With Fire and Sword by Henryk Sienkiewicz (big ebook reader .txt) 📕

from you and cannot receive it; I have never heard it, even when your aunt and your cousins gave you to me. Oh, if you, girl, had been different to me, then what has come to pass would not have been! I should not have stricken down your cousins, I should not have joined fraternal hands with rebellion and peasants; but through you I have lost my mind. If you had wished to lead me anywhere, you could have led me where you liked, and I should have given you my blood, my soul. Now I am steeped in blood of nobles; but in old times I killed only Tartars, and brought you booty, that you might be clothed in gold and jewels like cherubim of the Lord. Why did you not love me, then? Oh, it is heavy and sad at my heart! I cannot live with you nor without you, nor far away nor near you, neither on the mountain nor in the valley, my dove, my precious heart! But forgive me that I came for you to Rozlogi in Cossack style, with sabre and fire; but I was drunk with anger at the princes, and I drank gorailka on the way⁠—unhappy outlaw! But afterward, when you escaped me, I howled like a dog, and my wounds tortured me, and I could not eat. I begged death to take me; and you want me to yield you now, to lose you a second time, my dove, my heart!”

The chief stopped, for his voice broke in his throat, and he began to groan. Helena’s face grew red and pale by turns. The more of measureless love there was in Bogun’s words, the greater the gulf which opened before her, bottomless, and without hope of rescue.

The Cossack rested awhile, regained self-command, and continued⁠—

“Ask what you like. See how the room is decorated! This is mine; this is booty from Bar, which I brought for you on six horses. Ask what you wish⁠—yellow gold, shining garments, bright jewels, willing slaves. I am rich, I have enough of my own; and Hmelnitski will not spare treasures on me, and Krívonos will not spare them. You will be like Princess Vishnyevetski. I will win castles for you, give you half the Ukraine; for though I am a Cossack, not a noble, I am a bunchuk ataman. Under me are ten thousand men⁠—more than Prince Yeremi commands. Ask what you like, only not to flee from me⁠—only stay with me and love me, O my dove!”

The princess raised herself on the cushions. She was very pale, but her sweet and marvellous face expressed such unbroken will, pride, and power that the dove was most like an eagle at that moment.

“If you are waiting for my answer,” said she, “then know that if I had even a lifetime to groan out in captivity with you, never, never should I love you, God be my aid!”

Bogun struggled with himself a moment. “Do not tell me such things,” said he, with a hoarse voice.

“Do not speak to me of your love; it brings me shame and offence. I am not for you.”

The chief rose. “And for whom, then, are you, Princess Kurtsevichovna? And whose would you have been in Bar but for me?”

“Whoso saves my life to give me shame and captivity is my enemy, not my friend.”

“And do you suppose that the peasants would have killed you? The thought is terrible.”

“The knife would have killed me, but you wrenched it from me.”

“And I will not give it up, for you must be mine,” burst out the Cossack.

“Never! I prefer death.”

“You must and will be.”

“Never!”

“Well, if you were not wounded, after what you have told me, I should send my Cossacks to Rashkoff today and have a monk brought here, and tomorrow I should be your husband. Then what? It is a sin not to love your husband and fondle him. Ai! you high mighty lady, the love of a Cossack is an offence, an anger to you. And who are you that I am for you a peasant? Where are your castles and boyars and troops? At what are you angry⁠—at what are you offended? I took you in war; you are a captive. If I were a peasant, I should teach you reason on the white shoulders with the whip, and without a priest would have enough of your beauty⁠—if I were a peasant, not a knight!”

“Angels of heaven, save me!” whispered the princess.

But in the mean while greater and greater fury rose to the face of Bogun, and anger seized him by the hair.

“I know,” said he, “why you’re offended, why you resist me. You preserve for another your maiden modesty. But in vain, as I live, as I am a Cossack! Nakedness15 the noble! The insincere, miserable Pole barely saw you, merely turned with you in the dance⁠—death to him!⁠—and took you captive altogether. Then let the Cossack suffer, break his head. But I will reach this Pole, and I will order him torn out of his skin, will nail him up. Do you know that Hmelnitski is marching on the Poles, and I go with him; and I will find your dove even under the ground, and when I return I will throw his head at your feet as a present.”

Helena did not hear the last words of the ataman. Pain, anger, wounds, emotion, terror, took her strength; an immeasurable weakness came upon all her limbs, her eyes and her thoughts grew dark, and she fell into a swoon.

The chief stood some time, pale from anger, with foam on his lips. Then he saw the lifeless head hanging back powerless, and from his lips went out a roar almost unearthly. “It is all over with her! Horpyna! Horpyna!” And he threw himself on the floor.

The giantess rushed into the room with all speed. “What is the matter?”

“Help! help!” cried Bogun. “I have killed her, my