Fire in the Steppe

by Henryk Sienkiewicz

  After a while this song was heard:—

  "O knights, believe me,

  Useless is armor;

  Shields give no service;

  Cupid's keen arrows,

  Through steel and iron,

  Go to all hearts."

  "I do not indeed know how to thank you," said Zagloba, sitting at a distance with Pan Michael's sister, and kissing her hands, "for coming yourself and bringing with you such elegant maidens that the Graces themselves might heat stoves for them. Especially does that little haiduk please my heart, for such a rogue drives away sorrow in such fashion that a weasel could not hunt mice better. In truth, what is grief unless mice gnawing the grains of joyousness placed in our hearts? You, my benefactress, should know that our late king, Yan Kazimir, was so fond of my comparisons that he could not live a day without them. I had to arrange for him proverbs and wise maxims. He used to have these repeated to him before bed-time, and by them it was that he directed his policy. But that is another matter. I hope too that our Michael, in company with these delightful girls, will forget altogether his unhappy misfortune. You do not know that it is only a week since I dragged him out of the cloister, where he wished to make vows; but I won the intervention of the nuncio himself, who declared to the prior that he would make a dragoon of every monk in the cloister if he did not let Michael out straightway. There was no reason for him to be there. Praise be to God! Praise be to God! If not to-day, to-morrow some one of those two will strike such sparks out of him that his heart will be burning like punk."

  Meanwhile Krysia sang on:—

  "If shields cannot save

  From darts a strong hero,

  How can a fair head

  Guard her own weakness?

  Where can she hide!"

  "The fair heads have as much fear of those shafts as a dog has of meat," whispered Zagloba to Pan Michael's sister. "But confess, my benefactress, that you did not bring these titmice here without secret designs. They are maidens in a hundred!—especially that little haiduk. Would that I were as blooming as she! Ah, Michael has a cunning sister."

  Pani Makovetski put on a very artful look, which did not, however, become her honest, simple face in the least, and said, "I thought of this and that, as is usual with us; shrewdness is not wanting to women. My husband had to come here to the election; and I brought the maidens beforehand, for with us there is no one to see unless Tartars. If anything lucky should happen to Michael from this, I would make a pilgrimage on foot to some wonder-working image."

  "It will come; it will come!" said Zagloba.

  "Both maidens are from great houses, and both have property; that, too, means something in these grievous times."

  "There is no need to repeat that to me. The war has consumed Michael's fortune, though I know that he has some money laid up with great lords. We took famous booty more than once, gracious lady; and though that was placed at the hetman's discretion, still, a part went to be divided 'according to sabres,' as the saying is in our soldier speech. So much came to Michael's share more than once that if he had saved all his own, he would have to-day a nice fortune. But a soldier has no thought for to-morrow; he only frolics to-day. And Michael would have frolicked away all he had, were it not that I restrained him on every occasion. You say, then, gracious lady, that these maidens are of high blood?"

  "Krysia is of senatorial blood. It is true that our castellans on the border are not castellans of Cracow, and there are some of whom few in the Commonwealth have heard; but still, whoso has sat once in a senator's chair bequeaths to posterity his splendor. As to relationship, Basia almost surpasses Krysia."

  "Indeed, indeed! I myself am descended from a certain king of the Massagetes, therefore I like to hear genealogies."

  "Basia does not come from such a lofty nest as that; but if you wish to listen,—for in our parts we can recount the relationship of every house on our fingers,—she is, in fact, related to the Pototskis and the Yazlovyetskis and the Lashches. You see, it was this way." Here Pan Michael's sister gathered in the folds of her dress and took a more convenient position, so that there might be no hindrance to any part of her favorite narrative; she spread out the fingers of one hand, and straightening the index finger of the other, made ready to enumerate the grandfathers and grandmothers. "The daughter of Pan Yakob Pototski, Elizabeth, from his second wife, a Yazlovyetski, married Pan Yan Smyotanko, banneret of Podolia."

  "I have caulked that into my memory," said Zagloba.

  "From that marriage was born Michael Smyotanko, also banneret of Podolia."

  "H'm! a good office," said Zagloba.

  "He was married the first time to a Dorohosto—no! to a Rojynski—no! to a Voronich! God guard me from forgetting!"

  "Eternal rest to her, whatever her name was," said Zagloba, with gravity.

  "And for his second wife he married Panna Lashch."

  "I was waiting for that! What was the result of the marriage?"

  "Their sons died."

  "Every joy crumbles in this world."

  "But of four daughters, the youngest, Anna, married Yezorkovski, of the shield Ravich, a commissioner for fixing the boundaries of Podolia; he was afterward, if I mistake not, sword-bearer of Podolia."

  "He was, I remember!" said Zagloba, with complete certainty.

  "From that marriage, you see, was born Basia."

  "I see, and also that at this moment she is aiming Ketling's musket." In fact, Krysia and the little knight were occupied in conversation, and Basia was aiming the musket at the window for her own amusement.

  Pani Makovetski began to shake and squeak at sight of that. "You cannot imagine what I pass through with that girl! She is a regular haydamak."

  "If all the haydamaks were like her, I would join them at once."

  "There is nothing in her head but arms, horses, and war. Once she broke out of the house to hunt ducks with a gun. She crept in somewhere among the rushes, was looking ahead of her, the reeds began to open—what did she see? The head of a Tartar stealing along through the reeds to the village. Another woman would have been terrified, and woe to her if she had not fired quickly; the Tartar dropped into the water. Just imagine, she laid him out on the spot; and with what? With duck-shot."

  Here the lady began to shake again and laugh at the mishap of the Tartar; then she added, "And to tell the truth, she saved us all, for a whole chambul was advancing; but as she came and gave the alarm, we had time to escape to the woods with the servants. With us it is always so!"

  Zagloba's face was covered with such delight that he half closed his eye for a moment; then he sprang up, hurried to the maiden, and before she saw him, he kissed her on the forehead. "This from an old soldier for that Tartar in the rushes," said he.

  The maiden gave a sweeping shake to her yellow forelock. "Didn't I give him beans?" cried she, with her fresh, childish voice, which sounded so strangely in view of what she meant with her words.

  "Oh, my darling little haydamak!" cried Zagloba, with emotion.

  "But what is one Tartar? You gentlemen have cut them down by the thousand, and Swedes, and Germans, and Rakotsi's Hungarians. What am I before you, gentlemen,—before knights who have not their equals in the Commonwealth? I know that perfectly! Oho!"

  "I will teach you to work with the sabre, since you have so much courage. I am rather heavy now, but Michael there, he too is a master."

  The maiden sprang up in the air at such a proposal; then she kissed Zagloba on the shoulder and courtesied to the little knight, saying, "I give thanks for the promise. I know a little already."

  But Pan Michael was wholly occupied talking with Krysia; therefore he answered inattentively, "Whatever you command."

  Zagloba, with radiant face, sat down again near Pani Makovetski. "My gracious benefactress," said he, "I know well which Turkish sweetmeats are best, for I passed long years in Stambul; but I know this too, that there is just a world of people hungry for them. How has it happened that no man has coveted that maid
en to this time?"

  "As God lives, there was no lack of men who were courting them both. But Basia we call, in laughing, a widow of three husbands, for at one time three worthy cavaliers paid her addresses,—all nobles of our parts, and heirs, whose relationship I can explain in detail to you."

  Saying this, Pani Makovetski spread out the fingers of her left hand and straightened her right index finger; but Zagloba inquired quickly, "And what happened to them?"

  "All three died in war; therefore we call Basia a widow."

  "H'm! but how did she endure the loss?"

  "With us, you see, a case like that happens every day; and it is a rare thing for any man, after reaching ripe age, to pass away with his own death. Among us people even say that it is not befitting a nobleman to die otherwise than in the field. 'How did Basia endure it?' Oh, she whimpered a little, poor girl, but mostly in the stable; for when anything troubles her, she is off to the stable. I sent for her once and inquired, 'For whom are you crying?' 'For all three,' said she. I saw from the answer that no one of them pleased her specially. I think that as her head is stuffed with something else, she has not felt the will of God yet; Krysia has felt it somewhat, but Basia perhaps not at all."

  "She will feel it!" said Zagloba. "Gracious benefactress, we understand that perfectly. She will feel it! she will feel it!"

  "Such is our predestination," said Pani Makovetski.

  "That is just it. You took the words out of my mouth."

  Further conversation was interrupted by the approach of the younger society. The little knight had grown much emboldened with Krysia; and she, through evident goodness of heart, was occupied with him and his grief, like a physician with a patient. And perhaps for this very reason she showed him more kindness than their brief acquaintance permitted. But as Pan Michael was a brother of the stolnik's wife, and the young lady was related to the stolnik, no one was astonished. Basia remained, as it were, aside; and only Pan Zagloba turned to her unbroken attention. But however that might be, it was apparently all one to Basia whether some one was occupied with her or not. At first, she gazed with admiration on both knights; but with equal admiration did she examine Ketling's wonderful weapons distributed on the walls. Later she began to yawn somewhat; then her eyes grew heavier and heavier, and at last she said,—

  "I am so sleepy that I may wake in the morning."

  After these words the company separated at once; for the ladies were very weary from the journey, and were only waiting to have beds prepared. When Zagloba found himself at last alone with Pan Michael, he began first of all to wink significantly, then he covered the little knight with a shower of light fists. "Michael! what, Michael, hei? like turnips! Will you become a monk, what? That bilberry Krysia is a sweet one. And that rosy little haiduk, uh! What will you say of her, Michael?"

  "What? Nothing!" answered the little knight.

  "That little haiduk pleased me principally. I tell you that when I sat near her during supper I was as warm from her as from a stove."

  "She is a kid yet; the other is ever so much more stately."

  "Panna Krysia is a real Hungarian plum; but this one is a little nut! As God lives, if I had teeth! I wanted to say if I had such a daughter, I'd give her to no man but you. An almond, I say, an almond!"

  Volodyovski grew sad on a sudden, for he remembered the nicknames which Zagloba used to give Anusia. She stood as if living before him there in his mind and memory,—her form, her small face, her dark tresses, her joyfulness, her chattering, and ways of looking. Both these were younger, but still she was a hundred times dearer than all who were younger.

  The little knight covered his face with his palms, and sorrow carried him away the more because it was unexpected. Zagloba was astonished; for some time he was silent and looked unquietly, then he asked, "Michael, what is the matter? Speak, for God's sake!"

  Volodyovski spoke, "So many are living, so many are walking through the world, but my lamb is no longer among them; never again shall I see her." Then pain stifled his voice; he rested his forehead on the arm of the sofa and began to whisper through his set lips, "O God! O God! O God!"

  CHAPTER VIII.

  Basia insisted that Volodyovski should give her instruction in "fencing;" he did not refuse, though he delayed for some days. He preferred Krysia; still, he liked Basia greatly, so difficult was it, in fact, not to like her.

  A certain morning the first lesson began, mainly because of Basia's boasting and her assurances that she knew that art by no means badly, and that no common person could stand before her. "An old soldier taught me," said she; "there is no lack of these among us; it is known too that there are no swordsmen superior to ours. It is a question if even you, gentlemen, would not find your equals."

  "Of what are you talking?" asked Zagloba. "We have no equals in the whole world."

  "I should wish it to come out that even I am your equal. I do not expect it, but I should like it."

  "If it were firing from pistols, I too would make a trial," said Pani Makovetski, laughing.

  "As God lives, it must be that the Amazons themselves dwell in Latychov," said Zagloba. Here he turned to Krysia: "And what weapon do you use best, your ladyship?"

  "None," answered Krysia.

  "Ah, ha! none!" exclaimed Basia. And here, mimicking Krysia's voice, she began to sing:—

  "'O knights, believe me,

  Useless is armor,

  Shields give no service;

  Cupid's keen arrows,

  Through steel and iron,

  Go to all hearts.'

  "She wields arms of that kind; never fear," added Basia, turning to Pan Michael and Zagloba. "In that she is a warrior of no common skill."

  "Take your place, young lady!" said Pan Michael, wishing to conceal a slight confusion.

  "Oh, as God lives! if what I think should come true!" cried Basia, blushing with delight.

  And she stood at once in position with a light Polish sabre in her right hand; the left she put behind her, and with breast pushed forward, with raised head and dilated nostrils, she was so pretty and so rosy that Zagloba whispered to Pan Michael's sister, "No decanter, even if filled with Hungarian a hundred years old, would delight me so much with the sight of it."

  "Remember," said the little knight to Basia, "that I will only defend myself; I will not thrust once. You may attack as quickly as you choose."

  "Very well. If you wish me to stop, give the word."

  "The fencing could be stopped without a word, if I wished."

  "And how could that be done?"

  "I could take the sabre easily out of the hand of a fencer like you."

  "We shall see!"

  "We shall not, for I will not do so, through politeness."

  "There is no need of politeness in this case. Do it if you can. I know that I have less skill than you, but still I will not let that be done."

  "Then you permit it?"

  "I permit it."

  "Oh, do not permit, sweetest haiduk," said Zagloba. "He has disarmed the greatest masters."

  "We shall see!" repeated Basia.

  "Let us begin," said Pan Michael, made somewhat impatient by the boasting of the maiden.

  They began. Basia thrust terribly, skipping around like a pony in a field. Volodyovski stood in one place, making, according to his wont, the slightest movements of the sabre, paying but little respect to the attack.

  "You brush me off like a troublesome fly!" cried the irritated Basia.

  "I am not making a trial of you; I am teaching you," answered the little knight. "That is good! For a fair head, not bad at all! Steadier with the hand!"

  "'For a fair head?' You call me a fair head! you do! you do!"

  But Pan Michael, though Basia used her most celebrated thrusts, was untouched. Even he began to talk with Zagloba, of purpose to show how little he cared for Basia's thrusts: "Step away from the window, for you are in the lady's light; and though a sabre is larger than a needle, she has less experience with the
sabre."

  Basia's nostrils dilated still more, and her forelock fell to her flashing eyes. "Do you hold me in contempt?" inquired she, panting quickly.

  "Not your person; God save me from that!"

  "I cannot endure Pan Michael!"

  "You learned fencing from a schoolmaster." Again he turned to Zagloba: "I think snow is beginning to fall."

  "Here is snow! snow for you!" repeated Basia, giving thrust after thrust.

  "Basia, that is enough! you are barely breathing," said Pani Makovetski.

  "Now hold to your sabre, for I will strike it from your hand."

  "We shall see!"

  "Here!" And the little sabre, hopping like a bird out of Basia's hands, fell with a rattle near the stove.

  "I let it go myself without thinking! It was not you who did that!" cried the young lady, with tears in her voice; and seizing the sabre, in a twinkle she thrust again: "Try it now."

  "There!" said Pan Michael. And again the sabre was at the stove. "That is enough for to-day," said the little knight.

  Pani Makovetski began to bustle about and talk louder than usual; but Basia stood in the middle of the room, confused, stunned, breathing heavily, biting her lips and repressing the tears which were crowding into her eyes in spite of her. She knew that they would laugh all the more if she burst out crying, and she wished absolutely to restrain herself; but seeing that she could not, she rushed from the room on a sudden.

  "For God's sake!" cried Pani Makovetski. "She has run to the stable, of course, and being so heated, will catch cold. Some one must go for her. Krysia, don't you go!"

  So saying, she went out, and seizing a warm shuba in the ante-room, hurried to the stable; and after her ran Zagloba, troubled about his little haiduk. Krysia wished to go also, but the little knight held her by the hand. "You heard the prohibition. I will not let this hand go till they come back."

  And, in fact, he did not let it go. But that hand was as soft as satin. It seemed to Pan Michael that a kind of warm current was flowing from those slender fingers into his bones, rousing in them an uncommon pleasantness; therefore he held them more firmly. A slight blush flew over Krysia's face. "I see that I am a prisoner taken captive."