With Fire and Sword by Henryk Sienkiewicz (big ebook reader .txt) 📕
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Goodwill in the seventeenth century Polish Commonwealth has been stretched thin due to the nobility’s perceived and real oppression of the less well-off members. When the situation reaches its inevitable breaking point, it sparks the taking up of arms by the Cossacks against the Polish nobility and a spiral of violence that engulfs the entire state. This background provides the canvas for vividly painted narratives of heroism and heartbreak of both the knights and the hetmans swept up in the struggle.
Henryk Sienkiewicz had spent most of his adult life as a journalist and editor, but turned his attention back to historical fiction in an attempt to lift the spirits and imbue a sense of nationalism to the partitioned Poland of the nineteenth century. With Fire and Sword is the first of a trilogy of novels dealing with the events of the Khmelnytsky Uprising, and weaves fictional characters and events in among historical fact. While there is some contention about the fairness of the portrayal of Polish and Ukrainian belligerents, the novel certainly isn’t one-sided: all factions indulge in brutal violence in an attempt to sway the tide of war, and their grievances are clearly depicted.
The initial serialization and later publication of the novel proved hugely popular, and in Poland the Trilogy has remained so ever since. In 1999, the novel was the subject of Poland’s then most expensive film, following the previously filmed later books. This edition is based on the 1898 translation by Jeremiah Curtin, who also translated Sienkiewicz’s later (and perhaps more internationally recognized) Quo Vadis.
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- Author: Henryk Sienkiewicz
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“He speaks the truth!” cried voices in the crowd.
“He speaks well!”
“A wise grandfather!”
“Did you see the prince on the road?”
“See him I didn’t, but I heard in Brovarki that he had left Lubni, that he is burning and slaying; and where he finds even one pike before him, he leaves only the sky and the earth behind.”
“Lord, have mercy on us!”
“And where are we to look for Hmelnitski?”
“I came here, children, to tell you where to look for Hmelnitski. Go, my children, to Zólotonosha, then to Trakhtimiroff, and there Hmelnitski will be waiting for you. There people are collecting from all the villages, houses, and cottages; the Tartars will come there too. Go! Unless you do, the prince will not leave you to walk over the earth.”
“And you will go with us, father?”
“Walk I will not, for the ground pulls down my old legs. But get ready a telega, and I will ride with you. Before we come to Zólotonosha I will go on ahead to see if there are Polish soldiers. If there are, we will pass by and go straight to Trakhtimiroff. That is a Cossack country. But now give me something to eat and drink, for I am hungry, and this lad here is hungry too. We will start off in the morning, and along the road I will sing to you of Pan Pototski and Prince Yeremi. Oh, they are terrible lions! There will be great bloodshed in the Ukraine. The sky is awfully red, and the moon just as if swimming in blood. Beg, children, for the mercy of God, for no one will walk long in God’s world. I have heard also that vampires rise out of their graves and howl.”
A vague terror seized the crowd of peasants; they began to look around involuntarily, make the sign of the cross and whisper among themselves. At last one cried out—
“To Zólotonosha!”
“To Zólotonosha!” repeated all, as if there in particular were refuge and safety.
“To Trakhtimiroff!”
“Death to the Poles and lords!”
All at once a young Cossack stepped forward, shook his pike, and cried: “Fathers, if we go to Zólotonosha tomorrow, we will go to the manager’s house tonight.”
“To the manager’s house!” cried a number of voices at once.
“Burn it up! take the goods!”
But the minstrel, who held his head drooping on his breast, raised it and said—
“Oh, children, do not go to the manager’s house, and do not burn it, or you will suffer. The prince may be close by, he is going along with his army; he will see the fire, he will come, and there will be trouble. Better give me something to eat and show me a place to rest. And do you keep your peace!”
“He tells the truth!” said a number of voices.
“He tells the truth, and, Maksim, you are a fool!”
“Come, father, to my house for bread and salt and a cup of mead, and rest on the hay till daylight,” said an old peasant, turning to the minstrel.
Zagloba rose, and pulled the sleeve of Helena’s svitka. She was asleep.
“The boy is tired to death; he fell asleep under the very sound of the hammers,” said Zagloba. But in his soul he thought: “Oh, sweet innocence, thou art able to sleep amidst pikes and knives! It is clear that angels of heaven are guarding thee, and me in thy company.”
He roused her, and they went on toward the village, which lay at some distance. The night was calm and quiet; the echo of the striking hammers followed them. The old peasant went ahead to show the way in the darkness; and Zagloba, pretending to say his prayers, muttered in a monotone—
“O God, have mercy on us, sinners—Do you see, Princess—O Holy Most Pure—what would have happened to us without this peasant disguise?—As it is on earth, so in heaven—We shall get something to eat, and tomorrow ride to Zólotonosha instead of going on foot—Amen, amen, amen!—Bogun may come upon our tracks, for our tracks will not deceive him; but it will be late, for we shall cross the Dnieper at Próhorovka—Amen!—May black death choke them, may the hangman light their way! Do you hear, Princess, how they are howling at the forge?—Amen!—Terrible times have come on us, but I am a fool if I don’t rescue you even if we have to flee to Warsaw itself.”
“What are you muttering there, brother?” asked the peasant.
“Oh, nothing! I am praying for your health. Amen, amen!”
“Here is my cottage.”
“Glory be to God!”
“For the ages of ages!”
“I beg you to eat my bread and salt.”
“God will reward you.”
A little later the minstrel had strengthened himself powerfully with mutton and a good portion of mead. Next morning early, he moved on with his attendant lad, in a comfortable telega, toward Zólotonosha, escorted by a number of mounted peasants armed with pikes and scythes.
They went through Kovraiets, Chernobái, and Krapivna. The wayfarers saw that everything was seething; the peasants were arming at all points, the forges were working from morning till night, and only the terrible name and power of Prince Yeremi still restrained the bloody outburst. West of the Dnieper the tempest was let loose in all its fury. News of the defeat at Korsún had spread over all Russia with the speed of lightning, and every living soul was rushing forth.
XXINext morning after the flight of Zagloba, the Cossacks found Bogun half suffocated in the coat in which Zagloba had wrapped him; but since his wounds were not serious he returned soon to consciousness. Remembering everything that had happened, he fell into a rage, roared like a wild beast, stained his hands with blood from his
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