The Deluge. Vol. 1

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 - Prince Yeremi Vishnyevetski.] 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, -