With Fire and Sword by Henryk Sienkiewicz (big ebook reader .txt) 📕

Then such a thundering roar burst forth from a thousand lungs that the walls trembled and the glass rattled in the windows of the church.

“Prince Yeremi! Prince Yeremi! Long life to Prince Yeremi! Long life, victory to him!”

A thousand sabres flashed; all eyes were turned to the prince. He rose calmly with wrinkled brow. There was silence at once, as if only poppy-seeds were falling.

“Gentlemen,” said the prince, with a resonant voice, which in that silence reached every ear, “when the Cymbri and the Teutons fell upon the Commonwealth of Rome no one would accept the consulate till Marius took it. But Marius had a right to take it, for there were no leaders appointed by the senate. And I in the present straits would not avoid power, since I wish to serve my dear country with my life; but I cannot accept the command since I should offend the country, the senate, and the authorities, and a self-elected chief I will not be. Among us is the man to whom the Commonwealth has given the baton of command⁠—the cupbearer of the Crown.”

Here the prince could speak no further; for hardly had he mentioned the cupbearer when there rose a terrible din and the clattering of sabres. The crowd swayed and there was a burst as of powder on which a spark has fallen. “Away with him! Destruction to him! Pereat!” was heard in the throng. “Pereat! pereat!” was roared louder and louder. The cupbearer sprang from his seat, pale, with drops of cold sweat on his forehead; and then threatening figures approached the stalls, near the altar, and ominous words were heard: “Give him here!”

The prince, seeing whither this was tending, rose and stretched out his right hand. The crowds restrained themselves, thinking that he wished to speak. There was silence in the twinkle of an eye. But the prince wished merely to allay the storm and tumult, not to permit the shedding of blood in the church. When he saw that the most threatening moment had passed, he took his seat again.

On the second chair from the voevoda of Kiev sat the unfortunate cupbearer; his gray hair had dropped upon his breast, his hands were hanging, and from his mouth came words interrupted by sobs: “O Lord, for my sins I accept the cross with resignation.”

The old man might rouse pity in the hardest heart; but a crowd is generally pitiless. Again therefore the tumult began when the voevoda of Kiev rose and gave a sign with his hand that he wanted to speak. He was a partner in the victories of Yeremi, therefore they listened to him willingly. He turned to the prince then, and in the most feeling words adjured him not to reject the baton of command and not to hesitate to save the country. “When the Commonwealth is perishing, let laws slumber; let not the appointed chief save it, but him who has the most power to save. Take the command, then, invincible leader, take it and rescue, not this city alone, but the whole Commonwealth. Behold I, an old man, with the lips of the Commonwealth implore you, and with me all ranks of people⁠—all men, women, and children⁠—Save us! save us!”

Here followed an incident which moved all hearts. A woman in mourning approached the altar, and casting at the feet of the prince her golden ornaments and jewels, knelt before him, and sobbing loudly, cried out: “We bring you our goods; we give our lives into your hands. Save us, save us; for we perish!”

At the sight of this senators, soldiers, and then the whole throng roared with a mighty cry, and there was one voice in that church: “Save us!”

The prince covered his face with his hands; and when he raised his head tears were glittering in his eyes. Still he hesitated. What would become of the dignity of the Commonwealth if he should accept the command?

Then rose the cupbearer of the Crown. “I am old,” said he, “unfortunate, and crushed. I have a right to resign the charge which is beyond my powers, and to place it on younger shoulders. Here in the presence of this crucified God and of all the knighthood, I deliver the baton to you⁠—take it.” And he extended the insignia to Vishnyevetski.

A moment of such silence followed that flies on the wing could be heard. At last the solemn voice of Yeremi was heard: “For my sins⁠—I accept it.”

Then a frenzy of enthusiasm ruled the assembly. The crowds broke the benches, fell at the feet of Vishnyevetski, cast down their money and treasures before him. The news spread like lightning through the whole city. The soldiers were losing their senses from joy, and shouted that they wished to go against Hmelnitski, the Tartars, the Sultan; the citizens thought no longer of surrender, but of defence to the last drop of blood; the Armenians brought money of their own accord to the city hall, before anything was said of a levy; the Jews in the synagogue raised an uproar of thanksgiving; the guns on the walls thundered forth the glad tidings; along the streets was firing of muskets, pistols, and guns. Shouts of “Long life!” continued all night. Anyone not knowing the state they were in might suppose that the city was celebrating a triumph or some solemn festival. And still three hundred thousand enemies⁠—an army greater than any which the German Emperor or the King of France could place in the field, an army wilder than the legions of Tamerlane⁠—might at any moment invest the walls of that city.

A week later, on the morning of the 6th of October, news as unexpected as terrible burst upon Lvoff. Prince Yeremi, with the greater part of the army, had left the city secretly and had gone it was unknown whither.

Crowds gathered before the archbishop’s palace; they