“Not strong,” answered Kmita, “and in these unquiet times it cannot be otherwise. The prince has a world of troubles and annoyances.”
“I believe that!” said Pan Hudzynski.
Kmita looked at him for a while, then turned to the host and continued, —
“The prince, being promised assistance by the Swedish King, expected to move against the enemy at Vilna without delay, and take vengeance for the ashes of that place, which have not yet grown cold. And it must be known also to you that now it is necessary to search for Vilna in Vilna, for it was burning seventeen days. They say that nothing is visible among the ruins but the black holes of cellars from which smoke is still rising continually.”
“Misfortune!” said the sword-bearer.
“Of course a misfortune, which if it could not have been prevented should be avenged and similar ruins made of the enemy’s capital. In fact, it was coming to this when disturbers, suspecting the best intentions of an honorable man, proclaimed him a traitor, and resisted him in arms instead of aiding him against the enemy. It is not to be wondered, therefore, that the health of the prince totters, since he, whom God predestined to great things, sees that the malice of man is ever preparing new obstacles through which the entire undertaking may come to naught. The best friends of the prince have deceived him; those on whom he counted most have left him, or gone to the enemy.”
“So it is,” said the sword-bearer, seriously.
“That is very painful,” continued Kmita, “and I myself have heard the prince say, ‘I know that honorable men pass evil judgments on me; but why do they not come to Kyedani, why do they not tell me to my face what they have against me, and listen to my reasons?’”
“Whom has the prince in mind?” asked the sword-bearer.
“In the first rank you, my benefactor, for whom he has a genuine regard, and he suspects that you belong to the enemy.”
The sword-bearer began to smooth his forelock quickly. At last, seeing that the conversation was taking an undesirable turn, he clapped his hands.
A servant appeared in the doorway.
“Seest not that it is growing dark? Bring lights!” cried Pan Tomash.
“God sees,” continued Kmita, “that I had intended to lay before you proper assurances of my own devotion separately, but I have come here also at the order of the prince, who would have come in person to Billeviche if the time were more favoring.”
“Our thresholds are too lowly,” said the sword-bearer.
“Do not say that, since it is customary for neighbors to visit one another; but the prince has no time unoccupied, therefore he said to me, ‘Explain in my name to Pan Billevich that I am not able to visit him, but let him come to me with his niece, and that of course without delay, for to-morrow or the day following I know not where I shall be.’ So I have come with a request, and I trust that both of you are in good health; for when I drove in here I saw Panna Aleksandra in the door, but she vanished at once, like mist from the field.”
“That is true,” said the sword-bearer; “I sent her myself to see who had come.”
“I am waiting for your reply, my benefactor,” said Kmita.
At that moment the attendant brought in a light and placed it on the table; by the shining of the light it was seen that Billevich was greatly confused.
“This is no small honor for me,” said he, “but — I cannot go at once. Be pleased to excuse me to the hetman — you see that I have guests.”
“Oh, surely that will not hinder, for these gentlemen will yield to the prince.”
“We have our own tongues in our mouths, and can answer for ourselves,” said Pan Hudzynski.
“Without waiting for others to make decisions concerning us,” added Dovgird.
“You see,” continued Kmita, pretending to take in good part the churlish words of the nobles, “I knew that these were polite cavaliers. But to avoid slighting any one, I invite them also in the name of the prince to come to Kyedani.”
“Too much favor,” said both; “we have something else to do.”
Kmita looked on them with a peculiar expression, and then said coldly, as if speaking to some fourth person, “When the prince invites, it is not permitted to refuse.”
At that they rose from their chairs.
“But is that constraint?” asked the sword-bearer.
“Pan Billevich, my benefactor,” answered Kmita, quickly, “those gentlemen will go whether they wish or not, for thus it has pleased me; but I desire not to use force with you, and I beg most sincerely that you will deign to gratify the prince. I am on service, and have an order to bring you; but as long as I do not lose hope of effecting something with entreaty, I shall not cease to entreat, — and I swear to you that not a hair will fall from your head while there. The prince wishes to talk with you, and wishes you to live in Kyedani during these troubled times, when even peasants collect in crowds and plunder. This is the whole affair! You will be treated with fitting respect in Kyedani, as a guest and a friend; I give my word of honor for that.”
“As a noble, I protest,” said the sword-bearer, “and the law protects me.”
“And sabres!” cried Hudzynski and Dovgird.
Kmita laughed, frowned, and said, “Put away your sabres, gentlemen, or I shall give the order to place you both against the barn and put a bullet into the head of each one of you.”
At this they grew timid, and began to look at each other and at Kmita; but the sword-bearer cried, —
“The most outrageous violence against the freedom of nobles, against privileges!”
“There will be no violence if you comply of your own will,” said Kmita; “and the proof is in this that I left dragoons in the village, and came here alone to invite you as one neighbor another. Do not refuse, for the times are such that it is difficult to pay attention to refusals. The prince himself will excuse you therefore, and know that you will be received as a neighbor and a friend. Understand, too, that could you be received otherwise, I would a hundred times rather have a bullet in my head than come here for you. Not a hair will fall from any Billevich head while I am alive. Call to mind who I am, remember Heraclius Billevich, remember his will, and consider whether the prince would have selected me did he not intend to deal with you in sincerity.”
“Why then does he use force, why have I to go under constraint? How am I to trust him, when all Lithuania talks of the oppression under which honorable citizens are groaning in Kyedani?”
Kmita drew breath; for, from his words and voice he knew that Billevich was beginning to weaken in his resistance.
“Worthy benefactor,” said he, almost joyously, “constraint among neighbors often rises from affection. And when you order servants to put the carriage-wheel of a welcome guest in the storehouse, or his provision-chest in the larder, is not that constraint? And when you force him to drink, even when wine is flowing out through his nostrils, is not that constraint? And be assured that even had I to bind you and take you bound to Kyedani among dragoons, that would be for your good. Just think, insurgent soldiers are wandering about and committing lawless deeds, peasants are mustering, Swedish troops are approaching, and do you think to save yourself from accident in the uproar, or that some of these will not come to-day or tomorrow, plunder and burn your property, and attack your person? Is Billeviche a fortress? Can you defend yourself here? What does the prince wish for you? Safety; for Kyedani is the only place where you are not in danger. A detachment of the prince’s troops will guard your property here, as the eyes in their heads, from all disorder of soldiers; and if one fork is lost, then take my whole fortune.”
Billevich began to walk through the room. “Can I trust your word?”
At that moment Panna Aleksandra entered the room. Kmita approached her quickly, but suddenly remembered the events of Kyedani, and her cold face fixed him to the floor; he bowed therefore from a distance, in silence.
Pan Billevich stood before her. “We have to go to Kyedani,” said he.
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“And for what reason?” asked she.
“For the hetman invites.”
“Very kindly, — as a neighbor,” added Kmita.
“Yes, very kindly,” said Billevich, with a certain bitterness; “but if we do not go of our own will, this cavalier has the order to surround us with dragoons and take us by force.”
“God preserve us from that!” said Kmita.
“Have not I told you, Uncle,” asked Panna Aleksandra, “that we ought to flee as far as possible, for they would not leave us here undisturbed? Now my words have come true.”
“What’s to be done, what’s to be done? There is no remedy against force,” cried Billevich.
“True,” answered the lady: “but we ought not to go to that infamous house of our own will. Let murderers take us, bind us, and bear us. Not we alone shall suffer persecution, not us alone will the vengeance of traitors reach; but let them know that we prefer death to infamy.”
Here she turned with an expression of supreme contempt to Kmita: “Bind us, sir officer, or sir executioner, and take us with horses, for in another way we will not go.”
The blood rushed to Kmita’s face; it seemed for a time that he would burst forth in terrible anger, but he restrained himself.
“Ah, gracious lady,” said he, with a voice stifled from excitement, “I have not favor in your eyes, since you wish to make me a murderer, a traitor, and a man of violence. May God judge who is right, — whether I serving the hetman, or you insulting me as a dog. God gave you beauty, but a heart venomous and implacable. You are glad to suffer yourself, that you may inflict still greater pain on another. You exceed the measure, — as I live, you exceed it, — and nothing will come of that.”
“The maiden speaks well,” cried Billevich, to whom daring came suddenly; “we will not go of our own will. Take us with dragoons.”
But Kmita paid no attention whatever to him, so much was he excited, and so deeply touched.
“You are in love with the sufferings of people,” continued he to Olenka, “and you proclaim me a traitor without judgment, without considering a reason, without permitting me to say a word in my own defence. Let it be so. But you will go to Kyedani, — of your own will or against your will; it is all one. There my intentions will become evident; there you will know whether you have justly accused me of wrong, there conscience will tell you who of us was whose executioner. I want no other vengeance. God be with you, but I want that vengeance. And I want nothing more of you, for you have bent the bow to the breaking. There is a serpent under your beauty as under a flower.”
“We will not go!” repeated Billevich, still more resolutely.
“As true as life we will not!” shouted Hudzynski and Dovgird.
Kmita turned to them; but he was very pale now, for rage was throttling him, and his teeth chattered as in a fever.
“Ei! Try now to resist! My horses are to be heard, — my dragoons are coming. Will some one say again that he will not go?”
In fact the tramp of numerous horses was heard. All saw that there was no help, and Kmita said, —
“Young lady, within the time that a man could repeat the Lord’s Prayer twice you must be in the carriage, or your uncle will have a bullet in his head.”
And it was evident that the wild frenzy of anger was taking possession more and more of Pan Andrei, for suddenly he shouted till the panes rattled in the windows, “To the road!”
That same instant the door of the front chamber opened quietly, and some strange voice inquired, —
“To what place, Cavalier?”
All became as stone from amazement, and every eye was turned to the door, in which stood some small man in armor, and with a naked sabre in his hand.
Kmita retreated a step, as if he had seen an apparition. “Pan Volodyovski!” cried he.
“At your service!” answered the little man. And he advanced into the middle of the chamber; after him entered in a crowd Mirski, Zagloba, Pan Yan, Pan Stanislav, Stankyevich, Oskyerko and Roh Kovalski.
“Ha!” cried Zagloba; “the Cossack caught a Tartar, and the Tartar holds him by the head!”
Billevich began to speak: “Whoever you are, gentlemen, save a citizen whom in spite of law, birth, and office they wish to arrest and confine. Save, brothers, the freedom of a noble, whoever you may be.”
“Fear not!” answered Volodyovski, “the dragoons of this cavalier are already in fetters, and now he needs rescue himself more than you do.”
“But a priest most of all!” added Zagloba.
“Sir Knight,” said Volodyovski, turning to Kmita, “you have no luck with me; a second time I stand in your way. You did not expect me?”
“I did not! I thought you were in the hands of the prince.”
“I have just slipped out of those hands, — this is the road to Podlyasye. But enough! The first time that you bore away this lady I challenged you to sabres, is it not true?”
“True,” answered Kmita, reaching involuntarily to his head.
“Now it is another affair. Then you were given to fighting, — a thing usual with nobles, and not bringing the last infamy. To-day you do not deserve that an honest man should challenge you.”
“Why is that?” asked Kmita; and raising his proud head, he looked Volodyovski straight in the eyes.
“You are a traitor and a renegade,” answered Volodyovski, “for you have cut down, like an executioner, honest soldiers who stood by their country, — for it is through your work that this unhappy land is groaning under a new yoke. Speaking briefly, prepare for death, for as God is in heaven your last hour has come.”
“By what right do you judge and execute me?” inquired Kmita.
“Gracious sir,” answered Zagloba, seriously, “say your prayers instead of asking us about a right. But if you have anything to say in your defence, say it quickly, for you will not find a living soul to take your part. Once, as I have heard, this lady here present begged you from the hands of Pan Volodyovski; but after what you have done now, she will surely not take your part.”
Here the eyes of all turned involuntarily to Panna Aleksandra, whose face at that moment was as if cut from stone; and she stood motionless, with downcast lids, icy-cold, but she did not advance a step or speak a word.
The voice of Kmita broke the silence— “I do not ask that lady for intercession.”
Panna Aleksandra was silent.
“This way!” called Volodyovski, turning toward the door.
Heavy steps were heard, followed by the gloomy rattle of spurs; and six soldiers, with Yuzva Butrym in front, entered the room.
“Take him!” commanded Volodyovski, “lead him outside the village and put a bullet in his head.”
The heavy hand of Butrym rested on the collar of Kmita, after that two other hands.
“Do not let them drag me like a dog!” said Kmita to Volodyovski. “I will go myself.”
Volodyovski nodded to the soldiers, who released him at once, but surrounded him; and he walked out calmly, not speaking to any man, only whispering his prayers.
Panna Aleksandra went out also, through the opposite door, to the adjoining rooms. She passed the first and the second, stretching out her hand in the darkness before her; suddenly her head whirled, the breath failed in her bosom, and she fell, as if dead, on the floor.
Among those who were assembled in the first room a dull silence reigned for some time; at last Billevich broke it. “Is there no mercy for him?” asked he.
“I am sorry for him,” answered Zagloba, “for he went manfully to death.”
To which Mirski said, “He shot a number of officers out of my squadron, besides those whom he slew in attack.”
“And from mine too,” added Stankyevich; “and he cut up almost all of Nyevyarovski’s men.”
“He must have had orders from Radzivill,” said Zagloba.
“Gentlemen,” said Billevich, “you bring the vengeance of Radzivill on my head.”
“You must flee. We are
going to Podlyasye, for there the squadrons have risen against traitors; go with us. There is no other help. You can take refuge in Byalovyej, where a relative of Pan Skshetuski is the king’s hunter. There no one will find you.”
“But my property will be lost.”
“The Commonwealth will restore it to you.”
“Pan Michael,” said Zagloba, suddenly, “I will gallop off and see if there are not some orders of the hetman on that unfortunate man. You remember what I found on Roh Kovalski.”
“Mount a horse. There is time yet; later the papers will be bloody. I ordered them to take him beyond the village, so that the lady might not be alarmed at the rattle of muskets, for women are sensitive and given to fright.”
Zagloba went out, and after a while the tramp of the horse on which he rode away was heard. Volodyovski turned to the host.
“What is the lady doing?”
“Beyond doubt she is praying for that soul which must go before God.”
“May the Lord give him eternal rest!” said Pan Yan. “Were it not for his willing service with Radzivill, I should be the first to speak in his favor; but if he did not wish to stand by his country, he might at least not have sold his soul to Radzivill.”
“That is true!” added Volodyovski.
“He is guilty and deserves what has come upon him,” said Pan Stanislav; “but I would that Radzivill were in his place, or Opalinski — oh, Opalinski!”
“Of how far he is guilty, you have best proof here,” put in Oskyerko; “this lady, who was his betrothed, did not find a word in his favor. I saw clearly that she was in torment, but she was silent; for how could she take the part of a traitor.”
“She loved him once sincerely, I know that,” said Billevich. “Permit me, gentlemen, to go and see what has befallen her, as this is a grievous trial for a woman.”
“Make ready for the road!” cried the little knight, “for we shall merely give rest to the horses. We move farther. Kyedani is too near this place, and Radzivill must have returned already.”
“Very well!” said the noble, and he left the room.
After a while his piercing cry was heard. The knights sprang toward the sound, not knowing what had happened; the servants also ran in with the lights, and they saw Billevich raising Olenka, whom he had found lying senseless on the floor.
Complete Works of Henryk Sienkiewicz Page 132