Complete Works of Henryk Sienkiewicz

by Henryk Sienkiewicz

  In fact, as he stood in the door, his appearance made a great impression. The princess seeing now what a handsome knight had vowed to Danusia, was still more pleased. Danusia jumped toward him like a gazelle. But either the beauty of the young man or the sounds of admiration from the courtiers, caused her to pause before she reached him, drop her eyes suddenly and blushing and confused, begin to wring her fingers.

  After her, came the others; the princess herself, the courtiers, the ladies-in-waiting, the rybalts and the monks all wanted to see him. The young Mazovian girls were looking at him as at a rainbow, each regretting that he had not chosen her; the older ones admired the costly dress; and thus, a circle of curious ones was formed around him. Zbyszko stood in the centre with a boastful smile on his youthful face, and turned himself slightly, so that they could see him better.

  “Who is he?” asked one of the monks.

  “He is a knight, nephew of that wlodyka” answered the princess, pointing to Macko; “he has made a vow to Danusia.”

  The monks did not show any surprise, because such a vow did not bind him to anything. Often vows were made to married women, and among the powerful families where the eastern custom was known, almost every woman had a knight. If a knight made a vow to a young girl, he did not thus become her fiancé; on the contrary he usually married another; he was constant to his vow, but did not hope to be wedded to her, but to marry another.

  The monks were more astonished at Danusia’s youth, and even not much at that, because in those times sixteen year old youths used to be castellans. The great Queen Jadwiga herself, when she came from Hungary, was only fifteen years old, and thirteen year old girls used to marry. At any rate, at that moment they were more occupied looking at Zbyszko than at Danusia; they also listened to Macko’s words, who, proud of his nephew, was telling how the youth came in possession of such beautiful clothes.

  “One year and nine weeks ago,” said he, “we were invited by the Saxon knights. There was another guest, a certain knight, from a far Fryzjan nation, who lived there on the shores of a sea. With him was his son who was three years older than Zbyszko. Once at a banquet, that son began to taunt Zbyszko because he has neither moustache nor beard. Zbyszko being quick tempered, was very angry, and immediately seized him by his moustache, and pulled out all the hair. On account of that I afterward fought until death or slavery.”

  “What do you mean?” asked the Pan of Dlugolas.

  “Because the father took his son’s part and I took Zbyszko’s part; therefore we fought, in the presence of the guests, on level ground. The agreement was, that the one who conquered, should take the wagons, horses, servants and everything that belonged to the vanquished one. God helped us. We killed those Fryzes, although with great labor, because they were brave and strong. We took much valuable booty; there were four wagons, each one drawn by two horses, four enormous stallions, ten servants, and two excellent suits of armor which are difficult to find. It is true we broke the helmets in the fight, but the Lord Jesus rewarded us with something else; there was a large chest of costly clothing; those in which Zbyszko is now dressed, we found there also.”

  Now the two noblemen from the vicinity of Krakow, and all the Mazurs began to look with more respect on both the uncle and the nephew, and the Pan of Dlugolas, called Obuch, said:

  “I see you are terrible fellows, and not lazy.”

  “We now believe that this youngster will capture three peacocks’ crests.”

  Macko laughed, and in his face there really appeared an expression similar to that on the face of a beast of prey.

  But in the meanwhile, the servants of the monastery had taken the wine and the dainties from the willow baskets, and the servant girls were bringing large dishes full of steaming boiled eggs, surrounded by sausage, from which a strong and savory smell filled the whole room. This sight excited everybody’s appetite, and they rushed to the tables.

  But nobody sat down until the princess was seated at the head of the table; she told Zbyszko and Danusia to sit opposite her and then she said to Zbyszko:

  “It is right for you both to eat from one dish; but do not step on her feet under the table, nor touch her with your knees, as the other knights do to their ladies, because she is too young.”

  To this he answered:

  “I shall not do it, gracious lady, for two or three years yet, until the Lord Jesus permits me to accomplish my vow, and then this little berry will be ripe; as for stepping on her feet, even if I would like to do it I can not, because they do not touch the floor.”

  “True,” answered the princess; “but it is pleasant to see that you have good manners.”

  Then there was silence because everybody was busy eating. Zbyszko picked the best pieces of sausage, which he handed to Danusia or put directly into her mouth; she was glad that such a famous knight served her.

  After they had emptied the dishes, the servants of the monastery began to pour out the sweet-smelling wine — abundantly for the men, but not much for the ladies. Zbyszko’s gallantry was particularly shown when they brought in the nuts which had been sent from the monastery. There were hazel nuts and some very rare nuts imported from afar, called Italians; they all feasted so willingly, that after awhile there was heard no sound in the whole room but the cracking of shells, crushed between the jaws. But Zbyszko did not think only about himself; he preferred to show to the princess and Danusia his knightly strength and abstinence. Therefore he did not put the nuts between his jaws, as the others did, but he crushed them between his fingers, and handed to Danusia the kernels picked from the shells. He even invented for her an amusement; after having picked out the kernel, he placed his hand near his mouth and, with his powerful blowing, he blew the shells to the ceiling. Danusia laughed so much, that the princess fearing that the young girl would choke, was obliged to ask him to stop the amusement; but perceiving how merry the girl was, she asked her:

  “Well, Danusia, is it good to have your own knight?”

  “Oj! Very!” answered the girl.

  And then she touched Zbyszko’s white silk “jaka” with her pink finger, and asked:

  “And will he be mine to-morrow?”

  “To-morrow, and Sunday, and until death,” answered Zbyszko.

  Supper lasted a long time, because after the nuts, sweet cakes with raisins were served. Some of the courtiers wished to dance; others wished to listen to the rybalts or to Danusia’s singing; but she was tired, and having with great confidence put her little head on the knight’s shoulder, she fell asleep.

  “Does she sleep?” asked the princess. “There you have your ‘lady.’”

  “She is dearer to me while she sleeps than the others are while they dance,” answered Zbyszko, sitting motionless so as not to awaken the girl.

  But she was awakened neither by the rybalts’ music nor by the singing. Some of the courtiers stamped, others rattled the dishes in time to the music; but the greater the noise, the better she slept.

  She awoke only when the roosters, beginning to crow, and the church bell to ring, the company all rushed from the benches, shouting:

  “To matins! To matins!”

  “Let us go on foot for God’s glory,” said the princess.

  She took the awakened Danusia by the hand and went out first, followed by the whole court.

  The night was beginning to whiten. In the east one could see a light glare, green at the top, then pink below, and under all a golden red, which extended while one looked at it. It seemed as though the moon was retreating before that glare. The light grew pinker and brighter. Moist with dew, the rested and joyous world was awakening.

  “God has given us fair weather, but there will be great heat,” said the courtiers.

  “No matter,” answered the Pan of Dlugolas; “we will sleep in the abbey, and will reach Krakow toward evening.”

  “Sure of a feast.”

  “There is a feast every day now, and after the confinement and tournaments, there will be still grea
ter ones.”

  “We shall see how Danusia’s brave knight will acquit himself.”

  “Ej! They are of oak, those fellows! Did you hear what they said about that fight for four knights on each side?”

  “Perhaps they will join our court; they are consulting with each other now.”

  In fact, they were talking earnestly with each other; old Macko was not very much pleased with what had happened; therefore while walking in the rear of the retinue, he said to his nephew:

  “In truth, you don’t need it. In some way I will reach the king and it may be he will give us something. I would be very glad to get to some castle or grodek —— Well we shall see. We will redeem Bogdaniec from our pledge anyhow, because we must hold that which our forefathers held. But how can we get some peasants to work? The land is worth nothing without peasants. Therefore listen to what I am going to tell you: if you make vows or not to anyone you please, still you must go with the Pan of Mielsztyn to Prince Witold against the Tartars. If they proclaim the expedition by the sound of trumpets before the queen’s confinement, then do not wait either for the lying-in, or for the tournaments; only go, because there will be found some profit. Prince Witold is munificent, as you know; and he knows you. If you acquit yourself well, he will reward you liberally. Above all, if God help you, you will secure many slaves. The Tartars swarm in the world. In case of victory, every knight will capture three-score of them.”

  At this, Macko being covetous for land and serfs, began to fancy:

  “If I could only catch fifty peasants and settle them in Bogdaniec! One would be able to clear up quite a piece of forest. You know that nowhere can you get as many as there.”

  But Zbyszko began to twist his head.

  “Owa! I will bring hostlers from the stables living on horse carrion and not accustomed to working on the land! What use will they be in Bogdaniec? Then I vowed to capture three German crests. Where will I find them among the Tartars?”

  “You made a vow because you were stupid; but your vow is not worth anything.”

  “But my honor of wlodyka and knight? What about that?”

  “How was it with Ryngalla?”

  “Ryngalla poisoned the prince, and the hermit gave me absolution.”

  “Then in Tyniec, the abbot will absolve you from this vow also. The abbot is greater than a hermit.”

  “I don’t want absolution!”

  Macko stopped and asked with evident anger:

  “Then how will it be?”

  “Go to Witold yourself, because I shall not go.”

  “You knave! And who will bow to the king? Don’t you pity my bones?”

  “Even if a tree should fall on your bones, it would not crush them; and even if I pity you, I will not go to Witold.”

  “What will you do then? Will you turn rybalt or falconer at the Mazowiecki court?”

  “It’s not a bad thing to be a falconer. But if you would rather grumble than to listen to me, then grumble.”

  “Where will you go? Don’t you care for Bogdaniec? Will you plow with your nails without peasants?”

  “Not true! You calculated cleverly about the Tartars! You have forgotten what the Rusini told us, that it is difficult to catch any prisoners among the Tartars, because you cannot reach a Tartar on the steppes. On what will I chase them? On those heavy stallions that we captured from the Germans? Do you see? And what booty can I take? Scabby sheep-skin coats but nothing else! How rich then I shall return to Bogdaniec! Then they will call me comes!”

  Macko was silent because there was a great deal of truth in Zbyszko’s words; but after a while he said:

  “But Prince Witold will reward you.”

  “Bah, you know; to one he gives too much, to another nothing.”

  “Then tell me, where will you go?”

  “To Jurand of Spychow.”

  Macko angrily twisted the belt of his leather jacket, and said:

  “May you become a blind man!”

  “Listen,” answered Zbyszko quietly. “I had a talk with Mikolaj of Dlugolas and he said that Jurand is seeking revenge on the Germans for the death of his wife. I will go and help him. In the first place, you said yourself that it was nothing strange for us to fight the Germans because we know them and their ways so well. Secundo, I will thus more easily capture those peacock’s crests; and tercio, you know that peacock’s crests are not worn by knaves; therefore if the Lord Jesus will help me to secure the crests, it will also bring booty. Finally: the slaves from those parts are not like the Tartars. If you settle such slaves in a forest, then you will accomplish something.”

  “Man, are you crazy? There is no war at present and God knows when there will be!”

  “How clever you are! The bears make peace with the bee-keepers and they neither spoil the beehives, nor eat the honey! Ha! ha! ha! Then it is news to you, that although the great armies are not fighting and although the king and the grand master stamped the parchment with their seals, still there is always great disturbance on the frontiers? If some cattle are seized, they burn several villages for one cow’s head and besiege the castles. How about capturing peasants and their girls? About merchants on the highways? Remember former times, about which you told me yourself. That Nalencz, who captured forty knights going to join the Knights of the Cross, and kept them in prison until the grand master sent him a cart full of grzywien; did he not do a good business? Jurand of Spychow is doing the same and on the frontier the work is always ready.”

  For a while they walked along silently; in the meanwhile, it was broad daylight and the bright rays of the sun lighted up the rocks on which the abbey was built.

  “God can give good luck in any place,” Macko said, finally, with a calm voice; “pray that he may bless you.”

  “Sure; all depends on his favor!”

  “And think about Bogdaniec, because you cannot persuade me that you go to Jurand of Spychow for the sake of Bogdaniec and not for that duck’s beak.”

  “Don’t speak that way, because it makes me angry. I will see her gladly and I do not deny it. Have you ever met a prettier girl?”

  “What do I care for her beauty! Better marry her, when she is grown up; she is the daughter of a mighty comes.”

  Zbyszko’s face brightened with a pleasant smile.

  “It must be. No other lady, no other wife! When your bones are old, you shall play with the grandchildren born to her and myself.”

  Now Macko smiled also and said:

  “Grady! Grady! —— May they be as numerous as hail. When one is old, they are his joy; and after death, his salvation. Jesus, grant us this!”

  CHAPTER III.

  Princess Danuta, Macko and Zbyszko had been in Tyniec before; but in the train of attendants there were some courtiers who now saw it for the first time; these greatly admired the magnificent abbey which was surrounded by high walls built over the rocks and precipices, and stood on a lofty mountain now shining in the golden rays of the rising sun. The stately walls and the buildings devoted to various purposes, the gardens situated at the foot of the mountain and the carefully cultivated fields, showed immediately the great wealth of the abbey. The people from poor Mazowsze were amazed. It is true there were other mighty Benedictine abbeys in other parts of the country; as for instance in Lubusz on Odra, in Plock, in Wielkopolska, in Mogila and in several other places: but none of them could compare with the abbey in Tyniec, which was richer than many principalities, and had an income greater than even the kings of those times possessed.

  Therefore the astonishment increased among the courtiers and some of them could scarcely believe their own eyes. In the meanwhile, the princess wishing to make the journey pleasant, and to interest the young ladies, begged one of the monks to relate the awful story about Walgierz Wdaly which had been told to her in Krakow, although not very correctly.

  Hearing this, the ladies surrounded the princess and walked slowly, looking in the rays of the sun like moving flowers.

  “Let Brother Hidul
f tell about Walgierz, who appeared to him on a certain night,” said one of the monks, looking at one of the other monks who was an old man.

  “Pious father, have you seen him with your own eyes?” asked the princess.

  “I have seen him,” answered the monk gloomily; “there are certain moments during which, by God’s will, he is permitted to leave the underground regions of hell and show himself to the world.”

  “When does it happen?”

  The old monk looked at the other monks and became silent. There was a tradition that the ghost of Walgierz appeared when the morals of the monastic lives became corrupted, and when the monks thought more about worldly riches and pleasures than was right.

  None of them, however, wished to tell this; but it was also said that the ghost’s appearance portended war or some other calamity. Brother Hidulf, after a short silence, said:

  “His appearance does not foretell any good fortune.”

  “I would not care to see him,” said the princess, making the sign of the cross; “but why is he in hell, if it is true as I heard, that he only avenged a wrong?”

  “Had he been virtuous during his whole life,” said the monk sternly, “he would be damned just the same because he was a heathen, and original sin was not washed out by baptism.”

  After those words the princess’ brows contracted painfully because she recollected that her father whom she loved dearly, had died in the heathen’s errors also.

  “We are listening,” said she, after a short silence.

  Brother Hidulf began thus:

  During the time of heathenism, there was a mighty grabia whose name was Walgierz, whom on account of his great beauty, they called Wdaly. This whole country, as far as one can see, belonged to him, and he lead all the expeditions, the people on foot and a hundred spearmen who were all wlodykas; the men to the east as far as Opole, and to the west as far as Sandomierz, were his vassals. Nobody was able to count his herds, and in Tyniec he had a towerful of money the same as the Knights of the Cross have now in Marienburg.”