Генрик Сенкевич
The Deluge. Vol. 1
Here the prince stretched his hands, as if wishing to seize some unseen crown, and gleamed up altogether, like a torch; from emotion the breath failed in his throat again.
After a while he calmed himself and said with a broken voice, -
"Behold-where my soul flies-as if to the sun-Disease utters its warning-let it work its will-I would rather death found me on the throne-than in the antechamber of a king."
"Shall the physician be called?" asked Kmita.
Radzivill waved his hand.
"No need of him-I feel better now-That is all I had to say-In addition keep your eyes open, your ears open-See also what the Pototskis will do. They hold together, are true to the Vazas (that is, to Yan Kazimir) – and they are powerful-It is not known either how the Konyetspolskis and Sobyeskis will turn-Observe and learn-Now the suffocation is gone. Have you understood everything clearly?"
"Yes. If I err, it will be my own fault."
"I have letters written already; only a few remain. When do you wish to start?"
"To-day! As soon as possible."
"Have you no request to make?"
"Your highness," began Kmita, and stopped suddenly. The words came from his mouth with difficulty, and on his face constraint and confusion were depicted.
"Speak boldly," said the hetman.
"I pray," said Kmita, "that Billevich and she-suffer no harm while here."
"Be certain of that. But I see that you love the girl yet."
"Impossible," answered Kmita. "Do I know! An hour I love her, an hour I hate her. The devil alone knows! All is over, as I have said, – suffering only is left. I do not want her, but I do not want another to take her. Your highness, pardon me, I know not myself what I say. I must go, – go with all haste! Pay no heed to my words, God will give back my mind the moment I have gone through the gate."
"I understand that, because till love has grown cold with time, though not wanting her yourself, the thought that another might take her burns you. But be at rest on that point, for I will let no man come here, and as to going away they will not go. Soon it will be full of foreign soldiers all around, and unsafe. Better, I will send her to Tanrogi, near Tyltsa, where my daughter is. Be at rest, Yendrek. Go, prepare for the road, and come to me to dine."
Kmita bowed and withdrew, and Radzivill began to draw deep breaths. He was glad of the departure of Kmita. He left him his squadron and his name as an adherent; for his person the prince cared less.
But Kmita in going might render him notable services; in Kyedani he had long since grown irksome to the hetman, who was surer of him at a distance than near at hand. The wild courage and temper of Kmita might at any instant bring an outburst in Kyedani and a rupture very dangerous for both. The departure put danger aside.
"Go, incarnate devil, and serve!" muttered the prince, looking at the door through which the banneret of Orsha had passed. Then he called a page and summoned Ganhoff.
"You will take Kmita's squadron," said the prince to him, "and command over all the cavalry. Kmita is going on a journey."
Over the cold face of Ganhoff there passed as it were a ray of joy. The mission had missed him, but a higher military office had come. He bowed in silence, and said, -
"I will pay for the favor of your highness with faithful service." Then he stood erect and waited.
"And what will you say further?" asked the prince.
"Your highness, a noble from Vilkomir came this morning with news that Pan Sapyeha is marching with troops against your highness."
Radzivill quivered, but in the twinkle of an eye he mastered his expression.
"You may go," said he to Ganhoff.
Then he fell into deep thought.
CHAPTER XXV
Kmita was very busily occupied in preparations for the road, and in choosing the men of his escort; for he determined not to go without a certain-sized party, first for his own safety, and second for the dignity of his person as an envoy. He was in a hurry, since he wished to start during the evening of that day, or if the rain did not cease, early next morning. He found men at last, – six trusty fellows who had long served under him in those better days when before his journey to Lyubich he had stormed around Hovanski, – old fighters of Orsha, ready to follow him even to the end of the earth. They were themselves nobles and attendant boyars, the last remnant of that once powerful band cut down by the Butryms. At the head of them was the sergeant Soroka, a trusty servant of the Kmitas, – an old soldier and very reliable, though numerous sentences were hanging over him for still more numerous deeds of violence.
After dinner the prince gave Pan Andrei the letters and a pass to the Swedish commanders whom the young envoy might meet in the more considerable places; he took farewell of him and sent him away with much feeling, really like a father, recommending wariness and deliberation.
Meanwhile the sky began to grow clear; toward evening the weak sun of autumn shone over Kyedani and went down behind red clouds, stretched out in long lines on the west.
There was nothing to hinder the journey. Kmita was just drinking a stirrup cup with Ganhoff, Kharlamp, and some other officers when about dusk Soroka came in and asked, -
"Are you going, Commander?"
"In an hour," answered Kmita.
"The horses and men are ready now in the yard."
The sergeant went out, and the officers began to strike glasses still more; but Kmita rather pretended to drink than to drink in reality. The wine had no taste for him, did not go to his head, did not cheer his spirit, while the others were already merry.
"Worthy Colonel," said Ganhoff, "commend me to the favor of Prince Boguslav. That is a great cavalier; such another there is not in the Commonwealth. With him you will be as in France. A different speech, other customs, every politeness may be learned there more easily than even in the palace of the king."
"I remember Prince Boguslav at Berestechko," said Kharlamp; "he had one regiment of dragoons drilled in French fashion completely, – they rendered both infantry and cavalry service. The officers were French, except a few Hollanders; of the soldiers the greater part were French, all dandies. There was an odor of various perfumes from them as from a drug-shop. In battle they thrust fiercely with rapiers, and it was said that when one of them thrust a man through he said, 'Pardonnez-moi!' (pardon me); so they mingled politeness with uproarious life. But Prince Boguslav rode among them with a handkerchief on his sword, always smiling, even in the greatest din of battle, for it is the French fashion to smile amid bloodshed. He had his face touched with paint, and his eyebrows blackened with coal, at which the old soldiers were angry and called him a bawd. Immediately after battle he had new ruffs brought him, so as to be always dressed as if for a banquet, and they curled his hair with irons, making marvellous ringlets out of it. But he is a manful fellow, and goes first into the thickest fire. He challenged Pan Kalinovski because he said something to him, and the king had to make peace."
"There is no use in denying," said Ganhoff. "You will see curious things, and you will see the King of Sweden himself, who next to our prince is the best warrior in the world."
"And Pan Charnyetski," said Kharlamp; "they are speaking more and more of him."
"Pan Charnyetski is on the side of Yan Kazimir, and therefore is our enemy," remarked Ganhoff, severely.
"Wonderful things are passing in this world," said Kharlamp, musingly. "If any man had said a year or two ago that the Swedes would come hither, we should all have thought, 'We shall be fighting with the Swedes;' but see now."
"We are not alone; the whole Commonwealth has received them with open arms," said Ganhoff.
"True as life," put in Kmita, also musingly.
"Except Sapyeha, Gosyevski, Charnyetski, and the hetmans of the crown," answered Kharlamp.
"Better not speak of that," said Ganhoff. "But, worthy Colonel, come back to us in good health; promotion awaits you."
"And Panna Billevich?" added Kharlamp.
"Panna Billevich is nothing to you," answered Kmita, brusquely.
"Of course nothing, I am too old. The last time- Wait, gentlemen, when was that? Ah, the last time during the election of the present mercifully reigning Yan Kazimir."
"Cease the use of that name from your tongue," interrupted Ganhoff. "To-day rules over us graciously Karl Gustav."
"True! Consuetudo altera natura (custom is a second nature). Well, the last time, during the election of Yan Kazimir, our ex-king and Grand Duke of Lithuania, I fell terribly in love with one lady, an attendant of the Princess Vishnyevetski. Oh, she was an attractive little beast! But when I wanted to look more nearly into her eyes, Pan Volodyovski thrust up his sabre. I was to fight with him; then Bogun came between us, – Bogun, whom Volodyovski cut up like a hare. If it had not been for that, you would not see me alive. But at that time I was ready to fight, even with the devil. Volodyovski stood up for her only through friendship, for she was betrothed to another, a still greater swordsman. Oh, I tell you, gentlemen, that I thought I should wither away-I could not think of eating or drinking. When our prince sent me from Warsaw to Smolensk, only then did I shake off my love on the road. There is nothing like a journey for such griefs. At the first mile I was easier, before I had reached Vilna my head was clear, and to this day I remain single. That is the whole story. There is nothing for unhappy love like a journey."
"Is that your opinion?" asked Kmita.
"As I live, it is! Let the black ones take all the pretty girls in Lithuania and the kingdom, I do not need them."
"But did you go away without farewell?"
"Without farewell; but I threw a red ribbon behind me, which one old woman, very deeply versed in love matters, advised me to do."
"Good health!" interrupted Ganhoff, turning again to Pan Andrei.
"Good health!" answered Kmita, "I give thanks from my heart."
"To the bottom, to the bottom! It is time for you to mount, and service calls us. May God lead you forth and bring you home."
"Farewell!"
"Throw the red ribbon behind," said Kharlamp, "or at the first resting-place put out the fire yourself with a bucket of water; that is, if you wish to forget."
"Be with God!"
"We shall not soon see one another."
"Perhaps somewhere on the battlefield," added Ganhoff. "God grant side by side, not opposed."
"Of course not opposed," said Kmita.
And the officers went out.
The clock on the tower struck seven. In the yard the horses were pawing the stone pavement with their hoofs, and through the window were to be seen the men waiting. A wonderful disquiet seized Pan Andrei. He was repeating to himself, "I go, I go!" Imagination placed before his eyes unknown regions, and a throng of strange faces which he was to see, and at the same time wonder seized him at the thought of the journey, as if hitherto it had never been in his mind.
He must mount and move on. "What happens, will happen. What will be, will be!" thought he to himself.
When, however, the horses were snorting right there at the window, and the hour of starting had struck, he felt that the new life would be strange, and all with which he had lived, to which he had grown accustomed, to which he had become attached heart and soul, would stay in that region, in that neighborhood, in that place. The former Kmita would stay there as well. Another man as it were would go hence, – a stranger to all outside, as all outside were strangers to him. He would have to begin there an entirely new life. God alone knew whether there would be a desire for it.
Pan Andrei was mortally wearied in soul, and therefore at that moment he felt powerless in view of those new scenes and new people. He thought that it was bad for him here, that it would be bad for him there, at least it would be burdensome.
But it is time, time. He must put his cap on his head and ride off.
But will he go without a last word? Is it possible to be so near and later to be so far, to say not one word and go forth? See to what it has come! But what can he say to her? Shall he go and say, "Everything is ruined; my lady, go thy way, I will go mine"? Why, why say even that, when without saying it is so? He is not her betrothed, as she is not and will not be his wife. What has been is lost, is rent, and will not return, will not be bound up afresh. Loss of time, loss of words, and new torture.
"I will not go!" thought Pan Kmita.
But, on the other hand, the will of a dead man binds them yet. It is needful to speak clearly and without anger of final separation, and to say to her, "My lady, you wish me not; I return you your word. Therefore we shall both act as though there had been no will, and let each seek happiness where each can find it?"
But she may answer: "I have said that long since; why tell it to me now?"
"I will not go, happen what may!" repeated Kmita to himself.
And pressing the cap on his head, he went out of the room into the corridor. He wished to mount straightway and be outside the gate quickly.
All at once, in the corridor, something caught him as it were by the hair. Such a desire to see her, to speak to her, possessed him, that he ceased to think whether to go or not to go, he ceased to reason, and rather pushed on with closed eyes, as if wishing to spring into water.
Before the very door whence the guard had just been removed, he came upon a youth, a servant of the sword-bearer.
"Is Pan Billevich in the room?" asked he.
"The sword-bearer is among the officers in the barracks."
"And the lady?"
"The lady is at home."
"Tell her that Pan Kmita is going on a long journey and wishes to see the lady."
The youth obeyed the command; but before he returned with an answer Kmita raised the latch and went in without question.
"I have come to take farewell," said he, "for I do not know whether we shall meet again in life."
Suddenly he turned to the youth: "Why stand here yet?"
"My gracious lady," continued Kmita, when the door had closed after the servant, "I intended to go without parting, but had not the power. God knows when I shall return, or whether I shall return, for misfortunes come lightly. Better that we part without anger and offence in our hearts, so that the punishment of God fall not on either of us. There is much to say, much to say, and now the tongue cannot say it all. Well, there was no happiness, clearly by the will of God there was not; and now, O man, even if thou batter thy head against the wall, there is no cure! Blame me not, and I will not blame you. We need not regard that testament now, for as I have said, the will of man is nothing against the will of God. God grant you happiness and peace. The main thing is that we forgive each other. I know not what will meet me outside, whither I am going. But I cannot sit longer in torture, in trouble, in sorrow. A man breaks himself on the four walls of a room without result, gracious lady, without result! One has no labor here, – only to take grief on the shoulders, only think for whole days of unhappy events till the head aches, and in the end think out nothing. This journey is as needful to me, as water to a fish, as air to a bird, for without it I should go wild."
"God grant you happiness," said Panna Aleksandra.
She stood before him as if stunned by the departure, the appearance, and the words of Pan Kmita. On her face were confusion and astonishment, and it was clear that she was struggling to recover herself; meanwhile she gazed on the young man with eyes widely open.
"I do not cherish ill will against you," said she after a time.
"Would that all this had not been!" said Kmita. "Some evil spirit came between us and separated us as if with a sea, and that water is neither to be swum across nor waded through. The man did not do what he wanted, he went not where he wished, but something as it were pushed him till we both entered pathless regions. But since we are to vanish the one from the eyes of the other, it is better to cry out even from remoteness, 'God guide!' It is needful also for you to know that offence and anger are one thing, and sorrow another. From anger I have freed myself, but sorrow sits in me-maybe not for you. Do I know myself for whom and for what? Thinking, I have thought out nothing; but still it seems to me that it will be easier both to you and to me if we talk. You hold me a traitor, and that pricks me most bitterly of all, for as I wish my soul's salvation, I have not been and shall not be a traitor."
"I hold you that no longer," said Olenka.
"Oi, how could you have held me that even one hour? You know of me, that once I was ready for violence, ready to slay, burn, shoot; that is one thing, but to betray for gain, for advancement, never! God guard me, God judge me! You are a woman, and cannot see in what lies the country's salvation; hence it beseems you not to condemn, to give sentence. And why did you utter the sentence? God be with you! Know this, that salvation is in Prince Radzivill and the Swedes; and who thinks otherwise, and especially acts, is just ruining the country. But it is no time to discuss, it is time to go. Know that I am not a traitor, not one who sells. May I perish if I ever be that! Know that unjustly you scorned me, unjustly consigned me to death-I tell you this under oath and at parting, and I say it that I may say with it, I forgive you from my heart; but do you forgive me as well."
Panna Aleksandra had recovered completely. "You say that I have judged you unjustly; that is true. It is my fault; I confess it and beg your forgiveness."
Here her voice trembled, her blue eyes filled with tears, and he cried with transport, -
"I forgive! I forgive! I would forgive you even my death!"
"May God guide you and bring you to the right road. May you leave that on which you are erring."
"But give peace, give peace!" cried Kmita, excitedly; "let no misunderstanding rise between us again. Whether I err or err not, be silent on that point. Let each man follow the way of his conscience; God will judge every intention. Better that I have come hither, than to go without farewell. Give me your hand for the road. Only that much is mine; for to-morrow I shall not see you, nor after tomorrow, nor in a month, perhaps never-Oi, Olenka! and in my head it is dim-Olenka! And shall we never meet again?"
Abundant tears like pearls were falling from Panna Aleksandra's lashes to her cheeks.
"Pan Andrei, leave traitors, and all may be."
"Quiet, oh, quiet!" said Kmita, with a broken voice. "It may not be-I cannot-better say nothing- Would I were slain! less should I suffer- For God's sake, why does this meet us? Farewell for the last time. And then let death close my eyes somewhere outside- Why are you weeping? Weep not, or I shall go wild!"
And in supreme excitement he seized her half by constraint, and though she resisted, he kissed her eyes and her mouth, then fell at her feet. At last he sprang up, and grasping his hair like a madman, rushed forth from the chamber.
"The devil could do nothing here, much less a red ribbon."
Olenka saw him through the window as he was mounting in haste; the seven horsemen then moved forward. The Scots on guard at the gate made a clatter with their weapons, presenting arms; then the gate closed after the horsemen, and they were not to be seen on the dark road among the trees.
Night too had fallen completely.
CHAPTER XXVI
Kovno, and the whole region on the left bank of the Vilia, with all the roads, were occupied by the enemy (the Russians); therefore Kmita, not being able to go to Podlyasye by the high-road leading from Kovno to Grodno and thence to Byalystok, went by side-roads from Kyedani straight down the course of the Nyevyaja to the Nyemen, which he crossed near Vilkovo, and found himself in the province of Trotsk.
All that part of the road, which was not over great, he passed in quiet, for that region lay as it were under the hand of Radzivill.
Towns, and here and there even villages, were occupied by castle squadrons of the hetman, or by small detachments of Swedish cavalry which the hetman pushed forward thus far of purpose against the legions of Zolotarenko, which stood there beyond the Vilia, so that occasions for collisions and war might be more easily found.
Zolotarenko would have been glad too to have an "uproar" with the Swedes, according to the words of the hetman; but those whose ally he was did not wish war with them, or in every case wished to put it off as long as possible. Zolotarenko therefore received the strictest orders not to cross the river, and in case that Radzivill himself, together with the Swedes, moved on him, to retreat with all haste.
For these reasons the country on the right side of the Vilia was quiet; but since from one side Cossack pickets, from the other those of the Swedes and Radzivill were looking at one another, one musket-shot might at any, moment let loose a terrible war.
In prevision of this, people took timely refuge in safe places. Therefore the whole country was quiet, but empty. Pan Andrei saw deserted towns, everywhere the windows of houses held up by sticks, and whole villages depopulated. The fields were also empty, for there was no crop that year. Common people secreted themselves in fathomless forests, to which they drove all their cattle; but the nobles fled to neighboring Electoral Prussia, at that time altogether safe from war. For this reason there was an uncommon movement over the roads and trails of the wilderness, and the number of fugitives was still more increased by those who from the left bank of the Vilia were able to escape the oppression of Zolotarenko.
The number of these was enormous, and especially of peasants; for the nobles who had not been able hitherto to flee from the left bank went into captivity or yielded their lives on their thresholds.
Pan Andrei, therefore, met every moment whole crowds of peasants with their wives and children, and driving before them flocks of sheep with horses and cattle. That part of the province of Trotsk touching upon Electoral Prussia was wealthy and productive; therefore the well-to-do people had something to save and guard. The approaching winter did not alarm fugitives, who preferred to await better days amid mosses of the forest, in snow covered huts, than to await death in their native villages at the hands of the enemy.
Kmita often approached the fleeing crowds, or fires gleaming at night in dense forest places. Wherever he met people from the left bank of the Vilia, from near Kovno, or from still remoter neighborhoods, he heard terrible tales of the cruelties of Zolotarenko and his allies, who exterminated people without regard to age or sex; they burned villages, cut down even trees in the gardens, leaving only land and water. Never had Tartar raids left such desolation behind.
Not death alone was inflicted on the inhabitants, but before death they were put to the most ingenious tortures. Many of those people fled with bewildered minds. These filled the forest depths at night with awful shrieks; others were ever in a species of continual fear and expectation of attack, though they had crossed the Nyemen and Vilia, though forests and morasses separated them from Zolotarenko's bands. Many of these stretched their hands to Kmita and his horsemen of Orsha, imploring rescue and pity, as if the enemy were standing there over them.
Carriages belonging to nobles were moving toward Prussia; in them old men, women, and children; behind them, dragged on wagons with servants, effects, supplies of provisions, and other things. All these fleeing people were panic-stricken, terrified and grieved because they were going into exile.
Pan Andrei comforted these unfortunates at times by telling them that the Swedes would soon pass over and drive that enemy far away. Then the fugitives stretched their hands to heaven and said, -
"God give health, God give fortune to the prince voevoda! When the Swedes come we will return to our homes, to our burned dwellings."
And they blessed the prince everywhere. From mouth to mouth news was given that at any moment he might cross the Vilia at the head of his own and Swedish troops. Besides, they praised the "modesty" of the Swedes, their discipline, and good treatment of the inhabitants. Radzivill was called the Gideon of Lithuania, a Samson, a savior. These people from districts steaming with fresh blood and fire were looking for him as for deliverance.
And Kmita, hearing those blessings, those wishes, those almost prayers, was strengthened in his faith concerning Radzivill, and repeated in his soul, -
"I serve such a lord! I will shut my eyes and follow blindly his fortune. At times he is terrible and beyond knowing; but he has a greater mind than others, he knows better what is needed, and in him alone is salvation."
It became lighter and calmer in his breast at this thought; he advanced therefore with greater solace in his heart, dividing his soul between sorrow for Kyedani and thoughts on the unhappy condition of the country.
His sorrow increased continually. He did not throw the red ribbon behind him, he did not put out the fire with water; for he felt, first, that it was useless, and then he did not wish to do so.
"Oh that she were present, that she could hear the wailing and groans of people, she would not beg God to turn me away, she would not tell me that I err, like those heretics who have left the true faith. But never mind! Earlier or later she will be convinced, she will see that her own judgment was at fault. And then what God will give will be. Maybe we shall meet again in life."
And yearning increased in the young cavalier; but the conviction that he was marching by the right, not by the wrong road, gave him a peace long since unknown. The conflict of thought, the gnawing, the doubts left him by degrees, and he rode forward; he sank in the shoreless forest almost with gladness. From the time that he had come to Lyubich, after his famous raids on Hovanski, he had not felt so vivacious.
Kharlamp was right in this, that there is no cure like the road for cares and troubles. Pan Andrei had iron health; his daring and love of adventures were coming back every hour. He saw these adventures before him, smiled at them, and urged on his convoy unceasingly, barely stopping for short night-rests.
Olenka stood ever before the eyes of his spirit, tearful, trembling in his arms like a bird, and he said to himself, "I shall return."
At times the form of the hetman passed before him, gloomy, immense, terrible. But it may be just because he was moving away more and more, that that form became almost dear to him. Hitherto he had bent before Radzivill; now he began to love him. Hitherto Radzivill had borne him along as a mighty whirlpool of water seizes and attracts everything that comes within its circle; now Kmita felt that he wished with his whole soul to go with him.
And in the distance that gigantic voevoda increased continually in the eyes of the young knight, and assumed almost superhuman proportions. More than once, at his night halt, when Pan Andrei had closed his eyes in sleep, he saw the hetman sitting on a throne loftier than the tops of the pine-trees. There was a crown on his head; his face was the same, gloomy, enormous; in his hand a sword and a sceptre, at his feet the whole Commonwealth. And in his soul Kmita did homage to greatness.
On the third day of the journey they left the Nyemen far behind, and entered a country of still greater forests. They met whole crowds of fugitives on the roads; but nobles unable to bear arms were going almost without exception to Prussia before the bands of the enemy, who, not held in curb there, as on the banks of the Vilia, by the regiments of Sweden and Radzivill, pushed at times far into the heart of the country, even to the boundary of Electoral Prussia. Their main object was plunder.
Frequently these were detachments as if from the army of Zolotarenko, but really recognizing no authority, – simply robber companies, so called "parties" commanded at times even by local bandits. Avoiding engagements in the field with troops and even with townspeople, they attacked small villages, single houses, and travellers.
The nobles on their own account attacked these parties with their household servants, and ornamented with them the pine-trees along the roads; still it was easy in the forest to stumble upon their frequent bands, and therefore Pan Andrei was forced to exercise uncommon care.
But somewhat beyond Pilvishki on the Sheshupa, Kmita found the population living quietly in their homes. The townspeople told him, however, that not longer than a couple of days before, a strong band of Zolotarenko's men, numbering as many as five hundred, had made an attack, and would, according to their custom, have cut down all the people, and let the place rise in smoke, were it not for unexpected aid which fell as it were from heaven.
"We had already committed ourselves to God," said the master of the inn in which Pan Andrei had taken lodgings, "when the saints of the Lord sent some squadrons. We thought at first that a new enemy had come, but they were ours. They sprang at once on Zolotarenko's ruffians, and in an hour they laid them out like a pavement, all the more easily as we helped them."
"What kind of a squadron was it?" asked Kmita.
"God give them health! They did not say who they were, and we did not dare to ask. They fed their horses, took what hay and bread there was, and rode away."
"But whence did they come, and whither did they go?"
"They came from Kozlova Ruda, and they went to the south. We, who before that wished to flee to the woods, thought the matter over and stayed here, for the under-starosta said that after such a lesson the enemy would not look in on us again soon."
The news of the battle interested Kmita greatly, therefore he asked further: "And do you not know who commanded that squadron?"
