Pan Tadeusz: Book IV: Diplomacy and the Chase

O ye contemporaries of our great Litvanian princes, trees of Bialowiez, Switez, Ponary, and of Kuszelew, Whose shadow fell upon the crowned heads Of threatening Witenez and great Mindowe, And Gedymin, when on the Ponar mount, Beside the hunter’s fire, upon a bear-skin He lay, and heard the song of sage Lizdejko. And lulled by sight of Wilia, and the murmur Of the Wilejka, had the dream concerning The iron wolf, and waking, by the god’s Expressed commands, the city Wilna built, Which sitteth ’mid the forests, as a wolf Among the bisons, wild-boars, bears. And from This city Wilna, as the Roman she-wolf, Came Kiejstut, Olgierd, and the sons of Olgierd, As great in hunting as renowned in war, The foe pursuing, or the savage game. The hunter’s dream to us the secrets showed Of future times, that ever unto Litva Forests and iron shall be necessary.

Forests to hunting in you rode the last, The last king, who the kolpak wore of Witold, The last of the Jagellons, happy warrior, And the last hunter-monarch in Litvania. My native trees! if Heaven yet permit That I return to gaze on you, old friends, Shall I yet find you there? do you still live, You, whom I crept about once as a child? Lives the great Baublis, with the mighty trunk, Hollowed by years, wherein, as in a house, Some twenty guests might at a table sup? Does Mendog’s thicket flourish yet hard by The parish church? and thither in the Ukraine, Before the mansion of the Holowinskis, Upon the banks of Ros, stands yet that elm So widely spreading, that beneath its shade A hundred youths, a hundred maidens might Stand up to dance? Our monuments! how many The Russian’s or the merchant’s axe each year Devours! nor leaves unto the woodland singers A refuge, nor unto the bards, to whom Your shade was dear as ’twas unto the birds. Witness that linden-tree in Czarnolas, Responsive to the voice of John, that formed The inspiration of so many rhymes. Witness that oak that sings so many wonders Unto the Cossack bard. O native trees, How much I owe to you! Indifferent sportsman, Escaping from my comrades’ mockery, For missing game, I in your silence chased Imaginings; forgetting all the hunt, I sat within your close. The greybeard moss Spread silvery round me, mingled with deep blue, And black of rotten berries; and with red The heathery hills were glowing, decked with berries, As though with beads of coral. All around Was darkness; overhead the branches hung Like green, thick-gathering, low-lying clouds. The storm somewhere above their moveless arch Was raging, with a groaning, murmuring, Howling, and rattling loud, and thunder-peal, A wondrous deafening roar. To me it seemed A hanging sea was raging overhead. Below, like ruined cities, here stood up The o’erthrow of an oak from out the ground, In likeness of a mighty hulk; thereon Leaning, like fragments of old walls and columns, There, branchy trunks, and there half-rotten boughs Enclosed by pale of grasses. In the midst Of this intrenchment fearful ’tis to look, For there the rulers of the forest sit— Boars, bears, and wolves; and at its entrance lie The bones half-gnawn of some imprudent guests. At times upspurt, ’through verdure of the grass, As ’twere two waterspouts, two horns of stags, And flits between the trees some animal With yellow girdle, like a sunbeam, that On entering is lost among the wood.

And once more all is silent down below. The woodpecker taps lightly on the pine, And flies off further; he is gone, is hidden. But still his beak goes tapping ceaselessly, As children hiding to each other call To seek them out. More near a squirrel sits, Holding between her paws a nut, and gnaws, Hanging her bushy tail above her eyes, As falls a helmet-plume upon a cuirass. Although thus veiled, she gazes heedful round. A guest is seen—the woodland dancer springs From tree to tree, like lightning flitting by. At last she enters an invisible Opening within a tree-trunk, like a Dryad Returning to her native tree. Again ’Tis silent. Presently, a branch disturbed Is quivering among the sundered crowd Of service-trees; and rosier than their berries Are shining cheeks; it is a gatherer Of nuts or berries—’tis a maiden. She In basket of rough bark doth proffer berries Fresh-gathered, fresh as her own rosy lips. Beside her is a youth; he bendeth down The hazel-branches, and the damsel catches The nuts that twinkling fly. Then, hear they sound Of horns and dogs’ loud baying, and they guess The hunt is coming near to them; and fearing They vanish from the eye, like forest gods.

In Soplicowo was great stir. But not Baying of dogs, or neigh of steeds, or creaking Of carts, nor sound of horns the signal giving, Could draw forth Thaddeus from his couch. All dressed He had fall’n upon the bed, and slept as sound As marmot in its hole. No one among The young men thought to seek him through the house; And each one, taken up but with himself, Made haste wherever ordered; they completely Forgot their sleeping comrade. He lay snoring. The sunbeams through an opening in the shutter Cut out in heart-shape, fell into the darkness, In fiery pillar on the sleeper’s brow. He still desired to sleep, and turned him round, To avoid the sunshine. All at once he heard A knocking, half awoke; a joyful waking It was. He felt himself as full of life As a young bird; he lightly drew his breath; Happy he felt, and to himself he laughed, Thinking of all that happened yesterday. He coloured, and he sighed, and his heart beat. He at the window looked; oh! wonderful! In a transparency of sunbeams, in That heart, shone two bright eyes, wide-opened as The eyes of those who pierce from daylight clear Into a shadow. And a little hand He saw, that, like a fan, beside the face Was spread towards the sun, to shield the eyes. The slender fingers to the rosy light Turned, through and through were reddened ruby like. Lips curious, questioning, he saw, a little Apart, and tiny teeth that gleamed like pearls Among the coral, and a face which, though Protected from the sun by rosy hand, Itself blushed like a rose. Beneath the window Lay Thaddeus, hidden in the shadow; lying Upon his back, he marvelled at the wondrous Vision, and saw it right above himself, Almost upon his face. He knew not whether It were a living thing, or if he dreamed Of one of those sweet, bright, and childlike faces, That we remember to have seen in dreams Of innocent years. The little face bent down. He gazed, with terror trembling, and with joy. Alas! he saw too plainly; he remembered, He recognised those short locks, brightly golden, In tiny, twisted papers, white as snow, Like silvery husks, that in the sunlight shone, Like aureole on the picture of a saint.

He started up; at once the vision fled, By the noise terrified; he waited, yet It came not back; he only heard again A knocking thrice repeated, and these words: “Get up, sir; it is time for hunting. You Have slept too long.” He sprang up from his couch, And with both hands he pushed the shutter back, Until the hinges shook, and flying wide, It struck both walls. He sprang out, and looked round, Thoughtful, confounded; nothing did he see, Nor trace perceived of aught. Not far beyond The window stretched the paling of the orchard. Upon it leaves of hop and flowery garlands Waved to and fro; had some light hands disturbed, Had the wind stirred them? Thaddeus long gazed Upon them, but he ventured not to pass Into the garden; only leaned against The garden wall. He lifted up his eyes, And with his finger on his lips commanded Silence unto himself, that he might not By ev’n a hasty word the silence break. Then sought he in his forehead, knocked at it, As if for memories long laid to sleep. At last his fingers gnawing ev’n to blood, “ ’Tis well, ’tis well, thus!” shouted he aloud.

And in the mansion where a while ago Was so much shouting, now ’twas void and still As in the grave; all to the field had gone. Thaddeus pricked up his ears, and placed both hands As trumpets to them, listening till the wind Bore towards him, blowing from the forest land, The clamour of the horses, shouts of all The hunting crowd. The horse of Thaddeus Already saddled waited in the stall. He seized a rifle, mounted, and he galloped On headlong like a madman to the taverns, Which stood beside the chapel where the beaters Should gather in the morning. The two taverns Leaned towards each other on each side the way, Each with their windows threatening one another Like enemies. The old one ’longed by right Unto the Castle’s lord; Soplica built The other to the Castle’s prejudice, And in the first, as in his heritage, Gervasy would preside, and in the other Protasy took the highest place at table.

The newer tavern nought remarkable Had in its aspect; but the older one Was builded after a most ancient model, Invented by the artificers of Tyre, Which afterwards the Jews spread through the world; A kind of architecture, quite unknown To foreign builders; we received it from The Jews. The tavern in the front was like An ark, behind a sanctuary resembling. The ark, the true square-cornered chest of Noah, To-day known by the simple name of barn; Therein are various kinds of animals, Horses, and cows, and oxen, bearded goats, But overhead the company of birds. And though of reptiles but a pair, there are Insects besides. The hinder part, erected In form of wondrous sanctuary, recalls That famous edifice of Solomon, Which, highest in the trade of building skilled, The artificers of Hiram raised on Zion, The Jews still imitate it in their schools; And the designing of the schools is seen In barns and taverns. Formed of planks and straw, The roof, sharp-pointed and high raised, was bent, And tattered as the kolpak of a Jew. The corners of a gallery protrude Upon the top, supported by a row Of wooden pillars. What a wonder seems To architects, these columns still endure, Although half-rotten, and all crooked set, As in the tower of Pisa; not according To Grecian models, for they are devoid Of pedestals or capitals. Above The columns arches run half-circular, Likewise of wood; and, copying Gothic art, Above there are artistic ornaments, Not carved by chisel or by graving-tool, But cut out by the axe of carpenter; Crooked like arms of Sabbath candlesticks. At the end hang balls—resembling somewhat buttons, Which on their heads the Jews in praying hang, And which they cyces call in their own tongue. In one word, seems the crooked, tottering tavern, From far off, like a Jew, who to and fro, In praying nods; the roof is like a cap, The thatch disordered like a beard, the smoky And dirty walls resemble a black veil, And from the front protrudes the carving, like The cyces on his forehead. In the middle Of the tavern a division is, as in The Jewish schools; one part entirely full Of long and narrow chambers, serves to lodge Ladies and travelling gentlemen; the other Contains a great hall; and along each side A narrow wooden table, many-legged; Beside the table there are stools, which, though Lower than the table, yet are like to it, As children to the father. On the stools Around sat peasant men and peasant women, And likewise petty nobles, in a row. The bailiff at a separate table sat. For after early mass at chapel, since ’Twas Sunday, all had come to amuse themselves, And drink at Jankiel’s house. Before each one Already hummed a goblet of grey wódka. The serving-maiden with the bottle ran To every one. In middle of the room Stood Jankiel, the proprietor, who wore A lengthy sarafan which reached the ground, Fastened with silver clasps; upon his girdle Of silk one hand was planted, with the other He solemnly stroked down his hoary beard. Glancing around him he gave forth commands, Welcomed the guests who entered, stood beside Those sitting down. He opened conversation, And made those quarrelling agree, but yet Himself served no one, only walked around. An ancient Jew, and everywhere well known For honesty, he many years had held On lease the tavern; of the peasants none Or nobles ever had complaining brought Against him to the mansion. Why complain? He had good drinks at choice; strict reckoning He kept, but void of cheating; cheerfulness Forbade not, but allowed not drunkenness; He was of pastimes a great lover, weddings And christenings were celebrated at His house; and every Sunday he had music There from the village, wherein a bass-viol And bagpipes used to be. He understood What music was; himself had great renown For talent; with the cymbals, of his nation The instrument, he formerly was used To go to mansions, and astonishment Rouse by his playing and by singing. He Could sing with science and with learning. Though He was a Jew, he had a Polish accent Of tolerable purity, and most Loved national songs. He brought a number back, From every expedition beyond Niemen; From Halicz kolomyjki, and mazurkas From Warsaw. Fame reported through the district (I cannot tell if truly) that he first Brought from beyond the boundary, and spread That song throughout his district, now renowned Through all the world; but which for the first time The trumpets of the Polish legions played To the Italians. Well the power of singing In Litva pays; it gains the people’s love, And brings both fame and riches. Jankiel Had made a fortune; satiate with gain And glory, he had hung up on the wall The nine-stringed cymbals; with a family. He settled down, and occupied himself With selling liquor in the tavern. He Was also under-rabbin in the town; But everywhere agreeable both as guest, And governor of his house. He understood Right well the trade of corn, by means of barges; Such knowledge is most needful in the country. He also had the fame of a good Pole. ’Twas he who first the quarrels reconciled, So often bloody, that had raged between The taverns, hiring both upon a lease. And equally respected him the old Supporters of Horeszko, and the servants Of Judge Soplica. Only he could hold In check the threatening Klucznik of Horeszko, And quarrelling Wozny; they repressed before Jankiel their ancient causes of offence; Gervasy dreadful with the hand, Protasy With tongue. Gervasy was not there, for he Had gone unto the hunt, as wishing not The young and inexperienced Count should be Alone on such a parlous expedition, And one so weighty; so he went with him To be his counsellor and to protect.

To-day, Gervasy’s place, that from the threshold Was most removed, between two benches placed In the very corner of the tavern, called Pokucie, by Friar Robak occupied Appeared. ’Twas Jankiel had placed him there. ’Twas seen he for the friar had great respect; For soon as he perceived his goblet low, He quickly ran, and ordered to fill up The glass with July mead unto the brim. ’Twas said that he had known the Bernardine From youth, somewhere in foreign countries. Robak Came often to the tavern in the night, And held there conference on weighty things, In secret with the Jew; the priest, ’twas said, A smuggler was, but ’twas a calumny, Unworthy of belief. Now Robak, on The table leaning, half-aloud discoursed. A crowd of nobles him surrounded, lending Their ears, and bending down their noses to The priestly snuff-box; from it they took pinches, And all the nobles snorted like to mortars.

“Reverendissime,” Skoluba said, “This is tobacco, this goes up into The crown of the head. Since first I wore a nose”— (Here stroked he his long nose)—“I never had A pinch of such tobacco.” Here he sneezed A second time. “ ’Tis truly Bernardine. No doubt it comes from Kowno, famous town Through all the world for mead and for tobacco. I went there”—Robak interrupted him: “The health of all you gentles, gracious sirs! As touches the tobacco, hum! it comes From further parts than good Skoluba thinks. It comes from Jasna Gora, and the Paulines Make snuff like this in Czenstochowa’s town, Where is that picture for such wonders famed, The Virgin, Mother of our Lord, and Queen Of Poland, and Princess of Lithuania. True, still she watches o’er her royal crown, But now the schism in Litva’s duchy reigns.” “From Czenstochowa?” Wilbik said; “I went There to confession thirty years ago, When I was there for pardon. Is it true That in the town the Frenchman resteth now, And that he wishes to throw down the church, And seize the treasure, for all this is in The Lithuanian Courier?”—“ ’Tis not true,” Replied the Bernardine; “illustrious sir, Napoleon is a Catholic, and most Exemplary; the Pope anointed him; They live in harmony together, and Convert men in the Frankish nation, which Had grown somewhat corrupt. ’Tis true much silver Was given from Czenstochowa to the treasury Of the nation, for the Fatherland, for Poland; For so the Lord himself commands, his altars Are aye the treasury of the Fatherland. We have a hundred thousand Polish troops In Warsaw’s duchy, and perhaps shall soon Have more, and who should for the army pay, If not yourselves, Litvini? you but give Your money to the coffers of the Russians.” “The devil may give!” cried Wilbik, “they take from us By force!”—“Alas! good sir,” a peasant said Humbly, while bowing to the priest, and scratching His head; “that’s for the nobles; they but bear Half of the burden; we are stripped like bark.” “Thou churl!” Skoluba cried; “thou fool! thou hast The best of it; you peasants are used thereto As eels to skinning; but to us well-born, To us Most Powerful, used to golden freedom— Ah, brothers! ‘once a noble on his land’ ”— “Yes, yes,” cried all; “ ‘might with a Wojewode stand.’ To-day they our nobility dispute, Command us to search papers through and prove Our noble birth by paper.”—“That’s a less Affair for you,” Juraha cried, “for you From peasant ancestors have been ennobled; But I am sprung of princes! Ask of me A patent! When I first became a noble, The Lord alone remembers. Let the Russian Into the forest go to ask the oaks Who gave to them a patent to grow high Above all plants.”—“Prince,” answered Zagiel; “Tell tales to whom you list; here will you find No doubt a mitre, and in not one house.” “A cross is in your ’scutcheon,” cried Podhajski; “A hidden allusion to a neophyte Once in your family.”—“ ’Tis false!” cried Birbasz; “I come of Tartar Counts, and bear the cross Above my crest of Arks.”—“The Poraj,” cried Mickiewicz; “with a mitre on field or, A princely ’scutcheon is. Stryjkowski wrote Concerning this a great deal.” Thereupon Arose loud murmurs in the tavern. Then The Bernardine resorted to his snuff-box; In turn all speakers he regaled. At once The murmurs ceased, and each one took a pinch From courtesy, and several times they sneezed. The Bernardine continued, profiting By this divergence: “Ah! great men have sneezed On this tobacco! Would you, gentlemen, Believe that from this snuff-box General Dombrowski took a pinch three times?”—“Dombrowski?” They cried.—“Yes, yes, the General himself. I was in camp when from the Germans he Recovered Dantzig. He something had to write, And, fearing he might sleep, he took a pinch. He took one, sneezed, twice clapped me on the shoulder. “Priest Robak,” said he, “Friar Bernardine, We’ll meet again in Litva, may be ere A year has passed; tell the Litvini they With Czenstochowa snuff must me await, For I will take no other kind but this.”

The friar’s discourse such great astonishment Aroused, such joy, that all that company So noisy now kept silence for a while. Then they repeated, in half-silent words, “Tobacco brought from Poland? Czenstochowa? Dombrowski? from Italian land?”—until At last together, as though thought with thought, And word with word together ran, they all With one accordant voice, as at a signal, Shouted: “Dombrowski!” All together shouted, Pressed close; the peasant with the Tartar Count, The Mitre with the Cross, the Poraj with The Griffin and the Ark, forgetting all, Even the Bernardine, they only sang, Exclaiming, “Wódka, mead, and wine!” Long time Friar Robak hearkened to the melody. At length he wished to break it off; he took His snuff-box in both hands, and with his sneezing Confused the melody, and ere they might Tune up again, thus made he haste to speak: “You praise my snuff, good sirs; now pray observe, What’s doing in the inside of the box.” Here, wiping with a cloth the inside soiled, He showed a tiny army painted there, Like swarm of flies; a horseman in the midst, Large as a beetle, certainly their leader. He spurred the horse, as though he fain would leap Into the heavens; one hand upon the reins, The other at his nose. “Look here,” said Robak, “Look at this threatening form; guess ye who ’tis?” All looked with curiosity. “He is A great man, and an Emperor, but not That of the Muscovites; their Czars have never Taken tobacco.”—“That a great man!” Czydzik Exclaimed; “and in a capote! I had thought That great men went in gold. Because among The Muscovites each petty general, Good sir, shines all in gold, just like a pike In saffron!”—“Pooh!” said Rymsza; “I once saw, When I was young, our nation’s chief, Kosciuszko, And he wore a Cracovian sukmana, That’s a czamara.”—“What sort of czamara?” Objected Wilbik; “that’s a taratatka.” “But that has fringes, this thing is quite plain,” Cried Mickiewicz. Thereon arose disputes Concerning taratatki and czamary.

The prudent Robak, seeing the discourse Was scattering thus, began once more to gather All to the central fire, unto his snuff-box. Regaled them, they all sneezed, and wished good health To one another; he proceeded further Upon the theme. “When the Emperor Napoleon Takes in a battle snuff, time after time, It is a sure sign he will win the fight. At Austerlitz for instance; thus the French Stood with their guns, and on them charged a cloud Of Muscovites. The Emperor looked thereon, And silence kept. Each time the Frenchmen fired, The Russian regiments strewed the earth like grass. For regiment after regiment galloped up, And fell down from their saddles. Often as A regiment lay low, the Emperor Took snuff. Till at the last did Alexander, His brother Constantine, the German Emperor Francis, take to their heels. The Emperor then, Seeing the fight was over, looked on them, And laughed, and shook his finger. Now if any, Of you, sirs, who are present, ever should Be in the Emperor’s army, recollect this.”

“Ah!” cried Skoluba, “when shall all this be? As often now as in the almanac A saint’s day stands, on every holy-day They still do prophesy the Frenchmen to us. A man may look, may look, till wink his eyes! But as the Russian held us still he holds, Ere the sun rises eyes are wet with dew.”

“Sir,” said the Bernardine, “like an old woman ’Tis to lament, and it is like a Jew To wait with folded hands, till some one ride Up to the tavern knocking at the door. ’Twill be no hard work for Napoleon To beat the Muscovites; already he Has three times thrashed the Swabians’ skin, has driven The English back beyond the sea; he surely Will finish off the Muscovites; but what Will follow thence? are you aware, good sir? Why, the Litvanian nobles will to horse, And draw their sabres, at that very time When none are left to fight with; and Napoleon, Having defeated all his foes alone, Will say, ‘I’ll do without you, who are you?’ Thus it is not enough to expect a guest, Nor to invite him either; one must gather The household, and the tables must be laid. But ere the festival the house must be Cleansed of its sweepings. I repeat it, children, Sweep, sweep the house clean.” Thereon followed silence; Then voices in the crowd, “How cleanse our house? We will do all things; we for all are ready. But let the good priest deign to explain himself.”

The priest gazed from the window, breaking off The conversation; something he perceived, That his attention did engage. From forth The window looked he; then he rising said, “To-day I have not time; we’ll talk of this More fully later on. To-morrow I Shall be on business in the district town, And I shall come to you upon my way.”

“And for night quarters come to Niehrymow,” The bailiff said; “right glad the Standard-bearer Will be; indeed, the Litwin proverb says, ‘Happy as is a friar in Niehrymow.’ “To us,” Zubkowski said, “come, if it please you; For there are linen sheets, a tub of butter, A cow, or sheep; remember, priest, these words; ‘A happy man, he chanced on luck, as came The friar to Zubkow.’ ”—“And to us,” exclaimed Skoluba; “unto us, Terajewicz. No Bernardine departed ever hungry From Pucewicz.” Thus all the noblemen With prayers and promises led forth the priest, But he already was beyond the door.

He had beforehand through the window seen Thaddeus, who flew along the roadway, in Fast gallop, with no hat, with head bent down, With pale and gloomy visage; ceaselessly He spurred the horse, and flogged it. Much this sight Troubled the Bernardine; so hastened he After the young man forth with rapid steps, Towards the great forest, which, as far as eye Could follow, blackened all the horizon’s verge.

Who the abysmal regions has explored Of the Litvanian forests, to the very Centre, the inner kernel of the woodlands? The fisher coasting round the shore, scarce visits The deep seas; so the sportsman hovers round The bed of the Litvanian forests; yet He knows them scarcely on the outer side, Their form, their countenance; but unto him The inner secrets of their heart are strange. Rumour alone or fable knows what passes Therein; for shouldst thou ev’n the pinewoods pass, And outer forests, thou wouldst come upon A rampart in the abyss, of trunks, stumps, roots, By quaking turf defended, thousand streams, And net of high-grown plants, and lofty ant-hills, With nests of wasps, of hornets, coils of snakes. And even if, by courage passing man’s, Thou shouldst surmount these barriers, it were but To encounter graver perils further on. At each step lie in wait, like pits for wolves, Lakelets, whose borders are with grass o’ergrown, More deep than human searching may discern. Great is the likelihood that fiends sit there. The water of these ponds is sticky, spotted With blood-like rust, and from within a smoke Arises ever, vomiting foul smells, Whereby the trees are stripped of leaves and bark, Bald, dwarfish, worm-devoured, diseased, their boughs Drooping with tetter of a loathsome moss, And humpy trunks, with ugly toadstools bearded, They sit around the water, like a troop Of witches, warming them around the cauldron, Wherein they seethe a corpse. Behind these lakes, Not merely by a step, but by the eye Vain to be reached, for everything is now Veiled in a cloud of mist that evermore Arises from the quaking marshy lands;— But latterly beyond this mist, as fame Does commonly report, a region lies Most fair and fertile, the chief kingdom this Of beasts and capital of plants. Therein The seeds of every tree and herb are stored, From whence their races spread o’er all the earth. Therein, as in the ark of Noah, all kinds Of animals preserve one pair at least For propagation. In the very centre, ’Tis said, the ancient urus, bison, bear, Do hold their courts as emperors of the waste. Around them, on the trees, the agile lynx, The ravenous glutton—watchful ministers, Do rest them. Further yet, like feudal vassals, The wild-boars dwell, the wolves, and large-horned elks. Above their heads are falcons and wild eagles, Living like courtly parasites at tables Of lords. These patriarchal pairs of beasts, Hidden in the forest’s heart, and to the world Invisible, send forth as colonists Their children to the forest’s verge; themselves Meanwhile dwell quiet in the capital. They never die by sharp-edged arms, or gun; But being old they fall by natural cause. They have their cemet’ry, where, nearing death, The birds lay down their plumes, the quadrupeds Their hairs; the bear, when, all his teeth decayed, He can no longer chew his food; the stag Decrepit, when he scarce may stir his limbs; The venerable hare, when that the blood Is stagnant in his veins; the hoary raven, The falcon, when grown blind; the eagle, when His ancient beak so crooks into an arch, That, closed for aye, it nourishes his throat No more; they pass unto their cemetery; And even the lesser beasts, when hurt or sick, Hasten to die here in their native place. Hence in those places which mankind may reach, Dead bones of animals are never found. ’Tis said that thither in the capital, Among the beasts good customs are preserved, Because they rule themselves, yet uncorrupt By civilising influence of man. They know no laws of property, which vex Our world, nor duels know, or warlike arts. And as the fathers dwelt in Paradise, So live to-day their children, wild and tame, In love and concord. Never bites or gores The one the other. Should a man e’en enter, He might, although unarmed, in safety pass Among the beasts; they would upon him gaze, With that same wonder, as upon the last And sixth day of creation their first fathers, Who dwelt within the garden, looked on Adam, Before they quarrelled with him. Happily No man shall ever stray unto this place, For Difficulty, Care, and Death prevent him.

Sometimes alone have mastiffs, hot in chase, Entered unguardedly ’mid marshes, moss, Ravines, and, wounded by their inner horror, Fled back, loud whining, with distracted looks; And by their master’s hand though long caressed, Yet mad with fear still tremble at his feet. These central wastes, to mankind all unknown, The hunters in their tongue call Mateczniki. Thou foolish bear! if thou hadst stayed at home, In the Matecznik, never would the Wojski Have heard of thee; but whether the sweet smell Of beehives lured thee, or thou wert possessed By a desire unto the ripened barley, Thou camest forth unto the forest’s verge, Where thinner grows the wood, and there at once The forester did thine existence track; And he sent forth the beaters, cunning spies, To mark where thou didst posture, and where thou Didst make thy night-lair. Now the Wojski comes, With all the hunt, and stationing the ranks, Has shut out thy retreat to the Matecznik.

Thaddeus now learned that but a short time since Into the deep abysses of the wood, The mastiffs entered. All was still. In vain The hunters stretched their ears. In vain they listened To silence, as to most engaging speech, And waited long, unmoving, in the place; Only the music of the forest played To them from far; the dogs plunge in the forest, As sea-mews underneath the waves; the hunters, Turning their double-barrels to the wood, Upon the Wojski gaze. He, kneeling down, The earth doth question with his ear; and as, Upon the countenance of a physician, The glance of friends peruses the decree Of life or death of one unto them dear, The hunters, in the Wojski’s skill and art Confiding, fixed upon him looks of hope And fear. “It is, it is,” he whispering said, And sprang upon his feet. He heard; they still Must listen. At last they hear; one dog whined loud, Then two, then twenty; all the dogs together In scattered crowd perceived the scent, and whined, Fell on the track, bayed loud, and still barked on. It was not now the bark deliberate Of dogs pursuing hare, or fox, or hind, But a continual cry, short, frequent, broken, Eager. Now had the dogs upon a track Not distant fallen; they pursue by sight, When now the cry of chase on sudden ceased; They had reached the beast. Again a shriek, a whine, The beast defends himself, and certainly Inflicts some hurt; among the bay of dogs. More and more frequent comes a dying groan. The hunters stood, and each with loaded gun, Bent himself forward like a bow, with head Thrust in the forest. Longer can they not Stay there; one after other from the place Escapes, and in the forest thrusts himself; Each would be first to meet the beast, although The Wojski gave them warning;—though the Wojski On horseback passed the standpoints round, exclaiming That be he peasant churl, or nobleman, Whoever from the spot should stir, should feel His leash upon his back. There was no help; Each rushed, despite command, into the wood. Three guns went off at once! Then straightway sounded A cannonade, till louder than the shots. The bear did roar, and echo filled the woods, A horrid roar of rage, despair, and pain; And after it the shriek of dogs, the shout Of hunters, and the prickers’ horns resound, From midmost of the forest. In the wood Some of the hunters hasten, others cock Their triggers, all rejoiced; alone the Wojski Exclaims in sorrow they have missed. The hunters And prickers one side went athwart the beast, Between the forest and the toils. But now The bear, alarmed by all that throng of dogs And men, turned backwards to that place, that with Least diligence was guarded, towards the plains, Whence all the hunters stationed had removed, And where, of all the numerous hunters’ ranks, The Wojski, Thaddeus, and the Count alone Remained, with a few toilers. Here the forest Was thinner. In its depths was heard a roar, A shaking of the ground, till from the thicket, As though from out the clouds, the bear rushed forth Like thunderbolt; the dogs pursued him, they Were frightened, rushed about; he reared aloft Upon his hind legs, and around him gazed, Frightening his enemies by dreadful roars; And with his forepaws tearing now beneath Stones overgrown with moss, now blackened branches, Hurling them over dogs and men, until He broke away a tree, and whirling this Round like a club, to leftward and to right, He rushed on those who guarded last the toils, The Count and Thaddeus. They stood fearlessly, And ready to step forward, towards the beast Pointing the barrels of their guns, like two Lightning conductors in a dark cloud’s bosom, Till both, in the same instant, drew their triggers. Ah! inexperienced!—their guns both sounded Together; they had missed! The bear sprang forward. They seized a hunting spear implanted there, With all their four arms, and for its possession Struggled together. Looking, they beheld From forth that great red muzzle gleam two rows Of tusks, and now a great paw armed with claws Descends upon their heads. They both grew pale, And backwards sprang, escaping unto where The wood grew rarer. After them the bear Reared up behind; now had he hooked his claws, Missed them, ran nearer, and again upreared, And with his black paw stretched unto the yellow Hair of the Count;—he would have torn his skull Off from his brains, as from his head the hat. When the Assessor and the Regent sprang From either side; but by some hundred paces Gervasy ran before them, and with him Was Robak, though without a gun; but all The three together fired as at command. The bear sprang up, like hare before a hound, And fell, his head on earth, and turning o’er All four paws like a mill, a bloody load Of flesh, that rolled o’er just where stood the Count, And hurled him from his feet upon the earth. The bear still roared; he tried once more to rise, When on him fastened the enraged Strapczyna And furious Sprawnik. Then the Wojski seized His buffalo horn that hung down from a string, Long, mottled, twisted like the serpent boa, And pressed it with both hands unto his lips. His cheeks swelled out like gourds, and shone his eyes With blood; he shut them half, and half his chest Drew back into its depths, and forth therefrom Sent half his store of spirit to his lungs, And played. The horn, like to a stormy wind, With whirling breath, bore music to the waste, And twofold made itself with echo. Silent The hunters and the prickers stood in wonder, At that strong, pure, and wondrous harmony. The old man now once more to hunters’ ears Displayed that art, whereby he once had been Renowned in forests. Presently he filled, And made alive, the forests and the oaks, As though he had a kennel loosed therein, And had begun to hunt. For in his playing There was of hunting an epitome. At first a clamouring noise—the réveille; Then groans succeeded groans, with whining cries, And baying of dogs, and here and there a tone Harsher like thunder—the discharge of guns.

Here broke he off, but held the horn; to all It seemed as though the Wojski still played on, But echo ’twas that played. He blew again. Thou wouldst have thought the horn had changed its shape, And now waxed greater in the Wojski’s hands, Now thinner grew, while counterfeiting cries Of various beasts. Now in a wolfish neck Outstretching in a long and plaintive howl; Again, as seething in a bearish throat, It roared; then bellowing of bisons tore The winds in twain. Here broke he off, but still He held the horn; it seemed to all as though The Wojski still played on, but echo played. Having this masterpiece of horn-playing art Once heard, the oaks repeated it unto The oaks, the beeches to the beeches. Now He blew again. As though a hundred horns Were in that horn, were heard the mingled cries Of pricking on, and fear, and anger; noise Of hunters, kennels, and of beasts, till high The Wojski raised the horn, and with a hymn Of triumph smote the clouds. He broke off now, But held the horn; to all it did appear As though the Wojski still played on, but echo It was that played. As many as the trees, So many horns were in the pinewood; they Bore on the song to others, as from chorus To chorus; on the music went, aye wider, Aye further, softer aye, and ever purer, And aye more perfect, till it disappeared Somewhere, upon the threshold of the heavens. The Wojski, taking both hands from the horn, Wide spread them; down the horn fell, on the belt Of leather rocking. With a face o’erblown And radiant, with uplifted eyes, the Wojski Stood as inspired, pursuing by the ear, The last tones vanishing; but meanwhile sounded A thousand plaudits, thousand gratulations, And shouts of “Vivat!” Silence gradually Succeeded, and the chatterers’ eyes all turned Upon the great, fresh bear-corpse. He lay there, With blood all sprinkled, riddled through with balls, His breast entangled in the thick grass fast, And wide his forepaws like a cross seemed spread. He breathed as yet; his nostrils poured a stream Of blood; his eyes still opened, but his head Moved not; the Chamberlain’s two bulldogs held him Fast by each ear. Upon the left Strapczyna, And Sprawnik on the right hung, strangling him, And sucking the black blood. Thereon the Wojski Gave orders to insert an iron rod Between the dogs’ teeth, and to open wide Their jaws; then with the gun-stocks were o’erturned The animal’s remains upon their back. Once more a threefold vivat smote the clouds.

“How?” cried the Assessor, turning round his gun; “How then? my carabine? We have the best o’t. How then? my carabine? ’Tis no great bird; But what has it performed? This is not new To it, it lets no charge loose on the wind. I had it as a gift from Prince Sanguszko.” He showed a gun of marvellous workmanship, Though small, and he began to reckon up Its virtues.—“I,” the Assessor interrupted, Wiping his brow, “I rushed on hard behind The bear; but the Pan Wojski cried, ‘Stand still.’ But how stand still? The bear was straight advancing Upon the plain, on rushing like a hare, Further and further, till I had no breath, No hope to overtake him. Lo! I looked Towards the right; he stopped, and here the forest Was thinner, so I measured with my glance. ‘Stand still,’ I thought;—e basta, there he lies Lifeless! A fine gun this! true Sagalas! ‘Sagalas London à Balabanowka’ The inscription; there a famous gunsmith lived, A Pole, who manufactured Polish guns, But in the English manner them adorned.

“How?” snorts the Assessor; “many hundred bears! Did not that one nigh kill you? What a story!” “Just listen then,” the Regent answered back; “Here’s no court of inquiry, sir; this is A hunt; I take all here as witnesses.”

Then a fierce quarrel ’mid the crowd began, Some took the Assessor’s, some the Regent’s side. Gervasy none remembered, for they all Had run up from the sides, nor had observed What passed in front. The Wojski gathered voice: “At least this time the quarrel is for something; This, gentlemen, is not that wretched hare, But ’tis a bear; you well may seek amends, Either with sabre, or the pistol even. ’Tis hard to arbitrate your quarrel, so, According to the ancient custom, we Will grant permission for a duel. I Remember in my time there lived two neighbours, Both honourable men and noblemen, From their forefathers; they on either side Of the Wilejka river lived. One was Domejko called, the other named Dowejko. Both fired together once at a she-bear. Who slew ’twas hard to tell, and terribly They quarrelled, and they swore to exchange their shots Across the bear-skin. How like noblemen! Barrel to barrel nearly! And this duel Made a great noise then; songs were sung about it At that time. I was second; how it happened, I’ll tell you all the story from the first.”

Before the Wojski might begin to speak, Gervasy had composed the quarrel; he Went round the bear, observed it heedfully. As last he drew his cutlass, and the muzzle Severed in twain, and in the hinder part Of the head, the substance of the brain dividing, He found the ball. He drew it forth, and cleaned it Upon his coat, then measured with the cartridge, Adjusted to the gun, and then his hand Uplifting, and the bullet in his hand: “Sirs!” said he; “not from your guns is this ball. It comes from this Horeszko single-barrel”— Here raised he the old flint-lock, with a band Engirdled round—“but ’twas not I that fired it. Oh! that required courage; terrible ’Tis to remember! dark before my eyes It seemed! For both young gentlemen were running Straight towards me, and the bear was right behind, Just, just above the Count’s head, last of the Horeszkos, although by the spindle side. ‘Jesus! Maria!’ I cried, and the Lord’s angels Sent to my help the Bernardine. He shamed us All! O most valiant priest! While I was trembling, And dared not touch the trigger, from my hands He snatched the gun, took aim, and fired! Between Two heads to fire! a hundred steps! not miss! And in the very centre of the jaws Thus beat the teeth in! Sirs, I long have lived, But one man only have I seen who could By such a shot have signalised himself. That fellow once among us so renowned For duelling, he who was used to shoot The heels off women’s slippers; that same rascal Above all rascals, memorable for aye, That Jacek, vulgo Whiskered, I do not Recall his surname! But ’tis now no time For him to go a-hunting bears; no doubt The villain to his very whiskers sits In hell. But glory to the priest, for he Has saved the lives of two men, and perhaps Of three. Gervasy will not praise himself; But had the last child of Horeszko’s blood Fallen in the wild beast’s jaws, I should not now Be in the world, and mine old bones the bear Had gnawed. Come, priest, your Reverence’s health We’ll drink.” In vain they sought the priest; they knew So much alone, that when the beast was slain, He for a moment showed himself; he sprang Towards the Count and Thaddeus; and seeing That both were whole and sound, he raised his eyes To heaven, and said a silent prayer, and ran Back quickly to the plains, as though pursued.

Meanwhile, by order of the Wojski, bundles Of heather, twigs, and brushwood, in a pile Were thrown. The fire bursts forth, and groweth up A pine of smoke, and spreads itself aloft In likeness of a canopy. Above The flame they crossed two hunting spears at top. Upon the points they hung a cauldron huge, And from the wagons brought out vegetables, And flour, and roasts, and bread. The Judge then opened A lock-up bottle-case, wherein appeared In rows white heads of bottles; he from them Chose out the largest case of crystal; ’twas A present from Friar Robak to the Judge, ’Twas Dantzig wódka, liquor dear to Poles. “Long live,” exclaimed the Judge, and lifted high The flask, “the town of Dantzig, once our own, It shall be ours again!” and he poured out The silvery liquor round, till at the end The gold began to dribble, and to shine In the sun’s light. The bigos in the kettles Was warming. It were hard to express in words The wondrous taste of bigos, colour, and Its wondrous odour. One may hear the sound Of words, and sequences of rhymes, but yet The citizen digestion cannot prize Their substance; for, to value at the full Litvanian songs and dishes, one must be In health, live in the country, be returning From hunting. Still, without these preparations, Bigos is not a dish to be despised, For it is artfully compounded of The choicest vegetables; one must take Chopped pickled cabbage, which, as says the proverb, Goes of itself into the mouth; enclosed Within a kettle, let its bosom moist O’ercover chosen pieces of best meat; And let it simmer till the fire express All vital juices, till the boiling liquor Spurts from the vessel’s borders, and the air Around is with its odour redolent.

The bigos now was ready. All the huntsmen With threefold vivat, armed with spoons, ran up, And stirred the vessel. Roared the brass, the smoke Burst forth, the bigos disappeared like camphor. It vanished, fled; and in the cauldron’s mouths The steam alone was boiling, as within The crater of extinct volcanoes. When They all had eat and drunk their fill, they mounted On horseback. All were in high spirits, all Were full of talk, except the Assessor and The Regent. They were angrier now to-day Than yesterday; they quarrelled with each other About the virtues, one of his Sanguszko Rifle, the other of his Sagalas. The Count likewise, and Thaddeus unjoyful Rode on, and felt ashamed because they missed And had retired, for he in Litva who Has let the beast escape the toils must labour Long ere he may redeem his reputation.

The Count declared he first had seized the spear, And Thaddeus would not let him meet the beast. Thaddeus maintained, that being of the two The stronger, and the better skilled to wield A heavy spear, he would forestall the Count. Thus talked they ’mid the murmur and the noise Of all the throng. The Wojski in the centre Rode; merry was the good old man beyond His usual custom, full of conversation. He, wishing to amuse the quarrellers, And bring them to agree, the story of Domejko and Dowejko ended thus: “Assessor, if I wished that thou shouldst fight A duel with the Regent, do not think That I am eager after human blood. Forbid it, Heaven! I wished but to amuse you, To give you as it were a comedy, And to renew that same conceit, which I Imagined forty years ago—it was Most excellent! You all are young, you do not Remember this, but in my time it made The forests loud ev’n to Podlachia’s woods.

“Domejko and Dowejko’s disputes Came from a strange cause, likeness of their names Most inconvenient! For in time of sejmiks, When that Dowejko’s friends were gaining o’er Supporters, some one whispered to a noble, ‘Vote for Dowejko;’ and he, hearing but Imperfectly, his vote gave to Domejko. When at a feast Marshal Rupejko once Proposed a health, ‘Long live Dowejko!’ others Cried out ‘Domejko!’ And who midmost sat Could never get it right, especially In speaking indistinct of dinner-time.

“It came to even worse. One day in Wilna, Some drunken noble with Domejko fought, And got two sabre wounds. And later on, That nobleman, returning home from Wilna, By strange hap crossed the ferry with Dowejko. As in one boat they crossed o’er the Wilejka, He asks his neighbour, ‘Who is that?’—‘Dowejko,’ The answer was. Without delay, this noble Whips forth his rapier from beneath his cloak, And cut Dowejko underneath the whiskers, Thinking he was Domejko. But at last As for the finishing stroke, it needs must be, That at a hunting party thus it chanced: The namesakes stood, and at the same she-bear Together fired. ’Tis true, she lifeless fell After their shots; but she already bore Ten bullets in her body; many persons Had guns of like calibre; who had slain The she-bear? Well, find out! But by what means?

“Here then they cried: ‘Enough, the thing must be Once for all ended. Whether God or devil Joined us, we must be parted. Two of us, Like two suns, are too many in the world.’ So to their sabres, and they stood at distance. Both honourable men, the more the nobles Surround them, the more fiercely on each other They strike. They changed their weapons; and from sabres It came to pistols; and they stood. We cry That they too nearly have approached the standpoints. They in pure spite swore then to fire across The bear-skin! death inevitable! nearly One barrel to the other! both sure shots! ‘Be second now, Hreczecha!’ I replied, ‘Agreed; but let the sexton dig a grave At once, for such a quarrel cannot end In nothing; fight like noblemen, and not Like butchers. ’Tis enough to place the standpoints More near; I see that you are desperadoes. Will you then fight, the barrels on your chests? I will not suffer this. Agreed, let it With pistols be, but at no greater distance, Or less, than o’er the bear-skin. I, as second, With mine own hands will stretch it on the ground, And I myself will station you; you, sir, On one side, stand upon the muzzle’s end, And you, sir, on the tail.’—‘Agreed!’ they shouted. ‘The time?’—‘To-morrow.’—‘Place?’—‘The tavern Usza!’ They rode away. But I went to my Virgil.”

A shout the Wojski interrupted: “Vytcha!” And right from underneath the horses’ hoofs Darted a hare. Now Kusy, and now Sokol Pursued him. To the hunt the dogs were brought, Since on returning one might easily A hare encounter on the plain. The dogs Beside the horses free from leashes ran, And when they saw the hare, straightway, before The hunters urged them, swiftly they pursued. The Regent and the Assessor too would urge Their horses onward; but the Wojski stayed them, Crying: “Ware! stand and look on! I allow No one to stir from this place by a step. From hence we all shall well observe; the hare Is going to the plains.” In truth the hare, Perceiving dogs and hunters close behind, Rushed headlong to the plain; his long ears he Like to a roe’s two horns erected. O’er The plain he spread himself, his legs, stretched out, Beneath him like four rods appearing. Well Might one have said he moved them not, but only Skimmed o’er the surface of the earth, like swallow Kissing the waters. Dust behind him, dogs Behind the dust; from far away it seemed That hare, and dogs, and greyhounds formed one body, As though some sort of viper o’er the plain Were gliding, with the hare as head, the dust The snake’s blue length, that like a double tail Kept wagging to and fro the dogs. The Regent And the Assessor gazed; their lips stood open; They held their breath. At once the Regent turned Pale as a linen cloth, the Assessor pale Turned also. They behold, most fatally It chanced. The further off that viper ran, The more it lengthened, and it broke in two. Now vanished was that neck of dust, the head Already neared the wood; the tails, where are they? Behind. The head had vanished; once it seemed As some one waved a tassel; it had entered The wood; the tail broke off beside the wood.

The poor dogs, stupefied, beneath the thicket Ran, seeming to take counsel, and accuse Each other. They at last return; they slowly Spring o’er the brushwood, drooping low their ears, Their tails close pressed unto their chests, and when They had approached, they scarce dared raise their eyes For very shame, and ’stead of going to Their masters, stood upon one side. The Regent Drooped down his gloomy brow upon his breast; The Assessor cast a glance, but one unjoyful. Then to the hearers both would demonstrate How that their greyhounds were unused to go Unleashed, how unforeseen the hare ran out, How ill they set upon him, in a field Where the dogs truly should have put on boots; So full it was of pebbles and sharp stones.

Wise things expounded these experienced prickers. The sportsmen might therefrom have reaped much profit, But they did not attend with diligence. Some began whistling, others laughed aloud; Some, having in their memory the bear, Of him talked. With the late hunt occupied, The Wojski scarce had glanced upon the hare, And seeing it escape, turned round his head Indifferently, his interrupted story Concluding: “Where did I leave off? Ah! ha! Just where I took them both so at their word, To fire at one another o’er the bear-skin. The noblemen cried out ’twas certain death! Barrel to barrel nearly. But I laughed, For my friend Maro taught me that a bear-skin Is not a paltry measure; for you know How when Queen Dido sailed to Libya, She with the greatest trouble, for herself Purchased such piece of land as might be covered O’er with an ox-hide; and she founded Carthage Upon this bit of land. So in the night This passage I discussed with care. “The day Had scarce begun; from one side in a carriage Dowejko drove, Domejko from the other On horseback came. They look; across the river Behold a hairy bridge, a girdle of The bear-skin cut up into strips. I placed Dowejko on the beast’s tail on one side, Domejko on the other. ‘Now,’ I said, Bang off at one another, though it be Your whole life long, but I’ll not let you go Till you are friends together.’ Both were furious; But here the nobles rolled upon the ground With laughter, and the priest and I with solemn Words, from the Gospels now, now from the Statutes, Discoursed to them. There was no help for it, They laughed, and were obliged now to be friends.

“Their quarrel changed into a lifelong friendship. Dowejko wed the sister of Domejko; Domejko also wed his brother’s sister. They shared their property in equal halves, And on the spot where this had come to pass, They built a tavern, calling it the Bear.”