That evening the Swedes lay down to sleep without putting food into
their mouths, and without hope that they would have anything to
strengthen themselves with on the morrow. They were not able to sleep
from the torment of hunger. Before the second cock-crow the suffering
soldiers began to slip out of the camp singly and in crowds to plunder
villages adjoining Yaroslav. They went like night-thieves to Radzymno,
to Kanchuya, to Tychyno, where they hoped to find food of some kind.
Their confidence was increased by the fact that Charnyetski was on the
other side of the river; but even had he been able to cross, they
preferred death to hunger. There was evidently a great relaxation in
the camp, for despite the strictest orders of the king about fifteen
hundred men went out in this way.
They fell to ravaging the neighborhood, burning, plundering, killing;
but scarcely a man of them was to return. Charnyetski was on the other
side of the San, it is true, but on the left bank were various
“parties” of nobles and peasants; of these the strongest, that of
Stjalkovski, formed of daring nobles of the mountains, had come that
very night to Prohnik, as if led by the evil fate of the Swedes. When
he saw the fire and heard the shots, Stjalkovski went straight to the
uproar and fell upon the plunderers. They defended themselves fiercely
behind fences; but Stjalkovski broke them up, cut them to pieces,
spared no man. In other villages other parties did work of the same
kind. Fugitives were followed to the very camp, and the pursuers spread
alarm and confusion, shouting in Tartar, in Wallachian, in Hungarian,
and in Polish; so that the Swedes thought that some powerful auxiliary
of the Poles was attacking them, maybe the Khan with the whole horde.
Confusion began, and—a thing without example hitherto—panic, which the
officers put down with the greatest effort. The king, who remained on
horseback till daylight, saw what was taking place; he understood what
might come of that, and called a council of war at once in the morning.
That gloomy council did not last long, for there were not two roads to
choose from. Courage had fallen in the army, the soldiers had nothing
to eat, the enemy had grown in power.
The Swedish Alexander, who had promised the whole world to pursue the
Polish Darius even to the steppes of the Tartars, was forced to think
no longer of pursuit, but of his own safety.
“We can return by the San to Sandomir, thence by the Vistula to Warsaw
and to Prussia,” said Wittemberg; “in that way we shall escape
destruction.”
Douglas seized his own head: “So many victories, so many toils, such a
great country conquered, and we must return.”
To which Wittemberg said: “Has your worthiness any advice?”
“I have not,” answered Douglas.
The king, who had said nothing hitherto, rose, as a sign that the
session was ended, and said,
“I command the retreat!”
Not a word further was heard from his mouth that day.
Drums began to rattle, and trumpets to sound. News that the retreat was
ordered ran in a moment from one end of the camp to the other. It was
received with shouts of delight. Fortresses and castles were still in
the hands of the Swedes; and in them rest, food, and safety were
waiting.
The generals and soldiers betook themselves so zealously to preparing
for retreat that that zeal, as Douglas remarked, bordered on disgrace.
The king sent Douglas with the vanguard to repair the difficult
crossings and clear the forests. Soon after him moved the whole army in
order of battle; the front was covered by artillery, the rear by
wagons, at the flanks marched infantry. Military supplies and tents
sailed down the river on boats.
All these precautions were not superfluous; barely had the march begun,
when the rearguard of the Swedes saw Polish cavalry behind, and
thenceforth they lost it almost never from sight. Charnyetski assembled
his own squadrons, collected all the “parties” of that region, sent to
Yan Kazimir for reinforcements, and pursued. The first stopping-place,
Pjevorsk, was at the same time the first place of alarm. The Polish
divisions pushed up so closely that several thousand infantry with
artillery had to turn against them. For a time the king himself thought
that Charnyetski was really attacking; but according to his wont he
only sent detachment after detachment. These attacked with an uproar
and retreated immediately. All the night passed in these encounters,—a
troublesome and sleepless night for the Swedes.
The whole march, all the following nights and days were to be like this
one.
Meanwhile Yan Kazimir sent two squadrons of very well trained cavalry,
and with them a letter stating that the hetmans would soon march with
cavalry, and that he himself with the rest of the infantry and with the
horde would hasten after them. In fact, he was detained only by
negotiations with the Khan, with Rakotsy, and with the court of Vienna.
Charnyetski was rejoiced beyond measure by this news; and when the day
after the Swedes advanced in the wedge between the Vistula and the San,
he said to Colonel Polyanovski,—
“The net is spread, the fish are going in.”
“And we will do like that fisherman,” said Zagloba, “who played on the
flute to the fish so that they might dance, and when they would not, he
pulled them on shore; then they began to jump around, and he fell to
striking them with a stick, crying: ‘Oh, such daughters! you ought to
have danced when I begged you to do so.’”
“They will dance,” answered Charnyetski; “only let the marshal, Pan
Lyubomirski, come with his army, which numbers five thousand.”
“He may come any time,” remarked Volodyovski.
“Some nobles from the foot-hills arrived to-day,” said Zagloba; “they
say that he is marching in haste; but whether he will join us instead
of fighting on his own account is another thing.”
“How is that?” asked Charnyetski, glancing quickly at Zagloba.
“He is a man of uncommon ambition and envious of glory. I have known
him many years; I was his confidant and made his acquaintance when he
was still a lad, at the court of Pan Krakovski. He was learning fencing
at that time from Frenchmen and Italians. He fell into terrible anger
one day when I told him that they were fools, not one of whom could
stand before me. We had a duel, and I laid out seven of them one
following the other. After that Lyubomirski learned from me, not only
fencing, but the military art. By nature his wit is a little dull; but
whatever he knows he knows from me.”
“Are you then such a master of the sword?” asked Polyanovski.
“As a specimen of my teaching, take Pan Volodyovski; he is my second
pupil. From that man I have real comfort.”
“True, it was you who killed Sweno.”
“Sweno? If some one of you, gentlemen, had done that deed, he would
have had something to talk about all his life, and besides would invite
his neighbors often to dinner to repeat the story at wine; but I do not
mind it, for if I wished to take in all I have done, I could pave the
road from this place to Sandomir with such Swenos. Could I not? Tell
me, any of you who know me.”
“Uncle could do it,” said Roh Kovalski.
Charnyetski did not hear the continuation of this dialogue, for he had
fallen to thinking deeply over Zagloba’s words. He too knew of
Lyubomirski’s ambition, and doubted not that the marshal would either
impose his own will on him, or would act on his own account, even
though that should bring harm to the Commonwealth. Therefore his stern
face became gloomy, and he began to twist his beard.
“Oho!” whispered Zagloba to Pan Yan, “Charnyetski is chewing something
bitter, for his face is like the face of an eagle; he will snap up
somebody soon.”
Then Charnyetski said: “Some one of you, gentlemen, should go with a
letter from me to Lyubomirski.”
“I am known to him, and I will go,” said Pan Yan.
“That is well,” answered Charnyetski; “the more noted the messenger,
the better.”
Zagloba turned to Volodyovski and whispered: “He is speaking now
through the nose; that is a sign of great change.”
In fact, Charnyetski had a silver palate, for a musket-ball had carried
away his own years before at Busha. Therefore whenever he was roused,
angry, and unquiet, he always began to speak with a sharp and clinking
voice. Suddenly he turned to Zagloba: “And perhaps you would go with
Pan Skshetuski?”
“Willingly,” answered Zagloba. “If I cannot do anything, no man can.
Besides, to a man of such great birth it will be more proper to send
two.”
Charnyetski compressed his lips, twisted his beard, and repeated as if
to himself: “Great birth, great birth—”
“No one can deprive Lyubomirski of that,” remarked Zagloba.
Charnyetski frowned.
“The Commonwealth alone is great, and in comparison with it no family
is great, all of them are small; and I would the earth swallowed those
who make mention of their greatness.”
All were silent, for he had spoken with much vehemence; and only after
some time did Zagloba say,—
“In comparison with the whole Commonwealth, certainly.”
“I did not grow up out of salt, nor out of the soil, but out of that
which pains me,” said Charnyetski; “and the Cossacks who shot this lip
through pained me, and now the Swedes pain me; and either I shall cut
away this sore with the sabre, or die of it myself, so help me God!”
“And we will help you with our blood!” said Polyanovski.
Charnyetski ruminated some time yet over the bitterness which rose in
his heart, over the thought that the marshal’s ambition might hinder
him in saving the country; at last he grew calm and said,—
“Now it is necessary to write a letter. I ask you, gentlemen, to come
with me.”
Pan Yan and Zagloba followed him, and half an hour later they were on
horseback and riding back toward Radymno; for there was news that the
marshal had halted there with his army.
“Yan,” said Zagloba, feeling of the bag in which he carried
Charnyetski’s letter, “do me a favor; let me be the only one to talk to
the marshal.”
“But, father, have you really known him, and taught him fencing?”
“Hei! that came out of itself, so that the breath should not grow hot
in my mouth, and my tongue become soft, which might easily happen from
too long silence. I neither knew him nor taught him. Just as if I had
nothing better to do than be a bear-keeper, and teach the marshal how
to walk on hind legs! But that is all one; I have learned him through
and through from what people tell of him, and I shall be able to bend
him as a cook bends pastry. Only one thing I beg of you: do not say
that we have a letter from Charnyetski, and make no mention of it till
I give the letter myself.”
“How is that? Should I not do the work for which I was sent? In my life
such a thing has not happened, and it will not happen! Even if
Charnyetski should forgive me, I would not do that for ready treasure.”
“Then I will draw my sabre and hamstring your horse so that you cannot
follow me. Have you ever seen anything miscarry that I invented with my
own head? Tell me, have you ever come into evil plight yourself with
Zagloba’s stratagems? Did Pan Michael come out badly, or your Helena,
or any of you, when I freed you all from Radzivill’s hands? I tell you
that more harm than good may come of that letter; for Charnyetski wrote
it in such agitation that he broke three pens. Finally, you can speak
of it when my plans fail. I promise to give it then, but not before.”
“If I can only deliver the letter, it is all one when.”
“I ask for no more. Now on, for there is a terrible road before us.”
They urged the horses, and went at a gallop. But they did not need to
ride long, for the marshal’s vanguard had not only passed Radymno, but
Yaroslav; and Lyubomirski himself was at Yaroslav, and occupied the
former quarters of the King of Sweden.
They found him at dinner, with the most important officers. But when
the envoys were announced, Lyubomirski gave orders to receive them at
once; for he knew the names, since they were mentioned at that time in
the whole Commonwealth.
All eyes were turned on the envoys as they entered; the officers looked
with especial admiration and curiosity at Pan Yan. When the marshal had
greeted them courteously, he asked at once,—
“Have I that famous knight before me who brought the letters from
besieged Zbaraj to the king?”
“I crept through,” said Pan Yan.
“God grant me as many such officers as possible! I envy Pan Charnyetski
nothing so much; as to the rest, I know that even my small services
will not perish from the memory of men.”
“And I am Zagloba,” said the old knight, pushing himself forward.
Here he passed his eye around the assembly; and the marshal, as he
wished to attract every one to himself, exclaimed,—
“Who does not know of the man who slew Burlai, the leader of the
barbarians; of the man who raised Radzivill’s army in rebellion—”
“And I led Sapyeha’s army, who, if the truth is told, chose me, not him
for leader,” added Zagloba.
“And why did you wish, being able to have such a high office, to leave
it and serve under Pan Charnyetski?”
Here Zagloba’s eye gleamed at Skshetuski, and he said: “Serene great
mighty marshal, from your worthiness I as well as the whole country
take example how to resign ambition and self-interest for the good of
the Commonwealth.”
Lyubomirski blushed from satisfaction, and Zagloba, putting his hands
on his hips, continued,—
“Pan Charnyetski has sent us to bow to your worthiness in his name and
that of the whole army, and at the same time to inform you of the
considerable victory which God has permitted us to gain over
Kanneberg.”
“I have heard of it already,” said the marshal, dryly enough, in whom
envy had now begun to move, “but gladly do I hear it again from an
eyewitness.”
Zagloba began at once to relate, but with certain changes, for the
forces of Kanneberg grew in his mouth to two thousand men. He did not
forget either to mention Sweno or himself, and how before the eyes of
the king the remnant of the cavalry were cut to pieces near the river;
how the wagons and three hundred men of the guards fell into the hands
of the fortunate conquerors; in a word, the victory increased in his
narrative to the dimensions of an unspeakable misfortune for the
Swedes.
All listened with attention, and so did the marshal; but he grew
gloomier and gloomier, his face was chilled as if by ice, and at last
he said,—
“I do not deny that Charnyetski is a celebrated warrior, but still he
cannot devour all the Swedes himself; something will remain for others
to gulp.”
“Serene great mighty lord,” answered Zagloba, “it is not Pan
Charnyetski who gained the victory.”
“But who?”
“But Lyubomirski!”
A moment of universal astonishment followed. The marshal opened his
mouth, began to wink, and looked at Zagloba with such an astonished
gaze, as if he wished to ask: “Is there not a stave lacking in your
barrel?”
Zagloba did not let himself be beaten from the track, but pouting his
lips with great importance (he borrowed this gesture from Zamoyski),
said,—
“I heard Charnyetski say before the whole army: ‘It is not our sabres
that slay them; ’tis the name of Lyubomirski that cuts them down. Since
they have heard that he is right here marching on, their courage has so
gone out of them that they see in every one of our soldiers the army of
the marshal, and they put their heads under the knife like sheep.’”
If all the rays of the sun had fallen at once on the face of the
marshal, that face could not have been more radiant.
“How is that?” asked he; “did Charnyetski himself say that?”
“He did, and many other things; but I do not know that ’tis proper for
me to repeat them, for he told them only to intimates.”
“Tell! Every word of Pan Charnyetski deserves to be repeated a hundred
times. He is an uncommon man, and I said so long ago.”
Zagloba looked at the marshal, half closing his one eye, and muttered:
“You have swallowed the hook; I’ll land you this minute.”
“What do you say?” asked the marshal.
“I say that the army cheered your worthiness in such fashion that they
could not have cheered the king better; and in Pjevorsk, where we
fought all night with the Swedes, wherever a squadron sprang out the
men cried: ‘Lyubomirski! Lyubomirski!’ and that had a better effect
than ‘Allah!’ and ‘Slay, kill!’ There is a witness here too,—Pan
Skshetuski, no common soldier, and a man who has never told a lie in
his life.”
The marshal looked involuntarily at Pan Yan, who blushed to his ears,
and muttered something through his nose. Meanwhile the officers of the
marshal began to praise the envoys aloud,—
“See, Pan Charnyetski has acted courteously, sending such polished
cavaliers; both are famous knights, and honey simply flows from the
mouth of one of them.”
“I have always understood that Pan Charnyetski was a well-wisher of
mine, but now there is nothing that I would not do for him,” cried the
marshal, whose eyes were veiled with a mist from delight.
At this Zagloba broke into enthusiasm: “Serene great mighty lord, who
would not render homage to you, who would not honor you, the model of
all civic virtues, who recall Aristides in justice, the Scipios in
bravery! I have read many books in my time, have seen much, have
meditated much, and my soul has been rent from pain; for what have I
seen in this Commonwealth? The Opalinskis, the Radzeyovskis, the
Radzivills, who by their personal pride, setting their own ambition
above all things, were ready at every moment to desert the country for
their own private gain. I thought further, this Commonwealth is lost
through the viciousness of its own sons. But who has comforted me, who
has consoled me in my suffering? Pan Charnyetski, for he said: ‘The
Commonwealth has not perished, since Lyubomirski has risen up in it.
These others,’ said he, ‘think of themselves alone; he is only looking,
only seeking how to make an offering of his own interests on the common
altar. These are pushing themselves forward; he is pushing himself
back, for he wants to illustrate by his example. Now,’ said he, ‘he is
marching with a powerful conquering army, and I have heard,’ said he,
‘that he wishes to give me the command over it, in order to teach
others how they should sacrifice their ambition, though even just, for
the country. Go, then,’ said he, ‘to Pan Lyubomirski, declare to him
that I do not want the sacrifice, I do not desire it, since he is a
better leader than I am; since, moreover, not only as leader, but—God
grant our Kazimir a long life!—as king are we ready to choose him,
and—we will choose him!’”
Here Zagloba was somewhat frightened lest he had passed the measure,
and really after the exclamation, “We will choose him!” followed
silence; but before the magnate heaven opened; he grew somewhat pale at
first, then red, then pale again, and laboring heavily with his breast,
said, after the silence of a moment,—
“The Commonwealth is and will ever remain in control of its own will,
for on that ancient foundation do our liberties rest. But I am only a
servant of its servants, and God is my witness that I do not raise my
eyes to those heights at which a citizen should not gaze. As to command
over the army, Pan Charnyetski must accept it. I demand it especially
for this, to give an example to those who, having continually the
greatness of their family in mind, are unwilling to recognize any
authority whenever it is necessary to forget the greatness of their
family for the good of the country. Therefore, though perhaps I am not
such a bad leader, still I, Lyubomirski, enter willingly under the
command of Charnyetski, praying to God only to send us victory over the
enemy!”
“Roman! Father of the country!” exclaimed Zagloba, seizing the
marshal’s hand and pressing it to his lips.
But at the same moment the old rogue turned his eye on Pan Yan, and
began to wink time after time.
Thundering shouts were heard from the officers. The throng in the
quarters increased with each moment.
“Wine!” cried the marshal.
And when they brought in goblets he raised at once a toast to the king,
then to Charnyetski, whom he called his leader, and finally to the
envoys. Zagloba did not remain behind with the toasts, and he so caught
the hearts of all that the marshal himself conducted them to the
threshold, and the knights to the gates of Yaroslav.
At last Pan Yan and Zagloba were alone; then Zagloba stopped the road
in front of Pan Yan, reined in his horse, and putting his hands on his
hips, said,—
“Well, Yan, what do you think?”
“God knows,” answered Pan Yan, “that if I had not seen it with my own
eyes and heard it with my own ears, I would not believe, even if an
angel had told me.”
“Ha! do you know? I will swear to you that Charnyetski himself at the
most asked and begged Lyubomirski to go in company with him. And do you
know what he would have done? Lyubomirski would have gone alone; for if
Charnyetski has adjured in the letter by the love of country, or if he
mentioned private interests, and I am sure that he has, the marshal
would have been offended at once, and would have said: ‘Does he want to
be my preceptor, and teach me how to serve the country?’ I know those
men! Happily old Zagloba took the matter in hand, and hardly had he
opened his mouth when Lyubomirski not only wanted to go with
Charnyetski, but to go under his command. Charnyetski is killing
himself with anxiety, but I will comfort him. Well, Yan, does Zagloba
know how to manage the magnates?”
“I tell you that I am not able to let the breath go from my lips from
astonishment.”
“I know them! Show one of them a crown and a corner of the ermine robe,
and you may rub him against the grain like a hound pup, and besides, he
will bend up to you and present his back himself. No cat will so lick
his chops, even if you hold before him a dinner of pure cheese. The
eyes of the most honest of them will be bursting out from desire; and
if a scoundrel happens, such as the voevoda of Vilna, he is ready to
betray the country. Oh, the vanity of man! Lord Jesus! if Thou hadst
given me as many thousands of ducats as Thou hast created candidates
for this crown, I should be a candidate myself. For if any of them
imagines that I hold myself inferior to him, then may his stomach burst
from his own pride. Zagloba is as good as Lyubomirski; in fortune alone
is the difference. This is true, Yan. Do you think that I really kissed
him on the hand? I kissed my own thumb, and shoved his hand up to my
nose. Certain it is that since he is alive no one has so fooled him. I
have spread him like butter on toast for Charnyetski. God grant our
king as long a life as possible; but in case of election, I would
rather give a vote to myself than to Lyubomirski. Roh Kovalski would
give me another, and Pan Michael would strike down my opponents. As God
lives! I would make you grand hetman of the kingdom straightway, and
Pan Michael, after Sapyeha, grand hetman of Lithuania,—but Jendzian,
treasurer. He would punish the Jews with taxes! But enough; the main
thing is that I have caught Lyubomirski on a hook and put the line in
Charnyetski’s hand. For whomsoever the flour, it will be ground on the
Swedes; and whose is the merit? What do you think? Should the
chroniclers inscribe it to some one else? But I have no luck. It will
be well even if Charnyetski does not break out on the old man for not
having given the letter. Such is human gratitude. This is not my first,
not my first—others are sitting in starostaships, and are grown around
with fat, like badgers; but do you, old man, shake your poor stomach on
a horse as before.”
Here Zagloba waved his hand. “Human gratitude may go to the hangman!
And whether in this or that position you must die, still it is pleasant
to serve the country. The best reward is good company. As soon as a man
is on horseback, then, with such comrades as you and Michael, he is
ready to ride to the end of the world,—such is our Polish nature. If a
German, a Frenchman, an Englishman, or a dark Spaniard is on horseback,
he is ready at once to gallop into your eyes; but a Pole, having inborn
patience, will endure much, and will permit even a Swedish fellow to
pluck him; but when the limit is passed and the Pole whacks him in the
snout, such a Swede will cover himself three times with his legs. For
there is metal yet in the Poles, and while the metal lasts the
Commonwealth will last. Beat that into yourself, Yan.”
And so spoke Zagloba for a long time, for he was very glad; and
whenever he was very glad he was talkative beyond usual measure, and
full of wise sentences.