Though Kettling was near the person of Prince Boguslav, he did not know
all, and could not tell of all that was done in Taurogi, for he was
blinded himself by love for Panna Billevich.
Boguslav had also another confidant, Pan Sakovich, the starosta of
Oshmiana; and he alone knew how deeply the prince was involved by love
for his charming captive, and what means he was using to gain her heart
and her person.
That love was merely a fierce desire, for Boguslav’s heart was not
capable of other feelings; but the desire was so violent that that
experienced cavalier lost his head. And often in the evening, when
alone with the starosta, he seized his own hair and cried,—
“I am burning, Sakovich, I am burning!”
Sakovich found means at once.
“Whoso wishes to take honey must drug the bees,” said he. “And has your
physician few of such intoxicating herbs? Give him the word to-day, and
to-morrow the affair will be over.”
But the prince did not like such a method, and that for various
reasons. First, on a time, old Heraclius Billevich, the grandfather of
Olenka, appeared to him in a dream, and standing at his pillow, looked
with threatening eyes till the first crowing of the cocks. Boguslav
remembered the dream; for that knight, without fear, was superstitious,
dreaded charms, dream warnings, and supernatural apparitions so much
that a shiver passed through him at thought of the terror and the shape
in which that phantom might come a second time should he follow
Sakovich’s counsel. The starosta of Oshmiana himself, who did not
believe greatly in God, but who, like the prince, dreaded dreams and
enchantments, staggered somewhat in giving advice.
The second reason of Boguslav’s delay was that the “Wallachian woman”
was living with her step-daughter in Taurogi. They called Princess
Radzivill, the wife of Yanush, “the Wallachian woman.” That lady,
coming from a country in which her sex have rather free manners, was
not, in truth, over-stern; nay, maybe she understood too well the
amusements of courtiers and ladies-in-waiting; still she could not
endure that at her side a man, the coming husband of her step-daughter,
should do a deed calling to heaven for vengeance.
But even later, when through the persuasions of Sakovich, and with the
consent of the prince voevoda of Vilna, “the Wallachian woman” went
with Yanush’s daughter to Courland, Boguslav did not dare to do the
deed. He feared the terrible outcry which would rise throughout all
Lithuania. The Billeviches were wealthy people; they would not fail to
crush him with a prosecution. The law punished such deeds with loss of
property, honor, and life.
The Radzivills, it is true, were powerful, and might trample on law;
but when victory in war was inclining to the side of Yan Kazimir, the
young prince might fall into serious difficulties, in which he would
lack power, friends, and henchmen. And just then it was hard to foresee
how the war would end. Forces were coming every day to Yan Kazimir; the
power of Karl Gustav was decreasing absolutely by the loss of men and
the exhaustion of money.
Prince Boguslav, an impulsive but calculating man, reckoned with the
position. His desires tormented him with fire, his reason advised
restraint, superstitious fear bridled the outbursts of his blood. At
the same time disease fell upon him; great and urgent questions rose,
involving frequently the fate of the whole war; and all these causes
rent the soul of the prince till he was mortally wearied.
Still, it is unknown how the struggle might have ended had it not been
for Boguslav’s self-love. He was a man of immense self-esteem. He
counted himself an unequalled statesman, a great leader, a great
knight, and an invincible captor of the hearts of women. Was he to use
force or intoxicating drugs,—he who carried around with him a bound
casket filled with love-letters from various foreign ladies of
celebrity? Were his wealth, his titles, his power almost royal, his
great name, his beauty and courtliness not equal to the conquest of one
timid noble woman?
Besides, how much greater the triumph, how much greater the delight,
when the resistance of the maiden drops, when she herself willingly,
and with a heart beating like that of a seized bird, with burning face
and eyes veiled with mist, falls into those arms which are stretched
toward her!
A quiver passed through Boguslav at thought of that moment, and he
desired it as greatly as he did Olenka herself. He hoped always that
that moment would come. He writhed, he was impatient, he deceived
himself. At one time it seemed to him nearer, at another farther; and
then he cried that he was burning. But he did not cease to work.
To begin with, he surrounded the maiden with minute care, so that she
must be thankful to him and think that he is kind; for he understood
that the feeling of gratitude and friendship is that mild and warm
flame which only needs to be fanned and it will turn into a great fire.
Their frequent intercourse was to bring this about the more surely;
hence Boguslav showed no insistence, not wishing to chill confidence or
frighten it away.
At the same time every look, every touch of the hand, every word was
calculated; nothing passed in vain, everything was the drop wearing the
stone. All that he did for Olenka might be interpreted as the
hospitality of a host, that innocent friendly attraction which one
person feels for another; but still it was done to create love. The
boundary was purposely blurred and indefinite, so that to pass it would
become easy in time; and thus the maiden might the more lightly wander
into those labyrinths where each form might mean something or nothing.
That play did not agree, it is true, with the native impulsiveness of
Boguslav. Still he restrained himself, for he judged that that alone
would lead to the object; and at the same time he found in it such
satisfaction as the spider finds when weaving his web, the traitorous
bird-catcher when spreading his net, or the hunter tracking patiently
and with endurance the wild beast. His own penetration, subtlety, and
quickness, developed by life at the French court, amused the prince.
He entertained Panna Aleksandra as if she were a sovereign princess;
but in such a way that again it was not easy for her to divine whether
this was done exclusively for her, or whether it flowed from his innate
and acquired politeness toward the fair sex in general. It is true that
he made her the chief person in all the entertainments, plays,
cavalcades, and hunting expeditious; but this came somewhat from the
nature of things. After the departure of Yanush’s princess to Courland,
she was really first among the ladies at Taurogi. A multitude of noble
ladies from all Jmud had taken refuge in Taurogi, as in a place lying
near the boundary, so as to be protected by the Swedes under the
guardianship of the prince; but they recognized Panna Billevich as
first among all, since she was the daughter of the most noted family.
And while the whole Commonwealth was swimming in blood, there was no
end to entertainments. You would have said that the king’s court with
all the courtiers and ladies had gone to the country for leisure and
entertainment.
Boguslav ruled as an absolute monarch in Taurogi and in all adjoining
Electoral Prussia, in which he was frequently a guest; therefore
everything was at his orders. Towns furnished money and troops on his
notes; the Prussian nobles came gladly, in carriages and on horseback,
to his feasts, hunts, and tournaments. Boguslav even renewed, in honor
of his lady, the conflicts of knights within barriers, which were
already in disuse.
On a certain occasion he took active part in them; dressed in silver
armor, and girded with a silver sash which Panna Billevich had to bind
on him, he hurled from their horses four of the first knights of
Prussia, Kettling the fifth, and Sakovich the sixth, though the last
had such gigantic strength that he stopped carriages in their course by
seizing a hind wheel. And what enthusiasm rose in the crowd of
spectators when afterward the silver-clad knight, kneeling before his
lady, took from her hand the crown of victory! Shouts rang like the
thunder of cannon, handkerchiefs were waving, flags were lowered; but
he raised his visor and looked into her blushing face with his
beautiful eyes, pressing at the same time her hand to his lips.
Another time when in the enclosure a raging bear was fighting with dogs
and had torn them all one after another, the prince, dressed only in
light Spanish costume, sprang in with his spear, and pierced not only
the savage beast, but also a soldier, who, seeing the moment of danger
had sprung to his aid.
Panna Aleksandra, the grand-daughter of an old soldier, reared in
traditions of blood, war, and reverence for knightly superiority, could
not restrain at sight of these deeds her wonder, and even homage; for
she had been taught from childhood to esteem bravery as almost the
highest quality of man.
Meanwhile the prince gave daily proofs of daring almost beyond human,
and always in honor of her. The assembled guests in their praises and
enthusiasm for the prince, which were so great that even a deity might
be satisfied with them, were forced involuntarily to connect in their
conversations the name of Panna Billevich with the name of Boguslav. He
was silent, but with his eyes he told her what he did not dare to utter
with his lips. The spell surrounded her perfectly.
Everything was so combined as to bring them together, to connect them,
and at the same time to separate them from the throng of other people.
It was difficult for any one to mention him without mentioning her.
Into the thoughts of Olenka herself Boguslav was thrust with an
irresistible force. Every moment of the day was so arranged as to lend
power to the spell.
In the evening, after amusements, the chambers were lighted by many
colored lamps casting mysterious rays, as if from the land of splendid
dreams transferred to reality; intoxicating eastern odors filled the
air; the low sounds of invisible harps, lutes, and other instruments
fondled the hearing; and in the midst of these odors, lights, sounds,
he moved in the glory of universal homage, like an enchanted king’s son
in a myth-tale, beautiful, knightly, sun-bright from jewels, and as
deeply in love as a shepherd.
What maiden could resist these spells, what virtue would not grow faint
amid such allurements? But to avoid the prince there was no possibility
for one living with him under the same roof and enjoying his
hospitality, which, though given perforce, was still dispensed with
sincerity and in real lordly fashion. Besides, Olenka had gone without
unwillingness to Taurogi, for she wished to be far from hideous
Kyedani, as she preferred to Yanush, an open traitor, the knightly
Boguslav, who feigned love for the deserted king and the country. Hence
in the beginning of her visit at Taurogi she was full of friendly
feeling for the young prince; and seeing soon how far he was striving
for her friendship, she used her influence more than once to do good to
people.
During the third month of her stay a certain artillery officer, a
friend of Kettling, was condemned by the prince to be shot; Panna
Billevich, hearing of this from the young Scot, interceded for him.
“A divinity may command, not implore,” said Boguslav to her; and
tearing the sentence of death he threw it at her feet. “Ordain,
command! I will burn Taurogi, if at that price I can call forth on your
face even a smile. I ask no other reward save this, that you be joyous
and forget that which once pained you.”
She could not be joyous, having pain in her heart, pity and an
unutterable contempt for the man whom she had loved with first love,
and who at that time was in her eyes a worse criminal than a parricide.
That Kmita, promising to sell the king for gold, as Judas sold Christ,
became fouler and more repulsive in her eyes, till in the course of
time he was turned into a human monster, a grief and reproach to her.
She could not forgive herself for having loved him, and at the same
time she could not forget him while she hated.
In view of these feelings it was indeed difficult for her even to feign
gladness; but still she had to be thankful to the prince even for this,
that he would not put his hand to Kmita’s crime, and for all that he
had done for her. It was a wonder to her that the prince, such a knight
and so full of noble feeling, did not hasten to the rescue of the
country, since he had not consented to the intrigues of Yanush; but she
judged that such a statesman knew what he was doing, and was forced by
a policy which she, with her simple maiden’s mind, could not sound.
Boguslav told her also, explaining his frequent journeys to Prussian
Tyltsa, which was near by, that his strength was failing him from
overwork; that he was conducting negotiations between Yan Kazimir, Karl
Gustav, and the elector, and that he hoped to bring the country out of
difficulty.
“Not for rewards, not for offices, do I do this,” said he to her. “I
will sacrifice my cousin Yanush, who was to me a father, for I know not
whether I shall be able to implore his life for him from the animosity
of Queen Ludvika; but I will do what my conscience and love for the
dear mother, my country, demands.”
When he spoke thus with sadness on his delicate face, with eyes turned
to the ceiling, he seemed to her as lofty as those heroes of antiquity
of which Heraclius Billevich had told her, and of whom he himself had
read in Cornelius Nepos. And the heart swelled within her with
admiration and homage. By degrees it went so far that when thoughts of
the hated Andrei Kmita had tortured her too much, she thought of
Boguslav to cure and strengthen herself. Kmita became for her a
terrible and gloomy darkness; Boguslav, light in which every troubled
soul would gladly bathe itself. The sword-bearer and Panna Kulvyets,
whom they had brought also from Vodokty, pushed Olenka still more along
that incline by singing hymns of praise from morning till night in
honor of Boguslav. The sword-bearer and the aunt wearied the prince, it
is true, so that he had been thinking how to get rid of them politely;
but he won them to himself, especially the sword-bearer, who though at
first displeased and even enraged, still could not fight against the
friendship and favors of Boguslav.
If Boguslav had been merely a noble of noted stock, but not Radzivill,
nor a prince, not a magnate invested with almost the majesty of a
monarch, perhaps Panna Billevich might have loved him for life and
death, in spite of the will of the old colonel, which left her a choice
only between the cloister and Kmita. But she was a stern lady for her
own self, and a very just soul; therefore she did not even admit to her
head a dream of anything save gratitude and admiration so far as the
prince was concerned.
Her family was not so great that she could become the wife of
Radzivill, and was too great for her to become his mistress; she looked
on him, therefore, as she would on the king, were she at the king’s
court. In vain did Boguslav endeavor to give her other thoughts; in
vain did he, forgetting himself in love, partly from calculation,
partly from enthusiasm, repeat what he had said the first evening in
Kyedani,—that the Radzivills had married ordinary noble women more than
once; these thoughts did not cling to her, as water does not cling to
the breast of a swan; and she remained as she had been, thankful,
friendly, homage-giving, seeking consolation in the thought of a hero,
but undisturbed in heart.
He could not catch her through her feelings, though often it seemed to
him that he was near his object. But he saw himself with shame and
internal anger that he was not so daring with her as he had been with
the first ladies in Paris, Brussels, and Amsterdam. Perhaps this was
because he was really in love, and perhaps because in that lady, in her
face, in her dark brows and stern eyes, there was that which enforced
respect. Kmita was the one and only man who in his time did not submit
to that influence and paid no regard, prepared boldly to kiss those
proud eyes and stern lips; but Kmita was her betrothed.
All other cavaliers, beginning with Pan Volodyovski and ending with the
very vulgar Prussian nobles in Taurogi and the prince himself, were
less confident with her than with other ladies in the same condition.
Impulsiveness carried away the prince; but when once in a carriage he
pressed against her feet, whispering at the same time, “Fear not!” she
answered that she did fear to regret the confidence reposed in him,
Boguslav was confused, and returned to his former method of conquering
her heart by degrees.
But his patience was becoming exhausted. Gradually he began to forget
the terrible dream, he began to think more frequently of what Sakovich
had counselled, and that the Billeviches would all perish in the war;
his desires tormented him more powerfully, when a certain event changed
completely the course of affairs in Taurogi.
One day news came like a thunderbolt that Tykotsin was taken by Pan
Sapyeha, and that Prince Yanush had lost his life in the ruins of the
castle.
Everything began to seethe in Taurogi. Boguslav himself sprang up and
went off that same day to Königsberg, where he was to see the ministers
of the King of Sweden and the elector.
His stay there exceeded his original plan. Meanwhile bodies of Prussian
and even of Swedish troops were assembling at Taurogi. Men began to
speak of an expedition against Sapyeha. The naked truth was coming to
the surface more and more clearly, that Boguslav was a partisan of the
Swedes, as well as his cousin Yanush.
It happened that at the same time the sword-bearer of Rossyeni received
news of the burning of his native Billeviche by the troops of
Löwenhaupt, who, after defeating the insurgents in Jmud, at Shavli,
ravaged the whole country with fire and sword.
The old noble sprang up and set out, wishing to see the damage with his
own eyes; and Prince Boguslav did not detain him, but sent him off
willingly, adding at parting,—
“Now you will understand why I brought you to Taurogi; for, speaking
plainly, you owe your life to me.”
Olenka remained alone with Panna Kulvyets. They shut themselves up in
their own chambers at once, and received no one but a few women. When
these women brought tidings that the prince was preparing an expedition
against the Poles, Olenka would not believe them at first: but wishing
to be certain, she gave orders to summon Kettling, for she knew that
from her the young Scot would hide nothing.
He appeared before her at once, happy that he was called, that for a
time he could speak with her who had taken possession of his soul.
“Cavalier,” said Panna Billevich, “so many reports are circulating
about Taurogi that we are wandering as in a forest. Some say that the
prince voevoda died a natural death; others that he was borne apart on
sabres. What was the cause of his death?”
Kettling hesitated for a while. It was evident that he was struggling
with innate indecision. At last he blushed greatly, and said,—
“You are the cause of the fall and the death of Prince Yanush.”
“I?” asked Panna Billevich, with amazement.
“You; for our prince chose to remain in Taurogi rather than go to
relieve his cousin. He forgot everything near you, my lady.”
Now she blushed in her turn like a purple rose, and a moment of silence
followed.
The Scot stood, hat in hand, with downcast eyes, his head bent, in a
posture full of homage and respect. At last he raised his head, shook
his bright curls, and said,—
“My lady, if these words have offended you, let me kneel down and beg
forgiveness.”
“Do not,” said she, quickly, seeing that the young knight was bending
his knees already. “I know that what you have said was said with a
clean heart; for I have long noticed that you wish me well.”
The officer raised his blue eyes, and putting his hand on his heart,
with a voice as low as the whisper of a breeze and as sad as a sigh,
replied,—
“Oh, my lady! my lady!”
At this moment he was frightened lest he had said too much, and again
he bent his head toward his bosom, and took the posture of a courtier
who is listening to the commands of a queen.
“I am here among strangers, without a guardian,” said Olenka; “and
though I shall be able to watch over myself alone, and God will
preserve me from harm, still I need the aid of men also. Do you wish to
be my brother? Do you wish to warn me in need, so that I may know what
to do, and avoid every snare?”
As she said this, she extended her hand; but he kneeled, in spite of
her prohibition, and kissed the tips of her fingers.
“Tell me,” said she, “what is happening around me.”
“The prince loves you,” said Kettling. “Have you not seen that?”
She covered her face with her hands. “I saw and I did not see. At times
it seemed to me that he was only very kind.”
“Kind!” repeated Kettling, like an echo.
“But when it came into my head that I, unfortunate woman, might rouse
in him unhappy wishes, I quieted myself with this, that no danger
threatened me from him. I was thankful to him for what he had done,
though God sees that I did not look for new kindnesses, since I feared
those he had already shown me.”
Kettling breathed more freely.
“May I speak boldly?” asked he.
“Speak.”
“The prince has only two confidants,—Pan Sakovich and Patterson; but
Patterson is very friendly to me, for we come from the same country,
and he carried me in his arms. What I know, I know from him. The prince
loves you; desires are burning in him as pitch in a pine torch. All
things done here—all these feasts, hunts, tournaments, through which,
thanks to the prince’s hand, blood is flowing from my mouth yet—were
arranged for you. The prince loves you, my lady, to distraction, but
with an impure fire; for he wishes to disgrace, not to marry you. For
though he could not find a worthier, even if he were king of the whole
world, not merely a prince, still he thinks of another,—the princess,
Yanush’s daughter, and her fortune are predestined to him. I learned
this from Patterson; and the great God, whose gospel I take here to
witness, knows that I speak the pure truth. Do not believe the prince,
do not trust his kindness, do not feel safe in his moderation. Watch,
guard yourself; for they are plotting treason against you here at every
step. The breath is stopping in my breast from what Patterson has told
me. There is not a criminal in the world equal to Sakovich,—I cannot
speak of him, I cannot. Were it not for the oath which I have taken to
guard the prince, this hand and this sword would free you from
continual danger. But I would slay Sakovich first. This is true. Him
first, before all men,—even before those who in my own country shed my
father’s blood, took my fortune, made me a wanderer and a hireling.”
Here Kettling trembled from emotion. For a while he merely pressed the
hilt of his sword with his hand, not being able to utter a word; then
he recovered, and in one breath told what methods Sakovich had
suggested to the prince.
Panna Aleksandra, to his great surprise, bore herself calmly enough
while looking at the threatening precipice before her; only her face
grew pale and became still more serious. Unbending resolution was
reflected in her stern look.
“I shall be able to save myself,” said she, “so help me God and the
holy cross!”
“The prince has not consented hitherto to follow Sakovich’s counsel,”
added Kettling. “But when he sees that the road he has chosen leads to
nothing—” and he began to tell the reasons which restrained Boguslav.
The lady listened with frowning brow, but not with superfluous
attention, for she had already begun to ponder on means to wrest
herself free of this terrible guardianship. But there was not a place
in the whole country unsprinkled with blood, and plans of flight did
not seem to her clear; hence she preferred not to speak of them.
“Cavalier,” said she at last, “answer me one question. Is Prince
Boguslav on the side of the King of Sweden or the King of Poland?”
“It is a secret to none of us,” answered the young officer, “that the
prince wishes the division of this Commonwealth, so as to make of
Lithuania an independent principality for himself.”
Here Kettling was silent, and you would have thought that his mind was
following involuntarily the thoughts of Olenka; for after a while he
added,—
“The elector and the Swedes are at the service of the prince; and since
they will occupy the Commonwealth, there is no place in which to hide
from him.”
Olenka made no answer.
The young man waited awhile longer, to learn if she would ask him other
questions; but when she was silent, occupied with her own thoughts, he
felt that it was not proper for him to interrupt her; therefore he bent
double in a parting bow, sweeping the floor with the feathers in his
cap.
“I thank you, cavalier,” said Olenka, extending her hand to him.
The officer, without turning, withdrew toward the door. All at once
there appeared on her face a slight flush. She hesitated a moment, and
then said,—
“One word, cavalier.”
“Every word is for me a favor.”
“Did you know Pan Andrei Kmita?”
“I made his acquaintance, my lady, in Kyedani. I saw him the last time
in Pilvishki, when we were marching hither from Podlyasye.”
“Is what the prince says true, that Pan Kmita offered to do violence to
the person of the King of Poland?”
“I know not, my lady. It is known to me that they took counsel together
in Pilvishki; then the prince went with Pan Kmita to the forest, and it
was so long before he returned that Patterson was alarmed and sent
troops to meet him. I led those troops. We met the prince. I saw that
he was greatly changed, as if strong emotion had passed through his
soul. He was talking to himself, which never happens to him. I heard
how he said: ‘The devil would have undertaken that—’ I know nothing
more. But later, when the prince mentioned what Kmita offered, I
thought, ‘If this was it, it must be true.’”
Panna Billevich pressed her lips together.
“I thank you,” said she. And after a while she was alone.
The thought of flight mastered her thoroughly. She determined at any
price to tear herself from those infamous places, and from the power of
that treacherous prince. But where was she to find refuge? The villages
and towns were in Swedish hands, the cloisters were ruined, the castles
levelled with the earth; the whole country was swarming with soldiers,
and with worse than soldiers,—with fugitives from the army, robbers,
all kinds of ruffians. What fate could be waiting for a maiden cast as
a prey to that storm? Who would go with her? Her aunt Kulvyets, her
uncle, and a few of his servants. Whose power would protect her?
Kettling would go, perhaps; maybe a handful of faithful soldiers and
friends might even be found who would accompany him. But as Kettling
had fallen in love with her beyond question, then how was she to incur
a debt of gratitude to him, which she would have to pay afterward with
a great price? Finally, what right had she to close the career of that
young man, scarcely more than a youth, and expose it to pursuit, to
persecution, to ruin, if she could not offer him anything in return
save friendship? Therefore, she asked herself, what was she to do,
whither was she to flee, since here and there destruction threatened
her, here and there disgrace?
In such a struggle of soul she began to pray ardently; and more
especially did she repeat one prayer with earnestness to which the old
colonel had constant recourse in evil times, beginning with the words,—
“God saved Thee with Thy Infant
From the malice of Herod;
In Egypt he straightened the road
For Thy safe passage—”
At this moment a great whirlwind rose, and the trees in the garden
began to make a tremendous noise. All at once the praying lady
remembered the wilderness on the borders of which she had grown up from
infancy; and the thought that in the wilderness she would find the only
safe refuge flew through her head like lightning.
Then Olenka breathed deeply, for she had found at last what she had
been seeking. To Zyelonka, to Rogovsk! There the enemy would not go,
the ruffian would not seek booty. There a man of the place, if he
forgot himself, might go astray and wander till death; what must it be
to a stranger not knowing the road? There the Domasheviches, the Smoky
Stakyans; and if they are gone, if they have followed Pan Volodyovski,
it is possible to go by those forests far beyond and seek quiet in
other wildernesses.
The remembrance of Pan Volodyovski rejoiced Olenka. Oh, if she had such
a protector! He was a genuine soldier; his was a sabre under which she
might take refuge from Kmita and the Radzivills themselves. Now it
occurred to her that he was the man who had advised, when he caught
Kmita in Billeviche, to seek safety in the Byalovyej wilderness.
And he spoke wisely! Rogovsk and Zyelonka are too near the Radzivills,
and near Byalovyej stands that Sapyeha who rubbed from the face of the
earth the most terrible Radzivill.
To Byalovyej then, to Byalovyej, even to-day, to-morrow! Only let her
uncle come, she would not delay.
The dark depths of Byalovyej will protect her, and afterward, when the
storm passes, the cloister. There only can be real peace and
forgetfulness of all men, of all pain, sorrow, and contempt.