The Knights of the Cross, or, Krzyzacy. Henryk Sienkiewicz

From where has God conducted you?"

      Then they mentioned their names,[14] their coats of arms, their nicknames and the estates from which they received their names. The lady having heard from wlodyka[15] Macko that he had been to Wilno, clapped her hands, and said:

      "How well it has happened! Tell us about Wilno and about my brother and sister. Is Prince Witold coming for the queen's confinement and for the christening?"

      "He would like to, but does not know whether he will be able to do so; therefore he sent a silver cradle to the queen for a present. My nephew and I brought that cradle."

      "Then the cradle is here? I would like to see it! All silver?"

      "All silver; but it is not here. The Basilians took it to Krakow."

      "And what are you doing in Tyniec?"

      "We returned here to see the procurator of the monastery who is our relative, in order to deposit with the worthy monks, that with which the war has blessed us and that which the prince gave us for a present."

      "Then God gave you good luck and valuable booty? But tell me why my brother is uncertain whether he will come?"

      "Because he is preparing an expedition against the Tartars."

      "I know it; but I am grieved that the queen did not prophesy a happy result for that expedition, and everything she predicts is always fulfilled."

      Macko smiled.

      "Ej, our lady is a prophetess, I cannot deny; but with Prince Witold, the might of our knighthood will go, splendid men, against whom nobody is able to contend."

      "Are you not going?"

      "No, I was sent with the cradle, and for five years I have not taken off my armor," answered Macko, showing the furrows made by the cuirass on his reindeer jacket; "but let me rest, then I will go, or if I do not go myself then I will send this youth, my nephew, Zbyszko, to Pan[16] Spytko of Melsztyn, under whose command all our knights will go."

      Princess Danuta glanced at Zbyszko's beautiful figure; but further conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a monk from the monastery, who having greeted the princess, began to humbly reproach her, because she had not sent a courier with the news that she was coming, and because she had not stopped at the monastery, but in an ordinary inn which was not worthy of her majesty. There are plenty of houses and buildings in the monastery where even an ordinary man will find hospitality, and royalty is still more welcome, especially the wife of that prince from whose ancestors and relatives, the abbey had experienced so many benefits.

      But the princess answered mirthfully:

      "We came here only to stretch our limbs; in the morning we must be in Krakow. We sleep during the day and we travel during the night, because it is cooler. As the roosters were crowing, I did not wish to awaken the pious monks, especially with such a company which thinks more about singing and dancing than about repose."

      But when the monk still insisted, she added:

      "No. We will stay here. We will spend the time well in singing lay songs, but we will come to the church for matins in order to begin the day with God."

      "There will be a mass for the welfare of the gracious prince and the gracious princess," said the monk.

      "The prince, my husband, will not come for four or five days."

      "The Lord God will be able to grant happiness even from afar, and in the meanwhile let us poor monks at least bring some wine from the monastery."

      "We will gladly repay," said the princess.

      When the monk went out, she called:

      "Hej, Danusia! Danusia! Mount the bench and make our hearts merry with the same song you sang in Zator."

      Having heard this, the courtiers put a bench in the centre of the room. The rybalts sat on the ends, and between them stood that young girl who had carried behind the princess the lute ornamented with brass nails. On her head she had a small garland, her hair falling on her shoulders, and she wore a blue dress and red shoes with long points. On the bench she looked like a child, but at the same time, a beautiful child, like some figure from a church. It was evident that she was not singing for the first time before the princess, because she was not embarrassed.

      "Sing, Danusia, sing!" the young court girls shouted.

      She seized the lute, raised her head like a bird which begins to sing, and having closed her eyes, she began with a silvery voice:

      "If I only could get

       The wings like a birdie,

       I would fly quickly

       To my dearest Jasiek!"

      The rybalts accompanied her, one on the gensliks, the other on a big lute; the princess, who loved the lay songs better than anything else in the world, began to move her head back and forth, and the young girl sang further with a thin, sweet childish voice, like a bird singing in the forest:

      "I would then be seated

       On the high enclosure:

       Look, my dear Jasiulku,

       Look on me, poor orphan."

      And then the rybalts played. The young Zbyszko of Bogdaniec, who being accustomed from childhood to war and its dreadful sights, had never in his life heard anything like it; he touched a Mazur[17] standing beside him and asked:

      "Who is she?"

      "She is a girl from the princess' court. We do not lack rybalts who cheer up the court, but she is the sweetest little rybalt of them all, and to the songs of no one else will the princess listen so gladly."

      "I don't wonder. I thought she was an angel from heaven and I can't look at her enough. What do they call her?"

      "Have you not heard? Danusia. Her father is Jurand of Spychow, a comes[18] mighty and gallant."

      "Hej! Such a girl human eyes never saw before!"

      "Everybody loves her for her singing and her beauty."

      "And who is her knight?"

      "She is only a child yet!"

      Further conversation was stopped by Danusia's singing. Zbyszko looked at her fair hair, her uplifted head, her half-closed eyes, and at her whole figure lighted by the glare of the wax candles and by the glare of the moonbeams entering through the windows; and he wondered more and more. It seemed to him now, that he had seen her before; but he could not remember whether it was in a dream, or somewhere in Krakow on the pane of a church window.

      And again he touched the courtier and asked in a low voice:

      "Then she is from your court?"

      "Her mother came from Litwa with the princess, Anna Danuta, who married her to Count Jurand of Spychow. She was pretty and belonged to a powerful family; the princess liked her better than any of the other young girls and she loved the princess. That is the reason she gave the same name to her daughter—Anna Danuta. But five years ago, when near Zlotorja, the Germans attacked the court—she died from fear. Then the princess took the girl, and she has taken care of her since. Her father often comes to the court; he is glad that the princess is bringing his child up healthy and in happiness. But every time he looks at her, he cries, remembering his wife; then he returns to avenge on the Germans his awful wrong. He loved his wife more dearly than any one in the whole Mazowsze till now has loved; but he has killed in revenge a great many Germans."

      In a moment Zbyszko's eyes were shining and the veins on his forehead swelled.

      "Then the Germans killed her mother?" he asked.

      "Killed and not killed. She died from fear. Five years ago there was peace; nobody was thinking about war and everybody felt safe. The prince went without any soldiers, only with the court, as usual during peace, to build a tower in Zlotorja. Those