Pan Tadeusz: The Last Foray in Lithuania
Author: Adam Mickiewicz
Date: 2023-07-31T13:38:34+00:00
Keywords: Gentry -- Lithuania -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Gentry -- Poland -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Epic poetry; Polish -- Adaptations
Description: A young nobleman explores romance, feuding families, politics, and national identity during a period of social upheaval and Russian occupation.
Publisher: Standard Ebooks

Pan Tadeusz

By Adam Mickiewicz.

Translated by Maude Ashurst Biggs.

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Rules for Pronunciation of the Polish Words in the Text

The letters b, d, f, h, k, m, n, p, r, s, t, z, are pronounced as in English, except when modified, as several of them are, by particular dots or accents, necessary for the expressing of Slavonic sounds in Roman letters.

C is invariably pronounced soft, like tz, before all vowels and before consonants, even in cases where it is hard in other languages; as Soplica, pronounced Soplitza. Before the vowel i it has a palatal sound, not unlike c in Italian.

G is invariably hard, as in gill, get.

J has the same sound as in Italian or German.

K is used for the hard c of other languages, and in foreign words is substituted for it, as Catholic, written in Polish Katolik.

The letter l has two forms, one corresponding to our own; the other with a delicate stroke down has a peculiar sound, slightly resembling our w, scarcely ever mastered by foreigners. In the present work it has been judged best, owing to the impossibility of procuring suitable type, to use the simple i throughout.

N accented is pronounced like the Spanish ñ in cañon.

W like v.

Z as in English; when dotted ż, pronounced like j in French; with an accent ź the sound is sharper.

Sz has the sound of sh in English.

Cz is pronounced like ch in church.

Rz has the sound resembling that of the dotted ż or French j; thus the proper name of Dobrzynski is pronounced as if written Dobrjiñskee.

Szcz is pronounced with both sounds of sz and cz thoroughly distinct, so that the combination resembles shtch.

The vowels a, e, i, o, u, are pronounced as in all Continental languages, very broad and full. A and e are, however, susceptible of modifications, causing them to sound like en and in in French. Particular forms of the letters are used for these sounds in Polish; but in this translation the nasals are expressed by m or n, as Rembajlo, Czenstochowa—a form of spelling warranted by Polish usage.

N.b.—Consonants are pronounced far more lightly than in English.

Introduction

The Slavonic languages and their literatures are so little studied in our own country, that it is to be feared that many English men and women have not even heard the name of Poland’s greatest poet, Adam Mickiewicz. When, a few years ago, a tablet was affixed to the house at Rome in which the poet had for a short time lodged, there were many oracular utterances in the newspapers to make clear to wondering foreigners what sort of person that name implied. And yet the writings of Mickiewicz are well worth our attention. He is preeminently the national poet of Poland; in him is to be found the voice of its sufferings and struggles—the echo of its history and long-cherished traditions. No writer has more faithfully reproduced the old Polish life and manners and the spirit of its national songs. He has himself beautifully said that in the popular lay lies hidden the weapon of the nation’s hero, and the woven thread of the nation’s thoughts—

“With the wings and voice of the archangel
Sometimes also thou holdest the sword of the archangel;”1—

and all this will assuredly be found in his own poetry, with its quaint tales of old Polish life and Lithuanian chivalry, its fantastic legends of enchanted lakes and oaks of immemorial sanctity.

It is probable that only the circumstance of his poems being written in a difficult language, which it is not the fashion to study in England, has kept them so absolutely unknown to our countrymen. Such is far from being the case in Germany and France. But in the words of doom, vae victis, may also be read the degradation of the language of the conquered. Polish, however, is not yet a dead language nor likely to be; it is still spoken by nearly ten millions of people, and boasts of many living writers of merit.

Let us hope then that our countrymen will welcome this work by Miss Maude A. Biggs, a lady already so favourably known by her version of “Konrad Wallenrod.” She puts before us a translation of a celebrated poem by Mickiewicz, Pan Tadeusz, a graphic picture of old Polish life in Lithuania before the invasion of Russia by Napoleon in 1812. During the independence of Poland this country had formed a very important portion of the republic; it is now divided into Russian governments.

Perhaps the novelty of the manners described in this poem, and the graphic pictures of earlier forms of society, may recommend it to the English reader. Miss Biggs has performed her task exceedingly well, although Polish is so difficult a language and the poem she has selected is national to the very core. For the rhyming lines of the original she has substituted blank verse, a metre with which Englishmen are familiar in long poems, and which allows a translator to be more literal by emancipating him from what have been called the tags of rhyme. She is always faithful to her author, and cleverly reproduces the spirit of his poem, although something must necessarily be lost in every translation. The manly sounds of the English language are fitter than those of many others for reproducing the echoes of the vigorous Polish tongue. It is impossible not to recall to one’s mind the fine words of Casimir Brodzinski, himself a poet of no mean order. “Let,” says he, “the Pole smile with manly pride when the inhabitant of the banks of the Tiber or Seine calls his language rude; let him hear with keen satisfaction and the dignity of a judge the stranger who painfully struggles with the Polish pronunciation, like a sybarite trying to lift an old Roman coat of armour, or when he strives to articulate the language of men with the weak accent of a child. So long as courage is not wanting to our nation, and our morals have not become degraded, let us not disavow this manly roughness of our language. It has its harmony and its melody, but it is the murmur of an oak of three hundred years, and not the plaintive and feeble cry of a reed, swayed by every wind.”

The life of Mickiewicz, who died thirty years ago, was a very sad one. He was born in 1798, and at an early age became an exile, never seeing his native country after 1829. How great were his longings to revisit it, we find by the commencement of Pan Tadeusz, which breathes all the despair of an exile. He settled in Paris and became a professor of the Slavonic languages and literatures at the College de France. This office, however, he was compelled to resign on account of his identifying himself with the strange views of Towianski. His wife afterwards became He insane, and we have a pathetic portrait of the poet towards the close of his life in the Memoirs of Herzen, published originally in the Russian magazine Polar Star (Poliarnaia Zviezda). He appeared to the Russian politician as a man bowed down with troubles, prematurely grey, and lost in the labyrinths of religious mysticism. In 1855 he was sent to Constantinople to assist in forming a Polish legion to serve against the Russians in the Crimean War, and died there.

Mickiewicz is altogether a strange and interesting figure, and deserves to be known much more widely than in the comparatively narrow circle of his compatriots. He has shown excellence in many fields of literature, but especially in his ballads and narrative poems. The exquisite grace and finish of his sonnets, especially those inspired by the poet’s visit to the Crimea, will be acknowledged by all acquainted with his writings; they are the finest in any Slavonic language, and may be compared with some of the best Italian and English compositions of the same kind.

With the good wishes of a few hearty admirers of the poet this version of one of his most striking productions is venturesomely sent forth to the great English-speaking public.

W. R. Morfill.

Translator’s Preface

In order to have a clear understanding of the spirit in which this poem is composed, it will not perhaps be considered irrelevant to prefix a short abstract of the historical events on which it is founded, and to which reference is made in the course of the story. The wars of Napoleon, and the relation these had to the politics and prospects of the Polish nation, form the historical groundwork of the poem, which may therefore be taken as representing a portion of European history at present little known and studied. It is, however, generally admitted that for the right understanding and just appreciation of the literature of a people a certain knowledge of their past and present history is absolutely necessary, and of no people is this more true than of the Poles, whose literary works, even such as, strictly speaking, cannot be classed as historical, abound with references to the past, and are replete with allusions to historical and traditional names and events, almost every one of which must require explanation to those not previously acquainted with the subject. It is scarcely possible to study any classical work in this, perhaps the richest and most highly cultivated of all the Slavonic languages, without as it were half-unconsciously acquiring some knowledge of the traditions to which such frequent allusion is made. No further excuse it is therefore hoped will be necessary for commencing this work with an account of the chief circumstances which transpired from the year 1794 or 1795 to the beginning of 1812, between which the whole interest of this story is comprised.

After the battle of Maciejowice and capture of Warsaw, many of the Poles took refuge in France, since they imagined that the republic would no doubt immediately commence a crusade against the enemies of Poland, and therefore readily offered their services in the French armies. At this period a regulation existed forbidding the French Government from receiving foreign troops into their service. The difficulty was evaded by proclaiming the Polish exiles citizens of the Cisalpine Republic, one of the short lived states created about this time by Bonaparte. They were formed into legions, marching under their own colours, and bearing in addition the motto, “Gli uomini liberi sono fratelli.” The legions were commanded by Henry Dombrowski, who for some time had held a command in the Saxon army, and, strange to say, spoke German better than Polish. They greatly contributed to the success of the French in Italy, but on the cessation of hostilities by the treaty of Campo Formio, found their expectations deceived. No mention was made of Poland in the articles of peace.

It was not however long before hostilities were resumed. Suwarow, being despatched to the help of the Austrians, in 1799 defeated the French in several battles. The Poles, venturing again to trust those who had once deceived them, entered once more into the service of France, this time as part of the French army, since Napoleon, after subverting the Directory, had abolished the regulation relative to the employment of foreign troops. The first legion of the Poles threw themselves into Mantua, which was besieged by the Austrians, and on its capitulation were delivered into the hands of the enemy by the French, who had bound themselves by a secret treaty to restore to the Austrians their deserters, namely those Poles who had escaped from their ranks to join the French. The remainder, under Dombrowski, took refuge in France, and after many changes of fortune were formed into one legion, part of which was detached to form the so-called Legion of the Danube under General Kniaziewicz. Dombrowski had conceived a plan for reaching Poland through Bohemia and Moravia. But it was soon manifest that no solid assistance was to be expected from Napoleon, who regarded them merely as instruments of his own projects. A number of the Legion of the Danube were at Genoa for Haiti, for the forcibly embarked quelling of the insurrection successfully carried on by Toussaint L’Ouverture. Numbers of the Poles succumbed to the climate, and few returned to their own country. A certain number preferred to remain in Haiti, and make common cause with the negroes, instead of opposing those who had in no way injured their cause.

Nevertheless, the legions of the Poles continued, hoping against hope, to fight the battles and support the cause of Napoleon. One alone was wiser. Napoleon at one time endeavoured to obtain the support of Kosciuszko, but the veteran hero refused the prestige of his name to his designs. Bonaparte nevertheless was still able to preserve the belief of the exiles in his benevolent intentions, and thus waste their strength and lives in aiding his schemes of conquest.

Still after the battle of Austerlitz, wherein the German powers were for the time being crushed, Posen became independent, and Napoleon soon entered Polish territory with the legion of Dombrowski, as we find related in Book VII of the poem. The Poseners at once joined with their countrymen and the French to conquer East Prussia, and to besiege Dantzig. The Russians now came to the assistance of Prussia, and thus the French were at war with both powers at once. The battles of Pultusk, Eylau, Friedland, followed in quick succession. It seemed probable that Napoleon would soon cross the Niemen, and enter Lithuania; but instead of this he held a personal conference with Alexander I at the bridge at Tilsit, where they arranged the articles of a peace, July 7, 1807. By this treaty a considerable portion of Poland was taken from the King of Prussia, and erected into the Duchy of Warsaw, but part of the Polish territory was still left in the hands of the Germans, and the province of Bialystok was detached to form part of the Czar’s dominions.

Shortly after this Napoleon was at war with the Austrian Emperor Francis, and while the Emperor of the French was fighting his way towards Vienna, the Archduke Ferdinand proceeded towards Warsaw, with an army four times larger than the handful of Polish troops, who alone remained to guard the newly created Duchy of Warsaw. The Poles made a gallant stand at Raszyn against the Austrian troops, so much so that the Archduke accepted a convention by which, Warsaw being surrendered to him, he bound himself not to act against Praga, on the other side the river. Dombrowski hastened to Great Poland, or the Grand Duchy of Posen, and Prince Joseph Poniatowski crossed the Vistula with part of the army. Then followed an astonishing campaign, in which a small handful of Polish troops quickly spread themselves over a vast extent of country, defeated and scattered Austrian troops many times more numerous, and conquered province after province with surprising rapidity. In one month they had taken Lublin, Sandomir, Zamosc, and Leopol, and fresh troops from these provinces swelled their forces into an army equal in size to the Austrian. The Archduke was forced to abandon Warsaw. The Russians entering at this point into the struggle captured Leopol, but shielded the rest of Galicia from any further attack. On the 15th of July Poniatowski took Krakow, but the news of an armistice stayed further operations. Peace was concluded in Vienna on the 14th of October. The conquests of Poniatowski included Krakow, and half the salt-mines of Wieliczka were joined to the Duchy of Warsaw, but the other half and all the territory known as Old Galicia were left to Austria. Napoleon detached the circle of Tarnopol, which he gave to Russia.

All of Poland that at this time boasted of independence was comprised in the small Duchy of Warsaw, which had a special constitution granted by Napoleon. The Elector of Saxony was sovereign of the new state, with a French administration, wherein the deputies of the nation had but little power. The army alone was purely Polish, consisting of 90,000 men, but a considerable portion of these were despatched to Spain, and while thus condemned to combat free men, who had in no way injured the Polish cause, left their own country almost without defenders.

Still a general impression prevailed that something more decisive would be done, and through five years warlike operations went on apace in the Duchy. It became day by day more apparent that Napoleon would soon break off all agreements with the Czar, and throughout the year 1811 diplomatic negotiations were carried on, the ultimate ending of which was variously conjectured. But day by day the real intentions of Napoleon became plainer. The Polish forces in the heart of Spain, at the furthest bounds of Europe, begun to move towards their own country. At length in August war was finally declared between France and Russia. Napoleon entered into a secret treaty with Austria to give up Illyria or Dalmatia in exchange for Galicia. On the 24th of June 1812 the French and Polish armies crossed the Niemen, on the 28th Napoleon himself entered Wilna, and the union of Lithuania with Poland was proclaimed.

The further progress of the campaign and its terrible conclusion are matters of history, and have nothing to do with the plot of the poem now before us; they need not therefore be further particularised. No allusion is therein made to the retreat from Moscow; the future is only, as it were, intimated in far-off dim perspective beyond the bright conclusion of the story. It is said that at one time Mickiewicz intended to write another epic as a sequel to “Thaddeus,” carrying on the adventures of his hero over the time of the Congress of Vienna, and up to the events of 1831, but from various causes this design never was carried out. The poem we have was completed with difficulty, amid hindrances of various kinds-illness, poverty, political and literary engagements, and interruptions under which the exercise of the poetic faculty was well-nigh impossible. Little of poetical value ever proceeded from the pen of the author later than the production of this his greatest work; and as the wonderful dramatic poem of the “Ancestors” remains incomplete and fragmentary, it represents the consummate effort of this sublime genius. a picture of old Polish life, and the manners and customs, thoughts and feelings, of the Poles at the epoch of which it treats, it stands unrivalled; and as a national epic, the greatest work of the greatest poet of the Polish nation, occupies a high position in European literature, similar to that which the principal epics of ancient and modern languages have always done. It is to Polish not only that which the Iliad is to Greek, the Aeneid to Latin, the Niebelungen to Germany, the Divina Commedia to Italy, but also that which the Canterbury Tales and Shakespeare’s historical plays are to England, and Don Quixote to Spain. It is therefore to be hoped that this attempt to introduce for the first time into this country an image of the thoughts and feelings of a people, whose literature is only neglected because they have no recognised position among nations, may not be wholly unwelcome. The literature of any country seldom receives more important additions than in faithful translations of the standard works of other tongues, and whatever may be the shortcomings of the following translation, it is hoped that indulgence may be shown in consideration of being an attempt to introduce into the circle of English literature one element hitherto unknown to it.

Whatever faults the critical eye may discern must be laid rather to the charge of the translation than to that of the original, of which the exquisite beauty in execution, and marvellous artistic finish, cannot be appreciated except by readers of Polish. The greatest care has, however, been taken to ensure exact and literal rendering of every phrase, and full explanatory notes have been added, for the elucidation of matters unfamiliar to English readers. In proof of this it may be mentioned that some of the information upon scientific subjects has been kindly afforded by the Academy of Sciences at Krakow. For assistance, however, in the preparation of this work for the press, as well as in contributing a large share of the notes, the translator is above all indebted to Mr. Edmond S. Naganowski, for whose unvarying kindness and valuable help in literary work she cannot express sufficient thanks, and only trust that as displayed in the result they will meet as cordial a recognition from the public as from herself.

M. A. B.

June 1885.

Pan Tadeusz

The Last Foray2 in Lithuania

Book
I

Home-Keeping

Return of a young gentleman—A first meeting in a chamber, a second at table—Valuable instructions of the Judge concerning politeness—The Podkomorzy’s political views on fashions—The beginning of the quarrel of Kusy and Sokol—The Wojski’s sorrow—The last Wozny of the tribunal—A glance over the contemporary political situation in Lithuania and Europe.

Litva! my country, like art thou to health,
For how to prize thee he alone can tell
Who has lost thee. I behold thy beauty now
In full adornment, and I sing of it
Because I long for thee.
O holy Virgin!
Thou, who defendest Czenstochowa bright,3
And shinest in the Ostra Gate, who shieldest
The castled town of Nowogrodek with
Its faithful people; as by miracle
Thou didst restore me as a child to health,
When by a weeping mother, I, confided
To thy protection, raised my half-dead eye,
And to the threshold of thy sanctuary
Could go at once on foot to offer thanks
To God for life returned;4 do thou likewise
Restore us thus by miracle unto
The bosom of our Fatherland! Meanwhile
Bear thou my soul, consumed by longing, to
Those wooded hills, unto those meadows green
Broad stretching on the azure Niemen’s shore;
Towards those fields, rich hued with various grain,
Golden with wheat, and silvered with the rye,
Where amber rape, where buckwheat white as snow,
Where with a maiden blush the clover glows,
And all, as with a ribbon girdled by
A green ridge, whereon pear-trees far apart.
Amid such fields, years since, upon the brink
Of running water, on a hill not high,
Among a birchen thicket; framed of wood,
There stood a noble’s mansion, underbuilt
With masonry; the whitened walls gleamed far;
And whiter from the contrast they appeared
Against the dark-green poplar tree that shielded
The house from blasts of autumn. ’Twas not large,
The dwelling-house, but all round neat and clean.
It had a great barn, and three stacks beside
Of garnered corn, that underneath the thatch
Could not be placed. ’Twas seen the region round
Was rich in corn, and from the corn-stooks thick
As stars, appearing all their length and breadth
Upon the clearings: from the many ploughs,
Those dark-green fallows turning up thus soon,
Which to the mansion surely appertained;
’Twas seen that order and abundance reigned
Within this house. The gate half open stood,
Proclaiming unto all who travelled by,
Its hospitality, inviting all.

This very moment, in a two-horse chaise,
A youthful gentleman approached the gate,
And traversing the courtyard came before
The gallery. He lighted from the chaise.
The horses, left there, ’gan to nip the grass
Before the door, at leisure. Empty seemed
The house; the doors were locked and fastened close
With bolts and padlock. But the traveller
Ran not unto the farm to call for servants;
But oped the door, and ran into the house.
He longed to welcome it, since he for long
Had not beheld his home. For in the city
Far off for education he had stayed;
The end long waited for had come at last.
He ran within, and eagerly he gazed,
And tenderly, upon those ancient walls
As old acquaintances. He viewed again
The self-same furniture, same tapestry,
With which he loved to play from swaddling-bands.
But less of size it seemed, less beautiful
Than formerly. And those same portraits hung
Around the walls. There Kosciuszko, clad
In the Cracovian czamara,56 raised
His eyes to heaven, and grasped a two-hand sword;
Such as when, on the altar-steps, he swore
He with this sword would drive the despots three
From Poland, or himself upon it fall.
And further Rejtan7 sat, in Polish dress
Grieving for freedom lost; he grasped a knife,
The blade towards his breast; before him lay
Phaedo and Cato’s life. Jasinski8 there
A beautiful and sadly-looking youth;
Beside him Korsak, his unsevered friend.
They stand on Praga’s ramparts, over piles
Of Muscovites, the foemen cutting down;
But Praga burned already round them.9 Even
The ancient clock with chimes the traveller knew
In wooden case, at the entrance of the alcove.
And with a childish joy he pulled the string
To hear again Dombrowski’s old mazurka.

He ran through all the house, and sought that room,
Where as a child he dwelt, long years ago;
Entered—retired; his wondering glances flew
Around the walls; a woman’s dwelling here!
Whose was it? His old uncle was unmarried.
In Petersburg for years had dwelt his aunt.
’Twas not the housekeeper’s. A piano here:
Upon it books and music: strewn about
Without or heed or care—a sweet disorder.
They were not ancient hands that strewed them so.
A white frock here, late taken from a peg
To indue, unfolded on a chair arm lay.
And in the window pots of perfumed flowers,
Geraniums, asters, wallflowers, violets.
And in one window stood the traveller.
New wonder! on a border once o’ergrown
With nettles, in the orchard, he beheld
A little garden crossed by garden walks;
All filled with flowers, with English grass and mint;
A wooden paling, with initials wreathed,
Gleamed with a hundredfold of ribbons gay.
The beds, ’twas seen, were freshly watered; near
There stood tin vessels full of water. Still
The pretty gardener nowhere might be seen,
Though she had passed but lately. Still the bushes
Were rocking to and fro, as lately stirred,
And near the trees a little foot’s light print
Upon the sand, shoeless and stockingless,
Upon the light dry sand, as white as snow,
An imprint plainly marked, but light; no doubt
Left in swift running by the tiny foot
Of one, who hardly even touched the earth.
Long in the window stood the traveller
Looking and dreaming: drinking in sweet breath
Of flowers, he bent his visage downward to
The violet plants; with curious eyes pursued
The tiny footprints on the path, and there
Once more he fixed them, thought of them and whose
They were;—he had guessed. By chance he raised his eyes,
And on the garden wall, behold there stood
A young girl. Her white garment only hid
Her slender figure o’er the bosom, leaving
Unveiled her shoulders and her swan-like neck.
Such dress a Lithuanian woman wears
In the morning, and in such is never seen
By men. So though she had none there to see,
She laid her hands upon her bosom, thus
A veil supplying to the little frock.
Not loose in curls her locks, but twisted round
In little knots, and hidden from the sight
In white and tiny husks, that wondrously
Adorned the head; for in the sun’s bright rays,
They shone as shines the glory on a saint.
Her face was seen not. Turned unto the plain
She looked for some one, far below. She saw,
And laughed, and clapped her hands; then from the wall
She flew like a white bird, and glided o’er
The garden, over beds and over flowers,
And on a plank against the chamber-wall,
Before the traveller marked it, through the window
She darted, shining, sudden, silent, light,
Like to a moonbeam. Singing, she caught up
The frock, and ran towards the mirror. Then
She first perceived the youth, and from her hands
The garment fell, and pale she grew with fright
And wonder. And the traveller’s countenance
Glowed with a rosy colour, like a cloud
Which meets the morning dawn. The modest youth
Half shut his eyes and screened them. He endeavoured
To speak, entreat her pardon; but he only
Could bow and then retire. The maiden shrieked
Unmeaningly, like children scared in sleep;
The traveller looked alarmed, but she was gone.
He left the room confused, and felt his heart
Loud-beating; and himself he scarcely knew
If this fantastic meeting should amuse,
Or shame him, or rejoice him.
But meanwhile
It ’scaped not heed upon the farm, that now
Some new guest to the gallery had driven.
The horses to their stable had been led,
And fed with plenty, as there was abundance
In this well-ordered house of hay and fodder;
For never would the Judge10 by following
New fashions, send the horses of his guests
Unto the Jews who kept the inn. The servants
Had come not forth to welcome, but think not
That in the Judge’s house was careless service;
The servants wait till the Pan Wojski11 come,
Who ordered supper now behind the house.
The master’s place he holds, and in his absence
Himself receives and welcometh all guests,
A distant kinsman being, and household friend.
On seeing a guest, he hastened to the farm,
Unseen, because he would not come to meet him
In cloth undress; so quickly as he might
He put his Sunday dress on; ready since
The morning, for he from the morning knew
He should with many guests sit down to supper.

The Wojski recognised the traveller
Far off, outspread his arms, and with a cry
Embraced and kissed him. Then began that rapid
Confused discourse, wherein we strive to enclose
The events of many years in few short words
And precious, in the course of stories, questions,
Of exclamations, sighs, and fresh salutings.
When the Pan Wojski had inquired enough,
Enough had learned, he at the end of all
The annals of this very day relates.

“ ’Tis well, my Thaddeus,”—for such the name,
Kosciuszko’s name, by which the youth was called
As sign that in the war-time12 he was born—
“ ’Tis well, my Thaddeus, thou cam’st home to-day,
While we have so many fair young ladies here.
Thine uncle thinks to make a wedding for thee;
There is good choice at hand; much company
Is gathered here some days since for the judgment
Of frontier, to conclude that quarrel with
The Count. The Count himself comes here to-morrow;
The Chamberlain13 already is arrived,
With wife and daughters. With their guns the youths
Have sought the forest; but the old men and
The women watch the reapers, near the forest,
And there await the coming of the youths.
We’ll go there, if thou wilt, and shortly we
Shall meet thine uncle and the Chamberlain,
His family,14 and all the honoured ladies.”

The Wojski went with Thaddeus by the wood,
And still they could not talk out all their fill.
The sun had reached the last degrees of heaven;
Less strong his blaze, yet broader than at noon,
All redly shining, like the hearty face
Of a husbandman, whose labour in the field
Is done, when he returneth home for rest.
The radiant round already sank upon
The summits of the pine-trees, and already
The misty twilight filled their crowns and boughs;
And bound in one the forest all, commingling.
Black grew the thicket like a mighty building,
The sun above like red fire on the roof.
Then in the depth he fell, between the trunks
Still gleaming like a candle through the crannies
Of shutters, and extinguished was. Forthwith
The sickles clashing in the corn, and rakes
Upon the meadow silent were, and stayed.
For so the Judge commands: with day for him
The labourer’s toils were over. The world’s Lord
Doth know the length of time for man to work;
And when the sun, his workman, leaves the sky,
Time ’tis earth’s labourer too should leave the field.
Thus used the Judge to say; the Judge’s will
Was sacred to the honest overseer.
For ev’n the wagons, wherein they but now
Began to lade the rye, half full set off
Towards the barn; the oxen did rejoice
To feel such light and unaccustomed load.

Now from the wood came all the company,
Joyful but yet in order. First the children
Came with their tutor; next the Judge, with him
The lady of the Chamberlain; beside
The Chamberlain with all his family.
The girls went close behind the elder women,
The youths beside the maidens, but these went
Before the young men by some half-a-step.
Thus decency commands. None held discourse
Of precedence, none ranked the men and women,
But each kept order due despite himself;
For in his house the Judge old customs kept,
And never suffered any lack respect
For age, for office, birth, or intellect.
’Tis by such order, said he, houses flourish,
And nations; by its fall they come to ruin.
The household and the servants thus were used
To order, and the guest but lately come,
Kinsman or stranger, all who visited
The Judge, received those customs, whereof all
Around was redolent.
Short welcoming
The Judge had for his nephew, gave to him
With dignity his hand to kiss, and health
Wished unto him, with kiss upon his brow;
But though he spoke but little with him then,
From that respect he owed his guests, the tears
That with his garment’s15 hem he quickly dried,
Showed well how he loved Master Thaddeus.

And in the master’s traces everything
From forest and from pasture, mead and grove,
Forthwith returned. A bleating flock of sheep,
Here in the lane together hustling, raised
A cloud of dust. And further onward strode
A herd of Tyrol calves, with brazen bells;
There neighing horses from the new-mown mead
Flew; all together ran unto the well,
Whose wooden arm did forthwith creak, and pour
A stream of water in a wooden trough.

The Judge, though tired, though with company,
Missed not a farmer’s weighty duties. He
Himself betook him to the well. For best
At eventide the master may review
The state of his live stock; nor left he e’er
This overlooking to his servants; well
The Judge knew “master’s eye makes fat the horse.”16

The Wojski, with Protasius the Wozny,17
Await with lights within the hall; they stand
Conversing, and somewhat at variance.
For while as yet the Wojski stayed away,
The Wozny secretly had given orders
To bring the supper-tables from the house,
And swiftly as might be to set them up
In midmost of an ancient castle hall,
The ruins might be seen beyond the forest.
But why these changes? the Pan Wojski frowned,
And asked the Judge’s pardon; much the Judge
Did marvel; but ’twas so; the hour was late,
And change were difficult; he would entreat
The pardon of his guests, and lead them to
The desert place. The Wozny on the road
Unfolded to the Judge the cause which led him
To misconstrue his will. Within the house
There was no room which could a space supply
For guests so many or so honourable.
The castle had a great hall, yet preserved;
The roof was whole; one wall indeed had fallen.
The windows had no panes; but this in summer
Was of no moment; and the cellars’ nearness
Was for the servants a convenience great.
While saying this he winked unto the Judge,
And by his mien disclosed his mind concealed
Yet weightier causes.
Some two thousand paces
A castle stood beyond the house. It was
A stately structure, by its mass imposing:
In former times it was the heritage
Of the Horeszkos’ ancient race. Deceased
Its last possessor in intestine wars,
The estates, by sequestration half destroyed,
By the trustees’ neglect, and law-decrees,
In part had fallen unto distant kinsmen
By spindle side, the rest to creditors
Had been divided. None would take the castle;
’Twere hard to spare the cost of maintenance
In noble state. But yet these old walls pleased
The youthful Count, a neighbour near, who when
He passed from tutelage, and late was come
From travel, said they were of Gothic structure;
Although the Judge made sure from documents
The architect a master was from Wilna,
And not a Goth at all. It was enough
The Count desired the Castle; and the Judge
Did suddenly conceive the same desire;
None knew the reason. So began a suit
Before the local, then the central court,
Then in the Senate, local court again,
And governor’s tribunal. And at last,
After great cost and many ukases,
This action to the local courts returned.

Well had the Wozny said that in this hall,
The guests invited, and a court of law
Alike might find a place. The hall was great,
Like a refectory; its arch swelled high,
Raised upon pillars; paved the floor with stone.
The walls were unadorned, but smooth and clear.
The horns of roes and stags were ranged around,
With legends, showing where these spoils were ta’en;
Each with its proper name stood there inscribed,
And on the arched roof gleamed Horeszko’s crest,
Polkozic.18
All the guests in order came,19
And in a circle stood. The Chamberlain
At table took the highest seat; this place
Was his by right of dignity and years.
In going there he to the ladies bowed,
The old men, and the youths. Beside him stood
A begging friar, beside the friar the Judge.
The Bernardine in Latin spoke short grace;
Then brandy to the men was given; all
Forthwith were seated, and in silence ate
The Litvin cholodziec20 with appetite.

Though young, by right of guest Thaddeus sat
Beside his uncle, and among the ladies.
Between him and his uncle there remained
An empty place, that seemed to wait its guest.
The uncle glanced at it, and at the door,
As sure of some one’s coming and desirous;
And Thaddeus followed too his uncle’s glance.
Strange thing: the places round were seats of maidens,
All highly born, and each one young and fair,
But Thaddeus gazed on that where none appeared.
This place a riddle was; young men love riddles.
Absent in thought, to the Podkomorzanka,21
His lovely neighbour, scarce few words he said;
Nor changed her plates, nor filled her glass with wine,
Nor e’er with courteous speeches entertained
The ladies, whereby they might recognise
His city breeding. But this empty place
Alone had power to charm him; not now void:
He had filled it with his thoughts; around this place
A thousand guesses ran, as after rain
Frogs on a lonely meadow; ’mid them queens
One solitary figure, as in sunshine
The lily of the lake her white brow lifts
Above the waters.
Now the third course came.
And now the Chamberlain a drop of wine
Outpouring into Mistress Rosa’s glass,
And pushing to his younger daughter’s hand
A plate of cucumbers, thus said, “ ’Tis I
Myself must serve you, daughters mine, although
I am but old and clumsy.” Hearing this,
Some youths from table sprang, and served the ladies.
The Judge a side glance cast at Thaddeus,
And setting right the cuffs of his kontusz,
Poured out the wine of Hungary, and said,
“To-day, by our new custom, we send out
Our youth to study in the capital;
Not grudging they should have more lore from books
Than had their elders, but I see each day
How much from this young men are suffering,
For lack of schools to teach our youth to live
With men, and in the world. In former times
Young nobles went unto the courts of lords.
Myself a Wojewode’s22 courtier was ten years,
The father of our gracious Chamberlain.”
This saying, he pressed his friend upon the knee.
“His counsels formed me for the public service,
His favour left me not till made a man.
In my house ever be his memory dear,
Each day I pray the Lord God for his soul.
If in his court so much I did not profit
As others, worthier of the Wojewode’s grace,
Who after reached the country’s highest places,
At least I reaped this profit; in my house
None can reproach me, that I ever fail
In honour or in courtesy to any;
And this I boldly say, that courtesy
Is not an easy, nor a little thing.
Not easy, for ’tis not comprised in this,
To deftly lift a leg, or to salute
No matter whom with smiles. Such modish court’sy
Seems merchant-like to me, but not Old Polish,
Nor noble. Courtesy belongs to all,
But unto each another sort. For not
Devoid of courtesy is children’s love,
Nor for his wife attentions of a husband,
Nor of a master for his servants; still
There is in each a certain difference;
And long a man must study not to err,
And give to each the honour that is due.
Our elders learned it from discourse of lords,
The living history of the country, and
’Mid noblemen the annals of the district.
Thereby a nobleman might show his brother
All knew him well, and did not lightly prize him;
So nobles held their manners under guard.
Ask not a man to-day, Who is he? Who
Has been his father? With whom has he lived?
What are his deeds? Each enters where he will,
So he is not a governmental spy,
And not in poverty. As once Vespasian
Sniffed not at money, and would not inquire
Whence came it, from what hands, and from what country,
So men ask not a man’s race, or his customs.
Enough he seems important, and they view
The stamp upon him; so they prize their friends,
As Jews do money.”
Saying this, the Judge
Looked round in order on his guests, for though
He ever spake with fluency and judgment,
He knew young folks impatient now-a-days,
And that long speeches, though most eloquent,
Do weary them. But all in silence heard.
The Judge seemed with the Chamberlain to take
Counsel by glance of eye; the Chamberlain
Would not by praising interrupt, though oft
Assenting by a nod. The Judge was silent;
His friend still gave assent by beckoning.
The Judge filled up his goblet and his own,
And then continued: “Courtesy is not
A little thing; for when a man has learned
To estimate as is becoming birth,
Age, virtues, customs in all others, he
Perceiveth then his own weight; as on scales
If we would know our own, we first must lay
Some other weight upon the opposing scale.
But, gentlemen, now of your special heed
The courtesy is worthy, which young men
Do to the fair sex owe, especially
When houses’ greatness, fortune’s bounties more
Light up the charms and virtues nature gave.
Hence is the way to love, and marriage thence,
Magnificent allier of houses. Thus
Our elders thought, and therefore”—Here the Judge
With sudden turn of head to Thaddeus signed,
Threw a severe glance at him; as a sign
That he had reached the moral of his speech.

The Chamberlain his golden snuff-box tapped,
And said, “Good Judge, at one time ’twas far worse.
I do not know if we are changed by fashion,
We elder men, or if young men are better,
But now I see far less degeneracy.
I recollect the time, alas! when to
Our Fatherland French manners entered first.
When petty, foreign gentlemen, on sudden,
From stranger lands invaded us in hordes,
Worse than the Nogaj Tartars,23 persecuting
God in their country, their forefathers’ faith,
Their customs, laws, and even their ancient dress.
’Twas pitiful to see these dried-up youngsters,
Talking through noses, oft without their noses,
In brochures learnèd, and in the gazettes;
Proclaiming new beliefs, toilettes, and laws,
This rabble had great power upon men’s minds.
For when the Lord God lets chastisement loose
O’er nations, he bereaves them first of sense.24
And so the wisest dared not beard the fops;
And all the nation feared them like the plague,
Feeling disease’s germ within ev’n then.
They cried against the fashionable fops,
But took their pattern by them; changed their faith,
Their speech, their laws, their dress; it was indeed
A masquerade, a carnival of license,
For which a great fast followed—slavery.

“I recollect, although but then a child,
When to my father’s house in Oszmiana,
In a French chariot the Podczaszyc25 came,
The first in Litva who wore French costume,
And all pursued him as small birds a kite.26
The houses envied were, before whose threshold
The two-horse chaise in which he rode stood still,
Which in the French tongue they called cariole.
Instead of lackeys sat two dogs behind,
And on the box a great and ugly German,27
Thin as a plank, with long lean legs like hop-poles,
In stockings clad, and slippers silver-clasped,
And wig with queue tied up into a bag.
Seeing this equipage, the old men snorted
With laughter, and the peasants signed the cross,
And said that there was riding o’er the world
A Venice devil in a German car.
What the Podczaszyc was ’twere long to tell;
Enough to us he seemed an ape or parrot,
In a great peruke, that he loved to liken,
He to the golden fleece—we to the plica.28
If any one then felt our Polish dress
Was handsomer than aping foreign modes,
He dared not say so, lest the young men should
Cry out against it that it hindered culture,
It kept back progress, ’twas a treacherous thing;
Such was the power of that time’s prejudice.29

“Said the Podczaszyc that to reformate us,
He’d civilize and constitutionise us.30
He announced to us some Frenchmen eloquent
Had a discovery made, that men are equal;
Though in the law divine this long was writ,
And every priest from pulpit said the same.
Old was that knowledge; its fulfilment now
Concerned us; but at that time reigned such blindness,
That none believed the world’s most ancient things,
Unless they read them in a French gazette.
Despite equality, he took the title
Of Marquis; it is known that titles come
From Paris, and at that time there the title
Of Marquis was in fashion. So at last,
Soon as the fashion changed, this Marquis took
Title of Democrat; at length with change
Of fashion, when Napoleon reigned, the Democrat
Arrived from Paris as a Baron. Had he
Lived longer, with some other alteration,
He had rebaptized himself a Democrat.
For Paris glories in repeated change
Of fashion, and in what the French invent
The Pole delights.
“Praise be to God that now
If our young men beyond the frontier pass,
’Tis not to seek for dress, or legislation
In shops of booksellers, or eloquence
To learn in Paris cafés. For Napoleon,
A prudent man and prompt, allows no time
To study fashions, or to chatter. Now
The sword resounds, and in us old men swell
Our hearts that once again the world is loud
With glory of the Poles. Now is there glory;
There will be therefore a Republic: since
From laurels ever blossoms Freedom’s tree.
Only ’tis sad, so many years drag on
For us, in idleness, and they still far!
So long to wait; even news so seldom comes.
Father Robak”31—in a lower tone he spoke
Unto the Bernardine—“I heard that you
Have news from that side Niemen; and perhaps
Your reverence knows something of our army?”
“No, nothing,” careless seeming answer made
The Bernardine; “I like not politics.
If I at times from Warsaw have a letter,
It is of things that but concern our Order,
Our Bernardine affairs, and wherefore talk
Of these at supper; all are laymen here,
Whom such affairs in no wise can concern.”

This saying, he looked askance where ’mid the feasters,
There sat one Russian guest, a Captain Rykow,
An ancient soldier, in the village near
He had been quartered. Him through courtesy
The Judge had asked to supper. Rykow ate
With appetite, scarce mingling in discourse;
But when they spoke of Warsaw, he rejoined,
Raising his head: “Fie! fie! Sir Chamberlain!
You are ever anxious about Bonaparte,
Always on Warsaw! what! your Fatherland!
I am no spy, yet understand I Polish.
Country! I feel all that! I understand it!
You are Poles, a Russian I; but now we fight not.
There’s now an armistice: we eat and drink
Together. Often on our outer posts
We chat with Frenchmen; and we drink our wódka32
Together—now hurrah! and cannons sound!
A Russian proverb says: ‘With whom I fight,
I love him.’—‘Love your wife like to your soul,
And beat her like your szuba.’33 I say we
Shall have a war. For Major Plut’s arrived;
The adjutant of staff came yesterday,
With orders to prepare to march. We march;
’Tis either on the Turks, or on the French.
That Bonaparte! perhaps he may out-trump us;
Without Suwarow. In our regiment they
Tell how as we were marching on the trench,
That Bonaparte used sorceries:34 well then,
Suwarow, too, used magic; so it was
A sorcery pitted against sorcery.
One day in fight—wherever was he gone?
They sought for Bonaparte; he had changed himself
Into a fox, and so Suwarow turned
Himself into a greyhound; Bonaparte
Again did change himself into a cat.
So on to tear each other with their claws!
Suwarow changed into an ass. Now you
Shall see what later came to Bonaparte.”
Rykow broke off, and ate: then came a servant
In with the fourth course, and the side doors oped,
And a new person entered, young and fair.
Her sudden coming, stature, and her beauty
And dress turned every eye: all welcomed her;
It seemed, excepting Thaddeus, all knew her.
A slender shape was hers, and beautiful;
And gown of a rich stuff, a rosy silk,
The neck cut low, lace collar, and short sleeves.
She twirled within her hand a fan—for pastime,
Since ’twas not hot—she waved the gilded fan,
And scattered round a plenteous rain of sparks.
Her locks were wreathed in twisted braids and curls,
With rosy ribbons intertwined; among them
A brilliant, nearly hidden from the eye,
Shone like a star among a comet’s tresses.
It was a gala dress, and not a few
Whispered it was too fine for country life,
And for a working day. The eye perceived not
Her little feet, although the robe was short
For very fast she ran, or rather glided,
Like those small figures, which upon the feast
Of the Three Kings boys push along on skates.
She ran, and with light court’sy welcomed each,
Endeavouring to reach her destined place.
’Twas hard, for chairs were placed not for the guests;
Upon four benches in four rows they sat.
The row must either move, or bench be crossed.
She glided cleverly between two benches,
And then between those sitting and the table
She spun around most like a billiard-ball.
In running past, she touched our young man close,
Her flounce entangling over some one’s knee.
She slipped a little, and in this divergence
She leaned upon the arm of Thaddeus.
She courteously asked pardon, and sat down
Between him and his uncle, but ate nought.
She only fanned herself, and twirled the fan;
Now set to rights her Flanders lace, and now
With the light touching of her hand caressed
Her curls of hair, and knots of ribbons bright.

’Twas just four minutes this distraction reigned,
And meanwhile at the table’s further end,
First stilly murmurs were; at length began
A half-aloud discourse; the men related
To-day’s chase. The Assessor with the Regent35
Contested obstinately, ever louder,
The quarrel of a certain crop-tailed greyhound,
In whose possession the Pan Regent gloried,
And held that he to-day had seized the hare.
But the Assessor proved in his despite
This glory ’longed unto his greyhound Sokol.36
They asked of others sentence; so all round
Took either Kusy’s37 part, or that of Sokol,
As connoisseurs, or else as witnesses.
At the other end the Judge to his new neighbour
Said in a whisper: “I am very sorry;
We had to sit down, ’twas impossible
To put the supper off to any later.
The guests were hungry; they’ve been far afield.”
This said, he with the Chamberlain discoursed
Of politics, in low tones, o’er the goblet.

While thus both table-sides were occupied,
Thaddeus gazed long upon the fair unknown.
He recollected now at the first glance
Upon the place he from the first had guessed
Whose seat it was to be; he blushed, and now
His heart with unaccustomed violence beat.
So all his secret riddles thus were solved!
So thus it was appointed, at his side
Should sit that loveliness in twilight seen!
’Twas true she now appeared of larger growth—
In full dress, dress both magnifies and lessens.
But why had one short locks and golden bright,
The other wreaths of long and raven braids?
That bright hue from the sunbeams was derived;
The sunset renders all things crimson bright.
He had not see her face, she fled too soon;
But thought evolves by guessing a fair face.
He thought she surely must have had black eyes,
A pale face, lips as red as cherries twin,
Since here he saw such eyes, and lips and cheeks.
In age perhaps was greatest difference;
The gardening nymph had seemed a little maid;
This lady was a woman grown in years.
But youth for beauty’s birth certificate
Doth never ask; all women to young men
Seem young, to boys each beauty doth appear
Of their own age, and to the innocent
Will every one beloved appear a maid.
Though Thaddeus numbered well-nigh twenty years,
And had from childhood dwelt in Wilna’s town,
He had a priest as tutor, who restrained him,
In strictest bonds of ancient discipline.
But Thaddeus from his parents had derived
A pure heart, lively spirit, innocent soul;
But yet of wilfulness had not a little.
He made a plan, at last he would enjoy
His long forbidden freedom, in the country.
He knew himself right handsome, strong and young;
Vigour and health he owned as heritage
His name Soplica;3839 the Soplicas all
As well is known are valiant, stout and strong;
First-rate as soldiers, but less skilled in learning.

Nor from his fathers Thaddeus was degenerate;
He rode on horse right well, walked far on foot.
Although not dull, in study little versed,
Though spared his uncle for his training nought.
For he preferred to shoot, or wield the sabre.
He knew they meant to fit him for the wars;
That so his father’s testament ordained.
He longed unceasing for the drum while yet
In school. But all at once his uncle changed
Those first intentions, ordered him to come
Homeward, and marry and to take up farming.
He promised he would give him to begin
A little village,40 later all his lands.

And all these virtues, all these qualities
In Thaddeus drew that heedful woman’s eye,
His neighbour. Closely did she scan his tall
And shapely form, strong arms, broad chest, and looked
Upon his visage, which a blush suffused,
Oft as the young man met her eyes; for now
From his first shyness he was quite restored;
And gazed with bolder glance, wherein burned fire.
And likewise she gazed, so the four eyes burned
Towards each other, bright as Advent candles.

She first began discourse with him in French:
He came from town, from school, so of new books,
Of authors, his opinion she inquired,
And from such sentence led new questions on.
But when of painting she began to speak,
Of music, drawing, and of sculpture even,
She seemed alike acquainted with the pencil,
With music and with books, till Thaddeus
At so much learning felt quite mystified,
And stammered like a boy before his master.
But the schoolmaster happily was pretty,
And not severe; his neighbour guessed his trouble,
And so began anew on other things.
Easier and not so learnèd; country life,
Its dullness and vexations; how one must
Divert one self, and how divide the time,
To make life merrier and the country gay.
So Thaddeus answered with more boldness; then
The thing went further, and in half an hour
They grew quite confidential, trifling jests
Began, and little quarrels in the end.
She placed before him three small pills of bread;
Three persons at his choice; he took the first;
At which the daughters of the Chamberlain
Both frowned; his neighbour laughed, but did not say
Who ’twas that lucky pellet signified.
At far end of the board was other talk.
For there, on sudden reinforced, the party
Of Sokol pressed the partisans of Kusy
Without compunction; high the quarrel rose;
They ate not of the latest dishes now;
Both sides disputed, standing up and drinking.
The Regent bristled like an angry woodcock.
Once he began, he pleaded well his cause,
Unbrokenly, and pointed it with gestures,
Expressively. The Pan Regent Bolesta
Was once an advocate, and called the Preacher,
Because he loved such gestures overmuch.
Now by his side his hands lay, and his elbows
Bent backward; underneath his arms his fingers,
And long nails put he forward; by this image
Two greyhound leashes he presented. Thus
His theme he ended: “I and the Assessor,
Each side by side, resembling triggers twain
Stirred by one finger on the self-same gun.
‘Vytcha!’41 they went, and started off the hare
Straight for the plain. The dogs here”—Saying this,
He drew his hand along the board, with fingers
He showed a greyhound’s motions wondrously.
—“The dogs here.—From the wood a piece divides them.
Sokol straight forward, fine dog! but too rash,
Got before Kusy, how much? by a finger.
I knew he’d miss! the hare was game enough!
He made straight for the plain—the pack right after.
That hare was game! As soon as he got wind
Of all the greyhound pack, he doubled right;
A caper! After him the stupid dogs
Followed to right, again to right he doubled.
He cut two capers, dogs again to left!
He in the wood; my Kusy’s up with him!”
Thus shouting, bent the Regent o’er the table,
Ran with his fingers to the other side,
And shouted, “Up with him!” near Thaddeus.
And Thaddeus and his fair neighbour, sudden
By such a burst of voice right in the midst
Of their conversing startled, quickly drew
Their heads back from each other, like two treetops,
Together bound, when storm winds break them loose,
And their two hands that near each other lay
Beneath the table, suddenly drew back,
And one blush did their faces twain suffuse.
Not to betray confusion Thaddeus said:
“Most true, Sir Regent, true without a doubt;
Your Kusy is a fine dog by his shape;
And if as good at taking”—“Good!” exclaimed
The Regent; “what! my favourite dog? how should he
Not be a good one?” Thaddeus again
Rejoiced so good a dog had no defect.
Regretted that he saw him but in passing,
Leaving the forest, so he had no time
To observe his good points.
At this the Assessor
Trembled, and dropped his goblet, fixed a look
Like basilisk on Thaddeus. Far less loud
He than the Regent was, and far less restless;
More spare of form, in stature smaller; he
Was terrible at ball, redoubt, and sejmik;42
For of him it was said he bore a sting
Within his tongue; his skill was to compose
Such witty jests that one might print them in
The almanac, malicious all and sharp.
A rich man once, his father’s heritage
And brother’s fortune he had wasted all,
To make a figure in the world, and now
Had entered service of the Government,
To be of some importance in the district.
Much loved he hunting, for its joys in part;
Also that sound of horns and sight of toils
Recalled his youthful years when he maintained
A many huntsmen and renownèd dogs.
Of the whole kennel but two greyhounds now
Remained, and yet of that one they denied
The glory! Near he drew, and leisurely
His favourite stroking, answered with a smile,
And ’twas a venomed smile: “A tailless greyhound
Is like a nobleman without an office.
Likewise the tail much helps the dog in running:
You, sir, a crop-tail hold as proof of goodness,
We’ll ask your aunt’s opinion for the rest.
Though Mistress Telimena long has dwelt
Within the city, and not long ago
Came here, she better understands the chase
Than do our sporting youths; with years alone
Arriveth any learning of this sort.”
Thaddeus, on whom this thunderbolt had fallen,
Arose confused, and nothing said awhile;
But looked with rage increasing on his rival.
Just then, most happily, the Chamberlain
Three times did sneeze. “Vivat!” cried all; he bowed
To all, and on his golden snuff-box tapped;
A golden snuff-box, all with diamonds set,
In midst the portrait of King Stanislas;43
The king himself had given it unto
The father of the Chamberlain; the son
After his father held it worthily.
And when he tapped upon it, ’twas a sign
That he craved hearing. All at once were still,
And ventured not to ope their lips. He said:
“Most Powerful Nobles, Brothers, Benefactors,44
The meads and forests are the hunter’s forum,
So in the house I cannot judge such cause;
And till to-morrow I adjourn this court,
And no appeal will I allow to-day.
Wozny, call thou the action for to-morrow
Upon the plain. The Count comes here to-morrow
With all his hunting train, and you will go
With us, my neighbour, Judge, and all the ladies,
And Mistress Telimena. In a word
We’ll make a grand hunt ex officio.
The Wojski too will not his company
Refuse us.” Saying this to the old man
His snuff-box he presented.
’Mid the hunters
The Wojski at the table’s lower end
Was sitting, listening with half-shut eyes;
But not a word he spoke, although the youths
From time to time demanded his opinion,
For none knew hunting better than did he.
He still kept silence, while the pinch of snuff
He weighed between his fingers, meditating
Long, ere at length he tasted of the pinch.
He sneezed till all the room re-echoed loud
And shook his head, and said with bitter smile,
“Oh! how this saddens and amazes me!
An old man! what had said our elder hunters
To see, in such a noble company,
Among so many gentlemen, disputes
To be adjusted, of a greyhound’s tail?
What would old Rejtan say, could he revive?
He would return to Lachowicz and lie
Down in his grave again. What would the Wojewode,
Old Niesiolowski,45 say, who hitherto
Doth own the finest bloodhounds in the world,
And after lordly custom doth maintain
Two hundred huntsmen, and within his castle
Of Woroncza some hundred wagon-loads
Of nets possesses? But these many years
He keepeth like a monk within his home.
None may prevail on him to join the chase.
He would refuse ev’n Bialopiotrowicz.46
Fine glory ’twere for such a lord to ride,
A-hunting after this new present fashion.
In my time, sir, in hunters’ language, boars,
Bears, elks, and wolves were called noble game,
And beasts that had not tusks, or horns, or claws,
Were left for hired servants, or court menials.
No gentleman would take into his hands
A rifle, to disgrace it in such sort,
By pouring small shot in it. True, they did
Keep greyhounds, since in coming from the chase,
It well may happen, from the horses’ hoofs
A wretched hare may start. Then let they loose
The greyhounds on’t for pastime, and the boys
On ponies mounted did pursue the game,
Before their parents’ eyes, who scarcely deigned
To look upon these sports, far less dispute
About them. Therefore let the Illustrious
Most Powerful Chamberlain now condescend
To draw back his commands, and pardon me
That in such hunt I cannot ride; for ne’er
My foot therein shall stir. My name’s Hreczecha,
And since the days of King Lech47 no Hreczecha
Did ever go a-riding after hares.”

The laughter of the young men here did drown
The Wojski’s speech. All now from table rose,
The Chamberlain the first, this precedence
To him belonging from his years and office.
He passed, to ladies, old men, young men bowing.
Behind him went the Friar; the Judge beside.
The Judge upon the threshold gave his hand
To the Podkomorzyna;48 Thaddeus
To Telimena; the Assessor to
Krajczanka;49 and the Regent came behind
Leading Hreczanka,50 daughter of the Wojski.

Towards the barn proceeded Thaddeus
With some among the guests; he felt confused
And ill at ease, unjoyful; he in thought
Discussed that day’s events; the meeting, supper
Beside that lovely neighbour; but the most
Especially that one word “aunt” did buzz
Like to a tiresome fly around his ears.
He longed to ask the Wojski at more length
Concerning Mistress Telimena, but
Could not empannel him. Nor did he see
The Wojski, for at once with supper done,
All of the household went behind the guests,
As fitting is to servants, to assign
Rooms in the house for sleeping. The old men
And ladies slept within the mansion.
Thaddeus
Received command to lead the younger men
Towards the barn to rest upon the hay.

In half-an-hour, it was as still throughout
The mansion, as within a convent when
Prayers have been sung; the silence only broken
By the night sentry’s voice. The Judge alone
Closed not his eyes; to-morrow’s expedition
He must ordain, and coming entertainment
Must plan within the house. He gave command
To bailiffs, overseers, to barn keepers,
To writers,51 to the housekeeper and huntsmen,
And stablemen; and all that day’s accounts
He must o’erlook. At last unto the Wozny
He said he would undress. The Wozny then
Unloosed his girdle, ’twas a Slucko belt,52
A massy girdle, gleaming with thick tassels,
Like plumy crests; on one side gold brocade,
With purple flowers, black silk on the reverse
With silver lattice work; a belt like this
May readily be donned on either side;
The golden on a gala-day, the black
For mourning. And the Wozny only knew
How to unloose this belt, or fold it on.
Now busy with this task, he thus did talk:

“How did I ill, that I transferred the tables
To the old castle? none will lose thereby;
And you, sir, may the gainer be. The suit
Concerns this castle; we have gained this day
A right unto the castle, and despite
The eagerness the other party shows,
I now can prove, that we are in possession.
For he, who to a castle guests invites
To supper, proves that he has ownership,
Or does assume it; ev’n the other party
We can as witness summon for ourselves.
Such things I can remember in my time.”

Now slept the Judge. The Wozny silently
Went out into the hall, and sat him down
Beside a candle; from his pocket drew
A little book, which like a breviary
Did ever serve him; never thrown aside
At home or on a journey. It was the
Vocanda of the Tribunals;53 therein
Stood all those actions written, which the Wozny
By his own voice had summoned in the court,
Or those of which he later learned the names.
To eyes unlearnèd the Vocanda seemed
A catalogue of names; but to the Wozny
These sketches were of splendid images.
He read and thought: Oginski versus Wizgird,
Dominicans and Rymsza, Radziwill
And Wereszczaka, Rymsza, Wyzogird,
Giedrojc, and Rdultowski, Obuchowicz,
And the Kahal,54 and Juraha and Piotrowski,
Malewski and Mickiewicz; and at length
The Count against Soplica; and in reading
From all these names he conjured memories
Of those great causes; all the suit’s events,
And parties, court, and witnesses all stood
Before his eyes; he saw himself as in
A white zupan and kontusz of dark blue,
He stood before the court; with one arm laid
Upon his sabre, and the other leaning
Upon the table, having summoned both
The parties, “Silence in the Court!” he cries.
Dreaming and finishing his evening prayers,
Thus Litva’s latest Wozny sank to sleep.

Such were the sports and contests in those years
In a quiet Litvin village, while the rest
Of all the world was drowned in tears and blood;
While he, that Man, the god of war, with cloud
Of regiments circled, armed with thousand guns,
The silver eagles harnessed with the golden
Unto his chariot, flew from Libya’s wastes
To the Alps, sky-touching, thunder after thunder
Still hurling, at the Pyramids, at Tabor,
Marengo, Ulm and Austerlitz. Before him
Ran Victory and Conquest, and behind
The fame of such great deeds, in heroes’ names
Fruitful, that from the Nile with clamour went
Towards the North, and ev’n on Niemen’s shores
Resounded, as from rocks, from Moskpa’s ranks,
That guarded Litva, as with iron walls,
From news, to Russia dreadful as the plague.

Yet news not seldom, like a stone from heaven,
Fell into Litva. Sometimes an old man
Came begging bread, of arm or leg bereft;
Who having charity received, stood still
And heedfully did cast his eyes around.
And when he saw no Russian soldiers there,
Nor a jarmulka,55 nor a collar red,
He then told who he was; a legionist
His old bones bringing to that Fatherland,
That he no longer could defend. How then
The noble family around him pressed,
And all the household choking with their tears!
He sat at table and told histories
More wonderful than fable. He would tell
How General Dombrowski strives to march
To Poland from Italian land;56 how he
Gathers his countrymen on Lombard plain.
How Kniaziewicz commands from Capitol,
And victor, threw before the Frenchmen’s eyes
A hundred bloody standards,57 wrest away
From children of the Caesars. And likewise
How Jablonowski passed where pepper grows,
Where sugar melted is, and where the woods
Sweet-smelling flourish in eternal spring;
Our general with the Danube’s legions there
The Negroes threatens,58 for his country sighs.
The old man’s words in secret went around
The village; and some boy, who them had heard,
Was sudden lost from home; in woods and swamps
He lurked in secret; by the Muscovites
Pursued, he sprang to hide him in the Niemen.
And diving under, swam to Warsaw’s Duchy,
Where unto him a friendly voice did cry:
“Welcome unto us, comrade!” But ere parting
He mounted on a stony hill, and said
Across the river to the Muscovites:
“Until we meet again!” Thus stole away
Gorecki, Pac, Obuchowicz, Piotrowski,
And Obolewski, Rozycki, Janowicz,
And Mierzejewski, and Brochocki, and
Bernatowicze, Kupsc, and Gedymin,
With others whom I reckon not; they left
Their parents and their land beloved; and goods
Confiscate to the treasury of the Czar.
Betimes a wandering friar to Litva came
From a strange convent, and when he beheld
And knew the mansion of the village lords,
He showed them the gazette, which he unripped
From out his scapulary; therein stood
The number of the soldiers, and the name
Of every legion’s general, of each man,
News of his victory, or of his death.
Thus after many years a family
Received their first news of a son, his life,
Glory, or death; they put on mourning, yet
They dared not say for whom they mourning wore.
The neighbourhood could only guess, and so
The silent sorrow of their lords, or joy
Did form the sole gazette the peasants knew.

And such a secret emissary friar
No doubt was Robak, for he often held
A conversation with the Judge alone;
And after such discourse was always spread
Some news abroad, throughout the neighbourhood.
The Bernardine did by his action show
He had not always worn the cowl, nor in
The convent walls grown old; he bore a scar
Above the right ear, somewhat o’er the brow,
And on his cheek a trace of lance or ball,
Not recent; sure he never got such wounds
While reading missals. But not only dreadful
Was he by looks and scars, for in his mien
And voice was something soldierlike.
At mass,
When from the altar with uplifted hands
He turned towards the people, while he said,
“The Lord be with you!”—even there at times
He turned round nimbly with a single action,
As wheeling round at his commander’s call.
He spoke the words of mass in such a tone
As officers before their squadrons use.
The boys who served him at the mass knew this.
In politics was Robak better versed
Than in the lives of saints; upon his rounds
Going, he tarried in the district town
Full of affairs; he letters oft received
Which never before strangers opened he.
He sent off messengers, but where and why
He said not; often did he creep by night
To lordly mansions, and unceasingly
He whispered with the nobles, and he passed
O’er all the neighbouring hamlets there around,
Discoursing with the peasants not a little,
But always of those things which passed abroad.
And now he comes to wake the Judge, who for
The last hour was asleep; he has surely news.

Book
II

The Castle

A hunt with greyhounds of a singled-out hare—The guest in the castle—The last of the courtiers relates the history of the last of the Horeszkos—A glance into the orchard—The maiden among the cucumbers—Breakfast—Madam Telimena’s Petersburg anecdote—Fresh outbreak of the Kusy and Sokol disputes—Robak’s intervention—The Wojski’s speech—Pledges—After mushrooms.

Which of us does not recollect those years
When, as a lad, with rifle on his shoulder,
He went forth, whistling loudly, to the plain;
Where neither mound nor hedge a hindrance made
Unto his footstep; where, o’erstepping ridges,
Thou seest not that they mark a stranger’s land?
Because in Litva, like a ship at sea,
The hunter by whatever path he will,
Expatiates freely o’er the ample space,
Or like a prophet gazes on the sky,
Where in the clouds are many signs, beheld
By hunter’s eye; or like a wizard he
Converses with the earth, which, dumb to cits,
With multitude of voices whispers him.

There screeched the landrail from the mead; but vain
It were to seek him, for he glides away
In grass, as in the Niemen does the pike.
There overhead the springtide’s morning bell
Rang out—the lark in heaven as deeply hid.
The eagle, with broad pinions through heaven’s plains,
High soars, affrighting sparrows, as a comet
Doth frighten princes;59 but beneath the bright
Blue sky, the hawk, like moth on pin impaled,
Flaps with his wings, till in the plain he views
A bird or hare, and on it swift descends,
Like to a falling star.
Ah! when will Heaven
Permit us to return from wandering,
And dwell once more among our native plains;
Serve in that cavalry which wars on hares,
Or in that infantry which carries arms
Against the birds? To know no weapon-stores,
Except the scythe or sickle, nor gazette,
Except our household reckonings!
The sun
Had risen o’er Soplicowo, and now fell
Upon the thatch, and through the crannies stole
Into the barn, and o’er the dark-green hay,
Fresh and sweet-smelling, whereof the young men
Had made their couch. The golden, sparkling streaks
Streamed widely from the opening in black thatch,
Like ribbons out from tresses; with the ray
Of morning light the sun the sleepers’ lips
Did tickle, as a maiden may awake
Her lover with a corn-ear. Now the sparrows,
Bustling, began to chatter ’neath the thatch;
Three times the geese did cackle; after them
A chorus like an echo woke, of ducks
And turkeys, and the oxen’s lowing rose,
While to the field they passed.
The young men rose
Still Thaddeus lay asleep, for he had sunk
To slumber latest; from last night’s repast
He came back so unquiet, that at cock-crow,
He opened not his eyes, and on his couch
He turned and turned again, and in the hay
He plunged as though in water, and slept sound,
Until a chilly wind blew in his eyes.
The creaking barn-door opened with a crash,
And in Friar Robak came, with knotted girdle,
Exclaiming: “Surge, puer!” and unwound
Roughly the knotted girdle on his shoulders.

Now in the court were heard the hunters’ shouts:
They led the horses there, drove carriages
Up to the gate; scarce might the courtyard hold
So large a company; the horns awoke,
Kennels were opened, and the greyhound pack
Rushed forth, with joyous whinnying, as they saw
The hunters’ horses and the prickers’ leashes;
The dogs, as mad they whip about the court,
Then haste, and clap the collars on their necks.
All this portends a hunting excellent.
At last the Chamberlain gave forth command
To set out. Slowly then the hunters marched,
One following the other. But when passed
The gate, the long file scattered far and wide.
Midmost the Assessor by the Regent rode;
Though each on each at times misliking looked,
They held discourse of friendship, as beseems
All men of honour, going to decide
A mortal quarrel; none might from their words
Discern their hatred. The Pan Regent led
Kusy, the Assessor Sokol. From behind
The ladies came in carriages; the youths
Trotting beside the wheels, held converse with
The ladies.
Through the court Friar Robak paced
With rapid strides, his matins finishing;
But cast a glance on Master Thaddeus,
And frowned, and smiled. At last he signed to him.
Up then rode Thaddeus; Robak made a sign
Of threatening; but ’spite of questionings,
And prayers of Thaddeus, that the Friar would say
Plainly unto him what he would, the monk
Deigned not to look or answer; but he drew
His cowl around him closer, and his prayer
Concluded; and so Thaddeus rode away,
And joined the guests.
The hunters then first held
Their leashes; each one moveless in his place
Remained, and to the other made a sign
Of silence; all their eyes turned to a stone,
On which the Judge was standing. He observed
The game, and by the beckoning of his hand
Expressed his orders. Each one understood.
They stood still; in the centre of the plain
The Assessor and the Regent ambled now.
Being nearer, Thaddeus forestalled them both;
He stood beside the Judge, and looked around.
’Twas long since he had been afield, and on
The wide grey space, ’twas hard to see the hare,
And more so ’mid grey stones. The Judge to him
Pointed it out. The poor hare crouching sat
Beneath a stone, and pricking up its ears,
Its crimson eye the hunters’ glances met,
And as enchanted, and its destiny
Foreseeing, still it could not turn its eyes
Away from theirs for very fright, and sat
Beneath the stone, lifeless itself as stone.
Meanwhile the dust drew ever nearer on
The plain. On Kusy flew, and Sokol after;
Hard following the Assessor and the Regent,
Together shouting “Vytcha!” from behind;
They vanished with the dogs in clouds of dust.

While thus they chased the hare, the Count appeared
Beneath the forest by the castle.
The neighbourhood well knew this gentleman
Was never punctual to the appointed time,
And he this day had overslept the dawn.
So he his servants rated, and beholding
The hunters in the field, made haste to join them.
His surtout long and white, of English cut,
Flew with loose skirts upon the wind behind;
And mounted servants followed him, who wore
Hats shaped like mushrooms, shiny, black, and small,
Short jackets, and high top-boots, and white trousers.
Those servants whom the Count in such wise clad,
Were in his palace jockeys60 called. They flew
Over the meadow, when the Count remarked
The castle, and he stayed his horse. He now
First saw the castle in the morning light;
And scarce believed they were those same old walls,
So had the dawn their outline beautified.
The Count much wondered at a sight so new,
The tower to him far-off seemed doubly high,
For clear it stood against the morning mists.
The metal roof shone golden in the sun;
In window-grates below the remnants gleamed
Of shivered glass, that broke the eastern rays
In many rainbows various. A veil
Of morning mist the lower storeys wreathed,
And hid their rents and breaches from the eye;
The hunters’ far shouts, driven by the wind,
Were echoed frequent from the castle walls.
Thou hadst sworn the shout proceeded from the castle,
And underneath the veiling of the mist,
The walls were built, and peopled once again.
The Count loved novel and unusual sights,
Called them romantic, and was used to say
That he had a romantic head; in truth
He was a strange man, for not seldom he,
When following a fox, or after hares,
Would suddenly stop still, and mournfully
Look upward to the sky, like to a cat,
When on a lofty pine she sees a sparrow.
He often wandered without gun or dog,
Among the thicket, like a ’scaped recruit;
He often sat unmoving by a brook,
With head bent o’er the stream, like to a heron,
Who’d swallow all the fishes with his eye.
Such were the Count’s strange habits. Every one
Said he lacked something; still they felt respect
For him, since he was from his ancestors
A lord, and rich, and good unto the peasants,
Kind to his neighbours, even to the Jews.

The Count’s horse, turned aside, along the field
Ambled straight onward to the castle doors.
Being now alone, the Count did heave a sigh,
Gazed on the walls, then from his pocket drew
Paper and pencil, and some figures traced.
Then did he look aside, and saw a man
Some twenty paces off, who, like himself,
A lover of fine views, with head upraised,
Appeared to number all the building’s stones.
At once he knew him, but the Count must call
A many times aloud, before Gervasy
Could hear his voice. He was a nobleman,
A servant of the castle’s former lords,
The last remaining courtier of Horeszko,
A tall old man, and hoary, with a face
Hearty and healthy, ploughed with wrinkles, sad,
Severe; though once for joyousness renowned
Among the nobles; but aye since that fight,
In which the castle’s lord had lost his life,
Gervasy totally was changed, and now
For many years had neither been to fair
Or wedding; from that time his witty jests
No more were heard, and nevermore was seen
A smile upon his face. He ever wore
The ancient livery of Horeszko’s house;
A yellow jacket, with long hanging skirts,
Bound round with lace, which, now a faded yellow,
Had once been golden. Round his neck were broidered
Half-goats, armorial bearings of that house,
Thence all the neighbourhood called the old man
Polkozic,61 also from a word which he
Repeated ceaselessly, Mopanku,62 called him;
Notchpate63 at times, from his bald pate all covered
With seams and scars; his true name was Rembajlo;
His crest unknown. He called himself the Klucznik,64
Because he held that office years ago,
And still a bunch of keys wore at his girdle,
Bound by a cord with silver tassel, though
He nothing had to open, for the doors
Stood open in the castle. Yet he found
Two doors within, and at his own expense
Repaired and set them up, and every day
Amused himself with opening these doors.
He for himself an empty chamber chose,
Within the castle, for his private dwelling.
Although he might have eaten bread of favour
In the Count’s house, he would not, for he felt
Homesick, and unwell everywhere, if he
Breathed not the air of the old castle.
Soon
As he perceived the Count, he doffed his cap,
Honouring with reverence his lord’s far-off kin;
Low bending his bald pate, that gleamed afar,
And like an axe by many sword-blades scathed,
He stroked it with his hand, approached, and low
Bending once more, said in sad tones: “Mopanku,
Panisko,65 pardon me that thus I speak;
Illustrious Sir Count, it is my custom,
Not disrespectful, for the Horeszkos all
Were used to say Mopanku; the last Pantler,66
My master, always would employ that word.
Is it true, Mopanku, that you grudge the cost
Of lawsuits, and will give this castle up
To the Soplicas? I would not believe it.
But thus they say in all the district.” Here,
Gazing upon the castle, without ceasing,
He sighed.
“What wonder,” said the Count, “the cost
Is great; the trouble greater still; I want
To end it. But that tedious old noble
Is obstinate; he did foresee he could
Weary me out; and I in very deed
No longer will oppose him. I to-day
Lay down my sword, accepting such conditions,
As shall be offered to me by the court.”
“What, peace!” exclaimed Gervasy; “what, Mopanku!
Peace with Soplicas!” As he uttered this,
He writhed his lips, as greatly marvelling
At his own speech. “What, peace, and the Soplicas?
Mopanku and my dear lord, you are jesting!
How? shall the castle, shall Horeszko’s stronghold
Pass into the Soplicas’ hands? My lord,
Deign but dismount. Go we into the castle.
Let but my lord consider. He knows not
That which he does. My lord, refuse not me.
Dismount.” He held the stirrup for descent.
They went into the castle. There Gervasy
Stood on the threshold of the hall awhile.
“Here,” said he, “by their court surrounded, sat
The ancient lords, in high chairs. After dinner,
The lord would judge the quarrels of the peasants;
Or, if in a good humour, to his guests
Related curious histories, or else
Would entertain with merry jests and tales.
But in the courtyard would the young men strive
At single-stick, or rode on Turkish ponies,
Expressly bred for noblemen.”
They entered
The hall. Gervasy said: “In this great hall,
Stone-paved, we find not now so many stones,
As they broached wine-casks in the good old times.
The noblemen invited to the diet,
Or sejmik, on the name-day of my lord,
Or for the chase, drew beer-tubs from the cellars,
Tied to their girdles. And while passed the feast,
Musicians stood within that lofty choir,
The organ playing,67 and other instruments;
And when a health was drunk the trumpets brayed
In chorus, as upon the judgment day.
Each vivat went around in order due,
The first health to his Majesty the king
They drank, and next the Primate’s health,68 and after
Unto her Majesty the queen, the health
Of all the nobles, and the whole Republic.
When the fifth bumper had at length been drained,
They raised the toast of ‘Love we one another.’69
Vivat unceasing sounded till the dawn;
And each one’s equipage all ready stood,
To bear each reveller unto his house.”

They now had passed some chambers. Silently
Gervasy now his glance fixed on the wall,
Now on the archèd roof, recalling here
A tragic memory, and now one dear.
And then as he had said, “All now is o’er,”
He nodded grievingly his head; at times
He waved his hand; remembrance visibly
Was torture to him, and he fain would chase it.
At length they stayed their steps, in a great hall
Above, once lined with mirrors, but to-day
The frames stood empty of the looking-glass,
Long torn away; the windows held no panes.
A balcony stood opposite the door.
Here entering, the old man bowed his head,
And in his hands concealed his face, and when
He did unveil it, on it was a look
Of deepest sorrow and despair. The Count,
Though ignorant what this should signify,
Yet looking on the old man’s countenance,
Felt strangely moved, and pressed his hand. Awhile
This silence lasted, which the old man broke,
Shaking his right hand lifted. “There is no
Agreement for the blood of the Horeszkos
With this Soplica. In your veins, Mopanku,
The blood of the Horeszkos flows. You are
A kinsman of the Pantler from your mother,
Who the Lowczyna being,70 was derived
From the second daughter of the Castellan,71
Who was, as well is known, my master’s uncle.
Listen, my lord, to your own kindred’s story,
Which in this chamber, and no other, passed.

“The Pantler, my late master, chiefest lord
Here in this district, rich and of high race,
Had but one child, a daughter, beautiful
As an angel; so brave noblemen and lordlings
Courted the Stolnikowna.72 And among
The noblemen was one great rioter,
A quarreller, Jacek Soplica, named
The Wojewode—in jest—but yet in truth
He was of great importance in the region,
Because he held beneath his captaincy
The clan of the Soplicas, and could rule
All their three hundred votes at his own will;
Though for himself, beyond a bit of land,
His sabre, and a mighty pair of whiskers
From ear to ear, he was possessed of nought.
And yet the Pantler often had as guest
This brawler, and received him in his palace,
Most at the time of sejmiks. Popular
For his relations and supporters, soon
This whiskered fellow so puffed up with pride
Became, by cause of these receptions gracious,
He took into his head the Pantler’s son
To be. More often without invitation
He rode unto the castle, and at last
He made his nest among us, as though in
His own house. And he had declared his wish,
But that already they had taken heed,
And served him at the table with black broth.73
May be he pleased the Stolnikowna’s eye,
But she concealed the matter from her parents.
Those were Kosciuszko’s times; my lord supported
The ordinances of the Third of May,74
And had already gathered noblemen
To march to help of the Confederates;
When suddenly the Muscovites by night
Surprised the castle; scarce was time to fire
A mortar off, in signal of distress;
To bar the lower doors, and with the bolts
To make them fast. In all the castle were
The Stolnik only, and myself, the lady,
The chief cook and two scullions (all three drunk),
The parish priest, two lackeys, and four heyduks,
The gallant men! So then unto our guns!
To the windows! There a crowd of Muscovites,
Shouting ‘Hurra!’ They from the gate rushed o’er
The terrace; we with ten guns, man for man,
Fired on them. Nought was to be seen from thence.
The servants fired off from the lower floors.
My lord and I fired from the gallery
Unceasingly; all went in order good,
Though in much fear. Upon this floor there lay
Here twenty guns; we fired off one; another
Was loaded quick; the priest himself in this
Service was very active, and the lady,
Her daughter, and the serving-maidens too.
There were three marksmen, and the fire went on
Unceasingly. The Muscovites below
Sent up a hail of bullets. We less often,
But with more judgment fired down from above.
Three times they burst out there before the door,
Three pairs of legs were kicking every time.
So underneath the storehouse soon they fled
For shelter. But already it was day.
The Pantler came forth joyous with his gun
Upon the balcony, and soon as peeped
A Muscovitish head from underneath
The storehouse, did he fire immediately,
And never missed. At every shot there fell
A black hat in the grass, and rarely now
Did any steal forth from behind the wall.
The Pantler seeing all his enemies
Thus struck with fear, to make a sortie thought.
And calling to his servants from above,
He gave commands, then turning round to me,
Said, ‘Follow me, Gervasy.’ At that moment
A shot came from the gate. The Pantler groaned,
Grew red, then pale, would speak, and coughed with blood,
I saw the ball, right in his very breast.
My lord, fast failing, pointed to the gate:
I knew that villain! that Soplica! knew him
By his whiskers and his stature! By his shot
The Pantler died! I had seen it. And the villain
Still held on high his lifted gun; the smoke
Still issued from the barrel! Him I took
For aim; the murderer stood as changed to stone.
Twice did I fire, but missed with both the shots;
From rage or grief I marked but ill. I heard
The women’s shriek—I looked—my lord was dead.”

Gervasy paused, and melted into tears;
Then said, concluding, “Now the Muscovites
Had stormed the gate, for with the Pantler dead,
I was as lost to sense, and knew not what
Was done around me. Happily arrived
Parafianowicz to us with succour,
And twenty of the house of Mickiewicz75
He brought from Horbatowicz, noblemen
Many and valiant, man for man, who hate
Soplica’s race since time began.
Thus perished
A powerful lord, upright and pious, who
Had Chairs, and Staffs, and Ribbons76 in his house;
A father to his peasantry, a brother
Unto the nobles;—and he left behind him
No son to swear revenge upon his grave.
Yet had he faithful servants! In the blood
Flowed from his wound I steeped my rapier, called
The Penknife77—of my Penknife certainly
You have heard, my lord, renowned at every diet,
Market, and sejmik—I did swear to notch
The blade upon the necks of the Soplicas.
I followed them at diet, foray, fair;
Two in a quarrel slew I, two in duel,
One burnt I up inside a wooden house,
When we with Rymsza harried Korelicze;
Like mud-fish was he roasted; and I count not
Those ears I cut off. One alone remains,
Who no remembrance yet has had from me;
Own younger brother to that whiskered rogue.
Yet lives he, and he boasts him of his riches;
His boundary corners touch Horeszko’s castle.
He has honour in the district, holdeth office,
He is a Judge. And will you give the castle
To him, my lord? Shall his most wicked feet
Efface my master’s blood from off this floor?
No! while Gervasy has a mite of soul,
And so much strength, as with one little finger
To stir his Penknife, hanging on the wall,
So long Soplica shall not get this castle.”

“Oh!” cried the Count, and raised his hands aloft;
“ ’Twas a good instinct, that I loved these walls,
Though knowing not what treasure in them lay,
Such number of dramatic scenes and stories.
Soon as I shall recover from Soplica
The castle of my ancestors, I will
Install thee in the palace as my Burgrave.78
Thy tale, Gervasy, has much taken me;
Pity thou didst not bring me here at night,
Draped in a mantle: I would sit on ruins,
And thou shouldst tell me of these bloody deeds.
Pity thou hast no great gift of relating.
I sometimes have heard such, and read, traditions.
In England and in Scotland every lord’s79
Castle, in Germany each noble’s court,
A theatre was of murders. Every ancient,
Noble, and powerful family had some
Report of blood or of some treacherous deed,
For which must vengeance fall upon the heirs,
As legacy. I hear for the first time
Of such in Poland. In me flows, I feel,
The brave Horeszkos’ blood, and I do know
That which is due to glory—and my race!
Yes! I must break all compact with Soplica,
Although it come to pistols or the sword—
Honour commands!” With solemn step he strode,
But in deep silence came Gervasy after.
Standing before the door, unto himself
The Count kept talking, and upon the castle
Gazing, he quickly mounted on his horse,
His solitary conversation thus
Absently ending: “ ’Tis a pity that
This old Soplica has no wife, fair daughter,
Whose beauty I might worship! Loving her,
And yet not able to obtain her hand,
Would bring fresh complication in the tale.
The heart here, duty there; love here, and there
Revenge.”
Thus whispering he spurred his steed.
It flew towards the mansion, as up rode
The hunters from the other side. The Count
Loved hunting; when the hunters he perceived,
Forgetting all besides he sprang them toward.
He passed the gate, the garden, and the hedge
When, turning round, he looked about, and stayed
The horse before the hedge. There was the orchard!

The fruit-trees, set in rows, did shadow o’er
The broad fields; ’neath the trees the garden beds.
The cabbage here, its bald and hoary pate
Low bending, seems to meditate upon
The fate of vegetables; the slim bean,
Weeping its pods into the tresses of
The carrot green, did turn a thousand eyes
Upon it; there the Indian corn upraised
Its golden plume; and here and there was seen
A gourd’s fat belly, from its stalk detached,
Which to a distant part had rolled away,
Among the crimson beetroot as a guest.

The garden beds were parted by a ridge:
In every trench there stood, as though on guard,
The hemp in ranks; a cypress-seeming herb,
Quiet, and green, and upright. In its leaves
And odour garden beds do find defence,
For through these leaves no viper dares to creep;
Their odour also grubs and vermin slays.
White stalks of poppies tower further on;
Thou thinkest, swarms of butterflies thereon
Are sitting, fluttering their wings, whose lustre
Of precious gems doth change with rainbow tints.
With lively colours of much variousness
The poppy lures the eye. Among the flowers
Like the full moon among the lesser stars,
A sunflower, with its round, large, burning face,
From east to west twists, following the sun.

Beneath the hedge long, narrow, convex hillocks,
Without or trees, or flowers, or bushes, made
A garden there for cucumbers; they grew
Luxuriantly, with their large, wide leaves,
Covering the beds, like carpet with deep folds.
Among them walked a damsel, clothed in white,
Plunging in green luxuriance to her knees.
Down-bending in the furrows from the beds,
It seemed she walked not, but she swam through leaves,
While bathing in their colour. She had veiled
Her head with a straw hat, and from her brow
Two rosy ribbons waved, and some bright curls
Of loose dishevelled tresses. In her hand
She held a basket; she cast down her eyes,
And lifted her right hand, as though to seize;
Like to a child who bathing chases fishes
That play around her feet; so she each moment
With hand and basket bent down for the fruit,
Struck by her foot, or by her eye perceived.

The Count, enchanted by such wondrous sight,
Stood silent. Hearing trampling from afar,
Of his companions, with his hand he signed
To them to stay their horses; and they stayed.
He gazed with stretched neck, like a long-beaked crane,
Far from the flock, as sentry on one leg
Standing, with watchful eyes, and not to sleep,
Holding a stone within his other claw.

A rustle on his shoulders and his brow
Aroused the Count; it was the Bernardine,
Friar Robak, and he had within his hand,
Upraised, his girdle with its knotty cords.
“Do you want cucumbers?” he shouted. “Sir,
Here have you cucumbers!80 Beware of harm!
For in these beds there grow no fruits for you.
Nothing will come of this.” Then with his finger
He threatened him, drew down his cowl, and went.
The Count remained a while yet on the spot,
Laughing, and cursing too at the same time
This sudden interruption. To the garden
His glance returned; she was not in the garden;
Only in centre of a little window,
Flitted her rosy ribbon and white frock.
Upon the garden beds was visible
The way she fled by; for a green leaf, which
Her foot disturbed in running, trembled yet
A moment, until quiet, like the water
A bird hath cloven with its wings; and on
The spot where late she stood, the little basket
Of willow, with its under side upturned,
The fruit all spilled, was hanging on the leaves,
And ’mid the verdant billows still it rocked.

After a moment lonely everywhere
And gloomy ’twas. The Count now fixed his eyes
Upon the house, and pricked his ears up, still
In meditation, and the hunters stood
Yet motionless before him; till there rose
Within the silent, solitary house,
A murmur first, then noise, and joyous shout,
As in an empty hive, when bees fly in.
A sign was this the guests had come from hunting,
And servants hastened to get ready breakfast.

Through all the rooms a great confusion reigned,
They carried dishes, bottles, covers round.
The men, as they had entered, in green jackets,
With plates and glasses, walking through the rooms,
Ate, drank, or leaning on the window-sill,
Conversed of rifles, greyhounds, and of hares.
The Chamberlain, his wife, the Judge, together,
All three sat at a table; in a corner
The youthful ladies whispered to each other.
Such order as at dinner and at supper
Was not observed. This was a novel custom
In an Old-Polish house at breakfast time.
The Judge, though he unwillingly allowed
This great disorder, yet approved it not.

Dishes of various sorts for men and women
There were. Here trays were carried round about,
With the whole coffee service; large-sized trays,
With flowers beautifully painted. On them
Steaming with an aroma most delicious,
White metal coffee-pots, and porcelain cups,
From Dresden; near each cup a tiny vessel
Containing cream. Such coffee as in Poland
Is in no other country. For in Poland,
In a well-ordered house, by ancient custom,
There is a woman, whose especial labour
Is to make coffee, called the kawiarka.81
She brings from town, or from the barges chooses82
The finest coffee-beans, and secrets knows
How to prepare a drink, which has the blackness
Of coal, transparency of amber, odour
Of Mocha, and is thick as honey flows.
Well know we what to coffee is good cream;
This is not in the country hard to get.
The kawiarka, having early placed
The coffee-pots, the dairy visiteth,
And culls herself the light, fresh flower of cream,
For each cup in a vessel separate,
So each be clad in separate pellicle.

The elder ladies, having earlier risen,
Had drunk their coffee. Now they made a second
Dish for themselves, of warm beer, white with cream,
In which there floated many clots of curd.
But for the men there lay smoked meats at choice,
Fat breasts of geese, and ham, and wings of tongue,
All excellent, all by home method dried
In chimneys, by the smoke of juniper.
At length was brought the latest course of zrazy,83
Such were the breakfasts in the Judge’s house.

In the two rooms gathered two different groups;
The elder folks, around a little table,
Spoke of new farming methods, and of new
And aye more strict Imperial ukases.
The Chamberlain opinions gave of rumours
Of war impending, and deduced therefrom
Views upon politics. The Wojski’s daughter,
Wearing dark spectacles, with fortune-telling
From cards amused the Chamberlain’s lady, while
In the other room the youths discussed the hunt,
In tones more low and peaceful than was wont,
For the Assessor and the Regent, both
Great talkers, first in hunting, and best shots,
Sat opposite each other cross and angry.
Both well had pricked their dogs on; each was sure
His greyhound must be winner; when right in
The middle of the plain they found a row
Of peasant’s vegetables still unreaped.
Therein the hare rushed. Kusy now had hold,
Now Sokol, when the Judge the prickers stayed
Upon the ridge. They must obey, although
Their rage was great. The dogs returned alone,
And none might know if fled the game or ta’en,
No one could guess if into Kusy’s jaws
It fell, or Sokol’s, or in both at once.
Each side gave different judgment, and the quarrel
Remained to other times still undecided.

The ancient Wojski walked from room to room,
On both sides glancing with his absent eyes,
He neither mingled in the hunters’ talk,
Nor in the old men’s, and ’twas plainly seen
His head was taken up with something else.
He bore a leathern fly-scare,84 sometimes standing
Still in one spot, he meditated long,
And—killed a fly that sat upon the wall.

Thaddeus and Telimena, standing in
The doorway right between the two rooms, talked
Alone to one another; no great space
Divided them from hearers, so they whispered.
Now Thaddeus learnt that his aunt Telimena
Was a rich lady, that they were not joined
By bonds canonical in too close kinship.
’Tis even uncertain if aunt Telimena
Be really aunt unto her nephew, though
His uncle call her sister, since their common
Progenitors once called them so, in spite
Of years’ disparity. That later on,
She, living in the capital, had rendered
Some service beyond measure to the Judge,
Whence much the Judge respected her, and loved
Before the world, perhaps from vanity,
To call himself her brother. Telimena
From friendship would refuse him not this name.
Relieved at heart was Thaddeus by these sayings,
And many things besides did they declare
To one another. All this came to pass
In one short moment.
In the right-hand room,
The Regent careless said, to tempt the Assessor;
“I said so yesterday; our hunt could not
Be a success; it is too early yet.
The corn is standing yet upon its stalk,
And many rows unreaped of peasants’ gardens,
And therefore stayed the Count away to-day.
The Count in hunting is experienced,
Sometimes has talked of hunting, place, and time;
The Count from childhood has in foreign lands
Been living, and he says it is a sign
Of barbarism to hunt, as we do here,
Without regard to articles of law,
Or regulations of the government,
Respecting no one’s hillocks or his ridges,
To ride o’er stranger’s ground without his knowledge,
To course the plains and hunting forests in
The spring-time as in summer, or to kill
A fox when he his coat is shedding, or
To let the greyhounds worry hares with young,
Or rather torture them. The Count regrets,
That in this case the Muscovites to-day
Are far more civilised than we; for there
The Czar has put forth ukases on hunting,
There is police inspection, and for those
Who do transgress them there is punishment.”

Towards the left room Telimena looked,
Fanning herself with cambric handkerchief:
“As I my mother love, the Count mistakes not;
I well know Russia. You would not believe me,
When I have often said how praiseworthy,
For many reasons, is the vigilance
And strictness of their government. I was
In Petersburg, not only once, nor twice.
Sweet memories! sweet image of the past!
And what a town! None of you, gentlemen,
Have ever been in Petersburg? Perhaps
You’d like to see the plan? I have the plan
In my bureau. In summer all the world
Of Petersburg is used to live in ‘datshies’—
That is, in country palaces, for ‘datsha’85
Means village. In a little palace I
Dwelt, on the river Neva, not too far,
And not too near the town, on a low hill
Raised artificially. Ah! what a house
It was! I have the plan in my bureau.
One day, to my misfortune, was a house,
In my close neighbourhood, hired by some petty
Czynownik86 who was sitting on commission.
He kept a many greyhounds. What a torment
To have a small czynownik and a kennel
To dwell near one! As often as I went
Into the garden with a book, to enjoy
The moonlight, and the evening cool, at once
A dog flew in, and wagged his tail, and pricked
His ears up, just as he were mad. Not seldom
Had I been terrified. My heart forebode
Some evil from the dogs, and so it chanced;
For as I walked one morning in the garden,
A greyhound strangled at my feet my pet
Bolognan spaniel. Ah! she was a charming,
Dear little dog! I had her as a present,
A token of remembrance, from Prince Sukin;
Intelligent and lively as a squirrel.
I have her portrait—only I will not
Go for it to the bureau. Seeing her
Thus strangled, from excessive agitation
I had faintness, spasms, palpitations; and
Perhaps it had gone worse still with my health,
When happily upon a visit came
Kirylo Gawrylicz Kozodusin,
Master of Hunts at court. He asked the cause
Of my ill-humour, and he presently
Commanded the official to be dragged
There by the ears; he stood there, trembling, pale,
And almost lifeless. ‘How then didst thou dare,’
Exclaimed Kirylo, with a voice of thunder,
‘To hunt down in the spring a doe with young,
Under the Emperor’s very nose?’ In vain
The stupefied czynownik swore that he
Had not begun the hunting season yet;
That, with the Master of the Hunt’s permission,
The beast run down had seemed to him a dog,
And not a doe. ‘What!’ cried Kirylo; ‘villain!
Dost thou pretend to better understand
Hunting and species than I, Kozodusin,
Imperial Jägermeister? Let the Chief
Inspector of Police decide between us.’
They call the Chief Inspector, and command
To institute inquiry. ‘I bear witness,’
Says Kozodusin, ‘that it was a doe;
And he pretends ’twas a domestic dog.
Decide between us, who best understands
Hunting and game.’ The Inspector of Police
Well knew his duty; he considered well
The insolence of the czynownik, and
Conducting him aside he counselled him,
As a brother, to confess his fault, and so
Condone his crime. The Master of the Hunt,
Somewhat appeased, made promise he would be
An intercessor with the Czar, and get
Some little mitigation of the sentence.
It ended thus—the dogs went to the rope,
And the czynownik had four weeks in prison.
This trifle entertained us all the evening.
Next day an anecdote was made of this;
The Master of the Hunt had gone to law
About my dog. I even know for certain
The Emperor himself has laughed at this.”

A laugh arose in both the rooms. The Judge
Was playing with the Bernardine at cards,
And at that moment, with the spades as trumps,
He was about to lead. The priest scarce breathed;
The Judge had caught the story’s first beginning,
And listened so absorbed, that he sat still,
With head uplifted, and the card upraised,
Ready for playing; still he moveless sat,
And only caused the friar anxiety;
Till, the tale ended, he laid Pamfil down,
And answered, laughing: “Let who will extol
Civilisation of the Germans, order
Of Muscovites; let people in great Poland
Learn from the Swabians to make laws for foxes,
And call in soldiers to arrest a mastiff,
Who enters strangers’ thickets. Praised be Heaven,
In Litva we have ancient customs. We
Have game enough, both for ourselves and neighbours,
And never shall for this make inquisition;
And we have corn enough. Our dogs will not
Reduce us soon to famine, or devour
Green vegetables, or take life away.
O’er peasants’ acres I forbid all hunting.”

The Bailiff from the left-hand chamber spoke:
“No wonder, gracious sir, that for such game
You dearly pay. The peasants are right glad
Whene’er it happens that a greyhound springs
Among their vegetables; let him but
Disturb ten ears of rye, you give a sheaf
In compensation, nor even then are quits;
The peasant often gets besides a florin.
Believe me, sir, the peasantry will grow
Most insolent”—But never heard the Judge
The rest of Master Bailiff’s reasonings,
For ’twixt the two discourses there began
A thousand murmurs, anecdotes, and tales,
And lastly, quarrels.
Quite forgotten, Thaddeus
And Telimena thought but of each other;
The lady much delighted that her wit
So Thaddeus entertained; the youth returned
Her speech with compliments. With ever greater
Freedom spoke Telimena, and in tones
More low, and Thaddeus made believe that he
Could hear her not amid that crowd of talk.
So he drew nearer, whispering, so much
The nearer to her, that upon his face
He felt her brow’s sweet warmth. Restraining breath,
He caught her sighings with his lips, his glance
Seized eagerly the bright rays of her eyes;
When suddenly between their lips there flew
At first a fly, and then the Wojski’s fly-scare.
In Litva is abundance great of flies:
Among them an especial species, called
“Noble,” like all the rest in shape and hue,
But having broader thorax and abdomen,
And larger than the common sort. In flying
They make a great noise, and their humming is
Not to be borne. So strong, besides, are they,
They break through spiders’ webs, or if they should
Be caught in one, three whole days long they buzz,
And singly can they grapple with a spider.
All this the Wojski well had searched into,
And also said the lesser sort of flies
Were from these “noble” flies engendered; they
Were that among the flies that queen-bees are
Among a swarm of bees; that slaying them
Would cause the perishing of other vermin.
True, neither housekeeper, nor parish priest,
Believed in these discoveries of the Wojski,
And of the generation of the flies
Held differently; but never did the Wojski
Leave off his ancient custom. Scarcely saw he
A fly, when straightway he pursued it. Now
This very instant, past his ear a “noble”
Buzzed: twice the Wojski struck. Ashamed to miss,
He struck a third time, and nigh broke the window
Until the fly, by this great noise distraught,
Seeing two people standing on the threshold
Obstructing its return, did throw itself
Between their faces in despair; the Wojski’s
Right hand flew after it. So strong the stroke,
That the two heads sprang backwards, as the two
Halves of a tree by lightning severed; both
Rebounded with such force against the lintels,
That they retained upon them livid marks.
But fortunately no one marked this scene,
Because the conversation, which as yet,
Though loud and high, had yet been orderly,
Now ended in an outburst strong of noise.
Like hunters, who along the forest chase
A fox, while here and there is heard the crash
Of trees, the noise of shots, the bark of hounds:
But all at once, and unexpectedly,
A pricker starts a wild-boar; he gives sign;
A shout arises in the crowd of men
And dogs, as all the forest trees had voice.
So is it with discourse. It slowly moves,
Until it comes on some grand object, like
A boar-hunt. The wild-boar of this discourse
Was that fierce quarrel of the Regent with
The Assessor, touching their renownèd greyhounds:
It lasted but a short time, but they did
Much in one moment. For the two at once
Threw out so many words and loud abuse,
That they exhausted soon the first three parts
Of a dispute, jesting, and anger, challenge,
And it had come to fists already.
So
All rushed towards them from the second room.
Like a swift billow, rolling through the doors,
They bore down the young couple on the threshold
Standing, like Janus, god of double face.

Ere Thaddeus and Telimena could
Compose the locks disordered on their brows,
The threatening voices all were still again.
A murmur mixed with laughter spread around.
Decision came to the dispute; the friar
Had quelled it. He was strong and active, though
An old man, broad in shoulder-girth. So when
The Assessor rushed up to the jurist, when
Both disputants were threatening one another
By gestures, suddenly he collared both
Of them behind, and twice he struck with force
Their heads together, one against the other,
Like Easter eggs; then spread his arms abroad
In shape of sign-post, threw the two apart
In separate corners of the room. Awhile
He stood upon the place with outstretched arms,
And “Pax vobiscum,” cried he; “peace be with you!”
Those present greatly marvelled, even laughed.
Through that respect they owed a ghostly man,
None dared to blame the monk, and after such
A proof of strength, none either had the will
To enter on a quarrel with him. But
Friar Robak, soon as he had hushed the crowd,
Sought not, ’twas seen, the triumph of the fray.
He threatened not the brawlers more, nor chid;
But drawing down his cowl, and planting both
Hands on his girdle, silent left the room.

Meanwhile the Chamberlain, likewise the Judge,
Between the two sides took their places. Then
The Wojski, as awoken from deep thought,
Stepped in the midst, his hoary whisker twirled,
Nor spared important mien; he circled round
The whole assembly with a fiery eye,
And wheresoever he a murmur heard,
As priest his aspersorium, he brandished
His fly-scare to command their silence.
Then, Raising its handle high with dignity,
Like marshal’s rod, he silence thus commanded.

“Be still,” repeated he, “and have ye care;
Ye, who are chiefest hunters in the district;
From your embittering quarrel what will spring?
Know ye? Why, that the young men, upon whom
Our country founds her hopes, who ought to make
Illustrious our forests and our toils,
And who, alas! so much neglect the chase,
Perhaps will reap a fresh occasion for
Despising it, on seeing how the men,
Who ought to give example to the rest,
From hunting only bring back quarrellings
And causes of dispute. And have respect
For my grey hairs; for I knew greater hunters
Than you, and often did I arbitrate
Between them. Who in Lithuanian forests
Was Rejtan’s equal, whether drawing in
The toils, or meeting with the beast? Or who
Can liken him to Bialopiotrowicz?
Where at the present day is such a marksman
As was the nobleman Zegota, who
Could with a pistol hit a running hare?
I knew Terajewicz, who when he went
To hunt the wild-boar, took no other arms
Than a mere pike: and Budrewicz, who with
A bear fought single-handed. Such the men
That once our woodlands saw. And if it came
To quarrelling, how did they settle quarrels?
They chose them judges, and laid pledges down.
Oginski lost a hundred hides of forest
About a wolf! badger cost some hamlets
To Niesiolowski! And you, gentlemen,
Follow the old example, and decide
Your quarrel, even though by lesser pledge,
For words are wind; word quarrels ne’er have end;
Pity to dry up lips about a hare.
So choose ye judges first to arbitrate,
And what they shall decree, religiously
Subscribe. I will entreat the Judge that he
Will not forbid the pricker even to
Ride over wheat. I’ll wager that I shall
Obtain this grace from him.” And saying this,
He pressed the Judge upon the knee.
“A horse,”
The Regent cried, “I pledge a horse with trappings,
And will before the local court subscribe
Myself, that I lay down this ring, as fee
Unto the Judge.”—“And I,” the Assessor said,
“Will pledge my golden collars, made of shagreen,
Inlaid with wheels of gold, a leash of silk,
Whose workmanship is wondrous as the stone,
That shines upon it. I had wished to leave
This set as legacy unto my children,
In case I marry. It was given me,
A present from Prince Dominik,87 when once
I hunted with him, and the Marshal, Prince
Sanguszko, and with General Mejen;88 when
I challenged all the others to a trial
Of greyhounds. There, by unexampled stroke
In annals of the chase, I coursed six hares
With one dog. At that time we hunted on
Kupisko’s plain. Prince Radziwill could not
Sit still upon his horse, but lighted down;
And taking in his arms my celebrated
She-greyhound Kania, he kissed her head
Three times, and three times clapping on her muzzle,
He said, ‘Henceforward I create thee Duchess
Of Kupisko. Napoleon thus gives dukedoms
Unto his generals, from the places where
They have won great victories.’ ”
Telimena, weary
Of these o’er-long disputes, desired to go
Into the courtyard, but she wished companions.
She took a little basket from a peg.
“The gentlemen, I see, prefer to stay
Indoors, but I am going to pick mushrooms.
But they who please, I beg them follow me.”
She spoke while folding round her head a crimson
Shawl of Cashmere; the Chamberlain’s young daughter
She took by one hand; with the other gathered
Her robe about her ankles. Thaddeus
In silence hastened after her for mushrooms.

The notion of a walk rejoiced the Judge;
He saw therein a means of breaking off
This noisy quarrel; therefore he exclaimed:
“To the wood, gentlemen, for mushrooms; he
Who comes to table with the finest mushrooms,
Shall sit beside the fairest lady; he
Himself shall choose her. If a lady find them,
She shall herself select the finest lad.”

Book
III

Flirting

The Count’s expedition into the orchard—The mysterious nymph feeds the geese—Resemblance of mushroom-gathering to the walking of Elysian shades—Species of mushrooms—Consultations touching the destiny of Thaddeus—The Count a landscapist—Artistic criticisms of Thaddeus concerning trees and clouds—The Count’s notions of art—The bell—The billet-doux—“A bear, most gracious sir!”

The Count returned unto himself, but still
He stayed his horse; and turning round his head,
He gazed into the garden, and one time
It seemed to him, that from the little window
Gleamed the mysterious white frock again,
And something light descended from above
Again, and in the twinkling of an eye
Coursed o’er the garden, shining once again
Among green cucumbers, like to a sunbeam
Stol’n from behind a cloudlet, when it falls
Upon a bit of flint upon a plain,
Or ’mid green meadows on a shallow pool.

The Count dismounted, sent his servants home;
Himself in secret towards the garden went.
He reached at length the paling, in it found
An opening, and silently crept in,
Like wolf into a sheep-fold. By mischance
He struck some bushes of dry gooseberry.
The pretty gardener, as though she feared
The rustle, looked around, but nothing saw;
Yet ran she to the garden’s other side.
But at her side the Count, among the sorrel,
Among the burdock leaves, among the grass,
Sprang onwards like a frog, on hands and knees,
Quite close to her, on, crawling silently.
At last he put his head out, and beheld
A wondrous spectacle.
In this part of
The orchard, cherry-trees grew here and there,
Among them cereals of different kind,
Expressly mixed together; wheat and maize,
And beans, long-bearded rye, and peas, and millet
And even flowers and bushes. For the poultry
The housekeeper this garden had invented,
Her glory. Madame Poultry she was called,
And Mistress Turkey was her maiden name.
An epoch her invention constitutes
In housekeeping, now known to every one;
But at that time as yet a novelty,
Communicated to not many persons,
Under strict secrecy; before it was
Thus published in the almanac, by title;
“A remedy for hawks and kites, or a
New means of rearing poultry.” I was such
A garden as this one.
Thus, scarce the cock
Standing as sentinel, and motionless
His beak upturning, and his crested head
To one side bending, so that he might aim
At heaven easier with his glance, may see
A hawk suspended in the clouds, he crows;
At once the hens take refuge in this garden,
Even geese and peacocks, and in sudden fright
Pigeons, who find no safety on the roof.

But now no foe was visible in heaven,
And only the fierce heat of summer burned.
The birds hid from it in that wood of corn;
Some lay among the grass, some slept in sand.
Among the birds’ heads, little human ones
Stood forth, uncovered; on them were short locks
As white as flax, necks to the shoulders bare.
Among them sat a damsel, one head taller,
With longer locks; behind the children sat
A peacock, with the circle of his plumes
Wide-spreading, in a rainbow many-hued,
On which the small fair heads, as on a picture’s
Background, against the deep blue, took on lustre,
Defined by circle of the peacock eyes,
Like to a starry garland; in the corn
They gleamed as though in a transparency,
Amid the golden stalks of Indian corn,
With silver streaks of English clover decked,
And coral mercury, and verdant mallow;
The mingled forms and colours seemed to make
A woven lattice-work of gold and silver,
That waved upon the wind like a light veil.

Above the thicket of the many-coloured
Corn-ears and stalks, hung like a canopy,
A shining mist of butterflies, those called
“Old women;” and whose fourfold wings, as light
As webs of spiders, and as clear as glass,
Suspended in the air, may scarce be seen;
And though they make a humming, thou wouldst think
They were immovable.
The damsel waved
A plume of grey, uplifted in one hand,
Like to a bunch of ostrich feathers. She
Appeared therewith from off the infant heads
To chase the golden rain of butterflies;
And in her other hand a something gleamed,
Horn-shaped and shining. It would seem a vessel
For feeding children, for unto the lips
Of each in turn she neared it. In its shape
It looked like Amalthea’s golden horn.

Thus busied, ne’ertheless she turned her head
Towards the direction of that well-remembered
Trampling of gooseberry bushes; not aware
That the invader drew already near,
From the side opposite, and like a snake
On creeping, till he from the burdocks sprang.
She looked; he stood quite near; removed from her
Four garden beds apart, and low he bowed.
She turned away her head, and raised her arms;
And, like a frightened jay, she tried to fly.
Her light feet flew already o’er the leaves,
When, frightened by the coming of the stranger,
And by the damsel’s flight, the children shrieked
Most terribly. She heard it, and she felt
It were imprudent thus to leave alone
The little, timid children. She returned,
Herself controlling; but she must return,
Like an unwilling spirit, whom a wizard
Compels by adjuration; she ran up,
To play with the most noisy of the children.
She sat beside it on the ground, she took it
Upon her lap, the others she caressed,
With hand and fondling speech, until they all
Again were quiet, with their little hands
Her knees encircling, and their little heads
To her close-pressing, like to little chickens
Under their mother’s wing. She said: “Is it
Pretty to cry like that? Is it polite?
This gentleman will be afraid. He is
Not come to frighten us; he is not an old
And ugly beggar. He’s a visitor,
And a good gentleman: just look how pretty.”

She looked herself. The Count well pleased did smile,
And visibly was grateful unto her
For so much praise. She soon bethought herself,
Was silent, dropped her eyes, and like a rosebud
She blushed.
A pretty gentleman he was
In truth, of right good beauty, with a face
Of oval form, pale cheeks, but of fresh hue;
Blue eyes and gentle; long, fair hair; thereon
Were leaves of plants, and grass-blades, which the Count
Had plucked away while crawling through the beds
Like woven wreath they decked his locks with green.

“O thou!” he said; “by whatsoever name
I may adore thee, be thou nymph or goddess,
Spirit or vision, speak! hath thine own will
Led thee on earth, or do a stranger’s bonds
Retain thee prisoner in this earthly vale?
Alas! I guess the truth! some lover scorned,
Some powerful lord, or envious guardian,
Holds thee enchanted in this castle-park!
Thou art worthy gallant knights should fight for thee,
To be a heroine of sad romance!
Unfold to me, O fair one, all the secrets
Of this thy cruel fate, and thou shalt here
Find a deliverer! Henceforth at thy beck,
As thou dost rule my heart, rule thou my arm!”
And forth he stretched his arm.
With maiden blush
She listened, but with merry countenance,
As children love to see bright-coloured pictures,
Or can amusement find in shining counters,
Before they learn their worth. These words sweet-sounding
Thus did caress her hearing, though she knew not
Their sense. At length she asked him: “Whence, sir, come you?
What are you seeking in the garden beds?”
The Count his eyes wide opened. Much confused,
Astonished, he was still; then lowering
The style of his discourse: “I beg your pardon,”
He said; “young lady! I perceive that I
Have troubled pastime. Oh! I beg your pardon.
I am this moment hastening to breakfast;
I am already late; I wished to come
In time. You know, young lady, how the road
Goes circling round. The garden seemed to me
A shorter way to reach the house.” The girl
Replied: “The way is here, sir, but you must
Not spoil the garden beds. There is the path
Among the turf.” “Is it to left or right?”
The Count demanded. Lifting her blue eyes,
The gardening-nymph appeared to search him through
With curiosity. For there the house,
A thousand paces off, stood plainly seen,
As though at arm’s length; yet he asked the way.
But yet the Count must absolutely talk
With her, and sought for this some fresh excuse.
“Live you here, lady, near the garden? or
There in the village? How then has it chanced,
I have not seen you at the manor-house?
Have you not long been here? new come perhaps?”
The damsel shook her head. “Pray, pardon me,
Young lady; is not that your chamber there,
Where stands that little window?
But he thought
Within his heart, “If not the heroine
Of a romance, she seems a very young,
And very pretty girl. Too often does
A great soul, a high mind, in solitude
Concealèd, blossom like a rose among
A forest; ’tis enough to bring it forth
Into the world, and place it in the sun,
And make beholders wonder at its thousand
Bright colours.”
Meanwhile silently uprose
The gardening maiden; on her shoulder lifting
One child, another taking by the hand,
Driving the rest like geese before her, she
Passed through the garden.
Turning round she said,
“Sir, cannot you drive back my runaway
Poultry into the barn?” “I drive the poultry!”
The Count exclaimed in wonder. She meanwhile
Had vanished, in the shadows of the trees;
And yet awhile from the espalier yet,
Through wreaths of foliage, something gleamed athwart,
As though it were two eyes.
The Count alone
Stood long yet in the garden. And his spirit,
Like to the earth when once the sun is down,
Grew gradually colder; sober hues
Assumed. He now began to dream, but he
Had very disagreeable dreams indeed. He woke,
Not knowing against whom he felt such rage.
Alas! he had found so little; he expected
Too much! For when he crept through rows of plants
Towards that shepherdess, his head did burn,
His heart within him jumped. So many charms
In that mysterious nymph he gazed upon,
He clothed her in such marvels, guessed so many,
And all things he found out were otherwise!
She had indeed a pretty face, a slender
Figure, but how unformed! and such a plumpness
Of cheeks, and that deep red, depainting such
Excessive vulgar happiness; sure sign
Her mind yet slept, her heart was still unstirred.
And those replies, so vulgar, country-like!
“Wherefore delude myself?” he cried; “I have guessed
Too late. And my mysterious nymph, no doubt
Is the goose-girl!”
With the nymph’s vanishing,
The magical transparency all changed!
Those ribbons, those resplendent lattices
Of gold and silver, all, alas! was straw!

Wringing his hands, the Count gazed on a bunch
Of grass, that formed a broom, which he had taken
For ostrich feathers in the damsel’s hand.
The vessel he forgot not, made of gold,
That horn of Amalthea!—it was a carrot!
He saw the children gorge it eagerly.
Then all the charm was over! the enchantment!
The wonder!
Even so when a boy perceives
The flowers of succory, with soft, light blue
Tempting his hand, and longs to grasp them; near
He comes, he breathes, and with the breath the flower
In light down vanishes in air. And now
The seeker over-curious beholds
Only a naked, grey-green stalk of grass,
Left in his hand.
The Count pressed down his hat
Upon his brows, and by the way he came
Returned, but shorter made the road; he trod
O’er vegetables, flowers, and gooseberry bushes;
Till, o’er the paling sprung, he breathed at last.
Then he remembered that he spoke of breakfast
Unto the damsel. Every one, may be,
Now knew the story of this meeting in
The garden, near unto the house. Perhaps
They now were coming out to seek for him.
They saw his flight, who knows what they may think?
So it behoved him to return. Down bending
Along the hedges, ’twixt the ridges and
The plants, he made a thousand turns, yet glad
He was, when he at last attained the path,
Which straightway to the mansion courtyard led.
He went beside the hedge, but from the orchard
He turned away his head;—a thief resembling,
Who looketh from the granary away,
To give no trace of wish to visit it,
Or that he has already visited.
So prudent was the Count, though no one tracked him,
That towards the quarter opposite the garden,
Towards the right he looked.
A sparse-grown thicket
Was there, all paved with turf, upon whose carpets,
Across the white stems of the birchen-trees,
Beneath a tent of hanging leafy boughs,
A multitude of forms were moving round,
With actions strange, like dances, and strange dress.
They seemed like spirits wandering by the moon,
Some clad in black, tight garments, some in long
And flowing robes, all shining—white as snow;
One underneath a hat like spreading hoop,
Bareheaded one; and others, as though wrapped
In clouds seemed walking, long veils on the wind
Let fly, far streaming like a comet’s tail.
Each in a different posture; one as grown
Fast to the earth; his eyes alone cast down
Upon the earth do circle round about;
One looking straight before him, forward strides,
As though in sleep, in a straight line; nor turns
Aside to right or left. But all bend down
To various sides, unto the very ground,
As though they made deep bows. If they draw near,
Or meet each other, they do neither speak,
Nor do salute each other. Deep in thought,
Buried within themselves, the Count beheld
In them an image of Elysian shades,
Who, though by pains or fears unreachable,
Wander on peacefully and still, though gloomy.

Who would have guessed these scarcely moving folk,
Those silent people, were our old acquaintance,
The Judge’s friends? They from their noisy breakfast,
Went forth unto the solemn ceremony
Of mushroom-gathering. Like heedful folk,
They knew how they should mark their speech and action,
So as to suit them both to place and time,
In every circumstance. And for this reason,
Ere to the thicket followed they the Judge,
They took on different forms, and change of dress,
Rain-cloaks of linen, that for walking served,
Wherewith they hid the top of the kontusz,
And on their heads indued they hats of straw;
Thence seemed they white, like purgatory souls.
All the young people likewise seemed disguised,
Excepting Telimena and some others,
Who wore the French costume.
The Count this scene
Could comprehend not, neither did he know
This country custom, so in measureless
Amazement he unto the thicket ran.

Of mushrooms there was plenty!89 Krasnolice90
The lads collected, and the lisice,91
Renowned in Lithuanian songs; they are
Emblem of maidenhood, for never grubs
Devour them; and more wondrous, never insects
Upon them sit. The youthful ladies seek
The slim borowik,92 which the song extols,93
As colonel of the fungi. But all search
For agarics; which, humbler in their growth,
And less renowned in songs, yet most delicious
Are, whether they be eaten fresh, or salted,
In autumn or in winter. But the Wojski
Collected muchomory.
Others form
The commonwealth of mushrooms, in the mass
Despised for harmfulness, or evil taste.
But yet they have their uses; food for beasts,
And insects’ nests, and ornaments of groves.
On the green table-cloth of meadows, like
A row of table vessels they appear.
The silvery surojadki, red and yellow,
Appear like tiny goblets filled with wine,
The kozlak like a swelling cup reversed,
Lejki like slender glasses of champagne,
Bielaki, round and white, and broad and flat,
Like Dresden cups filled to the brim with milk,
And a round ball, filled with a blackish dust,
Purchawka,94 like a pepper-castor; other
Names are there, known in tongue of wolves or hares,
By men unchristened;—but they have no number,
And no one condescends to touch the hare
Or wolfish mushrooms; and whoever stoops
Towards them, and perceiveth his mistake,
In anger breaks the fungus, or upon it
Tramples, and spoiling thus the grass, he acts
Very imprudently.
But Telimena
Collected neither human mushrooms nor
Wolfish; she, absent-minded, weary, looked
Around her, with her head uplifted. Angry,
The Regent said that she was seeking mushrooms
Upon the trees; the Assessor likened her,
With greater malice, to a hen-bird, seeking
Around to find a place to build her nest.

However, it appeared she sought for silence,
For solitude; for slowly she withdrew
Herself from her companions; and she went
Along the wood, towards a low-sloped hill,
O’ershadowed, for the trees grew thickly there.
A grey stone midmost; from beneath the stone
A streamlet murmured, gushed forth, and at once
As though it sought for shadow, hid itself
Among the herbage thick and growing high,
Which, drunk with water, round luxuriated.
There the swift, wilful stream in grasses swaddled,
And laid on bed of leafage, motionless
And noiseless, unperceived, and scarcely heard,
Did whisper to itself, like crying child,
When laid down in its cradle, while the mother
Above it curtains binds of foliage,
And scatters leaves of poppy on its head.
A tranquil, lovely place; here Telimena
Oft hides herself, and calls it Sanctuary
Of Meditation.
Standing by the brook,
She from her shoulders threw upon the grass
Her lightly-waving shawl, like bloodstone red.
And like a swimmer, who doth bend her down
Unto the chilly water, ere she dare
The plunge, so she knelt down, and gradually
Bent to one side. At last, as borne away
By a coral torrent, on the shawl she fell,
And lay extended; on the grass her elbow,
Leaning her brow upon her open hand,
Her head bent downward to the ground, and on
The ground beside her head there gleamed the white
And vellum paper of a French book. Over
The alabaster pages, wreathed the black
Ringlets and rosy ribbons.
In the emerald
Of the luxuriant grass upon the shawl
Of bloodstone-red, in a long garment, as
Within a coral covering, wherefrom
Her locks appeared at one end, at the other
Was a black slipper; at the sides gleamed white
Her snowy stocking, handkerchief, and whiteness
Of hands and face; she well might seem afar
A many-coloured caterpillar, crawling
Upon the green leaf of a maple-tree.

Alas! the charms and beauties of this picture
In vain sought connoisseurs; none heeded them.
All were so busy with their mushroom hunt.
However, Thaddeus regarded them,
And glanced aside, and daring not to go
Straightway, he glided sidewards to the place.
As does the hunter, in a leafy booth,
Movable, planted on two wheels, when he
Follows the trail of game; or in pursuing
Plovers, upon the saddle lays his gun,
Or underneath the horse’s neck; now seems
To drag a harrow, now along the ridge
To ride; but every move draws nearer to
The spot where sit the birds. So Thaddeus
Stole up.
The Judge disturbed his ambush, and
Cutting across his way, made haste unto
The fountain. With his sarafan’s95 white skirt,
And a great handkerchief, the end of which
Was bound unto his girdle, played the wind.
A straw hat, bound beneath his chin, from his
Swift movement, like a leaf of burdock, in
The wind waved to and fro; now on his shoulder
It fell, and now again upon his eyes;
A great stick in his hand: thus strode the Judge.
He stopped, and in the streamlet washed his hands;
Then on the great stone close by Telimena
He sat, and both hands on the ivory head
Of his enormous cane supporting, he
Began with such preamble.
“As thou seest,
Since Thaddeus came here as guest, I have had
No small anxiety. I am an old
And childless man; he is a good boy, truly
My only consolation in the world,
And future heir unto my fortune. I,
By heaven’s grace, shall leave no bad provision
Of noble’s bread behind me; ’tis now time
His future to consider, and his settling.
But judge of my distress. Thou knowest well
Pan Jacek, my own brother, and the father
Of Thaddeus—a man most singular,
’Tis hard to know the meaning of his plans—
Will not return unto his native land.
Heaven only knows where he has hid himself.
He will not even tell his son he lives,
But is continually disposing of him.
He first desired to send him to the legions;
And greatly this tormented me. Then he
Agreed that he should stay at home and marry
He should indeed have got a wife already.
I looked for a good match. No dweller here
In birth is equal, or in parentage
Unto the Chamberlain; his daughter Anna
Is marriageable, beautiful, well-dowered.
I wished to”—Telimena here grew pale,
Laid down her book, half rose, again sat down.

“As I my mother love,” said she, “are you,
My brother, in your senses, right in heart?
Think you that you will be a benefactor
To Thaddeus, if, being yet a lad,
You make of him a buckwheat sower? You
Debar him from the world. Believe me, he
Some time will curse you for it. Such a talent
In rooms to bury, and in garden ground.
Believe me, in so far as I have seen,
He is a boy of some intelligence;
It is worth while for him to get some polish
In the great world. You would do well, my brother,
To send him to some capital, for instance
To Warsaw. Or, do you know what I think?—
If ’twere to Petersburg? This winter I
Shall probably be going there on business.
Let us together settle what to do
With Thaddeus. I know many people there;
I have influence; it is the surest way.
By my assistance he will find an entrance
In the best families, and being known
To persons of importance, he will get
An office, or an order; let him then
Leave, if he will, the service, and come home,
Having already some importance, and
Some knowledge of the world. What think you, brother?”
“Ay, in one’s early years,” the Judge replied,
“It is not wrong a boy should air himself
A little, and look round him in the world,
And rub a little among folk. Myself,
When young, o’er not a little of the world
I travelled, went to Piotrkow and to Dubno;
Now as a pleader with the tribunal,
Promoting now my own affairs, I went
As far as Warsaw. As a man, not little
I profited thereby. I should desire
To send my nephew also among people,
But simply as a traveller, like to
A journeyman, who ends his term of years,
To get a little knowledge of the world,
And not for rank or order. With respect,
This Russian rank or order—how should that
Confer importance? Of our ancient lords,
Why, even of the new ones, who among
The somewhat higher nobles of the district,
Cares for such trifles? Yet, however, they
Are in esteem with mankind, for in them
They honour family and a good name,
Or office, but a native one, conferred
By citizen’s election, not by any
Favour whatever.”
Telimena here
Broke in: “If thus you think, so much the better,
My brother; send him out then as a traveller.”
“Thou seest, sister,” sadly spoke the Judge,
Scratching his head; “I should desire it much.
But what avails this, with new hindrances?
Pan Jacek will not from his own control
Release his son, and has just sent to me
The Bernardine, this Robak, who is come
From that side Vistula; my brother’s friend
Is he, and cognisant of all his thoughts;
And they between them have already settled
The destiny of Thaddeus, and desire
That he shall marry—that he wed Sophia,
Your ward. The two will have, besides my fortune,
A capital as dowry by the favour
Of Jacek; for you know the capital
Is his, and by his favour I enjoy
Its interest nearly all. He therefore has
The right of disposition. You consider
How this result, with the least trouble, may
Be brought about. They must become acquainted.
’Tis true, they are very young, especially
Sophia; but this need be no obstacle.
And it is time to bring Sophia out
From her seclusion, for indeed she now
Is growing out of childhood.”
Telimena,
Astonished and half-frightened, half arose,
And knelt upon the shawl; at first she heard
Attentive; then with motion of her hand
Protested; with impatient movement shaking
Her hand above her ear, as though to chase
Like insects the displeasing words away,
Back to the speaker’s lips.
“Ah! ah! this is
A new thing! Let it injure Thaddeus,
Or injure not, yourself can judge the best.
Thaddeus to me is nothing; you yourselves
Dispose of him; make him an overseer,
Or put him in a tavern; let him sell
Liquor, or carry game home from the forest.
With him do what shall please you. But Sophia,
What is Sophia to you? I shall dispose
Of her in marriage, I alone! Because
Pan Jacek gave some money to bring up
Sophia, and a little yearly pension
Assigns to her, and deigns to promise more,
Still for all that he has not purchased her!
And for the rest, you gentlemen both know,
And all the world knows well, your liberal gifts
To us are not bestowed without a reason.
For something the Soplicas owe unto
The race of the Horeszkos.” To this portion
Of her discourse, with scarcely understood
Trouble, and grief, and horror visible,
The Judge attended, and as though he feared
The rest of the discourse, he bowed his head,
And, with his hand assenting, deeply blushed.

But Telimena finished speaking thus:
“I have been her guardian, am a relative,
Sophia’s one protector. I alone
Shall think about her happiness.”—“But if
She find her happiness in this same marriage?”
The Judge said, raising up his glance; “suppose
That she likes Thaddeus?”—“Like him, that’s a pear
Upon a willow;96 like or not like; ’tis
A weighty thing to me; Sophia will not
Be richly dowered, in truth; but then she is
Not of a petty village, or a mean
Nobility. She comes of the Illustrious
Most Powerful, she is a Wojewode’s daughter,
Born from a Horeszkowna; she will get
A husband—we have taken so much pains
About her education—only if
She have not here run wild.” The Judge with heed
Listened, and looked into her eyes; he seemed
Appeased, for pretty cheerfully he answered:
“Well then, what must we do? Heaven knows that I
Sincerely wished to get the business done;
But only without anger. If you do not
Agree, you are right; ’tis sad, but ’tis unfitting
Angry to be. I counselled this, because
My brother ordered it; there’s no compulsion.
If you refuse still Master Thaddeus,
I will write back to Jacek, that ’tis not
My fault his son’s betrothal to Sophia
Does not take place. Now will I counsel take
With myself only. Possibly I shall
Begin arrangements97 with the Chamberlain;
And all the rest we will decide upon.”

Meanwhile had Telimena cooler grown:
“I refuse nothing, brother dear,” she said;
“But gently! you yourself have said it is
As yet too early; they are both too young.
Let us look round, and wait; nought hinders that.
Make the young people known to one another.
We will consider well, we cannot risk
The happiness of others thus on chance.
I only warn betimes; do not, my brother,
Over-persuade now Thaddeus, nor compel him
To love Sophia; for the heart is not
A servant, neither owns a master’s reign,
Nor can be bound by violence in a chain!98

Thereon the Judge, uprising, full of thought
Departed. Master Thaddeus drew near
From the opposing side, pretending that
The search for mushrooms drew him to the spot;
And in the same direction came the Count
Now slowly forward.
Hidden by the trees,
While Telimena and the Judge disputed,
The Count had stood, much wondering at this scene.
At length he drew out from his pocket paper
And pencil, implements he always carried
Along with him; and spreading out the paper,
Over a tree-trunk bending, sketched the picture,
Saying unto himself: “As though they were
Thus grouped on purpose; he upon the stone,
She on the grass; a group most picturesque!
Characteristic heads, the contrast marked.”
He came up, stopped, and put his eyeglass on;
He rubbed the lenses, and looked more and more.
“Will this miraculous, this lovely sight
Perish, or be transformed if I approach?
This velvet grass be only beet and poppies?
And in this nymph shall I but recognise
Some housekeeper?”
Although the Count had often
Seen Telimena in the Judge’s house,
Where pretty often he had been, he little
Had her esteemed; and most astonished was
To find in her the model of his picture.
The beauty of the place, and her position,
The charming, tasteful dress had so transformed her,
She scarcely might be recognised. There yet
Shone unextinguished anger in her eyes.
Her face, enlivened by the wind’s fresh breeze,
Discussion with the Judge, and by the sudden
Arrival of the young men, deeply blushed,
More deeply than her wont.
“Madam,” the Count
Said, “Deign my boldness to forgive. I come
At once to ask your pardon and to thank you.
Pardon, for that I tracked your steps by stealth;
To thank you that I have been witness of
Your meditation. Much as I offended,
So much am I your debtor. Interrupting
An hour of meditation, unto you
I owe an hour of inspiration, and
A blessèd moment. Be the man condemned;
The lover of the arts awaits your pardon.
Much I have ventured; I will venture more.
Judge.” And he knelt, and offered her his landscape.

Then Telimena gave, in courteous strain,
Her judgment on the attempt, but spoke as one
Who understood the art; of praises sparing,
But sparing not encouragement. “Bravo!”
She said; “I compliment you; not a little
Of talent. Only this forget not; most
’Tis needful to seek out the fairest nature.
O happy skies of Italy! the Caesars’
Gardens of roses! classic waterfalls
Of Tivoli! and fearful rocky tunnels
Of Posilipo! There, Count, is the land
Of painters. But in ours the Muses’ child,
Put out to nurse in Soplicowo, must
Die certainly. I’ll frame that picture, Count,
Or place it in my album, with a number
Of drawings, which I have from everywhere
Collected; I have many in my bureau.”

So they began to talk of those blue heavens,
Murmurs of seas, and sweet winds, rocky heights,
Commingling here and there as travellers wont,
Laughter and railing at their native land.
Yet round them the Litvanian forests stretched,
So full of beauty and of dignity;
The cherry-tree with garland of wild hops,
Woven around it, and the service-tree,
Fresh-blushing like a shepherdess; the hazel,
Like maenad, with green thyrsis, decked about
As by a garland, with its pearly nuts.
And lower grew the forest children; blackthorn
In the embraces of the briony;
Aspen, whose black lips pressed the raspberries;
The trees and bushes joined their leaves like hands,
Like youths and maidens standing for the dance,
In circle of the married pairs. There stands
One couple, raised o’er all the forest crowd,
By slenderness of shape, and charm of colour,
The white birch, bride-like, with her spouse the hornbeam;
And further, like old people looking on
Their children and grandchildren, silent sitting,
Here reverend beech-trees; there the matron poplars;
And oak with mosses bearded, with the weight
Of five long ages on his humpy back,
Leaning, as though on columns of a grave,
On fossil trunks of oaks, his forefathers.

Thaddeus was restless, not a little tired
Of this long conversation, in which he
Could take no share. But soon as they began
To celebrate the woods of foreign lands,
And count in turn all species of their trees,
The orange, cypress, olive, almond-tree,
Cactus, and aloe, and mahogany,
Sandal and citron, ivy, walnut, figs,
Exalting all their forms, and shapes, and stalks,
More restless still was Thaddeus, and at last
No longer could restrain himself from rage.

Simple he was, but strongly could he feel
The charms of nature; on his native forest
Looking, he spoke with inspiration full:
“I have seen those celebrated trees at Wilna,
In the botanic garden, those that grow
In the east, and south, and in that beautiful
Italian land. But which of them can be
Compared with our trees? Can the aloe, with
Long rods, like a conductor? or the citron,
A dwarf with golden balls, with lacquered leaves,
A short and dumpy thing, like a short woman,
Ugly, but rich? or can that much-praised cypress,
Long, thin, and lean? It does not seem the tree
Of sadness, but of weariness. They say
That it looks very sad upon a grave.
’Tis like a German lackey in court mourning,
Who dares not lift his hands, or turn his head,
Lest he should sin against court etiquette.

“Is not our honest birch-tree fairer far,
Like peasant-woman weeping for her son,
Or widow for her husband; wringing hands,
While the long streams of her dishevelled hair
Fall o’er her shoulders down unto the ground?
Mute with her sorrow, yet how speakingly
Her form seems sobbing. Wherefore then, Sir Count,
If you love painting, paint you not our trees,
Among which you are sitting? In plain truth,
The neighbours will make jest of you, that while
You live upon the fertile Litvin plain,
You only paint some sort of rocks and deserts.”

“My friend,” the Count replied; “fair nature is
The form, the background, the material part;
But inspiration is the soul, which, borne
Upon the wings of the imagination,
By taste is polished, and by rules supported.
Nature is not sufficient, nor sufficient
Enthusiasm; the lover of the arts
Must fly into the sphere of the ideal;
Not all things beautiful are fit to paint.
All this from books you’ll learn in your own time.
As to what touches painting; for a picture,
Are necessary points of view, and grouping,
Ensemble, and atmosphere; the atmosphere
Of Italy! And therefore in the art
Of painting Italy is, was, and shall be,
The fatherland of painters. For this reason,
Excepting Breughel, but not Van der Helle,99
The landscape painter, for there are two Breughels,
And Ruisdael, where is there, in all the north,
A landscape-painter of the highest power?
The sky, the sky is necessary.”—“Our
Painter Orlowski,”100 broke in Telimena,
“Had the Soplica taste. For you must know,
That it is the Soplicas’ special sickness,
Except their native land that nothing please them.
Orlowski—who his life in Petersburg
Spent a most famous painter; I have some
Sketches of his in my bureau—lived near
The emperor, at court, as though it were
In Paradise, but you would not believe,
Count, how he for his country longed, and loved
Continually to recall his youthful years,
Exalting all in Poland, earth, sky, forests!”

“And he was right!” cried Thaddeus with warmth.
“For that Italian sky of yours, so far
As I have heard of it, so pure, so blue,
Must be like standing water. Are not wind
And storm a hundred times more beautiful?
With us it is enough to raise one’s head!
How many sights, how many scenes and pictures,
Even in the very changing of the clouds;
For every cloud is different. For instance
The autumn cloud crawls like a lazy tortoise,
Heavy with rain, and from the sky to earth
Lets down long streamers, like dishevelled hair.
They are floods of rain. A hail-cloud with the wind,
Flies swift like a balloon, round, darkly blue,
Midmost it shineth yellow; a great murmur
Is heard around. But even every day,
Look ye, these small white clouds, how changeable!
First like a flock of wild geese, or of swans,
And from behind the wind like falcon drives them
Together in a flock; they closer press,
They thicken, they grow larger—newer wonders,
They have archèd necks, their manes fly loose, they put
Forth rows of legs, and o’er the arch of heaven
Fly like a troop of wild steeds o’er the steppes,
All white as silver; they have mingled; now
Masts spring up from their necks, and from their manes
Broad sails. The troop is changed into a ship,
That proudly sails on, silently and slow,
Across the plain of heaven’s blue expanse.”

The Count and Telimena looked on high,
And Thaddeus pointed with one hand the cloud,
The other pressing Telimena’s hand.
Some moments passed by in this silent scene.
The Count spread out his paper on his hat,
And drew his pencil forth. Then to their ears
Tormenting, loud the bell resounded, and
The stilly wood at once was full of shouts
And noise.
The Count said in a solemn voice,
Nodding his head, “Thus fate is used to end
All things on earth by ringing of a bell.
The calculations of great minds, and all
Imagination’s plans, and innocent
Pastimes, and friendship’s pleasures; the outpouring
Of tender hearts. When far off roars the bronze,
All is confused, and broken off, and troubled,
And vanishes!” And here on Telimena
Casting a tender glance, “What shall remain?”
And she replied to him, “Remembrance stays.”
And wishing somewhat to alleviate
The sadness of the Count, she plucked, and gave
To him a blossom of forget-me-not.
This the Count kissed, and pinned unto his breast.
And Thaddeus on his side, now open bent
A green bush, seeing through it something white
Winding towards him; ’twas a little hand,
White as a lily; this he seized, and kissed,
And silently his lips upon it dwelt,
As a bee plunges in a lily’s cup.
Upon his lips he felt a something cold.
He found a key, and a white paper folded
In trumpet-shape; it was a little note.
He seized and hid them in his pocket; what
The key should mean he knew not, but that white
Paper would unto him explain the whole.

The bell kept ringing on, and as an echo,
Resounded from the deeps of the still woods,
A thousand shouts and uproars. ’Twas the sound
Of seeking and of calling, being token
The mushroom-hunt was ended. Not at all
A sad noise, neither a funereal,
As to the Count it seemed; convivial rather.
This bell each noontide shouting from the garret,
Invites both guests and servants unto dinner.
Such was in ancient, peopled courts the custom,
And in the Judge’s house it so remained.
So from the thicket came the assembly forth,
All carrying baskets, handkerchiefs, together
Bound at the ends, and all of mushrooms full.
But the young ladies carried in one hand,
Like to a folded fan, the widely spreading
Borowik; in the other, bound together,
Like field-flowers, opienki, surojadki,
Of various hues; a muchomor the Wojski.
All empty-handed Telimena came,
And following her the two young gentlemen.

The guests in order came in, and around
Stood in a circle. Then the Chamberlain
At table took the highest seat; this place
Was his by right of dignity and years.
In going there he to the ladies bowed,
The old men, and the youths. Beside him stood
The begging friar, beside the friar the Judge.
The Bernardine in Latin spoke short grace,
Then brandy to the men was given; all
Forthwith were seated, and in silence ate
The Litvin cholodziec with appetite.

They dined in greater silence than their wont,
And none would talk, despite the host’s inviting
The different parties who took interest
In the dispute about the dogs, were thinking
About to-morrow’s contest and the pledges;
And Telimena, talking constantly
To Thaddeus, was obliged to turn away
At times unto the Count, and even glance
At times upon the Assessor. So the fowler
Gazes upon the snare wherein he will
Lure goldfinches, but looks at the same time
Upon a bait for sparrows. Both the Count
And Thaddeus, each contented with himself,
Both happy, and both full of hope, were not
Ready to talk for that. The Count with pride
Looked on the little flower, and Thaddeus
Upon his pocket furtively, half doubting
That little key were lost. He seized and twisted
The paper round, which yet he had not read.
The Judge kept pouring the Chamberlain
Both champagne and Hungarian wines; he served him
Attentively, and pressed his knee, but had
No inclination to converse with him.
’Twas seen he felt some trouble inwardly.

In silence still the plates and courses passed.
At length an unexpected guest broke in
Upon the weary course of dining. ’Twas
The forester, who rushing headlong in,
Did not consider it was dinner-time.
He ran up to his master; from his action
And his demeanour it was plain that he
Bore some important and unusual news.
The eyes of all the assembly turned on him.
He, having taken breath a little, said,
“A bear, most gracious sir!” All knew the rest.
The beast from the Matecznik101 had come out,
And was endeavouring to steal past into
The forest land beyond the Niemen. He
Must speedily be followed up. This all
At once acknowledged, though they neither did
Consult together, nor consider it;
Their broken words made visible the thought
Common to all; their lively gestures, countless
Commands, that going forth tumultuously,
At once from lips so many, hastened yet
All to one common aim.
“Send to the village!”
The Judge exclaimed; “to horse! the setnik102 call.
To-morrow is the beating, but we want
Some volunteers. Who comes forth with a spear,
To him two days of road-work be excused,
And five days of forced labour.”103 “Quick!” exclaimed
The Chamberlain; “and saddle the grey horse,
And gallop to my house; bring those two bulldogs
Renowned throughout the neighbourhood; the male
Is Sprawnik called, the female is Strapczyna.104
Muzzle their jaws, and tie them in a bag.
Bring them on horseback here for greater haste.”
“Wanka!” the Assessor cried unto a lad,
In Russian, “pass my Sanguszkowa cutlass
Upon the grindstone; thou dost know that cutlass,
I had as present from the prince; look well
Unto the belt, that each charge have a ball.”
“Rifles!” cried all; “have them in readiness.”
The Assessor kept on shouting, “Lead! lead! lead!
I have a mould for bullets in my pouch.”
“Let notice to the parish priest be given,”
Added the Judge, “that he to-morrow morning
Shall say mass in the chapel by the forest.
For hunters a short offertory be it.
St. Hubert’s customary mass.”
When given
These orders, silence followed; every one
Fell deep in thought, and cast his eyes around,
As though he sought for some one; gradually
All eyes the Wojski’s venerable face
Draws to itself, and all unanimous.
This was a sign that they a leader sought,
To head the coming expedition; they
Unto the Wojski did confide the staff.
The Wojski rose, he understood their will,
And striking solemnly upon the board,
He from his bosom drew a great gold chain,
Whereon a heavy watch hung like a pear.
“To-morrow,” said he, “half-past four, beside
The forest chapel meet the brother hunters
The force of beaters.”
Thus he spoke, and left
The table; after him the forester;
Both must think over and direct the hunt.
Like generals, when battle is ordained
Upon the morrow, while throughout the camps
The soldiers clean their arms, and ride about,
Or sleep on cloaks and saddles, void of care;
But in their silent tents the generals
Awake and meditate.
They broke off dinner,
And all that day in shoeing horses past,
And feeding dogs, gathering and cleaning arms.
At supper hardly any came to table.
And even the partisans of Kusy and
Of Sokol ceased to-day to agitate
The great dispute. The Regent and Assessor
Went, arm in arm, a-seeking out the lead.
The others with their labours wearied out,
Went to sleep early to awake at dawn.

Book
IV

Diplomacy and the Chase

An apparition in curl-papers awakes Thaddeus—The mistake discovered too late—The tavern—The emissary—The skilful use of a snuff-box turns the discussion into the right channel The Matecznik—The bear—The danger of Thaddeus and the Count—Three shots—The quarrel of the Sagalasowka with the Sanguszkowna, decided infavour of the single-barrelled Horeszkowska—The Bigos—The Wojski’s story of the duel between Dowejko and Domejko, interrupted by the hunting of a hare—The end of the story of Dowejko and Domejko.

O ye contemporaries of our great
Litvanian princes, trees of Bialowiez,
Switez, Ponary, and of Kuszelew,
Whose shadow fell upon the crowned heads
Of threatening Witenez and great Mindowe,105
And Gedymin, when on the Ponar mount,
Beside the hunter’s fire, upon a bear-skin
He lay, and heard the song of sage Lizdejko.
And lulled by sight of Wilia,106 and the murmur
Of the Wilejka, had the dream concerning
The iron wolf,107 and waking, by the god’s
Expressed commands, the city Wilna built,
Which sitteth ’mid the forests, as a wolf
Among the bisons, wild-boars, bears. And from
This city Wilna, as the Roman she-wolf,
Came Kiejstut, Olgierd, and the sons of Olgierd,108
As great in hunting as renowned in war,
The foe pursuing, or the savage game.
The hunter’s dream to us the secrets showed
Of future times, that ever unto Litva
Forests and iron shall be necessary.

Forests to hunting in you rode the last,
The last king, who the kolpak109 wore of Witold,
The last of the Jagellons, happy warrior,110
And the last hunter-monarch in Litvania.
My native trees! if Heaven yet permit
That I return to gaze on you, old friends,
Shall I yet find you there? do you still live,
You, whom I crept about once as a child?
Lives the great Baublis,111 with the mighty trunk,
Hollowed by years, wherein, as in a house,
Some twenty guests might at a table sup?
Does Mendog’s thicket flourish yet hard by
The parish church?112 and thither in the Ukraine,
Before the mansion of the Holowinskis,
Upon the banks of Ros, stands yet that elm
So widely spreading, that beneath its shade
A hundred youths, a hundred maidens might
Stand up to dance?
Our monuments! how many
The Russian’s or the merchant’s axe each year
Devours! nor leaves unto the woodland singers
A refuge, nor unto the bards, to whom
Your shade was dear as ’twas unto the birds.
Witness that linden-tree in Czarnolas,
Responsive to the voice of John,113 that formed
The inspiration of so many rhymes.
Witness that oak that sings so many wonders
Unto the Cossack bard.114
O native trees,
How much I owe to you! Indifferent sportsman,
Escaping from my comrades’ mockery,
For missing game, I in your silence chased
Imaginings; forgetting all the hunt,
I sat within your close. The greybeard moss
Spread silvery round me, mingled with deep blue,
And black of rotten berries; and with red
The heathery hills were glowing, decked with berries,
As though with beads of coral. All around
Was darkness; overhead the branches hung
Like green, thick-gathering, low-lying clouds.
The storm somewhere above their moveless arch
Was raging, with a groaning, murmuring,
Howling, and rattling loud, and thunder-peal,
A wondrous deafening roar. To me it seemed
A hanging sea was raging overhead.
Below, like ruined cities, here stood up
The o’erthrow of an oak from out the ground,
In likeness of a mighty hulk; thereon
Leaning, like fragments of old walls and columns,
There, branchy trunks, and there half-rotten boughs
Enclosed by pale of grasses. In the midst
Of this intrenchment fearful ’tis to look,
For there the rulers of the forest sit—
Boars, bears, and wolves; and at its entrance lie
The bones half-gnawn of some imprudent guests.
At times upspurt, ’through verdure of the grass,
As ’twere two waterspouts, two horns of stags,
And flits between the trees some animal
With yellow girdle, like a sunbeam, that
On entering is lost among the wood.

And once more all is silent down below.
The woodpecker taps lightly on the pine,
And flies off further; he is gone, is hidden.
But still his beak goes tapping ceaselessly,
As children hiding to each other call
To seek them out. More near a squirrel sits,
Holding between her paws a nut, and gnaws,
Hanging her bushy tail above her eyes,
As falls a helmet-plume upon a cuirass.
Although thus veiled, she gazes heedful round.
A guest is seen—the woodland dancer springs
From tree to tree, like lightning flitting by.
At last she enters an invisible
Opening within a tree-trunk, like a Dryad
Returning to her native tree. Again
’Tis silent.
Presently, a branch disturbed
Is quivering among the sundered crowd
Of service-trees; and rosier than their berries
Are shining cheeks; it is a gatherer
Of nuts or berries—’tis a maiden. She
In basket of rough bark doth proffer berries
Fresh-gathered, fresh as her own rosy lips.
Beside her is a youth; he bendeth down
The hazel-branches, and the damsel catches
The nuts that twinkling fly.
Then, hear they sound
Of horns and dogs’ loud baying, and they guess
The hunt is coming near to them; and fearing
They vanish from the eye, like forest gods.

In Soplicowo was great stir. But not
Baying of dogs, or neigh of steeds, or creaking
Of carts, nor sound of horns the signal giving,
Could draw forth Thaddeus from his couch. All dressed
He had fall’n upon the bed, and slept as sound
As marmot in its hole. No one among
The young men thought to seek him through the house;
And each one, taken up but with himself,
Made haste wherever ordered; they completely
Forgot their sleeping comrade.
He lay snoring.
The sunbeams through an opening in the shutter
Cut out in heart-shape, fell into the darkness,
In fiery pillar on the sleeper’s brow.
He still desired to sleep, and turned him round,
To avoid the sunshine. All at once he heard
A knocking, half awoke; a joyful waking
It was. He felt himself as full of life
As a young bird; he lightly drew his breath;
Happy he felt, and to himself he laughed,
Thinking of all that happened yesterday.
He coloured, and he sighed, and his heart beat.
He at the window looked; oh! wonderful!
In a transparency of sunbeams, in
That heart, shone two bright eyes, wide-opened as
The eyes of those who pierce from daylight clear
Into a shadow. And a little hand
He saw, that, like a fan, beside the face
Was spread towards the sun, to shield the eyes.
The slender fingers to the rosy light
Turned, through and through were reddened ruby like.
Lips curious, questioning, he saw, a little
Apart, and tiny teeth that gleamed like pearls
Among the coral, and a face which, though
Protected from the sun by rosy hand,
Itself blushed like a rose.
Beneath the window
Lay Thaddeus, hidden in the shadow; lying
Upon his back, he marvelled at the wondrous
Vision, and saw it right above himself,
Almost upon his face. He knew not whether
It were a living thing, or if he dreamed
Of one of those sweet, bright, and childlike faces,
That we remember to have seen in dreams
Of innocent years. The little face bent down.
He gazed, with terror trembling, and with joy.
Alas! he saw too plainly; he remembered,
He recognised those short locks, brightly golden,
In tiny, twisted papers, white as snow,
Like silvery husks, that in the sunlight shone,
Like aureole on the picture of a saint.

He started up; at once the vision fled,
By the noise terrified; he waited, yet
It came not back; he only heard again
A knocking thrice repeated, and these words:
“Get up, sir; it is time for hunting. You
Have slept too long.” He sprang up from his couch,
And with both hands he pushed the shutter back,
Until the hinges shook, and flying wide,
It struck both walls. He sprang out, and looked round,
Thoughtful, confounded; nothing did he see,
Nor trace perceived of aught. Not far beyond
The window stretched the paling of the orchard.
Upon it leaves of hop and flowery garlands
Waved to and fro; had some light hands disturbed,
Had the wind stirred them? Thaddeus long gazed
Upon them, but he ventured not to pass
Into the garden; only leaned against
The garden wall. He lifted up his eyes,
And with his finger on his lips commanded
Silence unto himself, that he might not
By ev’n a hasty word the silence break.
Then sought he in his forehead, knocked at it,
As if for memories long laid to sleep.
At last his fingers gnawing ev’n to blood,
“ ’Tis well, ’tis well, thus!” shouted he aloud.

And in the mansion where a while ago
Was so much shouting, now ’twas void and still
As in the grave; all to the field had gone.
Thaddeus pricked up his ears, and placed both hands
As trumpets to them, listening till the wind
Bore towards him, blowing from the forest land,
The clamour of the horses, shouts of all
The hunting crowd.
The horse of Thaddeus
Already saddled waited in the stall.
He seized a rifle, mounted, and he galloped
On headlong like a madman to the taverns,
Which stood beside the chapel where the beaters
Should gather in the morning.
The two taverns
Leaned towards each other on each side the way,
Each with their windows threatening one another
Like enemies. The old one ’longed by right
Unto the Castle’s lord; Soplica built
The other to the Castle’s prejudice,
And in the first, as in his heritage,
Gervasy would preside, and in the other
Protasy took the highest place at table.

The newer tavern nought remarkable
Had in its aspect; but the older one
Was builded after a most ancient model,
Invented by the artificers of Tyre,
Which afterwards the Jews spread through the world;
A kind of architecture, quite unknown
To foreign builders; we received it from
The Jews.
The tavern in the front was like
An ark, behind a sanctuary resembling.
The ark, the true square-cornered chest of Noah,
To-day known by the simple name of barn;
Therein are various kinds of animals,
Horses, and cows, and oxen, bearded goats,
But overhead the company of birds.
And though of reptiles but a pair, there are
Insects besides.115 The hinder part, erected
In form of wondrous sanctuary, recalls
That famous edifice of Solomon,
Which, highest in the trade of building skilled,
The artificers of Hiram raised on Sion,
The Jews still imitate it in their schools;
And the designing of the schools is seen
In barns and taverns. Formed of planks and straw,
The roof, sharp-pointed and high raised, was bent,
And tattered as the kolpak of a Jew.
The corners of a gallery protrude
Upon the top, supported by a row
Of wooden pillars. What a wonder seems
To architects, these columns still endure,
Although half-rotten, and all crooked set,
As in the tower of Pisa; not according
To Grecian models, for they are devoid
Of pedestals or capitals. Above
The columns arches run half-circular,
Likewise of wood; and, copying Gothic art,
Above there are artistic ornaments,
Not carved by chisel or by graving-tool,
But cut out by the axe of carpenter;
Crooked like arms of Sabbath candlesticks.116
At the end hang balls—resembling somewhat buttons,
Which on their heads the Jews in praying hang,
And which they cyces call in their own tongue.
In one word, seems the crooked, tottering tavern,
From far off, like a Jew, who to and fro,
In praying nods; the roof is like a cap,
The thatch disordered like a beard, the smoky
And dirty walls resemble a black veil,
And from the front protrudes the carving, like
The cyces on his forehead.
In the middle
Of the tavern a division is, as in
The Jewish schools; one part entirely full
Of long and narrow chambers, serves to lodge
Ladies and travelling gentlemen; the other
Contains a great hall; and along each side
A narrow wooden table, many-legged;
Beside the table there are stools, which, though
Lower than the table, yet are like to it,
As children to the father.
On the stools
Around sat peasant men and peasant women,
And likewise petty nobles, in a row.
The bailiff at a separate table sat.
For after early mass at chapel, since
’Twas Sunday, all had come to amuse themselves,
And drink at Jankiel’s house. Before each one
Already hummed a goblet of grey wódka.
The serving-maiden with the bottle ran
To every one. In middle of the room
Stood Jankiel, the proprietor, who wore
A lengthy sarafan which reached the ground,
Fastened with silver clasps; upon his girdle
Of silk one hand was planted, with the other
He solemnly stroked down his hoary beard.
Glancing around him he gave forth commands,
Welcomed the guests who entered, stood beside
Those sitting down. He opened conversation,
And made those quarrelling agree, but yet
Himself served no one, only walked around.
An ancient Jew, and everywhere well known
For honesty, he many years had held
On lease the tavern; of the peasants none
Or nobles ever had complaining brought
Against him to the mansion. Why complain?
He had good drinks at choice; strict reckoning
He kept, but void of cheating; cheerfulness
Forbade not, but allowed not drunkenness;
He was of pastimes a great lover, weddings
And christenings were celebrated at
His house; and every Sunday he had music
There from the village, wherein a bass-viol
And bagpipes used to be.
He understood
What music was; himself had great renown
For talent; with the cymbals, of his nation
The instrument, he formerly was used
To go to mansions, and astonishment
Rouse by his playing and by singing. He
Could sing with science and with learning. Though
He was a Jew, he had a Polish accent
Of tolerable purity, and most
Loved national songs. He brought a number back,
From every expedition beyond Niemen;
From Halicz kolomyjki, and mazurkas
From Warsaw.117 Fame reported through the district
(I cannot tell if truly) that he first
Brought from beyond the boundary, and spread
That song throughout his district, now renowned
Through all the world; but which for the first time
The trumpets of the Polish legions played
To the Italians.118 Well the power of singing
In Litva pays; it gains the people’s love,
And brings both fame and riches. Jankiel
Had made a fortune; satiate with gain
And glory, he had hung up on the wall
The nine-stringed cymbals; with a family.
He settled down, and occupied himself
With selling liquor in the tavern. He
Was also under-rabbin in the town;
But everywhere agreeable both as guest,
And governor of his house. He understood
Right well the trade of corn, by means of barges;
Such knowledge is most needful in the country.
He also had the fame of a good Pole.119
’Twas he who first the quarrels reconciled,
So often bloody, that had raged between
The taverns, hiring both upon a lease.
And equally respected him the old
Supporters of Horeszko, and the servants
Of Judge Soplica. Only he could hold
In check the threatening Klucznik of Horeszko,
And quarrelling Wozny; they repressed before
Jankiel their ancient causes of offence;
Gervasy dreadful with the hand, Protasy
With tongue.
Gervasy was not there, for he
Had gone unto the hunt, as wishing not
The young and inexperienced Count should be
Alone on such a parlous expedition,
And one so weighty; so he went with him
To be his counsellor and to protect.

To-day, Gervasy’s place, that from the threshold
Was most removed, between two benches placed
In the very corner of the tavern, called
Pokucie,120 by Friar Robak occupied
Appeared. ’Twas Jankiel had placed him there.
’Twas seen he for the friar had great respect;
For soon as he perceived his goblet low,
He quickly ran, and ordered to fill up
The glass with July mead121 unto the brim.
’Twas said that he had known the Bernardine
From youth, somewhere in foreign countries. Robak
Came often to the tavern in the night,
And held there conference on weighty things,
In secret with the Jew; the priest, ’twas said,
A smuggler was, but ’twas a calumny,
Unworthy of belief.
Now Robak, on
The table leaning, half-aloud discoursed.
A crowd of nobles him surrounded, lending
Their ears, and bending down their noses to
The priestly snuff-box; from it they took pinches,
And all the nobles snorted like to mortars.

“Reverendissime,” Skoluba said,
“This is tobacco, this goes up into
The crown of the head. Since first I wore a nose”—
(Here stroked he his long nose)—“I never had
A pinch of such tobacco.” Here he sneezed
A second time. “ ’Tis truly Bernardine.
No doubt it comes from Kowno, famous town
Through all the world for mead and for tobacco.
I went there”—Robak interrupted him:
“The health of all you gentles, gracious sirs!
As touches the tobacco, hum! it comes
From further parts than good Skoluba thinks.
It comes from Jasna Gora,122 and the Paulines
Make snuff like this in Czenstochowa’s town,
Where is that picture for such wonders famed,
The Virgin, Mother of our Lord, and Queen
Of Poland, and Princess of Lithuania.
True, still she watches o’er her royal crown,
But now the schism123 in Litva’s duchy reigns.”
“From Czenstochowa?” Wilbik said; “I went
There to confession thirty years ago,
When I was there for pardon. Is it true
That in the town the Frenchman resteth now,
And that he wishes to throw down the church,
And seize the treasure, for all this is in
The Lithuanian Courier?”—“ ’Tis not true,”
Replied the Bernardine; “illustrious sir,
Napoleon is a Catholic, and most
Exemplary; the Pope anointed him;
They live in harmony together, and
Convert men in the Frankish nation, which
Had grown somewhat corrupt. ’Tis true much silver
Was given from Czenstochowa to the treasury
Of the nation, for the Fatherland, for Poland;
For so the Lord himself commands, his altars
Are aye the treasury of the Fatherland.
We have a hundred thousand Polish troops
In Warsaw’s duchy, and perhaps shall soon
Have more, and who should for the army pay,
If not yourselves, Litvini? you but give
Your money to the coffers of the Russians.”
“The devil may give!” cried Wilbik, “they take from us
By force!”—“Alas! good sir,” a peasant said
Humbly, while bowing to the priest, and scratching
His head; “that’s for the nobles; they but bear
Half of the burden; we are stripped like bark.”
“Thou churl!”124 Skoluba cried; “thou fool! thou hast
The best of it; you peasants are used thereto
As eels to skinning; but to us well-born,
To us Most Powerful, used to golden freedom—
Ah, brothers! ‘once a noble on his land’ ”—
“Yes, yes,” cried all; “ ‘might with a Wojewode stand.’125
To-day they our nobility dispute,
Command us to search papers through and prove
Our noble birth by paper.”—“That’s a less
Affair for you,” Juraha cried, “for you
From peasant ancestors have been ennobled;
But I am sprung of princes! Ask of me
A patent! When I first became a noble,
The Lord alone remembers. Let the Russian
Into the forest go to ask the oaks
Who gave to them a patent to grow high
Above all plants.”—“Prince,” answered Zagiel;
“Tell tales to whom you list; here will you find
No doubt a mitre, and in not one house.”
“A cross is in your ’scutcheon,” cried Podhajski;
“A hidden allusion to a neophyte
Once in your family.”—“ ’Tis false!” cried Birbasz;
“I come of Tartar Counts, and bear the cross
Above my crest of Arks.”—“The Poraj,”126 cried
Mickiewicz; “with a mitre on field or,
A princely ’scutcheon is. Stryjkowski127 wrote
Concerning this a great deal.”
Thereupon
Arose loud murmurs in the tavern. Then
The Bernardine resorted to his snuff-box;
In turn all speakers he regaled. At once
The murmurs ceased, and each one took a pinch
From courtesy, and several times they sneezed.
The Bernardine continued, profiting
By this divergence: “Ah! great men have sneezed
On this tobacco! Would you, gentlemen,
Believe that from this snuff-box General
Dombrowski took a pinch three times?”—“Dombrowski?”
They cried.—“Yes, yes, the General himself.
I was in camp when from the Germans he
Recovered Dantzig.128 He something had to write,
And, fearing he might sleep, he took a pinch.
He took one, sneezed, twice clapped me on the shoulder.
“Priest Robak,” said he, “Friar Bernardine,
We’ll meet again in Litva, may be ere
A year has passed; tell the Litvini they
With Czenstochowa snuff must me await,
For I will take no other kind but this.”

The friar’s discourse such great astonishment
Aroused, such joy, that all that company
So noisy now kept silence for a while.
Then they repeated, in half-silent words,
“Tobacco brought from Poland? Czenstochowa?
Dombrowski? from Italian land?”—until
At last together, as though thought with thought,
And word with word together ran, they all
With one accordant voice, as at a signal,
Shouted: “Dombrowski!” All together shouted,
Pressed close; the peasant with the Tartar Count,
The Mitre with the Cross, the Poraj with
The Griffin and the Ark, forgetting all,
Even the Bernardine, they only sang,
Exclaiming, “Wódka, mead, and wine!”
Long time
Friar Robak hearkened to the melody.
At length he wished to break it off; he took
His snuff-box in both hands, and with his sneezing
Confused the melody, and ere they might
Tune up again, thus made he haste to speak:
“You praise my snuff, good sirs; now pray observe,
What’s doing in the inside of the box.”
Here, wiping with a cloth the inside soiled,
He showed a tiny army painted there,
Like swarm of flies; a horseman in the midst,
Large as a beetle, certainly their leader.
He spurred the horse, as though he fain would leap
Into the heavens; one hand upon the reins,
The other at his nose. “Look here,” said Robak,
“Look at this threatening form; guess ye who ’tis?”
All looked with curiosity. “He is
A great man, and an Emperor, but not
That of the Muscovites; their Czars have never
Taken tobacco.”—“That a great man!” Czydzik
Exclaimed; “and in a capote! I had thought
That great men went in gold. Because among
The Muscovites each petty general,
Good sir, shines all in gold, just like a pike
In saffron!”—“Pooh!” said Rymsza; “I once saw,
When I was young, our nation’s chief, Kosciuszko,
And he wore a Cracovian sukmana,
That’s a czamara.”—“What sort of czamara?”129
Objected Wilbik; “that’s a taratatka.”
“But that has fringes, this thing is quite plain,”
Cried Mickiewicz. Thereon arose disputes
Concerning taratatki and czamary.130

The prudent Robak, seeing the discourse
Was scattering thus, began once more to gather
All to the central fire, unto his snuff-box.
Regaled them, they all sneezed, and wished good health
To one another; he proceeded further
Upon the theme. “When the Emperor Napoleon
Takes in a battle snuff, time after time,
It is a sure sign he will win the fight.
At Austerlitz for instance;131 thus the French
Stood with their guns, and on them charged a cloud
Of Muscovites. The Emperor looked thereon,
And silence kept. Each time the Frenchmen fired,
The Russian regiments strewed the earth like grass.
For regiment after regiment galloped up,
And fell down from their saddles. Often as
A regiment lay low, the Emperor
Took snuff. Till at the last did Alexander,
His brother Constantine, the German Emperor
Francis, take to their heels. The Emperor then,
Seeing the fight was over, looked on them,
And laughed, and shook his finger. Now if any,
Of you, sirs, who are present, ever should
Be in the Emperor’s army, recollect this.”

“Ah!” cried Skoluba, “when shall all this be?
As often now as in the almanac
A saint’s day stands, on every holy-day
They still do prophesy the Frenchmen to us.
A man may look, may look, till wink his eyes!
But as the Russian held us still he holds,
Ere the sun rises eyes are wet with dew.”

“Sir,” said the Bernardine, “like an old woman
’Tis to lament, and it is like a Jew
To wait with folded hands, till some one ride
Up to the tavern knocking at the door.
’Twill be no hard work for Napoleon
To beat the Muscovites; already he
Has three times thrashed the Swabians’ skin, has driven
The English back beyond the sea;132133 he surely
Will finish off the Muscovites; but what
Will follow thence? are you aware, good sir?
Why, the Litvanian nobles will to horse,
And draw their sabres, at that very time
When none are left to fight with; and Napoleon,
Having defeated all his foes alone,
Will say, ‘I’ll do without you, who are you?’
Thus it is not enough to expect a guest,
Nor to invite him either; one must gather
The household, and the tables must be laid.
But ere the festival the house must be
Cleansed of its sweepings. I repeat it, children,
Sweep, sweep the house clean.”
Thereon followed silence;
Then voices in the crowd, “How cleanse our house?
We will do all things; we for all are ready.
But let the good priest deign to explain himself.”

The priest gazed from the window, breaking off
The conversation; something he perceived,
That his attention did engage. From forth
The window looked he; then he rising said,
“To-day I have not time; we’ll talk of this
More fully later on. To-morrow I
Shall be on business in the district town,
And I shall come to you upon my way.”

“And for night quarters come to Niehrymow,”
The bailiff said; “right glad the Standard-bearer134
Will be; indeed, the Litwin proverb says,
‘Happy as is a friar in Niehrymow.’
“To us,” Zubkowski said, “come, if it please you;
For there are linen sheets, a tub of butter,
A cow, or sheep; remember, priest, these words;
‘A happy man, he chanced on luck, as came
The friar to Zubkow.’ ”—“And to us,” exclaimed
Skoluba; “unto us, Terajewicz.
No Bernardine departed ever hungry
From Pucewicz.” Thus all the noblemen
With prayers and promises led forth the priest,
But he already was beyond the door.

He had beforehand through the window seen
Thaddeus, who flew along the roadway, in
Fast gallop, with no hat, with head bent down,
With pale and gloomy visage; ceaselessly
He spurred the horse, and flogged it. Much this sight
Troubled the Bernardine; so hastened he
After the young man forth with rapid steps,
Towards the great forest, which, as far as eye
Could follow, blackened all the horizon’s verge.

Who the abysmal regions has explored
Of the Litvanian forests, to the very
Centre, the inner kernel of the woodlands?
The fisher coasting round the shore, scarce visits
The deep seas; so the sportsman hovers round
The bed of the Litvanian forests; yet
He knows them scarcely on the outer side,
Their form, their countenance; but unto him
The inner secrets of their heart are strange.
Rumour alone or fable knows what passes
Therein; for shouldst thou ev’n the pine-woods pass,
And outer forests, thou wouldst come upon
A rampart in the abyss, of trunks, stumps, roots,
By quaking turf defended, thousand streams,
And net of high-grown plants, and lofty ant-hills,
With nests of wasps, of hornets, coils of snakes.
And even if, by courage passing man’s,
Thou shouldst surmount these barriers, it were but
To encounter graver perils further on.
At each step lie in wait, like pits for wolves,
Lakelets, whose borders are with grass o’ergrown,
More deep than human searching may discern.
Great is the likelihood that fiends sit there.
The water of these ponds is sticky, spotted
With blood-like rust, and from within a smoke
Arises ever, vomiting foul smells,
Whereby the trees are stripped of leaves and bark,
Bald, dwarfish, worm-devoured, diseased, their boughs
Drooping with tetter of a loathsome moss,135
And humpy trunks, with ugly toadstools bearded,
They sit around the water, like a troop
Of witches, warming them around the cauldron,
Wherein they seethe a corpse.
Behind these lakes,
Not merely by a step, but by the eye
Vain to be reached, for everything is now
Veiled in a cloud of mist that evermore
Arises from the quaking marshy lands;—
But latterly beyond this mist, as fame
Does commonly report, a region lies
Most fair and fertile, the chief kingdom this
Of beasts and capital of plants. Therein
The seeds of every tree and herb are stored,
From whence their races spread o’er all the earth.
Therein, as in the ark of Noah, all kinds
Of animals preserve one pair at least
For propagation. In the very centre,
’Tis said, the ancient urus, bison, bear,
Do hold their courts as emperors of the waste.
Around them, on the trees, the agile lynx,
The ravenous glutton—watchful ministers,
Do rest them. Further yet, like feudal vassals,
The wild-boars dwell, the wolves, and large-horned elks.
Above their heads are falcons and wild eagles,
Living like courtly parasites at tables
Of lords. These patriarchal pairs of beasts,
Hidden in the forest’s heart, and to the world
Invisible, send forth as colonists
Their children to the forest’s verge; themselves
Meanwhile dwell quiet in the capital.
They never die by sharp-edged arms, or gun;
But being old they fall by natural cause.
They have their cemet’ry, where, nearing death,
The birds lay down their plumes, the quadrupeds
Their hairs; the bear, when, all his teeth decayed,
He can no longer chew his food; the stag
Decrepit, when he scarce may stir his limbs;
The venerable hare, when that the blood
Is stagnant in his veins; the hoary raven,
The falcon, when grown blind; the eagle, when
His ancient beak so crooks into an arch,136
That, closed for aye, it nourishes his throat
No more; they pass unto their cemetery;
And even the lesser beasts, when hurt or sick,
Hasten to die here in their native place.
Hence in those places which mankind may reach,
Dead bones of animals are never found.137
’Tis said that thither in the capital,
Among the beasts good customs are preserved,
Because they rule themselves, yet uncorrupt
By civilising influence of man.
They know no laws of property, which vex
Our world, nor duels know, or warlike arts.
And as the fathers dwelt in Paradise,
So live to-day their children, wild and tame,
In love and concord. Never bites or gores
The one the other. Should a man e’en enter,
He might, although unarmed, in safety pass
Among the beasts; they would upon him gaze,
With that same wonder, as upon the last
And sixth day of creation their first fathers,
Who dwelt within the garden, looked on Adam,
Before they quarrelled with him. Happily
No man shall ever stray unto this place,
For Difficulty, Care, and Death prevent him.

Sometimes alone have mastiffs, hot in chase,
Entered unguardedly ’mid marshes, moss,
Ravines, and, wounded by their inner horror,
Fled back, loud whining, with distracted looks;
And by their master’s hand though long caressed,
Yet mad with fear still tremble at his feet.
These central wastes, to mankind all unknown,
The hunters in their tongue call Mateczniki.
Thou foolish bear! if thou hadst stayed at home,
In the Matecznik, never would the Wojski
Have heard of thee; but whether the sweet smell
Of beehives lured thee, or thou wert possessed
By a desire unto the ripened barley,
Thou camest forth unto the forest’s verge,
Where thinner grows the wood, and there at once
The forester did thine existence track;
And he sent forth the beaters, cunning spies,
To mark where thou didst posture, and where thou
Didst make thy night-lair. Now the Wojski comes,
With all the hunt, and stationing the ranks,
Has shut out thy retreat to the Matecznik.

Thaddeus now learned that but a short time since
Into the deep abysses of the wood,
The mastiffs entered. All was still. In vain
The hunters stretched their ears. In vain they listened
To silence, as to most engaging speech,
And waited long, unmoving, in the place;
Only the music of the forest played
To them from far; the dogs plunge in the forest,
As sea-mews underneath the waves; the hunters,
Turning their double-barrels to the wood,
Upon the Wojski gaze. He, kneeling down,
The earth doth question with his ear; and as,
Upon the countenance of a physician,
The glance of friends peruses the decree
Of life or death of one unto them dear,
The hunters, in the Wojski’s skill and art
Confiding, fixed upon him looks of hope
And fear. “It is, it is,” he whispering said,
And sprang upon his feet. He heard; they still
Must listen. At last they hear; one dog whined loud,
Then two, then twenty; all the dogs together
In scattered crowd perceived the scent, and whined,
Fell on the track, bayed loud, and still barked on.
It was not now the bark deliberate
Of dogs pursuing hare, or fox, or hind,
But a continual cry, short, frequent, broken,
Eager. Now had the dogs upon a track
Not distant fallen; they pursue by sight,
When now the cry of chase on sudden ceased;
They had reached the beast. Again a shriek, a whine,
The beast defends himself, and certainly
Inflicts some hurt; among the bay of dogs.
More and more frequent comes a dying groan.
The hunters stood, and each with loaded gun,
Bent himself forward like a bow, with head
Thrust in the forest. Longer can they not
Stay there; one after other from the place
Escapes, and in the forest thrusts himself;
Each would be first to meet the beast, although
The Wojski gave them warning;—though the Wojski
On horseback passed the standpoints round, exclaiming
That be he peasant churl, or nobleman,
Whoever from the spot should stir, should feel
His leash upon his back. There was no help;
Each rushed, despite command, into the wood.
Three guns went off at once! Then straightway sounded
A cannonade, till louder than the shots.
The bear did roar, and echo filled the woods,
A horrid roar of rage, despair, and pain;
And after it the shriek of dogs, the shout
Of hunters, and the prickers’ horns resound,
From midmost of the forest. In the wood
Some of the hunters hasten, others cock
Their triggers, all rejoiced; alone the Wojski
Exclaims in sorrow they have missed. The hunters
And prickers one side went athwart the beast,
Between the forest and the toils. But now
The bear, alarmed by all that throng of dogs
And men, turned backwards to that place, that with
Least diligence was guarded, towards the plains,
Whence all the hunters stationed had removed,
And where, of all the numerous hunters’ ranks,
The Wojski, Thaddeus, and the Count alone
Remained, with a few toilers.
Here the forest
Was thinner. In its depths was heard a roar,
A shaking of the ground, till from the thicket,
As though from out the clouds, the bear rushed forth
Like thunderbolt; the dogs pursued him, they
Were frightened, rushed about; he reared aloft
Upon his hind legs, and around him gazed,
Frightening his enemies by dreadful roars;
And with his forepaws tearing now beneath
Stones overgrown with moss, now blackened branches,
Hurling them over dogs and men, until
He broke away a tree, and whirling this
Round like a club, to leftward and to right,
He rushed on those who guarded last the toils,
The Count and Thaddeus. They stood fearlessly,
And ready to step forward, towards the beast
Pointing the barrels of their guns, like two
Lightning conductors in a dark cloud’s bosom,
Till both, in the same instant, drew their triggers.
Ah! inexperienced!—their guns both sounded
Together; they had missed! The bear sprang forward.
They seized a hunting spear implanted there,
With all their four arms, and for its possession
Struggled together. Looking, they beheld
From forth that great red muzzle gleam two rows
Of tusks, and now a great paw armed with claws
Descends upon their heads. They both grew pale,
And backwards sprang, escaping unto where
The wood grew rarer. After them the bear
Reared up behind; now had he hooked his claws,
Missed them, ran nearer, and again upreared,
And with his black paw stretched unto the yellow
Hair of the Count;—he would have torn his skull
Off from his brains, as from his head the hat.
When the Assessor and the Regent sprang
From either side; but by some hundred paces
Gervasy ran before them, and with him
Was Robak, though without a gun; but all
The three together fired as at command.
The bear sprang up, like hare before a hound,
And fell, his head on earth, and turning o’er
All four paws like a mill, a bloody load
Of flesh, that rolled o’er just where stood the Count,
And hurled him from his feet upon the earth.
The bear still roared; he tried once more to rise,
When on him fastened the enraged Strapczyna
And furious Sprawnik.
Then the Wojski seized
His buffalo horn that hung down from a string,
Long, mottled, twisted like the serpent boa,
And pressed it with both hands unto his lips.
His cheeks swelled out like gourds, and shone his eyes
With blood;138 he shut them half, and half his chest
Drew back into its depths, and forth therefrom
Sent half his store of spirit to his lungs,
And played. The horn, like to a stormy wind,
With whirling breath, bore music to the waste,
And twofold made itself with echo. Silent
The hunters and the prickers stood in wonder,
At that strong, pure, and wondrous harmony.
The old man now once more to hunters’ ears
Displayed that art, whereby he once had been
Renowned in forests. Presently he filled,
And made alive, the forests and the oaks,
As though he had a kennel loosed therein,
And had begun to hunt. For in his playing
There was of hunting an epitome.
At first a clamouring noise—the réveille;
Then groans succeeded groans, with whining cries,
And baying of dogs, and here and there a tone
Harsher like thunder—the discharge of guns.

Here broke he off, but held the horn; to all
It seemed as though the Wojski still played on,
But echo ’twas that played.
He blew again.
Thou wouldst have thought the horn had changed its shape,
And now waxed greater in the Wojski’s hands,
Now thinner grew, while counterfeiting cries
Of various beasts. Now in a wolfish neck
Outstretching in a long and plaintive howl;
Again, as seething in a bearish throat,
It roared; then bellowing of bisons tore
The winds in twain.
Here broke he off, but still
He held the horn; it seemed to all as though
The Wojski still played on, but echo played.
Having this masterpiece of horn-playing art
Once heard, the oaks repeated it unto
The oaks, the beeches to the beeches.
Now
He blew again. As though a hundred horns
Were in that horn, were heard the mingled cries
Of pricking on, and fear, and anger; noise
Of hunters, kennels, and of beasts, till high
The Wojski raised the horn, and with a hymn
Of triumph smote the clouds.
He broke off now,
But held the horn; to all it did appear
As though the Wojski still played on, but echo
It was that played. As many as the trees,
So many horns were in the pine-wood; they
Bore on the song to others, as from chorus
To chorus; on the music went, aye wider,
Aye further, softer aye, and ever purer,
And aye more perfect, till it disappeared
Somewhere, upon the threshold of the heavens.139
The Wojski, taking both hands from the horn,
Wide spread them; down the horn fell, on the belt
Of leather rocking. With a face o’erblown
And radiant, with uplifted eyes, the Wojski
Stood as inspired, pursuing by the ear,
The last tones vanishing; but meanwhile sounded
A thousand plaudits, thousand gratulations,
And shouts of “Vivat!”
Silence gradually
Succeeded, and the chatterers’ eyes all turned
Upon the great, fresh bear-corpse. He lay there,
With blood all sprinkled, riddled through with balls,
His breast entangled in the thick grass fast,
And wide his forepaws like a cross seemed spread.
He breathed as yet; his nostrils poured a stream
Of blood; his eyes still opened, but his head
Moved not; the Chamberlain’s two bulldogs held him
Fast by each ear. Upon the left Strapczyna,
And Sprawnik on the right hung, strangling him,
And sucking the black blood.
Thereon the Wojski
Gave orders to insert an iron rod
Between the dogs’ teeth, and to open wide
Their jaws; then with the gun-stocks were o’erturned
The animal’s remains upon their back.
Once more a threefold vivat smote the clouds.

“How?” cried the Assessor, turning round his gun;
“How then? my carabine? We have the best o’t.
How then? my carabine? ’Tis no great bird;140
But what has it performed? This is not new
To it, it lets no charge loose on the wind.
I had it as a gift from Prince Sanguszko.”
He showed a gun of marvellous workmanship,
Though small, and he began to reckon up
Its virtues.—“I,” the Assessor interrupted,
Wiping his brow, “I rushed on hard behind
The bear; but the Pan Wojski cried, ‘Stand still.’
But how stand still? The bear was straight advancing
Upon the plain, on rushing like a hare,
Further and further, till I had no breath,
No hope to overtake him. Lo! I looked
Towards the right; he stopped, and here the forest
Was thinner, so I measured with my glance.
‘Stand still,’ I thought;—e basta, there he lies
Lifeless! A fine gun this! true Sagalas!
‘Sagalas London à Balabanowka’
The inscription; there a famous gunsmith lived,
A Pole, who manufactured Polish guns,
But in the English manner them adorned.

“How?” snorts the Assessor; “many hundred bears!
Did not that one nigh kill you? What a story!”
“Just listen then,” the Regent answered back;
“Here’s no court of inquiry, sir; this is
A hunt; I take all here as witnesses.”

Then a fierce quarrel ’mid the crowd began,
Some took the Assessor’s, some the Regent’s side.
Gervasy none remembered, for they all
Had run up from the sides, nor had observed
What passed in front. The Wojski gathered voice:
“At least this time the quarrel is for something;
This, gentlemen, is not that wretched hare,
But ’tis a bear; you well may seek amends,
Either with sabre, or the pistol even.
’Tis hard to arbitrate your quarrel, so,
According to the ancient custom, we
Will grant permission for a duel. I
Remember in my time there lived two neighbours,
Both honourable men and noblemen,
From their forefathers; they on either side
Of the Wilejka river lived. One was
Domejko called, the other named Dowejko.141
Both fired together once at a she-bear.
Who slew ’twas hard to tell, and terribly
They quarrelled, and they swore to exchange their shots
Across the bear-skin. How like noblemen!
Barrel to barrel nearly! And this duel
Made a great noise then; songs were sung about it
At that time. I was second; how it happened,
I’ll tell you all the story from the first.”

Before the Wojski might begin to speak,
Gervasy had composed the quarrel; he
Went round the bear, observed it heedfully.
As last he drew his cutlass, and the muzzle
Severed in twain, and in the hinder part
Of the head, the substance of the brain dividing,
He found the ball. He drew it forth, and cleaned it
Upon his coat, then measured with the cartridge,
Adjusted to the gun, and then his hand
Uplifting, and the bullet in his hand:
“Sirs!” said he; “not from your guns is this ball.
It comes from this Horeszko single-barrel”—
Here raised he the old flint-lock, with a band
Engirdled round—“but ’twas not I that fired it.
Oh! that required courage; terrible
’Tis to remember! dark before my eyes
It seemed! For both young gentlemen were running
Straight towards me, and the bear was right behind,
Just, just above the Count’s head, last of the
Horeszkos, although by the spindle side.
‘Jesus! Maria!’ I cried, and the Lord’s angels
Sent to my help the Bernardine. He shamed us
All! O most valiant priest! While I was trembling,
And dared not touch the trigger, from my hands
He snatched the gun, took aim, and fired! Between
Two heads to fire! a hundred steps! not miss!
And in the very centre of the jaws
Thus beat the teeth in! Sirs, I long have lived,
But one man only have I seen who could
By such a shot have signalised himself.
That fellow once among us so renowned
For duelling, he who was used to shoot
The heels off women’s slippers;142 that same rascal
Above all rascals, memorable for aye,
That Jacek, vulgo Whiskered, I do not
Recall his surname! But ’tis now no time
For him to go a-hunting bears; no doubt
The villain to his very whiskers sits
In hell. But glory to the priest, for he
Has saved the lives of two men, and perhaps
Of three. Gervasy will not praise himself;
But had the last child of Horeszko’s blood
Fallen in the wild beast’s jaws, I should not now
Be in the world, and mine old bones the bear
Had gnawed. Come, priest, your Reverence’s health
We’ll drink.”143
In vain they sought the priest; they knew
So much alone, that when the beast was slain,
He for a moment showed himself; he sprang
Towards the Count and Thaddeus; and seeing
That both were whole and sound, he raised his eyes
To heaven, and said a silent prayer, and ran
Back quickly to the plains, as though pursued.

Meanwhile, by order of the Wojski, bundles
Of heather, twigs, and brushwood, in a pile
Were thrown. The fire bursts forth, and groweth up
A pine of smoke, and spreads itself aloft
In likeness of a canopy. Above
The flame they crossed two hunting spears at top.
Upon the points they hung a cauldron huge,
And from the wagons brought out vegetables,
And flour, and roasts, and bread.
The Judge then opened
A lock-up bottle-case, wherein appeared
In rows white heads of bottles; he from them
Chose out the largest case of crystal; ’twas
A present from Friar Robak to the Judge,
’Twas Dantzig wódka, liquor dear to Poles.
“Long live,” exclaimed the Judge, and lifted high
The flask, “the town of Dantzig, once our own,
It shall be ours again!” and he poured out
The silvery liquor round, till at the end
The gold began to dribble,144 and to shine
In the sun’s light.
The bigos in the kettles145
Was warming. It were hard to express in words
The wondrous taste of bigos, colour, and
Its wondrous odour. One may hear the sound
Of words, and sequences of rhymes, but yet
The citizen digestion cannot prize
Their substance; for, to value at the full
Litvanian songs and dishes, one must be
In health, live in the country, be returning
From hunting.
Still, without these preparations,
Bigos is not a dish to be despised,
For it is artfully compounded of
The choicest vegetables; one must take
Chopped pickled cabbage, which, as says the proverb,
Goes of itself into the mouth; enclosed
Within a kettle, let its bosom moist
O’ercover chosen pieces of best meat;
And let it simmer till the fire express
All vital juices, till the boiling liquor
Spurts from the vessel’s borders, and the air
Around is with its odour redolent.

The bigos now was ready. All the huntsmen
With threefold vivat, armed with spoons, ran up,
And stirred the vessel. Roared the brass, the smoke
Burst forth, the bigos disappeared like camphor.
It vanished, fled; and in the cauldron’s mouths
The steam alone was boiling, as within
The crater of extinct volcanoes.
When
They all had eat and drunk their fill, they mounted
On horseback. All were in high spirits, all
Were full of talk, except the Assessor and
The Regent. They were angrier now to-day
Than yesterday; they quarrelled with each other
About the virtues, one of his Sanguszko
Rifle, the other of his Sagalas.
The Count likewise, and Thaddeus unjoyful
Rode on, and felt ashamed because they missed
And had retired, for he in Litva who
Has let the beast escape the toils must labour
Long ere he may redeem his reputation.

The Count declared he first had seized the spear,
And Thaddeus would not let him meet the beast.
Thaddeus maintained, that being of the two
The stronger, and the better skilled to wield
A heavy spear, he would forestall the Count.
Thus talked they ’mid the murmur and the noise
Of all the throng.
The Wojski in the centre
Rode; merry was the good old man beyond
His usual custom, full of conversation.
He, wishing to amuse the quarrellers,
And bring them to agree, the story of
Domejko and Dowejko ended thus:
“Assessor, if I wished that thou shouldst fight
A duel with the Regent, do not think
That I am eager after human blood.
Forbid it, Heaven! I wished but to amuse you,
To give you as it were a comedy,
And to renew that same conceit, which I
Imagined forty years ago—it was
Most excellent! You all are young, you do not
Remember this, but in my time it made
The forests loud ev’n to Podlachia’s woods.

“Domejko and Dowejko’s disputes
Came from a strange cause, likeness of their names
Most inconvenient! For in time of sejmiks,
When that Dowejko’s friends were gaining o’er
Supporters, some one whispered to a noble,
‘Vote for Dowejko;’ and he, hearing but
Imperfectly, his vote gave to Domejko.
When at a feast Marshal Rupejko once
Proposed a health, ‘Long live Dowejko!’ others
Cried out ‘Domejko!’ And who midmost sat
Could never get it right, especially
In speaking indistinct of dinner-time.

“It came to even worse. One day in Wilna,
Some drunken noble with Domejko fought,
And got two sabre wounds. And later on,
That nobleman, returning home from Wilna,
By strange hap crossed the ferry with Dowejko.
As in one boat they crossed o’er the Wilejka,
He asks his neighbour, ‘Who is that?’—‘Dowejko,’
The answer was. Without delay, this noble
Whips forth his rapier from beneath his cloak,
And cut Dowejko underneath the whiskers,
Thinking he was Domejko. But at last
As for the finishing stroke, it needs must be,
That at a hunting party thus it chanced:
The namesakes stood, and at the same she-bear
Together fired. ’Tis true, she lifeless fell
After their shots; but she already bore
Ten bullets in her body; many persons
Had guns of like calibre; who had slain
The she-bear? Well, find out! But by what means?

“Here then they cried: ‘Enough, the thing must be
Once for all ended. Whether God or devil
Joined us, we must be parted. Two of us,
Like two suns, are too many in the world.’
So to their sabres, and they stood at distance.
Both honourable men, the more the nobles
Surround them, the more fiercely on each other
They strike. They changed their weapons; and from sabres
It came to pistols; and they stood. We cry
That they too nearly have approached the standpoints.
They in pure spite swore then to fire across
The bear-skin! death inevitable! nearly
One barrel to the other! both sure shots!
‘Be second now, Hreczecha!’ I replied,
‘Agreed; but let the sexton dig a grave
At once, for such a quarrel cannot end
In nothing; fight like noblemen, and not
Like butchers. ’Tis enough to place the standpoints
More near; I see that you are desperadoes.
Will you then fight, the barrels on your chests?
I will not suffer this. Agreed, let it
With pistols be, but at no greater distance,
Or less, than o’er the bear-skin. I, as second,
With mine own hands will stretch it on the ground,
And I myself will station you; you, sir,
On one side, stand upon the muzzle’s end,
And you, sir, on the tail.’—‘Agreed!’ they shouted.
‘The time?’—‘To-morrow.’—‘Place?’—‘The tavern Usza!’
They rode away. But I went to my Virgil.”

A shout the Wojski interrupted: “Vytcha!”
And right from underneath the horses’ hoofs
Darted a hare. Now Kusy, and now Sokol
Pursued him. To the hunt the dogs were brought,
Since on returning one might easily
A hare encounter on the plain. The dogs
Beside the horses free from leashes ran,
And when they saw the hare, straightway, before
The hunters urged them, swiftly they pursued.
The Regent and the Assessor too would urge
Their horses onward; but the Wojski stayed them,
Crying: “Ware! stand and look on! I allow
No one to stir from this place by a step.
From hence we all shall well observe; the hare
Is going to the plains.” In truth the hare,
Perceiving dogs and hunters close behind,
Rushed headlong to the plain; his long ears he
Like to a roe’s two horns erected. O’er
The plain he spread himself, his legs, stretched out,
Beneath him like four rods appearing. Well
Might one have said he moved them not, but only
Skimmed o’er the surface of the earth, like swallow
Kissing the waters. Dust behind him, dogs
Behind the dust; from far away it seemed
That hare, and dogs, and greyhounds formed one body,
As though some sort of viper o’er the plain
Were gliding, with the hare as head, the dust
The snake’s blue length, that like a double tail
Kept wagging to and fro the dogs.
The Regent
And the Assessor gazed; their lips stood open;
They held their breath. At once the Regent turned
Pale as a linen cloth, the Assessor pale
Turned also. They behold, most fatally
It chanced. The further off that viper ran,
The more it lengthened, and it broke in two.
Now vanished was that neck of dust, the head
Already neared the wood; the tails, where are they?
Behind. The head had vanished; once it seemed
As some one waved a tassel; it had entered
The wood; the tail broke off beside the wood.

The poor dogs, stupefied, beneath the thicket
Ran, seeming to take counsel, and accuse
Each other. They at last return; they slowly
Spring o’er the brushwood, drooping low their ears,
Their tails close pressed unto their chests, and when
They had approached, they scarce dared raise their eyes
For very shame, and ’stead of going to
Their masters, stood upon one side.
The Regent
Drooped down his gloomy brow upon his breast;
The Assessor cast a glance, but one unjoyful.
Then to the hearers both would demonstrate
How that their greyhounds were unused to go
Unleashed, how unforeseen the hare ran out,
How ill they set upon him, in a field
Where the dogs truly should have put on boots;
So full it was of pebbles and sharp stones.

Wise things expounded these experienced prickers.
The sportsmen might therefrom have reaped much profit,
But they did not attend with diligence.
Some began whistling, others laughed aloud;
Some, having in their memory the bear,
Of him talked. With the late hunt occupied,
The Wojski scarce had glanced upon the hare,
And seeing it escape, turned round his head
Indifferently, his interrupted story
Concluding: “Where did I leave off? Ah! ha!
Just where I took them both so at their word,
To fire at one another o’er the bear-skin.
The noblemen cried out ’twas certain death!
Barrel to barrel nearly. But I laughed,
For my friend Maro taught me that a bear-skin
Is not a paltry measure; for you know
How when Queen Dido sailed to Libya,
She with the greatest trouble, for herself
Purchased such piece of land as might be covered
O’er with an ox-hide; and she founded Carthage
Upon this bit of land.146 So in the night
This passage I discussed with care.
“The day
Had scarce begun; from one side in a carriage
Dowejko drove, Domejko from the other
On horseback came. They look; across the river
Behold a hairy bridge, a girdle of
The bear-skin cut up into strips. I placed
Dowejko on the beast’s tail on one side,
Domejko on the other. ‘Now,’ I said,
Bang off at one another, though it be
Your whole life long, but I’ll not let you go
Till you are friends together.’ Both were furious;
But here the nobles rolled upon the ground
With laughter, and the priest and I with solemn
Words, from the Gospels now, now from the Statutes,
Discoursed to them. There was no help for it,
They laughed, and were obliged now to be friends.

“Their quarrel changed into a lifelong friendship.
Dowejko wed the sister of Domejko;
Domejko also wed his brother’s sister.
They shared their property in equal halves,
And on the spot where this had come to pass,
They built a tavern, calling it the Bear.”

Book
V

Diplomacy and the Chase

Telimena’s hunting plans—The gardening nymph comes out into society, and receives the instructions of her guardian—The hunters’ return—Great astonishment of Thaddeus—The second meeting in the Sanctuary of Meditation, and reconciliation effected by means of ants—The subject of the hunt is discussed at table—The Wojski’s story of Rejtan and Prince Denassau interrupted—The conclusion of conditions between the parties, likewise interrupted—An apparition with a key—The quarrel—The Count and Gervasy enter on a council of war.

Having the chase thus ended gloriously,
The Wojski from the pine-woods home returns;
But Telimena now begins a hunt
Deep in the lonely mansion. She indeed
Sat motionless, with hands upon her lap
Folded; but she two heads of game pursued
In thought; considered best how to surround
The two of them, and how best hunt them down;—
The Count and Thaddeus. The Count, he was
A young lord, heir of a great family,
Good-looking very, and already somewhat
In love; but what of that? he well might change.
Then, did he love sincerely? Did he wish
To marry with a woman some years older,
Not rich? Will his relations suffer it?
What will the world say?
Telimena, thus
Considering, from the sofa rose, and stood
Her full height; one might say her stature grew.
She somewhat bared her bosom, bent aside,
And with attentive eyes herself reviewed,
And once again asked counsel of the mirror.
A moment past, she dropped her eyes, and sighed,
And sat down.
Well, the Count was a young lord,
And rich men are inconstant in their tastes.
The Count was fair-complexioned, they are not
Over emotional. And Thaddeus?
He was simplicity its very self,
A good boy, very near unto a child!
He now begins for the first time to love,
And if looked after, will not easily
These first bonds sever; and besides, he is
Obliged to Telimena. Men, while young,
Though changing in their thoughts, are in emotions
Far steadier than their grandsires; they possess
A conscience. Simple is a young man’s heart,
And maidenlike, and long it will retain
For love’s first sweetness gratitude, and will
Both welcome joy, and bid farewell to it
With pleasure, like a modest banquet shared
With friends; the ancient debauchee alone,
Whose entrails are already scorched, doth loathe
That drink wherewith he drenched him to excess.
These things to Telimena well were known,
For she had wit and great experience.

But what will people say? Why then, depart
From out their sight, to other parts remove;
Live in retirement, or far better yet,
Remove entirely from the neighbourhood.
As for example, go a little journey
Unto the capital, and introduce
The young lad to the world, direct his steps,
And be his helper and his counsellor,
And form his heart, to have in him a friend,
A brother, and at length—enjoy the world,
While years suffice.
Thus thinking, through the alcove
Gaily and boldly many times she passed.
Again she dropped her eyes.
It seemed worth while
Of the Count’s destiny to think; would it
Not answer to push Sophy in his way?
She was not rich, but in her birth his equal,
Of senatorial house, a dignitary’s
Daughter. And if this marriage come to pass,
Then Telimena for the future owns
A sure asylum in their house, as being
Sophia’s relation, and the Count’s betrother.
To this young couple she will be a mother.

When she this plan of action thus had formed
In council with herself, she called Sophia,
Who in the orchard was at play.
Sophia,
In morning dress, and with uncovered head,
Stood, in her hands a sieve upraised. Around
Her feet the poultry hastened. On one side
The tufted hens pressed forward in a knot;
And there the crested cocks, upon their heads
Shaking the coral helmets; with their wings
Oaring their way through furrows and through bushes,
Widely their spur-armed feet they stretch. Behind,
The bloated turkey slowly pushes on,
Snorting at grumbles of his noisy spouse.
Thither, like rafts almost, with lengthy tails,
Steer o’er the meadow, and at times descend,
Like flakes of snow, the pigeons silver-plumed;
In centre of a circle of green turf
The poultry circle, noisy, stirring, crowds,
Engirdled by a band of pigeons, like
A snowy ribbon, varied in the midst
By stars, by spots, by stripes. Here amber beaks,
There coral crests, from out the depth of plumage
Like fish from under waves, rock to and fro,
Like water-tulips; thousand eyes like stars
Gleam towards Sophia.
In the centre she
Towered high above the birds, herself all white,
Like to a fountain, playing amid flowers;
O’er wings and heads she scattered from the sieve
With pearl-white hand, a plenteous, pearly rain
Of wheaten grains. Such grain, of noble tables
Worthy, is used to make Litvanian rosol.147
Sophia from the household stores abstracts
This grain to feed her poultry, doing mischief
Unto the housekeeping.
She heard the call
Of “Sophy!” ’twas her aunt’s voice. So she flung
The dainty’s last remains unto the birds,
And twirling round the sieve, as dancers twirl
A tambourine around, and beating time
Upon it, did the playful girl skip o’er
The peacocks, pigeons, hens. The birds, confused,
Did flutter upwards all tumultuously.
Sophia, the ground scarce touching with her feet,
Appeared to soar the highest among them all.
Before her the white doves, which in her course
She startled, flew as though before the car
Of Pleasure’s lovely goddess.
In Sophia
Flew through the window, with a joyous cry,
And rested on her aunt’s lap, out of breath.
And Telimena, kissing her, and stroking
Beneath the chin, considered with delight
The child’s high spirits, and her beauty, for
She truly loved her charge. But now again
Her features she composed to gravity;
She rose, and walking to and fro along
The alcove, with her finger on her lips,
Pronounced these words:
“My dear Sophia, you quite
Forget your age and station; this same day
You end your fourteenth year. It now is time
To abandon cocks and turkeys. Fie! a fit
Amusement for a dignitary’s daughter!
And you have been caressing at your will
The unwashed children of the peasantry.
To look upon you, Sophy, grieves my heart;
Your face is tanned quite horribly, just like
A very gipsy. And you walk and move
Quite like a country girl. Now, for the future
I will amend all this, to-day begin;
And I will bring you out into the world,
Into the drawing-room, unto the guests.
We now have many guests here. Take thou heed
Thou dost not make me be ashamed of thee.”

Sophia sprang up from her seat, and clapped
Her hands with joy, and with both arms she hung
About her aunt’s neck; and by turns she laughed,
And wept aloud with joy.
“Oh! auntie, ’tis
So long since I saw any visitors!
Since here I have been living among hens
And chickens, I have only seen one guest,
A wood-pigeon; and I am just a little
Wearied of sitting here in the alcove;
And even the Judge says it is bad for health.”

“The Judge,” her aunt broke in, “was constantly
Tormenting me to bring thee out into
Society; he mutters to my face,
That thou already art grown up; he knows
Not what he says; the old man never lived
In good society. But I know better
How long a damsel must have been prepared
To cause sensation, entering in the world.
For know, Sophia, that when young persons grow
In people’s very sight, though fair, though witty,
They can cause no sensation, where all folks
Were used to see them from a child. But let
A finished, grown-up damsel suddenly
Shine forth, from neither here nor there, before
The world, then all around her press, desiring
To see her; they consider all her movements,
And every look; they listen to her words,
Repeat them unto others; and when once
A damsel is the fashion, every one
Must praise her, even though she please them not.
I trust thou knowest how to find thy level;
Thou in the capital hast grown up. Though
Thou hast lived for two years in this neighbourhood,
Thou hast not quite forgotten Petersburg.
Then, Sophy, make your toilet, from the bureau;
For in it thou wilt find all things for dressing.
Make haste, for they will soon be back from hunting.”

A lady’s maid and serving-girl were called;
A pail of water in a silver basin148
Was poured. Sophia, like a sparrow in
The sand, did flutter, hands and face, and neck
She washed; and Telimena all her stores
From Petersburg did open, of perfumes,
Pomades; with choice perfume she sprinkled o’er
Sophia, the odour filled the room, she smoothed
Her locks with gum. Sophia then put on
White silken stockings, and morocco shoes
Of thin white leather; meanwhile were her stays
Laced by the lady’s maid, who over her
Then threw a dressing-jacket; then were pinched
The papilottes with heated tongs; the curls
Not being too short, were woven in two braids,
The locks upon her forehead waving free.
But freshly gathered cornflowers in a braid
Woven, the servant brought to Telimena,
Who fastened them with skill to Sophy’s locks,
Passing from right to left; the flowers stood forth
In pleasing contrast with the light fair locks,
As though with corn-ears; then the dressing-gown
Removed, the toilet all was done. Sophia
Threw on a white frock o’er her head; her hand
Held a white cambric handkerchief; and thus
She looked completely like a lily white.

The last completing touch to locks and dress
Now given, she received command to walk
Across the chamber, and again its length,
While Telimena, with a practised eye,
Reviewed her niece, grew angry, shrugged her shoulders;
Till at Sophia’s curtseying, in despair
She cried, “Ah me! Sophia, thou seest now
What ’tis to live with birds and shepherd folk.
Thou standest with thy feet apart, just like
A boy, and starest round to right and left.
A thorough hoyden! Curtsey! See how awkward!”
“Oh! auntie,” cried Sophia, quite sadly; “how
Am I to blame? You kept me shut up, auntie,
And I had none to dance with; and I liked
From very weariness to nurse the children,
And feed the poultry; wait a little, auntie;
Let me but be a little among people,
And you shall see how I will cure myself.”

“In truth,” her aunt replied, “of two bad things,
’Tis better far to live with birds, than with
Those vulgar folks who late were guests with us.
That parish priest for ever muttering prayers,
Or playing draughts, and that solicitor
With his pipe! Nice cavaliers! and pretty manners
You would have learned from them. But now at last
There’s somebody to whom to show oneself.
We in the house have some distinguished guests.
And mind, Sophia, there’s a young Count here,
A gentleman of breeding, kinsman to
A Wojewode; remember, pray, to be
Polite to him.”
The neigh of horses near,
And hunters’ murmurs were already heard;
They are near the door already. “There they are!”
And seizing by the hand Sophia, she ran
Into the drawing-room. As yet the hunters
Had entered not the room; they first must change
Their dresses, for they had no wish to meet
The ladies in their shooting jackets. First
Of all the young men Master Thaddeus
And the Count entered, soon as well might be.

Then Telimena fills a hostess’ duties,
She welcomes those incoming, places them,
And entertaineth them with conversation.
To every one in turn presents her niece;
To Thaddeus first, as a near relative.
Sophia politely curtseyed; he bowed low.
He wished to speak to her, half-oped his lips;
But looking in her eyes such trouble seized him,
That standing dumb before her, he now blushed,
And now grew pale. What was within his heart
Himself he guessed not, but he felt himself
Most miserable, for he knew Sophia;
He knew her by her stature, her bright hair,
Her voice; that form, that little head, he saw
Upon the garden wall, and that sweet voice
Had woken him unto the hunt to-day.
At length the Wojski from this aberration
Roused Thaddeus, and seeing him so pale,
Unsteady on his feet, he counselled him
To go and lie down in his room. Within
A corner Thaddeus stood, against the chimney
Leaning, nought saying, his wide, wandering eyes
Now turning on the aunt, now on the niece.
Well Telimena marked what strange effect
This first sight of Sophia upon him made.
She guessed not all; but yet, howe’er embarrassed,
She entertained the guests, while from her glance
She lost him not. At last her time observing,
She ran towards him; was he well? why sad?
She asked, insisted; of Sophia she spoke,
Began to jest with him. Still Thaddeus stood
Unmoving, leaning on his elbow, nought
Replying, with knitted brow and twitching lips,
And thus still more to Telimena caused
Confusion and surprise. She changed at once
Her countenance, and the tone of her discourse.
She rose up angrily, with bitter words
Began to heap reproach and taunt on him;
And Thaddeus started, ev’n as though a sting
Had pierced him through; he looked away, and coloured,
Unspeaking. Then he kicked his chair away,
And rushed from out the room, and slammed the door.
But happily to none this scene had meaning,
Except to Telimena.
Through the gate
He fled, and straightway rushed into the field;
As when a pike, pierced by a fish-spear through,
Splashes and plunges, thinking thus to fly,
Though dragging rope and iron along with him,
So Thaddeus after him vexation drew,
As he o’er ditches and o’er hedges sprang,
Without a goal, or settled road. Around,
He wandered not a little time; at length
He entered in a woodland depth, and came,
Either by fixed design, or else by chance,
Upon that mount, which yesterday had been
The witness of his happiness, and where
That billet he received, of love the token;
The spot, as well we know, called Sanctuary
Of Meditation.
As he looked around,
He saw—’twas she! Alone there, Telimena!
In thought deep buried, changed from yesterday
By dress and form; in white, upon a stone,
Herself as turned to stone, her face concealed
Within her open hands; although no sob
Was heard, he saw that she was drowned in tears.

In vain strove Thaddeus against his heart;
He pitied her, and felt by sorrow moved.
Long time he gazed unspeaking, while concealed
Behind a tree. At length he sighed, and spoke
In anger to himself: “Fool that I am!
Is she to blame because I thus mistook?”
So from the tree to her he slowly turned,
When sudden from her seat sprang Telimena;
She threw herself to right and left, she sprang
Across the brook, with arms stretched out, with hair
Dishevelled, pale, she dashed into the wood.
She skipped about, and half knelt down, then fell.
Unable now to rise, she writhed upon
The turf; her movements showed that she endured
Some torture most exceeding; she clutched fast
Her bosom, neck, feet, hands. Then to her side
Sprang Thaddeus, believing she was mad,
Or seized with some most fearful malady.
But from quite other cause these movements came.
There was within the neighbouring birchen grove
A mighty ant-hill. Black and rapid swarmed
Around the industrious insects, through the grass.
But whether it were from necessity,
Or for their pleasure, they especially
To visit Meditation’s Sanctuary
Delighted. From their ant-hill capital,
As far as to the border of the brook,
They had a pathway trodden, by the which
Their ranks could march; and to her great mishap
In middle of this road sat Telimena.
The ants, attracted by her stockings white,
Rushed on them, and began to bite and tickle.
And Telimena was constrained to fly,
To shake them off, at length upon the turf
To sit, and try to chase away the ants.

Assistance Thaddeus could not her refuse,
And making clear her dress, he bent him down
Unto her very feet. By chance his lips
Approached her forehead, in such friendly posture,
Though of their morning quarrel said they nought,
Yet ne’ertheless they were agreed again.
How long their converse had endured none ever
Can know; but suddenly the bell aroused them,
From Soplicowo ringing as the signal
Of supper; it was time now to return
Unto the mansion, all the more that far
Was heard a crackling on the ground, may be
That they were sought for. It were unbecoming
They should return together; Telimena
Stole therefore by the garden to the right,
And Thaddeus took the highway to the left;
And both adopting this manoeuvre felt
No little fear.
It once to Telimena
Appeared that from behind a bush looked forth
The pale and hooded face of Robak. Well
Saw Thaddeus how at one time and again
A shadow long and white appeared to left;
He knew not what it was; but yet an inkling
He had that ’twas the Count, in long surtout
Of English cut.
They supped within the castle.
The obstinate Protasy, heeding not
The Judge’s orders, in the master’s absence
Again had stormed the castle; as he said,
A credence intromitted thereupon.
The guests in order entered, and around
In circle stood; the Chamberlain then took
The highest place at table; from his years
And dignity this precedence was his.
In going there he to the ladies bowed,
The old men, and the youths; the friar this time
Was not at table; in his place to-day,
Upon the right hand of her husband, sat
The lady of the Chamberlain. The Judge,
When he had placed the guests as fitting, spoke
A prayer in Latin, blessing on the board.
Then wódka was presented to the men.
All after that sat down, and speedily
The whitened chlodnik ate.
The chlodnik done,
Came crabs, asparagus, and chicken; in
Their company Hungarian wines appeared,
And Malaga. They ate, they drank, but all
Preserved a gloomy silence. Never since
These castle walls were builded, they which had
So many brother nobles feasted, heard
And given back so many joyous vivats,
Did they remember such a gloomy supper;
Only with sound of corks and clash of plates
The great and empty castle halls resound.
Thou wouldst have said indeed some evil sprite
Had sealed all lips.
The causes of this silence
Were many. From the toils the hunters came,
Sufficiently loquacious; but when cooled
Their ardour, when considering the chase,
They soon perceived that they with little glory
Had come therefrom. So was it needful that
One priestly hood, that came where from Heaven knew,
Like Philip from the hemp,149 should so surpass
The hunters of the district? Shame! oh! shame!
What would be said concerning this affair
In Oszmiano, and in Lida, which
So many ages with their district had
Contended for precedence in the chase?
They thought of this.
The Regent and Assessor
Had also in their memories the first
Ill-will between them, likewise they remembered
Their greyhounds’ shame; before their eyes still stood
That naughty hare; his long legs stretching out,
And from beneath the thicket them defying,
Wagging his tail; and with that tail he lashed
Their hearts as with a whip. They sat with faces
Bent downwards to their plates. The Assessor had
Another grievance to lament, as he
On Telimena and his rivals gazed.
She sat by Thaddeus, but, all confused,
Scarce dared to glance at him; the gloomy Count
She made endeavour to beguile, to challenge
To longer conversation, and to bring him
To better humour. For the Count had come
Back strangely cross from walking, or the rather,
As Thaddeus imagined, from his ambush.
Hearing, he raised his forehead boldly, frowned,
And looked well-nigh with scorn upon her;
He drew as near Sophia as well he might, then
And poured out wine for her, and brought her plates,
A thousand courtesies performing, bowed
And smiled; but sometimes turned away his eyes,
And sighed full deeply. But in spite of such
Deceit adroitly played, ’twas evident
That all these coquetries were merely played
From spite to Telimena; for round turning,
As though unwittingly, he gazed on her
With dreadful glance.
She could not understand
What this should signify; her shoulders shrugging,
She thought unto herself, he must be mad.
Then of the Count’s new wooing pretty glad
She turned towards her other neighbour.
Thaddeus,
In deep gloom likewise buried, nothing ate
Nor drank, he seemed to listen to discourse,
And kept his eyes close fixed upon his plate.
As Telimena poured out wine for him,
He angry grew at her officiousness;
He took it ill—one day had changed him so—
That Telimena was so quick to woo.
It shocked him that her dress was cut so low,
It seemed immodest; when he raised his eyes,
As fearing so to do, far sharper now
They were, for scarcely on her rosy cheeks
They rested, when he quick became aware
Of a most terrible and frightful secret;
Good heavens! she wore rouge!
It might have been
The rouge was of a bad sort, or rubbed off
The face by accident; it here and there
Was thinner, and revealed the coarser skin
Below; may be that Thaddeus himself,
In Meditation’s Sanctuary, too close
Conversing with her, from the white had brushed
The carmine, lighter even than the dust
From wings of butterflies, and Telimena,
Returning in a hurry from the wood,
Had found no time her colours to repair.
Around her lips especially were freckles.
The eyes of Thaddeus now, like cunning spies,
Discovering one treason, all around
Began a visitation with the rest
Of all her beauties, and in every part
To track some falsehood out; two teeth were gone
From out her mouth, and on her brow appeared
Some wrinkles, on her temples, and a thousand
Of wrinkles lurked concealed beneath her chin.

Alas! now Thaddeus felt how needless ’tis
To scan a lovely thing too closely, and
How shameful to be spy upon his love,
How wicked even to change one’s taste and heart!
But who may rule their hearts? He tried in vain
The loss of love by conscience to supply,
And with the light-rays of her glance again
To warm his spirit’s chillness. For that glance
Now like a moonbeam bright, but void of heat,
Played o’er the surface of his spirit, frozen
Down to the very depths. Lamenting and
Himself reproaching, he bowed down his head,
Was still, and bit his lips.
Meantime an evil
Spirit allured him with temptation new,
And made him list to what Sophia said
Unto the Count. The damsel, vastly glad
At the Count’s courtesy, first blushed, and drooped
Her eyes; the Count, ’twas seen, was praising her
By flattery most delicate, and then
They both began to laugh; at length they talked
Of some unlooked-for meeting in a garden,
Some trampling over garden-beds and burdocks,
Which Thaddeus, listening to the utmost, heard.
The bitter words he swallowed, in his soul
Digested them; he had a dreadful banquet.
As when a viper in a garden drains
With double tongue herbs venomous, then twists
Himself up in a coil, and on the path
Lies, threatening the unwary foot that treads
Upon him unforeseen, so Thaddeus,
With envy’s poison drunken, outwardly
Appeared indifferent, with spite yet bursting.

Let but a few in merriest company
Be angry, all at once their gloominess
Is shed upon the rest. The hunters long
Had silent been; and on the other side
There too was silence at the table; they
Were all infected by contagion
Of that ill-humour shown by Thaddeus.

And even the Chamberlain, in this deep gloom
So unaccustomed, had no will to talk,
On seeing how his daughters, pretty girls,
And dowered well, and in the flower of youth,
Were silent, by the silent youths neglected.
The hospitable Judge was like concerned.
The Wojski, noting general silence round,
Said this was not a Polish supper, but
A wolfish one. Hreczecha did possess
An ear to silence very sensitive;
Himself was a great talker, and he loved
All chattering greatly. ’Twas no wonder; he
Had spent his life in banquets, expeditions,
And hunts, and diets. He was used to hear
Each moment something drumming in his ear,
When he kept silence even, or was stealing
With fly-scare to smite down a fly, or when
He sat him down to dream with closed eyes.
By day he sought for conversation; even
By night he must be counting o’er his beads,
Or telling fables. Therefore was he aye
A deadly enemy unto the pipe,
Invented by the Germans to convert us
To foreigners; he always used to say,
“Make Poland dumb, ’tis making Poland German.”150
The old man, having passed an age in noise,
In noise desired to rest. And silence woke him
From slumber. Millers thus are lulled to sleep
By rattle of their mill-wheels; scarcely stand
The axles still, than they awake exclaiming
In anguish, “And the Word became”—151
The Wojski Unto the Chamberlain signed with a bow,
And with light movement beckoning from his lips,
Towards the Judge, entreated to be heard.
At once both gentlemen at this mute sign
Did bow, as saying, We entreat you; so
The Wojski in this wise began to speak:

“I venture to entreat the young men here,
To entertain themselves at supper in
The ancient fashion, not keep still and chew.
Are we then Capuchins? Who ever keeps
’Mid nobles silence, does the same as does
The sportsman who allows a charge to rust
Within his gun. I for this reason praise
Our forefathers’ loquacity; they went
To table after hunting, not alone
To eat, but talk out mutually those things
Which each had nearest to his own heart; praise
And censure, marksmen, beaters, mastiffs, shots,
Were called upon the place; a shout arose,
Sweet as another hunt to sportsmen’s ears.
I know, I know what ails ye! All this cloud
Of sable cares152 has risen from Robak’s hood.
You are ashamed of missing. Let not shame
Consume you; I have better hunters known
Than you are, and they missed. To hit and miss,
And still improve, that is the hunter’s course.
Myself, although from childhood I have borne
A gun, have sometimes missed. That famous hunter
Tuloszczyk sometimes missed. The late Pan Rejtan
Did not invariably hit. Of Rejtan
I’ll tell you later on. But as to what
Concerns the bear escaping from the toils,
That the young gentlemen did not, as fitting,
Engage the beast, although they had a spear,
No one will praise this, neither blame. To fly,
With charge already loaded, formerly
Had shown a man a coward of cowards; and
To fire off blindly, as too many do,
Not letting come the beast in rifle range,
Nor taking aim, were a disgraceful thing.
But who well measureth, and lets the beast
Approach him as is fitting, though he miss,
May without shame retire, or with the spear
Engage him, but of free will, not compulsion;
Because the spear to hunters is not given
To make attack, but for their own defence.
And so believe me, and your drawing back
Take ye not thus to heart, beloved Thaddeus,
And you, most powerful Count. But often as
You shall recall this day’s events, remember
The ancient Wojski’s warning; let not one
Thus place himself upon another’s way,
Nor either let the two of you again
Together measure at like game.”
Soon as
The Wojski had this latter word pronounced,
The Assessor whispered half aloud, “Like dame.”153
“Bravo!” exclaimed the young men. Murmurs rose,
And laughter; they repeated all around
Hreczecha’s warning, chiefly the last words,
And others, laughing loud, said, “At one dame.”
The Regent whispered, “Woman;” the Assessor
“Coquette,”154 on Telimena fixing eyes
Sharp-piercing as stilettos.
Never thought
The ancient Wojski to upbraid a soul,
Nor marked he what they whispered all around;
But glad indeed that he had caused to laugh
The ladies and the young men, he turned round
Towards the hunters, wishing likewise these
To gladden. He began, outpouring wine:
“In vain my eyes do seek the Bernardine;
I should be glad to tell him a strange chance,
Like that occurrence of our hunt to-day.
The Klucznik said he only knew one man
As true a shot as Robak from so far;
But I have known another, just as good—
He saved two gentlemen. Myself I saw it,
The time when, in the Naliboko woods,
Our nuncio, Thaddeus Rejtan, and the Prince
Denassau went to hunt. These gentlemen
Did envy not the glory of that noble;
But rather, they were first to drink his health
At table, and bestowed on him great gifts
Unnumbered, and the skin of the slain boar.
Concerning this wild boar, likewise the shot,
I will relate the tale, for I was present
As an eye-witness, and it much resembled
To-day’s occurrence; but it chanced unto
The greatest hunters of my time, our envoy
Rejtan, and Prince Denassau.”
But just then
The Judge, his goblet filling up, began,
“I drink the health of Robak; in your hands,
Wojski! If we may not make rich a friar
By presents, let us try at least to pay him
For powder spent. We may be sure the bear,
Slain in the forest, will two years at least
The convent kitchen furnish forth. But I
Will not bestow the skin upon the priest,
For either I must take it back by force,
Or else the friar must from humility
Abandon it, or I must buy it back
Even with a tithe of sable. Let us then
Bestow this skin according to our will,
The servant of the Lord already has
The chiefest garland ta’en and highest praise.
Let then the Most Illustrious Chamberlain
Adjudge the gift to him who has deserved
The second prize.”
The Chamberlain then smoothed
His forehead, and half shut his eyes. The hunters
Began to murmur; each one something said,
The one how he had first espied the beast,
The other how he wounded it; one there
Had called the dogs, another had driven back
The game into the toils. The Regent quarrelled
With the Assessor, one extolling loud
The excellence of his Sanguszko gun,
The other of his Sagalas.
“My neighbour!
Judge,” said the Chamberlain at last, “most justly
The servant of the Lord has won the first
Reward; but ’tis not easy to decide
Who next to him in glory stands. For all
Appear to me in merit equal; all
Alike in skill, experience, courage seem.
However, fate distinguished two to-day
By danger; two men nearest were unto
The creature’s claws; the Count and Thaddeus.
The skin is theirs. But Master Thaddeus,
I am sure, will waive his right, as of the two
The younger, and related to our host.
Take then, Sir Count, the spolia opima,155
And let these spoils your hunting-chamber deck.
Be it a memory of this day’s sport,
An emblem of the hunter’s fortune, spur
To future glory.”
Here he ceased, in joy,
Believing that the Count was much rejoiced.
He knew not how he pierced his breast with grief,
For at the mention of the hunting-chamber
The Count, despite himself, upraised his eyes;
Those heads of stags, those branching horns, a forest
Of laurels planted by the fathers’ hands
As garlands for their sons; those columned rows
Adorned with portraits, and that shining crest,
The half-goat on the archèd roof, called loud,
On every side, with voices of the past.
He roused him from his dreams, remembered where
He was, and whose guest. He, the proper heir
Of the Horeszkos, in his fathers’ halls,
A banquet-sharer of Soplicas, foes
Eternal of his race.
With bitter laugh
He answered thus: “My house is far too small;
There’s no place in it worthy of a gift
Of such magnificence. Let then the bear
Rest here among these hornèd beasts, until
The Judge will condescend to give it me
Together with the castle.”
Quickly guessed
The Chamberlain the thing of which he spake.
He tapped his golden snuff-box, asking hearing.
“You are of praise deserving, neighbour Count,”
He said, “in that to business you attend
At dinner even; not like men of fashion
Of your age, who without a reckoning live.
I’ll pledge myself, and do desire to end
By compromise my verdict. Heretofore
The only difficulty doth consist
In the court foundation. But I have a plan
Of making an exchange, and compensating
With land for the foundation, in this wise;”—
And here in order he began to unfold
In order, as he aye was wont to do,
The plan of this exchange. Already half
The subject he had ended, when began
A sudden movement at the table’s end.
Some there observed an object strange; they pointed
Towards it; others ran there with their eyes.
And all the heads at last, like ears of corn
Bent backwards by the wind, turned towards the side
Opposing, to a corner.
From that corner,
Where hung the portrait of the dead man, last
Of the Horeszkos, of the Pantler, from
A little door, among the columns hidden,
Glided a silent figure, like a phantom;
Gervasy by his face and height they knew,
And by the silver half-goats on his vest
Of yellow. Like a pillar stepped he forth,
Upright, severe, and mute, nor doffed his cap,
Nor bowed his head; he bore a gleaming key
Like to a dagger; straightway did he ope
A cabinet, and straight began to wind
A something in it.
In two corners of
The hall there stood, against the pillars leaning,
Two ancient clocks with chimes, in cabinets
Enclosed. The old and crazy things had been
Long in discordance with the sun; they oft
Would point out noon at sunset. No idea
Gervasy had of mending the machines;
But would not leave the clocks unwound, so long
Each even he tortured with the key the clocks.
And now the time of winding had arrived,
And while the Chamberlain kept speaking still
Concerning the affairs of both the parties,
He lifted up the weight; the rusty wheels
Did gnash their broken teeth; the Chamberlain
Did shudder, and break off. “My brother,” cried he,
“Postpone thy busy labour.” Then he ended
His project of exchange. But in despite
The Klucznik pulled this time with greater force
The second weight; the bullfinch then that sat
Upon the summit of the clock began,
Fluttering its wings, to chirp the chime-notes out.
The bird with art was fashioned; pity ’twas
That it was spoiled; it groaned and squeaked, the more
The worse. The guests laughed loud. The Chamberlain
Must break off once again.
“Sir Klucznik,” cried he,
“Or rather screech-owl,156 if you prize your beak,
I have had enough of shrieking.”
But Gervasy
Betrayed no terror at this threat; he laid
With dignity his right hand on the clock,
And on his side his left. Supported thus
With both hands, he exclaimed: “Sir Chamberlain!
You are free to jest; a sparrow smaller is
Than is a screech-owl; but ’mid his own chips
He is bolder than a screech-owl in another’s
Mansion; a Klucznik is no screech-owl; he
Who creeps by night to strangers’ garrets is
A screech-owl, and I’ll frighten him away.”

“To the door with him!” cried the Chamberlain.

“Sir Count!” exclaimed the Klucznik, “do you see
What things are doing? Is your honour not
Already stained enough, in that you eat
And drink with these Soplicas? and was this
Needed, that I, the castle’s governor,
Gervas Rembajlo, Klucznik of Horeszko,
Should in my masters’ house insulted be,
And you endure it?” Then Protasy cried
Three times, “Be silent! Stand aside! For I,
Protasy Balthasar Brzechalski, of
Two names, once General of Tribunal, vulgo
Wozny, perform a Wozny’s summoning,
Formal revision, summoning all here,
These well-born persons present, witnesses,
And summoning the Assessor to inquiry,
On the behalf of the Most Powerful Judge
Soplica; for incursion, that is, trespass,
Across the boundary; for violence done
Unto the castle, which the Judge by right
Rules over, whereof here is open proof,
In that he eats therein!”—“Brzechaczu,” cried
The Klucznik, “I will teach thee!”—and he drew
The iron keys from out his girdle, whirled
The keys about his head; with all his force
He flung them. Like a stone hurled from a sling
The bunch of keys flew forth, and doubtlessly
Protasy’s head had shivered; by good luck
The Wozny bent aside, and thus ’scaped death.

All started from their seats; deep silence reigned
A moment; then the Judge exclaimed: “In handcuffs
This insolent fellow! Hallo! lads!” the servants
Rushed by the narrow way between the walls
And benches. But the Count then barricaded
Their passage with a chair, and this weak rampart
Supported with his foot; “Ware! ware!” he cried.
“Judge; none shall be allowed to wrong my servant
In my house. He who has complaint to make
Against this old man, let him bring’t to me.”

The Chamberlain then gazed askance into
The Count’s eyes. “I am able, sir, to punish,
Without your help, an insolent petty noble.
And you, Sir Count, too quickly do usurp
This castle, ere is given the decree.
Sit still as you have sat; if you respect not
Grey hairs, at least respect the highest office
Within the district.”
“As for me,” the Count
Grumbled, “I’ve had enough of idle talk!
Make others weary with respect and office!
Sufficient fool I have already been,
In joining with you all in drinking-bouts,
That end in rudeness! Give me satisfaction
For wounding of my honour! Now good-bye
Till you are sober. Come with me, Gervasy.”

The Chamberlain such answer never had
Expected. He was filling up his glass,
When, smitten by the County’s insolence
As by a thunderbolt, his glass he rested
Against a steadfast bottle; to one side
He bent his head, and lent his ear; his eyes
Stared wildly, and his lips half opened. Silent
He yet remained, but in his hand the goblet
So strongly grasped he, that the glass was shivered,
Loud-ringing, in his eyes the liquid spirted;
And one had said that with the wine a fire
Was poured into his spirit, even so flamed
His visage, and his eyes glowed. He addressed
Himself to speak, but inarticulate,
The first words were ground down upon his lips;
At last they flew forth from between his teeth.
“Fool! miserable Count! I’ll—Thomas! bring
My sabre!—I will teach thee manners here!
Fool! damn him! offices and reverence weary
A delicate ear! I’ll cut thee round about
Those precious ears! Fora! out at the door!
Thomas! my sabre!”
To his side at once
Sprang friends. The Judge now grasped him by the hand.
“Stop, friend, ’tis our affair! I first was challenged.
Protasy, bring my sabre! Such a dance
I’ll lead him, as a bear with sticks.” But Thaddeus
Restrained the Judge: “Sir uncle, is this fitting?
And you, Most Powerful Chamberlain, is’t worthy
Of you with such a coxcomb to engage?
Are there no young men here? Leave it to me.
I’ll punish him as suits.—And you, bold sir,
Who challenge old men, we will see if you
Are such a valiant knight; we’ll talk of this
To-morrow; we will choose the place and weapons.
To-day depart while you are safe.”
The counsel
Was good. The Klucznik and the Count now fell
Into no trifling trouble. At the upper
End of the table a loud shrieking rose.
But from the lower end flew bottles round
The County’s head. The frightened women all
Were praying, weeping. Telimena cried
“Alas!” With lifted eyes she rose, and fell
Down in a swoon, upon the Count’s arm drooped,
And on his breast her swan-like bosom laid.
The Count, though angry, checked his furious zeal,
And strove to rouse her, and to dry her tears.

Meanwhile exposed to stool and bottle strokes
Gervasy tottered; now with tucked-up sleeves
The servant throng rushed on him from all sides;
When happily Sophia, as she saw
The assault, with pity moved, to the old man
Sprang forward, with her little hands wide spread
She shielded him. The assailants ceased; Gervasy
Drew slowly backward, vanished from their eyes.
They looked to see if he were hid beneath
The table, when he suddenly came forth
Upon the other side, as though emerged
From under ground, and in his powerful arms
A bench high-raising, like a windmill’s sails
He whirled it round, and half the hall made clear;
Then took with him the Count, and both thus screened
With the defending bench, retired towards
The little door, and reached the threshold; yet
Gervasy stood, and looked upon his foes.
He stood awhile in thought, uncertain whether
To draw back under arms, or once again
With newer arms his fortune try in war.
He chose the second course. He lifted high
The bench like battering ram behind to strike.
He bent his head, with breast thrust out in front,
With lifted foot, he for attack prepared,
When he perceived the Wojski, and he felt
In spirit terror.
Sitting still, the Wojski
Appeared as deep in meditation plunged.
At the beginning, when the Count began
The quarrel with the Chamberlain, and when
He spoke those threatening words unto the Judge,
The Wojski turned away; he twice took snuff,
And rubbed his eyes; though but a distant kinsman
Unto the Judge, he dwelt within his house,
And heedful of his good friend’s safety aye
Was he; and so with deep concern he gazed
Upon the fight. He lightly stretched his hand
Across the table, palm and fingers, laid
Upon one hand a knife, the handle placed
Upon the index finger-nail; but turned
Towards his elbow was the steely blade.
Then balancing the hand turned somewhat back,
It seemed like sport—but on the Count he gazed.

The art of throwing knives, most terrible
In single fight, already at that time
In Litva was disused, and only known
To old men; but the Klucznik sometimes had
Proved it in tavern combats, and the Wojski
Excelled therein; it well might be perceived,
From action of his hand, he aimed towards
The Count, the last of the Horeszkos, though
By spindle-side. The younger men, less heedful,
Knew not what signified the old man’s movements.
Gervasy turned pale; with the bench he covered
The Count’s retreat, and to the doors retired.
“Catch him!” the throng cried.
As a wolf, surprised
On sudden at his feast of carrion,
Will cast him blindly on the throng that break
Upon his feast, pursue them, and proceed
To tear them into pieces; all at once,
Amid the canine shriek, a trigger’s click
Doth sound; the wolf doth know it, searches round,
Perceives the huntsman there behind the dogs,
On one knee bending, who the barrel turns
Towards him, and the trigger stirreth now.
The wolf drops down his ears, and hies away
With tail between his legs; the pack, with cry
Of triumph, rush upon him, tear the tufts
Of hair upon him. Round the beast at times
Will turn, he looks, and grindeth with his jaw;
And by the gnashing of his white tusks, scarce
The pack doth threaten, when with whining cry
They all disperse. Even thus Gervasy held
With threatening mien assailants all at bay,
With eyes and bench; until he with the Count
Did enter in a dark and deep recess.
“Catch ’em!” the cry once more arose. Not long
That triumph, for above the heads of all
The crowd, the Klucznik showed him in the choir,
Beside the ancient organ, and began
To tear off with loud crash the leaden pipes,
And smiting from above, he surely had
Inflicted great disaster. But the guests
In tumult left the hall; the frightened servants
Dared not approach; and quickly gathering up
The table-vessels, rapidly they fled
In footsteps of their masters; left behind
The covers, with their spoons and forks in part.

Who latest did retire, not heeding blows
Or threatenings, from the battle-field?
It was Protasius Brzechalski. He, unmoved,
Stood by the Judge’s chair, and with the voice
Of summoner his declaration made,
Until he ended it, and backward drew
Leaving the empty battle-field, where lay
The dead and wounded, and a mighty ruin.

No loss was there in men. But every bench
Had legs put out of joint; the table, too,
Was lame, and naked of its table-cloth.
It lay upon the plates, wine-deluged o’er,
As ’twere a knight on bloody shields, among
The many bodies of the chickens and
The turkeys, in whose breasts forks lately planted
Remained.
A little while, and everything
Within the lonely castle of Horeszko
Had to its rest accustomed come again.
The twilight thickened; the remainder of
That lordly, stately banquet lay there, as
In that nocturnal festival, wherein,
At the solemnity of ancestors,157
The dead are gathered. Now three times had shrieked
The screech-owls in the garret, like the wizards.158
The rising of the moon they seemed to hail,
Whose beam fell through the window, quivering
Upon the table, as it were a soul
In purgatory; from the under-ground
Sprang rats, like damnèd souls; they gnaw, they drink.
At times, forgotten in the corner, burst
A bottle of champagne, as if to toast159
The spirits.
But upon the upper floor,
Within that chamber called the mirrored room,
Though there were now no mirrors, stood the Count
Upon the balcony against the door.
He cooled him in the wind, upon one arm
He wore a surtout, but the other sleeve
And skirts were folded round his neck, and draped
The surtout like a mantle o’er his breast.
Gervasy strode with wide steps through the hall;
And both, in deep thought, talked unto themselves.
“Pistols,” the Count said; “sabres if they will.”
“The castle,” said the Klucznik, “and the village
Are both our own.”—“The uncle, nephew,” cried
The Count, “I’ll challenge the whole race together!”160
“The castle,” cried the Klucznik, “village, land,
Seize them, sir!” Saying this he turned towards
The Count: “If you, my lord, do peace desire,
Seize everything. Why go to law, Mopanku?
The cause is clear as day; the castle was
In the Horeszkos’ hands four hundred years.
Part of the revenues were wrested in
The time of Targowica, and, as well
You know, were given to Soplica’s rule.
Not this part only we must get from them;
The whole, for costs of lawsuits, punishment
Of robbery. I always told you, sir,
Abandon lawsuits; always told you, sir,
Invade them, harry them! yes, thus it was
In former days; who once had held the land
Was owner; win in field, thou also wilt
In law-courts win. And as for former quarrels
With the Soplicas, better is the Penknife
For them than lawsuits. But if Matthew will
Lend me his Rod to help me, we will soon
Chop both of these Soplicas up to chaff.”

“Bravo!” the Count exclaimed; “this plan of thine,
Gothic Sarmatian, better pleases me
Than wrangling of the advocates. We’ll make
A noise throughout all Litva with this thing,
Unheard of since the ancient times, and we
Shall also reap amusement. These two years
That I have dwelt here, what battles have I seen?
Among the peasants for a boundary ridge.
This enterprise of ours doth promise bloodshed.
During my travels I have been in one.
In Sicily a certain prince’s guest
We Was I, when brigands carried to the mountains
His son-in-law, and from his relatives
The daring wretches asked a ransom. We
In haste collected all the serving-men
And vassals, and upon the robbers fell.
Myself two brigands slew with mine own hand,
And first was in their fortress, setting free
The prisoner. Ah! Gervasy mine! what triumph
’Twas then! Our coming back, how beautiful!
So knightly-feudal! All the people met us
With flowers; the prince’s daughter in my arms
Fell, grateful to the brave deliverer.
When in Palermo I arrived, the whole
Was known already from gazettes. The women
Would point me out; there even had been printed
A novel on the whole affair, wherein
I mentioned am by name. The title of
The novel is as followeth: ‘The Pole,
Or Mysteries of the Castle of Birbante—
Rocca!’ Are there within this castle dungeons?”
“There are enormous cellars,” said the Klucznik,
“But they are empty; the Soplicas have
Drunk all the wine up.”—“We must arm the jockeys,”
The Count said, “in the house; the vassalage
Must summon from our own domains.”—“What! lackeys!
Forbid it, Heaven!” Gervasy cried; “is then
A foray but a deed of villainy?
Whoever knew a foray made with peasants
And lackeys? You, my lord, know nought at all
Of raids. But nobles, that is something other
Than vassals; they are found not on estates,
But in the nobles’ farmsteads there in Dobrzyn,
In Rzesikow, in Cietycz, in Rabanki;
And nobles are they from eternity,
In whom flows knightly blood, all friends unto
Horeszko’s family, and deadly foes
Unto Soplica. I will gather from them
A hundred whiskered nobles. That I’ll do.
You, sir, return unto your palace, sleep
Your fill; to-morrow there will be great work.
You love to sleep; ’tis late; the second cock
Has crowed already. I will stay to guard
The castle until dawn; but with the sun
I stand within the farmsteads of Dobrzynski.”161

The Count at these words left the balcony,
But ere he went he through a shot-hole gazed,
And as he viewed a multitude of lights
Within Soplica’s house: “Light up!” he cried.
“To-morrow at this hour it will be bright
Within this castle, in your mansion dark.”

Gervasy sat upon the ground, and leaned
Against the wall, while sank upon his breast
His thoughtful brow. The moonlight fell upon
The summit of his bald head; with his finger
Gervasy traced upon it many strokes.
He dreamed of warlike plans in coming raids;
But more and more his heavy eyelids weighed
Upon him, and he bowed his powerless neck.
He felt that sleep was overtaking him,
And as his custom was, he did begin
His evening prayers. But ’tween the Paternoster
And Ave Mary wondrous phantoms rose,
Who crowded round the Klucznik, and who whirled
About him. He beholdeth the Horeszkos,
His former lords; some bearing sabres, others
With truncheons; each one looks with threatening glance,
His whiskers twirls, and flourishes his sword,
Or shakes his truncheon;162 after them there came
One silent, gloomy shade, a bloody spot
Upon his breast. Gervasy shuddered, for
He recognised the Pantler; he began
To sign the cross around him, and more surely
To drive off fearful dreams, he said aloud
The litany for souls in purgatory.
Again his sight was shut; within his ears
There was a sound. He saw a crowd of nobles
On horseback, and the sabres gleamed. “A foray!
A foray!” Korelicz and Rymsza lead them.
And he beheld himself on charger grey,
His dreadful rapier lifted o’er his head;
He flies, his mantle with wide-streaming folds
Rustling, the cap from his left ear falls back.
He flies, o’erthrowing horse and foot upon
The road; at last Soplica in his barn
He burneth up. Then sank upon his breast
His brow, with heavy dreaming weighted down.
Thus the last Klucznik of Horeszko slept.

Book
VI

The Farmstead163

The first warlike movements of the foray—Protasy’s expedition—Robak takes counsel with the Judge about the public cause—Continuation of Protasy’s bootless errand—Episode of the hemp—The farmstead of the noble family of Dobrzyn—Description of the homestead and person of Matthias Dobrzynski.

From the damp twilight stole forth, dimly seen,
Light without blushing, leading on the day
With lightless eye. The day had risen long since,
But scarce as yet was visible. A mist
Hung o’er the earth, as thatch of straw o’erhangs
A poor Litvanian hut; towards the east
A circle somewhat whiter than the rest
The sun betokened, risen in the sky.
Thence must he to the earth descend, but he
Passed joylessly, and slumbered on his way.
By heaven’s example all was late on earth,
The cattle to their pasture went forth late,
And stumbled on the hares, still feeding late,
Though used to come back to their groves at dawn.
To-day, enveloped in the rolling mists,
Some crunch the damp grass, others burrowing
Upon the field, in couples flock together,
And think to enjoy the open air betimes.
But they before the cattle must retreat
Unto the forest.
In the forests too
Was silence. The awakened bird sang not;
He shook his feathers clear of dew, and pressed
Close to the tree, and thrust his head again
Beneath his wings, half-shut his eyes, and waited
The sun. On shores of water ’mid the mire,
The storks do clatter with their beaks; the crows
Sit dripping wet, with large and open beaks,
And carry on their lengthy chatterings;
Hateful to farmers, prophets of the rain.
The husbandmen had long gone forth to work.

The reapers now began their ’customed song,
Monotonous and gloomy, full of longing,
Like to a rainy day; the sadder sounding,
As sinking without echo in the mist.
The sickles in the corn clashed, and the mead
Resounded; in a row the mowers cut
The after-grass, and whistled loud their song;
With ending of each stanza they stand still,
Sharpen the steel, and beat upon the hones
In time. The folk unseen in mist, alone
The sickles, scythes, and songs resounded, as
Music from voices of the invisible.

In midmost on a sheaf of corn, the bailiff,
Sitting, grew weary, turned around his head,
Regarding not the labours; on the road
He looked, upon the cross-ways, where there passed
Some unaccustomed things.
Upon the paths
And highways, from the morning had there reigned
Unusual movement. There was creaking loud
The peasant’s cart, that like a post did fly;
And here a noble’s carriage rattling flew.
It meets another, and a third. From left
There rode an envoy like a courier;
And many horses from the right-hand way
Flew, as though racing. All seemed hastening
To various quarters. What may all this mean?
The bailiff rose up from the sheaf, he wished
To look around him, and inquire. Long time
He stood upon the road, but called in vain,
He could not stay the course of any one,
Nor in the mist could recognise a soul.
And horsemen flitted fast like spirits, only
Time after time the hollow fall of hoofs,
Was heard, and stranger yet, the clash of sabres.
This much rejoices, but yet terrifies
The bailiff’s heart; for though in Litva then
Was peace, long time low murmurs went around
Of war, the French, Dombrowski, of Napoleon.
Should then these horsemen war portend? these arms?
The bailiff ran to tell it to the Judge,
Trusting himself to learn of something news.

In Soplicowo guests and household both,
After the quarrellings of yesterday,
Rose sad and discontented on this morn.
In vain the Wojski’s daughter would invite
The ladies unto fortune-telling. Vainly
Were given playing-cards unto the men.
They will not seek amusement, neither play.
Silent they sat in corners, and the men
Smoked pipes, the women knitted; even the flies
Appeared asleep.
The Wojski, throwing down
His fly-scare, wearied by the silence, went
Among the servants. He was glad to hear
Within the kitchen the housekeeper’s cries,
And the cook’s threats and blows, and scullions’ noise,
Until the sound monotonous of spits,
Turning with various roasts, did gradually
In sweet and pleasant dreaming steep his sense.

Since morning shut up in his room the Judge
Was writing, and the Wozny since the morn
Beneath the window in the ante-room
Was waiting. Having finished now his summons,
The Judge called in Protasy, read aloud
An accusation couched against the Count,
For outrage to his honour, and reviling;
Against Gervasy for assault and battery;
Against them both for insolence and costs,
He enters in the criminal register!164
This must that very day by word of mouth
Delivered be, and openly, ere sunset.
The Wozny, with a solemn mien, outstretched
Both hands and hearing when he saw the summons.
He stood right gravely, but had fain jumped high
For very joy, for thinking of a lawsuit
He felt him growing young again, remembering
When he went out with summons, to earn blows,
But likewise liberal pay. The soldier thus,
Whose life was spent in war, but old and broken
Now rests in hospital, soon as he hears
The trump and drum far off, from off his couch
Springeth, and in his sleep cries out, “Upon
The Muscovites!” and on his wooden leg
So fast he rushes from the hospital,
That young men scarcely may him overtake.

Protasy hastes to don forensic dress;
Yet wears he nor the zupan nor kontusz.
They serve alone the law-court’s grand parade.
For journeying he has a different dress:
Wide riding hose, and jacket, whose long skirts
With buttons may be shortened, or let down
Below the knee; a cap with ears, and band
That fastens round the crown, in sunshine raised,
Let down in rain. Accoutred thus he took
A cudgel, and on foot set forward, since
The Wozny, like a spy before the war,
Must hide himself before the suit begin,
Beneath another form, another name.

Well did Protasy, that such haste he made
Upon the road, else had he not for long
Enjoyed his summons. For in Soplicowo
The plan of the campaign had all been changed.
On sudden to the Judge came Robak, breathless,
Thus saying: “Judge, the aunt will work us woe,
This lady Telimena’s a coquette
And flirt. When as a helpless child Sophia
Was left, to Telimena’s care did Jacek
Confide her, since he heard that she was good,
And had great knowledge of the world. But I
Perceive that she is carrying on intrigues,
And possibly enticing Thaddeus.
I have watched her—or perhaps it is the Count,
Perhaps the two at once. Let’s think of means
To rid ourselves of her, else may result
Some complications hence, an ill example,
Quarrels between the young men, which may mar
Thy legal compromise!”—“My compromise!”
The Judge exclaimed, with unaccustomed heat;
“I’m quit of compromises! I have ended,
I’ve broken ’em all off!”—“But how is this?”
Broke Robak in; “what reason’s in’t or sense?”
“No fault of mine,” the Judge said; “and the lawsuit
Will make all clear. The Count, that proud young fool,
Was cause of all the quarrel, and that rascal
Gervasy. But all this is for the courts.
Pity thou wert not in the castle, priest,
At supper, for thou couldst have then been witness
How grievously the Count offended me.”
“Why did you creep again into those ruins?”
Said Robak; “for you know I cannot bear
That castle. Henceforth never shall my foot
Enter within it. What! another quarrel!
Chastisement of the Lord! How was it? tell me.
All this must be forgotten; I am weary
Of all these fooleries! I’ve weightier business
Than to conciliate brawlers, but I fain
Would bring ye to agree!”—“Thou! make agree!
What means this? Get ye gone with make agree
Unto the devil!” stamping with his foot
The Judge exclaimed. Because “Just see this monk! Because
I have received him here with courtesy,
He wants to lead me by the nose. Learn thou
That the Soplicas are not used to agree;
When once they send a summons they must win.
Not one time only in their name a suit
Has lasted full six generations long,
Until they gained it. I have done enough
Of fooleries by your counsel, calling in
Three times the judgment of the Chamberlain.
Henceforth there is no peace, no, none! none! none!”
And thus exclaiming he rose up, and stamped
With both his feet. “Besides this, for last night’s
Discourtesy, he must entreat my pardon,
Or else we fight.”
“But, Judge, how would it be
If Jacek heard of this? why, his despair
Would slay him. Have not the Soplicas done
Enough of evil in that castle yet?
Brother, I will not unto thee recall
That terrible event. Thou knowest also
That Targowica did make confiscate
Some of the castle holdings, and did give them
To the Soplicas. Jacek, for his sins
Grieving, must under absolution make
A vow to render back these lands; and so
Did he adopt Sophia, the destitute
Inheritrix of the Horeszkos; he
Laid out much money on her bringing up;
He would betroth her to his Thaddeus,
And thus unite two families at feud,
Again in brotherhood, and without shame,
Thus yield the plunder to its rightful heiress.”
“But how is that my business?” said the Judge;
“I never knew him, never even saw
My brother Jacek. Scarcely by report
I knew his life of rioting, as then
I studied rhetoric in a Jesuit’s school,
Then at the Wojewode’s as a page I served.
The estates were given me. I took them; he
Commanded that I should receive Sophia.
I did receive her, gave to her a dowry,
And for her future also will provide.
But this old woman’s tale has wearied me
Enough! And then why has this Count come down
Upon me with a claim unto the castle?
For thou, my friend, well knowest, he is kin
To the Horeszkos only distantly.165
Shall he insult me thus, and I invite him
To concord?”—“Brother,” said the priest, “for that
Thou shouldst thus do, there are important reasons.
Rememb’rest thou how Jacek once desired
To send his son unto the wars; but after
Caused him to stay in Litva? Why was this?
Because at home and in his Fatherland
He will be far more needed. Thou hast heard
This thing whereof they are speaking everywhere,
Of which not seldom I have tidings brought.
Now is it time to tell all things, ’tis time!—
Most weighty things, my brother. War among us!
A war for Poland, brother! we’ll be Poles!
A war for certain! When I hastened here
On secret embassy, our army’s foreposts
Already stood upon the Niemen’s shore.
Napoleon gathers now a mighty host;
Our Joseph, our Dombrowski, our white eagles,
Our Polish hosts beside the Frenchmen march.
Now are they on the way, and at the first
Sign from Napoleon they will cross the Niemen,
Our brothers! Then our country shall awake!”
The Judge, while listening, laid his glasses down,
And gazing fixedly upon the priest,
Said nought awhile, but deeply sighed, and tears
Were circling in his eyes. At last he rushed
Upon the priest’s neck, and embraced him.
“My Robak!” cried he, “is this but the truth?
So many times deceived! Dost thou remember?
They said, ‘Napoleon now is coming, and
We looked for him.’ They said, ‘He is in Poland;
He has the Prussians beaten, he will soon
Break through to us.’ And he, what then? He made
At Tilsit peace!166 Is this the truth? Art thou
Thyself deceived not?” “Truth!” cried Robak; “true
As God in heaven!”—“O blessed be the lips
That tell such news!” the Judge exclaimed, and raised
Both hands on high. “Thou shalt thine embassy
Regret not, Robak, neither shall thy convent
Regret it; twenty sheep at choice I give
Unto the convent. Priest, thou yesterday
Didst burn to own my chestnut, and didst praise
My bay; they shall immediately be harnessed,
This day, unto thy wagon. Ask of me
What thing thou wilt to-day, what pleases thee,
I will not thee refuse. But as concerns
This business with the Count, leave me in peace.
He wronged me, and already have I sent
A summons. Does this please thee?”
Then the priest,
Astonished, wrung his hands, and fixed his eyes
Upon the Judge, his shoulders shrugged, and said:
“So when Napoleon bringeth liberty
To Litva, when the whole world trembles, thou
Art thinking of a lawsuit? And yet more;
Thou, after all that I have said to thee,
Wilt sit here peaceably, with folded hands,
When needful ’tis to act.”—“To act, and how?”
The Judge inquired. “What! hast thou read it not,”
Said Robak, “from my eyes? Hast not thy heart
Yet told it thee? Ah! brother, if thou hast
Still something in thee of Soplica blood,
Only consider. If the French in front
Should strike, and if the nation rise behind?
What thinkest thou? Then let the Horseman neigh!167
Let the Bear roar in Samogitia!
Ah! if some thousand men, if but five hundred,
Should strike upon the Russians on their rear,
Then like a fire would insurrection spread
Around. If we might snatch from Muscovy
Their cannon, ensigns, then as conquerors
Come forth to hail our countrymen, the land’s
Deliverers! We march; Napoleon,
When he beholds our lances, will inquire,
‘What army are ye?’ We reply, ‘Insurgents,
O most illustrious Emperor, volunteers
Of Litva.’ He: ‘Beneath whose captaincy?’
‘We are led by Judge Soplica.’ Ah! who then
Will dare of Targowica but to whisper.
Brother, while still the trees of Ponar stand,
While flows the Niemen, shall Soplica’s name
Be famed in Litva; and the capital
Of the Jagellons shall point out thy grandsons,
And grandsons’ sons, and say, ‘Behold, that man
Is a Soplica, sprung from those Soplicas
Who first made insurrection!’ ”
But to that
The Judge: “To me a lesser matter is
The talk of men; ne’er recked I much of praise.
God is my witness, of my brother’s sins
I am not guilty, never much I mixed
In politics; my office exercising,
And ploughing on my bit of land. But I
A noble am; I gladly would efface
This stain upon my house. I am a Pole,
Would gladly for my country aught achieve,
Though yield my life up. Never greatly I
With sabre did excel, though men from me
Have taken blows. The world doth know them in
The latest diets of Poland; I once challenged
And wounded two Buzwiki, who—But this
Is of no moment. What is your opinion?
Needs it that we should take the field at once?
To gather marksmen is an easy thing.
I have good store of powder, some few cannon
Are at the parish priest’s house. I remember,
Once Jankiel said that he had lance-heads stored,
Which I could take at need. He brought them here
In secret, and in packages prepared
From Königsberg. We will take them, and at once
We’ll make the shafts. Of sabres we’ve no lack.
The noblemen shall then on horseback mount,
I and my nephew at their head; and somewhat
Shall be!”
“O Polish blood!” the Bernardine
Cried with deep feeling, and towards the Judge
He sprang with open arms, embracing him.
“True child of the Soplicas! Heaven designs thee
To cleanse the sinning of thine exiled brother!
I ever honoured thee, but at this moment
I love thee, as though we own brothers were.
Let us prepare all things; but ’tis not time
To go forth yet. I will myself appoint
The place, and will to you proclaim the time.
I know the Czar sent lately couriers
Unto Napoleon, to beg for peace;
War is not yet declared; but our Prince Joseph168
Has heard from Binion, a Frenchman, who
Is of the Emperor’s Council, that all these
Negotiations will but end in nought,
That war will come to pass. The prince sent me
As scout to give commands that the Litvini
Be ready to inform Napoleon, when
He shall arrive, that Litva would again
Unite herself to Poland, to her sister,
And that they ask that Poland be restored.
And meanwhile, brother, it is needful you
Should with the Count agree; true ’tis that he
Eccentric is, and somewhat singular,
But young, and honourable; a good Pole.
We’ve need of such. In revolutions such
Eccentric men are necessary. I
Can say this from experience; even fools
May be of use, if they are honest, and
Beneath good governance. The Count’s a lord,
And he among the nobles has great weight.
The district all will move, if that he stir
In insurrection. Knowing his great riches,
Each nobleman will say: ‘ ’Tis a sure thing,
If lords are in it.’ I’ll make haste at once
To him.”—“Let him the first declare himself,”
The Judge replied; “let him come here to me,
And beg my pardon, for I am his elder,
And I hold office. As concerns the suit,
Let it be judged by arbitration.” But
The Bernardine had slammed the door to.
“Well!
A happy journey!” said the Judge.
The priest
Mounted a wagon standing at the door.
He touched the horses with his whip, and shook
The reins upon their sides; the wagon swift
Vanished in clouds of mist. The monk’s grey cowl
Alone rose here and there above the wreaths,
Like to a vulture o’er the clouds.
The Wozny
Had long gone forth unto the County’s house.
As an experienced fox, when lured by smell
Of bacon, runs towards it, but as he
Knows well the wiles of hunters, as he runs
He stands, and sits still, raises up his tail,
And with it towards his nostrils drives the wind
As with a fan; interrogates the wind,
If may be hunters have not poisonèd
The meat—Protasy went thus off the road,
And circled by a field of hay around
The house, pretending that he there perceived
A vicious ox. Thus making tacks expert,
He stood beside the garden, and he stooped,
And ran; thou wouldst have said he followed after
A landrail, till he all at once sprang o’er
The hedge, and entered in among the hemp.

In this sweet-smelling, green, and thick-grown plant,
Round a house planted, lies a sure asylum
For beast and man. Not seldom does a hare,
Surprised among the cabbages, spring out
To hide among the hemp, than brushwood surer.
For deep in the thick green no greyhound can
O’ertake him, neither mastiff track him out,
For the strong odour of the hemp. Among
The hemp a servant of the mansion can
Escape from whip or fist; there may he sit
Until his lord has stormed away his rage:
And even peasants, or escaped recruits,
While the authorities in forests seek them,
Do sit among the hemp. And hence in time
Of battles, seizures, raids, the parties both
Will spare no efforts to possess this stronghold
Of hemp, which to the house’s front extends
Beneath the well, and usually behind
Does border on the hops.
Protasy, though
A bold man, yet felt not a little fear.
The odour of the hemp recalled to him
His past adventures as a Wozny, one
After another, taking as his witness
The hemp. How one time he with summons served
A nobleman of Telsz, a Dzindolet,
Who, holding to his breast a pistol, ordered
That he should crawl beneath the table, there
Recant his summons with a voice of cur.169
How later Wolodkowicz,170 a proud lord,
And insolent, who Diets would disperse,
And violate tribunals; and when he
Received official summons, tore the paper,
And placing heyduks171 at the door with sticks,
Himself upraised above the Wozny’s head
His naked rapier, crying, “Either die,
Or eat thy paper.” So the Wozny made
As he would eat it, like a prudent man;
Till, stealing to the window, in the garden
Of hemp he entered.
At that time indeed
’Twas no more Litvin custom to resist
A summons by the sabre or the whip,
And seldom did the Wozny hear at times
A scolding. But Protasy could not know
As yet this change of custom, since for long
He had served no summons, though aye ready, though
He would entreat the Judge; the Judge till now,
Through due respect to ancient years, refused
The old man’s prayers. To-day this sacrifice
He would accept from sheer necessity.

The Wozny gazes, watches; everywhere
’Tis silent; slowly pushes he the hemp
Aside with both hands, parting wide the thicket
Of stalks, he glided onward through the plants,
As dives a fish beneath the waves. He raised
His head, but everywhere is silence round.
He searches through the windows all the palace
Interior; ’tis empty all; he enters
The gallery. Not fearless, he uplifts
The latch; all void as an enchanted castle.
He draws his summons forth, and reads aloud
His declaration. At this moment he
Did hear a rattling, and he wished to fly,
When some one from the doors towards him came,
By good luck, some one known to him. ’Twas Robak!
Both marvelled. Plainly it was seen the Count
Had marched off somewhere with his household all,
And in great haste, for all the doors stood wide.
’Twas seen he went off armed; for guns and rifles
Were strewn about the floor, and further on
Were ramrods, triggers, with the gunsmith’s tools,
Wherewith they had the firearms late repaired;
And gunpowder and paper for the making
Of cartridges. Was then the Count a-hunting
With all his servants gone? But what should mean
These hand-arms; here a headless sabre, that
Had rusty grown, here lay a beltless sword;
No doubt a weapon had selected been
From out that store; and even been disturbed
The ancient armoury. With heed did Robak
Both guns and swords consider; then he went
Towards the farm to get intelligence.
While looking for the servants, to inquire
About the Count, he in the empty farm
Found hardly two old women, and from them
He learned, the master and his household train
Had marched tumultuously in arms to Dobrzyn.

Throughout Litvania widely had renown
The settlement of the Dobrzynskis, through
Its mankind’s courage, and its women’s beauty.
In former days ’twas numerous and strong;
For when King John the Third by wici172 called
A general levy, from this very Dobrzyn
The standard-bearer of the region led
Two hundred nobles to him under arms.
To-day the family was fewer and poorer.
In former days, in courts of lords, or in
The army, or incursions, sejmik broils,
Had the Dobrzynskis eaten bread of ease:
Now, like the hireling peasantry, must they
Work for their living; they however wore not
The peasants’ russet, but the white capote
With stripes of black, on Sundays the kontusz.
Likewise the dress their noble ladies wore,
The poorest even, from the jackets worn
By peasant women was quite different.
They wore fine calicoes and muslin gowns;
And when they led the beasts to pasture, they
Went not in shoes of bark, but slippers wore,
And they reaped corn, and even spun in gloves.

And ’mid their Litvin brothers the Dobrzynskis
Were by their tongue distinguished, by their stature,
And by their features. Of pure Lechite blood,173
Black hair had all, high foreheads, eagle noses,
Black eyes. They from the Dobrzyn land derive
Their ancient race, and though four hundred years
In Litva settled, they had still preserved
Their Mazov speech and customs. When a child
Of theirs received a name in christening, they
Chose for its saint a patron of the Crown,
’Twas Saint Bartholomew, or Saint Matthias.
Thus was the son of a Matthias named
Bartholomew; his son again was called
Matthias; and the women all were named
Catherine or Mary. In such great confusion
To know apart each other they conjoined
Unto their surname other different names,
From some defect or virtue, men and women.
At times the men received cognomina,
In sign of countrymen’s contempt or scorn.
A noble sometimes by one name in Dobrzyn
Was known, and in the neighbourhood around
By something other. And the nobles round
Would copy the Dobrzynskis, and assume,
Like them, such surnames, imioniska174 styled.

Now well-nigh every family has such,
But ’tis not generally known that they
In Dobrzyn had their origin, and there
Were necessary, though through all the rest
Of Litva, the same custom only rose
From senseless imitation.
Thus Matthias
Dobrzynski, head of all the family,
Was called the Weathercock; then in the year
A thousand, seven hundred, ninety-four,
He changed his surname, and was Zabok175 named,
And the Dobrzynskis christened him the “Rabbit;”
But the Litvini Matthew of the Matthews.

As he o’er the Dobrzynskis, so his house
Ruled o’er the hamlet, as it stood between
The tavern and the church. Well might be known
’Twas visited but rarely, and a rabble
Did dwell therein, for doorless stood the gate.
The gardens were unfenced, unsown, the peach-trees
Upon the borders were o’ergrown with moss.
And yet this farm the hamlet’s capital
Appeared, and shapelier than the other houses;
Far more extensive, and its right side, where
A window stood, was built of brick. Besides,
There was a storehouse, granary, and barn,
A cattle-shed, and stables; all were placed
Together in a group, by nobles’ custom,
All things seemed wonderful, decayed, and old.
The house’s roofs were shining, as though formed
Of some green metal, from the moss and grass
That grew thereon, luxuriant as a mead.
Upon the barn-thatch, like a hanging garden
Of various plants, red crocus, and the nettle,
The yellow stonecrop, many-coloured trails
Of mercury, the nests of various birds;
Within the garrets pigeons; in the windows
The nests of swallows; at the house’s threshold
White rabbits skip, and in the untrodden grass
Do burrow. In a word, the house resembled
A cage or rabbit-hutch.
But it had once
Been fortified. For on each side it bore
The trace of many and of fierce attacks.
Still lying in the grass before the door,
Large as a child’s head, was a cannon-ball
Of iron, come down from the Swedish wars;
And formerly a door-wing open wide
Was by this ball as by a stone retained.
Within the courtyard, from between the weeds
And absinth, rose the heads of ancient crosses,
In this unconsecrated ground the sign
That here lay some surprised by sudden death.
Who closely might consider storehouse, barn,
And cottage, saw their walls all speckled o’er,
From ground to roof, as by an insect swarm.
In midst of every spot a bullet lurked,
As in an earthy hole a humble-bee.

Around the doors all latches, hooks, and nails
Were cut asunder, or bore sabre marks.
Here certainly the temper had been proved
Of steel of Sigismond, which severs nails
From off the head, or cuts a hook straight through,
Yet in the sword-blade never comes a notch.
Above Dobrzynski’s door were coats of arms;
Yet were the armorial bearings hidden quite
By ranks of cheeses, thickly archèd o’er
By nests of swallows. In the house itself,
Coach-house, and stable, was a weapon-store,
As in an ancient armoury. Beneath
The roof there hung four monstrous helmets, once
The ornament of martial brows; to-day
The birds of Venus, pigeons, cooed therein,
And cherished there their nestlings; in the stable
A coat of mail upon the crib outspread,
And ringèd cuirass, as a manger served,
In which the stable-boy did clover throw
To young colts. In the kitchen several rapiers
The sacrilegious cook had blunted, placing
The roast upon them, using them as spits.
A horse-tail, trophy from Vienna, served
As winnower to a hand-mill; in a word,
Industrious Ceres thence had banished Mars,
And with Pomona, Flora, and Vertumnus,
Reigned o’er Dobrzynski’s house and granary.
But now the goddesses must yield again
To Mars returning.
At the dawn of day,
A messenger on horseback had appeared
In Dobrzyn, hastening from house to house,
Arousing all as for the corvée. All
The brother nobles rise, the streets are filled
With crowds; a shout is in the tavern heard,
And lights are seen within the priestly house.
The old men counsel take, the young men saddle
The horses, while the women hold them back.
The boys all struggle forward; all are eager
To run, to fight, but know not whom to fight,
Nor where, and willy-nilly they must stay.
In the priest’s dwelling lengthy council lasts,
Tumultuous, and confusèd fearfully.
But as the opinions could not be agreed,
It was at last resolved to lay before
Father Matthias the whole business straight.

Years seventy-two Matthias numberèd;
A hale old man, of lordly stature, he,
An old Confederate of Bar.176 Both friends
And enemies remembered yet the strokes
His curved Damascus sabre gave, which cut
Asunder pikes and lances like to straw,
And which in jest received the modest name
Of Rod. He from Confederate became
A royalist, and held with Tyzenhaus,177
The Lithuanian Treasurer; but when
The king acceded to the Targowica,178
Matthew once more the royal party left.
So from his frequent change of politics,
He formerly was called the Weathercock,
Since, like the Weathercock, he changed his standard
With every turn of wind. In vain it were
To seek to know the cause of all these changes.
Matthew perhaps loved fighting overmuch;
And conquered on one side, would seek again
For war upon another. Or, may be,
In politics far-seeing, he had searched
The spirit of the times, and wheresoe’er
He saw his country’s good, he thither went.
But yet one thing was certain, the desire
Of glory, or vile gain, had lured him never.
For never with the Muscovitish party
He held, and if he only saw a Russian,
He foamed, and writhed about; and when the land
Was conquered, not to meet a Muscovite,
He kept within his own house, like a bear
Who sucks his paws, deep in the forest.179
He
Had long since for the last time gone to war,
To Wilna with Oginski, where they both
Together served beneath Jasinski;180 there
He with the Rod had wonders shown of courage.
Well known it was that he, being all alone,
Had sprung from Praga’s ramparts down, to rescue
Pan Pociej,181 who, upon the battle-field
Deserted, wounds had gotten twenty-three.
’Twas long supposed in Litva both were slain;
But both returned, though riddled through like sieves.
Soon as the war was over, Pociej,
Like to an honest man, would have repaid
His benefactor, the Dobrzynski, richly.
He gave him a five-acre farm for life,
And a yearly pension of a thousand florins
In gold assigned to him. But said Dobrzynski:
“Let Pociej have Matthew, and not Matthew
Have Pociej, for a benefactor.” Thus
The farm refused he, and would take no pay.
Returning to his house alone, he lived
By labour of his hands, made hives for bees.
For cattle medicine; he went to market
To sell the partridges he snared, and game.
In Dobrzyn there were sage old men enough,
Who Latin understood, and in the courts
From their youth upward had been exercised,
There were a many richer; but of all
The family, the poor, unlearnèd Matthew
Was highest honoured, not alone as swordsman
Renowned, by wielding of the Rod; but as
A man of sure and wise opinion, who
The history of the country, and the clan’s
Traditions knew completely, and was skilled
In law as husbandry; who secrets knew
Of hunting, and of medicine. They even
Ascribed to him (the parish priest said no)
Knowledge of strange and superhuman things.
One thing is certain, that he perfectly
Did understand the changes of the air,
And oftener than the farmer’s almanac
Would rightly guess. No wonder, then, that whether
The question were, when sowing to begin,
To send off barges, or to reap the corn,
Or go to law, or an agreement close,
Nought but by his advice was done in Dobrzyn.
The old man sought such influence not at all;
Rather desiring to be rid of it,
He grumbled at his clients, oftenest
He thrust them forth in silence from his house;
Advice he rarely gave, and not to all.
In most important quarrels or disputes
He scarce, when they inquired, his sentence gave;
And in not many words. ’Twas thought that he
Would sure take up the question of to-day,
And would in person head the enterprise,
Because he greatly loved to fight from youth,
And to the Russians was eternal foe.

The old man through his lonely garden walked,
Singing the song, “When morning dawn doth rise.”182
Right glad he was the weather clearer grew.
The mist had not arisen yet on high,
As it is wont to do when gather clouds,
But still fell down. The wind spread out its hands,
And stroked the mist, and smoothed it, spread it wide
Upon the meadow; meanwhile, from above,
The pale sun with a thousand rays pierced through
The web, and spread it o’er with gold and silver,
And rosy hues;—as when an artist pair
In Slucko weave rich girdles; on the ground
A maiden sitting lades the loom with silk,
And smoothes the warp down with her hand. Meanwhile
A weaver from above throws down to her
Silver and golden threads, and purple, colours
And flowers creating; so the wind to-day
Outspread the earth with wreaths of mist; the sun
Uplifted them. And Matthew sunned himself,
And said his prayers; then to his husbandry
Betook himself; he gathered grass and leaves,
And sat before his house, and gave a whistle.
Upon this whistle, swift from out the earth
A flock of rabbits spring, upon the grass,
Like flowerets of narcissus. Whitely gleam
Their long ears, and their little eyes beneath
Glitter like blood-red rubies, thickly set
On velvet of the green grass. On their hind-legs
The conies rear; each listens, looks; at last
The white-downed flock all run to the old man,
Allured by cabbage-leaves. Unto his feet
They spring, upon his knees, his shoulders; he,
Himself like a white rabbit, loves to gather
The conies thus around him, and to stroke
Their warm fur. But he with the other hand
Throws millet to the sparrows from his cap;
And from the roof the chattering rabble flock.
But as the old man thus did please himself,
Viewing that banquet, all at once the conies
Vanished beneath the ground, and to the roof
The sparrow crowds before new-comers fly,
Who with quick steps now enter in the farm.
The envoys these were from the assembly sent
Of nobles in the priest’s house, and they came
To Matthew for advice. They from afar
Saluted him, low bowing; with these words
They welcomed him: “May Jesus Christ be praised!”183
“For ever and ever, Amen!” he replied.
But when he heard the weight of their commission,
Within his cottage he invited them.
They entered, sat upon a bench; the first
Of these ambassadors stood in the midst,
And now began his sentence to unfold.
Meanwhile a crowd of other nobles came;
All the Dobrzynskis nearly, of the neighbours
Several from zascianki round about,
Armed and unarmed, in chaises and in cars,
On foot and horseback. Carriages were stayed,
And ponies to the birch-trees tied; around
The house they gather, curious of the issue.
The room was full already; in the hall
They gather; others in the windows thrust
Their heads, and list attentive the discourse.

Book
VII

Council

The sound and salutary counsels of Bartek, called the Prussian—The soldierly appeal of Matthew the Baptist—The politic opinion of Buchman—Jankiel counsels a reconciliation, which is severed by the Penknife—The speech of Gervasy, wherein are exhibited the great effects of Diet eloquence—Protestation of old Matthew—The sudden arrival of warlike reinforcements breaks off Council—“Down with Soplica!”

In order due their Envoy Bartek now
Commenced his speech. He, as he often went
On rafts unto the kingdom, had been named
The Prussian by his fellow-countrymen;
In jest, for greatly did he hate the Prussians,
Although he loved to talk of them. A man
Advanced in years, in his far journeys he
Had seen much of the world, a constant reader
Of the gazettes, well-versed in politics;
In Matthew’s absence he was usually
The president of council.
“This is not—
Sir Matthias, my brother, and good father
Of all of us—this is no empty promise;
I’d count upon the French in time of war
As on four aces. ’Tis a warlike people,
And since the days of Thaddeus Kosciuszko,
The world has ne’er seen such a martial genius
As the great emperor Bonaparte. I well
Remember when the Frenchmen crossed the Warta.
That time beyond the frontier I was staying,
During the year of eighteen hundred six.
I was with Dantzig trading, but I have
In Posen many relatives; I went
To visit them; and therefore with Pan Joseph
Grabowski, now commanding officer,
But who at that time in a village lived
Near Objezierz, I hunted some small game.
Peace then was in Great Poland, as is now
In Lithuania, but a sudden rumour
Spread all at once of a terrific battle.
An envoy sent by Todwen came to us.
Grabowski read the letter through, and cried
Out, ‘Jena, Jena! The Prussians have been beaten
Upon the head, the neck! A victory!’
I, lighting from my horse, fell on my knees,
To thank the Lord. We rode into the town,
As though on business, as we knew of nought.
And there we saw the Landrath, Hofraths, all,
Commissioners, and all such sons of dogs.
They all bow low to us, each trembling, pale,
Like Prussian insects184 deluged with hot water.
Rubbing our hands, and laughing, we entreat
Humbly for news; we ask, ‘What news of Jena?’185
They marvelled that already we should know
Of their defeat; the Germans cry: ‘Ach Gott!
O weh!’ They went back home, and from their houses
They ran as fast as feet could carry them.
Oh! what a scramble! all the roads were full
Of fugitives. The German folk like ants
Crawled fast away, the carriages ran on,
Which there the folk call Wagen and Fornalken,
Men, women, carrying pipes and coffee-pots,
And dragging pillows, feather beds; they hurried
As best they might. But we in silence went
To council; hey! on horseback, to confound
Retreating of the Germans! Now to smite
The Landraths on the necks, and flog the Hofraths,
And catch the Herren Offiziere by
Their pigtails! But our General Dombrowski
Did enter Posen, and he brought the Emperor’s
Command to insurrection! In one week
Our men so soundly had the Prussians thrashed,
And driven them away, thou couldst not get
A German, ev’n for medicine. Suppose
We also should thus nimbly turn about,
And with such speed, and here in Litva make
Just such another bath for Muscovy.186
Ha! what dost thou think, Matthew? If the Russians
Contend with Bonaparte, it were no jest
To fight with him. He is the greatest warrior
In all the world, and he has countless armies.
Ha! what does Matthew think, our Father Rabbit?”

He ended. All await old Matthew’s sentence.
Matthew nor moved his head, nor raised his eye,
But only many times he struck his hand
Upon his side, as though he sought his sabre.
Though since the land’s partition he had worn
No sabre, yet from ancient habit, when
He heard the mention of the Muscovites,
He moved his hand towards his left side aye,
As though to wield his Rod, and thence was he
Called Zabok.187 Now he lifted up his head,
They listen in deep silence. But Matthias
Deceived the general expectation, for
A cloud hung o’er his brow, and once again
His head sank down upon his breast. At length
He spoke, pronouncing slowly every word
With emphasis, and nodded to ’t in time.

“Silence!” he said; “whence cometh all this news?
How far off are the French? Who is their leader?
Have they begun already war with Russia?
Where, and for what? And whence are they to march?
What is their strength? What foot, and what of horse?
Who knoweth, let him speak!”
Then silent all
The assembly, gazing each on each. “I gladly,”
The Prussian said, “would wait the Bernardine,
For the news comes from him. Meantime we must
Send to the frontier trusty spies, and arm
The district all in secret; and meanwhile
Conduct the whole thing prudently, so as
Not to betray our plans unto the Russians.”

“Ha! wait? and bark? put off?” a second Matthew
Broke in, the Baptist christened, from a great
Club, which he called the Sprinkler. ’Twas with him
To-day; he on its body leaned both hands,
And on the handle did support his chin,
Exclaiming, “Wait! delay! hold sejmiks! Hem!
Trem! brem! and then to fly! I have not been
In Prussia; kingdom reason’s good for Prussia;
But for me noble’s reason. This I know,
That whoso wants to fight, has but to grasp
A Sprinkler; who will die, call in the priest,
And thus be quits! I want to live, to be!
What is the Bernardine? Are we then schoolboys?
What’s Robak188 unto me? Let us be worms,
And on to gnaw at Muscovy! Trem! brem!
Spies, scouts! Do you know, you there, what this means?
It means you’re old men, and incapable!
Brothers! ’tis weasel’s work to ferret out,
A Bernardine’s to beg, but mine, to sprinkle!
To sprinkle, and be quits!” And here he stroked
His club, and after him the crowd of nobles
Shouted full loudly, “Sprinkle, sprinkle, sprinkle!”

The Baptist’s side supported was by Bartek,189
Surnamed the Razor, from his thin-edged sword,
Likewise by Matthew, who was named the Bucket,
From a great rifle which he bore, with throat
So wide that he from it, as from a pail,
Could pour a torrent of a dozen bullets.
Both shouted, “Long live Baptist with the Sprinkler!”
The Prussian tried to speak; his words were drowned
By tumult and by laughter; they exclaimed,
“Away! thou Prussian! coward! he who is
A coward, let him hide himself beneath
A hood of Bernardine.”
Old Matthew then
Slowly upraised his head, and then the noise
Began to cease a little. “Mock not,” said he;
“At Robak, ’tis a tough blade of a priest.
That tiny worm has gnawed a bigger nut
Than you. I saw him only once, he scarce
Had cast a glance, I knew at once the game.
The priest did turn away his eyes, as fearing
That I should deign confess him. But all that
Is no affair of mine; there’s much in this
To talk about. He never will come here.
’Tis vain to call the Bernardine to us.
If all this news proceed from him, who knows
With what intent? A devil of a priest
It is! If nought you know beside such news,
Why come you here, and what more do you wish?”

“War!” cried they.—“What war?” asked he. They replied,
“War with the Muscovites! To fight ’em! Hey!
Down with the Muscovites!” The Prussian shouted
Unceasingly, and ever raised his voice,
Until he gained a hearing, part by bowing,
And partly by his thin and noisy speech.

“I too desire to fight,” he cried, and smote
With both hands on his breast; “although I bear
No Sprinkler, with a barge-pole once I gave
Good christening to four Prussians at a time,
Who would have drowned me in the foamy Pregel.”
“You’re a bold fellow, Bartek!” Baptist cried.
“Good! Sprinkle, sprinkle!”—“But then, sweetest Jesus!
We first must know with whom to fight, and why;
Must tell it to the world,” the Prussian cried.
“For who will follow us? where shall they march?
When, whither go, when we ourselves don’t know?
Brother nobility! ye noble sirs!
Good gentlemen! we must have judgment, we
Must order have and regularity!
Ye wish for war. Let us confederate;190
Let us consider how we shall unite,
And underneath whose staff. So was it in
Great Poland; we the Germans saw retreat.
What did we? We in secret did advise;
We armed the nobles, and the peasant throng.
When ready, we did wait Dombrowski’s orders;
At last! heyday! to horse! we rose at once.”

“I beg a hearing,” the Commissary191
From Klecko cried. A young man, handsome, dressed
In German fashion. Buchman was he called.
But yet he was a Pole, in Poland born.
’Twas not for certain known if he descended
From nobles; but none asked concerning that,
And all respected Buchman, as he served
A great lord, a good patriot was, and versed
In learning; he from foreign books had learned
The art of husbandry, and with good order
Performed the administration of the lands.
From politics he sage conclusions drew,
By writings smooth and elegant could make
Himself renowned. And therefore all were still
When he began to speak. “I beg a hearing,”
Repeated he, and coughed three times; he bowed,
And thus with sounding lips he clattered forth:

“The previous speakers, in their eloquent
Speeches, have touched on all the vital points,
And chiefest; they have the discussion raised
Unto a higher standard. Unto me
Remains alone to blow unto one fire,
These scattered thoughts and reasonings. I have hopes
To reconcile all contrary opinions.
Two parts in the discussion have I marked,
Division is already made; I go
By this division. First of all, for what
Shall we make insurrection? in what spirit?
This is the first and foremost vital question
The second question doth concern itself,
With revolutionary government.
And this division is right excellent,
Only I fain would have it t’other way.
First to begin with government. As soon
As government I understand, therefrom
I may deduce its spirit and its aim.
So, as to government; as I glance o’er
The history of all humankind, what in it
Observe I? That the savage human race,
Scattered in forests, herd together, bind
Themselves together for their mutual
Defence; they this consider, and this is
The first of councils. Each one then lays down
A portion of his proper liberty
For general good; and this is the first statute,
From whence, as from a fount, all legislation
Doth flow. We therefore see that government
Is by agreement framed, proceeding not,
As some judge wrongly, from the will of God
But on a mutual contract government
The rather is supported, and division
Of powers is but a needful consequence.”
“There you have contracts! of Kiew or Minsk!”
Old Matthew cried out; “truly Babin rule!192
Pan Buchman, whether God sent us the Czar,
Or ’twere the devil, I’ll not quarrel with you,
But only tell us how to oust the Czar.”

“Ay! that’s the knotty point!” the Baptist cried.
“If I might spring up to the throne, and with
My Sprinkler plash and wet the Czar, no more
By any contract would he aye return,
Of Kiew, of Minsk, or any Buchman treaty;
Nor could his priests by power divine restore him,
Nor by the power of Belzebub. I call
Him a bold fellow, who will sprinkle. Buchman,
Your speech, good sir, was very eloquent,
But eloquence is froth and hum. To sprinkle,
That’s the chief thing.”
“Just so, just so,” hissed forth,
Rubbing both hands together, Bartek, named
Razor, from Matthew to the Baptist running,
Like shuttle thrown from one side of a loom
Across its length unto the further side.
“Only thou Matthew with the Rod, and thou
Matthew with club, agree; by heaven! we
Shall smash the Muscovites to bits; the Awl
Will go beneath the orders of the Rod.”

“Command is good,” said Baptist; “for parade,
One order in the Kowno brigade we
Had, short and pithy: Frighten, but yourselves
Be not afraid! Fight, but surrender not.
March forward often, deal blows thickly round!
Whizz! whizz!’ ”
“Yes, those the orders are for me,”
Replied the Awl; “why write an act? waste ink?
We must confederate? Why is all this coil?
Our Matthew be the Marshal, and the Rod
His staff.”—“Long live,” cried Baptist, “Weathercock!”
The nobles answered, “Long the Sprinkler live!”

But in the corners rose a murmur, though
’Twas stifled in the midst; ’twas seen the council
Was now divided in two parties. Buchman
Said, “Never praise I unanimity;
That is my system.” Some one else exclaimed,
“I lay my veto down!”193 some from the corners
Re-echoed him. At last a rough voice spoke:
The nobleman Skoluba late arrived.
“What’s this here, you Dobrzynskis? what is doing?
And we, are we then outlaws? When we were
Invited hither from our settlement,
And by the Klucznik Rembajlo Mopanku,
They told us that some great things should be done;
Not only the Dobrzynski family,
But the whole district, whole nobility,
Therein should be concerned, and Robak talked
In a like manner, though he never finished,
And indistinctly spoke, and darkly he
Explained himself. At last, the end of ends,
We rode here, and by couriers summoned all
Our neighbours. And you are not here alone,
Masters Dobrzynski. We are full two hundred
From various other farmsteads of us here.
So let us all take counsel. If a Marshal
Be needed, let us all proclaim him, be
The ballot equal. Live equality!”

Two Terajewicze then, four Stypulkowscy,
Three Mickiewicze cried aloud, “Long live
Equality!” Skoluba’s side upholding;
And Buchman meanwhile, “Unanimity
Were ruin!”—And the Baptist said, “We’ll do
Without your help. Long live our Marshal, Matthew
Of Matthews! Hey! unto the staff!” Loud shouted
All the Dobrzynskis, “We entreat you!” but
The stranger nobles, “We permit it not!”194
So in two parties was the crowd divided,
Each nodding in defiance to the rest;
One crying, “We permit it not!” the others,
“We do entreat you!”
But old Matthew still
Alone unmoving, in the centre sat,
And the sole head immovable was his.
There opposite to him the Baptist stood,
With both hands leaning on his club; but round
His head he kept turning, leaning on its top,
Like to a gourd fixed on a lofty pole,
And forward now, now back, alternately
He nodded, and unceasing “Sprinkle, sprinkle!”
Exclaimed. Along the room unquiet Razor
Ran from the Baptist unto Matthew’s bench.
The Bucket slowly passed across the room,
From the Dobrzynskis to the noblemen,
As though he would unite them. One cried out
Unceasing, “Shave!” the other, “Deluge ’em.”
Matthew was silent, but ’twas plainly seen
That he was angry.
And this uproar raged
A quarter of an hour, when from amid
The heads of all the shouting crowd upsprang
A shining column high. It was a rapier,
A fathom long, a whole span broad, and sharp
On either side; it was a Teuton sword,
Of steel of Nuremberg. All silence kept,
Gazing upon the sword; who carried it
They knew not, but immediately they guessed.
“The Penknife!” they exclaimed; “long live the Penknife!
Hail to the Penknife! jewel of Rembajlo!
Hail to Rembajlo, Notchy-pate, Half-goat,
Mopanku!”
Soon Gervasy (for ’twas he)
Pressed through the crowd into the chamber’s midst,
And made the Penknife’s blade to flash around;
Lowering the point in sign of a salute,
To Matthew said: “The Penknife bows unto
The Rod. My brothers, nobles of Dobrzynski!
I come not here to counsel you in aught;
I’ll only tell you why I brought you here,
And what to do, how do’t, yourselves decide.
Ye know that long a rumour goeth round
The nobles’ farmsteads, that great things shall be
Done in the world. Friar Robak spoke of this.
Ye all know?”—“Ay! we know!” they cried. “Good, good.”
“ ‘Unto the wise,’ ” pursued the orator,
With penetrating glance, “ ‘two words suffice.’195
Is this not true?”—“Ay, true indeed,” they said.
“When the French Emperor,” the Klucznik spoke,
“Shall march from there, the Russian Czar from there,
War follows ’twixt the Czar and Emperor.
Kings fall to loggerheads with kings, as is
The custom among monarchs. And shall we
Sit still? When great folks other great men throttle,
Let us the lesser strangle, each his own,
From high to low, the great the great, the small
The small; as soon as we begin to strike
Down falls the whole confederacy of knaves.
Thus flourish happiness and the Republic.
Is not this true?”—“ ’Tis true,” they said, “as though
He read it from a book.”—“True,” did repeat
The Baptist; “sprinkle, sprinkle, and be quits!”
“I’m ready aye to shave,” the Razor cried.
“Do but agree,” the Bucket courteously
Entreated, “under whose command to go,
Baptist and Matthew!” Buchman interrupted:
“Let fools agree. Discussions never hurt
The public cause. I beg you to be still.
Let’s listen, for the cause hereby will gain.
The Klucznik from a new point will discuss it.”
“Rather,” the Klucznik said, “from my great age,
’Tis meet for me to think of weighty things.
To do that there’s an emperor, there will be
A king, a senate, deputies. Such things,
Mopanku, are in Krakow done, or Warsaw,
But not among us here in Dobrzyn. Not
On chimneys with a piece of chalk are written
Confederation Acts, nor in a barge;
On parchment are they written. Not for us
To write an act, for Poland has alike
Crown and Litvanian Writers; our forefathers
Proceeded thus. My business is to slay with
The Penknife.”—“Mine to splash with Sprinkler,” said
The Baptist.—“And to pierce through with the Awl,”
Cried Bartek of the Awl, his slender sword
Producing.
“All of us,” the Klucznik said,
“I take as witnesses. For did not Robak
Say that before you in your house receive
Napoleon, you must sweep the dirt away?
Ye all heard that. Do ye all understand?
Who traitorously slew the best of Poles?
Who robbed him, plundered, yet would wrest away
The remnant from the true inheritor?
Who is he? Must I tell you?”—“ ’Tis Soplica.
The villain!” broke in Bucket.—“Fie! the tyrant!”
Hissed Razor forth. “Then sprinkle him!” said Baptist.
“If he’s a traitor,” Buchman said, “then to
The gallows!”—“Down!” cried all, “down with Soplica!”

But here the Prussian dared to undertake
Defending of the Judge, and to the nobles
He cried, with lifted arms: “My brothers! no!
Ah! no! by God’s wounds! What is this new thing?
Sir Klucznik, are you mad? Were we then speaking
Of this? Because a man at one time had
A mad and outlaw brother, shall we then
Chastise him for his brother? That were Christian!
There is some plotting of the Count’s in this.
To say the Judge was hard upon the nobles
Is falsehood! Heaven forbid that it were truth!
It is yourselves would summon him to law,
But he seeks concord with you. Freely he
Doth yield his own; he pays the mark beside.
He has a suit against the Count—what then?
They both are rich; let lord contend with lord.
What’s that to us? The Judge a tyrant! He
Did first forbid the peasant to bow down
To earth before him, saying that was sin.
Not seldom at his house a company
Of peasants (I myself have seen) sit down
With him at table. For his peasantry
He pays the taxes, and it is not so
In Klecko, though you rule there, Master Buchman,
In German fashion. What! the Judge a traitor!
We have known each other from the lowest form.
Good was he as a child, and now the same.
He loveth Poland more than all things. He
Keeps Polish customs, and no entrance gives
To Russian fashions. Oft as I return
From Prussia, wishing to wash off the German,
I go to Soplicowo, as the centrum
Of Polish manners; there one may drink in
And breathe one’s country. Heaven forbid! Dobrzynskis!
I am your brother, but I will not let
The Judge be wronged, and this shall come to nought.
It was not, brothers, in Great Poland so.
What spirit and what concord! dear to mem’ry!
None there with such a trifle dared to mar
Our council.”
“ ’Tis no trifle,” said the Klucznik,
“To hang up rascals!”
Louder grew the murmur.
Then Jankiel begged a hearing; on a bench
He sprang, he stood, and raised above their heads
His beard like tavern-bush, that hung far down
Unto his girdle. With his right hand he
Did slowly doff his cap of foxes’ skin,
And with his left composed again his gown
Disordered; then his left hand he replaced
Upon his girdle, and thus made discourse,
With fox-skin kolpak bowing all round:

“Now, sirs Dobrzynski! I’m a Jew myself.
The Judge to me is neither kith nor kin.
I honour the Soplicas as right good
Masters, and as my landlords; I respect
All the Dobrzynskis likewise, all the Barteks,
And Matthews, all as neighbours very good,
And benefactors. But I tell you this:
If you do any violence to the Judge,
’Tis very wrong. Maybe you’ll conquer, kill—
But the Assessors, and the Sprawnik?196 Prison.
For in the Soplicowo village is
A band of soldiers, Jägers197 all. The Assessor
Is in the house, and if he only whistle,
They’ll muster there, and come as though on purpose.
And what will be? If for the French you wait,
The French are still far off; the way is long.
I am a Jew; I nothing know of war;
But I was in Bielica, where I saw
Jews from the very frontier; and they say,
The Frenchmen stand on the Lososna river,
And if there’s war, ’twill not be till the spring.
Now, thus I say; wait yet a little time.
The Soplicowo house is not a booth
That one can take down, put into a wagon,
And drive away; the mansion as it stood
Will stand until the spring. The Judge is not
A Jew upon a lease; he will not fly;
You’ll find him there next spring. And now, go home,
And do not talk aloud of what has been,
For talking is in vain. And if it please
The noble gentlemen, I beg you come
With me. My Sarah has a little Jankiel.
I will treat all to-day, and have great music.
I’ll order bagpipes, bass-viol, two fiddles—
And Master Matthew loves old July mead,
And a new mazurka; I have new mazurkas,
And I have taught my boys to sing right well.”

The generally belovèd Jankiel’s speech
Went to their hearts; a cry arose, a shout
Of joy, a murmur of consent went round
Behind the very house—when with the Penknife
Gervasy pointed unto Jankiel.
The Jew sprang down, he vanished in the crowd.
The Klucznik cried, “Away, Jew! never thrust
Thy fingers between doors; this thee concerns not!
Because you trade, Sir Prussian, with a pair
Of miserable barges, that belong
Unto the Judge, you strain your throat for him.
Have you forgotten then, Mopanku, how
Your father floated down to Prussia twenty
Barges belonging to Horeszko, whereby
He did enrich himself and family?
And even all of you, who are in Dobrzyn,
You old men may remember, you, young men,
Have heard, the Pantler was to all of you
A father and a benefactor. Whom
Sent he commissioner to his Pinsk estates?
’Twas a Dobrzynski. Who were his accountants?
Dobrzynskis. And his stewardship, finances,
To none except Dobrzynskis did he trust.
Your interests he promoted in the courts;
He got you bread of favour from the king;
He sent your children, at his own expense,
To school to the Pijary fathers,198 paid
Their board and clothing, and at his expense
Advanced them when grown-up. Why did he this?
Because he was your neighbour. And to-day
Soplica’s borders touch upon your frontier.
When did he ever aught of good to you?”

“Nothing whatever,” Bucket now broke in;
“For from a petty noble he grew up,
And how he puffs himself with pride, faugh! faugh!
How lifts he up his nose! Do you remember?
I asked him to my daughter’s wedding. I
Was drinking; but he would not drink. Says he,
‘I cannot drink like all you noblemen;
You nobles drink like fishes.’ There’s a magnate!
A delicate dish of flour of Marymont!199
He drank not; down his throat we poured the wine.
He cried, ‘You wrong me!’ Well then, wait a bit,
And from my Bucket I will deluge thee!”

“The wretch!” cried Baptist; “oh! I’ll sprinkle him!
My son, he was a prudent boy, but now
He is grown so stupid that they call him Bustard.200
The Judge is cause that he is such a fool.
I said, ‘Why creepest thou to Soplicowo?
If there I catch thee may the Lord defend thee!’
Again he went to see Sophia, lying
In wait among the hemp. I caught him, and
I laid about his ears at once; he bleated
And whimpered, as he were a little boy.
‘Father, although you kill me, I must go.’
And he kept whimpering. ‘What is the matter?’
And then he told me that he loved Sophia,
He wished to look upon her. I was sorry
For the poor fellow; so unto the Judge
I said, ‘Judge, give Sophia to the Bustard.’
He said, ‘She’s young as yet; wait three years more.
See what she wish herself.’ The wretch! he lied!
He’s now betrothing her to somebody.
I’ve heard so. I will creep in at the wedding,
And with my Sprinkler sanctify their couch.”

“And shall such villain,” said the Klucznik, “be
A ruler? shall he ruin ancient lords,
His betters? shall he make to perish both
Horeszko’s name and race? Where in the world
Is gratitude? It is not here in Dobrzyn.
Brothers, you wish to fight the Russian Czar,
And fear to fight the house of Soplicowo.
You are afraid of prison. Should I counsel
You unto murder? Heaven forbid it! Nobles
And brothers, by the law I take my stand.
The Count in very truth has gained the suit,
Has gained already not a few decrees.
It but remains to put in execution!
So was it formerly. The tribunal
Wrote a decree, the nobles would enforce it,
Most chiefly the Dobrzynskis; and your glory
Thus grew in Litva. You yourselves, Dobrzynskis,
In the Mysk foray fought against the Russians,
Led by Wojsilowicz, the Russian general,
And by a villain who was friend to him,
Wolk of Logomowicze. You remember,
How we made Wolk our prisoner; how we wished
To hang him on a beam, inside a barn,
Because he was a tyrant to the peasants,
As well as servant to the Muscovites.
But as those foolish peasants pitied him,
I had to spit him elsewhere on my Penknife.
I will not here recall you other raids,
Without a number, whence you always came
With booty and applause, as suiteth nobles.
Why speak of this? To-day the Count in vain,
Your neighbour, urges suit, procures decrees,
And none of you will the poor orphan help,
Heir of that Pantler, who so many fed.
No friend now has he; only me, the Klucznik,
And this most faithful Penknife here of mine.”
“The Sprinkler also,” said the Baptist. “Where
Thou art, Gervasy, there will I be too.
And while I have a hand, and it can plash,
Plash in my hand! For two are two! By heaven,
Gervasy mine, thou hast a sword, and I
My Sprinkler, and I’ll sprinkle well, and thou
Shalt hew them down. And so whizz! whizz! plash! plash!
And let them talk!”
“And here is Bartek too,”
The Razor said; “my brothers won’t reject me.
And when you lather, I will shave away.”
“And I,” the Bucket said, “will march with you.
And if we cannot make the rest agree
About the choice of Marshal, what are votes
And balls to me? Another sort of ball
For me.” Here from his pouch he drew a handful
Of bullets, and he clinked them in his hand.
“Here are the balls,” he cried; “into the Judge
With all the balls!”—“With you!” Skoluba cried;
“We’ll join with you; wherever you are, we
Shall also be! Long live the Horeszkos! live
The Half-goats! Long the Klucznik live, Rembajlo!
Down with Soplica!”
Thus the eloquent
Gervasy drew all hearts along with him,
For each one had some grievance ’gainst the Judge,
As usual is with neighbours. One complained
Of damage, one about a clearing, one
About infringement of a boundary;
The rest were moved by envy of his wealth.
But hatred did unite them all; they pressed
Around the Klucznik, lifting up on high
Their clubs and sabres.
Matthew, hitherto
Gloomy, immovable, now from the bench
Arose, and strode into the chamber’s midst,
And planted firm his hands upon his sides,
And looking straight before him shook his head.
He raised his voice, and slowly every word
Pronounced, with emphasis and weight: “Ye fools!
Ye fools! And fools ye are! Who cometh to
The mill may grind upon you! So then, while
The council talked of Poland’s resurrection,
The common weal, ye fools! there were disputes
Among ye! Ye could not, ye fools! discourse
Together, nor in order, or appoint
A leader over you, ye fools! But let
One urge your private grievances, ye fools!
Then is there concord ’mid you! Get you gone!
For as I Matthew am, by many millions,
Hundred of many thousands, cartloads, tons,
Wagons, casks full of devils!!!—”201
All were silent,
As struck by thunder, till a fearful cry
Arose behind the house, “Long live the Count!”
He entered, riding in the Matthews’ farm,
Himself well armed; ten armèd jockeys followed.
The Count was mounted on a gallant steed,
Clad all in black; a wide cloak over all,
Nut-brown, of cut Italian, without sleeves,
Like a great veil, and fastened by a clasp
About the neck, did o’er his shoulders fall.
He wore a broad hat with a feather, and
He bore a sword. Round turning, with the sword
The assembly he saluted.
“Live the Count!”
They cried; “with him we’ll live and die.” The nobles
Peeped from the cottage windows, following
The Klucznik, pressing nearer to the door.
The Klucznik went out, and the crowd rushed forth
Behind him through the doors. Matthias drove out
The others, closed the door, and drew the bolt;
But looking from the window once again,
Said, “Fools!”
Meanwhile the nobles flocked around
The Count, and went into the tavern. Now
Gervasy recollected former times.
Three girdles from their garments he commands
They bring him; by them from the tavern vault
He dragged three casks; the one containing mead,
The other wódka, and the third held beer.
He drew the bung out; with a murmur spurted
Three streams forth; one like silver white, the other
Red as a bloodstone, yellow was the third.
They in a threefold rainbow play on high,
And in a thousand barrels falling, hum
Within a hundred glasses. Loudly shout
The noblemen; some drink, some wish the Count
A hundred years; all cry “Down with Soplica!”

In silence Jankiel meanwhile had escaped
Upon a bare-backed steed. The Prussian, likewise
Unheard, though still he eloquently spoke,
Tried to escape; the nobles him pursued,
Crying, he was a traitor. Far apart
Mickiewicz stood, nor shouted, nor advised,
But from his mien that he some evil thing
Concocted, plain was seen. So to their swords,
And hey! He backward drew, and made a stand,
Leaning against the hedge, when to his aid
Sprang Zan and the three Czeczots. After that
The nobles were dispersed; but in this stir
Two on the hand were wounded, one received
A cut upon the ear; the others mounted
On horseback.
Then Gervasy and the Count
Arrange the ranks, distribute arms, commands.
At last all down the settlement’s long street
Gallop, loud shouting, “Down, down with Soplica!”

Book
VIII

The Foray

The Wojski’s astronomy—The Chamberlain’s observations on comets—Mysterious scene in the Judge’s apartment—Thaddeus, trying to extricate himself cleverly, gets into great trouble—The new Dido—The Foray—The last protestation by the Wozny—The Count captures Soplicowo—Storm, carnage—Gervasy as butler—The banquet of the foray.

Before a storm a still and gloomy hour
Comes, while the cloud that soars o’er human heads
Stands still, and with a threatening countenance
Restrains the breath of winds; silent, it runs
Around the earth with eyes of lightning, marking
The spots whereon its thunders shall be cast
One after the other. Now this hour of stillness
Came in the house of Soplicowo; well
One might suppose that some presentiment
Of strange events forthcoming, sealed all lips,
And raised all spirits to the land of dreams.
The supper o’er, the Judge and guests went forth
Into the court to enjoy the evening air;
They sit upon the banks all spread with turf.
The company, with still and gloomy cheer,
Looked up into the sky, which seemed to lower
Itself, and narrower grow, and evermore
To approach the earth; till both beneath the veil
Of darkness hidden, like a loving pair,
Began their secret converse, by their sighs
Suppressed their love confessing, by their whispers,
By murmurs, and by soft tones half aloud,
That formed a wondrous music of the evening.

The owl began it, from the gable-roof
Hooting; and with the rustling of their wings
The bats did whisper; near the house they flew
Where window-panes and human faces gleamed.
But nearer moths, the sisters of the bats,
Circled in swarms, lured by the garments white
Worn by the women; most they teased Sophia,
Striking against her face and her bright eyes,
Mistaking them for lights. And in the air
A mighty ring of insects gathered round,
Playing like spheres of an harmonica.
Sophia’s ear distinguished, ’mid the thousand
Murmurs, the chord of humming of the flies,
And a false semitone the gnats created.

The evening’s concert in the fields was scarce
Begun, for its musicians even now
Their instruments were tuning; now three times
The landrail screeched, the mead’s first violin;
Now from afar the bittern’s bass again
Re-echoed him from out the marsh; and now
The woodcocks, rising upwards, circled round,
And shrieked once, twice, as beating upon drums,
Finale to the murmurs of the flies,
And the birds’ cries; a double chorus woke
Of two ponds, as among the Caucasus
Those lakes enchanted, silent in the day,
But musical at evening. One pond, with
Bright water and a sandy shore, gave forth
A solemn low sigh from its azure breast.
The other pond, with muddy depths, and throat
More hoarse, replied with passionate grieving cry.
In both were singing countless hordes of frogs.
Both choirs were tuned unto two great accords;
One seemed fortissimo, the other soft
And piano; one appeared to cry aloud,
The other merely sighed; thus through the fields
Each pond held converse with the other pond,
Like two Aeolian harps, that in their play
Answered each other. Thicker grew the dusk,
And only in the grove, and round the osiers
Upon the brook, were gleaming wolfish eyes,
Like candles. Far along the horizon’s verge,
The fires of shepherds’ camps gleamed here and there.
At last the moon uplit her silver torch,
She issued from the thicket, and illumed
Both sky and earth. From twilight now unveiled,
They slept beside each other, like to happy
Consorts. The heaven in its pure arms embraced
The bosom of the earth, by moonlight silvered.

Now opposite the moon one star, and then
Another, now a thousand gleamed, a million
Now twinkled; at the head of them shone bright
Castor, together with his brother Pollux,
Among the ancient Slavs called Lel and Polel,202
Now in the zodiac of the common folk
Re-christened; one named Litva, and the other
The Crown.203 The two Scales of the heavenly balance
Shine further on; the Lord, upon the day
Of the creation, as our old men tell,
Weighed all the planets and the earth in turn
Upon them, ere into the deeps of space
Helaunched their weights. The golden balance then
He hung in heaven; therefrom men received
The model of their scales and balances.

Towards the north the starry circle shines
Of that famed Sieve,204 through which the Lord, they say,
The rye-grains sifted, which from heaven he threw
To father Adam, banished from the garden
Of pleasure for his sin.
A little higher
Stands David’s chariot,205 ready for career,
Its long beam pointing to the polar star.
The ancient Litvins of this chariot knew
That common people wrongly call it David’s;
It is an angel’s car. In it, ere time,
Rode Lucifer, when he defied the Lord,
And drove on headlong by the Milky Way
To heaven’s threshold, until Michael hurled him
Down from his car, and cast it from the road.
Now broken, doth it roll among the stars;
The Archangel Michael suffers not repair.
And this too know we from the old Litvini,
But they no doubt first learned it from the Rabbins,
That Dragon of the zodiac, long and great,206
Who winds his starry folds across the sky,
Whom sages wrongly have the Serpent called,
No snake is, but a fish, Leviathan.
Ere time he dwelt within the seas, but after
The deluge from the lack of water died.
So angels hung him on the vault of heaven,
Partly for his strange figure, and in part
As a remembrance; they suspended there
His lifeless remnants, as the priest of Mir
Once hung up in his church the fossil ribs
And vertebrae of giants.207
Such old stories
About the stars which he had learned from books,
Or from tradition knew, the Wojski told.
Although the ancient Wojski’s sight was weak
At evening, and he could through spectacles
See nought in heaven, he knew by heart the names
And figures of each constellation there;
And so he pointed out their every place,
And orbit of their motion.
Few to-day
Listened to him, or heeded not at all
The Sieve, the Dragon, or the Scales. To-day
A new guest, hitherto unseen in heaven,
Had drawn all eyes and thoughts unto itself.
This was a comet of first magnitude208
And power, that in the west appeared, and flew
Towards the north, and with a blood-red eye
Looked askance on the chariot, as it would
Assume the empty place of Lucifer.
It threw long tresses backward, and therein
Enwrapped the third part of the heavens, and gathered
As in a net a thousand stars,209 and drew
Them after it, and measured ever higher
To northward with its head, and pointed straight
Up to the Polar star.
With unexpressed
Foreboding, the Litvanian folk each night
Gazed on this heavenly wonder, and therefrom
Deduced ill-omen, as from other signs.
For they too often heard the cries of birds
Ill-omened, who in flocks on desert plains
Gather, and whet their beaks, as they expect
Corpses. Too often marked they how the dogs
Tore up the earth, and as though scenting death,
Howled fearfully, portending war or famine.
The guardians of the forest had beheld
The maiden of the pestilence pass through
The cemetery, she whose brow is high
Above the highest trees, and whose left hand
Waveth a bloodstained cloth.210
Hence various
Conclusions drew, while standing by the hedge,
The barn-keeper, who came to give account
Of farm work, and the district writer, with
The bailiff whispering.
But on the seats
Of turf before the house, the Chamberlain
Sat; he broke in upon the guests’ discourse.
It might be known he gathered voice to speak.
And his great snuff-box in the moonlight shone,
Entirely of pure gold, with brilliants set,
The portrait of King Stanislas in midst
Behind a glass. He tapped thereon, took snuff,
And spoke thus: “Master Thaddeus, your talk
About the stars is but an echo of
I much prefer The things you heard at school.
To talk of wonders with the ignorant.
I too attended lectures on the stars
Two years in Wilna, where the Puzynina,
A rich and learnèd lady, gave the rent
A hamlet of two hundred peasants yielded,
To purchase various telescopes and glasses.
Priest Poczobut,211 a most illustrious man,
Was then observer, and of the Academy
At that time rector. He, however, left
At last his chair and telescope, returning
Unto his convent, to his peaceful cell,
And there he made most exemplary end.
I likewise am acquainted with Sniadecki,212
Who is extremely learnèd, though a layman.
But your astronomers consider planets
Only as citizens may view a carriage;
They know if to the capital it go
Before the king, or from the suburbs goes
Beyond the frontier; but who rides therein?
For what? whereof he with the king discoursed?
Or if the king has sent his envoy forth
With war, or as a messenger of peace?
They know not. In my time I recollect
How when Branicki213 drove his chariot
To Jassow, and behind this wicked car
A train of Targowica traitors drew,
The train resembling of that comet there.
The simple people then, although they ne’er
In public councils mixed, at once could guess
That train the omen of some treason was.
’Twas said the people to this comet gave
The name of Broom, and said ’twould sweep away
A million.”
With a bow the Wojski answered,
“True, Most Illustrious, Powerful Chamberlain,
I recollect now what was told to me
Once as a little boy. I recollect,
Though at that time I was not ten years old,
When in our house I saw the late Sapieha,214
Commander in the army, and who later
Became Court Marshal of the Crown, and died
At last Grand Chancellor of Litva, aged
A hundred and ten years. He, in the time
Of John the Third, was at Vienna under
The standard of the Hetman Jablonowski.
Well then, the Chancellor related how
When John the Third on horseback mounted, when
The Papal legate blessed him on the way,
And when the Austrian ambassador
Did kiss his feet, and held the stirrup ready—
Count Wilczek the ambassador was named—
The king exclaimed, ‘See what is doing in heaven!’
They looked: behold, a comet sailed o’erhead,
By that same way whereby Muhammad’s armies
Marched on, from east to west. And later on
Priest Bartochowski wrote a panegyric
Upon the triumph of Krakow, by the title
Of Orientis Fulmen, saying much
About this comet. I have likewise read
About it in the work Janina titled,
Where is related the whole enterprise
Of the late King John, and where there is engraved
The standard of Muhammad, and besides
That comet, as we see this one to-day.”

“Amen,” the Judge said, “I accept your omen;
May John the Third be with the star revealed!
Now in the west there is a mighty warrior;
May be the comet brings him here to us,
Which Heaven grant!” Thereto the Wojski said,
Bending his head down sadly, “Comets sometimes
Mean war, and sometimes quarrels. ’Tis not good,
It shows itself right over Soplicowo;
May be it threatens us some home misfortune.
We yesterday had strife and jar sufficient;
The Regent had a quarrel with the Assessor
That morning, in the evening Master Thaddeus
Called out the Count. This quarrel also came
About the bear’s hide; if the good Judge had not
Prevented me, I had made both disputants
Agree at table. For I wished to tell
A singular adventure, very like
The events of yesterday’s excursion; it
Chanced to the foremost hunters of my time,
The envoy Rejtan and to Prince Denassau.
The accident was this:
“The General
Of the Podolian lands went from Volhynia,
To his estates in Poland, or indeed,
If rightly I remember, to the Diet
In Warsaw; on his way he visited
The nobles, partly for amusement, partly
For popularity, and so he came
To Thaddeus Rejtan, now of holy memory,
Who later was our Nowogrodek envoy,
And in whose house I grew up from a child.
Now Rejtan, on the General’s arrival,
Invited guests. There gathered many nobles.
There was a theatre, for the Prince loved theatres
Kaszyc, who dwelt in Jatrze, fireworks gave;
Pan Tyzenhaus sent dancers, and musicians
Oginski and Pan Soltan, who then lived
In Zdzienciele. In a word, they gave
An entertainment in the house past wonder,
And in the forest was a grand hunt made.
’Tis known to you that nearly all, so far
As I remember, of the Czartoryskis,
Although proceeding from Jagellon blood,
Are little apt at hunting, not indeed
From idleness, but from their foreign tastes.
And the Prince-General more often looked
On books than on the kennel, and more often
On ladies’ balconies than on the woods.

“But in the Prince’s suite there came the German
Prince Denassau, of whom ’twas said that when
He sojourned in the Libyan land, he went
A-hunting, and he there a tiger215 slew
With spear in single combat, and of this
A mighty boasting Prince Denassau made.
We hunted at this season the wild boar.
Rejtan a monstrous sow killed with a rifle,
At great risk, since he fired from very near.
Each of us marvelled at the shot, and praised.
The German Denassau alone did hear
These praises with indifference, and muttered,
‘A clever shot needs only a bold eye,
But steel a bold hand,’ and began to brag
At length about his Libya and his spear,
About his negro kings, and of his tiger.
And Rejtan took this very ill; he was
A man of temper quick; he struck his sabre,
And said, ‘Sir Prince! whoever looketh bold,
Should boldly fight; a wild boar’s worth a tiger,
A sabre worth a spear;’ and they began
A conversation over-warm. But then
The General happily broke in on them,
And, speaking French, he made them to agree.
What there he said I know not, but it was
Only as ashes laid upon hot coals,
For Rejtan took this much to heart; he waited
Only an opportunity, and promised
To make the German pay for this. Well-nigh
He paid with his own life for this offence,
And did it on the morrow, as I’ll tell.”
Here ceased the Wojski, and his right hand raised,
And for his snuff-box asked the Chamberlain.
He long time used it, and deigned not to end
His story, as he thought thereby to sharpen
The listeners’ curiosity. At last
This curious story he resumed; they listened
With fixed attention; but again the tale
Was broken off. For some one to the Judge
Had sent a messenger, to say that he
Was waiting with some business very urgent,
Which might not be deferred. Good-night then giving
To all the assembly, took the Judge his leave.
They parted and went divers; some to sleep
Inside the house; the others in the barn
Among the hay. Then went the Judge to give
An audience to the traveller.
The rest
Already slept. But Thaddeus crept along
The passages, and like a sentry paced
All up and down before his uncle’s door,
For he in weighty matters must request
His counsel ere he sleep. He dared not knock;
The Judge had locked the door, and secretly
Conversed with some one. Thaddeus waited till
The end should come, and listened at the door.

He heard within a sobbing. Stirring not
The latch, he gazed, with careful heeding, through
The keyhole. There he saw a wondrous thing,
The Judge and Robak kneeling on the ground,
Embracing, while they wept with bitter tears.
Robak the hands was kissing of the Judge,
The Judge embraced the priest upon the neck,
And wept. At last, a quarter of an hour
Being past while they kept silence, Robak spoke
These words in a low voice:
“The Lord knows, brother,
I hitherto have kept those secret vows,
Which I in sorrow made, beneath the seal
Of absolution; that all consecrate
To God and to my country, serving not
Pride, neither seeking earthly glory, I
Have lived till now, and I have willed to die
A Bernardine, discovering not my name;
Not hiding from the vulgar only, but
From thee and mine own son. Yet from the Father
Provincial I had leave, in case of death,
To make full revelation of my name.
Who knows if I return alive? Who knows
What may occur? In Dobrzyn, brother, is
Great, great confusion. Still the French are far;
The winter must pass by; we still must wait,
But nothing can withhold the nobles. I
Perhaps was far too busy with this rising;
Perhaps they understood me ill. The Klucznik
Has spoilt it all. That madman Count, I hear,
Hastened to Dobrzyn. I could not forestall him,
There is a weighty reason why I could not,
For old Matthias has recognised me; if
He lets the secret out, I then must give
My neck unto the Penknife. Nothing will
Restrain the Klucznik. ’Tis but a small matter
About my head, but such discovery
Would break the whole web of conspiracy.
But yet I must be there to-day, to see
What they are doing, even though I die.
Without me all the nobles will go mad.
Farewell to thee, farewell, my dearest brother!
I must make haste. If I should perish, thou
Alone must breathe a sigh forth for my soul
In case of war, the secret unto thee
Is known, do thou complete what I began.
Remember ever, thou art a Soplica!”

The priest here dried his eyes, composed his frock,
Drew down his cowl, in silence opened wide
The window at the back, and from the window
He sprang into the garden; left alone,
The Judge sat in an arm-chair, and he wept.

A moment waited Thaddeus, ere he stirred;
The latch; the door was opened, and he entered
In silence, and low bending, said, “Good uncle,
A few days scarcely have I tarried here.
These days passed like a minute. I have not
Had time sufficient to enjoy thy house
And presence; yet I now must ride away,
And hasten, even to-day, my uncle, and
Be far away to-morrow. You indeed
Remember we the Count have challenged. ’Tis
My business to fight with him; I have sent
The challenge. Duelling in Litva is
Forbidden; I will go unto the frontier
Of Warsaw’s Duchy. Though the Count indeed
A coxcomb is, he has no lack of courage,
He’ll surely come unto the place assigned.
We will arrange our meeting, and as fitting
I’ll punish him, if Heaven prosper me.
Then from the shores of the Lososna I
Will swim the stream, upon whose farther shore
Our brothers’ ranks await me. I have heard
My father’s testament commanded me
To serve in the army, and I know not who
This testament has cancelled.”
Said the uncle:
“My Thaddeus, are you in boiling water,
That thus you twist round like a hunted fox,
Who wags his tail one way, but runs another?
We sent a challenge truly, and ’tis fitting
To fight; but why such haste? why go to-day?
The usual custom is, before a duel,
To send a friend, and make conditions. Then
The Count may beg our pardon, deprecate.
You wait a little; there is time enough,
Unless some other demon drives you hence.
Tell me sincerely, why so roundabout?
I am your uncle, and though old, I know
What young hearts are; I have been to thee a father”—
This saying, he stroked him underneath the chin—
“My little finger has already whispered
Something of this to me, that you have some
Affairs among the ladies-hang it! now
Young men take quickly to the ladies! Well,
Thaddeus, confess it all to me, and truly.”

“True,” stammered Thaddeus; “true; some other reasons
There are, dear uncle; ’tis my fault perhaps.
An error a misfortune! hard to mend.
Dear uncle, no, I dare no longer stay.
A fault of youth! My uncle, ask no more!
I must from Soplicowo part in haste.”

“Ho!” said the uncle, “love disputes no doubt!
I marked how yesterday you bit your lips,
While looking on a certain little girl
Askance. She also had, as I perceived,
A little pouting mien. I know these fooleries!
How when a pair of children are in love,
’Tis sorrow measureless; they now rejoice,
Now are cross and sad. Heaven knoweth why, they quarrel
Both tooth and nail; now, sulking in their corners,
They will not speak to one another, even
Sometimes they run away into the fields.
If this has chanced to you, I’ll take on me
To reconcile you soon. I know these fooleries;
I once was young. So tell me all, and I
May also in my turn discover something.
We both will make confession.”
“Uncle,” then
Said Thaddeus, as he kissed his hand, and blushed,
“I’ll tell the truth entirely. This young lady,
Your ward, Sophia, pleased me very much,
Although I have but seen her twice. They say
You mean the daughter of the Chamberlain
To be my wife; she is beautiful, and is
The daughter of a rich man, but I cannot
Marry Miss Rosa when I love Sophia.
It’s hard to change one’s heart, nor would it be
An honourable act, to marry one
And love another. Time may be will cure me,
I’ll ride away from here for a long time.”

“Thaddeus,” broke in the uncle, “this to me
Seems a strange way of loving, from the loved
To fly. ’Tis well for thee thou art sincere;
Thou seest thou wouldst have done a foolish thing
If thou hadst ridden off. What shouldst thou say
If I myself betrothed Sophia to thee?
What! dost not jump for joy?”
Said Thaddeus,
After a while had passed: “Your goodness, sir,
Astonishes me. But how can it be?
Your favour is of no avail to me,
For all my hopes, alas! are but in vain,
For Madam Telimena will not give
Sophia to me.”
“We will entreat her,” said
The Judge.
“No, no one can prevail with her,”
Did Thaddeus answer; “no, I may not tarry.
Dear uncle, I must quickly ride away,
To-morrow, uncle; give me but thy blessing.
I have prepared all things; I’ll ride at once
Unto the Duchy.”
Twirling his moustache,
The Judge with anger looked upon the boy.
“So this is thy sincerity? ’tis thus
Thou openest thy heart to me? At first
This duel, then ’tis love, and this departure!
Fie on it! In this is some complication.
They have talked to me, and I have tracked your steps.
You are a libertine and a deceiver!
You have told me lies! Where went you yesterday?
Why like a weasel crept you near the house?
O Thaddeus, if you could deceive Sophia,
And now will fly, young man, you shan’t succeed.
Love or not love, I tell in truth to you,
That you shall wed Sophia, and to-morrow
You stand upon the carpet.216 And if not,
Stripes! Talk to me of feelings, changeless heart!
Thou art a liar! I will find out all
About you, Master Thaddeus; fie upon you!
I’ll give you a good scolding even yet.
I have had enough of trouble in the day,
Until my head does ache; and still this fellow
Will not allow me yet to go to sleep.
Go you to bed!” This saying, he opened wide
The door, and called the Wozny to undress him.

In silence Thaddeus went, with drooping head,
This painful conversation with his uncle
In thought discussing. ’Twas the first time he
Had been so harshly chidden; yet he felt
The justice of this sharp reproach. He blushed
Before his very self. What should he do?
What if Sophia should hear of this? Entreat
Her hand? And what would Telimena say?
No, he must stay no more in Soplicowo.

Thus deep in thought he scarce had gone two steps,
When something crossed his path; he stopped, he saw
A phantom all in white, long, slender, thin.
She glided towards him with her outstretched hand,
From whence the trembling moonlight back was thrown,
And coming near, low sighed she, “Thankless man!
Once thou didst seek my glance, thou shun’st it now.
Thou didst my conversation seek, but now
Dost close thine ears, as though within my words,
And in my looks, a deadly poison lurked.
’Tis well, I know thee what thou art—a man!
Unknowing coquetry, I had no wish
To torture thee. I made thee happy; thus
Wouldst thou repay me? O’er a heart too soft
This victory has made thy heart too hard.
Because thou hast too easy conquest made,
Thou dost despise my heart too soon! ’Tis well!
But, taught by such experience, credit me,
Far more than thou canst do, I scorn myself.”

Said Thaddeus, “Telimena, Heaven forbid
My heart were hard, or that I should avoid thee
From scorn; but thou thyself consider this,
They spy upon us, track our steps. Can we
Thus openly? What will be said? It were
Unsuitable. By Heaven, it were a sin.”
“A sin?” she answered, with a bitter smile.
“Thou innocent! thou lamb! I, though a woman,
Care not about a love-affair, although
I were discovered, though I were dishonoured.
And thou, thou art a man! What injury
To one of you, although he should confess
To having with ten women all at once
Love passages? Speak thou the truth, dost thou
Wish to abandon me?” She burst out weeping.
“But, Telimena, what would the world say,”
Spoke Thaddeus, “of the man, who at my age,
In these days, being sound, in the country lived
And loved, when now so many youths, so many
Ev’n married men from wives and children part,
To go beyond the frontier, and to gather
Beneath the nation’s standard? Though I should
Desire to stay, does that depend on me?
My father in his testament ordained
That I should in the Polish army serve,
And now my uncle this command repeats.
I go to-morrow, my resolve is fixed,
And Heaven forbid that I should change it now.”
“I,” Telimena said, “would not obstruct
Thy path to glory, nor thy fortunes mar.
Thou art a man, thou’lt find a love more worthy
Thy heart; one richer, fairer, thou wilt find.
But let me only for my comfort know,
Before our parting, that thine inclination
Towards me was true love. That ’twas not only
A jest, no vain debauch, but love indeed.
Let me but know my Thaddeus loves me still!
Let me the words, ‘I love,’ hear from thy lips,
Let me engrave them on my heart, and write them
Within my thought. More easily will I
Forgive thee, even if thou cease to love,
Remembering how thou once didst bear me love.”
Here she began to sob.
Thaddeus was moved
To pity, seeing how she wept, and prayed
So tenderly, and asked so small a thing.
The purest grief and pity him possessed;
And had he searched his spirit’s inmost depths,
He had not known for certain, if or no
He loved her. So he spoke with earnestness.
“May I be struck by lightning, Telimena,
If ’tis not true I liked thee very much,
Or loved, by Heaven! Short the moments were
That we together spent, but they for me
So sweetly passed, so dear they are, that long
They will be ever present to my thought,
And Heaven forbid that I forget thee aye.”

Then Telimena sprang upon his neck.
“I hoped for this,” she said; “thou lovest me,
Therefore I live. For I to-day did purpose
To end my life with mine own hand. If thou,
My dear one, lov’st me, canst thou cast me off?
I have given my heart to thee; my property
I’ll also give thee; I will follow thee
To every place; each corner of the earth
Were sweet to me with thee; the wildest desert,
Believe me, love will change into a garden
Of pleasures.”
Thaddeus released himself
By force from her embrace. “What!” answered he,
“Art thou in thy right mind? where? and for what?
To follow me? I, but a private soldier,
To take thee with me, as a cantinière?”
“We will be married,” answered Telimena.
“No, never! never!” answered Thaddeus.
“I have no intent at all to marry now,
Or love. That was but nonsense, let it be.
I pray thee, love, consider, be at peace!
I am grateful to thee, but I cannot wed thee.
Let us each other love—but thus—apart.
I may no longer tarry; no, no, I
Must go. Farewell now, Telimena mine,
To-morrow I shall go.”
He spoke, and pressed
The hat upon his brows, and turned aside,
Wishing to go, but Telimena stayed him
With glance and visage of Medusa. He
Must tarry ’spite himself, and looked in fear
Upon her form; she stood, unbreathing, still,
And lifeless, till she stretched her hand forth like
A sword for piercing, with the finger aimed
Straight at the eyes of Thaddeus. “I desired
This man!” she cried; “ha! tongue of dragon! ha!
Thou heart of lizard! Was it nothing, then,
That I, infatuate with thee, have scorned
The Assessor and the Regent, and the Count?
Thou didst deceive me, and now leav’st forlorn!
That’s nothing, for thou art a man! I know
Your wickedness! I knew that, like the rest,
Thou couldst break plighted faith; I did not know
Thou couldst so basely lie! I listened at
Thine uncle’s door. And so this child, Sophia,
Has pleased thine eyes, and treacherously thou
Pursuest her? Thou scarcely hast deceived
One hapless woman, ’neath her very eyes,
Thou seekest a new victim! Fly, but yet
My curse shall overtake thee; or remain!
Thy wickedness I’ll publish to the world!
Thine arts no others shall deceive, as they
Did me deceive! Away! I scorn thee, thou
A liar art, a vile man!”
At this outrage,
Deadly to noble’s ears, which no Soplica
Had ever heard with patience, Thaddeus shook;
Pale as a corpse his visage, on the ground
Stamping, and pressing close his lips, he said,
“Thou foolish woman!”
He departed; still
This term of “vile” re-echoed in his heart,
And the youth shuddered; well he felt that he
Deserved it, felt that he had done great wrong
To Telimena, that she had with justice
Chastised him. Thus to him his conscience spake,
Yet more he loathed her for these accusations.
And oh, Sophia! he dared not think of her,
It caused him shame! Yet this Sophia, so fair,
So sweet, his uncle had to him betrothed her;
She should have been his wife, if Satan still,
Entangling him from sin in fresher sin,
In falsehood after falsehood, had at last
Left him with laughter, chidden, scorned by all.
He had wasted all his future in two days!
Alas! this was the just reward of crime!

In this wild storm of feelings, suddenly
That duel gleamed before him like an anchor
Of rest. “I’ll slay that villain Count!” he cried
In anger; “I will have revenge or die!”
But wherefore slay? Himself he could not tell;
This rage exceeding, as it had possessed him,
So in a twinkling did it blow away.
Again deep grief possessed him, and he thought,
“If true be my surmises that the Count
May have some understanding with Sophia—
What then? Perhaps the Count loves Sophy truly.
May be she loves him, will for husband choose him.
What right have I to break such marriage off,
Myself unhappy, others’ bliss destroy?”

He fell into despair, and saw no help
But rapid flight, and where? but to the grave.

So pressing hard his fist upon his brow,
He rushed into the meadows where the ponds
Gleamed far below, and o’er the muddy pool
He stood. He plunged his greedy glance into
The green gulf, and inhaled its muddy odour
With pleasure, and he opened wide his lips
Towards the pond. For suicide is aye
In choice as delicate as all debauch;
And he in the mad whirling of his brain,
Felt unexpressed attraction to the mud,
To drown himself therein.
But Telimena,
Who from the youth’s wild looks had guessed the depth
Of his despair, beholding him thus rush
Towards the ponds, though she with anger glowed
Against him, and this justly, she was frightened
For him, she was in truth kind-hearted. Though
She deeply grieved that Thaddeus should dare
To love another, she would punish him,
But not destroy. So rushed she after him,
Exclaiming, “Stay! most foolish! Love or not!
Marry, or ride away; but only stop!”
But he in rapid flight outran her far,
And stood now on the border of the pond.

By strange decree of fate, on this same shore
The Count now rode, with all his jockey troop,
And by the beauty of so fair a night,
And by the wondrous harmony of that
Sub-aqueous orchestra, charmed; those choirs
That sounded like Eolian harps—no frogs
Can make such music as the Polish frogs—
He stayed his horse, and his emprize forgot.
Turned to the pond, he listened curiously.
His eyes roved o’er the fields, and heaven’s wide plain,
In thought composing landscapes of the night.
The neighbourhood indeed was picturesque,
The two ponds with their visage near approached,
Like two fond lovers; waters smooth and clear
The right-hand pond presents, like maiden’s cheeks.
The left-hand pond seemed something darker, like
The swarthy visage of a youth, bedecked
Already with the down of manhood.
Glittered with golden sand, like shining locks;
The forehead of the second pond with osiers
Seemed bristling, and a tuft of willows bore.
Both ponds were garmented in robes of green.

From them two streams, like hands together clasped,
Gushed forth. The stream of these united fell
Down to the vale; it fell, but was not lost,
For in the darkness of the trench it bore
Upon its waves the gilding of the moon.
The water fell by stages, and on each
Shone handfuls of the moonlight. In the trench
The light was shivered into tiny fragments;
The fleeting current caught them, and them bore
Away into the depths, and from above
Again the moonlight still in handfuls fell.
Thou wouldst have said a Switezianka217 sat
Beside the pond, and with one hand did pour
The water from a vessel bottomless,
While with her other hand she flung, in sport,
Handfuls of gold enchanted, from her lap
Into the water.
Further, from the trench
The stream escaped meandered o’er the plain,
Silent, but one might see its current flow;
For on its moving, trembling surface, bright
The shimmering moonlight sparkled all its length,
Like the fair Samogitian serpent, called
Givoitos;218 which, although it seems to sleep,
Lying among the heather, crawleth on,
As it by turns with gold and silver gleams,
Till sudden from the eye it vanishes,
In moss and fern. The stream, meandering thus,
Lay hid among the alders, shadowy black
Upon the horizon’s verge, their forms upraising
Light, scarcely to the eye expressed, like spirits
Half on the earth, half in the clouds beheld.

Between the two ponds sat within the trench
A mill half-hidden, like an ancient guardian
Spying upon the lovers, listening
Their conversation; seized with anger, he
Spreads wide his arms, and shaking head and hands,
Doth stammer threats. Thus suddenly the mill
Now shook his moss-grown brow, and whirled around
His many-fingered fist, loud-clattering,
And stirred his toothèd wheels; thereby he drowned
The loving conversation of the ponds,
And roused the Count from out his reverie.

The Count, perceiving Thaddeus had approached
So near his warlike station, cried, “To arms!
Seize him!” At once the jockeys sprang to earth.
Ere Thaddeus might be well aware what chanced,
They captured him. Towards the house they rush,
They entered in the courtyard, woke the household;
Loud barked the dogs, and sentries shouted loud.
The Judge half-dressed came forth; he saw a crowd
Of men well armed, and thought them robbers, till
He recognised the Count. “What means all this?”
He asked. The Count his sabre brandished o’er him,
But seeing him disarmed his rage grew cool.
“Soplica,” said he, “thou eternal foe
Unto my family, I will chastise thee
To-day for recent and for ancient crimes.
So do me justice for my fortune’s plunder,
Ere I revenge me for my honour’s wrong.”

But making sign of cross, the Judge replied,
“In the name of Father and the Son! Sir Count,
Fie, fie! are you a robber? Heaven forbid!
Is this becoming to your noble birth
And breeding, and your high rank in the world?
I will not let myself be wronged!” Just then
Up rushed the servants of the Judge, some armed
With sticks, with rifles others. Standing far
The Wojski gazed with curiosity
In the Count’s eyes, but in his sleeve concealed
A knife. Now had begun a fight; the Judge
Prevented this, however. ’Twere in vain
To make defence; for newer enemies
Arrived upon the scene; among the alders
They saw a gleam, the light of rifle shots.
The bridge across the stream resounded loud
With horses’ hoofs, and “Hey! upon Soplica!”
A thousand voices cried. The Judge did shudder:
He knew Gervasy’s signal. “This is nothing,”
The Count said; “more of us will soon be here!
Surrender, Judge, for these are my allies.”

Then rushed the Assessor, crying, “I arrest you
In name of his Imperial Majesty.
Yield up your sword, Sir Count, or I will call
For military help; and know you, sir,
That whoso ventures an assault by night,
By the twelfth hundred ukase is apprised,
That like an evil”—Here, upon his face
The Count with sword-flat struck him, and the Assessor
Fell stupefied, and in the nettles lay.
All thought he had been wounded, or were dead.

“I see,” the Judge said, “your intent is murder.”
All cried aloud. Sophia’s shrieks o’erpowered
The others; clasping close the Judge, she screamed,
Like child transfixed with needles by the Jews.219

Meanwhile, among the horses Telimena
Proceeded, and towards the Count outstretched
Her clasped hands. “Upon thine honour,” cried she
With piercing voice, with head thrown back, with hair
Streaming, “By all things holy, we implore thee
Upon our knees! Count, darest thou refuse?
The ladies pray thee! Cruel one, thou first
Must murder us!” She fell down in a swoon.
The Count sprang forth to help her, much surprised,
And somewhat troubled by this scene. “Miss Sophy,”
He said, “and Madam Telimena, ne’er
This sword shall be defiled by guiltless blood.
Soplicas! ye are all my prisoners! Thus
Did I in Italy, when underneath
That rock the Sicils call Birbante-Rocca,
I captured the intrenchments of the robbers;
Those armed I slew, commanded to be bound
The unarmed; they behind our horses went,
And decked my glorious triumph; after that
We hanged them at the base of Etna’s mount.”

This was a happy chance for the Soplicas,
The Count, possessing better horses than
Those of the noblemen, and wishing first
To engage the enemy, had left them far
Behind, and by a mile220 at least outran
Their cavalry, and with his jockey train,
Obedient and used to discipline,
He had some sort of army regular,
While all those nobles, as insurgents wont,
Were stormy, and most prompt to hang their foes.
The Count had time to cool from his first rage,
And thought how fitliest he might end the war
Without the need of shedding blood. So then
He gave commandment to imprison all
The household of Soplica in their house,
As prisoners of war, and at their doors
He posted sentries.
Then “Down with Soplica!”
Arose. The nobles in tumultuous crowd
Rushed in; besieged the mansion, and by storm
Took it; the easier because the leader
Was captive, and the garrison dispersed.
But yet the victors longed to fight; they sought
For foes, and not admitted to the house,
They ran to the farm buildings, to the kitchen.
When they the kitchen entered, there the sight
Of pots, the fire extinguished scarce, the fresh
Odour of food, the crunching of the dogs
Gnawing the remnants of the supper, took
All hearts, and quickly changed the thoughts of all;
It cooled their rage, and kindled need of food.
Tired by their march and council all day long,
Three times they cried in concert, “Eat, eat, eat!”
“Drink! drink!” arose the answer. Thus there were
Two choruses, some calling out for food,
For drink the others. Loud the uproar still
Re-echoed; where it only reached it caused
All mouths to water, and with hunger moved
Each one; at signal given from the kitchen,
The army all dispersed for foraging.

Gervasy, from the Judge’s rooms repulsed,
Respecting the Count’s sentinels, must yield
Perforce. So as he might not there take vengeance
Upon his enemy, he thought upon
The expedition’s second great intent.
Like an experienced man and versed in law,
He would install the Count all legally
In his new heritage, and formally.
The Wozny he pursued, and after long
Searching, he spied him hid behind the oven.
He collared him, and to the courtyard dragged
And to his breast the Penknife holding, said:
“The Count, Sir Wozny, ventures to entreat
That you will deign proclaim forthwith, before.
The brother nobles, this his intromission
Upon the castle, and Soplica’s mansion,
The village, seedlands, fallows; in a word,
Cum grovis, woodis, et boundariebus,221
Peasantis, atque rebus omnibus,
Et quibusdam aliis. As thou
Knowest, so bark thou, leave thou nothing out.”

“Sir Klucznik, wait awhile,” Protasy said
Boldly, his hands upon his girdle laid;
“I am ready from all parties to fulfil
Commands, but I must warn you that such act,
By violence extorted, will possess
No force in law, proclaimed too in the night.”
“What violence is there?” said the Klucznik; “here
Is no assault. I rather courteously
Entreat you. If it seems unto you dark,
I with my Penknife will a fire upraise,
That speedily shall glimmer in your eyes,
As though in seven churches.”—“Old Gervasy,”
The Wozny said, “why makest thou such haste?
I am a Wozny; it is not my business
To sift the action. It is known to you,
A party will bespeak a Wozny, and
Dictate to him the thing they will, and he
Proclaims it. He is herald of the law,
And none may chastise heralds. Therefore I
Know not why thus you hold me under guard.
I presently will write an act; let some one
Bring me a lantern here. But I meanwhile
Proclaim: Be silent, brothers!”
And to speak
With greater clearness, mounted he upon
A mighty pile of beams, that underneath
The orchard hedge were heaped to dry. He climbed
Upon the pile, and all at once, as though
The wind had blown him off, he from their eyes
Had vanished. ’Mid the cabbages they heard him;
They saw among the dark hemp his white cap
Flit like a pigeon by. The Bucket fired
Thereat, but missed his aim. The hop-poles now
Began to crackle; now Protasy walked
Among the hops. “I do protest,” he cried,
Certain of his escape, for him behind
The bed and marshes of the streamlet lay.

After this protestation, which had sounded
As the last cannon shot o’er conquered ramparts,
Ceased all resistance in Soplica’s house.
The hungry nobles plundering went around,
And gathered what they might. The Baptist made
His quarters in the cattle-shed, and sprinkled
One ox and two calves on the head. And Razor
Had in their throats his sabre buried deep.
The Awl had used with equal diligence
His little sword, and pierced some sucking pigs
Beneath the shoulder-blades. Now carnage threatened
The birds. The watchful geese, who one time saved
Rome from the treachery of Gauls, now cackled
In vain for help. Instead of Manlius,
The Bucket enters in their roost, he strangles
Some of the birds, and to his girdle binds
The others living; vainly, with hoarse throats,
The geese cry out; in vain the hissing ganders
Nip the invader with their beaks; he forth
Rushes, with down all covered, that in flakes
Falls, thick as sparks. By motion of their wings
Borne on, as though by wheels, he seemeth Chochlik,
The winged evil sprite.
But fiercer carnage,
Although less noisy, ’mid the poultry raged.
Young Bustard entered in the henhouse; there,
Mounting by ladders, caught with ropes, and drew
Down from above the cockerels, crested hens,
And tufted; strangled each one after each,
And threw them in a heap. Most lovely birds,
Nourished on pearly groats! O heedless Bustard!
What impulse thus did urge thee? Nevermore
Will prayers of thine appease Sophia’s wrath.

Gervasy now remembered former times.
He ordered kontusz girdles to be brought,
And thereby from Soplica’s cellar drew
Casks of old spirits, liquors, and of beer.
He drew the bungs from some, the others seize
The noblemen; with ready will, as thick
As ants, they roll them to the castle; there
The whole crowd gather for the night; the Count
Has there made his headquarters.
They now lay
A hundred fires, they boil, they roast, they fry;
The tables bend beneath the load of meat,
Drink flows in rivers. All the noblemen
Would eat, and drink, and sing this whole night through;
But gradually they began to sleep,
And yawn; eye is extinguished after eye,
And all the assembly nods; each where he sat
Falls down; the one falls with a dish, the other
Over a kettle, one by a beef quarter.
Thus sleep, death’s brother, has the victors vanquished.

Book
IX

The Battle

Of the danger resulting from disorderly camping out—Unexpected succour—Sad situation of the nobles—A begging friar’s rounds are an omen of rescue—Major Plut by excessive gallantry draws a storm on himself—A shot from a pocket-pistol the signal of war—Deeds of the Baptist, deeds and danger of Matthew—The Bucket saves Soplicowo by an ambush Cavalry auxiliaries, attack on infantry—The deeds of Thaddeus—Duel of the leaders, interrupted by treachery—The Wojski by a decisive manoeuvre turns the scale of war—The bloody deeds of Gervasy—The Chamberlain a magnanimous victor.

And in such sound sleep lay they that they woke not
At shine of lanterns, nor the entering
Of several men, who fell upon the nobles
As those wall-spiders named scythe-spiders pounce
On flies half-sleeping. Scarcely one may buzz,
With lengthy legs its cruel conqueror
Embraces it around, and strangles it.
But sounder than the sleep of flies, the sleep
Was of the nobles; not one buzzed; they all
Lay there as lifeless, though by powerful arms
Seized, and rolled over like to packs of straw.

Alone the Bucket, who no equal owned
In all the district for his strength of head
At banquets, could two firkins drink of mead
Ere his tongue tripped him, or his legs him failed,
Though he had feasted long, and deeply slept,
Gave yet some sign of life. He oped one eye,
And saw—true nightmares. Two most dreadful faces
Right o’er him! each a pair of whiskers bore.
He felt their breath, their whiskers touch his lips,
They move their fourfold hands like wings around.
Afraid, he tried to sign the cross; in vain
Would raise his hand, the right hand pinioned seemed;
He moved the left; he felt, alas! the spirits
Had bound him like an infant swathed in bands.
He feared things yet more dreadful, oped his eyes,
And lay unbreathing, stiff, and all but dead.

But yet the Baptist strove to save himself.
It was too late! already he was fastened
In his own girdle; yet he writhed about,
And made such powerful springs, he fell upon
The sleepers’ chests, among their heads he rolled,
And like a pike-fish flung himself about,
Who throws him on the sand, and like a bear
He roared aloud, for he had powerful lungs.
He roared out “Treachery!” The whole assembly
Waked up, and all in chorus answered, “Treachery!
Violence! and treachery!”
To the mirrored hall
The echoes of that shout arrived, where slept
The Count, Gervasy, and the jockeys. Then
Gervasy woke, in vain he strove to rise,
To his own rapier bound in stick-like form.
He looked, and through the window armèd men
Perceived, in low black hats, green uniforms.
Of these one, girded with a scarf, upheld
A sword, and with its point his company
Of soldiers ordered, whispering the while,
“Bind! bind!” Around like sheep the jockeys lie
In bonds; the Count sits unbound, but disarmed;
Beside him stand, with naked bayonets,
Two soldiers. These Gervasy recognised.
Alas! they are Muscovites!!
Not seldom had
The Klucznik been in such a plight before.
Not seldom ropes were on his feet and hands,
Yet could he free himself; he knew the way
To break asunder bonds; great strength had he,
Trust in himself; in silence he considered
How best release himself. He closed his eyes,
As though he slept; he slowly lengthened out
Both feet and hands, drew in his breath, compressed
His chest unto the narrowest, until
At once contracting, swelling, rolling up,
As when a serpent hides both head and tail
Among his folds, Gervasy thus from long
Grew short and thick; the ropes expanded, they
Did even creak, but still they did not burst.
The Klucznik turned him round in shame and rage,
And on the ground his angry visage hid;
Eyes closed, he lay insensible as wood.

Then woke the drums: at first full low, and then
With ever greater and with louder rattle.
At this appel the Russian officer
Ordered the Count and jockeys to be locked
Within the hall, and under guard, to lead
The nobles to the mansion, where there stood
The second band. In vain the Baptist strove,
And flung himself about.
The staff was placed
Within the mansion, and with it were many
Well-armed nobility, Podhajscy,
And Birbaszowie, Hreczechy, Biergele,
Relations all, or friends unto the Judge,
Who hastened to his succour when they heard
About the attack, the more because they long
Had been at feud with the Dobrzynskis.
Who
The Muscovite battalion from the hamlets
Had brought? Who from the nobles’ farmsteads round
So fast had summoned all the neighbourhood.
The Assessor was it? or else Jankiel?
Of this were differing tales, but no one knew
For certain, either then, or later on.
Now had the sun arisen, all bloody red,
Stripped of his beams, half seen, and half in clouds
Concealed, like horseshoe in a smithy’s coals
Enkindled. Now the wind increased, and blew
Clouds from the eastward quarter, thick and ragged
Like ice-floes; every cloud cold drizzly rain
In flying scattered; after it the wind
Flew swift, and dried the rain up; and again
A damp cloud following the wind rushed on.
And thus the day by turns was chill and rainy.

Meanwhile the Major ordered to be brought
Some beams that near the house were laid to dry,
And in each beam with hatchet to be cut
A half-round opening, and in these holes
To insert the prisoners’ legs, and close them round
With other beams. Both logs of wood, with nails
Secured upon the corners, tightly pressed
Like canine jaws upon their legs; their hands
Were tighter yet secured behind their backs.
The Major, to increase their torment, ordered
Their caps to be first stripped from off their heads,
Their cloaks from off their shoulders, their kontusze,
Ev’n taratatki, even their zupany.
And thus the nobles, fettered in the stocks,
Sat in a row, their teeth all chattering,
In cold and rain, for still the wet increased.
In vain the Baptist strove, and flung about.

In vain the Judge made intercession for
The noblemen, and Telimena joined
Entreaties to Sophia’s tears, to use
Towards the prisoners greater gentleness.
The officer, indeed, who led the band,
Nikita Rykow, though a Muscovite,
A good man,222 let himself be pacified.
But what of that when he must Major Plut
Himself obey?
This Major was by race
A Pole from Dzierowicz, and named, ’twas said,
In Polish Plutowicz; but he had taken
Another name; a rascal great was he,
As usual with a Pole who makes himself
A Muscovite in service of the Czar.
Plut with his pipe stood there before the front,
With hands upon his side; and when folks bowed
To him, he lifted up his nose in air,
And for all answering he blew as sign
Of angry humour from his mouth a cloud
Of smoke, and went away into the house.

But meantime had the Judge made Rykow mild,
And led the Assessor likewise on one side,
Consulting how to finish this affair
Without a trial, and, yet more important,
Without entanglement with government.
So Captain Rykow said to Major Plut,
“Sir Major, what to us are all these prisoners?
Must we deliver them unto the law?
’Twill be a great misfortune to the nobles,
And none will give you, Major, aught for this.
Major, do you know how we’ll best compose
This business? Let the Judge reward your pains.
We’ll say that we came here a-visiting,
Thus will the goats be whole, the wolf be fed.
It is a Russian proverb, ‘All things can
Be done, if but with prudence.’ And a proverb
Is this, ‘Roast on the Czar’s spit for yourself.’
And this too is a proverb, ‘Better is
Agreeing than disagreement,’ ‘Weave thou well
The knot, and put the end in water.’ We
Need give in no report, so none need know.
For ‘God gave hands to take’—a Russian proverb.”

This hearing, up the Major starts and snorts
With anger: “Rykow, are you mad? This is
The imperial service, service is not friendship.
Stupid old Rykow! Are you mad? Shall I
Let mutineers loose, in these warlike times?
Ha ha! you Poles! I’ll teach you mutiny!
You miserable nobles! you Dobrzynskis!
Eh! I’ll soon teach you! Let the wretches soak!”
He roared with laughter, from the window looking.
“Why, there’s that same Dobrzynski in a surtout!
Hey! strip him of his surtout! last year he
Began at a redoubt this quarrel with me.
And who began it? He it was, not I.
He, when I danced, exclaimed, ‘Put out that thief!’
For I was then accused of pilfering
The regimental chest, and undergoing
Examination, and in mighty trouble.
But what was that to him? As I was dancing,
He cried behind me ‘Thief!’ the noblemen,
‘Hurrah!’ They wronged me; what then? In my claws
This wretched nobleman has fall’n. I said,
‘Eh! what! Dobrzynski, eh! “The goat has come
Unto the wagon.” ’ What, Dobrzynski, now?
Thou seest it may come unto a flogging!”

Then to the Judge he whispered in his ear,
“Judge, if you wish the affair to pass off well,
For every head pay down a thousand roubles223
In ready cash; a thousand roubles, Judge.
That’s the last word.”
The Judge to bargain tried;
The Major would not hear; about the room
He walked, and belched thick smoke, as does a squib
Or rocket; while the women followed him,
Weeping and praying. “Major,” said the Judge,
“What will you gain, if you do summon us?
There here has been no bloody fight, there were
None wounded; as they ate the hens and geese,
According to the statute, they must pay
Full compensation. I’ll bring no complaint
Against the Count; that only was a common
Quarrel of neighbours.”
“Judge,” the Major said,
“Have you yet read the Yellow Book?”—“What is
The Yellow Book?”224 the Judge inquired.—“A book,”
The Major answered, “better than your statutes;
For every other word therein is, ‘ropes,
Siberia, knout!’ the book of martial law,
Proclaimed now through all Litva; your tribunals
Are now beneath the table.225 For a trick
Like this, according to our martial law,
You’ll get hard labour in Siberia
At least.”—“I will appeal,” the Judge replied,
“Unto the governor.”—“Appeal,” said Plut,
“Even to the Emperor. You know that when
The Emperor confirms a ukase, often
He through his clemency the penalty
Increases twofold. You appeal; perhaps
I’ll find out in necessity, Sir Judge,
A good hook ev’n for you! For that spy, Jankiel,
Whom long the government has watched, he is
Your servant, dwelling in your tavern. Now
I can arrest you all together.”—“Me!”
The Judge exclaimed; “arrest me! How will you
Dare without orders?” And the quarrel grew
Ever more violent, when at once arrived
A new guest in the courtyard.
A tumultuous
Arrival ’twas. First as some wondrous courier,
A monstrous black ram entered; with four horns
His head was bristling, whereof two like arches
Were twisted round his ears, and decked with bells,
And two, whose ends protruded from his brows,
Shook balls, round, brazen, clattering. After him
Came oxen, and a flock of sheep and goats;
Behind the beasts four heavy laden wains.
All guessed it was the entrance of the friar.
The Judge, who knew the duties of a host,
Stood on the threshold to salute his guest.
The priest upon the foremost carriage rode;
The hood half hid his visage, but they quickly
Did know him, for as he the prisoners passed,
He turned his face to them, and beckoning made.
The driver of the second car likewise
They knew; old Matthew ’twas, the Rod, disguised
In peasant garments; soon as he appeared
The nobles raised a shout. He said, “Ye fools!”
And with his hand commanded them be still.
The third the Prussian bore in ragged coat,
And Zan and Mickiewicz were in the fourth.
Meanwhile Podhajscy and Isajewicze,
Birbasze, Wilbikowie, Biergiele,
Kotwicze, seeing the Dobrzynski nobles
In this harsh slavery, began to cool
Down from their former anger by degrees;
For Poland’s nobles, though most quarrelsome,
And very quick to fight, are not vindictive.
So they for counsel to old Matthew haste.
He stations the assembly round the cars,
And orders them to wait.
The Bernardine
Then entered in the room; they hardly knew him,
Although not changed in dress, for he had taken
Upon him such a different mood. By custom
Gloomy and thoughtful, now he raised his head,
And with a cheerful mien, like jovial friar,
Ere he began to speak, laughed loud and long.

“Ha! ha! ha! I salute you, ha! ha! ha!
Most excellent! first-rate! Sir officers,
Whoever hunts by day, you hunt by night.
Good hunting! I have seen the game. Ay, ay!
Pluck, pluck the nobles, strip ’em of their husks!
Ay, put a bit on ’em, for they are skittish!
I must congratulate you, Major, on
Catching the little Count. ’Tis a fat morsel,
Rich, and a young lord from his ancestors.
Don’t let him from the cage, without you get
Three hundred ducats, and when you have got it,
Give some three farthings to the convent, and
To me, for I’ll pray always for your soul;
As I’m a Bernardine, I often think
About your soul. Death seizes by the ears
Even staff-officers. Well Baka wrote,226
‘Death lurks behind the executioner
In scarlet, and not seldom soundly knocks
Upon the coat, and smites on linen as
Upon a hood, on frizzled locks as on
The uniform.’ Says Baka: ‘Mother Death
Is like an onion, since she forces tears
Where’er she presses; but unto her breast
She folds alike the child that will be lulled,
And the roaring bully.’ Ah! ah! Major, we
Do live to -day, to-morrow die. That only
Is ours that we to-day may eat and drink.
Sir Judge, perhaps it’s time for breakfast now?
I’ll sit at table, and beg all to sit
With me. Some zrazy,227 Major? Sir lieutenant,
What think you? If we had a bowl of punch?”

“True, father,” both the officers replied,
“ ’Tis time to eat, and drink the Judge’s health.”

The household wondered, as they gazed on Robak,
Whence he derived such mien, and merriment.
The Judge then gave these orders to the cook:
Bowl, sugar, bottle, zrazy. All were brought.
Rykow and Plut did labour with such will,
Devoured so eagerly, and drank so deep,
In half-an-hour of zrazy twenty-three
They ate, and emptied half a mighty punch-bowl.

The Major, satiate and merry, hurled
Himself into an arm-chair, drew his pipe out,
And lit it with a bank-note; with a napkin
He wiped his breakfast from his lips, and turned
A laughing look upon the women, saying,
“I like you, pretty ladies, as dessert;
And, by my epaulettes of Major, when
A man has eaten breakfast, after meat
The nicest relish is a talk with ladies,
Pretty as you, fair ladies! I know what.
Let’s play at cards, at welba-cwelba,228 whist,
Or—a mazurka! ha! three hundred devils!
Am I not best mazurist in the first
Regiment of Jägers.” Therefore to the ladies
He bent half double, and by turns blew out
Tobacco-smoke and compliments.
“A dance!”
Cried Robak; “as I empty out a bottle,
I, though a priest, at times tuck up my gown,
And dance mazurkas! But you know this, Major,
We here are drinking, but the Jägers freezing
Behind the house. Drinking is drinking. Judge,
Give ’em a whisky cask. The Major will
Allow this; let the valiant Jägers drink.”
“I’d ask it,” said the Major, “but herein
Is no compulsion.”—“Give ’em, Judge,” did whisper
Robak, “a cask of spirits.” And thus, while
The merry staff were swilling in the house,
Behind it, drinking in the ranks began.

In silence Captain Rykow drained his cup.
But at the same time as he drank, the Major
Made to the ladies compliments; and ever
The zeal for dancing greater in him grew.
He threw away his pipe, and seized the hand
Of Telimena; he would dance, she fled.
So went he to Sophia, and bending double,
Invited her to a mazurka. “Here,
You Rykow, leave off puffing at your pipe;
Put down that pipe, for you can play the lute.
Don’t you see that guitar? come, take it up.
Play a mazurka. I, the Major, will
Make one in the first couple.” So the Captain
Took the guitar, began to screw the strings.
Plut once more Telimena asked to dance.
“Upon a Major’s word, Miss, I’m no Russian.
I’ll be a dog’s son, if I’m telling lies.
If I tell lies—inquire; the officers
Will witness all, and all the army says it,
That in this second army, the ninth corps,
The second foot division, fifteenth regiment
Of Jägers, Major Plut’s the best mazurist.
So come along, Miss, don’t be obstinate,
Or like an officer I’ll punish you.”

This saying, he sprang, seized Telimena’s hand,
And on her pale arm gave a smacking kiss;
When Thaddeus, springing from one side, bestowed
A blow upon his face. The kiss and blow
Together sounded, one behind the other,
As word may follow after word.
The Major
Was all confounded, rubbed his eyes, and pale
With anger, cried, “Rebellion! mutineer!”
And drawing his sword, made haste to pierce his foe.
Then from his sleeve the priest a pistol drew;
“Fire, Thaddeus,” he cried, “as at a candle.”
Quick Thaddeus seized it, measured aim, and fired.
He missed, but stupefied and singed the Major.
Up started Rykow with his instrument.
“Rebellion!” cried he, and on Thaddeus rushed.
The Wojski brandished from behind the table
A knife held backwards. Through the air it hissed
Between the heads, and sooner struck than gleamed,
It struck the depth of the guitar, the inside
To outside turning. Rykow bent aside,
And thus avoided death, though much frightened.
Exclaiming, “Jägers, mutiny, by heaven!”
He drew his sword, and making good defence,
Drew near the threshold.
Presently there entered
From the other side the room, and through the window,
A many nobles, armed with rapiers, led
On by the Rod. Plut reached the hall, and Rykow
Behind him; they the soldiers call; already
Three nearest to the house as succour haste.
Now through the doors three gleaming bayonets
Creep in, and after them three low black hats.
With Rod uplifted Matthew in the doorway
Stood, leaning ’gainst the wall; he lay in wait
Like cat that watches mice, till fierce he smote,
And may be the three heads had rolled on earth;
But either the old man’s sight served him ill,
Or over-great his ardour; ere they gave
Their necks to him, he smote upon their hats;
He tore them, but the Rod, down falling, clashed
On bayonets; the Muscovites drew back,
And Matthew drove them out into the court.

There the confusion was still greater.
There Soplica’s partisans with emulation
Worked at unfettering the Dobrzynskis, tore
The stocks asunder. Seeing this the Jägers
Rush to their swords, and hasten to the place.
A sergeant with a bayonet pierced Podhajski,
Wounded two other noblemen, a third
He shot at, and they fled. The Baptist still
Was in the stocks; with hands already free,
Ready for combat he arose, upraised
His hand, and doubled up his lengthy fingers,
And from above upon a Russian’s back
So fierce he smote, he brow and visage beat
Into the carbine’s lock. The lock was stirred,
But drenched in blood the powder kindled not.
The sergeant rolled o’er at the Baptist’s feet
Upon his weapon. Baptist bent him down,
And seized his rifle by its barrel. Whirling
The rifle like his Sprinkler round, high raised,
Round turning like a windmill’s sails, at once
He on the shoulders smote two rank and file,
And knocked a corporal upon the head.
The rest in terror drew back from the stocks.
Thus Baptist with a moving roof protected
The nobles.
After breaking of the stocks,
And cutting ropes, the nobles being free,
Now fell upon the wagons of the friar,
And from them drew forth rapiers, sabres, swords,
Firearms, and scythes. The Bucket found two guns
There, with a sack of bullets; in his rifle
He poured them, and another gun like charged
Left for the Bustard.
Now arrived more Jägers.
Confused they grow, together crowded, stumbling;
The nobles cannot in the tumult smite
With cross-cut, and the Jägers cannot fire.
Now hand to hand they fight, steel, tooth by tooth,
Encountering steel, is shivered; bayonet
Meets sabre, scythe on hilt is broken, fist
Meets fist, and arm meets arm. But Rykow hastes
With some part of the Jägers, where the barn
Doth meet the hedge; there stands he, to his soldiers
He calls, to end a battle so misruled,
Wherein, with weapons never used, they fall
Beneath the blows of fists. Enraged that he
Himself may fire not, since in such a crowd
He knows not Muscovites from Poles, he cries,
“Draw up!” which meaneth, form in rank and file.
But ’mid the shouting none his orders heard.

Old Matthew, for these combats hand to hand
Unsuited, backward drew, a clear space made
To right and left before him on his way.
Here, with his sabre’s end, the bayonets
He wipes off from the barrels of the guns,
As candle-wicks from lights; then, backwards striking
He heweth down, or pierceth; thus retreated
The prudent Matthew from the battle-field.

But with the greatest fury on him rushed
An old Gefreiter,229 trainer to the regiment,
A mighty master of the bayonet.
He gathered him together, bent, and seized
The carbine in both hands, the right upon
The lock, the left the barrel midmost grasped.
He twisted, skipped, at times seemed half to sit,
And with his right hand forward pushed the gun,
Like sting from snaky jaws, and once again
He drew it backwards, leaning on his knee.
Thus twisting, springing, Matthew he attacked.

Old Matthew straight discerned his foeman’s skill,
And with his left hand placed his spectacles
Upon his nose, the right against his breast
Sustained the handle of the Rod; he drew
Back, the Gefreiter’s motions with his eyes
Pursuing. He himself upon his legs
Went sloping, as though drunken. The Gefreiter
More quickly runs, and sure of victory,
To reach the easier his retreating foe,
He rose, and all his right arm far outstretched,
The rifle forward pushing, so he made
Himself the stronger by the force of pushing,
And weapon’s weight, until he forward bent.
And Matthew thither, where the bayonet
He saw inserted in the barrel, placed
His Rod beneath, and upwards smote the weapon;
Then dropping presently his Rod, he slashed
The Russian on the hand; once, and again
With backward stroke he cleft in twain his jaw.
Thus the Gefreiter fell, chief fencing-master
Among the Muscovites, and cavalier
With crosses three, and medals four.
Meanwhile,
Around the stocks the nobles’ left-hand wing
Already were near victory. There fought
The Sprinkler, seen from far, the Razor moved
Among the Muscovites; one cut them through
The middle of the body, on the head
The other smote them, like to that machine
Which German masters have invented, called
A thrasher; but it is at the same time
A straw-cutter, possessing flails and knives,
It chops up straw and beats out grain at once.
Thus do the Sprinkler and the Baptist work
In common, slaying foes, one from above,
And from below the other.
But the Baptist
Now casts aside his certain victory.
He rushes to the left wing, where fresh danger
Is threatening Matthew. The Gefreiter’s death
Avenging, with a long spontoon comes on
An ensign. A spontoon at once is spear
And axe, neglected, or only used
On board the fleet; but at that time it served
The infantry. The ensign, a young man,
Moved round with skill; oft as his foeman thrust
Aside his weapon, back he drew, and Matthew
Could not the young man overtake, and thus,
Or wounding or not wounding, he must fain
Defend himself. Now with the pike the ensign
Had given him a light wound; now on high
His battle-axe upraising, he prepared
To deal the blow. The Baptist could not run
Up to the spot, but stood half-way and whirled
His weapon round, and underneath the feet
He threw it of the foe. He broke a bone;
The spontoon from his hand the ensign dropped;
He tottered; on him falls the Baptist; him
A crowd of nobles follow, and upon
The nobles rush the Muscovites confused
From the left wing. War now began around
The Sprinkler.
For the Baptist, who in helping
Matthew had lost his sword, well-nigh had paid
This service with his own life. For on him
There fell two powerful Russians from behind,
And all at once the fourfold hands were tangled
Among his hair; fast planted on their feet,
They pulled as tight as springy ropes, fast bound
Unto a barge’s mast. In vain the Baptist
Dealt blind strokes backwards; he was failing fast.
But presently he saw that near to him
Gervasy combated; he shouted loud,
“Jesus, Maria! Penknife!”
By the shout
Knowing the Baptist’s trouble, turned the Klucznik,
And the blade lowered of the flexile steel,
Between the Baptist’s head and Russians’ hands.
They drew back, uttering loudly piercing cries.
But one hand, stronger tangled in the hair,
Remained there hanging, dripping streams of blood.

Thus a young eagle, who has struck one claw
Into a hare to hold the quarry fast
While clinging with the other to a tree,
Struggling to liberate himself, half tears
In twain the spreading eagle; in the wood
Remains the right claw, but the left, all bleeding,
Is borne off by the hare into the plains.
The Baptist being free, turns round his eyes,
Stretches his hands, and for a weapon seeks,
Calls for a weapon. Meanwhile with his fist
He threatens, standing strong in act to walk,
Himself protecting by Gervasy’s side,
Till in the crush he views his son the Bustard.
The Bustard with his right hand points his gun,
The left behind him drags a six-foot tree,
All armed with flints, and knobs, and hardened knots,230
No hand could lift it but the Baptist’s own.
Soon as his well-loved arm the Baptist viewed,
His Sprinkler, swift he seized it, kissed it, sprang
With joy; he whirled it round his head, at once
In blood imbrued.
What deeds he after did,
Or what defeat around him spread, ’twere vain
To sing; for none would credit give the Muse,
As none to that poor woman credit gave,
In Wilna, who, while standing on the height
Above the Ostra gate, beheld how Dejow,
The Russian leader, with a Cossack regiment
Entering, already open forced the gate;
And now one burgher, Czarnobacki named,
Slew Dejow, and annihilated all
The Cossack regiment.231
’Tis enough that thus
It happened even as Rykow had foreseen;
The Jägers in the crowd succumbed unto
The strength of their antagonists. On earth
Of slain lay twenty-three; some thirty groaned
With wounds all covered; many fled and hid
Within the orchard, ’mid the hops, beside
The river; some into the house had rushed
Beneath the vantage of the women there.

With shout of joy the conquering nobles rushed—
These to the wine-casks, these to strip the spoils
From off their foes. Robak alone did not
The triumphs of the nobles share; though he
Himself had fought not hitherto the canons
Forbid a priest to fight—he as a man
Of great experience gave counsels, viewed
The field of battle round from different sides;
With glance, with beckoning of hand, he gave
Fresh courage to the combatants, and guided
Their movements. And he now unto them called
To join themselves to him, to strike on Rykow,
To make the victory complete. Meanwhile
He through an envoy signified to Rykow,
That if he would lay down his arms he should
Preserve his life; but if he still delay
To give his sword up, Robak will command
To hem the remnant in, and cut them down.

In no wise Captain Rykow quarter asked.
The half-battalion gathering round himself,
He cried, “Make ready!” Presently the file
Their rifles grasped, the weapons crashed, but they
Were loaded long before. He cried, “Present!”
In long file gleamed the guns; he cried out, “Fire
In turn!” one after other thundered loud.
While one takes aim, one loads, another grasps
The rifle in his hand. Resounds the hiss
Of bullets, click of locks, the ramrod’s crash;
The whole file like a moving reptile seems,
A thousand glittering feet together moving.

’Tis true that all the Jägers drunken were
With the strong liquor, for they aimed but ill,
And missed; they rarely wound, and seldom kill;
And yet two Matthews have already wounds,
And one of the Bartholomews lies low.
The nobles rarely fire, with but few guns;
They would with sabres strike upon the foe.
The elder men restrain them; thick the balls
Whistle, they wound, they drive on; soon they make
The courtyard clear before them, now begin
To clatter on the mansion’s window-panes.

Thaddeus, who by his uncle’s orders had
Stayed in the mansion to defend the women,
Now hearing loud and louder rage the fight,
Ran forth; the Chamberlain rushed after him,
Since Thomas brought to him at length his sabre.
He hastened, joined him to the noblemen,
And placed him at their head; rushed on, upraised
His sword; the nobles at his pointing moved.
The Jägers, them admitting, poured a hail
Of bullets. Wounded lay Isajewicz,
Wilbik, and Razor. Robak after this
Restrains the nobles on one side, and Matthew
Restrains them on the other. In their zeal
The nobles colder grow, look round, draw back.
The Russians mark this. Captain Rykow thinks
To strike the last blow, from the court to drive
The nobles, and the mansion to command.
“Form for the charge!” he cried, “and to your pikes.
Forward!” and presently the file, their stocks
Planting like hop-poles, bent their heads, and marched
Forwards, and quickened step. In vain the nobles
Resist them from the front, fire on the wings;
The file already had o’er-passed the court.
The Captain, pointing with his sword unto
The house-door, crieth, “Yield, Soplica, or
I’ll give command to fire the house!” “Then fire it,”
Replied the Judge, “I’ll fry me at that fire.”

O house of Soplicowo! if unhurt
Thy white walls gleam beneath the elm-trees still;
If still the assembly of the neighbouring nobles
Sit at the Judge’s hospitable board,
They surely often drink the Bucket’s health;
Without him Soplicowo were undone.

The Bucket hitherto few proofs of courage
Had given, though from the stocks the first set free
Among the nobles, though immediately
He found his well-loved Bucket in the cart,
His favourite gun, there with a sack of balls.
He would not fight; he trusted not himself,
He said, while fasting. So he went where stood
A tub of spirits, in his hand he raised.
The stream, as with a spoon, unto his lips.
Then, soon as he well strengthened was and warmed,
He set his cap right; from his knees he took
The Bucket in both hands; the powder rammed
Down in the gun, and poured the priming o’er,
And looked upon the battle-field. He saw
How that bright wave of bayonets smote and sundered
The nobles; he against this billow swam;
He stooped him down to earth, and dived among
The thick grass in the courtyard’s midst; till there,
Where nettles grew, he close in ambush laid,
And called by signs the Bustard to him.
He
Stood on the threshold, with his gun defending
The mansion, for his dear Sophia lived there;
And though by her his suit remained despised,
He loved her ever, and in her defence
Were glad to perish.
Now the file of Jägers
Already on the nettles had encroached
Marching, when Bucket drew the trigger back;
And from the jaws of that deep-throated gun
A dozen balls all jagged let he fly
Among the Muscovites. A second dozen
The Bustard hurls. The Jägers were confused,
And frightened at the ambush, all the file
Wound in a knot, drew back, threw out their wounded,
And then the Baptist drove them back again.

The barn was far off. Fearing a long round,
Beneath the garden wall had Rykow sprung,
There in their course he stayed his flying band,
He ranked them, but he changed their form of file.
Of one file he composed a triangle,
The sharp wedge pointed forward, but two sides
He placed against the garden wall. Well did he,
For horsemen from the castle rushed on him.

The Count, who in the castle under guard
Of Muscovites had been, when fled dispersed
The frightened guard, his courtiers placed on horse;
And hearing shots, he led his cavalry
Right under fire; himself the foremost rode,
With sabre lifted high. Then Rykow cried,
“The half-battalion fire!” A fiery thread
Then flew along the locks, and from the sable
Barrels projecting forward, whistled forth
Three hundred bullets. Of the cavalry
Three fell down wounded; one man lay a corpse.
The Count’s horse fell, and fell the Count; the Klucznik
Ran, crying out for help, for he had seen
The Jägers for their target take the last
Of the Horeszkos, by spindle side.
Robak stood nearer; with his body he
The Count did cover, and for him received
The shot; he drew him from beneath his horse,
Commanded that the nobles step apart,
Take better aim, and spare resultless shots,
And lurk behind the hedges, or the wells,
Behind the walls of cowsheds; and the Count
Shall with his horsemen wait a better time.

Most marvellously Thaddeus understood
The plans of Robak, and accomplished them.
He stood concealed behind a wood-built well,
And as he aimed with coolness and with skill
From a two-barrelled gun—he well could hit
A florin thrown in air—inflicted thus
Most horrid wounds on Muscovy. He chose
The seniors; and his first shot slew at once
A sergeant-major, then from both the barrels
Each after each he cut two sergeants off.
Now at the borders of the triangle
He shot, now at the midst, where stood the staff.
At this impatiently did Rykow rage,
Stamped with his feet, and gnawed his sabre’s hilt.
Cried, “Major Plut, what is to come of this?
Soon none will here remain to give commands.”

So Plut in anger said to Thaddeus,
“Shame on you, Master Pole, to hide behind
A piece of wood; be not a coward, come
Out in the midst; fight honourably, like
A soldier.” To him Thaddeus made reply,
“Then, Major, if you are so bold a knight,
Why hide you thus behind a Jäger’s collar?
I am not afraid of you; come from behind
The hedges; you have caught it on your face;
But yet I’m ready still to fight with you.
Why all this bloodshed? For between us two
This quarrel was; let pistols or the sword
Decide it. I will give you choice of arms,
From cannons down to pins. If not, I’ll shoot
You all like wolves in pitfalls.” Saying this,
He fired, and aimed so well, that the lieutenant
He struck who stood at side of Rykow.
“Major,”
Did Rykow whisper, “go you forth to duel;
Revenge his earlier doings in the morn:
For if another slay this nobleman,
You will not, Major, wash away your shame.
This noble must be lured into the plain.
The rifle may not slay him, but the sword.
‘What knocks no art is; I prefer what pierces,’
Did old Suwarow say; go to the plain,
Or he will shoot us, Major, every one.
Look, now he’s taking aim.” Thereto the Major:
“Rykow, dear friend, a dreadful fellow thou
Art with the sword; go thou forth, brother Rykow.
Or hark ye what, I’ll send out some lieutenant;
I as the Major may not leave the soldiers,
For I am in command of the battalion.”
This hearing, Rykow raised his sword, went forth
Boldly, commanded firing to give o’er;
Waved a white cloth, and asked of Thaddeus
What weapon pleased him. The conditions made,
They both agreed on swords. But Thaddeus had
No sword, and while they sought for one on rushed
The Count all armed, and broke their conference off.

He cried out, “Pan Soplica, by your leave,
You have the Major challenged. With the captain
I have a previous quarrel. In my castle”—
“Say, sir,” broke in Protasy, “in our castle”—
“He entered,” said the Count, concluding, “at
The head of all those thieves. He—I knew Rykow—
Bound fast my jockeys. Him I will chastise,
As I chastised the robbers ’neath that rock,
Which the Sicilians call Birbante-Rocca.”

All then was silent, and the firing ceased.
Both armies gazed with curiosity
Upon the meeting of their generals.
The Count and Rykow went, they turned aside,
Each other with the right hand threatening,
And right eye; with their left hands then they bare
Their heads, and courteously salute; the custom
Of honour, ere it come to murdering,
First to salute. Their swords already met,
And had begun to clash. The heroes lift
Their feet, and on the left knee kneel, by turns
Backward and forward springing.
But as Plut
Saw Thaddeus standing right before his front,
He spoke in whispers to Gefreiter Gont,
Who passed as foremost shooter in the band.
“Gont,” said the Major, “see’st that gallows-thief?
If thou canst lodge a bullet in him, there
Beneath the fifth rib, thou shalt get from me
Four silver roubles.” Gont turned round his gun,
Stooped to the lock, his faithful comrades with
Their mantles hid him, and he fired, not at
The rib, but at the head of Thaddeus;
Shot, and hit very near, in middle of
The hat. Aside turned Thaddeus; then the Baptist
On Rykow fell, and all the nobles after,
Exclaiming, “Treachery!” Him shielded Thaddeus.
Scarce Rykow in retreating could succeed,
And fall into the centre of his ranks.

Once more did the Dobrzynskis onward charge,
Vying with Litva; spite of discord past
Between the parties, all like brothers fought,
The one cheered on the other. The Dobrzynskis,
Who saw Podhajski wheel around before
The Jäger ranks, down-mowing with his scythe,
Cried out rejoicing, “The Podhaje live!
Forward, Litvini brothers! Litva, Litva!”
The Skolubowie, seeing valiant Razor,
Though wounded, fly on with his sword raised high,
Cried out, “The Matthews! long live the Masovians!”
Each giving heart to each, they charge upon
The Russians; vainly Robak and Matthias
Would hold them back.
While thus they smote the band
Of Jägers from the front, the Wojski left
The battle-field, and towards the garden went,
And at his side the sage Protasy came.
The Wojski gave him orders whispering.

There stood within the garden, close unto
The very wall that Rykow chose as base
For his triangle, a large ancient cheese-store,
Builded in lattices, with rafters bound
Cross-ways, in cage-like form. Within it gleamed
Great heaps of whitest cheeses, and around
Were sheaves of herbs there laid to dry, of sage,
Of carduus benedictus, and wild thyme;
A herbary complete, the Wojski’s daughter’s
Store of domestic medicine. Above,
The cheese-store was some seven ells in breadth.
Below, it rested on one mighty pillar,
Like a stork’s nest. That old and oaken column
Leaned sidewards, ’twas already half-decayed,
And threatened accident. Not once alone
The Judge was counselled to throw down the house,
Made weak by age; but always said the Judge,
He rather would repair than pull it down,
Or else he would rebuild. Thus he delayed
The building till some more convenient time;
Meanwhile beneath the pillar he caused place
Two props; the building thereby reinforced,
But yet unlasting, o’er the garden wall
Looked down on Captain Rykow’s triangle.

Towards this cheese-house silently the Wojski
And Wozny go; each with a monstrous pole,
As with a spear is armed, the housekeeper
Hastes through the hemp-plants after them, likewise
The scullion, though a small boy, very strong.
When there, upon the rotten column’s top
They placed the poles, and pushed with all their strength,
As watermen push off a barge when moored
On sandy shallows, and away from shore
With long poles push it off into the deep.
The column shook, the cheese-house tottered, fell
Headlong with crash of wood and cheeses on
The Muscovite triangle, crushing, wounding,
And slaying; where the files had stood, now lay
Corpses, and wood, and cheeses white as snow,
Defiled with blood and brains. The triangle
Broke into fragments, and the Sprinkler thundered
Upon their midst; already gleamed the Razor,
And the Rod smote; from forth the house there rushed
A crowd of noblemen, and from the gates
The Count his cavalry did hurl upon
The fugitives.
Eight Jägers now alone,
Their sergeant at their head, still make defence.
The Klucznik rushes up, they boldly stand,
Nine barrels pointed straightway at his head.
He rushed upon their shot, the Penknife’s blade
Round whirling. This the priest perceiving, ran
Across the Klucznik’s way, himself he falls,
And strikes Gervasy’s foot. They fell, just when
The platoon fired. The lead scarce whistled by,
When up Gervasy stood. Into the smoke
He sprung, at once swept off two Jägers’ heads.
The rest in terror fled; he them pursued,
And smote; they ran across the courtyard, he
Behind them. In the barn doors opening wide
They rushed. Gervasy rushed into the barn.
Upon their necks, and vanished in the dark,
But not neglected battle. Through the doors
Came groans, a shouting, and blows thickly dealt.
Soon all was silent. Forth Gervasy came
With bloody sword, alone.
The nobles now
Had cleared the plain, pursued the Jägers, scattered,
Cut down, ran through. Rykow alone remained.
He cried he never would lay down his arms,
And fought on, when the Chamberlain now came
Towards him, who with sword uplifted said,
“Captain, you will not stain your honour by
Accepting quarter; you have given proof,
Unfortunate, though brave, of courage; lay
Your sword down, ere we with our sabres shall
Disarm you; you shall keep both life and honour.
You are my prisoner.”
Then Rykow, by
The Chamberlain’s exceeding dignity
Now vanquished, bowed low, and to him his sword,
Unsheathed, with bloodstained hilt gave up; then said,
“Ye Lachy! brothers! woe to me that I
Had not a single cannon. Well Suwarow
Was used to say, ‘Remember, comrade Rykow,
Without some cannon never march on Poles.’
The Jägers all were drunk! the Major let
Them drink! Oh, Major Plut was very wilful.
But he shall answer to the Czar, for he
Was in command. But I, Sir Chamberlain,
Will be your friend. A Russian proverb says,
‘Who loveth greatly, he, Sir Chamberlain,
Will stoutly fight.’ You are good at drinking-bout
And good at fighting out, but cease to vent
On Jägers your excesses.”
Hearing this,
The Chamberlain his sabre straight upraised,
And through the Wozny proclamation made
Of general pardon; then he gave command
To look unto the wounded, clear the field
Of corpses, and the disarmed Jägers lead
Away as prisoners. Long they searched for Plut.
He, deeply buried in the nettles, lay
As lifeless; but at last came forth, when he
Became aware the battle all was done.
Such ending the last foray had in Litva.232

Book
X

Emigration—Jacek

Council concerning the safety of the victors—Conventions with Rykow—Leave-takings—Important disclosure—Hope.

Those morning clouds, erst scattered like black birds,
Soaring in heaven’s highest region, now
Together gathered closer. Scarce the sun
Had from the south descended, than their flock
Had with a mighty cloud all heaven o’erspread.
The wind with ever greater swiftness drove them;
The cloud grew ever thicker, lower hung,
Till by one side half-severed from the sky,
Stooping towards the earth, and spread abroad
Like a great sail, all winds within itself
Gathering, it flew through heaven from south to west
Then came a while of silence, and the air
Stood dumb and silent, as though mute with fear;
The fields of corn, that first lay down on earth,
And shook again aloft their golden ears,
Like billows seething, now unmoving stood,
And gazed towards heaven, with upbristling straw;
And the green willows, and the poplars standing
Beside the ways, that first like women mourning
Beside an open grave, their foreheads smote
Upon the earth, their long arms flung abroad,
Dishevelled on the wind their silvery hair,
Now, as though lifeless, with mute mourning gaze,
They stand like images of Niobe.
Alone the trembling aspen shakes grey leaves.

The cattle, used to turn home leisurely,
Now ran tumultuous, nor their guardian wait,
Abandoning their pasture, home they fly.
The bull the earth upturneth with his hoof,
Ploughs with his horn, and terrifies the herd
With roar ill-boding; and the cow, who raised
Her large eyes only once unto the sky,
Her mouth in wonder opened wide, and drew
A deep sigh. And the hog behind did linger,
Dashed round, and gnashed his teeth, and from the corn
Abstracted portions, and them snatched as food.
The birds lay hidden in the woods, beneath
The thatch, and in deep places of the grass.
The rooks alone in troops surround the ponds,
And walk about with slow and solemn steps,
Turning their black eyes to the clouds as black,
Their tongues forth putting from their dry, wide throats,
And, spreading wide their wings, await their bath.
Last of the birds, unreachable in flight,
A daring swallow, like an arrow through
The dark cloud pierces, then like bullet falls.

The nobles in that very moment ended
That horrid battle with the Muscovites,
And sought for shelter in the house and barns.
They leave the field of battle, where full soon
The elements in battle join.
Towards
The west, still golden, shone with gloomy gleam,
The earth, a yellow red. The cloud already
Its shades outspreading, like a net in form—
Did apprehend the remnants of the light,
And flew behind the sun, as though to seize him
Before the west. Some few storms whistled through
The air below, one after other flying,
And casting drops of rain, great, bright, and round,
As grain-like hail.
The storm-winds suddenly
Grappled together, broke in twain; they struggled,
And whirled in whistling circles o’er the ponds,
Troubling their waters to their very depth.
They fell upon the meadows, whistling loud
Through osiers and through grass; the osier boughs
Asunder crack, and blades of grass fly wide
Upon the winds, like handfuls of torn hair,
Mixed with the ringlets of the corn-sheaves. Loud
The winds did howl, fell on the plain, contended,
Roared, tore up furrows; made an opening for
A third, which from the field itself up-tore
Like column from the dark earth, rose up, rolled
Round like a moving pyramid; its head
Deep burrowed in the ground, and from its feet
Cast sand in the stars’ eyes; at every step
It swelled out broadly, shot up tall aloft,
And blew a storm upon its mighty trumpet,
Till in this chaos of water and of dust,
Of straws, and leaves and branches, torn-up turf,
The storms upon the forest smote, and roared
Within its deepest wilderness like bears.

But now as from a sieve plashed down the rain,
Unceasing, in thick falling drops. And then
The thunders roared, the drops together ran.
Now like straight cords with tresses long they bind
The heavens to the earth. Now forth they burst,
As from a pail in watery strata. Now
Both heaven and earth are totally concealed;
Night darkens them, with storm more dark than night.
At times the horizon bursts from end to end,
And the storm-angel, like a mighty sun,
Unveils the lightnings of his countenance,
And, covered with a pall, retires again
In heaven, and shuts its doors with thunder noise.
Again the storm gains strength, tempestuous rain,
A heavy darkness, thick, nigh tangible;
Once more a stiller rain doth murmur, sleeps
The thunder for a moment; once more wakes,
It roareth loud, and waters plash, till all
Is peaceful. Only trees around the house
Rustled, and rain was softly murmuring.
On such a day, the fiercest storm was welcome;
Because the tempest, covering o’er the field
With twilight, deluged all the roads, and broke
The bridge that spanned the river; of the farm
A fortress inaccessible it made.
So that which happened in Soplica’s camp,
To-day no rumour through the neighbourhood
Could circulate; and at the present time
The nobles’ fate upon a secret hung.

Counsels of weight pend in the Judge’s room.
The Bernardine lay wearied on the bed,
Pale, stained with blood, but wholly sound in mind.
He gives commands, the Judge exact fulfils;
Entreats the presence of the Chamberlain,
Summons the Klucznik, Rykow there to bring
Commands. The door then closes. One whole hour
These secret conversations lasted, till
With these words Captain Rykow broke them off,
A bag with ducats heavy throwing down—
“Ye Polish sirs, among you is a saying,
That every Muscovite’s a thief. Say ye,
Whoever asks, you know a Muscovite,
Named Nikita Nikiticz Rykow, captain
Of a band, who gained eight medals and three crosses—
I pray you to remember that—this medal
At Oczakow, this one at Ismail,
This for the fight at Novi, and this one
At Preussisch-Eylau, this at Korsakow’s
Famous retreat from Zurich,233 and I gained
Likewise a sword for courage shown, likewise
Three testimonials of his satisfaction
From the Field-Marshal, by the Emperor
Three times commended, four times mentioned, all
In writing”—
“But, but, Captain,” Robak spoke,
“Whatever will become of us, if you
Wilt not be reconciled? Indeed, you have
Given us your word to simplify this thing.”

“True, and I pledge my word to you again,”
Says Rykow; “here’s my word! What good would come
Of ruining you? I am an honest man.
I love you, Lachy, gentlemen, for you
Are merry folk, good at a drinking-bout,
And gallant folk too, good at fighting out.
We have a Russian proverb, ‘He who rides
Upon the wagon, oft is used to be
Under the wagon;’ ‘Who to-day is foremost
To-morrow’s in the rear;’ ‘To-day thou beatest,
To-morrow thou art beaten.’ Is that cause
For anger? That is how we soldiers live.
Why such great malice should a man conceive,
Or angry be at losing? All that work
At Oczakow was bloody, and at Zurich
They slew our infantry; at Austerlitz
I lost my whole band; but before that time,
Did your Kosciuszko at Raclawice234
(Where I was sergeant) mow down my platoon,
With scythes. But what of that? Then I again,
At Maciejowice,235 slew with mine own hand
Two valiant nobles; one was Mokronowski.
He with his scythe had come before our front,
And cut off from a cannonier his hand,
Grasping the match. Oh! oh! ye Lachy! Country!
I feel all that. I, Rykow—Still the Czar
Commands this, but I pity you. What should
The Lachy be to us? For Muscovites
Muscovia; Poland for the Poles;—but then—
The Czar will not allow it!”
Unto him
The Judge replies: “Sir Captain, that thou art
An honest man, the country-folks have seen
’Mid whom so many years you have been quartered.
Be you not angry at this gift, good friend;
We would not work you wrong; these ducats here
We ventured to subscribe, as knowing you
Art not a rich man.”
“Ah! the Jägers,” cried
Rykow; “the whole band run through! my division!
And all that Plut’s fault. He was in command,
And he must answer to the Czar for this.
But you take back your money, gentlemen;
I have indeed but wretched captain’s pay,
But ’tis enough to give me punch and pipe.
But you I like, since I have drunk with you,
And eaten. I’ll be merry, chatter, and
Thus will I live. But I’ll be your defence;
And as there will be inquest, on my word
Of honour, I will give my witness for you,
That we came here upon a visit, drank,
And danced together, somewhat tipsy got,
And Plut by chance commandment gave to fire,
And so we fought, and wasted the battalion.
You, sirs, grease the Commission well with gold;
’Twill soon despatch. But now I’ll tell you this,
Which to this nobleman I said before,
Who wears the lengthy rapier; in command
Plut was the first, I second; Plut remains
Alive, perhaps he’ll bend you such a hook,
That you will perish, he’s a cunning blade.
You must with bank-notes gag him. Well then, now,
Sir noble, thou with the long rapier, hast thou
Seen Plut already, taken counsel with him?”

Gervasy looked round, and his bald crown stroked,
And with a careless gesture waved his hand,
As by this sign he gave to them to know
That he had made all easy. Rykow still
Insisted. “What, will Plut be silent? has he
Then given his word?” The Klucznik, vexed that Rykow
Tormented him with questions, bent his finger
To earth most solemnly, then waved his hand,
As though he cut all further talk in twain,
And said, “I by the Penknife swear that Plut
Will let out nothing. He will nevermore
Converse with any one.” Then dropped his hand,
And snapt his fingers, as though shaking out
Some secret from his hands.
This darkling gesture
The hearers comprehended, and they stood
With wonder looking on each other, still
Inquiring of this thing. Some minutes yet
A gloomy silence lasted, till at last
Said Rykow, “Long the wolf has borne away,
Now is the wolf borne off!”236 The Chamberlain
“Requiescat in pace” added. “Even in this,
Was,” said the Judge, “the finger of the Lord!
But I am guiltless of this blood, I knew
Not of it.”
From the pillow started up
The priest, and upright sat with gloomy cheer.
“Great sin an unarmed captive ’twas to slay!
Christ forbids vengeance even on a foe.
Fie! Klucznik! thou shalt answer heavily
For this before the Lord. One reservation
Alone there is, if this committed were
Not for mere foolish vengeance, but instead,
Pro bono publico.” The Klucznik nodded,
And waved his hand extended; murmuringly
Repeated he, “Pro bono publico.”

And no one after spoke of Major Plut;
They sought him vainly on the morrow, in
The mansion, vainly for the corpse proclaimed
Reward; the Major without trace was gone,
As he had fallen in the water. What
Had come of him, were different stories told;
But none for certain knew nor then, nor after.
In vain with questionings did they torment
The Klucznik; nought he said, except these words,
“Pro bono publico.” The Wojski was
Within the secret, but as he was bound
By word of honour, the old man was silent,
As though enchanted.
After the conclusion
Of these conditions, Rykow left the room,
But Robak all the warrior noblemen
Commanded thither; and the Chamberlain
Addressed them thus with great solemnity:
“Brothers, the Lord has blessed our swords to-day.
But without reservation, I to you
Must give to know that ill effects will come
From these unhappy wars. We all have erred,
And none of us here is without his fault;
Friar Robak, that he spread too busily
The news abroad, the Klucznik and the nobles
That they misunderstood it. War with Russia
Cannot so quickly be begun. Meanwhile
Who in the battle took most active part,
Cannot with safety tarry here in Litva,
So must ye quickly to the Duchy fly.
Matthew especially, the Baptist called,
Thaddeus and Razor, and the Bucket, bear
Their heads beyond the Niemen, where await them
Our national hosts. We on you absent ones
Will lay the blame entirely, so shall we
Preserve the rest of all the family.
I bid ye farewell not for long. There are
Most certain hopes that on us with the spring
Shall brighten Freedom’s dawn, and Litva, who
Now bids farewell to you as exiles, soon
Shall view you her triumphant rescuers.
All necessaries for the road the Judge
Will furnish, and myself I will assist you
With money, as I can.”
The nobles felt
The Chamberlain had wisely counselled them;
For well ’tis known that he who once has had
A difference with the Russian Czar, can ne’er
Be truly reconciled to him on earth;
And either he must fight, or perish in
Siberia. Therefore without speaking they
Gazed sadly on each other, sighed, but as
A signing of consent they bowed their heads.

The Pole, although among the nations famed
For love of native land exceeding life,
Is ready aye to leave it, and depart
Into the world’s wide country, and to live
Long years in poverty and in contempt,
Battling with men and destiny, while still
This hope before him glimmers through the storm,
That yet he serves his Fatherland.
They all
Declared that they were ready to set out
At once; alone this pleased not Master Buchman.
Buchman, a prudent man, had mixed not in
The battle, but on hearing that they took
Counsel together, he made haste to give
His own opinion. He approved the project,
But wished it were completely otherwise.
He would develop it more fully, would
Have it explained more clearly; first appoint
Commission legally, that should consider
The emigration’s aims, and means, and action;
And many other things consider too.
Unhappily the shortness of the time
Prevented justice being done to Buchman’s
Advice. The nobles hastily took leave,
And were already starting.
But the Judge
Stayed Thaddeus in the room, and to the priest
Said, “Now ’tis time that I should tell to thee,
That which since yesterday I learned for certain,
Our Thaddeus loves Sophia truly. Let him,
Before departing, for her hand entreat her.
I spoke to Telimena, she will not
Be hindrance to us; likewise is Sophia
Conformable unto her guardians’ will.
If we may not in wreath of marriage join
To-day the couple, they at least to-day,
Brother, may be affianced, ere he part;
Since for young hearts and travellers, thou well knowest
What various temptations rise. But when
The youth shall cast his eyes upon the ring,
Remembering he already is a husband,
At once the fever of temptations strange
Is cool within him; the betrothal ring,
Believe me, has great power.
“Myself, I had,
Some thirty years ago, a great affection
For the fair Martha, and her heart I won.
We were betrothed, but Heaven did not bless
Our union, and soon left me desolate,
Taking the lovely Wojszczanka to
His glory, daughter of my friend Hreczecha.
As memory of her virtues, of her charms,
This gold betrothal ring alone remained
To me. As often as I looked thereon,
My dead love stood before my eyes, and thus
By Heaven’s grace I hitherto have kept
My faith to my betrothed one, and though ne’er
A husband, I am an old widower.
Although the Wojski has another daughter,
Pretty enough, and like enough unto
My well-loved Martha.”
Saying this he looked
Upon the ring with tenderness, and brushed
A tear off with his hand; then ended: “Brother,
What thinkest thou, shall we betroth the two?
He loves, and I have the aunt’s word and the girl’s.”

But up rushed Thaddeus, and earnestly
Spoke thus: “How can I show my gratitude
To my dear uncle, who so constantly
Thinks of my happiness! Ah! dearest uncle,
I were the happiest of men, if now
Sophia were betrothed to me, if I
Could know she was my future wife; and yet—
I’ll say it openly-to-day these spousals
May not be done, for this are many reasons.
Ask me no more. If Sophia deigns to wait,
She maybe will behold me better, worthier.
Maybe by steadfastness I shall deserve
Her love; maybe a little glory may
Adorn my name. Maybe we shall return
Soon to our native region. Then, my uncle,
I shall recall your promise to you, then
Upon my knees salute my dear Sophia,
And if she still be free, entreat her hand.
Now must I part from Litva, it may be
For long, perhaps another may meanwhile
Commend him to Sophia. I will not
Constrain her will, to beg return of love
Which I have not deserved, were mean and base.”

And as the young lad spoke thus feelingly,
Like two great pearl-drops glittered two bright tears
Within his large blue eyes, and ran together
Swift down his blushing countenance.
But curious,
Sophia from the depths of the alcove
Had heard this secret discourse, and she heard
While Thaddeus simply thus and boldly spake
His love; the heart within her trembled; she
Saw only those two large tears in his eyes;
Although she might not track his secret’s thread,
Wherefore he loved her, why abandoned her,
Or whither he departed, yet this parting
Much saddened her. The first time in her life
She from a young man’s lips had heard the great
And wondrous tidings that she was beloved.
So ran she to a little household shrine,
Therefrom an image and a reliquary
She took; the picture was St. Genevieve,
And in the reliquary was a shred
Of holy Joseph’s coat, the lover, patron
Of youth betrothed; and with these holy things
She entered the apartment.
“Are you going
So quickly? I will give you for the journey
A little present, and a warning too.
Carry this relic with you always, and
This picture, and remember still Sophia.
May the Lord God in health and weal conduct you,
And quickly bring you back to us in joy!”
Silent she stood, and drooped her head, while half
Closed her blue eyes, and liberal tears ran forth
From underneath the lashes; and Sophia,
Standing with eyelids closed, kept silence still,
Pouring down tears like diamonds.
Thaddeus, taking
The gifts, and on her hand a kiss imprinting,
Said, “Lady, I must bid farewell to you.
Farewell, remember me, and deign at times
To say a prayer for me, Sophia!” More
He could not say.
But unexpectedly
The Count and Telimena coming in,
Observed the youthful lovers’ tender parting.
The Count, much moved, at Telimena looked,
And said, “What beauty even in a scene
So simple! when a shepherdess’s soul
Must with a warrior’s part, even as a boat
Parts from a ship in tempest! Truly, nought
Can kindle tenderness within the heart,
As when heart parts from heart. Time is like wind,
It but extinguishes a feeble light;
A great fire flames but stronger from the wind.
My heart can love more strongly from afar.
Soplica, I have held thee for a rival,
And this mistake of our sad variance,
Which forced me to draw sword on you, one cause
Has been. I see my error, since thou for
The shepherdess didst sigh, but I had given
My heart to this fair nymph. Let our offences
Be drowned in blood of foes. We will not strive
With murderers’ swords against each others’ lives.
Let otherwise our lovers’ quarrel be
Decided; let us strive who shall excel
In strength of love! Let us both leave behind
The objects dear unto our hearts, and let us
Both hasten upon swords, on spears to rush.
Let us together strive in steadfastness,
In woe, in sufferings, and with valiant arm.
Pursue our foes.” He spoke, on Telimena
He looked, but she replied not, sore amazed.

“But, Count,” the Judge broke in, “wherefore must you
Depart, of such necessity? Believe me,
You may in safety dwell upon your lands;
The government may strip and scourge the poor
Nobility, but you are certain, Count,
Whole to remain. You know how high your rank;
You are tolerably rich; with half your income
You may redeem yourself from prison.”
“That,”
The Count replied, “agrees not with my mood;
As I may be no lover, I will be
A hero. For the cares of love I summon
The comforters of glory; if I am
A beggar of the heart, I will be great
In arms!”
Said Telimena: “What debars you
From love and happiness?” “My destiny’s
Power,” said the Count; “the darkness of forebodings,
That by mysterious movement swiftly rush
To foreign regions, unaccustomed deeds.
I own I wished in Telimena’s honour
To light the flame to-day at Hymen’s altar,
But an example far too beautiful
This young man gives me, of his own free will
Tearing his nuptial garland off, and rushing
To prove his heart in accidents of fate,
Changing, and in the bloody chance of war.
To-day for me likewise an epoch new
Is opening. The sounding of my sword
Birbante-Rocca once did echo back.
Oh, may its sound through Poland spread as well!”
He ended, on his sword-hilt proudly smote.

To blame. “Ay!” Robak spoke; “such goodwill hard it were
Ride off, and money take with thee.
Thou mayest perhaps equip a band of men
Like Wladimir Potocki, who amazed
The Frenchmen, giving to the treasury
A million; like Prince Dominic Radziwill,
Who pledged his lands and furniture, and armed
Two regiments of horse. Ride off, and take
Money; we now enough of hands possess,
But there is want of money in the Duchy,
Ride ye away, we take our leave of you.”

With sad eyes Telimena on him glanced.
“Alas!” she said, “I see nought will restrain thee.
My hero! when thou enterest warlike lists
On thy love’s colour turn a tender glance.”
Thus saying, a ribbon from her dress she took,
She fashioned therewith a cockade, and pinned it
To the Count’s bosom. “Let this colour lead thee
Up to the fiery cannon, shining spears,
And rain of bullets; when by valiant deeds
Thou winnest glory, and with deathless laurels
Thou shalt enwreathe thy bloodstained helm and crest
With victory proud, ev’n then turn thou thine eyes
On this cockade. Remember thou whose hand
Fastened that colour there.” She reached her hand
To him. The Count then, kneeling, kissed that hand,
And Telimena to one eye approached
Her handkerchief, but with the other looked
From high upon the Count, who bade farewell,
Most deeply moved. She sighed-but-shrugged her shoulders.

But said the Judge, “Sir Count, make haste, ’tis late;”
And Friar Robak cried, with threatening mien,
“Enough of this! make haste!” The orders thus
Both of the Judge and of the priest divide
The loving pair, and drive them from the room.

Meantime did Thaddeus embrace his uncle
With tears, and Robak’s hand kissed. Robak pressed
Unto his bosom the lad’s forehead, laying
His hands in form of cross upon his head,
Looked up to heaven, and said, “My son! depart
With God!” and wept. But Thaddeus already
Had passed the threshold. “What!” then asked the Judge,
“Will you not tell him, brother, anything?
And now, poor boy, shall he learn nothing, ere
He part?”—“No, nothing,” said the priest, long weeping,
With face hid in his hands. “And wherefore should
The poor lad know that he a father has,
Who hid him from the world, as being a villain
And murderer? God knows, how I did long
To tell my son, but of this consolation
I make unto the Lord a sacrifice
To expiate my former crimes.”
“Then,” said
The Judge, “ ’tis time to think now of thyself.
Consider at thine age, and in thy plight,
Thou couldst not with the others emigrate.
Thou once did say thou knewest a house, where thou
Couldst hide thyself. Say where? Let us make haste.
A carriage waiteth ready harnessed. Was it
Not in the forest, in the keeper’s hut?”
Shaking his head, said Robak, “ ’Twill be time
To-morrow. Now, my brother, send thou to
The parish priest, that he may swiftly come
Here with the sacrament. Send all from hence;
Thou only, with the Klucznik, here remain.
Close thou the doors.”
Robak’s commands the Judge
Fulfilled, and sat beside him on the couch;
Gervasy stood, and with his elbow leaned
Upon his rapier’s hilt, and with his brow
Supported on his hand.
Robak, before
He spoke, his glance fixed on the Klucznik’s face,
And kept mysterious silence. As a surgeon
On a diseased body lightly lays
At first his hand, ere he the sharp blade prove,
Thus Robak softened of his piercing eyes
The glance severe; long o’er Gervasy’s face
He held them mute. At length, as he would give
Blindfold the stroke, he covered with his hand
His eyes, and with a powerful voice he said:
“I am Jacek Soplica.”
At these words
Pale grew the Klucznik, forward bent, and stood
One half all stooping forward; stood, supported
On one foot, like a flying stone, from high
Arrested on its path; his eyes wide staring;
Lips wide apart, with white teeth threatening;
His whiskers bristling; from his hand the rapier
Abandoned on the ground his knees held fast;
His right hand, closely pressing, grasped the hilt.
The rapier from behind stretched after him,
Waved its long black extremity around,
Unto each side. And like a wounded lynx
The Klucznik seemed, that from a tree will spring
Into the hunter’s eyes; it puffs itself
Up in a ball; it growls, its bloodshot eyes
In sparkles kindles, moves its whiskers, lashes
Its tail.
“Rembajlo,” said the friar, “no more
The wrath of man affrights me, for I am
Already under God’s hand. I conjure
Thee in the name of Him who saved the world,
And on the cross did bless His murderers,
And did accept the thief’s entreaty, that
Thou wilt be pacified, and all that I
Shall say wilt listen patiently. I have
Confessed now whom I am, and for relief
Of conscience I must seek, and must at least
For pardon pray. Thou listen my confession;
Then after do thou what thou wilt with me.”
And here his hands he folded, as in prayer.
The Klucznik, deep in thought, moved backward, smote
His forehead, and his shoulders moved.
The priest
Began the story to relate of his
Familiar friendship with Horeszko, how
He loved his daughter; from this cause proceeded
His quarrel with the Pantler. But he spoke
With little order, mingling oft complaints
And lamentations in his story; often
His speech broke off, as though he had ended it.
And then again began.
The Klucznik, knowing
Most perfectly the annals of Horeszko,
Though tangled in disorder all this tale,
In memory could range, and fill it out;
But many things the Judge nought understood.
Both listened diligently, with bowed heads,
And Jacek ever spoke with freer words,
And oft broke off.237
“Indeed, thou knowest too well, Gervasy, how
The Pantler oft invited me to banquets,
And would propose my health; not seldom cried,
Lifting his glass on high, he had no friend
Above Soplica. How he then embraced me!
All who saw this would think he shared with me
His very soul. A friend he! well he knew
What at that time was passing in my soul!

“Meanwhile the neighbourhood already whispered,
And such a one said to me: ‘Ah! Soplica!
In vain wouldst thou compete, the threshold of
A dignitary is too high for Jacek
Podczaszyc’ feet.’ I laughed, pretending I
Laughed at the magnates, and their daughters too,
And cared not for the aristocracy;
That if I oft consorted with them, ’twas
From friendship; I would only take for wife
One of my own condition. Ne’ertheless
These jestings cut me to the quick. Young then,
Courageous, all the world to me was open.
In this land, where, as well you know, a noble
By birth may for the throne be candidate
With highest lords—in truth Tenczynski once
Did ask a daughter of a royal house,238
And a king gave her to him without shame—
Were not Soplica’s honours equal with
Tenczynski’s, both by blood, and crest, and service
To the Republic?
“Ah! how easily
A man may ruin another’s happiness,
In one short moment, and may not repair it
In all a long life! One word from the Pantler,
How happy we had been! who knows, maybe
We both had lived till now. Maybe, even he,
Beside his darling child, his lovely Eva,
Beside his grateful son-in-law, had reached
A peaceful old age, and his grandchildren
Perhaps had rocked. Now what has passed? He ruined
Both of us, and himself!-That murderous deed,
And all the followings of that crime, and all
My woes and sins!—I have no right to complain,
I was his murderer!—I have no right
To make complaint!—I from my very heart
Do pardon him; but even he—

“If one time merely he had openly
Refused me! For he well knew what we felt.
If he had not received my visitings—
Who knoweth how?—I maybe had departed,
Been angry, railed against him, in the end
Neglected him. But he in cunning proud
Thought of a new idea; he made pretence
That such a thing had entered ne’er his head
That I could ever seek for such alliance.
But I was needful to him; I had weight
Among the nobles, and the peasants all
Loved me! As though he ne’er perceived my love,
He welcomed me as erst, insisted ev’n
That I should come more often. And as oft
As we two were alone together, seeing
Mine eyes o’erclouded, and my breast o’ercharged,
And ready to break forth, the old man, cunning,
Would presently throw out indifferent words
Of lawsuits, diets, hunts—

“Ah! o’er our cups, not seldom, when he thus
Would melt, when thus he pressed me, and assured
Me of his friendship, having need of my
Sabre, or vote in Diet—when I must
Press him in turn affectionately, then
Such anger boiled in me, that I turned o’er
The spittle in my mouth, and then my hand
Would grasp my sabre’s hilt;—I longed to spit
Upon this friendship, and to draw my sword.
But Eva, looking on my glance and posture,
Could guess, I know not how, what in me passed.
She gazed imploringly, her cheeks grew pale;
And such a lovely dove, so gentle she—
And such a sweet look had she—so serene!
So angel-like! I know not even how,
I had no heart to anger her, to grieve her;
And I was silent!—I, the brawler famous
Throughout all Litva!—I, who lived no day
Without a fight, who never would submit
To wrong, not merely at the Pantler’s hands,
But even at the king’s; whom slightest cross
Drove into madness. I, though evil-minded
And drunken, was as dumb as a young lamb,
As though I saw the Holiest—

“How many times I longed to ope my heart,
And even to prayer before him humble me!
But gazing in his eyes I met a look
Cold as a stone. Ashamed of my emotion
I was; I hastened once again, quite coldly
Of lawsuits, diets, to discourse, and even
To jest! True, all from pride, not to debase
The name of the Soplicas, not degrade
Myself before a lord by useless prayers,
Nor earn refusal. For what would be said
Among the nobles, if they knew that I
I, Jacek—

“That the Horeszkos had refused
A maiden to Soplica, and to me,
Jacek, had offered the black broth!239
“At last,
Not knowing how to act, I thought to gather
A slender regiment of the nobles, and
To leave for aye the district and my country;
Somewhere in Muscovy or Tartary
To go, and war begin. I rode to take
Leave of the Pantler, in the hope that when
He saw his staunch supporter, his old friend,
Almost an inmate of his house, with whom
He had drunken, and made war through all those years,
Now bidding farewell, and into the world
Riding afar, the old man might be moved,
And show me somewhat yet of human soul,
As a snail his horns—

“Ah! who, though but in his inmost heart’s depth,
Has but one spark of feeling for a friend,
But will this sparkle show on taking leave,
Having his forehead for the last time touched,
The coldest eye will often shed a tear.

“The poor girl, hearing I should go away,
Grew pale, unconscious, fell almost a corpse;
Nought could she say, until she poured a stream
Of tears! I saw how dear I was to her!
I recollect, the first time in my life,
I burst in tears of joy and of despair.
I longed again before her father’s feet
To fall, to wind like serpent round his knees,
Crying, ‘Dear father, take me for thy son,
Or slay me!’—Then the Pantler, solemnly,
Cold as a pillar of salt, polite, unmoved,
Began to speak; of what?—his daughter’s wedding!
That moment!—Thou, Gervasy, friend, consider;
Thou hast a human heart!
“The Pantler said,
‘Soplica, unto me the Castellan
Has sent betrothers; thou my friend art, what
Sayest thou to this? Thou knowest that I have
A daughter fair and rich. The Castellan
Is of Witepsk. True, in the Senate he has
A low seat, unconfirmed. What counsel you,
Brother?’ I cannot now at all remember
What unto him I answered; possibly
Nothing. To horse I mounted, and I fled.”

“Jacek,” the Klucznik said, “excuses wise
Thou urgest, yet they lessen not thy fault.
For truly not once only in the world,
It has occurred that one who loved a daughter
Of lord or king, has tried by violent means
To win her, thought of stealing her away;
Revenged him openly. But thus treacherous
Death to inflict, upon a Polish lord,
In Poland, and in concert thus with Russians!”

“No, not in concert,” Jacek said in grief.
“Carry her off by violence? True, I could
Have done so, could have snatched her from behind
Gratings and latches; could have ground to dust
That castle of his; I had at my back
Dobrzyn and four stout clans more. Ah! if she
Had been as our own noble ladies, strong
And healthy; had she feared not flight, pursuit;
And could she but have heard the clash of arms!
But she, poor girl! so carefully her parents
Had cherished her, that she was timid, weak,
A caterpillar, a spring butterfly;
And thus to seize her, with an armèd hand
To touch her, were to slay her! No! I could not!—
Revenge me openly, by storm to hurl
His castle into ruins? Shame! for men
Would say that I revenged me for refusal!
Klucznik, thine honest heart can never feel
What hell there lieth in offended pride.

“Pride’s demon counselled me to better plans;
To take a bloody vengeance, but conceal
The cause of vengeance; not to visit more
The castle, root that love from out my heart;
To forget Eva, marry with another;
And then to find out later some pretext,
Revenge myself—

“Then seemed it to me, that my heart had changed,
And pleased I was with this imagining,
And—married me unto the first I met,
A poor girl! Evil did I—how I was
Cruelly punished! For I loved her not,
The hapless mother of my Thaddeus!—
To me the most attached, most loving soul!—
But I within my heart my former love
And malice strangled. And I was as mad.
In vain I forced myself to husbandry,
Or business, all in vain! For by a demon.
Of vengeance driven wild, bad, irritable,
I found no comforting in aught on earth.
And thus I fell from sin to other sins,
Began to drink.

“And so my wife ere long of sorrow died,
Leaving that child; but me despair consumed.

“How dear I must have held my perished love!
So many years! where have I not been? and
I cannot yet forget her, and for aye
Her loved form stands before my eyes, as painted.
I drank; I could not for a moment drink
Mem’ry away, nor of it rid myself,
Though I have traversed o’er so many lands;
And now behold, in habit of a monk,
I am God’s servant, on this couch, in blood—
So long I have spoken of her!—in this moment
To speak of such things! God will pardon me!
You here must know in what despair and grief
That crime was done.

“ ’Twas shortly after her betrothal day;
They talked of this betrothal everywhere.
’Twas said, when Eva from the Wojewode’s hand
Received the nuptial ring, she swooned, she fell
Into a fever, that she had the symptoms
Of a consumption, that she ceaseless sobbed.
’Twas guessed she loved another secretly.
But still the Pantler, ever tranquil, merry,
Gave in the castle balls, and gathered friends.
Me he invited not; in what could I
Be useful to him? My misrule at home,
And wretchedness, my shameful custom, made
Me as a scorn and laughter to the world;—
Who once, I well may say it, shook the whole
District; whom Radziwill240 beloved called;
Who, when I forth from out my farmstead rode,
Went with a court more numerous than a prince;
And when I drew my sword some thousand sabres
Around were gleaming, frightening lordly castles.
But now the peasant children laughed at me.
Thus sudden grew I vile in eyes of men!
Jacek Soplica! Who knows what is pride?”

Here feeble grew the Bernardine, and fell
Back on the couch. Then spoke the Klucznik, roused:

“Great are Heaven’s judgments. True, true! so ’tis thou!
And thou art Jacek! Thou Soplica! under
A hood! thou livest as a beggar! Thou,
Whom I remember ruddy and in health,
A handsome noble, when the ladies praised thee,
When women raved about thee! Whisker-bearer!
Not as thou wert in former days! thus hast thou
Grown old from sorrow! How did I not know thee
After that shot, when thou didst hit the bear
So perfectly? our Litva had no marksman
Surpassing thee; thou also, after Matthew,
Wert with the sabre first! True, in past times
Our noble ladies sang concerning thee,
‘Lo! Jacek twirls his whisker, all the regions shake,
And he for whom the whisker shall this twirling make,
Were he even Prince Radziwill, shall tremble for its sake.’
And thou didst twirl it even for my lord!
Unhappy one! ’Tis thou! brought to what state!
Jacek the Whiskered is a begging friar!
Great are Heaven’s judgments! And now, ha! ha! scatheless
Thou never shall come forth! I swear it, thou
Who hast sucked Horeszko’s drops of blood away.”

Meanwhile the priest sat up upon the couch,
And ended thus: “I rode around the castle.
How many devils were there in my head,
And in my heart! who shall repeat their names?
The Pantler slayeth his own child. Already
Me has he slain, annihilated.’ Under
The door I rode; some devil lured me there.
Look on his riot! Drunkenness each day
Within the castle, and how many lights
The windows show; what music in the halls!
And will that castle not in ruins fall
Upon his bald head?
“Think of vengeance, swift
Will Satan give a weapon to thy hand.
Scarce I imagined it, when Satan sent
The Muscovites! I stood on gazing. Thou
Knowest how they stormed your castle.
“But ’tis false
That I was in accord with Muscovites!

“I gazed on. Various thoughts swarmed through my head.
First with a foolish smile, as children look
On conflagration, gazed I; then I felt
A murderer’s joy, and while I waited, swift
The castle walls began to burn and fall.
At times the thought possessed me to rush in,
To rescue her, the Pantler even—

“Ye did defend yourselves, thou knowest, bravely
And prudently. I marvelled. Round me fell
The Muscovites. Those cattle! ill they aim!
On viewing their disasters, once again
Did spite possess me. Shall this Pantler be
Victorious, and shall all things in the world.
Thus prosper for him? And shall he come forth
With triumph from this terrible attack?
I rode away in shame. Just then ’twas morn.
Then looked I up, I knew him. He came forth
Upon the balcony, his diamond clasp
Did in the sunlight glitter, and he twirled
His whisker proudly, and a proud glance threw.
It seemed that unto me especially
He bade defiance, that he knew me, and
Thus stretched his hand towards me, mocking me,
And threatening. I a Russian’s rifle grasped,
Scarce pointed, scarce took aim, but off it went!
Thou knowest!—

“Cursed be those firearms! He who slays with sword
Must place himself, attack and parry, turn;
He may disarm his foe, may stay the sword
Half-way; but with these firearms! ’tis enough
To touch the lock! a moment? one sole spark!

“Did I fly then, when thou took’st aim at me
From overhead? I fixed my eyes upon
My gun’s two barrels; and some strange despair,
Some wondrous sorrow, fixed me to the earth.
Why then, alas! Gervasy, why didst thou
Then miss me? Thou hadst done me service thus!
But well it might be seen for expiation
Of sin ’twas needful”—
Here again he failed
For want of breath. “God knows,” the Klucznik said,
“I truly wished to hit thee! How much blood
By that one shot of thine hast thou poured forth!
How many miseries fell on us, and on
Thine own race, all through thy fault, Master Jacek!
But when the Jägers for their target took
The last of the Horeszkos, although by
The spindle side, thou didst him shield, and when
A Muscovite did fire at me, thou didst
Cast me to earth, and thus didst save us both.
If true it is thou art a cloistered priest,
Thy frock alone protects thee from the Penknife.
Farewell, no more I’ll tarry on your threshold.
Let us be quits, and leave to Heaven the rest.”

Jacek stretched forth his hand. Gervasy drew
Backwards. “I cannot,” said he, “without shame
To my nobility, e’er touch a hand
With such a murder stained, from private vengeance,
And not pro bono publico.”
But Jacek
Sank from the pillows back upon the couch,
And turned towards the Judge, and ever paler,
Asked anxiously about the parish priest;
And to the Klucznik called, “I do beseech you,
That you remain! I presently will end.
I scarce have power sufficient.”
“What, my brother!”
The Judge exclaimed; “thy wound is not so grave.
What sayest thou of the parish priest? Perhaps
It was ill dressed. I’ll call the doctor here.
“Or in our store of medicines”—The priest
Broke in: “My brother, ’twere in vain! It is
A former wound from Jena; ’twas ill-healed,
And now fresh opened; there is gangrene here.
I understand wounds. Look how black the blood,
Like pitch! What use the doctor here? but that
A vain thing is! Once only can we die;
Give up our soul to-morrow, or to-day.
Sir Klucznik, wilt thou pardon me? I must
Conclude—
“There is in this some merit, not
To will to be a traitor to the nation,
Although the nation traitor thee proclaim;
For him, above all, in whom dwells such pride
As dwelt in me.—
“The name of traitor clung
To me like pestilence. All patriots
Did turn their faces from me; former friends
Fled from me; he who timid was, afar
Saluted and avoided me; and even
Each wretched peasant, miserable Jew,
Although he bowed, did pierce me from aside
With mocking smile. The name of traitor rung
Within my ears, with echo did resound
At home, abroad. That word from morn till dusk
Before me circled, as a spot before
An eye diseased. And yet no traitor was I
Unto my country”—

“The Muscovites would gain me partisan;
They gave to the Soplicas a large share
Of the deceased man’s lands; and later on
The Targowica traitors241 wished to honour
Me with an office. If I then had willed
To Russianise myself, which Satan counselled,
I had by now most rich and powerful grown.
Had I become a Muscovite, the highest
Magnates had sought my favour, even my brother
Nobles, and even the commonality,
Who do so readily despise their own,
Forgive those happier who serve Muscovy!
I knew all that—but yet—I could not!—
“From the land I fled—
Where have I not been? what have I not suffered?

“Until God deigned reveal the only cure:
I must reform myself, and must repair,
As far as in my power might lie—

“The Pantler’s daughter, with the Wojewode,
Her husband, somewhere in Siberia.
Transported, there died early. In this country
She left Sophia, her little daughter. I
Commanded she should be adopted—

“Maybe from foolish pride, far more than love,
I slew; so must I show humility.
I went among the monks. I, once so proud
Of race, I, who was as a blusterer,
Did bow my head, a friar; I called me Robak,
Since like a worm in dust—

“That ill example for the Fatherland,
Encouragement to treason, it was needful
By good example to redeem, by blood,
By sacrifice—
“I for my country fought; -but where I say not.
’Twas not for earthly glory that I rushed
So oft on swords and shot. To me more sweet
’Tis to remember, not loud, valorous deeds,
But silent actions, useful sufferings,
Which none—

“Not one time only did I penetrate
Unto my country, bearing the commands
Of generals, collecting information,
Concluding treaties. The Galicians know
This monkish hood, the Poseners know it too.
One year I laboured in a Prussian fortress;
Three times the Muscovites did wound my shoulders
With sticks, once sent me to Siberia;
The Austrians then in Spielberg buried me
To labour in their dungeons—carcer durum.
The Lord by miracle delivered me,
Permitting me to die among my people,
And with the sacraments.

“Perhaps ev’n now, who knows, maybe I sinned,
Maybe beyond the generals’ commands,
I hurried insurrection on. This thought,
That the Soplica house should arm the first—
My kinsmen the first Horseman should upraise
In Litva—this thought—seemeth pure—

“Thou didst desire revenge? Behold, thou hast it!
For thou wast instrument of God’s chastising;
Heaven by thy means did cut my measures through.
Thou didst the thread so many years had spun
Tangle; the great aim which consumed my life,
My latest earthly feeling in the world,
Which I had cherished as my dearest child,
Thou in its father’s eyes hast slain, and I
Forgive thee! Thou”—
“May Heaven forgive us both!”
The Klucznik broke in. “If thou art about
To take the sacrament, Friar Jacek, I
Am neither Lutheran, nor schismatic.242 Who
Afflicts the dying, I know sins heavily.
I’ll tell thee somewhat that will sure rejoice thee.
When my deceasèd master wounded fell,
And I bent o’er him, kneeling, and my sword
Steeped in his wound, and swore revenge, my lord
Did shake his head, his hand stretched towards the gate,
To where thou wert, and in the air he signed
The cross. He could not speak, but gave this sign
That he forgave his murderer. I this
Did understand, but I so mad with rage
Was then, I ne’er a word spoke of this cross.”

The sick man’s sufferings here broke off discourse,
And one long hour of silence followed then.
They wait the priest. The sound of hoofs was heard;
A breathless tenant at the chamber knocked.
He bears a letter of importance, shows it
To Jacek’s self. Then Jacek to his brother
Gives it, and him desires to read aloud.
The letter was from Fisher, at that time
Commanding in the staff of Poland’s army, under
Prince Joseph. He announced, that in the secret
Imperial cabinet was war declared;
The Emperor now proclaims it to the world.
The Diet is in Warsaw summoned, and
The States Confederate of Masovia have
Decreed the union of Litvania.243

Jacek, in hearing, spoke a silent prayer.
A sacred taper pressing to his breast,
He raised to heaven his eyes, alight with hope,
And shed a flood of last and joyful tears.
“Now, Lord,” he said, “let thou thy servant part
In peace.” All knelt; just then upon the threshold
A bell did sound, a sign the parish priest
Had with the Host arrived.
Night now had fled,
And through the milky heaven did course the first
Bright, rosy sunbeams. Through the window-panes
They fell like diamond arrows. On the couch
They shone reflected from the sick man’s head,
And dressed in gold his brow and countenance,
That like a saint he shone in fiery crown.

Book
XI

The Year 1812

Spring omens—Entrance of armies—Divine service—Official rehabilitation of Jacek Soplica—The end ofthe lawsuit near at hand, to be inferred from the conversation of Gervasy and Protasy—Love-scene between the lancer and the maiden—The dispute concerning Kusy and Sokol is decided—The guests assemble for the banquet—Presentation of the betrothed couples to the generals.

Thou year! who in our country thee beheld,
The year of beauty calls thee even now,
But year of war the soldier; even yet
Our elders love to tell of thee, even now
Song dreameth of thee. Long wert thou proclaimed
By heavenly miracle, and thee forestalled
Dumb rumours ’mid the people; all the hearts
Of the Litvini with the sun of spring
Were girdled by some strange presentiment,
As though before the ending of the world;
Some expectation full of joy and fear.
When first they drove the cattle forth in spring,
’Twas marked, though lean and famished, they did not
Rush on the winter-corn, green on the glebe;
But lay down on the mead, with heads bowed down,
To low, or chew the cud of winter food.

At The villagers, who led the plough on field,
Now scarce rejoiced as they were wont to do
At ending of long winter, for no song
They sang; they laboured idly, as they neither
Recalled the seed-time nor the harvest.
Each step they stayed the oxen and the ponies
In harness, and with anxious heart they gazed
Towards the western quarter, as from thence
Some miracle should be revealed, and marked
With anxious heart the homeward flying birds.

For even thus early to his native pine
The stork was flying, widely he unfurled
His white wings, early standard of the spring.
And after him in noisy regiments came
Upon the waters swallows gathering thick,
Who from the late-thawed earth collected mud
To build their houses. And at eventide
The arriving woodcocks whispering were heard
Among the thickets, and the wild-goose flock
Murmured above the wood, and wearied fell
Down with great uproar, for a halt, and in
The sky’s dark depth the cranes continual cry.
Hearing, the nightly guards inquire in fear,
Whence in the wingèd kingdom such confusion?
What storm thus early drives the birds away?

And now behold a newer flock, that seems
Finches and plovers, starlings, flock of shining
Crests and of standards; brightly on the hills
They shone, and on the plains they make descent.
The cavalry! Adornments wondrous, arms
Invisible, troop after troop; in midst
Like melted snows, along the highways, glide
Ranks sheathed in iron, from out the woods their caps
Swarm blackly, and a row of bayonets gleams;
The ant-hill’s swarming infantry unnumbered.

All towards the north! It certain might be said
That in that migratory time even men,
Following the birds, were marching to our land,
Impelled by some mysterious instinct force.
Men, horses, guns, and eagles, day and night
Flow onward; in the sky flame here and there
Wide blazes, earth is trembling, one may hear
The thunders smite on every side.
War! war!
In Litva there is not a foot of land
Whereto its uproar does not penetrate.
’Mid the dark forest-lands the peasant, all
Whose parents and whose ancestors have died,
Not having passed beyond the forest’s bounds—
Who understood in heaven no other cries
Than those of storm-winds, nor on earth beside
The roars of beasts; had seen no other guests
Than fellow-foresters, now sees—in heaven
A wondrous fire-blaze glowing, in the forest
A crashing hears; some wandering cannon-ball,
Strayed from the field of battle, seeks its way
Amid the forest, rending all its stems,
Its branches severing. The bison, reverend
Greybeard, did tremble in the moss, erected
The long hair of his mane, and half arose,
Leaned on his forelegs, shook his beard, and gazed
Bewildered on the embers, glimmering
On sudden ’mid the broken clods. It was
A wandering grenade, that whirled around,
And raged, and hissed, and burst with thunder-noise.
The bison, for the first time in his life,
Felt fear, and to the deepest refuge fled.

“A battle! where? In what part?” asked the youths.
They seized their weapons, women raise their hands
To heaven; all sure of victory, with tears
Cry, “Heaven is with Napoleon, he with us!”

O spring! I, who beheld thee in our land,
Spring-time renowned for war! spring-time of beauty!
O spring! I, who beheld thee blossoming
With corn and grass, and gleaming all with men,
Fruitful in doings, pregnant thou with hope,
I see thee yet, fair phantom of a dream!—
In slavery born, chained yet in infancy,
I had but one such spring-time in my life!

Right by the high-road Soplicowo lay,
Whereby two leaders marched from Niemen’s side,244
Prince Joseph and Jerome, Westphalia’s King.
They had already conquered part of Litva,
From Grodno unto Slonim, when the King
Commanded three days’ halt to breathe the troops.
But spite of weariness the Polish soldiers
Lamented that the King forbade their march,
So gladly they would reach the Muscovite.

The Prince’s chief staff in the neighbouring town
Was quartered, but in Soplicowo stood
The camp of forty thousand, with their staffs;
The Generals Dombrowski, Kniaziewicz,
And Malachowski, Giedroic, Grabowski.

Late was it when they entered; therefore each
Where best he might found quarters—in the castle,
And in the mansion. Orders swift were given;
The sentinels were posted; each man, wearied,
Went to his chamber for repose;—with night
All things were silent, camp, and house, and field.
Alone were seen, like shadows, wandering
Patrols, and here and there the camp-fires’ gleam,
And circling watch-words heard of army posts.

All slept—the master of the house, the leaders,
And soldiers. But the Wojski’s eyes alone
Taste no sweet sleep; the Wojski must set forth
Next day a banquet, whereby he will make
Soplica’s house renowned for evermore;
A banquet dear to hearts of Polish guests,
And suiting a great day’s solemnity,
Feast of the Church, and of the family.
To-morrow shall three couples be betrothed;
But General Dombrowski yester-eve
Had said he wished to have a Polish dinner.

Though late the hour, the Wojski gathered quick
Cooks from the neighbourhood; of these were five.
They serve, he plays the master. As chief cook,
He girded him with apron white, indued
A white cap, and his sleeves to elbow rolled.
In one hand was his fly-scare, to drive off
The miserable insects, greedily
Upon the tit-bits falling; with the other
He wiped his spectacles and put them on,
Drew forth a book, and opened it, and read.

The book entitled was, “The Perfect Cook.”245
Therein all specialties were plainly written
Of Polish tables; after its direction
The Count of Tenczyn those famed banquets gave
In Italy, whereat the Holy Father,
Urban the Eighth, so marvelled.246 After them
Charles Radziwill, “Belovèd,” later on,
When he in Nieswiez King Stanislas
Received, that memorable banquet made,
Whose glory even now through Litva lives
In story of the people.
What the Wojski
Reading did understand, and did explain,
The cooks intelligent at once fulfilled.
The labour seethes, some fifty knives are clattering
Upon the board, the scullions bustle round,
As demons black; some carry wood, some jugs
With wine and milk, they pour it into kettles,
Stewpans, and saucepans. Smoke bursts forth; two scullions
Beside the oven sit, and blow the bellows.
The Wojski, that the wood might easier burn,
Commanded melted butter to be poured
Upon the wood-permitted such excess
Is in a wealthy house. The scullions heap
Upon the fire dry brushwood; others place
Upon the spits enormous roasts of beef,
Of venison, quarters of the boar and stag;
Some pluck great heaps of birds, the feathers fly
In clouds—grouse, heathcocks, chickens, all are stripped.
But fowls were not in plenty; since that inroad
Which at the period of the foray made
The murderous young Dobrzynski on the henhouse
When he Sophia’s care reduced to nought,
Nor left of reparation means, not yet
In Soplicowo, once renowned for poultry,
The birds again might flourish. For the rest
Of every kind of meat was great abundance,
Which might be gathered there from house and shambles,
And from the forests and the neighbourhood,
From near and far;—thou’dst say the only thing
They could not furnish forth was milk of birds.247
Two things a liberal master seeks in feasts
Were joined in Soplicowo, art and plenty.

Already had arisen the solemn day;
The weather was most fair, the hour was early,
And the clear heaven was drawn around the earth
Like to a hanging sea, still, concave-arched.
A few stars glimmered from the deep, like pearls
From sea-depths through the billows; on one side
A white cloud, one alone, flies lightly upward,
And in the deep-blue sky were plunged its wings,
Like parting pinions of a guardian angel,
Who by the nightly prayer of men detained,
And over-late, hastes to return among
His fellow-denizens of heaven.
Now quenched
The last faint pearls of stars, and in the depths
Of skies extinguished were, and heaven’s brow
Is paler midmost. Its right temple, laid
Upon a pillow of shade, is swarthy still;
The left aye redder blushes; farther off,
A circle, like an eyelid broad, opes wide,
And in the midst the white part of an eye
Is seen, the iris and the pupil; now
A sunbeam darted forth, and in the round
Of skies it gleamed refracted, and it hung
Upon a white cloud like a golden lance.
Upon this arrow, signal of the day,
A sheaf of fires flew forth, a thousand rockets,
That o’er the circle of the world did cross.
And rose the sun’s eye. Somewhat yet asleep,
It winked, and trembling shook its radiant lashes,
Shining at once with all its seven hues.
At once it shone with sapphire, redly glowed
In ruby, yellow with the topaz light;
Till all at once it flamed as crystal clear.
Then like a gleaming diamond; lastly fiery,
Like to a great moon, like a twinkling star;
Thus through the heavens measureless did pass
The lonely sun.
To-day the Litvin people
From all the neighbourhood are gathered round
The chapel ere the sunrise, as to hear
The announcement of some novel miracle.
This gathering from the people’s piety
In part proceeded, part from curiousness;
For this day will the generals be present
At mass in Soplicowo, those renowned
As leaders of our legions, they of whom
The people knew the names, and honoured them
Like patron saints, and all whose wanderings,
Campaigns, and battles were a national
Gospel to Litva.
Now some officers
Had come already, and a crowd of soldiers.
The people flocked around them, on them gazed,
And scarcely might believe their eyes, beholding
Their fellow-countrymen in uniform,
Armed, free, and speaking in the Polish tongue.
Mass was performed. The tiny sanctuary
Might not contain the whole assembly there;
The people kneel upon the grass, and gaze
Inside the chapel doors, uncovering
Their heads. The hair of the Litvanian folk,
Fair-hued or yellow, golden shone like field
Of ripened rye; and blooming here and there
The fair hair of a maiden, with fresh flowers
Adorned, or peacock’s eyes, with ribbons braided,
Adornment of the tresses, gleamed among
The men’s heads, as ’mid wheat cornflowers and tares.
The many-coloured, kneeling crowd o’erspread
The field, and at the bell’s voice, as it were
At blowing of the wind, the heads all bowed,
As corn-ears in a field.
The village maids
To-day unto our Lady’s altar bear
Spring’s earliest gifts, fresh branches of green herbs;
All round in garlands and in nosegays dressed,
Altar and picture, and the belfry even,
And galleries. At times the morning breeze,
When blowing from the east, the garlands strips,
And throws on brows of kneeling worshippers,
And scatters them like fragrance from the censers.
But when the Mass and sermon both were done,
Presiding o’er the whole assembly now
The Chamberlain came forth, elected Marshal,248
With one accord, by all the District’s States,
Wearing the Palatinal uniform,
A zupan gold-embroidered, the kontusz
Of Tours brocade with fringes, massy girdle,
Where hung a sabre with a shagreen hilt,
And a great diamond pin gleamed at his neck.
White his Confederate cap, and thereupon
A bunch of precious feathers; crests were these
Of herons white; on festivals alone
Is worn so rich a plume, whose every feather
A ducat costs. Thus clad, upon a hill
Before the church he mounted. Round him pressed
The villagers and soldiers. Thus he spoke:

“Brothers, the priest has late to you proclaimed
The freedom which the Emperor-king restored
Unto the crown, and now to Litva’s Duchy;
Restored unto all Poland; ye have heard
The government decrees, and convocation
Summoning the Diet. I have but to speak
A few words to the people, on a matter
Concerning the Soplica family,
Lords of this place.
“The region all remembers
The crime committed by the late Pan Jacek
Soplica here; but since you all do know
His crimes, ’tis time we likewise should proclaim
His merits to the world. The leaders of
Our armies here are present, from whom I
Have learned all that which now I tell to you.
This Jacek did not die, as rumour said,
In Rome, but only changed his former life,
And state, and name, and all his crimes against
God and the Fatherland he has effaced
By holy life, and by great deeds.
“ ’Twas he,
At Hohenlinden, who, when General Richepanse,
Half-beaten, did bethink him of retreat,
Unknowing Kniaziewicz with help drew near;—
He, Jacek, Robak called, through swords and spears,
Bore letters from Kniaziewicz to Richepanse,
Announcing our men took the foe in rear.249
He later on in Spain, when that our lancers
Did capture Somosierra’s trenched crest,250
At Kozieltulski’s side was wounded twice.
Then, as an envoy, charged with secret orders,
To different regions travelled he, to sound
The spirit of the people, to unite
Secret societies, and form them. Lastly,
In Soplicowo, his paternal nest,
When he an insurrection did prepare,
He perished in a foray. Just upon
His death intelligence to Warsaw came,
His Majesty the Emperor had deigned
To give him for his late heroic deeds
The ensigns chivalrous of Honour’s Legion.251

“Wherefore all these things having in regard,
I, representing here the Wojewode’s rule,
With my Confederation staff, proclaim
To you, that Jacek by his faithful service,
And by the Emperor’s favour, has effaced
The stain of infamy, and now returns
To honour, and again he finds a place
In ranks of truest patriots. Therefore who
Shall dare remind the family of Jacek
Of his long-expiated fault, shall fall
Beneath the punishment of such reproach,
As gravis notoe macula declare,
The statute’s words; such penalty affects
Both militem and scartabel,252 who shall
Put infamy upon a citizen;
And since equality does now prevail,
Burghers and peasants this third article
Likewise obliges.253 Let this Marshal’s order
The district Writer in the general Acts
Inscribe, and let the Wozny set it forth.

“As touches now the cross of Honour’s Legion,
That it arrived too late shall not detract
From glory. If it might not Jacek serve
As ornament, be it a memory of him.
Let us suspend it on his grave. Three days
Let it hang here; then in the chapel lay
The cross, a votive offering to the Virgin.”

This saying, the order from its covering
He drew, and hung upon the humble cross
That marked the grave a crimson ribbon, tied
In form of a cockade, and that white cross,
Glittering with stars and with its golden crown.
And in the sunbeams brightly shone the stars,
Like the last gleam of Jacek’s earthly glory.
Meanwhile the people said upon their knees
The Angelus, for peace eternal praying
Unto the sinner’s soul. The Judge addressed
The guests and village crowd, inviting all
To Soplicowo for the banquet.
But
Upon the grassy bank before the house
Two old men sat, two measures full of mead
Upon their knees; they towards the orchard gaze,
Where like a sunflower, ’mid the poppy-buds
Of various hue, there stood a lancer, wearing
A shining kolpak, decked with golden metal
And a cock’s feather; near to him a girl
In dress as green as lowly rue, upraised
Eyes blue as heart’s-ease flowers towards the lad’s.
Young maidens in the garden further off,
Were gathering flowers; purposely they turned
Their heads away from where the lovers stood,
So that they might not trouble their discourse.

But those two old men drank their mead, and from
A snuff-box made of bark regaled each other,
And talked.
“Yes, yes, dear old Protasy,” said
Gervasy, Klucznik.—“Yes, dear old Gervasy,”
Protasy, Wozny, said.—“Yes, yes, just so,”
They in accord repeated many times,
Nodding their heads thereto. At length the Wozny:
“That wondrously this suit has ended I
Do not deny, yet there are precedents;
I can remember lawsuits during which
Far worse excesses happened than in ours,
But intermarriage ended all the evil.
Lopot to the Borzdobohaci
Was reconciled, the Krepsztuls to the house
Of Kupsc, and to Pikturna Putrament;
Mackiewicz to the Odyniec family,
And Turno unto the Kwileckis. But
What say I? Why, the Poles were used to have
With Litva disagreements worse by far
Than those of the Horeszkos and Soplica;
But Queen Jadwiga, when she counsel took,
Did quickly end that feud without the courts.
’Tis well when parties have a maid or widow
To give in marriage, thus a compromise
Is always ready. Lawsuits always last
The longest with the clergy, or with kindred
Too near related, for the action then
May never be with marriage brought to end.
Thence come the unending feuds of Poles and Russians,
Since they proceed from Lech and Russ, own brothers;254
Thence were so many Lithuanian suits
With the Crusaders, till Jagellon won.
Thence, to conclude, pendebat long before
The acts, that famous lawsuit of the Rymszas
With the Dominicans, whence rose the proverb,
‘The Lord is greater than Pan Rymsza.’ But
I’ll warrant, mead is better than the Penknife.”
This saying, he clinked his goblet with the Klucznik’s.

“True, true,” replied Gervasy, greatly moved;
“Wondrous have been the fortunes of our Crown,
And of our Litva! Truly, like two consorts,
Heaven did unite them, and the devil part.
To Heaven his own, and to the devil his.
Ah! brother dear, Protasy, that our eyes
Should see this! that these dwellers of the Crown
Salute us! I served with them years ago,
I well remember they were brave Confederates.
If but the Pantler, my late master, had
Lived to behold this day! O Jacek! Jacek!
But why should we lament? This very day
Our Litva once more joineth with the Crown,
That too is reconciled, is blotted out.”

“And this a wonder is,” Protasy said,
“Concerning this Sophia, for whose hand
Our Thaddeus now entreats—a year ago
There was an omen, like a sign from Heaven.”
“Lady Sophia!” broke the Klucznik in,
“We now must call her, since she is grown up;
She is not a little girl; besides, she is
Of dignitary blood, the Pantler’s grandchild.
However,” did Protasy end, “there was
A sign prophetic of her destiny.
I saw the sign with mine own eyes. A year
Ago, our household on a holiday
Did sit here, drinking mead; but as we looked,
Down from the gable fell two sparrows fighting.
Both were old cock-birds; one, the younger, had
A patch of grey beneath the throat, the other
A black one; they went scuffling through the court,
Still turning somersaults, until they rolled
Deep in the dust. We looked on, and meanwhile
The servants whispered to each other, ‘Let
The black one be Horeszko, and the other
Soplica;’ so as often as the grey
Was uppermost, they cried, ‘Long live Soplica!’
‘Fie! fie! Horeszko coward!’ and when he fell,
They cried, Up, up, Soplica! give not in
Unto the magnate; shame ’twere for a noble!’
Thus jesting did we wait to see who conquered.
But just then little Sophy, moved with pity
For those two birds, ran up, and covered o’er
Both heroes with her little hand; they fought
Together in her hand, until their plumage
Flew wide, such rage was in those little devils!
The old women whispered, looking on Sophia,
That it was surely the girl’s destiny
To reconcile two houses long at feud.
And now I see, to-day has rendered true
The old women’s omen, though in truth they then
Were thinking of the Count, and not of Thaddeus.”

Thereto the Klucznik answered: “Wonderful
Events are in this world; who all can fathom?
I’ll also tell you something; although not
So wondrous as that omen, yet ’tis hard
Of understanding. Thou dost know, that once
I had been glad to drown the family
Of the Soplicas in a spoon of water;255
But yet this little fellow Thaddeus
I was extremely fond of from a child.
I saw that when he fought with other boys,
He always beat them; so as oft as he
Ran to the castle, I would put him up
To some hard undertaking; he did all.
Were it to get down pigeons from the tower,
Or pluck the mistletoe from off the oak,
Or plunder crows’ nests from the highest pines,
He did it all! I said unto myself—
‘This lad is born beneath a lucky star;
A pity ’tis that he is a Soplica!’
But who had guessed the castle should in him
Welcome its heir, the husband of my lady
Sophia, my most gracious mistress?”
Here
The old men left off their discourse, and drank,
Deep thinking; only now and then were heard
These few short words—“Yes, yes, master Gervasy;”
“Yes, yes, master Protasy.”
The green bank
Touched close upon the kitchen, whereof stood
The window open, and the steam burst forth,
As from a conflagration; till from out
The wreaths of steam, like to a white dove, gleamed
The chief cook’s white cap; through the kitchen window
The Wojski o’er the old men’s heads his own
Put forth, in silence listening their discourse;
And offered them a saucer full of biscuits,
Saying, “Eat these with your mead, and I meanwhile
Will tell to you a curious history
Of a dispute that well-nigh ended in
A bloody fight, when, hunting in the depths
Of Naliboko’s forests, Rejtan played
A trick to Prince Denassau. This same trick
He well-nigh paid for with his own life. I
Composed the quarrel of these gentlemen,
As I will now relate to you.”256 But here
The cooks broke off the Wojski’s story, asking
Whom he had charged to arrange the centre-piece.

The Wojski went away, and having emptied
Their mead, the old men, in deep thought, their eyes
Turned to the garden depths, where held discourse
That handsome lancer with the maiden. He
Just then within his left hand taking hers—
The right was in a sling, for he was wounded—
“Sophia, thou now must tell me once for all
Ere we change rings. I must be sure of this.
What matter that last winter thou wert ready
To give thy word to me? I would not then
Accept that word. For what to me availed
A promise forced? At that time I had stayed
Short time in Soplicowo. I was not
So vain I could delude myself to thinking
That by one look of mine I could awake
Within thee love. I am no coxcomb; I
By mine own merits wished to gain thy love,
Though long I waited for it. Now thou art
So gracious as to give once more thy word.
By what have I deserved so high a grace?
Maybe thou takest me, Sophia, not
So much from inclination, only that
Thine uncle and thine aunt to this persuade thee.
But marriage is, Sophia, a weighty thing.
Advise with thine own heart; in this attend
No threatenings of thine uncle, nor thine aunt’s
Persuasions. If thou feelest nought for me
But goodwill, we may this betrothal yet
Some time delay. I have no wish to bind
Thy will, and we will wait awhile, Sophia.
Nought hurries us, since yester evening I
Received commandment to remain in Litva,
Drill-master in the regiment here, until
My wounds be healed. What then, beloved Sophia?”

Thereto Sophia answered, raising up
Her head, and looking shyly in his eyes:
“I do not well remember what occurred
Long since; I know they all said that I must
Be married to you; always I agree
With Heaven’s will, and with my elders’ wish.”
Then dropping down her eyes, she added this:
“Before you parted, if you recollect,
When Friar Robak died that stormy night,
I saw that, in departing, you were grieved
To leave us; there were tears within your eyes.
Those tears, I tell you truly, sank within
My heart, so I believe you, that you love me.
As often as I prayed for your success,
You ever stood before me with those large
And shining tears. The Chamberlain’s wife then
Went afterwards to Wilna, and she took me
There with her for the winter; but I longed
For Soplicowo, and that little room,
Where first at eve you met me by the table;
And then took leave. I know not how, your memory,
Something like cabbage-seed in autumn sown,
Through all the winter quickened in my heart;
That, as I said to you, unceasingly
I longed for that apartment, and to me
Did something whisper, I again should find
You there, and so it happened. Having that
Within my heart, your name was often on
My lips; ’twas during Carnival at Wilna;
And the young ladies said I was in love.
Now if I some one loved, who should it be,
Excepting you?” Thaddeus, with such a proof
Of love delighted, took her by the hand,
Pressed it, and they together left the garden,
Went to that lady’s bower, unto that room
Where Thaddeus had dwelt ten years ago.

Now there the Regent tarried, wondrously
Adorned, and served his fair betrothèd dame,
With running to and fro, and offering
Rings, chains, and pots, and flasks, cosmetics, perfumes;
Joyful, he gazed with triumph on the bride.
The bride her toilette ended even now;
She sat before a mirror, taking counsel
Of the divinities of grace; the maids,
Some with the curling-irons renew the stiffened
Rings of the tresses, others, kneeling, labour
Upon the flounces.
While the Regent thus
Near his betrothed was busy, at the window
A scullion knocked; a hare had just been seen.
That hare, late stolen from the osiers forth,
Ran through the meadow, in the orchard sprang
Among the growing vegetables. There
He sat, ’twere easy now to start him, and
To hunt him down, the greyhounds placing on
The clearing. The Assessor hastens, dragging
By the collar Sokol; after him makes haste
The Regent, calling Kusy. Both the dogs
The Wojski stations by the hedge, but then
Betook him with his fly-scare to the orchard.
Trampling, and whistling, clapping, much he frightens
The game; the prickers, each one by the collar
His greyhound holding, pointing where the hare
Is stirring, chuckled silently; the dogs
Pricked up their ears impatiently, they trembled,
Like arrows twain upon one bowstring laid.
At once the Wojski gave the starting word;
The hare straight darted from behind the hedge,
Upon the mead; the greyhounds after him.
And presently, without a double, Sokol
And Kusy fell together on the hare,
From two sides in an instant, like a bird’s
Two wings, and plunged into the creature’s back
Their teeth-like claws; the hare gave forth one cry,
Grievous, as of a new-born child. The prickers
Rushed to the spot; the hare now lifeless lies,
The greyhounds tear the white fur on his breast.

The prickers stroked their dogs; meanwhile the Wojski
Drew from his girdle forth a hunting-knife,
Cut off the feet, and said, “To-day the dogs
Shall have an equal fee, for they have both
Won equal glory, equal both in swiftness,
Equal in labour; ‘Worthy is the palace
Of Pac, and Pac is worthy of the palace;’257
Worthy the prickers of their greyhounds, worthy
The greyhounds of their prickers. Here, behold,
Your long and bitter quarrel now is done.
I, whom you chose as judge to hold your stakes,
Pronounce at length my sentence; both of you
Have won; the pledges I restore; let each
Receive his own again, and both you sign
A peace.” Then at the old man’s invitation
The prickers turned a joyous countenance
Upon each other, and together joined
Their right hands, long divided.
Then the Regent
Said, “Once I staked a horse with all its trappings.
I notice gave before the local court,
That I deposited my ring as fee
Unto our Judge; a pledge deposited,
Returned may not be. Let the Wojski take
This ring as a remembrance, and command
His name to be thereon engraved, or, if
He will, Hreczecha’s arms. The bloodstone’s smooth,
The gold was tried eleven times. That steed
The lancers for the horse have requisitioned;
But still the saddle has remained with me.
’Tis praised by every connoisseur, as being
Convenient, lasting, lovely as a toy.
The saddle, in the Turkish Cossack style,
Is narrow; in the front a pommel is;
Upon it precious stones, a cushion of
Rich stuff upon the seat; and when you spring
Unto the saddle-bow, on this soft down
Between the pommels you may sit at ease
As on a couch; and when you gallop”—here
Regent Bolesta, who, as well we know,
Loved gestures greatly, spread his legs apart,
As though he sprang on horseback, then presenting
A gallop, slowly rocked from side to side—
“And when you set off in a gallop, then
There beams a splendour from the saddle-bow,
As gold were dropping from the charger, for
The stirrup-bands are sprinkled o’er with gold,
And silver the broad stirrups gilded o’er.
Upon the mouth-piece reins, and on the bridle,
Shine little buttons of the pearly shell;
And to the breast-piece hangs a moon in shape
Of Leliwa, that is, of the new moon,258
This splendid unique furniture—’twas captured,
Report says, in the battle of Podhajce,
From some considerable Turkish noble—
Receive, as proof of my regard, Assessor.”
Whereto the Assessor answered, with the gift
Delighted: “I one time my beautiful
Dog-collars, given me by Prince Sanguszko,
Pledged; made of shagreen, all with golden circles
Inlaid, and with a leash of silk, whereof
The workmanship is precious as the stone
That shines upon it. I desired to leave
This set an heirloom to my children—certain
I shall have children, as I shall be married,
Thou knowest, to-day. But, Regent, be so good
As to accept this set, I pray, in change
For thy rich furniture, and in remembrance
Of this dispute, which has prevailed for years,
And has at last so honourably come
To end for both of us. Let peace now flourish
Between us.” So they home returned, to announce
At table that the contest between Sokol
And Kusy now was ended.
Stories were
The Wojski in the house had nurtured up
This hare, and secretly had let it loose
Into the garden, so to make agreed
The prickers by such conquest, far too light.
The old man with such mystery performed
The trick that he completely had deceived
All Soplicowo. Some years later something
The scullion of this whispered, to renew
The Assessor’s quarrel with the Regent, but
In vain he spread such tales to wrong the dogs;
The Wojski still denied it, and none then
Believed the scullion.
Now the guests assembled
In the great banquet-hall, the banquet waiting,
Conversed around the table, when the Judge
Entered, in Palatinal uniform,
And led in Master Thaddeus and Sophia.
Thaddeus, his forehead with the left hand touching,
Saluted with a soldier’s bow his leaders.
Sophia, with glances cast upon the earth,
Blushing, the guests with curtsy welcomed, taught
By Telimena now to curtsy well.
She wore a garland on her head, in sign
Of spousal; for the rest, her dress was such
As when to-day within the chapel she
Laid spring sheaves for the Virgin. She once more
Had reaped fresh bunches for the guests of herbs;
With one hand she distributes flowers and grass,
The other hand adjusts the shining sickle
Upon her head. The leaders took the herbs,
Kissing her hands. Sophia once again
Curtsied all round, deep blushing.
General
Kniaziewicz then raised her in his arms,
And printing on her brow a father’s kiss,
Raised up the girl, and set her on the table.
Applauding, all cried, “Bravo!” all enchanted
With the girl’s beauty, but especially
By her Litvanian dress, its simpleness;
Since for these leaders, who in wandering life,
So long in foreign parts throughout the world,
Had journeyed, wondrous charms the native dress
Possessed, as it recalled to them their youth,
And former loves. Therefore, well-nigh with tears,
They thronged around the table; eagerly
They gazed. Some pray Sophia would uplit
Her head a little, and would show her eyes;
Some that she condescend to turn around.
The bashful maiden turned, but with her hands
Still veiled her eyes. Most joyful, Thaddeus gazed,
And rubbed his hands together.
Whether some one
Had given Sophia counsel to appear
In such a dress, or she by instinct knew—
For every girl by instinct can divine
What suits her countenance—it is enough
That for the first time in her life Sophia
This morning was by Telimena scolded
For her self-will, no fashionable dress
Desiring, until she by tears prevailed
That she might thus be left, in simple dress.

She had a long, white petticoat, the dress
Short, of green camlet, with a rosy hem;
The bodice likewise green, with rosy ribbons,
Laced cross-wise from the bosom to the neck,
The bosom underneath, hid like a bud
Beneath a leaf; white from the shoulders gleamed
The shift-sleeves, like the wings of butterflies
Expanded for their flight; these at the wrist
Were gathered, and with ribbon fastened there.
The neck was likewise by the narrow shift
Surrounded, with its collar girded up
By a rosy breast-knot; earrings artfully
Carved out of cherry-stones, whose fashioning
Had been Dobrzynski’s pride; two tiny hearts
Were there, with dart and flame, given to Sophia,
When Bustard wooed her. And upon the collar
There hung two strings of amber. On her shoulders
Sophia had thrown the ribbons of her tresses,
And on her forehead placed, as reapers wont,
A curvèd sickle, polished recently
By reaping grass, bright, like the crescent moon
Upon Diana’s brow.
All praised, all clapped.
One of the officers from out his pocket
Drew a portfolio, with some folds of paper.
He spread them out, his pencil sharpened, moistened,
Looked on Sophia, and drew. Scarce saw the Judge
The paper and the pencil, when he knew
The sketcher, though a Colonel’s uniform,
Rich epaulettes, a truly lancer mien,
A darkened moustache, and a Spanish beard
Had changed him greatly, yet the Judge him knew.
“How are you, my Illustrious, gracious Count?
And have you in your cartridge-box your travelling
Painting materials?” ’Twas the Count indeed;
Not long a soldier, but because he owned
Large revenues, and at his own expense
A regiment had of cavalry equipped,
And in the first fight borne him gallantly,
The Emperor on that day had named him Colonel.
So did the Judge salute the Count, and on
His rank congratulated him; the Count
Heard nothing, but still drew with diligence.

Meanwhile the second pair betrothed came in.
The Assessor, once the Czar’s, to-day Napoleon’s
Devoted servant; under his command
He had a body of gendarmes, and though
Scarce twenty hours in office, he already
Wore the grey uniform with Polish facings,
And dragged a crooked sabre at his side,
And clinked his spurs. With stately step beside him,
Came his beloved, magnificently dressed,
Thekla Hreszczanka, for the Assessor long
Had cast off Telimena, and as more
To sadden this coquette, his true affections
Had turned towards the Wojszczanka now.
Not over-young the bride was, she well-nigh
Reached middle age, but a good manager,
With dignity and dowry; for besides
A hamlet she inherited, the Judge
Her dowry by a small sum had increased.

The third pair vainly they long time await:
The Judge impatient grew, and servants sent.
Returning, these bring answer, the third bridegroom,
The Regent, starting forth the hare, had lost
The ring; he sought it in the meadow, and
The Regent’s lady, though herself she hastes,
And though the serving-women her assist,
Cannot by any means her toilette end.
She scarcely will at four o’clock be ready.

Book
XII

Let Us Love One Another

The last old-Polish banquet—The Arch-service—Explanation of its figures—Its movements—Dombrowski receives a present—More about the Penknife—Kniaziewicz receives a present—First exercise of authority by Thaddeus on taking possession—Observations by Gervasy—A concert of concerts—The Polonaise—Let us love one another.

At length the doors flew open with loud noise.
The Wojski entered in a cap, with head
Upraised, he nor saluted, nor took place
At table, for the Wojski cometh forth.
In a new semblance; marshal of the court,
He bears a wand in sign of office; with
That wand he points to all a seat, and places
The guests in turn. First, as the highest ruler
Within the district, took the Chamberlain—
Marshal the seat of honour, velvet chair,
With ivory arms! Beside him, on the right,
Sat General Dombrowski, on the left
Were Kniaziewicz, and Pac, and Malachowski;
’Mid them the lady of the Chamberlain.
Then other ladies, officers and lords,
Nobles and country people, men and women,
Alternately, by couples, sit in order,
Where’er the Wojski indicates.
The Judge,
Saluting, left the banquet. In the courtyard
He must regale the peasant company.
Behind a table he had gathered them
Two furlongs long; himself sat at one end,
And at the other sat the parish priest.
Thaddeus and Sophia did not sit
At table; busied with the entertaining,
They ate while walking; ’twas an ancient custom,
At the first banquet, that the new possessors
Themselves should serve the people.
In the meantime
The guests, while dishes waited in the hall,
On the great centre-piece astonished looked,
Its metal precious as the workmanship.
Tradition says Prince Radziwill the Orphan
Had caused this set in Venice to be made,
And from his own designs to be adorned,
In Polish fashion. Then the centre-piece
Was captured in the Swedish war; it came,
None knew in what way, to a noble house.
To-day, it had been taken from the treasury,
And occupied the middle of the board
With its great circle, as a cart-wheel broad.

The service was o’erlaid, from depth to border,
With froth and sugar snowy-white; it showed
A winter landscape excellently well.
In midst rose black a mighty sweetmeat grove;
Around were houses like to villages,
And nobles’ farmsteads,259 spread with sugar froth
Instead of rime-frost; on the margin stood
Vessels for ornament, small personages,
Fashioned of porcelain, in Polish dresses,
And like to actors on a stage they seemed
Presenting some events; their gesture given
Most artfully, the colours vivid, voice
Alone they wanted, otherwise alive.

“What should these represent?” the guests inquired.
Thereon the Wojski raised his wand on high,
And thus discoursed—meanwhile was wódka given,
Before they ate—“By the permission of
The gracious gentlemen, these personages
That here you countless see, present a history
Of Polish sejmiks, councils, voting, triumphs,
And quarrels. I myself this scene imagined,
And will explain it to you.
“Here, to right,
You see a numerous crowd of noblemen
Before the Diet to a banquet asked.
The table waiteth covered; no one seats
The guests; they stand in groups, each group takes counsel.
Look, in the midst of every group there stands
A man, whose opened lips, whose lifted eyes,
Unquiet hands, denote the orator.
Explaining somewhat, with his finger he
Doth emphasise his speaking, with his hand.
He illustrates his meaning. Here are speakers
Who recommend their candidate, with various
Success, as from their brother nobles’ mien
You may perceive.
“True, in this second group
The nobles list attentive, this one plants
His hands upon his girdle, lends his ear.
That one his hand holds to his ear, and twirls
In silence his moustache; he probably
Collects the words, and in his memory strings them.
The orator rejoices, for he sees
They are convinced, and stroketh down his pouch.
He has their votes already in his pouch.

“But in the third assembly other things
Are passing. Here the orator must seize
The hearers by their girdles. Look, they wrest
Themselves away, retire their ears. Look how
This hearer swells with rage; he lifts his hands,
Threatens the orator, and stops his mouth,
Hearing, no doubt, the praises of his rival;
This other, stooping like a bull his head,
You’d say to take the speaker on his horns;
Some draw their sabres, some take to their heels.

“One noble silent stands among the groups;
We see he is an independent man.
He hesitates and fears—how shall he vote?
Not knowing, and in conflict with himself,
He asks of fate, he lifts his hand, puts forth
The forefingers, half-shuts his eyes, with nail
Takes aim at nail; this conjuring will confirm
His vote, for if the fingers meet, he gives
A vote affirmative, but if they miss,
He casts a negative.
“The left presents
Another scene—a convent dining-hall,
Turned to a hall of meeting of the nobles.
The elders on a bench sit in a row,
The young men stand, and gaze with eagerness
Betwixt the heads towards the centre. Midmost
The Marshal stands; in hand he holds the urn,
He counts the balls, the nobles with their eyes
Devour them, in this instant he has shaken
The last one out; the heralds lift their hands,
Proclaim the elected legislator’s name.

“One nobleman heeds not the general concord.
Look, from the window of the convent kitchen
He thrusts his head; look how his eyes start forth;
How bold he looks, how wide he opes his lips,
As though he would the chamber all devour.
Easy it is to guess this nobleman
Has cried out, “Veto!” Look how, at this sudden
Kindling of quarrel, to the doors the throng
Rush, to the kitchen certainly they go;
They have drawn their sabres, sure a bloody fight
Will now begin.
“But in the corridor,
Consider, gentlemen, this ancient priest,
Who wears a cope. This is the prior; he bears
The Host from off the altar; and a boy,
Clad in a surplice, sounds a bell, and craves
Admission; presently the nobles sheathe
Their sabres, cross themselves, and kneel. The priest
Turns to that quarter where the sword yet clashes.
Soon as he comes all peaceful is and still.

“Ah! you, young sirs, cannot remember this,
How ’mid our stormy and free-ruling nobles,
All armed, no need at all was of police;
While faith was flourishing and laws respected,
Then freedom was with order, and abundance
Of glory! But in other lands, I hear,
The government maintaineth soldiery,
Police, gendarmes, and constables; but if
The sword alone can guard the public safety,
That in these lands is Freedom I believe not.”
Just then, upon his snuff-box tapping, spoke
The Chamberlain: “Sir Wojski, please to lay
Aside till later on these histories.
Truly the sejmik is most interesting,
But we are hungry. Order that the dishes
Be brought in.”
Thereunto the Wojski, lowering
His wand unto the ground: “Illustrious,
Most Powerful Chamberlain, allow me pray
This favour. I will end at once the last
Scene of these diets. Here is the new Marshal,
Borne by his partisans from the refect’ry.
Look how the brother nobles throw their caps
Aloft, they ope their lips to cry, ‘Long live!’
But there, upon the other side, the noble
Outvoted, lonely, on his moody brow
Has pressed his cap. His wife before the house
Awaits him; she has guessed what late occurred.
Poor woman! in her servant’s arms she faints!
Poor woman! for she thought to have the title,
Illustrious, Most Powerful; but again
For three years she is only a Most Powerful.”

The Wojski ended his description here,
And gave a signal with his wand. And soon
With dishes lackeys entered, two and two;
The soups, the barszcz,260 called royal, and the rosol261
Of ancient Poland, artfully prepared;
Thereto the Wojski had with wondrous secrets
Cast in some small pearls, and a piece of money.
Such rosol purifies the blood, and health
Doth fortify. Then followed other dishes;—
But who shall tell their names? who understand
These, in our times already quite unknown?—
Those fishes, salmon from the Danube, dried,
Venetian and Turkish caviar,
Soles, carp, and mackerel, pike and “noble carp.”
At last a mystery of cookery,
A fish uncut, fried slightly at the head,
And roasted in the centre, at the tail
Some preparation made with sauce.
The guests
Nor asked the names of all these dishes, nor
That wondrous secret stayed them; quick they ate
All things with soldiers’ appetite, and filled
Their goblets up with wine of Hungary.

But in the meantime the great service262 changed
Its colour; bare of snow, it now looked green.
For that light sugary froth, now gradually
Warmed by the summer’s heat, had melted, and
The under side discovered, hitherto
Concealed from the eye; and so the landscape
Presented a new season of the year.
It shone with green and many-coloured spring;
There came forth various grains, as on the ways
They grow; the saffron wheat luxuriant,
With golden ears, the rye with silver leaves,
And buckwheat, formed by art, of chocolate,
And pear and apple orchards blossoming.

The guests have scarcely time to enjoy the gifts
Of summer; vainly they entreat the Wojski
But to prolong them, for the service now
Like to the planet, in its destined orbit,
Changes its season; now the painted grains,
Golden, have gathered warmth within the room,
And gradually melt, the grass turns yellow,
The leaves turn red, and fall; thou wouldst have said
An autumn wind was blowing; at the last
Those trees, late well-adorned, appearing stripped
By storm-winds and by hoar frost, naked stand.
They were but twigs of cinnamon, or branches
Of bay twigs, counterfeiting pine-trees, dressed
With needles, that were seeds of carraway.

The guests, while drinking, stript the branches off
The stems and bark, and ate them with their wine.
The Wojski viewed his service all around,
And full of joy triumphant glances turned
Upon the guests.
Henry Dombrowski showed
Immense astonishment, and said, “Sir Wojski,
Were those Chinean shadows? has Pineti
Given you his devils to your service?263 are
Such services in general use in Litva?
Do all hold banquets with such ancient customs?
Pray tell me; I have spent my life abroad.”

The Wojski answered, bowing: “No, Illustrious,
Most Powerful General, no godless art
Is this. ’Tis but a memory of those feasts,
Renowned in lordly houses of old times,
When Poland happiness and power enjoyed.
What I have done I gathered from this book.
Thou askest, whether everywhere in Litva
This custom is preserved. Alas! new fashions
Among us even have crept in. Not one
Young lord cries out, he suffers no excess;
So like a Jew he stints his guests in meat,
And drink; will grudge Hungarian wine, and drink
Satanic, falsified, and modern wines
Of Muscovy, Champagne; then in the evening
Loses at cards full gold enough to give
A banquet to a hundred brother nobles.
Why, even—for what is in my heart to-day
I’ll truly speak, let but the Chamberlain
Not take this ill of me—when I drew out
This wondrous service from the treasury,
Why, even the Chamberlain did laugh at me,
And said it was a wearisome machine,
An old-world thing, it seemed a toy for children,
Unsuitable to such illustrious men.
The Judge! the Judge said, it would tire the guests.
And ne’ertheless, from that astonishment
I caused you, gentlemen, I well perceive
That this fine art was worthy to be seen.
I know not if another such occasion
Will come to entertain in Soplicowo
Such dignitaries. I see, General,
You knowledge have of banquets. Pray accept
This book. It will be useful to you when
You give a banquet to a company
Of foreign monarchs, bah! ev’n to Napoleon!
But let me, ere I consecrate this book
To you, relate the chance whereby it fell
Into my hands.”
This instant rose a murmur
Outside the door, together many voices
Cried, “Long live Weathercock!” Into the hall
A crowd did press, with Matthew at their head.
The Judge his guest conducted to the board,
And placed him high among the generals,
And said, “Sir Matthew, you are no good neighbour,
You have arrived too late, when dinner is
Nigh over.”—“I am early,” said Dobrzynski.
“I came not here for eating, but because
I had the curiosity to view
Our national army nearer. There is much
To talk of, but ’tis neither here nor there.
The nobles saw and dragged me here by force,
And you have seated me at table. Thanks,
My neighbour.” Having said this, upside down
He turned his plate, as sign he would not eat,
And kept a gloomy silence.
“Friend Dobrzynski,”
Said to him General Dombrowski, “you
Are that renowned swordsman of Kosciuszko,
That Matthew called the Rod. I know you from
Your fame. But, prithee, how art thou preserved
So vigorous, so active? what long years
Have passed away. Look, I am growing old,
Look, even Kniaziewicz is somewhat grey,
But thou might’st hold thine own with young men still.
And does thy Rod yet flourish as ere time?
I heard that thou didst discipline the Russians
Not long ago. But where are now thy brothers?
I should exceedingly rejoice to see
Those Penknives, and your Razors, last examples
Of ancient Lithuania.”
“General,”
Replied the Judge, “after that victory,
Nearly the whole of the Dobrzynskis took
Refuge within the Duchy, probably
They went into some legion.”—“Ay, indeed,”
Said a young officer of squadron, “I
Have in the second company a whiskered
Scarecrow, Dobrzynski, who doth call himself
The Sprinkler, but the Polish soldiers call him
The Lithuanian Bear. But if the General
Commands it, we will fetch him here.”—“There are,”
Said a lieutenant, “others by their race
Of Litva, one a soldier, called by name
The Razor, and one more who with a trombone
Rides on the flank; and also in a regiment
Of shooters, two Dobrzynskis, grenadiers.”

“But, but—about their chief,” the General
Replied; “I wish to know about this Penknife,
Of which the Wojski told me such great wonders,
As of some giant of the elder time.”
“The Penknife,” said the Wojski, “though he went
Not into exile, yet as fearing inquest,
Concealed himself from search of Muscovites.
The poor man wandered all the winter long
Among the forests, lately he came forth.
He might be useful in these warlike times,
For ’tis a valiant man, ’tis only pity
He’s somewhat pressed by age. But there he is.”
The Wojski pointed in the hall, where stood
Servants and village folk together crowded.
But over all the heads gleamed suddenly
A shining bald pate, like to a full moon.
Three times it issued forth, and three times vanished
Amid the cloud of heads. The Klucznik, passing,
Bowed, till he loosed him from the crush, and said:

“Illustrious, Most Powerful Hetman of
The Crown, or General—the title is
A trifling matter—I Rembajlo am.
I stand at your command with this my Penknife,
That not from workmanship, nor from inscriptions,
Nor from the temper of its blade such glory,
Earned, that even you, Illustrious Powerful Sir,
Knew of it. If it could but speak, maybe
It might say something tending to the praise
Ev’n of this ancient hand it served so long;
Faithful, may Heaven be thanked, to Fatherland,
And to the lords of the Horeszko race,
Whose memory still is famous among men.
Mopanku seldom any district Writer
So deftly trims his pen, as this does heads.
’Twere long to reckon up. And ears and noses
Countless! And on this Penknife is no notch,
And never any murderous deed has stained it.
Once only!-give him, Lord, eternal rest!—
An unarmed man, alas! it once despatched.
But even that, God be my witness, was
Pro bono publico.”
“Well, show it here,”
Said General Dombrowski, laughing. “But
It is a handsome Penknife, truly ’tis
A headsman’s sword!” With great astonishment
He looked upon the rapier, and in turn
Showed it to all the other officers.
They proved it all, but scarcely one of them
Could lift this rapier. It is said Dembinski,264
Renowned for strength of arm, might have upraised
This sabre, but he was not there. Of those
Then present, only might Dwernicki, chief
Of squadron, and Rosycki, of platoon
Lieutenant, turn this iron pole around;
And thus the rapier went from hand to hand,
In turn, on proof.
But General Kniaziewicz,
The most illustrious in stature, showed
That he was likewise strongest in the arm.
Holding the rapier lightly, as a sabre,
He raised it, and above all heads he made
Its lightnings gleam, remembering all the arts
Of Polish fencing, cross-stroke, mill, and curved
Stroke, stolen cut, and thrusts of contrapunt,
Of tercets, which he likewise understood,
For he was of the School of Cadets.
As
He fenced thus, laughing, did Rembajlo kneel,
Embrace him round the knees, and cry with tears,
At every turn the sword made: “Beautiful;
Say, General, wert thou a Confederate?
Most beautiful, most perfectly! That is
Pulawski’s thrust, thus Dzierzanowski stood.
That is the thrust of Sawa!265 who thus formed
Your hand, except Matthias Dobrzynski? But
That, General, is my invention. Heaven
Forbid! I do not praise myself! That stroke
Is only in the zascianek known
Of the Rembajlos, from my name ’tis called
Mopanku’s stroke. Who taught it to you, sir?
That is my own stroke, mine!” He rose, the General
Seizing in his embrace. “Now shall I die
In peace. There’s yet upon the earth a man
Who will my dear child cherish! For indeed
Both day and night I long have sorely grieved,
Lest this my rapier rust when I am dead.
Behold, it shall not rust! My most Illustrious,
Most Powerful General, pardon me, throw off
Those spits, those German swords; to a noble child
’Twere shame to wear those sticks. Take here a sword
That suits a noble! This my Penknife I
Here lay before your feet, the dearest thing
That in the world I own. I never had
A wife, I have no child; it was to me
Both wife and child; it never left my arms.
From morn till twilight have I cherished it;
By night it slept beside me, and when I
Grew old, it on the wall hung o’er my couch,
As o’er a Jew the Lord’s commandments. I
Have thought it should be buried in my grave,
Together with my hand. But I have found An heir.
Thee let it serve.”
The General,
Half-laughing, with emotion half o’ercome,
“Comrade,” he said, “if thou dost yield thy wife
And child to me, through thy remaining years
Thou wilt be very lonely, old and widower,
And childless. Tell me, by what gift shall I
Repay thee, and by what thy childless state
And widowhood assuage?”—“Am I Cybulski?”266
The Klucznik said in grief, “who lost his wife,
At cards unto a Muscovite, the tale
The song relates? It is enough for me,
That yet my Penknife shines before the world,
In such a hand. But, General, remember
The sword-belt must be long, extended well,
For it is long, and aye from the left ear
Strike with both edges, so shalt thou cut through
From head to belly.”
Then the General
The Penknife took, but since it was so long,
He could not wear it; so the servants laid it
Safe in the baggage wagon. What of it
Became, concerning that were differing tales,
But none for certain knew, nor then, nor after.

Dombrowski said to Matthew, “How now, comrade!
’Twould seem my coming does not much rejoice thee,
Silent and sour! Why does thy heart not leap
To see the eagles, golden, silver, when
The trumpeters Kosciuszko’s réveille
Sound in thine ears? Matthew, I thought thou wert
A bolder fellow! If thou wilt not draw
Thy sabre, and on horseback mount, at least
Thou’lt drink with thy companions merrily
Unto Napoleon’s and to Poland’s health.

“Ha!” Matthew said, “I see what here is doing.
But, sir, two eagles may not nest together.
Lords’ favour, Hetman, rides on piebald horse.267
The Emperor’s a great warrior, much is there
To talk of. I remember the Pulawskis,268
My friends, were used to say about Dumourier,269—
For Poland there must be a Polish hero,
No Frenchman, nor Italian, but a Piast;270
Must be a John, a Joseph, or a Matthew.
E basta! Army! Polish ’tis, they say;
But fusiliers, and sappers, grenadiers,
And cannoniers; we hear more German titles
Than native in this crowd. Who understands this?
And there must also be among you Turks,
And Tartars, or schismatics, with no God
Or faith. Myself I saw it! they assault
The women in the hamlets, rob the passers,
And pillage churches. Moscow. The Emperor goes to Moscow.
A long way, if his Majesty the Emperor
Has made this undertaking without God.
I have heard he is already under curse
Of a bishop. All this is”—here Matthew dipped
Bread in the soup, and eating, ended not
His sentence.
Matthew’s sayings did not please
The Chamberlain. The younger folk besides
Began to murmur. Then the Judge broke off
These quarrels, by proclaiming the arrival
Of the third pair betrothed.
It was the Regent.
Himself proclaimed himself the Regent, else
None would have known him. Hitherto he had worn
The Polish costume, but now Telimena,
His future wife,271 obliged him by a clause
Of marriage-contract to renounce the kontusz.
And so the Regent willy-nilly dressed
Himself in French costume. Well might be seen
The frac had taken half his soul away.
He stepped as he a stick had swallowed, straight,
Unmoving, like a crane; he dared not look
To right or left; he came with stately mien,
But from his mien one saw he suffered tortures.
He knew not how to bend, or where to place
His hands, who so loved gestures. At his girdle
He would have placed his hands—there was no girdle,
So he but stroked his waist. He saw his error;
And in confusion coloured fiery red,272
And in one pocket of the frac concealed
Both hands. He stepped as though through rods, through whispers
And mockings, shame enduring for the frac,
As for an evil deed. At last he met
The eyes of Matthew, and with fear he trembled.
Matthew till then had been the Regent’s friend;
Now on him such a sharp and savage glance
He turned, that pale the Regent grew, began
To fasten close his buttons, thinking Matthew
Would strip him of the frac by looks alone.
Dobrzynski only twice said loudly, “Fool!”
But such his anger at the Regent’s dress,
That he at once from table rose, without
Leave-taking made his exit, and on horseback
Mounting, returned unto his farmstead home.
But in the meantime did the Regent’s love,
Fair Telimena, all her beauty’s splendours
And of her dress display, from head to foot
All in the newest fashion. What her dress
Or head adornment seemed, ’twere vain to write;
The pen could not exhaust them, only might
The pencil trace those tulles, those blondes, cashmeres,
Those pearls and precious stones, and rosied cheeks,
And lively glances.
Instantly the Count
Had recognised her; with astonishment
All pale he rose from table, sought his sword.
“And is it thou?” he cried, “or do mine eyes
Deceive me? Thou, who in my presence claspest
A stranger’s hand? O faithless being! thou
Most changeful soul! Thou dost not hide with shame
Thy face beneath the earth? Thus art thou mindless
Of such late vows? How credulous I was!
Wherefore have I these ribbons worn? But woe
Unto the rival who affronts me thus!
He shall not to the altar pass, except
Upon my corpse.”
The guests arose, the Regent
Confounded greatly; to appease the rivals
The Chamberlain makes haste. But Telimena,
Leading the Count aside: “As yet,” she whispered,
“The Regent has not taken me to wife.
If you will hinder it, pray tell me so.
But answer me at once, and in few words,
If you do love me? have you hitherto
Not changed your heart? are you prepared to-day
To marry me? at once? to-day? and if
You will, I’ll leave the Regent.” Said the Count:
“O woman! unto me not understood!
Once in thy sentiments thou wast a poet,
And now to me thou seemest nought but prose.
What are your marriages, if aught but chains,
That only fetter hands, and bind not souls?
Believe me, they are only declarations
Without confession; they are obligations,
Which bind not! Two hearts at the world’s far ends
Burning, converse like stars with trembling beams.
Who knows? maybe for this cause towards the sun
The earth aye presses, and is therefore ever
So dear unto the moon; eternally
They gaze upon each other, and for aye
Haste by the shortest way each other toward,
But never can approach”—“Enough of this,”
She interrupted; “I am not a planet!
For Heaven’s sake enough, Count! I am a woman.
I know the rest already. Cease to talk
To me of things not here nor there. And now,
I warn you, if you whisper but one word
To break my wedding off, as true as God
In heaven is, I with these nails will spring
At you, and”—“I will not,” the Count replied,
“Madam, disturb your happiness.” He turned
Away his eyes all full of scorn and grief,
And as to punish his unfaithful love,
He took the daughter of the Chamberlain
For object of his steadfast fires.
The Wojski
Desired to make the angry youths agree
By wise examples; therefore he began
To adduce the wild-boar story in the woods
Of Naliboko, and of Rejtan’s quarrel
With Prince Denassau. But the guests meanwhile
Had left off eating ices, and they went
For coolness from the castle to the court.

There had the peasantry their feast concluded:
Pitchers of mead were circling round; the music
Was tuning now, and calling to the dance.
They sought for Thaddeus, who stood apart,
And whispered something to his future wife:
“Sophia, I must now in a thing of weight
Take counsel with thee; I have asked my uncle,
And he has no objection. Thou dost know,
A large proportion of those villages
I shall possess, according to the law
Revert to thee; these peasants are not mine,
They are thy subjects; I should never dare
Dispose of them without their lady’s will.
But when we have a Fatherland beloved,
Shall villagers enjoy this happy change
By so much only, that it gives to them
Another master? True it is, till now
They have been ruled with kindliness, but after
My death who knows how I shall leave them? I
A soldier am, and we are mortal both.
I am a man, I fear my own caprices.
More safely shall we do, if we renounce
Such rule, and give up the serfs’ destiny
To the protection of the law. Ourselves
Now free, let us the serfs make also free;
Let us bestow on them in heritage
The holding of these lands where they were born,
That by a work of blood they have obtained.
But I must warn thee, that these lands bestowing
Our revenue will lessen, we must live
On moderate fortune. I to frugal life
Am used from childhood; but for thee, Sophia?
Thou art of noble lineage, thou hast spent
Thy childhood in the capital; canst thou
Agree to dwell here in the country, thus
Far from the world, and as a country woman?”

To this Sophia answered modestly:
“I am a woman; counsel unto me
Does not belong, and you will be my husband.
I am too young for counsel. What you do,
To that I shall agree with all my heart.
If, Thaddeus, thou becomest poorer for
Delivering the serfs, thou wilt be all
The dearer to my heart. I little know
About my lineage, and I little care
About it: I remember only this,
That I was a poor orphan, and adopted
By the Soplicas, as a daughter cherished
Within their house, and thence in marriage given.
I do not fear the country; if I once
Lived in a great town, it is long ago,
I have forgotten it;—I always loved
The country, and believe me, that my cocks
And hens amused me more than Petersburg;
And if at times I longed for entertainments,
And company, it was from childishness;
For now I know the city wearies me.
Last winter a short stay in Wilna taught me
That I was born for country life. Amid
Amusements still I longed for Soplicowo.
Nor fear I work, for I am young and strong;
I know how to go round the house, and how
To carry keys, and thou shalt see how I
Will learn housekeeping.”
When Sophia had spoken
These last words, came towards her the astonished
And sour Gervasy. “I know all,” he said.
“The Judge has spoken of this liberty.
But yet I do not understand what this
Can have to do with serfs. I fear me lest
’Tis something German. Liberty indeed
Is not a thing for peasants, but for nobles.
’Tis true that we from Adam all descend;
But I have heard that peasants come from Ham,273
The Jews from Japhet, we nobility
From Shem, and thus as elders rule o’er both;
Yet otherwise the parish priest now teaches.
He says that it has been so formerly,
And in the ancient dispensation; but
When Christ our Lord, though He from kings descended,
Was born among the Jews in peasants’ stable,
He levelled all ranks, and made them agree.
And so thus let it be, if it may not
Be otherwise! Above all, as I hear,
My lady, most Illustrious and Powerful,
Sophia, does agree to all. ’Tis hers
To give command, mine to obey. But only
I warn you, let us give not merely empty
And verbal freedom,274 as among the Russians,
When Pan Karp late deceased did free his serfs,
And with a triple tax the Muscovites
Brought them to famine. Therefore I advise
That by an ancient custom we ennoble
The peasants, and proclaim we give to them
Our crest. My lady on some villages
Confer her Half-goat, Pan Soplica share
The Leliwa with others. That once done,
Rembajlo owns the peasant as his equal,
When he beholds him nobleman, Most Powerful,
With coat-of-arms. The Diet will confirm it.

“But let my lady’s husband have no fear
That giving of the lands will make you poor.
Forbid it, heaven! that I should ever see
The hands of daughter of a dignitary
Cumbered with household labours. There are means
To hinder this. I know a treasure-chest
Within the castle, which contains the plate
Of the Horeszkos, likewise signet-rings,
Medals and jewels, and rich plumes and trappings
Of horses, wondrous sabres, treasure of
The Pantler, in the ground preserved from plunder.
Lady Sophia as inheritrix
Possesses it. I watched it in the castle,
As ’twere the apple of my eye I kept it
From Russians, and from you, Soplicas too.
I have a great bag full of mine own ducats
Besides, collected from my salaries,
Also from gifts of lords. I thought whene’er
The castle was restored to us, to use
The money for repairing of the walls:
To-day for the new housekeeping it seems
Useful at last. Then, Pan Soplica, I
Transfer myself to your house, in my lady’s
I’ll live upon the bread of favour, cradling
From the Horeszkos the third generation,
And to the Penknife mould my lady’s child,
If ’tis a son;—but it a son will be;
For wars are coming, and in time of war
Those born are always sons.”
Gervasy scarce
These last words spake, when with slow, solemn steps
Approached Protasy. Bowing low, from forth
The bosom of his kontusz he produced
A monstrous panegyric,275 written on
Two folios and a half. It was composed
In rhyme by a young under-officer,
Who in the capital had formerly
Written some famous odes, and then put on
The uniform; but being in the army
Still a belle-lettrist, he made verses still.
The Wozny now had read three hundred through;
Till coming to this place, “O thou whose charms
Wake painful bliss and rapturous alarms,
When on Bellona’s ranks thy countenance
Thou turnest, straight are shivered sword and lance;
Let Hymen vanquish Mars, and haste to tear
From Discord’s front the hissing vipers there”—
Sophia and Thaddeus clapped unceasingly,
As though they praised it, in reality
Not wishing to hear more. Already by
Commandment of the Judge the parish priest
Upon the table mounted, and proclaimed
The will of Thaddeus to the peasantry.

Scarcely the serfs had heard this news, they sprang
To their young lord, fell at their lady’s feet.
“Health to our lord and lady!” they exclaimed,
With tears. “Health to our fellow-citizens,”
Cried Thaddeus; “free and equal! Poles!” “I give
The People’s health!” Dombrowski said. The people
Cried out, “Long live the generals! long live
The army! live the people! all the states!”
With thousand voices rang alternate healths,
Alone deigned Buchman not to share this joy;
He praised the project, but would gladly see it
Quite otherwise, and first appoint a legal
Commission which should—
Shortness of the time
Prevented justice doing to Buchman’s counsel;
For in the castle courtyard stood already
Couples for dancing; officers with ladies,
The common soldiers with the peasant women.
“A Polonaise!” all cried out with one voice.
The officers had brought the army music,
But the Judge whispered to the General:
“Give orders, sir, the band shall yet stay back.
This day is the betrothal of my nephew,
And ’tis an ancient custom of our house
To be betrothed and wed to village music.
Look, here the cymbalist, the fiddler stand,
And piper;—honest folks! the fiddler now.
Stands eager, and the piper bows, entreating
With glance of eyes. Should I them send away,
They’d weep, poor fellows. And the people cannot
Spring to another music. Let them now
Begin, and let the people all rejoice,
And later on we’ll hear your chosen band.”
He gave the sign.
The fiddler of his coat
Tucked up the sleeves, he tightly grasped the neck,
Upon the fiddle-head he leaned his chin,
And like a horse in full career set off
Upon the fiddle; at this sign the pipers,
Who stood beside, as though they flapped with wings,
With frequent motion of their shoulders blow
Into the bags, and fill their cheeks with breath.
Thou might’st have thought the pair would fly away
Upon the air, like Boreas’ wingèd children.
Cymbals were wanting.
Cymbalists were many;
But none dared play while Jankiel was near.
Where Jankiel tarried all the winter through
None knew; now all at once he had appeared
With the chief army staff. All knew that none
Were equal to him on this instrument
In taste and talent. They entreated he
Would play, presented cymbals, but the Jew
Refused, and said his hands were coarsened, he
Was out of practice, dared not, was ashamed
To play before the gentlemen; he bowed,
And went away. When this Sophia saw,
She ran up to him, and in her white hand
The bars wherewith the master sounds the strings
She offered; with the other hand she stroked
The old man’s hoary beard, and curtsying,
“Do, Jankiel,” says she, “if you please, to-day
Is my betrothal, Jankiel, do play;
You have promised oft to play upon my wedding.”

As Jankiel loved Sophia exceedingly,
He nodded with his chin, in sign he did not
Refuse, and so they led him to their midst.
They gave to him a chair, they bring the cymbals,
And place them on his knees. He looks with joy
And pride on them, like veteran called to arms,
Whose grandsons from the wall his heavy sword
Drag down; the old man laughs, although so long
No sword was in his hand, yet has he felt
The hand is yet no stranger to the sword.

Meanwhile two scholars by the cymbals kneel,
Attune the strings once more, and tuning strike.
Jankiel is silent yet, with half-shut eyes,
And still his fingers grasp the unmoving bars.276

He let them go. At first they beat the time
Of a triumphal march; more frequent, then
They smote along the strings like stormy rain.
All marvelled. But this only was as proof;
For soon he broke off, and aloft he raised
Both bars.
He played again. The bars vibrate
With such light motion, as a fly’s wing might
Upon the chords, emitting a low hum,
Scarce heard. The master ever looked towards heaven,
Awaiting inspiration. From above
He looked, the instrument with proud glance scanned.
He raised his hands together, dropped, and smote
With those two bars. The hearers marvelled much.

From many strings together burst a sound,
As a whole band of Janissary music
Awoke with bells, with zel,277 and beating drums;
The Polonaise of May the third. The lively
Maidens breathe hard with joy, the lads may scarce
Stay in their places. But the old men’s thoughts
Were with the sound transported to the past,
Into those happy years when deputies
And senators upon the third of May,
In the town-hall did feast the king, made one
Now with the nation, when in dance they sung:
“Long live the King, the Diet live, the Estates, the Nation long!”
The master hurries evermore the time,
Intensifies the tones; but at that instant
Threw in a false chord like a serpent’s hiss,
Or scratch of iron on glass; all horror seized,
And all their joy an evil-boding fear
Confounded, saddened, frightened all the hearers.
They doubted: was the instrument mistuned?
In error the musician? Such a master
Could not mistake. He purposely has stirred
Again that traitorous string, the melody
Is troubled; ever louder, breaketh in
That chord unbridled, all confederate
Against the concord of the other tones.
At last the Klucznik understood the master;
He covered with his face his hands, and cried:
“I know, I know that sound, ’tis Targowica!”
And presently that string ill-boding burst
With hissing.
The musician to the treble
Rushes, he breaks the time, confuses it.
He leaves the treble, rushes to the bass;
And evermore and louder still are heard
A thousand uproars; beating of a march,
Of war, assault, and storm; then shots were heard,
The groans of children, and their mothers weeping.
The perfect master so the horrors gave
Of storming, that the village women trembled;
Recalling to themselves, with tears of pain,
The Praga carnage, which they knew from songs
And stories. Glad they were that suddenly
The master thundered loud with all the strings,
And strangled all the voices, as though he
Had beat them to the ground.
The hearers scarce
Had time to issue from astonishment;
Again another music; once again
At first a humming light and low, there sigh
Some slender strings, like flies, who strive to loose
Themselves from nets of spiders. But the chords
Increase aye more and more. The scattered tones
Unite, and legions gather of accords;
And now, with sounds accordant, move in time,
The tune creating of that famous song,
Of how the soldier over hills and forests
Goeth, at times well-nigh with hunger dying,
Falling at last before his charger’s feet,
Who with his foot shall dig for him a grave,
The ancient song to Poland’s army dear.278
The soldiers knew it; all the faithful ranks
Gathered around the master, listening.
They to themselves recall that fearful time,
When o’er their country’s grave they sang that song,
And went into the country of the world.279
In thought they track their years of wandering,
O’er lands, o’er seas, through burning sands and frost,
Amid strange peoples, where so oft in camp
This native song rejoiced and heartened them.
Thus thinking, sadly they bowed down their heads.

But soon they raised them. For the master raised
The tones, intensified and changed the time,
Proclaiming somewhat else; he scanned the strings,
He joined his hands, and smote with both the bars.
So artful was the stroke, and of such power,
That the strings sounded forth like brazen trumpets,
And from the trumpets the triumphal march
Rolled toward the sky, “Yet Poland is not dead!
Dombrowski! march to Poland!” and all clapped,
And all in chorus, “March! Dombrowski!” cried.
The master, as though marvelling at his song,
Dropped from his hands the bars, and raised his hands
On high; his cap of fox-skin from his head
Fell on his shoulders, and his reverend beard
Waved, lifted high; upon his cheek there stood
Circles of wondrous red, and in his glance
All full of spirit, shone the glow of youth.
Till when the old man turned his eyes upon
Dombrowski, with his hands he covered them;
Beneath his hands a flood of tears poured forth.
“General!” he cried, “long has our Litva waited
For thee, as we Jews our Messiah await!
Long singers ’mid the people have foretold thee,
And heaven proclaimed thee by a miracle!
Live thou, and fight!—Oh! thou, our”—speaking he
Kept sobbing, for the honest Jew our country
Loved like a Pole. Dombrowski gave his hand
To him, and thanked him. He, his cap removed,
Did kiss the leader’s hand.
The Polonaise
Shall now begin. The Chamberlain does rise,
And lightly throwing back his kontusz cuffs,
And twirling his moustache, presents his hand
Unto Sophia, and bowing courteously
Invites her into the first couple. Following
The Chamberlain, there forms a rank in pairs.
The signal given, the dance begins; he leads.

Upon the turf the red boots shine, there gleams
A lustre from the sabre, the rich girdle
Shines brightly; but he slowly steps as though
Unwilling: but from every step, each motion,
The dancer’s thoughts and feelings may be read.
See, now he stands, as he would ask his lady;
He bends towards her, whispers in her ear;
The lady turns her head away, seems bashful,
She listens not; he takes his cap off, bends
Humbly; the lady deigns to cast a glance,
But keeps a silence obstinate; he tracks
Her glances with his eyes, and laughs at length,
Glad of her answer; quicker steps he forth,
Looks down upon his rivals; and his cap,
With heron’s plumes, now on his brow suspends,
Now shakes it o’er his forehead, till he lays it
Upon one side, and twirls round his moustache.
He goes, all envy him, rush on his traces;
He gladly with his lady would escape
Out of the crowd, at times stands in his place,
And courteously he lifts his hand, and that
They would approach him humbly doth entreat.
At times he thinks with skill to turn aside,
Changeth the path, glad to mislead the rest;
But with swift step importunate they follow.
So he grows angry, and his right hand lays
Upon his sword-hilt, while he seems to say,
“I care not for you! to the envious woe!”
He turns, with pride upon his brow, and with
Defiance in his eye, straight through the crowd;
The crowd of dancers dare not him approach,
They yield to him the way, and change their ranks;
Once more pursuing him.
And loud applause
Resounds on all sides: “Ah! that is the last,
Maybe! look, look, young people, ’tis perhaps
The last who thus can lead a Polonaise!”
And pairs still followed pairs with noise and joy.
The circle now unwound, now wound again,
Like to a giant snake in thousand folds,
And change the varied, many hues of dresses
Of ladies, lords, and soldiers, like its scales
Gleaming, and gilded by the western sun,
On the dark cushion of the turf. The dance
Is seething, music sounding, healths and plaudits.
Alone the Corporal Dobrzynski Bustard
Hears not the band, nor dances, nor rejoices.
With hands behind his back he standeth, cross
And gloomy, thinking of his former suit
Unto Sophia, how he loved to bring her
Flowers, weave her baskets, capture birds’ nests, carve
Earrings! Ungrateful girl! Although he lavished
So many gifts upon her, though she fled
Before him, though his father did forbid him,
He yet how often on the garden wall
He sat, to gaze while she her garden weeded,
Or gathered cucumbers, or cockerels fed!
Ungrateful girl! He drooped his head at last;
He whistled a mazurka, then he pressed
The hat upon his ears, and to the camp
He went, where stood the watch beside the guns.
There to distract his mind he played at draughts
With soldiers, with the bowl his grief assuaged.
Such, for Sophia, Dobrzynski’s constancy.

Sophia dances joyously, but though
In the first couple, scarcely seen from far.
On the green surface of the courtyard wide,
In dress of green adorned with field-flowers, and
In flowery garland, ’mid the flowers and grasses
She circles round, in flight invisible,
The dance directing as an angel guides
The course of nightly stars. Thou guessest where
She is, for all the eyes are turned towards her,
All arms are stretched forth, towards her all the crowd
Do press. The Chamberlain in vain does strive
To stay beside her; envious men have now
Repulsed him from the first place, and the happy
Dombrowski might not long rejoice himself,
But yield her to another; and a third
Already hastened, and this one repulsed,
At once departed hopeless. Then Sophia,
Already wearied out, met Thaddeus
In turn, and fearful of a further change,
And wishing to remain with him, she ended
The dances, and towards the table went
To fill up goblets for the guests.
The sun
Had set already; warm the evening was,
And stilly; heaven’s circle here and there
Was paved with clouds, above of bluish hue,
Rosy towards the west; these clouds forebode
Fine weather, light and shining; there like flock
Of sheep that slumber on the grass, and there
Are lesser clouds like flocks of water-fowl;
And in the west a cloud like veilly curtains,
Transparent, in deep folds; above like pearl,
Upon the borders gilded; in its depths
Of purple hue; yet with the western blaze
It sparkled, and it glowed, till gradually
It grew more yellow, paler, and then grey.
The sun has drooped his head, the cloud removed,
And giving one sigh with the warm air, slept.
But evermore the nobles drink, with healths
Unto Napoleon, to the generals,
To Thaddeus and Sophia, and at last
In turn of all three couples then betrothed,
Of all the guests there present, all invited,
All friends whom living any one recalled,
And those now dead whose memory was holy.

And I myself was there among the guests:280
I drank the wine and mead, and what I saw
And heard there I have written in a book.

Endnotes

1.

“Z archanielskiemi skrzydlami i glosem,
Ty czasem dzierzysz i miecz archaniola.”

2. In the time of the Polish Republic the execution of judicial decrees was very difficult, in a country where the executive power had scarcely any police force under its authority, and where powerful citizens maintained private regiments; some, like the Radziwill princes, armies of several thousand men. A plaintiff, therefore, who obtained a decision in his favour was forced to apply for its execution to the Equestrian Order, that is, to the nobility, in whom was vested also the executive power. The armed relatives, friends, and confidents of the plaintiff marched with the decree in hand, and with a Wozny (summoner) in their company, and conquered, often not without bloodshed, the estates adjudged, which the Wozny legally made over, or gave into possession of the complainant. Such an armed execution of a decree was called a zajazd (or foray). In former times, so long as the laws were respected, the most powerful lords dared not resist decrees; armed attacks rarely occurred, and violence never escaped unpunished. The corruption of public manners in the Republic increased the number of zajazdy, which continually troubled the peace of Lithuania.

3. Everyone in Poland knows about the miracle-working picture of the Virgin on Jasna Gora (bright mountain) in Czenstochowa. In Lithuania the pictures of the Virgin over the Ostra Gate of Wilna, of the castle of Nowogrodek, and also of Zyrowiec and Borun, are equally famous.

[The Czenstochowa picture, like many other paintings of the Byzantine school, is credited to St. Luke. It is remarkable that miraculous properties are far more often attributed to these earlier and more imperfect productions of art, than to any of the higher masterpieces of painting.]

4. This passage is stated, in a critical work recently published in Warsaw, to refer to a real incident in the childhood of the poet.

5. A sort of loose garment in the old national costume.

6. A part of the national costume, very like the Hungarian Hussar uniform, but with long skirts. The czamara is still very widely used in Poland, notably in Galicia, where high officials of the Crown wear on state occasions the full national costume, consisting of the zupan, pas Slucki, kontusz, karabella, and kolpak. —E. S. N.

All these terms are explained in subsequent notes.

7. Thaddeus Rejtan, in 1773, was posel or deputy from Nowogrodek to the Diet at Warsaw, and in that capacity made an energetic protest against the first partition treaty. When this measure was presented for confirmation Rejtan solemnly adjured the assembly by the Saviour’s wounds not to commit this crime, and when all other means were exhausted endeavoured, by using the privilege of the liberum veto, to render the proceedings null and void. This is the last occasion in Polish history of the exercise of the veto. But despite the efforts of Rejtan and five other deputies who supported him, the treaty was confirmed, and the six deputies forcibly removed from the capital. All efforts to bribe or terrify Rejtan into withdrawing his opposition were fruitless. He shortly after became insane with grief, and destroyed himself with a piece of glass out of a window.

8. The insurrections of Krakow, Warsaw, and Wilna, broke out or the 24th March, the 17th of April, and the 23rd of April 1794 respectively. In the former two hastily formed companies, along with some of the citizens, disarmed the Russian garrison of 3,000 men, and took 1,500 prisoners, with General Arseniew at their head. The Lithuanian forces were commanded by Colonel Jasinski. He subsequently fought three battles in the open country with the Muscovites, Niemenczyn against Lewis, Polany against Dejow, and Sioly against Zubow. When Jasinski was later on summoned to Warsaw by Kosciuszko, the command in Lithuania devolved on General Wielhorski. After unexampled efforts Wilna was compelled to surrender to the Russians on the 12th of August.

9. The heroic Jasinski and Korsak perished in the terrible carnage of Praga, by Suwarow, on the 4th November 1794, when 60,000 of the inhabitants, of every age and sex, were massacred.

10. The Russian Government never immediately overthrows the civil laws and institutions of subject countries. In Little Russia, for example, the Lithuanian statutes, modified by ukases, were retained till lately. All the ancient regulations of the civil and criminal courts were left untouched in Lithuania. The urban and rural judges in districts, and the chief judges in governors’ divisions, were therefore elected as in former times. But as all appeals go to St. Petersburg, before numerous institutions of different degrees, scarcely a shadow of their former power remains to the local courts.

[In 1832 Russian institutions were completely substituted for the ancient order of things.]

11. A Wojski, or Tribune, was in former times the guardian of the wives and families of nobles summoned in a general levy. This office has long been a titular one without obligations. In Lithuania it is the custom to give to persons of dignity some ancient title by courtesy, which title becomes a legal one by use. Neighbours would call a min, for example, Obozny (quartermaster), Stolnik (pantler), or Poaczaszy (cupbearer), at first in conversation, then in correspondence, and finally even in official documents The Russian Government forbade such titles, and would fain make them ridiculous, and introduce instead titles according to the grades of their own hierarchy.

[Pan. As this is the first instance of using in this translation a Polish title of respect, it is the best place to explain it and its congeners. “Pan” signifies lord or master, and is equivalent to the English “Mr.” before a proper name. It is also the respectful form of address, with the third person of the verb, to men not intimate with the speaker. The feminine Pani, or Madam, is the title of married ladies, and Panna of the unmarried, but the use of the latter is only permissible with the name. Pani is the title of address to all ladies alike.] —M. A. B.

In respect to the word Wojski I am compelled to retain the original, there being no real equivalent in any other language. Tribune would be too exclusively suggestive of ancient Rome, or at least of “the last of the Tribunes.”

12. That is, the first insurrection in 1791, under the leadership of Kosciuszko.

13. The Chamberlain (original Podkomorzy) was formerly a distinguished and powerful official (princeps nobilitatis); under the Russian Government merely a titular officer. He still occasionally judges disputes concerning boundaries, but has latterly lost even that portion of jurisdiction. He occasionally stands in the place of a Marshal, and appoints the komorniki, or land-surveyors. The office was formerly the highest in the Palatinate.

14. The original is Podkomorstwo, one of those comprehensive collective nouns common in Polish, but only to be rendered by their separate elements in other languages.

15. The original is kontusz, the outer garment of the ancient Polish costume, a sort of loose frock or coat, falling below the knees, and secured by a girdle round the waist. The effect was remarkably picturesque and graceful. I have thought it on the whole best to preserve the original word, as also the native term of zupan for a similar inner garment, and others descriptive of costume for which no precise English equivalent exists.

16. A native proverb, “Panskie oko konia tuczy.”

17. The Wozny (in English summoner; sompnour of Chaucer) was chosen by a tribunal, or by a judicial decree of the resident nobility. He carried summonses, proclaimed intromissions, performed coroners’ inquests, summoned the parties into court, etc. This office was commonly discharged by the lesser nobility.

18. Lit. “half goat.”

19. This passage frequently recurs in the same connection throughout the poem, and well expresses an idea of the regular and methodical proceedings at meals in the Judge’s house.

20. Cholodziec, a derivative of chlod, chlodny = cool, is a dish made partly of beetroot leaves, but chiefly of cream and fruit, congealed and frozen. —E. S. N.

21. Podkomorzy’s, or Chamberlain’s, daughter.

22. Palatine and Senator.

23. A Tartar horde which overran Russia and the adjacent regions in the fifteenth century, after the expulsion of the Golden Horde.

24. “Quem Deus vult perdere prius dementat.”

25. A title of honour, meaning son of an under-butler. See note 7.

26. It is well known that the lesser birds, especially swallows, pursue those of the hawk kind tumultuously. Hence the proverb, “to fly as though after a kite.” [This line is translated a little freely, for the sake of being more intelligible.]

27. Niemczysko: the terminations isko and ysko have an augmentative and vilifying import, as accio in Italian. The Polish language is equally rich in diminutive and augmentative forms.

28. Plica Polonica (koltun) the terrible disease of the hair common among some lowest classes of the Poles and Silesians. The whole mass exudes a sticky liquid, which afterwards hardens into a solid crust, and then drops off altogether.

29. In the eighteenth century a great rage for French customs and French fashions prevailed throughout Poland, to the detriment of national habits and language. Between 1780 and 1790 there was a period of strong reaction, and revival of national thought and feeling.

30. The original passage is made ludicrous by the very unPolish character of the words used. The originals, reformowac, cywilizowac, and konstytuowac, are even more ridiculous than reformate and constitutionise in English.

31. Literally “worm.” See Book X.

32. A drink like whisky, made from rye.

33. Pelisse. We have seen this ungallant saying quoted elsewhere as a known Russian proverb.

34. A multitude of stories were current among the common people in Russia concerning the sorceries practised by Napoleon and Suwarow.

[Mickiewicz also says, in his Conferences Slaves, vol. II, p. 257:—“Le peuple et les soldats le regardaient (Napoleon) comme sorcier; ils étaient persuadés qu’il avait le pouvoir de changer de forme. On raconte des histoires de plusieurs combats entre le géneral Suwarow et l’empereur Napoleon. L’empereur ayant pris la forme d’un lion, Suwarof se hâta de se faire lion. Alors Napoleon se changea en aigle. Suwarow pour le combattre voulut prendre la forme d’un aigle à deux têtes, et il en demanda la permission à l’empereur Paul; mais celui-ci, irrité d’une telle hardiesse, le degrada.”

35. The Assessors form the rural police of a district. According to the ukases, they are sometimes chosen by the inhabitants, sometimes appointed by the government; these latter are called Crown Assessors. Judges of Appeal are also called Assessors, but we are not here speaking of them.

The Regents perform the writing-out of documents, and record verdicts. They are all nominated by the clerks of court.

36. Falcon.

37. Crop-tailed.

38. Pronounce Soplitza.

39. It may not perhaps seem irrelevant here to observe that the name of Soplica has been rendered doubly famous in Polish literature by the “Memoirs of Severyn Soplica,” written by Henry, Count Rzewuski; a work purporting to be the personal recollections of a Polish nobleman of the old school, and comprising historic and social sketches, of great interest to students. The selection of a pseudonym is due to the immense influence of the present work of Mickiewicz.

40. This is not quite the proper rendering. The English village, and the Polish wies or wioska, are not quite alike in signification. The latter means a gentleman’s farm-estate. —E. S. N.

41. An onomatopoeic exclamation, whose use explains itself.

42. Provincial or local diet, diminutive of sejm.

43. Poniatowski.

44. This is an ordinary method of addressing an assembly, and used even at the present day in Poland, and has no suggestion of subserviency, although sounding unnatural in English. —E. S. N.

45. Joseph, Count Niesiolowski, the last Wojewode of Nowogrodek, was president of the revolutionary government at the time of Jasinski’s insurrection.

46. George Bialopiotrowicz, the last Public Writer of the Grand Duchy of Lithuania, also took an active part in Jasinski’s insurrection. He tried prisoners of state in Wilna, and was much respected for his virtues and patriotism.

47. The mythical founder of Poland, from whom is taken this expression for unremembered antiquity, as in the time of King Arthur, of King Dagobert, King Wamba, etc.

48. Podkomorzy’s wife.

49. Carver’s daughter, title of honour.

50. This is an example of the change of grammatical gender which Polish family names undergo, when applied to the female members of a house. The adjectival ski always changes to ska, as John Sobieski, Clementina Sobieska. Such names were originally territorial, and are therefore true adjectives, and declined as such. Names in other terminations have also different forms for men and women, though the rule is not so invariable in these latter.

51. Pisarz, or writer, here signifies a sort of farmyard official, who is at the same time the bookkeeper; but his duties are more in the farmyard, and in the fields, than over the desk. In farmyard hierarchy the gradation is—wlouarz, peasant overseer; pisarz [something superior to a peasant, an overseer of the whole farmyard, or bookkeeper]; ekonom (Lat. aeconomicus) or podstarosci, under-manager of the whole farm estate; rzondzca, or manager. —E. S. N.

52. In Slucko there was a manufactory of brocade and rich girdles for the whole of Poland, perfected by the efforts of Tyzenhaus.

53. Vocanda (Lat.), a long and narrow book, in which were written the names of the parties going to law. Every advocate and Wozny was obliged to keep such a vocanda.

54. A Jewish-Polish word, signifying the administrative committee or board of a synagogue. —E. S. N.

55. Jews’ cap.

56. These are almost the very words of the chorus of Dombrowski’s famous March.

57. General Kniaziewicz was despatched from the army of Italy to lay the conquered standards before the Directory.

58. The legion of the Danube, under Jablonowski, was despatched to Haiti, for the purpose of subduing the successful insurrection against the French by the negroes under the brave and unfortunate Toussaint L’Ouverture (1802). The story of this war and its consequences is foreign to the subject-matter of the present work, and therefore need not be here detailed. Nearly the whole of the Polish forces in Haiti perished from the unhealthiness of the climate, only a few returning to Europe. A certain number also made common cause with the blacks, and settled in Haiti.

59. The original word here used for princes is cary, i.e., “czars,” a title which, it may not be uninteresting to notice, does not exclusively apply in Slavonic languages to the Czar of Muscovy. He is often styled “the White Czar,” or “Czar of White Russia.” But the word originally meant no more than prince or king. The Czar of Turkey is a term for the Sultan; and the Czar of Abyssinia, the Tartar Czars are also spoken of. Linde derives Czar merely from Caesar, and accordingly the great Julius himself has been spoken of as a Czar in some old manuscripts. In the Russian Bible the Czar of Glory stands for Christ.

60. The English word, of course much disguised in Polish spelling, is used. Is it a credit to England that so many terms exclusively relating to horse-racing have passed into a like usance in foreign countries?

61. The name of the family crest. Armorial crests (Pol. Herb) have their special appellations, derived either from their chief symbolic representations or from some more or less ancient cognomen of the ennobled family. Thus many Polish houses bear a calf in their crests (Ciolek), and are in the aggregate called Ciolkowie; others an axe (Topor), which gives the name of Toporczyk to all individuals of the same crest. Leliwa, Dzialosza, Tromby (Bugles), are, like Polkozic, names of armorial shields. The cosmopolitan heraldic term of the emblem Half-goat, or Polkozic, is Teste de Chevreau. —E. S. N.

62. This word has in it an idea of long service, and affectionate feeling from the man who uses it, as one proper from an old and attached servant. Panisko has a meaning of the same sort: “Good, dear master.”

63. Szczerbiec literally means “a thing full of notches,” and is applied to a sword whose edges have become notched and broken by use. In Polish history the name is more particularly applied to the short sword of Boleslaw I, out of which he broke a piece in striking it on the gateway of Kiew when he conquered that city. The szczerbiec was girded on by all subsequent Polish monarchs at their coronation, and according to popular belief is to come into the hands of the restorer of Poland.

64. I have retained the original word, because klucznik, though nearly, is not entirely expressed by majordomo or steward; it implies in dignity the former office, but signifies literally “the keeper of the keys,” from klucz = a key.

It may be possibly a matter of astonishment to the English reader, that a nobleman like Gervasy Rembajlo should be introduced as having been the servant of another; but in this is nothing but what is quite natural to, and consonant with, Polish feeling. The poorer nobility, though esteeming trade or manufactures disgraceful, did not object to act as servants, and receive salaries from the richer members of their order; and, in fact, noblemen were often found in the lowest menial capacities in the houses of magnates, but yet retaining in this anomalous position a theoretic equality with their masters, and the privileges of their order.

On this subject I have the following note from Mr. Naganowski:—

“Eleven years ago, in my father’s house in Podolia, the cook was a nobleman. He had in his possession all the documents required by the Russian Government to prove his noble descent. He received a salary equal to about seven pounds a year.”

65. “Sir,” or “My dear sir.” See note 4.

66. Stolnik. See note 8 to Book I.

67. In ancient castles an organ was placed in the orchestra.

68. The health of the Primate of Poland (Archbishop of Gnesen) was drunk after that of the King, because he was the highest dignitary in the Kingdom. Between the death of one sovereign and election of his successor, he was Interrex.

69. This was commonly the last toast drunk at a banquet, and is even now in very great vogue.

70. Lowczyna, wife of the Lowczy Wielki Koronny, or Grand Venor of the Realm.

71. Answers to English Lord-Lieutenant. The Castellan of Krakow was called Pan Krakowski. —E. S. N.

72. Daughter of a Stolnik, or Pantler.

73. This is a thickish soup, made chiefly of the blood of a duck or goose, vinegar, and spice. When served to a suitor for the hand of a daughter of the house it meant a refusal. —E. S. N.

74. The famous constitution of the 3rd of May 1791, passedduring the so-called Four Years’ Diet, from 1788 to 1792. By it a sweeping reform was effected in the state, and many ancient abuses destroyed. Its provisions secured religious liberty to all sects, with Catholicism as the state religion; representation in the Diet to the inhabitants of towns, with confirmation to the nobles of their privileges, and assurance to the peasants of the protection of the laws. The remaining articles provided for the general working of the government, and while framed upon ancient custom, decreed the abolition of many former abuses; among others the liberum veto. An hereditary monarchy, to be fixed in the line of Saxony, was decreed in place of an elective one. Like the constitutions of many of the States of the American Union, that of the 3rd of May contained in itself a provision of modification, and provided for its future revision every twenty-five years. Though in some matters imperfect, it would doubtless have inaugurated a new era of reform and progress, but that the action of the Targowica Confederation (3rd August 1793) frequently alluded to in the course of this work, annulled the constitution, and reinstated ancient abuses in full. The country was immediately occupied by Russian armies, and the war of 1794 began, with what result is known to history.

75. The author here introduces the name of his own family, as Scott has mentioned his ancestor of Harden in the “Lay of the Last Minstrel,” among the vassals of Branksome, and elsewhere.

76. That is, a chair in the Senate, a staff, or bulawa, ensign of a hetman or generalissimo, and decorations of honour. No official titles were hereditary in Poland, therefore we never find any dignity or office transmitted from father to son.

77. We shall find later on additional examples of the habit among the Polish nobles of conferring names expressive of diminution on their most tremendous and formidable weapons, by way of exalting their own strength and prowess, as “Penknife” for a monstrous two-handed sword, “Sprinkler” for a massive club, etc.

78. German Burg-graf = castle governor.

79. The English word is here the original.

80. The priest’s speech involves a pun not capable of translation into English. Ogórki means not only cucumbers, but also the knots in a friar’s rope-girdle.

81. From kawa coffee.

82. The Lithuanians trade with Prussia by means of barges, floating down corn, and taking colonial produce in exchange.

83. The original word is perforce retained, as it is used to signify a national dish, prepared as follows: Take good and tender beef, mince it fine, add a little butter, spice, onions, salt, pepper, egg, breadcrumbs; make small pats or cakes of the compound; fried, boiled, or stewed.

84. That which is described is a stick with a piece of leather attached to one end. Old men used to (and sometimes do still) walk about with such an instrument, and on seeing a fly would bring down the leather upon it, either killing or scaring it away.

85. Russian.

86. Czynownik, an official in the Russian service. “In Russia, in order not to be a peasant or a merchant, in a word, in order to enjoy the privilege of exemption from the knout, it is necessary to enter the service of government, and have a so-called class or czyn (from czynic = to do). The service is divided into fourteen classes; some years of service are necessary to pass from one class into another. Various examinations are assigned to czynowniks, similar to those observed in the Chinese hierarchy of mandarins. A lower or higher rank in the service counts the same as rank in the army.” —Mickiewicz, in the notes to the “Ancestors”

87. Prince Dominik Radziwill, a great lover of the chase. Having emigrated to the Duchy of Warsaw, he equipped a regiment of horse at his own expense. He died at Paris. In him became extinct the male line of the Princes of Nieswiez.

88. Mejen distinguished himself in the national war under Kosciuszko. Mejen’s trenches are still shown near Wilna.

89. The following note is supplied by Dr. Rostafinski of Krakow:—

1. Lisica. Cantarellus cibarius (Chantarelle).

2. Borowik. Boletus edulis (called in Lithuania Boletus Bovinus).

3. Rydz. Agaricus deliciosus.

4. Muchomor. Amanita muscaria, or Agaricus muscarius (fly-agaric). This is the Siberian fungus, with remarkable intoxicating properties.

5. Surojadki. A species of the Russula. Those quoted by Mickiewicz seem to be Russula Nitida, R. Alutacea, and R. Emetica.

6. Kozlak. Two species of Boletus; one B. luteus, the other (mentioned in the text) B. luridus (poisonous).

7. Bielaki. Agaricus piperatus and Agaricus Vellereus.

8. Purchawki. Lycoperdon bovista.

9. Lejki. The word does not signify any particular sort of fungus; it may be that the poet created the name a forma. The shape suggests Agaricus chloroides.

90. “Fair-cheeks.”

91. Fox-mushrooms.

92. Boletus cervi.

93. There is a well-known popular song in Lithuania about the mushrooms marching to war under the leadership of the borowik. In this song are described the properties of edible mushrooms. (Many species are enumerated in the text as good for food, which English prejudice repudiates as poison.)

94. Pepper-box.

95. A sort of long garment, like a dust-cloak.

96. A proverb equivalent to “A plum growing on a thistle.”

97. The swaty, or preliminary embassies for negotiation of marriage from the bridegroom to the friends or parents of the bride, play an important part in Slavonic weddings.

98.

“The heart is not
A servant, neither owns a master’s reign,
Nor can be bound by violence in a chain.”

These two lines are quoted from a well-known Polish song.

99. The Breughel alluded to is Johann (1569–1625), called “Flower Breughel,” to distinguish him from his father and brother, both genre painters. There consequently were three Breughels, instead of only two. Jacob Ruisdael (1635–1681) is the best landscape painter of the Dutch school, and has scarcely, if at all, been surpassed since.

It is scarcely possible for anyone who has travelled in Southern Europe not to recognise the truth of these observations on foreign trees. In spite of the superiority of the south in light and atmosphere, and other advantages of a warmer climate, the north of Europe must certainly bear the palm for beauty of forest scenery.

100. A famous genre painter; some years before his death he began to paint landscapes. He died in St. Petersburg.

101. Inner den. See explanation in the text of Book IV.

102. Literally, centurion, from sto = a hundred; one placed over a hundred peasants, a sort of mayor, or headman of a village.

103. Panszczyzna, the stipulated amount of service of so many days a week formerly rendered by the peasants to their lords in Slavonic countries. The word szarwark or schaarwerk, probably German in origin, is given in the dictionaries as “statute-labour on the roads,” also a service compulsory from peasants, and commonly applied to agricultural labour exacted one day in each month.

104. A Sprawnik or Captain Sprawnik is a chief of rural police. A Strapczy is a sort of government procurator. These officials, often having the means of abusing their power, are in great detestation among the people.

105. Witenez was the father of Gedymin, who was the progenitor of the Jagellons; his sons were Kiejstut and Olgierd, from the latter of whom sprang Wladyslaw Jagellon, afterwards King of Poland. Mindowe, or Mendog, flourishing in the middle of the thirteenth century, was the first prince who freed Lithuania from foreign dominion. He rose to great power, and became terrible to his enemies, accepted Christianity, and by permission of the Pope crowned himself King of Lithuania in 1252. Near Nowogrodek is hill, called that of Mendog, which is said to be the grave of this hero.

106. The river on which Wilna stands.

107. According to tradition, the Grand Duke Gedymin had a dream about an iron wolf, and, by the counsel of the bard Lizdejko, built the town of Wilna.

The bard, or Wajdelote, Lizdejko, occupies a prominent place in Lithuanian legend. He is said to have been discovered as a child in an eagle’s nest.

108. The Jagellons.

109. A sort of pointed cap.

110. Sigismond Augustus [d. 1572] was the last king crowned, according to ancient custom, in the capital of Lithuania, girding on the sword, and crowning himself with the kolpak of Witold. He greatly loved hunting.

111. Tree, as well as serpent worship, formed a large part of the religion of ancient Lithuania. Those oaks which gave forth oracles were called Baublis, an onomatopoeic word, derived from a sound they gave forth, resembling a bull’s roar. They were remarkable for being evergreen, both in summer and winter, and were probably examples of a peculiar variety. The remains of the one specially mentioned in the text still existed in 1845 in the district of Rosien, on the estates of a certain Paskiewicz. Inside it were constructed two small chambers, one above the other, as a museum of Lithuanian antiquities. When cut down the rings on its trunk amounted to 1417.

112. Not far from the parish church of Nowogrodek grew several ancient linden trees, called Mendog’s Grove, many of which were cut down about the year 1812.

113. John Kochanowski [1530–1584], though not actually the first of Polish authors to write in his own tongue, was the first poet of merit therein, and was chief in the Augustan age of Polish literature. He translated the Psalms, and also wrote satires, and other poems, both in Polish and in Latin. He declined all court dignities and honours, and lived in retirement at the village of Czarnolas (black wood) composing most of his verses under the shadow of a celebrated linden tree.

114. Severyn Goszczynski, a writer of the present century, and a poet of the so-called Ukraine school in Polish literature.

115. Very probably indeed.

116. Those used for the candles regularly lit by the Jews on Friday at sunset, to avoid the “work” of kindling light or fire on the Sabbath.

117. The kolomyjki of Galicia, and mazurkas of Warsaw, are popular airs sung and danced at the same time. [The word kolomyjki is derived from the town of Kolomyja in Galicia. —E. S. N.] Mazurka is sufficiently familiar to English readers, and is merely the feminine form of Mazur or Masovian, as Polka is of Polak.

118. In 1806.

119. The Jews in Poland have always occupied an anomalous position. Though not exposed, as they were in other countries, to persecution for their religion, yet having nearly all the trade of the country in their hands, and being the most conservative of their race in regard to manners and customs, there is the widest separation between them and the rest of the nation. Most of the Jews, in fact, speak a dialect of their own, and understand scarcely more of Polish than is needed for purposes of buying and selling with the people. In 1831 the attitude of the Jews in regard to national insurrection was one of the most embarrassing questions Polish patriots had to deal with. It may as well be mentioned that travellers in the East say that the majority of the Hebrew immigrants now settling in Syria and Palestine are Polish and Russian Jews.

120. The place of honour, where in former times were placed the images of the domestic gods, and where the Russians still hang up their images of saints. The Lithuanian villagers there place those guests whom they wish to honour.

121. The best kind of mead is made from honey, called lipcowy, either because made by the bees from the flowers of the linden tree, or from the month of July, Lipiec in Polish. But this is because the linden flowers are then in bloom. The Polish names of months are nearly all of national origin, and derived from some natural phenomenon characteristic of each.

122. Bright mountain.

123. The Greek, or Russian Church.

124. In the original cham. For the meaning of this word, and the opinion thereby implied, see Book XII.

125.

“Might with a Wojewode stand.”

“Szlachcic na zagrodzie równy Wojewodzie,” a rhyming proverb, in substance as above translated. It was used to express the perfect equality between all Polish noblemen, of whom the poorest, only possessing a small plot of land, or zagroda, had equal rights with the highest functionaries of the Republic. So strictly was this perfect equality formerly maintained, that till the latter end of the seventeenth century the foreign titles of Duke, Marquis, or Count were unknown and discountenanced in Poland. As before observed, no official titles could be inherited. But later on we shall have occasion to mark how the 66 99 magnates strove to exalt themselves into a superior social caste above the ordinary szlachta, or nobility.

126. The Poraj is in heraldry a white rose with five leaves on a field gules, Polish heraldry is comparatively simple beside that of other countries. The use of family names was unknown till the fifteenth century; before that the different branches of one stock were only recognised by one common escutcheon. One might belong to the stock of the arrow, the two daggers, the horseshoe, the double or triple cross, etc. There were only 540 of these escutcheons for the whole of Poland. A great number of families were grouped together under each one of these signs; we shall often find a man described as being of such and such a crest. This would tend to prove that the escutcheon originally designated a whole clan, rather than a mere family.

[It may be added that a wealthy and powerful nobleman often rewarded his retainers and famuli by “admitting them to his escutcheon,” i.e., obtaining for them a diploma of honour from the king, ratifying the knightly adoption. Hence it is common to hear of the greatest and most ancient Polish families having the same armorial bearings with some very obscure ones. —E. S. N.]

127. Matthias Stryjkowski, an historical writer of the sixteenth century, published in 1582 a history, partly in prose, partly in verse, entitled, “What beforehand the World never saw, a Chronicle of Poland, Lithuania, Samogitia, and; all the Russias.” It is the chief authority for ancient Lithuanian history.

128. Dantzig was taken by the French and their Polish allies in 1807. It had belonged from 1310 till 1454 to the Teutonic Order; then became a free port under the protection of Poland, and an important member of the Hanseatic league. It was seized by Prussia in the second partition.

129. See note to Book I.

130. The taratatka is a species of capote; the czamara a long frock-coat, braided on the back and chest like a hussar’s uniform, and with tight sleeves. The sukmana is a sort of peasant’s coat made of cloth, the wearing of which by Kosciuszko indicated his strong democratic tendencies, and sympathy with the lower classes.

To some of these observations upon splendour of dress, and its reference to worldly position or moral worth, we may compare Artemus Ward’s remark: “You may always notice how high up a man is in the world by the least good harness he puts on.”

131. The battle of Austerlitz was fought on the 2nd December 1805. The allied Russian and Austrian armies were there signally defeated by Napoleon.

132. Quite untrue in 1811.

133. In an English translation it is hardly to be expected that an implied slur on England should be passed without comment. Our chiefwarlike operations being for so long almost entirely confined to our proper dominion of the ocean, and this being insurmountable to Napoleon’s ambition, it may have for some time appeared to Continentals that we were of necessity driven from the Continent. But it is somewhat singular that in 1811, three years after the beginning of the Peninsular war, it could ever have been thought that English forces had obtained no advantage over the French by land.

134. Choronzy, another purely honorific title. See note 8 to Book I.

135. The original is koltunowate, i.e., afflicted with plica polonica; a forcible image, but at the same time one not to be literally translated.

136. In reality there is no instance of the skeleton of a dead animal being found. [Because when a carcase in a state of nature does not immediately become the prey of the carnivora, it is speedily destroyed by the action of the elements. This is the reason of the comparative rarity of fossils, considering the infinite number of individuals of extinct species, that must have lived and died in geologic ages. Such remains as have been preserved, have either been washed down in rivers, or embedded in morasses, for they are invariably found in sedimentary strata, or consolidated peat. —M. A. B.]

137. In reality there is no instance of the skeleton of a dead animal being found. [Because when a carcase in a state of nature does not immediately become the prey of the carnivora, it is speedily destroyed by the action of the elements. This is the reason of the comparative rarity of fossils, considering the infinite number of individuals of extinct species, that must have lived and died in geologic ages. Such remains as have been preserved, have either been washed down in rivers, or embedded in morasses, for they are invariably found in sedimentary strata, or consolidated peat. —M. A. B.]

138. The literal translation.

139.

“It seemed to go right up to heaven,
And die among the stars.”

140. Guns of small calibre, which are loaded with small shot, are called ptaszynki (small birds). Good shots can hit birds on the wing with such guns. [Compare our own word musket, also the earlier names for different sorts of cannon, falcon, culverin, etc.]

141. It may be interesting to know that one of the yet surviving friends and schoolfellows of Mickiewicz, Ignatius Domejko, the present Rector of the University of Santiago (Chile), related during his stay in Warsaw last year (1884) that he challenged the young poet, then at Wilna, to find a proper name rhyming with Domejko. Mickiewicz improvised a verse rhyming Domejko with Dowejko. It is not, however, quite certain whether there was actually a family of that name. —E. S. N.

142. This was formerly a common trial of skill among Polish marksmen. In the “Memoirs of Soplica,” already referred to, is an amusing story of a certain nobleman who insisted on performing this Tell-like feat on the, slippers of his wife; but the lady, being as good a shot as her husband, retaliated by cutting in two the fastening of his girdle with the bullet from the remaining pistol.

143. The point of this whole passage, as often is the case in our author’s works, is only seen on full acquaintance with the whole.

144. In bottles of Dantzig brandy there is generally a little gold-leaf (Germ. Goldwasser). —E. S. N.

145. The bigos was not of course prepared then and there on the spot. It is usually made in large quantities, put into barrels, and stored in cellars. The oftener it is heated the more savoury it is. I should suggest the derivation is bis-coctum, or bis-gotowane (prepared) as the whole undergoes two or more fires.

Zrobic bigos, as a proverb, means to make a mess of anything. —E. S. N. Compare our own, “Make a hash of it.” —M. A. B.

146. The Wojski had not read the account of this circumstance in the Aeneid, but probably in the commentaries of the Scholiasts. [The origin of Carthage is only referred to by Virgil, not related circumstantially.]

147. Consommé.

148. In rich houses in Poland washhand basins and jugs are often made of silver, even at the present time.

149. A deputy named Philip, from the village of Konopie (hemp) having obtained a hearing in the Diet, wandered so far from the subject in hand, as to excite general laughter in the Chamber. Hence came a proverb, to emerge suddenly, like Philip from the hemp.

150. The word Niemiec (pl. Niemcy), applied by the Poles to the Germans, means literally dumb. The words Slawa (glory) or Slowo (word) have, on the contrary, furnished the root of Slave, which from other causes has obtained so widely different a meaning in all other European tongues. The habit of applying the term of speakers only to those who speak the language intelligible to themselves is characteristic of many peoples. The name of Mlekas, given to the non-Aryan races of India by their Sanskrit-speaking conquerors, has the same meaning as Niemiec in Polish. We recognise in the uneducated of all countries an inability to comprehend ignorance of their own languages, and a propensity to ascribe such ignorance to mere imbecility. Even now Polish peasants only recognise two nationalities, Poles, and the Dumb ones, i.e., Germans, those not speaking Polish.

151. These words of the Gospel of St. John are often used as an exclamation of astonishment.

152. Atracura.

153. In the original, Hreczecha’s warning concludes with the words, do jednej zwierzyny, literally, “at one animal,” and the whispered comment of his auditors is, do jednej dziewczyny, “at one damsel.” We have tried, by employing English words that rhyme together, to make something like the same effect in translation.

154. The joke is continued in an untranslatable sequence of puns, by means of the similarly sounding words, kobieta, woman, and kokieta.

155. Spolia opima in Roman history were spoils taken by a general from the leader of a hostile army in single combat. Such spoils were always dedicated to Jupiter Teretrius. Only two or three instances occur in the whole course of history; those of Romulus and Cornelius Cossus are among them.

156. Puszczyk = screech-owl, rhymes with Klucznik, and produces one of those peculiar effects in the music of the poem, which frequently occur, but can seldom be translated.

157. The famous nocturnal festival among the Lithuanian peasantry, celebrated on the 2nd of November, when the souls of the dead are feasted. It forms the groundwork of the grand dramatic poem of the Dziady, by Mickiewicz.

158. Guslarze.

159. The English word toast is employed in the text.

160.

“Who dare this pair of boots displace
Must meet Bombastes face to face:
Thus do I challenge all the human race.”

161. In Lithuania a settlement of nobles is called a zascianek (za = behind, sciana = a wall), in contradistinction to wies or siolo, a village proper, inhabited by peasants.

162. The original is buzdygan, a formidable steel weapon, planted on a short wooden handle. As no one was allowed to use a staff except the generals, so none of the army were allowed to use the buzdygan except captains, lieutenants, and standard-bearers.

[Buzdygan is commanding officer’s staff, as bulawa was that of the four hetmans, viz., the Grand Hetman of the Crown, Field Hetman of the Crown, Grand Hetman of Lithuania, and Field Hetman of Lithuania. —E. S. N.]

163. In respect to the title of this book, I have been advised to use Farmstead instead of the original zascianek, derived from za, behind, and sciana, wall, meaning, in a forgotten corner of the world.

[These zascianki were inhabited by the poorest of the lesser nobility, who were in fact peasants, but possessed of truly Castilian pride. The wearing of a sword being restricted to nobles, it was not unusual to see such zasciankowicze, or peasant nobles, following the plough barefooted, wearing an old rusty sword hanging at their side by hempen cords. —E. S. N.]

164. The original is taktowy rejestr, i.e., the register of the criminal tribunal, which took cognisance of offences in the law-courts, happening a mile from a town, or directed against the person of a deputy. [The meaning of the expression is: He registers into the books of the gród (district) court any suit about to be judged, or after it had passed out of court. —E. S. N.]

165. The original is “the tenth water from Kisiel,” which peculiar expression the author explains as follows:—

Kisiel, a Lithuanian dish, a sort of jelly, made of oaten leaven, soaked in water till all the farinaceous parts are washed out; hence the proverb.

166. After the victories of Pultusk, Eylau, and Friedland, following in quick succession, it appeared highly probable that Napoleon would at once cross the Niemen, and enter Lithuania. Instead of this he held a personal conference with the Emperor Alexander on the bridge at Tilsit, where they arranged a peace, July 7, 1807. By this treaty part of Poland was taken from the King of Prussia, and erected into the Duchy of Warsaw, but much was still left in the hands of the Germans, and the province of Bialystok was detached and given over to Russia. The treaty of Tilsit is sometimes known to Polish historians as the fourth partition.

167. The arms of Lithuania are a Horseman pursuing on a field azure. (“Pursuit” is the appellation.) —E. S. N.

168. Poniatowski, nephew of Stanislas Augustus.

169. A convicted slanderer was compelled to crawl under the table or bench, and in that position to bark three times like a dog, and pronounce his recantation. Hence the Polish word odszczekac, to bark back, generally used to express recanting.

170. This Wolodkowicz, after making several disturbances, was seized in Minsk, and shot by a tribunal decree.

171. This frequently used word is of Hungarian origin.

172. When the king ordered a general levy of the nobility, he commanded a high pole to be set up in each parish, with a broom, or wicia, bound to the top, and this was called sending out wici. Every adult man of the equestrian order was obliged, under penalty of losing his nobility, to repair immediately to the Wojewode’s standard.

173. The Lachy, or inhabitants of Poland proper, have various origins assigned to them. One opinion frequently adopted is that they were a conquering race from the Caucasus, who overran and mingled with the original Slavonic Polani. It is urged, that the difference of social and legal position between the nobles and peasants points to the relations of a conquering and a conquered people. For the alleged Caucasian origin the similarity of the name Lachy with Lazi, a warlike tribe in the Caucasus, formerly allies of Justinian, is quoted, as well as many local names both in those regions and in Poland. Another opinion is that they were of Norse or Scandinavian origin. Vide the new edition of the Encyclopaedia Brittannica.

174. Imioniska (pl.) are properly sobriquets.

175. Za, at, and bok, side. This term is explained later on in the text of the poem.

176. The Confederacy of Bar was formed in 1768 to resist Russia. It was named from the town of Bar in Podolia, where the Confederates first united, and the siege of which forms the first episode of a war replete in traits of heroism, but also abounding in painful details.

177. “No one was equal in magnificent and useful designs to Tyzenhaus, the Lithuanian Treasurer, who from the beginning of the reign of Stanislas Augustus commenced gigantic projects for advancing progress in Lithuania. He built near Grodno the suburb of Horodnica; on the other side of the river Lososna, he raised buildings where numerous manufactures were established. He founded in Grodno a school of natural sciences and medicine. Tyzenhaus, knowing the king’s partiality for amusements and spectacles, soon procured him, from peasants’ huts, accomplished musicians and ballet-dancers. The king confided greatly in Tyzenhaus, to such a degree that he entrusted to him the distribution of offices in Lithuania. Envy was soon aroused against the treasurer, whose zeal caused him to exceed moderation in the expenses of his enterprise, so that he was not able to pay the interest of a debt to the King of Holland. This circumstance contributed to excite indignation and ill-will against him. The empress Catherine supported this clamour, and demanded of the king that he should dismiss the treasurer. The king abandoned Tyzenhaus in 1782. Calumny, violence, and injury rendered it impossible for him to justify himself. Under the pretext that he had a deficit of a million, four millions of his property were put in execution. Tyzenhaus died in poverty and misery at Warsaw, under the very eyes of his weak and ungrateful master. The manufactures of Horodnica still subsist, and have not ceased to be productive of benefit to the country, although at one time abandoned, and even persecuted. Thus enlightened opinions, crushed down by prejudice and malice, as soon as implanted, begin to produce fruit, and in spite of hindrances flourish and elevate society.” —Lelevel’s Reign of Stanislas Augustus

178. See note 4 to Book II.

179. Referring to the popular idea that a bear, while hybernating, lives by sucking his own paws.

180. See note 4 to Book I et seq.

181. Alexander, Count Pociej, after returning from the war to Lithuania, assisted those of his fellow-countrymen going beyond the frontier, and sent considerable sums to the military chest of the legions.

182. A well-known matin hymn by Francis Karpinski, beginning, “Kiedy ranne wstają zorze.” The following is an attempt to render it into English.

“When morning dawn doth rise,
To Thee earth, sea, and skies,
To Thee each living thing,
Be praised, O Lord, doth sing.

And man, whom measureless
Thy various gifts do bless,
Who dost preserve his days,
Shall he not give Thee praise?

Scarce sleep unseals mine eye
To Thee, O Lord, I cry;
My Lord in heaven I call,
And seek Thee round in all.

Many are dead who lay
To sleep but yesterday;
We have awaked once more,
To praise Thee and adore.”

183. The ordinary form of greeting among the common people in Slavonic countries, and also among the German inhabitants of the Black Forest.

184. A name for black beetles, commonly called in Poland “szwaby” or Swabians.

185. The battle of Jena took place on the 14th October 1806, and on the 27th November Napoleon entered Posen.

186.

“In Litva made
Just such another bath for Muscovy.”

To prepare a warm bath for anyone is a proverbial expression, meaning to thrash him soundly. It is said to have originated in the rough and ready chastisement inflicted by Boleslaw Chrobry, the founder of Poland’s historic greatness, upon certain of his recalcitrant subjects, whom the intercession of his queen Konilda had saved from death. But before granting their pardon the king, who at that time was in the bath, sent for the criminals, and gave them with his own hands a scourging so severe as to give rise to the above-quoted proverb.

187. Za, at or by, bok, side.

188. The worm.

189. Bartholomew.

190. Poland is perhaps the only country that has enjoyed what may be called an organised right and constitution of revolt. A discontented minority would often unite under a marshal and other officers to form a confederacy, or organised association for resistance to the royal authority, or that of the Diet. The purpose of the confederacy was set forth by a written act, and the confederates appear to have been generally recognised as belligerents. A revolt organised by a confederacy was called a rokosz. In their deliberations all questions were settled by a plurality of votes, and not by unanimity, so that the veto, of sovereign importance in the Diet, was of no use here.

191. German—Commissarius, a sort of agent.

192. The Republic of Babin was a political satire devised in the reign of Sigismund I (contemporary with Henry VIII). In it all offices were purposely bestowed on those least qualified to fill them. The post of cellarer was given to a noted drunkard, that of chancellor to a man who could scarcely read or write. When the king inquired who possessed the royal authority, he was answered that during his lifetime the throne should be vacant!

The Contracts of Kiew and Minsk imply yearly meetings of landowners, farmers, or merchants, held in these principal cities for purposes of buying and selling. From the fact that many agreements are made at such meetings, the meetings themselves are termed Contracts. Those of Minsk are of little importance, but those of Kiew are still famous. They take place about the middle of February, and being the occasion of a great concourse of people, are in a measure equivalent to a season of business and gaiety combined. As these are the only contracts of which Matthias has heard, the word, as used by Buchman, naturally puzzles him. —E. S. N.

193. “Niepozwalam,” the form in which the liberum veto, by which a single nobleman could annul the deliberations of a whole majority, was couched. It was not in use, until first exercised by Sicinski of Upita, a nobleman of most infamous character, in the reign of John Casimir (1648–68), whence resulted a series of disasters, culminating in the ruin of the country. The last exercise of the veto was by Rejtan, as already noticed.

194. Liberum Veto.

195. “Mondrej glowie dosc dwie slowie,” proverb: Verbum sat. sap.

196. See note 9 in Book III.

197. German Sharpshooters or Chasseurs.

198. The order of the Pijary monks (Ordo Scholarum Piarum) attained, after the expulsion of the Jesuits in 1772, great influence over the education of youth, and initiated, mainly by the efforts of Konarski, an improved system of education. While the Jesuits had laid the main stress upon Latin, the Pijary substituted French as the groundwork of education. This was an improvement upon the previous system, but it had the effect of inducing an aping of French manners and customs in literature and social life, till the reaction in favour of Polish nationality.

199. The flour of Marymont, a small village near the gates of Warsaw, is of a superior quality. The mill of Marymont is celebrated as the place which served as a refuge to Stanislas Augustus, after the attempt to seize him by the Confederates of Bar, November 3, 1772.

200. Sak in the original.

201. These three lines are not translated by me, but by Mr. Naganowski. —M. A. B.

202. Two legendary twin princes, whose story forms part of the powerful, though fantastical drama of Lilla Weneda, by Julius Slowacki.

203. I.e., Poland.

204. Corona Borealis.

205. Ursa Major.

206. I should not like to say positively, but I am almost certain that the appellation Smok does not exist even in Polish manuals of astronomy. It may be, however, that such is the name in Lithuania for scorpion, or that the poet, not being able to introduce the idea of a scorpion, used dragon. None of the twelve zodiacal signs seem to answer the description, except Scorpio. It may be Serpens in Ophiuchus. —E. S. N.

207. It was customary to hang up in churches fragments of fossil bones, which the people supposed to be those of giants.

208. The famous comet of 1811, which, having been scarcely visible during April and May, reappeared with great splendour, after passing its perihelion, in August, the date of this story, and remained visible all the autumn. The tail on October 14 was estimated at 100,000,000 miles long, and 15,000,000 broad; the head measuring 1,270,000 millions of miles. Its period is supposed to be 3,000 years.

209. The comet of 1811 is described as having its tail divided into two streams, parting from the head, and again united into a curve at their base; so the image used is both characteristic and descriptive.

210. The common people of Lithuania figure the Pestilence under the form of a maiden of gigantic stature, and waving in her hand a bloodstained cloth, from which she scatters the pestilence. The appearance of this spectre is commonly supposed to precede the ravages of the plague, or other epidemic. (See notes to “Konrad Wallenrod.”)

The comet of 1811, besides being regarded as an evil omen in Poland and Russia, received in Spain the name of “El Cometa de Hambre,” as preceding a great famine, that immediately followed on the Peninsular war.

211. The priest Poczobut, an ex-Jesuit, published a work on the Zodiac of Dendera, and by his observations assisted Lalande in calculating lunar motions.

212. John Sniadecki (1756–1830), a famous astronomer, and writer on scientific subjects. From 1807 to 1825 he was professor of astronomy and rector of the University of Wilna. Among other places he studied some time at Oxford.

213. Xavier Branicki was the chief promoter of the Targowica and other conspiracies.

214. The family of Sapieha furnished several distinguished men during the seventeenth century, and especially during the reign of John Sobieski.

215. A tiger in Africa!!!

216. Stanąc na kobiercu, an idiomatic expression for the ceremony of marriage.

217. The Wilias, Switeziankas, Rusalkas, are the water-maidens of popular Lithuanian legend.

218. These snakes were formerly objects of worship, in the old paganism of the country.

219. The medieval fable and excuse for persecution.

220. The Polish mile is equivalent to between two and three of English.

221. The original is a species of legal macaronic Latin; an imitation of the same effect has been attempted by means of English words, similarly Latinised.

222. In this representation of a Russian officer as an honourable and just man, and one of his own countrymen as most unjust and tyrannical, our author has shown how little of a narrow or exclusive character was his patriotism.

223. About £166.

224. The Yellow Book, so named from its cover, is the code of the martial laws of Russia. Sometimes in time of peace the government proclaims whole provinces in a state of war, and by authority of the Yellow Book gives to the military commander full authority over the lives and property of the inhabitants. It is known that from the year 1812 till the revolution the whole of Lithuania was subjected to the Yellow Book, the executor whereof was the Grand Duke Constantine.

225. Equivalent to “at a discount.”

226. Baka, a jovial ecclesiastic in Poland of the last century; a poetaster chiefly known by his humorous veridicisms, written in most ludicrous forms. His verses are immortal only on account of their technical absurdities and intrinsic satire. One of them begins:

“Babula,
Cebula,”

and goes on thus in single trisyllabic words or three monosyllabic ones. It requires uncommon lucidity of mind to understand it. —E. S. N.

227. See note 19 to Book II.

228. A corruption of the German elf zuolf (eleven-twelve), a game at cards. —E. S. N.

229. Germ. Gefreiter, a lance-corporal.

230. The Lithuanian clubs were made in this manner; a young oak was selected, and an incision made in it with an axe, so as to cut through the bark and marrow. In these notches were inserted sharp flints, which in time grew into the wood, and formed hard knobs. Clubs constituted in pagan times the chief weapon of the Lithuanian infantry; they are still occasionally used, and called nasieki.

231. After Jasinski’s insurrection, when the Lithuanian army had retired towards Warsaw, the Muscovites approached Wilna, left open to their attacks. General Dejow, at the head of his staff, entered by the Ostra Gate. The streets were empty, the inhabitants having shut themselves up in their houses. One citizen, finding a cannon abandoned in an alley, loaded with grapeshot, pointed it at the gate, and fired it off. This single shot saved Wilna for the time being. General Dejow, with some of his officers, perished; the rest, fearing an ambush, retired from the town. The name of the citizen is not known for certain.

232. There were, however, some forays later on, which, though not so glorious, were celebrated and bloody enough. About the year 1817 a certain U——, in the Novogrodek palatinate, slew in a foray the whole garrison in the town, and took the leaders prisoners.

233. The dates of the battles here enumerated are as follows: Oczakow, 1788; Ismail, 1790; Novi, in the plain of Marengo, where the French were defeated by the Austro-Russian army, 1799. The retreat of Suwarow’s army from Zurich took place in the same year.

234. At the battle of Raclawice, near Krakow, Kosciuszko gained a signal victory over the Austrian and Russian troops; in a great measure by the peasant infantry armed with scythes, which he was the first to organise, and of which he there proved the efficiency.

235. Maciejowice, the field where Kosciuszko was defeated and taken prisoner by the Russians on the 10th October 1794.

236. “Nosil wilk, poniesli i wilka.” A proverb.

237. In translating the whole of this scene, an effort has been made to reproduce the effect of the broken lines in the original.

238. John Tenczynski, in the sixteenth century, gained the love of a princess of Sweden, with the approval of her brother King Eric, but being taken prisoner at sea by the Danish fleet, died in captivity, without the consummation of his wishes. This story forms the base of a novel by Niemcewicz, and there is a very pretty poem by Karpinski on the same subject.

239. Black broth, served to a suitor for the hand of a lady, signified a refusal. See Notes to Book II.

240. Prince Charles Radziwill, surnamed Kochanek or Beloved, from his invariable habit of thus addressing all persons.

241. It would appear that the Stolnik was killed about the year 1791, in the first war [followed by the Russian occupation, and subsequent insurrection].

242. Of the Greek Church.

243. War between France and Russia was declared on the 3rd August 1811.

244. The French and Polish armies crossed the Niemen on the 24th June 1812.

245. A book now extremely rare, published by Stanislaw Czernicki.

246. This Roman embassy has been often described. See “The Perfect Cook,” preface. “This legation, being a great marvel to all the Western empire, proclaimed a lord unsurpassed in wit, by the splendour of the house and the service of the table, so that one of the Roman princes said, ‘Today Rome is happy in possessing such an ambassador.’ ”

247. A proverb, used to imply great abundance and luxury.

248. In Lithuania, on the entrance of the French and Polish armies, Confederations were formed in the palatinates, and deputies elected to the Diet.

249. It is well known that a Polish corps, under the leadership of General Kniaziewicz, at Hohenlinden, decided the victory.

250. The capture of Somosierra, by which the road to Madrid was left open to Napoleon’s troops, was accomplished on the 30th November 1808. After several unsuccessful assaults, owing to the obstinate resistance of the Spaniards, a body of Polish lancers and sharpshooters was despatched against the chief entrenchments. After covering the ground with their dead, they captured the Spanish artillery, and thereby supported, dislodged the defenders. The Spanish commander, San Juan, with great difficulty cut his way through the Poles, and reached Segovia at imminent hazard. —Toreño, Guerra i Revolucion en España

251. Legion d’honneur.

252. The meaning of militem is obvious. Scartabel is one of those terms not easy to define. It has many classical derivations assigned to it, with which it is hardly worth while to trouble the reader. Linde thinks that it is a term used to express a new nobility, who owe their rank to fortune in war, from the right to be ennobled which a soldier by a law of Stephen Batory might claim after a certain amount of service, and which was often granted. Or scartabelli might be nobles living under citizen law. Czacki says: “The scartabellus hold a midway position between the ancient nobility and those who have risen from being peasants.” —Linde

253. The inhabitants of cities only received full political privileges by the constitution of 1791.

254. The three brothers Czech, Lech, and Russ were the legendary founders of the Bohemian, Polish, and Russian peoples. (See Le Monde Slave, by Cyprien Robert.)

255. A proverb, signifying to be ready to avenge oneself on the first occasion. —E. S. N.

256. Prince Denassau’s real name was the Duke of Nassau-Siegen, a noted warrior and adventurer. He was Russian admiral, and defeated the Turks, and was himself defeated by the Swedes. He remained for some time in Poland, where he obtained letters of nobility. His single combat with a tiger (in Africa!!) was much celebrated in all the gazettes of Europe.

The story which the Wojski never finished, concerning Rejtan’s quarrel with the Prince of Nassau, is known from tradition. Rejtan, offended by the prince’s boasting, once stood beside him on a clearing. Just then a monstrous wild boar, furious with shot wounds, and with being hunted, rushed upon them. Rejtan snatched the prince’s gun from his hands, threw it on the ground, and taking a spear, and giving another to the German, said, “Now let us see which of us can manage a spear best.” The boar was just rushing upon them, when the Wojski Hreczecha, standing at a distance, slew the beast by a fortunate shot. The gentlemen were at first angry, but afterwards became reconciled to each other, and liberally rewarded Hreczecha.

257. One of the finest palaces in Warsaw is that of General Pac, who died at Smyrna in exile. The Russians converted it into a bazaar of industry.

258. The Leliwa is a crest of Polish heraldry, and is the horizontal crescent with a star between its horns.

259. The original words are wioski and zascianki, both of which have been already explained.

260. A soup made chiefly of beetroot and cream.

261. Consommé.

262. In the sixteenth and at the beginning of the seventeenth century, at the time when art was most flourishing, even banquets were arranged by artists, and full of symbols and theatrical devices. At the renowned festival given in Rome to Leo X was a service representing in turn the four seasons of the year, which probably served as the model for that of Radziwill. These table customs were changed in Europe about the middle of the eighteenth century: they lasted longest in Poland.

263. Pineti, a magician renowned through all Poland; when he was among us we do not know.

264. Leader first in the insurrection of 1831, later on in the Hungarian war of 1848–49.

265. Dzierzanowski and the Cossack Sawa were both famous as heroes of the Confederacy.

266. The lamentation of the wife of Cybulski, whose husband lost her at cards to a Muscovite, is well known in Lithuania.

267. “Baska panska na pstrym koniu jedzie”—a national proverb.

268. The five Pulawskis, father, three brothers, and nephew, were all distinguished in the Confederacy of Bar, formed to resist Russian interference; being its first originators and afterwards its life and soul. After the death of his father Casimir Pulawski became chief of the whole Confederacy, maintained it for a long time, and was at length persuaded to accede to the seizure of King Stanislas in Warsaw. This act has been undeservedly reprobated by a once famous English novelist, but it was certainly ill-judged, for it contributed to the loss of prestige in the Confederates, and the downfall of their cause. After the ruin of the Confederacy Pulawski fought for some time in Turkey against the Russians, and subsequently taking part in the American War of Independence, fell in an assault on Fort Wayne (1779).

269. Several French officers, chiefly Dumourier, also Choiseul Vismenil, and others, took part with the Confederates.

270. A Piast originally signified a sovereign of the first historic dynasty that reigned over Poland, from Piast, the reputed founder of the race, to Casimir the Great, who died in 1370. In later times, during the period of elected sovereigns, a Piast came to mean a king, or candidate for the throne, of Polish birth. Hence it is here used for a national hero.

271. The fashion of dressing in the French style increased greatly in the provinces between the years 1800 to 1812. Young men often changed their style of dress before marriage, at the request of their betrothed.

272. The Polish original is striking, being literally, “roasted a crab.”

273. We may notice this curious coincidence (a very unscriptural genealogy, by the way) between these ideas and the reasons alleged by the Southerners for keeping the negroes in slavery. The reader will remember that the word Cham is actually used earlier in the poem in addressing a peasant.

274. The Russian Government acknowledged no freemen except nobles. Serfs, freed by their proprietors, were at once inscribed among the peasants of the Imperial estates, and instead of compulsory labour were forced to pay increased taxes. It is well known that in the year 1818 the inhabitants of the governorship of Wilna decreed in the Senate a project of freeing all the serfs, and appointed for this purpose a delegation to the Emperor; but the government ordered the project to be hushed up, and nevermore to be mentioned. There was no way of freeing a man at that time, under Russian rule, except by adopting him into the family. Therefore many were freed in this way, either by avour or for money.

275. Before the inauguration of a better taste by Mickiewicz and other great writers, the so-called French or Classical school of literature in Poland produced a quantity of panegyrics or complimentary verses in honour of great personages, with stale classical images, and strained, farfetched metaphors, destitute of real poetry. Our author has seized this happy opportunity of satirising the faults of classicism.

276. “The cymbals are a species of lyre laid flat on a table, and played with padded sticks. They have great tone and capability of expression, and emit as much sound as a grand piano; the lower strings have immense depth and power.” —“Unknown Hungary,” by a Member of the Carpathian Club

277. An eastern instrument: vide “Lallah Rookh.”

278. The opening words of this song are nearly as quoted in the text. The melody is of a plaintive and melancholy character. It is included in Sowinski’s collection of national music, published at Paris.

279. A common equivalent for into the wide world.

280. With these few concluding words the poet indicates his own presence at the concluding festivities, and personal cognisance of all the circumstances related. We are reminded of Chaucer’s parenthetical phrase in the Prologue to the Canterbury Tales, “and then there was myself, there was no mo.” The conclusion is, however, probably meant to imitate the general ending of Polish fairy tales, which commonly finish as this poem does, by a sort of rhyming couplet, assuring us that the narrator was himself present at the wedding-feast, and shared in the festivities.

Colophon

Pan Tadeusz
was published in 1834 by
Adam Mickiewicz.
It was translated from Polish in 1885 by
Maude Ashurst Biggs.

This ebook was transcribed and produced for
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