Some days passed by. It appeared to men as if the vault of heaven had
suddenly dropped on the Commonwealth. Jóltiya Vodi; Korsún; the
destruction of the armies of the crown, ever victorious hitherto in
struggles with the Cossacks; the capture of the hetmans; the awful
conflagration in the whole Ukraine; slaughters, murders, unheard of
since the beginning of the world,--all these came so suddenly that men
almost refused to believe that so many misfortunes could come upon one
land at a time. Many, in fact, did not believe it; some became helpless
from terror, some lost their senses, some prophesied the coming of
antichrist and the approach of the day of judgment. All social ties
were severed; all intercourse between people and families was
interrupted. Every authority ceased; distinction of persons vanished.
Hell had freed from its chains all crimes, and let them out on the
world to revel; therefore murder, pillage, perfidy, brutality,
violence, robbery, frenzy, took the place of labor, uprightness, and
conscience. It seemed as though henceforth people would live not
through good, but through evil; that the hearts and intentions of men
had become inverted, and that they held as sacred that which hitherto
had been infamous, and that as infamous which hitherto had been sacred.
The sun shone no longer upon the earth, for it was hidden by the smoke
of conflagrations; in the night, instead of stars and moon, shone the
light of fires. Towns, villages, churches, palaces, forests, went up in
flames. People ceased to converse; they only groaned or howled like
dogs. Life lost its value. Thousands perished without an echo, without
remembrance. And from out all these calamities, deaths, groans, smoke,
and burnings, there rose only one man. Every moment loftier and higher,
every moment more terribly gigantic, he wellnigh obscured the light of
day, and cast his shadow from sea to sea. That man was Bogdan
Hmelnitski.
A hundred and twenty thousand men, armed and drunk with victory, stood
ready at his nod. The mob had risen on all sides; the Cossacks of the
towns joined him in every place. The country from the Pripet to the
borders of the Wilderness was on fire. The insurrection extended in the
provinces of Rus, Podolia, Volynia, Bratslav, Kieff, and Chernigoff.
The power of the hetman increased each day. Never had the Commonwealth
opposed to its most terrible enemy half the forces which he then
commanded. The German emperor had not equal numbers in readiness. The
storm surpassed every expectation. The hetman himself did not recognize
at first his own power, and did not understand how he had risen so
high. He shielded himself yet with justice, legality, and loyalty to
the Commonwealth, for he did not know then that he might trample upon
these expressions as empty phrases; but as his forces grew there rose
in him that immeasurable, unconscious egotism the equal of which is not
presented by history. The understanding of good and evil, of virtue and
vice, of violence and justice, were confounded in the soul of
Hmelnitski with the understanding of injuries done him, or with his
personal profit. That man was honorable who was with him; that man was
a criminal who was against him. He was ready to complain of the sun,
and to count it as a personal injustice if sunshine were not given at
his demand. Men, events, nay, the whole world, he measured with his own
_ego_. But in spite of all the cunning, all the hypocrisy of the
hetman, there was a kind of deformed good faith in this theory of his.
All Hmelnitski's crimes flowed from this theory, but his good deeds as
well; for if he knew no bounds in his cruelty and tyranny to an enemy,
he knew how to be thankful for every even involuntary service which was
rendered him.
Only when he was drunk did he forget even good deeds, and bellowing
with fury, with foam on his lips, issue bloody orders, for which he
grieved afterward. And in proportion as his success grew, was he
oftener drunk, for unquiet took increasing possession of him. It would
seem that triumph carried him to heights which he did not wish to
occupy. His power amazed other men, but it amazed himself too. The
gigantic hand of rebellion seized and bore him on with the swiftness of
lightning and inexorably. But whither? How was all this to end?
Commencing sedition in the name of his own wrongs, that Cossack
diplomat might calculate that after his first successes, or even after
defeats, he could begin negotiations; that forgiveness would be offered
him, satisfaction and recompense for injustice and injuries. He knew
the Commonwealth intimately,--its patience, inexhaustible as the sea;
its compassion, knowing neither bounds nor measure, which flowed not
merely from weakness, for pardon was offered Nalivaika when he was
surrounded and lost. But after the victory at Jóltiya Vodi, after the
destruction of the hetmans, after the kindling of civil war in all the
southern provinces, affairs had gone too far. Events had surpassed all
expectations, and now the struggle must be for life and death. To whose
side would victory incline?
[Illustration: VLADISLAV IV., KING OF POLAND.]
_From an engraving by Moncornet_.
Hmelnitski inquired of soothsayers, took counsel of the stars, and
strained his eyes into the future, but saw nothing ahead save darkness.
At times, therefore, an awful unquiet raised the hairs on his head, and
in his breast despair raged like a whirlwind. What will be?--what will
be? For Hmelnitski, observing more closely than others, understood at
once, better than many, that the Commonwealth knew not how to use its
own forces,--was unconscious of them,--but had tremendous power. If the
right man should grasp that power in his hand, who could stand against
him? And who could guess whether terrible danger, the nearness of the
precipice and destruction, might not put an end to broils, internal
dissensions, private grievances, rivalries of magnates, wrangling, the
babbling of the Diets, the license of the nobility, and the weakness of
the king? Then a half-million of escutcheoned warriors alone could move
to the field, and crush Hmelnitski, even if he were aided not only by
the Khan of the Crimea, but by the Sultan of Turkey himself.
Of this slumbering power of the Commonwealth the late King Vladislav
was aware, as well as Hmelnitski; and therefore he labored all his life
to initiate a mortal struggle with the greatest potentate on earth, for
only in this way could that power be called into life. In accordance
with this conviction, the king did not hesitate to throw sparks on the
Cossack powder. Were the Cossacks really destined to cause that
inundation, in order to be overwhelmed in it at last?
Hmelnitski understood, too, that in spite of all the weakness of the
Commonwealth its resistance was tremendous. Against this Commonwealth,
so disorderly, ill-united, insubordinate, the Turkish waves, the most
terrible of all were broken as against a cliff. Thus it was at Khotím
which he saw almost with his own eyes. That Commonwealth, even in times
of weakness, planted its standards on the walls of foreign capitals.
What resistance will it offer, what will it not do when brought to
despair, when it must either die or conquer?
In view of this, every triumph of Hmelnitski was to him a new danger,
for it hastened the moment when the sleeping lion would wake, and
brought negotiations nearer the impossible. In every victory lay a
future defeat, and in every intoxication bitterness at the bottom.
After the storm of the Cossacks would come the storm of the
Commonwealth. Already it seemed to Hmelnitski that he heard its dull
and distant roar. Behold, from Great Poland, Prussia, populous Mazovia,
Little Poland, and Lithuania will come crowds of warriors! They need
but a leader.
Hmelnitski had taken the hetmans captive, but in that good fortune
there lurked also an ambush of fate. The hetmans were experienced
warriors, but no one of them was the man demanded by that period of
tempest, terror, and distress. The leader at that time could be but one
man. That man was Prince Yeremi Vishnyevetski. Just because the hetmans
had gone into captivity the choice would be likely to fall on the
prince. Hmelnitski in common with all had no doubt of this.
Meanwhile news flew from beyond the Dnieper to Korsún, where the
Zaporojian hetman had stopped to rest after the battle, that the
terrible prince had started for Lubni; that on the road he was stamping
out rebellion; that after his passage villages, hamlets, towns,
farmhouses, had vanished, and the places in which they had been were
bristling with bloody impaling-stakes and gibbets. Terror doubled and
trebled the number of his forces; it was said that he led fifteen
thousand of the choicest troops to be found in the Commonwealth.
In the Cossack camp, shortly after the battle at Krutaya Balka, the
cry, "Yeremi is coming!" was heard among the Cossacks and spread a
panic among the mob, who began to run away unreasoningly. This alarm
astonished Hmelnitski greatly.
He had his choice then,--either to march with all his power against the
prince and seek him beyond the Dnieper, or, leaving a part of his
forces to capture the castles of the Ukraine, move into the heart of
the Commonwealth. An expedition against the prince was not without
danger, Hmelnitski, in spite of the preponderance of his forces, might
suffer defeat in a general engagement, and then all would be lost at
once. The mob, who composed the great majority, gave evidence that they
would flee at the very name of Yeremi. Time was necessary to change
this mob into an army capable of facing the regiments of the prince.
Besides, Yeremi would not be likely to accept a general battle, but
would be content with defence in castles and partisan war which might
last entire months, if not years, and by that time the Commonwealth
would surely collect new forces and move to reinforce him.
Hmelnitski therefore determined to leave Vishnyevetski beyond the
Dnieper, strengthen himself in the Ukraine, organize his power, then
march on the Commonwealth and force it to terms. He calculated that the
suppression of the rebellion on the east of the Dnieper alone would
occupy for a long time all the forces of the prince, and leave a free
field to himself. He hoped therefore to foment rebellion by sending
single regiments to aid the mob, and finally he thought it would be
possible to deceive the prince by negotiations, and retard matters by
waiting till the power of Vishnyevetski should be broken. In view of
this he remembered Pan Yan.
Some days after Krutaya Balka, and on the very day of the alarm of the
mob, he had Skshetuski called before him. He received him in the house
of the starosta, in presence of Krechovski only, who was long known to
Skshetuski; and after he had greeted him kindly, though not without a
lofty air corresponding to his present position, he said,--
"Lieutenant Skshetuski, for the kindness which you have shown me I have
ransomed you from Tugai Bey and promised you freedom. Now the hour has
come. I give you this baton of a colonel to secure a free passage, in
case any of the forces should meet you, and a guard for protection
against the mob. You may return to your prince."
Skshetuski was silent; no smile of joy appeared on his face.
"But are you able to take the road, for I see that illness of some kind
is looking out through your eyes?"
Pan Yan, in truth, seemed like a shadow. Wounds and recent events had
weakened the young giant, who looked as though he could give no promise
of surviving till the morrow. His face had grown yellow, and the black
beard, long untrimmed, added to the wretchedness of his appearance.
This rose from internal suffering. The knight's heart was almost
broken. Dragged after the Tartar camp, he had been a witness of all
that had happened since they issued from the Saitch. He had seen the
defeat and disgrace of the Commonwealth, and the hetmans in captivity;
he had seen the Cossack's triumph, pyramids of heads cut from fallen
soldiers, noblemen hanged by the ribs, the breasts of women cut off,
and maidens dishonored; he had seen the despair of daring and the
baseness of fear; he had seen everything, endured everything, and
suffered the more because the thought was in his bosom and brain, like
the stab of a knife, that he himself was the remote cause, for he and
no other had cut Hmelnitski loose from the lariat. But was a Christian
knight to suppose that succor given one's neighbor could bring such
fruit? His pain therefore was beyond measure.
When he asked himself what was happening to Helena, and when he thought
what might happen if an evil fate should keep her in Rozlogi, he
stretched his hands to heaven and cried in a voice in which quivered
deep despair, almost a threat: "God! take my life, for I am punished
beyond my deserts!" Then he saw that he was blaspheming, fell on his
face, and prayed for salvation, for forgiveness, for mercy on his
country and that innocent dove, who maybe had called in vain for God's
help and his. In one word, he had suffered so much beyond his power
that the freedom granted did not rejoice him; and that Zaporojian
hetman, that conqueror who wished to be magnanimous by showing his
favor, made no impression upon him at all. Seeing this, Hmelnitski
frowned and said,--
"Hasten to take advantage of my favor, lest I change my mind; for it is
my kindness and belief in a just cause which makes me so careless as to
provide an enemy for myself, for I know well that you will fight
against me."
To which Skshetuski answered: "If God gives me strength."
And he gazed at Hmelnitski, till he looked into the depth of his soul.
The hetman, unable to endure the gaze, cast his eyes to the ground, and
after a moment said,--
"Enough of this! I am too powerful to be troubled by one sick man. Tell
the prince your lord what you have seen, and warn him to be less
insolent; for if my patience fails I will visit him beyond the Dnieper,
and I do not think my visit will be pleasant to him."
Skshetuski was silent.
"I say, and repeat once more," added Hmelnitski, "I am carrying on war,
not with the Commonwealth, but with the kinglets; and the prince is in
the first rank among them. He is an enemy to me and to the Russian
people, an apostate from our church, and a savage tyrant. I hear that
he is quelling the uprising in blood; let him see to it that he does
not spill his own."
Thus speaking, he became more and more excited, till the blood began to
rush to his face, and his eyes flashed fire. It was evident that one of
those paroxysms of anger and rage in which he lost his memory and
presence of mind altogether was seizing him.
"I will command Krívonos to bring him with a rope!" cried he. "I will
trample him under foot, and mount my horse on his back!"
Skshetuski looked down on the raging Hmelnitski, and then said calmly:
"Conquer him first."
"Hetman," said Krechovski, "let this insolent noble go his way, for it
does not become your dignity to be affected by anger against him; and
since you have promised him freedom he calculates that either you will
break your word or listen to his invectives."
Hmelnitski bethought himself, panted awhile, then said,--
"Let him go then, and give him a baton, as I have said, and forty
Tartars, who will take him to his own camp, so that he may know that
Hmelnitski returns good for good." Then turning to Pan Yan, he added:
"You know that we are even now. I liked you in spite of your insolence,
but if you fall into my hands again you will not escape."
Skshetuski went out with Krechovski.
"Since the hetman has let you off with your life," said Krechovski,
"and you can go where you please, I tell you, for old acquaintance'
sake, to seek safety in Warsaw rather than beyond the Dnieper, for you
will not leave there alive. Your time has passed. If you were wise you
would come to our side, but I know that it is useless to tell you this.
You would rise as high as we."
"To the gallows," muttered Skshetuski.
"They would not give me the starostaship of Lita, but now I can take,
not only one, but ten such places. We will drive out the
Konyetspolskis, Kalinovskis, Pototskis, Lyubomirskis, Vishnyevetskis,
Zaslavskis, and all the nobility, and divide their estates; which must
be according to the will of God, for he has already given us two great
victories."
Pan Yan was thinking of something else, and did not hear the prating of
the colonel, who continued,--
"When after the battle I saw the high mighty hetman of the crown, my
lord and benefactor, bound in Tugai Bey's quarters, and he was pleased
immediately to call me a Judas and unthankful, I answered him: 'Serene,
great voevoda! I am not unthankful, for when I shall be in possession
of your castles and property, I will make you my under-starosta if you
will promise not to get drunk.' Oh, ho! Tugai Bey will get ransom for
those birds that he has caught, and therefore he spares them; were it
not for that, Hmelnitski and I would talk differently to them. But see!
the wagon is ready for you and the Tartars are on hand. Where do you
wish to go?"
"To Chigirin."
"'As thou makest thy bed, so wilt thou sleep.' The Tartars will conduct
you even to Lubni, for such are their orders. See, however, that your
prince does not have them impaled, as he surely would Cossacks. This is
why Tartars are given to you. The hetman has ordered that your horse be
given you. Farewell! Remember us with kindness. Give our hetman's
respects to your prince, and if he be persuaded to come to Hmelnitski
with homage, he may find favor. Farewell!"
Pan Yan seated himself in the wagon, which the Tartars surrounded at
once; and they moved on. It was difficult to pass through the square,
which was completely packed with Zaporojians and the mob. Both were
cooking kasha for themselves, while singing songs over the victory of
Jóltiya Vodi and Korsún, composed by blind minstrels, a multitude of
whom came from all sides to the camp. Between the fires burning under
the kasha kettles, lay here and there bodies of murdered women over
whom orgies had taken place in the night, or stood pyramids of heads
cut from the bodies of killed and wounded soldiers. These bodies and
heads had begun to decay and give out an offensive odor, which however
did not seem to be at all disagreeable to the assembled crowds. The
town bore marks of devastation and the wild license of Zaporojians.
Doors and windows were torn out; the shivered fragments of a thousand
objects, mixed with hair and straw, covered the square. The eaves of
houses were ornamented with hanged men, for the greater part Jews; and
here and there the crowd amused themselves by clinging to the feet of
pendent corpses and swinging on them.
On one side of the square were the black ruins of burnt buildings,
among them those of the parish church; the ruins were hot, and smoke
was rising from them. The odor of burning permeated the air. Beyond the
burnt houses was the Tartar camp, which Skshetuski had to pass, and
crowds of captives watched by Tartar guards. Men from the neighborhood
of Chigirin, Cherkasi, and Korsún, who had been unable to hide, or who
had not fallen under the axe of the mob, went into captivity. The
prisoners were soldiers, captured in the two battles; and townspeople
of the region about, who had been unable or unwilling to join the
uprising; nobles living on their own lands, separately or in communes;
officials of under-starostas; owners of small tracts of land; village
nobles of both sexes, and children. There were no old men, for the
Tartars killed them as unfit for sale. They had driven in also whole
Russian villages and settlements,--an act which Hmelnitski did not dare
to oppose. In many places it happened that men went to the Cossack
camp, and as a reward the Tartars burned their cottages, and carried
off their wives and children. But in the universal letting loose and
growing wild of souls, no one inquired or thought about that. The mob
who took arms gave up their native villages, their wives and children.
Their wives were taken from them; but they took other and better women,
for they were Polish. After they had sated themselves with the charms
of these they killed them, or sold them to Tartars. Among the prisoners
also were young matrons of the Ukraine, tied by threes and fours to one
rope with young women of the petty nobility. Captivity and misfortune
equalized condition.
The sight of these beings shocked the lieutenant to the bottom of his
soul, and roused a thirst for vengeance. Tattered, half naked, exposed
to the vile jeers of pagans who were loitering through curiosity in
crowds on the square, pushed, struck, or kissed by disgusting lips,
they lost their memory and will. Some sobbed, or resisted loudly;
others, with staring eyes and bewildered faces, yielded passively to
everything. Here and there was heard a shriek wrested from some
captive, slaughtered without mercy for an outburst of despairing
resistance. The cracking of whips, the whistling of ox-hide lashes, was
heard among the crowd of men, and was mingled with screams of pain,
with the whining of children, the bellowing of cattle, and the neighing
of horses. The booty was not yet divided and arranged for removal;
therefore the greatest disorder prevailed everywhere. Wagons, horses,
horned cattle, camels, sheep, women, men, heaps of stolen clothing,
vessels, arms,--all, thrust into one enormous camp, waited arrangement
and order. Scouting-parties drove in from time to time new crowds of
people and herds of cattle, laden barges sailed down the Kos, and from
the chief camp new people arrived continually to sate their eyes with
the sight of the collected wealth. Some, drunk on kumis or vudka,
dressed in strange costumes,--in chasubles and surplices, in robes of
Russian priests, or even in women's clothes,--began to dispute,
quarrel, and scream over the possession of certain articles. The
Tartar herdsmen, sitting on the ground among the cattle, amused
themselves,--some by giving piercing melodies on their pipes, others by
playing dice or beating one another with clubs. Crowds of dogs which
had followed their masters barked and howled plaintively.
Skshetuski at length passed this human gehenna, full of groans, tears
of misery, and hellish sounds. He had expected to breathe more freely;
but the moment he was beyond the camp a new and terrible sight struck
his eyes. In the distance was the camp proper, from which came a
continual neighing of horses, and near which thousands of Tartars
swarmed in the field by the side of the road leading to Cherkasi. The
youthful warriors amused themselves with shooting for exercise from
bows at the weaker prisoners, or the sick who were unable to endure the
long road to the Crimea. A number of bodies lay around, thrown on the
road, as full of holes as a sieve; some of them still quivered
convulsively. Those at whom they were shooting hung bound by the hands
to trees near the roadside. Among these were also old women. Shouts
accompanied laughter of approval for good arrow-shots.
"Fine fellows! The bow is in good hands!"
Around the principal camp they were dressing thousands of cattle and
horses for the sustenance of the warriors. The ground was drenched with
blood. The sickening odor of raw flesh stifled the breath in the
breast, and among the piles of meat red Tartars hurried around with
knives in their hands. The day was oppressive, the sun scorching.
Skshetuski with his escort barely reached the open field after an
hour's travelling; but from afar there came for a long time the tumult
and bellowing of cattle from the main camp. Along the road traces of
the passage of plunderers were evident. Here and there were burnt
gardens, chimneys standing alone, young grain trodden under foot, trees
broken, cherry-orchards near the cottages cut down for fuel. On the
high-road lay thickly, in one place, the carcasses of horses; in
another the bodies of men mutilated fearfully, blue, swollen, and above
and over them flocks of crows and ravens, flying with tumult and noise
at the approach of people. The bloody work of Hmelnitski thrust itself
upon the sight everywhere, and it was difficult to understand against
whom the man had raised his hands, since his own country groaned first
of all under the weight of misfortune.
In Mleyeff, Skshetuski met Tartar parties urging on new crowds of
prisoners. Gorodische was burned to the ground. There remained standing
only the stone bell-tower of the church, and the old oak-tree in the
middle of the square, covered with terrible fruit; for upon it were
suspended a number of tens of little Jews, hanged there three days
before. There were killed also many nobles from Konoplanka, Staroselo,
Venjovka, Balaklei, Vodachevo. The town itself was empty; for the men
had gone to Hmelnitski, and the women, children, and old men had fled
to the woods before the expected invasion by the armies of Prince
Yeremi. From Gorodische, Skshetuski went through Smila, Zabotin, and
Novoselyets to Chigirin, stopping only to rest his horse. They entered
the town on the second day in the afternoon. War had spared the place;
only a few houses were wrecked, and among them that of Chaplinski was
razed to the ground. In the town was stationed Colonel Naókolopályets,
and with him a thousand Cossacks; but both he and they and the whole
population lived in the greatest terror, for they all seemed convinced
that the prince might come at any moment and wreak vengeance such as
the world had never heard of. It was unknown who had circulated these
reports, or where they had come from; fear perhaps had created them.
Enough that it was repeated continually that the prince was sailing on
the Sula, that he was already on the Dnieper, had burned Vasyutinets,
and had cut off the people in Borysi, and that every approach of men on
horseback caused boundless panic. Skshetuski caught up these reports
eagerly; for he understood that though false they prevented the
extension of the rebellion beyond the Dnieper, where the hand of the
prince pressed directly.
Skshetuski wished to learn something more certain from Naókolopályets;
but it appeared that the lieutenant-colonel, like others, knew nothing
about the prince, and would have been glad himself to extract some news
from Skshetuski. Since all boats, large and small, had been brought
over to that bank of the river, fugitives from the other shore did not
come to Chigirin.
Skshetuski, without waiting longer in Chigirin, gave orders to be
ferried over, and set out for Rozlogi. The assurance that he would soon
convince himself of what had happened to Helena, and the hope that
perhaps she was safe, or had taken refuge with her aunt and the princes
in Lubni, brought back his strength and health. He left the wagon for
his horse, and urged without sparing his Tartars, who, thinking him an
envoy and themselves attendants given under his command, dared not
oppose him. They flew on therefore as if hunted. Behind them rose
yellow clouds of dust hurled up by the hoofs of the horses. They swept
past farms, gardens, and villages. The country was empty, the
habitations of men depopulated; for a long time they could not find a
living soul. It is likely, too, that every one hid at their approach.
Here and there Skshetuski gave orders to search in orchards and
bee-gardens, grain-mows and the roofs of barns, but they discovered no
man.
Beyond Pogrebi one of the Tartars first espied a certain human form
trying to hide among the rushes which grew on the banks of the
Kagamlik. The Tartars rushed to the river, and a few minutes later
brought before Skshetuski two persons entirely naked. One of them was
an old man; the other a stripling, perhaps fifteen or sixteen years of
age. The teeth of both were chattering with terror, and for a long time
they were unable to utter a word.
"Where are you from?" asked Skshetuski.
"Nowhere, sir!" answered the old man. "We go begging with a lyre, and
this dumb boy leads me."
"Where are you coming from now,--from what village? Speak boldly;
nothing will happen to you."
"We, sir, travelled through all the villages, till some devil stripped
us. We had good boots, he took them; we had good caps, he took them;
good coats from people's charity, he took them, and did not leave the
lyre."
"I ask you, you fool, from what village you come."
"I don't know, sir,--I am an old man. See, we are naked; we are
freezing at night, in the daytime we ask the charity of people to cover
us and feed us; we are hungry!"
"Listen, louts! Answer my question, or I will hang you!"
"I don't know, my lord. If I am this or that, or there will be
anything, let me alone."
It was evident that the old man, unable to decide who his questioner
was, determined not to give any answer.
"Were you in Rozlogi, where the Princes Kurtsevichi live?"
"I don't know, sir."
"Hang him!" cried Skshetuski.
"I was, sir," cried the old man, seeing there was no trifling.
"What did you see there?"
"We were there five days ago, and then in Brovarki; we heard that the
knights had come there."
"What knights?"
"I don't know, sir; one said Poles, another said Cossacks."
"To horse!" shouted Skshetuski to the Tartars.
The party rushed on. The sun was setting precisely as on that day when
the lieutenant, after meeting Helena and the princess on the road, rode
by them at the side of Rozvan's carriage. The Kagamlik shone with
purple, just as it had then; the day went to rest with more quiet, more
warmth and calm. But that time Pan Yan rode on with a breast full of
happiness and awakening feelings of delight; now he rushes on like a
condemned man, driven by a whirlwind of trouble and evil forebodings.
The voice of despair calls from his soul, "Bogun has carried her away,
you will never see her again!" and a voice of hope, "She is safe!" And
these voices so pulled him between them that they almost tore his heart
asunder. He urged the horses to their last strength. One hour followed
another. The moon rose and mounted higher and higher, grew paler and
paler. The horses were covered with foam, and snorted heavily. They
rushed into the forest, it was passed in a flash; they rushed into the
ravine; beyond the ravine was Rozlogi. Another moment, and the fate of
the knight would be settled. The wind whistles into his ears from the
speed, his cap falls from his head, the horse groans under him as if
ready to drop. Another moment, and the ravine opens. At last! at last!
Suddenly an unearthly shriek comes from the breast of Skshetuski. The
house, granaries, stables, barns, picket-fence, and cherry-orchard had
all disappeared. The pale moon shone upon the hill, and on a pile of
black ruins which had ceased to smoke. No sound broke the silence.
Skshetuski stood before the trench speechless; he merely raised his
hands, looked, and shook his head in bewilderment. The Tartars stopped
their horses. He dismounted, sought out the remains of the burned
bridge, passed the trench on the cross-pieces, and sat on the stone
lying in the middle of the yard. Having sat down, he began to look
around like a man who tries to recognize a place in which he finds
himself for the first time. Presence of mind left him. He uttered no
groan. After a while he placed his hands on his knees, dropped his
head, and remained motionless; it might have been supposed that he was
asleep. Indeed, if not asleep, he had become torpid; and through his
brain passed dim visions instead of thoughts. He saw Helena as she
looked when he parted with her before his last journey; but her face
was veiled as it were by mist, therefore her features could not be
distinguished. He wished to bring her out of that misty covering, but
could not, and went away with heavy heart. Then there passed before him
the square at Chigirin, old Zatsvilikhovski, and the impudent face of
Zagloba; that face remained before his eyes with a special persistence,
until at length the gloomy visage of Grodzitski took its place. After
that he saw Kudák again, the Cataracts, the fight at Hortitsa, the
Saitch, the whole journey, and all the events to the last day and hour.
But farther there was darkness! What was happening to him at the
present he saw not. He had only a sort of indefinite feeling that he
was going to Helena, to Rozlogi, but his strength had failed; that he
was resting on ruins. He wanted to rise and go farther, but an
immeasurable weakness bound him to the place, as if a hundred-pound
ball were fastened to his feet.
He sat and sat. The evening was advancing. The Tartars arranged
themselves for the night, made a fire, cooked pieces of horse-flesh,
and having satisfied their hunger, lay down on the ground.
But before an hour had passed they sprang to their feet again. From a
distance came a noise like the sound made by a great number of cavalry
when moving on a hurried march.
The Tartars fastened as quickly as possible a white cloth on a pole,
and renewed the fire vigorously, so that it might be seen from a
distance that they were messengers of peace.
The tramp and snorting of horses, the clatter of sabres, came nearer
and nearer; and soon there appeared on the road a division of cavalry,
which surrounded the Tartars at once.
A short parley followed. The Tartars pointed to a figure sitting on the
rising ground,--which was perfectly visible, for the light of the moon
fell on it,--and said they were escorting an envoy, but from whom he
could tell best himself.
The leader of the division went with some of his companions to the
rising ground, but had scarcely come up and looked into the face of the
sitting man, when he opened his arms and cried,--
"Skshetuski! By the living God, it is Skshetuski!"
The lieutenant did not move.
"But, Lieutenant, don't you know me? I am Bykhovets. What is the matter
with you?"
The lieutenant was silent.
"Rouse yourself, for God's sake! Here, comrade, come to your mind!"
This was really Pan Bykhovets, who was marching in the vanguard of all
Vishnyevetski's forces.
Other regiments came up. News of the discovery of Pan Yan spread like
lightning in the regiments, therefore all hurried to greet their
favorite comrade. Little Volodyovski, the two Sleshinskis, Dzik,
Orpishevski, Migurski, Yakubovich, Lents, Pan Longin Podbipienta, and a
number of other officers ran as fast as they could to the eminence. But
they spoke in vain to him, called him by name, pulled him by the
shoulders, tried to raise him up. Skshetuski looked on them with
wide-open eyes, and recognized no man; or rather, on the contrary,
he seemed to recognize them, but was completely indifferent to
them. Then those who knew of his love for Helena--and indeed all knew
that--remembered what place they were in; looking on the black ruins
and the gray ashes, they understood all.
"He has lost his mind from grief," said one.
"Despair has disturbed his mind."
"Take him to the priest; when he sees him perhaps he will come to
himself."
Pan Longin wrung his hands. All surrounded the lieutenant and looked at
him with sympathy. Some wiped away their tears, others sighed sadly;
till suddenly a lofty figure appeared, and approaching quietly, placed
his hands upon the lieutenant's head. This was the priest, Mukhovetski.
All were silent and knelt down as if waiting for a miracle; but the
priest performed no miracle. Holding his hands on Pan Yan's head, he
raised his eyes to the heavens, which were filled with the light of the
moon, and began to pray aloud.
"'Pater noster, qui es in c[oe]lis! sanctificetur nomen tuum, adveniat
regnum tuum, fiat voluntas tua--'" Here he stopped, and after a while
repeated more loudly and solemnly: "'Fiat voluntas tua!'" A deep
silence reigned. "'Fiat voluntas tua!'" repeated the priest for the
third time.
From the mouth of Skshetuski came a voice of measureless pain, but also
of resignation: "'Sicut in c[oe]lo, et in terra!'" Then the knight
threw himself sobbing on the ground.
[Illustration: "HE RAISED HIS EYES AND BEGAN TO PRAY ALOUD."]
Copyright, 1898, by Little, Brown, and Company.
_From a drawing by J. Wagrez_.