The commissioners sent by the Commonwealth to negotiate with Hmelnitski
forced their way through the greatest difficulties to Novoselki, and
there halted, waiting an answer from the victorious hetman, who was
stopping at that time in Chigirin. They were gloomy and depressed; for
death had threatened them continually during the whole journey, and
difficulties increased at every step. Day and night they were
surrounded by crowds of the populace, made wild to the last degree by
slaughter and war, and who were howling for the death of the
commissioners. From time to time they met bands, commanded by no one,
formed of robbers or wild herdsmen, without the least idea of the laws
of nations, but hungry for blood and plunder. The commissioners had, it
is true, a hundred horse as attendants, led by Pan Bryshovski; besides
this, Hmelnitski himself, foreseeing what might meet them, sent Colonel
Donyéts, with four hundred Cossacks; but that escort might easily prove
inadequate, for the throngs of wild men were increasing in number each
hour, and assuming a more threatening attitude. If one of the convoy or
the attendants separated, even for a moment, from the company, he
perished without a trace. They were like a handful of travellers
surrounded by a pack of hungry wolves; and thus passed for them whole
days, weeks, till at the stopping-place in Novoselki it appeared to all
that their last hour had come. The convoy of dragoons and the escort of
Donyéts, from evening on, fought a regular battle for the life of the
commissioners, who, repeating the prayers for the dying, committed
their souls to God. The Carmelite Lentovski gave them absolution, one
after another, while outside the window with the blowing of the wind
came terrible shouts, the report of shots, hellish laughter, the
clatter of scythes, and shouts of "Death to them!" and demands for the
head of the voevoda Kisel, who was the main object of their rage.
It was an awful night, and long, for it was a winter night. Kisel
rested his head on his hands, and sat motionless for many hours. It was
not death that he feared; for since he left Gushchi he was so
exhausted, tortured, deprived of sleep, that he would have extended his
hands with gladness to death; but endless despair was covering his
soul. He as a Russian in blood and bone first took upon himself the
rôle of pacifier in that unexampled war; he came forth everywhere, in
the Senate and in the Diet, as the most ardent partisan of
negotiations; he supported the policy of the chancellor and the
primate; he condemned most powerfully Yeremi, and he did this in good
faith, for the sake of the Cossacks and the Commonwealth; and he
believed, with all his ardent spirit, that negotiations and compromises
would smooth everything, would pacify, would unite; and just then, in
that moment when he was bringing the baton to Hmelnitski and
concessions to the Cossacks, he doubted all. He saw with his own eyes
the vanity of his efforts; he saw beneath his feet a vacuum and a
precipice.
"Do they want nothing but blood, do they care for no other freedom than
the freedom of plunder and burning?" thought the voevoda in despair,
and he stifled the groans which were tearing asunder his noble breast.
"The head of Kisel, the head of Kisel! Death to him!" was the answer of
the crowds.
And the voevoda would have offered them as a willing gift that white
and battered head, were it not for the remnant of his belief that it
was necessary to give them and all the Cossacks something more,--rescue
was immediately necessary for them and the Commonwealth. Let the future
teach them to ask for the something more. And when he thought thus, a
certain ray of hope and consolation lighted up for a moment that
darkness which despair created in his mind, and the unfortunate old man
said to himself that that mob was not the whole body of Cossacks,--not
Hmelnitski and his colonels,--with whom negotiations would begin.
But can these negotiations be lasting while half a million of peasants
stand under arms? Will they not melt at the first breath of spring,
like the snows which at that moment covered the steppes? Here again
came to the voevoda the words of Yeremi: "Kindness may be shown to the
conquered alone." Here again his thoughts fell into darkness, and the
precipice yawned beneath his feet.
Meantime midnight was passing. The shouting and shots had decreased in
some degree; the whistle of the wind rose in their place, the yard was
filled with a snowdrift; the wearied crowds had evidently begun to
disperse to their houses; hope entered the hearts of the commissioners.
Voitsekh Miaskovski, a chamberlain from Lvoff, rose from the bench,
listened at the window to the drifting of the snow, and said,--
"It seems to me that with God's favor we shall live till morning."
"Perhaps too Hmelnitski will send more assistance, for we shall not
reach our journey's end with what we have now," said Pan Smyarovski.
Pan Zelenski, the cup-bearer from Bratslav, smiled bitterly: "Who would
say that we are peace commissioners?"
"I have been an envoy more than once to the Tartars," said the ensign
of Novgrodek, "but such a mission as this I have not seen in my life.
The Commonwealth endures more contempt in our persons than at Korsún
and Pilavtsi. I say, gentlemen, let us return, for there is no use in
thinking of negotiations."
"Let us return," repeated as an echo Pan Bjozovski, the castellan of
Kieff; "there can be no peace; let there be war!"
Kisel raised his lids and fixed his glassy eyes on the castellan.
"Jóltiya Vodi, Korsún, Pilavtsi!" said he, in hollow tones.
He was silent, and after him all were silent. But Pan Kulchinski, the
treasurer of Kieff, began to repeat the rosary in an audible voice; and
Pan Kjetovski, master of the chase, seized his head with both hands,
and repeated,--
"What times, what times! God have mercy upon us!"
The door opened, and Bryshovski, captain of the dragoons of the bishop
of Poznania, commander of the convoy, entered the room.
"Serene voevoda," said he, "some Cossack wants to see the
commissioners."
"Very well," answered Kisel; "has the crowd dispersed?"
"The people have gone away; they promised to return to-morrow."
"Did they press on much?"
"Terribly, but Donyéts' Cossacks killed a number of them. To-morrow
they promise to burn us."
"Very well, let that Cossack enter."
After a while the door was opened, and a certain tall, black-bearded
figure appeared at the threshold of the room.
"Who are you?" asked Kisel.
"Yan Skshetuski, colonel of hussars of Prince Vishnyevetski, voevoda of
Rus."
The castellan Bjozovski, Pan Kulchinski, and the master of the chase
Pan Kjetovski sprang from their seats. All of them had served the past
year under the prince at Makhnovka and Konstantinoff, and knew
Skshetuski perfectly. Kjetovski was even related to him.
"Is it true, is it true? Is this Pan Skshetuski?" repeated they.
"What are you doing here, and how did you reach us?" asked Kjetovski,
taking him by the shoulder.
"In peasant's disguise, as you see," said Skshetuski.
"This," cried Bjozovski to Kisel, "is the foremost knight in the army
of the voevoda of Rus; he is famous throughout the whole army."
"I greet him with thankful heart," said Kisel, "and I see that he must
be a man of great resolution, since he has forced his way to us." Then
to Skshetuski he said: "What do you wish of us?"
"That you permit me to go with you."
"You are crawling into the jaws of the dragon, but if such is your wish
we cannot oppose it."
Skshetuski bowed in silence.
Kisel looked at him with astonishment. The severe face of the young
knight, with its expression of dignity and suffering, struck him. "Tell
me," said he, "what causes drive you to this hell, to which no one
comes of his own accord?"
"Misfortune, serene voevoda."
"I have made a needless inquiry," said Kisel. "You must have lost some
of your relatives for whom you are looking?"
"I have."
"Was it long since?"
"Last spring."
"How is that, and you start only now on the search? Why, it is nearly a
year! What were you doing in the mean while?"
"I was fighting under the voevoda of Rus."
"Would not such a true man as he give you leave of absence?"
"I did not wish it myself."
Kisel looked again at the young knight, and then followed a silence,
interrupted by the castellan of Kieff.
"The misfortunes of this knight are known to all of us who served with
the prince. We shed more than one tear over them, and it is the more
praiseworthy on his part that he preferred to serve his country while
the war lasted instead of seeking his own good. This is a rare example
in these times of corruption."
"If it shall appear that my word has any weight with Hmelnitski, then
believe me I shall not spare it in your cause," said Kisel.
Skshetuski bowed a second time.
"Go now and sleep," said the voevoda, kindly; "for you must be wearied
in no small degree, like all of us who have not had a moment's rest."
"I will take him to my quarters, for he is my relative," said
Kjetovski.
"Let us all go to rest; who knows whether we shall sleep to-morrow
night?" said Bjozovski.
"Maybe an eternal sleep," concluded the voevoda. Then he went to the
small room, at the door of which his attendant was waiting, and
afterward the others separated.
Kjetovski took Skshetuski to his quarters, which were some houses
distant. His attendant preceded them with a lantern.
"What a dark night, and it howls louder every moment," said Kjetovski.
"Oh, Pan Yan, what a day we have passed! I thought the last judgment
had come. The mob almost put the knife to our throats. Bjozovski's arms
grew weak, and we had already begun prayers for the dying."
"I was in the crowd," said Skshetuski. "To-morrow evening they expect a
new band of robbers to whom they sent word about you. We must leave
here absolutely. But are you going to Kieff?"
"That depends on the answer of Hmelnitski, to whom Prince Chetvertinski
has gone. Here are my quarters; come in, I pray you, Pan Yan! I have
ordered some wine to be heated, and we will strengthen ourselves before
sleep."
They entered the room, in which a big fire was burning in the chimney.
Steaming wine was on the table already. Skshetuski seized a glass
eagerly.
"I've had nothing between my lips since yesterday," said he.
"You are terribly emaciated. It is clear that sorrow and toil have been
gnawing you. But tell me about yourself, for I know of your affair. You
think then of seeking the princess there among them?"
"Either her or death," answered the knight.
"You will more easily find death. How do you know that she may be
there?"
"Because I have looked for her elsewhere."
"Where?"
"Along the Dniester as far as Yagorlik. I went with Armenian merchants,
for there were indications that she was secreted there; I went
everywhere, and now I am going to Kieff, since Bogun was to take her
there."
Scarcely had the colonel mentioned the name of Bogun when the master of
the chase seized himself by the head. "As God lives!" he cried, "I have
not told you the most important of all. I heard that Bogun is killed."
Skshetuski grew pale. "How is that? Who told you?"
"That noble who saved the princess once, and who showed such bravery at
Konstantinoff, told me. I met him when I was going to Zamost. We were
passing on the road. I merely inquired for the news, and he answered me
that Bogun was killed. I asked: 'Who killed him?' 'I,' said he. Then we
parted."
The flame which had flashed in the face of Skshetuski was suddenly
quenched. "That noble!" said he; "it is impossible to believe him. No,
no, he couldn't be in a condition to kill Bogun."
"And didn't you see him, Pan Yan, for I remember too that he told me he
was going to you at Zamost?"
"I did not wait for him at Zamost. He must be now at Zbaraj. I was in a
hurry to overtake the commission. I did not return from Kamenyets to
Zbaraj, and I did not see him. God alone knows whether even that is
true which he told me about her, which he as it were overheard while
captive with Bogun,--that Bogun had hidden her beyond Yampol, and then
intended to take her to Kieff for marriage. Perhaps this too is untrue,
like everything Zagloba said."
"Why do you go then to Kieff?"
Skshetuski was silent; for a moment nothing was heard but the whistling
and howling of the wind.
"For," said Kjetovski, placing his finger on his forehead, "if Bogun is
not killed, you may fall into his hands with ease."
"I go to find him," answered Skshetuski, in a hollow voice.
"Why?"
"Let God's judgment be passed between us."
"But he will not fight with you; he will simply bind you, take your
life, or sell you to the Tartars."
"I am with the commissioners, in their suite."
"God grant that we bring our own lives out of this! What is the use of
talking of the suite?"
"To whom life is heavy, the earth will be light."
"But have the fear of God before you, Yan! It is not a question here of
death, for that avoids no man, but they can sell you to the Turkish
galleys."
"Do you think that would be worse for me than the present?"
"I see that you are desperate, and trust not in the mercy of God."
"You are mistaken! I say that it is evil for me in the world, because
it is; but long ago I was reconciled to the will of God. I do not beg,
I do not groan, I do not curse. I do not beat my head against the wall;
I merely desire to accomplish that which pertains to me while strength
and life remain."
"But grief is devouring you like poison."
"God gave grief to devour, and he will send the cure when he wishes."
"I have no answer to such an argument," said Kjetovski. "In God is the
only salvation; in him hope for us and the whole Commonwealth. The king
went to Chenstokhova. He may obtain something from the Most Holy Lady;
otherwise we shall all perish."
Silence followed, and from outside the window came only the constant
"Who's there?" of the dragoons.
"True, true," said Kjetovski. "We all belong more to the dead than the
living. People have forgotten to smile in this Commonwealth; they only
groan like that wind in the chimney. I too have believed that happier
times would come, till I went on this journey with others; but now I
see that that was a barren hope. Ruin, war, hunger, murder, and nothing
more,--nothing more."
Skshetuski was silent; the blaze of the fire lighted his stern,
emaciated face. Finally he raised his head and said with a voice of
dignity,--
"That is all temporal, which passes away, vanishes, and leaves nothing
behind."
"You speak like a monk," said Kjetovski.
Skshetuski made no answer; the wind only groaned each moment move sadly
in the chimney.