The Deluge. Vol. 1

Here the prince turned to the sword-bearer and Pani Voynillovich: "Let us leave the young people, for it is not proper to be present at a confession, and also my faith forbids me."

After a moment Pan Andrei and Olenka were alone. The heart beat in Olenka's bosom as the heart of a dove over which a falcon is hovering, and he too was moved. His usual boldness, impulsiveness, and self-confidence had vanished. For a long time both were silent. At last he spoke in a low, stifled voice, -

"You did not expect to see me, Olenka?"

"I did not," whispered the maiden.

"As God is true! you would be less alarmed if a Tartar were standing here near you. Fear not! See how many people are present. No harm will meet you from me. And though we were alone you would have nothing to fear, for I have given myself an oath to respect you. Have confidence in me."

For a moment she raised her eyes and looked at him, "How can I have confidence?"

"It is true that I sinned, but that is past and will not be repeated. When on the bed and near death, after that duel with Volodyovski, I said to myself: 'Thou wilt not take her by force, by the sabre, by fire, but by honorable deeds wilt thou deserve her and work out thy forgiveness. The heart in her is not of stone, and her anger will pass; she will see thy reformation and will forgive.' Therefore I swore to reform, and I will hold to my oath. God blessed me at once, for Volodyovski came and brought me a commission. He had the power not to give it; but he gave it, – he is an honorable man! Now I need not appear before the courts, for I am under the hetman's jurisdiction. I confessed all my offences to the prince, as to a father; he not only forgave me, but promised to settle everything and to defend me against the malice of men. May God bless him! I shall not be an outlaw, I shall come to harmony with people, win glory, serve the country, repair the wrongs I have committed. What will you answer? Will you not say a good word to me?" He gazed at Olenka and put his hands together as if praying to her.

"Can I believe?"

"You can, as God is dear to me; it is your duty to believe. The hetman believed, and Pan Volodyovski too. All my acts are known to them, and they believed me. You see they did. Why should you alone have no trust in me?"

"Because I have seen the result of your deeds, – people's tears, and graves not yet grown over with grass."

"They will be grown over, and I will moisten them with tears."

"Do that first."

"Give me only the hope that when I do that I shall win you. It is easy for you to say, 'Do that first.' Well, I do it; meanwhile you have married another. May God not permit such a thing, for I should go wild. In God's name I implore you, Olenka, to give me assurance that I shall not lose you before I come to terms with your nobles. Do you remember? You have written me of this yourself. I keep the letter, and when my soul is deeply downcast I read it. I ask you only to tell me again that you will wait, that you will not marry another."

"You know that by the will I am not free to marry another. I can only take refuge in a cloister."

"Oh, that would be a treat for me! By the living God, mention not the cloister, for the very thought of it makes me shudder. Mention it not, Olenka, or I will fall down here at your feet in the presence of all, and implore you not to do so. You refused Volodyovski, I know, for he told me himself. He urged me to win you by good deeds. But what use in them if you are to take the veil? If you tell me that virtue should be practised for its own sake, I will answer that I love you to distraction, and I will hear of nothing else. When you left Vodokty, I had barely risen from the bed but I began to search for you. When I was enlisting my squadron every moment was occupied; I had not time to eat food, to sleep at night, but I ceased not to seek you. I was so affected that without you there was neither life for me nor rest. I was so deeply in the toils that I lived only on sighs. At last I learned that you were in Billeviche with the sword-bearer. Then I tell you I wrestled with my thoughts as with a bear. 'To go or not to go?' I dared not go, lest I should be treated to gall. I said to myself at last: 'I have done nothing good yet, I will not go.' Finally the prince, my dear father, took pity on me, and sent to invite you and your uncle to Kyedani, so that I might fill even my eyes with my love. Since we are going to the war, I do not ask you to marry me to-morrow; but if with God's favor I hear a good word from you, I shall feel easier, – you, my only soul! I have no wish to die; but in battle death may strike any man, and I shall not hide behind others; therefore 'tis your duty to forgive me as a man before death."

"May God preserve you and guide you," responded the maiden, in a mild voice, by which Pan Andrei knew at once that his words had produced their effect.

"You, my true gold! I thank you even for that. But you will not go to the cloister?"

"I will not go yet."

"God bless you!"

And as snow melts in spring-time, their mutual distrust was now melting, and they felt nearer to each other than a moment before. Their hearts were easier, and in their eyes it grew clear. But still she had promised nothing, and he had the wit to ask for nothing that time. But she felt herself that it was not right for her to close the road to the reform of which he had spoken so sincerely. Of his sincerity she had no doubt for a moment, for he was not a man who could pretend. But the great reason why she did not repulse him again, why she left him hope, was this, – that in the depth of her heart she loved yet that young hero. Love had brought her a mountain of bitterness, disillusion, and pain; but love survived ever ready to believe and forgive without end.

"He is better than his acts," thought the maiden, "and those are living no longer who urged him to sin; he might from despair permit himself to do something a second time; he must never despair." And her honest heart was rejoiced at the forgiveness which it had given. On Olenka's cheeks a flush came forth as fresh as a rose under the morning dew; her eyes had a gleam sweet and lively, and it might be said that brightness issued from them to the hall. People passed and admired the wonderful pair; for in truth such a noble couple it would have been difficult to find in that hall, in which, however, were collected the flower of the nobility.

Besides both, as if by agreement, were dressed in like colors, for she wore silver brocade fastened with sapphire and a sacque of blue Venetian velvet. "Like a brother and sister," said persons who did not know them; but others said straightway, "Impossible, for his eyes are too ardent toward her."

Meanwhile in the hall the marshal announced that it was time to be seated at table, and at once there was unusual movement. Count Löwenhaupt, all in lace, went in advance, with the princess on his arm; her train was borne by two very beautiful pages. Next after them Baron Schitte escorted Pani Hlebovich; next followed Bishop Parchevski with Father Byalozor, both looking troubled and gloomy.

Prince Yanush, who in the procession yielded to the guests, but at the table took the highest place next to the princess, escorted Pani Korf, wife of the voevoda of Venden, who had been visiting about a week at Kyedani. And so the whole line of couples moved forward, like a hundred-colored serpent, unwinding and changing. Kmita escorted Olenka, who rested her arm very lightly on his; but he glanced sidewise at the delicate face, was happy, gleaming like a torch, – the greatest magnate among those magnates, since he was near the greatest treasure.

Thus moving to the sound of the orchestra, they entered the banqueting-hall, which looked like a whole edifice by itself. The table was set in the form of a horseshoe, for three hundred persons, and was bending under silver and gold. Prince Yanush, as having in himself a portion of kingly majesty and being the blood relative of so many kings, took the highest place, at the side of the princess; and all when passing him, bowed low and took their places according to rank.

But evidently, as it seemed to those present, the hetman remembered that this was the last feast before an awful war in which the destiny of great states would be decided, for his face was not calm. He simulated a smile and joyousness, but he looked as if a fever were burning him. At times a visible cloud settled on his menacing forehead, and those sitting near him could see that that forehead was thickly covered with drops of sweat; at times his glance ran quickly over the assembled faces, and halted questioningly on the features of various colonels; then again those lion brows frowned on a sudden, as if pain had pierced them, or as if this or that face had roused in him wrath. And, a wonderful thing! the dignitaries sitting near the prince, such as the envoys, Bishop Parchevski, Father Byalozor, Pan Komorovski, Pan Myerzeyevski, Pan Hlebovich, the voevoda of Venden, and others, were equally distraught and disturbed. The two sides of the immense horseshoe sounded with a lively conversation, and the bustle usual at feasts; but the centre of it was gloomy and silent, whispered rare words, or exchanged wandering and as it were alarmed glances.

But there was nothing wonderful in that, for lower down sat colonels and knights whom the approaching war threatened at most with death. It is easier to fall in a war than to bear the responsibility for it. The mind of the soldier is not troubled, for when he has redeemed his sins with his blood, he flies from the battlefield to heaven; he alone bends his head heavily who in his soul must satisfy God and his own conscience, and who on the eve of the decisive day knows not what chalice the country will give him to drink on the morrow.

This was the explanation which men gave themselves at the lower parts of the table.

"Always before each war he talks thus with his own soul," said the old Colonel Stankyevich to Zagloba; "but the gloomier he is the worse for the enemy, for on the day of battle he will be joyful to a certainty."

"The lion too growls before battle," said Zagloba, "so as to rouse in himself fierce hatred for the enemy. As to great warriors, each has his custom. Hannibal used to play dice; Scipio Africanus declaimed verses; Pan Konyetspolski the father always conversed about fair heads; and I like to sleep an hour or so before battle, though I am not averse to a glass with good friends."

"See, gentlemen, Bishop Parchevski is as pale as a sheet of paper!" said Stanislav Skshetuski.

"For he is sitting at a Calvinist table, and may swallow easily something unclean in the food," explained Zagloba, in a low voice. "To drinks, the old people say, the devil has no approach, and those can be taken everywhere; but food, and especially soups, one should avoid. So it was in the Crimea, when I was there in captivity. The Tartar mullahs or priests knew how to cook mutton with garlic in such a way that whoever tasted it was willing that moment to desert his faith and accept their scoundrel of a prophet." Here Zagloba lowered his voice still more: "Not through contempt for the prince do I say this, but I advise you, gentlemen, to let the food pass, for God protects the guarded."

"What do you say? Whoso commends himself to God before eating is safe; with us in Great Poland there is no end of Lutherans and Calvinists, but I have not heard that they bewitched food."

"With you in Great Poland there is no end of Lutherans, and so they sniffed around at once with the Swedes," said Zagloba, "and are in friendship with them now. In the prince's place, I would hunt those envoys away with dogs, instead of filling their stomachs with dainties. Hut look at that Löwenhaupt; he is eating just as if he were to be driven to the fair with a rope around his leg before the month's end. Besides, he will stuff his pockets with dried fruit for his wife and children. I have forgotten how that other fellow from over the sea is called. Oh, may thou-"

"Father, ask Michael," said Yan.

Pan Michael was sitting not far away; but he heard nothing, he saw nothing, for he was between two ladies. On his left sat Panna Syelavski, a worthy maiden about forty years old, and on his right Olenka, beyond whom sat Kmita. Panna Syelavski shook her feather-decked head above the little knight, and narrated something with great rapidity. He looked at her from time to time with a vacant stare, and answered continually, "As true as life, gracious lady!" but understood not a word she said, for all his attention was turned to the other side. He was seizing with his ear the sound of Olenka's words, the flutter of her silver dress, and from sorrow moving his mustaches in such fashion as if he wished to frighten away Panna Syelavski with them.

"Ah, that is a wonderful maiden! Ah, but she is beautiful!" said he, in his mind. "O God, look down on my misery, for there is no lonelier orphan than I. My soul is piping within me to have my own beloved, and on whomsoever I look another soldier stands quartered there. Where shall I go, ill-fated wanderer?"

"And after the war, what do you think of doing?" inquired Panna Syelavski, all at once pursing up her mouth and fanning herself violently.

"I shall go to a monastery!" said the little knight, testily.

"Who mentions monastery here at the banquet?" cried Kmita, joyously, bending in front of Olenka. "Oh, that is Pan Volodyovski."

"There is nothing like that in your head," retorted Pan Michael; "but I think I shall go."

Then the sweet voice of Olenka sounded in his ear: "Oh, no need to think of that! God will give you a wife beloved of your heart, and honest as you are."

The good Pan Michael melted at once: "If any one were to play on a flute to me, it would not be sweeter to my ear."

The increasing bustle stopped further conversation, for it had come now to the glasses. Excitement increased. Colonels disputed about the coming war, frowning and casting fiery glances.

Pan Zagloba was describing to the whole table the siege of Zbaraj; and the ardor and daring of the hearers rose till the blood went to their faces and hearts. It might seem that the spirit of the immortal "Yarema"20 was flying above that hall, and had filled the souls of the soldiers with heroic inspiration.

"That was a leader!" said the famous Mirski, who led all Radzivill's hussars. "I saw him only once, but to the moment of my death I shall remember it."

"Jove with thunderbolts in his grasp!" cried old Stankyevich. "It would not have come to this were he alive now!"

"Yes; think of it! Beyond Romni he had forests cut down to open a way for himself to the enemy."

"The victory at Berestechko was due to him."

"And in the most serious moment God took him."

"God took him," repeated Pan Yan, in a loud voice; "but he left a testament behind him for all coming leaders and dignitaries and for the whole Commonwealth. This is it: to negotiate with no enemy, but to fight them all."

"Not to negotiate; to fight!" repeated a number of powerful voices, "fight! fight!"

The heat became great in the hall, and the blood was boiling in the warriors; therefore glances began to fall like lightning-flashes, and the heads shaven on the temples and lower forehead began to steam.

"Our prince, our hetman, will be the executioner of that will!" said Mirski.

Just at that moment an enormous clock in the upper part of the hall began to strike midnight, and at the same time, the walls trembled, the window-panes rattled plaintively, and the thunder of cannon was heard saluting in the courtyard.

Conversation was stopped, silence followed. Suddenly at the head of the table they began to cry: "Bishop Parchevski has fainted! Water!"

There was confusion. Some sprang from their seats to see more clearly what had happened. The bishop had not fainted, but had grown very weak, so that the marshal supported him in his chair by the shoulders, while the wife of the voevoda of Venden sprinkled his face with water.

At that moment the second discharge of cannon shook the window-panes; after it came a third, and a fourth.

"Live the Commonwealth! May its enemies perish!" shouted Zagloba.

But the following discharges drowned his speech. The nobles began to count: "Ten, eleven, twelve!"

Each time the window-panes answered with a mournful groan. The candles quivered from the shaking.

"Thirteen, fourteen! The bishop is not used to the thunder. With his timidity he has spoiled the entertainment; the prince too is uneasy. See, gentlemen, how swollen he is! Fifteen, sixteen! – Hei, they are firing as if in battle! Nineteen, twenty!"

"Quiet there! the prince wants to speak!" called the guests at once, from various parts of the table. "The prince wishes to speak!"

There was perfect silence; and all eyes were turned to Radzivill, who stood, like a giant, with a cup in his hand. But what a sight struck the eyes of those feasting! The face of the prince was simply terrible at that moment, for it was not pale, but blue and twisted, as if in a convulsion, by a smile which he strove to call to his lips. His breathing, usually short, became still shorter; his broad breast welled up under the gold brocade, his eyes were half covered with their lids, and there was a species of terror and an iciness on that powerful face such as are usual on features stiffening in the moments before death.

"What troubles the prince? what is taking place here?" was whispered unquietly around; and an ominous foreboding straitened all hearts, startled expectation was on every face.

He began to speak, with a short voice broken by asthma: "Gracious gentlemen! this toast will astonish many among you, – or simply it will terrify them, – but whoso trusts and believes in me, whoso really wishes the good of the country, whoso is a faithful friend of my house, will drink it with a will, and repeat after me, 'Vivat Carolus Gustavus Rex, from this day forth ruling over us graciously!'"

"Vivat!" repeated the two envoys, Löwenhaupt and Schitte; then some tens of officers of the foreign command.

But in the hall there reigned deep silence. The colonels and the nobles gazed at one another with astonishment, as if asking whether the prince had not lost his senses. A number of voices were heard at last at various parts of the table: "Do we hear aright? What is it?" Then there was silence again.

Unspeakable horror coupled with amazement was reflected on faces, and the eyes of all were turned again to Radzivill; but he continued to stand, and was breathing deeply, as if he had cast off some immense weight from his breast. The color came back by degrees to his face; then he turned to Pan Komorovski, and said, -

"It is time to make public the compact which we have signed this day, so that those present may know what course to take. Read, your grace!"

Komorovski rose, unwound the parchment lying before him, and began to read the terrible compact, beginning with these words: -

"Not being able to act in a better and more proper way in this most stormy condition of affairs, after the loss of all hope of assistance from the Most Serene King, we the lords and estates of the Grand Principality of Lithuania, forced by extremity, yield ourselves to the protection of the Most Serene King of Sweden on these conditions: -

"1. To make war together against mutual enemies, excepting the king and the kingdom of Poland.

"2. The Grand Principality of Lithuania will not be incorporated with Sweden, but will be joined to it in such manner as hitherto with the kingdom of Poland; that is, people shall be equal to people, senate to senate, and knighthood to knighthood in all things.

"3. Freedom of speech at the diets shall not be prohibited to any man.

"4. Freedom of religion is to be inviolable-"

And so Pan Komorovski read on further, amid silence and terror, till he came to the paragraph: "This act we confirm with our signature for ourselves and our descendants, we promise and stipulate-" when a murmur rose in the hall, like the first breath of a storm shaking the pine-woods. But before the storm burst, Pan Stankyevich, gray as a pigeon, raised his voice and began to implore, -

"Your highness, we are unwilling to believe our own ears! By the wounds of Christ! must the labor of Vladislav and Sigismund Augustus come to nothing? Is it possible, is it honorable, to desert brothers, to desert the country, and unite with the enemy? Remember the name which you bear, the services which you have rendered the country, the fame of your house, hitherto unspotted; tear and trample on that document of shame. I know that I ask not in my own name alone, but in the names of all soldiers here present and nobles. It pertains to us also to consider our own fate. Gracious prince, do not do this; there is still time! Spare yourself, spare us, spare the Commonwealth!"

"Do it not! Have pity, have pity!" called hundreds of voices.

All the colonels sprang from their places and went toward him; and the gray Stankyevich knelt down in the middle of the hall between the two arms of the table, and then was heard more loudly: "Do that not! spare us!"

Radzivill raised his powerful head, and lightnings of wrath began to fly over his forehead; suddenly he burst out, -

"Does it become you, gentlemen, first of all to give an example of insubordination? Does it become soldiers to desert their leader, their hetman, and bring forward protests? Do you wish to be my conscience? Do you wish to teach me how to act for the good of the country? This is not a diet, and you are not called here to vote; but before God I take the responsibility!"

And he struck his broad breast with his fist, and looking with flashing glance on the officers, after a while he shouted again: "Whoso is not with me is against me! I knew you, I knew what would happen! But know ye that the sword is hanging over your heads!"

"Gracious prince! our hetman!" implored old Stankyevich, "spare yourself and spare us!"

But his speech was interrupted by Stanislav Skshetuski, who seizing his own hair with both hands, began to cry with despairing voice: "Do not implore him; that is vain. He has long cherished this dragon in his heart! Woe to thee, O Commonwealth! woe to us all!"

"Two dignitaries at the two ends of the Commonwealth have sold the country!" cried Yan Skshetuski. "A curse on this house, shame and God's anger!"

Hearing this, Zagloba shook himself free from amazement and burst out: "Ask him how great was the bribe he took from the Swedes? How much have they paid him? How much have they promised him yet? Oh, gentlemen, here is a Judas Iscariot. May you die in despair, may your race perish, may the devil tear out your soul, O traitor, traitor, thrice traitor!"

With this Stankyevich, in an ecstasy of despair, drew the colonel's baton from his belt, and threw it with a rattle at the feet of the prince. Mirski threw his next; the third was Yuzefovich; the fourth, Hoshchyts; the fifth, pale as a corpse, Volodyovski; the sixth, Oskyerko, – and the batons rolled on the floor. Meanwhile in that den of the lion these terrible words were repeated before the eyes of the lion from more and more mouths every moment: "Traitor! traitor!"

All the blood rushed to the head of the haughty magnate. He grew blue; it seemed that he would tumble next moment a corpse under the table.

"Ganhoff and Kmita, to me!" bellowed he, with a terrible voice.

At that moment four double doors leading to the hall opened with a crash, and in marched divisions of Scottish infantry, terrible, silent, musket in hand. Ganhoff led them from the main door.

"Halt!" cried the prince. Then he turned to the colonels: "Whoso is with me, let him go to the right side of the hall!"

"I am a soldier, I serve the hetman; let God be my judge!" said Kharlamp, passing to the right side.

"And I!" added Myeleshko. "Not mine will be the sin!"

"I protested as a citizen; as a soldier I must obey," added a third, Nyevyarovski, who, though he had thrown down his baton before, was evidently afraid of Radzivill now.

After them passed over a number of others, and quite a large group of nobles; but Mirski, the highest in office, and Stankyevich, the oldest in years, Hoshchyts, Volodyovski, and Oskyerko remained where they were, and with them the two Skshetuskis, Zagloba, and a great majority as well of the officers of various heavy and light squadrons as of nobles. The Scottish infantry surrounded them like a wall.