The following day peace reigned at the foot of Yasna Gora; taking
advantage of which, the monks were occupied the more earnestly in
preparations for defence. The last repairs were made in the walls and
the curtains, and still more appliances were prepared to serve in
resisting assault.
From Zdebov, Krovodja, Lgota, and Grabuvka a number of tens of peasants
volunteered, who had served before in the land-infantry. These were
accepted and placed among the defenders. Kordetski doubled and trebled
himself. He performed divine service, sat in council, neglected the
sick neither day nor night, and in the interval visited the walls,
talked with nobles and villagers. Meanwhile he had in his face and
whole person a calm of such character that one might almost say it
belonged to stone statues only. Looking at his face, grown pale from
watching, it might be thought that that man slept an easy and sweet
sleep; but the calm resignation and almost joy burning in his eyes, his
lips moving in prayer, announced that he watched, thought, prayed, and
made offerings for all. From his spirit, with all its powers intent
upon God, faith flowed in a calm and deep stream; all drank of this
faith with full lips, and whoso had a sick soul was made well. Wherever
his white habit was seen, there calm appeared on the faces of men,
their eyes smiled, and their lips repeated: "Our kind father, our
comforter, our defender, our good hope." They kissed his hands and his
habit; he smiled like the dawn, and went farther, while around him,
above and before him, went confidence and serenity.
Still he did not neglect earthly means of salvation; the fathers who
entered his cell found him, if not on his knees, over letters which he
sent in every direction. He wrote to Wittemberg, the commander-in-chief
at Cracow, imploring him to spare a sacred place; and to Yan Kazimir,
who in Opola had made the last effort to save a thankless people; to
Stefan Charnyetski, held by his own word as on a chain at Syevyej; to
Count Veyhard; and to Colonel Sadovski, a Lutheran Cheh, who served
under Miller, but who, having a noble soul, had endeavored to dissuade
the fierce general from this attack on the cloister.
Two conflicting councils were held before Miller. Count Veyhard,
irritated by the stubbornness which he had met on November 8, used all
efforts to incline the general to a campaign; he promised him untold
treasures and profit, he asserted that in the whole world there were
scarcely churches which could be compared with Chenstohova or Yasna
Gora. Sadovski opposed in the following manner:--
"General," said he to Miller, "you who have taken so many famed
fortresses that you have been justly named Poliorcetes by cities in
Germany, know how much blood and time it may cost to take even the
weakest fortress, if the assaulted are willing to resist unto death.
"But the monks will not resist?" asked Miller.
"I think just the contrary. The richer they are, the more stubborn a
defence will they make; they are confident not only in the might of
arms, but in the sacredness of the place, which the Catholic
superstition of this whole country considers inviolable. It is enough
to recall the German war; how often have monks given an example of
daring and stubbornness, even in cases where soldiers themselves
despaired of defence! It will take place this time too, all the more
since the fortress is not so insignificant as Count Veyhard would like
to consider it. It is situated on a rocky eminence difficult for the
miner, the walls which, if they were not indeed in good condition, have
been repaired before this time; and as to supplies of arms, powder, and
provisions, a cloister so rich has inexhaustible supplies; fanaticism
will animate their hearts and,--"
"And do you think, gracious colonel, that they will force me to
retreat?"
"I do not think that, but I believe that we shall be forced to remain
long under the walls, we shall have to send for larger guns than those
we have here, and you must go to Prussia. It is necessary to calculate
how much time we can devote to Chenstohova; for if his Grace the King
of Sweden summons you from the siege for the more important affairs of
Prussia, the monks will report without fail that you were forced to
retreat. And then think, your grace, what a loss your fame as
Poliorcetes will sustain, not to speak of the encouragement which the
resisting will find in the whole country. Only [here Sadovski lowered
his voice] let the mere intention of attacking this cloister be noised
about, and it will make the worst impression. You do not know--for no
foreigner, not a papist, can know--what Chenstohova is to this people.
Very important for us are those nobles, who yielded so readily; those
magnates; the quarter troops, who together with the hetmans, have come
over to our side. Without them we could not have done what we have
done. With their hands we have occupied half the country,--nay, more
than half; but let one shot fall at Chenstohova,--who knows? perhaps
not a Pole will remain with us. So great is the strength of
superstition! A new most terrible war may flame up!"
Miller recognized in his soul the justice of Sadovski's reasoning, all
the more since he considered monks in general, and the Chenstohova
monks in particular, wizards,--that Swedish general feared enchantments
more than guns; still wishing to irritate, and maybe prolong the
dispute, he said,--
"You speak as though you were prior of Chenstohova, or as if they had
begun to pay you a ransom."
Sadovski was a daring soldier and impulsive, and because he knew his
value he was easily offended.
"I will not say another word," answered he, haughtily.
Miller in his turn was angry at the tone in which the above words were
spoken.
"I will make no further request of you," said he; "Count Veyhard is
enough for me, he knows this country better."
"We shall see!" responded Sadovski, and went out of the room.
Count Veyhard in fact took his place. He brought a letter, which he had
received from Varshytski with a request to leave the cloister in peace;
but from this letter the obstinate man drew counsel directly opposed.
"They beg," said he to Miller; "therefore they know that there will be
no defence."
A day later the expedition against Chenstohova was decided upon at
Vyelunie.
It was not kept a secret; therefore Father Yatsek Rudnitski, provost of
the monastery at Vyelunie, was able to go in time to Chenstohova with
the news. The poor monk did not admit for one moment that the people of
Yasna Gora would defend themselves. He only wanted to forewarn them so
that they might know what course to take and seek favorable conditions.
In fact, the news bowed down the minds of the monks. In some souls
courage weakened at once. But Kordetski strengthened it; he warmed the
cold with the heat of his own heart, he promised days of miracle, he
made the very presence of death agreeable, and changed them so much
through the inspiration of his own soul that unwittingly they began to
prepare for the attack as they were accustomed to prepare for great
church festivals,--hence with joy and solemnity.
The chiefs of the lay garrison, Zamoyski and Charnyetski, also made
their final preparations. They burned all the shops which were nestled
around the walls of the fortress and which might lighten an assault for
the enemy; the buildings near the mountain were not spared either, so
that for a whole day a ring of flame surrounded the fortress; but when
there remained of the shops merely the ashes of timbers and planks, the
guns of the cloister had before them empty space, unhedged by any
obstacles. Their black jaws gaped freely into the distance, as if
searching for the enemy impatiently and wishing to greet them at the
earliest moment with ominous thunder.
Meanwhile winter was drawing near with swift step. A sharp north wind
was blowing, swamps were turned into lumps of earth; and in the
mornings, water in shallow places was congealed into frail icy shells.
The prior, Kordetski, making the rounds of the walls, rubbed his hands
blue from cold, and said,--
"God will send frost to assist us. It will be hard to intrench
batteries and dig mines; meanwhile you will take rest in warm rooms,
and the north wind will soon disgust them with the siege."
But for this very reason Miller was anxious to finish quickly. He had
nine thousand troops, mostly infantry, and nineteen guns. He had also
two squadrons of Polish cavalry, but he could not count on them; first,
because he could not employ the cavalry in taking the lofty fortress;
and second, because the men went unwillingly, and gave notice
beforehand that they would take no part in the struggles. They went
rather to protect the fortress, in case of capture, against the greed
of the conquerors,--so at least the colonels declared to the soldiers;
they went finally because the Swedes commanded, for the whole army of
the country was in their camp and had to obey.
From Vyelunie to Chenstohova the road is short. On November 18 the
siege was to begin. But the Swedish general calculated that it would
not last above a couple of days, and that he would take the precious
fortress by negotiation.
Meanwhile Kordetski, the prior, prepared the souls of men. They went to
divine services as on a great and joyous festival; and had it not been
for the unquiet and pallor of some faces, it might have been supposed
that that was a joyous and solemn thanksgiving. The prior himself
celebrated Mass; all the bells were ringing. The services did not end
with Mass, for a grand procession went out on the walls.
The prior, bearing the Most Holy Sacrament, was supported under the
arms by Zamoyski and Pan Pyotr Charnyetski. In front walked young boys
in robes, they carried censers with myrrh and incense; before and after
the baldachin marched ranks of white-habited monks, with eyes and heads
raised toward heaven,--men of various years, from decrepit old men to
tender youths who had just begun their novitiate. The yellow flames of
the candles quivered in the air; but the monks moved onward and sang,
buried altogether in God, as if mindful of naught else in the world.
Behind them appeared the shaven temples of nobles, the tearful faces of
women, but calm beneath their tears, inspired with faith and trust;
peasants marched also, long-haired, wearing coarse coats, resembling
the primitive Christians; little children, maidens, and boys mingled
with the throng, joining their thin voices with the general chorus. And
God heard that pouring forth of hearts, that fleeing from earthly
oppression to the single defence of His wings. The wind went down,
the air grew calm, the heavens became azure, and the autumnal sun
poured a mild pale golden, but still warm, light on the earth. The
procession passed once around the walls, but did not return, did not
disperse,--went farther. Rays from the monstrance fell on the face of
the prior, and that face seemed golden and radiant from their light.
Kordetski kept his eyes closed, and on his lips was a smile not of
earth,--a smile of happiness, of sweetness, of exaltation; his soul was
in heaven, in brightness, in endless delight, in unbroken calm. But as
if taking orders from above, and forgetting not this earthly church,
the men, the fortress, and that hour then impending, he halted at
moments, opened his eyes, elevated the monstrance, and gave blessing.
He blessed the people, the army, the squadrons, blooming like flowers
and gleaming like a rainbow; he blessed the walls, and that eminence
which looked down and around upon the land; he blessed the cannon, the
guns, smaller and greater, the balls, iron and lead, the vessels with
powder, the planking at the cannon, the piles of harsh implements used
to repel the assaults of the enemy; he blessed the armies lying at a
distance; he blessed the north, the south, the east, and the west, as
if to cover that whole region, that whole land, with the power of God.
It had struck two in the afternoon, the procession was still on the
walls; but meanwhile on those edges, where the sky and the earth seemed
to touch, a bluish haze was spread out, and just in that haze something
began to shimmer, to move,--forms of some kind were creeping. At first
dim, unfolding gradually, these forms became every moment more
distinct. A cry was heard suddenly at the end of the procession,--
"The Swedes are coming; the Swedes are coming!"
Then silence fell, as if hearts and tongues had grown numb; bells only
continued to sound. But in the stillness the voice of the prior
thundered, far reaching though calm,--
"Brothers, let us rejoice! the hour of victories and miracles is
drawing near!"
And a moment later he exclaimed: "Under Thy protection we take refuge,
Our Mother, Our Lady, Our Queen!"
Meanwhile the Swedish cloud had changed into an immeasurable serpent,
which was crawling forward ever nearer. Its terrible curves were
visible. It twisted, uncoiled; at one time it glittered under the light
with its gleaming steel scales, fit another it grew dark, crawled,
crawled on, emerged from the distance.
Soon eyes looking from the walls could distinguish everything in
detail. In advance came the cavalry, after it infantry in quadrangles;
each regiment formed a long rectangular body, over which rose a smaller
one formed of erect spears; farther on, behind, after the infantry,
came cannon with jaws turned rearward and inclined to the earth.
Their slowly moving barrels, black or yellowish, shone with evil omen
in the sun; behind them clattered over the uneven road the powder-boxes
and the endless row of wagons with tents and every manner of military
appliance.
Dreadful but beautiful was that advance of a regular army, which moved
before the eyes of the people on Yasna Gora, as if to terrify them. A
little later the cavalry separated from the rest of the army and
approached at a trot, trembling like waves moved by wind. They broke
soon into a number of greater and smaller parties. Some pushed toward
the fortress; some in the twinkle of an eye scattered through the
neighboring villages in pursuit of plunder; others began to ride around
the fortress, to examine the walls, study the locality, occupy the
buildings which were nearest. Single horsemen flew back continually as
fast as a horse could gallop from the larger parties to the deep
divisions of infantry to inform the officers where they might dispose
themselves.
The tramp and neighing of horses, the shouts, the exclamations, the
murmur of thousands of voices, and the dull thump of cannon, came
distinctly to the ears of the besieged, who till that moment were
standing quietly on the wall, as if for a spectacle, looking with
astonished eyes at that great movement and deploying of the enemy's
troops.
At last the infantry regiments arrived and began to wander around the
fortress, seeking places best fitted for fortification. Now they
struck, on Chenstohovka, an estate near the cloister, in which there
were no troops, only peasants living in huts.
A regiment of Finns, who had come first, fell savagely on the
defenceless peasants. They pulled them out of the huts by the hair, and
simply cut down those who resisted; the rest of the people driven from
the manor-house were pursued by cavalry and scattered to the four
winds.
A messenger was sent with Miller's summons to surrender; he had already
sounded his trumpet before the gates of the church; but the defenders,
at sight of the slaughter and cruelty of the soldiers in Chenstohova,
answered with cannon fire.
Now, when the people of the town had been driven out of all the nearer
buildings, and the Swedes had disposed themselves therein, it behooved
to destroy them with all haste, so that the enemy might not injure the
cloister under cover of those buildings. Therefore the walls of the
cloister began to smoke all around like the sides of a ship surrounded
by a storm and by robbers. The roar of cannon shook the air till the
walls of the cloister were trembling, and glass in the windows of the
church and other buildings was rattling. Fiery balls in the form of
whitish cloudlets describing ill-omened arcs fell on the Swedish places
of refuge, they broke rafters, roofs, walls; and columns of smoke were
soon rising from the places into which balls had descended.
Conflagration had enwrapped the buildings. Barely had the Swedish
regiments taken possession when they fled from the new quarters with
all breath, and, uncertain of their positions, hurried about in various
directions. Disorder began to creep among them; they removed the cannon
not yet mounted, so as to save them from being struck. Miller was
amazed; he had not expected such a reception, nor such gunners on Yasna
Gora.
Meanwhile night came, and since he needed to bring the army into order,
he sent a trumpeter with a request for a cessation. The fathers agreed
to that readily.
In the morning, however, they burned another enormous storehouse with
great supplies of provisions, in which building the Westland regiment
had taken its quarters. The fire caught the building so quickly, the
shots fell, one after another, with such precision that the Westlanders
were unable to carry off their muskets or ammunition, which exploded,
hurling far around burning brands.
The Swedes did not sleep that night; they made preparations,
entrenchments for the guns, filled baskets with earth, formed a camp.
The soldiers, though trained during so many years in so many battles,
and by nature valiant and enduring, did not wait for the following day
with joy. The first day had brought defeat.
The cannon of the cloister caused such loss among the Swedes that the
oldest warriors were confounded, attributing this to careless approach
to the fortress, and to going too near the walls.
But the next day, even should it bring victory, did not promise glory;
for what was the capture of an inconsiderable fortress and a cloister
to the conquerors of so many famed cities, a hundred times better
fortified? The greed of rich plunder alone upheld their willingness,
but that oppressive alarm with which the allied Polish squadrons had
approached this greatly renowned Yasna Gora was imparted in a
mysterious way to the Swedes. Some of them trembled at the thought of
sacrilege, while others feared something indefinite, which they could
not explain, and which was known under the general name of enchantment.
Miller himself believed in it; why should not the soldiers believe?
It was noticed that when Miller was approaching the church of Saint
Barbara, the horse under him slipped suddenly, started back, distended
his nostrils, pricked up his ears, snorted with fright, and refused to
advance. The old general showed no personal alarm; still the next day
he assigned that place to the Prince of Hesse, and marched himself with
the heavier guns to the northern side of the cloister, toward the
village of Chenstohova; there he made intrenchments during the night,
so as to attack in the morning.
Barely had light begun to gleam in the sky when heavy artillery firing
began; but this time the Swedish guns opened first. The enemy did not
think of making a breach in the walls at once, so as to rush through it
to storm; he wanted only to terrify, to cover the church and the
cloister with balls, to set fire, to dismount cannon, to kill people,
to spread alarm.
A procession went out again on the walls of the fortress, for nothing
strengthened the combatants like a view of the Holy Sacrament, and the
monks marching forward with it calmly. The guns of the cloister
answered,--thunder for thunder, lightning for lightning, so far as the
defenders were able, so far as breath held out in the breast. The very
earth seemed to tremble in its foundations. A sea of smoke stretched
over the cloister and the church.
What moments, what sights for men who had never in their lives beheld
the bloody face of war! and there were many such in the fortress. That
unbroken roar, lightnings, smoke, the howling of balls tearing the air,
the terrible hiss of bombs, the clatter of shot on the pavement, the
dull blows against the wall, the sound of breaking windows, the
explosions of bursting bombs, the whistling of fragments of them, the
breaking and cracking of timbers; chaos, annihilation, hell!
In those hours there was not a moment of rest nor cessation; breasts
half-suffocated with smoke, every moment new flocks of cannon-balls;
and amid the confusion shrill voices in various parts of the fortress,
the church, and the cloister, were crying,--
"It is on fire! water, water!"
"To the roof with barefooted men! more cloth!"
"Aim the cannon higher!--higher!--aim at the centre of the
buildings--fire!"
About noon the work of death increased still more. It might seem that,
if the smoke were to roll away, the Swedes would see only a pile of
balls and bombs in place of the cloister. A cloud of lime, struck from
the walls by the cannon, rose up, and mingling with the smoke, hid the
light. Priests went out with relics to exorcise these clouds, lest they
might hinder defence. The thunders of cannon were interrupted, but were
as frequent as the breath gulps of a panting dragon.
Suddenly on a tower, newly built after a fire of the previous year,
trumpets began to sound forth the glorious music of a church hymn. That
music flowed down through the air and was heard round about, was heard
everywhere, as far as the batteries of the Swedes. The sound of the
trumpets was accompanied by the voices of people, and amidst the
bellowing and whistling, amidst the shouts, the rattle and thunder of
muskets, were heard the words,--
"Mother of God, Virgin,
Glorified by God Mary!"
Here a number of bombs burst; the cracking of rafters and beams, and
then the shout: "Water!" struck the ear, and again the song flowed on
in calmness.
"From Thy Son the Lord
Send down to us, win for us,
A time of bread, a time of plenty."
Kmita, who was standing on the wall at the cannon, opposite the village
of Chenstohova, in which Miller's quarters were, and whence the
greatest fire came, pushed away a less accurate cannoneer to begin work
himself; and worked so well that soon, though it was in November and
the day cold, he threw off his fox-skin coat, threw off his vest, and
toiled in his trousers and shirt.
The hearts grew in people unacquainted with war, at sight of this
soldier blood and bone, to whom all that was passing--that bellowing of
cannon, those flocks of balls, that destruction and death--seemed as
ordinary an element as fire to a salamander.
His brow was wrinkled, there was fire in his eyes, a flush on his
cheeks, and a species of wild joy in his face. Every moment he bent to
the cannon, altogether occupied with the aiming, altogether given to
the battle, thinking of naught else; he aimed, lowered, raised, at last
cried, "Fire!" and when Soroka touched the match, he ran to the opening
and called out from time to time,--
"One by the side of the other!"
His eagle eyes penetrated through smoke and dust, and when among the
buildings he saw somewhere a dense mass of caps or helmets, straightway
he crushed it with an accurate shot, as if with a thunderbolt. At times
he burst out into laughter when he had caused greater or less
destruction. The balls flew over him and at his side,--he did not look
at anything; suddenly, after a shot he sprang to the opening, fixed his
eyes in the distance, and cried,--
"The gun is dismounted! Only three pieces are playing there now!"
He did not rest until midday. Sweat was pouring from him, his shirt was
steaming; his face was blackened with soot, and his eyes glittering.
Pyotr Charnyetski himself wondered at his aim, and said to him
repeatedly,--
"War is nothing new to you; that is clear at a glance. Where have you
learned it so well?"
At three o'clock in the afternoon a second Swedish gun was silent,
dismounted by Kmita's accurate aim. They drew out the remaining guns
from the intrenchments about an hour later. Evidently the Swedes saw
that the position was untenable.
Kmita drew a deep breath.
"Rest!" said Charnyetski to him.
"Well! I wish to eat something. Soroka, give me what you have at hand."
The old sergeant bestirred himself quickly. He brought some gorailka in
a tin cup and some dried fish. Kmita began to eat eagerly, raising his
eyes from time to time and looking at the bombs flying over at no great
distance, just as if he were looking at crows. But still they flew in
considerable number, not from Chenstohova, but from the opposite side;
namely, all those which passed over the cloister and the church.
"They have poor gunners, they point too high," said Pan Andrei, without
ceasing to eat; "see, they all go over us, and they are aimed at us."
A young monk heard these words,--a boy of seventeen years, who had just
entered his novitiate. He was the first always to bring balls for
loading, and he did not leave his place though every vein in him was
trembling from fear, for he saw war for the first time. Kmita made an
indescribable impression on him by his calmness, and hearing his words
he took refuge near him with an involuntary movement as if wishing to
seek protection and safety under the wings of that strength.
"Can they reach us from that side?" asked he.
"Why not?" answered Kmita. "And why, my dear brother, are you afraid?"
"I thought," answered the trembling youth, "that war was terrible; but
I did not think it was so terrible."
"Not every bullet kills, or there would not be men in the world, there
would not be mothers enough to give birth to them."
"I have the greatest fear of those fiery balls, those bombs. Why do
they burst with such noise? Mother of God, save us! and they wound
people so terribly."
"I will explain to you, and you will discover by experience, young
father. That ball is iron, and inside it is loaded with powder. In one
place there is an opening rather small, in which is a fuse of paper or
sometimes of wood."
"Jesus of Nazareth! is there a fuse in it?"
"There is; and in the fuse some tow steeped in sulphur, which catches
fire when the gun is discharged. Then the ball should fall with the
fuse toward the ground, so as to drive it into the middle; then the
fire reaches the powder and the ball bursts. But many balls do not fall
on the fuse; that does not matter, however, for when the fire burns to
the end, the explosion comes."
On a sudden Kmita stretched out his hand and cried, "See, see! you have
an experiment."
"Jesus! Mary! Joseph!" cried the young brother, at sight of the coming
bomb.
The bomb fell on the square that moment, and snarling and rushing along
began to bound on the pavement, dragging behind a small blue smoke,
turned once more, and rolling to the foot of the wall on which they
were sitting, fell into a pile of wet sand, which it scattered high to
the battlement, and losing its power altogether, remained without
motion.
Luckily it had fallen with the fuse up; but the sulphur was not
quenched, for the smoke rose at once.
"To the ground! on your faces!" frightened voices began to shout. "To
the ground, to the ground!"
But Kmita at the same moment sprang to the pile of sand, with a
lightning movement of his hand caught the fuse, plucked it, pulled it
out, and raising his hand with the burning sulphur cried,--
"Rise up! It is just as if you had pulled the teeth out of a dog! It
could not kill a fly now."
When he had said this, he kicked the bomb, those present grew numb at
sight of this deed, which surpassed human daring, and for a certain
time no one made bold to speak; at last Charnyetski exclaimed,--
"You are a madman! If that had burst, it would have turned you into
powder!"
Pan Andrei laughed so heartily that his teeth glittered.
"But do we not need powder? You could have loaded a gun with me, and
after my death I could have done harm to the Swedes."
"May the bullets strike you! Where is your fear?"
The young monk placed his hands together and looked with mute homage on
Kmita. But the deed was also seen by Kordotski, who was approaching on
that side. He came up, took Pan Andrei with his hands by the head, and
then made the sign of the cross on him.
"Such men as you will not surrender Yasna Gora; but I forbid exposing a
needful life to danger. When the firing is over and the enemy leave the
field, take that bomb, pour the powder out of it, and bear it to the
Most Holy Lady. That gift will be dearer to Her than those pearls and
bright stones which you offered Her."
"Father," answered Kmita, deeply moved, "what is there great in that?
For the Most Holy Lady I would--Oh! words do not rise in my mouth--I
would go to torments, to death. I know not what I would not do to serve
Her."
Tears glistened in the eyes of Pan Andrei, and the prior said,--
"Go to Her with those tears before they dry. Her favor will flow to
thee, calm thee, comfort thee, adorn thee with glory and honor."
When he had said this he took him by the arm and led him to the church.
Pan Charnyetski looked after them for a time. At last he said,--
"I have seen many daring men in my life, who counted no danger to
themselves; but this Lithuanian is either the D----"
Here Charnyetski closed his mouth with his hand, so not to speak a foul
name in the holy place.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 1: Means "On the sea."]
[Footnote 2: Pereyaslav will be remembered by the readers of FIRE AND
SWORD as the place where the Polish commissioners with Adam Kisel
brought the baton and banner from the king to Hmelnitski.]
[Footnote 3: "Two-bridges." the Bipont of page 523, Vol. II.]
[Footnote 4: This word means technically "villages inhabited by petty
nobles:" etymologically it means "behind walls,"--hence, "beyond or
outside the walls," as above.]
[Footnote 5: This war was carried on by the Tsar Alexis, father of
Peter the Great and son of Michael Romanoff. See Introduction.]
[Footnote 6: The speech of the main body of the people in Jmud is
Lithuanian to this day.]
[Footnote 7: Lithuanian forms, with nominative ending in _s_ and _as_.]
[Footnote 8: The diminutive or more familiar form for Aleksandra. It is
used frequently in this book.]
[Footnote 9: The diminutive of Andrei.]
[Footnote 10: A barber in those parts at that time did duty for a
surgeon.]
[Footnote 11: Marysia and Maryska are both diminutives of Marya = Maria
or Mary, and are used without distinction by the author. There are in
Polish eight or ten other variants of the same name.]
[Footnote 12: It is the custom to put a watermelon in the carriage of
an undesirable suitor,--a refusal without words.]
[Footnote 13: Deest = lacking.]
[Footnote 14: The name Grudzinski is derived from gruda = clod.]
[Footnote 15: See Daniel v. 25-28.]
[Footnote 16: Helena.]
[Footnote 17: The war against Russia.]
[Footnote 18: This Polish saying of striking out a wedge with a wedge
means here, of course, to cure one love with another.]
[Footnote 19: "Others" here = "Russians."]
[Footnote 20: Prince Yeremi Vishnyevetski.]
[Footnote 21: Volodyovski was from the Ukraine.]
[Footnote 22: Charnyetski was pock-marked.]
[Footnote 23: The Russians.]
[Footnote 24: Saturday.]
[Footnote 25: Friday.]
[Footnote 26: Russians.]
[Footnote 27: Tsargrad = Tsar's city, Constantinople.]
[Footnote 28: "A boat and a carriage" means you can go by either,--that
is, by land or water: you have your choice.]
[Footnote 29: So called because they wore shoes made from the inner
bark of basswood or linden trees.]
[Footnote 30: Bright Mountain.]
END OF VOL. I.