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The Knights of the Cross, a novel by Henryk Sienkiewicz |
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Part 4 - Chapter 2 |
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_ 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. [Footnote 107: _Byway_ means, in this instance, "here we are".]
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. _ |
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