At last the long-wished-for day of his happiness came to Tachevski. In Cracow a report had gone out among the citizens, and was repeated with wonder, that in the army was a knight who would marry on one day and mount his horse the day following. When the report went out also that the king and queen would be at the marriage, crowds began from early morning to assemble in the church and outside it. At length the crowd was so great that the king’s men had to bring order to the square so that the marriage guests might have a free passage. Tachevski’s comrades assembled to a man; this they did out of good-will and friendship, and also because it was dear to each one of them to be seen in a company where the king himself would be present, and to belong, as it were, to his private society. Many dignitaries appeared also, even men who had never heard of Tachevski, for it was known that the queen favored the marriage, and at the court much depended on her inclination and favor.
To some of the lords it was not less wonderful than to the citizens that the king should find time to be at the marriage of a simple officer, while on that king’s shoulders the fate of the whole world was then resting, and day after day couriers from foreign lands were flying in on foaming horses; hence some considered this as coming from the kindness of the monarch and his wish to win the army, while others made suppositions that there existed some near bond of kinship, difficult to be acknowledged; others ridiculed these suppositions, stating justly that in such a case the queen, who had so little condescension for the failings of cavaliers that the king more than once had been forced to make explanations, would not have been so anxious for the union of the lovers.
People remembered little of the Sieninskis, so to avoid every calumny and gossip the king declared that the Sobieskis owed much to that family. Then people of society were concerned with Panna Anulka, and, as is usual at courts, at one time they pitied, at another time they were moved by her sufferings, and next they lauded her virtue and comeliness. Reports of her beauty spread widely even among citizens, but when at last they saw her no one was disappointed.
She came to the church with the queen, hence all glances went first to that lofty lady whose charms were still brilliant, like the bright sun before evening; but when they were turned to the bride, all men among dignitaries, the military, the nobles, and citizens whispered, and even loud voices were heard.
“Wonderful, wonderful! That man owes much to his eyes, who has beheld once in life such a woman.”
And this was true. Not always in those times was a maiden dressed in white for her marriage, but the young ladies and the assistants arrayed Anulka in white, for such was her wish, and that was the color of her finest robe also. So in white, with a green wreath on her golden hair, and with a face confused a trifle, and pale, with downcast eyes, she, silent, and slender, looked like a snowy swan, or simply like a white lily. Even Yatsek himself, to whom she seemed in some sort a new person, was astonished at sight of her. “In God’s name!” said he to himself, “how can I approach her? She is a genuine queen, or entirely an angel with whom it is sinful to speak unless kneeling.” And he was almost awestruck. But when at last he and she knelt side by side before the altar, and heard the voice of Father Voynovski full of emotion, as he began with the words: “I knew you both as little children,” and joined their hands with his stole, when he heard his own low voice: “I take thee as wife,” and the hymn, Veni Creator burst forth a moment later, it seemed to Yatsek that happiness would burst his bosom, and that all the easier since he was not wearing his armor. He had loved this woman from childhood, and he knew that he loved her, but now, for the first time, he understood how he loved her without measure or limit. And again he began to say to himself: I must die, for if a man during life were to have so much happiness, what more could there be for him in heaven? But he thought that before he died he must thank God; and all at once there flew before the eyes of his soul Turkish warriors in legions, beards, turbans, sashes, crooked sabres, horsetail standards. So from his heart was rent the shout to God: “I will thank to the full, to the full!” And he felt, that for those enemies of the cross and the faith, he would become a destroying lion. That vision lasted only one twinkle, then his breast was filled with a boundless wave of love and rapture.
Meanwhile the ceremony was ended, the retinue moved to the dwelling prepared for the young couple by Stanislav, and ornamented by his comrades in the regiment. For one moment only could Yatsek press to his heart the young Pani Tachevski, for straightway both ran to meet the king and queen, who had come from the church to them. Two high armchairs had been fixed for the royal pair at the table, so, after the blessing, during which the young people knelt before majesty, Yatsek begged the gracious lord and lady to the wedding feast, but the king had to give a refusal.
“Dear comrade,” said he, “I should be glad to talk with thee, and still more with thee, my relative,” here he turned to Pani Tachevski, “and discuss the coming dowry. I will remain a moment and drink a health to you, but I may not sit down, for I have so much on my head, that every hour now is precious.”
“We believe that!” cried a number of voices.
Tachevski seized the feet of the king, who took a filled goblet from the table.
“Gracious gentlemen!” said he, “the health of the young couple!”
A shout was heard: “Vivant! crescant, floreant!” Then the king again spoke,—
“Enjoy your happiness quickly,” said he to Tachevski, “for it deserves that, and it will not be long. Thou shouldst remain here a few days, but then thou must follow on quickly for we shall not wait for thee.”
“It is easier for her to hold out without thee, than Vienna without us,” said Pan Marek Matchynski, smiling at Yatsek.
“But Lyubomirski is shelling out the Turks there,” said one of the hussars.
“I have good news from our men,” said the king. “This I have commanded Matchynski to bring, to be read to you, and gladden the hearts of our warriors. It is what the Duke of Lorraine, commander-in-chief for the emperor, writes me of the battle near Presburg.”
And he read somewhat slowly, for he read to the nobles in Polish, and the letter was in the French language.
“‘The emperor’s cavalry advanced with effect and enthusiasm, but the action was ended by the Poles who left no work to the Germans. I cannot find words sufficient to praise the strength, valor, and bearing of the officers and soldiers led by Pan Lyubomirski.[8]
“‘The battle,’ writes the Duke of Lorraine, ‘was a great one, and our glory not small.’”
“We will show that we are not worse,” cried the warriors.
“I believe and am confident, but we must hasten, for later letters portend evil. Vienna is barely able to breathe, and all Christianity has its eyes on us. Shall we be there in season?”
“Few regiments have remained here, the main forces are at the Tarnovski Heights waiting, as I have heard, under the hetmans,” said Father Voynovski, “but though our hands are needed at Vienna, they are not needed so much as a leader like your Royal Grace.”
Sobieski smiled at this and answered,—
“That, word for word, is what the Duke of Lorraine writes. So, gentlemen, keep the bridles in hand, for any hour I may order the sounding of trumpets.”
“When, gracious lord?” called a number of voices.
The king grew impressive in a moment.
“I will send off to-morrow those regiments which are still with me,” then he glanced quickly at Tachevski, as if testing him. “Since her grace the queen will go to the Heights with us to see the review there, thou, unless thou ask of us an entirely new office, may remain here, if thou engage to overtake us exactly.”
Yatsek, putting his arm around his wife, pushed one step toward the king with her.
“Gracious lord,” said he, “if the German empire, or even the kingdom of France were offered me in exchange for this lady, God, who sees my whole heart, knows that I would not accept either, and that I would not give her for any treasure in existence. But God forbid that I should abandon my service, or lose an opportunity, or neglect a war for religion, or desert my own leader for the sake of private happiness. If I did I should despise myself, and she, for I know her, would also despise me. O gracious lord, if ill luck or misfortune were to bar the road and I could not join thee I should burn up from shame and from anguish.” Here tears dimmed his eyes, blushes came to his cheeks, and, in a voice trembling from emotion, he added: “To-day I blasphemed before the altar, for I said: ‘O God, I will thank to the full, to the full for this.’—But only with my life, with my blood, with my labor could I return thanks for the happiness which has met me. For this very reason I shall ask no new office, and when thou shalt move, gracious leader and king, I will not delay even one day behind thee. I will go at the same hour, though I were to fall on the morrow.” And he knelt at the feet of Sobieski, who, bending forward, embraced his head and then answered,—
“Give me more of such men, and the Polish name will go through the world thundering.”
Father Voynovski had tears in his eyes, the Bukoyemskis were weeping like beavers. Emotion and enthusiasm seized every man present.
“On the pagans, for the faith!” roared many voices. And then began rattling of sabres. But when it had grown somewhat quiet Pani Tachevski bent to the ear of her husband and, with pale lips, whispered into it,—
“O Yatsek, wonder not at my tears, for if thou go I may never see thee hereafter—but go!”