These thoughts strengthened the resolution of the prince, and poured consolation into his heart, torn by so many terrible defeats of the country. Hope possessed him that even if Kazimir were elected, war would be unavoidable, and the terrible rebellion would have to be drowned in a sea of blood. He hoped that the Commonwealth would again put forth a powerful army, for negotiations were only possible in so far as a powerful army sustained them.
Flattered by these thoughts, the prince went under the protection of a few squadrons, having with him Zagloba and Pan Volodyovski, the first of whom swore by everything that he would carry the election of Prince Karl, for he knew how to talk to the brother nobles and how to manage them; the second commanded the escort of the prince.
At Sennitsa, not far from Minsk, a delightful though unexpected interview awaited the prince; for he met Princess Griselda, who was going from Brest-Litovsk to Warsaw for safety, with the reasonable hope that the prince would go there too. They greeted each other with emotion after a long separation. The princess, though she had an iron soul, rushed with such weeping into the embrace of her husband that she could not compose herself for several hours; for, oh! how many were the moments in which she had no hope of seeing him again, and still God granted him to return more famous than ever, covered with praise, such as had never yet beamed upon one of his house, the greatest of leaders, the one hope of the Commonwealth. The princess, tearing herself time after time from his breast, glanced through her tears at that face emaciated and embrowned, at that lofty forehead on which cares and toils had ploughed deep furrows, at those eyes inflamed with sleepless nights; and again she shed plentiful tears, and all her ladies wept too from the depths of their excited hearts.
When after a time she and the prince had become calm, they went to the house of the priest, and there inquiries were made for friends, attendants, and knights, who as it were belonged to the family, and with whom the memory of Lubni was bound up. The prince quieted the princess concerning Skshetuski, first of all explaining that he had remained in Zamost only because he did not wish to lose himself in the noise of the capital on account of the suffering which God had sent him, and preferred to heal the wounds of his heart in military service. Then he presented Zagloba and told of his deeds. “Vir incomparabilis,” said he, “who not only saved Kurtsevichovna from Bogun, but took her through the camps of Hmelnitski and the Tartars; later he was with us to his great glory, and fought admirably at Konstantinoff.” Hearing this, the princess did not spare praise on Zagloba, giving him her hand to kiss repeatedly, and promising a still better reward at a proper time; and the “vir incomparabilis” bowed, veiling his heroism with his modesty. Then, he strutted and looked at the ladies in waiting; for though he was old and did not promise himself much from the fair sex, still it was pleasant to him that the ladies had heard so much of his bravery and his deeds. But mourning was not absent from this otherwise glad greeting; for mentioning the grievous times of the Commonwealth, how often did the prince reply to the questions of the princess about various knights: “Killed, killed, lost.” Then young women were saddened, for more than one name was mentioned among the dead that was dear.
So gladness was mingled with grief, tears with smiles. But the most afflicted of all was Volodyovski; for in vain did he look around and cast his eyes on every side,—Princess Barbara was not there. It is true that amid the toils of war and continual battles, skirmishes, and campaigns, that cavalier had forgotten her somewhat, for he was by nature as prone to love as he was inconstant; but now, when he saw the young ladies of the princess once more, when before his eyes the life at Lubni stood as if actual, he thought to himself that it would be pleasant for him too if the moment of rest should come to sigh and occupy his heart again. Since this did not happen, however, but sentiment, as if through malice, sprang up in him anew, Volodyovski suffered grievously, and looked as if he had been drenched in a pouring rain. He hung his head upon his breast; his slender mustaches, which usually curled upward like those of a May-bug till they reached his nose, were hanging too; his upturned nose had grown long; the usual serenity had vanished from his face, and he stood silent, did not even move when the prince gave unusual praise to his bravery and superiority,—for what mattered all praises to him when she could not hear them?
Finally Anusia Borzobogata took pity on him, and though they had had quarrels, she determined to comfort him. With this object, keeping her eyes on the princess, she pushed unobserved toward the knight, and at last was by his side.
“Good-day,” said she; “we have not seen each other for a long time.”
“Oh, Panna Anna,” answered Pan Michael, in sadness, “much water has flowed past since then. We meet again in unpleasant times, and not all of us.”
“True, not all! So many knights have fallen.” Here Anusia sighed; then continued, after a time: “And we are not the same in number; for Panna Senyntovna has married, and Princess Barbara has remained with the wife of the voevoda of Vilna.”
“And she is going to marry, of course.”
“No, she is not thinking much of that. But why do you ask?”
Having said this, Anusia closed her dark eyes till two thin lines were left, and looked sideways from under her lashes at the knight.
“Oh, through good-will for the family,” answered Pan Michael.
“Oh, that is proper,” answered Anusia, “for Pan Michael has a great friend in Princess Barbara. More than once she inquired; ‘Where is that knight who in the tournament at Lubni took off most Turkish heads, for which I gave him a reward? What is he doing? Is he still alive, and does he remember us?’”
Pan Michael raised his eyes in thankfulness to Anusia; first he was comforted, and then he observed that Anusia had improved beyond measure.
“Did Princess Barbara really say that?”
“As true as life; and she remembered, too, how you were riding over the ditch for her when you fell into the water.”
“And where is the wife of the voevoda of Vilna now?”
“She was with us in Brest, and a week ago went to Belsk; from there she will go to Warsaw.”
Pan Volodyovski looked at Anusia a second time, and could not restrain himself: “But Panna Anusia has attained such beauty that one’s eyes ache in looking at her.”
The girl smiled thankfully. “Pan Michael only says this to capture me.”
“I wanted to do so in my time,” said he, shrugging his shoulders. “God knows I tried to, but failed; and now I wish well to Pan Podbipienta, for he was more fortunate.”
“And where is Pan Podbipienta?” inquired Anusia, dropping her eyes.
“In Zamost, with Skshetuski. He has become lieutenant in the squadron, and must attend to service; but if he knew whom he could see here, as God is in heaven he would have taken leave and come with long steps. He is a great knight, and deserving of every love.”
“And in war—he met no accident?”
“It seems to me that you wish to ask, not about that, but about the three heads that he wanted to cut off.”
“I do not believe that he really wanted to do that.”
“But you would better, for without that there will be nothing. And he is not slow in looking for a chance, either. At Makhnovka, when we went to examine the places where he had struggled in the throng of battle, the prince himself went with us; and I tell you I have seen many a fight, but such execution I shall not see again while I live. When he puts on your scarf for battle, he does awful things. He will find his three heads: be at rest on that point.”
“May each find what he seeks!” said Anusia, with a sigh.
Then Volodyovski sighed, raised his eyes, and looked suddenly toward one corner of the room. From that corner peered a visage, angry, excited, and entirely unknown to him, armed with a gigantic nose, and mustaches great as two bushes on a tavern-sign, which moved quickly, as if from pent-up passion. One might be terrified at that no
se, those eyes and mustaches; but little Volodyovski was by no means timid; therefore he only wondered, and turning to Anusia asked,—
“What sort of figure is that over there in the corner, which looks at me as if it wished to swallow me whole, and moves its mustaches just like an old tom-cat at prayers?”
“What?” said Anusia, showing her white teeth; “that’s Pan Kharlamp.”
“What sort of Pagan is he?”
“He is no Pagan at all, but a light-horse captain in the squadron of the voevoda of Vilna, who is escorting us to Warsaw, and has to wait for the voevoda there. Let Pan Michael not come in his way, for he is a dreadful man-eater.”
“I see that, I see that. But if he is a man-eater, there are others fatter than I. Why should he whet his teeth at me instead of them?”
“Because—” said Anusia; and she laughed quietly.
“Because?”
“Because he is in love with me, and has told me that he will cut to pieces every man who approaches me; and now, believe me, it is only out of regard for the prince and princess that he restrains himself. Were it not for them, he would pick a quarrel with you at once.”
“Here you’ve got it,” said Volodyovski, merrily. “That’s how it is, Panna Anna. It was not for nothing, I see, that we sang, ‘Tartars carry captive prisoners, you seize captive hearts.’ You remember, I suppose? You cannot move, you know, without making some one fall in love with you.”
“Such is my misfortune,” answered Anusia, dropping her eyes.
“Ah, Panna Anna is a Pharisee; and what will Pan Longin say to this?”
“How am I to blame if this Pan Kharlamp pursues me? I can’t endure him, and I don’t want to look at him.”
“But see to it that blood is not shed on your account. Podbipienta is so mild that you could heal a wound with him, but in love affairs it is dangerous to joke with him.”
“If he cuts Kharlamp’s ears off, I shall be glad.”
When she had said this, Anusia whizzed off like a top, and tripped to the other side of the room to Carboni, the physician of the princess, to whom she began to whisper something with animation, and then converse; but the Italian fastened his eyes on the ceiling, as if carried away by ecstasy.
Meanwhile Zagloba approached Volodyovski, and began in merry mood to wink his one sound eye. “Pan Michael,” he asked, “what sort of crested lark is that?”
“That is Panna Anusia Borzobogata, lady-in-waiting to the princess. Ah, she is a pretty little rogue,—eyes like plates, a pug as if painted, and a neck—uf!”
“Oh, she’ll pass, she’ll pass! My congratulations to you!”
“Oh, give us peace! She is betrothed to Podbipienta, or the same as betrothed.”
“To Podbipienta! My dear sir, have fear of the Lord’s wounds! Why, he has made vows of celibacy. And besides, the disproportion between them! He could carry her at his collar; she might sit on his mustaches, like a fly.”
“Ah! she will manage him yet. Hercules was stronger, but a woman trapped him.”
“Yes, if she only doesn’t give him horns; though I should be the first to help that about, as I am Zagloba.”
“There will be more than you of that sort, though in truth the girl is of good stock and honest. This is too bad, for she is young and pretty.”
“You are an honorable cavalier, and that is why you praise her; but she is a lark.”
“Beauty attracts people. For example, that captain over there is desperately in love with her.”
“Pshaw! But look at that raven with whom she is talking now! What sort of devil is he?”
“That is an Italian,—Carboni, the physician of the princess.”
“Look, Pan Michael, how his lanterns are lighted up, and his eyeballs roll as if in delirium. Oh, it is bad for Pan Longin! I know something of this business, for I had more than one experience in my youth. Another time I’ll tell you of all the scrapes in which I have been, or if you wish you can listen this minute.”
Zagloba began to whisper in the ear of the little knight, and to wink with more vigor than usual. But the end of the visit came. The prince seated himself by the princess in the carriage, that they might talk all they wished after the long absence; the ladies occupied carriages, the knights mounted their horses, and all moved on. The court went in advance, and the troops at some distance in the rear; for those parts were peaceable, and the squadrons were needed for ostentation alone, not safety. They went from Sennitsa to Minsk, and thence to Warsaw, stopping frequently for plentiful refreshments, according to the custom of the time.
The road was so thronged that it was barely possible to move at a walk. All were going to the election, from near neighborhoods and from distant Lithuania; so that here and there were met lordly households, whole trains of gilded carriages, surrounded by haiduks, gigantic Turkish grooms dressed in Turkish costumes; after which marched household troops,—now Hungarian, now German, now janissaries, now Cossack detachments, and finally squadrons of the matchless heavy cavalry of the Poles. Each one of the more important personages tried to appear in the most showy manner and with the greatest retinues. Among the numerous cavalcades belonging to magnates, came also the smaller local and district dignitaries. Every little while single wagons of nobles appeared from out the dust, covered with black leather and drawn by two or four horses, and in each sat a noble with a crucifix or an image of the Most Holy Lady hung on a silk ribbon around his neck. All were armed,—a musket on one side of the seat, a sabre on the other. Former or actual officers of squadrons also had lances sticking out two yards behind the seat. Under the wagons were dogs,—either setters or hounds,—not for use (for they were not going to the chase), but for the amusement of the owner. Behind were stable-boys leading horses covered with cloth to protect rich saddles from dust or rain. Farther on were drawn squeaking wagons with willow-bound wheels, in which were tents and supplies of provisions for servants and masters. When at times the wind blew the dust from the highway into the fields, the whole road was uncovered and changed like a hundred-colored serpent, or a ribbon artistically woven from gold and brocade. Here and there on the road were heard orchestras of Italians or janissaries, especially before the squadrons of royal or Lithuanian escort, of which there was no lack in this throng, for they had to go in the company of the dignitaries; and every place was full of shouts, calls, questions, disputes, since precedence was not yielded willingly by one to another.
From time to time mounted servants and soldiers galloped up to the retinue of the prince, demanding the road for such or such a dignitary, or to ask who was travelling. But when the answer came to their ears, “The voevoda of Rus!” immediately they informed their masters, who left the road free, or if they were in advance, turned aside to see the passing retinue. At places of refreshment the nobles gathered in crowds to feast their eyes with a sight of the greatest warrior of the Commonwealth. Cheers also were not lacking, to which the prince answered with thanks, first by reason of his innate politeness, and secondly wishing with that affability to win adherents for Prince Karl, of which he gained not a few by his appearance alone.
With equal curiosity did they look on the squadrons of the prince,—"those Russians,” as they were called. They were not so tattered and haggard as after the battle at Konstantinoff, for the prince had given them new uniforms at Zamost; but they were always gazed at as wonders from beyond the sea, since in the opinion of those dwelling in the neighborhood of the capital they came from the end of the earth. Marvels were related of those mysterious steppes and pine-groves in which such a knighthood was born. They wondered at their sunburnt complexions, embrowned from the winds of the Black Sea; at their haughtiness of look, and a certain freedom of bearing acquired from their wild neighbors.
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