The Knights of the Cross, or, Krzyzacy: Historical Romance
"My poor orphan, where shall I find a wreath of rue for you in this
wilderness? There is none here, neither a flower, nor a leaf; only some
green moss under the snow."
And Danusia, standing with loosened hair, also became sorrowful, because
she wanted a wreath; after awhile, however, she pointed to the garlands
of immortelles, hanging on the walls of the room, and said:
"We must weave a wreath of those flowers, because we will not find
anything else, and Zbyszko will take me even with such a wreath."
The princess would not consent at first, being afraid of a bad omen; but
as in this mansion, to which they came only for hunting, there were no
flowers, finally the immortelles were taken. In the meanwhile, Father
Wyszoniek came, and received Zbyszko's confession; afterwards he listened
to the girl's confession and then the gloomy night fell. The servants
retired after supper, according to the princess' order. Some of Jurand's
men lay down in the servants' room, and others slept in the stables with
the horses. Soon the fires in the servants' room became covered with
ashes and were quenched; finally everything became absolutely quiet in
the forest house, only from time to time the dogs were heard howling at
the wolves in the direction of the wilderness.
But in the princess', Father Wyszoniek's and Zbyszko's rooms, the windows
were shining, throwing red lights on the snow which covered the
court-yard. They were waiting in silence, listening to the throbbing of
their own hearts--uneasy and affected by the solemnity of the moment
which was coming. In fact, after midnight, the princess took Danusia by
the hand and conducted her to Zbyszko's room, where Father Wyszoniek was
waiting for them. In the room there was a great blaze in the fireplace,
and by its abundant but unsteady light, Zbyszko perceived Danusia; she
looked a little pale on account of sleepless nights; she was dressed in a
long, stiff, white dress, with a wreath of immortelles on her brow. On
account of emotion, she closed her eyes; her little hands were hanging
against the dress, and thus she appeared like some painting on a church
window; there was something spiritual about her; Zbyszko was surprised
when he saw her, and thought that he was going to marry not an earthly,
but a heavenly being. He still thought this when she kneeled with crossed
hands to receive the communion, and having bent her head, closed her eyes
entirely. In that moment she even seemed to him as if dead, and fear
seized his heart. But it did not last long because, having heard the
priest's voice repeat: "_Ecce Agnus Dei_," his thoughts went toward God.
In the room there were heard only the solemn voice of Father Wyszoniek:
"_Domine, non sum dignus_," and with it the crackling of the logs in the
fireplace and the sound of crickets playing obstinately, but sadly, in
the chinks of the chimney. Outdoors the wind arose and rustled in the
snowy forest, but soon stopped.
Zbyszko and Danusia remained sometime in silence; the _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek
took the chalice and carried it to the chapel of the mansion. After a
while he returned accompanied by Sir de Lorche, and seeing astonishment
on the faces of those present, he placed his finger on his mouth, as if
to stop the cry of surprise, then he said:
"I understand; it will be better to have two witnesses of the marriage; I
warned this knight who swore to me on his honor and on the relics of
Aguisgranum to keep the secret as long as necessary."
Then Sir de Lorche first kneeled before the princess, then before
Danusia; then he arose and stood silently, clad in his armor, on which
the red light of the fire was playing. He stood motionless, as if plunged
in ecstasy, because for him also, that white girl with a wreath of
immortelles on her brow seemed like the picture of an angel, seen on the
window of a Gothic cathedral.
The priest put her near Zbyszko's bed and having put the stole round
their hands, began the customary rite. On the princess' honest face the
tears were dropping one after another; but she was not uneasy within,
because she believed she was doing well, uniting these two lovely and
innocent children. Sir de Lorche kneeled again, and leaning with both
hands on the hilt of his sword, looked like a knight who beholds a
vision. The young people repeated the priest's words: "I ... take you
..." and those sweet quiet words were accompanied again by the singing of
the crickets in the chimney and the crackling in the fireplace. When the
ceremony was finished, Danusia fell at the feet of the princess who
blessed them both, and finally intrusted them to the tutelage of heavenly
might; she said to Zbyszko:
"Now be merry, because she is yours, and you are hers."
Then Zbyszko extended his well arm to Danusia, and she put her little
arms round his neck; for a while one could hear them repeat to each
other:
"Danuska, you are mine!"
"Zbyszku, you are mine!"
But soon Zbyszko became weak, because there were too many emotions for
his strength, and having slipped on the pillow, he began to breathe
heavily. But he did not faint, nor did he cease to smile at Danusia, who
was wiping his face which was covered with a cold perspiration, and he
did not stop repeating:
"Danuska, you are mine!" to which every time she nodded her fair head in
assent.
This sight greatly moved Sir de Lorche, who declared that in no other
country had he seen such loving and tender hearts; therefore he solemnly
swore that he was ready to fight on foot or on horseback with any knight,
magician or dragon, who would try to prevent their happiness. The
princess and Father Wyszoniek were witnesses of his oath.
But the lady, being unable to conceive of a marriage without some
merriment, brought some wine which they drank. The hours of night were
passing on. Zbyszko having overcome his weakness, drew Danusia to him and
said:
"Since the Lord Jesus has given you to me, nobody can take you from me;
but I am sorry that you must leave me, my sweetest berry."
"We will come with _tatulo_ to Ciechanow," answered Danusia.
"If only you do not become sick--or--God may preserve you from some bad
accident.--You must go to Spychow--I know! Hej! I must be thankful to God
and to our gracious lady, that you are already mine--because we are
married and no human force can break our marriage."
But as this marriage was performed secretly during the night and
separation was necessary immediately afterward, therefore from time to
time, not only Zbyszko, but everybody was filled with sadness. The
conversation was broken. From time to time, also the fire was quenched
and plunged all heads in obscurity. Then the _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek threw
fresh logs on the charcoal and when something whined in the wood, as
happens very often when the wood is fresh, he said:
"Penitent soul, what do you wish?"
The crickets answered him and the increasing flames which brought out
from the shadow the sleepless faces, were reflected in Sir de Lorche's
armor, lighting in the meanwhile Danusia's white dress and the
immortelles on her head.
The dogs outside again began to howl in the direction of the forest, as
they usually do, when they scent wolves.
As the hours of the night flew on, oftener there was silence; finally the
princess said:
"Sweet Jesus! We had better go to bed if we are going to sit like this
after a wedding, but as it was determined to watch until morning, then
play for us, my little flower, for the last time before your departure,
on the little lute--for me and for Zbyszko."
"What shall I play?" asked she.
"What?" said the princess. "What else if not the same song which you sang
in Tyniec, when Zbyszko saw you for the first time."
"Hej! I remember--and shall never forget it," said Zbyszko. "When I heard
that song somewhere else--I cried."
"Then I will sing it!" said Danusia.
And immediately she began to thrum on the lute; then, having raised her
little head, she sang:
"If I only could get
The wings like a birdie,
I would fly quickly
To my dearest Jasiek!
I would then be seated
On the high enclosure;
Look, my dear Jasiulku,
Look on me, poor orphan."
But at once her voice broke, her mouth began to tremble and from beneath
the closed eyelids the tears began to flow down her cheeks. For a moment
she tried not to let them pass the eyelashes, but she could not keep them
back and finally she began to cry, exactly as she did the last time she
sang that song to Zbyszko in the prison in Krakow.
"Danuska! what is the matter, Danuska?" asked Zbyszko.
"Why are you crying? Such a wedding!" exclaimed the princess. "Why?"
"I do not know," answered Danusia, sobbing. "I am so sad! I regret
Zbyszko and you so much."
Then all became very sorrowful; they began to console her, and to explain
to her that she was not going to remain in Spychow a long time, but that
they would surely be with Jurand in Ciechanow for the holy days. Zbyszko
again encircled her with his arm, drew her to his breast and kissed the
tears from her eyes; but the oppression remained in all hearts, and thus
the hours of night passed.
Finally from the court-yard there resounded such a sudden and dreadful
noise, that all shivered. The princess, having rushed from the bench,
exclaimed:
"For God's sake. The sweeps of the wells! They are watering the horses!"
And the _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek looked through the window, in which the glass
balls were growing gray and said:
"The night grows white and the day is coming. _Ave Maria, gratia
plena_----"
Then he left the room but having returned after a while, he said:
"The day breaks, but the day will be dark. Jurand's people are watering
their horses. Poor girl, you must be ready!"
The princess and Danusia began to cry very loudly and both, together with
Zbyszko, began to lament, as simple people do when they have to separate;
it was half lamenting and half singing, which flowed from full souls, in
a natural way, as the tears flow from the eyes.
"Hej! there is no use of lamenting,
We must separate, my darling,
Farewell--hej!"
Zbyszko nestled Danusia for the last time on his breast and kept her for
a long time, as long as he could breathe and until the princess drew her
from him, in order to dress her for the journey.
In the meanwhile it was broad daylight.
In the mansion everybody was up and moving round. The Czech came to
Zbyszko to ask about his health and to ascertain what were his orders.
"Draw the bed to the window," said the knight to him.
The Czech drew the bed to the window, very easily; but he was surprised
when Zbyszko told him to open it. He obeyed, however, only he covered his
master with his own fur coat, because it was cold outside, although
cloudy, and snow was falling.
Zbyszko began to look; in the court-yard, through the flakes of the
falling snow, one could see lights, and round them, on steaming horses,
Jurand's people were standing. All were armed. The forest was entirely
covered with the snow; one could hardly see the enclosures and the gate.
Danusia, all wrapped up in furs, rushed once more into Zbyszko's room;
once more she put her arms around his neck and bade him farewell:
"Although I am going, still I am yours."
He kissed her hands, her cheeks and her eyes, and said:
"May God protect you! May God lead you! You are mine, mine until death!"
When they again separated them, he raised himself as much as he could,
leaned his head on the window and looked out; consequently, through the
flakes of the snow, as through a veil, he saw Danusia sitting in the
sleigh, the princess holding her a long time in her arms, the ladies of
the court kissing her and the _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek making the sign of the