The people told dreadful tales about Spychow: they said that the path leading to it through the quaggy marshes which were overgrown with duck weed and had bottomless depths, was so narrow that two men on horseback could not ride abreast; that on each side there were many Germans’ bones, and that during the night, the heads of drowned men were seen walking on spiders’ legs, howling and drawing travelers on horses into the depths. They also said that the gate in the grodek was ornamented with skeletons. These stories were not true. But in the barred pits dug under the house in Spychow, there were always many groaning prisoners; and Jurand’s name was more dreadful than those tales about the skeletons and drowned people.
Zbyszko having learned of Jurand’s arrival, hastened to him, but with a certain uneasiness in his heart because he was Danusia’s father. Nobody could forbid him choose Danusia for the lady of his thoughts; but afterward the princess had betrothed them. What will Jurand say to that? Will he consent? What will happen if he refuse his consent? These questions filled his heart with fear, because he now cared for Danusia more than for anything else in the world. He was only encouraged by the thought that perhaps Jurand would praise him for having attacked Lichtenstein, because he had done it to avenge Danusia’s mother; and in consequence had nearly lost his own head.
In the meantime he began to question the courtier, who had come to Amylej’s for him:
“Where are you conducting me?” asked he; “to the castle?”
“Yes, to the castle. Jurand is with the princess’ court.”
“Tell me, what kind of a man he is, so that I may know how to talk with him!”
“What can I tell you! He is a man entirely different from other men. They say that he was mirthful before his blood became seared in his heart!”
“Is he clever?”
“He is cunning; he robs others but he does not let others rob him. Hej! He has only one eye, because the other was destroyed by the thrust of a German crossbow; but with that one, he can look a man through and through. He loves no one except the princess, our lady; and he loves her because his wife was a lady from her court, and now his daughter is with her.”
Zbyszko breathed.
“Then you think that he will not oppose the princess’ will?”
“I know what you would like to learn, and therefore I will tell you what I heard. The princess spoke to him about your betrothment, because it would not be proper to conceal it from him; but it is not known what he said in reply.”
While thus speaking, they arrived at the gate. The captain of the archers, the same who had conducted Zbyszko to the scaffold, now saluted them. After having passed the guards, they entered the court-yard and turned to the left toward the part of the castle occupied by the princess.
The courtier meeting a servant in the doorway, asked:
“Where is Jurand of Spychow?”
“In the ‘krzywy room’ with his daughter.”
“It is there,” said the courtier, pointing at the door.
Zbyszko crossed himself, raised the curtain in the doorway, and entered with throbbing heart. But he did not perceive Jurand and Danusia at once, because the room was not only “crooked” but dark also. But after a while he saw the fair head of the girl, who was sitting on her father’s lap. They did not hear him when he entered; therefore e stopped near the door, and finally he said:
“May He be blessed!”
“For ages and ages,” answered Jurand, rising.
At that moment Danusia sprang toward the young knight and having seized him with both hands, began to scream:
“Zbyszku! Tatus is here!”
Zbyszko kissed her hands; then he approached Jurand, and said:
“I came to bow to you; you know who I am.”
And he bent slightly, making a movement with his hands as if he wished to seize Jurand by his knees. But Jurand grasped his hand, turned him toward the light and began to look at him.
Zbyszko had already regained his self-possession; therefore he looked with curiosity at Jurand. He beheld before him a gigantic man with fallow hair and moustache, with a face pitted with smallpox and one eye of iron-like color. It seemed to him as if this eye would pierce him, and he again became confused. Finally, not knowing what to say, but wishing to say something to break the embarrassing silence, he asked:
“Then you are Jurand of Spychow, Danusia’s father?”
But the other only pointed to an oaken bench, standing beside the chair on which he sat himself and continued to look at Zbyszko, who finally became impatient, and said:
“It is not pleasant for me to sit as though I were in a court.”
Then Jurand said:
“You wanted to fight with Lichtenstein?”
“Yes!” answered Zbyszko.
In the eye of the Lord of Spychow shone a strange light and his stern face began to brighten. After awhile he looked at Danusia and asked;
“And was it for her?”
“For no other! My uncle told you that I made a vow to her to tear the peacock tufts from German heads. But now there shall be not only three of them, but at least as many as I have fingers on both hands. In that way I will help you to avenge the death of Danusia’s mother.”
“Woe to them!” answered Jurand.
Then there was silence again. But Zbyszko, having noticed that by showing his hatred of the Germans, he would capture Jurand’s heart, said:
“I will not forgive them! They nearly caused my death.”
Here he turned to Danusia and added:
“She saved me.”
“I know,” said Jurand.
“Are you angry?”
“Since you made a vow to her, you must serve her, because such is the knightly custom.”
Zbyszko hesitated; but after awhile, he began to say with evident uneasiness:
“Do you know that she covered my head with her veil? All the knights and also the Franciscan who was with me holding the cross, heard her say: ‘He is mine!’ Therefore I will be loyal to her until death, so help me God!”
Having said this, he kneeled, and wishing to show that he was familiar with the customs of chivalry, he kissed both of Danusia’s shoes with great reverence. Then he arose and having turned to Jurand, asked him:
“Have you ever seen another as fair as she?”
Jurand suddenly put his hands behind his head, and having closed his eyes, he said loudly:
“I have seen one other; but the Germans killed her.”
“Then listen,” said Zbyszko, enthusiastically; “we have the same wrong and the same vengeance. Those dog-brothers also killed my people from Bogdaniec. You cannot find a better man for your work. It is no new thing for me! Ask my uncle. I can fight either with spear or axe, short sword or long sword! Did my uncle tell you about those Fryzjans? I will slaughter the Germans for you like sheep; and as for the girl, I vow to you on my knees that I will fight for her even with the starosta of hell himself, and that I will give her up neither for lands nor for herds, nor for any other thing! Even if some one offered me a castle with glass windows in it but without her, I would refuse the castle and follow her to the end of the world.”
Jurand sat for awhile with his head between his hands; but finally he awakened as from a dream, and said with sadness and grief:
“I like you, young man, but I cannot give her to you; she is not destined for you, my poor boy.”
Zbyszko hearing this, grew dumb and began to look at Jurand with wondering eyes.
But Danusia came to his help. Zbyszko was dear to her, and she was pleased to be considered not “a bush” but “a grown-up girl.” She also liked the betrothal and the dainties which the knight used to bring her every day; therefore when she understood that she was likely to lose all this, she slipped down from the arm chair and having put her head on her father’s lap, she began to cry:
“Tatulu, Tatulu!” He evidently loved her better than anything else, for he put his hand softly on her head, while from his face disappeared all trac
e of deadly grudge and anger; only sadness remained.
In the meantime Zbyszko recovered his composure, and now said:
“How is it? Do you wish to oppose God’s will?”
To this Jurand replied:
“If it be God’s will, then you will get her; but I cannot give you my consent. Bah! I would be glad to do it, but I cannot.”
Having said this, he arose, took Danusia in his arms, and went toward the door. When Zbyszko tried to detain him, he stopped for a moment and said:
“I will not be angry with you if you render her knightly services; but do not ask me any questions, because I cannot tell you anything.”
And he went out.
CHAPTER III.
The next day Jurand did not avoid Zbyszko at all; and he did not prevent him from performing for Danusia, during the journey, those different services which, being her knight, he was obliged to render her. On the contrary, Zbyszko noticed that the gloomy Pan of Spychow looked at him kindly, as if he were regretting that he had been obliged to refuse his request. The young wlodyka tried several times to have some conversation with him. After they started from Krakow, there were plenty of opportunities during the journey, because both accompanied the princess on horseback; but as soon as Zbyszko endeavored to learn something about the secret difficulties separating him from Danusia, the conversation was suddenly ended.
Jurand’s face became gloomy, and he looked at Zbyszko uneasily as if he were afraid he would betray himself.
Zbyszko thought that perhaps the princess knew what the obstacle was; so having an opportunity to speak to her privately, he inquired; but she could not tell him anything.
“Certainly there is some secret,” she said. “Jurand himself told me that; but he begged me not to question him further, because he not only did not wish to tell what it was, but he could not. Surely he must be bound by some oath, as so often happens among the knights. But God will help us and everything will turn out well.”
“Without Danusia I will be as unhappy as a chained dog or a bear in a ditch,” answered Zbyszko. “There will be neither joy nor pleasure, nothing but sorrow and sighing; I will go against the Tartars with Prince Witold and may they kill me there. But first I must accompany uncle to Bogdaniec, and then tear from German heads the peacock’s tufts as I promised. Perhaps the Germans will kill me; and I prefer such a death rather than to live and see some one else take Danusia.”
The princess looked at him with her kind blue eyes, and asked him, with a certain degree of astonishment:
“Then you would permit it?”
“I? As long I have breath in my nostrils, it will not happen, unless my hand be paralyzed, and I be unable to hold my axe!”
“Then you see!”
“Bah! But how can I take her against her father’s will?”
To this the princess said, as to herself:
“Does it not happen that way sometimes?”
Then to Zbyszko:
“God’s will is stronger than a father’s will. What did Jurand say to you? He said to me ‘If it be God’s will, then he will get her.’”
“He said the same to me!” exclaimed Zbyszko.
“Do you not see?”
“It is my only consolation, gracious lady.”
“I will help you, and you can be sure of Danusia’s constancy. Only yesterday I said to her: ‘Danusia, will you always love Zbyszko?’ And she answered: ‘I will be Zbyszko’s and no one else’s.’ She is still a green berry, but when she promises anything, she keeps her word, because she is the daughter of a knight. Her mother was like her.”
“Thank God!” said Zbyszko.
“Only remember to be faithful to her also; man is inconstant; he promises to love one faithfully, and afterward he promises another.”
“May Lord Jesus punish me if I prove such!” exclaimed Zbyszko energetically.
“Well, remember then. And after you have conveyed your uncle to Bogdaniec, come to our court; there will be some opportunity then for you to win your spurs; then we will see what can be done. In the meanwhile Danusia will mature, and she will feel God’s will; although she loves you very much even now, it is not the same love a woman feels. Perhaps Jurand will give his consent, because I see he likes you. You can go to Spychow and from there can go with Jurand against the Germans; it may happen that you will render him some great service and thus gain his affection.”
“Gracious princess, I have thought the same; but with your sanction it will be easier.”
This conversation cheered Zbyszko. Meanwhile at the first baiting place, old Macko became worse, and it was necessary to remain until he became better. The good princess, Anna Danuta, left him all the medicine she had with her; but she was obliged to continue her journey; therefore both wlodykas of Bogdaniec bid those belonging to the Mazovian court farewell. Zbyszko prostrated himself at the princess’ feet, then at Danusia’s; he promised her once more to be faithful and to meet her soon at Ciechanow or at Warszawa; finally he seized her in his strong arms, and having lifted her, he repeated with a voice full of emotion:
“Remember me, my sweetest flower! Remember me, my little golden fish!”
Danusia embraced him as though he were a beloved brother, put her little cheek to his face and wept copiously.
“I do not want to go to Ciechanow without Zbyszko; I do not want to go to Ciechanow!”
Jurand saw her grief, but he was not angry. On the contrary, he bid the young man good-bye kindly; and after he had mounted, he turned toward him once more, and said:
“God be with you; do not bear ill will toward me.”
“How can I feel ill will toward you; you are Danusia’s father!” answered Zbyszko cordially; then he bent to his stirrup, and the old man shook hands with him, and said:
“May God help you in everything! Understand?”
Then he rode away. But Zbyszko understood that in his last words, he wished him success; and when he went back to the wagon on which Macko was lying, he said:
“Do you know I believe he is willing; but something hinders him from giving his consent. You were in Spychow and you have good common sense, try to guess what it is.”
But Macko was too ill. The fever increased so much toward evening, that he became delirious. Therefore instead of answering Zbyszko, he looked at him as if he were astonished; then he asked:
“Why do they ring the bells?”
Zbyszko was frightened. He feared that if the sick man heard the sound of bells, it was a sign that death would soon come. He feared also that the old man might die without a priest and without confession, and therefore go, if not to hell, then at least for long centuries to purgatory; therefore he determined to resume their journey, in order to reach, as soon as possible, some parish in which Macko could receive the last sacraments.
Consequently they started and traveled during the night. Zbyszko sat in the wagon on the hay, beside the sick man and watched him till day-break. From time to time he gave him wine to drink. Macko drank it eagerly, because it relieved him greatly. After the second quart he recovered from his delirium; and after the third, he fell asleep; he slept so well that Zbyszko bent toward him from time to time, to ascertain if he was still alive.
Until the time of his imprisonment in Krakow, he did not realize how dearly he loved this uncle who replaced, for him, father and mother. But now he realized it very well; and he felt that after his uncle’s death, life would be very lonesome for him, alone, without relatives, except the abbot who held Bogdaniec in pledge, without friends and without anyone to help him. The thought came to him that if Macko died, it would be one more reason for vengeance on the Germans, by whose means he had nearly lost his head, by whom all his forefathers had been killed, also Danusia’s mother and many other innocent people, whom he knew or about whom he had heard from his acquaintances — and he began to say to himself:
“In this whole kingdom, there is no man who has not suffered some wrong from them, and who would not like to avenge those w
rongs.” Here he remembered the Germans with whom he fought at Wilno, and he knew that even the Tartars were less cruel.
The coming dawn interrupted his thoughts. The day was bright but cold. Evidently Macko felt better, because he was breathing more regularly and more quietly. He did not awaken until the sun was quite warm; then he opened his eyes and said:
“I am better. Where are we?”
“We are approaching Olkusk. You know, where they dig silver.”
“If one could get that which is in the earth, then one could rebuild Bogdaniec!”
“I see you are better,” answered Zbyszko laughing. “Hej! it would be enough even for a stone castle! We will go to the fara, because there the priests will offer us hospitality and you will be able to make your confession. Everything is in God’s hands; but it is better to have one’s conscience clear.”
“I am a sinner and will willingly repent,” answered Macko. “I dreamed last night that the devils were taking my skin off. They were talking German. Thanks be to God that I am better. Have you slept any?”
“How could I sleep, when I was watching you?”
“Then lie down for a while. When we arrive, I will awaken you.”
“I cannot sleep!”
“What prevents you?”
Zbyszko looked at his uncle and said:
“What else can it be, if not love? I have pain in my heart; but I will ride on horseback for a while, that will help me.”
He got down from the wagon, and mounted the horse, which his servant brought for him; meanwhile, Macko touched his sore side; but he was evidently thinking about something else and not about his illness, because he tossed his head, smacked his lips and finally said:
“I wonder and wonder, and I cannot wonder enough, why you are so eager for love, because your father was not that way, and neither am I.”
Complete Works of Henryk Sienkiewicz Page 499
