The Count turned to the house, straining his ear,
and then back to his musings he reverted.
The hunters were motionless, only a murmur
came from the house, then a joyous shout,
a sound more like the buzzing of a hive
when swarming bees fly home. Hunters, about
to return, servants beginning to arrive
with food — tremendous bustling ruled the hall.
Bottles and silverware distributed,
as men entering in green outfits, all
juggling plates and glasses, contributed
to the confusion, as they ate or drank,
leaning against window casements, discussing
gun, hound, and hare. The Judge sat at the flank
of the Chamberlain’s family; amid this fussing
the girls were whispering to one another —
unknown to proper Polish etiquette!
Such chaotic scenes would surely bother
the Judge, who’d rail to show he was upset.
Various dishes were brought to this company
by servants balancing immense trays
painted with colorful flowers. Slowly,
they walked through steamy, aromatic haze
with tiny pots of coffee and Dresden
China, each cup with its own jug of cream.
For Poland has coffee like no other nation,
its preparation a custom held in esteem
in all respectable homes. Typically, a special
woman, the coffee-maker, has the chore
of going to the river barges to haggle31
for the best beans. She alone knows the lore
for brewing such a drink that’s black as coal,
translucent as amber, and thick as honey.
And then the finest cream has its role
in the preparation. In the country
it is not difficult; after the pot
is set atop the fire, it’s off to the barn
to skim the milk. The richest of the lot
poured in each jug, shaped like a tiny urn.
The ladies sipped their drinks and then prepared,
by warming beer on the stove, a new dish,
mixing in cream and bits of floating curd.
The men picked at fatty smoked goose, and fish,
sliced tongue and ham — all quite tasty
and home-made, smoked over juniper, fired
in the chimney; finally rashers, called zrazy.32
Such were the breakfasts that the Judge required.
The guests divided up into two groups —
the elders remained seated at the table
and spoke of farming matters, as well as troops,
and new stricter Tsarist edicts, unable
to agree. The Chamberlain, however,
valued these rumors and drew his conclusions
based on them, while the Seneschal’s daughter,
wearing blue spectacles, told the fortunes
of his wife by reading cards. In the next
room, the young were mired deep in hunters’
talk, more restrained than the usual guest;
for the Sheriff and Notary, such orators,
hunting experts, and marksmen, sat across
the table and angrily muttering,
both convinced that their own hound owed the loss
of the prize hare, not to its own faltering,
but the sudden appearance of some patch
of unmowed grain, left by some lazy peasant,
into which the hare fled, about to meet its match —
for the Judge rode up and halted the hunt.
Though angered, both dog and master had to obey,
but still the fierce argument continued:
Falcon or bobtailed runt, none could say
by which snout the hare might have been subdued.
The old Seneschal paced from room to room
looking distractedly at either side;
but he was careful to avoid the gloom
of the elders and the hunters’ fierce pride.
His mind, occupied elsewhere, he stood in the hall
meditating and swatting flies on the wall.
Tadeusz and Telimena were standing
in the doorway, conversing alone.
without partition, discretion demanding
they whisper. Tadeusz discovered unknown
facts: Telimena possessed great wealth,
and he clearly wasn’t so closely related
to her that canon law might lead to stealth,
for their blood connection could be debated.
His uncle called her sister for the sake
of some old familial bond, and despite
the difference in age, and a parental break
that sent her to Petersburg to reside,
they remained close. She performed inestimable
service from the capital, and he
respected her for that. She was capable
of charming behavior in society,
and this appealed directly to his vanity.
In the other room the Sheriff was baiting
the Notary, and he remarked casually:
“Yesterday I said we should be waiting
much later till we hunt. Habitually
our peasants leave patches of unmowed grain,
and knowing this, the Count did not appear,
despite our invitation. He knows the main
tenets for proper hunting; so very clear
are his discourses about the place and time
proper for the chase. He grew from childhood
in foreign lands; to him our ways are signs
of barbarism, without regard for good
statutes or regulations, without respect
for boundary line or property. We trespass
without the owner’s knowledge and expect
to ride in spring before winter can pass.
We exhaust the hungry fox while it still molts,
and set the hounds to torment pregnant hare
or harm some other game. You see, these faults
cause the Count to regretfully declare
that Moscow is more civilized, for their
forests are supervised and there the rules
the Tsar proclaims — obeyed by all but fools.”
Telimena turned to face the men,
fanning herself with a batiste kerchief.
“The Count,” she said, “is surely not mistaken.
I know Russia. You men cause me such grief
when you refuse to take me at my word:
their government is worthy of our praise
for its strict rule. I was in Petersburg
two times; such memories of those fine days,
such images now past. Gentlemen,
if you don’t know the place, I’ll be your guide:
all Petersburg would go — of course I mean
when summer came — to country homes a boat ride
up the River Nyeva. I lived for a time
in one dacha, not far from the city,
built on a man-made hill. What a fine home
it was — I have a sketch of it — but pity
my situation, when adjacent grounds
were rented by some very minor official,
serving an inquest. He owned some hounds —
imagine my torment from this kennel
each time I entered my garden to read
or else enjoy the moon and evening cool.
These dogs began to charge, suddenly freed,
tails wagging and ears pricked — I thought they’d drool.
So terrified I was, my heart foretold
some misfortune, and sure enough, one morning
I went to my garden and found the bold
hounds at the legs of my beloved, biting!
My poor Bonoczyk, an exquisite pup,33
; keepsake from dear Prince Sukin, and lively34
as a squirrel; I have her portrait up-
stairs. Seeing her strangled, I could barely
breathe: spasms, nausea, palpitations.
I think I nearly died, but at that time
Kirylo Gavrilich just happens
to visit, and seeing the hideous crime,
investigates the horrid hounds’ ill-humor,
and drags the magistrate in by his ears,
trembling and pale and barely alive — for
Kyrilo the Grand Huntmaster thunders:
The Czar demands to know why you’d kill
a pregnant doe! So this astounded policeman
begins to swear that though it’s spring, he still
has yet to hunt. And he beseeches the pardon
of his honor — This carcass seems to be
a dog’s and not a deer’s. What’s that you say?
Kyrilo shouts, Do you know better than me
about hunting and game, you who’d slay
a pregnant doe in Spring! Call the Chief
Magistrate in. He does, and Kuzodusin35
presents his evidence and signs a sheaf
of legal documents as verification
that the dead animal is, in fact, a doe,
not some lapdog like this lackey contends.
Judge for yourself — my title alone should show
I am the better judge. so you must lend
more credence to my expert testimony.
The Police Chief muses for a while, then pulls
the underling aside — just like some crony.
If you plead guilty then I’ll bend the rules.
The Huntmaster seems pleased and promises
to intercede to get the Czar’s reprieve.
His hounds strangled, the Magistrate is
sent to prison a month; and we receive
an entire evening’s worth of entertainment.
Everyone still talks about the case
of my poor pup, which Kuzodusin sent
to the Tsar, which brought a smile to his face.”
Laughter from both rooms. The monk and Judge
played marriage, but as the Judge was about
to show his hand to Robak, who wouldn’t budge,
he overheard the tale and vainly sought
to hear some more, his card still raised, unseen.
He didn’t say a word, as the monk trembled,
waiting for him to drop the winning queen.
“And so they praise the German,” the Judge mumbled,
“his civilization, and the Muscovite
his discipline. Should we let the people
of Greater Poland learn in court to fight
over the fox and likewise summon legal
help to arrest a trespassing bloodhound?
In Lithuania, we have much older
customs, and wild game is easily found.
Inquests can’t turn pebbles into boulders;
we have sufficient grain, so that famine
will not occur if some dog might damage
some vegetables. I would impose a fine
or forbid hunting only on vital acreage.”
The Steward spoke, “And so it is no wonder,
my Lord, that you pay dearly for such game.
A peasant is happy to see your hounds blunder
into his crops, for if they are to blame
for shaking off some ears, you reimburse
sixty, and often throw in a gold coin.
Believe me, peasants will only get worse
if...” So many men began to join
in the debate, the Judge could not determine
the cogency of the Steward’s sermon.
Telimena and Tadeusz spoke,
alone and mindful of each other; she
was pleased Tadeusz had enjoyed her joke,
accepting his compliments willingly,
speaking softly. Tadeusz joined the game,
pretending not to hear, and whispering
and leaning in so close, he felt the flame,
that from her brow seemed to be emanating.
Holding his breath, trying to catch her sighs,
he bathed within the sparkle of her eyes.
Just then a fly darted into the matter;
behind it came the Seneschal with his swatter.
Lithuania has an abundance of flies;
among them is a special kind, known
as the Noble. Only its great size
sets it apart; color and shape alone
link it to the vulgar breed. They thunder
through the air and buzz intolerably,
and when trapped in the web of a spider,
will struggle for three days, and squirming free,
defeat the spider so deliciously.
The Seneschal had long observed this fly
and theorized, that like the queen bee,
it gave birth to smaller insects, and by
destroying them, the rest would surely perish.
Even if it were true, no one believed
his theories, and although they did not cherish
these monstrous flies, they were always relieved
that the Seneschal so fiercely pursued
them — even now, as a Noble fly flashed
by his ear, he swatted with his crude
swatter, astonished that he almost smashed
the window glass instead. The fly was dazed
from the attack; seeing two people block
his exit for escape, it flew as though crazed
between their faces, as if it meant to mock
them. Until the Seneschal raised his arm,
swatting so hard the two heads split apart
like a tree struck by lightning. Such harm
was done — the marks were black and blue and hurt!
Luckily, no one noticed; the heretofore
animated but orderly conversation
ended with a sudden outbreak of commotion —
as in the forest hunting, just before
the fox is caught, such sounds are always heard:
crashing tree, gunshot, and baying hound;
then, unexpectedly, without a word,
the signal is given, the game is found,
and the entire forest erupts in sound.
Likewise, this discussion ambled along
until it came upon this profound
subject again — the hunt. It wasn’t long
until the quarrel, like the attack, grew fierce.
The Notary and the Sheriff, proclaiming
the talents of their own hounds — soon their terse
words gave way to epithets and insult-flinging.
with three-fourths of their quarrel now dismissed
(jibe, abuse, and challenge), now there looms
the final part — to threaten with a fist.
Everyone rushed in from the other rooms,
pouring through the hall like waves to shore.
The young couple, like Janus, two-faced and fair,
was caught unhappily in the current, before
they could rearrange their disheveled hair.
Already, though, the terrible clamor
had died down; laughter spreading through the air
as Father Robak, the alms collector,
pacified the brawl. Old, but squat
and broad shouldered — so when the Sheriff rushed
into combat, flailing his arms, the monk shot
between them, knocking their heads together,
violently, as if they were mere Easter eggs.
Then he stretched out both arms like a tower
and threw both men, at the same time, so their legs
upended, and they lay huddled in two
corners. Standing between them, furious and bold,
he yelled, “Pax obiscum! Peace be with you!”
They were astounded and
both factions would
have burst into laughter had they not respected
the clergy so highly. None dared to scold
the monk, for his behavior, unexpected
and unpriestlike, and surely no one cared
to renew the dispute. As soon as calm
prevailed and it was clear that everyone feared
his wrath, he pulled up his hood, mumbled a psalm,
tucked his hands into his belt and disappeared.
By this time now the Judge and the Official
occupied the area, already hushed.
The commotion had roused the Seneschal
out of deep meditation, and he rushed
into the gathering with a fiery glare.
Whenever he heard a murmur, like a priest
sprinkling holy water, he swatted the air
with his leather fly killer and only ceased
when the crowd respected its raised handle,
as though it were the baton of a Marshall.
“Keep quiet!” he repeated, “and take heed;
you are the foremost hunters in the district —
do you know where such brawling’s sure to lead?
Our country demands that our youth respect
the time-honored ways of the nobility.
We expect them to bring fame both to forest
and field, yet they neglect hunting already,
I’m sad to say, and here you give them ample
reason to scorn it — by your poor example.
You teach them only to wrangle and argue.
Considering my gray hairs, you must realize
that I knew hunters much greater than you;
more than once I judged who won the prize.
Who could equal Rejtan in the Lithuanian wood?
Whether he was setting off the beaters
or else encountering game? And who could
compare with Bialopiotrowicz? Such leaders36
unrivaled, were able to hit a running hare
with one pistol shot. Or Terajewicz, who’d bear
only his lance against a wild boar,
or Budrowicz, who, bare-handed, tore
apart a bear. Such men no longer roam
through these forests, but if disputes arose
how were they resolved? They returned home,
placed wagers, and proper judges they chose.
Oginski lost more land than he could count
over a simple wolf; and a badger
cost Niesiolowski a similar amount.
Perhaps you gentlemen should place a wager,
following their example and settle
this dispute. Lower the stakes and begin,
for words are like the wind, and a wordy quarrel
never ends. Such bickering seems a sin.
So please select an arbiter whose verdict
you can, in good conscience, accept. I beseech
the Judge, during the hunt, not to interdict
Adam Mickiewicz Collected Poetical Works Page 15