“No,” said Zbyszko, “he did not dislike me; perhaps he will be pleased when Danusia is mine. If he made a vow, it will not be his fault that he could not keep it.”
The conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Danusia and the ksiondz Wyszoniek. The princess immediately asked his advice and began to tell him with great enthusiasm about Zbyszko’s plan; but as soon as he heard about it, he made the sign of the cross from astonishment and said:
“In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost! How can I do it? It is advent!”
“For God’s sake! That is true!” exclaimed the princess.
Then there was silence; only their sorrowful faces showed what a blow those words of the ksiondz Wyszoniek were to all of them.
Then he said after a while:
“If you had a dispensation, then I would not oppose it, because I pity you. I would not ask for Jurand’s permission, because our gracious lady consents and, vouches for the prince’s consent — well! they are the mother and the father for the whole of Mazowsze. But without a bishop’s dispensation, I cannot. Bah! if the ksiondz bishop of Kurdwanow were with us, he would not refuse a dispensation, although he is a severe priest, not like his predecessor, Bishop Mamphiolus, who used always to answer: Bene! Bene!”
“Bishop Jacob of Kurdwanow loves the prince and myself very much,” said the lady.
“Therefore I say he would not refuse a dispensation, more so because there are some reasons for one: the girl must go to her father and that young man is ill and may die — Hm! in articulo mortis! But without a dispensation I cannot.”
“I could obtain it afterward from Bishop Jacob; no matter how severe he may be, he will not refuse me this favor. I guarantee, he will not refuse,” said the princess.
To this the ksiondz Wjszoniek who was a good and easy man, replied:
“A word of the Lord’s anointed is a great word. I am afraid of the ksiondz bishop, but that great word! Then the youth could promise something to the cathedral in Plock. Well, as long as the dispensation will not come, there will be a sin — and nobody’s but mine. Hm! It is true that the Lord Jesus is merciful and if any one sin not for his own benefit, but on account of mercy for human misery, he forgives more easily! But there will be a sin, and suppose the bishop should refuse, who will grant me pardon?”
“The bishop will not refuse!” exclaimed Princess Anna.
And Zbyszko said:
“That man Sanderus, who came with me, has pardons ready for everything.”
The ksiondz Wyszoniek probably did not believe entirely in Sanderus’ pardons; but he was glad to have even a pretext so that he could help Danusia and Zbyszko, because he loved the girl, whom he had known from childhood. Then he remembered that at the worst, he would be punished with church penitence, therefore turning toward the princess he said:
“It is true, I am a priest, but I am also the prince’s servant. What do you command, gracious lady?”
“I do not wish to command but to beg,” answered the lady. “If that Sanderus has pardons — —”
“Sanderus has. But there is the question about the bishop. He is very severe with the canons in Plock.”
“Do not be afraid of the bishop. I have heard that he has forbidden the priest to carry swords and crossbows and has forbidden different licenses, but he has not forbidden them to do good.”
The ksiondz Wyszoniek raised his eyes and his hands, and said:
“Let it be according to your wish!”
At this word, joy filled their hearts. Zbyszko again sat on the bed and the princess, Danusia and Father Wyszoniek sat round it and began to plan how they should act.
They decided to keep it secret so that not a soul in the house should know anything about it; they also decided that Jurand must not know until the princess herself told him in Ciechanow about everything.
In the meanwhile, the ksiondz Wyszoniek was to write a letter from the princess to Jurand and ask him to come to Ciechanow, where he could find better medicine and where he will not weary. Finally, they decided, that Zbyszko and Danusia will go to confession, that the wedding ceremony will be performed during the night, when everybody will retire.
The thought came to Zbyszko to have his shield-bearer, the Czech, as a witness of the wedding; but he gave up the idea when he remembered that he had received him from Jagienka. For a moment she stood in his memory as though present, so that it seemed to him that he saw her blushing face and her eyes full of tears, and heard her pleading voice say: “Do not do that! Do not repay me with evil for good, nor with misery for love!” Then at once great compassion for her seized him, because he felt that a great wrong would be done her, after which she would find no consolation under the roof of Zgorzelice, nor in the depths of the forest, nor in the fields, nor in the abbot’s gifts, nor in Cztan and Wilk’s courtship. Therefore he said inwardly: “Girl, may God give you the best of everything, for although I am willing to bend the sky for you, I cannot.” In fact, the thought that he could not help it, immediately brought him relief, and tranquillity returned, so that immediately he began to think only about Danusia and the wedding.
But he was obliged to call the Czech to help him; therefore although he determined not to say a word to him about what was going to happen, he summoned him and said:
“To-day I am going to confession as well as to the Lord’s table; therefore you must dress me in my best clothing as if I were going to the king’s palace.”
The Czech was a little afraid and began to look into his face; Zbyszko having noticed this, said:
“Do not be alarmed, people do not go to confession only when they expect to die; the holy days are coming, Father Wyszoniek and the princess are going to Ciechanow, and then there will be no priest nearer than in Przasnysz.”
“And are you not going?” asked the shield-bearer.
“If I recover my health, then I will go; but that is in God’s hands.”
Therefore the Czech was quieted; he hurried to the chests, and brought that white jaka embroidered with gold, in which the knight used to dress for great occasions, and also a beautiful rug to cover the bed; then having lifted Zbyszko, with the help of the two Turks, he washed him, and combed his long hair on which he put a scarlet zone; finally he placed him on red cushions, and satisfied with his own work, said:
“If Your Grace were able to dance, you could celebrate even a wedding!”
“It will be necessary to celebrate it without dancing,” answered Zbyszko, smiling.
In the meanwhile the princess was also thinking how to dress Danusia, because for her womanly nature it was a question of great importance, and under no consideration would she consent to have her beloved foster child married in her everyday dress. The servants who were also told that the girl must dress in the color of innocence for confession, very easily found a white dress, but there was great trouble about the wreath for the head. While thinking of it, the lady became so sad that she began to complain:
“My poor orphan, where shall I find a wreath of rue for you in this wilderness? There is none here, neither a flower, nor a leaf; only some green moss under the snow.”
And Danusia, standing with loosened hair, also became sorrowful, because she wanted a wreath; after awhile, however, she pointed to the garlands of immortelles, hanging on the walls of the room, and said:
“We must weave a wreath of those flowers, because we will not find anything else, and Zbyszko will take me even with such a wreath.”
The princess would not consent at first, being afraid of a bad omen; but as in this mansion, to which they came only for hunting, there were no flowers, finally the immortelles were taken. In the meanwhile, Father Wyszoniek came, and received Zbyszko’s confession; afterwards he listened to the girl’s confession and then the gloomy night fell. The servants retired after supper, according to the princess’ order. Some of Jurand’s men lay down in the servants’ room, and others slept in the stables with the horses. Soon the fires in the servants
’ room became covered with ashes and were quenched; finally everything became absolutely quiet in the forest house, only from time to time the dogs were heard howling at the wolves in the direction of the wilderness.
But in the princess’, Father Wyszoniek’s and Zbyszko’s rooms, the windows were shining, throwing red lights on the snow which covered the court-yard. They were waiting in silence, listening to the throbbing of their own hearts — uneasy and affected by the solemnity of the moment which was coming. In fact, after midnight, the princess took Danusia by the hand and conducted her to Zbyszko’s room, where Father Wyszoniek was waiting for them. In the room there was a great blaze in the fireplace, and by its abundant but unsteady light, Zbyszko perceived Danusia; she looked a little pale on account of sleepless nights; she was dressed in a long, stiff, white dress, with a wreath of immortelles on her brow. On account of emotion, she closed her eyes; her little hands were hanging against the dress, and thus she appeared like some painting on a church window; there was something spiritual about her; Zbyszko was surprised when he saw her, and thought that he was going to marry not an earthly, but a heavenly being. He still thought this when she kneeled with crossed hands to receive the communion, and having bent her head, closed her eyes entirely. In that moment she even seemed to him as if dead, and fear seized his heart. But it did not last long because, having heard the priest’s voice repeat: “Ecce Agnus Dei,” his thoughts went toward God. In the room there were heard only the solemn voice of Father Wyszoniek: “Domine, non sum dignus,” and with it the crackling of the logs in the fireplace and the sound of crickets playing obstinately, but sadly, in the chinks of the chimney. Outdoors the wind arose and rustled in the snowy forest, but soon stopped.
Zbyszko and Danusia remained sometime in silence; the ksiondz Wyszoniek took the chalice and carried it to the chapel of the mansion. After a while he returned accompanied by Sir de Lorche, and seeing astonishment on the faces of those present, he placed his finger on his mouth, as if to stop the cry of surprise, then he said:
“I understand; it will be better to have two witnesses of the marriage; I warned this knight who swore to me on his honor and on the relics of Aguisgranum to keep the secret as long as necessary.”
Then Sir de Lorche first kneeled before the princess, then before Danusia; then he arose and stood silently, clad in his armor, on which the red light of the fire was playing. He stood motionless, as if plunged in ecstasy, because for him also, that white girl with a wreath of immortelles on her brow seemed like the picture of an angel, seen on the window of a Gothic cathedral.
The priest put her near Zbyszko’s bed and having put the stole round their hands, began the customary rite. On the princess’ honest face the tears were dropping one after another; but she was not uneasy within, because she believed she was doing well, uniting these two lovely and innocent children. Sir de Lorche kneeled again, and leaning with both hands on the hilt of his sword, looked like a knight who beholds a vision. The young people repeated the priest’s words: “I … take you …” and those sweet quiet words were accompanied again by the singing of the crickets in the chimney and the crackling in the fireplace. When the ceremony was finished, Danusia fell at the feet of the princess who blessed them both, and finally intrusted them to the tutelage of heavenly might; she said to Zbyszko:
“Now be merry, because she is yours, and you are hers.”
Then Zbyszko extended his well arm to Danusia, and she put her little arms round his neck; for a while one could hear them repeat to each other:
“Danuska, you are mine!”
“Zbyszku, you are mine!”
But soon Zbyszko became weak, because there were too many emotions for his strength, and having slipped on the pillow, he began to breathe heavily. But he did not faint, nor did he cease to smile at Danusia, who was wiping his face which was covered with a cold perspiration, and he did not stop repeating:
“Danuska, you are mine!” to which every time she nodded her fair head in assent.
This sight greatly moved Sir de Lorche, who declared that in no other country had he seen such loving and tender hearts; therefore he solemnly swore that he was ready to fight on foot or on horseback with any knight, magician or dragon, who would try to prevent their happiness. The princess and Father Wyszoniek were witnesses of his oath.
But the lady, being unable to conceive of a marriage without some merriment, brought some wine which they drank. The hours of night were passing on. Zbyszko having overcome his weakness, drew Danusia to him and said:
“Since the Lord Jesus has given you to me, nobody can take you from me; but I am sorry that you must leave me, my sweetest berry.”
“We will come with tatulo to Ciechanow,” answered Danusia.
“If only you do not become sick — or — God may preserve you from some bad accident. — You must go to Spychow — I know! Hej! I must be thankful to God and to our gracious lady, that you are already mine — because we are married and no human force can break our marriage.”
But as this marriage was performed secretly during the night and separation was necessary immediately afterward, therefore from time to time, not only Zbyszko, but everybody was filled with sadness. The conversation was broken. From time to time, also the fire was quenched and plunged all heads in obscurity. Then the ksiondz Wyszoniek threw fresh logs on the charcoal and when something whined in the wood, as happens very often when the wood is fresh, he said:
“Penitent soul, what do you wish?”
The crickets answered him and the increasing flames which brought out from the shadow the sleepless faces, were reflected in Sir de Lorche’s armor, lighting in the meanwhile Danusia’s white dress and the immortelles on her head.
The dogs outside again began to howl in the direction of the forest, as they usually do, when they scent wolves.
As the hours of the night flew on, oftener there was silence; finally the princess said:
“Sweet Jesus! We had better go to bed if we are going to sit like this after a wedding, but as it was determined to watch until morning, then play for us, my little flower, for the last time before your departure, on the little lute — for me and for Zbyszko.”
“What shall I play?” asked she.
“What?” said the princess. “What else if not the same song which you sang in Tyniec, when Zbyszko saw you for the first time.”
“Hej! I remember — and shall never forget it,” said Zbyszko. “When I heard that song somewhere else — I cried.”
“Then I will sing it!” said Danusia.
And immediately she began to thrum on the lute; then, having raised her little head, she sang:
“If I only could get The wings like a birdie, I would fly quickly To my dearest Jasiek! I would then be seated On the high enclosure; Look, my dear Jasiulku, Look on me, poor orphan.”
But at once her voice broke, her mouth began to tremble and from beneath the closed eyelids the tears began to flow down her cheeks. For a moment she tried not to let them pass the eyelashes, but she could not keep them back and finally she began to cry, exactly as she did the last time she sang that song to Zbyszko in the prison in Krakow.
“Danuska! what is the matter, Danuska?” asked Zbyszko.
“Why are you crying? Such a wedding!” exclaimed the princess. “Why?”
“I do not know,” answered Danusia, sobbing. “I am so sad! I regret Zbyszko and you so much.”
Then all became very sorrowful; they began to console her, and to explain to her that she was not going to remain in Spychow a long time, but that they would surely be with Jurand in Ciechanow for the holy days. Zbyszko again encircled her with his arm, drew her to his breast and kissed the tears from her eyes; but the oppression remained in all hearts, and thus the hours of night passed.
Finally from the court-yard there resounded such a sudden and dreadful noise, that all shivered. The princess, having rushed from the bench, exclaimed:
“For God’s sake. The sweeps of the wells! They are
watering the horses!”
And the ksiondz Wyszoniek looked through the window, in which the glass balls were growing gray and said:
“The night grows white and the day is coming. Ave Maria, gratia plena — —”
Then he left the room but having returned after a while, he said:
“The day breaks, but the day will be dark. Jurand’s people are watering their horses. Poor girl, you must be ready!”
The princess and Danusia began to cry very loudly and both, together with Zbyszko, began to lament, as simple people do when they have to separate; it was half lamenting and half singing, which flowed from full souls, in a natural way, as the tears flow from the eyes.
“Hej! there is no use of lamenting, We must separate, my darling, Farewell — hej!”
Zbyszko nestled Danusia for the last time on his breast and kept her for a long time, as long as he could breathe and until the princess drew her from him, in order to dress her for the journey.
In the meanwhile it was broad daylight.
In the mansion everybody was up and moving round. The Czech came to Zbyszko to ask about his health and to ascertain what were his orders.
“Draw the bed to the window,” said the knight to him.
The Czech drew the bed to the window, very easily; but he was surprised when Zbyszko told him to open it. He obeyed, however, only he covered his master with his own fur coat, because it was cold outside, although cloudy, and snow was falling.
Zbyszko began to look; in the court-yard, through the flakes of the falling snow, one could see lights, and round them, on steaming horses, Jurand’s people were standing. All were armed. The forest was entirely covered with the snow; one could hardly see the enclosures and the gate.
Danusia, all wrapped up in furs, rushed once more into Zbyszko’s room; once more she put her arms around his neck and bade him farewell:
“Although I am going, still I am yours.”
He kissed her hands, her cheeks and her eyes, and said:
Complete Works of Henryk Sienkiewicz Page 516
