Chapter XXV
Kmita was very busily occupied in preparations for the road, and in choosing the men of his escort; for he determined not to go without a certain-sized party, first for his own safety, and second for the dignity of his person as an envoy. He was in a hurry, since he wished to start during the evening of that day, or if the rain did not cease, early next morning. He found men at last,--six trusty fellows who had long served under him in those better days when before his journey to Lyubich he had stormed around Hovanski,--old fighters of Orsha, ready to follow him even to the end of the earth. They were themselves nobles and attendant boyars, the last remnant of that once powerful band cut down by the Butryms. At the head of them was the sergeant Soroka, a trusty servant of the Kmitas,--an old soldier and very reliable, though numerous sentences were hanging over him for still more numerous deeds of violence.
After dinner the prince gave Pan Andrei the letters and a pass to the Swedish commanders whom the young envoy might meet in the more considerable places; he took farewell of him and sent him away with much feeling, really like a father, recommending wariness and deliberation.
Meanwhile the sky began to grow clear; toward evening the weak sun of autumn shone over Kyedani and went down behind red clouds, stretched out in long lines on the west.
There was nothing to hinder the journey. Kmita was just drinking a stirrup cup with Ganhoff, Kharlamp, and some other officers when about dusk Soroka came in and asked,--
"Are you going, Commander?"
"In an hour," answered Kmita.
"The horses and men are ready now in the yard."
The sergeant went out, and the officers began to strike glasses still more; but Kmita rather pretended to drink than to drink in reality. The wine had no taste for him, did not go to his head, did not cheer his spirit, while the others were already merry.
"Worthy Colonel," said Ganhoff, "commend me to the favor of Prince Boguslav. That is a great cavalier; such another there is not in the Commonwealth. With him you will be as in France. A different speech, other customs, every politeness may be learned there more easily than even in the palace of the king."
"I remember Prince Boguslav at Berestechko," said Kharlamp; "he had one regiment of dragoons drilled in French fashion completely,--they rendered both infantry and cavalry service. The officers were French, except a few Hollanders; of the soldiers the greater part were French, all dandies. There was an odor of various perfumes from them as from a drug-shop. In battle they thrust fiercely with rapiers, and it was said that when one of them thrust a man through he said, 'Pardonnez-moi!' (pardon me); so they mingled politeness with uproarious life. But Prince Boguslav rode among them with a handkerchief on his sword, always smiling, even in the greatest din of battle, for it is the French fashion to smile amid bloodshed. He had his face touched with paint, and his eyebrows blackened with coal, at which the old soldiers were angry and called him a bawd. Immediately after battle he had new ruffs brought him, so as to be always dressed as if for a banquet, and they curled his hair with irons, making marvellous ringlets out of it. But he is a manful fellow, and goes first into the thickest fire. He challenged Pan Kalinovski because he said something to him, and the king had to make peace."
"There is no use in denying," said Ganhoff. "You will see curious things, and you will see the King of Sweden himself, who next to our prince is the best warrior in the world."
"And Pan Charnyetski," said Kharlamp; "they are speaking more and more of him."
"Pan Charnyetski is on the side of Yan Kazimir, and therefore is our enemy," remarked Ganhoff, severely.
"Wonderful things are passing in this world," said Kharlamp, musingly. "If any man had said a year or two ago that the Swedes would come hither, we should all have thought, 'We shall be fighting with the Swedes;' but see now."
"We are not alone; the whole Commonwealth has received them with open arms," said Ganhoff.
"True as life," put in Kmita, also musingly.
"Except Sapyeha, Gosyevski, Charnyetski, and the hetmans of the crown," answered Kharlamp.
"Better not speak of that," said Ganhoff. "But, worthy Colonel, come back to us in good health; promotion awaits you."
"And Panna Billevich?" added Kharlamp.
"Panna Billevich is nothing to you," answered Kmita, brusquely.
"Of course nothing, I am too old. The last time-- Wait, gentlemen, when was that? Ah, the last time during the election of the present mercifully reigning Yan Kazimir."
"Cease the use of that name from your tongue," interrupted Ganhoff. "To-day rules over us graciously Karl Gustav."
"True! Consuetudo altera natura (custom is a second nature). Well, the last time, during the election of Yan Kazimir, our ex-king and Grand Duke of Lithuania, I fell terribly in love with one lady, an attendant of the Princess Vishnyevetski. Oh, she was an attractive little beast! But when I wanted to look more nearly into her eyes, Pan Volodyovski thrust up his sabre. I was to fight with him; then Bogun came between us,--Bogun, whom Volodyovski cut up like a hare. If it had not been for that, you would not see me alive. But at that time I was ready to fight, even with the devil. Volodyovski stood up for her only through friendship, for she was betrothed to another, a still greater swordsman. Oh, I tell you, gentlemen, that I thought I should wither away--I could not think of eating or drinking. When our prince sent me from Warsaw to Smolensk, only then did I shake off my love on the road. There is nothing like a journey for such griefs. At the first mile I was easier, before I had reached Vilna my head was clear, and to this day I remain single. That is the whole story. There is nothing for unhappy love like a journey."
"Is that your opinion?" asked Kmita.
"As I live, it is! Let the black ones take all the pretty girls in Lithuania and the kingdom, I do not need them."
"But did you go away without farewell?"
"Without farewell; but I threw a red ribbon behind me, which one old woman, very deeply versed in love matters, advised me to do."
"Good health!" interrupted Ganhoff, turning again to Pan Andrei.
"Good health!" answered Kmita, "I give thanks from my heart."
"To the bottom, to the bottom! It is time for you to mount, and service calls us. May God lead you forth and bring you home."
"Farewell!"
"Throw the red ribbon behind," said Kharlamp, "or at the first resting-place put out the fire yourself with a bucket of water; that is, if you wish to forget."
"Be with God!"
"We shall not soon see one another."
"Perhaps somewhere on the battlefield," added Ganhoff. "God grant side by side, not opposed."
"Of course not opposed," said Kmita.
And the officers went out.
The clock on the tower struck seven. In the yard the horses were pawing the stone pavement with their hoofs, and through the window were to be seen the men waiting. A wonderful disquiet seized Pan Andrei. He was repeating to himself, "I go, I go!" Imagination placed before his eyes unknown regions, and a throng of strange faces which he was to see, and at the same time wonder seized him at the thought of the journey, as if hitherto it had never been in his mind.
He must mount and move on. "What happens, will happen. What will be, will be!" thought he to himself.
When, however, the horses were snorting right there at the window, and the hour of starting had struck, he felt that the new life would be strange, and all with which he had lived, to which he had grown accustomed, to which he had become attached heart and soul, would stay in that region, in that neighborhood, in that place. The former Kmita would stay there as well. Another man as it were would go hence,--a stranger to all outside, as all outside were strangers to him. He would have to begin there an entirely new life. God alone knew whether there would be a desire for it.
Pan Andrei was mortally wearied in soul, and therefore at that moment he felt powerless in view of those new scenes and new people. He thought that it was bad for him here, that it would be bad for him there, at least it would be burdensome.
But it is time, time. He must put his cap on his head and ride off.
But will he go without a last word? Is it possible to be so near and later to be so far, to say not one word and go forth? See to what it has come! But what can he say to her? Shall he go and say, "Everything is ruined; my lady, go thy way, I will go mine"? Why, why say even that, when without saying it is so? He is not her betrothed, as she is not and will not be his wife. What has been is lost, is rent, and will not return, will not be bound up afresh. Loss of time, loss of words, and new torture.
"I will not go!" thought Pan Kmita.
But, on the other hand, the will of a dead man binds them yet. It is needful to speak clearly and without anger of final separation, and to say to her, "My lady, you wish me not; I return you your word. Therefore we shall both act as though there had been no will, and let each seek happiness where each can find it?"
But she may answer: "I have said that long since; why tell it to me now?"
"I will not go, happen what may!" repeated Kmita to himself.
And pressing the cap on his head, he went out of the room into the corridor. He wished to mount straightway and be outside the gate quickly.
All at once, in the corridor, something caught him as it were by the hair. Such a desire to see her, to speak to her, possessed him, that he ceased to think whether to go or not to go, he ceased to reason, and rather pushed on with closed eyes, as if wishing to spring into water.
Before the very door whence the guard had just been removed, he came upon a youth, a servant of the sword-bearer.
"Is Pan Billevich in the room?" asked he.
"The sword-bearer is among the officers in the barracks."
"And the lady?"
"The lady is at home."
"Tell her that Pan Kmita is going on a long journey and wishes to see the lady."
The youth obeyed the command; but before he returned with an answer Kmita raised the latch and went in without question.
"I have come to take farewell," said he, "for I do not know whether we shall meet again in life."
Suddenly he turned to the youth: "Why stand here yet?"
"My gracious lady," continued Kmita, when the door had closed after the servant, "I intended to go without parting, but had not the power. God knows when I shall return, or whether I shall return, for misfortunes come lightly. Better that we part without anger and offence in our hearts, so that the punishment of God fall not on either of us. There is much to say, much to say, and now the tongue cannot say it all. Well, there was no happiness, clearly by the will of God there was not; and now, O man, even if thou batter thy head against the wall, there is no cure! Blame me not, and I will not blame you. We need not regard that testament now, for as I have said, the will of man is nothing against the will of God. God grant you happiness and peace. The main thing is that we forgive each other. I know not what will meet me outside, whither I am going. But I cannot sit longer in torture, in trouble, in sorrow. A man breaks himself on the four walls of a room without result, gracious lady, without result! One has no labor here,--only to take grief on the shoulders, only think for whole days of unhappy events till the head aches, and in the end think out nothing. This journey is as needful to me, as water to a fish, as air to a bird, for without it I should go wild."
"God grant you happiness," said Panna Aleksandra.
She stood before him as if stunned by the departure, the appearance, and the words of Pan Kmita. On her face were confusion and astonishment, and it was clear that she was struggling to recover herself; meanwhile she gazed on the young man with eyes widely open.
"I do not cherish ill will against you," said she after a time.
"Would that all this had not been!" said Kmita. "Some evil spirit came between us and separated us as if with a sea, and that water is neither to be swum across nor waded through. The man did not do what he wanted, he went not where he wished, but something as it were pushed him till we both entered pathless regions. But since we are to vanish the one from the eyes of the other, it is better to cry out even from remoteness, 'God guide!' It is needful also for you to know that offence and anger are one thing, and sorrow another. From anger I have freed myself, but sorrow sits in me--maybe not for you. Do I know myself for whom and for what? Thinking, I have thought out nothing; but still it seems to me that it will be easier both to you and to me if we talk. You hold me a traitor, and that pricks me most bitterly of all, for as I wish my soul's salvation, I have not been and shall not be a traitor."
"I hold you that no longer," said Olenka.
"Oi, how could you have held me that even one hour? You know of me, that once I was ready for violence, ready to slay, burn, shoot; that is one thing, but to betray for gain, for advancement, never! God guard me, God judge me! You are a woman, and cannot see in what lies the country's salvation; hence it beseems you not to condemn, to give sentence. And why did you utter the sentence? God be with you! Know this, that salvation is in Prince Radzivill and the Swedes; and who thinks otherwise, and especially acts, is just ruining the country. But it is no time to discuss, it is time to go. Know that I am not a traitor, not one who sells. May I perish if I ever be that! Know that unjustly you scorned me, unjustly consigned me to death--I tell you this under oath and at parting, and I say it that I may say with it, I forgive you from my heart; but do you forgive me as well."
Panna Aleksandra had recovered completely. "You say that I have judged you unjustly; that is true. It is my fault; I confess it and beg your forgiveness."
Here her voice trembled, her blue eyes filled with tears, and he cried with transport,--
"I forgive! I forgive! I would forgive you even my death!"
"May God guide you and bring you to the right road. May you leave that on which you are erring."
"But give peace, give peace!" cried Kmita, excitedly; "let no misunderstanding rise between us again. Whether I err or err not, be silent on that point. Let each man follow the way of his conscience; God will judge every intention. Better that I have come hither, than to go without farewell. Give me your hand for the road. Only that much is mine; for to-morrow I shall not see you, nor after tomorrow, nor in a month, perhaps never--Oi, Olenka! and in my head it is dim--Olenka! And shall we never meet again?"
Abundant tears like pearls were falling from Panna Aleksandra's lashes to her cheeks.
"Pan Andrei, leave traitors, and all may be."
"Quiet, oh, quiet!" said Kmita, with a broken voice. "It may not be--I cannot--better say nothing-- Would I were slain! less should I suffer-- For God's sake, why does this meet us? Farewell for the last time. And then let death close my eyes somewhere outside-- Why are you weeping? Weep not, or I shall go wild!"
And in supreme excitement he seized her half by constraint, and though she resisted, he kissed her eyes and her mouth, then fell at her feet. At last he sprang up, and grasping his hair like a madman, rushed forth from the chamber.
"The devil could do nothing here, much less a red ribbon."
Olenka saw him through the window as he was mounting in haste; the seven horsemen then moved forward. The Scots on guard at the gate made a clatter with their weapons, presenting arms; then the gate closed after the horsemen, and they were not to be seen on the dark road among the trees.
Night too had fallen completely.
Chapter XXVI
Kovno, and the whole region on the left bank of the Vilia, with all the roads, were occupied by the enemy (the Russians); therefore Kmita, not being able to go to Podlyasye by the high-road leading from Kovno to Grodno and thence to Byalystok, went by side-roads from Kyedani straight down the course of the Nyevyaja to the Nyemen, which he crossed near Vilkovo, and found himself in the province of Trotsk.
All that part of the road, which was not over great, he passed in quiet, for that region lay as it were under the hand of Radzivill.
Towns, and here and there even villages, were occupied by castle squadrons of the hetman, or by small detachments of Swedish cavalry which the hetman pushed forward thus far of purpose against the legions of Zolotarenko, which stood there beyond the Vilia, so that occasions for collisions and war might be more easily found.
Zolotarenko would have been glad too to have an "uproar" with the Swedes, according to the words of the hetman; but those whose ally he was did not wish war with them, or in every case wished to put it off as long as possible. Zolotarenko therefore received the strictest orders not to cross the river, and in case that Radzivill himself, together with the Swedes, moved on him, to retreat with all haste.
For these reasons the country on the right side of the Vilia was quiet; but since from one side Cossack pickets, from the other those of the Swedes and Radzivill were looking at one another, one musket-shot might at any moment let loose a terrible war.
In prevision of this, people took timely refuge in safe places. Therefore the whole country was quiet, but empty. Pan Andrei saw deserted towns, everywhere the windows of houses held up by sticks, and whole villages depopulated. The fields were also empty, for there was no crop that year. Common people secreted themselves in fathomless forests, to which they drove all their cattle; but the nobles fled to neighboring Electoral Prussia, at that time altogether safe from war. For this reason there was an uncommon movement over the roads and trails of the wilderness, and the number of fugitives was still more increased by those who from the left bank of the Vilia were able to escape the oppression of Zolotarenko.
The number of these was enormous, and especially of peasants; for the nobles who had not been able hitherto to flee from the left bank went into captivity or yielded their lives on their thresholds.
Pan Andrei, therefore, met every moment whole crowds of peasants with their wives and children, and driving before them flocks of sheep with horses and cattle. That part of the province of Trotsk touching upon Electoral Prussia was wealthy and productive; therefore the well-to-do people had something to save and guard. The approaching winter did not alarm fugitives, who preferred to await better days amid mosses of the forest, in snow covered huts, than to await death in their native villages at the hands of the enemy.
Kmita often approached the fleeing crowds, or fires gleaming at night in dense forest places. Wherever he met people from the left bank of the Vilia, from near Kovno, or from still remoter neighborhoods, he heard terrible tales of the cruelties of Zolotarenko and his allies, who exterminated people without regard to age or sex; they burned villages, cut down even trees in the gardens, leaving only land and water. Never had Tartar raids left such desolation behind.
Not death alone was inflicted on the inhabitants, but before death they were put to the most ingenious tortures. Many of those people fled with bewildered minds. These filled the forest depths at night with awful shrieks; others were ever in a species of continual fear and expectation of attack, though they had crossed the Nyemen and Vilia, though forests and morasses separated them from Zolotarenko's bands. Many of these stretched their hands to Kmita and his horsemen of Orsha, imploring rescue and pity, as if the enemy were standing there over them.
Carriages belonging to nobles were moving toward Prussia; in them old men, women, and children; behind them, dragged on wagons with servants, effects, supplies of provisions, and other things. All these fleeing people were panic-stricken, terrified and grieved because they were going into exile.
Pan Andrei comforted these unfortunates at times by telling them that the Swedes would soon pass over and drive that enemy far away. Then the fugitives stretched their hands to heaven and said,--
"God give health, God give fortune to the prince voevoda! When the Swedes come we will return to our homes, to our burned dwellings."
And they blessed the prince everywhere. From mouth to mouth news was given that at any moment he might cross the Vilia at the head of his own and Swedish troops. Besides, they praised the "modesty" of the Swedes, their discipline, and good treatment of the inhabitants. Radzivill was called the Gideon of Lithuania, a Samson, a savior. These people from districts steaming with fresh blood and fire were looking for him as for deliverance.
And Kmita, hearing those blessings, those wishes, those almost prayers, was strengthened in his faith concerning Radzivill, and repeated in his soul,--
"I serve such a lord! I will shut my eyes and follow blindly his fortune. At times he is terrible and beyond knowing; but he has a greater mind than others, he knows better what is needed, and in him alone is salvation."
It became lighter and calmer in his breast at this thought; he advanced therefore with greater solace in his heart, dividing his soul between sorrow for Kyedani and thoughts on the unhappy condition of the country.
His sorrow increased continually. He did not throw the red ribbon behind him, he did not put out the fire with water; for he felt, first, that it was useless, and then he did not wish to do so.
"Oh that she were present, that she could hear the wailing and groans of people, she would not beg God to turn me away, she would not tell me that I err, like those heretics who have left the true faith. But never mind! Earlier or later she will be convinced, she will see that her own judgment was at fault. And then what God will give will be. Maybe we shall meet again in life."
And yearning increased in the young cavalier; but the conviction that he was marching by the right, not by the wrong road, gave him a peace long since unknown. The conflict of thought, the gnawing, the doubts left him by degrees, and he rode forward; he sank in the shoreless forest almost with gladness. From the time that he had come to Lyubich, after his famous raids on Hovanski, he had not felt so vivacious.
Kharlamp was right in this, that there is no cure like the road for cares and troubles. Pan Andrei had iron health; his daring and love of adventures were coming back every hour. He saw these adventures before him, smiled at them, and urged on his convoy unceasingly, barely stopping for short night-rests.
Olenka stood ever before the eyes of his spirit, tearful, trembling in his arms like a bird, and he said to himself, "I shall return."
At times the form of the hetman passed before him, gloomy, immense, terrible. But it may be just because he was moving away more and more, that that form became almost dear to him. Hitherto he had bent before Radzivill; now he began to love him. Hitherto Radzivill had borne him along as a mighty whirlpool of water seizes and attracts everything that comes within its circle; now Kmita felt that he wished with his whole soul to go with him.
And in the distance that gigantic voevoda increased continually in the eyes of the young knight, and assumed almost superhuman proportions. More than once, at his night halt, when Pan Andrei had closed his eyes in sleep, he saw the hetman sitting on a throne loftier than the tops of the pine-trees. There was a crown on his head; his face was the same, gloomy, enormous; in his hand a sword and a sceptre, at his feet the whole Commonwealth. And in his soul Kmita did homage to greatness.
On the third day of the journey they left the Nyemen far behind, and entered a country of still greater forests. They met whole crowds of fugitives on the roads; but nobles unable to bear arms were going almost without exception to Prussia before the bands of the enemy, who, not held in curb there, as on the banks of the Vilia, by the regiments of Sweden and Radzivill, pushed at times far into the heart of the country, even to the boundary of Electoral Prussia. Their main object was plunder.
Frequently these were detachments as if from the army of Zolotarenko, but really recognizing no authority,--simply robber companies, so called "parties" commanded at times even by local bandits. Avoiding engagements in the field with troops and even with townspeople, they attacked small villages, single houses, and travellers.
The nobles on their own account attacked these parties with their household servants, and ornamented with them the pine-trees along the roads; still it was easy in the forest to stumble upon their frequent bands, and therefore Pan Andrei was forced to exercise uncommon care.
But somewhat beyond Pilvishki on the Sheshupa, Kmita found the population living quietly in their homes. The townspeople told him, however, that not longer than a couple of days before, a strong band of Zolotarenko's men, numbering as many as five hundred, had made an attack, and would, according to their custom, have cut down all the people, and let the place rise in smoke, were it not for unexpected aid which fell as it were from heaven.
"We had already committed ourselves to God," said the master of the inn in which Pan Andrei had taken lodgings, "when the saints of the Lord sent some squadrons. We thought at first that a new enemy had come, but they were ours. They sprang at once on Zolotarenko's ruffians, and in an hour they laid them out like a pavement, all the more easily as we helped them."
"What kind of a squadron was it?" asked Kmita.
"God give them health! They did not say who they were, and we did not dare to ask. They fed their horses, took what hay and bread there was, and rode away."
"But whence did they come, and whither did they go?"
"They came from Kozlova Ruda, and they went to the south. We, who before that wished to flee to the woods, thought the matter over and stayed here, for the under-starosta said that after such a lesson the enemy would not look in on us again soon."
The news of the battle interested Kmita greatly, therefore he asked further: "And do you not know who commanded that squadron?"
"We do not know; but we saw the colonel, for he talked with us on the square, he is young, and sharp as a needle. He does not look like the warrior that he is."
"Volodyovski!" cried Kmita.
"Whether he is Volodyovski, or not, may his hands be holy, may God make him hetman!"
Pan Andrei fell into deep thought. Evidently he was going by the same road over which a few days before Volodyovski had marched with the Lauda men. In fact, that was natural, for both were going to Podlyasye. But it occurred to Pan Andrei that if he hastened he might easily meet the little knight and be captured; in that case, all the letters of Radzivill would fall with him into possession of the confederates. Such an event might destroy his mission, and bring God knows what harm to the cause of Radzivill. For this reason Pan Andrei determined to stay a couple of days in Pilvishki, so that the squadron of Lauda might have time to advance as far as possible.
The men, as well as the horses, travelling almost with one sweep from Kyedani (for only short halts had been given on the road hitherto), needed rest; therefore Kmita ordered the soldiers to remove the packs from the horses and settle themselves comfortably in the inn.
Next day he was convinced that he had acted not only cleverly but wisely, for scarcely had he dressed in the morning, when his host stood before him.
"I bring news to your grace," said he.
"It is good?"
"Neither good nor bad, but that we have guests. An enormous court arrived here to-day, and stopped at the starosta's house. There is a regiment of infantry, and what crowds of cavalry and carriages with servants!--The people thought that the king himself had come."
"What king?"
The innkeeper began to turn his cap in his hand. "It is true that we have two kings now, but neither one came,--only the prince marshal."
Kmita sprang to his feet. "What prince marshal? Prince Boguslav?"
"Yes, your grace; the cousin of the prince voevoda of Vilna."
Pan Andrei clapped his hands from astonishment. "And so we have met."
The innkeeper, understanding that his guest was an acquaintance of Prince Boguslav, made a lower bow than the day before, and went out of the room; but Kmita began to dress in haste, and an hour later was before the house of the starosta.
The whole place was swarming with soldiers. The infantry were stacking their muskets on the square; the cavalry had dismounted and occupied the houses at the side. The soldiers and attendants in the most varied costumes had halted before the houses, or were walking along the streets. From the mouths of the officers were to be heard French and German. Nowhere a Polish soldier, nowhere a Polish uniform; the musketeers and dragoons were dressed in strange fashion, different, indeed, from the foreign squadrons which Pan Andrei had seen in Kyedani, for they were not in German but in French style. The soldiers, handsome men and so showy that each one in the ranks might be taken for an officer, delighted the eyes of Pan Andrei. The officers looked on him also with curiosity, for he had arrayed himself richly in velvet and brocade, and six men, dressed in new uniforms, followed him as a suite.
Attendants, all dressed in French fashion, were hurrying about in front of the starosta's house; there were pages in caps and feathers, armor-bearers in velvet kaftans, and equerries in Swedish, high, wide-legged boots.
Evidently the prince did not intend to tarry long in Pilvishki, and had stopped only for refreshment, for the carriages were not taken to the shed; and the equerries, in waiting, were feeding horses out of tin sieves which they held in their hands.
Kmita announced to an officer on guard before the house who he was and what was his mission; the officer went to inform the prince. After a while he returned hastily, to say that the prince was anxious to see a man sent from the hetman; and showing Kmita the way, he entered the house with him.
After they had passed the antechamber, they found in the dining-hall a number of attendants, with legs stretched out, slumbering sweetly in arm-chairs; it was evident that they must have started early in the morning from the last halting-place: The officer stopped before the door of the next room, and bowing to Pan Andrei, said,--
"The prince is there."
Pan Andrei entered and stopped at the threshold. The prince was sitting before a mirror fixed in the corner of the room, and was looking so intently at his own face, apparently just touched with rouge and white, that he did not turn attention to the incomer. Two chamber servants, kneeling before him, were fastening buckles at the ankles on his high travelling-boots, while he was arranging slowly with his fingers the luxuriant, evenly cut forelock of his bright gold-colored wig, or it might be of his own abundant hair.
He was still a young man, of thirty-five years, but seemed not more than five and twenty. Kmita knew the prince, but looked on him always with curiosity: first, because of the great knightly fame which surrounded him, and which was won mainly through duels fought with various foreign magnates; second, by reason of his peculiar figure,--whoso saw his form once was forced to remember it ever after. The prince was tall and powerfully built, but on his broad shoulders stood a head as diminutive as if taken from another body. His face, also, was uncommonly small, almost childlike; but in it, too, there was no proportion, for he had a great Roman nose and enormous eyes of unspeakable beauty and brightness, with a real eagle boldness of glance. In presence of those eyes and the nose, the rest of his face, surrounded, moreover, with plentiful tresses of hair, disappeared almost completely; his mouth was almost that of a child; above it was a slight mustache barely covering his upper lip. The delicacy of his complexion, heightened by rouge and white paint, made him almost like a young lady; and at the same time the insolence, pride, and self-confidence depicted in that face permitted no one to forget that he was that chercheur de noises (seeker of quarrels), as he was nicknamed at the French court,--a man out of whose mouth a sharp word came with ease, but whose sword came from its scabbard with still greater ease.
In Germany, in Holland, in France, they related marvels of his military deeds, of his disputes, quarrels, adventures, and duels. He was the man who in Holland rushed into the thickest whirl of battle, among the incomparable regiments of Spanish infantry, and with his own princely hand captured a flag and a cannon; he, at the head of the regiments of the Prince of Orange, captured batteries declared by old leaders to be beyond capture; he, on the Rhine, at the head of French musketeers, shattered the heavy squadrons of Germany, trained in the Thirty Years' War; he wounded, in a duel in France, the most celebrated fencer among French knights, Prince de Fremouille; another famous fighter, Baron Von Goetz, begged of him life, on his knees; he wounded Baron Grot, for which he had to hear bitter reproaches from his cousin Yanush, because he was lowering his dignity as prince by fighting with men beneath him in rank; finally, in presence of the whole French court, at a ball in the Louvre, he slapped Marquis de Rieux on the face, because he had spoken to him "unbecomingly." The duels that he had fought incognito in smaller towns, in taverns and inns, did not enter into reckoning.
He was a mixture of effeminacy and unbounded daring. During rare and short visits to his native land he amused himself by quarrels with the Sapyehas, and with hunting; but on those occasions the hunters had to find for him she-bears with their young, as being dangerous and enraged; against these he went armed only with a spear.
But it was tedious for him in his own country, to which he came, as was said, unwillingly, most frequently in time of war; he distinguished himself by great victories at Berestechko, Mogilyoff, and Smolensk. War was his element, though he had a mind quick and subtle, equally fitted for intrigues and diplomatic exploits. In these he knew how to be patient and enduring, far more enduring than in the "loves," of which a whole series completed the history of his life. The prince, at the courts where he had resided, was the terror of husbands who had beautiful wives. For that reason, doubtless, he was not yet married, though his high birth and almost inexhaustible fortune made him one of the most desirable matches in Europe. The King and Queen of France, Marya Ludvika of Poland, the Prince of Orange, and his uncle, the Elector of Brandenburg, tried to make matches for him; but so far he preferred his freedom.
"I do not want a dower," said he, cynically; "and of the other pleasures I have no lack as I am."
In this fashion he reached the thirty-fifth year of his age.
Kmita, standing on the threshold, examined with curiosity Boguslav's face, which the mirror reflected, while he was arranging with seriousness the hair of his forelock; at last, when Pan Andrei coughed once and a second time, he said, without turning his head,--
"But who is present? Is it a messenger from the prince voevoda?"
"Not a messenger, but from the prince voevoda," replied Pan Andrei.
Then the prince turned his head, and seeing a brilliant young man, recognized that he had not to do with an ordinary servant.
"Pardon, Cavalier," said he, affably, "for I see that I was mistaken in the office of the person. But your face is known to me, though I am not able to recall your name. You are an attendant of the prince hetman?"
"My name is Kmita," answered Pan Andrei, "and I am not an attendant; I am a colonel from the time that I brought my own squadron to the prince hetman."
"Kmita!" cried the prince, "that same Kmita, famous in the last war, who harried Hovanski, and later on managed not worse on his own account? I have heard much about you."
Having said this, the prince began to look more carefully and with a certain pleasure at Pan Andrei, for from what he had heard he thought him a man of his own cut.
"Sit down," said he, "I am glad to know you more intimately. And what is to be heard in Kyedani?"
"Here is a letter from the prince hetman," answered Kmita.
The servants, having finished buckling the prince's boots, went out. The prince broke the seal and began to read. After a while there was an expression of weariness and dissatisfaction on his face. He threw the letter under the mirror and said,--
"Nothing new! The prince voevoda advises me to go to Prussia, to Tyltsa or to Taurogi, which, as you see, I am just doing. Ma foi, I do not understand my cousin. He reports to me that the elector is in Brandenburg, and that he cannot make his way to Prussia through the Swedes, and he writes at the same time that the hairs are standing on his head because I do not communicate with him, either for health or prescription; and how can I? If the elector cannot make his way through the Swedes, how can my messenger do so? I am in Podlyasye, for I have nothing else to do. I tell you, my cavalier, that I am as much bored as the devil doing penance. I have speared all the bears near Tykotsin; the fair heads of that region have the odor of sheepskin, which my nostrils cannot endure. But-- Do you understand French or German?"
"I understand German," answered Kmita.
"Praise be to God for that! I will speak German, for my lips fly off from your language."
When he had said this the prince put out his lower lip and touched it with his fingers, as if wishing to be sure that it had not gone off: then he looked at the mirror and continued,--
"Report has come to me that in the neighborhood of Lukovo one Skshetuski, a noble, has a wife of wonderful beauty. It is far from here; but I sent men to carry her off and bring her. Now, if you will believe it, Pan Kmita, they did not find her at home."
"That was good luck," said Pan Andrei, "for she is the wife of an honorable cavalier, a celebrated man, who made his way out of Zbaraj through the whole power of Hmelnitski."
"The husband was besieged in Zbaraj, and I would have besieged the wife in Tykotsin. Do you think she would have held out as stubbornly as her husband?"
"Your highness, for such a siege a counsel of war is not needed, let it pass without my opinion," answered Pan Andrei, brusquely.
"True, loss of time!" said the prince. "Let us return to business. Have you any letters yet?"
"What I had to your highness I have delivered; besides those I have one to the King of Sweden. Is it known to your highness where I must seek him?"
"I know nothing. What can I know? He is not in Tykotsin; I can assure you of that, for if he had once seen that place he would have resigned his dominion over the whole Commonwealth. Warsaw is now in Swedish hands, but you will not find the king there. He must be before Cracow, or in Cracow itself, if he has not gone to Royal Prussia by this time. To my thinking Karl Gustav must keep the Prussian towns in mind, for he cannot leave them in his rear. Who would have expected, when the whole Commonwealth abandons its king, when all the nobles join the Swedes, when the provinces yield one after the other, that just then towns, German and Protestant, would not hear of the Swedes but prepare for resistance? They wish to save the Commonwealth and adhere to Yan Kazimir. In beginning our work we thought that it would be otherwise: that before all they would help us and the Swedes to cut that loaf which you call your Commonwealth; but now they won't move! The luck is that the elector has his eye on them. He has offered them forces already against the Swedes; but the Dantzig people do not trust him, and say that they have forces enough of their own."
"We knew that already in Kyedani," said Kmita.
"If they have not forces enough, in every case they have a good sniff," continued the prince, laughing; "for the elector cares as much, I think, about the Commonwealth as I do, or as the prince voevoda of Vilna does."
"Your highness, permit me to deny that," said Kmita, abruptly. "The prince cares that much about the Commonwealth that he is ready at every moment to give his last breath and spill his last blood for it."
Prince Boguslav began to laugh.
"You are young, Cavalier, young! But enough! My uncle the elector wants to grab Royal Prussia, and for that reason only, he offers his aid. If he has the towns once in hand, if he has his garrisons in them, he will be ready to agree with the Swedes next day, nay, even with the Turks or with devils. Let the Swedes add a bit of Great Poland, he will be ready to help them with all his power to take the rest. The only trouble is in this, that the Swedes are sharpening their teeth against Prussia, and hence the distrust between them and the elector."
"I hear with astonishment the words of your highness," said Kmita.
"The devils were taking me in Podlyasye," answered the prince,--"I had to stay there so long in idleness. But what was I to do? An agreement was made between me and the prince voevoda, that until affairs were cleared up in Prussia, I was not to take the Swedish side publicly. And that was right, for thus a gate remains open. I sent even secret couriers to Yan Kazimir, announcing that I was ready to summon the general militia in Podlyasye if a manifesto were sent me. The king, as king, might have let himself be tricked; but the queen it is clear does not trust me, and must have advised against it. If it were not for that woman, I should be to-day at the head of all the nobles of Podlyasye; and what is more, those confederates who are now ravaging the property of Prince Yanush would have no choice but to come under my orders. I should have declared myself a partisan of Yan Kazimir, but, in fact, having power in my hand, would treat with the Swedes. But that woman knows how grass grows, and guesses the most secret thought. She is the real king, not queen! She has more wit in one finger than Yan Kazimir in his whole body."
"The prince voevoda--" began Kmita.
"The prince voevoda," interrupted Boguslav, with impatience, "is eternally late with his counsel; he writes to me in every letter, 'Do this and do that,' while I have in fact done it long before. Besides, the prince voevoda loses his head. For listen what he asks of me."
Here the prince took up the letter and began to read aloud,--
"Be cautious yourself on the road; and those rascals, the confederates, who have mutinied against me and are ravaging Podlyasye, for God's sake think how to disperse them, lest they go to the king. They are preparing to visit Zabludovo, and beer in that place is strong; when they get drunk, let them be cut off,--each host may finish his guest. Nothing better is needed; for when the heads are removed, the rest will scatter--"
Boguslav threw the letter with vexation on the table.
"Listen, Pan Kmita," said he, "you see I have to go to Prussia and at the same time arrange a slaughter in Zabludovo. I must feign myself a partisan of Yan Kazimir and a patriot, and at the same time cut off those people who are unwilling to betray the king and the country. Is that sense? Does one hang to the other? Ma foi, the prince is losing his head. I have met now, while coming to Pilvishki, a whole insurgent squadron travelling along through Podlyasye. I should have galloped over their stomachs with gladness, even to gain some amusement; but before I am an open partisan of the Swedes, while my uncle the elector holds formally with the Prussian towns, and with Yan Kazimir too, I cannot permit myself such pleasure, God knows I cannot. What could I do more than to be polite to those insurgents, as they are polite to me, suspecting me of an understanding with the hetman, but not having black on white?"
Here the prince lay back comfortably in the armchair, stretched out his legs, and putting his hands behind his head carelessly, began to repeat,--
"Ah, there is nonsense in this Commonwealth, nonsense! In the world there is nothing like it!"
Then he was silent for a moment; evidently some idea came to his head, for he struck his wig and inquired,--
"But will you not be in Podlyasye?"
"Yes," said Kmita, "I must be there, for I have a letter with instructions to Harasimovich, the under-starosta in Zabludovo."
"In God's name!" exclaimed the prince, "Harasimovich is here with me. He is going with the hetman's effects to Prussia, for we were afraid that they might fall into the hands of the confederates. Wait, I will have him summoned."
Here the prince summoned a servant and ordered him to call the under-starosta.
"This has happened well," said the prince, "You will save yourself a journey,--though it may be too bad that you will not visit Podlyasye, for among the heads of the confederacy there is a namesake of yours whom you might secure."
"I have no time for that," said Kmita, "since I am in a hurry to go to the king and Pan Lyubomirski."
"Ah, you have a letter to the marshal of the kingdom? Well, I can divine the reason of it. Once the marshal thought of marrying his son to Yanush's daughter. Did not the hetman wish this time to renew negotiations delicately?"
"That is just the mission."
"Both are quite children. H'm! that's a delicate mission, for it does not become the hetman to speak first. Besides--"
Here the prince frowned.
"Nothing will come of it. The daughter of the hetman is not for Heraclius, I tell you that! The prince hetman must understand that his fortune is to remain in possession of the Radzivills."
Kmita looked with astonishment on the prince, who was walking with quicker and quicker pace through the room.
All at once he stopped before Pan Andrei, and said, "Give me the word of a cavalier that you will answer truly my question."
"Gracious prince," said Kmita, "only those lie who are afraid, and I fear no man."
"Did the prince voevoda give orders to keep secret from me the negotiations with Lyubomirski?"
"Had I such a command, I should not have mentioned Lyubomirski."
"It might have slipped you. Give me your word."
"I give it," said Kmita, frowning.
"You have taken a weight from my heart, for I thought that the voevoda was playing a double game with me."
"I do not understand, your highness."
"I would not marry, in France, Rohan, not counting half threescore other princesses whom they were giving me. Do you know why?"
"I do not."
"There is an agreement between me and the prince voevoda that his daughter and his fortune are growing up for me. As a faithful servant of the Radzivills, you may know everything."
"Thank you for the confidence. But your highness is mistaken. I am not a servant of the Radzivills."
Boguslav opened his eyes widely. "What are you?"
"I am a colonel of the hetman, not of the castle; and besides I am the hetman's relative."
"A relative?"
"I am related to the Kishkis, and the hetman is born of a Kishki."
Prince Boguslav looked for a while at Kmita, on whose face a light flush appeared. All at once he stretched forth his hands and said,--
"I beg your pardon, cousin, and I am glad of the relationship."
The last words were uttered with a certain inattentive though showy politeness, in which there was something directly painful to Pan Andrei. His face flushed still more, and he was opening his mouth to say something hasty, when the door opened and Harasimovich appeared on the threshold.
"There is a letter for you," said Boguslav.
Harasimovich bowed to the prince, and then to Pan Andrei, who gave him the letter.
"Read it!" said Prince Boguslav.
Harasimovich began to read,--
"Pan Harasimovich! Now is the time to show the good will of a faithful servant to his lord. As whatever money you are able to collect, you in Zabludovo and Pan Pjinski in Orel--"
"The confederates have slain Pan Pjinski in Orel, for which reason Pan Harasimovich has taken to his heels," interrupted the prince.
The under-starosta bowed and read further,--
"--and Pan Pjinski in Orel, even the public revenue, even the excise, rent--"
"The confederates have already taken them," interrupted Boguslav again.
"--send me at once," continued Harasimovich. "If you can mortgage some villages to neighbors or townspeople, obtaining as much money on them as possible, do so, and whatever means there may be of obtaining money, do your best in the matter, and send the money to me. Send horses and whatever effects there are in Orel. There is a great candlestick too, and other things,--pictures, ornaments, and especially the cannons on the porch at my cousins; for robbers may be feared--"
"Again counsel too late, for these cannons are going with me," said the prince.
"If they are heavy with the stocks, then take them without the stocks and cover them, so it may not be known that you are bringing them. And take these things to Prussia with all speed, avoiding with utmost care those traitors who have caused mutiny in my army and are ravaging my estates--"
"As to ravaging, they are ravaging! They are pounding them into dough," interrupted the prince anew.
"--ravaging my estates, and are preparing to move against Zabludovo on their way perhaps to the king. With them it is difficult to fight, for they are many; but if they are admitted, and given plenty to drink, and killed in the night while asleep (every host can do that), or poisoned in strong beer, or (which is not difficult in that place) a wild crowd let in to plunder them--"
"Well, that is nothing new!" said Prince Boguslav. "You may journey with me, Pan Harasimovich."
"There is still a supplement," said the under-starosta. And he read on,
"The wines, if you cannot bring them away (for with us such can be had nowhere), sell them quickly--"
Here Harasimovich stopped and seized himself by the head,--
"For God's sake! those wines are coming half a day's road behind us, and surely have fallen into the hands of that insurgent squadron which was hovering around us. There will be a loss of some thousands of gold pieces. Let your highness give witness with me that you commanded me to wait till the barrels were packed in the wagons."
Harasimovich's terror would have been still greater had he known Pan Zagloba, and had he known that he was in that very squadron. Meanwhile Prince Boguslav smiled and said,--
"Oh, let the wines be to their health! Read on!"
"--if a merchant cannot be found--"
Prince Boguslav now held his sides from laughter. "He has been found," said he, "but you must sell to him on credit."
"--but if a merchant cannot be found," read Harasimovich, in a complaining voice, "bury it in the ground secretly, so that more than two should not know where it is; but leave a keg in Orel and one in Zabludovo, and those of the best and sweetest, so that the officers may take a liking to it; and put in plenty of poison, so that the officers at least may be killed, then the squadron will break up. For God's sake, serve me faithfully in this, and secretly, for the mercy of God. Burn what I write, and whoso finds out anything send him to me. Either the confederates will find and drink the wine, or it may be given as a present to make them friendly."
The under-starosta finished reading, and looked at Prince Boguslav, as if waiting for instructions; and the prince said,--
"I see that my cousin pays much attention to the confederates; it is only a pity that, as usual, he is too late. If he had come upon this plan two weeks ago, or even one week, it might have been tried. But now go with God, Pan Harasimovich; I do not need you."
Harasimovich bowed and went out.
Prince Boguslav stood before the mirror, and began to examine his own figure carefully; he moved his head slightly from right to left, then stepped back from the mirror, then approached it, then shook his curls, then looked askance, not paying any attention to Kmita, who sat in the shade with his back turned to the window.
But if he had cast even one look at Pan Andrei's face he would have seen that in the young envoy something wonderful was taking place; for Kmita's face was pale, on his forehead stood thick drops of sweat, and his hands shook convulsively. After a while he rose from the chair, but sat down again immediately, like a man struggling with himself and suppressing an outburst of anger or despair. Finally his features settled and became fixed; evidently he had with his whole strong force of will and energy enjoined calm on himself and gained complete self-control.
"Your highness," said he, "from the confidence which the prince hetman bestows on me you see that he does not wish to make a secret of anything. I belong soul and substance to his work; with him and your highness my fortune may increase; therefore, whither you both go, thither go I also. I am ready for everything. But though I serve in those affairs and am occupied in them, still I do not of course understand everything perfectly, nor can I penetrate all the secrets of them with my weak wit."
"What do you wish then, Sir Cavalier, or rather, fair cousin?"
"I ask instruction, your highness; it would be a shame indeed were I unable to learn at the side of such statesmen. I know not whether your highness will be pleased to answer me without reserve--"
"That will depend on your question and on my humor," answered Boguslav, not ceasing to look at the mirror.
Kmita's eyes glittered for a moment, but he continued calmly,--
"This is my question: The prince voevoda of Vilna shields all his acts with the good and salvation of the Commonwealth, so that in fact the Commonwealth is never absent from his lips; be pleased to tell me sincerely, are these mere pretexts, or has the hetman in truth nothing but the good of the Commonwealth in view?"
Boguslav cast a quick glance on Pan Andrei. "If I should say that they are pretexts, would you give further service?"
Kmita shrugged his shoulders carelessly. "Of course! As I have said, my fortune will increase with the fortune of your highness and that of the hetman. If that increase comes, the rest is all one to me."
"You will be a man! Remember that I foretell this. But why has my cousin not spoken openly with you?"
"Maybe because he is squeamish, or just because it did not happen to be the topic."
"You have quick wit, Cousin Cavalier, for it is the real truth that he is squeamish and shows his true skin unwillingly. As God is dear to me, true! Such is his nature. So, even in talking with me, the moment he forgets himself he begins to adorn his speech with love for the country. When I laugh at him to his eyes, he comes to his senses. True! true!"
"Then it is merely a pretext?" asked Kmita.
The prince turned the chair around and sat astride of it, as on a horse, and resting his arms on the back of it was silent awhile, as if in thought; then he said,--
"Hear me, Pan Kmita. If we Radzivills lived in Spain, France, or Sweden, where the son inherits after the father, and where the right of the king comes from God himself, then, leaving aside civil war, extinction of the royal stock, or some uncommon event, we should serve the king and the country firmly, being content with the highest offices which belong to us by family and fortune. But here, in the land where the king has not divine right at his back, but the nobles create him, where everything is in free suffrage, we ask ourselves with reason,--Why should a Vaza rule, and not a Radzivill? There is no objection so far as the Vazas are concerned, for they take their origin from hereditary kings; but who will assure us, who will guarantee that after the Vazas the nobles will not have the whim of seating on the throne of the kingdom and on the throne of the Grand Principality even Pan Harasimovich, or some Pan Myeleshko, or some Pan Pyeglasyevich from Psivolki? Tfu! can I guess whom they may fancy? And must we, Radzivills, and princes of the German Empire, come to kiss the hand of King Pyeglasyevich? Tfu! to all the horned devils, Cavalier, it is time to finish with this! Look meanwhile at Germany,--how many provincial princes there, who in importance and fortune are fitted to be under-starostas for us. Still they have their principalities, they rule, wear crowns on their heads, and take precedence of us, though it would be fitter for them to bear the trains of our mantles. It is time to put an end to this, and accomplish that which was already planned by my father."
Here the prince grew vivacious, rose from the chair, and began to walk through the room.
"This will not take place without difficulty and obstacles," continued he, "for the Radzivills of Olyta and Nyesvyej are not willing to aid us. I know that Prince Michael wrote to my cousin that he would better think of a hair-shirt than of a royal mantle. Let him think of a hair-shirt himself, let him do penance, let him sit on ashes, let the Jesuits lash his skin with disciplines; if he is content with being a royal carver, let him carve capons virtuously all his virtuous life, till his virtuous death! We shall get on without him and not drop our hands, for just now is the time. The devils are taking the Commonwealth; for now it is so weak, has gone to such dogs, that it cannot drive them away. Every one is crawling in over its boundaries, as into an unfenced garden. What has happened here with the Swedes has happened nowhere on earth to this day. We, Sir Cavalier, may sing in truth 'Te Deum laudamus.' In its way the event is unheard of, unparalleled. Just think: an invader attacks a country, an invader famous for rapacity; and not only does he not find resistance, but every living man deserts his old king and hurries to a new one,--magnates, nobles, the army, castles, towns, all,--without honor, without fame, without feeling, without shame! History gives not another such example. Tfu! tfu! trash inhabit this country,--men without conscience or ambition. And is such a country not to perish? They are looking for our favor! Ye will have favor! In Great Poland already the Swedes are thumb-screwing nobles; and so will it be everywhere,--it cannot be otherwise."
Kmita grew paler and paler, but with the remnant of his strength he held in curb an outburst of fury; the prince, absorbed in his own speech, delighted with his own words, with his own wisdom, paid no attention to his listener, and continued,--
"There is a custom in this land that when a man is dying his relatives at the last moment pull the pillow from under his head, so that he may not suffer longer. I and the prince voevoda of Vilna have determined to render this special service to the Commonwealth. But because many plunderers are watching for the inheritance and we cannot get it all, we wish that a part, and that no small one, should come to us. As relatives, we have that right. If with this comparison I have not spoken on a level with your understanding, and have not been able to hit the point, I will tell you in other words: Suppose the Commonwealth a red cloth at which are pulling the Swedes, Hmelnitski, the Hyperboreans,[23] the Tartars, the elector, and whosoever lives around. But I and the prince voevoda of Vilna have agreed that enough of that cloth must remain in our hands to make a robe for us; therefore we do not prevent the dragging, but we drag ourselves. Let Hmelnitski stay in the Ukraine; let the Swedes and the elector settle about Prussia and Great Poland; let Rakotsy, or whoever is nearer, take Little Poland,--Lithuania must be for Prince Yanush, and, together with his daughter, for me."
Kmita rose quickly. "I give thanks, your highness; that is all I wanted to know."
"You are going out, Sir Cavalier?"
"I am."
The prince looked carefully at Kmita, and at that moment first noted his pallor and excitement.
"What is the matter, Pan Kmita?" asked he. "You look like a ghost."
"Weariness has knocked me off my feet, and my head is dizzy. Farewell, your highness; I will come before starting, to bow to you again."
"Make haste, then, for I start after midday myself."
"I shall return in an hour at furthest."
When he had said this, Kmita bent his head and went out. In the other room the servants rose at sight of him, but he passed like a drunken man, seeing no one. At the threshold of the room he caught his head with both hands, and began to repeat, almost with a groan,--
"Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews! Jesus, Mary, Joseph!"
With tottering steps he passed through the guard, composed of six men with halberds. Outside the gate were his own men, the sergeant Soroka at the head of them.
"After me!" called Kmita. And he moved through the town toward the inn.
Soroka, an old soldier of Kmita's, knowing him perfectly, noticed at once that something uncommon had happened to the colonel.
"Let your soul be on guard," said he quietly to the men; "woe to him on whom his anger falls now!"
The soldiers hastened their steps in silence, but Kmita did not go at a walk; he almost ran, waving his hand and repeating words well-nigh incoherent.
To the ears of Soroka came only broken phrases,--
"Poisoners, faith-breakers, traitors! Crime and treason,--the two are the same--"
Then he began to mention his old comrades. The names Kokosinski, Kulvyets, Ranitski, Rekuts, and others fell from his lips one after another; a number of times he mentioned Volodyovski. Soroka heard this with wonder, and grew more and more alarmed; but in his mind he thought,--
"Some one's blood will flow; it cannot be otherwise."
Meanwhile they had come to the inn. Kmita shut himself in his room at once, and for about an hour he gave no sign of life. The soldiers meanwhile had tied on the packs and saddled the horses without order.
"That is no harm," said Soroka; "it is necessary to be ready for everything."
"We too are ready!" answered the old fighters, moving their mustaches.
In fact, it came out soon that Soroka knew his colonel well; for Kmita appeared suddenly in the front room, without a cap, in his trousers and shirt only.
"Saddle the horses!" cried he.
"They are saddled."
"Fasten on the packs!"
"They are fastened."
"A ducat a man!" cried the young colonel, who in spite of all his fever and excitement saw that those soldiers had guessed his thought quickly.
"We give thanks, Commander!" cried all in chorus.
"Two men will take the pack-horses and go out of the place immediately toward Dembova. Go slowly through the town; outside the town put the horses on a gallop, and stop not till the forest is reached."
"According to command!"
"Four others load their pistols. For me saddle two horses, and let another be ready."
"I knew there would be something!" muttered Soroka.
"Now, Sergeant, after me!" cried Kmita.
And undressed as he was, in trousers only, and open shirt, he went out of the front room. Soroka followed him, opening his eyes widely with wonder; they went in this fashion to the well in the yard of the inn. Here Kmita stopped, and pointing to the bucket hanging from the sweep, said,--
"Pour water on my head!"
Soroka knew from experience how dangerous it was to ask twice about an order; he seized the rope, let the bucket down into the water, drew up quickly, and taking the bucket in his hands, threw the water on Pan Andrei, who, puffing and blowing like a whale, rubbed his wet hair with his hands, and cried,--
"More!"
Soroka repeated the act, and threw water with all his force, just as if he were putting out a fire.
"Enough!" said Kmita, at length. "Follow me, help me to dress."
Both went to the inn. At the gate they met the two men going out with two pack-horses.
"Slowly through the town; outside the town on a gallop!" commanded Kmita; and he went in.
Half an hour later he appeared dressed completely, as if for the road, with high boots and an elkskin coat, girded with a leather belt into which was thrust a pistol.
The soldiers noticed, too, that from under his kaftan gleamed the edge of chain mail, as if he were going to battle. He had his sabre also girt high, so as to seize the hilt more easily. His face was calm enough, but stern and threatening. Casting a glance at the soldiers to see if they were ready and armed properly, he mounted his horse, and throwing a ducat at the innkeeper, rode out of the place.
Soroka rode at his side; three others behind, leading a horse. Soon they found themselves on the square filled by Boguslav's troops. There was movement among them already; evidently the command had come to prepare for the road. The horsemen were tightening the girths of the saddle and bridling the horses; the infantry were taking their muskets, stacked before the houses; others were attaching horses to wagons.
Kmita started as it were from meditation.
"Hear me, old man," said he to Soroka; "from the starosta's house does the road go on,--it will not be necessary to come back through the square?"
"But where are we going, Colonel?"
"To Dembova."
"Then we must go from the square past the house. The square will be behind us."
"It is well," said Kmita.
"Oh, if only those men were alive now! Few are fitted for work like this,--few!"
Meanwhile they passed the square, and began to turn toward the starosta's house, which lay about one furlong and a half farther on, near the roadside.
"Stop!" cried Kmita, suddenly.
The soldiers halted, and he turned to them. "Are you ready for death?" asked he, abruptly.
"Ready!" answered in chorus these dare-devils of Orsha.
"We crawled up to Hovanski's throat, and he did not devour us,--do you remember?"
"We remember!"
"There is need to dare great things to-day. If success comes, our gracious king will make lords of you,--I guarantee that! If failure, you will go to the stake!"
"Why not success?" asked Soroka, whose eyes began to gleam like those of an old wolf.
"There will be success!" said three others,--Biloüs, Zavratynski, and Lubyenyets.
"We must carry off the prince marshal!" said Kmita. Then he was silent, wishing to see the impression which the mad thought would make on the soldiers. But they were silent too, and looked on him as on a rainbow; only, their mustaches quivered, and their faces became terrible and murderous.
"The stake is near, the reward far away," added Kmita.
"There are few of us," muttered Zavratynski.
"It is worse than against Hovanski," said Lubyenyets.
"The troops are all in the market-square, and at the house are only the sentries and about twenty attendants," said Kmita, "who are off their guard, and have not even swords at their sides."
"You risk your head; why should we not risk ours?" said Soroka.
"Hear me," continued Kmita. "If we do not take him by cunning, we shall not take him at all. Listen! I will go into the room, and after a time come out with the prince. If the prince will sit on my horse, I will sit on the other, and we will ride on. When we have ridden about a hundred or a hundred and fifty yards, then seize him from both sides by the shoulders, and gallop the horses with all breath."
"According to order!" answered Soroka.
"If I do not come out," continued Kmita, "and you hear a shot in the room, then open on the guards with pistols, and give me the horse as I rush from the door."
"That will be done," answered Soroka.
"Forward!" commanded Kmita.
They moved on, and a quarter of an hour later halted at the gate of the starosta's house. At the gate were six guards with halberds; at the door of the anteroom four men were standing. Around a carriage in the front yard were occupied equerries and outriders, whom an attendant of consequence was overseeing,--a foreigner, as might be known from his dress and wig.
Farther on, near the carriage-house, horses were being attached to two other carriages, to which gigantic Turkish grooms were carrying packs. Over these watched a man dressed in black, with a face like that of a doctor or an astrologer.
Kmita announced himself as he had previously, through the officer of the day, who returned soon and asked him to the prince.
"How are you, Cavalier?" asked the prince, joyfully. "You left me so suddenly that I thought scruples had risen in you from my words, and I did not expect to see you again."
"Of course I could not go without making my obeisance."
"Well, I thought: the prince voevoda has known whom to send on a confidential mission. I make use of you also, for I give you letters to a number of important persons, and to the King of Sweden himself. But why armed as if for battle?"
"I am going among confederates; I have heard right here in this place, and your highness has confirmed the report, that a confederate squadron passed. Even here in Pilvishki they brought a terrible panic on Zolotarenko's men, for a famed soldier is leading that squadron."
"Who is he?"
"Pan Volodyovski; and with him are Mirski, Oskyerko, and the two Skshetuskis,--one that man of Zbaraj, whose wife your highness wanted to besiege in Tykotsin. All rebelled against the prince voevoda; and it is a pity, for they were good soldiers. What is to be done? There are still fools in the Commonwealth who are unwilling to pull the red cloth with Cossacks and Swedes."
"There is never a lack of fools in the world, and especially in this country," said the prince. "Here are the letters; and besides, when you see his Swedish grace, say as if in confidence that in heart I am as much his adherent as my cousin, but for the time I must dissemble."
"Who is not forced to that?" answered Kmita. "Every man dissembles, especially if he thinks to do something great."
"That is surely the case. Acquit yourself well, Sir Cavalier, I will be thankful to you, and will not let the hetman surpass me in rewarding."
"If the favor of your highness is such, I ask reward in advance."
"You have it! Surely my cousin has not furnished you over abundantly for the road. There is a serpent in his money-box."
"May God guard me from asking money! I did not ask it of the hetman, and I will not take it from your highness. I am at my own expense, and I will remain so."
Prince Boguslav looked at the young knight with wonder. "I see that in truth the Kmitas are not of those who look at men's hands. What is your wish then, Sir Cavalier?"
"The matter is as follows: without thinking carefully in Kyedani, I took a horse of high blood, so as to show myself before the Swedes. I do not exaggerate when I say there is not a better in the stables of Kyedani. Now I am sorry for him, and I am afraid to injure him on the road, in the stables of inns, or for want of rest. And as accidents are not hard to meet, he may fall into enemies' hands, even those of that Volodyovski, who personally is terribly hostile to me. I have thought, therefore, to beg your highness to take him to keep and use until I ask for him at a more convenient time."
"Better sell him to me."
"Impossible,--it would be like selling a friend. At a small estimate that horse has taken me a hundred times out of the greatest danger; for he has this virtue too, that in battle he bites the enemy savagely."
"Is he such a good horse?" asked Prince Boguslav, with lively interest.
"Is he good? If I were sure your highness would not be offended, I would bet a hundred gold florins without looking, that your highness has not such a one in your stables."
"Maybe I would bet, if it were not that to-day is not the time for a trial. I will keep him willingly, though; if possible, I would buy. But where is this wonder kept?"
"My men are holding him just here in front of the gate. As to his being a wonder, he is a wonder; for it is no exaggeration to say that the Sultan might covet such a horse. He is not of this country, but from Anatolia; and in Anatolia, as I think, only one such was found."
"Then let us look at him."
"I serve your highness."
Before the gate Kmita's men were holding two horses completely equipped: one was indeed of high breed, black as a raven, with a star on his forehead, and a white fetlock to a leg like a lance; he neighed slightly at sight of his master.
"I guess that to be the one," said Boguslav. "I do not know whether he is such a wonder as you say, but in truth he is a fine horse."
"Try him!" cried Kmita; "or no, I will mount him myself!"
The soldiers gave Kmita the horse; he mounted, and began to ride around near the gate. Under the skilled rider the horse seemed doubly beautiful. His prominent eyes gained brightness as he moved at a trot; he seemed to blow forth inner fire through his nostrils, while the wind unfolded his mane. Pan Kmita described a circle, changed his gait; at last he rode straight on the prince, so that the nostrils of the horse were not a yard from his face, and cried,--
"Halt!"
The horse stopped with his four feet resisting, and stood as if fixed to the ground.
"What do you say?" asked Kmita.
"The eyes and legs of a deer, the gait of a wolf, the nostrils of an elk, and the breast of a woman!" said Boguslav. "Here is all that is needed. Does he understand German command?"
"Yes; for my horse-trainer Zend, who was a Courlander, taught him."
"And the beast is swift?"
"The wind cannot come up with him; a Tartar cannot escape him."
"Your trainer must have been a good one, for I see that the horse is highly taught."
"Is he taught? Your highness will not believe. He goes so in the rank that when the line is moving at a trot, you may let the reins drop and he will not push one half of his nose beyond the line. If your highness will be pleased to try, and if in two furlongs he will push beyond the others half a head, then I will give him as a gift."
"That would be the greatest wonder, not to advance with dropped reins."
"It is wonderful and convenient, for both hands of the rider are free. More than once have I had a sabre in one hand and a pistol in the other, and the horse went alone."
"But if the rank turns?"
"Then he will turn too without breaking the line."
"Impossible!" exclaimed the prince; "no horse will do that. I have seen in France horses of the king's musketeers, greatly trained, of purpose not to spoil the court ceremonies, but still it was necessary to guide them with reins."
"The wit of man is in this horse. Let your highness try him yourself."
"Give him here!" said the prince, after a moment's thought.
Kmita held the horse till Boguslav mounted. He sprang lightly into the saddle, and began to pat the steed on his shining neck.
"A wonderful thing," said he; "the best horses shed their hair in the autumn, but this one is as if he had come out of water. In what direction shall we go?"
"Let us move in a line, and if your highness permits, toward the forest. The road is even and broad, but in the direction of the town some wagon might come in the way."
"Let us ride toward the forest."
"Just two furlongs. Let your highness drop the reins and start on a gallop. Two men on each side, and I will ride a little behind."
"Take your places!" said the prince.
The line was formed; they turned the horses' heads from the town. The prince was in the middle.
"Forward!" said he. "On a gallop from the start,--march!"
The line shot on, and after a certain time was moving like a whirlwind. A cloud of dust hid them from the eyes of the attendants and equerries, who, collecting in a crowd at the gate, looked with curiosity at the racing. The trained horses going at the highest speed, snorting from effort, had run already a furlong or more; and the prince's steed, though not held by the reins, did not push forward an inch. They ran another furlong. Kmita turned, and seeing behind only a cloud of dust, through which the starosta's house could barely be seen, and the people standing before it not at all, cried with a terrible voice,--
"Take him!"
At this moment Biloüs and the gigantic Zavratynski seized both arms of the prince, and squeezed them till the bones cracked in their joints, and holding him in their iron fists, put spurs to their own horses.
The prince's horse in the middle held the line, neither pushing ahead nor holding back an inch. Astonishment, fright, the whirlwind beating in his face, deprived Prince Boguslav of speech for the first moment. He struggled once and a second time,--without result, however, for pain from his twisted arms pierced him through.
"What is this, ruffians? Know ye not who I am?" cried he at last.
Thereupon Kmita pushed him with the barrel of the pistol between the shoulders. "Resistance is useless; it will only bring a bullet in your body!" cried he.
"Traitor!" said the prince.
"But who are you?" asked Kmita.
And they galloped on farther.
Chapter XXVII
They ran long through the pine-forest with such speed that the trees by the roadside seemed to flee backward in panic; inns, huts of forest guards, pitch-clearings, flashed by, and at times wagons singly or a few together, going to Pilvishki. From time to time Boguslav bent forward in the saddle as if to struggle; but his arms were only wrenched the more painfully in the iron hands of the soldiers, while Pan Andrei held the pistol-barrel between the princess shoulders again, and they rushed on till the white foam was falling in flakes from the horses.
At last they were forced to slacken the speed, for breath failed both men and beasts, and Pilvishki was so far behind that all possibility of pursuit had ceased. They rode on then a certain time at a walk and in silence, surrounded by a cloud of steam, which was issuing from the horses.
For a long time the prince said nothing; he was evidently trying to calm himself and cool his blood. When he had done this he asked,--
"Whither are you taking me?"
"Your highness will know that at the end of the road," answered Kmita.
Boguslav was silent, but after a while said, "Cavalier, command these trash to let me go, for they are pulling out my arms. If you command them to do so, they will only hang; if not, they will go to the stake."
"They are nobles, not trash," answered Kmita; "and as to the punishment which your highness threatens, it is not known whom death will strike first."
"Know ye on whom ye have raised hands?" asked the prince, turning to the soldiers.
"We know," answered they.
"By a million horned devils!" cried Boguslav, with an outburst. "Will you command these people to let me go, or not?"
"Your highness, I will order them to bind your arms behind your back; then you will be quieter."
"Impossible! You will put my arms quite out of joint."
"I would give orders to let another off on his word that he would not try to escape, but you know how to break your word," said Kmita.
"I will give another word," answered the prince,--"that not only will I escape at the first opportunity, but I will have you torn apart with horses, when you fall into my hands."
"What God wants to give, he gives!" said Kmita. "But I prefer a sincere threat to a lying promise. Let go his hands, only hold his horse by the bridle; but, your highness, look here! I have but to touch the trigger to put a bullet into your body, and I shall not miss, for I never miss. Sit quietly; do not try to escape."
"I do not care, Cavalier, for you or your pistol."
When he had said this, the prince stretched his aching arms, to straighten them and shake off the numbness. The soldiers caught the horse's bridle on both sides, and led him on.
After a while Boguslav said, "You dare not look me in the eyes, Pan Kmita; you hide in the rear."
"Indeed!" answered Kmita; and urging forward his horse, he pushed Zavratynski away, and seizing the reins of the prince's horse, he looked Boguslav straight in the face. "And how is my horse? Have I added even one virtue?"
"A good horse!" answered the prince. "If you wish, I will buy him."
"This horse deserves a better fate than to carry a traitor till his death."
"You are a fool, Pan Kmita."
"Yes, for I believed the Radzivills."
Again came a moment of silence, which was broken by the prince.
"Tell me, Pan Kmita, are you sure that you are in your right mind, that your reason has not left you? Have you asked yourself what you have done, madman? Has it not come to your head that as things are now it would have been better for you if your mother had not given you birth, and that no one, not only in Poland, but in all Europe, would have ventured on such a dare-devil deed?"
"Then it is clear that there is no great courage in that Europe, for I have carried off your highness, hold you, and will not let you go."
"It can only be an affair with a madman," said the prince, as if to himself.
"My gracious prince," answered Pan Andrei, "you are in my hands; be reconciled to that, and waste not words in vain. Pursuit will not come up, for your men think to this moment that you have come off with me voluntarily. When my men took you by the arms no one saw it, for the dust covered us; and even if there were no dust, neither the equerries nor the guards could have seen, it was so far. They will wait for you two hours; the third hour they will be impatient, the fourth and fifth uneasy, and the sixth will send out men in search; but we meanwhile shall be beyond Maryapole."
"What of that?"
"This, that they will not pursue; and even if they should start immediately in pursuit, your horses are just from the road, while ours are fresh. Even if by some miracle they should come up, that would not save you, for, as truly as you see me here, I should open your head,--which I shall do if nothing else is possible. This is the position! Radzivill has a court, an army, cannon, dragoons; Kmita has six men, and Kmita holds Radzivill by the neck."
"What further?" asked the prince.
"Nothing further! We will go where it pleases me. Thank God, your highness, that you are alive; for were it not that I gave orders to throw many gallons of water on my head to-day, you would be in the other world already, that is, in hell, for two reasons,--as a traitor and as a Calvinist."
"And would you have dared to do that?"
"Without praising myself I say that your highness would not easily find an undertaking on which I would not venture; you have the best proof of that in yourself."
The prince looked carefully at the young man and said, "Cavalier, the devil has written on your face that you are ready for anything, and that is the reason why I have a proof in myself. I tell you, indeed, that you have been able to astonish me with your boldness, and that is no easy thing."
"That's all one to me. Give thanks to God, your highness, that you are alive yet, and quits."
"No, Cavalier. First of all, do you thank God; for if one hair had fallen from my head, then know that the Radzivills would find you even under the earth. If you think that because there is disunion between us and those of Nyesvyej and Olyta, and that they will not pursue you, you are mistaken. Radzivill blood must be avenged, an awful example must be given, otherwise there would be no life for us in this Commonwealth. You cannot hide abroad, either: the Emperor of Germany will give you up, for I am a prince of the German Empire; the Elector of Brandenburg is my uncle; the Prince of Orange is his brother-in-law; the King and Queen of France and their ministers are my friends. Where will you hide? The Turks and Tartars will sell you, though we had to give them half our fortune. You will not find on earth a corner, nor such deserts, nor such people--"
"It is a wonder to me," replied Kmita, "that your highness takes such thought in advance for my safety. A great person a Radzivill! Still I have only to touch a trigger."
"I do not deny that. More than once it has happened in the world that a great man died at the hands of a common one. A camp-follower killed Pompey; French kings perished at the hands of low people. Without going farther, the same thing happened to my great father. But I ask you what will come next?"
"What is that to me? I have never taken much thought of what will be to-morrow. If it comes to close quarters with all the Radzivills, God knows who will be warmed up best. The sword has been long hanging over my head, but the moment I close my eyes I sleep as sweetly as a suslik. And if one Radzivill is not enough for me, I will carry off a second, and a third."
"As God is dear to me, Cavalier, you please me much; for I repeat that you alone in Europe could dare a deed like this. The beast does not care, nor mind what will come to-morrow. I love daring people, and there are fewer and fewer of them in the world. Just think! he has carried off a Radzivill and holds him as his own. Where were you reared in this fashion, Cavalier? Whence do you come?"
"I am banneret of Orsha."
"Pan Banneret of Orsha, I grieve that the Radzivills are losing a man like you, for with such men much might be done. If it were not a question of myself--h'm! I would spare nothing to win you."
"Too late!" said Kmita.
"That is to be understood," answered the prince. "Much too late! But I tell you beforehand that I will order you only to be shot, for you are worthy to die a soldier's death. What an incarnate devil to carry me off from the midst of my men!"
Kmita made no answer; the prince meditated awhile, then cried,--
"If you free me at once, I will not take vengeance. Only give me your word that you will tell no one of this, and command your men to be silent."
"Impossible!" replied Kmita.
"Do you want a ransom?"
"I do not."
"What the devil, then, did you carry me off for? I cannot understand it."
"It would take a long time to tell. I will tell your highness later."
"But what have we to do on the road unless to talk? Acknowledge, Cavalier, one thing: you carried me off in a moment of anger and desperation, and now you don't know well what to do with me."
"That is my affair!" answered Kmita; "and if I do not know what to do, it will soon be seen."
Impatience was depicted on Prince Boguslav's face.
"You are not over-communicative, Pan Banneret of Orsha; but answer me one question at least sincerely: Did you come to me, to Podlyasye, with a plan already formed of attacking my person, or did it enter your head in the last moment?"
"To that I can answer your highness sincerely, for my lips are burning to tell you why I left your cause; and while I am alive, while there is breath in my body, I shall not return to it. The prince voevoda of Vilna deceived me, and in advance brought me to swear on the crucifix that I would not leave him till death."
"And you are keeping the oath well. There is nothing to be said on that point."
"True!" cried Kmita, violently. "If I have lost my soul, if I must be damned, it is through the Radzivills. But I give myself to the mercy of God, and I would rather lose my soul, I would rather burn eternally, than to sin longer with knowledge and willingly,--than to serve longer, knowing that I serve sin and treason. May God have mercy on me! I prefer to burn, I prefer a hundred times to burn; I should burn surely, if I remained with you. I have nothing to lose; but at least I shall say at the judgment of God: 'I knew not what I was swearing, and had I discovered that I had sworn treason to the country, destruction to the Polish name, I should have broken the oath right there.' Now let the Lord God be my judge."
"To the question, to the question!" said Boguslav, calmly.
But Pan Andrei breathed heavily, and rode on some time in silence, with frowning brow and eyes fixed on the earth, like a man bowed down by misfortune.
"To the question!" repeated the prince.
Kmita roused himself as if from a dream, shook his head, and said,--
"I believed the prince hetman as I would not have believed my own father. I remember that banquet at which he announced his union with the Swedes. What I suffered then, what I passed through, God will account to me. Others, honorable men, threw their batons at his feet and remained with their country; but I stood like a stump with the baton, with shame, with submission, with infamy, in torture, for I was called traitor to my eyes. And who called me traitor? Oi, better not say, lest I forget myself, go mad, and put a bullet right here in the head of your highness. You are the men, you the traitors, the Judases, who brought me to that."
Here Kmita gazed with a terrible expression on the prince, and hatred came out on his face from the bottom of his soul, like a dragon which had crawled out of a cave to the light of day; but Boguslav looked at the young man with a calm, fearless eye. At last he said,--
"But that interests me, Pan Kmita; speak on."
Kmita dropped the bridle of the prince's horse, and removed his cap as if wishing to cool his burning head.
"That same night," continued he, "I went to the hetman, for he gave command to call me. I thought to myself, 'I will renounce his service, break my oath, suffocate him, choke him with these hands, blow up Kyedani with powder, and then let happen what may.' He knew too that was ready for anything, knew what I was; I saw well that he was fingering a box in which there were pistols. 'That is nothing,' thought I to myself; 'either he will miss me or he will kill me.' But he began to reason, to speak, to show such a prospect to me, simpleton, and put himself forward as such a savior, that your highness knows what happened."
"He convinced the young man," said Boguslav.
"So that I fell at his feet," cried Kmita, "and saw in him the father, the one savior, of the country; so that I gave myself to him soul and body as to a devil. For him, for his honesty I was ready to hurl myself headlong from the tower of Kyedani."
"I thought such would be the end," said Boguslav.
"What I lost in his cause I will not say, but I rendered him important services. I held in obedience my squadron, which is in Kyedani now,--God grant to his ruin! Others, who mutinied, I cut up badly. I stained my hands in brothers' blood, believing that a stern necessity for the country. Often my soul was pained at giving command to shoot honest soldiers; often the nature of a noble rebelled against him, when one time and another he promised something and did not keep his word. But I thought: 'I am simple, he is wise!--it must be done so.' But to-day, when I learned for the first time from those letters of the poisons, the marrow stiffened in my bones. How? Is this the kind of war? You wish to poison soldiers? And that is to be in hetman fashion? That is to be the Radzivill method, and am I to carry such letters?"
"You know nothing of politics, Cavalier," interrupted Boguslav.
"May the thunders crush it! Let the criminal Italians practise it, not a noble whom God has adorned with more honorable blood than others, but at the same time obliged him to war with a sabre and not with a drug-shop."
"These letters, then, so astonished you that you determined to leave the Radzivills?"
"It was not the letters,--I might have thrown them to the hangman, or tossed them into the fire, for they refer not to my duties; it was not the letters. I might have refused the mission without leaving the cause. Do I know what I might have done? I might have joined the dragoons, or collected a party again, and harried Hovanski as before. But straightway a suspicion came to me: 'But do they not wish to poison the country as well as those soldiers?' God granted me not to break out, though my head was burning like a grenade, to remember myself, to have the power to think: 'Draw him by the tongue, and discover the whole truth; betray not what you have at heart, give yourself out as worse than the Radzivills themselves, and draw him by the tongue.'"
"Whom,--me?"
"Yes! God aided me, so that I, simple man, deceived a politician,--so that your highness, holding me the last of ruffians, hid nothing of your own ruffianism, confessed everything, told everything, as if it had been written on the hand. The hair stood on my head, but I listened and listened to the end. O traitors! arch hell-dwellers! O parricides! How is it, that a thunderbolt has not stricken you down before now? How is it that the earth has not swallowed you? So you are treating with Hmelnitski, with the Swedes, with the elector, with Rakotsy, and with the devil himself to the destruction of this Commonwealth? Now you want to cut a mantle out of it for yourself, to sell it to divide it, to tear your own mother like wolves? Such is your gratitude for all the benefits heaped on you,--for the offices, the honors, the dignities, the wealth, the authority, the estates which foreign kings envy you? And you were ready without regard to those tears, torments, oppression. Where is your conscience, where your faith, where your honesty? What monster brought you into the world?"
"Cavalier," interrupted Boguslav, coldly, "you have me in your hand, you can kill me; but I beg one thing, do not bore me."
Both were silent.
However, it appeared plainly, from the words of Kmita, that the soldier had been able to draw out the naked truth from the diplomat, and that the prince was guilty of great incautiousness, of a great error in betraying his most secret plans and those of the hetman. This pricked his vanity; therefore, not caring to hide his ill-humor, he said,--
"Do not ascribe it to your own wit merely, Pan Kmita, that you got the truth from me. I spoke openly, for I thought the prince voevoda knew people better, and had sent a man worthy of confidence."
"The prince voevoda sent a man worthy of confidence," answered Kmita, "but you have lost him. Henceforth only scoundrels will serve you."
"If the way in which you seized me was not scoundrelly, then may the sword grow to my hand in the first battle."
"It was a stratagem! I learned it in a hard school. You wish, your highness, to know Kmita. Here he is! I shall not go with empty hands to our gracious lord."
"And you think that a hair of my head will fall from the hand of Yan Kazimir?"
"That is a question for the judges, not for me."
Suddenly Kmita reined in his horse: "But the letter of the prince voevoda,--have you that letter on your person?"
"If I had, I would not give it. The letter remained in Pilvishki."
"Search him!" cried Kmita.
The soldiers seized the prince again by the arms. Soroka began to search his pockets. After a while he found the letter.
"Here is one document against you and your works," said Pan Andrei, taking the letter. "The King of Poland will know from it what you have in view; the Swedish King will know too, that although now you are serving him, the prince voevoda reserves to himself freedom to withdraw if the Swedish foot stumbles. All your treasons will come out, all your machinations. But I have, besides, other letters,--to the King of Sweden, to Wittemberg, to Radzeyovski. You are great and powerful; still I am not sure that it will not be too narrow for you in this Commonwealth, when both kings will prepare a recompense worthy of your treasons."
Prince Boguslav's eyes gleamed with ill-omened light, but after a while he mastered his anger and said,--
"Well, Cavalier! For life or death between us! We have met! You may cause us trouble and much evil, but I say this: No man has dared hitherto to do in this country what you have done. Woe be to you and to yours!"
"I have a sabre to defend myself, and I have something to redeem my own with," answered Kmita.
"You have me as a hostage," said the prince.
And in spite of all his anger he breathed calmly; he understood one thing at this moment, that in no case was his life threatened,--that his person was too much needed by Kmita.
Then they went again at a trot, and after an hour's ride they saw two horsemen, each of whom led a pair of packhorses. They were Kmita's men sent in advance from Pilvishki.
"What is the matter?" asked Kmita.
"The horses are terribly tired, for we have not rested yet."
"We shall rest right away!"
"There is a cabin at the turn, maybe 'tis a public house."
"Let the sergeant push on to prepare oats. Public house or not, we must halt."
"According to order, Commander."
Soroka gave reins to the horses, and they followed him slowly. Kmita rode at one side of the prince, Lubyenyets at the other. Boguslav had become completely calm and quiet; he did not draw Pan Andrei into further conversation. He seemed to be exhausted by the journey, or by the position in which he found himself, and dropping his head somewhat on his breast, closed his eyes. Still from time to time he cast a side look now at Kmita, now at Lubyenyets, who held the reins of the horse, as if studying to discover who would be the easier to overturn so as to wrest himself free.
They approached the building situated on the roadside at a bulge of the forest. It was not a public house, but a forge and a wheelwright-shop, in which those going by the road stopped to shoe their horses and mend their wagons. Between the forge and the road there was a small open area, sparsely covered with trampled grass; fragments of wagons and broken wheels lay thrown here and there on that place, but there were no travellers. Soroka's horses stood tied to a post. Soroka himself was talking before the forge to the blacksmith, a Tartar, and two of his assistants.
"We shall not have an over-abundant repast," said the prince; "there is nothing to be had here."
"We have food and spirits with us," answered Kmita.
"That is well! We shall need strength."
They halted. Kmita thrust his pistol behind his belt, sprang from the saddle, and giving his horse to Soroka, seized again the reins of the prince's horse, which however Lubyenyets had not let go from his hand on the other side.
"Your highness will dismount!" said Kmita.
"Why is that? I will eat and drink in the saddle," said the prince, bending down.
"I beg you to come to the ground!" said Kmita, threateningly.
"But into the ground with you!" cried the prince, with a terrible voice; and drawing with the quickness of lightning the pistol from Kmita's belt, he thundered into his very face.
"Jesus, Mary!" cried Kmita.
At this moment the horse under the prince struck with spurs reared so that he stood almost erect; the prince turned like a snake in the saddle toward Lubyenyets, and with all the strength of his powerful arm struck him with the pistol between the eyes.
Lubyenyets roared terribly and fell from the horse.
Before the others could understand what had happened, before they had drawn breath, before the cry of fright had died on their lips, Boguslav scattered them as a storm would have done, rushed from the square to the road, and shot on like a whirlwind toward Pilvishki.
"Seize him! Hold him! Kill him!" cried wild voices.
Three soldiers who were sitting yet on the horses rushed after him; but Soroka seized a musket standing at the wall, and aimed at the fleeing man, or rather at his horse.
The horse stretched out like a deer, and moved forward like an arrow urged from the string. The shot thundered. Soroka rushed through the smoke for a better view of what he had done; he shaded his eyes with his hand, gazed awhile, and cried at last,--
"Missed!"
At this moment Boguslav disappeared beyond the bend, and after him vanished the pursuers.
Then Soroka turned to the blacksmith and his assistants, who were looking up to that moment with dumb astonishment at what had happened, and cried,--
"Water!"
The blacksmith ran to draw water, and Soroka knelt near Pan Andrei, who was lying motionless. Kmita's face was covered with powder from the discharge, and with drops of blood; his eyes were closed, his left brow and left temple were blackened. The sergeant began first to feel lightly with his fingers the head of his colonel.
"His head is sound."
But Kmita gave no signs of life, and blood came abundantly from his face. The blacksmith's assistants brought a bucket of water and a cloth. Soroka, with equal deliberation and care, began to wipe Kmita's face.
Finally the wound appeared from under the blood and blackness. The ball had opened Kmita's left cheek deeply, and had carried away the end of his ear. Soroka examined to see if his cheek-bone were broken.
After a while he convinced himself that it was not, and drew a long breath. Kmita, under the influence of cold water and pain, began to give signs of life. His face quivered, his breast heaved with breath.
"He is alive!--nothing! he will be unharmed," cried Soroka, joyfully; and a tear rolled down the murderous face of the sergeant.
Meanwhile at the turn of the road appeared Biloüs, one of the three soldiers who had followed the prince.
"Well, what?" called Soroka.
The soldier shook his head. "Nothing!"
"Will the others return soon?"
"The others will not return."
With trembling hands the sergeant laid Kmita's head on the threshold of the forge, and sprang to his feet. "How is that?"
"Sergeant, that prince is a wizard! Zavratynski caught up first, for he had the best horse, and because the prince let him catch up. Before our eyes Boguslav snatched the sabre from his hand and thrust him through. We had barely to cry out. Vitkovski was next, and sprang to help; and him this Radzivill cut down before my eyes, as if a thunderbolt had struck him. He did not give a sound. I did not wait my turn. Sergeant, the prince is ready to come back here."
"There is nothing in this place for us," said Soroka. "To horse!"
That moment they began to make a stretcher between the horses for Kmita. Two of the soldiers, at the command of Soroka, stood with muskets on the road, fearing the return of the terrible man.
But Prince Boguslav, convinced that Kmita was not alive, rode quietly to Pilvishki. About dark he was met by a whole detachment of horsemen sent out by Patterson, whom the absence of the prince had disturbed for some time. The officer, on seeing the prince, galloped to him,--
"Your highness, we did not know--"
"That is nothing!" interrupted Prince Boguslav. "I was riding this horse in the company of that cavalier, of whom I bought him."
And after a while he added: "I paid him well."
Chapter XXVIII
The trusty Soroka carried his colonel through the deep forest, not knowing himself what to begin, whither to go or to turn.
Kmita was not only wounded, but stunned by the shot. Soroka from time to time moistened the piece of cloth in a bucket hanging by the horse, and washed his face; at times he halted to take fresh water from the streams and forest ponds; but neither halts nor the movement of the horse could restore at once consciousness to Pan Andrei, and he lay as if dead, till the soldiers going with him, and less experienced in the matter of wounds than Soroka, began to be alarmed for the life of their colonel.
"He is alive," answered Soroka; "in three days he will be on horseback like any of us."
In fact, an hour later, Kmita opened his eyes; but from his mouth came forth one word only,--
"Drink!"
Soroka held a cup of pure water to his lips; but it seemed that to open his mouth caused Pan Andrei unendurable pain, and he was unable to drink. But he did not lose consciousness: he asked for nothing, apparently remembered nothing; his eyes were wide open, and he gazed, without attention, toward the depth of the forest, on the streaks of blue sky visible through the dense branches above their heads, and at his comrades, like a man roused from sleep, or like one recovered from drunkenness, and permitted Soroka to take care of him without saying a word,--nay, the cold water with which the sergeant washed the wound seemed to give him pleasure, for at times his eyes smiled. But Soroka comforted him,--
"To-morrow the dizziness will pass, Colonel; God grant recovery."
In fact, dizziness began to disappear toward evening; for just before the setting of the sun Kmita seemed more self-possessed and asked on a sudden, "What noise is that?"
"What noise? There is none," answered Soroka.
Apparently the noise was only in the head of Pan Andrei, for the evening was calm. The setting sun, piercing the gloom with its slanting rays, filled with golden glitter the forest darkness, and lighted the red trunks of the pine-trees. There was no wind, and only here and there, from hazel, birch, and hornbeam trees leaves dropped to the ground, or timid beasts made slight rustle in fleeing to the depths of the forest in front of the horsemen.
The evening was cool; but evidently fever had begun to attack Pan Andrei, for he repeated,--
"Your highness, it is life or death between us!"
At last it became dark altogether, and Soroka was thinking of a night camp; but because they had entered a damp forest and the ground began to yield under the hoofs of their horses, they continued to ride in order to reach high and dry places.
They rode one hour and a second without being able to pass the swamp. Meanwhile it was growing lighter, for the moon had risen. Suddenly Soroka, who was in advance, sprang from the saddle and began to look carefully at the ground.
"Horses have passed this way," said he, at sight of tracks in the soft earth.
"Who could have passed, when there is no road?" asked one of the soldiers supporting Pan Kmita.
"But there are tracks, and a whole crowd of them! Look here between the pines,--as evident as on the palm of the hand!"
"Perhaps cattle have passed."
"Impossible. It is not the time of forest pastures; horse-hoofs are clearly to be seen, somebody must have passed. It would be well to find even a forester's cabin."
"Let us follow the trail."
"Let us ride forward!"
Soroka mounted again and rode on. Horses' tracks in the turfy ground were more distinct; and some of them, as far as could be seen in the light of the moon, seemed quite fresh. Still the horses sank to their knees, and beyond. The soldiers were afraid that they could not wade through, or would come to some deeper quagmire; when, at the end of half an hour, the odor of smoke and rosin came to their nostrils.
"There must be a pitch-clearing here," said Soroka.
"Yes, sparks are to be seen," said a soldier.
And really in the distance appeared a line of reddish smoke, filled with flame, around which were dancing the sparks of a fire burning under the ground.
When they had approached, the soldiers saw a cabin, a well, and a strong shed built of pine logs. The horses, wearied from the road, began to neigh; frequent neighing answered them from under the shed, and at the same time there stood before the riders some kind of a figure, dressed in sheepskin, wool outward.
"Are there many horses?" asked the man in the sheepskin.
"Is this a pitch-factory?" inquired Soroka.
"What kind of people are ye? Where do ye come from?" asked the pitch-maker, in a voice in which astonishment and alarm were evident.
"Never fear!" answered Soroka; "we are not robbers."
"Go your own way; there is nothing for you here."
"Shut thy mouth, and guide us to the house since we ask. Seest not, scoundrel, that we are taking a wounded man?"
"What kind of people are ye?"
"Be quick, or we answer from guns. It will be better for thee to hurry. Take us to the house; if not, we will cook thee in thy own pitch."
"I cannot defend myself alone, but there will be more of us. Ye will lay down your lives here."
"There will be more of us too; lead on!"
"Go on yourselves; it is not my affair."
"What thou hast to eat, give us, and gorailka. We are carrying a man who will pay."
"If he leaves here alive."
Thus conversing, they entered the cabin; a fire was burning in the chimney, and from pots, hanging by the handles, came the odor of boiling meat. The cabin was quite large. Soroka saw at the walls six wooden beds, covered thickly with sheepskins.
"This is the resort of some company," muttered he to his comrades. "Prime your guns and watch well. Take care of this scoundrel, let him not slip away. The owners sleep outside to-night, for we shall not leave the house."
"The men will not come to-day," said the pitch-maker.
"That is better, for we shall not quarrel about room, and to-morrow we will go on," replied Soroka; "but now dish the meat, for we are hungry, and spare no oats on the horses."
"Where can oats be found here, great mighty soldiers?"
"We heard horses under the shed, so there must be oats; thou dost not feed them with pitch."
"They are not my horses."
"Whether they are yours or not, they must eat as well as ours. Hurry, man, hurry! if thy skin is dear to thee!"
The pitch-maker said nothing. The soldiers entered the house, placed the sleeping Kmita on a bed, and sat down to supper. They ate eagerly the boiled meat and cabbage, a large kettle of which was in the chimney. There was millet also, and in a room at the side of the cabin Soroka found a large decanter of spirits.
He merely strengthened himself with it slightly, and gave none to the soldiers, for he had determined to hold it in reserve for the night. This empty house with six beds for men, and a shed in which a band of horses were neighing, seemed to him strange and suspicious. He judged simply that this was a robbers' retreat, especially since in the room from which he brought the decanter he found many weapons hanging on the wall, and a keg of powder, with various furniture, evidently plundered from noble houses. In case the absent occupants of the cabin returned, it was impossible to expect from them not merely hospitality, but even mercy. Soroka therefore resolved to hold the house with armed hand, and maintain himself in it by superior force or negotiations.
This was imperative also in view of the health of Pan Kmita, for whom a journey might be fatal, and in view of the safety of all.
Soroka was a trained and seasoned soldier, to whom one feeling was foreign,--the feeling of fear. Still in that moment, at thought of Prince Boguslav, fear seized him. Having been for long years in the service of Kmita, he had blind faith, not only in the valor, but the fortune of the man; he had seen more than once deeds of his which in daring surpassed every measure, and touched almost on madness, but which still succeeded and passed without harm. With Kmita he had gone through the "raids" on Hovanski; had taken part in all the surprises, attacks, fights, and onsets, and had come to the conviction that Pan Andrei could do all things, succeed in all things, come out of every chaos, and destroy whomsoever he wished. Kmita therefore was for him the highest impersonation of power and fortune,--but this time he had met his match seemingly, nay, he had met his superior. How was this? One man carried away, without weapons, and in Kmita's hands, had freed himself from those hands; not only that, he had overthrown Kmita, conquered his soldiers, and terrified them so that they ran away in fear of his return. That was a wonder of wonders, and Soroka lost his head pondering over it. To his thinking, anything might come to pass in the world rather than this, that a man might be found who could ride over Kmita.
"Has our fortune then ended?" muttered he to himself, gazing around in wonder.
It was not long since with eyes shut he followed Pan Kmita to Hovanski's quarters surrounded by eighty thousand men; now at the thought of that long-haired prince with lady's eyes and a painted face, superstitious terror seized him, and he knew not what to do. The thought alarmed him, that to-morrow or the next day he would have to travel on highways where the terrible prince himself or his pursuers might meet him. This was the reason why he had gone from the road to the dense forest, and at present wished to stay in that cabin until pursuers were deluded and wearied.
But since even that hiding-place did not seem to him safe for other reasons, he wished to discover what course to take; therefore he ordered the soldiers to stand guard at the door and the windows, and said to the pitch-maker,--
"Here, man, take a lantern and come with me."
"I can light the great mighty lord only with a pitch-torch, for we have no lantern."
"Then light the torch; if thou burn the shed and the horses, it is all one to me."
After such words a lantern was found right away. Soroka commanded the fellow to go ahead, and followed himself with a pistol in his hand.
"Who live in this cabin?" asked he on the road.
"Men live here."
"What are their names?"
"That is not free for me to say."
"It seems to me, fellow, that thou'lt get a bullet in thy head."
"My master," answered the pitch-maker, "if I had told in a lie any kind of name, you would have to be satisfied."
"True! But are there many of those men?"
"There is an old one, two sons, and two servants."
"Are they nobles?"
"Surely nobles."
"Do they live here?"
"Sometimes here, and sometimes God knows where."
"But the horses, whence are they?"
"God knows whence they bring them."
"Tell the truth; do thy masters not rob on the highway?"
"Do I know? It seems to me they take horses, but whose,--that's not on my head."
"What do they do with the horses?"
"Sometimes they take ten or twelve of them, as many as there are, and drive them away, but whither I know not."
Thus conversing, they reached the shed, from which was heard the snorting of horses.
"Hold the light," said Soroka.
The fellow raised the lantern, and threw light on the horses standing in a row at the wall. Soroka examined them one after another with the eye of a specialist, shook his head, smacked his lips, and said,--
"The late Pan Zend would have rejoiced. There are Polish and Muscovite horses here,--there is a Wallachian, a German,--a mare. Fine horses! What dost thou give them to eat?"
"Not to lie, my master, I sowed two fields with oats in springtime."
"Then thy masters have been handling horses since spring?"
"No, but they sent a servant to me with a command."
"Then art thou theirs?"
"I was till they went to the war."
"What war?"
"Do I know? They went far away last year, and came back in the summer."
"Whose art thou now?"
"These are the king's forests."
"Who put thee here to make pitch?"
"The royal forester, a relative of these men, who also brought horses with them; but since he went away once with them, he has not come back."
"And do guests come to these men?"
"Nobody comes here, for there are swamps around, and only one road. It is a wonder to me that ye could come, my master; for whoso does not strike the road, will be drawn in by the swamp."
Soroka wanted to answer that he knew these woods and the road very well; but after a moment's thought he determined that silence was better, and inquired,--
"Are these woods very great?"
The fellow did not understand the question. "How is that?"
"Do they go far?"
"Oh! who has gone through them? Where one ends another begins, and God knows where they are not; I have never been in that place."
"Very well!" said Soroka.
Then he ordered the man to go back to the cabin, and followed himself.
On the way he was pondering over what he should do, and hesitated. On one hand the wish came to him to take the horses while the cabin-dwellers were gone, and flee with this plunder. The booty was precious, and the horses pleased the old soldier's heart greatly; but after a while he overcame the temptation. To take them was easy, but what to do further. Swamps all around, one egress,--how hit upon that? Chance had served him once, but perhaps it would not a second time. To follow the trail of hoofs was useless, for the cabin-dwellers had surely wit enough to make by design false and treacherous trails leading straight into quagmires. Soroka knew clearly the methods of men who steal horses, and of those who take booty.
He thought awhile, therefore, and meditated; all at once he struck his head with his fist,--
"I am a fool!" muttered he. "I'll take the fellow on a rope, and make him lead me to the highway."
Barely had he uttered the last word when he shuddered, "To the highway? But that prince will be there, and pursuit. To lose fifteen horses!" said the old fox to himself, with as much sorrow as if he had cared for the beasts from their colthood. "It must be that our fortune is ended. We must stay in the cabin till Pan Kmita recovers,--stay with consent of the owners or without their consent; and what will come later, that is work for the colonel's head."
Thus meditating, he returned to the cabin. The watchful soldiers were standing at the door, and though they saw a lantern shining in the dark from a distance,--the same lantern with which Soroka and the pitch-maker had gone out,--still they forced them to tell who they were before they let them enter the cabin. Soroka ordered his soldiers to change the watch about midnight, and threw himself down on the plank bed beside Kmita.
It had become quiet in the cabin; only the crickets raised their usual music in the adjoining closet, and the mice gnawed from moment to moment among the rubbish piled up there. The sick man woke at intervals and seemed to have dreams in his fever, for to Soroka's ears came the disconnected words,--
"Gracious king, pardon--Those men are traitors--I will tell all their secrets--The Commonwealth is a red cloth--Well, I have you, worthy prince--Hold him!--Gracious king, this way, for there is treason!"
Soroka rose on the bed and listened; but the sick man, when he had screamed once and a second time, fell asleep, and then woke and cried,--
"Olenka, Olenka, be not angry!"
About midnight he grew perfectly calm and slept soundly. Soroka also began to slumber; but soon a gentle knocking at the door of the cabin roused him.
The watchful soldier opened his eyes at once, and springing to his feet went out.
"But what is the matter?" asked he.
"Sergeant, the pitch-maker has escaped."
"A hundred devils! he'll bring robbers to us right away."
"Who was watching him?"
"Biloüs."
"I went with him to water our horses," said Biloüs, explaining. "I ordered him to draw the water, and held the horses myself."
"And what? Did he jump into the well?"
"No, Sergeant, but between the logs, of which there are many near the well, and into the stump-holes. I let the horses go; for though they scattered there are others here, and sprang after him, but I fell into the first hole. It was night,--dark; the scoundrel knows the place, and ran away. May the pest strike him!"
"He will bring those devils here to us,--he'll bring them. May the thunderbolts split him!"
The sergeant stopped, but after a while said,--
"We will not lie down; we must watch till morning. Any moment a crowd may come."
And giving an example to the others, he took his place on the threshold of the cabin with a musket in his hand. The soldiers sat near him talking in an undertone, listening sometimes to learn if in the night sounds of the pine-woods the tramp and snort of coming horses could reach them.
It was a moonlight night, and calm, but noisy. In the forest depths life was seething. It was the season of mating; therefore the wilderness thundered with terrible bellowing of stags. These sounds, short, hoarse, full of anger and rage, were heard round about in all parts of the forest, distant and near,--sometimes right there, as if a hundred yards from the cabin.
"If men come, they will bellow too, to mislead us," said Biloüs.
"Eh! they will not come to-night. Before the pitch-maker finds them 'twill be day," said the other soldiers.
"In the daytime, Sergeant, it would be well to examine the cabin and dig under the walls; for if robbers dwell here there must be treasures."
"The best treasures are in that stable," said Soroka, pointing with his finger to the shed.
"But we'll take them?"
"Ye are fools! there is no way out,--nothing but swamps all around."
"But we came in."
"God guided us. A living soul cannot come here or leave here without knowing the road."
"We will find it in the daytime."
"We shall not find it, for tracks are made everywhere purposely, and the trails are misleading. It was not right to let the man go."
"It is known that the highroad is a day's journey distant, and in that direction," said Biloüs.
Here he pointed with his finger to the eastern part of the forest.
"We will ride on till we pass through,--that's what we'll do! You think that you will be a lord when you touch the highway? Better the bullet of a robber here than a rope there."
"How is that, father?" asked Biloüs.
"They are surely looking for us there."
"Who, father?"
"The prince."
Soroka was suddenly silent; and after him were silent the others, as if seized with fear.
"Oi!" said Biloüs, at last. "It is bad here and bad there; though you twist, you can't turn."
"They have driven us poor devils into a net; here robbers, and there the prince," said another soldier.
"May the thunderbolts burn them there! I would rather have to do with a robber than with a wizard," added Biloüs; "for that prince is possessed, yes, possessed. Zavratynski could wrestle with a bear, and the prince took the sword from his hands as from a child. It can only be that he enchanted him, for I saw, too, that when he rushed at Vitkovski Boguslav grew up before the eyes to the size of a pine-tree. If he had not, I shouldn't have let him go alive."
"But you were a fool not to jump at him."
"What had I to do, Sergeant? I thought this way: he is sitting on the best horse; if he wishes, he will run away, but if he attacks me I shall not be able to defend myself, for with a wizard is a power not human! He becomes invisible to the eye or surrounds himself with dust--"
"That is truth," answered Soroka; "for when I fired at him he was surrounded as it were by a fog, and I missed. Any man mounted may miss when the horse is moving, but on the ground that has not happened to me for ten years."
"What's the use in talking?" said Biloüs, "better count: Lyubyenyets, Vitkovski, Zavratynski, our colonel; and one man brought them all down, and he without arms,--such men that each of them has many a time stood against four. Without the help of the devil he could not have done this."
"Let us commend our souls to God; for if he is possessed, the devil will show him the road to this place."
"But without that he has long arms for such a lord."
"Quiet!" exclaimed Soroka, quickly; "something is making the leaves rustle."
The soldiers were quiet and bent their ears. Near by, indeed, were heard some kind of heavy steps, under which the fallen leaves rustled very clearly.
"I hear horses," whispered Soroka.
But the steps began to retreat from the cabin, and soon after was heard the threatening and hoarse bellowing of a stag.
"That is a stag! He is making himself known to a doe, or fighting off another horned fellow."
"Throughout the whole forest are entertainments as if at the wedding of Satan."
They were silent again and began to doze. The sergeant raised his head at times and listened for a while, then dropped it toward his breast. Thus passed an hour, and a second; at last the nearest pine-trees from being black became gray, and the tops grew whiter each moment, as if some one had burnished them with molten silver. The bellowing of stags ceased, and complete stillness reigned in the forest depths. Dawn passed gradually into day; the white and pale light began to absorb rosy and golden gleams; at last perfect morning had come, and lighted the tired faces of the soldiers sleeping a firm sleep at the cabin.
Then the door opened, Kmita appeared on the threshold, and called,--
"Soroka! come here!"
The soldiers sprang up.
"For God's sake, is your grace on foot?" asked Soroka.
"But you have slept like oxen; it would have been possible to cut off your heads and throw them out before any one would have been roused."
"We watched till morning, Colonel; we fell asleep only in the broad day."
Kmita looked around. "Where are we?"
"In the forest, Colonel."
"I see that myself. But what sort of a cabin is this?"
"We know not ourselves."
"Follow me," said Kmita. And he turned to the inside of the cabin. Soroka followed.
"Listen," said Kmita, sitting on the bed. "Did the prince fire at me?"
"He did."
"And what happened to him?"
"He escaped."
A moment of silence followed.
"That is bad," said Kmita, "very bad! Better to lay him down than to let him go alive."
"We wanted to do that, but--"
"But what?"
Soroka told briefly all that had happened. Kmita listened with wonderful calmness; but his eyes began to glitter, and at last he said,--
"Then he is victor; but we'll meet again. Why did you leave the highroad?"
"I was afraid of pursuit."
"That was right, for surely there was pursuit. There are too few of us now to fight against Boguslav's power,--too few. Besides, he has gone to Prussia; we cannot reach him there, we must wait--"
Soroka was relieved. Pan Kmita evidently did not fear Boguslav greatly, since he talked of overtaking him. This confidence was communicated at once to the old soldier accustomed to think with the head of his colonel and to feel with his heart.
Meanwhile Pan Andrei, who had fallen into deep thought, came to himself on a sudden, and began to seek something about his person with both his hands.
"Where are my letters?" asked he.
"What letters?"
"Letters that I had on my body. They were fastened to my belt; where is the belt?" asked Pan Andrei, in haste.
"I unbuckled the belt myself, that your grace might breathe more easily; there it is."
"Bring it."
Soroka gave him a belt lined with white leather, to which a bag was attached by cords. Kmita untied it and took out papers hastily.
"These are passes to the Swedish commandants; but where are the letters?" asked he, in a voice full of disquiet.
"What letters?" asked Soroka.
"Hundreds of thunders! the letters of the hetman to the Swedish King, to Pan Lyubomirski, and all those that I had."
"If they are not on the belt, they are nowhere. They must have been lost in the time of the riding."
"To horse and look for them!" cried Kmita, in a terrible voice.
But before the astonished Soroka could leave the room Pan Andrei sank to the bed as if strength had failed him, and seizing his head with his hands, began to repeat in a groaning voice,--
"Ai! my letters, my letters!"
Meanwhile the soldiers rode off, except one, whom Soroka commanded to guard the cabin. Kmita remained alone in the room, and began to meditate over his position, which was not deserving of envy. Boguslav had escaped. Over Pan Andrei was hanging the terrible and inevitable vengeance of the powerful Radzivills. And not only over him, but over all whom he loved, and speaking briefly, over Olenka. Kmita knew that Prince Yanush would not hesitate to strike where he could wound him most painfully,--that is, to pour out his vengeance on the person of Panna Billevich. And Olenka was still in Kyedani at the mercy of the terrible magnate, whose heart knew no pity. The more Kmita meditated over his position, the more clearly was he convinced that it was simply dreadful. After the seizure of Boguslav, the Radzivills will hold him a traitor; the adherents of Yan Kazimir, the partisans of Sapyeha, and the confederates who had risen up in Podlyasye look on him as a traitor now, and a damned soul of the Radzivills. Among the many camps, parties, and foreign troops occupying at that moment the fields of the Commonwealth, there is not a camp, a party, a body of troops which would not count him as the greatest and most malignant enemy. Indeed, the reward offered for his head by Hovanski is still in force, and now Radzivill and the Swedes will offer rewards,--and who knows if the adherents of the unfortunate Yan Kazimir have not already proclaimed one?
"I have brewed beer and must drink it," thought Kmita. When he bore away Prince Boguslav, he did so to throw him at the feet of the confederate's, to convince them beyond question that he had broken with the Radzivills, to purchase a place with them, to win the right of fighting for the king and the country. Besides, Boguslav in his hands was a hostage for the safety of Olenka. But since Boguslav has crushed Kmita and escaped, not only is Olenka's safety gone, but also the proof that Kmita has really left the service of the Radzivills. But the road to the confederates is open to him; and if he meets Volodyovski's division and his friends the colonels, they may grant him his life, but will they take him as a comrade, will they believe him, will they not think that he has appeared as a spy, or has come to tamper with their courage and bring over people to Radzivill? Here he remembered that the blood of confederates was weighing on him; that to begin with, he had struck down the Hungarians and dragoons in Kyedani, that he had scattered the mutinous squadrons or forced them to yield, that he had shot stubborn officers and exterminated soldiers, that he had surrounded Kyedani with trenches and fortified it, and thus assured the triumph of Radzivill in Jmud. "How could I go?" thought he; "the plague would in fact be a more welcome guest there than I! With Boguslav on a lariat at the saddle it would be possible; but with only my mouth and empty hands!"
If he had those letters he might join the confederates, he would have had Prince Yanush in hand, for those letters might undermine the credit of the hetman, even with the Swedes,--even with the price of them he might save Olenka; but some evil spirit had so arranged that the letters were lost.
When Kmita comprehended all this, he seized his own head a second time.
"For the Radzivills a traitor, for Olenka a traitor, for the confederate's a traitor, for the king a traitor! I have ruined my fame, my honor, myself, and Olenka!"
The wound in his face was burning, but in his soul hot pain, a hundred-fold greater, was burning him. In addition to all, his self-love as a knight was suffering. For he was shamefully beaten by Boguslav. Those slashes which Volodyovski had given him in Lyubich were nothing. There he was finished by an armed man whom he had called out in a duel, here by a defenceless prisoner whom he had in his hand.
With every moment increased in Kmita the consciousness of how terrible and shameful was the plight into which he had fallen. The longer he examined it the more clearly he saw its horror; and every moment he saw new black corners from which were peering forth infamy and shame, destruction to himself, to Olenka, wrong against the country,--till at last terror and amazement seized him.
"Have I done all this?" asked he of himself; and the hair stood on his head.
"Impossible! It must be that fever is shaking me yet," cried he. "Mother of God, this is not possible!"
"Blind, foolish quarreller," said his conscience, "this would not have come to thee in fighting for the king and the country, nor if thou hadst listened to Olenka."
And sorrow tore him like a whirlwind. Hei! if only he could say to himself: "The Swedes against the country, I against them! Radzivill against the king, I against him!" Then it would be clear and transparent in his soul. Then he might collect a body of cut-throats from under a dark star and, frolic with them as a gypsy at a fair, fall upon the Swedes, and ride over their breasts with pure heart and conscience; then he might stand in glory as in sunlight before Olenka, and say,--
"I am no longer infamous, but defensor patriæ (a defender of the country); love me, as I love thee."
But what was he now? That insolent spirit, accustomed to self-indulgence, would not confess to a fault altogether at first. It was the Radzivills who (according to him) had pushed him down in this fashion; it was the Radzivills who had brought him to ruin, covered him with evil repute, bound his hands, despoiled him of honor and love.
Here Pan Kmita gnashed his teeth, stretched out his hands toward Jmud, on which Yanush, the hetman, was sitting like a wolf on a corpse, and began to call out in a voice choking with rage,--
"Vengeance! Vengeance!"
Suddenly he threw himself in despair on his knees in the middle of the room, and began to cry,--
"I vow to thee, O Lord Christ, to bend those traitors and gallop over them with justice, with fire, and with sword, to cut them, while there is breath in my throat, steam in my mouth, and life for me in this world! So help me, O Nazarene King! Amen!"
Some kind of internal voice told him in that moment, "Serve the country, vengeance afterward."
Pan Andrei's eyes were flaming, his lips were baked, and he trembled as in a fever; he waved his hands, and talking with himself aloud, walked, or rather ran, through the room, kicked the bed with his feet; at last he threw himself once more on his knees.
"Inspire me, O Christ, what to do, lest I fall into frenzy."
At that moment came the report of a gun, which the forest echo threw from pine-tree to pine-tree till it brought it like thunder to the cabin.
Kmita sprang up, and seizing his sabre ran out.
"What is that?" asked he of the soldier standing at the threshold.
"A shot, Colonel."
"Where is Soroka?"
"He went to look for the letters."
"In what direction was the shot?"
The soldier pointed to the eastern part of the forest, which was overgrown with dense underwood.
"There!"
At that moment was heard the tramp of horses not yet visible.
"Be on your guard!" cried Kmita.
But from out the thicket appeared Soroka, hurrying as fast as his horse could gallop, and after him the other soldier. They rushed up to the cabin, sprang from the horses, and from behind them, as from behind breastworks, took aim at the thicket.
"What is there?" asked Kmita.
"A party is coming," answered Soroka.
Chapter XXIX
Silence succeeded; but soon something began to rustle in the near thicket, as if wild beasts were passing. The movement, however, grew slower the nearer it came. Then there was silence a second time.
"How many of them are there?" asked Kmita.
"About six, and perhaps eight; for to tell the truth I could not count them surely," said Soroka.
"That is our luck! They cannot stand against us."
"They cannot. Colonel; but we must take one of them alive, and scorch him so that he will show the road."
"There will be time for that. Be watchful!"
Kmita had barely said, "Be watchful," when a streak of white smoke bloomed forth from the thicket, and you would have said that birds had fluttered in the near grass, about thirty yards from the cabin.
"They shot from old guns, with hob-nails!" said Kmita; "if they have not muskets, they will do nothing to us, for old guns will not carry from the thicket."
Soroka, holding with one hand the musket resting on the saddle of the horse standing in front of him, placed the other hand in the form of a trumpet before his mouth, and shouted,--
"Let any man come out of the bushes, he will cover himself with his legs right away."
A moment of silence followed; then a threatening voice was heard in the thicket,--
"What kind of men are you?"
"Better than those who rob on the highroad."
"By what right have you found out our dwelling?"
"A robber asks about right! The hangman will show you right! Come to the cabin."
"We will smoke you out just as if you were badgers."
"But come on; only see that the smoke does not stifle you too."
The voice in the thicket was silent; the invaders, it seemed, had begun to take counsel. Meanwhile Soroka whispered to Kmita,--
"We must decoy some one hither, and bind him; we shall then have a guide and a hostage."
"Pshaw!" answered Kmita, "if any one comes it will be on parole."
"With robbers parole may be broken."
"It is better not to give it!" said Kmita.
With that questions sounded again from the thicket.
"What do you want?"
Now Kmita began to speak. "We should have gone as we came if you had known politeness and not fired from a gun."
"You will not stay there,--there will be a hundred horse of us in the evening."
"Before evening two hundred dragoons will come, and your swamps will not save you, for they will pass as we passed."
"Are you soldiers?"
"We are not robbers, you may be sure."
"From what squadron?"
"But are you hetman? We will not report to you."
"The wolves will devour you, in old fashion."
"And the crows will pick you!"
"Tell what you want, a hundred devils! Why did you come to our cabin?"
"Come yourselves, and you will not split your throat crying from the thicket. Nearer, nearer!"
"On your word."
"A word is for knights, not for robbers. If it please you, believe; if not, believe not."
"May two come?"
"They may."
After a while from out the thicket a hundred yards distant appeared two men, tall and broad-shouldered. One somewhat bent seemed to be a man of years; the other went upright, but stretched his neck with curiosity toward the cabin. Both wore short sheepskin coats covered with gray cloth of the kind used by petty nobles, high cowhide boots, and fur caps drawn down to their ears.
"What the devil!" said Kmita, examining the two men with care.
"Colonel!" cried Soroka, "a miracle indeed, but those are our people."
Meanwhile they approached within a few steps, but could not see the men standing near the cabin, for the horses concealed them.
All at once Kmita stepped forward. Those approaching did not recognize him, however, for his face was bound up; they halted, and began to measure him with curious and unquiet eyes.
"And where is the other son, Pan Kyemlich?" asked Kmita; "he has not fallen, I hope."
"Who is that--how is that--what--who is talking?" asked the old man, in a voice of amazement and as it were terrified.
And he stood motionless, with mouth and eyes widely open; then the son, who since he was younger had quicker vision, took the cap from his head.
"For God's sake, father! that's the colonel!" cried he.
"O Jesus! sweet Jesus!" cried the old man, "that is Pan Kmita!"
And both took the fixed posture of subordinates saluting their commanders, and on their faces were depicted both shame and wonder.
"Ah! such sons," said Pan Andrei, laughing, "and greeted me from a gun?"
Here the old man began to shout,--
"Come this way, all of you! Come!"
From the thicket appeared a number of men, among whom were the second son of the old man and the pitch-maker; all ran up at breakneck speed with weapons ready, for they knew not what had happened. But the old man shouted again,--
"To your knees, rogues, to your knees! This is Pan Kmita! What fool was it who fired? Give him this way!"
"It was you, father," said young Kyemlich.
"You lie,--you lie like a dog! Pan Colonel, who could know that it was your grace who had come to our cabin? As God is true, I do not believe my own eyes yet."
"I am here in person," answered Kmita, stretching his hand toward him.
"O Jesus!" said the old man, "such a guest in the pine-woods. I cannot believe my own eyes. With what can we receive your grace here? If we expected, if we knew!"
Here he turned to his sons: "Run, some blockhead, to the cellar, bring mead!"
"Give the key to the padlock, father."
The old man began to feel in his belt, and at the same time looked suspiciously at his son.
"The key of the padlock? But I know thee, gypsy; thou wilt drink more thyself than thou'lt bring. What's to be done? I'll go myself; he wants the key of the padlock! But go roll off the logs, and I'll open and bring it myself."
"I see that you have spoons hidden under the logs, Pan Kyemlich," said Kmita.
"But can anything be kept from such robbers!" asked the old man, pointing to the sons. "They would eat up their father. Ye are still here? Go roll away the logs. Is this the way ye obey him who begat you?"
The young men went quickly behind the cabin to the pile of logs.
"You are in disagreement with your sons in old fashion, it seems?" said Kmita.
"Who could be in agreement with them? They know how to fight, they know how to take booty; but when it comes to divide with their father, I must tear my part from them at risk of my life. Such is the pleasure I have; but they are like wild bulls. I beg your grace to the cabin, for the cold bites out here. For God's sake! such a guest, such a guest! And under the command of your grace we took more booty than during this whole year. We are in poverty now, wretchedness! Evil times, and always worse; and old age, too, is no joy. I beg you to the cabin, over our lowly threshold. For God's sake! who could have looked for your grace here!"
Old Kyemlich spoke with a marvellously rapid and complaining utterance, and while speaking cast quick, restless glances on every side. He was a bony old man, enormous in stature, with a face ever twisted and sullen! He, as well as his two sons, had crooked eyes. His brows were bushy, and also his mustaches, from beneath which protruded beyond measure an underlip, which when he spoke came to his nose, as happens with men who are toothless. The agedness of his face was in wonderful contrast to the quickness of his movements, which displayed unusual strength and alertness. His movements were as rapid as if a spring stirred him; he turned his head continually, trying to take in with his eyes everything around,--men as well as things. Toward Kmita he became every minute more humble, in proportion as subservience to his former leader, fear, and perhaps admiration or attachment were roused in him.
Kmita knew the Kyemliches well, for the father and two sons had served under him when single-handed he had carried on war in White Russia with Hovanski. They were valiant soldiers, and as cruel as valiant. One son, Kosma, was standard-bearer for a time in Kmita's legion; but he soon resigned that honorable office, since it prevented him from taking booty. Among the gamblers and unbridled souls who formed Kmita's legion, and who drank away and lost in the day what they won with blood in the night from the enemy, the Kyemliches were distinguished for mighty greed. They accumulated booty carefully, and hid it in the woods. They took with special eagerness horses, which they sold afterward at country houses and in towns. The father fought no worse than the twin sons, but after each battle he dragged away from them the most considerable part of the booty, scattering at the same time complaints and regrets that they were wronging him, threatening a father's curse, groaning and lamenting. The sons grumbled at him, but being sufficiently stupid by nature they let themselves be tyrannized over. In spite of their endless squabbles and scoldings, they stood up, one for the other, in battle venomously without sparing blood. They were not liked by their comrades, but were feared universally, for in quarrels they were terrible; even officers avoided provoking them. Kmita was the one man who had roused indescribable fear in them, and after Kmita, Pan Ranitski, before whom they trembled when from anger his face was covered with spots. They revered also in both lofty birth; for the Kmitas, from old times, had high rank in Orsha, and in Ranitski flowed senatorial blood.
It was said in the legion that they had collected great treasures, but no one knew surely that there was truth in this statement. On a certain day Kmita sent them away with attendants and a herd of captured horses; from that time they vanished. Kmita thought that they had fallen; his soldiers said that they had escaped with the horses, the temptation in this case being too great for their hearts. Now, as Pan Andrei saw them in health, and as in a shed near the cabin horses were neighing, and the rejoicing and subservience of the old man were mingled with disquiet, he thought that his soldiers were right in their judgment. Therefore, when they had entered the cabin he sat on a plank bed, and putting his hands on his sides, looked straight into the old man's eyes and asked,--
"Kyemlich, where are my horses?"
"Jesus! sweet Jesus!" groaned the old man. "Zolotarenko's men took the horses; they beat us and wounded us, drove us ninety miles; we hardly escaped with our lives. Oh, Most Holy Mother! we could not find either your grace or your men. They drove us thus far into these pine-woods, into misery and hunger, to this cabin and these swamps. God is kind that your grace is living and in health, though, I see, wounded. Maybe we can nurse you, and put on herbs; and those sons of mine went to roll off the logs, and they have disappeared. What are the rogues doing? They are ready to take out the door and get at the mead. Hunger here and misery; nothing more! We live on mushrooms; but for your grace there will be something to drink and a bite to eat. Those men took the horses from us, robbed us,--there is no denying that! And they deprived us of service with your grace. We shall not have a bit of bread for old age, unless your grace takes us back into service."
"That may happen too," answered Kmita.
Now the two sons of the old man came in,--Kosma and Damian, twins, big fellows, awkward, with enormous heads completely overgrown with an immensely thick bush of hair, stiff as a brush, sticking out unevenly around the ears, forming hair-screws and fantastic tufts on their skulls. When they came in they stood near the door, for in presence of Kmita they dared not sit down; and Damian said,--
"The cellar is cleared."
"'Tis well," answered old Kyemlich, "I will go to bring mead."
Here he looked significantly at his sons.
"And Zolotarenko's men took the horses," said he, with emphasis; and went out of the cabin.
Kmita glanced at the two who stood by the door, and who looked as if they had been hewn out of logs roughly with an axe.
"What are you doing now?"
"We take horses!" answered the twins at the same time.
"From whom?"
"From whomsoever comes along."
"But mostly?"
"From Zolotarenko's men."
"That is well, you are free to take from the enemy; but if you take from your own you are robbers, not nobles. What do you do with those horses?"
"Father sells them in Prussia."
"Has it happened to you to take from the Swedes? Swedish companies are not far from here. Have you attacked the Swedes?"
"We have."
"Then you fall on single men or small companies; but when they defend themselves, what then?"
"We pound them."
"Ah, ha, you pound them! Then you have a reckoning with Zolotarenko's men and with the Swedes, and surely you could not have got away dry had you fallen into their hands."
Kosma and Damian were silent.
"You are carrying on a dangerous business, more becoming to robbers than nobles. It must be, also, that some sentences are hanging over you from old times?"
"Of course there are!" answered Kosma and Damian.
"So I thought. From what parts are you?"
"We are from these parts."
"Where did your father live before?"
"In Borovichko."
"Was that his village?"
"Yes, together with Pan Kopystynski."
"And what became of him?"
"We killed him."
"And you had to flee before the law. It will be short work with you Kyemliches, and you'll finish on trees. The hangman will light you, it cannot be otherwise!"
Just then the door of the room creaked, and the old man came in bringing a decanter of mead and two glasses. He looked unquietly at his sons and at Kmita, and then said,--
"Go and cover the cellar."
The twins went out at once. The old man poured mead into one glass; the other he left empty, waiting to see if Kmita would let him drink with him.
But Kmita was not able to drink himself, for he even spoke with difficulty, such pain did the wound cause him. Seeing this, the old man said,--
"Mead is not good for the wound, unless poured in, to clear it out more quickly. Your grace, let me look at the wound and dress it, for I understand this matter as well as a barber."
Kmita consented. Kyemlich removed the bandage, and began to examine the wound carefully.
"The skin is taken off, that's nothing! The ball passed along the outside; but still it is swollen."
"That is why it pains me."
"But it is not two days old. Most Holy Mother! some one who must have been very near shot at your grace."
"How do you know that?"
"Because all the powder was not burned, and grains like cockle are under the skin. They will stay with your grace. Now we need only bread and spider-web. Terribly near was the man who fired. It is well that he did not kill your grace."
"It was not fated me. Mix the bread and the spider-web and put them on as quickly as possible, for I must talk with you, and my jaws pain me."
The old man looked suspiciously at the colonel, for in his heart there was fear that the talk might touch again on the horses said to have been taken by the Cossacks; but he busied himself at once, kneaded the moistened bread first, and since it was not hard to find spider-webs in the cabin he attended promptly to Kmita.
"I am easy now," said Pan Andrei; "sit down, worthy Kyemlich."
"According to command of the colonel," answered the old man, sitting on the edge of a bench and stretching out his iron-gray bristly head uneasily toward Kmita.
But Kmita, instead of conversing, took his own head in his hands and fell into deep thought. Then he rose and began to walk in the room; at moments he halted before Kyemlich and gazed at him with distraught look; apparently he was weighing something, wrestling with thoughts. Meanwhile about half an hour passed; the old man squirmed more and more uneasily. All at once Kmita stopped before him.
"Worthy Kyemlich," said he, "where are the nearest of those squadrons which rose up against the prince voevoda of Vilna?"
The old man began to wink his eyes suspiciously. "Does your grace wish to go to them?"
"I do not request you to ask, but to answer."
"They say that one squadron is quartered in Shchuchyn,--that one which came here last from Jmud."
"Who said so?"
"The men of the squadron themselves."
"Who led it?"
"Pan Volodyovski."
"That's well. Call Soroka!"
The old man went out, and returned soon with the sergeant.
"Have the letters been found?" asked Kmita.
"They have not, Colonel," answered Soroka.
Kmita shook his hands. "Oh, misery, misery! You may go, Soroka. For those letters which you have lost you deserve to hang. You may go. Worthy Kyemlich, have you anything on which to write?"
"I hope to find something," answered the old man.
"Even two leaves of paper and a pen."
The old man vanished through the door of a closet which was evidently a storeroom for all kinds of things, but he searched long. Kmita was walking the while through the room, and talking to himself,--
"Whether I have the letters or not," said he, "the hetman does not know that they are lost, and he will fear lest I publish them. I have him in hand. Cunning against cunning! I will threaten to send them to the voevoda of Vityebsk. That is what I will do. In God is my hope, that the hetman will fear this."
Further thought was interrupted by old Kyemlich, who, coming out of the closet, said,--
"Here are three leaves of paper, but no pens or ink."
"No pens? But are there no birds in the woods here? They may be shot with a gun."
"There is a falcon nailed over the shed."
"Bring his wing hither quickly!"
Kyemlich shot off with all speed, for in the voice of Kmita was impatience, and as it were a fever. He returned in a moment with the falcon's wing. Kmita seized it, plucked out a quill, and began to make a pen of it with his dagger.
"It will do!" said he, looking at it before the light; "but it is easier to cut men's heads than quills. Now we need ink."
So saying, he rolled up his sleeve, cut himself deeply in the arm, and moistened the quill in blood.
"Worthy Kyemlich," said he, "leave me."
The old man left the room, and Pan Andrei began to write at once:--
I renounce the service of your highness, for I will not serve traitors and deceivers. And if I swore on the crucifix not to leave your highness, God will forgive me; and even if he were to damn me, I would rather burn for my error than for open and purposed treason to my country and king. Your highness deceived me, so that I was like a blind sword in your hand, ready to spill the blood of my brethren. Therefore I summon your highness to the judgment of God, so that it may be known on whose side was treason, and on whose honest intention. Should we ever meet, though you are powerful and able to strike unto death, not only a private man, but the whole Commonwealth, and I have only a sabre in my hand, still I will vindicate my own, and will strike your highness, for which my regret and compunction will give me power. And your highness knows that I am of those who without attendant squadrons, without castles and cannon, can injure. While in me there is breath, over you there is vengeance, so that you can be sure neither of the day nor the hour. And this is as certain to be as that this is my own blood with which I write. I have your letters, letters to ruin you, not only with the King of Poland, but the King of Sweden, for in them treason to the Commonwealth is made manifest, as well as this too, that you are ready to desert the Swedes if only a leg totters under them. Even had you twice your present power, your ruin is in my hands, for all men must believe signatures and seals. Therefore I say this to your highness: If a hair falls from the heads which I love and which are left in Kyedani, I will send those letters and documents to Pan Sapyeha, and I will have copies printed and scattered through the land. Your highness can go by land or water (you have your choice); but after the war, when peace comes to the Commonwealth, you will give me the Billeviches, and I will give you the letters, or if I hear evil tidings Pan Sapyeha will show them straightway to Pontus de la Gardie. Your highness wants a crown, but where will you put it when your head falls either from the Polish or the Swedish axe? It is better, I think, to have this understanding now; though I shall not forget revenge hereafter, I shall take it only in private, excepting this case. I would commend you to God were it not that you put the help of the devil above that of God. Kmita.
P. S. Your highness will not poison the confederates, for there will be those who, going from the service of the devil to that of God, will forewarn them to drink beer neither in Orel nor Zabludovo.
Here Kmita sprang up and began to walk across the room. His face was burning, for his own letter had heated him like fire. This letter was a declaration of war against the Radzivills; but still Kmita felt in himself some extraordinary power, and was ready, even at that moment, to stand eye to eye before that powerful family who shook the whole country. He, a simple noble, a simple knight, an outlaw pursued by justice, who expected assistance from no place, who had offended all so that everywhere he was accounted an enemy,--he, recently overthrown, felt in himself now such power that he saw, as if with the eyes of a prophet, the humiliation of Prince Yanush and Boguslav, and his own victory. How he would wage war, where he would find allies, in what way he would conquer, he knew not,--what is more, he had not thought of this. But he had profound faith that he would do what he ought to do,--that is, what is right and just, in return for which God would be with him. He was filled with confidence beyond measure and bounds. It had become sensibly easier in his soul. Certain new regions were opened as it were entirely before him. Let him but sit on his horse and ride thither to honor, to glory, to Olenka.
"But a hair will not fall from her head," repeated he to himself, with a certain feverish joy; "the letters will defend her. The hetman will guard her as the eye in his head,--as I myself would. Oh, I have settled this! I am a poor worm, but they will be afraid of my sting."
Then this thought came to him: "And shall I write to her too? The messenger who will take the letter to the hetman can give a slip of paper to her secretly. Why not inform her that I have broken with the Radzivills, and that I am going to seek other service?"
This thought struck his heart greatly. Cutting his arm again, he moistened the pen and began to write,--
Olenka,--I am no longer on the Radzivill side, for I have seen through them at last--
But suddenly he stopped, thought awhile, and said to himself, "Let deeds, not words, bear witness for me henceforth; I will not write." And he tore the paper. But he wrote on a third sheet a short letter to Volodyovski in the following words,--
Gracious Colonel,--The undersigned friend warns you and the other colonels to be on your guard. There were letters from the hetman to Prince Boguslav and Pan Harasimovich to poison you, or to have men under you in your own quarters. Harasimovich is absent, for he has gone with Prince Boguslav to Tyltsa in Prussia; but there may be similar commands to other managers. Be careful of those managers, receive nothing from them, and at night do not sleep without guards. I know also to a certainty that the hetman will march against you soon with an army; he is waiting only for cavalry which General de la Gardie is to send, fifteen hundred in number. See to it, therefore, that he does not fall upon you and destroy you singly. But better send reliable men to the voevoda of Vityebsk to come, with all haste and take chief command. A well-wisher counsels this,--believe him. Meanwhile keep together, choosing quarters for the squadrons one not far from the other, so that you may be able to give mutual assistance. The hetman has few cavalry, only a small number of dragoons, and Kmita's men, but they are not reliable. Kmita himself is absent. The hetman found some other office for him; it being likely that he does not trust him. Kmita too is not such a traitor as men say; he is merely led astray. I commit you to God.
Babinich.
Pan Andrei did not wish to put his own name to the letter, for he judged that it would rouse in each one aversion and especially distrust. "In case they understand," thought he, "that it would be better for them to retreat before the hetman than to meet him in a body, they will suspect at once, if they see my name, that I wish to collect them, so that the hetman may finish them at a blow; they will think this a new trick, but from some Babinich they will receive warning more readily."
Pan Andrei called himself Babinich from the village Babiniche, near Orsha, which from remote times belonged to the Kmitas.
When he had written the letter, at the end of which he placed a few timid words in his own defence, he felt new solace in his heart at the thought that with that letter he had rendered the first service, not only to Volodyovski and his friends, but to all the colonels who would not desert their country for Radzivill. He felt also that that thread would go farther. The plight into which he had fallen was difficult, indeed, almost desperate; but still there was some help, some issue, some narrow path which would lead to the highroad.
But now when Olenka in all probability was safe from the vengeance of Radzivill, and the confederates from an unexpected attack. Pan Andrei put the question, What was he to do himself?
He had broken with traitors, he had burned the bridges in the rear, he wished now to serve his country, to devote to it his strength, his health, his life; but how was he to do this, how begin, to what could he put his hand?
Again it came to his head to join the confederates; but if they will not receive him, if they will proclaim him a traitor and cut him down, or what is worse, expel him in disgrace?
"I would rather they killed me!" cried Pan Andrei; and he flushed from shame and the feeling of his own disgrace. Perhaps it is easier to save Olenka or the confederates than his own fame.
Now the position was really desperate, and again the young hero's soul began to seethe.
"But can I not act as I did against Hovanski?" asked he of himself. "I will gather a party, will attack the Swedes, burn, pursue. That is nothing new for me! No one has resisted them; I will resist until the time comes when the whole Commonwealth will ask, as did Lithuania, who is that hero who all alone dares to creep into the mouth of the lion? Then I will remove my cap and say, 'See, it is I, it is Kmita!'"
And such a burning desire drew him on to that bloody work that he wished to rush out of the room and order the Kyemliches, their attendants, and his own men to mount and move on. But before he reached the door he felt as if some one had suddenly punched him in the breast and pushed him back from the threshold. He stood in the middle of the room, and looked forward in amazement.
"How is this? Shall I not efface my offences in this way?"
And at once he began to reckon with his own conscience.
"Where is atonement for guilt?" asked his conscience. "Here something else is required!"
"What?" asked Kmita.
"With what can thy guilt be effaced, if not with service of some kind, difficult and immense, honorable and pure as a tear? Is it service to collect a band of ruffians and rage like a whirlwind with them through the fields and the wilderness? Dost thou not desire this because fighting has for thee a sweet odor, as has roast meat for a dog? That is amusement, not service; a carnival, not war; robbery, not defence of the country! And didst thou not do the same against Hovanski, but what didst thou gain? Ruffians infesting the forests are ready also to attack the Swedish commands, and whence canst thou get other men? Thou wilt attack the Swedes, but also the inhabitants; thou wilt bring vengeance on these inhabitants, and what wilt thou effect? Thou art trying to escape, thou fool, from toil and atonement."
So conscience spoke in Kmita; and Kmita saw that it was right, and vexation seized him, and a species of grief over his own conscience because it spoke such bitter truth.
"What shall I begin?" asked he, at last; "who will help me, who will save me?"
Here somehow his knees began to bend till at last he knelt down at the plank bed and began to pray aloud, and implore from his whole soul and heart,--
"O Jesus Christ, dear Lord," said he, "as on the cross thou hadst pity for the thief, so now have pity for me. Behold I desire to cleanse myself from sins, to begin a new life, and to serve my country honestly; but I know not how, for I am foolish. I served those traitors, O Lord, also not so much from malice, but especially as it were through folly; enlighten me, inspire me, comfort me in my despair, and rescue me in thy mercy, or I perish."
Here Pan Andrei's voice quivered; he beat his broad breast till it thundered in the room, and repeated, "Be merciful to me, a sinner! be merciful to me, a sinner! Be merciful to me, a sinner!" Then placing his hands together and stretching them upward, he said, "And thou, Most Holy Lady, insulted by heretics in this land, take my part with thy Son, intercede for my rescue, desert me not in my suffering and misery, so that I may be able to serve thee, to avenge the insults against thee, and at the hour of my death have thee as a patroness for my unhappy soul."
When Pan Andrei was imploring thus, tears began to fall from his eyes; at last he dropped his head on the plank bed and sank into silence, as if waiting for the effect of his ardent prayer. Silence followed in the room, and only the deep sound of the neighboring pine-trees entered from outside. Then chips crackled under heavy steps beyond the window, and two men began to speak,--
"What do you think, Sergeant? Where shall we go from here?"
"Do I know?" answered Soroka. "We shall go somewhere, maybe far off, to the king who is groaning under the Swedish hand."
"Is it true that all have left him?"
"But the Lord God has not left him."
Kmita rose suddenly from the bed, but his face was clear and calm; he went straight to the door, and opening it said to the soldier,--
"Have the horses ready! it is time for the road!"
Chapter XXX
A movement rose quickly among the soldiers, who were glad to go out of the forest to the distant world, all the more since they feared pursuit on the part of Boguslav Radzivill; and old Kyemlich went to the cabin, understanding that Kmita would need him.
"Does your grace wish to go?" asked he.
"I do. Will you guide me out of the forest? Do you know all the roads?"
"I know all the roads in these parts. But whither does your grace wish to go?"
"To our gracious king."
The old man started back in astonishment. "O Wise Lady!" cried he. "To what king."
"Not to the Swedish, you may be sure."
Kyemlich not only failed to recover, but began to make the sign of the cross.
"Then surely your grace does not know that people say our lord the king has taken refuge in Silesia, for all have deserted him. Cracow is besieged."
"We will go to Silesia."
"Well, but how are we to pass through the Swedes?"
"Whether we pass through as nobles or peasants, on horseback or on foot, is all one to me, if only we pass."
"Then too a tremendous lot of time is needed."
"We have time enough, but I should be glad to go as quickly as possible."
Kyemlich ceased to wonder. The old man was too cunning not to surmise that there was some particular and secret cause for this undertaking of Pan Kmita's, and that moment a thousand suppositions began to crowd into his head. But as the soldiers, on whom Pan Andrei had enjoined silence, said nothing to the old man or his sons about the seizure of Prince Boguslav, the supposition seemed to him most likely that the prince voevoda of Vilna had sent the young colonel on some mission to the king. He was confirmed in this opinion specially because he counted Kmita a zealous adherent of Prince Yanush, and knew of his services to the hetman; for the confederate squadrons had spread tidings of him throughout the whole province of Podlyasye, creating the opinion that Kmita was a tyrant and a traitor.
"The hetman is sending a confidant to the king," thought the old man; "that means that surely he wishes to agree with him and leave the Swedes. Their rule must be bitter to him already, else why send?"
Old Kyemlich did not struggle long over this question, for his interest in the matter was altogether different; and namely, what profit could he draw from such circumstances? If he served Kmita he would serve at the same time the hetman and the king, which would not be without a notable reward. The favor of such lords would be of service, too, should he be summoned to account for old sins. Besides, there will surely be war, the country will flame up, and then plunder will crawl of itself into his hands. All this smiled at the old man, who besides was accustomed to obey Kmita, and had not ceased to fear him like fire, cherishing toward him also a certain kind of love, which Kmita knew how to rouse in all his subordinates.
"Your grace," said he, "must go through the whole Commonwealth to reach the king. Swedish troops are nothing, for we may avoid the towns and go through the woods; but the worst is that the woods, as is usual in unquiet times, are full of parties of freebooters, who fall upon travellers; and your grace has few men."
"You will go with me, Pan Kyemlich, and your sons and the men whom you have; there will be more of us."
"If your grace commands I will go, but I am a poor man. Only misery with us; nothing more. How can I leave even this poverty and the roof over my head?"
"Whatever you do will be paid for; and for you it is better to take your head out of this place while it is yet on your shoulders."
"All the Saints of the Lord! What does your grace say? How is that? What threatens me, innocent man, in this place? Whom do we hinder?"
"I know you robbers!" answered Pan Andrei. "You had partnership with Kopystynski, and killed him; then you ran away from the courts, you served with me, you took away my captured horses.
"As true as life! O Mighty Lady!" cried the old man.
"Wait and be silent! Then you returned to your old lair, and began to ravage in the neighborhood like robbers, taking horses and booty everywhere. Do not deny it, for I am not your judge, and you know best whether I tell the truth. If you take the horses of Zolotarenko, that is well; if the horses of the Swedes, that is well. If they catch you they will flay you; but that is their affair."
"True, true; but we take only from the enemy," said the old man.
"Untrue; for you attack your own people, as your sons have confessed to me, and that is simple robbery, and a stain on the name of a noble. Shame on you, robbers! you should be peasants, not nobles."
"Your grace wrongs us," said old fox, growing red, "for we, remembering our station, do no peasant deed. We do not take horses at night from any man's stable. It is something different to drive a herd from the fields, or to capture horses. This is permitted, and there is no prejudice to a noble therefrom in time of war. But a horse in a stable is sacred; and only a gypsy, a Jew, or a peasant would steal from a stable,--not a noble. We, your grace, do not do that. But war is war!"
"Though there were ten wars, only in battle can plunder be taken; if you seek it on the road, you are robbers."
"God is witness to our innocence."
"But you have brewed beer here. In few words, it is better for you to leave this place, for sooner or later the halter will take you. Come with me; you will wash away your sins with faithful service and win honor. I will receive you to my service, in which there will be more profit than in those horses."
"We will go with your grace everywhere; we will guide you through the Swedes and through the robbers,--for true is the speech of your grace, that evil people persecute us here terribly, and for what? For our poverty,--for nothing but our poverty. Perhaps God will take pity on us, and save us from suffering."
Here old Kyemlich rubbed his hands mechanically, and his eyes glittered. "From these works," thought he, "it will boil in the country as in a kettle, and foolish the man who takes no advantage."
Kmita looked at him quickly. "Only don't try to betray me!" said he, threateningly, "for you will not be able, and the hand of God only could save you."
"We have never betrayed," answered Kyemlich, gloomily, "and may God condemn me if such a thought entered my head."
"I believe you," said Kmita, after a short silence, "for treason is something different from robbery; no robber will betray."
"What does your grace command now?" asked Kyemlich.
"First, here are two letters, requiring quick delivery. Have you sharp men?"
"Where must they go?"
"Let one go to the prince voevoda, but without seeing Radzivill himself. Let him deliver the letter in the first squadron of the prince, and come back without awaiting an answer."
"The pitch-maker will go; he is a sharp man and experienced."
"He will do. The second letter must be taken to Podlyasye; inquire for Pan Volodyovski's Lauda squadron, and give it into the hands of the colonel himself."
The old man began to mutter cunningly, and thought, "I see work on every side; since he is sniffing with the confederates there will be boiling water,--there will be, there will be!"
"Your grace," said he, aloud, "if there is not such a hurry with this letter, when we leave the forest it perhaps might be given to some man on the road. There are many nobles here friendly to the confederates; any one would take it willingly, and one man more would remain to us."
"You have calculated shrewdly," answered Kmita, "for it is better that he who delivers the letter should not know from whom he takes it. Shall we go out of the forest soon?"
"As your grace wishes. We can go out in two weeks, or to-morrow."
"Of that later; but now listen to me carefully, Kyemlich."
"I am attending with all my mind, your grace."
"They have denounced me in the whole Commonwealth as a tyrant, as devoted to the hetman, or altogether to Sweden. If the king knew who I am, he might not trust me, and might despise my intention, which, if it is not sincere, God sees! Are you attending, Kyemlich?"
"I am, your grace."
"Therefore I do not call myself Kmita, but Babinich, do you understand? No one must know my real name. Open not your lips; let not a breath out. If men ask whence I come, say that you joined me on the road and do not know, but say, 'Whoso is curious, let him ask the man himself.'"
"I understand, your grace."
"Warn your sons, and also your men. Even if straps were cut out of them, they must say my name is Babinich. You will answer for this with your life."
"It will be so, your grace. I will go and tell my sons, for it is necessary to put everything into the heads of those rogues with a shovel. Such is the joy I have with them. God has punished me for the sins of my youth; that is the trouble. Let me say another word, your grace."
"Speak boldly."
"It seems to me better not to tell soldiers or men where we are going."
"That is true."
"It is enough for them to know that Babinich, not Pan Kmita, is travelling. And on such a journey it is better to conceal your grace's rank."
"Why?"
"Because the Swedes give passes to the more considerable people; and whoso has not a pass, him they take to the commandant."
"I have passes to the Swedish troops."
Astonishment gleamed in the cunning eyes of Kyemlich; but after a while he asked, "Will your grace let me say once more what I think?"
"If you give good counsel and delay not, speak; for I see that you are a clever man."
"If you have passes, it is better, for in need they may be shown; but if your grace is travelling on an errand that should remain secret, it is safer not to show the passes. I know not whether they are given in the name of Babinich or Kmita; but if you show them, the trace will remain and pursuit will be easier."
"You have struck the point!" cried Kmita. "I prefer to reserve the passes for another time, if it is possible to go through without them."
"It is possible, your grace; and that disguised either as a peasant or a petty noble,--which will be easier, for I have some clean clothes, a cap and gray coat, for example, just such as petty nobles wear. We may travel with a band of horses, as if we were going to the fairs, and drive farther till we come to Lovich and Warsaw, as I have done more than once during peace, and I know the roads. About this time there is a fair in Sobota, to which people come from afar. In Sobota we shall learn of other places where there are fairs, and so on. The Swedes too take less note of small nobles, for crowds of them stroll about at all the fairs. If some commandant inquires we will explain ourselves, but if a small party asks we will gallop over their bellies, God and the Most Holy Lady permitting."
"But if they take our horses? Requisitions in time of war are of daily occurrence."
"Either they will buy or they will take them. If they buy we will go to Sobota, not to sell, but to buy horses; and if they take them, we will raise a lament and go with our complaint to Warsaw and to Cracow."
"You have a cunning mind," said Kmita, "and I see that you will serve me. Even if the Swedes take these horses, some man will be found to pay for them."
"I was going to Elko in Prussia with them; this turns out well, for just in that direction does our road lie. From Elko we will go along the boundary, then turn to Ostrolenko, thence through the wilderness to Pultusk and to Warsaw."
"Where is that Sobota?"[24]
"Not far from Pyantek."[25]
"Are you jesting, Kyemlich?"
"How should I dare," answered the old man, crossing his arms on his breast and bending his head; "but they have such wonderful names for towns in this region. It is a good bit of road beyond Lovich, your grace."
"Are there large fairs in that Sobota?"
"Not such as in Lovich; but there is one at this time of year, to which horses are driven from Prussia, and crowds of people assemble. Surely it will not be worse this year, for it is quiet about there. The Swedes are in power everywhere, and have garrisons in the towns. Even if a man wanted to rise against them, he could not."
"Then I will take your plan. We will go with horses, and that you suffer no loss I will pay for them in advance."
"I thank your grace for the rescue."
"Only get sheepskin coats ready and common saddles and sabres, for we will start at once. Tell your sons and men who I am, what my name is, that I am travelling with horses, that you and they are hired assistants. Hurry!"
When the old man turned to the door, Pan Andrei said further, "No one will call me grace nor commandant nor colonel, only you and Babinich."
Kyemlich went out, and an hour later all were sitting on their horses ready to start on the long journey. Kmita dressed in the gray coat of a poor noble, a cap of worn sheepskin, and with a bandaged face, as if after a duel in some inn, was difficult of recognition, and looked really like some poor devil of a noble, strolling from one fair to another. He was surrounded by people dressed in like fashion, armed with common poor sabres, with long whips to drive the horses, and lariats to catch those that might try to escape.
The soldiers looked with astonishment at their colonel, making various remarks, in low tones, concerning him. It was a wonder to them that he was Babinich instead of Pan Kmita, that they were to say you to him; and most of all shrugged his shoulders old Soroka, who, looking at the terrible colonel as at a rainbow, muttered to Biloüs,--
"That you will not pass my throat. Let him kill me, but I will give him, as of old, what belongs to him."
The soldiers knew not that the soul in Pan Andrei had changed as well as his external form.
"Move on!" cried Babinich, on a sudden.
The whips cracked; the riders surrounded the horses, which were huddled together, and they moved on.