They rode through Ratibor, merely stopping to feed the horses. No one
recognized the king, no one paid much attention to the party, for all
were occupied with the recent passage of the dragoons, among whom, as
all thought, was the King of Poland. The retinue was about fifty in
number, for several dignitaries accompanied the king; five bishops
alone, and among others the nuncio, ventured to share with him the
toils of a journey not without peril. The road within the boundary of
the empire, however, presented no danger. At Oderberg, not far from the
junction of the Olsha with the Odra, they entered Moravia.
The day was cloudy, and snow fell so thickly that it was not possible
to see the road a few steps ahead. But the king was joyous and full of
courage, for a sign had been manifested which all considered most
favorable, and which contemporary historians did not neglect to insert
in their chronicles. Behold, just as the king was departing from
Glogov, a little bird, entirely white, appeared before his horse and
began to circle round, rising at times in the air, at times coming down
to the head of the king, chirping and twittering joyously meanwhile.
They remembered that a similar bird, but black, had circled over the
king when he was retreating from Warsaw before the Swedes.
But this was white, exactly of the size and form of a swallow; which
fact roused the greater wonder, because it was deep winter, and
swallows were not thinking yet of return. But all were rejoiced, and
the king for the first few days spoke of nothing else, and promised
himself the most successful future. It appeared from the beginning,
too, how sound was Kmita’s advice to travel apart.
Everywhere in Moravia people were telling of the recent passage of the
King of Poland. Some stated that they had seen him with their own eyes,
all in armor, with a sword in his hand and a crown on his head. Various
stories, also, were current of the forces which he had with him, and in
general the number of his dragoons was exaggerated to the fabulous.
There were some who had seen ten thousand, and who could not wait till
the last horses, men, gunners, and flags had passed.
“Surely,” said they, “the Swedes will spring before them, but what they
will do with such a force is unknown.”
“Well,” asked the king of Tyzenhauz, “was not Babinich right?”
“We are not in Lyubovlya yet, Gracious Lord,” replied the young
magnate.
Babinich was satisfied with himself and with the journey. Generally he
went ahead of the king’s party with the three Kyemliches, examining the
road; sometimes he rode with the rest, entertaining the king with
narratives of single incidents in the siege of Chenstohova, of which
the king never had enough. And almost every hour that young hero,
cheerful, mettlesome, eagle-like, drew nearer the heart of the king.
Time passed for the monarch now in prayer, now in pious meditation on
eternal life, now in discussing the coming war and the aid hoped from
the emperor, and finally in looking at knightly amusements with which
the attendant soldiers endeavored to shorten the time of the journey.
For Yan Kazimir had this in his nature, that his mind passed easily
from seriousness almost to frivolity, from hard labor to amusements, to
which, when there was leisure, he gave himself with his whole soul, as
if no care, no grief had pressed him at any time.
The soldiers then exhibited themselves, each with what he could do; the
Kyemliches, Kosma, and Damian, immense and awkward figures, amused the
king by breaking horseshoes, which they broke like canes; he paid them
a thaler apiece, though his wallet was empty enough, for all his money,
and even the diamonds and “parafanaly” (paraphernalia) of the queen,
had been spent on the army.
Pan Andrei exhibited himself by throwing a heavy hatchet, which he
hurled upward with such force that it was barely visible, and then he
sprang under the instrument with his horse and caught it by the handle
as it fell. At sight of this the king clapped his hands.
“I saw that done,” said he, “by Pan Slushka, brother of the
vice-chancellor’s wife, but he threw not so high by half.”
“This is customary with us in Lithuania,” said Pan Andrei; “and when a
man practises it from childhood he becomes skilful.”
“Whence have you those scars across the lip?” asked the king of him
once, pointing to Kmita’s scars. “Some one went through you well with a
sabre.”
“That is not from a sabre, Gracious Lord, but from a bullet. I was
fired at by a man who put the pistol to my mouth.”
“An enemy or one of ours?”
“One of ours; but an enemy whom I shall yet call to account, and till
that happens it is not proper for me to speak of it.”
“Have you such animosity as that?”
“I have no animosity, Gracious Lord, for on my head I bear a still
deeper scar from a sabre, through which cut my soul almost left me; but
since an honorable man did it I harbor no offence against him.” Kmita
removed his cap and showed the king a deep furrow, the white edges of
which were perfectly visible. “I am not ashamed of this wound,” said
he, “for it was given me by such a master that there is not another
like him in the Commonwealth.”
“Who is such a master?”
“Pan Volodyovski.”
“For God’s sake! I know him. He did wonders at Zbaraj. And I was at the
wedding of his comrade, Skshetuski, who was the first to bring me news
of the besieged. Those are great cavaliers! And with them was a third,
him the whole army glorified as the greatest of all. A fat noble, and
so amusing that we almost burst our sides from laughter.”
“That is Pan Zagloba, I think!” said Kmita; “he is a man not only
brave, but full of wonderful stratagems.”
“Do you know what they are doing now?”
“Volodyovski used to lead dragoons with the voevoda of Vilna.”
The king frowned. “And is he serving the Swedes now with the prince
voevoda?”
“He! The Swedes? He is with Pan Sapyeha. I saw myself how, after the
treason of the prince, he threw his baton at his feet.”
“Oh, he is a worthy soldier!” answered the king. “From Pan Sapyeha we
have had news from Tykotsin, where he is besieging the voevoda. God
give him luck! If all were like him, the Swedish enemy would regret
their undertaking.”
Here Tyzenhauz, who had been listening to the conversation, asked
suddenly, “Then were you with Radzivill at Kyedani?”
Kmita was somewhat confused, and began to throw up his hatchet. “I
was,” answered he.
“Give peace to your hatchet,” said Tyzenhauz. “And what were you doing
at the prince’s house?”
“I was a guest,” answered Kmita, impatiently, “and I ate his bread,
until I was disgusted with his treason.”
“And why did you not go with other honorable soldiers to Pan Sapyeha?”
“Because I had made a vow to go to Chenstohova, which you will more
easily understand when I tell you that our Ostra Brama was occupied by
the Northerners.”
Tyzenhauz began to shake his head and smack his lips; this attracted
the attention of the king, so that he looked inquiringly at Kmita. The
latter, made impatient, turned to Tyzenhauz and said,—
“My worthy sir! Why do I not inquire of you where you have been, and
what you have been doing?”
“Ask me,” replied Tyzenhauz; “I have nothing to conceal.”
“Neither am I before a court; and if I shall ever be, you will not be
my judge. Leave me, then, that I lose not my patience.”
When he had said this, he hurled the hatchet so sharply that it grew
small in the height; the king raised his eyes after it, and at that
moment he was thinking of nothing save this, would Babinich catch it in
its fall, or would he not catch it?
Babinich put spurs to his horse, sprang forward, and caught it. That
same evening Tyzenhauz said to the king,—
“Gracious Lord, this noble pleases me less and less.”
“But me more and more,” answered the king, pursing his lips.
“I heard to-day one of his people call him colonel; he only looked
threateningly, and straightway confused the man. There is something in
that.”
“And it seems to me sometimes that he does not wish to tell
everything,” added the king; “but that is his affair.”
“No, Gracious Lord,” exclaimed Tyzenhauz, forcibly, “it is not his
affair, it is our affair, and that of the whole Commonwealth. For if he
is some traitor who is planning the death or captivity of your Royal
Grace, then with your person will perish all those who at this moment
have taken arms; the whole Commonwealth will perish, which you alone
are competent to save.”
“I will ask him myself to-morrow.”
“God grant that I be a false prophet, but nothing good looks out of his
eyes. He is too smart, too bold, too daring; and such people are ready
for anything.”
The king looked troubled. Next morning, when they moved on their
journey, he beckoned Kmita to approach him.
“Where were you, Colonel?” asked the king, suddenly.
A moment of silence followed.
Kmita struggled with himself; the wish was burning him to spring from
his horse, fall at the feet of the king, and throw off the burden he
was bearing,—tell the whole truth at once. But he thought of the
fearful impression which the name Kmita would make, especially after
the letter of Prince Boguslav Radzivill. How could he, who had been the
right hand of Radzivill, who had maintained the preponderance of Prince
Yanush, who had aided him in scattering his disobedient squadrons, who
supported him in treason; how could he, accused and suspected of the
most terrible crime,—an attack on the person of the king,—succeed in
convincing the king, the bishops, and senators, that he had corrected
himself, that he was transformed? With what could he show the sincerity
of his intentions? What proofs could he bring save naked words? His
former offences pursue him unceasingly, unsparingly, as furious dogs a
wild beast in the forest. He determined on silence. But he felt also
unspeakable disgust and hatred of subterfuge. Must he throw dust in the
eyes of the king, whom he loved with all the power of his soul, and
deceive him with fictitious tales?
He felt that strength failed him for this; therefore he said, after a
while: “Gracious King, the time will come, perhaps soon, in which I
shall open my whole soul to your Royal Grace as in confession to a
priest. But I wish deeds to vouch for me, for my sincere intention, for
my loyalty and my love of majesty, not words simply. I have offended
against you, my Gracious Lord, and the country, and I have repented too
little yet; therefore I am seeking service in which I can find
reparation more easily. Besides, who has not offended? Who in the whole
Commonwealth does not need to beat his breast? It may be that I have
offended more grievously than others, but I was the first also to
bethink myself. Do not inquire, Gracious Lord, about anything until the
present service will convince you concerning me; do not ask, for I
cannot answer without closing the road of salvation to myself, for God
is the witness, and the Most Holy Lady, our Queen, that I had no evil
intent, that I am ready to give the last drop of my blood for you.”
Here Pan Andrei’s eyes grew moist, and such sincerity and sorrow
appeared on his face that his countenance defended him with greater
power than his words.
“God is looking at my intentions,” said he, “and will account them to
me at judgment, but, Gracious Lord, if you do not trust me, dismiss me,
remove me from your person. I will follow at a distance, so as to come
in time of difficulty, even without being called, and lay down my life
for you. And then, Gracious Lord, you will believe that I am not a
traitor, but one of that kind of servants of whom you have not many,
even among those who cast suspicion on others.”
“I believe you to-day,” said the king. “Remain near our person as
before, for treason does not speak in such fashion.”
“I thank your Royal Grace,” answered Kmita; and reining in his horse
somewhat, he pushed back among the last ranks of the party.
But Tyzenhauz did not limit himself to conveying suspicions to the
king. The result was that all began to look askance at Kmita. Audible
conversation ceased at his approach, and whispers began. Every movement
of his was followed, every word considered. Kmita noticed this, and was
ill at ease among these men.
Even the king, though he did not remove confidence from him, had not
for Pan Andrei such a joyful countenance as before. Therefore the young
hero lost his daring, grew gloomy, sadness and bitterness took
possession of his heart. Formerly in front, among the first, he used to
make his horse prance; now he dragged on many yards behind the
cavalcade, with hanging head and gloomy thoughts.
At last the Carpathians stood white before the travellers. Snow lay on
their slopes, clouds spread their unwieldy bodies on the summits; and
when an evening came clear at sunset, those mountains put on flaming
garments from which marvellously bright gleams went forth till quenched
in the darkness embracing the whole world. Kmita gazed on those wonders
of nature which to that time he had never seen; and though greatly
grieved, he forgot his cares from admiration and wonder.
Each day those giants grew greater, more mighty, till at last the
retinue of the king came to them and entered a pass which opened on a
sudden, like a gate.
“The boundary must be near,” said the king, with emotion.
Then they saw a small wagon, drawn by one horse, and in the wagon a
peasant. The king’s men stopped him at once.
“Man,” said Tyzenhauz, “are we in Poland?”
“Beyond that cliff and that little river is the emperor’s boundary, but
you are standing on the king’s land.”
“Which way is it then to Jivyets?”
“Go straight ahead; you will come to the road.” And the mountaineer
whipped his horse.
Tyzenhauz galloped to the retinue standing at a distance.
“Gracious Lord,” cried he, with emotion, “you are now _inter regna_,
for at that little river your kingdom begins.”
The king said nothing, only made a sign to hold his horse, dismounted,
and throwing himself on his knees, raised his eyes and his hands
upward.
At sight of this, all dismounted and followed his example. That king,
then a wanderer, fell after a moment in the form of a cross on the
snow, and began to kiss that land, so beloved and so thankless, which
in time of disaster had refused refuge to his head.
Silence followed, and only sighs interrupted it.
The evening was frosty, clear; the mountains and the summits of the
neighboring fir-trees were in purple, farther off in the shadow they
had begun to put on violet; but the road on which the king was lying
turned as it were into a ruddy and golden ribbon, and rays fell on the
king, bishops, and dignitaries.
Then a breeze began from the summits, and bearing on its wings sparks
of snow, flew to the valley. Therefore the nearer fir-trees began to
bend their snow-covered heads, bow to their lord, and to make a joyous
and rustling sound, as if they were singing that old song, “Be welcome
to us, thou dear master!”
Darkness had already filled the air when the king’s retinue moved
forward. Beyond the defile was spread out a rather roomy plain, the
other end of which was lost in the distance. Light was dying all
around; only in one place the sky was still bright with red. The king
began to repeat _Ave Maria_; after him the others with concentration of
spirit repeated the pious words.
Their native land, unvisited by them for a long time; the mountains
which night was now covering; the dying twilight, the prayer,—all these
caused a solemnity of heart and mind; hence after the prayer the king,
the dignitaries, and the knights rode on in silence. Night fell, but in
the east the sky was shining still more redly.
“Let us go toward that twilight,” said the king, at last; “it is a
wonder that it is shining yet.”
Then Kmita galloped up. “Gracious Lord, that is a fire!” cried he.
All halted.
“How is that?” asked the king; “it seems to me that ’tis the twilight.”
“A fire, a fire! I am not mistaken!” cried Kmita.
And indeed, of all of the attendants of the king he knew most in that
matter. At last it was no longer possible to doubt, since above that
supposed twilight were rising as it were red clouds, rolling now
brighter, now darker in turn.
“It is as if Jivyets were burning!” cried the king; “maybe the enemy is
ravaging it.”
He had not finished speaking when to their ears flew the noise of men,
the snorting of horses, and a number of dark figures appeared before
the retinue.
“Halt, halt!” cried Tyzenhauz.
These figures halted, as if uncertain what to do farther.
“Who are you?” was asked from the retinue.
“Ours!” said a number of voices. “Ours! We are escaping with our lives
from Jivyets. The Swedes are burning Jivyets, and murdering people.”
“Stop, in God’s name! What do you say? Whence have they come?”
“They were waiting for our king. There is a power of them, a power! May
the Mother of God have the king in Her keeping!”
Tyzenhauz lost his head for a moment. “See what it is to go with a
small party!” cried he to Kmita; “Would that you were killed for such
counsel!”
Yan Kazimir began to inquire himself of the fugitives. “But where is
the king?”
“The king has gone to the mountains with a great army. Two days ago he
passed through Jivyets; they pursued him, and were fighting somewhere
near Suha. We have not heard whether they took him or not; but to-day
they returned to Jivyets, and are burning and murdering.”
“Go with God!” said Yan Kazimir.
The fugitives shot past quickly.
“See what would have met us had we gone with the dragoons!” exclaimed
Kmita.
“Gracious King!” said Father Gembitski, “the enemy is before us. What
are we to do?”
All surrounded the monarch, as if wishing to protect him with their
persons from sudden danger. The king gazed on that fire which was
reflected in his eyes, and he was silent; no one advanced an opinion,
so difficult was it to give good advice.
“When I was going out of the country a fire lighted me,” said Yan
Kazimir, at last; “and when I enter, another gives light.”
Again silence, only still longer than before.
“Who has any advice?” inquired Father Gembitski, at last.
Then the voice of Tyzenhauz was heard, full of bitterness, and insult:
“He who did not hesitate to expose the king’s person to danger, who
said that the king should go without a guard, let him now give advice.”
At this moment a horseman pushed out of the circle. It was Kmita.
“Very well!” said he. And rising in the stirrups he shouted, turning to
his attendants standing at some distance, “Kyemliches, after me!”
Then he urged his horse to a gallop, and after him shot the three
horsemen with all the breath that was in the breasts of their horses.
A cry of despair came from Tyzenhauz: “That is a conspiracy!” said he.
“These traitors will give us up surely. Gracious King, save yourself
while there is time, for the enemy will soon close the pass! Gracious
King, save yourself! Back! back!”
“Let us return, let us return!” cried the bishops and dignitaries, in
one voice.
Yan Kazimir became impatient, lightnings flashed from his eyes;
suddenly he drew his sword from its sheath and cried,—
“May God not grant me to leave my country a second time. Come what may,
I have had enough of that!” And he put spurs to his horse to move
forward; but the nuncio himself seized the reins.
“Your Royal Grace,” said he, seriously, “you bear on your shoulders the
fate of the Catholic Church and the country, therefore you are not free
to expose your person.”
“Not free,” repeated the bishops.
“I will not return to Silesia, so help me the Holy Cross!” answered Yan
Kazimir.
“Gracious Lord! listen to the prayers of your subjects,” said the
castellan of Sandomir. “If you do not wish to return to the emperor’s
territory, let us go at least from this place and turn toward the
Hungarian boundary, or let us go back through this pass, so that our
return be not intercepted. There we will wait. In case of an attack by
the enemy, escape on horses will remain to us; but at least let them
not enclose us as in a trap.”
“Let it be even so,” said the king. “I do not reject prudent counsel,
but I will not go wandering a second time. If we cannot appear by this
road, we will by another. But I think that you are alarmed in vain.
Since the Swedes looked for us among the dragoons, as the people from
Jivyets said, it is clear proof that they know nothing of us, and that
there is no treason or conspiracy. Just consider; you are men of
experience. The Swedes would not have attacked the dragoons, they would
not have fired a gun at them if they know that we were following them.
Be calm, gentlemen! Babinich has gone with his men for news, and he
will return soon of a certainty.”
When he had said this the king turned his horse toward the pass; after
him his attendants. They halted on the spot where the first mountaineer
had shown them the boundary.
A quarter of an hour passed, then a half-hour and an hour.
“Have you noticed, gentlemen,” asked the voevoda of Lenchytsk on a
sudden, “that the fire is decreasing?”
“It is going out, going out; you can almost see it die,” said a number
of voices.
“That is a good sign,” said the king.
“I will go ahead with a few men,” said Tyzenhauz. “We will halt about a
furlong from here, and if the Swedes come we will detain them till we
die. In every case there will be time to think of the safety of the
king’s person.”
“Remain with the party; I forbid you to go!” said the king.
To which Tyzenhauz answered,—
“Gracious Lord, give command later to shoot me for disobedience, but
now I will go, for now it is a question of you.” And calling upon a
number of soldiers in whom it was possible to trust in every emergency,
he moved forward.
They halted at the other end of the defile which opened into the
valley, and stood in silence, with muskets ready, holding their ears
toward every sound. The silence lasted long; finally the sound of snow
trampled by horses’ feet came to them.
“They are coming!” whispered one of the soldiers.
“That is no party; only a few horses are to be heard,” answered the
other. “Pan Babinich is returning.”
Meanwhile those approaching came in the darkness within a few tens of
yards.
“Who is there?” cried Tyzenhauz.
“Ours! Do not fire there!” sounded the voice of Kmita.
At that moment he appeared before Tyzenhauz, and not knowing him in the
darkness, inquired,—
“But where is the king?”
“At the end of the pass.”
“Who is speaking, for I cannot see?”
“Tyzenhauz. But what is that great bundle which you have before you?”
And he pointed to some dark form hanging before Kmita, on the front of
the saddle.
Pan Andrei made no answer, but rode on. When he had reached the king’s
escort, he recognized the person of the king, for it was much clearer
beyond the pass, and cried,—
“Gracious Lord, the road is open!”
“Are there no Swedes in Jivyets?”
“They have gone to Vadovitsi. That was a party of German mercenaries.
But here is one of them, Gracious Lord; ask him yourself.” And Pan
Andrei pushed to the ground that form which he held before him, so that
a groan was heard in the still night.
“Who is that?” asked the astonished king.
“A horseman!”
“As God is dear to me! And you have brought an informant! How is that?
Tell me.”
“Gracious Lord; when a wolf prowls in the night around a flock of sheep
it is easy for him to seize one; and besides, to tell the truth, this
is not the first time with me.”
The king raised his hands. “But this Babinich is a soldier, may the
bullets strike him! I see that with such servants I can go even in the
midst of Swedes.”
Meanwhile all gathered around the horseman, who did not rise from the
ground however.
“Ask him, Gracious Lord,” said Kmita, not without a certain
boastfulness in his voice; “though I do not know whether he will
answer, for he is throttled a little and there is nothing here to burn
him with.”
“Pour some gorailka into his throat,” said the king.
And indeed that medicine helped more than burning, for the horseman
soon recovered strength and voice. Then Kmita, putting a sword-point to
his throat, commanded him to tell the whole truth.
The prisoner confessed that he belonged to the regiment of Colonel
Irlehorn, that they had intelligence of the passage of the king with
dragoons, therefore they fell upon them near Suha, but meeting firm
resistance they had to withdraw to Jivyets, whence they marched on to
Vadovitsi and Cracow, for such were their orders.
“Are there other divisions of the Swedes in the mountains?” asked Kmita
in German, while squeezing the throat of the horseman somewhat more
vigorously.
“Maybe there are some,” answered he in a broken voice. “General Douglas
sent scouting-parties around, but they are all withdrawing, for the
peasants are attacking them in passes.”
“Were you the only ones in the neighborhood of Jivyets?”
“The only ones.”
“Do you know that the King of Poland has passed?”
“He passed with those dragoons who fought with us at Suha. Many saw
him.”
“Why did you not pursue him?”
“We were afraid of the mountaineers.”
Here Kmita began again in Polish: “Gracious Lord, the road is open and
you will find a night’s lodging in Jivyets, for only a part of the
place is burned.”
But unconfiding Tyzenhauz was speaking at this time with the castellan
of Voinik, and said: “Either that is a great warrior and true as gold,
or a finished traitor. Consider, your worthiness, that all this may be
simulated, from the taking of this horseman to his confederates. And if
this is a trick,—if the Swedes are in ambush in Jivyets,—if the king
goes and falls as into a net?”
“It is safer to convince one’s self,” answered the castellan of Voinik.
Then Tyzenhauz turned to the king and said aloud: “Gracious Lord,
permit me to go ahead to Jivyets and convince myself that what this
cavalier says and what this trooper declares is true.”
“Let it be so! Permit them to go, Gracious Lord,” said Kmita.
“Go,” said the king; “but we will move forward a little, for it is
cold.”
Tyzenhauz rushed on at all speed, and the escort of the king began to
move after him slowly. The king regained his good humor and
cheerfulness, and after a while said to Kmita,—
“But with you it is possible to hunt Swedes as birds with a falcon, for
you strike from above.”
“That is my fashion,” said Kmita. “Whenever your Royal Grace wishes to
hunt, the falcon will always be ready.”
“Tell how you caught him.”
“That is not difficult. When a regiment marches there are always a few
men who lag in the rear, and I got this one about half a furlong
behind. I rode up to him; he thought that I was one of his own people,
he was not on his guard, and before he could think I had seized and
gagged him so that he could not shout.”
“You said that this was not your first time. Have you then practised
somewhere before?”
Kmita laughed. “Oh, Gracious Lord, I have, and that of the best. Let
your Royal Grace but give the order and I will go again, overtake them,
for their horses are road-weary, take another man, and order my
Kyemliches to take also.”
They advanced some time in silence; then the tramp of a horse was
heard, and Tyzenhauz flew up. “Gracious King,” said he, “the road is
free, and lodgings are ready.”
“But did not I say so?” cried Yan Kazimir. “You, gentlemen, had no need
to be anxious. Let us ride on now, let us ride, for we have earned our
rest.”
All advanced at a trot, briskly, joyously; and an hour later the
wearied king was sleeping a sleep without care on his own territory.
That evening Tyzenhauz approached Kmita. “Forgive me,” said he; “out of
love for the king I brought you under suspicion.”
Kmita refused his hand and said: “Oh, that cannot be! You made me a
traitor and a betrayer.”
“I would have done more, for I would have shot you in the head; but
since I have convinced myself that you are an honest man and love the
king, I stretch out my hand to you. If you wish, take it; if not, take
it not. I would prefer to have no rivalry with you save that of
attachment to the king; but I am not afraid of other rivalry.”
“Is that your thought? H’m! perhaps you are right, but I am angry with
you.”
“Well, stop being angry. You are a strong soldier. But give us your
lips, so that we may not lie down to sleep in hatred.”
“Let it be so!” said Kmita.
And they fell into each other’s arms.