Complete Works of Henryk Sienkiewicz

by Henryk Sienkiewicz

  Fire was flashing from the pupils and eyes of the prince; his whole form shed an uncommon halo.

  “Your highness,” cried Kmita, “I cannot grasp that thought; my head is bursting, my eyes fear to look ahead.”

  “Besides,” said Radzivill, as if pursuing the further course of his own thoughts, “the Swedes will not deprive Yan Kazimir of the kingdom nor of rule, but will leave him in Mazovia and Little Poland. God has not given him posterity. An election will come in time. Whom will they choose to the throne if they wish a further union with Lithuania? When did the kingdom grow strong and crush the Knights of the Cross? After Vladyslav Yagyello had mounted the throne. It will be the same this time. The Poles can call to the throne only him who will be reigning here. They cannot and will not call another, for they would perish, because the breath would not remain in their breasts between the Germans and the Turks, and as it is, the Cossack cancer is gnawing the kingdom. They can call no one else! Blind is he who does not see this; foolish who does not understand it. Both countries will unite again and become one power in my house. Then I shall see if those kinglets of Scandinavia will remain in their Prussia and Great Poland acquired to-day. Then I will say to them, Quos ego! and with this foot will crush their lean ribs, and create a power such as the world has not seen, such as history has not described; perhaps I may carry the cross with fire and sword to Constantinople, and in peace at home terrify the enemy. Thou great God, who orderest the circuits of the stars, grant me to save this ill-fated land, for thy glory and that of all Christendom; give me men to understand my thought, men to put their hands to salvation. There is where I stand!” Here the prince opened his arms, and raised his eyes aloft: “Thou seest me, thou judgest me!”

  “Mighty prince, mighty prince!” cried Kmita.

  “Go, desert me, cast the baton at my feet, break your oath, call me traitor! Let no thorn be lacking in that prickly crown which they have put on my head. Destroy ye the country, thrust it over the precipice, drag away the hand that could save it, and go to the judgment of God! Let him decide between us.”

  Kmita cast himself on his knees before Radzivill. “Mighty prince, I am with you to the death! Father of the country, savior!”

  Radzivill put both hands on his head, and again followed a moment of silence. Only the owl hooted unceasingly on the tower.

  “You will receive all that you have yearned for and wished,” said the prince, with solemnity. “Nothing will miss you, and more will meet you than your father and mother desired. Rise, future grand hetman and voevoda of Vilna!”

  It had begun to dawn in the sky.

  CHAPTER XVI.

  Pan Zagloba had his head mightily full when he hurled the word “traitor” thrice at the eyes of the terrible hetman. At an hour nearer morning, when the wine had evaporated from his bald head, and he found himself with the two Skshetuskis and Pan Michael in a dungeon of Kyedani Castle, he saw, when too late, the danger to which he had exposed his own neck and the necks of his comrades, and was greatly cast down.

  “But what will happen now?” asked he, gazing with dazed look on the little knight, in whom he had special trust in great peril.

  “May the devil take life! it is all one to me!” answered Volodyovski.

  “We shall live to such times and such infamy as the world and this kingdom have not seen hitherto!” said Pan Yan.

  “Would that we might live to them!” answered Zagloba; “we could restore virtue in others by our good example. But shall we live? That is the great question.”

  “This is a terrible event, passing belief!” said Pan Stanislav. “Where has the like of it happened? Save me, gentlemen, for I feel that there is confusion in my head. Two wars, — a third, the Cossack, — and in addition treason, like a plague: Radzyovski, Opalinski, Grudzinski, Radzivill! The end of the world is coming, and the day of judgment; it cannot be otherwise! May the earth open under our feet! As God is dear to me, I am losing my mind!”

  And clasping his hands at the back of his head, he began to pace the length and width of the cellar, like a wild beast in a cage.

  “Shall we begin to pray, or what?” asked he at last. “Merciful God, save us!”

  “Be calm!” said Zagloba; “this is not the time to despair.”

  Pan Stanislav ground his teeth on a sudden; rage carried him away. “I wish you were killed!” cried he to Zagloba. “It was your thought to come to this traitor. May vengeance reach you and him!”

  “Bethink yourself, Stanislav,” said Pan Yan, sternly. “No one could foresee what has happened. Endure, for you are not the only man suffering; and know that our place is here, and not elsewhere. Merciful God! pity, not us, but the ill-fated country.”

  Stanislav made no answer, but wrung his hands till the joints were cracking.

  They were silent. Pan Michael, however, began to whistle through his teeth, in despair, and feigned indifference to everything happening around him, though, in fact, he suffered doubly, — first, for the misfortune of the country, and secondly, because he had violated his obedience to the hetman. The latter was a terrible thing for him, a soldier to the marrow of his bones. He would have preferred to die a thousand times.

  “Do not whistle, Pan Michael,” said Zagloba.

  “All one to me!”

  “How is it? Is no one of you thinking whether there are not means of escape? It is worth while to exercise one’s wits on this. Are we to rot in this cellar, when every hand is needed for the country, when one man of honor must settle ten traitors?”

  “Father is right,” said Pan Yan.

  “You alone have not become stupid from pain. What do you suppose? What does that traitor think of doing with us? Surely he will not punish us with death?”

  Pan Michael burst out in a sudden laugh of despair. “But why not? I am curious to learn! Has he not authority, has he not the sword? Do you not know Radzivill?”

  “Nonsense! What right do they give him?”

  “Over me, the right of a hetman; over you, force!”

  “For which he must answer.”

  “To whom, — to the King of Sweden?”

  “You give me sweet consolation; there is no denying that!”

  “I have no thought of consoling you.”

  They were silent, and for a time there was nothing to be heard but the measured tread of Scottish infantry at the door of the cellar.

  “There is no help here,” said Zagloba, “but stratagem.”

  No one gave answer; therefore he began to talk again after a while: “I will not believe that we are to be put to death. If for every word spoken in haste and in drink, a head were cut off, not one noble in this Commonwealth would walk around with his head on his shoulders. But neminem captivabimus? Is that a trifle?”

  “You have an example in yourself and in us,” answered Stanislav.

  “Well, that happened in haste; but I believe firmly that the prince will take a second thought. We are strangers; in no way do we come under his jurisdiction. He must respect opinion, and not begin with violence, so as not to offend the nobles. As true as life, our party is too large to have the heads cut from all of us. Over the officers he has authority, I cannot deny that; but, as I think, he will look to the army, which surely will not fail to remember its own. And where is your squadron, Michael?”

  “In Upita.”

  “But tell me, are you sure that the men will be true to you?”

  “Whence should I know? They like me well enough, but they know that the hetman is above me.”

  Zagloba meditated awhile. “Give me an order to them to obey me in everything, as they would you, if I appear among them.”

  “You think that you are free!”

  “There is no harm in that. I have been in hotter places, and God saved me. Give an order for me and the two Skshetuskis. Whoso escapes first will go straight to the squadron, and bring it to rescue the others.”

  “You are raving! It is a pity to lose time in empty talk! Who will escape from this pla
ce? Besides, on what can I give an order; have you paper, ink, pen? You are losing your head.”

  “Desperation!” cried Zagloba; “give me even your ring.”

  “Here it is, and let me have peace!”

  Zagloba took the ring, put it on his little finger, and began to walk and meditate.

  Meanwhile the smoking candle went out, and darkness embraced them completely; only through the grating of the high window a couple of stars were visible, twinkling in the clear sky. Zagloba’s eye did not leave the grating. “If heaven-dwelling Podbipienta were living and with us,” mattered the old man, “he would tear out that grating, and in an hour we should see ourselves beyond Kyedani.”

  “But raise me to the window,” said Pan Yan, suddenly.

  Zagloba and Pan Stanislav placed themselves at the wall; in a moment Yan was on their shoulders.

  “It cracks! As God is dear to me, it cracks!” cried Zagloba.

  “What are you talking about, father? I haven’t begun to pull it yet.”

  “Crawl up with your cousin; I’ll hold you somehow. More than once I pitied Pan Michael because he was so slender; but now I regret that he is not still thinner, so as to slip through like a snake.”

  But Yan sprang down from their shoulders. “The Scots are standing on this side!” said he.

  “May God turn them into pillars of salt, like Lot’s wife!” said Zagloba. “It is so dark here that you might strike a man in the face, and he could not see you. It will soon be daybreak. I think they will bring us food of some kind, for even Lutherans do not put prisoners to a hunger death. Perhaps, too, God will send reflection to the hetman. Often in the night conscience starts up in a man, and the devils pinch sinners. Can it be there is only one entrance to this cellar? I will look in the daytime. My head is somehow heavy, and I cannot think out a stratagem. To-morrow God will strengthen my wit; but now we will say the Lord’s Prayer, and commit ourselves to the Most Holy Lady, in this heretical dungeon.”

  In fact they began a moment later to say the Lord’s Prayer and the litany to the Mother of God; then Yan, Stanislav, and Volodyovski were silent, for their breasts were full of misfortune, but Zagloba growled in a low voice and muttered, —

  “It must be beyond doubt that to-morrow he will say to us, aut, aut! (either, or). ‘Join Radzivill and I will pardon everything.’ But we shall see who outwits the other. Do you pack nobles into prison, have you no respect for age or services? Very good! To whom the loss, to him the weeping! The foolish will be under, and the wise on top. I will promise what you like, but what I observe would not make a patch for your boot. If you do not hold to the country, he is virtuous who holds not to you. This is certain, that final ruin is coming on the Commonwealth if its foremost dignitaries join the enemy. This has never been in the world hitherto, and surely a man may lose his senses from it. Are there in hell torments sufficient for such traitors? What was wanting to such a Radzivill? Is it little that the country has given him, that he should sell it like a Judas, and in the very time of its greatest misfortunes, in the time of three wars? Just is thy anger, O Lord! only give swiftest punishment. So be it! Amen! If I could only get out of here quickly, I would create partisans for thee, mighty hetman! Thou wilt know how the fruits of treason taste. Thou wilt look on me yet as a friend; but if thou findest no better, do not hunt a bear unless thy skin is not dear to thee.”

  Thus did Zagloba converse with himself. Meanwhile one hour passed, and a second; at last day began to dawn. The gray light falling through the grating dissipated slowly the darkness in the cellar, and brought out the gloomy figures sitting at the walls. Volodyovski and the Skshetuskis were slumbering from weariness; but when things were more visible, and when from the courtyard came the sounds of soldiers’ footsteps, the clatter of arms, the tramp of hoofs, and the sound of trumpets at the gate, the knights sprang to their feet.

  “The day begins not too favorably for us,” said Yan.

  “God grant it to end more favorably,” answered Zagloba. “Do you know what I have thought in the night? They will surely treat us with the gift of life if we will take service with Radzivill and help him in his treason; we ought to agree to that, so as to make use of our freedom and stand up for the country.”

  “May God preserve me from putting my name to treason,” answered Yan; “for though I should leave the traitor afterward, my name would remain among those of traitors as an infamy to my children. I will not do that, I prefer to die.”

  “Neither will I!” said Stanislav.

  “But I tell you beforehand that I will. No one will think that I did it voluntarily or sincerely. May the devils take that dragon Radzivill! We shall see yet who gets the upper hand.”

  Further conversation was stopped by sounds in the yard. Among them were the ominous accents of anger and indignation. At the same time single voices of command, the echo of footsteps of whole crowds, and heavy thunder as of cannon in motion.

  “What is going on?” asked Zagloba. “Maybe there is some help for us.”

  “There is surely an uncommon uproar,” said Volodyovski. “But raise me to the window, for I shall see right away what it is.”

  Yan took Volodyovski and raised him as he would a boy. Pan Michael caught the grating, and looked carefully through the yard.

  “There is something going on, — there is!” said he, with sudden alertness. “I see the Hungarian castle regiment of infantry which Oskyerko led — they loved him greatly, and he too is arrested; they are demanding him surely. As God lives! they are in order of battle. Lieutenant Stahovich is with them; he is a friend of Oskyerko.”

  At that moment the cries grew still louder.

  “Ganhoff has ridden up. He is saying something to Stahovich, and what a shout! I see that Stahovich with two officers is walking away from the troops. They are going of course as a deputation to the hetman. As God is dear to me, mutiny is spreading in the army! The cannon are pointed against the Hungarians, and the Scottish regiment is also in order of battle. Men from the Polish squadrons are gathering to the Hungarians. Without them they would not be so daring, for in the infantry there is stern discipline.”

  “In God’s name!” cried Zagloba. “In that is salvation for us. Pan Michael, are there many Polish squadrons? If they rise, it will be a rising!”

  “Stankyevich’s hussars and Mirski’s mailed squadrons are two days’ march from Kyedani,” answered Volodyovski. “If they had been here, the hetman would not have dared to arrest their commanders. Wait! There are Kharlamp’s dragoons, one regiment, Myeleshko’s another; they are for the prince. Nyevyarovski declared also for the prince, but his regiment is far away, — two Scottish regiments.”

  “Then there are four with the prince?”

  “And the artillery under Korf, two regiments.”

  “Oh, that’s a strong force!”

  “And Kmita’s squadron, well equipped, — six hundred men.”

  “And on whose side is Kmita?”

  “I do not know.”

  “Did you not see him? Did he throw down his baton?”

  “We know not.”

  “Who are against the prince, — what squadrons?”

  “First, these Hungarians evidently, two hundred men; then a number of detached men from the commands of Mirski and Stankyevich; some nobles and Kmita, — but he is uncertain.”

  “God grant him! — By God’s mercy! — Too few, too few.”

  “These Hungarians are as good as two regiments, old soldiers and tried. But wait! They are lighting the matches at the cannon; it looks like a battle!”

  Yan and Stanislav were silent; Zagloba was writhing as in a fever, —

  “Slay the traitors! Slay the dog-brothers! Ai, Kmita! Kmita! All depends on him. Is he daring?”

  “As the devil, — ready for anything.”

  “It must be that he will take our side.”

  “Mutiny in the army! See to what the hetman has brought things!” cried Volodyovski.

  “Who is the muti
neer, — the army, or the hetman who rose against his own king?” asked Zagloba.

  “Godwin judge that. Wait! Again there is a movement! Some of Kharlamp’s dragoons take the part of the Hungarians. The very best nobles serve in that regiment. Hear how they shout!”

  “The colonels! the colonels!” cried threatening voices in the yard.

  “Pan Michael! by the wounds of God, cry to them to send for your squadron and for the armored regiment and the hussars.”

  “Be silent!”

  Zagloba began to shout himself: “But send for the rest of the Polish squadrons, and cut down the traitors!”

  “Be silent there!”

  Suddenly, not in the yard, but in the rear of the castle, rang forth a sharp salvo of muskets.

  “Jesus Mary!” cried Volodyovski.

  “Pan Michael, what is that?”

  “Beyond doubt they have shot Stahovich and the two officers who went as a deputation,” said Volodyovski, feverishly. “It cannot be otherwise!”

  “By the passion of our Lord! Then there is no mercy. It is impossible to hope.”

  The thunder of shots drowned further discourse. Pan Michael grasped the grating convulsively and pressed his forehead to it, but for a while he could see nothing except the legs of the Scottish infantry stationed at the window. Salvos of musketry grew more and more frequent; at last the cannon were heard. The dry knocking of bullets against the wall over the cellar was heard distinctly, like hail. The castle trembled to its foundation.

  “Jump down, Michael, or you will be killed!” cried Yan.