Pan Tadeusz: Book II: The Castle

Which of us does not recollect those years When, as a lad, with rifle on his shoulder, He went forth, whistling loudly, to the plain; Where neither mound nor hedge a hindrance made Unto his footstep; where, o’erstepping ridges, Thou seest not that they mark a stranger’s land? Because in Litva, like a ship at sea, The hunter by whatever path he will, Expatiates freely o’er the ample space, Or like a prophet gazes on the sky, Where in the clouds are many signs, beheld By hunter’s eye; or like a wizard he Converses with the earth, which, dumb to cits, With multitude of voices whispers him.

There screeched the landrail from the mead; but vain It were to seek him, for he glides away In grass, as in the Niemen does the pike. There overhead the springtide’s morning bell Rang out—the lark in heaven as deeply hid. The eagle, with broad pinions through heaven’s plains, High soars, affrighting sparrows, as a comet Doth frighten princes; but beneath the bright Blue sky, the hawk, like moth on pin impaled, Flaps with his wings, till in the plain he views A bird or hare, and on it swift descends, Like to a falling star. Ah! when will Heaven Permit us to return from wandering, And dwell once more among our native plains; Serve in that cavalry which wars on hares, Or in that infantry which carries arms Against the birds? To know no weapon-stores, Except the scythe or sickle, nor gazette, Except our household reckonings! The sun Had risen o’er Soplicowo, and now fell Upon the thatch, and through the crannies stole Into the barn, and o’er the dark-green hay, Fresh and sweet-smelling, whereof the young men Had made their couch. The golden, sparkling streaks Streamed widely from the opening in black thatch, Like ribbons out from tresses; with the ray Of morning light the sun the sleepers’ lips Did tickle, as a maiden may awake Her lover with a corn-ear. Now the sparrows, Bustling, began to chatter ’neath the thatch; Three times the geese did cackle; after them A chorus like an echo woke, of ducks And turkeys, and the oxen’s lowing rose, While to the field they passed. The young men rose Still Thaddeus lay asleep, for he had sunk To slumber latest; from last night’s repast He came back so unquiet, that at cock-crow, He opened not his eyes, and on his couch He turned and turned again, and in the hay He plunged as though in water, and slept sound, Until a chilly wind blew in his eyes. The creaking barn-door opened with a crash, And in Friar Robak came, with knotted girdle, Exclaiming: “Surge, puer!” and unwound Roughly the knotted girdle on his shoulders.

Now in the court were heard the hunters’ shouts: They led the horses there, drove carriages Up to the gate; scarce might the courtyard hold So large a company; the horns awoke, Kennels were opened, and the greyhound pack Rushed forth, with joyous whinnying, as they saw The hunters’ horses and the prickers’ leashes; The dogs, as mad they whip about the court, Then haste, and clap the collars on their necks. All this portends a hunting excellent. At last the Chamberlain gave forth command To set out. Slowly then the hunters marched, One following the other. But when passed The gate, the long file scattered far and wide. Midmost the Assessor by the Regent rode; Though each on each at times misliking looked, They held discourse of friendship, as beseems All men of honour, going to decide A mortal quarrel; none might from their words Discern their hatred. The Pan Regent led Kusy, the Assessor Sokol. From behind The ladies came in carriages; the youths Trotting beside the wheels, held converse with The ladies. Through the court Friar Robak paced With rapid strides, his matins finishing; But cast a glance on Master Thaddeus, And frowned, and smiled. At last he signed to him. Up then rode Thaddeus; Robak made a sign Of threatening; but ’spite of questionings, And prayers of Thaddeus, that the Friar would say Plainly unto him what he would, the monk Deigned not to look or answer; but he drew His cowl around him closer, and his prayer Concluded; and so Thaddeus rode away, And joined the guests. The hunters then first held Their leashes; each one moveless in his place Remained, and to the other made a sign Of silence; all their eyes turned to a stone, On which the Judge was standing. He observed The game, and by the beckoning of his hand Expressed his orders. Each one understood. They stood still; in the centre of the plain The Assessor and the Regent ambled now. Being nearer, Thaddeus forestalled them both; He stood beside the Judge, and looked around. ’Twas long since he had been afield, and on The wide grey space, ’twas hard to see the hare, And more so ’mid grey stones. The Judge to him Pointed it out. The poor hare crouching sat Beneath a stone, and pricking up its ears, Its crimson eye the hunters’ glances met, And as enchanted, and its destiny Foreseeing, still it could not turn its eyes Away from theirs for very fright, and sat Beneath the stone, lifeless itself as stone. Meanwhile the dust drew ever nearer on The plain. On Kusy flew, and Sokol after; Hard following the Assessor and the Regent, Together shouting “Vytcha!” from behind; They vanished with the dogs in clouds of dust.

While thus they chased the hare, the Count appeared Beneath the forest by the castle. The neighbourhood well knew this gentleman Was never punctual to the appointed time, And he this day had overslept the dawn. So he his servants rated, and beholding The hunters in the field, made haste to join them. His surtout long and white, of English cut, Flew with loose skirts upon the wind behind; And mounted servants followed him, who wore Hats shaped like mushrooms, shiny, black, and small, Short jackets, and high top-boots, and white trousers. Those servants whom the Count in such wise clad, Were in his palace jockeys called. They flew Over the meadow, when the Count remarked The castle, and he stayed his horse. He now First saw the castle in the morning light; And scarce believed they were those same old walls, So had the dawn their outline beautified. The Count much wondered at a sight so new, The tower to him far-off seemed doubly high, For clear it stood against the morning mists. The metal roof shone golden in the sun; In window-grates below the remnants gleamed Of shivered glass, that broke the eastern rays In many rainbows various. A veil Of morning mist the lower storeys wreathed, And hid their rents and breaches from the eye; The hunters’ far shouts, driven by the wind, Were echoed frequent from the castle walls. Thou hadst sworn the shout proceeded from the castle, And underneath the veiling of the mist, The walls were built, and peopled once again. The Count loved novel and unusual sights, Called them romantic, and was used to say That he had a romantic head; in truth He was a strange man, for not seldom he, When following a fox, or after hares, Would suddenly stop still, and mournfully Look upward to the sky, like to a cat, When on a lofty pine she sees a sparrow. He often wandered without gun or dog, Among the thicket, like a ’scaped recruit; He often sat unmoving by a brook, With head bent o’er the stream, like to a heron, Who’d swallow all the fishes with his eye. Such were the Count’s strange habits. Every one Said he lacked something; still they felt respect For him, since he was from his ancestors A lord, and rich, and good unto the peasants, Kind to his neighbours, even to the Jews.

The Count’s horse, turned aside, along the field Ambled straight onward to the castle doors. Being now alone, the Count did heave a sigh, Gazed on the walls, then from his pocket drew Paper and pencil, and some figures traced. Then did he look aside, and saw a man Some twenty paces off, who, like himself, A lover of fine views, with head upraised, Appeared to number all the building’s stones. At once he knew him, but the Count must call A many times aloud, before Gervasy Could hear his voice. He was a nobleman, A servant of the castle’s former lords, The last remaining courtier of Horeszko, A tall old man, and hoary, with a face Hearty and healthy, ploughed with wrinkles, sad, Severe; though once for joyousness renowned Among the nobles; but aye since that fight, In which the castle’s lord had lost his life, Gervasy totally was changed, and now For many years had neither been to fair Or wedding; from that time his witty jests No more were heard, and nevermore was seen A smile upon his face. He ever wore The ancient livery of Horeszko’s house; A yellow jacket, with long hanging skirts, Bound round with lace, which, now a faded yellow, Had once been golden. Round his neck were broidered Half-goats, armorial bearings of that house, Thence all the neighbourhood called the old man Polkozic, also from a word which he Repeated ceaselessly, Mopanku, called him; Notchpate at times, from his bald pate all covered With seams and scars; his true name was Rembajlo; His crest unknown. He called himself the Klucznik, Because he held that office years ago, And still a bunch of keys wore at his girdle, Bound by a cord with silver tassel, though He nothing had to open, for the doors Stood open in the castle. Yet he found Two doors within, and at his own expense Repaired and set them up, and every day Amused himself with opening these doors. He for himself an empty chamber chose, Within the castle, for his private dwelling. Although he might have eaten bread of favour In the Count’s house, he would not, for he felt Homesick, and unwell everywhere, if he Breathed not the air of the old castle. Soon As he perceived the Count, he doffed his cap, Honouring with reverence his lord’s far-off kin; Low bending his bald pate, that gleamed afar, And like an axe by many sword-blades scathed, He stroked it with his hand, approached, and low Bending once more, said in sad tones: “Mopanku, Panisko, pardon me that thus I speak; Illustrious Sir Count, it is my custom, Not disrespectful, for the Horeszkos all Were used to say Mopanku; the last Pantler, My master, always would employ that word. Is it true, Mopanku, that you grudge the cost Of lawsuits, and will give this castle up To the Soplicas? I would not believe it. But thus they say in all the district.” Here, Gazing upon the castle, without ceasing, He sighed. “What wonder,” said the Count, “the cost Is great; the trouble greater still; I want To end it. But that tedious old noble Is obstinate; he did foresee he could Weary me out; and I in very deed No longer will oppose him. I to-day Lay down my sword, accepting such conditions, As shall be offered to me by the court.” “What, peace!” exclaimed Gervasy; “what, Mopanku! Peace with Soplicas!” As he uttered this, He writhed his lips, as greatly marvelling At his own speech. “What, peace, and the Soplicas? Mopanku and my dear lord, you are jesting! How? shall the castle, shall Horeszko’s stronghold Pass into the Soplicas’ hands? My lord, Deign but dismount. Go we into the castle. Let but my lord consider. He knows not That which he does. My lord, refuse not me. Dismount.” He held the stirrup for descent. They went into the castle. There Gervasy Stood on the threshold of the hall awhile. “Here,” said he, “by their court surrounded, sat The ancient lords, in high chairs. After dinner, The lord would judge the quarrels of the peasants; Or, if in a good humour, to his guests Related curious histories, or else Would entertain with merry jests and tales. But in the courtyard would the young men strive At single-stick, or rode on Turkish ponies, Expressly bred for noblemen.” They entered The hall. Gervasy said: “In this great hall, Stone-paved, we find not now so many stones, As they broached wine-casks in the good old times. The noblemen invited to the diet, Or sejmik, on the name-day of my lord, Or for the chase, drew beer-tubs from the cellars, Tied to their girdles. And while passed the feast, Musicians stood within that lofty choir, The organ playing, and other instruments; And when a health was drunk the trumpets brayed In chorus, as upon the judgment day. Each vivat went around in order due, The first health to his Majesty the king They drank, and next the Primate’s health, and after Unto her Majesty the queen, the health Of all the nobles, and the whole Republic. When the fifth bumper had at length been drained, They raised the toast of ‘Love we one another.’ Vivat unceasing sounded till the dawn; And each one’s equipage all ready stood, To bear each reveller unto his house.”

They now had passed some chambers. Silently Gervasy now his glance fixed on the wall, Now on the archèd roof, recalling here A tragic memory, and now one dear. And then as he had said, “All now is o’er,” He nodded grievingly his head; at times He waved his hand; remembrance visibly Was torture to him, and he fain would chase it. At length they stayed their steps, in a great hall Above, once lined with mirrors, but to-day The frames stood empty of the looking-glass, Long torn away; the windows held no panes. A balcony stood opposite the door. Here entering, the old man bowed his head, And in his hands concealed his face, and when He did unveil it, on it was a look Of deepest sorrow and despair. The Count, Though ignorant what this should signify, Yet looking on the old man’s countenance, Felt strangely moved, and pressed his hand. Awhile This silence lasted, which the old man broke, Shaking his right hand lifted. “There is no Agreement for the blood of the Horeszkos With this Soplica. In your veins, Mopanku, The blood of the Horeszkos flows. You are A kinsman of the Pantler from your mother, Who the Lowczyna being, was derived From the second daughter of the Castellan, Who was, as well is known, my master’s uncle. Listen, my lord, to your own kindred’s story, Which in this chamber, and no other, passed.

“The Pantler, my late master, chiefest lord Here in this district, rich and of high race, Had but one child, a daughter, beautiful As an angel; so brave noblemen and lordlings Courted the Stolnikowna. And among The noblemen was one great rioter, A quarreller, Jacek Soplica, named The Wojewode—in jest—but yet in truth He was of great importance in the region, Because he held beneath his captaincy The clan of the Soplicas, and could rule All their three hundred votes at his own will; Though for himself, beyond a bit of land, His sabre, and a mighty pair of whiskers From ear to ear, he was possessed of nought. And yet the Pantler often had as guest This brawler, and received him in his palace, Most at the time of sejmiks. Popular For his relations and supporters, soon This whiskered fellow so puffed up with pride Became, by cause of these receptions gracious, He took into his head the Pantler’s son To be. More often without invitation He rode unto the castle, and at last He made his nest among us, as though in His own house. And he had declared his wish, But that already they had taken heed, And served him at the table with black broth. May be he pleased the Stolnikowna’s eye, But she concealed the matter from her parents. Those were Kosciuszko’s times; my lord supported The ordinances of the Third of May, And had already gathered noblemen To march to help of the Confederates; When suddenly the Muscovites by night Surprised the castle; scarce was time to fire A mortar off, in signal of distress; To bar the lower doors, and with the bolts To make them fast. In all the castle were The Stolnik only, and myself, the lady, The chief cook and two scullions (all three drunk), The parish priest, two lackeys, and four heyduks, The gallant men! So then unto our guns! To the windows! There a crowd of Muscovites, Shouting ‘Hurra!’ They from the gate rushed o’er The terrace; we with ten guns, man for man, Fired on them. Nought was to be seen from thence. The servants fired off from the lower floors. My lord and I fired from the gallery Unceasingly; all went in order good, Though in much fear. Upon this floor there lay Here twenty guns; we fired off one; another Was loaded quick; the priest himself in this Service was very active, and the lady, Her daughter, and the serving-maidens too. There were three marksmen, and the fire went on Unceasingly. The Muscovites below Sent up a hail of bullets. We less often, But with more judgment fired down from above. Three times they burst out there before the door, Three pairs of legs were kicking every time. So underneath the storehouse soon they fled For shelter. But already it was day. The Pantler came forth joyous with his gun Upon the balcony, and soon as peeped A Muscovitish head from underneath The storehouse, did he fire immediately, And never missed. At every shot there fell A black hat in the grass, and rarely now Did any steal forth from behind the wall. The Pantler seeing all his enemies Thus struck with fear, to make a sortie thought. And calling to his servants from above, He gave commands, then turning round to me, Said, ‘Follow me, Gervasy.’ At that moment A shot came from the gate. The Pantler groaned, Grew red, then pale, would speak, and coughed with blood, I saw the ball, right in his very breast. My lord, fast failing, pointed to the gate: I knew that villain! that Soplica! knew him By his whiskers and his stature! By his shot The Pantler died! I had seen it. And the villain Still held on high his lifted gun; the smoke Still issued from the barrel! Him I took For aim; the murderer stood as changed to stone. Twice did I fire, but missed with both the shots; From rage or grief I marked but ill. I heard The women’s shriek—I looked—my lord was dead.”

Gervasy paused, and melted into tears; Then said, concluding, “Now the Muscovites Had stormed the gate, for with the Pantler dead, I was as lost to sense, and knew not what Was done around me. Happily arrived Parafianowicz to us with succour, And twenty of the house of Mickiewicz He brought from Horbatowicz, noblemen Many and valiant, man for man, who hate Soplica’s race since time began. Thus perished A powerful lord, upright and pious, who Had Chairs, and Staffs, and Ribbons in his house; A father to his peasantry, a brother Unto the nobles;—and he left behind him No son to swear revenge upon his grave. Yet had he faithful servants! In the blood Flowed from his wound I steeped my rapier, called The Penknife—of my Penknife certainly You have heard, my lord, renowned at every diet, Market, and sejmik—I did swear to notch The blade upon the necks of the Soplicas. I followed them at diet, foray, fair; Two in a quarrel slew I, two in duel, One burnt I up inside a wooden house, When we with Rymsza harried Korelicze; Like mud-fish was he roasted; and I count not Those ears I cut off. One alone remains, Who no remembrance yet has had from me; Own younger brother to that whiskered rogue. Yet lives he, and he boasts him of his riches; His boundary corners touch Horeszko’s castle. He has honour in the district, holdeth office, He is a Judge. And will you give the castle To him, my lord? Shall his most wicked feet Efface my master’s blood from off this floor? No! while Gervasy has a mite of soul, And so much strength, as with one little finger To stir his Penknife, hanging on the wall, So long Soplica shall not get this castle.”

“Oh!” cried the Count, and raised his hands aloft; “ ’Twas a good instinct, that I loved these walls, Though knowing not what treasure in them lay, Such number of dramatic scenes and stories. Soon as I shall recover from Soplica The castle of my ancestors, I will Install thee in the palace as my Burgrave. Thy tale, Gervasy, has much taken me; Pity thou didst not bring me here at night, Draped in a mantle: I would sit on ruins, And thou shouldst tell me of these bloody deeds. Pity thou hast no great gift of relating. I sometimes have heard such, and read, traditions. In England and in Scotland every lord’s Castle, in Germany each noble’s court, A theatre was of murders. Every ancient, Noble, and powerful family had some Report of blood or of some treacherous deed, For which must vengeance fall upon the heirs, As legacy. I hear for the first time Of such in Poland. In me flows, I feel, The brave Horeszkos’ blood, and I do know That which is due to glory—and my race! Yes! I must break all compact with Soplica, Although it come to pistols or the sword— Honour commands!” With solemn step he strode, But in deep silence came Gervasy after. Standing before the door, unto himself The Count kept talking, and upon the castle Gazing, he quickly mounted on his horse, His solitary conversation thus Absently ending: “ ’Tis a pity that This old Soplica has no wife, fair daughter, Whose beauty I might worship! Loving her, And yet not able to obtain her hand, Would bring fresh complication in the tale. The heart here, duty there; love here, and there Revenge.” Thus whispering he spurred his steed. It flew towards the mansion, as up rode The hunters from the other side. The Count Loved hunting; when the hunters he perceived, Forgetting all besides he sprang them toward. He passed the gate, the garden, and the hedge When, turning round, he looked about, and stayed The horse before the hedge. There was the orchard!

The fruit-trees, set in rows, did shadow o’er The broad fields; ’neath the trees the garden beds. The cabbage here, its bald and hoary pate Low bending, seems to meditate upon The fate of vegetables; the slim bean, Weeping its pods into the tresses of The carrot green, did turn a thousand eyes Upon it; there the Indian corn upraised Its golden plume; and here and there was seen A gourd’s fat belly, from its stalk detached, Which to a distant part had rolled away, Among the crimson beetroot as a guest.

The garden beds were parted by a ridge: In every trench there stood, as though on guard, The hemp in ranks; a cypress-seeming herb, Quiet, and green, and upright. In its leaves And odour garden beds do find defence, For through these leaves no viper dares to creep; Their odour also grubs and vermin slays. White stalks of poppies tower further on; Thou thinkest, swarms of butterflies thereon Are sitting, fluttering their wings, whose lustre Of precious gems doth change with rainbow tints. With lively colours of much variousness The poppy lures the eye. Among the flowers Like the full moon among the lesser stars, A sunflower, with its round, large, burning face, From east to west twists, following the sun.

Beneath the hedge long, narrow, convex hillocks, Without or trees, or flowers, or bushes, made A garden there for cucumbers; they grew Luxuriantly, with their large, wide leaves, Covering the beds, like carpet with deep folds. Among them walked a damsel, clothed in white, Plunging in green luxuriance to her knees. Down-bending in the furrows from the beds, It seemed she walked not, but she swam through leaves, While bathing in their colour. She had veiled Her head with a straw hat, and from her brow Two rosy ribbons waved, and some bright curls Of loose dishevelled tresses. In her hand She held a basket; she cast down her eyes, And lifted her right hand, as though to seize; Like to a child who bathing chases fishes That play around her feet; so she each moment With hand and basket bent down for the fruit, Struck by her foot, or by her eye perceived.

The Count, enchanted by such wondrous sight, Stood silent. Hearing trampling from afar, Of his companions, with his hand he signed To them to stay their horses; and they stayed. He gazed with stretched neck, like a long-beaked crane, Far from the flock, as sentry on one leg Standing, with watchful eyes, and not to sleep, Holding a stone within his other claw.

A rustle on his shoulders and his brow Aroused the Count; it was the Bernardine, Friar Robak, and he had within his hand, Upraised, his girdle with its knotty cords. “Do you want cucumbers?” he shouted. “Sir, Here have you cucumbers! Beware of harm! For in these beds there grow no fruits for you. Nothing will come of this.” Then with his finger He threatened him, drew down his cowl, and went. The Count remained a while yet on the spot, Laughing, and cursing too at the same time This sudden interruption. To the garden His glance returned; she was not in the garden; Only in centre of a little window, Flitted her rosy ribbon and white frock. Upon the garden beds was visible The way she fled by; for a green leaf, which Her foot disturbed in running, trembled yet A moment, until quiet, like the water A bird hath cloven with its wings; and on The spot where late she stood, the little basket Of willow, with its under side upturned, The fruit all spilled, was hanging on the leaves, And ’mid the verdant billows still it rocked.

After a moment lonely everywhere And gloomy ’twas. The Count now fixed his eyes Upon the house, and pricked his ears up, still In meditation, and the hunters stood Yet motionless before him; till there rose Within the silent, solitary house, A murmur first, then noise, and joyous shout, As in an empty hive, when bees fly in. A sign was this the guests had come from hunting, And servants hastened to get ready breakfast.

Through all the rooms a great confusion reigned, They carried dishes, bottles, covers round. The men, as they had entered, in green jackets, With plates and glasses, walking through the rooms, Ate, drank, or leaning on the window-sill, Conversed of rifles, greyhounds, and of hares. The Chamberlain, his wife, the Judge, together, All three sat at a table; in a corner The youthful ladies whispered to each other. Such order as at dinner and at supper Was not observed. This was a novel custom In an Old-Polish house at breakfast time. The Judge, though he unwillingly allowed This great disorder, yet approved it not.

Dishes of various sorts for men and women There were. Here trays were carried round about, With the whole coffee service; large-sized trays, With flowers beautifully painted. On them Steaming with an aroma most delicious, White metal coffee-pots, and porcelain cups, From Dresden; near each cup a tiny vessel Containing cream. Such coffee as in Poland Is in no other country. For in Poland, In a well-ordered house, by ancient custom, There is a woman, whose especial labour Is to make coffee, called the kawiarka. She brings from town, or from the barges chooses The finest coffee-beans, and secrets knows How to prepare a drink, which has the blackness Of coal, transparency of amber, odour Of Mocha, and is thick as honey flows. Well know we what to coffee is good cream; This is not in the country hard to get. The kawiarka, having early placed The coffee-pots, the dairy visiteth, And culls herself the light, fresh flower of cream, For each cup in a vessel separate, So each be clad in separate pellicle.

The elder ladies, having earlier risen, Had drunk their coffee. Now they made a second Dish for themselves, of warm beer, white with cream, In which there floated many clots of curd. But for the men there lay smoked meats at choice, Fat breasts of geese, and ham, and wings of tongue, All excellent, all by home method dried In chimneys, by the smoke of juniper. At length was brought the latest course of zrazy, Such were the breakfasts in the Judge’s house.

In the two rooms gathered two different groups; The elder folks, around a little table, Spoke of new farming methods, and of new And aye more strict Imperial ukases. The Chamberlain opinions gave of rumours Of war impending, and deduced therefrom Views upon politics. The Wojski’s daughter, Wearing dark spectacles, with fortune-telling From cards amused the Chamberlain’s lady, while In the other room the youths discussed the hunt, In tones more low and peaceful than was wont, For the Assessor and the Regent, both Great talkers, first in hunting, and best shots, Sat opposite each other cross and angry. Both well had pricked their dogs on; each was sure His greyhound must be winner; when right in The middle of the plain they found a row Of peasant’s vegetables still unreaped. Therein the hare rushed. Kusy now had hold, Now Sokol, when the Judge the prickers stayed Upon the ridge. They must obey, although Their rage was great. The dogs returned alone, And none might know if fled the game or ta’en, No one could guess if into Kusy’s jaws It fell, or Sokol’s, or in both at once. Each side gave different judgment, and the quarrel Remained to other times still undecided.

The ancient Wojski walked from room to room, On both sides glancing with his absent eyes, He neither mingled in the hunters’ talk, Nor in the old men’s, and ’twas plainly seen His head was taken up with something else. He bore a leathern fly-scare, sometimes standing Still in one spot, he meditated long, And—killed a fly that sat upon the wall.

Thaddeus and Telimena, standing in The doorway right between the two rooms, talked Alone to one another; no great space Divided them from hearers, so they whispered. Now Thaddeus learnt that his aunt Telimena Was a rich lady, that they were not joined By bonds canonical in too close kinship. ’Tis even uncertain if aunt Telimena Be really aunt unto her nephew, though His uncle call her sister, since their common Progenitors once called them so, in spite Of years’ disparity. That later on, She, living in the capital, had rendered Some service beyond measure to the Judge, Whence much the Judge respected her, and loved Before the world, perhaps from vanity, To call himself her brother. Telimena From friendship would refuse him not this name. Relieved at heart was Thaddeus by these sayings, And many things besides did they declare To one another. All this came to pass In one short moment. In the right-hand room, The Regent careless said, to tempt the Assessor; “I said so yesterday; our hunt could not Be a success; it is too early yet. The corn is standing yet upon its stalk, And many rows unreaped of peasants’ gardens, And therefore stayed the Count away to-day. The Count in hunting is experienced, Sometimes has talked of hunting, place, and time; The Count from childhood has in foreign lands Been living, and he says it is a sign Of barbarism to hunt, as we do here, Without regard to articles of law, Or regulations of the government, Respecting no one’s hillocks or his ridges, To ride o’er stranger’s ground without his knowledge, To course the plains and hunting forests in The spring-time as in summer, or to kill A fox when he his coat is shedding, or To let the greyhounds worry hares with young, Or rather torture them. The Count regrets, That in this case the Muscovites to-day Are far more civilised than we; for there The Czar has put forth ukases on hunting, There is police inspection, and for those Who do transgress them there is punishment.”

Towards the left room Telimena looked, Fanning herself with cambric handkerchief: “As I my mother love, the Count mistakes not; I well know Russia. You would not believe me, When I have often said how praiseworthy, For many reasons, is the vigilance And strictness of their government. I was In Petersburg, not only once, nor twice. Sweet memories! sweet image of the past! And what a town! None of you, gentlemen, Have ever been in Petersburg? Perhaps You’d like to see the plan? I have the plan In my bureau. In summer all the world Of Petersburg is used to live in ‘datshies’— That is, in country palaces, for ‘datsha’ Means village. In a little palace I Dwelt, on the river Neva, not too far, And not too near the town, on a low hill Raised artificially. Ah! what a house It was! I have the plan in my bureau. One day, to my misfortune, was a house, In my close neighbourhood, hired by some petty Czynownik who was sitting on commission. He kept a many greyhounds. What a torment To have a small czynownik and a kennel To dwell near one! As often as I went Into the garden with a book, to enjoy The moonlight, and the evening cool, at once A dog flew in, and wagged his tail, and pricked His ears up, just as he were mad. Not seldom Had I been terrified. My heart forebode Some evil from the dogs, and so it chanced; For as I walked one morning in the garden, A greyhound strangled at my feet my pet Bolognan spaniel. Ah! she was a charming, Dear little dog! I had her as a present, A token of remembrance, from Prince Sukin; Intelligent and lively as a squirrel. I have her portrait—only I will not Go for it to the bureau. Seeing her Thus strangled, from excessive agitation I had faintness, spasms, palpitations; and Perhaps it had gone worse still with my health, When happily upon a visit came Kirylo Gawrylicz Kozodusin, Master of Hunts at court. He asked the cause Of my ill-humour, and he presently Commanded the official to be dragged There by the ears; he stood there, trembling, pale, And almost lifeless. ‘How then didst thou dare,’ Exclaimed Kirylo, with a voice of thunder, ‘To hunt down in the spring a doe with young, Under the Emperor’s very nose?’ In vain The stupefied czynownik swore that he Had not begun the hunting season yet; That, with the Master of the Hunt’s permission, The beast run down had seemed to him a dog, And not a doe. ‘What!’ cried Kirylo; ‘villain! Dost thou pretend to better understand Hunting and species than I, Kozodusin, Imperial Jägermeister? Let the Chief Inspector of Police decide between us.’ They call the Chief Inspector, and command To institute inquiry. ‘I bear witness,’ Says Kozodusin, ‘that it was a doe; And he pretends ’twas a domestic dog. Decide between us, who best understands Hunting and game.’ The Inspector of Police Well knew his duty; he considered well The insolence of the czynownik, and Conducting him aside he counselled him, As a brother, to confess his fault, and so Condone his crime. The Master of the Hunt, Somewhat appeased, made promise he would be An intercessor with the Czar, and get Some little mitigation of the sentence. It ended thus—the dogs went to the rope, And the czynownik had four weeks in prison. This trifle entertained us all the evening. Next day an anecdote was made of this; The Master of the Hunt had gone to law About my dog. I even know for certain The Emperor himself has laughed at this.”

A laugh arose in both the rooms. The Judge Was playing with the Bernardine at cards, And at that moment, with the spades as trumps, He was about to lead. The priest scarce breathed; The Judge had caught the story’s first beginning, And listened so absorbed, that he sat still, With head uplifted, and the card upraised, Ready for playing; still he moveless sat, And only caused the friar anxiety; Till, the tale ended, he laid Pamfil down, And answered, laughing: “Let who will extol Civilisation of the Germans, order Of Muscovites; let people in great Poland Learn from the Swabians to make laws for foxes, And call in soldiers to arrest a mastiff, Who enters strangers’ thickets. Praised be Heaven, In Litva we have ancient customs. We Have game enough, both for ourselves and neighbours, And never shall for this make inquisition; And we have corn enough. Our dogs will not Reduce us soon to famine, or devour Green vegetables, or take life away. O’er peasants’ acres I forbid all hunting.”

The Bailiff from the left-hand chamber spoke: “No wonder, gracious sir, that for such game You dearly pay. The peasants are right glad Whene’er it happens that a greyhound springs Among their vegetables; let him but Disturb ten ears of rye, you give a sheaf In compensation, nor even then are quits; The peasant often gets besides a florin. Believe me, sir, the peasantry will grow Most insolent”—But never heard the Judge The rest of Master Bailiff’s reasonings, For ’twixt the two discourses there began A thousand murmurs, anecdotes, and tales, And lastly, quarrels. Quite forgotten, Thaddeus And Telimena thought but of each other; The lady much delighted that her wit So Thaddeus entertained; the youth returned Her speech with compliments. With ever greater Freedom spoke Telimena, and in tones More low, and Thaddeus made believe that he Could hear her not amid that crowd of talk. So he drew nearer, whispering, so much The nearer to her, that upon his face He felt her brow’s sweet warmth. Restraining breath, He caught her sighings with his lips, his glance Seized eagerly the bright rays of her eyes; When suddenly between their lips there flew At first a fly, and then the Wojski’s fly-scare. In Litva is abundance great of flies: Among them an especial species, called “Noble,” like all the rest in shape and hue, But having broader thorax and abdomen, And larger than the common sort. In flying They make a great noise, and their humming is Not to be borne. So strong, besides, are they, They break through spiders’ webs, or if they should Be caught in one, three whole days long they buzz, And singly can they grapple with a spider. All this the Wojski well had searched into, And also said the lesser sort of flies Were from these “noble” flies engendered; they Were that among the flies that queen-bees are Among a swarm of bees; that slaying them Would cause the perishing of other vermin. True, neither housekeeper, nor parish priest, Believed in these discoveries of the Wojski, And of the generation of the flies Held differently; but never did the Wojski Leave off his ancient custom. Scarcely saw he A fly, when straightway he pursued it. Now This very instant, past his ear a “noble” Buzzed: twice the Wojski struck. Ashamed to miss, He struck a third time, and nigh broke the window Until the fly, by this great noise distraught, Seeing two people standing on the threshold Obstructing its return, did throw itself Between their faces in despair; the Wojski’s Right hand flew after it. So strong the stroke, That the two heads sprang backwards, as the two Halves of a tree by lightning severed; both Rebounded with such force against the lintels, That they retained upon them livid marks. But fortunately no one marked this scene, Because the conversation, which as yet, Though loud and high, had yet been orderly, Now ended in an outburst strong of noise. Like hunters, who along the forest chase A fox, while here and there is heard the crash Of trees, the noise of shots, the bark of hounds: But all at once, and unexpectedly, A pricker starts a wild-boar; he gives sign; A shout arises in the crowd of men And dogs, as all the forest trees had voice. So is it with discourse. It slowly moves, Until it comes on some grand object, like A boar-hunt. The wild-boar of this discourse Was that fierce quarrel of the Regent with The Assessor, touching their renownèd greyhounds: It lasted but a short time, but they did Much in one moment. For the two at once Threw out so many words and loud abuse, That they exhausted soon the first three parts Of a dispute, jesting, and anger, challenge, And it had come to fists already. So All rushed towards them from the second room. Like a swift billow, rolling through the doors, They bore down the young couple on the threshold Standing, like Janus, god of double face.

Ere Thaddeus and Telimena could Compose the locks disordered on their brows, The threatening voices all were still again. A murmur mixed with laughter spread around. Decision came to the dispute; the friar Had quelled it. He was strong and active, though An old man, broad in shoulder-girth. So when The Assessor rushed up to the jurist, when Both disputants were threatening one another By gestures, suddenly he collared both Of them behind, and twice he struck with force Their heads together, one against the other, Like Easter eggs; then spread his arms abroad In shape of sign-post, threw the two apart In separate corners of the room. Awhile He stood upon the place with outstretched arms, And “Pax vobiscum,” cried he; “peace be with you!” Those present greatly marvelled, even laughed. Through that respect they owed a ghostly man, None dared to blame the monk, and after such A proof of strength, none either had the will To enter on a quarrel with him. But Friar Robak, soon as he had hushed the crowd, Sought not, ’twas seen, the triumph of the fray. He threatened not the brawlers more, nor chid; But drawing down his cowl, and planting both Hands on his girdle, silent left the room.

Meanwhile the Chamberlain, likewise the Judge, Between the two sides took their places. Then The Wojski, as awoken from deep thought, Stepped in the midst, his hoary whisker twirled, Nor spared important mien; he circled round The whole assembly with a fiery eye, And wheresoever he a murmur heard, As priest his aspersorium, he brandished His fly-scare to command their silence. Then, Raising its handle high with dignity, Like marshal’s rod, he silence thus commanded.

“Be still,” repeated he, “and have ye care; Ye, who are chiefest hunters in the district; From your embittering quarrel what will spring? Know ye? Why, that the young men, upon whom Our country founds her hopes, who ought to make Illustrious our forests and our toils, And who, alas! so much neglect the chase, Perhaps will reap a fresh occasion for Despising it, on seeing how the men, Who ought to give example to the rest, From hunting only bring back quarrellings And causes of dispute. And have respect For my grey hairs; for I knew greater hunters Than you, and often did I arbitrate Between them. Who in Lithuanian forests Was Rejtan’s equal, whether drawing in The toils, or meeting with the beast? Or who Can liken him to Bialopiotrowicz? Where at the present day is such a marksman As was the nobleman Zegota, who Could with a pistol hit a running hare? I knew Terajewicz, who when he went To hunt the wild-boar, took no other arms Than a mere pike: and Budrewicz, who with A bear fought single-handed. Such the men That once our woodlands saw. And if it came To quarrelling, how did they settle quarrels? They chose them judges, and laid pledges down. Oginski lost a hundred hides of forest About a wolf! badger cost some hamlets To Niesiolowski! And you, gentlemen, Follow the old example, and decide Your quarrel, even though by lesser pledge, For words are wind; word quarrels ne’er have end; Pity to dry up lips about a hare. So choose ye judges first to arbitrate, And what they shall decree, religiously Subscribe. I will entreat the Judge that he Will not forbid the pricker even to Ride over wheat. I’ll wager that I shall Obtain this grace from him.” And saying this, He pressed the Judge upon the knee. “A horse,” The Regent cried, “I pledge a horse with trappings, And will before the local court subscribe Myself, that I lay down this ring, as fee Unto the Judge.”—“And I,” the Assessor said, “Will pledge my golden collars, made of shagreen, Inlaid with wheels of gold, a leash of silk, Whose workmanship is wondrous as the stone, That shines upon it. I had wished to leave This set as legacy unto my children, In case I marry. It was given me, A present from Prince Dominik, when once I hunted with him, and the Marshal, Prince Sanguszko, and with General Mejen; when I challenged all the others to a trial Of greyhounds. There, by unexampled stroke In annals of the chase, I coursed six hares With one dog. At that time we hunted on Kupisko’s plain. Prince Radziwill could not Sit still upon his horse, but lighted down; And taking in his arms my celebrated She-greyhound Kania, he kissed her head Three times, and three times clapping on her muzzle, He said, ‘Henceforward I create thee Duchess Of Kupisko. Napoleon thus gives dukedoms Unto his generals, from the places where They have won great victories.’ ” Telimena, weary Of these o’er-long disputes, desired to go Into the courtyard, but she wished companions. She took a little basket from a peg. “The gentlemen, I see, prefer to stay Indoors, but I am going to pick mushrooms. But they who please, I beg them follow me.” She spoke while folding round her head a crimson Shawl of Cashmere; the Chamberlain’s young daughter She took by one hand; with the other gathered Her robe about her ankles. Thaddeus In silence hastened after her for mushrooms.

The notion of a walk rejoiced the Judge; He saw therein a means of breaking off This noisy quarrel; therefore he exclaimed: “To the wood, gentlemen, for mushrooms; he Who comes to table with the finest mushrooms, Shall sit beside the fairest lady; he Himself shall choose her. If a lady find them, She shall herself select the finest lad.”