my lute,
Höts! Höts!'
If you wish, I will give you a song, or compose an entirely new one, for I have no lack of genius. Have you observed that Panna Krysia reminds one somewhat of Panna Billevich, except that Panna Billevich had hair like flax and had no down on her lip? But there are men who find superior beauty in that, and think it a charm. She looks with great pleasure on you. I have just written so to Pan Yan. Is it not true that she is like the former Panna Billevich?"
"I have not noticed the likeness, but it may be. In figure and stature she recalls her."
"Now listen to what I say. I am telling family secrets directly; but as you are a friend, you ought to know them. Be on your guard not to feed Volodyovski with ingratitude, for I and Pani Makovetski have predestined one of those maidens to him."
Here Zagloba looked quickly and persistently into Ketling's eyes, and he grew pale and inquired, "Which one?"
"Panna Krysia," answered Zagloba, slowly. And pushing out his lower lip, he began to blink from under his frowning brow with his one seeing eye. Ketling was silent, and silent so long that at last Zagloba inquired, "What do you say to this?"
And Ketling answered with changed voice, but with emphasis, "You may be sure that I shall not indulge my heart to Michael's harm."
"Are you certain?"
"I have suffered much in life; my word of a knight that I will not indulge it."
Then Zagloba opened his arms to him: "Ketling, indulge your heart; indulge it, poor man, as much as you like, for I only wanted to try you. Not Panna Krysia, but the haiduk, have we predestined to Michael."
Ketling's face grew bright with a sincere and deep joy, and seizing Zagloba in his embrace, he held him long, then inquired, "Is it certain already that they are in love?"
"But who would not be in love with my haiduk, – who?" asked Zagloba.
"Then has the betrothal taken place?"
"There has been no betrothal, for Michael has barely freed himself from mourning; but there will be, – put that on my head. The maiden, though she evades like a weasel, is very much inclined to him, for with her the sabre is the main thing."
"I have noticed that, as God is dear to me!" interrupted Ketling, radiant.
"Ha! you noticed it? Michael is weeping yet for the other; but if any one pleases his spirit, it is certainly the haiduk, for she is most like the dead one, though she cuts less with her eyes, for she is younger. Everything is arranging itself well. I am the guarantee that these two weddings will be at election-time."
Ketling, saying nothing, embraced Zagloba again, and placed his beautiful face against his red cheeks, so that the old man panted and asked, "Has Panna Krysia sewed herself into your skin like that already?"
"I know not, – I know not," answered Ketling; "but I know this, that barely had the heavenly vision of her delighted my eyes when I said at once to myself that she was the one woman whom my suffering heart might love yet; and that same night I drove sleep away with sighs, and yielded myself to pleasant yearnings. Thenceforth she took possession of my being, as a queen does of an obedient and loyal country. Whether this is love or something else, I know not."
"But you know that it is neither a cap nor three yards of cloth for trousers, nor a saddle-girth, nor a crouper, nor sausage and eggs, nor a decanter of gorailka. If you are certain of this, then ask Krysia about the rest; or if you wish, I will ask her."
"Do not do that," said Ketling, smiling. "If I am to drown, let it seem to me, even a couple of days yet, that I am swimming."
"I see that the Scots are fine men in battle; but in love they are useless. Against women, as against the enemy, impetus is needful. 'I came, I saw, I conquered!' that was my maxim."
"In time, if my most ardent desires are to be accomplished, perhaps I shall ask you for friendly assistance; though I am naturalized, and of noble blood, still my name is unknown here, and I am not sure that Pani Makovetski – "
"Pani Makovetski?" interrupted Zagloba. "Have no fear about her. Pani Makovetski is a regular music-box. As I wind her, so will she play. I will go at her immediately; I must forewarn her, you know, so that she may not look awry at your approaches to the young lady. To such a degree is your Scottish method one, and ours another, I will not make a declaration straightway in your name, of course; I will say only that the maiden has taken your eye, and that it would be well if from that flour there should be bread. As God is dear to me, I will go at once; have no fear, for in every case I am at liberty to say what I like."
And though Ketling detained him, Zagloba rose and went out. On the way he met Basia, rushing along as usual, and said to her, "Do you know that Krysia has captured Ketling completely?"
"He is not the first man!" answered Basia.
"And you are not angry about it?"
"Ketling is a doll! – a pleasant cavalier, but a doll! I have struck my knee against the wagon-tongue; that is what troubles me."
Here Basia, bending forward, began to rub her knee, looking meanwhile at Zagloba, and he said, "For God's sake, be careful! Whither are you flying now?"
"To Krysia."
"But what is she doing?"
"She? For some time past she keeps kissing me, and rubs up to me like a cat."
"Do not tell her that she has captured Ketling."
"Ah! but can I hold out?"
Zagloba knew well that Basia would not hold out, and it was for that very reason that he forbade her. He went on, therefore, greatly delighted with his own cunning, and Basia fell like a bomb into Krysia's chamber.
"I have smashed my knee; and Ketling is dead in love with you!" cried she, right on the threshold. "I did not see the pole sticking out at the carriage-house – and such a blow! There were flashes in my eyes, but that is nothing. Pan Zagloba begged me to say nothing to you about Ketling. I did not say that I would not; I have told you at once. And you were pretending to give him to me! Never fear; I know you – My knee pains me a little yet. I was not giving Pan Adam to you, but Ketling. Oho! He is walking through the whole house now, holding his head and talking to himself. Well done, Krysia; well done! Scot, Scot! kot, kot!"13
Here Basia began to push her finger toward the eye of her friend.
"Basia!" exclaimed Panna Krysia.
"Scot, Scot! kot, kot!"
"How unfortunate I am!" cried Krysia, on a sudden, and burst into tears.
After a while Basia began to console her; but it availed nothing, and the maiden sobbed as never before in her life. In fact, no one in all that house knew how unhappy she was. For some days she had been in a fever; her face had grown pale; her eyes had sunk; her breast was moving with short, broken breath. Something wonderful had taken place in her; she had dropped, as it were, into extreme weakness, and the change had come not gradually, slowly, but on a sudden. Like a whirlwind, like a storm, it had swept her away; like a flame, it had heated her blood; like lightning, it had flashed on her imagination. She could not, even for a moment, resist that power which was so mercilessly sudden. Calmness had left her. Her will was like a bird with broken wings.
Krysia herself knew not whether she loved Ketling or hated him; and a measureless fear seized her in view of that question. But she felt that her heart beat so quickly only through him; that her head was thinking thus helplessly only through him; that in her and above her it was full of him, – and no means of defence. Not to love him was easier than not to think of him, for her eyes were delighted with the sight of him, her ears were lost in listening to his voice, her whole soul was absorbed by him. Sleep did not free her from that importunate man, for barely had she closed her eyes when his head bent above her, whispering, "I would rather have thee than a kingdom, than a sceptre, than fame, than wealth." And that head was near, so near that even in the darkness blood-red blushes covered the face of the maiden. She was a Russian with hot blood; certain fires rose in her breast, – fires of which she had not known till that time that they could exist, and from the ardor of which she was seized with fear and shame, and a great weakness and a certain faintness at once painful and pleasant. Night brought her no rest. A weariness continually increasing gained control of her, as if after great toil.
"Krysia! Krysia! what is happening to thee?" cried she to herself. But she was as if in a daze and in unceasing distraction. Nothing had happened yet; nothing had taken place. So far she had not exchanged two words with Ketling alone; still, the thought of him had taken hold of her thoroughly; still, a certain instinct whispered unceasingly, "Guard thyself! Avoid him." And she avoided him.
Krysia had not thought yet of her agreement with Pan Michael, and that was her luck; she had not thought specially, because so far nothing had taken place, and because she thought of no one, – thought neither of herself nor of others, but only of Ketling. She concealed this too in her deepest soul; and the thought that no one suspected what was taking place in her, that no one was occupied with her and Ketling at the same time, brought her no small consolation. All at once the words of Basia convinced her that it was otherwise, – that people were looking at them already, connecting them in thought, divining the position. Hence the disturbance, the shame and pain, taken together, overcame her will, and she wept like a little child.
But Basia's words were only the beginning of those various hints, significant glances, blinking of eyes, shaking of heads, finally, of those double meaning phrases which Krysia must endure. This began during dinner. Pan Michael's sister turned her gaze from Krysia to Ketling, and from Ketling to Krysia, which she had not done hitherto. Pan Zagloba coughed significantly. At times the conversation was interrupted, – it was unknown wherefore; silence followed, and once during such an interval Basia, with dishevelled hair, cried out to the whole table, —
"I know something, but I won't tell!"
Krysia blushed instantly, and then grew pale at once, as if some terrible danger had passed near her; Ketling too bent his head. Both felt perfectly that that related to them, and though they avoided conversation with each other, so that people might not look at them, still it was clear to both that something was rising between them; that some undefined community of confusion was in process of creation; that it would unite them and at the same time keep them apart, for by it they lost freedom completely, and could be no longer ordinary friends to each other. Happily for them, no one gave attention to Basia's words. Pan Zagloba was preparing to go to the city and return with a numerous company of knights; all were intent on that event.
In fact, Ketling's house was gleaming with light in the evening; between ten and twenty officers came with music, which the hospitable host provided for the amusement of the ladies. Dancing of course there could not be, for it was Lent, and Ketling's mourning was in the way; but they listened to the music, and were entertained with conversation. The ladies were dressed splendidly. Pani Makovetski appeared in Oriental silk. The haiduk was arrayed in various colors, and attracted the eyes of the military with her rosy face and bright hair, which dropped at times over her eyes; she roused laughter with the decision of her speech, and astonished with her manners, in which Cossack daring was combined with unaffectedness.
Krysia, whose mourning for her father was at an end, wore a white robe trimmed with silver. The knights compared her, some to Juno, others to Diana; but none came too near her; no man twirled his mustache, struck his heels, or cast glances; no one looked at her with flashing eyes or began a conversation about love. But soon she noticed that those who looked at her with admiration and homage looked afterward at Ketling; that some, on approaching him, pressed his hand, as if congratulating him and giving him good wishes; that he shrugged his shoulders and spread out his hands, as if in denial. Krysia, who by nature was watchful and keen, was nearly certain that they were talking to him of her, that they considered her as almost his affianced; and since she could not see that Pan Zagloba whispered in the ear of each man, she was at a loss to know whence these suppositions came. "Have I something written on my forehead?" thought she, with alarm. She was ashamed and anxious. And then even words began to fly to her through the air, as if not to her, but still aloud. "Fortunate Ketling!" "He was born in a caul." "No wonder, for he is a beauty!" and similar words.
Other polite cavaliers, wishing to entertain her and say something pleasant, spoke of Ketling, praising him beyond measure, exalting his bravery, his kindness, his elegant manners, and ancient lineage. Krysia, whether willing or unwilling, had to listen, and involuntarily her eyes sought him of whom men were talking to her, and at times they met his eyes. Then the charm seized her with new force, and without knowing it, she was delighted at the sight of him; for how different was Ketling from all those rugged soldier-forms! "A king's son among his attendants," thought Krysia, looking at that noble, aristocratic head and at those ambitious eyes, full of a certain inborn melancholy, and on that forehead, shaded by rich golden hair. Her heart began to sink and languish, as if that head was the dearest on earth to her. Ketling saw this, and not wishing to increase her confusion, did not approach, as if another were sitting by her side. If she had been a queen, he could not have surrounded her with greater honor and higher attention. In speaking to her, he inclined his head and pushed back one foot, as if in sign that he was ready to kneel at any moment; he spoke with dignity, never jestingly, though with Basia, for example, he was glad to jest. In intercourse with Krysia, besides the greatest respect there was rather a certain shade of melancholy full of tenderness. Thanks to that respect, no other man permitted himself either a word too explicit, or a jest too bold, as if the conviction had been fixed upon every one that in dignity and birth she was higher than all others, – a lady with whom there was never politeness enough.
Krysia was heartily grateful to him for this. In general, the evening passed anxiously for her, but sweetly. When midnight approached, the musicians stopped playing, the ladies took farewell of the company, and among the knights goblets began to make the round frequently, and there followed a noisier entertainment, in which Zagloba assumed the dignity of hetman.
Basia went upstairs joyous as a bird, for she had amused herself greatly. Before she knelt down to pray she began to play tricks and imitate various guests; at last she said to Krysia, clapping her hands, —
"It is perfect that your Ketling has come! At least, there will be no lack of soldiers. Oho! only let Lent pass, and I will dance to kill. We'll have fun. And at your betrothal to Ketling, and at your wedding, well, if I don't turn the house over, let the Tartars take me captive! What if they should take us really! To begin with, there would be – Ha! Ketling is good! He will bring musicians for you; but with you I shall enjoy them. He will bring you new wonders, one after another, until he does this – "
Then Basia threw herself on her knees suddenly before Krysia, and encircling her waist with her arms, began to speak, imitating the low voice of Ketling: "Your ladyship! I so love you that I cannot breathe. I love you on foot and on horseback. I love you fasting and after breakfast. I love you for the ages and as the Scots love. Will you be mine?"
"Basia, I shall be angry!" cried Krysia. But instead of growing angry, she caught Basia in her arras, and while trying, as it were, to lift her, she began to kiss her eyes.
