Pan Yan rode at the head of the prince's squadrons, but to Zbaraj
instead of Tarnopol, for a new order had come to march to the latter
place; and on the road he told his faithful attendant his own
adventures,--how he had been taken in captivity at the Saitch, how long
he had remained there, and how much he had suffered before Hmelnitski
had liberated him. They advanced slowly; for though they had no trains
or baggage, their road lay through a country which was so ruined that
the greatest exertions were necessary to obtain provisions for men and
horses. In places they met crowds of famished people, especially women
and children, who implored God for death or Tartar captivity; for then,
though in bonds, they would be fed. And still it was harvest time in
that rich land flowing with milk and honey; but the parties of Krívonos
had destroyed everything that could be destroyed, and the remnant of
the inhabitants fed themselves on the bark of the trees. Near Yampol
they first entered a country which was not so much injured by war, and
having had more rest and provisions in plenty, they went with hurried
march to Zbaraj, where they arrived in five days after leaving
Sukhojintsi.
There was a great concourse in Zbaraj. Prince Yeremi was there with his
whole army, and besides him no small number of soldiers and nobles had
come. War hung in the air, nothing else was mentioned; the town and
neighborhood were swarming with armed men. The peace party in Warsaw,
maintained in its hopes by Pan Kisel, the voevoda of Bratslav, had not
given up, it is true, negotiations, and continued to believe that it
would be possible to allay the storm with them; still they understood
that negotiations could have results only when there was a powerful
army to support them. The Diet of convocation was held therefore amidst
the threatenings and thunderings of war such as usually precede an
outbreak. The general militia was called out, and enlisted soldiers
were concentrated; and though the chancellor and commanders still
believed in peace, the war feeling was predominant in the minds of the
nobles. The victories won by Prince Yeremi fired the imagination. The
minds of men were burning with a desire for vengeance on the peasants,
and a desire to pay back for Jóltiya Vodi and Korsún, for the blood of
so many thousands who had died martyrs' deaths, for the disgrace and
humiliation. The name of the terrible prince was bright with the
sunlight of glory,--it was on every lip, in every heart; and together
with that name was heard, from the shores of the Baltic to the
Wilderness, the ominous word "War!"
War! War! Signs in the heavens announced it also, the excited faces of
the populace, the glittering of swords, the nightly howling of dogs
before the cottages, and the neighing of horses, catching the odor of
blood. War! Escutcheoned men through all the lands and districts and
houses and villages drew out their old armor and swords from the
storehouses. The youths sang songs about Yeremi; the women prayed
before altars; and armored men were marching to the field in Prussia
and Livonia as well as in Great Poland and populous Mazovia, and away
to God's own Carpathian peaks, and the dark pine forests of Beskid.
War lay in the nature of things. The plundering movement of the
Zaporojie and the popular uprising of the Ukraine mob demanded some
higher watchwords than slaughter and robbery, than a struggle against
serfdom and the land-grabbing of magnates. Hmelnitski knew this well,
and taking advantage of the slumbering irritation from mutual abuses
and oppressions, of which there was never a lack in those harsh times,
he changed a social into a religious struggle, kindled popular
fanaticism, and dug in the very beginning between the two camps an
abyss which could be filled neither with parchments nor negotiations,
but only with blood.
Wishing for negotiations from his soul, he wished them only to secure
his own power; but afterward--what was to be afterward the Zaporojian
hetman did not think; he did not look into the future and had no care
for it. He did not know, however, that that abyss which he had created
was so great that no negotiations could fill it, at least in such a
time as he, Hmelnitski, could demand. The quick politician did not
guess that he would not be able to enjoy in peace the bloody fruits of
his life; and still it was easy to understand that when the armed
legions should stand before each other, the parchment for the
inscription of treaties would be the field, and the pens, swords and
lances.
Events tended, by the force of things, toward war; and even ordinary
people, led by instinct alone, felt that it could not be otherwise; and
throughout the whole Commonwealth the eyes of men were turned more and
more to Yeremi, who from the beginning had proclaimed a war of life and
death. In the shadow of his gigantic figure the chancellor, the voevoda
of Bratslav, and the commanders were more and more effaced, and among
them the powerful Prince Dominik, formal commander-in-chief. Their
importance drooped, and obedience to their government decreased. The
army and the nobles were ordered to march to Lvoff and then to
Gliniani, which they did accordingly in larger and larger divisions.
The regular troops assembled, and after them men of the nearest
provinces; but immediately fresh events began to threaten the authority
of the Commonwealth. Now not only the less disciplined squadrons of the
militia, not only the private troops, but the regular soldiers when at
the place of muster refused obedience to the commanders, and in
defiance of orders marched to Zbaraj to place themselves under the
command of Yeremi. This was done first by the nobles of Kieff and
Bratslav, who had previously served in large part under Yeremi. They
were followed by the nobles of Rus and Lubelsk, and these by the troops
of the Crown, and it was not difficult to understand that all would
follow in their steps.
Yeremi, who had been slighted, neglected by design, was becoming, by
the force of things, the hetman and supreme leader of all the power of
the Commonwealth. The nobles and the army, devoted to him soul and
body, waited only for his nod. Authority, war, peace, the future of the
Commonwealth, rested in his hands. Each day he grew, for each day new
squadrons marched to him, and he was becoming so gigantic that his
shadow began to fall not only on the chancellor and the commanders, but
on the Senate, on Warsaw, and the whole Commonwealth.
In circles hostile to him, those of the chancellor at Warsaw and in the
camp of the commander-in-chief, in the suite of Prince Dominik, and
around the voevoda of Bratslav, they began to mutter against his
measureless ambition and pride; the affair of Gadyach was mentioned,
when the insolent prince came with four thousand men to Warsaw, and
entering the Senate, was ready to hew down all, not excepting the king
himself.
"What might not be expected from such a man, and what must he be now
after that Xenophontine return from the Trans-Dnieper, after all those
military advantages and victories which had given him such an immense
reputation? To what unendurable haughtiness must that favor of the
soldiers and the nobles raise him? Who will stand against him to-day?
What will become of the Commonwealth in which one citizen rises to such
power that he can trample upon the will of the Senate, and snatch away
their authority from the leaders appointed by the Commonwealth? Does he
intend really to decorate Prince Karl with the crown? He is Marius, it
is true; but God grant that he become not a Coriolanus or a Catiline,
for he is equal to both in ambition and pride."
Thus did they speak in Warsaw and in military circles, especially in
the suite of Prince Dominik, the rivalry between whom and Yeremi had
caused no little damage to the Commonwealth. But that Marius was
sitting that moment at Zbaraj, gloomy, unconsulted. Recent victories
gave no light to his countenance. Whenever some new squadron of
regulars or district militia appeared at Zbaraj he went out to see it,
determined its value at a glance, and immediately fell into musing.
Soldiers gathered around him with shouts, fell on their knees before
him, crying: "Hail, invincible chief, Slavonic Hercules! We will stand
by thee to the death." But he answered: "My respects to you, gentlemen!
We are all soldiers of Christ, and I am too insignificant in rank to be
the steward of your blood;" and he returned to his quarters, fled from
men, struggled in solitude with his thoughts. In this way whole days
passed.
Meanwhile the town was in a tumult with swarm after swarm of new
troops. The militia drank from morning till night; walking along the
streets, they raised quarrels and disputes with officers of foreign
levy. The regular soldiers, feeling also the reins of discipline
relaxed, indulged in eating, drinking, and play. Every day there were
new guests; consequently new feasts and amusements with the young women
of Zbaraj. The troops crammed every street, were stationed too in the
neighboring villages; and what a variety of horses, arms, uniforms,
plumes, chain armor, and steel caps,--uniforms of various provinces! It
seemed like a general carnival to which half the Commonwealth had come.
At one moment dashes in a carriage of some magnate, gilt or purple,
drawn by six or eight plumed horses; ahead of it outriders in Hungarian
or German liveries; attending it household janissaries, Cossacks or
Tartars. At another some legionaries appear glittering in velvet or
satin without armor, and thrust apart the crowds with their Anatolian
or Persian steeds. The plumes of their caps and brooches at their necks
are glittering with brilliants and rubies, but all make way for them in
sign of respect. Here before a balcony stands an officer of the country
infantry, with fresh, bright collar, a long staff in his hand, pride in
his face, a village heart in his breast; farther on glitter the rising
helmets of the dragoons, the caps of the German infantry, lynx-skin
caps of the militia; servants on errands squirm about as if in hot
water. Here and there the streets are packed with wagons; in one place
the wagons enter, squeaking mercilessly; every place is full of shouts,
and cries of "Out of the road!"--curses of servants, disputes, fights,
neighing of horses. The narrower streets are packed to such a degree
with hay and straw that it is impossible to squeeze through.
Amidst this multitude of bright uniforms glittering with all the colors
of the rainbow, amidst velvet and cloths and shining satin glittering
with brilliants, how strangely appear the regiments of the prince,
haggard, tattered, emaciated, with rusty armor, faded and torn
uniforms! Soldiers of the best regiments looked like wandering
minstrels, worse than the attendants from other commands; but all bow
before these rags, before this rust and shabbiness, for they are the
banners of heroes. War is a cruel mother; like Saturn, she devours her
own children, and whom she does not devour, she gnaws as a dog gnaws
bones. Those faded uniforms signify stormy nights, marches amidst the
rage of the elements or the burning of the sun; that rust on the steel
means the unwiped blood of the man himself, of the enemy, or both
together. So the Vishnyevetski men had the first place everywhere. They
were the story-tellers in the taverns and the quarters, and others were
listeners. Sometimes a spasm would seize one of the listeners, and
striking his hands on his hips, he would say, "May the bullets strike
you, for you are devils, not men!" But they would answer, "Not ours the
merit, but the leader's, whose like the round of the earth has not
shown to this day." All feasts therefore ended in shouts: "Vivat
Yeremi! Vivat the prince voevoda, the leader of leaders, the hetman of
hetmans!"
The nobles, after they had drunk awhile, would rush out on the streets
and fire guns and muskets. The prince's men warned them that their
freedom was but for a time,--that a moment would come when the prince
would take them in hand and enforce discipline such as they had never
heard of. They took advantage of the opportunity all the more. "Let us
rejoice while we are free," they cried. "When the time for obedience
comes we will listen, for we have some one to obey who is not _baby_
nor _Latin_ nor _feather-bed_." And the unfortunate Prince Dominik
always came out worst, for the soldiers' tongues ground him to bran.
They said that he prayed whole days, and in the evening hung to the
handle of a mug, spat on his stomach, and with one eye open inquired,
"What is that?" They said also that he took "jalap" at night, and that
he saw as many battles as there were depicted on his carpet by Dutch
art. No one defended him any longer, and no one pitied him; and those
who were in open opposition to military discipline attacked him most
savagely.
But all were surpassed by Zagloba, with his satire and ridicule. He had
already recovered from the pain in his back, and was now in his
element. How much he ate and drank it is vain to describe, for the
thing passes human belief. Crowds of nobles followed and surrounded him
continually, and he related, talked, and bantered with those who
entertained him; he looked down, as an old soldier, on those who were
going to war, and said to them, with all the pride of experience,--
"Gentlemen, you know as much about the hardships of war as a nun does
of marriage. You have fresh clothes, and perfumed, the odor of which,
though pleasant, I shall try in the first battle to keep on the lee
side of me. The man who has not snuffed military garlic does not know
how it draws tears. No one will bring you, gentlemen, your mug of hot
beer of a morning, or your wine punch. The stomach will fall away from
you, and you will shrink up like a pancake in the sun. Believe me,
experience is the foundation of everything. I have been in many
straits, and have captured more than one flag; but I must tell you,
gentlemen, that none came to me with such difficulty as that at
Konstantinoff. The devil take those Zaporojians! Seven sweats, I tell
you, gentlemen, came out of me before I seized the flag-staff. You may
ask Pan Yan, who killed Burdabut; he saw it with his own eyes, and
admired the deed. But now all you have to do is to shout in the ear of
any Cossack 'Zagloba!' and you will see what he will tell you. But why
do I talk to you, who only know how to kill flies on the walls with the
palms of your hands?"
"But how was it,--how?" asked a crowd of young men.
"Well, gentlemen, do you want my tongue to get red-hot with turning in
my mouth, like an axle in a wagon?"
"Then you must pour wine around it," said the nobles.
"We might do that," answered Zagloba; and glad to find grateful
listeners, he told them all, from the journey to Galáts and the flight
from Rozlogi, to the capture of the banner at Konstantinoff. They
listened with open mouths. Sometimes they murmured when, glorifying his
own bravery, he presumed too much on their lack of experience; but he
was invited and entertained each day in a new place.
The time was passed, then, in pleasure and tumult at Zbaraj, till old
Zatsvilikhovski and others of a more serious turn wondered that the
prince suffered these feasts so long. But Yeremi remained in his own
quarters. It was evident that he gave rein to the soldiers, so that all
might taste every enjoyment before new conflicts. Skshetuski arrived
now, and dropped as it were at once into a whirlpool of boiling water.
He wanted rest in the circle of his companions; but still more did he
wish to visit Bar,--to go to his loved one, and forget all his past
troubles, all his fears and sufferings, in her embrace. He appeared
before the prince therefore without delay, to report on his expedition
to Zaslav and obtain leave of absence.
He found the prince changed beyond recognition, so that he was
astonished at his appearance, and asked in his mind: "Is this the chief
whom I saw at Makhnovka and Konstantinoff?" For there stood before him
a man bent with the burden of care, with sunken eyes and shrivelled
lips, as if suffering from a grievous internal disease. When asked for
his health he answered briefly and dryly that he was well, so the
knight did not dare inquire further. Having made his report, he began
immediately to ask for two months' absence from the squadron, that he
might marry and take his wife to Skshetushevo.
On hearing this the prince woke as it were from sleep. The expression
of kindness habitual to him reappeared on his gloomy face, and
embracing Pan Yan, he said,--
"This is the end of your suffering. Go, go! May God bless you! I should
like to be at your wedding myself, for I owe that to Kurtsevichovna, as
the daughter of Vassily, and to you as a friend; but at this time it is
impossible for me to move. When do you wish to start?"
"To-day, if I could, your Highness."
"Then set out to-morrow. You cannot go alone. I will give you three
hundred of Vershul's Tartars to bring her home in safety. You will go
quickest with them, and you will need them, for bands of ruffians are
wandering about. I will give you a letter to Andrei Pototski; but
before I write to him, before the Tartars come, and before you are
ready, it will be to-morrow evening."
"As your Highness commands. I make bold to request further that
Volodyovski and Podbipienta go with me."
"Very well. Come again to-morrow morning for my farewell and a
blessing. I should like also to send your princess a present. She is of
a noted family. You will both be happy, because you are worthy of each
other."
The knight knelt and embraced the knees of his beloved chief, who
repeated several times,--
"God make you happy! God make you happy! But come again to-morrow
morning."
Still the knight did not go; he lingered as if wishing to ask for
something else. At last he broke out: "Your Highness!"
"And what more do you say?" asked the prince, mildly.
"Pardon my boldness, but--my heart is cut, and from sorrow comes great
boldness. What affects your Highness? Does trouble weigh you down, or
is it disease?"
The prince put his hand on Skshetuski's head. "You cannot know this,"
said he, with sweetness in his voice. "Come to-morrow morning."
Skshetuski rose and went out with a straitened heart.
In the evening old Zatsvilikhovski came to Skshetuski's quarters, and
with him little Volodyovski, Pan Longin, and Zagloba. They took their
seats at the table, and Jendzian came into the room bearing a keg and
glasses.
"In the name of Father and Son!" cried Zagloba. "I see that your man
has risen from the dead."
Jendzian approached, and embraced Zagloba's knees. "I have not risen
from the dead, for I did not die, thanks to you for saving me."
Then Skshetuski added: "And afterward he was in Bogun's service."
"Oh, that fellow would find promotion in hell," said Zagloba. Then,
turning to Jendzian, he said: "You couldn't have found much joy in that
service; here is a thaler for pleasure."
"Thank you humbly," said Jendzian.
"He," cried Pan Yan, "is a perfect rogue. He bought plunder of the
Cossacks. You and I couldn't purchase what he has now, even if you were
to sell all your estates in Turkey."
"Is that true?" asked Zagloba. "Keep my thaler for yourself, and grow
up, precious sapling; for if you'll not serve for a crucifix, you will
serve at least for a gallows-tree. The fellow has a good eye." Here
Zagloba caught Jendzian by the ear, and pulling it, continued: "I like
rogues, and I prophesy that you will come out a man, if you don't
remain a beast. And how does your master Bogun speak of you, hi?"
Jendzian smiled, for the words and caress flattered him, and answered:
"Oh, my master, when he speaks of you, he strikes fire with his teeth."
"Oh, go to the devil!" cried Zagloba, in sudden anger. "What are you
raving about?"
Jendzian went out. They began to discuss the journey of the morrow, and
the great happiness which was awaiting Pan Yan. Mead soon improved
Zagloba's humor; he began to talk to Skshetuski, and hint of
christenings, and again of the passion of Pan Andrei Pototski for the
princess. Pan Longin sighed. They drank, and were glad with their whole
souls. Finally the conversation touched upon military events and the
prince. Skshetuski, who had not been in the camp for many days,
asked,--
"Tell me, gentlemen, what has happened to our prince? He is somehow
another man; I cannot understand it. God has given him victory after
victory. They passed him by in the command. What of that? The whole
army is rushing to him now, so that he will be hetman without any one's
favor, and will destroy Hmelnitski; but it is evident that he suffers,
and suffers from something--"
"Perhaps the gout is taking hold of him," said Zagloba, "Sometimes when
it gets a pull at me in the great toe, I am despondent for three days
at a time."
"I tell you, brothers," said Podbipienta, nodding his head, "I haven't
heard this myself from the priest Mukhovetski, but I heard that he told
some one why the prince is so tormented--I do not say this myself; he
is a kindly man, good, and a great warrior,--why should I judge him?
But since the priest says so--but do I know that it is so?"
"Just look, gentlemen, at this Lithuanian!" cried Zagloba. "Am I not
right in making fun of him, since he doesn't know human speech? What
did you wish to say? You circle round and round, like a rabbit about
her nest, but cannot come to a point."
"What did you really hear?" asked Skshetuski.
"Well, since for that--they say that the prince has shed too much
blood. He is a great leader, but knows no measure in punishment, and
now sees, it seems, everything red,--red in the daytime, red at night,
as if a red cloud were surrounding him--"
"Don't talk nonsense!" shouted Zatsvilikhovski, with rage. "Those are
old wives' tales. There was no better master for the rabble in time of
peace; and as to his knowing no mercy for rebels,--well, what of that?
That is a merit, not an offence. What torments, what punishments, would
be too great for those who have deluged the country in blood, who have
given their own people captive to Tartars, who know neither God, king,
country, nor authorities? Where will you show me such monsters as they,
where such cruelties as they have perpetrated on women and little
children? Where can you find such criminal wretches? For them the
empaling stake and the gallows are too much. Tfu, tfu! You have an iron
hand, but a woman's heart. I saw how you whined, when they were burning
Pulyan, that you would rather have killed him on the spot. But the
prince is no old woman; he knows how to reward and how to punish. What
is the use of telling me such nonsense?"
"But I have said, father, that I don't know," explained Pan Longin.
The old man puffed for a long time yet, and smoothing his milk-white
hair, muttered: "Red, h'm! red,--that's news. In the head of him who
invented that it is green, and not red!"
A moment of silence followed, but through the windows came the uproar
of the revelling nobles. Little Volodyovski broke the silence reigning
in the room.
"Well, father, what do you think can be the matter with our prince?"
"H'm!" said the old man, "I am not his confidant, therefore I do not
know. He is thinking of something, he is struggling with himself,--a
hot battle of some kind,--it cannot be otherwise; and the greater the
soul, the fiercer the torture."
The old knight was not mistaken; for in that same hour the prince, the
leader, the conqueror, lay in the dust in his own quarters, before the
crucifix, and was fighting one of the most desperate battles of his
life.
The guards at the castle of Zbaraj called out midnight, but Yeremi was
still conversing with God and with his own lofty soul. Reason,
conscience, love of country, pride, perception of his own power and
great destiny, were turned into combatants within his breast, and
fought a stubborn battle with one another, from which his breast was
bursting, his head was bursting, and pain contorted all his limbs. Now,
in spite of the primate, the chancellor, the senate, the generals,
against the will of the government, the regular soldiers, the nobles,
the foreign troops in private service, were going over to that
conqueror,--in one word, the whole Commonwealth was placing itself in
his hands, taking refuge under his wings, committing its fortune to his
genius, and in the person of its choicest sons was crying: "Save, for
you alone can save!" In one month or in two there will be at Zbaraj one
hundred thousand warriors, ready for a struggle to the death with the
serpent of civil war. Here pictures of a future surrounded with light
immeasurable, of glory and power, began to pass before the eyes of the
prince. Those who wished to pass him by and subdue him are trembling,
and he takes those iron legions and leads them into the steppes of the
Ukraine, to victories and triumphs such as history has not yet known.
The prince feels in himself corresponding power, and from his shoulders
wings shoot forth like the wings of the archangel Michael. And at that
moment he turns into such a giant that the whole castle, all Zbaraj,
all Russia, cannot contain him. As God lives, he will rub out
Hmelnitski, he will trample the rebellion, he will bring back peace to
the fatherland! He sees extended plains, legions of troops; he hears
the roar of artillery. A battle! a battle! Victory unheard of,
unparalleled! Legions of bodies, hundreds of banners, cover the
blood-stained steppe, and he tramples on the body of Hmelnitski, and
the trumpets sound victory, and that sound flies from sea to sea. The
prince rises, rushes up, extends his hands to Christ, around whose head
is a mild purple light. "Oh, Christ, Christ!" he cries, "thou knowest,
thou seest that I can; tell me that I should do this."
But Christ hung his head on his breast, and was as silent, as sorrowful
as if he had been crucified the moment before.
"To thee be the praise!" cried the prince. "Non mihi, non mihi, sed
nomini tuo da gloriam! To the glory of the faith of the Church and of
all Christianity! Oh, Christ, Christ!" And a new image opened before
the eyes of the hero. That career was not ended by the victory over
Hmelnitski. The prince, having destroyed the rebellion, grows strong on
its body. He becomes gigantic in power. Legions of Cossacks are joined
to legions of Poles, and he goes farther,--strikes the Crimea, reaches
the terrible dragon in his den; he erects the cross where hitherto
bells had never called the faithful to prayer. He will go also to those
lands which the princes Vishnyevetski have already trampled with the
hoofs of their horses, and will extend the boundaries of the
Commonwealth, and with them the Church, to the remotest corners of the
earth. Where then is the limit to this impetus, where the bounds to
this glory, power, and strength? There are none whatever.
The pale light of the moon falls into the chamber of the castle, but
the clock beats a late hour, and the cocks are crowing. It will soon be
day; but will it be a day in which with the sun in heaven a new sun
will shine upon earth?
Yes, it will. The prince would be a child and not a man if he did not
do this, if for any reasons whatever he drew back before the voice of
these destinies. Now he feels a certain calm, which the merciful Christ
had evidently poured on him,--praise to him for that! His mind has
become more sober; he takes in more easily too with the eyes of his
soul the condition of the country and all its affairs. The policy of
the chancellor and those magnates in Warsaw, as well as of the voevoda
of Bratslav, is evil, and destructive for the country. To trample the
Zaporojie first, and squeeze an ocean of blood out of it, break it,
annihilate it, bend, and conquer, and then only acknowledge that
everything is finished; to restrain all oppression; to introduce order,
peace; being able to kill, to restore to life,--that was the only path
worthy of that great, that lordly Commonwealth. It might have been
possible perhaps to choose another path long before, but not now. What
in truth could negotiations lead to then? Armed legionaries stand
against one another in thousands; and even if negotiations were
concluded, what power could they have! No, no! those are dream visions,
shadows, a war extended over whole ages, a sea of tears and blood for
the future. Let them take the only course which is great, noble, full
of power, and he will wish and ask for nothing more. He will settle
again in Lubni, and will wait quietly till the terrible trumpets call
him to action again.
Let them take it? But who? The Senate? The stormy Diet? The chancellor,
the primate, or the commanders? Who, besides him, understands this
great idea, and who can carry it out? If such a man can be found, it is
well. But where is he? Who has the power? He alone,--no one else. To
him the nobles come; to him the armies gather; in his hand is the sword
of the Commonwealth,--but the Commonwealth when the king is on the
throne. But now when there is no king the will of the people rules. It
is the supreme law, expressed not only in the Diets, not only through
deputies, the Senate, and chancellors, not only through written laws
and manifestoes; but still more powerfully, more emphatically, more
definitely, by action. And who rules in action? The knightly estate;
and this knightly estate is assembling at Zbaraj, and says to him, "You
are the leader." The whole Commonwealth without voting gives him
authority by the power of events, and repeats, "You are the leader." And
should he draw back? What appointment does he wish besides? From whom
is he to expect it? Is it from those who are endeavoring to ruin the
Commonwealth and to conquer him? Why should he, why should he? Is it
because when panic seized upon all, when the hetmans went into
captivity, and the armies were lost, magnates hid themselves in their
castles, and the Cossack put the foot on the breast of the
Commonwealth, he alone pushed away that foot and raised from the dust
the fainting head of that mother; sacrificed for her everything,--life,
fortune; saved her from shame, from death,--he the conqueror!
Let him who has rendered more service, take the power. Let it rest in
the hands of the man to whom it belongs more of right. He will resign
that burden willingly, and say to God and the Commonwealth, "Let thy
servant depart in peace;" for he is wearied, greatly weakened, and
besides he is sure that neither the memory of him nor his grave will
disappear.
But if there is no such person, he would be doubly and trebly a child
and not a man if he should resign that power, that bright path, that
brilliant, immense future, in which lies the salvation of the
Commonwealth, its power, glory, and happiness. And why should he?
The prince raised his head again proudly, and his flaming glance fell
on Christ; but Christ hung his head on his breast, and remained in
silence as painful as if they had crucified him the moment before.
Why should he? The hero pressed his heated temples with his hands.
Maybe there is an answer. What is the meaning of those voices which
amidst the golden rainbow visions of glory, amidst the thunder of
coming victories, amidst the forebodings of grandeur, of power, call
out so mercilessly to his soul, "Oh, halt, unfortunate one!" What means
that unrest which goes through his breast like the shudder of alarm?
What means it that when he shows himself most clearly and convincingly
that he ought to take the power, something there in the depths of his
conscience whispers, "You deceive yourself; pride misleads you; Satan
promises you the glories of the kingdom"?
And again a fearful struggle began in the soul of the prince; again he
was carried away by a whirlwind of alarms, uncertainty, and doubts.
What are the nobles doing who join him instead of the commanders?
Trampling on law. What is the army doing? Violating discipline. And is
he, a citizen, is he, a soldier, to stand at the head of lawlessness?
Is he to cover it with his own dignity? Is he to give an example of
insubordination, arbitrariness, disregard of law, and all merely to
receive power two months earlier; for if Prince Karl shall be elected
to the throne, power will not pass him by? Is he to give such a fearful
example to succeeding ages? For what will happen? To-day Prince Yeremi
acts in this way; to-morrow, Konyetspolski, Pototski Firlei, Zamoyski,
or Lyubomirski. And if each one, without reference to law and
discipline, acts according to his own ambition; if the children follow
the example of their fathers and grandfathers,--what future is
before that unhappy country? The worms of arbitrariness, disorder,
self-seeking have so gnawed the trunk of that Commonwealth, that under
the axe of civil war the rotten wood is scattered, the dry limbs fall
from the tree. What will happen when those whose duty it is to guard
and save it as the apple of the eye put fire under it? What will happen
then? Oh, Jesus, Jesus! Hmelnitski too shields himself with the public
good, and does nothing else; still he rises up against law and
authority.
A shudder passed through the prince from his feet to his head. He wrung
his hands. "Am I to be another Hmelnitski, O Christ?"
But Christ hung his head on his breast, and was as painfully silent as
if crucified the moment before.
The prince struggled on. If he should assume power, and the chancellor,
the Senate, and the commanders should proclaim him a rebel, then what
would happen? Another civil war? And then the question. Is Hmelnitski
the greatest and most terrible enemy of the Commonwealth? More than
once she has been invaded by still greater powers. When two hundred
thousand armored Germans marched at Grünwald on the regiments of
Yagello, and when at Khotím half Asia appeared in the fight,
destruction seemed still nearer. And what had become of these hostile
powers? No; the Commonwealth is not in danger from wars, and wars will
not be her destruction. But why, in view of such victories, of such
reserved power, of such glory, is she, who crushed the knights of the
cross and the Turks, so weak and incompetent that she is on her knees
before one Cossack, that her neighbors are seizing her boundaries, that
nations are ridiculing her, that no one listens to her voice, or
regards her anger, and that all are looking forward to her destruction?
Ah! it is specifically the pride and ambition of magnates, each one
acting by himself; self-will is the cause of it. The worst enemy
is not Hmelnitski, but internal disorder, waywardness of the nobles,
weakness and insubordination of the army, uproar of the Diets,
brawls, disputes, confusion, weakness, self-seeking, and
insubordination,--insubordination, above all. The tree is rotting and
weakening from the heart. Soon will men see how the first storm will
throw it; but he is a parricide who puts his hand to such work. Cursed
be he and his children to the tenth generation!
Go then, O conqueror of Nyemiroff, Pogrébische, Makhnovka,
Konstantinoff,--go, prince voevoda,--go, snatch command from leaders,
trample upon law and authority, give an example to posterity how to
rend the entrails of the mother!
Terror, despair, and fright were reflected in the face of the prince.
He screamed terribly, and seizing himself by the hair, fell in the dust
before the crucifix. The prince repented, and beat his worthy head on
the stone pavement, and from his breast struggled forth the dull
voice,--
"O God, be merciful to me a sinner! O God, be merciful to me a sinner!
God, be merciful to me a sinner!"
The rosy dawn was already in the sky, and then came the golden sun and
lighted the hall. In the cornices the chattering of sparrows and
swallows began. The prince rose and went to rouse his attendant
Jelenski, who was sleeping on the other side of the door.
"Run," said he, "to the orderlies, and tell them to summon to me from
the castle and the town the colonels of the regular army and of the
militia."
Two hours later the hall began to be filled with the mustached and
bearded forms of warriors. Of the prince's people there came old
Zatsvilikhovski, Polyanovski, Pan Yan with Zagloba, Vurtsel, Maknitski,
Volodyovski, Vershul, Ponyatovski, almost all the officers to the
ensigns, except Kushel, who was in Podolia on a reconnoissance. From
the regular army came Osinski and Koritski. Many of the more
distinguished nobles were unable to rise from their feather-beds so
early; but no small number, even of these, were assembled,--among them
personages of various provinces, from castellans to sub-chamberlains.
Murmurs and conversation resounded, and there was a noise as in a hive;
but all eyes were turned to the door through which the prince was to
come.
All grew silent as the prince entered. His face was calm and pleasant;
only his eyes reddened by sleeplessness, and his pinched features
testified of the recent struggle. But through that calm and even
sweetness appeared dignity and unbending will.
"Gentlemen," said he, "last night I communed with God and my own
conscience as to what I should do. I announce therefore to you, and do
you announce to all the knightly order, that for the sake of the
country and that harmony needful in time of defeat, I put myself under
the commanders."
A dull silence reigned in the assembly.
In the afternoon of that day, in the court of the castle three hundred
of Vershul's Tartars stood ready to journey with Pan Yan; and in the
castle the prince was giving to the officers of the army a dinner which
at the same time was a farewell feast to our knight. He was seated
therefore by the prince as "the bridegroom;" and next to him sat
Zagloba, for it was known that his daring and management had saved "the
bride" from mortal peril. The prince was in good spirits, for he had
cast the burden from his heart. He raised the goblet to the success of
the future couple. The walls and windows trembled from the shouts of
those present. In the anteroom was a bustle of servants, among whom
Jendzian had the lead.
"Gentlemen," said the prince, "let this third goblet be for posterity.
It's a splendid stock. God grant that the apples may not fall far from
the tree! From this falcon may noble falconets spring!"
"Success to them! success to them!"
"In thanks!" cried Pan Yan, emptying an enormous goblet of Malmoisie.
"Success to them! success to them!"
"Crescite et multiplicamini!"
"You ought to furnish half a squadron," said old Zatsvilikhovski,
laughing.
"Oh, he will fill the army entirely! I know him," said Zagloba.
The nobles roared with laughter. Wine rose to their heads. Everywhere
were to be seen flushed faces, moving mustaches; and the good feeling
was increasing every moment.
Just then at the threshold of the hall appeared a gloomy figure,
covered with dust; and in view of the table, the feast, and the
gleaming faces, it stopped at the door as if hesitating to enter. The
prince saw it first, wrinkled his brows, shaded his eyes, and said,--
"But who is there? Ah, that is Kushel! From the expedition. What news
do you bring?"
"Very bad, your Highness!" said the young officer, with a strange
voice.
Suddenly silence reigned in the assembly, as if some one had put it
under a spell. The goblets raised to the lips remained half-way; all
eyes were turned to Kushel, on whose wearied face pain was depicted.
"It would have been better had you not spoken, since I am joyful at the
cup," said the prince; "but since you have begun, speak to the end."
"Your Highness, I too should prefer not to be an owl, for these tidings
halt on my lips."
"What has happened? Speak!"
"Bar is taken!"