With Fire and Sword

by Henryk Sienkiewicz

“Are you Juno in person or some other divinity?” thought the lieutenant, seeing the form straight as an arrow, the swelling bosom, and the white falcon on her shoulder. Our lieutenant stood with uncovered head and forgot himself as before a marvellous image; his eyes gleamed, and something, as if with a hand, seized his heart, and he was about to begin, “If you are a mortal and not a divinity,” when the envoy, the falconer with his hoop, and Pan Longin came up. On seeing them the goddess held her hand to the falcon, which, leaving the shoulder, came to the hand at once, shifting from foot to foot.

  The lieutenant, anticipating the falconer, wished to remove the bird, when suddenly a wonderful omen was seen. The falcon, leaving one foot on the hand of the lady, caught with the other the hand of the lieutenant, and instead of going to it began to scream joyfully and pull the hands together with such power that they touched. A quiver ran over the lieutenant. The bird allowed herself to be taken only after being hooded by the falconer. Then the old lady began to speak.

  “Gentlemen!” said she, “whoever you are, you will not deny your assistance to women who, left helpless on the road, know not themselves what to do. It is no more than fifteen miles to our house; but the carriage is broken, and we shall surely have to spend the night in the field. I hurried off the driver to have my sons send even a wagon; but before he reaches the house and returns, darkness will come, and it is a terrible thing to be out in this place, for there are graves in the neighborhood.”

  The old lady spoke rapidly and with such a rough voice that the lieutenant was astonished; still he answered politely,—

  “Do not think that we should leave you and your beautiful daughter without assistance. We are going to Lubni, for we are soldiers in the service of Prince Yeremi, and likely our roads are in the same direction; and even if they are not, we shall be glad to go out of our way in case our assistance is acceptable. As to a carriage I have none, for with my companions I am travelling, soldier-fashion, on horseback; but the envoy has, and being an affable gentleman will be glad, I think, to put it at the service of yourself and your daughter.”

  The envoy removed his sable cap, for knowing the Polish language he understood the conversation, and with a delicate compliment as became a gracious boyar, he yielded his carriage to the ladies, and straightway ordered the falconer to gallop for it to the wagons, which had lagged considerably in the rear. Meanwhile the lieutenant looked at the young lady, who, unable to endure his eager glance, dropped her eyes; and the elderly lady, who had a Cossack face, continued,—

  “God reward you, gentlemen, for your assistance; and since there is still a long road to Lubni, do not reject my roof and that of my sons, under which we shall be glad to see you. We are from Rozlogi-Siromakhi. I am the widow of Prince Kurtsevich Bulyga; and this is not my daughter, but the daughter of the elder Kurtsevich, brother of my husband, who left his orphan to our care. My sons are not all at home this moment, and I am returning from Cherkasi, where I was performing devotions at the altar of the Holy Mother, and on our way back this accident has met us, and were it not for your politeness, gentlemen, we should undoubtedly have to pass the night on the road.”

  The princess would have said still more, but at that moment the wagons appeared in the distance, approaching at a trot, surrounded by a crowd of the envoy’s retinue and the soldiers of Pan Yan.

  “Then you are the widow of Prince Vassily Kurtsevich?” asked the lieutenant.

  “No!” retorted the princess, quickly and as if in anger; “I am the widow of Constantine, and this is the daughter of Vassily,” said she, pointing to the young lady.

  “They speak of Prince Vassily often in Lubni. He was a great soldier, and a confidant of the late Prince Michael.”

  “I have not been in Lubni,” said she, with a certain haughtiness. “Of his military virtues I have no knowledge. There is no need of mentioning his later acts, since all know what they were.”

  Hearing this, Princess Helena dropped her head on her breast like a flower cut with a scythe, and the lieutenant answered quickly,—

  “Do not say that, madam. Prince Vassily, sentenced, through a terrible error in the administration of human justice, to the loss of life and property, was forced to save himself by flight; but later his entire innocence was discovered. By the publication of this innocence he was restored to honor as a virtuous man; and the greater the injustice done him, the greater should be his glory.”

  The princess glanced quickly at the lieutenant, and in her disagreeable sharp face anger was clearly expressed. But though Skshetuski was a young man, he had so much knightly dignity and such a clear glance that she did not dare to dispute him; she turned instead to Princess Helena.

  “It is not proper for you to hear these things,” said she. “Go and see that the luggage is removed from our carriage to the equipage in which, with the permission of these gentlemen, we are to ride.”

  “You will allow me to help you,” said the lieutenant to Princess Helena.

  Both went to the carriage; but as soon as they stood opposite, at the doors on each side of it, the princess raised the lashes of her eyes, and her glance fell upon the face of the lieutenant like a bright, warm ray of the sun.

  “How can I thank you,” said she, in a voice which to him seemed music as sweet as the sound of lyres and flutes,—"How can I thank you for defending the good name of my father against the injustice which is put upon it by his nearest relatives?”

  The lieutenant felt his heart melting like snow in springtime, and answered: “May God be as good to me as I am ready to rush into the fire or shed my blood for such thanks, though the service is so slight that I ought not to accept a reward.”

  “If you contemn my thanks, then I, poor orphan, have no other way to show my gratitude.”

  “I do not contemn them,” said he, with growing emphasis; “but for such favor I wish to perform true and enduring service, and I only beg you to accept me for that service.”

  The princess, hearing these words, blushed, was confused, then suddenly grew pale, raised her hands to her face, and said in a sad voice: “Such a service could bring only misfortune to you.”

  The lieutenant bent through the door of the carriage, and spoke quietly and feelingly: “Let it bring what God gives; even should it bring suffering, still I am ready to fall at your feet and beg for it.”

  “It cannot be that you, who have just seen me for the first time, should conceive such a great desire for that service.”

  “I had scarcely seen you when I had forgotten myself altogether, and I see that it has come to the soldier hitherto free to be changed to a captive; but such clearly is the will of God. Love is like an arrow which pierces the breast unexpectedly; and now I feel its sting, though yesterday I should not have believed this if any man had told it me.”

  “If you could not have believed it yesterday, how am I to believe it to-day?”

  “Time will convince you best; but you can see my sincerity even now, not only in my words but in my face.”

  Again the princess raised her eyes, and her glance met the manly and noble face of the young soldier, and his look, so full of rapture that a deep crimson covered her face. But she did not lower her glance, and for a time he drank in the sweetness of those wonderful eyes, and they looked at each other like two beings who, though they have met merely on the highroad through the steppe, feel in a flash that they have chosen each other, and that their souls begin to rush to a meeting like two doves.

  The moment of exaltation was disturbed for them by the sharp voice of Constantine’s widow calling to the princess. The carriages had arrived. The attendants began to transfer the packages from the carriages, and in a moment everything was ready. Pan Rozvan Ursu, the gracious boyar, gave up his own carriage to the two ladies, the lieutenant mounted his horse, and all moved forward.

  The day was nearing its rest. The swollen waters of the Kagamlik were bright with
gold of the setting sun, and purple of the evening light. High in the heavens flocks of small clouds reddening drifted slowly to the horizon, as if, tired from flying through the air, they were going to sleep somewhere in an unknown cradle.

  Pan Yan rode by the side of Princess Helena, but without conversation, since he could not speak to her before strangers as he had spoken a few moments before, and frivolous words would not pass his lips now. But in his heart he felt happiness, and in his head something sounding as if from wine.

  The whole caravan pushed on briskly, and quiet was broken only by the snorting of the horses or the clank of stirrup against stirrup. After a time the escort at the rear wagons began a plaintive Wallachian song; soon, however, they stopped, and immediately the nasal voice of Pan Longin was heard singing piously,—

  “In heaven I caused an endless light to dwell,

  And mist I spread o’er all the earth.”

  That moment it grew dark, the stars twinkled in the sky, and from the damp plains white mists rose, boundless as the sea.

  They entered a forest, but had gone only a few furlongs when the sound of horses’ feet was heard and five riders appeared before the caravan. They were the young princes, who, informed by the driver of the accident which had happened to their mother, were hurrying to meet her, bringing a wagon drawn by four horses.

  “Is that you, my sons?” called out the old princess.

  The riders approached the carriage. “We, mother!”

  “Come this way! Thanks to these gentlemen, we need no more assistance. These are my sons, whom I commend to your favor, gentlemen,—Simeon, Yury, Andrei, Nikolai— And who is the fifth?” asked she, looking around attentively. “Oh! if my old eyes can see in the darkness, it is Bogun.”

  The princess drew back quickly to the depth of the carriage.

  “Greetings to you, Princess, and to you, Princess Helena!” said the fifth.

  “Ah, Bogun! You have come from the regiment, my falcon? And have you brought your lute? Welcome, welcome! Well, my sons, I have asked these gentlemen to spend the night with us at Rozlogi; and now greet them! A guest in the house is God in the house. Be gracious to our house, gentlemen!”

  The young men removed their caps. “We entreat you most respectfully to cross our lowly threshold.”

  “They have already promised me,—the envoy has promised and the lieutenant. We shall receive honorable guests, but I am not sure that our poor fare will be savory for men accustomed to castle dainties.”

  “We are reared on the fare of soldiers, not of castles,” said Skshetuski.

  And Pan Rozvan added: “I have tried the hospitality of country-houses, and know that it is better than that of castles.”

  The carriages moved on, and the old princess continued: “Our best days have passed long ago. In Volynia and Lithuania there are still members of the Kurtsevich family who have retinues of attendants and live in lordly fashion, but they do not recognize their poor relations, for which God punish them. We live in real Cossack poverty, which you must overlook, and accept with a good heart what we offer with sincerity. I and my five sons live on one village and a few hamlets, and in addition we have this young lady to care for.”

  These words astonished the lieutenant not a little, for he had heard in Lubni that Rozlogi was no small estate, and also that it belonged to Prince Vassily, the father of Helena. He did not deem it proper, however, to inquire how the place had passed into the hands of Constantine and his widow.

  “Then you have five sons, Princess?” asked Pan Rozvan Ursu.

  “I had five, all like lions,” answered she; “but the infidels in Bélgorod put out the eyes of the eldest, Vassily, with torches, wherefore his mind has failed him. When the young men go on an expedition I stay at home with him and this young lady, with whom I have more suffering than comfort.”

  The contemptuous tone with which the princess spoke of her niece was so evident that it did not escape the attention of the lieutenant. His breast boiled up in anger, and he had almost allowed an unseemly oath to escape him; but the words died on his lips when he looked at the young princess, and in the light of the moon saw her eyes filled with tears.

  “What has happened? Why do you weep?” asked he, in a low voice.

  She was silent.

  “I cannot endure to see you weep,” said Pan Yan, and bent toward her. Seeing that the old princess was conversing with the envoy and not looking toward him, he continued: “In God’s name, speak but one word, for I would give blood and health to comfort you!”

  All at once he felt one of the horsemen press against him so heavily that the horses began to rub their sides together. Conversation with the princess was interrupted. Skshetuski, astonished and also angered, turned to the intruder. By the light of the moon he saw two eyes, which looked at him insolently, defiantly, sneeringly. Those terrible eyes shone like those of a wolf in a dark forest.

  “What devil is that?” thought the lieutenant,—"a demon or who?” And then, looking closely into those burning eyes, he asked: “Why do you push on me with your horse, and dig your eyes into me?”

  The horseman did not answer, but continued to look with equal persistence and insolence.

  “If it is dark, I can strike a light; and if the road is too narrow, then to the steppe with you!” said the lieutenant, in a distinct voice.

  “Off with you from the carriage, Pole, if you see the steppe!” answered the horseman.

  The lieutenant, being a man quick of action, instead of an answer struck his foot into the side of his enemy’s horse with such force that the beast groaned and in a moment was on the very edge of the road.

  The rider reined him in on the spot, and for a moment it seemed that he was about to rush on the lieutenant; but that instant the sharp, commanding voice of the old princess resounded.

  “Bogun, what’s the matter?”

  These words had immediate effect. Bogun whirled his horse around, and passed to the other side of the carriage to the princess, who continued: “What is the matter? You are not in Pereyasláv nor the Crimea, but in Rozlogi. Remember this! But now gallop ahead for me, conduct the carriages; the ravine is at hand, and it is dark. Hurry on, you vampire!”

  Skshetuski was astonished, as well as vexed. Bogun evidently sought a quarrel and would have found it; but why did he seek it,—whence this unexpected attack? The thought flashed through the lieutenant’s mind that Princess Helena had something to do with this; and he was confirmed in the thought, for, looking at her face, he saw, in spite of the darkness, that it was pale, and evident terror was on it.

  Bogun spurred forward immediately in obedience to the command of the princess, who, looking after him, said half to herself and half to Pan Yan,—

  “That’s a madcap, a Cossack devil.”

  “It is evident that he is not in his full mind,” answered the lieutenant, contemptuously. “Is that Cossack in the service of your sons?”

  The old princess threw herself back in the seat.

  “What do you mean? Why, that is Bogun, lieutenant-colonel, a famous hero, a friend of my sons, and adopted by me as a sixth son. Impossible that you have not heard his name, for all know of him.”

  This name was, in fact, well known to Pan Yan. From among the names of various colonels and Cossack atamans this one had come to the top, and was on every lip on both banks of the Dnieper. Blind minstrels sang songs of Bogun in market-places and shops, and at evening meetings they told wonders about the young leader. Who he was, whence he had come, was known to no man. This much was certain,—the steppes, the Dnieper, the Cataracts, and Chertomelik, with its labyrinth of narrows, arms, islands, rocks, ravines, and reeds, had been his cradle. From childhood he had lived and communed with that wild world.

  In time of peace he went with others to fish and hunt, battered through the windings of the Dnieper, wandered over swamps and reeds with a
crowd of half-naked comrades; then again he spent whole months in forest depths. His school was in raids to the Wilderness on the herds of the Tartars, in ambushes, battles, campaigns against Tartar coast towns, against Bélgorod, Wallachia, or with boats on the Black Sea. He knew no days but days on his horse, no nights but nights at a steppe fire.

  Soon he became the favorite of the entire lower country, a leader of others, and surpassed all men in daring. He was ready to go with a hundred horse even to Bagche Sarai, and start up a blaze under the very eyes of the Khan; he burned Tartar towns and villages, exterminated the inhabitants, tore captive murzas to pieces with horses, came down like a tempest, passed by like death. On the sea he fell upon Turkish galleys with frenzy, swept down upon the centre of Budjak,—rushed into the lion’s mouth, as ‘tis said. Some of his expeditions were simple madness. Men less daring, less fond of danger, perished impaled on stakes in Stamboul, or rotted at the oar on Turkish galleys; he always escaped unhurt, and with rich booty. It was said that he had collected immense treasures, which he had hidden in the reeds of the Dnieper; but it was also seen more than once how with muddy boots he had stamped upon cloth of gold, and spread carpets under the hoofs of his horse,—how, dressed in satin, he had spotted himself with tar, on purpose to show Cossack contempt for these lordly stuffs.