Perhaps the novelty of the manners described in this poem, and the graphic pictures of earlier forms of society, may recommend it to the English reader. Miss Biggs has performed her task exceedingly well, although Polish is so difficult a language and the poem she has selected is national to the very core. For the rhyming lines of the original she has substituted blank verse, a metre with which Englishmen are familiar in long poems, and which allows a translator to be more literal by emancipating him from what have been called the tags of rhyme. She is always faithful to her author, and cleverly reproduces the spirit of his poem, although something must necessarily be lost in every translation. The manly sounds of the English language are fitter than those of many others for reproducing the echoes of the vigorous Polish tongue. It is impossible not to recall to one’s mind the fine words of Casimir Brodzinski, himself a poet of no mean order. “Let,” says he, “the Pole smile with manly pride when the inhabitant of the banks of the Tiber or Seine calls his language rude; let him hear with keen satisfaction and the dignity of a judge the stranger who painfully struggles with the Polish pronunciation, like a sybarite trying to lift an old Roman coat of armour, or when he strives to articulate the language of men with the weak accent of a child. So long as courage is not wanting to our nation, and our morals have not become degraded, let us not disavow this manly roughness of our language. It has its harmony and its melody, but it is the murmur of an oak of three hundred years, and not the plaintive and feeble cry of a reed, swayed by every wind.”

The life of Mickiewicz, who died thirty years ago, was a very sad one. He was born in 1798, and at an early age became an exile, never seeing his native country after 1829. How great were his longings to revisit it, we find by the commencement of Pan Tadeusz, which breathes all the despair of an exile. He settled in Paris and became a professor of the Slavonic languages and literatures at the College de France. This office, however, he was compelled to resign on account of his identifying himself with the strange views of Towianski. His wife afterwards became He insane, and we have a pathetic portrait of the poet towards the close of his life in the Memoirs of Herzen, published originally in the Russian magazine Polar Star (Poliarnaia Zviezda). He appeared to the Russian politician as a man bowed down with troubles, prematurely grey, and lost in the labyrinths of religious mysticism. In 1855 he was sent to Constantinople to assist in forming a Polish legion to serve against the Russians in the Crimean War, and died there.

Mickiewicz is altogether a strange and interesting figure, and deserves to be known much more widely than in the comparatively narrow circle of his compatriots. He has shown excellence in many fields of literature, but especially in his ballads and narrative poems. The exquisite grace and finish of his sonnets, especially those inspired by the poet’s visit to the Crimea, will be acknowledged by all acquainted with his writings; they are the finest in any Slavonic language, and may be compared with some of the best Italian and English compositions of the same kind.

With the good wishes of a few hearty admirers of the poet this version of one of his most striking productions is venturesomely sent forth to the great English-speaking public.

W. R. Morfill.

Translator’s Preface

In order to have a clear understanding of the spirit in which this poem is composed, it will not perhaps be considered irrelevant to prefix a short abstract of the historical events on which it is founded, and to which reference is made in the course of the story. The wars of Napoleon, and the relation these had to the politics and prospects of the Polish nation, form the historical groundwork of the poem, which may therefore be taken as representing a portion of European history at present little known and studied. It is, however, generally admitted that for the right understanding and just appreciation of the literature of a people a certain knowledge of their past and present history is absolutely necessary, and of no people is this more true than of the Poles, whose literary works, even such as, strictly speaking, cannot be classed as historical, abound with references to the past, and are replete with allusions to historical and traditional names and events, almost every one of which must require explanation to those not previously acquainted with the subject. It is scarcely possible to study any classical work in this, perhaps the richest and most highly cultivated of all the Slavonic languages, without as it were half-unconsciously acquiring some knowledge of the traditions to which such frequent allusion is made. No further excuse it is therefore hoped will be necessary for commencing this work with an account of the chief circumstances which transpired from the year 1794 or 1795 to the beginning of 1812, between which the whole interest of this story is comprised.

After the battle of Maciejowice and capture of Warsaw, many of the Poles took refuge in France, since they imagined that the republic would no doubt immediately commence a crusade against the enemies of Poland, and therefore readily offered their services in the French armies. At this period a regulation existed forbidding the French Government from receiving foreign troops into their service. The difficulty was evaded by proclaiming the Polish exiles citizens of the Cisalpine Republic, one of the short lived states created about this time by Bonaparte. They were formed into legions, marching under their own colours, and bearing in addition the motto, “Gli uomini liberi sono fratelli.” The legions were commanded by Henry Dombrowski, who for some time had held a command in the Saxon army, and, strange to say, spoke German better than Polish. They greatly contributed to the success of the French in Italy, but on the cessation of hostilities by the treaty of Campo Formio, found their expectations deceived. No mention was made of Poland in the articles of peace.

It was not however long before hostilities were resumed. Suwarow, being despatched to the help of the Austrians, in 1799 defeated the French in several battles. The Poles, venturing again to trust those who had once deceived them, entered once more into the service of France, this time as part of the French army, since Napoleon, after subverting the Directory, had abolished the regulation relative to the employment of foreign troops. The first legion of the Poles threw themselves into Mantua, which was besieged by the Austrians, and on its capitulation were delivered into the hands of the enemy by the French, who had bound themselves by a secret treaty to restore to the Austrians their deserters, namely those Poles who had escaped from their ranks to join the French. The remainder, under Dombrowski, took refuge in France, and after many changes of fortune were formed into one legion, part of which was detached to form the so-called Legion of the Danube under General Kniaziewicz. Dombrowski had conceived a plan for reaching Poland through Bohemia and Moravia. But it was soon manifest that no solid assistance was to be expected from Napoleon, who regarded them merely as instruments of his own projects. A number of the Legion of the Danube were at Genoa for Haiti, for the forcibly embarked quelling of the insurrection successfully carried on by Toussaint L’Ouverture. Numbers of the Poles succumbed to the climate, and few returned to their own country. A certain number preferred to remain in Haiti, and make common cause with the negroes, instead of opposing those who had in no way injured their cause.

Nevertheless, the legions of the Poles continued, hoping against hope, to fight the battles and support the cause of Napoleon. One alone was wiser. Napoleon at one time endeavoured to obtain the support of Kosciuszko, but the veteran hero refused the prestige of his name to his designs. Bonaparte nevertheless was still able to preserve the belief of the exiles in his benevolent intentions, and thus waste their strength and lives in aiding his schemes of conquest.

Still after the battle of Austerlitz, wherein the German powers were for the time being crushed, Posen became independent, and Napoleon soon entered Polish territory with the legion of Dombrowski, as we find related in Book VII of the poem. The Poseners at once joined with their countrymen and the French to conquer East Prussia, and to besiege Dantzig. The Russians now came to the assistance of Prussia, and thus the French were at war with both powers at once. The battles of Pultusk, Eylau, Friedland, followed in quick succession. It seemed probable that Napoleon would soon cross the Niemen, and enter Lithuania; but instead of this he held a personal conference with Alexander I at the bridge at Tilsit, where they arranged the articles of a peace, July 7, 1807. By this treaty a considerable portion of Poland was taken from the King of Prussia, and erected into the Duchy of Warsaw, but part of the Polish territory was still left in the hands of the Germans, and the province of Bialystok was detached to form part of the Czar’s dominions.

Shortly after this Napoleon was at war with the Austrian Emperor Francis, and while the Emperor of the French was fighting his way towards Vienna, the Archduke Ferdinand proceeded towards Warsaw, with an army four times larger than the handful of Polish troops, who alone remained to guard the newly created Duchy of Warsaw. The Poles made a gallant stand at Raszyn against the Austrian troops, so much so that the Archduke accepted a convention by which, Warsaw being surrendered to him, he bound himself not to act against Praga, on the other side the river. Dombrowski hastened to Great Poland, or the Grand Duchy of Posen, and Prince Joseph Poniatowski crossed the Vistula with part of the army. Then followed an astonishing campaign, in which a small handful of Polish troops quickly spread themselves over a vast extent of country, defeated and scattered Austrian troops many times more numerous, and conquered province after province with surprising rapidity. In one month they had taken Lublin, Sandomir, Zamosc, and Leopol, and fresh troops from these provinces swelled their forces into an army equal in size to the Austrian. The Archduke was forced to abandon Warsaw. The Russians entering at this point into the struggle captured Leopol, but shielded the rest of Galicia from any further attack. On the 15th of July Poniatowski took Krakow, but the news of an armistice stayed further operations. Peace was concluded in Vienna on the 14th of October. The conquests of Poniatowski included Krakow, and half the salt-mines of Wieliczka were joined to the Duchy of Warsaw, but the other half and all the territory known as Old Galicia were left to Austria. Napoleon detached the circle of Tarnopol, which he gave to Russia.

All of Poland that at this time boasted of independence was comprised in the small Duchy of Warsaw, which had a special constitution granted by Napoleon. The Elector of Saxony was sovereign of the new state, with a French administration, wherein the deputies of the nation had but little power. The army alone was purely Polish, consisting of 90,000 men, but a considerable portion of these were despatched to Spain, and while thus condemned to combat free men, who had in no way injured the Polish cause, left their own country almost without defenders.

Still a general impression prevailed that something more decisive would be done, and through five years warlike operations went on apace in the Duchy. It became day by day more apparent that Napoleon would soon break off all agreements with the Czar, and throughout the year 1811 diplomatic negotiations were carried on, the ultimate ending of which was variously conjectured. But day by day the real intentions of Napoleon became plainer. The Polish forces in the heart of Spain, at the furthest bounds of Europe, begun to move towards their own country. At length in August war was finally declared between France and Russia. Napoleon entered into a secret treaty with Austria to give up Illyria or Dalmatia in exchange for Galicia. On the 24th of June 1812 the French and Polish armies crossed the Niemen, on the 28th Napoleon himself entered Wilna, and the union of Lithuania with Poland was proclaimed.

The further progress of the campaign and its terrible conclusion are matters of history, and have nothing to do with the plot of the poem now before us; they need not therefore be further particularised. No allusion is therein made to the retreat from Moscow; the future is only, as it were, intimated in far-off dim perspective beyond the bright conclusion of the story. It is said that at one time Mickiewicz intended to write another epic as a sequel to “Thaddeus,” carrying on the adventures of his hero over the time of the Congress of Vienna, and up to the events of 1831, but from various causes this design never was carried out. The poem we have was completed with difficulty, amid hindrances of various kinds-illness, poverty, political and literary engagements, and interruptions under which the exercise of the poetic faculty was well-nigh impossible. Little of poetical value ever proceeded from the pen of the author later than the production of this his greatest work; and as the wonderful dramatic poem of the “Ancestors” remains incomplete and fragmentary, it represents the consummate effort of this sublime genius. a picture of old Polish life, and the manners and customs, thoughts and feelings, of the Poles at the epoch of which it treats, it stands unrivalled; and as a national epic, the greatest work of the greatest poet of the Polish nation, occupies a high position in European literature, similar to that which the principal epics of ancient and modern languages have always done. It is to Polish not only that which the Iliad is to Greek, the Aeneid to Latin, the Niebelungen to Germany, the Divina Commedia to Italy, but also that which the Canterbury Tales and Shakespeare’s historical plays are to England, and Don Quixote to Spain. It is therefore to be hoped that this attempt to introduce for the first time into this country an image of the thoughts and feelings of a people, whose literature is only neglected because they have no recognised position among nations, may not be wholly unwelcome. The literature of any country seldom receives more important additions than in faithful translations of the standard works of other tongues, and whatever may be the shortcomings of the following translation, it is hoped that indulgence may be shown in consideration of being an attempt to introduce into the circle of English literature one element hitherto unknown to it.

Whatever faults the critical eye may discern must be laid rather to the charge of the translation than to that of the original, of which the exquisite beauty in execution, and marvellous artistic finish, cannot be appreciated except by readers of Polish. The greatest care has, however, been taken to ensure exact and literal rendering of every phrase, and full explanatory notes have been added, for the elucidation of matters unfamiliar to English readers. In proof of this it may be mentioned that some of the information upon scientific subjects has been kindly afforded by the Academy of Sciences at Krakow. For assistance, however, in the preparation of this work for the press, as well as in contributing a large share of the notes, the translator is above all indebted to Mr. Edmond S. Naganowski, for whose unvarying kindness and valuable help in literary work she cannot express sufficient thanks, and only trust that as displayed in the result they will meet as cordial a recognition from the public as from herself.

M. A. B.

June 1885.

Pan Tadeusz

The Last Foray2 in Lithuania

Book I

Home-Keeping

Return of a young gentleman—A first meeting in a chamber, a second at table—Valuable instructions of the Judge concerning politeness—The Podkomorzy’s political views on fashions—The beginning of the quarrel of Kusy and Sokol—The Wojski’s sorrow—The last Wozny of the tribunal—A glance over the contemporary political situation in Lithuania and Europe.

Litva! my country, like art thou to health,
For how to prize thee he alone can tell
Who has lost thee. I behold thy beauty now
In full adornment, and I sing of it
Because I long for thee. O holy Virgin!
Thou, who defendest Czenstochowa bright,3
And shinest in the Ostra Gate, who shieldest
The castled town of Nowogrodek with
Its faithful people; as by miracle
Thou didst restore me as a child to health,
When by a weeping mother, I, confided
To thy protection, raised my half-dead eye,
And to the threshold of thy sanctuary
Could go at once on foot to offer thanks
To God for life returned;4 do thou likewise
Restore us thus by miracle unto
The bosom of our Fatherland! Meanwhile
Bear thou my soul, consumed by longing, to
Those wooded hills, unto those meadows green
Broad stretching on the azure Niemen’s shore;
Towards those fields, rich hued with various grain,
Golden with wheat, and silvered with the rye,
Where amber rape, where buckwheat white as snow,
Where with a maiden blush the clover glows,
And all, as with a ribbon girdled by
A green ridge, whereon pear-trees far apart.
Amid such fields, years since, upon the brink
Of running water, on a hill not high,
Among a birchen thicket; framed of wood,
There stood a noble’s mansion, underbuilt
With masonry; the whitened walls gleamed far;
And whiter from the contrast they appeared
Against the dark-green poplar tree that shielded
The house from blasts of autumn. ’Twas not large,
The dwelling-house, but all round neat and clean.
It had a great barn, and three stacks beside
Of garnered corn, that underneath the thatch
Could not be placed. ’Twas seen the region round
Was rich in corn, and from the corn-stooks thick
As stars, appearing all their length and breadth
Upon the clearings: from the many ploughs,
Those dark-green fallows turning up thus soon,
Which to the mansion surely appertained;
’Twas seen that order and abundance reigned
Within this house. The gate half open stood,
Proclaiming unto all who travelled by,
Its hospitality, inviting all.

This very moment, in a two-horse chaise,
A youthful gentleman approached the gate,
And traversing the courtyard came before
The gallery. He lighted from the chaise.
The horses, left there, ’gan to nip the grass
Before the door, at leisure. Empty seemed
The house; the doors were locked and fastened close
With bolts and padlock. But the traveller
Ran not unto the farm to call for servants;
But oped the door, and ran into the house.
He longed to welcome it, since he for long
Had not beheld his home. For in the city
Far off for education he had stayed;
The end long waited for had come at last.
He ran within, and eagerly he gazed,
And tenderly, upon those ancient walls
As old acquaintances. He viewed again
The self-same furniture, same tapestry,
With which he loved to play from swaddling-bands.
But less of size it seemed, less beautiful
Than formerly. And those same portraits hung
Around the walls. There Kosciuszko, clad
In the Cracovian czamara,56 raised
His eyes to heaven, and grasped a two-hand sword;
Such as when, on the altar-steps, he swore
He with this sword would drive the despots three
From Poland, or himself upon it fall.
And further Rejtan7 sat, in Polish dress
Grieving for freedom lost; he grasped a knife,
The blade towards his breast; before him lay
Phaedo and Cato’s life. Jasinski8 there
A beautiful and sadly-looking youth;
Beside him Korsak, his unsevered friend.
They stand on Praga’s ramparts, over piles
Of Muscovites, the foemen cutting down;
But Praga burned already round them.9 Even
The ancient clock with chimes the traveller knew
In wooden case, at the entrance of the alcove.
And with a childish joy he pulled the string
To hear again Dombrowski’s old mazurka.

He ran through all the house, and sought that room,
Where as a child he dwelt, long years ago;
Entered—retired; his wondering glances flew
Around the walls; a woman’s dwelling here!
Whose was it? His old uncle was unmarried.
In Petersburg for years had dwelt his aunt.
’Twas not the housekeeper’s. A piano here:
Upon it books and music: strewn about
Without or heed or care—a sweet disorder.
They were not ancient hands that strewed them so.
A white frock here, late taken from a peg
To indue, unfolded on a chair arm lay.
And in the window pots of perfumed flowers,
Geraniums, asters, wallflowers, violets.
And in one window stood the traveller.
New wonder! on a border once o’ergrown
With nettles, in the orchard, he beheld
A little garden crossed by garden walks;
All filled with flowers, with English grass and mint;
A wooden paling, with initials wreathed,
Gleamed with a hundredfold of ribbons gay.
The beds, ’twas seen, were freshly watered; near
There stood tin vessels full of water. Still
The pretty gardener nowhere might be seen,
Though she had passed but lately. Still the bushes
Were rocking to and fro, as lately stirred,
And near the trees a little foot’s light print
Upon the sand, shoeless and stockingless,
Upon the light dry sand, as white as snow,
An imprint plainly marked, but light; no doubt
Left in swift running by the tiny foot
Of one, who hardly even touched the earth.
Long in the window stood the traveller
Looking and dreaming: drinking in sweet breath
Of flowers, he bent his visage downward to
The violet plants; with curious eyes pursued
The tiny footprints on the path, and there
Once more he fixed them, thought of them and whose
They were;—he had guessed. By chance he raised his eyes,
And on the garden wall, behold there stood
A young girl. Her white garment only hid
Her slender figure o’er the bosom, leaving
Unveiled her shoulders and her swan-like neck.
Such dress a Lithuanian woman wears
In the morning, and in such is never seen
By men. So though she had none there to see,
She laid her hands upon her bosom, thus
A veil supplying to the little frock.
Not loose in curls her locks, but twisted round
In little knots, and hidden from the sight
In white and tiny husks, that wondrously
Adorned the head; for in the sun’s bright rays,
They shone as shines the glory on a saint.
Her face was seen not. Turned unto the plain
She looked for some one, far below. She saw,
And laughed, and clapped her hands; then from the wall
She flew like a white bird, and glided o’er
The garden, over beds and over flowers,
And on a plank against the chamber-wall,
Before the traveller marked it, through the window
She darted, shining, sudden, silent, light,
Like to a moonbeam. Singing, she caught up
The frock, and ran towards the mirror. Then
She first perceived the youth, and from her hands
The garment fell, and pale she grew with fright
And wonder. And the traveller’s countenance
Glowed with a rosy colour, like a cloud
Which meets the morning dawn. The modest youth
Half shut his eyes and screened them. He endeavoured
To speak, entreat her pardon; but he only
Could bow and then retire. The maiden shrieked
Unmeaningly, like children scared in sleep;
The traveller looked alarmed, but she was gone.
He left the room confused, and felt his heart
Loud-beating; and himself he scarcely knew
If this fantastic meeting should amuse,
Or shame him, or rejoice him. But meanwhile
It ’scaped not heed upon the farm, that now
Some new guest to the gallery had driven.
The horses to their stable had been led,
And fed with plenty, as there was abundance
In this well-ordered house of hay and fodder;
For never would the Judge10 by following
New fashions, send the horses of his guests
Unto the Jews who kept the inn. The servants
Had come not forth to welcome, but think not
That in the Judge’s house was careless service;
The servants wait till the Pan Wojski11 come,
Who ordered supper now behind the house.
The master’s place he holds, and in his absence
Himself receives and welcometh all guests,
A distant kinsman being, and household friend.
On seeing a guest, he hastened to the farm,
Unseen, because he would not come to meet him
In cloth undress; so quickly as he might
He put his Sunday dress on; ready since
The morning, for he from the morning knew
He should with many guests sit down to supper.

The Wojski recognised the traveller
Far off, outspread his arms, and with a cry
Embraced and kissed him. Then began that rapid
Confused discourse, wherein we strive to enclose
The events of many years in few short words
And precious, in the course of stories, questions,
Of exclamations, sighs, and fresh salutings.
When the Pan Wojski had inquired enough,
Enough had learned, he at the end of all
The annals of this very day relates.

“ ’Tis well, my Thaddeus,”—for such the name,
Kosciuszko’s name, by which the youth was called
As sign that in the war-time12 he was born—
“ ’Tis well, my Thaddeus, thou cam’st home to-day,
While we have so many fair young ladies here.
Thine uncle thinks to make a wedding for thee;
There is good choice at hand; much company
Is gathered here some days since for the judgment
Of frontier, to conclude that quarrel with
The Count. The Count himself comes here to-morrow;
The Chamberlain13 already is arrived,
With wife and daughters. With their guns the youths
Have sought the forest; but the old men and
The women watch the reapers, near the forest,
And there await the coming of the youths.
We’ll go there, if thou wilt, and shortly we
Shall meet thine uncle and the Chamberlain,
His family,14 and all the honoured ladies.”

The Wojski went with Thaddeus by the wood,
And still they could not talk out all their fill.
The sun had reached the last degrees of heaven;
Less strong his blaze, yet broader than at noon,
All redly shining, like the hearty face
Of a husbandman, whose labour in the field
Is done, when he returneth home for rest.
The radiant round already sank upon
The summits of the pine-trees, and already
The misty twilight filled their crowns and boughs;
And bound in one the forest all, commingling.
Black grew the thicket like a mighty building,
The sun above like red fire on the roof.
Then in the depth he fell, between the trunks
Still gleaming like a candle through the crannies
Of shutters, and extinguished was. Forthwith
The sickles clashing in the corn, and rakes
Upon the meadow silent were, and stayed.
For so the Judge commands: with day for him
The labourer’s toils were over. The world’s Lord
Doth know the length of time for man to work;
And when the sun, his workman, leaves the sky,
Time ’tis earth’s labourer too should leave the field.
Thus used the Judge to say; the Judge’s will
Was sacred to the honest overseer.
For ev’n the wagons, wherein they but now
Began to lade the rye, half full set off
Towards the barn; the oxen did rejoice
To feel such light and unaccustomed load.

Now from the wood came all the company,
Joyful but yet in order. First the children
Came with their tutor; next the Judge, with him
The lady of the Chamberlain; beside
The Chamberlain with all his family.
The girls went close behind the elder women,
The youths beside the maidens, but these went
Before the young men by some half-a-step.
Thus decency commands. None held discourse
Of precedence, none ranked the men and women,
But each kept order due despite himself;
For in his house the Judge old customs kept,
And never suffered any lack respect
For age, for office, birth, or intellect.
’Tis by such order, said he, houses flourish,
And nations; by its fall they come to ruin.
The household and the servants thus were used
To order, and the guest but lately come,
Kinsman or stranger, all who visited
The Judge, received those customs, whereof all
Around was redolent. Short welcoming
The Judge had for his nephew, gave to him
With dignity his hand to kiss, and health
Wished unto him, with kiss upon his brow;
But though he spoke but little with him then,
From that respect he owed his guests, the tears
That with his garment’s15 hem he quickly dried,
Showed well how he loved Master Thaddeus.

And in the master’s traces everything
From forest and from pasture, mead and grove,
Forthwith returned. A bleating flock of sheep,
Here in the lane together hustling, raised
A cloud of dust. And further onward strode
A herd of Tyrol calves, with brazen bells;
There neighing horses from the new-mown mead
Flew; all together ran unto the well,
Whose wooden arm did forthwith creak, and pour
A stream of water in a wooden trough.

The Judge, though tired, though with company,
Missed not a farmer’s weighty duties. He
Himself betook him to the well. For best
At eventide the master may review
The state of his live stock; nor left he e’er
This overlooking to his servants; well
The Judge knew “master’s eye makes fat the horse.”16

The Wojski, with Protasius the Wozny,17
Await with lights within the hall; they stand
Conversing, and somewhat at variance.
For while as yet the Wojski stayed away,
The Wozny secretly had given orders
To bring the supper-tables from the house,
And swiftly as might be to set them up
In midmost of an ancient castle hall,
The ruins might be seen beyond the forest.
But why these changes? the Pan Wojski frowned,
And asked the Judge’s pardon; much the Judge
Did marvel; but ’twas so; the hour was late,
And change were difficult; he would entreat
The pardon of his guests, and lead them to
The desert place. The Wozny on the road
Unfolded to the Judge the cause which led him
To misconstrue his will. Within the house
There was no room which could a space supply
For guests so many or so honourable.
The castle had a great hall, yet preserved;
The roof was whole; one wall indeed had fallen.
The windows had no panes; but this in summer
Was of no moment; and the cellars’ nearness
Was for the servants a convenience great.
While saying this he winked unto the Judge,
And by his mien disclosed his mind concealed
Yet weightier causes. Some two thousand paces
A castle stood beyond the house. It was
A stately structure, by its mass imposing:
In former times it was the heritage
Of the Horeszkos’ ancient race. Deceased
Its last possessor in intestine wars,
The estates, by sequestration half destroyed,
By the trustees’ neglect, and law-decrees,
In part had fallen unto distant kinsmen
By spindle side, the rest to creditors
Had been divided. None would take the castle;
’Twere hard to spare the cost of maintenance
In noble state. But yet these old walls pleased
The youthful Count, a neighbour near, who when
He passed from tutelage, and late was come
From travel, said they were of Gothic structure;
Although the Judge made sure from documents
The architect a master was from Wilna,
And not a Goth at all. It was enough
The Count desired the Castle; and the Judge
Did suddenly conceive the same desire;
None knew the reason. So began a suit
Before the local, then the central court,
Then in the Senate, local court again,
And governor’s tribunal. And at last,
After great cost and many ukases,
This action to the local courts returned.

Well had the Wozny said that in this hall,
The guests invited, and a court of law
Alike might find a place. The hall was great,
Like a refectory; its arch swelled high,
Raised upon pillars; paved the floor with stone.
The walls were unadorned, but smooth and clear.
The horns of roes and stags were ranged around,
With legends, showing where these spoils were ta’en;
Each with its proper name stood there inscribed,
And on the arched roof gleamed Horeszko’s crest,
Polkozic.18 All the guests in order came,19
And in a circle stood. The Chamberlain
At table took the highest seat; this place
Was his by right of dignity and years.
In going there he to the ladies bowed,
The old men, and the youths. Beside him stood
A begging friar, beside the friar the Judge.
The Bernardine in Latin spoke short grace;
Then brandy to the men was given; all
Forthwith were seated, and in silence ate
The Litvin cholodziec20 with appetite.

Though young, by right of guest Thaddeus sat
Beside his uncle, and among the ladies.
Between him and his uncle there remained
An empty place, that seemed to wait its guest.
The uncle glanced at it, and at the door,
As sure of some one’s coming and desirous;
And Thaddeus followed too his uncle’s glance.
Strange thing: the places round were seats of maidens,
All highly born, and each one young and fair,
But Thaddeus gazed on that where none appeared.
This place a riddle was; young men love riddles.
Absent in thought, to the Podkomorzanka,21
His lovely neighbour, scarce few words he said;
Nor changed her plates, nor filled her glass with wine,
Nor e’er with courteous speeches entertained
The ladies, whereby they might recognise
His city breeding. But this empty place
Alone had power to charm him; not now void:
He had filled it with his thoughts; around this place
A thousand guesses ran, as after rain
Frogs on a lonely meadow; ’mid them queens
One solitary figure, as in sunshine
The lily of the lake her white brow lifts
Above the waters. Now the third course came.
And now the Chamberlain a drop of wine
Outpouring into Mistress Rosa’s glass,
And pushing to his younger daughter’s hand
A plate of cucumbers, thus said, “ ’Tis I
Myself must serve you, daughters mine, although
I am but old and clumsy.” Hearing this,
Some youths from table sprang, and served the ladies.
The Judge a side glance cast at Thaddeus,
And setting right the cuffs of his kontusz,
Poured out the wine of Hungary, and said,
“To-day, by our new custom, we send out
Our youth to study in the capital;
Not grudging they should have more lore from books
Than had their elders, but I see each day
How much from this young men are suffering,
For lack of schools to teach our youth to live
With men, and in the world. In former times
Young nobles went unto the courts of lords.
Myself a Wojewode’s22 courtier was ten years,
The father of our gracious Chamberlain.”
This saying, he pressed his friend upon the knee.
“His counsels formed me for the public service,
His favour left me not till made a man.
In my house ever be his memory dear,
Each day I pray the Lord God for his soul.
If in his court so much I did not profit
As others, worthier of the Wojewode’s grace,
Who after reached the country’s highest places,
At least I reaped this profit; in my house
None can reproach me, that I ever fail
In honour or in courtesy to any;
And this I boldly say, that courtesy
Is not an easy, nor a little thing.
Not easy, for ’tis not comprised in this,
To deftly lift a leg, or to salute
No matter whom with smiles. Such modish court’sy
Seems merchant-like to me, but not Old Polish,
Nor noble. Courtesy belongs to all,
But unto each another sort. For not
Devoid of courtesy is children’s love,
Nor for his wife attentions of a husband,
Nor of a master for his servants; still
There is in each a certain difference;
And long a man must study not to err,
And give to each the honour that is due.
Our elders learned it from discourse of lords,
The living history of the country, and
’Mid noblemen the annals of the district.
Thereby a nobleman might show his brother
All knew him well, and did not lightly prize him;
So nobles held their manners under guard.
Ask not a man to-day, Who is he? Who
Has been his father? With whom has he lived?
What are his deeds? Each enters where he will,
So he is not a governmental spy,
And not in poverty. As once Vespasian
Sniffed not at money, and would not inquire
Whence came it, from what hands, and from what country,
So men ask not a man’s race, or his customs.
Enough he seems important, and they view
The stamp upon him; so they prize their friends,
As Jews do money.” Saying this, the Judge
Looked round in order on his guests, for though
He ever spake with fluency and judgment,
He knew young folks impatient now-a-days,
And that long speeches, though most eloquent,
Do weary them. But all in silence heard.
The Judge seemed with the Chamberlain to take
Counsel by glance of eye; the Chamberlain
Would not by praising interrupt, though oft
Assenting by a nod. The Judge was silent;
His friend still gave assent by beckoning.
The Judge filled up his goblet and his own,
And then continued: “Courtesy is not
A little thing; for when a man has learned
To estimate as is becoming birth,
Age, virtues, customs in all others, he
Perceiveth then his own weight; as on scales
If we would know our own, we first must lay
Some other weight upon the opposing scale.
But, gentlemen, now of your special heed
The courtesy is worthy, which young men
Do to the fair sex owe, especially
When houses’ greatness, fortune’s bounties more
Light up the charms and virtues nature gave.
Hence is the way to love, and marriage thence,
Magnificent allier of houses. Thus
Our elders thought, and therefore”—Here the Judge
With sudden turn of head to Thaddeus signed,
Threw a severe glance at him; as a sign
That he had reached the moral of his speech.

The Chamberlain his golden snuff-box tapped,
And said, “Good Judge, at one time ’twas far worse.
I do not know if we are changed by fashion,
We elder men, or if young men are better,
But now I see far less degeneracy.
I recollect the time, alas! when to
Our Fatherland French manners entered first.
When petty, foreign gentlemen, on sudden,
From stranger lands invaded us in hordes,
Worse than the Nogaj Tartars,23 persecuting
God in their country, their forefathers’ faith,
Their customs, laws, and even their ancient dress.
’Twas pitiful to see these dried-up youngsters,
Talking through noses, oft without their noses,
In brochures learnèd, and in the gazettes;
Proclaiming new beliefs, toilettes, and laws,
This rabble had great power upon men’s minds.
For when the Lord God lets chastisement loose
O’er nations, he bereaves them first of sense.24
And so the wisest dared not beard the fops;
And all the nation feared them like the plague,
Feeling disease’s germ within ev’n then.
They cried against the fashionable fops,
But took their pattern by them; changed their faith,
Their speech, their laws, their dress; it was indeed
A masquerade, a carnival of license,
For which a great fast followed—slavery.

“I recollect, although but then a child,
When to my father’s house in Oszmiana,
In a French chariot the Podczaszyc25 came,
The first in Litva who wore French costume,
And all pursued him as small birds a kite.26
The houses envied were, before whose threshold
The two-horse chaise in which he rode stood still,
Which in the French tongue they called cariole.
Instead of lackeys sat two dogs behind,
And on the box a great and ugly German,27
Thin as a plank, with long lean legs like hop-poles,
In stockings clad, and slippers silver-clasped,
And wig with queue tied up into a bag.
Seeing this equipage, the old men snorted
With laughter, and the peasants signed the cross,
And said that there was riding o’er the world
A Venice devil in a German car.
What the Podczaszyc was ’twere long to tell;
Enough to us he seemed an ape or parrot,
In a great peruke, that he loved to liken,
He to the golden fleece—we to the plica.28
If any one then felt our Polish dress
Was handsomer than aping foreign modes,
He dared not say so, lest the young men should
Cry out against it that it hindered culture,
It kept back progress, ’twas a treacherous thing;
Such was the power of that time’s prejudice.29

“Said the Podczaszyc that to reformate us,
He’d civilize and constitutionise us.30
He announced to us some Frenchmen eloquent
Had a discovery made, that men are equal;
Though in the law divine this long was writ,
And every priest from pulpit said the same.
Old was that knowledge; its fulfilment now
Concerned us; but at that time reigned such blindness,
That none believed the world’s most ancient things,
Unless they read them in a French gazette.
Despite equality, he took the title
Of Marquis; it is known that titles come
From Paris, and at that time there the title
Of Marquis was in fashion. So at last,
Soon as the fashion changed, this Marquis took
Title of Democrat; at length with change
Of fashion, when Napoleon reigned, the Democrat
Arrived from Paris as a Baron. Had he
Lived longer, with some other alteration,
He had rebaptized himself a Democrat.
For Paris glories in repeated change
Of fashion, and in what the French invent
The Pole delights. “Praise be to God that now
If our young men beyond the frontier pass,
’Tis not to seek for dress, or legislation
In shops of booksellers, or eloquence
To learn in Paris cafés. For Napoleon,
A prudent man and prompt, allows no time
To study fashions, or to chatter. Now
The sword resounds, and in us old men swell
Our hearts that once again the world is loud
With glory of the Poles. Now is there glory;
There will be therefore a Republic: since
From laurels ever blossoms Freedom’s tree.
Only ’tis sad, so many years drag on
For us, in idleness, and they still far!
So long to wait; even news so seldom comes.
Father Robak”31—in a lower tone he spoke
Unto the Bernardine—“I heard that you
Have news from that side Niemen; and perhaps
Your reverence knows something of our army?”
“No, nothing,” careless seeming answer made
The Bernardine; “I like not politics.
If I at times from Warsaw have a letter,
It is of things that but concern our Order,
Our Bernardine affairs, and wherefore talk
Of these at supper; all are laymen here,
Whom such affairs in no wise can concern.”

This saying, he looked askance where ’mid the feasters,
There sat one Russian guest, a Captain Rykow,
An ancient soldier, in the village near
He had been quartered. Him through courtesy
The Judge had asked to supper. Rykow ate
With appetite, scarce mingling in discourse;
But when they spoke of Warsaw, he rejoined,
Raising his head: “Fie! fie! Sir Chamberlain!
You are ever anxious about Bonaparte,
Always on Warsaw! what! your Fatherland!
I am no spy, yet understand I Polish.
Country! I feel all that! I understand it!
You are Poles, a Russian I; but now we fight not.
There’s now an armistice: we eat and drink
Together. Often on our outer posts
We chat with Frenchmen; and we drink our wódka32
Together—now hurrah! and cannons sound!
A Russian proverb says: ‘With whom I fight,
I love him.’—‘Love your wife like to your soul,
And beat her like your szuba.’33 I say we
Shall have a war. For Major Plut’s arrived;
The adjutant of staff came yesterday,
With orders to prepare to march. We march;
’Tis either on the Turks, or on the French.
That Bonaparte! perhaps he may out-trump us;
Without Suwarow. In our regiment they
Tell how as we were marching on the trench,
That Bonaparte used sorceries:34 well then,
Suwarow, too, used magic; so it was
A sorcery pitted against sorcery.
One day in fight—wherever was he gone?
They sought for Bonaparte; he had changed himself
Into a fox, and so Suwarow turned
Himself into a greyhound; Bonaparte
Again did change himself into a cat.
So on to tear each other with their claws!
Suwarow changed into an ass. Now you
Shall see what later came to Bonaparte.”
Rykow broke off, and ate: then came a servant
In with the fourth course, and the side doors oped,
And a new person entered, young and fair.
Her sudden coming, stature, and her beauty
And dress turned every eye: all welcomed her;
It seemed, excepting Thaddeus, all knew her.
A slender shape was hers, and beautiful;
And gown of a rich stuff, a rosy silk,
The neck cut low, lace collar, and short sleeves.
She twirled within her hand a fan—for pastime,
Since ’twas not hot—she waved the gilded fan,
And scattered round a plenteous rain of sparks.
Her locks were wreathed in twisted braids and curls,
With rosy ribbons intertwined; among them
A brilliant, nearly hidden from the eye,
Shone like a star among a comet’s tresses.
It was a gala dress, and not a few
Whispered it was too fine for country life,
And for a working day. The eye perceived not
Her little feet, although the robe was short
For very fast she ran, or rather glided,
Like those small figures, which upon the feast
Of the Three Kings boys push along on skates.
She ran, and with light court’sy welcomed each,
Endeavouring to reach her destined place.
’Twas hard, for chairs were placed not for the guests;
Upon four benches in four rows they sat.
The row must either move, or bench be crossed.
She glided cleverly between two benches,
And then between those sitting and the table
She spun around most like a billiard-ball.
In running past, she touched our young man close,
Her flounce entangling over some one’s knee.
She slipped a little, and in this divergence
She leaned upon the arm of Thaddeus.
She courteously asked pardon, and sat down
Between him and his uncle, but ate nought.
She only fanned herself, and twirled the fan;
Now set to rights her Flanders lace, and now
With the light touching of her hand caressed
Her curls of hair, and knots of ribbons bright.

’Twas just four minutes this distraction reigned,
And meanwhile at the table’s further end,
First stilly murmurs were; at length began
A half-aloud discourse; the men related
To-day’s chase. The Assessor with the Regent35
Contested obstinately, ever louder,
The quarrel of a certain crop-tailed greyhound,
In whose possession the Pan Regent gloried,
And held that he to-day had seized the hare.
But the Assessor proved in his despite
This glory ’longed unto his greyhound Sokol.36
They asked of others sentence; so all round
Took either Kusy’s37 part, or that of Sokol,
As connoisseurs, or else as witnesses.
At the other end the Judge to his new neighbour
Said in a whisper: “I am very sorry;
We had to sit down, ’twas impossible
To put the supper off to any later.
The guests were hungry; they’ve been far afield.”
This said, he with the Chamberlain discoursed
Of politics, in low tones, o’er the goblet.

While thus both table-sides were occupied,
Thaddeus gazed long upon the fair unknown.
He recollected now at the first glance
Upon the place he from the first had guessed
Whose seat it was to be; he blushed, and now
His heart with unaccustomed violence beat.
So all his secret riddles thus were solved!
So thus it was appointed, at his side
Should sit that loveliness in twilight seen!
’Twas true she now appeared of larger growth—
In full dress, dress both magnifies and lessens.
But why had one short locks and golden bright,
The other wreaths of long and raven braids?
That bright hue from the sunbeams was derived;
The sunset renders all things crimson bright.
He had not see her face, she fled too soon;
But thought evolves by guessing a fair face.
He thought she surely must have had black eyes,
A pale face, lips as red as cherries twin,
Since here he saw such eyes, and lips and cheeks.
In age perhaps was greatest difference;
The gardening nymph had seemed a little maid;
This lady was a woman grown in years.
But youth for beauty’s birth certificate
Doth never ask; all women to young men
Seem young, to boys each beauty doth appear
Of their own age, and to the innocent
Will every one beloved appear a maid.
Though Thaddeus numbered well-nigh twenty years,
And had from childhood dwelt in Wilna’s town,
He had a priest as tutor, who restrained him,
In strictest bonds of ancient discipline.
But Thaddeus from his parents had derived
A pure heart, lively spirit, innocent soul;
But yet of wilfulness had not a little.
He made a plan, at last he would enjoy
His long forbidden freedom, in the country.
He knew himself right handsome, strong and young;
Vigour and health he owned as heritage
His name Soplica;3839 the Soplicas all
As well is known are valiant, stout and strong;
First-rate as soldiers, but less skilled in learning.