Two weeks later it was boiling in all Taurogi. On a certain evening
disorderly parties of Boguslav’s troops came in,—thirty or forty
horsemen in a body, reduced, torn, more like spectres than men,—and
brought news of the defeat of Boguslav at Yanov. Everything had been
lost,—arms, horses, cannon, the camp. Six thousand choice men went out
on that expedition with the prince; barely four hundred returned,—these
the prince himself led out of the ruin.
Of the Poles no living soul came back save Sakovich; for all who had
not fallen in battle, all whom the terrible Babinich had not destroyed
in his attacks, went over to Sapyeha. Many foreign officers chose of
their own will to stand at the chariot of the conqueror. In one word,
no Radzivill had ever yet returned from an expedition more crushed,
ruined, and beaten.
And as formerly court adulation knew no bounds in exalting Boguslav as
a leader, so now all mouths sounded loudly an unceasing complaint
against the incompetent management of the war. Among the remaining
soldiers there was endless indignation, which in the last days of the
retreat brought complete disorder, and rose to that degree that the
prince considered it wiser to remain somewhat in the rear.
The prince and Sakovich halted in Rossyeni. Kettling, hearing of this
from soldiers, went immediately with the news to Olenka.
“The main thing,” said she, when the news came, “is whether Sapyeha and
that Babinich are pursuing the prince, and whether they intend to bring
the war to this region.”
“I could learn nothing from the statements of the soldiers,” answered
Kettling, “for fear exaggerates every danger. Some say even that
Babinich is here; but since the prince and Sakovich have remained
behind, I infer that the pursuit cannot be rapid.”
“Still it must come, for it is difficult to think otherwise. Who after
victory would not pursue the defeated enemy?”
“That will be shown. I wished to speak of something else. The prince by
reason of illness and defeat must be irritated, therefore inclined to
deeds of violence. Do not separate now from your aunt and Panna
Borzobogati. Do not consent to the journey of your uncle to Tyltsa, as
the last time, before the campaign.”
Olenka said nothing. Her uncle had, in fact, not been sent to Tyltsa;
he had merely been ill for some days after the hammer-stroke given by
Prince Boguslav. Sakovich, to hide the prince’s deed from the people,
spread the report that the old man had gone to Tyltsa. Olenka preferred
to be silent on this before Kettling, for the proud maiden was ashamed
to confess that any man living had struck a Billevich.
“I thank you for the warning,” said she, after a moment’s silence.
“I considered it my duty.”
But her heart swelled with bitterness; for not long before Kettling
might have enabled her to avoid this new danger. If he had consented to
the flight, she would have been far away, free of Boguslav forever.
“It is really fortunate for me,” said she, “that this warning does not
touch your honor, that the prince has not issued an order for you not
to warn me.”
Kettling understood the reproach, and uttered a speech which Olenka did
not expect of him:—
“As to what touches my military service, to guard which my honor
commands, I will accomplish that or forfeit my life. Other choice I
have not, and do not wish to have. Outside my service I am free to
provide against lawlessness. Therefore, as a private man, I leave with
you this pistol, and I say, Defend yourself, for danger is near; in
case of need, kill! Then my oath will be at an end, and I will hasten
to save you.”
He bowed and turned toward the door, but Olenka detained him.
“Cavalier, free yourself from that service! Defend a good cause; defend
the injured, for you are worthy to do so; you are honorable. It is a
pity that you should be lost on a traitor!”
“I should have freed myself long since, and resigned,” said Kettling,
“had I not thought that by remaining I might serve you. Now it is too
late. If the prince had returned victorious, I should not have
hesitated a moment; but when he is coming back conquered,—when,
perhaps, the enemy is pursuing him,—it would be cowardice to ask for
dismissal before the end of the term itself will free me. You will see
sufficiently how people of small heart desert in crowds a defeated man.
This pistol will send a ball even through armor with ease.”
Kettling went out, leaving on the table the weapon, which Olenka
secreted at once. Fortunately the previsions of the young officer and
her own fear proved groundless.
The prince arrived in the evening with Sakovich and Patterson, but so
crushed and ill that he was barely able to hold himself on his feet.
Besides, he did not know well whether Sapyeha was advancing or had sent
Babinich in pursuit with the light squadrons. Boguslav had overthrown,
it is true, the latter in his attack, together with his horse; but he
dared not hope that he had killed him, since it seemed to him that the
double-handed sword had turned in the blow on Babinich’s helmet.
Besides, he had fired before from a pistol straight into his face, and
that had not taken effect.
The prince’s heart was aching at the thought of what such a Babinich
would do with his estates should he reach them with his Tartars,—and he
had nothing with which to defend them; and not only his estates, but
his own person. Among his hirelings there were not many like Kettling,
and it was just to suppose that at the first news of the coming of
Sapyeha’s troops they would desert him to a man.
The prince did not purpose to remain in Taurogi longer than two or
three days, for he had to hasten to Royal Prussia to the elector and
Steinbock, who might furnish him with new forces, and employ him either
in capturing Prussian towns, or send him to aid the king himself, who
intended an expedition to the heart of the Commonwealth.
In Taurogi he had to leave some one of the officers to bring order into
the remnant of the army, ward off patriot peasants and nobles, defend
the property of the two Radzivills, and continue the understanding with
Löwenhaupt, commander-in-chief of the Swedes in Jmud.
With this object, after he had come to Taurogi, and after a night’s
rest, the prince summoned to council Sakovich, the only man whom he
could trust, and to whom alone he could open his heart.
That first “good day” in Taurogi was wonderful, when the two friends
saw each other after the ill-starred campaign. For some time they gazed
on each other without a word. The prince broke the silence first,—
“Well, the devils! they carried the day.”
“They carried the day!” repeated Sakovich.
“It must have been so with such weather. If I had had more light
squadrons, or if some devil had not brought that Babinich,—twice the
same man! The gallow’s bird changed his name. Do not tell any one of
him, so as not to increase his glory.”
“I will not tell. But will not the officers trumpet it, for you
presented him before your boots as Banneret of Orsha?”
“The German officers know nothing of Polish names. It is all one to
them,—Kmita or Babinich. But by the horns of Lucifer, if I could get
him! I had him; and the scoundrel brought my men into rebellion,
besides leading off Glovbich’s troops. He must be some bastard of our
blood; it cannot be otherwise! I had him, and he escaped,—that gnaws me
more than the whole lost campaign.”
“You had him, Prince, but at the price of my head.”
“I tell you sincerely that I would let them flay you, if I might make a
drum out of Kmita’s skin!”
“Thank you, Bogus; I could not expect less from your friendship.”
The prince laughed: “But you would have squirmed on Sapyeha’s gridiron.
All your scoundrelism would have been fried out of you. I should have
been glad to see that!”
“I should be glad to see you in the hands of Kmita, your dear relative.
You have a different face, but in form you are like each other, and you
have feet of the same size; you are sighing for the same maiden, only
she without experience divines that he is stronger, and that he is a
better soldier.”
“I could manage two such as you, and I rode over his breast. If I had
had two minutes’ time, I should be able to give you my word now that my
cousin is not living. You have always been rather dull, hence I took a
fancy to you; but in these recent days your wit has left you
completely.”
“You have always had your wit in your heels, and therefore you swept
away in such fashion before Sapyeha that I have lost all fancy for you,
and am ready myself to go to Sapyeha.”
“On a rope?”
“On that with which they will bind Radzivill.”
“Enough!”
“At the service of your highness!”
“It would be well to shoot some of the noisiest of those horsemen, and
introduce order.”
“I commanded this morning to hang six of them. They are cold now, and
are dancing stubbornly on the ropes, for the wind is fierce.”
“You have done well. But listen! Do you wish to remain in the garrison
at Taurogi, for I must leave some one here?”
“I do, and I ask for that office. No one can manage better. The
soldiers fear me more than others, for they know that with me there is
no trifling. With respect to Löwenhaupt, it is necessary that some one
be here more important than Patterson.”
“Can you manage the rebels?”
“I assure your highness that the pine-trees of Jmud will bear weightier
fruit than the cones of last year. I will form about two regiments of
infantry out of the peasants, and train them in my fashion. I will have
my eyes on the estates; and if the rebels attack one of them, I will
throw suspicion immediately on some rich noble and squeeze him like
cheese in a bag. At first I shall need merely money to pay wages and
equip the infantry.”
“I will leave what I can.”
“From the dowry money?”
“How is that?”
“That means from the Billevich money which you took out of the dowry
for yourself in advance.”
“If you could only twist the neck of old Billevich in some polite way,
it would be well; for it could be done easily, and he has my letter.”
“I will try. But the point is in this,—has he not sent the note
somewhere, or has the maiden not sewed it into her shift? Would you not
like to discover?”
“It will come to that; but now I must go, and besides that cursed fever
has taken all my strength.”
“Your highness, envy me for staying in Taurogi.”
“You have a strange kind of wish; but if you meanwhile— I should have
you torn apart with hooks. Why do you insist on this office?”
“For I want to marry.”
“Whom?” asked the prince, sitting up in bed. “Panna Borzobogati.”
“That is a good idea, an excellent idea!” said Boguslav. “I have heard
of some will.”
“There is a will from Pan Longin Podbipienta. Your highness knows what
a powerful family that is, and the estates of Pan Longin are in a
number of districts. It is true that the Moscow troops have occupied
some; there will be lawsuits, fights, disputes, and attacks without
number; but I will help myself, and will not yield one point to any
man. Besides, the girl has pleased me greatly; she is pretty and
enticing. I noticed in a moment when we captured her that she feigned
terror, and shot at me with her eyes at the same time. Only let me stay
here as commandant, and from idleness alone the love-making will
begin.”
“One thing I tell you. I will not forbid you to marry; but listen
well,—no excesses, you understand? That maiden is from the
Vishnyevetskis; she is a confidant of Princess Griselda herself; and
because of my esteem for the princess, I do not wish to offend her, nor
do I wish to offend Pan Zamoyski.”
“There is no need of warning,” answered Sakovich; “for since I wish to
marry regularly, I must make regular approaches.”
“I wish you might get a refusal.”
“I know a man who got a refusal, though he is a prince; but I think
that that will not come to me. That eye-cutting gives me great
consolation.”
“Don’t tell that man who got a refusal not to give you horns! I will
give an addition to your shield, or you will receive a surname,
Sakovich Rogaty.[9] She is Borzobogaty, and he is Bardzorogaty. You
will be a chosen pair. But marry, yes, marry, and let me know of the
wedding. I will be your best man.”
Fierce anger appeared on Sakovich’s face, terrible without that. His
eyes were covered for a moment as if by smoke; but he soon recovered,
and turning the prince’s words into a jest, he said,—
“Poor man! you are not able to go downstairs alone, and you make
threats. You have your Panna Billevich here; go your way, skeleton! go
your way! You’ll nurse Babinich’s children yet!”
“God break your tongue, such a son! You are making sport of the
sickness which came within a hair of killing me. I would you were
enchanted as I was.”
“What enchantments are there here? At times, when I see how everything
goes in the natural world, I think enchantment is stupid.”
“You are stupid yourself! Be silent! do not summon the Devil. You
disgust me more and more.”
“Would that I were not the last Pole who has remained faithful to your
highness! For my loyalty you feed me with ingratitude. I will return to
my dens at home, and sit quietly awaiting the end of the war.”
“Oh, give us peace! You know that I love you.”
“It is grievous for me to see that. The Devil thrust this love for your
highness on me. If there is enchantment in anything, it is in that.”
The starosta told the truth; for he loved Boguslav really. The prince
knew this, and therefore paid him, if not with strong attachment, with
gratitude, which vain people ever have for those who do them homage.
Therefore Boguslav agreed willingly to Sakovich’s plans touching
Anusia, and determined to aid him in person. In view of this, about
midday, when he felt better, he had himself dressed and went to Anusia.
“I have come because of old acquaintance,” said he, “to inquire after
your health and ask if the visit to Taurogi has pleased you.”
“In captivity one must be pleased with all things,” answered Anusia,
sighing.
The prince laughed. “You are not in captivity. You were taken together
with Sapyeha’s soldiers, that is true; and I gave orders to send you
here, but only for safety. Not a hair will fall from your head. Be
convinced that there are few people whom I respect as I do Princess
Griselda, to whose heart you are near; and the Vishnyevetskis and
Zamoyskis are connections of mine. You will find here every freedom and
every care. I come to you as a well-wishing friend, and I say if you
wish to go I will give you an escort, though I have few soldiers
myself. I advise you to stay. You, as I have heard, were sent here to
seek property willed to you. Be assured that this is not the time to
think of such business; and even in time of peace the aid of Sapyeha
would not avail in these regions, for he could act only in Vityebsk;
here he can do nothing. I shall not touch that affair personally, but
through an agent. You need a friendly man, and adroit, esteemed, and
feared. If such a man were to take up this matter, surely he would not
let people thrust straw instead of grain into his hand.”
“Where shall I, an orphan, find such a protector?” asked Anusia.
“Precisely in Taurogi.”
“Your highness would be pleased yourself—”
Here Anusia put her hands together, and looked so prettily into
Boguslav’s eyes that if the prince had not been wearied and broken, he
would surely have begun to think less sincerely of Sakovich’s cause;
but since he had no gallantry in his head at that moment, he said
quickly,—
“Could I do it myself, I should not intrust such a pleasant office to
any man; but I am going away, for I must go. I leave in my place, as
commandant of Taurogi, the starosta of Oshmiana, Pan Sakovich, a great
cavalier, a famous soldier, and a man so adroit that there is not
another such in all Lithuania. So I repeat: Stay in Taurogi, for you
have no place to go to, since every point is full of ravagers and
ruffians, while rebels infest all the roads. Sakovich will protect you
here; Sakovich will defend you. Sakovich will see what can be done to
obtain those estates; and once he undertakes the affair, I guarantee
that no man on earth could bring it to a favorable issue sooner. He is
my friend, therefore I know him, and I will say only this: if I had
taken those estates from you, and afterward learned that Sakovich was
coming to oppose me, I would give them up of my own will, for it is
dangerous to struggle with him.”
“If Pan Sakovich would be ready to come to the aid of an orphan—”
“Only be not unjust to him, and he will do anything for you, for your
beauty has touched his heart deeply. He is going around sighing now—”
“How could I touch the heart of any man?”
“She is a rascal, the maiden!” thought the prince. But he added aloud:
“Let Sakovich explain how that happened. Only do him no wrong; for he
is a worthy man and of a noted family, therefore I do not wish that
disdain should be shown such a person.”