“See these little birds of the forest. They come to the protection of the Mother of God, but you doubt Her power.”
Consolation and hope had entered their hearts; the monks, beating their breasts, went to the church, and the soldiers mounted the walls.
Women scattered grain to the birds, which began to pick it up eagerly.
All interpreted the visit of these tiny forest-dwellers as a sign of success to themselves, and of evil to the enemy.
“Fierce snows must be lying, when these little birds, caring neither for shots nor the thunder of cannon, flock to our buildings,” said the soldiers.
“But why do they fly from the Swedes to us?”
“Because the meanest creature has the wit to distinguish an enemy from a friend.”
“That cannot be,” said another soldier, “for in the Swedish camp are Poles too; but it means that there must be hunger there, and a lack of oats for the horses.”
“It means still better,” said a third, “that what they say of the powder is downright falsehood.”
“How is that?” asked all, in one voice.
“Old people say,” replied the soldier, “that if a house is to fall, the sparrows and swallows having nests in spring under the roof, go away two or three days in advance; every creature has sense to feel danger beforehand. Now if powder were under the cloister, these little birds would not fly to us.”
“Is that true?”
“As true as Amen to ‘Our Father!’ ”
“Praise to the Most Holy Lady! it will be bad for the Swedes.”
At this moment the sound of a trumpet was heard at the northwestern gate; all ran to see who was coming.
It was a Swedish trumpeter with a letter from the camp. The monks assembled at once in the council hall. The letter was from Count Veyhard, and announced that if the fortress were not surrendered before the following day it would be hurled into the air. But those who before had fallen under the weight of fear had no faith now in this threat.
“Those are vain threats!” said the priests and the nobles together.
“Let us write to them not to spare us; let them blow us up!”
And in fact they answered in that sense.
Meanwhile the soldiers who had gathered around the trumpeter answered his warnings with ridicule.
“Good!” said they to him. “Why do you spare us? We will go the sooner to heaven.”
But the man who delivered the answering letter to the messenger said—
“Do not lose words and time for nothing. Want is gnawing you, but we lack nothing, praise be to God! Even the birds fly away from you.”
And in this way Count Veyhard’s last trick came to nothing. And when another day had passed it was shown with perfect proof how vain were the fears of the besieged, and peace returned to the cloister.
The following day a worthy man from Chenstohova, Yatsek Bjuhanski, left a letter again giving warning of a storm; also news of the return of Yan Kazimir from Silesia, and the uprising of the whole Commonwealth against the Swedes. But according to reports circulating outside the walls, this was to be the last storm.
Bjuhanski brought the letter with a bag of fish to the priests for Christmas Eve, and approached the walls disguised as a Swedish soldier. Poor man!—the Swedes saw him and seized him. Miller gave command to stretch him on the rack; but the old man had heavenly visions in the time of his torture, and smiled as sweetly as a child, and instead of pain unspeakable joy was depicted on his face. The general was present at the torture, but he gained no confession from the martyr; he merely acquired the despairing conviction that nothing could bend those people, nothing could break them.
Now came the old beggarwoman Kostuha, with a letter from Kordetski begging most humbly that the storm be delayed during service on the day of Christ’s birth. The guards and the officers received the beggarwoman with insults and jeers at such an envoy, but she answered them straight in the face—
“No other would come, for to envoys you are as murderers, and I took the office for bread—a crust. I shall not be long in this world; I have no fear of you: if you do not believe, you have me in your hands.”
But no harm was done her. What is more, Miller, eager to try conciliation again, agreed to the prior’s request, even accepted a ransom for Bjuhanski, not yet tortured quite out of his life; he sent also that part of the silver found with the Swedish soldiers. He did this last out of malice to Count Veyhard, who after the failure of the mine had fallen into disfavor again.
At last Christmas Eve came. With the first star, lights great and small began to shine all around in the fortress. The night was still, frosty, but clear. The Swedish soldiers, stiffened with cold in the intrenchments, gazed from below on the dark walls of the unapproachable fortress, and to their minds came the warm Scandinavian cottages stuffed with moss, their wives and children, the fir-tree gleaming with lights; and more than one iron breast swelled with a sigh, with regret, with homesickness, with despair. But in the fortress, at tables covered with hay, the besieged were breaking wafers. A quiet joy was shining in all faces, for each one had the foreboding,
