“Wipe the tables and prepare lights; the princess, Anna Danuta, will stop here to-night.”
Having said this, he withdrew. In the inn a great commotion began; the host called his servants, and the guests looked at one another with great surprise.
“Princess Anna Danuta,” said one of the townsmen, “she is Kiejstutowna, Janusz Mazowiecki’s wife. She was in Krakow two weeks, but she went to Zator to visit Prince Waclaw, and now she is coming back.”
“Uncle Gamroth,” said the other townsman, “let us go to the barn and sleep on the hay; the company is too high for us.”
“I don’t wonder they are traveling during the night,” said Macko, “because the days are very warm; but why do they come to the inn when the monastery is so near?”
Here he turned toward Zbyszko:
“The beautiful Ryngalla’s own sister; do you understand?”
And Zbyszko answered:
“There must be many Mazovian ladies with her, hej!”
CHAPTER II.
At that moment the princess entered. She was a middle-aged lady with a smiling face, dressed in a red mantle and light green dress with a golden girdle around her hips. The princess was followed by the ladies of the court; some not yet grown up, some of them older; they had pink and lilac wreaths on their heads, and the majority of them had lutes in their hands. Some of them carried large bunches of fresh, flowers, evidently plucked by the roadside. The room was soon filled, because the ladies were followed by some courtiers and young pages. All were lively, with mirth on their faces, talking loudly or humming as if they were intoxicated with the beauty of the night. Among the courtiers, there were two rybalts; one had a lute and the other had a gensla at his girdle. One of the girls who was very young, perhaps twelve years old, carried behind the princess a very small lute ornamented with brass nails.
“May Jesus Christ be praised!” said the princess, standing in the centre of the room.
“For ages and ages, amen!” answered those present, in the meanwhile saluting very profoundly.
“Where is the host?”
The German having heard the call, advanced to the front and kneeled, in the German fashion, on one knee.
“We are going to stop here and rest,” said the lady. “Only be quick, because we are hungry.”
The townsmen had already gone; now the two noblemen, and with them Macko of Bogdaniec and young Zbyszko, bowed again, intending to leave the room, as they did not wish to interfere with the court.
But the princess detained them.
“You are noblemen; you do not intrude, you are acquainted with courtiers. From where has God conducted you?”
Then they mentioned their names, their coats of arms, their nicknames and the estates from which they received their names. The lady having heard from wlodyka Macko that he had been to Wilno, clapped her hands, and said:
“How well it has happened! Tell us about Wilno and about my brother and sister. Is Prince Witold coming for the queen’s confinement and for the christening?”
“He would like to, but does not know whether he will be able to do so; therefore he sent a silver cradle to the queen for a present. My nephew and I brought that cradle.”
“Then the cradle is here? I would like to see it! All silver?”
“All silver; but it is not here. The Basilians took it to Krakow.”
“And what are you doing in Tyniec?”
“We returned here to see the procurator of the monastery who is our relative, in order to deposit with the worthy monks, that with which the war has blessed us and that which the prince gave us for a present.”
“Then God gave you good luck and valuable booty? But tell me why my brother is uncertain whether he will come?”
“Because he is preparing an expedition against the Tartars.”
“I know it; but I am grieved that the queen did not prophesy a happy result for that expedition, and everything she predicts is always fulfilled.”
Macko smiled.
“Ej, our lady is a prophetess, I cannot deny; but with Prince Witold, the might of our knighthood will go, splendid men, against whom nobody is able to contend.”
“Are you not going?”
“No, I was sent with the cradle, and for five years I have not taken off my armor,” answered Macko, showing the furrows made by the cuirass on his reindeer jacket; “but let me rest, then I will go, or if I do not go myself then I will send this youth, my nephew, Zbyszko, to Pan Spytko of Melsztyn, under whose command all our knights will go.”
Princess Danuta glanced at Zbyszko’s beautiful figure; but further conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a monk from the monastery, who having greeted the princess, began to humbly reproach her, because she had not sent a courier with the news that she was coming, and because she had not stopped at the monastery, but in an ordinary inn which was not worthy of her majesty. There are plenty of houses and buildings in the monastery where even an ordinary man will find hospitality, and royalty is still more welcome, especially the wife of that prince from whose ancestors and relatives, the abbey had experienced so many benefits.
But the princess answered mirthfully:
“We came here only to stretch our limbs; in the morning we must be in Krakow. We sleep during the day and we travel during the night, because it is cooler. As the roosters were crowing, I did not wish to awaken the pious monks, especially with such a company which thinks more about singing and dancing than about repose.”
But when the monk still insisted, she added:
“No. We will stay here. We will spend the time well in singing lay songs, but we will come to the church for matins in order to begin the day with God.”
“There will be a mass for the welfare of the gracious prince and the gracious princess,” said the monk.
“The prince, my husband, will not come for four or five days.”
“The Lord God will be able to grant happiness even from afar, and in the meanwhile let us poor monks at least bring some wine from the monastery.”
“We will gladly repay,” said the princess.
When the monk went out, she called:
“Hej, Danusia! Danusia! Mount the bench and make our hearts merry with the same song you sang in Zator.”
Having heard this, the courtiers put a bench in the centre of the room. The rybalts sat on the ends, and between them stood that young girl who had carried behind the princess the lute ornamented with brass nails. On her head she had a small garland, her hair falling on her shoulders, and she wore a blue dress and red shoes with long points. On the bench she looked like a child, but at the same time, a beautiful child, like some figure from a church. It was evident that she was not singing for the first time before the princess, because she was not embarrassed.
“Sing, Danusia, sing!” the young court girls shouted.
She seized the lute, raised her head like a bird which begins to sing, and having closed her eyes, she began with a silvery voice:
“If I only could get
The wings like a birdie,
I would fly quickly
To my dearest Jasiek!”
The rybalts accompanied her, one on the gensliks, the other on a big lute; the princess, who loved the lay songs better than anything else in the world, began to move her head back and forth, and the young girl sang further with a thin, sweet childish voice, like a bird singing in the forest:
“I would then be seated
On the high enclosure:
Look, my dear Jasiulku,
Look on me, poor orphan.”
And then the rybalts played. The young Zbyszko of Bogdaniec, who being accustomed from childhood to war and its dreadful sights, had never in his life heard anything like it; he touched a Mazur standing beside him and asked:
“Who is she?”
“She is a girl from the princess’ court. We do not lack rybalts who cheer up the court, but she is the sweetest little rybalt of them all, and to the songs of no one else will the princess li
sten so gladly.”
“I don’t wonder. I thought she was an angel from heaven and I can’t look at her enough. What do they call her?”
“Have you not heard? Danusia. Her father is Jurand of Spychow, a comes mighty and gallant.”
“Hej! Such a girl human eyes never saw before!”
“Everybody loves her for her singing and her beauty.”
“And who is her knight?”
“She is only a child yet!”
Further conversation was stopped by Danusia’s singing. Zbyszko looked at her fair hair, her uplifted head, her half-closed eyes, and at her whole figure lighted by the glare of the wax candles and by the glare of the moonbeams entering through the windows; and he wondered more and more. It seemed to him now, that he had seen her before; but he could not remember whether it was in a dream, or somewhere in Krakow on the pane of a church window.
And again he touched the courtier and asked in a low voice:
“Then she is from your court?”
“Her mother came from Litwa with the princess, Anna Danuta, who married her to Count Jurand of Spychow. She was pretty and belonged to a powerful family; the princess liked her better than any of the other young girls and she loved the princess. That is the reason she gave the same name to her daughter — Anna Danuta. But five years ago, when near Zlotorja, the Germans attacked the court, — she died from fear. Then the princess took the girl, and she has taken care of her since. Her father often comes to the court; he is glad that the princess is bringing his child up healthy and in happiness. But every time he looks at her, he cries, remembering his wife; then he returns to avenge on the Germans his awful wrong. He loved his wife more dearly than any one in the whole Mazowsze till now has loved; but he has killed in revenge a great many Germans.”
In a moment Zbyszko’s eyes were shining and the veins on his forehead swelled.
“Then the Germans killed her mother?” he asked.
“Killed and not killed. She died from fear. Five years ago there was peace; nobody was thinking about war and everybody felt safe. The prince went without any soldiers, only with the court, as usual during peace, to build a tower in Zlotorja. Those traitors, the Germans, fell upon them without any declaration of war, without any reason. They seized the prince himself, and remembering neither God’s anger, nor that from the prince’s ancestor, they had received great benefits, they bound him to a horse and slaughtered his people. The prince was a prisoner a long time, and only when King Wladyslaw threatened them with war, did they release him. During this attack Danusia’s mother died.”
“And you, sir, were you there? What do they call you? I have forgotten!”
“My name is Mikolaj of Dlugolas and they call me Obuch. I was there. I saw a German with peacock feathers on his helmet, bind her to his saddle; and then she died from fear. They cut me with a halberd from which I have a scar.”
Having said this he showed a deep scar on his head coming from beneath his hair to his eyebrows.
There was a moment of silence. Zbyszko was again looking at Danusia. Then he asked:
“And you said, sir, that she has no knight?”
But he did not receive any answer, because at that moment the singing stopped. One of the rybalts, a fat and heavy man, suddenly rose, and the bench tilted to one side. Danusia tottered and stretched out her little hands, but before she could fall or jump, Zbyszko rushed up like a wild-cat and seized her in his arms.
The princess, who at first screamed from fear, laughed immediately and began to shout:
“Here is Danusia’s knight! Come, little knight and give us back our dear little girl!”
“He grasped her boldly,” some among the courtiers were heard to say.
Zbyszko walked toward the princess, holding Danusia to his breast, who having encircled his neck with one arm, held the lute with the other, being afraid it would be broken. Her face was smiling and pleased, although a little bit frightened.
In the meanwhile the youth came near the princess, put Danusia before her, kneeled, raised his head and said with remarkable boldness for his age:
“Let it be then according to your word, my gracious lady! It is time for this gentle young girl to have her knight, and it is time for me to have my lady, whose beauty and virtues I shall extol. With your permission, I wish to make a vow and I will remain faithful to her under all circumstances until death.”
The princess was surprised, not on account of Zbyszko’s words, but because everything had happened so suddenly. It is true that the custom of making vows was not Polish; but Mazowsze, being situated on the German frontier, and often being visited by the knights from remote countries, was more familiar with that custom than the other provinces, and imitated it very often. The princess had also heard about it in her father’s court, where all eastern customs were considered as the law and the example for the noble warriors. Therefore she did not see in Zbyszko’s action anything which could offend either herself or Danusia. She was even glad that her dear girl had attracted the heart and the eyes of a knight.
Therefore she turned her joyful face toward the girl.
“Danusia! Danusia! Do you wish to have your own knight?”
The fair-haired Danusia after jumping three times in her red shoes, seized the princess by the neck and began to scream with joy, as though they were promising her some pleasure permitted to the older people only.
“I wish, I wish —— !”
The princess’ eyes were filled with tears from laughing and the whole court laughed with her; then the lady said to Zbyszko:
“Well, make your vow! Make your vow! What will you promise her?”
But Zbyszko, who preserved his seriousness undisturbed amidst the laughter, said with dignity, while still kneeling:
“I promise that as soon as I reach Krakow, I will hang my spear on the door of the inn, and on it I will put a card, which a student in writing will write for me. On the card I will proclaim that Panna Danuta Jurandowna is the prettiest and most virtuous girl among all living in this or any other kingdom. Anyone who wishes to contradict this declaration, I will fight until one of us dies or is taken into captivity.”
“Very well! I see you know the knightly custom. And what more?”
“I have learned from Pan Mikolaj of Dlugolas that the death of Panna Jurandowna’s mother was caused by the brutality of a German who wore the crest of a peacock. Therefore I vow to gird my naked sides with a hempen rope, and even though it eat me to the bone, I will wear it until I tear three such tufts of feathers from the heads of German warriors whom I kill.”
Here the princess became serious.
“Don’t make any joke of your vows!”
And Zbyszko added:
“So help me God and holy cross, this vow I will repeat in church before a priest.”
“It is a praiseworthy thing to fight against the enemy of our people; but I pity you, because you are young, and you can easily perish.”
At that moment Macko of Bogdanice approached, thinking it proper to reassure the princess.
“Gracious lady, do not be frightened about that. Everybody must risk being killed in a fight, and it is a laudable end for a wlodyka, old or young. But war is not new nor strange to this man, because although he is only a youth, he has fought on horseback and on foot, with spear and with axe, with short sword and with long sword, with lance and without. It is a new custom, for a knight to vow to a girl whom he sees for the first time; but I do not blame Zbyszko for his promise. He has fought the Germans before. Let him fight them again, and if during that fight a few heads are broken, his glory will increase.”
“I see that we have to do with a gallant knight,” said the princess.
Then to Danusia, she said:
“Take my place as the first person to-day; only do not laugh because it is not dignified.”
Danusia sat in the place of the lady; she wanted to be dignified, but her blue eyes were laughing at the kneeling Zbyszko, and she could not help moving he
r feet from joy.
“Give him your gloves,” said the princess.
Danusia pulled off her gloves and handed them to Zbyszko who pressed them with great respect to his lips, and said:
“I will fix them on my helmet and woe to the one who stretches his hands for them!”
Then he kissed Danusia’s hands and feet and arose. Then his dignity left him, and great joy filled his heart because from that time the whole court would consider him a mature man. Therefore shaking Danusia’s gloves, he began to shout, half mirthfully, half angrily:
“Come, you dog-brothers with peacock’s crests, come!”
But at that moment the same monk who had been there before entered the inn, and with him two superior ones. The servants of the monastery carried willow baskets which contained bottles of wine and some tidbits. The monks greeted the princess and again reproached her because she had not gone directly to the abbey. She explained to them again, that having slept during the day, she was traveling at night for coolness; therefore she did not need any sleep; and as she did not wish to awaken the worthy abbot nor the respectable monks, she preferred to stop in an inn to stretch her limbs.
After many courteous words, it was finally agreed, that after matins and mass in the morning, the princess with her court would breakfast and rest in the monastery. The affable monks also invited the Mazurs, the two noblemen and Macko of Bogdaniec who intended to go to the abbey to deposit his wealth acquired in the war and increased by Witold’s munificent gift. This treasure was destined to redeem Bogdaniec from his pledge. But the young Zbyszko did not hear the invitation, because he had rushed to his wagon which was guarded by his servants, to procure better apparel for himself. He ordered his chests carried to a room in the inn and there he began to dress. At first he hastily combed his hair and put it in a silk net ornamented with amber beads, and in the front with real pearls. Then he put on a “jaka” of white silk embroidered with golden griffins; he girded himself with a golden belt from which was hanging a small sword in an ivory scabbard ornamented with gold. Everything was new, shining and unspotted with blood, although it had been taken as booty from a Fryzjan knight who served with the Knights of the Cross. Then Zbyszko put on beautiful trousers, one part having red and green stripes, the other part, yellow and purple, and both ended at the top like a checkered chessboard. After that he put on red shoes with long points. Fresh and handsome he went into the room.
Complete Works of Henryk Sienkiewicz Page 487