Adam Mickiewicz Collected Poetical Works

by Adam Mickiewicz

  for Pole to drink. Long live Gdansk!” he shouted,

  raising his stein. “Gdansk was once our town,

  and so will be again.” The vodka spouted

  a silver arc as he poured it around,

  till only golden leaves glowed on the ground.59

  It is hard to describe Bigos heating — 60

  its rich color and miraculous fragrance,

  for words can offer only sound and meaning.

  You city dwellers can not reach its essence —

  to know it you must live in the country,

  returning from the hunt in all its pageantry.

  Bigos is not some simple seasoned fare.

  Besides vegetables, they artfully prepare

  a cabbage base, picked then chopped with care,

  which, as the saying goes, the mouth must share.

  Placed within the moist womb of the kettle,

  it is covered with chunks of finest meat

  and roasted till the living juices settle.

  The fire-extracted flavor is complete,

  when the heat is furious and dramatic

  and boils over with juices so aromatic.

  The Bigos ready, all the hunters cheer;

  armed with spoons they run to attack the cauldron.

  The copper rings, as streams of vapor,

  like camphor, evaporate and all is gone —

  pot smoking like a dead volcano’s crater.

  When appetite and thirst are satisfied,

  they load the bear onto a cart, mount their horses,

  quite pleased and talkative — although some tried

  to break the calm with the quarrel’s new courses:

  the Sheriff and Notary argued once more,

  each over his own musket’s advantage —

  Sanguszko, Sagalos — heated as before.

  The Count and Tadeusz also felt rage,

  ashamed they failed, and missed, and fled,

  Because in Lithuania the blame

  for letting bears break through the beaters’ stead

  is hard to overcome — to regain that lost fame.

  The Count claimed he was first to reach the spear,

  and that Tadeusz hindered his attack.

  Tadeusz maintained that he was stronger,

  and that his skill could counter the Count’s lack,

  that he wished to unburden him. The longer

  they talked, the more rebukes were hurled back.

  Among the men, the worthy Seneschal rode,

  exceedingly happy and talkative.

  He wanted to squelch the quarrel, to goad

  them into agreement by his narrative

  of Dowejko’s and Domejko’s feud.

  “It’s not because I crave spilling more blood

  that I called for a duel — that would be crude.

  I meant it as a joke, if I may be so bold,

  a farce. It is a notion I contrived

  some forty years ago. You won’t recall,

  since you’re so young, but its fame has survived,

  as well as its ability to enthrall.”

  “Dowejko’s and Domejko’s animosities

  arose from the unfortunate resemblance

  of their names. During the District Assemblies,

  Dowejko’s allies recruited partisans

  among nobles so he could get their vote.

  But they heard incorrectly, so Domejko

  won. At a banquet once, Marshall Rupejko

  toasted Vivat Dowejko! — but take note,

  on either side they shouted out Domejko,

  and those in the center confused their vote.”

  “But worse in Vilno — when a drunken noble

  dueled with Domejko and was wounded twice.

  Returning home, strangely coincidental,

  he boarded the same boat — let it suffice —

  with his almost-namesake. So as they sailed

  along, the noble asked his neighbor’s name.

  And when he heard Domejko, he curtailed

  his civility and out his rapier came.

  In no time at all he began to slash —

  on one’s account, he sliced the other’s mustache.”

  “To make matters much worse, during a hunt

  they were standing so close that when they fired,

  both of them hit the bear right in the front.

  After so many bullets, she expired,

  but since her gut was filled with at least ten,

  the same caliber every hunter used,

  no one could tell who shot her first, or when

  she died. Needless to say, all were confused.”

  “Enough of this,” they said, “we must resolve

  the matter! Whether by God or the Devil united,

  we must separate. Two suns cannot revolve

  around the earth. And so the two decided

  to duel, since neither could be reconciled.

  All tries just made them that much more determined.

  They found their choice of sabres far too mild,

  switching to pistols, though we all complained

  their range was far too short. But they, in spite,

  swore that they’d only shoot across the hide

  of a bear — though this caused us all some fright,

  since both were excellent shots. But I complied,

  acting as second, requesting a deep hole

  be dug, for such a duel will have results.

  And what noble would dare usurp the role

  of a butcher? This close range does insult

  your skill — why stick your barrel in a belly?

  I won’t permit, but I’ll agree to pistols,

  if you insist on this shooting spree,

  I, as your second, will stretch and pull

  this bearskin so that one of you will stand

  upon the snout, the other on the tail.

  Agreed, they shouted, and the rest was planned —

  tomorrow at the inn, without fail.

  And thus they left, rushing with great speed,

  while I went home to study Virgil’s Aeneid.”

  The cries of sic him! interrupted the tale.

  From underneath a horse, a hare scampered;

  and both hounds were already on its trail.

  The masters expected their hounds, pampered

  during the hunt, to encounter a hare —

  and so they let them go without leashes.

  The Sheriff and Notary were aware

  of this new chase, and so spurred on their horses,

  though the Seneschal had ordered them to halt.

  He would not let them run into the field,

  insisting that they’d better view which caught

  the hare from here. But using horses to shield

  its flight, the hare burst free, ears sticking out

  like antlers on a stag — a streak of gray —

  it dashed, with legs like sticks kicking out

  and barely tapped the ground, rushing away,

  like a sparrow skimming across a creek.

  Behind the hare and hounds the dust clouded,

  soon blending into a single streak:

  a slithering serpent, it head shrouded

  in dust, a bluish neck, the dogs its tail.

  The Notary and Sheriff barely breathed.

  They watched and both of them turned fully pale.

  And in anticipation, both of them seethed —

  the serpent grew longer, then split in two;

  its head entered the woods, its neck close by,

  the tail remained outside. Then the head flew

  into view and vanished just as quickly.

  The poor bewildered dogs ran by the trees;

  they seemed to be conferring with each other;

  but then returned, bounding back shamefully.

  Tails between their legs, they didn’t bother

  to raise their eyes or ea
rs — clearly they shied

  away from masters, cowering off to the side.

  The Notary lowered his head, dejected;

  the Sheriff cast about his eyes, unhappy,

  while their excuses were rejected —

  the hounds were unaccustomed, running free

  without leashes. They were caught unaware,

  for they had not been baited; their poor paws

  lacked boots protecting them from stone and boulder.

  With cunning they excused their hounds’ flaws.

  the other hunters might have taken heed,

  but they did not — whistling, they laughed instead,

  or jabbered on, recalling their heroic deed —

  now that the once ferocious bear was dead.

  The Seneschal had scarcely paid attention;

  the hare escaped, so he resumed his talk.

  “What was my point before this interruption?

  oh, yes, both men agreed — they’d fire across

  the bear’s hide, and all present were concerned

  that this meant certain death, barrel to barrel —

  but I laughed, for from Virgil I had learned

  that any hide of any animal

  is no standard measure. Recall Dido

  the Queen, and how to Libya she once sailed

  to haggle for some land and made a show

  of stretching an oxhide, and thus availed

  herself to all the land that it could cover —

  and from this act of cunning Carthage grew.

  a plan, I thought, to carefully think over.”61

  “At dawn Dowejko came in a carriage,

  while Domejko galloped up on his horseback

  from the other side — but a new bridge

  they beheld, crossing the river, shaggy and slack,

  constructed of bearskin, cut up and knotted.

  I stood Doweyko on the poor beast’s tail;

  across the river Domejko was spotted

  on the snout. Gentlemen, you may assail

  each other now — or if perhaps you’d rather

  try to solve this and thus to reconcile.

  They were furious, though all the others

  fell over laughing. I, in priestly style,

  inveighed the Gospels, commanding them to cease.

  They had no choice, they had to call for peace.”

  “So they became dear friends after the feud,

  and Dowejko, Domejko’s sister wed.

  Domejko, not to be outdone, wooed

  his brother-in-law’s sister, and so instead

  of enemies, they’re kin. Soon their estates

  were divided and they began to share.

  On the spot of this near deadly debate,

  they built a tavern called The Little Bear.”

  BOOK 5 . THE BRAWL

  Telimena’s hunting plans – the gardener enters society, instructed by her guardian – hunters return – Tadeusz dumbstruck – repeated meeting the Sanctuary and reconciliation after ants intervene – the hunt discussed – the Seneschal’s tale of Rejtan and the Prince de Nasseau, interrupted – a preliminary settlement, also interrupted – the brawl – the Count and Gervazy hold a war council

  The Seneschal, concluding the hunt with honor,

  returns from the forest; Telimena, meanwhile,

  in the depths of the deserted manor,

  begins to hunt in her own special style.

  She sits with arms folded, while her thoughts chase

  two beasts — how to ensnare and catch her game,

  the Count and Tadeusz. The Count has grace

  and charm, a legacy comes with his name,

  in love already, yes, but that could change.

  Then will he truly love or want to marry

  a woman who’s some years beyond his range

  and not well off? Will my whole plan miscarry?

  Is this a match his family must arrange?

  With thoughts like this she rose up from the couch,

  standing on tiptoe and stretching tall.

  Then she revealed her cleavage with a slouch

  and gazed into the mirror on the wall.

  She seemed to want her image to decide

  her fate, then quickly turned away and sighed.

  The Count has wealth — such men are changeable;

  he’s blond, and blonds are not so passionate.

  Tadeusz, though, is simple, amiable,

  a child and like a puppy, affectionate.

  He is falling in love for the first time —

  he will not easily break off this tie —

  for young men more than men who’ve reached their prime

  easily change views; their feelings, though, belie

  tenacity not found in their grandfathers,

  because they have conscience. The heart of youth

  is simple like a girl’s — gratitude matters.

  It blissfully welcomes sweet love to soothe,

  and quickly digests it, a modest meal.

  Only a drunk, now sleeping soberly,

  abhors the vodka that he downed with zeal.

  Telimena considered carefully

  what reason and experience revealed.

  But what would people say? Could she avoid

  accusing stares or live like one secluded

  or even move abroad? She might decide

  to go to Petersburg, to be included

  in all the best affairs. Then she would guide

  his steps, dispense advice, in short she’d mold

  his heart. She’d have a confidante, a brother tied

  always to her, as she blissfully grew old.

  Such brazen thoughts soon put in her a state;

  she started pacing then lowered her head.

  Perhaps she should consider the Count’s fate —

  if she could match him with Zosia instead.

  She was not rich but was equal in birth,

  a Senator’s home, yes, a person of rank.

  Such a marriage was sure to have its worth —

  she’d find refuge in their home; they would thank

  her for arranging this and then she’d be

  like a mother to them. So thus assured

  she walked to the window to better see

  Zosia, amusing herself in the orchard.

  Zosia in morning dress, her head uncovered,

  held up a sieve, and all the barnyard fowl

  rushed to her feet, feeding time discovered.

  Shaggy-feathered chicks like woolen balls

  rolled in, and roosters with orange combs twitching,

  stroked their wings through the furrows and bushes,

  dragging spurred feet. A turkey cock, swishing,

  followed behind, puffed-up, grumbling, it hushes

  its noisy spouse, and peacocks, too, like rafts,

  their long tails steering through the dense meadow.

  Above, like fresh snow spraying in a draft,

  silver doves descend into the shadow,

  resembling white ribbons that wrap around.

  Specks and stars and stripes beneath the shroud —

  amber beaks and coral tufts, the ground

  of thick plumage — fish under waves breaking.

  Their thrusting necks advance all in a line,

  like water lilies in a pond shaking.

  It seems a thousand eyes toward Zosia shine.

  In the center, above the birds, she rises

  in her white shift as tall as a fountain,

  showering from the sieve her grand prizes.

  From her white hand they splash almost like rain,

  these drops of pearl barley, big as hailstones.

  Such grains belong at a gentleman’s table,

  added to broth that’s been prepared from bones.

  Too bad that now the cook will be unable

  to make such soup — since Zosia stole the grain.

  When Zosia heard t
he shrill call of her aunt,

  she scattered all the last tidbits of grain,

  twirling the empty sieve — as if to enchant

  the birds — a dancer with her tambourine.

  Over the hens, the pigeons, and peacocks

  she jumped, rushing, the birds clearly ruffled,

  fluttering and whirling above in flocks.

  Her steps were still so very light and muffled,

  she seemed to be drawn by some startled doves

  in her chariot — a mythic goddess of love.

  Zosia hopped inside the open window;

  breathless, she sat by the knees of the aunt,

  who kissed her and began to stroke her brow,

  clearly deriving pleasure from this instant.

  She truly loved her ward, but now once more

  her mood turned solemn and she rose to pace

  across the chamber several times before

  she scolded Zosia, who made a wry face.

  “Zosia,” she said, “ how can you just forget

  who you are? This is such a special day;

  you’re fourteen now, perhaps it’s time to let

  these chicks and turkeys go their way.

  Such toys are not fit for a noble’s child!

  And really, how much longer can you bear

  those sunburned peasant children, so wild?

  You’re dark as a gypsy — yet once so fair,

  traipsing about as if some farmer’s wife.

  But this is soon to change; starting today

  I’m taking charge of your social life.

  When there are guests, you must do as I say,

  and don’t embarrass me by how you play.”

  Zosia jumped up excitedly and hugged

  her aunt, who maintained her stern composure.

  She cried and laughed, though clearly from pleasure.

  “Oh Aunt, I never see these guests,” she shrugged,

  “since I’ve arrived it’s just turkey and hen.

  The only guest I saw was a wild dove.

  I’m bored feeling like a sheep in its pen,

  I’m sure even the Judge would not approve.”

  “The Judge,” Telimena said, “nags me —

  bring your niece into society at last,

  mumbling under his breath constantly

  that you’ve been growing up so very fast.

  But what does he know of society?

  It takes an awful lot of care to fashion

  a young lady. I have notoriety

  for that! To make the proper impression

  it’s not how pretty and clever you are —

  if all have known you since your childhood.

  But if a young girl has been raised quite far

  away, of course, then everything looks good —

  men find her fascinating and her movement

  will enthrall, her glance sure to bewitch;