Pan Tadeusz: Book X: Emigration—Jacek

Those morning clouds, erst scattered like black birds, Soaring in heaven’s highest region, now Together gathered closer. Scarce the sun Had from the south descended, than their flock Had with a mighty cloud all heaven o’erspread. The wind with ever greater swiftness drove them; The cloud grew ever thicker, lower hung, Till by one side half-severed from the sky, Stooping towards the earth, and spread abroad Like a great sail, all winds within itself Gathering, it flew through heaven from south to west Then came a while of silence, and the air Stood dumb and silent, as though mute with fear; The fields of corn, that first lay down on earth, And shook again aloft their golden ears, Like billows seething, now unmoving stood, And gazed towards heaven, with upbristling straw; And the green willows, and the poplars standing Beside the ways, that first like women mourning Beside an open grave, their foreheads smote Upon the earth, their long arms flung abroad, Dishevelled on the wind their silvery hair, Now, as though lifeless, with mute mourning gaze, They stand like images of Niobe. Alone the trembling aspen shakes grey leaves.

The cattle, used to turn home leisurely, Now ran tumultuous, nor their guardian wait, Abandoning their pasture, home they fly. The bull the earth upturneth with his hoof, Ploughs with his horn, and terrifies the herd With roar ill-boding; and the cow, who raised Her large eyes only once unto the sky, Her mouth in wonder opened wide, and drew A deep sigh. And the hog behind did linger, Dashed round, and gnashed his teeth, and from the corn Abstracted portions, and them snatched as food. The birds lay hidden in the woods, beneath The thatch, and in deep places of the grass. The rooks alone in troops surround the ponds, And walk about with slow and solemn steps, Turning their black eyes to the clouds as black, Their tongues forth putting from their dry, wide throats, And, spreading wide their wings, await their bath. Last of the birds, unreachable in flight, A daring swallow, like an arrow through The dark cloud pierces, then like bullet falls.

The nobles in that very moment ended That horrid battle with the Muscovites, And sought for shelter in the house and barns. They leave the field of battle, where full soon The elements in battle join. Towards The west, still golden, shone with gloomy gleam, The earth, a yellow red. The cloud already Its shades outspreading, like a net in form— Did apprehend the remnants of the light, And flew behind the sun, as though to seize him Before the west. Some few storms whistled through The air below, one after other flying, And casting drops of rain, great, bright, and round, As grain-like hail. The storm-winds suddenly Grappled together, broke in twain; they struggled, And whirled in whistling circles o’er the ponds, Troubling their waters to their very depth. They fell upon the meadows, whistling loud Through osiers and through grass; the osier boughs Asunder crack, and blades of grass fly wide Upon the winds, like handfuls of torn hair, Mixed with the ringlets of the corn-sheaves. Loud The winds did howl, fell on the plain, contended, Roared, tore up furrows; made an opening for A third, which from the field itself up-tore Like column from the dark earth, rose up, rolled Round like a moving pyramid; its head Deep burrowed in the ground, and from its feet Cast sand in the stars’ eyes; at every step It swelled out broadly, shot up tall aloft, And blew a storm upon its mighty trumpet, Till in this chaos of water and of dust, Of straws, and leaves and branches, torn-up turf, The storms upon the forest smote, and roared Within its deepest wilderness like bears.

But now as from a sieve plashed down the rain, Unceasing, in thick falling drops. And then The thunders roared, the drops together ran. Now like straight cords with tresses long they bind The heavens to the earth. Now forth they burst, As from a pail in watery strata. Now Both heaven and earth are totally concealed; Night darkens them, with storm more dark than night. At times the horizon bursts from end to end, And the storm-angel, like a mighty sun, Unveils the lightnings of his countenance, And, covered with a pall, retires again In heaven, and shuts its doors with thunder noise. Again the storm gains strength, tempestuous rain, A heavy darkness, thick, nigh tangible; Once more a stiller rain doth murmur, sleeps The thunder for a moment; once more wakes, It roareth loud, and waters plash, till all Is peaceful. Only trees around the house Rustled, and rain was softly murmuring. On such a day, the fiercest storm was welcome; Because the tempest, covering o’er the field With twilight, deluged all the roads, and broke The bridge that spanned the river; of the farm A fortress inaccessible it made. So that which happened in Soplica’s camp, To-day no rumour through the neighbourhood Could circulate; and at the present time The nobles’ fate upon a secret hung.

Counsels of weight pend in the Judge’s room. The Bernardine lay wearied on the bed, Pale, stained with blood, but wholly sound in mind. He gives commands, the Judge exact fulfils; Entreats the presence of the Chamberlain, Summons the Klucznik, Rykow there to bring Commands. The door then closes. One whole hour These secret conversations lasted, till With these words Captain Rykow broke them off, A bag with ducats heavy throwing down— “Ye Polish sirs, among you is a saying, That every Muscovite’s a thief. Say ye, Whoever asks, you know a Muscovite, Named Nikita Nikiticz Rykow, captain Of a band, who gained eight medals and three crosses— I pray you to remember that—this medal At Oczakow, this one at Ismail, This for the fight at Novi, and this one At Preussisch-Eylau, this at Korsakow’s Famous retreat from Zurich, and I gained Likewise a sword for courage shown, likewise Three testimonials of his satisfaction From the Field-Marshal, by the Emperor Three times commended, four times mentioned, all In writing”— “But, but, Captain,” Robak spoke, “Whatever will become of us, if you Wilt not be reconciled? Indeed, you have Given us your word to simplify this thing.”

“True, and I pledge my word to you again,” Says Rykow; “here’s my word! What good would come Of ruining you? I am an honest man. I love you, Lachy, gentlemen, for you Are merry folk, good at a drinking-bout, And gallant folk too, good at fighting out. We have a Russian proverb, ‘He who rides Upon the wagon, oft is used to be Under the wagon;’ ‘Who to-day is foremost To-morrow’s in the rear;’ ‘To-day thou beatest, To-morrow thou art beaten.’ Is that cause For anger? That is how we soldiers live. Why such great malice should a man conceive, Or angry be at losing? All that work At Oczakow was bloody, and at Zurich They slew our infantry; at Austerlitz I lost my whole band; but before that time, Did your Kosciuszko at Raclawice (Where I was sergeant) mow down my platoon, With scythes. But what of that? Then I again, At Maciejowice, slew with mine own hand Two valiant nobles; one was Mokronowski. He with his scythe had come before our front, And cut off from a cannonier his hand, Grasping the match. Oh! oh! ye Lachy! Country! I feel all that. I, Rykow—Still the Czar Commands this, but I pity you. What should The Lachy be to us? For Muscovites Muscovia; Poland for the Poles;—but then— The Czar will not allow it!” Unto him The Judge replies: “Sir Captain, that thou art An honest man, the country-folks have seen ’Mid whom so many years you have been quartered. Be you not angry at this gift, good friend; We would not work you wrong; these ducats here We ventured to subscribe, as knowing you Art not a rich man.” “Ah! the Jägers,” cried Rykow; “the whole band run through! my division! And all that Plut’s fault. He was in command, And he must answer to the Czar for this. But you take back your money, gentlemen; I have indeed but wretched captain’s pay, But ’tis enough to give me punch and pipe. But you I like, since I have drunk with you, And eaten. I’ll be merry, chatter, and Thus will I live. But I’ll be your defence; And as there will be inquest, on my word Of honour, I will give my witness for you, That we came here upon a visit, drank, And danced together, somewhat tipsy got, And Plut by chance commandment gave to fire, And so we fought, and wasted the battalion. You, sirs, grease the Commission well with gold; ’Twill soon despatch. But now I’ll tell you this, Which to this nobleman I said before, Who wears the lengthy rapier; in command Plut was the first, I second; Plut remains Alive, perhaps he’ll bend you such a hook, That you will perish, he’s a cunning blade. You must with bank-notes gag him. Well then, now, Sir noble, thou with the long rapier, hast thou Seen Plut already, taken counsel with him?”

Gervasy looked round, and his bald crown stroked, And with a careless gesture waved his hand, As by this sign he gave to them to know That he had made all easy. Rykow still Insisted. “What, will Plut be silent? has he Then given his word?” The Klucznik, vexed that Rykow Tormented him with questions, bent his finger To earth most solemnly, then waved his hand, As though he cut all further talk in twain, And said, “I by the Penknife swear that Plut Will let out nothing. He will nevermore Converse with any one.” Then dropped his hand, And snapt his fingers, as though shaking out Some secret from his hands. This darkling gesture The hearers comprehended, and they stood With wonder looking on each other, still Inquiring of this thing. Some minutes yet A gloomy silence lasted, till at last Said Rykow, “Long the wolf has borne away, Now is the wolf borne off!” The Chamberlain “Requiescat in pace” added. “Even in this, Was,” said the Judge, “the finger of the Lord! But I am guiltless of this blood, I knew Not of it.” From the pillow started up The priest, and upright sat with gloomy cheer. “Great sin an unarmed captive ’twas to slay! Christ forbids vengeance even on a foe. Fie! Klucznik! thou shalt answer heavily For this before the Lord. One reservation Alone there is, if this committed were Not for mere foolish vengeance, but instead, Pro bono publico.” The Klucznik nodded, And waved his hand extended; murmuringly Repeated he, “Pro bono publico.”

And no one after spoke of Major Plut; They sought him vainly on the morrow, in The mansion, vainly for the corpse proclaimed Reward; the Major without trace was gone, As he had fallen in the water. What Had come of him, were different stories told; But none for certain knew nor then, nor after. In vain with questionings did they torment The Klucznik; nought he said, except these words, “Pro bono publico.” The Wojski was Within the secret, but as he was bound By word of honour, the old man was silent, As though enchanted. After the conclusion Of these conditions, Rykow left the room, But Robak all the warrior noblemen Commanded thither; and the Chamberlain Addressed them thus with great solemnity: “Brothers, the Lord has blessed our swords to-day. But without reservation, I to you Must give to know that ill effects will come From these unhappy wars. We all have erred, And none of us here is without his fault; Friar Robak, that he spread too busily The news abroad, the Klucznik and the nobles That they misunderstood it. War with Russia Cannot so quickly be begun. Meanwhile Who in the battle took most active part, Cannot with safety tarry here in Litva, So must ye quickly to the Duchy fly. Matthew especially, the Baptist called, Thaddeus and Razor, and the Bucket, bear Their heads beyond the Niemen, where await them Our national hosts. We on you absent ones Will lay the blame entirely, so shall we Preserve the rest of all the family. I bid ye farewell not for long. There are Most certain hopes that on us with the spring Shall brighten Freedom’s dawn, and Litva, who Now bids farewell to you as exiles, soon Shall view you her triumphant rescuers. All necessaries for the road the Judge Will furnish, and myself I will assist you With money, as I can.” The nobles felt The Chamberlain had wisely counselled them; For well ’tis known that he who once has had A difference with the Russian Czar, can ne’er Be truly reconciled to him on earth; And either he must fight, or perish in Siberia. Therefore without speaking they Gazed sadly on each other, sighed, but as A signing of consent they bowed their heads.

The Pole, although among the nations famed For love of native land exceeding life, Is ready aye to leave it, and depart Into the world’s wide country, and to live Long years in poverty and in contempt, Battling with men and destiny, while still This hope before him glimmers through the storm, That yet he serves his Fatherland. They all Declared that they were ready to set out At once; alone this pleased not Master Buchman. Buchman, a prudent man, had mixed not in The battle, but on hearing that they took Counsel together, he made haste to give His own opinion. He approved the project, But wished it were completely otherwise. He would develop it more fully, would Have it explained more clearly; first appoint Commission legally, that should consider The emigration’s aims, and means, and action; And many other things consider too. Unhappily the shortness of the time Prevented justice being done to Buchman’s Advice. The nobles hastily took leave, And were already starting. But the Judge Stayed Thaddeus in the room, and to the priest Said, “Now ’tis time that I should tell to thee, That which since yesterday I learned for certain, Our Thaddeus loves Sophia truly. Let him, Before departing, for her hand entreat her. I spoke to Telimena, she will not Be hindrance to us; likewise is Sophia Conformable unto her guardians’ will. If we may not in wreath of marriage join To-day the couple, they at least to-day, Brother, may be affianced, ere he part; Since for young hearts and travellers, thou well knowest What various temptations rise. But when The youth shall cast his eyes upon the ring, Remembering he already is a husband, At once the fever of temptations strange Is cool within him; the betrothal ring, Believe me, has great power. “Myself, I had, Some thirty years ago, a great affection For the fair Martha, and her heart I won. We were betrothed, but Heaven did not bless Our union, and soon left me desolate, Taking the lovely Wojszczanka to His glory, daughter of my friend Hreczecha. As memory of her virtues, of her charms, This gold betrothal ring alone remained To me. As often as I looked thereon, My dead love stood before my eyes, and thus By Heaven’s grace I hitherto have kept My faith to my betrothed one, and though ne’er A husband, I am an old widower. Although the Wojski has another daughter, Pretty enough, and like enough unto My well-loved Martha.” Saying this he looked Upon the ring with tenderness, and brushed A tear off with his hand; then ended: “Brother, What thinkest thou, shall we betroth the two? He loves, and I have the aunt’s word and the girl’s.”

But up rushed Thaddeus, and earnestly Spoke thus: “How can I show my gratitude To my dear uncle, who so constantly Thinks of my happiness! Ah! dearest uncle, I were the happiest of men, if now Sophia were betrothed to me, if I Could know she was my future wife; and yet— I’ll say it openly-to-day these spousals May not be done, for this are many reasons. Ask me no more. If Sophia deigns to wait, She maybe will behold me better, worthier. Maybe by steadfastness I shall deserve Her love; maybe a little glory may Adorn my name. Maybe we shall return Soon to our native region. Then, my uncle, I shall recall your promise to you, then Upon my knees salute my dear Sophia, And if she still be free, entreat her hand. Now must I part from Litva, it may be For long, perhaps another may meanwhile Commend him to Sophia. I will not Constrain her will, to beg return of love Which I have not deserved, were mean and base.”

And as the young lad spoke thus feelingly, Like two great pearl-drops glittered two bright tears Within his large blue eyes, and ran together Swift down his blushing countenance. But curious, Sophia from the depths of the alcove Had heard this secret discourse, and she heard While Thaddeus simply thus and boldly spake His love; the heart within her trembled; she Saw only those two large tears in his eyes; Although she might not track his secret’s thread, Wherefore he loved her, why abandoned her, Or whither he departed, yet this parting Much saddened her. The first time in her life She from a young man’s lips had heard the great And wondrous tidings that she was beloved. So ran she to a little household shrine, Therefrom an image and a reliquary She took; the picture was St. Genevieve, And in the reliquary was a shred Of holy Joseph’s coat, the lover, patron Of youth betrothed; and with these holy things She entered the apartment. “Are you going So quickly? I will give you for the journey A little present, and a warning too. Carry this relic with you always, and This picture, and remember still Sophia. May the Lord God in health and weal conduct you, And quickly bring you back to us in joy!” Silent she stood, and drooped her head, while half Closed her blue eyes, and liberal tears ran forth From underneath the lashes; and Sophia, Standing with eyelids closed, kept silence still, Pouring down tears like diamonds. Thaddeus, taking The gifts, and on her hand a kiss imprinting, Said, “Lady, I must bid farewell to you. Farewell, remember me, and deign at times To say a prayer for me, Sophia!” More He could not say. But unexpectedly The Count and Telimena coming in, Observed the youthful lovers’ tender parting. The Count, much moved, at Telimena looked, And said, “What beauty even in a scene So simple! when a shepherdess’s soul Must with a warrior’s part, even as a boat Parts from a ship in tempest! Truly, nought Can kindle tenderness within the heart, As when heart parts from heart. Time is like wind, It but extinguishes a feeble light; A great fire flames but stronger from the wind. My heart can love more strongly from afar. Soplica, I have held thee for a rival, And this mistake of our sad variance, Which forced me to draw sword on you, one cause Has been. I see my error, since thou for The shepherdess didst sigh, but I had given My heart to this fair nymph. Let our offences Be drowned in blood of foes. We will not strive With murderers’ swords against each others’ lives. Let otherwise our lovers’ quarrel be Decided; let us strive who shall excel In strength of love! Let us both leave behind The objects dear unto our hearts, and let us Both hasten upon swords, on spears to rush. Let us together strive in steadfastness, In woe, in sufferings, and with valiant arm. Pursue our foes.” He spoke, on Telimena He looked, but she replied not, sore amazed.

“But, Count,” the Judge broke in, “wherefore must you Depart, of such necessity? Believe me, You may in safety dwell upon your lands; The government may strip and scourge the poor Nobility, but you are certain, Count, Whole to remain. You know how high your rank; You are tolerably rich; with half your income You may redeem yourself from prison.” “That,” The Count replied, “agrees not with my mood; As I may be no lover, I will be A hero. For the cares of love I summon The comforters of glory; if I am A beggar of the heart, I will be great In arms!” Said Telimena: “What debars you From love and happiness?” “My destiny’s Power,” said the Count; “the darkness of forebodings, That by mysterious movement swiftly rush To foreign regions, unaccustomed deeds. I own I wished in Telimena’s honour To light the flame to-day at Hymen’s altar, But an example far too beautiful This young man gives me, of his own free will Tearing his nuptial garland off, and rushing To prove his heart in accidents of fate, Changing, and in the bloody chance of war. To-day for me likewise an epoch new Is opening. The sounding of my sword Birbante-Rocca once did echo back. Oh, may its sound through Poland spread as well!” He ended, on his sword-hilt proudly smote.

To blame. “Ay!” Robak spoke; “such goodwill hard it were Ride off, and money take with thee. Thou mayest perhaps equip a band of men Like Wladimir Potocki, who amazed The Frenchmen, giving to the treasury A million; like Prince Dominic Radziwill, Who pledged his lands and furniture, and armed Two regiments of horse. Ride off, and take Money; we now enough of hands possess, But there is want of money in the Duchy, Ride ye away, we take our leave of you.”

With sad eyes Telimena on him glanced. “Alas!” she said, “I see nought will restrain thee. My hero! when thou enterest warlike lists On thy love’s colour turn a tender glance.” Thus saying, a ribbon from her dress she took, She fashioned therewith a cockade, and pinned it To the Count’s bosom. “Let this colour lead thee Up to the fiery cannon, shining spears, And rain of bullets; when by valiant deeds Thou winnest glory, and with deathless laurels Thou shalt enwreathe thy bloodstained helm and crest With victory proud, ev’n then turn thou thine eyes On this cockade. Remember thou whose hand Fastened that colour there.” She reached her hand To him. The Count then, kneeling, kissed that hand, And Telimena to one eye approached Her handkerchief, but with the other looked From high upon the Count, who bade farewell, Most deeply moved. She sighed-but-shrugged her shoulders.

But said the Judge, “Sir Count, make haste, ’tis late;” And Friar Robak cried, with threatening mien, “Enough of this! make haste!” The orders thus Both of the Judge and of the priest divide The loving pair, and drive them from the room.

Meantime did Thaddeus embrace his uncle With tears, and Robak’s hand kissed. Robak pressed Unto his bosom the lad’s forehead, laying His hands in form of cross upon his head, Looked up to heaven, and said, “My son! depart With God!” and wept. But Thaddeus already Had passed the threshold. “What!” then asked the Judge, “Will you not tell him, brother, anything? And now, poor boy, shall he learn nothing, ere He part?”—“No, nothing,” said the priest, long weeping, With face hid in his hands. “And wherefore should The poor lad know that he a father has, Who hid him from the world, as being a villain And murderer? God knows, how I did long To tell my son, but of this consolation I make unto the Lord a sacrifice To expiate my former crimes.” “Then,” said The Judge, “ ’tis time to think now of thyself. Consider at thine age, and in thy plight, Thou couldst not with the others emigrate. Thou once did say thou knewest a house, where thou Couldst hide thyself. Say where? Let us make haste. A carriage waiteth ready harnessed. Was it Not in the forest, in the keeper’s hut?” Shaking his head, said Robak, “ ’Twill be time To-morrow. Now, my brother, send thou to The parish priest, that he may swiftly come Here with the sacrament. Send all from hence; Thou only, with the Klucznik, here remain. Close thou the doors.” Robak’s commands the Judge Fulfilled, and sat beside him on the couch; Gervasy stood, and with his elbow leaned Upon his rapier’s hilt, and with his brow Supported on his hand. Robak, before He spoke, his glance fixed on the Klucznik’s face, And kept mysterious silence. As a surgeon On a diseased body lightly lays At first his hand, ere he the sharp blade prove, Thus Robak softened of his piercing eyes The glance severe; long o’er Gervasy’s face He held them mute. At length, as he would give Blindfold the stroke, he covered with his hand His eyes, and with a powerful voice he said: “I am Jacek Soplica.” At these words Pale grew the Klucznik, forward bent, and stood One half all stooping forward; stood, supported On one foot, like a flying stone, from high Arrested on its path; his eyes wide staring; Lips wide apart, with white teeth threatening; His whiskers bristling; from his hand the rapier Abandoned on the ground his knees held fast; His right hand, closely pressing, grasped the hilt. The rapier from behind stretched after him, Waved its long black extremity around, Unto each side. And like a wounded lynx The Klucznik seemed, that from a tree will spring Into the hunter’s eyes; it puffs itself Up in a ball; it growls, its bloodshot eyes In sparkles kindles, moves its whiskers, lashes Its tail. “Rembajlo,” said the friar, “no more The wrath of man affrights me, for I am Already under God’s hand. I conjure Thee in the name of Him who saved the world, And on the cross did bless His murderers, And did accept the thief’s entreaty, that Thou wilt be pacified, and all that I Shall say wilt listen patiently. I have Confessed now whom I am, and for relief Of conscience I must seek, and must at least For pardon pray. Thou listen my confession; Then after do thou what thou wilt with me.” And here his hands he folded, as in prayer. The Klucznik, deep in thought, moved backward, smote His forehead, and his shoulders moved. The priest Began the story to relate of his Familiar friendship with Horeszko, how He loved his daughter; from this cause proceeded His quarrel with the Pantler. But he spoke With little order, mingling oft complaints And lamentations in his story; often His speech broke off, as though he had ended it. And then again began. The Klucznik, knowing Most perfectly the annals of Horeszko, Though tangled in disorder all this tale, In memory could range, and fill it out; But many things the Judge nought understood. Both listened diligently, with bowed heads, And Jacek ever spoke with freer words, And oft broke off. “Indeed, thou knowest too well, Gervasy, how The Pantler oft invited me to banquets, And would propose my health; not seldom cried, Lifting his glass on high, he had no friend Above Soplica. How he then embraced me! All who saw this would think he shared with me His very soul. A friend he! well he knew What at that time was passing in my soul!

“Meanwhile the neighbourhood already whispered, And such a one said to me: ‘Ah! Soplica! In vain wouldst thou compete, the threshold of A dignitary is too high for Jacek Podczaszyc’ feet.’ I laughed, pretending I Laughed at the magnates, and their daughters too, And cared not for the aristocracy; That if I oft consorted with them, ’twas From friendship; I would only take for wife One of my own condition. Ne’ertheless These jestings cut me to the quick. Young then, Courageous, all the world to me was open. In this land, where, as well you know, a noble By birth may for the throne be candidate With highest lords—in truth Tenczynski once Did ask a daughter of a royal house, And a king gave her to him without shame— Were not Soplica’s honours equal with Tenczynski’s, both by blood, and crest, and service To the Republic? “Ah! how easily A man may ruin another’s happiness, In one short moment, and may not repair it In all a long life! One word from the Pantler, How happy we had been! who knows, maybe We both had lived till now. Maybe, even he, Beside his darling child, his lovely Eva, Beside his grateful son-in-law, had reached A peaceful old age, and his grandchildren Perhaps had rocked. Now what has passed? He ruined Both of us, and himself!—That murderous deed, And all the followings of that crime, and all My woes and sins!—I have no right to complain, I was his murderer!—I have no right To make complaint!—I from my very heart Do pardon him; but even he—

“If one time merely he had openly Refused me! For he well knew what we felt. If he had not received my visitings— Who knoweth how?—I maybe had departed, Been angry, railed against him, in the end Neglected him. But he in cunning proud Thought of a new idea; he made pretence That such a thing had entered ne’er his head That I could ever seek for such alliance. But I was needful to him; I had weight Among the nobles, and the peasants all Loved me! As though he ne’er perceived my love, He welcomed me as erst, insisted ev’n That I should come more often. And as oft As we two were alone together, seeing Mine eyes o’erclouded, and my breast o’ercharged, And ready to break forth, the old man, cunning, Would presently throw out indifferent words Of lawsuits, diets, hunts—

“Ah! o’er our cups, not seldom, when he thus Would melt, when thus he pressed me, and assured Me of his friendship, having need of my Sabre, or vote in Diet—when I must Press him in turn affectionately, then Such anger boiled in me, that I turned o’er The spittle in my mouth, and then my hand Would grasp my sabre’s hilt;—I longed to spit Upon this friendship, and to draw my sword. But Eva, looking on my glance and posture, Could guess, I know not how, what in me passed. She gazed imploringly, her cheeks grew pale; And such a lovely dove, so gentle she— And such a sweet look had she—so serene! So angel-like! I know not even how, I had no heart to anger her, to grieve her; And I was silent!—I, the brawler famous Throughout all Litva!—I, who lived no day Without a fight, who never would submit To wrong, not merely at the Pantler’s hands, But even at the king’s; whom slightest cross Drove into madness. I, though evil-minded And drunken, was as dumb as a young lamb, As though I saw the Holiest—

“How many times I longed to ope my heart, And even to prayer before him humble me! But gazing in his eyes I met a look Cold as a stone. Ashamed of my emotion I was; I hastened once again, quite coldly Of lawsuits, diets, to discourse, and even To jest! True, all from pride, not to debase The name of the Soplicas, not degrade Myself before a lord by useless prayers, Nor earn refusal. For what would be said Among the nobles, if they knew that I I, Jacek—

“That the Horeszkos had refused A maiden to Soplica, and to me, Jacek, had offered the black broth! “At last, Not knowing how to act, I thought to gather A slender regiment of the nobles, and To leave for aye the district and my country; Somewhere in Muscovy or Tartary To go, and war begin. I rode to take Leave of the Pantler, in the hope that when He saw his staunch supporter, his old friend, Almost an inmate of his house, with whom He had drunken, and made war through all those years, Now bidding farewell, and into the world Riding afar, the old man might be moved, And show me somewhat yet of human soul, As a snail his horns—

“Ah! who, though but in his inmost heart’s depth, Has but one spark of feeling for a friend, But will this sparkle show on taking leave, Having his forehead for the last time touched, The coldest eye will often shed a tear.

“The poor girl, hearing I should go away, Grew pale, unconscious, fell almost a corpse; Nought could she say, until she poured a stream Of tears! I saw how dear I was to her! I recollect, the first time in my life, I burst in tears of joy and of despair. I longed again before her father’s feet To fall, to wind like serpent round his knees, Crying, ‘Dear father, take me for thy son, Or slay me!’—Then the Pantler, solemnly, Cold as a pillar of salt, polite, unmoved, Began to speak; of what?—his daughter’s wedding! That moment!—Thou, Gervasy, friend, consider; Thou hast a human heart! “The Pantler said, ‘Soplica, unto me the Castellan Has sent betrothers; thou my friend art, what Sayest thou to this? Thou knowest that I have A daughter fair and rich. The Castellan Is of Witepsk. True, in the Senate he has A low seat, unconfirmed. What counsel you, Brother?’ I cannot now at all remember What unto him I answered; possibly Nothing. To horse I mounted, and I fled.”

“Jacek,” the Klucznik said, “excuses wise Thou urgest, yet they lessen not thy fault. For truly not once only in the world, It has occurred that one who loved a daughter Of lord or king, has tried by violent means To win her, thought of stealing her away; Revenged him openly. But thus treacherous Death to inflict, upon a Polish lord, In Poland, and in concert thus with Russians!”

“No, not in concert,” Jacek said in grief. “Carry her off by violence? True, I could Have done so, could have snatched her from behind Gratings and latches; could have ground to dust That castle of his; I had at my back Dobrzyn and four stout clans more. Ah! if she Had been as our own noble ladies, strong And healthy; had she feared not flight, pursuit; And could she but have heard the clash of arms! But she, poor girl! so carefully her parents Had cherished her, that she was timid, weak, A caterpillar, a spring butterfly; And thus to seize her, with an armèd hand To touch her, were to slay her! No! I could not!— Revenge me openly, by storm to hurl His castle into ruins? Shame! for men Would say that I revenged me for refusal! Klucznik, thine honest heart can never feel What hell there lieth in offended pride.

“Pride’s demon counselled me to better plans; To take a bloody vengeance, but conceal The cause of vengeance; not to visit more The castle, root that love from out my heart; To forget Eva, marry with another; And then to find out later some pretext, Revenge myself—

“Then seemed it to me, that my heart had changed, And pleased I was with this imagining, And—married me unto the first I met, A poor girl! Evil did I—how I was Cruelly punished! For I loved her not, The hapless mother of my Thaddeus!— To me the most attached, most loving soul!— But I within my heart my former love And malice strangled. And I was as mad. In vain I forced myself to husbandry, Or business, all in vain! For by a demon. Of vengeance driven wild, bad, irritable, I found no comforting in aught on earth. And thus I fell from sin to other sins, Began to drink.

“And so my wife ere long of sorrow died, Leaving that child; but me despair consumed.

“How dear I must have held my perished love! So many years! where have I not been? and I cannot yet forget her, and for aye Her loved form stands before my eyes, as painted. I drank; I could not for a moment drink Mem’ry away, nor of it rid myself, Though I have traversed o’er so many lands; And now behold, in habit of a monk, I am God’s servant, on this couch, in blood— So long I have spoken of her!—in this moment To speak of such things! God will pardon me! You here must know in what despair and grief That crime was done.

“ ’Twas shortly after her betrothal day; They talked of this betrothal everywhere. ’Twas said, when Eva from the Wojewode’s hand Received the nuptial ring, she swooned, she fell Into a fever, that she had the symptoms Of a consumption, that she ceaseless sobbed. ’Twas guessed she loved another secretly. But still the Pantler, ever tranquil, merry, Gave in the castle balls, and gathered friends. Me he invited not; in what could I Be useful to him? My misrule at home, And wretchedness, my shameful custom, made Me as a scorn and laughter to the world;— Who once, I well may say it, shook the whole District; whom Radziwill beloved called; Who, when I forth from out my farmstead rode, Went with a court more numerous than a prince; And when I drew my sword some thousand sabres Around were gleaming, frightening lordly castles. But now the peasant children laughed at me. Thus sudden grew I vile in eyes of men! Jacek Soplica! Who knows what is pride?”

Here feeble grew the Bernardine, and fell Back on the couch. Then spoke the Klucznik, roused:

“Great are Heaven’s judgments. True, true! so ’tis thou! And thou art Jacek! Thou Soplica! under A hood! thou livest as a beggar! Thou, Whom I remember ruddy and in health, A handsome noble, when the ladies praised thee, When women raved about thee! Whisker-bearer! Not as thou wert in former days! thus hast thou Grown old from sorrow! How did I not know thee After that shot, when thou didst hit the bear So perfectly? our Litva had no marksman Surpassing thee; thou also, after Matthew, Wert with the sabre first! True, in past times Our noble ladies sang concerning thee, ‘Lo! Jacek twirls his whisker, all the regions shake, And he for whom the whisker shall this twirling make, Were he even Prince Radziwill, shall tremble for its sake.’ And thou didst twirl it even for my lord! Unhappy one! ’Tis thou! brought to what state! Jacek the Whiskered is a begging friar! Great are Heaven’s judgments! And now, ha! ha! scatheless Thou never shall come forth! I swear it, thou Who hast sucked Horeszko’s drops of blood away.”

Meanwhile the priest sat up upon the couch, And ended thus: “I rode around the castle. How many devils were there in my head, And in my heart! who shall repeat their names? The Pantler slayeth his own child. Already Me has he slain, annihilated.” Under The door I rode; some devil lured me there. Look on his riot! Drunkenness each day Within the castle, and how many lights The windows show; what music in the halls! And will that castle not in ruins fall Upon his bald head? “Think of vengeance, swift Will Satan give a weapon to thy hand. Scarce I imagined it, when Satan sent The Muscovites! I stood on gazing. Thou Knowest how they stormed your castle. “But ’tis false That I was in accord with Muscovites!

“I gazed on. Various thoughts swarmed through my head. First with a foolish smile, as children look On conflagration, gazed I; then I felt A murderer’s joy, and while I waited, swift The castle walls began to burn and fall. At times the thought possessed me to rush in, To rescue her, the Pantler even—

“Ye did defend yourselves, thou knowest, bravely And prudently. I marvelled. Round me fell The Muscovites. Those cattle! ill they aim! On viewing their disasters, once again Did spite possess me. Shall this Pantler be Victorious, and shall all things in the world. Thus prosper for him? And shall he come forth With triumph from this terrible attack? I rode away in shame. Just then ’twas morn. Then looked I up, I knew him. He came forth Upon the balcony, his diamond clasp Did in the sunlight glitter, and he twirled His whisker proudly, and a proud glance threw. It seemed that unto me especially He bade defiance, that he knew me, and Thus stretched his hand towards me, mocking me, And threatening. I a Russian’s rifle grasped, Scarce pointed, scarce took aim, but off it went! Thou knowest!—

“Cursed be those firearms! He who slays with sword Must place himself, attack and parry, turn; He may disarm his foe, may stay the sword Half-way; but with these firearms! ’tis enough To touch the lock! a moment? one sole spark!

“Did I fly then, when thou took’st aim at me From overhead? I fixed my eyes upon My gun’s two barrels; and some strange despair, Some wondrous sorrow, fixed me to the earth. Why then, alas! Gervasy, why didst thou Then miss me? Thou hadst done me service thus! But well it might be seen for expiation Of sin ’twas needful”— Here again he failed For want of breath. “God knows,” the Klucznik said, “I truly wished to hit thee! How much blood By that one shot of thine hast thou poured forth! How many miseries fell on us, and on Thine own race, all through thy fault, Master Jacek! But when the Jägers for their target took The last of the Horeszkos, although by The spindle side, thou didst him shield, and when A Muscovite did fire at me, thou didst Cast me to earth, and thus didst save us both. If true it is thou art a cloistered priest, Thy frock alone protects thee from the Penknife. Farewell, no more I’ll tarry on your threshold. Let us be quits, and leave to Heaven the rest.”

Jacek stretched forth his hand. Gervasy drew Backwards. “I cannot,” said he, “without shame To my nobility, e’er touch a hand With such a murder stained, from private vengeance, And not pro bono publico.” But Jacek Sank from the pillows back upon the couch, And turned towards the Judge, and ever paler, Asked anxiously about the parish priest; And to the Klucznik called, “I do beseech you, That you remain! I presently will end. I scarce have power sufficient.” “What, my brother!” The Judge exclaimed; “thy wound is not so grave. What sayest thou of the parish priest? Perhaps It was ill dressed. I’ll call the doctor here. “Or in our store of medicines”—The priest Broke in: “My brother, ’twere in vain! It is A former wound from Jena; ’twas ill-healed, And now fresh opened; there is gangrene here. I understand wounds. Look how black the blood, Like pitch! What use the doctor here? but that A vain thing is! Once only can we die; Give up our soul to-morrow, or to-day. Sir Klucznik, wilt thou pardon me? I must Conclude— “There is in this some merit, not To will to be a traitor to the nation, Although the nation traitor thee proclaim; For him, above all, in whom dwells such pride As dwelt in me.— “The name of traitor clung To me like pestilence. All patriots Did turn their faces from me; former friends Fled from me; he who timid was, afar Saluted and avoided me; and even Each wretched peasant, miserable Jew, Although he bowed, did pierce me from aside With mocking smile. The name of traitor rung Within my ears, with echo did resound At home, abroad. That word from morn till dusk Before me circled, as a spot before An eye diseased. And yet no traitor was I Unto my country”—

“The Muscovites would gain me partisan; They gave to the Soplicas a large share Of the deceased man’s lands; and later on The Targowica traitors wished to honour Me with an office. If I then had willed To Russianise myself, which Satan counselled, I had by now most rich and powerful grown. Had I become a Muscovite, the highest Magnates had sought my favour, even my brother Nobles, and even the commonality, Who do so readily despise their own, Forgive those happier who serve Muscovy! I knew all that—but yet—I could not!— “From the land I fled— Where have I not been? what have I not suffered?

“Until God deigned reveal the only cure: I must reform myself, and must repair, As far as in my power might lie—

“The Pantler’s daughter, with the Wojewode, Her husband, somewhere in Siberia. Transported, there died early. In this country She left Sophia, her little daughter. I Commanded she should be adopted—

“Maybe from foolish pride, far more than love, I slew; so must I show humility. I went among the monks. I, once so proud Of race, I, who was as a blusterer, Did bow my head, a friar; I called me Robak, Since like a worm in dust—

“That ill example for the Fatherland, Encouragement to treason, it was needful By good example to redeem, by blood, By sacrifice— “I for my country fought;—but where I say not. ’Twas not for earthly glory that I rushed So oft on swords and shot. To me more sweet ’Tis to remember, not loud, valorous deeds, But silent actions, useful sufferings, Which none—

“Not one time only did I penetrate Unto my country, bearing the commands Of generals, collecting information, Concluding treaties. The Galicians know This monkish hood, the Poseners know it too. One year I laboured in a Prussian fortress; Three times the Muscovites did wound my shoulders With sticks, once sent me to Siberia; The Austrians then in Spielberg buried me To labour in their dungeons—carcer durum. The Lord by miracle delivered me, Permitting me to die among my people, And with the sacraments.

“Perhaps ev’n now, who knows, maybe I sinned, Maybe beyond the generals’ commands, I hurried insurrection on. This thought, That the Soplica house should arm the first— My kinsmen the first Horseman should upraise In Litva—this thought—seemeth pure—

“Thou didst desire revenge? Behold, thou hast it! For thou wast instrument of God’s chastising; Heaven by thy means did cut my measures through. Thou didst the thread so many years had spun Tangle; the great aim which consumed my life, My latest earthly feeling in the world, Which I had cherished as my dearest child, Thou in its father’s eyes hast slain, and I Forgive thee! Thou”— “May Heaven forgive us both!” The Klucznik broke in. “If thou art about To take the sacrament, Friar Jacek, I Am neither Lutheran, nor schismatic. Who Afflicts the dying, I know sins heavily. I’ll tell thee somewhat that will sure rejoice thee. When my deceasèd master wounded fell, And I bent o’er him, kneeling, and my sword Steeped in his wound, and swore revenge, my lord Did shake his head, his hand stretched towards the gate, To where thou wert, and in the air he signed The cross. He could not speak, but gave this sign That he forgave his murderer. I this Did understand, but I so mad with rage Was then, I ne’er a word spoke of this cross.”

The sick man’s sufferings here broke off discourse, And one long hour of silence followed then. They wait the priest. The sound of hoofs was heard; A breathless tenant at the chamber knocked. He bears a letter of importance, shows it To Jacek’s self. Then Jacek to his brother Gives it, and him desires to read aloud. The letter was from Fisher, at that time Commanding in the staff of Poland’s army, under Prince Joseph. He announced, that in the secret Imperial cabinet was war declared; The Emperor now proclaims it to the world. The Diet is in Warsaw summoned, and The States Confederate of Masovia have Decreed the union of Litvania.

Jacek, in hearing, spoke a silent prayer. A sacred taper pressing to his breast, He raised to heaven his eyes, alight with hope, And shed a flood of last and joyful tears. “Now, Lord,” he said, “let thou thy servant part In peace.” All knelt; just then upon the threshold A bell did sound, a sign the parish priest Had with the Host arrived. Night now had fled, And through the milky heaven did course the first Bright, rosy sunbeams. Through the window-panes They fell like diamond arrows. On the couch They shone reflected from the sick man’s head, And dressed in gold his brow and countenance, That like a saint he shone in fiery crown.