No More Learning

Their language is unknown; their heads are covered with some-
thing pointed. They are the Tartar horse-herders, who have
taken refuge from the rain. At that moment red lightning
flashed through the field, revealing the oak, the wild figures of
the Tartars, and the enormous noble. A terrible cry shook the
air, and the battle began in a moment.
The Tartars rushed on Pan Longin like wolves on a deer, and
seized him with sinewy hands; but he only shook himself, and all
the assailants fell from him as ripe fruit from a tree. Then the
terrible double-handed sword gritted in the scabbard; and then
were heard groans, howls, calls for aid, the whistle of the sword,
the groans of the wounded, the neighing and the frightened
horses, the clatter of broken Tartar swords. The silent field
roared with all the wild sounds that can possibly find place in
the throats of men.
The Tartars rushed on him repeatedly in a crowd; but he put
his back to the oak, and in front covered himself with the whirl-
wind of his sword, and slashed awfully. Bodies lay dark under
his feet; the others fell back, impelled by panic terror. "A div!
a div! " howled they wildly.
The howling was not without an answer. Half an hour had
not passed when the whole field swarmed with footmen and
horsemen. Cossacks ran up, and Tartars also with poles and
bows and pieces of burning pitch-pine. Excited questions began
to fly from mouth to mouth. "What is it? what has happened? "
"A div! " answered the Tartars. "A div! " repeated the crowd.
"A Pole! A div! Take him alive, alive! "
Pan Longin fired twice from his pistols, but those reports
could not be heard by his comrades in the Polish camp. Now
the crowd approached him in a half-circle. He was standing in
the shade, gigantic, supported by the tree, and he waited with
XXIII-840


## p. 13426 (#240) ##########################################

13426
HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ
sword in hand. The crowd came nearer, nearer. At last the
voice of command shouted, "Seize him! "
They rushed ahead. The cries were stopped. Those who
could not push on gave light to the assailants. A whirl of men
gathered and turned under the tree. Only groans came out of
that whirl, and for a long time it was impossible to distinguish
anything. At last a scream of terror was wrested from the
assailants. The crowd broke in a moment. Under the tree
remained Pan Longin, and at his feet a crowd of bodies still
quivering in agony.
"Ropes! ropes! " thundered a voice.
The horsemen ran for the ropes, and brought them in the
twinkle of an eye. Then a number of strong men seized the
two ends of a long rope, endeavoring to fasten Pan Longin to
the tree; but he cut with his sword, and the men fell on the
ground on both sides. Then the Tartars tried, with the same
result.
Seeing that too many men in the crowd interfere with one
another, a number of the boldest Nogais advanced once more,
wishing absolutely to seize the enormous man alive; but he
tore them as a wild boar tears resolute dogs. The oak, which
had grown together from two great trees, guarded in its central
depression the knight; whoever approached him from the front
within the length of his sword perished without uttering a groan.
The superhuman power of Pan Longin seemed to increase with
each moment. Seeing this, the enraged hordes drove away the
Cossacks, and around were heard the wild cries, "Bows! bows! "
At the sight of the bows, and of the arrows poured out at
the feet of his enemies from their quivers, Pan Longin saw that
the moment of death was at hand, and he began the litany to
the Most Holy Lady.
It became still. The crowds restrained their breath, waiting
for what would happen. The first arrow whistled, as Pan Longin
was saying, "Mother of the Redeemer! " and it scratched his tem-
ple. Another arrow whistled as he was saying, "O glorious
Lady," and it stuck in his shoulder. The words of the litany
mingled with the whistling of arrows; and when Pan Longin had
said "Morning Star," arrows were standing in his shoulders,
in his side, in his legs. The blood from his temples was flow-
ing into his eyes; he saw as through a mist the field and the
Tartars; he heard no longer the whistle of the arrows. He felt


## p. 13427 (#241) ##########################################

HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ
13427
that he was weakening, that his legs were bending under him;
his head dropped on his breast. At last he fell on his knees.
Then he said with a half-groan, "Queen of the Angels — »
These words were his last on earth. The angels of heaven took
his soul, and placed it as a clear pearl at the feet of the "Queen
of the Angels. "
BASIA WORKS A MIRACLE
From 'Pan Michael. Copyright 1893, by Jeremiah Curtin. Reprinted by
permission of Little, Brown & Co. , publishers
[Pan Michael is in love with Krysia, but she loves Ketling; to him there-
fore Michael resigns her, while Basia sobs. ]
Κ
ETLING was so changed that he was barely able to make a
low obeisance to the ladies; then he stood motionless, with
his hat at his breast, with his eyes closed, like a wonder-
working image. Pan Michael embraced his sister on the way,
and approached Krysia. The maiden's face was as white as
linen, so that the light down on her lip seemed darker than
usual; her breast rose and fell violently. But Pan Michael took
her hand mildly and pressed it to his lips; then his mustaches
quivered for a time, as if he were collecting his thoughts; at last
he spoke with great sadness, but with great calmness:
"My gracious lady-or better, my beloved Krysia! Hear me
without alarm; for I am not some Scythian or Tartar, or a wild
beast, but a friend, who though not very happy himself, still de-
sires your happiness. It has come out that you and Ketling love
each other: Panna Basia in just anger threw it in my eyes. I
do not deny that I rushed out of this house in a rage, and flew
to seek vengeance on Ketling. Whoso loses his all is more easily
borne away by vengeance; and I, as God is dear to me, loved
you terribly, and not merely as a man never married loves a
maiden. For if I had been married, and the Lord God had given
me an only son or daughter, and had taken them afterward, I
should not have mourned over them, I think, as I mourned over
you. "
――
Here Pan Michael's voice failed for a moment, but he recov-
ered quickly; and after his mustache had quivered a number of
times, he continued:-


## p. 13428 (#242) ##########################################

13428
HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ
"Sorrow is sorrow; but there is no help. That Ketling fell
in love with you is not a wonder. Who would not fall in love
with you? And that you fell in love with him. that is my fate:
there is no reason either to wonder at that, for what comparison
is there between Ketling and me? In the field he will say him-
self that I am not the worse man; but that is another matter.
The Lord God gave beauty to one, withheld it from the other,
but rewarded him with reflection. So when the wind on the
road blew around me, and my first rage had passed, conscience
said straightway, Why punish them? Why shed the blood of
a friend? They fell in love,- that was God's will. The oldest
people say that against the heart, the command of a hetman
is nothing. It was the will of God that they fell in love; but
that they did not betray, is their honesty. If Ketling had even.
known of your promise to me, maybe I should have called
to him, 'Quench! ' but he did not know of it. What was his
fault? Nothing. And your fault? Nothing. He wished to
depart; you wished to go to God. My fate is to blame, my
fate only; for the finger of God is to be seen now in this, that
I remain in loneliness. But I have conquered myself; I have
conquered! »
-
Pan Michael stopped again and began to breathe quickly, like
a man who, after long diving in water, has come out to the air;
then he took Krysia's hand. "So to love," said he, "as to wish
all for one's self, is not an exploit. The hearts are breaking in
all three of us,' thought I: 'better let one suffer and give relief
to the other two. ' Krysia, God give you happiness with Ketling!
Amen. God give you, Krysia, happiness with Ketling! It pains
me a little, but that is nothing- God give you that is noth-
ing I have conquered myself! "
The soldier said, "That is nothing; " but his teeth gritted, and
his breath began to hiss through them. From the other end of
the room, the sobbing of Basia was heard.
---
Ketling, come here, brother! " cried Volodyovski.
Ketling approached, knelt down, opened his arms, and in si-
lence, with the greatest respect and love, embraced Krysia's knees.
But Pan Michael continued in a broken voice, "Press his head.
He has had his suffering too, poor fellow. God bless you and
him! You will not go to the cloister. I prefer that you should
bless me rather than have reason to curse me. The Lord cod
is above me, though it is hard for me now. "


## p. 13429 (#243) ##########################################

HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ
13429
Basia, not able to endure longer, rushed out of the room;
seeing which, Pan Michael turned to Makovetski and his sister.
"Go to the other chamber," said he, "and leave them; I too will
go somewhere, for I will kneel down and commend myself to the
Lord Jesus. " And he went out.
Half-way down the corridor he met Basia, at the staircase;
on the very same place where, borne away by anger, she had
divulged the secret of Krysia and Ketling. But this time Basia
stood leaning against the wall, choking with sobs.
At sight of this, Pan Michael was touched at his own fate; he
had restrained himself up to that moment as best he was able,
but then the bonds of sorrow gave way, and tears burst from
his eyes in a torrent. "Why do you weep? " cried he pitifully.
Basia raised her head, thrusting, like a child, now one and
now the other fist into her eyes, choking and gulping at the air
with open mouth, and answered with sobbing, "I am so sorry!
Oh, for God's sake! O Jesus! Pan Michael is so honest, so
worthy! Oh, for God's sake! "
Pan Michael seized her hands and began kissing them from
gratitude. "God reward you! God reward you for your heart! "
said he. "Quiet; do not weep. "
But Basia sobbed the more, almost to choking. Every vein
in her was quivering from sorrow; she began to gulp for air
more and more quickly; at last, stamping from excitement, she
cried so loudly that it was heard through the whole corridor,
"Krysia is a fool! I would rather have one Pan Michael than
ten Ketlings! I love Pan Michael with all my strength — better
than auntie, better than uncle, better than Krysia! "
"For God's sake! Basia! " cried the knight. And wishing to
restrain her emotion, he seized her in his embrace, and she
nestled up to his breast with all her strength, so that he felt her
heart throbbing like a wearied bird; then he embraced her still
more firmly, and they remained so.
Silence followed.
"Basia, do you wish me? " asked the little knight.
"I do, I do, I do! " answered Basia.
At this answer transport seized him in turn; he pressed his
lips to her rosy lips, and again they remained so.
Meanwhile a carriage rattled up to the house; and Zagloba
rushed into the ante-room, then to the dining-room, in which


## p. 13430 (#244) ##########################################

13430
HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ
Pan Makovetski was sitting with his wife. "There is no sign of
Michael! " cried he, in one breath: "I looked everywhere. Pan
Krytski said that he saw him with Ketling. Surely they have
fought! "
"Michael is here," answered Pani Makovetski; "he brought
Ketling and gave him Krysia. "
The pillar of salt into which Lot's wife was turned had surely
a less astonished face than Zagloba at that moment. Silence
continued for a while; then the old noble rubbed his eyes and
asked, What? "
«<
"Krysia and Ketling are sitting in there together, and Michael
has gone to pray," said Makovetski.
Zagloba entered the next room without a moment's hesitation;
and though he knew of all, he was astonished a second time,
seeing Ketling and Krysia sitting forehead to forehead. They
sprang up, greatly confused, and had not a word to say, espe-
cially as the Makovetskis came in after Zagloba.
"A lifetime would not suffice to thank Michael," said Ketling
at last. "Our happiness is his work. "
"God give you happiness! " said Makovetski. "We will not
oppose Michael. "
Krysia dropped into the embraces of Pani Makovetski, and the
two began to cry. Zagloba was as if stunned. Ketling bowed
to Makovetski's knees as to those of a father; and either from
the onrush of thoughts, or from confusion, Makovetski said, "But
Pan Deyma killed Pan Ubysh. Thank Michael, not me! " After
a while he asked, "Wife, what was the name of that lady? ”
But she had no time for an answer, for at that moment Basia
rushed in, panting more than usual, more rosy than usual, with
her forelock falling down over her eyes more than usual; she
ran up to Ketling and Krysia, and thrusting her finger now into
the eye of one, and now into the eye of the other, said, "Oh,
sigh, love, marry! You think that Pan Michael will be alone
in the world? Not a bit of it: I shall be with him, for I love
him, and I have told him so. I was the first to tell him, and
he asked if I wanted him, and I told him that I would rather
have him than ten others; for I love him, and I'll be the best
wife, and I will never leave him! I'll go to the war with him!
I've loved him this long time, though I did not tell him; for he
is the best and the worthiest, the beloved- And now marry
――――


## p. 13431 (#245) ##########################################

HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ
13431
for yourselves, and I will take Pan Michael, to-morrow if need
be-for- »
Here breath failed Basia.
All looked at her, not understanding whether she had gone
mad or was telling the truth; then they looked at one another,
and with that Pan Michael appeared in the door behind Basia.
"Michael," asked Makovetski, when presence of mind had
restored his voice to him, "is what we hear true? "
"God has wrought a miracle," answered the little knight with
great seriousness, "and here is my comfort, my love, my great-
est treasure. "
After these words Basia sprang to him again like a deer.
Now the mask of astonishment fell from Zagloba's face, and
his white beard began to quiver; he opened his arms widely
and said, "God knows I shall sob! Haiduk and Michael, come
hither! "
BASIA AND MICHAEL PART
From Pan Michael. ' Copyright 1893, by Jeremiah Curtin. Reprinted by
permission of Little, Brown & Co. , publishers
[The siege of Kamenyets is in progress. The defenders have just repulsed
a fierce attack upon the castle, but they know their desperate plight, and fore-
see the tragic end. Basia is with the knights upon the ramparts. ]
"PRA
RAISE be to God," said the little knight, "there will be rest
till the morning kindya at least; and in justice it belongs
to us. "
But that was an apparent rest only; for when night was still
deeper, they heard in the silence the sound of hammers beating
the cliff.
"That is worse than artillery," said Ketling, listening.
"Now would be the time to make a sortie," said the little
knight; "but 'tis impossible, the men are too weary. They
have not slept; and they have not eaten, though they had food,
for there was no time to take it. Besides there are always some
thousands on guard with the miners, so that there may be no
opposition from our side. There is no help but to blow up the
new castle ourselves, and withdraw to the old one. "
-


## p. 13432 (#246) ##########################################

HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ
13432
"That is not for to-day," answered Ketling.
"See, the men
have fallen like sheaves of grain, and are sleeping a stone sleep.
The dragoons have not even wiped their swords. "
"Basia, it is time to go home and sleep," said the little
knight.
"I will, Michael," answered Basia obediently; "I will go as
you command.
But the cloister is closed now: I should prefer to
remain, and watch over your sleep. "
"It is a wonder to me," said the little knight, "that after
such toil sleep has left me, and I have no wish whatever to rest
my head. "
"Because you have roused your blood among the janissaries,
said Zagloba. "It was always so with me: after a battle I could
never sleep in any way. But as to Basia, why should she drag
herself to a closed gate?
Let her remain here till morning. "
Basia pressed Zagloba with delight; and the little knight, see-
ing how much she wished to stay, said:
"Let us go to the chambers. "
They went in; but the place was full of lime dust, which the
cannon-balls had raised by shaking the walls. It was impossible
to stay there; so they went out again, and took their places in a
niche made when the old gate had been walled in. Pan Michael
sat there, leaning against the masonry. Basia nestled up to him,
like a child to its mother. The night was in August, warm and
fragrant. The moon illuminated the niche with a silver light;
the faces of the little knight and Basia were bathed in its rays.
Lower down, in the court of the castle, were groups of sleeping
soldiers and the bodies of those slain during the cannonade; for
there had been no time yet for their burial. The calm light of
the moon crept over those bodies, as if that hermit of the sky
wished to know who was sleeping from weariness merely, and
who had fallen into the eternal slumber. Farther on was out-
lined the wall of the main castle, from which fell a black shadow
on one half of the court-yard. Outside the walls, from between
the bulwarks, where the janissaries lay cut down with sabres,
came the voices of men. They were camp-followers and those
of the dragoons to whom booty was dearer than slumber; they
were stripping the bodies of the slain. Their lanterns were
gleaming on the place of combat like fireflies. Some of them
called to one another; and one was singing in an undertone a


## p. 13433 (#247) ##########################################

HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ
13433
sweet song not beseeming the work to which he was given at
the moment: -
――
"Nothing is silver, nothing is gold to me now,
Nothing is fortune.
Let me die at the fence, then, of hunger,
If only near thee. "
But after a certain time that movement began to decrease,
and at last stopped completely. A silence set in which was.
broken only by the distant sound of the hammers breaking the
cliffs, and the calls of the sentries on the walls. That silence,
the moonlight, and the night full of beauty, delighted Pan Michael
and Basia. A yearning came upon them, it is unknown why; and
a certain sadness, though pleasant. Basia raised her eyes to her
husband; and seeing that his eyes were open, she said: -
"Michael, you are not sleeping. "
"It is a wonder, but I cannot sleep. "
"It is pleasant for you here? "
"Pleasant. But for you? ”
-
Basia nodded her bright head. "O Michael, so pleasant! ai, ai!
Did you not hear what that man was singing? "
Here she repeated the last words of the little song,-
"Let me die at the fence, then, of hunger,
If only near thee. "
A moment of silence followed, which the little knight inter-
rupted:-
"But listen, Basia. "
"What, Michael? "
"To tell the truth, we are wonderfully happy with each other;
and I think if one of us were to fall, the other would grieve
beyond measure. "
Basia understood perfectly that when the little knight said
"if one of us were to fall," instead of die, he had himself only
in mind. It came to her head that maybe he did not expect to
come out of that siege alive,- that he wished to accustom her
to that termination; therefore a dreadful presentiment pressed
her heart, and clasping her hands, she said: -
(( Michael, have pity on yourself and on me! "
The voice of the little knight was moved somewhat, though
calm.


## p. 13434 (#248) ##########################################

HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ
13434
"But see, Basia, you are not right," said he; "for if you only
reason the matter out, what is this temporal existence? Why
break one's neck over it? Who would be satisfied with tasting
happiness and love here when all breaks like a dry twig,-
who? "
But Basia began to tremble from weeping, and to repeat :-
"I will not hear this! I will not! I will not! "
"As God is dear to me, you are not right," repeated the lit-
tle knight. "Look, think of it: there above, beyond that quiet
moon, is a country of bliss without end. Of such a one speak to
me. Whoever reaches that meadow will draw breath for the first
time, as if after a long journey, and will feed in peace. When
my time comes,—and that is a soldier's affair,-it is your sim-
ple duty to say to yourself, 'That is nothing! Michael is gone.
True, he is gone far, farther than from here to Lithuania; but
that is nothing, for I shall follow him. ' Basia, be quiet; do not
weep. The one who goes first will prepare quarters for the
other: that is the whole matter. "
Here there came on him, as it were, a vision of coming events;
for he raised his eyes to the moonlight, and continued:-
"What is this mortal life? Grant that I am there first, wait-
ing till some one knocks at the heavenly gate. Saint Peter opens
it. I look: who is that? My Basia! Save us! Oh, I shall
jump then! Oh, I shall cry then! Dear God, words fail me.
And there will be no tears, only endless rejoicing; and there will
be no pagans, nor cannon, nor mines under walls, only peace and
happiness. Ai, Basia, remember, this life is nothing! "
"Michael, Michael! " repeated Basia.
-
And again came silence, broken only by the distant, monoto-
nous sound of the hammers.
-:
"Basia, let us pray together," said Pan Michael at last.
And those two souls began to pray. As they prayed, peace
came on both; and then sleep overcame them, and they slum-
bered till the first dawn.
Pan Michael conducted Basia away before the morning kindya
to the bridge joining the old castle with the town. In parting,
he said:
"This life is nothing! remember that, Basia. "


## p. 13435 (#249) ##########################################

HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ
13435
THE FUNERAL OF PAN MICHAEL
From Pan Michael. ' Copyright 1893, by Jeremiah Curtin. Reprinted by
permission of Little, Brown & Co. , publishers
WHEN
[Kamenyets has been basely surrendered to the. Sultan. Pan Michael pre-
pares to send forth his troops, but between him and Ketling there is a secret
understanding: they have sworn to blow up the castle and meet death to-
gether, that the white flag may never be hoisted over the citadel of Kam-
enyets. ]
HEN Volodyovski had mustered the troops, he called Pan
Mushalski and said to him:-
-
―
"Old friend, do me one more service. Go this mo-
ment to my wife, and tell her from me Here the voice stuck
in the throat of the little knight for a while. "And say to her
from me" He halted again, and then added quickly, "This
life is nothing! "
The bowman departed. After him the troops went out grad-
ually. Pan Michael mounted his horse and watched over the
march. The castle was evacuated slowly, because of the rubbish
and fragments which blocked the way.
Ketling approached the little knight. "I will go down," said
he, fixing his teeth.
"Go! but delay till the troops have marched out.
Go! "
Here they seized each other in an embrace which lasted
some time. The eyes of both were gleaming with an uncommon
radiance. Ketling rushed away at last toward the vaults.
Pan Michael took the helmet from his head. He looked
awhile yet on the ruin, on that field of his glory, on the rubbish,
the corpses, the fragments of walls, on the breast work, on the
guns; then raising his eyes, he began to pray. His last words
were, "Grant her, O Lord, to endure this patiently; give her
peace! »
>>>>
Ah! Ketling hastened, not waiting even till the troops had
marched out: for at that moment the bastions quivered, an awful
roar rent the air; bastions, towers, walls, horses, guns, living
men, corpses, masses of earth, all torn upward with a flame, and
mixed,- pounded together, as it were, into one dreadful car-
tridge, flew toward the sky.
Thus died Volodyovski, the Hector of Kamenyets, the first
soldier of the Commonwealth.


## p. 13436 (#250) ##########################################

13436
HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ
In the monastery of St. Stanislav stood a lofty catafalque in
the centre of the church; it was surrounded with gleaming
tapers, and on it lay Pan Volodyovski in two coffins, one of lead
and one of wood. The lids had been fastened, and the funeral
service was just ending.
It was the heartfelt wish of the widow that the body should
rest in Hreptyoff: but since all Podolia was in the hands of the
enemy, it was decided to bury it temporarily in Stanislav; for
to that place the "exiles" of Kamenyets had been sent under a
Turkish convoy, and there delivered to the troops of the hetman.
All the bells in the monastery were ringing. The church was
filled with a throng of nobles and soldiers, who wished to look
for the last time at the coffin of the Hector of Kamenyets, and
the first cavalier of the Commonwealth. It was whispered that
the hetman himself was to come to the funeral; but as he had
not appeared so far, and as at any moment the Tartars might
come in a chambul, it was determined not to defer the ceremony.
Old soldiers, friends or subordinates of the deceased, stood in
a circle around the catafalque. Among others were present Pan
Mushalski, the bowman, Pan Motovidlo, Pan Snitko, Pan Hrom-
yka, Pan Nyenashinyets, Pan Novoveski, and many others, former
officers of the stanitsa. By a marvelous fortune, no man was
lacking of those who had sat on the evening benches around the
hearth at Hreptyoff; all had brought their heads safely out of
that war, except the man who was their leader and model. That
good and just knight, terrible to the enemy, loving to his own;
that swordsman above swordsmen, with the heart of a dove,-
lay there high among the tapers, in glory immeasurable, but in
the silence of death. Hearts hardened through war were crushed
with sorrow at that sight; yellow gleams from the tapers shone
on the stern, suffering faces of warriors, and were reflected in
glittering points in the tears dropping down from their eyelids.
Within the circle of soldiers lay Basia, in the form of a cross,
on the floor; and near her Zagloba, old, broken, decrepit, and
trembling. She had followed on foot from Kamenyets the
hearse bearing that most precious coffin, and now the moment
had come when it was necessary to give that coffin to the earth.
Walking the whole way, insensible, as if not belonging to this
world, and now at the catafalque, she repeated with unconscious
lips, "This life is nothing! " She repeated it because that beloved
one had commanded her, for that was the last message which he


## p. 13437 (#251) ##########################################

HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ
13437
had sent her; but in that repetition and in those expressions
were mere sounds, without substance, without truth, without mean-
ing and solace. No: "This life is nothing" meant merely regret,
darkness, despair, torpor, merely misfortune incurable, life beaten
and broken,—an erroneous announcement that there was noth-
ing above her, neither mercy nor hope; that there was merely
a desert, and it will be a desert which God alone can fill when
he sends death.
They rang the bells; at the great altar, Mass was at its end.
At last thundered the deep voice of the priest, as if calling from
the abyss: "Requiescat in pace! " A feverish quiver shook Basia,
and in her unconscious head rose one thought alone: "Now, now,
they will take him from me! " But that was not yet the end of
the ceremony. The knights had prepared many speeches to be
spoken at the lowering of the coffin; meanwhile Father Kamin-
ski ascended the pulpit,- the same who had been in Hreptyoff
frequently, and who in the time of Basia's illness had prepared
her for death.
People in the church began to spit and cough, as is usual
before preaching; then they were quiet, and all eyes were turned
to the pulpit. The rattling of a drum was heard on the pulpit.
The hearers were astonished. Father Kaminski beat the drum
as if for alarm; he stopped suddenly, and a death-like silence fol-
lowed. Then a drum was heard a second and a third time;
suddenly the priest threw the drumsticks to the floor of the
church, and called:-
-
"Pan Colonel Volodyovski! "
A spasmodic scream from Basia answered him. It became
simply terrible in the church. Pan Zagloba rose, and aided by
Mushalski bore out the fainting woman.
Meanwhile the priest continued: "In God's name, Pan Volo-
dyovski, they are beating the alarm! there is war, the enemy
is in the land! - and do you not spring up, seize your sabre,
mount your horse? Have you forgotten your former virtue ?
Do you leave us alone with sorrow, with alarm? "
The breasts of the knights rose; and a universal weeping
broke out in the church, and broke out several times again, when
the priest lauded the virtue, the love of country, and the bravery
of the dead man. His own words carried the preacher away.
His face became pale; his forehead was covered with sweat; his
voice trembled. Sorrow for the little knight carried him away,


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13438
HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ
sorrow for Kamenyets, sorrow for the Commonwealth, ruined by
the hands of the followers of the Crescent; and finally he
finished his eulogy with this prayer:-
"O Lord, they will turn churches into mosques, and chant
the Koran in places where till this time the Gospel has been
chanted. Thou hast cast us down, O Lord; thou hast turned
thy face from us, and given us into the power of the foul Turk.
Inscrutable are thy decrees; but who, O Lord, will resist the
Turk now? What armies will war with him on the bounda-
ries? Thou, from whom nothing in the world is concealed,—
thou knowest best that there is nothing superior to our cavalry!
What cavalry can move for thee, O Lord, as ours can? Wilt
thou set aside defenders behind whose shoulders all Christendom
might glorify thy name? O kind Father, do not desert us! show
us thy mercy! Send us a defender! Send a crusher of the foul
Mohammedan! Let him come hither; let him stand among us;
let him raise our fallen hearts! Send him, O Lord! "
At that moment the people gave way at the door; and into
the church walked the hetman, Pan Sobieski. The eyes of all
were turned to him; a quiver shook the people; and he went
with clatter of spurs to the catafalque, lordly, mighty, with the
face of a Cæsar. An escort of iron cavalry followed him.
"Salvator! " cried the priest, in prophetic ecstasy.
Sobieski knelt at the catafalque, and prayed for the soul of
Volodyovski.


## p. 13439 (#253) ##########################################

13439
EDWARD ROWLAND SILL
(1841-1887)
HE strain sounded by Edward Rowland Sill has a quality of
distinction, and a haunting loveliness of aspiration, such as
to endear him to those who rejoice in art which is but the
handmaiden to dignity of thought and quiet beauty of form. Life
and song with Sill-as with Sidney Lanier, between whom and the
New-Englander there is spiritual fellowship-were in harmony; and
man and writer equally call forth admiration. Sill's life was studious,
shy, withdrawn; his work too made no noisy demand on the public.
It was not startling in manner. Its appeal
was to the inner experience, to the still
small voice, which is the soul's monitor.
His art showed that unobtrusive obedience
to the fundamental technique, which, from
the Greek days to our own, has acted as a
preservative of the written word.

Sill was born in Windsor, Connecticut,
on April 29th, 1841, and was graduated from
Yale College at the age of twenty. At first
he went to California with business plans
in mind; but came back to the East, intend-
ing to become a minister, and studied for a
short time at the Harvard Divinity School.
This idea was soon abandoned; and he
went to New York City and did editorial work on the New York
Evening Mail. Then he went to Ohio to do some teaching, and
thence was called to California again in 1871, as principal of the
High School at Oakland; and after three years' service there, went
to the University of California at Berkeley, to be the professor of
English literature,- a position he held until 1882, when he returned
to Ohio and devoted himself to literary work. He died at Cleveland,
in that State, February 27th, 1887.
EDWARD R. SILL
But it was the life internal, not that external, which was most
significant in the case of Sill. A scholar, an idealist, as a teacher
he was very unconventional but intensely inspiring. He fulfilled the
grand pedagogic conception that the most fruitful teaching means
not so much the imparting of knowledge as the stimulation of a
fine personality. In his latest years, when out of health and thrown


## p. 13440 (#254) ##########################################

13440
EDWARD ROWLAND SILL
much upon himself, his broodings were deep and wise, and his choicest
lyrics are the precious register of them; another such registration
being the remarkable letters he wrote to a few privileged friends.
He lived aside from the feverish centres of activity, but kept in the
stream of the nobler activities of the human mind and soul. As he
wrote in one of the finest of his poems, 'Field-Notes: —
"Life is a game the soul can play
With fewer pieces than men say. "
Again in Solitude' he expresses his feeling:
"All alone, alone,
Calm as on a kingly throne,
Take thy place in the crowded land
Self-centred in free self-command.
Far from the chattering tongues of men,
Sitting above their call or ken,
Free from links of manner and form,
Thou shalt learn of the wingèd storm,-
God shall speak to thee out of the sky. "
All that one knows of Sill's personal side is in consonance with the
aspiring note and the intellectual questing that mark his poetry.
Dying comparatively young, at forty-five, there is a sense of in-
completion about his literary output. He did not write facilely nor
polish much. A book of verse in young manhood, The Hermitage
and Other Poems' (1867); a mid-manhood volume privately printed,
The Venus of Milo and Other Poems' (1883); and a well-chosen
posthumous selection, Poems (1888), embracing the bulk of his
worthiest work,-make up the scant list. He produced slowly, and
was chary about collecting the pieces which appeared in the Atlantic
Monthly and elsewhere; only doing so, indeed, on the urgence of his
publishers. But it is quality, not quantity, which defines a writer's
place; and the charm, suggestion, and strength of Sill's verse cannot
be gainsaid. The dominant trait in him is spirituality, coming out
whether he is describing nature - few American poets have been
more happy in this- or dealing with the deep heart of man. It is
the soul's problem in relation to existence which awakens his warm
interest and solicitude.