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; 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 jockeys 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, also from a word which he
Repeated ceaselessly, Mopanku, called him;
Notchpate 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,
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, 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,
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, 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, 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.’
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, was derived
From the second daughter of the Castellan,
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. 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.
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,
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 Mickiewicz
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 Ribbons 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 Penknife—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.
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’s
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! 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.
She brings from town, or from the barges chooses
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,
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, 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’
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
Czynownik 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, when once
I hunted with him, and the Marshal, Prince
Sanguszko, and with General Mejen; 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.”