There were other causes, also, for his gladness. Besides the goodwill of the prince, whom the lieutenant loved with his whole soul, there awaited him in Lubni certain dark eyes. These eyes belonged to Anusia Borzobogata Krasenska, lady-in-waiting to Princess Griselda, the most beautiful maiden among all her attendants; a fearful coquette, for whom everyone was languishing in Lubni, while she was indifferent to all. Princess Griselda was terribly strict in deportment and excessively austere in manner, which, however, did not prevent young people from exchanging ardent glances and sighs. Pan Yan, in common with the others, sent his tribute to the dark eyes, and when alone in his quarters he would seize a lute and sing—
“Thou’rt the daintiest of the dainty;”
or,
“The Tartar seizes people captive;
Thou seizest captive hearts.”
But being a cheerful man, and, besides, a soldier thoroughly devoted to his profession, he did not take it too much to heart that Anusia smiled on Pan Bykhovets of the Wallachian regiment, or Pan Vurtsel of the artillery, or Pan Volodyovski of the dragoons, as well as on him, and smiled even on Pan Baranovski of the huzzars, although he was already growing gray, and lisped since his palate had been wounded by a musket-ball. Our lieutenant had even had a sabre duel with Volodyovski for the sake of Anusia; but when obliged to remain too long at Lubni without an expedition against the Tartars, life was tedious there, even with Anusia, and when he had to go on an expedition, he went gladly, without regret or remembrance.
He returned joyfully, however, for he was on his way from the Crimea after a satisfactory arrangement of affairs. He hummed a song merrily, and urged his horse, riding by the side of Pan Longin, who, sitting on an enormous Livonian mare, was thoughtful and serious as usual. The wagons of the embassy escort remained considerably in the rear.
“The envoy is lying in the wagon like a block of wood, and sleeps all the time,” said the lieutenant. “He told me wonders of his Wallachian land till he grew tired. I listened, too, with curiosity. It is a rich country—no use in denying that—excellent climate, gold, wine, dainties, and cattle in abundance. I thought to myself meanwhile: Our prince is descended from a Moldavian mother, and has as good a right to the throne of the hospodar as anyone else; which rights, moreover, Prince Michael claimed. Wallachia is no new country to our warriors; they have beaten the Turks, Tartars, Wallachians, and Transylvanians.”
“But the people are of weaker temper than with us, as Pan Zagloba told me in Chigirin,” said Pan Longin. “If he is not to be believed; confirmation of what he says may be found in prayer-books.”
“How in prayer-books?”
“I have one myself, and I can show it to you, for I always carry one with me.”
Having said this, he unbuckled the saddle-straps in front of him, and taking out a small book carefully bound in calfskin, kissed it reverentially; then turning over a few leaves, said, “Read.”
Skshetuski began: “ ‘We take refuge under thy protection, Holy Mother of God—’ Where is there anything here about Wallachia? What are you talking of? This is an antiphone!”
“Read on farther.”
“ ‘That we may be worthy of the promises of Christ our Lord. Amen.’ ”
“Well, here we’ve got a question.”
Skshetuski read: “ ‘Question: Why is Wallachian cavalry called light? Answer: Because it is light-footed in flight. Amen.’ H’m! this is true. Still, there is a wonderful mixture of matters in this book.”
“It is a soldiers’ book, where, side by side with prayers, a variety of military information is given, from which you may gain knowledge of all nations—which of them is noblest, and which mean. As to the Wallachians, it appears that they are cowardly fellows, and terrible traitors besides.”
“That they are traitors is undoubted, for that is proven by the adventures of Prince Michael. I have heard as a fact that their soldiers are nothing to boast of by nature. But the prince has an excellent Wallachian regiment, in which Bykhovets is lieutenant; but to tell the truth, I don’t think it contains even two hundred Wallachians.”
“Well, Lieutenant, what do you think? Has the prince many men under arms?”
“About eight thousand, not counting the Cossacks that are at the outposts. But Zatsvilikhovski tells me that new levies are ordered.”
“Well, may God give us a campaign under the prince!”
“It is said that a great war against Turkey is in preparation, and that the king himself is going to march with all the forces of the Commonwealth. I know, too, that gifts are withheld from the Tartars, who, I may add, are afraid to stir. I heard of this even in the Crimea, where on this account, I suppose, I was received with such honor; for the report is, that if the king moves with the hetmans, Prince Yeremi will strike the Crimea and wipe out the Tartars. It is quite certain they will not confide such an undertaking to anyone else.”
Pan Longin raised his hands and eyes to heaven.
“May the God of mercy grant such a holy war for the glory of Christianity and our nation, and permit me, sinful man, to fulfil my vow, so that I may receive joy in the struggle or find a praiseworthy death!”
“Have you made a vow, then, concerning the war?”
“I will disclose all the secrets of my soul to such a worthy knight, though the story is a long one; but since you incline a willing ear I will begin. You are aware that the motto on my shield is ‘Tear cowl;’ and this has the following origin: When my ancestor, Stoveiko Podbipienta, at the battle of Grünwald saw three knights in monks’ cowls riding in a row, he dashed up to them and cut the heads off all three with one blow. Touching this
