Some days later came the opening of the Diet, over which, as
Ketling had foreseen, Pan Hrapovitski was chosen to preside; he
was at that time chamberlain of Smolensk, and afterward voevoda
of Vityebsk. Since the only question was to fix the time of
election and appoint the supreme Chapter, and as intrigues of
various parties could not find a field in such questions, the
Diet was carried on calmly enough. The question of verification
roused it merely a little in the very beginning. When the deputy
Ketling challenged the election of the secretary of Belsk and his
colleague, Prince Boguslav Radzivill, some powerful voice in the
audience shouted “Traitor! foreign official!” After that voice
followed others; some deputies joined them; and all at once the
Diet was divided into two parties,--one striving to exclude the
deputies of Belsk, the other to confirm their election. Finally
a court was appointed to settle the question, and recognized the
election. Still, the blow was a painful one to Prince Boguslav.
This alone, that the Diet was considering whether the prince was
qualified to sit in the chamber; this alone, that all his treasons
and treacheries in time of the Swedish invasion were mentioned
in public,--covered him with fresh disgrace in the eyes of the
Commonwealth, and undermined fundamentally all his ambitious
designs. For it was his calculation that when the partisans of
Condé, Neuburgh, and Lorraine, not counting inferior candidates,
had injured one another mutually, the choice might fall easily on
a man of the country. Hence, pride and his sycophants told him
that if that were to happen, the man of the country could be no
other than a man endowed with the highest genius, and of the most
powerful and famous family,--in other words, he himself.
Keeping matters in secret till the hour came, the prince spread
his nets in advance over Lithuania, and just then he was spreading
them in Warsaw, when suddenly he saw that in the very beginning
they were torn, and such a broad rent made that all the fish might
escape through it easily. He gritted his teeth during the whole
time of the court; and since he could not wreak his vengeance on
Ketling, as he was a deputy, he announced among his attendants a
reward to him who would indicate that spectator who had cried out
just after Ketling’s proposal, “Traitor! foreign official!”
Zagloba’s name was too famous to remain hidden long; moreover,
he did not conceal himself in any way. The prince indeed raised
a still greater uproar, but was disconcerted not a little when
he heard that he was met by so popular a man and one whom it was
dangerous to attack.
Zagloba too knew his own power; for when threats had begun to fly
about, he said once at a great meeting of nobles, “I do not know
if there would be danger to any one should a hair of my head fall.
The election is not distant; and when a hundred thousand sabres
of brothers are collected, there may easily be some making of
mince-meat.”
These words reached the prince, who only bit his lips and smiled
sneeringly; but in his soul he thought that the old man was right.
On the following day he changed his plans evidently with regard to
the old knight, for when some one spoke of Zagloba at a feast given
by the prince chamberlain, Boguslav said,--
“That noble is greatly opposed to me, as I hear; but I have such
love for knightly people that even if he does not cease to injure
me in future, I shall always love him.”
And a week later the prince repeated the same directly to Pan
Zagloba, when they met at the house of the Grand Hetman Sobieski.
Though Zagloba preserved a calm face, full of courage, the heart
fluttered a little in his breast at sight of the prince; for
Boguslav had far-reaching hands, and was a man-eater of whom all
were in dread. The prince called out, however, across the whole
table,--
“Gracious Pan Zagloba, the report has come to me that you, though
not a deputy, wished to drive me, innocent man, from the Diet;
but I forgive you in Christian fashion, and should you ever need
advancement, I shall not be slow to serve you.”
“I merely stood by the Constitution,” answered Zagloba, “as a noble
is bound to do; as to assistance, at my age it is likely that the
assistance of God is needed most, for I am near ninety.”
“A beautiful age if its virtue is as great as its length, and this
I have not the least wish to doubt.”
“I served my country and my king without seeking strange gods.”
The prince frowned a little. “You served against me too; I know
that. But let there be harmony between us. All is forgotten, and
this too, that you aided the private hatred of another against me.
With that enemy I have still some accounts; but I extend my hand to
your grace, and offer my friendship.”
“I am only a poor man; the friendship is too high for me. I should
have to stand on tiptoe, or spring to it; and that in old age is
annoying. If your princely grace is speaking of accounts with Pan
Kmita, my friend, then I should be glad from my heart to leave that
arithmetic.”
“But why so, I pray?” asked the prince.
“For there are four fundamental rules in arithmetic. Though Pan
Kmita has a respectable fortune, it is a fly if compared with your
princely wealth; therefore Pan Kmita will not consent to division.
He is occupied with multiplication himself, and will let no man
take aught from him, though he might give something to others, I do
not think that your princely grace would be eager to take what he’d
give you.”
Though Boguslav was trained in word-fencing, still, whether it was
Zagloba’s argument or his insolence that astonished him so much, he
forgot the tongue in his own mouth. The breasts of those present
began to shake from laughter. Pan Sobieski laughed with his whole
soul, and said,--
“He is an old warrior of Zbaraj. He knows how to wield a sabre, but
is no common player with the tongue. Better let him alone.”
In fact, Boguslav, seeing that he had hit upon an irreconcilable,
did not try further to capture Zagloba; but beginning conversation
with another man, he cast from time to time malign glances across
the table at the old knight.
But Sobieski was delighted, and continued, “You are a master, lord
brother,--a genuine master. Have you ever found your equal in this
Commonwealth?”
“At the sabre,” answered Zagloba, satisfied with the praise,
“Volodyovski has come up to me; and Kmita too I have trained not
badly.”
Saying this, he looked at Boguslav; but the prince feigned not to
hear him, and spoke diligently with his neighbor.
“Why!” said the hetman, “I have seen Pan Michael at work more than
once, and would guarantee him even if the fate of all Christendom
were at stake. It is a pity that a thunderbolt, as it were, has
struck such a soldier.”
“But what has happened to him?” asked Sarbyevski, the sword-bearer
of Tsehanov.
“The maiden he loved died in Chenstohova,” answered Zagloba; “and
the worst is that I cannot learn from any source where he is.”
“But I saw him,” cried Pan Varshytski, the castellan of Cracow.
“While coming to Warsaw, I saw him on the road coming hither
also; and he told me that being disgusted with the world and its
vanities, he was going to Mons Regius to end his suffering life in
prayer and meditation.”
Zagloba caught at the remnant of his hair. “He has become a monk
of Camaldoli, as God is dear to me!” exclaimed he, in the greatest
despair.
Indeed, the statement of the castellan had made no small impression
on all. Pan Sobieski, who loved soldiers, and knew himself best
how the country needed them, was pained deeply, and said after a
pause,--
“It is not proper to oppose the free-will of men and the glory of
God, but it is a pity to lose him; and it is hard for me to hide
from you, gentlemen, that I am grieved. From the school of Prince
Yeremi that was an excellent soldier against every enemy, but
against the horde and ruffiandom incomparable. There are only a few
such partisans in the steppes, such as Pan Pivo among the Cossacks,
and Pan Rushchyts in the cavalry; but even these are not equal to
Pan Michael.”
“It is fortunate that the times are somewhat calmer,” said the
sword-bearer of Tsehanov, “and that Paganism observes faithfully
the treaty of Podhaytse extorted by the invincible sword of my
benefactor.”
Here the sword-bearer inclined before Sobieski, who rejoiced in
his heart at the public praise, and answered, “That was due, in
the first instance, to the goodness of God, who permitted me to
stand at the threshold of the Commonwealth, and cut the enemy
somewhat; and in the second, to the courage of good soldiers who
are ready for everything. That the Khan would be glad to keep
the treaties, I know; but in the Crimea itself there are tumults
against the Khan, and the Belgrod horde does not obey him at all.
I have just received tidings that on the Moldavian boundary clouds
are collecting, and that raids may come in; I have given orders to
watch the roads carefully, but I have not soldiers sufficient. If I
send some to one place, an opening is left in another. I need men
trained specially and knowing the ways of the horde; this is why I
am so sorry for Volodyovski.”
In answer to this, Zagloba took from his temples the hands with
which he was pressing his head, and cried, “But he will not remain
a monk, even if I have to make an assault on Mons Regius and
take him by force. For God’s sake! I will go to him straightway
to-morrow, and perhaps he will obey my persuasion; if not, I will
go to the primate, to the prior. Even if I have to go to Rome, I
will go. I have no wish to detract from the glory of God; but what
sort of a monk would he be without a beard? He has as much hair on
his face as I on my fist! As God is dear to me, he will never be
able to sing Mass; or if he sings it, the rats will run out of the
cloister, for they will think a tom-cat is wailing. Forgive me,
gentlemen, for speaking what sorrow brings to my tongue. If I had
a son, I could not love him as I do that man. God be with him! God
be with him! Even if he were to become a Bernardine, but a monk of
Camaldoli! As I sit here, a living man, nothing can come of this! I
will go straightway to the primate to-morrow, for a letter to the
prior.”
“He cannot have made vows yet,” put in the marshal, “but let not
your grace be too urgent, lest he grow stubborn; and it is needful
to reckon with this too,--has not the will of God appeared in his
intention?”
“The will of God? The will of God does not come on a sudden; as
the old proverb says, ‘What is sudden is of the Devil.’ If it were
the will of God, I should have noted the wish long ago in him; and
he was not a priest, but a dragoon. If he had made such a resolve
while in full reason, in meditation and calmness, I should say
nothing; but the will of God does not strike a despairing man as
a falcon does a duck. I will not press him. Before I go I will
meditate well with myself what to say, so that he may not play the
fox to begin with; but in God is my hope. This little soldier has
confided always more to my wit than his own, and will do the like
this time, I trust, unless he has changed altogether.”