With Fire and Sword Henryk Sienkiewicz (different e readers .TXT) 📖

but the worthy noble opposed every suggestion, and thus explained his inactivity:⁠—

“My stomach is too big, Pan Michael, for these struggles and encounters; and besides, each man has his special power. To strike with hussars in the thick of the enemy in the open day, break through a camp, capture standards⁠—that’s my forte, the Lord God created and fitted me for that; but to hunt a rabble in the night through the brush⁠—I leave that to you, who are as slender as a needle, and can easily push through everywhere. I am a knight of ancient date, and I prefer to tear through as the lion does, rather than creep along like a bloodhound on trails. Besides, after the evening milking I must to bed, for that is my best time.”

Volodyovski therefore went alone, and alone conquered, till a certain time when, going out toward the end of April, he returned in the middle of May, as woebegone and gloomy as if he had met a defeat and wasted his men. Thus it appeared to all; but in that long and difficult expedition Volodyovski had gone beyond Ostrog to the neighborhood of Golovna, and had defeated there, not a common band made up of the rabble, but several hundred Zaporojians, half of whom he killed and the other half captured. The more astonishing, therefore, was the profound gloom which as a fog covered his face, joyous by nature. But Pan Volodyovski said not a word to any man; scarcely had he dismounted when he went for a long conversation with the prince, taking two unknown knights, and then, in company with them, went to Zagloba without stopping, though those eager for news seized him by the sleeve along the way.

Zagloba looked with a certain astonishment on the two gigantic men, whom he had never seen before, and whose uniform, with gilt shoulder-knots, showed that they served in the Lithuanian army. Volodyovski said⁠—

“Shut the door, and give orders to admit no one, for we have to speak on affairs of importance.”

Zagloba gave the order to the servant; then he began to look unquietly on the strangers, noting from their faces that they had nothing good to tell.

“These are,” said Volodyovski, pointing to the young man, “the Princes Bulygi Kurtsevichi, Yuri and Andrei.”

“The cousins of Helena!” cried Zagloba.

The princes bowed and said both at once: “Cousins of the deceased Helena.”

The ruddy face of Zagloba became pale blue in a moment. He began to beat the air with his hands as if he had been struck with a bullet. He opened his lips, unable to catch breath, rolled his eyes, and said or rather groaned: “How?”

“There is news,” answered Volodyovski, gloomily, “that the princess was murdered in the monastery of Nikolai the Good.”

“The mob suffocated with smoke in a cell twelve young ladies and some nuns, among whom was our cousin,” added Prince Yuri.

This time Zagloba’s countenance, formerly blue, became so red that those present were afraid of apoplexy. Slowly his lids dropped over his eyes; he covered them with his hands, and from his mouth came a fresh groan: “Oh, world! world! world!” Then he was silent.

But the princes and Volodyovski began to complain.

“Oh, good lady, we your friends and relatives gathered together⁠—we who wished to go to save you,” said the young knight, sighing time after time; “but it is evident that we were late with our aid. Our willingness was in vain, in vain our sabres and our courage; for you are in another and better than this bad world, waiting upon the Queen of Heaven.”

“Oh, cousin,” cried the gigantic Yuri, who in grief seized his hair anew, “forgive us our faults, and for every drop of your blood we will pour out three gallons.”

“So help us God!” responded Andrei.

The two men stretched their hands to heaven. Zagloba rose from his seat, advanced a few steps toward the bed, tottered like one drunk, and fell on his knees before the image.

After a moment the bells in the castle sounded for midday⁠—sounded as gloomily as if they were death-bells.

“She is no more!” said Volodyovski again. “The angels have taken her to heaven, leaving us tears and sighs.”

Sobbing shook the heavy body of Zagloba, and it trembled; but they complained without ceasing, and the bells were tolling.

At last Zagloba calmed himself; they had thought indeed that perhaps wearied by pain he had fallen asleep on his knees. After a time, however, he rose, stood up, sat on the bed; but he had become as it were another man. His eyes were red, bloodshot; his head drooping; his lower lip hung upon his beard; imbecility had settled on his face, and a certain unexampled decrepitude, so that it might in truth appear that the former Zagloba, lively, jovial, full of fancy, had died, and there remained only an old man weighted and wearied with years.

Meanwhile, in spite of the protests of the servant at the door, Podbipienta entered; and again began complaints and regrets. The Lithuanian called to mind Rozlogi, and the first meeting with the princess⁠—her sweetness, youth, beauty. At length he remembered that there was someone more unhappy than any of them⁠—her betrothed, Pan Skshetuski⁠—and he began to ask the little knight about him.

“Skshetuski is with Prince Koretski, at Korets, to which place he came from Kiev; and he lies there in illness, unconscious of God’s world,” said Volodyovski.

“Should not we go to him?” asked the Lithuanian.

“There is no reason to go,” replied Volodyovski. “The prince’s physician answers for his health. Pan Sukhodolski⁠—one of Prince Dominik’s colonels, but a great friend of Skshetuski⁠—is there, and our old Zatsvilikhovski; they both have him in care and watchfulness. He lacks for nothing, and that delirium does not leave him is the better for him.”

“Oh, God of power!” said the Lithuanian, “have you seen Skshetuski with your own eyes?”

“I saw him; but if they had not told me that that was he, I should not have known him, pain and sickness have