In the drawing-room of the Court at Toporoff sat three magnates one
evening in secret consultation. A number of bright lights were burning
on a table covered with maps of the surrounding country; near them lay
a tall cap with a dark plume, a field-glass, and a sword with hilt set
in pearls, on which was thrown a handkerchief embroidered with a crown,
and a pair of elk-skin gloves. Near the table, in a high-armed chair,
sat a man about forty years of age, rather small and slender, but
powerfully built. He had a swarthy, sallow, wearied face, black eyes,
and a Swedish wig of the same color, with long locks falling on his
neck and shoulders; a thin black mustache, trimmed upward at the ends,
adorned his upper lip. His lower lip with his beard protruded strongly,
giving his whole physiognomy a characteristic mark of pride and
stubbornness. It was not a beautiful face, but unusually lofty. A
sensuous expression, indicating an inclination to pleasure, was
combined in it with a certain sleepy torpor and coldness. The eyes were
as if smouldering; but it was easy to guess that in a moment of
exaltation, joy, or anger they could cast lightnings which not every
eye might meet. At the same time kindness and affability were depicted
on his countenance.
The black dress, composed of a satin doublet with lace ruffles, from
under which a gold chain was visible, increased the distinction of this
uncommon figure. On the whole, in spite of sadness and anxiety evident
in the face and form, there was something majestic in them. In fact it
was the king himself, Yan Kazimir Vaza, who had succeeded his brother
Vladislav somewhat less than a year before.
A little behind him, in the half-shade, sat Hieronim Radzeyovski, the
starosta of Lomjin, a thick, corpulent, low-set, red-visaged man with
the unblushing face of a courtier; and opposite him, at the table, a
third personage, leaning on his elbow, looking at the maps representing
the country around, raising from time to time his eyes to the king. His
face had less majesty, but almost more official distinction, than that
of the king. The cool and reasoning face of the statesman was furrowed
with cares and thought, the severity of which had not marred his
unusual beauty. He had penetrating blue eyes; his complexion was
delicate, in spite of his age; a magnificent Polish dress, a beard
trimmed in Swedish fashion, and the lofty tuft above his forehead,
added still something of senatorial dignity to his features, regular as
if chiselled from stone.
This was Yerzy Ossolinski, chancellor of the Crown, a prince of the
Roman Empire, an orator, and a diplomat admired by the courts of
Europe,--the famous opponent of Yeremi Vishnyevetski.
His unusual abilities turned upon him early in life the attention of
preceding reigns, and soon raised him to the highest offices, in virtue
of which he guided the ship of state, at the present moment near its
final wreck.
But still the chancellor was as if created to be the helmsman of such a
ship. Laborious, enduring, wise, looking to the distant future,
calculating for long years, he would have directed any other State but
the Commonwealth to a safe harbor with a sure and steady hand; for
every other State he would have secured internal power and long years
of strength,--if he had only been the absolute minister of such a
monarch, for example, as the King of France or Spain.
Reared beyond the boundaries of his own country, furnished with foreign
models, in spite of all his innate quickness of mind, in spite of long
years of practice, he was unable to accustom himself to the
helplessness of government in the Commonwealth; and all his life he
could not learn to reckon with it, though that was the rock on which
all his plans, designs, and efforts were wrecked, though by reason of
this he saw now in the future a precipice and ruin, and later died with
despair in his heart.
He was a genial theorist who did not know how to be genial in practice,
and he fell into a circle of errors without issue. Possessing an idea
which might give fruit in the future, he went to the realization of it
with the stubbornness of a fanatic, not observing that that idea,
saving in theory, might, in view of the actual condition of affairs,
bring terrible disasters.
Wishing to strengthen the government and the State, he let loose the
terrible Cossack element, not foreseeing that the storm would turn not
only against the nobles, the great estates of the magnates, the abuses,
license of the nobility, but against the most vital interests of the
State itself.
[Illustration: YERZY OSSOLINSKI, CHANCELLOR OF POLAND.]
_From an engraving by Moncornet_.
Hmelnitski rose out of the steppes and grew into a giant. On the
Commonwealth fell the defeats of Jóltiya Vodi, Korsún, Pilavtsi. At the
first step this Hmelnitski joined with the enemy, the Crimean power.
Thunderbolt followed thunderbolt; there remained only war and war. The
terrible element should have been crushed first of all, so as to use it
in the future; but the chancellor, occupied with his idea, was still
negotiating and delaying, and still believed even Hmelnitski.
The power of events crushed his theories; it became clearer every day
that the results of the chancellor's efforts were directly opposed to
his expectations, till at last came Zbaraj and confirmed it most
convincingly.
The chancellor was staggering under the burden of regrets, bitterness,
and universal hatred. He did that therefore which in times of failure
and disaster people do whose faith in themselves is greater than all
disasters,--he looked for the guilty.
The whole Commonwealth was to blame, and all the estates,--the past,
and the aristocratic structure of the State; but he who fearing lest a
rock lying on the incline of a mountain might fall to the bottom,
wishes to roll it to the top without calculating the necessary force to
do this, only hastens its fall. The chancellor did more and worse, for
he called in the rushing and terrible Cossack torrent, not considering
that its force could only wash out and carry off the foundation on
which the rock was resting.
When he sought then for persons to blame, all eyes were turned upon
himself as the cause of the war, the calamities and misfortune. But the
king believed in him yet, and believed in him the more because the
voice of all without sparing his Majesty accused him in an equal degree
with the chancellor.
The king sat therefore in Toporoff suffering and sad, not knowing well
what to do, for he had only twenty-five thousand troops. The conscript
writs had been sent out too late, and barely a part of the general
militia had assembled up to that time. Who was the cause of this delay,
and was it not one more mistake of that stubborn policy of the
chancellor?--the mystery was lost between the king and the minister; it
is enough that both felt disarmed at that moment before the power of
Hmelnitski.
What was more important yet, they had no accurate information
concerning him. In the camp of the king it was still unknown whether
the Khan with all his forces was with Hmelnitski, or only Tugai Bey and
a few thousands of the horde were accompanying the Cossacks. This was a
matter as important as life or death. With Hmelnitski himself the king
might in extremities try his fortune, though the rebellious hetman
disposed of ten times greater power. The magic of the king's name meant
much for the Cossacks,--more perhaps than the crowds of the general
militia of unformed and untrained nobles; but if the Khan were present,
it was an impossibility to meet such superior force.
Meanwhile there were the most varied reports on this head, and no one
knew anything accurately. The careful Hmelnitski had concentrated his
forces; he had not let out a single party of Cossacks or Tartars on
purpose, that the king might not capture an informant. The rebellious
hetman had another plan,--it was to shut in with a part of his forces
Zbaraj, already dying, and appear himself unexpectedly with the whole
Tartar and remaining Cossack force before the king, surround him and
his army, and deliver him into the hands of the Khan.
It was not without reason then that a cloud covered the royal face, for
there is no greater pain for a king than a feeling of weakness. Yan
Kazimir leaned impotently on the back of the chair, threw his hands on
the table and said, pointing to the maps,--
"These are useless. Get me informants."
"There is nothing I wish for more," answered Ossolinski.
"Have the scouts returned?"
"They have returned, but brought no one."
"Not a single prisoner?"
"Only neighboring peasants who know nothing."
"But Pan Pelka, has he returned? He is a splendid partisan."
"Your Majesty," said the starosta of Lomjin, from behind the chair.
"Pan Pelka has not returned, and he will not, for he is killed."
A moment of silence followed. The king fixed his gloomy look on the
flickering light, and began to drum with his fingers on the table.
"Have you no help?" asked he at length.
"Wait!" said the chancellor, with importance.
The forehead of Yan Kazimir was covered with wrinkles, "Wait?" repeated
he; "and Vishnyevetski and the commanders will be in worse condition
under Zbaraj."
"They will hold out awhile yet," said Radzeyovski, carelessly.
"You might be silent if you have nothing good to offer," said the king.
"I have my own counsel, your Majesty."
"What is it?"
"To send some one as if to negotiate with Hmelnitski at Zbaraj. The
envoy will discover whether the Khan is there in his own person, and
will report when he returns."
"Impossible!" said the king. "Now when we have proclaimed him a rebel
and laid a price on his head, have given the baton of the Zaporojians
to Zabuski, it is not becoming our dignity to enter into negotiations
with him."
"Then send to the Khan," said the starosta.
The king turned an inquiring glance on the chancellor, who raised upon
him his blue, severe eye, and after a moment's thought answered: "The
counsel would be good were it not that Hmelnitski, beyond a doubt,
would detain the envoy, and for this reason it would serve no purpose."
Yan Kazimir waved his hand. "I see," said he, slowly, "that you have no
plan; then I will tell you mine. I will order to horse, and move with
the whole army to Zbaraj. Let the will of God be done! There we shall
discover whether the Khan is present or not."
The chancellor knew the daring of the king, restrainable by nothing,
and he doubted not that he was ready to do this. On the other hand he
knew from experience that when the king had something in view and was
opposed in the undertaking, no dissuasion was of avail. Therefore he
did not oppose him at once, he even praised the idea; but he dissuaded
from haste, explained to the king that it could be done to-morrow or
the day after. In the mean while favorable news might come. Every day
would increase the dissension of the rabble, weakened by disasters at
Zbaraj and by the news of his Majesty's approach. The rebellion might
dissolve from the presence of the king, as snow from the rays of the
sun, but time was necessary.
"The king bears within himself the salvation of the whole Commonwealth,
and responsibility before God and posterity. He should not expose
himself, especially since, in case of misfortune, the forces at Zbaraj
would be lost beyond redemption."
"Do what you like, if I only have an informant tomorrow."
Again a moment of silence. An enormous golden moon shone in through the
window; but it was darker in the room, for the tapers needed trimming.
"What o'clock?" asked the king.
"Almost midnight," answered Radzeyovski.
"I will not sleep to-night. I will go around the camp, and do you go
with me. Where are Ubald and Artsishevski?"
"In the camp. I will go and order the horses," answered the starosta.
He approached the door. At that moment there was some movement in the
antechamber; a lively conversation was audible, the sound of hurried
steps; then the doors opened half-way, and Tyzenhauz, the personal
attendant of the king, rushed in panting.
"Your Majesty," cried he, "an officer has come from Zbaraj!"
The king sprang from his chair; the chancellor rose too, and from the
mouths of both came the cry: "Impossible!"
"Yes, he is standing in the antechamber."
"Bring him here!" cried the king, clapping his hands. "Let him end our
anxiety. This way with him, in the name of the Most Holy Mother!"
Tyzenhauz vanished through the door, and after a moment there appeared
instead of him some tall, unknown form.
"Nearer!" cried the king, "nearer! We are glad to see you."
The officer pushed up to the table; and at sight of him, the king, the
chancellor, and the starosta of Lomjin drew back in astonishment.
Before them stood a kind of frightful-looking man, or rather an
apparition. Rags torn to shreds barely covered his emaciated body; his
face was blue, covered with mud and blood, his eyes burning with
feverish light; his black tangled beard fell toward his breast; the
odor of corpses went forth from him round about, and his legs trembled
to such a degree that he was forced to lean on the table.
The king and the two dignitaries looked on him with staring eyes. At
that moment the doors opened and a crowd of dignitaries, military and
civil, came in; and among them, the generals Ubald and Artsishevski,
with Sapieha, vice-chancellor of Lithuania. All stood behind the king,
looking at the newly arrived.
The king asked: "Who are you?"
[Illustration: "Before them stood a kind of frightful-looking man, or
rather an apparition."]
Copyright, 1898, by Little, Brown, and Company.
The miserable-looking man tried to speak, but a spasm seized his
jaw; his beard began to tremble, and he was able only to whisper:
"From--Zbaraj!"
"Give him wine!" said a voice.
In the twinkle of an eye a goblet was filled; he drank it with
difficulty. By this time the chancellor had taken off his own cloak and
covered the man's shoulders with it.
"Can you speak now?" inquired the king after a time.
"I can," he answered, with a voice of more confidence.
"Who are you?"
"Yan Skshetuski, colonel of hussars."
"In whose service?"
"The voevoda of Rus."
A murmur spread through the hall.
"What news have you, what news have you?" asked the king, feverishly.
"Suffering--hunger--the grave--"
The king covered his eyes. "Jesus of Nazareth! Jesus of Nazareth!" said
he in a low voice. After a while he asked again: "Can you hold out
long?"
"There is lack of powder. The enemy is on the ramparts."
"In force?"
"Hmelnitski--the Khan with all his hordes."
"Is the Khan there?"
"He is."
Deep silence followed. Those present looked at one another; uncertainty
was on every face.
"How could you hold out?" asked the chancellor, with an accent of
doubt.
At these words Skshetuski raised his head, as if new power entered him.
A flash of pride passed over his face, and he answered with a voice
strong beyond expectation: "Twenty assaults repulsed, sixteen battles
in the field won, seventy-five sallies."
Again silence followed.
Then the king straightened himself, shook his wig as a lion would his
mane, on his sallow face came out a blush, and his eyes flashed. "As
God lives!" cried he, "I've enough of these councils, of this halting,
of this delay! Whether the Khan is there or not, whether the general
militia has come or not, I have enough of this! We will move to-day on
Zbaraj."
"To Zbaraj! to Zbaraj!" was repeated by a number of powerful voices.
The face of the newly arrived brightened like the dawn. "Your Majesty,
we will live and die with you."
At these words the noble heart of the king grew soft as wax, and
without regarding the repulsive appearance of the knight, he pressed
his head with his hands and said: "You are dearer to me than others in
satin. By the Most Holy Mother, men for less service are rewarded with
starostaships. But what you have done will not pass unrewarded. I am
your debtor."
Others began immediately to call out after the king: "There has been no
greater knight!" "He is the first among the men of Zbaraj!" "You have
won immortal glory!"
"And how did you push through the Cossacks and Tartars?"
"I hid in the swamp, the reeds, went through the woods--got astray--ate
nothing--"
"Give him to eat!" cried the king.
"To eat!" repeated others.
"Clothe him!"
"They will give you horses and clothing to-morrow," said the king
again. "You shall want for nothing."
All, following the king, surpassed one another in praises of the
knight. Then they began again to hurl questions at him, to which he
answered with the greatest difficulty, for growing weakness had seized
him; he was barely half-conscious. Meanwhile they brought him
refreshments; and at the same time entered the priest Tsetsishovski,
the chaplain of the king.
The dignitaries made way for him, for he was a very learned man, and
respected. His word had almost more weight with the king than that of
the chancellor, and from the pulpit he gave utterance to words such as
few would dare to say at the Diet. The priest was surrounded then, and
they began to tell him that an officer had come from Zbaraj; that the
prince was there, though in hunger and wretchedness, and was still
beating the Khan, who was present in his own person, as well as
Hmelnitski, who during the whole past year had not lost so many men as
at Zbaraj; finally, that the king was going to move to his succor, even
if he had to lose his whole army.
The priest listened in silence, moving his lips and looking every
moment at the emaciated knight, who was eating at the time, for the
king had commanded him not to mind his presence; and he even waited on
him himself, and from time to time drank to him from a little silver
goblet.
"What is the name of this knight?" asked the priest at last.
"Skshetuski."
"Yan?"
"Yes."
"Colonel with the voevoda of Rus?"
"Yes."
The priest raised his wrinkled face, prayed again, and said: "Let us
praise the name of the Lord, for undiscoverable are the ways by which
he brings a man to happiness and peace. Amen! I know this officer."
Skshetuski heard, and involuntarily turned his eyes to the face of the
priest; but his face, form, and voice were completely unknown to him.
"You are the man out of the whole army who undertook to pass through
the enemy's camp?" asked the priest.
"A worthy man tried before me, but he perished."
"The greater is your service, since after him you dared. I see by your
suffering that the road must have been an awful one. God looked on your
sacrifice, on your virtue, on your youth, and he led you through."
Suddenly the priest turned to Yan Kazimir. "Your gracious Majesty,"
said he, "it is then your unchangeable decision to march to the rescue
of the voevoda of Rus?"
"To your prayers, father," answered the king, "I commit the country,
the army, and myself, for I know it is an awful undertaking. But I
cannot permit that the prince should perish behind those unfortunate
ramparts, with such knights as this officer."
"God send down victory!" cried a number of voices.
The priest raised his hands to heaven, and silence followed in the
hall. "I bless you in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost."
"Amen!" said the king.
"Amen!" repeated all the voices.
Peace was spread over the face of Yan Kazimir after his previous
suffering; but his eyes shot forth unusual gleams. Among all assembled
rose the buzz of conversation about the impending campaign, for it was
much doubted yet whether the king could move at once. He took his
sword, however, from the table, and nodded to Tyzenhauz to gird him.
"When does your Majesty think of marching?" asked the chancellor.
"God has granted a pleasant night," said the king; "the horses will not
be heated. Commander of the camp," he added, turning to the
dignitaries, "order the march to be sounded!"
The commander of the camp left the room at once. Ossolinski, the
chancellor, said with quiet dignity that all were not ready; that they
could not move the wagons before day. But the king answered
immediately: "Let that man remain to whom the wagons are dearer than
the country."
The hall grew empty. Each man hastened to his standard, put everything
in order, and prepared for the march. Only the king, the chancellor,
the priest, with Skshetuski and Tyzenhauz, remained in the room.
"Gentlemen," said the priest, "you have learned already from this
officer what you had to learn. He should now get rest, for he is barely
able to stand on his feet. Allow me, your Majesty, to take him to my
quarters for the night!"
"All right, father," replied the king. "Your demand is just. Let
Tyzenhauz and some one else conduct him, for surely he cannot walk
alone. Go, go, dear friend," said he; "no one has earned his rest
better than you. And remember that I am your debtor; henceforth I shall
forget myself rather than you."
Tyzenhauz caught Skshetuski under the arm and they passed into the
antechamber. They met Sapieha, who supported the tottering knight on
the other side. The priest went in advance, before him a boy with a
lantern; but the boy carried it to no purpose, for the night was clear,
calm, and warm. The great golden moon sailed over Toporoff like a boat.
From the square of the camp came the bustle of men, the creaking of
wagons, the noise of trumpets sounding the tattoo. At some distance, in
front of the church lighted by the gleams of the moon, were already
visible crowds of soldiers, infantry and cavalry. Horses were neighing
in the village. To the creaking of wagons was joined the clatter of
chains and the dull thump of cannon. The uproar increased every moment.
"They are moving already!" said the priest.
"On Zbaraj--to the rescue--" whispered Pan Yan. And whether from joy or
from the toils he had endured, or from both together, he grew so weak
that Tyzenhauz and the starosta were obliged almost to drag him along.
When they were turning to the priests' house they went among the
soldiers standing in front of the building. These were the cavalry of
Sapieha and the infantry of Artsishevski. Not in rank yet for the
march, they stood without order, crowded in places and hindering the
passage.
"Out of the road, out of the road!" cried the priest.
"Who wants the road?"
"An officer from Zbaraj--"
"With the forehead to him! with the forehead to him!" cried many
voices.
A way was opened at once; but some crowded the more to see the hero.
They looked with astonishment on that suffering, on that terrible face,
lighted by the gleam of the moon, and they whispered in wonder: "From
Zbaraj! from Zbaraj!"
The priest brought Skshetuski to the house with the greatest
difficulty. After he had been bathed and washed from the mud and blood,
he had him put in the bed of the priest of the place, and went out
himself at once to the army, which was moving to the march.
Skshetuski was half conscious. Fever did not let him sleep immediately;
he knew not where he was, or what had happened. He heard only the
noise,--the tramp, the rumble of wagons, the thundering tread of
infantry, the shouts of soldiers, then the blare of trumpets; and all
this was mingled in his ears in one enormous sound. "The army is
moving," he muttered. That sound began to retreat, to weaken, to
vanish, to melt, till at last silence embraced Toporoff. Then it seemed
to Skshetuski that together with the bed he was flying into some
bottomless abyss.