The Deluge. Vol. 2. Генрик Сенкевич

his own subjects had given him to drink so bountifully, the ingratitude of that country for which he was ready to devote his blood and life, – all this could be read in that face as in a book, and still it expressed not only resignation, obtained through faith and prayer, not only the majesty of a king and an anointed of God, but such great, inexhaustible kindness that evidently it would be enough for the greatest renegade, the most guilty man, only to stretch out his hands to that father, and that father would receive him, forgive him, and forget his offences.

      It seemed to Kmita at sight of him that some one had squeezed his heart with an iron hand. Compassion rose in the ardent soul of the young hero. Compunction, sorrow, and homage straitened the breath in his throat, a feeling of immeasurable guilt cut his knees under him so that he began to tremble through his whole body, and at once a new feeling rose in his breast. In one moment he had conceived such a love for that suffering king that to him there was nothing dearer on earth than that father and lord, for whom he was ready to sacrifice blood and life, bear torture and everything else in the world. He wished to throw himself at those feet, to embrace those knees, and implore forgiveness for his crimes. The noble, the insolent disturber, had died in him in one moment, and the royalist was born, devoted with his whole soul to his king.

      "That is our lord, our unhappy king," repeated he to himself, as if he wished with his lips to give witness to what his eyes saw and what his heart felt.

      After the Gospel, Yan Kazimir knelt again, stretched out his arms, raised his eyes to heaven, and was sunk in prayer. The priest went out at last, there was a movement in the church, the king remained kneeling.

      Then that noble whom Kmita had addressed pushed Pan Andrei in the side.

      "But who are you?" asked he.

      Kmita did not understand the question at once, and did not answer it directly, so greatly were his heart and mind occupied by the person of the king.

      "And who are you?" repeated that personage.

      "A noble like yourself," answered Pan Andrei, waking as if from a dream.

      "What is your name?"

      "What is my name? Babinich; I am from Lithuania, from near Vityebsk."

      "And I am Pan Lugovski, of the king's household. Have you just come from Lithuania, from Vityebsk?"

      "No; I come from Chenstohova."

      Pan Lugovski was dumb for a moment from wonder.

      "But if that is true, then come and tell us the news. The king is almost dead from anxiety because he has had no certain tidings these three days. How is it? You are perhaps from the squadron of Zbrojek, Kalinski, or Kuklinovski, from near Chenstohova."

      "Not from near Chenstohova, but directly from the cloister itself."

      "Are you not jesting? What is going on there, what is to be heard? Does Yasna Gora defend itself yet?"

      "It does, and will defend itself. The Swedes are about to retreat."

      "For God's sake! The king will cover you with gold. From the very cloister do you say that you have come? How did the Swedes let you pass?"

      "I did not ask their permission; but pardon me, I cannot give a more extended account in the church."

      "Right, right!" said Pan Lugovski. "God is merciful! You have fallen from heaven to us! It is not proper in the church, – right! Wait a moment. The king will rise directly; he will go to breakfast before high Mass. To-day is Sunday. Come stand with me at the door, and when the king is going out I will present you. Come, come, there is no time to spare."

      He pushed ahead, and Kmita followed. They had barely taken their places at the door when the two pages appeared, and after them came Yan Kazimir slowly.

      "Gracious King!" cried Pan Lugovski, "there are tidings from Chenstohova."

      The wax-like face of Yan Kazimir became animated in an instant.

      "What tidings? Where is the man?" inquired he.

      "This noble; he says that he has come from the very cloister."

      "Is the cloister captured?" cried the king.

      That moment Pan Andrei fell his whole length at the feet of the king. Yan Kazimir inclined and began to raise him by the arms.

      "Oh, ceremony another time, another time!" cried he. "Rise, in God's name, rise! Speak quickly! Is the cloister taken?"

      Kmita sprang up with tears in his eyes, and cried with animation, —

      "It is not, and will not be taken, Gracious Lord. The Swedes are beaten. The great gun is blown up. There is fear among them, hunger, misery. They are thinking of retreat."

      "Praise, praise to Thee, Queen of the Angels and of us!" said the king. Then he turned to the church door, removed his hat, and without entering knelt on the snow at the door. He supported his head on a stone pillar, and sank into silence. After a while sobbing began to shake him. Emotion seized all, and Pan Andrei wept loudly. The king, after he had prayed and shed tears, rose quieted, with a face much clearer. He inquired his name of Kmita, and when the latter had told his assumed one, said, —

      "Let Pan Lugovski conduct you at once to our quarters. We shall not take our morning food without hearing of the defence."

      A quarter of an hour later Kmita was standing in the king's chamber before a distinguished assembly. The king was only waiting for the queen, to sit down to breakfast. Marya Ludvika appeared soon. Yan Kazimir barely saw her when he exclaimed, —

      "Chenstohova has held out! The Swedes will retreat! Here is Pan Babinich, who has just come, and he brings the news."

      The black eyes of the queen rested inquiringly on the youthful face of the hero, and seeing its sincerity, they grew bright with joy; and he, when he had made a profound obeisance, looked also at her boldly, as truth and honesty know how to look.

      "The power of God!" said the queen. "You have taken a terrible weight from our hearts, and God grant this is the beginning of a change of fortune. Do you come straight from near Chenstohova?"

      "Not from near Chenstohova, he says, but from the cloister itself, – one of the defenders!" exclaimed the king. "A golden guest! God grant such to come daily; but let him begin. Tell, brother, tell how you defended yourselves, and how the hand of God guarded you."

      "It is sure, Gracious King and Queen, that nothing saved us but the guardianship of God and the miracles of the Most Holy Lady, which I saw every day with my eyes."

      Here Kmita was preparing for his narrative, when new dignitaries appeared. First came the nuncio of the Pope; then the primate, Leshchynski; after him Vydjga, a golden-mouthed preacher, who was the queen's chancellor, later bishop of Varmia, and finally primate. With him came the chancellor of the kingdom, Pan Korytsinski, and the Frenchman De Noyers, a relative of the queen, and other dignitaries who had not deserted the king in misfortune, but chose to share with him the bitter bread of exile rather than break plighted faith.

      The king was eager to hear; therefore he ceased eating, every moment, and repeated, "Listen, gentlemen, listen; a guest from Chenstohova! Good news; hear it! From Yasna Gora itself!"

      Then the dignitaries looked with curiosity on Kmita, who was standing as it were before a court; but he, bold by nature and accustomed to intercourse with great people, was not a whit alarmed at sight of so many celebrated persons; and when all had taken their places, he began to describe the whole siege.

      Truth was evident in his words; for he spoke with clearness and strength, like a soldier who had seen everything, touched everything, passed through everything. He praised to the skies Pan Zamoyski and Pan Charnyetski; spoke of Kordetski, the prior, as of a holy prophet; exalted other fathers; missed no one save himself; but he ascribed the whole success of the defence, without deviation, to the Most Holy Lady, to Her favor and miracles.

      The king and the dignitaries listened to him in amazement. The archbishop raised his tearful eyes to heaven. Father Vydjga interpreted everything hurriedly to the nuncio; other great personages caught their heads; some prayed, or beat their breasts.

      At last, when Kmita came to the recent storms, – when he