Pan Tadeusz

by Adam Mickiewicz

  Going home, this noble took a ferry which,

  Strangely, Dowejko also chanced to catch.

  Crossing, the nobleman asked his neighbor: ‘Sir,

  Your name?’ ‘Dowejko,’ said that passenger.

  The man whipped out his blade and trimmed Dowejko’s

  Mustache, although it should have been Domejko’s.

  “To cap it all, both of the like-named men

  Happened to be on a hunting party when,

  Standing together close as close can be,

  Both shot a she-bear simultaneously.

  Admittedly, the creature then dropped dead,

  But in it already were ten balls of lead,

  And many had guns of the same caliber.

  Who’d killed the bear? How could they know for sure?

  “The two men cried: ‘Enough! This has to end.

  God or the devil joined us; let’s be unjoined.

  The world needs two of us like it needs two suns!’

  A duel with sabers was arranged at once.

  Both men were honorable; when others sought

  To mollify them, all the more they fought.

  Switching from swords to guns, they faced each other.

  We cried: ‘You’re standing much too close together!’

  From spite, they swore that each would take his post

  Across the bear’s skin—barrel to barrel almost.

  Both were good shots—death beckoned. ‘Second, rule!’

  ‘Fine,’ I declared. ‘Have the sexton dig a hole:

  This quarrel won’t end well, that much is plain.

  But fight like nobles, not like slaughtermen.

  By coming here you’ve proved your courage, truly.

  But placing your barrels on each other’s belly?

  I won’t allow it. To pistols I’ll say yes.

  The distance, though, must be no more nor less

  Than a bearskin’s length. In my capacity

  As second, I’ll lay the skin down personally

  And tell you where to stand: you at the head,

  Sir; you, sir, at the tail. ‘Agreed!’ they said.

  ‘The time?’ ‘Tomorrow.’ ‘The place?’ ‘The Usza Inn.’

  They left; I took my Virgil up again.”

  A cry of “tally-ho!” broke off the tale.

  A hare had been flushed, and bounding on its trail

  Were Bobtail and Falcon, brought along in case—

  On the way back—there might be hares to chase.

  Trotting beside the horses, neither one leashed,

  Soon as the beast was spotted, off they’d rushed

  Of their own will. Their masters would have ridden

  After them, but the Warden said: “Forbidden!

  I order you to stay and watch from here—

  The hare’s on open ground, the view is clear.”

  Indeed the hare, ears cocked like horns, had smelled

  The hunt behind it, and had crossed a field,

  Its body long and gray against the soil,

  Its feet like rods that seemed bizarrely still

  And merely touched the surface of the land

  As a swallow’s wings will kiss against a pond.

  Behind it was dust; behind that, dogs; the men

  Who watched saw hare and dust and dogs as one,

  As if a snake were slithering by: the hare

  Its head, the dust its neck dark blue and bare,

  The dogs a twin tail flicking here and there.

  Assessor and Notary looked on enthralled,

  Breathless, their mouths agape. Then one man paled,

  The other too. The matter was ill-starred:

  The snake was growing in length with every yard.

  It split in two; its neck of dust was dragging,

  Its head was near the woods, its tail was lagging!

  The head gave one last shake, then glanced behind

  And vanished in the wood; the tail remained.

  The poor dogs, baffled, ran up to the trees,

  Seemed to confer, swap animosities.

  They finally returned by the same track,

  Ears drooping, tails between their legs; once back

  They couldn’t raise their eyes from shame, and stayed

  Apart, instead of at their masters’ side.

  The Notary’s eyes dropped glumly to the ground,

  While the Assessor looked ahead and frowned.

  Both started explaining: how the dogs, it’s true,

  Weren’t used to being off the leash; how too

  The hare had sprung from nowhere; how hard it was

  To run on fields—they would have needed shoes,

  There were so many rocks and jagged shards.

  These seasoned hunters spoke sagacious words;

  The others could have learned a great deal, clearly.

  They only half-listened though; some whistled merely,

  Some laughed out loud; while others still, reminded

  Of the bear, spoke of the hunt that had just ended.

  The Warden had barely given the hare a glance;

  After it fled, he turned away at once

  And picked up his tale:

  “Where was I now? That’s right:

  I took the two men at their word: They’d fight

  Across a bearskin. The other nobles wailed:

  ‘It’s certain death at such close range!’ I smiled—

  I’d learned from my friend Maro to my pleasure

  That a beast’s skin is not a normal measure.

  Queen Dido, as you know, good gentlemen,

  Sailed to the Libyans, from whom she won

  The hard-earned right to own a piece of land

  That could be covered by an oxhide. And

  Upon that land rose Carthage in its glory!

  I spent the night reflecting on this story.

  “As dawn broke, in a carriage came Dowejko

  From one side; from the other rode Domejko.

  They found the bearskin cut in strips and tied

  To make a shaggy bridge extending wide

  Across the river. I made Dowejko stand

  At the tail, Domejko at the other end.

  ‘Shoot all you want to now,’ I said, ‘but I’ll

  Not let you go until you reconcile.’

  They fumed; but the others laughed until they cried.

  The priest and I read solemn words aloud

  From the Gospel and the law books; finally

  They laughed as well, and came to harmony.

  “Later, the two of them were friends for life:

  One took the other’s sister for his wife,

  The second wed the first one’s sister too.

  They split their wealth in two without ado,

  And where the strange event had happened, there

  They built a tavern, naming it ‘The Bear.’”

  Book V: The Quarrel

  Telimena’s hunting plans – The gardener girl

  gets ready for society and listens to her guardian’s advice –

  The hunters return – Tadeusz’s astonishment –

  A second meeting in the Temple of Reverie, and a truce mediated by ants

  – At the dinner table hunting is discussed –

  The Warden’s story of Rejtan and Prince de Nassau, interrupted –

  The start of negotiations between the parties, also interrupted –

  A specter with a key – The quarrel –

  The Count and Gerwazy hold a war council

  The Warden’s returning from his gloried chase,

  While Telimena in the empty house

  Begins her hunting. True, she sits, contained,

  Arms folded, on her couch; but in h
er mind

  She tracks two creatures, seeking the best path

  To cut off their retreat and snag them both:

  The Count and Tadeusz. The Count is young, it’s true,

  Scion of a great line—good-looking too;

  A little in love—but that could be temporary.

  Plus—is his love real? And will he wish to marry

  One somewhat older, in a straitened way?

  Will his family let him? What will others say?

  While thinking, she stands and rises on her toes,

  Seeming to grow. Now, loosening her blouse

  And leaning to one side so she can see,

  Once more she eyes herself attentively,

  Asking the mirror what it thinks; and then

  Lowers her gaze, and sighs, and sits again.

  Rich men like the Count have a fickle appetite!

  The Count was blond—blonds aren’t so passionate!

  Tadeusz, though, was a simple fellow—decent,

  But almost a child! His first-time love was recent,

  Yet he was partly bound to her already.

  Kept close, in those first ties he would prove steady—

  In thought young men will change, but in emotion

  They’re firmer than older men in their devotion.

  A young man’s pure and grateful heart long treasures

  Its first encounter with love’s wondrous pleasures.

  He’s glad when joys arrive, glad when they go,

  Like a small feast shared with someone we know.

  Only a chronic drunkard, innards wrecked,

  Is sickened when served more than he might expect.

  Telimena knew this well—for she combined

  Broad experience with a nimble mind.

  But what would people say? One could lie low,

  Live in seclusion—or better yet, just go,

  Move somewhere else entirely, out of the way—

  Pay a short visit to the capital, say,

  Show the young man the big wide world outside,

  Advise him, shape his heart and be his guide,

  Have him as friend, as brother! And as well

  Enjoy the world while age permits it still!

  As she reflected, she strode up and down,

  Bold, cheerful—then lapsed into thought again.

  The young Count’s future should be thought of too—

  Could she arrange a match with Zosia? True,

  She wasn’t rich, but was of equal blood—

  The daughter of a senator and voivode.

  If such a thing came off, in years to come

  Telimena could find refuge in their home.

  In her twin role as matchmaker and aunt

  She’d be like a mother to Zosia and the Count.

  After this resolute inner talk, she cried

  To Zosia, busy in the yard outside.

  Dressed in her morning clothes, her blond head bare,

  A sieve held in her hands, Zosia stood there

  While the poultry flocked to her: all in a cluster

  Came bristling chickens, followed by a rooster,

  Its helmet crest of coral-pink ashake,

  Maneuvering with its wings through furrow and brake,

  Its spur-clad heels splayed wide. Behind it, muttering

  About its noisy mate’s excessive fluttering,

  A puffed-up turkey sauntered up. Elsewhere

  Were peafowl, using their long tails to steer

  Raftlike across the meadow; a silvery dove

  Dropped now and then like a snowburst from above.

  The circle that the birds formed—clamorous,

  Exuberant—drew closer across the grass.

  A ring of doves like a white ribbon tied it,

  While stripes and spots and stars spangled inside it.

  Here amber beaks, there coral combs would move

  In the feathery mass like fish beneath a wave.

  Necks reached in languid motion to the skies

  And swayed like water-lilies; a thousand eyes

  Glittered like stars toward where Zosia was.

  Towering above the throng of birds she rose,

  Light-skinned herself, and dressed in white; her head

  Turned like a fountain in a flower bed.

  Dipping a hand itself pale white and pearly

  Into her sieve, she scattered pearls of barley

  On heads and wings. This grain was loved by the gentry,

  Who in these parts would keep it in their pantry

  For making soup. Zosia, in pinching some,

  Had caused the steward’s budget untold harm.

  She heard a voice: “Zosia!” It was her aunt!

  She scattered the last remaining nourishment

  Then, turning her sieve like a dancer with her drum,

  The playful girl set off, as she beat time,

  Through peafowl, doves, and chickens, at a leap.

  In one great mass the startled birds rose up.

  Zosia, feet barely contacting the ground,

  Appeared to hover there from bound to bound.

  Before her flew the doves who’d taken fright

  Like those that once pulled Venus’ chariot.

  Zosia jumped through the window at a hop

  And, breathless, dropped in Telimena’s lap.

  Her aunt, chucking her chin and kissing her,

  Relished the young girl’s beauty and her fire

  (Because she genuinely loved her niece).

  But, once more putting on a serious face

  And placing a finger to her lips, she stood,

  Paced back and forth across the room, and said:

  “You’ve quite forgotten your age and rank, my sweet.

  Today you turn thirteen, let’s not forget.

  Your games aren’t worthy of a magnate’s daughter!

  The poultry yard, playing in mud and water

  With the local children—all this has to end.

  It hurts to look at you! Your skin’s as tanned

  As any Gypsy girl, I have to say.

  And you carry yourself in such a rustic way!

  I’m taking charge—starting immediately

  I’ll introduce you to society,

  To the salon, to guests—and guests there are

  In plenty. Don’t you disgrace me now, you hear?”

  Zosia, clapping her hands from sheer elation,

  Jumped up and flung her arms round her relation,

  Laughing and crying by turns. “Oh Auntie dear!

  I’ve not seen guests so long! Since I’ve been here

  Among the chickens and turkeys, the only one

  Was a wild dove that visited, then flew on.

  I’m bored a little of living so quietly.

  The Judge has even said it’s bad for me.”

  “The Judge,” her aunt broke in, “keeps on about

  How you’re of age, how you should be brought out.

  The old chap has no notion, don’t you see—

  He’s never lived among society.

  I know just how much time one must consign

  For a young lady’s coming-out to shine.

  See: when a girl is raised in sight of all,

  Though she may well be bright and beautiful

  No one’s surprised—they’ve known her from a child.

  But when a well-bred girl enters the world

  Full grown from nowhere, how she seems mysterious—

  Everyone wants to know her, all are curious

  To watch her gestures, see what draws her gaze,

  To hear and then repeat the things she says.

  And once she’s popular, all those around her

  Must praise her looks
, however plain they find her.

  You’ll know what you should do; raised as you were

  In the capital, though you’ve spent two years out here

  You can’t have forgotten Petersburg completely.

  Get dressed now: in the closet, laid out neatly

  You’ll find the clothes you need. But, love, be quick—

  Before too long the hunters will be back.”

  The maid and serving girl were summoned, water

  Poured in a silver basin. All aflutter

  Like a sparrow in the dust, Zosia sat down,

  Was helped to wash arms, face, and neck; and then

  Her aunt brought the accessories she had

  From Petersburg—flasks of scent, jars of pomade.

  She sprayed the girl with fine perfume (the air

  filled with the smell), put lotion in her hair.

  Zosia put sheer white stockings on, and then

  White satin shoes from a Warsaw artisan.

  Meanwhile the maid had laced her bodice up

  And round her shoulders draped a protective wrap.

  They took out the curling-papers they’d applied;

  The curls, being small, were plaited on each side

  Leaving smooth hair in front. Also the maid

  Had picked fresh cornflowers and prepared a braid;

  She passed it to Zosia’s aunt, who, ever deft,

  Pinned it round Zosia’s head from right to left.

  The rich blue of the flowers looked lovely there

  Against the grainlike yellow of her hair!

  The wrap was unfastened; everything was good.

  Zosia slipped her white dress over her head

  And, a white cambric handkerchief held freely

  In her left hand, stood white as the whitest lily.

  They walked her this way, that way, up and down,

  Made last adjustments to her hair and gown.

  Telimena watched with a discerning gaze,

  Directed her, got mad, narrowed her eyes,

  Till Zosia curtseyed and her aunt cried out

  Despairingly: “You see what comes about

  From life with cowherds and geese! You spread your feet

  Like boys do, you stare brazenly left and right

  Like a divorcée! It’s so inelegant!”

  Zosia said sadly: “I can’t help it, Aunt!

  You kept me here; with nothing else to do

  I watched the chickens, minded the children too.

  But once I’ve been among society

  I swear that I’ll improve—just wait and see!”

  Said her aunt: “You’re better off with poultry, dear,

  Than with the hoi-polloi who come round here.

  To think of all our usual visitors—