Thou year! who in our country thee beheld,
The year of beauty calls thee even now,
But year of war the soldier; even yet
Our elders love to tell of thee, even now
Song dreameth of thee. Long wert thou proclaimed
By heavenly miracle, and thee forestalled
Dumb rumours ’mid the people; all the hearts
Of the Litvini with the sun of spring
Were girdled by some strange presentiment,
As though before the ending of the world;
Some expectation full of joy and fear.
When first they drove the cattle forth in spring,
’Twas marked, though lean and famished, they did not
Rush on the winter-corn, green on the glebe;
But lay down on the mead, with heads bowed down,
To low, or chew the cud of winter food.
At The villagers, who led the plough on field,
Now scarce rejoiced as they were wont to do
At ending of long winter, for no song
They sang; they laboured idly, as they neither
Recalled the seed-time nor the harvest.
Each step they stayed the oxen and the ponies
In harness, and with anxious heart they gazed
Towards the western quarter, as from thence
Some miracle should be revealed, and marked
With anxious heart the homeward flying birds.
For even thus early to his native pine
The stork was flying, widely he unfurled
His white wings, early standard of the spring.
And after him in noisy regiments came
Upon the waters swallows gathering thick,
Who from the late-thawed earth collected mud
To build their houses. And at eventide
The arriving woodcocks whispering were heard
Among the thickets, and the wild-goose flock
Murmured above the wood, and wearied fell
Down with great uproar, for a halt, and in
The sky’s dark depth the cranes continual cry.
Hearing, the nightly guards inquire in fear,
Whence in the wingèd kingdom such confusion?
What storm thus early drives the birds away?
And now behold a newer flock, that seems
Finches and plovers, starlings, flock of shining
Crests and of standards; brightly on the hills
They shone, and on the plains they make descent.
The cavalry! Adornments wondrous, arms
Invisible, troop after troop; in midst
Like melted snows, along the highways, glide
Ranks sheathed in iron, from out the woods their caps
Swarm blackly, and a row of bayonets gleams;
The ant-hill’s swarming infantry unnumbered.
All towards the north! It certain might be said
That in that migratory time even men,
Following the birds, were marching to our land,
Impelled by some mysterious instinct force.
Men, horses, guns, and eagles, day and night
Flow onward; in the sky flame here and there
Wide blazes, earth is trembling, one may hear
The thunders smite on every side.
War! war!
In Litva there is not a foot of land
Whereto its uproar does not penetrate.
’Mid the dark forest-lands the peasant, all
Whose parents and whose ancestors have died,
Not having passed beyond the forest’s bounds—
Who understood in heaven no other cries
Than those of storm-winds, nor on earth beside
The roars of beasts; had seen no other guests
Than fellow-foresters, now sees—in heaven
A wondrous fire-blaze glowing, in the forest
A crashing hears; some wandering cannon-ball,
Strayed from the field of battle, seeks its way
Amid the forest, rending all its stems,
Its branches severing. The bison, reverend
Greybeard, did tremble in the moss, erected
The long hair of his mane, and half arose,
Leaned on his forelegs, shook his beard, and gazed
Bewildered on the embers, glimmering
On sudden ’mid the broken clods. It was
A wandering grenade, that whirled around,
And raged, and hissed, and burst with thunder-noise.
The bison, for the first time in his life,
Felt fear, and to the deepest refuge fled.
“A battle! where? In what part?” asked the youths.
They seized their weapons, women raise their hands
To heaven; all sure of victory, with tears
Cry, “Heaven is with Napoleon, he with us!”
O spring! I, who beheld thee in our land,
Spring-time renowned for war! spring-time of beauty!
O spring! I, who beheld thee blossoming
With corn and grass, and gleaming all with men,
Fruitful in doings, pregnant thou with hope,
I see thee yet, fair phantom of a dream!—
In slavery born, chained yet in infancy,
I had but one such spring-time in my life!
Right by the high-road Soplicowo lay,
Whereby two leaders marched from Niemen’s side,
Prince Joseph and Jerome, Westphalia’s King.
They had already conquered part of Litva,
From Grodno unto Slonim, when the King
Commanded three days’ halt to breathe the troops.
But spite of weariness the Polish soldiers
Lamented that the King forbade their march,
So gladly they would reach the Muscovite.
The Prince’s chief staff in the neighbouring town
Was quartered, but in Soplicowo stood
The camp of forty thousand, with their staffs;
The Generals Dombrowski, Kniaziewicz,
And Malachowski, Giedroic, Grabowski.
Late was it when they entered; therefore each
Where best he might found quarters—in the castle,
And in the mansion. Orders swift were given;
The sentinels were posted; each man, wearied,
Went to his chamber for repose;—with night
All things were silent, camp, and house, and field.
Alone were seen, like shadows, wandering
Patrols, and here and there the camp-fires’ gleam,
And circling watch-words heard of army posts.
All slept—the master of the house, the leaders,
And soldiers. But the Wojski’s eyes alone
Taste no sweet sleep; the Wojski must set forth
Next day a banquet, whereby he will make
Soplica’s house renowned for evermore;
A banquet dear to hearts of Polish guests,
And suiting a great day’s solemnity,
Feast of the Church, and of the family.
To-morrow shall three couples be betrothed;
But General Dombrowski yester-eve
Had said he wished to have a Polish dinner.
Though late the hour, the Wojski gathered quick
Cooks from the neighbourhood; of these were five.
They serve, he plays the master. As chief cook,
He girded him with apron white, indued
A white cap, and his sleeves to elbow rolled.
In one hand was his fly-scare, to drive off
The miserable insects, greedily
Upon the tit-bits falling; with the other
He wiped his spectacles and put them on,
Drew forth a book, and opened it, and read.
The book entitled was, “The Perfect Cook.”
Therein all specialties were plainly written
Of Polish tables; after its direction
The Count of Tenczyn those famed banquets gave
In Italy, whereat the Holy Father,
Urban the Eighth, so marvelled. After them
Charles Radziwill, “Belovèd,” later on,
When he in Nieswiez King Stanislas
Received, that memorable banquet made,
Whose glory even now through Litva lives
In story of the people.
What the Wojski
Reading did understand, and did explain,
The cooks intelligent at once fulfilled.
The labour seethes, some fifty knives are clattering
Upon the board, the scullions bustle round,
As demons black; some carry wood, some jugs
With wine and milk, they pour it into kettles,
Stewpans, and saucepans. Smoke bursts forth; two scullions
Beside the oven sit, and blow the bellows.
The Wojski, that the wood might easier burn,
Commanded melted butter to be poured
Upon the wood-permitted such excess
Is in a wealthy house. The scullions heap
Upon the fire dry brushwood; others place
Upon the spits enormous roasts of beef,
Of venison, quarters of the boar and stag;
Some pluck great heaps of birds, the feathers fly
In clouds—grouse, heathcocks, chickens, all are stripped.
But fowls were not in plenty; since that inroad
Which at the period of the foray made
The murderous young Dobrzynski on the henhouse
When he Sophia’s care reduced to nought,
Nor left of reparation means, not yet
In Soplicowo, once renowned for poultry,
The birds again might flourish. For the rest
Of every kind of meat was great abundance,
Which might be gathered there from house and shambles,
And from the forests and the neighbourhood,
From near and far;—thou’dst say the only thing
They could not furnish forth was milk of birds.
Two things a liberal master seeks in feasts
Were joined in Soplicowo, art and plenty.
Already had arisen the solemn day;
The weather was most fair, the hour was early,
And the clear heaven was drawn around the earth
Like to a hanging sea, still, concave-arched.
A few stars glimmered from the deep, like pearls
From sea-depths through the billows; on one side
A white cloud, one alone, flies lightly upward,
And in the deep-blue sky were plunged its wings,
Like parting pinions of a guardian angel,
Who by the nightly prayer of men detained,
And over-late, hastes to return among
His fellow-denizens of heaven.
Now quenched
The last faint pearls of stars, and in the depths
Of skies extinguished were, and heaven’s brow
Is paler midmost. Its right temple, laid
Upon a pillow of shade, is swarthy still;
The left aye redder blushes; farther off,
A circle, like an eyelid broad, opes wide,
And in the midst the white part of an eye
Is seen, the iris and the pupil; now
A sunbeam darted forth, and in the round
Of skies it gleamed refracted, and it hung
Upon a white cloud like a golden lance.
Upon this arrow, signal of the day,
A sheaf of fires flew forth, a thousand rockets,
That o’er the circle of the world did cross.
And rose the sun’s eye. Somewhat yet asleep,
It winked, and trembling shook its radiant lashes,
Shining at once with all its seven hues.
At once it shone with sapphire, redly glowed
In ruby, yellow with the topaz light;
Till all at once it flamed as crystal clear.
Then like a gleaming diamond; lastly fiery,
Like to a great moon, like a twinkling star;
Thus through the heavens measureless did pass
The lonely sun.
To-day the Litvin people
From all the neighbourhood are gathered round
The chapel ere the sunrise, as to hear
The announcement of some novel miracle.
This gathering from the people’s piety
In part proceeded, part from curiousness;
For this day will the generals be present
At mass in Soplicowo, those renowned
As leaders of our legions, they of whom
The people knew the names, and honoured them
Like patron saints, and all whose wanderings,
Campaigns, and battles were a national
Gospel to Litva.
Now some officers
Had come already, and a crowd of soldiers.
The people flocked around them, on them gazed,
And scarcely might believe their eyes, beholding
Their fellow-countrymen in uniform,
Armed, free, and speaking in the Polish tongue.
Mass was performed. The tiny sanctuary
Might not contain the whole assembly there;
The people kneel upon the grass, and gaze
Inside the chapel doors, uncovering
Their heads. The hair of the Litvanian folk,
Fair-hued or yellow, golden shone like field
Of ripened rye; and blooming here and there
The fair hair of a maiden, with fresh flowers
Adorned, or peacock’s eyes, with ribbons braided,
Adornment of the tresses, gleamed among
The men’s heads, as ’mid wheat cornflowers and tares.
The many-coloured, kneeling crowd o’erspread
The field, and at the bell’s voice, as it were
At blowing of the wind, the heads all bowed,
As corn-ears in a field.
The village maids
To-day unto our Lady’s altar bear
Spring’s earliest gifts, fresh branches of green herbs;
All round in garlands and in nosegays dressed,
Altar and picture, and the belfry even,
And galleries. At times the morning breeze,
When blowing from the east, the garlands strips,
And throws on brows of kneeling worshippers,
And scatters them like fragrance from the censers.
But when the Mass and sermon both were done,
Presiding o’er the whole assembly now
The Chamberlain came forth, elected Marshal,
With one accord, by all the District’s States,
Wearing the Palatinal uniform,
A zupan gold-embroidered, the kontusz
Of Tours brocade with fringes, massy girdle,
Where hung a sabre with a shagreen hilt,
And a great diamond pin gleamed at his neck.
White his Confederate cap, and thereupon
A bunch of precious feathers; crests were these
Of herons white; on festivals alone
Is worn so rich a plume, whose every feather
A ducat costs. Thus clad, upon a hill
Before the church he mounted. Round him pressed
The villagers and soldiers. Thus he spoke:
“Brothers, the priest has late to you proclaimed
The freedom which the Emperor-king restored
Unto the crown, and now to Litva’s Duchy;
Restored unto all Poland; ye have heard
The government decrees, and convocation
Summoning the Diet. I have but to speak
A few words to the people, on a matter
Concerning the Soplica family,
Lords of this place.
“The region all remembers
The crime committed by the late Pan Jacek
Soplica here; but since you all do know
His crimes, ’tis time we likewise should proclaim
His merits to the world. The leaders of
Our armies here are present, from whom I
Have learned all that which now I tell to you.
This Jacek did not die, as rumour said,
In Rome, but only changed his former life,
And state, and name, and all his crimes against
God and the Fatherland he has effaced
By holy life, and by great deeds.
“ ’Twas he,
At Hohenlinden, who, when General Richepanse,
Half-beaten, did bethink him of retreat,
Unknowing Kniaziewicz with help drew near;—
He, Jacek, Robak called, through swords and spears,
Bore letters from Kniaziewicz to Richepanse,
Announcing our men took the foe in rear.
He later on in Spain, when that our lancers
Did capture Somosierra’s trenched crest,
At Kozieltulski’s side was wounded twice.
Then, as an envoy, charged with secret orders,
To different regions travelled he, to sound
The spirit of the people, to unite
Secret societies, and form them. Lastly,
In Soplicowo, his paternal nest,
When he an insurrection did prepare,
He perished in a foray. Just upon
His death intelligence to Warsaw came,
His Majesty the Emperor had deigned
To give him for his late heroic deeds
The ensigns chivalrous of Honour’s Legion.
“Wherefore all these things having in regard,
I, representing here the Wojewode’s rule,
With my Confederation staff, proclaim
To you, that Jacek by his faithful service,
And by the Emperor’s favour, has effaced
The stain of infamy, and now returns
To honour, and again he finds a place
In ranks of truest patriots. Therefore who
Shall dare remind the family of Jacek
Of his long-expiated fault, shall fall
Beneath the punishment of such reproach,
As gravis notoe macula declare,
The statute’s words; such penalty affects
Both militem and scartabel, who shall
Put infamy upon a citizen;
And since equality does now prevail,
Burghers and peasants this third article
Likewise obliges. Let this Marshal’s order
The district Writer in the general Acts
Inscribe, and let the Wozny set it forth.
“As touches now the cross of Honour’s Legion,
That it arrived too late shall not detract
From glory. If it might not Jacek serve
As ornament, be it a memory of him.
Let us suspend it on his grave. Three days
Let it hang here; then in the chapel lay
The cross, a votive offering to the Virgin.”
This saying, the order from its covering
He drew, and hung upon the humble cross
That marked the grave a crimson ribbon, tied
In form of a cockade, and that white cross,
Glittering with stars and with its golden crown.
And in the sunbeams brightly shone the stars,
Like the last gleam of Jacek’s earthly glory.
Meanwhile the people said upon their knees
The Angelus, for peace eternal praying
Unto the sinner’s soul. The Judge addressed
The guests and village crowd, inviting all
To Soplicowo for the banquet.
But
Upon the grassy bank before the house
Two old men sat, two measures full of mead
Upon their knees; they towards the orchard gaze,
Where like a sunflower, ’mid the poppy-buds
Of various hue, there stood a lancer, wearing
A shining kolpak, decked with golden metal
And a cock’s feather; near to him a girl
In dress as green as lowly rue, upraised
Eyes blue as heart’s-ease flowers towards the lad’s.
Young maidens in the garden further off,
Were gathering flowers; purposely they turned
Their heads away from where the lovers stood,
So that they might not trouble their discourse.
But those two old men drank their mead, and from
A snuff-box made of bark regaled each other,
And talked.
“Yes, yes, dear old Protasy,” said
Gervasy, Klucznik.—“Yes, dear old Gervasy,”
Protasy, Wozny, said.—“Yes, yes, just so,”
They in accord repeated many times,
Nodding their heads thereto. At length the Wozny:
“That wondrously this suit has ended I
Do not deny, yet there are precedents;
I can remember lawsuits during which
Far worse excesses happened than in ours,
But intermarriage ended all the evil.
Lopot to the Borzdobohaci
Was reconciled, the Krepsztuls to the house
Of Kupsc, and to Pikturna Putrament;
Mackiewicz to the Odyniec family,
And Turno unto the Kwileckis. But
What say I? Why, the Poles were used to have
With Litva disagreements worse by far
Than those of the Horeszkos and Soplica;
But Queen Jadwiga, when she counsel took,
Did quickly end that feud without the courts.
’Tis well when parties have a maid or widow
To give in marriage, thus a compromise
Is always ready. Lawsuits always last
The longest with the clergy, or with kindred
Too near related, for the action then
May never be with marriage brought to end.
Thence come the unending feuds of Poles and Russians,
Since they proceed from Lech and Russ, own brothers;
Thence were so many Lithuanian suits
With the Crusaders, till Jagellon won.
Thence, to conclude, pendebat long before
The acts, that famous lawsuit of the Rymszas
With the Dominicans, whence rose the proverb,
‘The Lord is greater than Pan Rymsza.’ But
I’ll warrant, mead is better than the Penknife.”
This saying, he clinked his goblet with the Klucznik’s.
“True, true,” replied Gervasy, greatly moved;
“Wondrous have been the fortunes of our Crown,
And of our Litva! Truly, like two consorts,
Heaven did unite them, and the devil part.
To Heaven his own, and to the devil his.
Ah! brother dear, Protasy, that our eyes
Should see this! that these dwellers of the Crown
Salute us! I served with them years ago,
I well remember they were brave Confederates.
If but the Pantler, my late master, had
Lived to behold this day! O Jacek! Jacek!
But why should we lament? This very day
Our Litva once more joineth with the Crown,
That too is reconciled, is blotted out.”
“And this a wonder is,” Protasy said,
“Concerning this Sophia, for whose hand
Our Thaddeus now entreats—a year ago
There was an omen, like a sign from Heaven.”
“Lady Sophia!” broke the Klucznik in,
“We now must call her, since she is grown up;
She is not a little girl; besides, she is
Of dignitary blood, the Pantler’s grandchild.
However,” did Protasy end, “there was
A sign prophetic of her destiny.
I saw the sign with mine own eyes. A year
Ago, our household on a holiday
Did sit here, drinking mead; but as we looked,
Down from the gable fell two sparrows fighting.
Both were old cock-birds; one, the younger, had
A patch of grey beneath the throat, the other
A black one; they went scuffling through the court,
Still turning somersaults, until they rolled
Deep in the dust. We looked on, and meanwhile
The servants whispered to each other, ‘Let
The black one be Horeszko, and the other
Soplica;’ so as often as the grey
Was uppermost, they cried, ‘Long live Soplica!’
‘Fie! fie! Horeszko coward!’ and when he fell,
They cried, Up, up, Soplica! give not in
Unto the magnate; shame ’twere for a noble!’
Thus jesting did we wait to see who conquered.
But just then little Sophy, moved with pity
For those two birds, ran up, and covered o’er
Both heroes with her little hand; they fought
Together in her hand, until their plumage
Flew wide, such rage was in those little devils!
The old women whispered, looking on Sophia,
That it was surely the girl’s destiny
To reconcile two houses long at feud.
And now I see, to-day has rendered true
The old women’s omen, though in truth they then
Were thinking of the Count, and not of Thaddeus.”
Thereto the Klucznik answered: “Wonderful
Events are in this world; who all can fathom?
I’ll also tell you something; although not
So wondrous as that omen, yet ’tis hard
Of understanding. Thou dost know, that once
I had been glad to drown the family
Of the Soplicas in a spoon of water;
But yet this little fellow Thaddeus
I was extremely fond of from a child.
I saw that when he fought with other boys,
He always beat them; so as oft as he
Ran to the castle, I would put him up
To some hard undertaking; he did all.
Were it to get down pigeons from the tower,
Or pluck the mistletoe from off the oak,
Or plunder crows’ nests from the highest pines,
He did it all! I said unto myself—
‘This lad is born beneath a lucky star;
A pity ’tis that he is a Soplica!’
But who had guessed the castle should in him
Welcome its heir, the husband of my lady
Sophia, my most gracious mistress?”
Here
The old men left off their discourse, and drank,
Deep thinking; only now and then were heard
These few short words—“Yes, yes, master Gervasy;”
“Yes, yes, master Protasy.”
The green bank
Touched close upon the kitchen, whereof stood
The window open, and the steam burst forth,
As from a conflagration; till from out
The wreaths of steam, like to a white dove, gleamed
The chief cook’s white cap; through the kitchen window
The Wojski o’er the old men’s heads his own
Put forth, in silence listening their discourse;
And offered them a saucer full of biscuits,
Saying, “Eat these with your mead, and I meanwhile
Will tell to you a curious history
Of a dispute that well-nigh ended in
A bloody fight, when, hunting in the depths
Of Naliboko’s forests, Rejtan played
A trick to Prince Denassau. This same trick
He well-nigh paid for with his own life. I
Composed the quarrel of these gentlemen,
As I will now relate to you.” But here
The cooks broke off the Wojski’s story, asking
Whom he had charged to arrange the centre-piece.
The Wojski went away, and having emptied
Their mead, the old men, in deep thought, their eyes
Turned to the garden depths, where held discourse
That handsome lancer with the maiden. He
Just then within his left hand taking hers—
The right was in a sling, for he was wounded—
“Sophia, thou now must tell me once for all
Ere we change rings. I must be sure of this.
What matter that last winter thou wert ready
To give thy word to me? I would not then
Accept that word. For what to me availed
A promise forced? At that time I had stayed
Short time in Soplicowo. I was not
So vain I could delude myself to thinking
That by one look of mine I could awake
Within thee love. I am no coxcomb; I
By mine own merits wished to gain thy love,
Though long I waited for it. Now thou art
So gracious as to give once more thy word.
By what have I deserved so high a grace?
Maybe thou takest me, Sophia, not
So much from inclination, only that
Thine uncle and thine aunt to this persuade thee.
But marriage is, Sophia, a weighty thing.
Advise with thine own heart; in this attend
No threatenings of thine uncle, nor thine aunt’s
Persuasions. If thou feelest nought for me
But goodwill, we may this betrothal yet
Some time delay. I have no wish to bind
Thy will, and we will wait awhile, Sophia.
Nought hurries us, since yester evening I
Received commandment to remain in Litva,
Drill-master in the regiment here, until
My wounds be healed. What then, beloved Sophia?”
Thereto Sophia answered, raising up
Her head, and looking shyly in his eyes:
“I do not well remember what occurred
Long since; I know they all said that I must
Be married to you; always I agree
With Heaven’s will, and with my elders’ wish.”
Then dropping down her eyes, she added this:
“Before you parted, if you recollect,
When Friar Robak died that stormy night,
I saw that, in departing, you were grieved
To leave us; there were tears within your eyes.
Those tears, I tell you truly, sank within
My heart, so I believe you, that you love me.
As often as I prayed for your success,
You ever stood before me with those large
And shining tears. The Chamberlain’s wife then
Went afterwards to Wilna, and she took me
There with her for the winter; but I longed
For Soplicowo, and that little room,
Where first at eve you met me by the table;
And then took leave. I know not how, your memory,
Something like cabbage-seed in autumn sown,
Through all the winter quickened in my heart;
That, as I said to you, unceasingly
I longed for that apartment, and to me
Did something whisper, I again should find
You there, and so it happened. Having that
Within my heart, your name was often on
My lips; ’twas during Carnival at Wilna;
And the young ladies said I was in love.
Now if I some one loved, who should it be,
Excepting you?” Thaddeus, with such a proof
Of love delighted, took her by the hand,
Pressed it, and they together left the garden,
Went to that lady’s bower, unto that room
Where Thaddeus had dwelt ten years ago.
Now there the Regent tarried, wondrously
Adorned, and served his fair betrothèd dame,
With running to and fro, and offering
Rings, chains, and pots, and flasks, cosmetics, perfumes;
Joyful, he gazed with triumph on the bride.
The bride her toilette ended even now;
She sat before a mirror, taking counsel
Of the divinities of grace; the maids,
Some with the curling-irons renew the stiffened
Rings of the tresses, others, kneeling, labour
Upon the flounces.
While the Regent thus
Near his betrothed was busy, at the window
A scullion knocked; a hare had just been seen.
That hare, late stolen from the osiers forth,
Ran through the meadow, in the orchard sprang
Among the growing vegetables. There
He sat, ’twere easy now to start him, and
To hunt him down, the greyhounds placing on
The clearing. The Assessor hastens, dragging
By the collar Sokol; after him makes haste
The Regent, calling Kusy. Both the dogs
The Wojski stations by the hedge, but then
Betook him with his fly-scare to the orchard.
Trampling, and whistling, clapping, much he frightens
The game; the prickers, each one by the collar
His greyhound holding, pointing where the hare
Is stirring, chuckled silently; the dogs
Pricked up their ears impatiently, they trembled,
Like arrows twain upon one bowstring laid.
At once the Wojski gave the starting word;
The hare straight darted from behind the hedge,
Upon the mead; the greyhounds after him.
And presently, without a double, Sokol
And Kusy fell together on the hare,
From two sides in an instant, like a bird’s
Two wings, and plunged into the creature’s back
Their teeth-like claws; the hare gave forth one cry,
Grievous, as of a new-born child. The prickers
Rushed to the spot; the hare now lifeless lies,
The greyhounds tear the white fur on his breast.
The prickers stroked their dogs; meanwhile the Wojski
Drew from his girdle forth a hunting-knife,
Cut off the feet, and said, “To-day the dogs
Shall have an equal fee, for they have both
Won equal glory, equal both in swiftness,
Equal in labour; ‘Worthy is the palace
Of Pac, and Pac is worthy of the palace;’
Worthy the prickers of their greyhounds, worthy
The greyhounds of their prickers. Here, behold,
Your long and bitter quarrel now is done.
I, whom you chose as judge to hold your stakes,
Pronounce at length my sentence; both of you
Have won; the pledges I restore; let each
Receive his own again, and both you sign
A peace.” Then at the old man’s invitation
The prickers turned a joyous countenance
Upon each other, and together joined
Their right hands, long divided.
Then the Regent
Said, “Once I staked a horse with all its trappings.
I notice gave before the local court,
That I deposited my ring as fee
Unto our Judge; a pledge deposited,
Returned may not be. Let the Wojski take
This ring as a remembrance, and command
His name to be thereon engraved, or, if
He will, Hreczecha’s arms. The bloodstone’s smooth,
The gold was tried eleven times. That steed
The lancers for the horse have requisitioned;
But still the saddle has remained with me.
’Tis praised by every connoisseur, as being
Convenient, lasting, lovely as a toy.
The saddle, in the Turkish Cossack style,
Is narrow; in the front a pommel is;
Upon it precious stones, a cushion of
Rich stuff upon the seat; and when you spring
Unto the saddle-bow, on this soft down
Between the pommels you may sit at ease
As on a couch; and when you gallop”—here
Regent Bolesta, who, as well we know,
Loved gestures greatly, spread his legs apart,
As though he sprang on horseback, then presenting
A gallop, slowly rocked from side to side—
“And when you set off in a gallop, then
There beams a splendour from the saddle-bow,
As gold were dropping from the charger, for
The stirrup-bands are sprinkled o’er with gold,
And silver the broad stirrups gilded o’er.
Upon the mouth-piece reins, and on the bridle,
Shine little buttons of the pearly shell;
And to the breast-piece hangs a moon in shape
Of Leliwa, that is, of the new moon,
This splendid unique furniture—’twas captured,
Report says, in the battle of Podhajce,
From some considerable Turkish noble—
Receive, as proof of my regard, Assessor.”
Whereto the Assessor answered, with the gift
Delighted: “I one time my beautiful
Dog-collars, given me by Prince Sanguszko,
Pledged; made of shagreen, all with golden circles
Inlaid, and with a leash of silk, whereof
The workmanship is precious as the stone
That shines upon it. I desired to leave
This set an heirloom to my children—certain
I shall have children, as I shall be married,
Thou knowest, to-day. But, Regent, be so good
As to accept this set, I pray, in change
For thy rich furniture, and in remembrance
Of this dispute, which has prevailed for years,
And has at last so honourably come
To end for both of us. Let peace now flourish
Between us.” So they home returned, to announce
At table that the contest between Sokol
And Kusy now was ended.
Stories were
The Wojski in the house had nurtured up
This hare, and secretly had let it loose
Into the garden, so to make agreed
The prickers by such conquest, far too light.
The old man with such mystery performed
The trick that he completely had deceived
All Soplicowo. Some years later something
The scullion of this whispered, to renew
The Assessor’s quarrel with the Regent, but
In vain he spread such tales to wrong the dogs;
The Wojski still denied it, and none then
Believed the scullion.
Now the guests assembled
In the great banquet-hall, the banquet waiting,
Conversed around the table, when the Judge
Entered, in Palatinal uniform,
And led in Master Thaddeus and Sophia.
Thaddeus, his forehead with the left hand touching,
Saluted with a soldier’s bow his leaders.
Sophia, with glances cast upon the earth,
Blushing, the guests with curtsy welcomed, taught
By Telimena now to curtsy well.
She wore a garland on her head, in sign
Of spousal; for the rest, her dress was such
As when to-day within the chapel she
Laid spring sheaves for the Virgin. She once more
Had reaped fresh bunches for the guests of herbs;
With one hand she distributes flowers and grass,
The other hand adjusts the shining sickle
Upon her head. The leaders took the herbs,
Kissing her hands. Sophia once again
Curtsied all round, deep blushing.
General
Kniaziewicz then raised her in his arms,
And printing on her brow a father’s kiss,
Raised up the girl, and set her on the table.
Applauding, all cried, “Bravo!” all enchanted
With the girl’s beauty, but especially
By her Litvanian dress, its simpleness;
Since for these leaders, who in wandering life,
So long in foreign parts throughout the world,
Had journeyed, wondrous charms the native dress
Possessed, as it recalled to them their youth,
And former loves. Therefore, well-nigh with tears,
They thronged around the table; eagerly
They gazed. Some pray Sophia would uplit
Her head a little, and would show her eyes;
Some that she condescend to turn around.
The bashful maiden turned, but with her hands
Still veiled her eyes. Most joyful, Thaddeus gazed,
And rubbed his hands together.
Whether some one
Had given Sophia counsel to appear
In such a dress, or she by instinct knew—
For every girl by instinct can divine
What suits her countenance—it is enough
That for the first time in her life Sophia
This morning was by Telimena scolded
For her self-will, no fashionable dress
Desiring, until she by tears prevailed
That she might thus be left, in simple dress.
She had a long, white petticoat, the dress
Short, of green camlet, with a rosy hem;
The bodice likewise green, with rosy ribbons,
Laced cross-wise from the bosom to the neck,
The bosom underneath, hid like a bud
Beneath a leaf; white from the shoulders gleamed
The shift-sleeves, like the wings of butterflies
Expanded for their flight; these at the wrist
Were gathered, and with ribbon fastened there.
The neck was likewise by the narrow shift
Surrounded, with its collar girded up
By a rosy breast-knot; earrings artfully
Carved out of cherry-stones, whose fashioning
Had been Dobrzynski’s pride; two tiny hearts
Were there, with dart and flame, given to Sophia,
When Bustard wooed her. And upon the collar
There hung two strings of amber. On her shoulders
Sophia had thrown the ribbons of her tresses,
And on her forehead placed, as reapers wont,
A curvèd sickle, polished recently
By reaping grass, bright, like the crescent moon
Upon Diana’s brow.
All praised, all clapped.
One of the officers from out his pocket
Drew a portfolio, with some folds of paper.
He spread them out, his pencil sharpened, moistened,
Looked on Sophia, and drew. Scarce saw the Judge
The paper and the pencil, when he knew
The sketcher, though a Colonel’s uniform,
Rich epaulettes, a truly lancer mien,
A darkened moustache, and a Spanish beard
Had changed him greatly, yet the Judge him knew.
“How are you, my Illustrious, gracious Count?
And have you in your cartridge-box your travelling
Painting materials?” ’Twas the Count indeed;
Not long a soldier, but because he owned
Large revenues, and at his own expense
A regiment had of cavalry equipped,
And in the first fight borne him gallantly,
The Emperor on that day had named him Colonel.
So did the Judge salute the Count, and on
His rank congratulated him; the Count
Heard nothing, but still drew with diligence.
Meanwhile the second pair betrothed came in.
The Assessor, once the Czar’s, to-day Napoleon’s
Devoted servant; under his command
He had a body of gendarmes, and though
Scarce twenty hours in office, he already
Wore the grey uniform with Polish facings,
And dragged a crooked sabre at his side,
And clinked his spurs. With stately step beside him,
Came his beloved, magnificently dressed,
Thekla Hreszczanka, for the Assessor long
Had cast off Telimena, and as more
To sadden this coquette, his true affections
Had turned towards the Wojszczanka now.
Not over-young the bride was, she well-nigh
Reached middle age, but a good manager,
With dignity and dowry; for besides
A hamlet she inherited, the Judge
Her dowry by a small sum had increased.
The third pair vainly they long time await:
The Judge impatient grew, and servants sent.
Returning, these bring answer, the third bridegroom,
The Regent, starting forth the hare, had lost
The ring; he sought it in the meadow, and
The Regent’s lady, though herself she hastes,
And though the serving-women her assist,
Cannot by any means her toilette end.
She scarcely will at four o’clock be ready.