When he arrived at Lubni, Pan Yan did not find the prince, who had gone
to a christening at the house of an old attendant of his, Pan
Sufchinski, at Senchy, taking with him the princess, two young
princesses Zbaraskie, and many persons of the castle. Word was sent to
Senchy of the lieutenant's return from the Crimea, and of the arrival
of the envoy.
Meanwhile Skshetuski's acquaintances and comrades greeted him joyfully
after his long journey; and especially Pan Volodyovski, who had been
the most intimate of all since their last duel. This cavalier was noted
for being always in love. After he had convinced himself of the
insincerity of Anusia Borzobogata, he turned his sensitive heart to
Angela Lenska, one of the attendants of the princess; and when she, a
month before, became engaged to Pan Stanishevski, Volodyovski, to
console himself, began to sigh after Anna, the eldest princess
Zbaraska, niece of Prince Yeremi.
But he understood himself that he had raised his eyes so high that he
could not strengthen himself with the least hope, especially since Pan
Bodzynski and Pan Lyassota came to make proposals for the princess in
the name of Pan Pshiyemski, son of the voevoda of Lenchitsk. The
unfortunate Volodyovski therefore told his new troubles to the
lieutenant, initiating him into all the affairs and secrets of the
castle, to which he listened with half an ear, since his mind and heart
were otherwise occupied. Had it not been for that mental disquiet which
always attends even mutual love, Skshetuski would have felt himself
happy on returning, after a long absence, to Lubni, where he was
surrounded by friendly faces and that bustle of military life to which
he had long grown accustomed. Though Lubni, as a lordly residence, was
equal in grandeur to any of the seats of the "kinglets," still it was
different from them in this,--that its life was stern, really of the
camp. A visitor unacquainted with its usages and order, and coming,
even in time of profoundest peace, might suppose that some military
expedition was on foot. The soldier there was above the courtier, iron
above gold, the trumpet-call louder than sounds of feasts and
amusements. Exemplary order reigned in every part, and a discipline
elsewhere unknown. On all sides were throngs of knights of various
regiments, armored cavalry dragoons, Cossacks, Tartars, and
Wallachians, in which served not only the whole Trans-Dnieper, but
volunteers, nobles from every part of the Commonwealth. Whoever wished
training in a real school of knighthood set out for Lubni; therefore
neither the Mazur, the Lithuanian, the man of Little Poland, nor even
the Prussian, was absent from the side of the Russian. Infantry and
artillery, or the so-called "fire people," were composed, for the
greater part, of picked Germans engaged for high wages. Russians served
principally in the dragoons, Lithuanians in the Tartar regiments; the
men of Little Poland rallied most willingly to the armored regiments.
The prince did not allow his men to live in idleness; hence there was
ceaseless movement in the camp. Some regiments were marching out
to relieve the stanitsas and outposts, others were entering the
capital,--day after day drilling and man[oe]uvres. At times, even when
there was no trouble from Tartars, the prince undertook distant
expeditions into the wild steppes and wildernesses to accustom the
soldiers to campaigning, to push forward where no man had gone before,
and to spread the glory of his name. So the past spring he had
descended the left bank of the Dnieper to Kudák, where Pan Grodzitski,
in command of the garrison, received him as a monarch; then he advanced
farther beyond the Cataracts to Hortitsa; and at Kuchkasy he gave
orders to raise a great mound of stones as a memorial and a sign that
no other lord had gone so far along that shore.
Pan Boguslav Mashkevich--a good soldier, though young, and also a
learned man, who described that expedition as well as various campaigns
of the prince--told Skshetuski marvels concerning it, which were
confirmed at once by Volodyovski, for he had taken part in the
expedition. They had seen the Cataracts and wondered at them,
especially at the terrible Nenasytets, which devoured every year a
number of people, like Scylla and Charybdis of old. Then they set out
to the east along the parched steppes, where cavalry were unable to
advance on the burning ground and they had to cover the horses' hoofs
with skins. Multitudes of reptiles and vipers were met with,--snakes
ten ells long and thick as a man's arm. On some oaks standing apart
they inscribed, in eternal memory of the expedition, the arms of the
prince. Finally, they entered a steppe so wild that in it no trace of
man was found.
"I thought," said the learned Pan Mashkevich, "that at last we should
have to go to Hades, like Ulysses."
To this Volodyovski added: "The men of Zamoiski's vanguard swore that
they saw those boundaries on which the circle of the earth rests."
The lieutenant told his companions about the Crimea, where he had spent
almost half a year in waiting for the answer of the Khan; he told of
the towns there, of present and remote times, of Tartars and their
military power, and finally of their terror at reports of a general
expedition to the Crimea, in which all the forces of the Commonwealth
were to engage.
Conversing in this way every evening, they waited the return of the
prince. The lieutenant presented to his most intimate companions Pan
Longin Podbipienta, who as a man of mild manners gained their hearts at
once, and by exhibiting his superhuman strength in exercises with the
sword acquired universal respect. He did not fail to relate to each one
the story of his ancestor Stoveiko and the three severed heads; but he
said nothing of his vow, not wishing to expose himself to ridicule. He
pleased Volodyovski, especially by reason of the sensitive hearts
of both. After a few days they went out together to sigh on the
ramparts,--one for a star which shone above his reach, that is, for
Princess Anna; the other for an unknown, from whom he was separated by
the three heads of his vow.
Volodyovski tried to entice Longin into the dragoons; but the
Lithuanian decided at last to join the armored regiment, so as to serve
with Skshetuski, whom, as he learned in Lubni, to his delight, all
esteemed as a knight of the first degree, and one of the best officers
in the service of the prince. And precisely in Skshetuski's regiment
there was a vacancy in prospect. Pan Zakshevski, nicknamed "Miserere
Mei," had been ill for two weeks beyond hope of recovery, since all his
wounds had opened from dampness. To the love-cares of Skshetuski was
now added sorrow for the impending loss of his old companion and tried
friend. He did not go a step, therefore, from Zakshevski's pillow for
several hours each day, comforting him as best he could, and
strengthening him with the hope that they would still have many a
campaign together.
But the old man needed no consolation; he was closing life joyfully on
the hard bed of the soldier, covered with a horse-skin. With a smile
almost childlike, he gazed on the crucifix above his bed, and answered
Skshetuski,--
"Miserere mei! Lieutenant, I am on my way to the heavenly garrison. My
body has so many holes from wounds that I fear Saint Peter, who is the
steward of the Lord and must look after order in heaven, won't let me
in with such a rent body; but I'll say: 'Saint Peter, my dear, I
implore you, by the ear of Malchus, make no opposition, for it was
pagans who injured my mortal coil,' miserere mei. And if Saint Michael
shall have any campaigning against the powers of hell, old Zakshevski
will be useful yet."
The lieutenant, though he had looked so often upon death as a soldier
and inflicted it himself, could not restrain his tears while listening
to the old man, whose departure was like a quiet sunset.
At last, one morning the bells tolled in all the churches of Lubni,
announcing the death of Pan Zakshevski. That same day the prince came
from Senchy, and with him Bodzynski and Lyassota, with the whole court
and many nobles in a long train of carriages, for the company at Pan
Sufchinski's was very large. The prince arranged a great funeral,
wishing to honor the services of the deceased and to show how he loved
brave men. All the regiments at Lubni took part in the procession; from
the ramparts guns and cannon were fired; the cavalry marched from the
castle to the parish church in battle-array, but with furled banners;
after them the infantry, with muskets reversed. The prince himself,
dressed in mourning, rode behind the hearse in a gilded carriage, drawn
by eight milk-white horses with purple-stained manes and tails, and
tufts of black ostrich feathers on their heads. In front of the
carriage marched a detachment of janissaries, the body-guard of the
prince. Behind the carriage, on splendid steeds, rode pages in Spanish
costume; farther on, high officials of the castle, attendants, lackeys;
finally, haiduks and guards.
The cortége stopped before the church door, where the priest,
Yaskolski, made a speech beginning with the words: "Whither art thou
hastening, O Zakshevski!" Then speeches were made by some of his
comrades, and among them by Skshetuski, as the superior and friend of
the deceased. Then his body was borne into the church, and there was
heard the voice of the most eloquent of the eloquent, the Jesuit priest
Mukhovetski, who spoke with such loftiness and grace that the prince
himself wept; for he was a man of rare tenderness of heart and a real
father to the soldiers. He maintained an iron discipline, but was
unequalled in liberality and kindly treatment of people, and in the
care with which he surrounded not only them, but their children and
wives. Terrible and pitiless to rebels, he was a real benefactor, not
only to the nobility, but to all his people. When the locusts destroyed
the crops in 1646 he remitted the rent for a year, and ordered grain to
be given from the granaries to his subjects; and after the fire in
Khorol he supported all the townspeople at his own expense for two
months. Tenants and managers of crown estates trembled lest accounts of
any of the abuses or wrongs inflicted by them on the people should come
to the ears of the prince. His guardianship over orphans was so good
that these orphans were called, in the country beyond the Dnieper, "the
prince's children." Princess Griselda herself watched over this, aided
by Father Mukhovetski.
Order reigned in all the lands of the prince, with plenty, justice,
peace, but also terror,--for in case of the slightest opposition the
prince knew no bounds to his anger and to the punishments he inflicted;
to such a degree was magnanimity joined with severity in his nature.
But in those times and in those regions that severity alone permitted
life and the labor of men to thrive and continue. Thanks to it alone,
towns and villages rose, the agriculturist took the place of the
highwayman, the merchant sold his wares in peace, bells called the
devout in safety to prayer, the enemy dared not cross the boundaries,
crowds of thieves perished, empaled on stakes, or were changed into
regular soldiers, and the wilderness bloomed.
A wild country and its wild inhabitants needed such a hand; for to the
country beyond the Dnieper went the most restless elements of the
Ukraine. Settlers came in, allured by the land and the fatness of the
soil; runaway peasants from all lands of the Commonwealth; criminals
escaping from prison,--in one word, as Livy said, "Pastorum
convenarumque plebs transfuga ex suis populis." Only a lion at whose
roar everything trembled could hold them in check, make them peaceable
inhabitants, and force them into the bonds of settled life.
Pan Longin Podbipienta, seeing the prince for the first time at the
funeral, could not believe his own eyes. Having heard so much of his
glory, he imagined that he must be a sort of giant, a head above the
race of common men; while the prince was really of small stature, and
rather delicate. He was still young,--in the thirty-sixth year of his
age,--but on his countenance military toil was evident; and as he lived
in Lubni like a real king, so did he share in time of campaign and
expedition the hardships of the common soldier. He ate black bread,
slept on the ground in a blanket; and since the greater part of his
life was spent in labors of the camp, the years left their marks on his
face. But that countenance revealed at the first glance an
extraordinary man. There was depicted on it an iron, unbending will,
and a majesty before which all involuntarily inclined. It was evident
that this man knew his own power and greatness; and if on the morrow a
crown were placed on his head, he would not feel astonished or
oppressed by its weight. He had large eyes, calm, and indeed mild;
still, thunders seemed to slumber in them, and you felt that woe would
follow him who should rouse them. No man could endure the calm light of
that look; and ambassadors trained at courts on appearing before Yeremi
were seen to grow confused and unable to begin their discourse. He was,
moreover, in his domain beyond the Dnieper a genuine king. There went
out from his chancery privileges and grants headed, "We, by the grace
of God Prince and Lord," etc. There were few magnates whom he
considered equal to himself. Princes of the blood of ancient rulers
were his stewards. Such in his day was the father of Helena, Vassily
Bulyga Kurtsevich, who counted his descent, as already mentioned, from
Koryat; but really he was descended from Rurik.
There was something in Prince Yeremi which, in spite of his native
kindness, kept men at a distance. Loving soldiers, he was familiar with
them; with him no one dared to be familiar; and still, if he should ask
mounted knights to spring over the precipices of the Dnieper, they
would do so without stopping to think. From his Wallachian mother he
inherited a clearness of complexion like the color of iron at a white
glow, from which heat radiates, and hair black as a raven's wing,
which, shaven closely at the sides of his head, was cut square above
the brows, covering half his forehead. He wore the Polish costume, and
was not over-careful of his dress. Only on great occasions did he wear
costly apparel; but then he was all glitter from gold and jewels.
Pan Longin, a few days later, was present at such a solemnity, when the
prince gave audience to Rozvan Ursu. The reception of ambassadors
always took place in a Heavenly Hall, so called because on its ceiling
was depicted the firmament of heaven with the stars, by the pencil of
Helm of Dantzig. On that occasion the prince sat under a canopy of
velvet and ermine on an elevated seat like a throne, the footstool of
which was bound with a gilded circle. Behind the prince stood the
priest Mukhovetski, his secretary, the steward prince Voronich, and Pan
Boguslav Mashkevich; farther on, pages and twelve body-guards, in
Spanish costume, bearing halberts. The depths of the hall were filled
with knights in splendid dress and uniforms. Pan Rozvan asked, in the
name of the hospodar, that the prince by his influence and the terror
of his name should cause the Khan to prohibit the Budjak Tartars from
attacking Wallachia, where they caused fearful losses and devastation
every year. The prince answered in elegant Latin that the Budjak
Tartars were not over-obedient to the Khan himself; still, since he
expected to receive an envoy of the Khan during the coming April, he
would remind the Khan through him of the injury done the Wallachians.
Pan Yan had already given a report of his embassy and his journey,
together with all he had heard of Hmelnitski and his flight to the
Saitch. The prince decided to despatch a few regiments to Kudák, but
did not attach great importance to this affair. Since nothing appeared
therefore to threaten the peace and power of his domain beyond the
Dnieper, festivals and amusements were begun in Lubni by reason of the
presence of the envoy Rozvan, also because Bodzynski and Lyassota on
the part of the son of the voevoda Pshiyemski had made a formal
proposal for the hand of Anna, the elder princess, and had received a
favorable answer from the prince and the Princess Griselda.
Volodyovski suffered not a little from this; and when Skshetuski tried
to pour consolation into his heart, he answered,--
"It is easy for you to talk; you have but to wish and Anusia
Borzobogata will not avoid you. She spoke of you very handsomely all
the time. I thought at first that she was rousing the jealousy of
Bykhovets; but I see that she was ready to put him on a hook, feeling
living sentiment in her heart for you alone."
"Oh! what is Anusia to me? Return to her; I have no objection. But
forget Princess Anna, since thinking of her is like wishing to cover
the ph[oe]nix on its nest with your cap."
"I know she is a ph[oe]nix, and therefore I shall surely die of grief
for her."
"You'll live and straightway be in love again; but don't fall in love
with Princess Barbara, for another son of a voevoda will snatch her
away from under your nose."
"Is the heart a servant at command, or can the eyes be stopped from
looking at such a wonderful being as Princess Barbara, the sight of
whom would be enough to move wild beasts themselves?"
"Well, devil, here is an overcoat for you!" cried Pan Yan. "I see you
will console yourself without my help. But I repeat. Go back to Anusia;
you will meet with no hindrance from me."
But Anusia was not thinking, in fact, of Volodyovski. Instead of that,
her curiosity was roused. She was angry at the indifference of
Skshetuski, who on his return from so long an absence did not even look
at her. In the evening, when the prince with his chief officers and
courtiers came to the drawing-room of the princess to converse, Anusia,
looking from behind the shoulder of her mistress (for the princess was
tall and Anusia was short), peered with her black eyes into the
lieutenant's face, wishing to get at the solution of this riddle. But
the eyes of Skshetuski, like his mind, were elsewhere; and when his
glance fell on the maiden it was as preoccupied and glassy as if he had
never looked upon her, of whom he had once sung,--
"The Tartar seizes people captive;
Thou seizest captive hearts!"
"What has happened to him?" asked of herself the petted favorite of the
whole castle; and stamping with her little foot, she determined to
investigate the matter. She didn't love Skshetuski; but accustomed to
homage, she was unable to endure neglect, and was ready from very spite
to fall in love with the insolent fellow.
Once, when running with skeins of thread for the princess, she met Pan
Yan coming out of the bedchamber of the prince. She ran against him
like a storm, striking him full in the breast; then springing back, she
exclaimed,--
"Oh, how you have frightened me! Good-day, sir!"
"Good-day. Am I such a monster as to terrify you?"
She stood with downcast eyes, began to twist the end of her tresses,
and standing first on one foot and then on the other, as if confused,
she answered with a smile: "Oh, no! not at all,--sure as I love my
mother!" She looked quickly at the lieutenant and dropped her eyes a
second time. "Are you angry with me?" asked she.
"I? But could Panna Anna care for my anger?"
"Well, to tell the truth, no. Maybe you think that I would fall to
crying at once? Pan Bykhovets is more polite."
"If that is true, there is nothing for me but to leave the field to Pan
Bykhovets and vanish from the eyes of Panna Anna."
"Do I prevent you?" Having said this, Anusia blocked the way before
him. "You have just returned from the Crimea?" asked she.
"From the Crimea."
"And what have you brought back from the Crimea?"
"I've brought back Pan Podbipienta. You have seen him, I think? A very
amiable and excellent cavalier."
"It is sure he is more amiable than you. And why has he come?"
"So there might be some one on whom Panna Anna might try her power. But
I advise great care, for I know a secret which makes this cavalier
invincible, and Panna Anna can do nothing with him."
"Why is he invincible?"
"He cannot marry."
"What do I care for that? Why can he not marry?"
Skshetuski bent to the ear of the young woman, but said very clearly
and emphatically: "He has made a vow of celibacy."
"Oh, you stupid!" cried Anusia, quickly; and at the same moment she
shot away like a frightened bird.
That evening, however, she looked for the first time carefully at Pan
Longin. The guests were numerous, for the prince gave a farewell dinner
to Pan Bodzynski. Our Lithuanian, dressed with care in a white satin
tunic and a dark blue velvet coat, had a grand appearance, especially
since a light curved sabre hung at his side in a gilded sheath, instead
of his death-dealing long sword.
The eyes of Anusia shot their darts at Pan Longin, somewhat on purpose
to spite Skshetuski. The lieutenant would not have noticed them,
however, had it not been for Volodyovski, who, pushing him with his
elbow, said,--
"May captivity strike me if Anusia isn't making up to that Lithuanian
hop-pole!"
"Tell him so."
"Of course I will. They will make a pair."
"Yes, he might wear her in place of a button in his coat, such is the
proportion between them, or instead of a plume in his cap."
Volodyovski went up to the Lithuanian and said: "It is not long since
you arrived, but I see you are getting to be a great rogue."
"How is that, brother? how is that?"
"You have already turned the head of the prettiest girl among the
ladies in waiting."
"Oh, my dear friend!" said Podbipienta, clasping his hands together,
"what do you tell me?"
"Well, look for yourself at Panna Anusia Borzobogata, with whom we have
all fallen in love, and see how she fixes you with her eyes. But look
out that she doesn't fool you as she has us!"
When he had said this, Volodyovski turned on his heel and walked off,
leaving Podbipienta in meditation. He did not indeed dare to look in
the direction of Anusia at once. After a time, however, he cast a quick
glance at her, but he trembled. From behind the shoulder of Princess
Griselda two shining eyes looked on him steadfastly and curiously.
"Avaunt, Satan!" thought the Lithuanian; and he hurried off to the
other end of the hall, blushing like a schoolboy.
Still, the temptation was great. That imp, looking from behind the
shoulder of the princess, possessed such charm, those eyes shone so
clearly, that something drew Pan Longin on to glance at them even once
more. But that moment he remembered his vow. Zervikaptur stood before
him, his ancestor Stoveiko Podbipienta, the three severed heads,--and
terror seized him. He made the sign of the cross, and looked at her no
more that evening. But next morning, early, he went to the quarters of
Pan Yan.
"Well, Lieutenant, are we going to march soon? What do you hear about
the war?"
"You are in great straits. Be patient till you join the regiment."
Pan Podbipienta had not yet been enrolled in the place of the
late Zakshevski; he had to wait till the quarter of the year had
expired,--till the first of April. But he was in a real hurry;
therefore he asked,--
"And has the prince said nothing about this matter?"
"Nothing. The king won't stop thinking of war while he lives, but the
Commonwealth does not want it."
"But they say in Chigirin that a Cossack rebellion is threatened."
"It is evident that your vow troubles you greatly. As to a rebellion,
you may be sure there will be none till spring; for though the winter
is mild, winter is winter. It is now the 15th of February, and frost
may come any day. The Cossacks will not take the field till they can
intrench themselves behind earthworks; they fight terribly, but in the
field they cannot hold their own."
"So one must wait for the Cossacks?"
"Think of this, too, that although you should find your three heads in
time of rebellion, it is unknown whether you would be released from
your vow; for Crusaders or Turks are one thing, and your own people are
another,--children of the same mother, as it were."
"Oh, great God! what a blow you have planted on my head! Here is
desperation! Let the priest Mukhovetski relieve me from this doubt, for
otherwise I shall not have a moment's rest."
"He will surely solve your doubt, for he is a learned and pious man;
but he will not tell you anything else. Civil war is a war of
brothers."
"But if a foreign power should come to the aid of the rebels?"
"Then you would have a chance. Meanwhile I can recommend but one thing
to you,--wait, and be quiet."
But Skshetuski was unable to follow this advice himself. His melancholy
increased continually. He was annoyed by the festivals at the castle,
and by those faces on which some time before he gazed with such
pleasure. Bodzynski and Rozvan Ursu departed at last, and after their
departure profound quiet set in. Life began to flow on monotonously.
The prince was occupied with the review of his enormous estates, and
every morning shut himself in with his agents, who were arriving from
all Rus and Sandomir, so that even military exercises took place but
rarely. The noisy feasts of the officers, at which future wars were
discussed, wearied Skshetuski beyond measure; so he used to go out with
a gun on his shoulder to Solonitsa, where Jolkefski had inflicted such
terrible defeats on Nalivaika, Loboda, and Krempski. The traces of
these battles had already disappeared from the memory of men, and the
field of conflict; but from time to time the earth cast up from its
bosom whitened bones, and beyond the water was visible the Cossack
breastwork from behind which the Zaporojians of Loboda and the
volunteers of Nalivaika had made such a desperate defence. But a dense
grove had already spread its roots over the breastwork. That was the
place where Skshetuski hid himself from the noise of the castle; and
instead of shooting at birds he fell into meditation, and before the
eyes of his spirit stood the form of the beloved maiden called hither
by his memory and his heart. There in the mist, the rustle of the
reeds, and the melancholy of those places he found solace in his own
yearning.
But later on began abundant rains, the harbinger of spring. Solonitsa
became a morass; it was difficult to put one's head from under the
roof. The lieutenant was deprived, therefore, even of the comfort which
he had found in wandering about alone; and immediately his disquiet
began to increase, and justly. He had hoped at first that the princess
would come immediately with Helena to Lubni, if she could only succeed
in sending Bogun away; but now that hope vanished. The wet weather had
destroyed the roads; the steppe for many miles on both sides of the
Sula had become an enormous quagmire, which could not be crossed till
the warm sun of spring should suck out the superfluous water.
All this time Helena would have to remain under guardianship in which
Skshetuski had no trust, in a real den of wolves, among wild, uncouth
people, ill disposed to him. They had, it is true, to keep faith for
their own sake, and really they had no other choice; but who could
guess what they might invent, what they might venture upon, especially
when they were pressed by the terrible Bogun, whom they seemed both to
love and fear? It would be easy for Bogun to force them to yield up the
girl, for similar deeds were not rare. In this way Loboda, the comrade
of the ill-starred Nalivaika, had forced Pani Poplinska to give him her
foster-daughter as wife, although she was of good family and hated the
Cossack with her whole soul. And if what was said of the immeasurable
wealth of Bogun were true, he might remunerate them for the girl and
the loss of Rozlogi. And then what? "Then," thought Pan Yan, "they will
tell me with a sneer, 'Your lash is lost,' they will vanish into some
Lithuanian or Mazovian wilderness, where even the hand of the prince
cannot reach them."
Skshetuski shook as if in a fever at the thought, and was impatient as
a chained wolf, regretted the word of honor he had given the princess,
and knew not what to do. He was a man who was unwilling to let chance
pull him on by the beard. There was great energy and enterprise in his
nature. He did not wait for what fate would give, he chose to take fate
by the shoulder and force it to give him good fortune; hence it was
more difficult for him than any other man to sit with folded hands in
Lubni. He resolved, therefore, to act. He had a young lad in waiting,
Jendzian, from Podlesia,--sixteen years old, but a most cunning rogue,
whom no old fox could out-trick,--and he determined to send him to
Helena at once to discover everything.
February was at an end; the rains had ceased. March appeared rather
favorable, and the roads must have improved a little. Jendzian got
ready for the journey, Skshetuski provided him with paper, pens, and a
bottle of ink, which he commanded him to guard as the eye in his head,
for he remembered that those things were not to be had at Rozlogi. The
young fellow was not to tell from whom he came, but to pretend that he
was going to Chigirin, to keep a sharp eye on everything, and
especially to find out carefully where Bogun was, and what he was
doing. Jendzian did not wait to have his instructions repeated; he
stuck his cap on the side of his head, cracked his whip, and was off.
Dreary days of waiting set in for Skshetuski. To kill time, he occupied
himself in sword exercise with Volodyovski, who was a great master in
this art, or hurled javelins at a ring. There happened in Lubni also
something which came near costing the lieutenant his life. One day a
bear, having broken away from his chain, wounded two stable-boys,
frightened the horse of Pan Hlebovski, the commissary, and finally
rushed on the lieutenant, who was on his way to the prince at the
armory without a sabre, and had only a light stick with a brass knob in
his hand. He would have perished undoubtedly, had it not been for Pan
Longin, who, seeing from the armory what was passing, rushed for his
long sword, and hurried to the rescue. Pan Longin showed himself a
worthy descendant of his ancestor Stoveiko in the full sense, for with
one blow he swept off the front half of the bear's head, together with
his paw, before the eyes of the whole court. This proof of
extraordinary strength was seen from the window by the prince himself,
who took Pan Longin afterward to the apartments of the princess, where
Anusia Borzobogata so tempted him with her eyes that next morning he
had to go to confession, and for three days following he did not show
himself in the castle until by earnest prayer he had expelled every
temptation.
Ten days had passed, and no sign of Jendzian. Skshetuski had grown so
thin from waiting and so wretched-looking that Anusia began to ask,
through messengers, what the matter was, and Carboni, physician of the
princess, prescribed an herb for melancholy. But he needed another
remedy; for he was thinking of his princess day and night, and with
each moment he felt more clearly that no trivial feeling had nestled in
his heart, but a great love which must be satisfied, or his breast
would burst like a weak vessel.
It is easy to imagine, then, the gladness of Pan Yan when one morning
about daybreak Jendzian entered his room covered with mud, weary, thin,
but joyful, and with good news written on his forehead. The lieutenant
tore himself from the bed, rushed to the youth, caught him by the
shoulder, and cried,--
"Have you a letter?"
"I have. Here it is."
The lieutenant tore it open and began to read. For a long time he had
been in doubt whether in the most favorable event Jendzian would bring
a letter, for he was not sure that Helena knew how to write. Women in
the country were uneducated, and Helena was reared among illiterate
people. It was evident now that her father had taught her to write, for
she had sent a long letter on four pages of paper. The poor girl didn't
know how to express herself elegantly or rhetorically, but she wrote
straight from the heart, as follows:--
"Indeed I shall never forget you. You will forget me sooner, for I hear
that there are deceivers among you. But since you have sent your lad on
purpose so many miles, it is evident that I am dear to you as you are
to me, for which I thank you with a grateful heart. Do not think that
it is not against my feeling of modesty to write thus to you about
loving; but it is better to tell the truth, than to lie or dissemble
when there is something altogether different in the heart. I have asked
Jendzian what you are doing in Lubni, and what are the customs at a
great castle; and when he told me about the beauty and comeliness of
the young ladies there, I began to cry from sorrow"--
Here the lieutenant stopped reading and asked Jendzian: "What did you
tell her, you dunce?"
"Everything good," answered Jendzian.
The lieutenant read on:--
--"for how could I, ignorant girl, be equal to them? But your servant
told me that you wouldn't look at any of them"--
"You answered well," said the lieutenant.
Jendzian didn't know what the question was, for the lieutenant read to
himself; but he put on a wise look and coughed significantly.
Skshetuski read on:--
--"and I immediately consoled myself, begging God to keep you for the
future in such feeling for me and to bless us both,--Amen. I have also
yearned for you as if for my mother; for it is sad for me, orphan in
the world, when not near you. God sees that my heart is clean; anything
else comes from my want of experience, which you must forgive."
Farther on in the letter, the charming princess wrote that she and her
aunt would come to Lubni as soon as the roads were better, and that the
old princess herself wanted to hasten the journey, for tidings were
coming from Chigirin of Cossack disturbances. She was only waiting for
the return of her sons, who had gone to Boguslav to the horse-fair.
"You are a real wizard [wrote Helena] to be able to win my aunt to your
side."
Here the lieutenant smiled, for he remembered the means which he was
forced to use in winning her aunt. The letter ended with assurances of
unbroken and true love such as a future wife owed her husband. And in
general a genuine good heart was evident in it. Therefore the
lieutenant read the affectionate letter several times from beginning to
end, repeating to himself in spirit, "My dear girl, may God forsake me
if I ever abandon you!"
Then he began to examine Jendzian on every point.
The cunning lad gave him a detailed account of the whole journey. He
was received politely. The old princess made inquiries of him
concerning the lieutenant, and learning that he was a famous knight, a
confidant of the prince, and a man of property besides, she was glad.
"She asked me, too," said Jendzian, "if you always keep your word when
you make a promise, and I answered, 'My noble lady, if the Wallachian
horse on which I have come had been promised me, I should be sure he
wouldn't escape me.'"
"You are a rogue," said the lieutenant; "but since you have given such
bonds for me, you may keep the horse. You made no pretences, then,--you
said that I sent you?"
"Yes, for I saw that I might; and I was still better received,
especially by the young lady, who is so wonderful that there isn't
another like her in the world. When she knew that I came from you, she
didn't know where to seat me; and if it hadn't been a time of fast, I
should have been really in heaven. While reading your letter she shed
tears of delight."
The lieutenant was silent from joy, too, and after a moment asked
again: "But did you hear nothing of that fellow Bogun?"
"I didn't get to ask the old lady or the young princess about him, but
I gained the confidence of Chehly, the old Tartar, who, though a pagan,
is a faithful servant of the young lady. He said they were all very
angry at you, but became reconciled afterward, when they discovered
that the reports of Bogun's treasures were fables."
"How did they discover that?"
"Well, you see, this is how it was. They had a dispute with the
Sivinskis which they bound themselves to settle by payment. When the
time came, they went to Bogun with, 'Lend us money!' 'I have some
Turkish goods,' said he, 'but no money; for what I had I squandered.'
When they heard this, they dropped him, and their affection turned to
you."
"It must be said that you have found out everything well."
"If I had found out one thing and neglected another, then you might say
that you would give me the horse, but not the saddle; and what is the
horse without a saddle?"
"Well, well, take the saddle too."
"Thank you most humbly. They sent Bogun off to Pereyasláv immediately.
When I found that out, I thought to myself, 'Why shouldn't I push on to
Pereyasláv? My master will be satisfied with me, and a uniform will
come to me the sooner.'"
"You'll get it next quarter. So you were in Pereyasláv?"
"I was, but didn't find Bogun. Old Colonel Loboda is sick. They say
Bogun will succeed him soon. But something strange is going on. Hardly
a handful of Cossacks have remained in the regiment; the others, they
say, have gone after Bogun, or run away to the Saitch; and this is very
important, for some rebellion is on foot. I wanted to know something
certain about Bogun, but all they told me was that he had crossed to
the Russian bank.[7] 'Well,' thought I, 'if that is true, then our
princess is safe from him;' and I returned."
"You did well. Had you any adventures on the road?"
"No, but I want awfully to eat something."
Jendzian went out; and the lieutenant, being alone, began to read
Helena's letter again, and to press to his lips those characters that
were not so shapely as the hand that had penned them. Confidence
entered his heart, and he thought,--
"The road will soon dry, if God gives good weather. The Kurtsevichi,
too, knowing that Bogun has nothing, will be sure not to betray me. I
will leave Rozlogi to them, and add something of my own to get that
dear little star."
He dressed with a bright face, and with a bosom full of happiness went
to the chapel to thank God humbly for the good news.