From the damp twilight stole forth, dimly seen,
Light without blushing, leading on the day
With lightless eye. The day had risen long since,
But scarce as yet was visible. A mist
Hung o’er the earth, as thatch of straw o’erhangs
A poor Litvanian hut; towards the east
A circle somewhat whiter than the rest
The sun betokened, risen in the sky.
Thence must he to the earth descend, but he
Passed joylessly, and slumbered on his way.
By heaven’s example all was late on earth,
The cattle to their pasture went forth late,
And stumbled on the hares, still feeding late,
Though used to come back to their groves at dawn.
To-day, enveloped in the rolling mists,
Some crunch the damp grass, others burrowing
Upon the field, in couples flock together,
And think to enjoy the open air betimes.
But they before the cattle must retreat
Unto the forest.
In the forests too
Was silence. The awakened bird sang not;
He shook his feathers clear of dew, and pressed
Close to the tree, and thrust his head again
Beneath his wings, half-shut his eyes, and waited
The sun. On shores of water ’mid the mire,
The storks do clatter with their beaks; the crows
Sit dripping wet, with large and open beaks,
And carry on their lengthy chatterings;
Hateful to farmers, prophets of the rain.
The husbandmen had long gone forth to work.
The reapers now began their ’customed song,
Monotonous and gloomy, full of longing,
Like to a rainy day; the sadder sounding,
As sinking without echo in the mist.
The sickles in the corn clashed, and the mead
Resounded; in a row the mowers cut
The after-grass, and whistled loud their song;
With ending of each stanza they stand still,
Sharpen the steel, and beat upon the hones
In time. The folk unseen in mist, alone
The sickles, scythes, and songs resounded, as
Music from voices of the invisible.
In midmost on a sheaf of corn, the bailiff,
Sitting, grew weary, turned around his head,
Regarding not the labours; on the road
He looked, upon the cross-ways, where there passed
Some unaccustomed things.
Upon the paths
And highways, from the morning had there reigned
Unusual movement. There was creaking loud
The peasant’s cart, that like a post did fly;
And here a noble’s carriage rattling flew.
It meets another, and a third. From left
There rode an envoy like a courier;
And many horses from the right-hand way
Flew, as though racing. All seemed hastening
To various quarters. What may all this mean?
The bailiff rose up from the sheaf, he wished
To look around him, and inquire. Long time
He stood upon the road, but called in vain,
He could not stay the course of any one,
Nor in the mist could recognise a soul.
And horsemen flitted fast like spirits, only
Time after time the hollow fall of hoofs,
Was heard, and stranger yet, the clash of sabres.
This much rejoices, but yet terrifies
The bailiff’s heart; for though in Litva then
Was peace, long time low murmurs went around
Of war, the French, Dombrowski, of Napoleon.
Should then these horsemen war portend? these arms?
The bailiff ran to tell it to the Judge,
Trusting himself to learn of something news.
In Soplicowo guests and household both,
After the quarrellings of yesterday,
Rose sad and discontented on this morn.
In vain the Wojski’s daughter would invite
The ladies unto fortune-telling. Vainly
Were given playing-cards unto the men.
They will not seek amusement, neither play.
Silent they sat in corners, and the men
Smoked pipes, the women knitted; even the flies
Appeared asleep.
The Wojski, throwing down
His fly-scare, wearied by the silence, went
Among the servants. He was glad to hear
Within the kitchen the housekeeper’s cries,
And the cook’s threats and blows, and scullions’ noise,
Until the sound monotonous of spits,
Turning with various roasts, did gradually
In sweet and pleasant dreaming steep his sense.
Since morning shut up in his room the Judge
Was writing, and the Wozny since the morn
Beneath the window in the ante-room
Was waiting. Having finished now his summons,
The Judge called in Protasy, read aloud
An accusation couched against the Count,
For outrage to his honour, and reviling;
Against Gervasy for assault and battery;
Against them both for insolence and costs,
He enters in the criminal register!
This must that very day by word of mouth
Delivered be, and openly, ere sunset.
The Wozny, with a solemn mien, outstretched
Both hands and hearing when he saw the summons.
He stood right gravely, but had fain jumped high
For very joy, for thinking of a lawsuit
He felt him growing young again, remembering
When he went out with summons, to earn blows,
But likewise liberal pay. The soldier thus,
Whose life was spent in war, but old and broken
Now rests in hospital, soon as he hears
The trump and drum far off, from off his couch
Springeth, and in his sleep cries out, “Upon
The Muscovites!” and on his wooden leg
So fast he rushes from the hospital,
That young men scarcely may him overtake.
Protasy hastes to don forensic dress;
Yet wears he nor the zupan nor kontusz.
They serve alone the law-court’s grand parade.
For journeying he has a different dress:
Wide riding hose, and jacket, whose long skirts
With buttons may be shortened, or let down
Below the knee; a cap with ears, and band
That fastens round the crown, in sunshine raised,
Let down in rain. Accoutred thus he took
A cudgel, and on foot set forward, since
The Wozny, like a spy before the war,
Must hide himself before the suit begin,
Beneath another form, another name.
Well did Protasy, that such haste he made
Upon the road, else had he not for long
Enjoyed his summons. For in Soplicowo
The plan of the campaign had all been changed.
On sudden to the Judge came Robak, breathless,
Thus saying: “Judge, the aunt will work us woe,
This lady Telimena’s a coquette
And flirt. When as a helpless child Sophia
Was left, to Telimena’s care did Jacek
Confide her, since he heard that she was good,
And had great knowledge of the world. But I
Perceive that she is carrying on intrigues,
And possibly enticing Thaddeus.
I have watched her—or perhaps it is the Count,
Perhaps the two at once. Let’s think of means
To rid ourselves of her, else may result
Some complications hence, an ill example,
Quarrels between the young men, which may mar
Thy legal compromise!”—“My compromise!”
The Judge exclaimed, with unaccustomed heat;
“I’m quit of compromises! I have ended,
I’ve broken ’em all off!”—“But how is this?”
Broke Robak in; “what reason’s in’t or sense?”
“No fault of mine,” the Judge said; “and the lawsuit
Will make all clear. The Count, that proud young fool,
Was cause of all the quarrel, and that rascal
Gervasy. But all this is for the courts.
Pity thou wert not in the castle, priest,
At supper, for thou couldst have then been witness
How grievously the Count offended me.”
“Why did you creep again into those ruins?”
Said Robak; “for you know I cannot bear
That castle. Henceforth never shall my foot
Enter within it. What! another quarrel!
Chastisement of the Lord! How was it? tell me.
All this must be forgotten; I am weary
Of all these fooleries! I’ve weightier business
Than to conciliate brawlers, but I fain
Would bring ye to agree!”—“Thou! make agree!
What means this? Get ye gone with make agree
Unto the devil!” stamping with his foot
The Judge exclaimed. Because “Just see this monk! Because
I have received him here with courtesy,
He wants to lead me by the nose. Learn thou
That the Soplicas are not used to agree;
When once they send a summons they must win.
Not one time only in their name a suit
Has lasted full six generations long,
Until they gained it. I have done enough
Of fooleries by your counsel, calling in
Three times the judgment of the Chamberlain.
Henceforth there is no peace, no, none! none! none!”
And thus exclaiming he rose up, and stamped
With both his feet. “Besides this, for last night’s
Discourtesy, he must entreat my pardon,
Or else we fight.”
“But, Judge, how would it be
If Jacek heard of this? why, his despair
Would slay him. Have not the Soplicas done
Enough of evil in that castle yet?
Brother, I will not unto thee recall
That terrible event. Thou knowest also
That Targowica did make confiscate
Some of the castle holdings, and did give them
To the Soplicas. Jacek, for his sins
Grieving, must under absolution make
A vow to render back these lands; and so
Did he adopt Sophia, the destitute
Inheritrix of the Horeszkos; he
Laid out much money on her bringing up;
He would betroth her to his Thaddeus,
And thus unite two families at feud,
Again in brotherhood, and without shame,
Thus yield the plunder to its rightful heiress.”
“But how is that my business?” said the Judge;
“I never knew him, never even saw
My brother Jacek. Scarcely by report
I knew his life of rioting, as then
I studied rhetoric in a Jesuit’s school,
Then at the Wojewode’s as a page I served.
The estates were given me. I took them; he
Commanded that I should receive Sophia.
I did receive her, gave to her a dowry,
And for her future also will provide.
But this old woman’s tale has wearied me
Enough! And then why has this Count come down
Upon me with a claim unto the castle?
For thou, my friend, well knowest, he is kin
To the Horeszkos only distantly.
Shall he insult me thus, and I invite him
To concord?”—“Brother,” said the priest, “for that
Thou shouldst thus do, there are important reasons.
Rememb’rest thou how Jacek once desired
To send his son unto the wars; but after
Caused him to stay in Litva? Why was this?
Because at home and in his Fatherland
He will be far more needed. Thou hast heard
This thing whereof they are speaking everywhere,
Of which not seldom I have tidings brought.
Now is it time to tell all things, ’tis time!—
Most weighty things, my brother. War among us!
A war for Poland, brother! we’ll be Poles!
A war for certain! When I hastened here
On secret embassy, our army’s foreposts
Already stood upon the Niemen’s shore.
Napoleon gathers now a mighty host;
Our Joseph, our Dombrowski, our white eagles,
Our Polish hosts beside the Frenchmen march.
Now are they on the way, and at the first
Sign from Napoleon they will cross the Niemen,
Our brothers! Then our country shall awake!”
The Judge, while listening, laid his glasses down,
And gazing fixedly upon the priest,
Said nought awhile, but deeply sighed, and tears
Were circling in his eyes. At last he rushed
Upon the priest’s neck, and embraced him.
“My Robak!” cried he, “is this but the truth?
So many times deceived! Dost thou remember?
They said, ‘Napoleon now is coming, and
We looked for him.’ They said, ‘He is in Poland;
He has the Prussians beaten, he will soon
Break through to us.’ And he, what then? He made
At Tilsit peace! Is this the truth? Art thou
Thyself deceived not?” “Truth!” cried Robak; “true
As God in heaven!”—“O blessed be the lips
That tell such news!” the Judge exclaimed, and raised
Both hands on high. “Thou shalt thine embassy
Regret not, Robak, neither shall thy convent
Regret it; twenty sheep at choice I give
Unto the convent. Priest, thou yesterday
Didst burn to own my chestnut, and didst praise
My bay; they shall immediately be harnessed,
This day, unto thy wagon. Ask of me
What thing thou wilt to-day, what pleases thee,
I will not thee refuse. But as concerns
This business with the Count, leave me in peace.
He wronged me, and already have I sent
A summons. Does this please thee?”
Then the priest,
Astonished, wrung his hands, and fixed his eyes
Upon the Judge, his shoulders shrugged, and said:
“So when Napoleon bringeth liberty
To Litva, when the whole world trembles, thou
Art thinking of a lawsuit? And yet more;
Thou, after all that I have said to thee,
Wilt sit here peaceably, with folded hands,
When needful ’tis to act.”—“To act, and how?”
The Judge inquired. “What! hast thou read it not,”
Said Robak, “from my eyes? Hast not thy heart
Yet told it thee? Ah! brother, if thou hast
Still something in thee of Soplica blood,
Only consider. If the French in front
Should strike, and if the nation rise behind?
What thinkest thou? Then let the Horseman neigh!
Let the Bear roar in Samogitia!
Ah! if some thousand men, if but five hundred,
Should strike upon the Russians on their rear,
Then like a fire would insurrection spread
Around. If we might snatch from Muscovy
Their cannon, ensigns, then as conquerors
Come forth to hail our countrymen, the land’s
Deliverers! We march; Napoleon,
When he beholds our lances, will inquire,
‘What army are ye?’ We reply, ‘Insurgents,
O most illustrious Emperor, volunteers
Of Litva.’ He: ‘Beneath whose captaincy?’
‘We are led by Judge Soplica.’ Ah! who then
Will dare of Targowica but to whisper.
Brother, while still the trees of Ponar stand,
While flows the Niemen, shall Soplica’s name
Be famed in Litva; and the capital
Of the Jagellons shall point out thy grandsons,
And grandsons’ sons, and say, ‘Behold, that man
Is a Soplica, sprung from those Soplicas
Who first made insurrection!’ ”
But to that
The Judge: “To me a lesser matter is
The talk of men; ne’er recked I much of praise.
God is my witness, of my brother’s sins
I am not guilty, never much I mixed
In politics; my office exercising,
And ploughing on my bit of land. But I
A noble am; I gladly would efface
This stain upon my house. I am a Pole,
Would gladly for my country aught achieve,
Though yield my life up. Never greatly I
With sabre did excel, though men from me
Have taken blows. The world doth know them in
The latest diets of Poland; I once challenged
And wounded two Buzwiki, who—But this
Is of no moment. What is your opinion?
Needs it that we should take the field at once?
To gather marksmen is an easy thing.
I have good store of powder, some few cannon
Are at the parish priest’s house. I remember,
Once Jankiel said that he had lance-heads stored,
Which I could take at need. He brought them here
In secret, and in packages prepared
From Königsberg. We will take them, and at once
We’ll make the shafts. Of sabres we’ve no lack.
The noblemen shall then on horseback mount,
I and my nephew at their head; and somewhat
Shall be!”
“O Polish blood!” the Bernardine
Cried with deep feeling, and towards the Judge
He sprang with open arms, embracing him.
“True child of the Soplicas! Heaven designs thee
To cleanse the sinning of thine exiled brother!
I ever honoured thee, but at this moment
I love thee, as though we own brothers were.
Let us prepare all things; but ’tis not time
To go forth yet. I will myself appoint
The place, and will to you proclaim the time.
I know the Czar sent lately couriers
Unto Napoleon, to beg for peace;
War is not yet declared; but our Prince Joseph
Has heard from Binion, a Frenchman, who
Is of the Emperor’s Council, that all these
Negotiations will but end in nought,
That war will come to pass. The prince sent me
As scout to give commands that the Litvini
Be ready to inform Napoleon, when
He shall arrive, that Litva would again
Unite herself to Poland, to her sister,
And that they ask that Poland be restored.
And meanwhile, brother, it is needful you
Should with the Count agree; true ’tis that he
Eccentric is, and somewhat singular,
But young, and honourable; a good Pole.
We’ve need of such. In revolutions such
Eccentric men are necessary. I
Can say this from experience; even fools
May be of use, if they are honest, and
Beneath good governance. The Count’s a lord,
And he among the nobles has great weight.
The district all will move, if that he stir
In insurrection. Knowing his great riches,
Each nobleman will say: ‘ ’Tis a sure thing,
If lords are in it.’ I’ll make haste at once
To him.”—“Let him the first declare himself,”
The Judge replied; “let him come here to me,
And beg my pardon, for I am his elder,
And I hold office. As concerns the suit,
Let it be judged by arbitration.” But
The Bernardine had slammed the door to.
“Well!
A happy journey!” said the Judge.
The priest
Mounted a wagon standing at the door.
He touched the horses with his whip, and shook
The reins upon their sides; the wagon swift
Vanished in clouds of mist. The monk’s grey cowl
Alone rose here and there above the wreaths,
Like to a vulture o’er the clouds.
The Wozny
Had long gone forth unto the County’s house.
As an experienced fox, when lured by smell
Of bacon, runs towards it, but as he
Knows well the wiles of hunters, as he runs
He stands, and sits still, raises up his tail,
And with it towards his nostrils drives the wind
As with a fan; interrogates the wind,
If may be hunters have not poisonèd
The meat—Protasy went thus off the road,
And circled by a field of hay around
The house, pretending that he there perceived
A vicious ox. Thus making tacks expert,
He stood beside the garden, and he stooped,
And ran; thou wouldst have said he followed after
A landrail, till he all at once sprang o’er
The hedge, and entered in among the hemp.
In this sweet-smelling, green, and thick-grown plant,
Round a house planted, lies a sure asylum
For beast and man. Not seldom does a hare,
Surprised among the cabbages, spring out
To hide among the hemp, than brushwood surer.
For deep in the thick green no greyhound can
O’ertake him, neither mastiff track him out,
For the strong odour of the hemp. Among
The hemp a servant of the mansion can
Escape from whip or fist; there may he sit
Until his lord has stormed away his rage:
And even peasants, or escaped recruits,
While the authorities in forests seek them,
Do sit among the hemp. And hence in time
Of battles, seizures, raids, the parties both
Will spare no efforts to possess this stronghold
Of hemp, which to the house’s front extends
Beneath the well, and usually behind
Does border on the hops.
Protasy, though
A bold man, yet felt not a little fear.
The odour of the hemp recalled to him
His past adventures as a Wozny, one
After another, taking as his witness
The hemp. How one time he with summons served
A nobleman of Telsz, a Dzindolet,
Who, holding to his breast a pistol, ordered
That he should crawl beneath the table, there
Recant his summons with a voice of cur.
How later Wolodkowicz, a proud lord,
And insolent, who Diets would disperse,
And violate tribunals; and when he
Received official summons, tore the paper,
And placing heyduks at the door with sticks,
Himself upraised above the Wozny’s head
His naked rapier, crying, “Either die,
Or eat thy paper.” So the Wozny made
As he would eat it, like a prudent man;
Till, stealing to the window, in the garden
Of hemp he entered.
At that time indeed
’Twas no more Litvin custom to resist
A summons by the sabre or the whip,
And seldom did the Wozny hear at times
A scolding. But Protasy could not know
As yet this change of custom, since for long
He had served no summons, though aye ready, though
He would entreat the Judge; the Judge till now,
Through due respect to ancient years, refused
The old man’s prayers. To-day this sacrifice
He would accept from sheer necessity.
The Wozny gazes, watches; everywhere
’Tis silent; slowly pushes he the hemp
Aside with both hands, parting wide the thicket
Of stalks, he glided onward through the plants,
As dives a fish beneath the waves. He raised
His head, but everywhere is silence round.
He searches through the windows all the palace
Interior; ’tis empty all; he enters
The gallery. Not fearless, he uplifts
The latch; all void as an enchanted castle.
He draws his summons forth, and reads aloud
His declaration. At this moment he
Did hear a rattling, and he wished to fly,
When some one from the doors towards him came,
By good luck, some one known to him. ’Twas Robak!
Both marvelled. Plainly it was seen the Count
Had marched off somewhere with his household all,
And in great haste, for all the doors stood wide.
’Twas seen he went off armed; for guns and rifles
Were strewn about the floor, and further on
Were ramrods, triggers, with the gunsmith’s tools,
Wherewith they had the firearms late repaired;
And gunpowder and paper for the making
Of cartridges. Was then the Count a-hunting
With all his servants gone? But what should mean
These hand-arms; here a headless sabre, that
Had rusty grown, here lay a beltless sword;
No doubt a weapon had selected been
From out that store; and even been disturbed
The ancient armoury. With heed did Robak
Both guns and swords consider; then he went
Towards the farm to get intelligence.
While looking for the servants, to inquire
About the Count, he in the empty farm
Found hardly two old women, and from them
He learned, the master and his household train
Had marched tumultuously in arms to Dobrzyn.
Throughout Litvania widely had renown
The settlement of the Dobrzynskis, through
Its mankind’s courage, and its women’s beauty.
In former days ’twas numerous and strong;
For when King John the Third by wici called
A general levy, from this very Dobrzyn
The standard-bearer of the region led
Two hundred nobles to him under arms.
To-day the family was fewer and poorer.
In former days, in courts of lords, or in
The army, or incursions, sejmik broils,
Had the Dobrzynskis eaten bread of ease:
Now, like the hireling peasantry, must they
Work for their living; they however wore not
The peasants’ russet, but the white capote
With stripes of black, on Sundays the kontusz.
Likewise the dress their noble ladies wore,
The poorest even, from the jackets worn
By peasant women was quite different.
They wore fine calicoes and muslin gowns;
And when they led the beasts to pasture, they
Went not in shoes of bark, but slippers wore,
And they reaped corn, and even spun in gloves.
And ’mid their Litvin brothers the Dobrzynskis
Were by their tongue distinguished, by their stature,
And by their features. Of pure Lechite blood,
Black hair had all, high foreheads, eagle noses,
Black eyes. They from the Dobrzyn land derive
Their ancient race, and though four hundred years
In Litva settled, they had still preserved
Their Mazov speech and customs. When a child
Of theirs received a name in christening, they
Chose for its saint a patron of the Crown,
’Twas Saint Bartholomew, or Saint Matthias.
Thus was the son of a Matthias named
Bartholomew; his son again was called
Matthias; and the women all were named
Catherine or Mary. In such great confusion
To know apart each other they conjoined
Unto their surname other different names,
From some defect or virtue, men and women.
At times the men received cognomina,
In sign of countrymen’s contempt or scorn.
A noble sometimes by one name in Dobrzyn
Was known, and in the neighbourhood around
By something other. And the nobles round
Would copy the Dobrzynskis, and assume,
Like them, such surnames, imioniska styled.
Now well-nigh every family has such,
But ’tis not generally known that they
In Dobrzyn had their origin, and there
Were necessary, though through all the rest
Of Litva, the same custom only rose
From senseless imitation.
Thus Matthias
Dobrzynski, head of all the family,
Was called the Weathercock; then in the year
A thousand, seven hundred, ninety-four,
He changed his surname, and was Zabok named,
And the Dobrzynskis christened him the “Rabbit;”
But the Litvini Matthew of the Matthews.
As he o’er the Dobrzynskis, so his house
Ruled o’er the hamlet, as it stood between
The tavern and the church. Well might be known
’Twas visited but rarely, and a rabble
Did dwell therein, for doorless stood the gate.
The gardens were unfenced, unsown, the peach-trees
Upon the borders were o’ergrown with moss.
And yet this farm the hamlet’s capital
Appeared, and shapelier than the other houses;
Far more extensive, and its right side, where
A window stood, was built of brick. Besides,
There was a storehouse, granary, and barn,
A cattle-shed, and stables; all were placed
Together in a group, by nobles’ custom,
All things seemed wonderful, decayed, and old.
The house’s roofs were shining, as though formed
Of some green metal, from the moss and grass
That grew thereon, luxuriant as a mead.
Upon the barn-thatch, like a hanging garden
Of various plants, red crocus, and the nettle,
The yellow stonecrop, many-coloured trails
Of mercury, the nests of various birds;
Within the garrets pigeons; in the windows
The nests of swallows; at the house’s threshold
White rabbits skip, and in the untrodden grass
Do burrow. In a word, the house resembled
A cage or rabbit-hutch.
But it had once
Been fortified. For on each side it bore
The trace of many and of fierce attacks.
Still lying in the grass before the door,
Large as a child’s head, was a cannon-ball
Of iron, come down from the Swedish wars;
And formerly a door-wing open wide
Was by this ball as by a stone retained.
Within the courtyard, from between the weeds
And absinth, rose the heads of ancient crosses,
In this unconsecrated ground the sign
That here lay some surprised by sudden death.
Who closely might consider storehouse, barn,
And cottage, saw their walls all speckled o’er,
From ground to roof, as by an insect swarm.
In midst of every spot a bullet lurked,
As in an earthy hole a humble-bee.
Around the doors all latches, hooks, and nails
Were cut asunder, or bore sabre marks.
Here certainly the temper had been proved
Of steel of Sigismond, which severs nails
From off the head, or cuts a hook straight through,
Yet in the sword-blade never comes a notch.
Above Dobrzynski’s door were coats of arms;
Yet were the armorial bearings hidden quite
By ranks of cheeses, thickly archèd o’er
By nests of swallows. In the house itself,
Coach-house, and stable, was a weapon-store,
As in an ancient armoury. Beneath
The roof there hung four monstrous helmets, once
The ornament of martial brows; to-day
The birds of Venus, pigeons, cooed therein,
And cherished there their nestlings; in the stable
A coat of mail upon the crib outspread,
And ringèd cuirass, as a manger served,
In which the stable-boy did clover throw
To young colts. In the kitchen several rapiers
The sacrilegious cook had blunted, placing
The roast upon them, using them as spits.
A horse-tail, trophy from Vienna, served
As winnower to a hand-mill; in a word,
Industrious Ceres thence had banished Mars,
And with Pomona, Flora, and Vertumnus,
Reigned o’er Dobrzynski’s house and granary.
But now the goddesses must yield again
To Mars returning.
At the dawn of day,
A messenger on horseback had appeared
In Dobrzyn, hastening from house to house,
Arousing all as for the corvée. All
The brother nobles rise, the streets are filled
With crowds; a shout is in the tavern heard,
And lights are seen within the priestly house.
The old men counsel take, the young men saddle
The horses, while the women hold them back.
The boys all struggle forward; all are eager
To run, to fight, but know not whom to fight,
Nor where, and willy-nilly they must stay.
In the priest’s dwelling lengthy council lasts,
Tumultuous, and confusèd fearfully.
But as the opinions could not be agreed,
It was at last resolved to lay before
Father Matthias the whole business straight.
Years seventy-two Matthias numberèd;
A hale old man, of lordly stature, he,
An old Confederate of Bar. Both friends
And enemies remembered yet the strokes
His curved Damascus sabre gave, which cut
Asunder pikes and lances like to straw,
And which in jest received the modest name
Of Rod. He from Confederate became
A royalist, and held with Tyzenhaus,
The Lithuanian Treasurer; but when
The king acceded to the Targowica,
Matthew once more the royal party left.
So from his frequent change of politics,
He formerly was called the Weathercock,
Since, like the Weathercock, he changed his standard
With every turn of wind. In vain it were
To seek to know the cause of all these changes.
Matthew perhaps loved fighting overmuch;
And conquered on one side, would seek again
For war upon another. Or, may be,
In politics far-seeing, he had searched
The spirit of the times, and wheresoe’er
He saw his country’s good, he thither went.
But yet one thing was certain, the desire
Of glory, or vile gain, had lured him never.
For never with the Muscovitish party
He held, and if he only saw a Russian,
He foamed, and writhed about; and when the land
Was conquered, not to meet a Muscovite,
He kept within his own house, like a bear
Who sucks his paws, deep in the forest.
He
Had long since for the last time gone to war,
To Wilna with Oginski, where they both
Together served beneath Jasinski; there
He with the Rod had wonders shown of courage.
Well known it was that he, being all alone,
Had sprung from Praga’s ramparts down, to rescue
Pan Pociej, who, upon the battle-field
Deserted, wounds had gotten twenty-three.
’Twas long supposed in Litva both were slain;
But both returned, though riddled through like sieves.
Soon as the war was over, Pociej,
Like to an honest man, would have repaid
His benefactor, the Dobrzynski, richly.
He gave him a five-acre farm for life,
And a yearly pension of a thousand florins
In gold assigned to him. But said Dobrzynski:
“Let Pociej have Matthew, and not Matthew
Have Pociej, for a benefactor.” Thus
The farm refused he, and would take no pay.
Returning to his house alone, he lived
By labour of his hands, made hives for bees.
For cattle medicine; he went to market
To sell the partridges he snared, and game.
In Dobrzyn there were sage old men enough,
Who Latin understood, and in the courts
From their youth upward had been exercised,
There were a many richer; but of all
The family, the poor, unlearnèd Matthew
Was highest honoured, not alone as swordsman
Renowned, by wielding of the Rod; but as
A man of sure and wise opinion, who
The history of the country, and the clan’s
Traditions knew completely, and was skilled
In law as husbandry; who secrets knew
Of hunting, and of medicine. They even
Ascribed to him (the parish priest said no)
Knowledge of strange and superhuman things.
One thing is certain, that he perfectly
Did understand the changes of the air,
And oftener than the farmer’s almanac
Would rightly guess. No wonder, then, that whether
The question were, when sowing to begin,
To send off barges, or to reap the corn,
Or go to law, or an agreement close,
Nought but by his advice was done in Dobrzyn.
The old man sought such influence not at all;
Rather desiring to be rid of it,
He grumbled at his clients, oftenest
He thrust them forth in silence from his house;
Advice he rarely gave, and not to all.
In most important quarrels or disputes
He scarce, when they inquired, his sentence gave;
And in not many words. ’Twas thought that he
Would sure take up the question of to-day,
And would in person head the enterprise,
Because he greatly loved to fight from youth,
And to the Russians was eternal foe.
The old man through his lonely garden walked,
Singing the song, “When morning dawn doth rise.”
Right glad he was the weather clearer grew.
The mist had not arisen yet on high,
As it is wont to do when gather clouds,
But still fell down. The wind spread out its hands,
And stroked the mist, and smoothed it, spread it wide
Upon the meadow; meanwhile, from above,
The pale sun with a thousand rays pierced through
The web, and spread it o’er with gold and silver,
And rosy hues;—as when an artist pair
In Slucko weave rich girdles; on the ground
A maiden sitting lades the loom with silk,
And smoothes the warp down with her hand. Meanwhile
A weaver from above throws down to her
Silver and golden threads, and purple, colours
And flowers creating; so the wind to-day
Outspread the earth with wreaths of mist; the sun
Uplifted them. And Matthew sunned himself,
And said his prayers; then to his husbandry
Betook himself; he gathered grass and leaves,
And sat before his house, and gave a whistle.
Upon this whistle, swift from out the earth
A flock of rabbits spring, upon the grass,
Like flowerets of narcissus. Whitely gleam
Their long ears, and their little eyes beneath
Glitter like blood-red rubies, thickly set
On velvet of the green grass. On their hind-legs
The conies rear; each listens, looks; at last
The white-downed flock all run to the old man,
Allured by cabbage-leaves. Unto his feet
They spring, upon his knees, his shoulders; he,
Himself like a white rabbit, loves to gather
The conies thus around him, and to stroke
Their warm fur. But he with the other hand
Throws millet to the sparrows from his cap;
And from the roof the chattering rabble flock.
But as the old man thus did please himself,
Viewing that banquet, all at once the conies
Vanished beneath the ground, and to the roof
The sparrow crowds before new-comers fly,
Who with quick steps now enter in the farm.
The envoys these were from the assembly sent
Of nobles in the priest’s house, and they came
To Matthew for advice. They from afar
Saluted him, low bowing; with these words
They welcomed him: “May Jesus Christ be praised!”
“For ever and ever, Amen!” he replied.
But when he heard the weight of their commission,
Within his cottage he invited them.
They entered, sat upon a bench; the first
Of these ambassadors stood in the midst,
And now began his sentence to unfold.
Meanwhile a crowd of other nobles came;
All the Dobrzynskis nearly, of the neighbours
Several from zascianki round about,
Armed and unarmed, in chaises and in cars,
On foot and horseback. Carriages were stayed,
And ponies to the birch-trees tied; around
The house they gather, curious of the issue.
The room was full already; in the hall
They gather; others in the windows thrust
Their heads, and list attentive the discourse.