Генрик Сенкевич
The Deluge. Vol. 2
But at that moment the officers saw before the window a yard filled with Polish horsemen. Probably they also had come with news of Kuklinovski, but in case of collision they would stand beyond doubt on Zbrojek's side. Miller too saw them, and though the paleness of rage had come on his face, still he restrained himself, and feigning to see no challenge in Zbrojek's action, he answered in a voice which he strove to make natural, —
"Tell in detail how it happened."
Zbrojek stood for a time yet with nostrils distended, but he too remembered himself; and then his thoughts turned in another direction, for his comrades, who had just ridden up, entered the room.
"Kuklinovski is murdered!" repeated they, one after another. "Kuklinovski is killed! His regiment will scatter! His soldiers are going wild!"
"Gentlemen, permit Pan Zbrojek to speak; he brought the news first," cried Miller.
After a while there was silence, and Zbrojek spoke as follows, —
"It is known to you, gentlemen, that at the last council I challenged Kuklinovski on the word of a cavalier. I was an admirer of Kmita, it is true; but even you, though his enemies, must acknowledge that no common man could have done such a deed as bursting that cannon. It behooves us to esteem daring even in an enemy; therefore I offered him my hand, but he refused his, and called me a traitor. Then I thought to myself, 'Let Kuklinovski do what he likes with him.' My only other thought was this: 'If Kuklinovski acts against knightly honor in dealing with Kmita, the disgrace of his deed must not fall on all Poles, and among others on me.' For that very reason I wished surely to fight with Kuklinovski, and this morning taking two comrades, I set out for his camp. We come to his quarters; they say there, 'He is not at home.' I send to this place, – he is not here. At his quarters they tell us, 'He has not returned the whole night.' But they are not alarmed, for they think that he has remained with your worthiness. At last one soldier says, 'Last evening he went to that little barn in the field with Kmita, whom he was going to burn there.' I ride to the barn; the doors are wide open. I enter; I see inside a naked body hanging from a beam. 'That is Kmita,' thought I; but when my eyes have grown used to the darkness, I see that the body is some thin and bony one, and Kmita looked like a Hercules. It is a wonder to me that he could shrink so much in one night. I draw near – Kuklinovski!"
"Hanging from the beam?" asked Miller.
"Exactly! I make the sign of the cross, – I think, 'Is it witchcraft, an omen, deception, or what?' But when I saw three corpses of soldiers, the truth stood as if living before me. That terrible man had killed these, hung Kuklinovski, burned him like an executioner, and then escaped."
"It is not far to the Silesian boundary," said Sadovski.
A moment of silence followed. Every suspicion of Zbrojek's participation in the affair was extinguished in Miller's soul. But the event itself astonished and filled him with a certain undefined fear. He saw dangers rising around, or rather their terrible shadows, against which he knew not how to struggle; he felt that some kind of chain of failures surrounded him. The first links were before his eyes, but farther the gloom of the future was lying. Just such a feeling mastered him as if he were in a cracked house which might fall on his head any moment. Uncertainty crushed him with an insupportable weight, and he asked himself what he had to lay hands on.
Meanwhile Count Veyhard struck himself on the forehead. "As God lives," said he, "when I saw this Kmita yesterday it seemed as if I had known him somewhere. Now again I see before me that face. I remember the sound of his voice. I must have met him for a short time and in the dark, in the evening; but he is going through my head, – going – " Here he began to rub his forehead with his hand.
"What is that to us?" asked Miller; "you will not mend the gun, even should you remember; you will not bring Kuklinovski to life."
Here he turned to the officers. "Gentlemen, come with me, whoso wishes, to the scene of this deed."
All wished to go, for curiosity was exciting them. Horses were brought, and they moved on at a trot, the general at the head. When they came to the little barn they saw a number of tens of Polish horsemen scattered around that building, on the road, and along the field.
"What men are they?" asked Miller of Zbrojek.
"They must be Kuklinovski's; I tell your worthiness that those ragamuffins have simply gone wild."
Zbrojek then beckoned to one of the horsemen, —
"Come this way, come this way. Quickly!"
The soldier rode up.
"Are you Kuklinovski's men?"
"Yes."
"Where is the rest of the regiment?"
"They have run away. They refused to serve longer against Yasna Gora."
"What does he say?" asked Miller.
Zbrojek interpreted the words.
"Ask him where they went to."
Zbrojek repeated the question.
"It is unknown," said the soldier. "Some have gone to Silesia. Others said that they would serve with Kmita, for there is not another such colonel either among the Poles or the Swedes."
When Zbrojek interpreted these words to Miller, he grew serious. In truth, such men as Kuklinovski had were ready to pass over to the command of Kmita without hesitation. But then they might become terrible, if not for Miller's army, at least for his supplies and communication. A river of perils was rising higher and higher around the enchanted fortress.
Zbrojek, into whose head this idea must have come, said, as if in answer to these thoughts of Miller: "It is certain that everything is in a storm now in our Commonwealth. Let only such a Kmita shout, hundreds and thousands will surround him, especially after what he has done."
"But what can he effect?" asked Miller.
"Remember, your worthiness, that that man brought Hovanski to desperation, and Hovanski had, counting the Cossacks, six times as many men as we. Not a transport will come to us without his permission, the country houses are destroyed, and we are beginning to feel hunger. Besides, this Kmita may join with Jegotski and Kulesha; then he will have several thousand sabres at his call. He is a grievous man, and may become most harmful."
"Are you sure of your soldiers?"
"Surer than of myself," answered Zbrojek, with brutal frankness.
"How surer?"
"For, to tell the truth, we have all of us enough of this siege."
"I trust that it will soon come to an end."
"Only the question is: How? But for that matter to capture this fortress is at present as great a calamity as to retire from it."
Meanwhile they had reached the little barn. Miller dismounted, after him the officers, and all entered. The soldiers had removed Kuklinovski from the beam, and covering him with a rug laid him on his back on remnants of straw. The bodies of three soldiers lay at one side, placed evenly one by the other.
"These were killed with knives."
"But Kuklinovski?"
"There are no wounds on Kuklinovski, but his side is roasted and his mustaches daubed with pitch. He must have perished of cold or suffocation, for he holds his own cap in his teeth to this moment."
"Uncover him."
The soldier raised a corner of the rug, and a terrible face was uncovered, swollen, with eyes bursting out. On the remnants of his pitched mustaches were icicles formed from his frozen breath and mixed with soot, making as it were tusks sticking out of his mouth. That face was so revolting that Miller, though accustomed to all kinds of ghastliness, shuddered and said, —
"Cover it quickly. Terrible, terrible!"
Silence reigned in the barn.
"Why have we come here?" asked the Prince of Hesse, spitting. "I shall not touch food for a whole day."
All at once some kind of uncommon exasperation closely bordering on frenzy took possession of Miller. His face became blue, his eyes expanded, he began to gnash his teeth, a wild thirst for the blood of some one had seized him; then turning to Zbrojek, he screamed, —
"Where is that soldier who saw that Kuklinovski was in the barn? He must be a confederate!"
"I know not whether that soldier is here yet," answered Zbrojek. "All Kuklinovski's men have scattered like oxen let out from the yoke."
"Then catch him!" bellowed Miller, in fury.
"Catch him yourself!" cried Zbrojek, in similar fury.
And again a terrible outburst hung as it were on a spider-web over the heads of the Swedes and the Poles. The latter began to gather around Zbrojek, moving their mustaches threateningly and rattling their sabres.
During this noise the echoes of shots and the tramp of horses were heard, and into the barn rushed a Swedish officer of cavalry.
"General!" cried he. "A sortie from the cloister! The men working at the mine have been cut to pieces! A party of infantry is scattered!"
"I shall go wild!" roared Miller, seizing the hair of his wig. "To horse!"
In a moment they were all rushing like a whirlwind toward the cloister, so that lumps of snow fell like hail from the hoofs of their horses. A hundred of Sadovski's cavalry, under command of his brother, joined Miller and ran to assist. On the way they saw parties of terrified infantry fleeing in disorder and panic, so fallen were the hearts of the Swedish infantry, elsewhere unrivalled. They had left even trenches which were not threatened by any danger. The oncoming officers and cavalry trampled a few, and rode finally to within a furlong of the fortress, but only to see on the height as clearly as on the palm of the hand, the attacking party returning safely to the cloister; songs, shouts of joy, and laughter came from them to Miller's ears.
Single persons stood forth and threatened with bloody sabres in the direction of the staff. The Poles present at the side of the Swedish general recognized Zamoyski himself, who had led the sortie in person, and who, when he saw the staff, stopped and saluted it solemnly with his cap. No wonder he felt safe under cover of the fortress cannon.
And, in fact, it began to smoke on the walls, and iron flocks of cannon balls were flying with terrible whistling among the officers. Troopers tottered in their saddles, and groans answered whistles.
"We are under fire. Retreat!" commanded Sadovski.
Zbrojek seized the reins of Miller's horse. "General, withdraw! It is death here!"
Miller, as if he had become torpid, said not a word, and let himself be led out of range of the missiles. Returning to his quarters, he locked himself in, and for a whole day would see no man. He was meditating surely over his fame of Poliorcetes.
Count Veyhard now took all power in hand, and began with immense energy to make preparations for a storm. New breastworks were thrown up; the soldiers succeeding the miners broke the cliff unweariedly to prepare a mine. A feverish movement continued in the whole Swedish camp. It seemed that a new spirit had entered the besiegers, or that reinforcements had come. A few days later the news thundered through the Swedish and allied Polish camps that the miners had found a passage going under the church and the cloister, and that it depended now only on the good-will of the general to blow up the whole fortress.
Delight seized the soldiers worn out with cold, hunger, and fruitless toil. Shouts of: "We have Chenstohova! We'll blow up that hen-house!" ran from mouth to mouth. Feasting and drinking began.
The count was present everywhere; he encouraged the soldiers, kept them in that belief, repeated a hundred times daily the news of finding the passage, incited to feasting and frolics.
The echo of this gladness reached the cloister at last. News of the mines dug and ready to explode ran with the speed of lightning from rampart to rampart. Even the most daring were frightened. Weeping women began to besiege the prior's dwelling, to hold out to him their children when he appeared for a while, and cry, —
"Destroy not the innocent! Their blood will fall on thy head!"
The greater coward a man had been, the greater his daring now in urging Kordetski not to expose to destruction the sacred place, the capital of the Most Holy Lady.
Such grievous, painful times followed, for the unbending soul of our hero in a habit, as had not been till that hour. It was fortunate that the Swedes ceased their assaults, so as to prove more convincingly that they needed no longer either balls or cannon, that it was enough for them to ignite one little powder fuse. But for this very reason terror increased in the cloister. In the hour of deep night it seemed to some, the most timid, that they heard under the earth certain sounds, certain movements; that the Swedes were already under the cloister. Finally, a considerable number of the monks fell in spirit. Those, with Father Stradomski at the head of them, went to the prior and urged him to begin negotiations at once for surrender. The greater part of the soldiers went with them, and some of the nobles.
Kordetski appeared in the courtyard, and when the throng gathered around him in a close circle, he said, —
"Have we not sworn to one another to defend this holy place to the last drop of our blood? In truth, I tell you that if powder hurls us forth, only our wretched bodies, only the temporary covering, will fall away and return to the earth, but the souls will not return, – heaven will open above them, and they will enter into rejoicing and happiness, as into a sea without bounds. There Jesus Christ will receive them, and that Most Holy Mother will meet them, and they like golden bees will sit on her robe, and will sink in light and gaze on the face of the Lord."
Here the reflection of that brightness was gleaming on his face. He raised his inspired eyes upward, and spoke on with a dignity and a calm not of earth: —
"O Lord, the Ruler of worlds, Thou art looking into my heart, and Thou knowest that I am not deceiving this people when I say that if I desired only my own happiness I would stretch out my hands to Thee and cry from the depth of my soul: O Lord! let powder be there, let it explode, for in such a death is redemption of sins and faults, for it is eternal rest, and Thy servant is weary and toil worn over-much. And who would not wish a reward of such kind, for a death without pain and as short as the twinkle of an eye, as a flash in the heavens, after which is eternity unbroken, happiness inexhaustible, joy without end. But Thou hast commanded me to guard Thy retreat, therefore it is not permitted me to go. Thou hast placed me on guard, therefore Thou hast poured into me Thy strength, and I know, O Lord, I see and feel that although the malice of the enemy were to force itself under this church, though all the powder and destructive saltpetre were placed there, it would be enough for me to make the sign of the cross above them and they would never explode."
Here he turned to the assembly and continued: "God has given me this power, but do you take fear out of your hearts. My spirit pierces the earth and tells you; Your enemies lie, there are no powder dragons under the church. You, people of timid hearts, you in whom fear has stifled faith, deserve not to enter the kingdom of grace and repose to-day. There is no powder under your feet then! God wishes to preserve this retreat, so that, like Noah's ark, it may be borne above the deluge of disasters and mishap; therefore, in the name of God, for the third time I tell you, there is no powder under the church. And when I speak in His name, who will make bold to oppose me, who will dare still to doubt?"
When he had said this he was silent and looked at the throng of monks, nobles, and soldiers. But such was the unshaken faith, the conviction and power in his voice that they were silent also, and no man came forward. On the contrary, solace began to enter their hearts, till at last one of the soldiers, a simple peasant, said, —
"Praise to the name of the Lord! For three days they say they are able to blow up the fortress; why do they not blow it up?"
"Praise to the Most Holy Lady! Why do they not blow it up?" repeated a number of voices.
Then a wonderful sign was made manifest. Behold all about them on a sudden was heard the sound of wings, and whole flocks of small winter birds appeared in the court of the fortress, and every moment new ones flew in from the starved country-places around. Birds such as gray larks, ortolans, buntings with yellow breasts, poor sparrows, green titmice, red bulfinches, sat on the slopes of the roofs, on the corners over the doors, on the church; others flew around in a many-colored crown above the head of the prior, flapping their wings, chirping sadly as if begging for alms, and having no fear whatever of man. People present were amazed at the sight; and Kordetski, after he had prayed for a while, said at last, —
"See these little birds of the forest. They come to the protection of the Mother of God, but you doubt Her power."
Consolation and hope had entered their hearts; the monks, beating their breasts, went to the church, and the soldiers mounted the walls.
Women scattered grain to the birds, which began to pick it up eagerly.
All interpreted the visit of these tiny forest-dwellers as a sign of success to themselves, and of evil to the enemy.
"Fierce snows must be lying, when these little birds, caring neither for shots nor the thunder of cannon, flock to our buildings," said the soldiers.
"But why do they fly from the Swedes to us?"
"Because the meanest creature has the wit to distinguish an enemy from a friend."
"That cannot be," said another soldier, "for in the Swedish camp are Poles too; but it means that there must be hunger there, and a lack of oats for the horses."
"It means still better," said a third, "that what they say of the powder is downright falsehood."
"How is that?" asked all, in one voice.
"Old people say," replied the soldier, "that if a house is to fall, the sparrows and swallows having nests in spring under the roof, go away two or three days in advance; every creature has sense to feel danger beforehand. Now if powder were under the cloister, these little birds would not fly to us."
"Is that true?"
"As true as Amen to 'Our Father!'"
"Praise to the Most Holy Lady! it will be bad for the Swedes."
At this moment the sound of a trumpet was heard at the northwestern gate; all ran to see who was coming.
It was a Swedish trumpeter with a letter from the camp. The monks assembled at once in the council hall. The letter was from Count Veyhard, and announced that if the fortress were not surrendered before the following day it would be hurled into the air. But those who before had fallen under the weight of fear had no faith now in this threat.
"Those are vain threats!" said the priests and the nobles together.
"Let us write to them not to spare us; let them blow us up!"
And in fact they answered in that sense.
Meanwhile the soldiers who had gathered around the trumpeter answered his warnings with ridicule.
"Good!" said they to him. "Why do you spare us? We will go the sooner to heaven."
But the man who delivered the answering letter to the messenger said, —
"Do not lose words and time for nothing. Want is gnawing you, but we lack nothing, praise be to God! Even the birds fly away from you."
And in this way Count Veyhard's last trick came to nothing. And when another day had passed it was shown with perfect proof how vain were the fears of the besieged, and peace returned to the cloister.
The following day a worthy man from Chenstohova, Yatsek Bjuhanski, left a letter again giving warning of a storm; also news of the return of Yan Kazimir from Silesia, and the uprising of the whole Commonwealth against the Swedes. But according to reports circulating outside the walls, this was to be the last storm.
Bjuhanski brought the letter with a bag of fish to the priests for Christmas Eve, and approached the walls disguised as a Swedish soldier. Poor man! – the Swedes saw him and seized him. Miller gave command to stretch him on the rack; but the old man had heavenly visions in the time of his torture, and smiled as sweetly as a child, and instead of pain unspeakable joy was depicted on his face. The general was present at the torture, but he gained no confession from the martyr; he merely acquired the despairing conviction that nothing could bend those people, nothing could break them.
Now came the old beggarwoman Kostuha, with a letter from Kordetski begging most humbly that the storm be delayed during service on the day of Christ's birth. The guards and the officers received the beggarwoman with insults and jeers at such an envoy, but she answered them straight in the face, —
"No other would come, for to envoys you are as murderers, and I took the office for bread, – a crust. I shall not be long in this world; I have no fear of you: if you do not believe, you have me in your hands."
But no harm was done her. What is more, Miller, eager to try conciliation again, agreed to the prior's request, even accepted a ransom for Bjuhanski, not yet tortured quite out of his life; he sent also that part of the silver found with the Swedish soldiers. He did this last out of malice to Count Veyhard, who after the failure of the mine had fallen into disfavor again.
At last Christmas Eve came. With the first star, lights great and small began to shine all around in the fortress. The night was still, frosty, but clear. The Swedish soldiers, stiffened with cold in the intrenchments, gazed from below on the dark walls of the unapproachable fortress, and to their minds came the warm Scandinavian cottages stuffed with moss, their wives and children, the fir-tree gleaming with lights; and more than one iron breast swelled with a sigh, with regret, with homesickness, with despair. But in the fortress, at tables covered with hay, the besieged were breaking wafers. A quiet joy was shining in all faces, for each one had the foreboding, almost the certainty, that the hours of suffering would be soon at an end.
"Another storm to-morrow, but that will be the last," repeated the priests and the soldiers. "Let him to whom God will send death give thanks that the Lord lets him be present at Mass, and thus opens more surely heaven's gates, for whoso dies for the faith on the day of Christ's birth must be received into glory."
They wished one another success, long years, or a heavenly crown; and so relief dropped into every heart, as if suffering were over already.
But there stood one empty chair near the prior; before it a plate on which was a package of white wafers bound with a blue ribbon. When all had sat down, no one occupied that place. Zamoyski said, —
"I see, revered father, that according to ancient custom there are places for men outside the cloister."
"Not for men outside," said Father Agustine, "but as a remembrance of that young man whom we loved as a son, and whose soul is looking with pleasure upon us because we keep him in eternal memory."
"As God lives," replied Zamoyski, "he is happier now than we. We owe him due thanks."
Kordetski had tears in his eyes, and Charnyetski said, —
"They write of smaller men in the chronicles. If God gives me life, and any one asks me hereafter, who was there among us the equal of ancient heroes, I shall say Babinich."
"Babinich was not his name," said Kordetski.
"How not Babinich?"
"I long knew his real name under the seal of confession; but when going out against that cannon, he said to me: 'If I perish, let men know who I am, so that honorable repute may rest with my name, and destroy my former misdeeds.' He went, he perished; now I can tell you that he was Kmita!"
"That renowned Lithuanian Kmita?" cried Charnyetski, seizing his forelock.
"The same. How the grace of God changes hearts!"
"For God's sake. Now I understand why he undertook that work; now I understand where he got that daring, that boldness, in which he surpassed all men. Kmita, Kmita, that terrible Kmita whom Lithuania celebrates."
"Henceforth not only Lithuania, but the whole Commonwealth will glorify him in a different manner."
"He was the first to warn us against Count Veyhard."
"Through his advice we closed the gates in good season, and made preparations."
"He killed the first Swede with a shot from a bow."
"And how many of their cannon did he spoil! Who brought down De Fossis?"
"And that siege gun! If we are not terrified at the storm of to-morrow, who is the cause?"
"Let each remember him with honor, and celebrate his name wherever possible, so that justice be done," said Kordetski; "and now may God give him eternal rest."
"And may everlasting light shine on him," answered one chorus of voices.
But Pan Charnyetski was unable for a long time to calm himself, and his thoughts were continually turning to Kmita.
"I tell you, gentlemen, that there was something of such kind in that man that though he served as a simple soldier, the command of itself crawled at once to his hand, so that it was a wonder to me how people obeyed such a young man unwittingly. In fact, he was commander on the bastion, and I obeyed him myself. Oh, had I known him then to be Kmita!"
"Still it is a wonder to me," said Zamoyski, "that the Swedes have not boasted of his death."
Kordetski sighed. "The powder must have killed him on the spot."
"I would let a hand be cut from me could he be alive again," cried Charnyetski. "But that such a Kmita let himself be blown up by powder!"
"He gave his life for ours," said Kordetski.
"It is true," added Zamoyski, "that if that cannon were lying in the intrenchment, I should not think so pleasantly of to-morrow."
"To-morrow God will give us a new victory," said the prior, "for the ark of Noah cannot be lost in the deluge."
Thus they conversed with one another on Christmas Eve, and then separated; the monks going to the church, the soldiers, some to quiet rest, and others to keep watch on the walls and at the gates. But great care was superfluous, for in the Swedish camp there reigned unbroken calm. They had given themselves to rest and meditation, for to them too was approaching a most serious day.
The night was solemn. Legions of stars twinkled in the sky, changing into blue and rosy colors. The light of the moon changed to green the shrouds of snow stretching between the fortress and the hostile camp. The wind did not howl, and it was calm, as from the beginning of the siege it had not been near the cloister.
At midnight the Swedish soldiers heard the flow of the mild and grand tones of the organ; then the voices of men were joined with them; then the sounds of bells, large and small. Joy, consolation, and great calm were in those sounds; and the greater was the doubt, the greater the feeling of helplessness which weighed down the hearts of the Swedes.
The Polish soldiers from the commands of Zbrojek and Kalinski, without seeking permission, went up to the very walls. They were not permitted to enter through fear of some snare; but they were permitted to stand near the walls. They also collected together. Some knelt on the snow, others shook their heads pitifully, sighing over their own lot, or beat their breasts, promising repentance; and all heard with delight and with tears in their eyes the music and the hymns sung according to ancient usage.
At the same time the sentries on the walls who could not be in the church, wishing to make up for their loss, began also to sing, and soon was heard throughout the whole circuit of the walls the Christmas hymn: —
"He is lying in the manger;
Who will run
To greet the little stranger?"
In the afternoon of the following day the thunder of guns drowned again every other sound. All the intrenchments began to smoke simultaneously, the earth trembled in its foundations; as of old there flew on the roof of the church heavy balls, bombs, grenades, and torches fixed in cylinders, pouring a rain of melted lead, and naked torches, knots and ropes. Never had the thunder been so unceasing, never till then had such a river of fire and iron fallen on the cloister; but among the Swedish guns was not that great gun, which alone could crush the wall and make a breach necessary for assault.
But the besieged were so accustomed to fire that each man knew what he had to do, and the defence went in its ordinary course without command. Fire was answered with fire, missile with missile, but better aimed, for with more calmness.
Toward evening Miller went out to see by the last rays of the setting sun the results; and his glance fell on the tower outlined calmly on the background of the sky.
"That cloister will stand for the ages of ages!" cried he, beside himself.
"Amen!" answered Zbrojek, quietly.
In the evening a council was assembled again at headquarters, still more gloomy than usual. Miller opened it himself.
"The storm of to-day," said he, "has brought no result. Our powder is nearly consumed; half of our men are lost, the rest discouraged: they look for disasters, not victory. We have no supplies; we cannot expect reinforcements."
"But the cloister stands unmoved as on the first day of the siege," added Sadovski.
"What remains for us?"
"Disgrace."
"I have received orders," said the general, "to finish quickly or retreat to Prussia."
"What remains to us?" repeated the Prince of Hesse.
All eyes were turned to Count Veyhard, who said: "To save our honor!"
A short broken laugh, more like the gnashing of teeth, came from Miller, who was called Poliorcetes. "The Count wishes to teach us how to raise the dead," said he.
Count Veyhard acted as though he had not heard this.
"Only the slain have saved their honor," said Sadovski.
Miller began to lose his cool blood. "And that cloister stands there yet, that Yasna Gora, that hen-house! I have not taken it! And we withdraw. Is this a dream, or am I speaking in my senses?"
"That cloister stands there yet, that Yasna Gora!" repeated word for word the Prince of Hesse, "and we shall withdraw, – defeated!"
A moment of silence followed; it seemed as though the leader and his subordinates found a certain wild pleasure in bringing to mind their shame and defeat.
