Pan Tadeusz

by Adam Mickiewicz

  Pan Tadeusz has long held a special place in Polish hearts. When I lived in Poland in the 1980s, whenever the book came up in conversation people would recite passages from it – favorites were Jankiel’s concert, and also the Warden’s playing of the bison horn after the hunt in Book IV. In the popular imagination the book captures “Polishness” in a way no other single work has seemed to do. Its celebration of tradition, its emphasis on values such as hospitality, patriotism, and solidarity, and even its gentle humor, resonated throughout the upheavals of the 1800s (a second failed uprising was to take place in 1863–1864), and Mickiewicz’s own dedication to the cause of national independence seemed to encourage a patriotic reading of the text. Its anti-tsarist (though not anti-Russian) slant, in turn, spoke to Poles living under Soviet-imposed communism in the next century. There is no doubt that such a fortifying of patriotic hearts was an important part of what Mickiewicz was aiming to do.

  Yet at the same time there are other, often darker dimensions to Pan Tadeusz. Mickiewicz’s portrait of the Poles is not always flattering: the “troublemaking, hanging-happy hellions” who participate in the foray are colorful but disturbing figures, violent, truculent, and locked in decades-old vendettas and resentments. Even the more positive characters like the Judge are not without their weaknesses, including the same vengefulness as that demonstrated by the Dobrzyńskis. In addition to this, Mickiewicz has chosen to write of a hopeful moment readers knew to have been followed by disaster; the fact that alliance with Napoleonic France did nothing to further the goal of Polish independence was a fresh and painful wound that had just been reopened by the failed 1830 uprising.

  Furthermore, the atmosphere of nostalgia that bathes the entire work – a longing made more powerful, surely, by the fact that it looks back only twenty-some years to a time that most of its readers would have been able to remember – is tinged with a melancholy that belies the optimistic talk of Poland’s future. Perhaps one of the reasons Pan Tadeusz is so popular is precisely that it beautifully melds two impossible longings – for a future free and independent Poland, and for the lost Poland of the past. The interplay between these two unslaked desires provides a mighty emotional tension at the heart of the poem.

  In presenting this translation, I must address a further question: What is Pan Tadeusz, what can it be, for English-language readers of the twenty-first century?

  I undertook this translation out of conviction that Pan Tadeusz is fundamentally an accessible poem for twenty-first-century non-Polish readers. It’s witty, lyrical, ironic, nostalgic in ways that seem to me quite transparent and universal. It offers a cast of memorable characters: a significant part of the poem comprises dialogue, often the best way to convey the individuality of characters in a work of literature. Its plots – love intrigues, family feuds, political conspiracies aimed at independence – are compelling and comprehensible. Both as novel and as epic, the work lies open to contemporary readers. Poles themselves frequently complain that their literary tradition is hermetic. This is certainly true of many works of Polish literature, but Pan Tadeusz is not one of them.

  From my own perspective, though, Pan Tadeusz is above all else a poem. What first drew me to this work was the astonishing beauty of its language. Mickiewicz’s Polish is extraordinarily direct, straightforward, unsullied by needless embellishment. Yet it is also rich, expressive, supple. His story is engaging because his language is engaging; it is plausible because his characters speak plausibly. A major part of the pleasure of reading Pan Tadeusz is Mickiewicz’s endless linguistic inventiveness, playfulness, and the sheer range of his capacity for emotional expression.

  It is, of course, precisely for this reason that Pan Tadeusz represents such a tremendous challenge to the translator. Despite these difficulties (or perhaps because of them), many before me have undertaken to translate the poem, and I wish to acknowledge their labors here – especially the prose rendering by George Rapall Noyes from 1917, and the rhymed versions by Watson Kirkconnell (1962) and Kenneth Mackenzie (1964). In my career as a translator I’ve generally steered clear of re-translation: I’ve preferred to spend my time on good literature that has never previously been translated and deserves to be made available in English. Yet I made an exception for Pan Tadeusz, since I felt that even the best rhyming translations – those of Mackenzie and Kirkconnell – are still firmly rooted in 19th-century diction (as reimagined in the 20th century). I wanted to attempt a translation that could be read fluently and pleasurably by 21st century English-language readers. To this end, I avoided archaisms, including syntactic inversions and other “old-fashioned” grammar (thees and thous and so on), along with a host of words and word forms that, though I would have loved to use them for the sheer pleasure of doing so, were out of place in my translation: ’tween and ’twixt and ’twas; raiment, morn, goodly; oft, ire, knave, greensward; withal and fain and hearken; and many more.

  Mickiewicz’s poem was written in rhyming couplets using the traditional Polish thirteen-syllable line, which has a caesura after the seventh syllable. There is no regularity of stressed and unstressed syllables; this gives the writer great suppleness in modulating the cadence of each line and each sentence. I chose to use the equally traditional English iambic pentameter, but to do so loosely, so as to try and capture some of the flexibility. I also used half-rhymes along with full rhymes, since unrelieved full rhyming, like over-regular rhythm, often lends a text an unwelcome sing-song effect. My translation matches the original line for line. In other aspects too I have followed the Polish closely – for the Epilogue, which in Polish has a shorter, eleven-syllable line and less regular rhyming, I’ve switched to a loose iambic tetrameter and a comparable rhyme scheme; in Book X, in which Jacek’s feverish state is reflected in his language by lines that break off and do not rhyme, I’ve done the same thing. There are even two isolated lines (Book II, l. 772 and Book V, l. 402) that Mickiewicz left unrhymed; I’ve followed suit. My one conscious additional contribution has been the occasional use of dactylic rhymes, which aren’t available in Polish but which I feel Mickiewicz would have appreciated in English – thus, from time to time there is glimmering/shimmering, annuity/perpetuity, and so on.

  One choice that I need to comment on explicitly is that of the title. “Pan” in Polish means “gentleman,” “master,” “lord,” “sir,” “Mr.,” and a few other related things. Thus “Pan Tadeusz” means “Mister Tadeusz” or, given Tadeusz’s relative youth, “Master Tadeusz.” Tadeusz, in turn, is the Polish equivalent of Thaddeus, the name of one of the disciples; it is still a common given name in Poland. Like several previous translators, I’ve chosen to retain the Polish title, since it is familiar to many readers, including those who do not know Polish, and to my ear it sounds better than, for example, “Master Tadeusz.” It’s also the case that we commonly refer to other epic poems and books by their original title, or an anglicized version of it, even though technically it could be translated: for example Don Quixote (which actually means “Sir Thigh-Plate”), the Kalevala, or the Lusiads.

  This is not a scholarly edition, but I have included some notes to help with certain historical and cultural references. In addition, unusually for a work of the early nineteenth century, Mickiewicz included his own notes to the poem – often, as I mentioned above, to explain regional details to a more remote Polish-speaking readership. His notes are also included here, and I encourage you to make use of them. By and large, though, it’s my great hope that the text can stand on its own. Innumerable Poles I’ve spoken to have told me that their appreciation of Pan Tadeusz was initially severely hampered by its inclusion in school literature syllabuses. For many, it was Andrzej Wajda’s film version, released in 1999, that caused them to turn back to the book and discover it anew. Once they picked it up and read it, not as a set text to study and analyze, but simply for pleasure, they were enthralled by its story, by the beauty of its language, its humor, its startling immediacy. English-language readers, u
nhampered by such educational traumas, in this respect have the advantage over Poles – they can approach Pan Tadeusz without preconceived expectations. I hope that, like me, they will find this book accessible, enjoyable, amusing, enthralling – and much more besides.

  Bloomington, Indiana

  May 2017

  A Guide to Polish Pronunciation

  I’m one of those readers who like to be able to pronounce the names of people and places I’m reading about. If you don’t share this predilection, feel free to ignore this guide.

  Polish words are always stressed on the second-to-last syllable.

  There are eight vowels:

  a –

  like a in father

  e –

  like e in get

  i –

  like ee in meet

  o –

  like o in British English got

  ó and u –

  like oo in mood

  y –

  like i in bit

  ą –

  depending on the letters that follow, it can be “om,” “on,” or a nasal o a bit like French bon

  ę –

  depending on the letters that follow, it can be “em,” “en,” or a nasal e a bit like French vin

  Consonants are pronounced approximately as in English, with a few exceptions:

  c –

  ts as in bits

  g –

  g as in get, never as in germ

  j –

  y as in yet

  ł –

  w as in wit

  ń –

  Spanish ñ as in mañana

  w –

  v as in very

  h and ch –

  ch as in Scottish loch or German Bach; this sound is often transliterated as kh

  cz, ć, ci –

  ch as in cheat (very approximately) (ci before a consonant is “chee”)

  sz, ś, si –

  sh in sheet (ditto) (si before a consonant is “shee”)

  rz, ż, ź, zi –

  zh as in leisure and vision (again, very approximately) (zi before a consonant is zhee)

  Thus some of the names encountered frequently in Pan Tadeusz can be rendered as follows, with the stressed syllable in capitals:

  Tadeusz: tah – DEH – oosh

  Zosia: ZOH – sha

  Telimena: teh – lee- MEH - nah

  Soplica: soh – PLEE – tsa

  Horeszko: hoh – RESH – koh

  Robak: ROH – bak

  Jacek: YAH – tsek

  Jankiel: YAHN – kyel

  Protazy: proh – TAH – zee

  Gerwazy: ger – VAH – zee

  Maciej: MAH – chey

  Dobrzyński: dob – ZHIN – skee

  Soplicowo: soh – plee – TSOH – voh

  Dobrzyn: DOB – zhin

  Półkozic: poow – KOH – zheets

  Dąbrowski: dom – BROHV – skee

  Kościuszko: kosh – CHOOSH – koh

  Mickiewicz: meets – KYEH – veech

  List of Major Characters

  PAN TADEUSZ: a young man who has just returned to the country after completing his studies in Vilna

  JUDGE SOPLICA: Tadeusz’s uncle, owner of Soplicowo, a gentry estate where most of the action takes place

  JACEK SOPLICA: Tadeusz’s father and the Judge’s brother; a former local troublemaker rumored to have died abroad some years ago

  TELIMENA: a relative of the Judge, also related to the Count; Zosia’s guardian

  ZOSIA (or more formally ZOFIA): granddaughter of the late Pantler; raised by Telimena, though her upbringing was partly paid for by Jacek Soplica

  FATHER ROBAK: a Bernardine monk

  THE CHAMBERLAIN: the doyen of the Judge’s circle of eminent local guests

  THE WARDEN: a permanent house guest of the Judge’s

  PROTAZY THE BAILIFF: a retired court official who acts as the Judge’s butler

  ASSESSOR AND NOTARY: local officials and hunting enthusiasts

  PANTLER HORESZKO: a magnate, former owner of the castle, who was shot and killed by Jacek Soplica almost twenty years before the story begins

  THE COUNT: a wealthy nobleman and distant relative of the Pantler

  GERWAZY THE STEWARD: the Pantler’s former servant

  MACIEJ DOBRZYŃSKI: leader of an impoverished clan of Polish gentry living in the settlement of Dobrzyn. Other Dobrzyńskis include the fighters known as Sprinkler or Baptist; Razor; and Watering Can

  MAJOR PLUT: a russified Pole who commands the local Russian army garrison

  CAPTAIN RYKOV: his Russian second-in-command

  GENERAL HENRYK DĄBROWSKI: a real-life historical figure, who raised Polish legions in Italy and led Polish units in various Napoleonic campaigns

  PAN TADEUSZ

  Book I: The Estate

  Return of the young master – A meeting, first in the little room,

  then at table – The Judge’s important teachings about courtesy –

  The Chamberlain’s political remarks on fashion –

  The start of the quarrel over Bobtail and Falcon –

  The Warden’s complaints – The last High Court Bailiff –

  A glance at the political situation

  of Lithuania and Europe at the time

  Lithuania! My homeland! You are health alone.

  Your worth can only ever be known by one

  Who’s lost you. Today I see and tell anew

  Your lovely beauty, as I long for you.

  Our Lady! You safeguard Częstochowa; shine

  In Ostra Brama; shield the castled town

  Of Nowogródek and the faithful there!

  When I was small and placed into your care

  By my poor weeping mother, wondrously

  You cured me. Opening a lifeless eye,

  I could at once walk to your temple door

  To thank the Lord that I would live once more.

  You’ll bring us back by such a miracle

  To the Homeland. Meanwhile, transport my yearning soul

  Back to those wooded hills, those meadows wide

  And green, that line the pale blue Niemen’s side;

  Those fields adorned with many-colored grain

  Where golden wheat and silvery rye both shine,

  Where clover with its maidenly red blush,

  White duckwheat, and amber rapeseed all grow lush,

  Ribboned round by a green field boundary where

  A tranquil pear tree nestles here and there.

  Some years ago, amid such fields, in a stand

  Of birch trees by a stream, on higher ground

  A manor stood—wood-built, though with a stone

  Foundation. Whitewashed walls from far off shone—

  The brighter beside the dark green poplar trees

  That screened it in autumn from the gusty breeze.

  The house, though rather small, was spick-and-span;

  By the large barn, three stacks of surplus grain

  That couldn’t fit inside, lay piled up: here

  The local soil was fertile, it was clear.

  The haycocks strewing the fields so densely, shining

 
Like stars; the many plows already turning

  The numerous fallow fields (the manor’s, no doubt)

  With their black earth, all tidily laid out

  Like a market garden—everything showed the place

  Was well administered and prosperous.

  The ever-open gate told those who passed

  That the home was welcoming to any guest.

  Right now a young man had just driven in

  In a two-horse britzka; circling round the lawn

  He stopped, got out. The horses, left there, ate

  The grass and slowly strayed toward the gate.

  The manor was empty—the veranda door

  Was latched shut with a peg. The traveler

  Did not cross to the farm to ask someone

  But, eager to see the house, simply burst in.

  He’d long been gone in the city far away,

  For his studies; now they were over finally.

  He ran in; gazed at every ancient wall

  Tenderly, as if at long-lost friends; saw all

  The same wall hangings, the same furniture,

  As when he was a child—though, as it were,

  Smaller and plainer than they’d seemed back then.

  The portraits too still hung there—here was seen

  Kościuszko in his Kraków coat, his sword

  Held in both hands, his eyes raised heavenward

  As he’d knelt at altars, swearing that with this steel

  He’d drive out all three powers from Polish soil

  Or die there himself. Next there is Rejtan, dressed

  In old Polish style, aghast now freedom’s lost;