My name concealed not just from common men
But even you—even from my own son!
However, my Provincial gave permission,
In articulo mortis, for revelation.
Who knows if I’ll come back alive! Or what
Will happen in Dobrzyn! Brother, things are fraught!
The French are far. Waiting for winter’s end
Will leave the gentry’s patience sorely strained.
Perhaps I talked too much of insurrection!
The Steward’s roused them to misguided action!
That mad Count rushed to Dobrzyn, so I hear.
There’s a good reason I couldn’t forestall him there:
Old Maciej knew me. If he breathes a word
My neck belongs to the Steward and his sword.
Nothing can stop him! Never mind my head,
But if the plot’s exposed, the cause is dead.
I must be there today, though—risk my neck
To see—for if I’m not they’ll run amok.
Brother, be well. I must be getting on.
If I should die, you’ll mourn me—you alone.
Should war break out, you’re in the know—complete
My task. You’re a Soplica, don’t forget!”
Wiping his eyes and cinching his belt, the friar
Pulled up his hood, crossed quietly to the rear
And opened a window. Tadeusz watched as he leapt
Outside; the Judge, alone now, sat and wept.
Tadeusz paused, then tapped soft as he could.
He was let in; respectfully he bowed.
“Uncle,” he said, “these few days in your home
Have hurtled by. I haven’t had the time
To relish them, enjoy your company.
Yet now I have to leave—immediately,
Today. Well, it could be tomorrow too.
We’ve challenged the Count—that much is known to you.
Dueling is my job. Seconds have been sent.
In Lithuania duels are banned; that’s meant
I have to cross into the Duchy now.
The Count’s a fop, but not a coward—he’ll show,
I’m sure, at the appointed time and place.
I’ll teach the man a lesson, by God’s grace,
Then, crossing the Łososna, volunteer
With the forces of our allies waiting there.
I know my father’s will said I should go
Sign up and serve; who changed it, I don’t know.”
“Tadeusz,” his uncle answered, “why the rush?
You’re like a hounded fox, waving its brush
Off to the left, then dodging to the right.
We made the challenge, yes, and we should fight.
But leave today—what’s bitten you, my boy?
Before a duel one sends one’s friends to try
And come to terms. The Count may still say sorry—
Formally, I mean. So there’s no need to hurry.
Some other gadfly’s chasing you from here,
I think. Don’t beat about the bush—be clear!
Old as I am, I know young hearts. I’ve been
A father to you” (he chucked the young man’s chin).
“A little birdie’s told me of your checks
Involving members of the fairer sex.
Young men today—they don’t hold back one bit!
Be honest, now, Tadeusz—out with it.”
“It’s true, there are other factors; and you see,”
Mumbled Tadeusz, “the fault may lie with me.
Mistake!—misfortune, rather. Youthful error—
Too late to mend it now. I can’t be clearer,
Dear Uncle—please don’t ask. Believe me, though—
I really have to leave this place, right now.”
“Ah, conflicts of love, no doubt,” the Judge replied.
“I saw last night: you bit your lip and sighed
While looking at a certain girl askance.
She too seemed somewhat out of countenance.
I know such silliness—young folk in love,
There’s no end to the problems that they’ll have.
They’re sunny, then all at once it’s shadows and fog.
Or, heaven knows why, they fight like cat and dog.
They stand in corners, pouting and tongued-tied,
Not talking—sometimes running off outside.
If you two are embroiled in such commotion,
Then just be patient, please—there’s a solution.
I vow to settle any difference.
I know such silliness—I was young once.
Be honest—maybe I’ll share something too.
We’ll both do some confessing, me and you.”
“Uncle,” Tadeusz said, kissing his hand
And blushing, “the truth is, I’ve grown really fond
Of Zosia, the young girl who is your ward,
Though I’ve not often seen her. Yet I heard
That you’ve selected for my future wife
The Chamberlain’s daughter, lovely, and well off.
But marrying Miss Róża—well, I can’t,
Now I love Zosia—hearts want what they want.
To marry one, but love another, is wrong.
Time heals, they say; I’m going away—for long.”
“That’s a strange way to love!” the Judge broke in—
“Running away from your beloved one!
I’m glad you said. You’d make a rash mistake
By leaving, though. What if I said I’d make
Zosia your bride? You’d jump for joy, I guess?”
Tadeusz paused, then said: “Your kindliness
Takes me aback. But it’s to no avail—
Vain hopes, sir! Mrs. Telimena, she’ll
Never agree for Zosia to be mine.”
“We’ll ask,” the Judge said.
“No,” Tadeusz cut in,
“I know she’ll not say yes to anyone.
I cannot wait; tomorrow I’ll be gone.
Give me your blessing, Uncle; I’m all packed,
I’m leaving for the Duchy—that’s a fact.”
The Judge glared at the lad indignantly,
Twirling his mustache. “This is honesty?
First there’s some duel! Then love, and just like that
You’re leaving us! By heaven, I smell a rat.
Yes, I know where you’ve been, and what you are:
A flirt, a flibbertigibbet—and a liar.
Two nights ago, out in the open air—
Who were you trailing like a bloodhound, sir?
Tadeusz, my boy! If you’ve turned Zosia’s head
And now you’re running off? You won’t succeed!
I’m telling you, young man: like it or not,
You’re marrying Zosia—and tomorrow at that,
Or it’s the birch for you. These sophistries
About your constant heart, your feelings—lies!
It’s odious! I’ll be looking into you,
Young fellow—you need a damn good talking to!
All of these problems have me in their grip!
And him—he even stops me going to sleep!”
He opened the door. “To your room now!” he said,
And called the Bailiff to help him change for bed.
Tadeusz left, gaze lowered. He replayed
The awkward conversation he’d just had.
He’d never been so chastized before! The blame
Was his, he recognized; he blushed for shame.
If Zosia should hear? What now? Ask for her hand?
But how would Telimena then respond?
No—he must leave at once, as he
’d designed.
Lost in his thoughts, he’d gone two yards at most
When something blocked his path. It was a ghost—
Enswathed in white it was, and tall, and slim,
Approaching, stretching out its hand to him,
The trembling moonlight playing off its skin.
Once near, it softly moaned: “Ungrateful man!
You sought my gaze before, but now you shy from it.
You sought my conversation, now you fly from it—
As if my words, my eyes were poisonous.
I know—you are a man! I merit this.
I’m not the flirting kind; my aim was not
To hurt, but please. Such are the thanks I got!
Winning my tender heart turned yours to stone;
You scorned a heart that was too swiftly won.
I merit it! But I’ve learned from this trial.
I scorn myself more than you ever will.”
“Telimena,” Tadeusz said, “my heart’s not hard,
It’s not from scorn I shun you—you’ve my word.
But look around—we’re watched, we’re followed. May
We be so open? What will people say?
It isn’t decent—hang it, it’s a sin.”
“A sin!” she answered with a bitter grin—
“Innocent child! I—woman that I am—
When I’m in love, I do not fear ill fame.
But you’re a man! In suchlike things, what man
Was ever harmed, even if he let on
To having a dozen lovers at one time?
Are you leaving me?” A flood of tears now came.
Tadeusz answered her: “What would they say
If a young, healthy man like me should stay
Out here, for love—when all those other men
Are leaving wives and children, leaving kin
And going abroad so they can serve their nation?
What I want is moot—it isn’t my decision.
My father, in his will, said I should join
The Polish army; Uncle now again
Repeated this injunction. I’ve decided:
I leave tomorrow; I’ll not be dissuaded.”
“I’ve no desire to block your path to glory,”
Said Telimena, “nor to be contrary.
You’re a man—you’ll find somebody who’ll
Be worthier—better off—more beautiful.
Just reassure me, though, before we part
That it was truly love that stirred your heart—
That you weren’t playing, toying with me merely—
Tell me that my Tadeusz loved me dearly!
‘Love’—let me hear you say it once again!
I’ll etch it in my heart, inscribe my brain!
Forgiving you will be much easier
Knowing you loved me once.” She shed a tear.
Tadeusz, seeing her cry, hearing this plea
For such a trifle, put so tenderly,
Was moved to honest sorrow and compassion—
And, if he’d plumbed his own obscure emotion,
Whether he loved her or did not he likely
Couldn’t have said himself. So he spoke quickly:
“May lightning strike me dead if it’s not true
That, dash it, I was really fond of you,
Or loved you; our shared moments were so short
And yet they left such sweetness in my heart
That it will linger, or be always there—
I’ll not forget you ever, that I swear.”
Telimena embraced him now impetuously:
“I knew it—you love me! I can live! You see,
Today I’d meant to bring my life to closure.
But if you love me, how can you leave, my treasure?
I gave you my heart, I’ll give you my possessions.
We’ll travel together; with you, all destinations
Will bring me joy! The wildest wilderness—
Believe me—love will make a realm of bliss.”
Tadeusz jerked away. “What’s that?” he said.
“Travel with me? Where? Why? Have you gone mad?
A simple soldier, trailing along a—what?
Camp follower?” “Well then, we’ll tie the knot,”
Said Telimena. “Never!” Tadeusz cried.
“I’ve not the slightest wish to take a bride,
Or be in love. Such trivialities!
Calm down a little, dear; think clearly, please.
I’m grateful to you. Marriage, though, can’t be.
Let’s love each other, sure—just separately.
I really can’t stay longer. So goodbye,
My Telimena; tomorrow I must fly.”
He donned his hat and turned to leave. Her face,
Though, like Medusa’s head pinned him in place.
He had no choice—he had to linger there
And gaze in awe at her pale figure where
She stood, devoid of motion—breath—of life!
Till, reaching out her finger like a knife
Aimed right between his eyes, she cried: “I knew it!
The snake’s forked tongue! The lizard’s heart below it!
What of it if, wrapped up in you, I shunned
Notary, Assessor, Count, while you, my friend,
Led me astray and then abandoned me!
What of it! I know your male iniquity,
How you can break your word, each one of you.
But telling lies so basely—this is new!
Yes, I was listening at your uncle’s door!
So—little Zosia’s who you’re fishing for,
You traitor? Barely is one wretch betrayed,
You search for further victims at her side!
Run all you like—you won’t outrun my curses;
Or stay—and the world will know your worst excesses!
Your wiles won’t work on others now. Begone!
Go! I despise you—base, dishonest man!”
This was a mortally insulting word
That hitherto no Soplica ever heard.
Tadeusz turned deathly pale; he stamped his foot,
He trembled. “Stupid woman!” he spat out.
He walked off; “base,” though, echoed in his head;
He winced, feeling the word was merited.
He’d wronged Telimena deeply, he could sense;
She’s right, his conscience said, to take offense.
Yet her complaints made him dislike her more.
While Zosia—his shame was such he couldn’t bear
To think of her, so kind, so beautiful.
His uncle would have let them wed, until
Satan had tied him up in lie on lie,
Sin upon sin—then grinned and stepped away.
Scolded and scorned by all, in less than no time
His future was wrecked! The punishment fit the crime.
Amid this storm of feelings, like a beam
Of hope, thought of the duel came to him.
“The Count! That beast!” he fumed. “I’ll kill him dead!
Death or revenge!” For what, he couldn’t have said.
And all at once his rage, so quickly lit,
Was gone; he sank back into deep regret.
“If that was really tenderness,” he thought,
“I saw between Zosia and the Count—then what?
Maybe he loves her truly; maybe she
Loves him? She’ll choose him then! A wretch like me—
What right have I to stop them going through
With it—make everybody wretched too?”
Despair took hold; he had to flee these traps,
Right away. Flee, but where? The grave, perhaps
!
Fist tightly pressed against his lowered brow,
He ran down to the ponds gleaming below.
He stopped there, eyed the marshy water avidly;
Stood, breathing in its muddy vapors fervidly,
Mouth open—for like any other vice
Suicide entails a certain sensuousness.
His head was spinning madly, and he had
A powerful urge to drown himself in mud.
Telimena, though, noting the great distress
In his behavior, saw him leave the house;
And though her anger burned, as well it should,
The fact is that deep down her heart was good.
He loved another and that hurt her, so
She wished to punish him; but lose him—no.
So she ran after him, her arms held out,
Crying: “Stop! It’s all nonsense! You can love, or not!
Get married, or leave. Just stop!” But he’d been quick
And stood already by the little lake.
By a strange twist of fate, the Count rode by
As well, leading his jockeys that same way.
Enraptured by the balmy nighttime air,
That wondrous music of the pondside choir
And those Aeolian harps with their sweet tones
(No frogs can sing as well as Polish ones),
He stopped his horse, promptly forgot his mission,
And listened closely to the composition.
He gazed at field and sky, looking about
And planning some nocturnal sketch, no doubt.
The scenery was picturesque for sure.
The two ponds huddled closely like a pair
Of lovers: the waters of the right-hand one
Were smooth and flawless as a maiden’s skin;
The left-hand one was swarthy, marked in places,
It seemed, by down, the way a young man’s face is.
The pond upon the right was ringed with sand
Like flaxen hair, whereas the left-hand pond
Was browed with willows growing bristlingly.
Both ponds were clad in robes of greenery.
From there two streams like arms twined closely ran
And then sank lower, merging into one,
Yet didn’t vanish—its dark course was lit
Upon its way by moonlight gilding it.
The water fell in stages; at each drop
Handfuls of moonlight glittered on the step.
The light fragmented in a twinkling glow;
The stream snatched up the shards, took them below;
More handfuls then came tumbling on the flow.
You’d think that Świtezianka lingered there
Pouring the stream from an unemptying jar,
Pan Tadeusz Page 22