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

“Did he recognize you?”

“He knew me undoubtedly, though he said nothing, for he smiled and nodded his head. Such pity possessed me that I could stay no longer. Prince Koretski wishes to come here with his squadron. Zatsvilikhovski will come with him, and Pan Sukhodolski swears that he will come too, even if he has an order to the contrary from Prince Dominik. They will bring Pan Yan unless disease gets the better of him.”

“And whence have you tidings of the princess’s death?” asked Pan Longin. “Have these young men brought it?” added he, pointing to the princes.

“No. These knights learned all by chance in Korets, where they had come with messages from the voevoda of Vilna, and came here with me, for they had letters from the voevoda to our prince. War is certain, and nothing will come of the commission.”

“We know that already ourselves, but tell us who informed you of the death of the princess?”

“Zatsvilikhovski told me, and he knows it from Skshetuski. Hmelnitski gave Skshetuski permission to search for her in Kiev, and the metropolitan himself had to assist. They searched mainly in the monasteries, for those of our people who remained in Kiev are secreted in them. And they thought surely that Bogun had placed the princess in some monastery. They sought and sought and were of good heart, though they knew that the mob had suffocated twelve young ladies with smoke at Nikolai the Good. The metropolitan contended that they would not have attacked the betrothed of Bogun, but it has turned out otherwise.”

“Then she was at the convent of Nikolai the Good?”

“She was. Skshetuski met Pan Yoakhim Yerlich, who was hiding in a monastery; and as he had asked everyone about the princess, he asked him too. Pan Yerlich said that there were certain young ladies whom the Cossacks had taken, but at Nikolai the Good twelve remained, whom afterward they suffocated with smoke⁠—among them Kurtsevichovna. Skshetuski, since Yerlich is a hypochondriac and only half-witted from continual terror, did not believe him, and hurried off immediately a second time to Nikolai the Good to inquire. Unfortunately the nuns, three of whom were suffocated in the same cell, did not know the names, but hearing the description which Skshetuski gave, they said that she was the one. Then Skshetuski went away from Kiev and straightway fell ill.”

“The only wonder is that he is still alive.”

“He would have died undoubtedly but for that old Cossack who nursed him during captivity in the Saitch, and then came here with letters from him, and when he had returned, helped him again in his search. He took him to Korets and gave him into the hands of Zatsvilikhovski.”

“May God protect him, for he has never yet consoled him!” said Podbipienta.

Volodyovski ceased, and a silence of the grave reigned over all. The princes resting upon their elbows sat motionless with frowning brows; Podbipienta raised his eyes to heaven, and Zagloba fixed his glassy gaze on the opposite wall as if sunk in the deepest thought.

“Rouse yourself!” said Volodyovski, shaking him by the shoulder. “Of what are you thinking so? You will not think out anything, and all your stratagems will be useless.”

“I know that,” answered Zagloba, with a broken voice. “I am thinking that I am old, that I have nothing to do in this world.”

“Picture to yourself,” said Volodyovski to Pan Longin a few days later, “that that man has changed in one hour as if he had grown ten years older. So joyous was he, so talkative, so full of tricks, that he surpassed Ulysses himself. Now he does not let two words out of his lips, but dozes away whole days, complains of old age, and speaks as in a dream. I knew that he loved her, but I did not think that he loved her to this degree.”

“What is there wonderful in that?” answered the Lithuanian, sighing. “He was the more attached to her that he snatched her from the hands of Bogun, and went through so many dangers and adventures in the flight. While there was hope his wit was exerted in inventions, and he kept on foot; but now he has really nothing to do in the world, being alone and without heart for anything.”

“I tried to drink with him, hoping that drink would restore his former vigor, but in vain. He drinks, but does not think as before, does not talk about his exploits; only becomes sensitive, and then hangs his head on his breast and goes to sleep. I do not know if even Pan Yan is in greater despair than he.”

“It is an unspeakable loss, for withal he was a great knight. Let us go to him, Pan Michael. He had the habit of scoffing at me and teasing me on every occasion; perhaps the desire will take him now. My God, how people change! He was such a gladsome man.”

“Let us go,” said Volodyovski. “It is already late; but it is most grievous for him in the evening⁠—for dozing all day, he is unable to sleep at night.”

Thus conversing, they betook themselves to the quarters of Zagloba, whom they found sitting under the open window with his head resting on his hand. It was late; every movement in the castle had ceased; only the sentinels answered in prolonged tones, and in the thickets separating the castle from the town the nightingales brought out their passionate trills, whistling, smacking, and clapping as quickly as fall the drops in a spring shower. Through the open window came in the warm breeze of May and the clear rays of the moon, which lighted the downcast face of Zagloba and the bald crown bent toward his breast.

“Good evening!” said the two knights.

“Good evening!” answered Zagloba.

“Why have you forgotten yourself before the window instead of going to bed?” asked Volodyovski.

Zagloba sighed. “It is not a question of sleep with me,” said he,