Kmita had annoyed Radzivill already over much; and without the marvellous significance given him by events, he would long since have fallen a victim to his own impetuosity and the wrath of the hetman. But the prince was mistaken in suspecting him of a hostile turn of thought, for Pan Andrei was occupied wholly with Olenka and that deep dissension which separated them.
At times it seemed to him that he loved that woman sitting at his side beyond the whole world; then again he felt such hatred that he would give death to her if he could but give it to himself as well.
Life had become so involved that for his simple nature it was too difficult, and he felt what a wild beast feels when entangled in a net from which it cannot escape.
The unquiet and gloomy humor of the whole banquet irritated him in the highest degree. It was simply unendurable.
The banquet became more gloomy every moment. It seemed to those present that they were feasting under a leaden roof resting on their heads.
At that time a new guest entered the hall. The prince, seeing him, exclaimed—
“That is Pan Suhanyets, from Cousin Boguslav! Surely with letters!”
The newly arrived bowed profoundly. “True, Most Serene Prince, I come straight from Podlyasye.”
“But give me the letters, and sit at the table yourself. The worthy guests will pardon me if I do not defer the reading, though we are sitting at a banquet, for there may be news which I shall need to impart to you. Sir Marshal, pray think of the welcome envoy there.”
Speaking thus, he took from the hands of Pan Suhanyets a package of letters, and broke the seal of the first in haste.
All present fixed curious eyes on his face, and tried to divine the substance of the letter. The first letter did not seem to announce anything favorable, for the face of the prince was filled with blood, and his eyes gleamed with wild anger.
“Brothers!” said the hetman, “Prince Boguslav reports to me that those men who have chosen to form a confederation rather than march against the enemy at Vilna, are ravaging at this moment my villages in Podlyasye. It is easier of course to wage war with peasant women in villages. Worthy knights, there is no denying that!—Never mind! Their reward will not miss them.”
Then he took the second letter, but had barely cast his eyes on it when his face brightened with a smile of triumph and delight—
“The province of Syeradz has yielded to the Swedes!” cried he, “and following Great Poland, has accepted the protection of Karl Gustav.”
And after a while another—
“This is the latest dispatch. Good for us, worthy gentlemen, Yan Kazimir is beaten at Vidava and Jarnov. The army is leaving him! He is retreating on Krakow; the Swedes are pursuing. My cousin writes that Krakow too must fall.”
“Let us rejoice, gracious gentlemen,” said Shchanyetski, with a strange voice.
“Yes, let us rejoice!” repeated the hetman, without noticing the tone in which Shchanyetski had spoken. And delight issued from the whole person of the prince, his face became in one moment as it were younger, his eyes gained lustre; with hands trembling from happiness, he broke the seal of the last letter, looked, became all radiant as the sun, and cried—
“Warsaw is taken! Long life to Karl Gustav!”
Here he first noticed that the impression which these tidings produced on those present was entirely different from that which he felt himself. For all sat in silence, looking forward with uncertain glance. Some frowned; others covered their faces with their hands. Even courtiers of the hetman, even men of weak spirit, did not dare to imitate the joy of the prince at the tidings that Warsaw was taken, that Krakow must fall, and that the provinces, one after the other, would leave their legal king and yield to the enemy. Besides, there was something monstrous in the satisfaction with which the supreme leader of half the armies of the Commonwealth, and one of its most exalted senators, announced its defeats. The prince saw that it was necessary to soften the impression.
“Gentlemen,” said he, “I should be the first to weep with you, if harm were coming to the Commonwealth; but here the Commonwealth suffers no harm, it merely changes kings. Instead of the ill-fated Yan Kazimir we shall have a great and fortunate warrior. I see all wars now finished, and enemies vanquished.”
“Your highness is right,” answered Shchanyetski. “Cup for cup, the same thing that Radzeyovski and Opalinski held forth at Uistsie. Let us rejoice, gracious gentlemen! Death to Yan Kazimir!”
When he had said this, Shchanyetski pushed back his chair with a rattle, and walked out of the hall.
“The best of wines that are in the cellar!” cried the prince.
The marshal hastened to carry out the order. In the hall it was as noisy as in a hive. When the first impression had passed, the nobles began to talk of the news and discuss. They asked Pan Suhanyets for details from Podlyasye, and adjoining Mazovia, which the Swedes had already occupied.
After a while pitchy kegs were rolled into the hall and opened. Spirits began to grow brighter and improve by degrees.
More and more frequently voices were heard to repeat: “All is over! perhaps it is for the best!” “We must bend to fortune!” “The prince will not let us be wronged.” “It is better for us than for others. Long life to Yanush Radzivill, our voevoda, hetman, and prince!”
“Grand Prince of Lithuania!” cried again Pan Yujits.
But at this time neither silence nor laughter answered him; but a number of tens of hoarse throats roared at once—
“That is our wish—from heart and soul our wish! Long life to him! May he rule!”
The magnate rose with a face as red as purple. “I thank you, brothers,” said he, seriously.
In the hall it had become as suffocating and hot, from lights and
