Bojiem wslavisna Marya—"
A wave of emotion thrilled the assembly as these words fell upon their ears.
"The old Polish battle-hymn!" muttered Zabern. "By God, there'll be slaughter now."
It was indeed the famous hymn of Saint Adalbert, the anthem accustomed to be sung in old time by the Poles when moving forward to battle, the pæan that has struck terror to the heart of Muscovite, Tartar, and Turk in those brave days when Poland was the bulwark of Christendom against the barbarism of the East.
The memory of their past glories fired the blood of every patriot in the cathedral to an enthusiasm bordering on frenzy. Moved by a simultaneous impulse, the whole body of Poles sprang to their feet, drew their swords, and began to join in the refrain; and Katina's voice was immediately drowned in one grand outpouring.
The sparkle of a thousand sword-blades waving in the iridescent light cast by richly stained glass, the coloring and splendor of dresses and jewels, the magnificent roll of voices beneath the lofty Gothic arches, the notes of the organ pealing high above the chant—for the organist, catching the fire of patriotism, was pressing the keys of his instrument as he had never pressed them before—were sights and sounds that baffle description. Strong men sang with tears in their eyes, and women fainted with emotion.
Now, as previously stated, the Muscovites occupied the northern aisle and its adjacent transept, a narrow space only separating them from the Poles in the nave. Across this division the two factions glared fiercely at each other; threats were uttered; challenges interchanged; and when the Muscovites in turn began to raise the Russian National Anthem the berserker spirit of the Poles broke forth.
"Down with the Muscovites!"
"Sweep them from the cathedral!"
"The princess forever!"