The words of the young daughter of the starosta of Sohachev filled
Kmita with great consolation, and for three days they did not leave his
head. In the daytime on horseback, in the night on the bed, he was
thinking of what had happened to him, and he came always to the
conclusion that this could not be simple chance, but an indication from
God, and a presage that if he would hold out, if he would not leave the
good road, that same road which Olenka had shown him, she would keep
faith and give him her former affection.
"If the starosta's daughter," thought Kmita, "keeps faith with her
Andrei, who has not begun to grow better, there is still hope for me,
with my honest intention of serving virtue, the country, and the king."
But, on the other hand, suffering was not absent from Pan Andrei. He
had an honest intention, but had it not come too late? Was there yet
any road, were there yet any means? The Commonwealth seemed to sink
deeper each day, and it was difficult to close one's eyes to the
terrible truth that for it there was no salvation. Kmita wished nothing
more intently than to begin some kind of work, but he saw no willing
people. Every moment new figures, every moment new faces, passed before
him in the time of his journey; but the sight of them, their talk and
discussions, merely took from him the remnant of his hopes.
Some had gone body and soul to the Swedish camp, seeking in it their
own profit; these people drank and caroused as at a wake, drowning, in
cups and in riot, shame and the honor of nobles; others told, with
blindness beyond understanding, of that power which the Commonwealth
would form in union with Sweden, under the sceptre of the first warrior
on earth; and these were the most dangerous, for they were sincerely
convinced that the whole earth must bow before such an alliance. A
third party, like the starosta of Sohachev, honorable people and
wishing well to the country, sought signs on the earth and in the
heavens, repeated prophecies, and seeing the will of God and unbending
predestination in all things that happened, came to the conclusion that
there was no hope, no salvation; that the end of the world was drawing
nigh; therefore it would be madness to think of earthly instead of
heavenly salvation. Others hid in the forest, or escaped with their
lives beyond the boundaries of the Commonwealth. Kmita met only
unrestrained, corrupted, mad, timid, or desperate people. He met no man
who had hope.
Meanwhile the fortune of the Swedes was increasing. News that the rest
of the army had revolted, were conspiring, threatening the hetmans, and
wishing to go over to the Swedes, gained certainty every day. The
report that Konyetspolski with his division had joined Karl Gustav
reverberated like thunder through every corner of the Commonwealth, and
drove out the remnant of faith from men's hearts, for Konyetspolski was
a knight of Zbaraj. He was followed by the starosta of Yavor and Prince
Dymitr Vishnyevetski, who was not restrained by a name covered with
immortal glory.
Men had begun now to doubt Lyubomirski, the marshal. Those who knew him
well asserted that ambition surpassed in him both reason and love of
country; that for the time being he was on the king's side because he
was flattered, because all eyes were turned to him, because one side
and the other tried to win him, to persuade him, because he was told
that he had the fate of the country in his hands. But in view of
Swedish success he began to hesitate, to delay; and each moment he gave
the unfortunate Yan Kazimir to understand more clearly that he could
save him, or sink him completely.
The refugee king was living in Glogov with a handful of trusted
persons, who shared his fate. Each day some one deserted him, and went
over to the Swedes. Thus do the weak bend in days of misfortune, even
men to whom the first impulse of the heart points out the thorny path
of honor. Karl Gustav received the deserters with open arms, rewarded
them, covered them with promises, tempted and attracted the remnant of
the faithful, extended more widely his rule; fortune itself pushed from
before his feet every obstacle; he conquered Poland with Polish forces;
he was a victor without a battle.
Crowds of voevodas, castellans, officials of Poland and Lithuania,
throngs of armed nobles, complete squadrons of incomparable Polish
cavalry, stood in his camp, watching the eyes of their newly made lord
and ready at his beck.
The last of the armies of the kingdom was calling more and more
emphatically to its hetman: "Go, incline thy gray head before the
majesty of Karl,--go, for we wish to belong to the Swedes."
"To the Swedes! to the Swedes!"
And in support of these words thousands of sabres flashed forth.
At the same time war was flaming continually on the east. The terrible
Hmelnitski was besieging Lvoff again; and legions of his allies,
rolling on past the unconquered walls of Zamost, spread over the whole
province of Lubelsk, reaching even to Lublin.
Lithuania was in the hands of the Swedes and Hovanski. Radzivill had
begun war in Podlyasye, the elector was loitering, and any moment he
might give the last blow to the expiring Commonwealth; meanwhile he was
growing strong in Royal Prussia.
Embassies from every side were hastening to the King of Sweden, wishing
him a happy conquest.
Winter was coming; leaves were falling from the trees; flocks of
ravens, crows, and jackdaws had deserted the forests, and were flying
over the villages and towns of the Commonwealth.
Beyond Pyotrkoff Kmita came again upon Swedish parties, who occupied
all the roads and highways. Some of them, after the capture of Cracow,
were marching to Warsaw, for it was said that Karl Gustav, having
received homage from the northern and eastern provinces and signed the
"capitulations," was only waiting for the submission of those remnants
of the army under Pototski and Lantskoronski; that given, he would go
straightway to Prussia, and therefore he was sending the army ahead.
The road was closed in no place to Pan Andrei, for in general nobles
roused no suspicion. A multitude of armed attendants were going with
the Swedes; others were going to Cracow,--one to bow down before the
new king, another to obtain something from him. No one was asked for a
pass or a letter, especially since in the neighborhood of Karl, who was
counterfeiting kindness, no man dared trouble another.
The last night before Chenstohova met Pan Andrei in Krushyn; but barely
had he settled down when guests arrived. First a Swedish detachment of
about one hundred horse, under the lead of a number of officers and
some important captain. This captain was a man of middle age, of a form
rather imposing, large, powerful, broad-shouldered, quick-eyed; and
though he wore a foreign dress and looked altogether like a foreigner,
still when he entered the room he spoke to Pan Andrei in purest Polish,
asking who he was and whither he was going.
Pan Andrei answered at once that he was a noble from Sohachev, for it
might have seemed strange to the officer that a subject of the elector
had come to that remote place. Learning that Pan Andrei was going to
the King of Sweden with complaint that payment of money due him by the
Swedes was refused, the officer said,--
"Prayer at the high altar is best, and wisely you go to the king; for
though he has a thousand affairs on his head, he refuses hearing to no
one, and he is so kind to Polish nobles that you are envied by the
Swedes."
"If only there is money in the treasury?"
"Karl Gustav is not the same as your recent Yan Kazimir, who was forced
to borrow even of Jews, for whatever he had he gave straightway to him
who first asked for it. But if a certain enterprise succeeds, there
will be no lack of coin in the treasury."
"Of what enterprise is your grace speaking?"
"I know you too little to speak confidentially, but be assured that in
a week or two the treasury of the King of Sweden will be as weighty as
that of the Sultan."
"Then some alchemist must make money for him, since there is no place
from which to get it in this country."
"In this country? It is enough to stretch forth daring hands. And of
daring there is no lack among us, as is shown by the fact that we are
now rulers here."
"True, true," answered Kmita; "we are very glad of that rule,
especially if you teach us how to get money like chips."
"The means are in your power, but you would rather die of hunger than
take one copper."
Kmita looked quickly at the officer, and said,--
"For there are places against which it is terrible, even for Tartars,
to raise hands."
"You are too mysterious. Sir Cavalier," answered the officer, "and
remember that you are going, not to Tartars, but to Swedes for money."
Further conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a new party of
men, whom the officer was evidently expecting, for he hurried out of
the inn. Kmita followed and stood in the door to see who were coming.
In front was a closed carriage drawn by four horses, and surrounded by
a party of Swedish horsemen; it stopped before the inn. The officer who
had just been talking to Kmita went up to the carriage quickly, and
opening the door made a low bow to the person sitting inside.
"He must be some distinguished man," thought Kmita.
That moment they brought from the inn a flaming torch. Out of the
carriage stepped an important personage dressed in black, in foreign
fashion, with a cloak to his knees, lined with fox-skin, and a hat with
feathers. The officer seized the torch from the hands of a horseman,
and bowing once more, said,--
"This way, your excellency!"
Kmita pushed back as quickly as possible, and they entered after him.
In the room the officer bowed a third time and said,--
"Your excellency, I am Count Veyhard Vjeshchovich, ordinarius
proviantmagister, of his Royal Grace Karl Gustav, and am sent with an
escort to meet your excellency."
"It is pleasant for me to meet such an honorable cavalier," said the
personage in black, giving bow for bow.
"Does your excellency wish to stop here some time or to go on at once?
His Royal Grace wishes to see your excellency soon."
"I had intended to halt at Chenstohova for prayers," answered the newly
arrived, "but in Vyelunie I received news that his Royal Grace commands
me to hurry; therefore, after I have rested, we will go on. Meanwhile
dismiss the escort, and thank the captain who led it."
The officer went to give the requisite order. Pan Andrei stopped him on
the way.
"Who is that?" asked he.
"Baron Lisola, the Imperial Envoy, now on his way from the court of
Brandenburg to our lord," answered the officer. Then he went out, and
after a while returned.
"Your excellency's orders are carried out," said he to the baron.
"I thank you," said Lisola; and with great though very lofty affability
he indicated to Count Veyhard a place opposite himself. "Some kind of
storm is beginning to whistle outside," said he, "and rain is falling.
It may continue long; meanwhile let us talk before supper. What is to
be heard here? I have been told that the voevodas of Little Poland have
submitted to his Grace of Sweden."
"True, your excellency; his Grace is only waiting for the submission of
the rest of the troops, then he will go at once to Warsaw and to
Prussia."
"Is it certain that they will surrender?"
"Deputies from the army are already in Cracow. They have no choice, for
if they do not come to us Hmelnitski will destroy them utterly."
Lisola inclined his reasoning head upon his breast. "Terrible, unheard
of things!" said he.
The conversation was carried on in the German language. Kmita did not
lose a single word of it.
"Your excellency." said Count Veyhard, "that has happened which had to
happen."
"Perhaps so; but it is difficult not to feel compassion for a power
which has fallen before our eyes, and for which a man who is not a
Swede must feel sorrow."
"I am not a Swede; but if Poles themselves do not feel sorrow, neither
do I," answered the count.
Lisola looked at him seriously. "It is true that your name is not
Swedish. From what people are you, I pray?"
"I am a Cheh" (Bohemian).
"Indeed? Then you are a subject of the German emperor? We are under the
same rule."
"I am in the service of the Most Serene King of Sweden," said Veyhard,
with a bow.
"I wish not to derogate from that service in the least," answered
Lisola, "but such employments are temporary; being then a subject of
our gracious sovereign, whoever you may be, whomsoever you may serve,
you cannot consider any one else as your natural sovereign."
"I do not deny that."
"Then I will tell you sincerely, that our lord mourns over this
illustrious Commonwealth, over the fate of its noble monarch, and he
cannot look with a kindly or willing eye on those of his subjects who
are aiding in the final ruin of a friendly power. What have the Poles
done to you, that you show them such ill will?"
"Your excellency, I might answer many things, but I fear to abuse your
patience."
"You seem to me not only a famous soldier, but a wise man. My office
obliges me to observe, to listen, to seek causes; speak then, even in
the most minute way, and fear not to annoy my patience. If you incline
at any time to the service of the emperor, which I wish most strongly,
you will find in me a friend who will explain and repeat your reasons,
should any man wish to consider your present service as wrong."
"Then I will tell you all that I have on my mind. Like many nobles,
younger sons, I had to seek my fortune outside my native land. I came
to this country where the people are related to my own, and take
foreigners into service readily."
"Were you badly received?"
"Salt mines were given to my management. I found means of livelihood, of
approach to the people and the king himself; I serve the Swedes at
present, but should any one wish to consider me unthankful, I could
contradict him directly."
"How?"
"Can more be asked of me than of the Poles themselves? Where are the
Poles to-day? Where are the senators of this kingdom, the princes, the
magnates, the nobles, if not in the Swedish camp? And still they should
be the first to know what they ought to do, where the salvation of
their country is, and where its destruction. I follow their example;
who of them then has the right to call me unthankful? Why should I, a
foreigner, be more faithful to the King of Poland and the Commonwealth
than they themselves are? Why should I despise that service for which
they themselves are begging?"
Lisola made no answer. He rested his head on his hand and fell into
thought. It would seem that he was listening to the whistle of the wind
and the sound of the autumn rain, which had begun to strike the windows
of the inn.
"Speak on," said he, at last; "in truth you tell me strange things."
"I seek fortune where I can find it," continued Count Veyhard; "and
because this people are perishing, I do not need to care for them more
than they do for themselves, besides, even if I were to care, it would
avail nothing, for they must perish."
"But why is that?"
"First, because they wish it themselves; second, because they deserve
it. Your excellency, is there another country in the world where so
many disorders and such violence may be seen? What manner of government
is there here? The king does not rule, because they will not let him;
the diets do not rule, because the members break them; there is no
army, because the Poles will not pay taxes; there is no obedience, for
obedience is opposed to freedom; there is no justice, for there is no
one to execute decisions, and each strong man tramples on decisions;
there is no loyalty in this people, for all have deserted their king;
there is no love for the country, for they have given it to the Swede,
for the promise that he will not prevent them from living in old
fashion according to their ancient violence. Where could anything
similar be found? What people in the world would aid an enemy in
conquering their own country? Who would desert a king, not for his
tyranny, not for his evil deeds, but because a stronger one came? Where
is there a people who love private profits more, or trample more on
public affairs? What have they, your excellency? Let any one mention to
me even one virtue,--prudence, reason, cleverness, endurance,
abstinence. What have they? Good cavalry? that and nothing more. But
the Numidians were famous for cavalry, and the Gauls, as may be read in
Roman history, had celebrated soldiers; but where are they? They have
perished as they were bound to perish. Whoso wishes to save the Poles
is merely losing time, for they will not save themselves. Only the mad,
the violent, the malicious, and the venal inhabit this land."
Count Veyhard pronounced the last words with a genuine outburst of
hatred marvellous in a foreigner who had found bread among that people;
but Lisola was not astonished. A veteran diplomat, he knew the world
and men. He knew that whoso does not know how to pay his benefactor
with his heart, seeks in him faults, so as to shield with them his own
unthankfulness. Besides, it may be that he recognized that Count
Veyhard was right. He did not protest, but asked quickly, "Are you a
Catholic?"
The count was confused. "Yes, your excellency," answered he.
"I have heard in Vyelunie that there are persons who persuade the king,
Karl Gustav, to occupy the monastery of Yasna Gora.[30] Is it true?"
"Your excellency, the monastery lies near the Silesian boundary, and
Yan Kazimir can easily receive messages therefrom. We must occupy it to
prevent that. I was the first to direct attention to this matter, and
therefore his Royal Grace has confided these functions to me."
Here Count Veyhard stopped suddenly, remembered Kmita, sitting in the
other corner of the room, and coming up to him, asked,--
"Do you understand German?"
"Not a word, even if a man were to pull my teeth," answered Pan Andrei.
"That is too bad, for we wished to ask you to join our conversation."
Then he turned to Lisola.
"There is a strange noble here, but he does not understand German; we
can speak freely."
"I have no secret to tell," said Lisola; "but as I am a Catholic too, I
should not like to see such injustice done to a sacred place. And
because I am certain that the most serene emperor has the same feeling,
I shall beg his Grace the King of Sweden to spare the monks. And do not
hurry with the occupation until there is a new decision."
"I have express, though secret, instructions; but I shall not withhold
them from your excellency, for I wish to serve faithfully my lord the
emperor. I can assure your excellency that no profanation will come to
the sacred place. I am a Catholic."
Lisola laughed, and wishing to extort the truth from a man less
experienced than himself, asked jokingly,--
"But you will shake up their treasury for the monks? It will not pass
without that, will it?"
"That may happen," answered Count Veyhard. "The Most Holy Lady will not
ask for thalers from the priors' caskets. When all others pay, let the
monks pay too."
"But if the monks defend themselves?"
The count laughed. "In this country no man will defend himself, and
to-day no man is able. There was a time for defence,--now it is too
late."
"Too late," repeated Lisola.
The conversation ended there. After supper they went away. Kmita
remained alone. This was for him the bitterest night that he had spent
since leaving Kyedani. While listening to the words of Count Veyhard,
Kmita had to restrain himself with all his power to keep from shouting
at him, "Thou liest, thou cur!" and from falling on him with his sabre.
But if he did not do so, it was unhappily because he felt and
recognized truth in the words of the foreigner,--awful truth burning
like fire, but genuine.
"What could I say to him?" thought he; "with what could I offer denial
except with my fist? What reasons could I bring? He snarled out the
truth. Would to God he were slain! And that statesman of the emperor
acknowledged to him that in all things and for all defence it was too
late."
Kmita suffered in great part perhaps because that "too late" was the
sentence not only of the country, but of his own personal happiness.
And he had had his fill of suffering; there was no strength left in
him, for during all those weeks he had heard nothing save, "All is
lost, there is no time left, it is too late." No ray of hope anywhere
fell into his soul.
Ever riding farther, he had hastened greatly, night and day, to escape
from those prophecies, to find at last some place of rest, some man who
would pour into his spirit even one drop of consolation. But he found
every moment greater fall, every moment greater despair. At last the
words of Count Veyhard filled that cup of bitterness and gall; they
showed to him clearly this, which hitherto was an undefined feeling,
that not so much the Swedes, the Northerners, and the Cossacks had
killed the country, as the whole people.
"The mad, the violent, the malicious, the venal, inhabit this land,"
repeated Kmita after Count Veyhard, "and there are no others! They obey
not the king, they break the diets, they pay not the taxes, they help
the enemy to the conquest of this land. They must perish.
"In God's name, if I could only give him the lie! Is there nothing good
in us save cavalry; no virtue, nothing but evil itself?"
Kmita sought an answer in his soul. He was so wearied from the road,
from sorrows, and from everything that had passed before him, that it
grew cloudy in his head. He felt that he was ill and a deathly sickness
seized possession of him. In his brain an ever-growing chaos was
working. Faces known and unknown pushed past him,--those whom he had
known long before and those whom he had met on this journey. Those
figures spoke, as if at a diet, they quoted sentences, prophecies; and
all was concerning Olenka. She was awaiting deliverance from Kmita; but
Count Veyhard held him by the arms, and looking into his eyes repeated:
"Too late! what is Swedish is Swedish!" and Boguslav Radzivill sneered
and supported Count Veyhard. Then all of them began to scream: "Too
late, too late, too late!" and seizing Olenka they vanished with her
somewhere in darkness.
It seemed to Pan Andrei that Olenka and the country were the same, that
he had ruined both and had given them to the Swedes of his own will.
Then such measureless sorrow grasped hold of him that he woke, looked
around in amazement and listening to the wind which in the chimney, in
the walls, in the roof, whistled in various voices and played through
each cranny, as if on an organ.
But the visions returned, Olenka and the country were blended again in
his thoughts in one person whom Count Veyhard was conducting away
saying: "Too late, too late!"
So Pan Andrei spent the night in a fever. In moments of consciousness
he thought that it would come to him to be seriously ill, and at last
he wanted to call Soroka to bleed him. But just then dawn began; Kmita
sprang up and went out in front of the inn.
The first dawn had barely begun to dissipate the darkness; the day
promised to be mild; the clouds were breaking into long stripes and
streaks on the west, but the east was pure; on the heavens, which were
growing pale gradually, stars, unobscured by mist, were twinkling.
Kmita roused his men, arrayed himself in holiday dress, for Sunday had
come and they moved to the road.
After a bad sleepless night, Kmita was wearied in body and spirit.
Neither could that autumn morning, pale but refreshing, frosty and
clear, scatter the sorrow crushing the heart of the knight. Hope in him
had burned to the last spark, and was dying like a lamp in which the
oil is exhausted. What would that day bring? Nothing!--the same grief,
the same suffering, rather it will add to the weight on his soul; of a
surety it will not decrease it.
He rode forward in silence, fixing his eyes on some point which was
then greatly gleaming upon the horizon. The horses were snorting; the
men fell to singing with drowsy voices their matins.
Meanwhile it became clearer each moment, the heavens from pale became
green and golden and that point on the horizon began so to shine that
Kmita's eyes were dazzled by its glitter. The men ceased their singing
and all gazed in that direction, at last Soroka said,--
"A miracle or what?--That is the west, and it is as if the sun were
rising."
In fact, that light, increased in the eyes: from a point it became a
ball, from a ball a globe; from afar you would have said that some one
had hung above the earth a giant star, which was scattering rays
immeasurable.
Kmita and his men looked with amazement on that bright, trembling,
radiant vision, not knowing what was before their sight. Then a peasant
came along from Krushyn in a wagon with a rack. Kmita turning to him
saw that the peasant, holding his cap in his hand and looking at the
light, was praying.
"Man," asked Pan Andrei, "what is that which shines so?"
"The church on Yasna Gora."
"Glory to the Most Holy Lady!" cried Kmita. He took his cap from his
head, and his men removed theirs.
After so many days of suffering, of doubts, and of struggles, Pan
Andrei felt suddenly that something wonderful was happening in him,
Barely had the words, "the church on Yasna Gora," sounded in his ears
when the confusion fell from him as if some hand had removed it.
A certain inexplicable awe seized hold of Pan Andrei, full of
reverence, but at the same time a joy unknown to experience, great and
blissful. From that church shining on the height in the first rays of
the sun, hope, such as for a long time Pan Andrei had not known, was
beating,--a strength invincible on which he wished to lean. A new life,
as it were, entered him and began to course through his veins with the
blood. He breathed as deeply as a sick man coming to himself out of
fever and unconsciousness.
But the church glittered more and more brightly, as if it were taking
to itself all the light of the sun. The whole region lay at its feet,
and the church gazed at it from the height; you would have said, "'Tis
the sentry and guardian of the land."
For a long time Kmita could not take his eyes from that light; he
satisfied and comforted himself with the sight of it. The faces of his
men had grown serious, and were penetrated with awe. Then the sound of
a bell was heard in the silent morning air.
"From your horses!" cried Pan Andrei.
All sprang from their saddles, and kneeling on the road began the
litany. Kmita repeated it, and the soldiers responded together.
Other wagons came up. Peasants seeing the praying men on the road
joined them, and the crowd grew greater continually. When at length the
prayers were finished Pan Andrei rose, and after him his men; but they
advanced on foot, leading their horses and singing: "Hail, ye bright
gates!"
Kmita went on with alertness as if he had wings on his shoulders. At
the turns of the road the church vanished, then came out again. When a
height or a mist concealed it, it seemed to Kmita that light had been
captured by darkness; but when it gleamed forth again all faces were
radiant.
So they went on for a long time. The cloister and the walls surrounding
it came out more distinctly, became more imposing, more immense. At
last they saw the town in the distance, and under the mountain whole
lines of houses and cottages, which, compared with the size of the
church, seemed as small as birds' nests.
It was Sunday; therefore when the sun had risen well the road was
swarming with wagons, and people on foot going to church. From the
lofty towers the bells great and small began to peal, filling the air
with noble sounds. There was in that sight and in those metal voices a
strength, a majesty immeasurable, and at the same time a calm. That bit
of land at the foot of Yasna Gora resembled in no wise the rest of the
country.
Throngs of people stood black around the walls of the church. Under the
hill were hundreds of wagons, carriages, and equipages; the talk of men
was blended with the neighing of horses tied to posts. Farther on, at
the right, along the chief road leading to the mountain, were to be
seen whole rows of stands, at which were sold metal offerings, wax
candles, pictures, and scapulars. A river of people flowed everywhere
freely.
The gates were wide open; whoso wished entered, whoso wished went
forth; on the walls, at the guns, were no soldiers. Evidently the very
sacredness of the place guarded the church and the cloister, and
perhaps men trusted in the letters of Karl Gustav in which he
guaranteed safety.