Pan Tadeusz: Book III: Flirting

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.