But a certain day Panna Anusia Borzobogati arrived at Taurogi with a
convoy of some tens of soldiers.
Braun received her very politely, for he had to do so, since he was
thus commanded by a letter from Sakovich, signed by Boguslav himself,
enjoining him to have every regard for this lady-in-waiting of Princess
Griselda Vishnyevetski. The young lady herself was full of vivacity;
from the first moment she began to pierce Braun with her eyes, so that
the sullen German moved about as if some one were touching him with
fire; she began also to command other officers,—in a word, to manage in
Taurogi as in her own house. In the evening of the same day she made
the acquaintance of Olenka, who received her with distrust, it is true,
but politely, in the hope that she would get news from her.
In fact, Anusia had news in plenty. Her conversation began with
Chenstohova, since the prisoners in Taurogi were most eager for that
news. The sword-bearer listened with special diligence; he held his
hands behind his ears so as to lose no word, merely interrupting
Anusia’s narrative from time to time with the exclamation,—
“Praise be to God on high!”
“It is a wonder to me,” said Anusia, at last, “that news of these
miracles of the Most Holy Lady have only just reached you, for that is
an old story. I was still in Zamost, and Pan Babinich had not come for
me—ai! how many weeks was it before that? Then they began to beat the
Swedes everywhere, in Great Poland and with us; but most of all Pan
Charnyetski, before whose very name they fly.”
“Oh, Charnyetski!” cried the sword-bearer, rubbing his hands; “he will
give them pepper! I heard of him even from the Ukraine, as of a great
warrior.”
Anusia merely shook her dress, and exclaimed to herself with aversion,
as if it were a question of the smallest matter: “Oh, it is all over
with the Swedes!”
Old Pan Tomash could not restrain himself. Seizing her small hand, he
buried the little thing entirely in his enormous mustaches and kissed
it eagerly; at last he cried,—
“Oh, my beauty! honey flows from your mouth, as God is dear to me! It
cannot be but an angel has come to Taurogi.”
Anusia began at once to twist the ends of her tresses, tied with rosy
ribbons, and cutting with her eyes from under her brows, said,—
“Oh, it is far from me to the angels! But the hetmans of the kingdom
have begun to beat the Swedes, and all the quarter soldiers with them,
and the knights; and they have formed a confederation in Tyshovtsi. The
king has joined it, and they have given out manifestoes; even the
peasants are beating the Swedes, and the Most Holy Lady gives Her
blessing.”
She spoke as if a bird were warbling, but from that warbling
Billevich’s heart grew soft, though some of the news was already known
to him. He bellowed at last like an aurochs from delight; tears, too,
began to flow over the face of Olenka, silent and many.
Seeing this, Anusia, having a good heart from nature, sprang to her at
once, and putting her arms around her neck, began to say quickly,—
“Do not cry; I am sorry for you, and cannot see you shed tears. Why do
you weep?”
There was so much sincerity in her voice that Olenka’s distrust
vanished at once; but the poor girl wept still more.
“You are so beautiful,” said Anusia, comforting her. “Why do you cry?”
“From joy,” answered Olenka, “but also from suffering; for we are here
in grievous captivity, knowing neither the day nor the hour.”
“How is that? Are you not with Prince Boguslav?”
“That traitor! that heretic!” roared Billevich.
“The same has happened to me,” said Anusia; “but I do not cry for that
reason. I do not deny that the prince is a traitor and a heretic; but
he is a courteous cavalier, and respects our sex.”
“God grant that in hell they will respect him in the same fashion!
Young lady, you know him not, for he has not attacked you as he has
this maiden. He is an arch-ruffian, and that Sakovich is another. God
give Sapyeha to defeat them both!”
“As to defeating, he will defeat them. Prince Boguslav is terribly
sick, and he has not a great force. It is true that he advanced
quickly, scattered some squadrons, and took Tykotsin and me; but it is
not for him to measure with the forces of Pan Sapyeha. You may trust
me, for I saw both armies. With Pan Sapyeha are the greatest cavaliers,
who will be able to manage Prince Boguslav.”
“Well, do you see! have I not told you?” asked the old man, turning to
Olenka.
“I know Prince Boguslav from of old,” continued Anusia, “for he is a
relative of the Vishnyevetskis and Zamoyski; he came once to us at
Lubni, when Prince Yeremi himself was campaigning against the Tartars
in the Wilderness. He remembered that I was at home there and nearest
the princess. I was such a little thing then, not as I am to-day. My
God! who could think at that time that he would be a traitor? But
grieve not; for either he will fail to return, or we shall escape from
this place in some way.”
“We have tried that already,” said Olenka.
“And you did not succeed?”
“How could we?” asked Billevich. “We told the secret to an officer whom
we thought ready to aid us; but it turned out that he was ready to
hinder, not to help. Seniority over all here is with Braun,—the Devil
himself could not win that man.”
Anusia dropped her eyes.
“Maybe I can. If Pan Sapyeha would only come, so that we might have
some one with whom to take refuge.”
“God give him at the earliest,” answered Pan Tomash, “for among his men
we have many relatives, acquaintances, and friends. Among them, too,
are former officers of the great Yeremi,—Volodyovski, Skshetuski,
Zagloba,—I know them.”
“But they are not with Sapyeha. Oh, if they were, especially
Volodyovski, for Shshetuski is married, I should not be here, for Pan
Volodyovski would not let himself be picked up as Pan Kotchyts did.”
“He is a great cavalier,” said Billevich.
“The glory of the whole Commonwealth,” added Olenka.
“Have they not fallen, since you did not see them?”
“Oh, no!” answered Anusia, “for the loss of such knights would be
spoken of; but nothing was said. You do not know them, they will never
yield; only a bullet will kill them, for no man can stand before
Skshetuski, Zagloba, or Pan Michael. Though Pan Michael is small, I
remember what Prince Yeremi said of him,—that if the fate of the whole
Commonwealth depended on a battle between one man and another, he would
choose Pan Michael for the battle. He was the man who conquered Bogun.
Oh, no, Pan Michael will help himself always.”
Billevich, satisfied that he had some one with whom to talk, began to
walk with long strides through the room, asking,—
“Well, well! Then do you know Pan Volodyovski so intimately?”
“Yes; for we lived in the same place so many years.”
“Indeed! Then certainly not without love!”
“I’m not to blame for that,” answered Anusia, taking a timid posture;
“but before this time surely Pan Michael is married.”
“And he is just not married.”
“Even if he were, it is all one to me.”
“God grant you to meet! But I am troubled because you say that they are
not with the hetman, for with such soldiers victory would be easier.”
“There is some one there who is worth them all.”
“Who is he?”
“Pan Babinich from Vityebsk. Have you heard of him?”
“Not a word; which is a wonder to me.”
Anusia began to relate the history of her departure from Zamost, and
everything that happened on the road. Babinich grew in her narrative to
such a mighty hero that the sword-bearer was at a loss to know who he
was.
“I know all Lithuania,” said he. “There are houses, it is true, with
similar names, such as Babonaubek, Babill, Babinovski, Babinski, and
Babiski. Babinich I have not heard, and I think it must be an assumed
name; for many who are in parties take such names, so that their
property and relatives may not suffer from the enemy. Hm! Babinich! He
is some fiery cavalier, since he was able to settle Zamoyski in that
fashion.”
“Oh, how fiery!” cried Anusia.
The old man fell into good humor. “How is that?” asked he, stopping
before Anusia and putting his hands on his hips.
“If I tell you, you’ll suppose God knows what.”
“God preserve me, I will suppose nothing.”
“Barely had we come out of Zamost when Pan Babinich told me that some
one else had occupied his heart, and though he received no rent, still
he did not think of changing the tenant.”
“And do you believe that?”
“Of course I believe it,” answered Anusia, with great vivacity; “he
must be in love to his ears, since after so long a time—since—since—”
“Oh, there is some ‘since he would not,’” said the old man, laughing.
“But I say that,” repeated Anusia, stamping her foot, “since— Well, we
shall soon hear of him.”
“God grant it!”
“And I will tell you why. As often as Pan Babinich mentioned Prince
Boguslav, his face grew white, and his teeth squeaked like doors.”
“He will be our friend!” said the sword-bearer,
“Certainly! And we will flee to him, if he shows himself.”
“If I could escape from this place, I would have my own party, and you
would see that war is no novelty to me either, and that this old hand
is good for something yet.”
“Go under command of Pan Babinich.”
“You have a great wish to go under his command.”
They chatted yet for a long time in this fashion, and always more
joyously; so that Olenka, forgetting her grief, became notably more
cheerful, and Anusia began at last to laugh loudly at the sword-bearer.
She was well rested; for at the last halting-place in Rossyeni she had
slept soundly; she left them then only late in the evening.
“She is gold, not a maiden!” said Billevich, after she had gone.
“A sincere sort of heart, and I think we shall soon come to
confidence,” answered Olenka.
“But you looked at her frowningly at first.”
“For I thought that she was some one sent here. Do I know anything
surely? I fear every one in Taurogi.”
“She sent? Perhaps by good spirits! But she is as full of tricks as a
weasel. If I were younger I don’t know to what it might come; even as
it is a man is still desirous.”
Olenka was delighted, and placing her hands on her knees, she put her
head on one side, mimicking Anusia, and looking askance at her uncle.
“So, dear uncle! you wish to bake an aunt for me out of that flour?”
“Oh, be quiet, be quiet!” said the sword-bearer.
But he laughed and began to twist his mustache with his whole hand;
after a time he added,—
“Still she roused such a staid woman as you; I am certain that great
friendship will spring up between you.”
In truth, Pan Tomash was not deceived, for in no long time a very
lively friendship was formed between the maidens; and it grew more and
more, perhaps just for this reason,—that the two were complete
opposites. One had dignity in her spirit, depths of feeling, invincible
will, and reason; the other, with a good heart and purity of thought,
was a tufted lark. One, with her calm face, bright tresses, and an
unspeakable repose and charm in her slender form, was like an ancient
Psyche; the other, a real brunette, reminded one rather of an _ignis
fatuus_, which in the night hours entices people into pathless places
and laughs at their vexation. The officers in Taurogi, who looked at
both every day, were seized with the desire to kiss Olenka’s feet, but
Anusia’s lips.
Kettling, having the soul of a Scottish mountaineer, hence full of
melancholy, revered and adored Olenka; but from the first glance he
could not endure Anusia, who paid him in kind, making up for her losses
on Braun and others, not excepting the sword-bearer of Rossyeni
himself.
Olenka soon won great influence over her friend, who with perfect
sincerity of heart said to Pan Tomash,—
“She can say more in two words than I in a whole day.”
But the dignified lady could not cure her vain friend of one defect,
coquetry; for let Anusia only hear the rattle of spurs in the corridor,
immediately she would pretend that she had forgotten something, that
she wanted to see if there were tidings from Sapyeha; would rush into
the corridor, fly like a whirlwind, and coming up against an officer,
cry out,—
“Oh, how you frightened me!”
Then a conversation would begin, intermingled with twisting of her
skirts, glancing from under her brows, and various artful looks,
through the aid of which the hardest heart may be conquered.
This coquetry Olenka took ill of her, all the more that Anusia after a
few days confessed to a secret love for Babinich. They discussed this
among themselves more than once.
“Others beg like minstrels,” said Anusia; “but this dragon chose to
look at his Tartars rather than at me, and he never spoke otherwise
than in command,—‘Come out, my lady! eat, my lady! drink, my lady!’ And
if he had been rude at the same time, but he was not; if he had not
been painstaking, but he was! In Krasnystav I said to myself, ‘Do not
look at me—wait!’ And in Lanchna I was so overcome that it was
terrible. I tell you that when I looked into his blue eyes, and when he
laughed, gladness seized me, such a prisoner was I.”
Olenka dropped her head, for blue eyes came to her memory too; and that
one spoke in the same way, and he had command ever on his lips,
activity ever in his face, but neither conscience nor the fear of God.
Anusia, following her own thoughts, continued,—
“When he flew over the field on his horse, with his baton, I thought,
That is an eagle or some hetman. The Tartars feared him more than fire.
When he came, there had to be obedience; and when there was a battle,
fires were striking him from desire of blood. I saw many worthy
cavaliers in Lubni, but one such that fear seized me in his presence I
have never seen.”
“If the Lord God has predestined him to you, you will get him; but that
he did not love you, I cannot believe.”
“As to love, he loves me a little, but the other more. He told me
himself more than once, ‘It is lucky that I am not able to forget or
cease loving, for it would be better to confide a kid to a wolf than
such a maiden as you are to me.”
“What did you say to that?”
“I said, ‘How do you know that I would return your love?’ And he
answered, ‘I should not have asked you.’ Now, what are you to do with
such a man? That other woman is foolish not to love him, and she must
have callousness in her heart. I asked what her name is, but he would
not tell me. ‘Better,’ said he, ‘not to touch that, for it is a sore;
and another sore,’ said he, ‘is the Radzivills,—the traitors!’ And then
he made such a terrible face that I would have hidden in a mouse-hole.
I simply feared him. But what is the use in talking? He is not for me!”
“Ask Saint Michael for him; I know from Aunt Kulvyets that he is the
best aid in such cases. Only be careful not to offend the saint by
duping more men.”
“I never will, except so much,—the least little bit.”
Here Anusia showed on her finger how much; and she indicated at most
about half the length of the nail, so as not to anger Saint Michael.
“I do not act so from waywardness,” explained she to Billevich, who
also had begun to take her frivolity to heart; “but I must, for if
these officers do not help us we shall never escape.”
“Braun will not let us out.”
“Braun is overcome!” replied Anusia, with a thin voice, dropping her
eyes.
“But Fitz-Gregory?”
“He is overcome too!” with a voice still thinner.
“And Ottenhagen?”
“Overcome!”
“And Von Irhen?”
“Overcome!”
“May the forest surround you! I see that Kettling is the only man whom
you could not manage.”
“I cannot endure him! But some one else will manage him. Besides, we
can go without his permission.”
“And you think that when we wish to flee they will not hinder?”
“They will go with us!” said Anusia, stretching her neck and blinking.
“For God’s sake! then why do we stay here? I should like to be far away
this day.”
But from the consultation which followed at once, it appeared needful
to await the decision of Boguslav’s fate and Pan Sapyeha’s arrival in
the neighborhood of Jmud. Otherwise they would be threatened by
terrible destruction from even their own people. The society of foreign
officers not only would not be a defence, but would add to their
danger; for the peasants were so terribly envenomed against foreigners
that they murdered without mercy every one who did not wear a Polish
dress. Even Polish dignitaries wearing foreign costume, not to speak of
Austrian and French diplomats, could not travel save under the
protection of powerful bodies of troops.
“You will believe me, for I have passed through the whole country,”
said Anusia. “In the first village, in the first forest, ravagers would
kill us without asking who we are. It is impossible to flee except to
an army.”
“But I shall have my own party.”
“Before you could collect it, before you could reach a village where
you are known, you would lose your life. News from Prince Boguslav must
come soon. I have ordered Braun to inform me at once.”
But Braun reported nothing for a long time.
Kettling, however, began to visit Olenka; for she, meeting him on a
certain day, extended her hand to him. The young officer prophesied
evil from this profound silence. According to him the prince, out of
regard for the elector and the Swedes, would not hold silence touching
the least victory, and would rather exaggerate by description than
weaken by silence the significance of real successes.
“I do not suppose that he is cut to pieces,” said the young officer;
“but he is surely in such a difficult position that it is hard to find
a way out.”
“All tidings arrive here so late,” said Olenka, “and the best proof is
that we learned first from Panna Borzobogati, the particulars of the
miraculous defence of Chenstohova.”
“I, my lady, knew of that long ago, but, as a foreigner, not knowing
the value which that place has for Poles, I did not mention it. That in
a great war some small castle defends itself for a time, and repulses a
number of storms, happens always, and importance is not attached to it
usually.”
“But still for me that would have been the most welcome news!”
“I see in truth that I did ill; for from what has happened since the
defence, as I hear now, I know that to be an important event, which may
influence the whole war. Still, returning to the campaign of the prince
in Podlyasye, it is different. Chenstohova is far away, Podlyasye is
nearer. And when the prince succeeded at first, you remember how
quickly news came. Believe me, my lady, I am a young man, but from the
fourteenth year of my life I am a soldier, and experience tells me that
this silence is prophetic of evil.”
“Rather good,” said the lady,
“Let it be good!” answered Kettling. “In half a year my service will be
ended. In half a year my oath will cease.”
A few days after this conversation news came at last. It was brought by
Pan Byes of the shield Kornie; called, at Boguslav’s court,
Cornutus.[8] He was a Polish noble, but altogether foreignized; for
serving in foreign armies almost from years of boyhood, he had wellnigh
forgotten Polish, or at least spoke it like a German. He had also a
foreignized soul, hence was greatly attached to Prince Boguslav. He was
going on an important mission to Königsberg, and stopped in Taurogi
merely to rest.
Braun and Kettling brought him at once to Olenka and Anusia, who at
that time lived and slept together.
Braun stood like a soldier before Anusia; then turned to Byes and
said,—
“This lady is a relative of Pan Zamoyski, therefore of the prince our
lord, who has commanded to show her every attention; and she wishes to
hear news from the mouth of an eyewitness.”
Pan Byes in his turn stood erect, as if on service, and awaited the
questions.
Anusia did not deny relationship with Boguslav, for the homage of the
military pleased her; therefore she motioned to Pan Byes to sit down.
When he had taken his place she asked,—
“Where is the prince at present?”
“The prince is retreating on Sokolka, God grant successfully,” said the
officer.
“Tell the pure truth: how is it with him?”
“I will tell the pure truth and hide nothing, thinking that your
worthiness will find strength in your soul to hear news less
favorable.”
“I will!” said Anusia, striking one heel against the other under her
robe, with satisfaction that she was called “worthiness,” and that the
news was “less favorable.”
“At first everything went well with us,” said Byes. “We rubbed out on
the road several bands of peasants; we scattered the forces of the
younger Sapyeha, and cut up two squadrons of cavalry with a regiment of
good infantry, sparing no one. Then we defeated Pan Horotkyevich, so
that he barely escaped, and some say that he was killed. After that we
occupied the ruins of Tykotsin.”
“We know all this. Tell us quickly the unfavorable news,” interrupted
Anusia, on a sudden.
“Be pleased, my lady, to listen calmly. We came to Drohichyn, and there
the map was unfolded. We had news that Sapyeha was still far away;
meanwhile two of our scouting parties were as if they had sunk through
the earth. Not a witness returned from the slaughter. Then it appeared
that some troops were marching in front of us. A great confusion rose
out of that. The prince began to think that all preceding information
was false, and that Sapyeha had not only advanced, but had cut off the
road. Then we began to retreat, for in that way it was possible to
catch the enemy and force him to a general battle, which the prince
wished absolutely. But the enemy did not give the field; he attacked
and attacked without ceasing. From that everything began to melt in our
hands; we had rest neither day nor night. The roads were ruined before
us, the dams cut, provisions intercepted. Reports were soon circulated
that Charnyetski himself was crushing us. The soldiers did not eat, did
not sleep; their courage fell. Men perished in the camp itself, as if
the ground were swallowing them. In Byalystok the enemy seized a whole
party again, camp-chests, the prince’s carriages and guns. I have never
seen anything like it. It was not seen in former wars, either. The
prince was changed. He wanted nothing but a general battle, and he had
to fight ten small ones every day, and lose them. Order became relaxed.
And how can our confusion and alarm be described when we learned that
Sapyeha himself had not come up yet, and that in front of us was merely
a strong party which had caused so many disasters? In this party were
Tartar troops.”
Further words of the officer were interrupted by a scream from Anusia,
who, throwing herself suddenly on Olenka’s neck, cried,—
“Pan Babinich!”
The officer was surprised when he heard the name; but he judged that
terror and hatred had wrested this cry from the breast of the worthy
lady; so only after a while did he continue his narrative:—
“To whomsover God has given greatness, he has given also strength to
bear grievous misfortunes; be pleased, therefore, my lady, to calm
yourself. Such indeed is the name of this hell-dweller who has
undermined the success of the whole expedition, and become the cause of
other immense evils. His name, which your worthiness has divined with
such wonderful quickness, is repeated now with fear and rage by every
mouth in our camp.”
“I saw that Babinich at Zamost,” said Anusia, hastily; “and could I
have guessed—”
Here she was silent, and no one knew what would have happened in such
an event. The officer, after a moment’s silence, continued,—
“Thaws and heat set in, despite, it may be said, the regular order of
nature; for we had news that in the south of the Commonwealth there was
still severe winter; but we were wading in spring mud, which fastened
our heavy cavalry to the earth. But he, having light troops, advanced
with more ease. We lost wagons and cannon at every step, and were
forced at last to go on horseback. The inhabitants round about, in
their blind venom, favored the attackers. What God gives will happen;
but I left the whole camp in a desperate condition, as well as the
prince himself, whom a malignant fever does not leave, and who loses
his power for whole days. A general battle will come quickly; but how
it will end, God knows. If He favors, we may hope for wonders.”
“Where did you leave the prince?”
“A day’s journey from Sokolka. The prince intends to intrench himself
at Suhovola or Yanov and receive battle. Sapyeha is two days distant.
When I came away, we had a little more freedom; for from a captured
informant we learned that Babinich himself had gone to the main camp;
without him the Tartars dare not attack, satisfying themselves with
annoying scouting parties. The prince, who is an incomparable leader,
places all his hopes on a general battle, but, of course, when he is
well; if the fever seizes him, he must think of something else, the
best proof of which is that he has sent me to Prussia.”
“Why do you go?”
“Either the prince will win the battle or lose it. If he loses it, all
Electoral Prussia will be defenceless, and it may happen easily that
Sapyeha will pass the boundaries, force the elector to a decision,—I
say this, for it is no secret, I go to forewarn them to have some
defence prepared for those provinces; for the unbidden guests may come
in too great numbers. That is the affair of the elector and the Swedes,
with whom the prince is in alliance, and from whom he has the right to
expect rescue.”
The officer finished.
Anusia heaped a multitude of other questions on him, preserving with
difficulty dignity sufficient. When he went out, she gave way to
herself completely. She fell to striking her skirts with her hands,
turning on her heels like a top, kissing Olenka on the eyes, pulling
Billevich by the sleeves, and crying,—
“Well, now, what did I say? Who has crushed Prince Boguslav? Maybe Pan
Sapyeha? A fig for Sapyeha! Who will crush the Swedes in the same
style? Who will exterminate traitors? Who is the greatest cavalier, who
is the greatest knight? Pan Andrei, Pan Andrei!”
“What Andrei?” asked Olenka, growing pale suddenly.
“Have I not told you that his name is Andrei? He told me that himself.
Pan Babinich! Long life to Babinich! Volodyovski could not have done
better!—What is the matter, Olenka?”
Panna Billevich shook herself as if wishing to throw off a burden of
grievous thoughts. “Nothing! I was thinking that traitors themselves
bear that name. For there was one who offered to sell the king, dead or
alive, to the Swedes or to Boguslav; and he had the same name,—Andrei.”
“May God condemn him!” roared Billevich. “Why mention traitors at
night? Let us be glad when we have reason.”
“Only let Pan Babinich come here!” added Anusia. “That’s what is
needed! I will fool Braun still more. I will, I will, of purpose to
raise the whole garrison, and go over with men and horses to Pan
Babinich.”
“Do that, do that!” cried Billevich, delighted.
“And afterward—a fig for all those Germans! Maybe he will forget that
good-for-nothing woman, and give me his lo—”
Then again her thin voice piped; she covered her face with her hands.
All at once an angry thought must have come to her, for she clapped her
hands, and said,—
“If not, I will marry Volodyovski!”