Complete works of henryk.., p.570
Complete Works of Henryk Sienkiewicz, page 570
The four brothers embraced his knees, and kissed his hands straightway; he, looking at their misery, dropped his arms at his sides in amazement.
“Stashko wrote,” said he, “that it had gone ill with you, but this is terrible!”
“We have sinned, benefactor!” answered Marek, beating his breast.
The other brothers repeated his words.
“We have sinned, we have sinned, we have sinned!”
“Tell me how, and in what. How is Stashko? He has written me that he saved you. What happened?”
“Stashko is well, benefactor; he and Pan Yatsek are as bright as two suns.”
“Glory to God! glory to God! Thanks for the good news. Have you no letter?”
“He wrote, but did not give us the letter. It might be lost,” said he.
“Are you not hungry? Oh, what a condition! It is as if I had four men risen from the dead now before me.”
“We are not hungry, for entertainment is ready at the house of every noble — but we are unfortunate.”
“Sit down. Drink something warm, but while the servants are heating it tell me what happened. Where have you been?”
“In Warsaw,” said Mateush, “but that is a vile city.”
“Why so?”
“It is swarming with gamblers and drunkards, and on Long Street and in the Old City at every step there is a tavern.”
“Well, what?”
“One son of a such a one persuaded Lukash to play dice with him. Would to God that the pagans had impaled the wicked scoundrel on a stake ere that happened.”
“And he cheated?”
“He won all that Lukash had, and then all that we had. Desperation took hold of us, and we wanted to win the coin back, but he won further our horse with a saddle and with pistols in the holsters. Then, I say to your grace, that Lukash wished to stab himself. What was to be done? How were we to help comforting a brother? We sold the second horse, so that Lukash might have a companion to walk with him.”
“I understand what happened,” remarked Pan Serafin.
“When we became sober there was still keener suffering; two horses were gone, and we had greater need of consolation.”
“So ye consoled yourselves till the fourth horse was gone?”
“Till the fourth horse. We sinned, we sinned!” repeated the contrite brothers.
“But was that the end?” continued Pan Serafin.
“How the end, our father and special benefactor? We met a deceiver, one Poradski, who scoffed at us. ‘So this is the way they shear fools!’ says he. ‘I will take you,’ says he, ‘as my serving men, for I am making the levy for a regiment.’ Lukash cried out that the man was exposing us to ridicule, and when he would not stop Lukash slashed him on the snout with a sabre. Poradski’s friends sprang to help him, and we to help Lukash, and we cut till the marshal’s guard whirled in and went at us. And we yielded only when the others fell to shouting: ‘Gracious gentlemen, they are attacking freedom, and injuring the Commonwealth in our persons.’ That is how it happened, and God blessed us immediately, for we wounded eight attendants in a flash, and three of these mortally; the others were at our feet, — there were five of them.”
Pan Serafin seized his head, and Marek continued, —
“Yes! Now we know all; God helped us till people shouted that the fight was near the king’s palace, and a crime, — that we should die for it. We were frightened and ran. They tried to seize us, but when we, in old fashion, cut one on the face and another on the neck, they fled in a hurry. Stanislav saved us with the horses of his attendants, but even then we had to work hard to bring our heads with us; we were hunted to Senkotsin; if the horses had been slow our case would have ended. Our names were not known; that was lucky, and there will be no accusation against us.”
Long silence followed.
“Where are those horses which Stanislav gave you?” asked Pan Serafin.
The brothers began their confession a third time, —
“We have sinned, benefactor, we have sinned!”
Pan Serafin walked with long strides through the chamber.
“Now I understand,” said he, “why ye did not bring Stashko’s letter. He wrote me that various sad things had happened you, and he predicted your return, thinking that ye would need money for horses and outfits, but how ye would end was unknown to him.”
“So it is, benefactor,” said Yan.
Men now brought in heated wine, to which the brothers betook themselves with great willingness, for they were road weary. Still they were frightened by the silence of Pan Serafin, who was striding up and down in the chamber, his face severe and gloomy. So again Marek spoke to him, —
“Your grace, my benefactor, has asked about Stanislav’s horses. Two of them foundered before we reached Groyets, for we galloped all the way in a terrible windstorm; we sold them for a trifle to Jew wagoners, for the beasts were no good after foundering. And we had not a coin to keep the souls in us; since we left in such a hurry Pan Stanislav had no time to assist us. Then strengthened a little we rode farther, two men on each animal. But your grace will understand this. We met then some noble on the road, and immediately he seized his side, laughing. ‘What kind of Jerusalem nobles are these?’ asked he. And we from such terrible scornfulness were ready for anything. So we had endless encounters and fights till we came to Bialobregi, where for dear peace we sold the last two of our crowbaits; then, when people wondered at our travelling on foot we replied that we were making that journey through a vow of devotion. So forgive us now like a father, for there are not more ill-fated men in this world, as I think, than we brothers.”
“It is true! it is true!” exclaimed Mateush and Lukash; while Yan, the youngest, moved by remembrance of past suffering, and wine, raised his voice, and cried, —
“We are orphans of the Lord! What is left now in this world to us?”
“Nothing but brotherly love,” put in Marek.
And they fell to embracing one another, shedding bitter tears as they did so; then all drew up to Pan Serafin, but Marek seized his knees before the others.
“Oh, father,” said he, “our first-born protector, be not angry. Lend us once more for the levy, and from plunder, God grant, we will give it back faithfully; if you lend not — it is well also, but be not angry, only forgive us! Forgive us through that great friendship which we cherish for Stashko; for I tell you, let any man harm even one of Stashko’s fingers, we will bear that man apart on our sabres! Is this not true, dearest brothers? — on our sabres?”
“Give him hither, the son of a such a one!” cried Mateush, Lukash, and Yan.
Pan Serafin halted before them, put his hand on his forehead, and answered in these words, —
“I am angry, it is true! but less angry than grief-stricken; for when I think that in this Commonwealth there are many such men as ye, the heart in me is straitened, and I ask myself: Will this mother of ours have the power with such children to meet the attacks which are threatening her? Ye wish to implore me, and ye expect my forgiveness. By the living God! it is not a question here of me, and not of my horses, but of something a hundred times greater, a question of the public weal, and the future of this Commonwealth; and of this, that ye do not understand the position, that even such a thought has not come to you; and since there are thousands such as ye are, the greater is the sorrow and the keener the anxiety, the more dreadful the desperation both of me and each honest son of this country—”
“For God’s sake, benefactor! How have we sinned against the country?”
“How? By lawlessness, license, by riot and drunkenness. Oh! With us, people treat such things over lightly, and do not see how the pestilence is spreading, how the walls of this lordly building are weakened, and our heads are endangered by the ceiling. War is approaching; it is not known yet whether the foe will turn his power against us directly — but, ye Christian soldiers, what is the best that ye are doing? The trumpet is calling you to battle, but in your heads there is nothing save wine and lawlessness. With a glad heart ye cut down the guardians of that law which gives order of some kind. Who established those laws? Nobles. Who trampled them? Nobles! How can this country move to the field of glory, if this advance post of Christianity is inhabited not by warriors but drunkards, not by citizens but roysterers and rioters?”
Here Pan Serafin stopped and, pressing his hand to his forehead, walked again with great steps through the chamber. The brothers glanced at one another in amazement and confusion, for they had not thought to hear from him anything of that sort.
But he sighed deeply and continued, —
“Ye were called out against pagans, and ye spill the blood of Christians; ye were summoned in defence of this country, and ye have gone out as its enemies, for it is evident that the greater the disorder in a fortress, the weaker is the fortress. Fortunately there are still honest children of this mother, but of men such as ye there are, as I have said, many legions; for here not freedom, but riot is nourishing, not obedience, but impunity, not stern discipline, but wantonness, not love of country, but self-seeking; for here diets are broken, here the treasury is plundered, disorder increases, and civil wars like unbridled horses trample the country; hence drunken heads are fixing its fortunes; here is oppression of peasants, and from high to low lawlessness so that my heart bleeds, and I fear defeat, with God’s anger as the consequence.”
“In God’s name must we hang ourselves?” cried Lukash.
Pan Serafin measured the chamber a number of times with his steps yet, and spoke on, as if it were to himself, and not to the Bukoyemskis, —
“Through the length and the breadth of this Commonwealth there is one immense feast, and on the wall an unknown hand is now writing: ‘Mane — Tekel — Fares.’ Wine is flowing, but blood and tears also are flowing. I am not the only person who sees this, I am not the only man predicting evil, but it is vain to put a light before the sightless, or sing songs to those who have no hearing.”
Silence followed. The four brothers stared now at one another, and now at Pan Serafin with increasing confusion; at last Lukash said in a low voice to the other three, —
“May I split, if I understand anything!”
“And may I split!”
“And may I!”
“If we could drink a couple of times—”
“Quiet, do not mention it—”
“Let us go home.”
“Let us go.”
“With the forehead to your grace, our benefactor!” said Marek, pushing out in front and bending down to the knees of Pan Serafin.
“But whither?”
“To Lesnichovka. God help us.”
“And I will help you,” said Pan Serafin; “but such grief seized me that I had to pour it out. Go upstairs, gentlemen, — rest; later on ye will learn my decision.”
An hour later he commanded to drive to Father Voynovski’s. The priest was scandalized no little by the deeds of the Bukoyemskis, but at moments he could not restrain himself from laughter, for having served many years in the army he recalled various happenings which had met him and his comrades. But he could not forgive the brothers for drinking away the horses.
“A soldier will often run riot,” said he, “but to drink away his horse! that is treason to the service. I will tell the Bukoyemskis that I should have been glad if martial law had taken the heads from their shoulders, and that certainly would have given an example to rioters, but I confess to you that I should have been sorry, for all four are splendid fellows. I know from of old what men are, and I can say in advance what each is good for. As to the Bukoyemskis, it will be unhealthy for those pagans who strike breast to breast with them in battle. What do you think to do with them?”
“I will not leave them without rescue, but I think if I were to send them off alone the same kind of thing might meet them a second time.”
“True!” said the priest.
“Hence it has occurred to me to go with them, and give them straight into the hands of the captain. Once with the flag and under discipline, they can grant themselves nothing.”
“True, this is a splendid idea! Take them to Cracow; there the regiments will assemble. As I live I will go with you! Thus we shall see our boys, and come back with more pleasantness.”
At this Pan Serafin laughed, and said, —
“Your grace will come back alone.”
“How is that?”
“I am going myself to the war.”
“Do you wish to serve again in the army?” asked Father Voynovski, in astonishment.
“Yes, and no; for it is one thing to go to the army and make a career out of service, and another to go on a single expedition. Of course, I am old, but older than I have gone to the ranks more than once in reply to Gradiva’s trumpet. I have sent my only son, that is true, but it is not possible to yield up too much for the country. Thus did my fathers think, therefore, that Mother showed them the greatest honor at her disposal. Hence my last copper coin, and my last drop of blood are now ready to be sacrificed for her sake! Should it come to die — think, your grace, what nobler death, what greater happiness could meet me? A man must die once, and is there not greater pleasure in dying on the field of glory, at the side of one’s son, than in bed; to die from a sabre or a bullet than from sickness; in addition fighting against pagans for the faith and the country?”
Then Pan Serafin, moved by his own words, opened his arms and repeated, —
“God grant this! God grant this!”
Then Father Voynovski took him in his arms, and pressing him, said, —
“God grant that in this Commonwealth there be as many men like you as possible; there are not many as honorable, more honorable there are none whatever. It is true that it becomes a noble better to die on the field than in bed, and in old times every man held that idea, but to-day worse times have come on us. The country and the faith are one immense altar, and a man is a morsel of myrrh, predestined for burning to the glory of that altar. Yes, times are worse at the present. Then war is nothing new to you?”
Pan Serafin felt his breast, and continued, —
“I have here a few wounds from sabres and shots of the old time.”
“It would be pleasanter for me to defend the flag,” said Father Voynovski, “than listen to old women’s sins in this neighborhood. And more than one of them tells me such nonsense, just as if she had come to shake out fleas at confession. When a man commits sin he has at least something to speak about, and all the more if he is a soldier! When I took this robe of a priest I became a chaplain in the regiment of Pan Modlishevski. Ah, I remember that well. Between one absolution of sins and another there was sometimes a shooting in the teeth, or blades were drawn. Ah, there was great need of chaplains in that time. I should like now to go, but my parish is large, and there is a tempest of work in it; the vicar is wilful but worst of all is a wound from a gunshot, which I received long ago, and which does not let me stay more than an hour in the saddle.”
“I should be happy to have a comrade,” said Pan Serafin, “but I understand that even without that wound your grace could not leave the parish.”
“Well, I shall see. In a couple of days I will ride and learn how long I can stay in the saddle. Something may have straightened out in me. But who will look to the management at Yedlinka?”
“I have a forester, a simple man, but so honest that he might almost be canonized.”
“I know; that one who is followed by wild beasts. Some say that he is a wizard; you know better, however. But he is old and sickly.”
“I wish to take also that Vilchopolski who on a time served Pan Gideon. Perhaps you remember him? a young noble who lost one foot, but he is vigorous and daring. Krepetski removed him because he was too independent. He came to me two days ago offering his service, and to-day I will agree with him surely. Pan Gideon did not like him, since the man would not let any one blow on his pudding, but Pan Gideon praised his activity and faithfulness.”
“What is to be heard in Belchantska?”
“I have not been there for some time. It is clear that Vilchopolski does not praise the Krepetskis, but I had no chance to inquire about everything in detail.”
“I will look in there to-morrow, though they are not over glad to behold me, and then I will return to rub the ears of the Bukoyemskis. I will command them to come to confession, and for penance the whips will be moving. Let them give one another fifty lashes; that will be good for them.”
“It will, that is certain. But now I must take farewell of your grace because of Vilchopolski.”
Then Pan Serafin shortened his belt-strap, so that his sabre might not be in the way when he was entering the wagon. A moment later he was on the road moving toward Yedlinka, thinking meanwhile of his expedition, and smiling at the thought that he would work stirrup to stirrup with his one son, against pagans. After he had passed Belchantska he saw two horses under packs, and a trunk-laden wagon which Vilchopolski was driving. He commanded the young man to sit over into his wagon, and then he inquired, —
“Are you leaving Belchantska already?”
Vilchopolski pointed to the trunks, and wishing to prove that though he served he was not without learning, he said, —
“See, your grace, omnia mea mecum porto” (I am taking all my things with me).
“Then was there such a hurry?”
“There was not a hurry, but there was need; therefore I accept all your grace’s conditions with pleasure, and in case you go away, as you have mentioned, I will guard your house and possessions with faithfulness.”
Pan Serafin was pleased with the answer and the daring, firm face of the young man; so, after a moment of meditation, he added, —
“Of faithfulness I have no doubt, for I know that you are a noble, but inexperience I fear, and incautiousness. In Yedlinka one must sit like a stone, and watch day and night, because it is almost in the wilderness, and in great forests there is no lack of bandits, who at times attack houses.”
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