The Deluge: An Historical Novel of Poland, Sweden, and Russia. Vol. 2Sienkiewicz, Henryk
History
The Deluge: An Historical Novel of Poland, Sweden, and Russia. Vol. 2
Sienkiewicz, Henryk
Historical fiction; Poland -- History -- John II Casimir, 1648-1668 -- Fiction
“Ai, father, benefactor! I was with you at confession, and acknowledged
all my deeds in sincerity; among them were deeds not worse than the one
I am now planning; how can you doubt that I will undertake it? Do you
not know me?”
“He is a hero, a knight above knights,” cried Charnyetski. And seizing
Kmita by the neck, he continued: “Let me kiss you for the wish alone;
give me your mouth.”
“Show me another remedy, and I will not go,” said Kmita; “but it seems
to me that I shall manage this matter somehow. Remember that I speak
German as if I had been dealing in staves, wainscots, and wall plank in
Dantzig. That means much, for if I am disguised they will not easily
discover that I am not of their camp. But I think that no one is
standing before the mouth of the cannon; for it is not safe there, and
I think that I shall do the work before they can see me.”
“Pan Charnyetski, what do you think of this?” asked the prior, quickly.
“Out of one hundred men one might return from such an undertaking; but
_audaces fortuna juvat_ [fortune favors the bold].”
“I have been in hotter places than this,” said Kmita: “nothing will
happen to me, for such is my fortune. Ai, beloved father, and what a
difference! Ere now to exhibit myself, and for vainglory, I crawled
into danger; but this undertaking is for the Most Holy Lady. Even
should I have to lay down my head, which I do not foresee, say yourself
could a more praiseworthy death be wished to any man than down there in
this cause?”
The priest was long silent, and then said at last,—
“I should try to restrain you with persuasion, with prayers and
imploring, if you wished to go for mere glory; but you are right: this
is a question affecting the honor of the Most Holy Lady, this sacred
place, the whole country! And you, my son, whether you return safely or
win the palm of glory, you will gain the supreme happiness,—salvation.
Against my heart then I say, Go; I do not detain you. Our prayers, the
protection of God, will go with you.”
“In such company I shall go boldly and perish with joy.”
“But return, soldier of God, return safely; for you are loved with
sincerity here. May Saint Raphael attend you and bring you back,
cherished son, my dear child!”
“Then I will begin preparations at once,” said Pan Andrei, joyfully
pressing the priest. “I will dress in Swedish fashion with a jacket and
wide-legged boots. I will fill in the powder, and do you, father, stop
the exorcisms for this night; fog is needful to the Swedes, but also to
me.”
“And do you not wish to confess before starting?”
“Of course, without that I should not go; for the devil would have
approach to me.”
“Then begin with confession.”
Charnyetski went out of the cell, and Kmita knell down near the priest
and purged himself of his sins. Then, gladsome as a bird, he began to
make preparations.
An hour or two later, in the deep night, he knocked again at the
prior’s cell, where Pan Charnyetski also was waiting.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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