It is written in no book how many battles the armies, the nobles, and
the people of the Commonwealth fought with the enemy. They fought in
forests, in fields, in villages, in hamlets, in towns; they fought in
Prussia, in Mazovia, in Great Poland, in Little Poland, in Russia, in
Lithuania, in Jmud; they fought without resting, in the day or the
night.
Every clod of earth was drenched in blood. The names of knights, their
glorious deeds, their great devotion, perished from the memory; for the
chronicler did not write them down, and the lute did not celebrate
them. But under the force of these exertions the power of the enemy
bent at last. And as when a lordly lion, pierced the moment before with
missiles, rises suddenly, and shaking his kingly mane, roars mightily,
pale terror pierces straightway the hunters, and their feet turn to
flight; so that Commonwealth rose ever more terrible, filled with anger
of Jove, ready to meet the whole world. Into the bones of the
aggressors there entered weakness and fear; not of plunder were they
thinking then, but of this only,—to bear away home from the jaws of the
lion sound heads.
New leagues, new legions of Hungarians, Transylvanians, Wallachians,
and Cossacks were of no avail. The storm passed once more, it is true,
between Brest, Warsaw, and Cracow; but it was broken against Polish
breasts, and soon was scattered like empty vapor.
The King of Sweden, being the first to despair of his cause, went home
to the Danish war; the traitorous elector, humble before the strong,
insolent to the weak, beat with his forehead before the Commonwealth,
and fell upon the Swedes; the robber legions of Rakotsy’s
“slaughterers” fled with all power to their Transylvanian reed-fields,
which Pan Lyubomirski ruined with fire and sword.
But it was easier for them to break into the Commonwealth than to
escape without punishment; therefore when they were attacked at the
passage, the Counts of Transylvania, kneeling before Pototski,
Lyubomirski, and Charnyetski, begged for mercy in the dust.
“We will surrender our weapons, we will give millions!” cried they;
“only let us go!”
And receiving the ransom, the hetmans took pity on that army of
unfortunate men; but the horde trampled them under hoofs at the very
thresholds of their homes.
Peace began to return gradually to the plains of Poland. The king was
still taking Prussian fortresses; Charnyetski was to take the Polish
sword to Denmark, for the Commonwealth did not wish to limit itself to
driving out the enemy.
Villages and towns were rebuilt on burned ruins; the people returned
from the forests; ploughs appeared in the fields.
In the autumn of 1657, immediately after the Hungarian war, it was
quiet in the greater part of the provinces and districts; it was quiet
especially in Jmud.
Those of the Lauda men who in their time had gone with Volodyovski,
were still somewhere far off in the field; but their return was
expected.
Meanwhile in Morezi, in Volmontovichi, in Drojeykani, Mozgi, Goshchuni,
and Patsuneli, women, boys, and girls, with old men, were sowing the
winter grain, building with joint efforts houses in those
“neighborhoods” through which fire had passed, so that the warriors on
their return might find at least roofs over their heads, and not be
forced to die of hunger.
Olenka had been living for some time at Vodokty, with Anusia and the
sword-bearer. Pan Tomash did not hasten to his Billeviche,—first,
because it was burned, and second, because it was pleasanter for him
with the maidens than alone. Meanwhile, with the aid of Olenka, he
managed Vodokty.
The lady wished to manage Vodokty in the best manner, for it was to be
with Mitruny her dowry for the cloister; in other words, it was to
become the property of the Benedictine nuns, with whom on the very day
of the coming New Year poor Olenka intended to begin her novitiate.
For after she had considered everything that had met her,—those changes
of fortune, disappointments, and sufferings,—she came to the conviction
that thus, and not otherwise, must be the will of God. It seemed to her
that some all-powerful hand was urging her to the cell, that some voice
was saying to her,—
“In that place is the best pacification, and the end of all earthly
anxiety.”
She had determined therefore to follow that voice. Feeling, however, in
the depth of her conscience that her soul had not been able yet to tear
itself from the earth with completeness, she desired first to prepare
it with ardent piety, with good works and labor. Frequently also in
those efforts echoes from the world hindered her.
For example, people began to buzz around that that famous Babinich was
Kmita. Some contradicted excitedly; others repeated the statement with
stubbornness.
Olenka believed not. All Kmita’s deeds, Kmita and his service with
Yanush Radzivill, were too vividly present in her memory to let her
suppose for one instant that he was the crusher of Boguslav, and such a
trusty worker for the king, such an ardent patriot. Still her peace was
disturbed, and sorrow with pain rose up afresh in her bosom.
This might be remedied by a hurried entrance to the cloister; but the
cloisters were scattered. The nuns who had not perished from the
violence of soldiers during wartime were only beginning to assemble.
Universal misery reigned in the land, and whoso wished to take refuge
behind the walls of a convent had not only to bring bread for personal
use, but also to feed the whole convent.
Olenka wished to come with bread to the cloister,—to become not merely
a sister, but a nourisher of nuns.
The sword-bearer, knowing that his labor was to go to the glory of God,
labored earnestly.
He went around the fields and the buildings, carrying out the labors of
the autumn which with the coming spring were to bear fruit. Sometimes
he was accompanied by Anusia, who, unable to endure the affront which
Babinich had put upon her, threatened also to enter the cloister, and
said she was merely waiting for Volodyovski to bring back the Lauda
men, for she wished to bid adieu to her old friend. But more frequently
the sword-bearer went with Olenka only on these circuits, for land
management was irksome to Anusia.
A certain time both rode out on ponies to Mitruny, where they were
rebuilding barns and cow-houses burned in time of war.
On the road they were to visit the church; for that was the anniversary
of the battle of Volmontovichi, in which they were saved from the last
straits by the coming of Babinich. The whole day had passed for them in
various occupations, so that only toward evening could they start from
Mitruny. In going there they went by the church-road, but in returning
they had to pass through Lyubich and Volmontovichi. Panna Aleksandra
had barely looked at the first smoke of Lyubich when she turned aside
her eyes and began to repeat prayers to drive away painful thoughts;
but the sword-bearer rode on in silence, and only looked around. At
last, when they had passed the gate, he said,—
“That is land for a senator! Lyubich is worth two like Mitruny.”
Olenka continued to say her prayers.
But in Pan Tomash was roused the old landlord by nature, and perhaps
also he was given somewhat to lawsuits; for after a while he said
again, as if to himself,—
“And yet it is ours by right,—old Billevich property, our sweat, our
toil. That unfortunate man must have perished long since, for he has
not announced himself; and if he had, the right is with us.” Here he
turned to Olenka: “What do you think?”
“That is a cursed place,” answered she. “Let happen with it what may!”
“But you see the right is with us. The place was cursed in bad hands,
but it will be blessed in good ones. The right is with us.”
“Never! I do not wish to know anything of it. My grandfather willed it
without restriction; let Kmita’s relatives take it.”
Then she urged on the pony. Billevich put spurs also to his beast, and
they did not slacken speed till they were in the open field. Meanwhile
night had fallen; but there was perfect light, for an enormous red moon
had risen from behind the forest of Volmontovichi and lighted up the
whole region with a golden shining.
“Well! God has given a beautiful night,” said the sword-bearer, looking
at the circle of the moon.
“How Volmontovichi gleams from a distance!” said Olenka.
“For the wood in the houses has not become black.”
Their further conversation was interrupted by the squeaking of a wagon,
which they could not see at first, for the road was undulating; soon,
however, they saw a pair of horses, and following behind them a pair at
a pole, and at the end of the pole a wagon surrounded by a number of
horsemen.
“What kind of people can these be?” asked the sword-bearer; and he held
in his horse. Olenka stopped at his side.
“Halt!” cried Billevich. “Whom are you carrying there?”
One of the horsemen turned to them and said,—
“We are bringing Pan Kmita, who was shot by the Hungarians at
Magyerovo.”
“The word has become flesh!” said Billevich.
The whole world went around suddenly in Olenka’s eyes; the heart died
within her, breath failed her breast. Certain voices were calling in
her soul: “Jesus! Mary! that is he!” Then consciousness of where she
was or what was happening left her entirely.
But she did not drop from the horse to the ground, for she seized
convulsively with her hand the wagon-rack; and when she came to herself
her eyes fell on the motionless form of a man lying in the wagon. True,
that was he,—Pan Andrei Kmita, the banneret of Orsha; and he was lying
on his back in the wagon. His head was bound in a cloth, but by the
ruddy light of the moon his pale and calm face was perfectly visible.
His eyes were deeply sunk and closed; life did not discover itself by
the least movement.
“With God!” said Billevich, removing his cap.
“Stop!” cried Olenka. And she asked with a low but quick voice, as in a
fever: “Is he alive or dead?”
“He is alive, but death is over him.”
Here the sword-bearer, looking at Kmita’s face, said: “You will not
take him to Lyubich?”
“He gave orders to take him to Lyubich without fail, for he wants to
die there.”
“With God! hasten forward.”
“We beat with the forehead!”
The wagon moved on; and Olenka with Billevich galloped in the opposite
direction with what breath was in their horses. They flew through
Volmontovichi like two night phantoms, and came to Vodokty without
speaking a word on the road; only when dismounting, Olenka turned to
her uncle,—
“It is necessary to send a priest to him,” said she, with a panting
voice; “let some one go this moment to Upita.”
The sword-bearer went quickly to carry out her wish; she rushed into
her room, and threw herself on her knees before the image of the Most
Holy Lady.
A couple of hours after, in the late evening, a bell was heard beyond
the gate at Vodokty. That was the priest passing on his way with the
Lord Jesus to Lyubich.
Panna Aleksandra was on her knees continually. Her lips were repeating
the litany for the dying. And when she had finished she struck the
floor three times with her head, repeating: “Reckon to him, O God, that
he dies at the hands of the enemy; forgive him, have mercy on him!”
In this way the whole night passed for her. The priest remained in
Lyubich till morning, and on his way home called at Vodokty. Olenka ran
out to meet him.
“Is it all over?” asked she; and could say no more, for breath failed
her.
“He is alive yet,” answered the priest.
During each of the following days a number of messengers flew from
Vodokty to Lyubich, and each returned with the answer that the banneret
was “alive yet.” At last one brought the intelligence, which he had
heard from the barber brought from Kyedani, that he was not only alive,
but would recover; for the wounds were healing successfully, and
strength was coming back to the knight.
Panna Aleksandra sent bountiful offerings to Upita for a thanksgiving
Mass; but from that day messengers ceased to visit Lyubich, and a
wonderful thing took place in the maiden’s heart. Together with peace,
the former pity for Kmita began to rise. His offences came to her mind
again every moment, so grievous that they were not to be forgiven.
Death alone could cover them with oblivion. If he returned to health,
they weighed on him anew. But still everything that could be brought to
his defence Olenka repeated to herself daily.
So much had she suffered in these days, so many conflicts were there in
her soul, that she began to fail in health. This disturbed Pan Tomash
greatly; hence on a certain evening when they were alone, he said,—
“Olenka, tell me sincerely, what do you think of the banneret of
Orsha?”
“It is known to God that I do not wish to think of him.”
“For see, you have grown thin— H’m! Maybe that you still— I insist on
nothing, but I should be glad to know what is going on in your mind. Do
you not think that the will of your grandfather should be
accomplished?”
“Never!” answered Olenka. “My grandfather left me this door open, and I
will knock at it on the New Year. Thus will his will be accomplished.”
“Neither do I believe at all,” answered Billevich, “what some buzz
around here,—that Babinich and Kmita are one; but still at Magyerovo he
was with the country, fought against the enemy, and shed his blood. The
reform is late, but still it is a reform.”
“Even Prince Boguslav is serving the king and the country now,”
answered the lady, with sorrow. “Let God forgive both, and especially
him who shed his blood; but people will always have the right to say
that in the moment of greatest misfortune, in the moment of disaster
and fall, he rose against the country, and returned to it only when the
enemy’s foot was tottering, and when his personal profit commanded him
to hold to the victor. That is their sin! Now there are no traitors,
for there is no profit from treason! But what is the merit? Is it not a
new proof that such men are always ready to serve the stronger? Would
to God it were otherwise, but Magyerovo cannot redeem such
transgression.”
“It is true! I cannot deny it,” answered Billevich. “It is a bitter
truth, but still true. All the former traitors have gone over in a
chambul to the king.”
“On the banneret of Orsha,” continued the lady, “there rests a still
more grievous reproach than on Boguslav, for Pan Kmita offered to raise
his hand against the king, at which act the prince himself was
terrified. Can a chance shot remove that? I would let this hand be cut
off had that not happened; but it has, and it will never drop away. It
seems clear that God has left him life of purpose for penance. My
uncle, my uncle! we should be tempting our souls if we tried to beat
into ourselves that he is innocent. And what good would come of this?
Will conscience let itself be tempted? Let the will of God be done.
What is broken cannot be bound again, and should not. I am happy that
the banneret is alive, I confess; for it is evident that God has not
yet turned from him His favor altogether. But that is sufficient for
me. I shall be happy when I hear that he has effaced his fault; but I
wish for nothing more, I desire nothing more, even if my soul had to
suffer yet. May God assist him!”
Olenka was not able to speak longer, for a great and pitiful weeping
overpowered her; but that was her last weeping. She had told all that
she carried in her heart, and from that time forth peace began to
return to her anew.