Complete works of henryk.., p.284
Complete Works of Henryk Sienkiewicz, page 284
At that moment a waiting-woman appeared again at the door of the room.
Zagloba sprang toward her.
“How is it there?”
“She is sleeping.”
“Is she sleeping? Praise be to God!”
“Maybe the Lord will grant—”
“What is the Pan Commandant doing?”
“The Pan Commandant is at her bedside.”
“That is well. Go now for what you were sent.”
Zagloba turned to the officers and said, repeating the words of the woman, —
“May the Most High God have mercy! She is sleeping! Some hope is entering me — Uf!”
And they sighed deeply in like manner. Then they gathered around Zagloba in a close circle and began to inquire, —
“For God’s sake, how did it happen? What happened? How did she escape on foot?”
“At first she did not escape on foot,” whispered Zagloba, “but with two horses, for she threw that dog from his saddle, — may the plague slay him!”
“I cannot believe my ears!”
“She struck him with the butt of a pistol between the eyes; and as they were some distance behind no one saw them, and no one pursued. The wolves ate one horse, and the other was drowned under the ice. O Merciful Christ! She went, the poor thing, alone through forests, without eating, without drinking.”
Here Pan Zagloba burst out crying again, and stopped his narrative for a time; the officers too sat down on benches, filled with wonder and horror and pity for the woman who was loved by all.
“When she came near Hreptyoff,” continued Zagloba, after a while, “she did not know the place, and was preparing to die; just then she heard the squeak of the well-sweeps, knew that she was near us, and dragged herself home with her last breath.”
“God guarded her in such straits,” said Pan Motovidlo, wiping his moist mustaches. “He will guard her further.”
“It will be so! You have touched the point,” whispered a number of voices.
With that a louder noise came in from the square; Zagloba sprang up again in a rage, and rushed out through the doorway.
Head was thrust up to head on the square; but at sight of Zagloba and two other officers the soldiers pushed back into a half-circle.
“Be quiet, you dog souls!” began Zagloba, “or I’ll command—”
But out of the half-circle stepped Zydor Lusnia, — a sergeant of dragoons, a real Mazovian, and one of Pan Michael’s favorite soldiers. This man advanced a couple of steps, straightened himself out like a string, and said with a voice of decision, —
“Your grace, since such a son has injured our lady, as I live, we cannot but move on him and take vengeance; all beg to do this. And if the colonel cannot go, we will go under another command, even to the Crimea itself, to capture that man; and remembering our lady, we will not spare him.”
A stubborn, cold, peasant threat sounded in the voice of the sergeant; other dragoons and attendants in the accompanying squadrons began to grit their teeth, shake their sabres, puff, and murmur. This deep grumbling, like the grumbling of a bear in the night, had in it something simply terrible.
The sergeant stood erect waiting for an answer; behind him whole ranks were waiting, and in them was evident such obstinacy and rage that in presence of it even the ordinary obedience of soldiers disappeared.
Silence continued for a while; all at once some voice in a remoter line called out, —
“The blood of that one is the best medicine for ‘the lady.’”
Zagloba’s anger fell away, for that attachment of the soldiers to Basia touched him; and at that mention of medicine another plan flashed up in his head, — namely, to bring a doctor to Basia. At the first moment in that wild Hreptyoff no one had thought of a doctor; but nevertheless there were many of them in Kamenyets, — among others a certain Greek, a famous man, wealthy, the owner of a number of stone houses, and so learned that he passed everywhere as almost skilled in the black art. But there was a doubt whether he, being wealthy, would be willing to come at any price to such a desert, — he to whom even magnates spoke with respect.
Zagloba meditated for a short time, and then said, —
“A fitting vengeance will not miss that arch hound, I promise you that; and he would surely prefer to have his grace, the king, swear vengeance against him than to have Zagloba do it. But it is not known whether he is alive yet; for the lady, in tearing herself out of his hands, struck him with the butt of her pistol right in the brain. But this is not the time to think of him, for first we must save the lady.”
“We should be glad to do it, even with our own lives,” answered Lusnia.
And the crowd muttered again in support of the sergeant.
“Listen to me,” said Zagloba. “In Kamenyets lives a doctor named Rodopul. You will go to him; you will tell him that the starosta of Podolia has sprained his leg at this place and is waiting for rescue. And if he is outside the wall, seize him, put him on a horse, or into a bag, and bring him to Hreptyoff without stopping. I will give command to have horses disposed at short distances apart, and you will go at a gallop. Only be careful to bring him alive, for we have no business with dead doctors.”
A mutter of satisfaction was heard on every side; Lusnia moved his stern mustaches and said, —
“I will bring him surely, and I will not lose him till we come to Hreptyoff.”
“Move on!”
“I pray your grace—”
“What more?”
“But if he should die of fright?”
“He will not. Take six men and move.”
Lusnia shot away. The others were glad to do something for the lady; they ran to saddle the horses, and in a few “Our Fathers” six men were racing to Kamenyets. After them others took additional horses, to be disposed along the road.
Zagloba, satisfied with himself, returned to the house.
After a while Pan Michael came out of the bedroom, changed, half conscious, indifferent to words of sympathy and consolation. When he had informed Zagloba that Basia was sleeping continually, he dropped on the bench, and gazed with wandering look on the door beyond which she was lying. It seemed to the officers that he was listening; therefore all restrained their breathing, and a perfect stillness settled down in the room.
After a certain time Zagloba went on tiptoe to the little knight.
“Michael,” said he, “I have sent to Kamenyets for a doctor; but maybe it is well to send for some one else?”
Volodyovski was collecting his thoughts, and apparently did not understand.
“For a priest,” said Zagloba. “Father Kaminski might come by morning.”
The little knight closed his eyes, turned toward the fire, his face as pale as a kerchief, and said in a hurried voice, —
“Jesus, Jesus, Jesus!”
Zagloba inquired no further, but went out and made arrangements. When he returned, Pan Michael was no longer in the room. The officers told Zagloba that the sick woman had called her husband, it was unknown whether in a fever or in her senses.
The old noble convinced himself soon, by inspection, that it was in a fever.
Basia’s cheeks were bright red; her eyes, though glittering, were dull, as if the pupils had mingled with the white; her pale hands were searching for something before her, with a monotonous motion, on the coverlet. Pan Michael was lying half alive at her feet.
From time to time the sick woman muttered something in a low voice, or uttered uncertain phrases more loudly; among them “Hreptyoff” was repeated most frequently: evidently it seemed to her at times that she was still on the road. That movement of her hands on the coverlet disturbed Zagloba especially, for in its unconscious monotony he saw signs of coming death. He was a man of experience, and many people had died in his presence; but never had his heart been cut with such sorrow as at sight of that flower withering so early.
Understanding that God alone could save that quenching life, he knelt at the bed and began to pray, and to pray earnestly.
Meanwhile Basia’s breath grew heavier, and changed by degrees to a rattling. Volodyovski sprang up from her feet; Zagloba rose from his knees. Neither said a word to the other; they merely looked into each other’s eyes, and in that look there was terror. It seemed to them that she was dying, but it seemed so only for some moments; soon her breathing was easier and even slower.
Thenceforth they were between fear and hope. The night dragged on slowly. Neither did the officers go to rest; they sat in the room, now looking at the door of the bedroom, now whispering among themselves, now dozing. At intervals a boy came in to throw wood on the fire; and at each movement of the latch they sprang from the bench, thinking that Volodyovski or Zagloba was coming, and they would hear the terrible words, “She is living no longer!”
At last the cocks crowed, and she was still struggling with the fever. Toward morning a fierce rain-storm burst forth; it roared among the beams, howled on the roof; at times the flames quivered in the chimney, casting into the room puffs of smoke and sparks. About daylight Pan Motovidlo stepped out quietly, for he had to go on a reconnoissance. At last day came pale and cloudy, and lighted weary faces.
On the square the usual movement began. In the whistling of the storm were heard the tramp of horses on the planking of the stable, the squeak of the well-sweeps, and the voices of soldiers; but soon a bell sounded, — Father Kaminski had come.
When he entered, wearing his white surplice, the officers fell on their knees. It seemed to all that the solemn moment had come, after which death must follow undoubtedly. The sick woman had not regained consciousness; therefore the priest could not hear her confession. He only gave her extreme unction; then he began to console the little knight, and to persuade him to yield to the will of God. But there was no effect in that consolation, for no words could reach his pain.
For a whole day death hovered over Basia. Like a spider, which secreted in some gloomy corner of the ceiling crawls out at times to the light, and lets itself down on an unseen web, death seemed at times to come down right there over Basia’s head; and more than once it seemed to those present that his shadow was falling on her forehead, that that bright soul was just opening its wings to fly away out of Hreptyoff, somewhere into endless space, to the other side of life. Then again death, like a spider, hid away under the ceiling, and hope filled their hearts.
But that was merely a partial and temporary hope, for no one dared to think that Basia would survive the attack. Pan Michael himself had no hope of her recovery; and this pain of his became so great that Zagloba, though suffering severely himself, began to be afraid, and to commend him to the care of the officers.
“For God’s sake, look after him!” said the old man; “he may plunge a knife into his body.”
This did not come, indeed, to Pan Michael’s head; but in that rending sorrow and pain he asked himself continually, —
“How am I to stay behind when she goes? How can I let that dearest love go alone? What will she say when she looks around and does not find me near her?”
Thinking thus, he wished with all the powers of his soul to die with her; for as he could not imagine life for himself on earth without her, in like manner he did not understand that she could be happy in that life without him, and not yearn for him. In the afternoon the ill-omened spider hid again in the ceiling. The flush in Basia’s cheeks was quenched, and the fever decreased to a degree that some consciousness came back to her.
She lay for a time with closed eyes, then, opening them, looked into the face of the little knight, and asked, —
“Michael, am I in Hreptyoff?”
“Yes, my love,” answered Volodyovski, closing his teeth.
“And are you really near me?”
“Yes; how do you feel?”
“Ai, well.”
It was clear that she herself was not certain that the fever had not brought before her eyes deceptive visions; but from that moment she regained consciousness more and more.
In the evening Lusnia and his men came and shook out of a bag before the fort the doctor of Kamenyets, together with his medicines; he was barely alive. But when he learned that he was not in robber hands, as he thought, but was brought in that fashion to a patient, after a passing faintness he went to the rescue at once, especially as Zagloba held before him in one hand a purse filled with coin, in the other a loaded pistol, and said, —
“Here is the fee for life, and there is the fee for death.”
That same night, about daybreak, the spider of ill-omen hid away somewhere for good; thereupon the decision of the doctor, “She will be sick a long time, but she will recover,” sounded with joyful echo through Hreptyoff. When Pan Michael heard it first, he fell on the floor and broke into such violent sobbing that it seemed as though his bosom would burst. Zagloba grew weak altogether from joy, so that his face was covered with sweat, and he was barely able to exclaim, “A drink!” The officers embraced one another.
On the square the dragoons assembled again, with the escort and the Cossacks of Pan Motovidlo; it was hardly possible to restrain them from shouting. They wanted absolutely to show their delight in some fashion, and they began to beg for a number of robbers imprisoned in the cellars of Hreptyoff, so as to hang them for the benefit of the lady.
But the little knight refused.
CHAPTER XLIII.
Basia suffered so violently for a week yet, that had it not been for the assurance of the doctor both Pan Michael and Zagloba would have admitted that the flame of her life might expire at any moment. Only at the end of that time did she become notably better; her consciousness returned fully, and though the doctor foresaw that she would lie in bed a month, or a month and a half, still it was certain that she would return to perfect health, and gain her former strength.
Pan Michael during her illness went hardly one step from her pillow; he loved her after these perils still more, if possible, and did not see the world beyond her. At times when he sat near her, when he looked on that face, still thin and emaciated but joyous, and those eyes, into which the old fire was returning each day, he was beset by the wish to laugh, to cry, and to shout from delight: —
“My only Basia is recovering; she is recovering!”
And he rushed at her hands, and sometimes he kissed those poor little feet which had waded so valiantly through the deep snows to Hreptyoff; in a word, he loved her and honored her beyond estimation. He felt wonderfully indebted to Providence, and on a certain time he said in presence of Zagloba and the officers: —
“I am a poor man, but even were I to work off my arms to the elbows, I will find money for a little church, even a wooden one. And as often as they ring the bells in it, I will remember the mercy of God, and the soul will be melting within me from gratitude.”
“God grant us first to pass through this Turkish war with success,” said Zagloba.
“The Lord knows best what pleases Him most,” replied the little knight: “if He wishes for a church He will preserve me; and if He prefers my blood, I shall not spare it, as God is dear to me.”
Basia with health regained her humor. Two weeks later she gave command to open the door of her chamber a little one evening; and when the officers had assembled in the room, she called out with her silvery voice: —
“Good-evening, gentlemen! I shall not die this time, aha!”
“Thanks to the Most High God!” answered the officers, in chorus.
“Glory be to God, dear child!” exclaimed Pan Motovidlo, who loved Basia particularly with a fatherly affection, and who in moments of great emotion spoke always in Russian.
“See, gentlemen,” continued Basia, “what has happened! Who could have hoped for this? Lucky that it ended so.”
“God watched over innocence,” called the chorus again through the door.
“But Pan Zagloba laughed at me more than once, because I have more love for the sabre than the distaff. Well, a distaff or a needle would have helped me greatly! But didn’t I act like a cavalier, didn’t I?”
“An angel could not have done better!”
Zagloba interrupted the conversation by closing the door of the chamber, for he feared too much excitement for Basia. But she was angry as a cat at the old man, for she had a wish for further conversation, and especially to hear more praises of her bravery and valor. When danger had passed, and was merely a reminiscence, she was very proud of her action against Azya, and demanded praise absolutely. More than once she turned to the little knight, and pushing his breast with her finger said, with the mien of a spoiled child, —
“Praise for the bravery!”
And he, the obedient, praised her and fondled her, and kissed her on the eyes and on the hands, till Zagloba, though he was greatly affected himself in reality, pretended to be scandalized, and muttered, —
“Ah, everything will be as lax as grandfather’s whip.”
The general rejoicing in Hreptyoff over Basia’s recovery was troubled only by the remembrance of the injury which Azya’s treason had wrought in the Commonwealth, and the terrible fate of old Pan Novoveski, of Pani and Panna Boski, and of Eva. Basia was troubled no little by this, and with her every one; for the events at Rashkoff were known in detail, not only in Hreptyoff, but in Kamenyets and farther on. A few days before, Pan Myslishevski had stopped in Hreptyoff; notwithstanding the treason of Azya, Krychinski, and Adurovich, he did not lose hope of attracting to the Polish side the other captains. After Pan Myslishevski came Pan Bogush, and later, news directly from Mohiloff, Yampol, and Rashkoff itself.
In Mohiloff, Pan Gorzenski, evidently a better soldier than orator, did not let himself be deceived. Intercepting Azya’s orders to the Tartars whom he left behind, Pan Gorzenski fell upon them, with a handful of Mazovian infantry, and cut them down or took them prisoners; besides, he sent a warning to Yampol, through which that place was saved. The troops returned soon after. So Rashkoff was the only victim. Pan Michael received a letter from Pan Byaloglovski himself, giving a report of events there and other affairs relating to the whole Commonwealth.
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