That same day Pan Michael announced himself at the quarters of the
hetman, who gave command to admit the little knight, and said to
him, “I must send Rushchyts to the Crimea to see what is passing
there, and to stir up the Khan to observe his treaties. Do you wish
to enter service again and take the command after Rushchyts? You,
Vilchkovski, Silnitski, and Pivo will have an eye on Doroshenko,
and on the Tartars, whom it is impossible to trust altogether at
any time.”
Pan Michael grew sad. He had served the flower of his life. For
whole tens of years he had not known rest; he had lived in fire,
in smoke, in toil, in sleeplessness, without a roof over his head,
without a handful of straw to lie on. God knows what blood his
sabre had not shed. He had not settled down; he had not married.
Men who deserved a hundred times less were eating the bread of
merit; had risen to honors, to offices, to starostaships. He was
richer when he began to serve than he was then. But still it was
intended to use him again, like an old broom. His soul was rent,
because, when friendly and pleasant hands had been found to dress
his wounds, the command was given to tear himself away and fly to
the desert, to the distant boundaries of the Commonwealth, without
a thought that he was so greatly wearied in soul. Had it not been
for interruptions and service, he would have enjoyed at least
a couple of years with Anusia. When he thought of all this, an
immense bitterness rose in his soul; but since it did not seem to
him worthy of a cavalier to mention his own services and dwell on
them, he answered briefly,--
“I will go.”
“You are not in service,” said the hetman; “you can refuse. You
know better yourself if this is too soon for you.”
“It is not too soon for me to die,” replied Pan Michael.
Sobieski walked a number of times through the chamber, then he
stopped before the little knight and put his hand on his shoulder
confidentially. “If your tears are not dried yet, the wind of the
steppe will dry them for you. You have toiled, cherished soldier,
all your life; toil on still further! And should it come ever to
your head that you are forgotten, unrewarded, that rest is not
granted you, that you have received not buttered toast, but a
crust, not a starostaship, but wounds, not rest, but suffering
only, set your teeth and say, ‘For thee, O Country!’ Other
consolation I cannot give, for I haven’t it; but though not a
priest, I can give you the assurance that serving in this way, you
will go farther on a worn-out saddle than others in a carriage and
six, and that gates will be opened for you which will be closed
before them.”
“To thee, O Country!” said Pan Michael, in his soul, wondering at
the same time that the hetman could penetrate his secret thoughts
so quickly.
Pan Sobieski sat down in front of him and continued: “I do not
wish to speak with you as with a subordinate, but as with a
friend,--nay! as a father with a son. When we were in the fire at
Podhaytse, and before that in the Ukraine; when we were barely
able to prevent the preponderance of the enemy,--here, in the
heart of the country, evil men in security, behind our shoulders,
were attaining in turbulence their own selfish ends. Even in those
days it came more than once to my head that this Commonwealth must
perish. License lords it too much over order; the public good
yields too often to private ends. This has never happened elsewhere
in such a degree. These thoughts were gnawing me in the day in
the field, and in the night in the tent, for I thought to myself:
‘Well, we soldiers are in a woful condition; but this is our duty
and our portion. If we could only know that with this blood which
is flowing from our wounds, salvation was issuing also.’ No!
even that consolation there was not. Oh, I passed heavy days in
Podhaytse, though I showed a glad face to you officers, lest you
might think that I had lost hope of victory in the field. ‘There
are no men,’ thought I,--‘there are no men who love this country
really.’ And it was to me as if some one had planted a knife in
my breast, till a certain time--the last day at Podhaytse, when
I sent you with two thousand to the attack against twenty-six
thousand of the horde, and you all flew to apparent death, to
certain slaughter, with such a shouting, with such willingness,
as if you were going to a wedding--suddenly the thought came to
me: ‘Ah, these are my soldiers.’ And God in one moment took the
stone from my heart, and in my eyes it grew clear. ‘These,’ said
I, ‘are perishing from pure love of the mother; they will not go
to confederacies, nor to traitors. Of these I will form a sacred
brotherhood; of these I will form a school, in which the young
generation will learn. Their example will have influence; through
them this ill-fated people will be reborn, will become free of
selfishness, forget license, and be as a lion feeling wonderful
strength in his limbs, and will astonish the world. Such a
brotherhood will I form of my soldiers!’”
Here Sobieski flushed up, reared his head, which was like the head
of a Roman Cæsar, and stretching forth his hands, exclaimed, “O
Lord! inscribe not on our walls ‘Mene, Tekel, Peres!’ and permit me
to regenerate my country!”
A moment of silence followed. Pan Michael sat with drooping head
and felt that trembling had seized his whole body.
The hetman walked some time with quick steps through the room and
then stopped before the little knight. “Examples are needed,” said
he,--“examples every day to strike the eye. Volodyovski, I have
reckoned you in the first rank of the brotherhood. Do you wish to
belong to it?”
The little knight rose and embraced the hetman’s knees. “See,” said
he, with a voice of emotion, “when I heard that I had to march
again, I thought that a wrong had been done, and that leisure for
my suffering belonged to me; but now I see that I sinned, and I
repent of my thought and am unable to speak, for I am ashamed.”
The hetman pressed Pan Michael to his heart in silence. “There is a
handful of us,” said he; “but others will follow the example.”
“When am I to go?” asked the little knight. “I could go even to the
Crimea, for I have been there.”
“No,” answered the hetman; “to the Crimea I will send Pan
Rushchyts. He has relations there, and even namesakes, likely
cousins, who, seized in childhood by the horde, have become
Mussulmans and obtained office among the Pagans. They will help him
in everything. Besides, I need you in the field; there is no man
your equal in dealing with Tartars.”
“When have I to go?” repeated the little knight.
“In two weeks at furthest. I need to confer yet with the
vice-chancellor of the kingdom and with the treasurer, to prepare
letters for Rushchyts and give him instructions. But be ready, for
I shall be urgent.”
“I shall be ready from to-morrow.”
“God reward you for the intention! but it is not needful to be
ready so soon. Moreover, you will not go to stay long; for during
the election, if only there is peace, I shall need you in Warsaw.
You have heard of candidates. What is the talk among nobles?”
“I came from the cloister not long since, and there they do not
think of worldly matters. I know only what Pan Zagloba has told me.”
“True. I can obtain information from him; he is widely known among
the nobles. But for whom do you think of voting?”
“I know not myself yet; but I think that a military king is
necessary for us.”
“Yes, yes! I have such a man too in mind, who by his name alone
would terrify our neighbors. We need a military king, as was
Stefan Batory. But farewell, cherished soldier! We need a military
king. Do you repeat this to all. Farewell. God reward you for your
readiness!”
Pan Michael took farewell and went out. On the road he meditated.
The soldier, however, was glad that he had before him a week or
two, for that friendship and consolation which Krysia gave was dear
to him. He was pleased also with the thought that he would return
to the election, and in general he went home without suffering. The
steppes too had for him a certain charm; he was pining for them
without knowing it. He was so used to those spaces without end, in
which the horseman feels himself more a bird than a man.
“Well, I will go,” said he, “to those measureless fields, to
those stanitsas and mounds, to taste the old life again, make new
campaigns with the soldiers, to guard those boundaries like a
crane, to frolic in spring in the grass,--well, now, I will go, I
will go!”
Meanwhile he urged on the horse and went at a gallop, for he was
yearning for the speed and the whistle of the wind in his ears.
The day was clear, dry, frosty. Frozen snow covered the ground
and squeaked under the feet of the horse. Compressed lumps of it
flew with force from his hoofs. Pan Michael sped forward so that
his attendant, sitting on an inferior horse remained far behind.
It was near sunset; a little later twilight was in the heavens,
casting a violet reflection on the snowy expanse. On the ruddy sky
the first twinkling stars came out; the moon hung in the form of a
silver sickle. The road was empty; the knight passed an odd wagon
and flew on without interruption. Only when he saw Ketling’s house
in the distance did he rein in his horse and let his attendant come
up. All at once he saw a slender figure coming toward him. It was
Krysia.
When he recognized her, Pan Michael sprang at once from his horse,
which he gave to the attendant, and hurried up to the maiden,
somewhat astonished, but still more delighted at sight of her.
“Soldiers declare,” said he, “that at twilight we may meet various
supernatural beings, who are sometimes of evil, sometimes of good,
omen; but for me there can be no better omen than to meet you.”
“Pan Adam has come,” answered Krysia; “he is passing the time with
Basia and Pani Makovetski. I slipped out purposely to meet you, for
I was anxious about what the hetman had to say.”
The sincerity of these words touched the little knight to the
heart. “Is it true that you are so concerned about me?” asked he,
raising his eyes to her.
“It is,” answered Krysia, with a low voice.
Pan Michael did not take his eyes from her; never before had
she seemed to him so attractive. On her head was a satin hood;
white swan’s-down encircled her small, palish face, on which the
moonlight was falling,--light which shone mildly on those noble
brows, downcast eyes, long lids, and that dark, barely visible
down above her mouth. There was a certain calm in that face and
great goodness. Pan Michael felt at the moment that the face was a
friendly and beloved one; therefore he said,--
“Were it not for the attendant who is riding behind, I should fall
on the snow at your feet from thankfulness.”
“Do not say such things,” answered Krysia, “for I am not worthy;
but to reward me say that you will remain with us, and that I shall
be able to comfort you longer.”
“I shall not remain,” said Pan Michael.
Krysia stopped suddenly. “Impossible!”
“Usual soldier’s service! I go to Russia and to the Wilderness.”
“Usual service?” repeated Krysia, And she began to hurry in silence
toward the house. Pan Michael walked quickly at her side, a trifle
confused. Somehow it was a little oppressive and dull in his
mind. He wanted to say something; he wanted to begin conversation
again; he did not succeed. But still it seemed to him that he had
a thousand things to say to her, and that just then was the time,
while they were alone and no one preventing.
“If I begin,” thought he, “it will go on;” therefore he inquired
all at once, “But is it long since Pan Adam came?”
“Not long,” answered Krysia.
And again their conversation stopped.
“The road is not that way,” thought Pan Michael. “While I begin in
that fashion, I shall never say anything. But I see that sorrow has
gnawed away what there was of my wit.”
And for a time he hurried on in silence; his mustaches merely
quivered more and more vigorously. At last he halted before the
house and said, “Think, if I deferred my happiness so many years to
serve the country, with what face could I refuse now to put off my
own comfort?”
It seemed to the little knight that such a simple argument should
convince Krysia at once; in fact, after a while she answered with
sadness and mildness, “The more nearly one knows Pan Michael, the
more one respects and honors him.”
Then she entered the house. Basia’s exclamations of “Allah!
Allah!” reached her in the entrance. And when they came to the
reception-room, they saw Pan Adam in the middle of it, blindfolded,
bent forward, and with outstretched arms trying to catch Basia,
who was hiding in corners and giving notice of her presence by
cries of “Allah!” Pani Makovetski was occupied near the window in
conversation with Zagloba.
The entrance of Krysia and the little knight interrupted the
amusement. Pan Adam pulled off the handkerchief and ran to greet
Volodyovski. Immediately after came Pani Makovetski, Zagloba, and
the panting Basia.
“What is it? what is it? What did the hetman say?” asked one,
interrupting another.
“Lady sister,” answered Pan Michael, “if you wish to send a letter
to your husband, you have a chance, for I am going to Russia.”
“Is he sending you? In God’s name, do not volunteer yet, and do not
go,” cried his sister, with a pitiful voice. “Will they not give
you this bit of time?”
“Is your command fixed already?” asked Zagloba, gloomily. “Your
sister says justly that they are threshing you as with flails.”
“Rushchyts is going to the Crimea, and I take the squadron after
him; for as Pan Adam has mentioned already, the roads will surely
be black (with the enemy) in spring.”
“Are we alone to guard this Commonwealth from thieves, as a dog
guards a house?” cried Zagloba. “Other men do not know from which
end of a musket to shoot, but for us there is no rest.”
“Never mind! I have nothing to say,” answered Pan Michael. “Service
is service! I gave the hetman my word that I would go, and earlier
or later it is all the same.” Here Pan Michael put his finger on
his forehead and repeated the argument which he had used once with
Krysia, “You see that if I put off my happiness so many years to
serve the Commonwealth, with what face can I refuse to give up the
pleasure which I find in your company?”
No one made answer to this; only Basia came up, with lips pouting
like those of a peevish child, and said, “I am sorry for Pan
Michael.”
Pan Michael laughed joyously. “God grant you happy fortune! But
only yesterday you said that you could no more endure me than a
wild Tartar.”
“What Tartar? I did not say that at all. You will be working there
against the Tartars, and we shall be lonely here without you.”
“Oh, little haiduk, comfort yourself; forgive me for the name,
but it fits you most wonderfully. The hetman informed me that my
command would not last long. I shall set out in a week or two, and
must be in Warsaw at the election. The hetman himself wishes me to
come, and I shall be here even if Rushchyts does not return from
the Crimea in May.”
“Oh, that is splendid!”
“I will go with the colonel; I will go surely,” said Pan Adam,
looking quickly at Basia; and she said in answer,--
“There will be not a few like you. It is a delight for men to serve
under such a commander. Go; go! It will be pleasanter for Pan
Michael.”
The young man only sighed and stroked his forelock with his
broad palm; at last he said, stretching his hands, as if playing
blind-man’s-buff, “But first I will catch Panna Barbara! I will
catch her most surely.”
“Allah! Allah!” exclaimed Basia, starting back.
Meanwhile Krysia approached Pan Michael, with face radiant and full
of quiet joy. “But you are not kind, not kind to me, Pan Michael;
you are better to Basia than to me.”
“I not kind? I better to Basia?” asked the knight, with astonishment.
“You told Basia that you were coming back to the election; if I had
known that, I should not have taken your departure to heart.”
“My golden--” cried Pan Michael. But that instant he checked
himself and said, “My dear friend, I told you little, for I had
lost my head.”