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,
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, and the murmur
Of the Wilejka, had the dream concerning
The iron wolf, 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,
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 kolpak wore of Witold,
The last of the Jagellons, happy warrior,
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, 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? 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, that formed
The inspiration of so many rhymes.
Witness that oak that sings so many wonders
Unto the Cossack bard.
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. 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 Zion,
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.
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. 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. 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.
’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, 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 mead 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, 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 schism 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!” 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.’
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,” cried
Mickiewicz; “with a mitre on field or,
A princely ’scutcheon is. Stryjkowski 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. 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?”
Objected Wilbik; “that’s a taratatka.”
“But that has fringes, this thing is quite plain,”
Cried Mickiewicz. Thereon arose disputes
Concerning taratatki and czamary.
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; 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; 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-bearer
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 pinewoods 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,
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,
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.
’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; 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 pinewood; 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.
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;
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.
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; 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.”
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, and to shine
In the sun’s light.
The bigos in the kettles
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. 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.”