But Jurand said in a strange and, at the same time, terrible tone: “Danveld, von Löve, Godfried and Rotgier.”
Mikolaj of Dlugolas also recommended that experienced and shrewd people be sent to Prussia, to find out whether Jurand’s daughter was there, and if not, whither she had been taken; then the prince took the staff in his hand and went out to give the necessary orders; the princess again turned to Jurand to speak encouraging words:
“How are you?” she inquired.
He did not reply for a moment, as if he had not heard the question, but then he suddenly said:
“As if one had struck me in an old wound.”
“But trust in God’s mercy; Danusia will come back as soon as you return von Bergow to them. I would willingly sacrifice my own blood.”
The princess hesitated whether to say anything about the marriage now, but, considering a little, she did not wish to add new worries to Jurand’s already great misfortunes, and at the same time she was seized with a certain fear. “They will look for her with Zbyszko; may he find an occasion to tell him,” she said to herself, “otherwise he may entirely lose his mind.” She therefore preferred to discuss other matters.
“Do not blame us,” she said. “People wearing your livery arrived with a writing under your seal, informing us that you were ill, that your eyes were closing, and that you wished to look once more upon your child. How could we oppose it and not obey a father’s command?”
But Jurand embraced her feet. “I do not blame anybody, gracious lady.”
“And know also that God will return her to you, because His eye is upon her. He will send her succor, as He did at the last hunt, when a fierce wild bull attacked us — and Jesus inspired Zbyszko to defend us. He almost lost his own life, and was ill for a long time afterward, but he saved Danusia and me, for which he received a girdle and spurs from the prince. You see!… God’s hand is over her. Surely, the child is to be pitied! I, myself, am greatly grieved. I thought she would arrive with you, and that I should see the dear child, but meanwhile” … and her voice trembled, tears fell from her eyes, and Jurand’s long repressed despair burst out for a moment, sudden and terrible as a tempest. He took hold of his long hair, and began to beat his head against the wall, groaning and repeating in husky tones: “Jesus! Jesus! Jesus!”
But Zbyszko sprang to his side, and shaking him by the shoulders with all his might, exclaimed:
“We must go! To Spychow!”
CHAPTER IV.
“Whose retinue is this?” inquired Jurand, suddenly starting from musing, as if from sleep, beyond Radzanow.
“Mine,” replied Zbyszko.
“And did all my people perish?”
“I saw them dead in Niedzborz.”
“Have you no old comrades?”
Zbyszko made no reply, and they traveled on in silence, but hurriedly, because they wanted to get to Spychow as quickly as possible, hoping possibly to meet some Teutonic messengers there. To their good fortune the frosts set in again, and the highways were firm, so that they could make haste.
Toward evening Jurand spoke again, and began to inquire about those brethren of the Order who were at the Forest Court, and Zbyszko narrated everything — their complaints, their departure, the death of de Fourcy, his follower’s action in crushing Danveld’s arm so terribly, and, as he spoke, one circumstance recurred strikingly to his mind, namely the presence in the Forest Court of that woman who brought the healing balsams from Danveld. During the bait, he commenced therefore to inquire of the Bohemian and Sanderus about her, but neither knew exactly what had become of her. It seemed to them, that she had left either in company with those people, who came for Danusia, or soon after them. It now occurred to Zbyszko’s mind, that this might have been some one sent for the purpose of warning the people in case Jurand should happen to be at the court in person. In that case they would not claim to have come from Spychow, but could have prepared another missive to give to the princess instead of Jurand’s fictitious letter. All this had been arranged with hellish dexterity, and the young knight, who so far had known the Teutons only from the battlefield, thought for the first time, that the fist was not sufficient for them, but that they must be overcome with the head as well. This was a sullen thought for him, because his great sorrow and pain had become concentrated into a desire for fight and blood. Even help for Danusia in his mind took the form of a series of battles either in troops or singly; and now he perceived that it might be necessary to restrain his desire for revenge and splitting of heads, like a bear on a chain, and seek new means of saving and recovering Danusia. While thinking of this, he felt sorry that Macko was not with him. Macko was as cunning as he was brave. He secretly determined to send Sanderus from Spychow to Szczytno, in order to find that woman and to try to learn from her what had happened to Danusia. He said to himself that, even if Sanderus wished to betray him, he could do little harm in the matter, and on the contrary might render great service, because his trade gained admittance for him everywhere. However, he wished to consult Jurand first, but postponed it until their arrival in Spychow, the more so because night came on, and it seemed to him, that Jurand, sitting on a knight’s high saddle, had fallen asleep from fatigue, exhaustion and great anxiety. But Jurand rode with a bowed head only because misfortune weighed it down. And it was apparent that he was constantly thinking of it, with a heart full of terrible dread, because he finally said:
“I would rather be frozen under Niedzborz! It was you that dug me out?”
“I, with others.”
“And at the hunt, you saved my child?”
“What should I have done?”
“Will you help me now, too?”
And there burst forth in Zbyszko at the same time such love for Danusia and such great hatred toward the Teuton wrongdoers, that he rose in his saddle and began to speak through tightly set teeth, as though with difficulty:
“Listen to what I say: even if I have to bite the Prussian castles with my teeth, I will do it and get her.”
Then followed a moment’s silence.
The vengeful and uncontrollable nature of Jurand also seemed to awake in full force under the influence of Zbyszko’s words, because he began to gnash his teeth in the darkness and after a while to repeat again the names: Danveld, von Löve, Rotgier and Godfried! And he thought in his soul that if they wanted him to restore von Bergow, he would do so; if they demanded an additional payment he would give it, even if he had to throw into the price Spychow entire; but then, woe to those who had raised their hands against this his only child!
Throughout the whole night, sleep did not close their eyelids for a moment. At dawn, they scarcely recognized each other, to such an extent had their faces changed during this single night. At length Jurand was struck by that pain and inveterate hatred on Zbyszko’s face and therefore said: “She saved you and snatched you from death — I know. But you also love her?”
Zbyszko looked directly into his eyes with an almost defiant expression and replied: “She is my wife.”
Upon that, Jurand stopped his horse and looked at Zbyszko, blinking his eyes with astonishment.
“What do you say?” he inquired.
“I say that she is my wife and I am her husband.”
The knight of Spychow brushed his eyes with his sleeve, as if he were dazed by a sudden thunder-stroke, and after awhile, without a word of reply, he urged his horse forward to the head of the troop and rode on silently.
CHAPTER V.
But Zbyszko, riding behind him, could not stand it very long, and said to himself: “I would rather have him burst forth in anger, than become embittered.” He therefore rode up to him and jogging his stirrup against his, he commenced to speak: “Listen how it happened. You know what Danusia did for me in Krakow, but you do not know that they proposed to me Jagienka of Bogdaniec, the daughter of Zych of Zgorzelice. My uncle, Macko, was in favor of it, also her parents and Zych; a relative, an abbot, a wealthy man as well…. What is the use of
many words? — an honest girl and a beautiful woman and the dowry respectable also. But it could not be. I felt sorry for Jagienka, but still more so for Danusia — and I set out to her to Mazowsze, because, I tell you frankly, I could not live any longer without her. Recollect the time when you yourself loved — recollect it! and it will not seem strange to you.”
Here Zbyszko broke off, waiting for a word from Jurand, but as the latter remained silent, he continued:
“God gave me an opportunity at the Forest Court to save the princess and Danusia from a wild bull while hunting. And the princess immediately said: ‘Now Jurand will not object any more, because how could he refuse to reward such a deed?’ But I did not wish to take her even then without your parental consent. Yet! I was weak,… because the terrible animal injured me so much, that it almost killed me. But then, as you know, those people came for Danusia, in order to take her, as it seemed, to Spychow, and I was still unable to leave my bed. I thought I should never see her again. I thought that you would take her to Spychow and give her to some one else. You objected to me at Krakow … and I already thought that I should die. Ah! great God, what a night I passed. Nothing but worry; nothing but grief! I thought that if she also left me, the sun would rise no more. Consider human love and human grief!”
And, for a moment, tears almost choked Zbyszko’s voice, but, having a courageous heart, he controlled himself and said:
“The people arrived for her in the evening and wanted to take her immediately, but the princess ordered them to wait until morning. Just then Jesus inspired me with the idea of presenting the princess with my compliments and asking her for Danusia. I thought that if I died I should have that consolation at least. Remember that the girl had to leave, while I remained ill and nearly dying. There was also no time to ask for your permission. The prince was no longer in the Forest Court, the princess therefore weighed both sides because she had nobody to take counsel with. But they, together with Father Wyszoniek at last took pity upon me, and Father Wyszoniek performed the ceremony…. God’s power, God’s right!…”
But Jurand interrupted, gloomily: “And God’s punishment!”
“Why should there be punishment?” inquired Zbyszko. “Consider only, they had sent for her before the ceremony, and whether it had been performed or not, they would have carried her off nevertheless.”
But Jurand again replied nothing, and rode on alone, gloomy, and with such a stony face, that though Zbyszko at first felt the relief that confession of a long concealed thing always produces, at length he was seized with fear and said to himself, with constantly increasing fear, that the old knight was bitterly angered, and that thenceforth they would be strangers and foes to each other. And there came upon him a moment of great depression. He had never felt so badly since his departure from Bogdaniec. It seemed to him now that there was no hope of reconciliation with Jurand, nor, what was far worse, of saving Danusia, that all was of no avail, and that in the future still greater misfortunes and miseries would befall him. But this depression of spirits lasted a short while only, and, in accordance with his nature, it soon changed into anger, and a desire for quarreling and fight. “He does not want peace,” he said to himself, thinking of Jurand, “then let there be discord, let come what will!” And he was ready to fly at Jurand’s face. He also longed for a fight with anybody for anything, merely to do something, merely to give vent to his grief, bitterness and anger, and so find some relief.
Meanwhile they arrived at an inn at a ford called Swietlik, where Jurand, on his return from the prince’s court, usually allowed his people and horses to rest. He did so now also involuntarily. After a while he and Zbyszko found themselves alone in a separate chamber. Suddenly Jurand stopped before the young knight and, fixing his eyes upon him, inquired:
“Did you wander about for her sake?”
The other almost harshly retorted:
“Do you suppose that I shall deny it?” And he looked straight into Jurand’s eyes, ready to meet anger with anger. But there was no indignation in the old warrior’s face; there was only almost boundless grief.
“And you saved my child?” he inquired, after a moment, “and dug me out?”
But Zbyszko looked at him in astonishment and fear that his mind was wandering, because Jurand repeated exactly the same questions that he had already asked.
“Be seated,” he said, “because it seems to me that you are still weak.”
But Jurand raised his hands, placed them on Zbyszko’s shoulders, and so drew him suddenly with all his strength to his breast; the other, recovering from a momentary amazement, clasped him round the waist and they embraced each other for a long time, because mutual anxiety and mutual woe united them.
After relaxing their hold, Zbyszko again embraced the older knight’s knees, and began to kiss his hands with tears in his eyes.
“Will you not object to me?” he asked.
To that Jurand replied: “I did oppose you, because in my soul I consecrated her to God.”
“You devoted her to God, and God to me. His will!”
“His will!” repeated Jurand. “But now we need mercy also.”
“Whom will God help, if not a father who seeks his daughter; if not a husband who seeks his wife? He will certainly not assist robbers.”
“But they captured her nevertheless,” answered Jurand.
“Then you will return von Bergow to them.”
“I shall return all they wish.”
But at the thought of the Teutons, the old passion soon awoke in him and enfolded him like a flame, because he added after a moment through his clenched teeth:
“I shall also add to it what they do not want.”
“I also swore their ruin,” replied Zbyszko, “but now we must make haste to Spychow.”
And he commenced to hasten the saddling of the horses. Accordingly, after they had eaten their oats, and the men had warmed themselves in the rooms, they started out, although it was growing dark outside. As the way was long, and a severe frost had set in for the night, Jurand and Zbyszko, who had not yet regained their strength, traveled in sledges. Zbyszko told about Uncle Macko, for whom his heart yearned, and regretted that he was not present, because his courage as well as craft might be of use, the latter qualification being more necessary against such foes than courage. At last he turned to Jurand and inquired:
“And are you cunning?… Because I am not.”
“Neither am I,” retorted Jurand. “I did not fight them with craft, but with this hand and that which remained in me.”
“I understand that,” said the young knight. “I understand it because I love Danusia and because they carried her off. If, God forbid….”
And he did not finish, because the mere thought made him feel not a human but a wolfs heart in his breast. For some time they rode silently over a white, moonlight-flooded road; then Jurand commenced to speak as if to himself:
“If they only had any reason to take revenge on me — I would not say! But gracious God! they had none…. I waged war with them in the field, when sent on an embassy by our prince to Witold, but here I was like a neighbor to neighbors…. Bartosz Natecz captured, chained and imprisoned under ground in Kozmin forty knights who attacked him. The Teutons were compelled to pay half a wagonful of money for them. While I, when a German guest happened to come on his way to the Teutons, received and rewarded him like one knight another. Frequently also, the Teutons came against me across the swamps. I was not hard on them then, and they did to me what I would not do even to-day to my greatest foe….”
And terrible recollections began to tear him with increasing force, his voice died away for an instant in his breast, then he said, half groaning: “I had only one, like a ewe lamb, like the heart in my breast, and they captured her like a dog on a rope, and she died there…. Now again, the child … Jesus, Jesus!”
And again there was silence. Zbyszko raised his youthful, perplexed face toward the moon, then again looked at Jurand and inquired:
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“Father!… It would be far better for them to earn men’s esteem than their vengeance. Why do they commit so much wrong on all nations and all people?”
But Jurand spread his hands apart as if in despair, and replied with a choked voice: “I do not know….”
Zbyszko meditated for a time over his own question, presently however his thoughts turned to Jurand.
“People say that you wreaked a worthy vengeance,” he said.
Jurand meanwhile controlled his anguish, bethought himself and said:
“But I swore their ruin … and I also swore to God that if He would permit me to glut my vengeance I would surrender to Him the child that was left to me. This is the reason why I objected to you. But now I do not know: was it His will, or did you awaken His anger by your action?”
“No,” said Zbyszko. “I told you once before that even if the ceremony had not been performed, yet the scoundrels would have carried her off. God accepted your vow, and presented me with Danusia, because without His will we could accomplish nothing.”
“Every sin is against God’s will.”
“A sin is, but not the sacrament. Because the sacrament is God’s matter.”
“Therefore there is no help.”
“And God be blessed there is not! Therefore do not complain, because nobody would help you against the robbers so well as I will. You will see! In any case I shall pay them for Danusia, but even if one of those who captured your deceased be still alive, leave him to me and you shall see!”
But Jurand shook his head.
“No,” he answered, gloomily, “none of those will be alive….”
For a time only the snorting of horses and the smothered echo of the hoofs striking against the beaten road was audible.
“Once at night,” continued Jurand, “I heard a voice, as if coming from a wall, saying to me: ‘Enough vengeance!’ but I did not obey, because it was not the voice of the deceased.”
“And whose voice could that be?” inquired Zbyszko, anxiously.
Complete Works of Henryk Sienkiewicz Page 520