With Fire and Sword

by Henryk Sienkiewicz

  “As God judges.”

  “God is good to our father Hmelnitski. Your prince will never return to his Tartar bank on the east of the Dnieper. Hmelnitski has many a Cossack, and what has your prince? He is a good soldier. And are you not in his service now?”

  “I attend the commissioners.”

  “Well, I am glad; you are an old acquaintance.”

  “If you are glad, then do me a service, and I shall be thankful.”

  “What service?”

  “Tell me where is Bogun, that famous ataman, formerly of the Pereyasláv regiment, who must have a high office among you now.”

  “Silence!” answered Yashevski, threateningly. “It is your luck that we are old acquaintances and that I drank with you, otherwise I should stretch you on the snow with this whirlbat.”

  Skshetuski was astonished; but being a man of ready courage, he squeezed his baton and asked: “Are you mad?”

  “I am not mad, nor do I wish to threaten you; but there is an order from Hmelnitski that if any of you, even one of the commissioners, should ask a question, to kill him on the spot. If I do not do this, another will; therefore I warn you out of good feeling.”

  “But I ask in my own private affair.”

  “Well, it is all one. Hmelnitski told us, the colonels, and commanded us to tell others: * ‘If any one asks, even about wood for the stove, or ashes, kill him.’ You tell this to your people.”

  “I thank you for good advice,” said Skshetuski.

  “You are the only one; I have warned you alone. I should be the first to stretch another Pole on the ground.”

  They were silent. The party had already reached the gates of the town. Both sides of the road and the street were swarming with the crowd and armed Cossacks, who out of regard for the presence of Hmelnitski did not dare to scatter curses and lumps of snow at the sleighs, but who looked frowningly at the commissioners, clinching their fists or grasping the hilts of their sabres.

  Skshetuski, having formed his dragoons four deep, raised his head and rode haughtily and calmly through the broad street, not paying the least attention to the threatening looks of the multitude; in his soul he only thought how much cool blood, self-reliance, and Christian patience would be necessary for him to carry through what he had planned, and not sink at the first step in that sea of hatred.

  CHAPTER LI.

  On the following day the commissioners had long consultations among themselves, whether to deliver the gifts of the king to Hmelnitski immediately or to wait till he should show greater obedience and a certain compunction. They decided to win him by kindness and the favor of the king. The delivery of the gifts was decided upon therefore, and on the following day that solemn act was accomplished. From early morning bells were tolled and cannon fired. Hmelnitski waited for them before his residence, in the midst of his colonels, all the officers, and countless throngs of Cossacks and people; for he wished that all should see with what honor the king surrounded him. He took his seat upon a raised place under the standard and bunchuk, wearing a mantle of purple brocade lined with sable, having at his side ambassadors from neighboring peoples. With his hand on his side, and feet resting on a velvet cushion trimmed with gold, he waited for the commissioners.

  In the throng of the assembled mob from moment to moment there escaped murmurs of gladness and flattery at the sight of that leader in whom this throng, valuing power above all things, saw the embodiment of that power. For only thus the imagination of the people could represent to itself its unconquerable champion,—the crusher of hetmans, dukes, nobles, and Poles in general, who up to his time had been clothed with the charm of invincibility. During that year of battle Hmelnitski had grown old somewhat, but had not bent; his gigantic shoulders always indicated power sufficient to overcome kingdoms or to found new ones; his enormous face, red from the abuse of drink, expressed unbending will, unrestrained pride, and an insolent confidence which gave him victories. Storm and anger were slumbering in the wrinkles of that face, and you could easily know that when they were roused men bent before their terrible breath like woods before a tempest. From his eyes, surrounded by a red border, impatience was shooting that the commissioners did not come quickly enough with the presents, and from his nostrils issued two rows of steam, like two pillars of smoke from the nostrils of Lucifer; and in that mist from his own lungs he sat, purple, gloomy, and proud, flanked by envoys, in the midst of his colonels, having around them a sea of the unclean mob.

  At last the commissioners’ party appeared. In front marched drummers beating their drums, and trumpeters with trumpets at their mouths and swollen cheeks, beating and blowing from the brass long sad sounds, as if at the funeral of the dignity and glory of the Commonwealth. After this orchestra Kjetovski bore the baton on a satin cushion; Kulchinski, treasurer of Kieff, a crimson banner with an eagle and an inscription; and next walked Kisel alone, tall, slender, with a white beard flowing over his breast, with pain on his aristocratic face and unfathomable suffering in his soul. A few steps behind the voevoda the rest of the commissioners dropped in, and the rear was brought up by Bryshovski’s dragoons, under command of Pan Yan.

  Kisel walked slowly; for at that moment he saw clearly that behind the torn tatters of negotiations, from under the pretext of offering the favor and forgiveness of the king, another naked, disgusting truth peered forth, which even the blind could see and the deaf could hear, for it shouted: “Thou, Kisel, art going not to offer favor; thou art going to beg for it, thou art going to buy it with that baton and banner; and thou goest on foot to the feet of that peasant leader, in the name of the whole Commonwealth,—thou a senator, a voevoda!” For this reason the soul was rent in the lord of Brusiloff, and he felt as mean as a worm, as lowly as dust; and in his ears the words of Yeremi were roaring: “Better for us not to live, than to live in captivity under peasants and trash.” And what was he, Kisel, in comparison with that prince of Lubni, who never showed himself to rebellion, except like Jupiter with frowning brow, in the smell of sulphur, the flame of war, and the smoke of powder,—what was he? Under the weight of these thoughts the heart of the voevoda was breaking, the smile had left his face, and joy his heart forever, and he felt that he would rather a hundred times die than take another step; but he went on, for his whole past pushed him forward,—all his labors, all his efforts, all the inexorable logic of his previous acts.

  Hmelnitski waited for him with hand on his side, with pouting lips and frowning brow.

  The party approached at last. Kisel, moving to the front, made a few steps in advance toward the elevation. The drummers stopped drumming, the trumpeters blowing, and deep silence followed in the multitude. Only the frosty wind waved the crimson banner borne by Pan Kulchinski.

  Suddenly the silence was broken by a certain curt, emphatic, and commanding voice, which sounded with the unspeakable power of desperation resembling nothing and no man: “Dragoons to the rear! follow me!” That was the voice of Pan Yan.

  All heads were turned toward him. Hmelnitski himself rose somewhat in his seat to see what was taking place. The blood of the commissioners rushed to their faces. Skshetuski stood in his stirrups; erect, pale, with flashing eyes, naked sabre in his hand, half turned to the dragoons, he repeated again the thundering command: “Follow me!”

  Amidst the silence the hoofs of the horses clattered along the smooth surface of the street. The disciplined dragoons turned their horses on the spot; the colonel placed himself at their head, gave the sign with his sword; the whole party moved slowly back to the residence of the commissioners.

  Astonishment and uncertainty were depicted on all faces, not excepting that of Hmelnitski; for in the voice and motions of the colonel there was something unusual. Still no one knew clearly whether that sudden disappearance of the escort did not belong to the ceremonial of the occasion.

  Kisel alone understood that the treaty and the lives of the commissioners t
ogether with the escort hung on a thread at that moment; therefore he stood on the elevation, and before Hmelnitski had time to take in what had happened, began to speak. First he offered the favor of the king to Hmelnitski and the whole Zaporojie. But suddenly his speech was interrupted by a new occurrence, which had only this good side, that it turned attention entirely from the previous one. Daidyalo, an old colonel, standing near Hmelnitski, began to shake his baton before the voevoda, to gesticulate and cry,—

  “What do you say there, Kisel? The king is king, but you kinglets, princes, nobles, have involved everything. And you, Kisel, bone of our bone, you have gone away from us, and stand with the Poles. We have enough of your talk, for we will get what we want with the sabre.”

  The voevoda looked with offended feeling into the eyes of Hmelnitski. “Is this the discipline in which you keep your colonels?”

  “Be silent, Daidyalo!” cried the hetman.

  “Be silent, be silent! You are drunk, though it is early,” repeated the other colonels. “Go away, or we will pull you out by the head!”

  Daidyalo wanted to clamor more, but they took him by the shoulders and put him outside the circle.

  The voevoda continued with smooth and chosen words, showing Hmelnitski how great were the gifts which he was receiving; for he had the sign of lawful power, which hitherto he had exercised only as a usurper. The king, being able to chastise, had preferred to forgive him, which he did on account of the obedience which he had shown at Zamost, and because his previous acts were committed not during his reign. It was proper therefore that he, Hmelnitski, having offended so much before, should prove thankful now for favor and clemency,—should stop the shedding of blood, pacify the peasants, and proceed to a treaty with the commissioners.

  Hmelnitski received the baton in silence, and the banner, which he ordered to be unfurled above his head. The mob, at sight of this, began to howl with joyous voices, so that for a time nothing could be heard. Certain satisfaction was reflected on the face of the hetman, who, after he had waited awhile, said,—

  “For such great favor shown me by his Majesty the King through you in sending me command over the forces, and overlooking my previous acts, I give humble thanks. I have always said that the king was with me against you faithless dukes and kinglets; and the best proof is that he sends me satisfaction because I have cut your necks, and will further cut them if you will not obey me and the king in everything.”

  Hmelnitski spoke the last words in a loud voice, in a railing tone, and wrinkled his brows as if anger had begun to rise in him. The commissioners grew rigid at such an unexpected turn in his answer; but Kisel said,—

  “The king, mighty hetman, commands you to stop the shedding of blood, and to begin a treaty with us.”

  “Blood is not shed by me, but by the Lithuanian forces,” answered the hetman, harshly; “for I have intelligence that Radzivil has destroyed my Mozir and Turoff. Should this prove true, then I have enough of your prisoners,—distinguished prisoners,—and I will have their heads cut off at once. I will not proceed to a treaty now. It is difficult to begin at present, for the army is not assembled; there is only a handful of colonels here, the rest being in winter quarters. I cannot begin without them. Besides, what’s the use of talking long in the frost? What you had to give me you have given, and all men now see that I am hetman from the hand of the king; and now come to me for a glass of gorailka and dinner, for I am hungry.”

  Having said this, Hmelnitski moved toward his residence, and after him the commissioners and colonels. In the great central room stood a table ready, bending under plundered silver, among which the voevoda, Kisel, might have found some of his own, taken the past year in Gushchi. On the table were piled up mountains of pork, beef, and Tartar pilav; throughout the whole room was an odor of millet vudka, served in silver goblets. Hmelnitski took his place, with Kisel at his right and Bjozovski at his left, and with his hand to the gorailka, said,—

  “They say in Warsaw that I drink Polish blood, but I prefer gorailka, leaving the other to the dogs.”

  The colonels burst into laughter, from which the walls of the room trembled. Such an “appetizer” did the hetman give the commissioners before their dinner; and the commissioners gulped it without a word, in order, as the chamberlain of Lvoff wrote, “not to anger the beast.” But perspiration in heavy drops covered the pale forehead of Kisel.

  The entertainment commenced. The colonels took pieces of meat from the platters with their hands, the hetman himself placed pieces on the plates of Kisel and Bjozovski; and the first of the dinner passed in silence, for every one was satisfying his hunger. In the silence could be heard only the crunching of bones under the teeth of the company or the gurgling of the drinkers. At times some one threw out a word which remained without echo till Hmelnitski, who had first satisfied himself somewhat, and emptied a number of glasses of millet vudka, turned suddenly to the voevoda, and asked,—

  “Who was the leader of your company?”

  Disquiet was reflected on Kisel’s face. “Skshetuski, an honorable knight.”

  “I know him,” said Hmelnitski; “and why did he not wish to be present when you delivered the gifts to me?”

  “He was not associated with us for assistance, but for safety, and he had an order to that effect.”

  “And who gave him that order?”

  “I,” answered the voevoda; “for I did not think that it was proper, at the delivery of the gifts, that dragoons should be standing over the necks of you and me.”

  “I had another opinion, for I know that soldier is stubborn.”

  Here Yashevski mixed in the conversation. “We don’t care for the dragoons,” said he. “We used to think Poles powerful through them; but we discovered at Pilavtsi that they are not the Poles of other days, who beat the Turks, Tartars, and Germans.”

  “Not Zamoiskis, Jolkyevskis, Khodkyevichi, Hmelyetskis, and Konyetspolskis,” interrupted Hmelnitski, “but Chorzovskis and Zaiontchkovskis,—big fellows, wrapped in iron; and they were dying of terror as soon as they saw us, and ran off, though there were only three thousand Tartars in the place.”

  The commissioners were silent, but the eating and drinking seemed to them more and more bitter each moment.

  “I beg you humbly to drink and eat,” said Hmelnitski, “or I shall think that our simple Cossack fare cannot pass your lordly throats.”

  “Oh, if they are too narrow we can slit them open a little,” said Daidyalo.

  The Cossacks, feeling encouraged, burst into laughter; but Hmelnitski looked threateningly at them, and they grew silent again.

  Kisel, who had been ill several days, was pale as a sheet. Bjozovski was so red that it seemed as though the blood would burst through his face. At last he could restrain himself no longer, and shouted,—

  “Have we come here to dine or to be insulted?”

  To this Hmelnitski answered: “You have come for a treaty; but meanwhile the Lithuanian forces are burning and slaughtering. I hear they have destroyed Mozir and Turoff; should this prove true, I shall order four hundred captives to be beheaded in your presence.”

  Bjozovski restrained his blood, boiling the moment before. It was true! The lives of the captives depended on the humor of the hetman,—on one twinkle of his eye; therefore it was necessary to endure everything, and besides to calm his outbursts, to bring him “ad mitiorem et saniorem mentem.”

  In this spirit the Carmelite Lentovski, by nature mild and timid, said in a quiet voice,—

  “May the God of mercy grant that the news from Lithuania about Mozir and Turoff may be changed!”

  But scarcely had he finished when Fedor Veshnyak, the colonel of Cherkasi, bent toward him and struck with his baton, wishing to hit the Carmelite on the neck. Fortunately he did not reach him, since there were four men between them; but immediately he cried out,—

  “Wordy priest! i
t is not your affair to give the lie to me. But come outdoors, and I will show you how to respect Zaporojian colonels!”

  Others, however, hurried to quiet him; but not succeeding, they put him out of the room.

  “When, mighty hetman, do you wish that the commissioners should meet?” asked Kisel, wishing to give another turn to the conversation.

  Unfortunately Hmelnitski was no longer sober, therefore he gave a quick and biting answer,—

  “To-morrow will be business and discussion, for now I am in drink. Why do you talk now of commissions; you do not give me time to eat and drink. I have enough of this already! Now there must be war!” And he thumped the table till the dishes and cups jumped. “In those four weeks I’ll turn you all feet upward and trample you, and sell the remnant to the Turkish Tsar. The king will be king, so as to execute nobles, dukes, princes. If a prince offends, cut off his head; if a Cossack offends, cut off his head! You threaten me with the Swedes, but they cannot stand before me. Tugai Bey is near me, my brother, my soul; the only falcon in the world, he is ready at once to do everything that I wish.”