Pan Tadeusz
Page 28
That maybe he’d be moved sufficiently
To show me at least some slight humanity,
Like a snail that bares its horns!
“Oh! With a friend, if anywhere in your heart
You’ve the least spark of feeling—when you part,
At your farewell it will materialize
Like the last gleam of life when someone dies,
And when the last embrace is drawing near
Often the coldest eye will shed a tear!
* * *
—
“Poor Ewa, hearing I was going away,
Paled, almost fainted. In her deep dismay
She couldn’t speak, but she wept copiously,
And I saw clearly what she felt for me!
* * *
—
“Then, for the first time ever, I cried and cried—
For joy, for despair—forgot myself—went mad.
Again I wished to clasp her father’s knees,
Fall at his feet, exclaim: ‘Dear father, please:
Take me as son, or kill me!’ The Pantler then—
Dark, cold as a pillar of salt, urbane—began
To speak—of what? His daughter’s marriage! Oh!
Gerwazy, you’ve a human heart, I know.
Just think…
‘Mr. Soplica,’ the Pantler said,
‘Just now a matchmaker has visited,
Sent by the Castellan’s son. What’s your advice?
My daughter, as you know, has wealth and grace.
And the Castellan of Vitebsk! A senator!
What course of action would you argue for?’
I’ve quite forgotten what I could have said—
Nothing, I guess. I mounted up and fled.”
“Jacek!” the Steward cried. “These reasons here
Are all very clever—but your guilt’s still clear!
It happens sometimes—someone comes along
And loves the daughter of a lord or king—
He tries force, plans to kidnap her maybe,
Takes open revenge. But killing so deviously!
A Polish lord! To plot it with a Russian!”
“There was no plot!” said Jacek with indignation.
“Use force? I could have seized her, locked up fast
Though she was—smashed his castle into dust.
I’d Dobrzyn and four settlements in my party.
If she’d been like our gentry women—hearty
And healthy! If she wasn’t wont to quail
At chases and escapes—the clash of steel!
But she’d been pampered; she was jittery
And frail—a butterfly-to-be
That’s still a caterpillar! So to steal her
By force of arms—it would have been to kill her.
I couldn’t! No.
“I was ashamed to devastate the castle—
They’d say it was revenge for my refusal.
Steward—your honest heart’s too dignified
To know the hell that lies in wounded pride.
“That demon, pride, suggested better ways:
Take bloody vengeance, yet conceal the cause;
Stay away, rip my love out altogether,
Put Ewa out of mind, marry another,
And then—then think up some alleged excuse
And take revenge.
“At first it seemed my heart had changed indeed.
I thought my plan had worked; and so I wed
The first unwealthy girl I came across.
I shouldn’t have—I paid a grievous price.
I didn’t love her. Tadeusz’s poor mother
Was kind, and devoted to me like no other;
But I was half mad. My former love, my fury,
By force of will I tried in vain to bury
In business interests, matters practical;
The devil of vengeance, though, had me in thrall.
Rude, angry, nothing that I found to do
Gave pleasure. And from old sins, new sins grew…
I turned to drink.
“My wife soon passed away in deep distress,
Leaving the child. I reeled in hopelessness!
* * *
—
“My love for dear, poor Ewa was so strong!
For years I roamed the world, yet all along
She went with me; always before my eyes
I’d see her vivid, cherished figure rise!
I couldn’t drink away her memory
Or lose it anywhere on my odyssey.
And here I am—a man of God, brought low,
Lying in blood…To talk of such things now!
God pardon me for dwelling so on her.
You need to know the sorrow and despair
I felt when I committed…
“In fact, it was soon after her engagement.
Folks talked of nothing else but her engagement—
How, at the moment when the Voivode gave her
The ring, she fainted, then went down with fever;
How she’d become consumptive, cried all day;
They guessed she loved another secretly…
The Pantler, though, always composed and glad,
Gave balls, invited all the friends he had—
All except me. What use was I to him?
My dubious home, the habit that brought me shame,
Left me despised by all—a laughing-stock.
Me, who throughout the county had run amok;
Me, who Radziwiłł called ‘dear friend’; who once
Rode with a larger retinue than a prince
Whenever I would leave my settlement!
I’d draw my sword—a thousand blades would glint
And fill great castles with anxiety!
Yet now the village children laughed at me!
How quickly I’d become undignified!
Jacek Soplica, specialist in pride!”
Weakening, the friar fell back upon the bed.
The Steward was moved. “Almighty God!” he said.
“Jacek Soplica! So it’s true—it’s true!
A monk, living by begging—this is you!
You who I well recall—hale, strong of heart,
A handsome gentlemen that lords would court,
That women worshipped. Whiskered Jacek! Now
Grief’s aged you, though it’s not so long ago.
How could I not have known you when you shot
And hit the bear so perfectly like that?
In all Lithuania no one shot like you
Or—after Maciek—used a broadsword too.
Yes! Gentry girls would sing about your power:
‘When Jacek twirls his whiskers, households cower;
And if he ties a knot against you, quake—
Even Radziwiłł would be made to shake.”
You tied a knot against my master—yes,
You wretched man! And now you’re brought to this:
Whiskered Jacek a begging friar! Dear Lord!
But now you won’t escape. I gave my word:
Whoever spills the least Horezko blood…”
The monk sat up now, wanting to conclude:
“I rode around the castle. Who could have named
The demons with which my heart and mind were crammed.
The Pantler was killing his child! Me—he’d destroyed me
Already. I neared the gateway—Satan led me.
The windows blazed—of course there was a ball!
With drinking, dancing, music in the hall!
His hairless head was safe inside that day…
But think of revenge, the Devil will find a way.
I did; at once the Russians came in view.
<
br /> You well recall how they assaulted you.
* * *
—
“But it’s a lie that I conspired with them.
* * *
—
“I watched; my thoughts raced. At the outset, dumb
And smiling, like a child who sees a fire,
I watched; then felt a villainous desire
To see the place in flames, see it collapse;
Thought I’d rush in and rescue her perhaps,
Even the Pantler too…
* * *
—
“As you well know, you staunchly held your ground.
I was surprised—the Russians were all around
But they were bad shots, the swine! Seeing them failing
Brought back my rage. The Pantler was prevailing!
So everything he did left him more glorious?
Even from these dire straits he rose victorious?
Dawn came; in shame, I started to withdraw.
But then I saw him on the gallery; saw
His diamond tie-pin bright in the sun’s rays;
He twirled his mustache with that smug, smug gaze.
I thought he’d seen me, and was purposely
Pointing toward me, threatening, mocking me.
I grabbed a Russian’s gun; I barely thought,
Scarcely aimed even—and I took a shot!
You know!
* * *
—
“A curse on firearms! With a sword you must
Extend, attack and yield, parry and thrust.
You can disarm your enemy, or block
His blade; with guns you just release the lock:
A second, a single spark…
* * *
—
“When I saw you aiming at me, did I run?
I stared right down the barrel of your gun.
Despair, or some strange grief, held me in place.
But oh, Gerwazy—why, why did you miss?
It would’ve been mercy—penance for my sin
Was needed…”
Here he paused for breath again.
“God knows I tried to hit you,” the Steward said.
“With that one shot, think how much blood you shed,
What blows rained on us—on your family too.
And, Mr. Jacek, all because of you!
Today, though, when the Russians drew a bead
On the last Horeszko (though on the distaff side),
You shielded him; when I came under fire
You pushed me down. You saved both of us here.
If you’re a monk and priest as you’ve averred,
The habit you wear protects you from my sword.
Be well; I’ll not set foot in here again.
Let’s leave the rest to God. We two are done.”
Jacek stretched out his hand; the Steward pulled back,
Saying: “For honor’s sake, I cannot take
A hand stained with a murder committed so,
For vengeance—not pro bono publico.”
But Jacek fell back again, pale as could be;
He turned toward the Judge uneasily
And asked about the local priest once more,
Then said to the Steward: “I entreat you, sir:
Stay. Soon I’ll end my tale; to tell aright
I’ve barely the strength. Sir, I shall die tonight!”
“What, brother?” cried the Judge. “Why bring the priest?
Your wound’s not bad—I saw. Just poorly dressed,
Perhaps. The doctor can come; on top of that
There’s our home pharmacy—”
“Brother, it’s too late,”
Jacek broke in. “I’d a wound there from before,
From Jena, that didn’t heal. Now gangrene’s there.
I know wounds—see, the blood is black as pitch.
What good’s a doctor? But no matter which—
Now or tomorrow—we all must pass away.
Steward, forgive me—I must go today!
* * *
—
“There’s merit here—to spurn an accusation
Of treachery cried loud by all the nation!
Specially for one as proud as I once was!
* * *
—
“The name of traitor stuck to me like disease.
The citizens would turn away from fear of me;
The friends I used to have, they all steered clear of me.
People would keep a distance when they’d greet me.
Even Jews, peasants—they’d bow when they would meet me
But once I’d passed, they’d smirk. In every ear
The label ‘traitor’ echoed; everywhere,
In homes, outside, all day the word would fly
Around me, like spots before a sickly eye.
I’d not betrayed my country though!…
“Moscow now thought me a friend; my family
Were given much of the dead man’s property.
Then Targowica offered me a position.
If I had wanted to become a Russian!
The devil urged it—I was powerful
And rich already; now the magnates all
Would curry favor; the gentry would as well,
Even the peasants—each other they abuse,
But those who serve the Russians they excuse!
I knew it—yet I couldn’t.
* * *
—
“I fled the country!
Went everywhere! Suffered all things!
“Till God deigned to reveal the only cure:
To mend my ways, and make things right—as far
As I was able…
* * *
—
“Ewa, sent to Siberia somewhere
Along with her husband, quickly perished there.
Her daughter—little Zosia—she’d left back home.
I had her raised.
* * *
—
“I’d killed more from dumb pride than love, I think.
I needed humbleness…I became a monk.
I—haughty swaggerer once—took on the form
Of a meek beggar—called myself Robak: ‘Worm,’
Like a worm in the dust…
“I had to redeem this seeming betrayal—this bad
Example for the homeland—with my blood,
Self-sacrifice, good deeds…
“I fought for my country. Where? How? I won’t say—
It wasn’t for earthly fame I joined the fray.
Better than valiant deeds of great renown
I recall secret, useful things I’ve done,
And hardships that nobody…
“I often stole back over Poland’s borders
To gather intelligence, bring the generals’ orders,
Set up conspiracies…Galicians knew
This hood of mine, those in Great Poland too!
I toiled a full year on a castle rock
In Prussia; three times the Russians lashed my back.
They sent me to Siberia once. I slaved
In Austria’s Spielberg dungeons—beaten, starved—
Till by a miracle the Holy One
Freed me, so I could die among my own
With the Sacraments.
“Now too—who knows—I may have sinned again!
Hastened the rising beyond the generals’ plan!
That the Soplicas should be first to fight,
Hoist the Lithuanian coat of arms—that thought
Seems to be pure…
“You sought revenge? You have it! All I planned,
The Lord—using your sword—brought to an end.
The plot, in the mak
ing all these years—you spoiled it,
You took the great goal of my life and killed it—
This, my last earthly feeling in our world,
That I clasped, nurtured like a dearest child—
Slain in my sight. And I forgave you. You!”
“I only hope God will forgive me too!”
The Steward broke in. “If it’s last rites, why then
Father Jacek, I’m no Lutheran.
It’s sinful to make a dying person sad,
I know; but what I’ll say should make you glad.
When that shot wounded and brought down my lord
And I knelt by his breast, and dipped my sword
In his wound, swearing vengeance by his blood,
He shook his head, reached out to where you stood
Down by the gate, and made a cross above you.
He couldn’t speak, but showed that he forgave you.
I understood, but was so furious
I never breathed a word about that cross.”
The sick man’s sufferings grew worse, and now
An hour of silence followed, long and slow.
They waited for the priest.
Hoofbeats were heard,
A knock: the innkeeper, out of breath, appeared.
He’d an urgent letter, for Jacek, no one but.
Jacek, though, had his brother read it out.
It was from Fiszer—chief of staff before
With Józef Poniatowski’s Polish corps.
It said the Emperor’s secret cabinet
Had declared war; he was proclaiming it
All over. In Warsaw soon the Sejm would meet
And the confederated Polish state
Would join with Lithuania formally.
Jacek heard, prayed as softly as could be.
He gripped the lighted candle to his chest,
Raised eyes where hope now gleamed, and which released
A final stream of tears in joyfulness,
And said: “Let thy servant, Lord, depart in peace.”
All knelt. Outside the door a bell rang clear—
A sign to show the village priest was here.
Night faded now. The sun’s first rays were crossing
The pink and milky heavens, and came passing
Like diamond arrows through the windowpane.
They lighted up the head of the sick man,
Gilding his face and temples, so he shone
The way that saints do, in a fiery crown.