Pan Michael. Henryk Sienkiewicz
easily seen from his manners."
"Have you seen him under fire?"
"A thousand times! He would halt for you in it without a frown, pat his horse on the shoulder, and be ready to talk of love."
"Is it the fashion to talk of love at such a time? Hei?"
"It is the fashion to do everything by which contempt for bullets is shown."
"But hand to hand, in a duel, is he equally great?"
"Yes, yes! a wasp; it is not to be denied."
"But could he stand before Pan Michael?"
"Before Michael he could not!"
"Ha!" exclaimed Basia, with joyous pride, "I knew that he could not. I thought at once that he could not." And she began to clap her hands.
"So, then, do you take Pan Michael's side?" asked Zagloba.
Basia shook her forelock and was silent; after a while a quiet sigh raised her breast. "Ei! what of that? I am glad, for he is ours."
"But think of this, and beat it into yourself, little haiduk," said Zagloba, "that if on the field of battle it is hard to find a better man than Ketling, he is most dangerous for maidens, who love him madly for his beauty. He is trained famously in love-making too."
"Tell that to Krysia, for love is not in my head," answered Basia, and turning to Krysia, she began to call, "Krysia! Krysia! Come here just for a word."
"I am here," said Krysia.
"Pan Zagloba says that no lady looks on Ketling without falling in love straightway. I have looked at him from every side, and somehow nothing has happened; but do you feel anything?"
"Basia, Basia!" said Krysia, in a tone of persuasion.
"Has he pleased you, eh?"
"Spare us! be sedate. My Basia, do not talk nonsense, for Ketling is coming."
In fact, Krysia had not taken her seat when Ketling approached and inquired, "Is it permitted to join the company?"
"We request you earnestly," answered Krysia.
"Then I am bold to ask, of what was your conversation?"
"Of love," cried Basia, without hesitation.
Ketling sat down near Krysia. They were silent for a time; for Krysia, usually self-possessed and with presence of mind, had in some wonderful way become timid in presence of the cavalier; hence he was first to ask,—
"Is it true that the conversation was of such a pleasant subject?"
"It was," answered Krysia, in an undertone.
"I shall be delighted to hear your opinion."
"Pardon me, for I lack courage and wit, so I think that I should rather hear something new from you."
"Krysia is right," said Zagloba. "Let us listen."
"Ask a question," said Ketling. And raising his eyes somewhat, he meditated a little, then, although no one had questioned him, he began to speak, as if to himself: "Loving is a grievous misfortune; for by loving, a free man becomes a captive. Just as a bird, shot by an arrow, falls it the feet of the hunter, so the man struck by love has no power to escape from the feet of the loved one. To love is to be maimed; for a man, like one blind, does not see the world beyond his love. To love is to mourn; for when do more tears flow, when do more sighs swell the breast? When a man loves, there are neither dresses nor hunts in his head; he is ready to sit embracing his knees with his arms, sighing as plaintively as if he had lost some one near to him. Love is an illness; for in it, as in illness, the face becomes pale, the eyes sink, the hands tremble, the fingers grow thin, and the man thinks of death, or goes around in derangement, with dishevelled hair, talks with the moon, writes gladly the cherished name on the sand, and if the wind blows it away, he says, 'misfortune,' and is ready to sob."
Here Ketling was silent for a while; one would have said that he was sunk in musing. Krysia listened to his words with her whole soul, as if they were a song. Her lips were parted, and her eyes did not leave the pale face of the knight. Basia's forelock fell to her eyes, hence it could not be known what she was thinking of; but she sat in silence also.
Then Zagloba yawned loudly, drew a deep breath, stretched his legs, and said, "Give command to make boots for dogs of such love!"
"But yet," began the knight, anew, "if it is grievous to love, it is more grievous still not to love; for who without love is satisfied with pleasure, glory, riches, perfumes, or jewels? Who will not say to the loved one, 'I choose thee rather than a kingdom, than a sceptre, than health or long life'? And since each would give life for love willingly, love has more value than life." Ketling finished.
The young ladies sat nestling closely to each other, wondering at the tenderness of his speech and those conclusions of love foreign to Polish cavaliers, till Zagloba, who was napping at the end, woke and began to blink, looking now at one, now at another, now at the third; at last gaining presence of mind, he inquired in a loud voice, "What do you say?"
"We say good-night to you," said Basia.
"Ah! I know now we were talking of love. What was the conclusion?"
"The lining was better than the cloak."
"There is no use in denying that I was drowsy; but this loving, weeping, sighing—Ah, I have found another rhyme for it,—namely, sleeping,—and at this time the best, for the hour is advanced. Good-night to the whole company, and give us peace with your love. O my God, my God, while the cat is miauwing, she will not eat the cheese; but until she eats, her mouth is watering. In my day I resembled Ketling as one cup does another; and I was in love so madly that a ram might have pounded my back for an hour before I should have known it. But in old age I prefer to rest well, especially when a polite host not only conducts me to bed, but gives me a drink on the pillow."
"I am at the service of your grace," said Ketling.
"Let us go; let us go! See how high the moon is already. It will be fine to-morrow; it is glittering and clear as in the day. Ketling is ready to talk about love with you all night; but remember, kids, that he is road-weary."
"Not road-weary, for I have rested two days in the city. I am only afraid that the ladies are not used to night-watching."
"The night would pass quickly in listening to you," said Krysia.
Then they parted, for it was really late. The young ladies slept in the same room and usually talked long before sleeping; but this evening Basia could not understand Krysia, for as much as the first had a wish to speak, so much was the second silent and answered in half-words. A number of times too, when Basia, in speaking of Ketling, caught at an idea, laughing somewhat at him and mimicking him a little, Krysia embraced her with great tenderness, begging her to leave off that nonsense.
"He is host here, Basia," said she; "we are living under his roof; and I saw that he fell in love with you at once."
"Whence do you know that?" inquired Basia.
"Who does not love you? All love you, and I very much." Thus speaking, she put her beautiful face to Basia's face, nestled up to her, and kissed her eyes.
They went at last to their beds, but Krysia could not sleep for a long time. Disquiet had seized her. At times her heart beat with such force that she brought both hands to her satin bosom to restrain the throbbing. At times too, especially when she tried to close her eyes, it seemed to her that some head, beautiful as a dream, bent over her, and a low voice whispered into her ear,—
"I would rather have thee than a kingdom, than a sceptre, than health, than long life!"
CHAPTER XIII.