Pan Tadeusz: Book XII: Let Us Love One Another

At length the doors flew open with loud noise. The Wojski entered in a cap, with head Upraised, he nor saluted, nor took place At table, for the Wojski cometh forth. In a new semblance; marshal of the court, He bears a wand in sign of office; with That wand he points to all a seat, and places The guests in turn. First, as the highest ruler Within the district, took the Chamberlain— Marshal the seat of honour, velvet chair, With ivory arms! Beside him, on the right, Sat General Dombrowski, on the left Were Kniaziewicz, and Pac, and Malachowski; ’Mid them the lady of the Chamberlain. Then other ladies, officers and lords, Nobles and country people, men and women, Alternately, by couples, sit in order, Where’er the Wojski indicates. The Judge, Saluting, left the banquet. In the courtyard He must regale the peasant company. Behind a table he had gathered them Two furlongs long; himself sat at one end, And at the other sat the parish priest. Thaddeus and Sophia did not sit At table; busied with the entertaining, They ate while walking; ’twas an ancient custom, At the first banquet, that the new possessors Themselves should serve the people. In the meantime The guests, while dishes waited in the hall, On the great centre-piece astonished looked, Its metal precious as the workmanship. Tradition says Prince Radziwill the Orphan Had caused this set in Venice to be made, And from his own designs to be adorned, In Polish fashion. Then the centre-piece Was captured in the Swedish war; it came, None knew in what way, to a noble house. To-day, it had been taken from the treasury, And occupied the middle of the board With its great circle, as a cart-wheel broad.

The service was o’erlaid, from depth to border, With froth and sugar snowy-white; it showed A winter landscape excellently well. In midst rose black a mighty sweetmeat grove; Around were houses like to villages, And nobles’ farmsteads, spread with sugar froth Instead of rime-frost; on the margin stood Vessels for ornament, small personages, Fashioned of porcelain, in Polish dresses, And like to actors on a stage they seemed Presenting some events; their gesture given Most artfully, the colours vivid, voice Alone they wanted, otherwise alive.

“What should these represent?” the guests inquired. Thereon the Wojski raised his wand on high, And thus discoursed—meanwhile was wódka given, Before they ate—“By the permission of The gracious gentlemen, these personages That here you countless see, present a history Of Polish sejmiks, councils, voting, triumphs, And quarrels. I myself this scene imagined, And will explain it to you. “Here, to right, You see a numerous crowd of noblemen Before the Diet to a banquet asked. The table waiteth covered; no one seats The guests; they stand in groups, each group takes counsel. Look, in the midst of every group there stands A man, whose opened lips, whose lifted eyes, Unquiet hands, denote the orator. Explaining somewhat, with his finger he Doth emphasise his speaking, with his hand. He illustrates his meaning. Here are speakers Who recommend their candidate, with various Success, as from their brother nobles’ mien You may perceive. “True, in this second group The nobles list attentive, this one plants His hands upon his girdle, lends his ear. That one his hand holds to his ear, and twirls In silence his moustache; he probably Collects the words, and in his memory strings them. The orator rejoices, for he sees They are convinced, and stroketh down his pouch. He has their votes already in his pouch.

“But in the third assembly other things Are passing. Here the orator must seize The hearers by their girdles. Look, they wrest Themselves away, retire their ears. Look how This hearer swells with rage; he lifts his hands, Threatens the orator, and stops his mouth, Hearing, no doubt, the praises of his rival; This other, stooping like a bull his head, You’d say to take the speaker on his horns; Some draw their sabres, some take to their heels.

“One noble silent stands among the groups; We see he is an independent man. He hesitates and fears—how shall he vote? Not knowing, and in conflict with himself, He asks of fate, he lifts his hand, puts forth The forefingers, half-shuts his eyes, with nail Takes aim at nail; this conjuring will confirm His vote, for if the fingers meet, he gives A vote affirmative, but if they miss, He casts a negative. “The left presents Another scene—a convent dining-hall, Turned to a hall of meeting of the nobles. The elders on a bench sit in a row, The young men stand, and gaze with eagerness Betwixt the heads towards the centre. Midmost The Marshal stands; in hand he holds the urn, He counts the balls, the nobles with their eyes Devour them, in this instant he has shaken The last one out; the heralds lift their hands, Proclaim the elected legislator’s name.

“One nobleman heeds not the general concord. Look, from the window of the convent kitchen He thrusts his head; look how his eyes start forth; How bold he looks, how wide he opes his lips, As though he would the chamber all devour. Easy it is to guess this nobleman Has cried out, “Veto!” Look how, at this sudden Kindling of quarrel, to the doors the throng Rush, to the kitchen certainly they go; They have drawn their sabres, sure a bloody fight Will now begin. “But in the corridor, Consider, gentlemen, this ancient priest, Who wears a cope. This is the prior; he bears The Host from off the altar; and a boy, Clad in a surplice, sounds a bell, and craves Admission; presently the nobles sheathe Their sabres, cross themselves, and kneel. The priest Turns to that quarter where the sword yet clashes. Soon as he comes all peaceful is and still.

“Ah! you, young sirs, cannot remember this, How ’mid our stormy and free-ruling nobles, All armed, no need at all was of police; While faith was flourishing and laws respected, Then freedom was with order, and abundance Of glory! But in other lands, I hear, The government maintaineth soldiery, Police, gendarmes, and constables; but if The sword alone can guard the public safety, That in these lands is Freedom I believe not.” Just then, upon his snuff-box tapping, spoke The Chamberlain: “Sir Wojski, please to lay Aside till later on these histories. Truly the sejmik is most interesting, But we are hungry. Order that the dishes Be brought in.” Thereunto the Wojski, lowering His wand unto the ground: “Illustrious, Most Powerful Chamberlain, allow me pray This favour. I will end at once the last Scene of these diets. Here is the new Marshal, Borne by his partisans from the refect’ry. Look how the brother nobles throw their caps Aloft, they ope their lips to cry, ‘Long live!’ But there, upon the other side, the noble Outvoted, lonely, on his moody brow Has pressed his cap. His wife before the house Awaits him; she has guessed what late occurred. Poor woman! in her servant’s arms she faints! Poor woman! for she thought to have the title, Illustrious, Most Powerful; but again For three years she is only a Most Powerful.”

The Wojski ended his description here, And gave a signal with his wand. And soon With dishes lackeys entered, two and two; The soups, the barszcz, called royal, and the rosol Of ancient Poland, artfully prepared; Thereto the Wojski had with wondrous secrets Cast in some small pearls, and a piece of money. Such rosol purifies the blood, and health Doth fortify. Then followed other dishes;— But who shall tell their names? who understand These, in our times already quite unknown?— Those fishes, salmon from the Danube, dried, Venetian and Turkish caviar, Soles, carp, and mackerel, pike and “noble carp.” At last a mystery of cookery, A fish uncut, fried slightly at the head, And roasted in the centre, at the tail Some preparation made with sauce. The guests Nor asked the names of all these dishes, nor That wondrous secret stayed them; quick they ate All things with soldiers’ appetite, and filled Their goblets up with wine of Hungary.

But in the meantime the great service changed Its colour; bare of snow, it now looked green. For that light sugary froth, now gradually Warmed by the summer’s heat, had melted, and The under side discovered, hitherto Concealed from the eye; and so the landscape Presented a new season of the year. It shone with green and many-coloured spring; There came forth various grains, as on the ways They grow; the saffron wheat luxuriant, With golden ears, the rye with silver leaves, And buckwheat, formed by art, of chocolate, And pear and apple orchards blossoming.

The guests have scarcely time to enjoy the gifts Of summer; vainly they entreat the Wojski But to prolong them, for the service now Like to the planet, in its destined orbit, Changes its season; now the painted grains, Golden, have gathered warmth within the room, And gradually melt, the grass turns yellow, The leaves turn red, and fall; thou wouldst have said An autumn wind was blowing; at the last Those trees, late well-adorned, appearing stripped By storm-winds and by hoar frost, naked stand. They were but twigs of cinnamon, or branches Of bay twigs, counterfeiting pine-trees, dressed With needles, that were seeds of carraway.

The guests, while drinking, stript the branches off The stems and bark, and ate them with their wine. The Wojski viewed his service all around, And full of joy triumphant glances turned Upon the guests. Henry Dombrowski showed Immense astonishment, and said, “Sir Wojski, Were those Chinean shadows? has Pineti Given you his devils to your service? are Such services in general use in Litva? Do all hold banquets with such ancient customs? Pray tell me; I have spent my life abroad.”

The Wojski answered, bowing: “No, Illustrious, Most Powerful General, no godless art Is this. ’Tis but a memory of those feasts, Renowned in lordly houses of old times, When Poland happiness and power enjoyed. What I have done I gathered from this book. Thou askest, whether everywhere in Litva This custom is preserved. Alas! new fashions Among us even have crept in. Not one Young lord cries out, he suffers no excess; So like a Jew he stints his guests in meat, And drink; will grudge Hungarian wine, and drink Satanic, falsified, and modern wines Of Muscovy, Champagne; then in the evening Loses at cards full gold enough to give A banquet to a hundred brother nobles. Why, even—for what is in my heart to-day I’ll truly speak, let but the Chamberlain Not take this ill of me—when I drew out This wondrous service from the treasury, Why, even the Chamberlain did laugh at me, And said it was a wearisome machine, An old-world thing, it seemed a toy for children, Unsuitable to such illustrious men. The Judge! the Judge said, it would tire the guests. And ne’ertheless, from that astonishment I caused you, gentlemen, I well perceive That this fine art was worthy to be seen. I know not if another such occasion Will come to entertain in Soplicowo Such dignitaries. I see, General, You knowledge have of banquets. Pray accept This book. It will be useful to you when You give a banquet to a company Of foreign monarchs, bah! ev’n to Napoleon! But let me, ere I consecrate this book To you, relate the chance whereby it fell Into my hands.” This instant rose a murmur Outside the door, together many voices Cried, “Long live Weathercock!” Into the hall A crowd did press, with Matthew at their head. The Judge his guest conducted to the board, And placed him high among the generals, And said, “Sir Matthew, you are no good neighbour, You have arrived too late, when dinner is Nigh over.”—“I am early,” said Dobrzynski. “I came not here for eating, but because I had the curiosity to view Our national army nearer. There is much To talk of, but ’tis neither here nor there. The nobles saw and dragged me here by force, And you have seated me at table. Thanks, My neighbour.” Having said this, upside down He turned his plate, as sign he would not eat, And kept a gloomy silence. “Friend Dobrzynski,” Said to him General Dombrowski, “you Are that renowned swordsman of Kosciuszko, That Matthew called the Rod. I know you from Your fame. But, prithee, how art thou preserved So vigorous, so active? what long years Have passed away. Look, I am growing old, Look, even Kniaziewicz is somewhat grey, But thou might’st hold thine own with young men still. And does thy Rod yet flourish as ere time? I heard that thou didst discipline the Russians Not long ago. But where are now thy brothers? I should exceedingly rejoice to see Those Penknives, and your Razors, last examples Of ancient Lithuania.” “General,” Replied the Judge, “after that victory, Nearly the whole of the Dobrzynskis took Refuge within the Duchy, probably They went into some legion.”—“Ay, indeed,” Said a young officer of squadron, “I Have in the second company a whiskered Scarecrow, Dobrzynski, who doth call himself The Sprinkler, but the Polish soldiers call him The Lithuanian Bear. But if the General Commands it, we will fetch him here.”—“There are,” Said a lieutenant, “others by their race Of Litva, one a soldier, called by name The Razor, and one more who with a trombone Rides on the flank; and also in a regiment Of shooters, two Dobrzynskis, grenadiers.”

“But, but—about their chief,” the General Replied; “I wish to know about this Penknife, Of which the Wojski told me such great wonders, As of some giant of the elder time.” “The Penknife,” said the Wojski, “though he went Not into exile, yet as fearing inquest, Concealed himself from search of Muscovites. The poor man wandered all the winter long Among the forests, lately he came forth. He might be useful in these warlike times, For ’tis a valiant man, ’tis only pity He’s somewhat pressed by age. But there he is.” The Wojski pointed in the hall, where stood Servants and village folk together crowded. But over all the heads gleamed suddenly A shining bald pate, like to a full moon. Three times it issued forth, and three times vanished Amid the cloud of heads. The Klucznik, passing, Bowed, till he loosed him from the crush, and said:

“Illustrious, Most Powerful Hetman of The Crown, or General—the title is A trifling matter—I Rembajlo am. I stand at your command with this my Penknife, That not from workmanship, nor from inscriptions, Nor from the temper of its blade such glory, Earned, that even you, Illustrious Powerful Sir, Knew of it. If it could but speak, maybe It might say something tending to the praise Ev’n of this ancient hand it served so long; Faithful, may Heaven be thanked, to Fatherland, And to the lords of the Horeszko race, Whose memory still is famous among men. Mopanku seldom any district Writer So deftly trims his pen, as this does heads. ’Twere long to reckon up. And ears and noses Countless! And on this Penknife is no notch, And never any murderous deed has stained it. Once only!—give him, Lord, eternal rest!— An unarmed man, alas! it once despatched. But even that, God be my witness, was Pro bono publico.” “Well, show it here,” Said General Dombrowski, laughing. “But It is a handsome Penknife, truly ’tis A headsman’s sword!” With great astonishment He looked upon the rapier, and in turn Showed it to all the other officers. They proved it all, but scarcely one of them Could lift this rapier. It is said Dembinski, Renowned for strength of arm, might have upraised This sabre, but he was not there. Of those Then present, only might Dwernicki, chief Of squadron, and Rosycki, of platoon Lieutenant, turn this iron pole around; And thus the rapier went from hand to hand, In turn, on proof. But General Kniaziewicz, The most illustrious in stature, showed That he was likewise strongest in the arm. Holding the rapier lightly, as a sabre, He raised it, and above all heads he made Its lightnings gleam, remembering all the arts Of Polish fencing, cross-stroke, mill, and curved Stroke, stolen cut, and thrusts of contrapunt, Of tercets, which he likewise understood, For he was of the School of Cadets. As He fenced thus, laughing, did Rembajlo kneel, Embrace him round the knees, and cry with tears, At every turn the sword made: “Beautiful; Say, General, wert thou a Confederate? Most beautiful, most perfectly! That is Pulawski’s thrust, thus Dzierzanowski stood. That is the thrust of Sawa! who thus formed Your hand, except Matthias Dobrzynski? But That, General, is my invention. Heaven Forbid! I do not praise myself! That stroke Is only in the zascianek known Of the Rembajlos, from my name ’tis called Mopanku’s stroke. Who taught it to you, sir? That is my own stroke, mine!” He rose, the General Seizing in his embrace. “Now shall I die In peace. There’s yet upon the earth a man Who will my dear child cherish! For indeed Both day and night I long have sorely grieved, Lest this my rapier rust when I am dead. Behold, it shall not rust! My most Illustrious, Most Powerful General, pardon me, throw off Those spits, those German swords; to a noble child ’Twere shame to wear those sticks. Take here a sword That suits a noble! This my Penknife I Here lay before your feet, the dearest thing That in the world I own. I never had A wife, I have no child; it was to me Both wife and child; it never left my arms. From morn till twilight have I cherished it; By night it slept beside me, and when I Grew old, it on the wall hung o’er my couch, As o’er a Jew the Lord’s commandments. I Have thought it should be buried in my grave, Together with my hand. But I have found An heir. Thee let it serve.” The General, Half-laughing, with emotion half o’ercome, “Comrade,” he said, “if thou dost yield thy wife And child to me, through thy remaining years Thou wilt be very lonely, old and widower, And childless. Tell me, by what gift shall I Repay thee, and by what thy childless state And widowhood assuage?”—“Am I Cybulski?” The Klucznik said in grief, “who lost his wife, At cards unto a Muscovite, the tale The song relates? It is enough for me, That yet my Penknife shines before the world, In such a hand. But, General, remember The sword-belt must be long, extended well, For it is long, and aye from the left ear Strike with both edges, so shalt thou cut through From head to belly.” Then the General The Penknife took, but since it was so long, He could not wear it; so the servants laid it Safe in the baggage wagon. What of it Became, concerning that were differing tales, But none for certain knew, nor then, nor after.

Dombrowski said to Matthew, “How now, comrade! ’Twould seem my coming does not much rejoice thee, Silent and sour! Why does thy heart not leap To see the eagles, golden, silver, when The trumpeters Kosciuszko’s réveille Sound in thine ears? Matthew, I thought thou wert A bolder fellow! If thou wilt not draw Thy sabre, and on horseback mount, at least Thou’lt drink with thy companions merrily Unto Napoleon’s and to Poland’s health.

“Ha!” Matthew said, “I see what here is doing. But, sir, two eagles may not nest together. Lords’ favour, Hetman, rides on piebald horse. The Emperor’s a great warrior, much is there To talk of. I remember the Pulawskis, My friends, were used to say about Dumourier,— For Poland there must be a Polish hero, No Frenchman, nor Italian, but a Piast; Must be a John, a Joseph, or a Matthew. E basta! Army! Polish ’tis, they say; But fusiliers, and sappers, grenadiers, And cannoniers; we hear more German titles Than native in this crowd. Who understands this? And there must also be among you Turks, And Tartars, or schismatics, with no God Or faith. Myself I saw it! they assault The women in the hamlets, rob the passers, And pillage churches. Moscow. The Emperor goes to Moscow. A long way, if his Majesty the Emperor Has made this undertaking without God. I have heard he is already under curse Of a bishop. All this is”—here Matthew dipped Bread in the soup, and eating, ended not His sentence. Matthew’s sayings did not please The Chamberlain. The younger folk besides Began to murmur. Then the Judge broke off These quarrels, by proclaiming the arrival Of the third pair betrothed. It was the Regent. Himself proclaimed himself the Regent, else None would have known him. Hitherto he had worn The Polish costume, but now Telimena, His future wife, obliged him by a clause Of marriage-contract to renounce the kontusz. And so the Regent willy-nilly dressed Himself in French costume. Well might be seen The frac had taken half his soul away. He stepped as he a stick had swallowed, straight, Unmoving, like a crane; he dared not look To right or left; he came with stately mien, But from his mien one saw he suffered tortures. He knew not how to bend, or where to place His hands, who so loved gestures. At his girdle He would have placed his hands—there was no girdle, So he but stroked his waist. He saw his error; And in confusion coloured fiery red, And in one pocket of the frac concealed Both hands. He stepped as though through rods, through whispers And mockings, shame enduring for the frac, As for an evil deed. At last he met The eyes of Matthew, and with fear he trembled. Matthew till then had been the Regent’s friend; Now on him such a sharp and savage glance He turned, that pale the Regent grew, began To fasten close his buttons, thinking Matthew Would strip him of the frac by looks alone. Dobrzynski only twice said loudly, “Fool!” But such his anger at the Regent’s dress, That he at once from table rose, without Leave-taking made his exit, and on horseback Mounting, returned unto his farmstead home.

But in the meantime did the Regent’s love, Fair Telimena, all her beauty’s splendours And of her dress display, from head to foot All in the newest fashion. What her dress Or head adornment seemed, ’twere vain to write; The pen could not exhaust them, only might The pencil trace those tulles, those blondes, cashmeres, Those pearls and precious stones, and rosied cheeks, And lively glances. Instantly the Count Had recognised her; with astonishment All pale he rose from table, sought his sword. “And is it thou?” he cried, “or do mine eyes Deceive me? Thou, who in my presence claspest A stranger’s hand? O faithless being! thou Most changeful soul! Thou dost not hide with shame Thy face beneath the earth? Thus art thou mindless Of such late vows? How credulous I was! Wherefore have I these ribbons worn? But woe Unto the rival who affronts me thus! He shall not to the altar pass, except Upon my corpse.” The guests arose, the Regent Confounded greatly; to appease the rivals The Chamberlain makes haste. But Telimena, Leading the Count aside: “As yet,” she whispered, “The Regent has not taken me to wife. If you will hinder it, pray tell me so. But answer me at once, and in few words, If you do love me? have you hitherto Not changed your heart? are you prepared to-day To marry me? at once? to-day? and if You will, I’ll leave the Regent.” Said the Count: “O woman! unto me not understood! Once in thy sentiments thou wast a poet, And now to me thou seemest nought but prose. What are your marriages, if aught but chains, That only fetter hands, and bind not souls? Believe me, they are only declarations Without confession; they are obligations, Which bind not! Two hearts at the world’s far ends Burning, converse like stars with trembling beams. Who knows? maybe for this cause towards the sun The earth aye presses, and is therefore ever So dear unto the moon; eternally They gaze upon each other, and for aye Haste by the shortest way each other toward, But never can approach”—“Enough of this,” She interrupted; “I am not a planet! For Heaven’s sake enough, Count! I am a woman. I know the rest already. Cease to talk To me of things not here nor there. And now, I warn you, if you whisper but one word To break my wedding off, as true as God In heaven is, I with these nails will spring At you, and”—“I will not,” the Count replied, “Madam, disturb your happiness.” He turned Away his eyes all full of scorn and grief, And as to punish his unfaithful love, He took the daughter of the Chamberlain For object of his steadfast fires. The Wojski Desired to make the angry youths agree By wise examples; therefore he began To adduce the wild-boar story in the woods Of Naliboko, and of Rejtan’s quarrel With Prince Denassau. But the guests meanwhile Had left off eating ices, and they went For coolness from the castle to the court.

There had the peasantry their feast concluded: Pitchers of mead were circling round; the music Was tuning now, and calling to the dance. They sought for Thaddeus, who stood apart, And whispered something to his future wife: “Sophia, I must now in a thing of weight Take counsel with thee; I have asked my uncle, And he has no objection. Thou dost know, A large proportion of those villages I shall possess, according to the law Revert to thee; these peasants are not mine, They are thy subjects; I should never dare Dispose of them without their lady’s will. But when we have a Fatherland beloved, Shall villagers enjoy this happy change By so much only, that it gives to them Another master? True it is, till now They have been ruled with kindliness, but after My death who knows how I shall leave them? I A soldier am, and we are mortal both. I am a man, I fear my own caprices. More safely shall we do, if we renounce Such rule, and give up the serfs’ destiny To the protection of the law. Ourselves Now free, let us the serfs make also free; Let us bestow on them in heritage The holding of these lands where they were born, That by a work of blood they have obtained. But I must warn thee, that these lands bestowing Our revenue will lessen, we must live On moderate fortune. I to frugal life Am used from childhood; but for thee, Sophia? Thou art of noble lineage, thou hast spent Thy childhood in the capital; canst thou Agree to dwell here in the country, thus Far from the world, and as a country woman?”

To this Sophia answered modestly: “I am a woman; counsel unto me Does not belong, and you will be my husband. I am too young for counsel. What you do, To that I shall agree with all my heart. If, Thaddeus, thou becomest poorer for Delivering the serfs, thou wilt be all The dearer to my heart. I little know About my lineage, and I little care About it: I remember only this, That I was a poor orphan, and adopted By the Soplicas, as a daughter cherished Within their house, and thence in marriage given. I do not fear the country; if I once Lived in a great town, it is long ago, I have forgotten it;—I always loved The country, and believe me, that my cocks And hens amused me more than Petersburg; And if at times I longed for entertainments, And company, it was from childishness; For now I know the city wearies me. Last winter a short stay in Wilna taught me That I was born for country life. Amid Amusements still I longed for Soplicowo. Nor fear I work, for I am young and strong; I know how to go round the house, and how To carry keys, and thou shalt see how I Will learn housekeeping.” When Sophia had spoken These last words, came towards her the astonished And sour Gervasy. “I know all,” he said. “The Judge has spoken of this liberty. But yet I do not understand what this Can have to do with serfs. I fear me lest ’Tis something German. Liberty indeed Is not a thing for peasants, but for nobles. ’Tis true that we from Adam all descend; But I have heard that peasants come from Ham, The Jews from Japhet, we nobility From Shem, and thus as elders rule o’er both; Yet otherwise the parish priest now teaches. He says that it has been so formerly, And in the ancient dispensation; but When Christ our Lord, though He from kings descended, Was born among the Jews in peasants’ stable, He levelled all ranks, and made them agree. And so thus let it be, if it may not Be otherwise! Above all, as I hear, My lady, most Illustrious and Powerful, Sophia, does agree to all. ’Tis hers To give command, mine to obey. But only I warn you, let us give not merely empty And verbal freedom, as among the Russians, When Pan Karp late deceased did free his serfs, And with a triple tax the Muscovites Brought them to famine. Therefore I advise That by an ancient custom we ennoble The peasants, and proclaim we give to them Our crest. My lady on some villages Confer her Half-goat, Pan Soplica share The Leliwa with others. That once done, Rembajlo owns the peasant as his equal, When he beholds him nobleman, Most Powerful, With coat-of-arms. The Diet will confirm it.

“But let my lady’s husband have no fear That giving of the lands will make you poor. Forbid it, heaven! that I should ever see The hands of daughter of a dignitary Cumbered with household labours. There are means To hinder this. I know a treasure-chest Within the castle, which contains the plate Of the Horeszkos, likewise signet-rings, Medals and jewels, and rich plumes and trappings Of horses, wondrous sabres, treasure of The Pantler, in the ground preserved from plunder. Lady Sophia as inheritrix Possesses it. I watched it in the castle, As ’twere the apple of my eye I kept it From Russians, and from you, Soplicas too. I have a great bag full of mine own ducats Besides, collected from my salaries, Also from gifts of lords. I thought whene’er The castle was restored to us, to use The money for repairing of the walls: To-day for the new housekeeping it seems Useful at last. Then, Pan Soplica, I Transfer myself to your house, in my lady’s I’ll live upon the bread of favour, cradling From the Horeszkos the third generation, And to the Penknife mould my lady’s child, If ’tis a son;—but it a son will be; For wars are coming, and in time of war Those born are always sons.” Gervasy scarce These last words spake, when with slow, solemn steps Approached Protasy. Bowing low, from forth The bosom of his kontusz he produced A monstrous panegyric, written on Two folios and a half. It was composed In rhyme by a young under-officer, Who in the capital had formerly Written some famous odes, and then put on The uniform; but being in the army Still a belle-lettrist, he made verses still. The Wozny now had read three hundred through; Till coming to this place, “O thou whose charms Wake painful bliss and rapturous alarms, When on Bellona’s ranks thy countenance Thou turnest, straight are shivered sword and lance; Let Hymen vanquish Mars, and haste to tear From Discord’s front the hissing vipers there”— Sophia and Thaddeus clapped unceasingly, As though they praised it, in reality Not wishing to hear more. Already by Commandment of the Judge the parish priest Upon the table mounted, and proclaimed The will of Thaddeus to the peasantry.

Scarcely the serfs had heard this news, they sprang To their young lord, fell at their lady’s feet. “Health to our lord and lady!” they exclaimed, With tears. “Health to our fellow-citizens,” Cried Thaddeus; “free and equal! Poles!” “I give The People’s health!” Dombrowski said. The people Cried out, “Long live the generals! long live The army! live the people! all the states!” With thousand voices rang alternate healths, Alone deigned Buchman not to share this joy; He praised the project, but would gladly see it Quite otherwise, and first appoint a legal Commission which should— Shortness of the time Prevented justice doing to Buchman’s counsel; For in the castle courtyard stood already Couples for dancing; officers with ladies, The common soldiers with the peasant women. “A Polonaise!” all cried out with one voice. The officers had brought the army music, But the Judge whispered to the General: “Give orders, sir, the band shall yet stay back. This day is the betrothal of my nephew, And ’tis an ancient custom of our house To be betrothed and wed to village music. Look, here the cymbalist, the fiddler stand, And piper;—honest folks! the fiddler now. Stands eager, and the piper bows, entreating With glance of eyes. Should I them send away, They’d weep, poor fellows. And the people cannot Spring to another music. Let them now Begin, and let the people all rejoice, And later on we’ll hear your chosen band.” He gave the sign. The fiddler of his coat Tucked up the sleeves, he tightly grasped the neck, Upon the fiddle-head he leaned his chin, And like a horse in full career set off Upon the fiddle; at this sign the pipers, Who stood beside, as though they flapped with wings, With frequent motion of their shoulders blow Into the bags, and fill their cheeks with breath. Thou might’st have thought the pair would fly away Upon the air, like Boreas’ wingèd children. Cymbals were wanting. Cymbalists were many; But none dared play while Jankiel was near. Where Jankiel tarried all the winter through None knew; now all at once he had appeared With the chief army staff. All knew that none Were equal to him on this instrument In taste and talent. They entreated he Would play, presented cymbals, but the Jew Refused, and said his hands were coarsened, he Was out of practice, dared not, was ashamed To play before the gentlemen; he bowed, And went away. When this Sophia saw, She ran up to him, and in her white hand The bars wherewith the master sounds the strings She offered; with the other hand she stroked The old man’s hoary beard, and curtsying, “Do, Jankiel,” says she, “if you please, to-day Is my betrothal, Jankiel, do play; You have promised oft to play upon my wedding.”

As Jankiel loved Sophia exceedingly, He nodded with his chin, in sign he did not Refuse, and so they led him to their midst. They gave to him a chair, they bring the cymbals, And place them on his knees. He looks with joy And pride on them, like veteran called to arms, Whose grandsons from the wall his heavy sword Drag down; the old man laughs, although so long No sword was in his hand, yet has he felt The hand is yet no stranger to the sword.

Meanwhile two scholars by the cymbals kneel, Attune the strings once more, and tuning strike. Jankiel is silent yet, with half-shut eyes, And still his fingers grasp the unmoving bars.

He let them go. At first they beat the time Of a triumphal march; more frequent, then They smote along the strings like stormy rain. All marvelled. But this only was as proof; For soon he broke off, and aloft he raised Both bars. He played again. The bars vibrate With such light motion, as a fly’s wing might Upon the chords, emitting a low hum, Scarce heard. The master ever looked towards heaven, Awaiting inspiration. From above He looked, the instrument with proud glance scanned. He raised his hands together, dropped, and smote With those two bars. The hearers marvelled much.

From many strings together burst a sound, As a whole band of Janissary music Awoke with bells, with zel, and beating drums; The Polonaise of May the third. The lively Maidens breathe hard with joy, the lads may scarce Stay in their places. But the old men’s thoughts Were with the sound transported to the past, Into those happy years when deputies And senators upon the third of May, In the town-hall did feast the king, made one Now with the nation, when in dance they sung: “Long live the King, the Diet live, the Estates, the Nation long!” The master hurries evermore the time, Intensifies the tones; but at that instant Threw in a false chord like a serpent’s hiss, Or scratch of iron on glass; all horror seized, And all their joy an evil-boding fear Confounded, saddened, frightened all the hearers. They doubted: was the instrument mistuned? In error the musician? Such a master Could not mistake. He purposely has stirred Again that traitorous string, the melody Is troubled; ever louder, breaketh in That chord unbridled, all confederate Against the concord of the other tones. At last the Klucznik understood the master; He covered with his face his hands, and cried: “I know, I know that sound, ’tis Targowica!” And presently that string ill-boding burst With hissing. The musician to the treble Rushes, he breaks the time, confuses it. He leaves the treble, rushes to the bass; And evermore and louder still are heard A thousand uproars; beating of a march, Of war, assault, and storm; then shots were heard, The groans of children, and their mothers weeping. The perfect master so the horrors gave Of storming, that the village women trembled; Recalling to themselves, with tears of pain, The Praga carnage, which they knew from songs And stories. Glad they were that suddenly The master thundered loud with all the strings, And strangled all the voices, as though he Had beat them to the ground. The hearers scarce Had time to issue from astonishment; Again another music; once again At first a humming light and low, there sigh Some slender strings, like flies, who strive to loose Themselves from nets of spiders. But the chords Increase aye more and more. The scattered tones Unite, and legions gather of accords; And now, with sounds accordant, move in time, The tune creating of that famous song, Of how the soldier over hills and forests Goeth, at times well-nigh with hunger dying, Falling at last before his charger’s feet, Who with his foot shall dig for him a grave, The ancient song to Poland’s army dear. The soldiers knew it; all the faithful ranks Gathered around the master, listening. They to themselves recall that fearful time, When o’er their country’s grave they sang that song, And went into the country of the world. In thought they track their years of wandering, O’er lands, o’er seas, through burning sands and frost, Amid strange peoples, where so oft in camp This native song rejoiced and heartened them. Thus thinking, sadly they bowed down their heads.

But soon they raised them. For the master raised The tones, intensified and changed the time, Proclaiming somewhat else; he scanned the strings, He joined his hands, and smote with both the bars. So artful was the stroke, and of such power, That the strings sounded forth like brazen trumpets, And from the trumpets the triumphal march Rolled toward the sky, “Yet Poland is not dead! Dombrowski! march to Poland!” and all clapped, And all in chorus, “March! Dombrowski!” cried. The master, as though marvelling at his song, Dropped from his hands the bars, and raised his hands On high; his cap of fox-skin from his head Fell on his shoulders, and his reverend beard Waved, lifted high; upon his cheek there stood Circles of wondrous red, and in his glance All full of spirit, shone the glow of youth. Till when the old man turned his eyes upon Dombrowski, with his hands he covered them; Beneath his hands a flood of tears poured forth. “General!” he cried, “long has our Litva waited For thee, as we Jews our Messiah await! Long singers ’mid the people have foretold thee, And heaven proclaimed thee by a miracle! Live thou, and fight!—Oh! thou, our”—speaking he Kept sobbing, for the honest Jew our country Loved like a Pole. Dombrowski gave his hand To him, and thanked him. He, his cap removed, Did kiss the leader’s hand. The Polonaise Shall now begin. The Chamberlain does rise, And lightly throwing back his kontusz cuffs, And twirling his moustache, presents his hand Unto Sophia, and bowing courteously Invites her into the first couple. Following The Chamberlain, there forms a rank in pairs. The signal given, the dance begins; he leads.

Upon the turf the red boots shine, there gleams A lustre from the sabre, the rich girdle Shines brightly; but he slowly steps as though Unwilling: but from every step, each motion, The dancer’s thoughts and feelings may be read. See, now he stands, as he would ask his lady; He bends towards her, whispers in her ear; The lady turns her head away, seems bashful, She listens not; he takes his cap off, bends Humbly; the lady deigns to cast a glance, But keeps a silence obstinate; he tracks Her glances with his eyes, and laughs at length, Glad of her answer; quicker steps he forth, Looks down upon his rivals; and his cap, With heron’s plumes, now on his brow suspends, Now shakes it o’er his forehead, till he lays it Upon one side, and twirls round his moustache. He goes, all envy him, rush on his traces; He gladly with his lady would escape Out of the crowd, at times stands in his place, And courteously he lifts his hand, and that They would approach him humbly doth entreat. At times he thinks with skill to turn aside, Changeth the path, glad to mislead the rest; But with swift step importunate they follow. So he grows angry, and his right hand lays Upon his sword-hilt, while he seems to say, “I care not for you! to the envious woe!” He turns, with pride upon his brow, and with Defiance in his eye, straight through the crowd; The crowd of dancers dare not him approach, They yield to him the way, and change their ranks; Once more pursuing him. And loud applause Resounds on all sides: “Ah! that is the last, Maybe! look, look, young people, ’tis perhaps The last who thus can lead a Polonaise!” And pairs still followed pairs with noise and joy. The circle now unwound, now wound again, Like to a giant snake in thousand folds, And change the varied, many hues of dresses Of ladies, lords, and soldiers, like its scales Gleaming, and gilded by the western sun, On the dark cushion of the turf. The dance Is seething, music sounding, healths and plaudits. Alone the Corporal Dobrzynski Bustard Hears not the band, nor dances, nor rejoices. With hands behind his back he standeth, cross And gloomy, thinking of his former suit Unto Sophia, how he loved to bring her Flowers, weave her baskets, capture birds’ nests, carve Earrings! Ungrateful girl! Although he lavished So many gifts upon her, though she fled Before him, though his father did forbid him, He yet how often on the garden wall He sat, to gaze while she her garden weeded, Or gathered cucumbers, or cockerels fed! Ungrateful girl! He drooped his head at last; He whistled a mazurka, then he pressed The hat upon his ears, and to the camp He went, where stood the watch beside the guns. There to distract his mind he played at draughts With soldiers, with the bowl his grief assuaged. Such, for Sophia, Dobrzynski’s constancy.

Sophia dances joyously, but though In the first couple, scarcely seen from far. On the green surface of the courtyard wide, In dress of green adorned with field-flowers, and In flowery garland, ’mid the flowers and grasses She circles round, in flight invisible, The dance directing as an angel guides The course of nightly stars. Thou guessest where She is, for all the eyes are turned towards her, All arms are stretched forth, towards her all the crowd Do press. The Chamberlain in vain does strive To stay beside her; envious men have now Repulsed him from the first place, and the happy Dombrowski might not long rejoice himself, But yield her to another; and a third Already hastened, and this one repulsed, At once departed hopeless. Then Sophia, Already wearied out, met Thaddeus In turn, and fearful of a further change, And wishing to remain with him, she ended The dances, and towards the table went To fill up goblets for the guests. The sun Had set already; warm the evening was, And stilly; heaven’s circle here and there Was paved with clouds, above of bluish hue, Rosy towards the west; these clouds forebode Fine weather, light and shining; there like flock Of sheep that slumber on the grass, and there Are lesser clouds like flocks of water-fowl; And in the west a cloud like veilly curtains, Transparent, in deep folds; above like pearl, Upon the borders gilded; in its depths Of purple hue; yet with the western blaze It sparkled, and it glowed, till gradually It grew more yellow, paler, and then grey. The sun has drooped his head, the cloud removed, And giving one sigh with the warm air, slept. But evermore the nobles drink, with healths Unto Napoleon, to the generals, To Thaddeus and Sophia, and at last In turn of all three couples then betrothed, Of all the guests there present, all invited, All friends whom living any one recalled, And those now dead whose memory was holy.

And I myself was there among the guests: I drank the wine and mead, and what I saw And heard there I have written in a book.