This news disturbed the good understanding between the prince and his

guests, because not only the two newly arrived brothers but also Hugo von

Danveld and Zygfried von Löve, began to beseech the prince to render

justice to the Order, to free the boundaries from the plunderer and to

punish him once for all his offences. Hugo von Danveld, having his own

grievance against Jurand, the remembrance of which burned him with shame

and grief, asked for vengeance almost threateningly.

"The complaint will go to the grand master," he said; "and if we be not

able to get justice from Your Grace, he will obtain it himself, even if

the whole Mazowsze help that robber."

But the prince, although naturally good-tempered, became angry and said.

"What kind of justice do you ask for? If Jurand had attacked you first,

then I would surely punish him. But your people were the first to

commence hostilities. Your _starosta_ gave the _knechts_, permission to

go on that expedition. Jurand only accepted the challenge and asked that

the soldiers be sent away. Shall I punish him for that? You attacked that

dreadful man, of whom everybody is afraid, and voluntarily brought

calamity upon yourselves--what do you want then? Shall I order him not to

defend himself, when it pleases you to attack him?"

"It was not the Order that attacked him, but its guests, foreign

knights," answered Hugo.

"The Order is responsible for its guests, and then the _knechts_, from

the Lubowski garrison were there."

"Could the _starosta_ allow his guests to be slaughtered?"

Here the prince turned to Zygfried and said.

"You must take heed lest your wiles offend God."

But the stern Zygfried answered:

"Heir von Bergow must be released from captivity, because the men of his

family were high dignitaries in the Order and they rendered important

services to the Cross."

"And Meineger's death must be avenged," added Hugo von Danveld.

Thereupon the prince arose and walked threateningly toward the Germans;

but after a while, evidently having remembered that they were his guests,

he restrained his anger, put his hand on Zygfried's shoulder, and said:

"Listen: you wear a cross on your mantle, therefore answer according to

your conscience--upon that cross! Was Jurand right or was he not?"

"Herr von Bergow must be released from prison," answered Zygfried von

Löve.

There was as a moment of silence; then the prince said:

"God grant me patience!"

Zygfried continued sharply, his words cutting like a sword:

"The wrong which was done to us in the persons of our guests, is only one

more occasion for complaint. From the time the Order was founded, neither

in Palestine, nor in Siedmiogrod,[103] nor among the heathenish Litwa,

has any man wronged us so much as that robber from Spychow. Your

Highness! we ask for justice and vengeance not for one wrong, but for

thousands; not for the blood shed once, but for years of such deeds, for

which fire from heaven ought to burn that nest of wickedness and cruelty.

Whose moanings entreat God for vengeance? Ours! Whose tears? Ours! We

have complained in vain. Justice has never been given us!"

Having heard this, Prince Janusz began to nod his head and said:

"Hej! formerly the Krzyzaks were received hospitably in Spychow, and

Jurand was not your foe, until after his dear wife died on your rope; and

how many times have you attacked him first, wishing to kill him, as in

this last case, because he challenged and defeated your knights? How many

times have you sent assassins after him, or shot at him with a crossbow

from the forest? He attacked you, it is true, because vengeance burns

within him; but have you not attacked peaceful people in Mazowsze? Have

you not taken their herds, burned their houses and murdered the men,

women and children? And when I complained to the grand master, he sent me

this reply from Marienburg: 'Customary frolic of the boundaries' Let me

be in peace! Was it not you who captured me when I was without arms,

during the time of peace, on my own land? Had it not been for your fear

of the mighty Krakowski king, probably I would have had to moan until now

in captivity. Who ought to complain? With such gratitude you repaid me,

who belonged to the family of your benefactors. Let me be in peace; it is

not you who have the right to talk about justice!"

Having heard this, the Knights of the Cross looked at each other

impatiently, angry because the prince mentioned the occurrence at

Zlotorja, in the presence of Sir de Fourcy; therefore Hugo von Danveld,

wishing to finish the conversation about it, said:

"That was a mistake, Your Highness, and we made amends for it, not on

account of fear of the Krakowski king, but for the sake of justice; and

with regard to the frolics on the boundaries, the grand master cannot be

held responsible, because on every frontier there are some restless

spirits."

"Then you say this yourself, and still you ask for the punishment of

Jurand. What do you wish then?"

"Justice and punishment!"

The prince clenched his bony fists and repeated:

"God grant me patience!"

"Your Princely Majesty must also remember," said Danveld, further, "that

our wantons only wrong lay people who do not belong to the German race,

but your men raise their hand against the German Order, and for this

reason they offend our Saviour Himself."

"Listen!" said the prince. "Do not talk about God; you cannot deceive

Him!"

Then having placed his hands on the Krzyzak's shoulders, he shook him so

strongly, that he frightened him. He relented immediately and said,

mildly:

"If it be true that our guests attacked Jurand first and did not send

away the soldiers, I will not blame him; but had Jurand really accepted

the challenge?"

Having said this, he looked at Sir de Fourcy, winking at him, to deny it;

but the latter, not wishing to lie, answered:

"He asked us to send our soldiers away, and to fight three against

three."

"Are you sure of that?"

"Upon my honor! Herr von Bergow and I agreed, but Meineger did not

consent."

Here the prince interrupted:

"_Starosta_ from Szczytno! you know better than anybody else that Jurand

would not miss a challenge."

Then he turned to all present and said:

"If one of you will challenge Jurand to a fight on horseback or on foot,

I give my permission. If he be taken prisoner or killed, then Herr von

Bergow will be released without paying any ransom. Do not ask me for

anything else, because I will not grant it."

After these words, there was a profound silence. Hugo von Danveld,

Zygfried von Löve, Brother Rotgier and Brother Godfried, although brave,

knew the dreadful lord of Spychow too well to dare to challenge him for

life or death. Only a foreigner from a far distant country, like de

Lorche or de Fourcy, would do it; but de Lorche was not present during

the conversation, and Sir de Fourcy was still too frightened.

"I have seen him once," he muttered, "and I do not wish to see him any

more."

Zygfried von Löve said:

"It is forbidden the monks to fight in single combat, except by special

permission from the grand master and the grand marshal; but I do not ask

for permission for a combat, but for the release of von Bergow and the

punishment by death of Jurand."

"You do not make the laws in this country."

"Our grand master will know how to administer justice."

"Your grand master has nothing to do with Mazowsze!"

"The emperor and the whole German nation will help him."

"The king of Poland will help me, and he is more powerful than the German

emperor."

"Does Your Highness wish for a war with the Order?"

"If I wanted a war, I would not wait for you to come to Mazowsze, but

would go toward you; you need not threaten me, because I am not afraid of

you."

"What shall I say to the grand master?"

"He has not asked you anything. Tell him what you please."

"Then we will avenge ourselves."

Thereupon the prince stretched forth his arm and began to shake his

finger close to the Krzyzak's face.

"Keep quiet!" said he, angrily; "keep quiet! I gave you permission to

challenge Jurand; but if you dare to invade this country with the army of

the Order, then I will attack you, and you will stay here not as a guest

but as a prisoner."

Evidently his patience was entirely exhausted, because he threw a cap

violently on the table and left the room, slamming the door. The Knights

of the Cross became pale and Sir de Fourcy looked at them askance.

"What will happen now?" asked Brother Rotgier, who was the first to break

the silence.

Hugo von Danveld turned to Sir de Fourcy and menacing him with his fists,

said:

"Why did you tell him that you attacked Jurand?"

"Because it is true!"

"You should have lied."

"I came here to fight and not to lie."

"Well, you fought well, indeed!"

"And you! did you not run away from Jurand of Spychow?"

"_Pax!_" said von Löve. "This knight is a guest of the Order."

"It is immaterial what he said," added Brother Godfried. "They would not

punish Jurand without a trial, and in the court, the truth would come

out."

"What will be done now?" repeated Brother Rotgier.

There was a moment of silence; then the sturdy and virulent Zygfried von

Löve spoke:

"We must finish once for all with that bloody dog!" said he. "Herr von

Bergow must be released from his fetters. We will gather the garrisons

from Szczytno, Insburk and Lubowa; we will summon the Chelminsk nobility

and attack Jurand. It is time to settle with him!"

"We cannot do it without permission from the grand master."

"If we succeed, the grand master will be pleased!" said Brother Godfried.

"But if we do not succeed? If the prince go against us?"

"He will not do that if there is peace between him and the Order."

"There is peace, but we are going to violate it. Our garrisons will not

be sufficient to fight against the Mazurs."

"Then the grand master will help us and there will be a war."

Danveld frowned again and became thoughtful.

"No! no!" said he after a while. "If we be successful, the grand master

will be pleased. Envoys will be sent to the prince, there will be

negotiations and we will go scot-free. But in case of defeat, the Order

will not intercede for us and will not declare war. Another grand master

is necessary for that. The Polski king is behind the prince, and the

grand master will not quarrel with him."

"But we have taken the Dobrzynska province; it is evident that we are not

afraid of Krakow."

"There was some pretext--Opolczyk. We took it apparently in pledge, and

then----" Here he looked around and said quietly:

"I heard in Marienburg, that if they threaten us with war, we will return

the province."

"Ah!" said Brother Rotgier, "if we had Markward Salzbach with us, or

Shomberg who killed Witold's whelps, he would find some remedy against

Jurand. Witold was the king's viceroy and a grand duke! Notwithstanding

that, Shomberg was not punished. He killed Witold's children, and went

scot-free! Verily, there is great lack among us of people who can find a

remedy for everything."

Having heard this, Hugo von Danveld put his elbows on the table, leaned

his head on his hands and plunged into deep thought. Then his eyes became

bright, he wiped, according to his custom, his moist, thick lips with the

upper part of his hand and said:

"May the moment in which you mentioned, pious brother, the name of the

valiant Shomberg be blessed."

"Why? Have you found a remedy?" asked Zygfried von Löve.

"Speak quickly!" exclaimed Brother Godfried.

"Listen," said Hugo. "Jurand has a daughter here, his only child, whom he

loves dearly."

"Yes, so he has. We know her. The princess Anna Danuta loves her also."

"Yes. Listen then: if you capture this girl, Jurand will give as a ransom

for her, not only, Bergow, but all his prisoners, himself and Spychow!"

"By Saint Bonifacius' blood shed in Duchum!" exclaimed Brother Godfried;

"it would be as you say!"

Then they were silent, as if frightened by the boldness and the

difficulties of the enterprise. But after a while Brother Rotgier turned

toward Zygfried von Löve, and said:

"Your judgment and experience are equal to your bravery: what do you

think about this plan?"

"I think that the matter is worthy of consideration."

"Because," said Rotgier further, "the girl is a lady-in-waiting with the

princess--the princess loves her as if she were her own daughter. Think,

pious brother, what an uproar will arise."

But Hugo von Danveld began to laugh:

"You said yourself, that Shomberg poisoned or strangled Witold's whelps,

and what happened to him? They will raise an uproar about anything we do;

but if we sent Jurand in chains to the grand master, then it is certain

that we could expect reward rather than punishment."

"Yes," said von Löve, "there is a good opportunity for an attack. The

prince is going away and Anna Danuta will remain here alone with her

court. However it is a serious matter to invade the prince's house during

the time of peace. The prince's house is not Spychow. It will be the same

thing that happened in Zlotorja! Again complaints against the Order will

go to all kings and to the pope; again that cursed Jagiello will threaten

us, and the grand master; you know him: he is glad to take hold of

anything he can, but he does not wish for war with Jagiello. Yes! there

will be a great uproar in all the provinces of Mazowsze and of Polska."

"In the meanwhile Jurand's bones will whiten on a hook," answered Brother

Hugo. "Then we do not need to take his daughter from the prince's

mansion."

"But we cannot do it from Ciechanow either, because there, besides the

noblemen, there are three hundred archers."

"No. But Jurand can become ill and send for his daughter. Then the

princess would not prevent her going, and if the girl be lost on the

road, who will accuse you or me and say to us: 'You captured her!'"

"Bah!" answered von Löve, impatiently. "You must first make Jurand sick

and then make him summon the girl."

At this Hugo smiled triumphantly and answered:

"I have a goldsmith, who having been driven from Marienburg for theft,

settled in Szczytno and who is able to make a seal; I also have people,

who although our bondmen, came from the Mazurski country. Do you

understand me yet?"

"I understand," shouted Brother Godfried.

And Rotgier raised his hands and said:

"May God bless you, pious brother, because neither Markward Salzbach, nor

Shomberg could find better means."

Then he half closed his eyes, as if he saw something afar.

"I see Jurand," said he, "with a rope around his neck, standing at the

Gdansk gate in Marienburg and our _knechts_ are kicking him."

"And the girl will become a servant of the Order," said Hugo.

Having heard this, von Löve turned his severe eyes on Danveld; but the

latter again rubbed his lips with the upper part of his hand and said:

"And now to Szczytno as soon as we can!"

Before starting on the journey to Szczytno, the four brothers of the

Order and de Fourcy went to bid the prince and the princess adieu. It was

not a very friendly farewell; but the prince, not wishing to act contrary

to the old Polish custom which did not permit the guests to depart with

empty hands, made each brother a present of some beautiful marten-fur and

of one _grzywna_ of silver; they received the presents with great

pleasure, assuring the prince that being brothers of an order, and having

made a solemn promise to live in poverty, they would not retain the money

for themselves, but would distribute it among the poor, whom they would

recommend to pray for the prince's health, fame and future salvation.

The Mazurs laughed in their sleeves at such an assurance, because they

knew very well how rapacious the Order was, and still better what liars

the Knights of the Cross were.

It was a popular saying in Mazowsze: "As the skunk smells, so the Krzyzak

lies." The prince waved his hand to such thanks, and after they went out

he said that by the intervention of the Knights of the Cross, one would

go to heaven as swiftly as the craw-fish walks.

But before that, while taking leave of the princess, at the moment that

Zygfried von Löve kissed her hand, Hugo von Danveld approached Danusia,

put his hand on her head and caressing her, said:

"Our commandment is to return good for evil, and even to love our enemy;

therefore I will send a sister of the Order here, and she will bring you

the healing balm."

"How can I thank you for it?" answered Danusia.

"Be a friend of the Order and of the monks."

De Fourcy noticed this conversation, and in the meantime he was struck by

the beauty of the young girl; therefore as they traveled toward Szczytno,

he asked:

"Who is that beautiful lady of the court with whom you were talking while

taking leave of the princess?"

"Jurand's daughter!" answered the Krzyzak.

Sir de Fourcy was surprised.

"The same whom you propose to capture?"

"Yes. And when we capture her, Jurand is ours."

"Evidently everything is not bad that comes from Jurand. It will be worth

while to guard such a prisoner."

"Do you think it will be easier to fight with her than with Jurand?"

"I mean that I think the same as you do. The father is a foe of the

Order; but you spoke words as sweet as honey to the daughter, and besides

you promised to send her the balm."

Evidently Hugo von Danveld felt the need of justification before Zygfried

von Löve who, although not better than the others, observed the austere

laws of the Order, and very often scolded the other brothers.

"I promised her the balm," said Hugo, "for that young knight, who was

injured by the bison and to whom she is betrothed. If they make an outcry

when the girl is captured, then we will tell them that we did not wish to

harm her any, and the best proof of it will be that on account of

Christian mercy we sent her some medicine."

"Very well," said von Löve. "Only we must send somebody whom we can

trust."

"I will send a pious woman, entirely faithful to the Order. I will

command her to look and to listen. When our people, apparently sent by

Jurand, arrive, they will find the road already prepared."

"It will be difficult to get such people."

"No! In our province the people speak the same language. There are in our

city, bah! even among the _knechts_ of the garrison, some men who left

Mazowsze because they were pursued by the law; it is true they are

thieves and robbers; but they do not fear anybody and they are ready to

do anything. To those men, I will promise, in case they succeed, a large

reward; if they fail, a rope."

"Bah! Suppose they betray us?"

"They will not betray us, because in Mazowsze every one of them deserves

to be hanged. Only we must give them decent clothes so that they will be

taken for Jurand's servants; and we must get the principal thing: a

letter with Jurand's seal."

"We must foresee everything," said Brother Rotgier. "It is probable that

Jurand will go to see the prince, and justify himself on account of the

last war. If he is in Ciechanow, he will go to see his daughter. It may

happen that our men when they go to capture Jurandowna, will come in

contact with Jurand himself."

"The men whom I am going to choose are sharp. They will know that they

will be hanged if they come in contact with Jurand. It will be to their

own interest not to meet him."

"But they may be captured."

"Then we will deny them and the letter. Who can prove that we sent them?

And then if there be no outrage, there will be no outcry, and it will not

harm the Order, if Mazury cut several scoundrels into pieces."

Brother Godfried, the youngest of the monks, said:

"I do not understand your policy, nor your fear that it may be known that

the girl was carried off by our command. Because if we have her in our

possession, we will be obliged to send some one to Jurand to tell him:

'Your daughter is with us; if you wish her to be set at liberty, give von

Bergow and yourself in exchange for her.' You cannot do otherwise, and

then it will be known that we ordered the girl to be carried off."

"That is true!" said Sir de Fourcy, who did not like the whole affair.

"Why should we hide that which must come out?"

But Hugo von Danveld began to laugh, and turning to Brother Godfried,

asked:

"How long have you worn the white mantle?"

"It will be six years the first week after the day of the Holy Trinity."

"When you have worn it six years longer, you will understand the affairs

of the Order better. Jurand knows us better than you do. We will tell

him: 'Your daughter is watched by Brother Shomberg; if you say a word,

remember what happened to Witold's children!'"

"And then?"

"Then von Bergow will be free and the Order also will be free from

Jurand."

"No!" exclaimed Brother Rotgier; "everything is planned so cleverly that

God ought to bless our enterprise."

"God blesses all deeds whose purpose is the good of the Order," said the

gloomy Zygfried von Löve.

Then they rode silently, and before them went their retinue, to open the

way, because the road was covered with a heavy snow, which had fallen

during the night. The day was cloudy, but warm; therefore the horses were

steaming. From the forest flocks of crows were flying toward the

villages, filling the air with their gloomy cawing.

Sir de Fourcy remained a little bit behind the Knights of the Cross and

rode along in deep thought. He had been the guest of the Order for

several years, and had participated in the expeditions against the Zmudz,

where he distinguished himself by great bravery. Everywhere he had been

received as the Knights of the Cross knew how to receive the knights from

remote countries; he became attached to them very strongly, and not being

rich, he planned to join their ranks. In the meanwhile he either lived in

Marienburg, or visited the commanderies, searching in his travels for

distractions and adventures. Having just arrived at Lubowa with the rich

von Bergow, and having heard about Jnrand, he desired very much to fight

with the man who was regarded with general dread. The arrival of

Meineger, who was always victorious, precipitated the expedition. The

_comthur_ of Lubowa furnished the men for it, but in the meanwhile he

told them so much not only about Jurand's cruelty, but also about his

cunning and treachery, that when Juvand asked them to send away the

soldiers, they refused to do it, fearing that if they did, he would

surround and exterminate them or else capture and put them into the

Spychowski dungeons. Then Jurand thinking that they cared less about a

knightly fight than about plunder, attacked them and defeated them. De

Fourcy saw von Bergow overthrown with his horse; he saw Meineger with a

piece of a spear in his body, and he saw the men asking in vain for

mercy. He escaped with great difficulty, and wandered for several days in

the forests, where he would have died of hunger or been destroyed by wild

beasts, if by chance he had not reached Ciechanow, where he found

Brothers Godfried and Rotgier. From the expedition he emerged with a

feeling of humiliation and shame, and with a desire for vengeance and a

longing after Bergow, who was his dear friend. Therefore he joined with

his whole soul in the complaint of the Knights of the Cross, when they

asked for the punishment of the Polish knight and the freedom of his

unhappy companion. When their complaint had no effect whatever, in the

first moment he was ready to approve of any plan for vengeance against

Jurand. But now some scruples were aroused in him. Listening to the

conversation of the monks, and especially to what Hugo von Danveld said,

he could not refrain from astonishment. It is true, that having become

well acquainted during the past few years with the Knights of the Cross,

he knew that they were not what they were represented to be in Germany

and in the West. In Marienburg, he knew, however, a few honest and

upright knights who often complained of the corruption of the brothers,

of their lasciviousness and lack of discipline; de Fourcy felt that they

were right, but being himself dissolute and lacking in discipline, he did

not criticise them for those faults, especially because all knights of

the Order redeemed them with bravery. He had seen them at Wilno, fighting

breast to breast with the Polish knights; at the taking of castles,

defended with superhuman stubbornness by Polish garrisons; he had seen

them perishing under the blows of axes and swords, in general assaults or

in single combats. They were merciless and cruel toward the Litwa, but at

the same time, they were as brave as lions.

But now it seemed to Sir de Fourcy, that Hugo von Danveld advised such

actions from which every knight's soul should recoil; and the other

brothers not only were not angry with him, but approved of his words.

Therefore astonishment seized him more and more; finally he became deeply

thoughtful, pondering whether it was proper to join in the performance of

such deeds.

If it were only a question of carrying off the girl and then exchanging

her for Bergow, he would perhaps consent to that, although his heart had

been moved by Danusia's beauty. But evidently the Knights of the Cross

wished for something else. Through her they wished to capture Jurand, and

then murder him, and together with him,--in order to hide the fraud and

the crime--must assuredly murder the girl also.

They had threatened her already with the same fate that Witold's children

met, in case Jurand should dare to complain. "They do not intend to keep

any promise, but to cheat both and kill both," said de Fourcy, to

himself, "although they wear the cross, and ought to guard their honor

more than anybody else."

He became more and more indignant at such effrontery, and he determined

to verify his suspicions; therefore he rode near Danveld and asked:

"If Jurand give himself up to you, will you set the girl at liberty?"

"If we let her go free, the whole world would immediately say that we had

captured both of them," answered Danveld.

"Then, what do you propose to do with her?"

At this Danveld bent toward the knight, and laughing, showed his rotten

teeth from beneath his thick lips.

"Do you mean what will be done with her, before or after?"

But Fourcy, surmising already that which he wished to know, became

silent; for a while he seemed to struggle with himself; then he raised

himself in his stirrups and said so loudly that he could be heard by all

four of the monks:

"The pious brother, Ulrych von Jungingen, who is an example and an

ornament of knighthood, said to me: 'Among the old knights in Marienburg,

one can still find worthy Knights of the Cross; but those who control the

commanderies near the frontier, only bring shame upon the Order.'"

"We are all sinful, but we serve the Saviour," answered Hugo.

"Where is your knightly honor? One cannot serve the Saviour by shameful

deeds. You must know that I will not put my hand to anything like that,

and that I also will prevent you."

"What will you prevent?"

"The artifice, the treachery, the shame!"

"How can you do it? In the fight with Jurand, you lost your retinue and

wagons. You are obliged to live on the generosity of the Order, and you

will die from hunger if we do not throw you a piece of bread; and then,

you are alone, we are four--how could you prevent us?"

"How can I prevent you?" repeated de Fourcy. "I can return to the mansion

and warn the prince; I can divulge your plans to the whole world."

Here the brothers of the Order looked at one another, and their faces

changed in the twinkling of an eye. Hugo von Danveld, especially, looked

questioningly into Zygfried von Löve's eyes; then he turned to Sir de

Fourcy:

"Your ancestors," said he, "used to serve in the Order, and you wished to

join it also; but we do not receive traitors."

"And I do not wish to serve with traitors."

"Ej! you shall not fulfill your threat. The Order knows how to punish not

only the monks----"

Sir de Fourcy being excited by these words, drew his sword, and seized

the blade with his left hand; his right hand he put on the hilt and said:

"On this hilt which is in the form of the cross, on St. Denis, my

patron's head, and on my knightly honor, I swear that I will warn the

Mazowiecki prince and the grand master."

Hugo von Danveld again looked inquiringly at Zygfried von Löve, who

closed his eyelids, as if consenting to something.

Then Danveld said in a strangely muffled and changed voice:

"St. Denis could carry his head after he was beheaded, but when yours

once falls down----"

"Are you threatening me?" interrupted de Fourcy.

"No, but I kill!" answered Danveld. And he thrust his knife into de

Fourcy's side with such strength, that the blade disappeared up to the

hilt. De Fourcy screamed dreadfully; for a while he tried to seize his

sword which he held in his left hand, with his right, but he dropped it;

at the same time, the other three brothers began to pierce him

mercilessly with their knives, in the neck, in the back, and in the

stomach, until he fell from his horse.

Then there was silence. De Fourcy bleeding dreadfully from several

wounds, quivered on the snow. From beneath the leaden sky, there came

only the cawing of the crows, which were flying from the silent

wilderness, toward human habitations.

Then there began a hurried conversation between the murderers:

"Our servants did not see anything!" said Danveld, panting.

"No. The retinues are in front; we cannot see them," answered von Löve.

"Listen: we will have cause for a new complaint. We will publish the

statement that the Mazowiecki knights fell upon us and killed our

companion. We will shout aloud--they will hear us in Marienburg--that the

prince sent murderers even after his guests. Listen! we must say that

Janusz did not wish to listen to our complaints against Jurand, but that

he ordered the accuser to be murdered."

In the meanwhile, de Fourcy turned in the last convulsion on his back and

then remained motionless, with a bloody froth on his lips and with dread

pictured in his widely-opened dead eyes. Brother Rotgier looked at him

and said:

"Notice, pious brothers, how God punishes even the thought of treachery."

"What we have done, was done for the good of the Order," answered

Godfried. "Glory to those----"

But he stopped, because at that moment, behind them, at the turn of the

snowy road, there appeared a horseman, who rushed forward as fast as his

horse could go. Having perceived him, Hugo von Danveld quickly exclaimed:

"Whoever this man is--he must die." And von Löve, who although the oldest

among the brothers, had very keen eyesight, said:

"I recognize him; it is that shield-bearer who killed the bison with an

axe. Yes; it is he!"

"Hide your knives, so that he may not become frightened," said Danveld.

"I will attack him first, you shall follow me."

In the meanwhile, the Bohemian arrived and reined in his horse at a

distance of eight or ten steps. He noticed the corpse lying in the pool

of blood, the horse without a rider, and astonishment appeared on his

face; but it lasted only for the twinkling of an eye. After a while, he

turned to the brothers as if nothing had happened and said:

"I bow to you, brave knights!"

"We recognize you," answered Danveld, approaching slowly. "Have you

anything for us?"

"The knight Zbyszko of Bogdaniec, after whom I carry the spear, sent me,

because being injured by the bison, he could not come himself."

"What does your master wish from us?"

"My master commanded me to tell you that because you unrighteously

accused Jurand of Spychow, to the detriment of his knightly honor, you

did not act like honest knights, but howled like dogs; and if any one of

you feels insulted by these words, he challenges him to a combat on

horseback or on foot, to the last breath; he will be ready for the duel

as soon as with God's help and mercy he is released from his present

indisposition."

"Tell your master, that the Knights of the Order bear insults patiently

for the Saviour's sake, and they cannot fight, without special permission

from the grand master or from the grand marshal; for which permission

they will write to Malborg."

The Czech again looked at de Fourcy's corpse, because he had been sent

especially to that knight. Zbyszko knew that the monks could not fight in

single combat: but having heard that there was a secular knight with

them, he wanted to challenge him especially, thinking that by doing so he

would win Jurand's favor. But that knight was lying slaughtered like an

ox, by the four Knights of the Cross.

It is true that the Czech did not understand what had happened; but being

accustomed from childhood to different kinds of danger, he suspected some

treachery. He was also surprised to see Danveld, while talking with him,

approach him closer and closer; the others began to ride to his sides, as

if to surround him. Consequently he was upon the alert, especially as he

did not have any weapons; he had not brought any, being in great haste.

In the meanwhile Danveld who was near him, said:

"I promised your master some healing balm; he repays me badly for my good

deed. But no wonder, that is the usual thing among the Polaks. But as he

is severely injured and may soon be called to God, tell him then----"

Here he leaned his left hand on the Czech's shoulder.

"Tell him then, that I--well--I answer this way!----"

And at the same moment, his knife gleamed near the throat of the

shield-bearer; but before he could thrust, the Czech who had been

watching his movements closely, seized Danveld's right hand, with his

iron-like hands, bent and twisted it so that the bones cracked; then

hearing a dreadful roaring of pain, he pricked his horse and rushed away

like an arrow, before the others could stop him.

Brothers Rotgier and Godfried pursued him, but they soon returned,

frightened by a dreadful cry from Danveld. Von Löve supported him with

his shoulders, while he cried so loudly that the retinue, riding with the

wagons in front at quite a distance, stopped their horses.

"What is the matter with you?" asked the brothers.

But von Löve ordered them to ride forward as fast as they could, and

bring a wagon, because Danveld could not remain in his saddle. After a

moment, a cold perspiration covered his forehead and he fainted.

When they brought the wagon, they put him on some straw in the bottom and

hurried toward the frontier. Von Löve urged them forward because he

realized that after what had happened, they could not lose time in

nursing Danveld. Having seated himself beside him in the wagon, he rubbed

his face with snow from time to time; but he could not resuscitate him.

At last when near the frontier, Danveld opened his eyes and began to look

around.

"How do you feel?" asked Löve.

"I do not feel any pain, but neither can I feel my hand," answered

Danveld.

"Because it has grown stiff already; that is why you do not feel any

pain. It will come back in a warm room. In the meanwhile, thank God even

for a moment of relief."

Rotgier and Godfried approached the wagon.

"What a misfortune!" said the first. "What shall we do now?"

"We will declare," said Danveld in a feeble voice, "that the

shield-bearer murdered de Fourcy."

"It is their latest crime and the culprit is known!" added Rotgier.

CHAPTER VII

In the meanwhile, the Czech rushed as fast as he could to the prince's

hunting residence, and finding the prince still there, he told him first,

what had happened. Happily there were some courtiers who had seen the

shield-bearer go without any arms. One of them had even shouted after

him, half in jest, to take some old iron, because otherwise the Germans

would get the best of him; but he, fearing that the knights would pass

the frontier, jumped on horseback as he stood, in a sheepskin overcoat

only and hurried after them. These testimonies dispelled all possible

doubts from the prince's mind as to the fact who had murdered de Fourcy;

but they filled him with uneasiness and with such anger, that at first he

wanted to pursue the Knights of the Cross, capture them and send them to

the grand master in chains. After a while, however, he came to the

conclusion, that it was impossible to reach them on this side of the

boundary and he said:

"I will send, instead, a letter to the grand master, so that he may know

what they are doing here. God will punish them for it!"

Then he became thoughtful and after a while he began to say to the

courtiers:

"I cannot understand why they killed their guest; I would suspect the

shield-bearer if I did not know that he went there without weapons."

"Bah!" said the _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek, "why should the boy kill him? He had

not seen him before. Then suppose he had had arms, how could he attack

five of them and their armed retinues?"

"That is true," said the prince. "That guest must have opposed them in

something, or perhaps he did not wish to lie as was necessary for them. I

saw them wink at him, to induce him to say that Jurand was the first to

begin the fight."

Then Mrokota of Mocarzew said:

"He is a strong boy, if he could crush the arm of that dog Danveld."

"He said that he heard the bones of the German crack," answered the

prince; "and taking into consideration what he did in the forest, one

must admit it is true! The master and the servant are both strong boys.

But for Zbyszko, the bison would have rushed against the horses. Both the

Lotaringer and he contributed very much to the rescue of the princess."

"To be sure they are great boys," affirmed the _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek. "Even

now when he can hardly breathe, he has taken Jurand's part and challenged

those knights. Jurand needs exactly such a son-in-law."

"In Krakow, Jurand said differently; but now, I think he will not oppose

it," said the prince.

"The Lord Jesus will help," said the princess, who entered just now and

heard the end of the conversation.

"Jurand cannot oppose it now, if only God will restore Zbyszko's health;

but we must reward him also."

"The best reward for him will be Danusia, and I think he will get her,

for when the women resolve to accomplish some object, then even Jurand

himself could not prevent them."

"Am I not right, to wish for that marriage?" asked the princess.

"I would not say a word if Zbyszko were not constant; but I think there

is no other in the world as faithful as he. And the girl also. She does

not leave him now for a moment; she caresses him and he smiles at her,

although he is very ill. I cry myself when I see this! I am speaking

righteously! It is worth while to help such a love, because the Holy

Mother looks gladly on human happiness."

"If it be God's will," said the prince, "the happiness will come. But it

is true that he nearly lost his head for that girl and now the bison has

injured him."

"Do not say it was for that girl," said the princess, quickly, "because

in Krakow Danusia saved him."

"True! But for her sake he attacked Lichtenstein, in order to tear from

his head the feathers, and he would not have risked his life for de

Lorche. As for the reward, I said before that they both deserve one, and

I will think about it in Ciechanow."

"Nothing will please Zbyszko more than to receive the knightly girdle and

the golden spurs."

The prince smiled benevolently and answered:

"Let the girl carry them to him; and when the illness leaves him, then we

will see that everything is accomplished according to the custom. Let her

carry them to him immediately, because quick joy is the best!"

The princess having heard that, hugged her lord in the presence of the

courtiers, and kissed his hands; he smiled continually and said:

"You see--A good idea! I see that the Holy Ghost has granted the woman

some sense also! Now call the girl."

"Danuska! Danuska!" called the princess.

And in a moment in the side door Danusia appeared; her eyes were red on

account of sleepless nights; and she held a pot of steaming gruel, which

the _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek had ordered to be put on Zbyszko's fractured

bones.

"Come to me, my dear girl!" said Prince Janusz. "Put aside the pot and

come."

When she approached with some timidity, because "the lord" always excited

some fear in her, he embraced her kindly and began to caress her face,

saying:

"Well, the poor child is unhappy--_hein_?"

"Yes!" answered Danusia.

And having sadness in her heart, she began to cry but very quietly, in

order not to hurt the prince; he asked again:

"Why do you cry?"

"Because Zbyszko is ill," answered she, putting her little hands to her

eyes.

"Do not be afraid, there is no danger for him. Is that not true, Father

Wyszoniek?"

"Hej! by God's will, he is nearer to the wedding than to the coffin,"

answered the good-hearted _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek.

The prince said:

"Wait! In the meanwhile, I will give you a medicine for him, and I trust

it will relieve him or cure him entirely."

"Have the Krzyzaks sent the balm?" asked Danusia quickly, taking her

little hands from her eyes.

"With that balm which the Krzyzaks will send, you had better smear a dog

than a knight whom you love. I will give you something else."

Then he turned to the courtiers and said:

"Hurry and bring the spurs and the girdle."

After a while, when they had brought them to him, he said to Danusia:

"Take these to Zbyszko--and tell him that from this time he is a belted

knight. If he die, then he will appear before God as _miles cinctus_; if

he live, then the rest will be accomplished in Ciechanow or in Warszawa."

Having heard this, Danusia seized "the lord" by his knees; then caught

the knightly insignia with one hand and the pot of porridge with the

other, and rushed to the room where Zbyszko was lying. The princess, not

wishing to lose the sight of their joy, followed her.

Zbyszko was very ill, but having perceived Danusia, he turned his pale

face toward her and asked:

"Has the Czech returned?"

"No matter about the Czech!" answered the girl. "I bring you better news

than that. The lord has made you a knight and has sent you this by me."

Having said this, she put beside him the girdle and the spurs. Zbyszko's

pale cheeks flushed with joy and astonishment, he glanced at Danusia and

then at the spurs; then he closed his eyes and began to repeat:

"How could he dub me a knight?"

At that moment the princess entered, and he raised himself a little and

began to thank her, because he guessed that her intervention had brought

such a great favor and bliss to him. But she ordered him to be quiet and

helped Danusia to put his head on the pillows again. In the meanwhile,

the prince, the _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek, Mrokota and several other courtiers

entered.

Prince Janusz waved his hand to signify that Zbyszko must not move; then

having seated himself beside the bed, he said:

"You know! The people must not wonder that there is reward for good

deeds, because if virtue remained without any reward, human iniquities

would walk without punishment. You did not spare your life, but with

peril to yourself defended us from dreadful mourning; therefore we permit

you to don the knightly girdle, and from this moment to walk in glory and

fame."

"Gracious lord," answered Zbyszko. "I would not spare even ten lives----"

But he could not say anything more, on account of his emotion; and the

princess put her hand on his mouth because the _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek did

not permit him to talk. The prince continued further:

"I think that you know the knightly duties and that you will wear the

insignia with honor. You must serve our Saviour, and fight with the

_starosta_ of hell. You must be faithful to the anointed lord, avoid

unrighteous war and defend innocence against oppression; may God and His

Holy Passion help you!"

"Amen!" answered the _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek.

The prince arose, made the sign of the cross over Zbyszko and added:

"And when you recover, go immediately to Ciechanow, where I will summon

Jurand."

CHAPTER VIII.

Three days afterward, a woman arrived with the Hercynski balm and with

her came the captain of the archers from Szczytno, with a letter, signed

by the brothers and sealed with Danveld's seal; in that letter the

Knights of the Cross called on heaven and earth as witnesses of the

wrongs committed against them in Mazowsze, and with a threat of God's

vengeance, they asked for punishment for the murder of their "beloved

comrade and guest." Danveld added to the letter his personal complaint,

asking humbly but also threateningly for remuneration for his crippled

hand and a sentence of death against the Czech. The prince tore the

letter into pieces in the presence of the captain, threw it under his

feet and said:

"The grand master sent those scoundrels of Krzyzaks to win me over, but

they have incited me to wrath. Tell them from me that they killed their

guest themselves and they wanted to murder the Czech. I will write to the

grand master about that and I will request him to send different envoys,

if he wishes me to be neutral in case of a war between the Order and the

Krakowski king."

"Gracious lord," answered the captain, "must I carry such an answer to

the mighty and pious brothers?"

"If it is not enough, tell them then, that I consider them dog-brothers

and not honest knights."

This was the end of the audience. The captain went away, because the

prince departed the same day for Ciechanow. Only the "sister" remained

with the balm, but the mistrustful _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek did not wish to

use it, especially as the sick man had slept well the preceding night and

had awakened without any fever, although still very weak. After the

prince's departure, the sister immediately sent a servant for a new

medicine apparently--for the "egg of a basilisk"--which she affirmed had

the power to restore strength even to people in agony; as for herself,

she wandered about the mansion; she was humble and was dressed in a lay

dress, but similar to that worn by members of the Order; she carried a

rosary and a small pilgrim's gourd at her belt. She could not move one of

her hands. As she could speak Polish well, she inquired from the servants

about Zbyszko and Danusia, to whom she made a present of a rose of

Jericho; on the second day during Zbyszko's slumber, while Danusia was

sitting in the dining-room, she approached her and said:

"May God-bless you, _panienko_. Last night after my prayers I dreamed

that there were two knights walking during the fall of the snow; one of

them came first and wrapped you in a white mantle, and the other said: 'I

see only the snow, and she is not here,' and he returned."

Danusia who was sleepy, immediately opened her blue eyes curiously, and

asked:

"What does it mean?"

"It means that the one who loves you the best, will get you."

"That is Zbyszko!" said the girl.

"I do not know, because I did not see his face; I only saw the white

mantle and then I awakened; the Lord Jesus sends me pain every night in

my feet and I cannot move my hand."

"It is strange that the balm has not helped you any!"

"It cannot help me, _panienko_, because the pain is a punishment for a

sin; if you wish to know what the sin was, I will tell you."

Danusia nodded her little head in sign that she wished to know; therefore

the "sister" continued:

"There are also servants, women, in the Order, who, although they do not

make any vows, and are allowed to marry, are obliged to perform certain

duties for the Order, according to the brothers' commands. The one who

meets such favor and honor, receives a pious kiss from a brother-knight

as a sign that from that moment she is to serve the Order with words and

deeds. Ah! _panienko_!--I was going to receive that great favor, but in

sinful obduracy instead of receiving it with gratitude, I committed a

great sin and was punished for it."

"What did you do?"

"Brother Danveld came to me and gave me the kiss of the Order; but I,

thinking that he was doing it from pure license, raised my wicked hand

against him----"

Here she began to strike her breast and repeated several times:

"God, be merciful to me, a sinner!"

"What happened then?" asked Danusia.

"Immediately my hand became motionless, and from that moment I have been

crippled. I was young and stupid--I did not know! But I was punished. If

a woman fears that a brother of the Order wishes to do something wicked,

she must leave the judgment to God, but she must not resist herself,

because whosoever contradicts the Order or a brother of the Order, that

one will feel God's anger!"

Danusia listened to these words with fright and uneasiness; the sister

began to sigh and to complain.

"I am not old yet," said she; "I am only thirty years old, but besides

the hand, God has taken from me my youth and beauty."

"If it were not for the hand," said Danusia, "you need not complain."

Then there was silence. Suddenly the sister, as if she had just

remembered something, said:

"I dreamed that some knight wrapped you with a white mantle on the snow.

Perhaps it was a Krzyzak! They wear white mantles."

"I want neither Krzyzaks nor their mantles," answered the girl.

But further conversation was interrupted by the _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek, who

entering the room, nodded to Danusia and said:

"Praise God and come to Zbyszko! He has awakened and has asked for

something to eat. He is much better."

In fact it was so. Zbyszko was a great deal better, and the _ksiondz_

Wyszoniek was almost sure that he would recover, when an unexpected

accident upset all his expectations. There came envoys from Jurand with a

letter to the princess, containing dreadful news. In Spychow, half of

Jurand's _grodek_ had been burned, and he himself during the rescue was

struck by a beam. It is true that the _ksiondz_ Kaleb, who wrote the

letter, said that Jurand, would recover, but that the sparks had burned

his remaining eye so badly that there was very little sight left in it,

and he was likely to become blind.

For that reason, Jurand asked his daughter to come to Spychow as soon as

possible, because he wished to see her once more, before he was entirely

encompassed by darkness. He also said that she was to remain with him,

because even the blind, begging on the roads, had some one to lead them

by the hand and show them the way; why should he be deprived of that

pleasure and die among strangers? There were also humble thanks for the

princess, who had taken care of the girl like a mother, and finally

Jurand promised that, although blind, he would go to Warszawa once more,

in order to fall at the lady's feet and beg her for further favor for

Danusia.

The princess, when the _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek had finished reading the

letter, could not say a word for some time. She had hoped that when

Jurand came to see his daughter and her, she would be able by the

prince's and her own influence to obtain his consent for the wedding of

the young couple. But this letter, not only destroyed her plans, but in

the meanwhile deprived her of Danusia whom she loved as well as she did

her own children. She feared that Jurand would marry the girl to some

neighbor of his, so as to spend the rest of his life among his own

people. It was no use to think about Zbyszko--he could not go to Spychow,

and then who knew how he would be received there. The lady knew that

Jurand had refused to give him Danusia; and he had said to the princess

herself that on account of some secret reason, he would never consent to

their marriage. Therefore in great grief she ordered the principal

messenger to be brought to her, as she desired to ask him about the

Spychowski misfortune, and also to learn something about Jurand's plans.

She was very much surprised when a stranger came instead of the old

Tolima, who used to bear the shield after Jurand and usually carried his

messages; but the stranger told her that Tolima had been seriously

injured in the last fight with the Germans and that he was dying in

Spychow; Jurand being very ill himself, asked her to send his daughter

immediately, because every day he saw less and less, and perhaps in a few

days he would become blind. The messenger begged the princess to permit

him to take the girl immediately after the horses were rested, but as it

was already dusk she refused; especially as she did not wish to distress

Zbyszko and Danusia by such a sudden separation.

Zbyszko already knew all about it, and he was lying like one stricken by

a heavy blow; when the princess entered, and wringing her hands, said

from the threshold:

"We cannot help it; he is her father!" he repeated after her like an

echo: "We cannot help it----" then closed his eyes, like a man who

expects death immediately.

But death did not come; but in his breast there gathered a still greater

grief and through his head ran sad thoughts, like the clouds which driven

by the wind, obstruct the sun and quench all joy in the world. Zbyszko

understood as well as the princess did, that if Danusia were once in

Spychow, she would be lost to him forever. Here everybody was his friend;

there Jurand might even refuse to receive him, or listen to him,

especially if he were bound by a vow, or some other unknown reason as

strong as a religious vow. Then how could he go to Spychow, when he was

sick and hardly able to move in bed. A few days ago, when the prince

rewarded him with the golden spurs, he had thought that his joy would

conquer his illness, and he had prayed fervently to God to be permitted

to soon rise and fight with the Krzyzaks; but now he had again lost all

hope, because he felt that if Danusia were not at his bedside, then with

her would go his desire for life and the strength to fight with death.

What a pleasure and joy it had been to ask her several times a day: "Do

you love me?" and to see how she covered her smiling and bashful eyes, or

bent and answered: "Yes, Zbyszko."

But now only illness, loneliness and grief would remain, and the

happiness would depart and not return.

Tears shone in Zbyszko's eyes and rolled slowly down on his cheeks; then

he turned to the princess and said:

"Gracious lady, I fear that I shall never see Danusia again."

And the lady being sorrowful herself, answered:

"I would not be surprised if you died from grief; but the Lord Jesus is

merciful."

After a while, however, wishing to comfort him, she added:

"But if Jurand die first, then the tutelage will be the prince's and

mine, and we will give you the girl immediately."

"He will not die!" answered Zbyszko.

But at once, evidently some new thought came to his mind, because he

arose, sat on the bed and said in a changed voice:

"Gracious lady----"

At that moment Danusia interrupted him; she came crying and said from the

threshold:

"Zbyszku! Do you know about it already! I pity _tatus_, but I pity you

also, poor boy!"

When she approached, Zbyszko encircled his love with his well arm, and

began to speak:

"How can I live without you, my dearest? I did not travel through rivers

and forest, I did not make the vow to serve you, that I might lose you.

Hej! sorrow will not help, crying will not help, bah! even death itself,

because even if the grass grow over me, my soul will not forget you, even

if I am in the presence of the Lord Jesus or of God the Father--I say,

there must be a remedy! I feel a terrible pain in my bones, but you must

fall at the lady's feet, I cannot--and ask her to have mercy upon us."

Danusia hearing this, ran quickly to the princess' feet, and having

seized them in her arms, she hid her face in the folds of the heavy

dress; the lady turned her compassionate but also astonished eyes to

Zbyszko, and said:

"How can I show you mercy? If I do not let the child go to her sick

father, I will draw God's anger on myself."

Zbyszko who had been sitting on the bed, slipped down on the pillows and

did not answer for a time because he was exhausted. Slowly, however, he

began to move one hand toward the other on his breast until he joined

them as in prayer.

"Rest," said the princess; "then you may tell me what you wish; and you,

Danusia, arise and release my knees."

"Relax, but do not rise; beg with me," said Zbyszko.

Then he began to speak in a feeble and broken voice:

"Gracious lady--Jurand was against me in Krakow--he will be here also,

but if the _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek married me to Danusia, then--afterward she

may go to Spychow because there is no human power that could take her

away from me----"

These words were so unexpected to the princess, that she jumped from the

bench; then she sat down again and as if she had not thoroughly

understood about what he was talking, she said:

"For heaven's sake! the _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek."

"Gracious lady! Gracious lady!" begged Zbyszko.

"Gracious lady!" repeated Danusia, embracing the princess' knees.

"How could it be done without her father's permission?"

"God's law is the stronger!" answered Zbyszko.

"For heaven's sake!"

"Who is the father, if not the prince? Who is the mother, if not you,

gracious lady?"

And Danusia added:

"Dearest _matuchna_!"[104]

"It is true, that I have been and am still like a mother to her," said

the princess, "and Jurand received his wife from my hand. It is true! And

if you are once married--everything is ended. Perhaps Jurand will be

angry, but he must be obedient to the commands of the prince, his lord.

Then, no one need tell him immediately, only if he wanted to give the

girl to another, or to make her a nun; and if he has made some vow, it

will not be his fault that he cannot fulfill it. Nobody can act against

God's will--perhaps it is God's will!"

"It cannot be otherwise!" exclaimed Zbyszko.

But the princess, still very much excited, said:

"Wait, I must collect my thoughts. If the prince were here, I would go to

him immediately and would ask him: 'May I give Danusia to Zbyszko or

not?' But I am afraid without him, and there is not much time to spare,

because the girl must go to-morrow! Oh, sweet Jesus, let her go

married--then there will be peace. But I cannot recover my senses

again--and then I am afraid of something. And you Danusia, are you not

afraid?--Speak!"

"I will die without that!" interrupted Zbyszko.

Danusia arose from the princess' knees; she was not only really on

confidential terms with the good lady, but also much spoiled by her;

therefore she seized her around the neck, and began to hug her.

But the princess said:

"I will not promise you anything without Father Wyszoniek. Run for him

immediately!"

Danusia went after Father Wyszoniek; Zbyszko turned his pale face toward

the princess, and said:

"What the Lord Jesus has destined for me will happen; but for this

consolation, may God reward you, gracious lady."

"Do not bless me yet," answered the princess, "because we do not know

what will happen. You must swear to me upon you honor, that if you are

married, you will not prevent the girl from going to her father, or else

you will draw his curse upon her and yourself.

"Upon my honor!" said Zbyszko.

"Remember then! And the girl must not tell Jurand immediately. We will

send for him from Ciechanow, and make him come with Danusia, and then I

will tell him myself, or I will ask the prince to do it. When he sees

that there is no remedy, he will consent. He did not dislike you?"

"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:

"May God protect you! May God lead you! You are mine, mine until death!"

When they again separated them, he raised himself as much as he could,

leaned his head on the window and looked out; consequently, through the

flakes of the snow, as through a veil, he saw Danusia sitting in the

sleigh, the princess holding her a long time in her arms, the ladies of

the court kissing her and the _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek making the sign of the

cross for the journey. Before the departure, she turned once more toward

him, stretched out her arms and exclaimed:

"Zbyszku, remain with God!"

"May God permit me to see you in Ciechanow!"

But the snow was falling abundantly, as though to deaden every sound, and

to cover everything; therefore those last words came muffled to their

ears, so that it seemed to each of them that they were already calling to

each other from afar.

END OF PART THIRD.

PART FOURTH.

CHAPTER I.

After abundant snowfalls, heavy frost and dry, clear days set in. By day

the wood sparkled in the rays of the sun, the ice fettered the rivers and

hardened the marshes; serene nights followed in which the frost was

intensified to such a degree that the wood in the forest cracked loudly.

The birds approached the dwelling-places. Wolves rendered the roads

unsafe, gathering in packs and attacking not only solitary people, but

also villages. The people however enjoyed themselves at the firesides in

their smoky shanties, presaging from the intensely cold winter an

abundant year, and they waited gladly for the approaching holidays. The

princely Forest Court was deserted. The princess with the court and

priest Wyszoniek left for Ciechanow. Zbyszko, who, though considerably

improved, was not yet strong enough to ride on horseback, remained in the

Forest Court together with Sanderus, his Bohemian armor-bearer and the

servants of the place, who were under the superintendence of a

noble-woman fulfilling the household duties.

But the knight greatly yearned after his young wife. It is true, it was

an immensely consoling thought to him that Danusia was already his, and

that no human power could take her from him; but, on the other hand, that

same thought intensified his longing. For whole days he hoped for that

moment when he should be able to leave the court, and pondered on what he

should then do, where to go, and how to appease Jurand. He had, likewise,

bad and restless moments. But on the whole the future appeared joyful to

him. To love Danusia and pluck peacock plumes from helmets--such a life

would he lead. Many a time he desired to speak of it to his Bohemian whom

he loved, but he reflected, since the Bohemian, he thought, was with his

whole soul Jagienka's, it would be imprudent to speak to him about

Danusia, but he, bound to secrecy, could not tell everything that

happened.

However, his health improved daily. A week before Vigil (Christmas Eve)

he mounted his horse for the first time, and although he felt that he

could not do this in his armor, nevertheless he gathered confidence.

Besides, he did not expect soon to be obliged to put on the coat of mail

and helmet. At the worst he hoped soon to be strong enough to do that

too. Indoors, in order to kill time, he attempted to lift up the sword,

which he accomplished well, but the wielding of the axe seemed to him yet

a difficult task. Nevertheless, he believed that if he grasped the axe

with both hands he would be able to wield it effectively.

Finally, two days before the Vigil, he gave orders to repair the

carriage, saddle the horses, and notified the Bohemian that they were

going to Ciechanow. The faithful armor-bearer was somewhat anxious, the

more so on account of the intense frost out-of-doors. But Zbyszko said to

him:

"Glowacz,[105] it concerns not your head, there is nothing for us in this

court, and even should I happen to be sick, I would not miss seeing the

old gentleman in Ciechanow. Moreover, I shall not ride on horseback, but

in a sleigh, up to the neck in hay and under furs, and only when quite

near Ciechanow shall I mount my horse."

And so it happened. The Bohemian knew his young master and was aware that

it was not good to oppose him, and still worse not to attend scrupulously

to his orders. Therefore they started at an early hour. At the moment of

departure, Zbyszko seeing Sanderus placing himself and his boxes in the

sleigh, said to him: "Why are you sticking to me like burs to sheep's

wool?... You told me you wished to go to Prussia."

"Yes, I said so," Sanderus replied. "But can I get there alone in such

snows? The wolves would devour me before the first star made its

appearance, and I have nothing to stay here for. I prefer the town, to

edify the people in godliness, and bestow upon them my holy wares and

rescue them from the devil's grasp, as I have sworn to the father of all

Christendom in Rome. Besides this, I am exceedingly attached to your

grace, whom I shall not leave before my return to Rome, for it may happen

that I may be enabled to render you some service."

"He is always for you, sir! He is ready to eat and drink for you," said

the Bohemian. "Such service he would be too glad to render, but if a pack

of wolves should happen to attack us in the forests near Przasnysz then I

shall feed the wolves with him, for he is unfit for anything else."

"Better take care that the sinful words don't freeze to your moustache,"

replied Sanderus, "for such icicles can only melt in hellfire."

"Owa!" replied Glowacz, reaching with his gauntlet to his incipient

moustache, "I shall first try to warm some beer for refreshment, but I'll

give none to you."

"But it is forbidden there to give drink to the thirsty,--another sin."

"I shall give you a pail full of water, but meanwhile take what I have in

my hand!" Thus saying he gathered as much snow as he could hold with both

gauntlets and threw it at Sanderus' beard, but the latter bent aside and

said:

"There is nothing for _you_ in Ciechanow, for there is already a grown-up

bear that plays with snow."

Thus they loved to tease each other. But Zbyszko did not forbid Sanderus

to ride with him because that strange man amused him, and at the same

time it seemed to him that the man was really attached to him.

They moved from the Forest Court in the bright morning. The frost was so

intense that they had to cover the horses. The whole landscape was under

snow. The roofs of the cottages were covered and hardly visible. Smoke

seemed to issue directly from white hills, shooting up skyward, red-hued

in the morning, widening out on the roof like a brush, and looking like

the plumes on helmets.

Zbyszko sat in the sleigh, first to gather strength, secondly on account

of the severe cold, against which it was easy to protect oneself; he

commanded Glowacz to sit down beside him so as to be ready with the

crossbow against an attack of wolves, meanwhile he chatted with him

merrily.

"In Przasnysz, we shall only feed the horses and warm ourselves a little

and then immediately continue our journey."

"To Ciechanow?"

"First to Ciechanow, to pay homage to the court and attend worship."

"After that?" inquired Glowacz.

Zbyszko smiled and replied,

"Afterward, who knows, may be to Bogdaniec."

The Bohemian looked at him with astonishment, the thought crossed his

mind: Maybe he has quarrelled with Jurandowna, and this seemed to him

most likely, because she had gone away. The Bohemian had also heard in

the Forest Court that the lord of Spychow was opposed to the young

knight, therefore the honest armor-bearer was glad although he loved

Jagienka, but he looked upon her as upon a star in heaven for whose

happiness he was willing even to shed his blood. He therefore loved

Zbyszko, and from his very soul he longed to serve both of them even unto

death.

"Then your grace thinks to settle down on the estate," he exultingly

said.

"How can I settle down on my estate," replied Zbyszko, "when I challenged

those Knights of the Cross, and even before that, I challenged

Lichtenstein. De Lorche said that the Master would invite the king to

visit Torun. I shall attach myself to the king's retinue, and I think

that at Torun, either _Pan_ Zawisza of Garbow or Powala of Taczew will

ask permission from our lord to allow me to fight those monks. They will

certainly come to fight accompanied by their armor-bearers; in that case

you will also have to meet them."

"If I were to kill any one, I should like him to be a monk," said the

Bohemian.

Zbyszko looked at him with satisfaction. "Well, he will not fare well who

happens to feel your steel. God has given you great strength, but you

would act badly if you were to push it to excess, because humility is

becoming in the worthy armor-bearer."

The Bohemian shook his head as a sign that he would not waste his

strength, but would not spare it against the Germans.

Zbyszko smiled, not on account of what the armor bearer had said, but at

his own thoughts.

"The old gentleman will be glad when we return, and in Zgorzelice there

will also be joy."

Jagienka stood before Zbyszko's eyes as though she were sitting with him

in the sleigh. That always happened, whenever he thought of her he saw

her very distinctly.

"Well," he said to himself, "she will not be glad, for when I shall

return to Bogdaniec it will be with Danusia. Let her take somebody

else...." Here, the figures of Wills of Brzozowa, and young Cztan of

Rogow passed through his mind, and suddenly a disagreeable feeling crept

over him, because the girl might fall into the hands of one of them, and

he said to himself: "I wish I could find some better man, for those

fellows are beer-gulpers and gourmands, and the girl is upright." And he

thought of this and of that; of his uncle when he should learn what had

happened, it would be irksome, no matter how it turned out; but he

immediately consoled himself with the thought that with his uncle,

matters concerning kinship and wealth were always paramount, and these

could advance the interest of the family. Jagienka was indeed nearer, but

Jurand was a greater land owner than Zych of Zgorzelice. Moreover the

former could easily foresee that Macko could not be long opposed to such

a liaison, the more so when he should behold his nephew's love for

Danusia and her requital. He would grumble for a while, then he would be

glad and begin to love Danuska as his own daughter.

Suddenly his heart was moved with tenderness and yearning toward that

uncle who although a severe man, loved him like the pupil of his own eye;

that uncle cared for him on the battlefield more than for himself, he

took booty for him, and for his sake he was driven out from his estate.

Both of them were lonely in the world without near relatives, with only

distant ones like the abbot. Moreover, when the time arrived to separate

from each other, neither of them knew what to do, particularly the older

one, who no more desired anything for himself.

"Hej! he will be glad, he will be glad!" repeated Zbyszko to himself.

"Only one thing I should like,--that he should receive Jurand and me as

well as he would receive me by myself."

Then he attempted to imagine what Jurand would say and do when he learned

of the marriage. There was some alarm in this thought, but not too much

of it, for the simple reason that it was an accomplished fact. It would

not do for Jurand to challenge him to fight, and even should Jurand

oppose, Zbyszko could answer him thus: "Forbear, I ask you; your right to

Danuska is human, but mine is divine; she is therefore no more yours, but

mine." He once heard from a certain clergyman who was versed in the

Scriptures that the woman must leave her father and mother and go with

her husband. He felt therefore that the greater part of strength was in

his favor; nevertheless he did not expect that intense strife and passion

would arise between Jurand and himself, for he counted upon Danusia's

petition which would be granted, and quite as much, if not more, upon

that which would be obtained by the intercession of the prince under whom

Jurand was serving and that of the princess whom Jurand loved as the

protectress of his child.

Owing to the severe frosts, wolves appeared in such great packs, that

they even attacked people traveling together. Zbyszko was advised to

remain over night at Przasnysz, but he took no notice of it, because it

happened that, at the inn, they met some Mazovian knights with their

trains who were also on their way to meet the prince at Ciechanow, and

some armed merchants from that very place convoying loaded wagons from

Prussia. There was no danger to travel with such a great crowd; they

therefore started toward evening, although a sudden wind arose after

nightfall which chased the clouds, and snow began to fall. They traveled

keeping close to one another, but they advanced so slowly that it

occurred to Zbyszko that they would not arrive in time for the Vigil.

They were obliged to dig through the drift in some places where it was

impossible for the horses to pass through. Fortunately the road in the

woods was not obliterated. It was already dusk when they saw Ciechanow.

Were it not for the fire on the heights where the new castle stood, they

would not have known that they were so close to town, and would have

strayed much longer in the midst of the blinding snowstorm and gust of

wind. They were not sure whether fire was burning there in honor of the

guests at Christmas Eve, or whether it was put there according to some

ancient custom. But none of Zbyszko's companions thought about it, for

all were anxious to find a place of shelter in town as quickly as

possible.

Meanwhile the snowstorm constantly increased, the keen, freezing wind

carried immense snowclouds; it dragged at the trees, it howled, maddened,

it tore whole snowdrifts, carrying them upward, it shifted, heaved up,

and almost covered the sleighs and horses and struck the faces of the

occupants like sharp gravel; it stifled their breath and speech. The

sound of the bells fastened to the poles of the sleighs could not be

heard at all, but instead of it there were audible, in the midst of the

howling and whistling of the whirlwind, plaintive voices like the howling

of wolves, like distant neighing of horses, and at times like human

voices in great distress, calling for help. The exhausted horses began to

pant, and gradually slacken their pace.

"Hej! what a blizzard! what a blizzard!" said the Bohemian in a choking

voice. "It is fortunate, sir, that we are already near the town, and that

yonder fires are burning; if it were not for that we should fare badly."

"There is death for those who are in the field," answered Zbyszko, "but

even the fire I don't see there any more. The gloom is so thick that even

the fire is invisible; perhaps the wood and coal were swept away by the

wind."

The merchants and knights in the other wagons were saying: that should

the snowstorm carry off anybody from the seat, that one would never hear

the morning bell. But Zbyszko became suddenly alarmed and said:

"God forbid that Jurand should be anywhere on the road!"

The Bohemian, although entirely occupied in looking toward the fire, on

hearing the words of Zbyszko, turned his head and asked:

"Is the knight of Spychow expected?"

"Yes."

"With the young lady?"

"And the fire is really gone," answered Zbyszko.

And indeed the fire was extinguished, but, instead, several horsemen

appeared immediately in front of the horses and sleighs.

"Why dost thou follow?" cried the watchful Bohemian, grasping his

crossbow; "Who are you?"

"The prince's people, sent to assist the travelers."

"Jesus Christ be praised!"

"Forever and ever."

"Lead us to town," said Zbyszko.

"Is there nobody left behind?"

"Nobody."

"Whence do you come?"

"From Przasnysz."

"Did you not meet other travelers on the road?"

"We met nobody, but they may be on other roads."

"People are searching on all roads, come with us, you lost your route! To

the right."

They turned the horses, and for some time nothing was perceptible but the

blast of the storm.

"Are there many guests in the castle?" asked Zbyszko, after a while.

The nearest horseman, who did not hear the question bent toward him.

"What did you say, sir?"

"I asked whether there were many guests at the prince's?"

"As customary: there are enough."

"But is the lord of Spychow there?"

"He is not there, but they expect him. People ware dispatched to meet him

too."

"With torches?"

"If the weather permits."

They were unable to continue their conversation, for the boisterous

snowstorm was increasing in force.

"Quite a devil's marriage," said the Bohemian. Zbyszko, however, told him

to keep quiet, and not to conjure up the evil name.

"Dost thou not know," he said, "that on such a Holy Day, the devil's

power is subdued, and the devils hide themselves in the ice-holes? Once

the fishermen near Sandomierz on Christmas Eve found him in their net, he

had a pike in his mouth, but when the sound of the bells reached his

ears, he immediately fainted; they pounded him with their clubs till the

evening. The tempest is certainly vehement, but it is with the permission

of the Lord Jesus, who desires that the morrow shall be the more joyful."

"Bah! we were quite near the city," said Glowacz. "Yet if it were not for

these people, we should have strayed till midnight, since we had deviated

from the right path."

"Because the fire was extinguished."

Meanwhile they arrived in town. The snowdrifts in the streets were

larger, so big that in some places they even covered the windows, so much

so that the wayfarers could not see the light from within. But the storm

was not so much felt here. The streets were deserted. The inhabitants

were already celebrating the Christmas Eve festival. In front of some

houses, boys with small cribs and goats, in spite of the snowstorm, were

singing Christmas hymns. In the market-place there were seen men wrapped

up in pease straw imitating bears; otherwise the streets were deserted.

The merchants who accompanied Zbyszko and the noblemen on the road,

remained in town, but they continued their journey toward the prince's

residence in the old castle, and, as the windows of the castle were made

of glass, the bright light, notwithstanding the blizzard, cast its rays

upon the advancing party.

The drawbridge over the moat was lowered, because the Lithuanian

incursions of old had diminished, and the Knights of the Cross, who

carried on war against the King of Poland, were now themselves seeking

the friendship of the Prince of Mazowsze. One of the prince's men blew

the horn and immediately the gate was opened. There were in it several

archers, but upon the walls and palisades there was not a living soul

when the prince permitted the guard to go out. Old Mrokota, who had

arrived two days before, went out to meet the guests, and greeted them in

the name of the prince and brought them into the house where they could

prepare themselves properly for table.

Zbyszko immediately asked him for news of Jurand of Spychow, but he

replied that he had not arrived, but was expected because he promised to

come, and that if he were very ill he would send word. Nevertheless

several horsemen were sent out to meet him, for even the oldest men did

not remember such a blizzard.

"Then he may soon be here."

"I believe he will soon be here. The princess ordered dishes for them

near the common table."

But Zbyszko, although he was somewhat anxious about Jurand, was

nevertheless glad in his heart, and said to himself: "Though I do not

know what to do, yet one thing is certain, my wife is coming, my woman,

my most beloved Danuska." When he repeated those words to himself, he

could hardly believe his own happiness. Why, he reflected, it may be that

she has already confessed all to her father, she may have moved him to

pity and begged him to give her up at once. "In truth, what else could he

do? Jurand is a clever fellow, he knows, that although he keeps her from

me, I shall nevertheless take her away, for my right is stronger."

Whilst he was dressing himself he conversed with Mrokota, inquiring after

the prince's health and specially that of the princess, whom he loved

like his mother since that time when he sojourned in Krakow. He was glad

to learn that everybody in the castle was well and cheerful, although the

princess greatly yearned after her beloved songstress. Jagienka now

played the lute for her and the princess loved her much, but not as much

as the songstress.

"Which Jagienka?" inquired Zbyszko with astonishment.

"Jagienka of Wielgolasu, the granddaughter of the old lord of Wielgolasu.

She is a fine girl. The Lotarynczyk[106] fell in love with her."

"Then is Sir de Lorche here?"

"Where then should he be? He has been here since he arrived from the

Forest Court, for it is well to be here. Our prince never lacks guests."

"I shall be glad to see him, he is a knight with whom none can find

fault."

"And he also loves you. But let us go, their Highnesses will soon be at

the table."

They went into the dining hall where big fires burned in the two

fireplaces and they were taken care of by the servants.

The room was already filled with guests and courtiers. The prince entered

first accompanied by the Voyevode and several life guards. Zbyszko knelt

and kissed his hands.

The prince pressed Zbyszko's head, then he took him aside and said:

"I know it all already, I was displeased at first, because it was done

without my permission, but there was no time, for I was then in Warsaw

where I intended to spend the holidays. It is a well-known fact that, if

a woman desires anything, opposition is useless, and you gain nothing by

it. The princess wishes you well like a mother, and I always desire to

please rather than to oppose her wishes, in order to spare her trouble

and tears."

Zbyszko bowed again to the prince's knees.

"God grant that I may requite your princely love."

"Praise His name that you are already well. Tell the princess how I

received you with good wishes, so that she may be pleased. As I fear God,

her joy is my joy! I shall also say a good word in your behalf to Jurand,

and I think that he will consent, for he too loves the princess."

"Even if he refused to give her to me, my right stands first."

"Your right stands first and must be acknowledged, but a blessing might

fail you. Nobody can forcibly wrest her from you, but without a father's

blessing God's is also lacking."

Zbyszko felt uneasy on hearing these words, for he had never before

thought about it; but at that moment the princess entered, accompanied by

Jagienka of Wielgolasu and other court ladies; he hastened to bow before

her, but she greeted him even more graciously than the prince had done,

and at once began to tell him of the expectation of Jurand's arrival.

"Here are the covers ready for him, and people have been dispatched to

guide them through the snowdrifts. We shall not wait any longer for them

with the Christmas Eve supper, for the prince does not approve of it, but

they will be here before supper is over."

"As far as Jurand is concerned," continued the princess, "he will be here

in God's good time. But I shall tell him all to-day or to-morrow after

the shepherd service (pasterce), and the prince also promised to say a

word in your behalf. Jurand is obstinate but not with those whom he

loves, nor those to whom he owes obedience."

Then she began to instruct Zbyszko how he should act with his

father-in-law, and that God forbid he should anger him or rouse his

obstinacy. It was apparently good advice, but an experienced eye looking

at Zbyszko and then at her could discern in her words and looks a certain

alarm. It may be because the lord of Spychow was not an accommodating

man, and it may also be that the princess was somewhat uneasy at his

non-appearance. The storm increased in strength, and all declared that if

any one were caught in the open country he would not survive. The

princess, however, concluded that Danuska had confessed to her father her

marriage to Zbyszko, and he being offended, was resolved not to proceed

to Ciechanow. The princess however, did not desire to reveal her thoughts

to Zbyszko; there was not even time to do so, for the servants brought in

the viands and placed them on the table. Nevertheless Zbyszko endeavored

to follow her up and make further inquiries.

"And if they arrive, what will happen then, beloved lady? Mrokota told me

that there are special quarters set apart for Jurand; there will be hay

enough for bedding for the chilled horses. How then will it be?"

The princess laughed and tapped him lightly on the face with her glove

and said: "Be quiet, do you see him?"

And she went toward the prince and was assisted to a chair. One of the

attendants placed before the prince a flat dish with thin slices of cake,

and wafers, which he was to distribute among the guests, courtiers and

servants. Another attendant held before the prince a beautiful boy, the

son of the castellan of Sokhochova. On the other side of the table stood

Father Wyszoniek who was to pronounce a benediction upon the fragrant

supper.

At this moment, a man covered with snow entered and cried: "Most Gracious

Prince!"

"What is it?" said the prince. "Is there no reverence; they have

interrupted him in his religious ceremonies."

"Some travelers are snowbound on the road to Radzanow, we need people to

help us to dig them out."

On hearing this all were seized with fear--the prince was alarmed, and

turning toward the castellan of Sokhochova, he commanded:

"Horses and spades! Hasten!"

Then he said to the man who brought the news: "Are there many under the

snow?"

"I could not tell, it blew terribly; there are a considerable number of

horses and wagons."

"Do you not know who they are?"

"People say that they belong to Jurand of Spychow."

CHAPTER II.

When Zbyszko heard the ill tidings, he did not even ask the prince's

permission, but hastened to the stable and ordered his horse to be

saddled. The Bohemian, being a noble-born armor-bearer, met Zbyszko in

the hall before he returned to the house, and brought him a warm fur

coat, yet he did not attempt to detain his young master, for he possessed

strong natural sense; he knew that detention would be of no avail, and

only loss of time, he therefore mounted the second horse and seized some

torches from the guard at the gate, and started at once together with the

prince's men who were under the management of the old castellan.

Impenetrable darkness enveloped them beyond the gate, but the storm

seemed to them to have moderated; were it not for the man who notified

them of the accident, they would have lost their way at once; but he had

a trained dog with him which being acquainted with the road, enabled him

to proceed safely and quickly. In the open field the storm again

increased and began to cut their faces. It may be because they galloped.

The road was filled with snow, so much so that in some places they were

obliged to slacken their speed, for the horses sank up to their bellies

in snow. The prince's people lighted their torches and fire-pots and

moved on amid smoke and flames; the wind blew with such force as though

it endeavored to tear the flames from the torches and carry them over the

field and forest. It was a long journey. They passed the settlement near

Ciechanow, then they passed Niedzborz, then they turned toward Radzanow.

The storm began really to subside beyond Niedzborz; the gusts of wind

were less frequent and no longer carried immense snowclouds. The sky

cleared. Some snow yet drifted from the hills, but it soon ceased. The

stars appeared here and there between the broken clouds. The horses began

to snort, the horsemen breathed freely. The stars came out by degrees and

it began to freeze. In a short time the storm subsided entirely.

Sir de Lorche who rode beside Zbyszko began to comfort him, saying, that

Jurand undoubtedly in moments of peril thought of his daughter's safety

above everything, and although all those buried in the snow should be

found dead, she undoubtedly would be discovered alive, probably sleeping

in her fur robes. But Zbyszko understood him not, in fact he had no time

to listen to him. When, after a little while, the guide who was riding in

front of them turned from the road, the young knight moved in front and

inquired:

"Why do we deviate from the road?"

"Because they are not covered up on the road, but yonder! Do you observe

that clump of alders?"

And he pointed with his hand to the darkening in the distant thicket

which could be seen plainly on the white snow-covered expanse, when the

clouds unveiled the moon's disk and the night became clear.

"They have apparently wandered from the road; they turned aside and moved

in a small circle along the river; in the wind and drifting snow, it is

quite easy to go astray. They moved on and on as long as the horses did

not give out."

"How did you find them?"

"The dog led us."

"Are there any huts near here?"

"Yes, but they are on the other side of the river. Close here is Wkra."

"Whip up the horses," commanded Zbyszko.

But the command was easier than the execution of the order. The piled up

snow upon the meadow was not yet frozen firm, and the horses sank

knee-deep in the drifts; they were therefore obliged to move slowly.

Suddenly they heard the barking of a dog; directly in front of them there

was the deformed thick stump of a willow-tree upon which glistened in the

light of the moon a crown of leafless twigs.

"They are farther off," said the guide, "they are near the alder clump,

but it seems that here also there might be something."

"There is much drift under the willow-tree. Bring a light."

Several attendants dismounted and lit up the place with their torches.

One of them soon exclaimed:

"There is a man under the snow, his head is visible. Here!"

"There is also a horse," said another.

"Dig them out!"

They began to remove the snow with their spades and throw it aside.

In a moment they observed a human being under the tree, his head upon his

chest, and his cap pulled down over his face. One hand held the reins of

the horse that lay beside him with its nostrils buried in the snow. It

was obvious that the man must have left the company, probably with the

object of reaching a human habitation as quickly as possible in order to

secure help, and when the horse fell he had then taken refuge under the

lee of the willow-tree.

"Light!" shouted Zbyszko.

The attendant brought the torch near the face of the frozen man, but his

features could not be distinguished. Only when a second attendant lifted

the head from the chest, they all exclaimed with one accord:

"It is the lord of Spychow!"

Zbyszko ordered two of his men to carry him to the nearest hut and try to

resuscitate him, but himself lost no time but hastened with the rest of

the attendants and the guide to rescue the rest of the retinue. On the

way it crossed Zbyszko's mind that perhaps he might find his wife Danuska

dead, and he urged on his horse who waded up to his breast in snow, to

his last breath.

Fortunately it was not distant, a few furlongs at most. In the darkness

voices were heard exclaiming: "_Byway_."[107] They were those who had

been left with the snow-covered people.

Zbyszko rushed in and jumped from his horse and shouted:

"To the spades!"

Two sleighs were dug out before they reached those in the rear. The

horses and the people in the sleighs were frozen to death, and past all

hope of reviving. The place where the other teams were could be

recognized by the heaps of snow, though not all the sleighs were entirely

covered with snow; in front of some of the sleighs were the horses up to

their bellies, in the posture of their last effort to run. In front of

one team there stood a man up to his belt in snow, holding a lance and

motionless as a post; in front of the others were dead attendants holding

the horses by their muzzles. Death had apparently overtaken them at the

moment when they attempted to extricate the horses from the drifts. One

team, at the very end of the train, was not at all in the drift. The

driver sat in front bent, his hands protecting his ears, but in the rear

lay two people, who, owing to the continuous, long snow-fall, were

completely covered. On their breasts, to escape the drift, they lay

closely side by side, and the snow covered them like a blanket. They

seemed to be sleeping peacefully. But others perished, struggling hard

with the snow-drift to the last moment, their benumbed position

demonstrated the fact. A few sleighs were upset, others had their poles

broken. The spades now and then uncovered horses' backs, bent like bows,

and jaws biting the snow. People were within and beside the sleighs. But

there was no woman in any of the sleighs. At times even Zbyszko labored

with the spade till his brow was covered with perspiration, and at others

he looked with palpitating heart into the eyes of the corpses, perchance

to discover the face of his beloved. But all in vain. The faces which the

torchlight revealed were those of whiskered soldiers of Spychow. Neither

Danusia nor any other woman was there.

"What does it mean?" the young knight asked himself with astonishment.

He hailed those working at a distance and inquired whether they had come

across anything else, but they too only found the corpses of men. At last

the work was finished. The servants hitched their own horses to the

sleighs, placed the corpses in them and drove to Niedzborz, to make an

attempt there in the warm mansion, to restore some of the dead to life.

Zbyszko, the Bohemian and two attendants remained. It crossed his mind

that the sleigh containing Danusia might have separated from the train,

or that Jurand's sleigh, as might be supposed, was drawn by his best

horses and had been ordered to drive in front; and it might also be that

Jurand had left her somewhere in one of the huts along the road. Zbyszko

did not know what to do. In any case he desired to examine closely the

drifts and grove, and then return and search along the road.

But nothing was found in the drifts. In the grove he only saw several

glistening wolves' eyes, but nowhere discovered any traces of people or

horses. The meadow between the woods and road now sparkled in the shiny

light of the moon, and upon its white mournful cover he really espied

dark spots, but those were only wolves that quickly vanished at the

approach of people.

"Your grace!" finally said the Bohemian. "Our search is in vain, for the

young lady of Spychow was not in the train."

"To the road!" replied Zbyszko.

"We shall not find her there either. I looked well in the sleighs for any

baskets containing ladies' finery, but I discovered none. The young lady

remained in Spychow."

This supposition struck Zbyszko as correct, he therefore said:

"God grant it to be as you say!"

But the Bohemian penetrated further into his thoughts, and proceeded with

his reasoning.

"If she were in one of the sleighs the old gentleman would not have

separated from her, or when he left the train he would have taken her

with him on horseback, and we should have found her with him."

"Come, let us go there once more," said Zbyszko, in a restless voice. It

struck him that the Bohemian might be right, perhaps they had not

searched enough where the old man was discovered, perhaps Jurand had

taken Danusia with him on horseback, and when the horse fell, she had

left her father in search of assistance, in that case she might be

somewhere under the snow in the neighborhood.

But Glowacz as though divining his thoughts, said:

"In such a case ladies' apparel would have been found in the sleighs,

because she would not have left for the court with only her traveling

dress."

In spite of these reasonable suppositions they returned to the

willow-tree, but neither there nor for a furlong around did they discover

anything. The prince's people had already taken Jurand to Niedzborz, and

the whole neighborhood was a complete desolation. The Bohemian observed

further, that the dog that ran ahead of the guide and found Jurand would

also have discovered the young lady. Then Zbyszko breathed freely, for he

was almost sure that Danusia had remained at home. He was even able to

explain why she did so. Danusia had confessed all to her father, and he

was not satisfied with the marriage, and so purposely left her at home,

and went by himself to see the prince and bring an action, and ask for

his intercession with the bishop. At this thought Zbyszko could not help

feeling a certain sense of relief, and even gladness, when he

comprehended that by reason of Jurand's death all hindrances had

vanished. "Jurand was unwilling, but the Lord Jesus wants it," said the

young knight to himself, "and God's will is always the strongest." Now,

he had only to go to Spychow and fetch Danuska as his own and then

complete the nuptials. It is even easier to marry her on the frontier

than there in the distant Bogdaniec. "God's will! God's will!" he

repeated in his soul. But suddenly he felt ashamed of this premature joy

and turned to the Bohemian and said:

"Certainly I am sorry for him and I proclaim it aloud."

"They say that the Germans feared him like death," replied the Bohemian.

Presently he inquired:

"Shall we now return to the castle?"

"By way of Niedzborz," answered Zbyszko. When they called at Niedzborz

and then left for the court, where the old proprietor Zelech received

them, they did not find Jurand, but Zelech told them good news.

"They first rubbed him with snow almost to the bones, then poured wine

into his mouth and then put him in a scalding bath where he began to

breathe."

"Is he alive?" joyfully asked Zbyszko, who on hearing the news forgot his

own interests.

"He lives, but as to his continuing to live God only knows, for the soul

that has arrived half way is unwilling to return."

"Why did they remove him?"

"The prince sent for him, and they have wrapped him up in as many feather

blankets as they could find in the house and carried him away."

"Did he say anything about his daughter?"

"He only began to breathe but did not recover speech."

"And the others?"

"They are already with God, and the poor fellows will no more be able to

attend the _pasterce_ (Christmas Eve feast) unless at that which the Lord

Jesus Himself will prepare in heaven."

"None else survived?"

"None. Come into the entrance hall, the place to converse, and if you

wish to see them, they lie along the fireside in the servants' room. Come

inside."

But they were in a hurry and did not wish to enter, although old Zelech

insisted, for he was glad to get hold of people in order to chat with

them. There was yet, quite a considerable distance from Niedzborz to

Ciechanow, and Zbyszko was burning like fire to see Jurand as soon as

possible and learn something from him.

They therefore rode as fast as they could along the snow-covered road.

When they arrived it was already after midnight, and the Christmas feast

(lit-Shepherd ceremony) was just ended in the castle chapel. Zbyszko

heard the lowing of oxen and the bleating of goats, which voices were

produced in accordance with the ancient religious custom, in remembrance

that the nativity took place in a stable. After the mass, the princess

came to Zbyszko. She looked distressed and frightened, and began to

question him:

"And Danuska?"

"Is she not here, has Jurand said nothing, for according to what I

gathered she lives?"

"Merciful Jesus!... God's punishment and woe to us! Jurand has not spoken

and he lies like a log."

"Fear not, gracious lady. Danuska remained in Spychow."

"How do you know?"

"Because there is no trace of ladies' apparel found in any of the

sleighs; she could not have left with only her traveling dress."

"True, as God is dear to me!"

Her eyes immediately were lit up with joy and after a while she

exclaimed:

"Hej! It seems that Christ the Infant, who was born to-day is not angry

with you, but has a blessing upon us!"