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THE KNIGHTS OF THE CROSS

or, KRZYZACY

Historical Romance

By HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ

Author Of "Quo Vadis," "The Deluge," "With Fire And Sword,"
"Pan Michael," Etc., Etc.

Translated From The Original Polish By Samuel A. Binion

Author Of "Ancient Egypt," Etc. Translator Of "Quo Vadis," Etc.







[Illustration: BUST OF HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ]





HON. WILLIAM T. HARRIS, LL.D.

Commissioner of Education

My Dear Doctor:--

This translation, of one of the greatest novels of Poland's foremost
modern writer, Henryk Sienkiewicz, I beg to dedicate to you. Apart for my
high personal regard for you, my reason for selecting you among all my
literary friends, is: that you are a historian and philosopher, and can
therefore best appreciate works of this kind.

SAMUEL A. BINION,

New York City.




To the Reader.

Here you have, gentle reader--old writers always called you
gentle--something very much more than a novel to amuse an idle hour. To
read it will be enjoyable pastime, no doubt; but the brilliant romance of
the brilliant author calls upon you for some exercise of the finest
sympathy and intelligence; sympathy for a glorious nation which, with
only one exception, has suffered beyond all other nations; intelligence,
of the sources of that unspeakable and immeasurable love and of the great
things that may yet befall before those woes are atoned for and due
punishment for them meted out to their guilty authors.

Poland! Poland! The very name carries with it sighings and groanings,
nation-murder, brilliance, beauty, patriotism, splendors, self-sacrifice
through generations of gallant men and exquisite women; indomitable
endurance of bands of noble people carrying through world-wide exile the
sacred fire of wrath against the oppressor, and uttering in every clime a
cry of appeal to Humanity to rescue Poland.

It was indeed a terrible moment in history, when the three military
monarchies of Europe, Russia, Austria and Prussia, swooped down upon the
glorious but unhappy country, torn by internal trouble, and determined to
kill it and divide up its dominions. All were alike guilty, as far as
motive went. But Holy Russia--Holy!--since that horrible time has taken
upon herself by far the greatest burden of political crime in her
dealings with that noble nation. Every evil passion bred of despotism, of
theological hatred, of rancorous ancient enmities, and the ghastliest
official corruption, have combined in Russian action for more than one
hundred and fifty years, to turn Poland into a hell on earth. Her very
language was proscribed.

This is not the place to give details of that unhappy country's woes. But
suffice it to say, that Poland, in spite of fatuous prohibitions, has had
a great literature since the loss of her independence, and that
literature has so kept alive the soul of the nation, that with justice
Poland sings her great patriotic song:

  "Poland is not yet lost
  As long as we live...."

The nation is still alive in its writers and their works, their splendid
poetry and prose.

It is a pity that so few of these great writers are widely known. But
most people have heard of Jan Kochanowski, of Mikolaj Rey, of Rubinski,
of Szymanowicz, of Poland's great genius in this century, one of the
supreme poets of the world, Adam Mickiewicz, of Joseph Ignac, of
Kraszewski, who is as prolific in literary and scientific works as
Alexander von Humboldt, and of hundreds of others in all branches of
science and art, too numerous to mention here.

And it is remarkable that the author of this book, Henryk Sienkiewicz,
should of late have attained such prominence in the public eye and found
a place in the heart of mankind. It is of good omen. Thus, Poland, in
spite of her fetters, is keeping step in the very van of the most
progressive nations.

The romance of Sienkiewicz in this volume is perhaps the most interesting
and fascinating he has yet produced. It is in the very first rank of
imaginative and historical romance. The time and scene of the noble story
are laid in the middle ages during the conquest of Pagan Lithuania by the
military and priestly order of the "Krzyzacy" Knights of the Cross. And
the story exhibits with splendid force the collision of race passions and
fierce, violent individualities which accompanied that struggle. Those
who read it will, in addition to their thrilling interest in the tragical
and varied incidents, gain no little insight into the origin and working
of the inextinguishable race hatred between Teuton and Slav. It was an
unfortunate thing surely, that the conversion of the heathen Lithuanians
and Zmudzians was committed so largely to that curious variety of the
missionary, the armed knight, banded in brotherhood, sacred and military.
To say the least, his sword was a weapon dangerous to his evangelizing
purpose. He was always in doubt whether to present to the heathen the one
end of it, as a cross for adoration, or the other, as a point _to kill
with_. And so, if Poland _was_ made a Catholic nation, she was also made
an undying and unalterable hater of the German, the Teutonic name and
person.

And so this noble, historical tale, surpassed perhaps by none in
literature, is commended to the thoughtful attention and appreciation of
the reader.

SAMUEL A. BINION.

NEW YORK, May 9, 1899.




KNIGHTS OF THE CROSS.



PART FIRST




CHAPTER I.

In Tyniec,[1] in the inn under "Dreadful Urus," which belonged to the
abbey, a few people were sitting, listening to the talk of a military man
who had come from afar, and was telling them of the adventures which he
had experienced during the war and his journey.

He had a large beard but he was not yet old, and he was almost gigantic
but thin, with broad shoulders; he wore his hair in a net ornamented with
beads; he was dressed in a leather jacket, which was marked by the
cuirass, and he wore a belt composed of brass buckles; in the belt he had
a knife in a horn scabbard, and at his side a short traveling sword.

Near by him at the table, was sitting a youth with long hair and joyful
look, evidently his comrade, or perhaps a shield-bearer, because he also
was dressed as for a journey in a similar leather jacket. The rest of the
company was composed of two noblemen from the vicinity of Krakow and of
three townsmen with red folding caps, the thin tops of which were hanging
down their sides to their elbows.

The host, a German, dressed in a faded cowl with large, white collar, was
pouring beer for them from a bucket into earthen mugs, and in the
meanwhile he was listening with great curiosity to the military
adventures.

The burghers were listening with still greater curiosity. In these times,
the hatred, which during the time of King Lokietek had separated the city
and the knighthood, had been very much quenched, and the burghers were
prouder than in the following centuries. They called them still _des
allerdurchluchtigsten Kuniges und Herren_ and they appreciated their
readiness _ad concessionem pecuniarum_; therefore one would very often
see in the inns, the merchants drinking with the noblemen like brothers.
They were even welcome, because having plenty of money, usually they paid
for those who had coats of arms.

Therefore they were sitting there and talking, from time to time winking
at the host to fill up the mugs.

"Noble knight, you have seen a good piece of the world!" said one of the
merchants.

"Not many of those who are now coming to Krakow from all parts, have seen
as much," answered the knight.

"There will be plenty of them," said the merchant. "There is to be a
great feast and great pleasure for the king and the queen! The king has
ordered the queen's chamber to be upholstered with golden brocade,
embroidered with pearls, and a canopy of the same material over her.
There will be such entertainments and tournaments, as the world has never
seen before."

"Uncle Gamroth, don't interrupt the knight," said the second merchant.

"Friend Eyertreter, I am not interrupting; only I think that he also will
be glad to know about what they are talking, because I am sure he is
going to Krakow. We cannot return to the city to-day at any rate, because
they will shut the gates."

"And you speak twenty words, in reply to one. You are growing old, Uncle
Gamroth!"

"But I can carry a whole piece of wet broadcloth just the same."

"Great thing! the cloth through which one can see, as through a sieve."

But further dispute was stopped by the knight, who said:

"Yes, I will stay in Krakow because I have heard about the tournaments
and I will be glad to try my strength in the lists during the combats;
and this youth, my nephew, who although young and smooth faced, has
already seen many cuirasses on the ground, will also enter the lists."

The guests glanced at the youth who laughed mirthfully, and putting his
long hair behind his ears, placed the mug of beer to his mouth.

The older knight added:

"Even if we would like to return, we have no place to go."

"How is that?" asked one of the nobles.

"Where are you from, and what do they call you?"

"I am Macko of Bogdaniec, and this lad, the son of my brother, calls
himself Zbyszko. Our coat of arms is Tempa Podkowa, and our war-cry is
Grady!"

"Where is Bogdaniec?"

"Bah! better ask, lord brother, where it was, because it is no more.
During the war between Grzymalczyks and Nalenczs,[2] Bogdaniec was
burned, and we were robbed of everything; the servants ran away. Only the
bare soil remained, because even the farmers who were in the
neighborhood, fled into the forests. The father of this lad, rebuilt; but
the next year, a flood took everything. Then my brother died, and after
his death I remained with the orphan. Then I thought: 'I can't stay!' I
heard about the war for which Jasko of Olesnica, whom the king,
Wladyslaw, sent to Wilno after he sent Mikolaj of Moskorzowo, was
collecting soldiers. I knew a worthy abbot, Janko of Tulcza, to whom I
gave my land as security for the money I needed to buy armor and horses,
necessary for a war expedition. The boy, twelve years old, I put on a
young horse and we went to Jasko of Olesnica."

"With the youth?"

"He was not even a youth then, but he has been strong since childhood.
When he was twelve, he used to rest a crossbow on the ground, press it
against his chest and turn the crank. None of the Englishmen, whom I have
seen in Wilno, could do better."

"Was he so strong?"

"He used to carry my helmet, and when he passed thirteen winters, he
could carry my spear also."

"You had plenty of fighting there!"

"Because of Witold. The prince was with the Knights of the Cross, and
every year they used to make an expedition against Lithuania, as far as
Wilno. Different people went with them: Germans, Frenchmen, Englishmen,
who are the best bowmen, Czechs, Swiss and Burgundians. They cut down the
forests, burned the castles on their way and finally they devastated
Lithuania with fire and sword so badly, that the people who were living
in that country, wanted to leave it and search for another land, even to
the end of the world, even among Belial's children, only far from the
Germans."

"We heard here, that the Lithuanians wanted to go away with their wives
and children, but we did not believe it."

"And I looked at it. Hej! If not for Mikolaj of Moskorzowo, for Jasko of
Olesnica, and without any boasting, if not for us, there would be no
Wilno now."

"We know. You did not surrender the castle."

"We did not. And now notice what I am going to say, because I have
experience in military matters. The old people used to say: 'furious
Litwa'[3]--and it's true! They fight well, but they cannot withstand the
knights in the field. When the horses of the Germans are sunk in the
marshes, or when there is a thick forest--that's different."

"The Germans are good soldiers!" exclaimed the burghers.

"They stay like a wall, man beside man, in their iron armor. They advance
in one compact body. They strike, and the Litwa are scattered like sand,
or throw themselves flat on the ground and are trampled down. There are
not only Germans among them, because men of all nations serve with the
Knights of the Cross. And they are brave! Often before a battle a knight
stoops, stretches his lance, and rushes alone against the whole army."

"Christ!" exclaimed Gamroth. "And who among them are the best soldiers?"

"It depends. With the crossbow, the best is the Englishman, who can
pierce a suit of armor through and through, and at a hundred steps he
will not miss a dove. Czechowie (Bohemians) cut dreadfully with axes. For
the big two-handed sword the German is the best. The Swiss is glad to
strike the helmets with an iron flail, but the greatest knights are those
who come from France. These will fight on horseback and on foot, and in
the meanwhile they will speak very brave words, which however you will
not understand, because it is such a strange language. They are pious
people. They criticise us through the Germans. They say we are defending
the heathen and the Turks against the cross, and they want to prove it by
a knightly duel. And such God's judgment is going to be held between four
knights from their side, and four from our side, and they are going to
fight at the the court of Waclaw, the Roman and Bohemian king."[4]

Here the curiosity so increased among the noblemen and merchants, that
they stretched their necks in the direction of Macko of Bogdaniec and
they asked:

"And who are the knights from our side? Speak quickly!" Macko raised the
mug to his mouth, drank and then answered:

"Ej, don't be afraid about them. There is Jan of Wloszczowa, castellan of
Dobrzyn; there's Mikolaj of Waszmuntow; there are Jasko of Zdakow and
Jarosz of Czechow: all glorious knights and sturdy fellows. No matter
which weapons they choose,--swords or axes--nothing new to them! It will
be worth while for human eyes to see it and for human ears to hear
it--because, as I said, even if you press the throat of a Frenchman with
your foot, he will still reply with knightly words. Therefore so help me
God and Holy Cross they will outtalk us, but our knights will defeat
them."

"That will be glory, if God will bless us," said one of the nobles.

"And Saint Stanislaw!" added another. Then turning toward Macko, he asked
him further:

"Well! tell us some more! You praised the Germans and other knights
because they are valiant and have conquered Litwa easily. Did they not
have harder work with you? Did they go against you readily? How did it
happen? Praise our knights."

But evidently Macko of Bogdaniec was not a braggart, because he answered
modestly:

"Those who had just returned from foreign lands, attacked us readily; but
after they tried once or twice, they attacked us with less assurance,
because our people are hardened and they reproached us for that hardness:
'You despise,' they used to say,'death, but you help the Saracens, and
you will be damned for it.' And with us the deadly grudge increased,
because their taunt is not true! The king and the queen have christened
Litwa and everyone there tries to worship the Lord Christ although not
everyone knows how. And it is known also, that our gracious lord, when in
the cathedral of Plock they threw down the devil, ordered them to put a
candle before him--and the priests were obliged to tell him that he ought
not to do it. No wonder then about an ordinary man! Therefore many of
them say to themselves:

"'The _kniaz_[5] ordered us to be baptized, therefore I was baptized; he
ordered us to bow before the Christ, and I bowed; but why should I grudge
a little piece of cheese to the old heathen devils, or why should I not
throw them some turnips; why should I not pour the foam off of the beer?
If I do not do it, then my horses will die; or my cows will be sick, or
their milk will turn into blood--or there will be some trouble with the
harvest.' And many of them do this, and they are suspected. But they are
doing it because of their ignorance and their fear of the devils. Those
devils were better off in times of yore. They used to have their own
groves and they used to take the horses which they rode for their tithe.
But to-day, the groves are cut down and they have nothing to eat--in the
cities the bells ring, therefore the devils are hiding in the thickest
forest, and they howl there from loneliness. If a Litwin[6] goes to the
forest, then they pull him by his sheep-skin overcoat and they say:
'Give!' Some of them give, but there are also courageous boys, who will
not give and then the devils catch them. One of the boys put some beans
in an ox bladder and immediately three hundred devils entered there. And
he stuffed the bladder with a service-tree peg, brought them to Wilno and
sold them to the Franciscan priests, who gave him twenty _skojcow_[7] he
did this to destroy the enemies of