But the Judge was caught up in the tale. The card
Remained above the tabletop unplayed
As the Judge listened quietly, riveted,
To the chagrin of the waiting Bernardine.
The story ended; the Judge, laying down the queen,
Said laughing:
“They can praise the civilization
Of Germans, or the Russians’ legislation.
Let the western Poles learn from the Krauts to sue
Over a fox, and have their men in blue
Arrest some hound for straying among their trees.
Out here, thank heaven, we have our olden ways.
There’s game enough for the neighbors and for us;
Lawsuits will always be superfluous.
We’ve grain aplenty too—we’ll not go wanting
If the dogs should trample on some springtime planting.
I forbid hunting on the peasants’ land.”
From the other room, the overseer said: “Understand,
Sir, you pay dearly for that kind of game.
The peasants are glad of it when they can claim
A dog’s been in their field: they lose a stalk
Or two, you give them a whole haystack back
And slip them a silver coin additionally.
They’ll get too cocky, sir, if you ask me,
Unless…”
But the Judge missed how the warning ended,
Since now the two discussions had expanded
Into a dozen noisy anecdotes,
Exchanges, tales—and in the end, disputes.
Tadeusz and Telimena, left aside,
Found one another. She was gratified
Her story had amused him; in response
The young man paid her numerous compliments.
Telimena spoke ever slower, quieter.
Tadeusz, feigning that he couldn’t hear
In all the hurly-burly, leaned so close
He felt her skin’s sweet warmth against his face.
He held his breath; his lips could sense her sighs,
His gaze imbibed the radiance of her eyes.
Suddenly, between them there appeared a fly;
At once the Warden’s swatter darted by.
In Lithuania flies of all kinds abound.
One species in particular is found:
The Noble. In shape and hue they’re like the rest,
But with a bigger belly and fuller breast.
They buzz infernally when they’re on the wing;
They’ll break a spider’s web, they are so strong,
Or if they’re caught they’ll buzz for three days straight—
The spiders know they’ll give good as they get.
The Warden had probed all this; plus, he maintained
That noble flies produce a smaller kind—
That they are like queen bees to lesser flies
And when they’re killed, with them the whole race dies.
True, neither the overseer’s wife, nor the local priest
Believed the Warden’s theory; they expressed
Other ideas on flies and their origin.
The Warden, though, kept up his old routine.
The second he saw a noble fly, he chased it.
He’d heard one now, swiped at it twice and missed it,
To his surprise; he swung at it again
So hard he almost smashed a windowpane.
The fly, dazed by the fuss, and seeing retreat
Blocked by two figures in the doorway, shot
Between their faces in its urgency.
The Warden’s swatter followed instantly.
The blow was so sharp, they jerked away from it
Like two halves of a tree that lightning’s split.
Both knocked their ears so hard in their confusion
That each was left with a visible contusion.
Luckily, no one had seen. The conversation—
Noisy and spirited, but in moderation—
Had ended in a sudden hullabaloo,
The way it happens when hunters will pursue
A fox into the woods—you’ll hear no more
Than barks, a shot, snapped branches—then a boar
Is chanced on, and men and hounds set up a yammering
As if the very trees themselves were clamoring.
A conversation’s similar—it’s unrushed
Till a great topic, like a boar, is flushed.
The ‘boar’ this time was the stubborn enmity
Between the Assessor and the Notary
Concerning their hounds. In the twinkling of an eye
They’d swapped so many insults, they’d passed by
The first three stages of a normal spat:
Jibes, anger, challenges; fists would follow that.
To hold them back, the other party leapt up
And poured through the doorway; on their way they swept up
The young pair who’d been on the threshold, placed
Between two rooms like Janus the double-faced.
Before the two could rearrange their hair
The ominous sounds subsided; here and there
Whispers and laughs were heard. There’d come a truce.
The friar had arranged this armistice.
Though old, he was a sturdy, thickset chap;
The moment the Assessor had run up
To the Notary, their factions waving fists,
The monk had collared both antagonists
And cracked their heads together forcefully
Two times, like Easter eggs; then, quick as can be
He spread his arms like signposts; in this manner
Each man was flung into a different corner.
He kept his arms out briefly and then cried:
“Pax, pax vobiscum—peace be with each side!”
Both camps were shocked; some in them even laughed.
Out of respect for Robak’s priestly craft
None dared complain; they saw that they’d be daft
To quarrel with him after what they’d seen.
The monk in turn, soon as he’d calmed the men,
Was done. He didn’t crow, or huff and puff;
He showed no need to tell the squabblers off.
Adjusting his hood, he simply left the room,
Hands meekly tucked inside his belt.
Meantime
The Chamberlain and the Judge stood back to back
Between the two groups. The Warden snapped awake
Out of his trance, and stepped into the center.
His fiery gaze surveyed those gathered there.
Where noise kept up, his swatter waved in air
Like a priest’s sprinkler, cutting the culprit off.
Then, raising the handle like a marshal’s staff,
He imposed silence with a solemn stare.
“Calm down! Calm down!” he said. “Are you aware,
You two—the leading hunters in these parts—
What your vile quarrel will lead to once it starts?
I’ll tell you: young men, the country’s hope, who should
Bring glory to every wilderness and wood,
Yet who’ve neglected hunting as it is,
Will find more reason still to scorn the chase
When those who ought to set a precedent
Do nothing but scrap and bicker when they hunt.
Have due respect as well for my gray hair.
I have known hunters greater than you by far;
Among them I often had to arbitrate.
In Lithuania’s woods, who could compete
With Rejtan? In the battue or facing the kill,
Białopiotrowicz was incomparable.
> Żegota from a moving horse could hit
A hare—today who wields a gun like that?
Or Terajewicz too, who used to like
To hunt for boar with nothing but a pike!
Burdewicz wrestled bears with his own hands.
Such first-rate men once hunted on these lands.
In case of dispute, how did they settle it?
Well, they’d pick judges and they’d make a bet.
Ogiński once lost miles of woods in a wager
Over a wolf; ten villages a badger
Cost Niesiołowski! Gentlemen, do the same—
Although perhaps with lower stakes than them.
Talk is cheap, and wars of words are endless;
Arguing over a hare is simply mindless.
So choose your arbitrators first, and trust
To any outcome they decide is just.
I’ll ask the Judge to give the men free rein
To ride where needed, even if that should mean
Into the wheat. He will agree, I know it.”
He patted the Judge’s knee as if to show it.
“I’ll stake a horse and tack!” cried the Notary.
“Plus, I’ll donate the arbitrator’s fee—
This ring I’ll gift him with a legal deed.”
“My gold dog collars,” the Assessor said,
“Bound in shagreen, with golden rings, I’ll bet—
With their silk leash, its art as exquisite
As the bright jewel that graces it. I had
Meant these things for my children, if I’d wed.
They were a gift from Prince Dominik once
When we went hunting, he and I, and Prince
Sanguszko the Marshal, and General Mejen too.
I’d challenged them all at hounds. It was a coup
Unknown in hunting history—my catch
Was six hares, taken by a single bitch.
Our hunt was near Kupiszki; at some point
Young Prince Dominik needed to dismount.
He fondled my famous she-hound—‘Kite,’ she was.
Three times he gave her head a tender kiss
Then patting her three times, he said to her:
‘I dub you Duchess Kupiszki.’ The Emperor
Napoleon gives his generals dukedoms thus,
Named for wherever they were victorious.”
Telimena, bored by all this rivalry,
Thought to go out, but wanted company.
Taking a basket off a peg, she said:
“Gentlemen, I see you’d rather stay inside.
I’m going to hunt for mushrooms. One and all
Can join me.” Donning her dark red cashmere shawl
She took the Chamberlain’s daughter’s arm politely
And turned her dress up at the ankle slightly.
Tadeusz scuttled after, wordlessly.
The Judge saw that the outing was a way
To stop folks getting too obstreperous.
“Good gentlemen,” he cried, “mushrooms it is!
Who brings the finest milk cap back can sit
By the loveliest girl at dinner—I’ll see to it.
Or if a lady finds it, then she can
Sit by the handsomest young gentleman.”
Book III: Flirtations
The Count’s expedition into the orchard –
A mysterious nymph minding the geese –
How mushroom pickers resemble Elysian shades –
Species of mushrooms – Telimena in the Temple of Reverie –
A discussion about Tadeusz’s future –
The Count as landscape artist –
Tadeusz’s artistic remarks about trees and clouds –
The Count’s thoughts on art – A bell – A note –
Sir, there’s a bear!
On his ride home, the Count kept slowing—pausing—
Turning back to the garden—gazing and gazing.
He thought in an upstairs window he caught sight
Of that mysterious dress—saw something white
Come fluttering down and leave the house, and fly
Across the yard in the twinkling of an eye
Then flit about by the lush cucumber bed
As a sunbeam, creeping from behind a cloud,
Will light a shard of flint in the soil, or glitter
Across the top of some far patch of water.
The Count dismounted, sent his servants home
And tiptoed stealthily back the way he’d come.
Squeezing through a small gap in the fence, he crawled
Into the garden like a wolf into the fold.
By accident he brushed against a whirl
Of old dry gooseberry plants. The gardener girl
Looked up in fright; though nothing seemed amiss
She fled across the garden just in case.
Amid huge dock leaves, on his hands and knees
Or hopping like a frog, by small degrees
The Count crept closer, till, peering from under
A burdock stalk, he saw a thing of wonder.
Here in the garden, under a cherry tree
Or two, were crops that were mingled purposely:
Wheat, corn, beans, barley with its whiskery hair,
Peas, millet—even shrubs and flowers grew there.
This special plot for poultry had been created
By a butler’s wife—a matron celebrated
All over; Klukski was her name (née Henskiewicz).
Her concept brought new thinking then
To household husbandry; of course today
It’s commonly known, but once was a novelty
Adopted in secret by a chosen few,
Till it was published in the Almanac as New
Solutions to Hawks and Kites: An Innovation
In Poultry-Rearing—this place was its foundation.
Picture the rooster: motionless, vigilant,
Beak elevated, combed head held aslant
The better to turn an eye toward the sky.
The second that he spots a hawk on high
He’ll raise the alarum, causing a stampede
Of chickens, and geese, and peafowl—all in need
Of refuge in the garden—doves too, querulous
Now that their rooftop perch is rendered perilous.
Today the heavens were void of enemies—
Of all but the summer sun’s outrageous blaze.
The grain gave several birds a shady roost
While others sat on the grass, or bathed in dust.
Amid the birds’ heads, human heads were there—
Bare to the sun, small, with short flaxen hair,
Uncovered necks and shoulders; and among them
A long-haired girl a whole head taller than them.
Beyond the little ones a peacock stood,
Its tail a colored rainbow splash, outspread
To make a gorgeous background blue and bright
For all the small blond heads; they took on light,
Ringed as they were with peacock eyes that seemed
Like garlands strung with stars, and each head gleamed
Like a magic lantern slide amid the yellow
Of cornstalks, coral-pink mercury, green mallow
And blades of silver-striped canary grass;
The shapes and colors mingled there crisscross
Like gold and silver trelliswork. The breeze
Set it all swaying like the finest gauze.
Above the bright-hued snarl of shoots, stems, sprays,
There hung like a baldachin a close-knit haze
Of dragonflies. Their four wings float in air—
Transparent as glass, weightless as gossamer,
<
br /> Almost invisible; though they produce
A buzzing sound, you’d swear they’re motionless.
The girl held in her hand a tufted thing
Like a swaying ostrich feather. Brandishing
This object, she dispelled the golden swarm
Of dragonflies from the children’s heads. Held firm
In her other hand was something bright and hard—
Something for feeding children, it appeared,
For she placed it to each little mouth in turn.
It had the shape of Amalthea’s horn.
Thus busy, still she turned her head to where
The gooseberry bush had rustled—unaware
That the intruder had by now drawn close
The other way, slipping snakelike through the grass.
Suddenly: out he popped. She looked—he stood
Four rows away, in the burdock leaves. He bowed.
She turned away, she raised her arms, and—poof!—
Just like a startled jaybird, she flew off,
Her light feet flitting over leaves and gravel.
But the children, panicked by the new arrival
And the girl’s flight, set up an awful wailing.
She realized it would be a serious failing
To leave the frightened children all alone,
So—reluctantly—she did what must be done,
Came back to them, like an unwilling ghost
Drawn by a spell. The child crying the most
She took on her lap; she stroked another’s hair
Till they calmed down, their tiny hands secure
Around her knees. Hearing her gentle words,
They pressed their heads to her like little birds
Under their mother’s wing. “Is it nice,” she said,
“To wail so? The gentleman will be afraid.
He doesn’t frighten us—he’s no scarecrow, see?
He’s our fine guest—as handsome as can be.”
She herself looked. He gave a friendly smile,
Visibly grateful that she spoke so well
Of him. She saw, fell silent, lowered her eyes
And went as red as the reddest rose there is.
He was indeed handsome—of imposing height,
With an oval face, his cheeks healthy yet white,
Mild, deep blue eyes, and long flowing fair hair
In which the leaves and grass blades—gathered there
As he’d approached, trying to stay unseen—
Looked like a disheveled wreath of green.
Said he: “Whatever name you should be given—
Be it shade or specter, nymph or thing of heaven—
Speak! Were you brought to earth of your free will,
Or does another’s power keep you here still?
Pan Tadeusz Page 8