LITMIR.BIZ

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third time I tell you, there is no powder under the church. And when I speak in His name, who will make bold to oppose me, who will dare still to doubt?"

      When he had said this he was silent and looked at the throng of monks, nobles, and soldiers. But such was the unshaken faith, the conviction and power in his voice that they were silent also, and no man came forward. On the contrary, solace began to enter their hearts, till at last one of the soldiers, a simple peasant, said, —

      "Praise to the name of the Lord! For three days they say they are able to blow up the fortress; why do they not blow it up?"

      "Praise to the Most Holy Lady! Why do they not blow it up?" repeated a number of voices.

      Then a wonderful sign was made manifest. Behold all about them on a sudden was heard the sound of wings, and whole flocks of small winter birds appeared in the court of the fortress, and every moment new ones flew in from the starved country-places around. Birds such as gray larks, ortolans, buntings with yellow breasts, poor sparrows, green titmice, red bulfinches, sat on the slopes of the roofs, on the corners over the doors, on the church; others flew around in a many-colored crown above the head of the prior, flapping their wings, chirping sadly as if begging for alms, and having no fear whatever of man. People present were amazed at the sight; and Kordetski, after he had prayed for a while, said at last, —

      "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, almost the certainty, that the hours of suffering would be soon at an end.

      "Another storm to-morrow, but that will be the last," repeated the priests and the soldiers. "Let him to whom God will send death give thanks that the Lord lets him be present at Mass, and thus opens more surely heaven's gates, for whoso dies for the faith on the day of Christ's birth must be received into glory."

      They wished one another success, long years, or a heavenly crown; and so relief dropped into every heart, as if suffering were over already.

      But there stood one empty chair near the prior; before it a plate on which was a package of white wafers bound with a blue ribbon. When all had sat down, no one occupied that place. Zamoyski said, —

      "I see, revered father, that according to ancient custom there are places for men outside the cloister."

      "Not for men outside," said Father Agustine, "but as a remembrance of that young man whom we loved as a son, and whose soul is looking with pleasure upon us because we keep him in eternal memory."

      "As God lives," replied Zamoyski, "he is happier now than we. We owe him due thanks."

      Kordetski had tears in his eyes, and Charnyetski said, —

      "They write of smaller men in the chronicles. If God gives me life, and any one asks me hereafter, who was there among us the equal of ancient heroes, I shall say Babinich."

      "Babinich was not his name," said Kordetski.

      "How not Babinich?"

      "I long knew his real name under the seal of confession; but when going out against that

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