The Count returned unto himself, but still
He stayed his horse; and turning round his head,
He gazed into the garden, and one time
It seemed to him, that from the little window
Gleamed the mysterious white frock again,
And something light descended from above
Again, and in the twinkling of an eye
Coursed o’er the garden, shining once again
Among green cucumbers, like to a sunbeam
Stol’n from behind a cloudlet, when it falls
Upon a bit of flint upon a plain,
Or ’mid green meadows on a shallow pool.
The Count dismounted, sent his servants home;
Himself in secret towards the garden went.
He reached at length the paling, in it found
An opening, and silently crept in,
Like wolf into a sheep-fold. By mischance
He struck some bushes of dry gooseberry.
The pretty gardener, as though she feared
The rustle, looked around, but nothing saw;
Yet ran she to the garden’s other side.
But at her side the Count, among the sorrel,
Among the burdock leaves, among the grass,
Sprang onwards like a frog, on hands and knees,
Quite close to her, on, crawling silently.
At last he put his head out, and beheld
A wondrous spectacle.
In this part of
The orchard, cherry-trees grew here and there,
Among them cereals of different kind,
Expressly mixed together; wheat and maize,
And beans, long-bearded rye, and peas, and millet
And even flowers and bushes. For the poultry
The housekeeper this garden had invented,
Her glory. Madame Poultry she was called,
And Mistress Turkey was her maiden name.
An epoch her invention constitutes
In housekeeping, now known to every one;
But at that time as yet a novelty,
Communicated to not many persons,
Under strict secrecy; before it was
Thus published in the almanac, by title;
“A remedy for hawks and kites, or a
New means of rearing poultry.” I was such
A garden as this one.
Thus, scarce the cock
Standing as sentinel, and motionless
His beak upturning, and his crested head
To one side bending, so that he might aim
At heaven easier with his glance, may see
A hawk suspended in the clouds, he crows;
At once the hens take refuge in this garden,
Even geese and peacocks, and in sudden fright
Pigeons, who find no safety on the roof.
But now no foe was visible in heaven,
And only the fierce heat of summer burned.
The birds hid from it in that wood of corn;
Some lay among the grass, some slept in sand.
Among the birds’ heads, little human ones
Stood forth, uncovered; on them were short locks
As white as flax, necks to the shoulders bare.
Among them sat a damsel, one head taller,
With longer locks; behind the children sat
A peacock, with the circle of his plumes
Wide-spreading, in a rainbow many-hued,
On which the small fair heads, as on a picture’s
Background, against the deep blue, took on lustre,
Defined by circle of the peacock eyes,
Like to a starry garland; in the corn
They gleamed as though in a transparency,
Amid the golden stalks of Indian corn,
With silver streaks of English clover decked,
And coral mercury, and verdant mallow;
The mingled forms and colours seemed to make
A woven lattice-work of gold and silver,
That waved upon the wind like a light veil.
Above the thicket of the many-coloured
Corn-ears and stalks, hung like a canopy,
A shining mist of butterflies, those called
“Old women;” and whose fourfold wings, as light
As webs of spiders, and as clear as glass,
Suspended in the air, may scarce be seen;
And though they make a humming, thou wouldst think
They were immovable.
The damsel waved
A plume of grey, uplifted in one hand,
Like to a bunch of ostrich feathers. She
Appeared therewith from off the infant heads
To chase the golden rain of butterflies;
And in her other hand a something gleamed,
Horn-shaped and shining. It would seem a vessel
For feeding children, for unto the lips
Of each in turn she neared it. In its shape
It looked like Amalthea’s golden horn.
Thus busied, ne’ertheless she turned her head
Towards the direction of that well-remembered
Trampling of gooseberry bushes; not aware
That the invader drew already near,
From the side opposite, and like a snake
On creeping, till he from the burdocks sprang.
She looked; he stood quite near; removed from her
Four garden beds apart, and low he bowed.
She turned away her head, and raised her arms;
And, like a frightened jay, she tried to fly.
Her light feet flew already o’er the leaves,
When, frightened by the coming of the stranger,
And by the damsel’s flight, the children shrieked
Most terribly. She heard it, and she felt
It were imprudent thus to leave alone
The little, timid children. She returned,
Herself controlling; but she must return,
Like an unwilling spirit, whom a wizard
Compels by adjuration; she ran up,
To play with the most noisy of the children.
She sat beside it on the ground, she took it
Upon her lap, the others she caressed,
With hand and fondling speech, until they all
Again were quiet, with their little hands
Her knees encircling, and their little heads
To her close-pressing, like to little chickens
Under their mother’s wing. She said: “Is it
Pretty to cry like that? Is it polite?
This gentleman will be afraid. He is
Not come to frighten us; he is not an old
And ugly beggar. He’s a visitor,
And a good gentleman: just look how pretty.”
She looked herself. The Count well pleased did smile,
And visibly was grateful unto her
For so much praise. She soon bethought herself,
Was silent, dropped her eyes, and like a rosebud
She blushed.
A pretty gentleman he was
In truth, of right good beauty, with a face
Of oval form, pale cheeks, but of fresh hue;
Blue eyes and gentle; long, fair hair; thereon
Were leaves of plants, and grass-blades, which the Count
Had plucked away while crawling through the beds
Like woven wreath they decked his locks with green.
“O thou!” he said; “by whatsoever name
I may adore thee, be thou nymph or goddess,
Spirit or vision, speak! hath thine own will
Led thee on earth, or do a stranger’s bonds
Retain thee prisoner in this earthly vale?
Alas! I guess the truth! some lover scorned,
Some powerful lord, or envious guardian,
Holds thee enchanted in this castle-park!
Thou art worthy gallant knights should fight for thee,
To be a heroine of sad romance!
Unfold to me, O fair one, all the secrets
Of this thy cruel fate, and thou shalt here
Find a deliverer! Henceforth at thy beck,
As thou dost rule my heart, rule thou my arm!”
And forth he stretched his arm.
With maiden blush
She listened, but with merry countenance,
As children love to see bright-coloured pictures,
Or can amusement find in shining counters,
Before they learn their worth. These words sweet-sounding
Thus did caress her hearing, though she knew not
Their sense. At length she asked him: “Whence, sir, come you?
What are you seeking in the garden beds?”
The Count his eyes wide opened. Much confused,
Astonished, he was still; then lowering
The style of his discourse: “I beg your pardon,”
He said; “young lady! I perceive that I
Have troubled pastime. Oh! I beg your pardon.
I am this moment hastening to breakfast;
I am already late; I wished to come
In time. You know, young lady, how the road
Goes circling round. The garden seemed to me
A shorter way to reach the house.” The girl
Replied: “The way is here, sir, but you must
Not spoil the garden beds. There is the path
Among the turf.” “Is it to left or right?”
The Count demanded. Lifting her blue eyes,
The gardening-nymph appeared to search him through
With curiosity. For there the house,
A thousand paces off, stood plainly seen,
As though at arm’s length; yet he asked the way.
But yet the Count must absolutely talk
With her, and sought for this some fresh excuse.
“Live you here, lady, near the garden? or
There in the village? How then has it chanced,
I have not seen you at the manor-house?
Have you not long been here? new come perhaps?”
The damsel shook her head. “Pray, pardon me,
Young lady; is not that your chamber there,
Where stands that little window?
But he thought
Within his heart, “If not the heroine
Of a romance, she seems a very young,
And very pretty girl. Too often does
A great soul, a high mind, in solitude
Concealèd, blossom like a rose among
A forest; ’tis enough to bring it forth
Into the world, and place it in the sun,
And make beholders wonder at its thousand
Bright colours.”
Meanwhile silently uprose
The gardening maiden; on her shoulder lifting
One child, another taking by the hand,
Driving the rest like geese before her, she
Passed through the garden.
Turning round she said,
“Sir, cannot you drive back my runaway
Poultry into the barn?” “I drive the poultry!”
The Count exclaimed in wonder. She meanwhile
Had vanished, in the shadows of the trees;
And yet awhile from the espalier yet,
Through wreaths of foliage, something gleamed athwart,
As though it were two eyes.
The Count alone
Stood long yet in the garden. And his spirit,
Like to the earth when once the sun is down,
Grew gradually colder; sober hues
Assumed. He now began to dream, but he
Had very disagreeable dreams indeed. He woke,
Not knowing against whom he felt such rage.
Alas! he had found so little; he expected
Too much! For when he crept through rows of plants
Towards that shepherdess, his head did burn,
His heart within him jumped. So many charms
In that mysterious nymph he gazed upon,
He clothed her in such marvels, guessed so many,
And all things he found out were otherwise!
She had indeed a pretty face, a slender
Figure, but how unformed! and such a plumpness
Of cheeks, and that deep red, depainting such
Excessive vulgar happiness; sure sign
Her mind yet slept, her heart was still unstirred.
And those replies, so vulgar, country-like!
“Wherefore delude myself?” he cried; “I have guessed
Too late. And my mysterious nymph, no doubt
Is the goose-girl!”
With the nymph’s vanishing,
The magical transparency all changed!
Those ribbons, those resplendent lattices
Of gold and silver, all, alas! was straw!
Wringing his hands, the Count gazed on a bunch
Of grass, that formed a broom, which he had taken
For ostrich feathers in the damsel’s hand.
The vessel he forgot not, made of gold,
That horn of Amalthea!—it was a carrot!
He saw the children gorge it eagerly.
Then all the charm was over! the enchantment!
The wonder!
Even so when a boy perceives
The flowers of succory, with soft, light blue
Tempting his hand, and longs to grasp them; near
He comes, he breathes, and with the breath the flower
In light down vanishes in air. And now
The seeker over-curious beholds
Only a naked, grey-green stalk of grass,
Left in his hand.
The Count pressed down his hat
Upon his brows, and by the way he came
Returned, but shorter made the road; he trod
O’er vegetables, flowers, and gooseberry bushes;
Till, o’er the paling sprung, he breathed at last.
Then he remembered that he spoke of breakfast
Unto the damsel. Every one, may be,
Now knew the story of this meeting in
The garden, near unto the house. Perhaps
They now were coming out to seek for him.
They saw his flight, who knows what they may think?
So it behoved him to return. Down bending
Along the hedges, ’twixt the ridges and
The plants, he made a thousand turns, yet glad
He was, when he at last attained the path,
Which straightway to the mansion courtyard led.
He went beside the hedge, but from the orchard
He turned away his head;—a thief resembling,
Who looketh from the granary away,
To give no trace of wish to visit it,
Or that he has already visited.
So prudent was the Count, though no one tracked him,
That towards the quarter opposite the garden,
Towards the right he looked.
A sparse-grown thicket
Was there, all paved with turf, upon whose carpets,
Across the white stems of the birchen-trees,
Beneath a tent of hanging leafy boughs,
A multitude of forms were moving round,
With actions strange, like dances, and strange dress.
They seemed like spirits wandering by the moon,
Some clad in black, tight garments, some in long
And flowing robes, all shining—white as snow;
One underneath a hat like spreading hoop,
Bareheaded one; and others, as though wrapped
In clouds seemed walking, long veils on the wind
Let fly, far streaming like a comet’s tail.
Each in a different posture; one as grown
Fast to the earth; his eyes alone cast down
Upon the earth do circle round about;
One looking straight before him, forward strides,
As though in sleep, in a straight line; nor turns
Aside to right or left. But all bend down
To various sides, unto the very ground,
As though they made deep bows. If they draw near,
Or meet each other, they do neither speak,
Nor do salute each other. Deep in thought,
Buried within themselves, the Count beheld
In them an image of Elysian shades,
Who, though by pains or fears unreachable,
Wander on peacefully and still, though gloomy.
Who would have guessed these scarcely moving folk,
Those silent people, were our old acquaintance,
The Judge’s friends? They from their noisy breakfast,
Went forth unto the solemn ceremony
Of mushroom-gathering. Like heedful folk,
They knew how they should mark their speech and action,
So as to suit them both to place and time,
In every circumstance. And for this reason,
Ere to the thicket followed they the Judge,
They took on different forms, and change of dress,
Rain-cloaks of linen, that for walking served,
Wherewith they hid the top of the kontusz,
And on their heads indued they hats of straw;
Thence seemed they white, like purgatory souls.
All the young people likewise seemed disguised,
Excepting Telimena and some others,
Who wore the French costume.
The Count this scene
Could comprehend not, neither did he know
This country custom, so in measureless
Amazement he unto the thicket ran.
Of mushrooms there was plenty! Krasnolice
The lads collected, and the lisice,
Renowned in Lithuanian songs; they are
Emblem of maidenhood, for never grubs
Devour them; and more wondrous, never insects
Upon them sit. The youthful ladies seek
The slim borowik, which the song extols,
As colonel of the fungi. But all search
For agarics; which, humbler in their growth,
And less renowned in songs, yet most delicious
Are, whether they be eaten fresh, or salted,
In autumn or in winter. But the Wojski
Collected muchomory.
Others form
The commonwealth of mushrooms, in the mass
Despised for harmfulness, or evil taste.
But yet they have their uses; food for beasts,
And insects’ nests, and ornaments of groves.
On the green table-cloth of meadows, like
A row of table vessels they appear.
The silvery surojadki, red and yellow,
Appear like tiny goblets filled with wine,
The kozlak like a swelling cup reversed,
Lejki like slender glasses of champagne,
Bielaki, round and white, and broad and flat,
Like Dresden cups filled to the brim with milk,
And a round ball, filled with a blackish dust,
Purchawka, like a pepper-castor; other
Names are there, known in tongue of wolves or hares,
By men unchristened;—but they have no number,
And no one condescends to touch the hare
Or wolfish mushrooms; and whoever stoops
Towards them, and perceiveth his mistake,
In anger breaks the fungus, or upon it
Tramples, and spoiling thus the grass, he acts
Very imprudently.
But Telimena
Collected neither human mushrooms nor
Wolfish; she, absent-minded, weary, looked
Around her, with her head uplifted. Angry,
The Regent said that she was seeking mushrooms
Upon the trees; the Assessor likened her,
With greater malice, to a hen-bird, seeking
Around to find a place to build her nest.
However, it appeared she sought for silence,
For solitude; for slowly she withdrew
Herself from her companions; and she went
Along the wood, towards a low-sloped hill,
O’ershadowed, for the trees grew thickly there.
A grey stone midmost; from beneath the stone
A streamlet murmured, gushed forth, and at once
As though it sought for shadow, hid itself
Among the herbage thick and growing high,
Which, drunk with water, round luxuriated.
There the swift, wilful stream in grasses swaddled,
And laid on bed of leafage, motionless
And noiseless, unperceived, and scarcely heard,
Did whisper to itself, like crying child,
When laid down in its cradle, while the mother
Above it curtains binds of foliage,
And scatters leaves of poppy on its head.
A tranquil, lovely place; here Telimena
Oft hides herself, and calls it Sanctuary
Of Meditation.
Standing by the brook,
She from her shoulders threw upon the grass
Her lightly-waving shawl, like bloodstone red.
And like a swimmer, who doth bend her down
Unto the chilly water, ere she dare
The plunge, so she knelt down, and gradually
Bent to one side. At last, as borne away
By a coral torrent, on the shawl she fell,
And lay extended; on the grass her elbow,
Leaning her brow upon her open hand,
Her head bent downward to the ground, and on
The ground beside her head there gleamed the white
And vellum paper of a French book. Over
The alabaster pages, wreathed the black
Ringlets and rosy ribbons.
In the emerald
Of the luxuriant grass upon the shawl
Of bloodstone-red, in a long garment, as
Within a coral covering, wherefrom
Her locks appeared at one end, at the other
Was a black slipper; at the sides gleamed white
Her snowy stocking, handkerchief, and whiteness
Of hands and face; she well might seem afar
A many-coloured caterpillar, crawling
Upon the green leaf of a maple-tree.
Alas! the charms and beauties of this picture
In vain sought connoisseurs; none heeded them.
All were so busy with their mushroom hunt.
However, Thaddeus regarded them,
And glanced aside, and daring not to go
Straightway, he glided sidewards to the place.
As does the hunter, in a leafy booth,
Movable, planted on two wheels, when he
Follows the trail of game; or in pursuing
Plovers, upon the saddle lays his gun,
Or underneath the horse’s neck; now seems
To drag a harrow, now along the ridge
To ride; but every move draws nearer to
The spot where sit the birds. So Thaddeus
Stole up.
The Judge disturbed his ambush, and
Cutting across his way, made haste unto
The fountain. With his sarafan’s white skirt,
And a great handkerchief, the end of which
Was bound unto his girdle, played the wind.
A straw hat, bound beneath his chin, from his
Swift movement, like a leaf of burdock, in
The wind waved to and fro; now on his shoulder
It fell, and now again upon his eyes;
A great stick in his hand: thus strode the Judge.
He stopped, and in the streamlet washed his hands;
Then on the great stone close by Telimena
He sat, and both hands on the ivory head
Of his enormous cane supporting, he
Began with such preamble.
“As thou seest,
Since Thaddeus came here as guest, I have had
No small anxiety. I am an old
And childless man; he is a good boy, truly
My only consolation in the world,
And future heir unto my fortune. I,
By heaven’s grace, shall leave no bad provision
Of noble’s bread behind me; ’tis now time
His future to consider, and his settling.
But judge of my distress. Thou knowest well
Pan Jacek, my own brother, and the father
Of Thaddeus—a man most singular,
’Tis hard to know the meaning of his plans—
Will not return unto his native land.
Heaven only knows where he has hid himself.
He will not even tell his son he lives,
But is continually disposing of him.
He first desired to send him to the legions;
And greatly this tormented me. Then he
Agreed that he should stay at home and marry
He should indeed have got a wife already.
I looked for a good match. No dweller here
In birth is equal, or in parentage
Unto the Chamberlain; his daughter Anna
Is marriageable, beautiful, well-dowered.
I wished to”—Telimena here grew pale,
Laid down her book, half rose, again sat down.
“As I my mother love,” said she, “are you,
My brother, in your senses, right in heart?
Think you that you will be a benefactor
To Thaddeus, if, being yet a lad,
You make of him a buckwheat sower? You
Debar him from the world. Believe me, he
Some time will curse you for it. Such a talent
In rooms to bury, and in garden ground.
Believe me, in so far as I have seen,
He is a boy of some intelligence;
It is worth while for him to get some polish
In the great world. You would do well, my brother,
To send him to some capital, for instance
To Warsaw. Or, do you know what I think?—
If ’twere to Petersburg? This winter I
Shall probably be going there on business.
Let us together settle what to do
With Thaddeus. I know many people there;
I have influence; it is the surest way.
By my assistance he will find an entrance
In the best families, and being known
To persons of importance, he will get
An office, or an order; let him then
Leave, if he will, the service, and come home,
Having already some importance, and
Some knowledge of the world. What think you, brother?”
“Ay, in one’s early years,” the Judge replied,
“It is not wrong a boy should air himself
A little, and look round him in the world,
And rub a little among folk. Myself,
When young, o’er not a little of the world
I travelled, went to Piotrkow and to Dubno;
Now as a pleader with the tribunal,
Promoting now my own affairs, I went
As far as Warsaw. As a man, not little
I profited thereby. I should desire
To send my nephew also among people,
But simply as a traveller, like to
A journeyman, who ends his term of years,
To get a little knowledge of the world,
And not for rank or order. With respect,
This Russian rank or order—how should that
Confer importance? Of our ancient lords,
Why, even of the new ones, who among
The somewhat higher nobles of the district,
Cares for such trifles? Yet, however, they
Are in esteem with mankind, for in them
They honour family and a good name,
Or office, but a native one, conferred
By citizen’s election, not by any
Favour whatever.”
Telimena here
Broke in: “If thus you think, so much the better,
My brother; send him out then as a traveller.”
“Thou seest, sister,” sadly spoke the Judge,
Scratching his head; “I should desire it much.
But what avails this, with new hindrances?
Pan Jacek will not from his own control
Release his son, and has just sent to me
The Bernardine, this Robak, who is come
From that side Vistula; my brother’s friend
Is he, and cognisant of all his thoughts;
And they between them have already settled
The destiny of Thaddeus, and desire
That he shall marry—that he wed Sophia,
Your ward. The two will have, besides my fortune,
A capital as dowry by the favour
Of Jacek; for you know the capital
Is his, and by his favour I enjoy
Its interest nearly all. He therefore has
The right of disposition. You consider
How this result, with the least trouble, may
Be brought about. They must become acquainted.
’Tis true, they are very young, especially
Sophia; but this need be no obstacle.
And it is time to bring Sophia out
From her seclusion, for indeed she now
Is growing out of childhood.”
Telimena,
Astonished and half-frightened, half arose,
And knelt upon the shawl; at first she heard
Attentive; then with motion of her hand
Protested; with impatient movement shaking
Her hand above her ear, as though to chase
Like insects the displeasing words away,
Back to the speaker’s lips.
“Ah! ah! this is
A new thing! Let it injure Thaddeus,
Or injure not, yourself can judge the best.
Thaddeus to me is nothing; you yourselves
Dispose of him; make him an overseer,
Or put him in a tavern; let him sell
Liquor, or carry game home from the forest.
With him do what shall please you. But Sophia,
What is Sophia to you? I shall dispose
Of her in marriage, I alone! Because
Pan Jacek gave some money to bring up
Sophia, and a little yearly pension
Assigns to her, and deigns to promise more,
Still for all that he has not purchased her!
And for the rest, you gentlemen both know,
And all the world knows well, your liberal gifts
To us are not bestowed without a reason.
For something the Soplicas owe unto
The race of the Horeszkos.” To this portion
Of her discourse, with scarcely understood
Trouble, and grief, and horror visible,
The Judge attended, and as though he feared
The rest of the discourse, he bowed his head,
And, with his hand assenting, deeply blushed.
But Telimena finished speaking thus:
“I have been her guardian, am a relative,
Sophia’s one protector. I alone
Shall think about her happiness.”—“But if
She find her happiness in this same marriage?”
The Judge said, raising up his glance; “suppose
That she likes Thaddeus?”—“Like him, that’s a pear
Upon a willow; like or not like; ’tis
A weighty thing to me; Sophia will not
Be richly dowered, in truth; but then she is
Not of a petty village, or a mean
Nobility. She comes of the Illustrious
Most Powerful, she is a Wojewode’s daughter,
Born from a Horeszkowna; she will get
A husband—we have taken so much pains
About her education—only if
She have not here run wild.” The Judge with heed
Listened, and looked into her eyes; he seemed
Appeased, for pretty cheerfully he answered:
“Well then, what must we do? Heaven knows that I
Sincerely wished to get the business done;
But only without anger. If you do not
Agree, you are right; ’tis sad, but ’tis unfitting
Angry to be. I counselled this, because
My brother ordered it; there’s no compulsion.
If you refuse still Master Thaddeus,
I will write back to Jacek, that ’tis not
My fault his son’s betrothal to Sophia
Does not take place. Now will I counsel take
With myself only. Possibly I shall
Begin arrangements with the Chamberlain;
And all the rest we will decide upon.”
Meanwhile had Telimena cooler grown:
“I refuse nothing, brother dear,” she said;
“But gently! you yourself have said it is
As yet too early; they are both too young.
Let us look round, and wait; nought hinders that.
Make the young people known to one another.
We will consider well, we cannot risk
The happiness of others thus on chance.
I only warn betimes; do not, my brother,
Over-persuade now Thaddeus, nor compel him
To love Sophia; for the heart is not
A servant, neither owns a master’s reign,
Nor can be bound by violence in a chain!
Thereon the Judge, uprising, full of thought
Departed. Master Thaddeus drew near
From the opposing side, pretending that
The search for mushrooms drew him to the spot;
And in the same direction came the Count
Now slowly forward.
Hidden by the trees,
While Telimena and the Judge disputed,
The Count had stood, much wondering at this scene.
At length he drew out from his pocket paper
And pencil, implements he always carried
Along with him; and spreading out the paper,
Over a tree-trunk bending, sketched the picture,
Saying unto himself: “As though they were
Thus grouped on purpose; he upon the stone,
She on the grass; a group most picturesque!
Characteristic heads, the contrast marked.”
He came up, stopped, and put his eyeglass on;
He rubbed the lenses, and looked more and more.
“Will this miraculous, this lovely sight
Perish, or be transformed if I approach?
This velvet grass be only beet and poppies?
And in this nymph shall I but recognise
Some housekeeper?”
Although the Count had often
Seen Telimena in the Judge’s house,
Where pretty often he had been, he little
Had her esteemed; and most astonished was
To find in her the model of his picture.
The beauty of the place, and her position,
The charming, tasteful dress had so transformed her,
She scarcely might be recognised. There yet
Shone unextinguished anger in her eyes.
Her face, enlivened by the wind’s fresh breeze,
Discussion with the Judge, and by the sudden
Arrival of the young men, deeply blushed,
More deeply than her wont.
“Madam,” the Count
Said, “Deign my boldness to forgive. I come
At once to ask your pardon and to thank you.
Pardon, for that I tracked your steps by stealth;
To thank you that I have been witness of
Your meditation. Much as I offended,
So much am I your debtor. Interrupting
An hour of meditation, unto you
I owe an hour of inspiration, and
A blessèd moment. Be the man condemned;
The lover of the arts awaits your pardon.
Much I have ventured; I will venture more.
Judge.” And he knelt, and offered her his landscape.
Then Telimena gave, in courteous strain,
Her judgment on the attempt, but spoke as one
Who understood the art; of praises sparing,
But sparing not encouragement. “Bravo!”
She said; “I compliment you; not a little
Of talent. Only this forget not; most
’Tis needful to seek out the fairest nature.
O happy skies of Italy! the Caesars’
Gardens of roses! classic waterfalls
Of Tivoli! and fearful rocky tunnels
Of Posilipo! There, Count, is the land
Of painters. But in ours the Muses’ child,
Put out to nurse in Soplicowo, must
Die certainly. I’ll frame that picture, Count,
Or place it in my album, with a number
Of drawings, which I have from everywhere
Collected; I have many in my bureau.”
So they began to talk of those blue heavens,
Murmurs of seas, and sweet winds, rocky heights,
Commingling here and there as travellers wont,
Laughter and railing at their native land.
Yet round them the Litvanian forests stretched,
So full of beauty and of dignity;
The cherry-tree with garland of wild hops,
Woven around it, and the service-tree,
Fresh-blushing like a shepherdess; the hazel,
Like maenad, with green thyrsis, decked about
As by a garland, with its pearly nuts.
And lower grew the forest children; blackthorn
In the embraces of the briony;
Aspen, whose black lips pressed the raspberries;
The trees and bushes joined their leaves like hands,
Like youths and maidens standing for the dance,
In circle of the married pairs. There stands
One couple, raised o’er all the forest crowd,
By slenderness of shape, and charm of colour,
The white birch, bride-like, with her spouse the hornbeam;
And further, like old people looking on
Their children and grandchildren, silent sitting,
Here reverend beech-trees; there the matron poplars;
And oak with mosses bearded, with the weight
Of five long ages on his humpy back,
Leaning, as though on columns of a grave,
On fossil trunks of oaks, his forefathers.
Thaddeus was restless, not a little tired
Of this long conversation, in which he
Could take no share. But soon as they began
To celebrate the woods of foreign lands,
And count in turn all species of their trees,
The orange, cypress, olive, almond-tree,
Cactus, and aloe, and mahogany,
Sandal and citron, ivy, walnut, figs,
Exalting all their forms, and shapes, and stalks,
More restless still was Thaddeus, and at last
No longer could restrain himself from rage.
Simple he was, but strongly could he feel
The charms of nature; on his native forest
Looking, he spoke with inspiration full:
“I have seen those celebrated trees at Wilna,
In the botanic garden, those that grow
In the east, and south, and in that beautiful
Italian land. But which of them can be
Compared with our trees? Can the aloe, with
Long rods, like a conductor? or the citron,
A dwarf with golden balls, with lacquered leaves,
A short and dumpy thing, like a short woman,
Ugly, but rich? or can that much-praised cypress,
Long, thin, and lean? It does not seem the tree
Of sadness, but of weariness. They say
That it looks very sad upon a grave.
’Tis like a German lackey in court mourning,
Who dares not lift his hands, or turn his head,
Lest he should sin against court etiquette.
“Is not our honest birch-tree fairer far,
Like peasant-woman weeping for her son,
Or widow for her husband; wringing hands,
While the long streams of her dishevelled hair
Fall o’er her shoulders down unto the ground?
Mute with her sorrow, yet how speakingly
Her form seems sobbing. Wherefore then, Sir Count,
If you love painting, paint you not our trees,
Among which you are sitting? In plain truth,
The neighbours will make jest of you, that while
You live upon the fertile Litvin plain,
You only paint some sort of rocks and deserts.”
“My friend,” the Count replied; “fair nature is
The form, the background, the material part;
But inspiration is the soul, which, borne
Upon the wings of the imagination,
By taste is polished, and by rules supported.
Nature is not sufficient, nor sufficient
Enthusiasm; the lover of the arts
Must fly into the sphere of the ideal;
Not all things beautiful are fit to paint.
All this from books you’ll learn in your own time.
As to what touches painting; for a picture,
Are necessary points of view, and grouping,
Ensemble, and atmosphere; the atmosphere
Of Italy! And therefore in the art
Of painting Italy is, was, and shall be,
The fatherland of painters. For this reason,
Excepting Breughel, but not Van der Helle,
The landscape painter, for there are two Breughels,
And Ruisdael, where is there, in all the north,
A landscape-painter of the highest power?
The sky, the sky is necessary.”—“Our
Painter Orlowski,” broke in Telimena,
“Had the Soplica taste. For you must know,
That it is the Soplicas’ special sickness,
Except their native land that nothing please them.
Orlowski—who his life in Petersburg
Spent a most famous painter; I have some
Sketches of his in my bureau—lived near
The emperor, at court, as though it were
In Paradise, but you would not believe,
Count, how he for his country longed, and loved
Continually to recall his youthful years,
Exalting all in Poland, earth, sky, forests!”
“And he was right!” cried Thaddeus with warmth.
“For that Italian sky of yours, so far
As I have heard of it, so pure, so blue,
Must be like standing water. Are not wind
And storm a hundred times more beautiful?
With us it is enough to raise one’s head!
How many sights, how many scenes and pictures,
Even in the very changing of the clouds;
For every cloud is different. For instance
The autumn cloud crawls like a lazy tortoise,
Heavy with rain, and from the sky to earth
Lets down long streamers, like dishevelled hair.
They are floods of rain. A hail-cloud with the wind,
Flies swift like a balloon, round, darkly blue,
Midmost it shineth yellow; a great murmur
Is heard around. But even every day,
Look ye, these small white clouds, how changeable!
First like a flock of wild geese, or of swans,
And from behind the wind like falcon drives them
Together in a flock; they closer press,
They thicken, they grow larger—newer wonders,
They have archèd necks, their manes fly loose, they put
Forth rows of legs, and o’er the arch of heaven
Fly like a troop of wild steeds o’er the steppes,
All white as silver; they have mingled; now
Masts spring up from their necks, and from their manes
Broad sails. The troop is changed into a ship,
That proudly sails on, silently and slow,
Across the plain of heaven’s blue expanse.”
The Count and Telimena looked on high,
And Thaddeus pointed with one hand the cloud,
The other pressing Telimena’s hand.
Some moments passed by in this silent scene.
The Count spread out his paper on his hat,
And drew his pencil forth. Then to their ears
Tormenting, loud the bell resounded, and
The stilly wood at once was full of shouts
And noise.
The Count said in a solemn voice,
Nodding his head, “Thus fate is used to end
All things on earth by ringing of a bell.
The calculations of great minds, and all
Imagination’s plans, and innocent
Pastimes, and friendship’s pleasures; the outpouring
Of tender hearts. When far off roars the bronze,
All is confused, and broken off, and troubled,
And vanishes!” And here on Telimena
Casting a tender glance, “What shall remain?”
And she replied to him, “Remembrance stays.”
And wishing somewhat to alleviate
The sadness of the Count, she plucked, and gave
To him a blossom of forget-me-not.
This the Count kissed, and pinned unto his breast.
And Thaddeus on his side, now open bent
A green bush, seeing through it something white
Winding towards him; ’twas a little hand,
White as a lily; this he seized, and kissed,
And silently his lips upon it dwelt,
As a bee plunges in a lily’s cup.
Upon his lips he felt a something cold.
He found a key, and a white paper folded
In trumpet-shape; it was a little note.
He seized and hid them in his pocket; what
The key should mean he knew not, but that white
Paper would unto him explain the whole.
The bell kept ringing on, and as an echo,
Resounded from the deeps of the still woods,
A thousand shouts and uproars. ’Twas the sound
Of seeking and of calling, being token
The mushroom-hunt was ended. Not at all
A sad noise, neither a funereal,
As to the Count it seemed; convivial rather.
This bell each noontide shouting from the garret,
Invites both guests and servants unto dinner.
Such was in ancient, peopled courts the custom,
And in the Judge’s house it so remained.
So from the thicket came the assembly forth,
All carrying baskets, handkerchiefs, together
Bound at the ends, and all of mushrooms full.
But the young ladies carried in one hand,
Like to a folded fan, the widely spreading
Borowik; in the other, bound together,
Like field-flowers, opienki, surojadki,
Of various hues; a muchomor the Wojski.
All empty-handed Telimena came,
And following her the two young gentlemen.
The guests in order came in, and around
Stood in a circle. Then the Chamberlain
At table took the highest seat; this place
Was his by right of dignity and years.
In going there he to the ladies bowed,
The old men, and the youths. Beside him stood
The begging friar, beside the friar the Judge.
The Bernardine in Latin spoke short grace,
Then brandy to the men was given; all
Forthwith were seated, and in silence ate
The Litvin cholodziec with appetite.
They dined in greater silence than their wont,
And none would talk, despite the host’s inviting
The different parties who took interest
In the dispute about the dogs, were thinking
About to-morrow’s contest and the pledges;
And Telimena, talking constantly
To Thaddeus, was obliged to turn away
At times unto the Count, and even glance
At times upon the Assessor. So the fowler
Gazes upon the snare wherein he will
Lure goldfinches, but looks at the same time
Upon a bait for sparrows. Both the Count
And Thaddeus, each contented with himself,
Both happy, and both full of hope, were not
Ready to talk for that. The Count with pride
Looked on the little flower, and Thaddeus
Upon his pocket furtively, half doubting
That little key were lost. He seized and twisted
The paper round, which yet he had not read.
The Judge kept pouring the Chamberlain
Both champagne and Hungarian wines; he served him
Attentively, and pressed his knee, but had
No inclination to converse with him.
’Twas seen he felt some trouble inwardly.
In silence still the plates and courses passed.
At length an unexpected guest broke in
Upon the weary course of dining. ’Twas
The forester, who rushing headlong in,
Did not consider it was dinner-time.
He ran up to his master; from his action
And his demeanour it was plain that he
Bore some important and unusual news.
The eyes of all the assembly turned on him.
He, having taken breath a little, said,
“A bear, most gracious sir!” All knew the rest.
The beast from the Matecznik had come out,
And was endeavouring to steal past into
The forest land beyond the Niemen. He
Must speedily be followed up. This all
At once acknowledged, though they neither did
Consult together, nor consider it;
Their broken words made visible the thought
Common to all; their lively gestures, countless
Commands, that going forth tumultuously,
At once from lips so many, hastened yet
All to one common aim.
“Send to the village!”
The Judge exclaimed; “to horse! the setnik call.
To-morrow is the beating, but we want
Some volunteers. Who comes forth with a spear,
To him two days of road-work be excused,
And five days of forced labour.” “Quick!” exclaimed
The Chamberlain; “and saddle the grey horse,
And gallop to my house; bring those two bulldogs
Renowned throughout the neighbourhood; the male
Is Sprawnik called, the female is Strapczyna.
Muzzle their jaws, and tie them in a bag.
Bring them on horseback here for greater haste.”
“Wanka!” the Assessor cried unto a lad,
In Russian, “pass my Sanguszkowa cutlass
Upon the grindstone; thou dost know that cutlass,
I had as present from the prince; look well
Unto the belt, that each charge have a ball.”
“Rifles!” cried all; “have them in readiness.”
The Assessor kept on shouting, “Lead! lead! lead!
I have a mould for bullets in my pouch.”
“Let notice to the parish priest be given,”
Added the Judge, “that he to-morrow morning
Shall say mass in the chapel by the forest.
For hunters a short offertory be it.
St. Hubert’s customary mass.”
When given
These orders, silence followed; every one
Fell deep in thought, and cast his eyes around,
As though he sought for some one; gradually
All eyes the Wojski’s venerable face
Draws to itself, and all unanimous.
This was a sign that they a leader sought,
To head the coming expedition; they
Unto the Wojski did confide the staff.
The Wojski rose, he understood their will,
And striking solemnly upon the board,
He from his bosom drew a great gold chain,
Whereon a heavy watch hung like a pear.
“To-morrow,” said he, “half-past four, beside
The forest chapel meet the brother hunters
The force of beaters.”
Thus he spoke, and left
The table; after him the forester;
Both must think over and direct the hunt.
Like generals, when battle is ordained
Upon the morrow, while throughout the camps
The soldiers clean their arms, and ride about,
Or sleep on cloaks and saddles, void of care;
But in their silent tents the generals
Awake and meditate.
They broke off dinner,
And all that day in shoeing horses past,
And feeding dogs, gathering and cleaning arms.
At supper hardly any came to table.
And even the partisans of Kusy and
Of Sokol ceased to-day to agitate
The great dispute. The Regent and Assessor
Went, arm in arm, a-seeking out the lead.
The others with their labours wearied out,
Went to sleep early to awake at dawn.