PART FOURTH: 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!"
The only thing which surprised her was the presence of Jurand without his
daughter. Then she continued questioning him:
"What caused him to leave her at home?"
Zbyszko explained to her his own reason, which seemed to her just, but
she did not comprehend it sufficiently.
"Jurand will now be thankful to us for his life," she said, "and forsooth
he owes it to you because you went to dig him out. His heart would be of
stone if he were still to continue his opposition to you. In this there
is also God's warning to him not to oppose the holy sacrament. I shall
tell him so as soon as he comes to his senses and is able to speak."
"It is necessary for him first to recover consciousness, because we do
not yet know why he has not brought Danuska with him. Perhaps she is
sick?"
"Do not say that something has happened I I feel so much troubled that
she is not here. If she were sick he would not have left her."
"True!" said Zbyszko.
They went to Jurand. The heat in the room was intense, as in a bath. It
was light, because there were big pine logs in the fireplace. Father
Wyszoniek kept watch over the patient, who lay in bed, covered with a
bear-skin; his face was pale, his hair matted with perspiration, and his
eyes closed. His mouth was open, and his chest laboring with difficulty,
but with such force that his breathing moved the bear-skin covering up
and down.
"How is he doing?" inquired the princess.
"I poured a mug of hot wine into his mouth," replied the priest, "and
perspiration ensued."
"Is he asleep, or not?"
"Probably not, for he labors heavily."
"Did you try to speak to him?"
"We tried, but he did not answer, and I believe that he will not speak
before dawn."
"We will wait till the dawn," said the princess.
The priest insisted that she should retire but she paid no attention, for
she always in everything wished not to fall short of the late Queen
Jadwiga, in Christian virtues, in caring for the sick and to redeem with
her merits her father's soul; she therefore did not omit any opportunity
to make the old Christian country appear no worse than others, and by
this means to obliterate the remembrance that she was born in a heathen
land.
Besides that, she was burning with desire to hear from Jurand's own lips
about Danusia, for she was much concerned about her. She therefore sat by
his bedside and began to tell her beads, and then dozed. Zbyszko who had
not yet entirely recovered and was moreover greatly fatigued by the night
journey, followed her example; and as the hours passed on, both fell
asleep, so soundly that they might have slept on till daylight, if they
had not awakened by the ringing of the bell of the castle chapel.
But the same sound also awoke Jurand, who opened his eyes and suddenly
sat up in bed and began to stare about him with blinking eyes.
"Praised be Jesus Christ!... How do you feel?" said the princess.
But he apparently had not yet regained consciousness, for he looked at
her as though he knew her not, and after awhile he exclaimed:
"Hurry! Be quick! Dig open the snowdrift."
"In the name of God, you are already in Ciechanow!" again replied the
princess.
Jurand wrinkled his brow like one who with difficulty tries to collect
his thoughts, and replied:
"In Ciechanow?... The child is waiting ... and ... principality ...
Danuska! Danuska!"
Suddenly, he closed his eyes and again fell back on the pillow. Zbyszko
and the princess feared lest he was dead, but at the same moment his
breast began to heave and he breathed deeply like one who is fast asleep.
Father Wyszoniek put his finger to his lips and motioned not to awake
him, then he whispered:
"He may sleep thus a whole day."
"So, but what did he say?" asked the princess.
"He said that the child waits in Ciechanow," Zbyszko replied.
"Because he does not remember," explained the priest.
Content of PART FOURTH: CHAPTER II [Henryk Sienkiewicz's novel: The Knights of the Cross]
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