“What do you wish then, Sir Cavalier, or rather, fair cousin?”
“I ask instruction, your highness; it would be a shame indeed were I unable to learn at the side of such statesmen. I know not whether your highness will be pleased to answer me without reserve—”
“That will depend on your question and on my humor,” answered Boguslav, not ceasing to look at the mirror.
Kmita’s eyes glittered for a moment, but he continued calmly, —
“This is my question: The prince voevoda of Vilna shields all his acts with the good and salvation of the Commonwealth, so that in fact the Commonwealth is never absent from his lips; be pleased to tell me sincerely, are these mere pretexts, or has the hetman in truth nothing but the good of the Commonwealth in view?”
Boguslav cast a quick glance on Pan Andrei. “If I should say that they are pretexts, would you give further service?”
Kmita shrugged his shoulders carelessly. “Of course! As I have said, my fortune will increase with the fortune of your highness and that of the hetman. If that increase comes, the rest is all one to me.”
“You will be a man! Remember that I foretell this. But why has my cousin not spoken openly with you?”
“Maybe because he is squeamish, or just because it did not happen to be the topic.”
“You have quick wit, Cousin Cavalier, for it is the real truth that he is squeamish and shows his true skin unwillingly. As God is dear to me, true! Such is his nature. So, even in talking with me, the moment he forgets himself he begins to adorn his speech with love for the country. When I laugh at him to his eyes, he comes to his senses. True! true!”
“Then it is merely a pretext?” asked Kmita.
The prince turned the chair around and sat astride of it, as on a horse, and resting his arms on the back of it was silent awhile, as if in thought; then he said, —
“Hear me, Pan Kmita. If we Radzivills lived in Spain, France, or Sweden, where the son inherits after the father, and where the right of the king comes from God himself, then, leaving aside civil war, extinction of the royal stock, or some uncommon event, we should serve the king and the country firmly, being content with the highest offices which belong to us by family and fortune. But here, in the land where the king has not divine right at his back, but the nobles create him, where everything is in free suffrage, we ask ourselves with reason, — Why should a Vaza rule, and not a Radzivill? There is no objection so far as the Vazas are concerned, for they take their origin from hereditary kings; but who will assure us, who will guarantee that after the Vazas the nobles will not have the whim of seating on the throne of the kingdom and on the throne of the Grand Principality even Pan Harasimovich, or some Pan Myeleshko, or some Pan Pyeglasyevich from Psivolki? Tfu! can I guess whom they may fancy? And must we, Radzivills, and princes of the German Empire, come to kiss the hand of King Pyeglasyevich? Tfu! to all the horned devils, Cavalier, it is time to finish with this! Look meanwhile at Germany, — how many provincial princes there, who in importance and fortune are fitted to be under-starostas for us. Still they have their principalities, they rule, wear crowns on their heads, and take precedence of us, though it would be fitter for them to bear the trains of our mantles. It is time to put an end to this, and accomplish that which was already planned by my father.”
Here the prince grew vivacious, rose from the chair, and began to walk through the room.
“This will not take place without difficulty and obstacles,” continued he, “for the Radzivills of Olyta and Nyesvyej are not willing to aid us. I know that Prince Michael wrote to my cousin that he would better think of a hair-shirt than of a royal mantle. Let him think of a hair-shirt himself, let him do penance, let him sit on ashes, let the Jesuits lash his skin with disciplines; if he is content with being a royal carver, let him carve capons virtuously all his virtuous life, till his virtuous death! We shall get on without him and not drop our hands, for just now is the time. The devils are taking the Commonwealth; for now it is so weak, has gone to such dogs, that it cannot drive them away. Every one is crawling in over its boundaries, as into an unfenced garden. What has happened here with the Swedes has happened nowhere on earth to this day. We, Sir Cavalier, may sing in truth ‘Te Deum laudamus.’ In its way the event is unheard of, unparalleled. Just think: an invader attacks a country, an invader famous for rapacity; and not only does he not find resistance, but every living man deserts his old king and hurries to a new one, — magnates, nobles, the army, castles, towns, all, — without honor, without fame, without feeling, without shame! History gives not another such example. Tfu! tfu! trash inhabit this country, — men without conscience or ambition. And is such a country not to perish? They are looking for our favor! Ye will have favor! In Great Poland already the Swedes are thumb-screwing nobles; and so will it be everywhere, — it cannot be otherwise.”
Kmita grew paler and paler, but with the remnant of his strength he held in curb an outburst of fury; the prince, absorbed in his own speech, delighted with his own words, with his own wisdom, paid no attention to his listener, and continued, —
“There is a custom in this land that when a man is dying his relatives at the last moment pull the pillow from under his head, so that he may not suffer longer. I and the prince voevoda of Vilna have determined to render this special service to the Commonwealth. But because many plunderers are watching for the inheritance and we cannot get it all, we wish that a part, and that no small one, should come to us. As relatives, we have that right. If with this comparison I have not spoken on a level with your understanding, and have not been able to hit the point, I will tell you in other words: Suppose the Commonwealth a red cloth at which are pulling the Swedes, Hmelnitski, the Hyperboreans, the Tartars, the elector, and whosoever lives around. But I and the prince voevoda of Vilna have agreed that enough of that cloth must remain in our hands to make a robe for us; therefore we do not prevent the dragging, but we drag ourselves. Let Hmelnitski stay in the Ukraine; let the Swedes and the elector settle about Prussia and Great Poland; let Rakotsy, or whoever is nearer, take Little Poland, — Lithuania must be for Prince Yanush, and, together with his daughter, for me.”
Kmita rose quickly. “I give thanks, your highness; that is all I wanted to know.”
“You are going out. Sir Cavalier?”
“I am.”
The prince looked carefully at Kmita, and at that moment first noted his pallor and excitement.
“What is the matter, Pan Kmita?” asked he. “You look like a ghost.”
“Weariness has knocked me off my feet, and my head is dizzy. Farewell, your highness; I will come before starting, to bow to you again.”
“Make haste, then, for I start after midday myself.”
“I shall return in an hour at furthest.”
When he had said this, Kmita bent his head and went out. In the other room the servants rose at sight of him, but he passed like a drunken man, seeing no one. At the threshold of the room he caught his head with both hands, and began to repeat, almost with a groan, —
“Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews! Jesus, Mary, Joseph!”
With tottering steps he passed through the guard, composed of six men with halberds. Outside the gate were his own men, the sergeant Soroka at the head of them.
“After me!” called Kmita. And he moved through the town toward the inn.
Soroka, an old soldier of Kmita’s, knowing him perfectly, noticed at once that something uncommon had happened to the colonel.
“Let your soul be on guard,” said he quietly to the men; “woe to him on whom his anger falls now!”
The soldiers hastened their steps in silence, but Kmita did not go at a walk; he almost ran, waving his hand and repeating words well-nigh incoherent.
To the ears of Soroka came only broken phrases, —
“Poisoners, faith-breakers, traitors! Crime and treason, — the two are the same—”
Then he began to mention his old comrades. The names Kokosinski, Kulvyets,
Ranitski, Rekuts, and others fell from his lips one after another; a number of times he mentioned Volodyovski. Soroka heard this with wonder, and grew more and more alarmed; but in his mind he thought, —
“Some one’s blood will flow; it cannot be otherwise.”
Meanwhile they had come to the inn. Kmita shut himself in his room at once, and for about an hour he gave no sign of life. The soldiers meanwhile had tied on the packs and saddled the horses without order.
“That is no harm,” said Soroka; “it is necessary to be ready for everything.”
“We too are ready!” answered the old fighters, moving their mustaches.
In fact, it came out soon that Soroka knew his colonel well; for Kmita appeared suddenly in the front room, without a cap, in his trousers and shirt only.
“Saddle the horses!” cried he.
“They are saddled.”
“Fasten on the packs!”
“They are fastened.”
“A ducat a man!” cried the young colonel, who in spite of all his fever and excitement saw that those soldiers had guessed his thought quickly.
“We give thanks, Commander!” cried all in chorus.
“Two men will take the pack-horses and go out of the place immediately toward Dembova. Go slowly through the town; outside the town put the horses on a gallop, and stop not till the forest is reached.”
“According to command!”
“Four others load their pistols. For me saddle two horses, and let another be ready.”
“I knew there would be something!” muttered Soroka.
“Now, Sergeant, after me!” cried Kmita.
And undressed as he was, in trousers only, and open shirt, he went out of the front room. Soroka followed him, opening his eyes widely with wonder; they went in this fashion to the well in the yard of the inn. Here Kmita stopped, and pointing to the bucket hanging from the sweep, said, —
“Pour water on my head!”
Soroka knew from experience how dangerous it was to ask twice about an order; he seized the rope, let the bucket down into the water, drew up quickly, and taking the bucket in his hands, threw the water on Pan Andrei, who, puffing and blowing like a whale, rubbed his wet hair with his hands, and cried, —
“More!”
Soroka repeated the act, and threw water with all his force, just as if he were putting out a fire.
“Enough!” said Kmita, at length. “Follow me, help me to dress.”
Both went to the inn. At the gate they met the two men going out with two pack-horses.
“Slowly through the town; outside the town on a gallop!” commanded Kmita; and he wont in.
Half an hour later he appeared dressed completely, as if for the road, with high boots and an elkskin coat, girded with a leather belt into which was thrust a pistol.
The soldiers noticed, too, that from under his kaftan gleamed the edge of chain mail, as if he were going to battle. He had his sabre also girt high, so as to seize the hilt more easily. His face was calm enough, but stern and threatening. Casting a glance at the soldiers to see if they were ready and armed properly, he mounted his horse, and throwing a ducat at the innkeeper, rode out of the place.
Soroka rode at his side; three others behind, leading a horse. Soon they found themselves on the square filled by Boguslav’s troops. There was movement among them already; evidently the command had come to prepare for the road. The horsemen were tightening the girths of the saddle and bridling the horses; the infantry were taking their muskets, stacked before the houses; others were attaching horses to wagons.
Kmita started as it were from meditation.
“Hear me, old man,” said he to Soroka; “from the starosta’s house does the road go on, — it will not be necessary to come back through the square?”
“But where are we going, Colonel?”
“To Dembova.”
“Then we must go from the square past the house. The square will be behind us.”
“It is well,” said Kmita.
“Oh, if only those men were alive now! Few are fitted for work like this, — few!”
Meanwhile they passed the square, and began to turn toward the starosta’s house, which lay about one furlong and a half farther on, near the roadside.
“Stop!” cried Kmita, suddenly.
The soldiers halted, and he turned to them. “Are you ready for death?” asked he, abruptly.
“Ready!” answered in chorus these dare-devils of Orsha.
“We crawled up to Hovanski’s throat, and he did not devour us, — do you remember?”
“We remember!”
“There is need to dare great things to-day. If success comes, our gracious king will make lords of you, — I guarantee that! If failure, you will go to the stake!”
“Why not success?” asked Soroka, whose eyes began to gleam like those of an old wolf.
“There will be success!” said three others, — Biloüs, Zavratynski, and Lubyenyets.
“We must carry off the prince marshal!” said Kmita. Then he was silent, wishing to see the impression which the mad thought would make on the soldiers. But they were silent too, and looked on him as on a rainbow; only, their mustaches quivered, and their faces became terrible and murderous.
“The stake is near, the reward far away,” added Kmita.
“There are few of us,” muttered Zavratynski.
“It is worse than against Hovanski,” said Lubyenyets.
“The troops are all in the market-square, and at the house are only the sentries and about twenty attendants,” said Kmita, “who are off their guard, and have not even swords at their sides.”
“You risk your head; why should we not risk ours?” said Soroka.
“Hear me,” continued Kmita. “If we do not take him by cunning, we shall not take him at all. Listen! I will go into the room, and after a time come out with the prince. If the prince will sit on my horse, I will sit on the other, and we will ride on. When we have ridden about a hundred or a hundred and fifty yards, then seize him from both sides by the shoulders, and gallop the horses with all breath.”
“According to order!” answered Soroka.
“If I do not come out,” continued Kmita, “and you hear a shot in the room, then open on the guards with pistols, and give me the horse as I rush from the door.”
“That will be done,” answered Soroka.
“Forward!” commanded Kmita.
They moved on, and a quarter of an hour later halted at the gate of the starosta’s house. At the gate were six guards with halberds; at the door of the anteroom four men were standing. Around a carriage in the front yard were occupied equerries and outriders, whom an attendant of consequence was overseeing, — a foreigner, as might be known from his dress and wig.
Farther on, near the carriage-house, horses were being attached to two other carriages, to which gigantic Turkish grooms were carrying packs. Over these watched a man dressed in black, with a face like that of a doctor or an astrologer.
Kmita announced himself as he had previously, through the officer of the day, who returned soon and asked him to the prince.
“How are you, Cavalier?” asked the prince, joyfully. “You left me so suddenly that I thought scruples had risen in you from my words, and I did not expect to see you again.”
“Of course I could not go without making my obeisance.”
“Well, I thought: the prince voevoda has known whom to send on a confidential mission. I make use of you also, for I give you letters to a number of important persons, and to the King of Sweden himself. But why armed as if for battle?”
“I am going among confederates; I have heard right here in this place, and your highness has confirmed the report, that a confederate squadron passed. Even here in Pilvishki they brought a terrible panic on Zolotarenko’s men, for a famed soldier is leading that squadron.”
“Who is he?”
“Pan Volodyovski; and with him are Mirski, Oskyerko, and the two Skshetuskis, — one that man
of Zbaraj, whose wife your highness wanted to besiege in Tykotsin. All rebelled against the prince voevoda; and it is a pity, for they were good soldiers. What is to be done? There are still fools in the Commonwealth who are unwilling to pull the red cloth with Cossacks and Swedes.”
“There is never a lack of fools in the world, and especially in this country,” said the prince. “Here are the letters; and besides, when you see his Swedish grace, say as if in confidence that in heart I am as much his adherent as my cousin, but for the time I must dissemble.”
“Who is not forced to that?” answered Kmita. “Every man dissembles, especially if he thinks to do something great.”
“That is surely the case. Acquit yourself well, Sir Cavalier, I will be thankful to you, and will not let the hetman surpass me in rewarding.”
“If the favor of your highness is such, I ask reward in advance.”
“You have it! Surely my cousin has not furnished you over abundantly for the road. There is a serpent in his money-box.”
“May God guard me from asking money! I did not ask it of the hetman, and I will not take it from your highness. I am at my own expense, and I will remain so.”
Prince Boguslav looked at the young knight with wonder. “I see that in truth the Kmitas are not of those who look at men’s hands. What is your wish then, Sir Cavalier?”
“The matter is as follows: without thinking carefully in Kyedani, I took a horse of high blood, so as to show myself before the Swedes. I do not exaggerate when I say there is not a better in the stables of Kyedani. Now I am sorry for him, and I am afraid to injure him on the road, in the stables of inns, or for want of rest. And as accidents are not hard to meet, he may fall into enemies’ hands, even those of that Volodyovski, who personally is terribly hostile to me. I have thought, therefore, to beg your highness to take him to keep and use until I ask for him at a more convenient time.”
“Better sell him to me.”
“Impossible, — it would be like selling a friend. At a small estimate that horse has taken me a hundred times out of the greatest danger; for he has this virtue too, that in battle he bites the enemy savagely.”
Complete Works of Henryk Sienkiewicz Page 140