After his conversation with Sakovich, Prince Boguslav betook himself on
the afternoon of the morrow directly to Billevich.
“My benefactor,” said he, to begin with, “I was grievously to blame the
last time we met, for I fell into anger in my own house. It is my
fault, and all the more so that I gave this affront to a man of a
family friendly to the Radzivills. But I come to implore forgiveness.
Let a sincere confession be satisfaction to you, and my atonement. You
know the Radzivills of old; you know that we are not in haste to beg
pardon; still, since I was to blame before age and dignity, I come
without considering who I am, with a penitent head. And you, old friend
of our house, will not refuse me your hand, I am certain.”
Then he extended his hand; and Billevich, in whose soul the first
outburst had passed, did not dare to refuse his own, though he gave it
with hesitation.
“Your highness, return to us our freedom; that will be the best
satisfaction.”
“You are free, and may go, even to-day.”
“I thank your highness,” said the astonished Billevich.
“I interpose only one condition, which you, God grant, will not
reject.”
“What is that?” asked Billevich, with fear.
“That you listen patiently to what I am going to say.”
“If that is all, I will listen even till evening.”
“Do not give me your answer at once, but think an hour or two.”
“God sees that if I receive my freedom I wish peace.”
“You will receive your freedom; but I do not know whether you will use
it, or whether you will be urgent to leave my threshold. I should be
glad were you to consider my house and all Taurogi as your own; but
listen to me now. Do you know, my benefactor, why I was opposed to the
departure of Panna Billevich? This is why,—because I divined that you
wished to flee simply; and I have fallen in love with your niece, so
that to see her I should be ready to swim a Hellespont each day, like
Leander.”
Billevich grew red again in a moment. “Does your highness dare to say
that to me?”
“To you especially, my benefactor.”
“Worthy prince, seek your fortune with court ladies, but touch not
noble maidens. You may imprison her, you may confine her in a vault,
but you may not disgrace her.”
“I may not disgrace her,” said the prince; “but I may bow down to the
old man Billevich, and say to him, ‘Listen, father, give me your niece
as wife, for I cannot live without her.’”
The sword-bearer was so amazed that he could not utter a word; for a
time he merely moved his mustaches, and his eyes were staring; then he
began to rub his hands and look, now on the prince, now around the
room; at last he said,—
“Is this in a dream, or is it real?”
“Do not hasten! To convince you still better, I will repeat with all
the titles: I, Boguslav, Prince Radzivill, Marshal of the Grand
Principality of Lithuania, ask you, Tomash Billevich, sword-bearer of
Rossyeni, for the hand of your niece, Panna Aleksandra, chief-hunter’s
daughter.”
“Is this true? In God’s name! have you considered the matter?”
“I have considered; now do you consider, my benefactor, whether the
cavalier is worthy of the lady.”
“My breath is stopped from wonder.”
“Now see if I had any evil intentions.”
“And would your highness not consider our small station?”
“Are the Billeviches so cheap? Do you value your shield of nobility and
the antiquity of your family thus? Does a Billevich say this?”
“I know, gracious prince, that the origin of our family is to be sought
in ancient Rome; but—”
“But,” interrupted the prince, “you have neither hetmans nor
chancellors. That is nothing! You are soldiers, like my uncle in
Brandenburg. Since a noble in our Commonwealth may be elected king,
there are no thresholds too lofty for his feet. My sword-bearer and,
God grant, my uncle, I was born of a Brandenburg princess; my father’s
mother was an Ostrogski; but my grandfather of mighty memory, Kryshtof
I., he whom they called Thunder, grand hetman, chancellor, and voevoda
of Vilna, was married the first time to Panna Sobek; but for this
reason the coronet did not fall from his head, for Panna Sobek was a
noble woman, as honorably born as others. When my late father married
the daughter of the elector, they wondered why he did not remember his
own dignity, though he allied himself with a reigning house. Such is
the devilish pride of you nobles! But acknowledge, my benefactor, you
do not think a Sobek better than a Billevich, do you?”
Speaking thus, the prince began to tap the old man on the shoulder with
great familiarity. The noble melted like wax, and answered,—
“God reward your highness for honorable intentions! A weight has fallen
from my heart! But now, if it were not for difference of faith!”
“A Catholic priest will perform the ceremony. I do not want another
myself.”
“I shall be thankful for this all my life, since here it is a question
of the blessing of God, which certainly the Lord Jesus would withdraw
if some vile—”
Here the old man bit his tongue, for he saw that he was saying
something disagreeable to the prince. But Boguslav did not notice it;
he smiled graciously and said,—
“And as to posterity, I shall not be stubborn; for there is nothing
that I would not do for that beauty of yours.”
Billevich’s face grew bright as if a ray of the sun had fallen on it;
“Indeed, God has not been sparing of beauty to her, it is true. Oh!
there will be a shout all over Jmud. And what will the Sitsinskis say
when the Billeviches increase so? They would not leave the old colonel
at rest, though he was a man of Roman mould, respected by the whole
Commonwealth.”
“We will drive them out of Jmud, worthy Sword-bearer.”
“O great God, merciful God! undiscoverable are Thy judgments; but if in
them it lies that the Sitsinskis are to burst from envy, then let Thy
will be done!”
“Amen!” added Boguslav.
“Your highness, do not take it ill that I do not clothe myself in
dignity, as befits a person of whom a man asks a maiden, and that I
show too evident rejoicing. But we have been here in vexation, not
knowing what was awaiting us and interpreting everything for the worst.
It came to this that we thought evil of your highness, until it turns
out that our fears and judgments were not just, and that we may return
to our previous homage. I say this as if some one had taken a burden
from my shoulders.”
“And did Panna Aleksandra judge me thus?”
“She? Even Cicero could not have described properly her previous
admiration for your highness. I think that only virtue and a certain
inborn timidity stood in the way of love. But when she hears of the
sincere intentions of your highness, then I am sure she will at once
give the reins to her heart.”
“Cicero could not have said that better!” said Boguslav.
“With happiness comes eloquence. But since your highness has been
pleased to listen to everything I have said, then I will be sincere to
the last.”
“Be sincere, Pan Billevich.”
“Though this maiden is young, she is a woman with a man’s cast of mind
altogether; it is wonderful what a character she has. Where more than
one man of experience would hesitate, she hesitates not a moment. What
is evil she puts on the left, what is good on the right, and goes
herself to the right as if it were sweet. When she has once chosen the
road, even though there were cannon before her, that is nothing to her!
She would not go aside for the cannon. She is like her grandfather and
me. Her father was a born soldier, but mild; her mother, from the house
of Voynillovich, was also strong-willed.”
“I am glad to hear this, Pan Billevich.”
“Your highness will not believe how incensed she is against the Swedes,
and all enemies of the Commonwealth. If she held any one guilty of
treason, she would feel an utter detestation of him, though he were an
angel and not a human being. Your highness,—forgive an old man who
might be your father in years, if not in dignity,—leave the Swedes;
they are worse for the country than Tartars! Move your troops against
such sons, and not only I, but she, will follow you to the field.
Pardon me, your highness, pardon me. Now I have said what I had on my
mind.”
Boguslav mastered himself after a moment’s silence, and said: “My
benefactor, you might have supposed yesterday, but you may not suppose
to-day that I wish merely to throw sand in your eyes, when I say that I
am on the side of the king and the country. Here under oath to you as a
relative I repeat that what I stated touching peace and its conditions
was the pure truth. I, too, should prefer to march to the field, for my
nature draws me thither; but because I saw that salvation was not in
the field, I was forced through simple devotion to seize another
method. And I can say that I have accomplished an unheard of thing; for
after a last war to conclude a peace of such kind that the conquering
power serves the conquered,—of this Mazarin, the most cunning of men,
need not be ashamed. Not Panna Aleksandra alone, but I equally with
her, bear hatred to the enemy. But what is to be done? How save this
country? Not even Hercules against many can conquer. Therefore I
thought thus, ‘Instead of destroying, which would be easier and more
amusing, it is needful to save.’ And since I had practised in affairs
of this kind with great statesmen, since I am a relative of the
elector, and since, by reason of my cousin Yanush, I am well considered
by the Swedes, I began negotiations; and what their course was and what
the benefit to the Commonwealth was, that you know,—an end of the war,
freedom from oppression for your Catholic faith, for churches, for
clergy, for the estate of nobles, and for the common people; the
assistance of the Swedes in the war against Moscow and the Cossacks;
and, God grant, an extension of boundary. And this all on one
condition,—that Karl Gustav be king after Yan Kazimir. Whoso has done
more for his country in these times, let him stand before my eyes.”
“True, a blind man could see that; but it will be very sad for the
nobles that a free election will cease.”
“And which is more important,—an election or the country?”
“They are the same, your highness; for an election is the main basis of
the Commonwealth. And what is the country, if not a collection of laws,
privileges, and liberties serving the nobles? A king can be found even
in a foreign land.”
Anger and disgust flew like lightning over Boguslav’s face.
“Karl Gustav,” said he, “will sign the _pacta conventa_, as his
predecessors have signed it; and after his death we will elect whom we
choose, even that Radzivill who will be born of your niece.”
The sword-bearer stood for a while as if dazzled by the thought; at
last he raised his hand and cried with great enthusiasm,—
“_Consentior_ (I agree)!”
“I think, too, that you would agree, even if the throne should become
hereditary in our family. Such are you all! But that is a later
question. Now it is necessary that the stipulations come to reality.
You understand, my uncle?”
“As true as life, it is necessary!” repeated Billevich, with deep
conviction.
“They must for this reason,—that I am a mediator agreeable to his
Swedish Majesty, and do you know for what reasons? Karl Gustav has one
sister married to De la Gardie, and another, Princess Bipont, still
unmarried; and he wishes to give her to me, so as to be allied to our
house and have a party in Lithuania. Hence his favor toward me, to
which my uncle, the elector, inclines him.”
“How is that?” asked the disquieted sword-bearer.
“I would give all the princesses of Bipont[7] for your dove, together
with the principalities, not only of the two, but of all the bridges in
the world. But I may not anger the Swedish beast, therefore I give
willing ear to their discussions; but only let them sign the treaty,
then we shall see.”
“Would they be ready then not to sign if they should discover that you
were married?”
“Worthy sword-bearer,” said the prince, with seriousness, “you have
condemned me of crookedness toward the country; but I, as a true
citizen, ask you, have I a right to sacrifice public affairs to my
private interests?”
Pan Tomash listened. “What will happen then?”
“Think to yourself what must happen.”
“As God is true, I see already that the marriage must be deferred; and
the proverb says; ‘What is deferred, escapes.’”
“I will not change my heart, for I have fallen in love for life. You
must know that for faithfulness I could put to shame the most enduring
Penelope.”
Billevich was alarmed still more; for he had an entirely opposite
opinion touching the prince’s constancy, confirmed as it was by
Boguslav’s general reputation. But the prince added, as if for a
finishing stroke,—
“You are right, that no one is sure of his to-morrow. I may fall ill;
nay, some kind of sickness is coming on me even now, for yesterday I
grew so rigid that Sakovich barely saved me. I may fall in a campaign
against Sapyeha; and what delays, what troubles and vexations there
will be, could not be written on an ox-hide.”
“By the wounds of God, give advice, your highness.”
“What advice can I give?” asked the prince. “Though I should be glad
myself to have the latch fall as soon as possible.”
“Well, let it fall. Marry, and then what will be, will be.”
Boguslav sprang to his feet.
“By the holy Gospel! With your wit you should be chancellor of
Lithuania. Another man would not have thought out in three days what
has come to your mind in a twinkle. That is it! marry, and remain
quiet. There is sense in that! As it is, I shall march in two days
against Sapyeha, for I must. During that time secret passages to the
lady’s chamber can be made; and then to the road! That is the head of a
statesman! We will let two or three confidants into the secret, and
take them as witnesses, so that the marriage may be formal. I will
write a contract, secure the jointure, to which I will add a bequest;
and let there be silence for the time. My benefactor, I thank you; from
my heart, I thank you. Come to my arms, and then go to my beauty. I
will wait for her answer, as if on coals. Meanwhile I will send
Sakovich for the priest. Be well, father, and, God grant soon, the
grandfather of a Radzivill.”
When he had said this, he let the astonished noble go from his embrace,
and rushed out of the room.
“For God’s sake!” said the sword-bearer, recovering himself. “I gave
such wise advice that Solomon himself would not be ashamed of it, and I
should prefer to do without it. A secret is a secret; but break your
head, crush your forehead against a wall, it cannot be otherwise. A
blind man can see that! Would that the frost might oppress and kill
those Swedes to the last! If it were not for those negotiations, the
marriage would take place with ceremony, and all Jmud would come to the
wedding. But here a husband must walk to his wife on felt, so as not to
make noise. Tfu, to the deuce! The Sitsinskis will not burst so soon.
Yet, praise be to God! that bursting will not miss them.”
When he had said this, he went to Olenka. Meanwhile the prince was
taking further counsel with Sakovich.
“The old man danced on two paws like a bear,” said the prince; “but he
tormented the life out of me. Uf! but I squeezed him so that I thought
that the boots and straw would fly off his feet. And when I called him
‘Uncle,’ his eyes stuck out, as if a keg of cabbage hash were choking
him. Tfu! tfu! wait! I will make you uncle; but I have scores upon
scores of such uncles throughout the whole world. Sakovich, I see how
she is waiting for me in her room; and she will receive me with her
eyes closed and her hands crossed. Wait, I will kiss those eyes for
you—Sakovich, you will receive for life the estate of Prudy, beyond
Oshmiana. When can Plaska be here?”
“Before evening. I thank your highness for Prudy.”
“That is nothing! Before evening? That means any moment. If the
ceremony could be performed to-day, even before midnight! Have you the
contract ready?”
“I have. I was liberal in the name of your highness. I assigned Birji
as the jointure of the lady. The sword-bearer will howl like a dog when
it is taken from him afterward.”
“He will sit in a dungeon, then he will be quiet.”
“Even that will not be needed. As soon as the marriage is invalid, all
will be invalid. But did I not tell you that they would agree?”
“He did not make the least difficulty. I am curious to know what she
will say. I care nothing about him!”
“Oh, they have fallen each into the arms of the other, are weeping from
emotion, are blessing your highness, and are carried away by your
kindness and beauty.”
“I don’t know that they are by my beauty; for in some way I look
wretched. I am all the time out of health, and I am afraid that
yesterday’s numbness will come again.”
“No; you will take something warm.”
The prince was already before the mirror.
“It is blue under my eyes. And that fool, Fouret, darkened my eyebrows
crooked. See if they are not crooked! I’ll give orders to thumbscrew
him, and make a monkey my body-servant. Why does the old man not come?
I should like to go to the lady now, for she will permit me to kiss her
before the marriage. How quickly it grows dark to-day! If Plaska
flinches, we must put pincers into the fire.”
“Plaska will not flinch. He is a scoundrel from under a dark star.”
“And he will perform the marriage in scoundrel fashion?”
“A scoundrel will perform the marriage for a scoundrel in scoundrel
fashion.”
The prince fell into good humor, and said,—
“When there is a pander for best man, there cannot be another kind of
marriage.”
For a while they were silent; then both began to laugh. But their
laughter sounded with marvellous ill-omen through the dark room. Night
fell deeper and deeper.
The prince began to walk through the room, striking audibly with his
hammer-staff, on which he leaned heavily, for his feet did not serve
him well after the last numbness.
Now the servants brought in candelabra with candles, and went out; but
the rush of air bent the flames of the candles, so that for a long time
they did not burn straight upward, melting meanwhile much wax.
“See how the caudles are burning!” said the prince. “What do you
prophesy from that?”
“That one virtue will melt to-day like wax.”
“It is wonderful how long that talk lasts.”
“Maybe the spirit of old Billevich is flying over the flames.”
“You are a fool!” answered Boguslav, abruptly. “You have chosen a time
to talk of spirits!”
Silence followed.
“They say in England,” said the prince, “that when there is a spirit in
the room every light burns blue; but see, now they are burning yellow,
as usual.”
“Trash!” answered Sakovich. “There are people in Moscow—”
“But be still!” interrupted Boguslav. “The sword-bearer is coming. No!
that is the wind moving the shutters. The devils have brought that old
maid of an aunt, Kulvyets-Hippocentaurus! Has any one ever heard of the
like? And she looks like a chimera.”
“If you wish, your highness, I’ll marry her; then she will not be in
the way, Plaska will solder us while you are waiting.”
“Well, I will give her a maple spade as a marriage present, and you a
lantern, so as to have something to light her way.”
“I will not be your uncle—Bogus.”
“Remember Castor,” answered the prince.
“Do not stroke Castor, my Pollux, against the grain, for he can bite.”
Further conversation was interrupted by the sword-bearer and Panna
Kulvyets. The prince stepped up to him quickly, leaning on his hammer.
Sakovich rose.
“Well, what? May I go to Olenka?” asked the prince.
The sword-bearer spread out his arms and dropped his head on his
breast.
“Your highness, my niece says that Colonel Billevich’s will forbids her
to decide her own fate; and even if it did not forbid, she would not
marry your highness, not having the heart to do so.”
“Sakovich, do you hear?” said Boguslav, with a terrible voice.
“I too knew of that will,” continued the sword-bearer, “but at the
first moment I did not think it an invincible impediment.”
“I jeer at the wills of you nobles,” said the prince; “I spit on your
wills! Do you understand?”
“But we do not jeer at them,” said the aroused Pan Tomash; “and
according to the will the maiden is free to enter the cloister or marry
Kmita.”
“Whom, you sorry fellow? Kmita? I’ll show you Kmita! I’ll teach you!”
“Whom do you call sorry fellow,—a Billevich?”
And the sword-bearer caught at his side in the greatest fury; but
Boguslav, in one moment, struck him on the breast with his hammer, so
that Billevich groaned and fell to the floor. The prince then kicked
him aside, to open a way to the door, and rushed from the room without
a hat.
“Jesus! Mary! Joseph!” cried Panna Kulvyets.
But Sakovich, seizing her by the shoulder, put a dagger to her breast,
and said,—
“Quiet, my little jewel, quiet, dearest dove, or I will cut thy sweet
throat, like that of a lame hen. Sit here quietly, and go not upstairs
to thy niece’s wedding.”
But in Panna Kulvyets there was knightly blood too; therefore she had
barely heard the words of Sakovich, when straightway her terror passed
into despair and frenzy.
“Ruffian! bandit! pagan!” cried she; “slay me, for I will shout to the
whole Commonwealth. The brother killed, the niece disgraced, I do not
wish to live! Strike, slay, robber! People, come see!”
Sakovich stifled further words by putting his powerful hand over her
month.
“Quiet, crooked distaff, dried rue!” said he; “I will not cut thy
throat, for why should I give the Devil that which is his anyhow? But
lest thou scream like a peacock before roosting, I will tie up thy
pretty mouth with thy kerchief, and take a lute and play to thee of
‘sighs.’ It cannot be but thou wilt love me.”
So saying, the starosta of Oshmiana, with the dexterity of a genuine
pickpocket, encircled the head of Panna Kulvyets with her handkerchief,
tied her hands in the twinkle of an eye, and threw her on the sofa;
then he sat by her, and stretching himself out comfortably, asked her
as calmly as though he had begun an ordinary conversation,—
“Well, what do you think? I suppose Bogus will get on as easily as I
have.”
With that he sprang to his feet, for the door opened, and in it
appeared Panna Aleksandra. Her face was as white as chalk, her hair was
somewhat dishevelled, her brows were frowning, and threat was in her
eyes. Seeing her uncle on the floor, she knelt near him and passed her
hand over his head and breast.
The sword-bearer drew a deep breath, opened his eyes, half raised
himself, and began to look around in the room, as if roused from sleep;
then resting his hand on the floor, he tried to rise, which he did
after a while with the help of the lady; then he came with tottering
step to a chair, into which he threw himself. Only now did Olenka see
Panna Kulvyets lying on the sofa.
“Have you murdered her?” asked she of Sakovich.
“God preserve me!” answered the starosta of Oshmiana.
“I command you to unbind her!”
There was such power in that voice that Sakovich said not a word, as if
the command had come from Princess Radzivill herself, and began to
unbind the unconscious Panna Kulvyets.
“And now,” said the lady, “go to your master, who is lying up there.”
“What has happened?” cried Sakovich, coming to himself. “You will
answer for him!”
“Not to thee, serving-man! Be off!”
Sakovich sprang out of the chamber as if possessed.