it seemed to grow nearer continually, though he
tried to go at an equal distance from the line of wagons.
tried to go at an equal distance from the line of wagons.
Warner - World's Best Literature - v23 - Sha to Sta
A flame passed through his bones;
and rejoiced to its depth was his soul, pure, obedient, and heroic,
with the hope of coming sacrifice.
"History will write of you! " cried the castellan.
"Non nobis, non nobis, sed nomini tuo, Domine, da gloriam "
(Not to us, not to us, but to thy name, O Lord, give the glory),
said the prince.
The knights issued from the tent.
"Tfu! something has seized me by the throat and holds me,"
said Zagloba; "and it is as bitter in my mouth as wormwood,
and there they are firing continually. Oh, if the thunders would
## p. 13417 (#231) ##########################################
HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ
·
13417
fire you away! " said he, pointing to the smoking trenches of the
Cossacks. "Oh, it is hard to live in this world! Pan Longin,
are you really going out? May the angels guard you! If the
plague would choke those ruffians! "
"I must take farewell of you," said Podbipienta.
"How is that? Where are you going? " asked Zagloba.
"To the priest Mukhovetski,- to confess, my brother. I must
cleanse my sinful soul. "
Pan Longin hastened to the castle; the others returned to the
ramparts. Skshetuski and Volodyovski were silent, but Zagloba
said:
"Something holds me by the throat. I did not think to be
sorrowful, but that is the worthiest man in the world. If any
one contradicts me, I'll give it to him in the face. O my God,
my God! I thought the castellan of Belsk would restrain the
prince, but he beat the drums still more. The hangman brought
that heretic! 'History,' he says, 'will write of you. ' Let it
write of him, but not on the skin of Pan Longin. And why
doesn't he go out himself? He has six toes on his feet, like
every Calvinist, and he can walk better. I tell you, gentlemen,
that it is getting worse and worse on earth, and Jabkovski is a
true prophet when he says that the end of the world is near.
Let us sit down awhile at the ramparts, and then go to the
castle, so as to console ourselves with the company of our friend
till evening at least. "
But Pan Longin, after confession and communion, spent the
whole time in prayer. He made his first appearance at the storm
in the evening,- which was one of the most awful, for the Cos-
sacks had struck just when the troops were transporting their
cannon and wagons to the newly raised ramparts. For a time
it seemed that the slender forces of the Poles would fall before
the onrush of two hundred thousand foes. The Polish battalions
had become so intermingled with the enemy that they could not
distinguish their own, and three times they closed in this fashion.
Hmelnitski exerted all his power; for the Khan and his own
colonels had told him that this must be the last storm, and that
henceforth they would only harass the besieged with hunger.
But after three hours, all attacks were repulsed with such terri-
ble losses that according to later reports, forty thousand of the
enemy had fallen.
One thing is certain,- after the battle a whole
bundle of flags was thrown at the feet of the prince; and this was
## p. 13418 (#232) ##########################################
13418
HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ
really the last great assault, after which followed more difficult
times of digging under the ramparts, capturing wagons, continual
firing, suffering, and famine.
Immediately after the storm the soldiers, ready to drop from
weariness, were led by the tireless Yeremi in a sally, which ended
in a new defeat for the enemy. Quiet then soothed the tabor
and the camp.
The night was warm but cloudy. Four black forms pushed
themselves quietly and carefully to the eastern edge of the ram-
parts. They were Pan Longin, Zagloba, Skshetuski, and Volo-
dyovski.
"Guard your pistols well, to keep the powder dry," whis-
pered Pan Yan. "Two battalions will be ready all night. If you
fire, we will spring to the rescue. "
"Nothing to be seen, even if you strain your eyes out! "
whispered Zagloba.
"That is better," answered Pan Longin.
"Be quiet! " interrupted Volodyovski: "I hear something. "
"That is only the groan of a dying man,— nothing! "
"If you can only reach the oak grove. "
"O my God! my God! " sighed Zagloba, trembling as if in
a fever.
« "In three hours it will be daylight. "
"It is time! " said Pan Longin.
"Time! time! >>>> repeated Skshetuski in a stifled voice.
with God! "
« Go
"With God, with God! "
"Farewell, brothers, and forgive me if I have offended any of
you in anything. "
"You offend? O God! " cried Zagloba, throwing himself into
his arms.
Skshetuski and Volodyovski embraced him in turn. The
moment came. Suppressed gulping shook the breasts of these
knights. One alone, Pan Longin, was calm, though full of emo-
tion. "Farewell! " he repeated once more; and approaching the
edge of the rampart, he dropped into the ditch, and soon appeared
as a black figure on the opposite bank. Once more he beckoned
farewell to his comrades, and vanished in the gloom.
Between the road to Zalostsitse and the highway from Vish-
nyovets grew an oak grove, interspersed with narrow openings.
Beyond and joining with it was an old pine forest, thick and
## p. 13419 (#233) ##########################################
HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ
13419
large, extending north of Zalostsitse. Podbipienta had determined
to reach that grove. The road was very perilous, for to reach
the oaks it was necessary to pass along the entire flank of the
Cossack tabor; but Pan Longin selected it on purpose, for it was
just around the camp that most people were moving during the
whole night, and the guards gave least attention to passers-by.
Besides, all other roads, valleys, thickets, and narrow places were
beset by guards who rode around continually; by essauls, sot-
niks, and even Hmelnitski himself. A passage through the mead-
ows and along the Gnyezna was not to be dreamt of, for the
Cossack horse-herders were watching there from dusk till day-
light with their herds.
The night was gloomy, cloudy, and so dark that at ten paces
not only could a man not be seen, but not even a tree. This
circumstance was favorable for Pan Longin; though on the other
hand he was obliged to go very slowly and carefully, so as not
to fall into any of the pits or ditches occupying the whole.
expanse of the battle-field, and dug by Polish and Cossack hands.
In this fashion he made his way to the second Polish rampart,
which had been abandoned just before evening, and had passed
through the ditch. He stopped and listened; the trenches were
empty. The sally made by Yeremi after the storm had pushed
the Cossacks out; who either fell, or took refuge in the tabor.
A multitude of bodies were lying on the slopes and summits
of these mounds. Pan Longin stumbled against bodies every
moment, stepped over them, and passed on.
a low groan or sigh announced that some
was living yet.
From time to time
one of the prostrate
Beyond the ramparts there was a broad expanse stretching to
another trench made before the arrival of Yeremi, also covered
with corpses; but some tens of steps farther on were those earth
shelters, like stacks of hay in the darkness. But they were
empty. Everywhere the deepest silence reigned,-nowhere a fire
or a man; no one on that former square but the prostrate.
Pan Longin began the prayer for the souls of the dead, and
went on. The sounds of the Polish camp, which followed him
to the second rampart, grew fainter and fainter, melting in the
distance, till at last they ceased altogether. Pan Longin stopped.
and looked around for the last time. He could see almost
nothing, for in the camp there was no light; but one window in
the castle glimmered weakly as a a star which the clouds now
## p. 13420 (#234) ##########################################
13420
HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ
expose and now conceal, or like a glow-worm which shines and
darkens in turn.
"My brothers, shall I see you again in this life? " thought
Pan Longin; and sadness pressed him down like a tremendous
stone. He was barely able to breathe. There, where that pale
light was trembling, are his people; there are brother hearts,—
Prince Yeremi, Pan Yan, Volodyovski, Zagloba, the priest Mukho-
vetski; there they love him and would gladly defend him. But
here is night, with desolation, darkness, corpses; under his feet
choruses of ghosts; farther on, the blood-devouring tabor of
sworn, pitiless enemies. The weight of sadness became so great
that it was too heavy even for the shoulders of this giant. His
soul began to waver within him.
In the darkness pale Alarm flew upon him, and began to
whisper in his ear, "You will not pass, it is impossible! Return;
there is still time! Fire the pistol, and a whole battalion will
rush to your aid. Through those tabors, through that savage-
ness, nothing will pass. "
That starving camp, covered every day with balls, full of
death and the odor of corpses, appeared at that moment to Pan
Longin a calm, peaceful, safe haven. His friends there would
not think ill of him if he returned. He would tell them that the
deed passed human power; and they would not go themselves,
would not send another,- would wait further for the mercy of
God and the coming of the King. But if Skshetuski should go
and perish! "In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost!
These are temptations of Satan," thought Pan Longin. "I am
ready for death, and nothing worse can meet me. And this is
Satan terrifying a weak soul with desolation, corpses, and dark-
ness; for he makes use of all means. " Will the knight return,
cover himself with shame, suffer in reputation, disgrace his name,
not save the army, renounce the crown of heaven? Never! And
he moved on, stretching out his hands before him.
Now a
murmur reached him again; not from the Polish
camp, however, but from the opposite side, still indefinite, but
as it were deep and terrible, like the growling of a bear giving
sudden answer in a dark forest. Disquiet had now left Pan
Longin's soul; sadness had ceased, and changed into a mere
sweet remembrance of those near to him. At last, as if answer-
ing that menace coming up from the tabor, he repeated once
more in spirit, "But still I will go. "
## p. 13421 (#235) ##########################################
HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ
13421
-
After a certain time he found himself on that battle-field
where on the first day of the storm the prince's cavalry had
defeated the Cossacks and janissaries. The road here was more
even, fewer pits, ditches, shelters, and no corpses; for those who
had fallen in the earlier struggles had been buried by the Cos-
sacks. It was also somewhat clearer, for the ground was not cov-
ered with various obstacles. The land inclined gradually toward
the north. But Pan Longin turned immediately to the flank, wish-
ing to push through between the western pond and the tabor.
He went quickly now, without hindrance, and it seemed to
him already that he was reaching the line of the tabor, when
some new sound caught his attention. He halted at once, and
after waiting a quarter of an hour heard the tramp and breath-
ing of horses. "Cossack patrols! " thought he. The voices of
men reached his ears. He sprang aside with all speed, and
searching with his foot for the first depression in the ground,
fell to the earth and stretched out motionless, holding his pistol
in one hand and his sword in the other.
The riders approached still nearer, and at last were abreast of
him. It was so dark he could not count them; but he heard
every word of their conversation.
"It is hard for them, but hard for us too," said some sleepy
voice. "And how many good men of ours have bitten the dust! "
"O Lord! " said another voice, "they say the King is not far.
What will become of us? "
"The Khan got angry with our father; and the Tartars
threaten to take us, if there will be no other prisoners. "
"And in the pastures they fight with our men. Father has
forbidden us to go to the Tartar camp, for whoever goes there
is lost. "
"They say there are disguised Poles among the market-men.
I wish this war had never begun. "
"It is worse this time than before. "
"The King is not far away, with the Polish forces. That is
the worst!
>>
"Ha, ha! You would be sleeping in the Saitch at this hour;
now you have got to push around in the dark like a vampire. "
"There must be vampires here, for the horses are snorting. "
The voices receded gradually, and at last were silent. Pan
Longin rose and went on.
## p. 13422 (#236) ##########################################
HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ
13422
A rain fine as mist began to fall. It grew still darker. On
the left side of Pan Longin gleamed at the distance of two fur-
longs a small light; after that a second, a third, and a tenth.
Then he knew he was on the line of the tabor. The lights were
far apart and weak. It was evident that all were sleeping, and
only here and there might they be drinking or preparing food
for the morrow.
"Thank God that I am out after the storm and the sally,"
said Pan Longin to himself. "They must be mortally weary. "
He had scarcely thought this when he heard again in the dis-
tance the tramp of horses,-another patrol was coming But the
ground in this place was more broken; therefore it was easier
to hide. The patrol passed so near that the guards almost rode
over Pan Longin. Fortunately the horses, accustomed to pass
among prostrate bodies, were not frightened. Pan Longin went
on.
In the space of a thousand yards he met two more patrols.
It was evident that the whole circle occupied by the tabor was
guarded like the apple of the eye. But Pan Longin rejoiced in
spirit that he was not meeting infantry outposts, who are gener-
ally placed before camps to give warning to mounted patrols.
But his joy was of short duration. Scarcely had he advanced
another furlong of the road when some dark figure shifted before
him not more than twenty yards distant. Though unterrified,
he felt a slight tremor along his spine. It was too late to with-
draw and go around. The form moved; evidently it had seen
him. A moment of hesitation followed, short as the twinkle of
an eye.
Then a suppressed voice called:-
"Vassil, is that you? "
"I," said Pan Longin, quietly.
"Have you gorailka? "
"I have. "
"Give me some. "
Pan Longin approached.
"Why are you so tall? " asked the voice, in tones of terror.
Something rustled in the darkness. A scream of "Lor-! "
smothered the instant it was begun, came from the mouth of the
picket; then was heard the crash as it were of broken bones,
heavy breathing, and one figure fell quietly to the earth. Pan
Longin moved on.
## p. 13423 (#237) ##########################################
HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ
13423
But he did not pass along the same line, for it was evidently
a line of pickets; he turned therefore a little nearer to the tabor,
wishing to go between the pickets and the line of wagons. If
there was not another line of pickets, Pan Longin could meet in
that space only those who went out from camp to relieve those
on duty. Mounted patrols had no duty here.
After a time it became evident that there was no second line
of pickets. But the tabor was not farther than two bow-shots;
and wonderful!
it seemed to grow nearer continually, though he
tried to go at an equal distance from the line of wagons.
It was evident too that not all were asleep in the tabor. At
the fires smoldering here and there, sitting figures were visible.
In one place the fire was greater,- so large indeed that it
almost reached Pan Longin with its light, and he was forced to
draw back toward the pickets so as not to pass through the line
of illumination. From the distance he distinguished, hanging on
cross-sticks near the fire, oxen which the butchers were skinning.
Disputing groups of men looked on. A few were playing quietly
on pipes for the butchers. It was that part of the camp occu-
pied by the herdsmen. The more distant rows of wagons were
surrounded by darkness.
But the line of the tabor lighted by the smoldering fires again
appeared as if nearer to Pan Longin. In the beginning he had
it only on his right hand; suddenly he saw that he had it in
front of him. Then he halted and meditated what to do. He
was surrounded. The tabor, the Tartar camp, and the camps.
of the mob, encircled all Zbaraj like a ring. Inside this ring,
sentries were standing and mounted guards moving, that no one
might pass through.
The position of Pan Longin was terrible. He had now the
choice either to go through between the wagons or seek another
exit between the Cossacks and the Tartars. Otherwise he would
have to wander till daylight along that rim, unless he wished to
return to Zbaraj; but even in the latter case he might fall into
the hands of the mounted patrol. He understood, however, that
the very nature of the ground did not permit that one wagon
should stand close to another. There had to be intervals in the
rows, and considerable ones. Such intervals were necessary for
communication, for an open road, for necessary travel. He deter-
mined to look for such a passage, and with that object ap-
proached still nearer to the wagons. The gleam of fires burning
## p. 13424 (#238) ##########################################
13424
HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ
here and there might betray him; but on the other hand they
were useful, for without them he could see neither the wagons
nor the road between them.
After a quarter of an hour he found a road, and recognized
it easily, for it looked like a black belt between the wagons.
There was no fire on it; there could be no Cossacks there, since
the cavalry had to pass that way. Pan Longin put himself on
his knees and hands, and began to crawl to that dark throat like
a snake to a hole.
A quarter of an hour passed,-half an hour; he crawled con-
tinually, praying at the same time, commending his body and
soul to the protection of the heavenly powers. He thought that
perhaps the fate of all Zbaraj was depending on him then, could
he pass that throat; he prayed therefore not for himself alone,
but for those who at that moment in the trenches were praying
for him.
On both sides of him all was silent,— no man moved, no
horse snorted, no dog barked; and Pan Longin went through.
The bushes and thickets looked dark before him; behind them
was the oak grove; behind the oak grove the pine woods, all the
way to Toporoff; beyond the pine woods, the King, salvation, and
glory, service before God and man. What was the cutting of
three heads in comparison with this deed, for which something
was needed beyond an iron hand? Pan Longin felt the differ-
ence, but pride stirred not that clean heart; it was only moved
like that of a child with tears of thankfulness.
Then he rose and passed on. Beyond the wagons there were
either no pickets, or few easily avoided. Now heavier rain began
to fall, pattering on the bushes and drowning the noise of his
steps. Pan Longin then gave freedom to his long legs, and
walked like a giant, trampling the bushes; every step was like five
of a common man,-the wagons every moment farther, the oak
grove every moment nearer and salvation every moment nearer.
Here are the oaks. Night beneath them is as black as under
the ground; but that is better. A gentle breeze sprang up; the
oaks murmured lightly,- you would have said they were mutter-
ing a prayer: "O great God, good God, guard this knight, for he
is thy servant, and a faithful son of the land on which we have
grown up for thy glory! "
About seven miles and a half divided Pan Longin from the
Polish camp.
Sweat poured from his forehead, for the air was
## p. 13425 (#239) ##########################################
HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ
13425
sultry, as if gathering for a storm; but he went on, caring noth-
ing for the storm, for the angels were singing in his heart. The
oaks became thinner. The first field is surely near. The oaks
rustle more loudly, as if wishing to say, "Wait: you were safe
among us. " But the knight has no time, and he enters the open
field. Only one oak stands on it, and that in the centre; but it
is larger than the others. Pan Longin moves toward that oak.
>>
All at once, when he was a few yards from the spreading
branches of the giant, about a dozen figures push out and ap-
proach him with wolf-springs: "Who are you? who are you?
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.
and rejoiced to its depth was his soul, pure, obedient, and heroic,
with the hope of coming sacrifice.
"History will write of you! " cried the castellan.
"Non nobis, non nobis, sed nomini tuo, Domine, da gloriam "
(Not to us, not to us, but to thy name, O Lord, give the glory),
said the prince.
The knights issued from the tent.
"Tfu! something has seized me by the throat and holds me,"
said Zagloba; "and it is as bitter in my mouth as wormwood,
and there they are firing continually. Oh, if the thunders would
## p. 13417 (#231) ##########################################
HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ
·
13417
fire you away! " said he, pointing to the smoking trenches of the
Cossacks. "Oh, it is hard to live in this world! Pan Longin,
are you really going out? May the angels guard you! If the
plague would choke those ruffians! "
"I must take farewell of you," said Podbipienta.
"How is that? Where are you going? " asked Zagloba.
"To the priest Mukhovetski,- to confess, my brother. I must
cleanse my sinful soul. "
Pan Longin hastened to the castle; the others returned to the
ramparts. Skshetuski and Volodyovski were silent, but Zagloba
said:
"Something holds me by the throat. I did not think to be
sorrowful, but that is the worthiest man in the world. If any
one contradicts me, I'll give it to him in the face. O my God,
my God! I thought the castellan of Belsk would restrain the
prince, but he beat the drums still more. The hangman brought
that heretic! 'History,' he says, 'will write of you. ' Let it
write of him, but not on the skin of Pan Longin. And why
doesn't he go out himself? He has six toes on his feet, like
every Calvinist, and he can walk better. I tell you, gentlemen,
that it is getting worse and worse on earth, and Jabkovski is a
true prophet when he says that the end of the world is near.
Let us sit down awhile at the ramparts, and then go to the
castle, so as to console ourselves with the company of our friend
till evening at least. "
But Pan Longin, after confession and communion, spent the
whole time in prayer. He made his first appearance at the storm
in the evening,- which was one of the most awful, for the Cos-
sacks had struck just when the troops were transporting their
cannon and wagons to the newly raised ramparts. For a time
it seemed that the slender forces of the Poles would fall before
the onrush of two hundred thousand foes. The Polish battalions
had become so intermingled with the enemy that they could not
distinguish their own, and three times they closed in this fashion.
Hmelnitski exerted all his power; for the Khan and his own
colonels had told him that this must be the last storm, and that
henceforth they would only harass the besieged with hunger.
But after three hours, all attacks were repulsed with such terri-
ble losses that according to later reports, forty thousand of the
enemy had fallen.
One thing is certain,- after the battle a whole
bundle of flags was thrown at the feet of the prince; and this was
## p. 13418 (#232) ##########################################
13418
HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ
really the last great assault, after which followed more difficult
times of digging under the ramparts, capturing wagons, continual
firing, suffering, and famine.
Immediately after the storm the soldiers, ready to drop from
weariness, were led by the tireless Yeremi in a sally, which ended
in a new defeat for the enemy. Quiet then soothed the tabor
and the camp.
The night was warm but cloudy. Four black forms pushed
themselves quietly and carefully to the eastern edge of the ram-
parts. They were Pan Longin, Zagloba, Skshetuski, and Volo-
dyovski.
"Guard your pistols well, to keep the powder dry," whis-
pered Pan Yan. "Two battalions will be ready all night. If you
fire, we will spring to the rescue. "
"Nothing to be seen, even if you strain your eyes out! "
whispered Zagloba.
"That is better," answered Pan Longin.
"Be quiet! " interrupted Volodyovski: "I hear something. "
"That is only the groan of a dying man,— nothing! "
"If you can only reach the oak grove. "
"O my God! my God! " sighed Zagloba, trembling as if in
a fever.
« "In three hours it will be daylight. "
"It is time! " said Pan Longin.
"Time! time! >>>> repeated Skshetuski in a stifled voice.
with God! "
« Go
"With God, with God! "
"Farewell, brothers, and forgive me if I have offended any of
you in anything. "
"You offend? O God! " cried Zagloba, throwing himself into
his arms.
Skshetuski and Volodyovski embraced him in turn. The
moment came. Suppressed gulping shook the breasts of these
knights. One alone, Pan Longin, was calm, though full of emo-
tion. "Farewell! " he repeated once more; and approaching the
edge of the rampart, he dropped into the ditch, and soon appeared
as a black figure on the opposite bank. Once more he beckoned
farewell to his comrades, and vanished in the gloom.
Between the road to Zalostsitse and the highway from Vish-
nyovets grew an oak grove, interspersed with narrow openings.
Beyond and joining with it was an old pine forest, thick and
## p. 13419 (#233) ##########################################
HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ
13419
large, extending north of Zalostsitse. Podbipienta had determined
to reach that grove. The road was very perilous, for to reach
the oaks it was necessary to pass along the entire flank of the
Cossack tabor; but Pan Longin selected it on purpose, for it was
just around the camp that most people were moving during the
whole night, and the guards gave least attention to passers-by.
Besides, all other roads, valleys, thickets, and narrow places were
beset by guards who rode around continually; by essauls, sot-
niks, and even Hmelnitski himself. A passage through the mead-
ows and along the Gnyezna was not to be dreamt of, for the
Cossack horse-herders were watching there from dusk till day-
light with their herds.
The night was gloomy, cloudy, and so dark that at ten paces
not only could a man not be seen, but not even a tree. This
circumstance was favorable for Pan Longin; though on the other
hand he was obliged to go very slowly and carefully, so as not
to fall into any of the pits or ditches occupying the whole.
expanse of the battle-field, and dug by Polish and Cossack hands.
In this fashion he made his way to the second Polish rampart,
which had been abandoned just before evening, and had passed
through the ditch. He stopped and listened; the trenches were
empty. The sally made by Yeremi after the storm had pushed
the Cossacks out; who either fell, or took refuge in the tabor.
A multitude of bodies were lying on the slopes and summits
of these mounds. Pan Longin stumbled against bodies every
moment, stepped over them, and passed on.
a low groan or sigh announced that some
was living yet.
From time to time
one of the prostrate
Beyond the ramparts there was a broad expanse stretching to
another trench made before the arrival of Yeremi, also covered
with corpses; but some tens of steps farther on were those earth
shelters, like stacks of hay in the darkness. But they were
empty. Everywhere the deepest silence reigned,-nowhere a fire
or a man; no one on that former square but the prostrate.
Pan Longin began the prayer for the souls of the dead, and
went on. The sounds of the Polish camp, which followed him
to the second rampart, grew fainter and fainter, melting in the
distance, till at last they ceased altogether. Pan Longin stopped.
and looked around for the last time. He could see almost
nothing, for in the camp there was no light; but one window in
the castle glimmered weakly as a a star which the clouds now
## p. 13420 (#234) ##########################################
13420
HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ
expose and now conceal, or like a glow-worm which shines and
darkens in turn.
"My brothers, shall I see you again in this life? " thought
Pan Longin; and sadness pressed him down like a tremendous
stone. He was barely able to breathe. There, where that pale
light was trembling, are his people; there are brother hearts,—
Prince Yeremi, Pan Yan, Volodyovski, Zagloba, the priest Mukho-
vetski; there they love him and would gladly defend him. But
here is night, with desolation, darkness, corpses; under his feet
choruses of ghosts; farther on, the blood-devouring tabor of
sworn, pitiless enemies. The weight of sadness became so great
that it was too heavy even for the shoulders of this giant. His
soul began to waver within him.
In the darkness pale Alarm flew upon him, and began to
whisper in his ear, "You will not pass, it is impossible! Return;
there is still time! Fire the pistol, and a whole battalion will
rush to your aid. Through those tabors, through that savage-
ness, nothing will pass. "
That starving camp, covered every day with balls, full of
death and the odor of corpses, appeared at that moment to Pan
Longin a calm, peaceful, safe haven. His friends there would
not think ill of him if he returned. He would tell them that the
deed passed human power; and they would not go themselves,
would not send another,- would wait further for the mercy of
God and the coming of the King. But if Skshetuski should go
and perish! "In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost!
These are temptations of Satan," thought Pan Longin. "I am
ready for death, and nothing worse can meet me. And this is
Satan terrifying a weak soul with desolation, corpses, and dark-
ness; for he makes use of all means. " Will the knight return,
cover himself with shame, suffer in reputation, disgrace his name,
not save the army, renounce the crown of heaven? Never! And
he moved on, stretching out his hands before him.
Now a
murmur reached him again; not from the Polish
camp, however, but from the opposite side, still indefinite, but
as it were deep and terrible, like the growling of a bear giving
sudden answer in a dark forest. Disquiet had now left Pan
Longin's soul; sadness had ceased, and changed into a mere
sweet remembrance of those near to him. At last, as if answer-
ing that menace coming up from the tabor, he repeated once
more in spirit, "But still I will go. "
## p. 13421 (#235) ##########################################
HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ
13421
-
After a certain time he found himself on that battle-field
where on the first day of the storm the prince's cavalry had
defeated the Cossacks and janissaries. The road here was more
even, fewer pits, ditches, shelters, and no corpses; for those who
had fallen in the earlier struggles had been buried by the Cos-
sacks. It was also somewhat clearer, for the ground was not cov-
ered with various obstacles. The land inclined gradually toward
the north. But Pan Longin turned immediately to the flank, wish-
ing to push through between the western pond and the tabor.
He went quickly now, without hindrance, and it seemed to
him already that he was reaching the line of the tabor, when
some new sound caught his attention. He halted at once, and
after waiting a quarter of an hour heard the tramp and breath-
ing of horses. "Cossack patrols! " thought he. The voices of
men reached his ears. He sprang aside with all speed, and
searching with his foot for the first depression in the ground,
fell to the earth and stretched out motionless, holding his pistol
in one hand and his sword in the other.
The riders approached still nearer, and at last were abreast of
him. It was so dark he could not count them; but he heard
every word of their conversation.
"It is hard for them, but hard for us too," said some sleepy
voice. "And how many good men of ours have bitten the dust! "
"O Lord! " said another voice, "they say the King is not far.
What will become of us? "
"The Khan got angry with our father; and the Tartars
threaten to take us, if there will be no other prisoners. "
"And in the pastures they fight with our men. Father has
forbidden us to go to the Tartar camp, for whoever goes there
is lost. "
"They say there are disguised Poles among the market-men.
I wish this war had never begun. "
"It is worse this time than before. "
"The King is not far away, with the Polish forces. That is
the worst!
>>
"Ha, ha! You would be sleeping in the Saitch at this hour;
now you have got to push around in the dark like a vampire. "
"There must be vampires here, for the horses are snorting. "
The voices receded gradually, and at last were silent. Pan
Longin rose and went on.
## p. 13422 (#236) ##########################################
HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ
13422
A rain fine as mist began to fall. It grew still darker. On
the left side of Pan Longin gleamed at the distance of two fur-
longs a small light; after that a second, a third, and a tenth.
Then he knew he was on the line of the tabor. The lights were
far apart and weak. It was evident that all were sleeping, and
only here and there might they be drinking or preparing food
for the morrow.
"Thank God that I am out after the storm and the sally,"
said Pan Longin to himself. "They must be mortally weary. "
He had scarcely thought this when he heard again in the dis-
tance the tramp of horses,-another patrol was coming But the
ground in this place was more broken; therefore it was easier
to hide. The patrol passed so near that the guards almost rode
over Pan Longin. Fortunately the horses, accustomed to pass
among prostrate bodies, were not frightened. Pan Longin went
on.
In the space of a thousand yards he met two more patrols.
It was evident that the whole circle occupied by the tabor was
guarded like the apple of the eye. But Pan Longin rejoiced in
spirit that he was not meeting infantry outposts, who are gener-
ally placed before camps to give warning to mounted patrols.
But his joy was of short duration. Scarcely had he advanced
another furlong of the road when some dark figure shifted before
him not more than twenty yards distant. Though unterrified,
he felt a slight tremor along his spine. It was too late to with-
draw and go around. The form moved; evidently it had seen
him. A moment of hesitation followed, short as the twinkle of
an eye.
Then a suppressed voice called:-
"Vassil, is that you? "
"I," said Pan Longin, quietly.
"Have you gorailka? "
"I have. "
"Give me some. "
Pan Longin approached.
"Why are you so tall? " asked the voice, in tones of terror.
Something rustled in the darkness. A scream of "Lor-! "
smothered the instant it was begun, came from the mouth of the
picket; then was heard the crash as it were of broken bones,
heavy breathing, and one figure fell quietly to the earth. Pan
Longin moved on.
## p. 13423 (#237) ##########################################
HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ
13423
But he did not pass along the same line, for it was evidently
a line of pickets; he turned therefore a little nearer to the tabor,
wishing to go between the pickets and the line of wagons. If
there was not another line of pickets, Pan Longin could meet in
that space only those who went out from camp to relieve those
on duty. Mounted patrols had no duty here.
After a time it became evident that there was no second line
of pickets. But the tabor was not farther than two bow-shots;
and wonderful!
it seemed to grow nearer continually, though he
tried to go at an equal distance from the line of wagons.
It was evident too that not all were asleep in the tabor. At
the fires smoldering here and there, sitting figures were visible.
In one place the fire was greater,- so large indeed that it
almost reached Pan Longin with its light, and he was forced to
draw back toward the pickets so as not to pass through the line
of illumination. From the distance he distinguished, hanging on
cross-sticks near the fire, oxen which the butchers were skinning.
Disputing groups of men looked on. A few were playing quietly
on pipes for the butchers. It was that part of the camp occu-
pied by the herdsmen. The more distant rows of wagons were
surrounded by darkness.
But the line of the tabor lighted by the smoldering fires again
appeared as if nearer to Pan Longin. In the beginning he had
it only on his right hand; suddenly he saw that he had it in
front of him. Then he halted and meditated what to do. He
was surrounded. The tabor, the Tartar camp, and the camps.
of the mob, encircled all Zbaraj like a ring. Inside this ring,
sentries were standing and mounted guards moving, that no one
might pass through.
The position of Pan Longin was terrible. He had now the
choice either to go through between the wagons or seek another
exit between the Cossacks and the Tartars. Otherwise he would
have to wander till daylight along that rim, unless he wished to
return to Zbaraj; but even in the latter case he might fall into
the hands of the mounted patrol. He understood, however, that
the very nature of the ground did not permit that one wagon
should stand close to another. There had to be intervals in the
rows, and considerable ones. Such intervals were necessary for
communication, for an open road, for necessary travel. He deter-
mined to look for such a passage, and with that object ap-
proached still nearer to the wagons. The gleam of fires burning
## p. 13424 (#238) ##########################################
13424
HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ
here and there might betray him; but on the other hand they
were useful, for without them he could see neither the wagons
nor the road between them.
After a quarter of an hour he found a road, and recognized
it easily, for it looked like a black belt between the wagons.
There was no fire on it; there could be no Cossacks there, since
the cavalry had to pass that way. Pan Longin put himself on
his knees and hands, and began to crawl to that dark throat like
a snake to a hole.
A quarter of an hour passed,-half an hour; he crawled con-
tinually, praying at the same time, commending his body and
soul to the protection of the heavenly powers. He thought that
perhaps the fate of all Zbaraj was depending on him then, could
he pass that throat; he prayed therefore not for himself alone,
but for those who at that moment in the trenches were praying
for him.
On both sides of him all was silent,— no man moved, no
horse snorted, no dog barked; and Pan Longin went through.
The bushes and thickets looked dark before him; behind them
was the oak grove; behind the oak grove the pine woods, all the
way to Toporoff; beyond the pine woods, the King, salvation, and
glory, service before God and man. What was the cutting of
three heads in comparison with this deed, for which something
was needed beyond an iron hand? Pan Longin felt the differ-
ence, but pride stirred not that clean heart; it was only moved
like that of a child with tears of thankfulness.
Then he rose and passed on. Beyond the wagons there were
either no pickets, or few easily avoided. Now heavier rain began
to fall, pattering on the bushes and drowning the noise of his
steps. Pan Longin then gave freedom to his long legs, and
walked like a giant, trampling the bushes; every step was like five
of a common man,-the wagons every moment farther, the oak
grove every moment nearer and salvation every moment nearer.
Here are the oaks. Night beneath them is as black as under
the ground; but that is better. A gentle breeze sprang up; the
oaks murmured lightly,- you would have said they were mutter-
ing a prayer: "O great God, good God, guard this knight, for he
is thy servant, and a faithful son of the land on which we have
grown up for thy glory! "
About seven miles and a half divided Pan Longin from the
Polish camp.
Sweat poured from his forehead, for the air was
## p. 13425 (#239) ##########################################
HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ
13425
sultry, as if gathering for a storm; but he went on, caring noth-
ing for the storm, for the angels were singing in his heart. The
oaks became thinner. The first field is surely near. The oaks
rustle more loudly, as if wishing to say, "Wait: you were safe
among us. " But the knight has no time, and he enters the open
field. Only one oak stands on it, and that in the centre; but it
is larger than the others. Pan Longin moves toward that oak.
>>
All at once, when he was a few yards from the spreading
branches of the giant, about a dozen figures push out and ap-
proach him with wolf-springs: "Who are you? who are you?
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.
