The Deluge. Vol. 2

After this both heard the sentence of death. The sentence was read at Miller's quarters in presence of the staff and distinguished officers. All observed carefully the faces of the monks, curious to learn what impression the sentence would make; and with the greatest amazement they saw in both a joy as great, as unearthly, as if the highest fortune had been announced to them. The pale faces of the monks flushed suddenly, their eyes were filled with light, and Father Malahovski said with a voice trembling from emotion, —

"Ah! why should we not die to-day, since we are predestined to fall a sacrifice for our Lord and the king?"

Miller commanded to lead them forth straightway. The officers looked at one another. At last one remarked; "A struggle with such fanaticism is difficult."

The Prince of Hesse added: "Only the first Christians had such faith. Is that what you wish to say?" Then he turned to Count Veyhard. "Pan Veyhard," said he, "I should be glad to know what you think of these monks?"

"I have no need to trouble my head over them," answered he, insolently; "the general has already taken care of them."

Then Sadovski stepped forward to the middle of the room, stood before Miller, and said with decision: "Your worthiness, do not command to execute these monks."

"But why not?"

"Because there will be no talk of negotiations after that; for the garrison of the fortress will be flaming with vengeance, and those men will rather fall one upon the other than surrender."

"Wittemberg will send me heavy guns."

"Your worthiness, do not do this deed," continued Sadovski, with force; "they are envoys who have come here with confidence."

"I shall not have them hanged on confidence, but on gibbets."

"The echo of this deed will spread through the whole country, will enrage all hearts, and turn them away from us."

"Give me peace with your echoes; I have heard of them already a hundred times."

"Your worthiness will not do this without the knowledge of his Royal Grace?"

"You have no right to remind me of my duties to the king."

"But I have the right to ask for permission to resign from service, and to present my reasons to his Royal Grace. I wish to be a soldier, not an executioner."

The Prince of Hesse issued from the circle in the middle of the room, and said ostentatiously, —

"Give me your hand. Pan Sadovski; you are a gentleman, a noble, and an honest man."

"What does this mean?" roared Miller, springing from his seat.

"General," answered the Prince of Hesse, "I permit myself to remark that Pan Sadovski is an honorable man, and I judge that there is nothing in this against discipline."

Miller did not like the Prince of Hesse; but that cool, polite, and also contemptuous manner of speaking, special to men of high rank, imposed on him, as it does on many persons of low birth. Miller made great efforts to acquire this manner, but had no success. He restrained his outburst, however, and said calmly, —

"The monks will be hanged to-morrow."

"That is not my affair," answered the Prince of Hesse; "but in that event let your worthiness order an attack on those two thousand Poles who are in our camp, for if you do not they will attack us. Even now it is less dangerous for a Swedish soldier to go among a pack of wolves than among their tents. This is all I have to say, and now I permit myself to wish you success." When he had said this he left the quarters.

Miller saw that he had gone too far. But he did not withdraw his orders, and that same day gibbets wore erected in view of the whole cloister. At the same time the soldiers, taking advantage of the truce, pushed still nearer the walls, not ceasing to jeer, insult, blaspheme, and challenge. Whole throngs of them climbed the mountain, stood as closely together as if they intended to make an assault.

That time Kmita, whom they had not chained as he had requested, did not in fact restrain himself, and thundered from a cannon into the thickest group, with such effect that he laid down in a row all those who stood in front of the shot. That was like a watchword; for at once, without orders, and even in spite of orders, all the cannons began to play, muskets and guns thundered.

The Swedes, exposed to fire from every side, fled from the fortress with howling and screaming, many falling dead on the road.

Charnyetski sprang to Kmita: "Do you know that for that the reward is a bullet in the head?"

"I know, all one to me. Let me be – "

"In that case aim surely,"

Kmita aimed surely; soon, however, he missed. A great movement rose meanwhile in the Swedish camp, but it was so evident that the Swedes were the first to violate the truce, that Miller himself recognized in his soul that the besieged were in the right.

What is more, Kmita did not even suspect that with his shots he had perhaps saved the lives of the fathers; but Miller, because of these shots, became convinced that the monks in the last extremity were really ready to sacrifice their two brethren for the good of the church and the cloister.

The shots beat into his head this idea also, that if a hair were to fall from the heads of the envoys, he would not hear from the cloister anything save similar thunders; so next day he invited the two imprisoned monks to dinner, and the day after he sent them to the cloister.

Kordetski wept when he saw them, all took them in their arms and were astonished at hearing from their mouths that it was specially owing to those shots that they were saved. The prior, who had been angry at Kmita, called him at once and said, —

"I was angry because I thought that you had destroyed the two fathers; but the Most Holy Lady evidently inspired you. This is a sign of Her favor, be rejoiced."

"Dearest, beloved father, there will be no more negotiations, will there?" asked Kmita, kissing Kordetski's hands.

But barely had he finished speaking, when a trumpet was heard at the gates, and an envoy from Miller entered the cloister.

This was Pan Kuklinovski, colonel of the volunteer squadron attached to the Swedes. The greatest ruffians without honor or faith served in that squadron, in part dissidents such as Lutherans, Arians, Calvinists, – whereby was explained their friendship for Sweden; but a thirst for robbery and plunder attracted them mainly to Miller's army. That band, made up of nobles, outlaws, fugitives from prison and from the hands of a master, of attendants, and of gallows-birds snatched from the rope, was somewhat like Kmita's old party, save in this, that Kmita's men fought as do lions, and those preferred to plunder, offer violence to noble women, break open stables and treasure chests. But Kuklinovski himself had less resemblance to Kmita. Age had mixed gray with his hair. He had a face dried, insolent, and shameless. His eyes, which were unusually prominent and greedy, indicated violence of character. He was one of those soldiers in whom, because of a turbulent life and continuous wars, conscience had been burned out to the bottom. A multitude of such men strolled about in that time, after the Thirty Years' War, through all Germany and Poland. They were ready to serve any man, and more than once a mere simple incident determined the side on which they were to stand.

Country and faith, in a word all things sacred, were thoroughly indifferent to them. They recognized nothing but war, and sought in it pleasure, dissipation, profit, and oblivion of life. But still when they had chosen some side they served it loyally enough, and that through a certain soldier-robber honor, so as not to close the career to themselves and to others. Such a man was Kuklinovski. Stern daring and immeasurable stubbornness had won for him consideration among the disorderly. It was easy for him to find men. He had served in various arms and services. He had been ataman in the Saitch; he had led regiments in Wallachia; in Germany he had enlisted volunteers in the Thirty Years' War, and had won a certain fame as a leader of cavalry. His crooked legs, bent in bow fashion, showed that he had spent the greater part of his life on horseback. He was as thin as a splinter, and somewhat bent from profligacy. Much blood, shed not in war only, weighed upon him. And still he was not a man wholly wicked by nature; he felt at times nobler influences. But he was spoiled to the marrow of his bones, and insolent to the last degree. Frequently had he said in intimate company, in drink; "More than one deed was done for which the thunderbolt should have fallen, but it fell not."

The effect of this impunity was that he did not believe in the justice of God, and punishment, not only during life, but after death. In other words, he did not believe in God; still, he believed in the devil, in witches, in astrologers, and in alchemy. He wore the Polish dress, for he thought it most fitting for cavalry; but his mustache, still black, he trimmed in Swedish fashion, and spread at the ends turned upward. In speaking he made every word diminutive, like a child; this produced a strange impression when heard from the mouth of such a devil incarnate and such a cruel ruffian, who was ever gulping human blood. He talked much and boastingly; clearly he thought himself a celebrated personage, and one of the first cavalry colonels on earth.

Miller, who, though on a broader pattern, belonged himself to a similar class, valued him greatly, and loved specially to seat him at his own table. At that juncture Kuklinovski forced himself on the general as an assistant, guaranteeing that he would with his eloquence bring the priests to their senses at once.

Earlier, when, after the arrest of the priests, Pan Zamoyski was preparing to visit Miller's camp and asked for a hostage, Miller sent Kuklinovski; but Zamoyski and the prior would not accept him, as not being of requisite rank.

From that moment, touched in his self-love, Kuklinovski conceived a mortal hatred for the defenders of Yasna Gora, and determined to injure them with all his power. Therefore he chose himself as an embassy, – first for the embassy itself, and second so as to survey everything and cast evil seed here and there. Since he was long known to Charnyetski he approached the gate guarded by him; but Charnyetski was sleeping at the time, – Kmita, taking his place, conducted the guest to the council hall.

Kuklinovski looked at Pan Andrei with the eye of a specialist, and at once he was pleased not only with the form but the bearing of the young hero, which might serve as a model.

"A soldier," said he, raising his hand to his cap, "knows at once a real soldier. I did not think that the priests had such men in their service. What is your rank, I pray?"

Id Kmita, who had the zeal of a new convert, the soul revolted at sight of Poles who served Swedes; still, he remembered the recent anger of Kordetski at his disregard of negotiations; therefore he answered coldly, but calmly, —

"I am Babinich, former colonel in the Lithuanian army, but now a volunteer in the service of the Most Holy Lady."

"And I am Kuklinovski, also colonel, of whom you must have heard; for during more than one little war men mentioned frequently that name and this sabre [here he struck at his side], not only here in the Commonwealth, but in foreign countries."

"With the forehead," said Kmita, "I have heard."

"Well, so you are from Lithuania, and in that land are famous soldiers. We know of each other, for the trumpet of fame is to be heard from one end of the world to the other. Do you know there, worthy sir, a certain Kmita?"

The question fell so suddenly that Pan Andrei was as if fixed to the spot. "But why do you ask of him?"

"Because I love him, though I know him not, for we are alike as two boots of one pair; and I always repeat this, with your permission, 'There are two genuine soldiers in the Commonwealth, – I in the kingdom, and Kmita in Lithuania,' – a pair of dear doves, is not that true? Did you know him personally?"

"Would to God that you were killed!" thought Kmita; but, remembering Kuklinovski's character of envoy, he answered aloud: "I did not know him personally. But now come in, for the council is waiting."

When he had said this, he indicated the door through which a priest came out to receive the guest. Kuklinovski entered the chamber with him at once, but first he turned to Kmita: "It would please me," said he, "if at my return you and none other were to conduct me out."

"I will wait here," answered Kmita. And he was left alone. After a while he began to walk back and forth with quick steps; his whole soul was roused within him, and his heart was filled with blood, black from anger.

"Pitch does not stick to a garment like evil fame to a man," muttered he. "This scoundrel, this wretch, this traitor calls me boldly his brother, and thinks he has me as a comrade. See to what I have come! All gallows-birds proclaim me their own, and no decent man calls me to mind without horror. I have done little yet, little! If I could only give a lesson to this rascal! It cannot be but that I shall put my score on him."

The council lasted long in the chamber. It had grown dark. Kmita was waiting yet.

At last Kuklinovski appeared. Pan Andrei could not see the colonel's face, but he inferred from his quick panting, that the mission had failed, and had been also displeasing, for the envoy had lost desire for talk. They walked on then for some time in silence. Kmita determined meanwhile to get at the truth, and said with feigned sympathy, —

"Surely, you are coming with nothing. – Our priests are stubborn; and, between you and me, they act ill, for we cannot defend ourselves forever."

Kuklinovski halted and pulled him by the sleeve. "And do you think that they act ill? You have your senses; these priests will be ground into bran, – I guarantee that! They are unwilling to obey Kuklinovski; they will obey his sword."

"You see, it is not a question of the priests with me," said Kmita, "but of this place, which is holy, that is not to be denied, but which the later it is surrendered the more severe must the conditions be. Is what men say true, that through the country tumults are rising, that here and there they are slashing the Swedes, and that the Khan is marching with aid? If that is true, Miller must retreat."

"I tell you in confidence, a wish for Swedish broth is rising in the country, and likely in the army as well; that is true. They are talking of the Khan also. But Miller will not retreat; in a couple of days heavy artillery will come. We'll dig these foxes out of their hole, and then what will be will be! – But you have sense."

"Here is the gate!" said Kmita; "here I must leave you, unless you wish me to attend you down the slope?"

"Attend me, attend me! A couple of days ago you fired after an envoy."

"Indeed! What do you mean?"

"Maybe unwillingly. But better attend me; I have a few words to say to you."

"And I to you."

"That is well."

They went outside the gate and sank in the darkness. Here Kuklinovski stopped, and taking Kmita again by the sleeve, began to speak, —

"You, Sir Cavalier, seem to me adroit and foreseeing, and besides I feel in you a soldier, blood and bone. What the devil do you stick to priests for, and not to soldiers? Why be a serving lad for priests? There is a better and a pleasanter company with us, – with cups, dice, and women. Do you understand?"

Here he pressed Kmita's arm with his fingers. "This house," continued he, pointing with his finger to the fortress, "is on fire, and a fool is he who flees not from a house when 'tis burning. Maybe you fear the name of traitor? Spit on those who would call you that! Come to our company; I, Kuklinovski, propose this. Obey, if you like; if you don't like, obey not – there will be no offence. General Miller will receive you well, I guarantee that; you have touched my heart, and I speak thus from good wishes. Ours is a joyous company, joyous! A soldier's freedom is in this, – to serve whom he likes. Monks are nothing to you! If a bit of virtue hinders you, then cough it out. Remember this also, that honest men serve with us. How many nobles, magnates, hetmans! What can be better? Who takes the part of our little Kazimir? No man save Sapyeha alone, who is bending Radzivill."

Kmita grew curious; "Did you say that Sapyeha is bending Radzivill?"

"I did. He is troubling him terribly there in Podlyasye, and is besieging him now in Tykotsin. But we do not disturb him."

"Why is that?"

"Because the King of Sweden wants them to devour one another. Radzivill was never reliable; he was thinking of himself. Besides, he is barely breathing. Whoever lets himself be besieged is in a fix, he is finished."

"Will not the Swedes go to succor him?"

"Who is to go? The king himself is in Prussia, for there lies the great question. The elector has wriggled out hitherto; he will not wriggle out this time. In Great Poland is war, Wittemberg is needed in Cracow, Douglas has work with the hill-men; so they have left Radzivill to himself. Let Sapyeha devour him. Sapyeha has grown, that is true, but his turn will come also. Our Karl, when he finishes with Prussia, will twist the horns of Sapyeha. Now there is no power against him, for all Lithuania stands at his side."

"But Jmud?"

"Pontus de la Gardie holds that in his paws, and heavy are the paws, I know him."

"How is it that Radzivill has fallen, he whose power was equal to that of kings?"

"It is quenching already, quenching – "

"Wonderful are the ordinances of God!"

"The wheel of war changes. But no more of this. Well, what? Do you make up your mind to my proposition? You'll not be sorry! Come to us. If it is too hurried to-day, think till to-morrow, till the day after, before the heavy artillery comes. These people here trust you evidently, since you pass through the gate as you do now. Or come with letters and go back no more."

"You attract others to the Swedish side, for you are an envoy of Sweden," said Kmita; "it does not beseem you to act otherwise, though in your soul who knows what you think? There are those who serve the Swedes, but wish them ill in their hearts."

"Word of a cavalier!" answered Kuklinovski, "that I speak sincerely, and not because I am filling the function of an envoy. Outside the gate I am no longer an envoy; and if you wish I will remove the office of envoy of my own will, and speak to you as a private man. Throw that vile fortress to the devil!"

"Do you say this as a private man?"

"Yes,"

"And may I give answer to you as to a private man?"

"As true as life I propose it myself."

"Then listen, Pan Kuklinovski," Here Kmita inclined and looked into the very eyes of the ruffian. "You are a rascal, a traitor, a scoundrel, a crab-monger, an arch-cur! Have you enough, or shall I spit in your eyes yet?"

Kuklinovski was astounded to such a degree that for a time there was silence.

"What is this? How is this? Do I hear correctly?"

"Have you enough, you cur? or do you wish me to spit in your eyes?"

Kuklinovski drew his sabre; but Kmita caught him with his iron hand by the wrist, twisted his arm, wrested the sabre from him, then slapped him on the cheek so that the sound went out in the darkness; seized him by the other side, turned him in his hand like a top, and kicking him with all his strength, cried, —

"To a private man, not to an envoy!"

Kuklinovski rolled down like a stone thrown from a ballista. Pan Andrei went quietly to the gate.

The two men parted on the slope of the eminence; hence it was difficult to see them from the walls. But Kmita found waiting for him at the gate Kordetski, who took him aside at once, and asked, —

"What were you doing so long with Kuklinovski."

"I was entering into confidence with him," answered Pan Andrei.

"What did he say?"

"He said that it was true concerning the Khan."

"Praise be to God, who can change the hearts of pagans and make friends out of enemies."

"He told me that Great Poland is moving."

"Praise be to God!"

"That the quarter soldiers are more and more unwilling to remain with the Swedes; that in Podlyasye, the voevoda of Vityebsk, Sapyeha, has beaten the traitor Radzivill, and that he has all honest people with him. As all Lithuania stands by him, except Jmud, which De la Gardie has taken."

"Praise be to God! Have you had no other talk with each other?"

"Yes; Kuklinovski tried afterward to persuade me to go over to the Swedes."

"I expected that," said the prior; "he is a bad man. And what did you answer?"

"You see he told me, revered father, as follows: 'I put aside my office of envoy, which without that is finished beyond the gates, and I persuade you as a private man.' And I to make sure asked, 'May I answer as to a private man?' He said, 'Yes' – then – "

"What then?"

"Then I gave it to him in the snout, and he rolled down hill."

"In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost!"

"Be not angry, father; I acted very carefully, and that he will not say a word about the matter to any man is certain."

The priest was silent for a time, then said; "That you acted honestly, I know. I am only troubled at this, that you have gained a new enemy. He is a terrible man."

"One more, one less!" said Kmita. Then he bent to the ear of the priest. "But Prince Boguslav, he at least is an enemy! What is such a Kuklinovski? I don't even look back at him."

CHAPTER III

Now the terrible Arwid Wittemberg made himself heard. A famous officer brought his stern letter to the cloister, commanding the fathers to surrender the fortress to Miller. "In the opposite event," wrote Wittemberg, "if you do not abandon resistance, and do not yield to the said general, you may be sure that a punishment awaits you which will serve others as an example. The blame for your suffering lay to yourselves."

The fathers after receiving this letter determined in old fashion to procrastinate, and present new difficulties daily. Again days passed during which the thunder of artillery interrupted negotiations, and the contrary.

Miller declared that he wished to introduce his garrison only to insure the cloister against bands of freebooters. The fathers answered that since their garrison appeared sufficient against such a powerful leader as the general himself, all the more would it suffice against bands of freebooters. They implored Miller, therefore, by all that was sacred, by the respect which the people had for the place, by God and by Mary, to go to Vyelunie, or wherever it might please him. But the patience of the Swedes was exhausted. That humility of the besieged, who implored for mercy while they were firing more and more quickly from cannons, brought the chief and the army to desperation.

At first Miller could not get it into his head why, when the whole country had surrendered, that one place was defending itself; what power was upholding them; in the name of what hopes did these monks refuse to yield, for what were they striving, for what were they hoping?

But flowing time brought more clearly the answer to that question. The resistance which had begun there was spreading like a conflagration. In spite of a rather dull brain, the general saw at last what the question with Kordetski was; and besides, Sadovski had explained incontrovertibly that it was not a question of that rocky nest, nor of Yasna Gora, nor of the treasures gathered in the cloister, nor of the safety of the Congregation, but of the fate of the whole Commonwealth. Miller discovered that that silent priest knew what he was doing, that he had knowledge of his mission, that he had risen as a prophet to enlighten the land by example, – to call with a mighty voice to the east and the west, to the north and the south, Sursum corda! (Raise your hearts) in order to rouse, either by his victory or his death and sacrifice, the sleeping from their slumber, to purify the sinful, to bring light into darkness.

When he had discovered this, that old warrior was simply terrified at that defender and at his own task. All at once that "hen-house" of Chenstohova seemed to him a giant mountain defended by a Titan, and the general seemed small to himself; and on his own army he looked, for the first time in his life, as on a handful of wretched worms. Was it for them to raise hands against that mysterious and heaven-touching power? Therefore Miller was terrified, and doubt began to steal into his heart. Seeing that the fault would be placed upon him, he began himself to seek the guilty, and his anger fell first on Count Veyhard. Disputes rose in the camp, and dissensions began to inflame hearts against one another; the works of the siege had to suffer therefrom.