“This man might say of himself, ‘Si fractus illabatur orbis, impavidum ferient ruinae (If the broken firmament should fall the ruins would strike him unterrified)!’ ” said Father Vydjga, who loved to quote authors at every opportunity.
“These are almost impossible things,” said the chancellor again. “Tell, Cavalier, how you brought away your life, and how you passed through the Swedes.”
“The explosion stunned me,” said Kmita, “and next day the Swedes found me in the ditch lying as if lifeless. They judged me at once, and Miller condemned me to death.”
“Then did you escape?”
“A certain Kuklinovski begged me of Miller, so that he might put me to death, for he had a fierce animosity against me.”
“He is a well-known disturber and murderer; we have heard of him,” said the castellan of Kjyvinsk. “His regiment is with Miller at Chenstohova. That is true!”
“Previously Kuklinovski was an envoy from Miller to the cloister, and once tried to persuade me in secret to treason when I was conducting him to the gate. I struck him in the face and kicked him. For that insult he was enraged against me.”
“Ah, this I see is a noble of fire and sulphur!” cried the king, amused. “Do not go into such a man’s road. Did Miller then give you to Kuklinovski?”
“He did, Gracious Gentlemen. Kuklinovski shut me with himself and some men in an empty little barn. There he had me tied to a beam with ropes, then he began to torture me and to burn my sides with fire.”
“By the living God!”
“While doing this he was called away to Miller; when he was gone three nobles came, certain Kyemliches, his soldiers, who had served with me previously. They killed the guards, and unbound me from the beam—”
“And you fled! Now I understand,” said the king.
“No, your Royal Grace. We waited for the return of Kuklinovski. Then I gave command to tie him to that same beam, and I burned him better with fire.”
When he had said this, Kmita, roused by remembrance, became red again, and his eyes gleamed like those of a wolf. But the king, who passed easily from grief to joy, from seriousness to sport, began to strike the table with his hand, and exclaim with laughter—
“That was good for him! that was good for him! Such a traitor deserved nothing better!”
“I left him alive,” continued Kmita, “but he must have perished from cold before morning.”
“That’s a deed; he does not give away his own. We need more of such!” cried the king, now completely delighted. “Did you come hither with those soldiers? What are their names?”
“They are Kyemlich, a father and two sons.”
“My mother is from the house of Kyemlich,” said Father Vydjga.
“It is evident that there are great and small Kyemliches,” answered Kmita, smiling; “these are not only small persons, but robbers; they are fierce soldiers, however, and faithful to me.”
Meanwhile the chancellor, who had been whispering for a time in the ear of the Archbishop of Gnyezno, said at last—
“Many come here who for their own praise or for an expected reward are glad to raise dust. They bring false and disturbing news, and are frequently sent by the enemy.”
This remark chilled all present. Kmita’s face became purple.
“I do not know the office of your grace,” said he, “which, I think, must be considerable, therefore I do not wish to offend you; but there is no office, as I think, which would empower anyone to give the lie to a noble, without reason.”
“Man! you are speaking to the grand chancellor of the kingdom,” said Lugovski.
“Whoso gives me the lie, even if he is chancellor, I answer him, it is easier to give the lie than to give your life, it is easier to seal with wax than with blood!”
Pan Korytsinski was not angry; he only said: “I do not give you the lie, Cavalier; but if what you say is true, you must have a burned side.”
“Come to another place, your great mightiness, to another room, and I will show it to you!” roared Kmita.
“It is not needful,” said the king; “I believe you without that.”
“It cannot be, your Royal Grace,” exclaimed Pan Andrei; “I wish it myself, I beg it as a favor, so that here no one, even though I know not how worthy, should make me an exaggerator. My torment would be an ill reward; I wish belief.”
“I believe you,” answered the king.
“Truth itself was in his words,” added Marya Ludvika. “I am not deceived in men.”
“Gracious King and Queen, permit. Let some man go aside with me, for it would be grievous for me to live here in suspicion.”
“I will go,” said Pan Tyzenhauz, a young attendant of the king. So saying, he conducted Kmita to another room, and on the way said to him, “I do not go because I do not believe you, for I believe; but to speak with you. Have we met somewhere in Lithuania? I cannot remember your name, for it may be that I saw you when a youth, and I myself was a youth then?”
Kmita turned away his face somewhat to hide his sudden confusion.
“Perhaps at some provincial diet. My late father took me with him frequently to see public business.”
“Perhaps. Your face is surely not strange to me, though at that time it had not those scars. Still see how memoria fragilis est (weak memory is); also it seems to me you had a different name.”
“Years dull the memory,” answered Pan Andrei.
They went to another room. After a while Tyzenhauz returned to the royal pair.
“He is roasted, Gracious King, as on a spit,” said he; “his whole side is burned.”
When Kmita in his turn came back, the king rose, pressed his head, and said—
“We have never doubted that you speak the truth, and neither your pain nor
